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greenbergwrites · 8 months

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in fac was james going to bite steve before their relationship became sexual? or was it going to happen after? or at the same time? does james' kind bite during a wedding ceremony?

I did not have a set time for whenever James was going to bite Steve again, it was going to happen whenever it felt Right.

As far as what a Tarakrovi wedding is like, instead of explaining it, I'll give you an excerpt (from, you know, four years ago) of Part VI.

I actually had seven parts completed but I was rewriting the fourth one, I think, and I never bridged the gap between whatever was in that one with what went on either side which is what ultimately stalled the progress because depression really fucks with one's ability to construct even the simplest scenes

Anyways, this is the last 2k of the Pt VI draft:

(the only thing you really need to know is that James took Steve somewhere private to have this conversation 'cause he knew Steve would react badly)

“Deeper into the mountains, there is a temple,” James said, waving a hand to the range behind them. “It is just one of many places of worship for the goddess Senin. I have sent a rider out with orders to bring back the High Priestess residing there. Senin...I doubt you will have heard of her in Sciath, but here, she is sacred. Our principal deity. She is the mother of Strigoi. When two become betrothed, it was once customary to seek the goddess’s approval. I don’t think the custom is quite so prevalent among the commoners anymore, but for the royalty of Tarakrov, it is practically law. Such customs also extend to the marriage ceremony itself. A priestess of Senin will always preside over it when the monarch marries.”

Steve whirled to look at his betrothed, eyes widening at the implication hanging in the air between them.

“What?” He breathed.

When James’s gaze fell away from his, it was the distinct air of remorse.

“That is what I have not yet told you,” he murmured. “We will begin travel to Odihnă in the next week and when we do so, we will travel as the newly wedded. You came here as my intended, but you will leave as my husband.”

It was so far from what he’d been expecting that Steve had no idea what to think about such a revelation. The shock to his system left him empty of any other emotion.

“I truly am sorry,” James said, when no response was forthcoming. “I was not sure how to tell you. I knew that you wouldn’t be happy at such news and you were already so quarrelsome…I thought that if I had to time to ponder it, I would come to know how best to tell you so that you wouldn’t be quite so upset. I would not even admit to myself that I was avoiding it until Natalia berated me this morning.”

Natalia?

That was unexpected. If anyone had advocated for him, he thought it would be Helen or perhaps even Sam. He never would’ve guessed it to be the frigid Commander who still looked upon him with the utmost distrust.

“I was under the impression that we were to be wed in your capital city,” he said after a moment, “where your court and citizens could bear witness to it. That is what your ambassador told General Phillips, is it not?”

“Yes,” James replied slowly. “That was the original plan.”

“And when did it change?” Steve demanded. “When did you decide that we would marry here instead?”

James looked away from him.

“The attack on your carriage brought some things into perspective,” he said. “We cannot delay the ceremony if you are in danger. Should anything happen, it should be said that it happened to the consort of Tarakrov, not the prince of Sciath. Do you understand that?”

Steve scoffed. Of course he understood; he wasn’t a fool. Despite his betrothal, he was still the prince of a foreign land. He would not be seen as Tarakrovi until he was bound to this land in marriage. Should another attack come, it had to be said that it was an attack on Tarakrov’s crown, instead of an act of war toward Sciath. If anyone thought that James had taken Steve with malicious intent--that the attack had been planned from the start--Sciath would have no shortage of supporters when they retaliated. Even if Tarakrov won that war, it would be at too great a cost.

“From that very night?” He asked, voice rising with his anger. “Did you even plan on telling me at all or was I to be summoned to our marriage altar unaware? Did you mean to keep me in the dark until it was my turn to pledge myself to you?”

James hesitated for the briefest of moments, before he said, “There is more.”

It took several seconds to comprehend those words and when he did, Steve gave in to his body’s need to react and threw up his hands. He turned away, taking several steps to the opposite tower before turning back again.

“What more could there be?” He cried out angrily.

In truth, there was so much more. He knew that. They hadn’t even scratched the surface of all that had been kept from him since his fever had broken in Sciath. He did not think James was broaching any of those subjects, though. It must be something to do with the wedding and that--that terrified him.

“The ceremony itself,” James began, the reluctance clear in his tone and in his voice. “It is not the same as I assume it is in Sciath.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Steve spat, even as his hands began to tremble in a way that had nothing at all to do with the cold. “Nothing is! There is not one thing about this damnable place that is like my home. There is no comfort I might draw from similarities because there are no similarities!”

A world all its own, Helen had called Tarakrov, and she’d been right.

“Highness--”

“No.” He shook his head wildly, suddenly feeling at the end of his rope. “No, tell me what it is. What happens that you feel you must warn me about it?”

James closed his eyes and for a moment, his mask fell away. His eyebrows drew together, mouth pressing into a thin line as his nostrils flared with emotion. He was no longer the guarded king holding himself apart, but instead, he was a man suffering. This glimpse of the person beneath the surface only lasted a few short seconds before James opened his eyes, the mask firmly in place once more. It did not fit him quite as well as before.

“We will exchange blood,” he said softly. “I will drink from you and you...you will drink from me.”

In his mind’s eye, Steve saw Clint and Natalia wrapped intimately around each other, mouths seeking blood and skin. The image shifted until it was no longer the Commander and her lover, but himself and James in such an embrace, lips smeared red. His stomach lurched, mind rebelling instantly even as the telltale beginnings of heat tingled in his limbs.

When the image changed a second time, morphing into the memory of his parents’ bodies, a chill settled so deep into his bones that no warmth could survive its presence.

“No.”

This time, there was no force behind his voice, no false bravado. The word was little more than breath escaping his lips, but it carried with him a note of pleading that he couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” James said, and he truly did sound it. “It must be done. It signifies--”

“I don’t care!” Steve shouted. “I don’t care what it signifies, I don’t want it! I don’t want it.”

He turned away from James again, ashamed to feel the burn behind his eyes that threatened tears. A touch to his shoulder had him whirling back around just as quickly. He pushed James’s hand away and then used both hands to shove him backward, but of course, he did not move. He was a wall of finely honed strength and tightly compacted muscle; Steve had no hope of moving him lest he wanted to be moved.

What happened next was a mystery. Steve remembered standing there before James, clenched fists against his betrothed’s chest, and then there was nothing but a blur as his emotions finally drowned him. Everything he’d held at bay since waking to find his world turned upside down overtook him and Steve was utterly powerless to stop it.

He came back to himself slumped on the stone floor of the walkway, the walls on either side now shielding him from the wind. His throat ached and his hands all the way down to his wrists were heated and throbbing, as though he’d hit them against something. Hot tears stung his cool cheeks. He was exhausted, physically and otherwise. He was also being held tightly, strong arms pinning his own to his sides while simultaneously keeping him pressed to a broad chest.

James said nothing at all to break the silence, but his breath was heavy against Steve’s skin. It came to him slowly, what he’d done. His clenched fists beating against James’s chest and James allowing it, to some extent. He’d been shouting something, but he couldn’t remember what words had spilled from his lips and he was afraid to ask.

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment before opening them again, letting his gaze settle on the weathered stone around him rather than the man behind him.

“Is it because you are Strigoi?” He whispered finally.

James seemed to hesitate and Steve realized that they had never actually spoken of his nature. It had been rumor and then it had been fact when he’d witnessed James drinking the blood of his guards. They’d never acknowledged it, though. It was just one more thing that he’d been kept separate from.

“In part,” James answered finally. His voice was just as soft as Steve’s had been and so gentle that fresh tears stung his cheeks. “To Strigoi, blood is...revered. It plays a central role in each tradition we have, because it is a central role in our lives. Bonding in marriage is no different. But it is more than that. Tarakrov is not just the birthplace of Strigoi. We exist because of Strigoi. They were here first. By the time others settled here, these traditions and customs were already firmly in place. Rather than trying to kill those customs, the settlers chose to honor them. Many of them became not just Strigoi custom, but Tarakrovi custom. It isn’t something that every couple does, but it is very common, even among those who are not Strigoi.”

“But it is necessary for us...because you’re the king.”

James sighed. “It is a tradition that the crown upholds, yes,” he replied. “But the need for it here and now does not come from my station. It comes from your birthplace. You are not Tarakrovi, but you will hold a position that is second in power only to me. Perhaps in Sciath, that is commonplace, but not here. Our royalty has never married an outsider before. We don’t align ourselves with others through marriage, we do not agree to arranged or political matches outside our borders. The fact that I have done so now is troubling to a great many people and the only way I can guard you against that is by having you appear as Tarakrovi as possible. You must find a way to embrace our way of life and our customs or you will find a cold reception in Odihnă.”

Steve frowned, craning his neck to look at James over his shoulder.

“But everyone has been so welcoming,” he protested. The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he was immediately cursing himself for sounding so childish.

James smiled wryly, but it held no mockery or malice.

“Everyone I have surrounded you with thus far is someone I trust implicitly,” he replied. “They are not only skilled in their positions, but I have known them to be good and fair people. I knew they would not judge you simply for your birthplace. I cannot say the same for my court. I cannot even say the same for everyone who resides in the company traveling with us, but that is why you have not been left alone. That is as much protection as I can give you throughout this. I cannot change the ceremony, not a single part of it. If I do, it will be a sign of weakness from us both.”

When no answer was immediately forthcoming, he didn’t push the issue. He did not let go, either, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to pull away, despite the fact that he’d been sitting in James’s embrace for some time now. Slowly, he looked down at his hands, laying limply in his lap. Before, he’d been overflowing with countless, overwhelming emotions. Now, he was emptied of that and the absence left him hollow. Exhausted. Whatever courage that had carried him to this point was now depleted.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he whispered finally. “My parents...you cannot ask me to embrace the customs of the very creatures that killed them. You cannot ask me to be like such monsters in any way.”

The arms around him loosened as soon as the words were out and then they were gone completely, the body at his back disappearing. Steve told himself he was glad, even as he shivered against the chill running down his spine.

“I know that when the time comes, you will do it,” James said, but his voice was no longer soft or gentle. He’d receded back into that armor of cold indifference. “You will do it, because you have not survived this long under your uncle’s thumb by being weak. You may scream, shout--rebel as much as you need. When you’ve accepted it, I will have someone waiting for you to escort you back to the library or wherever else you wish to go.”

Steve didn’t fully comprehend what he was being told until he looked over his shoulder to watch James striding away from him, gloved fists clenched at his sides. It was such a stark difference from the intimacy they’d shared only moments before, their bodies pressed tightly against one another. The confusion at the sudden turn in James’s mood was so absolute that he didn’t realize what had brought it about until several long minutes after he’d been abandoned. A knot formed in his stomach.

He’d thoughtlessly named his betrothed a monster.

#nani asks #greenberg replies #fola an chroí #my writing #my fics #excerpts

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elsewhereuniversity · 3 years

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Why You Should Wear Boots after Picking a Major You Didn’t Want

A university is a place where dreams are thrown away.

Such is the case far too often. It remains Real even between the railroad, highway and train tracks. Even there, people interrogate themselves: ‘This is your dream, but is it realistic? How much is the starting salary? Look at your classmates, elegantly breezing over what you clawed through, tooth and nail. Look at your competitors––’

So many choose to drown their dreams themselves… even though, at Elsewhere University, the dead do not rest quietly. The Wild Hunt is proof of that. Yes, that Wild Hunt, which rides across campus when the fog rolls in. We all know the versions in which they hunt for students unlucky (or unbelieving) enough to be outside when the hounds begin baying. Stay inside, stay quiet, and you’ll be all the better for it, if they ignore you.

What about the other versions, though? What about the versions in which it is best to open your windows and howl back? There are tales like that, too––

Sometimes, those brave enough to shout along with the Wild Hunt will be rewarded with a share of prey or gold. Those kind enough to repair a lost hunter’s sled soon discover this to be the right choice, for upon closer inspection, the hounds are not just hounds. Their bones are laden heavy with wrath.

And sometimes, villagers tell tales of a cloaked rider on a white horse. Horseshoes spark against the night breeze. He will ask you to play an impossible game of tug-of-war. If you are wise, you will tie the other end of the rope to a sturdy oak. The leader of the Hunt likes clever little things. He might even drop a reward in your boot.

Perhaps this is why you see students wearing boots for a while after they declare their majors. Even Magenta (who got her name from always wearing high-heeled loafers of that particular shade) and Ma-Boi-Blanche (who has 17 pairs of white sneakers) wore boots back then. Rumor has it, according to a friend of a roommate of a Forbidden Major, that this footwear will help you abandon your misery.

When the Wild Hunt rides as a group, they come to condemn. The RAs are not wrong in telling you to run for safety when the fog descends.

On the other hand, when the leader of the Hunt appears alone, he comes to test. In this more benign (but not safe, never safe) form, 4% meet a bedraggled man, 2% a king of old, 3% a specimen of demon (the Christian subspecies), 6% a harlequin, and 5% a sledder with a thick Mecklenburg accent.

84% of those who have survived the encounter say that the leader of the Hunt wears a cloak and a wide hat that partially hides his eyes (one of which is duller than the other). He gallops in on a splendid white horse.

95% of those who survived the encounter were wearing boots (one of them was wearing spatterdashes over court shoes, but eh, close enough).

100% of the survivors say that you must be ready to be tested. Be kind, clever, daring. If you are all that––and wary, wise, lucky too––the leader of the Hunt will let you go and stuff something in your boot. A post-it, on which is written the major that they chose, yet hated with every fibre of their being.

Now, put the boot back on and walk. It may be a bit awkward to walk around, what with the paper writhing under your feet, but do so anyway. Every student who has tried it reports that when they got back to their dorms, the paper had vanished from beneath their soles. In its place, they had gained a floating sensation, grafted in their bones.

By the end of the year, Ma-Boi-Blanche and Professor Redd were chattering away like old friends. The Professor had to admit that his student wasn’t very good at dissections, but there was an unmistakable passion for anatomy in his eyes, and he would improve soon. (Very soon, especially with Professor Redd’s talent of acquiring practice bodies, his jaunty hat growing redder with every new specimen.)

On the other side of campus, the law majors learned to listen for the click-clack of high-heeled loafers. Woe betide the unlucky people who faced off against Magenta, who suddenly threw herself into mock trials with gusto. Her opponents gained a Pavlovian fear response to seeing any shade of pink.

This did not go ignored. The Involved went up to the two, in order to warn them.

“The Gentry do not offer things for free,” they said. “And intelligence isn’t cheap. What in Morganwode did you pay?”

To which the ones who met the Huntsman merely laughed, because they weren’t any smarter. The only difference was that now, they were interested in the subjects they found so odious before.

In the old tales, a satisfied rider of the Wild Hunt will reward a human with meat. The person will walk back home in the dark, one shoe on and one shoe off, the boot growing heavier with every step. Once home, they will see that the raw, bloody meat has transformed into gold.

There are a few who still receive this, not always in the payment of gold, but in blessings. (Childe House’s oldest RA is one of them, which explains why the once-every-305-days evacuation has a 100% success rate, even when half a dozen residents don’t understand what a “mandatory house meeting” or a “fire drill” is.)

Which begs the question: why does the leader of the Hunt help so many?

Rewards are meant to be given to the exceptional few. Yet the unhappy are not part of these few. Given the number of students with newfound rapture in their eyes, one does not need to be exceptionally kind, clever, or daring to transfer their passions. Just wary, wise, and lucky are enough.

When asked, the leader of the Wild Hunt proclaimed that such a spell is child’s play. We’ve already provided the ingredients: two subjects and a passion. The price is low because all he needs to do is to sever the interest from one subject, then attach it to another. Simple work, he said. He would never think of charging so much for something he could do before breakfast. It is not befitting a warrior. Think of it as a favour from a father to his children, he said, then laughs as if there is a joke here that no one else understands.

There are more people who understand than he might think, for the more competent members of the Forbidden Major have another theory. Anyone with passing knowledge of folklore would be able to recognize this person at a glance, they say (quietly, and never to the Huntsman’s face). He is the amalgamation of ghost, fae and old god.

The first rider of the Wild Hunt might be, depending on the amount of fertilizer on the campus lawn and the moon phase, the oldest warrior poet. There are less battlefields for him to watch over now, but still he is song and madness. Still, he is overcome with fury when he sees yet another soldier buckle before the fight has begun.

This child would have made a fine skald. That child could have become a brilliant shield-maiden. This one had the makings of a king, yet they chose to push these futures away, he said through clenched teeth. These children began to think there was nothing left. They started to look at the pond and that single eighth-floor window which could open all the way.

This is not a battlefield, but… to give up before the horn sounds, under his watch?

Unforgivable, he said, with an unblinking smile, all teeth and lone glittering eye. To despair is to slander my hundred names.

So the leader of the Hunt casts a few spells here, a little trickery there, and coaxes the bright frenzy back in their eyes, or so the Forbidden Majors whisper. The price is only low because of who and why he is. He helps them so they can die more valiantly, another day.

Think of it as a favour from a father to his children, he says, then laughs as if there is a joke here that no one else understands. This is despite the fact that half the Forbidden Majors and a fifth of the Literature Majors know who he is.

(Not that they would reveal that, ever. The all-father’s wrath is a terrible thing.)

Addendum:

Statistics unavailable for those who encountered the Wild Hunt’s leader alone, while not wearing boots. Mythological references, as well as the Sword-House valet’s intuition, imply it is better not to know.

[Author’s Note]

I did not intend “Why You Should Wear Boots after Picking a Major You Didn’t Want” to be so long. Do pardon me.

There is much debate over the identity of the Wild Hunt’s leader. My personal favourite theory is that the leader is Odin, or some variant of him, which this submission is based on. Still, I couldn’t resist hinting at the others:

“Bedraggled man” = multiple stories, in which the Hunt’s leader is any hunter who preferred hunting to going to church, or else slandered a certain god

“King of old” = Arawn

“Harlequin” = in Vitalis’ Ecclesiastical History Vol. 2 (1140), Hellequin/Herlequin is the herald of a Wild- Hunt-esque procession of tortured souls. There is also King Herla.

“Sledder with a thick Mecklenburg accent” = Frau Gauden

-Louis

#Why You Should Wear Boots after Picking a Major You Didn’t Want #stories #long post #the wild hunt #odin #louis #thanks for the note on tags! was really helpful!#very vague mention of #suicidal ideation #loved this!

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akitokihojo · 4 years

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Enchanted - Ever After

Soooooooo, today’s the one year anniversary of Enchanted, and when I realized this date was coming a month ago, this particular idea came to mind. I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about what happened after the story ended, so here we are. An additional epilogue to wrap everything up.

I hope you enjoy this. Thanks so much for reading, friends!

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Five years had come and gone in the blink of an eye. From royalty lessons - years’ worth crammed into exhausting months, to maintaining her apprenticeship with the apothecary, to politics, to appearances. From staying out of the way of the king entirely, to him warming up to her to the point where he would actually look in her general direction - because this was King Sesshomaru, of course, and his version of warmth was the consideration of not inching his chin upward in superiority. From growing fully acclimated to being addressed as a princess, to the appropriateness a princess is expected to uphold, to the wonderful, loving, and bountiful payout of spending the remainder of her life by Prince Inuyasha’s side.

Kagome softly grazed the very tips of her fingers over the small swell of her stomach, the scarlet dress she wore comfortably accommodating the bump. She’d groaned when they’d brought out the damned carriage for their journey, always having loved the freedom of horseback. She felt so doted on in a carriage, so helpless, and it grabbed a large amount of attention. Attention everyone preferred to avoid. Horseback meant she could explore as they traveled. Horseback meant she could keep up with the lot, and take up responsibility to help. But, life was growing, and to protect that life, riding alongside her partner in open nature was no longer an option. Inuyasha, on the other hand, was seemingly unbothered by the changes that came. Over the passing weeks, he let her sleep as her fatigue robbed her of her energy, he wiped her tears when her building emotions made her weep over a litter of kittens born in the stables - he laughed though; he isn’t that nice, he brought her food and snacks before she even spoke of hunger, and he was the one whom insisted upon the carriage if she were to join them. He accepted her meager complaints with a complaisant grin, his ember eyes appeared more vibrant than ever, and without request, prodding, or persuasion, Inuyasha willingly chose to ride with her in the carriage. So she wasn’t alone, he’d said. Where she went, he went, he’d said. Shut it and stop questioning me already, he’d said.

“My darling husband?” Kagome spoke gently, her voice just above a hush as she placed her palm flat at the top of her tummy.

“My beloved wife?” Inuyasha hummed in return, sitting across from her, golden gaze fluttering up to her face for a brief moment before they washed back down to the ankle of hers that he sweetly massaged, resting along his thigh. His large hands pushed the hem of her dress a little further up her shin as he rubbed the heat of his palms over them, smoothing over her soft flesh, and back to her foot where he gently and mindlessly kneaded.

“There’s a chance that my stomach will grow large. With that growth may come stretch marks. They may be light, they may be dark, I may get lucky and receive none, or they may appear unsightly. Will you still love my body then?” A part of her knew the answer, but the dominating and self conscious part wanted reassurance that her worries were nothing more than in her head.

Inuyasha fought the chuckled that welled in his throat, subsiding it with a simple huff as an honest smirk curved at his lips. His fingers stopped their massaging, eyes giving her his full attention while he deliberated on his answer. “You must not be paying as close attention as I thought you were.” He said.

Kagome’s brows twitched inward in curious speculation.

Inuyasha whispered as he continued, “Those nights when I slowly remove your clothing, taking my damn time, doing as I please. Those nights when I lay you down, pinning you beneath me, kissing every inch of you until you’re squirming.” He proudly noted the way her cheeks deepened in color, the way her lips pressed tightly together in embarrassment as she clearly hoped no one outside of the carriage could hear him. Inuyasha sucked in a breath between his teeth, shrugging his brows as he looked away to find her shoe, gently slipping the flat back onto her foot and placing it along the floor before crossing the small gap to sit beside her. With a simple tug on her outer thigh, the prince moved his princess to face him better as he leaned closer to her ear. “Now, I definitely thought you knew what I was doing. You seem to like it. Then again, you seem to like any attention I give you - gentle or otherwise.”

All Kagome could muster was a breathy huff in reply, the heat of her face overwhelming, the heat of his breath furthermore, the heat of his palm soaking through the cloth of her dress distracting, and the heat of his words bringing her back to just the other night.

“I have a tendency, I find, to linger around your thighs. Your hips. Your ass.”

She giggled that time.

“Particularly, here.” Inuyasha admitted, his hand traveling upward to squeeze the fleshy area of hip and leg. “See, you have these stretch marks on both sides.” Another breath sucked between his teeth as he nudged her jaw out of his way, pressing a small kiss to the delicate skin just beneath. “I don’t think words would do my adoration of them justice. If you asked me to worship your stretch marks, I’d drop to my knees. If you told me to kiss them until the end of time, I’d consider myself the luckiest man to live with not a moment to waste. You have these stretch marks because your body and curves were specifically designed to torture me.” He rumbled, quickly maneuvering her legs to rest over his so he could curl his fingers over the thickness of her bottom. “How do you not realize that if you just so happen to develop stretch marks on your stomach from bearing my child, you would merely be giving me more to revere? I’m disappointed in you, Kagome. Everything you idiotically think is a blemish is gold in my eyes, and I thought I’d made that perfectly clear by now. Unless -“ He nipped her neck, and he could physically feel the way her body tensed so she wouldn’t make a noise. “Unless I need to refresh your memory? Or do you understand now?”

Voice higher than normal, shaken, betraying, Kagome responded with a hummed yes to convey her understanding. Inuyasha smiled against her neck, placing one last kiss there before pulling back with the most arrogant smirk she’d ever seen on his handsome face - and that was saying something. Carefully, he readjusted her sitting position, gliding his hand over the little swell of her abdomen as he kissed her cheek, and returned to his original side of the carriage. As if nothing had happened, Inuyasha gestured for her unattended to foot, slipping the flat off and massaging.

Kagome had to stare out the crack of the curtain of the window to distract herself, waiting for the blush that warmed her face to finally fade away as her flustered state took its sweet time dwindling.

“You know, a simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed.”

“No, it wouldn’t have!” Inuyasha laughed, shaking his head, his pride still obviously through the roof.

“You’re an evil man.”

“I’m rubbing your feet, am I not?” His laugh faded to a light chuckle, delight painted in his smile, bringing her to laugh as well.

As the silence came forth, comfortable and balanced, Kagome pursed her lips, her mind still occupied. “But, when we get home, I wouldn’t mind -“

“I know.” Inuyasha nodded, a crooked angle to his grin as he stared out the crack in the curtain. “You’ll get it.”

Kagome giggled, playfully flicking her foot at him as he continued to knead away the tension.

The sound of the hooves of prancing horses surrounding them played into her contentment, the wheels of the carriage on the dirt road they traveled mostly smooth, rumbling, calming. There was the slight murmur of guards as they idly chatted with one another, an occasional call from birds they passed, and the distinct huff from the horse Miroku rode just outside the door.

It was impossible not to notice the flick of an ear atop Inuyasha’s head as his attention was grasped. Had she not already been looking at him - discreetly admiring him, really - the heavy twitch of the appendage would have caught her eye, anyway. His brows furrowed slightly, amber eyes staring at nothing as he focused on his heightened senses before assertively striking the top of the carriage wall with the side of his fist. All conversation outside died, traffic slowing until they stopped completely just seconds later.

“What’s wrong?” Kagome asked, sitting up straight to take her foot back but Inuyasha held onto her, making sure to place her flat back on her heel before gently planting it on the floor.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Could be nothing.” Inuyasha suggested, pushing the door open as he stepped out, hopping down to the dirt road. His tone changed as he spoke to the knights around, lowering to the authoritative level the prince only carried when giving orders. “Report.”

“Koga’s already checking it out, Your Highness.” Miroku responded, gesturing to the beautifully freckled and rider-less horse whose reins were held firmly by another knight. Swinging his leg from over his steed, he dismounted to stand level with the prince.

“What was that?”

“Sounded like a child. Maybe it’s lost.” Sango mentioned as she joined the two.

Inuyasha instantaneously tensed, his nose scrunching before he twisted around to face his maternal-instinct-ridden wife, his finger pointed at her sternly as she was just about to climb out. “No.”

“What!?” Kagome responded defensively.

“No.” Inuyasha chuckled.

“But -“

“No.”

“I want to help!”

“Nothing’s even been confirmed yet! Sit!”

Kagome dropped her butt to sit in the entry, feet propped on the top step as she crossed her arms with a pouty huff.

“I heard something else.” He mentioned, turning his attention back to his aides and the two other guards that stood by. “Something quick. Maybe large; it’s hard to tell.” The prince leaned closer to quietly whisper the rest to those involved so as not to upset Kagome. “But, I smell blood.”

“Probably why Koga rushed off so quickly.” Miroku nodded understandingly.

“Maybe he should have backup just in case.” Sango offered.

“No. Not yet. His instincts are sharp; he wouldn’t have gone on his own if he didn’t feel like he could handle it. He’ll signal if he needs somebody.”

“And, if he doesn’t?” Sango countered.

“He’s got five minutes.” Inuyasha sighed.

The prince was fully prepared to follow Koga’s scent into the forest if his allotted time had run out, leaving the rest to protect his princess if anything happened. His sword was already along his hip, his senses were attuned to his surroundings, and as he leaned against the side of the carriage, his shoulder resting against Kagome’s thigh, he counted down the minutes. No signal was sent as of yet, and his golden eyes were trained in the direction he’d gone.

He’d heard walking coming through an unmarked trail in the woods, the smell of blood growing more prominent, but as it all came closer, Inuyasha could easily tell it wasn’t a large amount. It was there, but no one was bleeding out, nor were they about to see a gruesome scene.

Koga emerged onto the path carrying a small boy, little arms wrapped around his shoulders as the wolf demon knight rubbed his back soothingly. The child was clearly demon, the tiny feet appearing at the bottom of his pants padded like paws, and the tail poking through bushy, slightly frazzled, and speaking of his anxiety.

“Little guy got snagged by a hunting trap.” Koga mentioned as Inuyasha stood up straight, alert. “His leg’s hurt.”

With a deep sigh, Kagome carefully maneuvered her way down the steps, adjusting her scarlet dress as she reached the ground, and walked toward Koga cautiously. The last thing she wanted was to approach quickly and startle the little boy further. She stopped with room to spare, curving toward Koga’s side so she could see the child’s face as he peeked from the crook of Koga’s neck.

“Hi there.” Kagome smiled warmly, her brown eyes meeting his green. “My name’s Kagome. What’s yours?”

He didn’t respond, his small hands not yet releasing their grip on the guard’s coat.

“He hasn’t spoken.” Koga mentioned. “I tried getting his name earlier.”

“Oh, well that’s alright.” She sweetly assured. “You must be frightened. I promise you, not a soul here will hurt you. We only mean to help. And, I’ve got a few things with me that might make your leg feel better. Would it be okay if I took a quick look?”

The young boy apprehensively nodded, and Kagome carefully pulled up the dirtied leg of his pants, eyeing the wound that marred the flesh above his ankle. It wasn’t severe, it wasn’t broken, so she imagined it must have been a rope snare that caught him. Rope that was coarse, tattered, and tightened at a bad angle to inflict this sort of damage. Something definitely meant for an animal.

“You poor thing.” Kagome breathed. “May I bandage it for you?”

With less hesitation this time, he nodded again.

“Would you like to come with me, or would you be more comfortable with Koga holding you while I did it?”

He reached for her, finally releasing his grip on the knight, and she’d be a rotten liar if she denied that her heart sputtered heavily within her chest at the adorable action. He nestled into her arms, resting his chin on her shoulder as he gripped the back of her neck, his copper hair tickling her cheek but nothing she minded in the least as she carried him back toward the carriage. The guards were kind enough to give them space as she made her way toward the back, seeking out the small case with her supplies.

“I’ve got it.” Inuyasha offered, gently pushing her hand aside so he could un-wedge it from between the other luggage they’d brought along.

Kagome grinned, happily accepting his help as she sauntered back to the entry of the carriage, softly setting the young boy down on the bottom step where she sat on her knees before him, pulling the length of her dress out from beneath her.

“Your High-“

“Hush.” She kindly silenced a guard, having already expected someone to speak up.

“Would you like my jacket to kneel on?” He offered again.

“Absolutely not.” She declined with the hint of humor on her tongue, shaking her head.

“You should know well by now that a forest nymph doesn’t mind getting a little dirty.” Her husband said, setting the case down beside her as he softly patted the top of her head. She thanked him as he stepped back, opening it up to seek out the ointment she’d need.

As she went to push the pants up the little boy’s leg to reveal the injured flesh, she noticed the wide, curious eyes that were set on her, his lips parted in silent awe.

“What? Are you okay?” Kagome hastily inquired. He only widened his eyes further bringing her to nervously giggle. “What?”

In the smallest whisper, the boy asked, “Are you a princess?”

Kagome sighed heavily, relieved, hanging her head as she chuckled. She let the question sit for a moment as she breathed in, leveling her eyes with him once more as she smiled. “Only by marriage.”

“Which means, yes.” Inuyasha spoke as he crouched down beside her, his tone husky but the amusement evident. “She is a princess.”

The tiniest of gasps was heard from the child as he then evaluated the man next to her, his short, tousled, light hair, his attire that dressed him much like the guards but with an air of authority, his very close proximity of the one already announced as a royal that no commoner in their right mind would ever be in. Unless they were royalty, as well.

“This is my husband, Inuyasha.” Kagome introduced.

“Wow.” The kid speculated, green eyes bright, and his voice finally being heard. “I’ve never met royals before. Are you from around here? Do you have a large castle? Why aren’t you wearing crowns? Do you have a different crown for every day of the week? No, of course not, because you aren’t wearing one right now. Unless they’re just too heavy. They must be heavy. Are they heavy?”

The both of them laughed lightly, Kagome’s long, dark hair swinging to the front of her shoulders as she tried to hide her humor by ducking her head; especially since Inuyasha’s initial expression in reaction was slightly taken aback, slightly dumbfounded - most likely due to the sudden, talkative nature the boy presented.

“Well?” He prodded, earnestly waiting for an answer to each question.

“Oh, uh -“ The prince scrunched his nose, deliberating on where to begin, hoping he remembered it all. “We’re from a kingdom quite a ways away. We only wear our crowns on special occasions. We’ve only got one each and they’re honestly pretty light, but that’s just the way ours are designed. My brother’s is ridiculously heavy; it’s almost stupid. And, uh -“

“Oh, the castle.” Kagome reminded.

“Ah, yes. Um, yeah, I guess it’s pretty big.” He shrugged modestly. “I’ve seen smaller - I’ve seen larger.”

“But, then what are you doing here?” The young boy inquired, his expression twisted in confusion.

“We’re actually just passing through.” Kagome answered, finally getting to work and pushing his pants out of her way.

“Yes, and it was intended to be done discreetly. So, if you don’t mind, can this meeting be our little secret?” Inuyasha asked, cocking a brow.

“I’ve been told I’m horrible at keeping secrets.” He admitted without remorse. Kagome laughed as Inuyasha pinched his lips into a flat line.

“Wonderful. Something we should have covered first, I suppose.” He sarcastically stated, raising to a stand as he swiped his hands through his hair, heading to wait with the knights.

“Well, since you’re so chatty now, would you mind telling me your name?” Kagome asked, soaking a cotton pad in a cleansing salve. “I think it’s only fair since you know so much about us.”

“It’s Shippo, Your Highness.”

“Please, just call me Kagome.”

“I wont get into trouble?” He questioned softly.

“Believe me, there are very few people who I insist respectfully address me as royalty, and they’re usually complete jerks who deserve to be taken down a peg or two.” She smirked. “Otherwise, I just prefer my name. Especially if we’re friends. This may sting a little, Shippo. Are you ready?”

The little boy nodded, apprehension returning to crease at his brow, but he took it bravely, hardly flinching as Kagome carefully cleaned his wound and the stained blood around it, gently blowing to calm whatever burn lingered. She applied ointment next, using a generous amount to coat the wound nicely before she wrapped it securely in bandages.

“There you are.” Kagome smiled sweetly, allowing him to lift his ankle to assess the wrappings. “I would recommend you stay off of it for a couple of days. And, keep it clean. You don’t want an infection.”

“Don’t worry, Kagome!” He beamed appreciatively as he lowered his pant leg. “The lady of our house takes real good care of us when we get hurt!”

“Speaking of which, where do you live? What were you doing in the forest?”

“Exploring. I didn’t see the trap. I - um - went further than I’m allowed to go,” Shippo admitted sheepishly. “But I live in the town a little ways behind those woods.”

“Someone must be awfully worried about you.” Kagome sighed, ruffling his copper hair. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

She heard a long, steady inhale from behind, and knew full and well exactly who it came from. In addition, she knew exactly what that breath meant. She knew the exact expression Inuyasha was wearing. She knew the exact, tense body language he was presenting and attempting to ease with sympathy. And, she knew exactly what he was about to say as she rose to stand, turning to meet his gaze.

“Kagome, you have to stay here. Miroku and I will take him home.” He said, ember eyes vibrant with the sun peeking through the roaming clouds.

“No.” She tried.

“Yes.” He countered steadily.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” Kagome whined that time, her shoulders slumping as she gave into her inadvertent pout. Inuyasha chuckled, moving forward to lovingly cup her cheeks in his hands.

“You know better. If we haven’t checked out a place beforehand, you can’t go. Your safety is the most important thing to me, my love.”

“You only call me that when you’re trying to avoid being in trouble.” Kagome moped, leaning into his hold.

“Is it working?” Inuyasha grinned.

“No.”

“How about this: If we deem it safe enough, I’ll come back to get you and we’ll find something to eat there.”

Kagome perked up, brown eyes alight at the thought of food, nodding in agreement as her prince chuckled again.

“Thought so.” Inuyasha remarked, kissing her forehead. With a shrug, he went to remove his coat, which was what usually tipped off the masses of him having a high status, handing it over to Kagome. From the side, Miroku began to do the same, the both of them removing their swords as well - leaving them with just the knives concealed within their boots. Now, they looked almost ordinary, donned in black Bastian shirts tucked into their white pants, and black boots.

“Wait, was eating soon not already the plan?” Kagome quirked as he gave her belly a little rub before stepping over to pick up Shippo.

“Ready to go?”

“Was - was that not the plan?” She tried again as amusement caused his grin to grow wide - though he clearly attempted to hide it.

“I’ll be back, princess.” He said, avoiding her audacious glare. “Let’s go, Miroku.”

“Coming.” The aide snickered, jogging over, giving Kagome’s belly a playful rub, then hastily catching up to the prince as her expression was redirected toward him.

“Goodbye, Kagome! Thank you for bandaging me up!” Shippo called, waving from his new seat atop Inuyasha’s shoulders.

She gave a meager wave to the boy, breathing out defeatedly as Koga and Sango approached at her sides.

“There’s a quarter demon child growing inside of me, and he made eating seem conditional.” Kagome said.

“I’m going to be surprised if he survives this.” Koga mentioned forwardly.

“Me too.” She agreed as Sango laughed.

—

“So, did I hear correctly? Your name is Shippo?” Inuyasha asked, securely holding the boy by his thighs so as to not agitate his injury. The child’s small hands were lightly placed on the sides of the prince’s head, just below his ears.

“You did.” He confirmed brightly.

“Well, Shippo, am I going in the right direction? You’ll have to lead us.” The prince said, though it wasn’t all that true. Once they'd passed a certain point of shrubbery in the forest, he’d begun to smell the life of a town nearby. He just wanted to give the boy the authority, knowing it usually boosted a child’s confidence, and he figured there was no harm in which since Shippo had had a bit of a rough time earlier.

“I think so.” Shippo said, almost unsurely. He hadn’t been this far out alone before, but he could detect the scent of dinners being made in homes a little further off, so he relied on that sense. “Maybe a little to the left passed that tree.”

Inuyasha chuckled softly, doing as he said.

“Why did you guys take off your jackets and swords? If you told the princess you’re worried about unexpected danger, isn’t heading off without your swords kind of, I don’t know, the opposite of what you should do?”

Miroku laughed, “If a knight only relied on his weapon, he’d be useless.”

“Aside from that,” Inuyasha spoke. “I mentioned we’d wanted to stay under the radar. The more casual we look, the better.”

“No one around here has a carriage. Not like yours, at least. If you thought your clothes were the only dead giveaway, think again.” Shippo slighted.

“No one around here will see the carriage.” Inuyasha retorted.

“Oh, good point.”

“Think you can hold onto this secret of ours? At least until we leave?”

“How long will that be?” Shippo inquired innocently.

“How long can you go?” Inuyasha laughed.

“Five minutes?” He asked more than stated.

“So much for bringing Kagome through for food.” Miroku chuckled, causing Inuyasha to grimace nervously at his fate.

“Oh! When I left to explore, Kikyo was making banana bread! It should be done by now; I’m sure she’d be more than happy to send you off with some! The princess will love it!”

Inuyasha and Miroku both perked, slowly turning to look at each other with peculiar, suspicious expressions. Slowly, the two began shaking their heads to dismiss the incredulous idea, silently mouthing, “No” back and forth to each other from the total disbelief.

“Is - uh - is Kikyo your mother?” Miroku asked.

“No, I don’t have a mother.” Shippo shook his head. “Kikyo’s the lady of the house. She brings in those who have been orphaned and takes good care of us! There’s five children living there right now. I’m the only boy, so that obviously makes me the man of the house.”

“And, has Kikyo always been part of your town?” Inuyasha questioned.

“I don’t know, I’m only six.” The boy shrugged, his attention diverting as he slightly bounced atop the prince’s shoulders. “Oh, I know where we are! Take a left at that broken tree and we’ll be able to see everything!”

Sure enough, just down the slope of the hill they stood on came the sight of a small, homely town. The streets were paved with cobblestone, houses in stable structure, closely knit together with little fenced yards, expanding out into the distant countryside where farmers grew their crops. It seemed to be a thriving community; wholesome and beautiful.

Carefully, they made their way down, and Inuyasha gave a gentle reminder to Shippo to keep their secret to the best of his abilities. The boy gave an enthusiastic nod, gesturing that he’d zipped his mouth shut, which all but disappeared the moment a woman waved to the young child and he shouted a boisterous greeting back at her.

“Who are your friends? I’ve never seen you lot around here.” She mentioned with a grin. Inuyasha sucked in an anticipating breath, holding it as he tensed, and he could tell Shippo easily almost slipped his tongue.

“Oh, this is -“ He froze, correcting himself. “Actually, I don’t know who they are. They just helped me get back here. I had a bit of an accident.”

“I’m Miroku.” Inuyasha’s aide friendly offered with a slight bow of his head, keeping the suspicion from the woman to a minimum. He pointed to Inuyasha with his thumb, “This is my friend, Koga. We were passing through when we found the little guy and thought it best to see him home.”

Inuyasha almost deadpanned, catching himself before it was made obvious. For the past six years, whenever they played incognito, which really wasn’t all that often, that was the name he was forced to go by. He honestly shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever live that moment in his life down. Miroku gave him a smug grin, waving goodbye to the lady as she commented on their kindness and let them be on their way.

“Take a right at that street and it’ll be the third house on the left. With the vegetable garden out front.” Shippo guided as they carried on.

The smell of food was alight in the district, fires burning in stoves, vegetables being diced. They passed a little bar on their way and Inuyasha crinkled his nose at the harsh aroma of hard liquor fuming through the cracks of the door, the sound of clinking glasses and intoxicated laughter meeting his sensitive ears. The town seemed, for the most part, safe from what he could tell; lively, the streets still inhabiting plenty of people as they walked with groceries or finished up their days. A group of teen girls stared, whispering to each other in a small huddle, and as the two men turned their heads, noticing them, the girls shyly waved, giggling madly and ducking their heads to hide their blushes.

“Ah, I’ve still got it.” Miroku remarked proudly, waving back at them.

“Got what?” Shippo asked, naive.

“Charm, good looks -“

“A big ego.” Inuyasha interjected, chuckling.

“Yikes.” Miroku responded semi-dramatically, laughing.

The fence outside Shippo’s house was modest and homemade, each wooden post sized differently, uneven, and some standing just slightly crooked, all of which was secured together with some sturdy rope to divide their property from their neighbors’. Inuyasha couldn’t help but smile at the humble allure of it all. From the outside, the house seemed quaint and spacious. He couldn’t give fair judgement just yet, but he sensed, overall, orphans had a good home, a good opportunity here.

“Just go on in; it’s open.” Shippo welcomed, resting his chin atop Inuyasha’s head.

Respectfully, Inuyasha gave a couple sturdy knocks before twisting the doorknob to walk through. The scent of baking bread from outside was wonderful, but his nose was delighted at how powerful the aroma became just in the entryway. Along with that, there was food cooking. Plenty of it. There was slight chatter from distant rooms, rustic decor, and beneath it all lingered a very, very faint yet familiar scent.

Small feet pattered along the floor in their direction, a young girl looking to be about ten years old appearing in the open doorway at the far, left corner of the entry room, a well-used apron tied around her waist to protect her overdress. A small smile on her lips welcomed them, her eyes traveling over them as she quietly inspected the two strangers before her expression faltered at the sight of Shippo on Inuyasha’s shoulders.

“Shippo, there you are. Where have you been? You know you’re not supposed to be gone for so long, no less on your own. Kikyo was about to head out searching for you.” She spoke, half lecturing - half concerned.

“I didn’t mean to.” Shippo defended. “I - uh - had a bit of an accident. But, some new friends helped me and brought me back.”

Inuyasha raised the small boy over his head, carefully holding him in his arms as he kneeled down before the girl. “He actually got snagged in a hunting trap. Poor guy didn’t see the damned thing, and his leg got caught. We got him fixed up, but he needs to stay off of it for a little while.”

Her eyes widened in shock, a worried expression taking over as she looked at the small boy. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“A little, but I’m perfectly fine. I hardly cried.” Shippo boasted with a prideful shrug, bringing Inuyasha and Miroku to glance at each other with muffled amusement.

“Yeah, sure, I believe that.” The girl rolled her eyes. “Lucky these men were around to help. Thank you so much,” She said, turning her attention to Inuyasha. “He wasn’t too much trouble, was he?”

“I get hurt and I’m the one that’s trouble.” Shippo mumbled beneath his breath.

“Not at all.” Inuyasha chuckled. “We were happy to help.”

“Accidents happen all the time. It’s good that we were around when it occurred.” Miroku added. “Who knows how long he would have been stuck there until someone found him.”

“We can’t thank you enough.” She smiled, moving to take Shippo from Inuyasha’s gentle hold. “Can I get you something in return? A glass of water for your journey back from where you came from? Food? I’m afraid dinner isn’t done yet, but we have baked goods. I made cookies from scratch!”

“Don’t eat those.” Shippo murmured, shaking his head at the prince.

“Don’t listen to him.”

“No, don’t worry about it. You owe us nothing.” He grinned crookedly, still kneeling before her. There was a tingle in his stomach, his senses, his mind still focusing on that tiny, recognizable scent. There was no way he could leave here until he investigated it, and the thought had that nervous jitter unraveling his abdomen all at once. “If - if it’s not too much to ask, may I meet this Kikyo? Just to let her know, myself, what happened.”

“Of course.” The girl smiled happily, leading them off. “She’s in the kitchen. This way.”

Inuyasha regarded his aide with an anxious twitch at the corner of his lips, knowing Miroku would read his body language perfectly clear. The knight, in turn, responded with a slight shrug of his brow communicating his anticipation, and then followed behind the prince.

“Shippo’s back!” The little girl announced as they entered the decently-sized kitchen, carrying him around the counter to personally present the child to Kikyo.

Her back was to the men, her long, straight, black hair secured in a low ponytail, standing at the far counter as she immediately stopped chopping potatoes to acknowledge the children beside her. As she turned, concerned expression deep, crouching down to inspect the little boy’s condition, Inuyasha took in her profile, smiling warmly and sighing out in relief. After all these years, it was so good to finally know she was okay. Healthy. Alive.

“What in the world happened?” Kikyo asked exasperatedly.

“Heh,” Shippo had never looked more nervous. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

Kikyo snickered in return, “Don’t give me a reason to be mad, okay?” She countered, grinning daringly while cocking her head to the side as she waited for an explanation. Same, old attitude.

“Well - um - long story short, I was out exploring and got my leg stuck in a hunting trap. I was rescued, bandaged, and escorted home by - um - them.” Shippo sheepishly pointed to Inuyasha and Miroku.

Kikyo’s gaze followed the boy’s direction, instantly landing on the men in the kitchen entryway. Silver hair and dog ears, a dark, Bastian shirt revealing a portion of chest where a gold chain just barely peeked through, amber eyes that regarded her kindly, a casual manner to his posture as he leaned against the wall frame, and a familiar guard who overlooked the scene next to him. Her chest grew heavy, at first sending her nerves alight but then the weight turning into something wonderful and nostalgic, as it dawned on her who the boy’s rescuers were. Her lips slowly parted but her breath was held captive, and she couldn’t stop herself from rising to a stand, facing the prince fully, finally sighing out as she smiled at him.

“Well, well. Look who it is.” Kikyo all but whispered.

“It’s been a while.” Inuyasha greeted, giving a little cock of his head.

“It certainly has.”

“Do you know each other?” The little girl holding Shippo asked, expression muddled with perplexity.

With an unsettled and breathy chuckle, Kikyo looked down at her from the side. “We’ve met once before.”

“Wait,” Shippo started, almost assertively, the hint of surprise on his tongue. “Kikyo, you know him?”

“I do.” She replied with amusement.

“You know who he is!?”

She bent down, facing him, hands braced on her knees as she smiled. “Do you know who he is?”

“Do you!?” The boy’s green eyes almost popped out of his head, his voice cracking from shock.

“I’ll tell you what,” Kikyo laughed, almost hanging her head in defeat. “If you two go upstairs and remain there until I call you down for dinner, before bed I’ll tell you a story of a girl he and I used to know. It’ll be so thrilling you’ll hardly be able to tell if it’s real or not.”

“But, who is he?” The girl asked her.

“What fun is it if I spoil anything now?” Kikyo countered. The two children gasped, jaws dropping as the girl scampered to take them from the kitchen in excitement. “And, keep the others from coming down too, please! No interruptions or no story!”

They listened as little feet stomped up the stairs, disappearing around the bend and bringing everything to a quiet. Miroku gave a kind nod to Kikyo, a pleasant curve to his lips as he tapped Inuyasha’s arm with the back of his hand. “I’m going to check out the surrounding area. Make sure we’re clear. I’ll be outside.”

The prince nodded, dismissing him as he and Kikyo were left alone. Steadily, she removed her apron, wiping her hands clean with it before bunching it up and leaving it on the nearby counter. Her overdress, a deep, plum color that contrasted nicely against her pale skin, was mostly clean aside from a couple flour stains on the bodice.

“Did you - are you traveling…” Kikyo inhaled anxiously, a barely noticeable tremble in her breath. “Is it just the two of you?”

“No one I’m with will disturb your peace, I promise. I would never stick around to compromise that.” The prince assured, standing up straight. “It’s good to see you, Kikyo.”

Her smile won over as she let down her guard, walking over to Inuyasha and pulling him into a tight hug, his arms wrapping tight around her waist. “I can’t believe it! I never thought I’d see you again!”

“Me neither! I’m just glad to know you’ve made a life for yourself! Is it everything you wanted?”

“Yes.” She breathed, and he could catch the hint of satisfaction on her tongue. Kikyo released him, stepping back and meeting his eyes. “I never had much of a plan. My only goal was to get away, start fresh, be common. I’ll admit, it was tricky in the beginning and for quite some time after that. But, I figured it out. I found a purpose. I make ends meet just like every other townsperson, and I care for little ones who deserve a fighting chance in this world. So, yes. It is. It’s hard, but it’s worth it.”

“You’ve been safe?”

“Turns out, I can fend for myself quite nicely. And, I still have the knife your aide gave me all those years ago.”

“I hope you’ve never had to use it.”

“Actually no, but I did punch a guy straight in the nose one time. I felt like you’d have been proud of me if you’d seen the bloody mess.” She stated with a humble shrug.

Inuyasha laughed, nodding in agreement. “I’m honestly surprised you aren’t going by an alias. When Shippo mentioned your name, Miroku and I almost didn’t believe it could have been you.”

“I told you long ago, prince. I would run until my face was unrecognizable and my name meant nothing. Here, Kikyo is my only identity.”

His smile was warm. Grateful even. Her brown eyes shined of a joy he’d never seen before; never had an opportunity to see before. He was genuinely happy for her.

“And, what of my horse?” He inquired playfully.

“Did you mean my horse?” Kikyo giggled. “She’s out back in her stable. You may see her when we’re done talking. You must catch me up! What are you doing all the way out here in the first place?”

“Business. Had to show face at a coronation since my brother has been preoccupied. We were actually on our way home.”

“Preoccupied? No, never mind. That’s none of my business. My father,” She hesitated. “Do you know what’s become of him? Is he okay?”

The prince sucked in a tedious breath, hardly able to hide the way he pinched his lips into a straight line, golden eyes falling downward.

“Oh,” She said with bated breath. “He’s who’s preoccupying King Sesshomaru.”

“We don’t have to talk about that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Kikyo insisted. “It’s not like I don’t know who my father is. Is he - has he gotten worse?”

“We’ve almost gone to war already.” Inuyasha admitted, his voice dropping to a gruff level, almost wanting to protect her from this news. Truth was, King Onigumo needed to be removed from the thrown, and unless he did an abrupt about face and learned benevolence, with the way things were headed, it may potentially happen. By force. It was something Sesshomaru and Kagura were working tirelessly to avoid, and Onigumo gave way here and there - he wasn’t completely obstinate. The last threat for violence was over a year ago, and things have calmed down considerably since. Nonetheless, Sesshomaru’s patience was running thin.

“Figures.” She eventually said, shaking her head in reply. Kikyo was mindful to subtly change the subject, understanding that he was right and they shouldn’t talk about this sort of thing. She sighed out, “And you, prince? Are you happy?”

“You have no idea.” He smirked.

Her eyes drifted over him, taking in his same, tousled hair, his healthy glow, his broad physique, the way he somehow seemed more muscular than before, and stopped at the silver ring on his left hand. Stunted, Kikyo’s gaze shot back up to his for a moment before she stepped forward and grasped his hand, carefully analyzing the band on his ring finger.

Inuyasha’s smile grew wide, chuckling when she stared at him with an expectant look.

“Is it…”

“Would you like to meet her?”

—

Inuyasha came out of the shrubbery with Miroku on his heel, the pleasant sound of content and eating horses meeting his ears. He glanced around, his strong instincts always wanting to lay eyes on his wife before allowing him to move forward, and when he didn’t immediately spot her, a frown marred his lips. Two knights stood to the side, always ready for whatever, and Koga rested carelessly on top of the carriage, hardly regarding the prince’s return. Without even opening his eyes, he pointed with his thumb in the direction on the opposite side of the carriage. Miroku stayed behind, allowing the prince to venture forward in search of his person.

He stepped off the road and into more woodland, following the sweet scent he recognized as home until he saw her sitting in a small clearing, her back resting along a tree trunk. Sango, always near her, turned to see him, acknowledging him silently before dismissing herself and leaving them in privacy. Just as he preferred.

“There you are.” He hummed, approaching before her, and as she opened her eyes to see him, the most beautiful smile appeared on her face. Inuyasha sighed out deeply as he dropped down, sitting beside her, and she leaned into his arm, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“You ask that so often.” Kagome giggled, nestling closer.

“To be fair, it changes frequently.” He joked, flinching slightly as she playfully swatted his chest.

“I’m fine, butt head.”

“No nausea?”

“Not lately.”

“Tired?”

“Always.”

“Hungry?”

“Always.”

“Annoyed?”

“Getting there.”

Inuyasha laughed, kissing the top of her head as she gently caressed her fingers over the material of the pants on his thigh.

“You were gone for a while.” Kagome spoke softly. “Was it far?”

“Not really,” Inuyasha responded just as gently, enjoying the attention he was receiving. “I had stopped to talk to someone. I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Somehow, her voice became even quieter, hushed as ever but still conveying her honesty. “If it’s for you, I’d wait forever.”

Inuyasha’s core warmed wonderfully, bringing him to kiss her head again in adoration. He wanted to bask in her sentiment, fully comforted by her fingers roaming over his thigh and her body heat soaking through his shirt. He’d never have his fill of this woman.

“There’s a couple things I wanted to run over with you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh?” Kagome perked, sitting up to look at him, her hand traveling up to his forearm to graze.

“Yes. Shippo mentioned a lady of the house to you, do you recall?”

“Mhm.” She hummed with a single nod.

“Well, turns out he’s an orphan. The lady of the house is the caretaker of a small orphanage of sorts. She’s who I was talking to.” Inuyasha explained, observing as Kagome’s expression slightly faltered.

She was aware Rin came from a horrible orphanage. In the recent years, she’s been a personal witness to her health struggles from the environment she was saved from, and has seen firsthand how the fear and stress of it all weighs on her parents, on her uncle. How during a very bad episode, Kagome found Inuyasha in a room hidden away in a library, his face buried in his hands.

The prince’s brows furrowed minutely, his body slowly and steadily turning more to face his wife. “You’re upset.”

“Is it a good place?” She quietly asked, expression twisting in concern.

He soothed her, a small sigh leaving his mouth, gently stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Yes. It is, yes. It’s stable, it’s not crowded at all, and everyone’s well-nourished. I swear. That’s not what I intended to make you think about. You’re too compassionate for your own good, did you know that?”

“Oh, like you didn’t immediately worry about the same thing when you found out he was an orphan?” Kagome challenged, her mood lightening a bit after receiving his reassurance.

“No, you’re right. It’s impossible not to, I guess, from our perspective.” Inuyasha said. “He really is in good care. Turns out, the lady is an old friend. And, if you’re up for a little walk, I’d like for you to meet her.”

A smile began to grow on her face as her brows expressed her piquing interest. “Who?”

“Kikyo.”

Inuyasha watched Kagome’s bemusement deepen, her face twisting dramatically as she processed the two syllables he’d spoken.

“Yes, you heard me right.” He confirmed.

“Kikyo?” She echoed.

“Yes.”

“The Kikyo?”

“The only one I, personally, know.”

“The runaway princess?”

“That’s the one.”

“The Kikyo who called you a nit-witted mongrel?”

“Hah, that was a good one.” He laughed, forgetting he’d told her nearly every detail of how they’d fought to dismember the marriage arrangement. “How do you remember that?”

“I remember everything.” She stated simply. “But -“

“Yes!”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Alright, well we should get going.” Kagome said with a nonchalant shrug, shifting slightly to her side to push herself up to a standing with her hand.

Inuyasha jumped up, grabbing her arms to help. “Wait, so you’re okay with this? You’re alright with a little walk?”

“First of all, you’re too protective for your own good, did you know that?” She teased. “Second, I’m not that far along. I can still see my toes and everything. I’m perfectly fine with walking.”

Inuyasha pressed his mouth shut to stifle his laughter. “And, what about meeting her?”

“Oh, well you never asked me about that before. You told me you wanted me to meet her, and knowing you, she’s probably already expecting me. But, now that you’re asking, I don’t mind.” Kagome shrugged again, a smug grin on her face that only served to egg Inuyasha on.

“Oh, you don’t mind?” He echoed casually, stepping inward as his hands glided over her waist.

“I don’t mind.” She repeated.

“Not one bit?”

“Well,” Kagome clicked her tongue, pursing her lips as she pretended to put more thought into it, her palms smoothing over Inuyasha’s chest to wrap around his shoulders. “I can honestly say it’s always been high on my list to meet your ex-fiancee. Now that I have the opportunity, how could I possibly pass it up?”

“Why you cheeky, little - are you jealous?”

“Me?”

“Mhm.”

“Jealous?”

Inuyasha chuckled, leaning down to brush her jawline with a sweet kiss, knowing all too well that she was joking with him, and as he felt her smile push at her cheeks, he traveled down to nip at her neck.

“Not if you keep doing that.” She breathed.

“If I keep doing this,” Inuyasha spoke huskily against her skin, pausing his sentence to pepper more kisses. “We’ll never get there.”

Kagome giggled, waiting patiently for Inuyasha’s lips to make their way to her own, his kiss soft, grounding, heart-sputtering.

“But really, Kagome.”

She rubbed their noses together, giving him one last, delicate kiss. “Lead the way.”

As they reached the bottom of the hill, Kagome was a laughing mess, her flats practically having held no traction as she slid every two steps the entire way down, causing Inuyasha to be a nervous train wreck attempting to keep her up. She slipped to her butt, his grip on her hands the only thing preventing her from crashing down hard, and he crouched down in front of her, heaving a heated and defeated huff. The prince grabbed her cheeks between his palms, bringing her to giggle harder as his frustrated expression worsened.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman!”

“This isn’t my fault at all!” Kagome feebly argued.

“I don’t see why you didn’t just carry her down.” Koga mentioned, both Miroku and Sango staring humorously at his sides.

“She won’t let me carry her anymore!” Inuyasha defended, standing and holding his hand out for her, lifting her to her feet.

“It’s not comfortable with a belly.” Kagome explained, pointing to her swell. “And, I hate being carried like some dainty thing.”

“You’re being carried back up.” Inuyasha declared, making her snort with another laugh.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

“Come on, the sun is setting.” Miroku urged kindly. They’d left the two other knights to watch over their belongings, but had to bring Koga in case anything out of the ordinary occurred. The detailed reminder was unnecessary, especially since he knew Kagome wasn’t fond of being doted on, but just like the prince, as princess, she was to be protected well. As princess with child, she was almost never to be left alone. Worst case scenario, some bandits stumbled upon their carriage out on the road, understood it meant royals were about, and hid in the trees until they returned. If they were wandering back through the woods in the dark, their defense was lower than normal. Granted, Koga and Inuyasha would sense anyone around, but it still made things a degree more difficult. Realistically, the chances of any of that happening were slim, but not altogether impossible. Hence the reason they were well-guarded, and all scenarios were to be considered. Not to mention, the prince was naturally protective of her, the instinct kicking into high gear the moment he found out she was pregnant, and his orders were very clear from day one. Kagome is never to be put in a compromising position.

Inuyasha entwined his fingers with his princess’s, keeping her close to his frame as he led her and the others through the town, the warm hues of the sky complimenting the colors of the homes nicely. There were still people out; not as many as before, but the life had yet to fully filter indoors. Unsurprisingly, heads were turning. It was one thing when two strangers were walking through, but now there were five - one of which who didn’t really have the option to strip off a layer of clothing to appear more casual. Being of common blood, though, Kagome had a tendency to not even tense in situations like these, hardly paying it any mind.

He gave three curt knocks to the door, waiting respectfully as he heard two little feet running toward them from inside. The child seemed small, the doorknob jiggling roughly back and forth a few times before actually succeeding in opening to reveal that his assumption was right on the money. She was shorter than where the knob sat, and it was clear to see she’d struggled to twist it open with how tiny her hands were. Her eyes, though, were alight with wonder, the hollow of her throat emphasized with the steady gasp she sucked in.

The girl backed out of their way to let them enter, her sights trained on them as her cheeks beamed with color. As the group walked through, Sango shutting the door behind them, they all spotted a line of four other children peaking through the wooden railing of the staircase bannister. Their expressions matched the little girl’s, and both Kagome and Inuyasha laughed lightly.

“I suppose our five minutes were up long ago, huh?” Inuyasha asked, spotting Shippo in the middle of them.

“I did my best, your highness. Really, I did.” He said, unconvincingly.

“How’s your leg feeling?” Kagome inquired, notching her head to see him through the crack in the railing.

“Never better!”

“I believe I told you all to wash up. Not gawk and stare.” A woman playfully chided, cocking a brow as she watched them all scurry upstairs to do as she said, giggling madly all the way. The oldest of the bunch had picked Shippo up so he wouldn’t get hurt, scampering away behind the rest.

Her gaze transferred to the group in the entry, a welcoming smile resting on her face. “Are you all hungry? There’s plenty of food.” She offered, leading the way into the kitchen.

At first, Kagome could admit she was highly intimidated by the woman before her. By Kikyo. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her fair skin tone unblemished, her hair long and silky and dark as night, her posture still poised and fit to hold a crown steady atop her head. She, for one, was born into royalty. She knew the ins and outs of being a proper princess, of how to balance what was expected of her, and surely how to be graceful. The entire way, she wondered if Kikyo would secretly judge her on her etiquette if she stammered or acted informally in the least, having been raised to know better as opposed to the merciless educating Kagome was married into. Now, she could see Kikyo, the runaway princess, was no one to worry about. And, the offer of sustenance helped ease her mind drastically - no less since the heavenly smell of the home was almost making the poor princess drool.

“Oh, I like her already.” Kagome whispered to Inuyasha, rubbing her belly soothingly as it rumbled. He chuckled, gripping her hand tighter as he turned to plant a quick kiss on her temple before guiding her forward.

Miroku and Koga stayed by the door - precautionary purposes, of course - but Sango followed behind the royals, leaving space but keeping watch. Just as before, Kikyo removed the apron she’d put back on, wiping her hands clean on it before bunching it up and dropping it on the counter, smoothing out any wrinkles in her dress.

“You must be Kagome.” She deduced, her tone level and kind. “I’m Kikyo.”

“The ex-fiancee.” Inuyasha teased.

“Ew.” Kikyo reacted automatically with a cringe. Inuyasha wheezed a laugh, flinching as Kagome lightly jabbed him in the side.

“Don’t mind him.” Kagome dismissed. “I’m sure you remember how funny he thinks he is. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She chuckled, bowing her head in amusement as she stepped forward to shake the princess’s hand.

“I hope you never run into royalty outside of this, Kikyo, because your manners are awful.” Inuyasha mentioned, eyes alight with humor. Both of the women looked at him, confused until it clicked for Kikyo, her expression shifting to slight astonishment. “I believe you owe us a curtsey.”

“Not on your life.” She responded.

“Please don’t.” Kagome shook her head profusely.

“At least remember if you ever meet one who cares.” Inuyasha contended.

“A woman bows to no man.” She said with a challenging smirk before gesturing to the food-filled counters. “Now eat something and shut it.”

“We can’t stay long, but I would actually like to say hello to my horse first, if you don’t mind.” Inuyasha retorted, bringing the back of Kagome’s hand to his mouth to kiss before letting go and crossing to the back door of the house at the far end of the kitchen.

“My horse!” Kikyo reminded him as he ran out.

“Everything smells amazing.” Kagome commented, looking around at the incredible amount of pastries and goodies around.

“Thank you. We sell baked goods for an income, but we always make more than necessary. Please, help yourself.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head again. “I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will.” Kikyo insisted. “Go for the chocolate chip first. You’ll love them.”

“Well, who am I to argue?” Kagome gave in with a meek shrug, happily bouncing over to the cookies to grab the large chocolate chip on top.

“Why aren’t your guards coming in? It’s fairly safe here; there’s no need to be formal.”

Kagome let out a groan, her head dropping back as Sango giggled in the doorframe, used to her dramatic gripes about the situation. “Because my dear husband put them on high alert for the next six months, so now wherever we go, they’re like this.”

“Six months?” Kikyo questioned, brows furrowing.

“Well,” Sango spoke. “Six months left, at least. And, really, it’ll only get worse after that.”

“Don’t remind me.” She rolled her eyes, taking a bite of the delicious treat in her hand.

Before Kikyo could ask anything further, the five children flocked in, all of them quiet for the most part but body language screaming of how excited they actually were. Kikyo had made sure to speak to the kids beforehand, forbidding a bombardment of questions she knew they would no doubt ask, threatening to take story time away - and each of them refused to risk that, wanting to hear the tale of how the lady of the house knew a prince.

“All clean?” She asked, her smile quite motherly.

“Yes!” They each answered, four out of five holding up their hands for her to see while the eldest held onto Shippo.

“Alright, you know the drill.” The eldest looked at the smallest girl behind her, the one who’d opened the door for them, gesturing out the other end of the kitchen where Kagome assumed the dining room was, taking she and Shippo to the table. The others got out the bowls, and plates, the utensils most likely already set out, waiting in an uniformed line for Kikyo to serve them hearty stew from the pot on the stove with a side of bread.

Inuyasha came back in not too long later, a pleased grin on his mouth, and Kagome could easily read he was ecstatic to have seen his old mare again. Ember eyes immediately landed on her, bringing a comforting heat to wash through her body, and he crossed the kitchen as the last child took food out to the dining room. His large palm instinctively glided over her belly, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, welcoming himself back to her side.

Kikyo no longer needed to ask a thing. The dress concealed her baby bump well, and she’d admit, if nothing had been said to tip her curiosity, and if the rubbing palm didn’t smooth out the creases in Kagome’s dress to reveal the adorable swell, she would have never noticed she was pregnant. It was peaceful, seeing the prince so happy when all she had the opportunity to know from him was sarcasm and angst. It was wonderful to know her friend had gotten the life he’d so desperately wanted. Deserved. Kikyo breathed complacently, filling extra bowls with food to hand to her guests.

—

The silver hair she stroked was soft, thick, the tips of her fingers massaging her husband’s scalp as he rested his head on her chest. They were back in their carriage, strolling through the darkness to make up for a little lost time before finding a place to sleep for the night. Instead of the couple sitting on opposite sides, Inuyasha had wanted to hold her, waiting until they’d gotten moving again before he curled his finger and urged her toward him. Happily, Kagome obliged. Kagome would always oblige. She’d sat beside him, but her legs went over his lap, her back resting against the carriage wall as his arms wrapped around her waist, nestling his head just below her chin. Whenever he did that, he always released the most satisfied sighs, and his body was always wonderfully hot, the heat gracing her flesh by soaking through both of their clothing.

“Sometimes, like today,” He spoke softly, his voice low and husky, doing something to her that she couldn’t put words to. “I’m reminded of how different life could have turned out.”

“You don’t have to think about that, though.” Kagome soothed, kissing his head as her fingers gently stroked one of his ears from base to tip.

“No. It’s important that I do.”

“Why?”

“Because, Kagome,” She could have sworn she felt his face grow hotter against the bare skin of her chest, but the proof couldn’t be seen with how they cuddled. “I almost didn’t have you.”

“But, you do.” She whispered in a simple manner.

“And, I’m grateful.”

“Oh, are you?” Kagome half teased.

“You just like hearing it.” He chuckled lightly.

“So,” She breathed, nuzzling her nose into his hair. “You’re happy?”

Inuyasha sucked in a tedious inhale, one of his hands bracing him to sit up slightly as the other traveled up to caress her cheek. His amber eyes met her gorgeous brown, the light from the moon and stars filtering through a crack in the curtains and bringing an enchanting glow to her features. He felt his own expression soften as he broke, completely enraptured, leaning in to lightly press his lips to hers. Kagome melted into his kiss, and he could feel her own conviction, causing his lungs to tremble as he curved his fingers around the nape of her neck, solidifying their position for just a moment longer. As he slowly broke away, he relished in the heat of her sigh, rubbing his forehead to her own as he gave his answer in a gentle nod. Without another word, he carefully curled back into her, his arms once more around her waist and head resting safely along her chest, listening contentedly to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

#enchanted #inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #koga #miroku #sango #kikyo #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #Inuyasha au #royal au #my writing #akitokihojo

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havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

Act 2 -- The Two Suns Rise

The coffins raise;

the people fall;

into a land beyond what the People understand.

A magnificent kingdom where the two suns set;

A magnificent kingdom of peace, of glory, of [].

This, is [̴̴̄ͤ̓̊̅̓ͬ̓̾̋͋ͦͮ̍̊̒ͬ͏̢̫̙̼̤̼̥̗̟̀ͅQ͚̥̩̖̣̮̭̣͉͚̓̉ͫ̾̈́̍̅̽̏ͭͩ̍ͬ͗̎ͭ̀2͍̞̻̲͇́̅͋͗ͥ̾̓͐ͭ̓ͭͨͩ̚͢͞F̸̨̈́ͬ̾͗͑̒͊̆ͬ̆̓̑͗̽͊͋ͬ́̀҉̪̬̬̙͚̜͎̱̼̻̦ỹ̧̧̥̦̖̹̝̯̫̥̰͕͙̳̝̺̞̻̦͓̾͐͐ͭ̽͢͢Y̶̌ͮ̉̌̔͆̅́̔̃͗ͪ̒̍̚̚̚͏̡̡̠̯̟͉͚͙̺̞͓͓̝͢2̘͇̱̬̘̭̗̺̺̟̭̪͓̿̃ͯ͒̈̎̑̔̒̎̄ͧ͗̇ͨͯ̀͜9̶̅ͭ̿ͫͤ͋ͭ̋͐ͧͧ͐̍̊ͩͣ̾҉̤̠̳̬̩͓̫͈̣̳̬͟z̴̷̸̼͕̞͕̫̻͕̦͎͈͎̣̞͎̖̪̞ͥͨ͌͗͑͂ͯ͗̈ͪ̈́͑̎ͬ̈́̚ͅY̴̶̐͊͛̃ͦ̈́͒ͥ̊͒̂̿͐̆͏̸̢̙̺̰̤̖̘͉̼̰̱̣S̫̜̫̦̗̈́͊͌̃͝͡4̱̘̤̦̩̦̩̹ͣ̊ͬ̐͂͛͆͋̏ͨ̂ͯ͊̒͢͜=̷͙͙̟̞̯̙͙͍̹̞̪̞̪̘͓͊̋̈ͬ͋̃̀̚̕]̵̮̜̭͍͚͍̮͓̩̪̟͇͓̙̬͍̻̾̾͂ͪ̍̋ͣ̚͜͠

They take their seats.

The seats of the Audience creak as they [sit/lay back/laze/choke].

Laughter fills, overflows the room.

The foolishness of man.

The folly of man.

The cowardice, the stupidity of man.

They witness it all. The actor who was given a broken script, tied together with wire that shatters at a passing wind.

It will begin. The performer knows. They have been waiting all their life.

[Prepare yourselves. A grand adventure begins now. Of the folly/foolishness/demise of man.]

The Audience [cheers/screams/vomits] their applause.

They trust the one who arranges a cast before them -- of masked beings, and of the mask on the table, unused. They pick up their folding fan, the cloth, and smile.

[Let us begin our show.]

"...Good morning, Cadence."

...There's a knock at the door.

The process to waking up were always the same. Ritsuka would always pop up around now, anyways -- calling for me, rapping their knuckles against my door carefully.

The heat, however, would do the rest of the work in awaking me. That same warmth that tended to lull me to sleep...

"...My lord."

...It's suffocating.

"...My lord, you appear to be having some trouble breathing."

...My eyes slowly blinked open, to the sight of a smiling -- if mildly worried- Ushiwakamaru before me. Her mask lay off to the side, as it were the night before, though with the tight vice on us inflicted by Gorgon's tail -- it wouldn't be likely that she could use it anyways.

"...A bit. Nothing I can't recover from."

...Easier said than done, however -- the grip of, well, Gorgon was hard to overstate. Like King Kong grasping hold of their victim atop a tower, though perhaps a bit more comfortable.

"...That said... Gorgon, are you awake?"

...The sleep in my eyes slowly gave way to the darkened quarters I had by now called my home. A decently-sized kotatsu, what was effectively the replacement for a bed at this point, lay in the middle -- about all I could see in the dark, save for the faint outline of Gorgon rolling about a bit past Ushi's head.

"...Yes. As much as I would prefer to have continued resting, your movements have..."

"...Go figure."

...In a moment, the vice grip lessened -- and, perhaps not unlike a bat fresh out of hell, I desperately crawled out, pulling the collar of my shirt to let in some much-needed cooler air.

It seemed Ushi was not too far off, either, making a beeline for her mask, and letting it 'disintegrate' into her Spirit Origin once more, as Gorgon slowly stood up and stretched herself out.

Allowing myself to stumble over to the light switch, finally giving the lot of us some much-needed illumination, my eyes shifted to the lady resting on the bed. 'Presumably, the heat was a bit much.'

Even so -- despite her position being at ease, the woman's blue eyes shot directly over towards me.

"...You're awake, Cadence. I would hope you're prepared to be furthering our rule today, as well."

"I think we have slightly bigger concerns, don't we?"

At my response, the lady only smirked -- sitting up on the bed, she'd rest her head on her closed fist, and raise an eyebrow towards me.

"This Singularity, too, is an obstacle to ruling. You would do well to remove it."

"I wonder how the lot of us would even rule to begin with."

The lady sighed out, as though aware of something I were not.

"You would not be the first king to hold with you a concubine."

"--I'm sorry?!"

"Why, as long as we may share in those honours, I see no reason why it could not work."

Though, she'd stop talking at the glare of Gorgon -- and the snakes, too. At that, she'd stand, walking to the door, though waiting for me to open it.

"Your anger need not be directed at me -- not when you'd be better set serving the King."

"--You damned..."

"I'm sure there will be plenty of cronies to spend your anger on, wherever we are to be headed. Destroy them in my place."

...Despite the cold delivery of her words, the joking jabs certainly worked as intended. Taking care not to say a word until the tensions cooled slightly, I slipped the door open -- in time for Morgan to march through the door, and in time for Gorgon to 'calmly' leave after her. Once the two had set out, Ushiwaka stepped out -- and as did I, just after.

"...My lord, those two always seem to be on the verge of fighting. I would hope not over..."

"I'd sincerely hope the title of 'bad harem anime protagonist' isn't one added to my record. I already have enough titles as is."

"Courtesy of Ritsuka?"

"Who else?"

...The warrior beside me laughed, gently, and began to up her pace -- seemingly intent on catching up to Gorgon and Morgan, who seemed to already be a ways ahead on the path to the Command Room.

"My lord -- you should come a bit faster, you know. Wouldn't want to miss out on Ritsuka's prime explanations, would you?"

'...Are those really so looked forward to?'

...The Command Room was a full place that day.

The Coffins meant for each of the many Masters remained lined up, ready for use -- though it rarely saw a time where more than a few would be closed, and utilized.

At the midpoint between each one, Ritsuka stood -- their smile far weaker than before, at a glance, only to perk up as they felt the gaze of their colleagues.

To their right stood a familiar face -- the goddess summoned not long earlier, Tlazolteotl. Adjusting the headdress upon her head, her gaze settled on me with a borderline bone-chilling smirk before returning to the others.

'...She just keeps doing that.'

After a moment spent waiting for each individual to line up -- myself, Ushiwakamaru, Gorgon, Morgan, Tlazolteotl, and the Caster of Rakugo -- Ritsuka clapped their hands together.

"...Alright! Da Vinci's a little busy today, so I've been put in charge of debriefing this stuff. Olga's never liked the weird stuff this Singularity's got, so she's sitting this one out too, the coward."

'...Da Vinci, did you curse us?'

"Long story short, we've found us a Singularity in the midst of Canada. I... can't really confirm much about what's going on in there, and neither can the others."

...Ritsuka's hand moved up to their cheek, scratching it lightly.

"What I do know is, so far as I'm aware, it's in a city called 'Carcosa' in Manitoba. There's a whole new thing there -- a monarchy -- and whatever it's doing is causing this mess."

'...Carcosa... The capital of Canada.' Simple enough information -- truthfully, what bothered me was what the King were doing down there. 'During my youth, he was far kinder, wasn't he? What changed so much that a Singularity would come about?'

...Though, Ritsuka gave little time for me to process that.

"That's the gist of it. We've been watching it over the past few weeks, and it's just now gotten to the point where we can head to it. The crew we've gathered here should be able to take care of things just fine. We've got a few minutes 'til everything's ready, so do what you need to now."

Calling the meeting off just as quickly as they started it, the uniformity of the Command Room was just as quickly split off -- while Ushiwaka and Morgan turned to examine their coffins, Tlazolteotl pulled both them and Gorgon together -- most likely, whispering some nonsense to them -- before breaking off again.

'...Though, whatever she said, the three of them...'

Surely, I were just making it up -- seeing those three suddenly so serious seemed ridiculous. 'Maybe a bit of fresh air could fix my head, before I jump in.'

So, that in mind, I slipped out of the command room to find the closest equivalent to fresh air -- an empty Chaldean hallway with an A/C unit blowing into it.

...

'Silence.'

Even the commotion of chatter and footsteps in the Command Room was blocked out by the noisy, yet calming sound of an out-of-date air conditioner blowing both air and noise through the vents. Such a thing could easily have you wondering how a unit could be so loud -- and surely, I were, up until I felt a 'friendly' slap to my back.

"--Arash?!"

"Not quite."

My gaze moved behind me -- met with an uncharacteristically calm grin, from a Rider who almost immediately had me frozen still.

"--Please get away from me, Columbus."

...A thief. A horrible thief, of the worst order -- but for once in his life, he heeded instructions, and stepped back.

"...Hm, just as they stated. Go figure you wouldn't trust me even when I'm acting so pleasant."

"--Couldn't you just go die..?!"

"Not yet. Master, there's still money to gain from this place, and I'm not leaving 'til my coffers are filled to bursting and then some. But that's why you've ought to succeed."

...

'...What?'

"--You know as well as I do you're being unsummoned after this!"

"Maybe so, but you'd better believe I'm taking some of that sweet Canadian syrup with me to the Throne. Bring some back when you roast that place to the ground, you hear?"

'...Right, there was a black market of the stuff.'

At any normal occasion, I would likely have called Columbus on his bluff -- that, surely, he'd be all too happy to take the Singularity's residents too, for whatever end he desired.

...But he just turned around, and moved away from the route to the Command Room.

"I own the people here as well as anything else, Master. I may as well gain some stacks off that little Quebecois trade just to spite that place."

'...Go figure. That wasn't encouragement, just a command.'

Briefly, perhaps I would have considered an almost-polite thing coming from a man like that to be an attempt at raising morale -- but, of course, a man like him would have too much trouble not showing his true colours.

'...No wonder I don't trust that thief.'

...Allowing my heart to settle, I turned back to the Command Room -- or at least, the route to it that surely only took me a few hallways.

...Perhaps out of a mixture of spite for that cocky bastard, and from the fact his raw rudeness distracted me from my worries, I took my steps back to the final part of my journey.

...The coffins were never comfortable. Certainly, it only made sense -- they were called coffins.

Beside me, in adjacent coffins, lay Kagekiyo and Gorgon -- hard to miss the latter, as the coffin would usually have to be adjusted for her mildly larger size. Morgan had situated herself somewhere nearby, perhaps adjacent to Gorgon just to mess with her a bit, and Tlaz was... somewhere.

As the Chaldea staff looked over each coffin, fussed over Ritsuka's messily-worn Mystic Code, doted on the Caster right next to them, and listened to Olga barking orders in a terrified-yet-certain demeanour, Ritsuka's eyes settled on me from across the room.

[...You ready for this one?] They mouthed out the words to me, giving a wink at the end of it.

[...Ready as I can be.]

...The coffin doors closed--

--Those words uttered by the machine, the spiritron unsummoning, all of it --

--It had grown the same as always. Even the coffins, mechanical as they seemed, uncomfortable as they were, were familiar -- comforting, almost. Part of 'home.'

'...Part of home, huh?'

...Even thinking of 'home,' only that kotatsu would come to mind.

Perhaps it was due to the time that passed, but that empty, dark room in Toronto felt like little more than a passing dream. The loneliness that felt so stifling back then, now seemed so far away, as though it could never reach me.

'...This is my last mission. And... Afterwards, I'll go home.'

'...After this mission, I'll find a home, and... Everything will be okay.'

...Even when my soul left my form, perhaps to send itself to the final Singularity, there were no worries left. Not even the fear of the transfer failing.

Wherever I opened my eyes next, this would be my final fight.

"...Girls, would it be too harsh to bring you three in for a little talk~? It's about your hubby."

The mischievous voice of Tlazolteotl had captured the ears of the three women -- Ushiwakamaru, who turned on her heel with a curious gaze, answered first, as Gorgon gazed behind her with a long, long sigh out.

"What's the problem? If you're due to take the high ground about his circumstances..."

"Not quite, Ushi. I'd be in no place to talk, you know -- certainly, you aren't the only ones he has acting unwise."

While Gorgon opened her mouth to respond -- likely with a large amount of swears -- Tlaz placed a finger to the being's mouth, and shushed her.

"...Sort out your problems now. Figure out what your relationship looks like -- something I must do as well -- before this Singularity is over."

...At that, Morgan finally found herself bothered to turn around and listen.

"...And why is that?"

"...Ritsuka. They told me something."

...Cold ground awakened me.

Dirt surely stuck to my cheek as I sat up, holding my forehead in the palm of my spare hand to dissuade the headache that tended to come of these rayshifts.

My gaze slowly sharpened, my eyes now settling on the few people before me.

Caster, who had landed sitting down, glancing directly up at the sky.

Gorgon, who was only now standing up, her brow furrowed, faintly cursing.

Kagekiyo -- who was standing still in the dark soil beneath, as though they had been there the entire time.

Morgan, who was dusting off the dirt from her dress -- making use of the gentle moonlight to figure out where it all was.

Tlazolteotl, fixing her poncho as to show some modesty, warming her hands with some steam.

Ritsuka, face down in the dirt.

The large, faintly yellow moon, shining down upon us, and a sky completely blackened -- lacking even the hint of a star.

A forest surrounding us, of evergreen trees, grown as though each intended to touch the sky.

And a woman with red hair, a crow at her side, whose blue eyes suddenly pierced through the lenses of her glasses, through the air -- directly towards us.

"...Who are all of you?"

#fgo #mastersona #gudasona #l o r e #cadenceloreposting #columbina #AE of Rakugo #caster of rakugo

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charliejrogers · 3 years

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Klaus (2019) Review & Analysis

I remember recently discussing with my fiancée how, though there have undoubtedly been a number of Christmas movies released in the last twenty years, none have really risen to the level of a “classic” – something you would want to watch every year as part of a tradition. It’s true I have not seen it, but still something tells me that 2008’s Reese Witherspoon vehicle Four Christmases is not on anyone’s annual watchlist… nor 2017’s Mel Gibson-infested Daddy’s Home 2. We concluded that the last “classic” was 2003’s Elf. And, while Christmas movies don’t have to mention Jesus or religion obviously, please don’t try to tell me that Frozen is a Christmas movie… it’s not! In some ways, given how secular things are, I began to wonder if there even was a market for holiday family fun movies, but of course, I’m an idiot because you can just make a whole movie about Santa Claus. Move over, Jesus, we gotta talk about the reason for the season!

Klaus released last holiday season on Netflix and at least in Chicago I saw billboards for it everywhere. Netflix went all in on promoting this as the next big Christmas movie and had some moderate success; they even grabbed an Oscar nom for best animated picture. Unlike most animated films these days, Klaus was made by neither DreamWorks nor Disney, and it shows. It lacks the refined polish of a Disney/Pixar feature, but also has a heart unlike a DreamWorks picture. The animation style can be best described as a hybrid of 2D and 3D (yet not quite 2.5D). At times the character models look like classic hand-drawn 2D models set within a mostly computer-generated 3D environment. But at other times, they look more 3D. It’s confusing to describe, and inconsistent to watch. It often felt like I was watching a compromise between a studio that wanted a distinct animation style but didn’t have the budget to fully realize it. Still, more often the not it’s a pretty movie.

More than the raw visuals, the movie has a fantastic sense of atmosphere… perhaps even too much at the beginning. Klaus is, in one sense, the story about how a lonely woodsman becomes the legendary Santa Claus, but for such a jolly premise, much of the film is shrouded in shadows and dominated by an oppressive, cold, snowy bleakness. In retrospect, this makes sense as the true triumph of Santa and “Christmas spirit” can only be best appreciated when it brings light to the darkest of places and times. Still, upon first viewing, I was quite surprised and shocked by the dark atmosphere and downright violent imagery on display at the beginning of the film, so much so that I was wondering if this really was a Christmas movie!

The darkness stems from the fact that our woodsman Klaus lives deep within the forest on a far north island, far far from the closest village which is a town called Smeerensberg and is famous for its never ending feuding and wickedness. It’s a genuine Nineveh of the North so it seems. The town’s feud centers around two rivalling clans (the film’s equivalent of the Hatfields & McCoys) and every villager belongs to one clan or the other. The two families’ feuds go back longer than anyone can remember (cave paintings exist that depict their feud), implying an original sin of sorts with the town being more born from hatred than spawning it. Hatred is so foundational that it infects every part of society. Unwilling to allow children to interact with the rival clans in classrooms, children just don’t go to school. Instead, they roam the streets playing pranks on old people and stabbing snowmen with carrots.

For the most part, Klaus lives his life separate from and unbothered by these unruly residents of Smeerensberg. What breaks his solitude is the arrival of a new post officer to Smeerensberg. More than a trivial side character, this post officer, Jesper Johansson, is surprisingly the main character of this movie all about the origins of Santa Claus.

Much like the residents of Smeerensberg, we the audience come to the film with a primary misunderstanding, much of what makes Santa famous today (the home invasion via chimney, the responding to letters, the reindeer-pulled sleigh) were the creative inventions of a spoiler-brat-turned-postman. So despite this movie being about the origins of Santa Claus, being a Christmas movie, you should have guessed that this will be some variant on Dickens’ classic tale. Jesper isn’t a classic Scrooge in that he doesn’t abhor Christmas, but he is self-absorbed, materialistic, and all-around not a great guy. He’s the spoiled son of a successful postal worker who controls a postal empire that looks more like an army. (The true fantasy of this movie has nothing do with sleigh bells and stocking stuffers… it’s the idea that the post office is a well-organized, well-respected, successful enterprise.) Anyways, recognizing his own son’s worthlessness, Jesper’s father decides to whip him into shape, ship him off to the God-forsaken land of Smeerensberg with an ultimatum: Jesper must process 6,000 letters from the town of Smeerensberg in a year or else be cut off from his father’s wealth. The problem? With how ugly the feud is in Smeerensberg, no one needs to write a letter to express their feelings when a cold snowball to the face (or worse) will get the point across quite clearly.

So now with the spoiled postal heir longing for silk sheets as he tries to survive out in the cold boonies, the movie gets a hint of the Emperor’s New Groove flavor… sans llama. It is only by sheer “chance” (we’ll get to that) that when Jesper visits the woodsman in a last ditch effort to find one person on the island who wants to send a letter, a piece of paper falls out of Jesper’s bag as he flees in horror of the woodsman (we’ll get to that). This piece of paper contains a drawing that a little boy made of himself locked in a high tower looking sad. In a very humorous scene, we had seen Jesper accidentally stumble across this drawing and then unsuccessfully try to scam the boy into giving him money so that Jesper could “mail” it back to him, rather than just give it back. Regardless, recognizing the little boy’s suffering, the woodsman decides to do something about it and enlists Jesper’s help. Luckily for the children of Smeerensberg, the woodsman has a barn full of toys. Yes, “a barn full of toys” is as creepy as that sounds and the films uses that creepiness to full effect when Jesper first meets the woodsman. The large, imposing, hooded, axe-bearing woodsman is far from the jolly fellow we know he is destined to become. He’s downright scary and given how violent the town of Smeerensberg is (Jesper almost dies when he first arrives because he’s tricked into ringing the war bell which sends the whole town into violent frenzy), we and Jesper are not wrong to assume the woodsman holds only ill-intentions. Essentially, the first meeting with the woodsman is supposed to be something akin to the reveal of the Beast in 1991’s Beauty & the Beast, a film so scary it sent my then two-year-old sister running out of theater in tears. Ultimately, I can’t speak for the mind of a child, but the tension for me here is certainly lessened by the fact that… well… we know the woodsman is Santa Claus. So even though Jesper is scared shitless and flees after meeting the woodsman, we know that there will be more to their story.

Still, even if not necessarily scary, the film does successfully shroud the woodsman in mystery, and his backstory is slowly and beautifully revealed throughout the film. I won’t spoil it here, but the script does a fantastic job of contextualizing the woodman’s stoic and aloof nature and explaining why that barn is so full of toys. The explanations come naturally and speak to a real human pain that I was not expecting from this film. In terms of emotion, the woodsman’s backstory almost reaches the opening montage to Up. ALMOST, I said, so put down the pitchforks!

So Jesper and the woodsman team up to deliver a present to that first child from the drawing. Or more accurately, the woodsman throws Jesper down a chimney to deliver a present while the woodsman looks on. The ensuing scene when the boy opens his present brought tears to my eyes. The woodsman (and we with him) watching the pure joy of a child receiving a present is truly nostalgic in its most literal sense. It hurts to see such joy, remembering that at one time you too could feel such joy from a hunk of plastic, and knowing you will never feel that way again. It’s a joy that few films outside of A Christmas Story with its the red rider BB gun really nail. Anyways, the little boy sees the woodsman through the window and finds his original drawing of himself locked in the tower which the woodsman leaves behind by accident. He surmises that the postman had devliered his drawing to the woodsman, and the woodsman responded with a present.

After that… well the rumor spreads wildly of the mysterious woodsman who comes down chimneys at night to give presents to children in response to letters. Now, the once dormant post office becomes a bustling hub of activity as children from all over flock to send letters to this Mr. Klaus. Kids even beg to go to school so that they can learn to write in order to get presents (much to the dismay of the disilliusioned teacher who long ago gave up on her dreams of teaching in a town where no child goes to school and had turned to being a fishmonger in order to pay the bills and one day afford to leave the town for good).

Gradually the children, who seemingly had no toys prior to Klaus and Jesper’s escapades, now joyously play together, regardless of which clan they belong to. Initially this upsets their parents greatly, but in the end it’s hard to really hate the parents of your children’s friends. The film promotes an age-appropriate and inspiring, if fanciful and naïve, notion that all the world’s problems would be solved if we all thought like children. As by spreading joy throughout the town, Jesper and Klaus inadvertently make the town a better place to live. It’s the theme of the film (not that they’re subtle about it): one act of good-will always begets another (or something like that). Still, all this doesn’t please the village elders, who abhor the change from the town’s hateful origins. They will ultimately serve as villains trying to put an end to all this gift-giving business.

Of course, there’s another villain of sorts, as well. Despite all the good he’s doing, Jesper is ultimately still motivated mostly by the notion of getting back to his old cushioned life. He is essentially using Klaus and preying on his kindness in order to launch himself back to a life of selfishness. It’s here the story feels most Dickensian, particularly in a scene where the school teacher (now love interest) acts functionally the same to the ghost of Christmas present and takes Jesper to the city center to see for himself the love and joy that he has helped bring to the world. But, still his desires to go home are strong, and, of course, he keeps them a secret. So between Jesper’s inner conflict about where he belongs in life and the external conflict of the community trying to fight back against a change in its culture, the film naturally comes to climax when the two conflicts meet and Jesper must confront both challenges at once.

What I’ve realized in writing this review … is that I am very impressed by the plot’s complexity and depth. The film weaves together at least three solid story arcs (Jesper’s coming-of-age/Scrooge-like-change-of-heart, Smeerenberg’s bubbling kindness revolution, and the woodsman’s aged hero who finds redemption and purpose after so many years alone). That all three feel fully supported and without any bloat is a testament to its absolutely solid writing, and for a kid’s film no less! Furthermore, the “origin” story genre can sometimes fall flat as it can just feel like the writers are writing more Wikipedia entries, explaining how every little aspect came to be more than just telling a good story. I call it the Han Solo trap. As for Klaus, the little tidbits about why Klaus uses reindeer and not horses, who the “elves” who work his workshop are, always clever and grow organically from the plot.

Plus, despite my opening doubts regarding whether the dark tone really fit a “Christmas” movie, the film very capably captures the joys of the Christmas season. Like Christians think about Jesus, Klaus/Jesper bring a world of light into a world of darkness. The film teaches about the importance of creating a loving community, of being selfless, and most importantly of respecting the spiritual aspect of the season. Even if this is a decidedly capitalistic/entrepreneurial movie, the film is not without a spiritual side. The previously mentioned “chance” of the woodsman seeing that initial drawing of the boy locked in the tower is no chance at all. Instead, throughout the film we see that the woodsman is “haunted” in a sense by a ghostly wind that points him in the path of righteousness. The film has its own explanation for what the force behind the wind is, but it is not too far of a stretch to point out the similarities between the wind and the Christian idea of the guiding Holy Spirit. Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that the woodsman represents God the Father and Jesper God the Son, (or is Klaus more the Christ figure?) because I think this movie is decidedly not Christian, but more I just want to highlight that I enjoyed that the film allowed for the presence of spirituality, which moves this film from the realm of secular kindness to one that recognizes the power and presence of some spiritual goodness, aligning with how many think of the “Christmas spirit.”

Now, let’s be clear, this is a fun, family classic, but it’s not a perfect film. In fact, I downright disliked the first twenty to thirty minutes, for the aforementioned tonal reasons, but also because I really disliked Jason Schwartzmann’s voice acting in the lead role of Jesper. My dislike lessened with the introduction of the woodsman, but it never went away fully. I can’t help but think this movie would be better with a different actor voicing Jesper. Everyone else does an adequate job with the voice work. J.K. Simmons as Klaus takes on an almost Batman-like stoic gruffness, and Rashida Jones as the teacher and love interest is just fine. And, again, I never really fell in love with the art style and it sometimes distracted me, and I found the soundtrack, particularly the main song to be rather lame and too much “of its time” than the typically timeless, more Broadway productions that Disney/Pixar put out. Still, director Sergio Pablos has done something I did not think possible. He and his team created a *new* Christmas classic, one that I’m sure will be played on an annual basis in many households across the world.

***1/4 (Three and a fourth stars out of four)

#klaus #klaus 2019 #jason schwartzman #rashida jones #j.k. simmons #sergio pablos

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openheart12 · 4 years

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Hi, yes, hello beautiful! Can you write a fic where MC accidentally sends Ethan her entire fanfic folder by mistake 😂🤣

How To Get Away With Fanfiction

I’m reliving my embarrassment 😭 but it is done and idk wtf happened with this lmao. This is also to make up for earlier kmjhygfd

Only tagging @ao719 @oofchoices @loveellamae @burnsoslow because no one else should have to read this unless they click on the read more and if they do... god bless. And thank you to Maroe for helping me come up with some of these ideas!

It had been a long day at work when Dr. Gertrude-Sue Claws made her way home to do the one thing that relaxed her; writing fanfiction.

She had thought of the perfect idea for Spirit and Rainbow Dash and her fingers flew across the keyboard.

There was something about the multi colors in his mane and tail that drew him to her. He lived by the phrase, “hump ‘em and dump ‘em,” which he planned on doing with Rainbow Dash, but not without consent because horse jail wasn’t fun. He had heard the horror stories from his human friends, Kurns and Bryce.

“Rainbow Dash,” he neighed.

“Spirit…” She neighed back in response, she knew all about his...extracurricular activities. He was the biggest fuck horse out of the herd. Ever since Rain had died from drowning, god bless, he hadn’t been the same. It was also why he paid more attention to Rainbow Dash because she had Rain in the first part of her name.

“Let’s do this,” he smirked with his horse mouth.

“Fine…” She turned her back to him as he reared on his hind legs and mounted her, letting out a series of neighs.

She laughed silently to herself before moving on her Owen Hunt fic and she knew how much she was going to enjoy this one especially.

Owen was walking through the halls when he saw five women stalking towards him like cats, one even had whiskers drawn on her face. “Anitah with the h, get him!” He heard one of them command and watched as she came up to him, kicking him in no man's land. He felt them drag him into an empty exam room.

“MAROE! You got the chainsaw?”

“Nah bruh, Bears and Rams were in charge of that,” she explained.

Anything but Krista, cocked her half shaved eyebrow at Burns and Ella. “Y’all got the chainsaw?”

“No, but I have the cream for the burn I’m about to inflict,” Burns snickered to herself at her own joke, the others joining in before getting back to business.

“Burns, Ella, go scope out the cafeteria for some good food because I can’t kill in good faith on an empty stomach and as me and Ella say, we always get food first,” Anything but Krista said, turning her attention to the two people left, throwing them both a knife. Then proceeded to stab Owen numerous times, but making sure not to hit any major organs yet.

“We need a blender,” Anitah with the h announced.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Anything but Krista and MAROE said at the same time, looking at each other and bursting into laughter at the jinx.

“If that was making a human smoothie, then yes. We’ll show him that no one messes with Derek Christopher Shepherd,” Anitah with the h said smugly, pulling a blender out from behind her back and plugging it into the wall.

“You...you pulled that out of your jacket?” MAROE asked in a surprising tone.

“Y’all don’t keep blenders in yours?” Anitah with the h asked as if that wasn’t common, but it was good to know that she was always prepared.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie came to life, “Team Bears/Rams to Team CA, what y’all want from here? Over and out.”

“Team CA to Team Bears/Rams, we want CookOut. Over and out.” Anything but Krista responded. “It’s about time y’all tried a little piece of heaven,” she looked at Anitah with the h and MAROE.

“That’s a negative ghost rider, the closest CookOut is on the other side of the country. Over and out.”

“Well you better get on your way because you two also need to try a little piece of heaven, we’ll save the good stuff for when you get back. Over and out.” The trio resumed their slice and dice game, taking a short break to play Choices because the latest chapter of The Nanny Affair had just been released and even Owen wasn’t going to keep them away from Sam Dalton.

A couple hours later, Burns and Ella arrived with the food, handing out their respective trays to their respective orderers, they were able to keep the milkshakes from melting by their cold hearts.

“Ahhh gimme my milkshake,” Anything but Krista snatched it from Burns’ hand, earning a slap on her hand from her adoptive mother and a threat of taking away her pony...again.

“Yooo this shake hits different,” Ella exclaimed.

“You could even say that it slaps,” MAROE added making her squeak.

“It’s the one good thing North Carolina has to offer for me,” Anything but Krista chimed in, fist bumping Anitah with the h because the struggle was real. The cows really did outnumber the people, they just hoped that there wouldn’t be a cow revolution because that would be awful except the yeehaw folk would probably survive since they did have a song called “A Country Boy Can Survive.”

“Burns, we left you the honor of picking the perfect weather for us to dispose of the body which is more like liquid at this point. We need rain, thunder, and lightning to erase all of the evidence. Watching “Forensic Files” has finally come in handy. And Ella, we need you to pretend to be a nurse or something to help us get out of here. I’ll be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead…” Anything but Krista admitted, but they expected that from her so they already had a plan in place.

“If anyone happens to see Derek Shepherd, I ask that you tell me,” MAROE added.

“Not if I find him first,” Anything but Krista said.

“He’s like fifty four years old…” Burns said being ever the good adoptive mother.

“Then I call Spencer Reid!” Anything but Krista exclaimed.

“I have Lucifer then,” MAROE challenged knowing that would get under her skin.

“Children, calm yourselves.” Burns shook her head.

“Hey, I’ll be eighteen in like a number amount of months,” Anything but Krista said.

“I’ll be eighteen before you,” MAROE said, sticking out her tongue.

“I’Ll Be EiGhTeEn BeFoRe YoU,” she repeated, placing her hands on her hips and doing that Spongebob meme. After thinking of a better comeback, she grabbed her knife she used on Owen earlier and plunged it into MAROE’s back.

“Et tu, Brute?” MAROE said with shock in her voice before her body crumpled on the ground.

“Yes, bye bitch.”

The other three just stared as the blood drained from her body before turning their attention to Anything but Krista. They were the epitome of 👁👄👁.

“What? She wanted to “due” anyway. And at her funeral we can play “To Be So Lonely” because well she will be lol.”

“Anywaysss, we gonna get food or what?” Ella asked as she covered Owen’s body with a sheet.

“Wings?” Burns suggested and they all agreed. After arriving at the restaurant, they were very shocked to see MAROE sitting at a table waiting for them.

“It’s the trying to kill me for me,” she said upon taking their seats, glaring at Anything But Krista specifically.

“It’s the stealing my fictional husbands for me,” she retaliated.

“It’s the acting like children for me,” Burns' authoritative voice came.

“Sorry,” they both murmured as they looked over the menus to order their food. The rest of their lunch going smoothly, their victims already forgotten about. Don’t mess with hangry chicks who hate Owent Cunt.

“So who’s next?” Anitah with the h asked.

“Ahh you’ve gotten the first taste of blood and now you’re addicted,” Burns observed. She would make for a good profiler for the FBI at Quantico. She would have a cool nickname; Cunt Punter.

“Why not just kill everyone we hate?” Ella questioned.

“That’s a great idea! I say we kill Guy and Vanessa,” Anything but Krista suggested.

“And Landrat!” MAROE added, the whole group agreeing, finishing their lunch before getting to their killing spree.

Gertrude-Sue was laughing at her made up characters and story when she received an email from Ethonk Remy to send him a folder that she had. Goggle Drive was acting stupid so she didn’t realize that she had shared her fanfiction folder with her boss before it was too late. She saw a little giraffe pop up in the right hand corner telling her that he was already viewing what was inside the folder.

“Holy donkey claws,” she cried out loud, smacking her hands against her face.

Meanwhile, Ethonk was going through her folder when he came across a document and his eyes went wide. “What are they doing with the dog?” He said to himself.

Wonder pets, wonder pets

We're on our way

To help a friend and save the day

We're not too big

And we're not too tough

But when we work together, we've got the right stuff

Gooo wonder pets yaaaaay!

The phone

The phone is ringing

The phone

We'll be right there

The phone

The phone is ringing

There's an animal in trouble

There's an animal in trouble somewhere

“What the hell are Wonder Pets?” He continued inspecting the different documents ranging from murder of one Owen Cunt, horses having sexual intercourse, Wonder Pets stuff, four kids and a dog where they did questionable things with each other, a sponge and a starfish were high on marijuana, a game where Gertrude-Sue had made him and her a family that looked way too realistic for his liking, two bunnies who kept hopping around with one of their little brothers, and multiple documents about Matthew Gray Gubler, Tom Holland, Tom Ellis, Patrick Dempsey, and Harry Styles which were all quite disturbing.

He took out his phone to call her. “Hey uh, Gert, what is this?”

“Oh well you see, the funny thing is that I accidentally sent you the wrong folder so if you could just pretend like this never happened, that would be fantastic. Okay thanks bye. I’m sending you the right one this time.” And she hung up, ready to throw herself off a cliff at her stupidity.

One thing was for sure, she would never make this mistake again.

#CA chronicles

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: Jump

AU-gust Day Eleven: Farm/Ranch AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: G

Summary: Belle and her horse, Philippe, move to a new town, meeting former show-jumper Gold. A friendship blossoms between them and begins to move into something more.

Jump

Moving across the country was a very different experience when you also had a move a horse. Belle had almost turned down the job opportunity of a lifetime until she had found riding stables just outside Storybrooke who would be happy to let her rent space for Philippe.

Now the day had finally arrived to get him settled into his new home. She had taken a couple of tours of Gold Stables and Riding School before moving to Storybrooke, and she had found them to be clean and roomy, with the resident horses well looked after. Neal and Emma Gold, the owners, were friendly and welcoming, and Neal was chatting with her quite happily as she got Philippe into his new stall until he stopped mid-sentence, looking out over the paddocks that spread out away from the stables.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered. “Em!”

“What?” Emma was standing in the yard with a group of kids on ponies.

“Dad’s out by the jumps again!”

“Oh, leave him be, if he wants to break his neck then that’s on him.”

Intrigued by the conversation, Belle peered around Philippe and down in the direction that Neal had been looking in (and was now standing shaking his head in despair). There was a set of jumps in the furthest paddock, and Belle could see a figure on a brown horse circling them at a fast trot. They were too far away for her to make out any features, and she decided that it would probably best not to say anything. It was a family matter, after all.

At length, Neal seemed resigned to his father’s stubbornness and continued his conversation with Belle, although she could tell that his attention was only half on her and half on the other paddock. After a couple of minutes, she took pity on him.

“You know, I should probably give Philippe a good brush, get him nice and relaxed. I’m sure that you’ve got lots of other things to be doing rather than talking to the newbie.”

Neal gave a grateful nod and rushed away after welcoming her to the stables again, and Belle put the incident to the back of her mind, concentrating on brushing down Philippe and combing the straw out of his tail. He never particularly enjoyed going in the horsebox, and she wanted to make sure that he was properly calm again before she left him alone for the night.

“Well, Philippe,” she said, palming him some apple and patting his neck, “I think that we might be in for some exciting times here.”

There was a clatter of hooves in the yard, and Belle looked out over Philippe’s stall door to see the horse from the jumping paddock being led in, its rider in a heated argument with Neal.

“Dad, how many times am I going to have to drag you away from those jumps? You know you’re not supposed to jump! You’re barely supposed to ride as it is!”

“You really think that I don’t know that, Neal? Let go.” He batted Neal’s arm away as he reached for the horse’s reins. “I might be crippled but I can take care of my own damn horse.”

Neal threw his hands up in defeat and left in the direction of the house, set back from the yard. His father sighed, looking first at Neal’s retreating back and then at his horse.

“He doesn’t understand, does he? I mean, he’s right, but he doesn’t get it.”

As he began to lead the horse across the yard, Belle noticed the heavy limp, and she could well see why he’d been advised not to ride. He stopped short on seeing Belle and Philippe peering out of their stall.

“Well, Imp, I think you have new neighbours. It’s been a while since you had some company.”

Imp snorted, and Belle couldn’t tell if it was in welcome or derision. She seemed to be eyeing up Philippe rather warily. Belle couldn’t exactly blame her; Philippe was larger than the delicate mare in all proportions.

“Welcome to the stables,” Imp’s rider said. “I apologise for that spectacle, but sadly it probably won’t be the last time you see it.”

He went to move past Philippe’s stall to settle Imp next door, and that was when Belle managed to put all the pieces together.

“Wait. You’re Cameron Gold, aren’t you?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned back towards her, giving a slow nod.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name’s Belle. Belle French. I’ve just moved to Storybrooke to take the librarian job. And obviously Philippe moved with me. I was a big fan. I am a big fan. I’m really sorry about what happened.”

Gold nodded again, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, so am I.”

Up until a few years ago, Cameron Gold had been one of the biggest names in professional show-jumping, until his horse had fallen badly during the final of the world championships. The horse, a prize thoroughbred named The Price of Magic and almost as famous as her rider, had been put down and Gold himself had been injured badly enough to end his career. He’d fallen into obscurity since then, and Belle didn’t know why she hadn’t made the connection sooner. Gold stables, Cameron Gold.

It was watching Gold in action at the Olympics that had made Belle keep up with riding, even when funds were tight, and it would have been financially advantageous for her to sell Philippe and all her paraphernalia. She’d not had enough money to be able to continue lessons once she was comfortable enough riding alone, so she’d never been able to learn to jump, but it had always been a pipe dream of hers.

She shook herself and got back to brushing out Philippe’s tail. So, she had met the man now. They always said never to meet your heroes, but Gold had seemed nice enough in the few moments that she had spoken to him. She tried to reason with herself that she wasn’t going to bump into him again, but then, if he lived at the stables with Neal and Emma and was out riding a lot, then she would likely see a lot more of him just by dint of them existing in the same space.

Belle sighed. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her hanging around and asking questions about a career that had ended extremely painfully for him, so it would probably be better if she just kept her mouth shut and pretended not to notice, as much as she might want to spend all afternoon talking to him.

Once she was convinced that Philippe was going to be ok, she left the stall.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Philippe.” He nudged the sleeve of her jacket in protest and Belle sighed. “You silly sausage. You’ll be fine here. Neal and Emma will take good care of you when I’m not here, and there are lots of horses and ponies for you to make friends with. There are so many more than in your last paddock, and face it, you were getting a bit tired of looking at the same faces over and over. You won’t be fighting over that bush with Lady anymore, surely that’s something.”

She heard a low chuckle from the stall next door and peered in; she had forgotten that Gold was in there with Imp. Imp was giving Philippe the side eye, and Belle wondered if she had been a little too optimistic about Philippe making new friends in his new stable.

“Well, you’d be nervous too, moving to a new home and suddenly being faced with a bunch of stablemates you’d never seen before,” she said.

“Oh no, I completely agree.” Gold patted Imp’s flank. “You be nice to your new neighbour now, Imp. Don’t go putting on airs and graces now. I’m sure he’s harmless.”

“Philippe wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Belle agreed. Indeed, a fly had just landed on the end of his nose and it looked like Philippe was going cross-eyed trying to get a good look at it.

Imp poked her nose out of the stall, looked at Philippe, and gave a pointed snort. Philippe snorted back, and it wasn’t long before the two horses were engaged in a full-on staring contest. Gold rolled his eyes and sighed.

“She might be haughty at the moment, but she’ll be fine tomorrow. She’s just a bit highly strung; she gets that from her mother.”

“Is she… Is she Magic’s foal?”

Gold nodded. “Yes.” He stroked her mane. “I wasn’t going to keep her. She’s got jumping pedigree and she really ought to go to someone who can give her a chance to compete properly. But after I lost Magic, I couldn’t bear to let Imp go too.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, it was clear that the subject was changed. “Do you jump yourself? You’ve obviously got an interest in it.”

Belle shook her head. “No, I never had the chance to learn. Philippe’s probably too heavy to jump anyway.”

“I’m sure that’s nonsense, let me take a look at him.”

Gold left Imp and came around to Philippe’s stall, looking at him from a couple of angles. “No, he’ll be fine over the jumps. He’s large, but he’s not exactly a carthorse.”

Philippe snickered in hearty agreement. He, a carthorse? What a suggestion!

Gold went back to Imp. “If you’d like to learn, I’d be happy to teach you.”

“Really?” Belle’s heart began to beat a little bit faster. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”

“I’m not exactly doing much else with my time.” Gold sighed. “Neal is right, I shouldn’t be jumping myself, doctor’s orders. I’ve only just got through enough physiotherapy to allow me to ride again. I’ve resisted teaching for a long time, but I think that the time’s come to accept I’m not going to be able to reclaim my former glory, and I might as well pass on my knowledge whilst I can.”

Belle smiled. “Well, if you’re sure, then I would love to learn.”

Gold worked her and Philippe hard and he could be a strict taskmaster, but Belle couldn’t deny that he was a good teacher, and he never pushed her and Philippe beyond their limits. She was never going to get to Olympic standard any time soon, but she was very pleased with the progress that she had made so far.

Her lessons would, she felt, be going slightly better if Philippe was not constantly trying to impress Imp. She had not noticed it at first, but as time had gone on and as she and Gold had spent more time on horseback together, she had noticed that Philippe was taking a definite interest in his stable neighbour. Whether or not Imp returned that interest was up for debate; she certainly acted aloof when they were in the yard together being brushed down after lessons. On the occasions when they had been loose in the paddock, however, Belle thought that Imp’s frosty side might be thawing out slightly. She had been spotted getting a lot cosier with Philippe than her demeanour in the stables would imply.

They were walking back towards the yard having finished a lesson, Philippe nosing at Imp who kept huffing at him to go away, and Belle glanced over at Gold. As cliché as it was for her to be falling for Imp’s rider as Philippe was falling for Imp, she knew that she was developing more than a little crush on Gold. She liked to think that they were friends – he was giving her lessons for free, after all, and they always got on with an easy camaraderie. Neal had even privately thanked her for giving his father something to focus on to stop him trying out the jumps himself again.

Still, Belle couldn’t help but hope that they could become more than friends.

They had reached the yard and begun unsaddling the horses, and Belle decided to bite the bullet. Do the brave thing, and bravery would follow, right?

“You know, since I moved here I haven’t really ridden much in the area away from the stable,” she said. “I’ve always kept to the paddocks, but I think it’s time for Philippe to stretch his legs a bit more. I was going to take a ride down one of the bridle paths tomorrow after the library closes.” She paused, buoying up her courage. “I was wondering if you and Imp would like to come with us? I was going to take a flat route; it shouldn’t be too taxing for your leg.”

For a moment, Gold looked at her as if she had grown a second head, and Belle began to worry that she had said something terribly wrong. “I mean, you don’t have to…”

“No, no, I’d like to. It sounds like a great lovely idea. I just thought that surely you’d have other friends your own age who you’d prefer to spend your time with?”

Belle shook her head. “Not really. I haven’t lived in the area all that long, and none of my friends can ride. Besides.” His shyness had served to build up her confidence a little. “I’d like to go with you.”

Gold smiled, a schoolboy grin of excitement, and Belle wondered ever more strongly if her feelings might be returned.

“Well, in that case, I’d like that very much.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Belle French #Mr Gold #Ranch AU #AU-gust #Worry does AU-gust #Fic: Jump

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pathofcomet · 4 years

Text

bride of ice (6)

fandom: dragon age: inquisition

pairing: female trevelyan / iron bull

summary: After the war is won, there’s always the next one. He’s seen her bleeding. In her delirious mutterings, half frozen to death, she was more human than all. (AO3)

It’s unnerving, that some people would turn to worshipping a rift, building a cult around the soft glowing of that hole in the sky, even if no demon is dropping through just yet. Fear can do many things, it can make one believe many impossibilities, but to adore and dedicate yourself to what might as well bring the end of the world is something she will never be able to understand.

“Even if it’s done in the hopes of appeasing it…” she murmurs, mainly to Solas, mostly to herself.

These people are on their knees, praying to the source of her nightmares. It scares her more to stay the night between them than between the wild animals in the mountains. She finds agents for the Inquisition in their rank; purposeless as she imagines she might have been, if their fates were reversed.

She has no way of knowing if, without the Mark bestowed upon her, she would have picked anything different but this place, or the immense grief of those separated from their most loved. Some days, she finds it difficult to move on even when she has the faith of Thedas as incentive.

The Herald closes their rift too, eventually. And their reverent, desperate eyes and pleas turn towards her.

“This will never get any easier, will it?” she asks once away, blissfully happy in the companion of her own party.

“Probably not,” Varric agrees, and she’s grateful it’s the truth even if it’s not what she would have liked to hear.

She closes rifts, yes – but this young woman is doing way more than that, in her days-long walks through the Hinterlands. Really, for someone with a glowing green hand, there’s really not much of it at all, Bull thinks. They gather supplies, return family heirlooms to desperate survivors, hunt so they can feed their ranks.

Even as she is one of the highest standing people in the ranks of the Inquisition, she goes out of her way, time and time again, just so she can help random people that they encounter, or to bring peace to people whose loved ones they just got killed in the middle of a fight. Most are nice and grateful, but there are enough times when she’s met with contempt or outright hate, and yet no matter which one it is, she seems unaffected. She takes it all as it is, and just pushes forward, even if she lets herself slip by her body stiffening, or a tighter hold on her weapons, a strain in her expression. It’s little things, but he has no doubt that he, or Varric even, can pick it up easily enough.

She gets better every day, though. Maybe because she allows herself a break from it from time to time, in late evenings when they pull their tents out and have a fire warming up. He makes hot chocolate – and blows their socks off, though he thinks Solas will never agree to calling `good` anything coming from a Qunari. He compliments Varric’s books, which he read on too long voyages. Trevelyan, blushing and unable to look at him, asks him all prettily to borrow some volumes to read in the evening, and he has to bite his mouth from inviting her to re-enact some of the… smutty scenes.

He has noticed, though he knows she didn’t quite yet. That whenever she’s overwhelmed, she looks at him for support in a battle. That she checks him out always afterwards, seeking wounds. That something in her eyes changes sometimes, when she catches herself staring at him when she certainly shouldn’t.

Bull doubts a noble from a house with religion as tradition knows how to recognize lust. Which makes it all the more fun to see it bloom all over her, as time passes. He will allow her all the time she needs, he will even let her bad innuendos and terrible attempts at flirting pass. He has messengers to catch behind tents for a quickie, and lost servant ladies showing off their teats for him – all burning with the need and curiosity for someone big and exotic.

He gives in to them, and not to the Herald for one simple reason: he hasn’t yet quite figured out what to give in exchange to her, because he knows with her, the sex is just not it. For her, the sex is just the means, not the purpose – and so he moans and grunts and spills himself in other bodies, teases and bites and licks against other skins, sated and satisfied. And all the while, she ends up more and more wound up, taut like a rope, beautiful and scared, exhausted and giving.

Who gives her… well, anything?

Most people everywhere have a system that works best for them. From what he gathered, even her old system wasn’t really working for her; and now she’s left looking around her, piecing together something new, but not quite whole. He should probably despise her for it, for the aimless conduct of her being, and yet he can’t help but be at least a little bit impressed for the fierceness with which she pushes forward, even if it’s desperate.

Desperate people can achieve many, many things. So he watches, silent.

There are some things that hit her more than others. The note in the Carta hideout makes her dizzy; she has to hold on to the table and urge her head to calm down.

Some rich Marcher they’re claiming was sent by Andraste. Zealous nugshit, if you ask me. Just a brat wanting a new title so she can win the noble pissing match back at home.

She fights almost in hysterics, sticking her daggers in darkspawn, continuing stabbing long after they stop moving, rushing ahead down stairs and already panting and heaving with effort against the enemies by the time the others turn the corner.

She’s not rich; she hasn’t seen a coin since taken by the Inquisition, and she wear a dead man’s breastplate. She’s been refusing the Andraste rumours since she first woke up after the Conclave, and yet each day is just another one of her against divinity. She’s never even been taken serious in the noble politics of her home, and she’s been nothing more than a womb pushed around between houses at her father’s request. And she’s so incredibly hurt that, despite the truth of her life, she’s nothing but what that piece of paper said in the eyes of anyone else but those already by her side.

On the way, she picks up Blackwall, because of course she does, and because Red especially asked. The man is good enough with a sword, and his words are pretty – good enough that the Herald is fooled, but Bull is not so convinced. But she picked Sera this time around, and so there’s no somewhat-spy Varric to confirm it with, and Blackwall joins their ranks.

Trevelyan actually likes him, because he offers her thanks and apologies, and calls her wonderful things and he holds himself with an elegance and self-confidence that she hasn’t seen since Ostwick, mostly because most here has been too young and too exhausted. Blackwall comes with the fame of his order, and the respect and kindness she gives him comes as natural extension of that.

“You didn’t have to, yet you took the time and effort to help me,” he says, and she’s already smiling.

“Anything to further the Inquisition’s power.”

“You are a formidable woman, my lady. I hope to never cross you. Perhaps it’s safer to show admiration from afar.”

She blushes, stares at her shoes unsure of what exactly she should say, hand pushing her hair behind her ear. She cannot even remember the last time someone acknowledged her as a lady; and Blackwall is probably the first person to actually… believe she’s also a good fighter, not just a great symbol, or promising potential. He seems to see her as good enough as she already is, not only as what she can be.

“Leliana makes sure to keep the sordid secrets away from the public eye.”

She only half-jokes. Besides her name, there’s not been much reaching the rumours mill, or anyway, nothing they didn’t want there in the first place.

“Well then. I won’t pry. I prefer to go on believing only good things about you.”

Ah, she thinks, there it is. Just because she’s not an amazing deity-like figure, doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist as someone better than she is inside his head; it’s just that he sees her as a woman, instead of a herald. Even like that, she is lacking and knowing that he can’t notice it makes her feel the so-familiar hole in her stomach, that makes her so uncomfortable when people push to touch her robes in reverence.

Bull notices her pass by, takes in the stiff shoulders and the sour face, and doesn’t stop her.

The next morning, they’re gone again. She manages to secure the horses for their Inquisition quickly enough, doing some good in the meantime as well. She also takes part in the races set up by Dennet’s daughter, and it’s the most alive Trevelyan looked ever since they met.

Sera, next to him, whistles. The Herald’s braid came undone in the middle of the race, and she’s not just smiling, but outright laughing whenever a turn is just an inch close to failure. She’s riding without a saddle, just her thighs tensed against the horse’s strong muscles, and her fingers are tangled in its hair. Her face is flushed with excitement – and he has to admit, her behind looks particularly nice like this, in her leather pants, body bent so low.

“Shit, where did you learn to ride like that?” Sera asks, once all courses are cleared, donations to the Inquisition are secured, and Dennet already started his travel to Haven.

“I’d also like to know that,” Jeanna adds, looking both proud and sad at having her courses defeated.

“Home,” Trevelyan answers, though the word seems foreign on her tongue, and home is a place that no longer serves that purpose, that no longer can offer her the comfort or the lessons. “From my family,” she corrects.

Because horse riding is the one thing she learnt directly from her mother, no teacher involved in the process, none of her father’s comments passed on this topic. Since lady Trevelyan was such a good rider herself, there was no real point in having anyone else pass the skill forward, and it remains one of her favourite things in the whole world.

She didn’t imagine she’d feel the thrill of it again; not like this anyway. Back at home, it was merchants and children and dogs she had to bypass on her rides through the city, and she’s raced with all nobles her age for years on most important celebrations. It’s a far-away memory, and yet it was so precious just a few minutes away.

“You looked really good, Boss,” Bull says, and she smiles.

“Race me back to Haven?”

***

For her, it’s not really a choice she mulls over. She picks the Templars, despite the Val Royeaux incident, in the memory of her brother, following the tradition of her house, because Cullen would approve, because she’s terrified down to her bones to walk in a negotiation with someone she knows nothing about, and so she chooses the over-familiar instead.

She takes Vivienne, because she would be able to handle the Orlesian nobles, in case things go south. She trusts Varric and all he’s seen, and he’s been in the middle of a Templar Order falling apart once before, so he’d be able to at least point out the signs if it comes to that. And she wants Bull with her, simply because she learnt to rely too much on him in the midst of a battle, because she feels like she can’t lose if he has her back.

Her reasoning is almost like a mantra, like a prayer that you mutter even if you know it won’t become reality, because you want hope to trump reality. And she needs this to go right, so she keeps reassuring herself of her picks.

Their nobles are doing a great job though, throwing jabs and threats with the sweetest voice, hidden behind the politest of words. She is lucky they are on their side, because sometimes phrases tied together can make or undo the destiny of the world, and she feels like this point in history where they’re all at, is one of those. Knight-Templar Barris seems to share that belief.

“Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied knight will help the Inquisition seal the Breach.”

The Herald sighs. “Wish me luck. I have a feeling the Lord Seeker will take some convincing.”

“We’ve been asked to accept much, after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour.”

“Hey, that sounds familiar,” Varric comments, though Barris has no idea what he is referring to exactly. It’s enough that it makes his own party more apprehensive pushing forward.

The standards rite – she doesn’t want to do it. Already just at the start of it all, and she’s already not succeeding in convincing the Lord Seeker of anything, but asking her to do something that is reserved usually solely to the Templars… It seems unfair and wrong, and there’s no real point or honour in her doing it.

“The Lord Seeker changed everything to meet you. Not the Inquisition – you. By name.”

“Why?” That is certainly strange, because there are many stronger and more capable in the ranks of the Inquisition, so to have this much intended focus directly on her makes her uncomfortable.

She still refuses the rite. She knows there’s no correct answer to it anyway, just a display of who she is and what she values. Which is why it feels so necessary that she doesn’t do it, now that she knows how much the Lord Seeker wants her.

Plus, she already knows the order inside her heart, and she hopes she proves it with every choice she makes, this one included.

However, nothing seems to come easy to the Inquisition. Lord Seeker sends his Knight-Captain instead, and he’s certainly unwell. They fight Templars gone mad, which is more difficult than their usual battles, because these are people trained their whole life to fight, going berserk in closed chambers.

“Like no Templars I’ve ever seen,” Varric remarks, one of his arrows hitting one between the eyes, just as he was about to strike down Vivienne – and he falls.

“Is that really important right now?” Bull grunts, taking a hit in place of Trevelyan.

“If it’s weird and I haven’t seen it, that’s worrying.”

She’d rather agree. This is already tiring and they’ve only just gotten started; when all have fallen, Denam is still alive and breathing, and even if he doesn’t deserve the mercy or the correct judgement, he’ll get them anyway. There’s no honour in killing a mad and already defeated man either.

From the notes and letters they find around the castle; these are Red Templars, but worse than Kirkwall’s ever seen, because they’ve been ingesting the stuff. It makes her skin crawl, and for the first time, she is grateful her brother is dead, if only not to see or experience this horror. If only she won’t have to wonder if he’s one of the tainted or one of the questioning ones in the Order.

Prepare them. Guide them to me.

“Was that the Lord Seeker?” she asks, the voice loud and clear in her ears.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Bull says, and he looks at her somewhat weirdly, maybe because he hates demons, maybe because he thinks she went insane too.

She stops in the middle of the hallway, shivering and trembling, unable to make herself move forward.

Show me what you are. I would know you.

She doesn’t ask this time around, already knows that whatever she’s hearing, she’s the only one hearing it. She wants to ask Vivienne about it, because she would recognize whatever magic’s at play. She wants to hear Varric mocking her over it. She wants to have Bull push gently at her back to get her moving again… But she’s afraid, too afraid that maybe this is really nothing but her mind playing tricks on her.

Fear catching up with her sense. She takes a deep breath, starts running ahead. Forcing her sense to follow her through. And then the Lord Seeker – no, the Envy demon – touches her.

She feels violated in ways she didn’t know were possible, her mind the playground of somebody else, her body sluggish. Her nightmares made real, walking around burning bodies once again, the worst part of her life relived over and over again, with each step.

She knows it doesn’t make any sense, she knows it’s not real. And she tries to stay brave, out of spite if not anything else, yet she can’t stop the shiver running down the spine when, in her mind, Cullen falls dead to the floor.

Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You’ll see.

Images fall and rise before her. The worst one of all is seeing her own face, but hearing a demon’s voice out of its mouth.

Tell me what you think. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you see.

She dies, betrayed and betraying. She kills, glorious and ruthless and merciless. The Inquisition’s reach widens, the wars grow, the reputation alone strikes fear. She dies, alone and mad.

A future that she doesn’t want, that she knows she doesn’t want – and yet one which is building up right inside her own mind and she’s helpless and can do nothing to stop it. She must see her own body fall, she must hear her own friends and companions throw insults at her, at a version of herself that she tries, hard and painfully, not to become. In her mind, just one word, no, repeated over and over again, like it makes any difference when the fade slips so close to her, when everything around her is seeped green.

Then, another voice, softer this time around.

“Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help. You, not Envy.”

She almost sobbed and crashed when the demon conjured the face of her brother, by her side, two rulers like they were supposed to be from the dawn of time, ever since they were born. But if this was truly something that was meant to be, it wouldn’t have hurt so much to see it.

She trusts Cole because his is the only face that doesn’t pain her, that doesn’t seem to exist to torment her, or to get some truth out of her.

“All right, Cole. If you really want to help, how do I get out?”

“It’s your head. I hoped you’d know how to stop it.”

If she knew her own mind and her own feelings so well, maybe she wouldn’t have been here in the first place. But her head never looked like the wasteland Envy shows her, so it’s all just as new and foreign for her, as it is for Cole. This is not where she belongs anymore, but rather a demon’s playground.

She only has to move forward, that’s easy enough. That’s what she’s been doing for days and weeks, maybe even more, maybe from the very beginning, as a lady in a land that seems too far-away. It doesn’t make it any easier to see all those familiar faces paired with all those terrible words, doomed images.

You will bring blood and ruin and fear!

She does, gods, she does already, doesn’t she, even as the Herald?

“Unless you don’t. You don’t have to. None of this is real unless you let it be,” Cole says, voice close and near, even if his body is not – and she is instantly comforted, less disturbed at what Envy is showing her. She can guard herself better, with more ease, knowing that she is not all alone, knowing that there’s someone (something?) rebuffing all her doubts.

And with each step, the demon’s scenarios seem to make less sense, warped by its own ambitions and seemingly not at all connected with what Trevelyan actually wants. She’s not so afraid anymore, even when guards seal the fates of her advisors, seemingly at her own words – because she trusts the world more than believing it would fall in the hands of a tyrant.

And just because Envy would take her form, that doesn’t mean other demons would just follow its lead – and Orlais means nothing to her, or her forces, their purposes.

“You’re letting the Herald see more to sketch her shapes, but what she sees makes her stronger.”

Does it? It makes her believe less, which might actually be the same thing. Still, walking through a battlefield, in her own mind, followed by the shadows of demons, is the most unnerving thing she’s experienced, and she survived the Conclave. It’s an eerie feeling, like she’s not that much connected to the real world anymore.

“You’re making it hard for Envy to think. It’ll probably come out soon. It’s angry. But that’s okay. So are you.”

Weird, until Cole said it, she didn’t really realize that’s what she was feeling in the first place. But now that she has a word for it, yes, anger it is. She rolls the word around her thoughts, wills it her – as she pushes forward. She’s angry that she has to live through so many scenarios, tired of death and of intrigues. She’s angry that she is in the situation in the first place, because she for sure as hell didn’t agree to a fucking demon slipping inside her head, fucking her up even more.

She embraces the burning rage in her heart, she claims it as hers, the only thing she can have and keep from this whole mess. She nurtures it, with each figure she kills, and she’s heaving with it as she faces the demonic version of herself.

She’s angry even as she’s getting chocked, angry even as the demon promises more pain this time.

“What could you gain from being me?”

It’s the one question that the anger wants the answer to, a why me? hidden in more words, because even in her anger, she cannot comprehend what is so incredible and special about herself, that a demon would go through all of that trying to take over her. And yet she gets only a mocking, and just as little as Envy understands her, she equally as little understands it.

And she’s so fucking tired of this play-pretend inside her mind. She pushes, as hard as she can, against this fake, cheap version of herself.

“Get out of-!”

Her voice is loud – and she comes back to herself, just a breath away from the moment when that hand touched her skin, though she feels several years older and weaker on her feet than before. Bull’s hand at her back grounds her back to this, as she explains what’s been going on.

She’s still so upset, unjustly dragged in this mess as she’s already doing her best to stop the holes in the sky – and everything about her own body and thoughts feels foreign. She doesn’t feel safe inside her own skin anymore. She whimpers a bit, just the lowest of sounds, when they’re made to fight some more.

“Are you good?” Bull asks.

She just shakes her head, but says nothing; unsheathes her daggers instead, as she plans to do exactly what Ser Barris asked her to: show no mercy.

Something inside her snapped while stuck in there with a demon and the dark visions of a future. She fights like she’s fulfilling a personal revenge, calculated and cold and leaving nothing standing between her and her purpose.

I touched so much of you. But you are selfish with your glory. Now I’m no one.

She’s selfish only with herself. If she is to be a figure of so many people, then she wants to belong to herself too. Killing the Envy demon could not come sooner. And just because one threat is gone, doesn’t mean there aren’t many, bigger ones to come.

Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste looks up at the sky, pats the pocket at her breast, knowing it to contain the note about the assassination of the Empress, and decides to call the Templars her allies. If the Inquisition is to close the Breach, then it needs willing people helping them out, risking their lives for the cause. There’s no point in shaming them for their failure, when it was so close to being hers as well.

“If Templars still stand against ruinous magic, this is the moment to fulfil your pledge.”

Were her brother still alive, he would be here next to her, fighting for the same cause. She wants to believe that, from wherever his spirit is now, he is proud of his little sister.

***

Her advisors though are not as pleased with her, or her choice. They’re all raising their voices around her, and she hasn’t even been allowed to wash away the grim from the fight and the road back, immediately pulled into the council room by Leliana. Her head hurts and she doesn’t even have it in her to defend herself in front of them. Defeated, she sighs.

“We still need to prepare for them. Regular lyrium.”

For a second, she thinks she’s back inside her mind, haunted by something from before, remains of a demon tied to her head forever. But no, everyone else can also see Cole – and her advisors are back to screaming and fighting again.

Cole’s voice is like cold, soothing water over her aches.

“You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do that. I can help.”

Trevelyan knows that – he has helped her back at Therinfal Redoubt, help without which she would not have been able to fight off Envy. And he has made her feel safe in the midst of her most terrible nightmares, and she breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that he’s next to her, again.

She wants him here; she knows that with a certainty that she doesn’t always possess. And she’s ready to fight everyone to keep him. She can’t even explain her reasoning, but if Cole was really a monster wanting to hurt the Inquisition, he already had several opportunities to do so.

“Cole saved my life in Therinfal. I couldn’t have defeated Envy without him.”

She remembers how lost she’s felt, when she asked about him after coming back to her own time and place, and yet no one was able to tell her anything. She’s relieved to see him, even if for such a short time. And Cole remains, on their side. Her side, first, she believes, but it’s better than not having him at all.

***

First thing she does after the council is check on her people. Well, actually, first she takes a bath and changes her clothes, and only then does she start moving around Haven – questioning, needing the support she didn’t seem to get from her advisors.

Josephine grabs her aside first, to ask about her holiness. She can’t escape it even in the middle of what she is supposed to consider her own home, and she is already tired of it. Cole talks in riddles that she barely understands, scratching at deep thoughts and buried feelings and her skin tingles whenever in his presence, yet his lack of filter is what consoles her most in him. There’s no hiding near Cole, and she wants to drop to the ground with the relief of not having to pretend anymore, not having to hold her back straight anymore. Hell, Cole walked through her mind and came back wanting to help her. It makes her feel worthy of what she is.

Vivienne is the one that understands her reasoning: with the Fade broken and so thin, the obvious choice is to rely on Templars to put some resemblance of order back together. They’re already walking towards a future that no Envy managed to envision, and she’s not sure how many destinies she’s forging with her choices, but it’s good that she has people disapproving and agreeing with her both, because it helps from going insane.

Cullen’s training the Templars, to the best of his abilities, and even if he doesn’t agree with Cole being here, Trevelyan won’t forget that one of the few people the spirit praised was the commander. Cullen’s a better man than most, and if he can somehow lead by example, spark the flame of change in the others, it’s more than she could hope for.

Cassandra deals with everything, continuously. That’s why she likes her so much, because they fulfil pretty much the same role, even if their battlefields tend to be quite a bit different. In time, the Templars will learn to come to terms with the idea that mages are just people, and too many of the Inquisition’s people owe their lives to magic and those wielding it.

“Still, I don’t disapprove. In fact, you did well. You made a decision when it needed to be made,” Cassandra says, looking earnestly at the Herald, like she didn’t just finish arguing over this exact topic just an hour before.

She likes Cassandra. She wishes she would have her determination and her power, both of spirit and body.

“Is that all it takes?”

“Most of the time, yes.”

That’s a depressing thought, hopeful too.

Varric’s been there with her, he knows exactly the kind of shit that they had to deal with out there. The Elder One seemed to take everyone’s worst nightmares and creating something even worse, and somehow their small organization is the one thing standing against his plans. It’s the kind of responsibility and weight that makes it impossible for her to rest properly at night, that brings waves of guilt whenever she’s not in the midst of doing something for someone else.

“Maybe you should relax while you can,” Varric says, passing her a cup of cider. “Things should be calm around here for at least the next hour. Take a moment to enjoy it. If the world’s about to end, I’m sure the Seeker will let us know.”

She laughs at his last sentence, and thanks him. Varric is, after all, a magician in his own sense, and words are his best weapon – and he’s incredibly charming and comforting. She sits next to him, sharing his alcohol and feels better than she’s done the whole entire day. He fills her cup again, over and over again, as they share stories of anything else but red lyrium and battles and the future.

She finds Solas next, when she finds the courage to get up and seek him out, so she leans on the walls of his hut, looks up at the sky, where alongside the dying sun, the gap of the breach is also glowing. Sometimes, the colour is so bright that through her window, she cannot tell if it’s day or night.

“Solas?” she tries, and her voice sounds unsure, but her purpose is nothing like it. She has seen the future, and the future is bleak and terrible and she wants nothing to do with it, but the future is not set in stone just yet.

“Yes, Herald?”

He’s always polite. He never chides her when she recklessly throws herself into a battle, or uses up too much of her energy on closing up a rift, just silently passing her a potion, reaching out with his healing magic. She never thought she’d become familiar so fast with something that she was supposed to fear, but especially Solas’ has become her pillar in a battle as much as Varric’s arrows or Bull’s axe. He’s not upset even as she picked the Templars, even as she brought mage-hunters in the same camp as him. She gulps, thoughts stumbling together in her head – and she feels more in control, drunk and unsure on her feet, than she was just a few hours ago, sober.

“Will it kill me? Closing the Breach, I mean.”

“I am afraid that’s an answer we can know only when it’ll happen. It shouldn’t, but you’re also not a mage, so wielding that much power at once might affect you in ways we simply can’t know, because you’re the first and only one of your kind.”

“That’s… less comforting than I was hoping for.”

She sighs, gathering her jacket closer to her body. She recently followed Cullen’s example and had fur sown on the inside of it, and it warms her up well. It doesn’t stop the chill running up her spine, just from the thought of a timeline in which she’s the one to bring forward an end. Solas is looking at her, alternating between her face and her hand, so she forces herself to smile faintly at him.

“Whatever you saw back in Therinfal, Herald, it hasn’t happened yet, and it says nothing about who you are right now.”

A well-needed reminder. She still has a second drinking session planned in her room later on, part washing away the nightmare, part catching up on years having gone without the comfort of a bottle instead of the dullness of her own thoughts. But she can’t deny she’ll walk towards the tavern with an easier heart.

“Thank you, Solas.”

Bull’s hate towards demons mirrors her own; the disgust and fear and anger too. But she’s drunk, which is why she is fumbling with flirting, asking questions about Seheron and its people – and maybe because she’s drunk, he answers it all and even walks her back to her room afterwards, glaring at any soldier brave enough to look their way.

***

The Herald of Andraste closes the Breach – quite easily too, when coupled with the Templar forces. The skies calm and the Inquisition proves that alliances work and forge a better future ahead, or at least work to stop destruction.

But nothing comes easy to Trevelyan. Nothing comes easy to the Inquisition. And just several hours after they close the Breach, Haven is under attack by forces under no banner. Dorian Pavus comes to warn them, and she has no time to mull as to why the name or his face are so familiar, as Cullen’s shouting out orders for the battle.

“Burn all the things you have to burn. Save all the people you have to save, but don’t let them get to us,” he says, the first order he gives her directly.

She mans and fires the trebuchets, and yet whatever time she earns through it all is eaten up by the appearance of a dragon. She tries to help out as many people as she can on her way to the Chantry; asks Bull to smash down walls, sends Cole ahead to aid Minaeve, while she climbs for Segritt, Sera helps Flissa. They fight mages on the way, all the while under the shrieks of a dragon, accompanying each hit of her weapons.

Much of being the Herald is listening to other people argue and fight over what to do. And she knows this Elder One is after her, simply out of ego at having stopped his plans so many times before, but she’s angry at him for existing in the first place, so she has no intention of giving in and dying for him. She cares only about how to stop him.

“Pavus!” she exclaims, just at the same time that the handsome moustached young man claps his hands together and says “Trevelyan!”, in the brief respite that the Chantry brings them.

And then, because Varric is also a dwarf prince from the Free Marches, he clears his throat.

“You can’t throw a nug in a tavern without hitting someone with a bit of Trevelyan in them,” he says from her side, and both her and Dorian snicker at the same time. It’s a funnier saying for those that are not, in fact, having any of the Trevelyan blood in them, but after so long away from their respective families, the two of them find it extremely funny to have found a far-away relative in the midst of an international crisis of gigantic proportions.

He grins and she smiles. The laughter, almost idiotically given the situation, almost bursts out of her, at this simple display of normalcy. According to the records that the noble houses keep on these kind of things, they’re some type of cousins so far removed that it’d be almost forgotten, if each of their houses wouldn’t like boasting the connection so much whenever the other one would achieve something.

“You are the Herald of Andraste?”

“Well, I believe I am a bit more apt than back when I was five, yeah.”

“Then, don’t suppose you want to die so young, no?”

Surprisingly, Roderick proves himself useful. There is a way out; maybe not for her, but for those who survived until now.

“If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I will pray for you.”

She fears she’ll need more than his prayers to survive this time around. And she feels sorrier for her party, that she forces out there with her instead of allowing them a head start at retreat like the rest. But she can’t do this alone.

“I’m sorry,” she says – chocked and afraid. Cole grabs her hand, squeezes hard. She squeezes back.

“Oh, come on. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to get an asshole’s attention,” Varric says, readying his bow.

***

She might know less than the Elder One, but she knows and understands more than at the start of this battle. And yet, her last breath, as she falls through cracks, boulders and stone and fire following her, is a sigh of relief.

She wants to cry when she wakes, despite it all. Her head is spinning and her entire body aches. One of her thighs has a spike run through, and her ribs are at least bruised, if not outright broken, because breathing hurts. She wonders if she should lay here until the cold or a wild animal takes her, until life runs out of her body.

It’ll take the Inquisition’s forces probably days to return here safely and scavenge for bodies and survivors, and by then she’ll be dead for sure. It wouldn’t be so bad, to die just like this: a sacrifice done after a great win, balancing out the happiness with pain.

But slowly, she starts moving. She drags at the spike in her body, ripping her shirt apart to tie the material around her wound, though it immediately turns red with her blood. She feels lightheaded, her heart pumping faintly at her wrists, at the sight, her stomach churning finally realizing that she is bleeding out. Panic surges in her throat.

She shouts, the sound echoing around the tunnels, a frustrated, wounded wail, more animal than human. She doesn’t want to keep moving, she doesn’t want to find her way out of here, but she’s buried under rubble and stone and if she’s not getting out, then nobody’ll get in.

And fuck, she wants to live. She doesn’t want to end it here, when she’s done so little of the things she wanted to. She doesn’t want to just die, after decades of biting her tongue and nodding her head. She promised stories to Dorian, a sparring session to Cassandra. She promised herself a new dress and she promised Sera a picnic. She wants the normalcy too, not just the religion or the red lyrium or the cold nights.

She wants to be: more of herself, on more of this world. There are tears running down her face now, sad and desperate, and even if her entire body flares with pain, she starts walking. She’s angry at her fate, for making her go through all of this. She’s angry at herself, for not surviving better.

When she drops out in the snow, she sinks in it up to her knees. The wind howls all around her, carrying the sound of wolves too. Even she can feel the smell of iron coming from her wound, and there’s no doubt the scent will be picked up soon enough. She tries to hurry, though her entire body shivers and she pants with each movement of her legs. She leaves big, dark marks behind her in the snow.

She finds embers, and she believes they’re recent, warm to the touch, though she can’t be sure. There’s sweat on her forehead and she’s started seeing double, fever taking over her body in the cold and she can’t even feel the pain anymore, overwritten by the freezing of her limbs.

The lights at the horizon must be a mirage, then. Just like a man in the dessert sees the oasis of water, a dying woman in a snow storm sees the comfort of fire. She collapses in the snow, face forward.

***

Bull sits somewhat on the side, sharpening his axe, the blood caking on his arms. Krem has the self-preservation not to bother him, even as he positively seems the image of calm and peace. They’ve been helping the refugees evacuate and settle, find each other between the aftermath of that chaos, tending to the wounded, helping carry those left behind, identifying the bodies they could still reach from this side of the mountain, people fallen on the way, from their wounds, exhaustion or famish.

But now, with the fight dying down, the stone settling into its new place, there’s an eerie silence all across the valley, and between the members of the Inquisition. In the midst of their duties, they all seem to sneak glances at the hills of the mountain, looking for someone to prove something to them. It’s unnerving not to have the glow of the Breach above them, too.

Iron Bull throws his tools to the side, sheathing his axe.

“This is ridiculous. We have to go after her.”

And just like that, it’s like the spell is broken; Cullen is shouting for volunteer scouts, Cassandra getting up in an instant and coming by his side. Solas’ magic flares for a brief second at his fingertips, his eyes lost in the sky, where there’s no more gap, no brilliant colour. They put together a group of a couple healers too, and with Cullen opening up their party, they start scouting for Trevelyan.

Or her body, though he doesn’t accept this idea.

***

It’s a bit impressive how far she’s come, considering they find her quite close to their camp. It’s Cullen’s voice that raises a cry out of everyone else, and yet no one knows how to properly approach her. Bull shoves forward.

She’s delirious, limbs bent and broken in angles that he doesn’t want to remember a human body can turn to and there’s puddle of blood beneath her body. But, behind her whispered pleas – a prayer. He can’t feel the pity and relief, that at her darkest moments, she still turns to her best known comfort, but she’s still breathing and that’s all that matters. If she’s still alive, that means she can still make it. A potion is shoved down her throat by Cassandra, his hands shake too much to hold it steady against her lips, and she’s not powerful enough to strain against it, even as he imagines it burns against her throat and lungs.

When he picks her up, she screams and shrieks, struggling against his hold even as it makes the pain more blinding, even as her energy deflates with each push against his muscles, even as fresh blood surges from her cuts, even as tears form at the corner of her eyes. It’s instinctual, because in her haze, she cannot make out who he is, or what is happening, the edge of her dreams and reality too blurred, her memories brought forward in her mind, the actual present just a distant figment of her imagination.

Iron Bull knows to recognize the state and not take it personal. There’s a soft, blue glow around her body, as magic pulls together what’s been broken, soothing what’s unbearable. Her cries turn to whimpers, her forehead creasing in pain.

She’s not one for being carried, despite her background. She mutters her brother’s name in Bull’s chest, reverence and despair mingled in one single breath, and she cannot feel the cold of the falling snow, and she cannot see the darkness around the bright lamp that a scout is holding – but wherever her mind is stuck in, she’s just a girl in her teens, picked up by her devious brother to be dunked fully clothed in the water basin in the stables.

“Come on, Boss, you can’t die over this,” he says, hurries his steps, throws ugly stares at the mages accompanying them, their healing magic clearly not working fast enough, as she’s edging between feverish mutterings and unconsciousness. “You are meaner than this.”

Boss? she thinks at the back of her mind, and her memory dissipates, the world re-centres itself around the sound of his voice, around the strangeness of that single nickname in the picture that her brain is trying to have her stuck in. Then, slowly, things start making sense again: the familiar smell of leather, her armour and his strap both, the aching hurt in her hand where her mark still rests, the throbbing pain of her entire body, the taste of iron in her mouth and her unfocused vision, the silent reverence of her companions as she drifts away in and out of consciousness.

She’s muttering nonsense now, fractured names, begging, promises. He hushes her, softly and kindly, unlike she has ever known him, but once aware of her surroundings, she’ll believe it a figment of her imagination too, and not the comfort that it is, at her lowest.

He doesn’t really want to let her go, but the mages are quick in ushering him away once she’s set on a makeshift bed, knife cutting away at her shirt, magic strong in the air all around her body. She cries out in her sleep, struggles against the hands keeping her still at her shoulder – and he can tell the hold is not gentle.

Bull settles just a distance away, leaning on a tent pillar, closing his eyes, seemingly asleep. But he’s aware of the sounds around him, as Trevelyan slowly succumbs to sleep, as the mages finish their job on her, as Mother Giselle takes a sit next to her, as the advisors start arguing.

To wake to their uncertainty and their screams, after all she’s been through; he can’t imagine it’s the most welcoming of sights. They are all tired and defeated.

She wants to take back the good opinion she had on Mother Giselle. She makes mistakes, more often than she’d like to admit, and to rely on this old woman was simply one of them. Because now, as her entire body aches, skin dyed in purple, green and yellow, where her insides have been put back together again through magic not strong enough to leave her without the marks or the pain, the last thing she wants to even think about is how holy she might seem in the eyes of others.

Trying to recover after dying, again, she feels like nothing but one lucky bastard.

“Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.”

And their army has been blown to pieces, their fighters have been wounded and their entire organization blown to pieces, all in just one night. A war that ended just as quickly as it began. She can’t believe others can’t seem to grasp how grave and serious the situation is.

“An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”

Her chest is still heaving, on the made-up bed holding up together her battle-worn body, as the people start singing her praise, a chorus of chants and unyielding belief.

For anyone just glancing in her direction, it might look like her wounds are still bothering her, and she’s trying to catch her breathe. Iron Bull, sitting in the darkness behind her, knows that the lady Trevelyan is having a panic attack. He is unwelcome by default, his faith in other things and his life somewhere far-away from the Andraste – but she is unequally unwelcome in the midst of those people, a figure so bright and so great that she’s above humans.

He’s seen her bleeding. In her delirious mutterings, half frozen to death, she was more human than all.

The first choked sob surprises even him – a first crack. And then her breathing quickens more and more, and she can’t catch all that air fast enough. She cries and wails, sound covered by the camp celebrating life, and eventually, wincing, she moves her arm enough so she can bite down on the leather of her armour. Silent, suddenly. Her body keeps shacking, until eventually she calms down.

She never seemed to understand the difference between sacrifice and self-slaughter. Until now, bruised and beaten, unheard and spoken over.

The Iron Bull gets close to her because no one else would. He waited, watching, but the Herald of Andraste remained all alone in her corner, with no one checking up on her beyond the state of her body. And yet, she’s been breaking apart for the better part of an hour, and nobody seems to care.

He sits down next to her bed, and she looks at him, surprised but not afraid. Her eyes red with her tears, her lips turned in an upset pout. She looks so much younger, closer to her actual age, now like this. Slowly, her eyes following his movement all along, he raises his arm, resting his hand on top of her, fingers knotting around her wrist, just above where her Mark rests.

Her breath hitches in her throat, and she stares at his much larger hand, holding hers. Just as slow, she moves her other hand, though wincing with the effort, to hold on to his. She keeps crying, tears silently falling down her cheeks, but she keeps holding on, so that something might feel human in the midst of all around her.

“You could have died, eaten by wolves, frozen to death,” he murmurs, and it’s chiding, but spoken so kindly, so low that it doesn’t feel like it.

He moves, ever closer. His other hand wiping her tears away, tangling in her hair once she calms down.

“We would have come for you.”

He sits there even after she falls asleep, so that she can get a bit of a rest without a soldier or zealot interrupting her. He allows Solas, because he knows she would. Whatever healing potions and spells they used, seems to work, because as she walks away with the elf, she’s already looking healthier than just an hour before.

No one sleeps that night, preparing for the trek through the mountains. All the way, she walks at the front of the people, Solas at her side, showing her the path.

“By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build… grow…”

She looks at the horizon, stone growing out of clouds.

Skyhold, the one place that holds the skies. Isn’t the Inquisition doing the same?

#dragon age #the iron bull #female trevelyan #the inquisitor #DA: Inquisition #da fanfic #iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull x trevelyan #Iron Bull x female inquisitor #I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH there is so much blood sweat and tears in here #my writing

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arnoldjaime13 · 3 years

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Blog Tour- BETRAYER by @ANConway With An Excerpt & #Giveaway! @RockstarBkTours

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the BETRAYER by Nicole Conway Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Title: BETRAYER (The Dragonrider Heritage #2)

Author: Nicole Conway

Pub. Date: February 23, 2020

Publisher: Broadfeather Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 352

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited Membership!

The darkest secrets of Murdoc’s violent past may be their last hope.

As pressure mounts to find the Tibran witch, Devana, Thatcher and his companions struggle to regroup after discovering Phillip’s bitter betrayal. Forced into hiding while they await a new plan of attack from Prince Judan's network of spies, tensions rise and threaten to tear their company apart. Murdoc knows every second they linger risks another attack from the vicious Ulfrangar Assassins or Phillip, but Reigh is determined to stay and await new instructions.

With two of his closest friends now locked in a battle of wills, Thatcher is caught in the middle—until a surprise assault by the Ulfrangar drags him into the darkest depths of their brutal order. Faced with a life-and-death race against time, Murdoc is the only one who might be able to save him now. But for Murdoc, taking up an assassin’s blade again to fight the same order that trained him will also mean facing the worst demons of his past.

Can Murdoc finally rise above his bloody past and save his only friend? Or does destiny have a new path in store for an assassin-turned-hero?

About Book 1:

Title: HUNTER (The Dragonrider Heritage #1)

Author: Nicole Conway

Pub. Date: November 24, 2020

Publisher: Broadfeather Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 352

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Audible, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited Membership!

One boy must earn the trust of a blind dragon and hunt down an elusive sorceress before she can rekindle the war that nearly destroyed their world.

As the Kingdom of Maldobar emerges victorious from the brutal invasion of the Tibran Empire, much of the land is left in utter ruin. With his home destroyed and family gone, 16-year-old Thatcher Renley has no one left to turn to. And when he’s mistaken for a Tibran soldier and banished to a wartime prison camp, Thatcher knows his only hope for freedom lies in appealing to Queen Jenna directly.

But getting out of the prison camp might be the least of his worries— especially after he stumbles across a feral dragon locked in an iron cell.

As far as dragons go, Fornax is a lost cause. The battle that killed his rider also left him blind and too aggressive for any knight to control. But Thatcher can’t deny feeling drawn to the beast. Does he have what it takes to calm Fornax and join the proud ranks of Maldobar’s dragonriders? Only time will tell. And with a bloodthirsty Tibran witch threatening to rekindle the chaos of war, everyone’s time may be running out.

Excerpt

PART ONE

Murdoc

Chapter One

Thatcher Renley was, by far, the biggest idiot I had ever met in my entire life—and that’s saying something, because I’d also met Prince Reigh Farrow. He was in a close second. But at least he had enough common sense to know that this so-called hunt Queen Jenna and Jaevid Broadfeather had sent us on was essentially a glorified suicide mission. We were charging straight into a fight with a largely unknown Tibran witch, armed with only fragments of information about her abilities and location. And if that weren’t enough, there were only three competent fighters among our group—dragons included.

Granted, Reigh could manage decently against common enemies. He’d apparently been trained in combat by the Gray Elves, and their scouts had recently improved in their fighting ability. They must’ve stumbled across someone with an actual brain who was now training their scouts and warriors. Knowing that, Reigh had probably held his own fairly well in Luntharda. But we were a long way from the wild jungle, and sooner or later, that temper of his was going to cost him.

Phoebe was … well. Hmm. Perplexing, I guess. She fluttered around with her mad storm of red curls flying, bubbling like an excited child about the projects she was working on, and radiating a relentless optimism that sort of made me sick to my stomach after a while. Not that she annoyed me, really. It was just strange to be around someone that persistently happy all the time. Happiness wasn’t something I’d had much experience with.

Which brings me back to the biggest moron of them all who, unfortunately, was now both my primary concern and the bane of my existence. Thatcher was astronomically stupid. Honestly, it was staggering he’d survived as long as he had without someone following him around, smacking his hand whenever he was about to try something dangerous. He’d volunteered for this mission without having any combat training of any kind. He was a farrier’s son, for crying out loud, and was essentially the human personification of a dandelion puff. Short, scrawny, wide-eyed, and baby-faced—he didn’t have a prayer of surviving this mess unless someone watched over him constantly.

How, by all the Gods and Fates, I had wound up being that person was still beyond my understanding.

Ugh. Fine, fine. I’d done it by choice, I suppose. Sort of, anyway. I mean, sure, I could have left him there in that alleyway in Thornbend to die along with most of the other peasants and villagers. Maybe that would’ve been kinder in the long run—especially if we were all soaring toward a gruesome death right now. Still, in that moment, with all the world swallowed up in flames and that pitiful kid on the ground at my feet, I’d looked into his eyes as he spoke to me, offering me a different path I’d craved for so long. And I’d realized … no one had ever talked to me that way before. Like I was someone and not something. No one had ever treated me that way. No one had ever looked at me and regarded me like … a person.

So, I’d made a rash and irrevocable decision. A mistake, probably. But then again, I’d been swallowing back hopes of escaping that life—the life of an Ulfrangar assassin—for as long as I could remember. That night in Thornbend had been my first real opportunity. The only catch was, of course, keeping the baby-faced kid who kept calling me “friend” alive, too.

Thatcher treated everyone that way, though. It’s like there was no room in his mind for the possibility that a person really could be evil. Shocking, considering the vacant way he stared at me sometimes—like you could pass a twig through his ear and it would come out the other side and not hit anything in between.

At first, I’d just assumed he was incredibly sheltered or naïve. Maybe he was. But after our experience with Phoebe, finding out that she had been a Tibran, I’d expected him to reject her entirely. Anyone else probably would have. Whether out of shame or fear, she’d kept that information from everyone.

But Thatcher had insisted on helping her. He’d forgiven her without a second thought. He was stupid, yes. But he was also far kinder than anyone could ever deserve.

Least of all me.

He still called me his friend like it was nothing. He laughed and chatted with me as though he genuinely enjoyed my company and wanted me around. He kept chasing after me whenever I tried to put some safe distance between us. Didn’t he get it? Couldn’t he sense it at all? I was not a good person. I never had been. I’d accepted a long time ago that no matter where I went or what I did, the pack—the Ulfrangar—would always own me. They’d carved their mark upon my soul from the very beginning and nothing could erase it. Deep down, I would always be one of them.

Even now, sitting behind Reigh astride his lithe green dragon, the weight of their presence crushed down over my body from every side. They were everywhere and nowhere. They moved in shadow, lived in anonymity, and thrived on the constant stream of the world’s darkest secrets. There was no place I could hide, nowhere I could go that they wouldn’t be able to reach.

The more I thought about it, the harder it was to justify why I’d let Jaevid set me free—even if I knew the answer already. Because of Thatcher, the idiot. No one seemed to know what he’d done to provoke Devana and her new monstrous minion, Phillip. Maybe nothing. And honestly, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t put a hand on him if I had anything to say about it. He’d called me a friend—someone who was like a brother to him—and that was enough. It was more than anyone else had ever done for me my entire life.

We cruised, riding the strong winds coming in from the sea along the eastern coastline. The tower of Eastwatch faded behind us, and far below, small villages and towns dotted the hills. Most were a safe distance from the steep cliffs that dropped into the toiling dark ocean—places where wild dragons liked to nest. But the farther we flew to the north, the more the cliffs gave way to rocky beaches. Fishing towns were built right up against the banks amidst the clusters of odd, hexagonal basalt columns and massive trunks of washed-up driftwood from Luntharda’s giant trees.

Dayrise stood just a few miles inland, stretching all the way to the sea where a large port was packed tight with big merchant ships. The vessels cruised in from the open sea, white sails puffed and banners fluttering high as flocks of seagulls chased them in. Most were probably owned by merchants happy to be sailing their trade routes again now that the Tibran war was over.

Not that I’d ever been to Dayrise myself, honestly. The Ulfrangar network spanned far beyond Maldobar’s borders, but the territory I’d been assigned to work was back down on the southern tip of the kingdom. I’d never had any reason to journey this far north.

Too bad it didn’t make me feel the least bit more secure.

A glimmer caught my eye far in the distance off our right side—the tell-tale flash of sunlight over glossy scales. A dragon. He was far off, maybe three miles on our tail, and had been since we left Eastwatch. From so far away, I couldn’t tell much else. Maybe it was just a security escort from the dragonriders keeping an eye on us from afar. Maybe it was a curious wild drake that’d caught wind of the dragoness in our group and was interested in her. I didn’t know.

And when it came to being followed, I hated not knowing.

The sight of those faraway scale flashes and the faint shape of great dark wings flapping put a pang of dread like a cold iron spike in my gut. I looked away and set my teeth against the rush of adrenaline that made my skin tingle and my heart pound like mad. I’d have to mention it to the others eventually. But not yet. I needed more information, first. To be sure this wasn’t some arrangement Jaevid had put in place because, well, he now knew what I was. He had every reason to be concerned and to want to keep a close eye on things.

Or on me, rather.

Reigh started our descent as we neared the city’s outer limits. I had no idea where we were supposed to go or who Jaevid Broadfeather had waiting for us. Hopefully not another noble with an estate we might accidentally burn down. Well, sort of accidentally, anyway. And technically we hadn’t been the one doing the burning, but I digress. Whatever. Burned is burned, I suppose.

Unlike Eastwatch, the city of Dayrise wasn’t one visited by dragonriders on military orders on a regular basis. There was no towering spire meant to house soldiers and mounts looming over the rooftops, and no high city walls topped with battlements. Not that we got any strange looks as our dragons circled outside the city’s outer limits. In fact, there were more than a dozen sizable inns crowded around the main roads leading in and out of the city’s tightly packed streets. Many of them were flanked by massive barns two or three stories tall intended to house dragons.

Reigh chose one closer to the port on the western side of the city and guided his green dragoness into a smooth landing. She cupped her wings and stretched out her hind legs, landing on the grass as elegantly as a swan on a pond.

Thatcher’s much larger orange drake landed next to us, shaking his black-horned head and puffing unhappy snorts through his nose. The dragon curled his long, striped tail around his legs and bristled, small ears turned back as those milky green eyes darted around.

I frowned. Thatcher trusted that beast wholeheartedly. But I’d seen it drag him across the horizon like caught prey once already. Thatcher had been lucky to walk away from that ordeal—luckier than anyone else seemed to want to acknowledge.

“Let’s get Vexi and Fornax settled here and find our contact,” Reigh called back to me as he straightened in the saddle. He pulled off his helmet, nearly slapping me in the face with the end of his long, sweaty braid in the process.

“This is an old city,” I muttered as I studied the road ahead that led into the narrow cobblestone streets. “Places like this tend to be dangerous after dark, and there’s only a few hours of daylight left. We should go quickly.”

He unbuckled and dismounted first, then stood sorting through his saddlebags while I climbed down. “I agree. Which is why I’m leaving you in charge of this.” Reigh took out a small drawstring purse, poured a few gold coins into his palm then tied it shut again and tossed it in my direction. “Our contact is supposed to meet us at the sign for the Crosswall Docks. They’re probably already waiting on us. Think you can find it? Taverns with dragon accommodations are harder to come by here, and we need to keep a low profile—meaning, we stay away from the ones farther into the city. So, I’ll settle up for the dragons here and meet you there.”

The purse jangled when I caught it, as though there were still quite a few coins tucked away inside. “You expect that to take a while? We need to stay together.” It wouldn’t take that long, of course. I knew that as well as he did—meaning he had another motive for wanting a few minutes alone.

“I’ve got some letters to send back to Luntharda. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour,” he replied, bowing his head to hide his face as he crammed the handful of coins into his pocket. Reigh’s emotions ran so close to the surface, it was ridiculously easy to read him even with his face angled away. Judging by the scarlet color his ears were turning, these must have been personal letters. Letters to a girl, most likely. Love letters. Ugh.

He would’ve made a terrible assassin.

“And who is it that I’m supposedly looking for at the docks?” I pocketed the bag of coins and ran a hand through my hair, trying in vain to get it out of my eyes. Months away from my former life had allowed it to grow out longer than it’d ever been before. I’d have to fix that soon.

Reigh’s expression scrunched as though he were trying to think—emphasis on trying. Complex thought didn’t seem to be one of his stronger qualities. “He didn’t say specifically. Just that we’re looking for another Broadfeather. His brother, probably. I can’t recall his first name, but I met him briefly after the war ended.”

“If we go on ahead, how do you intend to find us later?” I arched an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Looking for someone named Broadfeather at Crosswall Docks? That’s plenty to go on. I’m sure someone can point me in the right direction.”

Fair point. A last name like that was one people generally remembered, after all.

“Did you see all the ships?” a sing-song voice chimed suddenly. Phoebe practically fluttered over to stand beside me, her red curls bobbing around her and her big, blue eyes shimmering with excitement. “Aren’t they beautiful? Can we go see them up close?”

Reigh’s entire demeanor soured as he stood straighter. “Didn’t see enough of them while you were sailing around with the Tibrans, conquering other kingdoms and slaughtering their people?” He growled every word through his teeth as he leered down at her.

She shrank back some, almost like she might duck behind me if he made a move toward her. “O-Oh, um, well, no. I mean, yes, I did have to sail with them. But Lord Argonox didn’t allow me to leave my cell or go up onto the deck during—” She stopped short and went quiet. Her brows drew together as she flicked speedy, nervous glances around everyone. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered at last, as though she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Reigh didn’t respond. Instead, he glowered down at her with his mouth mashed into a tight frown. His light amber eyes flashed with a mixture of wrath and what I could only guess was withheld terror.

I’d seen that look before from my Ulfrangar handler whenever I’d challenged or defied him, as though for the briefest instant he wasn’t sure if he should hold his ground or flee. And while I could sympathize to a degree—after all, Phoebe had apparently been the one in charge of all the magical experimentation for the Tibran Empire—she was about as threatening as a freshly-cut daisy on her own. She probably weighed seventy pounds to his one hundred and fifty or so.

Awkward silence hung in the air until Thatcher drifted over to join us, sporting his usual, blissfully vacant grin. “Are we staying here for the night?” he asked cheerily. “I’ve never stayed at an inn before. I thought Jaevid had arranged for us to stay with someone in the city?”

With a tight sigh, Reigh spun on a heel and gestured for Thatcher to follow him. “He did, but we’ve got to get the dragons settled and I’m betting yours will need extra assistance. So, come with me. Murdoc, you can take her and find our host. We’ll catch up.”

Phoebe didn’t say a word for a long time as she followed along close beside me. Lugging her bag of gear over my shoulder, I tried not to look her way more than necessary. According to Thatcher, I gave the impression that I was glaring whenever I stared at someone for too long. No need to make it worse.

Besides, one glance was all it took. The distant fogginess in her eyes as she stared down at the sidewalk put an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I should say something, right? That was the normal thing to do. Wasn’t it? Gods and Fates, how was I supposed to know what normal was?

“You should stop apologizing,” I blurted before I could change my mind. My tone came out much harsher than I intended, as usual. Curse it all. I should have kept my mouth shut. Silence was always safer.

Phoebe tripped over an uneven stone. She staggered, and I snapped my free hand out. I seized her arm to hold her steady.

She let out a scream. Not a surprised little yelp—a real, primal, utterly terrified scream. Phoebe went completely stiff in my grasp, blinking up at me with her entire body trembling.

What? Why would she look at me like that—like I was about to do something terrible to her? I’d never raised a hand to her. Was it because she knew I was an Ulfrangar now?

Before I could ask or even say a word, her entire expression suddenly went blank again. Her body relaxed and she glanced around, seeming confused for a moment. “O-Oh! Murdoc! I-I guess you startled me.” She blinked up at me, face flushing almost as red as her hair. The forced, twitchy smile on her lips looked almost painful. “I’m so sor—um, I mean, thank you.”

I slowly let her go. “I … I didn’t mean stop apologizing in general. I meant stop apologizing to Reigh.”

Phoebe swallowed hard. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she fidgeted with the embroidered hem of her long tunic as her mouth scrunched up. “I, um, well, I mean he is right to hate me. I did—”

“I know what you did,” I interrupted as I began walking again. “Most everyone does now, right? But Queen Jenna forgave you. The Court of Crowns absolved you. You’ve apologized to everyone over and over, including Reigh. You’ve made changes to your life to become something better now. No one can ask any more of you than that.”

“But he still hates me, doesn’t he? He’d probably kill me if you and Thatcher weren’t here.” She trotted to catch up and fall in step next to me like before.

“There’s nothing you can do about that. You can’t change your past or erase what you’ve done. And because of that, some people will always hate you. Even if you do everything right from now on, it still won’t matter to them. They will never be able to see you as anything more than what you were,” I tried to explain without biting every bitter word through my teeth. “But that doesn’t mean you should go on groveling for forgiveness. You’ve done your part. Forgiving you is Reigh’s problem now. So let it go.”

She didn’t respond right away. For a few more blocks, she followed along in total silence while we wound our way through the city’s narrow streets toward the sea. Then I felt the pressure of her wide, blue-eyed gaze on me again. It hit me like the glare of the sun, making my skin tingle. “Aren’t you afraid that people won’t forgive you for being an Ulfrangar?”

I paused at a corner before a broad, open square. In the center, a white stone fountain sprayed ribbons of water around the bust of a man in battle armor. He stood tall and proud, his eyes seemingly focused right on me, with a helmet under his arm while his other hand rested on the pommel of the sword belted at his hip. A dragonrider, most likely. But not one I recognized.

“That’s different. I don’t expect them to forgive me, so it would be pointless to ask for it,” I confessed as I held the statue’s frozen gaze. “The people who know what I’ve done could never truly forgive me. Like King Jace. And the ones who don’t understand only offer their forgiveness because they don’t know any better.” I flicked a look down at her. “Like Thatcher.”

Her mouth scrunched into a dissatisfied little frown. “What about Lord Jaevid, then? He knows, doesn’t he?”

I couldn’t keep the irony from my tone. “No. Not really. He’s gotten a small taste of it, so now he’s suspicious. But he doesn’t understand the extent of what I am.”

“Well, I forgive you, Murdoc,” Phoebe announced, a rebellious crease in her brow. “So which am I, then? Someone who understands? Or someone who doesn’t?”

I had to think about that.

The Tibran Empire had paid hefty sums to hire out Ulfrangar assassins and spies throughout the war. Phoebe had probably seen others like me before, if only in passing. She’d certainly seen all of the evil and unbridled cruelty that could come from a man like Argonox. In fact, she had probably witnessed and experienced more of it than even she could remember. But did she really comprehend what I was? What I’d done to survive up to this point?

“Could you forgive Argonox?” I countered. “Or any of the soldiers who were in charge of keeping you obedient? What about the ones who put those marks on your skin?”

Her face slowly drained of color. “B-But you didn’t do tha—”

“I’m no different from them,” I cut her off quickly. “You strip away the emblems and the banners, the flags and the creeds, and you’re left with the same thing. At its roots, evil is evil, and it doesn’t matter what you dress it up in. That’s why deep down, I’ll always be what the Ulfrangar made me. I’ll carry their darkness in me until the day I die.”

“You really think that?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “You truly believe you’re evil like Lord Argonox was?”

I set my jaw and looked away. No matter how I turned the words in my head, none of them sounded right. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Clearly, she couldn’t understand. We were nothing alike. Phoebe hadn’t chosen to become a Tibran. She hadn’t chosen to do all of the things Argonox had forced her to do. But there had been moments in my life, a few vile moments steeped in malice and blood, when I had. I could have rebelled then. I could have let the Ulfrangar kill me for my defiance and ended it there. But instead … I’d accepted that fate. Wanted it. Thrived on it.

Sometimes, I’d even enjoyed it.

That was the part of myself King Jace would never trust—the part Reigh, Thatcher, Jaevid, and Phoebe should have been disgusted by. But they didn’t know.

And I had no idea how to tell them.

About Nicole:

Nicole is an award-winning, #1 international bestselling author from North Alabama. With a passion for relatable, authentic characters and exciting, fast-paced plots, Nicole is best known for her series, THE DRAGONRIDER CHRONICLES. Other published works include THE DRAGONRIDER LEGACY SERIES, SPIRITS OF CHAOS SERIES, MAD MAGIC SAGA, and THE DRAGONRIDER HERITAGE SERIES (Coming Winter 2020).

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ @sasuhinabigflash2020 || Day Sixteen: Showers ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

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Not every night is fit for travel.

Hooves gives muffled thuds along the well-worn dirt road. Above the pair of riders, a clear night sky has slowly been clouding, blotting out the stars as the weather subtly shifts. The summer evening is cool, a breeze winding its way through the trees that line the path.

“Another mile or so, and we’ll be upon the inn I mentioned,” the lead rider announces, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. “A suitable place to rest for the night.”

“Must we stop?” is the quiet counter question. “Surely we can make it by daybreak if we press on.”

“We may, but then we will be exhausted and sore from so many hours in the saddle. It’s best we take the time instead to give ourselves a well-earned respite. A few hours will make little difference. The day will be the same, and we’ll not need to waste daylight on sleeping.”

Lips slightly pursing, Hinata nevertheless offers no further argument.

“Besides,” her cousin then offers, glancing skyward as a few leaves begin to bounce around them. “I believe we are in for some showers, lady Hinata. It won’t do for you to get drenched and catch cold.”

“...very well.”

Urging their mounts to a swift trot from their steady walk, the pair hurry the last stretch before reaching the inn. Horses tethered in the adjoined stable, they step in and breathe sighs of relief.

Within, the main floor is largely taken by a tavern. Though the hearth is empty of flame, the atmosphere is still warm and pleasant, the lighting a cheery glow from lanterns and candles. Tables are filled with boisterous patrons, many indulging in spirited drinks before conceding for the night. At the opening of the door, several glance up but offer no greeting, returning to their own conversations once curiosity is sated.

“It is not...entirely suitable,” Neji mutters, eyeing the common rabble a bit warily.

“It will do fine. Not everything must live up to my father’s expectations,” is Hinata’s gentle counter, stepping further in as her cousin follows. “We are warm, dry, and will soon have full bellies and a place to sleep. There’s little else to ask for.”

Not looking as convinced, Neji nonetheless keeps to her side, his wary expression making it more than clear he won’t tolerate any interference as they approach the barkeep.

“Have you any free rooms?” Hinata inquires, ignoring Neji’s hawkish gaze behind her.

“Aye. Have y’need of one, or two?”

“Two,” Neji cuts in, earning a roll of Hinata’s eyes at his prudishness.

“Would you not feel better keeping a close eye on me?” she counters, glancing to him.

“Two rooms,” is his simple insistence.

She sighs. “...two, please.”

The keep then slides as many keys across the bar, each engraved with a number. “Take a seat anywheres y’like, and you’ll be served. May be a tad slow - the weather seems to be swelling our walls this evening.”

“It’s no trouble - thank you.” Pocketing the keys, Hinata heads for an empty table along a wall, settling primly on her seat. “...do you need to be so tense?” she then chastises Neji. “You’re attracting more attention than you’re s-scaring off.”

“Common places make me nervous.”

“It was your idea we stop here. I thought it better to press on.”

“I’ll not have you nodding off tomorrow when we meet the other dignitaries,” is his rebuke. “Even if it means going without rest myself.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Honestly Neji, you can be so -”

“Begging your pardon my lord and lady, but...have you need for these extra seats?”

Both Hyūga turn to see a third figure standing at the edge of their table, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite them. Just beside him is a fourth. Both of raven hair and ruddy eyes, Hinata can quickly tell what they are.

Thankfully she recovers from her surprise faster than Neji, and smiles at the pair. “We’ve no need, no - empty chairs are vanishing by the moment. Please, sit.”

Even as Neji glances to her incredulously, Hinata ignores him and watches the pair of young men. The latter seems to be about her age, the other a few years older. “Much obliged,” he offers with a smile of his own.

Hinata offers a nod in return.

“Forgive me, but...I could not help but overhear your conversation. Are you by chance headed to Salustia as well?”

In spite of herself, Hinata blinks. “I...yes, we are. I am vying for a position under Auquiana. Are you…?”

“Ignitrios,” he replies. “Our family has direct ties back to the original blessings. My father insisted we try our hand. Speaking of which…” He holds his out. “Itachi, of the Uchiha. And my younger brother, Sasuke.”

“Hinata of the Hyūga. And my cousin, Neji. Forgive his expression, he is...wary to be so far from home.”

“As are we...we have rarely left the city of our birth. But such a chance could not be passed by so easily.”

“Precisely. Perhaps we can make the last leg of the journey come morning together? Given we’re all headed the same place.”

“An excellent idea. I must admit, it’s comforting to introduce ourselves in a more...secluded venue. I suspect the meeting proper will be quite daunting. Knowing we are not completely isolated will be a comfort.”

“A good point!” It’s then Hinata looks to the younger brother curiously. “Are you vying for a position, or…?”

“I’ll be content either way,” is his reply, tone low and soft. “If I’m chosen, so be it. If not, I’ll still be an attendant for my brother.”

“That is Neji’s hope: to be my aide should I be chosen. But that all remains to be s-seen, of course. I’m sure I will be far from the only hopeful.”

“My brother is heir - I have little doubt he’ll take the role,” Sasuke replies, and she can’t help a smile at the pride in his tone. “He’s far better suited for politics, anyway. I’ve not the patience for them.”

“They can be quite daunting, yes. But I am eager to try and make a difference. My clan has long been divided, and...I have hopes of unification should I be accepted.”

At the idea of division, Sasuke’s brow furrows in obvious curiosity. But before he can ask more, a server finally finds them and asks for their orders. The group then fall back into easy conversation, Neji soon finding a conversational partner in Itachi as Hinata speaks to Sasuke.

“Have you ever been to Salustia?”

“Once, when I was very young,” Sasuke replies with a shrug. “I remember little of it.”

“I’ve never been...but I’ve heard it’s breathtaking. So much white marble and beautiful architecture. And the statue of Luxeria…! I cannot wait to see it with my own eyes.”

“That’s about all I do recall, admittedly. It’s far larger than you imagine it to be. And looks like it could leap to life at any moment.”

“Wow...I’m all the more eager, then! And I’m glad we won’t arrive alone. I’m fearful we’ll get lost…!”

“The castle sits atop a knoll and overlooks the entire city. If you ever get lost, just head there and reorient yourself. It’s where we’ll all be for the majority of the time, anyway. All roads eventually lead to it. At least that’s what my brother says - he recalls more than I.”

“Another wonder to behold, I’m sure.”

“We never got that close, so I can’t tell you. But it was beautiful even from a distance.”

Sinking into daydreams, Hinata rests her chin in a hand, watching rain slither down the window beside her. She can’t help but hope the weather will be clear when they arrive - to see the capital in anything less than a sunny day will surely be a grave disappointment. Hopefully Luxeria will bless the day with sunshine...with a little help from Ignitrios, of course.

Maybe it’s fate she’s met some of the hopefuls under the banner of fire. Still...she’ll pray to Auquiana to stop the rain nonetheless.

...but at least it helped drive them all here.

Once full of both food and gossip, the four part ways and head to their rooms until morning. Neji, as always, gives Hinata stern instructions to best protect her space.

“I’ll be fine,” is her weary insistence. “Besides, you are right next door. Should I scream, you’ll be a moment away.”

“Damn right I will be,” is how he leaves it with a grumble, bidding her goodnight before shutting the door.

Readying for sleep, Hinata sits for a time atop her bed, listening to the rain with closed eyes. For a moment, she can pretend she’s home in her room in the familiar showers of her coastal city. But the ambient noise beneath the rain is still too telling to ignore.

She thought she’d be more nervous, but...maybe meeting a few others and realizing they’re just as human as they are has helped quell any unease. It’s a big day, but...she has faith it will go well. At the very least, even if she isn’t chosen to represent her element, she’ll have an experience of a lifetime. Seeing the Luxerian capital, meeting so many other el’ven people…! Something she’d never get to do under her father’s thumb back home otherwise.

And maybe, just maybe...she’s already made some friends to hang onto once it’s all said and done.

I will admit, I am...not sure what this is, plot-wise xD I was at a bit of a loss for what to write. Not much actual ship content, my apologies. Seems I’m not as entirely over my burnout as I’d hoped, eh heh~ Anywho, just some fantasy verse nonsense, really. Uchiha and Hyūga crossing paths on their way to the same destination~ I doubt I’ll ever do a full fic of this crossover since I’m already doing one that’s more OC-centric. Got plenty of other ideas anyway, once I’m in a better place to sit and do so :’D Buuut it’s late, I’m wiped, and better call it a night. Thanks for reading~

#sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #hyūga neji #uchiha itachi #divine light [ au ]

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taeteetoo · 4 years

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omg I'm sorry I accidentally clicked send I wasn't finished typing yet lol. This is take two! 😂 I noticed you really liked the posts I reblogs!! 😳💕 can you please tell me what I'm meant to be in this lifetime? Career-wise? How can I get there? Thank you. 💖

hi hii~ lol yes indeed i do 😳🤭 i don’t follow a lot of blogs on here so seeing yours is lovely!

and thank you for asking! here’s what i got, hope it resonates 💗💗

---

What career are you meant to pursue this lifetime?

HEART - RIDER - LADY

The heart represents love, passion, and fulfillment but also compassion. Paired with the rider representing the messenger, it leaves me with an impression of somebody who is able to spread the message of love and compassion to others. Lady is the third card and besides quite literally meaning women it also means feminine energy. When I pair the rider with the lady it once again mirrors the previous meaning of spreading compassion and empathy which is related to the archetype of the divine woman/feminine energy. The lady card can also signify a career field which is dominated by women, or one catering to women.

Also, the rider in the center is related to speed/fast pace & the masculine but in this spread, it’s surrounded by slow and relaxed, female energy, so I just perceive that as another way of emphasizing what I already said - you, as a messenger, bringing that balance between the two (little disclaimer: I am strictly speaking about m/f energies and archetypes, not m/f on the levels of sex & gender).

So, the first thing that popped into my mind upon seeing the cards is a counselor. Psychologist. Therapist. Basically, someone who is utilizing their feminine compassionate empathetic ability to give advice to people and spread all those same things. A messenger of that sort.

Of course, I am just giving examples of how this could manifest as an actual job. The possibilities nowadays are endless but the core description still stands.

heart:

24 = 5 - balance, love, marriage (marriage counseling??)

venus

rider:

1 - leader, confidence, individuality, strength

mercury, aquarius

lady:

29 = 11 - spiritual messenger

= 2 - partnership, conflict and opposition

moon

---

How can you get there?

RIDER - BEAR - HOUSE

The rider appeared again lol love that. (it also means news coming soon so uh don’t want to step outside of what I intended to here but since it appeared twice already maybe some sort of insight regarding your question will come soon? might talk about this post right here though 😜)

Bear is in the spotlight. It talks about self-confidence, authority/authority figures, power, strength, control, and money. I would say it already tells us a lot lol. Paired with the rider meaning communications and having masculine energy, it tells me that whatever you do, do it with conviction and confidence. Be sure about what you want and pursue it. Take charge and initiative. Do not be afraid to sometimes be less than usually agreeable to get where you want.

The house talks of home, family, comfort zone, and stability. Seek the help of whoever you consider your family to keep you grounded when needed. This card paired with the bear might also talk about a specific person that might help you. Somebody in your home/family that you look up to or respect a lot, a parent most likely.

I think it’s quite interesting how in this reading it’s apparent that you should utilize one more “masculine” side of you to get where you want, but when it comes to the actual career you should be in your more “feminine” side (again, strictly energies lol). I think this example rings true for a lot of things in life heh

rider:

mercury, aqua

bear:

15 = 6 - high ideals, beauty, completeness

jupiter, taurus

house:

4 - stability, order, justice

moon, taurus

---

I pulled another card from my BTS/BT21 deck which focuses on mindsets, approaches, perspectives etc. just to see if anything else pops up or if it just confirms the previous message. And lo and behold it completely confirmed it lol

#5 TATA

This card talks about confidence, exploring, the journey, learning, individuality and expression, rebellion, and throat chakra/communication.

“Explore and learn more. Allow yourself to be your unique self. Follow your way and your way only! The one who knows you the best is you.”

Songs:

intro:ego, whalien 52, my time, nevermind

---

The second part of it wasn’t talking on the physical/material level as much but I hope it was still helpful to you! I’m a firm believer that your approach and mindset are the things that attract whatever you want into your life. Because all those opportunities come to us at the perfect time anyway when we set our intentions and have the right kind of mindset for it

Much love and the best of luck with pursuing your dream career(s)! 💖💖

#also eng is not my 1st language so pls ignore if there are any mistakes fdjns #ask #my readings #personal readings

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kaablooie · 5 years

Text

Before the Exclusion Zone

(Back to the beginning: Part 1)

Part 10 - A throw back

50 000 years before the first pyramids were built, there were the Madari. A highly advanced and technological race, they were amongst the first of the civilized species to master interstellar travel. Millennia passed as they traversed the stars exploring and searching for answers they didn’t know the questions to. Gathering together the other advanced civilizations they found, they organized and created the Galactic Consortium - a new, intergalactic organization governing and enabling a level of cooperation never before achieved. Technology and goods traded freely and everyone prospered. A true golden age of enlightenment and peace took hold of the known galaxy.

Thousands of years later, the Madari exploration vessel, Star Rider, happened upon an exquisite planet on the edge of the galaxy absolutely bursting with life. Enough life that you could see it growing on the land and shimmering in the water, even from space. A huge planet, it was surprising to the crew of the Star Rider that it was even capable of any life at all. A truly surprising and remarkable find. Commander Ratrek didn’t want to waste any time learning all of this planet’s secrets.

“Atmospheric composition report,” he demanded from the bridge.

“One moment,” the surface analyst, Cordu, responded. “I’m getting some odd readings that have to be an instrument error. We’re re-calibrating and scanning again.”

“Sir, the gravity of this planet is 2.6. We’ll have to use the gravity modulators if we want to survive down there without being crushed or suffocating,” the analyst sitting next to Cordu offered.

“2.6! Zentic, have we ever encountered life before on a planet with that much gravity?” Ratrek inquired.

“Technically, yes, but never with anything larger than microscopic life on it. Initial scans indicate that there is a wide variety of massive fauna and huge animal lifeforms,” analyst Zentic replied. Next to him, Cordu finished reassessing his equipment and ran his scan of the atmosphere.

“This is impossible,” muttered Cordu. “Commander, my analysis is showing that this entire atmosphere has an abundance of Oxygen in it!”

“What?” Ratrek skittered up behind Cordu so he could look at the output himself. “That can’t be right. You’re sure your instruments aren’t getting interference from something? Look at the life on this planet! You’re telling me these creatures are not only alive but thriving in this oxygen rich atmosphere?”

“It would seem so, sir.” Cordu couldn’t quite believe it himself. Of all of the planets the Madari had cataloged over the long history of their race, he had never heard of one quite like this before. “Any expedition team will have to use full atmospheric hazard suits to go to the surface. Obviously.”

“Incredible. Let’s get down there then. Cordu, scan those creatures and we’ll see if the largest of them has any intelligence. We’ll start there.”

“Sir, the largest creatures on this planet seem to be aquatic in nature and can only be found in those vast oceans.. they... they are almost as large as our entire ship...,” Cordu trailed off.

“Fine fine, find me the largest terrestrial creature then. Zentic, you’re with me.” Ratrek pushed the com button on the wall. “Ordos and Rados, gear up, full atmo suits, grav modifers, and sed guns. Meet us at the shuttle.”

As the four Madari stepped off the back of their gravity controlled shuttle, the soft whirl of their gravity mods could be heard kicking in. The readout in their suits was telling them it was cold. So cold, in fact, that the water in the air had somehow frozen on the ground, but not as ice as you’d expect. It was.. fluffy. Fluffy ice? How the lifeforms survived in such frigid temperatures was beyond Ratrek’s ability to imagine. It was just another wonderfully curious question to be answered by the planetary researchers back on his ship. Cordu had given them coordinates to put them just within sight of a group of what had to be the apex predator of this world. Using the enhanced visors in their helmets, they were able to zoom in on their targets. These things were HUGE. Hairy, four legged behemoths, maybe five legs if you included the one coming from its face but didn’t seem to be used for locomotion. They had long, curved protrusions from what had to be their mouths as white as the stuff on the ground. The diminutive Madari, the tallest of them at 2′ 3″, wouldn’t even reach the lowest joint on their legs. Everything around the intrepid foursome, dwarfed them. Even when they lifted off their front two legs to balance on the rear two, they were relatively minuscule. It was quite humbling. If it wasn’t for their superiour tech, it would have been terrifying.

With their sed guns loaded with the most potent of their sedatives, they began their approach to the massive aliens - and was immediately interrupted from the tree above. A sleek, golden coloured vessel of terror had landed on Ordos and was ripping him to pieces. Five times his size and with curved fangs as long as his arm, it crunched through his suit before anyone could even yell an alarm. Ordos was gone and the remaining party were unloading on it. It took longer to take down than it should have, but there were no other casualties. Likely due to it’s size, the engineered viral sedatives used would have taken longer to work through such a sheer volume of mass.

After lamenting their loss and gathering a tissue sample of the unconscious cat, it was decided they would continue with the mission. They had no special death rites, having outgrown such cultural necessities eons ago. They did, however, take the time to strip Ordos of his tech. They couldn’t leave it for the locals to find and there wasn’t much of Ordos left to do anything with anyway. So not wanting Ordos’ sacrifice to be in vain, they started heading back in the direction of the herd and resumed their march. Within normal visual range of the beasts, they noticed they were following tracks larger than theirs, but considerably smaller than those of their quarry. The animal that created these also seem to only have two legs, or they were walking with only two at least. How strange. They seemed fresh and headed in the same direction as them, directly towards these towers of hair and flesh.

“Commander, look,” Rados pointed towards the grazing creatures. No, he pointed to just the side of them. Something much smaller was shifting in the snow. With a shrill cry, a small band of bi pedaled creatures maybe 2-3 times the height of the Madari emerged from the ground brandishing crud weapon and wearing what looked like the skin of their prey. Their antics frightened off the herd but they managed to isolate one of the beasts and were using an obviously coordinated maneuver to attack and tire the creature. Maybe these giants of this planet weren’t the apex predator of this world after all.

Watching the battle from the shelter of a few sparse trees, the trio re-evaluated their situation. A number of the humans had sustained massive injuries and Ratrek assumed them to be dead. No being could recover from such injuries, even with the wildly powerful new regen medications the galaxy was in such a tizzy over lately. No, those Terrans were certainly dead. Until they weren’t. The beast, bloody and dying, gave off a thunderous and final trumpet. Ratrek could feel the vibrations of it’s fall through his feet. Then the victorious Terrans began going around to their fallen comrades and helping them up. They were clearly grievously injured with that odd red blood everywhere, stark against the white of the snow, but they were walking, albeit with assistance in many cases. While the humans didn’t look half as ferocious as the creature they took down, they were terrifying in their tenacity and made of sterner stuff than they appeared.

“We should go back to the shuttle,” a visibly upset Zentic commented. And who wouldn’t be upset by the violence they had witnessed in such a short trip. A team member was dead, literally torn to pieces before their eyes, and the largest and most intimidating life-form any of them had ever head of had been essentially beaten into submission by other vicious creatures a fraction of its size. They were in an atmosphere that would kill them and was already likely degrading the integrity of their suits, not to mention if anything happened to their grav mods they would be flattened like a crew tech under a landing strut.

Leaving, at least for now, was looking like an excellent idea. “Weapons up and watch those trees. Let’s head back.” Commander Ratrek reluctantly gave the order. He wanted to see more of this world, but was wise enough to know when a larger and better armed force was necessary. They would return after more extensive scans.

-------------------

If you’ve liked what you’ve read, please consider joining me on my Patreon page where you can get early access to each chapter. https://www.patreon.com/roman_williams

-------------------

Next: Part 11

Other parts:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12 (On Patreon)

#humans are weird #space australia #space orcs #scifi #scifibooks #humans are terrifying #humans are aliens #humans and aliens #writing #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia

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williamsilverwood · 4 years

Text

Aftermath: Chapter One

Imprints of hooves and boots lined the streets of the small Gilnean city. A small brigade of returning men and women walked slowly through the town. At the head of the procession, a large Worgen sat upon an even larger, armored Nightsaber. Unlike the imprints behind it, the Saber’s paws left large indentations in the slick ground that a small child could play in.

The Worgen wore a full set of darkened plate armor.. Deep grooves and scratches lined along its surface. Most of them fairly recent.

A man and woman rode side to side with the Worgen. Each of them upon a purebred Gilnean steed. A stockier, more muscular horse than those of the southern Kingdoms. The woman’s steed had no armor whereas the man’s next to her did.

“Feels good to be back home.” The male remarked, rolling a shoulder as his plate armor jingled slightly.

“Aye, its been too long.” The Worgen responded.

Along the streets, the many citizens of Grymm’s Vale watched the proceeding. Some faces watched with joy and relief while others were more grim and foreboding. Whether it was because of the returning soldiers or if it was just the natural disposition of Gilneans was up to interpretation.

As the procession went on, it eventually reached the center of the city. In the middle of the square, a large wooden structure stood with a few stairs on either side. On the center stage, a podium stood. The citizens began to walk with the procession until they began to crowd.“Line up.” The Worgen’s voice boomed over the soldiers as they began to fall into lines in front of the structure. The saber, along with both horses made their way around the back of the stage and their riders soon dismounted from them.

“Will.” The female said as she slid off her horse. Her body was lithe and her stature dwarfed by the Worgen she regarded. She had delicate features. Pale skin; black hair that was tied into a messy ponytail behind her head. Her eyes were relatively small and always squinting. The armor she wore was form fitting; leathers that wrapped around her body and hugged her comfortably. Like her other companions, the color was mostly greys and blacks with the symbol of two wolves upon her shoulder piece.

“Yes, Catherine?” William replied.

“Do you want Marcus and I with you?” She glanced to the direction of the stage before looking back at Will.

“Of course. You do not have to say anything but you’re welcomed to do so.”

“Few jokes maybe? Tell some stories?” Marcus said with a grin, strapping a sack to his horse as he glanced towards the other two.

“Save that for the tavern.” William replied.

“Alright, I believe everyone’s in position.” And they were. The soldiers patiently stood; stalwart. In front of the four lines of men and women were seven caskets. Each with a Gilnean flag wrapped around them. The wood was white in color and perfectly crafted.

William began his ascension to the stage with Catherine and Marcus flanked on either side of him. He stood behind it and clasped his plated claw gauntlets against the wood.

His gaze moved across the crowd gathered around the town square. He took a few long moments to look at the citizens gathered. His citizens.

“It has been a long few months.” He began. “Many have fought and many have lost their lives.” He glanced towards the caskets. “All because of Sylvanas Windrunner.” A collective disgruntled noise came over the crowd.

“However, she is no longer in power of the Horde. The War of the Thorns is over. The Battle for Darkshore is over. But, the fourth war has still yet to be concluded. The Alliance and Saurfang’s rebellion have indeed driven the Banshee Queen from her seat of power and a new council has now taken power in the horde. But Sylvanas Windrunner still yet lives. Until she is found and killed, the war continues.” He took a long pause, taking a moment to look across the people gathered in front of him.

The citizens watched. Predominantly Worgen and Humans among them. A very sparse few of other races also mixed in. All of their attention on William.

“Leo Stanton. Jamison Rowley. Kira Foy. Joris Atherton. Alison Swale. Evelyn Preston. Jalen Thorne.” He paused, staring at the caskets in front of the lines of soldiers. “These men and women gave their lives for this war. They fought bravely. They fought valiantly. And they will be remembered as such. Never forgotten.” He paused again.

“There will be no immediate deployment in the foreseeable future. No mandatory draft. Even if the Banshee Queen is still alive, we need our rest. No more of your fellow patriot’s lives will be taken because of her.” He looked over the crowd, seeing some relieved faces and hearing a couple of straggled, ‘Aye’s’. “Over the next few weeks, I will be consulting with my officers.” He glanced for a brief moment to his right and left. “And other officials regarding the situation at hand. But for now, we will rest. And of course, celebrate!” His voice boomed over the square and cheers emitted from the crowd. Though a single man could be heard shouting through the cheers.

The young lord’s ears flicked, rotating like satellite dishes, trying to hone in on the sound. He held up a claw as the cheering eventually died down. “Yes?” He called out into the crowd.

“They died on Night Elf land!” A man shouted towards the Gilnean commander.

“Yes, yes they did.” William responded.

“They should’ve died on Gilnean soil! Defending our lands like they are dutied to!” The man stepped forward and in front of the crowd. He was robust, at least in his forties. Most likely a worker from one of the local lumber mills.

“They died fighting for Gilneas. For the Kaldorei people.” Heads began to turn in the crowd, incoherent murmuring. William shuffled slightly behind the podium.

“Ha. For the Kaldorei… they are the reason most of our people have this disease!” He shouted back towards the young lord. William’s fur bristled and he stepped away from the podium, towards the end of the stage, staring towards the man.

“Our King was the one who ordered Arugal to use the Worgen to combat the Scourge. He knew the risks. The Kaldorei had no influence on his decision.”

“He didn’t know that the Worgen would become uncontrollable, be able to spread their disease through each person and turn them into beasts!”

William’s right gauntlet clenched, that familiar rage building within his body. The very rage the man was addressing. The one that could turn him into that sort of ravenous beast.

He felt a touch to his arm. Catherine had placed a gloved hand against his armor, offering a single look towards her superior before taking a step back.

William turned to regard the man once again.

“Our King gave the order for the Gilnean army to be used in the War of the Thorns. He assisted Tyrande Whisperwind because she assisted us when we most needed it. Without their help, we most likely would have all died in the invasion.” There was a slight snarl to his words. “Are you going against our King? Are you a traitor?” William asked, staring directly at the man.

“No. I am a patriot. And as a patriot, I believe our men and women should be dying on our soil. The very soil they grew up on. Lived on!”

“They will be buried in it.” Will remarked. “They fought for their country and for the well being of others. And that is that.”

The man waved a hand, muttering something along the lines of ‘Kaldorei sympathizer’. The young lord heard it. But, he maneuvered back into the crowd, silence permeating the air.

“A feast will be held tonight. Please, enjoy yourselves and rest easy.” He paused for a moment to look over the crowd. “Glory to the Grey Hand. Glory to Gilneas.”

Metal clashed against metal as the soldiers in front of the podium clanged their weapons twice. A few cheers and applause was heard. But it was not all of the crowd.

“Fall out.” The commander addressed his soldiers who promptly began to file out of their lines and towards the nearby barracks.

William ran a claw through his mane and breathed out a sigh. Marcus reached over and gave him a hard pat on the shoulder. “I better see you at the feast, commander. We have some stories to tell.” A sharp burst of laughter and a wide grin followed.

William smiled back, nodding a few times. “Yes, we do. Take care, Marcus.”

Marcus promptly left the stage, taking his horse with him and leading it towards the barracks with the other soldiers. His voice was heard shouting orders, mostly about their lines.

“I wouldn’t let it get to you.” Catherine had appeared to William’s side, walking alongside him as they went to their mounts.

“I won't. I understand his frustration… to an extent.” He shook his head slowly, grabbing the reins to his saber who was idly licking at a paw, clearly discontent with the mud.

Catherine went to lean back against the Feline, crossing her arms over her chest, looking up towards her superior. She waved a hand dismissively.

“They’ll understand. I mean, he’s a lumberjack, right? Can they even read?” The corners of her lips upturned into a slight smirk.

It caused William to let out a bit of a snicker, shaking his head soon after. “C’mon now, they’re our fellow country men. They’re allowed to have their opinion.”

“Doesn’t mean they still can’t be dumb.” Her smirk grew just a bit wider. “Anyways, I should get home.” She pushed off of the saber’s fur and moved to her horse.

“Give your grandmother my regards.” William said.

“She’ll probably just tell you to get off your lazy arse and visit sometime.” Catherine winked before hooking a leg over her horse and gripping the reins. “Take care, Will.”

She pressed her heels into the horse and was off.

Will turned to his own mount and gripped the reins. He tugged upon them, trying to get the saber off of it’s rear. “C’mon, now.” It bared its fangs towards its owner. “Oh, you’re going to be like that to me now, huh.” He tugged harder, prompting the saber to flop onto its side upon the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. “C’mon you big baby. I know its cold but I’ll give you a big warm bath.” He patted the beast's stomach, ruffling its fur.

“Having some trouble there?” A familiar voice caused Will’s ears to perk and he stood up immediately, turning to face the voice.

A tall but stocky male stood, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the young lord. He was aged. His hair entirely grey with harsh white stubble to match. He wore darkened chainmail and a tabard upon his chest with the sigil of a large white tree upon it.

“Dammit. I thought with all those months I was gone, that hopefully you’d pass by now.” William remarked with a massive grin.

“Oh, piss off.” The man grumbled before bursting out in laughter and moving to embrace the Worgen. Will leaned down, laughing and patting the man on the back a few times before moving back.

“Its good to see you, lad. Got a few new scars, I hope?” The man asked, looking him over a bit.

“Of course, Thoros. More to the collection.” Will replied.

“Thatta boy.”

Will moved away to grip the reins of the saber who now stood up and shook off some of the mud, flinging it towards the men.

“I doubt he likes it here. This isn’t Kalimdor.” Thoros remarked.

“No, he does not.” Will laughed and tugged the beast along who began to follow. “Let’s walk to the manor.”

“Really? You’re going to make an old man walk all the way up that damn hill?”

“Quit bullshitting me, I know you walked all the way down here. You stubborn bastard.”

Thoros barked out in laughter, slapping the plated arm of Will. “You know me too well.”

“Well, I’ve known you my whole life. I hope I’d know you pretty well by now. Otherwise I’d be a terrible people-person.” He paused. “Speaking of which, did you watch my speech?”

“Of course, of course.” Was all he said.

“... And?”

“Well, that is something we ought to discuss. Something I wanted to bring up to you at some point. We don’t have to talk about it now. You should rest up and drink. C’mon, where’s the flask?” The old man prodded him.

“Thoros, I’d like to know.” Will looked down towards the older man who breathed out a heavy sigh.

“Well, there has been some discontent within the Vale. Primarily with your association with the Kaldorei. And your frequent, often long, trips to Kalimdor.”

William’s brow furrowed and his fur seemed to bristle at his words. “Hmph.” He glanced down towards the mud he was walking in. With each step he could feel the coldness that permeated against his bare paws. For a moment, he sympathized with his saber.

“And how widespread is this discontentment?”

“Primarily within the northern lands. Families such as the Ashwoods, Atherton… Stanton..”

Will frowned. “The Atherton’s and Stanton’s both lost a son. That is probably what started that.” He readjusted his grip on the reins, eyes downcasted towards the mud.

“For what is worth, William, the numbers are not terrible.”

The young lord shot a quick look towards the older man. “It is the truth. You came in with what, a little over a hundred? Hundred ten, twelve? And lost seven?”

“I know. But they’re not numbers to me, Thoros.”

“I know, I know.”

#world of warcraft #writing #worgen #gilneas

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venus-says · 4 years

Text

Kamen Rider Zero-One Episode 21

OBJECTION!

After my disappointment with Zero-One last week, this episode came to light up the candle of hope for this series again. I'm still in a very dark room with this show, but there's a small dim light flickering in the corner saying "it's not all that bad" in my ears.

I was very scared about them using a case in the court as one of the stages for this whole competition thing, and I like that the show addressed that and for once I could agree with Aruto on something. Of course, they found a way to pressure him into agreeing with this which got me all worried again because dealing with this case can be very messy, but it made sense the way they did so I'm okay with it.

Another great thing was seeing, later in the episode, Aruto being smart enough to exchange favors with Isamu in order to be able to question Horobi on a very interesting conversation. I wish he had been this smart last week and had suspended this whole thing after seeing ZAIA isn't playing fair, but I guess they wouldn't have a plot this way so they had to make the protagonist dumb for convenience.

By the way, the thing I liked the most was something that came up as a result of said conversation and it was what made me want to believe in this show again. You see, because of how this show was written on its first arc it was never clear to me what this show was about, I had my suspicions but what I was getting from the show was Aruto only yelling "technology is good", Fuwa yelling back "technology is bad", and the villain side saying "no, humans are the ones who are bad". And because this show is on the side of the protagonist, of course, his discourse almost always ended up winning in the end even though on an ideological level metsuboujinrai had a better viewpoint and best arguments, so I never really understand what's the message this show was trying to pass and what this is all about.

With the change of focus for this second arc, this dynamic has pretty much stayed the same but with Gai taking over as the side against the technology. I think what this arc has of different is that now we're seeing the bad facets of the two sides of this discussion, up until now it was never deeply touched upon but after this scene, interestingly enough, Fuwa brought up that technology is both good and bad and it depends on how humans interact with it and it's good that this is bring brought up to Aruto's side because this can mean that his point of view can change to something more gray-ish and believable what will make his side of the argument stronger.

Yeah, this is more or less just the metsuboujinrai discourse with a lot less hate and without the genocide part, but I like that this is up to discussion now. The seed was planted that this show is trying to teach how to have a good relationship with the technologies we have, and seeing how influent it is in our daily lives I'm all here for it, you know this is a show that also aims at kids so I think it's very important that there are media out there touching in the matter so that hopefully in a few years the internet won't be as toxic as it is today (I know it's a very naive way to think, but we gotta be positives about the future once in a while). Of course, I may be wrong and the show won't follow on this train of thought and end up being about something completely different, but there's no way to predict the future and all we can do for now is wait and see what flower will bloom from this.

Now with that being said, not everything is flowers and I still have problems that are bugging me quite a lot. To begin with, the fact this competition is still going baffles me, especially now after Gai suddenly becoming dumb and reckless and straight out making the attorney humagear become a Magia using a Zetsumeraiser kinda proving that he's involved with some fucked up shit. Honestly, for how long are they gonna keep this going with this guy "busting his cover" more and more each time?????? What's even the point of still keep this going, especially now that this is 2x0 for ZAIA and it's getting pretty obvious that the next three battles will go on Hiden's favor? I know at the beginning of this arc I said I liked this concept, but I'm not liking it anymore, especially with all the sabotage going on and Aruto doing nothing, just following along.

My other problem isn't with this episode itself, but with what was shown in the preview for next week, and if read all my previous Zero-One posts you already know what I'm gonna complain about. Only six episodes after Shining Assault Hopper became a thing a new power-up will come up, like if he really needed it at this point. Yeah, I know, usually the main riders get a power-up around this time, the thing is, none of Aruto's power-ups felt earned before, so I'm hopeless that this one will be different and make me feel like he deserved to get this new form and it makes me want to hit my head against the wall seeing that Aruto is going for his third upgrade when he still has a very recent new form while the show completely overlooks Yua that has been put in the back seat and so far counts with only one simple form change putting her behind the other after this is what a girl deserves, am I right? Forget she exists and she had the potential to be a great female character, let's just sell toys for boys, that's what really matters. After all, boys won't want to play the girl character so why must we care about her? Let's just have her say a few lines in each episode and pat her in the back and it's all fine, we can forget her.

Yes, I'm salty. Sue me.

As you can guess I'm not that excited for next week, but I think I'll take whatever we get. It's not like a have a choice anyway, I'm not one of the writers and I've committed to watching this until the end so... let's just hope for the best. Anyway, what are your thoughts on this week's episode? Please share with me in the comments, I'll talk to y'all later.

#Kamen Rider Zero One #kamen rider

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triscribe · 5 years

Text

I’m having a fairytale-inspired MHA writing spree

So here, enjoy some Cinderella-based Ochadeku:

---

Once upon a time, in a big house at the edge of the woods, there lived a lonely widow and her only son. The widow was a kindly soul, who managed her own estate frugally but gave to others generously. She taught her son the best aspects of gentility and compassion, but felt as though he were lacking without a father figure in the household.

So, she found a handsome man with his own boy only a little older than her own, and re-married.

And died, shortly thereafter.

The illness came on suddenly, unexpectedly, and she passed before the doctor’s estimated week was even up. Her son was inconsolable, unwilling to leave the manor grounds for a time. His new stepfather allowed the boy’s self-imposed isolation, encouraging him to take up various chores as a way of working through his grief.

Eventually, though, said encouragements turned into orders.

“Izuku! Remember, the back wall needs to be repaired today! And trim back the over-reaching branches while you’re at it, too!”

“Yes, sir!” Lacing up his scuffed boots, the youth hurried to stuff a dry crust of bread into his mouth - all the breakfast he had time for, sadly. Footwear secured and food swallowed, he hurried out the door, grabbing a bucket full of dinner scraps to toss into the chicken pen on his way to the garden shed.

Unfortunately, just as he rounded the corner of the house, fingers snagged on his patchwork coat. The sudden tug caused Izuku to fall over backwards, his legs flying up into the air and the bucket’s contents spilling all over him.

“Oops,” Tomura, his stepbrother, drawled with a sly grin. “Clumsy Deku, better watch where you’re going.”

“Good morning, Tomura,” the younger boy wheezed. After a moment’s pause to let his head stop spinning, Izuku staggered back upright.

“Hmph. It’ll only be a good morning if you remember to pick up my purchases from town before it rains.”

Clouds were already gathering in the sky above them. Izuku looked at his stepbrother helplessly. “But, your father needs me to-”

“I don’t care, Deku, you ought to be able to get it all done in a timely manner. After all, that’s the right thing to do, yeah? Follow through on your committments?” Sighing, because that was one of his mother’s old lessons, Izuku nodded. “Good. Remember, get all my new things here, dry.”

“Yes, Tomura.” Satisfied at Izuku’s compliance, the lanky young man turned and strode back towards the front door of the manor house - the one Izuku wasn’t allowed to use anymore, as he dressed “too much like a servant” for it to be proper. Honestly, though, wearing the sort of finery he used to, that his stepfather and brother still did, was impractical in the extreme with the physical labor Izuku did.

He tried not to let it bother him.

Allowing himself another sigh, the youth quickly scooped up as many scraps as he could to drop back into the bucket, then hurried onwards. He tossed the food to the chickens, grabbed the tools he’d need for the back wall and tree branches to place in a wheelbarrow, and rolled the whole lot down to the forest’s edge. The old stone barrier was veritably covered in moss, blending with the landscape, but there was no mistaking the spot where several stones had come loose and tumbled to the ground.

Working quickly, Izuku leveraged up as many of the heavy rocks as he could manage, stacking them back onto the wall. Then he set braces in place to keep them there for the time being, before filling the cracks with mud fetched from the stream that ran through their property.

“Not a perfect job, but it’ll have to do,” he muttered. After that, the youth used his long clipping tool to trim the low-hanging tree branches that reached over the wall. He knew his stepfather wanted them gone for looks, but Izuku also figured these would be the most likely culprits for dying, falling, and damaging the wall again. The youth much preferred clearing them away at this point, rather than needing to fix further sections of stone in future.

The day had brightened into mid-morning by the time he finished and put away the tools, forcing Izuku to forget cleaning up before saddling their mare to ride into town. She was an old, plodding thing, and though he kept casting concerned glances at the looming storm clouds, Izuku couldn’t bring himself to force her into a faster pace.

Once at the market square, he tied the mare up at a hitch outside the inn, figuring it would be quicker to run between stores on foot. Six different merchants Izuku visited, gathering up a variety of packages for his stepbrother, promising to come back later in the week to pay off Tomura’s assorted tabs. Arms full, he returned to the mare, barely avoiding colliding with anyone or dropping his load.

It was a trick and a half to arrange everything in the saddlebags he’d brought along, but Izuku managed, and he set off back for home just as the first crack of thunder rumbled over head.

“I know you don’t want to get soaked anymore than I do, girl,” Izuku said to his horse, gently tapping at her sides with his heels. She took the hint, speeding up from a brisk walk into a trot.

They’d nearly gotten back to the manor grounds when a flash of pink in the corner of his eye caught Izuku’s attention. He pulled back on the mare’s reins, peering into the woods. Again, he spotted the flash of bright color, and only a few moments later, a girl his age riding a tall white horse burst out onto the road.

Their sudden appearance caused Izuku’s mare to rear back in surprise, and he, unprepared, toppled off. Colliding rather painfully with the ground knocked the air from his lungs, and it was all the youth could do to just wheeze for a moment. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the mare taking off down the road, her hoofbeats ringing in his ears.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

Bright brown eyes peered down into his own, derailing what progress Izuku had made in getting his breath back. He wheezed again, but also offered a wobbly grin.

“My sincerest apologies, I was in such a hurry to get back to the road I didn’t even stop to think someone else might be on it - are in any pain? Can I help you sit up?”

Coughing to try and clear his head a little, Izuku nodded. He moved his arms to push himself upright, aided by slim hands supporting his shoulders. The world spun a little, but that cleared after a moment, and he finally looked up to fully take in the girl before him.

And blushed a brighter red than he ever had in his entire life.

Her hair was the same shining brown as her eyes, cut in such a way to frame her face with the strands. Rosy cheeks and a button nose were all scrunched up adorably as she stared at him with blatant concern. “I don’t think you hit your head hard enough to gain a bump,” she said, fingers gently prodding at the back of his skull. “Does this hurt at all?”

“N-no!” Izuku yelped, more from embarrassment than anything else. “I’m fine, r-really!”

“Are you sure? That was a nasty fall...”

“Ah, n-nothing I haven’t felt before,” he said, gingerly climbing to his feet. The girl stood up as well, giving him a better view of the riding clothes she wore, warm grey with pink accents and the livery of the Royal Household. “Are you alright?”

Her eyebrows shot up, practically disappearing behind her bangs. “I’m not the one who just fell off a horse - but yes, I’m perfectly well.”

“Good, that’s g-good.” Biting at his lip to keep from blurting out anything else foolish, Izuku glanced at her horse, also bearing matching gear to her own. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time, you’re probably in a hurry-”

“If I hadn’t been in such a rush, I wouldn’t have caused your fall,” the girl said sheepishly.

“Th-that’s alright! Better me than someone else, anyway. If it had been my stepbrother, he’d be screaming and kicking up all manner of trouble for you.”

“Trouble... for me?”

Taken aback by her puzzled tone, Izuku blinked. “Well, yes. I imagine it wouldn’t look good for word to get around of royal servants startling innocent mares into bucking off their riders - but I won’t say a word, I promise! It was just an accident, after all.” The girl kept staring at him, and Izuku shuffled awkwardly. “Um, I really shouldn’t keep you, what with the rain and all...”

Another burst of thunder added emphasis to his words, snapping the girl out of whatever state she’d been in. “Oh! Right, that’s- at least let me give you a ride home, so you aren’t caught by the storm!”

“I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I need to find my horse, anyway - there’s packages in her saddlebags I’m supposed to bring back, and if I show up without them I’ll really be in trouble.”

“Well, I’ll help you track her down, then, it’s the least I can do!” She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and soon enough Izuku found himself sitting double behind the girl on her own horse, cantering up the road as they searched for his mare. They sat flush together, his arms curled around her midsection and his nose constantly breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, and the combination of all that was turning Izuku’s stomach over in a not unpleasant way.

“What were you doing so far from the castle, anyway?” He asked at one point.

“Oh, just, trying to enjoy a bit of freedom. My responsibilities are going to increase fairly soon, and I wasn’t sure when I’d get another chance.”

Izuku understood that without any trouble at all. “I’m sorry. I hope you’ll still be able to find some time for yourself in future.”

One of her gloved hands released the reins long enough to squeeze his own. “Thank you.”

Warmth seemed to spread from that one bit of contact, but before Izuku could say anything else, they turned a corner in the road and spotted his mare just ahead, grazing on some grass beneath the shelter of the trees.

The girl slowed her own mount to a halt, allowing Izuku to clamber off and jog over to his wayward horse. “You silly thing, did you stop at the first bit of greenery that looked tasty?” She snuffled at his face, causing the youth to laugh as he leaned back. “Oh no, my hair does not count!”

He fussed over her for a few moments more, and checked that all of Tomura’s packages were still safe and secure, before glancing back at his new friend. She still sat upon her own horse, smiling at him with a soft expression.

“Ah, thank you again!” Izuku beamed.

The girl blushed, ducking her head. “It was no trouble, the least I could do, as I said!”

They paused in an awkward silence, before Izuku spoke again. “Will, ah - is there any chance you might be back out this way again, sometime?”

Her face fell. “No, not any time soon, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.”

“But... have you heard about the ball at the castle, in two days time?”

How could he not - the grandest event of the year, to which eligible young men from across the kingdom and beyond had been invited, with the express intent of finding a husband for the princess. Most of what Izuku had picked up in town were Tomura’s fitted garments and styling supplies for the ball.

“Yes, I have. I hadn’t planned on going, though, my stepfamily wouldn’t like it much.”

“Well, if you do attend, I’ll be there.”

“Oh. Oh!” Izuku beamed up at her again. “In that case, I’ll do my best to come!”

She smiled back, before more thunder and a visible bolt of lightning reminded them of more pressing concerns. “I’ll look for you, then! Take care!”

“You too!” Izuku hastily swung himself up into the mare’s saddle, but there he lingered, watching as the girl rode away. Just as she vanished out of sight, he realized they’d never actually introduced themselves to one another. “Oh, shoot!”

And of course, that was when the rain started to come down.

---

Chapter two is in the works, along with a Little Mermaid Tododeku fic, and a Beauty and the Beast Bakudeku story. Everything will eventually be posted to my AO3 account, also under the name Triscribe (I’m very easy to track down).

If I get any interest for this, I might make some watercolor art to go with it, too...

#my hero academia #ochadeku #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #cinderella au #fairtytale au series #bnha #why is it so easy to case Izuku as Disney princesses...

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