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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

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Kingslayer AU: Chapter Four

I would say this is where the plot really kicks up. Especially next chapter.

\\ Warnings: blood, violence, guns //

Home was quiet under the overcast winter sky. A blanket of snow covered everything in sight. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered away the chill creeping down his back. It was beginning to snow more heavily as the evening set in on the server.

Winter never faired well with him, it made his hands and knees weak, and stuck him with a near constant headache. Most ailments rendered him bedridden if it was cold enough outside. He hoped he wouldn’t get sick.

Jimmy had hurried them into Scott’s home quickly after entering the walls. It wasn’t really Scott’s anymore as both of them had been sharing the space for quite a while. There was evidence of each of them strewn about.

It could do with some cleaning but the clutter made it feel more natural.

Safer, perhaps.

Scott took his shoes and jacket off. He left them near the door so no muck would get tracked into the house. It was cold inside from a week of being neglected, not a lamp had been left on after he went to see the Sand People.

One glance at his bed proved to be the nail in the coffin. He climbed into the loft and lay down, his head hit the pillow and he was out.

*****

Water trickled across the ceiling. It dropped down and landed on Scott’s cheek. Plunk Plunk Plunk.

Scott blinked into awareness and looked for the source of his awakening, only to find that it was completely dark. Panic surged through him and he sat up quickly only to hit his head on a hard surface. His hands flew out in surprise and hit two stone walls.

“What,” he breathed.

The floor beneath him was damp from perpetual rain seeping into the cell.

“No,” he whispered repeatedly.

The darkness was suffocating this time, he couldn’t calm down, he knew he’d run out of air eventually. Maybe the lack of oxygen was finally making him go crazy, imagining the walls were getting closer and closer. Scott pushed himself up against the corner and hugged his knees to his chest.

The water that woke him up seemed to flow more like a waterfall now. It hit the jagged floor and slowly approached the corner Scott had decided to glue himself to, but it didn’t stop. The water only grew deeper and deeper. He was too tired to even care. Death seemed like a more peaceful option then trying to escape.

He would drown in his tomb alone, and they would get away with it.

*****

Scott’s eyes flew open. This time not to a completely dark stone tomb, but a softly moonlit bedroom. His bedroom.

A weight from behind him made itself known.

Jimmy must have gotten into bed with him earlier that night. The covers were pulled over both of them.

Scott turned around and leaned into his sleeping husband’s arms, taking a few moments to assure himself of his surroundings; and that he was safe at home.

Sensing that his night of sleep had been cut short, Scott meticulously unwrapped himself from Jimmy’s arms and replaced himself with a pillow.

His socks masked most of the noise he made as he exited the room and partially closed the door behind him. It was deathly silent when he unhooked his coat (the one he didn’t ruin) from its place on the wall, equipped his boots, and slipped outside.

The contrast of warmth from inside to outside made Scott’s eyes water. His hands were safe inside his mittens when he brushed some snow off his front steps and sat down.

It was a bit windy outside, breeze funneled through the valley and into the Hobbit town. It bounced off the hills and dissipated into the air. Scott wished he’d brought his telescope so he could admire the sky, which was clear at the moment. A lonely band of the Milky Way sliced across the cosmos to the west.

Stargazing always filled him with a feeling of yearning. He couldn’t remember why, or even when it had started, but ever since he found himself on this server with borders and rules he felt out of place. Not just in the way he looked, but being grounded for so long. Scott had trouble understanding the ways of this world. It was obvious that he didn’t quite fit.

The snow had died down since they arrived hours earlier, nobody had cleared it for a while so it was near shin deep. Every inch of the landscape was buried, including the entrance to their enchanting room, and all the flowers that would typically adorn the forest floor.

Something was wrong.

Scott couldn’t put his finger on it. Coming to alertness, he scanned the scenery like a hawk until he saw it.

Footprints.

Fresh. Footprints.

Directly in front of his home, they came right up to the first step and no further. There was multiple sets fanning out across the lawn area. He could see all three sets from his perch.

Scott froze with fear. Someone had paid a visit in the middle of the night while they were asleep. He wondered why, but he knew.

He was about to get up and lock himself inside when he felt something step on the creaking stairs right behind him. Scott’s eyes flicked to the side for a split second before he instinctively stood up and attempted to flee down the remaining steps, but he didn’t make it.

A hand instantly wrapped around his forearm and wrenched him backwards, he fell into an armored torso. A gloved hand clapped over his mouth, and an arm snaked under his own to render them paralyzed.

“It would be in your best interest not to scream Major,” a terrible Scottish accent made itself known. Scott nearly rolled his eyes.

Of course, this dramatic fool had to come and ruin his night. One thing was for certain, he was not getting kidnapped again.

A sharp object poked at his ribs.

“Just a precaution,” someone said in a falsely apologetic tone. No doubt it was Skizzle.

That meant that he was being immobilized by Martyn. He should have known really, that man followed the Red King anywhere. Upon the ladder’s orders, he escorted Scott down the steps and across the snow stricken grounds, just next to Jimmy’s “house” that they’d mainly been using as storage for the odds and ends that didn’t fit in Scott’s place.

The hand was removed from his jaw and he jolted his head away with a mirthful expression. He fixed his eyes directly where he assumed Ren’s were beneath his sunglasses; which he was wearing in the dead of night. Asshole.

Skizzle stood next to Ren with an imposing posture, as Martyn had a free hand to hold his own weapon with. The weapon being an enchanted diamond axe which he held with a sort of pride.

“You know,” Ren began, “I must give it to you Major, that escape you pulled off was impressive,” he spoke in an unbothered manner and ground his foot upon a rock somewhere under the snow.

“Why are you doing this, Ren?” Scott cut to the chase. He was uninterested in games.

“You aren’t even a red lifer. You can’t kill me,” he added.

Ren scoffed. He adjusted his glasses, “and who exactly is policing that rule?” he said with a knowing quirk of an eyebrow.

“Grian?”a beat passed, “you?!” he began to laugh to himself. Skizzle and Martyn joined in momentarily.

“More green lifers have killed people than red at this stage, so don’t get on me about that,” he said.

“These are my walls,” Scott pointed out.

“That’s funny, you didn’t seem to have much respect for our walls earlier did you,” Martyn said close to Scott’s ear. He pulled away.

“Can I at least be let in on why you’re picking on me of all people?” Scott asked with no enthusiasm.

“Don’t tell me you went on and forgot that Timmy dearest is responsible for the deaths of myself and Skizzle,” Ren shot back, leaning into the other’s personal space.

Everyone looked between each other, “among other things,” Ren added.

Skiz nodded in agreement and sent a meaningful glare towards Scott’s house, where a dim light was on in the bedroom.

Scott’s mouth hung open in rueful shock, “that’s what all this is about? It was an accident,” he shouted. Which earned him a light punch in the side.

“Be quiet,” Martyn warned.

“You know he didn’t mean it! He was sorry and you know it. The only reason you’re even here right now is because it was an accident. Don’t do this to him,” Scott half pleaded but he was more angry.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re buddy buddy with the people who want to kill us too. Hmm, maybe you are familiar with the term ‘covering our bases’?” Ren added.

“This isn’t all about your perfect little life Major,” Ren dropped the accent and took Scott by the front of his jacket.

“Things are going to change around here for all of us, and it starts with your Timmy paying his dues,” he said.

Scott’s face pulled into a scowl. He thrust his head forward vigorously, the plastic CRACK of Ren’s sunglasses on impact split through his ears as he saw the “Red” King stagger backwards.

Before his goons could decide their next moves Scott lifted his foot up behind him quickly, glad he’d decided to wear his heavier boots on a whim as they collided with an unfortunate set of unmentionables.

The owner of the unmentionables keeled over. He all but threw the axe out of his hands, which Scott graciously took for himself. He tore himself free and swung around, bringing the back of the axe down on Martyn’s bowed head. Purposefully omitting the sharpened blade from the equation.

Skull met stick with a loud THWACK; and Martyn’s body went limp. The Hand fell on his side into the snow with a muffled thump.

Scott admired his work for a moment and considered it even for the lingering purple bruise still on the side of his own face.

There was no time to waste though, he turned back to the remaining members of Dogwarts with a new feeling of control.

Ren’s face was still buried in his hands. No doubt sporting a wicked nosebleed from being head-butted. His glasses were nowhere to be found. Somewhere in the deep snow.

Scott’s attention turned to Skiz now. Who was in battle position.

It was not a fair fight by any means. The Red Army was decked out in their signature crimson dyed armor (not great for sneaking around but they weren’t much into that) and their iconic shields which Scott thought were a bit ugly.

Nobody was immune to quick thinking though. Even with all that armor, a man can’t be immune to a kick in the nuts.

Skizzle made the first move. He pushed off his heel and swung his sword vertically in Scott’s direction. The ladder, shieldless, jumped out of the way. Skizzle regained his composure and ran after him like a blood sniffing shark. Scott ran away from him in as dead a sprint that can be achieved in knee deep snow, letting his pursuer gain some momentum before he sharply turned around and plunged his axe blade into the thick wood of Skiz’s shield.

The aforementioned momentum caused Skiz to keep moving while his Sheild was ripped from his arm attached to the sharp blade of Scott’s (new) shiny axe. Both of them fell over in the snow.

Wanting to get the jump, Scott staggered to his feet and sat on top of Skizzle to keep him on the ground. They pushed back and forth with their respective blades until Scott was thrown off the other, who immediately slashed his sword at him but missed by a hair.

Scott rolled away clumsily with the shield on his arm and used the handle of his axe to stand up just in time for another barrage of slashes that audibly cut through the air. Scott blocked them with his shield and with the hilt of his axe, managing to repel his opponent for enough time to get his share of hits.

“You’re using the wrong side of the axe, man!” Skizzle pointed out after being beat a few times with the non-lethal side of Scott’s weapon, which he was using his armored forearms to fend off.

“Would you rather me use the other?” Scott replied.

They went back and forth in a struggle to gain control of their respective fights, of which had seen them travel to the corner of the Hobbits’ walls where two hills flattened out and created an amphitheater with a perfect stage in the center.

The metallic clashing of weapons filled the area, Skizzle managed to wrap Scott in a chokehold, the shield had been thrown to the sidelines amongst the struggle, with a blade growing ever nearer to his throat. Scott held off the oncoming sword by brute strength alone, his hand braced against his opponent’s forearm and shook with the effort.

“This is it for you,” Skizzle strained, “no more games,” he said.

Scott answered with a war cry. He knocked the other’s chest with his elbow and threw both of them forwards a bit, just enough to wriggle free and get away from the blade. While Skiz wasn’t guarding his midsection, Scott jabbed the handle of his weapon into the space between Skiz’s chest plate and armored leggings.

A breathless cough was all that came from the man behind him, followed by a drawn out whine, then a satisfying thud and the clunking of armor as it fell into the snow.

There was no place to celebrate his victory however, when a very angry, bloody nosed king strode up to the crime scene. Ren’s expression told Scott that he wasn’t a fun target to play with anymore. Tougher than he looked, perhaps.

The leader of Dogwarts trudged menacingly up to Scott, who made to raise his weapon but instead was greeted by a fist in his face. The force threw him to the ground, where Ren’s heavy red boot descended upon his chest. A blade sliced into the hard ground next to Scott’s ear. His axe was yanked from his hands and thrown somewhere behind them by Ren.

“Alright Major. Perhaps I underestimated your capabilities,” Ren practically spat, “It’s a shame really. You would have been such an attractive addition to the Red Army,” he said with a mocking sadness.

“That was supposed to be your sales pitch?” Scott strained.

Scott could feel rivulets of blood flowing down his face from his nostrils, it seeped into his mouth and tasted like he’d eaten iron shavings. His hands were clasped around Ren’s ankle and foot, trying to alleviate the stress that was on his rib cage. He liked being able to breathe after all.

“You’ve clearly proven too much for my army to handle,” Ren jerked Scott by the front of his shirt, as if he was the one to blame for his army’s failure.

“But I digress. I guess I’ll kill you now,” the Red King smiled down at him with a devious grin, and shoved him harshly to the ground.

Scott could see that his eyes were a striking yellow, set back in his head a bit so that they were perpetually shadowed by his eye sockets. Strands of white and brown hair fell around his face, and his right ear twitched upon his head.

His vision was swimming dangerously close to blacking out as Ren hoisted his weapon, a glimmering diamond axe with a gold accented handle, above his head. Scott shut his eyes and prepared for the cold hard inevitable when a loud POP ricocheted off the amphitheater walls. Followed by a dull plunk.

The axe fell from Ren’s hands like it was knocked away. He jumped like he’d been startled. His eyes were blown wide, and Scott thought he might look scared.

Ren raised a shaky hand to his right shoulder, turning it a bit so he could see, he gently touched the surface of his arm. His fingertips came back covered in a layer of blood.

He began to slowly turn around, Scott sat up on his elbow to follow his line of sight.

Standing in the entrance to the amphitheater, in the snow that had been disturbed by the previous altercation, was a furious looking Jimmy.

His hunting rifle was still raised and aimed at the Red King, smoke poured from the barrel and floated into the frigid air.

Ren stood up and faced Jimmy, an out of place smile gracing his countenance.

“Well! Looks like we have a full party now, I was wondering when the special guest was going to show up,” he teased.

“Your little friend here put up quite the fight,” Ren took Scott by the back of his hood and lifted him out of the obfuscating layer of snow.

“You just don’t stop talking do you,” Jimmy said sternly. He didn’t move an inch, and his finger was poised on the trigger of his father’s old gun.

Ren had stopped talking. He resorted to staring down his nose at the other man.

“Get out of my walls, Ren,” Jimmy demanded.

“Now hold on dude, we’re not finished here,” Ren prefaced.

“No, I think we are done here!” Jimmy raised his voice.

“You’re going put him down right now,” he ordered, “take your men, and leave my home,” Jimmy yelled.

“Or what?” Ren asked, although it was more of a last ditch effort than a promise of more to come.

“Or I aim for your head next time,” Jimmy deadpanned.

Ren chewed his bottom lip pensively, seeming to consider his options before rendering himself rightfully defeated. He nodded curtly, and tossed the battered Scott at Jimmy’s feet. He strode over to Skizzle and kicked him encouragingly in the side, gathering him up and then going to retrieve Martyn, whom he had Skizzle sling over his shoulder.

The Red Musketeers vacated the Hobbit’s walls, going through the door they broke down on the way in. Jimmy kept his rifle trained on them until he was sure they weren’t coming back. Then he turned back to Scott, shakily flipping the safety of the rifle back on.

“Scott,” Jimmy called out, “hey, can you hear me?” it was too familiar.

“I’m fine,” Scott assured; but his husband wasn’t having it. He took the other’s face in his hands gently and assessed the damage.

“I think you have a concussion,” Jimmy observed.

“I think I could have used your help a bit earlier,” Scott joked, but Jimmy didn’t smile, “I mean I knew you were a heavy sleeper but this is ridiculous”, he added.

Jimmy helped him up and he wobbled a bit before taking in the scene he’d made. A clear path of action stretched from the front door of Jimmy’s house to the Western Wall where the amphitheater was. Some of the snow was red with blood.

Jimmy took Scott’s arm and pulled him into a half embrace, “let’s go back inside. You’re freezing,” he whispered.

“Wait,” Scott said.

He started sifting through the snow, eventually pulling out the axe he’d stolen from Martyn. Ren had retrieved his and Skiz’s weapons before leaving. He held it up and flipped it over in his hands a few times gleefully. Then, he trudged over to Jimmy’s front door and found Ren’s discarded shades under some red stained snow. The right lens was cracked down the middle, hairline fractures branched off of it.

He held the sunglasses up for Jimmy to see with a proud grin, waving them around in the air.

“How’d you manage that?” Jimmy asked, dumbfounded.

“I went like BAP!” Scott articulated as he pretended to head butt Jimmy to demonstrate, “and they must have come right off! Look at that, a perfect trophy,” he bragged.

“You know, I didn’t question why he wasn’t wearing them because I didn’t think that even he was enough of a dick to wear sunglasses in the dead of night,” Jimmy said.

“Now, inside,” he pointed to the door.

#kingslayer au #half the server is in this one boys #3rd life smp #3rdlife #3rdlife smp #scott smajor #solidaritygaming #rendog #inthelittlewood #skizzleman #cas types

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dianapana · 3 years

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SH Day 5- Queen of the Garden

I had some trouble coming up with ideas for this prompt, so I went with a bit of a classic some Greek mythology inspired story. I hope you enjoy ~Love, Dia

Hades and Persephone inspired AU, OOC

They were in the middle of a trial, Sasuke was sitting on the throne and Hinata was on his lap, both of them looking over the poor unfortunate soul that had to plead his case, however before they could open their mouth to try and convince Sasuke why they should be sent to the good place, an awful alarm went off. Sasuke sighed and kissed the back of Hinata’s neck but she made no move to get up from his lap.

“Ignore the insupportable noise, it will stop in a bit. Go on and plead your case” Hinata told the soul, but once again they were cut off by Sasuke holding his hand up, gesturing that they should keep quiet.

“Ignore? What do you mean Hinata? That alarm indicates that spring has to come and you must return to the world above.” He was running his hand over the white and silky skin of her upper thigh. Hinata didn’t answer immediately but rather sighed and let her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Must I really? Can’t I just stay here this year, I’m sure they won’t miss me at all up there” the trial was fully forgotten now, so much so that Sasuke made a set of signs teleporting himself and Hinata in the privacy of their room.

“You know how much I’d love that, but they need you there, you are the queen of the gardens after all, without you spring and summer do not exist. Nature would be dead” He hated that she had to leave him for half a year just as much as she did, but they made a deal with her family and that could not be broken. If it could have, he would have broken it aeons ago.

Hinata turned around in his lap so she was facing him. “what’s a little longer winter” she murmured and leaned in to kiss him. “what’s a little chaos in the world” the mere fact that she was considering allowing humanity to suffer for her selfish reasons was proof of how many centuries had passed since they met. She was sweet and innocent at the time, putting humanity above all else; but being present at the trials, seeing just how wicked and selfish human beings are slowly jaded her. Hinata placed her hands on the nape of his neck and slowly moved them upwards, entangling them in his hair “what’s a bit of human suffering when I get to be with you” her kiss was more aggressive, but Sasuke wasn’t one to argue, thus matching her forcefulness.

“We can’t break the deal Hinata, you know that. If we do, they’ll make it so that you will no longer be able to enter my kingdom” she hated how reasonable he was in times like this, she knew he was right but she honestly just did not want to leave. What could they do if she never ever returned?

“Who cares if I can’t enter, I’ll just never leave and that won’t be an issue” she stood on her knees, her chest being perfectly in front of him. Reaching under her dress Sasuke ran his hands up her tights, up her waist taking her dress off with the same move. Her reasoning made sense, but was it really worth the possibility of them not being able to be together anymore? “I’ll just stay here with you forever” Hinata whispered into his ear, trying her best to convince him that her idea was the best one.

Was it worth it? Sasuke kept weighing the situation even as he was touching every part of her body, his mind was fully working even as he kissed up her neck, even as she ripped his clothes off of him. “Stop thinking, come back to me fully” Hinata insisted as she placed both of her hands on his tights. His eyes focused on her and the image he had in front of him, she was naked and stunning and laying barely inches away from him, that distance in itself was too much, he couldn’t even imagine sending her to the above world, how had he managed aeons of spending only half his time with her? “you’re right” he finally answered. “Stay” his voice was much lower when he said that word, it felt like an order, like a plead, like a wish.

For the following days, the King of the Underworld and the Queen of the Gardens ignored all of their duties, choosing to simply spend their time alone in their bed. The trials with the King only started again weeks after. The above world was still chaos-free, they simply treated it as a longer winter, Hinata had stopped being punctual many centuries ago, always dreading leaving the world. Chaos only started when it was March and it snowed still, when it was April and the lake waters were still frozen.

“THE GARDEN QUEEN DIED!” “THE GARDEN QUEEN ABANDONED US!” “CURSE THE UNDERWOLD KING”

Freezing temperatures in June led to the beginning of the chaos, people were chanting on the streets about Hinata, about Sasuke. All the crops died, people were starving and dying from the cold. Hinata’s family tried to bring back spring and summer but they had relied on Hinata since the beginning of the world and were unable to do it on their own. They tried to reach her but were unable to step foot into the underworld without being severely hurt. Hinata’s ability to thrive in Sasuke’s kingdom was proof of the superiority of her powers.

Sasuke and Hinata once again were alone in their house, Sasuke was reading a book as Hinata had her head in his lap, he was running his fingers through her hair. Hinata was a few seconds away from falling asleep when she said ‘if I had known it would be this easy and with almost no consequences on us, I would have stayed here exclusively from the beginning.”

Under normal circumstances, Sasuke would be opposed to the break of a contract, but he couldn’t help but agree, the 4 extra months she had stayed behind had been some of the best and he couldn’t wait for all of the billion months to come of them being together. He bent down and kissed her softly on the lips in her sleep. “You were right, you are always right” he murmured as their lips were still touching.

“I know, I always am” she replied, her eyes still closed but she had one hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a longer and deeper kiss.

#sasuhina #sasuhinamonth #sasuhinamonth2021 #shmonth #shmonth2021 #sasuke #hinata #susake uchiha #hinata hyuuga #uchiha #hyuuga #naruto #fanfic #fanfiction #dia story #diawrites

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beann-e · 3 years

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I wrote ‘ thank you for 300 followers ‘ angst ☹️

you knew this was wrong you knew it yet here you were standing in front of the stadium your heart beating through the sweater you wore to fight off the cold you had

to fight off the tears

the heartbreak and not only that but the pure sadness you felt for yourself

you moved through the hallways as you took a deep breath hand steady on the door. You felt as the emptiness of the hallway washed over you

“ once you do that y/n your not only on bad terms with one of them but both “

You dropped your head as you heard kageyamas voice come out softly.

He knew right now what you didn’t need was insensitive comments he was sure you’d get those inside

“y/n just don’t go in “ you shuddered when he reached out his hand to grab your arms and pull you back but your grip only tightening on the door

“ fine your funeral “ he moved back hurt at the action walking inside the gym your body following as he held the door open for you. “ you won’t be alone— I mean yeah kind of because your like dead but, i’ll — i’ll go “

Small steps echoing through the now quiet gym as everyone had been cleaning up to end practice but now all stood staring down at you

‘of course right now they all have to be tall ‘

“ ah ah y/n —w-what are you doing here “

you slowly pulled your head up as you toyed with your backpack straps in anxiousness

“ yeah —y/n “ that annoying voice let out as you heard footsteps “ what are you doing here “

you bit you lip as you felt your hands go sweaty

‘ I have to answer him ‘

“ I just —yams can we talk please “

he looked around in nervousness as he shook his head up and down “ yeah y-yeah sure “

“ thank yo-“

“ well I think that it seems of lesser importance if you waited all day to tell him “

tsukishimas voice continued “ I mean school just let out —could of told him in class “

he stepped closer to you “ lunch —he was with you oh no wait you sat somewhere else “

his voice was questioning as you pressed your teeth harder into your lip “ or were you sitting on someone else “

“ tsukki “ yamaguchis voice came out in a squeal everyones body shaking as you felt people look to you and then back to the floor trying to save you the embarrassment

“ what their the one who’s clearly not being honest here “ his eyebrows tightned in disgust “ just fucking dump ‘em already they didn’t even come here to tell the truth “

“ yeah but they might have been willing to tsukki if you just “

“ if I what ? was nice about it like you are “

“ ye—“

“ that’s why your getting fucking cheated on right now yamaguchi “

your breath stopped as the room went even quieter you could feel your boyfriends eyes prickle with tears at the accusation “ I-“

your voice got cut off as yams spoke “ that’s not -why would — your your out of line “

“ i’m “

“ why else do you think their standing here — why they avoided you all fucking day “ he sighed “ yams come on don’t be so fucking dense over a s/o “

“ wait let’s talk about thi— “ sugawaras voice was civil as everyones pointed looks moved to him

“ please “ you cried tears already hanging off your lashes “ I—I didn’t cheat I didn’t “

you felt your body grow hot at the new tears and the warmth from someone’s eyes pressing down on your skin “ it wasn’t like that I just — please “

“ then what was it like because as far as I could tell “

“ no no we —we were just talking and I “

“ oh so sitting on someone else lap is talking — letting someone else feed you is talking —y/n how about cheering for someone else at a match your boyfriends on the same court as “

you felt your eyes go blurry “ tsukishima I didn’t — it didn’t feel like cheating just please “

“ it didn’t feel like cheating — then what did it feel like y/n ? because I know how it felt when my best friend was waking me up in the middle of the night in fear when he saw you getting your fucking face eaten at the summer vol-“

“ please I didn’t mean for it t—“

“ what y/n what ? everything I hear out of you is excuses—just own up to it already —that’s the least this new shitty person i’m looking at could do “

“ tsukishima let’s just “ daichi said trying to help calm the situation down “ it’s yamaguchi a — “

“ why do you care so much “ kageyamas voice came out in question as he sipped his milk

“ I mean it seems like it has more to do with them and Yamaguchi than you “

“ because I — “ he scoffed “ imagine getting woken up the whole time we were at the camp at 4 in the morning just to go with your best friend to watch his girlfriend kiss an asshole while he cries next to you—every single day for a week “

“ we—”

“ then they just lie the whole time even after they got caught In the act —I mean I got fucking proof —really “ he laughed “ it’s gotta be considered annoying at some point “

“ please i’m not lying he just “

“ who “ yamaguchis voice came out as you sucked in air “ please let’s just —let’s cut the s-shit who was it—we could never tell it was always so dark when you two met up “

your body dropped at the word he’d never cursed at you before

“ it was — “ you gulped you didn’t even know if the person actually liked you or if they were just doing it because you were the only real girl who spent the night in the same dorms due to lack of space but you liked him

you liked him enough to forget your own boyfriend

using the guy and the camp as if it were a spa retreat

How Had you messed up everything that brought you happiness in a short quick week

“ i’m so sorry “

“ you didn’t say the name “

“ what team “

“ a-aobi johesai “

his body stopped “ oika—“

“ THE GREAT KING “ hinata looked at you sadly “ I — I thought better of you y/n “

you cried more as tsukishima laughed “ yeah right not even him it’s someone else —even he wouldn’t stoop that low “

he looked down on you as he finally stood in front of you whispering “ what the fuck are you dragging this out for tell them who you cheated with— he’s not even ace “ his voice hurt you

“ he’s not captain he’s fucking— “

“ mattsukawa “

your body lifted as you let his name out

“ mattsukawa is who I was meeting with at night “

you let your bottom lip go as you took a deep breath heavy eyes now pulled up to meet everyone “ I didn’t mean for — I think he — I don’t know what happened one minute i was —we were sitting down and the next he wa—“

“ no “ kageyamas voice came out “ your the — “

you looked over at the tall male before directing your eyes to all the third years whos mouths were wide open

“ holy hell your the — your the person that everyone was talking about at the barbecue “

you felt your eyes drop

“ he — he talked about me“ your body fluttered

“ look at ‘em actually liking him “ tsukishima laughed scoffing at the end due to your small look of hope “ you still have a boyfriend y/n not for long but —seriously in his face”

“ uh y/n he “

“ no please I don’t —not here “ sugawaras voice came out caring “ let’s just tell them later “

“ no that’s not righ— “ asahis voice came out

“ he told everyone you were easy “ kageyama said as he crushed his milk box

“ he told everyone on that team that you were simple and that he swore he could get you easily boyfriend or not “

your body shook “ wha—huh — no you “

“ you were a bet y/n—nothing more ,nothing less “ kageyama stared you down eyes holding pain for you but, knowing this was your only chance to fix everything with yams if you knew the truth.

He knew the only way to get you out of this crush mindset was to be harsh

“ y/n we swear if we’d known he was talking about you we would’v-”

again sugawara was cut off eyes going straight to kageyama while his face held annoyance at the first year

“ he took a bet with some other asshole that he could —I don’t know what he meant but he said he could ‘tap that’ and if he could everyone on the team would owe him yen”

your heart fell and your body slumped “ I-I gave hi—I gave him everything “

“ everything ? “ daichis voice came out confused

“ y/n it was only a week long camp how did you? there wasn’t much to give “

your mind went blank as you felt your body grow cold eyes coming up to meet with a disgusted and hurt yamaguchi who stood in shock mouth wide open

“ y-y/n you didn’t “

“ i— I thought that —he talked me int—“

you watched as he moved quickly to the door the loud echo from the slam moving throughout the room

“ uh ? “ tsukishimas voice sounded confused as he lost what you meant not being able to decipher the situation anymore “ I don’t — I don’t get this part “

“ because you start shit tsukishima and don’t know the whole story “ kageyamas voice was crisp

you felt your legs turn to jelly as you back away from the rest of the males running out of the door and home pulling your phone out as you dialed the number you were given

“ yoohoo~ this is the fuckboy hotline how can he help you “

you could hear the laughs over the phone as mattsukawas voice came out in small protest in the background

Them finally calming down as oikawa spoke “ ok no but we’re in the middle of practice which one is this “

“ how much you wanna bet it’s the girl he talked to last match “

“ no no it’s gotta be the one from the market “

“ your all wrong it’s gotta be the person from camp “

they all laughed “ yeah right— that one had a boyfriend matsu-chan’s got no balls for that one “

“ even I know not to touch that one — tried it cause their hot but they weren’t interested in leaving the guy “ oikawas voice came out in a scoff “ y/n’s smart honestly —that’s why she’s with that nice guy cause she wants to be taken care of I doubt they gave in to an asshole like him “

“ but dude swear it they were all over him when he said that their boyfriend sent him to dump ‘em “

“ shit— you lie —they believed that “

“ I mean “ you could feel the shrug that took place over the phone

“ woke up with ‘em in the same room as us “

“ damn mattsu got the angel from camp “ you could feel oikawas pout

“ crap I really wanted her too anytime I tried they said they were happy with spotty boy “

iwazumis voice was questioning as you listened in breathing getting heavier “angel from camp ? what the hell— mattsu you played another one I thought I asked you to stop “

“ I-I did “

“ then who’s that “

your voice came out in tears as you spoke “ c-can I—can I please just talk to mattsukawa “

You just needed reassurance everyone was wrong they had to be —they were

he told you there was no one else that cared enough to tell you about yams cheating.

that yamaguchi trusted him to tell you because tsukishima hated you which, was totally believable after just now

that everyone was lying and he — he was right he had to be

“ holy shi— “ oikawas voice went high in a squeak as he heard the whimpers “ oh hell mattsu-chan —your doing extra spikes what’d you do —whoever this is their crying “

“ which one is it “

“ pl-please oikawa just its y/n just please — “

“ fuck fuck fuck — “ you heard mattsukawas voice come out in panic “ I—i’m not here “

your heart dropped

“ uh — hes not here we um“

“ who’s that which one is that “

you heard as oikawa tried to whisper in hopes you didn’t hear “ that’s— it’s the one he banged at camp for the dare— the crows manager — the freckled losers s/o “

“ t-they did it ? they —mattsu how’d you get that “

“ I just —I might’ve told ‘em their boyfriend didn’t want them anymore “

the team went silent “ i swear I didn’t expect anything other than a kiss so I could get my money but once I kissed em —I —I screwed up I went too fast and —you gotta get ‘em off the phone “

you could hear his panicking “ I took their virginity on accident i swear I swear—I swear “

your hand shook as cries poured from you hearing a louder scream ram into your ear form the other end of the phone

“ do you not feel ashamed “

iwaizumis loud voice rang out “ you—you asshole how dare you —how can you take something like that accidentally—how can you take that from them “

“ I swear I didn’t me—they were sad and i — I didn’t know how to help and we were already halfway there and— “

you heard as the phone dropped to the floor Iwas loud voice booming on the other line hearing the occasional grunt and shuffling on the floor

you ghosting your shaky thumb over the end call button until you felt someone else’s hand lead yours to the red button

your body relaxing when you felt the hand you’d always loved to hold

relaxing into his back that pressed against your backpack only to feel him move away and his warm hand leave your own your hand moving out to grab his again as you turned around

“ no y/n “ his voice was so soft it hurt “ no you don’t get that — you don’t get my comfort “

you couldn’t even argue head looking to the gravely road

“ y’know if anybody I would have thought it’d be tsukishima “ he laughed a little “ that’s what I was afraid of y’know the whole time we dated I was scared you’d leave me for him — i was insecure really “

he shook his head “ but you always reassured me telling me you didn’t see him that way you didn’t like him there was nothing to worry about with him— and I just “ he scoffed his hand running over his face In exhaustion “ I guess I should have asked about other guys and not my fucking best friend— shouldn’t have had such a closed mind to be jealous of my best friend should have been jealous of every guy that passed my view when I was with you “

“ yams n— “

“ please don’t make this harder than it needs to be “ your head rose up at his words finally seeing his red stained eyes and floppy hair that he’d fixed desperately to cover them “ your already making it hard by standing there looking just as beautiful as you looked the day I stammered my way through asking you out “

he smiled “ come here “ you moved over slowly to his arms as he hugged you tightly “ yams please I didn’t mean— he just —he told me “

“ I know I know “ he rubbed your back as you calmed down into him his body encasing your own like a teddy bear that you needed to cry into after a hard day

“ we can fix it and we can just work through this —I know “

“ yeah your right “

he kissed the top of your head continuing to rub your back the moment feeling calm. You’d known yamaguchi wasnt one to keep grudges nor was he one to be mean. So this wasn’t very surprising for you.

You were thankful that he’d give you another chance that you even had a boyfriend like that it was truly a blessing for you causing you to hug him tighter

“ we— we can work through this “ he pulled back to look at you a smile on your face as you looked up at him his own mouth quirking up

“ separately “ he rubbed your arms up and down in a way of comfort “ don’t come to the next travel match y/n “

your face and heart dropped all at once “ but— yams i’m — im a manager “

“ yes I know but — the only reason why you were one was because you were my s/o they made an exception we had enough we only needed two”

“ wh— “

“ I think it’s best if we just go our separate ways — meaning you don’t have to pretend to like managing the team anymore and I can try to suck up my feelings for you “

he stepped back as he wiped his face “ i’m sorry but —i’m tired of getting walked over I need to make boundaries for myself and other people“

you shook silently head threatening to blow off in the amount of pain you were sheltering as he nodded towards your front door “ go on “

you looked between him and your house

“ I still wanna make sure you get in safely “

he smiled softly as you walked to your door moving to open it after toying with the lock

his eyes still on you until you walked in the house to look through the window him nodding twice to the floor, and putting his hand over his heart before he looked to your window he knew you always watched him when he left after dropping you off

he finished by waving his hand and turning around to leave

your back hitting the door and falling to the floor quickly tears falling hard and fast

you weren’t crying because he left you

you weren’t crying because you’d cheated

you were crying because he still said he loved you in the hand signals you two created for each other and gave you the same goodbye he’d given you everyday for two years since grade school

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thevalleyisjolly · 4 years

Text

Thinking about alternate character classes lately, and I’m always thinking about A Crown of Candy at any given point in time, so without further ado, for your consideration:

Wizard!Theo, except that he’s the only wizard ever with a positive Strength modifier because that would be hilarious. Wizard!Theo, who learned more from Lazuli than anyone knew, whose magic isn’t loud or flashy but spell notes hidden in a false prayer book, a soft glow on the tips of his paws and a muttered breath as one of the princesses falls from the top of the staircase again only to land on their feet, as softly as a feather. In this world, he’s officially the royal tutor, because there are things that Caramelinda doesn’t know, but she does know what Lazuli taught him and she knows where his loyalties lie and she knows that one day, one day the spark she can see in Ruby’s eyes will need a teacher but will more importantly need a protector. And to the princesses, to the rest of the court, to the world, he’s a slightly gullible, rather awkward tutor who stands on ceremony far too much, and they laugh at him and his silly little sprinkle pet and isn’t he a bit of a large goon? Even Amethar forgets, every now and then, what he’s seen Theo do on a battlefield, to a battlefield, because as awkward as his social skills may be, Theo is committed to the part and he plays it well. In any lifetime, in any world, Theo loves his people and he’ll do what he has to for them.

Bonus subclass: School of Abjuration obviously, this squishy gummy bear has one mission, and that’s to protect people.

Rogue!Lapin, because obviously. Rogue!Lapin, who never summoned the Sugar Plum Fairy, who smiled and charmed and lied his way from the street to the service of a minor but respectable lord, and from there up and up the social strata until he is chamberlain to House Jawbreaker. Duke Jawbreaker doesn’t bother much with him, but Spearia Mentha takes one look at Lapin, standing too straight and tall, the accent of the common mountain folk still seeping out at his edges, his eyes sharp and clever even when bowing and murmuring obedience, and she thinks “Hmm.” And when her sweet baby has to go to Castle Candy as hostage, a safe and willing hostage, but a hostage nonetheless, she writes to dear sister Caramelinda and asks would it be alright if she sent someone from her own household, just to keep an eye on the boy, for her peace of mind as a mother? Liam arrives at Castle Candy, sans pig, plus one very stuffy guardian, and Lapin Cadbury looks up at the towering spires and parapets of the castle, and a small, rare smile flashes across his face for just a second.

Bonus subclass: Mastermind is really the only way to go, isn’t it?

Sorcerer!Amethar, but listen, alright, my kingdom for Sorceror!Amethar who grows up with magic as rage flowing through his veins, whose wrath manifests not as bursts of concentrated battle fury, but in wild surges of strange and powerful magic. There is magic in the blood and bones of House Rocks, an old and willful magic. His sisters protected him, as much as they could, but still, there are whispers, more so once the young prince becomes the grieving king with the eyes of the world on him. People mutter about the witch king of Candia, they say that he’s levelled armies with his sorcery, that he’s bewitched the Emperor Gustavo into friendship, that he’s dangerous and brings only death and destruction. And it hurts, it does, not because he cares what other people think, but because they aren’t all wrong. Look at him, the Unfallen, alive when so many have died. It hurts that he has so much power singing in his blood, and he’s the one who’s powerless, who can’t be the protector, who must be the protected. Why him? Why not strong Rococoa, or brilliant Lazuli, or kind Citrina, or cunning Sapphria? Why is he alive and not them, when he is the wildcard, the dangerous one, the last person who should be king?

Bonus subclass: I mean, it’s gotta be Wild Magic, no doubt about it.

Druid!Cumulous is another story that writes itself. Druid!Cumulous still swears the same vows of dedication and protection to Candia’s magic, Candia’s secrets, and so Candia itself rises to acknowledge that. It isn’t the red glow of the Hungry One that surrounds him when he fights, but the bright pink of the frosting sprites, the warm chocolate of the fudge brownies, the brilliant lemon-yellow of the river dragon’s scales, the slightest tint of sugar plum purple. All spirits are fickle and unpredictable and dangerous, but they can recognize faith and they can appreciate service and they can reward what is freely given. The Sugar Plum Fairy considers this one for a while. She has no little pet bunny in this world, no servant to demand wishes from. But fairies are jealous, too jealous. Hearts and minds and souls, of course they should be hers, wholly hers, why wouldn’t they be, and for all the vastness of her realm, all her secrets and all her magic, there is something more to Candia than what is just in her. So she lets this one be, and lays her trap for another prize, a bigger prize…

Bonus subclass: You could honestly make a good argument for Circle of the Shepherd or Circle of the Land, although Circle of the Moon is pretty great for more combat-focused war guys druids.

Warlock!Saccharina’s life is still a tragedy, because magic was only the most obvious thing that the nuns tried to beat out of her. Warlock!Saccharina is not born with lightning in her fingers and a storm in her heart, but she is born with a strength and a will that the nuns despise. In this world, Saccharina looks in the window, in the mirror, and she still sees a blue woman, a kind woman with a kind face, reaching out to her, comforting her when the nuns mistreat her, telling her wondrous stories and magical secrets. In this world, the Rocks sisters, held in a false afterlife, stage a jailbreak. Rococoa raises herself back to the living, cold with vengeance against the man who murdered her. Citrina hitches up her skirts and hikes off to Vegetania, prepared to visit as many dreams and instigate as many supernatural miracles as she needs in order to reform the Church. Sapphria laughs and winks and goes off to do something mysterious and terribly complex and probably very clever. And Lazuli? Lazuli goes to find her eldest niece, and to help her do something about the frankly terrible situation she’s in. She is no spirit of the dead that a small exorcism by a provincial abbess can banish, but something new, something more. And when Saccharina finally drowns the monastery, a grim smile on her face, it is with eyes and fingers that glow a brilliant, sharp blue.

Bonus subclass: Either Great Old One or Celestial, depending on how Lazuli fights her way back to the waking world. Reaching out to the mortal world from the afterlife? Probably Celestial. Something strange and mysterious that’s never happened before in all of creation, and isn’t entirely comprehensible even to her? Great Old One.

Barbarian!Jet grows up with so much rage inside her, but a rage for others, a fire for others. It’s a rage that goes bone-deep, born of so much love and fear, because Jet Rocks may be sheltered and immature and naive, but one thing she does know, one of the earliest things she knows, is that the world is dangerous for people like Ruby, people like Pops, the world does not like people like Ruby and Pops, and as young as she is, she’s already heard how people whisper and seen how they point at Pops when his back is turned. And if they found out about Ruby- It’s a different rage that drives Barbarian!Jet, not a mindless battle frenzy, but love sharpened to the keenest focus, to protect, to guard. In this world, and in every world, Jet Rocks loves her sister above all else, and will do anything to make sure she is safe. Her parents worry, of course. Caramelinda looks into her daughter’s eyes, sees hard steel and the heart of sacrifice, and she weeps when she looks into the mirror and sees the same, this is not the life she wanted for her. Amethar understands. He knows. He knew the minute his daughters were placed into his arms for the first time, and the instinct to protect something so precious, precious beyond measure. He just didn’t want his daughter to understand as well, not so soon, not so young.

Bonus subclass: Path of the Ancestral Guardian, I think, because Jet’s rage is rooted in and for her family. Also, imagine the confusion and the angst the first time Jet summons past ancestors to fight with her in battle, and none of them include her aunts because they’re too busy raising hell elsewhere.

Bard!Ruby tumbles out of the cradle with a cheerful tongue and a clever mind, and Amethar has to stop himself from calling after Sapphria, because Ruby is so much like her, so nimble on her feet, so clever with her words. But it’s Caramelinda that sees it first, how Ruby’s leaps and cartwheels hang just a little too long in the air, how Jet brightens and sharpens too fast after just a word from her. And it’s Theo, of course it’s Theo, who catches Ruby and Jet trying to rob the cookie jar with a spectral, definitely magic, definitely arcane hand floating in the air, where did she even learn that, he doesn’t have that spell, this is bad, this is very, very bad. Ruby’s more careful after that, after Mom’s lecture about how dangerous it is, and Pops just standing there, looking stern, nodding along to everything that Mom’s saying, not saying a word to the contrary. Her magic is just for Jet now, her and Jet and nobody else, and she does a very good job of pretending she doesn’t know anything else, pretending like she doesn’t feel the thrum inside of her, pretending like something isn’t singing in her blood with every leap and twirl and handstand.

Bonus subclass: College of Valour? It gets that combat flavouring without being as specific as College of Swords, but I’m open to suggestions.

Warlock!Liam, and he is so young, so lonely, roaming the forests around Castle Manylicks, when he finds her or maybe she finds him. Just a sweet little fairy who knows where to find the best seeds, the ones that have a little bit of magic in them, and here’s a lonely little boy who’s so interested in what she can show him! And then of course, this isn’t just any lonely little boy, this is the son of Duke Jawbreaker, someone royal, someone important. I’ll be your friend, she says, coy and sweet, a nice friend, not like your brothers. I know lots of things, secret things, magic things, that I can show you. Come with me, do you want to see something really neat? Her magic is almost golden, almost Bulbian, with the slightest whiff of something rich and sticky and sweet and purple, and Liam’s only glad that he has a friend now, someone who’s nice to him, who’s interested in the same things, who remembers his name and doesn’t pick on him because he likes seeds more than swords. Lonely children don’t need to be threatened or coerced, lonely children don’t need deals with the devil. Lonely children just need a kind voice and warm approval and someone to show them affection, and the Sugar Plum Fairy knows just how to work with that.

Bonus subclass: Gonna diverge from Lapin here and go with Archfey as the warlock/patron relationship, because Liam isn’t in a position where he has to pretend that his powers come from the Bulb, so the SPF can lean into her feyness more.

#dimension 20 #a crown of candy #long post #i realize this is a much more magic-heavy party so all the intrigue and secrets are cranked up to 1000 in this AU #a crown of candy spoilers

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cat-soda · 3 years

Text

in indigo

every time near brings someone back to life, his own lifespan is cut in half.

Pairings: one-sided meronia, implied mellodramattic

Word count: 1187

Warnings for: angst, hurt/comfort (mostly hurt lbr), major character death

Part 1 [2] [3] [4]

[AO3 Link]

Near hadn‘t let himself think about it, at first. There was still Kira to be dealt with, then reports to put on file, and housekeeping duties that needed to be done before they left Japan. But then, the day before their flight back to England arrived, and Near—

their bodies. He still had to do something about their bodies.

And he considered it. Delaying the move, pushing off the visit until he stopped getting dizzy at the thought of seeing either of them... like that.

But.

Corpses rot.

So he went. Identified them, quietly had Rester make arrangements for them to be sent home, and wondered how cruel it was to bury Mello at the place he’d hated so much. (Then again, maybe it hadn’t been the House he’d hated. Perhaps it’d just been Near.)

He almost doesn’t check the small apartment they’d been renting until Lidner asks him to accompany her. “There’re some things that Mello left behind for you, Near,” she says, soft-voiced. “You should probably take a look.”

Which was how he found himself blinking in the middle of their flat, staring at all the wires snaking all over the floor, the mattress shoved against the far-end wall, the Christmas decorations that they hadn’t even started to put away. Matt’s old GameBoy was charging next to a section of wall where it seemed he and Mello had started a playful argument in sticky notes. He steps forward and sends an old bottle of drugstore nail polish skidding across the room. Remnants of life covered in a fine layer of dust.

“Lidner.” His throat feels tight, and he clears it before trying again. “Lidner, please try not to disturb any of these objects. I’d like to preserve things as they were, as closely as possible.”

“Yessir.”

She hands him a folder, then a laptop. “This is it.” A note on the folder’s front says, For that shithead, Near, and Near studies Mello’s looping handwriting closely before hugging the two items close to his chest.

“Let’s go.”

---

Mihael Keehl.

Near repeats the name to himself over and over again, rolls it over his tongue, tries to imagine how it’d sound leaving Mello’s lips. My name is Mihael.

A pit’s growing in his stomach. He feels as though he’s already having trouble remembering what Mello sounds like. Of course, this isn’t really the case. Near’s memory is impeccable, and he’s especially always had a particular gift when it comes to remembering the specific undertones to one’s speech patterns and mimicking what it is he hears. He wouldn't forget a voice so easily.

Especially not Mello’s.

And yet,

My name is Mihael.

How would he have said it?

(Church bells are ringing in his ears.)

---

It had rained on the day A died.

Or maybe it was during her funeral.

Near couldn’t quite recall which it was. The days from that time had all seemed to melt together into a gray conglomerate of tears and heartache, and for Near, who had been very small, the church bells rang with enough ferocity to shake him to his very core.

Mello wasn’t very nice back then —had never been ‘very nice,’ really— but he’d stood in front of the doorway and blocked out the light as Matt sat besides Near’s curled up form and spoke in soft and gentle tones, helped him unfurl his fists from his hair, slowly, joint by little joint, then held his trembling hands. None of them had been old enough to attend her funeral, but they all knew grief, in their own ways. They’d all heard Beyond’s howling when he found her.

Probably, it’s when she died that the rain started, incessant and cold. It’s logical. What Near remembers in startling clarity, however, is that when B went away, he took the rain with him.

And the church bells came to a stop.

---

“Yo.”

Near blinks.

In the dark of L’s —now his— bedroom, Near was building himself a barrier out of Legos blocks. Its purpose wasn’t so much to keep anyone out, as it was to keep his predecessor’s things out of sight. Old folders and clothing on hangers alongside some knick-knacks the other children had sent L over the years. Near was surprised he kept them— he could even see some of Linda’s most ambitious paintings from when she was young hanging up on the wall. Above a chocolate fountain.

It wasn’t being used at the moment.

After reading the documents that Mello had left him, Near curled up on the floor beside L’s bed, staring at the empty space beneath. ‘The best dresser that died like a dog’... you were always so dramatic, Mello. He had been wondering, though. About what happened to B. About Naomi Misora. About L.

About Mello.

This was his voice, wasn’t it?

Then, Near’s stomach started churning, so he opened a large tub and started snapping Lego blocks together, and this was how Ryuk found him, several hours later.

“Yo,” he says again, like he was worried that Near hadn’t heard him the first time. “Damn, kid, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Mr Shinigami,” Near replies, “for your astute observation.” Ryuk cackles as he continues putting blocks together. “Was there something you needed? I’m afraid that I’ve already burned the notebooks in Mr Mikami and Mr Aizawa’s possessions, so I can’t return them to you.”

“Nah, that’s not it.” Ryuk does a handstand and wiggles his feet in the air. “I still have mine, so that’s not a problem. And anyways, even if the King does have anything to say about the incident, Armonia Justin owes me a favor.” Without looking over, Near lifts his eyebrows, which Ryuk seems to take as curiosity, as he immediately follows with, “You know what sex is, don’t ya?”

He suddenly wishes that he does not. “Why are you here?”

“Just wondering.” Ryuk cackles again. He goes silent, watching with glowing red eyes as Near, wearing a puppet on each finger, arranges and rearranges painted Lego figures atop the highest points of his barrier. A blonde one stands directly in front of him, looking outwards and standing guard. That one, he doesn’t touch. “Say, kid,” says the shinigami. “Do you miss them?”

Near’s hands pause. He doesn’t answer.

“I was thinking: you don’t really look like you're cut out for this. I mean, look at you. You’re shaking.” The shinigami creeps closer. “But I can help you bring them back. You could bring them all back. If you want it bad enough, that is.” Near’s gaze shifts up from the floor and over to meet his. “What do ya think?”

A finger comes up to curl around white hair. “‘Once dead, humans can never come back to life.’ Is that not what the rules of the Death Note said?”

“Rules, Nate River,” snickers Ryuk, pulling out a white notebook from underneath his belt, “are meant to be broken.” He holds it out to Near, just under his nose. And there, right on the cover, read the words Life Note. “I think it’s about time you learned to be a rule-breaker.”

-----

a/n: *wheeze* i almost posted this onto ao3 without any tags.

i just wanna say whoever came up with the idea of a life note first... i'm going to fight you with my bare hands.

hope you guys enjoyed this fic! title is from deep indigo (although hitchcock is definitely more of a near song)

#death note #my writing #nate river #nobody else in this part aside from #ryuk #writing fanfic is a thinly veiled excuse to share my fav songs with my friends #my inner 13yo is so fucking pleased #this is exactly the kind of edgy wangsty shit i would've loved in middle school #(although tbh current me is also very excited hehe)

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

April Showers

Harringrove April Prompt 02: April Showers! Max drags Steve back to the Byers' after the fight, to make sure Billy didn't die on the Byers' floor, and they get some things talked out. LAST PROMPT, GUYS! I'M DONE! 30 days! XD

It was something Susan had always said—April showers bring May flowers. She said it when they visited Max’s grandma, and Max’s bigger, stronger cousins dogpiled her and ripped her hair out in chunks. They apologized—insincerely, and Max accepted just as insincerely, already planning her revenge—and Max’s mom hugged her tightly, shaking with relief, and said “See? You have to be patient, Max. Sometimes things can be tough, but—”

“Then you shower vengeance upon them,” Max gritted out, narrowing her eyes at the beefiest cousin, because if she couldn’t be the strongest, she could definitely be the craziest.

“Maxine,” Susan groaned.

Susan said it when her own mother looked at the dinner Susan had made, and said “...well, I suppose you did your best, dear.”

“The hell does that mean,” Max asked, slamming her hand on the table, and she got sent to her room.

“It’s fine,” Susan said later, wringing her hands. “The garlic bread was a little burned, and I’m not sure those tomatoes were ripe—”

“She can eat dog food next time you make the whole goddamn dinner,” Max told her, crossing her arms, and Susan smothered a laugh.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Sometimes being in a family means you have to weather a few storms. Don’t be mean to your grandma. She loves you.”

“Does she?” Max asked flatly, and Susan reminded her of the awful Precious Moments figurines she’d gotten for Christmas. “If those are my May flowers, they were not worth the crap,” Max told her, and Susan flinched.

Susan said it again, shakily, when Neil brought her actual flowers, the day after he hit Billy into her newly-planted flower beds. Billy had stormed in, leaving muddy footprints all down the hall, and at dinner his shoulder and jaw were scraped up from the metal thing Susan had put in to keep the grass from growing into her bulbs.

“Maybe you should be nice to him tomorrow,” Max heard her mother whispering to Neil, later. “Take him somewhere.”

“Maybe to the dog pound,” Neil said, laughing, and Susan winced.

“That ‘April showers’ thing is talking about actual rain, Mom,” Max said later, and “What the hell kind of flowers could even be worth this,” and “I don’t think Neil’s showers are the kind flowers survive, Mom, he’s more like the kind that causes landslides, and floods the garage.”

Susan hunched her shoulders a little, and lowered her eyes, the way she always did when somebody was mad, so Max stalked back to her room. Billy was sprawled on her floor, reading her Beverly Cleary books.

Billy hid in Max’s room a lot that summer, because Neil didn’t think to look for him there. He’d knock and immediately slide through her door, or run around and stand under her window with a bribe—some cookies, or a cold bottle of soda, or the next issue of The Amazing Spider-Man.

He’d been fun, then, twitchy and awkward, but he’d burst into giggles when she commented on her mom and his dad. They snuck out and went skateboarding, even, and ate cheetos as they read Billy’s comics, kicking their legs in the air—until Neil threw the door open one day, and drug Billy out by the upper arm.

Max didn’t know what he’d said to her mom, but Billy wasn’t allowed in her room anymore. She couldn’t even shut the door before Neil or her mom would throw it open, and she was half tempted to just be naked the next time, and see how they liked that.

Billy looked away from her, after that summer. When she finally grabbed him--two months in to the silent treatment--he snarled, watching behind her, and twisted away. She tried to follow him into his room, but he called her a bitch, and slammed the door right in her face, almost on her hand.

The night after she drugged Billy with the syringe for Will, she grabbed Steve Harrington, and hauled him back to the Byers’.

“You want a ride back to your car, right,” she’d hissed at him, and Steve blinked blearily at her, staggering a little.

“...I guess,” he mumbled, as she shoved him in the passenger seat.

Billy was lying a little more curled up than he had been, and she ran around to get a look at him, then sat down almost against her will once she could see him glowering hazily at her feet. “Billy,” she whispered, sighing, and leaning back on one arm to rub her face. She was so tired her arms shook, the adrenaline finally starting to clear her system from fighting the monsters of Hawkins.

Steve lingered by the door, frowning down at them, and Max squinted at him, half wondering whether she should try and get her absolutely loaded brother in the car by herself, or whether she should try and bribe Steve into helping, somehow. Or blackmail him.

There were some things Mike had seen that might come in handy, she thought, considering. “I know about the time you got dumped by two girls on the same night,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“...what,” said Steve, who was pressing gently at his skull, where Billy’s knuckles had hit.

“I’ll tell the next person you date,” Max said, setting her jaw, and trying to look like she could kill him with a shoelace.

“...what’s happening?” Steve asked, frowning at her. “...what?”

Just then, Max realized she was so tired she’d threatened him without telling him what she wanted, yet. “You gotta help me get this dumbass in the car,” she said, sighing. “Or—or I’ll tell everybody I know you, um, you wet the bed.”

“...what,” Steve said again, and Max tried to be patient, since she’d seen how many times he’d been hit in the heat that night.

“...Max,” Billy mumbled. “Fucking...bitch.” He kind of half-rolled onto his back again, rolling his face away from her, and she slid a foot out and kicked his hand.

“Shut up, you,” she growled. “I come running back here to see if you got your face eaten—”

“Whadda you care,” he whispered, laughing. “You dun give a shit. You wanted...brother like him,” Billy said, watching Steve, and Steve snorted a laugh. “How come you’re never on my side,” Billy whispered, and Max kicked his limp hand again, sort of, her legs limp with exhaustion.

“Wow,” Steve sighed.

“Fuck you, the hell are you talking about,” Max hissed. “You tried to kill him.”

“You knew,” Billy mumbled. “Fucking...knew I’d get my ass kicked. An’ you left the house,” he said, sighing, and trying to roll away, but he couldn’t even shift his body that much. His hands twitched, and he groaned, closing his eyes.

“...I’ll help you get him in the car,” Steve said, and Billy sneered, laughing.

“Oh, ’s so nice, isn’ he? Fucking...King Harrington.”

“You’re a piece of work, man,” Steve said, grimacing, but he helped her get Billy’s dead weight off Joyce Byers’ floor and down the steps to the cars. “Want me to drive him home? You get pulled over driving with him in the car…”

Max and Billy flinched at that. “Fuck,” Billy panted, his face getting red and veiny as his head and arms dangled over Harrington’s back.

“Oh, oh shit,” Max said, realizing she could hardly drive Billy home to a waiting Neil, when he was acting like he’d been doing drugs. “We can’t take him home. We can’t. His dad’ll end him.”

“Like you give a shit,” Billy muttered.

“Jesus. Let’s, um,” Steve thought, walking over to his car. “You’re not bringing this jackass to my house, so don’t even—”

For a brief second, Max was so strongly homesick for the skatepark by their house in California she had to shut her eyes, imagining taking Billy somewhere she knew to sober up, somewhere with people who had nothing going on but a few skateboard tricks. She groaned into her hands.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve said, shifting Billy, who grunted. “Look, wait, there’s—we’ll take him to the playground, okay. When he’s sobered up some, he can drive you home.”

“What,” Max said, blinking as she imagined Billy going down slides.

“Just somewhere to sit that’s not Mrs. Byers’ floor,” Steve said, grimacing.

“...why’re you doing this,” Billy asked, possibly to both of them, and Steve groaned.

“No fucking clue.”

“Why’re you such a fucking asshole dipshit?” Max asked, rhetorically.

“Why d’you hate me so much,” Billy asked, as Steve struggled to hold him up and get the car door open, muttering, “Oh, I can think of a few reasons.”

“I don’t hate you!” Max shouted. “I don’t! Why the hell did you—why’d you try to beat up my friends—what the hell is wrong with you!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Billy growled back, but he sounded tired. “You’ve fucking...had it in for me for years. Little...bitch. Fuck...fuckface.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve sighed, levering Billy into the passenger seat of his car. He slammed the door, and patted Max’s shoulder. “Follow me, I’ll take you to the playground.”

She nodded, glaring at Billy through the window, and wondering what the hell.

By the time she pulled up to the playground, craning to see in the low seat of the Camaro, Steve was hauling Billy back out of the car. “Let’s get you on the swing,” he was saying. “Get your feet moving a little, maybe.”

“Oh look, she’s here,” Billy said, baring his teeth. “Don’t you wanna take me home, Maxine? Tell my dad about something I actually did, for once.”

“The hell are you even talking about?” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at Max, but Billy was glaring at her, his eyes still red and swollen from the mess he was, fighting Steve.

“You’ll find out,” Billy laughed. “Once she’s pissed and she tells everybody you touched her. Fuck you, Maxine Mayfield,” he hissed at her, his jaw working, and Steve stopped, staring from Billy’s drooping head to Max’s face.

“Wait, what,” he breathed, leaning warily away from Billy, as Max’s mouth dropped open in fury.

“I never said that shit, what the hell,” she growled. “I don’t lie. I’m not a liar.”

“I never did,” Billy yelled back at her, staggering as Steve held on to him. “I never—I never would’ve—I thought we were friends, you little shithead, you fucking—”

“I never said you did!” she yelled back, automatically, then remembered Neil dragging Billy out of her room. Her mom had stopped being nice to Billy, after that, she realized—she’d noticed, but she hadn’t thought about when. “...Billy, I never said that,” she whispered, watching his set face. “I didn’t, I—I never would have said that.”

“You told him,” Billy shot back, growling and waving an arm at her, so Steve nearly dropped him. Steve muttered profanity to himself as he hauled Billy along into the playground, and a few more feet, to the swings. “You coulda said one goddamn thing to me, I thought you were okay with me coming around, I—you fucking told him I was scary, you—you know how he was kicking my ass—he fucking...” Billy bit his lips together, breathing unsteadily. “Why the fuck would you tell him something like that—”

“I never did!” she shouted over him. “I never...I missed you too, you fucking asshole, I thought...I don’t know what I thought,” she trailed off with a sigh, realizing Billy was glaring at her even harder.

“...you didn’t tell my dad...to make me fuck off?” Billy said slowly.

“I missed you,” Max told him, sitting on the next swing, while Steve stood behind Billy, balancing him so he didn’t faceplant in the gravel. “Dunno why, but I did.”

“...he said I scared you,” Billy breathed. “You didn’t want to be in the same house with me—”

“I never fucking said that,” Max growled, spinning on the swing to kick his leg. “You moron, why would you…” she let her sentence trail off as she looked at him, and he was wiping his face, and sniffling. “...the hell would you think I’d lie to get you to stay away?” she asked, her own face reddening as Billy pressed his fist over his mouth to muffle his wet sniffles. Max’s own eyes stung and blurred. “Didn’t want you going anywhere, dickhead,” she whispered hoarsely, “—you had the back-issues of X-Men.”

“Holy shit,” Billy laughed like he hadn’t since they were kids, looking at her sidelong. “Thought you wanted me dead.”

“...’m sorry I had to sneak out,” she muttered. “I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathed, “—I went nuts at the Byers’.”

“You went batshit fucking insane,” Max said dryly, and Billy hunched his shoulders, glancing back over his shoulder.

Harrington stepped back, one hand out to catch him. Billy clenched his hands on the chains for the swing. “I got it,” he muttered. “I won’t fall.”

Harrington nodded, and dropped into the swing on the other side of Billy. “Nice little family therapy session,” he said dryly, and Max winced with Billy, remembering how Steve’s head must be pounding, and how he’d slurred his words, stumbling around because of Billy’s fists.

“Sorry,” Billy grated out, and Steve snorted a laugh.

Max started explaining why she had to sneak out, stumbling over herself in her urgency, and Steve backed her up, just swaying on the swing tiredly, and kicking at the gravel.

“Fuck,” Billy started saying, as Steve described what had happened at the Byers’ the year before, and Max talked over him about the junkyard, and Billy’s eyes widened. “Fuck,” he said again, “...shit, you...saved her,” he mumbled, like his brain was stuck. “Holy shit.”

It was getting cold, late at night in the playground, but Max didn’t want to leave, so she just watched Steve spin around the seat of his swing, slowly tightening and tightening the twisted chains until he let go in a whirl. “Fuck. Sorry,” Billy kept saying, wiping his eyes.

For the first time, Max kind of...understood, what her mother meant, about the awful weather in April before flowers in May, because it wasn’t like Neil’s fucking raincloud was worthwhile, suddenly, but Billy was smirking at her again like a weight was off his shoulders. He was kicking at the gravel just like Steve, two little kids, and he grinned whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

It was good to watch him bloom.

Here are my other Harringrove April prompts--DONE!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Susan has a shitty past too #She tries to teach Max it's normal #Max isn't having it #Max and Billy friendship

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the-sunshine-dims · 3 years

Text

Amnesia rewrite! (chapter 2 electric boogaloo)

Logan’s here now!

ch 1 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7

original fic

words: 1,799

ao3

contents and warnings: angst (past), hurt/comfort, friendly teasing, amnesia, Janus is mentally a child, injury, blood, hypothetical dead body, cursing, Logan’s kinda blunt,

______

By the time Roman had gotten to Logan’s door, which had taken surprisingly long since Roman wanted to make sure he was careful, with janus, the poor side who had ended up completely and utterly asleep pretty much the moment roman began walking, utterly exhausted, and honestly Roman wouldn’t admit it but he imagines he’d be exhausted as well if he was in Janus’s place.

Roman looked at Janus again before sighing and doing his best to adjust him into one arm so he could knock on Logan’s door, and once he had, he knocked, making sure to be the quietest he could while still being heard on the other end as not to wake up Janus,

And Soon emerged Logan, who looked tired and grumpy and like he was about to tell them to go away, but then his eyes caught Janus, and Roman could see the confusion and curiosity ignite in his eyes, so when those curious eyes met Romans, roman just pointed inside and mouthed ‘not now, inside.’ Logan, deciding this was more important than work at the moment, just shook his head to himself, nodded and opened his door to let them in.

Roman made his way to the bed and carefully set Janus on it, and when Janus began to stir in his sleep, roman huffed a laugh before summoning a warm blanket and setting it onto him, which placated him enough to remain asleep.

Then when roman was done with that he turned to Logan and walked with him across the room to where Janus wouldn’t wake up from the noise, before the conversation began.

Logan was first to talk, “okay care to fill me in?” He gestured vaguely to Janus “Because frankly there’s no way somethings not wrong, He was just sleeping in your arms which is very uncharacteristic if you haven't noticed-“ he glanced at Janus just a second or two too long before turning to Roman “-.. and he’s bleeding, or at least had been bleeding.”

Roman sighed and nodded “yeah.. okay so my theory is Janus had stumbled into the imagination and something got to him. And I also think.. he may have hit his head, or something.. if i'm right.” Roman spared a concerned glance to Janus before turning his head to Logan once again.

Logan looked between the two for a minute before going “.. are.. are you suggesting amnesia?”

“I.. think so, Janus didn’t seem to recognize me and he got all freaked out when he saw all of the family portraits didn’t include king and then he got even more freaked out when I told him king was split and when i asked if he remembered, unless he was the best actor in the world- which is impossible since that’s me-“ he fake coughed before continuing -“I would have figured out if he was lying when he said he didn’t remember. Also” he vaguely gestured to him “Janus would never cry in front of us, especially full on sob, which he did, in front of me. so even if he didn’t have amnesia something is definitely wrong.”

Logan took a couple minutes to process all that information before simply going “ah, it's good you brought him to me then,” and then after another second or so he gave a thoughtful look and continued “it’s.. changed a lot since king was around, and if that’s around where his memory is we need to keep and eye on him so he doesn’t get hurt,” he told him seriously before he huffed a laugh “we don’t need another side walking into a door.”

Roman nodded to what Logan was saying before he fully processed the last bit in which he gasped in offense and pointed at him accusingly “I’ll have you know that that only happened once! You hear me? Once!” And though he continued muttering about ‘that happens once and this is my treatment?’ He stopped talking to logan for the moment.

Logan chuckled, and after a minute or so Roman stopped muttering angrily and instead made the noise of a lightbulb going off In his head, before he began speaking “also because he was definitely bleeding earlier we should get him to take a bath or a shower so he doesn’t just.. die or something”

Logan nodded “yes it would be a good idea to clean the wounds, though I don’t believe he would die if we didn't since we are figments of thomas’s imagination, at worst there’d be a really bad infection, though i definitely do need to see how deep those wounds are.”

Roman nodded “and this, my dear nerd, is why I brought him to you.”

Logan let out an unamused huff as he shook his head, then after a couple moments he quieted “roman, king creativity hasn’t been around for a very long time, so, Janus may very well be in the headspace of a child, so be careful to be soft with him while we figure everything out. okay?”

Roman nodded quietly “okay.”

______

After an hour or so Janus woke up, and after another ten or so minutes he was fully conscious.

Which meant they had to talk to him, since they couldn't just.. Not.

Roman started first, “okay, okay, Dee?” He asked softly. internally questioning if him saying dee was correct, but deciding that he thought calling him deceit would be cold under the circumstances and calling him Janus probably wouldn’t be good if he didn’t remember the previous time before he passed out, so Dee it was. He continued “okay, so here’s the thing-“ he cut himself off again, really how do you explain to someone their head got all Fucky wucky and now they don’t got most of the memories? Really, how do you do it?

After a moment he sent a look of ‘help’ to Logan and after a sigh that went unnoticed by janus, logan cut in “so, me and roman, we were talking earlier.. and after everything we’ve deduced we’re almost certain you have a case of amnesia, most likely from blunt force trauma.”

Roman interrupted him there, “okay specs I don’t think it’s the appropriate time to flex on him with your medical knowledge you got from watching some medical show, chill.”

Logan fake coughed “yes umm..” he trailed off before they paid attention to Janus again who looked.. well at a loss for words for one, as he just sat there.

Then after a couple long uncomfortable minutes he spoke up just offering a small “oh,” and shifting uncomfortably “okay” He continued before looking down at his lap and fiddling with his hands, making Logan and Roman look between themselves nervously once again, not knowing if they should leave him be to process the information, though not leaving him in the room by himself, or send him on a task to get his mind off things for the moment so everything won’t be so overwhelming.

After a bit of just letting him sit though they realized leaving him be didn’t seem to be helping any so Logan spoke up, “okay, deceit, I know you got a lot to process but we need to get you washed up to see how severe your injuries are.”

Janus shook his head adamantly, his mood changing almost immediately at the change of topic, the earlier information disappearing from his mind. “no! Baths suck!”

Logan took a breath, trying to consider his counter argument to that before Roman interrupted “they do, but! If you take a nice warm shower or bath you can get off the dried blood, and me and Logan will get you a nice, clean, warm and fluffy pair of pajamas for you to relax in?” Roman negotiated.

Janus was visibly considering it, and after a couple moments made a show of sighing “fine! But if the faucet's water starts turning into blood from a dead body in the sewers I will scream so loud, and I will personally blame you.” He told him seriously.

Roman couldn't help but chuckle “don’t worry I’m pretty sure that’s really statistically unlikely! I think..” he tried, his reassuring tone becoming more questioning in the last words,

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “ignore him, he’s not the side to go to for statistics,” he said making Roman gasp in faux-offense, “-but don’t worry, we’re sides so that cannot happen to us as we are fully imagined, err- i promise that their will be no dead bodies in the sewers.”

Janus hummed in consideration of that before simply going “‘kay,” and that was the end of that conversation, after a minute or so roman headed to the bathroom to set up a bath for janus while janus immediately followed him to try his best to sternly tell roman he could do it himself, not that roman listened, only leaving when he was done, happily saluting himself away as janus practically pouted at him.

_____

“Hey specs?”

“Yes Roman?”

“I wonder how Patton, Virgil, and Remus will react to.. This,” he made vague gestures to everything,

“..I don’t know, on the amnesia side I’m sure Patton would begin doting on him and Virgil would constantly be making sure he didn’t somehow die by not knowing where bread was, or on the other end of the spectrum virgil might try to avoid janus altogether, but on the Janus being in a child’s mindset because of the amnesia.. I don’t know, I mean we all used to be the best of friends, the four of us, you know, so they would likely get along with him, hell if it wasn’t for the school adults constantly telling the kids that lying is evil and and having darker of an imagination then puppies-” he abruptly cut himself just as he was beginning to rant, though it was still semi obvious to roman that was the reason they stopped being friends with janus. “I don’t know, I’m sorry, those three are The most unpredictable of the six of us, and I don't even have the vaguest idea what remus’s reaction would be.”

Roman nodded “yeah.. though I think regardless, Patton should be the first person we tell, virgil will probably feel anxious about it and if he's the first to be told he might feel like he has to keep it a secret which’ll make him feel more anxious, and again like you said.. We don't know how Remus'll react, though, regardless of who we tell, we should wait till tomorrow, it's late, and Janus literally sobbed today and we still need to check over his wounds, and I'm pretty sure he needs more rest then a nap- so.. tomorrow?”

Logan nodded, knowing even if roman didnt list his reasons he’d of agreed “tomorrow.”

#ts janus #ts logan #ts roman #roman sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #ts deceit #deceit sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides logan #sanders sides janus #sanders sides roman #amnesia #hurt/comfort #janus centric series but not in this ifc #fic*#amnesia rewrite #the cold one writes

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wowheadquarters · 3 years

Note

don't be shy, drop ALL your Kel'Thuzad headcanons~

All of them? Hm. I don’t know if I remember all of them. Also, I stopped keeping track of WoW some time in the middle of the Battle for Azeroth, because it can either be WoW whcih I enjoy or shitwreck, and I chose WoW, which isn’t what Blizzard/Activision is currently serving- I meant to say that most likely my headcanons aren’t Shadowlands compatibile.

Anyway. Kel’thuzad headcanons of various importance as I remember them.

Kel’thuzad is his actual given name, it’s not a pseudonym or anything.

In Thalassian “kel’thuzad” mean “seeker of the truth”. (In Darnassian the same phrase is “keil tassad” and in Zandali “kel’ta sad”.)

Kel’thuzad speaks Common and Thalassian fluently. Before the Dark Portal opened he knew some phrases in Dwarven (conversational) and Gnomish (related to transport industry and mathematic). He can also speak Zandali with varying accents (mostly Amani), but he knows only five or six Zandali signs (he can sign his name, but that’s it).

After the Dark Portal opened, Kel’thuzad tried and failed to learn Orcish. He gained the skill later when it was a trial-and-error learning by communicating with Ner’zhul. Due to that Kel’thuzad’s accent when speaking Orcish is not “Human,” but distinctly Shadowmoon.

He also learned Nerubian from... well, the dead Nerubians. He can now both speak and write fluently even with encryption.

(There are 3 ways of Nerubian ecryptions and they can be simultaneously applied. This way there exist 7 versions of encryption plus 1 unencrypted text. These are known as the Eight Webs of writing. Plain text is written in the First Web, triple encryptin is the Eighth Web.)

He can read (but not speak) Nathrezim, and somewhat read and speak Shath’Yar, the language of the Old Gods. He would understand Quiraji if he ever encountered it, because it is very close to Nerubian (like Czech and Slovakian, I imagine).

The Language of Death, by the Scourge usually referred to as Deathspeak, is an artificial language created by Kel’thuzad. It is based on all languages he knew at the point of creating it, and is fairly easy to learn if you find a willing teacher. It was created for the members of the Cult of the Damned to understand ach other without them feeling like one language/race is put above the other, and to partially control their thoughts, as the language specifically hasn’t got some words or phrases (such as “rebellion”). Orwell would be proud.

He was brownhaired, but he greyed out fairly quickly when Ner’zhul settled in his head without paying any rent.

He was from Kul’Tiras. (I still want him to necromance a sunken ship. And a chalk cliff.)

His family name is Naxrierre. There is a theory that Naxrierres were a witch coven that became civilized with years, which is mostly spread by naysayers to explain the family’s talent towards magic. Another theory claims that they are a part-elven bastards which would besides the magic explain the name.

Kel’thuzad took the elf-Naxrierr theory to heart and in his ambition for one of his sons to make it somewhere else than the navy agve him a Quel’dorei name.

The suffix -ramas in Nerubian signifies not encessarily a necropolis but any place to permanently home dead bodies. “Naxxramas” is basically “Nax(rierre)’s tomb” but in Nerubian.

As a mage in Dalaran Kel’thuzad studied arcanophysic, a way to describe and measure magic. This field is where all the calibration of spells or even negating spells comes from. He became the sole teacher of it in Dalaran, because he was the only one enthusiastic enough about it to bother.

He was that type of teacher who didn’t give homeworks, he hated correcting them. He also had his classes in the most unreasonable hours, such as 3 AM, because he had a busy schedule and non-existent sleep pattern.

Since Kel’thuzad’s banishment the knowledge of arcanophysics among the Dalaran mages has drasticaly declined and is nearly nonexistent nowadays. All books Kel’thuzad had written on it have been sealed away, which removed nearly all reliable sources from the public access.

Kel’thuzad actually had good relationships with his colleagues. He helped Alonda with her fild research on Trolls (hence his speaking Zandali).

His closest friend was Anthonidas. They used to be classmates once upon the time.

What really undermined Kel’thuzad’s trust and belief in Kirin Tor was what happened to Khadgar. He realized that Kirin Tor is not going to act if given a warning, and not going to help if hearing a plea.

He still tried to warn Kirin Tor before what he didn’t know was the Scourge. He had noticed the Amani “moving out of the way”. “Whatever will happen, and I believe that this time it will be the dead, because the demons haven’t tried that yet, it will happen in a single line from Lordareon to Quel’Danas. We know the Amani can see into the future, and they are clearing out of this path.” Dismissed as a doomsayer, he wasn’t really persistent in his warnins.

Ner’zhul’s talks to Kel’thuzad began as especially persistent migraines. Whenever Kel’thuzad tried to tell Anthonidas that his condition is serious, he was sent off with a mug of peacebloom tea and an advice not to stay up so late, and maybe lay off some stress.

The teacher who taught Thrall in his early years such stuff as writing, that was Kel’thuzad in disguise when he was rectuiting in and around Durnholde Keep.

No, Kel’thuzad has no idea the little pet-orc he was trying to groom and later kidnap for the Cult of the Damned (What a better liteunant than the one you raise yourself?) is Thrall, the Warchief of the Horde.

Kel’thuzad was tasked with finding and preparing the perfect new host for Ner’zhul. He was trying to overthrow the Lich King, so he picked Arthas as a paladin of Light whom he believed strong willed enough to handle it. And at the start of the story Arthas was.

His second choice for Lich King would have been Kael’thas.

He shuffled his cards in the deck of “Scourge politics” so that Bolvar Fordragon would take the Helm of Domination after Arthas. Players greta victory? Just according to keikaku.

He had (and still has) a “wanted poster” for Garrosh Hellscream. He really wanted him into the Scourge army. The reward was a whole necropolis with units.

Naxxramas had a dedicated “catkeeper” tasked with taking care of Mr. Bigglesworth and cleaning the acid/slime vats. Her name was Gwendoline, usually called Gwen, she is now one of Garrosh’s ghost children. Gwen died during the attack on Theramore where she was working as a spy for the Scourge.

Liches feed off people emotions and minds. The Lich Kign keeps it secret (even from Kel’thuzad) to keep them starved and obedient. The passive “nibbling” causes that people around liches start to be unfeeling.

Kel’thuzad has developed the Cure for the Plague quite early on. Ner’zhul made him test the plagues seeds on himself.

Speakig of that, Ner’zhul (and later Arthas as the Lich King) had a complete control over Kel’thuzad’s body, so if he refused to carry out an order, Ner’zhul could just make him do it anyway.

Additionally, the Lich King could kep him going despite injuries, exhaustion &c. Arthas fancied himself thinking that h killed Kel’thuzad, but the truth is that the cumulative injuries (several broken bones, stab wounds, a concussion, frostbites, poisonings), exhaustion and starvation were enough to kill Kel’thuzad twice over, no hammer needed. Ner’zhul just in that moment let Kel’thuzad die, because that was what he needed.

He used to play Hearthstone a lot when he was alive. He had a very good Hunter Murlock tribal deck.

He is asexual, and quite possibly aromantic too. In his words: “I believe in love on the first sight. And I am probably blind or something, as it seems.”

His favourite colour is purple.

Shortly before the capture of Bolvar Fordragon Kel’thuzad re-bound his phylactery from the whole urn to a single shard. The shard was sold by a cult of the Damned agent in Kul’Tiras to Taelia Fordragon as a lucky amulet.

Whenever as a lich Kel’thuzad regained his form, he always found himself knee-deep in water due to some fucking coincidences, starting with the Sunwell.

Speaking of Sunwell, he carries in himself “a spark of Sunwell”. this has many benefits, such as power or not giving a fuck about Light being super-effective against the undead. It is a thing to be revealed out of the blue without prior warning when we need to reset the Sunwell (again).

He has enough knowledge of Troll and Orc shamanism to be considered a shaman, and too analytical and scientific mind to be actually good at it.

He also had made an oath to the Amani tribe that everything he’s learned from them would never be used to harm any Troll. It is why Kel’thuzad was not responsible for the havoc wrought in Zul’drak.

Naxxrams “responds” to Kel’thuzads emotions and feelings and even physical state. When he gets discorporated (killed), Naxxramas enters “save battery” mode. Naxxramas’ usual is “cold and static” and “cold and slightly shaking” which is Kelthuzad’s “bored” and “irritated” respectively.

He doesn’t like sweets, but he enjoyes crunchy stuff, be it cookies or fried potato slices. He craves the crunch.

He ate the flesh of several sapient beings. In several cases he knows it and the memory of ti makes him retch, even now when he is dead.

He likes dragons. He wants his own dreagonflight. (I have a headcanon abbout Sapphiron’s “Ivory” dragonflight of undead dragons.)

He has a saronite armour to match with the Bloodsurge. It decorates a ziggurat somewhere in Plaguelands. el’thuzad honestly doesn’t care. The armour has spikes on the inside, so if you put it on as a living being, you can’t take it off without bleeding out. A very emo move.

And I am tired now, so this will have to do for now. It’s not all of them, I am sure I haven’t thought of some area. But here we go.

#Kel'thuzad

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kazimakuwabara · 3 years

Text

A Name (part 6)

Previous chapter can be found HERE

Kurama sat back down in his seat, and sagged into it with a sigh.

“It is long... but I will try to explain the last mission we had together,” Kurama said, his voice uncertain, “If there are parts you don’t understand... just ask, and I’ll explain it best I can.”

“If I’ve been forced to accept that demons are real, that people can have magical powers, and that there’s a girl who cries jewellery... I think I can handle whatever you’re about to tell me,” Kuwabara said, shrugging his shoulder.

Shrugging, seemed to have become his favorite gesture. Though according to Shizuru, he had been much louder and expressive before. The person he was now was a little quieter, and more reserved. She did say he had a bit more quick-witted sass in him though, and had smiled when she told him.

Kurama for his part, laughed, looking surprised by Kuwabara’s tone, “I guess you’ve had to accept a lot!”

“It’d be easier to accept it easier, if I could still do the things that people say I can do, but as far as I know...” Kuwabara waved a hand in the air, “I’m just normal.”

“You’re never normal,” Kurama said with clear affection. He smiled, straightened his back and began to speak.

“There was a demon woman name Dilandu. She had been captured and sold into slavery by a human with far too much money. Her race of demon... when they suffered enough, they went through a drastic and painful shedding of their hair, which was more like fur. The quality was... above anything else in the normal fur trade, and could be sold for an exorbitant amount of money.

“She was one of many, but when freed... was the only survivors. She had been a child when taken, and only knew her torturers. They were other demons, and so she mistakenly blamed them for her suffering... when really they were slaves themselves. The true people, the true people she should have been mad at...”

“It was humans,” Kuwabara said regretfully, his face setting in a frown. “Ironic we get called humans if we’re capable of being such monsters.”

“Demon or human, it doesn’t matter who, anyone can be a monster,” Kurama mused seriously, “If anything can be taught from what I’ve seen, it’s that the rich are the monsters in any culture, any race, any species.”

Kuwabara nodded, and after a heavy pause, Kurama continued speaking.

“Dilandu when freed, was awarded a sum of money by the spirit world, and offered a chance for a better life and recovery. She accepted all help... but therapy. She used the resources she received to find out about two objects. Áine’s Sovereign blade, and a small green mirror, known as The Path.

“The Path, at the cost of years of your life, could show you the steps you needed to achieve in order to reach whatever goal you had. Áine‘s blade is rumored by some, to belong to a Goddess. Wielding this weapon gives one the right to rule or choose who shall rule.

“When the mirror is shattered by the blade, the right to “rule,” and the Path’s abilities, change into a wish. If you offer all of yourself to the mirror, and then cut them down with the blade you can get a wish. And Dilandu, had a wish.”

At the mention of mirror, Kurama kept looking at Kuwabara as if he kept expecting him to say or ask about something. When Kuwabara didn’t, Kurama deflated a little, and then added, “The Path is one of three mirrors that can grant wishes at the cost of life force, Although the Path is considered a little more dangerous due the fact it has an evolution when combined with something else.”

Kuwabara held up a hand as he absorbed this rush of information. Kurama remained quiet, but fidgeted in his seat. Kuwabara shook his head. This was so much

“Okay... that was a lot. But this Goddess Áine, is she... was she real? Like Koenma?” Kuwabara asked.

Kurama smiled a little wistfully, “All stories such of these are based in some truth. From my understanding, her story is a true one, and a sad one. She was not so much a Goddess, as she was a young skilled blacksmith who was ravaged, and stolen from. Despite the atrocities done to her, she stole her blade back, and took her revenge against the one who had hurt her, the king of her land.

“After she killed him, she presented her blade to who she believed to be the rightful ruler... and died. She was honored by... things we don’t, and by we I mean researchers, and even spirit world--that even they don’t understand, and the blade became... gifted. Magical, might be a better term,” Kurama was gesturing now his green eyes getting lost in thought. “The swords could do extraordinary things, and then when paired with the mirror, could grant a wish.”

Idly Kuwabara wondered if Kurama was a form of scholar. He seemed exceedingly intelligent and-

“I’d often dreamed of stealing the Áine Sovereign blade for myself... the legend alone makes it an item worth snatching up. And I imagine the resell I would get on it would have been great!” Kurama sighed, startling Kuwabara so bad, Kuwabara’s mouth fell open.

Kurama laughed at Kuwabara’s expression, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and rather than explaining his previous comment, cleared his throat, and began anew, “But as I was saying... the blade seemed to be blessed. On it’s own it was a decent weapon. Tremendously usefull with a will of it’s own for vengeance and bloodshed. If it accepted the user as it’s owner, it was said to be even greater, turning into a sword of light. According the legend, the sword has never accepted an owner.”

“Do you know how the sword accepts someone?” Kuwabara interrupted.

Kurama shook his head, “I don’t... But, as I was saying, while the Áine Sovereign blade is actually useful, the mirror is more of a monkey’s paw. It does give you something, but of course at a high price. And that cost of course is much worse when paired with the sword. But it’s not just a simple death.”

“You are destroyed. You cease to be, and are forgotten. There is no where you go, not hell, heaven, spirit world, limbo... no where. You’re just... gone. The world changes to fit the wisher’s desire, and the wisher is just gone. The Path, once destroyed, immediately reforms, and can be used again if someone happens to be nearby. I could only imagine what would happen if a cult got a hold of these items. Because of the danger of The Path, it is kept locked up in Spirit World.”

“Did they not keep the sword as well?” Kuwabara asked, a brow cocked in confusion.

Kurama smiled at Kuwabara, a tired and aggravated, ‘I know!’ expression written on his face.

“The sword,” Kurama explained, “Was kept by the ruler Áine had chosen before her death. Or ascension into Goddess hood, whatever may be the case. It traveled down the line, and remained in the country of Ireland, the origin of this story. Or at least, pieces and parts.”

Kuwabara was slightly confused, and was starting to get a headache. This was a lot of lore to absorb. “Alright, cool ass lore besides... Dilandu actually went out to get these items, and I’m guessing got them? Or got close?”

Kurama nodded, “She learned of them, and decided it was worth stealing these items to get her wish.”

“And what was her wish?” Kuwabara asked, head really throbbing.

“That all demons died,” Kurama answered seriously, his expression grim as he stared at Kuwabara’s face, “We... You, me, Hiei, and Yusuke reached her just as she destroyed The Path. The affects... were immediate.”

Kuwabara felt a chill crawl up his spine. “Immediate?”

“Dilandu began to unravel, slowly unwinding like string as she made her wish. It was not a fast process. As she fell to pieces, the air began to suck out of my lungs, and an unbearable pain swept through me. The same seemed to happen to Yusuke, and Hiei. We were crippled by the pain, and fading fast. Hiei and I kept to our feet for several minutes but... Yusuke, who was already injured, fell down first... and I can’t confirm this... but I think when he hit the ground, he was already dead.”

Kurama looked away, looking pained to be explaining this to Kuwabara.

Kuwabara hadn’t properly met Yusuke yet. To his understanding, Yusuke was the one who violently grabbed him when he first woke up and asked who everyone was.

Kuwabara’s head hurt, and suddenly felt violently sick.

“I believe I passed soon after... Hiei was shouting at you before I went-”

But Kuwabara did not hear the rest of Kurama’s story.

He stood up, nausea crawling up his stomach and into his throat. He lurched as if to vomit, and then a dizziness swept through him, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He pitched forward, looking to steady himself, but only caught the edge of the table. It sent him and the table off balance, ad he fell, Kurama crying out his name as Kuwabara landed painfully on his bad arm, the table crashing with him.

As his vision exploded in white, he remembered very clearly of someone with slicked black hair looking back at him. He was a little dirty, and bleeding from battle, but the wounds weren’t that serious. Or at least they shouldn’t have been. But his brown eyes, while fixed on Kuwabara, slowly dulled. The light leaving his eyes in a heartbreaking speed.

Kuwabara heard himself suck in a painful breath, and then heard a shrill laughter. Distantly, Kurama and Shizuru were shouting his name, and his arm was throbbing with pain while he struggled to latch onto something stable to pull him out of this memory.

The white pain faded away, ad then it went blessedly dark.

#kazi fanfic #KuwabaraBirthdayWeek #yyh #yu yu hakusho #kuwabara #i don't think i'll finish this in a week XD #ah my plans #torture mention #slavery mention #rape mention #None of those things happen to Kuwabara so #don't freak?

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sailorshadzter · 4 years

Text

i’m yours to keep, but yours to lose.

In the aftermath of a devastating loss, Sansa Stark and Jon Snow must navigate what it means to love and be loved. A modern day Jonsa story.

title: so it goes by taylor swift

When his phone rings, his heart sinks.

The last time his phone had rang with a Northern number, it had been because Robb was dead. This time when the unsaved number flashes across his screen, he already knows to expect the worst.

"Hello?" He greets on the last ring, picking up before his voicemail can. Something tells him he has to answer this call.

"Hello... Is this Jon Snow?"

It's an unfamiliar woman's voice on the other end. In the background he can hear snippets of other voices, the steady beeping of a machine. "...yes" he finally answers, rising up from where he sits on his couch to walk towards the front windows. "This is." He clarifies with more confidence and the woman lets out a thankful sounding sigh.

"I’m sorry to bother you like this, but my name is Alys, I'm calling from Wintertown Hospital." A pause, as if the woman is turning around, looking at someone. Despite the distance between them, despite being connected by just a single phone call, Jon knows this woman feels pity and sorrow as she makes this call. "I have a Sansa Stark here and you're-"

"Sansa?" Jon yelps, interrupting the woman before she can finish. "Is she okay? Why is she there?"

"There's been an incident..." The woman, Alys, explains. "She asked for us to call you..."

"I'll be there tomorrow." Is all he says before hanging up, his heart beating a steady pace within his chest. The last place he wants to go his back home, back North... But for Sansa... He would go anywhere.

When Jon arrives at Wintertown Hospital, he's running off six cups of coffee and zero sleep.

He had said he would be here today and he had meant it. And so he had stuffed a bag with clean clothes, his toothbrush, and after asking a neighbor to check in on Ghost, he climbed into his truck and sped away without a backwards glance. Stopping only for coffee, he drove straight from his little townhouse in King's Landing back North, back to the place he'd been born and raised, back to the place he once swore he would never again set foot in.

Rushing through the sliding glass doors, he impatiently waits behind a man checking in at the front desk, complaining of a persistent cough. "I'm here to see Sansa Stark!" He barks as soon as he's stepped up to the desk, a rush of emotions and caffeine sharpening his tone more than he intends. The nurse narrows her eyes, clearly unhappy with his tone- not that he can blame her. "Please, I got a call... From someone named Alys." He softens and at once, the nurse responds, giving a single nod before she's reaching for the phone.

"Alys will be down in a moment, if you'd like to wait over there." The nurse gestures towards the small waiting area, to which Jon gives his thanks and takes to the nearest chair, collapsing into it. A moment to himself leaves him lost in thought as a familiar flicker of sorrow twists in his heart, a reminder of the last time he'd been here in this hospital. Luckily he doesn't have long to wait, for it only takes a few minutes for him to notice a slim, well dressed woman approaching the check-in desk, only for the nurse behind it to point to where he sits now.

He's already on the edge of his seat when she approaches him instead. "Jon Snow?" She questions in the very same voice of the woman on the phone that had called him- so this was Alys. "Thank you for coming," she goes on when Jon nods, rising up to his feet as he stretches out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Alys, we spoke yesterday on the phone..."

"Please, tell me what's happened." Jon says and Alys gives a quick nod.

"Come with me." Is all she says, leading him past the desk and into a small room where a patient might first be seen, to have their vitals checked before being admitted into the hospital itself. "She's in a room, now, but first..." Alys trails off as they pass through this first room and into what must be the emergency room. "In here," she gestures for him to follow her into an empty room and she closes the door behind them.

"Is she okay?" Jon asks, impatient, unable to focus on anything beyond the state she's in.

To his relief, Alys smiles, though it is strained, uncertain. "She is unhurt, yes," she answers in a roundabout way, which douses the flicker of relief within him. "You are familiar with the Stark family, yes?" She asks, though the young Stark girl had explained to him that Jon was a childhood friend, more like a brother than anything else. Jon nods, but as he meets gazes with the woman, a cold sense of dread has already begun to fill him up. "Two nights ago... Ned, Catelyn, and their youngest sons were murdered."

For a moment, Jon cannot move, cannot think. Every single thought leaves his brain as he tries desperately to wrap his mind around what he's just been told. "They... They what?" He asks, feeling rather stupid when the words leave him. "Murdered?" He breathes, thinking of Bran, of Rickon, little boys he thought of more as brothers. He thinks of Ned Stark, a proud, noble man who had always treated him as one of his own. He thinks of Catelyn Stark, who had always ensured he had enough to eat. They had been his family when he'd not had one of his own. In the Stark's, he had brothers and sisters and parents- even if they weren't linked by blood or by name, they were family all the same. "I-I don't understand..."

"Neither do we, at least not yet." Alys admits, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. "It seems politically motivated." Of course it would be, considering just who the Stark's were. The most major family in the North, Ned Stark ruled more like a king than governor, and his people would have had it that way, as it had once been thousands of years ago. But, despite it all, Ned never sought power beyond what he had, choosing to defer to the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms, once his friend Robert Baratheon, now his son, the spiteful and spoiled Joffrey. It would not surprise Jon whatsoever to hear that Joffrey's mother, Cersei Lannister, had her hands in this mess. There was no family in all of the Seven Kingdom's that would dirty their hands in such a way besides the Lannister's.

"But Sansa... And Arya!" He gasps, thinking not just of the young woman who's called him here, but of her dark haired little sister that once wrestled with her brother's in the mud of Winterfell's courtyard. "Is Arya....?"

"Away at school. She's safe and been sent for, you don't have to worry about her right now." Alys replies and once again, a rush of relief floods him, forcing him to close his eyes as emotions well up within him. "There's something else..." Jon raises his gaze back up and braces himself for whatever else is to come. "It was Sansa that found them."

True horror, true sorrow, rips through him at such a thought. He cannot imagine hearing the news that your family has been brutally murdered, let alone being the one who finds them in such a way. His heart twists, aching for Sansa and for Arya, too. "Can I see her...?" He hears himself whisper, knowing that suddenly the only thing he can do is see her, hold her, talk to her.

"Of course, come," Alys says and they step out of the room and back into the hall. It feels as if every pair of eyes in the area follows them as they walk the length of the corridor and around a corner. At both ends of the hall, Jon sees uniformed officers, surprising him. Alys must notice for she gives him an encouraging smile. "For her own protection," she explains, to which Jon nods, thankful that at least here Sansa would be safe. "In here," Alys continues, stopping at the second door on the left. She raises a hand and knocks twice before she twists the door knob and pushes the door open a few inches. "Sansa, honey, it's me... Can we come in?" She calls softly through the crack and Jon's heart skips a beat when he hears the muffled sound of her voice from within. "Go on," she urges him quietly, stepping back so Jon can instead step forwards.

With shaking hands, he pushes the door open the rest of the way, and steps over the threshold. She stands at the window, her back to him, her waterfall of red hair hanging down her back glimmers in the afternoon sunlight. For a single moment, he cannot move, cannot think, cannot even breathe- but then she's turning around to face him, her clear blue eyes dark and damp as they stare out across the room at him. He swallows, his mouth opens, but there are no words that come. No words but one... "Sansa..." Her name is a whisper from his lips, so quiet that from where she stands, she thinks she's only imagined him saying it at all. She takes a tentative step forward, as if she's as uncertain as he is, and so it is Jon that crosses the room in several strides, coming so close that if he only just reaches out a hand, he could trace the curve of her ivory cheek, could twist a lock of red hair around his finger. So close that he can hear the soft intake of breath she makes as the first tear streaks her cheek.

It takes only a moment longer for her to come rushing at him, propelling herself into his already open arms. The momentum of his embrace sweeps her off her feet and Jon closes his eyes as she buries her face into the warmth of his neck, her sweet scent as familiar to him as it had once been. As he holds her close to him, Jon can feel as she sinks into him and realizes that it is he alone who keeps her on her feet. "You came," she whispers, her breath warm against his neck.

He draws back, only slightly, just so he might look her in the eyes. Before he can stop himself, he's cupped her cheek into his palm, a reminder of a moment two years before when Robb had only just died. It had been the only time he's ever seen her cry. Back then, he was certain he'd never see someone so broken. He wishes he had been wrong. "Of course," is all he says before he pulls her back in, knowing without a doubt, there wasn't a single thing that could pull him away from her. Not again. Not ever.

And so he holds her, as he knows he always should have done.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #moden au #my writing #i wrote this #and yes i absolutely did give the reunion scene a modern adaptation #also i should mention this might have darker tones so uhhh #trigger warning?#i guess?#maybe?#we'll see #but its better to be safe than sorry #ALSO #this is very much an au #so please dont be surprised for many store elements to be changed to fit the narrative

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 28/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in. Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name. Also on AO3 here

Sigyn held on tightly to both Loki’s and Thor’s hands as she entered the doorway. She didn’t know exactly where the doorway would drop them in Underhill, or what they’d be facing when they went through. She also had to make sure she held onto the boys tightly. They could get lost so easily and separated so easily. She was the only constant, since she was fae. It was dangerous for non-fae to travel through the doorways without a guide. As long as Sig was touching them, she could act as guide for them.

When they stepped through the doorway they found themselves in a grassy field under a warm bright sky. It looked nearly identical to Asgard. The only distinguishing feature was the feel of Underhill. The entire realm was made of magic and Sig could feel it to her bones. She could tell that Loki felt the difference as well. His grip on her hand changed as he took in the magic around them. Thor was oblivious as ever.

Sig dropped the guys’ hands when they were safely on the other side. She cast around with her senses, trying to figure out what was keeping the gate open. She could feel the fae there, she just couldn’t see them. Yet.

“Be careful boys, they’re here,” she told them both.

Loki gripped his dagger more securely in his grip and Thor did the same with Mjolnir.“We’re ready, Lady,” Loki replied carefully. Thor nodded his agreement. They were all being careful not to use names here. Names had power under normal circumstances. In Underhill it was worse.

In front of Sig?

Names were dangerous indeed.

Beyond dangerous.

So she reached out with her senses and took Loki’s hand when she felt it. She held out her hand toward a spot in front of her, much like Stark did when using his repulsors. “Blast that spot, prince,” she told Loki. He nodded and raised his hand as well and they sent green and purple bolts of magic at the spot she had indicated. The glamour-shield shimmered when their magic hit it. Loki smirked when he understood and they both threw more power at the shield.

The shield shattered under their combined magic and they could see the group of fae that were waiting for them to step further into Underhill. The creatures who faced them were mostly all hideous creatures. They were half animals, trees, plants. They were creatures with horns and scales who didn’t look fae as she looked fae. She were one of the elven-like fae from the seelie court. These were fae monsters from the unseelie court.

One of the fae stepped away from the group while Loki and Thor stepped closer to Sig to defend her. This fae looked fae as she did. A tall man with long black hair braided nearly down to his ankles and the pointed ears of the seelie fae. He smirked at Sig. He thought he had her outnumbered. By numbers he did, but by power, she would put her bets on the Asgardians with her. “Look my loyal subjects, it’s the lost seelie princess. And a couple of lordlings,” he apparently had accepted her illusions on the boys and believed them to be fae lords. Of course he would. Why would a seelie Gray Lady be out with Asgardians? It made way more sense for she to be in the company of fae lords. “I wonder how much her queen will pay for her safe return. Shall we find out my subjects?” he asked the crowd behind him, who cheered their approval. It really didn’t sound like her return to the seelie queen would be safe in any way, shape, or form.

Loki and Thor steeled themselves at her sides. They would both protect her at any cost, though Loki as her soulbond would defend his own life on top of hers. If she died, he would as well.

/Kill the speaker. The others should scatter with no leader/ she told Loki as she looked over the crowd of unseelie fae behind the fae lord.

Sig looked closer at the man and made a quick decision on the best way to get out of this. There was going to be a fight. That couldn’t be helped. Not easily, anyway, but she could give her trio an edge. “I am not going with you,” she told the speaker. She glared at him and saw through him to his truename. “With my men as witness, I name you Sholto, King of the Slaugh, Gray Lord of the Unseelie court, Lord of the Shadows,” his illusion shattered under her words and she all saw the man as he truly was with wings and scales. Loki and Thor would be able to fight him more effectively if they saw his true form.

She summoned a black-bladed sword, prepared to jump into the battle if the Asgardians would accept her help. The battle would happen. That was a given and she wasn’t some feather-brained noble lady unable to protect herself.

Sholto roared in rage at his illusion being shattered. Loki smirked. He knew how that felt as Sig had done it to him already. “Capture her!” Sholto ordered his people, gesturing to Sig.

Sig, Thor, and Loki jumped into action as they were swarmed. Loki went straight for Sholto, leaving the rest of the fae to Sig and Thor. “Oaf, stay with the Lady,” Loki ordered as he rushed Sholto. Thor stuck close to her while the two of them fought the underlings. Loki was a faster fighter, which was needed to face down the fae. He could also fight with magic. Thor’s brute-force style fighting would be better on the unseelie creatures. Loki and Thor had fought together for centuries and knew each other’s fighting styles so well and Sig could see how much they trusted each other in the battle.

That didn’t mean she were some helpless princess locked in a tower.

Sig fought entirely with her black-bladed sword. It sliced through her opponents like butter as it was made of cold iron. One of the few things the fae were weak to was cold iron and she used it effortlessly now. Thor watched her back, guarding her with Mjolnir.

Sig saw that Loki would best Sholto. Sholto had skill. All the Gray Lords did. Loki had more skill, more speed, and more brains. “Trickster!” she called when she saw that Loki had Sholto on the ropes. She threw him her sword. It was the fastest thing that would work and Sig obviously trusted him to entrust him with her iron sword. “Use this!” she told him.

Loki caught it in one hand without taking his eyes off of Sholto. He swung the blade expertly and in one smooth motion cut the man down. It slid through the fae with no resistance, cutting him in half, and very thoroughly killing him.

As she’d predicted, the second Sholto was dead, his followers all fled and his power faded from the doorway behind her. He’d been holding it open and now that he was dead, she was free to close it once she went back through.

Loki rushed over to her when the fae had fled. He checked her over, worry clear in his expression. “Are you alright, darling?” he asked a bit frantically.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m alright. Are you?”

He gave her a warm smile. He seemed pleased that she’d cared. “I’m fine. Not to worry.” There wasn’t even a scratch on him.

“Thank the gods,” she said, relieved and took her sword back from him before he questioned it or why it had cut through Sholto and the bodies around them all so easily.

“I’m fine too,” Thor grumbled that neither she nor Loki cared about him. Of course, they’d both been more concerned about their soulbond than Thor. Plus Thor was a god and could take care of himself. He had relaxed now that they were safe from the fae, now that their task in Underhill was done.

“We know, brother,” Loki replied with a smirk and an eyeroll. Thor never changed.

Sig vanished her sword again and took both of their hands again. “We should get out of here before anyone else comes to check on the doorway,” she told them. “Sholto’s magic is gone, so I can close the doorway now,”

Loki and Thor both nodded. They wanted out of here and back to safety. Loki brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “After this gate is closed, we should get some food. you’ll need it after that, Sigyn,”

Sigyn.

He’d said her name.

The one thing she told him not to do.

All of the color drained from her face as she stared at him in horror.

She glared at him, horrified and pissed as hell. She gripped both of their hands tighter and all but dragged them through the doorway as fast as she could. They were both so shocked that they didn’t fight her as she dragged them through the doorway.

She glared up at Loki with power sparking around her in her anger. “What part of ‘no names in underhill’ do you not understand?” she snarled at him when they were safely on the other side and met back up with Sif and the warriors three.

Loki looked horrified at what he’d done and how his silver tongue had slipped. His silver tongue never failed him and yet. And yet. Today it had and he had put them all in danger with that one misspoken word.

He had put his soulmate in danger.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 28 #Soulbonds and Fairy Dust #rewrite #nekoamamori

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bubblybubbubs · 4 years

Text

Bland (1)

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Royalty AU

Summary: Draco Malfoy is the Prince of Ebery and hates being a royal so when he meets you he calls himself a different name to hide his royal status.

Warning: Cursing

AN: hope you guys like this i definitely have an idea to make this a series <3 also this was very roughly inspired by the barbie princess and the pauper movie . had to repost because it wasn’t showing up in tags the first time?

btw a governess according to google is like a royal nanny.

Draco Malfoy lead a bland life. He knew he was lucky to have the riches he had, to be born a prince of Ebery, but he truly had hated his life. He had hated waking up everyday to please everyone other than himself with the same court niceties.

It was selfish of him but he wanted to just be Draco, not ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Draco’. The formalities were just a reminder of how his life had been decided for him the minute he was born.

He only had two real friends Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, the only two tolerable members of the court.

Anyone else was ancient or insufferable, such as Vincent Crabbe his cousin who he could not stand. Crabbe was almost an exact opposite of Draco, which was interesting considering they had been raised by the same governess.

Crabbe was all too eager to jump at any chance of power, there were countless times he had told his grandfather how unfit Draco was to be King. There was little Crabbe wouldn’t do for the crown, Draco was lucky it wasn’t passed down or Crabbe might have killed to get his hands on it.

In Ebery the monarch would chose any one from his lineage to rule after his/her passing, this was always announced the day after the Monarch’s death which left a lot of animosity between the possible heirs.

Draco didn’t want the crown and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get it even if he did, Abraxos Malfoy wasn’t exactly his biggest fan. He didn’t remember a single conversation they had, they usually ended abruptly when the King decided he had enough family bonding time.

He hadn’t cared about the royal life or the crown. he had planned on leaving his dreadful life to a place where no one would know about Ebery and he would’ve done it, had it not been for y/n.

He met Y/N Y/L/N when he was disguised as a commoner with Blaise, and they both decided to go out on the town.

“Here put this hat on it’ll hide your hair.” Blaise said pushing a hat towards him. It was a big fedora that was an ugly shade of yellow, it looked about as old as him.

“It’s hideous, where did you even find this.” Draco groaned.

“It was all I could find with the short notice, we can go back to the castle if you’d like.” Before Blaise could continue Draco put on the huge hat making sure to hide his hair before they entered the pub.

“That girl is totally checking you out.” Blaise whispered when they sat down. Draco peered behind him to see a girl staring at him who had smiled when they made eye contact.

“Do you think she recognizes me.”

“I don’t know, go ask her.” Blaise said encouraging Draco to go talk to her. Draco straightened the smock he wore before going up to her.

“I was hoping you’d come talk to me.” She said grinning up from her drink.

“Really how come.” He said talking a seat next to her.

“A guy with a hat like that is bound to be intresting.” She chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I haven’t seen you around here, what’s your name.”

“Um my name is Julian and that’s my friend uh Norman.”

“I’m Y/N”

Draco had made a point to visit her as much as he could, he grew fond of her.

“In my bakery again Julian, one would think you like me.” The girl said as she stepped towards the counter to greet him.

“Maybe I do Y/N.” Draco said leaning against the counter . He definitely did, Blaise claimed it was obvious but if Y/N noticed she didn’t show it.

“I’m taking a break.” The girl yelled out towards the kitchen before grabbing Draco and heading to the streets quickly ditching her apron and hat.

“What’s with you and hats, every time I see you you’re wearing one. Are you bald?.” She said as they walked through the shops motioning to the flat cap he wore today.

Draco tensed. his hair would be a dead give away of who he was, almost every king in the Malfoy line had the same almost white hair . He knew it was inevitable she find out who he was but he liked the friendship they had and wanted to keep it that away as long as possible. Maybe he should go bald.

“I have a weirdly shaped head.” He stammered. He wanted to kick himself, was that really the best he could come up with. She still laughed.

“You’re strange Julian.” She said sorting through a box of junk a vendor was selling.

”Tell me something about yourself. I feel like you know everything about me but I know nothing about you.” She said walking towards a tree and plopping down.

“There’s not much to know.” He said sitting next to her.

“I doubt that.”

“Well im an only child-

“None of that boring stuff. What do you want to do with your life, what are your goals.” She said cutting him off.

Draco was quiet for a second, no one ever asked him what his goals were. Everyone just assumed he wanted to be King.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never really thought about it.” He said.

“What about you.”

“I want to travel the world and see everything and when I come back I’m going to be rich and take care of everyone who helped me when I was young.” He wasn’t surprised, from the little time they had known each other he could tell she had a fiery spirit with a big heart.

“Wait so you don’t want to be a baker?” He said feigning shock.

“A girl can only have so much bread in her life.”

“Can I come?” He asked facing you.

“huh?”

“When you travel the world, can i go with you?” His heart sped up, that was a stupid question they only had known each other for a month and there he was asking if they could travel together.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.” She said laying on his chest. He would do it, right there under that tree he promised himself he would go to the ends of the earth with her.

He imagined it, life with just the two of them traveling the world. No crown, no titles just the two of them.

“Do you have to go back to work.”

“My Dad will live if I skip one day of work.” She said grinning at him.

“Follow me then.” He said grabbing her by the hand.

“where are we going.” She asked.

“You’ll see.” Draco led Y/N through the streets swifting past the crowd of people in the streets and into the trees. The whole time she couldnt take his eyes off him, had she been less awestruck by him she would have noticed the Malfoy blonde hair his falling hood flashed.

“We’re almost there, close your eyes.” She did and let Draco lead her further she felt the floor under her get rockier.

“Careful.” He said holding her tighter by the hand.

She felt a cold breeze on her face. “We’re here, you can open your eyes.” She opened her eyes and she was standing on a small cliff that stood over a beautiful lake that shimmered almost magically.

He watched for her reaction carefully. This had been his favorite spot in all of Ebery growing up, whenever his mother hadn’t been busy she would take him here and they would swim together, then they would watch the sunset .

“Where are we.” She said furrowing her brow.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s not that well known, I was thinking it could be our little place.” She smiled widely, Draco never wanted to forget what she looked like that day so happy and carefree.

“I’d like that.” She then noticed the castle that stood tall above the trees across the lake. “Is that the castle.” He nodded.

“I’ve always wanted to go to the castle it’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” He said turning her to face him. He had known it the day he first saw her, the smile she had sent his way had knocked the wind out of him.

She blushed “I really like you Julian.” Draco was stricken by guilt and he really did want to tell her truth but how could he when things were so good. So he kissed her and just like that Draco’s life seemed a lot less bland.

——————————————-

lil extra

“Norman, why does my name have to be fucking norman.”

“I was nervous, and your dumb hat didnt make it any easier.”

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #Draco #draco malfoy x reader #royalty au #blaise zabini #daphne greengrass #second try #slytherin #draco malfoy #hp

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Where Are All of the Mothers in Fantasy Fiction?

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This is a guest post from Gabriela Houston, the London-based Polish author of Second Bell, a Slavic fantasy debut described as a cross between His Dark Materials and The Bear and the Nightingale. You can find out more about the book here.

Historically speaking, the fantasy genre has a thorny relationship with motherhood. Technically, it’s acknowledged that the protagonists must have sprung from somewhere. But it is often solely their paternity that is seen as important—while the mothers, if mentioned at all, are usually either dead of irrelevant: unmentioned or languishing in a convent somewhere. If the mothers (or stepmothers: a different type of a mother-figure) persist in being alive into their children’s adulthood they are most often presented as an obstacle to their child’s self-actualisation/quest, or, as is most common with the stepmother archetype, present an actual threat to the protagonist.

Since mainstream fantasy as a genre was Eurocentric, this is a trend that is very much connected to the patriarchal structures persisting throughout Europe for most of recorded history. King Arthur, whose legend was first written down in the 12th Century by Geoffrey of Monmouth, had a mother, of course, but her only real importance was in how her beauty drew the eye of Uther Pendragon, who raped her, conceiving Arthur. Since Uther ended up marrying Arthur’s mother, Igraine, story-wise all was considered to be well, and, her role in birthing the future king done, Igraine became an irrelevance, just as any feelings and thoughts she might have had on her second husband. All we know is she was beautiful, chaste and gave birth to the real protagonist of the story.

The courtly love conventions forming the basis of many medieval European legends have seeped into the genre of fantasy, especially high fantasy, and have shaped the way in which female protagonists are related to. In most “traditional” fantasy, motherhood was seen as nearly opposite to personhood. A female character’s value centred squarely on her attractiveness to the male protagonist, meaning that the moment she aged/became a mother, she ceased to hold that particular form of attention that comes from extreme youth and innocence. Motherhood is seen as the end of a female character’s journey. The experiences, shifting relationships and emotions linked to motherhood are not seen as interesting enough to garner any space at all.

In The Lord of The Rings, we are faced with a whole cast of missing mothers. Moreover their absence is not noted as particularly important or carrying any emotional load. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, clearly had a mother, but when his father died he was shipped off to live with the elves. We neither know, nor are expected to care about what his mother thought on the subject. Then, of course, he falls for the elven maiden Arwen, whose mother, we’re told (as an aside) had the good sense to disappear from the scene by sailing beyond the sea before the plot of LOTR begins. Frodo Baggins’ mother helpfully died before he was born and Bilbo Baggins has the rare privilege of having a named mother, Belladonna Took, who, however, is quite dead by the time The Hobbit begins, and is referenced only as a link between Bilbo and the adventurous Took clan. She was a Took and she birthed him. Thus her role ended.

The halls of speculative fiction are carpeted with the corpses of the mothers who died of broken hearts and colds in order to not complicate their progeny’s journey. In fantasy TV and Film the trend, quite naturally, continued. In the original Star Wars trilogy, Princess Leia and Luke’s mother, Padme Amidala lived a full life of adventure but then died of a broken heart shortly after her children were born, as of course she should have done. Can you imagine, had she survived, the plot-spoiling link to their past she would have become? In Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Joyce Summer’s death, whilst arguably the critical highpoint of the series, was seen as necessary. She had to die, or else Buffy might have never become who she was always meant to be. As a mother she was an obstacle, one the scriptwriters helpfully removed.

Occasionally, the death of the character’s mother brings about the advent of the perennial archetype of the evil step-mother. A twisted parody of what a mother should be, just as the dead mother was convenient to the character’s journey, the insertion of the stepmother exists solely to scupper all of the character’s efforts. The examples of the conniving stepmother trope abound in traditional folktales (like in Cinderella, or its Slavic equivalent, Vasilisa, where the young protagonist is sent off by her stepmother to ask a favour of the infamous witch, Baba Yaga), mythologies (think the ultimate evil stepmother, Hera, who habitually persecuted the innocent results of her husband Zeus’ many indiscretions), and, not surprisingly, in fantasy genre as well.

In A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin (which actually does portray an unusual range of mothers with agency), Catelyn Stark, an otherwise fiercely loyal mother, is a cold and distant stepmother to Jon Snow. In the first novel in Katherine Arden’s fantastic Winternight trilogy, the main protagonist grows up in the shadow of her vapid, fearful and cruel stepmother. Part of the reason, I’d argue, why older women are so often portrayed as annoying and conniving, is because, as far as the traditional narratives are concerned, the whole of their role and purpose is fulfilled the moment their physical (youthful) attractiveness wanes. Those without the wisdom to exit the stage by dying become at worst a cumbersome plot bunny and at best an obstacle.

The issue of a lack of older women in fantasy is such an expansive subject that it demands the respect of a separate thought piece, really. And, as regards the stepmothers, I’m not saying, of course, that they should always be portrayed as kind and loving. But precisely because their archetype is rooted so strongly in our collective consciousness, it’s particularly important to acknowledge their humanity. And as far as the humanity of the older female (in the traditional fantasy fiction this seems to describe any woman over twenty) character goes, the good news is the tide is turning.

Part of the reason for that is that more women than ever are given the platform to write their stories. Perhaps somewhere along the way the publishing industry as a whole realised that as women account for the majority of fiction readers (according to one cross-Atlantic research they make up to 80% of fiction market), then perhaps portraying women as actual people, whose agency doesn’t evaporate once they get pregnant, might simply be good marketing.

In the recent years I’ve been ecstatic to see nuance brought into the motherhood trope within the genre. Where the mother of the character is dead, she is so for a damn good reason, with the echoes of her absence reverberating through the story in the most compelling ways, like in Tracy Deonn’s Legendborn. Mothers fight beside their children, and grandchildren (Like the pink-haired protagonist of The Phlebotomist by Chris Panatier), and battle hardship and heartache, like in Madeline Miller’s Circe.

As a mother it was important to me to focus on the humanity of motherhood in my debut, The Second Bell. The mothers I wrote are not perfect, and they are not always right. And even when they are, they might not know it for certain. And that is the point. Mothers deserve their place in fiction not because they’re perfect, but because they are human. Their decisions are just as complex as their younger counterparts and are complicated further by their new and life-changing bond with their child.

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Writing mothers is writing humans. No more, no less. They matter and they are worthy of notice.

Second Bell will be released on Tuesday, March 9th. You can find out more about Gabriela Houston here.

The post Where Are All of the Mothers in Fantasy Fiction? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

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DEAD WALLS RISE - CONNAR

PART THREE

His father was grim faced and his mother clutched her children’s hands hard enough to hurt but neither Connar or Penny pulled away. Gen stood near the small hearth, watching the flames dance.

“What...what does that mean for us, then?” Arthur asked. “Now that he’s dead.”

“The war’s over,” the captain explained, cleaning the inside of his pipe’s bowl with his pinky finger. “But don’t get too excited just yet. King Warren’s mandate will take time to reach the ends of Vhasshal and still there’s no guarantee all folks will honor it. Smuggling and selling humans has become quite profitable for some. Best keep on as you have for a while.”

Gen pushed back from the hearth and turned to regard the blue coated giant. “Should I keep sending in the reports?”

“Yes. They may be more valuable now than ever. Now that the trade’s illegal, information’s going to start drying up. People will be less likely to tell you all that they have. So whatever you have, keep sending it to me.”

“But still,” Penny said, surprising most of them as she never spoke whenever Keral visited. The large man outright terrified her and she always made it a point to make herself scarce around him. “The Blood King is dead. Things will get better right? They have to...”

Keral took a moment to regard the girl. “Doesn’t always work out that way, lass. Nethrin’s dead. His last son’s King now. He’s gonna have to work hard and smart and very quickly to secure his power. The time between transitions of power is precarious and if not done right, will make more of a mess than what we had to begin with. For now, all we can do it wait and see.”

…………………………………..

Connar and his family stayed with Gen in his home for another five years. In that time, Gen continued to supply the blue coats with as much information as he was able to garner, but as Keral predicted, most of it dried it very quickly. Connar’s skill with leather continued to grow and he branched off into metal works. For almost a year, he worked on nothing but knives. Pocket knives, axe blades, kitchen knives, etc. Gen was beyond pleased with his progress and continued to challenge the boy as his teenage years began to slip into young adulthood.

Gen’s gray hair began to turn white and his strength was not what it had been until one day he gathered them all to tell them something.

“I have been playing with the idea of perhaps moving in with my sister,” he said. “She’s already assured me you all would be welcome.”

“Doesn’t she live in the village outside the castle, though?” Maria asked. “Would it be safe?”

“With the King so near, I’d imagine the village might very well be the safest place of all,” Gen replied. “And there is also the option of the Hill Tribe if you wish to live with your own people.”

Maria suddenly sent her daughter an amused side eyed glance. “We might be able to find you a nice beau, Penny. And you can start giving me some grandchildren.”

Penny flushed red and pointed to Connar as he took a large bite of an apple. “What about Connar?”

Arthur laughed. “Oh, he’s hopeless. He’d scare any girl off.”

Connar made a muffled whine of offense at the accusation as they all had a good laugh.

In the end, they did make the move the Gen’s sister’s home. Beth was a pleasant woman, fifteen years Gen’s junior, and like her brother, was a widow with all four of her children grown and having moved away. She and Maria became fast friends and both immediately began a crusade to find Penny a nice young man, despite her protestations. Connar was simply happy that they had not began to do the same to him and he was free to continue on learning whatever Gen still had left to teach him.

A little over a year later, Penny was married and moved to the Hill tribe with her new husband and soon after, they welcomed their first child into the world and both Connar’s parents moved in to help with the baby. Connar stayed behind in Beth’s house with Gen, still eager to learn and hone his skills.

Gen passed away in his sleep two months later.

Looking back, Connar would remember very little of that time. In many ways it felt as though he had lost a father. He and his family owed so much to Gen and with him gone, Connar felt adrift and without a moor like a boat being carried away by the current. Too tired to try and steer himself back on coarse and too numb to understand why he should even try.

His family had a new baby to help distract from the pain and as much as he tried to throw himself into his work, he just could not bare to even look at his tools. The same ones Gen had made for Connar himself. With his hands.

Gen’s funeral was attended by more people than Connar would have thought and he stayed very close to Beth and her eldest son during the whole affair. Trying very hard not to see the way some of the attending giants sneered at him. Unlike Silvaaran funerals, Vhasshals buried their dead rather than burn them on pyres. They were placed in family tombs built far into the ground and the flesh of the dead would be returned to the earth and once there was nothing but bones left, they were pushed back into the far chamber with the bones of their ancestors to make room for the next body. So a single family tomb could hold hundreds of individuals.

Connar’s family were forced to leave early as the baby began to make a fuss and Penny was worried he might catch a cold in the chilly air. Connar thought it was more to do with being nervous around so many giants and he did not blame them. But he petitioned to stay.

He couldn’t leave.

Connar stared at the large opening to the Taversh family tomb as six Vhasshalans carried Gen’s shrouded body down, feeling numb. Flowers and wreaths and ribbons were places all around the opening as well as food and gifts that would be collected after by the family. When the giant emerged from the tomb without Gen, Connar felt the tears fall heavily down his face.

We can’t just leave him down there...

“I’m so sorry, Beth,” said one of the giants, voice thick with emotion. He was very tall for a giant and his arms were thicker than tree trunks. He lowered himself to hug the much smaller woman.

“Oh, Hevian. You’re so much taller then I remember,” Beth said, smiling through tears. She patted his shoulders. “And thicker! By the Gods, you’ve grown.”

The giant smiled, but it looked hollow as grief was painted thickly upon his features. He turned to Gen’s son and shook his hand, muttering a small greeting and condolence. But his eyes dipped lower to spy Connar. Beth caught the giant’s questioning look.

“Hevian, this is Connar,” she said. “Gendril took him and his folks in during the war. The human lass with the wee babe that left earlier? That was them.”

Hevian crouched down and extended a hand towards Connar and stuck his finger out. “It’s nice to meet ye, Connar.”

He looked up at the giant and reached out to grip the tip of the large finger.

“You too,” he mumbled.

“You know,” Beth said. “Gen was teaching Connar here. You should see some of his leather work, Hevian. It’s beautiful. A wee small, but beautiful.”

Hevian’s face lightened with intrigue and he spared the human a smile. “Well, I might need to come visit ye some day and take a gander myself.”

Beth looked down at Connar. “Hevian here was Gendril’s apprentice. Took over the royal smithy when Gen retired.”

And then Connar’s brain kicked him as he suddenly connected the dots and he blurted, “Oh! So you’re Hev.”

The giant grinned. “Aye, that’s me.”

“Gen told me a lot about you,” Connar replied.

“Good things I hope.”

“Mostly he said your leather work was crap,” Connar replied and then cursed at himself. But much to his relief, Hevian just threw his head back and laughed.

“Aye, that sounds ‘bout right to me. Never was much good with all that stuff. Was always more interested in playing with fire and sharp metal.”

…………………….

The funeral came and went and Connar returned to Beth’s house. That night at dinner, she pulled him aside.

“You’re always welcome here, dear,” she told him. “But I can’t help but wonder if you might feel better with your folks.”

“I thought about it,” he replied. “And it makes the most sense. I don’t want to impose on you. I know it’s a pain having me here. Your neighbors would be happy, I guess.”

“Oh, who gives a right hooey what they think,” she spat. “Gen loved you, Connar. And until the day they lay be beside him, you will have a place here. Same as your folks and sister.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said finally.

“Well, however long you need to decide take it.”

“Thank you, Beth.”

………………………………………..

His father had gotten him a job as a field hand working one of the wheat fields in the Hill Tribe. In all honesty, Connar did not even know anyone in the Hill Tribe farmed at all. But it sounded like a good way to start off on his own and long hard labor might just be what his idle brain needed to snap out of his rut.

He refused Beth’s offer to escort him there, promising her he would be fine. “Besides, if anyone give me trouble, I’ve got this,” he said, pulling out a large hunting knife. Beth was very reluctant to let him go on his own, but finally convinced her by promising he would go through the woods instead of using the roads.

“Please be careful,” she begged.

“I will,” he laughed, waving back at her as he began to walk. “I’ll see you soon.”

The Vhasshal castle was an imposing looking structure set at the top of a large gentle sloping hill with the village just below. The Hill tribe was a few miles away on the other side of the castle where the hills were more pronounced. In order for Connar to get there, he traveled through the forest that made a half moon shape around the castle and since it was strictly part of the castle grounds, it was considered trespassing for anyone to use it without permission from the Crown. Which made it the perfect path for Connar to get to his destination without being spotted by anyone with ill intentions.

He was almost through the thicket part of the forest when his foot caught on something and he fell forward just as metal teeth sprung up from the earth and clamped down onto his left leg. He fell to the ground and drew in a shocked and rattling breath as the worst pain he had ever felt radiated from his leg. He gave a breathless cry and he rolled over to see what had snagged him and he felt his heart drop at the sight. A spring loaded metal snap trap was clamped onto his leg, the sharp metal teeth digging and cutting into his flesh and passed the exposed meat of leg and the seeping blood, he could see the pale white bone.

His head spun as he gave his first real scream of pain. There was so much blood. Already he felt his backside was damp with it. He reached for his hunting knife and tried to pry the teeth apart, but his strength was quickly waning.

“F-fuck!” he screamed. “Augh!”

He quickly pulled his tunic off and used his knife to cut long ribbons out of it, wrapping them around his leg just under his knee and prayed desperately that it would stop the bleeding. Oh Gods, it hurt so much…

He pulled the ends of his makeshift tourniquet with a muffled cry of pain and fell back onto the ground. With every wave of pain, he screamed; fingernails digging into the ground and racking up the earth. All sound around him became muted as every piece of his waking mind was dedicated to feeling the pain from his leg.

He felt more than heard someone approach and the ground shook as a very large someone dropped to the knees beside him. He barely registered that they were speaking to him and through the tears clouding his eyes, he could not make out a face. The end of a stick was pressed against his lips and the voice above began to speak with a little more clarity.

“...gonna hurt like hell. Bit down on this,” the giant commanded. “Better a stick than your tongue.”

A soon as his teeth were around the stick, there was an abrupt and wholly unwelcomed pressure on his leg as the metal teeth were pulled from his flesh and he heard the shriek of springs. His whole body was shaking from the pain and he sobbed, hands reaching out blindly until they found the warm flesh of a giant hand.

“You’re gonna be fine, Connar,” said the giant. “Keep biting down, lad. Keep breathing. I’m gonna pick ye up, now. Ready? One...two...”

He didn’t wait for the count of three before picking the injured boy up and Connar screamed through his teeth. The trees above him rushed by at an incredible speed before disappearing and were the replaced by stone walls and ceilings. Unfamiliar smells and sounds passed by and he got his first real proper look at the giant.

“...Hev?” he asked just as the darkness around his vision became absolute and he passed out.

………………………….

When he woke up, his head felt thick with fog and his limbs were heavy and sore.

But he couldn’t feel his leg. Weak as he was, he lifted his head up as high as he could and looked down at himself. He lay in a human sized bed in a room that was anything but human sized. There was a collection of bottles and rolls of bandages on a small table next to his bed, but the one thing that struck him was the tell tale lack of shape next to his right leg. Just below his left knee, there was nothing. A wave of emotion roiled up from inside him and he fell back against his pillow, tears already falling.

The second time he awoke, Keral was there and was speaking to a human who he initially thought was a man, but their voice revealed themselves as a woman.

“...he’s on some pretty heavy sedatives and pain tonics,” said the woman. “But he made it through the fever just fine. He’ll be bed ridden for a while yet while he heals.”

“Beth’s all outta sorts,” Keral said. “Blamin’ herself fer lettin’ him go on his own. His folks are wonderin’ when they came come see ‘im.”

“They’re welcome to come and see him, but don’t give them the impression he’ll be awake at all. I’m trying to keep him sedated as much as I can so I don’t need to bottle feed him pain tonic. I’m not trying to make him into an addict and with the dosage he would need at this stage, he surely would be.”

Time became inconsequential as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered his mother and father visiting and Beth as well, but he was unable to speak or if he did, he could not recall what he said.

And for three weeks, that was Connar’s existence.

………………………….

Sawyer handed him a small book. “Barnaby said you might enjoy this one. Funny poems and such.”

“Thank you,” he said, idly flipping through the pages.

“So,” she said, “Give any thought to what you might do?”

“I guess go back to Beth’s place for a while. Teach myself to walk again with a crutch and be the local cripple. Beg for coins at the street corner.”

“Well, what were you doing before?”

“...honestly? Mooching off Beth. Gen before her. I was going to go be a field hand, but...well.”

“I though Hev said you were a craftsman.”

Connar blinked. “He said that?”

“Yeah. That you worked with leather and such.”

“Well, yeah. I do. Gen taught me. I wasn’t his apprentice or nothing. He just showed me some stuff.”

Sawyer gave him a look. “So, why aren’t you working with the skills you already have? You’re a skilled craftsman. Go craft. You don’t need both legs to do that, do you?”

“No, but what could I make that a giant would want to buy?”

Sawyer rolled her eyes. “Just because you lost your leg doesn’t mean your life and dignity went with it.”

………………..

He had just finished the book of poems when Hev came to visit him. Even among giants, Hev was tall and broad shouldered. His black hair was pulled back into a braid and though his tunic was clean, he still smelled like the forge; ash and metal and smoke. It reminded him a lot of Gen.

When Hev entered the infirmary, he gave Connar a wide white tooth grin and grabbed a chair. “How’re ye feeling, lad?”

“Better now that I can think straight,” he replied, setting the book aside. “But I think I’m done spending all my time in bed.”

Sitting into the chair, Hev gave Connar a nod. “Aye, suppose there’s only so much peace and quiet ye can take. Manage to get around on them at all?” He pointed to crutches leaning against his bed posts.

“A bit,” Connar shrugged. “Not that hard. Just tires me out. Not use to walking with my arms.”

Hev chortled at that. “Well, reason why I wanted to come see ye was I had an interestin’ talk with Sawyer. About yer future.”

Connar furrowed his brow. “Yeah, she was talking to me about that. Thinks I should try and use the skills Gen taught me. Since I’m useless like this for any job in the fields.”

“Aye,” Hev said. “And I agree with her. Last time Beth visited ye, she came by the shop and gave me this.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a knife sheath. He had made it for Gen for a new knife he’d made. It was not long after they had first moved into Beth’s home and Connar had decorated the flat sides of the sheath with depictions of the village with the Vhasshalan castle up on the hill.

“Ye made this?” Hev asked, his tone oddly serious.

Connar nodded and stared at the sheath in Hev’s hands. “Yeah. For Gen.”

“Ye want a job?”

Connar blinked at him. “Wait...what?”

Hev grinned and held up the sheath. “This is amazing work, Connar. I showed it to Master Donal and he showed it to the King.”

Connar blanched. “You...he did... wait, what?”

But Hev just grinned wider. “Aye. He was might impressed too. Told me I should offer ye a job in the smithy. And I agree. Ye’d be a great help.”

Connar did his best impression of a fish as he gaped open mouthed at him. “You...you’re offering me a job?”

“I am.”

“Oh...well,” Connar shrugged as a wide and elated smile crossed his face. “Fuck yeah I will!”

“Don’t ye wanna know the wages?” Hev laughed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Connar replied excitedly. “You could pay me in fucking paper coins and I’d still do it.”

“Oi, careful now, lad. If Donal ever hears ye say that he might take ye up on that offer.”

#DEAD WALLS RISE #G/t story #Giant/tiny #Connar #Hev

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modernagesomniari · 4 years

Text

Fic ‘I am Changed’

Part of the Mala Suledin Nadas Series (Eli Lavellan). You can read it on AO3 here.

The parallels between In Hushed Whispers and Solas' situation have always made me unneasy (which shows good writing tbh) but I wanted to explore how different Eli and Solas' attitudes are towards this sort of thing, how it's a natural part of who they are, which is why they'll oppose each other eventually.

PG-13, ~1750 words

I Am Changed

It was the new sparkly kid who told them what had happened, not their Eli. This was the first thing that set off the warning bells in Varric’s head. The second thing was that, within minutes of Dorian starting the story, she’d quietly warned him off exaggeration. The third thing was that he then did what she asked. In Varric’s opinion, men like this one didn’t tone down their exaggerations for anything. He should know.

Not that wasn’t like Eli to be quiet - she’d spent a good deal of the first week or so barely saying a word unless you spoke to her first, but Varric could understand that. She’d just been thrown into a situation so far from anything she’d experienced, anyone with any brains at all would take a few days to take the lay of the land before they started throwing their weight around. She’d picked up about day eight, starting to initiate conversation and get to know her new surroundings. Cheered right up, if he was honest, he couldn’t fault her strength.

This was different. She was sat in the circle they’d made around the camp fire down the King’s Road from Redcliffe. None of them had particularly wanted to stay in the town, so they’d kept walking and camped halfway between the town and the camp. Once the sun had set and they’d eaten, inevitably they’d asked what had happened. She was playing with a piece of leather in her hands, twisting it and tangling it only to thread her tiny fingers through it and smooth it out before starting all over again. She watched the fire, something violent in the way it reflected in her huge green eyes, but there was nothing on her face. This had moved her, deeply.

He kept his eyes on her as he listened, mostly horror struck, at what Dorian was telling them. The red lyrium clenched his gut, but the new kid’s description of who they found and how was worse, far worse. Poor Leliana. It was a sobering thought, the idea that a world where he himself was dead had existed. Not for long it seemed (only it had also lasted a year? Only it hadn’t? There was no way he was going to be able to put this into any book, was there?), but still the reality of it was a cold slap in the face. No one liked imagining a world where they were dead. Eli, apparently, had seen and experienced it. Watched some of them die.

It was only when Dorian was finishing the story, trying to tell them that it was all ok, that they’d found the amulet, sent themselves back, none of it ever happened, it was all a bad dream etc etc that Eli looked up, something wrong and fierce in her eyes now.

“It wasn’t just a bad dream, Dorian.”

Her voice was low, but something about it quietened the whole damn camp.

“Well it might as well be. Otherwise I’d have to live with the reality the whole rest of my life and nightmares do play havoc with age lines…”

“We can’t just pretend it all didn’t happen because it’s easier.”

Now her voice was raised and she’d sat up, leather clenched tightly in her fist. “Dorian. It happened.”

“Technically, no it…”

“Yes. It did. To us. If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here. Alexius still sent us forward and then we came back, so if it hadn’t happened, we’d still be gone. And then it would have happened.”

Varric considered himself a clever sort of bastard, but he was having trouble keeping up. There was something frustrated but pained in Sparkler’s face.

“I see your point. But that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t fit into this world any more. For us to be here now means they never have to exist.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t exist. Just because they don’t fit anymore doesn’t mean they didn’t exist when we were there.”

Andraste’s ass but there were tears in her eyes now, not falling but glinting just enough in the firelight he knew they were there. He could never stand it when people cried, damn it.

“Then where are they? I know you think I’m being cowardly about this, but what do you want me to do? Cassandra is sitting right here. Solas has as impeccable a skin routine as when I first met him, not a red vein to be seen.”

“So they didn’t die? Is that what you’re saying to me?”

Varric definitely preferred it when she’d raised her voice to this quiet fury she’d switched to now.

“I didn’t say…”

“But that’s what you want to believe. What’s easier to believe. They died, Dorian. They died so that we could come back. And they were real.”

She shook her head, her face crumpling slightly as she couldn’t keep the tears in anymore. The brokenness of her voice did nothing to the ferocity in her eyes as she stood across the fire from Dorian, not flinching even as the tears ran down her face. “I am changed, Dorian. Their fight, their death, their sacrifice. They have changed me. And I am real. So they are, too. Think me foolish for mourning them if you must, but I will. And I will not forget.”

She turned, refusing to wipe her eyes but clearly not wanting them to see any more. They let her go. Silence fell over the fire as they all watched her take herself to sit on a rock at the edge of camp, looking down the ravine at the hinterlands below. No one said anything. It made Varric respect the new Tevinter mage slightly, that he just nodded solemnly and poured himself another drink rather than try and continue to fight his corner now he had no opposition. As for Varric, he took a sip of his own drink before casting a quick look around the fire. Most people were staring into their cups, uncomfortable and pensive. One of the few who wasn’t was Solas, who was looking after where Eli had gone like he couldn’t look away, something unreadable but deeply uneasy in the expression on his face. Varric’s inner alarm bells started going off again. This didn’t bode well.

“Was it so bad?” The Seeker asked after a while. Clearly tired, Sparkler just shrugged and nodded.

“I know what you look like after being speared by a Terror demon, if that paints a picture. And I’ve seen the difference between human and elven eyes when exposed to truly horrific amounts of red lyrium, which tops it all off nicely.”

“There’s a difference?” Varric asked, immediately wondering why he always asked questions he didn’t want the answer to. Dorian’s gaze was slightly haunted to match his hollow laugh.

“Elves are apparently more susceptible, or perhaps it’s just the same thing that makes their eyes glow at night. I don’t know.”

He took another swig of his hip flask before gesturing over to Solas. “You were a bloody breath of fresh air. Barely had to explain anything - caught on quick as a whip. Have you known her long?”

Solas looked as confused by the last question as Varric felt, eyebrows drawn together as he shook his head. “No. Didn’t think so. You get on though, don’t you?”

“If you are suggesting some sort of elf connection…”

“No. No I’m not. It’s just…”

Dorian paused, flicking his gaze over to the silhouette that was Eli, back at Solas and then back at the fire. Finally he just shrugged. “Oh, she’ll tell you if she wants to. If I were either of you, though, I’d find a few moments on the journey back to Haven to remind her you are both, in fact, still alive. She took your deaths pretty hard.”

No one said anything after that. No one really moved either. Varric wondered what it was - the horror, the reality of this Elder One, or just the realisation that their Herald wasn’t strong because she was all-powerful, but because she didn’t let her fragility shatter her. She would mourn, she would let her heart break for this world that should never have been and then she would allow it to make her stronger. Varric had seen it before, watched a person take more pain than he thought possible and turn it right back into fierce determination and unshakeable loyalty. Maker’s balls, but he was going to get in way over his head again, wasn’t he?

Solas got up first, quiet and graceful, stepping around them all as he angled towards the tents. Varric watched him go, wondering at what Dorian had said and hoping that what he suspected was going to happen wasn’t going to. Because he’d been there before, too, and there was nothing there but hurt, he knew it. So some part of him started silently willing Solas to keep heading towards the tents, even as he watched him slow down. Knew that there was a suspicious squint to his eyes as he watched Solas draw to a halt, looking over at where Eli was sat at the other side of camp. Felt something release as he turned away, back to the tents and clench right up again when he hesitated. If a low ‘Don’t you dare, Chuckles’ left his mouth under his breath, he couldn’t be blamed.

His heart sank as Solas changed his mind again, something reluctant in his gait even as he turned once more towards Eli and started walking towards her like it was despite himself. Honestly, Varric would almost say that the man was even more irritated at himself than Varric was for not being able to leave her. He watched him hesitate one more time, just behind her, before he took one more step forward and sat close beside her.

Varric couldn’t hear what they were saying. Knew damn well that he wouldn’t be wanted there even if he could. He watched her body sway slightly before she let it lean gently against Solas’ arm and his heart was heavy enough he actually sighed into his ale as he watched that arm come up around her shoulders, pulling her in. Damn that man for being an idiot, damn Eli for being, well, Eli and damn himself for seeing so much and caring even more. He’d seen this play out in Kirkwall, seen it a thousand times in every tale of every hero in Thedas.

There was no way this was going to end well.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solavellan hell #dorian pavus #varric tethras #varric knows all

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