#if she's a pit fighter he's probably healed her wounds before too

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

⛅️ or 💘?

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞!

Ohh! I can definitely see them becoming friends if they both were to be working in Sett's pits at the same time, I would love for them to interact more so I can really get a gage of how they would speak with eachother etc. Unfortunately without that basis of interaction, I can't say that I could see them being romantically involved, but who knows! Anything can happen.

#mun speaks #burntscars #relationship meme #if she's a pit fighter he's probably healed her wounds before too #mother hen robin tutting because she's hurt AGAIN

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current PARTIES:  @rn-zane & @recoveringdreamer LOCATION: the grit pit SUMMARY: zane looks into the grit pit and meets one of the fighters there. they aren't what he expects. CONTENT WARNINGS: domestic abuse, emotional abuse

It’d been a rough night. The weekend ones always were. Fighting against beasts and creatures that were mostly mindless was one thing, even if Felix still felt guilty about it after the fact each time. But fighting against people like him? Other shifters, or the undead, or even fae? People who he knew probably didn’t want to be there any more than they did, people who hadn’t asked for the hand they’d been dealt? That was so much harder. Felix always felt like shit after.

Tonight was no different. They’d done a real number on the lamia they’d been up against. She hadn’t gotten up off the mat at the end of the fight, though they’d made sure they could still hear her heart beating before they’d been shoved out of the ring. Knowing she’d survived the fight did little to help the guilt that was eating away at them, and the congratulatory slap on the back Leo had delivered as they’d shuffled down the hall only made things worse. Felix felt sick as they changed in the locker room, hoping to get out as soon as possible, to go home where they could just relax until the next fight.

Pulling their shirt over their head, Felix carefully shifted each part of themself back into something more human. No more walking outside with their tail still swinging behind them or their ears still twitching on their head — not after what had happened with that warden. When they were satisfied, they ducked out of the locker room… nearly running directly into someone. “Sorry,” they mumbled, still staring at their feet. “Uh… ‘scuse me.”

—

A name like The Grit Pit felt fitting considering how the place had been described to Zane but somehow, also too rhyme-y and humorous for somewhere people could get hurt as badly as the vampire he’d met. It had been a chance conversation, brought on by the nurse unceremoniously staring at another customer at Masque, taking in their still healing wounds and scars. The other vampire had snapped at first but softened upon realizing that Zane was indeed also undead, coupled with him staring out of medical curiosity and empathy. Their talk hadn’t been long, cut short by the vampire’s anxious energy to ‘get back’, but it had been enlightening all the same. 

Arriving here alone felt like a stupid idea, as if showing up wasn’t dumb enough to begin with, but if one badly wounded vampire had stepped out of this place then more were sure to follow. As far as disguises went, a dark hoodie and cap, coupled with the reading glasses he rarely used, wasn’t exactly top tier but in this array of people, Zane didn’t stick out. Once inside and witnessing the fighting? That’s where he distanced himself from the crowd, horror-struck by the display of violence and even more so, the people cheering and betting on the results. 

Most of the creatures inside were unfamiliar to him, some mostly humans and others definitely not. The two inside the designated fighting area looked human enough to twist Zane’s stomach with unease, hands clenched by his side the whole way through. It seemed to go on forever, slashing and biting and blood until suddenly, one of them didn’t get back up. As soon as the fighting came to its abrupt stop, Zane snapped from the horrified trance. He shouldn’t be here. He was out of his depth and surrounded by violence and blood and which way was the exit? 

Stumbling past people and keeping his head down, panic rising with every person that bumped into him, Zane fumbled blindly for what he hoped was the exit until someone… apologized? Finally daring to look up, he stared at the slightly familiar face until recognition hit him. “Oh! Uh, no, I’m sorry.” It was much quieter here but he was definitely nowhere near the exit. “Are you… okay? I saw the, uh…” Trailing off, head jerking vaguely towards the loud cheering, Zane instantly regretted asking the question. 

–

He saw the match. Felix realized how the sentence was going to end, even if the stranger never actually ended it. It took everything they had not to wince at the insinuation. Confusion flooded them as the rest of the stranger’s statement seemed to settle. He was asking if they were all right? They were the one who’d practically torn a lamia apart, left her unable to get up off the floor. Why would anyone be worried about Felix right now?

Unless… Was it kindness driving the question, or was this man trying to figure out how to make his next bet? Trying to determine if the prize fighter had taken any hits that might prevent them from snatching their next victory? Trying to decide how much money he should put down on the following night’s match?

Chancing a glance up, Felix looked at the stranger for a moment. All at once, that suspicion died in the balam’s chest, shriveling and dissolving. The stranger had kind eyes. The look he was giving Felix was one of genuine concern. There was no predatory survey, no analytical gaze.

“I wasn’t the one who ended up on the floor,” Felix replied, averting their eyes again as they shrugged. Guilt clung to the words, hung around them like a shroud. They didn’t deserve the concern the man was showing them; they weren’t the victim here, they were the perpetrator. “You should probably be asking that question to… somebody else.” He didn’t even know her name, the woman he’d beaten tonight. Probably never would, now. Losing a match that badly tended to void a contract, or at least earn a disgraced fighter lower ranked matches in the future. The lamia, if she stayed with the Pit, would probably be reduced to fighting spawns and ghouls on weeknights now.

—

This looked nothing like the half-human, half-big cat Zane had seen just moments ago, all claws and teeth and fury. This person looked so wary, eyes completely devoid of trust the second they shifted up to finally meet his own. His completely unnecessary breathing hitched at the look - too many people had looked at him this way, or worse, the last few weeks. Distrust, fear, emotions the vampire wasn’t used to seeing pointed his way. Sure, a patient or two might panic when he walked in with the IV cannulas but that was fear of the role he played, not him specifically. 

Suspicion melted away as quickly as it had appeared, the stranger’s meek attitude returning in its place. Zane ached for them - this wasn’t someone who wanted to fight. Did anyone in here? Through the aching boiled anger, whether at the person behind all this or the people out there, completely devoid of empathy, drinking and making bets and keeping this whole operation going. “Yeah, well, I’m asking you.” His voice was soft, a tone he hadn’t used in a while since his extended break from the hospital. The kind of tone that implied his question wasn’t purely directed at physical pain. 

A new roar of gleeful shouting reminded Zane where he was, still inside this wretched place, with nothing stopping him from leaving, per say. “I… sorry, this is gonna come across as super weird and forward but do you wanna… go somewhere quiet to talk?” Definitely weird, definitely creepy. “It’s just, I met someone who came from here and I have… questions, I guess. Which you probably have no interest in answering, now that I think about it. Sorry.”

—

He was asking them. And he had this look in his eye, the kind that said he wasn’t asking so he could figure out where to hedge his bets, the kind that said he might be asking because he actually cared about the answer. Felix looked down at their feet as if their shoes might hold all the answers of the universe, too-long laces sweeping the floor. Did they deserve to be asked about how they were doing, after that fight? They’d nearly killed a woman tonight, would probably nearly kill someone else tomorrow. It was silly, someone being worried about their well-being.

Carefully, Felix shrugged a shoulder, lifting it up and dropping it back down in a listless sort of way. Like a puppet with someone standing above it pulling its strings with unskilled hands. The metaphor was kind of funny, in an awful sort of way. They felt a bit like a puppet sometimes, like the contract they’d signed had tied them up in string and given someone else all the control. But no one was forcing them to fight with such brutality in the ring. The people Felix hurt, that was on them. They could have taken a few more blows instead of dishing them out. They knew that.

Looking up again, Felix met the stranger’s eyes briefly before dropping their gaze. “I don’t know how much I can tell you, man.” Parts of what they did here were blocked off from conversation, tied up in the fine print of that contract. They’d found quiet ways around it, because they were good at that. But they were already in the midst of their latest punishment — they weren’t sure how much more they could take. “But we can go somewhere quiet, if you want. I, uh…” They winced as another muffled cheer rose up from the crowd out in the stands, trying not to think about what might make them so excited. “I’d like quiet right now, I think. Come on. I know a place.”

—

Zane was pretty sure he was pushing it. The person in front of him looked so dejected, feelings that felt eerily familiar to the vampire visible in the creases of their face. Guilt, shame… or maybe Zane was just projecting and this stranger just wanted to be left alone, felt awkward being accosted by someone he didn’t know. These presumed feelings looked even more visible in the fighter’s eyes, despite how briefly he looked up. And then Zane had his answer. 

“Of course, my bad for asking, I-” he’d already started to ramble, to apologize, but the shifter continued. Zane hadn’t overstepped and despite everything else, it seemed he still had his knack for knowing when someone needed support. Even if it was from a complete stranger. Relieved that the horrifying trip here might not turn out to be a complete waste, he nodded at the suggestion to go somewhere else, not caring whether he got any answers at this point. He’d come here to see if there was anyway to help those that couldn’t exactly get help elsewhere, right? Maybe it didn’t just need to be fixing up physical cuts and scrapes.

With yet another nod, afraid that he might say the wrong thing and destroy this sliver of trust that had somehow managed to form between the two of them, Zane followed. Away from the crowd, he allowed himself to pull off the silly cap and glasses, stuffing them away, the curls that were now in desperate need of a trim popping up. “My name is Zane, by the way. You don’t… you don’t have to tell me yours if you don’t want to.”

—

Immediately, they felt guilty. For not answering the questions, for not being able to provide details, for… being here at all. The feeling swirled in their chest like murky water, filling their lungs and threatening to drown them. The stranger didn’t mean to elicit this response — Felix could tell. He seemed kind, and his concern seemed genuine. And still, Felix felt guilty. And then, somehow, felt guilty for feeling guilty, as if their own private emotions were some hidden manipulation. 

“No,” they said, maybe a little too quickly, “it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry or anything. Just, um, you know, I have a — a nondisclosure thing. In my contract.” Which was a lot more binding than a normal contract, though Felix made no mention of that. It was easier to let it seem as though his silence was due to fear of legal consequences rather than… supernatural consequences. Easier for most people to understand, to believe, to wrap their heads around. And… less of a problem, too. Everyone had their own issues, after all; Felix didn’t want to add to those of a stranger with their own problems, especially considering they’d gotten themself into this mess from the start.

They led the stranger — Zane, evidently — away from the muffled shouts of the crowd, down a hall. “There used to be offices back here, I think,” they rambled absently. “Nobody uses them anymore, though. There’s a boiler room right… here.” They opened the door, ducking inside and letting the walls block off the noise from outside. In here, you could barely hear the excitement of the fights at all. Felix relaxed a little away from the noise, sighing. “Felix,” they said quietly. “My name is Felix. Um, I’m sorry. For… I know I’m… It’s weird, right? Sorry.”

—

It was still a bit unclear if Zane’s presence was making the fighter so uncomfortable or if he was just an anxious type in general. He didn’t feel that he was being too pushy, didn’t feel like he was intimidating except maybe for his build but that couldn’t very well be controlled. Guilty about causing this situation, as much as the other tried to make it seem like it was okay, Zane tried to remember the point of it. He was here in some vain attempt to help - whether it be the anxious tiger person or someone else. 

With the atmosphere instantly calmer the second the ruckus died down, Zane got a brief respite from the guilt ridden thoughts. He wasn’t doing anything wrong being here, wasn’t hurting anyone by just talking. The fighter wouldn’t need to say anything that might break this contract. Letting the other ramble on, a feeling of kinship growing because the vampire also didn’t like silence, constantly trying to fill it even when he knew the quiet was sometimes a good thing. 

Inside the boiler room, Zane’s body language mirrored the other’s, tension melting away in the calm room. It was funny, feeling so much calmer alone somewhere with a person he’d seen viciously tearing someone else apart just moments before. Maybe that was him being too trusting, again, and he quickly quieted down a warning that sounded eerily like Emilio, reminding him that he was bound to get himself hurt again. 

A small chuckle escaped him at Felix’s apology and Zane’s eyebrows raised. “You’re weird? I came here dressed like a bad undercover narc, started bombarding you with questions and then asked if we could go somewhere quiet. I’m surprised you didn’t pepperspray me or something.” Smiling, genuinely for the first time this evening, Zane gave the room a quick once over before settling on lowering himself down to the floor. Feet crossing, the smile turning a bit more comforting, he nodded towards the floor as if Felix needed an invitation to join him. Honestly, they probably did, looking about ready to crawl out of their skin at any moment. 

“I don’t want you to do anything that gets you in trouble, just so we’re clear. I just… You seemed a bit more approachable than everyone else in here and I guess I’m just trying to… understand this all? If that’s even possible.”

—

It was easier to hear themself think in the quiet of the boiler room. The shouts of the crowd were still present — Felix’s ears were always sharper after a fight, when the shift hadn’t yet left them completely — but they seemed so much farther away now. Like they were happening someplace else, like it wasn’t something Felix had to worry about quite as much anymore. It was a ridiculous notion, of course; the crowd was something they would always have to worry about. They’d always be a slave to those cheers the same way they were a slave to their contract. Whether or not the crowd liked you, in the Grit Pit, could be a question of life or death.

But it wasn’t the only dangerous thing hanging overhead.

Zane spoke again, mentioning that he was dressed like a narc and bombarding the balam with questions and asking to go someplace quiet, and all the tension that had melted away from the fighter’s shoulders upon entering the boiler room returned in full force. Had they made a mistake in engaging with Zane? Did he mean them harm now? 

“I — I can fight,” they warned, eyeing Zane warily now. “If you were thinking of trying something. You should know I can fight. You — You saw.” But Zane didn’t seem like a threat now any more than he had in the hallway outside. They’d thought Zane looked kind before, and that hadn’t changed. He wasn’t scary, wasn’t giving off bad vibes. Even the jaguar seemed at ease.

But questions could be dangerous, too. Felix shifted their weight between their feet, looking down. “I don’t know how to explain it,” they admitted. “I’m — There’s a contract. I can’t talk about it much.” He hoped the emphasis might help get the point across, but Zane would have to have… previous knowledge in order for that to work. He’d have to know a thing or two about fae, for starters, and Felix had no idea if he did. But it was something, at least. A hint. It was the best they could really offer.

—

For all his supposed people skills inside the hospital, Zane clearly wasn’t handling this situation very well. A joke had been the farthest thing from a good idea right now, making Felix bristle suddenly and eye the vampire like a threat once more. It didn’t feel any less like a gut punch the second time around and he shrunk in on himself, guilt settling its roots deeper. “I… I know you can fight and I definitely don’t want that!” he said quickly, voice earnest and tinged with desperation. “Sorry, bad joke. And I can’t fight for shit if that makes you feel any better.”

A morsel of information was provided and Zane’s brows furrowed, the weight of that one word hanging around. Can’t. Not ‘won’t’ or ‘shouldn’t’, but as if there was something holding them back. Or threatening them. Considering just how much madness took place here, the fact that the person in front of him could turn into a giant cat and Zane only needed blood for sustenance, the odds of this ‘something’ behind Felix’s emphasis being of the regular variety were… slim. “I see,” he finally said, voice soft yet contemplative. “Someone like you, someone this strong, you wouldn’t be afraid of someone hurting you…” he mused out loud, trying to gather his limited knowledge of everything odd and strange to come to a conclusion. 

Before any sort of progress could be made, slow as it was, the sound of someone calling Felix’s carried through the door. Zane looked to the fighter, scrambling quickly to his feet. Would they get in trouble for talking to him? No, that was insane. They were just… old friends, catching up in an empty boiler room as friends did.  

—

A joke. You’re too jumpy, Fe. You’re embarrassing yourself. The old whispers crawled into their head, making a home between their ears as they swallowed. Right. Of course Zane was only joking — he’d done nothing to make himself out to be a threat at all so far, and Felix didn’t see that changing. He was just… trying to talk. And Felix was jumpy and suspicious and a million other things that Zane hadn’t earned. “Sorry,” they mumbled, rubbing sheepishly at the back of their neck.

He seemed to pick up on the implication behind the phrasing, and that was good, wasn’t it? That meant he knew that Felix wasn’t just being uncooperative. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, because no one could, but maybe he could warn the next person. They watched as Zane seemed to attempt to puzzle out the situation, wondering if there was any hope of a correct guess. If he didn’t know much about fae, the answer would certainly be no. How could you guess something you knew nothing about? It was hopeless, but it could be worse.

As if to offer proof of that, Leo’s voice sounded outside the boiler room, and Felix tensed. Any openness that had been on their features before was gone now, shut down and replaced with an aching sort of fear. There was a knock on the door. Leo knew Felix came here sometimes, because Leo still knew Felix far better than they’d like to admit.

“Fe? You in there? Come out. Now.” The doorknob began to turn, and Felix straightened, squaring their shoulders like they were preparing for war. 

They stiffened as the door swung open. “I’m — That was my last fight of the night,” they said quickly. “I was just going to go home. I’ll pick up my check tomorrow.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Leo didn’t acknowledge anything Felix said at all, eyes locked onto Zane with a stormy expression. 

“Nobody! He got lost, I was — I was gonna show him the exit. Right?”

—

The worried panic Zane felt was mirrored and amplified tenfold in Felix, who looked just about ready to fight for their life. If he’d felt tense just seconds before, the vampire now felt every muscle tighten, jaw setting at the fear displayed on the fighter’s face. They’d mentioned just a few minutes ago that they could fight and Zane could vouch for that fact so… what on Earth would make them this petrified? The answer came in the form of a demand ringing through the door and his eyes narrowed, discomfort crawling down his spine. Zane didn’t like the sound of that at all. 

As the door swung open, Zane took a step forward, making himself the closest target as the newcomer appeared. Eyes, filled with distrust, squared up this man just as he did the same to the vampire, Felix’s frantic explanations in the background forcing Zane to hold back from balling up his hands. It didn’t seem like this guy, whatever his relation to Felix, needed any reason to swing at him, judging by the anger in his eyes. 

Felix’s lie was weak. He knew it and the person making Felix so nervous knew it, too. Zane also knew from tragic experience and shared stories that this man would let the shifter go through with the lie, if only to get this outsider away as quickly as possible. He’d stood up to these kinds of people before, ones that came rushing into the ER, demanded that the patient Zane was patching up leave with them immediately. They all had the same angry, possessive look in their eyes. Sometimes his patients left without a word, eyes defeated as they let themselves get dragged back into the thing that had put them in the ER to begin with. Other times, they said no and nothing gave Zane more purpose than being able to ask security to escort the awful excuses for a partner out of the hospital. 

It felt like Felix deserved that chance, too. 

“You really shouldn’t speak to them like that, you know. To anyone, for that matter.” Zane refused to be the first to break this staring contest, for the first time this evening thankful that his build made him a little bit intimidating. “But yeah, Felix was going to show me to the exit. You got a problem with that?” Heavily implied by his posture, the way he’d positioned himself to step between Felix and this asshole if needed, suggested to the man that it would be better for everyone if he didn’t have a problem with it. 

—

Leo’s gaze burned a hole through Felix’s eyes, and they couldn’t hold the eye contact for more than a heartbeat before looking down at their feet. It hadn’t always been like this. That was what they told themself, at least. Maybe Leo had always been possessive — insisting that Felix move in with him and cut off all contact with their family, discouraging them from making friends due to their ‘quirks,’ that other people might find odd, telling them they didn’t need a job up until the moment he’d tricked them into signing up with the Grit Pit — but Felix told themself that, at least in the beginning, it came from a place of love. Their father’s house had been a bad environment for them, and they hadn’t been happy there. And they probably wouldn’t have made many friends back then, either. They’d still been relearning how to be a person. And — And they would have been bad at a job for the same reasons. Wouldn’t they?

They’d spent years clinging to those excuses, and it was hard not to fall back on them now. They couldn’t pretend that there was no part of them that wanted Leo to be a good man, because what did it say about them if he wasn’t? Weren’t people defined by the ones they loved? And hadn’t Felix loved Leo with everything they’d had? Didn’t part of them love him still, even after everything? The thought made them a little sick, and they shifted their weight uncertainly.

To their surprise, Zane spoke back to Leo. He stood up for them in a way people so rarely did, and it should have felt good but it made their throat go dry. Being on Leo’s radar wasn’t a good thing, and Zane had just planted himself there pretty firmly. Felix glanced up nervously to see their ex’s attention on the other man now, expression stormy.

“They’re my employee,” he said tightly, eyes flickering back over to Felix at the word. Felix looked away again quickly. “I can talk to them however I like. It’s not like they care. Right, Fe?”

Felix lifted their shoulder and dropped it listlessly, still looking at the ground. “It’s okay,” they said to Zane, trying to… diffuse the situation. It had always been the role they fell into, both with their father and with Leo. Ever the mediator, Felix would set themself aside to stop arguments from rising up between everyone else. 

Leo continued glaring at Zane, but the threat of a fight was enough to make him relent. He’d never been much of a fighter, despite his profession placing him in charge of a few of them. Tilting his chin up, he turned his attention back to Felix. “Fine,” he said, waving a hand. “Show your friend the door. But you’re in early tomorrow. Four o’clock.” 

Felix only nodded. Leo remained a moment longer before stalking off, and Felix slumped. “Sorry,” he muttered to Zane. “I’m sorry about him. I just — Sorry.”

—

With every averted gaze from the shifter, every haughty look from the employee, Zane’s anger grew. He wanted to talk to this man the way he was talking to Felix, wanted to shove him up against the wall and demand an apology for thinking they could treat someone this way. It wouldn’t make anything better, though. Felix already looked stressed enough that Zane had escalated the situation and honestly, it was the only thing holding him back at the moment. A slightly terrifying thought for someone who’d never thought himself to really be violent but the way the nickname was sneered…

Zane allowed himself to deflate at Felix’s words, even as his own burned his tongue. It didn’t stop him from glaring at the man who thought his influence would have any effect on the vampire, neither did it make Zane move from the protective stance lodged between the two. So the poor excuse for a man finally relented, throwing out one last command in some pathetic attempt to prove that he’d won this discussion, as if conversations were something to be won. 

As soon as the threatening presence was gone, Zane switched gears immediately, the softness from before returning with renewed vigor. No wonder Felix had been so hesitant to talk, so quick to jump to conclusions that Zane’s intentions were anything but pure, albeit dumb. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he insisted, huffing out a breath when he realized the anger at the other man was still lacing his words. “He’s the one that should be sorry. You’re… I’m sorry. That you have to deal with him. Come on, let’s get out of here before he thinks of more ways to be a dick.”

It was a relief to finally see the exit but Zane couldn’t leave quite yet. “I… I’m not trying to be pushy or weird or anything but… If you ever need someone to talk to. About stuff not related to the stuff you can’t talk about, just anything really then… I’m a decent listener. Totally get it if sharing with strangers isn’t your thing, though.” He wanted to offer to walk Felix home, wanted to try and offer some semblance of security to this person who clearly hadn’t felt safe in a long time but it was bound to cause more problems than it solved. “Just… seems like you could use a friend.”

—

Leo skulked off, and Zane’s whole demeanor changed right along with Felix’s. While Felix deflated, Zane seemed to soften, turning to Felix with an expression of empathy and righteous anger. But not anger towards Felix, they realized. Zane’s rage was reserved entirely for Leo, on behalf of Felix. And that felt nice, even if they were still a little disoriented from the confrontation. There were only a few people who knew about Leo’s existence and his relationship with Felix at all, fewer still who took Felix’s side on the matter. That was what happened when you found yourself in a relationship with someone who surrounded you with their friends and their coworkers while distancing you from your own — you had no allies when things went south. It did a good job of making Felix think that they were the one in the wrong, somehow, that they were to blame for all the things that had happened when their relationship blew up and all the ways Leo made them feel in the aftermath.

But then came people like Zane, who had no real skin in the game but reacted like this anyway. Like Leo was wrong, like Felix was right. It made them feel warm, even if it was a little terrifying. Even if they still couldn’t look Zane in the eye as he spoke to them with an anger not directed towards them at all, with a protectiveness they weren’t entirely sure they’d earned. Their gaze remained locked on the ground the way it had since the moment Leo entered the conversation, their arms crossed over their chest and their shoulders hunched as if they thought they could make themself disappear if they only made themself smaller. 

Leaving sounded like a really good idea, though, so Felix nodded. “Yeah,” they agreed. “You — You don’t have to be sorry, though. Thank you. For, uh… Talking to him.” Felix could count on one hand the number of times they’d confronted Leo themself, and none had ended particularly well for them. Every time, when it was over and Felix was suffering the consequences, Leo would say the same thing: I don’t know why you do this to yourself. The words lived in their head like an echo, even now. But… Zane stepping in for them helped make them fade a little. They felt farther away now, and Felix was glad for it.

The exit sign looked like an angelic presence glowing in the hall, and more of the tension Leo’s presence had left in its wake slipped from the balam’s shoulders at the sight of it. Their back straightened a little, their arms loosened. It was good to have a way out. “You’re not,” they said, looking to Zane. “Being pushy, I mean. It’s — I appreciate it. You, uh… Caring. You’re right, I… I really could use a friend. But I don’t — I mean, I don’t want to drag you into my… my bullshit, you know? A lot of it is just, it’s my own fault anyway, you know? And you’re probably busy, and you’ve got your own things going on, and you shouldn’t… You shouldn’t have to deal with it. Deal with me. I’m kind of a lot.”

—

It was no surprise that Felix continued excusing themselves, even being grateful for the small effort of simply putting that asshole in his place. It made Zane assured in his decision to step up - even if it caused problems for him down the road, it was worth it. If it caused trouble for Felix down the road however… Well, at the moment there seemed to be a sliver of light within the fighter and Zane took it as the tiny win it was. 

Zane was glad that he wasn’t pushing his luck, barrelling down boundaries and making everyone uncomfortable. Less pleasing was the implied meaning behind Felix’s words, that they didn’t deserve a friend. It hung there, unspoken, between the excuses being spoken. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t have a problem of… too many friends. So I can deal with a lot, although I doubt you are.” Smiling, hoping that the small tidbit of depression information made Felix feel at all better about their own situation, Zane pushed at the door. 

“If you don’t feel like checking in, that’s totally fine. But I’d… like to hear from you. At least to make sure that stepping up to that idiot back there didn’t cause you too much trouble.” He hesitated, wanting to say more but knowing he’d said all there was to say. Until Felix hopefully contacted him again. With another smile and a small wave, Zane let the door close behind him. 

—

Zane was kind. People usually weren’t, within the walls of the Grit Pit. Occasionally, someone would walk in who was an exception to the rule — Gael watched the fights from time to time, after all — but for the most part, Felix considered the patrons of the Pit almost as bad as the people running it. They might not have known the details behind the fights, but there was something at least a little fucked up about finding entertainment in the bloodshed of strangers. But Zane was kind, and Felix felt both lucky and undeserving of that kindness.

“Yeah,” they said quietly, “me either.” But that didn’t really need saying, did it? Of course Felix wasn’t someone who had a lot of friends; one look at them could probably confirm as much. They were nervous, they were uncertain, they were bad at conversation. But Zane wanted to deal with them anyway. There’d been a time when they were sure no one would, when they’d thought they were lucky that even Leo wanted them around. They were starting to break free from that line of thinking, but… it was a process. The ‘slow and painful’ kind.

Sucking their teeth for a moment, Felix nodded. “Okay,” they agreed. “Yeah, no, I — I’d like that. I’ll reach out. And you — You stay safe, okay?” They could only hope that this whole thing wouldn’t wind up causing more problems for Zane or themself. They weren’t sure how they’d cope with it if Zane paid for his kindness somehow. “I, uh… I’ll see you around, Zane. And thanks. For everything.”

#zane: non disclosure claws #rn zane #wickedswriting #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

[shurelyasreverie]

Sett x Reader: Love is the Best Medicine

You've been patching up Sett every since he joined the underground fight scene but you fear for the day he pushes himself too far.

Word Count: 1447

The sound of the front door opening and closing followed by sluggish footsteps woke you up from your light slumber on the couch. Stretching, you yawned as you regarded the time. It was an ungodly hour in the morning but you were used to it. Today was another day Sett was off fighting in the pits, and it was your job to make sure he survived them. Fortunately he usually knew how to look after himself.

“Y’really need to learn to lock the door,” Sett's familiar yet strained voice chided and you chuckled as you stood up, rubbing your eyes.

“Why bother? I know you're going to come-” Once you took in Sett's appearance you immediately looked away. You frantically cleared the couch and ushered his hulking form onto it. You didn't dare touch his bleeding and bruised arms, you couldn't bring yourself to look into his bloodshot eyes. His laboured breathing was painful to hear.

“(Y/N)-”

“Shush,” you scolded as you left to get your first aid kit and medication. Such wounds weren't going to kill him but every moment away from him still filled you with anxiety. You rushed back by his side and started to clean his wounds. The only sound in your home was Setts' grunts and groans as he writhed under the sting of anaesthetic.

“You've never been beaten up this bad before,” you whispered. With his wounds cleaned up, Sett looked visibly better and it helped you relax ever so slightly. You tossed the dirtied rags of blood – whose blood it was, you didn't know – to the ground.

“This didn't happen in the ring,” Sett muttered. “I must've pissed off some goons who placed bets on someone else. They jumped me when I was headin' out.”

You nodded silently as you bound his arm with bandages. You feared this day would come, where the violence Sett experienced was no longer bound to the pits. He now had a target on his back all day, every day. The underground pits weren't the concern anymore, it was now a question if he could just survive day to day life. Although you technically lived alone, having Sett – sometimes joined by his mother – frequently visit meant you almost always had company. If something happened and Sett wasn't around to visit-

“That face doesn't suit ya, y'know,” Sett grumbled and you shook your head.

“What face?”

“That sad one.” When you finished bandaging his arm, he brought it up. His large, calloused hand caressed the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I can look after myself. Don't worry.”

“You'll need to rest from these injuries,” you stated and you felt his thumb hesitate before continuing its soothing motions as if everything was okay.

“Y'know I can't do that.”

“A week's rest.”

“People placed bets on me for tomorrow.”

“You can't,” you snapped, pulling your head away from his hand. “You can't fight in this state!”

“The fight's at night, I got all day to rest,” Sett reasoned.

“Not good enough,” you scolded.

“Listen (Y/N), it's either I fight at the pit or I fight for scraps on the street. Which one do you think's better?”

“I can accommodate for you and your mum,” you responded and Sett shot you a doubtful look. Even he knew that you weren't living the life of Noxian aristocracy. “... temporarily.”

“That ain't happenin', you've already done enough.”

Sett shifted as he pulled out a small leather pouch from behind. He placed it in your palm and you heard the unmistakable chink of coins. You tilted your head at him.

“That's thanks for lookin' after me,” Sett explained, further proving a point as he lifted his freshly bandaged arms. “At the rate I'm winnin' that bag'll be doublin' in size next time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you regarded the pouch that sat comfortably in your palm that grew heavier with his words. Tears started to prick at the back of your eyes and you lowered your head, holding the bag back to him.

“I can't possibly take this.”

“Ma's got her fair share.”

“This is your money that you earned.”

“Damn right. It's my money and I choose what to do with it. I choose to give it to you.”

The fire in Sett's eyes was unmistakable. Knowing you couldn't argue with Sett when he made up his mind, you pulled your arm back and placed the pouch on the table.

“Just having you return is enough for me,” you admitted in a whisper.

“It ain't enough for me, though,” Sett replied, waiting until you turned to face him and look athim dead in the eyes. “I ain't just fightin' for money or glory. I'm fightin' for ma and I'm fightin' for you.”

“Me?” you frowned. “I'm fine-”

“I know why you live alone.”

“I told you, I just wanted to move out away from my family-”

“Your family kicked you out for bein' pals with the local 'half beast',” Sett corrected and your heart dropped. “Overheard 'em trash talkin' ya in the street a few days back. I know the truth. Don't worry, I made 'em shut up the only way I know how.”

“Sett...” you were lost for words. “I...”

“I'm sorry for makin' your life hell. Your family were doin' pretty damn well for themselves but they didn't spare shit for ya,” he growled. “All because of little ol' me.”

“I... I don't regret what happened,” you said, determined. “If they're not going to respect you then I'd rather have nothing to do with them.”

It was now Sett's turn to be lost for words, looking stunned as he blinked a couple of times. Solidifying your point, you gently wrapped your arms around his torso as not to aggravate his wounds. Pressing your head against his bare chest, you could hear his erratic heartbeat as it pounded in your ear. His arms made their way around your back, his face nuzzling into your hair. After a few moments of silence, Sett pulled his head back and so did you, but his hold on you didn't loosen.

“I'll make 'em respect me. And I'll make 'em respect you. Everyone who knows who I am will know you too. And they'll know to treat ya like royalty. I ain't havin' it any other way.”

“... thank you, Sett. I... if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

Fingers gently nudged your chin up to look at him properly. As he leaned down, noses almost touching, you could see the details in his eyes as they burned with passion.

“Never leave my side,” he whispered.

“As long as you never leave mine.”

“Y'drive a hard bargain,” he chuckled quietly. “Deal.”

Both you and Set moved forward simultaneously, lips pressing together softly. Sett's hand that rested on your chin moved back, lacing his fingers through your hair. His other arm sat comfortably around your waist as he gently pulled you closer, closing any possible gaps between you as the kiss deepened. You felt warm as you were held in his embrace. How such a rough and brutal fighter be so gentle was beyond you but you loved it nonetheless.

You loved him.

The kiss ended as you gasped for air. Pressing your forehead against his, your breaths mingled together.

“I love you,” you confessed and Sett smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips again.

“I've waited too long to hear that,” he admitted and you giggled as you noticed his flushed face. “I love you too. I, uh... is it alright if I stay here for the night?”

“You should head back to your mum, she's probably worried for you.”

“Nah, ma would understand,” Sett cleared his throat as he looked away, embarrassed. “She's been waitin' for this to happen.”

You pulled back as you burst out laughing. Setts' ears flattened as he grumbled something non-coherent. But before he could get too grumpy, you took his hand with a soft smile, guiding him to the bedroom. “Come on, you need to be well rested and healed before you get back in the ring.”

#oneshot #fanfic #imagine #drabble #league of legends #lol #sett #league of legends sett #league of legends imagine #sett x reader #x reader #self insert #fanfiction #y/n #league of legends x reader #fluff #shurelyasreverie

[whimperwoods]

Arms of the Enemy - D&D whump - 16b

This is part 16b! It could be 17, but I want the whole wound cleaning thing to be kind of of a piece.

There is now a masterpost, which can be found here.

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. Away from it all, they might be able to become something else. Maybe even friends.

(This time: Ed blushes. Castor makes a choice.)

tw: aftermath of torture, tw: mind reading, tw: captivity, tw: forced to entertain captor, tw: wound cleaning, tw: medical, tw: burns, tw: he doesn’t want his butt touched, in particular, but that’s where some of the injuries are that need tending, but it’s not sexy, but it still probably needs a warning?, tw: bone setting

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump,@burtlederp, @newandfiguringitout, @kawhump , @extrabitterbrain, @kixngiggles​

***************

It hadn’t been particularly embarrassing before, lying on his stomach like this, but as gentle as Castor’s hands were on his ass, Ed still hated the sensation of being touched somewhere so private and, even more, the knowledge that the water woman was watching, staring, giggling periodically.

He knew more of the welts across his buttocks and thighs were closed than the ones across his back, but it didn’t mean much when Castor made full contact with one of the open cuts and he had to stifle another noise of pain.

“I know,” Castor murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I’ve almost got all the straw out of the wounds, though. That’ll be the worst part for a while.”

“It’s an interesting problem,” the woman said, her voice still sounding vaguely satisfied. “Doesn’t happen when you live in the water.”

Ed’s blush darkened, the burning intensifying across his face, his ears, and his neck, all the way to the tops of his shoulders. It almost itched, and he wanted to hide his whole head at once, just tuck the damp blanket he was lying on all the way around himself and hide.

Castor was right about the straw - once the open cuts were free of dirt and detritus, the gentle motion of the damp cloth across his posterior got at least a little less agonizing, if not less embarrassing.

By the time Castor was helping him into a pair of clean smallclothes they’d found in with the wizard’s old belongings, it was enough of a relief to have his more sensitive parts shielded that he almost managed not to think about the fact that he was wearing second hand underthings.

Castor seemed to notice, his eyes lingering a little too long on his flushed face before he helped him back down again. Every time he thought he couldn’t blush harder, his skin seemed to find a way, getting ever hotter and itchier.

Castor pulled him into a hug and he went willingly, burying his face in Castor’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look either of them in the eye. He took the moment to breathe, to calm himself.

“You ready to keep going?” The advantage to talking aloud was that he could feel the vibrations of Castor’s voice humming against his burning cheek, and he wanted to say no, wanted to ask to stay there, to ask Castor to just keep talking to him, but that would just drag out the whole thing, just keep him under the strange woman’s eyes for longer.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “Sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but Castor accepted it with a soft little hum and the woman giggled again, keeping the hot, itching blush in Ed’s cheeks that he didn’t seem to be able to ease.

*****

There was a gulf in the pit of Castor’s stomach as he helped Ed back to the ground and started working on his left leg. Somewhere inside, he knew himself to be a coward. Ed’s right knee was as swollen today as it had been yesterday, his ankle was still broken, his foot still a grotesque mass of broken-bone swelling and bloody nail beds, and Castor didn’t know how to face those things, didn’t know how to fix them, and was chicken enough to start with the other leg, with cuts and burns he knew what to do with.

Their captor was clearly growing bored, an entirely separate problem he didn’t have any good answer for, either. She was moving around a lot more, restless, and he couldn’t help worrying that in her restlessness she’d find the amulet hidden in the healer’s kit or rush them back to the underground lake before they were finished or poke at Ed’s wounds again.

The cuts, welts, and bruises along the backs of Ed’s thigh weren’t good, but they weren’t as bad as the burns marring his better foot and running up his calf.

As soon as the soap touched Ed’s burns, he tensed again, the effort of staying quiet raising a thin layer of sweat across his brow, even as he failed to hold back soft grunts of pain in spite of the effort.

That, at least, might be fixable. Sort of.

<<I hate to say this,>> he began, tentatively, <<But I think she’s getting bored. You might need to make a little more noise.>>

Another grunt escaped Ed. <<So you want for me to - agh - scream for her? No more sweetness?>>

He sounded tired, and Castor couldn’t get his head around the comment. Was Ed tired of sweetness? Was he not? Was he just - tired? That was probably fair, all things considered, but it was hard to know if the exhaustion was the main thing, or if it was covering up the old irritation from before.

<<I don’t mean to be dramatic about it, or make extra noise. I just mean don’t work so hard keeping quiet. Let her - fuck, Ed, I don’t know. I just don’t like how restless she is.>>

He didn’t get an answer right away, but then he washed across one of the burns again, and Ed let out a yelp, the tension in his stomach relaxing as he stopped fighting quite so hard for silence. Castor felt his own muscles relaxing with him, even as a wave of guilt washed over him.

The yelps seemed to get the woman’s attention again, and she leaned into Castor’s back again, pressing against the bruises and reminding him with a twinge that they were there, but at least that meant she wasn’t focused on anything else, like the hidden amulet.

<<Thank you,>> he told Ed, <<And I’m sorry.>>

*****

Letting go of himself, letting out the little yelps and shouts his body wanted to make as Castor cleaned his wounds, felt strange, but as it went on, Ed adjusted, relaxed further, sagged into the ground and let the soft, now mostly dry blanket cushion him.

There was still something about it that kept the heat stoked in his cheeks, that ached through the base of his throat, and he found that he could only stand it if he kept his eyes locked on Castor’s face or the too-blue sky above them, away from the woman’s intently focused eyes.

Then Castor switched to his other leg, and any thought of silence, of embarrassment, of anything left him.

Castor pressed fingers against his swollen knee, touching it directly instead of trying to avoid it, and Ed cried out before he could stop himself, his back arching against the pain.

“No, hold still!” Castor half-shouted. “I need to know how bad it is.”

Ed wanted to answer, wanted to tell him off, to tell him how bad it was, but all that made it out of his throat was another full-bodied shout, one that left him breathless and gasping.

“Castor don’t-” he panted, “Don’t, please, I can’t-”

“Your, umm. Your kneecap is definitely in pieces.”

“Please, Castor-”

Ed made it up to his elbows, looking up at the warlock and meeting his eyes, more noticably blue than usual with the skin around them going faintly pale.

“I know,” Castor said, still blanching, “But if I can’t push the pieces closer together and bind them that way, it’ll never heal at all.”

“You can’t, Castor, I-”

“I have to.”

Castor’s hands were resting lightly around his leg, below the knee, and Ed could feel a faint trembling in them.

The woman’s grin was all teeth, her face no longer doing a particularly good impression of a human. “Oh dear. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

Castor broke eye contact with Ed, and even before the warlock spoke, Ed found his body reacting, letting out a soft, despairing moan.

“I’m going to need an extra set of hands, ma’am.”

<<Don’t let her touch me. Please Castor, don’t let her touch me.>>

<<I can’t fix your ankle. I already know that. But this one - this one I might be able to help. I can’t just - Ed I have to.>>

<<You don’t.>>

<<I do.>>

Ed cried softly, his eyes locked back into Castor’s again, but he could see the resolve building in Castor’s eyes, could see any hope of keeping the woman’s hands off of him fading, and this time he looked away first, closing his eyes and twisting his face away.

“Do it,” he said softly, not even sure, anymore, whether agreeing was a deal with the devil or, if it was, who was the devil.

The woman’s hands were not gentle, her fingers following behind Castor’s, pressing the two halves of his bone back together, her sharp nails digging into his flesh where it hurt the most. He screamed, his back arching again as his voice cracked, shooting impossibly high.

“I know,” Castor said, moving fast now, “I know. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

What Castor built both was and wasn’t a splint, strange and complicated and holding his kneecap in place from multiple angles, and when he pulled the bandages tight enough to dig into the swollen area around the joint, Ed screamed again, his voice trailing away to nothing and leaving a lingering hoarseness behind.

It was a relief when the woman’s hands let go, when the bandages were the only thing holding his knee too tight, but it still hurt, oh gods it still hurt, and he could feel his pulse thrumming through the knee, pounding harder at the base of his throat than it had before.

When Castor pressed gently against his ankle to find the fractures, the world went black.

*****

It was a relief to feel Ed drop into unconsciousness under his hands, because his ankle - gods, Castor didn’t know how to make heads or tails of his ankle.

“Do you need me to hold that in place, too?” The water woman’s voice was sweet and sickening, making his stomach crawl.

“No,” he said, his voice coming out unexpectedly hollow, “There’s no point. I can’t fix this one. I’m not even sure I fixed the other one, but with this one -” he sighed. “Just - I’m gonna bandage up his toes, but then I-”

Her pale green eyes were unreadable. He sighed, bowing his head just slightly as he knelt beside Ed, and looking down at her bare, half-webbed feet instead. “Please let me stay up here with him until he comes to again, ma’am. I - I don’t want him to wake up in the dark.”

Her sharp-nailed hand ran suddenly through his hair and he barely held back a flinch. “Hmm, sweet indeed. Yes, my friends will like that story, I think. Are you going to hold him? Cuddle up again? I hear humans like kissing. Or are you only kittens, after all?”

A blush colored Castor’s cheeks, and he knew two things all at once. One was that he’d never manage to carry Ed away from here, amulet or no amulet. Not with the woman still so - whatever it was that she was. The other was that there were only two ways to handle this, and he knew which one he could accept. He could either hurt Ed more, or he could give something of himself up choosing tenderness instead. He could hide away, keep himself hidden and let her be interested in Ed, or-

He blushed more deeply. “I want to wash his hair, ma’am. I - I always thought that felt good, having my hair washed, and I -” he bit his lip, blushing more deeply as he looked back up at her. If he was going to take the attention, he needed to take it fully. “It’s my fault, ma’am. I could have stopped this. Some of this. Maybe. And I didn’t. I knew, and I -”

The best lies were ones you couldn’t be sure were lies at all. The words came out as a hoarse whisper, his throat thickening up. “I didn’t stop this, and now I owe him,” he said, “Please, let me pay him back. He - he deserves something kind. He’s been through so much.”

Her head cocked to the side, and he knew it had worked.

“You can wash mine until he wakes up, then,” she said. “It does sound interesting.”

#whump #hurt/comfort #d&d whump #wound cleaning #painful wound cleaning #tw captivity #tw medical #tw burning #tw bone setting #aw man is she about to poison what was supposed to be a sweet fluffy scene after this where the boys just get to be soft and tender #and emotionally intimate in ways they want and don't want and don't comprehend and desperately need somehow? #maybe #also tempting to skip straight to after when they're back in the cave so this is me definitively NOT promising hair-washing next time #Castor also can't fix Ed's bad hand #but he's had better looks at that and knows it's partially healed and will need re-breaking and is well beyond him #so he doesn't need to do any investigating or adjusting just now

[aboveallarescuer]

A cheatsheet of Dany's political actions in ADWD

I think this might come in handy for Dany fans. I've analyzed most of these before here and here.

A shout-out to @rainhadaenerys for helping me with this list.

ADWD Daenerys I

Dany finds out that her first Unsullied, Stalwart Shield, was murdered by the Sons. She refuses to forget his name, gives him a proper burial, promises to pay a lot for whoever gives information about his murderer, sends men to the Temple of the Graces to ask if any man with a sword wound came (because Stalwart Shield's killers swarmed him and he probably wounded some of them), asks butchers and herdsmen about who had been gelding goats recently (because Stalwart Shield's killers forced the genitals of a goat down his throat), forbids other soldiers from patroling at night and names a company of freedmen after him. She won't punish the nobles indiscriminately, however (so she follows Reznak's advice rather than the Shavepate's, even if she doesn't like him).

Dany considers banning the tokar, but ultimately relents and uses it herself.

Dany says no to helping Cleon in Astapor against Yunkai (despite regretting that she wasn't more ruthless against the latter).

Dany closes the fighting pits and, despite knowing that she needs Hizdahr's support, refuses to reopen them for moral reasons.

Dany is angry that the slavers "hire[d] the [freedmen] back as servants at wages so meagre that most could scarce afford to eat" and that "those too old or young to be of use had been cast into the street, along with the infirm and the crippled". Then, they hypocritically went to complain about "how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with hordes of unwashed beggars, thieves and whores".

Dany weighs on her suitors, but doesn't take any real measures to choose a husband for now.

Dany sends her khalasar to subdue the hinterlands, where "thousands of slaves still toiled on vast estates in the hills, growing wheat and olives, herding sheep and goats, and mining salt and copper". (In Dany V, we'll be told that they succeeded)

Dany sends Daario to convince the Lhazarene to reopen the overland trade routes and bring grains down the river or over the hills at need. 

Dany gives the freedmen and the noblemen equal attention at court. 

Former slaver Grazdan (a relative of the Green Grace) says that six young girls owed him gold because they learned their craft from an old weaver who was his slave. Dany denies him the request and, instead, orders him to buy the young girls a new loom for forgetting the old woman's name. 

A freedmen asks for a noble to be gelded for raping his wife back when she was his bed slave and to receive a purse of gold for having to take care of the noble's child. Dany grants him the gold, but not the gelding (because it would establish a precedent where other masters would have to be punished for their crimes, which would go against her blanket). 

A nobleborn boy asks her to kill the slaves who revolted against his family by killing his father and elder brother and raping his mother before killing her and who are now living in his house. Dany denies him the request because it would go against her blanket. 

A rich woman (who lost her husband and sons during the sack) asks for her house (which she left in fear for her safety), clothes and jewels back, for they are now all in possession of former bed slaves who turned the house into a brothel. Dany allows her to have her jewels, but gives the house and the clothes to the former bed slaves because of her sympathy for them.

ADWD Daenerys II 

Dany initially asks the Shavepate to question the wineseller and his daughters sweetly, but later she allows him to torture them in order to find who killed Missandei's brother, Rylona Rhee and seven other freedmen in one night. 

Dany also asks for the Shavepate to create a new watch and imposes a blood tax on the slavers to compensate for the deaths of the freedmen and pay the soldiers she'll employ.

Dany keeps two children from each pyramid as hostages. 

Dany still says no to the reopening of the fighting pits, though she feels more reluctant after hearing what the pit fighters want. 

Reznak says that the freedmen were disrespecting the traditions of the guilds for "carving stone and laying bricks" for a cheap price and calling themselves "journeymen" or "masters" and that the guilds ask for her to "uphold their ancient rights and customs". Dany grants that only the guild members can be named "journeymen" or "masters", but that the guilds will have to give the freedmen the opportunity to become members too. She also allows the freedmen to continue to carve stone or lay bricks cheaply because they are hungry, though they won't use those titles anymore. 

Dany chooses to pay Hazzea's father the blood price; she sets it at one hundred times the worth of a lamb. She also lays her bones to rest in the Temple of the Graces, orders a hundred candles in her memory each day and night and promises to pay for her children "each year upon her nameday" so they "shall not want" too. She asks him not to tell anyone that Drogon was involved, though.

Dany chains her dragons.

ADWD Daenerys III 

Dany considers the possibility of leaving for Westeros with the thirteen ships that Xaro offered her, but she ultimately gives up.  

Dany organizes the freedmen of fighting age into companies (Mother's Men, Stalwart Shields, Free Brothers). 

Dany tries to sell Meereen's salt, copper and wine for Xaro.

Dany sends envoys to Tolos and Mantarys in an attempt to make alliances against Yunkai, but is told by Xaro that the two joined the latter (and later Qarth also will). 

Dany still denies help to Astapor because, if she gives them part of her forces, there won't be enough men to defend Meereen. 

Dany is replanting olive trees. 

Xaro tells Dany that a former merchant who dealt in rare spices and choice wines ended up working to dig a ditch to bring water from the river to the fields and to plant beans. (The man, however, was a merchant who most likely lost his slaves, couldn't leave the city because he was unable to trade his goods and then had to find work. The available work was to dig ditches to plant beans and reform the city's economy.) 

Dany chooses many freedmen to be advisors in her council.

ADWD Daenerys IV

Despite the Shavepate's wishes, Dany refuses to kill the child hostages in response to the Sons' ongoing attacks.

After making several questions to Hizdahr (and after he emphasizes that Yunkai has a lot of support to fight against her), Dany says she'll marry Hizdahr as long as he's able to maintain peace in Meereen for ninety days. She previously had objections to the Green Grace's advice about whether it would be beneficial and considers what both Reznak and the Shavepate would think after she makes her choice. She also distrusts Hizdahr, the Green Grace and Reznak. 

Dany considers making a peace agreement with Yunkai, though she's unsatisfied with the other freedmen in the other cities potentially being enslaved again. 

Dany reiterates that she can't go to Westeros until she heals Meereen.

ADWD Daenerys V 

Dany doesn't allow the Shavepate to continue his tortures because she realizes that they are unreliable. Unlike him, she thinks that there isn't a single overlord working against her because "[her] enemies are legion". She also believes that Hizdahr convinced them to stop the killings either through bribery or because of news of their marriage. 

Dany "has planted beans and grapes and wheats" and will soon have the friendship of the hinterlands (which is bringing crops to the city) and Lhazar. 

Dany finds out that Astapor has fallen into the hands of the Yunkish and that the bloody flux has spread in Astapor. She is given more details by refugees of what exactly happened and regrets not having helped the Astapor (even if her military strength wasn't large enough to help). 

Dany considers waging war against Yunkai (which Barristan thinks she should, while the Shavepate advises her not to do so), but she doesn't have enough men to do that and to protect Meereen at the same time, so she gives up on the option. 

Dany orders Ben and his Second Sons to scout the Yunkish forces. She also grants Ben's request for provisions, fresh horses, bags of gold and gems (which he made because he intends to betray her) and asks Reznak to close the gates and double the number of soldiers keeping watch upon the walls. 

Dany decides that she needs Hizdahr's support to gain the Meereenese nobles' help and protect the city from Yunkai. 

Dany sets up a camp for the Astapori refugees "beside the river, west of the city". She tries to separate the healthy from the sick, but that meant separating family members. That is ultimately for naught, since the ones who were only sick at first died and the ones who were healthy got sick.

ADWD Daenerys VI  

Dany sends "healers, Blue Graces and spell-singers and barbersurgeons" to the Astapori refugees, but they got sick as well. She commanded them to dig ditches to defecate, but they started to do it where they slept because they were too weak to stand up and defecate there. She sent the food that she could, but "every day there were more of them and less food to give them". Even sending food was becoming hard, since some soldiers were becoming sick and others attacked on the way back to the city. This leads Dany to bring the food herself, even while knowing all of the risks that doing so would entail. She wants to show her people that "their Mother cares". She also considers sharing the food equally twice. She baths an old man herself even while knowing all of the risks, she burns the dead corpses (which could have transmitted the disease) herself, she "shames all of them into helping her" to take care of people who she had no allegiance to and would receive no benefit from helping. 

Dany agrees to marry by Ghiscari rites and use a "white tokar fringed with baby pearls", but she won't allow her womb to be examined by Hizdahr's mother and sisters nor will she wash Hizdahr's feet if he won't wash hers first. 

Dany says that Hizdahr can reopen the fighting pits after their wedding and that she wants no part of it.

Dany begrudgingly agrees to Yunkai's terms of peace. She's okay with paying "gold and gemstones", but she's still not content with having to see slavery being reinstalled and being told not to interfere. She also needs to follow through with her marriage so that the slavers will believe in her. 

Dany finds out that Brown Ben betrayed her, so she decides to gather food to sustain the Meereenese citizens, keep all of her forces inside and close the gates with the Astapori refugees starving outside the city.

ADWD Daenerys VII 

The Yunkai'i are besieging Meereen and building catapults, scorpions and tall trebuchets in case they need to attack. 

The freedmen continue to be mistreated in "palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs". 

Dany stopped holding court due to being disillusioned by the negative repercussions of her actions.

Quentyn offers himself as a husband to Dany in return for Dorne's support so that they can honor the secret part originally made to marry Viserys and Arianne. Dany refuses him and goes through with her marriage because of her people; in order to protect them, she needs Hizdahr's support immediately, while Quentyn only has two men.

ADWD Daenerys VIII  

The Yunkai'i have men of the free companies, two iron legions of New Ghis and two Ghiscari legions by their side. 

Dany has to accept the Yunkish lords bringing slaves to serve them and to be sold in a market outside the city as one of the conditions of the peace agreement. 

After Hizdahr is crowned, the Shavepate is removed from command of the Brazen Beasts (which is another concession that Dany made in the name of peace).

Dany orders the food that would normally be thrown away to be given to the poor. 

Dany orders Barristan to set Pretty Meris free so that she can send her offer to the Tattered Prince. She wants to sound out the Windblown, the Long Lances and the Company of the Cat.

Dany shows Quentyn her dragons and tells him that "[her] marriage need not be the end of all [his] hopes" because "the dragon has three heads".

ADWD Daenerys IX 

Dany is willing to pay gold for the Windblown's support, but the Tattered Prince wants more than that; he also asks her to give him Pentos when she marches for Westeros. She denies his request out of consideration for Illyrio. 

After a freedman collapses while carrying a palanquin, Dany orders him to be taken off the street and be given food and water. She also notes that, even after freeing the slaves, their work (in this case, carrying the palanquin) is still just as hard.

Dany makes restrictions to lessen the harshness towards the participants: only freedmen can join the duels (only those who "freely consented to risk their lives for gold and honor"); children are not allowed to participate and only certain criminals (murderers, rapers and those who persist in slavery, not thieves or debtors) would be sentenced to fight; women, comic combats between cripples, dwarfs and crones and beasts are still allowed to fight; the carcasses of bears and bulls are used to feed the hungry at the Gates of Fate.

Freedmen are being slaughtered to amuse the noblemen in the pits. 

Dany takes off her flopping ears.

ADWD Daenerys X 

Dany explicitly rejects the peace.

#daenerys targaryen #a dance with dragons #asoiaf meta #resources

[9r7g5h]

Teach to Learn, Learn to Teach

Fandom: Fantasy High

Rating: T

Genre: General/Friendship

Summary: Ragh and Tracker both have a lot to learn from each other. 

Words: 3269

AN: So, the topic of Ragh taking a level in cleric and Tracker taking a level in barbarian came up on tumblr, and I was so intrigued I had to write something for these gaybies. It will probably be three parts, one focusing on Ragh, one on Tracker, and one about them going home, or something like that. Just enjoy chapter one. 

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantasy High.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

They had both known, when Tracker first brought up her goal to Ragh, that it would be rough going. Fallinel wasn't the most welcoming of outsiders as it was, though at least High Elf decorum granted adventurers safe passage, so long as they weren't causing issues. But causing issues was the entire reason they were there, and Ragh's official adventurer certification he had received at graduation only did so much when he was helping Tracker constantly shoulder her way into temples of Galilea, trying to turn back the carefully placed lies the high priests had said to turn their goddess away from her wilder ways. 

The fact that she was actually making headway with the younger elves, the ones who saw how prim and proper their elders were and balked against that fate, only made things even worse for them. Add in the newly formed 'Pack of Galilea,' younger elves who not only wanted to worship the wild of the night but become wolves themselves, their leader constantly trying to convince Tracker to bite her so she could turn the rest of her pack and give more strength to the wild form of the goddess they loved, and, well. 

Honestly, they really should have expected something like this. Should have expected that the high priest would deem her a problem. Should have expected him to decide to end it. Should have expected him to know that only silver could hurt a werewolf, and armed the elf he had hired to do his will properly. 

Had they expected it, maybe she wouldn't be gasping in the back of their van, the silver poisoning from the arrow still stuck deep in her side seeping into her veins while Ragh tried to avoid the trees, putting distance between them and where they had been attacked. Had they expected it, maybe she would have cast Moon Haven earlier, ensuring their safety. Had they expected it, maybe they wouldn't have been goofing off, listening to music and chatting while their dinner cooked. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe she wouldn't be dying before she got to see Kristen again. 

"Ok, I think I lost them." 

She wasn't sure when Ragh finally pulled the van over, or how long it had been or how far they had gone, just that now he was besides her, talking. A knife in his hand, cutting through her second favorite shirt (damn them for that), pulling the cloth away from the wound. 

"Sorry sis, this is gonna hurt."

She barely felt him cut into her skin - the head hadn't gone all the way through, couldn't be broken off and the shaft pulled out, it had to be cut out and stitched up - but she did feel as he began to pull it out, the silver arrowhead brushing against the dying skin, making her howl in pain as everything within her wanted to flee. Flee the pain, the sheer burning agony of every single one of her cells dying, flee into the night and the moonlight until she could curl up somewhere that felt and smelt like home. 

But then it was gone. The silver was gone, she could think again, and though everything hurt, she could focus on Ragh's words. 

"Shit shit shit sorry sis, I had to get it out, shit. Fuck, god damn it, what was next? Think, Ragh, you know this." His voice fell to muttering for a bit as he pressed a cloth to the wound, looking through the medical kit. She wanted to say something, give him a hint or encouragement, but she was so tired. "Sterilize it, fuck, that's right! Where are you, you tiny little shit, you're hiding better then Riz to get out of PE... there you are!" He held up a small bottle triumphantly, used his teeth to undo the top, and splashed a generous portion directly into the wound. 

Tracker thankfully passed out immediately, her thoughts a dozen swirls of pain and Galilea thanking her for her efforts and wanting nothing more then to just sleep. 

It was morning when she next woke up. Her tank top had been replaced with a sports jersey, her side covered with enough bandages that she was almost sure she now classified as a large creature instead of medium, and the smell of burning fish covered everything else. Her stomach growled, despite the acrid smoke, and that was enough to get her moving, sluggishly kicking open the door to see what kind of trouble Ragh was in now. 

He was, surprisingly, doing well for himself. He had built a decent fire pit, had managed to grab a dozen fish or so from a nearby river, and only two of them seemed to have caught fire. The others actually looked amazing, and before she could even think the actual thought, she had grabbed one, sinking her teeth into the flesh, ravenous. 

Ragh just chuckled. "Good morning to you too, sis. I'm so glad you're ok. I was worried I was going to have to call Kristen and give her bad news, and honestly, your girlfriend scares me."

She couldn't help but laugh through her mouthful of fish, forcing it down so she could respond in a timely manner. 

"Full honestly, and I'll kill you if you ever tell her? She scares me a little bit too. Love her, but she has some weird shit going on with the gods that's just on a whole nother level."

She had been sleeping for two days. Ragh had done the best he could, keeping her comfortable and hydrated, just glad he had remembered enough from his mandatory healing class to stabilize her. He didn't know enough to actually heal, he had spent too much of the class mooning over a cute cleric guy in the front row, but cutting out arrows used knives, so he remembered that at least. 

"I just always relied on having a cleric," he admitted with a shrug. "Never thought much more about it."

"You thought enough to save me," Tracker pointed out, resting her non-cash covered hand on his shoulder. "Thank you." 

It took another day for her spells to come back, her energy finally high enough after gorging on fish and the few rabbits Ragh caught to finally cast a healing hand on herself. Ragh watched with a new found fascination as she unwrapped the wound, showing his shoddy stitches to keep her held together, only for the silvery light to flow from her hand, popping out the stitches and leaving her with healed, slightly pink skin. 

"Sis, you gotta teach me how to do that."

A raised eyebrow, a glance over at him as he half reached out, as if he wanted to touch her newly healed wound to make sure it was truly one, a tilt of her head as she waited for him to continue. He didn't, instead his skin flushing a deeper green as he shuffled his feet. 

"You want to become a healer?"

Ragh just shrugged, rubbing at the back of his head. They both needed to get haircuts soon, Tracker noticed and mentally filed away, watching as he felt the longer hair tickling the back of his neck and tried to move it away. Her own shaved side was growing out as well, much to her annoyance, though she quickly shook her head, forcing away the random thoughts as she looked back at her friend. 

"I know I'm not that smart," Ragh muttered, giving a shrug as if his lower intelligence score wasn't that big of a deal to him, "but even doing my best, there wasn't much I could do to help after, you know." He waved towards her and the pile of bloody gauze next to her. "I've never had to take care of someone before, someone else always did that, but now it's just the two of us, sis. What if it's worse next time? I don't know about all this religion stuff, but I've thought about it a lot over the last few days, and while I'm still gonna be the tank, it might help if I can also help take care of us." 

She wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Tracker could tell he wasn't expecting her to lean over and pull him into a giant bear hug, only to pull back a few moments later and punch him in the arm. 

"Don't sell yourself so short, big guy," Tracker said sternly, waggling a finger at him. "You kept me alive, which is the best thing you could have done. As for the healing, well, do you have a god in mind?"

Ragh immediately perked up, a half grin as he began to think. It would be a process, they would both soon find out - when he had come up blank, she had immediately begun with the most obvious of the gods: Cassandra and Galilea. Going over the pros, the cons, how both goddesses would easily accept him, though Cassandra might be a bit happier about it then Galilea was. But, eventually, neither of them just felt right to him, which was the most important thing. 

And so began their side quest - finding Ragh a god. 

"What about Tempus, god of war," Tracker asked one evening, gutting fish by the fireside as Ragh attempted to mend a hole in his shirt. "A neutral god, popular with a lot of fighters." 

It took him a long moment to answer, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he tried to keep his stitches straight. Tying off the line, he gave a small shrug. 

"Nah. I'm not much of a war guy. I like bashing heads, not overthrowing other governments for whatever reason I come up with, yah know?" 

“What about Gruumsh,” Ayda asked a few days later, pulling out the many goods she had brought from Riz’s borrowed suitcase of holding. She didn’t come often - Tracker had made it clear that this was her mission, and while all of their friends were ready to come the moment she said she needed help, she wanted to do this on her own first, or at least try. But every few months Ayda would show up in their camp with care packages and letters (Gorgug had made them satellite phones, but not all of them had planatar fueled vans to keep them charged with, so those were for emergencies only) and a few creature comforts they missed from home, stay for a meal, and then take back whatever they wanted to send with her, letters and keepsakes of their own to their own loved ones. 

It was always wonderful, getting the stack of letters from Kristen and Jawbone and the others, and this time she brought advice as well. 

“He is already the god of the orcs, which you are at least half of. I would need some of your blood to analyze the exact genetic makeup, and while that is a topic of conversation we will have to revisit in the future, for now I do believe Gruumsh would welcome you into his army.” 

Ragh was already shaking his head before she even finished, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Nah sis, Gruumsh isn’t my kind of guy.” 

For a moment Ayda just stood there, watching him, her head tilted to the side. But then her eyes glowed just a bit brighter, and a look of understanding appeared. “Of course. You are neutral good. He is chaotic evil. Your alignments wouldn’t be compatible. I apologize for not thinking of this beforehand.” 

Ragh waved her off, giving her a fanged smile. “No harm, no foul, sis. I just get tired of people always thinkin orcs are evil, you know? I’m not, my mom’s not, Gorgug’s for sure not. So I really don’t want to get mixed up with an evil god if I can avoid it.” 

Ayda gave a deep nod of understanding. “On my honor as a wizard, and as both the mother and the daughter of the same quite wonderful half-orc, I swear to you, Ragh Barkrock, I shall not make that mistake again. Would you like an orange?” 

Ragh happily took the fruit from her outstretched hand, and Ayda gave a small, happy trill before returning to her unpacking, crying a few tears when he handed her a slice. 

“What about Talos, our lord of the storms and tempest that ravage our forests almost as well as you ravaged me last night?” 

Tracker could barely hide her eye roll and fake gag as she paid for their rooms at the inn, Ragh’s lately hook up hanging off his arm and batting his big elf eyes at him. She had known this was going to happen, again, and had warned him, again, that he needed better tastes in hook ups, but Ragh seemed to had a soft spot for elven twinks, and always ended up bringing one back to the inn whenever they were lucky enough to stay in one. She was just glad that they had separate rooms this time, and hadn’t had to sleep as a wolf in the nearest bush. 

“I’m not really a ravishing kind of guy,” Ragh said, trying to free his arm from the elfs’ grasp. “Sure, it’s fun to do every once in a while, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to a ravishing lifestyle yet. What’s that, Tracker? We need to go?” Ragh looked at her with such desperation that she couldn’t turn her back on him like she had last time. 

“Come on Ragh, I have important things to do for Galilea.” 

“You hear the boss, important god cleric wolf stuff to do. I’ll call you, bye!” Ragh almost ran out the door past her, leaving the poor elf boy pouting at the table, wondering what Ragh meant when he said ‘call.’ 

“You need to work on your taste in guys, my dude,” Tracker said with a shake of her head as she slid into the driver’s side, glancing over her shoulder at the half-orc hiding in the back seat. “At least stop choosing the clingy ones?”

“Please, just drive.” 

In the end, it was Ragh himself who found his god, as was strangely right. 

The small town they had stopped in was, by far, their favorite stop so far. Mostly high elves, sure, but high elves strangely welcoming, much more like Adaine then the others they had met so far. A few other species were there too, half elves, a few fairies, and even a couple of gnomes that had taken residence in a nearby cave, turning it into a mix of apartment complexes and work stations. It was the most welcoming town they had been in; it almost felt like home. 

And, centered in the middle of town, were their shrines. 

It was common for towns this small, Tracker had learned, to not have a temple dedicated to every single god worshiped in the area. While for some towns that meant only one temple, maybe two if there were multiple families with influence, other towns had too many to count, each family or inhabitant following their own deity. So, instead, they had a shrine building instead, each deity with their own table and candles and cushions in front of them so those who worshiped them could pray. 

It was there, after he had gone missing for hours on end, that Tracker finally found him. He was just sitting there on one of the cushions, staring at the flickering candle, eyes both vacant and seemingly touched with a new found peace. He didn’t even notice when she sat down next to him, only starting out of whatever trance he seemed to be in when Tracker put her hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. 

“This is him,” Ragh immediately said, his face lit up with almost the same happy glow as whenever he reminded people he was gay and was met with acceptance instead of the hatred he thought he would find. “I was curious what was in here, so I walked in and thought it was some kind of weird like, massage parlor, but I found my guy, and this dude totally rocks, Tracker!  Hoot growl, up high!” 

Tracker immediately gave him his high five, giddy with excitement for her friend. And taking a look at the shrine they sat before, she couldn’t help but agree that it fit. Torm, god of courage and self-sacrifice, a provider of protection. Symbolized by a white gauntlet raised against a coming sword. For her bodyguard and best friend, yeah, it felt right. 

Of course, finding the god was only the first step in becoming a cleric. Then there was the training. 

Not all clerics were as blessed as she and Kristen were (though, of course, no one was as blessed as Saint Kristen Applebees, chosen and denier of Helios, creator of the planatar YES!/?, healer of the Goddex Cassandra). Some clerics had to work to gain their deity’s blessing, to prove that they were good enough vessels of the gods’ holy power. Some were just pains in the asses to get a hold of. 

Luckily, Torm seemed to approve of Ragh. 

It took a while, a few days after they left the town, Ragh standing between her and a weird lizard creature neither of them could remember the name of, for Torm to finally respond to the prayers Tracker had been teaching him. An almost imperceptible white light seemed to surround Ragh's hand as it came down against the lizards' jaw, just bright enough that Tracker's wolf enhanced eyes caught it as she bit deep into the creatures' tail. And each time he fulfilled his role of protector, showed courage as he walked by her side into the temples of Galilea, took up his weapon to protect her against whatever else Fallinel had to throw at them, it grew a little bit brighter. 

Until one day, without even thinking about it, he cast a Sacred Flame at an enemy on the other side of their camp site, the burning bright light zapping into the creatures' side, sending it scampering back into the wilds of the untamed woods in the far reaches of the country. Together they quickly finished off their enemies, Rahg wielding his weapon and a new found spells with an enjoyable ease, taking joy in the blessing of his god. 

She remembered that feeling, the power and joy from being blessed by one of the gods, the sudden innate knowledge of exactly what to do to make everything perfect and wonderful and right. 

The fight eventually ended, Ragh having taken the brunt of the damage, though one of them did get a slice at her flank. Before she could shift back and heal it herself, Ragh had reached out and touched her shoulder. Another burst of brilliant white light, something she would have to teach him to control later, raced through her veins and across her skin, invigorating her and closing most of the wound, leaving a scratch where before there had been a gash. All while Ragh stared in awe, eyes and smile wide, though clearly he was exhausted from the small use of magic. 

Another moment and she was back in her human form, healing him herself as he sat back, staring at his hands as his wounds closed around him. 

"Tracker..."

She raised her head from examining her work, making sure there wasn't something she had missed. 

"This fucking rules." 

An easy smile shared between them, Tracker knowing exactly what he meant. 

"Yeah it does."

#Fantasy High #Dimension 20 #Tracker #Ragh #Tracker O'Shaughnessey #Ragh Barkrock #Fanfic #Fanfiction #They're great friends who help each other out to become better versions of themselves and I love it

[spectralarchers]

2 and 36 for the angst prompt!

Prompt #2: “You know it’s not like that.”

*

“I should’ve done more.”

The dirt has settled, and the stone’s been placed where Natasha had been laid to rest. Clint knows what it says, because he was the one to help pick it out.

Wanda is standing by his side. She’d asked to come with him to visit Natasha’s grave - it’s been a year since they’d put her to rest. Holding Clint’s arm against herself, Wanda watches the stone with a fond smile.

Natasha had helped train her, train her powers and train her mind. To learn that she had passed had hurt her almost as much as she’d hurt when Pietro had been taken from her - Natasha had been a mentor and a friend. She can’t imagine what it must feel like for Clint to have lost his partner through many years.

“You did all you could,” Wanda says, replying to him. She’s been in his head, has watched as he’d replayed Natasha’s last moments over and over again. She knows he’d fought all he could to be the one to fall to the pit to get the soul stone, but Natasha had been the better fighter. She always had.

“What I did... It should have been her. She was working to make the world a better place while I was out there killing people.”

He sighs. He’s wearing a bracelet with a silver arrow on it. Natasha had, either knowing she was going to her death or not, left her arrow necklace behind in her locker room at the compound. When they’d been done clearing the rubble after the fight with Thanos, someone had put it in a plastic bag as evidence, but it had disappeared, only to reappear in Clint’s mailbox in Iowa.

It had been a hit to the stomach when he’d realized what it was.

That a piece of Natasha, of who she was, was still here. That she hadn’t taken the arrow necklace with her to Vormir in the first place. He’d made it into a bracelet, so he could remember her at all times. He’d been the one to gift her the necklace originally, so he thought it appropriate to wear it now.

“It’s my fault,” he says, as he feels the sadness blowing up in his chest.

“You know it’s not like that,” Wanda says, as she moves away from him to look at him. They’re going back to Clint’s farm later, Laura has offered to have Wanda over for dinner, and she’d like that. “You did all you could.”

*

Prompt #36: “You shouldn’t have come. You can’t be-”

*

The world of the dead isn’t as morose and dark as Wanda thought it would be. She’d always imagined it as somewhere where the sun didn’t shine and where it was just... dark. And dead.

She doesn’t know how she’s ended up here, actually. At first, she’d thought that she had died too - the last thing she remembers is sitting next to Vision’s lifeless body as Thanos had turned back time to steal the stone from beneath her hands.

She’d fought him off, and he’d cheated her by using time against her. She may have been the most powerful being on the battlefield that day, but even against Infinity Stones, she couldn’t win.

She doesn’t exactly know where she is - at first she’d been in a world where others had been too. She’d recognized Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ friend, and Sam Wilson, another friend, but then she’d been drawn to the edges of the world they’d come to, and as she’d walked towards the darkness, she’d felt the world shift around her.

When she’d realized that she was in the world of the dead, she hadn’t even felt scared. Maybe it was because she knew someone here.

There’s a little light guiding her - she’d never admit it, but she can see it, has been able to see it for a long time. She makes it to a small park, where she hears someone laughing. They’re speaking Sokovian, and for a small second, she can barely breathe - even if she doesn’t need to. If she’s here, she’s probably dead too.

There are three people sitting on the bench, and she recognizes her parents, they’re sitting with their backs to her, while Pietro is sitting opposite them.

“Pietro!” she exclaims, her eyes welling up. “Mom! Dad!” she yells, Sokovian filling her mouth as she realizes she’s here with them.

The look on Pietro’s face isn’t a good one though, because he’s by her side in half a second. He’s retained his speed even in the world of the dead. It’s only when she’s this close to him that she can see his wounds are still bleeding. Wouldn’t they be healed by now? She puts her hand onto his chest, and looks up questioning.

“What-”

“You shouldn’t have come. You can’t be-” Pietro says, interrupted by Wanda putting her hand across her mouth, as her parents have turned around too. They’re burnt, disfigured and barely recognizable. The mortar from the day they’d died.

“You have to go back!” Pietro urges her, turning her around. “Before your time runs out,” he continues, before he’s picking her up and running to the edges of the park. He slows down, his breathing getting more and more rugged.

“This isn’t a world you’re supposed to be in. You’re still alive, the Soul World is where you’re supposed to be, Wanda,” he says, barely a whisper. “You have to go back. You can’t stay here, or you’ll die. They need you out there,” he manages to whisper, as she begins to cry. 

There’s blood on her fingers.

She blinks, and he’s put her down and disappeared. The light around her turns from grey to orange, and she looks around, as the sound of laughter and people fill her ears again.

*

Send me one of these prompts and I’ll write something ♥

#ask meme #my writing #wanda maximoff #clint barton #pietro maximoff #death tw #ladyzayinwonderland #people ask christine stuff

[obrennon]

Basic Information

Full Name: Lance Grayson O'Brennon

Name: Lance 

Alias / Nickname: Irishman, Wolf.

Age: Looks 37 | Actually 700

Date of Birth: February 24th

Species: Werewolf

Hometown: Wexford, Ireland (Southern Ireland)

Current Location: Thorn Haven

Nationality: Irish

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Pansexual & Polyamorous

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: Fighter | Bodyguard

Living Arrangements: Where ever Lance does stay he usually has minimal things, enough to make it seem lived in but nothing that would hold any personal touches to it.

Language(s) Spoken: Gaelic, English, Russian, some Italian& Latin, enough French.

Accent: Lance has a thick Irish accent which only gets thicker the more he's either drunk or angry, but he doesn’t try to hide, however, if absolutely necessary and or if he’s feeling like it, Lance can do a rather decent American accent (&& it’s not southern!)

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Cam Gigandet

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Eye Color: Blue 

Height: 6'2

Weight: 155

Build: toned, athletic, muscular

Tattoos: TBD

Piercings: N/A

Clothing Style: earthy & blue colors,  basic and plain style. Jeans, t'shirt and hoodies/jackets. Unless a uniform is needed (i.e. job or fancy event).

Usual Expression: tries to maintain a friendly & welcoming expression, 

Distinguishing Characteristics: has a bite scar on his neck & some medium, claw like scars on his back. a small birthmark on his bottom lip, a small white line. various scars all over his torso, old bullet & knife wounds from before he was a wolf.

Health

Physical Ailments: none anymore

Neurological Conditions: N/A

Allergies: bee stings. which are no longer an issue

Sleeping Habits: Lance finds sleep when he can, but it is very infrequent and only for at least an hour or two. 

Eating Habits: he loves food, always has, Lance can eat at any given moment. 

Exercise Habits: Lance doesn’t need a lot to keep himself in shape, he loves to walk & run, but can also be found boxing & or fighting. 

Emotional Stability: Lance has always been an emotional and passionate person, he gets invested far too quickly & has a problem with trying to be a protector for those who cannot protect themselves. 

Sociability: Lance can be a social butterfly, all smiles & jokes

Body Temperature: Lance has a higher temperature from humans, it’s rather noticeable & sometimes it can be thought he is ill as it is far warmer than any normal temperature.

Addictions: alcohol, fighting

Drug Use: only in an effort to subdue the pain & ache within him, drowning out his demons & the memories that haunt him. but it’s nothing regular & certainly not his choice of self-medication.

Alcohol Use: what day is it? Lance could go for a shot or a few beers, that’s for sure.

Personality

Label: The Warrior / The Challenger

Positive Traits: compassionate, reliable, protective, sincere, passionate, romantic

Negative Traits: self-destructive, aggressive, hot-headed, needy, 

Goals/Desires: other than wasting away to nothing? getting into a good fight is probably his other goal, maybe making a name for himself in The Pit.

Fears: Lance has always been afraid of losing people & yet it is something that happens to him constantly, 

Hobbies: drinking, fighting, billiards, going to concerts / music, enjoys dancing w/ pretty people, karaoke if the urge hits him.

Habits: Lance runs his hand through his hair when he’s anxious or nervous or gets himself into an awkward situation, he also taps chews at his cheek when something is bothering him. 

Favorites

Weather: rain, Lance has always loved the rain. he’s also particularly fond of snow

Color: black & blue

Music: celtic, rock, some hip-hop

Movies: action, thrillers, murder / mystery

Sport: rugby

Beverage: beer, whisky, scotch, coffee.

Food: see food, literally any food will do, are you gonna eat that? no? okay, Lance will.

Animal: wolf

Family

Father: Sheamus O’Brennon (deceased) 

Mother: Caoimhe O’Brennon (deceased)

Sibling(s): Younger sister, Joan O’Brennon (deceased)

Children: none

Family’s Financial Status: poor

Biography

(trigger warnings for suicide (mentioned), sexual, verbal & physical abuse, alcoholism, death, murder, fatal illness)

Lance was very much a mama’s boy growing up, the earliest memory that Lance has of his mother was that she used to sing and read to him, folklore and songs of Ireland; before his sister was born Caoimhe used to take her son to her family's beach house in Wexford where Lance was actually born. His more fond memories of his childhood were spent at that beach house and even after his mother got sick shortly after his little sister was born they continued to go to the beach and it was something he cherished. When his mother became worse and the fights that she had protected her son from got worse, Lance found himself stepping between his father and his mother to stop the blows he would give her.

Distraught his mother made him promise to protect his little sister, no matter what, and even if anything happened to her, only shortly after that Lance’s mother died. The children were devastated and thus was the end of their happy days on the beach. Joan was Lance’s world after his mother died and he did everything to protect her, from fighting bullies in school to keeping his father preoccupied with beating him instead of Joan. They were very close and spent as much time together as possible, she was the one person in his life that truly understood what he did and why he did it; even though she didn’t like that their father beat Lance, Joan understood, even as a young child, that all her older brother was doing was protecting her to the best of his abilities.

One of the things that Lance fondly remembers about his sister is how she used to make little trinkets and jewelry out of the things she found on the street or around the house, thus why he has a pendent of hers that she made for him. It wasn’t until a fifteen year old Lance came home from school to find his father assaulting his sister did he actually fail at keeping her safe.That day still haunts the Irishman, the memories still as fresh as if they had just happened yesterday. The relationship Lance held with his father was little to nothing, he hated the man for not only what he had done to his mother but especially for what he found the man doing to his sister that day. Inevitably it ended badly for Lance and even worse for his father; the blood of the drunkard will never be a regret the Irishman holds, taking that bastard's life was the most assured thing he ever could have done.

The events that followed the incident were not the best either. Traumatized by the whole thing to begin with the siblings were separated and there was no way Lance could have gotten to Joan sooner. But when he did his absolute worst nightmare had come true, unable to handle the pain of what her father did and losing her brother a young Joan took her own life, leaving Lance on his own. When Lance was nineteen he joined the military and never looked back, he excelled through the ranks of the military quicker than anyone had ever thought and soon he was chosen for a special task force.

Still he worked harder than anyone else in the program and soon he was being sent on his own operations only a few years into his training, with experience came the bigger missions and soon he was a deadly assassin. Then everything changed when a great war began and Lance was sent into the forces against others just like him. However, that wasn’t all that changed during the war, there, in the dead of night the Irishman met a creature that was unlike anything he had ever known to be real, the great wolf attacked Lance. As if it wasn’t difficult enough for the man to live with his haunted memories he was destined to live with his mistakes as a creature of the night, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

When Lance woke up on the battlefield he wasn’t sure what had happened, if everything that had happened was a dream or not, but the blood that stained his clothes and the pain that was throbbing in his head made it more of a reality. The eerie silence of the field surrounding him, the bodies that still were laying where they had fallen was almost too much for his confused mind to process. But he got up and dragged himself back to his troop, what was left of it anyways.

His wounds were nursed and bandaged and eventually healed quicker than what was expected. The attack of a crazed creature was long from his mind by the full moon, of course, that did not last long as the change took over his body and when he woke from that nightmare there were more horrors than he had seen in all his days in this horrendous war. His squadron, his comrades in arms, his family was dead and from the amount of blood that coated his body, Lance had no doubt he was the horror that had caused this tragedy. He had no other choice but to go AWOL. Lance had become the monster of legends, of myths and stories.

The Irishman shipped himself off to the Americas, doing so with great difficulty due to his monthly changes and his want to keep from harming people, but it didn’t always work out to despite his best efforts. People were hurt along the way, many more were killed as he tried to teach himself how to harness the beast within him, this was not something so easily attained. This monster was not as easily conquered as learning to use a weapon or to fight was, his new situation was something he’d never be able to accomplish what he wanted and that was to keep from hurting more people.

There was a point where he wanted to die, wanted to stop the pain he was causing by his inability to control anything. In the cusp of complete despair, however, there was hope. An older beast, one who had been turned many decades before him and was soon to find their own place of peace found Lance, it was not of his doing but he clung to the hope he was given. It was as if his mother, the kindest soul he had ever known, was reaching out to him in the form of another to bring him solidarity and control. It took a long while, the two traveled together all over the States before they found a spot deep in the woods of Colorado, where no one but the wild animals would be hunted by the beast until the young one was able to focus his mind.

Old age soon took the other wolf and with him a part of Lance, but not before he had been taught key skills that would help Lance on his journey through the outside world, not only with the politics that were always in play, but also with how people would handle him with the knowledge that he was a beast which caused disaster if not controlled. When he felt the moment was right, Lance ventured out of the woods, very much the image of a mountain man in the early 1930′s just in time to get a leg in some kind of society, keeping to himself before the next war began.

So it continued like this, he would join the military under whatever alias he came up with before going MIA or being pronounced dead and would find himself back in the Americas, it was safer there– for his memories, anyways, it was away from the place he called home. Decades passed and Lance finally found the world had eased on its blood-lust for war, but of course that couldn’t last long. There were some supernaturals that lived among the humans, even married them, an effort to keep the peace between their kinds. In his distrust and doubt, Lance kept to himself, keeping everything to himself, running into trouble whenever his memories needed drowning and he got a few drinks in him.

Eventually he found work in the bodyguard and security detail business, a family of witches, they understood his needs and it was a comfort to have an employer that could excuse Lance once a month for the full moon. He was assigned to his employers daughter, meant to protect and keep her out of trouble, something he had to shape up in his own life, but he was diligent and in his protection the Irishman fell for the beautiful blonde witch he was protecting. That was until his protection wasn’t enough and he wasn’t there to save her, the scene Lance found made him believe she was dead, still, without a body he couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t stop the wolf from mourning and trekking across the land to the worst place to be, which was good enough a place for him to drown his sorrows and try to rid himself of her. Something he found to be impossible, even as he joined the ruffians within Thorn Haven.

#file: stats #file: bio #{here's my novel about my irish idiot sobs}

[tactyl-ymon]

Dnd session recap - Broken bonds and bodies

You know what, this is becoming kind of a standard disclaimer at this point. But sweet fuck I am bad at doing these write up’s in a timely manner. Not that it matters, but I’m trying to get better I promise. Anyway, on with whatever I can remember from a session from about 2 months ago!

We start with a bit of a rewind and some Vieraen shenanigans that took place part way through last session. While everyone is out finishing a dark ritual to summon a tower, Vieraen is out to be a menace. He finds some children in an alley and asks them if they know how to delete someone or if there is anyone who would know … how to delete someone. They end up taking him to a ramshackle tent in one of the slums with basically the most kiwi orc ever known named Jake Johnson and then get to talking about poisons and just how good they are. After a bit of back and forth, they come to an agreement. Jake will help Vieraen make some dope poisons, but he needs to test them on the drow rogue … and by test we mean stab viciously in the gut to see how the poison affects someone,. Seeing nothing wrong with this, Vieraen gets poked and takes a ludicrous amount of damage. After a fairly long session of knifey stabby, Vieraen leaves his new friend, both with a greater understanding of how poisons hurt and several minor stab wounds he heads up to one of the main magic shops in town to try and sell some things and get a fancy new dagger. He starts talking with the Halfling shop owner about the dagger he wants and what it would take to reduce the price before he pulls out one of the gems he’d picked up from the tunnels leading to the witches den on our last group assignment. Fun fact about the gems he got, they’re all really good at containing a specific type of magic and the one he was trying to sell was a fully charged fireball set to explode at the slightest nudge. Somehow not noticing the halfling’s wide eyed terror that this drow hooligan basically just walked into his shop with a live grenade, Vieraen mentions he’s got like 10 more in his bag if the owner would be willing to trade. Things escalate, the shop owner wants Vieraen out of his shop, Vieraen reeeeally wants that dagger though. Vieraen mentions he’s not leaving without that dagger as the shop owner uses the moment to cast a suggestion that Vieraen should leave. Under a compulsion to gtfo, Vieraen wanders outside and the shop owner locks up behind him. With that taking up most of his day, Vieraen heads back to the barracks to sleep everything off and wait for everyone to get back from whatever errand Core sent everyone on.

Seeing as the weird sylph didn’t eat anyone in their sleep, the tower crew heads back to the barracks for a quick breakfast and fill Vieraen in on what they found before everyone gets a message from Core about a bar fight nearby he needs everyone’s help with. Feeling the need to brawl, Eridol and Drackuss lead the charge and as they slam open the tavern doors they find absolutely nothing. No brawl, just a couple drunks from the night before passed out on the bar and Core getting playfully batted at by probably the most adorable cat anyone had ever seen. Core introduces his new friend as Whisky Whiskers, she’s a 2 ft tall munchkin cat person and also a monk, also she drunk Core under the table last night.  Honestly, it would have been more adorable if she wasn’t here to keep an eye on Eridol and his constant teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. With introductions made, Eridol asks if this was the bar fight he needed help with and with the magic words said, Drackuss starts a one man brawl with the drunks at the bar, breaking a chair over one and piledriving one through a table that leaves most of the poor man’s blood on the outside. Everyone tries to stop the dragonborn juggernaut, but it’s our new friend Whisky who manages to stop the beatdown with a stunning strike that lasts long enough for everyone sober enough to act to restrain Drackuss while Eridol feverously heals the men. Drackuss’s holy medallion slides to the floor in several pieces but this goes unnoticed by everyone but Drackuss and as far as he’s concerned, the less people who know about his broken oath at the moment the better. Drackuss apologises, he’s just been so antsy for a proper fight recently and this got the best of him. Eridol is too busy healing the patrons to notice and everyone else didn’t really care that much. Drack gonna drack.

With nothing really to do for the next day and a half due to Core needing to do more research on the giant tower that apparated out of the earth and Emmi heading back to her ship several towns away for some me time, everyone else decides it’s time to hit the bath house to relax and mostly to clean Eridol because even without the gore from the past few battles still hanging off his armor making him smell like ham and sadness, he’s still not really been taking care of things. Most of the group grabs a communal bath to chat and everything while Drackuss gets a bath on his own away from the group. Whisky gets to know everyone and generally makes Eridol uncomfortable with all the invasions of his personal space, asking if he’s ok and just generally not letting him mope, the group starts drinking away the day and having as much fun as a group of hardened adventurers can do in a communal bath house. Drackuss sneaks out of the bath house and heads into one of the nearby forests, driving by an urge and whispers in his head he ends on coming across the camp of one of our previous allies, Olgum the hobgoblin fighter. They have a tense conversation while Drackuss draws his sword, proclaiming he’s been sent here to retrieve something Olgum doesn’t deserve anymore. A shield Olgum has but refuses to use properly. A shield used to solidify a connection to Bhaal, the god of murder. Drackuss needs it and he intends to take it one way or another. It is less a fight and more an execution as Drackuss murders his once friend and ally. With the final blow a new connection is made between Drackuss and the evil god he now serves. He takes the shield, a ring and some trinkets before setting the camp ablaze and returning to the bath house, the rest of the group none the wiser because we’ve been drinking together in the  bath for the past 4 or so hours. They all talk about plans for the next few days, Vieraen wants to head back to the magic shop to see if he can talk that dagger into his pants and Eridol mentions everyone should come to the pits tomorrow to see him fight, it’ll be great. This is definitely not a cry for help, don’t worry about it.The crew heads up to the fight pits to cheer for Eridol as he tries to let off some steam against a hill giant they had all fought as a group several weeks ago that had a bone to pick with the tiny gnome who burst his chest open last time. Bets are placed and buffs are sneakily applied before they fizzle out entirely when Eridol enters the ring. The fight starts with a bang of holy light from Eridol that sends the giant reeling. The show is fierce and comes to a head when the giant throws several boulders, most of which hit Eridol as he is feebly trying to close the distance to the giant with his tiny gnome sized legs. They trade blows for what seems like hours until both are left broken and bloody with just enough energy for one last clash. Eridol gets off a fantastic hit to the ogre’s side, mirroring the last killing blow he gave the giant in the group fight while the giant swung down with his literal tree trunk of a club, hitting eridol dead on. The crowd grows quiet as the dust settles and only one of the combatants is visible. The giant’s hand twitches and a gnome wriggles out from under the tree trunk. Bruised, bloodied and broken but somehow victorious. The crowd erupts in cheers as the fight pit’s healing field brings the giant back to consciousness. Both fighters bow to each other and the crowd, glad to have put on a show and bury the hatchet in each other as it were. The group comes down to Eridol’s prep room to see the gnome slumped against one of the walls, letting the rooms healing aura mend some of his shattered bones as the bruises set in and he starts the process of making sure everything heals properly. Congratulations are given and Eridol gives a shaky thumbs up in response before basically passing out. Thoroughly spent from the fight and mumbling that he’ll see everyone back home once the post fight shakes go away and Eridol gets to take care of what he thinks is a concussion.

Vieraen mentions that they should go back to the magic shop in the mean time and off they trot to the Magical emporium to find it still locked and no signs of life. Which is weird, this place never closes, especially not for days at a time. The group decides this is a mystery worth solving as the poke and prod the building for clues and they end up in one of the back alleys all looking for a secret entrance. Not wanting to cause a scene, Drackuss decides to disguise himself as Core, our government official patron so he can hand wave away any nosey villagers who notice us totally not criminals slinking out behind a shop full to the brim with magical artifacts. After several more failed attempts to break into the place either to look for clues or so Vieraen can steal his dagger, the group decides they should notify Core because this is worrying and obviously someone further up the chain should be told about this. Core arrives out the back of the shop to see the group and his doppelganger that was Drackuss as they go over everything, Core admits it is a bit weird that the shop is closed and if they have any other ideas to get in. Vieraen thinks for a second and pulls out the fireball gem that honestly started this whole mess and mentions if they throw it at the door it should get through and as a group they all decide that yes, this is the way forward and the gem is yeeted at the building. The gem containing a charged fireball. Surprising literally everyone, it explodes and sets some of the neighbouring fences on fire but with no damage to the shop, y’know because it’s a magic shop and has preventative measures for this. Someone mentions that they should get Eridol down here to help treat any of the mild injuries, Vieraen takes it upon himself to call the cleric over their necklaces. With non existent panic in his voice he shouts “Eridol, you should come quick, someone’s about to die”, which gets a genuinely panicked response from the still recovering cleric that he was on his way.Realising that Eridol would be expecting to see some kind of injury, Vieraen turns to Drackuss and asks the now evil paladin if he could “Stab me real bad” which is really all Drackuss needs to hear as he turns on the drow and Vieraen realizes sometime between the first and second hits this was maybe a mistake because Drackuss is actually trying to kill him. Chaos ensues as Vieraen attempts to get away from his would be executioner, Whisky jumps up and tries to stun the dragonborn as Core and Tornur trade throwing themselves in front of the drow rogue with arcane shields a plenty to absorb the hits. No one knows what is happening, Drackuss is on the war path and obviously willing to cut them all down to get to Vieraen. Someone gets on the necklaces to let Eridol know that Drackuss has gone insane which is another heaping spoonful of terror Eridol tries to keep down as he is running through the streets, still covered in gore from his exhibition match in the pits. While Core and Tornur protect Vieraen, Core yells for Whisky to get out and that she needs to find Eridol. Whisky nods and takes off as fast as her tiny feline legs can go. Now without one of their trump cards to slow drackuss down, Tornur comes up with a plan and conjures a thick cube of webbing to restrict the raging paladin and slow him down long enough for Core to cast haste on everyone and get a glimpse of the cursed shield in Drackuss’ possiession. Between the haste, Vieraen’s innate knowledge of the city and Drackuss’ restricted movements they all get away and start running back towards the fight pits to regroup and call on the city guards. With his prey getting away, Drackuss knows the opportunity is lost and starts heading back to the barracks to either funnel everyone into a killbox or to gather supplies and leave to survive another day.

Halfway across the city, Eridol is running as fast as he can towards the magic shop and where the fight should be taking place, hoping the panic he felt from Vieraen’s message mingling with his abject fear that has been there since Drackuss cut him down are hidden well enough by his pure need to protect his friends. Between being so exhausted and being nearly out of spells he almost misses Whisky as she clambers over a nearby roof. He does the only thing he can think off and pushes divine light into his shield to use as a beacon. The two meet up shortly before the remainder of the not evil friends turn up. All looking worse for wear, no one knows what’s going on. Eridol realizes that Drackuss would need to head back to the barracks to pick up supplies and that they would either be walking into a trap or an empty building. Without a second thought, Eridol asks that everyone stay safe, turns to Core and says “We will take care of this … I … I can take care of this” not trying to hide the panic and fear as he starts running towards the barracks, Core curses under his breath and turns to Whisky, Vieraen and Tornur and says he would understand if they don’t want to come before getting in touch with some guardsmen and running after Eridol. Of course nobody listens to either of them as Vieraen, Whisky and Tornur book it after their tiny guardian towards a very possible death.

#Tactyl Ymon #DnD Recap #Eridol #Whisky #Tornur #Veiraen #Drackuss #Emmi #dnd

[rumowrites]

Defectum, Ch. 5

The next day, he went to the academy to train. Not because he had to, but a partner to rehearse with was always nice. It also gave him the opportunity to drop off the finished shift schedules and talk to some of the trainers about the progress of their newest batch of recruits.

Before he left the house, he thought about making copies for himself but decided against it. He knew them by heart anyway. Although he didn't seem like it, Runaan found it important to know as much as possible about his soldiers. They weren’t only replaceable chess pieces to him and he’d always made a point to subtly arrange missions and shifts so that none of them would miss their own or a loved ones Birthday. The Assassin also made sure that each got enough time to heal should they get wounded. Most of the younger recruits were oblivious to it but some of the soldiers he had started with knew and appreciated the gesture however so small.

Runaan in turn thought highly of them for not treating him like some kind of opportunist who only wanted to climb the ranks faster. When he had started general training, he’d been several years younger than any of them and at a huge disadvantage speed and strength wise. Most of them still remembered him then and had seen for themselves how hard he trained to get to the level of skill he was currently operating on. Back then, he’d spent more time face down in the dirt than actually fighting. Always staying behind after training was officially over he’d slowly gotten better until he won his first fight. After that, his determination grew and he worked out a more efficient training plan. Like all new recruits he used to live in a bunk room with three other soldiers to be. The majority of them complained about the scarce housing but in his opinion, it was no worse than the orphanage.

Every spare minute, he trained and even when he had regular lections aside from fighting, Runaan tried to learn as much as he could. By the time he finished training, he’d moved up years twice, effectively making him the youngest to ever lead a mission at only sixteen. From there on it had skyrocketed and within four years he found himself second in command of the executive branch of Xadia’s armed forces.

Until that, Runaan had chosen to live at the academy since high-ranking members each got a full equipped room at their disposal. With almost no living expenses, his pay checks quickly accumulated to an amount that allowed him to task the building guild with a house made to his requirements.

And even now, he needed only a fraction of the coins they paid him. He’d expressed such to his superior but the other elf only laughed at him. She instead suggested he’d buy some decent clothes instead of running around in his uniform all day. Only to annoy her, he’d purchased a dozen new sets of the exact same uniform, including winter and summer alterations.

He owned other things, yes, but an Assassin is all he was and probably all he’d ever be. It simply felt wrong to go somewhere without at least his casual uniform. The familiarity calmed him and gave the elf a feeling of security even when they ventured into enemy territory.

Upon arriving, he already saw some from his usual strike team train in the yard. Three elves, a pair of mid-thirty twins and a female five years his senior twirled around each other while the pair tried to catch her off guard.

When she saw him, Kira jumped back to extract herself from the twin’s blades. “Hey hotshot! We missed you yesterday. Care to join us?” Now, they all stopped, walking towards him to meet their leader in the middle of the otherwise empty pit. Runaan rolled his eyes while nodding but waved the stack of paper in his hand. Kira always tried to annoy him with stupid nicknames. “Just give me a couple of minutes to drop these off at the administration.” One of the twins, Jino, shoved the female elf’s shoulder “Don’t listen to her we just did some target practice yesterday, not much to miss out on but it was a hell of a celebration the day before. Although you ditched us pretty early.” At that, his brother Janus joined in “Yeah, where were you? We lost you after the first hour.”

Runaan shrugged and showed his stack of parchment again “Oh, you know, just wandering around, enjoying the quiet and writing those shift schedules of course.” Kira raised a doubtful eyebrow at his explanation, but the twins seemed satisfied. Before she could change her mind and voice her opinion, he took a few steps towards the main building. “See you in a few.” They all nodded and resumed their exercise, now a little more eager than before.

His chat with the elf who managed their office was quick and uneventful. Usually, he just dropped the finished tables off and collected the names and info for the following months to take home. Today, a few letters had arrived for him so he took them, too before quickly making his way to his room with agitation in his bones at the prospect of a decent training session.

He changed out of the formal uniform, donning the training version sans coat and armour instead. Runaan contemplated his weapon options for a moment before strapping a dagger to each of his thighs and a pair of curved swords on his belt. On the way out, he caved and also took his bow, slinging the quiver over his shoulder. There would be time for target practice later.

Kira and the twins were sitting on the stone wall of the pit when he returned, waiting for Runaan to show up. They had been with him on the last mission and were technically, like himself, still on leave for a week. Most soldiers still chose to train a few hours a day, being used to the activity.

They stretched together before starting some easy rehearsals. None of them were in a rush so they slowly upped their speed and difficulty until they fought three against one. Runaan had to admit that it was hard for him to keep up against three highly skilled fighters, but he knew their weaknesses and managed to hold them off for a considerably long time.

At the end of the day they were all drenched in sweat but satisfied with their good workout.

Janus and Runaan did a few rounds of target practice while the other two sat on the side and took bets before he got persuaded into getting a few drinks with them. They agreed to meet up again once everyone was cleaned up. All of them, being used to change quickly, were ready to go mere minutes later.

Their preferred Inn was only a couple minutes away from the academy and primarily favoured by soldiers. The Innkeeper led them to their usual table that was mostly secluded in the back of the room. Runaan used the time they were waiting on their drinks to tell them they would be staying at the academy for some time since no new order from the council got issued. The three cheered a little and promptly decided to drink on the little break allowed to them. Although all of them loved the thrill and adventure, they weren’t reckless and well aware of the risk each new assignment bore.

“So the world gets to see us for a few more weeks at least!” Kira grinned and clinked her red wine against Runaan’s Whiskey before doing the same to the twin’s beers. “To the Jackass who keeps leading us headfirst into each new disaster!” Jino raised his glass to their combined laughter “and to the Idiots who keep running after me!” the Assassin added with a smirk, downing the liquid in his glass.

As the evening progressed further, the group was finally able to forget their occupation for a few hours while they shared stories and remembered each other of particularly embarrassing events that had happened to one of them in the past. By the time the Innkeeper came around their table to tell them they would be closing soon, the twins were merely giggling hysterically, and Kira needed four attempts to place her wine glass on the coaster. Runaan’s own tab showed more checks than it probably should. Still, he only felt the familiar tingle in his limbs and slight haziness in his vision.

Time to head back, before he got the chance to make a fool of himself. He had a reputation to uphold after all. Nevertheless, he bought a bottle of the whisky he’d been drinking for the most part of the night. They parted outside, Kira half-carrying her two companions back to their rooms at the academy while he took the other direction towards his house. Once the others were out of view, he uncorked the bottle and strayed from the path, taking the route through the woods. Now that his bubbly subordinates were gone, his thoughts wandered back to his last mission and all the ones before that where he had doubts considering their target. A deep swing and slight bun of the liquid later, he felt the painful images melt into each other and forced them back into the depths of his troubled mind.

Some new charcters! Yes, they will reappear later on so this chapter wasn't for nothing!

#Defectum #runaan #the dragon prince #runaan tdp #runaan x tinker #moonshadow elves #rayla #fanfiction #runaan fanfiction #tinker #rumo writes #runaan x necklace elf #the dragon prince fanfiction #tdp fanfic #tdp fic

[dungeons-and-demiplanes]

Reflections - Session 3

In which a dwarf and a cleric (mostly the cleric) force the party to clean up their mess.

<< Last | Next >> [First]

Backtracking a little bit...

Be a Dwarf Fighter named Ciaran Broadblade

Formerly Ciaran Silverlord III

Left home a few months ago after getting into an argument with his dad

Renounce original surname, take on a new one

Wander the land for a few months, working as a sellswordaxe

Arrive in Lorthas Village; decide to stay, to help with the goblin problem

Rent a room at the Midnight’s Breeze

Get awoken shortly after going to bed by some kind of a ruckus

Get dressed, go downstairs/outside

...The whole town is drunk. Why is the whole town drunk?

Why is that elf dragging a human woman and a blue goblin with him through town?

WHY IS THE ALARM HORN SOUNDING??

Suddenly wave of multicolored goblins pouring in from the front gates

Elf & co disappear into a random house

They obviously caused this shitstorm.

Ciaran follows. TIME_FOR_JUSTICE.gif

Busts down the door

Watch someone disappear into the bathroom, follow

… What the fuck, there’s no one here

But there are no other exits aside from the front door

How in the shit? Did they just… disappear??

… Did they go through the mirror in the bathroom somehow???

No time to think about it, goblins are attacking

Like 5 goblins of various colors enter the house.

Cornered in the bathroom

TMW the Goblins decide it’s more interesting to fight each other than to fight the moderately armored fighter

Ciaran used “I’ll Hit A Motherfucker With Another Motherfucker”

Attempts to bullrush one of the goblins into another to knock them both prone

It’s not very effective…

Right. Welp. That’s what waraxes are for, I guess.

Eventually all 5 goblins go down

NowToSaveTheTown.jpg

One Dwarf vs Goblin Horde. Round one. Fight!

#DarkSouls

YOU DIED

MEANWHILE IN THE MIRROR REALM

Saren is still studying Azure

Morthal has been practicing a little with his new psionic abilities

He can make bolts of pure energy

And also an ectoplasmic creature called an Astral Construct

Lah continues to insist on referring to Morthal as “Breaker”

Morthal is not amused, begins throwing books at her in retaliation

She gets the hint (and also gets kind of offended), and stops

Saren suggests that they go back through the mirror to gather supplies from Lorthas

Lah: That…………….. May be a problem.

TMW your employees accidentally set a goblin horde loose on a town composed of residents who were all too drunk to stand

“GO FIX YOUR FUCKIN’ MESS”

Morthal & Lah head back into town

It’s pretty late at night - early morning, at this point

Head outside, look around

Oof.

Well…

Shit.

Basically everyone is dead

Bodies litter the streets

Even in the dark, it’s clear that some are goblin, but others are human.

Only a few people appear to still be up and about, and they look pretty banged up, too

The only person who appears mobile is an old man wandering about

He’s wearing white robes and carries a staff with him

He kneels beside the body of what appears to be a dwarf

There’s a sudden, radiant glow

Ciaran inserts coin to continue

TMW the first thing you see after being resurrected by some old dude is two of the motherfuckers who you are 99% sure caused this mess in the first place

Thank the old man quickly, then get up

Go to aggressively confront the elf and human

They aren’t amused

“Listen, man, we didn’t do shit, leave us alone.”

The old dude walks up, introduces himself as Kraxis

He’s a humble Priest of Pelor

Lah is instantly suspicious of him

He explains that he happened by Lorthas shortly after the goblin attack, and is in the process of healing the wounded, and resurrecting the fallen

“So, if you’ll excuse me”

Starts to wander off to continue his task

Ciaran immediately starts interrogating Morthal and Lah again

Morthal doesn’t feel like he should have to answer to this random dwarf

Isn’t very forthcoming with information

Eventually lets slip that they MAY have had a SMALL hand in this attack being so… one-sided.

Kraxis appears beside them again

He heard that shit.

He’s not amused.

Kraxis used “Zone of Truth”

It’s super effective!

Forces Morthal and Lah to introduce themselves, and explain what the shit happened

They begin to do so, begrudgingly, and incapable of disobeying

Lah is very upset that she’s been forced to tell Ciaran her name

Morthal explains the events of the past 24 hours

Ciaran is pretty pissed

Their hairbrained Plan to End All Plans (effective though it may have been) meant the painful deaths of a lot of innocent people

Kraxis isn’t thrilled either.

“Tomorrow, we’re all going to the goblin caves nearby and wipe the rest of them out, to prevent this from happening again.”

Before anyone can protest, casts Quest on Lah, Morthal, and Ciaran

They’ll get sick/eventually die if they don’t comply

Ciaran is LOLING SO HARD

Morthal is NOT AMUSED

Everyone splits off for a while to gather supplies/prepare

Lah disappears to go steal from the mayor, will be back by the morning.

Kraxis goes off to continue healing/rezing people

Morthal & Ciaran have an awkward meal at the inn

Next morning rolls around

RISE AND SHINE, LET’S GO KILL GOBLINS

Arrive at a cave a couple hours later

Yep, this is where the goblins are coming from.

Doesn’t look like many are home, though.

Ciaran guides the party through the caves

Darkvision, heck yeah

Go through a few fights. Kill a swarm of spiders in one room via Hulk Smash Stomp

In another room, spend forever trying to figure out how to get across a pit with spikes at the bottom

Lah can probably make the jump

Maybe Morthal, too

But Ciaran? In all this armor? There’s no way in fuck

And what about the old dude?

Eventually the cleric just casts Stoneshape, makes a bridge

#ThatWasEasy

Fight a few goblins in a couple of other rooms

The wizard keeps summoning bolts of energy

Can wizards even do that??

TMW he rogue has a fucking energy sword attached to her arm

TMW SHE CAN THROW IT, WHAT THE HELL

Eventually reach the last room

Wtf there’s something BIG sleeping in here

It’s covered in a bunch of furs/skins, so it’s hard to tell what it actually is

Que hushed deliberation down the hall

Agree to have Morthal send an Astral Construct to poke the Thing

Kraxis offers to flank the Thing

Ciaran isn’t convinced that’s a good idea

Kraxis insists that it’ll be fine

… Okay

3 2 1 BREAK

Astral Construct pokes it, as planned

It rises up from its slumber, the furs fall off

OhShitIt’sATroll.png

Everyone gets stuck in

Ciaran realizes that the squishy priest is directly in danger

Shouts at Kraxis to switch places with him

As they switch, Kraxis touches him, casts Delay Death

Ciaran tanks the troll, despite being knocked down to -51hp and being literally torn to shreds in the process

“I FEEL GREAT”

It takes forever, because the fucker keeps regenerating

But eventually, the troll goes down

Loot time!

Spend the rest of the day going to other caves and mopping up other goblins

Never come across another troll, thankfully

Head back into town

Alright so this dwarf has proven himself pretty goddamn competent, despite initial impressions

(I mean his dump stat WAS Charisma, but you don’t need that when you’re built to KICK PEOPLE’S TEETH IN)

#StevenAndTheStevens

“NO TIME TO EXPLAIN”

“WANNA JOIN OUR BAND PARTY?”

“........ Yes.”

Morthal and Lah bring Ciaran back to that bathroom with the mirror

“MORADIN’S BEARD, I FOOKIN’ KNEW IT WAS THA MIRROR”

Everyone goes through

FeelsGoodMan.jpg

Kraxis follows

Lah suddenly begins FREAKING THE FUCK OUT

Dreaded realization dawns on Morthal, too

I mean, motherfucker cast Quest earlier

That’s like a 6th level spell

Which means that Kraxis is, at minimum, an 11th level character

(Spoilers: He’s actually closer to 30th)

(WE GO HARD OR GO HOME IN 3.5)

Ciaran doesn’t understand what the big deal is

Doppelgangers appear

Oh shit what the fuck???

Doppelgangers: “I have an army.”

Saren: “We have a Blue Goblin.”

Azure pads up, shoots a laser from his brain

Immediately disintegrates one of the doppelgangers

Lah, Morthal, and Ciaran take out the rest

Ciaran catches on to what’s going on pretty quickly

Lah is still freaking out, though

… Oh. Ciaran gets it now.

Fuck

Kraxis’ doppelganger emerges from the mirror

Takes a step forward

Eyes bulge out

Agonizing scream of pain

Shatters instantaneously

Stare at Kraxis, dumbstruck

He just shrugs.

“Hmm. I guess there can only be one of me.”

Lah is relieved to not have to fight an epic-level evil priest, stops panicking

SHE’S EVEN MORE DISTRUSTING OF THIS GUY THAN BEFORE

Morthal isn’t too sure about him, either, because holy fucking shit

Kraxis takes several valuable gems from Morthal, turns them into a crystalline horse

“If you ever need me, break that, and utter the word, ‘Salvation’.”

Bids the party farewell, walks back through the mirror - his curiosity satisfied

TMW the crazy priest just used your spell components to make a little horse figurine and then fucking left

Saren greets Ciaran

I’m going to paraphrase the conversation that followed:

“Hey kid wanna do some drugs?”

“K”

The weird mirror folk guy injects Ciaran with some kind of dope

TMW your dwarven genes prevail and you don’t vomit all over the place

“Congrats, you are now a Psychic Warrior”

Ooh, that’s why the wizard and rogue are so weird! They’re also part psionic!

Ciaran learns that he can manifest a protective shield around his body, and also emit a seismic shockwave with a stomp of his foot

Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta

End Session 3

<< Last | Next >> [First]

#reflections #d&d #dungeons and dragons

[beyondforks]

Playing Catch Up! Glass Sword by Victoria Aveyard

Playing Catch Up has really been helping me through my ever growing TBR list. I'd like to welcome all other blogs to participate too! If you do, be sure to post your links in the comments section. I'd love to see your Playing Catch Up Reviews, and I'm sure others would too!! *wink*

Want to know more about Playing Catch Up? I'll tell you all about it here!

Glass Sword (Red Queen #2) by Victoria Aveyard  Genre: Young Adult (Dystopian/Science Fiction/Romance) Date Published: February 9, 2016 Publisher: HarperTeen

If there’s one thing Mare Barrow knows, it’s that she’s different.

Mare Barrow’s blood is red—the color of common folk—but her Silver ability, the power to control lightning, has turned her into a weapon that the royal court tries to control. 

The crown calls her an impossibility, a fake, but as she makes her escape from Maven, the prince—the friend—who betrayed her, Mare uncovers something startling: she is not the only one of her kind.

Pursued by Maven, now a vindictive king, Mare sets out to find and recruit other Red-and-Silver fighters to join in the struggle against her oppressors. 

But Mare finds herself on a deadly path, at risk of becoming exactly the kind of monster she is trying to defeat. 

Will she shatter under the weight of the lives that are the cost of rebellion? Or have treachery and betrayal hardened her forever?

The electrifying next installment in the Red Queen series escalates the struggle between the growing rebel army and the blood-segregated world they’ve always known—and pits Mare against the darkness that has grown in her soul. 

Glass Sword is the second book in the Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard. It still feels like a combination of stories that I've already read. I'm waiting for it to really come into its own. I hope it does. Mare has changed a bit. I can't say it's entirely for the better, as she seems to go a little crazy at times. She also has some selfish streaks. I'm not entirely sure I like her. Cal is different too. He doesn't have a strong, take charge presence like he did in the first book. He's mostly a follower right now, and I get it. His world has been completely turned on end. I'm keeping fingers crossed that he snaps out of it in the next book. I felt next to no chemistry between Mare and Cal through most of this book. Maybe it's because they're in the middle of a rebellion, but she showed emotion in regards to Maven. Maybe she's still trying not to let him get close because so may have betrayed her at some point or another. So, I'm not sure what's going to happen in the romance department. The "don't trust anyone" theme keeps popping up, and it's true, Mare can't trust anyone, but it makes me wonder if Cal is going to do something to betray her too.

Chapter One I flinch. The rag she gives me is clean, but it still smells like blood. I shouldn’t care. I already have blood all over my clothes. The red is mine, of course. The silver belongs to many others. Evangeline, Ptolemus, the nymph lord, all those who tried to kill me in the arena. I suppose some of it is Cal’s as well. He bled freely on the sand, cut and bruised by our would-be executioners. Now he sits across from me, staring at his feet, letting his wounds begin the slow process of healing naturally. I glance at one of the many cuts on my arms, probably from Evangeline. Still fresh, and deep enough to leave a scar. Part of me delights in the thought. This jagged gash will not be magically wiped away by a healer’s cold hands. Cal and I are not in the Silver world anymore, with someone to simply erase our well-earned scars. We have escaped. Or at least, I have. Cal’s chains are a firm reminder of his captivity. Farley nudges my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Hide your face, lightning girl. It’s what they’re after.” For once, I do as I’m told. The others follow, pulling red fabric up over their mouths and noses. Cal is the last uncovered face, but not for long. He doesn’t fight Farley when she ties his mask into place, making him look like one of us. If only he was. An electric hum sets my blood on fire, reminding me of the pulsing, screeching Undertrain. It carries us inexorably forward, to a city that was once a haven. The train races, screaming over ancient tracks like a Silver swift running over open ground. I listen to the grating metal, feel it deep in my bones where a cold ache settles in. My rage, my strength back in the arena seem like faraway memories, leaving behind only pain and fear. I can scarcely imagine what Cal must be thinking. He’s lost everything, everything he ever held dear. A father, a brother, a kingdom. How he’s holding himself together, still but for the rocking of the train, I do not know. No one needs to tell me the reason for our haste. Farley and her Guardsmen, tense as coiled wire, are enough explanation for me. We are still running. Maven came this way before, and Maven will come again. This time with the fury of his soldiers, his mother, and his new crown. Yesterday he was a prince; today he is king. I thought he was my friend, my betrothed, now I know better. Once I trusted him. Now I know to hate him, to fear him. He helped kill his father for a crown, and framed his brother for the crime. He knows the radiation surrounding the ruined city is a lie—a trick—and he knows where the train leads. The sanctuary Farley built is no longer safe, not for us. Not for you. We could already be speeding into a trap. An arm tightens around me, sensing my unease. Shade. I still can’t believe my brother is here, alive and, strangest of all, like me. Red and Silver—and stronger than both. “I won’t let them take you again,” he murmurs, so low I can barely hear him. I suppose loyalty to anyone but the Scarlet Guard, even family, is not allowed. “I promise you that.” His presence is soothing, pulling me backward in time. Past his conscription, to a rainy spring when we could still pretend to be children. Nothing existed but the mud, the village, and our foolish habit of ignoring the future. Now the future is all I think of, wondering what dark path my actions have set us upon. “What are we going to do now?” I direct the question at Farley, but my eyes find Kilorn. He stands at her shoulder, a dutiful guardian with a clenched jaw and bloody bandages. To think he was a fisherman’s apprentice not so long ago. Like Shade, he seems out of place, a ghost of a time before all this. “There’s always somewhere to run,” Farley replies, more focused on Cal than anything else. She expects him to fight, to resist, but he does neither. “You keep your hands on her,” Farley says, turning back to Shade after a long moment. My brother nods, and his palm feels heavy on my shoulder. “She cannot be lost.” I am not a general or a tactician, but her reasoning is clear. I am the little lightning girl—living electricity, a lightning bolt in human form. People know my name, my face, and my abilities. I am valuable, I am powerful, and Maven will do anything to stop me from striking back. How my brother can protect me from the twisted new king, even though he is like me, even though he’s the fastest thing I’ve ever seen, I do not know. But I must believe, even if it seems a miracle. After all, I have seen so many impossible things. Another escape will be the least of them. The click and slide of gun barrels echo down the train as the Guard makes ready. Kilorn shifts to stand over me, swaying slightly, his grip tight on the rifle slung across his chest. He glances down, his expression soft. He tries to smirk, to make me laugh, but his bright green eyes are grave and afraid. In contrast, Cal sits quietly, almost peaceful. Though he has the most to fear—chained, surrounded by enemies, hunted by his own brother—he looks serene. I’m not surprised. He’s a soldier born and bred. War is something he understands, and we are certainly at war now. “I hope you don’t plan to fight,” he says, speaking for the first time in many long minutes. His eyes are on me, but his words bite at Farley. “I hope you plan to run.” “Save your breath, Silver.” She squares her shoulders. “I know what we have to do.” I can’t stop the words from bursting out. “So does he.” The glare she turns on me burns, but I’ve dealt with worse. I don’t even flinch. “Cal knows how they fight, he knows what they’ll do to stop us. Use him.” How does it feel to be used? He spit those words at me in the prison beneath the Bowl of Bones and it made me want to die. Now it barely stings. She doesn’t say anything, and that is enough for Cal. “They’ll have Snapdragons,” he says grimly. Kilorn laughs aloud. “Flowers?” “Airjets,” Cal says, his eyes sparking with distaste. “Orange wings, silver bodies, single pilot, easy to maneuver, perfect for an urban assault. They carry four missiles each. Times one squadron, that’s forty-eight missiles you’re going to have to outrun, plus light ammunition. Can you handle that?” He’s met only with silence. No, we can’t. “And the Dragons are the least of our worries. They’ll just circle, defend a perimeter, keep us in place until ground troops arrive.” He lowers his eyes, thinking quickly. He’s wondering what he would do, if he were on the other side of this. If he were king instead of Maven. “They’ll surround us and present terms. Mare and I for your escape.” Another sacrifice. Slowly, I suck in a breath. This morning, yesterday, before all this madness, I would have been glad to give myself over to save just Kilorn and my brother. But now . . . now I know I am special. Now I have others to protect. Now I cannot be lost. “We can’t agree to that,” I say. A bitter truth. Kilorn’s gaze weighs heavy, but I don’t look up. I can’t stomach his judgment. Cal is not so harsh. He nods, agreeing with me. “The king doesn’t expect us to give in,” he replies. “The jets will bring the ruins down on us, and the rest will mop up the survivors. It will be little more than a massacre.” Farley is a creature of pride, even now when she’s terribly cornered. “What do you suggest?” she asks, bending over him. Her words drip disdain. “Total surrender?” Something like disgust crosses Cal’s face. “Maven will still kill you. In a cell or on the battlefield, he won’t let any of us live.” “Then better we die fighting.” Kilorn’s voice sounds stronger than it should, but there’s a tremble in his fingers. He looks like the rest of the rebels, willing to do anything for the cause, but my friend is still afraid. Still a boy, no more than eighteen, with too much to live for, and too little reason to die. Cal scoffs at Kilorn’s forced but brazen declaration, yet he doesn’t saying anything else. He knows a more graphic description of our impending death won’t help anyone. Farley doesn’t share his sentiment and waves a hand, dismissing both of them outright. Behind me, my brother mirrors her determination. They know something we don’t, something they won’t say yet. Maven has taught us all the price of trust misplaced. “We are not the ones who die today,” is all she says, before marching toward the front of the train. Her boots sound like hammer falls on the metal flooring, each one smacking of stubborn resolve. I sense the train slow before I feel it. The electricity wanes, weakening, as we glide into the underground station. What we might find in the skies above, white fog or orange-winged airjets, I do not know. The others don’t seem to mind, exiting the Undertrain with great purpose. In their silence, the armed and masked Guard looks like true soldiers, but I know better. They’re no match for what is coming. “Prepare yourself.” Cal’s voice hisses in my ear, making me shiver. It reminds me of days long past, of dancing in moonlight. “Remember how strong you are.” Kilorn shoulders his way to my side, separating us before I can tell Cal my strength and my ability are all I’m sure of now. The electricity in my veins might be the only thing I trust in this world. I want to believe in the Scarlet Guard, and certainly in Shade and Kilorn, but I won’t let myself, not after the mess my trust, my blindness toward Maven got us into. And Cal is out of the question altogether. He is a prisoner, a Silver, the enemy who would betray us if he could—if he had anywhere else to run. But still, somehow, I feel a pull to him. I remember the burdened boy who gave me a silver coin when I was nothing. With that one gesture he changed my future, and destroyed his own. And we share an alliance—an uneasy one forged in blood and betrayal. We are connected, we are united—against Maven, against all who deceived us, against the world about to tear itself apart. Silence waits for us. Gray, damp mist hangs over the ruins of Naercey, bringing the sky down so close I might touch it. It’s cold, with the chill of autumn, the season of change and death. Nothing haunts the sky yet, no jets to rain destruction down upon an already destroyed city. Farley sets a brisk pace, leading up from the tracks to the wide, abandoned avenue. The wreckage yawns like a canyon, more gray and broken than I remember. We march east down the street, toward the shrouded waterfront. The high, half-collapsed structures lean over us, their windows like eyes watching us pass. Silvers could be waiting in the broken hollows and shadowed arches, ready to kill the Scarlet Guard. Maven could make me watch as he struck rebels down one by one. He would not give me the luxury of a clean, quick death. Or worse, I think. He would not let me die at all. The thought chills my blood like a Silver shiver’s touch. As much as Maven lied to me, I still know a small piece of his heart. I remember him grabbing me through the bars of a cell, holding on with shaking fingers. And I remember the name he carries, the name that reminds me a heart still beats inside him. His name was Thomas and I watched him die. He could not save that boy. But he can save me, in his own twisted way. No. I will never give him the satisfaction of such a thing. I would rather die. But try as I might, I can’t forget the shadow I thought him to be, the lost and forgotten prince. I wish that person were real. I wish he existed somewhere other than my memories. The Naercey ruins echo strangely, more quiet than they should be. With a start, I realize why. The refugees are gone. The woman sweeping mountains of ash, the children hiding in drains, the shadows of my Red brothers and sisters—they have all fled. There’s no one left but us. “Think what you want of Farley, but know she isn’t stupid,” Shade says, answering my question before I get a chance to ask. “She gave the order to evacuate last night, after she escaped Archeon. She thought you or Maven would talk under torture.” She was wrong. There was no need to torture Maven. He gave his information and his mind freely. He opened his head to his mother, letting her paw through everything she saw there. The Undertrain, the secret city, the list. It is all hers now, just like he always was. The line of Scarlet Guard soldiers stretches out behind us, a disorganized rabble of armed men and women. Kilorn marches directly behind me, his eyes darting, while Farley leads. Two burly soldiers keep Cal on her heels, gripping his arms tensely. With their red scarves, they look like the stuff of nightmares. But there are so few of us now, maybe thirty, all walking wounded. So few survived. “There’s not enough of us to keep this rebellion going, even if we escape again,” I whisper to my brother. The low-hanging mist muffles my voice, but he still hears me. The corner of his mouth twitches, wanting to smile. “That’s not your concern.” Before I can press him, the soldier in front of us halts. He is not the only one. At the head of the line, Farley holds up a fist, glaring at the slate-gray sky. The rest mirror her, searching for what we cannot see. Only Cal keeps his eyes on the ground. He already knows what our doom looks like. A distant, inhuman scream reaches down through the mist. This sound is mechanical and constant, circling overhead. And it is not alone. Twelve arrow-shaped shadows race through the sky, their orange wings cutting in and out of the clouds. I’ve never seen an airjet properly, not so close or without the cover of night, so I can’t stop my jaw from dropping when they come into view. Farley barks orders at the Guard, but I don’t hear her. I’m too busy staring at the sky, watching winged death arc overhead. Like Cal’s cycle, the flying machines are beautiful, impossibly curved steel and glass. I suppose a magnetron had something to do with their construction—how else can metal fly? Blue-tinged engines spark beneath their wings, the telltale sign of electricity. I can barely feel the twinge of them, like a breath against skin, but they’re too far away for me to affect. I can only watch—in horror. They screech and twist around the island of Naercey, never breaking their circle. I can almost pretend they’re harmless, nothing but curious birds come to see the obliterated remnants of a rebellion. Then a dart of gray metal sails overhead, trailing smoke, moving almost too fast to see. It collides with a building down the avenue, disappearing through a broken window. A bloom of red-orange explodes a split second later, destroying the entire floor of an already crumbling building. It shatters in on itself, collapsing onto thousand-year-old supports that snap like toothpicks. The entire structure tips, falling so slowly the sight can’t be real. When it hits the street, blockading the way ahead of us, I feel the rumble deep in my chest. A cloud of smoke and dust hits us head-on, but I don’t cower. It takes more than that to scare me now. Through the gray-and-brown haze, Cal stands with me, even while his captors crouch. Our eyes meet for a moment, and his shoulders droop. It’s the only sign of defeat he’ll let me see. Farley grabs the nearest Guardsman, hoisting her to her feet. “Scatter!” she shouts, gesturing to the alleys on either side of us. “To the north side, to the tunnels!” She points to her lieutenants as she speaks, telling them where to go. “Shade, to the park side!” My brother nods, knowing what she means. Another missile careens into a nearby building, drowning her out. But it’s easy to tell what she’s shouting. Run. Part of me wants to hold my ground, to stand, to fight. My purple-and-white lightning will certainly make me a target and draw the jets away from the fleeing Guard. I might even take a plane or two with me. But that cannot be. I’m worth more than the rest, more than red masks and bandages. Shade and I must survive—if not for the cause, then for the others. For the list of hundreds like us—hybrids, anomalies, freaks, Red-and-Silver impossibilities—who will surely die if we fail. Shade knows this as well as I do. He loops his arm into mine, his grip so tight as to be bruising. It’s almost too easy to run in step with him, to let him guide me off the wide avenue and into a gray-green tangle of overgrown trees spilling into the street. The deeper we go, the thicker they become, gnarled together like deformed fingers. A thousand years of neglect turned this little plot into a dead jungle. It shelters us from the sky, until we can only hear the jets circling closer and closer. Kilorn is never far behind. For a moment, I can pretend we’re back at home, wandering the Stilts, looking for fun and trouble. Trouble is all we seem to find. When Shade finally skids to a stop, his heels scarring the dirt beneath us, I chance a glance around. Kilorn halts next to us, his rifle aimed uselessly skyward, but no one else follows. I can’t even see the street anymore, or the red rags fleeing into the ruins. My brother glares up through the boughs of the trees, watching and waiting for the jets to fly out of range. “Where are we going?” I ask him, breathless. Kilorn answers instead. “The river,” he says. “And then the ocean. Can you take us?” He glances at Shade’s hands, as if he could see his ability plain in his flesh. But Shade’s strength is buried like mine, invisible until he chooses to reveal it. My brother shakes his head. “Not in one jump, it’s too far. And I’d rather run, save my strength.” His eyes darken. “Until we really need it.” I nod, agreeing. I know firsthand what it is to be ability-worn, tired in your bones, barely able to move, let alone fight. “Where are they taking Cal?” My question makes Kilorn wince. “Hell if I care.” “You should,” I fire back, even as my voice shakes with hesitation. No, he shouldn’t. Neither should you. If the prince is gone, you must let him go. “He can help us get out of this. He can fight with us.” “He’ll escape or kill us the second we give him the chance,” he snaps, tearing away his scarf to show the angry scowl beneath. In my head, I see Cal’s fire. It burns everything in its path, from metal to flesh. “He could’ve killed you already,” I say. It’s not an exaggeration, and Kilorn knows it. “Somehow I thought you two would outgrow your bickering,” Shade says, stepping between us. “How silly of me.” Kilorn forces out an apology through gritted teeth, but I do no such thing. My focus is on the jets, letting their electric hearts beat against mine. They weaken with each second, getting farther and farther away. “They’re flying away from us. If we’re going to go, we need to do it now.” Both my brother and Kilorn look at me strangely, but neither argue. “This way,” Shade says, pointing through the trees. A small, almost invisible path winds through them, where the dirt has been swept away to reveal stone and asphalt beneath. Again, Shade links his arm through mine, and Kilorn charges ahead, setting a swift pace for us to follow. Branches scrape against us, bending over the narrowing path, until it’s impossible for us to run side by side. But instead of letting me go, Shade squeezes even tighter. And then I realize he’s not squeezing me at all. It’s the air, the world. Everything and anything tightens in a blistering, black second. And then, in a blink, we’re on the other side of the trees, looking back to see Kilorn emerge from the gray grove. “But he was ahead,” I murmur aloud, looking back and forth between Shade and the pathway. We cross into the middle of the street, with the sky and smoke drifting overhead. “You—” Shade grins. The action seems out of place against the distant scream of jets. “Let’s say I . . . jumped. As long as you’re holding on to me, you’ll be able to come along,” he says, before hurrying us into the next alley. My heart races with the knowledge that I just teleported, to the point where it’s almost possible to forget our predicament. The jets are quick to remind me. Another missile explodes to the north, bringing down a building with the rumble of an earthquake. Dust races down the alley in a wave, painting us in another layer of gray. Smoke and fire are so familiar to me now that I barely smell it, even when ash begins to fall like snow. We leave our footprints in it. Perhaps they will be the last marks we make. Shade knows where to go and how to run. Kilorn has no trouble keeping up, even with the rifle weighing him down. By now, we’ve circled back to the avenue. To the east, a swirl of daylight breaks through the dirt and dust, bringing with it a salty gasp of sea air. To the west, the first collapsed building lies like a fallen giant, blocking any retreat to the train. Broken glass, the iron skeletons of buildings, and strange slabs of faded white screens rise around us, a palace of ruins. What was this? I dimly wonder. Julian would know. Just thinking his name hurts, and I push the sensation away. A few other red rags dart through the ashen air, and I look for a familiar silhouette. But Cal is nowhere to be seen, and it makes me so terribly afraid. “I’m not leaving without him.” Shade doesn’t bother to ask who I’m talking about. He already knows. “The prince is coming with us. I give you my word.” My response cuts my insides. “I don’t trust your word.” Shade is a soldier. His life has been anything but easy, and he is no stranger to pain. Still, my declaration wounds him deeply. I see it in his face. I’ll apologize later, I tell myself. If later ever comes. Another missile sails overhead, striking a few streets away. The distant thunder of an explosion doesn’t mask the harsher and more terrifying noise rising all around. The rhythm of a thousand marching feet.

Victoria Aveyard is an author and screenwriter, born and raised in a small town in Western Massachusetts. Both her parents are public school teachers, as well as avid film, television, and literature fans. Victoria grew up on a steady diet The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, and LOST. She pursued a degree in Writing for Film & Television at the University of Southern California's School of Cinematic Arts. After graduating college in 2012, Victoria moved home from Los Angeles  and began writing the manuscript that would become Red Queen. She has since published three #1 New York Times bestselling and USA Today bestselling books, two New York Times bestselling novellas, and continues pursuing her writing career while living full-time in Los Angeles, California. The Red Queen series is currently being translated into 37 languages and counting. To learn more about Victoria Aveyard and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and Twitter.

#glass sword #victoria aveyard #red queen #young adult #science fiction #dystopian #book review #Teaser #excerpt #playing catch up

[thesilverthreadsmith]

Mako-Tinged Dreams, Ch. 1

Green...green as far as I can see...the eerie, radioactive shade of mako that we hated so damn much…

Cloud’s eyes opened...well, one eye opened. The other was still swollen shut, though a light touch proved that by the end of the day, it would most likely be open again. He sighed and dragged himself up off the ground and out of his sleeping bag, groaning at the pain and stiffness radiating through his back and hips from the last few days of fights...and smiled weakly as Tifa’s gloved hand appeared in his vision, palm open and ready to help him up.

“...I owe you one.” He sighed, taking it and standing up, shaking himself all over to loosen up, and she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. She looked pretty rough herself, her legs heavily bandaged under the rough shorts she’d made from the remains of her pants, and he wished she hadn’t taken the brunt of the fires; her legs would be weeks in healing. Cloud grabbed up his pack as he followed her out, rummaging a bit.

“No, you owe me a lot more than that. C’mon, Vincent and Yuffie just got back with supplies; we’ve got bacon, eggs, and fresh coffee.” He let out a moan of thanks, and followed her out of the shelter they’d made out of an old Shin-Ra building to a very welcome sight; a proper breakfast, and Cid’s Rocket Fuel Coffee. Vincent passed him an empty mug and the steaming pot from the fire while Yuffie fiddled with their communications equipment, and Cloud took both with a grin, tucking his pack between his legs, and settled by the fire.

Cid was working on their dual pair of jeeps as he poured a mug full and took a plate, wolfing things down one-handed, borrowed from the Turks (and Rufus), doing the filter and oil changes while Barret worked on the mounted machine guns on top. Nanaki and Cait were both patrolling the perimeter of their camp, and Tifa sat down on Vincent’s other side, reapplying fresh bandages to the burns on her legs. Cloud gave her a sympathetic wince, and having found it finally, offered his Cure materia; she took it with a tired smile.

“Thanks…”

“Like you said, I owe you. How’s everyone feeling?”

“Tired, but we’re managing. The Turks are on their way up to join us for the last push, after that, we’re declaring Midgar a disaster zone.” Vincent sounded more than tired; he was gray from all of his transformations, and his red cloak had been abandoned a few weeks back for some of the heavy duty SOLDIER gear they’d found in one of the old barracks. Everyone, in fact, was pretty much in the same boat; their normal gear just wasn’t strong enough to take the constant monster attacks…

Constant, and draining.

The WRO’s Special Reclamation Team was the combined forces of the Turks, and AVALANCHE, and they’d spent the last two months in the center of Midgar’s ruins, battling the nonstop hordes of genetic horrors that were Hojo’s twisted legacy. Jenova remnants, mutations, failed experiments that were the next thing to immortal...It was heartbreaking, some of the poor souls they’d had to free. And infuriating; all of this, all because of one man’s ego… Damn you, Hojo.

“About damn time; just Reno and Rude?”

“No, Tseng, Elena, Cissnei too, and a few of the Old Guard are coming to help. They’ll be airborne while we’re on the ground; we’ll have full air support the whole way in.” Cloud let out a sigh of relief at that. The final zone they’d left for clearing was the hole Omega had torn out of the center of Midgar three years prior, and Vincent had been the main scout...well, technically Chaos had been, and between the eldritch creature and the dour gunman, they had a rough idea of how bad it was.

Actually clearing it out was impossible; the concentration of spilled mako, genetic monstrosities, destruction...all of it was just too much to heal quickly. Or even, really, at all; Cloud was not confident in their ability to do much, if anything, to help the enormous wound in the earth. As it was, technically, only Vincent and Cloud could really go safely into the pit, and that was...not entirely proven yet. Today would be that day... He drained his coffee and ate a second helping, though, grateful for the rest and the food.

“Hey, Spiky, ya up fer helpin’ me out?” He glanced up at Cid, who was covered in grease, the cast on his arm included, and couldn’t help but smile a little bit sadly. Cid had a broken arm, nose, head, and probably hand too, yet he was in the thick of it just as much as everyone else, and Cloud couldn’t say no. He got himself up and hobbled over, the mako in his body healing him faster and faster, but not quite fast enough...he dug around his pack a bit more, and found another Cure materia, and with a quick murmur, cast the spell over the both of them.

“Sure, whatcha need?” Cid looked a little more relaxed as the spell washed over him, and he sighed wearily, rubbing the side of his nose where the bandages met skin.

“Jus’ some help keepin’ the jeep up fer me to get the pan out from underneath…Thank ya, by the way...I kinda needed that.”

“It’s no trouble, Cid...Why don’t you let me get it, and go sit down? You look just about as bushed as everyone else, and you’ve got the worst injuries.” To his honest surprise, Cid grimaced and nodded, if a bit reluctantly.

“Ya kinda gotta point...thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Cid...go lay down and get some sleep, okay? You were up all night.” The older man gave him a surprisingly gentle shoulder clap, limping away from the two vehicles, and Cloud was grateful to see Tifa and Vincent both helping him into the building. He hoped that all three of them would lay down to sleep; Tifa had taken the night shift too, and Vincent had done the night patrol before meeting Yuffie with the supplies, and he knew they had to be just as drained as Cid. He smiled as Tifa cuddled up between the two of them, Vincent’s arm draped over her shoulders. It was so sweet, and he was happy for them; they deserved happiness.

He shared a look with both Yuffie and Barret; they nodded, and Barret gave him a cheeky salute, after which Cloud flipped him off and finished up both jeeps. An hour later, he grabbed his gear and got ready to head out for scouting. Fenrir was, sadly, back in Costa, so he simply strapped on his swords and checked his pack and comm gear. A quick test with Yuffie and her grinning thumbs-up, and Cloud was set to go. He walked out of camp before leaping to the first craggy remnant of a plate, and followed the path Vincent had left a few days before.

It was...quiet, out here. The sound of the wind, a steady trickle of liquid that he hoped was water down through the shattered ruins...occasionally, a soft shh-shhing of new grasses growing in little cracks and crevices. He passed by the sagging, fallen church that had been Aerith’s beloved secret, and he touched the gray wood of the doorway in fond, sad memory. It was no longer safe to go inside; too much damage, and too many years. It was so badly broken, almost near collapsing, though he could see the glimmer of her pool inside, the softest white glow a familiar sight.

“Miss you, Aerith…”

Cloud... Her voice was a balm, a murmur from the shadows, and he gave the remnant of her spirit a soft smile. Here, perhaps better than any place on Gaia, was the closest path to the unsullied part of the Lifestream. The others…?

“They’re doing okay. We...probably won’t be able to come back. Things are...bad here, I’m sorry…”

Hush...better that way....stay safe.

“We will. I promise you, we will.” He smiled as the pool shifted, growing, and a silvery figure came towards him, pausing just before the half-light outside the doorway. She was as ghostly as the Lifestream itself now, but she was smiling, just like always. “Would you like me to tell the others, give them a chance to say their goodbyes?” She paused, thinking, and nodded, hands clasped before her, and Cloud smiled.

Thank you...there is...old danger...ahead...but also...a friend... He blinked, but didn’t ask her to elaborate; she was having a hard time holding herself as it was, and he knew he couldn’t ask much of her. He’d seen her a dozen or more times around Gaia, but they’d never felt her, or seen her, as strongly as here, in the heart of her power and her love. Elmyra had never forgiven him for taking her after Sephiroth...To this day, he still blamed himself, despite everything.

“Okay. I’ll keep my eyes open, and let the rest know.” He earned a winning smile at that, and she vanished into mist, leaving him all alone in the shadows under the plate. Vincent’s path followed the safest, darkest route, and for once, Cloud wasn’t interested in testing the limits. The fallen plates were in various states of decay, the mako in the air and water and earth degrading the metals a great deal faster than most people realized. The temperature too, would change from one moment to the next, between freezing and sweltering, much to the team’s annoyance. They could see it, so close and personal now, and while Cid and Reeve found it fascinating…

He found it horrific. Cloud eyed the spidery patterns of rust and decay across one of the panels that Galian Beast had propped up days earlier, and pulled up his facemask when a too-cold gust of wind blasted him with a face full of fine, powdery rust. That triggered a nasty coughing fit, and he did his best to muffle the sounds, drinking a little too liberally of the cinnamon whiskey Cid had left him, and when it passed, continued on to the point where Vincent had stopped, surveying the area beyond the plate.

Most of the last scouting mission that had ended in Cloud’s battered body and cracked leg, Cid’s broken bones, Tifa’s burns, and Vincent’s latest transformation had been a nasty skirmish, and they’d retreated to call for aid from the Turks. The decision to hide hadn’t really sat that well with all of them; they were all fighters, used to running to the front lines. But...a lot had happened in a short time, and none of them were fully healed, even now; retreat just made sense. He tugged out the radio, and Yuffie picked up right away when he called.

“Hey Cloud, what’s up?” He surveyed the already decomposing bodies of the remnants they’d fought days before, and once again, cursed Hojo to the deepest depths of hell, because this was atrocity piled upon atrocity.

“I’m at the stopping point from a few days ago; it’s not gonna be safe for us to explore much more, and no one who’s unenhanced should. It’s...pretty bad.”

“Damn. Alright, I’ll let the others know. Anything else?”

“I’m about to send some photos to Tseng, then I’ll probably be on radio only for a bit. Want me to send them to you, too?”

“Nah, just let Tseng know. I’m holding the fort here, Barret’s running out to meet with Reeve, and Vin, Cid, and Tifa are all three out cold. Nanaki’s napping too, so it’s just me and Cait. We’ve got this, so you focus on exploring carefully, alright?”

“I will. Thanks, Yuff; I’ll be back before dark, I do not want to be out here at night. It’s...pretty damned creepy.”

“Preachin’ to the choir, Cloud, I won’t go any farther than this, shit glows during the day. Be safe, take it slow. Radio if you need help, I’ve got a direct line to the Turks, so they can swoop in and get you out of there ASAP.”

“Thanks, Yuffie, I will.” Cloud tucked the radio into his belt, and sighed through his mask, getting his goggles and oxygen mask ready and then Cloud pulled out his phone to snap a quick few photos to send to Tseng; it wasn’t ideal, but it gave Reno a starting point for piloting the chopper into the area. The message back was short and simple, just “Be safe, will land at campsite first, then find you. Keep the beacon on.” Cloud checked his tracking beacon, and relaxed at the stable, solid green light on his belt. He texted his thanks back, then tucked his phone back into his pack and loosed his smaller sword, leaving about an inch of blade free so that he could draw it fast if needed...and into the Pit he went.

The Pit was the twisted, broken remains of the central tower, the gaping wound deep into the planet where Omega had fallen, revealing the remains of Deepground, the many, many failed experiments...The whole area was almost a wasteland, it was so huge; the remains of at least two or three mako reactors, falling in on themselves, three fallen plates and the remnants of another...And halfway in, the gaping hole that opened into Deepground, not unlike the gates of Hell. White-hot mako seethed underneath it all, and he winced at the metallic stench, then started marking the trail carefully as he made his way around the fourth mako reactor.

It was agonizingly slow; most of the walkways were completely destroyed, and the remaining ones were in terrible shape, the mako vapors eating away at them. More railings and steps than he liked completely disintegrated at a touch or a step, and finally, he found a safe way around, making his way carefully into the lower reaches. Here, he actually needed his oxygen mask; the gases were just too much, even for his enhanced constitution, and he pulled out his radio again to let Yuffie know, not trusting his phone’s ability to survive.

“Yuffie, it’s me again.”

“What’s up? ...Are you wearing your mask?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty rough down here. Tell Tseng to stay back; I won’t be in here long, but I need to get to the base of the Pit and give it a look around, then I’ll head back. I can feel the mako burning now, and if I can feel it, it’ll hurt Vincent even. Heading down now, give me one hour, alright?”

“You got it. But only one hour; I don’t hear from you after that, we’re sending in the Turks.”

“Deal. One hour, see you then.” He sealed the radio back into his pack, pulled on his goggles and made sure his mask was in place, and started to ease his way down the side of the reactor. Here, he could use his natural abilities, since no one other than Vincent would follow him, and climbed like a monkey down, jumping and catching himself easily. It was...scary, and thrilling, and Cloud felt his blood heat with anticipation...when he paused, eyes narrowing as he saw something...unusual. Something that hadn’t been in Vincent’s initial Deepground report right after he’d returned from Omega’s demise. An old friend...

Tucked underneath an enormous slab of Plate Three, Cloud could see part of the original Shin-Ra medical facility. Somehow, it had slid from the central tower to the Pit, and while it looked pretty roughed up, it was still standing, and the heavy concrete looked more stable than the metal around him. And Cloud felt drawn to it. Something was there...and he had to know what. He climbed up a little higher, heading back up the way he’d come, and with a quick calculation, jumped from the top of the piece to land harshly on the rocks just below the building.

“Son of a bitch, that hurts…” Super soldier he might be, but those landings still hurt like hell, and he stood back up with a grumble, limping down the gravel to the building itself. He had to tear the remains of the door off to get in, and felt a cold wave of air blast over him. Thank Gaia for the mask; he could feel his eyes watering a little from the stench, and he pushed his way in, setting aside barrels, boxes, and massive ropes of rotting wiring as he explored the inside.

It, like many of Shin-Ra’s buildings, was a great deal deeper than the outside let on, and it was a difficult task to clear a path, but something called to him, something...familiar. A good familiar too, and Cloud found himself wondering if it might be Zack’s remains. He had buried his friend out on that frontier, or so he’d thought; certainly, the sword had remained there for several years as a grave marker, but Cloud was hardly surprised when he’d discovered an empty hole five years ago. Annoyed and aggrieved, oh yes, but surprised? No.

He’d known someone would come looking for the remains of a SOLDIER, be they Turks, Rufus Shinra himself, or Hojo...and his money was bet on the last. But that would explain the connection; all the SOLDIER candidates and leaders had a sort of...well, almost a blood connection, Cloud supposed. It explained how Sephiroth had found him, and vice versa, and how Zack had found Angeal and Genesis years before. And if all he did was lay Zack’s body to rest in Gongaga for his parents, then that was enough for Cloud.

He pulled apart another door, flicking on his chest light to survey the room, and sighed when he noticed the still glowing mako tube in the corner. Bastards...of course Hojo would have tried to reanimate him. Too bad...Zack had so many bullets in him it was amazing he still survived long enough to say goodbye. And I know I saw him in the void with Aerith; he’s dead, dead and finally at peace with the world. Still...it was infuriating, and Cloud made another path as he moved closer, feeling his anger manifest in kicks to the barrels, a few punches too. That sociopathic monster had lived long enough; he was glad Vincent had killed him at long last.

Finally, he was in front of the tube, and he felt his stomach churn as he peered through the dull green glow. It was definitely Zack alright; unsurprisingly, the mako had healed his body, and judging by the breathing tubes, Hojo had succeeded in reanimating his body at least. But power had been gone from down in the labs for the better part of a year now, and there was no indication of life signs, so Cloud sighed, brushing his gloved fingers over the dusty glass.

“...For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Zack. I’m so very sorry. But we’re gonna get you home, buddy. Where you belong.” He drew his heavy knife and popped the clasp on the tube, ignoring the hiss and sudden gush of sludgy mako that drenched his boots and pants, and caught the falling body carefully in his arms. It was...a bit more awkward than he liked to admit, and he winced as he smacked Zack’s poor head against the casing twice, but he managed to get the body out over his shoulder, and laid him over a few of the boxes to wrap him in a tarp. Not the most respectable way to be carried to his rest, but Cloud really didn’t have a lot of choices, and at least this way, it would be less shocking…

He started at Zack’s feet, wrapping and binding him carefully in the tarp as he went, all the way up to his head, and Cloud paused to stroke back his long black hair, soft and soaked, those elegant features so still. Cloud turned to check the area again, checking the time on his radio...when he heard it. A rattling noise, followed by a soft wheeze, then slow, steady breathing...and Cloud whipped back around to Zack’s prone body, eyes huge and heart pounding as he studied the tarp, barely hoping...there. Zack was breathing... Zack was breathing! Not only that, Zack was sleeping ; Cloud knew that soft snore anywhere.

He didn’t know if it was a miracle, or if his best friend would wake up a monster, but he didn’t care; he had to get Zack back safely. He carefully checked the tarp, tying it enough that he could carry Zack back with ease, and pulled his spare mask out of the pack, pulling it on and putting the nicer one on Zack. The downside was that he only had thirty minutes to make it back to the safe zone; the spare tank was a small one, and this mask wasn’t as strong as the other, but Cloud didn’t really care; he could take it.

He levered Zack into his arms, and back over his shoulder; still not the best way, but he needed a hand free to climb, and he could move faster like this. Cloud headed back out at a lope, glancing around for an easier slope to climb...and that’s when he noticed the remnants. Genetic mutations spun out of control by the unleashed mako, the remnants were the bane of Midgar and Edge, and the one reason that reclaiming the ruins had been such a nightmare...and now, he felt his heart sink as he realized just how many remained.

Most were the hooded, ragged failures of Sephiroth; sickly silver hair and blind green eyes, their faces a hideous caricature of his unearthly beauty, clawed hands reaching out. He knew from experience now that scent and sound were their strongest senses, and while they were weaker than the three his team had fought before, and infinitely weaker than Sephiroth himself...they were more than strong enough in sheer numbers to take down even someone as strong as himself. That’s why Vincent was still so tired; he’d had to summon Chaos, the eldritch demon being the only thing that could fight them easily.

He swallowed, shifting Zack a little higher, and felt his heart rate ratchet up even more when he noticed them following the sound of the tarp, and carefully, slowly, he loosed his shortsword, taking a careful breath. Twenty minutes. Time’s wasting, Spiky. Oh, this is gonna suck so much... He crouched, just a little, and jolted forward at a dead run, cutting down the four in his path as he leapt up for the last walkway, and he had to stab one of the panels as his feet slid when he landed, panting behind his mask as he climbed for dear life now.

He freed his other hand after clipping Zack onto his armor, and just hauled ass up to the walkway, heart pounding as the monstrous nightmares howled and screamed at his heels, surging up, climbing one another in blind, rage-filled hunger...and Gaia, it was terrifying . He made it to the walkway finally, panting hard, his mask and goggles fogging with his exertion, and he took off at a sprint down to the safe zone, so sure that he could make it. I can make it...I can make it...c’mon, Cloud, just a little more…

“STRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE~!” The hoarse scream came out of nowhere beside him, and a dozen of the bastards flew out from under one of the plate pieces, slamming into him and Zack, and Cloud choked as he brought his sword up to guard, back almost bend double over the walkway’s railing. It groaned in protest, but Cloud was too busy trying to fend them off, protecting Zack while trying to draw his other sword. The remnants just hounded him, too far gone to be frightened by the slashes and his muffled yells, and they got in a dozen or more slashes with those poisonous claws…

And then the railing cracked. Cloud felt his heart freeze, and the biggest of the remnants snarled and launched at him...and then all of them were falling. The whole walkway shuddered and collapsed under the weight of all the remnants. Cloud couldn’t help the fear now, couldn’t fight the terror, and as the remnant tore off his mask, his cry for help was to someone long dead, someone who’d held the world safe…

And Aerith answered .  

The whole of the Pit lit up, so bright it blinded him, and all around him, the Lifestream surged up and surrounded them. He jerked as the light caught them, and it was almost a blow in its own right, leaving him dazed, and Cloud blacked out, throat burning, Zack still in his arms...but Aerith’s gentle hand on his brow.

Rest, Cloud. He’ll need you. He’ll need you…

“...--ENO!! Get them out of here!”

“Tryin’, Boss, but the chopper’s struggling, and Rude can’t land her!” Cloud came to with a sob of pain, every nerve feeling like it was on fire...and he realized with a panicked start that he couldn’t see anything but white light. He tried to flail, shuddering as the pain rippled over him, gunshots sounding over his head, and Reno dropped to a knee next to him, and with a sharp word, cast Curaga over him, voice muffled in the mask he wore. “Stay with me, Spiky, it ain’t time for you to bite the bullet yet. Fair’s alright, he’s still breathing, how , I don’t fuckin’ know, but he is, and after the blow up in the Pit, we’re just amazed you two didn’t get fried.”

“Ah...Aerith…Aerith saved us...” Reno paused, and Cloud found his vision clearing, the panic fading as he tried to focus in on the Turk.

“...Well, that explains how most of those ugly fuckers died so quick. Tseng and Cissnei are holding back the horde, Elena’s making a bomb, and we need to get you two on the chopper so we can all get the fuck out of here.” Cloud nodded, swallowing the blood and bile back down, carefully sitting upright, and Reno helped him up, casting the healing spell again.

“Wait...don’ waste it…”

“Relax, my bat’s got four slots and only one’s Fire. C’mon, up you get, I’ll get Fair taken care of...oh thank fuck, Rude’s a fuckin’ gem. RUDE! COME HELP ME GET THE SPIKY IDIOTS.” Cloud had to laugh a little, blood trickling from his lips, and let Reno drag him to the chopper, Rude following close behind with Zack in his arms. Cloud glanced back, trying to focus in on the slowly retreating Turks...and that’s when the Lifestream flared again out of the Pit, Tseng and Cissnei yelling a retreat...but a figure stood there.

She still looked so goddamn strong, pink dress and that long brown braid fluttering in the hellish hot winds that whipped through the spires towards the chopper, her back to them and facing the monsters boiling up out of the Pit once again, her staff in hand as she brought it up...and that’s when he heard her voice, her real voice, for the first time since that fateful night.

“GREAT GOSPEL!” The heavens opened up above them, pouring down healing rain...and Reno shoved him into the chopper, the rest of the Turks piling in as the redhead wiggled to the front for the controls. They took off with a scream of the helicopter blades, and Cloud tried to reach out for her because she was real and she was whole...she was alive. But Tseng and Rude held him back, despite his pleas, and they fled Midgar as the whole of the place was consumed in a massive, ancient storm.

It seemed insane as they popped out of the clouds, into brilliant, blinding sunshine, and Cloud knew his face was soaked with more than just the rain...but as they headed towards Edge, the two jeeps speeding along below them through the remains of the city, he knew…he knew. Aerith had to have been planning this, to ensure that Zack escaped, that she could finish what she’d started with Holy. And he knew too that she wouldn’t let anyone into the storm until the Pit was healed...and that would take years.

“...Cloud…” Tseng’s voice was oddly gentle, something he’d never seen from the elegant, professional Turk, and Cloud took a little comfort that this had affected them too. He wasn’t surprised by it, actually; Tseng and the Turks had never agreed with the President on allowing Hojo so much leeway. Nor had they agreed to Gast’s and Ifalna’s murders, Aerith’s kidnappings...and given the way they’d thrown themselves into the WRO, even Reno, he was grateful for the change of heart. He took a deep breath, letting it out, then another; he had to do what he could to help Aerith, and right now, Aerith needed him to take care of Zack.

He turned now to the Turks, to Zack, and carefully undid the tarp around the SOLDIER’s head, Zack’s tanned skin pale now from years in mako and death, but his chest rising and falling, still snoring, still living. It was...well, he knew what it could be. He knew that there was a chance that when...if...Zack opened his eyes, they might be green and cat-slit, rather than blue...but he had to take that chance. For Zack, for Aerith...and for himself. He had his memories now, fragmented as they were, and all the guilt…

“...Cloud...he might not be Zack anymore.” Cissnei sounded so sad, and he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I know. I know. But...I think Aerith led me down there. I know she knew about him, she just...didn’t have anyone to get him free. And if Aerith trusts that he’s alive, that he’s okay...then we might just see the one miracle Hojo’s bullshit ever created.”

“Even so...let’s get grounded before we wake him up. I won’t risk it in the air.” Tseng had a very good point, and Cloud sat back, watching Zack as they made their way to the main encampment out on the southern plain, Reno landing so gently it was barely a bump. He motioned for the Turks to go out first and eased himself out, still hurting, still a little blind, then scooped up Zack in his arms. They all moved to protest, and he shook his head gently; he had strength enough for this.  “Where to, Cloud?”

“...Over there.” Cloud motioned with his chin, pointing to the small bluff to the north...the bluff where Zack had died. The first time. Reno and Rude went pale, and Tseng gave him a look he couldn’t quite parse.

“...If you’re sure. We’ll follow, you lead.” He nodded, and they walked into camp, Yuffie wandering up...then gasping, in horror.

“Cloud��Cloud, that’s…”

“Yeah, it is, Yuff. You don’t have to come with us, but...well, we might just have another member to the team.” She glanced up, dark eyes huge, and he gave her a soft smile. “Yeah. Aerith...well, Aerith saved our skins twice today. She’s cast Great Gospel on the whole of Midgar now, and she led me to him. We’re going up to the bluff to revive him...and if he’s himself...well, we’ll explain things. If not…” She grimaced and looked away...He felt a bit heartbroken himself, but waited her out, no matter how much he ached; Yuffie was the one other than Aerith who’d known Zack the best. Finally, she looked back up, tears glimmering in her eyes.

“...Okay. Let me get my shuriken.” She was but a moment, ducking into the tents, and Vincent came out, looking exhausted but armed, but calmed as she spoke to him; Cloud couldn’t hear the words, and he was too blind to lip read, but he knew what she was saying anyway. Vin glanced at them, red eyes taking everything in...then nodded, returning to presumably pass back out around Tifa. Yuffie came back up to him, her blade on her back, and nodded, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, Vincent was a bit annoyed…”

“It’s okay, thank you for doing that. C’mon. Won’t be long…” The walk was quiet, and Cloud let his feet lead him up the familiar, gentle slope of the bluff, once barren and nothingness, now a vast field of grasslands and wildflowers, a seeding project Reeve had started last year that had borne incredible yields. The first Buster sword, Angeal’s blade, stood despite the rust, the weather...and carefully, Cloud propped Zack up against it, taking the mask off and remaining crouched in front of him as the Turks ringed the area, Yuffie nervously almost hiding behind Elena, who in turn was protective of her equally tiny girlfriend.

Cloud carefully tilted Zack’s head up, swallowing, and took a phoenix down out of his pouch, the tiny red feather twirling in his palm as he licked his lips.

“Raise…” The feather became a glowing golden light that settled over his heart, and Zack’s eyes fluttered, his breathing labored...and he came to with a broken scream, blue eyes wide as his whole body spasmed. His eyes darted about as he fought to break free of the tarp, everything flooding his system in berserk mode, and that’s when Cloud cast Esunaga, the shadowy soft light soothing away every bit of panic and fear and fight. Zack settled back against the sword with an audible thump, panting...but those sapphire eyes, still glowing with mako at their depths, were lucid now as he took in everyone around him...then zeroed in on Cloud.

“...hey there, Chocobo-head.”

#threadsmithwrites #fanfiction #Final Fantasy VII #FFVII #the after years as I saw it happening #as canon compliant as possible #zackxcloud #vincentxtifa #cidxairships #yuffiexelena #rufusxreeve #more pairings to come

[therearemonstersinthedark]

She’s my Ride Home

Chapter 2: Strike a Match, Pour Gasoline

An Avengers: Engame Fanwork

Pairings: Tony Stark & Nebula (friendship)

Genre: Adventure, general

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: K+

Links: Fanfiction.net || Ao3

Summary:  Nebula thinks she gets it; how her sister came to love a Terran. Those 22 days spent drifting hopelessly through space on a broken ship may have been the best memories she’d ever had.

Author’s Notes: Titles from ‘She’s my Ride Home’ by Blue October.

Chapter 2: I'll be Reaching for the Stars With You

"Looks like a hurricane came through here." The Terran's voice rasped over the hum of the engine leaking from the opened panel.

Nebula carefully wound the plastic insulation tape over the exposed wire which had been sparking and threatening to blow a circuit to the atmosphere control unit. "Hurricanes occur over water."

Tony let out a burst of laughter that left him wheezing a moment later. "A woman after my own heart," he chuckled out between gasps of pain.

Nebula didn't look up from her work. "If I wanted your heart I would have cut it out while you slept."

His chuckles faded into a breathy laughter that sounded a little wetter than it had before to Nebula's enhanced hearing. "Natasha is going to love you."

She could hear him wandering around the room with uneven steps and inspecting various items that had been strewn about in the crash and then, later, her attempts to find the Terran some way to fight the infection that was clearly trying to take over his body.

"Space is like, a kind of ocean," he offered in a painfully transparent attempt at conversation. "Y'know, this is going to be a much longer trip if we can't even talk to each other."

"It's going to be long either way." She finished sealing off the defiant wire and tucked it away, closing the panel back into place.

"It's still nicer to have someone to talk to."

"Not always." Nebula turned to fix him with a sharp look which seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever.

He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders which he must have stolen from someone's bed, and his forehead looked sweaty again, despite the fact that the ship was holding at low temperature right now.

"That brings me to a thought I had a while ago- how did I understand you all? Did your human friend Flash Gordon back there teach you all English or something?"

"You are hearing our universal translators," she said, rising to her feet and moving around him to sweep the items gathered on the table onto the floor. "I am not speaking English."

The Terran's eyebrows rose as he danced out of the way of the falling items. "That's handy. Don't suppose you have any extra ones I could tinker with while I'm here?"

"No." With the table cleared, Nebula retrieved the box of outdated medical supplies from where she had stowed it in a nearby drawer. She dropped the box onto the table and motioned for Tony to climb up. "Take off your bandage."

"I usually get dinner first," he grunted out as he draped the blanket onto a chair and hauled himself onto the table where she could see better in the ship's dimmed lighting. The action left him panting as he began unwinding the bandages she had applied on Titan.

He was struggling to get his arms behind himself without further aggravating his ribs and after a moment she smacked his hands away with a snort and took over.

"You're a lot grumpier than my usual nurses," he told her as she worked, apparently incapable of handling any length of silence. "Unless you count Pepper, then I guess this is about right."

The edges of his wound were puffy and red, and didn't appear to have made any progress towards healing beyond what she had done with the Suturim on Titan. It had only been a cycle and a half since he had received the wound, this infection was moving quickly.

She pressed her fingers experimentally against the flesh and he gave a yelp, jerking away from her touch.

"Don't poke it!" he snapped.

"The infection is trying to take hold. It's probably originating from somewhere deep inside of you." Whatever he had been run through with was certainly not very sterile. "I am not a surgeon, and we don't have anything here to kill the infection. You'll just have to take care of it and fight it off on your own."

"Great. I got space-rabies from a giant purple grape. I gotta say, this is not how I was expecting to go out, but don't worry, I'm a fighter. I've been told I'm too stubborn to die."

"You babble a lot," she breathed out, peeling open a new pack of antiseptic. "Is that normal for you, or has the fever affected your brain?"

"Uh... normal, I think. I'd worry more if it stopped-Ouch!" The Terran squirmed again as she scrubbed harshly against the open edges of his wound.

"Hold still."

"Well, you could be a little gentler about it, you know."

"This way will be over faster," she countered, ignoring his complaints and continuing to scrub away the dying flesh.

-x-

"So tell me about these 'Guardians' or whatever- what were they like?"

Nebula opened her eyes to regard her companion coldly. After spending the last half a cycle working tirelessly to keep the ship running, she was finally resting in the captain's seat. Tony was in the seat next to hers, huddled up under the same blanket from earlier, with strict instructions to wake her if something changed on the monitors. A glance around the cockpit proved that those requirements had not been met.

"Nothing has changed," she informed him, making it clear she was not amused, and closed her eyes.

"Sure it did."

Begrudgingly she cracked an eye open again to find him pointing at a series of numbers at the corner of a screen.

"This symbol here. It used to look like a... squiggly star thing, now it looks more like an upside-down happy face."

"It's the navigational system. The co-ordinates will change as we make progress across the galaxies."

"Oh." He squinted at the numbers. "Is that what it is? I can't read them."

"You wouldn't be able to understand what they meant anyways."

The cockpit was blissfully silent for all of three breaths.

"So this family of yours-"

"They were not my family," she answered tiredly, hoping to put an end to his curiosity. "They were my sister's."

"Doesn't that make them yours, too?

"Thanos stole us both from our homeworlds when we were children. We do not share blood."

"But you were raised together? So you must have been close, right?"

"Our father would pit us against each other in battle. Whenever I lost to Gamora, he would replace some part of me in the hopes of creating her an equal."

His brows raised as he stared at her as though noticing her modifications for the first time.

She leaned back and closed her eyes once more so she didn't have to see his face while he counted the failures immortalized into her flesh.

-x-

"Hey Nebula, what is this?"

Nebula set her tools down to accept the crinkling silver packet he was handing down to where she sat cross-legged on the floor. "It's food," she told him flatly. "You eat it."

"Yeah, I figured that, but what is it? I can't read the print, and I don't know if it's bad or just taste like shit."

She flipped the bag over in her hand to scan over the sparse labeling. "It's expired." That was disgusting. How had her sister lived with these idiots?

Tony tugged the ever-present blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders. "Expired like 'the grocery store can't sell it anymore,' or expired like 'time to call poison control?'"

A cautious sniff of the contents revealed it was just old, not rotten. "It's stale. You'll be fine." She handed the packet back to the nervous Terran. They couldn't really afford to be picky right now anyways. The Guardians had not kept a well-stocked ship, and they were a long way from fresh supplies, with no working radio and no way to send a hail for help. "Just don't break a tooth."

The Terran gave a grunt of acknowledgment and accepted the bag back awkwardly with his left hand, his right one clinging stubbornly to his side. Now that she looked, he seemed to be hunched over even more than he had been when she had cleaned the wound that afternoon. It was nearing what should be the middle of the night cycle now. He'd done little but sleep in the time between, he shouldn't look so terrible.

She took in a deep breath and let it out with a growl of frustration as she rose to her feet, abandoning her current project. It was hopeless anyways. The communication systems had been smashed and fried beyond what they had to the means to repair.

"Get on the table," she ordered, yanking open the drawer she had stored the medical supplies in with much more force than necessary.

"You can't want to change the bandage again already?" he asked, but struggled onto the table as requested. "How many rolls of that stuff do we even have?"

"It doesn't matter," she grumbled through her teeth, locating the medical kit she was after and returning to peel the bandage up enough to catch a glimpse of the discolored flesh underneath. "Your infection is getting worse."

The edges of the cut were starting to ooze an ugly yellow puss and, underneath, parts were turning a deep purple which was spreading through the nearby veins, creating dark spider-webs lacing ominously up his side.

"Stay here." She stalked off into the ship's bathroom, locating a clean towel and ripping it into strips then filling a cup with hot water from the sink. Next, she tore through the cupboards and drawers until she found the salt. It was standard for most ships to carry some, at least. Most life forms required it to survive, and if you were desperate enough it had other uses. She placed her gathered items onto the table next to Tony, who was holding his side protectively and frowning down at her like he was already dreading what was to come.

When the bandage was unwound and the pus and dead tissue scraped from the wound she dunked a strip of towel into the warm salt water and handed it to the Terran who was laying misty-eyed with pain on the table.

"Soak it now."

He swallowed thickly as he accepted the scrap of cloth and pressed it against his raw flesh.

"We'll have to do this several times a cycle. I'll come back later to help you re-bandage it."

She left him on the table and returned to her hopeless attempt to draw the communication lines back to life long enough to send out an emergency hail.

End Chapter 2

#Avengers Endgame #mcu #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #Tony stark #Iron Man #Nebula #Benatar #Lost in space #22 days #Tony & Nebula #Writblr