#so if you look at it that way… i already have a swords/affairs apartment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

superhero--imagines · 3 years

Text

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here! / Part 17 Here! / Part 18 Here! < This is Part 19!>

Donate to Move to Higher Ground HERE!

Song Here- (X)

Big thanks to @imdoingathingmom and @bbibbisan for doing a sensitivity read!

* This could be worse, you remind yourself as you feed your deer

* Much, much worse

* “How much am I supposed to give them?” The tall, ebony colored man says from beside you, his bright red eyes seem to glow under the pale moonlight

* “Um.. for that one, you can feed it as much kale as you want, but be careful James, he’s kinda insatiable. He’ll eat your clothes if you give him the chance”

* James nods, tearing the kale in careful ribbons.

* He smiles when the deer eats right out of his palm.

* You’re not going to lie, you were 100% surprised when the blond turned out to be Laurent and the black guy was James

* You were even more surprised when he asked if he could help you feed your animals

* You watch him smile as he gives the deer a gentle pat, feeding it more kale

* Yeah, you’re having a hard time believing the teddy bear in front of you is some psychopath tracker

* The story went that while you and Edward were out, the coven decided to play some baseball up in the mountains, and the sound caught their attention as they were passing through

* Apparently this was a fast friends situation, because Carlisle and Laurent have been reminiscing about their geezer pre-colonialism days

* You look to the house, you can see Edward’s inside from the window, his eyes meet yours and he gives you a small smile

* Well that seems hopeful

* “I used to take animals before I turned” James’s deep voice calls you back to the situation at hand

* “Oh were you a farm hand?” You’re peeling an orange, which Henrietta the third is already licking at impatiently

* “Um, not quite, I was a slave”

* You stop peeling the orange

* James tells you his story- he was a third generation slave, fathered from the master, his mother passed away shortly after his birth

* “I was lucky- in a sense, the master -my father- he was a superstitious man, and my mother- she had a reputation”

* His mother was a slave in name only, was what he told you. She was more of a mistress or a concubine.

* “At least that’s what they said, Though I’m not sure how much of that is true, I’m fairly certain she didn’t enjoy being with him. She was just trying to survive”

* His mother had been ostracized, even amongst others like them, but not because of her social position in the household

* “They thought she was a witch,” he admitted. “Bad things happened to people who wronged her, and good things happened to those who helped her”

* That sounds like Alec and Jane

* “When she was on her death bed, she laid a “curse” on the owner of the plantation, that if I wasn’t taken care of she would haunt him and bring misfortune on the entire family for several generations”

* And so, James became the unfavorable third son of the Pickett family.

* “I had many opportunities from her sacrifice, I learned to read and write, but I was more or less shunned from the house- both by my family and by the other slaves”

* It was lonely, almost painful.

* “But there was one thing, a ray of light-“ his eyes flit towards the window, and you follow his gaze to the red haired woman in the green chair

* “Victoria, she was my eldest brothers fiancé”

* The youngest daughter of the wealthiest man in town, from the outside she was a blossoming socialite

* The most beautiful girl in town

* But behind closed doors...

* Victoria was the product of an affair, a mistresses child, reluctantly brought into the household when her mother passed

* “She had big dreams, she loved to read, she yearned to study, to educate herself, to use her mind”

* And so, two lost souls found each other

* “Our family would never have allowed it. So we decided to run away together” he smiles, but it’s bitter.

* They claimed he had abducted her, perhaps to save face, and sent slave catchers to find them.

* “I’m not quite sure what happened-I remember being shot and telling Victoria to go in without me- all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.”

* This is heartbreaking

* “When I woke up, Laurent was there, and my throat burned”

* So Laurent had been with them for all that time, he was their creator

* “Afterwards the three of us worked in ‘the underground railroad’ helping slaves to the north where they could be free”

* “I’m thankful to him, for saving us, we wouldn’t have been able to be in a world where we could be together if it weren’t for him-“

* “But you wonder what the trade off is” you finish and he nods

* No longer human

* Purpose only lasts so long in this life, after all human life only has meaning because you know one day it will end

* “I found a penchant for tracking, it turns out what they said about my mother might have held some truth”

* James calls it “extreme luck”, there’s no other word for his gift.

* If he’s looking for something - or someone- it’ll inevitably find him through pure luck. Like the world bends to his will

* But it only works with finding things

* “These days we work as bounty hunters, and we only feed from people beyond redemption”

* Murder and rapists it sounds like

* “I didn’t know there was another way”

* “That’s understandable, I didn’t know either until I met Carlisle” he looks at you with kind eyes, and so with a deep breath you tell him your story

* About the Volturi, your parents, Alec and Jane-

* “I think you would like them, they’re a little off putting at first, but they warm up pretty fast”

* “Like cats” he says

* “Like cats” you agree

* You tell him about meeting Carlisle, how he saved you,

* how Eleazer gave you a home and a family,

* and about Edward, who gave you a chance to live

* Not just to survive, but to truly live

* “We’re not so different you and I” James says with a smile, and you mirror his expression

* “No we aren’t”

* Though of course you wouldn’t compare the relatively privileged life you had to his

* But the loneliness you both experienced is not all that different

* The tie that binds you all

* And then you do something you’ve never done before

* “You know, I don’t belong to this coven, not really” it’s the first time you’ve admitted it to anyone

* “Oh?”

* “My coven is in Denali, they have a permanent settlement there, and they follow the er... same alternative lifestyle”

* He laughs

* “I’m sure they would love two or three more, we’ve got like thirteen spare rooms in that house”

* You still remember the antiquated scooby Doo mansion-esque hallways filled with armor and swords

* He looks at you for a long time, but it doesn’t make you uncomfortable

* “I won’t follow another leader”

* You nod, that’s understandable.

* Laurent created them, and it seems he’s happy with their current lifestyle, they won’t betray him

* “Not unless it’s you”

* ........

* What?!?!

* “M-me?” You sputter, your orange peel filled hand clutching your chest

* “Why would you want to follow me? I’m only nineteen years old- I don’t even have a high school degree yet!”

* He laughs at your panicked expression

* “You know that doesn’t matter to our kind,” his eyes twinkle as he looks at you.

* “Call it witchcraft if you like, but you’re going to accomplish great things, I can feel it deep in my bones”

* Garrett had said the same thing, but the way James says it-

* You really believe it.

* He doesn’t want anything from you you, not a kiss or a date-

* He just wants to be your friend, to be apart of your vision

* Whatever it may be

* “Here’s my card-“

* He holds out his business card to you, unlike Garett’s it’s a cheap cardboard white with his profession and number on the front

* “If you ever find yourself in need of someone to help with your animals, let me know”

* You nod, taking his card in your hands

* “Um there’s one more thing I could use your help with-“

* He points to the large window, right at Alice

* “I know that girl but she doesn’t seem to know me.”

* “Well how does that work”

* He tells you how many years ago, a woman was looking for her sister.

* “It was a bit of a Cinderella story”

* The woman’s father had remarried quickly after his wife’s death, and the step mother had sent his children away. The younger sibling, his client, was lucky and was sent to a relative.

* But the older, who had suspected something amiss had happened to her mother, was sent to a mental asylum

* “You know me, I find things, it’s my gift.”

* But when he found the girl, she was no longer human. Already turned.

* “I tried to approach her, but she didn’t seem to remember anything”

* “Alice doesn’t have any of her memories from before she turned, she woke up in the woods all alone”

* The only thing guiding her were her visions.

* James nods solemnly

* “Should I...should I tell her?”

* You look to Alice.

* She’s smiling at something Victoria said.

* How many nights has she spent wondering who she really was, feeling so happy she had a family and a partner, but wondering if she left someone behind

* How would she feel when she found out?

* “I think you should tell her.”

* If it was you, even if it hurt, you would want to know

* James nods

* “Okay”

* You walk inside together, and immediately look to Edward

* Your own personal vampire lie detector

* “He did lie about one thing-“ Edward tells you once James pulls Alice aside.

* Was he actually tracking Alice to hunt her?

* Your heart drops at the thought

* “His mother didn’t die from natural causes, she committed suicide because she knew it would secure his future” Edward tells you with a somber expression.

* “He just didn’t want you to feel bad”

* You smile and nod.

* What a strong person, you can’t even imagine

* Edward pulls you into his arms, placing a soft kiss in your hair

* You feel bitter sweet about the whole thing

* Especially as you watch them leave in the morning, right before you’re going to head off to school

* Jasper is holding Alice who seems vulnerable, but relieved

* They’re leaving so soon, you didn’t even get a chance to get to talk to Victoria or Laurent

* You watch James stand next to Victoria, they’re talking to Carlisle.

* They’re not even touching, but you can feel the intimacy radiate off of them

* You wonder if maybe you and Edward might get to be that close one day

* James meets your gaze and smiles

* “I’ll see you around sometime leader!” He calls out, earning confused looks from your coven and his

* You smile back and give him a nod

* You’re still not sure what your future holds

* But you know you wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for the kindness of others

* You want to make them proud

* And then in a gust of wind, he’s gone

* They all are

* “See, I didn’t commit murder or anything, I told you things were different” Edward says with a teasing smile

* You roll your eyes and lightly shove him while he just laughs

* He’s right though, that was different

* “Enough flirting kids, you’re going to be late for school, and I really don’t want to deal with that dick in the front office acting all high and mighty because they think I can’t control my children” Esme yells

* School?

* Oh sh*t you didn’t do your homework

* “Edward-“

* “I’ll drive and tell you the answers on the way there” he says catching the keys you toss to him

* “It’s the-“

* “The Trig homework, I know. It’s your worst subject”

* Well you do struggle with trig quite a bit

* “Though to be fair you’re pretty terrible at all of them”

* He barks laughing when you shove him before getting into the car through the passenger side

* Carlisle and Esme watch you from the doorstep

* “They’re so good together-“ Esme starts

* “I know, I never thought our Edward would look at anyone like that”

* Carlisle and Esme exchange a look

* Before you came around-

* Well it wasn’t bad, but he certainly didn’t look like that.

* And he never smiled like that either

* Immortality had hardened him, made him into a man

* But with you-

* Well, with you he looks just like a boy

* A boy in love for the first time

* “I wonder what kind of children they might have had” Esme wonders with a small grin

* Him, with his ability to read minds, and you with that positively monstrous power of yours

* Any number of possibilities is possible

* “Best not to think of such things” Carlisle murmurs

* Though you two may be together for eternity, with the endless options, you’ll never have that.

* Esme nods

* “I’m late to get to the hospital, surgery this morning” he mumbles kissing her on the cheek before walking to the car

* She watches him go, his sleek white Volvo disappearing down the road before looking up to the sky

* “What a shame, I would have liked a cute grandchild or two running around” she mumbles to herself before turning to go inside

* “Entertaining always leaves me exhausted, guess I’ll give my employees the day off”

Tags: @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @smileygirl08 @imdoingathingmom @iconicgguk @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show @wicked-watering-can @lazydreamers @ xxxmuxxx @ideas-for-you-to-adopt @poisoinedhope @maryleigh8796 @moose-squirrel-asstiel @hotmessgoodness @jaimewho @corabmarie @what-am-i-doing10 @alluring-venus @imdoingathingmom @anotheryooniverse @im-tired-not-sleepy @emmettcullenisahimbo @my-super-musical-life @smolvampiregirl @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @mihikaahujaaa @werewolflover3252 @teenagezombiekryptonite @shynz @reclusive-chicken-nugget @monkeyluver4546 @wonhomarshmallow @bwbatta

#twilight imagine #twilight headcanon #twilight reader insert #twilight fanfiction #twilight saga #twilight #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen headcanon #edward cullen fanfiction #midnight sun #superhero-imagines

423 notes · View notes

nessinborderland · 3 years

Text

Ronin (浪人)

Pairing: Samurai!Last Boss x Kunoichi!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: You finally meet again after a decade apart. Takatora is set on never being apart from you again. Ever.

Warnings: mentions of prostitution, sex (but nothing too explicit), 16th century Japan, forbidden love, mentions of underaged intimacy between consenting teenagers

Notes: @adarlingmess asked: I'm gonna feed your Takatora Samurai AU with this request: Samurai!Last Boss having an affair with the ninja his clan hired, Kunoichi!Reader 👀 KCJDKXJX YOUR BRAIN SO SEXY 🤩 I love this idea so much, fuck yeah. Tysm for feeding my obsessions 🥺 Again, this turned into a one-shot lol. Hope you enjoy! (And please don’t be shy, lemme know your opinions on this 👀)

Takatora waited.

The cheap brothel he was in was a small two-story building, a bar on the ground floor with a few rooms above. It served low-quality sake and the floor was mostly dirt and hay, but it was clean and he knew people there minded their business.

He made sure to pay the old lady behind the counter enough money for that.

The establishment was full at that hour of the night, with customers drinking and flirting with the women that walked around in skimpy clothing. The prostitutes smiled and laughed, searching for a man to spend an hour or two, and hopefully make some money out of it.

They knew not to approach him.

"You're looking awfully lonely."

At least some did.

He glanced at whoever spoke to him, ready to send them away, when his eyes locked on your face. He was unable to do anything but stare, mouth agape as he took in your features. You looked different, you sounded different; but it was you, without a doubt.

"Y/N–"

"I'm assuming you got my note?" you asked, eyes nervously glancing around you. He did the same, quickly assuring himself that no one was paying attention to any of you. He nodded and retrieved a small piece of paper where you had scribbled a code.

"You remembered..." he said. After so many years, he would never believe you to still know the code that you had invented as love-struck teenagers.

"Of course I do," the smile you send him took his breath away. Your hand raised to lay on top of his, still holding the cup of sake, sending an electric-like sensation throughout his body. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears as you pressed yourself against his side, mouth so close to his own that he felt himself get hot all over, "I've missed you, Tora."

Your kiss was exactly like he remembered; soft, warm and passionate. It set his body on fire, a burn that grew into a desire so big he could barely control himself from taking you right there on the counter.

You broke the kiss before he could pull you into his lap, pressing your cheek on his as you took deep breaths.

"We shouldn't do this here," you whispered in his ear, "If Lord Takeda finds out–"

"He won't, I made sure of that."

It only took a look between you for him to stand up and take you upstairs. You walked through the narrow hallway, him pulling you by the hand as you hurried to a room at the end. Moaning and giggling could be heard on either side of the hallway, shadows visible through the paper-thin sliding doors.

You were kissing the moment you sled the door of your room shut. You undressed each other’s kimonos like ravaging animals, hungry for each other's touch, each other's body, each other's kiss. It had been so long.

Your body felt and looked different after all those years. You were a grown woman now, body full of curves and skin still soft but tarnished with scars that weren't there before.

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

"I missed you so much..." he whispered against your lips, gently laying you on top of the simple futon that was the only barrier between your body and the tatami-mat floor.

You moaned, gripping his long hair as his hands started touching all over your body, big palms kneading your breasts as his tongue tasted the saltiness of your skin. He got drunk on your words of praise and lust, wanting this moment to last forever.

It wasn't long before you felt him against your core, hard and leaking as he positioned himself in-between your legs. He shoved himself inside you at the same time he groaned into your mouth, swallowing your moans as he filled you to the brim.

Being inside you again felt like a dream, warm and wet cunt gripping his length like you wanted to keep him inside you forever. He took deep breaths as he slowly started to move, afraid he was going to finish before he had barely begun.

"Please move...Tora, please," your words made it impossible for him to control himself for much longer, lost in your body and all the pent-up desire. So he did what you told him to do, more than happy to obey.

That's what he did best, after all.

But not always.

"What do you think Lord Takeda will do if he finds out?" you asked after you were both satiated and spent, lying in each other's arms as you regained your breath. He took his time answering, not wanting to think about it. Even the possibility of it made his stomach turn.

"He will have me killed for laying with his favorite kunoichi," he said, arm tightening around your shoulders in an unconscious gesture, "But I like to think that he will have mercy on you."

"You know that I tried to come back to you..." you whispered after some time of nothing but complete silence. He hummed in acknowledgment, and you continued, "But I had missions to complete every time I tried to come back, and in the rare times I was here you weren't, and–"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," he interrupted, "I know Lord Takeda went to great measures to stop us from seeing each other..." it hurt Takatora to think about it like that, but it was the truth. When they grew up, his childhood friend – Takeda Katsuyori – became the daimyo of the clan while he – Samura Takatora – became his samurai. The fact that they both loved the same girl only strained their relationship further, "He loves you, you know?"

"But I chose you ten years ago," you said with a kiss to his chest, right on his tiger tattoo, "I chose you tonight," a kiss to his neck, "And I will choose you ten years from now."

He hungrily kissed you back when you reached his lips, already burning in desire for you. You made love again, so desperate and passionate like only two forbidden lovers could be.

"Run away with me," he blurted out hours later when you were both on the verge of falling asleep. But he couldn't. He couldn't rest knowing that there was the possibility that he would lose you again.

He meant what he said. He would rather become a ronin and be with you, than continuing to live without you by his side. You stared at him with wide eyes, and he waited, hopeful and terrified of your answer.

Then you nodded and smiled, a beautiful grin that made him sure that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who dared to stop you.

Anyone.

You parted ways before the sun was up, with a kiss and the promise to meet again that night when the moon was at its highest.

He spent his day thinking of you, anxiously waiting for the time where he could inconspicuously flee the castle. When that time arrived, he grabbed the few belongings he had and his treasured daisho set, stole a horse, and went to the agreed place.

Takatora waited. But you never showed up.

So he drew his katana and did what he had to do and.

A Ronin had no masters, after all.

Kunoichi: female ninja

Daimyo: Japanese feudal lords

Daisho swords: set of long and short swords, worn by Samurai warriors. The long sword is called Katana and the short one is called Wakizashi.

Ronin: a samurai without a lord or master

#alice in borderland #ima wa no kuni no alice #alice in borderland fanfic #samura takatora #last boss x reader #last boss #last boss imagine #aib oneshot #aib fanfic

158 notes · View notes

readermishok · 3 years

Text

Top 20: my favorite interactive stories

Hello, guys!

Once I saw that one of my popular and mostly likeable posts was about IF, I decided to share with you my personal top of the best IF authors I have known.

I read a lot of WIPs (work in progress) and finished novels since three long years, so I might recommend truly incredible stories. I apologies for adding pics and some additional info about my MC, but I wanted to bring spark of life into this top.

MC – Julia (deShanre), she|her.

I'll start with telling about quartet of works greatly affected on me. It was almost like… living my second life. It felt so real, so vibrant. In the darkest times it gave me the strenght to meet the next day.

1. Samurai of Hyuga, Books 1-4 by Devon Connell (WIP, planned 7 books). Patreon. Buy Book 1. Buy Book 2. Buy Book 3. Buy Book 4.

Samurai of Hyuga is a brutal, heart-pounding interactive tale. Prepare to enter the land of silk and steel, where fantasy clashes against grim reality, and where the good guys don't always win in the end. It's a harsh world with tough choices at every turn. Good thing you're the toughest ronin around.

My MC: Ronin, the master of the Jigoku Ittō-ryū, The Sword Who Cuts the Heavens

Jigoku:

________________________________________________________________

2. Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden (WIP, planned 4 books). Tumblr: @fallenhero-rebirth. Patreon. Buy Book 1.

Become the greatest telepathic villain Los Diablos has ever known! Once you were famous; soon you will be infamous. That is, unless your old friends in the Rangers stop you first. Juggle different identities and preserve your secrets as you build new alliances and try to forget the friendships you've left behind.

My MC: Sidestep Puppetmaster:

Jane (puppet):

________________________________________________________________

3. I, the Forgotten one by Bacondoneright (WIP, planned dilogy). No tumblr or Patreon|Ko-fi. Demo.

It has been five long years since the end of The Border Wars. Five long years without a purpose. Endlessly drifting around from one job to the next, serving your apathetic father only to receive no credit. Nobody in Kanton truly knows what you did. How you won The War, leading the armies of Kanton as a youth.

Nobody knows what it took out of you. Spending your formative years in war is not good for one’s outlook on life. Your emotions now lie behind a mask of stoicism. After all, all emotions do is cloud one’s judgement and wind up costing lives.

Nobody knows how much it hurt to be cast down from the throne and succession. To be disinherited, cast away from the family, and left aside to die.

My MC: The Marshal, the bastard child:

________________________________________________________________

4. The Exile by Pheo (WIP). Tumblr: @exilethegame. Patreon. Demo.

You’re the ex-commander of the Kingdom of Plaithus, and your name is known by all. It used to be whispered in fear by your enemies, and the very mention of it could send men fleeing. Your people had cried it out in battle, swords raised in your honor as they faced death fearlessly. You were a hero, and to some, a legend.

Until you weren’t.

You can’t remember what happened. All that’s left are blurry faces, screams, and the feeling of blood on your hands. The only reason you still have your head is because of the pity of an old friend.

And now? It’s only been a year since the incident, and already things are going wrong again when a rather peculiar sorcerer offers you absurd amounts of gold in exchange for protection from… well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know.

My MC: the Commander:

Ex-commander.

________________________________________________________________

Shepherds of Haven by Lena Nguyen (WIP). Tumblr: @shepherds-of-haven Patreon. Demo.

Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat.

My MC: Human Mage, gunner

________________________________________________________________

God of the Red Mountain (WIP). Tumblr: @friendlybowlofsoup Demo.

You are a spirit born of the Red Mountain–though you’ve run away from it long ago. You’d be content to stay away, too, if not for the mountain god who suddenly comes looking for you. But what purpose do they have? And what exactly is your end goal?

Based on East Asian myths and folklore, you play as a powerful, nameless spirit in a shifting world. As a being caught between death and life, you are connected to a stream of limitless power, and the more you are known, the more powerful you become.

However, your journey will not be so smooth. You have been cursed by powerful, malignant beings known as Foxes, and it’s only a matter of time before you fall from sanity yourself.

My MC: Owl spirit, human appearance

________________________________________________________________

The Bastard of Camelot by Rebelgirl (WIP). Tumblr: @llamagirl28 Demo. Ko-fi.

Your child will be the undoing of Camelot. Born under an ominous prophecy, you are the incestuous bastard of King Arthur and Morgana Le Fay. Will you fulfill the prophecy, or rebel?

Be the villain they expect you to be, or the hero they don’t- be remorseful or unapologetic, make your destiny or be Morgana’s tool of revenge.

Arthur can’t have any more children, making you the sole blood heir, and sole other Pendragon. As a Pendragon, you have the power of dragons.

The Bastard of Camelot is a trilogy following Mordred as they become a knight of the Round Table, and save or destroy Camelot.

_______________________________________________________________

The Seven Heirs of Ophaesia: Part One by (WIP). Tumblr: @fantasyfawkes Demo. Patreon.

The Seven Heirs of Ophaesia is a low-fantasy game set in a Renaissance-esque world where you play as one of seven heirs to a fictional kingdom rife with intrigue. As the King’s seventh child, you are a prince or princess of Ophaesia, a luxurious nation along the southern coast of Selanes. You are the first child of your father’s third wife, a woman hated throughout the realm due to the pervasive suspicion that she poisoned the previous queen, and her poor reputation taints your image in the eyes of the court and beyond. From your days in the palace nursery all the way to adulthood, you must navigate treacherous court politics and delicate foreign affairs while trying to find your place in the world — and your family.

_______________________________________________________________

Attollo by A.E. Jendryke (WIP). Tumblr: @attollogame Demo. Patreon.

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern, or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your siblings apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s wrong and then get on with your life. Too bad it’s never so simple.

Deal with cults, interdimensional entities, and far too many people with superpowers (where, for once, you’re the odd one out) in your journey to bring your sibling back from an underworld far out of your control.

My MC: lawyer

________________________________________________________________

Land of the Dragon (WIP) by Hilsee Foo. Demo. Last update was long ago... (crying)

Welcome to the Land of the Dragon! Here you shall experience an adventure in an ancient land, navigate court politics, forge friendships, and maybe even pursue romance if you so choose!

The Dragon Emperor sits upon the throne, as he inherited it from his father before him. But all is not well in the realm. In the provinces, an Uprising is gaining both strength and popularity. At court, the Elder Prince plots in secret to usurp his brother's throne. And within the Emperor's harem, the Empress and Imperial Consort vie for power.

As the Emperor and Empress' only trueborn child, you are at the centre of this power struggle. When all hell breaks lose on your 21st nameday, what will you do to find your place in this world?

All this, and more... In the Land of the Dragon.

_______________________________________________________________

The Northern Passage by Kit H.J. (WIP). Tumblr: @northern-passage Demo.

The Northern Passage is a horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border and in the port cities of the Blackwater.

Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…

My MC: Hunter

_______________________________________________________________

The Nameless by Parker Lyn (WIP). Tumblr: @parkerlyn Demo. Ko-fi.

The Nameless is a low fantasy WIP that is character and romance driven, with your race (sheevra) loosely based on stories about the fey and other myths. Where deals are a weapon and a name is the most intimate secret someone can offer. You play as a sheevra investigating the city of Renescen after the complete disappearance of one of four sheevra Clans in the world, running across a ragtag group of both sheevra and mortalis along the way.

Will you find out what happened before it comes for you?

Mortalis appearance

_______________________________________________________________

Virtue’s End by Crimsis (WIP). Tumblr: @virtuesend-if Demo. Patreon.

In a dark world overrun by monsters from the shadow plane, you exist as a hybrid monster hunter called a helvling, a human whose very soul has been Bound to one such entity. Travelling from warded settlement to warded settlement with your surly Keeper, Shea, you have the thankless task of defending the common folk against these horrors from Hel.

Usually, a fate such as yours is only reserved for the lowest of criminals, as penance for their loathsome deeds… You wouldn’t know if your fate has been deserved, however, since upon completion of your Binding seven years ago, all former memories of your human life have been lost.

You’ve been moulded into a weapon by the Virtuous Order, trained to be an unfeeling and ruthlessly efficient hunter… But is that who you are? Who are you, truly?

_______________________________________________________________

A Tale of Crowns (WIP). Tumblr: @ataleofcrowns Itch.

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy love story with Middle Eastern roots, both on pc as well as mobile! It’s entirely text-based, with choices throughout to shape both your main character’s personality and skills as well as influence their relationships with others. There are four love interests for you to choose from, both female as well as male, each with their own stories and secrets for you to uncover!

Crown of Arsur

_______________________________________________________________

Wayfarer (WIP). Tumblr: @idrellegames Demo. Patreon.

When your mercenary work backs you into a corner, you take the only option available and accept a contract: to travel to the city of Velantis and steal an ancient artifact said to be blessed by the gods. Simple, right?

But Velantis holds more than you bargained for. Gathering a ragtag party of malcontents and renegades from across the city, you must navigate enemy factions, meddling guilds, and escalating political tensions. Your choices will ultimately determine the city’s fate – and the fate of every person who lives there.

_______________________________________________________________

When Twilight Strikes by evertidings (WIP). Tumblr: @evertidings Demo.

You are a bounty hunter. Responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the International Agency of Supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. After a particular tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. And though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there’s more to the story.

With bounty cases rising at an alarming rate and a second mystery unfolding, you and your ragtag team of allies set out to find the truth.

But as you go further and further, the secrets you uncover begin to make you question: who… or what exactly are you fighting for?

_______________________________________________________________

Passanger by Pime (WIP). Tumblr: @the-passenger-if Demo. Ko-fi.

Do you like monsters? Do you think they are the best part of their respective movies, books, and shows? Then The Passenger might be the game for you.

The Passenger is a choice script work in progress in which you are an eldritch abomination that’s about to be devoured by another unthinkable creature. Good news is you are pretty crafty and know how to jump dimensions to escape your ghastly fate; bad news is, you’re now stuck on Earth, trapped inside a dumb human larva.

As years go by, you realize the amount of energy you need to leave this horrible dimension behind is a lot more than you anticipated. Not to mention the creature that almost ate you all those years ago never really stopped looking for you. But there’s no way it’ll pinpoint your actual location… right?

_______________________________________________________________

Scout: An Apocalypse Story by Anya (WIP). Tumblr: @anya-dev Itch.

It has been over a decade since a worldwide natural disaster obliterated the natural planet and decimated human civilization. There are small groups of humans still alive, fending for themselves, trying to create communities amongst the rubble.

You are a 24-year old scout living in a small community on the edge of the Orange Plains. You lost your mother and your sister before finding your way here. You are primarily an academic, and you put your skills to use on regular scouting missions. With your best friend and your scouting team leader in tow, your small group is a pillar of the Community.

On your first scouting mission of the hot season, you meet the leader of the People Across the Orange Plains. Will you break from the Community you have known your whole life? Ask a romantic partner to join you? Discover secrets that your own people have been hiding? Become a leader yourself?

_______________________________________________________________

Body Count by Nell Bolton (WIP). Tumblr: @bodycountgame Demo. Ko-fi.

Your life isn’t going how you’d hoped. Despite having big plans when you graduated, you’re stuck in a dead end job and a crappy flat with zero romantic life to speak of. All until a friend convinces you to join the cast of a new reality TV show.

The premise is simple: 12 singles are sent to a villa on a tropical island and they live there together for a month. After 28 days, the couple who is voted by the other islanders as being most likely to withstand the test of time will win £500,000. In addition, the couple with the highest body count will win £500,000. Total prize pool? £1,000,000.

In this context, “body count” refers to how many people you’ve slept with… right? Well, that’s what you think when you sign your contract. Turns out, though, that not all of your fellow cast members will be using that definition to get to the prize.

Fall in love, win big money, solve some murders and try to stay.

_______________________________________________________________

Project Hadea by nyehilism (WIP). Tumblr: @nyehilismwriting Itch. Ko-fi.

You play as an OPERATIVE of Scytha Industries, a highly selective private security company. As their most elite Operative, you possess many skills and talents, not to mention top-of-the-line equipment - including your very own AI module, IVI.

This, of course, puts a price on your head. An AI module goes for billions on the black market; carrying one around in your skull is, perhaps, not the safest idea. Sure, you’re more than a match for anyone who might come after you - but no-one outside the high levels of Scytha knows about it, so you should be safe anyway, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I do want to thank all these tremendously talented authors for creating such complex and beautiful worlds. I love it with all my soul.

Thanks for reading, I hope you will find story for yourself. I’ll gradually extand this top!

Stay tuned.

90 notes · View notes

aeempress · 3 years

Text

Apritello Express Evidences, part 1

Greetings, Apritello enthusiasts and attention! Here comes a loong post is written by totally nerd. You've been warned. Here we go.

The thing is that Apritello is a double-edged sword. The series shows us established friendship of these two, give us a lot of content with them. We can see development of relationship through interaction between the characters, their reaction about the situations they are put in. We can sense their synergy and bound through the show.

Donnie and April have incredible chemistry, and both options, brotp and otp seems fine to me.

But let me tell you why I ship them.

Apritello is the kind of pairings, which consists of small details, hints, that's hidden, but if you're sharp and attentive one, you will notice that. Apritello has a strong foundation: the best friends trope.

And from the very beginning, it works as planned.

When I start watching show, I could say that April and Donnie are best friends. It is worth noting that April is like an older sister to the other brothers, more of a sisterly figure than a friend, but with Donnie she behaves somewhat differently, namely, as best friend. Obviously, she sets him apart from his brothers, although girl tries to pay attention to all of them equally. And Donnie behaves as well.

Dee's battle shell designs for April needs as well as his. His shell transform into comfy spot for taking ride for April. Special and only for her. Because his bros are not supposed to use it (at least, he carries no one on his back), Donnie carries them by his techno-bó or his limbs.

This tiny detail shows his special treatment to her. April is a very, very special occasion to D. Don does care about her comfort, he accept the way she is. Donatello does not try to prevent her from participating in their affairs because he respects her decisions and is pleased that April can be shoulder to shoulder with him.

D is glad to be at her service.

Yeah, Dee's still playing cool, he has image to perform as tough and coolheaded guy. So Don doesn't show his intentions, interest and feeling to other people (he's tryin', but fails). Because his actions matter. They are always small, hidden, but meaningful.

April, in return, trusts Dee and depends on his tech, even knowing what his inventions are the opposite of success (usually).

Go on. Look at Donnie's facial expressions and body language when April is near.

Donnie seems more relaxed when she's around, happier. His emotional response is always different from his brothers ones.

Oh, and look, he wanted to be first to give her a high three.

They worry about each other. Look at Don. He does worry about her way more than his brothers. Yeah, they all want to protect her, but Donnie is more expressive.

Mayham has no particular sympathy for the brothers: he is afraid of Raph and behaves aggressively, he is indifferent to Leo and Mikey. Mayham immediately takes a liking to April. And then the details come back: he let Donnie touch his neck. The most vulnerable place for any living creation, for a second. Let him to study an important vial without any hesitation. Mayham depends on April trust for Donnie. When everything goes wrong for Don, the little doggie comes to his rescue, just as April would have done. Is the hint transparent enough?

We can see links with "A mystic library", wherе Donnie begins to look for solutions to save April's pet. Yes, this may seem like his next leap, "sit down, I'm smart, and now I'll solve all the problems, watch and learn," but Don says one phrase that opens up the veil of the second plan, what happens behind the scenes. "My illiteral colleagues and I was conducting a mustic research, with a life of the beloved pet, hanging in a bounce".

Strange wording, Donatello. Beloved pet? Not yours, as we can see. I can say, that everything in this sentence is true, but Donnie and Mayham has something more.

Continue. Next episode "Origami tsunami". Interactions are kept to a minimum, as April herself appears for a maximum of 5 minutes in the series itself. But devil is always in the details, dear friends.

When April was attacked and hung up, the only one who excitedly called out to her was Donny. Raph is furious that the thieves have escaped, Leo is frustrated that their plan has failed, and Mikey is worried about the salami.

Yeah, we didn't see his worries about her when she fell, because Donnie is on the mission and must be coolheaded turtle, and second, he's calm because now April life is safe and sound, out of the danger.

Dear passangers, Apritello Express arrives to the next station - episode "War and Pizza".

Bare facts:

1. April has Donnie's number on an emergency call.

2. "Anything for you"

3. Donnie is the reason why Alberto knows April's name.

No one calles April by her name (except for Donnie, while phone call, but Alberto wasn't nearby) it was "Captain O'Neil" by her chief, her badge seems blank. And yeah, you can say, that's just economy of budget, but I assure you: in the first episode we were shown the name of the delivery guy. The animators were not lazy bones and wrore "Stewart" on his badge. So if something isn't there, then it either shouldn't be there, or it really isn't, that's how this show works.

So, the reason explained in the episode. When Al has short circuit, parts of its new code flashed through its mind.

Info about April was in its memory, in its code. Alberto was a lame animatronic, and it seems somewhat outdated. I do really doubt about Alberto is being something smartass machine with complicated AI like Freddy's Pizza's ones. Quite questionable. Donatello fix Al's brain and wrote code, synchronize with his remote control. He put information about Cap O'Neil into animatronic's head. All this pictures are kind of massage: "You was created for birthday celebrations. You are machine, and there concepts of "life" and "birth". Do great party for this birthday kid and April won't be like this". Or, something like that.

So Alberto did - do a memorable party. And he do what his creator programmed him to do, but in his way.

4. In other words, Alberto was a tool to impress April. Don flaunts himself in front of her, stating how he did the upgrade while doing the upgrade, even though April is fully aware of his tech wizard. And his abilities supposed to help Cap O'Neil to finish the birthday party, so she will stay at her job, not fired. All thanks to Donnie and his upgrade Alberto. (Or not)

By the way, Donnie was the last to leave April in ruined "Alberto's". And it's not an isolated case, it is a pattern.

5. They understand each other without words.

First, Donny came at her at the speed of light. Second, she hadn't even finished speaking before Dee was taking Al apart. Third, their chaotic, well-coordinated work? Donnie was a distraction (although he wanted to just take a break from the battle or let Alberto's guard down, while April just knocked him out). Donnie and April are great team, and sometimes the DonniexApril team is much more precise, coordinated, and interdependent than the DonniexBrothers one.

D&A feel each other and anticipate each other's actions, their skills complement each other, creating an incredible synergy of their interaction. They act as a whole, while it's not always possible with his brothers, even though they're family and know each other the way more Donnie know April. And Dee hasn't trained with cap O'Neil.

Donatello didn't show his crush for April. No puppy, loving eyes, no lovey-dovey speeches, no planning schemes (at least, the audience don't see one) . He just want her attention, but stays cool and hidden. D is already her BFF, but still.

The same thing is claimed in 5B episode - Mascot Melee. Donnie has no problems with interaction with idol of his childhood - Atomic Lass. She'd put Leo in a stupor, but Donnie? He playfully challenges her to a dance duel. Yes, he adores this character, who may have become his measure of the attractiveness of others to Donatello, determined his type. But still, he's playing all cool and confident guy, he's really smooth with girls, so you will never see a puppy loving eyes from him. Only two things can betray him at this point: his voice and his body language. Remember, how's soft his voice became for Atomic Lass? Now I want you to remember the scene before, in turtle tank, when April sent guys a meme.

D is the first to respond to the message, despite the fact that Mikey is sitting closest to the screen. And the responding is a little too emotional for this situation, don't you think?

And this face of his. And he comments it. He likes her sense of humour.

The only difference between April and Atomic Lass is that the first one is a real girl who is a friend of their family, practically a member of it; and the other one is just a fictional character. It is easier to say about love for a fictional character, because it brings less problems for a teenager, especially when he is living with three brothers and a father who likes to tease as well. Donatello needs to be careful and outline the area of emotions he could show, so that he does not get hurt.

Now, dear passangers, we are returning to the previous episode, shall we?

Donnie presents to his brothers his precious Turtle tank, but she's gone, and it's really necessary to find out, who has taken her. And the first person to suspect is April.

Something is odd, don't you think? Yeah, Raphael has taken tyre for their "Midnight special", Leo claimed that Donnie's stuff is common, but they are D's beothers. It's natural for family to borrow(stole) stuff of each other. But this trend was not observed in April. She would never steal anything from Donnie, much less steal anything from him.

Actually, there is a good, logical and solid explanation here. April was number 1 in Donatello' suspect list, because he simply told her about Turtle tank. His brothers didn't know he were working at Moon buggy, except Mikey (Orange helps Dee get the vehicle from Repomantis), but they didn't know what exactly Donnie was working for. They didn't know he build the Turtle tank, he kept it a secret, to surprise his brothers. But April knew.

- Alright you! Where's our turtle tank?

- Hi, DONNIE. You have 9 seconds to say, why are you just broke my door.

- Someone's stole Donnie's turtle tank.

- Haha-ow, I see. As your best friend, you naturally suspect me.

- She gets it!

- Oh-ho, don't give me that! You're the only one could taken it!

The only one, because she knew about it.

As Splints said in this episode - "April is not a snitch"

Donatello does trust April and share with her both, sorrows and joys. But we are not shown this directly. We do not see the action itself, we do not see their calls and conversations on the phone late at night, we only see the consequence. We have no choice and take it as a given.

And the way she cooled him down? Fast, efficient, and Donnie seems to used to it. Moreover, she slapped everyone, but still, she throw Don out of window the last. However, why such a large time delay between him, being slapped and him, was throwing out of the window?

And my favourite scene. It was obvious that Donnie had taken the hardest hit (judging by his scream and the way he was putting his knuckles back in place). Don then claims that their inner circle is secure, Mikey tries to make amends for everyone, and April agrees, blowing them a kiss and closing the window. Cute and mean, isn't it? (You're cute! but mean! why do I always go for your type?! - ep. War and Pizza)

Nota bene: Donnie wouldn't apologize to April. Tough, not caring badass boy image, remember? Even to best friends. It's hard to him to express his feelings by using words, he cannot do it in proper way. But he has Mikey, who is so alike inner him. Michelangelo apologizes not only for himself, but for D mostly, because D starts suspected April.

Let's continue: the episode 8B: Hypno Part Deux

• Donnie put "Donnie's blocker" at April's phone to protect her.

It's common thing that your friend install some programs or apps on your device. But you will always ask your friend to do such a favour, and you will always know about what, when and where were installed on your phone.

And April didn't know Donnie had done something with her phone. It was a real surprise for her, to see blocker with "Donnie says no-no-no".

And you know, the interface of his app. The way he tell this current phrase. Donnie could put a huge banner "THE APP YOU WANT DOWNLOAD TO IS A REAL PIECE OF GARBAGE", as usual antiviruses do. But no, voice interface. It makes the app more personal and thoughtful. Because when Don made gifts for his brother, the program was voiced by a computer-generated female voice. Yes, the tank's interface is voiced by Donatello himself, but his voice sounds more like Google than the real Don. And, we talking about HIS BABEY, for a second. Bit still, the point remains.

• Also, Dale.

Dale is nerdy boy in purple, wow, how convenient for making a parallel with certain purple turtle.

But thing is, April doesn't like Dale. He's clingy, remora guy, who has a little obsession with April, even he's not harmful, still, such behaviour freaks girls (and not them only) out. Her classmate is usually tell her what April O'Neil is "his favourite person" and he loves her. There is little that is attractive about this behavior.

So, there is nothing new and unpredictable here that Dale was rejected. Because April didn't, doesn't and won't like him because of his lame personality and strange behaviour. Our girl in yellow do right thing: she clearly sets personal boundaries and does not allow any dubious personalities to invade them. So that's the reason she refuses to go on a date with him at the end. He's weird, obsessed, and she doesn't like him.

Donatello, as far as I concerned from different versions of TMNT, was always a little obsessive with some things. And, you know, putting a blocker inside your best friend's phone seems a little weird, because it's, in simple words, violation of privacy and personal space. And there are people who may regard this as stalking or sorta.

Yeah, for the most part, he gets away with it, not only because April's focus is in a different area, but also because their bond is stronger than April's with anyone else at school.

She has known him for years. Donnie is her best friend. I can't say that it's fine to her when Dee violates her personal space - her phone, but April can accept Donatello's personality in general.

And he does really have good intentions. Donnie installed this blocker, developed by himself only for one reason: to protect personal space April from fishy apps from nowhere, from being hacked and etc. Don knew her too well, how much she depends on stupid apps that will distract her. He also knew well, that he can't be with her 24/7 to fix problems with April's phone, so Dee put a part of himself to prevent any harm in the future.

And again, "Donnie's gifts"'s vibes. Donatello genuinely cared about April, because he wrote, coded, developed, designed, and dubbed it, turned on the database, and installed it all on April's phone. 'cause, you know, writing programs in general is a bit of a hassle, but writing an antivirus is much more difficult, because viruses are changing, and questionable applications are finding ways to bypass. Do you feel how much effort Dee put in for her?

But Donatello didn't mean to fix April, as he tried to do with his brothers. Purple turtle accepts this girl the way she is, and tries his best to play smoothly with April, by adjusting, not being passive aggressive jerk. It's his outstanding way to show his caring nature, soft side.

Remember, small but meaningful actions.

Maybe, Donnie also can foresee that April may be forced to download some suspicious program, but still, it work: he managed to prevent April being hypnotized, even if couldn't be physically with April at the this moment - Dee was working for Repo Mantis, building dog's paradise for Todd. That's why, by the way, Leo and Raph were dragged into this whole situation. Mayham would teleported literally anyone to help his hostess. Donnie just wasn't at the Lair at the moment.

And on this note, we'll take a break for now. Stay tuned, expect parsing of the series, there's a lot to discuss.

Part 2

Part 3

#rottmnt #rise of tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja #rise donnie #rise donatello #rottmnt donatello #hamato donatello #april o'neil #rise april #rottmnt april #aprilxdonnie #rottmnt apritello #apritello #lonnnnnnnng post #sorry not sorry #zero regrets #apritello express

145 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Strange Creatures Brothers Be (aka WWX & NMJ sworn brothers) - Chapter 5

AO3 or part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

If Wei Wuxian had been asked to guess, he would have said that the visit to the Lotus Pier would be difficult and the Unclean Realm easy, and instead it turned out to be the exact opposite, which he supposed demonstrated exactly how poor of a fortune-teller he would make.

The Jiang sect forces, led by Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, had taken over the Lotus Pier some time before the final battle, so it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already had the emotionally devastating moment of returning to see it covered in Wen suns – to see the devastation that had been wrought upon it, all the old beloved places violated and irrevocably tainted with the blood of his friends, his shidi and shimei, Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu…

It looked much better now, in truth. Jiang Cheng had stationed lots of disciples there to protect their home while they continued to fight on the front line, ordering them to begin repairs at once, and while the entire place smelled of renovations it at least did not stink of blood and viscera. They had torn up and replaced most of the flooring as the first priority, so that they wouldn’t have to look for strange stains on the floor as they stepped, and if they still didn’t have a dining room, an entrance hall, or a private laundry, then at least they had a kitchen, and the memorial hall had been fully restored.

Jiang Cheng must have asked them to prioritize that, Wei Wuxian thought, and felt a stab of guilt from the fact that he didn’t know for sure.

He’d always known that he would need to figure out a way to stay distant from Jiang Cheng after the war – there was no way to explain why he wasn’t helping to train their new disciples, why he wasn’t standing by his side with Suibian the way he had promised time and time again to, not without touching on subjects that must forever remain taboo – but he hadn’t quite realized just how much responsibility he’d abdicated before now.

He hadn’t even been helping out with the paperwork, and that was something anyone could do.

The Nie sect techniques he’d been practicing the past few days focused on mindfulness and consideration of consequences, on habituating oneself to force in a bit of contemplation before any action was taken – not exactly natural to him, but then again the Nie sect techniques were all designed with the assumption that the practitioner was a reckless hothead – and it threw everything into stark relief for him. Wei Wuxian had only pulled away from Jiang Cheng because he didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to stain him with his demonic cultivation or reveal to him what had been done for him, but wasn’t this hurting him, too? Having to do all of this alone, without Wei Wuxian at his side - wouldn’t Jiang Cheng feel disappointed in him, maybe even betrayed?

It’s like having a mountain at your back, keeping you steady, he’d said to Jiang Cheng, about Nie Mingjue.

Don’t you know you’re just the same to me? Jiang Cheng had told him.

He wasn’t acting like very much of that right now.

Wei Wuxian had to keep distant, he knew that; he couldn’t tell Jiang Cheng the truth, he knew that. And yet – something had to be done about this unpleasant and untenable state of affairs, where Jiang Cheng tried to respect him but also hint to him how much he needed him and Wei Wuxian ignored him and pretended not to care while also tearing himself apart inside…

He’d tell Nie Mingjue about the whole thing soon, Wei Wuxian promised himself. His big brother would know what to do, somehow, or at least he’d have something to say on the matter.

Nie Mingjue was a foundation of rock, steady and unwavering, and after the terrible uncertainty of the war it was utter bliss to find something upon which one could rely. And not just for Wei Wuxian himself, who would very reluctantly admit that he clearly actually did need a bit of a steadying hand the way everyone had so irritatingly always insisted he did, but also for Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli as well.

Wei Wuxian could tell from the way they looked at Nie Mingjue, and he didn’t blame them one bit.

Not when Nie Mingjue walked through the Lotus Pier and praised them for the work they’d been doing, sparing but sincere in his compliments; when he offered not only suggestions for improvements and food for thought but also concrete promises of trade deals that would benefit them both – Qinghe timber and metal in exchange for Yunmeng cloth and dye, meat and dairy for fish and poultry, upholsterers to go help the Unclean Realm return from its status as a fortress and masons to come to reinforce the walls of the Lotus Pier so that they were never attacked again.

Not when he patiently sat with Jiang Cheng as they went through the endless paperwork and decisions he had to make as the leader not only of a sect but of a Great Sect, pointing out subtleties in the requests from their affiliated sects and reminding him of considerations that didn’t immediately spring to mind, helping lay out risk and reward alike while leaving the decision entirely in his hands.

Not when he talked, with some restraint, about their parents, which he had known well through his role as sect leader. He had a completely different perspective on them, from his additional age and his more distant position; for all that his stories were usually short and to the point, he could nevertheless drive them all to tears of laughter over hearing about how their parents were with their peers, strange as it was to think of Nie Mingjue as such – he really had come on his role far too young.

After one night when they’d lit incense and done all the rituals they could and wept all the tears that they had left in them, they’d shared several jars of wine with him, and by the end of the night they had learned to start anticipating how his stories would generally end with “and then I wanted to punch them in the face”. Though they couldn’t quite figure out whether that was because of their parents’ flaws – Nie Mingjue was not subtle enough a diplomat to leave those details out, and they wouldn’t have wanted him to – or because of his own disposition, it still, as Jiang Cheng said while giggling terribly on at least two jars of wine too many, make for a very good punch line.

Wei Wuxian had expected to have to spend his entire visit to the Lotus Pier avoiding Jiang Cheng and trying not to think of all he’d lost.

He hadn’t expected to be swept up in the minutiae of rebuilding, arguing loudly over what type of wood they should use for the entrance hall and whether they really need to restore the sect leader’s chair exactly as it had been (Jiang Cheng was of the view that it was tradition, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli were of the view that it looked really dumb, and Nie Mingjue removed himself from the conversation on the grounds of laughing too hard to answer) or teaming up to bully their vendors into revising their delivery estimates into something a little more reasonable.

“A-Xian, maybe your reputation would improve if you stopped threatening to throw a fierce corpse at people who disagreed with you,” Jiang Yanli said, hiding her smile with her sleeve.

“Maybe his reputation would improve if he started offering other people the opportunity to pelt a fierce corpse at disreputable merchants,” Jiang Cheng sniffed. “Hey, Chifeng-zun, you interested?”

“More than words can say,” Nie Mingjue said solemnly. “Tell me, do you also sell a mechanism for the throwing part, or are the corpses sold by the weight? Not everyone can hurl a corpse as far as I can.”

“I wasn’t going to actually throw a corpse at him!” Wei Wuxian protested, grinning widely. “Do I look like I just carry corpses in my sleeves?”

“Possibly if the corpse was the size of a pheasant?” Jiang Cheng said. “Hey, Wei Wuxian, can you resurrect pheasants?”

“He’d better not,” Jiang Yanli said, giggling helplessly by this point. “That’s our lunch!”

Here in the Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian could help out with important matters, could be trusted and not held at arms’ length unless he wanted to be. Here in the Lotus Pier, he could hug all the people he’d known from before, the survivors who had escaped or who had been away, he could shout out encouragement to the new disciples to balance out Jiang Cheng’s scolding, he could make himself useful by drawing talismans or correcting the postures of would-be archers. Here in the Lotus Pier, he could tie Suibian to his belt the way Jiang Cheng wanted if he wished, without being afraid that someone would try to make him draw it, or else he could leave his sword behind in his room and it would be seen as natural – who carried their sword when they were at home?

Here in the Lotus Pier, he was at home.

He’d missed home, Wei Wuxian discovered. He’d missed having a safe place to call home – and the Lotus Pier was finally safe again.

At least for the moment.

At least for the moment, now, when he had a good reason to avoid spars or training or anything that required the use of a golden core – injured, he sang out any time someone raised it, still injured, sorry, can’t help you – and even if that made his visit here bittersweet, knowing that he still hadn’t resolved the underlying issues that would eventually tear them all apart, it was still sweeter than anything he had any right to. He wouldn’t have exchanged one second of his time there for all the world.

And then they went to Qinghe.

They rode there, taking the scenic route in order to sweep up whatever demonic creatures had popped up as a result of the war, and when at last they arrived at the Unclean Realm the Nie sect was out in force to greet their sect leader.

At the head of them all was, of course, Nie Huaisang, who immediately ruined the whole grandiose effect by throwing himself forward into his brother’s arms, wailing, “Da-ge, you’re back, you’re back! You evil creature, you left me here with all the paperwork and all the decisions and everything, how could you? You have to come deal with it at once, I don’t know what I’m doing at all – oh, Wei-xiong! It’s good to see you, too!”

As unstoppable as a hurricane, he’d promptly plucked the qiankun bag in which Nie Mingjue had stored the presents he had purchased for him at the Lotus Pier out of Nie Mingjue’s sleeve and then disappeared back inside, fanning himself furiously and complaining of the heat of the sun, the chill of the wind, the unseasonable temperature…

Nie Mingjue sighed, a great big heaving breath. “Don’t worry,” he said to Wei Wuxian, “I’ll talk to him,” and then he strode inside after him.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Did I miss something?” he asked one of the Nie sect disciples that remained by his side, an older man who had clearly been assigned to assist him if the way he remained while the others immediately began to disperse was any sign.

“Nie-er-gongzi isn’t a very formal person,” the disciple, who introduced himself as Nie Zonghui, said, sounding somewhat apologetic. “The way he referred to you…”

“…what about it?” Wei Wuxian asked, now even more confused. “He called me Wei-xiong, just the way he always does – I don’t mind it at all.”

Nie Zonghui looked even more apologetic. “That was when you were friends,” he said, and – what? Weren’t they still friends? What was Nie Huaisang supposed to call him, exactly? A-Xian? Or…

Wait.

For us in the big clans, we can’t even distinguish our relationships with our own relatives, much less any others, he remembered Nie Huaisang ranting, all the way back in the Cloud Recesses. Wouldn’t it be better to just call everyone more than two tiers away aunts and uncles, or even brother and sister -

“Knowing what I know about Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said slowly, thinking it through, “if he were really happy to see me, he’d have started calling me er-ge at once, wouldn’t he? Since I’m his brother’s sworn brother and all, and older than he is.”

Nie Zonghui nodded.

“He probably would’ve asked for a first-meeting gift, too.” Even back at the Cloud Recesses, he’d always observed how shameless Nie Huaisang was about gifts. “Possibly several.”

Nie Zonghui nodded again.

“He’s pissed off at me,” Wei Wuxian concluded.

Nie Zonghui nodded a third time.

“But why?”

“Perhaps you should ask your sworn brother,” Nie Huaisang said, appearing as if out of thin air right behind him and making Wei Wuxian jump. Nie Huaisang was not an especially scary-looking individual – he was short, and his face still gave off a feeling of roundness, suggestive of either baby fat or indolence or both – but there was an expression on his face that reminded Wei Wuxian of Nie Mingjue about to enter a battlefield. He hadn’t previously known that Nie Huaisang was capable of making a face like that. “Especially since he swore brotherhood with you without even asking me first.”

Nie Zonghui smiled very fleetingly at Wei Wuxian before disappearing down a nearby hall, and oh, apparently he hadn’t been here to show Wei Wuxian around at all, he’d just stayed to watch the show.

“Nie-xiong, about that -” Wei Wuxian said, meaning to be placating, but then Nie Huaisang took a step forward with his eyes narrowed into slips and he actually found himself taking a step backwards.

“I told you how good my da-ge was, didn’t I?” he asked, and no, actually most of his words were about how awful a tyrant his da-ge was, making him study and train and do all sorts of things like that, only maybe perhaps by implication one could argue that he’d said anything good about him at all, but given the way that Nie Huaisang jabbed his finger into Wei Wuxian’s breastbone like a saber Wei Wuxian thought it might not be good to mention any of that now. “And then the first chance you get, you go off and try to steal him?”

“I didn’t mean to steal –”

“We,” Nie Huaisang hissed like an angry mongoose, “will be having words about this, Wei-xiong.”

And then he stormed off.

Wei Wuxian stood there, abandoned and blinking after him in utter confusion and not a little bit of admiration – it would have taken some gall to scold him when he was just Wei Wuxian, head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, and now that he was a fearsome demonic cultivator, the leader of the destruction of the Nightless City, no one dared to speak to him like that.

Except, apparently, Nie Huaisang.

“Would Wei-gongzi like to be shown to his rooms?” Nie Zonghui – making a belated reappearance – asked politely. The apologetic look was gone, replaced by a look of deep amusement. “We’ve made sure that they’re in the family quarters.”

“You’re trying to get me killed, aren’t you?” Wei Wuxian asked indignantly. “You’re trying to get me murdered! What did I ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” Nie Zonghui said. “But it’s about time our second young master took an interest in dismemberment.”

“An interest in – I refuse to be anyone’s training dummy for murder! Do you hear me? I refuse!”

Nie Mingjue would probably make sure that nothing like that happened.

…right?

#mdzs #wei wuxian #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #strange creatures brothers be

156 notes · View notes

krabstick32 · 4 years

Note

MWAHAHA I'VE BEEN WAITING (✷‿✷) Can I ask for a Giyuu who decided he wants to try befriending the newest Pillar since she's pretty quiet (and also pretty cute UwU haha jk) but whenever he tries to come forward and talk to her she either doesn't respond or runs off looking embarrassed. Finally he asks one of the Pillars for help and they sort of break it to him that Reader just lost her voice in a battle before being a Pillar and is very shy because she doesn't know how to talk to people. Thanks!

Demon Got Your Tongue?

Requested by: @trueblueoceaneyes

Pairing: Giyuu x Reader Synopsis: Giyuu wants to make a friend. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up as more.

Tags/warnings: I don’t think there are any, but reader isn’t able to talk (i’m very sorry if I wasn’t able to portray that properly!) and there are also references to the Giyuu Gaiden—but its not necessary to read that to understand this

A/N: WAAAA Thank you so much for being my first request girl!! As expected, your ideas are just *chef’s kiss* magnifique. ily, hope i did your request justice and that you like it uwu.

I had so much fun writing Giyuu just being an awkward dork, and the bonus - especially the bonus. (also, pls excuse any mistakes, i feel like i passed over some) Anyway, please enjoy!!

edit: so i reread it, and there were some mistakes. apologies to the people who have read this prior the edit—the edits are very minor, but again, i am sorry _:(´□`」 ∠)_

Giyuu was a man who valued his silence and solitude.

From the start, he made it pretty obvious to the other Pillars that he wanted to be left alone and wanted nothing to do with them. And from that sort of attitude, they were able to conclude that while he was an amazing swordsman, he preferred to work alone, go on missions alone, and just generally be alone.

They knew next to nothing about the man, apart from his breath style and stoic personality—and he preferred it that way. Giyuu knew that getting close to others was a troublesome affair, and it always ended up in someone getting hurt.

When he saw you though, it’s like he knew that the cold facade he put up was a lie.

Normally, Pillar meetings only happened at the end of every other month for regular reports and for the others to catch up and to exchange information. This time, however, Oyakata-sama called for them to introduce a new member that would stand among them as a new Pillar.

Oyakata-sama introduced you as he did the others, stating your name, and your position as the Thunder Pillar, as well as telling you the names and positions of the current Pillars.

You seemed to be more on the quiet side, with only a soft, somehow strained smile painting your face set with admittedly attractive features. A young woman who was most likely around the age of nineteen or twenty, with a slightly hunched frame, and a death grip on the hem of your (f/c) haori sleeve. You seemed shy and nervous, but all of them knew that you must have possessed extraordinary skills to be able to reach the rank of a Pillar.

Giyuu stamps down an odd itch to stand and walk over to you, staying still as Oyakata-sama calls out his name for you.

Your introduction ended with a kind smile, and a question from the master. He asked if you were willing for a demonstration of your skills, to which you agree with a shy smile and a soft nod.

Unsheathing your sword, you took a deep breath—a loud whistling sound that seemingly shook the air and shocked the Pillars. For the shy woman they saw mere minutes ago to make such a loud sound with just breathing was a curious sight… but then suddenly, you were gone, only faint images of you visible all around the Ubuyashiki’s garden as you performed all six forms of the Thunder Breath.

You were quick and agile, possibly the fastest among all ten of you.

Everyone could hear the loud roll of thunder, but a quick look at the sky showed them that there was no storm—only you performing in the clearing, a dance so graceful and deadly. Despite having a hard time catching your movements, everyone was absolutely mesmerized by the sheer power you displayed, accompanied by the palpable static in the air.

When you finished, everyone was staring with large eyes—even Giyuu was a little slack-jawed at your performance. You blushed with the weight of everyone’s stare while the master thanked you and urged you to take a seat.

You didn’t want to force your presence or insert yourself between anyone, so you resolved to take your place at the edge of the line-up. It was a tough choice though because one side had two men who seemed to scowl at the ground or at you, while the other had a man who looked impassive with blue eyes and black hair that contrasted well with his pale skin.

He seemed like he wanted to be left alone, but you’d rather sit beside him than feel the sharp glares of who you recalled were the Wind and Serpent Pillars on the other side.

Even if you made up your mind, you still flush as you kneel beside the attractive man; Giyuu wonders why his heartbeat seems to pick up.

The meeting didn’t take long, as the sole purpose of it was to introduce you and let everyone get acquainted, so Oyakata-sama ended it without any excess fanfare, taking his leave to allow the ten of you to mingle.

All of the Pillars rushed over to you, and Giyuu noticed how you jumped at their enthusiasm. There wasn’t any ill-intent—they were only eager to meet you, but you didn’t seem to be used to having eight people talk to you all at once, with how your mouth seemed to open and close like a fish.

The Water Pillar really wanted to talk to you for some odd reason, but seeing as how you already seemed extremely overwhelmed, he decided to do that later—maybe once the others let you breathe—and opted to stand by the sidelines. Not a minute later, however, three crows came flying by, one perching on his shoulders, one on Muichirou, and the other on Sanemi.

“Head to the forest by the town up… northeast!” His crow, Kanzaburo, squawked. “By the town northeast, children disappear! children disappear!”

He wasn’t able to hear what the other crows assigned to the Wind and Mist Pillars, but he was a little disappointed. He really wanted to talk to you, for a reason he could puzzle out later, but that would have to happen on another day.

He still had a job to do.

The next time Giyuu sees you is a couple of weeks later at a decently sized town.

He received notice from his crow that there was a demon trying to make this village its territory, which left him where he was now. The sun was out shining brightly, so he was using the time to gather intel by listening around for any mention of strange disappearances or odd sightings. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened to him at that town with the Matagi Hunters and Shinobu, so he stayed within hearing range, acting as inconspicuous as he could with a sword strapped to his side.

From the corner of his eye however, he catches something familiar—a trail of (h/c) hair and (f/c) haori.

Was that…?

Moving at a reasonable pace, he weaves around wandering merchants and people, slightly hoping for any other sign of you. He tried to be as polite as he could in moving around, but it seems that he already lost you once he reached the end of the crowd.

He heaves a heavy sigh after taking a seat on a bench far from the bustle, and the information, but it was about time for a break anyway.

What was it about you?

Why was he so curious to talk to you? Why was he so drawn as to chase after what he thought was you? There was something about you that made him want to get closer, to get to know you, even though he stopped himself a long time ago from forming connections to others.

Was it the strength you displayed? Was it your quiet disposition? Your pretty face?

He hoped he wasn’t as superficial to be drawn by that last one. You were pretty yes and he was willing to admit that, but he hoped that he wasn’t as shallow to want to talk to you for your looks. And yes, you were strong, but so were the other Pillars, and a lot of other demon slayers, but he didn’t feel the same pull to them as he did to you.

Giyuu throws his hands in the air. Making friends and thinking about you was making his head spin. “Focus, Giyuu.” He scolds himself and opens the wrapper of his salmon-filled rice ball.

He was about to take a bite when again, from the corner of his eye, he saw a trail of (h/c) hair and (f/c) haori. Giyuu immediately whirls his head to make sure if it was actually you and calls out before he could think about his actions. “(L/N)-san!”

When you turn around at the sound of your name, you gripped your sword in surprise only to face a pair of familiar blue eyes, and a haori split in two.

Giyuu turns back to his opened rice ball, quickly wrapping it back closed, and stands abruptly, jogging to where you were standing.

“I’m not sure if you remember but, I wasn’t able to personally introduce myself last time. My name is Giyuu Tomioka, and I’m the Water Pillar.” Giyuu wanted to give himself a pat on the back. He sounded literate.

Of course, you remember him. You kind of wanted to say that it was stupid of him to think that he was forgettable. You remember feeling a little disappointed when he left before you had a chance to talk to him. But you immediately squashed down that feeling because you could talk to him now—!

Giyuu pauses, waiting for you to reply as you seem to look for something at your side, but your eyes widen and seem to look at everywhere but him. “Is there anything wrong?” He asks and worriedly watches as your face turns into a deep red.

You raise both your hands in front of you and shake your head, even if there really was something wrong. You start to amble backward—and Giyuu couldn’t see it, but you could feel your palms and your forehead sweating bullets—an apology at the tip of your tongue, that would never be heard.

“(L/N)-san?” At the sound of his voice, you bowed deeply, almost at a ninety-degree angle from the ground. Giyuu was trying to process the reason you were bowing so deeply that he didn’t even realize that you’ve already turned around and scurried out of there.

The Water Pillar was confused out of his wits. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes blinking and squeezing shut, before ultimately collapsing back at the bench he was sitting on. “Was it something I said?”

Maybe his habit of pushing others away was catching up to him.

The sun sets not long after Giyuu finishes his salmon rice ball. He pushes his encounter with you at the back of his mind as he places the folded wrapper into his uniform pocket and moves towards the portion of the forest he heard townspeople gossip about. On the way, he could see that people were already closing up shops and walking hurriedly to their homes.

At the edge of the forest, Giyuu feels the tangible difference in the air and tenses up once he senses the demon. The presence felt so thick, that the raven-haired man was itching to cut the air with his Nichirin blade.

This isn’t good.

He fastens his pace and he grips his sword tighter, his heart already pounding a mile a minute despite keeping his stoic expression. It almost felt like the demon was already there at his side, surrounding him with its presence.

He stops at a clearing, a round opening with barely any moonlight seeping through, and stops when he spots his target. He unsheathes his blade and rushes in with his sword held high.

Not even a meter from the demon, he hears a growl, and a hand darts out managing to snag the exposed sleeve of the skin of his face. Immediately, he twists his body into a flip, before landing deftly on his feet, safe from a distance away. He wanted to scold himself for being caught off guard by something he should have easily sensed.

So there were tw- no, now there were three.

As he was moving into a defensive stance, he didn’t notice the two demons regroup and he sure as hell didn’t notice a third one join in.

Giyuu parries an incoming attack and dodges a cheap hit they tried to land. He sees an opening when the three try to surround him, breathing quick and deep as he jumps up and slashes one body into multiple parts.

Water Breathing Fourth Form: Striking Tide!

The head drops with a loud thump, and when two more appear in place as the severed body parts start to disintegrate, Giyuu just wants to groan out loud.

There were now four when there were previously three, and at this point, Giyuu was certain that there were more hiding in between the trees and the blind spots of his vision. He couldn’t stay on the defensive forever, and going on the offensive when there were others left too many openings for his liking.

One of the demons was about to try and swipe a hit while Giyuu was distracted with parrying. The arm was an inch away, but with the roll of thunder and a flash of lightning, the arm previously reaching for him sat torn on the ground.

You rushed into the clearing in a blazing glory once you sensed a demon on your patrol around town. In the heat of the battle, you leave your embarrassment and stand defensively against his back, and in an impulsive thought, Giyuu connects the fact that you might have been sent to the same mission he was on.

Ah, maybe that was why he saw you in town.

You were sent on the same mission; perhaps to cooperate—he did go on missions with the others Pillars at times despite wanting to work alone—but if that was the case, it didn’t explain why you ran from him earlier. Maybe you only realized it now too?

Regardless, he was incredibly grateful you arrived when you did because about fifteen more dropped into the clearing.

One ordinary demon was usually no trouble for demon slayers, but having multiple of them like this was a little trickier. They fought dirty, desperate for survival, and it was so, so easy to make mistakes in the heat of the battle—even for the higher ranked and, in extension, more experienced members of the corps like them.

Having a large group of demons like this was strange though because demons preferred to move alone or at least in smaller groups of two or three, at most six. This is probably the most Giyuu has seen in one place.

The two of you were a blur as an unspoken agreement passed. He’d deal with half, and you would deal with the other, and with that all sorted out, the fight was over in a little less than twenty or so minutes, both your swords being sheathed into its respective scabbards.

Giyuu gulps in a breath of air, his hands over his knees as he wheezes out a few words. “Thank you for the help (L/N)-san, one of them almost got me.”

Your heart beats a little faster—not from the battle but from the soft, relieved smile on Giyuu’s face. Why didn’t he smile more often? He looked absolutely beautiful.

“Oh, are you alright?” His eyes widen at the bleeding cut on your right arm. You almost wanted to laugh, because he looked much worse than you did with bleeding scratches that marred his handsome face.

A chuckle escapes your lips and you dust off your right hand on the fabric of your uniform, reaching down the pocket of your skirt to pull out a pristine handkerchief. Gently, you press it to his bloody wound, and the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric felt pleasant against your cool fingers.

You hold it there, discreetly checking over him for any more wounds and time seems to pass by the both of you.

Giyuu swallows nervously. His stomach was flipping around, but he was sure he had no wounds around that area. “(L/N)-san?”

You seem to snap out of it when he calls your name, your hand flinching away from his face and the handkerchief sticking from the blood. He could see the red rush to your neck and up your cheeks, to the tips of your ears. You looked kind of cute.

He stares at you as you move forward in your odd ninety-degree angle bow, and was about to ask why you were bowing, but only realized too late what you were doing once you ran off. Again.

His old crow perches wearily on his shoulder, seeming to huff before delivering a message Giyuu had already anticipated.

“Pillar Meeting! Pillar Meeting! Arrive three hours before noon!” He was aware that the Pillar Meeting was today. The only reason he wasn’t rushing to get there was that he didn't want to arrive only for it to be canceled, or moved at another time. That would be a waste of time.

“Thank you, Kanzaburo.”

Pillar Meetings usually happened in the daytime, mostly in the morning. Sometimes it’s at high noon, or when dawn breaks, maybe even before the sun sets, but rarely at night. That was when they were on duty after all, and those only happen in the direst of situations.

He arrived just on time. The others were already gathered loosely in the line-up formation they unspokenly kept, making small talk over matters Giyuu couldn’t hear. You weren’t there though. You were most likely late, but that didn’t stop him from letting his shoulders sag in slight disappointment. He was hoping to talk to you before the meeting started.

It was just his luck that you arrived a minute before Oyakata-sama did when he was already making a move to walk over to you.

He swallows down a sigh as he kneels at his spot at the edge of the line-up between Uzui and you. Giyuu liked being at the edge or at the farthest side of any kind of gathering because it always provided him with an opening to leave when he wanted, but with your newfound presence on his left side, he finds himself not minding as much as he thought he would.

The meeting carried on as usual, almost as if you were always there in the first place. One by one, the other Pillars gave their oral reports of the past month, and when Giyuu was done relaying his information, including that mission with you, he was a little surprised when you stood from your position beside him and walked towards the master’s seat when he gave a nod with his comforting smile in your direction.

You reach in your pocket and pull out a pristine roll of paper with the barest mark of black ink bleeding through. It was tied with a red braided cord that the master pulls when you hand it to him with a respectful bow. The master asks one of his children at his side to take it and read the contents.

Giyuu was a little confused. The others didn’t seem to find it odd, he notes when he takes a quick glance at his comrades. But he wonders why you didn’t speak choosing to hand in a written report. He decides to push it out of his mind. It wasn’t his business anyway.

Everything continues on, the meeting ending not long after that. All of the Pillars stood and bowed as Oyakata-sama left with the help of his children, as per usual, but Giyuu has never felt so relieved when the meeting finished as he did now.

The others were already talking among themselves while four of them left for missions assigned directly during the meeting, leaving him, you, Gyomei, Kyojurou, Mitsuri, and Muichirou. Normally, this is where Giyuu would take his leave, with or without the excuse of a mission, but to everyone’s surprise, he stays and walks up to you.

He stops at a respectable distance from you and nods politely at your right arm. “I hope your arm is okay.”

The Pillars pretended that they weren’t listening in (though Muichirou didn’t have to because he was already busy staring at the clouds) and they were doing their best to carry on a half-hearted conversation to keep up with the guise that they were minding their own business.

Your slightly spooked expression morphs into a small smile—Giyuu couldn’t help but think that you had a lovely smile—and your mouth opens, almost on its way to producing a word towards him. He didn’t notice it, but he was leaning a little closer in anticipation of the sound of your voice.

It immediately shuts back down, however, and your cheeks flush a charming shade of red as embarrassment flits across your face. Instead of speaking, you give him a respectful nod, pointing to his bandaged face, and giving a thumbs up. Then you turn back to the others with a small wave of your hand before you’re suddenly gone, your body bowing yet again as you move incredibly fast to the garden gates.

Everyone watches the gates you pushed open swing back close with a creak that sounded all over the garden.

Giyuu wanted to slap himself.

His mind flashes back to the conversation he had with Kyojuro and Mitsuri as he was walking at a bustling street in a village on the way back to his estate. He felt incredibly stupid that he was only able to connect the dots when someone spelled it out for him.

Giyuu, Kyojurou, and Mitsuri sit around the training room of the Love Pillar’s estate.

Giyuu wandered into Mitsuri’s home after he decided to ask for advice, help, anything at all to understand what he was doing wrong. You seemed close to the pink-haired woman—you two were always beside each other before and after meetings after all—and he thought that Mitsuri was nice and cheerful, so maybe asking her for advice about you wouldn’t be so bad.

When Mitsuri opens her door, she’s shocked to see the Water Pillar standing there. “Wah! Tomioka-san!”

“Uh, hello, Kanroji-san,” Giyuu greets awkwardly. “I have a question to ask you.”

“Oh, of course, no problem, come on in! I was about to make some food for us!”

He didn’t account for the fact that Mitsuri might have company over so when he sees Kyojuro after Mitsuri leads him to her training room, it seems that he would have to settle for talking to both the Love Pillar and the Flame Pillar. Oh well, having two opinions was better than one. He hoped that saying was true.

“Oh, Tomioka! Did you come to train? Kanroji and I are just taking a break if you want to spar.” Kyojuro asks when the Water Pillar takes a seat.

“No, I… just wanted to ask for some advice.”

Mitsuri must have heard all the way from her kitchen because not a moment too soon, she barges through the door with three plates in hand piled high with food. “Advice?! Is that related to your question?” Giyuu nods and takes the plate she offered. “Well, ask away—I love these kinds of things!”

He starts by recalling the day of the mission he had with you. How he called out for you to formally introduce himself in the afternoon, how he asked if you were alright in the evening after the battle with nearly twenty demons, and how you ran away from him both times with your tail between your legs. He ends with his painfully one-sided conversation with you after the meeting a few days ago, and the ever-present question of why you keep running away. (But Mitsuri and Kyojuro already knew about that part—Tomioka speaking to anybody on his own volition was a rare sight. Of course, they listened in.)

This was the most Mitsuri and Kyojuro ever heard Giyuu speak, though and they reckon it was the most he’s ever spoken at all. But they brush that off and look at each other, deciding if they should tell him what they thought everyone already knew.

“Well, you see…” Mitsuri plays with the hem of her uniform. “Tomioka-san… (Y/N) lost her voice in a battle with a lower moon. She won and became a Pillar because of it, but…”

By the slight widening of his eyes, they were able to confirm that no, he didn’t know.

Kyojuro draws his brows together, swallowing a bite of food from the plate Mitsuri handed him. “Though, it’s odd that she keeps running away. (Y/N)’s shy—that much is obvious, but she was able to talk to us. She uses this large notepad, almost the size of my arm, but she rarely uses it because she says it’s a bother to carry around.”

“Maybe she was embarrassed?” Mitsuri hmm’s for a moment at her mentor. She taps a finger on her chin, her head tilted slightly to the side as she suggests. But then she gasps, leaning closer to inspect Tomioka in a new light. “Or maybe she likes you! Wahh~”

“Oh gods,” he says, ignoring the last bit before dropping his head on his hands. “(L/N)-san can’t speak?”

You couldn’t talk.

He felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world and felt absolutely terrible for the many times he expected you to reply to him—that was rude and thoughtless of him.

Ignorance would never be an excuse for his insensitivity, but It was just like him to mess up this badly the first time he genuinely wanted to talk to his peers.

Though, he could only imagine what you felt.

Banging his head on the wall sounded like a mighty fine idea, but doing that in the middle of a busy street might make people think that he was crazy. Not that he really cared for what people thought of him but that might get him tied up for prison. He still wasn’t over that mission.

On his way back to his estate, he sees a man his age gesturing in strange motions with his hands towards a kid, around eight or ten years old. He watches as the man and the kid form figures with their palms and fingers, letting them move towards their mouth, their chest, parts around their faces, in turns. The Water Pillar has seen it before, but only now, with the revelation he just had an hour prior, did he ever question it. What were they doing with his hands? It’s almost as if they were…

“You need something, Boy?” A lady behind him speaks.

The raven-haired man jolts in surprise, and the voice laughs. He didn’t notice that he was staring, nor blocking the entrance of a shop.

Giyuu turns to find a kind-looking elderly woman, leaning over the stall of her shop watching the kid interact with the man who he presumed was a relative.

“Ah no, I’m sorry.”

She waves off his apology and grins when she notices that she got the attention of the fine-looking young man standing in front of her shop. “It’s amazing, huh? Talking with the use of hands. Pretty useful if I do say so myself.”

Getting out of the way and moving to a polite distance, closer to the shop, Giyuu asks politely, “What are they doing exactly?”

“You must be new around here huh? Explains why I’ve never seen that face.” No, he just didn’t leave in the day that often, even if the village was right down the hill of his estate. “They’re talking, I reckon—‘bout what can’t say for sure. I’ve only caught a few gestures when that little boy drops by.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a shame though, his brother—the young man—can’t speak, but on the bright side, they can communicate at least. Those fancy gestures they’re doing are pretty fascinating, you’d have to admit.” Both of them turn back to the kid and his brother.

“It is.” Giyuu agrees because it is amazing. Talking without the use of voices, only with the use of movements. There was something elegant about the way their hands would move around, how the expressions on their faces seemed to also be included in how they communicated. He found it absolutely mind-blowing that the way they gesture around carries an entire language.

When he turns back to the old woman, only then did he notice her wares and the items on display around the shelves. Maybe he could make it up to you.

“Is this for sale?” He asks, and the woman laughs loudly.

“Of course it is Boy, this is a shop after all.” She ushers him further into her store. She knows that look on his face, and old women like her were always eager to help a young man in love treat his lady right.

You were training in the courtyard of your estate when a loud knock stops you from swinging.

The training sword in your grasp drops unceremoniously as you grab the small towel on your engawa, wiping at your face. You would normally shout that you were going to get the door but there was the issue of your voice, and the Thunder estate was too big…

You try to drown out your negativity by rushing to the door before your visitor left. The door swishes open, and to your complete and utter embarrassment, the Water Pillar was there.

Oh Gods, was he here to call you a total dunce for running away from him?

“Ah, (L/N)-san, sorry to barge in on you but I wanted to a —um… t-talk? Just for a bit. It’ll be quick, I promise.” He sounds nervous—even if his face was still a little blank—but you give him a nod, and timidly move aside to let him in. He says a quick thank you before setting his zori to the side of your entrance.

As you lead him to your engawa, you could feel your nerves start to fray and short-circuit. You gesture for him to take a seat while you point to your home, wordlessly telling him to wait.

When you come back from the kitchen with a tray of tea, you hand him a cup before taking a seat a few feet away from him. You faintly hear his sharp inhale before he turns to you and speaks. “Um, I’m really sorry if I offended you on our past encounters. I didn’t know that you couldn’t… couldn’t speak.”

You were relieved that he didn’t seem to be here to call you out, but you were quick to move and shake your head and your hands from side to side. No, it’s not your fault! you would have said, but you hoped that your actions were enough to speak for you.

“No, it is, I’m really sorry. It was rude and inconsiderate of me, and I hope you could forgive me.” He bows a little, and you were starting to get a little flustered. “I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll take these as a token of my apology.”

You watch as he fumbles with his pocket, and brings out a nicely wrapped paper bag. Gingerly, you take it when he offers it to you, and wordlessly ask if you could open it.

He nods and you peek into the contents. Inside was a stack of small paper bound together by string and designed with fabric the same pattern as your haori, and a small metal pen set with simple but delicate carvings.

“It’s a small notebook and a fountain pen,” Giyuu explains, rubbing the nape of his neck with his hand. He could feel the skin burning along with his ears. “It’s small enough to put in the pocket of our uniform, so you could bring it around. I thought that you could use it to talk with others, but in hindsight, maybe you already have one of those. You don’t have to use it of course, but it would be nice if you did, but you don’t have to feel obligated to or—!”

A small giggle escapes your lips, and you flip open the pretty notebook he gave you and uncapped the pen, writing down words in your neat script. You show what you’ve written to him, a pink blush coloring your cheeks.

[Thank you, I love it! This is so much easier to bring than a large notepad and a bulky bottle of ink. I’ll be sure to bring it with me always!]

The Water Pillar lets out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding and his face unconsciously morphs into a small smile, warming his cold facade by a mile. “I’m glad. I could bring you there if you run out of pages. If you’d like.”

The blush deepens as you turn back to the notebook.

[I would like that.]

BONUS:

The Pillars were no longer surprised when you and Tomioka entered the Ubuyashiki’s garden together. It’s been like that for the past couple of meetings, and finally, they were able to get used to the cold, stoic, normally silent Giyuu Tomioka talking to the warm, shy, and more social (Y/N) (L/N). Everyone found it ironic though that the Thunder Pillar who could no longer speak was more talkative than the Water Pillar who could.

These past few meetings have also been different than the first two you participated in. You were more open and seemed to be smiling more. You even showed them the thoughtful gifts Giyuu gave you—though that was more of an accident than anything.

“Oh, (F/N)-chan!” Mitsuri squeals when you habitually pull out the notebook and the pen from your pocket to answer a question Uzui asked you. You were used to using the notebook to talk with others now. “That’s a really pretty notebook! Where did you buy it?”

The answer you were in the middle of writing sits unfinished as you move to answer Mitsuri’s question first.

[Ah, I didn’t get it, Giyuu gave it to me.]

Everyone was paying attention to your little notebook — it was actually really nice of them to be paying such close attention to your words when you couldn’t speak — and their eyes seemed to bug out of their sockets when they read the name ‘Giyuu’.

The Pillars’ heads immediately dart over to the man in question, and Giyuu immediately turns his face to the side, pretending like he wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t fooling anyone, with how red his ears appear to be.

Mitsuri inwardly screeches at the Water Pillar’s expression (but Obanai seems to have noticed anyway). She couldn’t keep it in though when she and the others turned back to you, your cheeks painted a charming shade of red.

When you arrived early or had no mission after a meeting, you would even show them a few signs from the new language you’ve been learning. Japanese Sign Language, as you and Giyuu would call it. Sometimes, he would join in if there was one you forgot.

“That’s interesting,” Muichiro says, actually looking at you instead of the clouds.

”I never knew you could talk with your hands!” Kyoujuro looks down at his hands, as he repeats one of the signals you just taught them. “It’s spectacular!”

“Yes, it is.” Shinobu agrees, an idea forming in her head—maybe she could suggest sign language to some of her patients who lost the ability to speak. “You should teach us any more you learn (F/N)-chan. It would be nice if we could talk that way, and I could teach some of my patients too!”

You would pull out your notebook though when you didn’t know how to sign what you had to say.

[It’s all thanks to Giyuu! When we’re both free, we go down together to the village close to his estate and learn from one of the people there. Oh, that’s also the village where he got this notebook for me!]

That was news to them. First, the gift, and now the two of you were together even in your spare time? Though, they had to admit that it was incredibly sweet of him to accompany and learn along with you, even if he didn’t have to. And they also found it cute when he would unconsciously turn to you, touching you gently, and moving your hands to the proper position. But Obanai and Sanemi would never admit that. They would rather fight an upper moon.

Occasionally after meetings, they would spot the two of you standing off to the side. Both of your hands would be moving around, a little too fast for them at times to really analyze what you two were talking about, but there were moments—and Mitsuri would swear on her life with this—where those hands didn’t move.

They would only hold onto each other, calloused thumbs brushing past each other’s knuckles. It was like the two of you were absorbed in your own world.

There was even this one time when she thought she saw Giyuu kiss your forehead. (Later on, you two would explain that you thought no one was looking. You were hiding behind your notebook in embarrassment, while Giyuu’s face was flushed— as red as an apple).

Nobody knew this (well maybe you did — you had a knack for being able to understand Giyuu, with or without the help of signing or speaking), but Giyuu craved for interactions, even if he was successful in making others believe he didn’t. He was glad you saw through him though, and you were glad he let you into his world.

But no, what got their attention wasn't the two of you walking in together, it was your hands—your hands that used to be a few feet apart in constant movement were now all joined and tangled fingers. And what’s more, was that Tomioka was smiling. It was probably at something you said, nothing new, but a closer look told them that he was smiling, because you were holding his hand.

The meeting started later than usual. Not even Oyakata-sama’s presence was enough to stop the questions his cute little swordsmen have been dying to ask the two of you for months.

It was further pushed when Mitsuri screamed looking away from the huddle she and the other pillars were in, pointing to you who just pulled away from kissing Giyuu’s cheek (you two thought you were being discreet). “See? I’m right, now pay up people! And stop calling me crazy!“

She was 5,000 yen richer by the time the meeting started, and she fully intended to spend it on sakura mochi.

A/N: Even if it was in the tags and the ask, I tried to reveal that bit of info as giyuu discovered it, so I hope some of you were still surprised (even just a little!!) when it was revealed that Reader couldn’t talk. Again, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you to @trueblueoceaneyes for the request uwu (requests are still open!!)

#giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny #kimetsu giyuu #kimetsu tomioka #kimetsu no yaiba giyuu #giyuu #giyuu tomioka #giyu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #fluff #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #tomioka x reader

553 notes · View notes

foxghost · 3 years

Text

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 96

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 21 (Part 6)

There’s a burly man standing to the side of the wrestler, and in the middle of the winter, and it’s the Twelfth month no less, he’s stripped to the waist. With a figure that dwarfs even Chang Liujun’s, and a hefty, muscular face, he’s looking the assassins standing across from him up and down with disdain.

“Wonderful!”

As someone gets thrown onto the ground, Cai Yan laughs, leading the crowd in a round of applause. The rest of the functionaries nod along with Mu Kuangda in approval.

The Mongolian Envoy gives Cai Yan a nod, and Cai Yan bestows the winning warrior a cup of wine. The warrior comes up and thanks Cai Yan.

“After waiting for so long,” the envoy says, “we’ve finally managed to meet Your Majesty and Your Highness. It’ll be quite the thing to boast about in front of our people when we get back.”

“Of course I’m very glad that you’ve come such a long way to celebrate my son’s birthday,” Li Yanqiu replies. "As the capital’s relocation was not settled ere now, we did not have time to receive your delegation.”

Duan Ling and Mu Qing step down from the winding gallery into the garden. There are many flowering trees planted in the garden, and Mu Qing is about to walk farther in when Duan Ling tugs at his sleeve to let him know this is far enough. The Black Armours standing on guard outside are about to drive them off as they approach, but Xie You is walking towards them from the other end of the gallery, and he gestures at the guards.

That’s why they get to stand behind the flowering bushes to listen to the goings on inside. Through the bushes, he can even see Wu Du spacing out ten steps away.

Cai Yan says, “I did read the last letter he sent, but as governmental affairs have been taking up all of my time, I haven’t had a chance to write a reply. Now that there’s an imperial order as well, I’ll trouble you to bring it back along with the letter.”

The envoy immediately replies, “That’s wonderful. Our crown prince has told us that we must bring his blessings to Your Highness by your birthday and to ask for a letter in reply.”

“What blessing?” Cai Yan smiles. “I’m surprised that Batu still thinks of me.”

“His Highness said that though you’re ten thousand miles apart,” the envoy says solemnly, “he’s gazing at the southern region from afar and celebrating Your Highness’s birthday today in order to commemorate the bond that was formed between you at the Illustrious Hall.”

Cai Yan gently smiles, heaves a sigh, and shakes his head.

“His Highness had a dish specifically prepared. It’s called the ‘Cai Dog’, and he told us that we must make sure to present it to Your Highness today.”2

Cai Yan’s smile freezes in an instant.

“I had been told that your people don’t eat dog meat, or is that untrue?” An official asks.

Those words have been rather baffling, and most of those present can’t quite comprehend what the envoy is saying, but upon observing the expression on Cai Yan’s face, the envoy begins to smile. “It’s true, we don’t eat dog meat. Dogs are our faithful friends, and in order to commemorate the work dogs do for us, we have kneaded leafy vegetable juice into dough, moulded them into dog-shaped buns that are then steamed. They are thereupon distributed to the commoners as a sign of good luck.”

Duan Ling digests these words in silence.

Batu has definitely taught his envoy to say these words; he wonders what the look on Cai Yan’s face is right now. The truth will out as they say, and no matter how much Cai Yan tries to hide things, some people are bound to find out eventually. Duan Ling finds this funny, but he can also feel that Batu’s wrath is just about to throw itself in Cai Yan’s face from ten thousand miles away — that’s the only reason he’s taught the envoy to say these series of malicious words in order to provoke Cai Yan. As for whether it’s a threat or simply a taunt, he has no idea.

“Please, bring it forward.” The envoy raises his hand.

And so the servants bring forward two platters filled with dog-shaped steamed bread, mottled-green in colour, setting them down in front of Cai Yan.

Cai Yan’s expression is seriously turning green one moment and white the next. He forces a smile, “How thoughtful of him.”

Everyone is finding this quite funny, but among those present who are in the know, only Lang Junxia is aware of Can Yan’s nickname, while Wu Du could make several guesses. Lang Junxia turns his head to give Wu Du a look that speaks volumes, but Wu Du ignores him, and instead he glances over at the flowering bushes across from him and suddenly spies Duan Ling peering from behind the bushes, trying to get a better view.

“Mongolian customs are certainly interesting,” Cai Yan says to Li Yanqiu. “Borjigin has always been very cordial when we were in Shangjing.”

Li Yanqiu nods; the envoy adds, “His Highness sincerely wishes to ask Your Highness for a handwritten letter in order to soothe his yearning for you.”

As soon as he says this, everyone starts to laugh, thinking to themselves that this barbarian’s trying to speak Han, but even his vocabulary is wrong.

Cai Yan lets out a breath. “Since that’s the case, let’s get some ink and paper out here.”

Lang Junxia steps forward, “It’s freezing and Your Highness’s hands are going to get cold. There’s no need to do this yourself. I can write on your behalf.”

The envoy seems to be thinking about this, and as he’s about to speak, Lang Junxia cuts in, “It’s been many years and I rather miss His Highness as well. He should be eighteen by now — is he married yet?”

“His Highness is out on the battlefield fighting for the Khan. As a highly valued grandson of the Khan, he is not yet engaged.”

Lang Junxia gives Li Yanqiu and Cai Yan a bow before he takes a seat set at the side of the pavilion, and taking the brush and ink, he begins to write. Cai Yan easily comes up with a few conventional greetings, and Lang Junxia writes them down; it’s no more than things that happened during their years at the Illustrious Hall, and the letter begins with reminiscing before the subject turns to the relations between their empires.

From behind the bushes, Duan Ling’s mouth quirks in a slight smile as he listens. He can’t see the look on the envoy’s face but he already knows that Batu has become aware that Cai Yan is impersonating him. He has no idea how Batu has managed to guess though.

Soon, the envoy is bringing up certain topics regarding their time at the Illustrious Hall, passing on Batu’s words. He speaks of the Illustrious Hall’s headmaster, as well as Helian Bo, testing him between the lines. To his surprise, Cai Yan manages to respond to all these inquiries flawlessly.

“Our crown prince also wanted to know if Your Highness has met with Zongzhen.”

“I nearly got dragged to Shangjing and became a study partner for him.” Cai Yan smiles as he answers, then he heaves a sigh. “Destiny does make such fools of us. If I really did end up going, maybe dad would still be here, and we’ll all be alive.”

As soon as those words leave his mouth, silence falls over the garden.

“Your Majesty?” Mu Jinzhi says very quietly.

“Rong’er,” Li Yanqiu says, “don’t think about that all the time anymore. How many times have I told you that already?”

“Yes,” that’s all Cai Yan can say.

Listening to all this quietly from behind the bushes, Duan Ling feels rather complicated all of a sudden. As he looks up, his eyes meet Wu Du’s through the leaves to find Wu Du watching him, his gaze full of tenderness.

“His Highness would also like to ask if Your Highness finds him more to your liking, or finds Yelü Zongzhen more to your liking.”

And now everyone is feeling even more awkward, all of them are finding that it’s such a humorous way to ask this question. And so Cai Yan says to Li Yanqiu, “Mongolians are all like this, straight arrows.”

“Seems like Yelü Zongzhen and Borjigin often vied for your affections,” Li Yanqiu jests, “it seems you get along with others well.”

Cai Yan immediately denies this humbly, and says to the envoy, “Naturally, I’m closer to your crown prince.”

Mu Kuangda’s expression darkens and he coughs, but Cai Yan is pretending he hasn’t heard, and continue to say to the envoy, “We really have no idea where the sword of your realm is, but if we do manage to find it, it’ll surely be an honour for us to return it. Wuluohou Mu, do put that in the letter as well.”

Lang Junxia finishes writing the letter and gives it to Cai Yan. Cai Yan takes the seal from his attendant, and puts his stamp in the bottom left corner.

The envoy says cheerfully, “Though it’s not in Your Highness’s handwriting, upon my return, I can at least say my mission is complete.”

“Is there anything else that Borjigin would like to say to me?”

The envoy falls quiet for a moment, and he looks this way and that as though he would like to say something. At that moment, Duan Ling keeps getting this feeling that the envoy still has other plans.

But to their surprise, Li Yanqiu says, “It is cold and the days are short. You should return to the palace while it’s still early. Come over in the evening, and let’s talk.”

Cai Yan hurriedly acquiesces, and Li Yanqiu gets up without saying anything more; everyone bows to see him out. After Cai Yan sees Li Yanqiu and Mu Jinzhi off, he doesn’t take his seat again, but remains standing, glancing over at the envoy. An attendant steps up to him; it is the new arrival Feng, who says to the envoy, “Do you have anything else to say? If you do not, His Highness will be leaving as well.”

Li Yanqiu’s departure seems to have left the envoy’s plans in disarray. Cai Yan says, “If there’s anything else, please speak with Chancellor Mu. Passing your message onto these officials here is tantamount to passing it to me.”

The envoy looks over at the assassins standing farther down. “Our crown prince would like to have a wrestling match with Your Highness once more.”

“What?” Cai Yan’s face clearly shows how impatient he feels, and suddenly he gets suspicious that he may be falling for some trick. His gaze sweeps over the envoy’s Mongolian attendants, questioning whether Batu has come along with the group in disguise — it’s not an impossibility.

Paranoid, Cai Yan is still looking the Mongolian envoy’s attendants up and down. “It’s not like he’s come, so how are we supposed to wrestle?” He says, while at the same time he’s fully preparing for Batu to show himself.

Fortunately the envoy is replying with a smile, “Oh? Does that mean Your Highness is agreeing to a match?”

Oh, Cai Yan, you idiot, Duan Ling thinks. Even when Borjigin doesn’t show up he can still prank you like this, which makes me wonder whether it’s fortunate or unfortunate that you ended up sitting in that position.

Cai Yan’s mind is in utter chaos, feeling that anything he may say could be used against him. Luckily, Mu Kuangda cuts in now with a smile, “If so, then why not let us each choose one of our own to represent His Highness and your crown prince, and get a good match in? Once we’ve fully enjoyed ourselves we can all go home, and not have to stand here in the cold all day. I’m an old man, not like you young folks who grew up in the north.”

The envoy says, “That’s exactly what we were meaning to do. Our best warrior Amga will represent our crown prince. But I wonder which warrior will fight for the Empire of Chen?”

Nobody says anything. You’ve got to be kidding — act like clowns and wrestle with a boorish fool? That’s just downright humiliation.

Duan Ling knows the envoy will definitely say something like “in all the vast territories of Chen, is there no one who’d dare wrestle with one of our warriors” or some such. The kind of stuff that comes out of Batu’s head, well, Duan Ling knows that like the back of his own hand.

“Which warrior?” Being here at all makes Cai Yan flustered and irritable; he wishes the fight would be over already so he can leave. The longer this goes on, the more likely they’ll see flaws in his act.

“Chang Liujun,” Mu Kuangda says.

Chang Liujun is about to answer, but then Wu Du has taken a step forward. “Then do allow me to spar with your warrior on His Highness’s behalf.”

Duan Ling’s heart sharply rises up to this throat. Mu Qing doesn’t even know what to say, his expression clearly expressing “why is he so keen on showing off” as he looks at Duan Ling. But Duan Ling knows that the “His Highness” in Wu Du’s mouth refers to him, and not Cai Yan. In Wu Du’s eyes, the real main character of this formal birthday celebration visit has been standing behind the bushes — the Duan Ling who hasn’t shown himself.

“Wu Du has not fully recovered from his injuries.” Zheng Yan says languidly, “I better take his place.”

“There’s no need to trouble the two of you.” Lang Junxia gives Cai Yan a nod.

“How about this …” Cai Yan’s head spins through a series of possibilities and says, “Wu Du’s injuries haven’t fully healed, so why not …”

But Wu Du disregards everyone else in the garden, and draws the Lieguangjian from its sheath by his waist. A bright metallic whistling rings through the area. Suddenly, all goes quiet.

Mu Kuangda says with alarm, “Wu Du!”

At Wu Du’s provocation, the expression of the warrior from the other side immediately darkens.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

Cai (Cai Yan’s last name) and Cai (vegetable) are homonyms; “Cai Dog” was also what Batu used to call Cai Yan when they were kids. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

35 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 3 years

Note

🥺anon!

i’m glad you finally started the inazuma archon quest! i’m respectfully looking at all your thoma reblogs and i approve of the thoma-fication of your blog. sometimes i just wanna choke childe but i know thoma would treat me well (but i wouldn’t be opposed to a childe x reader x thoma fic)

and i’m so scared of the prospect of a ruin guard x reader fic bc i do NOT want to simp for a ruin guard akdkgkhm but i trust you sonde :’) my heart is in your hands when it comes to fics

yess thoma is <3333 i actually starting a little drabble for him yesterday (AU where reader is part of the kamisato clan, middle child between ayato and ayaka) and he has to ~serve~ bc i can't resist he's just too cute!!!!

but okokokok ruin guard x reader au. (below the cut bc it got long hehe)

it's an au where the First Field Tiller (FFT) is the main character and it turns out that the reason the FFT is more powerful than all the other ruin guards was bc it was SO powerful that it had acquired consciousness. or at least something that bordered on sentience. (khaenri'ah was intimidated by the fact that they'd created a machine that could think for itself, and that's the reason why none of the other field tillers that followed were so weak in comparison.) but yada yada this field tiller manages to escape khaenri'ah and it goes to mond in search of some kind of meaning for its miserable, dreadful life where it can only serve as a weapon of war.

FFT goes as far from khaenri'ah as it can and ends up in Old Mondstadt where it finds peace in the emptiness of the location. FFT doesn't want to hurt people, but it can't help the way it was programmed to attack anyone who draws near, so for years, FFT shoots warning missiles at anyone who wanders close to keep itself as closed off from the rest of the world as possible bc a war machine so powerful as itself doesnt deserve happiness, doesnt deserve to be in a place where its instincts might one day bomb everyone it loves, doesnt deserve to have a life like the humans that share its level of conscious thought.

cue the entrance of Reader: a confident and battle-hungry adrenaline junkie (lmao probably an ancestor of childe's) who takes the stories of The Tyrant's Final Fury as a challenge: and so Reader ventures into the domain of Old Mondstadt in an attempt to discover the Tyrant and defeat it. only, there's...a ruin guard? and it keeps backing away whenever Reader gets close? and when reader draws their sword, the ruin guard lets out the most agonized wail as its eye glows brighter—almost as if...as if it's resisting it's programmed fight responses?

Reader is too confused to fight, and through much trial and error, Reader discovers that this FFT has consciousness. enough to be able to interact almost like a human. soon, Reader finds that FFT can communicate by writing on the ground—and that FFT can actually hear and understand what Reader is saying.

it's a difficult affair, given that FFT's eye glows brighter and it's auto-programmed offenses threaten to trigger whenever Reader gets too close, but Reader gradually learns of the ruin guard's story, and the two grow close. it can't truly be considered love because love is such a human construct and this machine is anything but, yet...Reader finds solace in FFT's presence. it's hard when Reader has to constantly stay away to avoid triggering FFT's fight responses, but Reader feels calm in FFT's presence. the constant desire to kiil, the constant search for adrenaline, the eternal quest for something to hold Reader's attention...all of that goes away in FFT's presence.

as time wears on, Reader begins to trust FFT more and more.

unfortunately, FFT doesn't trust itself.

Reader wants FFT to begin weaning itself into public life, wants to slowly train the programmed fight-or-self-destruct response out of FFT. but FFT says no. FFT doesn't think that it's possible to overcome its base programming, doesn't think that it's possible for it to ever have a life where it can live among humans.

Reader disagrees.

trying to prove that FFT is stronger than it thinks it is, Reader steps closer to FFT, trying to show that look! you're not attacking me! you're strong enough to control your instincts! only...it doesn't go as planned.

the moment Reader steps too close to FFT, the ruin guard's eye glows a bright orange as it turns to life. in that instant, all the decades of humanity that had slowly begun to set in—the decades where FFT experienced loneliness, isolation, fear, and ultimately, love, at Reader's hand—is undone. only programming remains, and FFT was programmed to kill.

Reader is strong, however.

FFT's first blow is surprising, but Reader is a soldier of hundreds of battles, someone who seeks out bloodshed because they know they have the ability to effortlessly spill it. with strength, power, and skill that only Reader can possess, they effortlessly disarm the ruin guard, destroying its so that it can't move forward anymore.

with FFT's feet crushed, it has no way of stepping closer to attack. Reader takes that as an opportunity to try reasoning with the machine, praying that the sound of their voice will wake FFT up from this programmed nightmare, praying that the time they've already spent together won't have been wasted.

what Reader doesn't anticipate is the depth of detail with which khaenri'ah created FFT.

Reader's eyes are closed when the missiles hit, half-way through an earnest soliloquy about how they've finally gotten the chance to experience love because of FFT, how they know that FFT's own love will be strong enough to overpower its programming.

never in their wildest dreams could Reader have anticipated how FFT's back opened up, sprouting eight flaming missiles that all aimed for Reader's head.

the one mercy of Reader's death is that they have no time to anticipate it: one second, they're pouring their heart out to their lover, and the next, their skull is crushed to bits, bleeding out on the cement floor.

only with the threat vanquished does FFT's programmed defenses slowly begin to wane. a single glance at Reader's limp body is enough to understand what has happened.

the wail that leaves FFT's body is devastating. it can be heard across teyvat, and it's the sound that ultimately rouses stormterror, something that shakes the very world to its core.

all FFT wants is to crawl over to Reader and cradle their dead body in its arms as a final tribute to the love they once shared, but FFT's legs have been destroyed. it can only sit on the ground numbly, craning its head in the direction of its dead lover, forced to watch for the rest of eternity as Reader's body is picked apart by ravens and cranes, insects and lizards, worms and plants.

vaguely, FFT thinks that it deserves this punishment: khaenri'ah may have been its creator, but it was the one that chose to keep on living. it chose to survive in a world of the living when it could only ever bring death. programmed or not, it chose to do this to you.

it's the reason why when, centuries later, a traveler with strange clothes and a blonde man that FFT vaguely recognizes attempt to remove FFT's eye, its core, its central processing unit, the only thing keeping it alive—it lets them.

and when the quiet machine whirr that's followed FFT its entire life finally begins to fade, all it can think about is how, maybe, it'll get to see your face one more time after this.

#KHAENRI'AH SPOILERS #DAINSLEIF QUEST SPOILERS #GENSHIN SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT #TW: DEATH (under the cut)#TW: BLOOD (not graphic also under the cut)#🥺anon #spoilers for field tiller quest #spoilers for dainslief #tbh its not spoilery since most of its fanon but idk #this was so fucking difficult to write since reader is they/them in this (gender neutral) and FFT is it/its #uhhh angst #<3 #saved you for last bb so that this will be the final ask of the night bc i want people to read this tmrw <3

20 notes · View notes

twentytarot · 3 years

Photo

hi everyone! this pick a card is written from the pov of your future self, and it’s a note of encouragement to hopefully keep you going if life isn’t going the best for you right now. pick the image that sets your thoughts off and scroll down to your respective pile for your reading! 🦋

PILE ONE: STATIONERY

hi darling,

there’s something you need to know, and once you do, i trust you to take the dive that you must to get where you need to be. you need to know that there is only one way forward: and that is to transform yourself and start again. the demons you have internalised will only disappear for good if they are destroyed right to the base. And the roots of these demons have grown too far into your foundation for you to be able to save it. so you will need to let it all go. completely.

now, here’s the encouraging part: when you do, life is going to get tiring. of course it is, everything is new, and letting go is an active process sometimes, battling forces of habit every moment. so you go under the radar for a while to rest— there are enough voices in your head and you really don’t need to hear more then. someone appears then... you know this person. they’re wise beyond their years, you’ve gone to them for advice before. virgo energy. you haven’t really connected with them for a while though, but i think they sensed you needed someone and returned. over a cup of tea, they will invite light back into your life and make it possible for you to go back to daily life with renewed strength and independence.

and when you reach the point where i am, darling, there will just be the final external battle left. you would have won all the important inner battles already. and right now, i’m unsheathing my sword, but honestly? it doesn’t even matter anymore because i know for a fact that i have the highest ground.

PILE TWO: BUILDING

libra, leo and capricorn. remember these three signs, my dear, because they’re your clues as to who this person, this person that would choose you over all else, is.

didn’t see that coming, huh?

remember that person that you decided to just stay friends with because they had so many options in life and you were sure that in the end they were just going to study or work somewhere way too far out of your reach and you would drift apart and it would get messy, so you just decided to not bother in the first place? if you think they just called it a day and gave up when it didn’t work out the first time, you’d be massively wrong. that flimsy wall you built is going to come crashing down in the best way possible. you’re basically going to get to live your very own romantic friends-to-lovers comedy.

so let this encourage you to do your best and reach out as far as you can, until you realize the gap wasn’t so big after all. because there’s someone in this world that loves you and will choose you over glittering diamonds and golden chandeliers if they must. in return, let’s make sure they don’t have to, alright? this upgrade won’t just help this person, it’ll also help us break through the glass ceiling and become someone we’ll both be proud of even further into the future. we have the potential, so don’t give up!

love, your future self

PILE THREE: LAMPPOST

do you feel 22 going on 35? yeah, with everything going on around the world now, it definitely feels like we’ve been waiting around a long time and it doesn’t look like it’s ending any time soon. i can’t really promise that things are magically going to get better, but i can promise you that this sinking lonely feeling that’s been plaguing you will disappear when two people appear in your life, falling over themselves to help you out of your shell. you haven’t met them before. they have gemini and leo energy— talkative, energetic, excitable, fun. and it’s exactly what you need to pick yourself up from your slump and feel inspired again!

and, you know what? when that happens, there’s going to be just a little inertia at first, but after that, you’re going to be completely liberated. these two people are going to need a little guidance from you, but in return, they’ll show you how to live life to the fullest. and it’s in the smallest things, isn’t it? you’re going to stop thinking about the people that you know would look at you weird if you wanted that drink that has too much sugar, or the people that would judge you if you just didn’t want to spend your friday night reading up on current affairs and just wanted to scroll on social media until 3am. the best thing to come out of all this is the new friends you’re going to make and the social circle you’re going to build as a result of you not taking yourself so seriously anymore.

so stop assuming a golden sky means the sun is setting. in contrary, the sun’s only just risen.

PILE FOUR: SNOWFLAKE

hello my dear,

more than encouragement, i’m here to offer you comfort. i know that you’ve been agonising over the fact that you haven’t been able to be the most accommodating and giving person. because you’ve been called to make a choice, and one choice will make someone else happy but will weaken you as a person, but the other choice will hurt someone. is it a bad thing that the choice has already been made for you?

the current chapter you’re on has ended, darling. it doesn’t matter what you pick because if you choose to undermine yourself this time, you will just be asked to pick again. the world has orchestrated it such that no matter what you do, you’re going to eventually be led back to square one until you decide to close the chapter you’re on fully. it’s the universe’s way of balancing life.

you can’t hold on for this person or situation anymore because this is not the place you will be appreciated or treasured. the future holds recognition, peace, balance, security; things that your current situation can only provide to you half-heartedly. and you, my dear, are not a bad person for choosing a better life for yourself. it’s time to stop feeling sorry for others and do what you’re being called to. the universe has let you in on some of its secrets, so i trust you understand.

yours, your future self

#pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #tarot #tarot readings

99 notes · View notes

i-like-plan-m · 3 years

Note

Lán Zhan has a fatal case of Hanahaki desease. He hides it from everyone while resigning himself to dying, and tries to get his affairs in order by the time he dies. Plot twist: Lwj’s father died by that same illness and Lan Qiren immediately recognizes the symptoms. He tries to do his best to help his nephew by matchmaking lwj and wwx together into confessing their love for each other.

this prompt made me laugh, thank you anon

Ao3: break the silence with these beating hearts

His brother had been a man of many virtues. The problem was that he had just as many faults, and improving most of them went ignored in favor of attending to those virtues.

Which left Lan Qiren to watch his brother destroy himself, and then to deal with the consequences of his actions. Alone. He took on Qingheng-Jun’s responsibilities. His duties. Even his sons.

Resentment would have been an easy path to take. He might have even learned to hate his brother, had it not been for his nephews. They were a joy he had never expected, one he hadn’t earned, and yet his all the same.

He raised them. Taught many of their lessons himself, occasionally even shirking his own duties when they were younger just to spend more time watching their little faces light up every time they accomplished something, every time they received a word of praise.

The point was, Lan Qiren knew his nephews better than anyone else in the universe.

So he took one look at A-Zhan and knew something was wrong. His nephew was utterly unreadable to the rest of the world, expressionless and emotionless to anyone who didn’t know better. Who didn’t know what to look for.

Lan Qiren did. He paused in the doorway of the library, frozen in place as he took in his nephew’s unsteady hand, the tight lines around his eyes. The way he held himself like one wrong move would shatter him apart.

He watched in silent horror as a cough wracked Lan Zhan’s body. As his nephew coughed something up into his hand, closing it too fast for Lan Qiren to see what it was, and then carefully dab any drops of blood with a red-stained handkerchief.

Lan Qiren didn’t need to see any more to know this curse— the Hanahaki Disease was a vicious, low-minded curse that killed with horrific slowness, drawing out the person’s pain and anguish. His own brother had died from it; there was no one more capable of recognizing the signs than Lan Qiren.

He backed away, heart pounding, throat tight, and went to find A-Huan.

Lan Huan took the news as expected; an ink pot splashed over when he shot to his feet, spilling a pool of darkness over the scattered white papers on his desk. His face was pale, mouth drawn tight, and he looked at Lan Qiren with eyes that begged for answers.

He had none to give. But he would not let his nephew succumb to such a fate, so he gestured for Lan Huan to follow him and returned to the library.

Lan Zhan had not moved. He looked up when they entered and greeted them appropriately, setting aside this brush to blink at them both expectantly.

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, dismayed. He knelt beside his brother with tears in his eyes. Lan Qiren watched Lan Zhan stiffen in realization. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I am fine.” Lan Zhan would not meet either of their eyes. His breathing was shallow, his mouth stained red.

“You are not,” Lan Qiren said harshly. Lan Zhan stared intently at the desk and did not respond. “You are dying, and I will not allow it.” As though he had any say in it.

One should not speak with arrogance. One should not speak harshly to others. Lan Qiren cared little for the rules he was breaking-- and those he was sure to break in the future, it it meant saving his nephew.

“Who is it, Lan Zhan?” Lan Huan asked, carefully holding one of Lan Zhan’s hands between his own.

“Irrelevant,” Lan Zhan bit out. “He does not feel the same.”

He would damn well change his mind, or he’d find himself at the business end of Lan Qiren’s sword, he thought furiously.

“Have you asked him?” Lan Huan asked gently. “How do you know for sure?”

Lan Zhan was silent. It gave Lan Qiren an ember of hope, that his nephew hadn’t received any confirmation that he would die painfully from the curse of unrequited love.

“Who is it?” Lan Qiren asked.

Lan Zhan refused to answer, but Lan Huan gave his brother a knowing look.

“Lan Huan? Do you know who it is?” Lan Qiren stared intently at his nephews.

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan said softly. Prompting.

Lan Zhan did not answer… but his eyes flicked to the open window when raucous laughter burst through it as Lan Qiren’s resident headache sprinted past with the furious Jiang boy hot on his heels. Lan Zhan lowered his eyes quickly, but they’d both noticed his diverted attention.

Oh no. Oh no.

Lan Qiren sat down before he fell over from sheer horrified despair. Lan Huan bit the inside of his cheeks in a clear attempt to stave off a laugh; Lan Qiren was so thoroughly gripped by dread he didn’t even bother scolding him.

Lan Qiren dropped his head into his hands. “It’s Wei Wuxian, isn’t it?” He asked in a defeated tone. Lan Zhan set his jaw, looking especially mulish, but his silence was answer enough.

“I believe you are correct, Uncle,” Lan Huan said. He patted his brother’s hand, cheerfully unbothered when Lan Zhan snatched his hand back and ducked his head to hide his cherry-red ears.

“Lan Zhan, I raised you better than this,” Lan Qiren said, dismayed. “How did this happen? How could you have fallen in love with that utterly untamed boy?”

Lan Zhan frowned. “Wei Ying is an honorable, smart, and strong cultivator. He would be a worthy match for anyone.”

There was an ominous crash somewhere outside, followed by a loud whoop and more running feet. Lan Qiren stared at Lan Zhan incredulously. Lan Zhan stared unblinking back at him like he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Don’t forget lively,” Lan Huan added helpfully after a long moment of silence inside the library. Outside the library there were more sounds of imminent chaos, undoubtedly caused by the reprobate his nephew was apparently in love with.

Well. He was already having a bad day.

“Fine. If accepting Wei Wuxian into our sect means saving your life, I will… welcome him as family,” he choked out. Lan Huan looked between them with a wide smile like he was proud of them. Lan Qiren didn’t even have the energy to frown disapprovingly at him.

“Wei Ying does not feel the same,” Lan Zhan insisted. “I will go into seclusion—“

Lan Qiren slammed a hand on the table, cutting him short. “Absolutely not.” This argument he would not lose; his nephew would not walk the same dark path as his father.

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan said. “Why don’t you try talking to him?”

Lan Zhan looked mortified at the very thought. Heavens above, it was looking more and more as though Lan Qiren would have to do all the work here. What heinous act had he committed in a past life to deserve this?

Any doubts or misgivings he had evaporated the moment Lan Zhan began coughing again, struggling to breathe past the petals forcing their way out of his lungs. Lan Huan rested a hand on his back and fed him spiritual energy, visibly concerned as blood splattered over the desk with a few shredded flower petals.

His nephew only looked frustrated at the ruined papers now decorated with splashes of red. He crumpled the petals in his hand and shoved them out of sight before turning his focus back to his work, ignoring them both when they stood and moved to the door to discuss the situation.

“How should we proceed?” Lan Huan asked, casting a worried glance back at Lan Zhan. “We can’t force anyone to love against their will.”

“He is already infatuated with Lan Zhan,” Lan Qiren griped. “Hardly a giant step to love, though we might have to shove the realization down his throat before he gets a clue.”

“What do you suggest? Finding a way for them to spend time together?”

“That should be easy enough,” Lan Qiren said dryly, reaching abruptly out the door and snatching Wei Wuxian by the collar as he dashed by, yanking him to a stop. Wei Wuxian looked between them with wide, guilty eyes.

“Ah ha,” he laughed nervously. “Hi, Master Lan, Zewu-Jun. I didn’t realize you were…”

“Close enough to hear you crashing through Cloud Recesses like a herd of elephants?” Lan Qiren scowled at him. “Go sit with Wangji. You can copy the rules on decorum and respect ten times over.”

Lan Zhan looked up sharply and stared at him, looking deeply betrayed.

“Ten times?!” Wei Wuxian squawked. “But that will take me weeks!”

Exactly, Lan Qiren thought with reluctant satisfaction. “You should have thought about that before being such a nuisance. Now go.”

He and Lan Huan watched as Wei Wuxian stumbled across the room, throwing himself down across from Lan Zhan to complain about unfair punishments.

“There. That should do it..” Lan Qiren watched Lan Zhan bat Wei Ying’s hands away from his meticulous work and hiss, “Behave.”

“I will start investigating who might have cursed Lan Zhan in the first place,” Lan Huan suggested, smiling indulgently as a playful Wei Ying and incensed Lan Zhan had a brief tug-of-war over Lan Zhan’s papers.

Lan Qiren pressed two fingers to his forehead in a vain attempt to stave off a migraine. “And I will find more reasons for those two to spend time together,” he said, resigned. “Heavens help us both.”

“Heavens help the person who cursed Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan corrected, a hard light in his eyes as he left the library. Lan Qiren watched him go, proud of the man he’d become.

He was proud of the other one, too, just appalled at his taste in significant others.

There was nothing he could do now but accept it, he thought grimly, and set off to plan a matchmaking scheme to save his nephew.

#prompts #asks #anon #wangxian #the untamed #mdzs #lan qiren #lan wangji #lan xichen #wei wuxian #hanahaki disease #my fics #my writing #good uncle lan qiren

63 notes · View notes

miserable-pile-of-lies · 3 years

Text

The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Full)

Here's the entirety of chapter two in all of its glory, I hope you guys enjoy the small lore that I created regarding Greta!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Pale green eyes squinted in concentration, rising from the thick branch he sat upon. Marius tactically retrieved his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further inquiry; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a defeated camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that her father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of headman. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village council about the daily state of affairs in their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarves, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

“We need to hurry, I don’t want to miss the birth of my baby brother,” Greta complained impatiently while Marius climbed his way down the birch tree with cautious steps, ensuring that his footing was secured along the way.

“You keep saying that you will have a brother, but how can you be so confident,” the boy queried warily with a suspicious glance, unconvinced that intuition alone could predict such a momentous event. Landing upon the ground, the youngster hollered upon Greta roughly grabbing and shaking him by the shoulders in frustration. Hoping that Felix would lend a helping hand against the rambunctious girl, Marius silently implored the middle-aged man to intervene and separate the two.

“You sound so skeptical my dear Marius, you should know that I’m quite clever when it comes to these matters,” Greta pledged eagerly, forcibly disconnected from the lad by an already fatigued Felix. The old man wished to return to the village before the three lost daylight and encountered the mischievous spirits of the forest.

“Enough out of you two, come along now,” the farmer churned out with difficulty, feeling hoarse at the thought of the journey back to the township.

Nose scrunched with a harrumph, Greta filed behind Felix with a small pout and Marius walked beside her feeling a small pang of jealousy. His friend had spent a great deal of time boasting about the new arrival of her sibling that he could not help the thorns of envy that pierced the entirety of his being. Thick as thieves, just about everyone in the colony had known how close the two were, rarely seen without one another. With the arrival of a newborn, Greta’s responsibilities and chores would increase tremendously as her mother recovered over the span of the next two months.

What if we grow apart Marius mused gloomily, instantly prickled with guilt at the selfishness of his thoughts but was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand roughly the same size as his own. Jade orbs welled up with teardrops as a thumb brush against his palm and he gripped the hand back in silence.

“What are you thinking about,” Greta murmured with great care; a tone rarely used in their conversations due to the spitfire personality that defined the young maiden.

Brushing away the tears in his eyes with his available hand, Marius contemplated how much he would be able to disclose without feeling entirely embarrassed by the pettiness of his emotions. Initially shrugging his shoulders in deference, his ample cheeks burned in shame as he slowly treaded along the path hand in hand with Greta.

“Promise not to laugh,” the boy pleaded with a defeated look, not being able to make eye contact with Greta who openly stared at him with such unease. Taking a deep breath in, the young girl released her hand from Marius and grabbed her friend’s knobby shoulders with an intense hawk-like gaze.

“I swear upon our friendship that I will not laugh, nor will I reveal the contents of this discussion to any soul,” she assured with a heavy sense of conviction, unconditional love filling her freesia eyes. Lips parted in mirth from the sheer honesty of his friend, a chuckle threatening to bubble up from his throat at his own foolishness.

“Can you promise that we’ll always remain friends,” Marius entreated faintly, inspecting the approaching dusk of the sky that precariously peeked through the treetops.

Although dumbfounded at the soft plea, Greta did not dither in responding to the vulnerable request, “Even if we were friends for an eternity, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.”

A wave of warmth washed over Marius at the declaration, assuaged by Greta’s consideration of his intrusive thoughts. Playfully knocking his shoulder into her own, the childhood friends smiled at one another, before redirecting their attention to the approaching sight of their settlement.

The trio slowly came to a stop at the barricade that was currently bolted shut from potential new arrivals in the village; Felix hesitantly craned his willowy neck upwards to see who stood guard at the top of its walls. Sure enough, a stout man roughly in his late thirties beamed at the sight of the three, quickly retrieving the bast rope to lower the door of the enormous, antiquated gatehouse. Squeaking in protest, the barricade slowly opened to the three, dust settling in the air upon impact. Without further notice, Marius and Greta speedily dashed across the oak wood of the gate while Felix’s knees trembled from exertion as he slowly limped into the community.

“Didn’t think the three of you would make it in time,” Luigi snorted cheekily, teetering towards the post to relatch the gate on the headman’s orders. Shortly after, the hefty man climbed down the shifty ladder that squeaked every step of the way before reaching the ground to properly greet the triad.

“If these two hadn’t been gallivanting about in the forest, we could have been back much sooner,” Felix complained rubbing his sore shoulders. Holding his rounded stomach while unleashing a booming guffaw, Luigi playfully shook his balding head at the mention of Marius and Greta’s predictable antics. The adolescents wordlessly exchanged a sour look before politely excusing themselves from the drawn-out discussion between the two chatty adults.

Heading towards her family’s residence, Greta and Marius spotted almost every villager crowded outside of the gate of her ancestral home. The gate was carved with several strokes belonging to the Punic alphabet and astrological formations that foretold the perilous journey of her forefathers.

Standing at the forefront of the assemblage, Tobias paced back and forth worriedly awaiting the nursing aides who instructed him to stay outside until the birthing ritual was completed. The sound of a woman wailing reverberated within the family home and Tobias wished for nothing more than to be by his wife’s side. A sizeable number of villagers swaddled their leader in support, all holding celebratory gifts to offer protection against any harm that may come to Iman or the arriving infant.

Lengthy, partially braided chestnut tresses fell past sun kissed broad shoulders; the headman possessed a striking profile that was disrupted by the prestigious wide hook of a nose displaying his Carthaginian roots. The warrior’s features were that of a handsome hero residing in an epic poem, his Herculean body cladded in his finest olive tunic befitting the occasion. Despite Greta clearly resembling her mother far more, both father and daughter shared the same honeyed gaze that resembled the jewel tones of amber.

The entire village of Danesti recognized the headman and his wife as the most handsome couple in the village, both easy on the eyes and charming in their own way. However, the couple had eyes for no one else; the village leader was completely smitten and dedicated his every waking moment to Iman while Iman could not see another man loving her the way Tobias did. Tobias claimed that he fell for Iman from the moment that he had laid his eyes on her, formally the daughter of a Somali livestock peddler who regularly passed through Danesti on route to the numerous towns in Wallachia.

Whenever Greta asked about the tryst, the older villagers professed that no one had silenced Tobias in quite the same manner that Iman did upon their initial meeting, the headman completely bewitched by her stunning beauty and graceful manner. Falling to his knees shamelessly, the newly appointed leader of Danesti begged for Iman to allow him to worship her for the rest of his days and Iman accepted the shocking proposal with a shy smile. Despite the two reciprocating feelings for one another, her father Assad was completely against the courtship as he had plans to marry Iman off to a thriving merchant who lusted after his eldest daughter.

In the end, Tobias challenged Assad in a physical brawl for the hand of Iman and the rest was history. The two wasted no time in conceiving a child within the first year of their engagement, naming Greta after the precious gem that adorned the ring Tobias gave to his wife, formerly worn by his late mother who died in the aftermath of his own birth.

Bushy brows seemed to cement into a permanent pinch, clearly distressed until he heard a familiar voice.

“Father, how is mother doing,” Greta questioned tensely, pushing through the crowd while Marius was herded in by his folks despite the boy’s protests.

Exhaling with a frightful glower, Tobias channeled his anxiety into outrage at the late arrival of his daughter, “Have you had your fill of prancing off with Marius?” Ears ablaze in mortification at the scrutiny of the villagers who went silent at the confrontation, the young girl stopped a few feet shy of her father.

“I needed to go somewhere quiet to complete my gift for mother,” Greta confessed weakly, digging into the goatskin satchel slung across the finely threaded olive tunic that mirrored the one that her father donned. Carefully, her uncertain fingers produced a small carved sculpture of a woman holding an infant while shameful tears muddled her vision. The craftsmanship of the small carving was remarkable, the creation a labor of love worked on by Greta and Marius over the period of a fortnight.

Rumpled brows sheepishly slackened at the admission, knowing that if Iman had been present, she would be livid with her husband’s arbitrary treatment of their daughter. Hesitantly, the headman closed the distance between himself and Greta who stubbornly withheld her tears as he approached.

Lifting the corner of his mouth minutely, the gruff man reached out and gingerly carded his chunky fingers through the beautiful chestnut hair of his daughter, not one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection in front of others. Peeking from beneath the reach of her father’s labor-thickened hands, Greta gathered the courage to blow a raspberry in retaliation. The sound of laughter erupted amongst the crowd of villagers, thankful that the situation had not escalated any further. The tense line of Tobias’ mouth relaxed for the first time all day; a small smile coaxed from the outrageousness of his adorable daughter.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the door of the cruck home belonging to Tobias and Iman flung open. In the doorway of the home stood the principal midwife, looking to Tobias with a weighted gaze that forebode tragedy. All went quiet in shock, the exultant air of the villagers immediately vanishing in fear of what would come next.

Face crumbling in misery at what lied ahead, Tobias sucked in his plump lower lip, approaching the doorway of his home with solemn steps. Before fully making it over the threshold, the headman threw a backwards glance at his daughter whose eyes carried a sorrow that was beyond her years.

“Restrain your grief,” Tobias uttered cautiously, directing a grim expression to Greta before entering his home. Marching past the chaste kitchen of his abode, the man followed closely behind the midwife who remained quiet as a mouse before arriving at the door of the room that had been prepared for the birth. Closing his freesia eyes with a silent prayer, he opened the door and his husky body crumbled to the ground.

His beautiful wife had never been so pale, the rich brownness of her skin ashen from the exertion of labor and her mouth ajar as she wheezed harshly. Her lithe form sagged uncomfortably on the birthing stool that she sat upon. The maternity gown cloaking her frail form was drenched in excess blood from the pelvis down, the essence of life puttering silently onto the floorboards of the room. The secondary midwives turned their remorseful glances upon the speechless headman who saw the swaddled form of his stillborn son, laying in the woven basket of his crib perpetually silent, never to awaken from his eternal slumber.

“Where is our boy Tobias, they refuse to let me hold him,” Iman churned out deliriously, blearily making out her husband who still sat in the doorway. With great difficulty, the thirty-five-year-old rose to his feet, ambling towards his wife who reached out her hand in search of her beloved. Arriving at her side, he pressed his lips to the clammy forehead of his wife who shook like a leaf in his embrace. Shushing his wife with a gentleness that only she inspired, Tobias softly asked Iman to rest despite her repeated question. Eventually, she dozed off from the sheer pain of her loss and the weakness of her body while Tobias held her fragile hand to his cheek.

“There is something I must tell you,” the central midwife addressed miserably, knowing that what she was about to disclose would break the man before her beyond repair. Heartbroken from the loss of his ill-fated son, Tobias shook his head refusing to part from his spouse.

“No more, not now,” the warrior beseeched quietly, incessant tears drenching his face, looking down at his doomed wife; the village leader had spent enough time entrenched in death to know the telltale signs. Even in her sleep, Iman breathed with difficulty and her body was soaked with cold sweat from the feverish trot of impending death.

Nodding with a heavy heart, the midwife stepped out of the room with her aides, giving the couple their much-needed privacy with the promise of addressing the village in place of the grief-stricken man.

Setting foot into the dusk of the evening, the middle-aged woman was immediately met by the mob of villagers who had not breathed a word since the departure of their leader. Hands were gravely clasped in prayer with heads bowed, hoping that at least one of the poor souls had survived the traumatic birth. The daughter of the village leader looked at the midwife with lifeless eyes, slowly stepping forward with clenched fists, nails digging violently into the skin of her palms.

“Where are my parents,” the minor queried weakly; she looked nothing like the spirited girl that danced gleefully at the arrival of the midwife with her aides. Lip trembling, the adolescent brushed past the midwife with an anguished cry, marching into her household completely distraught. Marius observed his friend from afar, feeling the pit of his stomach drop into the deepest depths, wishing that he could provide an iota of comfort. Nothing he said would erase the sorrow that would forever mark this day; he could only hope that Greta would find the courage to smile again one day as tears ran down his face.

Spiraling into complete panic, Greta made her way through the simple structure of her home, wiping her tears with the sleeve of the cotton blouse her mother had just laundered a few days ago. Arriving at the door where her parents were surely behind, her face flittered between dread and hysteria. Intaking a deep breath, she pushed the door open silently and an ear-shattering scream reached the villagers who all mournfully turned to embrace their own families. The village men removed their hats out of respect while the women held their children close to their breast, some too young to understand what was going on.

Tobias abruptly removed himself from his wife who was still barely holding on at the sound of his daughter’s screech, silently standing up with his back facing Greta. Nose flaring irritably, ire scathed his irises when he looked at his daughter who was amid a panic attack. Chest heaving up and down in apprehension, the child convulsed as an ugly cry cut through the silence of the room, not knowing whether to stare at her condemned mother or brother.

Tears still lingering in his eyes, Tobias savagely stomped across the room, standing before his firstborn without penitence.

“Straighten up now daughter of mine, you need to grow up,” he shouted venomously, grabbing the girl roughly by her slightly too large tunic to ground himself. Blunt teeth bared wickedly for all to see, the chieftain burrowed his daughter against his strong chest with silent tears, words at odds with his current actions.

Nothing reached Greta who continued to wail, the strength in her knees disappearing entirely as she slid to the floor, her father silently sinking with her. Thick snot and tears ran amuck, her breathing clearly affected by her frenzied state while a hand gently rubbed her back. The edges of her vision blackened as she fainted; Greta vaguely recalled her father raving like a mad man in his native tongue, sobbing harshly as he brought his beloved child firmly into the embrace of his burly arms. It would be the first and last time the future head woman would see the resilient man brought to tears, the love of his life stealing them away permanently with her unexpected departure.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I have lost my other brother Greta thought ardently, turning the statement over and over in her head a million times, wondering when the immediate grief of Marius passing would slither away. Presently, her muddied sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she gathered the remains of the corpses strewn about her village. Dismembered bodies were carefully laid on thick tarps customarily used to protect the produce cultivated by the farmers of Danesti. One thing was certain after last night’s invasion; the village of Danesti had fallen and it had occurred under Greta’s charge.

Invisible unrelenting fingers pointed at her in a silent accusation, calling for her execution and demanding that the head woman be replaced by a more capable hand. Loading up a wooden cart with rows of bundled corpses, amber eyes sorrowfully looked onto the Earth that bled her people dry in this latest attack. Less than forty percent of the inhabitants of Danesti and those belonging to other nearby villages survived, many children becoming orphans while the women were widowed in the aftermath of their closest victory against the night hordes.

Humiliated by the string of her latest failures, the village leader could not bring herself to thoroughly engage with anyone. If a villager approached her for further instructions regarding their task, she cowardly evaded eye contact, automatically generating an appropriate response. Despite the fatigue eating away at her strength, Greta refused to stop busying herself with the innumerous number of tasks before her. Very few members of the village council had survived, leaving her with an excessive workload to keep her out of her thoughts for a decent stretch of time.

If the previous headman could see her now, he would probably double over in shame from beyond the grave, wondering why his daughter failed the colony given all that he had taught her. In his last days, Tobias constantly reassured Greta of her position as next in line for the leadership of the village, silencing anyone who stood in opposition of her inheriting the role.

“Only you have the abilities to lead Danesti beyond its current splendor,” Tobias affirmed maniacally before he passed from a broken heart, his health steadily declining over the years, leaving a depressed and scared eighteen-year-old Greta to pick up the pieces of his ambitions.

Watching her once indestructible father devolve into a mass of sinewy muscles on his deathbed emotionally ravaged Greta. However, she could not afford to mourn for months like she did with her mother and baby brother, for the sake of the villagers now depending on her counsel. Burying her emotions deep in her breast, Greta only divested her authentic emotional state to Marius in moments of deep insecurity. The young woman feigned abundant confidence in the presence of her people, strategically dispatching a witty remark here and there at anyone who dared to challenge her position of power.

With the hammer of Tobias, Greta led a new age of prosperity in Danesti over the next four years; encouraging the expansion of the village as well as carefully managing the resources to supply the newcomers settling in the community. Branches of commerce grew as well, the wardress carefully researching the highly sought goods of Wallachians nearby to encourage her people to communicate with others from their native countries for trading purposes, utilizing the diversity of her community.

Slowly beginning to recover from her past traumas, a cruel God deemed that it was time to awaken Greta from her dreams of a brighter future, Wallachians region wide receiving a wave of brutal attacks by the night hordes. Death was an inevitable foe that she knew she would never be able to completely curb, stealing her villagers every now and then due to tragic accidents or old age. What she was facing now was entirely different; mass graves were being dug due to the surplus of carcasses that cluttered the lands, because there were not enough hands available to dig individual graves.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked to her bounded shoulder to find a tanned hand planted there, meeting the eyes of the Speaker who saved her life the previous night. Once again, finding heavy worriment in those cerulean-blue orbs, the young heroine found herself almost cursing the woman for rescuing her and Marius in that instance. At least if she died then, it would have been at the side of her dearest friend whom she considered to be the last member of her long-gone family.

“We need to talk,” the ginger-haired woman whispered gently, seeing the vacancy and pain that traversed the head woman. Stopping her task at the bidding of an invisible force from the ether, Greta allowed herself to be led away from her people who stared at their leader sympathetically.

What the fuck am I doing the hammer-wielding warrior questioned, chewing her lower lip aggressively while darting her eyes to the back of the Speaker’s fiery strands that bounced at the beating of the morning wind. Finally, the two ceased further movement upon arriving at a patch of undisturbed land that had not been scorched. The unknown woman turned to Greta with the irritated twitch of her nose, the stench of smoke still filling the air long after the Speakers had put out the flames.

“My name is Sypha Belnades, I’m the granddaughter of the Elder Speaker that leads this particular caravan,” Sypha extended politely, introducing herself with a small bow out of respect for the chief ruler of the village. The young mage happened upon Greta shortly after the night hordes fled from the assault on Danesti, feeling an unconscious link form between the two at the vulnerability that the young leader displayed for her people. Tears of empathy sprouted at the sight of Greta sprawled over the newly deceased Marius, knowing the importance of bonds and how easily a community could translate into the bonds of family.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Greta bowed as well with a forced smile, “I’m Greta of Danesti, daughter of the deceased Tobias and Iman,” responded punctually before allowing the sorcerer to continue her train of thought.

Clearing her throat in discomfort, Sypha attempted to regain her footing in the exchange, finding it difficult to formulate her thoughts amid the tragedy that she had witnessed firsthand.

“Our chapter of Speakers have spent the last couple of weeks traveling throughout the region of Wallachia, striving to put an end to the massacres that have swallowed up these lands,” Sypha started with an explanation, recounting the horrors that she had seen in her travels with a dire countenance, clearly bothered by the amount of death she had seen in the last two months. Unspeakable calamities had been dealt out without reasoning, leaving the group of Speakers at a loss in how they should advance and lend aid.

Unsubstantiated rumors circulated around the fabled entity known as Death personally commanding the army of night creatures; however, accounts from the commonfolk reported several different descriptors identifying the mystic general behind the current campaign of genocide. Some said that the commander of the army was a cloaked young woman with dark skin possessing unsettling hues that glowed, while others detailed an older male vampire who lacked the expected regalia of his kind.

“Currently we are at a disadvantage, my caravan alone cannot provide the support desperately needed across Wallachia,” Sypha confessed uneasily, rubbing her chilly fingers together to ward off the unforgiving chill that the morning air brought.

Pinched by the unyielding sense of compassion instilled by her late mother, Greta straightened her undignified form with a newfound purpose. No matter how lost she may have felt, the headwoman could not idly stand by while innocent people were slaughtered without just cause. Brown slim fingers extended out and clasped Sypha’s shoulder with certainty at what would come next, her amber eyes lighting up reinvigorated at the unspoken pledge of defending her remaining charges.

“What can I do to help,” the young warrior inquired with haste, not realizing that this exact moment would turn the tides in saving Wallachia and spark the ensuing chronicles that celebrated the legendary heroine and her fellow comrades made along the way.

#Castlevania #Greta #greta danesti #sypha belnades #gretacard #Some Greta lore has been delivered #I hope you guys enjoy this chapter #my fanfiction #fanfiction

12 notes · View notes

laurelsofhighever · 3 years

Link

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

CW: mild gore

The light burned low in Alistair’s room, wobbling as the hearthflames sifted moodily through the dying embers for fuel, outcompeted by the gleam of Sevuna through the large windows that overlooked the formal gardens of the Winter Palace. If he had cared to, he could have spoken the command to wake the lyrium glowstones dotted around the room, but he preferred the silence. In the brooding dark, he could look out at the frozen splendour of the grounds, with its hibernating fountains and spears of topiary, and his thoughts could chase themselves in circles at their leisure.

How could the world have tilted so far sideways in such a small span of hours? If he turned inwards deeply enough, a molten core still burned with the anger of being lied to, but the surrounding fire had been doused almost the moment Rosslyn had stepped back into the ballroom, vanishing as the realisation of his own stupidity came crashing down around him. He had lost her. Again. That she was alive, and somewhere within the labyrinthine decadence of Halamshiral, tormented him as much as it made him breathless with joy.

She was alive. But she was also out of his grasp, with no one to blame but himself. His hands flexed against the window frame as his memory spat back the things he had said to her, accusations and disbelief and the promise that he could never hate her turned around not a moment later to be flung in her face.

You aren’t who I thought you were.

And yet, how could he doubt her identity when she had taken the blow with such grace, and pinned him with the steel in her eyes as she left him to the frost. Fear had gripped him then, more tightly than the idea that she had spent two years laughing at his grief; he watched her retreating back with her gaze a haunt of tacit pain, and only the jolt from his reawakened sense of politics had kept him from going after her.

Someone had to be coercing her, and in order to sneak her into the Orlesian court under a false name, whoever it was had to be powerful. Revealing her might only put her in more danger, even without the less than favourable reaction that could be expected from Celene. Not since his soldiers, digging through the ruins of Ostagar, had presented him the battered remains of the falcon helm had he felt such a bottomless drop to his stomach, such a bleed of strength from his legs. When he had staggered back from the terrace his shock had excused him from the rest of the party, but such an early night had so far only given him a better opportunity to berate himself. He doubted sleep would come for him before morning.

A chill whispered through the thin fabric of his sleep clothes, drawing him from his reverie. Confused, he glanced to the fireplace, where the flames burned low but undisturbed, and then to the rest of the dark room. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a slight billow in one of the curtains, from a draught through a window he was sure had been locked.

One of the shadows moved.

Before he could cry out, the assassin flashed out a hand, and a glitter of sharp powder caught in his lungs, stinging his eyes and choking his breath so that instead of a shout, only a dry rasp emerged from his throat. On instinct, he snatched up the closest curtain to foil the glint of the blade lunging for his stomach and flung it out as far as he could, already thinking about the dagger he kept within easy reach on the bedside table. The tearing fabric behind him told him he had little chance to reach it. His limbs wouldn’t move as they should. He had to hurl himself across the bed, with a whirl of dark velvet in the air above, throwing pillows and anything else his hands could scrabble at for distraction, before his fingers finally closed on the dagger’s hilt and swept it up in an arc that drew sparks from the assassin’s descending blade.

He tried to shout again as he kicked out and rolled away, savouring the muffled grunt he got for the effort, but only until he managed to right himself. His strength was slipping, adrenaline giving way as the effects of the powder worked into his blood. Desperate, he staggered behind one of the many overstuffed chairs that littered the room, knowing it would do little good. The smirking porcelain mask, floating like a phantom above the assassin’s dark clothing, had blocked the path to the door.

Waiting for the drug to take its full effect.

Then something else moved in the darkness. In the heartbeat it took for the assassin to follow the flick of Alistair’s gaze, a second figure leapt out from behind the bed to collide bodily with the first. The momentum of the blow threw the assassin into the nightstand hard enough to send the water jug shattering to the floor, but not enough to knock them down. As Alistair watched, the white porcelain flashed, turned, lunged forwards – and stopped, impaled on the stranger’s blade.

Even with a blank, black mask disguising her features, Rosslyn could not be mistaken. She straightened as her opponent convulsed in one last gurgle and slid off the end of her sword, impassive but taut as a drawn bowstring, radiating a cold fury that froze Alistair worse than the draught blowing in from the window. He swallowed. If he could just get to her, reach out –

“Your Majesty!”

He turned too quickly at the crash of the door and had to catch himself on the chair to avoid collapsing completely. In the confusion as his guards poured into the room, weapons drawn, he lost sight of Rosslyn, with only a current of air at his back to follow her passing.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?”

He tore his gaze away, from how she pressed herself into the side of the chimney and the frantic, pleading shake of her head as their eyes met. “Uh…”

“What happened?” Morrence demanded. She had already sheathed her sword and was kneeling to examine the corpse.

“I –” Even that small attempt at speech left him coughing. His eyes watered as he tapped his throat and managed to rasp out the word assassin. “Caught me by surprise. Got lucky.”

“Hm.” His guard-commander drew a dagger from her belt and used the tip to lift the porcelain mask away from the assassin’s face. The slender features and scraggy attempt at a moustache hardly made Alistair feel better, but before he could dwell too deeply on the age difference between him and his would-be killer, he caught Morrence peering at the blood trail leading away from the body.

He shifted his weight to block her line of sight.

“Looks like he got in through the window,” one of the other guards called from across the room.

“I want someone out there now to see where he came from,” Morrence ordered. “And alert the palace guard that there’s been an attempt on His Majesty’s life. It could be whoever’s responsible wants to try for the empress as well.”

Both the look on her face and the sullen note in her voice conveyed her suspicion about Celene’s role in the whole affair, the hope – on the slim chance she wasn’t behind the attack – that the assassins creeping into the empress’ chamber were having more luck. Even more than Alistair, she had found Orlais unwelcoming. Dismissed as both a Fereldan and as someone with obvious elven ancestry, her temper had been hanging on rather a fine string ever since crossing the border.

“Either way, it sounds like all the excitement is over for me,” Alistair huffed, flashing a brittle smile at the improving quality of his voice. “What a shame, I do so love being the centre of attention.”

“Your Majesty, this man was killed with a sword.”

He quelled the urge to glance behind him. “Was he? It all happened so fast – are you sure?”

“And yet there’s no sword in this room,” she pressed, rising from her crouch. “I still have yours right here.”

“What are you suggesting, Guard-Commander?”

Her eyes narrowed at the uncommon use of her title. “It would be a good idea to make a thorough search of these rooms in case of accomplices.”

“What? No, I don’t –” He coughed, fixed his gaze on a mountain in one of the tapestries so he wouldn’t give Rosslyn away – “That won’t be necessary, surely? Can’t you just take the body, maybe put a towel over the bloodstain?”

“Your Majesty –”

Sensing defeat, he sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “Look, it’s been a long day of disappointments, and someone just tried to kill me, if you didn’t notice. I really think if there’d been an accomplice they would have jumped out of the wardrobe while I was occupied.”

“You take your safety too lightly,” she protested. “At least let us get you checked over by a healer.”

“A good night’s sleep, that’s what I need.” He tried to smile again, to hide the lurch in his stomach at the idea that Rosslyn might disappear again if he gave her the opportunity.

“But –”

He held one arm out, the other firmly supported on the back of the chair. “Look at me, I’m not even injured. And whatever got thrown in my face, it’s wearing off. If you don’t take that body away right now and leave me to rest, you can be the one to tell Élodie why I spent half the night being prodded at by Wynne instead of getting my beauty sleep.”

For a long moment, he worried she would insist anyway, but at last she turned with her fingers tight around the hilt of her own sword, and he knew this particular battle was won.

“Fine,” she bit out, and nudged the assassin’s body with her boot. “With your permission, I’ll have Leliana take a closer look at this for any clues about just who might have wanted to kill you.”

“Good idea.”

“One of us has to have sense.” She sighed. “Allers, get over here and help me, would you?”

The guard still standing by the door saluted and stepped forward to take the assassin’s legs, while Morrence hefted him up beneath the shoulders. Shuffling and cursing, they hauled the body through to the next room, while Alistair kept up his smile and eased around the chair to block their view as much as he could, despite the pins-and-needles starting to shoot up his legs as the drug wore off. When the door finally clicked shut, he allowed himself to sag and turned, only to find Rosslyn leaning against the chimney, head bowed forward, a picture of exhaustion that pulled at something unpleasant deep within his chest.

“Rosslyn –”

“Thank you,” she interrupted. “For not revealing me.”

“Thank you for saving my life,” he replied, but the smile died on his lips. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if his legs were strong enough yet to cross the distance between them, or if she would even want him to. “That poison powder has a kick.”

“I remember.”

So did he. The night after they met in the mountains on his return from Orzammar, the first time he truly feared for her life, when had had so much left to tell her.

“It should wear off soon,” she said, pushing off the wall, her eyes still on the floor. “With no permanent damage.” She paused. “He would have killed you.”

“Then I guess it’s lucky you were here.”

No response. She half-turned to him as if to reply, but not far enough to meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes caught on her hands, as if she hadn’t yet noticed the assassin’s blood coating both them and the length of her sword. There lay the last piece of evidence carving away the doubt that it really was her; Talon’s blue-gold colour shone through the gore as it cut the light, the runestone in the pommel winking with power.

“There’ll be a guard outside the window soon,” she started. “I should –”

He staggered towards her. “Don’t. Please don’t go. What I said before – I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

“What if I’m not who you think I am?” she replied, every word laced with sudden venom. For the first time, she looked at him, not bothering to hide the hurt within the depths of her glare.

“How could I mistake you?” he asked her, or himself. “How could I not recognise the woman who –” His throat wouldn’t work, though his mind screamed what he wanted to say. “I haven’t been able to stop wondering if it was a dream, if I really could be that much of a fool, but I was. I am. You could have let me walk away and I would have deserved it, but you didn’t, and I…” His laugh tasted bitter, and his eyes stung as he dared to edge the distance between them. “It’s crazy, right? Two years of wanting to see you again and the moment all my wishes came true I drove you away. I am so sorry, just – please, don’t go.”

Shrinking away again, she turned her eye to the tapestries, to the fire, to the blood on her hands that gleamed black in the low light, until the silence had stretched for so long it left a ringing in his ears and made his mouth dry, but he didn’t dare move. Finally, she wrapped her arms around her upper body with Talon held carefully to avoid its edge, steadying herself with a breath.

“I didn’t exactly make it difficult for you.”

Hope flared. As before, he approached her with halting steps as if she were an apparition likely to disappear, only this time he reached out to her in full knowledge that she wasn’t, that this encounter really wasn’t some Fade trick or conjuration. Her hands still held the cold of the Harvestmere night, the blood tacky against his skin, but she returned his grip with fingers that bore the callouses he remembered, the ones born from her dedication to her training, and when he breathed her name again she met his eyes with that fathomless winter grey he could spend hours studying without boredom.

“Come here,” he offered gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She followed him through to the suite’s tiled salle de lavage without complaint and watched him turn the taps. “I can manage.”

“Of course.” He tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to… well. You’ll need a new shirt, though, since that one’s got blood on it. I’ve got – I mean, do you want to borrow one?”

She froze with her hands running a cloth under a cool stream of water. Silence pooled like marsh fog between them, where the memories ran thick; once upon a time, his shirts had been her nightly attire, borrowed, and then naturalised to their new owner until her scent clung to the cloth even after he managed to steal them back, until it was the only thing he had had left of her. He shoved a hand backwards through his hair and coughed away the unpleasant rise at the back of his throat, made worse by the aftereffects of the powder.

“You don’t have to if you’d rather keep that one – it is quite nice, now that I’m looking – not that I’m looking – but it’s really the least I can do after the whole saving-my-life thing.”

“I’ll take the offer,” she told him with perhaps a shade of her familiar wry amusement. “Thank you.”

“Great! I’ll, uh… leave you to it, then.”

When she emerged from the washroom a little while later, he had stoked the fire and lit the glowstones, and found a spare blanket to soak up the bloodstain on the floor. He startled from his rummage through his drawers for a shirt to find her still rubbing at imaginary specks of blood in Talon’s hilt, the intense concentration in what he could see of her face throwing him back to old nights on campaign, when they would sit knee to knee, cleaning their equipment as an excuse to spend time in each other’s company.

“What’s so amusing?” she asked when she caught his expression, finally satisfied enough to sheathe the sword and throw the cloth onto the corner of the bedside table.

He turned away to hide the flush of heat up his neck. “Nothing, I just recognise that look on your face.”

“I don’t have a look on my face.” But she touched her fingers to the mask nonetheless, as if to check it was still there.

“If you say so,” he answered, grinning, and held out his least wrinkled shirt. “Here, this one shouldn’t smell too bad.”

The corner of her mouth ticked upward as she took the garment from him, but it faded into uncertainty when she glanced between it and the tunic she already wore. With an apologetic look over her shoulder she turned away, hiding herself from him as she started on the fastenings that kept the mask over her face. He tried not to let the action sting. Two years before, he might have helped her change – or hindered her, if they had time – and more than anything else so far this evening, the idea that she might not be comfortable in his presence cut deep, reminded him just how far the gulf between them had grown. He ought to respect her privacy, and tried to, but as she drew the tunic over her head the swish of the fabric caught his eye, and the sight of her held it.

Her scars were the same. The white starbust on her left shoulder from the crossbow bolt he had pulled out with his own hands on the night they first stumbled into each other; the small leaf-shaped depression below her ribs where Loghain’s sword had pierced her back. He knew them, by sight and touch and tongue, but the canvas upon which they were painted now sent a lance through his chest. What had she suffered to become so thin? How did she still endure, when he could count her ribs and see every strand of wasted muscle working beneath her skin? He had added to that pain. His gut churned with the guilt of it.

Before he was aware of moving, he had crossed the space and wrapped his arms around her waist almost before the new shirt had settled, burying his face into her neck and hating how she tensed.

“Alistair…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. “I’m sorry for everything. Everything you’ve been through. Everything I couldn’t protect you from.”

She drew in a breath and let it go, laid her fingers over his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“The things I said tonight were,” he insisted. “You deserved better. All those vile things – it was unforgivable.”

“And yet you appear to be asking forgiveness.”

She broke his embrace, just enough to turn in his arms, and this time as she looked up at him, without darkness or resined paper to hide her features, he forgot to breathe. The familiar, teasing curl of her mouth drew him in, but he stopped, and brushed a hand along her cheek instead. How many times had he wished for just one more look, bargained his entire kingdom to the dark for one more moment to admire the straight line of her nose, her high cheeks, the way her fine lashes fanned against her skin and perfectly framed her eyes?

“Alistair?” she prompted.

“What?”

“You were staring.”

“Oh! Well…” He resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. “The clockwork’s a little rusty – you know how it is. I forget to wind it up. Ah.” He swallowed, dared to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I don’t suppose you’ll forgive me for that, too? I remember you being very forgiving.”

She chuckled. “Do you?”

“Very clearly. You’re the most merciful person in Thedas.”

For an instant, he watched a retort dance on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back and dropped her gaze to the middle of his chest, and he started forward to ask what he’d done wrong.

“You left me,” she said, before he could open his mouth. “On the morning of the battle I woke up and you weren’t there. Why?”

He flinched away from the quiet, even tone of her voice, as if she had shouted instead. There was no answer he could give beyond an admission of cowardice, nothing that would excuse it.

“I have regretted that every day,” he told her. “I couldn’t face that being the last time I would see you, I was terrified I’d change my mind. I wondered, after, if that was why…”

“You think I went and faced the Nightmare out of spite?” she checked.

“No! I mean… Sometimes. In the beginning, I was so angry, but you would never stand by while you could help. I should have known better than to try and make you.” His memories from those early weeks without her existed in a haze of vitriolic self-destruction, recalled only as flashes where he cast blame at anyone who dared come near him, until even Cuno was banished to the kennels after pacing one too many times from room to room, searching for the mistress who had not come home. He had begged the mages to help him, to offer him some hope that she lived, and now before him stood the proof that he should have tried harder.

Cool fingers laced tentatively with his. “I should have let Morrence lead the cavalry.”

“You saved us all,” he insisted, but sighed and looked away, because the wound still throbbed. “And you deserved more from me.”

“I promised you I would stay behind.”

“Shhhh…” Weary to his bones, he pressed a kiss against her forehead. “It’s alright. You’re here. And I should have known that not even death could ever stop you. It probably took one look at that glare of yours and decided to turn tail.”

The comment earned a brief, wet chuckle as he pulled her close, and left in its wake a more comfortable silence than those that had gone before, a relief and a comfort, taming the shadowy beast that since Ostagar had clawed its way through his mind and body both. That Rosslyn now clung to him too opened a new, bright kind of pain beneath his ribs, clean and healing where before his wounds had festered. He never wanted to let her go.

“I did everything I could to get back to you,” she said after a long moment. “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”

“It’s alright,” he whispered, with another kiss to her forehead as if reassuring nothing more than a bad dream. “It’s alright.”

He trailed the declaration down the side of her face, his lips brushing over the lid of an eye, her cheek, the very corner of her mouth, while her hands curled slowly into his waist and the back of his neck. At the last, she turned her head and his mouth found hers of its own accord, instinct more than effort that sent sparks to the tips of his still-numb fingers.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” he breathed, not daring to pull away. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” she promised, and leaned forward again.

“Wait, does that mean you won’t stay or you won’t go?”

The sound of her laugh made him giddy as she pushed into him, rising onto her toes so the arms around his neck could pull him into a deeper kiss. Any caution urged by the overwhelming shadows still ranged against them fell to the press of her body against his, the beat of her pulse under his thumb and the whimper that slipped her throat as his hands wandered.

And yet even here in such a perfect moment, responsibility nagged at him. The gaudy porcelain clockwork on the mantelpiece chimed the early hour and drew them apart, flushed and breathing heavily and still joined by the gentle brush of fingers over each other’s skin. He had meetings to attend in the morning, and Élodie’s wrath to face if he spent them trying to hide yawns behind his hand.

“We should go to bed,” he murmured, with a rush of longing and doubt so strong his head spun. “To sleep! Not for anything nefarious. I mean –”

Breaking into a smile, she stopped him with a swift kiss. “You’ve never been nefarious in your life.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You should know… I don’t sleep much these days,” she admitted. “Not since I came back.”

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, at a loss for how to comfort her. He didn’t want to pry.

“Don’t worry about it. Perhaps this is what I’ve been missing.”

“You say the nicest things,” he replied, to cover, and brought the back of her hand to his lips.

In the few paces to the ridiculously ornate canopy bed, his heart thundered, stalling his breath with memories of the nights he had spent wrapped up with Rosslyn nestled against him, and after, even more nights when the place at his side lay cold and empty. He bit down on the urge to tell her sleep would likely elude him too, for fear of waking to that nightmare again, even as his heart ached with the stilted atmosphere between them, the experiences that had pushed them apart. His body responded to hers in a way it hadn’t for longer than he cared to think, automatically and carelessly, but reaching for her now felt like reaching across a tidal strait too deep to swim, close enough to hear her voice and see her waiting on the far shore but unable to cross the gap. But he would not push. The day he had spent with her in the meadow high in the Frostbacks loomed in his mind, when she had told him of her lacking desire and the fear that to others it would not matter, and the promise he had made to never be that person to her which still held true.

It didn’t mean he had to be tired of kissing her. They had two years to make up. Every line of muscle yearned towards her as he turned and found her still behind him, not an apparition, her hand warm in his and her breath soft and sweet across his face. He felt her smile as he leaned down to her, and then the jolt in his blood when the tip of her tongue darted out over his bottom lip.

“Does that convince you I’m really here?” she teased.

He bumped his nose against hers. “Just about.”

Humming her satisfaction at the response, she left him to sit on the edge of the bed, smirking as she lifted one leg across the other. “What, you don’t expect me to go to bed in boots, do you?” she asked when she noticed his frown. “I’ll get mud all over the sheets.”

“As much as I’d love to explain that one to the servants…” He shrugged as he knelt and waved her hands away from the buckles. “Let me do that.”

“I’m perfectly capable –”

“I want to see if you’re wearing embarrassing socks.”

The brief chuckle earned by the remark drew his eyes upwards. Rosslyn watched him, her head tilted in a wistfulness that reached down through her fingers as she twined them into his hair.

“You’re staring again,” she noted.

He turned to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Must be the view.”

“Hm. Get back to it, Your Majesty.”

Smirking, he did as he was told and set to the straps, content to go slowly, working his way down her calf. The boot slipped off her foot with a minor tug, accompanied by a sigh from above. She had lain back to gaze at the canopy of the bed while he worked, entirely at ease, and the normality of the whole scene eased a sigh between his lips.

“I’m disappointed in these socks,” he informed her as he started on the second boot.

An answering hum of laughter. “I will endeavour to do better next time.”

“Good.” He stayed on the floor a moment longer, kneading his thumb along the lines of hard muscle between ankle and knee until she relaxed under his touch. When he finally moved to join her on the bed, her head lay propped on one arm, her eyes warm as he settled at her side and laced his fingers into her free hand.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“Mostly.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow. “And what would make it all better?”

The corner of her mouth tugged into a smile as she untucked her arm from behind her head and rose onto one elbow, closer to him, and his eyes fluttered shut with the gentle fingertips she traced along his jaw.

“Just this,” she murmured, and tilted forward to kiss him, long and sweet.

When she finally pulled away, the lack of her froze his skin as if he had turned from a campfire on a cold night. He followed after her, pressing his forehead to hers and curling his hand around the precious shell of her ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” She paused. “This beard, however…”

He jerked his head back, one hand already flying to his chin. “What’s wrong with my extremely manly beard?” he demanded.

Laughing, she scooted around him so her legs no longer dangled off the edge of the mattress and did not answer, preoccupied instead with unbuckling Talon from her waist. He noticed she laid it still within easy reach as she peeled back the covers, but he pushed down the twist of pain caused by the implication in favour of a more pressing matter. He followed her up the bed.

“Teagan says it makes me look distinguished, you know.”

“Teagan’s never had to kiss you with it,” she retorted. “Or at least I hope not.”

He frowned as he settled next to her under the covers, on his side with his chest tight and heart dancing for her closeness. Their legs tangled together. As his hand found its old place on her hip, it awoke every forgotten habit his mind had sealed away, like a limb released from a tourniquet and allowed to move again, and when her arm slipped up to rest in a loose embrace, a sigh painting her lips, he never wanted to move again.

“I haven’t kissed Teagan,” he told her. “I haven’t kissed anyone.”

Damn those grey eyes. The intensity in them could turn a charging horse, or reduce a hardened criminal to gibbered pleading, and Alistair doubted he turned away fast enough to hide the well of loneliness that had eaten away at him for so long – perhaps stoppered now, in her presence, but still aching like the echo in an empty cave. Her touch burned on the side of his face as she sought to comfort him.

“You really don’t like the beard?” he checked, before she could speak.

“You mean these boar bristles?” she asked gently. She stroked her fingers along the edge of his jaw and the unexpected shiver it sent down his back made him want her to do it again. “The overall effect has… a certain charm. Perhaps it’ll grow on me.”

“I certainly hope not! The beard can stay on my face, thank you – but I’ll let you borrow it whenever you like.” He pulled her close, forgetting his earlier caution in her giggle as he held her face and rubbed his stubbled cheeks all over hers as if he were a cat, kissing where his lips brushed skin, until her hands twisted into his hair and they had turned so she was beneath him, wrapped in his embrace with her hair coming loose from its pins across the pillow. She bared her neck to him and he obliged, rediscovering the trail that led along her pulse as her breath turned to gasps and her hands fisted in the collar of his shirt.

But she wasn’t free, not yet. Even as he nipped at her skin and soothed the bite with his tongue, she drew his head up to bring his mouth to hers again, seeking comfort, the frayed ends of their connection severed at Ostagar. He embraced her tighter and at the sound of her name she turned his head and kissed along the exposed length of his neck, the juncture of his shoulder. Eventually they lay wrapped together like tree roots, quiet, lost and found without the need for words.

“Staying here won’t affect your mission, will it?” he asked when he again trusted himself to speak. “You won’t get in trouble?”

Silent, Rosslyn shook her head.

“Tell me about it.” He pulled back. “I want to help, whatever it is.”

“Alistair…”

“I’m serious.”

Defeated, she huffed and pushed him onto his back before tucking herself down against his chest, shuffling until she got comfortable. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he replied. “Who’s behind it? Not just anyone could keep you on such a tight leash.”

She tensed. “It’s Flemeth.”

“You mean –” The nerves at the ends of his fingers tingled like they had been dipped in hot water after coming in from the snow. “Flemeth Flemeth?”

“She’s the one who pulled me from the Fade. If not for her, I’d still be there.”

The reminder settled like lead in Alistair’s stomach. He curled his arm more snugly about her waist, as if that alone might keep her from being dragged back into the formless world beyond the Veil, to face demons and who knew what else. To turn his mind from the image, he set it the task of wondering what an all-powerful swamp witch might want with the glitter of the Orlesian royal court.

“It’s something to do with Morrigan, isn’t it?”

Rosslyn glanced to him. “You know about her?”

“I met her this evening,” he said. “Very like her mother, though I don’t think I’d dare say that to her face.”

“She has possession of an artefact, an enchanted mirror that acts as a portal to… somewhere, or something. Some ancient elven magic. Flemeth asked me to destroy the mirror before Morrigan can work out how to use it.”

“I wondered why Celene was bothering to keep the templars off her,” he mused. “Ancient magic the world has never seen could be powerful in the wrong hands.”

She hummed her agreement. “And as far as Ferelden is concerned, you can’t get much worse than Orlais.”

“No, you can’t. No wonder you didn’t want to be found out.” Discovering the supposedly dead Queen of Ferelden sneaking about the halls attempting to thwart the schemes of a political adversary would have lit a flame to the waiting pyre of Orlais’ warmongering nobles – could still, if Rosslyn were caught. Celene had made her intentions towards the Fereldan Crown very clear, first by housing Alistair in the Emperor’s apartments under the guise of having nowhere else fit for his entourage, and then by having him attend her and her proxies all evening, her charm a militant campaign of flattery he had no doubt could turn sour the moment she found herself upstaged. And that was without the threat of an ancient weapon held like a knife above the heads of his people.

“I can hear you thinking,” Rosslyn mumbled into his side.

“Not so much of a rare occurrence these days,” he told her. “Kings who are fools don’t tend to last long.”

She pushed herself up onto an elbow and turned to face him properly, palm flat against his chest. “You were never a fool.”

Celene posed a threat. He had no explanation for Rosslyn’s presence, and no way to protect her should the empress discover her purpose in Halamshiral. If she did not succeed, Flemeth might not release her, and Ferelden might suffer an Occupation more ruthless than the last. And yet…

“You do know I’m not letting you go again, right?” he asked though the sting at the corner of his eyes. “You’ll have to stay with me forever, and we’ll have to stay here in this bed because I never want another moment without you.”

Quiet, she leaned forward to stroke his cheek. “There are worse fates.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Glad we sorted that.”

There was a long silence as she curled into his side again, punctuated only by the command for the glowstone to dim. In place of words, their hands found each other in the darkness and chased random patterns from fingertip to wrist in slow arcs, reassuring touches that gave a focus beyond the disinclination for sleep. For Alistair, it was the lingering fear that Rosslyn might vanish as soon as he closed his eyes, the desire to savour having her warm and heavy against him. They had a whole lifetime for sleep, endless days where he wouldn’t wake and have to steel himself to brave the emptiness on the other side of the bed. At least, so he hoped, if she wanted it too.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #king alistair #king alistair theirin #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #cousland #f!cousland #rosslyn cousland #the falcon and the rose

18 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3)

The ceiling of the hanshi looked strange when Lan Xichen woke up.

His mind was fuzzy, his mouth dry and disgusting in taste, and it took a few moments before he realized that the strangeness was the position of the light: he had overslept for the first time in years, and the sunlight on the ceiling was that of mid-morning or later, not pre-dawn. How strange – he almost never slept so late, he thought vaguely, and wondered almost idly what had caused him to be so tired.

It took another few moments before he realized why sleeping late, or even at all, was such a problem.

He sat up with a gasp, hand flying to his throat in horror, and Jin Guangyao, seated not far away and awake already, looked up at him, already starting to smile in greeting.

“Why did I sleep?” Lan Xichen demanded, but he already knew the answer – his tongue had a greasy feel on it, herbaceous, that suggested that he had been drugged, and anyway he only remembered having a single cup of tea with Jin Guangyao’s coaxing, then nothing. “A-Yao, why…?”

“You were panicking,” Jin Guangyao said, smiling fading a little, his lovely soft eyes turning melancholy at the perceived blame in the question – Jin Guangyao was so sensitive about the merest suggestion that he wasn’t wholly trusted. It was trauma remaining from his upbringing, Lan Xichen knew, and never blamed him for it; he took every effort to remind him that he was loved and appreciated now, that he respect him, even honored and treasured him, and one day he was certain his efforts would be enough. “I thought it would be good for you to sleep, so that you would be calm again. Er-ge…”

“I was supposed to be monitoring da-ge!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, struggling to get out of bed, his limbs still unwieldly and unresponsive. “He shouldn’t – I only meant to put him in there for – for half a shichen at most –”

Jin Guangyao hurried over to him at once, his facile face upset. “But you said that he needed more time,” he pointed out, confused, and oh, it was Lan Xichen’s fault, wasn’t it? He should have been clearer. With Jin Guangyao’s too-perfect memory, both benefit and curse, for him to make a mistake like this meant that it must have been a misunderstanding between them. “You said that the benefit of the room was only very small to start – I thought you said he needed stronger medicine than what he was taking? We discussed it, I’m sure of it. A sharp shock to the system to restart it properly – when you said yesterday that you only planned to leave him for a short time, I honestly thought you were just talking yourself of out of what you needed to do…”

It was not unreasonable, but of course Jin Guangyao was never unreasonable.

His words now were echoed the ones he’d raised when Lan Xichen had been dithering – uncertainty and irresoluteness were his worst faults and he knew it – over whether he should even take the current approach, even knowing how much Nie Mingjue didn’t like the idea of the quiet room.

Not that he’d ever even given it a proper try.

Jin Guangyao had pointed out that Nie Mingjue was declining, and it was true, visible, painful. It was one thing to know that your beloved was likely to have a short life and another to see him begin to lose himself when he’d barely had any time to live. Nie Mingjue had spent his whole life on avenging his father, had finally succeeded, was finally unfettered and free from the burdens of his parents the way Lan Xichen had always so desperately wanted for him, and now, now he was dying? Succumbing to his inevitable fate, fading into a creature composed of nothing but rage the way his father had, the way he’d always feared more than anything?

It wasn’t fair.

Jin Guangyao had helped Lan Xichen see that it wasn’t fair to him, too – to either of them, really. They both loved Nie Mingjue so much! He was their lifeblood, their backbone, the foundation of the earth beneath their feet. The thought of him dying panicked Lan Xichen beyond all reason, and the thought of him dying when it could be prevented, when they could have done something, when he could have done something if only he wasn’t so unreasonably stubborn…it was simply intolerable.

Jin Guangyao was right, of course, that Lan Xichen would ultimately hate himself if he stood by and did nothing. He’d been so passive all his life, his father his mother his uncle his sect, but this was his lover – and the Lan sect was always so unreasonable about lovers. That was something Nie Mingjue well knew, so surely some strong measures could be forgiven, could be understood.

Nie Mingjue would understand.

It wasn’t like Lan Xichen’s father’s situation at all, Jin Guangyao had assured him when he had raised the concern. It wasn’t as though Lan Xichen was imprisoning Nie Mingjue for his own selfish reasons, claiming to protect him when in fact all he wanted was not to lose him.

He was trying to help him.

Help him when he wouldn’t help himself.

That was what hurt the most, really. That was what Jin Guangyao had so passionately argued was unfair: that Nie Mingjue had stopped trying. He’d stopped letting Jin Guangyao play Clarity for him, the technique Lan Xichen had worked so hard to find and develop for him; he’d stopped trying even his own sect’s techniques for calming and healing qi. He was no longer looking for solutions. No, he’d turned instead to start arranging his affairs: to make plans and provisions for what might happen, to prepare his sect for Nie Huaisang to take charge, to ease the transition that would happen after he – after he –

It’s not his fault, Jin Guangyao had said gently when Lan Xichen had driven himself into a frenzy of panic, heart beating wildly and lungs burning even as he breathed too quickly. Jin Guangyao had held him in his arms, counted his breaths with him, calmed him; he was so good, good to Lan Xichen, always thinking about what he could do to help him, and he’d been so good to Nie Mingjue, too, even if they were fighting right now, even if Nie Mingjue was holding him at arms’ length.

Jin Guangyao had remembered what Lan Xichen had not. He’d reminded Lan Xichen that even if it was unfair, even if it hurt him, even if he resented Nie Mingjue for having given up on life, on them, so easily, that him doing that when he’d always sworn he wouldn’t? That was wrong, too.

And that meant that it wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s fault, not really.

It was the qi deviation.

After all, as Jin Guangyao had recalled to Lan Xichen’s attention, wasn’t it a known symptom of qi deviations that they affected the person subtly as well as strongly? Death by qi deviation wasn’t just the single killing blow with the sword, but the insidious destruction of poison, tearing apart the person from the inside out until they weren’t even themselves any more.

If he had had a small qi deviation, it would make Nie Mingjue more stubborn, more rigid, more angry, less flexible, less forgiving, less willing to listen to reason. It would take Nie Mingjue away from Lan Xichen, take Nie Mingjue away from himself, and make him an accomplice in his own deterioration – as Jin Guangyao pointed out, why else would Nie Mingjue suddenly refuse to be helped? Why else would he grow so distant from Jin Guangyao, who he loved?

It must be the qi deviation speaking, not him. Not his Mingjue.

With Jin Guangyao’s words, Lan Xichen had felt the sudden and overwhelming relief of understanding – of knowing that it wasn’t anything he’d done or failed to do, of knowing that there was still hope. If they only took stronger steps to get rid of the vile thing affecting Nie Mingjue, he would return to the way he was, return to them both, and they would stand shoulder-to-shoulder in this fight against the invisible enemy the way they had against the more corporeal enemies they’d faced in the Sunshot Campaign.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t minded aggressive moves back then, after all. He’d put his life on the line time and time again to win the smallest advantages – win a battle here, rescue a village there…he’d been willing to consider the wildest stratagems, accept help from strange sources (Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation came to mind), if it meant they could free the cultivation world from Wen Ruohan’s cancerous tyranny.

It really wasn’t asking so much for him to try just as hard to fight his own doom, was it?

No, Jin Guangyao was right. It really wasn’t.

And if it was only the qi deviation that made Nie Mingjue refuse their help, then maybe Jin Guangyao was right about the rest of it, too. He’d made an apt comparison: if Nie Mingjue had put blinders on himself and was stumbling around in the dark, heading the wrong way, then surely it was their duty to help him see the light, even if he initially refused their assistance in his artificially induced stubbornness.

He would see the benefit of what they’d done when he was better. He would thank them.

He’d see that it wasn’t that they were being malicious, overriding his stated wishes like that, but rather that they loved him – loved him too much to let him stand aside and let him hurt himself like that.

He’d forgive them.

After all, hadn’t Lan Xichen forgiven him?

When Jin Guangyao had first confessed his past with Nie Mingjue to him, he’d been heartbroken, of course. Nie Mingjue was his lover – how could he take another man to his bed? Even if that man was as charming and beautiful as their A-Yao, as competent and righteous, as kind and generous…

Lan Xichen had liked Jin Guangyao from the very start, back when they’d had nothing to do with each other and not even friendship to bind themselves together, when he had exerted himself to help when Lan Xichen had had nothing with which to repay him.

He’d admired him so much for having come through everything that he’d suffered all the stronger, that he’d still remained noble and good despite all the humiliations and embarrassments. He’d been flattered when Jin Guangyao – then Meng Yao – had flirted with him, lingering touches and sly innuendo and the sparkling tension of will-he-won’t-he-what-will-he-do-next. Nie Mingjue had never engaged in any of that with him, not really; his beloved was too straightforward in his affections to take a circuitous route in expressing them (they’d been barely more than children when Nie Mingjue had blurted out a love confession, much to Lan Xichen’s delight), and he’d been too familiar with the burdens of being the sect heir or sect leader to play around with implications that could harm their position.

Lan Xichen appreciated that consideration, really, but flirting with Jin Guangyao had been…nice.

Fun. Meaningless, of course, because Jin Guangyao was strictly off-limits – everyone was off-limits, he already had a lover! – but the banter was flattering. It made him feel the joy of being desired by someone he liked, that feeling of excitement and newness and discovery that had long ago faded out of the comfortable and happy relationship he had with Nie Mingjue.

It’d been a passing crush, nothing more. And with Jin Guangyao as Nie Mingjue’s deputy, he could still be friends with him – they could both be friends with him. The conversations between the three of them had flowed smooth and easy back then, all of them casual and as relaxed as they could be given the circumstances; he had been so happy then. They had all been happy.

The war had taken that from them.

Lan Xichen still didn’t know exactly what it was that had divided Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao so bitterly – Nie Mingjue had both wanted to tell him and hadn’t, knowing how close they were – and he had known that he’d only made it worse by honoring Jin Guangyao’s desperate request to hide the fact that he was the source of the information that had helped them. But in the end Nie Mingjue had agreed to swear to brotherhood between them despite all that, so it couldn’t be that bad, surely?

He’d expected that one day Nie Mingjue would finally be able to swallow the hurt and pain in his throat and speak clearly to him about what his grievances were, and that once they were out in the open, he would see that they were all misunderstandings the way Jin Guangyao swore they were. Once it was in the open, they could work through them and return to the way they’d been.

Lan Xichen hadn’t expected Jin Guangyao to confess first – and to being Nie MIngjue’s lover during the war.

Lan Xichen hadn’t believed it at first, thinking that Nie Mingjue would never, would never, but Jin Guangyao’s confession had been so detailed: the way Nie Mingjue liked to stroke his hand along his arm as if petting a large cat, the expression of stunned pleasure on his face, the little things he did only in private, even the secret things like how his hips stuttered in the moments before he reached completion…it was almost as if Jin Guangyao were reciting back one of Lan Xichen’s own hidden encounters with Nie Mingjue back at him, the same in every respect.

And while Lan Xichen was absorbing that, Jin Guangyao had apologetically explained that he had never meant to trespass – that Nie Mingjue had said that forgiveness was better than permission in affairs of the heart, that Lan Xichen liked Jin Guangyao so much that he wouldn’t mind, that he would clear things up the very first instant he had a chance to.

It was wrong of him to have agreed to have done that to him, his good friend, Jin Guangyao said, his face full of sorrow and guilt. But he had been in love – surely Lan Xichen understood how love could blind you and dizzy you? How it could drive you to do things you’d once thought were crazy?

He only spoken up now, he’d explained, because it seemed as though Nie Mingjue had not told Lan Xichen the truth – he hadn’t – and it seemed, moreover, that he wasn’t planning to tell him, ever. That he’d planned to just forget it had ever happened, to pretend that they had really just been sect leader and deputy, been only friends.

That had seemed to him, Jin Guangyao had gently explained, to be rather unfair to Lan Xichen. And so, even though it might cost him everything, he had chosen to explain it to him now.

Lan Xichen had been heartbroken, of course. He’d been so angry at the betrayal – but also secretly a little thrilled.

After all, if Nie Mingjue could do it, Lan Xichen could do the same, couldn’t he? And he’d always liked Jin Guangyao so very much...

Jin Guangyao, it seemed, felt the same way.

Sometimes Lan Xichen felt bad about it, knowing that even if Nie Mingjue had once been lovers with Jin Guangyao he certainly wasn’t now. But Jin Guangyao was so reassuring in his certainty that Nie Mingjue would understand – that he’d even fantasized about the two of them together many a time, that it was his own words that had said that forgiveness and not permission was the right way to go about these things. This way, Lan Xichen could work out his little anger at being betrayed, get his own little version of revenge: just a kiss, at first, he’d only planned on it being just a kiss, but then one thing had led to another and then there was more that he would have to explain, more that he’d have to get forgiveness for, and after a while it was just easier to remind himself that this was something Nie Mingjue wanted, that when it was revealed to him that he would be happy, that it would all work out perfectly with everyone getting everything they wanted, than it was to try to think of having to explain.

Jin Guangyao had even volunteered to be the one to talk to Nie Mingjue on the subject when the time was right, relieving Lan Xichen of the anxiety-inducing burden of serious emotional conversation, which he hated.

(It was his job to smile and be happy, comforting, supportive; the sect elders had always made that very clear. Lan Wangji could get away with a scowl firmly on his face only because he was younger, a spoiled little brother and not the future face of their sect – Lan Xichen’s uncle might have run the sect on his behalf, but everyone knew that Lan Xichen was as good as sect leader from a young age, and he’d had to act like it. It was easier for him to smile and nod and simply not bring up unpleasant subjects, just the way he always had, than to torment himself with having to break through his long-established façade.)

Besides, as Jin Guangyao had worriedly remarked, Nie Mingjue’s worsening condition made it difficult to talk to him openly about such things. According to Jin Guangyao, Nie Mingjue had suffered a qi deviation in the fight at the Fire Palace, and it had made him untrusting and paranoid, reluctant to trust or forgive in a way that wasn’t like him. If they brought it up to him too early, before they’d solve the underlying problem of the qi deviation, Nie Mingjue might lash out and ruin the wonderful thing that all three of them wanted so much.

Lan Xichen had wept when Jin Guangyao had told him that Nie Mingjue had admitted, in a moment of weakness, that he wanted to make sure that Lan Xichen would still be loved after he was gone – that he wanted to leave his lover in good hands, hands he trusted, in Jin Guangyao’s hands.

That had been before they’d fought, of course.

And anyway, there really wasn’t anything to worry about, not really. Nie Mingjue loved Lan Xichen, and he’d loved Jin Guanyao, and he always forgave those he loved – one need only look at how spoiled Nie Huaisang had become over the years to know that.

Even if he might get annoyed that they didn’t tell him at once, he’d understand why they delayed.

Just like he’d understand why they had to help him.

Lan Xichen rubbed at his face tiredly. “A-Yao, I know your intentions were good, but there’s strong medicine and then there’s strong medicine. We need to go check in on him at once.”

“Da-ge’s strong,” Jin Guangyao said, loyal and loving as always. “And anyway, didn’t you say you spent your first full night in the jingshi before the age of fourteen? And he’s a man full grown, as powerful a cultivator as I’ve ever seen. I’m sure he’s fine.”

When the arrived at the jingshi, though –

Lan Xichen’s stomach, still churning from the drug, abruptly dropped, his whole body stiffening in sudden freezing terror.

The inside of the jingshi was a mess, the walls battered, blood smeared all over, scratches on the wall –

“What happened?” he gasped, horrified. This couldn’t be – the jingshi didn’t do this to people – it was just quiet – “What – where’s da-ge? Mingjue! Mingjue!”

“He may have been too close to the edge,” Jin Guangyao said, his own face creased with genuine concern as he examined the scene. “A severe qi deviation – he could be unstable. Out of control, paranoid, and with that saber of his, with the spirit goading him on…he could do anything. He might attack someone. Some innocent – me, or even you.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to deny it, because Nie Mingjue would never hurt him, but the words couldn’t make their way out of his mouth. He remembered what Nie Mingjue had said about what had happened after his father’s saber had broken, the whispered confessions in the dark as his tears had dripped onto his shoulder – terrible things, unconscionable things, things old Sect Leader Nie would never have done if he had been in his right mind.

It was, as much as he hated to admit it, possible.

“It’s my fault,” Jin Guangyao said suddenly, distracting Lan Xichen from his horrible thoughts, horrible thoughts that made his pulse race and his heart beat too fast and the panic start to rise up to choke him. “It’s all my fault, er-ge – I’m the one who thought you needed to rest, I’m the one who misjudged how much da-ge could take without breaking. It’s my fault!”

“No, no,” Lan Xichen said at once, instinctively. He was the one who gave comfort, not the one who was comforted; it was easier than anything to fall back into his usual role. “You meant well –”

“I never meant any harm,” Jin Guangyao agreed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I only wanted to help, I only thought you were anxious – I didn’t realize you would fall asleep, and when you did, I thought there wasn’t any harm in you getting some rest…if da-ge does something terrible, he’ll never forgive himself, and neither will I.”

“No, A-Yao, it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself –”

“Sect Leader Lan!” someone shouted, and Lan Xichen turned at once.

“What happened?” he asked urgently. If Nie Mingjue hadn’t gotten far, or if what he’d done could be hidden, they could join hands to hide what had happened – no one would ever need to know. Just like with Lan Wangji, they could preserve his reputation and allow him freedom in the future.

It would be fine, they could handle it, they could find a way –

“Reporting to Sect Leader: the Unclean Realm has put up its defensive barrier,” the disciple said, saluting with a deep bow.

Lan Xichen stared at him, not understanding. The only person who could order the protective shield raised was an acknowledged master of the Nie clan, and that meant Nie Mingjue himself; he was the only one who would, since Nie Huaisang, the only other candidate, never cared for such things. But hadn’t he just been here, in the Cloud Recesses? It would take half the night and all morning, flying without end, to get to Qinghe so quickly…

“Are you sure?” Jin Guangyao interjected, a frown forming on his normally placid face. “From whom did you receive word? Are they reliable?”

“We’re certain of it. The responsive beacon lit in the guard-house,” the disciple said.

“We exchanged beacons after what happened with the Cloud Recesses and the Lotus Pier, it will activate reflexively in response to the barrier being raised, there can be no doubt,” Lan Xichen said numbly. Nie Mingjue had pressed it into his hand personally, murmuring promises that Lan Xichen would never need to fear a repeat of that terrible night: the Wen sect breaking the Cloud Recesses’ barrier before they could call for help, the flames that flooded his home, that terrible escape with his sect’s most treasured books clutched in his hands as he fled in a state of terror – he’d thought that Nie Mingjue had given the beacons out to all the sect leaders, he knew he’d traded ones with the Lotus Pier, but maybe he’d left Lanling Jin out for some reason. Or maybe Jin Guangshan simply hadn’t informed his least-loved son about it, for whatever petty reason. “But – why? Are they under attack?”

Who would be attacking the Unclean Realm now? Who would dare try something against the domain of Chifeng-zun – but no, Nie Mingjue was incapacitated now, surely unable to fight to defend his sect…but who would know that? Who could predict that he would have a qi deviation now?

“It could be da-ge himself that did it,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Xichen looked at him, surprised. “If he escaped and returned home, he could be suffering under paranoid delusions and believe himself under attack, even if there is none…should we get people and go to help?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, grateful to seize on something constructive to do. “We should go at once. But we cannot take too many people – we’re not a threat to him, and we should be clear about that.”

“Naturally,” Jin Guangyao said. “But er-ge, I worry – what if da-ge has truly lost all sense and thinks of us as enemies, as if we were Wen? Let me send word back to Jinlin Tower, which will send people to meet us there. That way, if things go badly, da-ge will blame only me.”

“He won’t blame either of us,” Lan Xichen said, because he had to believe that his lover hadn’t descended to such madness. “But if it makes you feel better, send word. Only remember – not too many people. We cannot give the impression of being an invading force, even if it is by accident.”

The Unclean Realm did not raise its protective shield often – indeed, even during the Sunshot Campaign itself, it was only raised thrice as anything other than drill, and of those three times, one was a false alarm and the other two resulted in the Wen retreating voluntarily. The last time Lan Xichen could remember it being raised to deal with an actual imminent invasion was when Nie Mingjue’s father had died. At Nie Mingjue’s order, the Unclean Realm had sealed itself away as thoroughly as a powerful spiritual owner refusing to admit any but its owner, a snapping turtle within its shell and just as dangerous, and Wen Ruohan had been unable to seize the prize he had schemed to obtain.

To a certain degree, once the shield was raised, it did not matter the reason for which it had been raised, whether Nie Mingjue had done it out of true anger or mere paranoia, actual reason or a mere supposition. The people of Qinghe, cultivators and common people alike, were trained to expect war: they would react to strangers as if to vipers, and Nie Mingjue’s ancestors had made their land rich in obstacles to trap and destroy an unwary army. Even if Nie Mingjue belatedly realized his folly, an overly large group arriving at his door might end up dead at the hands of his people before he had time to correct the error.

No, Lan Xichen had to go himself. He had to find out what happened.

He had to rescue his beloved, his lover, from himself yet again.

He only hoped they were not too late.

#mdzs #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nielan #xiyao #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #yes it's LXC POV time #cw: infidelity #cw: gaslighting #cw: everything really #Do Not Be LXC #I say again #do NOT be like LXC #also please recall the tags on ao3

195 notes · View notes