#the graceful crescent during the night he decided to live

[ilynpilled]

The golden armor, not the white, but no one ever remembers that. Would that I had taken off that damned cloak as well.

When I reach King's Landing I'll have a new hand forged, a golden hand.

Cersei might like that. A golden hand to stroke her golden hair.

I am not myself. He eased himself down until the water reached his chin. “Soiled my white cloak . . . I wore my gold armor that day, but . . ."

“Gold armor?” Her voice sounded far off, faint.

Jaime slid into the offered seat quickly, so Bolton could not see how weak he was. "White is for Starks. I'll drink red like a good Lannister."

She did as he bid her. "The white cloak . . ."

". . . is new, but I'm sure I'll soil it soon enough."

“That wasn't . . . I was about to say that it becomes you.”

When he was done, more than three-quarters of his page still remained to be filled between the gold lion on the crimson shield on top and the blank white shield at the bottom. Ser Gerold Hightower had begun his history, and Ser Barristan Selmy had continued it, but the rest Jaime Lannister would need to write for himself. He could write whatever he chose, henceforth. Whatever he chose . . .

"Robert's beard was black. Mine is gold."

"Gold? Or silver?" Cersei plucked a hair from beneath his chin and held it up. It was grey. "All the color is draining out of you, brother. You've become a ghost of what you were, a pale crippled thing. And so bloodless, always in white." She flicked the hair away. "I prefer you garbed in crimson and gold."

At its head Jaime stood at vigil, his one good hand curled about the hilt of a tall golden greatsword whose point rested on the floor. The hooded cloak he wore was as white as freshly fallen snow, and the scales of his long hauberk were mother-of-pearl chased with gold. Lord Tywin would have wanted him in Lannister gold and crimson, she thought. It always angered him to see Jaime all in white.

Ser Jaime Lannister, all in white, stood beside his father's bier, five fingers curled about the hilt of a golden greatsword.

Fissures had opened in his cheeks, and a foul white fluid was seeping through the joints of his splendid gold-and-crimson armor to pool beneath his body.

Glory wore trappings of Lannister crimson; Honor was barded in Kingsguard white.

His cloak was Lannister crimson, but his surcoat showed the ten purple mullets of his own House arrayed upon a yellow field.

"My lord," the lad asked, "will you be wanting your new hand?"

"Wear it, Jaime," urged Ser Kennos of Kayce. "Wave at the smallfolk and give them a tale to tell their children.”

“I think not." Jaime would not show the crowds a golden lie. Let them see the stump. Let them see the cripple.

Behind the lords came a hundred crossbowmen and three hundred men-at-arms, and crimson flowed from their shoulders as well. In his white cloak and white scale armor, Jaime felt out of place amongst that river of red.

Jaime Lannister wore a doublet of red velvet slashed with cloth-of-gold, and a golden chain studded with black diamonds. He had strapped on his golden hand as well, polished to a fine bright sheen. This was no fit place to wear his whites. His duty awaited him at Riverrun; a darker need had brought him here.

Jaime had thought long and hard about whether to wear his gold armor or his white to this meeting; in the end, he'd chosen a leather jack and a crimson cloak.

For an instant, the deep red clouds that crowned the western hills reminded him of Rhaegar's children, all wrapped up in crimson cloaks.

Seven bloody hells," he started, "who dares—" Then he saw Jaime's white cloak and golden breastplate. His swordpoint dropped. "Lannister?"

quotes specifically focusing on his hand:

“The boy is dead." Jaime had drunk three cups of wine, and his golden hand seemed to be growing heavier and clumsier by the moment.

His golden fingers were curved enough to hook, but could not grasp, so his hold upon the shield was loose. "You were a knight once, ser," Jaime said. "So was I. Let us see what we are now."

“Radiant." Fickle. "Golden." False as fool's gold. Last night he dreamed he'd found her fucking Moon Boy. He'd killed the fool and smashed his sister's teeth to splinters with his golden hand, just as Gregor Clegane had done to poor Pia. In his dreams Jaime always had two hands; one was made of gold, but it worked just like the other.

"Men shall name you Goldenhand from this day forth, my lord," the armorer had assured him the first time he'd fitted it onto Jaime's wrist. He was wrong. I shall be the Kingslayer till I die.

One of them wore the ruins of a crimson cloak, but Jaime hanged him with the rest. It felt good. This was justice. Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just. The world grew ever greyer as they drew near to Harrenhal.

The weight of his golden hand had grown irksome. He fumbled at the straps that secured it to his wrist.

Well, what's one more broken vow to the Kingslayer? Just more shit in the bucket. Jaime resolved to be the first man on the battlements. And with this golden hand of mine, most like the first to fall.

Around him he glimpsed the faces of men he'd done his best to kill in the Whispering Wood, where the Freys had fought beneath the direwolf banners of Robb Stark. His golden hand hung heavy at his side.

then the subconscious conclusion:

"Is it?" She smiled sadly. "Count your hands, child."

One. One hand, clasped tight around the sword hilt. Only one. "In my dreams I always have two hands." He raised his right arm and stared uncomprehending at the ugliness of his stump.

I think the narrative that is being told in the color symbolism present in Jaime’s story is the realization that glory has no presence in the man he wants to become. He gradually realizes again the truth of the golden hand covering his stump being a golden lie. It is more an embodiment of his sins, a heavy burden he carries. True honor and change will not be wrapped in gold, and obviously not crimson. But this should not lead to the return of his cynicism, which is how he approaches this early on, and why he wants to delude himself about it. He greys, and he sheds the red and gold color. The white becomes him. The crimson & gold comes back when he does his duty for the horrid Lannister regime, when he sustains loyalty to his family, and emulates his father. Nonetheless, he keeps drawing nearer to the blank white shield at the bottom of his page and distancing himself from the crimson at the top. But maybe the lesson is that he cannot start over like that. Maybe his only choices are not the evil Kingslayer and the glittering Goldenhand the Just. Maybe he should just be Jaime. That white shield is tainted. Our good actions do not wash out the bad. They will exist simultaneously. You will never be the golden heir, the perfect pure white Just Knight. You are a crippled broken man. But that does not mean you cannot choose to continue living and keep pushing to change for the better:

“What else can I do, but die?”

“Live,” she said

Maybe the blank white shield is an impossible ideal not made for him. But what remains if he cannot be crimson, gold, or the pure white?

yet she knew it was him. “Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black.”

He was always meant to be a grey character. Why don’t we mix that black & white?

#something about the gold of his armor and hair being silvered turning closer to white and his crimson cloak turning black #and it is the moon #the graceful crescent during the night he decided to live #and its as early as agot?:?): #i love being delusional guys #asoiaf #jaime lannister #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #also the ‘Jaime resolved to be the first man on the battlements. And with this golden hand of mine most like the first to fall’ #he is at it again oml #frank reynolds ‘sulclde is badass’ on loop #anyway the build up works very well with the vows of taking the black

[violetsoju]

snapshot

miya atsumu · fluff · 1.9k

muse: highlight - not the end

a/n: my ultimate boys are finally back after three and a half years, and my inner fangirl that has been asleep for way too long has been unleashed for the past few days. hence, this impulsive piece. do let me know if you enjoyed it ❤️

It’s time.

After a year or so, there’s finally light at the end of the tunnel. Cherry blossoms are in full bloom again, gracing the pathways with shades of light pink and white.

It’s the beginning of a new year, of new beginnings, of new hopes and dreams. A time of renewal and rebirth. When cherry blossoms are in full bloom, the future is bursting with possibilities.

What better way to start off the new year with something that makes your heart blossom with love and joy?

You’ve been deep in slumber for the past year, so it’s about time to be awaken and open the curtains for the sunlight shine in.

Your planner is inked with colourful notes and doodles, laptop reformatted with an empty recycle bin, camera equipment cleaned and dusted, phone storage deep-cleaned.

It’s hard to not notice the bright smile tugging your lips even without the mandatory cup of morning coffee, greeting everyone in the office like a ray of sunshine. Even your supervisor notices it and is surprised with the increased efficiency of work from your end. Perhaps he’s more surprised with your razor sharp accuracy in clocking out every day, disappearing in a flash once the clock strikes 6.

Your colleagues can’t seem put a finger to the recent change in your behaviour. What’s an afterwork get-together without you and ridiculous tipsy antics? Not even your favourite yakult soju or the summoning of your supervisor could drag your feet to the dinner place.

“Do you have a boyfriend? That’s why you’re so busy recently?” They would ask. Or they would try and wiggle their way by asking “Is there someone waiting at home for you?”

No matter how tactfully they twist and turn their words, they were all futile attempts. Because all they would get was a sickly sweet innocent smile that never met your crescent-shaped eyes, and an automatic response. “Thank you for the invite, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass tonight. Have fun!”

They had their bets that you were wrapped up with your secret little love life, spending nights over at your lover’s place, whispering sweet nothings into the night. “Ah, young love.” They would sigh. “Remember to stay protected!”

Your tight lipped smile fuelled them further instead. Why don’t you say anything, they wonder.

To you, why waste your energy explaining something that is incomprehensible to them and risk having yourself being the centre of gossip? Not that you are already the recent centre of gossip.

Because they won’t understand the surge of excitement flowing through your veins at the ping of notifications popping up on your phone screen during work. They won’t understand the of anticipation for the timer on a video screen to turn zero, whether on the way home or while having dinner. They won’t understand the happiness of late night chats with likeminded people online, sleep washed away while gushing and typing in full caps with each other. They won’t understand the buzz of giddiness with just one post, one picture or one sentence. They won’t understand the little squeal behind a picture or a minute-long video unexpectedly appearing on screen. They won’t understand having the same song or same album on loop for days, weeks, or months. They don’t understand the dilemma of choosing a wallpaper or lockscreen for your phone. They don't understand how by remembering a person or something they have said before drives unimaginable motivation and makes the toughest circumstances bearable and possible to overcome. They won't understand how a person who doesn't know your existence personally can be a source of comfort and happiness.

They won’t understand the real reason why you’re smiling like a fool at your phone.

Maybe if they peered carefully at your phone screen, they would know why.

And it’s not what they had in bet.

Well, they were partly right if you were to be completely honest.

But if you were to place your bets, you’re sure most of them would still be scratching their heads in confusion at the black, gold and white logo.

It may be foreign to them, but you swear that you can see those colours even if you’re blind.

MSBY. The 8 member boy group. Worldwide superstars. The whole damn package. Boys made for the dazzling stage. Boys that deserve the whole world. Boys whose talent knows no limits. Boys that you hold dear to your heart.

Ever since Hinata Shouyou, the youngest of the group had injured his lower back and knee during choreography practice (in which was revealed with a slip of a tongue in a livestream that Bokuto and him were so engrossed with a certain acrobatic move which involved a backflip from a higher ground, they begged their choreographer to add it into their new choreography. Instead of showing a clip of the move, they decided to give it a shot and perform it live spontaneously for everyone, where too much adrenaline and a small slip had him lying in the hospital bed for weeks), the group had collectively come to a conclusion to halt their activities until he was fully recovered and ready to roll. There were no solo activities, solo promotions or unit activities despite the attractive proposals or invitations. Such a waste of talent and time, many said. What is their company thinking? Letting their cash cow go to waste like that. But they tuned out all the crap, and firmly held to their resolve of being together as a group; all for one, and one for all.

“We’ll be back. And we know you all have our backs.” Meian Shuugo, the leader of the pack assured, eyes filled with resolute and confidence.

So after a draught of 456 days to be exact, an oasis finally appeared in the burning desert sands. When the notification titled ‘MSBY is back’ appeared on phone and laptop screens alike, it took a few seconds for everyone to blink and make sure it wasn’t a mirage. But the small tick was unmistakable. Then the whole fandom lost their shit.

This isn’t a drill. MSBY is back. In full swing.

The black jackals are ready to hunt. Their hunger has been supressed long enough. They’ve been starved for too long. They’re out for blood. They’re ready to pounce at any moment. They’re back in the game.

(If you were to be real honest, everyone should have saw this coming after that particular livestream where Bokuto, the renowned king of spoilers, animatedly announced that “We’ll be seeing you guys soon. Like real soon!” with his wide toothy smile, to which Inunaki Shion ferociously slapped him in the back with a cramped broad smile plastered on his face. “In the next livestream, of course! Can’t wait to see you guys soon!” The mom of the group added through gritted teeth. Adriah Tomas choked on his water and sheepishly grinned, while Sakusa Kiyoomi stared ahead unfazed, like this was a daily occurrence.)

Which means it’s time for you to get back to work. Which is also no surprise why you’ve been so occupied these days, having two schedules to work with: your personal schedule and MSBY’s comeback schedule. Which also means, your weekends are MSBY’s weekends.

Fangirling is a job to be taken very, seriously.

Change of word choice for the better. Supporting your idols is a job to be taken very, seriously.

So on a pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon with cherry blossoms petals dancing in the wind, as you try your best to stable yourself on the ground with the huge ass DSLR in your hands, you scan for a specific person among the sea of people ahead. A specific blond, to be exact. But lucky you, because even if you don’t scan for him, he finds his way to your camera lens. Which is why your pictures are one of the most sought after and anticipated of the idol Miya Atsumu, lead dancer of MSBY.

It’s like he has antennas on the top of his head. Despite the flurry of cameras flashing at him, confessions and screams drowning out his surroundings, rapid camera shutters going off like woodpeckers drumming relentlessly on a tree, he somehow, always manages to locate you, to look right into your camera lens, giving you his million dollar smile or infamous grin with small fangs peeking from the sides. The cherry on top? His top-notch fanservice. He never, never fails to give a reaction to you. Be it a small wave, a heart shape with his arms bent over his head, or a flirtatious wink that would combust hearts right on the spot.

You’re beyond grateful for his attentiveness and recognition towards you. It’s not like you’re on his heels. Hitting the shutter button is just a pastime of yours when your schedule allows. In better words, you’re just a random potato popping up occasionally with a camera. Plus, it’s no easy feat to pick a specific person out among a sea of people, especially with tens or hundreds of faces flashing before his eyes in one go.

Truth to be told, you’re thankful for the special attention too, because you get to share the fun and playful side of him with everyone, to light up everyone’s day with pictures of their favourite golden boy. Sharing is caring, and in this big close-knitted family, everyone deserves to be well fed.

However, the good things in life are never free.

Jealousy is a bitch, and bitches need to get well soon. Rumours are born out of wicked tongues, and wicked tongues are born out of the evil fire of envy.

Baseless ridiculous tales circulate among the community. How you’re the daughter of some big-shot of the company or political figure, using, or abusing your privilege connections to gain his favour. How you’re an obsessive fan who has intruded your way into his life, holding his career by the reins out of corrupted love by stalking and threatening him to pose for the camera, your camera specifically if he wants to keep himself and his group safe. How it’s a business relationship between the both of you: you as his private photographer, him paying you to get perfect shots of him to boost his popularity, to outshine his members, to feed his monstrous ego.

But do you care? Of course you don’t.

Because between this jam-packed schedule, this is the only time you get to see your boyfriend in real life, and you want to keep a record of his amazing journey through your lenses. It’s a diary of his growth, the beautiful moments in his life. A diary for him, you and his fans. To also show him that you’re here with him, here for him, no matter what.

And does Miya Atsumu care? Of course he doesn’t.

Because what more can he ask by having the opportunity to see you in flesh, even if it’s just a few seconds amidst his hectic back-to-back schedules. You’re his serotonin, the one that he misses holding in his arms after a long tiring day, the one that keeps him going, the one that he can count on for being there.

Knowing that you’re there at every step of the way makes him take each step with more confidence and pride.

So as Miya Atsumu exits the broadcasting building, he searches for a familiar camera lens among the sea of similar looking cameras shoved in his face. He sweeps his gaze from left to right, and grins when he spots the one he’s looking for.

A face sculpted by the gods with a boyish grin that could lit up the world graces the cameras of many, but only one captures his eyes gleaming with delight head on.

There was a really cute fanart of idol! Atsumu but the artist has closed her twitter account so I can't link it here T_T but if you do have any idol! Atsumu fanarts do send them in hehe

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #hq imagines #haikyuu headcanons #msby #haikyuu msby #msby fluff #msby bj

[draven-imani]

Journal 8

I met the Queen of Mendev. Which somehow managed to still be impressive even after meeting the Inheritor a few days ago, which speaks pretty highly to her. Aaaaaand the Queen kind of sort of knighted me and gave me a promotion to commander of own legion and I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out a little.

Right. Right—let’s just take it from the top.

Our little group had met up at Defender’s Heart when we got word from Commander Spriggans that there was an attack on the horizon. We made our way outside and saw an enormous force approaching. There were a number of those colossal Ulkreth demons that Hiskaria had seen demolishing buildings during the first attack, as well as a full army of lesser demons. They were marching on us rather than teleporting straight in—we figured specifically to show off their might to lower our morale.

Then, before the army could reach us, a second army from the East came charging into battle. Above them great metal machines flew overhead, and they dropped into the middle of the demon army these huge metal scorpions, which landed and began shooting the demons with beams from their tails. A person with green hair and glowing lines down their body gave a battle cry as they grabbed onto one of those giant metal scorpions and caused it to shoot that appeared to be an empowered disintegrate out of its tail into one of the Ulkreths.

The United Mendev-Numeria Alliance had joined the battle, just in the nick of time. With the use of their ‘Annihilator robots’, those big scorpions, and ‘laser guns’, and all sorts of other weapons I’d never even dream up they cleared out the demons. Even Hiskaria was about speechless. I think her words were something like “I thought Kevoth-Kul didn’t have that many of those”.

We were all incredibly pleased with how that went, and everyone was heading to Defender’s Heart for a victory ‘we didn’t get crushed by demons for another day’ drink, when a messenger came to get the four of us. Apparently Queen Galfrey had come to Kenabres herself. And apparently she’d been told about what we’d done the day before. And apparently she wanted to meet with us personally. She gave us the option of meeting at her personal war tent or at a place of our choosing. We decided it seemed most polite to meet at her tent. Melody and I decided to go dressed in the fine clothes we’d gotten from the kind shop keeper who had given us the free incredibly nice clothing for saving his wares the other day. Hiskaria and Luna…did not. It turned out it didn’t really matter. I will compared Queen Galfrey to the Inheritor in one way—she is a warrior as much as anything else.

When we arrived to the Mendev-Numeria encampment, we were met by the green haired person, Coremagon—an android, the first I’ve ever met. They had a particular quirk, in that they were not particularly good with emotions, and kept blowing up in anger. It also turns out they are Cassandalee’s herald. I would say I bet that was pretty cool for Hiskaria, but honestly considering her goddess talks in her head, maybe it was kind of mundane compared to how utterly in awe I would have been in her place.

I admit, I may have gotten Coremagone riled up a little. I wasn’t necessarily trying to. I was actually trying to help. Legitimately. I’m not exactly the best with emotions myself. I figured, it’s more pleasant to focus on trying to feel the good ones than the bad ones, right? That’s what I do, at least. Smile.

Well, apparently telling the herald of the god that they should smile is a bad idea.

I got thrown into the air by a whirlwind and landed on my ass.

They got told off by the queen though, so I got a little vindication.

We went into Queen Galfrey’s war tent and met the Queen herself. She was an incredibly striking figure. Definitely more warrior than bureaucrat. She waved a hand over her war table, and an enchantment in the table went off that caused a feast to appear, and she invited us to sit and eat while we spoke of recent events. We confirmed the reports she’d received of what had happened at the Grey Garrison, and she told us some of what has been happening at the borders. The Stormlord’s forces have been attacking at the borders of Mendev since the fall of Kenabres, and without the Wardstone’s barrier it is now only the armies of the crusaders standing between them and the rest of the world.

She said that while some people understand the gravity of the choice we made, and the lives we saved in doing so, others are calling us traitors for destroying the final shred of the barrier and the last hope of renewing it.

Queen Galfrey had a new task for us. As a member of the Crusades I am, of course, obligated to see this through to the end, but she offered to the others that if they wanted to help to clear their names and to do something to strike a blow against the demon hordes, she had a mission for us.

Her Majesty asked that we travel with a legion of her men to Drezen, to take back the captured fortress, and to retrieve the Sword of Valor, the very banner once held aloft by Iomedae herself, which if hung in the town again would expel the demonic forces. Currently the bulk of the forces from Drezen were with the Stormlord on the border, and the Queen intended to take her army to keep their attention there while a smaller strike force went in and took Citadel Drezen. I mentioned that we’d discovered that Stauton Vhagn was involved in the attack on Kenabres, and that he was holed up in Drezen as well. The Queen felt this was all the more reason to strike while the iron was hot and take Drezen back from him.

Luna said she would be willing to help, but she had no desire to lead an army. Queen Galfrey agreed that Luna and Melody were not members of the crusades, and therefore the choice was theirs to not take such a role. She also asked Hiskaria for her paperwork, and signed off on her release papers, before sending them off to be returned to Kevoth-Kul via some sort of magic portal. She said that technically Hiskaria was free to go now, as she had done more than enough to warrant her release in good faith. However the Queen had a feeling that Hiskaria would see this through to the end, and Hiskaria agreed that she wanted to do so as well.

With that said, Queen Galfrey declared that she was going to have each of us knighted and titled for our services. Should we survive this, apparently we’d each have land back in Mendev should we want it. That’s. A lot. That’s more than I ever expected to get out of all this. I didn’t come here to get anything, except maybe a little justice for those who died, and the ability to stop as many people from being made victims as possible. Actual physical rewards never really crossed my mind.

Actually surviving to the end of all this never really crossed my mind if we’re going to be brutally honest.

Melody was titled Lady-Lady Melody Legro, Lady of Grace

Luna was titled Luna, Lady of the Crescent Moon

Hiskaria was simply titled Lady Hope—Hope being her last name and something meaningful given her story.

And I guess now I am Sir Draven, the One-Eyed Knight.

I guess it’s a good thing I decided to quit being so self-deprecating about my scars after last night, or I might have felt a bit of a sting about the big thing that held me back all these years and kept me wallowing in the Raven Corps being what she decided to highlight in my title.

Okay. There might still be a little bitterness there. But—I’m working on it.

With this done, we were given a timeframe to expect to go—we will be leaving in three days time. Then we were dismissed, except for Luna who asked to remain to ask the Queen something in private. The rest of us gave her privacy and remained outside while she talked to the Queen about…whatever that was about.

Then we headed back to Defender’s Heart for a little revelry and to meet three new allies who the Queen had brought to our attention would be joining us with the legion. Aron Kir, a master spy with a strong knowledge base in siege warfare. His boyfriend and an old friend of Melody’s, Sosiel Vaenic, a Shelynite cleric and tactician with a vast knowledge of demons who didn’t really understand Melody’s desire to keep her heritage on the down low. And last, smallest, but certainly not least, Nurah Dendiwhar, a halfling bard who kept the sangrias coming throughout the night from a seemingly never ending box on her back. The three were extremely colorful and enjoyable characters who I was feeling very optimistic about working with.

Then while we were chatting, Commander Spriggans flagged me down. We shared a drink, and he handed me new orders from Queen Galfrey. Hiskaria was officially no longer part of the Raven Corps. And neither was I, since I would be leaving the city and therefore the Corps behind.

Instead, as I alluded to earlier, I had gotten a promotion. Commander of my own legion. I have a couple of days to think of a name and to get everything in order. Commander Tirabade—I guess I should be on first name basis with her now like everyone else? Irabeth is coming as well, as neither of us have field experience outside of Kenabres, but she has longer experience as a commander and is meant to be an advisor of sorts.

Inheritor help me that might be the strangest sentence I’ve written in this journal so far, Irabeth Tirabade is supposed to be my advisor on being commander of my own legion. It has been a few hours and this is still surreal to me. Aravashnial is coming along to lend his magic expertise as well, and Anevia wouldn’t be caught dead being left behind with Irabeth going.

Oh! I had forgotten in the middle of everything else, Queen Galfrey had some of her personal clerics see to Aravashnial and Anevia, so their injuries from the attack are no more. It is a relief, especially in regards to Aravashnial’s eyes. Queen Galfrey offered to do the same for my own eye, but I declined. I explained that I’d already learned how to fight with one eye, and I’d have to readjust if she healed me now. Which is very true, although perhaps not my only reason after the other day. It’s a good reminder, too.

More surprisingly, Horgus is coming as well. He’s going to be managing the army’s funds, field supplies, basically all around making sure the numbers are in order and we don’t run out of what we need when we need it, or get overzealous and overstock on something we don’t need. Which is all well and good with me, I don’t have a head for numbers myself. Hiskaria’s volunteered to help him and I’m more than happy to let her. She’s proven with her magic and assisting Aravashnial that she’s good enough at bookkeeping.

As for me…I’m a bit at a loss. I talked to Leto, of course. Asked him how he does it. Plays off being the cool confident leader like he does. Well—obviously it’s because he is. His answer basically boiled down to fake it until you make it, which is so not the answer I wanted to hear. There’s no way he’s been faking that confidence all this time. I’ve seen him, that easy charisma that just draws people to him. He’s in a league of his own.

I guess I’ll just keep pushing on forward like I always do. It seems to somehow work out, although I’ll probably have to hit a few stumbling blocks along the way. ‘Just act like you have confidence’, hm? I hate him sometimes. He’s infuriating. I don’t think he even knows how he looks to everyone else.

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #draven imani

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x F!OC} Chapter 20

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

.....

Chapter 20

Arthur was more alert by the sixth day. Deciding to stay seated most of the time but also getting up to wander around camp with the aid of someone else, despite his displeasure of ‘needing to be babied’ as he put it. He was sitting up in his cot, his back leaning against the wagon with his journal in his lap. Sketching something by the looks of it with the way he carried the pencil across the page and his brows furrowed in intense concentration. He wanted the hangings to be tied back during the day now to let in some fresh air and probably not to feel as alone. He was always the most relaxed when he poured his thoughts and scribbled his findings into that little leather-bound book. No doubt keeping him grounded when everything around him became too chaotic to control. Glad I asked last night if I could see some of his newer drawings despite his soft protests that they weren’t anything worth looking at. The real Arthur laid within those pages. His attention turned to me as I made my way over with two bowls of stew. A smile gracing his face as he closed his journal and placed it beside him. 

“Went hunting with Charles this morning. Venison instead of rabbit so hopefully it’s slightly more edible.” I said, handing the bowl to him with a smile to match his. 

We sat in silence as we ate, both of us watching the others go about their business all around us. Abigail and John having yet another argument. Molly with her ever-faithful pocket mirror open in her hand as she fixed her hair for the hundredth time today. I never spoke to Molly the whole time being here, but it didn't take long to realise she only wanted the attention of one person here. Sean and Karen sat eating together by the fire, the latter laughing at whatever the former had just said. Javier cleaning his knife. 

Micah sulking outside of Dutchs tent as usual. Looking like a lap dog with separation issues. 

“Yer hairs nice.” He said quietly beside me, pulling me back from my observations. 

I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips, looking down to continue eating. 

“Thought it could help me be less recognisable.”

“Well, it looks nice on ya. Not that ya didn't before - just - smart idea,” He was stumbling over his words, stopping with a sigh and rolling his shoulder. 

He was starting to regain more movement and he was determined to keep it moving despite the pain. No doubt the whiskey he was constantly drinking helped.  Seeing him in constant pain from even minute movements had the guilt rattling within me. I needed to tell him. 

Placing my almost empty bowl down on the table I looked back out to the camp. Taking in a deep breath before speaking.

“I’ve been thinking...something needs to be done with Frank.” 

“You still wanting to kill him?”

“Well, yes,” I sighed “But, I don’t know. He won’t give up, that's clear enough.”

“Seeking revenge don’t help anyone. We will deal with him when the time comes.”

“When will that be? When others are hurt from his orders? When someone is killed?” He sighed then, his shoulders slumping. I watched him and waited. Maybe he had a plan or needed time to think of one. One thing was sure, Frank needed to be gone. 

“Let’s go down to the lake.”

We both walk along the lakeside, making sure to take it slow. His energy was still drained from the ordeal and healing and it would take a couple of weeks till he feels more like himself, but he knew that the injury would affect him for months if not the rest of his life. I know why he's suggested a walk and it's not just so he can escape from the constant noise at camp. But no matter how he tries I can't take my mind off what needs to be done. Living in fear until I or someone else is hurt because of this. I took some deep breaths, letting the fresh open air fill my lungs to steady myself in the hopes the waves of panic will be soothed.

“I want to thank you again for bringing me here that night,” I started with a breath, carelessly kicking the rocks at my feet. He hummed for me to continue.

“I’m a different person from who I was not so long ago. You didn't need to entertain what I was asking that night, never mind help me, but you did and it’s a kindness I don’t think I can repay. These people and the things I have learned, I just know I’m a stronger person because of it and it’s mainly thanks to you and I know I have the ability to actually stand up for myself thi-”

“Bella…” He interrupted to stop my rambling knowing full well I didn't even know I was. Total word vomit instead of saying what needed to be said. 

Another breath

“I’m going to go back,”

He stopped beside me but didn't speak. Expecting me to laugh and say ‘haha fooled you’ but this was no joke. I waited for some sort of reply but instead, he gave out an annoyed huff, looking down at his feet and then out over the lake as he shifted on his feet. Either from him still being weak or from the growing aggravation that was evident from the scowl on his face I did not know.

“I have to-”

“No.”

“Arthur I can’t just si-”

“Are you a fool? You really think going back to him is the smartest idea?”

“If it means you and everyone else will be safe. Yes.”

“I don’t know where your head has been all this time but in case you aren’t aware this life we live ain’t been safe for a long time. We been fighting O’Driscolls for years an’ that ain’t stoppin’. Pinkertons breathing down our necks and you really think we will be any safer if you go back to that sorry excuse of a man?”

I tried to think of something, anything, to say, but my mouth just kept bobbing open and closed like a fish desperate for water.

“And what about your safety?” he continued with a raised voice, taking a few steps forward to close the gap slightly. Making sure no words of his would be lost between us.

“You believe going back to him is better than having me and the others here to protect you?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat and taking in an unsteady breath, I looked away from him and out into the horizon beyond the lake. The reds and oranges filling the clouded sky as the sun began to settle beyond the edge. The distant haze dulling what would be a vibrant and beautiful night thus bringing the promise that the day’s end would be a dark and unsettled one. My mind felt just as hazy. 

“This is all my fault,” I whispered to myself, to him and to the descending sun. 

“You’re staying here where I know you will be safe” he concluded with a snarl in his voice then turning on his heels back towards camp.

Keeping my eyes on the lake I couldn’t watch him walk away again. My shoulders slumping and determined to not let tears well in my eyes to the point of falling. What did I expect? I had to tell him in the hopes he would have a better idea of dealing with this. Instead, I just got reprimanded like a child and left in the dirt, again. 

I couldn’t face walking back into camp just yet so I made my way to the jetty, sitting on the edge with my feet just skimming the water’s surface. Keeping my eyes on the haze as it engulfed everything in the distance. 

I must have been there for hours, the nights chill had set in for good and the crescent moon was giving us whatever light it could reflect. Everything was in black and white. 

Footsteps on the jetty behind me caught my attention and a voice followed.

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

It was Abigail, coming to a stop behind me but still giving me some space. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

I just shook my head. 

“Ya know, talking about your worries does help. I know that’s rich coming from me since John and I shout at each other more than we talk.”  

I shook my head again, not able to trust my own voice. It was silent between us for a few moments, the only sound being the water lapping at the shore. I thought she might have left knowing she wasn’t going to get anything out of me until I heard her steady inhale. 

“This is a nice place to clear your head or get your head in order. Arthur was sat out here just this morning, drawing in that little book of his... Drawing you.” She paused then, waiting for a reply that wouldn’t come before giving up and continuing.

“I’ve been with this gang for many years. He truly cares about you.” 

Then she left, her slow footsteps getting quieter and quieter until all I could hear was the water again. Lower lip now quivering. 

I stayed in that spot for a while longer, could have been a few hours. The moon now high in the sky when I turned my head towards the camp. It looked quiet. Everyone must have been asleep by now. 

So I made my way over, the chill now felt in my bones as I made my way over to my tent. Glancing around the camp to see it empty and quiet apart from the recognisable snores thanks to Uncle.

Everyone was asleep. 

I didn't have much to pack. A few clothes and my gun. Tearing a blank page from one of the books Hosea gave me I scribbled hastily onto it. 

The coast was clear as I slowly made my way out of the tent, making sure not to wake the girls nearby by keeping my footfalls mute. 

But before making my way to the horses I made my way over to Arthurs tent. No light escaping from the bottom of the drapes that were closed meant he must have been asleep. 

I peeked inside to see him on his back with a blanket thrown over him. His breathing deep.

Step by step I made my way inside, watching over his sleeping form as I placed the scribbled on paper on the table, the flower in the jar taking place as a paperweight.

Glancing at him one last time before leaving and making a beeline towards the horses. 

Someone would be on guard but I wasted no time as I mounted Orion and made my way through the trees so I wouldn’t be seen by whoever was stood on the pathways. Withholding myself from looking back.

@kashasenpai @fallout-cowgirl @averyspicybaguette

#hang em high #hang em high fic #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan x fem oc

[barnesandco]

Nikah: March

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​ ‘s writing challenge. Thank you all for reading and commenting! (Picture below is mine, btw)

Bucky’s birthday arrives amidst blooming flowers and a pollen-scented breeze, the day marked by preparations for a party Sam is throwing for him at one of the hotels downtown. Avengers and close friends only, yet he’s spared no expense, insisting on a proper welcome back. The captain is unrelenting in matters of social activity, especially since he has been spending minimal time with his teammates since his marriage. Marriage. He shakes his head at himself in the floor length mirror as he straightens his cuff-links and moonlight catches on the gold band on his finger. It no longer feels like a burden.

Rather, it’s a seed that’s been planted on him, and it’s taken root inside him, growing, growing, growing into a steady feeling of friendship with the person he wears it for. An understanding, a companionship. He refuses to confess to anything more, even within the confines of his own mind. His heart, on the other hand, has no compunctions about making its opinion known, setting off like a hare being hunted whenever she approaches. Most dangerous assassin in the world, defeated by her smile.

She offers him one now when she enters, picture perfect elegance very nearly succeeding in concealing her nerves. Bucky’s nerves, meanwhile, are on fire at the sight of her, sensory overload short-circuiting his brain. He finally turns to look at her directly and the fox-hunt pace of his heart stumbles, stutters to a stop.

“You- you’re- jeepers,” Is all he can manage, the rosewater blush deepening on his cheeks. It has the opposite of the desired effect, and she steps back, mascaraed eyes widening, horrified.

“It’s too much, isn’t it. Oh God, I knew I should’ve-”  She begins to reach for a tissue box on the dresser and Bucky stops her. Lowers her hand slowly and keeps a hold of it, as if she will float away otherwise.

“Jesus, doll, stop. You’re perfect,” He tells her, and she slips her hand away but smiles a little as she sits on the foot of the bed - their bed - to put on her shoes.

“Thank you. You look nice, too,” She says, lifting the hem of her black gown as she pulls on pearl white heels. The matching clutch - pearl encrusted - is on the bedside table, and he hands it to her as they leave the room and then the apartment. 

“Hang on, your tie is loose,” She says the moment they enter the elevator. He can’t even press the button for the ground floor while she holds him in place. The split-second it takes for her to wrap her hands around the green silk and pull it tighter stretches into hours, the graze of her knuckles gentle in his cotton-covered chest. He has enough time to carve the shape of her cupid’s bow into his mind, the descent of her jaw to her chin into his lungs. After half an eternity, she puts distance between them again and presses the button while he tries to smooth his hair back only to feel the short strands tickle between his fingers, and he remembers cutting it last week.

The lobby is bustling, people coming and going like bees in a hive, and they nod their hellos and offer the doorman a Good evening before getting in the car Sam sent. The seats are cold and comfortable, and the chauffeur tips his hat once in the rear-view mirror before putting the Rolls Royce into gear.

“ ‘Possess ye, therefore, ye who borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue’ ” She murmurs, letting her fingers trace the stitching in the butter-soft leather. 

“Marlowe?” Bucky asks, turning away from the New York evening, that special, streetlights-reflecting-on-wet-asphalt evening, to look at his wife. 

“William Cowper. The Task.”

“I think I’ve read that one,” He lies, fully prepared to come clean, and she looks at him curiously. 

“Wow, really? Even I haven’t read all six books,” She says, dubiously verging on impressed, and Bucky drops the facade.

“I’m pullin’ your leg. I’ve read some of Cowper’s work. Don’t remember much, but bits and pieces of school are still there,” He explains, all cheeky smile. “What’s it about? And why in God’s good name is it six books long?” This - the conversation, letting her talk about her work, her passion for literature - this he can do. Playful questions intermingling with genuine intellectual interest is manageable. Her beauty, her grace, the cloud of perfume that bleeds into his veins and makes his lungs strive for air, is not. So he concentrates on what he knows. Or doesn’t know, apparently.

“Honestly, what isn’t The Task about?” She laughs, eyeshadow glimmering like stardust in the smile wrinkles in the corners of her intelligent eyes. “Cowper had a bit of a breakdown during his barrister training in London, and retired to the countryside. In 1781, he met his friend Lady Austen, who later gave him a task to write about, to cheer him up. He started, and then just followed that train of thought wherever it took him.”

“Which book is that line from?” Bucky asks as the car stops in the inevitable Friday night traffic jam. At least they accounted for it, leaving early on purpose to avoid tardiness.

“I don’t actually remember. I think it’s from an extract in which Cowper criticizes the superficial pleasures and unnecessary luxuries of city life,” She answers, opening her clutch. Her phone and a tube of lipstick peek out but she reaches deeper for a pair of earrings.

Closing her eyes, she fastens the first one on the side Bucky can’t see, the other crescent-moon shaped accessory in her silk draped lap. The flower made from pearls matches her bracelet, the two pieces of jewellery clinking together as she puts on the other one.

“City life, huh?” Bucky muses, trying desperately to calm his heart. The earrings dangle, contrasting wonderfully against her simple black gown, and he swallows. She looks like royalty.

“Yeah, many poets of the time wrote a lot about the beauty of nature. They had a lot more of it at their disposal, I guess,” She shrugs.

“Do you have any favorites?” “Nature poems? I don’t know. There are so many good ones. Wordsworth’s To the Cuckoo, Herrick’s Daffodils, Yeats’ Wild Swans at Coole, Tennyso-” She cuts herself off with a huff of a laugh at herself.

“What is it?” 

“Nothing, no- I just-” She laughs again, trying to wave her hand like she’s shooing a fly. “I just have conflicting feelings about these poems by classical authors who write about nature. Poems that express a keen appreciation of beauty yet are fillled with sadness because so many beautiful things are short-lived and because human life itself is so short,” She says, twirling the ring around her finger, deep in thought. Bucky doesn’t know how he found her. This simple, wise soul, in the midst of all the chaos of the world. The chaos of resettlement. 

The chaos of the kitchen, an hour before dinner as the Avengers prepare dinner together, is unholy. Sam’s panicking about dessert while Wanda stirs the marinara sauce for spaghetti in her signature demure fashion, while Peter’s pile of handmade spaghetti grows taller and the pasta dough shrinks. His phone lights up on the table, and Bucky - kneading more dough nearby - is the only one who notices. He calls for Peter and pushes it over to him, not knowing what the point of having a phone is if it’s always going to be on silent, but Peter holds it out to him after just a moment of conversation.

Bucky reads the caller ID on the top and sees who it is, closing the kitchen door behind him, flour on his black t-shirt, as she speaks.

“Hi, Bucky. I hope I’m not disturbing.” 

“No, not at all. Have you decided?” He asks, pacing the hallway, staying out of sight of the others. Not that it matters, they’re still fairly busy. She had seemed unsure when they met, and he had given her time to decide it she wanted to do this. 

“Yeah, but I just- this is a huge favor,” She says.

“Not to me, doll. I’m just helping a friend of a friend,” He says, and it isn’t entirely true. That isn’t why he’s doing this. Something in him wanted to help, wanted to repay the debt of kindness that he owes the world. This is how he wants to do it, although he doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets to choose his penance.

“I thought you said Peter talks your ears off.” Bucky cringes, grateful she can’t see his face, even though he can hear the joking lilt of her tone.

“He’s a good kid. And I want to do this. Do you?” 

“Yeah.” A lengthy pause, heavy and tangible, even across the phone line. 

“When do you want to get married?” She asks finallly, voice shaking. His hand is, too. 

“We have a week-long mission right after Christmas. Boxing day arms deal in Sao Paulo,” He replies, cursing the Brazilian gangs who could find no other time do get up to no good. Evil doesn’t go on vacation, and neither do the Avengers.

“So… New Year’s Eve?” She asks, doing the math. He realizes that’s true. A week from Boxing Day.

“Yes. Shit, you don’t have a ring-” He begins to say, freaking out about the logistics. He didn’t even propose properly.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye Bucky.”

“G’night.” He bids her farewell, then looks at the phone, asking himself what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. A knot builds and twists in his body, and he tries to loosen it. Breathes, and makes his way back.

“I’m engaged,” And the kitchen freezes in time as they all drop everything - not literally, Sam’s holding a knife - to look at him. The smile on Peter’s face is brighter than the Christmas tree in the adjacent common room, and the somersaults in Bucky’s stomach only settle at the sight of his relief.  

It seems that his teammates gave him a later time on purpose, because they’re all ready, dressed to the nines and wine-tipsy, waiting for him when they enter. It’s a small ballroom, downtown Manhattan, quaint and graceful. A chorus of Happy Birthday erupts in the room, and he smiles and thanks them. The hugs pile on, and he begins to introduce his wife to his friends. Home away from home for the man who has never had one since the 1940s - until he met her, that is. She’s home now, though he wouldn’t tell her that.

Instead, he relishes in the grin she offers him between introductions, till Sam drags him off to stand him on a chair and sing a birthday song. The party commences in much a similar fashion, too much noise in the room for a couple of dozen people. He stays away from Thor’s alcohol, knowing she doesn’t drink, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. 

He’s just thinking about how she might be dealing with the hectic atmosphere when her hand slips into his while he’s talking to Harley Keener about letting him look at his arm. He’s shocked, looks at her to see her smiling and concentrating only on the conversation, but he can tell she’s tired. It’s been hours, and he knows he can’t leave early - it’s his party - but he just wants to slip those heels off her feet and sit and talk, still in partywear, for hours on end. Let her quote Byron and Cowper and Austen to him, poems and essays and books, until he falls asleep on their sofa. Instead, her voice says something he isn’t expecting at all.

“Is it possible to put some sort of temp regulation in it?” She asks curiously, head tilted to the side like a sparrow. Harley thinks it over for only a second.

“Of course, why?”

“It hurts in the cold. He rubs and rolls his shoulder a lot in the winter,” She answers, and the thoughtful observation astounds him. It’s accurate, but it hadn’t even occurred to him, the movements that she’s citing entirely subconscious. They talk to Harley for a while longer, and then dance to several of Bucky’s favorite songs. Billie Holliday is crooning in the background as the second-to-last guest exits, leaving only his wife and his captain and his deputy director. When the door shuts behind them, they break apart, and Sam and Maria approach, ready to call it a night.

The car ride home passes in complete silence, a comfortable weight resting like a blanket between them, so much so that she falls fully asleep on the way, her head resting against the cold window when they arrive. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her, so he goes around to her door, opening it slowly and lifting her into his arms, not caring what it might look like to onlookers. It’s late, and there are few of them, at least in the lobby, and as the elevator doors shut, her head curls against his shoulder, hair tickling his Adam’s apple.

Bucky looks down at her, her resting, easy expression, the chandni earrings still on, and thinks: what a way to turn 103.

Taglist:  @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #slow burn #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

[sapphossidechick]

ok i’m just gonna send you a chapter a day through here if that’s alright (let me know if it’s not though and i’ll do something else) (also i apologize in advance it pains me to even look at this i’m so sorry)

Chapter One: I make an enemy of a major slime ball

I stood on the hill, peering over the rock. An imperial gold sword flew over my head and impaled itself into the centurion’s chest. He dropped like a sack of rocks. My friend, Reyna, climbed over rocks and scattered weapons towards me. She had appeared three years ago now, with the wolf goddess, Lupa. She had joined the Fifth Cohort hastily, because we had been under attack. But three years ago seems not that long ago when you’re under attack, because we were still under that same attack, and because you don’t really keep track of time while you fight.

“Jason!” Reyna yelled. “Is he gonna be okay?”

I grimaced. She was only a year younger than me, but she was too little, much too little to be in battle. I didn’t want to scare her.

“Yeah,” I told her. “He’ll be fine.”

Let me backup. I’ve been at camp almost my whole life. When I was either two or three, I was most likely abandoned by my mom. I ended up at the Wolf House, which is where most heroes go in the beginning. I met Lupa and her pack, who taught me just about everything until I was four. Then, they decided that I’d learned enough, and brought me to camp. There were many cohorts that wanted me, because I was so young, and they could shape me up to their standards. But when I’d looked around, there was one cohort that stood for me, but they weren't trying that hard. I immediately picked them. For the next couple of days afterwards, I was known as the “new loser for the fifth” by everyone because I had chosen the fifth cohort, the cohort that had lost our camp it's eagle. An eagle for a camp, or even a part of Rome, was used as a standard for a Roman legion. A fifth cohort member was the aquailifer, also known as an eagle bearer. He lost it, we believe, somewhere in Alaska, the land beyond the gods. No god could help you there. It was way too far north. By joining the fifth cohort, I had become the all time loser. But for me, joining the fifth cohort was a lucky break for them, because I thought I was gonna earn back their reputation. Yeah, I know. For a four year old, my head was pretty big.

Anyways, a yell told me the enemy was getting closer. Reyna wiped her face, picked up her sword, and charged.

“Reyna, no!” I yelled, but it was too late.

She had charged, head on, a huge giant. She cut the giant’s leg. It roared and swiped at her face. She dodged it's hand and slashed it off. The giant stumbled backwards and fell over with a loud bang. She repeatedly stabbed and slashed it and just downright took on the giant by herself. When she was done, she came back, huffing and puffing.

“I-I’m tired…” she told me. Then she proceeded to faint.

I caught her and took her into one of the caves nearby. The children/descendants of Apollo who weren’t fighting took care of all the wounded or tired. Reyna was taken to a bunk. The room was surprisingly well lit for a cave. Fairy lights were strung up along the room, along with some assorted Christmas lights. The children or descendants of Apollo were either tending to an injured one, or they were restocking some sort of supply cabinet. The beds were pretty nice, too. They weren’t really beds, though. They were more hammocks. If hammocks and beds had children… okay that sounded really weird, but that’s what they looked like.

Finally, after looking around the cave and making sure that Reyna was okay,  I trudged outside and looked around. It was eerily quiet.

“What happened?” I asked a girl passing by.

She shrugged. I noticed her arm had a long, deep bruise. “Once the giant was defeated, they disappeared. I don’t really know what happened. But I do know that we can finally stop fighting. It’s like that Frozen song, isn’t it? For the first time in forever…”

I furrowed my eyebrows. Maybe the girl had gone crazy while fighting for so long, or maybe that was just her. Whatever the reason, I was confused. I walked over to a rock and sat down. What had Reyna done to cause them to retreat so quickly? Who was this kid who could defeat that ginormous giant by herself? As I thought, a shadow passed over me. I drew my sword, ready to defend myself, but when I looked up, a boy, maybe fifteen, stared back at me. He looked like a scarecrow with his long, skinny arms. His hair looked thin and ruffled, as though he’d been fighting along with us, though I knew he hadn’t, because I’d seen everyone on the battlefield, yet no one like him.  His face was pale, and he appeared sickly, but his long, thin smile ruined the image. He looked directly at me and said, “I am Octavian. I am a descendant of Apollo, and I will be the best thing that ever happened to your camp.”

After a few days, the wreckage of our camp, Camp Jupiter, if you were wondering, was cleaned up, and almost everyone was healed. The boy, Octavian, strutted around like he owned the place, while everyone else was training to make sure that nothing like that would ever happen again. Reyna was fully rested and would not leave my side. She looked better, now that she was rested. But she also was a bit more happy now that the war was over. We’d begun to call it the ‘war-where-Reyna-kills-one-thing-and-ends-the-war’ war, but not many people called it that. I knew three or four people who actually did it. It also came to our attention that a praetor had been killed in the fight. His name had been Laochra, which meant heroes in Irish. We had called him Lao, because that was easier to say. We were reluctant to do so, but we knew that we would have to elect a new praetor. That night, we gathered at the Senate House. We filed in and sat in the semicircle of seats. If you’ve been to a Senate House before, you haven’t seen nothing yet. Our senate House was ginormous. The wood paneling along the walls went halfway up, and the rows of benches leading upward in a semicircle had nice, comfortable cushions. The praetor chairs sat in the center, and they kind of looked like miniature thrones. One of them was occupied.

“Senatus Populusque Romanus!” chanted our living praetor.

We stood, echoed the chant, then took our seats once more. The meeting was a blur, but eventually, we elected a praetor. When our one praetor announced who was elected, my head felt like it was spinning.

“Jason,” whispered someone next to me. “Get out there.”

I stood up and walked to the center where the praetor, Jayni Garcia, stood. She gave me a quick smile.

“Congratulations, Jason Grace. You deserve this,” she told me.

Jayni was one of the few people still at camp from when I’d arrived. I was about four when I’d arrived. She’d been six. I can still recall her face when she showed me around camp. When she’d smiled at me, I could see that she was missing her two front teeth. Now, though, she looked more mature, more troubled. She gave me a purple robe, and burned markings into my arm. Just saying, those markings hurt when they’re burned into your arm. Then she hugged me just as she had when I was four and I had started to cry because I was scared. I winced during the hug, because she accidentally put pressure on the markings.

As I walked back to my bunk, I still couldn’t believe what had happened. Then an annoying little someone blocked my path.

“Octavian. What do you want?”

Even though it was dark I could still see his sly smile.

“Just came to congratulate you, praetor,” he said innocently, though I could tell he was lying.

This kid was more than he looked. I realized he could be a threat to me if I made him an enemy of mine. But that didn’t stop me from responding.

“Oh, thanks Octavian. But what do you really want?”

I put all the sarcasm I could into my first sentence. His smile changed into a frown.

“Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, you do not want me as your enemy.”

Then he turned and charged down the path.

“Bye, Octavian!” I called after him.

I may have imagined it, but I thought I heard him snarl.

Reyna found me as I continued my trek back to my bunk.

“Jason, what happened back there? Someone said you’d been made praetor…?”

The way she said this told me that she wouldn’t believe anyone else until I told her it was true. I nodded.

“Oh, yay! Congratulations, Jason!”

She smiled at me, and she looked so truly happy, I smiled back.

“It’s late, Reyna, and you need sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, ‘kay?”

She gave me a double thumbs up, then ran to her bunk and crawled in.

“Night, Jason,” she said, and with that, she fell asleep.

As I crawled into my bunk, I could feel myself drifting off, too.

Just a heads up, demigods like me rarely have any normal dreams. Our “dreams” are more like visions of either the past, present, or future. Sometimes they’re warnings, or other times they're just memories. Tonight, as I fell asleep, I dove head first into a memory, and a vision. Most likely from some sort of god or goddess. The sky was a mixture of pink, purple, and orange. The sun was setting, and there were sounds of laughter. A girl was sitting by me, and in her hair was a half moon crescent. She wore clothes for a hunter, even though she looked younger than me. Strung across her back was a silver bow and arrow.

“Jason Grace,” she said. Her voice was cold, but she didn’t seem like she was going to hurt me. “Your sister believes you are dead. I will not tell her that you are alive. She deserves to find you herself. She has joined the hunters of Artemis with me. There, she will be safe from most harm. I chose this memory of yours to appear, because it was the only one you still have of her.”

I raised my eyebrows, which I wasn’t sure I could do in a dream. “Are you… Artemis?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m Petunia. Of course I am Artemis. Who did you think I was? Britney Spears?”

To be honest, she looked nothing like Britney Spears. I shook my head. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, the waved her hand. The dream started rapidly fading.

“A gift from you sister will be with you when you wake!” she called. Then I woke up.

that was great! honestly i’m invested now even tho it’s a backstory and i know what will happen. pls send me more slsknsjdj

#jason grace

[gifts-of-heimdall-runes]

HEIMDALL

Heimdall ᚺᛖᛝᛗᛞᚫᛚᛚ (dr. Scand. Heimdallr) - a god of the Æsir, a guardian of the gods and the world tree, is considered the son of Odin and nine mothers. “The brightest of the Æsir”, “foreseeing the future like the Vanir.”

During one of his walks along the sea coast, Odin saw nine beautiful giants, wave maidens: Gyalp, Greyn, Aistla, Eirgyava, Angeya, Atla, Ulvrun, Imd and Järsnaksu sleeping soundly on the white sand. According to the Edda, Allfather was so fascinated by these beautiful creatures that they all became his wives and together gave birth to one son named Heimdall.

Of nine mothers, I am a child, the son of nine sisters.

(Elder Edda)

The nine mothers began to feed their child with the power of the earth, the moisture of the sea and the heat of the sun. Thanks to this diet, the new god reached maturity in a very short time and hastened to his father in Asgard. Heimdall saw the gods were proudly admiring Bifröst, the rainbow bridge, which had just been built from fire, air and water. Bifröst was built from three substances that are clearly distinguishable in a rainbow within three primary colors: red, symbolizing fire, blue - air, green - the cold depths of the sea. Bifröst bridge connected heaven and earth and ended on one side under the canopy of the mighty World Tree of Yggdrasil, and on the other, at the source of wisdom the Well of Mimir. The only thing that prevented the gods from contemplating this beautiful sight was the fear of frost giants travelling along the bridge having access to Asgard. Consequently, the gods decided that it was necessary to put a reliable guard upon the bridge, and they all agreed that the new god could perform such an onerous task.

Heimdall gladly accepted what was entrusted to him by the gods and since then, day and night, he continued to vigilantly guard the rainbow path to Asgard.

The Bifröst in the east shines green;

On top of it, in the clouds, Heimdallr sits,

vigilantly guarding the Rainbow Bridge.

(A. G. Elenschleger)

To enable the guardian of Asgard to defend himself against any enemy, Heimdall was granted with extraordinary abilities including the ability to hear grass growing on the hill and wool growing on the back of a sheep, as well as the ability to see hundreds of kilometers equally well day and night. In addition, he needed less sleep than a bird.

Heimdall was also presented with a sparkling sword and a wonderful signal horn called Gjallarhorn which, upon the instructions of the gods, Heimdall should sound when seeing the approach of enemies. The Whitest Æsir can sound Gjallarhorn to raise all creatures in heaven, earth and Niflheim. The last sound of the horn will be heard at the end of the world at the time of the last battle of Ragnarok where it is foretold that Heimdall and Loki battle and kill each other.

The game was brought up by Mimir’s children; the end was announced by the horn of Gjallarhorn; Heimdall blows, he raised a horn, with the skull of Mimir Odin talking.

(Elder Edda. The prophecy of the Völva. Translation by V. Tikhomirov)

To ensure always having the great crescent-shaped Gjallarhorn to hand, Heimdall either hung it on one of the branches of Yggdrasil or placed it in the waters of the well of Mimir where it lay next to the eye of Odin (symbolising the full moon.)

Heimdall's palace was called Himinbjorg which was located near the Bifröst bridge above its highest point. The gods loved to visit Himinbjorg to enjoy drinking the magnificent beverage that Heimdall treated them to.

This dwelling is called Himinbjerg; Heimdall

rules and lives there.

The guardian of the gods, they say, is drinking

copper beer here under the canopy of the old chambers.

(R. B. Andersen. Mythology of the peoples of Northern Europe

Heimdall is always depicted in shining white armor, and is therefore often called the “white” or “brightest Æsir”. He also has the nicknames Bright, Clean and Graceful which are fully deserved since he was both kind and beautiful and all the gods loved him. Heimdall was closely connected to the sea due to his nine mothers and he is sometimes ranked among the Vanir. Consequently, since the ancient inhabitants of Northern Europe considered the sea to be the basis of all life, Heimdall was attributed with comprehensive knowledge and portrayed as most wise.

Heimdall, the

brightest of the Ases, said here,

and he was a seer

like the baths.

(Elder Edda. Song of the Hold. Translation by V. Tikhomirov)

Heimdall's hallmark was his golden teeth which sparkling when he smiled. For this he received the nickname Gullintanni ('golden-toothed'). He was also the proud owner of a swift horse named Gulltoppr ('golden fringe') which carried him over the trembling rainbow bridge many times a day. However, since he drove upon Bifrost particularly at dawn, Heimdall is associated with acting as herald and messenger of each new day.

Early in the morning, at dawn, the

son of Ulvrun,

Mighty ase, the owner of Himinbjorgr, rushes headlong across the Bifröst Bridge ,

announcing the beginning of the day.

(Elder Edda)

Heimdallr is additionally referred to as Rig, Hallinskiði, Gullintanni and Vindlér or Vindhlér and was attributed to ordering social hierarchies (Rigsthula.)

Source

This text was translated from Russian by Google and then tweaked by Gift-of-Heimdall-Runes for this blog. Direct quotations within text were left as per original translation due to being unable to reference quoted sources.

#Heimdall #Aesir #Vanir #heimdall guardian of bifrost #bifrost #himinbjorg #Heimdall myths #norse myths #norse god #norse mythology #heimdall art #norse myths art #norse mythology art #gifts of heimdall #gifts of heimdall runes #guardian of asgard #rigsthula #lay of rig myths #heimdall & gjallrhorn #heimdallr #heimdallr myths #asatru #norse gods #elder edda

[hajimesh]

force of nature.

word count: 1,500+

pairing: Loki x Reader

summary: “you’re a little scary sometimes, you know that? brilliant... but scary.”

a/n: my submission for @daenyara 1.2k writing challenge! i felt like a nerd while writing this but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway, i hope you enjoy it! i took some inspo from this post.

*warnings* violence, death, thanos & cuss words. fluff at the end.

Masterlist

“They what!?”

The comms went silent as you slowly tried to make sense of what you just heard. They have him. Your husband, Loki, has been captured by the Black Order.

You were currently in a planet called Morag, fighting against Thanos’ army. The whole team assembled and they even called out for extra help around the galaxy which explains your presence. You had been an avenger in the past but ever since you and Loki got married you moved to Asgard, living your life as their princess and warrior. But when you received word from Thor about the team needing you, you knew you had to answer. Those people were your first family.

As soon as you arrived Steve explained the situation: Thanos was finally ready to put in march his plan of balancing the universe. Loki seemed calm as he listened attentively but you knew his levels of distress were high so after a quick pep talk and a kiss the both of you jumped into action.

At first you fought together but, somehow, you got separated from each other during the fight and only noticed it when Scott informed you he had been taken captive by his worst nightmare.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Clint grunted through the earpiece making you come back to your senses.

You turned your head looking for Clint until you saw him fighting against those weird dogs. As you marched up to him your fists began to glow, soon enough a dark hue enveloped you and with the mere flick of your wrist the dogs were gone, swallowed up by the void.

Clint nodded his head at you but said nothing. A smart move from him.

Your breaths were getting shallow. This couldn’t be happening. During your time together you assured Loki that he was safe and that he wouldn’t have to face those who broke him in the past ever again. Your heart constricted at the thought of him being tortured, you had to find him.

You kept walking, looking for him but your mind was elsewhere. Unconsciously, you sent whoever crossed your way straight to their deaths in order to avoid wasting more time. Suddenly, your ears perked up at the sound of his voice.

“Perhaps we can come to an agreement?”

It was him. And he was still alive.

Placing yourself behind a rock, you tried to come up with a plan but the sudden whoosh of a dagger stopped you.

“Show yourself, mortal.” A disembodied voice called out for you and you complied.

Stepping away from the shadows, you revealed yourself. You saw Loki tied against a rock and when he saw you, he gave you a sad smile and muttered three words that ripped your soul in half.

I love you.

A cold feel ran through your body and panic settled on the pit of your stomach. He had resigned himself to die and it broke your heart to even think of a life without him. You were about to argue when a voice beat you to it.

“Rejoice! For you will have the fortune of watching him die at the hands of Thanos and afterwards you will meet the same glorious fate.” Ebony Maw looked proud and it made you sick.

Your head was a mess already and this ridiculous speech only made you more upset. With a stoic face you replied to him. “I’d rather watch your body tear apart, piece by piece, as you scream for mercy.”

Your tone was flat, chin held up high; they were messing up with something they didn’t know.

Black Dwarf growled and Ebony shushed him with the lift of his finger. He had the decency to look unpleased.

“Foolish creature.” Lifting his hand, he sent metal pieces flying towards you.

You quickly lifted your arms, flicked your wrists and pulled them down, creating a time-space loop in front of you which swallowed the debris directed at you.

What these creatures didn’t know was that you’ve been graced by the universe with a rare form of magic. When Loki learned about it he was very intrigued and devoured every book there was in order to comprehend what made you so powerful. You couldn’t say you didn’t want to know either so, after much reading, you finally found the source thanks to an astrophysics article.

Dark energy.

The text explained in detail this concept and when you showed it to Tony and Bruce they immediately started running their equations and numbers. About a week later both men came into the common room, bags under their eyes but sporting wide smiles, confirming that dark energy is what made you able to mold and use the dark matter around you as you pleased. After all, dark energy makes up to three quarters of the entire universe, more than the solid matter of stars, planets and galaxies. So yeah, you are pretty powerful.

Loki took this distraction to his advantage by freeing himself from the chains and teletransporting next to Ebony Maw. He struck his side with a dagger and with a blast of magic blowed up Proxima Midnight and Black Dwarf out of their feet.

You ran straight towards Ebony Maw and choked him but as he was about to pass out you let him go. You were far from done with him.

In the mean time, Loki chained the rest of Thanos’ children and dropped them at your feet.

“What will you do Asgardian? Kill us?” Proxima Midnight muttered, a scowl evident on her face.

“Oh, it’s not me you should be worried about.” His tone was honeyed, a grin sitting on his lips. “It’s my wife.”

Loki smiled at you, a mischievous one this time. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t help the pride from filling his chest.

“All yours, my love.”

He stepped away from you, letting you work and you silently thanked him.

Thanos’ children were looking at you with hate but you brushed it off, choosing to focus on Ebony Maw. He looked bad but you knew he was still strong enough to kill you, so you quickly got to work.

Thinking of all the pain and torture they inflicted on Loki made you feel a tug on your body, as if something was calling out for you. Closing your eyes, you focused on the tug, lulling you straight to a source of energy. When you opened your eyes again they were no longer in their normal colour, they were black now, filled with dark energy ready to pour out of you.

A blast of it surged through your hands, momentarily altering the gravity but it was quickly replaced by the birth of a black hole which was seconds away from attracting everything to its core. Before it could swallow the entire planet, you projected a protecting field around it, this way you got to decide who got sent straight to their death.

“Any last words?”

Your tone was mocking but before they could open their mouths you lifted your hand and allowed the energy to pulse from it, sending them flying straight to the black hole.

“Not interested.”

You stared as their bodies collapsed, suffering from the gravitational pull and then they were gone.

Releasing the rest of the energy slowly, you lifted the protecting field as the black whole dissolved and the gravity went back to normal.

“You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant… but scary.”

Turning your head towards the sound, you saw Loki leaning on a rock with a smirk on his face.

“And you’re an idiot.”

You started walking away, suddenly remembering the rest of the team were supposedly fighting against Thanos’ army.

“Hey! I know my wife is the greatest force of nature AND would come to my rescue.” Loki said as he fell into step with you.

“Flattery will take you nowhere, my dear.” You stopped and faced him, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

His smile was bright and the wrinkles around his eyes gave him a child-like aura. “I beg to differ.”

At this, you finally laughed. You sighed, letting the relief consume you. Loki kept his eyes on you, making sure you were unharmed but at the same time, engraving you in his mind in case you didn’t make it back home.

Home. Oh how he longed to be back in your chambers, spending his days with you by his side enjoying each other’s presence.

His daydream was cut short as the earpieces crackled and made you wince. Steve’s voice came through with one of the greatest news Loki had ever hoped to hear.

“Thanos has been dealt with.”

You watched as his face lighted up, shoulders falling and a laugh of disbelief escaped his lips. He searched for your eyes but found you were already looking at him, eyes filled with tears.

“Any casualties?”

Your voice sounded distant but you had to make sure everyone had made it out alive. Seconds passed and your gaze never left his as you waited for Steve’s reply. Finally, the sound of a sigh echoed around the comms.

“No casualties.”

Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest at the news. Your arms immediately wrapped around Loki’s neck pulling him down to your mouth and he eagerly complied. His lips caressed yours with enthusiasm for a few seconds before his laugh forced you apart.

“Let’s go home, Loki.” You muttered, lips softly brushing against his.

Green eyes stared at you while his hands squeezed your sides, pulling you closer to him.

“As my wife wishes.”

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help me with a reblog or comment if u enjoyed it :)

loki taglist: @slytherins-assemble-tofightsith / @memucci​ / @servamp-addict / @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 / @theworld-is-ahead / @crescent-night / @godhateskyleigh

#ro's 1.2k challenge #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki fluff #loki imagine

[ichigo-daifuku]

Crossroads

SLBP Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Sakakibara Yasumasa/MC

The fleeting companionship of the Divine General and the kitchen wench who both fell like leaves in autumn.

Mature | Mild Sexual Content

This oneshot is set after certain events of Ieyasu's Act 1(!!!), but for the sake of the plot, this MC is not Ieyasu's MC. Think of it as an AU of a sort. ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ✧

Word Count: ~5.1k

Part 3 of 春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō

落葉 | Rakuyou

Fallen leaves.

Beneath the glow of the waxing moon, a man and a woman sat in front of each other.

Pampas grass decorated the entrance of a bustling teahouse in Mikawa. The leaves of deciduous trees had begun to metamorphose into warmer colors, the slight chill in the night air welcoming the customers for dinner. In a far corner table hidden from prying eyes, Yasumasa had a row of chestnut manju on a ceramic plate while his companion, a woman with long dark hair, had seasonal daifuku shaped like rabbits on hers. He was quite fond of this particular teahouse; everything they served him suited his picky palate, although if he were to be asked, he would not answer with those exact words. As he took a bite of the sweet treat, a glance across the table made him aware of the eyes trained on him intently.

“What are you looking at, you irritating little thing?” he challenged.

She chuckled and took a sip of her tea, unperturbed. “Another irritating little thing.” With a sigh, she set the cup down on the table and shifted her gaze towards the cloudy expanse of the sky. “Do you think there really is a bunny making mochi in the moon?”

“What a foolish question. Of course, there is nothing.” He followed her line of sight, only there was not much to see, except for the moon shining down the land like a happy smile in its crescent phase.

Absentmindedly, she took a bite of the tidbit of daifuku on the small dessert stick. “By the way, Lord Yasumasa, that house…”

“What house?” He took a sip of his own drink and feigned ignorance in hopes that she would drop the subject. 

“That house where we… you know… don’t make me say it.” Her voice transitioned into whispers with every word spoken, her embarrassment apparent with the way her eyelashes fluttered when she cast her gaze downwards and fiddled with what was left of her food.

It irked him that she insisted to approach the subject matter right then and there, but at the same time, he knew they could not avoid it forever. Yasumasa leaned back and crossed his arms. “What was that? Speak louder, woman.”

“That house where we just had our… our secret tryst! It’s yours, isn’t it?” She opted to move her face closer to him instead of speaking louder. “Is that where you stayed when you… left?”

“You don’t need to sugarcoat everything. You mean after I betrayed the Tokugawa.”

“Well, if you prefer to put it that way, yeah…”

“Hmph.”

“Lord Ieyasu said that you requested for a second chance.”

“...I did.” 

His quiet admission took him back to the time when he committed the greatest mistake of his life. With his subsequent decision to redeem whatever he could of himself, he had received permission from Tokugawa Ieyasu to stay on the outskirts of Mikawa and live in a house an average resident would live in. Every morning, Yasumasa would wake up before sunrise and farm some land near his dwelling. Afternoons meant honing his skills in swordsmanship, a craft he was proud of and sought to even improve on. When the sky darkened, he would light a lantern in the silent company of books of strategy and philosophy. He spent his days in simplicity, struggling but striving to deserve his second chance at living. 

Those patterned days ended on a certain afternoon. The morning started out with farming as usual, and with the thought that his crops would soon produce yield, he took his lunch in a nearby teahouse alone. As Yasumasa was making his way back to his house, he was greeted by the sight of a man dressed in dignified finery, looking so out of place as he stood near the humble abode’s entrance.

“Milord Ieyasu!” Yasumasa strode over to him and bowed in respect.

A usual smile graced upon Ieyasu’s lips. “I was beginning to think you’d already died.”

“I have not, Milord.”

“Good. Show me around.”

Although still overcome with surprise, Yasumasa gave his lord a warm welcome to the residence. He had to admit, it was strange to be so casually strolling around with him again. It reminded Yasumasa of those times in the past when he still served as Ieyasu's page, when circumstances were complicated but also simpler.

“Never thought you’d be one to take care of flowers,” Ieyasu commented and gestured over the colorful bunch of chrysanthemums around the compact space of the yard.

“They were already there when I arrived. Might as well.” Yasumasa stopped in front of the flowers as Ieyasu did and waited for his lord to reveal the purpose of his sudden visit.

“Yasumasa,” Ieyasu began after a few moments, the tone of his voice grave and serious, “another war is upon Mikawa’s horizons. I want you to return to the castle.”

At Ieyasu's words, Yasumasa felt suddenly aware of the empty weight of the swords detached from his hips. He clenched his fists in frustration with himself. “But Milord, I don't deserve it… I have yet to prove myself worthy.” 

“You can, in the battlefield,” Ieyasu turned to him with an expression bare of any mockery, “I will lead the Tokugawa to victory, one you will see with your very own eyes should you decide to fight under my banners again.”

Yasumasa witnessed the determination that burned brightly in Ieyasu’s eyes and believed in the greatness his lord was meant to accomplish—that they were meant to accomplish as lord and retainer. He had wished for death during the crucial moment of his failure, but it was Ieyasu who cut the ropes that bound him, freeing him not only of his crimes but also of his weaknesses. Reverent, Yasumasa bowed his head to the ground and swore that his faith would never falter again. “On my life, Milord.” 

He took the leap and returned to Hamamatsu as a retainer—a Divine General. From the second Yasumasa stepped on the castle grounds, the rift his mistake cost him had been palpable. But somehow, the strained relationship he shared with the other retainers was nothing new. They trusted him so little, yet he could place no fault in them. He was similar to the person Ieyasu used to be: arrogant, independent to a fault, and able to put trust in no one. Day by day, Yasumasa witnessed how what he once considered as his lord’s weakness had become the strength that bound the clan together tighter than ever. His mind couldn't help but race with the possibility of the person he could become. That was when he saw her again.

Now, she was right in front of him, a small chuckle bubbling from her lips.

“Ah, no, we are not husband and wife,” she corrected the shopkeeper who Yasumasa had failed to notice the approach of earlier.

“Is that so? Pardon me, then,” the shopkeeper turned to him, “Anything else I may get for you, young man?”

“No, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nodded with a smile of recognition and left. 

Yasumasa resumed eating and dared to peek at the woman who sat across him. As if she felt his gaze, she looked back at him with a quizzical expression, but it caught Yasumasa so off guard that he had to look away. During the first few days of his return to Hamamatsu, the two of them barely had a chance to speak with each other. Truth to be told, Yasumasa went out of his way to avoid her. It was futile; living in the same castle and working for the same man made their encounters inevitable. The first few times were simple greetings, he would respond with a nod and go on his way. Soon, there were words exchanged as they touched on safe discussion topics, which consisted of only a few possible matters. When they found themselves on the verge of the dangerous, he would often find excuses to leave or to make her leave, but she was stubborn, filling in the voids in their conversations with her kindness and enthusiasm. 

“Look, Lord Yasumasa! There are red spider lilies growing around there!” She motioned towards the distant woods where clusters of the flowers grew, barely visible in the darkness.

He scoffed. “How unsightly.”

“They say that red spider lilies grow on paths where people part, did you know that?”

“Or there could be graves somewhere near the area and they were planted there to ward off pests.”

“Maybe.”

The two of them finished the last of their meal at around the same time. She turned his way to ask him of his thoughts about it, but it was then that Yasumasa spotted the short trail of powder on her cheek, no doubt from the daifuku. With a click of his tongue, “You eat like a child,” he chided in mild displeasure and tossed a handkerchief into her direction.

The suddenness of his actions made her struggle to catch the item, but she did so successfully. “Is this clean?”

“Do you think I would carry around something filthy?”

“I suppose not.”

“You’re so bothersome.”

The way back to the castle was quiet, save for their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. Yasumasa's thoughts remained on her, the woman beside him who had become a prominent figure in his mind for a long, long time. He had been indifferent towards her back when she still dressed as a man to conceal her identity, but once all of her secrets were revealed, he became nothing but resentful. In the course of her earlier days as a woman in the castle, Yasumasa had been reprimanding some retainers when he saw her pass by and chat with the other generals.

“You don’t care for Yasumasa, do you.” Tadakatsu's words had been more of a statement rather than a query. The mention of his name caught Yasumasa’s attention; he had no choice but to listen.

Her eyes widened, taken aback by the assumption. “Huh?! I… It’s not that I don’t like him, not at all…”

“You don’t have to pretend. It’s written all over your face,” Tadakatsu continued, voicing out Yasumasa’s own thoughts.

To add to the vitriol thrown at him in secret, “I don’t like him either,” Toramatsu declared without hesitation.

Yasumasa had gathered that they didn’t know he was within hearing distance, yet back then, he couldn't care less what they thought of him. But as he regarded her, a mere step or two away from him as she strolled along the pathway in a manner that he would describe as almost happily, he found the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth—although he knew that she has most likely forgotten about it already. The light of the moon seemed to bounce with her hair whenever she moved. He clenched his fists at the memory of its silkiness between his fingers.

The reality of it all sunk in: they had slept together, and they both wanted it. Questions echoed like gongs in his mind. For someone who once could not deny outrightly that she did not care for him, she treated him with kindness, like she held no grudges for every mistake he has committed and actually cared. Something in her drew him in, even long ago despite his hostility towards her and especially now that his views in life were linked with a new resolve. It was the first time he felt that way for anyone. The raw attraction unnerved him. The slight flush of her cheeks when they happened to be in each other's company gave him thoughts he immediately crushed. He could not dare think of something when there was none. The next thing he knew, the beginnings of subtle, innocent touches and occasional close proximity ended with the two of them laying on the bedding he once spent lonely nights on.

“I will defile you. Are you sure this is what you want?” he had asked her then, giving her a final chance for a way out should she want it. He knew not what to do with himself. He had desired her in secret for so long, and though the frustration would eat him alive, he was prepared to accept her decision and understand the reason for her refusal. In truth, he expected her to flee and say that all of it had been a mistake, but like a moth drawn to a flame, she touched his cheek ever so gently and nodded, her answer clear with the fervent kiss she bestowed upon his lips. 

Yasumasa made his stop by a tree a few minutes or so away from the castle. Once she realized he was not beside her anymore, her steps faltered one by one until she ceased moving as well. He kept his demeanor in check before speaking, “Enter the gates first. I’ll go in a short while.”

She turned to face him slowly. “Why?”

“This can never happen again. Keep your mouth shut and no one will know.”

“You regret it?” she snapped, each word laced with self-deprecation and disbelief, “You seriously regret it?”

He sneered. “What do you think? Of course, I do.” 

Her knuckles tightened over the knot of the cloth that contained the package of white rice dumplings she insisted on bringing back for everyone. “Well, I don’t.” Upset, she spun around swiftly and began to storm inside the castle grounds without him, just the way he wanted to.

As she disappeared from his sight, a strong gust of wind blew, making a few leaves fall weightlessly to the earth. 

“Damn it!” Yasumasa cursed, overcome with anger directed at no one but himself. He was nothing but a liar. What would people say about her associating herself with the likes of him, someone who had the nerve to betray the clan and come back? He should know better. She was too good for him—too good to him. It was far from anything he deserved. He needed to do everything he could to stop her from coming too close to him and to stop him from ruining her even more.

But perhaps, it was too late.

Beneath the glow of the waning moon, a man and a woman sat in front of each other.

Chrysanthemums bloomed all over the backyard of a small home in the outskirts of Mikawa. Seasons had gone by and changes, both subtle and tangible, happened as they drifted from one to another. Traces of warm colors in the leaves developed fully into vivid shades of red, some deep oranges, while others shone golden. Though in the night, all of them were the same, dark as their shadows.

“They make it very lively even though no one really lives here, don’t they? Especially during twilight,” the woman commented at the hidden medley of autumn hues and took a slow, dainty sip of her sake. “So, why did you call me here? It’s not like our usual meetings, from what I gather.” She placed the half-empty cup down on the table with a faint thud and raised her gaze to meet the jade green eyes of her companion, Yasumasa.

He had been wrong when he said that what happened on their first night together could never happen again. It happened more times than she could count, not only in his residence but also in other places. It was risky, thrilling, altogether rewarding. When she happened to pass by those areas, memories of their times together would take her head in the clouds, and with burning cheeks, she would look away with a secret smile. They had visited his old dwelling far too often that soon enough, she became familiar with its every nook and cranny, including where he kept his precious tea set, the one which has been passed down to the heirs of the Sakakibara clan for many generations. If the two of them were to be around during afternoons, she would expect to find Yasumasa hanging around the chrysanthemums in the garden he kept—those flowers he claimed he wasn’t taking care of but were all blooming so beautifully. Contrary to what he insisted, she recognized the special care he gave them, reminiscent of how one would treat a bonsai, only a single wrong move with the latter could be fixed through the passage of time, but the former would not be as resilient, having a single chance to bloom during its season.

Most of all, she knew him, Yasumasa. Once, she had woken up in the middle of the night with his side of the bedding warm but empty. She got up and slid the doors open to find him seated on the floor, silent as the still night air. The same thing kept him up at night time and again; Yasumasa recognized the value of trust at this point in his life, although the idea was still foreign to his comprehension. He would never admit it, but she knew he would like to be able to build that trust with his comrades, akin to the way his lord came to the light. As he stared into the dark space, struggling still to reconcile who he was and who he wanted to be, she believed he would get there one day, he was stubborn that way.

“No one holds a grudge against you, you know? Not even Lord Ieyasu. Lord Tadakatsu is worried. I’m sure he misses his friend.” She leaned against a pillar and pulled the fabric of her robes tighter against her body to protect herself from the chill. “Forgive yourself, Yasumasa. We have.”

He was so quiet that she thought he did not hear a word she uttered, but then he stood up and met her eyes, his stare determined and passionate. “Even you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I haven’t.” She walked closer and reached to embrace Yasumasa by the waist. In an instant, she was warmed, the steady beating of his heart a soothing sound. She spoke the truth; she did not hate him. In fact, she already had an inkling even at that time that it had grown to be quite the opposite. Every single encounter with him strengthened the attachment she felt, almost like a bond. There had been times when she made sure she had at least a swipe of rouge on her lips whenever there was a chance they would pass by each other, and she felt like she tried too hard. Yasumasa had already witnessed her at her best and worst, at her most pleasured and most vulnerable. It all sounded a bit backwards in her head, she didn’t know whether to smile or frown at the idea.

They were the castle’s open secret. Almost everyone suspected it, yet no one dared to ask either of them for confirmation or denial. It seemed that the idea of them together was an odd one. A mismatched pair of chopsticks, that was what they looked like. Scandalous curiosities were disregarded in order to avoid evoking Yasumasa’s ire. She supposed it was something she should be grateful for—if someone did dare to ask, she would not know how to answer. Long ago, he considered her his enemy. Were they friends? Not quite. She wouldn’t do what she does with him with a mere friend, of that she was sure. They were not explicitly lovers either. Still, she found no desire to lay with another man, and she suspected that he was not sleeping with another, with majority of his time spent on training and military campaigns along with the frequency of their activities when he wasn’t occupied with either of the two. It wasn’t that they were only good enough to be intimate companions and not… more. No, it was rooted on something deeper. No matter how strongly she felt for him, whatever was between them was fragile, as it was impermanent. Regardless, she cared for him deeply, knew him far enough to trust him in spite of the mistakes he made in the past. As much as she tried to keep those thoughts at the back of her mind, it bothered her time and again, but she decided that she would cross the bridge when she gets there.

However, as she sat in front of Yasumasa in the place full of their memories, she knew that the moment to cross the bridge has come.

“Lord Ieyasu has granted me the domain in Tatebayashi,” Yasumasa stated with pride. Their most difficult battle had resulted in the Tokugawa’s greatest victory. A new beginning was in the entire land’s horizons, the prospect of peace closer than ever. She couldn’t be prouder of everyone in the clan.

“Sakakibara Yasumasa, Lord of Tatebayashi,” his name and new title rolled off her tongue, and she smiled. “Congratulations.” He had come so far. She was happy for him.

He drank his sake in response, eyes trained on her all the while, holding her in place.

“Is there something else you wish to tell me, Yasumasa?”

“Why? Do you have something you wish to tell me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she broached the subject and fiddled with the hem of her kimono. “Soon, I won’t be under Lord Ieyasu’s employ any longer.”

He stilled as he took in the implication of her words, but quickly recovered as he moved to set the empty cup down on the table. “And? Where are you going now?”

“For now, the plan is to go back home to Kyoto.” As a young girl, she had a lot of dreams, one of which was to take over the restaurant as her late father did. Many years had passed since then and circumstances changed. The kind of future she envisioned as a young girl has shifted into something else now that she was a woman—one who has met someone.

If he were to ask her to come with him, she would say yes... yet she knew he would not. It has always been that way—close enough to cross the boundaries they set in silence but never doing so. He said nothing. She expected it, but no matter how much she knew that she would never receive those few specific words, a part of her still longed to hear them. Her little ray of hope dimmed, and she blinked a few times in an attempt to quell her emotions. She wondered where it went wrong or if it had been wrong from the very first night they spent together. Whatever the answer was, she found that she still had no regrets in terms of the intimacy they shared. Alone in her innermost thoughts, she gave him a bittersweet smile.

“One last time?” Her proposition had been a whisper, but in a few seconds, the low table, pair of cups, and empty bottles of sake had been set aside. Her hand clutched his as she led him inside the house all the way to his chambers, where she pulled him in for a kiss once the doors slid close.

Every time she would remember that instance when Yasumasa mocked that she possessed the body that would drive no man to lust, she wanted to burst into laughter. It pleased her to see him this way, almost pliant and very responsive to her kisses and touches, as if his hatred of women never existed, or at the very least, was shelved away in particular moments where she was involved.

“How long has it been, Yasumasa? Years?” she whispered right next to his ear, her fingertips tracing a line from his jaw to his neck and further down to the inside of his collar, “Aren’t you a hypocrite? Still going to pretend you never wanted this, hm?”

He hissed and kept her lips occupied from talking by taking them with his own. His palm felt warm against her lower back as he pulled her even closer. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything. She was never the kitchen wench, just a woman who wanted him; and he was never a Divine General, just a man who desired her. Lost in his every touch, she has never felt so free, her body pinned down the bedding with his own, perfectly fitting together. In their final hours, she eagerly accepted all that he had to give her, again and again. She cried for him, not the inevitable separation that would prove change was constant once they go out of the doors of that little house, the one she unconsciously considered home on certain days of her life.

The journey back to the castle was slow and steady, contrary to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that ran through her mind and heart. Above all, the sights she took in evoked a strange sense of nostalgia. Her vacant eyes followed the movements of the autumn leaves as they clung to the tree branches, and even without the disturbance of the wind, fell to the earth constantly. Yasumasa’s horse would let out an occasional whinny, and she would pat its back in response, knowing that it would be their final trip together. Soon enough, they neared their destination, the end of their journey. The castle, tall and glinting in the light of dawn, stood in their field of vision from the woods. Yasumasa pulled in the reins, and they came to a halt. Minutes passed, but both of them stayed quiet and unmoving. 

“After we cross the gates, I will never speak to you again.” She felt proud of herself for breaking the silence with a voice filled with conviction. It gave her enough courage to adjust her seat so she could face him. The moment she did, her lips drew into a fond smile. She reached for the maple leaf that had gone stuck in his copper locks and pulled it away. It crumbled at the most gentle of her touches, fluttering in uneven fragments towards the ground. “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“...So, it is.”

“Have a good life, Lord Yasumasa. Be happy.”

His lips parted and closed, as though he wanted to say something but thought otherwise. It took a few more moments of silence before he finally replied, “You, too. Be happy.”

As she moved to alight, his arms tightened around her waist so slightly that she almost missed it. In the split second her eyes locked with his, the two of them found their way together in a desperate kiss that left her emotional and breathless. Seconds spent on pulling away solely to breathe were followed with another bittersweet meeting of their lips, over and over, as if the two of them were reluctant to part and were pouring all the words left unsaid with each caress. Her eyes began to water, but before tears could fall, she gathered enough courage and drew herself away from him. She alighted from the saddle and brushed off the invisible dirt from her kimono. Fallen leaves crumbled underneath her sandals, but without ever once looking back, she marched inside the castle grounds on her own.

With every step, a piece of her fell apart as she relinquished everything she had with him. 

Cruel, the hands of fate were cruel. It seemed that all they had gone through had not been enough, that even the days of their departure were one and the same. She had packed all of the little things she acquired over the years, each item tied with a memory she would hold dear for the rest of her life. A day before she was set to leave, she and Tadatsugu, whose wisdom she considered greater than anyone, looked after the plants on the castle grounds like they would on a regular day. In the midst of doing so, he thanked her for her service and the great cuisine she introduced the whole clan to. She went to town with her dear friends, Toramatsu and Tadakatsu, with whom she shared countless moments of laughter and tears over the years, and who respected her silent decision to keep all of the things she wanted under wraps to herself. Finally, she visited Ieyasu before sunset to express all the gratitude she had for him. In the Shogun’s grand library, a copy of her recipe book was placed neatly in one of the shelves at nightfall. True to her word, she did not seek Yasumasa again, and neither did he.

She bowed in greeting to the few people who would accompany her on the journey back to Kyoto and proceeded to wave everyone goodbye, ready to go home. She passed by Yasumasa and his men preparing to leave. From her peripheral vision, she noticed him pause in his stacking of his luggage to train his eyes on her every movement. The sight of him awakened her thoughts of the impossibility that it could have been the two of them who would be off to Tatebayashi that day. The roads they would take were in the opposite directions of each other, that was the way their circumstances were always meant to be. 

An unexpected gift waited for her in the palanquin. With a smile, she picked up the arrangement of bright red chrysanthemums and boarded inside. After the curtains were drawn and they departed, the mask she wore for so long finally shattered. She clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent any sound from escaping the four corners of the small space as tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped on the scarlet flowers on her lap. She wept at the knowledge that the moment he would open his food compartment in the middle of his journey, he would find a package of chestnut manju wrapped intricately with the pristine white handkerchief he once owned, each piece made with her best wishes for his life and eternal happiness.

In a little house on the outskirts of Mikawa, a garden once filled with the most colorful flowers turned bleak as they wilted through the passage of many seasons. In time, mysterious red spider lilies sprung in their place in such large numbers, it prompted the villagers to forlornly believe that it was either a place where someone had passed away, or where lovers had parted, never to meet again.

Beyond grateful to @photoproses reading through my initial draft and brainstorming with me!

Happy Mid-Autumn Festival (and Friday the 13th)! 🎑

Thank you for reading this story! 🍁

春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō [AO3]

lit. spring, summer, autumn, winter

春 || Heartstrings (Tokugawa Ieyasu/MC)

夏 || Sunkissed (Honda Tadakatsu/MC)

秋 || Crossroads (Sakakibara Yasumasa/MC)

| 秋 | Destiny [Crossroads Alternate Ending]

冬 || ???

Ichigo Daifuku's Masterlist

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #slbp fanfiction #slbp fanfic #slbp smut #slbp yasumasa #sakakibara yasumasa #slbp ieyasu #tokugawa ieyasu #slbp toramatsu #toramatsu #fanfiction #fanfic #ichigo bakufu #shunkashuto #autumn #aki #crossroads

[taetaespeaches]

“Slow dancing while drunk on wine... Our favorite pastime”

Jimin x Reader (or oc)

Word count: 1.2K 

a/n: Here’s a little Jimin drabble for you all. It’s been sitting in my mind for a while so I finally decided to write it. I hope you all enjoy babes! Also, this is not the first and will not be the last time I write about Jimin and his s/o drinking wine and dancing together. Sorry, I just love the idea of it too much. If Jimin isn’t getting drunk with his s/o and dancing with them, what’s the freaking point? 

And remember, requests are pretty much always open so feel free to send some in! :) 

With your head resting upon your boyfriend’s abdomen, you payed close attention to the inhale and exhale of air moving in and out of his lungs. His breath was even and steady, but you were waiting for the shakiness to inevitably disrupt the rhythm.

Your bare legs were intertwined with his while one of his arms was wrapped around your waist, his hand gripping your hip. His other hand rested upon his chest, his pinky finger tickling the top of your head occasionally. When his arm around you tightened just the slightest bit, his palm and fingers squeezing your hip, you held your breath, waiting for a sign of uneasiness. Then he shakily breathed out. Your ears perked as your eyes widened in anticipation.

Within the next few seconds, Jimin’s shaky voice sounded throughout the room. “Do you ever wish you could just run away?” Placing your hand on top of his own that rested on his chest, you intertwined your fingers with his, your palm pressed against the back of his hand.

“What do you mean?” You didn’t look up at him yet, letting him get his thoughts out first.

Sighing, Jimin twisted his hand around in your grip to hold it, palm to palm. “Do you ever wish you could escape your own life?” At those words, you lifted your head to look into his sorrowful orbs, worry evident in your own. His back was propped up against the headboard, his gaze directed to the ceiling. “Even if just for a little bit,” he added, more to himself than asking you. As you watched him, you pondered his question. Before he could respond, he shook his head. “Never mind, I’m being ridiculous.”

“No, you’re not,” you assured him.

“I have this great life, and here I am, thinking about what it would be like to leave it all behind,” he scoffed at himself. “Just because I messed up one song.” He shook his head again, keeping his eyes locked on the ceiling above the bed. It wasn’t just that he had supposedly messed up during a song but was rather a buildup of emotions and pent up frustrations.

“You didn’t mess up. You’re just too hard on yourself. And you’re not being ridiculous,” you told him again. “I get it. I’ve felt that way before,” you admitted. His eyes shot to you in surprise at your confession.

“You have?” There was an intrigued tone to his voice.

Nodding, you positioned your arm underneath your chin to rest your head on it. “I think it’s normal to want to get away from our own lives every once in a while,” you told him as you stared into his eyes, searching them for signs of relief, or just something to let you know he was ok. “No matter how great a person’s life is.”

“Yeah, but isn’t my life especially great? I shouldn’t be ungrateful like th—“

“Even BTS is allowed to feel shitty about their lives sometimes, Jimin,” you interrupted. “You guys face so much pressure. And I know you love your career, and you love your fans, and you love those six idiots,” a small chuckle reverberated from Jimin’s vocal chords, “but that doesn’t mean that it’s always enjoyable.” As Jimin’s eyes glistened, you pulled your hand out of his and reached up to comfortingly stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers. Dragging them down his face and along his jaw, you tapped under his chin with a grin. Jimin grabbed your fingers in his as a small but genuine smile graced his features, his eyes crinkling just the tiniest bit.

Sitting up, you straddled his waist. Reaching for his hands, you intertwined your fingers with his and gently waved both of your hands back and forth in a childlike manner. “Ok, so, you want to run away. Where are you going?” Your wide eyes invited him to play along, coaxing him out of his stupor to “what if” with you.

He stared at you for a moment, eyes full of adoration as they turned into crescents, a shy smile displayed on his mouth as he dropped his head in a quiet giggle. Looking back up to you, you widened your eyes even more, waiting expectantly.

“We’re going to Italy,” he told you with a single affirming nod.

“We’re? As in we?” You cooed with a small smile, to which he returned with an eyeroll. “That’s what you meant right? Like us? You and me? Both? Together?”

“Stop,” he whined with a giggle. “If I’m running away, you’re running away with me,” he informed you with a tinge of sass. There he is.

Your lips turning up into a big happy smile, you nodded your head in assurance. “I’m going wherever you’re going, my love.”

A blush tinted his cheeks as he flashed a dazzling smile. “Good. So, we’re going to Italy,” he told you. “I want to visit a vineyard in the countryside with you.”

Flashing him a flirty look, you smirked. “Sounds romantic.”

“Oh, it is,” he teased. “We’ll get drunk on wine and slow dance among the grapes under the moonlight.”

Giggling, you nodded. “Slow dancing while drunk on wine... Our favorite pastime,” you joked, as you both recalled the many times you’ve done just that in your living room. “Ooh, can we go to Greece?” You asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Greece and explore the islands and beaches.”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing your hands. “We’ll get drunk on wine and slow dance with our feet in the ocean,” he smiled adoringly as he elicited a snort from you. “I want to road trip across the United States with you,” he told you excitedly. “We could take turns driving. Make gas stops where we buy a bunch of junk food and pig out while we drive from state to state.”

“We could blast music and sing along in the car,” you cheerfully added. “And stop at all the ridiculous tourist destinations, like, the world’s largest dresser,” you both laughed.

“And we’d stay in cheap hotels without any reservations. And you know what else we would do?” He asked with a sweet smile as you hummed in response. “We’d end each night drinking a bottle of wine while slow dancing in the hotel room,” he giggled.

Smirking at him, you nodded. “Well, of course.”

“It is our favorite past time, after all,” he teased. “What’s the state known for their peaches?”

Scrunching your eyebrows, you cocked your head at him. “Georgia?”

“Yeah! Georgia,” he nodded enthusiastically. “I want to go there.”

As you took in his features, you swore your heart skipped a bit and then beat three times faster.

Staring at him in admiration, you leaned forward, pecking his lips gently. As Jimin watched you pull away, sadness overtook his expression. “I’m sorry I can’t take you to all these places, Dear.”

Quickly shaking your head, you leaned down to kiss his lips again, this time holding on a little longer. Pulling away you held his face in your hands. “I told you that I’m going wherever you are, Jimin, and I mean that. Even if we never leave this hotel room, I’ll be where you are,” you assured him, making his eyes swell with tears again, this time out of a mixture of leftover frustration and overwhelming happiness. “We both know we can’t actually run away, but, moments like these kind of feel like an escape, don’t they?” Jimin’s eyes scanned your face as he took in every detail.

Licking his lips as they turned up into a stunning smile, you could see the agreement written across his face. “You’re the only escape I need.”

#jimin #jimin drabble #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin imagine #jimin scenario #bts #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagine #bts scenarios #bts drabbles #bts imagines #bts scenario

[kenshi-vakarian7]

MERweek2019 - Day 2 - A Night on the Town

Event hosted by @cactuarkitty with fanfic prompts by @vorchagirl 

Prompt - A lot can happen late at night. Maybe Down a dark alley … or maybe in a bar. Enemies can meet for that final fight. Friends can have hilarious adventures. And lovers can do what they do best!

Here’s a fic with a Shepard whose... generally not the best at flirting. =P

---

“An Evening at the Casino”

Sitting in a quiet booth, Tali'Zorah felt like a queen ever since she arrived at the Silver Coast Casino.  She and her boyfriend, Commander Adam Shepard, went out on a couple of dates before, but this was the first time they ever went someplace fancy.  It wasn't that they never wanted to - although there were a lot of places that had both levo and dextro menus, not many had quarian-friendly options.  Neither of them knew about the casino until they had to go on an infiltration mission with Maya Brooks.

Of course a week-long shore leave just had to start with trouble in the form of a identity thief with a mercenary band, property damage in a restaurant and a car dealership, and the infiltration of C-Sec.  And that was all within an hour during lunch time!

Shepard let her purchase the nicest shawl she had ever owned for the gala.  It was light and made with real silk and patterned with black and white swirls.  The next time she was in Shepard's cabin, she planned to wrap the shawl around her body and feel the silk with her bare hands.

When they arrived, they received what humans called 'the red carpet treatment.'  Tali didn't fully understand the concept and the whys, but she didn't care.  Strolling in on Shepard's arm, dressed in their best, and waving to those who watched them walk by – not to mention the beaming smile he gave her – made Tali feel like royalty.

Brooks was currently somewhere in the ventilation shaft above their heads  The plan was to shut down security to the panic room where they expected to find the casino owner Elijah Khan, an arms dealer who may or may not know who Shepard's identity thief was.  Brooks only ran into a small problem in the beginning, but otherwise things were going according to plan so far.

All Shepard and Tali had to do was provide support... and mingle with the crowd in between to ward off suspicion.  They did talk to a few people and danced a little (Tali always found Shepard's... eccentric dancing endearing), but they eventually decided to grab a booth and drinks. Shepard offered to get both of their drinks while Tali relaxed in their chosen booth, one located in a quiet corner and away from prying eyes.  It didn't take him long to return.  He gave her a beaming smile and, despite wearing her helmet, she did the same.

“Here's your triple filtered turian champagne, miss,” Shepard said in that pleasant way most servers do as he placed the container of wine in front of her on the table.  He then placed down a long, thin sterilized bag next to it. “And here is your... emergency induction port.”  He ended that last sentence with a wink.

Tali groaned.  “I'm guessing you're never going to let me live that down.”

“Nope,” Shepard bemused as he sat down next her in the booth.  He placed his own drink down on the table.  “I figured it was fair since I'll likely never live down accidentally closing what is now apparently everyone's favorite sushi place.  Even my Mom sent a message telling me, and I quote, 'I'm not mad about my favorite sushi spot being destroyed... I'm just disappointed.'”

“Well,” Tali began to tease.  “You did break their floor before I could fulfill my childhood dream of going there for a nice dinner.”

Shepard raised a single eyebrow at her.  “Did they even have anything you can eat there?”

Tali leaned into him to whisper in his ear.  “Not.  The point.  Dear.”

Shepard sighed.  “If it makes you feel any better, I didn't get the chance to even place an order.”

Tali folded her arms as she quickly shook her head.  She also turned her nose up at him.  “Nope.  That doesn't make me feel better at all. Not even close.”

Shepard took a sip of his champagne before he scooted closer and leaned his head towards her ear.  “I can make it up to you.”

Tali didn't bother to turn to him.  She tried to sound indifferent as she replied, “How?”

Shepard leaned in just a little closer to where his face was just a few inches away from her.  “Well...” he whispered.  “I was going to surprise you with this news much later, but... the master bedroom and bathroom have a full working de-contaminator and sterilizer unit.”

That made Tali's eyes go wide as she turned to look at Shepard.  “Really?” she squeaked.

Shepard grinned as he nodded.  “Really.  It was Anderson's gift to us.  He had a company install it just before he gave me his apartment.”

Tali tilted her head, astonished by Anderson's sweet gesture. “That's... really generous of him.”

Shepard simply nodded, and Tali didn't miss the small frown on his face.  She knew that he was thinking about his mentor, who was fighting the war on Earth as of this moment.  He always felt guilty about leaving Anderson behind despite the Admiral pushing him to leave.

Tali brought his attention back by brushing a single finger along his jawline.  “When this thing with the identity thief is over,” she murmured.  “I'll take my herbal supplements.”

Her words weren't exactly the most flirt-worthy thing she ever said, but it still made him grin nevertheless.  He wrapped one arm around her shoulders before he gently pulled her in closer to him.  “Herbal supplements... just the very words every guy wants to hear.”

That somehow made Tali giggle.  As charming and handsome as Shepard was, he was definitely not the most graceful at flirting.  Still, she found it very endearing because, well... it's Shepard.

“You know what I want to hear more?” Shepard whispered as he leaned closer to his lover, lowering his voice even more at his next words. “I want to hear you shout my name as I take you on the new bed over and over until you are completely satiated.”

Tali's suit suddenly felt too warm... and too snug.  “Oh I bet you do,” she managed to say as she looked directly into his blue eyes – and oh, how he looked at her with such love and adoration, it made her grin so wide it nearly made her cheeks hurt.

“You're smiling,” Shepard suddenly mentioned as he grinned at her.  “And it's a big smile, too.”

Tali tried to act like she didn't know what he was talking about.  “Oh? And how do you know this?”

“The way your eyes curve,” Shepard mentioned.  “It makes your eyes look like a pair of crescent moons.”  The hand that was on Tali's shoulders moved a little down her arm.  “Did I ever tell you that of all your beautiful curves, your smile is my favorite one?”

His words were both sweet and... what was the human word?  Oh, right! Cheesy.  And yet, she was blushing like a young quarian who just earned their new suit and who tried to talk to her crush. Speaking of suits, she really wished it came with an air conditioner right about now.

Tali moved closer to Shepard until her visor gently pressed against his forehead, the closest to a kiss they could manage while she was in her suit.  She was still smiling as she said to him in an alluring voice, “You know people are probably watching us right now.”

“Good, let them,” Shepard replied, his own voice low and husky. “Let them watch and be envy of you.  Let them wish they were as gorgeous as you are right now.”

Those words sent a pleasant shiver down her spine as Shepard's free hand moved to rest around her waist.  One more inch closer and Tali knew she'd be right on top of him.  The thought of sitting on his lap with her long legs around his waist in this booth, in view of the other patrons, sent a thrill through Tali's core.  She was very tempted to do just that.

She was about to respond when suddenly, their comm crackled to life and the sound nearly startling them both.  “Uh... Commander...” the voice of Maya Brooks whispered, her voice hinted with worry.  “I think I tripped a wire... help!”

Tali groaned... she almost forgot about Brooks and why they were at the casino in the first place!  Shepard groaned as well as they pulled away from each other.  “Did I ever tell you how amazing of a hacker you are?  You would've never tripped a wire.”

Tali giggled as she lightly tapped a finger at the tip of his nose.  “You better never forget that, mister.”

“That would be such a crime,” Shepard said with a grin.  He then took a moment to gulp down what remained of his champagne before placing the glass down back on the table.  “Come on, let's get this over with. Then we can get back to what's more important.”  He gave her a wink at that last sentence before he began sliding out of the booth with Tali following not too far.

#merweek #merweek2019 #kv7 ocs #mass effect #shali #adam shepard #tali'zorah #fanfic

[erinelizabethh]

it’s your world, not mine | The Umbrella Academy (5/?)

You are Number Eight, the epitome of extraordinary in a crowd of the mundane. So is Number One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and… maybe not Seven. The more you remain aligned with the Hargreeves name, the more you wish you weren’t.

Reality is what grounds you to this fact, although you can’t help but like your siblings… just a bit.

Chapter One: An Unfortunate Beginning , Chapter Two: Diego , Chapter Three: Our Guilty Pleasures , Chapter Four: Monochrome

Chapter Five: Run Boy Run

Summary: When you’re 13, there are some highs, and there are some lows.

You were finally reaching that dreaded age, the double digits edging you closer to death yet, thankfully, the climax of growing armpit hair and chest size. Disregarding the fact that this meant all Hargreeves boys held your heart and hormones captive, the only information given to you about your ailment was your sister Allison and pitiful trips to the grocery store during your ventures beyond the mansion. Now, the age of thirteen forced you to tone down your naivety, instead making way for adult things like… saving the life of hostages at a bank at the crack of dawn. At that point, society no longer cared for your age and how malicious the years were to you, just that you were born with the power to create and bring people to a reality separate from the one they lived in. Your name, or lack thereof, was a dehumanizing thought they turned the other cheek to.

Klaus, however, the blessed Number Four in your family stepped off his ledge of superiority to gift you with kindness and belonging since you joined the family. Unlike Luther or Ben, Klaus took pride in dismantling the rules your father held over you and your siblings, living with reckless abandon in a life that seemed to neither succumb or ascend; why should he, when what followed were personifications of ashes and decomposition treading behind his sober thoughts day and night? A walking Ouija board, the boy would rely on the world you lived in at the best of times and, if not… he learned a really cool trick in the streets that would do the job just as much. Quite the intrigue it brought you, the seconds that followed that first puff led you to the paradise that was your boundless mind before you decided moments later you were starved for peanut butter and jelly.

Which was why a smirk remained tugged on your lips upon Klaus’ attempts to lose himself in it all, his shoulder adjacent to the table as his waist twisted towards a direction hidden from your father’s gaze. With his hands under the table, his fingers tried at the paper holding questionable substances in his grasp, with only a glance from Allison before returning to the hooded eyelids of Luthers’ any indication something was amiss. Again, the man at the head of the table was sliding his fork through his plate, the yolk of his eggs seeping underneath the crisp bacon at the edge of the glass. Grace’s nails dug into the knuckles of her other hand, clasped with the other as she resumed her place seemingly unaware of what went on under the mahogany that was the Hargreeves dining room table. The one act of movement was the aligning of gazes with Ben Hargreeves, sitting across from you with a look her way that spoke a story about how he would rather not be sitting there.

Tapping Klaus’ knee, he passed you the cigarette, and you planted your feet against the rug to drag the legs of the chair against the table. Now, you might as well have offered a hit to your father with your seat right beside him, except his rare compliments towards Grace and Pogo provided a window of distraction, one that you very well took advantage of because you damn sure were not sharing. Now that your training was indoors with your other six, talented siblings, any assistance towards how unfair, how humiliating the hours were much appreciated. Speaking of humility, Number Five threw that to the side with a knife embedded into the wood of the table, a scowl on his face directed at the man of the house who valued silence in the morning above all else unless you were involved, to which he said fuck you in the form of a record player reiterating survival tips and the occasional math problem.

Number Five’s response to his father’s inquiry, a perking up of his ears at the disruption was a simple, “I’ve got a question.”

A few snide comments later, and your time-and-space jumping sibling manifested himself beside you, with only a roll of your eyes your acknowledgement of his powers. His nails sunk into his palms, crescent marks forming atop his skin, yet the boy could not bear to wave off his anger complementary to the silence weighing down the rest of his family. “A spatial jump is trivial when compared with the unknowns of time travel,” your father chastised him, the words spilling from his lips nothing but nonsense and conjecture to you. An inch of you, the adventurous and careless side of you, desired to open your mouth and defend your brother with words along the lines of, “Let him go fuck off somewhere so he can bring me a DeLorean like in Back to the Future,” except your one and only goal that moment was to not think about any of that, or anything at all. With that in mind, you fell back to the cushion of your chair and wrapped your lips around the rolled up cigarette, inhaling the smoke as if seven of your siblings weren’t watching you do so all during the opportune time where Number Five was blocking your parents—guardians—from your vision.

Then, with a pivot of his foot, your persistent brother absolved himself of the wise yet superficial words of his father. Of course, that was the perfect time for you understand the definition of humiliation, and you huffed, you puffed, and you… coughed up your lungs.

Klaus’ guffaw of laughter would have perhaps brought out a chuckle from Number Five, but not only did he run from his father’s attempts to oppress a teenager longing for excitement and divergence, he ran from your life too.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #diego hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #reader #writing #its about to go to shit I literally cannot wait #I have been waiting for this chapter lmao #diego hargreeves #ben hargreeves

[the-beastslayers-queen]

Magic and Moonlight: Chapter 1

Here’s chapter one. No warnings yet. I will add warning appropriate. Tagging: @queenofthearchitect Message me if you want to be tagged in this. Enjoy!

“Thea,” your roommate, Charlotte, called as she poked her head into your room, “Time to get up so we can head to the PC.”

“Five more minutes, mom,” I mumbled as I turned away from my door.

“Theadora Rose Bartlett, wake the fuck up,” Charlotte ripped my quilt off my sleepy body, “We have training and promo class today. Now move or I will sit on you.”

I groaned and finally got up. Seeing as I had showered last night, I opted to just dress myself in my typical work out ensemble of a sports bra, loose tank top, workout leggings, and my cross-trainers. I ran my hairbrush through my tangled, loosely curled hair, and pulled it back into a messy bun near the top of head.

Once I was done, I grabbed my gym bag with my spare change of clothes, and went out into the tiny living room and kitchen of my shared apartment here is Orlando, to see what Charlotte made us for breakfast since it was her turn to make it today.

“About time,” Charlotte smirked as she dished up my share of scrambled egg whites with Colby-jack cheese melted on top, “Oh I think you forgot to put on something today.”

Charlottle tapped on her neck, which made my eyes go wide. I forgot my choker necklace I always wore. Since I was very powerful with my magic and having The Morrigan, one of the most powerful ancient witches, in my soul I had to wear it to suppress most of my magic so I can blend into society.

“Oh shit,” I ran into my room and found my choker on my side table. I quickly slipped it on and sighed in relief.

I was worried you’d forget I was here, ma darling.

“How can I forget,” I mumbled to myself, when I was really talking to Morrigan, “You make me a danger to a lot of people when you get in one of your moods.”

I get in my moods to protect us, child.

I just rolled my eyes as I rejoined Charlotte to eat our breakfast before leaving.

Once Charlotte and I got into the PC, she went off to hang with her friends Becky, Bayley and Sasha. I opted to go off into an isolated corner to start stretching before being my training routine. I trained in parkour and tumbling and I used yoga for post-workout recovery. I saw it as a means to help me with my style of wrestling. I loved to just fly from off the ropes. I lived to be agile and strike quickly. I also liked being flexible so I can’t get submitted easily.

I was lost in my thoughts, stretching to get loose before I’d climb into a ring to run the ropes to warm up, when I looked up at very tall presence in front of me. I looked up and saw this very attractive man with dark brown, almost black hair, with a shock of blond to the right of his face. He had a well-kept, but short beard on his face. But his eyes, oh his eyes were a beautiful warm brown that I swear was making me melt under his warm gaze.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he held out his hand to me as a soft smile graced his lips, “I’m Colby, but my ring name is Seth Rollins.”

“Thea Bartlett,” I took his hand as I righted my posture, “My ring name is Casey Ferguson.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Thea,” Colby smirked, “I’ll see you in the ring later. Maybe I’ll see what moves you got.”

He walked away, going over to a pair of guys standing off in another corner. One had shaggy, dark strawberry blond hair that was tousled all over the place. The other was much taller than both, and was much bigger overall. He definitely looked Samoan and he had black hair, pulled back in a neat and tight bun.

“Thea,” I looked up to see Charlotte coming over with Becky and Bayley, “I see you’ve met one of the resident hotties here at NXT.”

“You mean Colby right,” I asked her innocently. As I looked over at the three men, I noticed that Colby was looking over at me, his eyes locking with mine for a moment. I swear, I thought I felt my magic stirring in me, making me worry a little if I accidently exposed my true nature all because of a guy I just met.

I think I know what’s going on here. You got a crush on him.

Go away, Morrigan. You’re not helping.

Maybe he’s your, our, soulmate. After all your crescent moon faces the left. And I sense he’s not human.

Drop it, Morrigan.

“Is she bothering ya again, lass,” Becky asked.

“When doesn’t she,” Becky was a druid, so she knew all about Morrigan, my parasite in my soul.

“So you met Colby,” Bayley waved over at Colby, “He’s a nice guy actually. And I will let you in on a little secret. He’s not human. I can tell.”

I just shook my head and went to climb into the closest ring to me. Charlotte and the girls hopped up onto the apron and watched as I started to run the ropes. I started to do back bumps and kip ups, trying to get my muscles to start firing and warming up for sparring practice later. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Colby and his buddies come over to lean against the apron opposite of the girls. Colby’s eyes followed me as I ran the ropes. I think I saw him wince every time I did a bump.

Once I felt I had ran enough through the ropes, I decided to do some work flipping off the turnbuckles. I wanted to work on my recoveries from leaping off the ropes, just in case any of my opponents roll out of the way of my high-flying diving attacks.

You have an admirer. His eyes haven’t stopped following you the ring.

Morrigan, not now!

Of course, being distracted by Morrigan and her observations, I didn’t pay attention to my footing on the ropes, and I ended up slipping off the turnbuckle and got my ankle stuck. I screamed in pain as I felt a pulling sensation on my ankle as I dangled precariously in the Tree of Woe position.

“Oh shit,” Colby dove into the ring and immediately came to my aid. Charlotte also came to help, “Hang on, I got you. Char, can you help me out. I’ll hold her while you untangle her leg from the ropes.”

Charlotte nodded at him as she got a grip on my ankle. Colby scooped me up into his arms, holding me close to his chest to get my body weight off my ankle so Charlotte could release me. I winced as Charlotte moved my ankle, trying to not scream out in pain. The last thing I needed was to be seen like this in front of Colby, but too late for that.

Thanks, Morrigan.

Not my fault you can’t multitask.

“Alright you’re free,” Colby helped you stand up a little, not letting you entirely, “Can you stand on your foot?”

I went to put weight on my bad ankle, but I immediately winced and nearly fell. Thankfully, Colby hadn’t left my side yet, and caught me before I could fall.

“Nope,” I winced as I leaned against him, “This is the worst kind of luck. I don’t want to miss anything this early on into NXT. Fuck.”

“Hey it happens,” Colby helped me over to the ropes, by his friends, “Hey Roman, can you help me get her out of the ring. She needs to go to the trainer’s room to get checked out.”

“Sure thing, Uce,” Roman got closer to the ring apron, “Lay her down and I’ll help her down from under the ropes.”

Colby laid me down on the matt, being careful of my ankle. Roman reached over and pulled me into his arms and held onto me as Colby rolled out of the ring. Roman handed me over to Colby and he took me to trainer’s room.

As I got settled on the exam bench, I hadn’t noticed my birthmark was exposed. I looked over at Colby and he was looking right at my birthmark on my hip. My crescent moon. I instantly panicked and fixed my tank top to cover it.

“Your birthmark,” he started before swallowing heavily, “Is it a crescent moon? Are you a witch?”

“Yeah,” you answered both of his questions at the same time. You decided to prove it to him by conjuring a lily in my hand. I held out my hand for him to take the lily from me.

“Wow,” Colby was in awe as he took the lily into his hand, “I mean I’ve heard of witches, but I’ve never met one before. Or at least not knowingly anyway.”

“Ah,” I simply nodded. I was about to speak again when I trainer came into the room.

“Alright, Miss Bartlett, let me get a look at your ankle,” the trainer started to check on my ankle as Colby started to make his way over to the door.

“I’m going to wait outside the room,” Colby said, “I can come back after you’re done and I can help you get back out into the floor for promo class.”

Once we were released for the day, the sun had long since gone down. My ankle was going to be fine in a couple days. Thanks to Colby’s quick thinking, he saved me from severe damage and my ankle was only strained. So, I just had to wear a brace on my ankle and rest for a couple days.

“Hey Char,” I called to Charlotte as I grabbed my keys and my jacket, “I’m going out to the park for a walk and to take in the moonlight, don’t wait up for me.”

“Be careful,” Charlotte warned, “If you need me to come walk you back, give me a call okay.”

I nodded and headed out. The night air was cool and felt pretty nice. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the breeze was calm. As I walked to the park, I was careful to not put too much of my weight on my bad ankle. Once I got there, I took a seat on my usual bench, and gazed up at the stars.

“I wish I could meet my soulmate,” I huffed to myself. All the people I grew up with had found their partners during grade school, but I hadn’t. I mean I knew I had someone because of the mark on my hip, but it still hurt to not have my soulmate yet.

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard a twig snap. The sound startled me as I looked over at the bushes not far from my bench. I stood up slowly, ready to lash out with my magic if I needed to.

Something is in the bushes. I can’t tell if it’s friend or foe.

I approached the bushes cautiously. I had to be extra careful because of my ankle, but I was curious and little scared.

“Who’s there,” I called out toward the bush, “Show yourself.”

There was movement in the bush. I was startled by what came out of the bushes.

It was a wolf. A werewolf to be exact, and he was fairly large one. He was a beautiful deep brown color with some patches of white on his paws and chest. His eyes were the most beautiful feature about him, they were a warm chocolate brown. They looked similar to Colby’s but I wasn’t too sure do to the darkness of the night.

But as I looked into his eyes, I felt this weird sensation. I was tingling all up and down my body. I knelt down to the wolf as he approached me. He bowed before me before he laid down in front of me, resting his chin on his front paws. I tentatively held out my hand to him. The wolf sniffed me before he nudged my hand and licked it. I decided to pet him behind his ear and I swear he gave a groan of approval at my action.

But in that moment, I knew that this wolf was special to me. Even Morrigan knew.

I think you just found your soulmate. I feel this wolf’s imprint on you.

#seth rollins x oc #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins fanfiction #seth rollins fic #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe fanfic #werewolf!seth rollins #witch!oc #supernatural/occult!au #magic and moonlight

[diamondchoices]

Of Accusations and Apologies

[MC deserved an apology from Ajay at the very least, but since PB wasn’t gonna give it to us, I did. Click here  if you’d rather read on Ao3.

m!MC: Dylan Hart

Word Count: 2496]

             I always liked how clever you are, Dylan. But that also means that I know you’re clever enough to pull it off.

             Ajay’s words from Friday’s rehearsal kept floating through Dylan’s mind, resurfacing any time he felt his mind start to drift from the issue. His eyes stung as he thought about Ajay’s face as he’d said those words—he didn’t want to believe it, Dylan reminds himself, he didn’t want to. The young director had looked upset, disappointed, angry, and a little disbelieving. Dylan wanted to believe that Ajay didn’t really believe that he would break Thea’s leg on purpose. He wished on as many stars as he could that Ajay didn’t really believe it.

             I always liked how clever you are—

             “Stop it,” Dylan croaks to his pillow. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s having a hard time falling asleep. His nose is running and there’s a wet spot on his pillow from crying.

             —I know you’re clever enough—

            He doesn’t get any sleep that night.

—//—

             Dylan was surprised that Thea invited him to her party, but he was glad she did. He was in desperate need of a distraction from…well, everything. And being thrilled and terrified was a pretty good distraction from feeling miserable.

             He was the only freshman in the room but none of them treated him like he was a little kid like some other upperclassmen had when talking to freshmen. He also noticed that there were a couple people at the party who didn’t go to Berry so at least if he embarrassed himself, he was less likely to see them—a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Then Thea had explained Friday’s rehearsal and Dylan was surprised and elated to hear that no one in the room believed he would have harmed Thea purposefully.

             When the guy in the green jacket—Michael, if Dylan remembered correctly—had said that they’d found themselves in similar situations last year.

             “Really?” Dylan asked.

Thea and the person from the art gallery, Cameron, looked at each other and chuckled.

“Oh yeah,” Thea told him. “During spring quarter last year, while Hearst students had to attend Berry, I was accused of sabotaging Cameron’s audition for the sax solo. They’d gotten an email saying that the audition was postponed when it hadn’t been.”

Dylan’s eyes widened.

“That’s awful!”

“Yeah, it is,” Thea smiled. “But we got to the bottom of it in the end and my name was cleared. I have no doubt yours will be too.”

Dylan smiled and gave her a small nod.

Yeah, he thought, it was an accident. Mr. Olson will look into it and everyone will realize I’m innocent.

“So,” Myra smirked, a gleam in her eyes. “Dylan. Crushing on anyone yet?”

Dylan flushed as he started to stutter, one hand going to the back of his neck while the other fiddled with the hem of his shirt. His ears felt like they were on fire as Myra began to laugh a little and Aiden leaned towards him worriedly.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” Myra cheered. “Who is it? Are they in the play? Ooo, is it the other lead—you know, that sophomore, Rory?”

“N-no! It’s not Rory,” Dylan said just as quickly as the rising temperature of his face. “And, I mean, they’re in—he’s part of the play, yeah, he’s just—just not on the stage.”

Myra looked like she was about to continue her interrogation, but Emma interrupted while Caleb clapped a hand on Dylan’s shoulder.

“Aw, leave him alone, Myra,” she said, voice sweet and teasing. “Look at him! He’s embarrassed enough.”

“Fine,” Myra huffed. She pointed a finger at Dylan, eyes narrowed. “But I will figure it out.”

Dylan covered his face in his hands as the rest of the people laughed and Caleb quietly explained Myra’s obsession with setting up her friends. Apparently, she and Thea were quite the matchmaking duo—they had helped Caleb with Jade and Luis with Emma, and Caleb was pretty sure that Myra was pulling some strings to help Aiden and Thea too. Dylan couldn’t tell if the athlete was trying to encourage him to let Myra meddle or just trying to explain that this behavior is normal.

He decided he didn’t really care either way. These people were so cheerful and welcoming and nice.

Dylan liked them.

—//—

             The party had been winding down and Dylan hadn’t thought about the accusations once since it had been brought up when he had arrived. Then the other shoe dropped.

             It had started with a game of charades. Dylan’s team was winning, and it was his turn to do the charades instead of guess. He had looked at his slip of paper that he’d pulled out of someone’s hat and only thought for a few seconds before an idea took hold. According to the timer, it took his team four minutes and thirteen seconds to figure out what he was miming.

             “Wow, I never would have thought of doing that if I’d drawn it,” Emma smiled. “You’re really clever, Dylan.”

             I always liked how clever you were, Dylan.

             He drew in a sharp breath and gave a shaky smile as he excused himself to the bathroom, Ajay’s words bouncing around in his head again. And just like that, it was like the floodgates had opened.

             —liked how clever—that means I know you’re clever enough to—I always—Dylan—Dylan—Dyl—

             “—an? Dylan, hey,” there were fingers being snapped in front of his face, “are you feeling alright?”

             Dylan looked up at Thea’s concerned face. He noticed that he hadn’t quite made it to the bathroom and that he was leaning against the wall of the hallway, just far enough away that no one would see him unless they were standing at the mouth of the hallway. He was on the floor, back to the wall, and his fingers had pressed into his palms hard enough to leave little crescent moons in the skin.

             Thea snapped her fingers again and Dylan managed to refocus some.

             “Uh, no, yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” Dylan said, forcing a smile on his face even though it was the least convincing thing he could do. He wouldn’t have believed himself, that’s for sure.

             An eyebrow rose ever so slightly and that was all it took. He caved, too tired to hold it in any more.

             “No, I-I guess I’m not…fine,” he sighed. “It’s just…it’s something that, that Ajay said…on Friday.”

             Thea moved to sit down next to him, plopping herself down with little grace.

             “And what did Ajay say?”

             “He—He said that…that he always liked how clever I was, but…” Dylan’s voice cracked as his eyes started to burn. “But that it just meant he knew—meant he knew that I was, was clever enough to p-pull it off.”

             He closed his eyes tight, trying desperately to keep his tears to himself. He felt arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him sideways, as Thea made a sympathetic sound. She guided his head to her shoulder, and as she started to run her fingers soothingly through his hair, the tears slipped past his eyelids. His breathing grew shaky as he tried to rein in his emotions.

             “It re-really hurt,” he whispered. “Be-because we’d been—we’d been hanging out and we were…we are friends, and I—I really—”

             “Shhh, it’s okay,” Thea hushed, beginning to rock very slightly. “It’s okay. I know it hurts. And I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it is going to be okay, I promise. I may not know Ajay as well as I know the people here at this party, but from what I do know about him, he and Aiden are a bit alike—when they’re upset, they don’t always say the right things or what they mean, and they always feel terrible about it afterwards.”

             The tears had slowed, and Dylan was only sniffling now, but he didn’t dare lift his head from Thea’s shoulder. Her fingers still threaded through his hair, nails scratching dully against his scalp. That combined with the exhaustion that follows crying, he was slowly being lulled into a state of sleepy calm. They both just sat there in the calm, not daring to break the silence between them as laughter erupted from the living room.

             It was another couple of minutes before either of them said anything.

             “Thanks,” Dylan muttered, voice still in a state of post-cry scratchiness. He lifted his head and leaned forward off the wall a bit. Thea’s hand moved from his hair to rub his back with a friendly smile. “Sorry for crying all over you. That’s…really not what I was planning on doing tonight.”

             “Don’t mention it,” Thea dismissed. “I couldn’t let a friend be on their own when they kind of looked like they might have a panic attack.”

             Dylan blinked at her, brain hung up on one word.

             “F-Friend? Are we…friends?” He asked, quiet and hesitant and maybe just a bit hopeful.

             “Yeah,” Thea chuckled, smile bright. “Yeah, we’re friends. In fact, if by lunch at school tomorrow you’re feeling overwhelmed or anxious, you should come sit with us. It’s supposed to be a nice day tomorrow, so we’ll probably eat in the courtyard.”

             “Alright, if—if you’re sure it’s okay,” Dylan told her, unable to stop his small grin from growing into a large smile of relief and gratitude. “Man, I really should go to the bathroom now, huh? I’d rather not walk back in there looking like…well, this.”

             Dylan gestured to his face and Thea laughed.

             “It’s not too bad, but I totally get it. I always feel like I look like a wreck after crying. Just come back out when you’re feeling up to it, okay?”

             He nodded and they both stood up from the floor, Dylan offering a helping hand when he reached his feet before she did. Dylan swiped a hand across his cheek quickly and smiled, promptly tripping over his own feet once he took a step towards the second door on the right. Thea chuckled but otherwise didn’t say anything as she turned the corner and walked back into the living room.

             Embarrassed but pleased, Dylan made quick work of his (actual) bathroom visit, splashing cold water on his face until the red in his face died down and his eyes weren’t red and puffy. He rejoined the party with a smile, and no one said anything about his fairly lengthy bathroom break.

             When he returned home and had gone to bed, Dylan found that sleep came much easier that night.

—//—

             Dylan ended up eating lunch outside with Thea. Skye and Erin joined them a few minutes after Dylan had sat down with Thea, Aiden, Emma, and Luis.

He hadn’t planned on eating outside. He’d wanted to try and talk to Rory, but he’d been harshly shut down by Danielle, Natalie, and Clint and told to sit somewhere else. Ajay hadn’t even been able to look him in the eye, despite Dylan’s attempts to catch his gaze before giving up and stalking off. He’d been grateful that he at least had a backup plan for lunch.

“He couldn’t even look at me,” Dylan moped, head in one hand as he ate.

Erin put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder as Skye glared and stabbed at her food.

“It’s total bullshit! I doubt you could even bring yourself to hurt a fly,” Skye griped. “I told Trevor as much over and over after practice but he’s being a complete ass about it.”

“Look, I really doubt that Ajay actually believes you brought out the wrong box on purpose,” Erin says, expression a mix of anger, defeat, and exhaustion. “He just thinks it’s his job as the director to be impartial.”

“Hmm,” Thea hummed. “From what I’m hearing, it sounds like he feels pretty guilty about this fiasco at least.”

Emma nodded vigorously.

“It really does! I’m sure if you’re able to get him alone and talk to him, you’d be able to smooth some of this over until everyone else realizes that you’re innocent,” she said, smile optimistic. Aiden, on the other hand, looked less convinced.

“I’m not so sure that’d be a good idea, Emma,” Aiden sighed. “If Dylan did that, he’d have just as good a chance at making things worse. Ajay’s already confused and conflicted; cornering him would probably just make him lash out or make a rash decision.”

Dylan pursed his lips, pushing his food around on his tray.

“Well,” Skye looked up, leveling him with a determined look. “Today’s rehearsal will settle everything, one way or another.”

Not long after, the bell rang and everyone started clearing out to get back to class.

—//—

             Danielle confessed. She had been the one to make sure Dylan grabbed the box with wheels. She had been the one accuse him first. She had been the one to scheme for a particular part.

             All that trouble because of a crush.

             Maybe Ajay is right, Dylan thought. Relationships between actors are dangerous.

             Aside from the rocky start, that day’s rehearsal had gone well overall. Dylan and Trevor avoided each other, awkwardly working around the other when they occupied the same space. Neither Natalie nor Clint apologized but they had gone back to their normal obnoxious selves which was a relief. Dylan was particularly happy about the air of smugness that Erin had, relentlessly telling everyone that she’d told them so.

             Rehearsal had ended on a positive note, everyone optimistic for the performance.

             Dylan was grabbing his backpack from the audience seat he had left it in when someone behind him cleared their throat. He jumped and turned with wide eyes to find Ajay standing behind him with his hands in his pockets.

             “Dylan, I…” Ajay sighed, shoulders losing tension as he finally met Dylan’s eyes. “I owe you an apology. I know that—I know I said I knew you would be clever enough to pull off such a trick, but I—I should have also known that you aren’t the type of person who would even though you could. And I should have said something on Friday because Erin was right. You’re my friend, and I should have said or done something.”

             His arms were wrapped around Ajay before he could finish his sentence. He pressed his face into the older boy’s shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief.

             “I accept your apology,” Dylan said quietly. “But if you want my forgiveness, you have to buy me a milkshake.”

             Ajay snorted and Dylan felt a laugh building in his chest.

             “Heh, cute. Alright then, grab your stuff and we’ll go.”

             “Right now?” Dylan asked, surprised. Ajay smiled at him, a soft barely-there redness in his cheeks.

             “Well, I’d rather have your forgiveness as soon as possible, but I guess if you don’t—”

             “No, don’t be mean! I’m coming!”

#high school story #high school story class act #hss #hss class act #hss class act mc #hss mc #hss mc: thea mcclain #hssca mc: Dylan hart #mc x ajay #mc x ajay fic #mc x aiden #choices #choices fic #fanfic #fanfiction #choices stories you play #choices hss #choices hssca

[eternityunicorn]

Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans Part Eight

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikealson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary:

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

———————————————————————————————————

Eternity returned to the Mikealson compound by dawn, much to Elijah’s relief. In her absence, his siblings sat around and asked Veren a million different questions about herself and the greater universe, just as they had with Eternity. The dark haired immortal took it all in stride, answering their questions with patience and grace. 

However, eventually Kol had to excuse himself after he received a text from Davina asking him to meet her in the Quarter. Then Rebekah and Freya had made their exits to tend to Hope, whom was playing by herself upstairs. That had left Veren with Elijah, which was fine by him.

They had had a nice conversation about all the adventures and conflicts Eternity and Veren had faced over the past ten years, aside from the one involving Loki. Elijah didn’t understand much of what she told him since he hadn’t ever been to any of the worlds in the greater universe she spoke of. Yet, he was still intrigued to listen to what Eternity had been doing over the years that they had been apart. 

When Eternity finally returned hours later, she looked down at Elijah in surprise. He had been laughing heartily at the story Veren told him that involved a fight at a grand party Eternity had once infiltrated to confront some lowlife villain whom she required information from. Apparently, the man she was seeking was rather flamboyant and loud - a colorful character that was hard to take seriously. 

Elijah was in the middle of laughing when Eternity appeared, worn out from her journey but amused at the sight that greeted her. “Well, it seems all is well,” she said to them with a warm smile. “I am glad for that.”

She went and sat down in the space between them with a tired sigh. She did so rather ungracefully, a rare thing indeed, and laid her head back on the back of the couch, which ended up laying partially on Elijah’s arm as well. Not that he minded any. 

“Are you alright, cousin?” Veren asked Eternity with concern.

“Aye, I’m fine,” she nodded. “It is just exhausting when you are dealing with a lovesick elf king, whom cannot take a hint. I wish you would have told me it was a desperate social call and not one of urgent business, cousin. I might have declined going.”

Veren and Elijah both frowned; though for different reasons. Elijah frowned because of the implication that this elf king she had gone to see was a suitor. He didn’t like the idea of that, always the possessive one. He was a little jealous, but also felt relieved that it didn’t seem that Eternity reciprocated the mystery elf’s affections. Veren, on the other hand, had frowned in concern as if she hadn’t known that was the reason the elf king had wanted an audience.

“Forgive me,” Veren apologized, “The message sent to me had been misleading, if it had not been an urgent matter of state. If I had known the truth, you know, I would have declined it in your stead.”

“It’s quite alright,” smiled Eternity. “It’s not your fault, if you had been misled.” Then she explained what had happened without prompt, “Poor Calithilon meant well. He did have business for me, at first anyway. There was a small conflict with one of his generals that he could have handled quite well on his own. 

“He had invited said general to a mediation dinner to discuss whatever the grievance was. I don’t know what it had been as I barely paid attention to it all, seeing I had walked into something else entirely. In fact, I was too caught up in the fine china and elaborate flower arrangement that made the whole affair feel more like a date than a conflict resolution meeting. I wonder if the elf general felt the same, which is rather amusing to think of.”

She giggled slightly, before continuing, “Either way, the issue was resolved quickly and that was when it truly began to feel like a courtship attempt. I was, of course, polite and patient. Calithilon is a good friend and a most important ally, after all. Then he invited me on a walk around his castle and it was pleased enough, but then he took me down to one of the elvish celebrations in the village outside his home. We danced and mingled there, while I tried to find a clever, but subtle way of leaving.

“Eventually, I simply had to tell him that I had business elsewhere to attempt to that needed my immediate attention. Of course, Cal was crestfallen, but he let me go, as he didn’t have much of a choice. I suppose there is a perk to being of a higher rank.” Eternity grinned at both Veren and Elijah. “It certainly helps when one needs to get out of a awkward situation.”

Elijah was unable to help himself then as he lifted his hand from the back of the couch and began to gently run his fingers through Eternity’s snowy locks. She relaxed even more and hummed in appreciation of his caress. Her eyes fluttered closed momentarily to enjoy his attentions.

“Calithilon is a very stubborn elf, I have to give him that,” Veren commented. “I doubt anything could deter him from pursuing his heart’s desire.”

“No, I think not as well,” Eternity agreed. “He has been at this endeavor for millennia after all.”

There was a brief quiet between them. Then Veren abruptly rose to her feet and bade both Elijah and Eternity a good evening, before taking her leave of them. Like her cousin, she had duties to attend to or so that was what she had quickly explained, right before vanishing before Elijah’s very eyes. 

Immediately upon Veren’s departure, Elijah pulled Eternity to him. He tucked her into his side on the couch, wrapping his arm around her, while she contentedly laid her head on his shoulder. The pale immortal didn’t even act surprised by his actions. In fact, she seemed to welcome them. Elijah was glad for that, content in her willingness to be near him. 

“I missed you,” he murmured to her, kissing the top of her head, before settling against the couch again.

“I missed you as well,” she replied without hesitation. “I hated to be away from you, despite all my reservations. I wanted to be here with you, all the while I was with Cal and especially before that, during our ten years apart. I haven’t felt so desperate to be with someone since my courtship with Loki, millennia ago. I know I have my fears about moving forward, but what lays here between us is certainly something not to be dismissed lightly or at all. I don’t know what comes next, but I am glad Niklaus has reason to call upon me.”

Elijah was just about to reply, to tell her he felt the same, to persuade her to return to his side officially, when Niklaus and Hayley came stumbling in, looking worse for wear. They were both covered in dirt and dried blood. Their clothes torn and tattered in places. 

Immediately, he was on his feet with Eternity following suit. He was deeply concerned for them, though whatever had occurred, must have been a victorious endeavor. They seemed to be alit with the afterglow of a successful battle.

“A rough night, Niklaus?” Elijah asked his brother, as they drew near.

“Not at all,” the hybrid replied with a smug grin. “It was quite easy to subdue the upstarts in the bayou, especially with my wifey by my side.” He gave a proud glance to Hayley, who smirked in response. “Yes, we made a great team; the king and his queen.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, “As egotistical as ever, I see.”

“Oh, you should have seen him in the bayou,” Hayley chimed in with amusement. “His ego was out of control there, which was why we ended up looking like this.” She gestured to her dirty, tattered form, before turning to her husband, “You just couldn’t resist provoking those rogue wolves, could you Klaus?”

Niklaus frowned at her, “If I hadn’t done what I did, those pups would have reigned chaos down upon the Crescent Wolves. You should be thanking me for my diligent efforts to restore order to your pack, love.”

“Technically, it’s our pack, because we are married,” Hayley corrected him, “but yes, Klaus, you did well asserting dominance in the bayou. Gold star, A+ to you. Now can we please get some sleep? I’m beat.”

A lecherous grin spread upon Nicklaus’s lips then, “And who said I was about to allow you to sleep at all tonight, my little wolf? I am feeling rather ravenous.” 

Hayley blushed under his gaze and then rolled her eyes exasperatedly, but she didn’t say anything for or against his suggestive comment. Instead, she simply grinned and did her best to ignore him, pretending he hadn’t said what he had. 

“Actually, Niklaus,” Elijah stepped in. “Eternity and I would like to discuss something of great importance with you both.”

The grin upon his brother’s lips turned innocently playful then as his attention fell upon Elijah. “Oh? And what would that be?” He said with a teasing tone, gesturing between his big brother and Eternity. “Have you two decided to rekindle your romance? Or perhaps a step further and you’ve decided you can’t live without each other and you have chosen to elope? If it’s either of those things, I heavily approve.”

Elijah smiled at his little brother, while Eternity moved to stand beside him and placed her hand in his affectionately. He looked at her adoringly and then turned back to his brother to say, “No, not quite that. It is an urgent matter that has to do with young Hope.”

Immediately, the playful teasing was wiped from Nicklaus’s face. Both Hayley and he grew deadly serious as they drew closer to them. “What of my daughter?” Elijah’s brother quietly demanded. “What has happened?”

“Nothing,” he replied immediately to set his brother and sister-in-law to ease. “Eternity has merely come up with a solution to protecting Hope from the danger that she faces.”

Niklaus’s gaze fell to the shining immortal beside Elijah, “And what solution would that be?”

“There is a place I know, located here on Earth, that can protect your daughter against any threat from my wicked brother,” Eternity answered. “I can guarantee that the young one would be safe there, until the threat has passed.”

“This is a joke, right?” Niklaus stubbornly responded, looking between Elijah and Eternity. “Send my daughter away? That is your grand suggestion? Hell would have to freeze over before I would ever send my daughter away! No, out of the question!”

Eternity stepped forward a little with a stern expression. “Then you could potentially be sentencing your daughter to her death,” she said firmly. “Now is not the time for prideful stubbornness. This is a matter of life and death. I cannot remain here like some sort of sentinel forever. I have duties to attend to, as do my closet companions. We cannot be here to guard young Hope at all times. Bruno could attack at any moment. You must consider what is best for your child.”

“The only thing that is best for Hope is to be where I can protect her,” Niklaus ground out. 

Hayley approached then, grabbing onto her husband’s arm, catching his attention.

“What? Don’t tell me you are actually considering this nonsense?” He said to her in agitated disbelief. “We are her parents, Hayley. She belongs with us, where we can keep her safe.”

“But we can’t keep her safe, Klaus,” the female hybrid replied gently. “This isn’t a threat from a wolf or a witch or a vampire. This is something we just are not capable of defeating. It’s beyond us. I think we should consider what Eternity is suggesting.”

“If it is being away from your child that you are so concerned about, Niklaus, I can assure you that separating you from her and her from you was never my intention,” Eternity interjected in an attempt to ease Elijah’s brother. “I wish to send you two there with her, so that you can look after Hope as you’ve always done, while her safety is maintained.”

Elijah watched as Niklaus settled a bit. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply, as he considered the warrior queen. “And to where do you plan on sending us exactly?” He asked quietly, defeatedly.

“It is a secret organization, one that I helped found some time ago,” Eternity answered him readily. “It’s called the Underground Agency. It is the most secure place on Earth, run by super humans, as well as members of the supernatural community. Fortified like Fort Knox, it cannot be penetrated by anyone, especially not Bruno. Hope will be safe there.”

“And what of the rest of my family? What will become of them while we’re away, especially if your brother does come to call and finds Hope missing?” Niklaus demanded to know. “Shall I go and leave my family to die? Leave them to their fates? I think not.”

Eternity smiled reassuringly as she explained, “I admire your commitment to your family, but I highly doubt Bruno will attack here, if Hope is absent. We of the immortal classes have a special talent for sensing the life forces of others. If he cannot sense her here, then he will seek it elsewhere. However, to ensure that my brother doesn’t attack, I will simply have to devise a decoy to lead him astray. Your family will be safe in your absence, I promise.”

Niklaus was quiet for a time, looking down in contemplation. Then he looked between Hayley, Eternity, and Elijah. Finally, with a huff of defeat, he said, “Very well. At midday tomorrow, we shall go to this agency you suggest. We should let Hope say her goodbyes to her aunts and uncles.”

Elijah sighed a breath of relief, as did Hayley and Eternity. Each was glad that Niklaus saw reason in this. He watched as his younger brother took Hayley by the hand and lead her up the stairs, to their bedroom assumingely.

This left Elijah alone with Eternity once more. He wondered where to go from there. Now that they spoke sense into Niklaus, there wasn’t any reason to stay up. Their mission for the night had been completed. Yet, he didn’t want to part from Eternity. Through he knew that they were not quite ready to resume the physical aspect of their relationship, of course, having barely begun to reestablish their relationship on a whole, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodnight to her.

Then Eternity turned to him then with a soft smile and kissed his lips with willing sweetness, taking him by pleasant surprise. “I have to go,” she murmured to him reluctantly, with a knowing look in her eyes as if she had read his thoughts. “I must make preparations at the Underground Agency for our little family’s arrival,” Eternity explained, “but I shall return before midday. I’ll come back to you soon.”

Elijah didn’t like how she was coming and going so much, but knew that he had let her do what she must. So, with reluctance to see her go, he threaded his fingers through the hair framing her face and then cupped the back of her head, pulling her in for a more passionate kiss than the one she had given him before. 

“Don’t keep me waiting for too long, Sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips, before parting from her completely. 

She grinned at him, “I promise to be swift.”

Then Eternity vanished, leaving Elijah standing alone in the courtyard.

To Be Continued....

#elijah mikaelson #original character #elijah x eternity #daniel gillies #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #hayley marshall #klaus x hayley #hope mikaelson #finn mikaelson #freya mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #romance #adventure #vampire romance #love story #drama #alternate universe #alternative universe

[burmecianblackmage]

The Story of Skadi and Sceada

Over the course of 6 days, I have told @mafdet-goddess-of-rp-blogs the backstory of my character Sceada and as such, the story of his mother, Skadi. Initially, it was meant to help her pass a wait of 6 hours at work, but well... you all know I’ve never been good at keeping things short.

As a result we have here now an epic tale spanning roughly 20'500 words, written over the course of 6 days and covering a total of 48 years. The story features, besides my own characters, @burmecias-protector‘s Freya Crescent, and the father of @burmecianknight‘s Calisto Ganymede, Ser Acheron Ganymede.

As this story will contain some rather dark parts, I would hereby like to point out that the following are part of the story: Child Neglect/Abuse, Rape, Murder and Negativity. If you wish to avoid such topics, I ask you to please abstain from reading this story. My apologies 

And now, without any further ado, the collected story of Skadi and Sceada - I hope you’ll enjoy it! As always, comments are heavily appreciated!

Uhm, okay then... I guess in that case, we'll have to start in the Realm of Eternal Rain, Burmecia, with a revered noble Dragon Knight by the name of Lady Altheya Skadrson, a descendant of the legendary Dragon Knight Skadr.

As I said, she's part of Burmecia's nobility, and a Dragon Knight. Her family is in direct descendants of one of the greatest heroes of Burmecian History, and has a vast wealth. However, she is the last one of her family, the previous generation having been plagued with a number of untimely deaths due to a not further specified war, plus one of the woman unable to conceive a child.

That didn't stop Altheya though, from joining the most noble and likewise most dangerous profession of being a Dragon Knight. After all, all noble families reached their status due to the deeds of an ancestor or themselves on the battlefield as Dragon Knights.

In a way, you could say Altheya had it all: Fame, Wealth, a seat on the council that effectively rules the country alongside the King, and a ton of noble suitors looking to wed you for your status - what more could one want? 

Along comes a merchant from the outer reaches of the kingdom, by the name of Rainard Apate. His reputation is at best mixed, his success limited and he appears to have a slight gambling problem, somewhat obsessed with getting rich. And he is unexpectedly clever and cunning...

Clever enough, to pretend that he has no interest in becoming a suitor of Altheya, since "he'd not have a chance anyhow compared to all those nobles and rich men", and instead befriend her on a personal level.

To Altheya, it looks as though he genuinely likes her, that he loves her for who she is - but it is only a ruse. Rainard is, like everyone else, only after her wealth and status - he's just clever enough not to try and impress her with his own status or rank, and instead appeal to her lonely heart.

To the horror of her fellow council members as well as her other suitors, Altheya winds up marrying the lowly merchant - and he wastes little time putting the newfound status to use.

He starts involving himself in the council's work, both in Altheya's absence and by manipulating her, and it is only because they know what is happening, because she is well beloved by both nobles and commoners, that the Skadrson family doesn't fall from grace.

Meanwhile, Rainard is burning through their wealth, by hiring servants they don't really need, gambling, and generally living the sweet life he always wanted, all the while pretending to his wife that they were still well-off. That this all didn't cost as much, thanks to his incredible skills as a merchant.

And he secures his position by knocking Altheya up, having a daughter with her that they call Ephelia.

Ephelia was, in every sense of the word, a pampered and spoiled child. Her mother loved her dearly, considering her the greatest treasure in her life, and her father was eager to spend as much money on her as he could. And with a number of servants to cater to the infants every whim, it was no surprise that she became arrogant, demanding and unpleasant to everyone besides her beloved parents. 

Ultimately, however, this only helped drain their finances faster and faster, and by the time the kid turned 5, Rainard had put the once wealthy Skadrson household in deep debt - while still keeping it a secret from Altheya.

So what does a sleazy, amoral merchant that fears for his status do in such a situation?

For generations, the Skadrson family had held on to a nigh legendary armor, crafted from dragon scales that were said to have been obtained in a hunt by Skadr himself. Whether that was true or not, that knowledge was lost to time, but it was nonetheless true that it had been in the family's possession for generations - and it had been a tradition for the family head to wear it into battle. Altheya was no exception.

Rainard wound up exchanging that armor for a fake, and selling it to cover his debts.

And when the day came that Altheya headed into battle against a fearsome dragon, trusting in the armor to protect her from it's claws like it always had...

Ephelia was 5 years old when her mother, the honorable, beloved Lady Dragon Knight Altheya Skadrson, descendant of the legendary Skadr, head of house Skadrson, slayer of dragons and general of the grand army, fell in battle. And with her death, the Skadrson household fell apart night immediately. With nothing left to shield him from the council's scorn, Rainard was driven out of Burmecia, taking the girl with him. The mansion went into the council's possession, the servants were taken away and what meager rest of money had remained was confiscated as well. It was all the council could do, when it would have wanted to do so much more. But without any proof that Rainard was to blame for their beloved Altheya's death, there was no legal grounds for having the sleazy merchant decapitated - a regrettable circumstance, for if they had been able to do that, if they had been able to punish Rainard, Ephelia would have been raised by one of the other noble families - and spared everything that would come to pass...

For Ephelia, it is as though the world collapsed. Just 5 years old, she's lost everything she cherished, from her mother to their house, from the servants to their wealth and all they had bought her with it. Only her father remains, and now that his true colors have been revealed, he isn't the same either. He grows distant, negligent, scornful. Sometimes, he'll abandon Ephelia for days, even up to two weeks without notice, going on supposed trade tours to earn money. He never plays with her anymore, ignores her most of the time. The food she eats is often bad, unsuited not just for a former noble child, but for any growing child in general, and to the few people who know the small dysfunctional family it seems like a miracle that he never once beats her. No, he does not lay a single hand on her, and even sees to it that she always has at least one fine dress, no matter how poor they become - but the reason behind him doing so is far from fatherly love

Since ancient times, it has been known that names could hold power. Be it that knowing the true name of something granted you power over it, like some mages and cultures believed, or that a name of great repute could open many doors for one, be it that magic took form upon the call of it's name, there were many ways that names held.

Even if those names had fallen out of grace.

Rainard knew of this, was aware that his little daughter Ephelia still held value beyond anything he could ever achieve on his own, courtesy of her name: Skadrson. A new of legend, a name held by many a reputable warrior and hero, and a name that had held a place on the council of nobles for generations upon generations. And that, he found, made for a strong selling point...

It was shortly after Ephelia's 8th birthday that Rainard found an interested party, a wealthy merchant of ill repute that sought to sneak his way into the council and influence it to his benefit. Promising Rainard an exorbitant sum, he arranged for the girl to be brought to him, acquiring possession of her by legal means - while beating the sleazy merchant that once married a noble at his own gain, swindling him out of the majority of the sum.

Following this defeat, Rainard did not even attempt to retake his daughter, instead deciding to cut his losses. Without the girl, he had less expenses to cover, and was free to disappear - something he did without even as much as a farewell or goodbye to young Ephelia. Meanwhile, the merchant decided to put the eight-year old to good use, having her work for her living as one of his common maids. Be it tending to the stables or cleaning his property any menial task was good enough to keep her busy, and have her "earn" her food. For a child that once had it all, this was incredibly hard to endure - and yet still, it was but the tip of the iceberg.

Meanwhile, Ephelia's hatred of her father grew, causing her to wish to make him pay - and for that, she needed to get stronger. As Altheya's child, she had always been meant to one day be trained in the art of combat, but her father's sheltering had prevented her from learning from her mother directly. Gladly, coming to her new master's estate, she had been able to befriend a pair of guards. They may not have been Dragon Knights, but still were skilled fighters with the lance, and once she had seen them in action during an incidents with wild beasts attacking them, she was determined to learn from them instead.

However, 9 year old Ephelia would find herself rejected by the guards, the two of them afraid of their master's ire should he find out. After all, what if the priced possession were to get injured, hurt? They knew very well the consequences of damaging his property, and were not willing to risk it, both needing this job to survive - thus, Ephelia had to try and train on her own whenever she had a chance to, which unfortunately was not often, thanks to how busy she was being kept...

It is on the eve of her 11th birthday that things take an even direr turn for young Ephelia. By now, the blond-haired girl had become a young woman, both in appearance and body, signaling her master that the time to act upon his original plan had come at last. With the child now a woman, she would be capable of giving him what he truly wanted since the day that he bought her. 

Ephelia does not know what is happening to her when she is dragged to the master's chambers by the other maids and servants, something that had never happened before.

It is an hour later that they retrieve the girl from the chambers, crying bitter tears and her clothes torn, stained with specks of blood from what had happened behind closed doors.

From that day on, her owner would rape her countless times, at irregular intervals. Sometimes, he'd have her called to his room daily, even more than once if he so desired, while at others he'd leave her be for weeks, leaving the poor unfortunate girl guessing when he would next call upon her. Half a year would pass like that, with the servants keeping quiet about the matter and poor Ephelia forbidden from talking about it, the young girl left alone to face the horrible abuse, before she'd find allies.

The two guards, coming across her one day as she is being hauled out of the master's chambers, bleeding and crying, cannot believe the cruelty of his deeds. Taking pity on the child, they finally agree to do all they can to teach her how to defend herself, how to fight. They are unable to rebel against their master themselves, but by the gods, they would not stand by idly and just watch such atrocities unfold.

It is four years later, when Ephelia already has reached the age of 15, that her master grows displeased. Countless times he had raped the young woman, countless times had he tried to impregnate her, tried to get her to birth him a child that could legitimate his claim to the Skadrson name, and still nothing. He was starting to grow impatient, seeing his long term investment at risk, and decided to have her examined by a doctor.

The result was devastating.

Her womb had been scarred, a result of the continuous and unforgiving assault she had to endure for 4 years. Whether it was from gradually accumulating damage or had been caused on that first night was impossible to tell, nor could the doctor determine if her womb would have been healthy beforehand or if there already had been problems. Only one thing was certain:

Ephelia Skadrson was infertile, and she would never bear children.

Immediately, the young woman lost all worth and value in her master's eyes. Where she had been treated roughly before, she now was treated as lower than dirt, physical abuse replacing the sexual assault she had endured for four years. Hoping to at least get some use out of her still, the merchant saw fit to keep her still as a maid, seeing to it that she was only given the most degrading and disgusting tasks available.

Including being used by the male workers on the estate as an outlet for their lust.

Only two refused to degrade her like that still, just two remained that still treated her as a person, that cared for her: The two guardsmen, who intensified their efforts in training her, benefiting from the fact that now, Ephelia was no longer of interest to their master, his watch on her having ended.

One year. That is how long it took the three after that fateful day to complete the training, how long it took for the two guards to teach Ephelia all they knew. One year of enduring treatment that was harsher on her than any before had been. After all, while the abuse had been horrible, even causing lasting damage, she had at least been treated with some measure of care, being deemed valuable still. Now however, now she was worthless to them - oh how far had she fallen, she who had been born the daughter of Lady Altheya Skadrson... 

She would make them all pay for this.

It had been painfully easy to force her way into the master's chambers. After all, the two guardsmen that were meant to stop any attacker were her allies, and only too willingly turned a blind eye on her intrusion, even seeing to it that she would be undisturbed. 

 When she stood before him, the spear in her hand held low to the ground, the master, no, the spineless pig that had bought her from her worthless father, she was met with insults and slurs, the merchant calling her trash and trying to humiliate her with his words. But words could no longer touch her, not his, not those of any of the other servants and attendants, neither the women that had willfully turned an eye to her abuse, nor the men that had seen fit to degrade her, to use her, to defile her. 

 "You worthless, infertile slut, you piece of trash, you waste of effort, begone!" - Those were some of the words he had used to insult her, the words he sought to hurt her with. 

 They were to be his last words. 

 The first strike of her lance struck his nethers, mauling his dirty manhood with ease. The second strike followed soon after, so swiftly that he could not even scream in pain and agony, and drove deep into his throat, silencing his voice forever. And every strike that followed thereafter would cause the merchant excruciating pain, reducing him to a gurgling, wailing mass - and filling her with great satisfaction, before the final strike separated body and head, ending it all. 

With their master's death, there was no more resistance from the remaining workers, no attempt to avenge him. There were no complaints either when she declared that with this, the treasures and wealth the despicable man had amassed were hers to take. Together with her two allies, she would gather as much as they could carry, leaving behind the rest for the staff to divide among them as they saw fit.

It was the last time that young Ephelia Skadrson was seen in that town, never once returning to the place where she had been humiliated, defiled and abused ever again.

Following that day, Ephelia for the first time in her life found herself in charge of her own life. It was her decision where she would go, her decision what she would do, and above all, her decision with whom she wanted to be.

To her joy, the two former guardsmen had taken a liking to her, wishing to accompany her wherever she would head next. Perhaps it truly was their desire, what they wanted to do. Ephelia herself however believed it was their way of atoning for their sin of having allowed their master to rape a young girl for so long. In the end, the why didn't matter to her. She had found allies, and she would make good use of them, no matter which path she'd take in life.

But before she could think about the future, she had to find closure to her past.

For 8 years, Rainard Apate had not even so much as thought of the daughter he not just abandoned, but actively sold into slavery, putting her into a hell no child should ever endure. As such, it was no surprise that when the drunk, gambling-addicted merchant was approached by someone claiming Ephelia wanted to see him, he didn't even recognize her name.  No, this man was so despicable, that once he saw her, saw the blond-haired woman of 16 summers, he even saw fit to comment on her curvaceous figure and tried to hit on her - an act for which he would have been promptly impaled by two spears, had the guardsmen not been made to promise their companion that this man was hers to kill and hers alone. 

Much as she wanted him dead, she also needed answers - and for those, she needed him alive. For now. 

 Once she began to ask him about his former wife, about the riches he once owned, it had proven painfully easy to obtain said answers however. After all, this twisted, good-for-nothing despicable scumbag she once had called father, appeared to not only lack any remorse for his actions, no, he even seemed proud of them. "That armor was the finest thing I ever sold!", he even bragged, adding "Not even that stupid kid could fetch me a price like that!" in the process and sealing his fate. 

Revealing just who she was with her lance already drawn, Ephelia waited for realization to settle in the old merchant's mind, causing his eyes to look at her in unabated terror and fear. And that made it the perfect moment to cut his head clean off, right on the spot. 

This was to be the last act of Ephelia, the last time anyone would ever hear that name. For with the death of Rainard Apate, so too did Ephelia Skadrson cease to exist.

It is exactly 71 days after the wealthy yet despised merchant had been killed in his own bed-chambers and his estate abandoned, that a trio wearing lances on their back slowly marched through the streets of Burmecia, towards the seat of the council. The two males walking in the back were old soldiers, men that had fought in the grand army a decade ago, and resigned after the war that had claimed so many lives, including that of the head of house Skadrson. Though not seen in a long time, they were known faces, with old comrades greeting them here and there as they walked by. 

With the third one among their little band, matters were differently however. She was a young woman with blond hair and a stern gaze in her green eyes, one that seemed cold and unforgiving far beyond what one would expect on such a young person. She was too young to have fought in the last great war, to young to have seen the horrors of that conflict - and yet still she seemed as though she had seen things worse than anything a civilian could imagine. 

None dared stand in her way as she advanced through the streets, her hand clutching a hempen bag. 

It is not known just how she had convinced the guards in front of the council's halls to let her past, just how she had gained the right for an audience with the nobles ruling the country alongside the king, but she did. And so, she soon found herself standing in the middle of that hall, looking at the council's members one after another without a word.

Impatience started to grow amidst their ranks, when the young woman finally seemed to have found a member worthy of addressing, one she perceived as exemplary amidst their ranks. A young man, barely a couple of years her senior, wearing the familiar type of armor donned by Dragon Knights: Ser Ganymede.

Without a word, she tossed the bag over to him, landing on the desk in front of him - and in the process, slipping open and revealing it's content: The severed head of Rainard Apate.

"What is the meaning of this? Who is this man, what are you trying to achieve with this gruesome display?" Ser Ganymede's voice was demanding but calm, the young man not once flinching at the sight while others, more experienced men promptly seemed sick to the stomach at what present itself to them on that table. Some of them seemed to recognize the face however, turning to look at the young woman with a mortified expression. 

And that was when she began to speak.

"I am here to demand what is rightfully mine. To reclaim what was promised to you at birth. And in return, I offer you the head of the traitor that is to blame for the death of Lady Altheya Skadrson."

Needless to say, this demand threw the council into disarray. Some among their ranks would call out, demanding to know what gave her the right to be so insolent, demanding to know who she thought she was with angry voices. Others would lament the barbaric act of bringing a severed head to these halls, expressing disgust over the deed- And again others would insist that she'd be removed at once, questioning how she even gained entry into this meeting. 

There were just three that remained calm.

Ser Ganymede was among them, his eyes mustering the woman carefully, yet not demanding any answers just yet. The other two were elderly men, among the wisest of the council, and each with many a scar to tell about their many glorious deeds in battle. Men well respected among all who sat in the council, and the Realm of Eternal Rain as a whole.. And the only two in the room who understood exactly what was happening, who this was standing in front of them. 

"So Rainard has at last met his end..." "And at the hand of his own daughter, no less." "Indeed... I wonder, just what must have driven her to this, what did he do to deserve such an end?" "Perhaps the rumors I had heard some 8 years back are true after all..." "Yes, perhaps they are..." 

Ser Ganymede must have heard the two, getting up from his desk to join them and their conversation with the obvious question, his gaze still locked on the young woman. 

"What rumors, honored elders? What is it that you have heard, when I was still too young to hear it myself and understand it?" "Ah, Ganymede... Of course you would wish to know. You have always had a sharp mind and even sharper ears, after all." "There is no merit in hiding this from you, even more so when we cannot be certain that these rumors hold true, but allow us to explain..."

And so, they would tell the young man the story of the beloved Lady Altheya, and the cruel fate that befell her. How her husband had betrayed her trust, leading the family to ruin. How there were rumors of him being to blame for her death, having sold her armor, a priceless family heirloom and treasure of Burmecia as a whole. And of the rumor that some years later, after he had been driven out of the capitol, he had even sunk so low as to sell his only daughter, the last person to carry the legendary Skadr's blood, into slavery...

It took almost an hour for the council to calm, and it's members to compose themselves. Explanations were given, not by the young woman but by the council members themselves, a discussion quickly unfolding as she adamantly remained silent, observing what was happening - and being calmly observed by Ser Ganymede in turn. 

Quickly, it was established that this woman indeed had to be the last descendant of the legendary Skadr, and thus the rightful heir to the Skadrson house, but a consensus over just what that'd mean was difficult to reach. 

Returning the Mansion she had lived in as a child was not a problem, for it still stood where it always had, unclaimed by any other. But the name of Skadrson was hard to grant without any proof of her identity, and reinstating the family as noble? Or even granting her a seat on this council? No, that was going to far in the eyes of many, and out of the question. 

Ultimately, it was decreed that the young woman would receive both the Mansion and the right to call herself Skadrson, establishing herself as the rightful heir of Lady Altheya and a descendant of Skadr. Furthermore, she was to be enrolled in an elite course for aspiring Dragon Knights, one that was otherwise only reserved for nobles and their offspring - but her rank and status would not be reinstated. Neither a seat on the council, nor her nobility would granted, leaving her as nothing more than a commoner - yet also, as nothing less.

Only one among them had a question that did not relate to her demands or her deeds, only one sought to know who she was, and asked the question no other did. It was Ser Ganymede, still observing her with stern eyes. 

"Tell us, what is your name, heir to house Skadrson? What shall we call you?"

And while she turned around to leave, the young woman would offer her answer, speaking the name she had chosen for herself now that she had discard the name she had been given at birth:

"You may call me... Skadi. Skadi Skadrson." 

And while no other on the council thought so, Ser Ganymede already knew with certainty: That was a name, that would go down in the history of Burmecia. For the better... or the worse. 

Much as Ser Ganymede had expected, it did not take long for the name of Skadi Skadrson to gain fame - and infamy alike.

On one hand, she quickly excelled in her training, impressing both her mentors and her fellow trainees, outshining many of them. She showed not only great talent but also incomparable determination. She was a woman driven to prove herself, to prove her worth, above all else. Never again would she be deemed useless, worthless, trash - this she had sworn herself, and she was willing to do everything it took to reach her goals. 

Absolutely everything. 

Soon, rumors began to rise among some of the lower class officials, of a young blonde haired woman that was willing to trade her body for favors. Not that anyone could confirm these rumors, mind you. None wanted to admit that they had allowed themselves to be used like that, that they had given in to desire and allowed another to take advantage of them. A risky play, so much was for certain, but somehow, the woman had managed to make it work, had avoided getting into trouble, using the knowledge that she could never bear children to the fullest. 

And then, when she was just 17 years old, young Skadi achieved something that not even every Dragon Knight managed, even when working together with others, something outstanding and remarkable that would cement her status among the ranks: 

Skadi Skadrson slayed a Dragon in single combat.

From that point on, her influence and reputation steadily grew. Where initially, Skadi had but the two former guards that followed her, having become loyal comrades to the young woman, but following her triumph, her popularity increased greatly. Be it because they were awed by her strength or attracted by her beauty, the number of young men drawn to her seemed to grow by the month, and it was not long before Skadi had gained her own little unofficial platoon. 

And as her reputation grew, as she rose to fame, Skadi began to gain her own moniker. 

After the victory over the dragon, Skadi had been allowed to keep some of the scales - using her fortune, she had them forged into a set of armor befitting a woman that aimed to become a Dragon Knight, one fitting the color of her eyes, and reminiscent of the armor that once had belonged to her mother. And this armor, it inspired her followers in choosing her title:

The Praying Mantis

She is 20 years old when Skadi reaches her goal and is promoted to the rank of Dragon Knight. 15 years after her mother's passing, she stands where her mother once stood, a paragon among the warriors of Burmecia, renowned for her skill and achievements wide and far. No one remembers how a mere 4 years ago, she had still been nothing, a woman with nothing to her name but a simple lance that sought to prove herself as she returned to the kingdom's capital. 

Yet it is not only her skill that is renowned and well-respected, no. Her beauty has also become widely known, attracting suitors from varying rank, and she indulges many of them, even if only for a night. Her moniker holds true even here, for not unlike a praying mantis does she prey upon the men of the kingdom, offering them bliss and release in return for favors of all kinds, before abandoning them once they outlive their usefulness.  At least until she finds an use for them once more... 

But she wants more, wishes to rise even higher, obsessed with restoring the former glory and fame the name Skadrson once held. She wants to stand at the top, so no one could ever look down on her again and deem her worthless.

Over the course of the following four years, Skadi's influence grew further and further, fueled by both her fame and achievements as much as by her machinations and manipulations. The troops under her command had become known far and wide for their efficiency and prowess, their deeds heralded by the citizens and fellow soldiers alike. The name of the Praying Mantis had even reached the ears of the generals of other countries, earning her respect beyond the Realm's borders for both her tactical prowess and her skill in battle. 

Yes, the Praying Mantis had achieved much, and proven her worth countless times. 

But it was not enough to her. Constantly, she sought to increase her rank, striving for the titles her mother once held, obsessed with reinstating the house of Skadrson as a noble house, second only in power to the king himself. 

Or perhaps even above the King if possible... 

And in order to achieve this goal, any means were fine with her.

She had already proven numerous times that she was not above using her body to her benefit, and during the last four years, she had managed to seduce men in increasingly higher positions. Where it once had been her follow soldiers and her direct superiors, it had slowly moved on to Generals and Officials, until finally, she had managed to draw in her first noble. 

And from there on out, things started to fall into place nicely. 

Once she had charmed her way into nobility, she made use of favors to meet other nobles, getting acquainted with them and forming bonds to further her goals - and naturally, this often ended in the noble's bed, without their dear dear wives knowing. Her discretion had been the strong point in convincing them to mingle with her - and afterwards, it was what would fetch a high price in order to be kept intact. 

Her little system worked perfectly. With the nobles afraid of their wives finding out, they did not gossip about her, worried that any word could give them away, thus leaving her other potential targets blissfully unaware of her methods, allowing him to lure her in. And slowly but surely, she'd get the majority of the council under her thumb, attaining power akin to that of a noble while still being denied the rank herself.

There were only two she could not seduce, two that never gave in to her attempts at seduction, two that ultimately stood in her way. 

The first was, unsurprisingly, Ser Ganymede. The man had always been wary of her, not trusting her from the day she had shown up in the council hall. He was suspicious of her motivations and had a keen eye, noticing time and time again how she seemed just a tad too familiar with the other council members. He never confronted her about it, mind you, but even so Skadi knew fully well how he must have thought of her. 

A pity, really. For not only was Ganymede a handsome man and a paragon in both battle and politics, but he also was single - had he thought differently of her, perhaps he would have been a good man to marry one day. But this way of regaining her nobility would sadly not offer itself to her after all... 

Besides, even if a man like Ganymede were to choose her, she would not be able to bear him an heir, so she was inherently unfit for a noble family of such tradition...

The second one was, for lack of better words, an enigma to her. 

Sir Fratley was among the most valiant and revered Dragon Knights in the kingdom, and likely the only one she could not compete with, at least not yet. But he was a loner, prefering to be on his own rather than involve himself with people, He seemed absolutely uninterested in any of the noble women, so Skadi had hoped she might be more to his liking, but he kept brushing her off, acting distant and uninterested. 

Skadi would be lying if she claimed that this reaction did not insult her. 

But even so, there was nothing to be done, and so she had to give up on these two men, and settle for every other male nobleman on the council instead. Luckily, despite the considerable number of women holding seats, that still was a majority - one she knew how to use to her best interests.

Already was she a general and a Dragon Knight, and she had the council in the palm of her hand, but still the Praying Mantis craved more. To rise higher, to gain more fame, more influence, more power - and so she inevitably set her sights on the King. 

She expected him to be a challenge, someone difficult to get close to, with an unbending will. He could be the man that would not be afraid to punish her if her attempts at seduction fell flat, which could outright ruin everything she had worked towards. Furthermore, it would be difficult to be left alone with a man of his rank, to meet him without his guards present. 

But she wanted him all the same. She wanted the power he held, wanted to rise above all others - and he could give her that, if only she could get him. 

Skadi spent months preparing for the occasion, carefully selecting the favors from her noble lovers and pawns, manipulating the situation so she would be alone with the King. Getting the commanding officers of the guard to arrange for an opening, a moment when the King's guard would be away, long enough for her to work her charms, using her connections to the nobility to manufacture a reason why she had to meet the king, and again others to vouch for her during that brief period where she would be with the royal - she had thought of everything. 

As such, it was almost painfully disappointing when the King made it all too easy for her, practically welcoming her advances with open arms.

Having won the King's favor thus, Skadi began to make use of this new connection nigh immediately. Initially, she did not even need to threaten the king with revealing his infidelity, ratting him out to the queen, as he seemed to see her as his current mistress, making things easy. She quickly obtained information, which she in turn managed to use to further her position within the army. Before, she had been left out of certain matters, the nobles making it a point not to involve her in some of the more secret - and worthwhile - matters, keeping her as far away from them as they could. But now, now she was one of the first to learn of such matters, directly from the King himself during their more or less frequent meetings. Suddenly, Skadi Skadrson was a woman who could receive an official audience with the King with as much ease as a noble - if not with more. 

And while the nobles were distraught about this development, Skadi's reputation and fame among the troops only grew and grew...

It was not a big surprise when a year later, Skadi was thus chosen to be the one that would investigate a curious artifact that had entered into the Realm of Eternal Rain's possession, the King trusting her to unravel it's secrets and use it to the best of her ability and conscience.

At first glance, it was an unsuspecting, ordinary small thing, like so many other things beside it were. But if one figured out it's secrets, it was bound to be special, extraordinary - and would allow the user feats that would be impossible for mere mortals. Or so they said. 

It took Skadi all of 17 days to unravel the secret, and discover that these rumors were true, while at the same time not doing the artifact justice. The little oddity allowed it's user to travel to other worlds, opening a plethora of new horizons to explore.

The first few worlds the 25 year old Skadi visited had little to offer her. As a Burmecian, she was instantly treated as an outsider and not welcome, and the respective cultures were of little interest, rendering her stays short. Upon her returns, she would report to the king personally - in his private chambers, no less - and each time be granted the right to undertake another venture. 

Eventually, she wound up in a place called Ishgard. The people there were at first distrusting of her, deeming her an outsider and a danger, yet even so, Skadi was fascinated by them. Another culture that held a tradition of lance wielding warriors, capable from jumping to the highest heights, with their sworn goal being to fight against dragons? 

There was nothing she couldn't love about this, nothing that could make her feel more at home. 

Initially, it was difficult to win their trust, the Ishgardians naturally suspicious of anyone outside their walls. But once Skadi showed her prowess with the spear, slaying an attacking dragon by herself, she was welcomed among them. After all, a Dragon Knight was a welcome help in the Dragoon's Battles, especially if they were as skilled as the Praying Mantis was.

Skadi stayed in Ishgard for two months, reveling in the joy of battle and the thrill of facing dragons on a nigh daily basis. Eventually, she found the remains of a long lost Dragoon, complete with his armor, diary and, most importantly, his spear. A spear of mystical proportions, blessed with a truly unique ability as she learned from the dying man's last words in his diary. 

Brionac - a legendary weapon forged in the blood of dragons, capable of stealing dragon's soul and feeding upon them. 

When the Ishgardians demanded she'd hand the spear over to them, claiming it to be a national treasure, Skadi promptly left Ishgard behind, returning to Burmecia.

Upon her return, Skadi found herself replaced by the king, the monarch even refusing to grant her an audience even, not to speak of a private meeting. A new mistress had taken her place, the King having been unwilling to wait so long for her return. 

Needless to say, the Praying Mantis was furious, and she was not willing to hide her anger. 

Using her contacts among the nobles both for physical comfort as well as information, she sought to discover which harlot had taken her place, wishing to confront them. She wanted to scare them away, claiming the King as hers and hers alone. 

It is not known what happened after that, what Skadi did or did not do. All that we know is that the king's mistress, a young girl of barely 16 winters, was found three days later, bruised and beaten. The poor girl had been treated roughly to the point of eventually succumbing to her injuries and the pain, and showed clear signs of having been defiled by a large number of perpetrators. Some even claimed that at least one of her assailants must have been non-Burmecian, judging by her injuries. And on top of it all, on top of this gruesome sight, her left hand had been cut off. 

The hand on which she had worn a simple armband, an armband that the King had gifted to his mistress...

From this point on, Skadi had to convince the king to indulge in meetings with her, as well as to grant her favors. But it was a rocky road now, the King displeased with the loss of his mistress, and the way the Praying Mantis sought to use him - and so, he ordered her to undertake another mission, another journey to another world. One, that would last half a year. 

It was only on the condition that he would grant her a private audience upon her return that Skadi did agree.

Ivalice was a curious place, one unlike any she had seen before. A myriad of races mingled here, from the Viera to the Seeq, from the Bangaa to the Hume, and though her kin was not native to the land, the people did not question her presence, accepting her as she was when she claimed to be a traveller from a far away country. 

She was welcome, for the first time in her life. 

Needless to say, she enjoyed her time there. She was still an outsider to a degree, her ruthless and cold nature driving the people around her away from her after a short time, but it still was a welcome change that no one despised her or looked down on her. And eventually, she even made a friend.

Ma'Chymes was a Nu Mou, a vaguely canine race whose bodies and strength paled in comparision to a Burmecian's tall stature, but compensated that with peerless intellect and a penchant for magic - an art that her kind was entirely incompatible with, a talent that no Burmecian held. He earned his living as an Alchemist, mixing myriad kinds of concoctions for people to buy, while also experimenting on his own accord. 

Normally, it would have been unlikely for the two to find common ground, being such complete opposites. But when Skadi saw how harsh and unforgiving the Nu Mou treated his assistant and servants, and how he was not above using any means available to achieve what he desired, she could not help but feel a certain kinship. 

Against all odds, the two grew fond of each other and their methods relatively quickly, even working together to an extent. Ma'Chymes would offer her a place to stay and information about this world, and Skadi would assist him by hunting for ingredients that were difficult to come by and nigh impossible to obtain on the bazaar. It was a fruitful time, for both of them, and eventually, it culminated in a raw, physical relationship. 

After all, with her being infertile, what reason would she have to be careful, to take precautions or otherwise hold back? Ma'Chymes might not have been a man whose favors would benefit her once she returned, but she could always simply do things for her own enjoyment, and enjoy him she did.

It was not to last however. The end of the six months she had been given was steadily aproaching, and Skadi would soon need to return to Burmecia. Not that she told Ma'Chymes as much, mind you. It was her own business where and when she'd go, and likewise it was her business when she'd leave. Her current lover need not know such things, he'd find out soon enough anyhow. 

Alas, as it so often is when a despicable person mingled with another despicable person, it was not just one of them who kept things from the other and worked towards their own secret agenda. And whereas Skadi only planned to abandon the male without a word, Ma'Chymes had bigger plans for the female. 

Most alchemists would sell simple concoctions, like salves and ointments, or perhaps select tonics that increased one's vitality for a while, or kept you awake more efficiently than mere coffee ever could. And they would be able to get by with just that. Ma'Chymes was different, however. He wanted to make it big, to achieve wealth and fame, and he knew exactly how he would reach this goal.  After all, he knew fully well what kind of concoctions certain people would pay a veritable fortune for...

Fertility drugs had always been a popular product, no matter the stigma around them and the fact that they were prohibited by the laws of this land - a law, so Ma'Chymes felt, that was utterly unfair und unneeded. Many a couple needed help to conceive a child after all, and would pay good money for something that'd ensure results. There was nothing wrong with wanting to help such people, now was there? No, helping them was a just action, and one that paid well. Desperate couples would willingly shell out any amount of money - even more so when they were of different species, and not supposed to breed together in the first place... 

So what if such a drug could be misused to breed horrible abominations, so what if it could be used to force a woman to bear the child of a beast? That didn't matter to him. So long as he'd be paid, he couldn't care less about how his drug would be used or the possible results. 

And so, the Nu Mou had been working on an extremely potent fertility drug for years - and now, now was the perfect time to test it on a species he was not familiar with. The tests with his assistants could only get him so far after all, and finding willing tests subjects for forbidden research was nigh impossible. As such, the appearance of this Burmecian had been an absolute blessing... 

For if he, Ma'Chymes the Nu Mou, could make Skadi Skadrson bear his child thanks to this drug he created, then he would be able to sell this mixture for a small fortune per vial.

On the night before Skadi's departure, the amoral Nu Mou Alchemist would set his plan into motion, unaware that his test subject was about to leave soon. Using the strong wine they always were drinking together, it was more than easy to mask the drug he spiked her glass with, leaving the Burmecian entirely unaware of his plans. After all, what good would telling her do? He did not need her consent, did not want it - he wanted results instead, and he could not risk her denying him. 

And in case it did not work just yet, he could always pretend nothing happened and try again with the next mixture. 

Once she had unknowingly consumed the fertility drug, the Nu Mou would waste no time and immediately begin to push the Burmecian towards having sex with him, over and over again, before sleep would claim them both in the morning hours. 

And through the course of the night, he'd cum inside her countless times...

In the morning, the Alchemist would awake to find the woman gone, having left as soon as she had awoken, never to be seen by him again. He would curse and lament this turn of events, disappointed over having lost this valuable test subject and the possibility of seeing the results of the experiment. Was it a success? Was it a failure? He'd never know, and that fact would gnaw at him for years to come.... 

And Skadi? Skadi is 26 years old when she returns to Burmecia, carrying with her a wealth of knowledge about Ivalice, some gifts for the king - and unbeknownst to herself, her unborn child deep within her womb...

Unlike when she had returned from Ivalice, the King was actually glad to see Skadi return this time, honoring his promise of a private audience and listening with great interest to her stories about this strange land. Apparently, he had been unable to find a satisfying mistress in her absence, and his Queen had refused his advances, so he was eager to indulge himself with the Praying Mantis once again. 

And he would not be the only man to do so. 

With her having been gone for half a year, it had become a necessity in the Praying Mantis' eyes to visit the most valuable of her contacts again, working through them one by one and reminding them just why they had mingled with her in the first place. She was good in what she did, and eager to reestablish her position - so much so, that it took her multiple weeks to realize that something was wrong, something was different.

The news hit her unexpected and heavily. For years, she had been living in the knowledge that she could never bear children. For years, she had suffered under the memory of being called useless and worthless due to this flaw. She had been beaten and abused, used against her will and treated like dirt, all because she would never give birth to an heir. 

Suffice to say, it felt as though the world as Skadi knew it had just been shattered. 

It took the Praying Mantis weeks to get to terms with what had happened, and to decide on how to proceed. And eventually, her decision was set: Her child would inherit the Skadrson name, and continue to bring honor and fame to the family, restoring it to the noble status it once held. Her child would become an exemplary Dragon Knight, surpassing all that came before it, and be the pride of her life. 

And in the meantime, she'd ensure that it would have every opportunity to succeed in this world, that it would receive the best training Burmecia had to offer.

With 27 years and roughly 3 months, Skadi Skadrson gave birth to a healthy boy, giving him the name Freyr Tyr Skadrson. 

The first few months fly by like a breeze, with Skadi taking her time trying to look after the child. Soon however she realizes that she is not good at handling such a tender creature, the crying quickly getting on her nerves and the clinginess of the boy annoys her. As soon as she can, the boy is given to a maid instead, tasking her with taking care of the child. She will be the only one to ever show the unfortunate kid any form of love...

Rumors quickly develop about the mother unable to love her child, the mother who only sees her heir as a tool to reach her goals, as means to further her ambition. And indeed, the young mother is quick to exploit the boy's birth in her interest, making good use of the fortunate timing of his birth. 

After all, the boy had been born a good nine and a half months after her return, and as such, he could be the offspring of anyone she slept with during that time - absolutely anyone. Neither the nobles nor the King are from there on out safe from her, Skadi threatening to "reveal" that the boy was fathered by them whenever a noble dares to not follow her whims.

But it is not all for her own gain that she does, no, indeed she tries to do things that she believes to be in her son's best interest as well. But they are not truly good for him, are only catering to her vision of him - and wind up hurting the child more than she'll ever truly understand. 

Freyr Tyr's early years are blessed by wealth, and cursed by the lack of a loving mother. He has no friends to play with as he grows, and the servants only care for him as much as they are ordered to, avoiding he boy whenever possible. Just like his mother does, even going so far as to take a new position as instructor to fledgling Dragon Knights. 

Quickly, she gains a reputation for being harsh and unforgiving, for being the kind of teacher that does not forgive mistakes easily and demands more from the young aspirants than they can offer. Many of them crumble under her guidance, unable to keep up. "Weaklings", she claims, "Unfit to bear the title of a Dragon Knight of Burmecia", and thus unfit to attend her lessons anyway.

Some do not give up though, becoming mighty soldiers over the years, soldiers that are fiercely loyal to the Praying Mantis, and that would do anything to gain her favor - and eager to be called to her bedchambers, blissfully ignoring the fact that she has a son, that he is merely a couple of rooms away from them when they satisfy the needs of their Lady. 

Besides those loyal to her and those who give up, only a select few others remain. Cadets that show the potential to become Dragon Knights, but refuse to endure Skadi's cruelty and choose another mentor. They are to her both the most disappointing and the most respected candidates, for they prove the ability to do whatever they need to in order to succeed, even if it means falling out of her favor. One among them that particularly impresses the Praying Mantis is a young, silver-haired woman from the Cresecent family, going by the name of Freya - the day that she decides to choose Sir Fratley over her is one that saddens Skadi greatly.

By the age of five, Freyr Tyr  Skadrson was granted a spot at the most prestiguous and renowned school for aspiring Dragon Knights that Burmecia had to offer. 

The school normally only accepted nobles, being proud of the exclusivity and quality it stood for, and produced some of the finest warriors in the history of the Realm of Eternal Rain. Yet, even so, the son of a commoner, an usurper, an intrigant a ruthless warrior, was chosen to attend the school, in place of several noble children. 

From the start, this made Freyr Tyr an undesired party, despised not only by his peer's parents, but also his peers themselves. He was the boy that was to blame for their friends being denied a place at the school, and they knew it. Their parents made certain of that. And it was only going to get worse as time went by...

Perhaps it would have been fine if the boy performed well, if he proved himself to be an outstanding talent, much like his mother had. But Freyr Tyr was anything but a talent.

In fact, the boy was a disappointment from start to finish. He couldn't keep up with the physical exercises, lagged behind when it came to handling weapons, showed no talent handling neither spear nor knife or sword. The teachers quickly grew tired of this failure, wishing to get rid of him, but finding themselves unable to, with different nobles interjecting each time the topic came up. The students saw him as a waste of space, wanting to replace him with their friends but being powerless in getting him to leave. 

But most devastatingly, Skadi herself started to grow tired of her son's constant failure, berating him time and time again - and eventually turning to disciplining, to punishing him even. 

The boy was devastated. He kept trying his best, but nothing ever seemed good enough. No matter what he tried, he couldn't succeed, couldn't satisfy his mother's expectations - but even so, he never gave up. Because, after all... if he succeeded, then surely, mother would praise him, no, mother would love him even!

Freyr Tyr began to push himself more and more, in every aspect he could. He pushed himself during exercises, pushed himself in weapon training - and in trying to make friends as well. And more and more days would end with the boy coming home with bruises from the daily growing number of defeats he'd suffered.

It continued for three more years like that, before things at last escalated.

Trying once more to befriend fellow students, Freyr Tyr one day approached a girl from a noble family that stood out among others, one who had grown especially exasperated with this fool, and sought to finally end this. They were just wrapping up weapons training when he approached her, wearing that same stupid smile as ever, when she saw an opportunity. 

Whether it was sheer luck or a small glimmer of his reflexes having improved at least a little bit, one could not tell. But whichever of the two it was, it had allowed the boy to turn to the side and throw his right arm in front of himself, preventing the dagger from reaching his chest as intended. 

 It was in that moment that Freyr Tyr Skadrson finally understood that he would never make any friends among his fellow students. That he would never have any friends here in Burmecia.

The realization that he'd never be accepted by his fellow students hit the boy hard. All his life he had wanted nothing more than to find friends, to find people that cared about him, that were happy for him to be around - and for an 8 year old boy, that was a terrible realization to make. 

What even was left to him then anymore, in this Realm of Eternal Rain? What could he still believe in when the only thing that offered him any comfort was the rain? He would always be alone, would never be cherished by those around him. 

There was only one person left whose love he could hope to gain, whose affection he could strife to earn. 

If only he could prove his worth, if only he could show that his legs had the strength needed to be a Dragon Knight, if he could prove that he was not a lost cause, then maybe, maybe Mother would be satisfied. Maybe she'd even praise him, tell him he did well - Oh, he so hoped she would, he so wanted to believe that he could yet find some meaning in his young life - and in his despair, in his delusional state, he felt he knew exactly what he needed to do. What was the only thing left he could do.

Long since has it been tradition that the legendary warriors of the days of old would be immortalized with enormous statues. Since ancient times this practice had remained, with each statue being considered sacred by the inhabitants. Among them were kings of old, warriors of unparalleled deeds and most of the founding fathers and mothers of the noble houses. 

It was only natural and fitting that there would be a statue of Skadr, the legendary Dragon Knight and progenitor of House Skadrson. 

It did not go without a certain irony that young Freyr Tyr would choose that very statue as the scene for his last, fateful attempt to impress his mother. Climbing onto the sacred statue, he planed to jump off from the head, reaching as high above the ground as he never had before. If he could do this, if he could land this jump standing and prove that his legs were strong enough, then surely, surely Mother would...!! 

Clinging onto this believe, the 8 year old boy closed his eyes and jumped.

Freyr Tyr would awaken several hours later, his head drowsy from the medicines that had been administered to him in order to dull the pain at least somewhat. His legs had been badly injured, some rumors even claiming that they had been shattered, and the boy could not feel them anymore. A blessing, perhaps, given their state. And thankfully, the coming weeks would show that it had been due to the medicines, and not due to lasting, irreversible damage. 

Not that there wasn't no such damage, oh no, there definitely was. His legs had been injured terribly, and while there was hope he would walk again, there was one thing that the doctors were already certain of, one question that left no room for doubt: 

"Lady Skadrson, We... we are afraid to say so, but... your son... he... the damage to his legs is so severe, that he... he will never... Your son will never be a Dragon Knight." 

Throughout the entirety of his stay at the hospital, the Praying Mantis spoke not a single word to her son. And when she heard the terrible diagnosis, reacting with a sharp, unforgiving glance full of disappointment and disgust, it was likewise the last time that Skadi Skadrson would ever look at her own flesh and blood, offering only four single words in response, four words that could not be more devastating: 

"I have no son."

While her son, no, while that boy was still recovering in the hospital, Skadi saw herself confronted with the aftermath of his folly. Not only had he caused an incident at the school, disturbing one of the most influential daughters with his advances, forcing her to be blamed for his behavior as well, but he had also dared to climb the statue of her ancestor, a blasphemous act that desecrated the glorious memory of her progenitor. 

As if it had not been enough of a burden having to excuse his myriad shortcomings in his training already... 

She had grown tired of this. Tired of this failure that called himself her son. He was an embarrassment, a blemish upon the proud Skadrson name, and her patience had at last run thin. But then again, she had known from the day the boy was born that he would likely never live up to her expectations... 

She had known it from the moment she had seen those sapphire blue eyes.

While there had been men with blue eyes among her paramours, none of them were of a shining brilliance that she had seen in just one single man. A man that she had not seen for 9 years, and that she did not wish to remember: Ma'Chymes, the Nu Mou Alchemist. 

That sleazy amoral scumbag... just what had he done to her, which wicked concoction did he slip into her drink in order to enable this unfortunate outcome?  

While she had initially been happy to bear a child, hopeful of the potential it would promise, said hope had quickly proven to be naught but an illusion. Instead of a capable son worthy of inheriting her name, and her mother's name before her, she had been riddled with this utter disappointment of a child, this useless failure that had been nothing but a burden for eight long years. Well, no more. 

Skadi Skadrson, the Praying Mantis, had no use for a worthless failure.

I have no son - Those had been the last words that the boy had heard from his mother's mouth, and they had not even been directed at him in the slightest. Since that day, it had been several weeks, almost two months even., and he had not seen her just once since. His wounds had mostly been treated since then, the feeling having long since returned to his legs. It would not be long before he'd be capable of walking without pain again - but what good would that do? What for should he still stand up even? There was nothing left for him... 

He doesn't even know how right that assessment was, how correct he was in saying that there was nothing left for him here anymore. 

For on that very same day, Skadi Skadrson would visit the King again - and make a request most unreasonable and cruel, coating it in words that the King could not ignore, leaving him with no other choice. 

"Your majesty, you have but two options. Either you do as I asked of you, and thus rid both yourself and me of this problem... or you refuse, and leave me no choice but to tell the Queen that the boy is yours. I wonder, how would she feel if she learned that her own son, that the Prince of Burmecia, had an illegitimate older brother...?" 

The decision he had to make on that day would haunt the King for many nights to come, leaving his sleep restless. For even if he had no choice, he could still not forget just how wrong and unjust a decision it was...

On the day that Freyr Tyr Skadrson was to be released from the hospital, capable of walking on his own again without pain, two armored guards were waiting for him at the exit. He was to follow them, so he was told, and that his questions would be answered once they got there. He wanted to know if they were his mother's men. He received no answer as they escorted him, drawing curious and concerned glances from the bystanders as they walked through the streets. 

For any other child, these looks would have been frightening, would have alerted them that something was wrong, but for the boy, it was nothing unusual. After all, he was the child of one of the most despised woman in the country, even if no one dared show their dislike of her openly, instead politely cowering in fear of the consequences. 

It was only when the arrived at the court building that the boy begins to worry, confused as to why anyone would lead him here. Had he done something wrong? Or had something happened to his mother? Freyr Tyr just simply did not know, could not tell - and that filled his little heart with fear. 

Nothing good would come from this, he was certain of that - and he would soon find out just how right this gut feeling was...

The boy was promptly after arriving put on trial, and at first, he did not understand just why or what for. He hadn't done anything wrong, no? He... he didn't break any laws, didn't hurt anyone, so why, why was he here? And where was his mother? Why was she not here to protect him, while these men spoke of treason and exile, of things he did not understand in the slightest right now. 

And then he saw her. 

The Praying Mantis was standing right next to the man that supposedly was the judge, speaking with them. They seemed unwilling to do what was asked of them, considering it too cruel, too unjust, but Skadi left them no choice, insisting on the act. 

When she next turned around and walked away, it was the last time that the boy saw his mother - and she would not even look at him...

When the judge then turned to him again, Freyr Tyr could have sowrn he saw tears welling in his eyes, and the he heard the man's voice falter and shake ever so slightly, but that would not offer the child any comfort, would not change the terrible verdict that was imparted upon him with his words: 

"Freyr Tyr Skadrson... You are hereby to be exiled from Burmecia on the charge of suspected High Treason against the King. You will forfeit your name and birthrights, and forbidden from ever returning to the Kingdom. And furthermore... you will be forced to bear the mark of a traitor... Guards, see... see to it that he... that he receives the mark posthaste..." 

The boy cannot believe his ears, but his body is soon made to remember the words forever. For the guards, though struggling with the task imparted on them.  

When the needle pierces the skin of his lower left arm, painting the hated sigil underneath it with burning, blood red ink, the cries of the poor boy could be heard reverberating within the entire court house, causing both the guards and the judge nightmares for many weeks to come. 

When he had entered the building, he had been Freyr Tyr Skadrson of Burmecia - yet when the boy left it, he was but a nameless soul without a home or a place he belonged to, never to return again after they brought him to the border and tossed him out of the country.

For the boy, now bereft of a name, rough times began that day. With nowhere to go, no one to turn to, he was reduced to wandering alone, with no goal or purpose. Eventually, he wound up in a small border town, not far from Gizarmaluke's Grotto and thus, the border between Lindblum and Burmecia. The town was ordinary at first glance, just a small town like many others near borders, that survived courtesy of the trade between nations. But that was only at first glance... 

In truth, this town was deeply torn between two factions that could not have been more different. On one hand there were those who profited from the trading, amassing riches and wealth. More often than not, they tended to be fat, well-nourished - and incredibly arrogant about their status, constantly looking down upon those not as fortunate as them. 

The second group was full of such people. Men and women who did not profit from the trading, instead even losing their meager wealth and homes, ending up as little more than beggars. They suffered hunger nearly every day, with even those few who had a job barely able to feed themselves and their families. 

Poverty and wealth, so clearly separated and yet still living next to each other. Truly, it was a town torn into two factions - and certainly not a place fit for a young Burmecian boy with neither name nor money.

From the very beginning, the boy was an outsider. In a town were Burmecians were at best a rare sight, he was quickly labelled as different, with the preconceptions ranging from him being weird to dangerous, the insults ranging from worthless trash to piece of crap all the way to street rat. And without anyone to turn to, nor any money to purchase food, it wasn't long before the boy learned what it meant to be hungry. Truly hungry. 

He was close to starving when he finally figured out what he had to do in order to survive. 

He was not proud of it, but when he for the first time managed to steal a piece of bread and then bit into it, any shame over the act was quickly forgotten. Who would have ever thought that a simple piece of bread could taste so heavenly...!! 

It was shortly thereafter that the boy was approached by another young man living on the streets, perhaps a year or so older than him. He introduced himself as Gunthar, and offered to work together with the Burmecian when stealing food - that way, they would hopefully never suffer hunger again!. 

It sounded too good to be true, but the eight year old boy didn't care. For the first time, it seemed as though he could make a friend, as though someone actually cared for him and his presence. 

He was willing to do nigh anything for that chance. 

"Great! Guess that means we're partners now, ... uhm... What was your name again?" "...I don't have one..." "No name? Fine, then how about I just call you... Mousey?" "That's fine by me..." 

And so, Gunthar and Mousey took to the streets, trying to make their way in this unforgiving border town and survive...

Their method was simple and most of the time, quite effective. One of the two would distract their target, sometimes even pretending to be the thief going after the food they carried with them, while the other used that moment to swipe some food or perhaps even the whole bag from them. It didn't work every time, and it often ended with the decoy taking a beating. But they always shared evenly, and was enough to keep them fed on most days, and that was all they could ask for. 

At least, that was what the Burmecian boy believed, being content with having a friend now for the couple of months this lasted.

It was right after a heavy dry spell they had to endure, where both the wealthy merchants and their guards had grown more alert to the activities of the beggars and street rats, resulting in several days without any food whatsoever for young Gunthar and the Burmecian. Driven by their hunger, they soon saw fit to be a bit more daring in how they chose their targets, taking bigger risks - they had been forced to do so a few times already, but this time, it was truly dire. 

And so, they decided to brave the risk - and targeted a fat, wealthy merchant that very obviously carried a knife with himself. A knife, so they knew, that he was not afraid of using to get rid of beggars and thieves... 

But what other choice did they have at this point? They needed to survive, neither of them willing to die of hunger. 

The Burmecian boy was set to play the decoy, and try rather obviously to snatch the bag with food from the merchant. And as expected, he was promptly greeted with a backhand slap across his face, causing him to fall back and onto the ground. 

The perfect moment and opportunity for Gunthar to strike - or so he thought, at least. 

For this time, the merchant was anticipating the second move, and instead of beating on the Burmecian grabbed the human boy, immediately setting about beating some manners into the scoundrel. 

For the Burmecian, this was an unexpected and welcome opportunity unlike any that had ever presented itself to him before. Snagging the bag with the groceries, he made a dash for it, fleeing the scene. Surely, like always, he and Gunthar would be able to meet up at their usual spot afterwards, and there they could share the spoils...

When Gunthar would later come round to their usual spot with a number of bruises, the Burmecian would await him with a smile, happy that finally, they'd get to eat again. But he is the only one happy, for Gunthar is anything but - he is furious. 

And his mood does not improve when his young companion hands him the stolen bag with groceries, letting the older divide the spoils like he always did. 

"That is all? That is all!? No way. Where are you hiding the rest? Did you eat it all already, you dirty rat?" 

"But... but what are you saying, Gunthar...? This is all... I would never... I'd never betray you... we're always sharing evenly, so..." 

"So you're trying to tell me that I got beaten up for this? Are you trying to mess with me? You stinkin RAT!" 

"Gunthar, please, don't.... don't call me that... We... we've got beaten up for much less before, so why..." 

"We? No, YOU! You have always taken the beatings, you always were the one beaten up. Like you should be!"

It is on this sorrowful day that the Burmecian learns what had really been going on all along these couple months. 

Where he had believed Gunthar to be his friend, the two of them equally sharing both the burden and the spoils, he had really only been used all along. Gunthar had seen his opportunity, deciding to use the poor boy to take the beatings for him while he secured the spoils - and to add insult to injury, he would always make certain to eat his fill before dividing up the remains once the bruised Burmecian would show up. 

But now that he had taken a beating himself, Gunthar had grown tired of this arrangement. After all, Mousey was only useful to his schemes as long as he unknowingly played along so nicely. But a rat boy that knew what he was doing? A street rat that could possibly refuse to take the beatings for him? 

Such a rat was useless to him. And Gunthar had no time for anything useless.

When Gunthar drew a knife, one he had hidden from the Burmecian for months now, his intent is clear even without him calling him a street rat and worthless trash. Moving in to kill the younger boy, the human lad tried to cut deep into his flesh, but manages only a shallow cut on his cheek, just deep enough to draw blood. 

It will be this failed first attack that ultimately leads to Gunthar's downfall, for it allows the shocked Burmecian to properly realize the situation. His friend had not been a friend at all, betraying him all along, and now he wanted to kill him... - But he could not let him, he could not die here. And perhaps, just perhaps, they could yet settle this peacefully... 

But such was not to be. 

Gunthar's next attack sees him lunge forward, aiming to stab the Burmecian in the chest, but he is able to dodge it, turning to the side just in time for Gunthar to stumble past him. This in turn prompts the human boy to turn around sharply, yanking the knife up in the air, aiming to swing it down at the younger lad with due force. The strike is blocked when the Burmecian recalls fragments of his training, grabbing his attackers wrist, and the knife comes lose. 

And then, everything happens much too fast. 

Letting instinct and reflexes acquired from his training guide him, the lad swiftly grabs the knife - and promptly rams it into the slightly taller male's throat, dealing a fatal wound. Blood spills forth, splattering across the boy's face, the warm sensation serving to drag him back to reality just in time to look at what he had done in utter schock and disbelief. 

Just in time for a surprised Gunthar to breathe his last, stertorous breath... 

After this horrible experience, the boy was once again alone. No one wanted anything to do with him, no one wanted to be anywhere near him. After all, not only was he a rat, but he also had blood on his hands now. Mingling with him would only bring about tragedy, and the life on these streets was hard enough as it was already... 

No, this boy was surely more trouble than he was worth, and so, it was safest to stay far away from him. 

The Burmecian would thus live his days lonely, day by day, slowly despairing over what purpose he still lived for - until unexpectedly, a meaning comes along, and with it, an unexpected opportunity. 

He is 9 winters old when he comes upon a dispute between fellow beggars. A group of four teenaged ruffians that apparently had been incompetent in securing enough food for themselves, and now sought to steal it from two younger kids, bullying and terrifying them. 

And while he does not know just why, he cannot help but wish to protect them, throwing himself in between.

Unsurprisingly, throwing himself in the middle of a confrontation like this was far from being a good idea. Not only did it not take long for the teenaged boys to target him, but the two younger children that he had wished to protect also were afraid of him, his foreign appearance frightening them more than the four bullies were. Not only was the Burmecian so different from them, but they also had heard the rumors about him, of how he had blood on his hands and killed another child in cold blood - surely, he was only driving the bullies away so he could then kill them himself! 

And so, the children tried to run away, while two of the teenaged ruffians began to beat up the smaller Burmecian, mercilessly beating him for interfering. To his horror, the other two went after the children, threatening to corner them, and in his anger over it, the Burmecian called out, stretching his arm in their direction while he kept being punched. 

What happened next surprised everyone, yet no one more than it did the young boy. 

In front of the charging ruffians, spikes of ice rose from the ground, piercingly sharp and easily as tall as they themselves, blocking them from reaching the kids. Astonished, everyone stood still for a good moment, wondering just what had happened, before one of the ruffians realized what was happening: 

"Oh shit, that rat can use magic! Run, boys! Or he'll kill us just like he killed Gunthar! Run!" 

Moments later, only the Burmecian remained at the scene, the ruffians having abandoned their attack while the terrified children had fled. And as he sat there on the ground, staring at the icy spikes, the boy was positively stumped. Had... had he just done that...? Really...? But... but how...? How was such a thing possible...?

As it was usual on the streets, word traveled quickly. The rumor of mysteriously appearing ice spikes and the rat's involvement spread nigh immediately, with both the ruffians and the children eager to serve as witnesses and lend credibility to the words. They had been lucky to get away alive, so both sides claimed, and the distance everyone kept to the poor nine year old boy from that day on had as a result never been bigger. Nobody wanted to get anywhere near this dangerous street-rat. No one - except for one man. 

It was an elderly man that was passing through the border town when he caught wind of the rumors, easily in his late forties if not in his fifties already. He wasn't particularly strong looking nor did he appear daring or heroic, he was simply a travelling man, and nothing more. At least, to the naked eye he was, but as it so often is the case with certain people, you simply could not judge a book by it's cover. 

That man did not see the rumors as a reason to stay away, as a reason to avoid the streets where the Burmecian was rumored to be, no. To him, these rumors were the exact reason not to simply pass through this town and continue on his way, but to instead venture to where that incident supposedly had happened, eager to learn the truth. 

Who that man was? 

He was a teacher at the Academy in Daguerreo, a man most respected and knowledgeable, one that the students looked up to and sought to learn from. His name was Otanes, and like a true professor, he could not simply ignore a rumor that hinted at something truly remarkable and unique...

It was widely unheard of, that among the beggars and thieves roaming the back streets of nearly every town and city, children with a magical disposition existed. More often than not, such children either never fell this low, discovering their talents early enough to find different ways to survive, or they were too frail to make it on the streets. As such, on that account alone it would already have been worth verifying this rumor in the professor's eyes. 

What truly made this outstanding though, was the fact that this rumor surrounded a Burmecian child - for in the entire history of magic as the world knew it, never before had a Burmecian shown any talent whatsoever with magic.  It was unheard of, to the point even where others would have dismissed the rumor on account of this alone as a bold-faced lie and an exaggeration. But Otanes wasn't like others, and he wished to know the truth. 

And that truth, it proves to be more than he could ever have asked for. 

For what he finds huddled in a corner in one of the abandoned back streets is a young Burmecian boy with sapphire blue eyes - and around him, a small number of icy spikes protruding from the cold stone of the paved ground. 

It would prove surprisingly difficult to speak to the boy. Not only had he obviously suffered a lot in the recent past, showing clear signs of struggles and injures, but he also seemed scared. Was it a result of the wounds whose scars still were visible? His left lower arm was covered in a dirty bandage, the right upper arm showed a nasty scar from a stab wound, and his legs seemed marred by a multitude of scars that even the short fur could not hide entirely... - had whatever had happened to the child caused this fear? 

Or was it due to the powers he had displayed, and being unable to explain them, unable to figure out what exactly had happened? Either way, the Professor wanted to find answers - and to help the poor child, if it was in his power. 

However, already the first question proved problematic. 

"What is your man, young man? Would you mind sharing it with me?" - "I don't have a name..."

It would prove to be a rocky road, trying to get the boy to talk, but eventually, Otanes managed to gain his trust. Granted, it may have taken more than just words, with the elderly man eventually needing to not only offer the starving child food, but also to show him a small part of his own magic. 

Seldom had he ever seen anyone's eyes light up this much at the sight of a small, flickering flame being conjured in his palm. 

Still, even with the boy opening up, there was much he was not willing to tell him just yet, blocking certain questions off - especially those pertaining to his home. It was obvious that he hailed from Burmecia, but if he refused to even so much as name the country, then he must hold terrible memories of the Realm of Eternal Rain. But what he learned, it was enough. 

The boy had indeed conjured ice, unwillingly perhaps, but not without aim. The desperate wish to protect someone had caused his hidden talents to show themselves, and though the result had been far from what he'd wished, he all the same succeeded with the spell. As a nine year old boy without any training, who before did not even know that he could use magic, this was an impressive feat. 

One just had to imagine what this child could achieve with proper training... 

"Very well then boy, I thank you for your time, and your answers. You are truly a fascinating young man. I will be on my way now, but before I leave, allow me to ask you one last question:" 

And with this, the man would stand up again and hold out his hand to the young Burmecian with a smile while he'd speak the words that would end up changing the young Burmecian's life forever: 

"Would you like to come with me to the Academy and study magic?"

Meanwhile, things started to look a bit bleak for Skadi in Burmecia. In the year since she had seen her son exiled, her influence had greatly diminished, with her strongest argument for keeping the nobles under her thumb thus having disappeared. After all, with her renouncing the child herself, who would still believe her if she claimed it to have been fathered by a noble, or even the King himself? No, where before such threats had been effective and infallible, they now were dangerously close to an act of treason that could see her punished herself.  

And all just because that stupid boy couldn't live up to her expectations. 

Thankfully, her status remained unchanged. The Praying Mantis was still a high-ranking general in the grand army, she still had a vast amount of soldiers loyal to her and her cause, and if need be, she could even count on a large fraction of them siding with her rather than the king.  Furthermore, she remained instated as a tutor and instructor to aspiring Dragon Knights, securing her a constant flow of fresh talents guided her way, talents that she could win for her cause no matter if they had the makings of a Dragon Knight or merely an elite soldier. 

But even so, she was painfully aware of how now, the path to regaining her nobility had been blocked off for good, her goal even less achieveable now than it ever had been. 

And now, she wouldn't even have anyone to pass her name down to, someone who could continue in her quest and return the Skadrson house to it's rightful standing... 

But Skadi Skadrson is not one for regrets. She would move forward, like she always had, and find another way.

The time at the Academy was at first hard for the young Burmecian. He was an outsider once again, the sole Burmecian attending the Academy, and furthermore, he was the new kid, and still older than the novices usually were - It was not surprising that he didn't fit in. 

But that did not bother the boy for a long time. Once the classes started, he was immediately smitten with magic, fascinated by both theory and practice, and he threw himself at the studies with all he had. Quickly, he became somewhat famous for being the kind of student that would attend absolutely any lecture he could, no matter whether it benefited him or not - a feat only one other student would mirror, one who would become his biggest rival during the years to come - and at least in the boy's eyes, his friend.

But it wasn't all solely studies and practice, for life has more to offer than this, and such was true at the Academy as well. But while others indulge in social activities, mingling with their fellow students, the Burmecian boy preferred keeping to himself - and immersed himself in book after book after book, having rediscovered his love for reading that his mother had all but extinguished with her strictness. 

Ironically, the boy found that his favorite stories were still the ones he had favored in his early childhood, back in Burmecia. The ballads of Lord Avon, the old Burmecian legends, the tales of adventures and heroics, the theater pieces... yes, even the stories his mother had read for him back when she still cared for him, he loved them all. They allowed him to dive into different worlds, to feel as though he was the hero experiencing all these wonders , that he could be just like all these legendary people. 

That he could be worth something. That people could care for him.

It was as such not surprising, that eventually, it would be the books and stories that would show their great influence on the young Burmecian, for when the current headmaster of the Academy demanded that he'd choose a name for himself, so that the people would have something to call him by, preventing them from using racial slurs instead, it is from one such legend that he chooses his name: 

"Sceada. Please call me Sceada from now on." 

Sceada - after an ancient race of lesser dragons sung about in legends. A name steeped in dragon lore thus, as though he was a dragon himself - the kind of dragon that even his mother could not slay, just like she failed to truly get rid of him. A final act of defiance against the woman that had made his life hell, even if she'd never know about it. 

Sceada... - A name that felt fitting to him, and that was all he needed.

Though he had some initial difficulties, Sceada soon became one of the best students the Academy had ever seen. His thirst for knowledge and natural curiosity served him well, driving him to study harder than anyone else in order to make up for the lost time - well, anyone but one particular young woman. 

Seshat Khnum had always been a prodigy, and was widely regarded as the biggest talent in White Magic to ever attend the Academy. She was studious, gifted, and also rather gorgeous, rendering her immensely popular with everyone. She thrived on the adoration of her peers, and gained great satisfaction from her teacher's well-earned praise. And for the longest time, she was the undisputed number one. 

And then this little rat came along. 

From the moment he was inducted into the same year in the Academy that she attended, she disliked him, no, despised him even. What right did a street rat like this have to attend the same classes that she did, to sit in the same class rooms and study under the same professors? She wanted him to fail, wanted him gone - and she was not afraid of letting him know just how poorly she thought of him. Insults were nigh daily flung at the Burmecian, and on several occasions she'd even write slurs atop his notebooks, so he'd never forget just how much beneath her he was. 

But the boy was unfazed, and within a matter of just a few months, he suddenly started to outshine and rival her.

For Seshat, this competition is both unbearable and a blessing alike. 

On one hand, the simple fact that she is no longer the one exemplary student that towered above all the others is a veritable insult to her. She, who always was the best, should now share the spotlight with another? And with this stupid rat face, on top of it all? Inconceivable, and utterly unacceptable. 

And that is precisely why it was a blessing as well. For with this upstart challenging her position now, Seshat seems herself forced to rise above him once more, and puts more effort into her studies, going so far as to attend every single class possible. 

It is ironic that thus, she winds up spending more time with her rival than anyone else will in the entire 8 years that Sceada stays in Daguerreo.

Sometimes, this unintended closeness leads to rumors spouting amidst the fellow students, especially those who do not know the aspiring White Mage well. They are mean spirited and foul, used in order to discredit the prodigy, with one even going so far as to proclaim her a rat-fucker. 

Needless to say, the rumors are false, and Seshat makes certain that those who spread it pay dearly. 

It is not without reason that some people refer to her as a future Battle Healer, or simply as brutal. For if there is one thing that Seshat Khnum knows perfectly well and has almost perfected during her studies, then it is the fact that no matter how badly she beats another student, she is capable to healing them to the point that nothing remains. No bruises, no cuts, no wounds - only the memory. 

And that memory, she finds, is often more than enough to discourage any of them to cross her again.

Over the years, Skadi Skadrson had worked hard to regain her influence and power, only to find that she would never reach the same position within Burmecia again that she once held. Granted, at by now 44 years old she had mostly eliminated the same that her son brought over her before she saw him exiled 9 years ago, and she is once again widely respected by the people, and feared by her students and Burmecia's enemies alike. Everyone knows that the Praying Mantis is a fierce, unforgiving woman, both on the battlefield and during training. 

But her political influence is all but gone. The nobles have long since stopped fearing her, no longer giving her anything to use as leverage against them, nor granting her any favors. Only a handful of them still enjoys her visits, men who have grown old with the years and do not have to fear losing their families, for they already lost them one way or another, or never had one to begin with. 

She can no longer use her body to sway those above her standing, painful as it is to realize this. It is still plenty to keep her most trusted subordinates loyal, and to gain some enjoyment from it all, but that is the limit of it now. 

But the Skadrson bloodline will end with her, much to her dismay, and without ever regaining it's nobility or rank on the council. The House founded by the legendary Skadr has fallen, and though it was not at her own hands, it still deeply pains Skadi that it would happen within her generation. 

At least she still could find purpose in battle, be it in the hunt or in defending her beloved nation from intruders. And with the ever growing rumors of Alexandria's Queen Brahne strengthening her forces, she may yet have her use in this world. 

Even if it was only to put a grief-stricken, crazed and power-hungry widow and her minions in their place.

Meanwhile, the students at Daguerreo's Academy are blissfully unaware of the crisis slowly forming on the Mist Continent. Especially those in the final year, like the 17 year old Seshat and Sceada, are too busy with preparing for their upcoming final exams to truly care about politics and rumors. Each class is set to conclude with a truly massive exam, some practical some theoretical, and not a single student hoping to pass and graduate can afford to slack off in their learning. 

Once again, the two biggest prodigies of the Academy stand out among them, needing to invest more time than anyone else due to having taken every single class they could, resulting in a plethora of exams they need to take. The number of these sizable exams is so overwhelming, that the faculty even has to readjust their planning and prolong the exam period, so that it becomes physically possible for the two to take the exams that otherwise would have overlapped. 

Some are tempted to say that this is due to the two being the favorites of several teachers, including the deputy headmaster, Professor Otanes, but most of the students are just glad that this offers them more time in between exams, and an opportunity to at least attempt and cram into their heads what they neglected to learn in the last years.

It was to be the last big competition between the two rivals. Whoever would score more points in the exams, they would be declared winner over the other - and it was a competition that not only interested the two themselves but also the student body as a whole. Bets were placed on who would prevail, whether it'd be the prodigious White Mage Seshat Khnum, or the first Burmecian Black Mage Sceada. 

Rumors had it, even some of the teachers had placed bets, no matter that they were forbidden from doing so... 

The result when it finally was announced then was incredibly close. Both had excelled in their respective fields, finishing with nigh perfect marks, leaving both the teachers and the fellow students in awe. What wound up making the difference was a measly five points - five points which Seshat scored more in Sceada's field than he did in hers. 

Five points that Seshat managed by virtue of being capable of conjuring a fireball, no matter how small and feeble it had been. Five points that Sceada was missing... because he could not cast even the simplest of healing spells. 

After 8 years of studying, there had been one thing Sceada could not master, no matter his efforts and willingness, and that was healing magic. For reasons unknown to both him and the teachers alike, it was simply impossible for him. 

And knowing that, Seshat was furious at only having scored a measly five points more than him.

That year, two of the best students the Academy of Daguerreo had ever seen would graduate, both exemplary in their field. One of them, the White Mage Seshat Khnum, would choose to stay, striving to become an instructor and mold the next generation. A generation that would look up to her, be eager to learn from her and eager in it's pursuit of knowledge and study of magic. The other, however... 

"I have read so much about the world, both ancient and current, yet I have only seen so very little of it... I wish to change that. I wish to travel and see what the world has to offer, see what remains of it's history and how it has shaped the present. And while I do so... I wish to study more types of magic." 

After all, right now, his magic knew only to destroy... - And he wanted more than that, wanted to learn how to protect people, how to save them. And perhaps, even more than that. 

It would take him years, but eventually, he would come to realize just how much he could achieve with his magic, how versatile his fine control rendered his abilities. And by that time, he would also have achieved the final, most important goal, that he left unspoken. 

And find true friends.

And so, Sceada would venture out into the world, seeking to find his own path, friends, and a place to call home. But the world he would venture into, it was not to be a quiet world, for tragedy and disaster were about to strike... 

By the hands of Queen Brahne of Alexandria and a man called Kuja, Gaia's Mist Continent had been thrown into the turmoils of war. The three great nations were all increasing the forces, recruiting more soldiers than before - yet, unbeknownst to all, it was Alexandria that had assembled a truly terrifying force, created from artificial puppets capable of casting Black Magic. A force, that was ready to lay waste to both the industrious Lindblum and the Realm of Eternal Rain... 

Yet Burmecia was unaware of the true danger looming, preparing solely for the assault of the Alexandrian military itself. General Beatrix was widely feared for her prowess in battle and as a tactician, and the threat of her troops marching upon Burmecia was enough to stir unrest in the kingdom. Quickly, the Praying Mantis, believed to be the only one currently present in the Realm that could rival the fearsome Alexandrain General, suggested to dispatch spies and prepare her troops to intercept the enemy as soon as they received words of their plans. 

A plan that was widely regarded as sufficient, and well-thought out - oh, if they had only known how foolish a believe that was... 

But without Sir Fratley, and without Lady Freya, what other options did they even still have, than to trust Skadi? Even Ser Ganymede, one of her fiercest critics in the council, agreed - while at the same time taking precautions so his beloved daughter Calisto and his wife would be safe, should the worst come to pass. 

It would prove to be the wisest decision made in Burmecia during those days.

When word returned from the spies that Alexandria was marching on the North Gate, Skadi was determined to crush the enemy decisively. She wanted more than just to repel the advancing forces, she wanted to devastate them so they would learn the bitter lesson not to mess with her and Burmecia ever again, 

For that purpose, Skadi would take every last of the elite soldiers under her command with her - an act which would prove to be a terrible mistake, as it heavily weakened Burmecia's defenses, and left the capitol bare and under-prepared for the attack that followed...

While Skadi's forces marched to the North Gate, eager to defeat the Alexandrian army, prepared to defeat them and save the day, the true Alexandrian forces, led by General Beatrix and filled to the brim with the artificially created Black Mages, took another route, one that most Burmecians would have deemed impassable: The path through Gizarmaluke's Grotto. 

But while the people of the Realm of Eternal Rain believed that their sacred Guardian would deny passage to anyone that was not welcome, that there was no way anyone could force their way through there, the Alexandrain forces did just that - and brought the legendary Guardian under their control with a spell driving it mad... 

Burmecia stood no chance. 

The meager forces that remained, led by Ser Acheron Ganymede, fought valiantly against the overwhelming strength of the Alexandrian army, but stood no chance against the Black Mages and the fire they rained down upon them. Within a single day, the city had fallen, most of it left in ruins while those able to walk among the survivors tried to flee, leaving behind their beloved city as well as those who could not leave it anymore, be they dead or stuck underneath debris. 

Ser Acheron Ganymede was among those who fell that day, but other than most of his people, he did so in honor, for it was not the foul Black Magic that took his life, but the blade of the fabled General Beatrix instead - but he was but one of a few who found such a worthy end...

Of all this, of the tragedy unfolding on their doorstep, Skadi and her men have no idea. Instead, they arrive at the North Gate, ready to face and utterly crush a giant army - only to be met with a much smaller force of the Alexandrian military. And to make matters worse, General Beatrix is nowhere in sight either... 

The battle thus, unsurprisingly, does not last long. 

The elite Dragon Knights lead the charge, crashing down on their foes with terrible might, and leave the remains to the foot soldiers to finish. Quickly, it is obvious that Skadi's plan of utterly devastating the foe is successful, and her troops allow themselves to get drunken on this fact. So much so, that they fail to realize the truth of the situation, and to notice that this whole setup had the makings of a trap. 

A trap that the oh so glorious Skadi "The Praying Mantis" Skadrson fell for hook line and sinker.

It is only after their victory at the North Gate that Skadi begins to realize that something must be wrong. 

There had been no sighting of General Beatrix, which not only denied her a honorable, fated duel with the one woman she could consider a true equal, it also signaled that this attack was not led in earnest. That there must be another force, led by her, striking somewhere else. 

There have not been many moments in the Praying Mantis' life after she got rid of her tormentor and her father in which she felt fear, but in that very moment, she was positively terrified. 

The attack on the North Gate was nothing more than a ruse, a distraction, a trap - and she had fallen for it, leading Burmecia's best men right into it and depriving her home of their strength. Strength that might be sorely needed to defend it, And it had been her fault, her fault alone. 

They needed to get back, as fast as possible. 

"MEN!! There is no time to celebrate, not yet! We must make haste, and return to Burmecia! Quickly now!!" 

But it will already be too late.

When Skadi and her men finally return to Burmecia, they find their beloved home left in ruins, and littered with the bodies of their fellow Burmecians. Their friends, their comrades, their lovers and families - everything was gone. 

Some of the men can't handle this tragedy, and break down, unable to go on. Their hope lost, their will to fight broken as there is nothing left for them to fight for. Others give in to anger instead of despair, quick to blame others for what had happened, specifically pointing their fingers - and lances - at Skadi. How could she have led them into this mess like this? How could she have done this to her fellow Burmecians, how could she have abandoned her kingdom like this?  

Quickly, unrest stirs in the once so unified troops, survivors turning on other survivors - it is a miracle that no further blood is spilt on that day, that the ruined streets of Burmecia were spared of seeing more of their children lose their life following this tragedy. 

Finally, there are also those who see but one way now, with everything else lost, who know but one desire now, consuming them like an ever-burning flame eating away at their souls: 

Revenge.

Unsurprisingly, it is Skadi herself who winds up leading those bent on revenge, giving pursuit to the Alexandrian forces while at the same time abandoning those too weak to follow her, be it from despair or actual injury. They would be useless right now, unable to keep up, forcing others to drag them with them. And Skadi Skadrson never had time from anyone or anything useless. Even now, when it would have been so important for them to stay together, when it would have been up to her to keep the remains of Burmecia together as the one people looked up to. 

But the Praying Mantis is too heartbroken over the loss of her beloved country. And how could she not be? 

After all, Burmecia had always been the only thing she truly loved.

Even though Skadi and her men gave purchase as soon as they could, they still prove to be too late, always at least a step behind the Alexandrian forces. When Odin obliterates Cleyra, they can only watch from afar, horrified at the tragedy unfolding before their eyes, unable to stop it. Many more fall into despair, abandoning Skadi and her cause altogether.

Over the course of an entire year, many more will abandon her, only those most loyal and devoted remaining at the end. Long has Queen Brahne met her end, without the Praying Mantis even so much as having had a chance to make her pay for slaughtering her brethren, and even that mysterious man Kuja appears to have been bested - by her former student Freya and her friends, as rumors would have it. And Beatrix, she soon is proclaimed an ally of those wishing to preserve the world, everyone seemingly forgetting her horrible deeds. 

Skadi is bereft of anyone to take revenge on, but finds her hunger for it unsatisfied. She still desires to make someone, anyone pay for the tragedy that befell them, for the fall of Burmecia, but by now, the feeble remainders of her once mighty army have lost faith in her. They plead her to abandon the quest, to return to Burmecia and help rebuild it, but she can't. 

Skadi Skadrson cannot fail in this quest  She cannot accept that her homeland would never be revenged, that she will never have the satisfaction of making those suffer who caused her people so much pain. 

And so, the last of her men leave her as well. 

Only she remains, a haunted woman of 45 winters, that has lost everything she ever cared for. Her green armor has lost it's shine and grown dull, and her mighty spear Brionac appears to have stopped heeding her commands, becoming little more than a regular polearm. The Praying Mantis is a broken woman, alone and abandoned., bereft of all hope. 

And one day, she simply disappears. 

Where to, no one knows. Nor whether she will ever return. And so, little more than a year after Burmecia's fall, Skadi Skadrson is pronounced death by her remaining people, her name soon fading away as the months and years will pass. 

And with that, House Skadrson finally meets its end.

Sceada has already been traveling the world on his own for over a year when he hears word of his mothers demise, and he is not certain how he should feel. 

He had already been conflicted felt conflicted when shortly after his departure from Daguerreo, he had learned of Burmecia's fall. Burmecia, which had never given him anything but sorrow and pain, was no more. Perhaps he should have felt relief at that, happiness over the fact that this wretched society that had allowed such tragedy to unfold would never again cause an innocent child such suffering. But he does not, he cannot feel relieved, for too many have lost their lives in this horror. 

Should he then rather feel sad at having lost the home he never could return to anyhow, feel sad for how he now, even if he were allowed to return, wouldn't have a place to return to anymore? The mark etched into his left lower arm with blood red ink, the mark that still burned like on the day he received it, it renders him unable to cry tears on Burmecia's behalf. The only tears the mark can call forth are one's of deep pain and sorrow, of a panic greater than any other he'll ever endure, and that is why he keeps it hidden under bandages at all times. 

Yes, Burmecia's fall has left the young man of 18 winters conflicted - and so does his mother's apparent death once he hears of it. Yet there is one emotion this news stirred within him, one feeling that both frightens and upsets him, for he does not wish to be that kind of man. 

For he feels anger at being robbed of his chance to ever make her pay for what she did, feels betrayed, robbed of this chance he deserved. 

Little does he know that somewhere, far away, Skadi yet lives, having fled Gaia after it became to painful to live on.

Three years had Sceada already been traveling, always alone on the road, with no friends to rely on or spend time with, nor with a place to call home. It was not rare for him to arrive in a city or village and immediately be shunned, humans proving to be far less understanding of a Burmecian travelling their lands than he had hoped, and it was difficult, earning money. 

But he was used to it. 

Sleeping outside, under the clear skies, had not been a punishment or a shortcoming for him, even if it lacked the comfort of a real bed or the protection an inn or even just a tent could offer. It was fine all the same, nothing to worry too much about - and at the very least, he could see the stars above as he'd fall asleep, finding comfort in the sight. 

Similarly, he had never been a picky eater, being fine with nearly anything, so long as it was edible. That meant he could fine food in the woods by himself just fine, only occasionally needing to buy provisions like bread or cheese - both of which having proven themselves to be ideal provisions for a wanderer like him. 

Yes, it may not have been a glorious or easy life, but it was a good life all the same. It was his life, his alone, and only he decided where it went. And that was a very freeing and rewarding feeling, to say the least. 

Yet no matter how much he wished to pretend that everything was going well, there was one thing he could not deny. 

It was lonely, living like this, and not having a place to return to someday was not helping this in the slightest

It is a rainy day, when Sceada for the first time meets someone that is actually interested in him, someone that doesn't turn away and that maybe, just maybe, he could consider a friend. Yet after years of travelling on his own, he is not one to easily trust just yet - especially not when the one that winds up sitting at the same table as he does is a fellow Burmecian. 

Lady Freya Crescent of Burmecia, a Dragon Knight like his mother had been, and as he learned, once even a student of hers - it is no wonder that Sceada struggles to build any trust, that he is anxious, apprehensive, reserved towards the honorable woman, towards one of the heroes that saved this world from destruction. 

And yet still... 

Despite his reservations against Dragon Knights and Burmecians, he finds Freya sympathetic of his struggles however, the at least a decade older woman even revealing her own scorn ot the Praying Mantis - and inviting him to drink with her. 

It will be the first time that Sceada will get drunk, finding his resistance to alcohol to be uncharacteristically low for a Burmecian - and it will be the first time in a long, long time that he will sleep in a bed, finding proper rest for once.

It is half a year later, with Sceada still being 20 years old, that he decides to test his abilities as a mage. Having never been one who enjoyed hurting others, it proves to be a fortunate opportunity when the annual Festival of the Hunt is announced to take place in Lindblum, and eager to show his worth, the young Burmecian promptly signs up. 

It is a fierce competition, with various foes and monsters to face that are bound to strike fear into most people. And though the start proves rocky, with a trio of Bombs chasing the Black Mage through the streets of the Theater District, Sceada surprisingly soon proves himself to be a contender for the win. 

The decisive moment that puts him in the lead even comes, when he joins a battle against the fearsome Earth Eater, and surprisingly manages to land the finishing blow after finding a way around the monster's magical defenses. But what truly secures him the win, is a battle unlike any he ever fought before - a battle that he, by all means, lost. Even if he winds up defeating the creature. 

It is the battle against a Malboro.

The foul beast takes him by surprise, it's bad breath dizzying his mind and dulling his senses. Quickly, he appears to be at the creatures mercy, unable to see anything, collapsed to the floor and with a tentacle wrapping itself around his leg. The monster aims to eat him, devour him, but he cannot just allow this to happen. 

But what can he do in this situation, unable to see anything, including his target? Could he really aim a spell at it then? 

He can, even if not directly. But by using his leg as a helpful mark in feeling just where the creature's tentacle had grabbed him, he is given the opportunity to aim a spell in such a fashion that it would hit the beast for certain. 

Even if it means aiming at his own leg. 

The pain when the icicles pierce not only the tentacle but his flesh as well is excruciating, and renders him unable to flee - and thought the Malboro retracted it's tentacle briefly, it is not driven away, but rather angered. 

And so the inevitable happens, when the beast grabs it's prey's arms and waist with it's tentacles - and devours the Burmecian in one gulp. 

Only his hat is left behind...

It is minutes later when the Burmecian awakens again, disoriented and his head dizzy from both the fumes and the pain. He doesn't know where he is, only seeing darkness, and laying in a pool of an acidic liquid - gastric acid, as he soon realizes. 

Had he... had he been eaten... ? He must have been... So this... this would be his end...? 

No... No, it cannot be.... it cannot end like this.... he cannot just die her, not like this... He has to survive... somehow, anyhow... there must be a way... 

It is in this delirious and confused state that Sceada manages to tap into powers he would have thought unimaginable. It is a part of him that desperately wants to survive, that would do anything to achieve that goal - even if it puts himself at risk of dying as well. 

"Firaja..." 

When the mighty fire spell explodes inside the beast's stomach, igniting the gas within immediately, the ensuing blast is the last thing the Bumecian would remember before losing consciousness....

Later, some people would find the scattered remains of the Malboro littering the street, charred from the enormous blast that ripped it asunder. A gruesome sight, that was not fit for those with a weak stomach. And in the middle of the blast radius, the helpers would find a pool of spilt gastric acid - and a young Burmecian man whose clothes had been scorched and the pale grey skin burned. 

It took him several days to regain his consciousness, days in which the Festival found it's end - with Sceada's unexpected win. 

1'000'000 Gil were his price, money which he would save and not use for better food or accommodations - and once he was healthy enough, he would be sent to Besaid, where many of the other participants and spectators already went to in order to relax and rest after the Festival. 

It is on that trip where Sceada will finally meet true friends, and that his eyes will be opened about his own worth, where he will realize just how much he could do with his magic.

It is on Besaid where his journey will truly start anew - a journey that he would be able to share with friends.

~~~~~~

#Muse Info #The Praying Mantis #The Story of Skadi and Sceada #tw: rape #tw: murder #tw: child abuse #tw: child neglect #tw: negativity