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tuwam · 3 years

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waves.

@urianius ( every time i write its always fucking au’s )

human were ugly.

not in the attractive - unattractive sort of way, but in a way that made ahyeon - confused. confused as to why her sister would leave them - her - for everything they had. why her sister would succumb to a lifestyle like that for one of them.

maybe it’s the legs. she’s often spent time thinking - pondering what the reason could be. what reason could areum have for forfeiting all that she knew and essentially all that she was for a human. to be fair, the legs weren’t the reason areum thought they were ugly and neither was her disdain that they’d stolen her sister away from her...

well, it was most of the problem.

it was all of the problem.

she just didn’t understand it.

but she holds no malice towards her sister, that’s why she finds herself here, settled in a cove by the shallowest parts of the beach, watching her sister each time she brings her beloved out to sea. she misses it, of that ahyeon can tell. areum still misses the sea, she misses the wind less in her hair and the feeling of the water along her skin - along her tail. it’s been hard to get used to seeing her sister like this, without something that she’d grown up with - something that it quite literally a part of them. for the moment, ahyeon supposes the smile on her face makes it worth it.

they are hugging, he’s gentle with her, her human and it makes ahyeon smile despite her initial distrust of him. he keeps hugging areum around her stomach and for that reason, today her sister glows and perhaps she can acquiesce her confusion. perhaps she’s so lost in how her sister looks, how she smiles, how she laughs and how it carries in the air instead of under the water. perhaps being that lost is how she’s caught off-guard.

‘what are you doing?’ she hears the voice before she’d even noticed the presence and even as she registers the words it’s pointless to dive under the water.

she’s been spotted.

she does submerge the majority of her body under though, hoping the shadows will hide whatever edges of her tail might have peeked out. there’s water up to her neck and she uses this stance to turn and face the perpetrator.

it’s a human - naturally. a young man, probably a few years younger than her own sister’s beloved. the tan on his skin alludes to a life that’s probably too close to her own. it alludes to fear rattling in her skin, of boys running along docks, screaming and pointing at her as she swims for life - for mercy. ahyeon holds still - her eyes narrowing to slits as she takes him in. he doesn’t move, just remains by the edge of the rocks, barefoot and not quite as wide-eyed as usual. maybe he hasn’t seen all of her yet? she hopes.

she breathes.

“i’m minding my business.”

the human tongue isn’t too hard, she’d taken to learning it after her sister begged for help with practicing. most of it was learned anyway for safety, the rest picked up for nights when they’d sit and listen to sailors, unaware and unsuspecting. it was amusing - feeling how her lips would move against the air, taste the salt the way it would taste it in the water. ahyeon didn’t mind it though she doesn’t fancy having to actually use it.

‘no - you’ve been watching my mate since sundown.’ his mate? ahyeon would connect the dots later, she’s more concerned with how long he’s been watching - and how much he’s seen. “which means you’ve been watching me since i watched him.” her eyes narrow, his brow raises.

‘wanted to make sure you weren’t planning anything.’ “why would i have anything planned?” he shrugs, her skin prickles. ‘i don’t know what mermaids do - i only hear things.’

mermaid. it’s the word humans have for her kind. it’s also the confirmation that she’s been spotted. she needs to get away fast - but how far can she get before he alerts someone, how does she know there’s no trap ready for her already. she could call to areum - try to get their attention, try to win his favor. it clicks just then - that this boy had said it so nonchalant, when she’s used to quite the opposite. the yelling, the nets, the chaos and the fear licking at the air at the sight of her tail. he’d done none of the sort.

“where’s the net - i’m sure it’s waiting just outside the cove?” ‘what would i need with a net?’ “i don’t know why you humans do it - you just do it.”

it’s a habit their kind has - of attacking and picking apart anything different, anything they don’t understand. it makes her sick. no one sees her kind trapping humans and throwing them in nets and tying them to posts of castles and walls.

‘i don’t have a net with me, and i don’t have one waiting somewhere.’ “i don’t trust you.” he shrugs at that and once more her skin bristles. she wants to get out of here, she doesn’t want to take her eyes off him but she wants to survey, wants to peek back at areum - weigh her options. if it’ll be the last time she sees her sister, if she wants a reminder that areum is not the outlier, that maybe she’ll be safe. she wants to do something but his eyes don’t leave her.

“what...what are you staring at?” ‘can i see it...your tail i mean?’

ahyeon’s eyes go so wide they almost reach her eyebrows.

“you - no - you can’t just - no.” she feels heat cloud her cheeks and she sinks further and further into the water until it covers up to her nose.

this human was weird.

‘why not?’ “why are you still here?” ‘never met a mermaid before.’

there’s that shrug again, he has the nerve to look relaxed. he has the nerve to just stand like they’re having a casual conversation, like she doesn’t feel trapped in place right now. of course he does - no one’s ever heard of a mermaid trapping a human on land. she wants to take the second, just one second to flit and swim away. she could make it too, but his eyes seemed glued on her. they almost look - fascinated. it makes the heat move to her neck and shoulders and she’s almost glad she’s submerged further in the water.

‘are you okay?’ “what.” ahyeon’s tone is clipped, her hands gripped around her torso, her tail reflexively flicking the tip of the water. his brows furrow and for the first time the human’s expression changes into worry. it’s so obviously worry and it confuses her. it’s concerning. ‘...are you scared?’ there’s so much innocence in her voice she’ll admit she’s never heard a human man sound like that. she’s only heard the deep bellow before the bellow of a gun or the slice of an arrow through the air.

ahyeon doesn’t like to admit it but it’s the truth. it has to be the truth because of the nature of who he is and who she is. the history between her species and his, the stories, despite the love in her sister’s eyes, the history of bloodshed and nightmare tales to keep them away from the shore. she felt the fear so deep in her bones and she tried to hide it. she sinks further, now only her eyes visible from the water. she wants to escape how apologetic he looks, how gentle the words that he’s stumbling over start to look.

‘you’re - you’re not trapped here. you can go.’ they’re so gentle, she wonders if this is the lie that men hear when her kind sings. her head shakes the thought away. ‘i promise there’s nothing out there.’

she hears more yelling and her body freezes, she watches him stiffen as a name is called in the distance. she won’t have time to flee - they’ll see her.

‘catch!’ she barely has time to react before a cloth is thrown in her direction, covering her head and sitting atop the water as she lowers herself into the water. she can make out the sounds of other men, probably his age, as they inch closer. she can make out the words seconds later.

‘------ we’ve been waiting -----’ ‘----was gonna swim ----- catch up later ----’ she hears his voice among it. she hears laughter, a little nervous, she can almost hear the smile he has, though it’s not as wide as it could be. she hears a word thrown around, dong-hyuck. she doesn’t move though, and lets what can filter through the tiny space between her head and the shirt filter what it can. there’s more chatting and then the sounds start to fade.

‘you still there?’ his voice is a whisper, it’s arguably closer now but it’s a few minutes later, almost like he’s given her heart time to breathe after the voices died out. ahyeon didn’t know she needed it but she definitely used it. ‘they’re gone, but you should head out before more ships dock.’ it’s said when her head starts to peek further up from the waters, his shirt clinging heavy and soaked atop her head. he’s laughing, and she gets a better look at him from where he’s standing now. he’s not much taller than her sister’s beloved, though much tanner, the same kind of smile though. it’s off-putting, goofy is the word areum had used.

‘sorry about the shirt, i lied and told them i was going for a swim.’ ahyeon’s taking the time to carefully remove it from her head, hands holding it close as her fingers play with the fabric. ‘what’s wrong - did it hit something?’

“you lied - why?” ‘you don’t want to be seen right?’

her sister’s beloved had been nice, nice since the first day they’d laid eyes on one another as ahyeon recalls. but he was still considered an outlier, not all human men were that nice so it’s baffling to ahyeon that she’s coming across one who seems to be of the same caliber.

‘i’m sorry.’ “what for?” ‘i saw a peek of your tail when you hid.’ this human was weird. ‘it’s - it’s really pretty.’ really weird. that same heat from before threatens to cross over her shoulders again and ahyeon is at a loss for words. ‘go - you’ve gotta get far away before they come looking again. i don’t fancy a pretty maiden watching me get tossed in the ocean.’ he smiles again and ahyeon is sure it’s panic at the prospect of more coming that makes her heart leap so she dives so fast under the water that the image distorts under the bubbles of the waves. she swims as far as she needs to in order to feel safe, out near where the ocean peeks as a horizon to everyone else.

but just enough, to see his figure among the rocks.

she swears she can still see the smile, swears she even sees him wave and she’s slipping under again, her tail the only indication of a wave back. just because maybe - maybe he isn’t so bad.

and maybe humans aren’t that ugly.

#{ w: ahyeon. }#urianius #au.

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sea-and-storm · 4 years

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FFXIV WRITE 2020: Muster (#3)

Naught but the sound of waves lapping against the Wavecutter's hull outside the port window filled the silence that hung between Arukh and Ghoa as the latter intently focused upon changing his bandages. It had been much the same the previous evenings that she had done so, scarcely more than a handful of words spoken between them and all pertaining solely to how his recovery was progressing. Though she hadn't been cold or unkind towards him in those times, there was no denying the awkwardness as she pointedly ignored the figurative elephant in the room: that he was family she had never known to exist, and had likely never expected to meet.

At first, after the revelation on his part, the older Mankhad was resolved to let her come to him. He hadn't doubted that she had innumerable questions, and it was only fair that he answer them, no matter how difficult the answers might have been to give and receive. It was a lot for one person to handle, especially so abruptly, and so he wished not to force such emotion and discomfort upon her. And indeed, it seemed after that first night the subject had been delicately traipsed around that his instinct not to press the matter rang true.

The second night, he had suspected that the questions would finally come. Yet again, however, Ghoa had only asked how he felt and saw to the wounds that the Jhungid witch's shadows had inflicted upon him. No mention of their relation or their family or their people. Admittedly, he thought it surprising, if not a touch strange that Ghoa still seemed to be avoiding the subject. But maybe, he supposed, she only needed more time to process what had happened, what it meant. Maybe she needed more time to even decide what her questions were to begin with. After all, she couldn't have come to that cove prepared to ask them, no more than he had been prepared to have them asked. And so, once more, he let it be and simply bade her a good night's rest.

Now on the third night, Arukh was all but certain that the conversation would finally be upon them. Tomorrow they would disembark and make their trek to the ruins, and surely Ghoa knew as well as he that there would likely be no time for such conversations once they set out. If they were ever to discuss it, then tonight would be their last guaranteed chance to do so.

However, when his sister came to his room at her usual hour, things had proceeded much the same as they had the nights prior. There was a bit more pensiveness about her as she worked, he had observed, and perhaps even a hint of conflict. So he waited for her to finally broach the subject, and waited, and waited..

"Well then," she sighed as she finished tying off the last of the fresh bandages. "The wounds could stand a bit more time and rest, truly, but given that both are luxuries currently in short supply.. It seems to me that you should be fit enough for what's to come on the morrow." She flashed him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she stood from the cot. "Rest well, Arukh."

He stared in disbelief as she turned from him and started towards the door, and in his shock, she had nearly slipped out of the room entirely before he found his voice again.

"Ghoa," he called out after her as her hand reached out for the door.

Perhaps as if anticipating the very words about to come out of his mouth, she froze there in place. Her posture changed, tension slowly taking root across her shoulders. Her hand lingered upon the knob for a tick, two ticks, three.. before it finally fell away, and she turned back towards him.

"Yes..?" She answered, hesitation palpable. "Is aught amiss?"

Arukh paused then, a momentary pang of guilt arising in his stomach. It was clear that she still held reservations, and he knew it was not his place to force them from her. Yet he could not fathom why she would seemingly surrender what perhaps might have been her only chance to get the answers to questions that he knew she had to harbor. That he would survive this excursion was no guarantee, after all. If he were lost, then she had to understand that those answers would very well die with him. The only explanation that made any sense to him was that she was afraid of what those answers might be, and while he certainly could not fault her for such, neither could he sit idly by as what may have been her singular opportunity for clarity slipped through her fingers without him having said a word.

"Three suns and you've not asked the first question of me," he began, his tone carefully even and bereft of judgment. She flinched ever so slightly, and her gaze averted across the room. Sensing another evasion eminent, he added in a voice that betrayed his pleading, "You must know that if you do not ask them now, then you may never--"

"Stop."

Ghoa's interruption had come so suddenly and unexpectedly, with such conviction that his words, indeed, died on his lips. Brows lofted, he stared at her, and finally her silver gaze turned back to meet his as a grimace twisted her lips.

"I haven't asked because I cannot afford to," Ghoa began, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "What we are soon to be walking into, it requires all of us to be at our best." She inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled through her nose as her eyes closed, taking a moment to steady the quavering of her voice before she pressed on. "And there are people that will be counting on me -- with their lives, perhaps -- to be prepared for it.

"I already know well how that which calls those ruins home is wont to prey upon whatever weaknesses are harbored within a person's mind, and there is plenty else which already haunts me without giving the darkness yet more to sup upon. These questions of mine, of which there are assuredly plenty, must wait until the danger is passed. I've no other choice lest I wish to put myself and those I seek to protect endangered." Her gaze softened, and her shoulders slumped in resignation. "It has taken me three suns now to muster up my courage to make my peace with the knowledge that a lifetime of questions may forever go unanswered. So please, Arukh, leave it be.. I don't know if I have within me the resolve to deny myself this opportunity a second time."

The silence between them returned again; brief this time, in actuality, though it seemed to Arukh to last a lifetime. It was not simply anger or indignation or even sadness that stilled his tongue now, but a lack of words altogether as he struggled to voice that which her words stirred in him. Perhaps it was foolishness, he realized, now that he had to be again reminded that Ghoa had never needed anybody else to find her strength for her. He had watched her grow within an isolated childhood, bereft of the warmth and support of family, into a capable young woman. He had witnessed the indignities she had suffered at Kharlu hands, as well as her dsring escape from them atop a stolen mare in the dead of night. Hearing her own words now, he could only imagine all else which she had endured in the years since that he had not been present to witness.

It was not fear that stopped her at all, as it never had. It was selflessness.

"You speak of weakness in yourself, but I believe you to be far stronger than what you give yourself credit for," he finally managed, a hint of pride lacing his words and a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I understand. These words shall wait, and I'll do all within my power to ensure that we both have the opportunity to speak them once all is settled."

The tired, anxious look that had taken up residence on her familiar features gave way first to relief, then to warmth as she mirrored his smile with her own.

"And I shall do the same," she agreed. "So let us both now put this out of mind and get our rest. There shall be plenty of time after for us to get properly acquainted."

#ffxivwrite2020 #prompt 3: muster #ghoa mankhad #arukh mankhad #GHOA AND BIG BROA #been sitting on this drabble for a hot minute #glad to finally get it out #now i cant wait for mr. arukh 'my rolls are cursed' mankhad to die #before they get to continue this conversation #calling it now #cigarettes & fireflies #c&f

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agwitow · 4 years

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The Rites

[I started a new story, to go along with the world building I did earlier... it’s not getting any current WIPs closer to completion, but it feels good to be writing again]

Along the broken cliffs that cradled Wilsevain Cove, where progressively smaller spits of rock trickled out into the ocean, a lone mer lay out of sight of any humans. She let her braid trail in the water while the sun and wind dried her skin. Her nixies played in the light surf as gentle waves splashed against the rock, and she savoured the peace she only ever found between the mer and human worlds.

Jana!

The shivering sound of her name floating through the water brought a sigh to her lips. Her time hiding from responsibilities was at an end. She clicked softly to her nixies and rolled into the water. The silvery little fish burrowed back into the heavy braid of hair and she waited only a moment to ensure they’d all made it before diving below the surface.

She knew the sound of her elder sister’s song, and also knew her sister would be at the caves, too scared to venture out of them. Small groups of mer tended to Amelisn’s crops in the seabed around the cave entrances. The fields of kelp, seagrass, algae, and soft corals stretched away from the cliffs until the ground dropped away into true oceanic depth. Most of the farmers ignored her as she swam past.

Sure enough, Amelie waited for her just inside the First Cave.

Where have you been? Amelie demanded, her song full of sharp clicks.

I was just bathing, Sister.

Amelie’s dark eyes widened and the pargills on either side of her nose flared. Outside of Amelisn? What if a human saw you?

Jana’s eyes darted to the scars crisscrossing her sister’s arms, torso, and tail. They were an unnatural white against the near-black of her skin, and took on a sickly green tint as they cut through the green and blue scales on her tail. Though she chafed at her sister’s fears, she could not discount them. I was careful, she sang as soothingly as she could. No humans fish near the broken rocks.

Amelie’s eyes flashed. That is almost worse! If any of their merchant ships saw you there, you’d have led them almost to our doors!

Jana could feel the vibrations in her throat wanting to burst forth to argue, but she forced them aside. Ever since Amelie and their mother had been caught in the steel-spiked nets of fisherman from Leualam, Amelie had been terrified of humans. That their mother had not escaped only added to the fear. She remembered her own fear, eight years ago, when Amelie had dragged herself back to the caves, torn and bleeding. The pain of losing their mother was intense, but Jana still believed what her mother had taught them—that mer and humans could learn to live peacefully together.

Neither Amelie, nor their father, agreed.

I’m sorry, was all she could sing. The air chambers are just so stuffy.

But safe.

Why were you looking for me?

Amelie narrowed her eyes, but didn’t comment on the change in topic. It is time for you to choose your Rite.

Jana grabbed her sister’s hands and spun with her. I get to choose my Rite?!

She jerked her hands back, tail fluttering to still the spinning. Of course you do. It is forbidden for even the King to remove a mer’s choice from them.

Father never told me that before.

Amelie ran a hand self-consciously over the scars near her hip. Why would it matter? You certainly wouldn’t think of taking the Human Rite.

Jana faltered for a moment. She had always wanted to take the Human Rite—to walk amongst the humans as one of them was a dream of hers since she was a calf—but fewer and fewer mer chose it. Ever since Queen Salana, her mother, had been captured. How many more years before none chose it at all? How many beyond that before there stopped being a choice?

Do you…do you ever regret choosing the Sea Rite?

Amelie stiffened. How can you ask me that? I would sooner cut off my own tail than ever willingly spend a moment in a human’s presence.

She nodded. She hadn’t really expected anything else from her sister, though she would have liked for her to have paused to at least think about it for a moment. She tried to imbue her song with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel, What must I do to prepare?

Go to the nixies garden to be cleansed. I will meet you there with your adornments.

Jana nodded her understanding and swam through the water-filled channels cut into the cliff. Most had started out as natural cave formations, but generations upon generations of mer living in Amelisn expanded them into a beautiful web of tunnels and rooms. A little over ten thousand mer made their homes in the city, with another several thousand living nearby. It was one of the largest city-kingdoms in the ocean, though there were multi-city kingdoms with many more mer.

Despite the size and complexity of the cave systems, mer who grew up in the city rarely had trouble navigating. The twists and turns were as familiar as one’s own scales. And so it didn’t take her long to reach the nixie garden—a large, shallow cave with a thick coating of seagrass along the bottom, and a series of small holes in the ceiling that let in tiny bits of fresh air and sunlight.

Her own nixies mingled with those that lived in the garden, either because they were too young or too old to be paired to a mer, or because their mer was away where it would be harmful for the little fish. Within moments, a swarm of nixies surrounded her. Their flexible fins gripped her while their beak-like mouths nibbled along the skin, clearing away any bits of debris or spores that she might have collected outside of the caves. It didn’t take long for the swarm to make her feel like a fresh-scrubbed calf.

Amelie arrived shortly afterward. Even in the safety of Amelisn, she flinched away from the tiny shafts of sunlight. For you. Her song was distorted when sang in the air, but it still held a tremor of her emotion.

Jana carefully took the kelp-wrapped bundle and laid out the items. The kelp itself turned out to be a delicately woven shawl, made with a pattern like the way light and shadows dappled across rock when the sun bounced off the surface of water. Wrapped inside, she found beautiful coral cuffs that strapped to her arms and covered her from wrist to elbow. Careful swirls were carved into the surface, and strange rocks half the size of her palm sat in the center. The rocks were almost clear, with a yellow tint that glowed like fire when they caught the light.

Humans call it amber, Amelie explained when she caught Jana’s questioning look. Mother said an ancient human king had given it to her great-grandmother as a sign of peace between our people.

Jana wanted to ask how she could have so little hope of peace when they held the promise of it in their hands. Instead, her heart swelled at the thought that these beautiful adornments had been their mother’s. Did…did you wear these during your Rite?

Amelie nodded. Just as you will, and just as any daughters we have will.

Thank you, Amelie, she sang, throwing her arms around her sister. It was a childish gesture, but if the eve before her Rite wasn’t an appropriate time to be a little childish, she didn’t want to know. After a moment’s hesitation, Amelie returned the embrace.

Yes, well…a mer only turns twenty-three once.

She burbled happily and slipped the cuffs onto her arms, tying them in place with bleached kelp laces. Amelie helped drape the shawl across a shoulder and wrap it around her torso. It felt strange to be so covered—most adornments were chains or ropes that looped around arms and body—but she couldn’t help feeling proud in the cuffs and shawl. They were symbols of her family’s status and history. They were a symbol of the status of Amelisn itself.

Amelie cupped her cheeks, as if she were a calf, and pressed their foreheads together. After, she led her out of the nixies garden. They traveled at a leisurely pace toward the throne room where their father and the Elders would be waiting. The Rite was a sacred thing that symbolized a mer’s progression from youngling to adult. Each and every mer who called Amelisn home had the chance to go before King, Elders, and family to choose a Rite.

Though the only two that had been performed in living memory were the Human and the Sea Rites, there were technically six possible choices. But given that the Human Rite entailed living amongst the humans, as one of them, for a month, and that the Sea Rite involved communing with the Vast Goddess and her emissaries, the others didn’t sound appealing. Fire, Blood, Steel, and Dark Rites. No one talked about what they were. Which only added to the sense that they were dangerous and to be avoided.

Jana wasn’t even sure if the Elders still remembered how to perform any of them.

But then…what if they weren’t as bad as they sounded? The Human Rite was well on its way to joining the others in being shunned by her fellow mer, and she knew it was just as valid as the Sea Rite. Was there some young mer, on their way to choose generations ago, that had thought similar things about any of the other Rites? Had they worried what would happen when the mer stopped performing those Rites entirely?

Her troubled thoughts were brought to an end when they came to the Royal Hall. Rounded squares of specially grown coral were carefully placed throughout the chamber. Each held a small orb which emitted soft blue light. Though the orbs could be made to emit white, yellow, or even green light, most mer she knew preferred the blue. Though few places in Amelisn were able to have orbs. They were too hard to make. So those places unable to have sunlight filtered to them were only ever seen through echolocation. The Royal Hall, though…well, its beauty was famed across the ocean.

The entrance was an archway carved to look like leaping dolphins. Orb light wreathed the shapes in a gentle glow that called a mer forward, into the room itself. Both sides of the chamber were carved to resemble giant clams, shells open in invitation. Cushions of the finest woven kelp lined the shells, and large faux-pearls glittered like moonlight in each one, making the carvings look all the more real. The far wall was entirely covered by a mosaic of gleaming stones. They depicted the Vast Goddess leading their ancient ancestors to the caves that would become Amelisn.

In the centre of the room was a piece of coral so large it must have been grown there, though no coral Jana had ever seen grew into such a perfectly round, smooth-topped surface. But the off-white colour and complex pattern of former polyps made it doubtful that it had also been carved. Precious stones and pearls ringed the edge of the table, while a circle of lacey fabric protected the surface from the heavy objects resting on top of it.

Six Elders waited around the table, with her father, the King, in the middle, directly opposite the entrance. The crown of tooth and bone atop his head was a reminder that he was acting as her King, and not her father, in this ceremony. It pained Jana a little that the only family there to witness it would be her sister. No mother, no aunts or uncles, no cousins. And poor Amelie would have had no one when she’d gone through it five years prior.

Come, Jana, daughter of Nian, daughter of Salana, it is time to leave the shallow pools of youth for the ocean that is adulthood, one of the Elders sang. His voice was deep and rumbled through the water.

Jana moved forward until she reached the near edge of the table. She looked across at her father and felt a frisson of fear slice through her. His dark eyes bored into her while his jaw clenched. The tightness in his shoulders suggested he was angry, but she hadn’t done anything wrong, had she?

There are many paths before you, youngling, another Elder sang, drawing Jana’s attention away from her father. No one may make this choice for you.

Her gaze darted back to her father, then to where Amelie waited off to the side. Both looked tense and angry. How could they be angry when she hadn’t announced her choice yet? The realization that it wasn’t anger, but fear, shook her. They were scared she would choose the Human Rite. And she’d certainly planned to, but already the fear in their faces was so close to anger. She doubted anything good would come of her choosing it.

So much for no one making the choice for her.

The Six Rites were given to us by the Vast Goddess. Each with a purpose.

Jana’s attention snapped back to the Elders. Something told her this wasn’t the usual song given to younglings. The confusion on Amelie and her father’s faces said it also wasn’t one reserved for royalty either.

The Sea Rite, bestowed so we may know the Vast Goddess’s love for us, will bring you wisdom and peace.

Another Elder continued, so smoothly they could have been the original singer. The Human Rite, granted so we may know our neighbours above, will grow your insight and compassion.

The Fire Rite, a third sang without any pause or hesitation, was given so we might discover our desires, will ignite hidden talents.

That was more than Jana had ever heard before, but the Elders didn’t pause to even let the information sink in.

The Blood Rite, gifted so we may remember all of Her creatures, will bind you more closely to the sea.

The deep-voiced Elder sang, The Steel Rite, imparted so we might protect all we hold dear, will sow the seeds of courage in your heart.

The Dark Rite, presented so we might truly know ourselves, will reveal all truths held within your soul, the final Elder sang.

As one, they concluded, Choose.

Jana sucked water through her pargills, desperately needing a moment to still the spinning of her mind. Each Rite called to her. She could almost feel the possibilities before her, as if each path was as tangible as the next. Wisdom, compassion, talent, courage, and knowledge. Each offered something she wanted. Each offered something she felt was important to Amelisn as a whole.

Her gaze settled on her father and the increasing tension in his face and body. Her heart sank. There was only one choice she could make.

Sea.

A collective sigh rippled through the Elders and one sang, So it has been decided. The youngling will come with us to the Vast Goddess’s Sanctuary.

Her father frowned. Can she not travel in the morn?

The Elder shook her head. The Goddess calls to her. We cannot gainsay what She wishes.

The Goddess? The Vast Goddess was calling to her? She still felt that slight tug toward the other Rites, but that wasn’t Her influence. Was it? Jana might have been a princess, but she was still an ordinary mer. Why would the Goddess herself have any interest in her? Especially when the Sea Rite was all about communing with Her. Wouldn’t that be enough?

I…but, she’s so young, her father sang, the worry clicking through both the sound and the sharp moments of his hands.

Her destiny, if she chooses it, does not wait for age, one of the other Elders sang sadly.

Jana frowned. There seemed to be something her father understood about all the strangeness, which she wasn’t grasping. None of it made sense. She wasn’t even a particularly devout mer!

Before she could voice her protests and questions, the Elders were bustling her out of the Royal Hall. She tried several times to sing, but the Elders quickly hushed her before she could get more than the first note of a song out. It wasn’t until they exited Amelisn through an old cave that they allowed her to sing.

I don’t understand what’s going on. Please, can one of you explain…anything?

The Elders kept a steady pace as they followed a winding path through wild kelp and seagrass, but the deep-voiced one at least answered, The Goddess has shown us that you are important to Her. Though we don’t know why, She has filled us with a sense of urgency.

When? How? WHY?

He shook his head. Without partaking of the Sea Rite ourselves, we have no further answers than this.

Partaking of the…? Jana had always thought a mer could only do a single Rite—it was why choosing one was such a milestone in a mer’s life. But the way the Elder spoke, it sounded as if they wouldn’t think anything of completing another Rite.

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#writing #writeblr #nanowrimo #fantasy #mermaid #excerpt #myscribbles

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xmagicxshopx · 5 years

Text

Kill Me, Save Me - Prologue

Genre: Fantasy Adventure, Romance, Comedy Rating: PG-13 Warnings: brief smut and light swearing Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Jimin x oc, Taehyung x oc Notes: pirate!bts au. Not idol!bts. Same goes for EXO. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: So I personally don’t swear or curse so writing some of this was awkward for me. XD

Summary: You’re not just one of the seven legendary pirate lords, but you’re also the captain of the only all-female pirate crew to sail the seven seas. You’ve spent years pillaging and plundering. But now your time is up. A curse. There’s only one thing that can save you. A great treasure. But what happens when Bangtan are after the very same thing?

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Well look who’s here. Decided to stop by, did you?”

“Go away, V. I’m not in the mood.”

“So to what do I owe the greatest pleasure of having your lovely presence in my tavern?”

The raven haired female groaned audibly in annoyance as she sat there hunched over with a glass half full in her hand. No one knew her real name but she went by Crow. She earned the nickname because of her beautiful long black hair and the way it was styled and cut.

Right now all she wanted to do was fly away. The male beside her, who went by V, never failed to get on her last nerve. Even his nickname ticked her off. He claimed it meant V for Victory. Pfft. As if. With a roll of her eyes, the female knocked back the rest of her drink only to have the annoying owner so very kindly order her another round. He once again tried to start up conversation.

“Where’s your captain?”

“Find Jungkook and you’ll probably find her.”

“And Sunny?”

“Probably off somewhere with Jimin. Who knows. I’m not their keeper.”

“My my. Someone’s awfully cranky tonight.”

“You make me cranky, V.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt.”

“Not sorry.”

The two pirates sat there in silence but it didn’t last nearly long enough for Crow’s liking. She wanted to scream in frustration when his annoying voice sounded in her ear once more.

“So then you’re probably not gonna share any gossip with me?”

“If you’re referring to the map, my lips are sealed. I’m not betraying my captain like that.”

“Come on, babe. Betrayal is such a strong word. And besides, I’d protect you from her girly wrath.”

“You underestimate us, V. How very foolish of you.”

“Not budging are you?”

“Nope.”

“Soooo.....then that’s probably a no on the sex too, right?”

Needless to say, Crow made that last drink he ordered for her count. For as she so casually walked towards the exit to his tavern, she couldn’t help but smirk back at his dumbfounded expression; hair dyed a peachy color falling in his face and over his perfectly circular glasses (that he didn’t even need mind you). Drenched in his own alcohol.

The Black Crow was no pushover.

Meanwhile.......

“Just----”

A thrust causing your back to hit the door particularly hard.

“Tell me----”

Another delicious thrust that had you moaning while you clawed at his clothed back.

“Where it----”

A thrust that had you seeing stars in front of your eyes and a scream of his name to fall from your lips.

“Is!”

However, no matter how good Jungkook was, you weren’t about to give in just because of some steamy sex. A quickie. It was always a quickie with him. Not that you minded. Sex was sex; simple as that. Just a raw good time that left both parties feeling amazing. A win-win for all. But it never stopped the young male from using it against you to get other things he wanted.

“I’m not----”

A moan cut you off when he started rubbing figure eights on your clit. Dear god he was killing you now. Knowing all your weak spots after so many.....escapades.

“Telling you----”

A particularly loud cry of pleasure turned your voice hoarse as you suddenly threw your head back to where it collided with the door. He was now attacking not only your bundle of nerves, but now the sweet spot on your neck.

“Shit!”

And suddenly, Jungkook stilled and the rum cellar grew silent. Of course aside from the mixture of heavy breathing. It was true, while V and Crow were up on the main floor of the tavern, Jungkook and yourself had slipped away from the drunken crowd and rushed for the closest door. The rum cellar.

This had been going on for quite a few years now. Running into each other, hooking up, then going back to hating each other’s guts. You were on opposite sides. Enemies. You had your crew and he had his. Granted Jungkook wasn’t the captain but still.

“Was that ‘shit’ as in ‘holy shit Jungkook fuck me harder’ or were you literally telling me you’re not gonna tell me shit?”

“What do you think, genius? Now keep going. I’m almost there.”

“What makes you think I’m gonna let you finish?”

“What makes you think I can’t finish myself?”

You smirked and clenched your walls around his member with purpose; jerking a moan out of him. He always felt so good inside you. He was the perfect length and size. Despite being enemies, the two of you fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. But you were starting to get frustrated with your partner. His stilled hips causing you to lose that high you were so very close to reaching.

“Move, Jeon.”

“Tell me where the map is first.”

“Never.”

Sex had now turned into a glaring contest. Jungkook having parked you up against the door to the cellar with your arms and legs around him; his length buried inside you to the hilt. Your walls squeezing around him; silently pleading him to move and continue. The both of you were only half dressed but Jungkook swore one of these days he would properly bed you. Pfft. Yeah right. Fat chance of that happening.

“You’re lucky you feel so good around my cock, Captain.”

And just like always, you got what you wanted.

Meanwhile.......

Two young souls hid in the shadows of a cove just a few feet away from where your ship was parked. Their heads were together to where foreheads were touching. Hands reaching up and fingers entwining with a loving touch. Soft whispers were exchanged meant only for each other to hear.

“I missed you so much, Sunny. It feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, Jiminnie. I missed you too. I thought about you every day.”

“And I thought of you. Hoping and wishing to see you again. What brings you here anyway?”

“I’m not gonna pretend that I know what goes on in that head of the Captain’s but I have a pretty good guess.”

The two chuckled as their theory remained silent. But Jimin understood all the same. It didn’t matter to him what the reason was for this blessed visit. He just wanted to make the most of it. For the girl in front of him was his whole world.

Shame they rarely got to see each other.

“I wish we didn’t have to be enemies.”

“I know......I hate it. Why can’t we all just get along? Share the sea and all it’s treasures?”

“We both know it doesn’t work that way, beautiful.”

Sunny’s frown was so deep that it caused her face to wrinkle. But in Jimin’s eyes, she was always beautiful. No matter what. He hair could have been messy from sea water and everything else but no matter what, she was absolutely gorgeous. Lifting her hand up to press gentle kisses to her knuckles, he spoke softly yet sadly,

“We don’t have much time left. I should get back before they start looking for me.”

“It feels like we just got here. I don’t want to say goodbye so soon.”

“Hey hey. It’s okay. We’ll see each other again soon. Yeah?”

He hated seeing her cry. The whole reason her name was Sunny was because she was like a ray of sunshine. Literally. Wherever she went, it was like the sun itself was shining. So naturally it killed him to see any kind of tears falling down her beautiful face. Holding her close, he soon started peppering butterfly kisses all over her face to try and help dry up the tears as well as make her giggle.

And it worked.

After tying up ‘loose ends’ and restocking on a bit of supplies, the girls were all back on the ship with the rest of the crew. All females. It made your chest swell with pride. This was your ship and your crew. You built everything from the ground up. Found the baddest, toughest women out there. Well most of them. Sunny was your soft spot. But there was no way you were going to get rid of her. No. She was precious to you in every way. You loved every member of your crew.

You stood in your Captain’s Quarters with Crow standing behind you. Crow was your first mate and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Staring at yourself in the elegant full length mirror, you couldn’t help but take in all the hickies Jungkook had left on your neck and collarbone areas. He was a biter but so were you.

“So he still doesn’t know the map was right under his nose?”

“Nope. V doesn’t know, right?”

“Never said a word.”

“Good.”

Crow couldn’t help but frown in sadness as she stared at her captain’s bare back. It took up her whole backside. A tattoo of a treasure map to an outsider, but to anyone who knew about it, a curse. Her captain’s curse. Something she was born with. It was the female’s voice full of command that had Crow snapping out of her sad thoughts.

“Read it again for me....please.”

“It says we need to head west.”

“Then we’re sailing west.”

#pirate!bts #pirate!jungkook #pirate!kook #bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jimin x oc #taehyung x oc #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #s;killmesaveme

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avgvstinc-blog · 5 years

Text

Oh hey, didn’t see you there. It’s me, your friendly admin Chloe. Twenty, Chicago-bound, ready to clown. I’ve got a lot in store and I’m excited to get the show running. Here’s my son Augustine, he deserves better but what else can you say? Anyways, more under the cut.

Augustine was born to two witches, one hereditary, the other a local kitchen witch. It was a tender home. Rarely anything to complain about. That is, it was mostly just him and his mom. His father was typically found at the casino. Augustine spent year thinking that his father’s intense clairvoyance gave him the edge to go to the casino and bet on things he could see in his mind. It didn’t totally add up, considering how much money he’d lost.

Augustine didn’t have quite as strong of a gift as his father did. It would come in waves, hitting like a brick in the nose. Distinct, vivid images that typically didn’t mean anything. Seeing sunlight through leaves or a red ball rolling across the street. It’s always made him uneasy. He never knew what it meant. His mother would try to fix him up charms to keep the visions mild, she called them his “allergies”. Always made him feel normal as a kid.

Growing into a man, Augustine found his passion with words. Mom wanted him to take the shop, but when to kids ever really do what their parents want, no matter how much they love them? Augustine went to the University of Violl’s Cove, where he began to study literature. The literature lead to poetry, where he graduated in the top ten percent.

Senior year that’s when he met the love of his life. Changed him forever, really. Wasn’t his first love, but it was the one that counted. They were beautiful, and they swooned at his sweet words. Fell for all the romance that he laid out, and kept him sane. They weren’t even in his department, but they liked him anyways. Clearly, people who aren’t obsessed with words, can be fond of them too.

Augustine had been dating them for ten months when he decided to go to France. They broke up after an argument about long distance, and off he went. Studied poetry and art in Paris, and on weekends, he’d travel out into the rural areas, hoping he’d find something to tie him back to something a lot more deeply rooted in him.

Took a month to find a coven that wanted him, sucked him in with their desire and their temptation. He was fascinated, they were a bond, a family, a livelihood. They could not live without each other. It was a bond he hadn’t seen in America before. Covens were rare. He’d come to see why.

When he wasn’t studying in Paris, he was with the coven. They let him in as their own, they showed him the ways of their magic. It didn’t take long for Augustine to realize it was dark magic. A kind he wasn’t used to. The kind that takes place in dark woods, naked and feral, blood dropping down skin and yelling tongues to the shining stars. He’d wake up in the morning smelling like sweat and sin. He’d walk among the town, seeing the disease and the anguish that would affect those that were cursed. He sat down with a mother. Wizened and riddled with knowledge. She said her grandmother was cursed by the cover. Her grandfather died in the war, her brothers and sisters all perished far too young. Her grandmother watched them all die except for her, the one who outlived her. The one who would pass down the curse.

It horrified him. Months of brutality, and Augustine began to write his paper. He came back with a twenty page paper explaining the dangers of covens in modern society, tying back to old literature on ancient magic craft. It didn’t quite fit with the poetry, but with his bloodline, they easily accepted his work, and what he had to say.

It changed him forever. Their rituals still have affects on him. Made the sights hit that much harder. He sees notices things he never can. He thinks they still follow him sometimes. There’s a fox that finds him. It has for years. his mother calls it his omen. Augustine can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

After coming home, he runs into them again. It’s like lighting a spark in the pit of his stomach and he’s in love again. They get married while he’s getting his phd. It’s the best years of his life. He graduates, spends a year writing a collection of poems. He makes some money selling charms and services from his house. It takes a year before the university offers him a job teaching.

He’s 32 when they finally have a kid. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of. His life is complete. It’s whole. He’s sharing something so beautiful with the person he loves and he couldn’t have it any other way.

Until... things get harder.

Augistine didn’t work too much. He spent a lot of time at home, in fact. Classes were class, but it was more so a typical job than anything else. He’d take a lot of time to cook up witchy crafts at home, see the regulars for their readings and their treatments. He liked holding his daughter and letting her pick out the herbs and spices to use. They’d sit in the garden and he’s sing his favorite tunes and tell her that the plants grow better when he sings his magic songs.

But then they’d come home and the air would shift. He wasn’t sure who fell out of love first. Augustine always blamed himself for not trying harder. Not trying to pick himself up when he got less excited for them coming home. But they got more angry, they didn’t like his affection. They stayed out later and wanted their own time with their daughter. It became less of a partnership.

And then, years passed of tenseness, more yelling, more weekends away. It wasn’t until Augustine came home from work, his daughter with his parents for the weekend in hopes to spend time along, the two of them, that he caught them. Having sex openly with someone other than himself. Someone considerably younger. It was clear they were high out of their minds, which was a shock to him.

Everything really unraveled after that. The divorce was filed days later and they packed up and left. They got custody of his daughter, and took off beyond Violl’s Cove. He’s still not sure what he did that made them hate him so much. They make sure he sees his daughter as little as possible. Maybe one weekend a month if he’s lucky. She gets so much bigger every time he see her. It hurts so much thinking this is how it will be until she’s old enough to go to college. His little girl hardly even you’re now.

It’s been two years since the filing. He’s seen his daughter maybe twenty times. The longest she spent was a week during the summer. He’s still teaching. Still practicing. Just trying to let life go back to normal, but there’s a lot he’s angry about. A lot he doesn’t understand. He’s trying to take this as a sign of rebirth. He’s got a dead weight off his soul, but in turn, he’s also missing his biggest joy.

#intro

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ashrelfury · 5 years

Text

Equivalent Exchange - FMA/AFTG AU

(So, guys, I started this a while ago, but I seriously need some help with ideas and events and structure. If anyone wants to help me beta, or maybe co-write this with me, please let me know!! I actually really want to make it RoyEd as well as Andreil, but that’s not a deal breaker!)

Equivalent Exchange – A Fullmetal Alchemist A.U.

Prologue: Human Transmutation

Desperation had a bitter taste to it, but it wasn’t anything Neil Josten wasn’t used to.

Despite that, he forced calm into his movements. Despair, devastation, and depression weren’t going to accomplish anything, and he had to believe that this would work. There was no other choice. Neil would rather die than leave things as they were.

He’d spent six days collecting what he needed.

The physical body, while composed of a complex system of bones, muscles, organs, nerves, and blood vessels, followed standard natural laws and patterns that when brought to the basics amount to a collection of elements found on the periodic table. It has been stated that, broken down to its basest components, the average adult human body is comprised of Water (35 L), Carbon (20 kg), Ammonia (4 L), Lime (1.5 kg), Phosphorous (800 g), Salt (250 g), Saltpeter (100 g), Sulfur (80 g), Fluorine (7.5 g), Iron (5 g), Silicon (3 g) and fifteen traces of other elements.

Or was it Oxygen, 43kg - Carbon, 16kg - Hydrogen, 7kg - Nitrogen, 1.8kg - Calcium, 1kg - Phosphorus, 0.78kg - Potassium, 0.14kg - Sulfur, 0.14kg - Sodium, 0.10kg - Chlorine, 0.095kg - and Magnesium, 0.019kg. Fuck, what did it matter. He’d found more than he needed and stole anything else.

Maybe it was the desperation talking. Maybe it was the fact that Andrew wasn’t there to talk him out of the stupid idea. Then again, if Andrew were here, Neil wouldn’t need to do this in the first place…fuck, Andrew.

Stop.

Don’t think about it. Focus.

The chalk was gritty in his hands, his nails digging into the piece he was using to outline the array he’d spent the last four months researching.

He didn’t have Andrew’s memory, but he’d traced over this damn array so many times, he hardly had to look at the reference pages he’d gathered around him. He worked from the inside out, making the array just the right size, making every stroke of the chalk as precise as he could manage.

When his hands started to shake, he would stop. Breathe. Don’t think about it.

Don’t think beyond what he needed to do.

Neil has heard all of the rumors. The taboo nature of what he wanted to accomplish. The cost. The danger in it. He kept himself from looking at the corner of the room where his sacrifice lay, blood covering that familiar face. A once strong, imposing body now emaciated and gaunt, thin nearly to the bones. His father had refused to eat for the past two months, wanted to take away any chance Neil had to make things right again. Wanted to take away Neil’s ‘sacrifice’ by dying before Neil could accomplish this.

Neil had knocked him out, keeping him on an IV drip, keeping his body alive, his soul alive.

Equivalent Exchange.

Nathan Wesninski had taken away the only thing Neil had ever truly loved, and Neil would use Nathan to get it back.

But first he needed to finish this, he needed to calm down and get everything right. This couldn’t go wrong. He had one chance.

These breaks were many, but far between. The array too complex and intricate to be hurried, or misdrawn. Neil had to use every ounce of energy he had to make sure he didn’t make a mistake. Any mistake could cost him everything.

Mathematical calculations weren’t hard for Neil, his natural aptitude for it had made this whole process a little easier, but he wasn’t a genius. When drawing the array, he could get things wrong, mark things differently, put too much distance between symbols, or even put each symbol in the wrong point. He was no Edward Elric, but the same determination was there.

Fuck. He was shaking again.

Stop.

Calm down. Don’t think.

He and Andrew had met Ed before. He remembered that. He also wondered if Edward remembered it too. Probably not.

Neil had been in Amestris for only a few days, and the damn train had to be hijacked just as he was making his way back to Aerugo with Andrew. The Fullmetal Alchemist had been there. Had basically saved the day, despite the fact that it had been Andrew who’d taken out half of the hijacker’s single handedly. Neil at his back, reassuring those scared passengers who’d been gathered into the storage area by the hijakers.

When The Fullmetal Alchemist and the giant suit of armor that worked with him had finally started fighting back, Andrew had thrown punches left and right. Brass Knuckles covering his fists, four small arrays on each knuckle. Neil still had those damn knuckle guards, kept them even now.

When Edward had finally made it to the hostages, he found Andrew and Neil tying up the assholes with rope Neil had alchemized from the cables of the train’s overhead compartments.

They’d introduced themselves, Ed’s smile wide and thankful, almost admiring as he glanced down at Andrew’s Brass Knuckles, until Andrew hid them away in black armbands coving his forearms.

When questioned about it. Andrew had remained quiet, impassive and unreachable, so Neil had stepped in. He knew Andrew wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t like they were State Alchemists and Neil and Andrew had both heard the rumors about The Fullmetal Alchemist. The Alchemist of the People. Despite being a State Alchemist, a Dog of the Military, Ed had a knack for snubbing the Brass whenever he could to whoever would listen, and Andrew had listened.

Neil had explained Andrew’s arrays. The first knuckle was for Thunder. A shock with every punch if Andrew activated it upon contact, and Andrew was a master at split-second activation by now. The second knuckle was force. Not gravity, but the opposite, when activated, it would push a strong blast of kinetic energy through the contact point, pushing the opponent away without fail. The third knuckle was one Neil had crafted himself for Andrew’s use, one he’d learned from his father’s people. One hit mid chest would reverse the flow of blood in the body, causing an overload in the heart. Neil hadn’t explained that one to Ed though. And last, but not least, on the forth knuckle was Andrew’s strongest weapon. The air array Andrew had spent nearly four years crafting. Upon activation it sent a sharp controlled spike of air like a knife, or a stake.

If the rest of the military enforcement officers hadn’t gotten to the train at that point, Neil had no doubt that Edward Elric would have kept him and Andrew on that train talking Alchemy for hours. As it was though, Ed had been taken away by a blond woman with hard eyes and an itchy trigger finger, and the second he was gone, Andrew had spoken for the first time.

“The Fullmetal Alchemist has performed human transmutation before. Interesting.”

And that was all he’d say about it.

Neil had never pushed.

Now he wished he’d had.

Stop.

Calm down. Don’t think.

He was almost done, just a bit more and he’d be finished with the array. He’d finally bring back what had been taken.

Neil closed his eyes as he knelt at the edge of the circle. He’d dragged his father to the other side, laid him where he’d make contact with the array, but made sure the blood wouldn’t mar any of the chalk marks.

A deep breath.

Andrew.

Breathe out.

Neil’s hands came up, the energy of the transmutation coming up from his gut as he pictured Andrew’s form in his mind. His will, what he wanted this array to do, Andrew’s image and name, all of it was held firmly in his mind.

Deep breath.

Breathe out.

His palms met the chalk and the world exploded in red and purple light. Neil’s closed eyelids flashed with the colors but he held onto the images in his mind, his will, what he wanted. This would work. It had too. There was no other option.

“Hello.”

Neil’s eyes opened to whiteness.

All around him was pure white, yet a being stood before him. Fuzzy black at the edges, human shaped, but pure white from within. The only defining feature on the human silhouette was the grinning teeth. Neil had to swallow back the panic, yet he remained silent.

He looked beside him and saw the form of his father. So, the sacrifice had made it here then. Wherever ‘here’ was.

“I am called by many names. I am the World. I am the Universe. I am God. I am Truth. I am All. I am One. And I am also, you.”

A sound from behind him made Neil whirl around. There was a door behind him, a great big iron thing, and as it cracked open, darkness stared back. Until an eye flew open. Neil wanted to scream, but he was stuck in place. Rooted and mute with shock and fear.

“You have dared to knock on the door. Now the door is open.”

Tendrils of black reached out for him and Neil reeled back. He spared a glance at his father and saw the man get pulled into the gate, but as Neil turned to run, he was caught by the small hands. He wanted to scream, he opened his mouth to, but nothing would come out. Instead, he gasped.

“That’s it, child. This is what you wanted, isn’t it.”

Neil choked on his fear. Andrew. Fuck, this wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted Andrew.

Andrew!

“I will show you the Truth.”

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years

Text

Red Rose - Chapter 16

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 CH. 16

Summary: Riley manages the fallback from the hedgemaze fiasco, but she’s soon reminded that there’s no dull moment in Cordonia, as Tariq barges into her room and her and Drake have a moment.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Theodora sat at her dresser, brushing her thick, platinum blonde mane. Puberty has done her very well, with her skin as fair and spotless as it was at her birth, the hourglass figure and the harmonious breast also being God-given gifts. Her eyes were cold and cutting as a knife.

That night, they shone in determination.

“Promises are made, promises are broken.” She told to her own reflection. “Well, father, two can play at that game.”

She took off the brush from her hair and placed the richly-engraved brush back into the dresser drawer. She then rose from the chair and walked over to her closet. She took some clothes from the racks and threw them at a bag open at the door. She then proceeded to change her blue dress into a pair of pants, a shirt and a green parka.

All dressed, she threw the bag over her shoulders and sneaked off to her parents’ room. At that time of day, it was predictably empty. Behind a painting, lay a safe, and the code was 1918.

Inside the safe, there was cash, jewels, and most importantly, a hostage for her escape operation.

She refused to end up like her parents and siblings. She refused living that odious life. There it was a passport for another life, another herself.

Theodora threw everything inside the bag and sneaked her way into the house’s backdoor.

Half an hour later, safely on a train going away from the life she knew, she took a deep breath. Relief washed her lithe body.

Escape seemed at hand’s reach.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

“Oh, God.” Riley bemoaned. “I’m so screwed.”

“This does hamper our initial plans, yes.” Charlotte noted. “We would stay in Cordonia until Theophany, and, when Liam did not pick you, we would have a good reason to leave. Riley would be killed off in some tragic accident a few months later, and that would be that.

“What we didn’t count on is the fact that you want to stay.”

“No matter, we are sticking with our original plan.” Riley said, determined. “Regardless of what I may be feeling about Liam or about anyone else, there is no way I can stay in Cordonia come February. Even if the impossible happens and Liam does choose me.”

“But there is a way.” Charlotte said, thoughtful. “Think about it: your story held uncontested up until now, even with the security services looking thoroughly into it. I doubt anyone except perhaps the MI-5 or the CIA could blow it now, much less some lowly yellow press, sketch of a reporter. And that’s only in the first few months, once the rage of your marriage passes, they stop snooping on the dirty secrets of your past and start snooping on the dirty secrets of your present.

“You have files of the marriage of Amara Grey and Brennan Flowers, the latter of whom died without any relatives to say you weren’t related to them, and the former is so deep in this as yourself, she won’t blab or else she’ll be packing to a federal prison.

“You planted school records in not one, not two, but in three different institutions, you swapped the yearbooks from the library in Cedar Cove, and all your supposed colleagues seem to remember a shy, quiet student at the corner they don’t quite remember the name of.

“You fed a fake Facebook for years, for Christ’s sakes!” Charlotte exasperated. “Honestly, if I didn’t know you, if I didn’t know you were lying, I would fucking think you were really Riley Flowers.”

Riley weighed what has been said by Charlotte, and she had to give her a point, by now there is no conceivable way for her to be discovered, not by the Cordonian court, and not if she didn’t screw up. However, one thing weighed heavily on her mind: “What about Karen and Ludwig?”

“Riley, my promise holds regardless of you deciding to be a queen or not. A week in February, and you’ll be free.” Charlotte said, in all seriousness. “We could tell everybody you were off to New York tying up some loose ends, we could even have Amara backing up these claims.”

Riley grumbled. “It still don’t change what happened today. Liam and I still had this huge fight, and we both said things we shouldn’t have, even if we did meant them.”

“Hey, sweetie, do you still have your journals?” Charlotte asked.

“My journals?” Riley said, confused.

“When you were younger, every time you got upset, you used to write your feelings away. Don’t you do that anymore?”

Then it dawned on her. Her notebooks. She used to write on them every day, as in to chase away the feelings of loneliness and fear from getting caught by the Rosenbergs. She remembered to take them to Cordonia, but she hadn’t touched a single one of them ever since she left New York.

Riley rummaged her trunk and pulled out six leather-bound notebooks. “Here they are. All the way back from the time I moved to New York.”

“Now, why don’t you give them to Liam as an apology gift?” Charlotte proposed.

“What?” Riley shouted. “Are you insane?!”

“Why not? I know you are paranoid enough not to put any names on those, and yet they are personal enough for him to see you’re making an effort to reach out. Besides, they’re the most genuine piece of yourself we can afford to give him right now.”

“That… That…” Riley stuttered while the wheels of her brain turned. “That might be actually a good idea.”

“I’m full of those today.” Charlotte said, smugly. “Now, come, we have to re-do your make-up and accessorize with this dress. Lord, for as much Bertrand is a stick-in-the-mud, he really has no sense of style!”

Riley giggled. “He really don’t. All that ‘country lord’ look of his isn’t working on his favor.”

New York City, Summer 1979

Melissa payed her cabby and got out of the car. Her meager belongings, mostly clothing, were packed into a small, black bag.

She had just arrived from the airport, she was at her parents’ home, in Georgia, and it certainly did not end her way. Not that she really blames them, she had thrown them a bomb.

She had met Kristijan during her internship at the United Nations. She was working under the Spanish ambassador, while Kristijan was a guard to Lord Talmai Bartholomaios, the Cordonian envoy.

They had met when he helped her when she got lost on her way to a meeting at the UN. He had been posted there for over three years and could probably walk through those halls in his sleep. He had a rare afternoon off, as Lord Bartholomaios was otherwise engaged, so, after her meeting, they went out for a coffee and became friends.

After some outings through the city, they started dating. It was a whirlwind romance, one she threw herself into head first.

However, Labor Day was just around the corner, and Lord Bartholomaios was due to return to Cordonia, and Kristijan is supposed to go with. He had told her his ‘commander’, the head of the security services he wasn’t allowed to disclose, was impressed with his work, and offered him a superior position, one that required him to move back to his homeland, permanently.

Facing the possibility of never seeing each other again, Kristijan proposed to Melissa last Friday night. She said she had to talk it over with her family first and promised him an answer the following Monday.

Today.

She used the card key Kristijan had given her and waltzed into the hotel. She went up to his floor and knocked on his door.

He answers her with a grin and a: “Melissa, you’re back!”

“Let’s do it, Kristijan!” She said, overwhelmed. “Let’s go to Cordonia! Let’s get married!”

She didn’t give him time to respond, as she kissed him passionately.

It might be against every ounce of reason in her body, but Melissa Walker was in love.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

An hour later, Riley snuck off to Liam’s chambers. No-one saw her, as the servants were busy with preparations for the party downstairs, while the noblepeople were in their rooms dressing up.

She knocked three times, slow and steadily, waiting for a response. After a moment, a tortured ‘Enter!’ was heard from the other side of the heavy, engraved doors.

Prompted, she pushed the heavy doors weakly, as if she was afraid of it disturbing someone’s sleep. The room behind it looked the part, as its thick curtains were drawn, letting none of the sunset light into the room. The bed was also disheveled, as if none of the servants remembered to make it that morning.

Sat on a chair, with his back turned to the door, sat Liam. He had a glass on his hand and a tumbler on the coffee table in front of him, the brown color of the liquid suggested it was bourbon.

“If you came here to tell me I should be getting ready for dinner, pass along the message to my father I will be out shortly.” His tired voice rasped through the room.

“I did not come here to tell you that.” Riley said, in a meek tone. “Though, I can try to reach the King.”

“Riley!” The blond exclaimed, turning to see her. “What are you doing here?”

The woman sighed. “I came here to talk. To apologize, actually. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I overreacted a little about… that.”

He gaped. “No, no, you were right, I shouldn’t have read that file. I just got scared and did something stupid, and when you caught me, I got scared again and just made everything worse. I should be the one to apologize.”

“Let’s agree we were both on the wrong, then.” She offered. “Regardless, I haven’t been doing a very good job of soothing your worries. You felt the need to read that file because I don’t talk about the past often, and while you’ve never asked, I also haven’t been going out of my way to tell you about it either.

“I don’t do that because it is painful for me to remember. Not the thing about my mother or my aunt and uncle, but for me it feels like every step of the way so far have been difficult somehow, and I just keep hoping for the next to be easier, to be painless. For me to be able to do that, I have to try and forget a little bit of the past and try to move forward, without looking back.

“When I moved to New York, I got into a little of a rough path and I found that writing my feelings helped sorting them out. So, I want you to keep these.” She handed him the six notebooks.

Liam inspected the objects. “What are these?”

“Those are my journals. Six years-worth of them, from the time I moved to New York to the day before I’ve met you. I haven’t written on them ever since I arrived, though, because every day seems more hectic then the one before, so…” She trailed off.

He placed them neatly on the coffee table, away from the tumbler and the glass of booze. “Are you sure you want me to read them?” He looked deep into her charcoal eyes.

“No, I’m not.” She said, honestly. “But I’m sure I want to give you, us, a sincere attempt, and if that’s what it takes, then so be it.”

Liam quickly crossed the distance between them and hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Riley.” He whispers into her hair. “Thank you for being so kind and patient with me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

He kissed her deeply, making her knees go weak.

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Summer 1984

Melissa had her finest dress on, and her little child was also dress impeccably. She lived at the Brigades for five years, now, but she wasn’t quite used to the idea of royalty, and the prospect of actually meeting one made her giggly.

She walked over to some French doors, where Bastien, one of her husband’s apprentices, waited stoically for her.

“Good afternoon, Bastien.” She greeted, amicably. More than once the young man has had a meal with them at their apartment on the service lodge of the palace, and both Kristijan and Melissa had a soft spot for the boy.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He smiled at her. “Your Majesty waits for you.”

“Lead the way!”

He nodded and opened the door for her. It leads into a small drawing room, in which the Queen have had served some tea and biscuits.

The young royal rose to her feet, with some difficulty, taking upon account she was heavily pregnant, and greeted her. “Madam Walker, I am very glad you took upon my invitation this afternoon.”

Melissa’s face probably betrayed the frantic thoughts running through her head. “Y-Your Majesty!” She bowed hastily. “It is I who is glad about your invitation!”

She laughed softly. “Please, call me Carmela. We are alone, and I was hoping we could have a more relaxed conversation.”

“Of course, ma’am. I mean, Carmela.” It was rather strange calling a girl younger than herself ‘ma’am’, after all.

“Great!” She smiled. “Is this little Drake I hear so much about?” The blue-blooded approached the carriage, where the boy slept soundly. “How old is he again?”

“Six months.” The woman answered, with a soft smile. “He was born in late Fall last year.”

“How adorable.” She gushed. “Pardon me, I have the baby fever. I must run poor Bastien haggard with all my questions about all the mothers at the palace.”

Melissa giggled. “I remember how I was with Drake. I spent the day looking through baby clothes catalogs and pregnancy books. When are you due?”

“The doctors say All-Hallows, but I think this one’s going to be an early bird.” She patted her own protuberant stomach fondly. “I’m thinking of naming him Liam if it’s a boy.”

The other did a small double-take at the revelation. “It is different in Cordonia.”

“It is unusual in Italy as well.” She dismissed, with a faint smile. “But I’m a fan of Liam Clancy. Constantine’s going to take some convincing, though.”

“I thought the King wanted something more traditional.”

Carmela shrugged. “Some Greek mouthful, yes.” She poured two cups of tea and handed one to Melissa. “Speaking of things unusual, I never expected to see a surname like Kristijan’s in Cordonia. Walker,” She tested on her tongue, with her foreign accent. “It’s English, right?”

“It’s actually my name.” Melissa pointed out. “Kristijan said his surname carried a stigma in Cordonia, and he wanted to change it when we married.”

“Oh, my! There’s so much I know not.” Carmela commented. “Was it Slavic? I’ve noticed our Serbian subjects are very hostile to our rule. It would make sense for Kristijan to change it when he joined our employment.”

The other woman shook her head. “No, it was Greek. Bunas, after the river.”

“No, it doesn’t ring any bells.” She commented.

“How about the social season, ma’am?” She tried to change the subject. “You’ll probably be bed-ridden by then.”

“Don’t tell me.” She grimaced. “It would be my first one as Queen. Fortunately, Constantine is able to attend alone the events elsewhere. What worries me are the ceremonies held here at the Brigades. Which reminds me, Melissa?”

“Yes?” The woman responded.

“You were a diplomat once, right? Before marrying?”

She laughed uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t say that. I worked at an embassy, and I have a degree in International Relations.”

“But you do understand about ceremonials?”

“I suppose? Somewhat, at least.” Melissa said.

Carmela smiled broadly. “Great! You see, I was looking for a secretary, to help me with the preparations for the season. I would do it myself, but with the pregnancy and everything…” She trailed off.

The woman made a double-take. “Are you sure you want me?”

“Of course. You know the ropes, and I know I can trust you. It is more I can say about any other woman in this house.” The monarch answered. “And you will be paid handsomely for the job.”

Melissa weighs her options. As the wife of Kristijan, she was not allowed to take employment outside the palace and caring for Drake full time get really boring fast. Besides, with the money, they could save for retirement, which came early for royal bodyguards.

“Okay. I’m in.” The eldest smiled.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley arrived at dinner rigorously on time, perfectly composed and her head held high. Liam wasn’t with her, staying behind as in not to arise suspicion, but aside from him, all of the guests at the chateau were already in attendance.

Servants bustle about, keeping the tables freshly stocked with foods and drinks. Over a couple of tables, a few girls conversed in rushed tones.

“The King and the Queen seemed quite taken with you today, Lady Madeleine.” Some random suitor commented with said blonde.

She smirked. “They respect my opinions. And I believe we have a lot in common. I hope I’ll have the support and respect of all the ladies of the court if I’m chosen.”

The tone of her ‘if’ portrayed no doubt.

Penelope sat next to the pair and whispered back: “To tell you the truth, I think Lady Riley may be the one to be chosen, and I think she would be a wonderful queen.”

As much as Penelope’s heart was in the right place, that certainly wasn’t the moment to make that kind of statement. Much less to Madeleine, who frowned quite pronouncedly: “I suppose you are entitled to have your own opinion.” She said.

Charlotte waved at her, as if they were just meeting. Riley started walking over to her, also keeping up the appearances, when she crossed paths with Tariq.

“Good evening, Tariq.” She greeted, politely.

“Lady Riley.” He nodded, acknowledging. “It is always a pleasure seeing you.”

“A rare one, it seems. How have you been?” She engaged in conversation. Bertrand would be proud.

He laughed. “Indeed. I’ve been as splendid as you look, my dear.”

“You seem flirty tonight.” She pointed out.

“It comes from the deepest recesses of my being.” He winked. “This event can hardly bear a star as bright as yours.”

Riley thought it to be strange behavior from the young nobleman but preferred not to probe. She has enemies enough, no need going out and making more. “Thank you, Tariq. You flatter me.”

“It feels me with joy to hear you say that.” He beamed. “You know, I have to tell you, after talking to most of the other ladies here, I find myself having nurtured such an… appreciation for you. You are like a breath of New York fresh air.”

Knowing those same girls he speaks of, Riley can only agree to the sentiment, even if the phrasing is hardly ideal. “I don’t think anyone says that.”

“The other suitors are absolutely boring.” He admonished. “One talks only about her dogs, another merely sulks to the corners. And don’t get me started on Olivia.”

“Some of the other girls have their charms.” Riley weighed.

Tariq scoffed. “If they do, I have yet to find them. They have good breeding, wealth and manners, but they’re absolutely dull. How disappointing.”

There it was. Tariq the Plutocrat. Riley was starting to worry he had banged his head at some table corner.

He, however, wasn’t done: “Whereas with you, Lady Riley, you grow more interesting every time we speak. I must, however, take my leave. May you have a fantastic evening.”

Tariq bows and left, while Maxwell approaches.

“There’s our little social star!” He greets, with an unusual dose of excitement. “Is that Tariq you were talking to?”

“Yeah, and it was weird.” She commented, while looking at the place the young middle-eastern left empty.

“Strange?” Maxwell inquired, confused. “How so?”

“He was so amicable! And before today, we barely talked.”

The man tutted. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Now, come, Bertrand and I got a table this way.”

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Spring 1993

Melissa was sitting on the kitchen table. The dinner was served, and the children already ate. Drake and Savannah were at the conjoined living room, having their TV time.

Kristijan was late for dinner, again. Melissa knew his patrol schedule was messy, but he had said he would be home that evening. She tapped her fingers against the table, anger and hungry, as she had been kind enough to wait for him.

She sighed angrily and walked over to the living room. “Kids,” She told them while turning off the TV. “It’s bed time.”

“But, mommy!” Little Savannah complains. “Daddy isn’t here yet!”

The woman sighed once more. Her husband gave her nothing but trouble. “I know, darling. But it’s late, it’s way past the time for little girls to be in bed.”

She pouted. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Grown-Up.” She smiled at her daughter’s antics. “Tell you what, go to bed now and I’ll have daddy giving you a good-night kiss when he gets here, ‘kay?”

“’Kay…” Savannah caved and walked over to the bedroom she shared with his older brother.

“Drake?” The woman called.

“Yeah?” He grumbled. Sometimes, she swore that boy was born sour.

“Watch your sister, okay? I’ll go over to the kitchens, but I’ll be right back.”

He looked at her warily but nodded his head. She kissed his hair and went out the front door.

Closing and locking her apartment’s door for security, she started walking down the hall. However, instead of going down to the kitchens like she said she would, Melissa walked over to the bachelors’ wing and knocked on an apartment’s door.

A man came out. “Mrs. Walker?” He asks, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Bastien, you’re on the night shift tonight, aren’t you?” She inquired, feverishly.

“Yeah, I was going out right now.” He said. “Why? Do you need anything?”

“Actually, I do.” She smirked, with a hint of crazy in her eyes. “I need you to take me to the Queen’s chambers. It’s where you’re supposed to switch guard, isn’t it?”

He looked at the woman he so deeply respected and cared for. Bastien was sure that if she was asking such a thing, she had a legitimate reason for it, no matter how unorthodox. “Follow me.” He said and led the way.

On a hurried place, they made their way through the labyrinthine, ghastly hallways of the Brigades at nighttime. When they arrived at the heavy, mahogany doors of the quarters, Melissa eyed Bastien for him to make himself scarce.

The look he gave in response said that he would not hinder her, but he sure wasn’t leaving.

It was his own peril. Taken by murderous rage, she opened the door and walked right into the room. Unfortunately for Melissa, she saw exactly what she was looking for.

She picked up a shirt laid on the ground and placed on her nose. She knew that aftershave anywhere. She let it fall to her feet as she walks over to the bed. The couple laying there was fast asleep.

Melissa sat on a chair by the dresser and turned on the lamp. She took a good look at the face of the man resting on there. Tan skin, shaved neatly, but with a defined, rugged, hairy chest.

She picked up a heel on the floor and admired it. A dark blue, satin Zanotti, with silver fastenings. A beautiful shoe for a beautiful woman. Melissa twirled it by the heel, and then threw at the man.

He woke up, of course, startled. His eyes focused on her: “Melissa! What are you doing here?”

Her eyes glinted with the light of the lamp. “Why, Kristijan, you’re late for dinner. I came looking for you.”

The woman woke up, dizzy, and looked over at Melissa. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Regina, did I wake you up?” She asks, sickly sweet. “Now you can join us.”

“I would ever.” She admonished. “Have some respect!”

Melissa clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, Regina, I find it terribly funny how you Cordonians think everybody owe you respect. When will you learn respect is earned?”

She leaned over the bed, over Kristijan, and whispered to her: “Don’t try evoking any Laws of Exception on me. I’m not a Cordonian citizen. You can’t throw me on jail.”

The Queen fumed but did not say a thing. Kristijan, however, pulled her away and stood up. He was as naked as the day he was born, his intimacy hanging limp by his leg.

He tugged on her arm, and whispered menacingly: “Let’s go, Melissa.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She wriggled her arm away, and then lowered her sight to his genitalia. “But I think you should change first. I know you clearly don’t really care who see your bits, but some people may.”

She stood up and started to leave. Kristijan came after her, thankfully using some underwear, shouting: “Melissa! Melissa, wait!”

“What?!” She turned and barked.

“Just hear me out, okay?!” He said, frozen in place by her glare.

“What are going to say, huh?! It wasn’t what it looked like?!” She shouted, the sound bounced from the walls and empty rooms.

He sighed. “It is what it looked like. Or not, I don’t know. I did sleep with the Queen, I have been sleeping with her for some time, too. But what did you want me to do? She’s the Queen, for Christ’s sake!”

“I wanted you to keep it in your pants. I expected you to keep your vows. I expected you to, at least, tell me what was going on.” She said, cold.

He scoffed. “And then what? You think I’d still have a job here? A place to live?”

“We would find a way, Kristijan!” She shouted, frustrated. “I’m not an invalid!”

He sighed one more time. “What now?”

“I’m going back to the US.” She said, seriously. “I’m taking the kids. There’s nothing for us here anymore.”

With that, Melissa left, and Kristijan did not try to stop her.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley followed Maxwell to the table and sat down between him and Charlotte, who accompanied them on that meal.

Soon enough, the sound of glass clinking fell through the al-fresco dining area. Everyone then turns to the source of the noise, which was the figure of Prince Liam, standing up next to Constantine and Regina.

“If I may have everyone’s attention, I’d like to say a few words before we serve the main course.” The blond announced. “First, I would like to thank everyone for joining us out here at the country estate. I had the honor and privilege of having you in my court, and I could not ask for better company.

“As I step into my father’s place in the next few weeks, I can only hope I am half the man he was for Cordonia.”

“Long live Prince Liam!” Maxwell pulls the chant, followed by claps and cheers by all attendees.

“Thank you all.” Liam bowed. “When we next meet like this, it will be on the next event of the season, the traditional New Year’s party hosted by the illustrious House Beaumont.”

The crowd applauds, and Maxwell hollered: “Woo-hoo!” He then turns to Riley. “I can’t wait to show you the manor.”

“Maxwell, aren’t we a little strapped for cash right now?” She asks, concerned. “Can we afford hosting a party this big right now?”

He grimaced. “I don’t think we have a choice. Like Liam said, it’s tradition. We can’t back out now.”

“Yes. If we back out, we might as well announce to the whole world we are officially ruined!” Bertrand barked.

“Bertrand has a point.” Charlotte pointed out. “The manor house is big and opulent enough, we’ll be fine as long as we keep them busy. If the food is a little lacking, I bet no-one will notice.”

As the applause dies out, Liam continues: “The Beaumonts will surely give us another legendary night to remember. Until then, I thank you once again and wish you a good night.”

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Spring 1993

The Walker family, the personnel of the palace division of the Security Services and the Royal Family was congregated at the chapel within the Brigade Hill, honoring a sacrifice of one of their own.

As per request, there would be no speeches, no talking, no medals. There would only be a prayer conducted by the chaplain, which was over. The people were walking on a line, saying their condolences to the widow, standing by the casket.

After a big group of maids, security guards and other relatives payed their respects, there came the turn of the Royal Family. The youngest boy, Liam, was spared from the ceremony, thankfully.

Melissa couldn’t spare Drake of many uncomfortable comparisons he was subject to as the ‘common’ friend of one of the Princes, but the absence of a parent was a circumstance she really hadn’t considered to face up to a few weeks before.

Then, when Kristijan’s sins had come to light, Melissa was ready for filing divorce. She had bought the plane tickets, prepared the kids’ passports, wired her savings, called some relatives. And now she was a widow.

The first one to offer his sentiments was Prince Leo. The teenaged aristocrat couldn’t be bothered to play the part appropriately, appearing bored throughout the ceremony. Though, it was fair to say he would have rather for Kristijan to have failed on his mission.

Following him, there was Constantine. He hugged her softly, and said, on a low tone: “Your husband died a hero. The Royal Family has an eternal debt to you, ma’am.”

Then, it was the face she dreaded the most. Regina. Her dead husband’s lover. The woman he died to protect. There was something salacious, belonging to a cheap paperback novel, having such an encounter.

She was wearing a black, embroidered silk dress, her head covered with a shawl and a Spanish mother-of-pearl clasp. As she often does, Regina was asserting her power with subtlety.

The royal approached her and whispered softly to her ear. “I want to see you out of this country by nightfall. Take your snotty twerps with you.”

“Say, Regina, doesn’t your husband find most strange for you to be all alone with Kristijan on the gardens? At the middle of the night?” She asks, with a smirk.

“Are you really threatening me?” She barked.

“Not at all, Your Majesty. I am merely showing you I am not without my own bite.” She said, neutral. “But rest assured, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be far away from your sight.”

The Queen huffs and backs off her.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley walked down the hallway leading to her chambers. She was alone, as Bertrand and Maxwell were busy arranging their suitcases, and Charlotte said she would retire early.

Speaking of the Beaumonts, they said they would be spending their Christmas on a ski lodge in Switzerland. Given the price of the room and the fact the holiday was upon them, Bertrand made it clear she wasn’t invited. Charlotte said she could spend the week in Italy with her, but Riley knew how it was at her place, and she had her fill of aristocratic parties.

She reached her door and opened it. “Charlotte!” She called. “I’m here.”

The room was empty. Shrugging, Riley tried to lock the door, but the lock seemed stuck. As it was very late, the two women would have to make do with a chair against the handle.

Deciding to place it only after Charlotte’s return, Riley started taking off her clothing and her bodice. Butt-naked, she put on a silk robe and started walking over to the dresser to remove her make-up.

It was when she heard the door open and shut. “Is it you?” She called, distracted.

“It is I, love, and good Lord! Disrobing in my room! What a forward gesture. I like it.”

It wasn’t Charlotte’s voice. Riley turned to the intruder and shouted: “Tariq! What the Hell are you doing here?!”

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not upset. I’m just surprised. I suspected, but I’ve never thought it would happen so soon.” He said, approaching her.

She tried to cover herself better, while taking a step back. “Tariq, I think there’s something wrong here…”

He takes her hand and places over his heart. “No, I must say this! Your feelings are most ardently returned! You’ve enchanted me just as you enchant everybody you come across, and now I know you feel the same way about me.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “About that…”

Before she can say anything else, he lowers his head and take her mouth into a kiss.

Riley starts trying to push him away, when the door is pushed open and a figure launch itself into Tariq.

“Get away from her!” The deep voice commands, pining the middle-eastern man away from her by the shoulder.

“Unhand me!” Tariq spats back. “How dare you enter my room without my permission!”

“He’s one to say!” Riley sneered to herself, as Tariq punches the figure squarely on the face. Just then she is able to take a good look to the man, who reveals himself to be Drake.

The commoner reels back for a split second and then tackles the nobleman to the ground. They grapple intensely for a second until they pull apart.

“Who the Hell do you think you are busting into my room?!” Tariq shouts, angry.

“This is Riley’s room!” Drake spats back. “And I heard her screaming, I think she wanted the interruption.”

“Oh, God!” She ran her hand through her hair. “Tariq, someone pulled a prank on you. I’m not, in any way, interested in you, I’m sorry.”

He looked at her with puppy eyes. “So, this isn’t going to be the bold, romantic beginning to our love story?”

“No.” She doubled the ‘o’, shaking her head.

He sighed and tried to gather whatever little dignity he had. “I see. Let me deeply apologize here. I’m so sorry for this transgression. I was incredibly wrong. Now, before I can humiliate myself any further, let me take my leave. Good night, Lady Riley. Whomever has your heart, he is indeed a lucky man.”

As the man leaves, Drake slams the door shut behind him.

Riley threw herself on the bed, covering her face with her hands. “Before I bemoan my luck, thanks, Drake. If you hadn’t intervened, I would have kicked him in the nuts and it everything would be worse.”

“Aw, shucks, Flowers, don’t go soft on me now.” He sideline-smirked at her. “I’ll always be here for you. Because of Liam, of course.”

She sat up straight and looked at him. “What Liam got to do with anything?”

“Liam would never forgive me if something… bad… happened to you.” He sighed and withered under her inquisitive look. “And I wouldn’t forgive myself, either.”

She smirked, defiantly, at him, while he averts his eyes, embarrassed.

He clears his throat. “Anyways, you can see why it looked bad. I heard a scream and I saw you half-naked, with Tariq all over you…” He trailed off. “Are you okay, though.”

“I’m fine.” She said, earnestly.

“Well, I should get out of here before we really cause a scandal.” He said, and turned to leave when he winced in pain, clutching at his side.

“You’re hurt.” She pointed out.

He dismissed it with a: “Nothing some whiskey won’t heal.”

“Come on, big boy, I’ve got some ice.” She said, motioning for him to sit on the bed.

He smirked. “You trying to get me to take my shirt off, Flowers?”

“I am succeeding.” She smirked at him. “Chop-chop, I don’t have all night.”

“You have a real bossy side to you.” He murmurs while obeying her order.

“Take it to someone who cares.” She rolled her eyes, picked up a handkerchief and some ice, and started evaluating the bruise.

“So, doc, do you see anything alarming?” He asks, ironic.

“Other than the fact you bruise like a peach, it seems you’ll be okay.” She said, snarky.

He scoffed. “Tariq hits harder than you’d think.”

Riley laughed, ironically, while standing up. “I can’t believe you lost a fight to Tariq!”

“I didn’t say I lost! I never said that!” He defended, desperately. “I definitively won, I’m just saying he got in some good hits and I didn’t expect that from a palace brat.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She smirked.

From Drake’s point of view, the moonlight coming from her window framed her profile. Her petite, princess-like nose and superior smirk were features he was sure he was supposed to despise, but it seemed right on her, like if it was supposed to be so.

Drake runs his fingers through his hair. “You can be so…” He started, but then lost his nerve. “Never mind. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be treating my wounds?”

“Before I ice your wounds, wouldn’t you like something to drink?” She offered. “Lest of all you bitch when I put it on your rib.”

“Hit me.”

She walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey on the rocks. Handing him one of them, she says: “I wouldn’t make you drink alone.”

“Heh. Thanks.” He smirks.

Drake downs his glass as Riley presses the ice against his body. “Hey! It hurts!” He complains.

“Grow a pair!” She bit back but pressed more gently the ice.

Drake turns and catches her eye. After a long second, he lowers his gaze. “Thanks.” He breathed out and paused. “I know I don’t act very grateful for anything most of the time, but I do… care about you.”

“Mighty way to show it.” She complains. “Most of the time you act like you hate me.”

“I do not.” He defended.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Drake.”

“Okay, I do, don’t I?” He sighed. “It’s not personal. It’s just… easier that way.”

“Easier? For whom?” She questions while keeping up with the ministrations.

“You’re here for Prince Liam. All of the suitors are. And, well, so is the entire court. All the nobles, all the servants, even. Everything and everyone in this place exists to orbit around Liam. You could almost hate him for it, if he weren’t so damn likeable. It’s dangerous for people like you and me to forget about that.” He grumbled the last part.

“Where are you getting at, Drake?”

“Hell, Flowers. Don’t make me say it.” He whispers and gulps down his drink. “If we’d met somewhere else, anywhere else. At a club in New York, or in the airport, or at a party… If you hadn’t been our waitress that night, and I hadn’t been sitting next to Liam… Do you think it would be different?”

“Drake, Drake, Drake.” A woman’s voice came from the door. The two of them broke apart, and faced the source of the sound, which was Charlotte’s frame. “Don’t you ever tire of being a whiny, charity case? Because I do, constantly.” She sneered.

“Fuck you, Rosenberg.” He barked at her.

“Drakey-poo is mad? How sad!” She ironized. “Let me answer this one for Little Miss Flowers over here. It wouldn’t be any different. You know why? Because you’ll always be the same, you’ll always look over your shoulder, worried that Liam will take your happiness away from you, that they will move on to greener pastures. And so, you make their lives a living Hell, so when they finally leave, you can act like if you had known all along.”

He lunged at her, and it seemed like he was going to hit her, but he lowered his hand and said on a dangerous tone: “You are just some left-over, bitter, society wife. Look yourself in the mirror before preaching about my life.”

With that, he left the bedroom.

Charlotte then shuts the door. Riley runs over to her. “God gracious, Charlotte! Where were you?”

“Constantine called me over to his study. He was trying to negotiate part of their debt.” She said, dismissive. “What is more interesting is why Walker was here in the first place.”

Riley then explained everything to Charlotte about what had happened that night. The blonde walks over to the door to check it. “Riley, I locked the door on my way out.”

“But it was open when I arrived!” She said, nervously.

“Check the trunk!” The blonde commanded.

It was still locked, with no signs of forced entry. “It seems our secret is safe, at least.”

Charlotte was fretful, still. “Regardless, there’s blood in the water. Come, we’re leaving now.”

The two girls packed everything on the room quickly, and on the silence of the night, they fled Applewood.

Atlanta, Georgia, Summer 2010

A middle-aged man climbed slowly the stairs. He was struggling with the steps, having been hindered with a crutch. Unfortunately for him, the building had no elevators and his destination was on the fifth floor.

It was a very important meeting, which is why he had come from so far away, and the delicacy of the matter had him prescinding of his assistant.

When he finally reached the floor, he stopped for a moment, to catch his breath and to dispel his flustering. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, as Georgia was much warmer than he had expected. Then, he continued his walk and knocked on an apartment door.

A woman answers. “Hello. How may I help you?”

He cleared his throat and asks: “Are you Melissa Walker?”

Her face paled. “Who are you?”

“I am Ludwig von Rosenberg.“ He said, solemn. “I wish to speak about your husband.”

Red Rose - Masterlist

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Taglist: @boneandfur; @mfackenthal

#red rose #the royal romance

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unholyhelbiglinked · 6 years

Text

The Mitchell Incident | Chapter Six

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE BEGINNING

[TW: BLOOD, NEEDLES]

The anger filled her cobalt eyes, her jaw taught with pure rage as the wall behind the girl echoed under the sudden weight. Her breath was knocked from her lungs, the girl's own gaze shocked and confused as the papers she held tumbled to the floor. They were files- files about other patients and diseases that Chloe couldn’t name.

Her mouth was dry, like cotton or blood. Her mind scrambled. She didn’t even know what blood would taste like. It made her stomach churn and throat tighten at the thought of it. The thought of getting an ounce of something she had only gotten when she bit the inside of her lip.

Beca had her fingers wrapped around a doctor’s collar. Her knuckles were white and features contorted into pain. Urgency. She was steady in her movements, lips parted slightly as the woman under her grasp knit her eyebrows together.

“Beca,” Chloe dared, not trying to get any closer to Beca than she already was. Her eyes were racing to either end of the hallway- watching those damned automatic doors for any sign of movement. None came. Not in a small town like this one. Even with flu season on its brink it was quiet.

The brunette’s attention faltered, but she didn’t release the woman from her grasp. “What happened to our little deal, huh?”

“It’s been years, Beca.” The blonde croaked out. “Regulations have changed. Everything has changed.”

“For me, maybe.” The smaller girl drew in a sharp breath “But for her? Gail, come on. I will teach her. I will, you know me. But I can’t if she dies. Look at her.”

As slow breath filled the air before the doctor’s eyes slowly made their way to Chloe’s. She stared for a few moments, squinting her eyes as she took the girl in. She was slumped in her stance- a hood coving up the beginning of a nasty gash on her throat. There were black veins leading away from the source, a slick coat of sweat forming on her collarbone and dripping past her temple. She was shivering like she was cold, though.

Gail shoved her counterpart off of her, Beca relenting as the woman’s caring nature took over instead of her unwillingness to help an old family friend. Beca stepped aside, scratching the back of her neck as she gave a guilty look to her new companion.

The doctor stuck her chilled hand under Chloe’s chin, turning her head to the side as she winced in pain. She swallowed roughly, trying to lull the burn of having someone that close once more. Instead of vanilla or cinnamon.

“Fine,” She let out a long sigh, “Follow me.”

Beca gave Chloe a small shrug as the doctor started to walk with a certain stride towards the edge of the hallway. There were mahogany doors with glass smoky panes of glass. Gold lettering was marked on the edge, words written and meaningless. It reminded Chloe of personal investigators or old-time legal offices. She followed regardless, trying to ignore the icy feeling in the back of her throat.

Gail Abernathy, Technetium. Was sprawled against the glass in the same blocked lettering. She struggled with her keys just like Professor Aurum did. The files were left untouched on the other end of the hallway, all three girls forgetting about the once important paperwork.

“I don’t run a charity here.” The woman spoke, pushing the door open with a creak. She flicked on the golden light, making Chloe squint as she let out a shuddered breath. She didn’t quite understand what she was saying. Her eyes darted to the picture frames on the wall, family and a black lab that had a golden bone attached to the red leather collar. “If you want something, I get something in exchange. Sit.”

Chloe didn’t know what to do at first, it took a slight pressure on her shoulder from Beca for her to finally lower herself into the seat. It was cold, one of those shitty chairs that had fabric ripping at the seams and a bright splotchy yellow pattern.

“One ounce.” She spoke, reaching down to a mini-fridge in the corner. It was hidden away behind some printers and a couple of other documents. She had a hand turkey painting hung on bright green construction paper. The surface scrunched where too much paint had been used- dripping and messy just like the very blood she presented a few moments later.

It was in one of the opaque plastic bags that Chloe had only seen once at a blood drive for the Red Cross, and maybe on television a couple of times. It was never a sight to get enthralled about, yet now, her jaw was aching as that same burning ignited in her throat. She felt a rough pressure behind her eyes as she stifled a cough. She hadn’t realized Beca’s touch growing strong enough to crack a bone. She was holding her in place.

“You can have this.” Gail spoke with confidence as she let the sloshing liquid shift on the mahogany desk, “If I can have the same in return.”

“Fine.” Beca released her grip momentarily as she begrudgingly started to roll up her sleeve. The leather made an odd sound as it bent under he mercy. She stopped once the jacket was all the way above the fold of her elbow. “Just make it quick, please. I hate needles.”

“Interesting,” Gail leaned forward a bit, “But not from you, Mitchell. I have enough samples. I need the blood of someone in transition.”

“She’s too weak.” Beca snarled, instantly becoming a form of protection again as her fingers found Chloe’s shoulder again. “Taking that much will kill her.”

“Waiting for the perfect opportunity to get the fresh stuff will have the same effect.” Gail pointed out “Take it or leave it, Beca. It’s your choice.”

“I’ll do it.” Chloe finally spoke up, shocking the two in the room. She had been so quiet during all of this. She didn’t really know how to speak her mind when it came to gambling. This wasn’t for poker chips either. This was for something that Chloe couldn’t quite describe. She just knew she wanted whatever was in that bag more than anything. The scent was sweet and potent, her mouth watering as she shoved up her own sleeve- skin pale as those same black veins pulsed right under a soft colored canvas.

“Mm,” Gail got a mischievous smile on her pink lips as she pulled a kit from under her desk. Chloe positioned her arm right against the corner of the mahogany. Gail had lowered herself into a seat pushing the leather wheeled chair over to the girl. She wasn’t gentle with her movements.

She pulled a blue rubber strip from the little plastic box, tying it tight around Chloe’s upper arm. It pinched and pulled uncomfortably as the girl winced, Beca drawing in a long breath. She didn’t say a word though. “This might pinch a little.”

Chloe swallowed roughly as she closed her eyes and put her head back. It was something that she always did when blood was drawn. If she didn’t watch the needle pierce the vein than it wasn’t really there. It was just a discomfort that she could shove from her mind. This time, it felt draining though. Like her whole entire life was halting as the little glass tube filled with black blood.

“That’s enough,” Beca said.

Chloe was confused, it felt as if seconds had gone by, not enough time to grasp an ounce of blood from dry veins. She didn’t object though, instead of opening her eyes to the doctor wiping away excess liquid to the purple top of the vile as she placed it in the fridge with her lunch.

“Chlo,” Beca’s voice was soothing as she knelt in front of the girl, Gail watching curiously the brunette grasped the cold bag of blood. Its contents were dark, so dark that it was almost pitch.

A little plastic tip seemed to stop the syrup from moving from the end. Beca disregarded it, taking the edge in her mouth as she bit into the malleable plastic. It ripped easily enough, filling the room with the most fragrant smell that Chloe had ever experienced.

Crimson dripped against the edge of Beca’s pensive stare as she situated the small straw-like tube. She placed her free hand against Chloe’s jaw, drawing the girl’s attention once more. She was out of it, barely paying attention to anything that was happening in front of her. Exhaustion was racking her body, pain not a stranger.

“I need you to stay with me, alright?” Beca raised a brow as she used her thumb to part Chloe’s lips slightly, the girl wanting to squirm away as the first taste of blood finally soaked into her taste buds. It was overwhelming, the copper like swallowing a penny.

She coughed, spitting it back out as she shook her head in a grumbled voice, Beca trying to steady the ginger as much as she could. The blood dripped down her chin as she shook her head.

“Hey, I know” Beca coaxed once more, Chloe hating the taste, but despising the burn that followed right after. It was enticing, her fingers finally working around the plastic bag as she grabbed it herself- starting to gulp down the blood like she had been stranded in the desert for over a month with no access to water. That’s what it felt like, at this point, she didn’t’ care if she choked. She didn’t care about the doctor or the vampire who had changed her into this. Not when she finally had the relief that she was craving.

Beca sat back on her heels, letting out a small sigh of content as she glanced back at Gail. Her expression was almost taunting as color started to return to Chloe’s cheeks. The warmth never would, but at least she looked a little less like an extra from the walking dead and more like a colleges student surviving off of instant noodles.

Chloe let out a long breath as she finally pulled the bag away from her, the contents completely gone as she finally blinked her way back into some form of reality. Some form of consciousness that didn’t have a strong ache attached to it.

The brunette smiled, letting out a puff of air as she wiped the bright crimson from the corner of the girl’s mouth. “Welcome back, Red.”

[A/N: I really can’t tell if people like this on not, but I”m having fun so I’m gonna keep writing]

#Bechloe #Beca Mitchell #chloe beale #Pitch Perfect #fanfiction #vampire

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dunmerofskyrim · 7 years

Text

Millet danced in the pot’s round gut as it boiled. Dark grains, lustreless red and bark-brown, flecks of white; wild grains, changeling amongst the tame. It took the water slow. Then it became a froth, threatening against the pot’s curled lip. And then it was the froth, fat with heat and vanished water, old shape lost in the new.

Simra squat beside the fire, seated on his haunches. A bundle of cloth was pitched above the steaming pot, held between a forked stick and a leaning spear spiked down in the forest floor. Coarse cheap linen, fray-edged and nearly white, but colour flecked the fabric in blue and red and the rust of nosebleeds past — marks leftover from the long miscellany of its uses. Someone looms and toils for as long as it takes to make cloth, Simra reckoned the least you could do is not waste their work. Let its life be long and varied, til variety makes of it rags and ravels.

The dusk was half down already. Noor walked through the half-starved shortgrass. Leafmulch leftover from Autumn sucked and noised under her soft shoes. Noor sang as she went, breathy and low, in a voice like a breeze feeding scraps of itself to a fire.

Time enough, Simra decided. The cloth had sweat clean in the heat and the steam. Simra took it down. Nearby, a broad and flattish stone, like all the crags and rockspurs here, pinkbrown and pitted and porous. Simra lay the cloth out on it, then returned to the pot. It was almost scalding as he gripped it, filling his nose and throat with the black smell of bronze. Anyone else’s palms and it might have burnt, but against Simra’s scarred and callused skin it stopped just short of pain, like the heat of a bath just before it becomes bearable. He poured it out over the cloth.

“Famine food,” he grunted. His stomach growled all the same. “This isn’t a harvest. If more than a third of this came from field or barn or granary, then I’m a wolfcub’s wetnurse…” A snort that was almost laughter. “Dunno the last time a soldier said to me ‘foraging’ and meant what the word fucking means. This might be a fucking first…”

The millet porridge lay steaming as it spread, a thick puddle across the cloth. Bumps and seams at first, but they evened with time and turned to nothing. Slurry and motley, the colours of brush and birch and heather.

“The bounty of waste and hedgerow,” Simra said, “ditch and moor and whatever else those Black Lamps combed over for this…”

“What now?” Tammunei asked, sitting in the yurt’s nearby mouth. They’d been watching all this while, fire showing dim in their auburn eyes as they stared out one side of their face — the same bored fascination Simra had known otherwise only in the blank broad features of cats.

“Now you wait,” he said. “Looks like a spill now, but as it cools it’s almost like a cake. A big bland nothing of cake. I swear, millet’s the only thing you have to salt before it’ll even start tasting of itself.”

“Toast it first,” said Tammunei. “In the pot without water, before the water.”

Simra’s brow creased as the corners of his mouth curled up. “Well it’s too late for that now, but…”

“I just know,” Tammunei answered the question before he could ask it.

“I’ll try it next time.” Simra exhaled, rough and empty. “In truth, anything that’ll wring a scrap more flavour from this is welcome. Got days of it ahead, might as well make it bearable.”

“It’s all we’ve got?” said Noor.

The circle she’d walked broke inward, and she came into the firelight. No stars overhead. Just a hollow of birches and nameless bluish-barked trees, looking down and missing the leaves they’d lost. Noor had stolen the lights from the sky before the moons could wake them, and the moons were hid now too. Them and us, Simra thought. Her spell was done.

“You see me buy anything else from that slackjowl back in the camp?” Simra said. “Unless you’ve got more of that drymeat hidden under your saddle, yeah it’s all we’ve got. Reckon you can bear that?”

“Over a time short or long enough, anything’s bearable.” Her face was a mask, stiff and flat but for her old-blood eyes. “How long?”

“Three days to Davon’s watch at a ride. That’s my guess anyway. That’s a pound-and-some of millet a day, and anything else you can find… This is tonight and tomorrow.” Simra nodded at the cloth of cooling porridge. “Thrilling, of course.”

Noor sighed as she settled down near Tammunei into a straightbacked kneel. “It’ll have to do.”

“That’s the spirit,” Simra said, flat.

A day’s travel out from Senie and all of it through lands picked bare. Tame lands, orchards, terrace-farms, gleaned and gone wild in the wake of this small backwater war. Fruit trees stood like standing stones, their arms pulled off to feed cookfires and charcoal pits. Fields lay chawed and ruined, some of their harvests taken, but the rest stamped down and rotting beneath days of fall-and-thawing snow. The road itself they rode down was half-spoiled by those who’d ridden and walked it before. Lifeless country was hard to live from. Even the wild birds, the scrib, the burrowers and beasts had left and were yet to come back. Either that or they were hiding.

The way they’d come had passed from fields and terrace-tiered valleys and into close land, covetous of itself, and secretive. Bad country to march an army through, Simra thought; worse still to ride through, a small band of strangers. Loose woods where the pocked and troughed road wound between stands of trees, small families of shrubs, none agreeing with one another enough to band together into anything you’d call a forest. In the coves and overgrowth, they lost track of the distance, the mountains, the road ahead or behind. Between the bare outreaching branches, the sky was cut in pieces — potshards painted blue and scattered far and wide.

That was the land they camped in now. Leaf-fall, spars of dim pink stone like bones seen through the lean land’s starving skin, and bitter stunted trees. One lurched up in twists and knots from near where the yurt was pitched. Cords and lines of wood made up its trunk and branches — a tree put together like a rope is, woven and spooled from fainter thinner versions of itself. Old age hung thick as moss on its boughs, its ancient sleeping bole and wide-groping roots.

“You haven’t ever come this way,” said Tammunei. Another question whether it sounded asked or not.

“Not this way into the mainland, no.” Simra shuffled to the yurt’s mouth and under its awning. They were close enough together now to brush elbows, hold a conversation in whispers. Close enough that Simra could busy himself; talk without looking at them. “The plains for a while, and further south. Narsis and the swamps below it. Think I looked and saw Argonia once, down in the distance. But never the East. Or, well, never east enough that there just…weren’t birds anymore, you know? Not a single thing with fur.”

“But you know a lot about the Temple,” said Tammunei. “That is, you have a lot to say about them. The Indoril.”

Why? That was what they meant. How? Simra’s thoughts shuddered, kicked up a new course, and began to race. What had he already said, and to who? Familiar, this sudden half-scared speed. Like walking in the Rigs and finding of a sudden you’re followed, finding of a sudden your feet aren’t walking but slapping on wood, scuffling on scaffolds, and you’re in the Gulleybottom, downgorge, fleeing fast as you can through mud before you know you’re being chased. And then you round a corner, and find your mind has failed you. Where there ought to have been an alleycourse to vanish down, there’s blind walls, a stop, and no way ahead. You think hard as screaming, and your bare feet skid in the summertime mud. You check with yourself: what do I know?; who knows what I know? No-one? Good. It was familiar.

“Told you I’d been a scrivener a few times, right?” Simra looked up. His hands had gone to his bags while his mind whirled, and there they’d busied themselves. They brought out a bobbin of fine thread, roughsilk, pinned safe with a clip of copper. Now he searched Tammunei’s face. “Well, one of the places I set up to work sitting down for a while was Suran. That’s a Temple town.”

“Oh.” Tammunei blinked like something was wrong.

“What?”

“I didn’t know that. I thought — that is, I thought I knew the name from something else. I remembered, but with different things attached. It doesn’t matter.”

Simra paused, measuring the hitch in their voice. It wasn’t so much a matter of remembering what lies he’d told. He tried not to lie to Tammunei. But there were a lot of truths, and some were best kept closer than others.

“It changed,” Noor put in. “That’s the way on Vvardenfell. Things become things they weren’t before. The sea came to Suran when it was a ruin. Then the Baelathri bel-Indoril came from the sea.”

Noor’s knowing uneased Simra worse than Tammunei’s questions. “Right,” he said, quick, smiling. “Point is, I spent long enough there. Long enough scribing prayers for those that couldn’t write so they could go off shrineward and burn my pretty letters to ashes. Not that my Dunmeris script was worth much for prettiness back then, but allwise it was practice. Better than anything they could do, anycase. But my point is, I picked up some opinions before leaving.”

Cold and ear-aching air. A presiding pause. Tammunei’s head had bowed as Simra spoke and their eyes had closed. Small grey hands with coarse pink palms; Tammunei was tangling a lock of their hair. It would’ve been a braid but the strands kept losing their way, not waiting their turn, tying each over the other. Time was, years back, when Simra might’ve let them finish the mess they were making just to give them both an excuse. To give Tammunei a reason to sit between his knees a while as his fingers untied the knots, one by one; combed out the red thatch of it and said, I’m sorry I can’t braid them again, just unmake them… Now Simra just watched, and hoped the hair wouldn’t mat so bad as it might.

Tammunei was cross-eyed over the length of hair in their fingers. “But what did they do to you?” they asked, without looking up.

Simra’s face clenched, then slack into laughlines and squinting laughing eyes. “Do to me?” He rasped.

“You hate them. What did they do to earn it?”

“Ghosts and bones, I don’t hate them!” Simra kissed his teeth, fidgeted his white fingers against the heel of his palm. The nail of the pointer finger dug a little; the other three stayed short, never grew. “House Indoril never did bad by me. Never did a thing to me but gave me work, a trade to learn, and coin for the doing of it. Books to borrow…”

“Then it’s either what they’ve done to others, or what they are themselves…” said Noor.

“Hmn.” Simra grunted. “Reckon it must be.”

His smile had faded; his laughter gone to silence. His attention went insistent back to the bobbin of thread. He unwound a double handslength; held the spool in his left hand, the end in his right, and went to the flat stone, the sheet of linen, the millet, cooked and cooled and set now. His back was to the others. Face a hidden stormcloud, hands working, thread taut between them. He used it like a wire, slicing the cake of millet into fingers and inches. Like inking the rules onto a new leaf in a ledger — tabulating the blank space into boxes and columns, the streets and houses and rooms of the mind. He chewed on his lower lip, concentrating; felt the scar there, stiff as gristle. And then he shuffled aside to let the others see.

“Doesn’t look like much?” His tone was bright again, talking them fast away from where they’d last been. “Well it isn’t. Less you’ve got fatback for our skillet in which case, fried up, it’s pure poor man’s pleasure, but…we don’t. Still got its uses though. Knew a girl in Windhelm, hair only a shade distant from yours, Tammu. She swore she had an old aunt who did the same with oaten porridge or barley. Said she’d make too much every morning by design, because her way was that she had this drawer in this old seachest. She’d crack open that drawer, pour the rest of the pot out and in. In with the dust and the dead spiders and all. That worked like flour for kneading bread, right? Stopped the porridge sticking. Then she’d leave it with the shadows to get cold. And then when she was hungry? She’d open it up again and just cut herself a slice.”

Disgust glanced across Noor’s face. Tammunei’s disgust looked more like concern.

“…Nords,” Simra finished, half-lame.

“We don’t have a drawer,” Tammunei said. “We’re not doing that.”

“Too right we’re fucking not, thanks be.”

Simra shuffled round till he faced the fire. Its flames were all but dead now. Only cracked drywood, white and fissured with black, and the longer sticks and branches looking like clean-scorched bones. Half-eaten fuel grey-banked with hot cinders. He lay the small bricks of cold millet in the belly of his pot again and stamped it down into the ashes to nestle there.

“We bake them,” he said. “By morning they’re crisped up, dry, and you can fill your feedsacks. Biscuits. Travel food.”

“And tonight?” Noor asked.

Simra grunted and nodded his head to the cloth, still lain out on the flat stone. Three handlengths of cold and cut millet, dapple-coloured with sides sharp and regular where the thread had cut, but the upmost face whorled and wrinkled. Like firestone gone to liquid and cooled; the new floor of a filled in foyada. Like glass, wept long ago from the leadframing of a window, a lake now of grimy unmelting ice. Vvardenfell, Simra thought and then stopped thinking.

“Doesn’t look like much?” he said. “It isn’t.”

He picked up his ingot of millet. A hasty motion but dainty-held between his fingertips. He took a bite and it tasted of nothing. Only the faint thirst-shadow of salt.

“Does the baking make it taste better?” said Tammunei, eating, swallowing.

“No. Just makes it keep.”

Tammunei gave a small hum and finished their share.

“Such bounty,” said Noor. “Should we thank the ancestors do you think?”

Simra kissed his teeth. “You want bounty, hunt for it. Only don’t fall behind.”

Noor’s curt laugh smoked in the air.

A snow began to fall. Thick and shapeless flakes, wet and then melting to water as soon as they touched skin, cloth, ground. What was left of the fire sizzled and spat, fighting the damp. Snow steamed from the pot as Simra fixed a flap of hide over its mouth, tying it with twine. A pilgrim’s oven, he’d heard it called: ashes, iron, and leather.

Perhaps it was Skyrim still clinging to him, colouring his mind as the cost it asked for raising him, but in Winter a feeling came over him: that it had always been Winter, or at least more often than not. In his memories, and in the stories he told, and in this falling night. Failing snow and senseless feet and aching humming ears.

#TES #Morrowind #Dunmer #Simra Hishkari #SH Forth and Back #SH New Canon #Tammunei Ereshkigal #Noor Jedhredzuk

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cagedbycravings · 6 years

Text

Iron Necessity

Author’s Notes: I needed to re-do some of the scenes in this story. I’m also trashing Esmerie’s former personality. She deserves better. And as a result will experience more grit.

Special Thanks: @sassysatsuma and @urgentorange for inspiring me. Your writing has brought forth a new desire to challenge my characters in (hopefully) non cliched ways. Bones in particular helped me frame my characters Elyse and Margaux. Urgent Orange's take on Price and Soap has provided more depth into their characters than I could have ever imagined. Thank you!

Chapter I: Purpose

"The magnitude of a progress is gauged by the greatness of the sacrifice that it requires."- Friederich Nietche

Margaux Lèvesque had never been one for blatancy. Her final words on the day she left in search of the Godfather of her children, were no exception. A peculiar decision in Esmèrie's mind, as her mother never placed much emphasis on fatherly types. While their relationship was far from platonic, Parrain nor Maman were in positions to ever consider themselves amorous. Elyse reasoned that it was because it would leave them vulnerable. The visage of her twin sister flashed in her mind as her heart flinched from the protruding pain of being separated from her twin.

The breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean brought some comfort as the young brunette felt the evening waves rush to kiss the last of the late summer air.

A growing shadow caught in her periphery, her bright hazels flickered with alert before locking with a lithe man. His dark eyes and matching hair made him seem haunting. His rectangular glasses gleamed furthering the unsettling feeling in her stomach. Esmèrie supposed she had no one to blame but herself regarding her mistrust of him. Her decision to contact a Black Dahlia member was out of sheer desperation. Hiring the organization meant two primary stipulations would have to be met. One, she'd go where they deemed safest for however long. And two, she'd forgo any substantial privacy. The latter perturbed her more than she'd let on as she had to at least appear accustomed to their sporadic meetings. He introduced himself as Cillian Hawke. His hallowed cheekbones combined with his slanted hair over his face gave his eyes a darkness she’d seen few men parallel.

That night they met in a hotel lobby, she knew she'd made a mistake. His voice was too smooth. A silvery twist in his Irish accent making her feel as though his words always held a secretive second meaning. Their interactions were terse though Esmèrie sensed he was becoming impatient. She knew she was biding her time with him. Keeping the loose screws of his mind between her fingers was becoming difficult.

If he expected a demure, doe-eyed, damsel in distress, Esmèrie would give that to him. She squeezed her wrist, allowing her gaze to avert from his. He towered over her by several inches, sinewy arms never far from her own. His resistance was waning as she noted how little space was between them. No longer maintaining a professional distance once they arrived in Rio, Cillian seemed intent on keeping her in a cage. "You've been out here awhile. Why not come inside?"

“I was waiting for the water to cool so I could go for a swim." Clutching her wrist, she passed a glance over her shoulder.

His lips twitched into a smile. "Very well, then."

Esmèrie descended the wooden staircase leading to the private beach, shielded by a cove. Sliding down the hill, she didn't mind the sand dusting her brightly colored tunic, nor the sudden sloshing foam inside her strappy sandals.A conclave folded into the cove as she tucked herself out of sight. A small backpack and wooden oar were propped beside the stone wall. Esmèrie tossed a quick glance behind her. Keeping her secret from Cillian had become a matter of solace. Months ago, she’d discovered a route away from the beach facing villa she’d been sequestered in. It had been sheer luck to have tranquil waters that led her away from sight.

Trudging down the steep incline, she spotted the small fisherman’s boat tied to one of the boulders. The waves splashed against the chipped wood vessel, its weight rocking while she steadied herself inside. Lifting the loop from the stone, she propelled herself forward. The commanding tide bore plenty of risks, but it was a small price to pay for a bit of isolation. A wave whisked her around a familiar cliff-side before luring her into the shallow alcove hidden inside a misty waterfall. Drifting slowly, she inhaled, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. The rushing of the waterfall engrossed her, providing solace to quell the frenzy of her mind. Tying the boat onto the end of the withering wooden dock, she sighed allowing a bit of light to fill her hazels. She’d restored an abandoned villa using forgotten materials from a sunken cruise ship, submarine, and harvested wood from the last storm. Trudging past the rock fire-pit, she turned her head at the sound of a hum rising from the oncoming tide. Her eyes skimmed the water to see that her buoys had remained in place. Crafted with materials that the fisherman used, she added a few solar powered buoys that glowed once charged. The eco-friendly material dissolved the radiation through reverse osmosis. A breakthrough for the environment affected by nuclear leakage. Not enough to satiate her appetite, the scientist was in the beginning phases of true neutralization. Utilizing similar material in her iridescent warp shaped lanterns, Esmèrie had found a way to speed up the process of stabilizing isotopes but had yet to discover a means to properly neutralize the materials. The thought sparked a reminder of the reoccurring weakness she felt. She’d need to eat soon. Heaving a sigh, she dropped her backpack onto the floor beside the brightly colored cushions upheld by wooden pallets. She’d sewn the pillows by hand. Discarded feathers from the local herons tucked beneath a rough looking but effective seam. She gingerly reclined against the fabric with a sigh. Tilting her head from one end of the house to the other, she smiled at her handiwork. It was no Edra but it resembled a home.

And if there was anything she’d learned from her family it was how powerful a tool replication was. The sting of chagrin reddened her cheeks, twisting her lips. Manipulation was a natural aspect to humanity. Her rational mind knew this. From infancy onward, the ability to manipulate had been pivotal in achieving success. The visage of buttery blond waves dipped in rose gold made Esmè’s stomach clench. The seething reminder of why she’d flown thousands of miles from her home suddenly burned into her back. A creak of a drawer revealed a small square device. The lettering almost stinging her fingers when she traced the Russian Cyrillic lining the edge. Closing the drawer, Esmèrie sighed while absent mindedly rubbing the knots in her stomach. Three months since the wound of betrayal had etched its way through her. Cracking the foundation built on trust and…naivety.

Lifting her gaze to the mirror, Esmèrie inhaled sharply. Brushing the bangs from her face, she tucked the loose curls behind her ear. The Brazilian sun had burned her hair into a cinnamon brown bob. Still sticky with sea salt, she sighed while removing her tunic. The water sprang from the shower head with a creak, steam consuming her figure. Visions of intense pale blue eyes flashed before her. Tilting her head, Esmèrie could only hope to rinse off the searing tears in her eyes.

Dread sunk her heart into her stomach that morning. Shuffling in her bunk, Elyse reached for her phone. Squinting at the intrusive light, she'd woken up exactly five minutes before her alarm. Again.

Cursing her luck, she crawled down from her bunk to splash some water on her face. Anxiety still dilated her pupils as she breathed. With time they settled providing a moment of peace in the flickering mirror light. It'd been awhile since Elyse looked at herself. Her once wide-set eyes had narrowed from stress. The hazel brightened with effervescent green had become jaded.

Small sacrifices, ultimately. She had been warned that enlisting would require a piece of herself. And in her years, she'd risen to the task each time. Her cheeks had thinned, providing a better bone structure. Her dimples remained, a comforting reminder of what little the Service hadn't taken from her. Her toffee brown hair had just grown long enough to hold in a ponytail as it dusted her shoulders evenly now. She didn't inherit her Mum's magnificent curls or her striking beauty, but she still held her strength and determination.

Elyse heard her roommate shuffle in her bed, a hushed apology reaching across the room. A simple shrug was her response. Typical, as making friends since enlisting had been a joke. She shook her head before reaching her closet. Might as well get dressed and head to breakfast.

A surge of anxiety resurfaced again that morning. She'd been running and nearly keeled over, drawing the ire of her commanding officer. A man of exceptional kindness, he'd pulled her into his office to discuss the matter."You're not one for slacking, what's going on?"Her eyes dropped, giving her a moment to contemplate her answer. "Just an off day, sir."He nodded, convinced enough to not push the matter. "Fine, just get it together. A General's coming in to see the division."Elyse nodded. Her return to her training was renewed with a fervent tenacity as she doubled her speed, striking the targets with precision. Being one of a dozen women in the newly formed Paragon Division was an accomplishment all its own. The jog back to the rest of members earned her scowls. She heard the whispers among the regiment. Arrogant, aloof, easily angered.

She'd heard it all.A familiar whisper caught in the wind as she felt her heart race again. Her blood running cold with trepidation. She blinked away the tears pricking at her eyes, a playful nudge jolted her from her thoughts. She tensed overlooking her shoulder to see lips moving, her ears struggling to hear above the sudden sobbing filling her mind. Her attention turned to the General who’d begun to speak at a podium.

His voice drifted from her ears, replaced by the dread echoing through her bones. What could possibly be happening in that prison Esmè calls a home?

A twisting in her gut began again while she listened to what Shepherd had to say. Very little of his speech stuck out, her mind drifting to her twin. She felt her body internally tighten as if her muscles were curling, her stomach folding in half, her lungs collapsing.

"Which is why we'll be connecting the Paragon division with the 141."That caught her attention, her eyes sharpening. Women had only been permitted to enlist among the Infantry for the last couple of years. She’d been promoted to Sergeant despite the controversy regarding the decision to assign a woman to the front lines. Now that the opportunity for presented itself for her to join the best handpicked fighters on the planet, she'd be one step closer to her reason for joining up with the regiment.

In the meanwhile, Esmè will just have to manage on her own. A pang of guilt struck her heart at the callousness of her words. Her eyes focused forward as Shepherd continued to speak.

"Wait, what?" Meat sat up from his reclined position on the couch. "Why the hell is Shepherd connecting another task force with ours? Are we no longer the best handpicked warriors on the planet?"

"Because," Soap released an exasperated sigh. "He feels that it's necessary."

"With all due respect Captain, this is bullshit. What are these kids going to do when shit hits the fan? Cry out for their mommies? And about women joining, what the hell does Shepherd expect to have happen if they are captured? Raped?"

Soap inhaled sharply, irritation clear in his features. "We're all quite aware of the risks involved. The adjoining task force will be no different."

"None of these brats better slow us the fuck down." Meat hissed shooting a sharp glare at his Captain.

Soap rolled his eyes, preparing to leave whenever he heard a cockney accent behind him.

"When are they arriving?" Ghost propped himself against the wall, arms crossed, eyes unwavering despite the sigh escaping Soap's lips.

“Today. Expect to see quite a number of new faces around." He left before the rumblings of the others reached his ears.In truth, he had no issues with women joining the military and was quite the supporter of them enlisting among the ranks involving special forces.

There were risks involved, of course. But MacTavish had prided himself on remaining open minded to the idea that new people would bring new solutions. One of the very few remaining traits of his that hadn't become jaded in his time in the 141.

Unfortunately, he knew all too well that the others wouldn't share his mentality. Archer, Meat, and Scarecrow were among the highest strung in the bunch, but none would compare to the vexation held by Ghost.

Sighing, MacTavish cracked his neck before checking his watch. They'd be arriving soon.

The vehicle came to a stop as a bag jostled her awake. "Wake up." She'd heard the driver call. "We're here."The orders were simple. Line up and wait to meet their Commanding Officers. Elyse was quick to deduce that typical regulations wouldn't apply here upon seeing Mactavish's mohawk and Riley's mask.

"Welcome to the 141. I'm Captain Mactavish. And this is Lieutenant Riley. Now we realize that due to the new requirements the resting quarters are going to be unusual. Women will be placed near the Medical wing until further notice.

"The short introduction followed by the small distance between the separating groups was enough for Elyse to notice the tension radiating throughout the base. If there was one thing Elyse was certain of, it was when she wasn't welcome somewhere. Their uniforms gave them away. Dressed in black t-shirts and forest green cargo pants, they clearly weren't blending in anytime soon. Beside her was a shorter strawberry blonde with her hair tied into a messy bun. She did all she could to avoid making eye contact from the other base members. Their prima-donna reputation proceeded them.

She could feel similar stares behind her as three other women ranging in various height and ages attempted to cover their intimidation. Reaching the make-shift barracks, they waited for Riley to finish his speech. "You may be new but that won't make you exempt to any of the expectations here." His cockney tone grated Elyse's ears as she internally counted the moments until he left. The Paragon members were split among five rooms with an additional door closed at the end of the hallway. Entering her room, Elyse heard someone sigh in relief behind her. Turning back to her bunk, she began neatly unpacking her belongings.

"Hi." The raised, almost sing-song Scottish accent caused her to tense. "I'm Clover Taylor." The strawberry blonde with round face and oval eyes beamed at Elyse.

An awkward pause ensued as Elyse barely overlooked her shoulder. Not without her manners, she gave a forced yet polite nod.

"Lèvesque."

"First name or last?" Elyse shot a blank stare at the strawberry blonde only to watch her fall into a fit of nervous giggling. "Kidding, of course."

Elyse didn't bother with eye contact as she climbed into the top bunk. Lying down she clasped her fingers behind her head, eyes shut as she waited for her roommate to take a hint. Her thoughts floated to her twin once again feeling the walls of her heart tense, offering little relief into her veins.Clover resisted the urge to slump as she unpacked her belongings. At least my previous roommates spoke to me.

Training in the first few weeks was tense as Elyse recognized how determined Lieutenant Riley was to maintain a clear divide between the two task forces. There had been an unspoken understanding in dividing the recreation room. The 141 would remain on the side closest to the kitchen. The Paragon would remain on the side closest to the exit.

Riley stood in a darkened corner like the hawk she'd kept as a pet. Watching—waiting for a moment to strike back at her. She'd heard him skewer Taylor, the newest medic on the team after he took a nasty hit during a sparring session.

The medic barely stood at his sternum and shook like a leaf until Elyse stepped in. She may have only been a Sergeant, but she cared very little for titles when they were being used to—in her own words—cater to the needs of a spewing asshole. Whether it be due to Riley's reputation, preserving their own careers, or enjoying a shit-show; the other members kept their distance and silence.

Lieutenant Blaire Evans was an exception. Before Elyse defended Clover, she'd been ready to step in herself. Her dark brown undercut hair parted over her face, as she shared disdain for not just Riley but for the 141 in general. "Bunch of over-privileged wankers." She hissed before tossing back another shot of whiskey. "Where'd you get this?"

"Taylor." Elyse muttered reaching for the bottle. "As thanks."

"A woman of few words, eh? I can respect that." Elyse smirked as she poured her drink. Catching a glimpse of their very nervous medic making her way to the table, she and Blaire offered polite nods."Do you mind if I sit with you guys?" Clover tugged at the sleeve at her wrist.

"So long as you don't consider us one of them, I don't see why not." Blair finished her shot. "Cheers by the way."

Clover sat down uneasily, trying to avoid the stares in her direction. "Cheers." The redhead grimaced at the taste of the liquor, missing the chuckles from Elyse and Blaire.

"Drink often?" Blaire watched with a gleam of amusement in her grey eyes."Not really." The medic replied sheepishly as she set down her glass. Elyse smirked before enjoying another sip of her drink. Scanning the room while the other two chatted, she noted that the base itself felt much larger than it was. In truth, everything was simply spread out. "So, what made you join?" Elyse passed a glance in Blaire's direction.

"Fulfilling a promise." She could practically hear Blaire's eyebrow raise. "You?"

"Family tradition. Everyone serves."

"Admirable." Her eyes looked past the Lieutenant as Meat and Royce approached.

"Heard you talked shit to our Lieutenant. Not sure if you noticed, but there's a chain of command here." Meat huffed, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of indignation.

Elyse sharpened her glare. "And?"

"And you need to respect it. You may have been hot shit before, what with being an all-women's team, but here you're nothing." Elyse failed to suppress her flinch. Meat's words echoed in the well of her memories.

She couldn't—wouldn't go back there. Physically or emotionally. "And if I don't?" Elyse felt her blood boil, rising from her chair. She hated how easily wound up she could be and yet, she'd never really tried to prevent it from happening.

Meat kept just enough of a gap to show he hadn't touched her yet. He had a good few inches over her as she barely stood at his clavicle. He squared his shoulders, leering down at her. "You warm up quickly, I like that in a woman."

Disgust filled her eyes, her fist cracking. The room grew quiet as she felt the eyes of others cast her direction. Silent enough to hear a pin drop, time slowed as Elyse felt the urge to rip that smirk from his face.

The sound of connecting flesh brought Mactavish into the room. Seeing Meat's body flip head first onto the ground sent him into a near frenzy. He was just inches from grabbing Elyse by her collar whenever she felt a strong hand on his fist.

"They're settling things." Her tone was unnervingly tranquil, her grey eyes expression unfazed by his rising anger.

"Not on my watch." He spat before attempting to side step her. She blocked him, moving her free hand to his chest.

"Sergeant Lèvesque, stand down."

As if someone had flicked a switch, Elyse released her vice grip from Meat's arm letting it fall onto the floor with a crumble. Meat's darkened eyes heated with humiliation as he felt Royce lift him, quietly ushering him out of the room's only exit. Mactavish never broke his stare, a rare fire in his cobalt blue eyes. How he'd wish they would burn into Blaire's icy greys, evoking some sort—any sort of reaction.

Blaire waited for Meat and Royce's footsteps to quiet before giving an almost pleased glance at the younger soldier. "Head back to quarters, Lèvesque. You've done enough tonight."

Elyse's impassive stare seeped into the atmosphere lowering the temperature of the room. A natural habit she'd inherited from her mother. She ignored the stares ranging from bewilderment to vexation while she exited.

Scolding herself internally, rounding her fists. Was this why I enlisted? To pick fights with pig-headed pricks? No. Her resolve needed tending. Proving her decision to join the service wouldn’t happen if she couldn’t control her temper.

Closing the door behind her, she looked over the small room she’d been assigned to. A bunk bed, a table set for two, and a small space for a desk. Climbing into her bed, Elyse sighed. The knots in her stomach had traveled to her head resulting in a headache. Willing herself to sleep, Elyse clutched the empathy symbol hanging around her neck.

Clover had scuttled into the room at some point, glasses balanced on top of each other in one hand half full of whiskey in the other. Seeing Elyse's still form, she quietly tucked away her celebratory trinkets before cautiously stripping out of her uniform. Elyse's back faced her giving some semblance of privacy as the skittish 24-year-old slid into some brightly colored printed pajama pants. Slipping into a fitted tank top, she let down her hair before reclining against her pillows. Switching on the small book light next to her, she cracked open one of her medical text books.

She'd been the youngest graduate in her class, an accomplishment all its own until she enlisted with the Royal Army Medical Corps. Her height, gender, and age did little to gain confidence in her patients. As a result, she took on as many responsibilities possible, refusing to relinquish herself despite the obstacles with pushy patients, cynical corpsmen, and arrogant doctors. Serving as a Nurse Practitioner would have its drawbacks, but she felt called to a position that was desperately needed but often overlooked.

The lines had begun to blur as she rubbed her eyes. Stifling a yawn, she had just closed her eyes whenever a voice caused her tense.

"You'll burn yourself out if you don't pace yourself."

Lifting her head, a mix of excitement and confusion filled her amber brown eyes."How did you know-"

"My mum's a nurse. Her mum was a nurse. And her mum before her."

"That's cool. So then, why not become a medic, if you don't mind my asking."

Clover chided herself for being a little too eager to have the first real conversation with her roommate since they arrived.

"Requires too much empathy."

The room plunged into an uncomfortable silence as Clover felt stifled by the numerous inquiries threatening to burst from her lungs. It was as if Elyse sensed this as she shuffled above Clover. Sitting up she attempted to crack her stiff neck. Meat had been able to land only a hand on her, but his grip on the nape of her neck caused her to be unable to properly recline her head.

"Would you have a look at something for me?" Clover could hear Elyse's voice soften as her shadow leaned over the ledge on the top bunk.

"Certainly." Elyse slid from her bunk to the ground before rounding the corner.

"Please." The medic motioned with her hand, folding up her textbook. Swiping her shoulder length hair from the back of her neck, Clover frowned at the bruise forming. "Tell me where it hurts." She gently pressed her fingers along the tender areas of Elyse's back stopping whenever she flinched."Nothing feels broken. Some swelling that may lead to some more bruising. You should ice it for the next couple days."

"Thanks." Elyse flashed a smile so faint, Clover wasn't certain she'd seen it. "No, I should be thanking you. For what you did what that Lieutenant and for tonight." Elyse shrugged.

"We're a team. When someone comes after one of us, they'll need to be ready for all of us."

Clover nodded, a smile tugged at her lips.

"Goodnight, Taylor. Thanks again." Elyse climbed back into the top bunk carefully lying on her neck.

"Anytime. And goodnight." Flicking off her book light, Clover released a contented sigh before drifting off to sleep.

#call of duty #modern warfare #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john soap mactavish #iron necessity

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totallyrhettro · 7 years

Text

Adrift, chapter 9 (final)

Word Count: 2289 Rating: This chapter: PG; Overall story rating: Explicit Warnings: Kissing Summary: After almost drowning in the Cape Fear River as a young man, Rhett can’t seem to get over his fear of swimming. Link is a swim instructor who offers to help. Notes: AU. Rhett and Link have never met and are in their late 20s. Based on the events described in GMCL 24, but Rhett was there alone.

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter

“Are you doing okay?” Link asked, taking Rhett’s hand in his own. The taller man felt dorky in his board shorts, stripe tee and a orange life jacket. Still he felt a great deal better having it on, considering what he was planning to do.

It had been several years since the two of them had met, since Rhett had first seen Link teaching swimming classes at the gym. It seemed like ages ago. It seemed like yesterday. Rhett had managed so much in the past years, with Link by his side. He gave him the courage to face his fears and the strength to overcome them. Even better than helping Rhett with his nightmares, which he hadn’t had for months, Link lightened up his life, filling every day with sunshine, every night with passion. In so many ways Rhett’s life had been made better by having Link be part of it. For that he was eternally grateful.

“I’m fine,” he assured his boyfriend, squeezing his hand. “It's not my first dive. Just show me to the boat.” Boat didn’t quite do it justice. Turning a corner on the maze of docks, Link led Rhett to one of the many boats tied up at the marina. At twenty-five feet, it was a fairly impressive craft with neat letters painted on the back forming the words: ‘Sail On’. Rhett always appreciated the Lionel Richie reference.

It had a pilothouse, so the pilot could be high and dry, and there was a full galley below deck. It was a bit short for Rhett, but he was used to it and besides he planned on sitting a lot. Hopping onto the edge of the boat, Link climbed aboard before holding out his hand to help his boyfriend. At first Rhett wanted to ignore the offered hand and use his long legs to get onto the boat with ease, but the smile on Link’s face was too much to brush off. He took the hand, trying not to blush, and let his boyfriend pull him onto the boat.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” he joked.

“Permission granted, sir,” Link said with an exaggerated salute, and a cheerful grin. “Welcome aboard.” Pulling Rhett closer he stood on his tiptoes to give him a quick peck. “Did you ever think, before we met, you’d ever be able to step onto a boat floating on the ocean?”

“Definitely not.” He didn’t quite have his sea legs yet and he walked over to sit on the bench situated at the stern. “I’ve been doing a lot of things I never imagined, lately.” Link sat beside him and put his arm around his waist to pull him closer.

They sat there for sometime, not saying anything, just thinking about the past years, ago the past evening. How to brave great watery depths wasn’t the only thing Link had been teaching him. Holding Rhett close he placed a sweet kiss on the man’s lips, relishing in his taste, his smell. Rhett kissed him back with just as much vigor, just as much love, and for a time they both forgot why they had boarded their ship in the first place. Eventually Link broke away, with some effort, and got to his feet. It was time to go.

“Shall we then?” As he walked about the boat, untying the vessel from the dock, Rhett watched him very closely. The ocean breeze was blowing through his dark hair, the warm sun revealing the brown that normally looked black in dimmer lights. The muscles of his arms flexed as he worked on the thick ropes tying the boat to shore and he chewed his lip in concentration as his lover checked on numerous instruments.

As they set out on the open ocean, Link moved with untold grace and certainty; this was a man who had been boating for a long time, who knew his ship inside and out. This was a man who tamed the sea and didn't let the water tame him.

They cruised for a while, shooting the breeze. Rhett managed to stumble his way to Link’s side, sitting in the pilot seat while they talked. It wasn't so bad, being around so much water, as long as his love was in easy grabbing distance. Link did his best to keep their course smooth and it wasn't long before they reached their destination.

A hide-away beach, probably privately owned by someone neither of them knew, was a secret spot was far out of view of the public. Link slowed the boat to a stop before turning to Rhett.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Rhett wondered. It was a lovely spot, very isolated and serine. Link gave a noncommittal head tilt.

“Partially. Come on; let’s go for a swim.” It hadn’t been the first time Rhett had braved the waters of the great deep ocean, but he still could not help but feel a twinge of nervousness every time he found himself poised to venture in once again. As he opened the seat in the back of the boat, that doubled as storage, and began looking for their snorkels and flippers, he happened to glance over at Link taking off his shorts. Like Rhett, he had worn his speedos on under his other clothes and now he was bending over to reveal them. Bending over and pointing his perfectly round butt right towards Rhett.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Rhett accused with a chuckle. Link didn’t answer but wiggled his adorable behind as he squirmed out of his shorts. Rhett shook his head as he removed his own non-swimming attire. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“I can’t wait,” Link giggled, slipping on his flippers. Grabbing up one of the sets of snorkeling goggles, he leaned backwards over the boat and flopped into the crystal clear waters with a lovely splash. Rhett wasn’t in a hurry to follow but he knew he would. He would follow that man anywhere.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were swimming effortlessly through the shallows. Since his first venture into the salty depths, Rhett had shown himself to be a very strong swimmer. Working out at the gym once a week helped quite a bit. Link had taken him places he never thought possible, places that made overcoming his fears worth it. Today they were in a simple cove, not a lot of coral or fish. These were Rhett’s favorites, actually. Little to hurt himself on, not far from surface to sandy floor, and a clear view as far as his eyes could see. Perfect.

He treasured moments like this. During these past few years he and Link had become very successful in their respective fields of engineering. More than making them enough money to purchase a sea-faring vessel, it kept them rather busy. Vacations were rare these days. These times when they were able to get away, be with just each other and no one else, these were the more precious. Not long ago Rhett had moved into Link’s place. They told each other it was for convenience, but they both knew it was more. Rhett wanted to spend every waking moment, every moment he wasn’t awake as well, with the man he loved.

Rhett took off his snorkel mask, floating on his back. He thought about their busy lives, as he had many times before. He had gotten everything he wanted, everything he thought he wanted, and more. He had a good job, a nice house, and a wonderful boyfriend. Yet he missed the days when he was living paycheck to paycheck because he had his music. He had time for his music. He missed playing the guitar. If only there was a way to be a musician instead of an engineer. What would his life be like then?

“Getting tired?” Link’s voice drifted through the air like a gentle breeze as he slowly floated by. He bumped his hand against Rhett’s and the taller man turned to smile at his love.

“Just thinking.” Looking back up at the sky, he look Link’s hand in his own. “Wondering what my life would be like if I went off and became a musician.”

“You are a musician. I’ve heard you play.”

“You know what I mean. Like, for a living. Instead of an engineer.”

“Would you be happier?” A fair question. One Rhett wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. He squeezed Link’s hand.

“I am happy,” he promised. “Did I sound like I wasn’t happy?” For a moment they were quiet, just floating there, holding hands like otters, watching the gentle clouds drift by, listening to the water slosh around them and the occasional seagull flying above.

“I wanted to make films,” Link confessed after the longest time. “I came to California to write comedy films, but it’s a tough industry. I had to fall back on my engineering major. It worked out okay, but I always regret not trying harder.”

“It’s not too late. You can still be a film writer.”

“And you can still be a musician,” Link countered. “Anyone can these days. There’s this online thing called YouTube...”

The two men swam for a bit longer before heading back to the boat. Rhett was the first one aboard, pulling himself up easily. He quickly turned to help Link up, but he was pushing himself backwards.

“I’m just gonna take one last dive,” he said, pulling his snorkeling mask back on. “Be right back.” With a wink he ducked down under the waves and disappeared. Rhett gave a very understanding smile, chuckling under a sigh as he took off his flippers. He knew Link would be along in his own time. Meanwhile he changed back into his dry clothes.

When Link returned he burst from the waters, grasping onto the side of the boat and splashing water all about. He tossed his goggles onto the deck and wiped the wet hair from his face

“You're like Poseidon,” Rhett noted once he got over his surprise. Link laughed as he pulled himself up.

“Look who's talking. Put a trident in your hand and you’d be a spitting image of the god of the ocean.” Sitting on the gunwale of the ship, he placed a small orange box on the seat next to him.

“What’s that?” Rhett didn’t wait for an answer before picking it up and turning it over. It said ‘ultrabox’ on the side, but little else. It looked almost brand new. “Did you find this down there?”

“I did.” Link looked rather suave but at the same time there was a hint of something else in his eyes. Rhett had seen it so rarely in his lover’s eyes he almost didn’t recognize it. After a moment he was sure; Link was nervous. “Why don’t you open it?” Cocking an eyebrow Rhett shrugged and looked to see how the strange box opened. He didn’t notice, as he found the latch, that Link had moved from his spot on the ledge. As he flipped open the lid, revealing a smaller box inside, he didn’t see how Link had bent down on one knee and was now kneeling before him.

“What’s this?” he asked, curious and confused. “What-?” Looking up he saw Link, his eyes far too blue to be real, his smile far too beautiful for anything less than an angel. “Link?” Rhett voice barely made it out to ask. “...Link?”

“Open it,” Link whispered, hopeful and scared. As Rhett’s eyes turned down to the second box, black and velvet, Link bit his lip. Time was slowing down to a near standstill and he could barely breathe. Rhett was holding his breath too as he picked up the black box. His fingers felt so weak as they lifted the lid revealing the band inside.

“Link.” A simple band, titanium inlaid with one large strip of Hawaiian Koa wood and a smaller one of pure turquoise. “It’s beautiful.” More than it’s gorgeous colors, and the thought that had gone into picking it out, what it symbolized was beautiful. “You found this?” He was highly doubtful.

“I did… It was right where I left it.” Taking Rhett’s shaking hand in his own Link took a deep breath. “Rhett… You’ve set my entire life on it’s head, from the day I saved your life to the day I saw you in that gym. You changed my life for the better- you make me better, every day, every moment. I don’t deserve you, but still here I am. Asking...” Tears formed in Rhett’s eyes and he could barely blink them away.

“You saved my life, Link,” he choked, remembering. “I don’t want to spend it with anyone else.”

“Does that mean you’ll-?”

“Yes!” Rhett shouted, nearly dropping the ring as he rushed to hug Link. “I’ll marry you.” Tears fell from both of their eyes now, the sweetest tears of joy. After a minute of hugging and crying and sputtering happy nonsense, Rhett pulled away. “What am I going to tell my parents?”

“I already told them.”

“You what?” Link rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“They sort of found out by accident,” Link explained. “Last time I went back home with you. You’re brother caught me rummaging through your stuff, looking for a class ring.” He gestured to the ring still in Rhett’s hand. “I wanted to make sure I got the right size.” Flustered, Rhett slipped the ring onto his finger, staring at it like he still couldn’t believe his life.

“It’s perfect.” He kissed Link’s cheek. “Just like you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Rhett,” Link replied, kissing back. “Always and forever.”

The End

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#rhett #link #rhink #fanfic #adrift #sorry if my attempt at fluff goes cheesy

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lonely-kitten-named-bambi-backup · 5 years

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Slow down, lie down, remember it’s just you and me

A fluffy little Namjoon Drabble, dedicated to a good friend of mine, that I hope you will all like. :)

Title inspired from Last Request by Paolo Nutini

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You shoulders where practically cupping your ears, body hunched. You were tense. Negative vibes shrouded you like a cloak, concealing any sweetness and happiness from view. They creeped, a sinister force hell bent on making everyone as miserable as you. It had worked on everyone, people on public transport gave you a wide birth, much more than what was socially deemed as your personal space. Well it worked on everyone up until now.

Namjoon, driven by a sudden burst of spontaneity, had prepared the apartment and a few surprises for the special one in his life. He wanted to show you how much he cared, to have a relaxing evening with his lover.

It’s not that Namjoon didn’t show you his affection through gestures before; he did that often but they came to be expected. There was a sense of monotony with the daily morning kisses and “I love you’s”. You deserved more than he could give you, but now that he had no schedules, he was going to spoil his Jagi.

Your slumped shoulders relaxed as you got through your door, relieve washing over your body, glad to finally be home. Home, where there was no expectations, no deadlines, no judgement, just glorious silence and serenity. It felt like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s evening, like a hug from your mother, it was comfort… it was home.

You hung up your coat and removed your heels, the relieve at the lack of bodily tension already calming you somewhat. You were ready to just pour a glass of wine, to allow the haze it provided to numb you from all the tension and frustration you felt. There were some days where you just needed a drink and this was one of them.

Your body was on autopilot, as you walked towards the kitchen, only stopping when you kept feeling a cold, ticklish sensation on the soles of your feet. It started to irk you, so you stopped to look down. You found yourself surrounded by rose petals as golden as the summer sun in mid July.

You eyes followed their path, your feet soon following along the side of their path, to him, to Namjoon.

He looked snug in a comfy sweater, his surroundings looking even more snug. He used the cushions, pillows, mattresses and favourite blankets to create a warm and quaint little den. A fortress of solitude to protect you from the hardships of the outside world. Normally you find such a thing a bit childish for an intellectual like Namjoon, but by God was it what you needed right now.

Namjoon pulled you into a hug, a quick sign of affection, a warm welcome, much like the yellow rose petals were meant to be, before ushering you into your humble abode for the night.

Namjoon really thought of everything. He handed you a hot chocolate, just the way you taught him to make them. The warmth of the mug radiated through from your hands and throughout the rest of your body, it relaxing you more than any vintage red could.

The comfy cove was illuminated by scented candles and fairy lights, offering a twinkle and a glow that would make the night’s stars jealous.

You were broken out of your reverie as Namjoon spoke up, “I’m sorry that you stepped on the petals, yellow rose petals represent joy, warmth and welcome.” You turned to him shaking his head, “I was hoping to convey my feelings but I should have thought about the practicality of a petal path.”

You were about to say it was fine but Namjoon beat you to it, “I do, however, hope this makes up for it”. He reached behind himself to hand you a beautiful bouquet of flowers, full of an array of calming colours. The purple of the Delphinium beautifully complimented some Yellow roses, White heather tying in the transition of the three flowers. Some Queen Anne’s Lace, added another touch of white, that bled into some Green roses, all circling the centre piece, one lone sky blue Hydrangea. They were beautiful.

Namjoon encouraged you to sit down beside him, his voice drawing your gaze back up to him. “The Delphinium at first represented the light, spontaneous mood I was in today,” one of his hands cupped yours before continuing, “but it has a double meaning, it also represents my fervent love for you.” Namjoon smiled softly, his eyes shining. “The Yellow roses I have already explained, for the most part.” Your eyes shared that special glint, waiting for his elaboration, “ But they are also symbols of friendship and caring for someone; two things I considered extremely important in our relationship.”

Namjoon encouraged you to lay back as he moved onto another flower, “White heather symbolizes protection and indicates that wishes will come true. it symbolises my wish to protect you from all the evils of this world and the hardships that come with being with someone like me.”

Namjoon placed a blanket over your lap before he held your gaze again, “Queen Anne’s Lace symbolizes a haven or sanctuary. You and your love is my sanctuary, as I hope mine is for you.” He paused to allow you to piece together the meanings before adding, “It also signifies complexity and delicateness. I know loving me, loving an idol isn’t easy, it’s hard work.” Namjoon paused and sighed, the weight of previous hardships causing momentary guilt to arise. “Sometimes our relationship is very rocky, but just know that the complexities of it make it that much sweeter. Something delicate that I will handle with care.”

You didn’t know what to say but luckily you didn’t, Namjoon was ready to explain the last two choices. “Green is a colour indicative of peace and tranquillity, which is something I hope I have provided with this little fort and moreover in everyday life.” He gave your hand a squeeze before continuing “The Green roses also represent my best wishes for a prosperous new life I wish us to lead together and for your good health.”

“And the Hydrangea?” Namjoon smile grew wider, glad that you were anticipating his final message.

“A Hydrangea symbolizes heartfelt emotions, in this case, my heartfelt emotions for you, Jagi.” He paused one final time before continuing, “It can be used to express gratitude for being understood. You understand me, as Namjoon, the human being, not the idol that everyone looks up to. I needed that in my life and I’m grateful for it, for you.”

You nearly broke down in tears. Namjoon’s heartfelt romantic gesture almost too much to handle but you managed to keep composed, to respond.

You picked out the Hydrangea and rested it behind Namjoon’s ear. “Thank you Babe.Thank you for understanding when I have a bad day and unwittingly making it better.”

Namjoon left you to put the flowers in a vase, afraid his clumsy nature will ruin his gesture, keeping the fort warm and cosy for cuddles when you got back.

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Side note

Meaning behind the flowers in the bouquet:

Delphinium, Hybrid symbolizes big-heartedness, fun, lightness and levity. It also indicates ardent attachment.

White heather symbolizes protection and indicates that wishes will come true.

Hydrangea symbolizes heartfelt emotions. It can be used to express gratitude for being understood.

Queen Anne’s Lace symbolizes a haven or sanctuary. It signifies complexity and delicateness.

Yellow Roses: Yellow roses are an expression of exuberance. Yellow roses evoke sunny feelings of joy, warmth and welcome. They are symbols of friendship and caring. (Whilst the yellow rose, unlike the other roses, does not carry an undertone of romance and can indicate purely platonic emotions, Namjoon is romantically involved with y/n and wants to send them feelings of joy, warmth and welcome.)

Green roses: Whilst, green is the colour of harmony, of opulence, of fertility, It is also a colour indicative of peace and tranquillity (which is what Namjoon wishes for y/n). Green roses (these are off-white roses with shades of green) can symbolize best wishes for a prosperous new life or wishes for recovery of good health

These meaning where taken from:

https://www.theflowerexpert.com/content/aboutflowers/flower-meanings

https://www.theflowerexpert.com/content/aboutflowers/flowermeanings/rose-flower-meanings

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I hope you enjoyed this piece.

Until the next I write,

Bambi x

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