#LEGENDS AND FAIRYTALES ( ic. )
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[ @qrowings // for salem ]
"Let them go, they have nothing to do with this."
Salem does not remove her hand from the side of the wagon as she meets the frantic gaze of Ozpin’s most faithful spy. Terror hemorrhages out of him, soaking dark and red as blood into the leaf mold, as his vermillion eyes flick from her to the girls: one curled up in the wagon, fast asleep, the other sitting in a dirty, tearful heap at Salem’s side.
The blonde child—Yang, isn’t it?—scrubs at her face with a grimy fist, mumbling, “Uncle… Qrow?” in a voice muddled by utter exhaustion. And then, with another darting, uncertain glance at Salem: “What’s going on? You– you know my uncle?”
“Only by reputation,” Salem says, without breaking eye contact with Qrow. Softly, she adds, “You should take better care to watch over your children. There are far worse things in these woods than I.”
#LEGENDS AND FAIRYTALES ( ic. )#THE MOON ALSO IS MERCILESS ( ic: salem. )#A DUET OF SHADE AND LIGHT ( v: beacon. )#qrowings#[ —rest in pieces qrow.#what if instead of hungry grimm it was Her. ]
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Would love to see the ice queen fairytale brought in somewhere.
Ooh! I didn’t even think about that one.
Every much like the name I was planning on just sticking with Grimm brother’s fairytales but then after going through the research I found out that there were a few fairytales I wanted to use that were not in fact part of the Grimm Brother’s collection.
Like beauty and the beast, puss in boots ect. Still plan to add them in anyway and possible looking into the ice queen tale.
#the grimm legends#grimm fairytales#fairy tales#fables#folklores#beauty and the beast#puss in boots#the ice queen
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SNOGRE... Greeting cards and prints available NOW! (Link in bio!). The Merry Macabre world of Mister Sam Shearon's CREEPY CHRISTMAS is now available as 40 different greeting card designs available across three packs with red envelopes! *Buying all three sets together saves you 13% *You'll also receive the extra exclusive card 'NISSE' when you purchase all three sets together! *ALL CARDS AND PRINTS ONLY AVAILABLE UNTIL DEC 5TH! See website for more detail and info on each creature and character! https://mistersamshearon.bigcartel.com/category/mister-sam-shearon-s-creepy-christmas *Store linked in bio! Turn on your notifications to see the upcoming posts of all 40 creatures and characters! Share and tag far and wide! ❄ #MisterSamShearon #creepychristmas #legend #myth #fairytale #fae #folklore #trolls #ogre #krampusnacht #rudolph #snowperson #macabre #golem #iced #forest #jack #jackfrost #grimm #snowman (at North Pole) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClrAcTDpZ2B/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#mistersamshearon#creepychristmas#legend#myth#fairytale#fae#folklore#trolls#ogre#krampusnacht#rudolph#snowperson#macabre#golem#iced#forest#jack#jackfrost#grimm#snowman
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How to romanticise Spring:
Some ideas and things you can do to romanticise the Spring season 🫧˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🧚🏻♀️.
Spring Wardrobe - Spring is the perfect time to start integrating new pieces into your wardrobe. Long flowing dresses, maxi skirts, pretty blouses, milkmaid dresses/shirts, rompers, dungarees, mini skirts, cami’s and so much more. Make sure to add a pair of new Spring pumps (Mary janes are perfect) and some pretty floral hair bandanna’s and flower crowns in there too. Pastel pinks, yellows, blues, greens and white fit perfect for this time of year, along with patterns and materials like floral print and lace 🩰
Change your eating habits. Put away the comfort food from winter and indulge in the delicious delicacy’s of Spring. Fresh fruit and vegetables can make endless recipes for Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner, sweet things like Oatmeal, Honey, gelato and any particularly sweet fruits are perfect for this time of year 🍒🥗🍵
Consume Spring media 💐 The media you consume affects your mood, consuming uplifting Spring content will not only make you feel happier in yourself, but will also make you look forward to and romanticise the season more. I have a list of Movies, TV shows & books you can consume in Spring that I will be uploading shortly ☀️
Read Spring books. There are SO many out there, classics are perfect for this time of year but any whimsical, forest-core, fantasy story’s like “The Hobbit” or “The legend of King Arthur” are perfect too 📖
Listen to classical music, movie soundtracks and pretty instrumentals whenever you are doing any of the following activities (I find it helps romanticising a lot! 🎶🌷)
Have a picnic outside - Bring a wicker picnic basket, beautiful picnic blanket, fancy plates and cutlery and have a picnic fit for a countryside princess outside, either at the park or in a field. Wear a big sun hat to keep shaded from the sun and be sure to bring the essentials (Princess picnic food can include miniature sandwiches, scones, cookies, cakes & cupcakes, fruits like strawberries, cherries and apples, any snacks you can think of, lemonade and sweet iced tea) 🌷
Host a Tea Party (either indoors or outside) Set a table with all your finest dinnerware pieces, wear a floaty dress and white gloves, and use your most precious Teapot to pour fruity and sweet flavoured teas into any delicate teacups you can find. You can even make this Bridgerton inspired and have a high-tea esque party. With cookies and strawberry shortcake, cupcakes and miniature sandwiches. Make sure to set the table with a pretty tablecloth, fresh flowers and napkins/fine cutlery for yourself or your guests. Play some classical music and enjoy 🫖
Go berry/fruit picking. This time of year is perfect for Strawberry, Cherry’s & fruit picking in general. Wear a big straw hat, a long dress and don’t forget to bring your basket with you to collect the fruit in 🍓
Visit a flower field 🌸 💐 this time of year, flowers are in full bloom. Wear the most beautiful dress and a flower crown, so you are ready to twirl in the flower fields to your hearts content 🌷
Bake new Spring recipes. There are SO many Spring/Easter baking ideas on Pinterest. Have a look at any and compile a list of Bakes you want to try this Spring season 🍰
Cook new Spring recipes, you can even incorporate any new foods you have tried into the recipes and be sure to write them down in your recipe book 🥧
Make flower crowns! You can use fresh flowers or fake flowers, some wire or plain headbands. Get creative with them, use flowers, gems, lace, ribbon (this is a lovely activity to do with friends outside) 🌸
Press flowers (Such a Spring fairy activity!) any wild flowers you find (preferably dying or damaged) take them home and press them in a heavy book
Go on Forest Fairy walks. Explore your local forests, parks, meadows in the most vibrant green and pink dresses, wear flower crowns and just be one with nature, listen to fairytale music and take in the wildlife and nature around you 🧚♀️
Decorate your bedroom/space for Spring. This can be as simple as changing the bedding or by going all out and re-decorating your room completely. Fresh flowers, fake plants, cottage-core illustrations of animals look lovely too 🌷
Celebrate Easter like a Spring princess (really get into it this year) enjoy a beautiful Spring breakfast, paint eggs, eat chocolate, do some Easter bakes in the kitchen, make Easter Sunday a special day for you 🐣
Journal/Sketch/Paint - Painting outside is one of my favourite things to do, and you could even set up your easel/painting supplies in a garden or local field and paint the scenery 💐 Journalling all about your pretty Spring days can be uplifting and I find that sketching illustrations of Flowers, woodland animals and just Nature in general makes me feel so at ease any time I do so 🦢
Visit historical places like castles, botanical gardens and garden centres. These places are always abloom in Spring. Most of these places offer café’s and afternoon tea’s too! 🌸
Visit a cute Café for afternoon tea 🫖 (Make sure to wear a pretty outfit!)
Go frolicking in meadows. Roll down hills and twirl in flower fields 🌼
Feed birds and take time out to Spend time with nature and wildlife 🐰
I hope this helped and gave you some ideas, made you feel happy or comforted whilst reading and most importantly, inspired you to live life to the fullest and most beautiful it can be this Springtime 💐📖🎀 All my love ~ Kellen
#coquette#coquette aesthetic#lana del rey#baby pink#girly aesthetic#girly pink#girly#girly girl#girly kei#girly stuff#spring aesthetic#spring girl#springtime#spring#easter
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Faerie Book Recommendations🧚✨📚
So reading Sarah J Maas and her very, very shitty interpretation and (under)utilization of fae lore is inspiring me to create a personal list of books I've read that I feel like have like... ACTUAL faeries and folklore in them (not the normal-looking-hot-folks-with-pointy-ears-and-MAYBE-wings brand of faerie SJM popularized), and are actually worth your time
And if you've any books, stories, comics, etc. that you'd want to add to this list, feel free to add them in the comments, reblogs, tags, or my DMs!!
House of Hollow by Krystal Sutherland
Very eerie fairytale vibes that center on the aftermath of the disappearance, and even more mysterious return, of three sisters when one of them goes missing again almost 10 years later. And also the writing is legit just B E A U T I F U L!!!
Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett
This is chock-full of classical faeries and folklore, and almost reads like a textbook about them since this is about a woman, the titular Emily Wilde, traveling to a Scandinavian country to complete her own encyclopedia about the fair-folk. It also features some lowkey cottagecore vibes and an academic rivals-to-lovers romance!
Gilded (Gilded #1) by Marissa Meyer
A retelling of Rumpelstiltskin that reads like its own dark Grimm's fairytale, and it's as eerie and grim as a YA fantasy novel can get. It also centers on themes of telling stories and folktales since the main character, Serilda, is infamous for spinning wild tales - which is what leads to her encounter with the famed, and feared, Earlking (who, as a villain, is so sinister and creepy - and utterly FAE!). Personally, this book wasn't really my cup of tea and I'm unsure if I'll read the sequel, Cursed, however it still has some classic fae vibes that SJM's work lacks, so it deserves a place on this list!
The Changeling by Victor LaValle
I'm using the term 'faerie' very loosely here, as the idea of changelings (and trolls), for me, is more of a narrative device to help us look into grief in fatherhood. But there is still a very strange, vaguely Pans Labyrinth-esque urban fantasy vibe playing in the background throughout!
Slewfoot: A Tale of Bewitchery by Brom
Not necessarily FAERIES but more of mischievous and distrustful woodland folk - and also forest gods. Very heavily steeped in early colonial America era folk horror vibes... if you love media like Robert Eggers' The VVitch then you will ADORE this book! Also Brom's accompanying artwork is so, so beautiful! This is honestly such a perfect fall-time read once Halloween season rolls around.
Legendborn Cycle series by Tracy Deonn
Ok no faeries but... mixes classic Arthurian legends with southern Black beliefs while also telling an epic urban fantasy story centering on themes of grief, trauma, and prejudice. So no fae, but LOTS of great urban fantasy vibes (which I mean... if you're looking for more series to put on your shelf instead of Harry Potter......) Just... Please... just... this series... it's so GOOD!! IDK what else to add that hasn't been said about this series!
Direwood by Catherine Yu
Once again, not necessarily faeries in this book but instead vampires that have a very fae-like quality about them! (as well as blood-hungry butterflies and caterpillars hee-hee) The story as a whole feels like a whimsical fever dream that is STEEPED in tasty Gothic vibes! It sort of has the feeling of being in a late '90s/early '00s Goth music video.
Like Falling Stars by Avalon Roselin (@roselin-books-official)
A story about a girl who's forgotten her past and comes to develop a sweet friendship with a brooding ice faerie prince, and is brimming with so many cozy fantasy vibes!! Also all the fae characters in this novel are so colorful and lively, and they're all very heavily tied to elements and the seasons. Also ALSO!! The main relationship focuses primarily on platonic love as opposed to romantic, and is just as endearing! A perfect cozy winter/fall-time read.
Netvor: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast by @rosesnwater
Both a completed novel and an in-progress webcomic available to read on Tapas and Webtoons. Again, another story where major themes center on storytelling and fairytales, but also recovering from trauma and grief! There are so, so many classic faerie vibes, and even featuring pinnacle figures from classic fae lore like the Goblin Market, and it manages to feel equal parts nostalgic and unique in its use of faerie lore!
Dandies in Danger podcast by @dandiesindanger
A table-top RPG podcast instead of a novel! It features four queer men that are dragged into a world of fae and horror, all while set against the backdrop of Regency era London. It starts as a VERY eerie fae mystery (featuring figures like Titania and Oberon), but it slowly becomes a dark, horror historical-fantasy, and it's great! Also art by the podcast's creators is so good!
So these are the recs I have to offer for now!! As always, feel free to add more recommendations!!!💛
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Facets of a Rabbit
AO3 Link
“2,000 rupees,” the rabbit tells his customer with a smile.
Legend lounges in the corner, watching the interaction.
“That’s a scam! No one will buy it for that much!”
“Then I guess that means you won’t be gaining this handy tornado rod.”
Hey…wasn’t that one of Legend’s items? Eh, well, maybe Ravio has a double. Hylia knows he paid enough to buy it the first time.
“You are a crook! I’m spreading the word about your business!”
Rather than worry, Gold—because Ravio was still split—waves a cheery goodbye as his customer stomps out of the shop. Legend pulls himself off the wall and heads over.
“Why’d you ask so much?”
Gold rolls his eyes. “Mr. Hero. Running a business means asking for fair prices. This? This is priceless.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours.”
“Hey!” Legend makes a grab for the rod, only to have it pulled out of reach. “Stop selling my stuff! You aren’t that poor! I like my things where I left them!”
Gold twirls the rod and gives him a calculating look. “How much are you willing to pay to get it back?”
“I already bought it!”
The merchant just laughs.
“Seriously, why charge so much?”
With a sigh, Gold tucks the rod back into a box and starts tidying the room. It used to be Legend’s living room, but now it’s converted into a shop. He’s not sure if dusting is worth this. “I happen to know that man. He and his family are low on rupees because he makes frivolous purchases.
“Huh.” Legend mulls this over. Split like this, it’s easy to think of Ravio’s colors as one-dimensional. It’s not true, though. Gold may be obsessed with rupees, but he still has standards and a sense of right and wrong.
“Can I have my rod back now?”
“No.”
That sense might be buried deep, deep down.
Cyan has his nose buried in a book. He’s quiet; quieter than Legend is used to for the merchant. Normally he’s Mr Hero this and Buddy that. Cyan, though, reads his book and sits by himself.
Well, they aren’t getting anywhere by sitting in silence. Legend takes the lead. “What are you reading?”
“Dimensional Portals: Fact or Theory.”
Well, that’s…honestly not what he was expecting. “Anything good?”
“No.”
Great. It’s like talking to a brick wall. What part of Ravio is this? The one good at magic, Purple said, but personality-wise? Is there a part of the rabbit that wants to sit in silence?
Legend shifts from foot to foot, awkward and unsure how to proceed. Should he ask more questions? Should he leave Cyan alone?
Without looking up from his book, Cyan says, “I found a book earlier I think you’d like. If you want to read as well.”
“Sure!” He moves over to an armchair and waits for the promised book. What will Cyan have picked out? Transmutation? Lawn care? How to mooch free rent off your light world counterpart?
What he’s handed is a book of Lorulian fairytales. “Thank…you?” When was the last time he read a story like this? Still, he’s trying to get to know Cyan so he might as well give it a try. Flipping it open, he starts to read.
Cyan lights a lamp before Legend realizes how much time passed. The stories sucked him in; similar to the ones he grew up on, yet different. He did enjoy it—a lot more than expected. It’s nice to just read for pleasure without trying to learn something.
Looking up, he gives Cyan a soft smile. “You were right. Thank you.”
The color doesn’t raise his eyes from his book, but his ears are tipped with red. When Legend ducks a little to see, there’s a smile on his face.
Rain sheets outside the window. Thunder rumbles overhead, immediately after the crack of lightning. Even situated in front of the fire with a blanket, Legend still flinches. Thunderstorms toss him to a past that chews him up and spits him out shaking.
Underneath the sound of thunder is the banging of cupboards in the kitchen. Purple is in there, ostentatiously making their dinner. Although what meal requires so many cabinets is a mystery.
The color appears in the doorway, leaning around to look at Legend. “Hey, are we out of milk?”
“Was it in the ice box?”
“No.”
“Then we are out of milk.”
Purple grimaces. “I need milk for dinner. This won’t work without it.”
The room flashes from lightning and thunder shakes the roof. The rain increases, pounding. It’s going to be truly awful going outside. On top of that, the weather has Legend’s scars flaring and aching. He doesn’t want to move from the fire. He certainly doesn’t want to go trek out for milk.
“Can we eat something else tonight?”
“No, sorry, we’re running low.”
The vet buries his head in his hands because Ravio hates going out in the rain. He whines and complains until Legend goes and does it. Granted, it’s not during a storm, but there’s even less chance of Purple going.
“Do you mind dinner being a little late?” The color is pulling a coat over his rope and re-looping his scarf around his neck.
“…what?”
“I’m going to run out for milk. But it will delay dinner a bit.”
Legend stares, still lost. “Don’t you want me to go?”
Purple gasps. “And make you go out in this weather when you are hurting? Never!” He tucks the scarf ends into his robe and heads for the door. “Be back soon!”
The wind howls when he opens the door and Legend huddles into his chair until it slams shut. Purple is going to be soaking wet when he comes back. Still…Legend really wasn’t up for going out. Maybe this time, it’s okay to rest.
“Mr. Hero!”
“You don’t have to call me that.” Pink bats his eyes at Legend and—are those tears starting? “But you can if you want!”
The tears vanish. “I was hoping we could spend some time together!”
“Doing…what?” Pink has a habit of sighing and following Legend around like a lost puppy dog. He’s still not sure what.
“We can just…sit together? On the couch? Oh, you could read me some poems!”
That isn’t the worst thing they could do, but why is he the one reading the poems? “Okay, sure, let’s go.”
In the sitting room, Pink chooses the loveseat while Legend pulls out a book of poetry. It might be a little flowery, but the color doesn’t seem like one to judge.
Sitting down next to him, the vet is immediately crowded. “Hey, I can’t hold the book!”
“Then put your arm around me,” Pink says, like this will solve the issue.
Actually, it does, so Legend gives in. Goddesses, what’s up with this part of Ravio? He’s touchy, sure, but now he’s practically crawling into Legend’s lap. Fine. Giving up on understanding, the vet opens the book and starts reading.
The rumble of his voice must be soothing because Pink leans more and more into his side before sliding half into his lap. Once he yawns, showing white teeth with a slight gap between them.
Legend keeps reading, even when Pink’s breathing evens into soft puffs against his knee. He’s kind of cute like this, all tired out and turning to the vet for safety. It’s not…the worst to sit and read him poems. Would all of Ravio like this?
That sounds like an experiment for another time. Resting his hand on the curls on his lap, Legend continues reading.
Gleam doesn’t particularly like Legend. It’s unclear what part of Ravio he is—even the colors mumble and don’t answer the question. Yet ever since the potato-throwing incident at their first meeting, Gleam keeps a wary eye on him. He also stands a little too close to the knife block for comfort.
So, when Legend hears banging on the roof and a distinct lack of Gleam, it takes some consideration before he goes to find out what’s going on.
Gleam is on his roof, with an oversized hammer, smacking it against Ravio’s shop sign. Oh boy.
Spying a ladder, Legend pulls himself up to the roof. “Did the sign offend you?”
The color starts, then glares at him and swings at the sign. A corner chips off and falls to the ground below.
“Aren’t you Ravio? He’s going to hate this when you are all back together.”
Gleam ignores him and continues chipping at the sign. He’s not doing much damage, honestly. It will take him forever to get this down.
“Here.” The vet holds out a hand for the hammer.
After a long, frankly insulting pause, Gleam hands it over. Legend squares his hips, settles his feet, and uses the power bracelet to fuel his blow against the sign. The S goes flying, then crashes to the ground.
Gleam lights up—literally, and claps. Well, if property destruction is what it takes to buy his friendship, Legend isn’t above it. He didn’t want a sign on his roof in the first place.
With a grin, Legend lines up a swing at the O. Goodbye, giant sign, hello Gleam friendship!
#flufftober2023#X+1#linked universe#linkeduniverse#lu flufftober#breannasfluff#mywriting#Four Rabbits AU#lu legend#ravio#albw ravio#lu ravio#fr gleam#fr gold#fr pink#fr purple#fr cyan
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I did it too, but only for Eneas. It's wrong to say "characters who inspired him" because he just appeared the way he is and let me see more and more of him over the years, but there definitely are topics about him/in his life that are close to other media and characters and it never fails to delight me and absolutely is inspiring in its own way.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin, German Legend:
Magical Musician snatches children with his music like Eneas controls emotions with (and without) his violin and sometimes Eneas picks a child to influence, not with the intention to kill it like it's implied in the fairytale, but to utilize it in his plans if he senses a certain ability or power.
The Devil, mostly in postmodern books, movies, and games:
Yes, the devil himself and many of his incarnations and ways he's represented in media, the hedonism, the temptations, the offers, the deals, the more or less subtle influences and manipulations, human nature used against humans ... Eneas is just devil-shaped.
Graf von Krolock, vampire count in my favorite musical "Tanz der Vampire", for a long time played by Eneas' voice claim Steve Barton:
Damning those he loves, eternal yearning, wanting to experience everything the world has to offer, all the drama, drawing his prey in
Petyr Baelish, "A Song of Ice and Fire", in the books more than in the series (I enjoy him in both though):
without him, there would be no plot, holding all the strings in his hands, a smart master of manipulation, all his schemes, the hidden knowledge, playing people against each other
P. T. Barnum in "The Greatest Showman":
From the first time I saw the movie, Barnum reminded me strongly of Eneas at his best, highly manipulative but shown in a way that proves that this doesn't have to be evil in every case, not if it's used to give people a purpose and a home
Oliver Twist from the book by Charles Dickens:
the "childhood on the streets" motive, Eneas' past, only that his past was a lot worse than Oliver's. It's strongly present in his habit of helping street kids too.
Oh and here is the empty template for anyone who wants to do it too ❤ :
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Intro
Finally made a writing sideblog, so hi, hello, nice to meet you all.
Alright, so I've been mostly lurking in the whump tags the past couple years. While it's not new new to me, I'm still learning more of the tagging finese that's going on.
Appreciate any help and also maybe beta readers in future?
---
But anyway, here's the stories I've been working on for my Ao3 (also bilightningwriter for my username there):
Shadow of a Sheild*- Marvel omegaverse fanfic is currently centered around mostly my OCs Jamie (Steve Rogers' and Peggy Carter's daughter) and her love interest, Anna; though I'll have more scenes and/or separate simultaneous stories with other OCs (like Jamie's half+step siblings, Will and Becca) as well as other Marvel characters
Summary (current, to be edited):
Jamie Makayla Rogers (formerly Carter) is a girl displaced out of time. Much like her father, she was frozen in ice, but like his mate, she was forced into it. Now in the modern world, Jamie is struggling to communicate with the soldier who left her mother. Captain Steve Rogers. After all, until recently, he didn't even know she existed.
Steve Rogers suddenly has a pup, already almost grown. Avenging the world seems a simpler task than attempting to raise a teenager.
Main tropes/themes/etc:
Superheros
Whump
The New Eden Institution- whump omegaverse fics made to both get comfortable writing for myself again, as well as to mess with AI because I guess Omegaverse screws with it, lol; no greater motivation than being petty
Summary:
New Eden Institution: A Correctional Facility for the Troubled and In Need
Is your child in need of intervention before progressing into adulthood? We're here to help! Your dependent must 18 or older. Unfortunately, we have no program for Betas so far, though we strive to eventually help all troubled children. Guaranteed improvement and healing.
Main tropes/themes/etc:
Dystopia
Whump
Soulmates
Fairytales/Legends/etc
The fairytales I'm working on so far for it are as follows:
Little Mermaid
Red Riding Hood
Swan Lake
Magic High School AU Collection*- Also unnamed; stories so far to be AUed are:
Lady and the Tramp
Swan Lake
Asterisks next to titles that are/will be restricted to users of Ao3 only because AI is ridiculous.
Main characters are all some combination of LGBT+ and/or neurodivergent (and I mean neurodivergent, not just the "nice disorders").
Warnings for these: SA is pretty prevalent in my stories, for personal reasons. Homophobic and transphobic characters (side characters are, not main ones, though some internalized for the main, but they get through it) as well as ableism. I've mostly stuck to what I personally know, so a lot of the main characters are white and not PoC, though I'm working on it, I just don't want to overstep or inadvertently be insensitive.
One thing I avoid is death, like killing off characters, especially the main ones. Big fan of "everybody lives."
That's it for now. I'll add more as I think of it.
#whump community#archive of our own#ao3#writers on tumblr#writing#ao3 writer#autism writing#autistic writer#creative writing#diversity in writing#gay writing#lgbt writers#lgbtq writers#queer writers#writblr#writeblr#writeblr community#writer community#writerblr#writer things#writers#whump writing#writers of tumblr#writerscommunity#writing intros#whump#whumpblr#a/b/o verse#omegaverse#alpha beta omega dynamics
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𝒶 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝓈… music, writing, every shade of pink, making playlists, daydreaming, true crime, musical theatre, reading, comfortable blankets, scary stories, fairytales and folk tales, urban legends, twinkle lights, iced coffee, pretty things, baby animals, all kinds of magic and whimsey.
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂𝓈… the batman, dc comics, the wizarding world (all eras), the chronicles of narnia, dead poets society, the outsiders, good omens, ted lasso, triple frontier, formula one, stranger things, marvel, top gun & top gun: maverick, the slasherverse, twilight, x-men, the magnificent seven (2016), little women (2019), musical theatre in general, and many more !!
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈… caraval, good omens, the janes series, harry potter, all hail the pumpkin queen, a darker shade of magic, wings of fire, heartless, the land of stories, anne of green gables.
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈… queen, olivia rodrigo, p!nk, carrie underwood, billie eilish, hozier, ajr, sabrina carpenter, halsey, lainey wilson, lauren alaina, fall out boy, green day, billy joel, abba, maisie peters.
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓈… wicked, hadestown, beetlejuice, legally blonde, newsies, hello dolly!, sweeney todd, mean girls, oklahoma!, a gentleman’s guide to love and murder, assassins, mamma mia!, chicago, in the heights, rent.
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓈… ghostbusters, the princess bride, star wars, dead poets society, wandavision, community, welcome to night vale, the nightmare before christmas, the fantastic mr. fox, brooklyn nine-nine, the corpse bride, the batman, 9 to 5, coraline, the magnus archives, good omens, our flag means death, glee, the a-team (2010), harry potter, twilight, m*a*s*h, the league of extraordinary gentlemen, beetlejuice.
𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀… 3 o’clock things by ajr, tough to be a dreamer by felix hagan and the family, vienna by billy joel, mirrorball by taylor swift, keep your head up by andy grammer, when you wish upon a star by cliff edwards, the fools who dream by emma stone.
template is from the amazing @hyucksfairie !!
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Various frazie/lizzie headcanons because i’m feeling uncharacteristically self-indulgent:
-although some of their dates are the usual activities, (movies, lunch, bowling, etc.) a lot of them are just the two of them hanging out on some high-up branch or wall or light fixture somewhere, just chatting and snarking at whoever passes by.
-their siblings are especially likely to get heckled, but no one in the motherlobe is exempt from their teasing
-except Sam
-sometimes they’ll go ice skating on the quarry reservoir and practice their hydrokinesis together (frazie picked up a few unusual tricks from being self-taught)
-lizzie loves watching frazie practice her knife-throwing. She thinks it’s the coolest, most badass thing in the world.
-frazie gets introduced to heavy metal music, and immediately loves it. She’s got a lot of anger she needs to get out!
-lizzie is more confident in being psychic, but for everything else, frazie is actually the bigger risk-taker of the two
-sometimes lizzie feels insecure about her relationship, because she’s never really felt depended on or cared so much what anyone else thought of her before
-frazie is a little more secure, she admires how unapologetic lizzie is about her identity, and is grateful to have a foot in the psychic world that isn’t dependent on her brother
-speaking of raz, he’s...managing. he and norma are actually bonding a little in a weird “this CANNOT be happening” kind of way
-the other aquatos have a variety of reactions to their eldest girl’s new gf. dona is accepting but wary, while mirtala is absolutely enthralled
-lizzie doesn’t really talk about her parents, and frazie doesn’t press the issue
-there’s a little bit of conflict between them at first when lizzie expresses admiration for the aquatos’ “look” and frazie has to remind her that that “look” is part of their culture, not just an aesthetic
-she recommends lizzie talk to nona if she’s really interested in learning about their culture, and says nona would love having someone new to tell all her stories to.
-lizzie and lucy actually end up getting along really well. when lucy learns lizzie is really into spooky legends and folklore, she gives her an old book of grulovian fairytales that belonged to her family...
-...except the book is written entirely in grulovian. When lizzie points that out, lucy is like “oh well i guess you’ll have to find someone to teach you, hm? ;)”
-cue grulovian lesson dates
#pure unadulturated rarepair self-indulgence at its finest#i am the least qualified person on earth to be the flag-bearer for this ship#but no one else is doing it so here we are i guess#frazie aquato#lizzie natividad#frazie/lizzie#psychonauts#psychonauts 2
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I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part VII: Sparrow
ao3
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I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. I've had a lot of schoolwork I had to prioritize. Not to mention falling down the Rosewing (Leara/Odahviing) rabbit hole. But here we are! Chapter Seven at last! It's another long one, but at this point, I don't think I'll be splitting any more chapters unless it runs upward of 12-14k words or something.
Please, someone, try and find the (obvious) DC reference and (less than obvious) Hobbit and Star Wars references I put in this chapter!
Taglist: @ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @dakatmew @constantfyre
@kurakumi @stormbeyondreality
@blktooth @singleteapot @aardvark-123 @blossom-adventures @hungryswampdweller @argisthebulwark @inkysqueed @average-crazy-fangirl
Content Warnings: Leara is struggling, and for once it's not all Bishop's fault (but most of it is); self-doubt, gaslighting, non-graphic physical injury, disturbing dreams, non-consensual somnophilia.
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Snow crunched underfoot as Leara made the ascent.
A light snowfall dusted her path, drifting from a lace blanket across the sky. She couldn’t see the world below for the cloud banks brushing against the highest peaks of the Throat of the World. Overhead and higher than the mountaintop, clouds of ice crept back after her Shout displaced them to the winds. Leara kept a watchful eye on the weather. Far above the world, cradled by the snow and sky, she made her way back to the old dragon and the next step in her destiny.
On her back, the golden casement of the Elder Scroll pulled at her shoulders, heavy and as light as air all at once. It hadn’t left her side since she emerged from Blackreach, blinking at the too-bright rays of Magnus reaching down to brush her face. At the touch of sunlight, the magic in her veins relaxed, relieved of a tension she hadn’t realized was holding her since the descent into Alftand. Here, traversing the rim of the sky, she felt that same warm touch from the sun, its rays soothing her soul. Alone, under Magnus’ light, the weight of the Elder Scroll felt bearable.
It wasn’t always so.
Late at night, she would sleep with the artifact in her arms, back to the fire. Bishop would scoff at how protective she was of the scroll, but she brushed him off. He didn’t understand how important it was and what she needed to do. Sometimes, listening to him talk, she thought Bishop didn’t understand what it meant for her to be Dragonborn. She couldn’t blame him, though. She wondered if anyone aside from the Blades and the Greybeards truly understood the significance of the Dragonborn. Remembering the awe of the guards at Whiterun when she’d slain Mirmulnir, Leara knew she was right. The last of the Septims died so long ago . . . the Dragonborn was truly a figure of legend. All anyone knew about them were stories, and if Bishop, who renounced the Divines, saw the power of the Dragonborn as nothing more than a fairytale, even after spending weeks with the Last Dragonborn, how could Leara ever hope to change his mind? What if defeating Alduin was the only way to do so?
As she cleared the gathering clouds from the path, her mind turned to what was about to happen. To this next step. Paarthurnax told her that to learn Dragonrend, she needed to see through time, through the Time Wound where Alduin was originally defeated, and for that, she would need the Elder Scroll. Now she had it. Now she was about to approach the Time Wound. What then? What did she do after she learned Dragonrend?
What did she do if she didn’t learn it?
Nerves twisted in her stomach as she rounded the final corner. Leara arrived at the summit.
Atop the crumbling Word Wall perched Paarthurnax. At the crunch of her boots in the snow, the old white dragon looked up. He seemed deep in thought before, but now his dark eyes were alight with an anticipation Leara felt eating at her insides. With a rumbling hum, Paarthurnax fluttered his wings as Leara made her way to his perch. To her surprise, the old dragon appeared almost excited that she was there. Despite herself, Leara offered up a smile, full and nervous all at once.
“Hello, Paarthurnax,” Leara said.
Craning his neck down, Paarthurnax brought his horned head almost level with Leara’s. His warm breath rolled over her, comforting. “Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. Ven lovaas do hi. The wind spoke of your coming.”
“I think that was my Clear Skies Shout you heard.”
Smoke curled from Paarthurnax’s nostrils, a snort rumbling from his throat. The levity in his eyes faded to resignation as his attention turned to the Elder Scroll peaking from behind Leara’s shoulder.
“You have it. The Kel, the Elder Scroll. Tiid kreh . . . qalos. Time shudders at its touch.” He closed his eyes, his head bowed. “There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal.”
The Elder Scroll pulled at her back, crushing her spine as if she carried the weight of the world on her back. And she did. Leara’s stomach writhed, though whether it was from anticipation or nerves, she wasn’t sure.
Paarthurnax watched her, knowing. “Go then,” he said. “Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."
Leara stopped, her hands frozen with the Elder Scroll halfway off her back. “Alduin is coming?”
Raising his eyes to the sky, Paarthurnax faced the late morning sun. “Dez los ahst haal. He will come.”
Alduin was coming. A strange calm settled over Leara as she turned the realization over in her mind. Of course, he was coming. This was the natural progression of her destiny. Alduin would want to head her off before she, the Dragonborn, knew the secret to his defeat. Her grip hardened on the casement. The World-Eater would be too late. She would learn Dragonrend.
She must.
The Time Wound ahead, the watchful gaze of Paarthurnax behind, Leara slipped the Elder Scroll from its casement. Her steps were steady and her nerves were quiet, but the doom drum was pounding in her chest with the force of a storm. Her hands did not shake as she stepped into the wavering slip of space where the air crumpled like translucent foil. There was no sound as she unrolled the parchment from the scroll.
Runes spun and curled around the parchment. Leara blinked, but the runes didn’t fade. They were in her head. Their light was in her mind, bleeding across her senses. Leara blinked again. The runes were gone, but in their wake, the world was changed. She saw it as if through a dim mirror. Noise came to her muffled as if from a distance.
Red fire bled across the clouds, curling with smoke. Shouting rang in the distance, the battle cries of dragons and men filling the air. Leara blinked again, the glow of the runes creeping across her vision. A man bathed in red light stood before a towering dragon, a battle-axe hefted before him. On the howling wind, she almost heard the scathing words of the dragon, hissing about Alduin and the death that the World-Eater would soon rain down on rebellious man. She blinked, and then a woman was there, her war cry high in the air as she ran to face the dragon head-on.
“For Skyrim!”
“Know that it was Gormlaith Lindsdatter who sent you down to death!”
The world swirled with runes and fire. The dragon was dead. The man stood beside Gormlaith as she crowed over her victory. “Have you no thought beyond the blood on your blade?”
“What else is there?”
The man gripped her arm. Smoke choked the horizon. “The battle below grows ill. If Alduin does not answer our challenge, I fear all will be lost.”
Laughter vibrated through the air. “You always worry so, brother! Alduin will come and victory will be ours!”
An old man appeared from the smoke, passing like shadow through the glare at the edge of her sight. At his approach, Gormlaith and her brother turned. “Felldir! Why does Alduin hang back? We've staked everything on this plan of yours.”
Felldir sighed, “He will come. He cannot ignore our defiance.”
Thunder shook the skies, the fire in the clouds blazing brighter. The three stood there, Paarthurnax’s old friends, in the moments before their moment of triumph. She could taste the song of destiny screaming in the wind.
“None have yet stood against Alduin himself . . .”
"They did not have Dragonrend.” Gormlaith twirled her sword, a bleeding swath against the rusty snow.
"You do not understand.” Felldir’s voice was urgent. “Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll."
Then he held up the Elder Scroll, a bright jewel in the dim haze of the world. Hakon was dismayed. “We agreed not to use it!”
Felldir’s laugh was dry and brittle, cracking and burnt. “I never agreed, and if you are right, I will not need it.”
Thunder rumbled and with it, the smoke hazing the world thickened, pressing down from the sky like a choking wave. The three turned. Leara could not. But she heard the coming just the same. A noise like a hurricane coming out of the east. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked on the hot, dry wind. It was the World-Eater. Alduin was coming.
His shadow passed overhead, black and encompassing the entire world. A trill of terror struck her veins. Familiar terror. It took hold of her when Alduin destroyed Helgen – only Ralof’s quick thinking pulled her away to safety – and it reasserted itself when Alduin called her out at Kynesgrove. Leara . . . did not like to think of Kynesgrove: Delphine, hiding in the bushes, telling her to prove herself; Alduin, laughing at her, declaring she could not, would never be Dragonborn. The frozen fear that curled inside her then was a boiling, rolling sea of nerves now as Alduin’s shadow dominated her vision. How could she fight him? How could she hope to win?
“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”
Dragonrend was not directed at her, but it slammed into her soul as if she were dead center in the crosshairs. It blazed a trail through her skin, piercing her soul with grasping, groping fingers. The knowledge of the words etched itself into her insides, stinging like poison running through her veins. Mortal. Finite. Temporary.
Dying. Death. Dissolved.
Burning, burning, burning – and then Alduin was before her, parrying words with the three heroes. Alduin’s voice was glass, shredding her skin. Her head was swimming, clouded with smoke.
Gormlaith was dead.
Felldir unrolled the Scroll, the runes twisting across the parchment in streams of fire. “Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own, we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we Shout you out from all our endings unto the last!”
Alduin was screaming, or was Leara? The world was dying, dissolving into ash. Time was dead. Time was alive. The winds were screaming.
Leara was cold.
She blinked, and the world was itself again. She was cold, blissfully cold. Snowflakes fluttered over her, caressing her face, and Leara realized she was on her back in the snow. Her limbs were stiff, but still, she managed to get to her feet, one foot at a time. A glance around found the Elder Scroll off to the side, wound up as if she’d never read it.
But she had. Dragonrend was seared into her soul like a scar.
“Paarthurnax,” she gasped.
Darkness gathered overhead as thunder rumbled, beating closer and closer like the approach of an army. But Leara knew the sounds of an army, and this was worse. This was Alduin, and he was coming for her.
The black shadow swept over her, deeper and more horrible than it was in the vision. Her legs were stone, her blood was ice. This was it. Her destiny had come.
Drawing her katana, Leara stood to face it with grace, her jaw set and her eyes bright. The nerves twisting her insides stilled as the world came into hyperfocus. So poised, she looked to the skies.
Alduin swept overhead, his wings a void of night against the daylight. His maw was aglow with unreleased fire as he spoke, his blood-ruby eyes fixed on her from high in the sky. “Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin!” With a Shout she could not comprehend, Alduin vanished from the blue-white patchwork of daylight and ice clouds. Dark smoke billowed across the sky, bursting and popping here and there with the promise of falling fire. Then he looked at her. “Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!”
“Like Oblivion I will,” Leara muttered, her katana raised across her front as she tracked the World-Eater’s flight.
“Lost funt. You are too late, Alduin!” Paarthurnax cried, launching himself from his perch to avoid Alduin’s fire. Circling the mountain peak, he stood in stark contrast against Alduin in both size and color. Alduin’s void dark form eclipsed the slight sheen of Paarthurnax as the old dragon evaded the snapping jaws of the World-Eater. “Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!”
Alduin’s laughter was the rumbling of an erupting volcano as he chased Paarthurnax across the skies, twisting and somersaulting through the air in an erratic dance Leara could only just follow. Her head was spinning. Her mouth was dry. This was it. She would use Dragonrend and Alduin would land, and she would slay him. Certainly, she could slay him when the three ancient heroes could not because she was Dragonborn when they were not. That was it. This would all be over soon.
“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”
Pain erupted through her soul, bursting under her skin like firecrackers. Dread unlike any she’d felt either under in the Dominion or while on the run or even under Alduin’s shadow gripped her soul, choking it so she couldn’t breathe. Leara couldn’t breathe. Everything was darkening—
Shockwaves shook the ground. Leara tottered forward, her sword arm falling as Alduin’s giant form crashed into the snow. Steam rose, stinging Leara’s eyes as she peered through the mists at the howling form of the World-Eater. Why was she shaking? She needed to fight him. She needed to slay Alduin once and for all. What was wrong with her?
Forced calm clawed at the terror holding her soul. Her hand tightening around her katana, Leara drew it back, holding the blade over her head as she held her off-hand in front of her, parallel with the katana. Ice magic caressed her things with familiar comfort, pooling in the palm of her glove and chilling the steam around her hand.
Alduin lifted his head, his ruby eyes a scorching blaze burning through the ice in hers. “My teeth to your neck, Dovahkiin!”
Twirling her katana, Leara smirked, “Bite me.”
“YOL TOR SHUL!”
Alduin was grounded, but he was no less deadly on the earth than he was in the skies. An inferno billowed from the black dragon’s snapping jaws. but Leara dodged, but only just as she ducked into a roll right under his massive neck and out of the fire’s path. The Throat of the World was frozen, but under Alduin it was boiling: The snow melted at such an alarming rate that Leara found herself slipping through the slush right under the shadow of one of Alduin’s wings and into a snowbank beyond.
With a grunt, Leara got to her feet just as the World-Eater rounded on her, his jaws like a viper’s. “You are no match for me, kiir! Hin zii los dii!”
The air around Leara sizzled and popped. Looking up, she flung herself back as a flaming meteor fell from the sky, dissolving the snowbank into a smoking crater. Leara spared it half a glance before facing Alduin – only to find him beating his wings, stirring up a tempest of smoke and steam as he tried to lift himself from the ground. No!
Paarthurnax circled above, high and clear of Alduin as he kept a watchful eye over the fight. “Hurt him while he is grounded!”
“JOOR—” Her soul was on fire. “—ZAH FRUL!”
Alduin’s legs buckled and his chest crashed into the ground. His wings fell, and Leara crumpled beneath their weight. Her chest heaved, struggling to breathe under the weight of the black wing and the force of Dragonrend tearing through her soul.
Mirmulnir. Sahloknir. Golzkreinyol. Venstrunbo – none of the dragons she’d slain before were this difficult. But none of the dragons she’d fought before were Alduin, the Firstborn and the Most Powerful. Defeating him would take all her strength. All she was.
A weed of doubt sprung up in her mind. What if it took her? What if she didn’t survive this fight? What if Alduin took her out with him?
Leara shivered, and then she realized she had her katana seized in a death grip. The wing pressing her into the ground heaved and Leara rolled to her side, drawing the katana to her. An idea poked at the edges of her mind, half-baked by Alduin’s smothering heat. Frost collected in her right hand, fathering around the hilt of her katana, inching its way up the steel blade, creaking and hissing. Leara brought her feet up, coiled like a spring. She stabbed upward.
“DOV AH KIIN! DOR LIZ JOT! You will pay for your defiance!”
Ice and blood shattered around her as Leara burst through a steaming, gaping, bleeding hole in Alduin’s wing. She clung to the membrane for dear life, stabbing her katana into it again as Alduin Shouted at her, his rage a storm of flames. Her stomach fell and her head swam as the wing flew up, holding her upside down over the ebony spines along Alduin’s back. It was only the iron grip both hands had on her katana and the foothold she had in the first wound that kept her from falling.
Flap! Wind rushed through Leara’s ears, harmonized with her screams as the wing rushed back to the ground. Then up again, higher and higher. Leara’s boots slipped from where they’d hooked into the first wound and she found herself free-falling.
All the air in her chest was knocked from her lungs as she collided with the surface of Alduin’s wing. He was yelling, Shouting at her again but her head was swimming and she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Her fingers were slipping from the hilt of her katana.
Gasping, Leara’s sword hand froze, freezing to the hilt and forming an icy seal. One moment. She caught her breath. The next she was falling, the blade cutting a bloody swatch down Alduin’s wing. She landed on his back just as he beat his wings, screaming and cursing as he ascended into the air.
Someone was Shouting, “Dovahkiin!” but she did not know if it was Paarthurnax or Alduin. Ice still bound her hand to the hilt of her katana, notched in the bone of Alduin’s wing, but her feet were slipping.
She was going to fall.
Alduin was airborne. Her right arm was numb from the force of holding on to her sword as the World-Eater pumped his damaged wing. Fire consumed her joints. A scream tore through her throat as her feet scrambled at Alduin’s scales, unable to find purchase.
“Ruth hi, Dovahkiin! I will crush you like vermin!” bellowed Alduin.
Gritting her teeth, Leara brought one leg up, bracing her foot against the joint of Alduin’s wing. The vibrations jarred her ankle and Leara almost lost hold of her precarious position high above the Throat of the World. In her periphery she saw Paarthurnax swop below, calling to her, but Leara could not understand him for the blood pounding in her ears. She was not going to fall. She would not.
Leara pushed up from the foot on Alduin’s beating wing and threw herself forward. Her left arm wrapped around one of his spikes just as her katana slid free of the ruined wing. Alduin was bellowing at her again, but Leara couldn’t understand that, either. Panting, she dragged herself to her feet, her arms wrapped around the spikes rising along Alduin’s spine. Feet planted on the ridges of the dragon’s back, Leara’s chest relaxed, her heartbeat evening. Carefully, she moved between the ebony bones toward the base of Alduin’s neck.
The blood in her ears was cool, calming like the morning snowfall. She stood at the base of Alduin’s neck, her katana pointed down.
“He is too strong on the wing! Use Dragonrend!” Paarthurnax’s voice came on the wind.
Dragonrend. Dragonrend scored through her soul. But Alduin, Alduin would devour her if she didn’t fell him soon.
“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”
“RUTH HI, DOV AH KIIN!”
Leara plunged her katana down between the black scales, collapsing against her blade as Alduin barreled toward the ground, shrieking in pain and fury as he tried to fight against the throws of Dragonrend. Oh Akatosh, if it burned her soul, then what was it doing to Alduin? What—
Air rushed against her, cold and biting. There was nothing around her, nothing under her. A scream tore from Leara’s throat as she fell, down, down, down . . .
Jaws caught her, jarring her within the shell of her armor. Her limbs were frozen, her blood was ice and the world was spinning. Her head pounding, Leara’s stomach rolled as she blinked furiously against the darkening sky. Where was the sun?
No, it was Alduin. His dark shape rose like a specter to eclipse Magnus. “Hi los sahlo, Paarthurnax! Paarthurnax fin mey! Your Dovahkiin is strong! Mey joor kiir, but I will outlast her!”
Outlast, outlast, outlast.
She failed.
Leara failed.
Alduin winged his flight toward the east, gliding on the wind. Leara watched him fade into the distance, the sky clearing in his wake. Paarthurnax landed in the half-frozen ruins of the mountaintop and Leara slipped from the cradle of his teeth, only for her knees to buckle, her limbs coated in ice and her soul on fire. Leara fell, and the darkness rushed up to meet her.
·•★•·
Something warm dabbed at her forehead.
Leara’s eyelids were heavy. The touch was warm and damp. Blinking, bright light smeared across her vision. Oh, oh her head hurt!
“Hn . . .”
A near-silent, “Hmm,” hummed above her, and the cloth disappeared. Leara squeezed her eyes shut against the ache.
There was a rustle of robes and a soft murmur in the hall. Then more rustling.
“Dragonborn,” a voice whispered nearby.
Leara frowned as a cool hand felt her forehead. Then slowly opening her eyes, Leara found the withered face of Master Arngeir above her, worry creasing the corners of his eyes. “My child, I am relieved you are awake.”
“Wha’—” Akatosh, her throat burned, “—happened?”
Master Arngeir’s mouth drew a grim line. “We heard the sounds of Dragonrend echo down from the peak. But,” the old Greybeard hesitated. Leara tried to lift her hand, her muscles aching. He patted her wrist, taking her hand in both of his. It was then Leara realized her arm was bandaged, wrapped to the elbow in linens. “When we saw Alduin fly east, we feared the worst. It was much for us to prevent your companion from making the climb to the Throat of the World in search of you.”
Oh. Bishop. Her head twinged at the thought of him. “How’d I ge’ here?” she slurred, voice heavy.
Master Arngeir settled her wrist back on top of the blankets. With a strength she did not know to expect from the old man, Master Arngeir helped prop her up on another pillow before raising a clay cup to her mouth. Once the first drops of water hit her tongue, Leara gulped it down, heedless of Master Arngeir’s soft admonishments for her to slow down. Once she’d drained the cup, he set it aside and continued: “It was Paarthurnax who brought you down from the mountain. He told us how you wrestled the World-Eater to the ground with Dragonrend, but though you scoured Alduin’s wing, you could not overcome him.”
Shame bloomed anew in Leara’s chest, memories of the battle flaming to life in her mind. Oh, yes. That. “I’ve failed,” she whispered, hoarse.
But Master Arngeir was shaking his head. “No, child, you have not. You have won a great victory against Alduin. Paarthurnax said as much himself. You defeated Alduin in open battle – more than that, you wounded him. The World-Eater will carry your mark unto the end of time, long after you have passed on.”
But Leara was already shaking her head, despite the dull aches pinpricking up her neck and through her mind. “He’s still out there, though. He escaped. Alduin escaped . . .”
“Hush now,” Master Arngeir reproofed, eyes serious though his tone remained soft. “You were never going to defeat Alduin on the mortal plain. He is too powerful for that. You will have to go to him.”
Go to him? Go to him where? Aetherius – no, Sovngarde? “How?”
He patted her hand again, gently. Still, the frostbitten skin tingled and pinched beneath the layers of linen wrap. “We can discuss that when you are well again. For now, you must rest. As Paarthurnax told it, you bathed in Alduin’s blood and formed for yourself a shell of ice before flying through the air.”
Leara sank back into her pillows, eyes shut. “Yeah, that, that sounds right.”
Body bandaged and tucked into a warm bed in High Hrothgar, the battle with Alduin felt oddly distant, as if it happened in a burning nightmare. Would it be? Scenes of the fire and her fall and the fury of Dragonrend circled through her mind, awakening the aches under her skin and in her bones. Would the memories follow her into sleep? She was so tired. Was she going to enter a realm of nightmares at any moment?
“Dragonborn, if you are up for it, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you,” Master Arngeir said, his voice strangely hesitant.
Muscles tensing in anticipation, Leara peaked out of one crystal eye at the old master. Suddenly, he did appear very old, almost stooped over. Worried, Leara frowned, blinking back sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“It is a matter concerning your companion.”
Her mouth soured. Bishop. “What’s he done now?”
Master Arngeir appeared contemplative, deep in thought for a moment before he pressed on. “I cannot presume authority to admonish you for the company you keep, but in the time since you left to fight the World-Eater, he has been in a black mood. He stalks the halls at all hours and paces the courtyard. He is restless and agitated. It was only through Kyne’s keeping that he was not outside the monastery when Paarthurnax brought you to us.”
Oh, Bishop was such a blockhead. “I’m sorry he’s been a, a bother—" she said, stifling a yawn. “Excuse me.”
“His behavior is not your responsibility,” Master Arngeir sighed. “I simply question whether he is the wisest choice of companion for you.”
The picture of Bishop’s body tumbling over the cliff in the force of her Shout wormed itself to the forefront of her mind. At once, Leara’s fall didn’t seem so horrific: She had Paarthurnax there to catch her. Down in Blackreach, Bishop had nothing. It was a miracle he was alive. Insufferable and handsy as ever, but still alive. She nearly killed him, but he forgave her. He didn’t care that he almost died so long as she was still alive. Leara squeezed her eyes shut against the light, against Master Arngeir’s questioning stare. Bishop wasn’t the best, but he was good in a pinch. Especially when she . . . was not.
Jolting, her mind swirling with guilt and exhaustion, Leara realized Master Arngeir was awaiting an answer. “I owe it to him,” she settled on.
The master’s face clouded. “I would take stock of my debts if I were you, Dragonborn. Men like him will overdraw until there is nothing left.” He rose to leave.
Akatosh, this was all too much. “Master Arngeir?”
“Yes, my child?”
“Why,” now she was hesitating, “why are you telling me this stuff now, after I just woke up?”
Master Arngeir looked at her, his sky-blue eyes troubled as if with the promise of rain. “I am telling you this because once he learns you are awake, I do not think I will have the opportunity to do so again.”
What did that mean? Before she could ask, Master Arngeir patted her bandaged wrist and slipped out the door, shutting it behind him. Once he was gone and the room was quiet, her exhaustion pooled over her. Alduin, her failure, the Greybeards’ misgivings about Bishop . . . all things that could wait until after she woke up. If she dared to address them at all. That was . . . that was the Leara of tomorrow’s problem.
Yawning, Leara settled into her pillows. Yes, in the morning.
·•★•·
(*)(*)(*)
Smoke swirled before her, shifting between the peaks of the mountain. Beyond the smokescreen, the world was blanketed in a darkness so thick, no stars were visible. The smoke slithered and spun around her as if lit by a dying fire. It stung her skin, hissing and snapping at her bandages. Her bandages?
She looked down, her right arm and both hands were wrapped with linen. She could smell the musty floral tang of a healing paste wafting off them. As she stared at them, the burning smoke snipped at the linen, singing it until it too was smoking. The linens fell away, and she saw her skin. Her fingers were pink as if flushed, but her skin was cold, so cold.
Was she recovering from frostbite?
The smoke lifted her chin, scorching her skin as it forced her to look up. She jerked her head back, but the smoke was behind her, too, wrapping around her so that its sting caressed her whole body.
Where was her nightgown? Had she been wearing one?
She moaned, shifting in discomfort. Despite how cold she was, it was too hot. The smoke was burning her. No, stop . . .
“Shh,” hissed the smoke, curling around her ear.
“I don’t . . .”
Hot pain tingled over her shoulder, thawing her chilled skin so quickly that it burned. Oh, oh! “Please . . .”
The smoke caressed her burn, slipping its way up her neck and to the underside of her jaw. To her ear.
Another burn blistered below her ear, in the delicate place where a touch could drive her to her knees.
Her face was freezing . . . was she crying? Oh, she was crying. Please, she didn’t want to, no more—
(*)(*)(*)
It burned a trail down her chest, settling over her heart, slipping between her ribs, and worming its way into her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe. It was choking her – she couldn’t breathe—
Leara shot up with a gasp. Her lungs seized and she spluttered, coughing into her hands.
Soft . . . scratchy? Blinking back tears, Leara stared at the white bandages wrapped around her fingers. Frostbite. She dragged in a ragged breath, warm, clear, and soothing within her chest. It was a dream, just a dream. Wiping her tearstained cheeks on the clean bandages, her breathing evened out and her erratic heartbeat stilled.
Yes. It was a dream.
But why did it feel so real?
The creaking of the door drew her attention. A watery smile curled onto her face as Karnwyr slipped through the half-open door and padded over to her bed. He plopped his head on top of her covers, his large brown eyes gazing up at her as he whined. Reaching out, Leara stroked the wolf’s head, mindful of the tingling ache in her fingers. “I’m sorry to have worried you so much,” she soothed.
Karnwyr grunted. He pushed his muzzle against her thigh. Warm, comforting . . . safe.
Shuffling to the side, Leara patted the narrow strip of mattress. “C’mon, up you get.”
Karnwyr clambered onto the bed and settled in the open space. His head was settled across her legs, but the rest of him dominated most of the small mattress. Leara didn’t mind. Karnwyr’s was a comforting presence, and she knew that as long as he was there, there would be no nightmares. No dreams of smoke and fire.
·•★•·
She woke to Master Einarth’s knock. He entered, bearing a tray with a cup of hot tea and a bowl of porridge. Before allowing her to eat, Master Einarth unwrapped Leara’s hands. They were both flushed pink, but the tingling from before had lessened. The frostbite was healing, for which Leara was grateful. Still, it would be a few weeks before she dared cast ice magic again. Once she’d eaten, Master Einarth presented her with a healing paste – the same that was applied under her bandages. Leara knew enough about wounds to know that she needed to continue its application. She thanked the silent Greybeard, receiving a soft smile in return. Then Master Einarth left with her tray and Leara got out of bed.
Karnwyr watched from the corner as she wobbled, her knees buckling. How long was she in bed? Leara made a mental note to ask Master Arngeir when she next spoke to him.
After a few false starts, Leara shuffled over to her bag, left on a little chest at the end of the bed. Slowly, her bones aching, she stripped off her trousers and undershirt. Relief flooded her chest, strange and unexpected, as she did so. No one had changed her. Bishop hadn’t stripped her. Not to the skin, at least. But these clothes were ruined, she thought, fingering the frayed edges of the sleeves with a frown. Someone had cut the sleeves off, probably to free her arms.
Leara’s stomach turned. She fell back on the bed, her old shirt clutched loosely in both hands. Her hands were encased in ice, they were coated in dragon’s blood. Her imagination swirled with how horrific her wounds must’ve looked when Paarthurnax brought her back to High Hrothgar. Only Restoration magic could have restored her flesh to health, and then only if applied quickly.
The shirt slipped through her fingers. Leara touched the pink skin of her hands, new and healed on the surface. Underneath they were still healing. But they would heal.
Her ribs seized. It took everything in Leara not to double over and cry. She couldn’t defeat Alduin, she couldn’t use Dragonrend, and to top it off, she nearly lost her hands because of her own reckless use of magic! Bitter laughter clawed its way out of her throat. Now that was the sort of tale Alec the Prince of Sycophants should spin into legend!
She emerged into the hallway several minutes later, eyes dry with her teacup in hand and Karnwyr at her heels. Her blanket was tucked around her shoulders, a ward against the ever-present chill permeating through the monastery. The stone corridor was silent as she and Karnwyr padded along. Outside the thin windows, white daylight leaked through, cutting bright lines across the floor. Stopping, Leara paused to peer out into the courtyard. Two of the Greybeards were out there, though she couldn’t tell if either was Master Arngeir or not. By the looks – and sounds – of it, they were practicing the Voice.
“Sweetness, you’re finally up.”
Arms engulfed Leara, jostling her arms and sloshing her tea. Weak protest fizzled out as Bishop held her from behind, his arms heavy on her waist as his hands pressed into her stomach. His chin stabbed into her thin shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers. She was trapped against his chest. Her eyes met Karnwyr’s, but the wolf only whined.
“Bishop . . .”
“Four days, sweetness. Four damn days in which those blasted old assholes wouldn’t let me near you.” He untangled himself from her. Her sigh of relief barely escaped before Bishop spun her around to face him. His eyes were wild, blown wide open as they roved over her face. Leara shrank in on herself, but it wasn’t enough to escape his eyes. It would never be enough.
He took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, and Leara had no choice but to face him. “Four days, sweetness, and the only damn thing they would tell me is you fought Alduin the fricking World-Eater! And lost!”
“I didn’t—”
“Those old farts wouldn’t tell me anything! They wouldn’t even let me see you after they brought you down from the mountain! And what the Hell were you thinking, going up there alone to fight the biggest damn dragon in Skyrim?”
“Please—”
His hands were on her shoulders, stroking down to her elbows. The teacup in her hands was shaking so violently that the remaining tea inside threatened to spill. Tears were smearing at the corners of her eyes, but Bishop didn’t see. He didn’t see any of it.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, removing a hand from her arm only to drag it roughly down his face.
“I don’t know,” Leara whispered. She didn’t know what she was going to do with herself, much less what Bishop had planned.
Bishop grunted. “Well then, now that you’re up, can we leave the frozen Hellhole for greener pastures?”
Leara closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to Kynareth for peace. This was fine. This was just how Bishop was. He was abrasive and reactionary. Sitting in High Hrothgar for the better half of a week would never be the ranger’s idea of fun, but if he could just be patient. She needed to talk to Master Arngeir again and figure out her next steps. She just needed a little patience from Bishop.
And she was still recovering.
“Bishop,” she began, “there are still a few things I need to discuss with Master Arngeir before we can just leave. And besides, I don’t know if I’m well enough to travel yet.”
Bishop cast a dubious glance at her hands. “Your frostbite looks fine to me, darling. Are you sure it's not my presence that has you feeling weak at the knees?” he smirked at her.
Leara frowned. “I thought you said—”
“Ah, Dragonborn, you’re up and about!”
Leara jolted back from Bishop as if burnt, to find Master Arngeir making his way down the hall to meet her. She gave the old Greybeard a shy smile, suddenly remembering his words concerning Bishop. She understood Master Arngeir’s trepidation. Just climbing the Seven Thousand Steps put Bishop on edge, but staying in High Hrothgar indefinitely? He hated High Hrothgar, and he held the Greybeards in crude disdain. Bishop was never going to keep his opinions to himself, and the Greybeards, already slow to trust outsiders, were never going to take the ranger’s animosity lightly. Leara was the only thing they all had in common, and already she could feel a pull from both sides as they tried to sway her against the other. Was it any different from the pull between the Greybeards and the Blades?
At the thought of the Blades, a pang of homesickness shot through her. Leara missed the comforting familiarity of Cloud Ruler Temple and the Knight Brothers and Sisters as they worked and trained. Back then, she was nothing more than one of many watching for the return of the Dragonborn. Things were different then. Never could any of them have dreamed that quiet, studious Elanor was the Dragonborn they waited for. Not even Elanor herself. No, things were simple. Leara missed the smell of dust motes and old leather in the library, the gleam of polished katanas and Akaviri armor lining the armory, and the knowing portraits of the Septim Emperors lining the gallery. She missed her home.
Bishop was glaring at Arngeir as he approached, but Leara didn’t see. Her mind was cast back to the Blades’ temple, to the faces of the Dragonborn rulers of old. Martin Septim’s eyes, painted blue like the noon waters of Lake Rumare, stared down at her, silent and watching. Weighing her destiny against his legacy. His mouth was drawn in a line. Wise, one of her Knight Brothers once said. Exhausted, sighed a Knight Sister. Judging, thought Leara. Judging her failure against his success.
Martin Septim’s gaze still weighed down on her despite the decades and miles between the last time she saw that portrait and now. It was ashes now, that and the rest of the portraits and the temple and her order. The Septims were dead. There was no one left. By the grace of Akatosh, she was made Dragonborn, and she was wasting her energy on whatever measuring contest Bishop was trying to start with the Greybeards! If she didn’t focus, then the rest of the world would join Cloud Ruler Temple in the ashes.
“Master Arngeir! Good morning!” she said, greeting the Greybeard with such a sudden exuberance that Bishop actually took a step back from her.
Master Arngeir’s raincloud stare moved from Bishop to Leara, the crease between his brows smoothing. “Ah, you seem much improved today, my child.”
“I feel better,” Leara smiled.
“I see some of the color is returning to your complexion,” Master Arngeir nodded, pleased.
Bishop scoffed. “She’s fine, no thanks to you old windbags.”
The frown returned to Master Arngeir’s face. “Has it escaped you, young man,” he said, rounding on Bishop, his voice steel, “that you are a guest here at High Hrothgar and that it is only by the Dragonborn’s goodwill that you are permitted to remain here, despite your ill manners and foul attitude?”
“As if I wanted to come here in the first place!” Bishop sneered. “If I had it my way—”
Leara grabbed Bishop’s arm and yanked him back. She winced as the bone studs on the back of his bracer scraped at the still-tender skin of her fingers. “Now Bishop, let’s not antagonize our hosts when they’ve been so gracious to us.”
Bishop growled. “Ladyship—”
“Bishop. Stop.”
For the first time, Bishop actually shut up – and it was without the aid of a muffle spell, too. He stared at her, his mouth drawn in a grimace as his pale eyes traced her features. Whatever he was looking for must have escaped him, because the next moment he was shaking his head. Then he was stalking away from her, his boots heavy on the stone.
Leara stared after him, gobsmacked.
“Well,” said Master Arngeir, “that was certainly something!”
·•★•·
Karnwyr woofed in clear agreement.
Leara sat across from Masters Arngeir and Wulfgar, a simple earthenware teapot between them. Steam wafted up from Leara’s cup, its warmth a balm to her hands. Master Einarth entered, setting a plate of flat biscuits down beside the tea tray. Leara smiled at the old monk, accepting one of the biscuits.
“Where’s Master Borri?” she asked.
“He is standing watch in the tower. There he can listen to the winds and what news Kyne may deign to whisper to him,” explained Master Arngeir. “After your victory against Alduin, the dragons will no doubt be in an uproar.”
Swallowing her biscuit, Leara splayed her hands in her lap. “Master Arngeir, you told me before that I would have to pursue Alduin beyond the mortal plane. How?”
Master Wulfgar settled an old tome on the table. Flipping it open, he leafed through the pages until he reached what looked like a dark splotchy ink stain. Peering closer, Leara realized it was an illustration of a black dragon scoping up wispy, human-like figures in his maw. “The old tales tell that Alduin can travel to Sovngarde where he feasts on the souls of the dead.” Master Arngeir tapped the illustration, his finger landing on a particularly small spirit close to the World-Eater’s mouth. Leara’s heart clenched. “What they do not tell us is how he is able to do so.”
“But there is a way,” Leara said, looking from one Greybeard to another.
“Perhaps,” Master Arngeir said. “When Paarthurnax brought you down from the peak, he and I spoke briefly of what your next steps may be. He believes that it may be possible to persuade one of Alduin’s allies to betray him.”
Betray Alduin? Would any even dare? “How would I even go about that?”
Master Wulfgar turned to a different section in the book. There were no illustrations, but at the top of one page, an angular heading written in Old Nordic glared back at her. Master Wulfgar slid the book across the table to her/. Biting the inside of her lip, Leara tried to parse out the language. She recognized what she thought might be the name “Olaf,” but the rest of the title was foreign to her. She pushed the book back to Master Wulfgar. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “I think that’s the name Olaf, but I don’t understand the relation.”
“My apologies, Dragonborn. Sometimes we forget you are not familiar with much of Skyrim’s older history,” Master Arngeir said.
A quiet laugh shook the ceiling, rattling dust from the rafters. Master Arngeir shot a look at Master Einarth, who only smiled, one wizened hand cupped over his mouth. Leara giggled.
Master Arngeir sighed. “It would not be a straightforward matter to convince one of Alduin’s allies to betray him, but if you could capture one of them, it may be possible to discover where Alduin has gone and through what means he went there.” At Leara’s stunned expression, Master Arngeir took the book from Master Wulfgar. “Dragonborn, are you familiar with the Jarl’s palace in Whiterun?”
Leaning back in her seat, Leara’s mouth twitched, repressing the urge to purse her lips. “I’ve visited there a number of times,” she answered. Numerous times. She spent much of the previous winter going in and out of Dragonsreach, taking bounties no one else was interested in. She never made enough to get very far, but she always had enough for the board at the inn and two square meals a day when she wasn’t out on the job. Any excess she squirreled away got drained by her first pilgrimage to High Hrothgar and the travel to Ustengrav and later Solitude, Still, it wasn’t a bad existence she led in Whiterun. Well, before she agreed to help the court wizard and Mirmulnir attacked.
“The palace was named Dragonsreach for more than its place high above the Whiterun plains. It was built to hold a captive dragon, and it is from that Dragonsreach received its name.” Master Arngeir traced the page of Master Wulfgar’s book, his eyes following the text. “It is written that it was Olaf One-Eye who captured a dragon and that Olaf built the palace to keep the dragon imprisoned.”
A captive dragon? Leara cast her mind back, thinking. “When was this?”
“Thousands of years ago,” said Master Arngeir, his eyes distant. “Dragons were still many in those days, living secluded in the remote mountains reaches. It was long before the Blades came and hunted them nearly to extinction.”
Ah, yes. The Akaviri Dragonguard. The original dragonslayers. Leara lightly cleared her throat. “Do you mean I should ask that Jarl of Whiterun if I can lure a dragon into his keep and hold that dragon prisoner there?”
Master Wulfgar nodded, nibbling on one of Master Einarth’s biscuits. Master Arngeir sighed, “That was Paarthurnax’s suggestion.”
Her mind was racing. Asking Balgruuf the Greater if she could use his keep to capture a dragon would sound like madness in the best of times, but Skyrim was in the throes of a civil war. While no large-scale skirmishes were being fought on the battlefield, Leara knew that things weren’t stagnated: Either side was watching the other, staking out positions and movements. Right now, things seemed primarily political. She knew from her time in Whiterun that a great deal hinged on which side Jarl Balgruuf took in the war – which brought her back to capturing a dragon in his palace. Up to now, Balgruuf successfully maintained neutrality despite the yammering of both sides for his allergens. Leara saw more than one Imperial or Stormcloak courier enter the city and beeline for Dragonsreach during her time there. Each time, the messenger was sent away with a clear denial. Balgruuf would not compromise the safety of his citizens for the sake of the war. But would he risk the, to capture a dragon?
Whatever views she imagined the Jarl of Whiterun taking concerning a captured dragon, Leara had a sinking feeling that he would be less receptive to the idea during a time of war than he might be in a time of peace. If she were to just march into Dragonsreach and ask to capture a dragon there, Jarl Balgruuf would likely laugh her straight to the dungeons. Leara couldn’t find it in herself to blame him if he did.
She told the Greybeards as much.
“It won’t be easy,” agreed Master Arngeir, “but you must trust in the rightness of your cause and the strength of your Voice.”
“It’s not my trust we need. It’s the Jarl’s,” Leara said. “Up to now, I’ve given him little reason to trust me and this isn’t going to change his mind.” Especially since the last time she saw Balgruuf the Greater, she laughed in his face and ran from Dragonsreach, Mirmulnir’s soul still thundering in her skull.
Across the table, Master Wulfgar gave Master Arngeir a look. Arngeir met Wulfgar’s eyes, humming silently to himself. “What do you propose, then, Dragonborn?
Leaning forward, Leara took a sip from her teacup, contemplating. “Jarl Balgruuf will not hear my request to capture a dragon in Dragonsreach, not while the war is on. He sits in a precarious position between the Imperials and Stormcloaks. There’s too much at risk for him if he agrees to this plan.” She paused, knowing that her suggestion may not go over well with the Greybeards’ insistence on isolation and peace. “It may be prudent,” she began, delicate, “to incentivize the Jarl with the promise of a ceasefire.”
But Master Arngeir was already shaking his head. “The Greybeards have never involved themselves in politics. We cannot broker a truce between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Leara said, pressing forward. “I can handle the peace talks, but neither side will agree to negotiate at all by my request alone. It’s the logical answer. Jarl Balgruuf will never agree to help me capture a dragon, not without a ceasefire, and there will be no ceasefire unless you agree to help me.” She looked from one Greybeard to the next, meeting eyes of cloud and sky and rain. “Both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks respect the Greybeards. If you call them, they will come and listen to what you have to say – even if I’m the one to say it.”
With a weary sigh, Master Arngeir held up a withered hand. “It is no use to deny you. Paarthurnax has made it plain that he will help you. It is his plan that you seek out one of Alduin’s allies, and if you cannot do so without our help, then who are the Greybeards to rebuke the winds of change?” He waved his hand, his face grim. “If the Jarl’s consent rests on the state of the war, then so be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards would speak with them. We will see if they yet remember us.”
Master Wulfgar shut his book, the resolute thud a clear punctuation to the Greybeards’ resolution.
·•★•·
A weight settled over Leara’s shoulders after her meeting with the Greybeards. Every step she made seemed to put them out in some way. But this would work out. She was certain of it. Anyone who spent five minutes in Whiterun knew how cautious the Jarl was. If she had any hope of capturing a dragon, then she needed to reassure Balgruuf that every precaution was taken, up to and including the tensions strung across Skyrim by the civil war. Talking the Greybeards into hosting a peace conference was the only way she think of guaranteeing that short of entering the war herself. But who had time for that? Not her, not when Alduin was devouring souls and regaining his strength.
Leara paused, her hands frozen on the buckle of her war skirt as she fastened it over her greaves.
. . . and if she did join the war, whose side would she choose? The Empire who betrayed her order to the Aldmeri Dominion? Or the cause of the man whose torture she was complicit in during the war? Leara was no Imperial Saint herself, she knew how red her own history was. She knew the lines of sin and betrayal that stretched back decades into her past. She wasn’t the kind of person either side would want fighting for them. Not openly, at least.
No, this was the logical course of action.
“I’m not overthinking this,” she said, startling Karnwyr from his nap. The wolf only grunted.
Leara fastened her gauntlets on, loose around the bandages cradling her right arm.
“Everything is fine.”
Karnwyr ignored her.
“Ulfric wouldn’t want to see me again, anyway,” she continued, voice small. Not after she snubbed his letter. “But he has to.”
She picked up her katana, polished and safe within its scabbard. Master Arngeir said it was still attached to her hand when Paarthurnax brought her to the monastery. It took some time before they could melt the ice enough to free the blade without damaging her hand. The Greybeards never said anything about her carrying a Blades’ sword, for which she was grateful. There was enough tension in the air as it was.
There was a knock at her door.
“Come in,” Leara called over her shoulder as she hook the katana to her belt.
“We’re heading out, I take it?”
Leara looked up to find Bishop framed in the doorway. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t warn you.”
He shrugged, “Whatever. I’ve been ready to leave since we climbed the stairs.”
Snorting a humorless laugh, Leara picked up her hood. Dark spots stained the leather. Bloodstains, from Alduin. Threading her braid through the bottom, Leara fixed the hood to her head. The stains hardly stood out.
Looking up, she found Bishop watching her. “What is it?”
“I don’t get you.”
Leara blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You, what you do, why you do it. How you act. None of it makes sense,” Bishop said, waving his off-hand in agitation. “You were all over me after you got that Elder Scroll, and now you won’t even look at me! The only thing you care about is whatever those damn Greybeards tell you to do. Where’s that spitfire personality you had when I met you?”
All over him? Is that what he called her acceptance of a single kiss in the Tower of Mzark? She should never have let him touch her. Not again. “I’m hardly a spitfire,” Leara murmured. “What do you want me to do?”
“Who says I want you to do anything?”
“You do, ever since I met you. You’ve made it more than clear to me what you think of my destiny as Dragonborn.”
He laughed in her face. “Please, your ladyship. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you don’t know what you’re doing. You have no clue, much less any sense of self-preservation. You’re dancing around, trying to fight dragons with nothing but fancy parlor tricks and that toothpick you call a sword! You need someone to talk sense into you.” Bishop punctuated this with a smirk that was so self-assured that even a Kahjiit merchant would accept whatever deal he was offering.
Leara couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you have the picture backward, Bishop. But whatever helps you sleep at night.”
It spoke to Bishop’s intelligence (or lack thereof) when he zeroed in, not on her insult, but on the concept of sleeping: “I would sleep a whole lot better if you would finally agree to share my bedroll.”
Shouldering her pack, Leara snorted. “No, thank you. I don’t want your fleas.”
Naturally, Bishop protested the idea that he had fleas, but Leara ignored him, pushing past the whining ranger and into the hall beyond.
It was going to be a long road to Whiterun. She could barely stomach the idea of travel to Windhelm and Solitude.
“Remind me why I keep you around,” she said on a whim.
She expected him to say he was protecting her from the Thalmor, or perhaps that he was guiding her around Skyrim. What she didn’t expect was the possessive hand that wrapped around her right forearm, burning through the bracer and bandage to burn into her bones. “Without me, you would be alone, and you don’t want that, do you, sweetness?”
Leara’s lungs seized. No, no she didn’t.
#oc: leara roseblade#bishop#karnwyr#arngeir#paarthurnax#Alduin#greybeards#the elder scrolls#Skyrim#i didn't know you were keeping count#fanfic#anti bishop#ao3#Alduin's bane#season unending#the fallen#mod post#throat of the world#last dragonborn
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[ @nothingbutthenight \\ for cinder]
Cinder isn’t altogether sure what brought her back to the convoluted ramble of Mistral’s lowest slums. Maybe a vague impulse to recapture the clear, burning sense of purpose she’d felt the last time she found herself stranded here, alone. It had been raining then; it’s sleet now, pelting down in miserable formless globs of slush.
Prowling through the deluge with nowhere to go and nothing to do is not how Cinder imagined this would go.
She’d planned to run.
Salem would come after her, and the unsettling mask of magnanimity would end. There would be pain enough to make what happened on the whale seem like a kindness, and Cinder would endure it all. No more pretending. No more games. Just the unvarnished truth Salem thinks she’s too stupid to realize, that Cinder is nothing more to her than a pawn, dredged up and laid bare.
Exactly none of that has happened. The dark glint of connection through her arm has lain quiet and still for eighteen days. Cinder made it to Forever-Fall like she’d planned—and there had been no chase, no hunt, no vindicating struggle against her fate.
Nothing.
Several tense, sleepless, uneventful nights led her to conclude that Salem believes she’s bluffing, and even worse was the uncomfortable realization that she might be. Alone in the wild dark of that forest, Cinder found that she could think of nothing she wanted that wouldn’t lead her right back to Salem. In pursuit of a new world…
Fuck her.
Cinder scowls, kicking disconsolately at a loose paving stone. Slush splatters everywhere. She’s not going to give Salem the satisfaction of crawling back empty-handed. She won’t.
She can’t. She won’t.
The problem is that Salem has the lamp and the staff, Cinder can’t retrieve the crown for her without first going back to Beacon, and with the whole world forewarned and rallying to Vacuo’s defense, she doesn’t like her odds there alone. And all Salem cares about, the only thing she wants, is those damned relics.
Snarling under her breath, Cinder whips around a corner. There has to be something–
Cinder never gets cold, but few other people are willing to brave the slum’s tangled byways in such foul weather; so her eye narrows when she sees another person coming her way, bent against the driving wind.
No one down here is worth robbing, and the stranger doesn’t have the bearing of a huntress. Still, Cinder draws an obsidian knife out of thin air to hold in her palm as they pass. Talons on the one hand, a blade in the other: if the woman recognizes her, she won’t have time to scream for help.
#LEGENDS AND FAIRYTALES ( ic. )#THE CROWNED KNOT OF FIRE ( sc: cinder. )#I DO NOT FEAR IT: I HAVE BEEN THERE ( v: dawn. )#nothingbutthenight
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👑⚔️🐝 QUEENSLAYERBEE'S INTRO 👑⚔️🐝
a bit about me
I was born in 1996 in Spain, where I've lived all my life, and I've been in tumblr for a few years. Recently I pondered making a new writeblr, keeping the older one as an archive, to give more distance between my original stories and my fandom presence. The final push was, of all things, an absurdist dream where among many other bizarre occurrences, I had a page with this title.
The B(ee) was for the initial in my first name (and certain affinity to said animals; or at least to their honey 🤤). "Slayer" was to satisfy my anti-monarchy sensibilities, I suppose! Or maybe a Buffy Summers reference. With me, it could be either.
I write speculative fiction in many forms, always directed at adult audiences, and always, always centered in women. At the moment all my stories are in progress; even the short stories I had a draft ready for are going through a remodeling process. However, I hope to slowly post WIP intros of each, as well as updates on my progress and excerpts, once I'm a little less busy in my regular life.
You're also welcome to send me questions, but I ask for a little patience as I know I'll be slow to answer.
You can take a peek at my stories under the cut; I'll update the information below and add links as I build up this space.
multipart series in progress
-THE REDSTART'S LEDGER. In a faraway galaxy already heavily populated before it was colonized by humans, Captain Latoya -pirate, hybrid, daughter of tyrants- has an eventful day. After being released from prison by a suspicious organisation, she meets a mysterious and beautiful woman, and steals a ship with a faulty artificial intelligence, now on the run with a new crew of mismatched criminals. [space fantasy].
-THE WICKED WITCHES OF TRICKSTOWN. Early 1980s. Everyone knows the town of Trickstown, USA, is cursed. It's never more clear than when you look at the lives of three young women: Sadie, a talented witch; Gillian, her non-magical, abrasive best friend, and Denise, the prodigal daughter returning to town to clear up the murder of her last living relative... where everything points to Sadie as the culprit. [dark fantasy]
-THE TRAVELS OF SOYOLMAA. In a world of creatures of magic alongside humans born without it, Soyolmaa, an immortal centenarian woman, has lived through medieval times into a futuristic society. Part of a now disolved order of fellow human women turned invulnerable, she's determined to continue honouring their mission of making information available to the masses. Strange adventures, hidden treasures, and historical mysteries will interrupt her path. [high fantasy]
As Soyolmaa's particular interest within her order consisted on folklore and legend, her chronicles are accompanied by short stories she hears on her travels. These are the most solid ideas I have so far:
"Petal Decay". Gyeong, a young Mirou from the fruitful and flowery valley, is taken to the tundra to enter an arranged marriage with an ice monster as condition to a peace treaty. [dark fairytale]
"The Leech of Wonderland". Vivian is a naive girl living in a land with no more than three hours of daylight during social season. In her debut she'll meet a strange, entrancing suitor that hides a dangerous secret. [gothic horror]
"A Smile Like a Breath of Spring". The courtly tale of woe of Lady Sabine and Sir Yvonne. [courtly love epic, paranormal romance]
"Chasing Fanny". Series of stories written by Soyolmaa's late friend about two human women in a city of monsters: Giulietta, a lovelorn private investigator, and Fanny, the femme fatale who seduced and wronged her. [noir, satire]
standalones
-"All About Eve(s)" (novel). 1950, Paris. Magical creatures of folklore have coexisted with humans for generations. It's still the shock of her life when Eva, a young woods fae and a Spanish exile, finds herself face to face with her hateful older self. [magical realism]
-"Beneath the Foam" (novella). Three unhappy sisters lived in the city of Qadis during Al-Andalus' times. The youngest disappears, the middle one hides secrets, and the eldest must go against the timid nature that was nurtured upon her to save them all. [historical fantasy, horror]
-"A Child's Covenant" (novelette). Years ago Vela requested the fairies' aid to free herself from the monsters raising her at home. Now the fairies want to collect the debt. [dark fairytale]
-"Underground Elysium" (novelette). When rotting corpses awoke and began feasting on humans, one visionary vampiress took the opportunity to put her species at the top of the new world order. But it's election season, and Lucretia's position is put in danger for the first time. [political fantasy]
-"House of Providence" (novelette). A pair of mirror twin sisters and their stern, identical mother live in a quaint house that hides a horrible secret. [gothic horror]
-"The Wings Behind The Stage" (novelette). When an angel becomes obsessed with a play in progress the actors in the production, and especially the central, past-her-prime diva, are caught in its game. [existential horror]
-"One Over Many" (novelette). It's been a year since the day men disappeared. Maude, however, is more concerned with investigating the same-day disappearance of one Odette Farrow, with whom she feels a strange connection. [mystery]
untitled, vague ideas
-magical boarding school WIP. Co-dependant female friendship, betrayals, well-kept secrets, horror.
-
#writeblr#writing community#writeblr community#writers on tumblr#writeblr intro#original post#id in alt text
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𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓯𝓪𝓮
𝒻𝒶𝑒’𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝓈… music, writing, every shade of pink, making playlists, daydreaming, true crime, musical theatre, reading, comfortable blankets, scary stories, fairytales and folk tales, urban legends, twinkle lights, iced coffee, pretty things, baby animals, all kinds of magic and whimsey.
𝒻𝒶𝑒’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈… caraval, good omens, the janes series, harry potter, all hail the pumpkin queen, a darker shade of magic, wings of fire, heartless, the land of stories, anne of green gables.
𝒻𝒶𝑒’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈… queen, olivia rodrigo, p!nk, carrie underwood, billie eilish, hozier, ajr, sabrina carpenter, halsey, lainey wilson, lauren alaina, fall out boy, green day, billy joel, abba, maisie peters.
𝒻𝒶𝑒’𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓈… ghostbusters, the princess bride, star wars, dead poets society, wandavision, community, welcome to night vale, the nightmare before christmas, the fantastic mr. fox, brooklyn nine-nine, the corpse bride, the batman, 9 to 5, coraline, the magnus archives, good omens, our flag means death, glee, the a-team (2010), harry potter, twilight, m*a*s*h, the league of extraordinary gentlemen, beetlejuice.
𝒻𝒶𝑒’𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀… 3 o’clock things by ajr, tough to be a dreamer by felix hagan and the family, vienna by billy joel, mirrorball by taylor swift, keep your head up by andy grammer, when you wish upon a star by cliff edwards, the fools who dream by emma stone.
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Songs Taylor Hasn’t Performed on Tour *complete edition* *updated each night
Debut
tim mcgraw, picture to burn, teardrops on my guitar, a place in this world, cold as you, the outside, tied together with a smile, stay beautiful, should’ve said no, mary’s song oh my my, our song, i’m only me when i’m with you, invisible, a perfectly good heart
Fearless Taylor’s Version
fearless, fifteen, love story, hey stephen, white horse, you belong with me, breathe, tell me why, you’re not sorry, the way i loved you, forever and always, the best day, change, jump then fall, untouchable, come in with the rain, superstar, the other side of the door, today was a fairytale, you all over me, mr perfectly fine, we were happy, that’s when, don’t you, bye bye baby
Speak Now Taylor’s Version
mine, sparks fly, back to december, speak now, dear john, mean, the story of us, never grow up, enchanted, better than revenge, innocent, haunted, last kiss, long live, ours, superman, electric touch, when emma falls in love, i can see you, castles crumbling, foolish one, timeless
Red Taylor’s Version
state of grace, red, treacherous, i knew you were trouble, all too well, 22, i almost do, we are never ever getting back together, stay stay stay, the last time, holy ground, sad beautiful tragic, the lucky one, everything has changed, starlight, begin again, the moment i knew, come back.. be here, girl at home, ronan, better man, nothing new, babe, message in a bottle, i bet you think about me, forever winter, run, the very first night, all too well 10
1989 Taylor’s Version
welcome to new york, blank space, style, out of the woods, all you had to do was stay, shake it off, i wish you would, bad blood, wildest dreams, how you get the girl, this love, i know places, clean, wonderland, you are in love, new romantics “slut!”, say don’t go, now that we don’t talk, suburban legends, is it over now?, sweeter than fiction
reputation
ready for it?, end game, i did something bad, don’t blame me, delicate, look what you made me do, so it goes, gorgeous, getaway car, king of my heart, dancing with our hands tied, dress, this is why we can’t have nice things, call it what you want, new year’s day
Lover
i forgot that you existed, cruel summer, lover, the man, the archer, i think he knows, miss americana and the heartbreak prince, paper rings, cornelia street, death by a thousand cuts, london boy, soon you’ll get better, false god, you need to calm down, afterglow, me!, it’s nice to have a friend, daylight
folklore
the 1, cardigan, the last great american dynasty, exile, my tears ricochet, mirrorball, seven, august, this is me trying, illicit affairs, invisible string, mad woman, epiphany, betty, peace, hoax, the lakes
evermore
willow, champagne problems, gold rush, tis the damn season, tolerate it, no body no crime, happiness, dorothea, coney island , ivy, cowboy like me, long story short, majorie, closure, evermore, right where you left me, it’s time to go
Midnights
lavender haze, maroon, anti-hero, snow on the beach, you’re on your own kid, midnight rain, question…?, vigilante shit, bejeweled, labyrinth, karma, sweet nothing, mastermind, the great war, bigger than whole sky, paris, high infidelity, glitch, would’ve could’ve should’ve, dear reader, hits different, karma feat ice spice, you’re losing me
Singles
crazier, this is what you came for, i don’t wanna live forever, christmas tree farm, only the young, renegade, carolina, all of the girls you loved before, if this was a movie, safe and sound, eyes open
Bold- on the setlist
Italicized- on the setlist for a brief time
Crossed out- surprise song
Crossed out and purple- repeated surprise song
Crossed out and blue- twice repeated surprise song
Crossed out and pink- thrice repeated surprise song
song in mashup- red
#taylor swift#eras tour#eras tour surprise songs#surprise song o clock#debut taylor swift#fearless taylor's version#speak now taylor’s version#red taylor’s version#1989 taylor's version#reputation taylor swift#lover taylor swift#folklore taylor swift#evermore taylor swift#midnights taylor swift
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Fragments - Part one: Thieves and Heroes
Summary: We experience our past in fragments; stories told to us as children to incite adventure and fantasy. But when you live in a galaxy of wizards and bounty hunters, life tends to be more fantastical than fiction.
Pairing: Din Djarin X Fem!reader
Word Count: 6.8k
Beta Reader/Editor: @sleepingsun501 (Thank you again so much, I really wouldn't have gotten this far with out you)
A/N: Finally! I originally posted the first part of this months ago on Ao3 (link to that will be provided below), but I wasn't super proud of how the original draft turned out. But thanks to my lovely and amazing friend @sleepingsun501, I'm now able to post the version of this that I'm extremely proud of! She really helped me fix my pacing issues and many other things that helped shape it into what it is now. I am forever thankful for your help ❤️❤️❤️❤️. This is my first Mandalorian fic, and it was the first X Reader I had ever written, so I really hope you guys enjoy!
AO3 | Main Masterlist
Warnings: language, canon typical violence, hurt reader, mentions of blood and death, slight angst. Slow burn
You had very few memories left from when you were young, and from those few, there were only fragments. You could never seem to focus on the finer details of them. Although bits of faces here and certain smells there brought up pieces of a puzzle, you would never be able to piece them all back together. However, there were a few things that frequented these fragments with absolute clarity: stories.
Legends, fables, and fairytales told to you before bedtime to incite dreams of fantasy and adventure; they were what you clung to. They had stuck with you even as you aged and anything resembling adolescence faded away. They belonged to simpler, safer times and naïve feelings. Regardless of the distance that seemed to infinitely grow between you and your past, you still longed for just a hint of those feelings again.
A distant shout at the entrance of the alleyway pulled you back from your wandering train of thought as the severity of your current situation set in. With a frantic glance over your shoulder, you adjusted the strap on your pack and secured your plunder. You were tired, the heaviness on your lungs and the soreness in your legs thumping alongside your racing heartbeat. If there was anybody more troubling and downright annoying than dock troopers, it had to be the other scavengers. At least with the troopers, they would eventually give up on their chase, figuring it would be less work and even less paperwork if the perp just got away. The scavengers, on the other hand, were a different story. Like sharks, they came at the slightest whiff of corroded copper and rusted steel. With the haul you managed to get your hands on, you were surprised they had not appeared already and stumbled across you.
You glanced around the alley walls, your eyes straining from the lack of light. Despite being your biggest detriment at the moment, the darkness was the only thing keeping you safe and out of view of your pursuers. You cursed under your breath, ripping one of your gloves off and running your now bare fingertips along the wet surface.
The worn brick wall was slick with Maker only knowing what, but there was a specific scuff mark you were looking for; one many would easily miss or disregard if not actively looking for it. The mark was shallow enough to look like it was made by the unloading of heavy crates, but it was deep enough to have been put there intentionally. The marks did not take the form of any sign or symbol, but rather a few small, seemingly random lines meant to point you in the right direction to a temporary safe house.
As you searched, you remembered you had passed the route by which you used to get to the docks, trying to get a sense of exactly where you were in case you needed to bolt. It had been a while since you had trespassed on a rival gang’s territory, and you were not familiar with the lay of the land here. You were already on thin ice with your boss after losing a total of three hauls to rival gangs in the past few weeks, and you were not about to let misdirection get in the way of this one.
“Fucking scrumrats,” you mumbled, your irritation growing as you heard a group of low voices and footsteps nearby. Your slow inspection of the wall became a frantic search as you felt your heart start to beat in your ears.
In midst of your panic, you had not noticed the empty, metal crates stacked neatly next to the wall until their presence was made painfully obvious when you accidentally bumped into them. As they tumbled down with a loud crash, you froze apart from your head swinging back toward the entrance of the alley. They heard it. you thought instinctively. They had to have heard it, especially with how the sound bounced off the walls and echoed into the night.
You waited with bated breath, quietly resuming your search as you listened for the telltale sounds of approaching footfalls. Sure enough, the group of men, who had passed by not only a few minutes ago, returned to find you sneaking through their gang’s territory. You cursed again, sliding the glove back onto your hand before covering your face with the black cloth loosely tied around your neck and pulling your small vibroblade out of its sheath as they closed in on you.
You knew you had lost the moment six figures surrounded you instead of the two or three you were expecting. You had barely managed to get away from the original two that previously ambushed you outside the docks, but the other four? Fighting them off alone was unrealistic, to say the least.
Sadly, you did not put up much of a fight. You knew other females just like you who could have easily bested them, but you were not a fighter by nature or by practice. You had probably gotten one or two good slashes in before you were on the ground being beaten half to death and your haul being swiped right out from under you. But the fact you had lost was not going to do you in. It was that you blew it, again. Every piece, every scrap in your bag had been specially requested parts, ones meant to make up for the others you lost. Your mishaps had already set you and your team back on your commissions by weeks, but at this point, you would not be surprised if it was now over a month. You debated not even returning, sorely tempted to just bleed out in the alleyway rather than face whatever punishment awaited you. But, perhaps stupidly, you did eventually return.
You had barely made it through the door of the club, the Ivory, before your knees buckled, sending you falling face-first onto the tiled floor. The music and chatter never ceased though, as if you were not there. In any case, you were more concerned about the burning pain in your side and the slow, warm spread of wetness adhering your worn shirt to your body.
For a few moments, you simply laid there, hissing through gritted teeth as the pain only worsened with every heartbeat. This is so bad. your sluggish brain concluded as you slowly and painfully pushed yourself up into a kneeling position. Every breath was agony as you glanced up from the floor, the details of the room coming in clearer from one eye than the other. If it was that hard just getting off the floor, how could you possibly expect to stand up, let alone make it across the room?
A mixture of relief and fear washed through you as one of your boss’s personal guards finally noticed your presence. He stomped over from the door he was stationed at, closing the distance between you in five long strides; your heart beating in tandem with each unnaturally long step. Before you could utter a word, he seized you by your bad arm and began dragging you along.
“Hey—ow—fuck—! Be careful!” you hissed up at him, trying to push yourself up with your uninjured leg but failing to gain any real traction. The burly Twi’lek was clearly not listening, and the moment you two made it past the threshold, he tossed you at your boss’s feet before swiftly closing the door behind him, taking the pulsating sounds of the club with him.
You were left in silence with your boss, and you nervously turned your eyes up to him. He was normal-looking enough, and if you had not known any better, you would think he was a bit misplaced, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He peered down at you from behind the crystalline glass in his hand, blue glowing liquid sloshing gently back and forth as he swirled it ever so softly. He was relaxed, despite your clear disruption of his night, and seemed to be almost bored. His eyes reflected the dullness of disinterest as he continued to look down upon you from his metallic throne.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty, perhaps?” he inquired absently.
You had grown rather good at listening for the slight undertones in voices that would contradict their statements and perceived moods. With him, you knew to look for the artificial empathy with a tinge of indifference. If you had not been on the receiving end of his wrath before, you would have thought that the questions were genuine. You remained silent and tried to ignore your pain.
“I’ll pour you a glass anyways,” he said as he waved the service droid stationed in the corner over. The bot lowered a tray in front of him and he began pouring the same azure liquid into an empty glass. “You’ve been busy tonight. Made another run to the docks, right?” your boss continued. “I bet the haul was a good one, all things considered.”
Ziven Costello was not a nice man, and it was reflected in his eyes. Even now, as he poured you a drink you never asked for, the faux generosity and purposeful patience made your skin ache worse than it already did. He gestured toward your crumpled form with a tilt of his head, noting the rough state you were in. “Did you know that a group of Empire remnants sought out our services? Specifically requesting parts for an older model of TIE fighter—parts that you were tasked to retrieve.” He set the bottle of liquor down with a soft thud. “Definitely people you wouldn’t want to disappoint, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue as long as we deliver on our end of the deal. I can trust that you brought your haul back in one piece this time, correct?” The man was not asking for confirmation of a successful job, but rather a confession of failure. He was just toying with you for his own amusement, and he wanted to hear you admit to your shortcoming.
You waited a few moments before slowly shaking your head. “I tried, sir… I-I really did, but a group of scrumrats cornered me before I could make it to the safehouse,” you defended weakly. It was not enough of an excuse, and you were acutely aware of that. You should have been smart enough to avoid that situation altogether, or at least been fast enough to escape. You were getting rusty.
“I see,” he sighed, dismissing the droid with a flick of his wrist, but not before grabbing the glass and standing behind his desk. “You know how much I…” He paused, gazing up at the ceiling and rotating his wrist three times as he tried to remember the word, “…detest failures and mishaps. I have a reputation to uphold, and I expect everyone I employ to perform at peak efficiency. You can’t run a successful business with people who fail to perform and deliver, now can you?”
You hesitantly shook your head as he leaned down and offered you your drink. You looked at the gleaming liquid, hoping it had not been altered in any way before accepting the glass. Whether or not the trembling in your hands and the cold numbness creeping up your back was caused by blood loss or the fear of not knowing what Ziven would do next was unclear, but you could feel your impending doom inch closer as the seconds ticked by.
“I took you in, gave you a roof over your head, a purpose. Up to this point, you’ve been a real asset to me, an ace, even. But four times now, you have underperformed, and I just kept letting it slide because of the reputation you garnered. But what does that say about me, hm? That I’m forgiving? That I’m growing soft in my old age?”
Ziven looked at you expectantly, eyeing the untouched drink in your now trembling hand. You took the smallest of sips to maintain a level of courtesy as he stood again slowly, watching you before continuing.
“No, it would imply that I’m weak. It gives people the impression that they can walk all over me and get away with it,” he sighed, reaching behind his back slowly. “I’ve been going easy on you for too long now, and I can’t allow you to continue letting me down, but I can’t really afford to just let you go either. You know too much, you’ve seen too much, and I need to set an example. However, because of everything you’ve done for me, I’ll make this quick and painless; scant mercy, if you will.”
He pulled a blaster from the small of his back and you deflated at the sight of it. There was no way you could fight him, not in this state, and even if you could, you would never make it past the door. He admired the marble handle of the gaudy blaster for a moment before pointing it at you, and all you could do was watch.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way, I truly am,” he conceded. For the first time, you thought you detected the slightest bit of genuine remorse in his voice.
Your mind wandered back to the fragments, searching for a sliver of comfort in your last moments, and you settled on the first one that came to mind: the story of a hero saving a damsel in distress. You could hear a woman’s voice recite the story to you softly as the world seemed to slow down around you. You would have chuckled at the naivety of it if you could, but it seemed too fitting for your current predicament. It was almost too easy to put yourself in the heroine's shoes, being saved last minute, getting swept off your feet—your knees if you wanted to be technical, and being offered a second chance at life. You managed to find a sense of solace in the thought as you lost yourself in the delusion, but it only lasted for a moment. You were just a petty thief, after all, and people like you never got those happy endings. You closed your eyes and you felt a stray tear roll down your cheek as you braced yourself for impact, clinging to the last shred of comfort you had left.
An impact that never came.
Suddenly, you heard the blaring music of the club fill the room once again as the door swung open. A pair of heavy boots came thumping in and stopped only a few feet behind you. You blinked your eyes open, but for some reason, you could not seem to peel them away from Ziven’s black dress shoes.
“What the hell—?” your boss started, and you could only assume that he had raised the blaster toward the newcomer before a single shot whizzed over you. The heat of the plasma caused the hair on top of your head to stand up as if reaching for it. You had no idea where the shot originated from, but a mere second later, the imposing man in front of you fell back with a yelp, cradling his hand as his gun hit the ground beside you. The other figure resumed their approach, and you heard metal clink together as they walked by. You still did not dare glance up as they crouched in front of your boss, their cloaked back facing you.
“Wh-who the hell are you?” Ziven gasped out, his voice trembling in pain. A few beats of silence passed before your boss spoke again, bargaining with the intruder. “Who hired you? I can-I can double your pay, hell, I can even tr-triple it, just name a price.”
“I can bring you in warm,” a deep, modulated voice begins softly, “or I can bring you in cold.”
Monotone, cold, probably a male. you observed just from his voice alone. When you finally looked up, a mountain of brownish-grey fabric and broad shoulders had positioned himself directly between you and your boss. Even as your eyes caught the reflecting light off the domed metal helmet peeking just over the worn cloth, you could not tell if it really was a man or just a glorified droid, but the disk projecting a hologram of your boss sitting next to him drew your attention. A bounty hunter. your thoughts whispered, warning yourself as your unfocused gaze slid from the disk to the discarded gun behind him.
The gun scraped against the floor softly as you picked it up. The intimidating figure did not budge at the sound but turned his head slightly the moment you raised the weapon, the marble cold in your hand as you trained it on the figure before you. You saw a small smirk creep its way onto Ziven’s face from the corner of your eye, content that you were still loyal to him.
Despite how your mind was still traveling at sublight speeds, trying to process the situation, your shaking hand was a testament to how quickly your state of physical awareness was declining. Somewhere in your delirium, you realized you could no longer hear the loud chatter you observed earlier coming from the open office door. In addition, no one had stepped in to help, not even the guard who brought you in. That could only mean one of two things; either everyone had bolted at the first sight of danger, or this bounty hunter had killed them—all of them. Your bets were on the latter.
As if he confirmed you were not a threat through your hesitation alone, he turned back to your boss. “You’re the Golden Tears gang,” he said, the statement hanging heavily in the air. Neither you nor your boss responded, so he continued, addressing you alone this time as he dragged your boss up onto his feet, “I need someone who can fix a ship for me, and your gang is known for vehicle repairs.” Once he had your boss in cuffs in front of him, he turned to face you properly, “I would like to maintain a low profile. I can pay handsomely.”
You could not see his eyes through the tinted visor, but you could feel his hard stare as it held you in place. The helmet itself looked familiar, but the race and culture it belonged to seemed to escape your recollection. You could not decide which was worse: the fact that he viewed you as the least threatening being on the planet, or the innate fear of what might happen if you chose not to respond. Fighting the fog in your brain, you weighed your options very carefully before lowering the blaster. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have. you reasoned. “I-I can help with the repairs for your ship. You’re right to not trust technicians on this planet. They’re more likely to scrap and take off with both your credits and your parts.”
He cocked his helmet to the side slightly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How can I trust that you won’t do that?” he asked simply, and you glanced over at your boss. Just a few minutes ago, that man was the most intimidating person in your life, the driving force behind your perfection. Now, you had just been offered the second chance you so desperately needed, and Ziven just stood there in stunned silence, realizing his world was falling apart around him as he gazed blankly into the empty club beyond the door.
“You just saved my life, whether you meant to or not. I’ll forever be in your debt,” you admitted, finally dragging yourself off the floor.
A few beats of silence passed before the masked man nodded once, seemingly content with your reasoning. Without another word, he dragged your boss away and you hobbled after him. As you stepped through the door, the sight before you confirmed your previous suspicions as you carefully stepped over the body of the Twi’lek crumpled just outside the door.
You were able to patch yourself up quietly in the privacy of the club’s refresher as the bounty hunter secured his new quarry in carbonite. It was a sight you wish you could have seen, but wound care had to come first with the amount of blood you had lost. With a hiss, you tightened the bandages around your ribs and prayed that the sutures would hold. You were used to helping patch up your fellow crew mates after a job had gone south, but you rarely had the displeasure of applying first aid to yourself.
Once you were certain that you were not going to bleed through the bandages, you slung your duffle over your shoulder and slowly opened the door. The bounty hunter was waiting for you next to the main entrance, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. His gaze locked on you the moment you stepped through the doorway and followed you as you made your way over. You wondered how long he had been waiting for you as you watched his helmet dip downwards before sliding back up to its original position.
“Sorry it took so long,” you apologized under your breath, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as discomfort set in. You received no response as he pushed himself away from the wall and motioned for you to follow.
After the bounty hunter, who you now recognized as a Mandalorian, led you back to his ship, you gave him the coordinates to an old hangar that your team used to operate out of. The facility was set on the outskirts of the city, a smaller one bordered by a thick forest. Your boss abandoned it a few years back after he gained control over rival territory. You knew that if anyone were to come looking for Ziven, this would be the last place they would check.
The bounty hunter’s ship was an old ST-70 class Razor Crest M-111 assault ship that had been practically falling apart at the seams. As he landed the ship in the main courtyard, you noted the way it seemed to creak and groan as if it were in pain. Once you were safely inside the derelict hangar, you exited the ship and set to work. While you slowly circled the exterior of the ship, you hummed softly to yourself and examined every plasma mark and piece of exposed wiring. You wondered what stories this ship could tell, if only it could talk. You sighed to yourself, mentally noting all the damage. Upon completing your analysis of the exterior, you cautiously made your way up the ramp.
The Mandalorian was standing next to the carbonite chamber when you entered, watching you carefully with his arms tightly crossed as you made your way deeper into the hull. Thankfully, the interior did not seem to have sustained a great deal of damage, and you would probably be finished with the minor repairs within a week at most.
“Based on first impressions alone, I’d say the repairs will take me a little under a month,” you began softly, running your fingers along the metal bulkhead, “but I’ll still run a proper diagnostic so I can give you a more accurate estimate.” You paused in front of a bundled group of wires and started untangling them; needing something to keep your hands busy as your nerves grew. It was his silence that unnerved you the most. You were used to relying on people’s facial expressions and vocal tones to get a read on them, but with him, it was as if he were a book of blank pages. “There should still be plenty of material for me to get the job done, but we’ll still need supplies, like food, water, and maybe some specific parts. I can make a run in the morning.”
You highly doubted he would need anything further from you at the moment as you finished untangling the wires. When you made your way off the ship, you could still feel his hard gaze burning holes into the back of your skull.
His head tilted at you as you turned to face him once more, and the visor glinted in the faint light above him. He did not respond to anything you had just said beyond that head tilt, so you cleared your throat, “I-I’ll be making use of the dorms. If you need anything, that’s where I’ll be.”
The next morning, you decided to start with the exterior first—figuring it would be better to get the hardest parts out of the way. There were leaks in the fuel lines, holes in the casing around the engines, exposed wiring, and a detached turret, not to mention the many, many holes dotting the frame and shell.
You quickly developed a routine within the first few days: waking at the crack of dawn, preparing a quick meal and a cup of caf for both you and the Mandalorian, changing any soiled bandages, and then starting on your repairs. He rarely bothered you while you worked, opting to spend his time either on the ship or keeping an eye on the surrounding area for any signs of intruders or rival gangs. The repairs easily took up the rest of your days, and you only stopped when you were physically exhausted. Afterward, you would clean up, make some dinner, sometimes using whatever food he had scrounged up, and then you would go to bed.
You had not heard him say a single word since he had led you away from the Ivory, and he did not often stick around long enough for you to strike up a conversation. The few times you had tried, he had simply walked away. Not that you minded, because as much as you hated to admit it, he made you nervous. You never even saw him when you left him his meals on the crate next to the ladder that led to the cockpit. You only ever tried to talk to him because you were clueless about what to do with the awful silence that seemed to follow him. He was like a black hole, sucking in all sounds from around him.
“You’re still hurt,” he observed suddenly one day, his modulated voice taking you by surprise.
You leaned heavily into the side of the ship, holding your ribs carefully and trying to catch your breath. You were two weeks into your repairs, and in that time, you had torn your stitches once and lost a lot of steam. You were tired and hurting all the time, but there was no need for him to know that. You took a few more deep breaths in before nodding, turning to face him. It was the first time you had heard him speak in weeks, and you would be lying if you said the sudden reappearance of his voice did not startle you. Even at a distance, it felt like he was staring you down, his arms crossed over his chest as he, too, lounged into the side of the ship. You watched as his visor tilted down an inch before returning to its original position, much like he had done in the club.
“I-I got into a minor scrap before the whole club incident, but it’s—it’s nothing to worry about,” you lied, stuttering through your pain and slowly getting back to work. You still had a few hours left of daylight that you fully intended on utilizing, but you also did not hear him leave. I guess this conversation isn’t over. you thought warily, pausing and glancing over in his direction. Sure enough, he was still there, watching you work silently. “Did you, uh, need anything?” you asked, pulling away from your work.
He did not respond, as expected, and you pursed your lips together, mumbling a resigned, “Okay,” before returning to your task. He continued to sit there and watch you for what felt like hours. The pressure you could feel under his watchful eyes only increased until he finally took his leave. As his boots thudded quietly down the ramp, whatever had been gripping your lungs finally let go.
A loud crash coming from the inside of the ship startled you awake. You had dozed off while working on the underside of the ship. You swore as you pushed yourself out from under the ship and shot up, hobbling to the back of the ship. You come to a stop at the bottom of the boarding ramp and looked around frantically for the source of the commotion.
“Bounty Hunter?” you called out before a flash of green catches your attention. In your sleep-deprived state, you had no time to react when something came tumbling down the ramp and slamming into your chest. Caught off balance, you tumbled backward and hit the ground hard, hissing as you felt the stitches pull and rip with the impact. Shit. Two now. you groaned inwardly.
The Mandalorian came rushing down the ramp and was by your side before you could see whatever knocked you over. He bent down, swiped the little green creature off your chest, and spun around, all in one fluid motion.
You managed to catch a quick glimpse of two big, green ears peeking up from behind his armored shoulder, but you remained silent as you watched his retreating form disappear into the ship. You had no choice but to lay there for a few moments, waiting for the pain to simmer down, before pushing yourself up with a groan and stumbling towards the dorms.
You could feel the warm wetness seep through the bandages and ruin yet another one of your work shirts. You struggled to lift it, trying to avoid agitating it further. Once the bottom of the shirt was bunched up and tucked in the crack of your armpit, you slowly unwrapped and peeled the now-soiled bandages from the wound. The skin around it was uncomfortably hot, and you feared that you might be at risk of infection. You turned your attention to the small med kit beside you before reaching your hand in and fishing for disinfectant, cursing yourself for not grabbing bacta gel.
“Minor scrap, huh?” you heard from the entrance to your room. There was a slight teasing to his tone now, and it irked you.
Exhaling with a little more force than necessary, you turned your head just enough to give him an unamused side-eye. He was leaning against the door frame, his chrome-armored arms crossed as he stared down at you. Was there ever a time when he did not have his arms crossed?
“I’m sorry, I’ll clean up after I deal with this,” you mumbled, too tired and lightheaded to put up a fight.
“That is a cut from a vibroblade,” he stated very matter-of-factly, pointing to your injured side. “I should have checked on you once we got here, but I was too busy dealing with your boss. I would have never noticed if you hadn’t left a concerning amount of blood in the dirt just now. If I would have known what condition you were really in, I would have—”
Never hired me? bounced around your delirious skull, but you cut him off before those words could slip off his tongue, “I just want to leave,” you say quickly, looking up at him. “I’ve been trying to get off this planet for years now, and I’m as good as dead with my boss gone. Injuries like this,” you glanced back down at the gash, “are nothing compared to being killed.”
He shook his head and sighed before coming to stand beside you. “You did it wrong,” he remarked.
You blinked at him questioningly, catching the faintest hint of concern in his voice before the coldness set back in. His visor tilted down slightly, and your eyes followed it.
“The knots are loose, and the stitches are spaced too far apart,” he explained flatly, crouching down in front of you. “You also didn’t use the right thread. They’ll just keep tearing with this. I’m going to show you how to do this properly.”
You were too stunned to answer. That was the most you had heard come from him in the past few weeks, and now he was digging around in the medkit about to patch you up. You reached out to help him locate whatever he was looking for, but your attempt at assistance was met with him gently batting your hand away. You huffed petulantly but withdrew your hand all the same.
After finding the proper wire and needle, he patted the poor excuse for a cot that you had been sleeping on, indicating that you should lay back on it. You did so obediently, not having the will nor the energy to argue with the very blunt man. Your eyes were heavy, but you watched him pull off his leather gloves and sanitize his large, bronze hands. Fuck. Normally, you would be rather enticed by such hands; thinking of how they would feel against your bare skin or stroking your cheek. However, the ache in your side overruled such thoughts this time.
To distract yourself from the pain and possibly learn a lifesaving skill, you focused on the way he expertly threaded the little curved needle. They looked so strong and gentle now, but as he tugged up at the hem of your shirt, you suddenly remembered that these were the same hands that had singularly taken out the majority of the Golden Tears gang not long ago. The hands of a trained killer. you thought. He tugged again, but you remained motionless, too absorbed in your pain and thoughts to register what he was telling you to do.
Sighing heavily, he tugged a third time, a little harder this time to get your attention. “Take it off,” he said, sounding a little annoyed, “or I will.”
If the deep baritone of his voice had not gotten your attention first, the threat certainly would have; even more so than the tugging. Shaking yourself from your stupor, you gingerly eased your tattered shirt off, and you were glad that the bandeau you wore beneath was short enough to be out of his way.
He immediately began spraying your wound with an analgesic and antiseptic solution, ignoring your initial hiss of pain from the sting of the liquid and focusing on his task. Only when your wound was clean and completely numb did he carefully begin sewing you up. The jaggedness of the skin around the wound from busting so many previous stitches made his job that much more difficult, but he did it all without complaint. Instead, he opted to explain his process to you as you merely watched. His hands were steady and precise, and you began to question if he was secretly a droid again.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any bacta,” he apologized as he finished closing you back up, and sprayed more antiseptic on your wound for good measure. “I doubt you would have been in favor of me cauterizing it.”
Not a chance. Your eyes widened and you shook your head as he tossed the soiled needle and handed you a gauze patch to secure over the neat, clean stitches.
“I don’t mean to pry,” you began softly, “but what came flying down the ramp at me earlier?” You had been wondering about that for the past few minutes. You doubted that creature was another one of his quarries. If it were, he would not have been so gentle when handling it, and you did not see it while you were running the damage diagnostic either. Perhaps it was a pet of his? Or a companion?
He paused from repacking the medkit and tensed. His helmet moved just a fraction of an inch, and you could the pressure of his eyes on you again through his visor.
You pursed your lips together and nodded once. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” you whispered.
“He’s a companion of mine,” he mumbled, tucking the scissors and the spool of wiry thread back into the kit.
“Hmm.” Best not to pry any further. “Uh… tha-thank you again for helping me. You really didn’t have to do that,” you add softly as you wrapped your ribs with a fresh set of bandages. He only nodded in response before pulling his leather gloves back on and abruptly exiting the room.
You made sure to make a little extra food for him that night, wishing you had known about his companion sooner so you could have been doing that the whole time. You had not noticed any missing rations either, so you had to figure he was sharing his meals with it.
You crept up the ramp, like you often did, and silently made it over to the crate. However, before you could set the tray of steaming meat down, you heard the cockpit door slide open and the Mandalorian’s boots descending the ladder. A small wave of anxiety took hold of your heart as if you were about to be caught doing something you were not meant to be doing. You quickly backed up a few steps, being careful not to drop anything off the trays in your hands as he turned to face you.
“I, uh, I-I brought you some dinner,” you stammered out as he glanced down at the trays, “and I made a little extra for your companion, too.” He still did not respond, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you watched the visor slide from one tray to the next. You did this for him every day and night, there was no reason for you to act like he caught you stealing from his ship. Did he think you were guilty until proven innocent or some shit? Maybe he was scanning you from behind that heavy mask and—
“Thank you,” he said softly, taking the trays from your shaking hands.
You nodded once as your lungs were still constricted by anxiety. You muttered a quick, “Y-yeah… of course,” as you turned on your heel and made for the exit.
“Hey, wait,” you heard him call out to you. Pausing cautiously, you turned back to face him. “I… hmm,” he glanced down at the trays as if their very existence troubled him. He stayed silent for a moment, and you began to think that perhaps you had imagined it, but then his visor locked back onto you, “I’m heading to Nevarro. There are people there I have to meet with—good people who could help you out.” The words fell out of the modulator heavily, sounding foreign to both you and the mouth they were coming from.
You inclined your head, turning your body so you could properly face him before crossing your arms nervously over your chest. Your mind raced with the possibility of finally leaving this wretched planet. You tried to think of how far away Nevarro was before he spoke again.
“The original terms of our agreement were that I’d pay for your services with credits,” he said, finally setting the trays down and shifting his weight from one side to another. “But upon further deliberation, I have a counteroffer: you can accompany me to Nevarro and I’ll introduce you to my associates, from there, you can decide what you want to do.”
You felt your arms drop down to your sides as your eyes widened in surprise. The offer he just presented to you was far better than the original by a landslide. Not only would you have a guaranteed ride off this hell hole, but you would also have an actual destination and purpose.
“You can still take the credits instead if that’s what you want.”
You shook your head to clear the shock. “Thank you! I’ll take the ride if that’s all right,” you finally answered, despite having already made up your mind the second the option was given. He nodded, turning towards the ladder, but halting once his foot hits the first rung.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said softly from over his shoulder before continuing his ascent up the latter, somehow managing to carry both trays up with one arm.
You stared at the bottom of the ladder for a few moments before a smile spread across your face. Freedom. The word rang like a bell in your mind. You let yourself just stand there, smiling stupidly with the prospect ahead of you. You happily twirled on your way out of the ship and powerwalked back to the mess hall, not caring that your food had probably gone cold.
#mandalorian din djarin#mandalorian#the mandalorian#din djarin#star wars#mandolorian fan fic#mando x reader#din djarin x reader#mandalorian x reader#din djarin x you
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