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your-highnessmarvel · 3 years

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From Bleak to Bright - Part Eleven

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: soooo um i think this may be a little tension relieving ;;;;)))

Warnings: angst, language, SMUT (18+ ONLY)

MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART ELEVEN

** Two years later, Manhattan, New York **

You scrolled down on your phone, pretending to actually be doing something, while you waited for Natasha. A group of teenagers had come into the cafe, loud, laughing, challenging each other to some stupid fight. You rolled your eyes, chewing on some gum, making sure they kept their distance with you. Who knew what those kids had touched. Ew.

Nat texted you that she was around the corner, and to keep from staying a second longer with the obnoxiously loud teens, you all but ran out the cafe. You marched down the street, spring air brushing through your hair. There was a smell between a wood fire and flowers that drafted from God knows where. The sun was high up, the afternoon in Manhattan hot. Many people walked by wearing shorts or tank tops. Summer was approaching. It brought a smile to your face.

But that smile soon faded as you walked by the newspaper outlet and caught sight of the title.

TWO YEARS SINCE NEW YORK ATTACK

You gulped, biting on the inside of your cheek. It had already been two years since the last time you’d spoken to him? It seemed like way longer. It seemed as if you’d walked into a parallel universe. No one ever talked about him, least of all your friends and family. Least of all you.

You shook your head, brushing away the thoughts that brought you back to all those years ago. You shook away an image of a loft, of a coffee table full of leather-bound books, of hands on your body.

“Hey!”

You looked up, Natasha standing before you in a trendy outfit that made her look like a runway model. She had huge sunglasses perched on her nose, pink bubblegum in her mouth.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah!” you answered, trying to hide the newspapers with your body, but you saw how her chin dipped when you walked by. She would surely see the titles and tell your brother. Dammit. You’d been doing so well.

Technically, you’d been doing fine.

Ever since the Avengers had defeated Loki and Thor had brought him back to Asgard, you’d never seen or heard of him. You’d gone to a few rounds of therapy, mostly with psychologists who dealt in soulmates, and after a few months of isolation, Bruce had let you go. It had been a relief to have your phone back, your liberties, your God damn car.

When you’d gotten the keys to your apartment back, it had felt final. But as the last people invited to your “homecoming” celebration had dwindled out, you’d found yourself in a pit.

Everything was muted. Yes, you still saw colors, but without the person behind those colors, you just drifted. Yes, you were happy, somewhat, but whenever you saw couples together, something in your chest burned, like a slow leaking flame. You’d never be like them. Even though you’d heard stories about people marrying someone who wasn’t their soulmate, the simple thought of having another man - except Loki - in your life sent shivers down your spine.

“I heard they got free donuts,” Nat said, bending her head close to yours. You giggled, but there was no heart it in.

She was bringing you to a stupid singles night out. Even though she briefly skirted on the fact that you’d already found your soulmate, she said it was an opportunity “to get out there”.

Hell, maybe it would make you forget Loki, although you highly doubted.

The night went on in a sort of downward spiral. It started off really fast and funny, with music and drinks, and a lot of men fighting to come to talk to you and the hot redhead. But with every passing guy, the more they didn’t look like him, the more they said things that set your teeth on edge, the duller you felt.

Like being emptied slowly, hand by hand, touch by touch.

By the time Nat brought you back to your apartment, you could barely manage a smile.

You tried, once again, fixing your stupid leaking tap but decided against it and went straight to bed. Because of that stupid newspaper, you had nightmares, plagued by a dark-haired prince wearing green and gold armor.

In the morning, you ignored the tap and went to work. When you came back, the tap wasn’t leaking and you thanked your lucky guardian because if you had to hear one more drop, you’d lose it.

The next night, coming home after drinks with your brother, the windowpane was fixed.

You knew something was wrong when your squeaking front door slid on perfectly oiled hinges.

Someone had been in your apartment. Multiple times.

Stepping in your apartment that night, eight nights after the tap was “fixed”, you looked around in the darkness. The shadows seemed denser, more menacing, as if they hadn’t been standing there every night, ever.

You looked at your tiny kitchen. Nothing seemed amiss. You checked the lock, but it locked on its own with no problem. Even better than before.

You couldn’t actually complain about your little home invader because they had fixed all the problems that were slowly driving you to the brink. But you hadn’t said a word to anybody, not even Bruce, because deep down, you knew who’d be waiting for you one night, eventually.

The bathroom light had been changed. It used to flicker all the time, giving you the creeps while you took a shower. But now it opened wildly bright and stayed there.

There. That was the daily change.

You changed in the bathroom, taking a hot, quick shower, keeping the door firmly locked. You felt watched as you padded across your apartment in your jammy shorts and tank top, your hair a wet rope down your back.

The cabinet where you kept your mugs had a faulty knob that had cut you on more than one occasion. It was polished now.

Hands trembling, you pivoted in your kitchen, fingers white-knuckling the countertop.

“I know it’s you,” you murmured, feeling your heart throbbing in your throat. The shadows seemed to listen. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

You apartment seemed to breathe, swallowing your words, digesting them. But nothing came back to you. You kept expecting the shadows to linger, to move, to break away, but everything remained still, quiet.

Your heart plummeted.

You went to bed looking out the window, noticing just how clean it was for an apartment in downtown Manhattan.

You had dreams of him, vivid dreams. You swore you could feel fingers on your cheek the next morning.

It’s when you walked in to the scent of flowers and found a bouquet of your favorite in the kitchen that you truly lost it. It took everything in you not to pick it up and smash the glass vase against the wall. There was no note, but just the fact that now, he wasn’t being so subtle about him breaking and entering, made your heart bash wildly against your ribs.

But you knew what he was doing. He was trying to get to you without the others knowing. He’d surely scourged the place for microphones or cameras, just like you’d done two years ago, and found none. He knew the Avengers, or anybody watching, wouldn’t know he’d been here. And just the fact that you’d told no one about the mysterious repairs in your flat meant everything for him.

You turned, flowers at your back. The shadows seemed to be smiling. They knew he was here.

You were older now, wiser. You knew how to play his little games.

“I’m not afraid,” you said to the dark. The curtains had been drawn in the living room, you noticed, as you made your way there. He’d wanted this to be done in private.

“I know you’re here,” you continued, inching to the windows, intent on pulling them back to shed some moonlight in your apartment. “You can... you can talk to me,” you whispered, heart heavy and harsh in your ribs. Your hands had begun to shake the closer you got to the curtains.

When you wrenched them open, exposing the city beneath you, you could barely take your eyes off the horizon.

Because you saw it.

The flicker.

His face there and then not, your heart wrenching in your chest, causing an audible gasp from your lips to echo in the room.

You felt the heat of him at your back. “I thought you were unafraid?” he asked, his voice rumbling, something vicious seizing your insides with a hot grip.

Something akin to a puzzle piece clicked back into place at the sound of his voice. You could breathe lighter now, see colors more vividly, hear the world around you clearly. All this time, you’d suffocated, been drowning, and now you weren’t.

“I’m not,” you answered, but neither you nor he missed the way your voice trembled.

You felt the warmth of his hand on your hip, saw the reflection of him flicker in the window as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the space beneath your ear. Fire lit everywhere on your flesh as he brought himself flush with you.

He inhaled. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, the sound of it vibrating in your bones.

“Where...” you licked your lips and restarted. “Where have you been?”

His other hand braced just under your throat, long fingers seeping warmth through the fabric of your t-shirt.

“Away,” he mumbled. He slid his hand from your hip to the sliver of skin under the hem of your t-shirt and you hummed involuntarily. His touch was like no other’s. “You’re so soft,” he mumbled.

You tried not to forget that he’d left you there on the floor two years ago, but the way his body fit against yours made any logical thought seep from your brain.

“I’ve dreamt of you for so long,” he drawled, making it seem as if you’d been separated for an eternity. “I’ve dreamt of your eyes. Your voice. The way your body fits right onto mine.” He shifted slightly, pressing you harshly against him. “I’ve not the heart to take another woman to bed. I want it to be you.”

His words sent a strange heat dripping down into your belly, heavy and wanting. Your mouth parted, and the hand Loki had against your chest slipped up until his thumb pressed against your mouth. “How sweet of you,” you said against his thumb.

He chuckled lowly. “I can show you sweet,” he said.

“I rather you practice restraint,” you mumbled, even though deep down, you meant none of it.

He chuckled again, shaking his head, lowering his hand back so it lay lightly around your throat. Then his chuckle turned into a groan, his force deepening. “Y/n,” but now his voice was pleading, like a man who’d been deprived of everything. “Please. I’ve thought of you all this time. Don’t push me away. Not you.”

The last part made you frown, but you nonetheless pushed from him, turning to face him. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes, his face ashen as if he hadn’t slept in a millennia. His hair was slightly longer, curling along his jaw, hiding his ears. He wore a white t-shirt and black slacks, but he was cold as you pressed your fingers against his shoulders.

“Okay,” you whispered. You tried not to maintain eye contact because the haunted look in his green eyes made you sick.

He bent forward slightly, grasping your face between his huge, warm hands. The first brush of his lips was soft, sending butterflies scuttling across your belly. But then he gripped your face, bringing you to him, and kissed you like he was a starving man and you were his reprieve.

A strangled moan left his throat, his lips molding to yours, driving you backwards until your spine hit the window. One hand went to the glass to soften your fall, but he didn’t let up his rhythm. You could barely keep up anyway.

He kept kissing you so harshly, delving his tongue between your teeth, angling your head back to kiss you deeply, that every rational thought in you just went to dust.

You gripped his back, marveling at the strong muscle, bringing him flush against you. One hand went to his hair, knotting in the raven locks, tugging until you swore you’d hurt him. But he kept kissing you, hands venturing to your hips, sliding over your ass, gripping your thighs and hauling you up.

On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his arousal just where you wanted him, and he spun you away from the window. How he moved with such eloquence as he devoured your mouth befuddled you, but when your ass found the countertop and Loki pressed himself between your legs, your brain fizzled. A whole jar of butterflies now flew in your belly.

He broke from the kiss momentarily to grasp your breasts, kneading them in his hands, marveling at the sight.

“Restraint, Loki,” you mumbled breathlessly, lips swollen.

One of his brows furrowed, but he went right back to kiss you, holding your tits in his hands, then moving to grip your thighs with such strength it should have hurt.

“I can’t stop,” he breathed between kisses, holding the back of your head. “I want you. I want you so fucking bad.”

You squeezed your eyes shut harshly, ignoring the red alarms in your head. Because it was him. Because it was him, always him, and now that he was here, touching you almost everywhere, his scent invading your senses, you never wanted him to go.

He pulled your head back and kissed down your neck, over the swell of your breast, taking one nipple lightly between his teeth. A gurgled moan left your throat, Loki holding your head back, exposing everything to him.

“No bra?” he grumbled against your skin, his tongue soothing the ache on your nipple.

You just breathed in response, your legs clenching against his arms.

He chuckled against your body. His left hand, the free one, slid down the length of your chest until he took one finger to lightly circle you through your pants.

You gasped, jolting in his grasp, his mouth possessively clamping shut on your nipple.

“Eager,” he hummed. He was so warm, smelled so fucking good, that the second time he applied pressure and circled his fingers, you all but moaned for everyone to hear. He teased you some more, licking and pleasing you all through your clothing.

Then his mouth left your hardened nipple and traveled up to your ear, where the warmth of his breath made you shiver. “If I can do this to you,” he whispered, circling your core through your pants. “Imagine how it’ll feel when I fuck you.”

His words made you want to clench your thighs together, to keep the heat and pressure there, but his body was still between your legs. He chuckled, biting your neck, hard, knowing it would leave a mark. He yanked your head forward until your eyes met his.

“I can feel just how much you want me,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “I can smell it.”

You rocked once against his hand, eliciting a groan from him as your thigh briefly brushed him through his pants. He was hard. Wanting. The hand behind your hand squeezed until it hurt, but when he soothed his tongue against your neck, circling your clit, you lost yourself in him again.

“Y/N,” he murmured, chanting your name like a prayer. You were almost there and you couldn’t believe it. You rocked against his hand, biting your lip, and when he saw that, he brought your mouth into a breathtaking kiss. “Cum against me,” he said through each kiss. “Cum.” It was a command.

You squeezed your eyes, grinding against his circling hand, and when he licked your neck, you all but came apart with a moan. Loki quickly kissed you, swallowing your sounds of pleasure as he slowly, leisurely circled you through your pants. Your legs shaking, you trembled against him until his fingers stopped and he brought his forehead to yours.

“Run away with me,” he whispered. “Let me ravage you every night, y/n, please.”

Lost in the dizzying aftermath of your orgasm, all you could do was breathe, eyes closed. You fisted one hand in his shirt, feeling his heart beating savagely under his breastbone.

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

“No,” you said.

AAAAHHHH omg i was so shy writing that little smutty part lmaooo BUT YES MORE TO COME OOOOHHHH (you will get a whole smut scene soon, let me get used to writing smut again hihihihi)

tags: @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor @winchescumberholland

#loki #lokixyou #lokixyn #lokixreader #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x reader #smut #soulmate au #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #imagine loki #loki imagine #loki oneshot

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passable-talent · 4 years

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SoftZukoSoftZukoSoftZuko Pleasseeeee I need fluff and aftercare (doesn't have to be nsfw but I want my teeth to rot from the sweetness)

Zuko had had a hard day. Being a seventeen year old Fire Lord will do that. Sometimes when life got hard on him, he went to his uncle.

But Iroh wasn’t always home.

He was so young, and your relationship so new, that he hadn’t been quite ready to show so much vulnerability in front of you. But he knew he needed to talk to someone, or maybe cry in front of someone, and the person he was closest to trusting was you.

He trusted you, of course. He trusted you enough to share his bed with him, to share his time. He trusted you not to poison his food, and he trusted you to fix his hair when needed. But trusting you with the weights on his shoulders- that was something else.

You had been sitting in the gardens next to the duck pond. The sun was just about below the horizon, not that you could see it, but you could look at the red streaks wisping away into a dark blue night sky. The turtle ducks were long gone, and the peepers and badger frogs in the surrounding mountains were starting to sing their nighttime songs.

“Y/N?” Zuko asked, appearing at a doorway. You looked at him over your shoulder, and smiled. “Will you come to my room with me?” He had asked you such a thing before, obviously, and yet each time you reacted with just a little extra smile, a quick jump to your feet. You followed him to the fire lord’s bed chambers and when he paused at his dresser, taking a moment to let his hair fall, you waited for him.

“I just need to talk,” Zuko said, voice low, “and I need someone to listen.” Your head fell to the side, because you’d noticed the way he walked. There was a slump to his shoulders, a hang of his head, as though he were feeling defeated. And yet, there was a sharpness to his step, like his guard was still up. He must have something on his mind, it was obvious.

You stepped forward and placed your palm flat onto his back.

“You can tell me anything,” you promised, and you watched as he closed his eyes, absorbing your promise and deciding how much of his soul he was willing to bare. He took a deep sigh, and sat down on his bed.

“I’m frustrated,” he said with a hard exhale, “about the situation in Yu Dao.” You knew that he had been visiting Yu Dao a lot, but you didn’t really know what was going on there. It was a former colony, sure, but other than that you had no clue. You sat down beside him, slowly, taking his hand and setting it on your lap.

“It’s frustrating because I feel that what I’m doing is right. Breaking apart multi-generation families just doesn’t make sense, especially since after the war were supposed to be working on unity. It doesn’t matter what nation their grandparents came from, or at least I don’t think it should.” You nodded, following along, but didn’t offer any input. You weren’t educated on the issue and so felt you’d have nothing of importance to say.

“But Aang doesn’t see it that way. And neither does King Kuei. It feels wrong to be disagreeing with my allies, but they don’t understand.” The more he spoke, the quicker his words got, and though his tone couldn’t be described as ‘panicky’, it did seem that he was losing control of his emotions. “We can’t draw hard lines between nations anymore. I know that’s my fault, because it’s my nation’s fault, it’s my grandfather and father’s fault, but still, I have to protect these families-“

You turned to him and hugged him tightly, shocking him into silence for the time being. Slowly he defroze and hugged you back, tucking his face down and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“You’re making the right choice,” you told him, even though you may not have all the facts. “I trust you. The nation trusts you. You’re not your father, you’re doing what’s right for the world. If you think this is the right decision, then it is.” He nodded slowly against your shoulder, and you closed your eyes.

“I just feel like- I’m fighting with all my friends. And one of them is the avatar- if you’re facing the avatar, aren’t you on the wrong side?” You pulled away from Zuko, gently reaching up to brush some of hair from his forehead.

“Aang is the avatar, but he’s also just a teenager, just like you. Sometimes he may not see the whole picture. But he will, because he’s your friend.” Zuko looked down, and you leaned forward to gently press a kiss to his scar.

“You’re a good man. And a good leader. You know how to make choices that will help people.” You laid down onto the mattress, putting your head next to his lap so that you could watch his expression. “I trust you.”

“You trust me?” You let a smile come to your face as you looked up at him, a softness in your expression and your heart.

“Zuko, you are so good. I’d call you perfect, but that’s a lot of pressure to put on you. You felt the scourge of the fire nation but instead of letting it beat you into submission, you found your way in the world, and found who you were meant to be.” You reached up, tucking your first and second finger into his hair to pull down a few locks to play with.

“You helped the avatar win the war, at the cost of your own family. You grew stronger and braver than your forefathers have ever been.” You paused, letting your gaze settle on his scar.

“And you brought more light and happiness into this palace than I’ve ever seen. The staff trusts you not to banish or strike or burn them when they do something wrong. You’ve let these people laugh again.” You let your hand drop, as it was getting tired, but you grabbed his again on the way down and brought it to your face, rubbing his knuckles against your cheek.

“Even if you don’t think you are, you’re a great leader. You’re already greater than any Fire Lord in recent history. Now, that might not be saying much, but-“ Zuko let out a small laugh, and you caught his eye.

“But I think you’re going to be one of the best Fire Lords that our history has ever seen. Including Sozin’s ancestors.” Zuko lowered himself to the sheets, and made possibly the most ungraceful movement you’d ever seen from a member of the royal family to scoot downward until he laid beside you. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“I trust you too,” he said, and you wondered if he’d been stuck on that aspect of the conversation this whole time. “I know I can come to you. Rely on you. I just worry that that’s too much of a burden, being Fire Lord and all.” You chuckled a bit and turned sideways to him, your arm acting as a pillow for your head.

“No matter how much you spill to me, it won’t match the pressure of actually making speeches. Don’t worry about confiding in me.”

“But what if it does become too much?” He asked, his gaze still pointed to the ceiling as though he were afraid to look at you. You reached over and took hold of his jaw, turning his eyes to you.

“Then I’ll tell you. You trust me to be honest with you?” His eyes flicked around your face for a heartbeat before he nodded, and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Zuko. I am. I’ll give you any support you need.” Zuko’s eyes widened, even though he’d heard you say it before.

“I love you,” he said, voice soft and low as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

You didn’t, either. It was a promise made between the two of you, and no one else. No one else had the right to the bond you shared with him.

“Y/N?” He said softly, after a long moment of easy quiet.

“Hmm?” You asked, your voice rough in your throat. You were almost close to sleep, laying in his soft bed with him.

“I’m always going to be here for you.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean- just because I’m Fire Lord doesn’t mean I can’t help you, too. I love you. And I want you to trust me enough to share everything with me.” You rolled over further until you were laying half on his chest.

“Zuko, what is it with you and trust? Of course I trust you. Of course I’d come to you with anything.” His eyes slid from yours and so you brought your hands up to cup his face.

“Zuko,” you insisted, and his gaze returned to yours.

“I’ve betrayed everyone, at one time or another,” he admitted, and you took one hand from his face to lace with his fingers. “Uncle, and Katara, and Aang, and Toph. My nation. I’m so used to not being trusted. It’s only a matter of time until you feel the same way.” Briefly your heart broke for him and you leaned forward to kiss him again.

“Listen to me, Fire Lord Zuko,” you demanded, not letting him look away. “That’s no way to speak about the best thing that’s happened to the fire nation in a century. You have your reasons, and I trust that. But I know that you aren’t who you were when you made some of your bad choices.” You pressed your finger into his chest, right above his heart.

“Stop living in the past. You know who you are right now- a kind, understanding, trustworthy leader.” You laid your head down once he nodded in conceit, and murmured another point on your way. “Trustworthy boyfriend.” He let his hand come to rest on your back, letting out a slow breath.

“Thank you,” he said, and you squeezed his palm into yours.

“Don’t thank me for stating the truth.”

-🦌 Roe

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vampiresuns · 3 years

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Again and Again, Even Though We Know Love’s Landscape | Asra x Milenko

☽ AGAIN AND AGAIN, EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW LOVE’S LANDSCAPE ☽

2.1k words. Written for Asra Week 2021, Day 4: Bonds. In which the secret of the Scourge is discovered, Anatole and Asra fight, and Milenko has no choice but to be caught in the middle.

Title comes from the poem of the same name, by Rainer Maria Rilke. Dani’s @apprenticealec‘s Baudelaire family has a cameo here.

You can catch up with Milasra’s pre-game canon, ‘Like Thirst Holds Water’, here.

CW: Trauma talk, mentions of captivity, suggested regicide.

Milan had only seen Anatole angry, really angry, a couple of times. While his cousin was easy to rile up, he truly believed in being kind and understanding with people and lived by it, even if sometimes (a lot of times) people exasperated him. Anatole was rather introverted but there was no doubt he was as people-leaning as can be. He believed in the freedom and fulfilment of the people with a candidness that refused naiveness. Anatole, while not immune to his own youth, was no fool.

He had a very determined set of things which did tick him off, that made him forget he was a polite person and unleashed his vindictive wrath upon whomever dared to do any of those things. Neglectful incompetence, abuse of power, people who tried to buy him over, cruel people, or people who spoke over him too many times. Same as people who purposely messed with his schedule, when he had already explained why he had one. Being lied to for no good reason or feeling betrayed by people he loved and actively gave his time to, also angered him.

He supposed Asra’s was a good reason, or at least, he understood the reasons behind it. However, Milenko also wanted to think Asra had a good reason to keep from all of them why Muriel wasn’t around any more.

Milenko had always known there had to be another reason as to why Asra could not stand the Count — besides him trying to ask about his parents and getting nothing, Lucio’s slumming and overall intolerable personality, or the way he ruled. Milenko didn’t know what it was exactly, but he knew it had stirred something up in Asra, something that had been happening for at least a year. He had offered Asra the opportunity to come to him, whenever he was ready. His mothers had done the same, offering their home as a safe place; so had Anatole and Paris albeit in a different way than Milenko had.

Or was it different? He didn’t know. It was love, after all.

Anatole had found out about Muriel because he had been more or less forced to go to the Colosseum. As a general rule, no Cassano, and certainly no Radošević-Cassano, went to the building. Public entertainment was not a problem, even when it was not their brand of public entertainment. Their problem was when aristocrats, or worse, rulers, used it to provide some sort of macabre bread and circus, holding people against their wills and depriving them from their rights, grooming people in a lesser position into fighting, and another set of practices they had tried to mend for years upon years with their hold of the Consulship.

That was, perhaps, why it was even more crucial that the Cassano never went — because all of the social failings of Vesuvia which procured the main source of “gladiators” were things the Consul was usually responsible for, having to find ways to mitigate them. However, there were always people like the Baudelaire family and their circles who did not hesitate to use their own influence to keep their business models. Owning things was not a job, exploiting others was not a job. It had gotten to such a point of tension that when Valerian Cassano was still performing, he refused to do it if a Baudelaire was in the audience, especially if it was their patriarch. His husband, Iovanus, former Consul of Vesuvia, had not been much better when he was still alive: the old Count Spada had to force him to hold meetings with them, otherwise, he plainly refused to, and Iovanus was stubborn as a mule.

The Cassano took their civic duties seriously. Way too seriously to some people. Lucio was one of those people, which made matters worse. Count-Consul cooperation was minimal, despite certain rumours flying around in the City, and with Vlastomil as the Praetor, the criminal justice system in Vesuvia was decidingly falling apart. Lucio could say whatever he wanted, but everyone who had an ounce of critical thinking could tell what the Scourge of the South, or rather, Muriel —Milenko would not use that never, he would never use a name that wasn’t Muriel’s own— actually was to him.

Now they knew Lucio had threatened Muriel with hurting Asra, and lied to Asra about his possibility to free him if he paid his “debt”. Of course, the debt didn’t really exist, it was all a fabrication from Lucio, who did it simply because he could. Anatole was so angry about it Milenko heard him say something which he had only heard him say for the worst kind of people: “In Balkovia, people like this get murdered for less.” He was so angry, Milenko saw his cousin do something he never did — he reminded Asra everything he had offered with his friendship, how his family had opened up for him, a home, a safe place, all of it with nothing attached. For him and for Muriel.

Nothing was attached still, Anatole wasn’t asking for retribution, he was asking for Asra to acknowledge the bond they were supposed to have, when in a time of need he could’ve used the entire weight of the Cassano to get Muriel out of it. Milenko had talked to Anatole first, caught between his friend and partner, and his cousin; Asra had wanted space anyway, so Milenko offered that to him.

One way or another, he knew better than to tell Anatole what to do. He knew his cousin like he knew the water, so all he needed to do was let him talk and nudge him, and he would come around on his own. However, the more he heard him talk, the angrier Anatole got.

“You know Muriel is everything he's got. Muriel didn’t talk about it either.”

“Muriel is the only person more hermetic than Asra, and if he doesn’t tell Asra first, he’s probably not telling anyone. Ever. Not to forget, he thinks we’re loud and weird. I just feel—”

“Stupid and you hate it?”

“So incredibly stupid.”

Milenko tried to tell Anatole it wasn’t his fault, and he meant it. Asra had to learn how to rely on others, instead of just enclosing himself so no harm ever came through his defences, nor to him, nor to his loved ones. Who better than Milenko to know.

Anatole just sounded bitter and dejected when he spoke. “He knows I can tell when he’s lying to my face, Milenko. I’m not asking him to tell me everything. He can tell me he doesn’t want to talk about something and establish a boundary, which he knows he can do. I am asking my friend not to lie to my fucking face when I can literally feel he’s lying to me.”

Milenko hated how bitterness looked on him. It was wrong. Out of place.

“I’m sorry, Nana. Maybe we should’ve all seen this sooner.”

“You saw nothing of this, didn’t you?”

Milenko sighed, being his time to sound defeated. “Yes and no. You know I can’t really control what I see. I wasn’t like it was with— with… you know—”

“Decimo?” Anatole smiled for the first time in their conversation, trying to reassure him. “You can say the name of the rat bastard, even if he doesn’t deserve to step on the same earth we do.”

“No,” Milenko said, surprising himself with how teeth-grinding angry he felt, “no he doesn’t. But what I was saying is that it wasn’t like that, when I just knew you weren’t safe. I think it’s because I’m not as close to Muriel as I am to you.”

Anatole sighed. “I think he uses protective charms. He’s never shown me much, but I’m pretty sure Muriel can do abjuration like,” Anatole clicked his cheeks, a gesture he had unknowingly copied from his friend Leonore, “better than most people we know that can.”

They sat together for a long while until Anatole said he had to go. Milenko asked him what he would do, his cousin answering with a shrug. “At this point? I am willing to do anything in my power so this slimy, little, petty tyrant eats up everything he ever did to Vesuvia, and maybe everything he’s ever done to me in Court while we’re at it. And to Aunt Cassie, and to Iovanus, and to every living person whose life he’s fucked over. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I’ll do it, whatever it takes.”

Milenko didn’t say anything. Anatole looked determined, and once Anatole was determined to see something through, he didn’t waver.

When he went back to find Asra, he was curled over himself, quietly crying. Asra felt the dent on the bed when Milenko sat in it, his cries erupting and resurfacing the moment he felt Milenko rubbing his back. The poet began humming a song for Asra, offering all the comfort he could. He was always so kind to him, he was always so loving to him; Milenko was always so good to him, and Asra was a mess. He knew better than to say anything, because after the three years and counting they’ve been together, Asra knew Milenko had very disarming arguments for that line of thought of his.

When Asra spoke again, was to ask Milenko if Anatole was angry at him.

Milenko sighed. “I think with you is more appropriate. Not for the reasons you think, though.

“What about then?” Asra asked, voice raspy through a sniffle.

“Beloved, he understands you grow at your own rate. No one is judging you or blaming you for not knowing how to deal with things, or not knowing when to reach out. He’s angry you lied to his face. Beloved, you know Anatole senses that. You know he can tell when you do it. He doesn’t care that you don’t tell him things you’re not ready to talk about, just, don’t lie to my cousin to his face.”

Milenko didn’t know what he was expecting, but Asra beginning to cry again was not it. With a lovefull sigh, he pulled his partner closer, letting Asra cling to him like an anchor to something Milenko didn’t quite understand. He knew, however, that Asra’s grief, that which he carried alone and alone only, was deep. A wound so deep it had pierced him to the very centre of his being and changed him forever.

He wanted to tell him he understood. Milenko’s first memory wasn’t a memory; it was a pit of panic ingrained in him out of something he had been told about but couldn’t really remember. He was a toddler, and the war in Balkovia was still raging on, and someone had decided Blasio, Violeta and him weren’t the right sort of people—

Yet as Asra cried himself to sleep, Milenko helping him wash his face and handing him water to drink before he finally passed out, Milenko said nothing. Something told him it was not the right thing to say and that Asra, distressed and afraid, would not appreciate it. It was through no fault of his own, though, and Milenko knew this. Trauma and loneliness were fissures which never sealed right, no matter how well one learnt to handle them. On top of that, Asra was not a great fan of confrontation, and his argument with Anatole had hit not in one but two places because Asra now didn’t just carry the fear of Muriel being hurt (which he had been, several times) or Muriel dying, but also the one of losing Anatole for this, or Anatole doing something that he wouldn’t be able to stop and getting hurt for something Asra would assume was his fault.

There had to be something tragic waiting to happen in a friendship so coloured by Romance.

Milenko couldn’t sleep, so he held Asra instead, drawing idle patterns on the magician's back as he felt his soft, sleep-heavy breath tickling his skin. For the first time in the years they’ve been together, Milenko looked at their relationship and he Saw. Again and again, Asra and him chose to walk together, a love that made Milenko feel like anywhere was a field of flowers, a love that made him feel like he would burst at the seams with it. A love so heavy, no one that young should feel it, but perhaps they felt it because they were young.

This was what the poets meant when they said Beloved, and maybe even then, when it came to him and Asra, love would not be enough.

Morning came, and at least for the morrow, Milenko chose to love Asra again. He’d deal with the rest later.

#the arcana #asraweek2021 #the arcana oc #asra alnazar #asra #milenko #my writing #milasra #like thirst holds water #aelius anatole #muriel

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years

Text

Spring week 4, part 2

We found the guy staggering down the creek. We heard him before we saw him—he was wading through knee-deep water, half hunched over and groaning in pain. As he got closer, I was able to make out that he wasn’t human but crocodilian, and dressed for fishing. His pants had torn away below the knees, and I could make out bright green vines with vermillion buds snaking up his legs. He was bleeding where they burrowed into his hide. He looked up at us with glassy eyes and weakly called for help, reaching out with both hands.

Automatically I moved to support him but Calder held me back. He told me he recognized the vines as marshbloom, a particularly nasty plant native to Blastfire Bog. An opportunistic parasite, it latched onto any skin that came into contact with it and fed on its host, growing until they were entirely overtaken and drained of their minerals. Once the marshbloom had fed all it could, the buds would open and spread their spores to find new hosts.

This guy already looked to have been wandering for a couple of days; we didn’t have much time—probably only about another 24 hours. I told Calder to watch after him and make sure he didn’t wander off. Since Calder didn’t technically have skin, we agreed he might be able to physically restrain the afflicted man as a last resort. Meanwhile, I raced back to the cottage to scour my predecessor’s notes.

I found that her overall knowledge of the bog and its flora were spotty at best, but she did have an entry on the marshbloom. Her notes said that it should be treated like any other virulent parasite, but with extra focus on healing the skin. With the entry wounds closed, she noted, the portions of the plant inside the host’s body would be unable to photosynthesize and would simply die, and the portions outside would lose the necessary minerals and fall away.

With a little more research, I knew what I had to get. I dumped out the remaining breadcrumbs from my pack, had Ailean hop up on my shoulder, and set out for Hero’s Hollow.

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I told the guards at the entrance that I was foraging and expected to be inside for less than an hour. Then I headed in, map in hand, to find some liquid fire.

It’s not quite lava, this substance (lava is molten rock and this is more akin to superheated magic), but it is quite hot. You need special gloves to handle it. It won’t burn you, but it will certainly feel as if it had. It’s great for clearing parasites if you can get it down—like a flash fire fever. I found it fairly easily, flowing right out of the wall (turns out Hero’s Hollow has a lot of natural deposits), and collected it with little issue. It was as I was headed back out, however, that I heard heavy, clanking footsteps sprinting towards me accompanied by a “what ho!”

I turned and looked to find a suit of armor approaching me fast. The visor was flipped up, showing that the helmet was clearly empty. “I, the Baron, challenge you to a duel, brigand!” The voice sounded more like a jester’s than a knight’s—or a baron’s, for that matter. I backed away and tried to tell this Baron that I really didn’t have the time (or the equipment or the skill) for a fight, but as I said so my back bumped up against the wall. The suit of armor ignored what I’d said, unsheathed its sword (the thin kind with a point, rather than the kind with two sharp sides), took on a cartoonish stance, and cried “en garde!”

I stayed very still for a good long while, and so did the armor. Every few seconds it shouted something like “you shan’t best me, scoundrel!” or “your scourge ends here!” Its accent was all rolled ‘r’s and rapidly fluctuating pitch. After about three minutes of this I finally went to try and just walk away, and the suit of armor immediately lunged forward and skewered my thigh.

I cried out, more out of shock than anything. It was a relatively shallow wound (I wrote “skewered” but it was more like “scraped”), but the sudden movement and prick of pain surprised me. The Baron, for its part, seemed delighted. It immediately turned and began to skip away, occasionally clicking its heels in the air and crying “tee-ha! Tee-hee! I, the Baron, have bested thee!” It disappeared around a bend in the corridor, but I could still hear it for a long while after as I bandaged my wound.

What a blighting nuisance. I supposed though, as I limped out of the dungeon, that it could easily have been a lot worse.

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I headed back to Glimmerwood Grove next, to look for wild roses. The hip seeds promote skin health, and I thought they theoretically should be fairly abundant. But, as is my luck, they proved to be frustratingly elusive. I was already pretty annoyed when I ran into Kendre.

Kendre was a satyr, and (as they volunteered immediately upon seeing me) a druid who lived in the forest. Their arms were wiry, the rest of their human torso obscured by what appeared to be a grass-stained burlap sack with arm and neck holes cut out. The fur on their goat legs matched their russet hair. They wore complex jewelry, with earrings and necklaces and adornments to their curled horns all connected by small chains to form one large piece.

I asked how long they’d been living in Glimmerwood and they said just about their entire adult life. They mentioned a shack deep in the heart of the grove where they lived and gardened and kept to themselves. They said they didn’t normally forage this close to town but they were looking for something elusive.

I asked them if they had seen wild roses around and they thought for a moment before saying that roses had been an unusually rare sight this year. They apologized, and offered instead the location of a different plant: the coffee cap. Though unrelated to the bean (it’s actually a mushroom), it does contain about the same amount of caffeine and releases it into the body quicker when consumed. When added to a potion, its only real effect is to sharpen the patient’s senses—not useful for the task at hand. Still, I thanked them and followed their directions to find some—it’s always better to have more and more varied reagents on hand, just in case.

Kendre was the second denizen of Glimmerwood Grove I’d met who seemed to have no connection to the human society in Greenmoor or High Rannoc at large. As I plucked a mushroom and put it in my bag, I wondered if there were any more.

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I didn’t have to wonder for long. After retrieving the coffee cap I headed back towards the path. I took a right that should have led me straight back onto it, but instead I found myself in a beautiful (if dilapidated) courtyard. I must have been caught in some kind of dimensional fold, as I surely would have noticed the high, ornate walls that now surrounded me had they been present before.

The walls themselves were ornate but clearly weathered, dotted with tall thin windows and covered with hanging moss and climbing vines. The floor was made of smooth bricks that must have once been an intense shade of lapis or ultramarine, but that had faded to a (still gorgeous) azure. They were cut and laid in a pattern that was symmetrical but irregular. It took a good bit of staring for me to realize it depicted the phases of the moon, running from right to left across the space’s center. At the corners of the courtyard were raised plant beds that may have once been carefully maintained, but now grew wild. Each had a great tree at the center. Three of them had a least one side that had cracked or buckled, allowing dirt to spill out and their tree’s great roots to spread less impeded. The fourth one, the one in the far left corner, held a smaller tree, mostly obscured by—to my surprise and delight—wild rose bushes!

I began to hurry towards them before the sound of a clearing throat stopped me. I had completely overlooked what was clearly meant to be the courtyard’s central feature: along the far wall was a great, ornate throne. It gleamed golden in the light, its high back intricately molded with dozens of humanoid figures in myriad combinations and contexts—probably recounting the plot of some long-forgotten myth. Seated on the throne, still regal and imposing despite being dwarfed by it, was a man. As I approached him I realized he was much taller than me, or for that matter any human. His skin was extremely pale, his form rake thin, his hair a nearly-white blond. He was dressed in a garb unfamiliar to me, though the dense ornamental fur of his cloak and the rich purple of his tunic and pants communicated his status anyway. He regarded me cooly with orange eyes as I took in the sight. Finally, I noticed his long, pointed ears and it clicked: this prince was an elf.

Belatedly I dropped to one knee and bowed my head. I hoped that was the correct gesture of respect for elven royalty; it had been many years since I took politesse classes in primary school, and I’d never had much use for what I learned from them before.

He chuckled and told me to rise. His voice, though a fairly high tenor, had a commanding sense of depth. He told me it had been far too long since he’d had a visitor, and I should feel welcome to stay as long as I like. I asked for his name, and he raised an eyebrow before telling me I could not have it, but that I could refer to him as His Majesty, the Crown Prince of Sovereign Go’ed-Wigg. I quickly apologized for my careless wording, and told him he could call me ‘F.’ Given the Crown Prince’s care with his own name I figured care of my own was in order. I decided to let it be ambiguous whether this was an initial, a random pseudonymous letter, or if I had chosen “Eff” as a name.

I asked the Crown Prince (as I decided to think of him because that full title was simply too much) if I might have one of his roses, so that I could heal a patient. He thought for a moment then said I could on two conditions: I had to give him a gift in return, and I had to listen to a story. I told him that my patient’s time was limited, but that so long as the story was of a reasonable length (I believe I specified no more than fifteen minutes), and so long as I myself got to choose my gift to him I would be happy to agree to those terms. His expression was unreadable enough that I couldn’t determine whether I’d wiggled my way out of some trick or not, but he conceded my conditions.

As the gift, I gave him the coffee cap I’d just obtained, and explained its uses. He told me he had heard of coffee caps before, but seemed satisfied with the gift anyway. He said with my limitation we wouldn’t have time for the full story, but he’d tell me the first part anyway. I can’t recount the Crown Prince’s exact wording—he spoke for a long time—but I’ll summarize as best I can.

Once (he told me), there were three queens. A queen of spades, who ruled over those things on the earth, a queen of diamonds, who ruled over those things below it, and a queen of clubs, who ruled over those things above. The queen of spades and diamonds neither one had a king, but each had one knight. The queen of clubs had no knight, though she did have a king—but he was perpetually absent.

The realm of the queen of spades was verdant and teeming with life, both plant and animal. The queen of clubs’ domain was bright and open and free, always fresh and always changing. The queen of diamonds, on the other hand, ruled a territory rich with minerals, precious metals, and gems, which all things that lived would eventually join as they decomposed and returned to their base materials.

The queen of diamonds, though, was uncaring of these gifts. She surveyed her realm and saw rot, slimy worms and scuttling insects, and tons and tons of dirt piled so much upon itself that there was barely room for plants or animals at all. She looked over the queendom of spades and the queendom of clubs, and all the light and life and variety and air they had, and she grew jealous. She resolved to take the other queens’ territories for herself.

The queen of diamonds knew that going to war immediately would be foolish. Her two rivals (the queen of spades especially) had dozens of subjects in fighting shape, and she had next to none. So, she worked on expanding her population. She promoted immigration, emphasizing the riches to be found in her domain. With her (previously unmentioned) magical powers, she engineered those denizens she already had over the course of generations into stronger, smarter, better fighters. She was raising an army.

What the queen of diamonds didn’t know was that her knight and the knight of spades were in love. They kept their affair hidden from their respective queens for obvious reasons, but met in secret regularly. Wishing to limit the chance that they might have to meet in battle personally, the knight of diamonds told the knight of spades what the queen was doing.

The knight of spades took this information to his own queen, who thankfully didn’t probe too deeply into how he’d learned it. Instead, she immediately set about raising an army of her own, and passed the information on to the queen of clubs personally.

The queen of clubs, then, faced a rather pressing issue: like the queen of diamonds, she did not have enough subjects in fighting shape to raise an army. Unlike her counterpart, however, she did not have several generations’ notice with which to rectify that weakness—nor did she even have a knight of her own.

So, after obtaining permission from her new ally, she searched far and wide in the domain of the queen of spades to find a champion, one who could inspire their peers to fight their hardest, with the knowledge to select the generals and lieutenants and foot soldiers who would be able to defend her queendom.

And find one she did. The champion was such an effective leader, so adept at rallying people to follow her with true deep-seated conviction for the cause, that she would come to be known as the queen of hearts.

It was at this point that the Crown Prince stopped and gestured to the rose bush. I realized that I’d become so thoroughly engrossed in his story that I’d lost track of time, and I was thankful I’d thought to set a time limit. He sensed this too, and as I went to pluck a rose hip he asked if I was enjoying the story. I asked him in turn where he’d learned it. He said that he was the only one in the world who knew it. I asked if he meant he’d made it up, and he didn’t respond.

Instead, he said I’d have to come back later to hear more of it. I told him I didn’t even know how I’d gotten here in the first place, much less how I’d return, but he insisted that I’d find my way. As I left the courtyard, he turned his attention back to the mushroom I’d given him, turning it over and over in his hands.

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I was just about set to head back to Calder’s stream when I realized something all of a sudden: I couldn’t touch my patient, which meant I wouldn’t be able to force him to swallow the potion—he’d have to do it voluntarily, without spitting it out or spilling any. Liquid fire, one of my major ingredients, was notoriously both very hot and very spicy, making it difficult to stomach. I would need something to cover the taste. I remembered that I had the candy rock back at the cottage, but I was honestly closer to Moonbreaker Mountain. So, I decided to just run over and find some on my own.

I took a path I hadn’t been on before. About halfway up the mountain, I came across Mòrag McKinney, knelt at a shrine. It took her a long time to notice me, but when she did she smiled and bade me sit down next to her. She told me this was a shrine to Cernunnos, the antlered god of nature, hunters, druidry, fertility, and warriors. She said those going on journeys often placed offerings at it hoping for his favor. I asked if she was going on a journey and she said no, she’d just started coming here recently. Something about it called her.

She traced little circles in the dirt with her finger as she told me about Cernunnos, his ability to call animals to him, how wild-growing plants were considered his bounty. I had heard of Cernunnos before, even if I hadn’t studied him closely, but I let her speak. When she was finished, I apologized and told her I was on a deadline. I asked her where I might find the candy rocks. She seemed disappointed to see me go, but directed me a little ways up the path. I hurried off and found a large cluster easily. The rocks (crystals, really) were extremely brittle—I could break off a good-sized chunk with my hand. Once I’d done so, I hurried back to Calder’s river.

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Here is how I made the potion:

First, I crushed the rose hip seeds with my travel mortar and pestle.

Then, I collected some water (Calder was kind enough to let me borrow a bit of his)

Then, I combined it with the seed powder, liquid fire, and candy rock.

Finally, I shook it until it was all combined.

I decided to call the potion Bog’s Bane—a fitting enough name, as it ended up looking like orange mud. My crocodilian patient was staring vaguely off into the distance, so I gave the potion to Calder so he could help get it down. Once he’d finished it, the patient gasped and his eyes unclouded. Already the visible vines crawling up his legs were withering, their yellow buds falling off. I told him he ought to go see Dr. Ardor-Knox in town, and to tell them that he was seriously drained of vitamins and likely anemic. I didn’t know if the doctor had the requisite knowledge of crocodilian physiology to treat him, but I figured sending patients their way might help smooth things over with them. The crocodilian was still a bit out of it but seemed to understand well enough. He paid me for the potion and stumbled off in the direction of Greenmoor.

When he was gone, I turned to Calder to apologize that my work had cut our picnic short. He said to think nothing of it—the man would have stumbled into his creek anyway, so it was good that someone who knew how to treat him was present when he did. Nevertheless, I asked if we could have a do-over soon, and he said he’d like that.

It was far too late by that point for anything further to happen (though if it’s not wishful thinking there was certainly some tension), so I resigned myself to trudging back home. Now that I’ve recounted the day's events, I’m going straight to bed. Here’s hoping that tomorrow isn’t quite so hectic.

⇦●〇●⇨

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duelofthefatesmp3 · 3 years

Note

i DO actually wanna know how youd make kotor 3 !!!!!

this ask has been sitting on my inbox for so long on PURPOSE! i wanted some time to re read the revan book + watch some swtor gameplays so i could give a concrete answer about why the book and swtor arent satisfactory and what i would do instead (im not like. a storytelling god so i this is just my PERSONAL idea). under the cut!

to begin with, what's wrong with revan the book and swtor, mai?

i am very fond of swtor i think it was such a nice idea to have an "open" world game set in star wars old republic time. but ultimately, it was not a good conclusion to revan and meetra's storyline! now, i don't really know what happened in the development of the third kotor game (if there ever was a plan for one) but it's clear they dropped the ball on that and decided to start a whole different project. i don't think we can blame disney for that one, because it was announced on 2008, launched in 2011, and disney had just bought star wars that year. so who knows.

the thing is that it's painfully evident that a bunch of the story that was gonna be in the third game, ended up in the book + misc parts of swtor. much of the book feels like a gameplay.

now, it was clear when the book was planned that they wanted to keep revan's story open so when the game came out, they could have a cool Revan storyline so he could make a cool villain appearence and draw in some of that kotor nostalgia. which ehhhhhh. uh. i don't really think did any favors for revan's character. he didn't have a satisfactory arc (I'm not saying "a happy ending" because good arcs aren't always happy) but at least some closure?

revan went through many big events in his life. we didnt need to keep his ass in stasis for his fun villain moments 300 years later. we already had what we wanted from him: jedi turned sith turned jedi again to defeat a terrible threat. that was it we could have let it there and it would have been cool! but then they decided to drag and drag his story just to leave him right where he was before. he just suffered a little more in the in-between.

you could say he finally redeemed himself of all of his crimes this way, but wasn't that the whole purpose of the first kotor game (and would have been the purpose of the 3rd?)

swtor does not centre revan in his own narrative. he's a side character for the player to experience. and look, i get it, we've had a different protag on each game, why not have another one in this one. well, because the protagonist has no personal relationship with revan. meetra was one of his closest friends, and fought with him. there is a connection that can be exploited. but the swtor protagonist is just some guy 300 years in the future who happens to stumble into revan and his life. not even his descendants get to fully interact with revan.

also, there is the fact that revan is not the centre of the game itself, only of a particular storyline. and it's weird, because swtor could have happened without revan's involvement.

ms. meetra surik, ms. bastila shan, women of the world I'm sorry

so it's no news that star wars is misogynistic as fuck right. cause it is.

so you decide to make your gender neutral protagonist a guy. then you decide to make your other gender neutral protagonist a woman. cool. now let's guess who gets underdeveloped, turned into a plot device without reason, and promptly fridged in the most unceremoniously fashion just to fullfil some manpain moments. which one do you think got that treatment.

i know the revan book is supposed to be about revan, but why make meetra go through a whole arc just to undermine her character and turn her into the faithful servant of the guy? she leaves everything behind for him, sacrifices herself for him, hell not even dead is she not serving the guy. and she was the second game’s protagonist! she beat up a bunch of powerful people and now she’s just meh, there? she had so many interesting ways to interact with revan (meeting kreia, revan’s first master, encountering another force consuming entity, etc.)

meetra went through a whole arc about dealing with the guilt of doing something horrible and having the consequences of it cut her from the force. we see her broken, then slowly come back to the world and reconnect herself with the force, then stop running and face the consequences of her role in the war. thats such a cool character with tons of potential! and nothing happened!

then we got bastila who is. a whole deal. so you make her go through a “promising jedi who defeated revan, to questioning reluctant companion, to fell into the dark side, to was redeemed thanks to her bond to revan, who helped her come back because he’d been through the same experience” arc, and then you decide to push her to the side to have a baby?? which is... its clear that the writer didnt know what to do with her (or with the other characters outside of canderous) so hey, lets get her to marry revan and have a baby.

my ideal kotor 3

to preface, im not a game developer, so some of my choices could be stunted by what a kotor rpg can do lol. of course, it would follow the same mechanics and have the same format as the first two, because consistency!

the fun way to start the game, would be from scourge’s perspective. we get to play as a sith! i’d even say you get to change scourge’s name and gender and looks (i know sith have different looks)

in scourge’s storyline, we get from his arrival to normound kaas, to his talks with nissyris, to his missions working for her. in some of these, we can make scourge lean into the dark or the light side! fun! plus we get some exposition with dialogue options. it all continues untill we get to nissirys story about the emperor. we get a fucked up cutscene of his childhood and then BOOM when its over, we see revan waking up from a nightmare and their pov starts.

ok, as for revan’s story, since we’d have to pick it up from where kotor ended, i’d have a little cutscene of revan back into the ebon hawk, with bastila, and them telling the crew to take them to courascant. then cut to a council meeting where revan and bastila get scolded in private, then rewarded by the republic. i would also like to see some revan mournink malak’s death mayhaps. since he was their childhood friend and all.

i would 100% scrape the marriage and two years passed part. as the book said, the council had no use for revan aside from the legend(tm), so why would they stay in courascant. revan was very alienated from the jedi at that point, despite being back in the “light side”

then like, to revan asking around for meetra and other jedi from the mandalorian wars, we can cash in that atris cameo, then revan starts to have these visions about the sith emperor, and maybe we could get a playable dream sequence about revan’s fight with mandalore the ultimate (I KNOW I WOULD LIKE TO SEE IT.) and we get the whole exposition to mandalore telling revan that the sith are behind it all. i believe we should get a bunch of these flashback/dream sequences of revan’s past doing shit. cut to revan burying the mask in a planet, then back to the present. we see a bunch of mission and juhani scenes trying to reach him, but he keeps pushing them away. revan and bastila meet canderous, travel to the ice planet, meet clan ordo (god i love clan ordo) you get the whole quest, you decide weather to spare veela or not, maybe you get a cheeky mandalorian companion (force sensitive mando oh?) and leave canderous behind.

we can visit like, a couple more planets searching for clues maybe, etc. then when reaching nathema, you are forced to go alone as revan, get to explore nathema a bit (raiding ancient location yay) nathema as a location can be so fun because you can have it weaken you hp bar and also you cant use the force (which, in game is pretty cool)

then we get to scourge and nyssiris arriving to the planet, they fight but since theres two of them and revan doesn’t have the force, they beat the shit out of them, and while running away, they get in a fight with bastila and the companions in the ebon hawk (ebon hawk shooting game my hated). bastila manages to get a glimpse of revan’s thoughts before they take them away. but the ebon is so ruined it takes bastila, t3 and the mandalorian a while to fix it, and they get stuck into the unknown regions for a while. the ebon hawk is left in an outer rim planet with t3 fixing it, bastila and the mandalorian run back to the jedi council, only to get caught in the middle of the jedi civil war. we can have bastila choosing to hide in courascant and trying to make sense of what she saw, reading texts about the sith empire, trying to plot a course to where they took revan (more atris! but shes pissed at her now)

cutscene to meetra’s pov, leaving malachor v behind, getting calls from everyone at the hawk (atton my beloved) but just as she’s leaving she gets a force message from revan, calling for her to find him and sending visions of normound kaas. then, through her force bond with visas, she tells her not to go because they’re gay and in love and whatnot.

then boom, she gets intercepted by bastila’s ship, with the mandalore and the other mandalorian (yes i do love having a bunch of mandos on board) and they go on their way to find revan.

now i want there to be an underlying message of “we can’t take our friends with us because we have to do this ALONE we’re powerful JEDI we don’t need our FRIENDS.” meetra gets asked if she wants to bring any friends and she’s like “no. we have to do this alone.” along the game you get constantly contacted by other game characters, you get the chance to talk to them or ignore them.

so, we get back to nathema, and meetra has a whole “holy shit this is just like darth nihilus but ten times worse. but i beat darth nihilus. i can do this!” then she finds peace in this place without the force, we get a whole speech about how the odds arent against them, they find a way to normound kaas, and get going.

in normound kaas i thought about them getting a whole mission about how to infiltrate the citadel, only to get helped by scourge. he joins the party, we get a little flashback of all the years he spent trying to make revan remember and they storm the citadel. we get to fight the dark council members, fun! then we get to free revan and the game switches povs. bastila hands the mask to revan and he has a cool “yes im revan im pretty cool” then a nice heartfelt yet rushed reunion with everyone.

then have a small CONVERSATION WITH MEETRA where she talks about the sith triumvirate she defeated and revan is impressed with her and is like “we are the last hope of the jedi, we’ve learned to walk between light and dark, we’ve done horrors but we can still make things right, our experience has made us more powerful etc.

then they fight the imperial guard, ALL OF THEM, meetra revan and scourge make it into the throne room, they all fight the emperor. meetra shows the emperor that she has seen the void, she has cut herself from the force, and she’s not afraid of him, revan supports her, talks about redemption and hope and NOW.

NOW. how the alternate endings could go:

if you decide to take scourge through the light side, he manages to form a forcebond with meetra and revan since they’ve both teached something about the duality of the force, they get 100% stronger, but its still not enough. UNTIL. a bunch of ships (jedi and mandalorian, even non republic ships) arrive to dormound kaas, the gangs from each game storm the room and together they make the emperor and his guard a bunch of punching bags. they beat him! (unknow to them, this was a backup body because the emperor can do weird shit like that, and has only debilitated his plan, but he’ll come back dont worry). then they fly back to the republic, to tell the chancellor about the sith threat, and preparations for the war begin. meetra and revan get to live happily ever after for a while, then they die away from the jedi or the sith (waaah im thinking about them helping canderous rebuild the mandalorians, and them doing it since they killed so many mandos in the war)

BECAUSE IN THE END KOTOR IS ABOUT LEARNING TO PROCESS TRAUMA AND RECOGNIZE YOUR MISTAKES AND LIVE WITH THE GUILT WHILST TRYING TO FIX THE MISTAKES YOU MADE ALONG THE WAY. AND ALSO TO HEAL FROM TRAUMA YOU NEED A SUPPORT SYSTEM SO EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES SENSE TO YOU YOU SHOULDNT PUSH PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU AWAY. AND THINGS AREN’T BLACK AND WHITE ITS COMPLICATED SO YOU DONT END UP BACK ON SQUARE ONE YOURE A CHANGED PERSON.

if you decide to dark side scourge further, he betrays revan and meetra, they all die, and the emperor unleashes his angry lightning or whatever on everyone + a bunch of visions of all the enemies of past mocking them, and their loved ones suffering. and since you’ve had that “im not calling my friends bullshit” no one comes, you die there, and the emperor is only stalled for a few years. swtor ensues. scourge becomes the emperor’s hand.

now you could of course bring revan and meetra up in swtor, but maybe only as force ghost guides, or have some of the other characters of the game have relevance (visas tries to heal the miraluka planet 2021)

WELL THAT WAS A LOT OF WORDS. HOPE THIS IS SATISFYING ENOUGH

#this is bonkers but ive been thinking about it since 2011 so.#wow 10 years since i played kotor. wretched little game.#also if i switch pronouns midway its because it would make it clearer #kotor 3 rewrite

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

i: absolution

i hope none of you thought i was starting with the cart scene ;;

AO3 link HERE, fic chapter below the cut.

====

The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes

Till beauty shines in all that we can see.

War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise,

And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.

---Siegfried Sassoon, 1886-1967

-----o-----

Old Gridania, 14th Sun, Fourth Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

It was a hot midsummer morning and the forest belonged to the cicadas. The dry and hollow whickering buzzed between the leaves, cutting through the oppressive wet weight of the air as if to assert the insects’ supremacy. From her perch upon the rough-hewn bench near the entrance to the Archers’ Guild, Aurelia Laskaris found that even remaining perfectly still was no respite. Not from the heat nor the weather, and certainly not the clouds of midges that seemed to swarm over everything and everyone. More than once, she had watched an Adder or a Wailer stroll past their cramped bench in the hastily repurposed waiting area while muttering curses and swatting at the clouds of insects so thick the air looked gray in places.

With a heavy and somewhat disconsolate sigh, she turned her attention back to the threadbare rug that lay upon the wooden planks a scant few ilms below her sandaled feet. Across the room, near the lectern by the door, she espied a strangely shaped brownish stain of unknowable origin- something that had at some point sunk deep into the fibers. The longer she sat with naught else to occupy her, the more it usurped her attention, until all she could do was stare at it and nibble on the end of the forelock she had twisted around her index finger.

“Are you really that nervous?” her minder’s voice murmured at her shoulder.

Keveh’to looked as bored and miserable as she felt. Dressed in his bright yellow Grand Company overcoat and matching uniform, the man who had been her minder and friend for nigh on five summers now watched her with a knowing light in his grey eyes. Like her, his face was dewy with a thin sheen of sweat, and his ears flickered every time one of the insects attempted to make a landing upon them.

“I’m only about to discover whether or not the Hearers deem me sufficiently reformed.” Aurelia’s gaze lingered upon the outline of that stain. Her brow itched with collected sweat, most maddeningly so about her third eye, but she didn’t dare lift the kerchief she wore. Not even to scratch. “My former enemies hold my very life in their hands. Naught about that could be nerve-wracking, surely.”

Was it blood? Wine? The Garlean couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was inexplicably vexing.

“You aren’t too nervous to be cheeky,” he said dryly, blocking the elbow she sent his way with a nimble swat of his palm. “Watch it! This coat is new.”

“What? One little jab to the ribs isn’t going to muss your uniform, Sergeant-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Right, Lieutenant Epocan now. My mistake.” He scoffed, but her attention was already back upon the stained rug. “...What if they change their minds?”

“About what?”

“You’ve got a perfectly good set of working ears, Keveh’to. Sentiment is turning strongly against-” The soft fall of golden waves upon her shoulders shifted side to side with the swivel of her chin as she tilted it towards one of the nearby guardsmen. “...against people like me.”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“The hells you don’t.” Her voice dropped to a murmur, though her words were no less vehement for her discretion. “I’m sorry to sound so cross, but you know very well why I worry. What should become of me should they decide to send me packing back to the gaol?”

“They won’t,” he said, but she thought she detected enough uncertainty in the man’s voice that the butterflies in the pit of her belly began to flutter once more. “...Well, they’d be fools if they did.”

“That isn’t a comfort, you know.”

“And if you're that worried about appearances," he reached for the hand that hovered at her chin and tapped the back of her wrist, "walking into an arbitration chamber with a mouthful of your own hair isn't exactly what I would call a solid first impression.”

Scowling at the rebuke, she let out a soft and petulant huff but tugged the end of her forelock out from between her lips and settled her fidgeting hands back into her lap.

She wasn’t convinced, of course. Judges were as fallible as any other soul upon the star in her experience, and no less swayed by popular sentiment or personal grudge- although, she conceded in silence, it wasn’t as if she could control the outcome.

Logic wasn’t enough to assuage her concerns. Four years ago, when she had helped to save a small outlying settlement and dismantle an imperial cohort that had threatened it- that should have been the end of them. In truth, she and Keveh’to had both been lauded as heroes at the time. But four summers was more than enough time to forget, reports or not, and from the rumors Keveh’to had heard, the XIVth Imperial Legion looked to be steadily applying pressure against the still-fragile and rebuilding city-state.

It wasn’t just that. She’d overheard anxious whispers of her own in Hyrstmill. An ominous gloom settling back into Larkscall, the eastern edge of the Shroud that bordered Ala Mhigo. Machina and steel-clad imperial patrols spotted in an ailing and slow to recover Twelveswood. Wailers and adventurers alike, gone missing.

She cast another sidewise glance at the man by the door, but other than a vaguely disinterested nod in her direction he made no comment or gesture.

Hells, this interminable waiting. I’m going to go mad if I have to sit here for another-

“Conjurer Aurelia Laskaris and Lieutenant Keveh’to Epocan,” the bland voice from the desk startled her enough that she felt an unpleasant twist in her stomach. She sat suddenly ramrod straight, eyes wide. “The adjudicators will see you now.”

“It’s about bleeding time,” the Miqo’te muttered, tail smacking against the flat of the bench. He gave his charge a curious glance. “Are you alright?”

“Just a touch of nerves.” Posture ramrod straight, expression displaying a calm she most certainly did not feel, she set her pattened feet upon the rug and stood. “Do I look presentable?”

“...You look soaked in sweat and uncomfortable.”

“Reassuring,” Aurelia said testily, “thank you.”

Keveh’to shrugged. “Just like everyone else here.” He swept one arm towards the closed door, a grandiose gesture that fell somewhat flat. “Ladies first.”

For a moment she felt as unsteady on her feet as she had been that fateful day five years past, bedraggled and dirty and ill, limping alone into a rain-dampened keep for a tribunal to decide what should become of her. She exhaled, quickly wiping her sweaty palms against the hempen weave, and righted her posture once more. Keveh’to was correct, of course; surely this was naught save a formality. They’d either extend her sentence on the work program or they would shorten the leash, and she had only to find out which they had chosen.

And at least this time she wouldn’t be alone.

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the door and past the open training area, up a brief staircase, and into the short hallway. The two masked men bracing the door stared at the approaching duo, their lips set in a bland and unreadable line. Other than a curt nod in the Keeper’s direction, the guards seemed to pay neither of them any particular mind. Keveh’to paused, shrugged, then lifted a fist to rap on the oak panels.

“Enter,” called a mild baritone voice.

The heavy doors swung open with a ponderous creak upon brass hinges, and the Keeper and his imperial charge crossed the threshold into a room that to Aurelia’s critical eye was clearly a repurposed private office. Three people sat at a long desk: one Hyuran woman in the ash half-mask of a Wood Wailer, two men, one of whom she recognized. His gaze caught hers, and he acknowledged her with a polite inclination of his angular chin.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, and if the man’s voice was not precisely warm, it lacked the painstaking effort at civility she remembered from her first journey to Gridania five years ago.

Aurelia allowed herself a small smile. “Commander Heuloix.”

“It has been some time. I trust you are well.”

Somewhere behind her she heard the door click shut. “As well as one might expect.”

“Excellent.” His lips quirked, and with that twitch of his mouth his sharp features softened somewhat. “Let it be known that the Grand Company appreciates your timely response to this summons. I surmise we also have the Lieutenant to thank for that.”

“She was in Hyrstmill on behalf of the Conjurers’ Guild,” Keveh’to spoke up at her side, smiling wryly, “so it took a fair bit of time, but yes.”

“Well, we’re all present now.” Vorsaile gestured to the two masked strangers. "Swethyna Brookstone and Lewin Hunte. The commanders of the Wood Wailers and the Gods’ Quiver, two divisions of Gridania’s defense force, whom I have asked to be present today.”

Aurelia nodded to each in their turn, but her brow remained furrowed. “If I might beg your pardon, Commander, I admit to some curiosity as to why there is not a representative of the Council of Hearers present. Will they not also be needed to preside over this hearing? I was given to understand that theirs is the final say.”

Behind the table, the three exchanged meaningful glances. Vorsaile shook his head.

“I’m afraid that either you or Lieutenant Epocan have misunderstood,” he said. “This is not a hearing. The Council and the Elder Seedseer have already made a decision regarding your case- or rather, the Elder Seedseer has exercised her authority to do so.”

Her heart took a sudden and sickening drop into her stomach. Keveh’to seemed to sense her distress; his hand pressed into the center of her spine, whether to keep her upright or keep her from bolting out of the room it was unclear. She found herself feeling suddenly quite appreciative of his presence in either case.

“Well,” she swallowed with difficulty past the tight sensation in her throat, “one hopes that you would not keep a lady in suspense. Go on.”

The commander of the Yellow Serpents did not frown or glare or smile, only inclined his chin gravely. “I quite agree,” he said. “Swethyna, may I have the papers, please?”

Papers?

Lips still set in that neutral line, the masked woman flipped through a sheaf of documents on the table’s varnished surface until she found what she sought, plucked them from the stack, and passed them to the Elezen. He reached for the inkpot at his left elbow with one hand, collected the papers with the other, and placed them on the far side facing Aurelia and her minder.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, “after careful review of the particulars - including your actions while a novice of the Conjurers’ Guild assigned to the village of Willowsbend - it is the consensus that you have proven yourself a friend and ally to the people of the Twelveswood. Furthermore, you have comported yourself in a manner befitting the realm’s most stalwart defenders. It is remarkable enough to witness such conduct from any one individual, let alone a woman who once served under the White Raven's banner. You have the thanks of the Grand Company and the Council of Hearers alike, and of course Kan-E-Senna herself.”

“I… thank you.” It felt utterly inadequate but it was all the response she could manage, unsure as she was what this speech presaged. “I did only what anyone else would have done.”

“I beg to differ- but that is beside the point.” Vorsaile cleared his throat and reached for a small box that sat on the lip of the table. “The Elder Seedseer wished to offer you a place in the ranks of her honor guard, but the Council of Hearers made it clear they would not countenance your appointment to such a sensitive position.”

That did not surprise her. Gridanians were a hidebound people, more so even than her own countrymen, and she had seen over the years how people like Keveh’to were shoved to the fringes of their society. If they wouldn’t trust a Keeper of the Moon even when he wore the colors of their Grand Company, she knew there was precious little chance they would extend that trust to her.

“However,” he continued, “there are conditions to which they have agreed- which brings us to the reason for your summons today. In light of your valorous and compassionate actions in defense of the realm and its people, the Eorzean Alliance and its Grand Companies have decided to grant you a full pardon, and consider your time served.”

Aurelia faltered, staring at the assembled commanders in open astonishment. She was… she wasn’t going to a gaol? Or being reassigned?

“As such,” the small wooden box opened with a click; within it lay a small, plain brass signet ring engraved with a pair of serpents twined about a staff, “it is hereby decreed that you are to be created a citizen of the city-state of Gridania, with all rights and privileges included therein.”

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes stung. It’s sweat, she told herself. Bloody stifling in here.

“Aurelia,” Keveh’to had drawn alongside her while she stood frozen in place. The Keeper’s tail wrapped carefully around her leg, twitching with a slow and soothing rhythm against her knee. “You’re looking unwell. Are you all right?”

“I’m… no. No, I’m- I’m fine. Better than fine, in fact.” Her lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful; it’s simply that this wasn’t what I had expected to hear today. It’s a bit of a shock, I suppose.”

“A good shock, one would hope.”

The commander of the Grand Company interrupted their hushed conversation with a soft hum to clear his throat, then gestured to the inkpot with polite emphasis. “For our city’s records,” Vorsaile said, “we must ask that you append your signature to your citizenship papers. If you would, please…”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

She took the quill in hand, musing as she skimmed the text, the tip hovering at the edge of the inkpot. Five years ago she had been in just such a position- only then it was to formally cast aside her title, defecting from the Garlean Empire under terms of unconditional surrender as a prisoner of the Eorzean Alliance. She would never again be Aurelia jen Laskaris, VIIth Imperial Legion medicus. The vagaries of time and circumstance had forever placed her past beyond any tangible reach.

She was Aurelia Laskaris now, initiate of the Conjurers' Guild and - as of today - a citizen of Gridania. An Eorzean.

Forcing herself back to some semblance of composure, she bent over the documents. The quill scratch and the crispness of turning pages were the only sounds in the room other than the ticking of the wall chronometer. Her vision was so blurred she could barely see the writing on the paper, the loops and arcane curves of her own Eorzean script, but in moments it was done and she was setting the quill neatly back in its pot.

Vorsaile scattered salt across the wet ink, tapped them onto a small groove in his desk, then folded the paper and pressed a nub of half-melted wax against the seam. All of this, followed with the press of a heavy-looking brass seal, and the deed was done.

Aurelia was free.

“Thank you, Mistress Laskaris. That will be all.” Vorsaile held out the ring box. Aurelia took it and stared at its contents for a long moment, feeling strangely numb. “If you have any questions…”

“I have one,” Keveh’to said wryly. “What’s with the ring?”

“Hm? Ah… well. That signet ring is one normally granted to Serpentbearers upon their initiation into the guard - a small act of defiance on the Elder Seedseer's part, one suspects. In any case, it is a tangible reminder that your service has been recognized.”

She traced the engraving on the ring’s surface with one fingertip. Its brass curve gleamed in the late morning sunlight slanting through the nearby window.

“She asked me to inform you that this bauble is not entirely ceremonial. There is a small enchantment upon it which enhances the wearer’s focus in combat- should such a boon be needful.” Vorsaile paused for a beat; at that moment, his polite smile became something closer to a sly grin. “...That said, this is not to be considered tacit permission for you to go about picking fights with imperial soldiers. Even if you do catch them starting forest fires.”

“I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior, Commander Heuloix. You have my word,” a small laugh escaped her lips. The sound of it brought back a semblance of equilibrium; she felt her nerves begin to calm. “Please give the Elder Seedseer my regards. I owe her a great deal.”

“She would no doubt return the sentiment.” Vorsaile reached forth a hand. “Allow me to offer my congratulations, Mistress Laskaris.”

She took it in bemused silence, unaware of Keveh’to’s eyes upon her.

~*~

“You don’t seem well pleased,” he said. It was the first either of them had spoken on the short walk back to the Canopy. Aurelia kept fidgeting with the writ she had signed, opening the broken wax seal on the parchment and reading its contents with a deep frown knitting her brow, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what had transpired.

“I am,” she insisted, somewhat weakly. “Very much so.”

“Most people in your position would be overjoyed. A full pardon- and citizenship? There are people who have been here twice as long that haven’t enjoyed such favor.”

“Some would think it ill-deserved.”

“Does it matter what other people think?”

“It might, if they feel preferential treatment is being shown to an imperial-”

“Former imperial.”

“It all seems rather too simple.”

“Mayhap. But sometimes matters really are that simple.” The Miqo’te shrugged. A small throng of giggling children sprinted past them on their way to the amphitheater, shouting at each other. Engrossed in some manner of diversion they had spun between themselves, no doubt. Perhaps it was also a sign of the changing times that they paid the Keeper of the Moon and his companion no notice whatsoever. “Seems to me you’re overthinking things. As usual.”

Aurelia dabbed her sleeve against her damp face and said nothing. Keveh’to didn’t understand what she was getting at, and she didn’t feel the wherewithal for another argument-- but his gaze upon her was equal parts sympathetic and concerned.

“All right, spit it out,” he said. “What’s really bothering you? It isn’t actually what happened in there, is it?”

“What? No, it’s-”

“Well, what then?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if this is really where I want to stay,” she said. “And citizenship makes me feel… I don’t know. Bound to the land, somehow.”

“What? Why? People come and go from Gridania all the time.”

She offered no reply save a helpless shrug.

They were passing the rebuilt aetheryte plaza. In the space of those five short years after the disaster which Eorzeans now called the Calamity, it had become a bustling and lively place. The throng milling about the glowing crystal included townspeople and merchants as well as the much rougher-looking adventurers in their motley collection of gear. Just as with the children, few even glanced at Aurelia as she and Keveh’to crossed the shallow bridge in the direction of the Carline Canopy. It had been a long time since she had felt like a local curiosity, for which she was silently grateful.

She paused upon the slope and its moss and stone path leading to the inn’s entrance, looking out over the placid and glassy surface of the river. The great waterwheel creaked in its slow and unhurried way upon each turn, and on the far bank, the warm wind rustled the leaves of young saplings.

“I don’t understand why you think leaving the Empire means all your plans have to change.” Keveh’to shrugged. “You can still be a chirurgeon in Eorzea, you know.”

“I know.”

“If anything, there’s more of a need for people with healing skills now than before. ‘Sides, you’ve got that kit of yours, don’t you? The big one with all the tools and such?”

“Many of the medicines in it cannot be replenished. I would need tools and reagents that simply don’t exist outside the Empire.” At his grimace, she added, “I think given time and closer study I could duplicate certain of them, but Eorzean methods of alchemy are quite different from ours. I suspect that in order to do what needs must, I would need to become quite proficient indeed, and I’ve not the first inkling where to start.”

“It can’t be that different.”

“You’d be surprised. I would explain it but we’d be here the rest of the day.”

“And I’d not understand the first bleeding thing about it even if you did.” His lips split into a wide grin. “Nor care, I’m afraid.”

Aurelia scoffed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Just saving you the trouble. Anyroad, you don’t have to make a decision now, do you?” He began to descend the gentle slope of the hill towards the Canopy, ears forward and tail twitching. “Sleep on it. Take some of Miounne's jobs while you give it some thought.”

The conversation ended as they reached the stone-laden path and passed through the ornately carved doors to the Carline Canopy’s main entrance. Aurelia paused mid-step to linger upon the threshold, her gaze sweeping across the restored common room. The stairwell entrance to the recently rebuilt airship dock was now open, and nearly every table in the establishment seated bustling throngs of adventurers, merchants, and other assorted travelers. The buzz of their conversation filled the room with a low hum, broken with the occasional shout or guffaw from one party or another.

"Assuming Miounne has any work available," she chuckled. Some few of the hopeful newcomers had formed a queue that appeared to be growing by the moment. Even from this short distance, she could see the bright flash of leve cards clasped in gloved and gauntleted hands. “I haven’t seen the Adventurers’ Guild this busy in ages.”

“Aye, not since the Twin Adder opened recruitment five years ago. Mostly new faces too; look at that. She must have her hands full.”

He was right, she realized, upon closer inspection. Most of the would-be adventurers were clearly new to the business, fresh-faced and quite young. There were a few hard-bitten veterans among the lot, but not as many as one might expect. “I wager that trend shall only continue. What with all the displacement from-- oh, she’s seen us,” Aurelia pointed at the hand waving from the desk. “Come with me and say hello?”

“Might as well,” he sighed with mock resignation. “She’s already seen me. There’s no escaping her.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Come on.”

She began to weave her way through the crowd with Keveh’to close behind. A handful of the adventurers watching from the queue glowered at the pair, clearly assuming they intended to jump the line, but Aurelia ignored the hostile stares and kept pushing her way past until the pair had reached the desk. Miounne’s smile was radiant at the sight of them, if rather fatigued.

“Aurelia! And Sergeant Epocan-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Yes, yes, of course! I remember now, Lieutenant. So sorry. My mind is in half a dozen places at the minute.” The Canopy’s proprietress made a vague motion with one hand. “I hate to be so abrupt, Aurelia, but I’ve been looking for you. E-Sumi-Yan asked me to send you on to the Fane - your ‘earliest convenience,’ he said.”

“Why? Is aught amiss?”

Miounne shook her head. “He didn’t elaborate. Shall I ring him and let him know you’ll be along?”

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself,” she glanced at the growing line of visibly impatient adventurers, “Lieutenant Epocan can call him.”

The Miqo’te protested, “Wait, why am I - hey!”

She all but dragged him away from the counter and towards the concierge, out of earshot of most of the crowd. The man at the desk offered a polite and noncommittal smile as they passed and made for the staircase leading up to her room. Keveh’to was still bristling, his tail lashing the air.

“I’ll not be a moment,” she said. “We can go our separate ways at the plaza.”

“I’m not even your minder anymore, let alone your personal secretary,” he grumbled, even though he was already reaching for the small device clipped to his ear. “...Right, well. Just remember you owe me one.”

Aurelia flashed him a quick grin before she opened the door and slipped inside.

The small room was as austere as it had been when Miounne had first let it to her five years ago. She had not acquired much in the way of personal possessions since; there had hardly seemed a point while serving a sentence, after all. There was the field kit she had been allowed to keep along with its contents - what little remained now - and her own small traveling pack with its botany log and change of clothes and her mother’s locket. Next to this sat the small wand she had been gifted by the guild before setting off to Willowsbend. All that she truly owned in the world sat in this one small corner.

She reached into the pouch on her plain leather belt and drew forth the ring box and the neatly folded parchment: both symbols of the changes to come, for weal or woe. In the meantime, she thought, official proof of her new legal status was not something she felt it would be wise to risk losing. The papers she tucked securely into her botany book before replacing it, pulling the drawstring of her bag taut, and buckling the clasp again.

Once that was finished she opened the ring box and after a moment’s hesitation removed its contents. The brass winked at her from the center of her half-open palm. It was not the sort of thing she would have normally worn, and it was a touch too wide for her ring finger. She removed it to slip onto her index finger instead, and there it remained secure.

Satisfied with the fit, she set the box on the side table, grabbed her wand to hook onto her belt, and made for the door. The ring was warm and weighted on its perch. A reminder of the new start she had been granted.

A rap on the door: “Aurelia?”

“One moment!”

Her feelings were no less mixed than they had been before she had quit the Archer’s Guild an hour past, but they were also not something she had time to consider right now. After she had returned from the Fane, perhaps.

She made her way to the door. E-Sumi-Yan would be waiting.

#upon pale dawns #aurelia laskaris #keveh'to epocan #garlean warrior of light #a realm reborn #chapter 1: absolution

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fleetsonourgecentral · 2 years

Note

hiya! i love ur writing sm, and this ship lol. if ur up for a writing prompt, i was wondering if u could do something with either scourge or sonic getting badly injured and the other having to do some emergency patching up before they can get to like. someone who actually knows how to fix it. (i think theres something similar to this in trip trip fall in love but what can i say im a sucker for characters getting injured and their unprepared partner has to frantically try to keep them Okay until real help arrives.) only if you want to of course, and if u dont feel free to ignore this lol! have a lovely day :D

Hi!!! I'm so glad you like my writing! Sorry this took so long to get to djgdjgdjg I've been kicking my own ass trying to make myself finish writing this chapter for this fic I haven't updated in *checks watch* 8 months now! I am always up for writing prompts even if I take forever to get to them haha haha

~~~

Missions were something Scourge was slowly but surely growing used to. They'd started out as only an occasional event for him when the Freedom Fighters had no one else to spare, but somehow they became a regular occurrence the longer he stayed with the Freedom Fighters without fucking them over. They usually only sent him on ones with a high chance for a fight, since he "wasn't subtle enough to do anything more complicated than that" in Sonic's words, but honestly, he preferred that. Wrecking shit was something he knew like the back of his hand, and so much more entertaining than lounging around the base looking for something to do.

Somehow missions for the Freedom Fighters became one of his second favourite things to do in this dimension. Right after bothering Sonic and his friends, of course. They became familiar to him, and were quickly growing to be a comfort.

So he didn't expect his latest mission to be any different than the others. Fuck up a few robots, vandalize Robotnik's property, compete with Sonic over who destroyed the most stuff. And for the most part, that was exactly how the mission went. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until the fight was over, that is.

Scourge stood amongst the wreckage of robots, running a hand through his quills to dislodge anything that might have gotten caught in there. He glanced around for Sonic, grinning when he spotted him a few feet away, and jogged over to him, opening his mouth to yell out his score and compare it with Sonic's.

As he got closer, though, he slowed down, mouth closing and brow furrowing. Something wasn't right. Sonic was crouched down, almost hunched over himself, still surrounded by broken robots. His ear twitched when Scourge got closer, but he made no move to stand up or even turn to look at him.

"I know I've beat you this time," Scourge said, more to test the waters than an actual desire to boast. "Forty three."

"Good for you," Sonic spat. He still didn't straighten.

Well shit, that probably wasn't good.

"The fuck's up with you?" Scourge asked, coming to a stop in front of Sonic, folding his arms as he stared down at him. "What, you that pissed over my score?"

Sonic ignored him, and okay, something was definitely wrong if he wasn't rising to the bait. Frowning, Scourge crouched down to get a better look at him.

Sonic was clutching his left arm close to his chest. His jaw was clenched and his brow pinched, and when Scourge tried to pull his hand away so he could get a look at his arm, he flinched away.

"Get off, I'm fine."

"Yeah, that's why you're still sat here holding your arm like I'm gonna rip it right out of your socket."

Sonic lifted his head just enough to glare at him. With a stubborn set to his jaw he gingerly rose to his feet, wincing when his arm jostled.

"Happy? Let's go."

"What's wrong with your arm first?"

"Nothing. Let's just go."

"Prove it. Show me your arm."

"What are you, a cop?"

"No, I just don't want Amy to skin us both alive if we get back and you did something stupid like hide an injury. So show me so at least one of us can get out of that alive."

"There's nothing you can do anyway."

"Don't care. Show me."

Sonic wrinkled his nose, and for a moment Scourge thought he'd just run off and drag Scourge down with him when they inevitably faced Amy's wrath, but then he dropped the hand cradling his arm and let Scourge get a good look at it.

And oh, ouch. Sonic's arm was bent harshly in a place it definitely wasn't supposed to be bent. No skin was broken, thankfully, but it was already turning a nasty shade of purple.

"See? Nothing you can do," Sonic bit out. "Let's just go. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can go see a doctor. Move it."

Scourge didn't. He just kept staring at the broken arm, discomfort churning his stomach. It wasn't that he was squeamish - he'd seen and caused plenty of broken bones after all - but seeing it on Sonic just looked... wrong. Sonic had an unreal amount of luck, and got out of most fights virtually unscathed. Scourge had been stuck in this dimension for a few months now, but this was the first time he'd seen Sonic with a serious injury, and it didn't sit well with him.

Nor did the pained grimace on his face, although knife to his throat Scourge couldn't put into words why it bothered him.

"Scourge."

"Hold still," Scourge said, "I'm gonna set it."

"Oh no, you're not fucking coming near it. No way do you know how to set a broken bone, and I'm not letting you fuck up my arm even more just so you can play nurse."

"I've set plenty of broken bones!" Mostly his own, since finding a trustworthy doctor in Moebius was about as likely as backflipping off the top of a tall building and landing feet first without snapping any bones, but still. Experience was experience, and his arms were no worse for wear from it, even if his ankles were a bit fucked.

"No. Fuck off. I'll let you amputate it before I let you set it."

"I'm not that bad!"

"No."

Scourge opened his mouth to argue further, but the glare Sonic sent his way was so vicious it promised he would bite Scourge's hand clean off if he tried.

"Fine," he huffed, shrugging off his jacket. "Come here then."

"Scourge-"

"I'm not gonna fucking set it you fucking baby. I'm just gonna put it in a sling."

Sonic eyed Scourge, then the jacket in his hands, like either of them would strangle him at the first opportunity presented. But he winced when he jostled his arm a little, and very, very reluctantly, nodded.

Scourge tied the sleeves of his jacket around the back of Sonic's neck as tight as he could. Sonic's quills kept instinctively flexing, and despite Scourge's best efforts to avoid them, they still pricked his hands.

"Watch it," Scourge hissed.

"You tell me how much control you have when someone's about to fuck with your broken arm," Sonic hissed back.

Rolling his eyes. Scourge double checked the sleeves were tightly tied and allowed the jacket to hang at just the right height, then helped Sonic ease his arm into the jacket to support it. Sonic hissed again, in pain this time, face scrunching up even further as his arm was jostled and jerked until it was settled.

"There," Scourge said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "You were a little bitch over nothing."

"Fucking sorry for not wanting someone with no medical degree to fuck with my arm." The words were harsh, but there was no heat in his tone, so Scourge figured that was as close as he was going to get to a 'thank you.' "Now let's get out of here before more of Robotnik's minions show up."

"Sure."

They didn't race back like they normally did. There was no point, not with Sonic's arm broken; running would just dislodge the makeshift sling and jostle the arm even further, so just this once, it was better to take it slow, which Sonic definitely didn't look happy about. But hey, he was lucky enough Scourge was around to give him a makeshift sling, so he couldn't sulk too much.

"... Forty four."

"Eh?"

"That's how many robots I got."

"You're shitting me."

"Why are you still surprised? You know I'm better than you."

"The hell you are-"

"Then why do you keep losing?"

"'Cause you're fucking cheating somehow, I just know it."

"Unlike you, I don't need to cheat to win."

"I don't cheat to win!"

"My bad, you're right. That would require you actually winning."

"I can take that jacket back at any time."

"Do it, coward."

Scourge didn't. Told himself it just wasn't worth the nagging and whining he'd get when they got back to base, especially since Sonic would definitely rat him out. It definitely wasn't because he cared about Sonic's stupid broken arm that much.

And if the jacket sleeves began to loosen halfway home and Scourge retied them without a word, neither of them would say anything about it to anyone.

#sonic the hedgehog #scourge the hedgehog #fleetway sonic #stc sonic #fleet!sonourge #asks #fanfic #again i am SO SORRY this took so long to do #i told myself i wouldn't get to write anything else until i finished my chapter #realised very quickly that this would just lead to nothing getting done #did not finish the chapter btw it's still sitting there staring at me #but these two were more important #this isn't really frantically taking care of someone until help arrives since neither of them are frantic but i hope you enjoy anyway anon!#ooo new info on scourge's weak ankles that i definitely already knew and totally didn't just come up with while writing #i don't only form headcanons when i write fic what do you mean haha

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keldae · 3 years

Text

Facing Vengeance

There was nowhere on Odessen that was completely private, it seemed. Yet by this point, most of the base’s occupants seemed to know that if Comman-- no, if Master Taerich was walking around with that particular worried frown on her face, to just leave her be and let Lana, or Theron, or Sorand sort out whatever the problem was.

Right now, Xaja had a feeling that not even the combined skills of her husband, her closest advisor, and her brother could solve this problem for her. And hells, she felt even more anxious thinking about how Theron was going to take the grim news that Kira and Scourge had given her.

She stepped out onto a small balcony, overseeing the new construction of off-base buildings for the military families starting to form, and sighed heavily. Even Odessen’s cheerily bright sunshine couldn’t break through the clouds of worry in her mind. Bracing her weight on her hands, she leaned against the railing to watch with unseeing eyes, her mind racing with trying to strategize for the task ahead, and trying to form contingency plans in the event that -- no, she couldn’t fail, not now, not with these stakes.

It could have been ten minutes, or it could have been two hours, before she sensed a warm, familiar presence behind her, along with the heavy bootsteps of someone a foot taller than her. She could sense the avalanche of questions Theron had for her, but he remained quiet, watching her with a frown she could feel, even with her back turned to him.

She sighed again, and finally spoke, her voice quiet. “They found the ship.” With the Force enhancing her senses, she could feel the way Theron’s breath caught in his chest, despite his trying to hide it.

Silence lingered for a moment after her words, then the bootsteps approached her, and a heavy hand settled on her shoulder. Honestly, Xaja wasn’t sure if Theron’s touch was him trying to comfort her, or if he was trying to reassure himself that she, at least, was all right, for now. Perhaps both. “Any other news?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the worry out of his voice. Perhaps to anyone else, he could have fooled them into thinking he was aloof and detached… but Xaja knew her husband far too well.

She shook her head, frowning. “No. Scourge thinks the… problem is worsening, but it’s impossible to confirm that this far out.” Another heavy sigh, as though the weight of the galaxy itself rested on Xaja’s shoulders… which, in her opinion, wasn’t too far off from the truth. It was a burden she would never fully grow used to carrying “We won’t know for certain until… until we get there.” She glanced up at Theron’s amber eyes, clouded with worry, then looked back down the valley. Almost of its own will, her hand reached up and found his fingers; she squeezed tightly, and felt him squeeze back just as hard. “We’ll be leaving soon to intercept it.”

“How soon is ‘soon’?” Theron asked, determinedly keeping his voice somewhat light despite his worry.

“Kira’s getting the Serenity fuelled up as we speak.”

“... I see.” Another pause, before Theron spoke again. “I should come with--”

“Theron, you know why I can’t let you come with us,” Xaja said, finally turning to face Theron directly, never letting go of his hand. “You’ve never had him in your head… you don’t have any protection from him.”

“He’s dead,” Theron argued.

“And still as deadly now as he was when he was still alive! If your own mother had no defense against him…” The reminder of what Satele Shan’s fate could be made Xaja falter for a moment, dread stilling her tongue at the reminder of what was happening to her old mentor, and the grandmother of her child.

“It’s my mother on that ship,” Theron protested. “I need to be there!”

“Where you need to be is safe here, on Odessen, with Daenril!”

“Between your dad and Senya always keeping an eye on him…”

“He still needs his daddy.”

“And he still needs his mama. I’m not letting you--”

“Right now, his mama is the best shot for saving his grandma.” Xaja felt unshed tears choking up her voice as she looked away from Theron’s eyes for a moment. “... And I can’t lose you again, Theron. I can’t!” Her eyes fell to his abdomen, despite herself -- even a year after rescuing Theron off Nathema, the image of that terrible lightsaber wound that had nearly killed him was burned into her memory.

“What the hells makes you think I can lose you?”

Xaja didn't answer that… at least, not by continuing the argument. A bitter, broken laugh escaped her as she ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. "How fucked up are we that this is a regular fight with us?"

"I kinda envy couples whose biggest fights extend to chores, now that you mention it." Theron stepped toward, enough to wrap his arms around Xaja's back and pull her into a tight hug. She gladly melted into his touch, resting her cheek against his chest, tracking the breaths she could feel him take, reminding her that he was alive and safe. Silence lingered for a moment before he spoke again, his voice quiet. "I don't like this. I feel like I need to be there. It… it is my mother." That was probably the closest he would get to admitting his fear for Satele.

"And you know why we can't risk it. Scourge, Kira, and I are the only ones with any immunity to Valk-- Viti-- Tenebr-- fuckit, whatever his name is." That bastard had had far too many names to keep track of. "We're not even bringing Arcann on this -- it's too great a risk." Tilting her head up, Xaja caressed Theron's cheek, feeling stubble against her fingertips. "I'm not going to put you in danger like that."

Theron sighed, covering her hand with his own. "I get it. But it doesn't mean I like it."

"Believe me, I don't like it either--" She straightened as she sensed another bright presence approaching, and glanced to the side as Kira appeared on the end of the ramp. "What's up?"

"All fuelled up and ready to go, boss." Kira flicked a little wave at Theron, then turned her attention back to her former Master. "Scourge is ready to head out five minutes ago."

Three hundred years of life, and apparently he'd used up his life's allotment of patience. Although, at the prospect of destroying what was left of the Emperor, for what had to be the final time... "Be there in a minute," Xaja confirmed, and watched Kira dart away. She then looked back to Theron and tugged him down to rest her forehead against his own. "It'll work out," she murmured, forcing herself to sound vaguely optimistic. To judge from Theron's quiet sigh, she'd failed.

"Whatever happens…" he finally whispered, "... even if you can't save Satel-- save my mother… make sure you come home. I can't lose you." The Force around him flickered with anxiety and fear he was barely keeping suppressed. "Come back to me."

"I will," Xaja promised as she stretched up to kiss him. Inwardly, she tried to shove down her own dread at the upcoming peril she was flying into. This parting from Theron wouldn't be another five year separation, right? Surely the Force didn’t hate her that much? "I love you, spyboy."

"I love you too." Theron gave her a small attempt at a smile, then leaned in to kiss her again. "Be safe."

Returning the smile, Xaja nodded, then reluctantly stepped back from Theron, forcing herself to finally turn and hurry down the ramp. The galaxy still wasn't going to save itself… and her old mentor couldn't save herself this time. This has got to be the last time we deal with anything connected to that bastard. Force, I can’t keep doing this...

She could see Theron still standing there, watching, as she piloted the Serenity up and out of Odessen's atmosphere minutes later.

#kel writes #SWTOR #Theron/Xaja #Theron/Jedi Knight #OTP: Until the Stars Burn Out #6.2 maybe spoilers?#echoes of vengeance #annnnngstfest #the most common argument with these two idiots #c'moooooonnnnn BioWare I wanna play the new expac already dammit

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nadiaportia · 3 years

Text

Prompt 1 - Hometown: “Never Over”

For @arcana-echoes

Summary: A partisan on the run returns to their roots and with it the guilt over their family’s fate.

Word count: ~2000

Warnings for mentions of arson, death and war.

Considering it’s a tad depressing, I feel like “enjoy” is the wrong word but you know what I mean. And yay for this being the first thing I write for The Arcana in months and feel comfortable with posting! I went with a more flashback-esque approach than I originally intended to and hope it somewhat works out.

They reached Valanguer in the late afternoon, the sun already being more than midway on her journey to the horizon.

A group of people were lounging in the shadows of a large strawberry tree, the one just outside of the village. They saw them approach, but didn’t get up from their comfortable seats. A woman wore the sandy uniform of the Queen’s Men, but that didn’t necessarily have to mean something. It was most likely stolen from a dead corpse and paraded around like a trophy. Some Queen’s Men didn’t stand behind Jacinta’s words or those of her butchers. Ultimately that mattered little to Deirdra, to most of the people who have lost someone at the Loyalists’ hands, but in the moment that might’ve helped them not getting caught and sent to prison.

“There’s a hole in the jacket, right in the sternum.” Eugeni said to Pau, but loud enough for the rest of them to hear.

“Trash’s already been taken out, then.” Renée murmured grimly and kicked a rock out of her path.

“Told ya, I didn’t see one single llagosta the entire day I was scouting here. They don’t come back to places which they already ransacked. Folks here got lucky though, their village looks better than the one a few days away from here. That place was burned to the ground, nothing but scorched earth.”

Deirdra swallowed and tensed up. They didn’t slow their step though, they knew what they had agreed to. They could’ve chosen to go with Arnau and Lluïsa and seek refuge in the forest but when Rut had come back with the news of the village being free of Loyalists, they knew that this is where they had to be - at least one more time, before death came either at the hand of a firing squad, a bayonet, a wound that wouldn’t close up with the help of magic or get infected regardless how much it was taken care of. Living in a dreamworld where home still looked like home wasn’t what Deirdra wanted.

Something passed by their legs and rubbed itself against them.

Enkidu was looking up at them, his beady eyes so dark and yet warm that Deidra felt themself taw a bit. They bent over and picked the marten up, gently stroking his fur and holding him close to their chest.

Renée was the only one who approved them, perhaps the only one who felt at comfort doing so but Deirdra felt the others’ worried gazes on their back. Some of them had been in the same position, but regardless of that they all felt with them.

She didn’t say anything but just gently took Deidra`s wrist, caressing it with her thumb. A silent consolation, as reassuring as saying You’re not alone out loud.

The fields where the farmers would grow wheat had been left untouched, or maybe they had already recovered. It has been two years. Everything could’ve happened. Papá had said nothing of burning fields in the letters he, like many incarcerated sympathizers, smuggled out of the prisons where they sat in. It might’ve happened after they took him away. Maybe a villager would know more.

Deirdra had thought of the possibility of someone recognizing them. The marks on their face could be a giveaway, they and Jaume had been the only ones in Valanguer who had them. Maybe the villagers would assume they were from one of the cities, and they might not even recognize them, they had a growth spurt and perhaps the dark blue hair dye was enough to throw anyone off.

Truth be told, Deirdra was wishing to not be confronted. It might be unbearable and make the experience more real. They had come back to look at the city, not to have someone discover that a lost child came back from the dead.

Windows were opened cautiously when the group entered the village, and Rut was right; most houses still stood.

Those that didn’t stood out even more.

Two old men were playing a card game on a shaggy table in front of a house, they looked up curiously when Deirdra and the others passed by them.

An old woman peered out a door and immediately closed it with a bang as soon as she saw their dark green uniforms.

Deirdra thought for a moment about potentially being ratted out by Loyalist supporters and forced themself to calm down. Unless the old woman had younger relatives, she wouldn’t be running out to meet the Queen’s Men. They had been gone for some time, or at least that’s what they hoped.

A young man came around a corner with quick paces. His dark curls clung to his forehead and a scar split his lower lip. His nose looked like it had been broken a couple of times, and his brown eyes were steely - but not exactly unwelcoming.

“Greetings, soldiers, Welcome to Valanguer. Are you passing through or looking for a place to rest?”

Llorenç was the son of the mayor, a few years older than Deirdra. Papá would’ve said whether or not he had been a good student, Mamá would’ve talked about everything he had been up to as a free time.

Pau took up word, as the unofficial leader of the group due to being the most experienced and oldest.

“Greetings. Depends on whether your village is safe or not. My comrades and I would love some rest but if it’s not meant to be, then we will search for our luck in the next village.”

There was no ‘next village’. Rut had told them all so just a few minutes ago.

Llorenç knew that too.

“Would a night be enough? I assume you’re on your way to the capital.”

“Yep.”

“We should talk inside my home, please follow me.”

As Llorenç led them down the street and to the mayor’s house, he introduced himself. He has been acting mayor since last year.

“Last winter some Queen’s Men from the capital came down here. Looking for insurgents and sympathizers. They took the mayor to prison for supposedly providing them with aid and food.”

His mother. Deirdra didn’t give their condolences, they didn’t tear their eyes from the ground. They thought looking at what the war had done to home would be hard to bear but not as hard as it was in reality. It was easier to bow your head and see the dirt that was the same everywhere. And yet they saw the fountain, a ruin of what it had been before where the children used to play when the summers were particularly hot.

The mayor’s house was small, smaller than Renée’s home had been back in the capital, and not all fifteen could fit in the room that served as the mayor’s office. Pau motioned for Rut and, after a brief moment of hesitance, Deirdra to come along with him. They passed Enkidu to Renée who gently stroked his head and followed Pau inside while the others remained outside.

Llorenç’s eyes hung on them for a moment, but there was no flash of recognition in them. He poured himself and his visitors fermented arboç juice.

“I personally have no love for the Queen’s Men. Filthy pillaging murderers, all of them, but the ones who do it because their lives in the city were too boring… those bastards are the scourge upon this land.” He sighed. “But not all people in here think like I do, even in villages like these there are some sympathizers for the Loyalist cause -- even if that “cause” is just killing rebellious youths.”

Deirdra felt a knot in their stomach. The arboç juice tasted bitter despite its sweetness. Jaume had been such a rebellious youth, and how had his story ended? With a hole in the back of his skull, the most cowardly way to kill someone.

“You leave at sunrise. The Queen’s Men torched the school building that same winter and we don’t have the resources to rebuild it, but it should provide enough shelter for the night.

A shiver crawled down Deirdra’s neck and spine and instead of listening in on what the mayor had to say, they focussed on the flavor of the arboç. They had never particularly liked it but now it was a welcome memory of days long gone that would never return.

They left Llorenç’s home by the time the sun was already kissing the horizon. The sunset was beautiful to behold, the colorful hues overlapping perfectly and fading from orange to red to pink to purple to dark blue. If one looked up, the ruins of Valanguer weren’t visible anymore.

Deirdra walked the streets with their companions, both giving them a worried look but not daring to approach the issue.

“It looks better than some other places we’ve been to.” Rut finally said slowly and earned a sharp look from Pau.

“Don’t wander off too far and-”

“Look out, just in case. Don’t be up to any bullshit. I know.”

The both gave each other a look but let them be. Without another word Deirdra turned around and left them behind.

Valanguer was small, so it didn’t take a lot to reach their destination, but given how often Deidra stopped to look at the houses, they had to admit to themselves they were stalling quite mercilessly.

Some houses were deserted, the broken windows and kicked-in doors poorly repaired. Those that weren’t reminded them of turtle shells, a refuge where its inhabitants could lock themselves in until danger had passed. The Queen’s Men probably passed by a lot more often than they had at first thought -- maybe they had just left, or were already on their way. Valanguer was a two day trip away from a small town that was known to be full of Loyalist sympathizers, it was a surprise the surrounding lands weren’t infested with llagostes.

They had left nothing of where the Margalit-Araya used to live. In a village that was burnt to the ground, one blackened ruin didn’t stand out a lot, but here, where mercy had prevailed (until now that was), it stuck out like a sore thumb. There must’ve been nothing left to salvage, and Deirdra felt actual pain at the thought of what had all been lost in the flames. They stood in front of the ruins of their childhood home for a long time, refusing to turn away in an act of self-imposed torture.

Maybe if they hadn’t left on a whim that night and stayed instead they would’ve been able to take both Papá and Mamá away from here, even if it would’ve ultimately been against their wishes because leaving Valanguer, their home, left leaving behind their lives and leaving behind Jaume, and especially the latter was something neither would have wanted in their sentimentality. And where had they all ended up? Either dead, in prison or on the run, from both those responsible for their -- everyone’s, because they were hardly the only ones -- misery and their own guilt.

Footsteps made them twitch and just from the sound of it, they knew who it was.

“The others said I should leave you alone but I don’t think that’s the right thing to do.”

Renée’s hand rubbed their back and Deirdra felt her put her head against her shoulder.

“This isn’t how I wanted you to see my home.” Their throat felt dry, like sandpaper, but also surprisingly steady. Deirdra was glad to not feel the need to cry.

“I’m so sorry.” Renée’s lips gently touched their temple and her hand, rough and with calluses, took a hold of Deirdra’s. “When this is over--” She paused, unsure of what to say.

Deirdra turned to look at her and allowed Renée to caress their face, wrap her arms around their neck and pull them close in a hug.

When this is over. They all talked a lot about how things would be when this would be over. Everything destroyed would be repaired, Queen Jacinta chased out of the country and back to her Calpacian liege lords, tail between her legs like any good vassal, and the Orioli would be truly free.

But for Deirdra it wouldn’t be over. And they had the feeling that it would never truly be.

#arcana eotp #my writing #deirdra margalit #the arcana

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obscure-sentimentalist · 4 years

Text

For @storiesofimagination, who prompted “kissing on a mission” for Flommy.

...I can promise that the prompt fill is in there, or at the very least worked up to through this piece.

“Okay, somebody be honest with me: am I still a conventionally-attractive man with a winning smile and an appealing backside?”

While her position across the crowded floor gives her the perfect vantage point to watch Tommy approach the bar, Felicity is immensely grateful that she isn’t as easily spotted in return and thus can choke on her glass of wine in relative peace. The Merlot slipping down the wrong pipe also saves her from having to answer that question.

(The spiral of awkward that would come with the vehemence of her Yes is the last thing Felicity needs right now.)

“You’re fine, Tommy,” Oliver assures him instead, albeit flatly and edged with the fond annoyance of a longtime friend who’s trying to be the scourge of the criminal underworld at the moment. The comm picks up the patter of rain on metal, confirming that he’s arrived at the docks. “Give it time.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh at that, tucking his chin down as he signals the bartender with his right hand. “That’s the problem—I shouldn’t need time. I played up the right qualities, didn’t I? Charming but not too friendly, mysterious but not too closed off… by all accounts, Lina should have taken the bait.” He pauses to give his drink order to the bartender, before surreptitiously peering over his shoulder. “She’s not even looking this way, is she?”

Throat now cleared of alcohol gone rogue, Felicity takes that as her cue and scans the room for the (ironically) emerald green of Lina Matheson’s gown. It’s subtle in the sea of black and white, but any pop of color is bound to stand out, and Felicity’s gaze locks onto the woman in question just as she retrieves a champagne glass from a passing serving tray. She smiles with performative politeness and nods to a few other guests as she passes, but true to Tommy’s prediction, not a single glance is spared towards the bar.

“I’ll go over the workup again,” Felicity says in place of a more direct confirmation, making a careful operation of retrieving her phone from her clutch without spilling her half-full glass of wine. “See if there’s anything else we can use to our advantage, or a new angle we could try. Maybe you just need to go in and, I don’t know, appeal to her guilty pleasure for procedural crime dramas or something.”

“That would make for an interesting guilty pleasure,” Tommy notes, the mic picking up the clack of ice in his glass as he takes a sip of his drink. “You know, seeing as she’s working on the side that usually gets caught in under an hour. That’s either disheartening, or empowering for her own activities.”

“If you find something, work with it,” Oliver cuts in, steering the conversation back on track. “We need access to Lina’s hotel room and her hired guns off her back long enough to drop a couple bugs. Doran is due to meet her in two hours to confirm this week’s shipment and so she can give him the crate number, and we need to find it before any of their men can.”

“Right, right,” Tommy acknowledges with a sigh. “Give me a sec…”

“I should have something for you in just a few more.” Miraculously, Felicity manages to bite her tongue to keep from pluralizing Tommy’s word choice in her offer.

This night is becoming a crash-course in why she and Tommy aren’t often put out in the field together. Even when they’re not supposed to interact directly, keeping an eye on Tommy—in formalwear, no less—from across the room has a way of making her brain-to-mouth filter want to glitch even more than normal.

(It certainly doesn’t help that his own comms chatter keeps giving her so many openings to do so.)

Turning back to the task at hand (and distracting herself from thinking about feelings of any sort), Felicity swipes at her phone and pulls up Lina’s file, giving it another scan. She’d been thorough in compiling it, gathering the standard data—the phone records, the credit card statements, the offshore accounts—and whatever personal and social life details she could track down. For a regional theatre actress turned crime syndicate higher-up (a rather drastic career change) Lina doesn’t seem to value much discretion on the latter, making Felicity’s job that much simpler.

Tommy had tried to subtly work theatre into the conversation on his first pass with Lina, but it still hadn’t been enough to hold her interest. Felicity starts there, scrounging for any other possible threads, but if it didn’t do much the first time…

There’s a small flash of color in the corner of her eye, heading towards the bar, and Felicity immediately jerks her head up. Rather than finding Lina with a change of heart, though, her gaze lands on another woman in a gorgeous deep blue gown, stopped at the counter a couple seats down from Tommy. She gives him a red-lipped smile, just this side of lusty, which Tommy returns politely yet emptily before turning back to his drink.

False alarm confirmed, Felicity lifts her phone once again, only for her attention to jump to the opposite side of the room at more movement. Lina’s shade of green is instantly recognizable as she weaves through the crowd, coming to a stop at a pillar that gives her a clear line of sight to the bar.

One that she’s making good use of, with the way her stare lands on Tommy’s back, and that of his would-be drinking buddy—watching, waiting.

Lips popping into a surprised ‘O’ as puzzle pieces begin to connect, Felicity swipes her screen a few times to pull up one particular section of the file while keeping a close eye on Lina. If there’s indeed something in here that can back up her conjecture, then they may have just found their perfect bait.

A few more quick taps, a little scrolling and skimming, and sure enough, there it is.

“Alright, Tommy,” Felicity starts, voice confident as she swings her attention from her phone and back across the room. “I’m going to need you to…”

Her jaw clicks shut the moment she notices that their key pops of color are now down to one, whose interest in the happenings at the bar has fled with the other.

“Felicity?” Tommy prompts after a prolonged moment of silence, discreetly turning his head towards her. The motion—and the fact that he felt he could freely address her over the comm—confirms that he’s alone once more. Not even the departure of his quiet admirer was enough to draw Lina over to take her place.

Oh, the details are assembling into a very clear picture, now, and Felicity’s not entirely sure how she feels about it. She’s even less certain if it’s actually a better idea to take things into her own hands and run with it than to brainstorm another option, but her feet are moving before she can stop herself.

Wine held conspicuously high as she squeezes through the crowd, Felicity totters on her heels and sways enough to convincingly appear wasted. Her movements become even more distracting the closer she gets to the bar, punctuated by the full collapse of her weight on Tommy’s arm the second she reaches his side.

“I think I found a new angle,” Felicity hisses to Tommy under her breath, silencing any (rightfully) confused reaction to her appearance. That’s all the explanation he gets before Felicity struggles to crawl into his lap with the grace of someone trying to balance a drunken charade and her actual relative sobriety.

Automatically, one of Tommy’s arms slips under Felicity’s legs to carefully maneuver them over his thighs, while the other loops around her back to support her while seated sideways. “Consider me your captive audience,” he quips back, a single eyebrow arched.

Letting out a high-pitched giggle loud enough to ensure Lina’s attention (if it wasn’t already on them the second Felicity got close), Felicity collapses heavily against Tommy’s chest. Half-consciously, one hand drifts from its place at her side and begins roving over the lapel of his jacket for further effect.

“I missed something in the initial search,” she admits in a much quieter tone, discreetly keeping a bead on the flash of green across the floor. Both her hand and words pause a moment in consideration, before Felicity amends, “Well, not so much missed as didn’t really connect the pieces or recognize the pattern as one until now. It was helped along when I noticed a few things tonight.”

“Mmhmm,” Tommy hums, glancing back at her with interest and a soft smile. While Felicity can tell it’s intended as an encouragement to go on, the sound lends itself so easily to the façade, as if expressing his enjoyment over basically being felt up.

The phrasing of that last thought finally catches Felicity’s brain up with her actions, with dawning clarity that it seriously isn’t going to lead to anything good if she keeps rolling down this path. Her hand drops away from Tommy’s shirt (when and how did it wander over to the middle of his chest?) as if it’s shorted out.

“Never mind,” she says hastily, moving to push herself up and off of Tommy altogether, regardless of whether or not Lina is still watching. “I… I didn’t think this through. It was just a hunch, even with substantial evidence, and there’s too much of a risk factor to foll-…”

“Felicity.” The hand settled on her waist draws her attention with a light, comforting squeeze. “I am fresh out of ideas for how to get this back on track, so if you have a suggestion, please, lay it on me.”

There must be something about that soothing hand at her side and the tone of his voice, because Felicity has no other explanation for the “I already am,” she blurts in response.

The wide-eyed double-take that plays across Tommy’s face would be adorable, if it weren’t the complementary reaction to the heat rising in Felicity’s.

“Both… physically laying on you, and… laying the plan on you,” she clarifies slowly, squeezing her eyes shut as the hole digs deeper and deeper. “They’re kinda interconnected.”

“I, uh, figured,” Tommy acknowledges, though it breaks on a slight cough. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, then drops his voice lower. “But you do have an idea?”

Every alarm bell and klaxon in Felicity’s brain is going off, but over the noise, she can already tell it’s too late to turn back without having a really concrete explanation. And try as she might, that’s the one thing she can’t seem to summon right now.

If she’s this deep into a bad idea already, then maybe it’s time to grab the scuba gear and hope nothing too catastrophic happens.

“The last two men Lina’s been attached to,” she starts, slowly lowering herself back down until her head settles comfortably next to Tommy’s right ear. “Brian Sumter and Paolo Dochelli.”

“I remember,” Tommy murmurs back, lips twitching futilely in reaction to Felicity’s breath tickling his skin. “She met them both through mutual friends, right?”

“Maybe not the right choice of words,” Felicity contradicts, “because in both cases, Lina was friends with Brian and Paolo’s respective girlfriends. And from what I could see, those splits predated the relationships with Lina by hardly any time at all.”

The pieces almost audibly click into place in Tommy’s mind after that, and he pulls back slightly to glance at Felicity head-on. “Lina was the cause of those break-ups. Or, at the very least, was immediately there to reap the rewards.”

“That’s the working theory. Combined with how she’s risen through the ranks and gained the power she has now—and if the rumors surrounding her short-lived stage career are true…”

Felicity trails off, risking another careful glance back at Lina over Tommy’s shoulder. Sure enough, the other woman is turned fully towards the bar, one hand and a champagne glass held aloft in a tight grip, while her opposite arm folds across her chest in clear displeasure.

That’s the final confirmation they need, which leads Felicity to conclude, “…she likes taking what others’ have.”

Bomb dropped, Felicity bites her lip in nervous silence as Tommy takes the time to process both the deduction and the likely course of action to make use of that information.

“So, what we’re thinking here,” he starts after a moment, voice slightly strained and pitching high, “is we convince her that I’m something worth taking. From you.”

Having it vocalized makes Felicity flush and almost duck her head against Tommy’s neck, but she manages to get at least her thoughts straight. “I think you almost had her on the first go-around, otherwise she would have just dismissed you entirely and wouldn’t keep checking you out from a distance. Especially when someone else gets close,” she points out. “So we’re about halfway there.”

“The worth taking part, I’m guessing.” The way Tommy says it sounds much too disbelieving.

Felicity sighs, and this time her hand deliberately moves from Tommy’s chest to rest—gently but grounding—along his jawline. “That’s not even a question, now or ever,” she assures him firmly, even as it risks revealing more than she might like.

There’s a flash of surprise (and maybe even understanding) behind Tommy’s eyes, before they fill with something soft and his free hand drifts up to settle atop Felicity’s. “I get that this is more in regards to me right now,” he says with a slight laugh, before dropping into a quieter, earnest tone. “Just know that the same goes for you, too.”

Anything Felicity might have to say to that gets thoroughly wiped from her mind when the arm wrapped around her back carefully nudges her forward, and her eyes fall on the particular cant of Tommy’s head.

“So, if we’re going to give Ms. Lina Matheson a great many reasons to be seeing green beyond her gown,” he murmurs, the sensation of his breath against Felicity’s lips making her immediately aware of their closeness. “I’d like to propose an encore later on. Little bit less of a production, little bit more private…”

“I accept your terms,” Felicity finds herself saying, a thrill running through her chest. Her hand once again finds Tommy’s shirt, this time gathering the material in a tight fist to pull her in and close the few remaining centimeters between them. “Lina doesn’t get to keep what she takes this time.”

Tommy has no verbal response to that, just the eager, wholeheartedly agreeing press of his lips against hers.

If everything goes according to plan, in a minute or two they’ll have to part for breath, as well as an approaching Lina and her renewed interest in Tommy. The mission will be back on track from there, returning Felicity to her support role behind a screen and leaving Tommy to his bug-planting upon invitation to Lina’s room. No job is over until the arrows fly, and even then, there’s bound to be a few more hours of wrap-up before calling it a night.

The promise of later is a sweet one, something to chase and carry them through the tasks to come. But it’s the now that makes it even possible, and neither of them are in any rush to let it slip away.

#obscure-sentimentalist writes sometimes #flommy #flommy fic #bit different than what I'm used to writing but hopefully it works alright

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mrslittletall · 4 years

Text

Prompt: I Will Only Slow You Down

Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Gehrman the first Hunter/Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, Laurence the first Vicar Word Count: 3.372 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718291/chapters/61718500

Summary: Maria and Gehrman are out of the hunt, but unfortunately, Gehrman manages to hurt his leg very badly...

(Author's note: There are different interpretations how Gehrman lost his leg, but in my book, he lost it during a Hunt.

Gehrmaria added because of spite, though I have to admit, the pairing starts to grow on me.

Warnings for blood/gore and graphic depictions of violence.) Written for @badthingshappenbingo The prompts marked with blood vials have already been filled out, the ones marked with madmen’s knowledge are planned.

I am still at a loss for Sensory Overload, so come into my inbox with a prompt!

It had happened so fast, that Maria needed a while to fathom what just had occurred.

She and Gehrman had been out on the hunt, like pretty much every night, searching for the beasts that escaped from the labyrinths as well as the poor souls who had managed to catch the scourge. Of course Maria and Gehrman weren't the only hunters, back in the workshop they occupied a few others, but there was a rule of thumb, the Hunters always had to go out on the hunt in groups of at least two. Naturally, Maria, as Gehrman's student and girlfriend, would always embark on the hunt with him.

They were what the other Hunters called a dream team. Maria's swiftness and her dexterity with the Rakuyo complemented Gehrman's style of fighting with a large scythe like weapon, which he called the Burial Blade. Gehrman had made all the weapons in the workshop himself and even helped Maria crafting her Rakuyo, so that she didn't had to use the blood blades from Cainhurst, which she despised.

So, when they had stood in front of three large beasts, Maria hadn't been worried. They would be able to hunt them down, as usual and even if one of them got hurt, the blood ministration in the church would make them good as new in only a few minutes.

Maria should have paid better attention, because after her and Gehrman had taken down two of the beasts, the third had got wind of a chance and when Maria turned around, her eyes turning wide at the sight of the wide open jaw, razor sharp teeth ready to tear into her shoulder, she felt how someone, Gehrman, it only could be Gehrman, tackle her and as she rolled off the ground, scurrying back up, splitting her Rakuyo into the dual blades, vaguely aware of having heard a pained scream, she saw that Gehrman's leg was caught in the jaw.

“Gehrman!”, she yelled and then dashed towards the beast, her Rakuyo cut deep into the beasts snout and it wailed and let go off Gehrman, who fell to the ground with a grunt. Maria didn't stop there, pulled one of her swords out and used both blades to cut the neck of the beast with precision.

Hot blood spilled on the ground and Maria kneeled down, checking on Gehrman. “Gehrman, can you hear me? Hey!”, she said and waved a hand in front of him. His eyes slowly came back into focus and as he recognized her, he said: “Maria, are you alright?”

“You ask me if I am alright, you idiot?!”, Maria half yelled. “It wasn't me who almost got eaten! Give me the first-aid-kit, you need help with that leg!”

“The leg... feels like its on fire.”, Gehrman groaned. Maria's gaze wandered down to Gehrman's right leg, the one the beast had chewed one and she gasped. It looked like a bloody, red mess.

“Oh no...”, she said. “We need to get you back to the church, quick. That looks bad... really, really bad.”

“Nothing what Laurence can't fix with his blood ministration.”, Gehrman said and gave Maria a pained smile. Even in that condition he didn't want for her to worry too much. It would have been charming, if Maria wouldn't have been worried sick about him.

“Gehrman, the first-aid-kit.”, she said again and he finally reached into his coat to give it to her. It included some alcohol to clean out wounds, a piece of wood to bite on and some bandages. Not much, but it had to suffice until they could get Gehrman back to the church.

She took her Rakuyo up again and cut through Gehrman's pants, carefully removing the blood stained fabric from the wound, Gehrman hissing in pain as she was working. Once she was done and could see the whole extent of his wound, Maria drew in a sharp breath.

The leg practically only hang on thanks to a few muscle fibres, the resulting wound was large and bleeding profusely. Maria had the impression she barely would be able to do anything for it. She at least needed to apply some bandages to stop the bleeding.

“We need to patch you up and get you to Laurence as quick as possible.”, Maria said and handed Gehrman the wooden stick. “I will clean out the wound and then apply a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding. It will hurt, but you have to hold through.”

“I trust you, Maria.”, Gehrman said and put the stick in his mouth, closing his eyes, awaiting the pain.

Maria worked as quickly as she could, cleaning out the wound, nearly turning nauseous as she saw how much blood the gauze has soaked up, carefully aligning the leg back to where there still was flesh, having the feeling that it would rip open the moment Gehrman would even think about straining that leg and then applied a pressure bandage. During the whole procedure, Gehrman winced, gasped and hissed, but not screamed once, even though he must have been in excruciating pain.

“Alright.”, Maria said, helping Gehrman up and supporting him, his right arm slung over her shoulder. “We need to get you back to Laurence now. Don't strain that leg of yours at all.”

“It's that bad, huh...”, Gehrman said, not having seen anything, but surely he must have felt how bad it was.

“It... it barely hangs on anymore. I just hope that no beasts will be in our way...”, Maria said.

Gehrman grunted in pain: “I thought so...”

“Don't talk, save your strength for walking.”, Maria scolded him and the both of them started the trek back to the Cathedral. It wouldn't be a long walk usually, but with Gehrman having a completely unusable leg and on the night of the hunt, they were lucky when they would make it in an hour and Maria knew, that every second counted.

As anticipated, the walk was unbearable slow. Gehrman did his best, but he literally couldn't step on this leg, he had lost a lot of blood and he was in a lot of pain. It surprised Maria that he even was still conscious. It must have been the doing of the holy blood, a normal human would have died only a few minutes after sustaining such an injury. Maria even had two blood sources inside of her, but she swore to her to never use the one that Laurence called “Vileblood”. She didn't want to have anything to do with Cainhurst anymore, that part of her life was behind her.

“How much... farther...?”, Gehrman asked, voice weak, breath shallow.

“We will be there. Soon. Hold through.”, Maria reassured him, even though they only had walked for about ten minutes. She needed to keep Gehrman conscious, the moment he would faint, everything would be over. As strong as she was, it would be hard for even her, to carry such a tall man as Gehrman. Gehrman had always joked about how glad he was, that Laurence was so small, because it made him easy to carry. Maria could understand that now.

The trek continued, slowly. Maria occasionally glanced at Gehrman, talked to him, made sure that he was still there with her, that he would hold onto her. They seemed to be in incredible luck that no beasts were in their way, but of course eventually their luck had to ran out as a few beasts appeared in front of them. Not the large ones, the small ones, but they still could pose a threat in high numbers. Especially for Gehrman, who was unable to fight in his sate.

“Gehrman, I take care of that.”, Maria said, taking a few steps back. “Sit down, don't move and by the Great Ones, stay awake.”

Gehrman nodded to her as she let him go, taking her Rakuyo and dashed towards the beast group, her blades whirling through the group, blood sputtering everywhere, but mostly on Maria. It was normal for a Hunter. They would always be covered in blood. If they were skilled, it would never be their own blood.

“Damn.”, Maria hissed as another group of beasts approached before she even had finished dispatching the first one. As fast and skilled as she was, even she could get overwhelmed and she hissed again when the beasts managed to give her a few good scratches and bites. They hurt, but they were nothing compared to the injury that Gehrman was suffering.

Thinking about him, Maria glanced back to where she left him, worried and wanting to make sure that he was still awake. That turned out to be a deadly mistake. The moment she turned her head, a beast used that moment of inattention to bite deep into her shoulder. Maria screeched in sudden pain, trying to get the beast off, all while a dozen others swarmed around her.

“Maria!”, she heard a voice screaming and then something flashed next to her and the pain in her shoulder subdued. She didn't knew what happened, but she used this chance she got and cut down all the beasts around her. As soon as she was done, she stood there, heavily panting, bleeding out of several wounds. As her mind came back from the thrill of the hunt, she remembered Gehrman and her eyes frantically searched for him, gaze shot to where she left him.

She had to realize in horror that he wasn't there anymore, instead, he was laying on the ground in-between all that beast corpses and... his leg wasn't attached anymore.

“Gehrman, CRAP!”, Maria shouted, looking at the leg. “Crap crap crap...”, she continued to mutter while she got the first-aid-kit out and applied a new pressure bandage, which already turned red once she was done. Then, she helped Gehrman up, hissing because of the pain in her shoulder, but she didn't care.

“We need to get you to the cathedral immediately! Maybe... maybe your leg can still be...” Maria's voice trailed off. “We have to take it with us!” She bend down and picked up the leg, then started walking, practically dragging Gehrman with her.

“Maria... you are hurt...”, Gehrman said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I'll live.”, Maria simply answered. It was true that her wounds were bleeding and hurt, but they weren't as life threatening as Gehrman's. A blood ministration and she would be as good as new.

“You bleed...”, Gehrman continued. “Just let go of me... it is over anyway... Save yourself, Maria... I will only slow you down...”

“Gehrman, NO!”, Maria yelled. “You come with me and you stay with me! You would never leave someone behind. Never. I won't let you behind!”

“...please don't risk your life because of me...”, Gehrman's voice quivered, it sounded like he was close to crying.

“And what should I tell Laurence? That I left you behind to save my own hide? Even though there still was a chance to save you?!”, Maria said. “I won't leave you behind. I get you to the cathedral and we get you fixed up. So stay with me, Gehrman. You can do it! I won't let you die!”

Gehrman didn't reply anymore and when Maria looked at him, she knew why. He had fallen unconscious. “Oh fuck fuck fuck...”, Maria cursed under her breath. She could see the cathedral just in front of them, so... she didn't had a choice, even if that would worsen her own wounds.

“I will carry you the rest of the way.”, she said and lifted him up, despite her shoulder screaming at her not to put any more strain on it, despite every wound in her body oozing more blood. Once she managed to secure Gehrman over her shoulders, she started to ran.

Maria didn't had any sense of how time had passed once she busted through the doors of the cathedral. She saw Laurence standing there, holding something in his hands. It apparently was breakable, because he dropped it when he noticed both Gehrman's and Maria's state.

“Maria... get him in immediately, I may still be able to save his leg!”, Laurence screamed, pointing at one of the blood ministration rooms and then hurrying away, muttering something like “gloves... where is my fucking mask... ”

Maria managed to get Gehrman down on a stretcher in the room Laurence had pointed out, when he barged in and pretty much screamed at her. “Get out! And get a blood ministration yourself, you are bleeding out!”

Maria left the room and as soon as she had, she noticed how the adrenaline in her body left her, she was overtaken by an excruciating pain and a deep tiredness. She sank down and sat right in front of the door. No... she couldn't fell asleep. She needed that blood ministration. Laurence was right, she had lost too much blood and if her wounds wouldn't close, she would surely die of blood loss. Or overtaken by her vileblood and that would be even worse.

She knew that Gehrman wouldn't be happy waking up with his girlfriend being dead and as much as she wanted to stay and see first hand if Laurence succeeded, she forced herself to get up and stumble to the next best blood minister, who gave her a blood ministration immediately. As she was lying on the stretcher, Maria couldn't fight the drowsiness anymore and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Once she awoke, her wounds were closed, her pain was gone and she jumped on her feet immediately. What about Gehrman? How much time had even passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? No, she doubted it had been days, she felt too fresh. Well, as fresh as someone who was covered in blood could feel. Still, she had to know about his condition.

As she ran into the direction of the blood ministration room in which Laurence had taken care of Gehrman, she passed his office, the door ajar, and saw him slumped over his desk. Maria stopped and barged into it.

“How is he?!”, she yelled, both hands slammed on the desk.

“Good morning to you too.”, Laurence said, not looking up. He had something in his hands that looked like the vials used for the blood ministration, just smaller.

“Laurence, I am not in the mood for jokes.”, Maria warned. “How is he?”

Laurence still didn't look her into the eyes. Maria's heart sank from her chest into her stomach, that wasn't a good sign.

“...He's alive.”, Laurence finally answered. “But I couldn't save it...”

“Couldn't... you mean...”, Maria's heart seemed to sink from her stomach even more down, right into her pants.

Laurence nodded: “...I couldn't save his leg. It was too late. The body wasn't accepting it anymore. I... had to amputate the stump from the knee down. The blood closed the wound from the surgery without trouble, but... it can't grow back a leg.”

“Oh no...”, Maria said. “Gehrman, I am so sorry. It is my fault. He lost the leg because I wasn't paying attention...”

“He said he wanted to see you once you wake up.”, Laurence said. “Go to him.”

Maria turned around and was on her way to the door, when she turned around to look at Laurence another time. He didn't look good, pale, dark circles under his eyes. They looked reddened too, had he cried?

“Have you even slept, Laurence?”, Maria asked.

“Of course not.”, Laurence practically snapped at her. “I have better things to do than sleeping!” He then put his attention back to the small vial with blood in his hands.

“...It has to do with Gehrman's leg, right?”, Maria asked.

“Just go to him.”, Laurence said. “And close the door once you are gone.”

It was clear to Maria that he didn't want to talk to her anymore, so she left, closed the door and made her way to the room Gehrman was in. A slight panic bubbled up in her chest. What if Gehrman would hate her? What if he never wanted to see her again? She couldn't help but feel responsible for his leg.

As soon as she stood in front of the door, Maria took a deep breath and knocked, announcing: “Gehrman, it's me, Maria. I am coming in.” She didn't wait for an answer and opened the door, entering into a dimly lit room, where Gehrman was lying in a cot.

“Maria.”, he said as she stepped next to the cot. “Are you alright?”

“You idiot! Why are you the one asking me?! Again?!”, Maria said, tears welling in her eyes. “I should be the one asking you!”

“I fear that I have been better.”, Gehrman gave Maria a weak smile. “Maria, I have to apologize. I put you under intense stress when I requested that you leave me behind. I am sorry.”

Maria couldn't help the tears spilling out of her eyes anymore. “You... why do you apologize? You lost your leg because of me! If I only had paid better attention...” Maria sat down on the edge of the cot and wiped her tears with her sleeve. It was still red from blood, she had ran straight to Gehrman, instead of taking a shower. That could wait.

“No, Maria, it was my own fault. I decided to barge in, because you are so important to me, that the thought of losing you made me act unreasonable. If I should have trusted in your abilities, then I wouldn't have lost my leg.”

“...Gehrman... if you hadn't thrown yourself between me and the beast, it could have been me on that cot, a limb lighter.”, Maria sniffled. “Stop trying to make me feel better.”

“I mean it.”, Gehrman said and Maria felt how his arms engulfed her and she felt herself falling down in his embrace. “That I lost the leg was my own fault. I plan to not let it get me down. I will be the first hunter with only one leg, you will see.”

“Gehrman...”, Maria said, turning her head to look into his eyes and then averting her gaze. “I am still sorry! I never wanted for something like that to happen to you! I need to get stronger as a hunter!”

“Then let's get stronger as hunters together.”, Gehrman said and released Maria from his hug, she slowly got back up, wiping her freshly shed tears away.

“Have you seen Laurence?”, Gehrman asked. “He seemed to have taken that whole leg thing worse than I have. He kept apologizing to me and cried his eyes out because he failed to save it. It was pretty similar to you actually.”

“He's in his office, working on something.”, Maria said. So he indeed had cried, she knew it.

“I thought so.”, Gehrman said. “He muttered something like that the blood ministration needed to become mobile.”

“That would explain the tiny vial with blood he was tampering with.”, Maria said. “Gehrman, you are really alright with that? Your leg is gone. It... it will never come back.”

Gehrman sighed and then replied: “I know that I never will get it back, that is why I decided to come to terms with it.” He gave Maria a squeeze and then chuckled: “As much as I love to see you, maybe you should take a shower, my love. There doesn't seem to be a single spot on you that isn't full of blood.”

“As if you are looking a lot better.”, Maria said, grinning the first time since she had entered the room. “I will clean myself up and then come back right away.”

On her way to the door, Gehrman called to her again: “Oh and Maria? Convince Laurence to get some sleep.”

Maria turned around with a smile and said: “You need to stop caring about others and care for yourself once, my beloved. After all, you have been the one who lost a leg.” (Author's note: So, how do you like my headcanon about how Gehrman lost his leg? It was actually the reason why Laurence started to experiment with the blood vials and came up with them. Because sometimes help is needed right away.)

#badthingshappenbingo #I will only slow you down #bloodborne #fanfiction #gehrman the first hunter #lady maria of the astral clocktower #gehrmaria #laurence the first vicar #littlewritesstuff #blood #gore #injury #that one is pretty dark

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