#but honestly I wrote that his eyebrows were bedraggled | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

softquietsteadylove · 11 months

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Currently I'm playing Assassin's Creed Odyssey and whilst playing I'm thinking about the Eternals back then, in Ancient Greece.

So basically i thought about Socrates annoying our Goddess of War. And Thena would never admit she actually likes talking to him.

Hugs and much love!! 🖤✨

"Is the Goddess of War cowering again?"

Thena bristled and glared at the old man, "I do not cower."

He chuckled, though, sitting himself on a rock amongst the olive trees behind the main constructions of Athens' outskirts. "And what to call it then?--you hiding here in the trees?"

She rolled her eyes. The old man was not so insufferable, but he had no problem saying things that made her want to pick him up and rattle him like a barrel. Although she was almost grateful for it in comparison to the obsessive reverence of the rest of Athens.

"Too many demands in the day already, young one?" he asked, raising a frayed, white eyebrow.

She sighed; if only he knew how young he was, to her. "They are discussing the launching of ships. Why this would need my input - let alone approval - is beyond me."

But the old man laughed, letting his walking stick rest against a different rock. Thena eyed the pale length of dead wood. "The senators, as they call themselves, are just as new to this as the idea itself. They have assembled this great counsel and yet they still seek the approval of a higher power. One wonders why they assembled this body to 'speak for the people' if they were going to surrender their decisions to a figurehead in the first place."

Thena let old Socrates ramble on. She typically wasn't one for the musings of man, much preferring her solitude. But the old man hadn't ratted her out yet, and as far as humans went, he was far from the worst. "Have you been postulating again?"

"Bah," he waved his hand through the air, squinting up at the Grecian sun through the olive leaves. "Just a crazy old man, to them."

"And you think you are not, to me?"

"Maybe," he grinned at her with what teeth he had remaining, "but I'm a crazy old man who lets you be, no?"

Thena allowed a faint smile on her lips. "Indeed, you are."

"So then, we seem to have reason for our alliance," he chuckled.

"And you?" Thena asked in an unusual invitation to continue their talking. She summoned a blade to her hand and whittled down his walking stick.

Socrates watched her the same way he watched fisherman haul in their catch; with admiration for the craft, but with no further interest in the act itself. "Hiding from that young tyke."

"Young Plato?" Thena smiled as she sliced the wood cleanly, angling it to form a head for a proper cane. The old man was walking around leaning on this tree length washed up on the shore. "He is fond of Phastos as well."

"Ah, yes, Hephaestus?" Socrates raised his other eyebrow, to which Thena shook her head. "What of your Champion?"

A length of wood went flying.

Thena tossed the properly carved cane back at the man, "what of him?"

Socrates shrugged an increasingly bony shoulder. "You're with him when at all possible, aren't you?"

Thena nearly pouted at the needling - but entirely correct - statement. She huffed, "there are many demands on Gilgamesh."

"Ah yes, Gilgamesh," Socrates laughed, resting his hands outstretched in front of him. "And what do you call him?"

She gave him a somewhat tired glare. She could deny him the rest of his needling and simply leave. But then she ran the risk of an advisor or senator or counsellor - or stars forbid one of the many sculptors searching for her - finding her. She sighed. "Gil."

"Oh."

She glared at him anew, her hackles rising despite her best efforts.

Socrates gave her a look that made her want to chuck him right off their cliff of solitude, "Gil."

She hardened her expression at him, if only to keep her annoyance from boiling over. He said it in a way that made her feel agitated. "Have you not other people to pester?"

"None as fun as you, dear," he laughed heartily, his head tossed back.

Thena huffed again; insufferable old coot.

"And what power does your Gil possess, again?"

She glared at him, but he feigned some effort into remembering, scratching the beard on his chin. "Strength."

"Ah, yes, the fella who can reach into the forges and grasp iron with his bare hands."

No trouble remembering him at all, it seemed. Thena pursed her lips, "indeed."

"They do demand a lot from him," Socrates agreed with her earlier statement at this much later junction. He snuck his eyes - still sharp under the wrinkling of his skin - back over to her with a grin. "Not very fair to you, is it?"

Thena refused to dignify that with a response.

Socrates let out another laugh, and she wondered how many rocks might fit in that wide mouth of his. "That's why you're out here moping?"

The shade of the trees was doing nothing to shield her from the heat of the sun.

"Dearie," he snorted, jabbing her knee with the cane (which she just so-kindly fashioned for him!). "You are the patron saint of Athens. I'm sure if you want to steal your boyfriend all you need do is ask."

Thena flushed further at yet more indignity. "I do not-!"

"Oh, save it!" he drawled at her, in a way no one else in Athens would ever dare. He scratched at something in his ear, "I don't care what you think I think or what you know I know."

She glowered at him.

"There you are!"

Thena looked up, a smile coming over her (whether she wanted it or not). "Here I am."

Gilgamesh pushed an olive branch out of his way to lean on the rock beside her. He nodded to old Socrates, "and good day to you."

"And you, Champion," Socrates gave him a smirk. "We were just speaking of you."

"Oh?" Gil looked at Thena beside him, who was glaring at the old man.

"Have you nowhere else to rest after your ceaseless chatter?"

Gil didn't argue with her. He had seen her and the old philosopher interact a few times before, and it was always funny. Jabs were only ever made in good humour. "Actually, I was hoping to steal the Goddess away with me."

"She's all yours, sonny boy," Socrates stood, stretching out his arms before taking up his newly carved cane. "Don't mind me."

Gil simply nodded to him as he began shuffling past them and into the city. He looked down at Thena, stealing one of her hands off her lap to hold for himself. "Hey."

"Hey," she beamed. The unique relief and comfort of his company truly had reached new heights during their time in Athens.

"Time for a break?" he propositioned, pulling her up from her resting rock, her hand still in his. He brought his head closer to hers, "I packed us a little picnic--you, me, in the orangery?"

Thena kept her eyes on her personal embodiment of solace standing before her. She yearned to curl up in his arms, "divine."

"I thought you weren't one for divination."

"Away with you!" she snapped at the old bastard one again chuckling at her expense. She thunked her forehead against Gil's chest.

"Hey," he chuckled, rubbing her back as he allowed her frustrations. "Come on, he's not bad. As far as humans go, I'd say you're fond of the old guy."

"I am done speaking of him," she sighed, still pressing her warmed skin to Gil's cooling robes. She purred as he pulled her hair over her shoulder, running his fingers through it gently. "I believe you offered sustenance?--and solitude."

#Thenamesh AU #I did look up both incarnations #I know in the games he's not designed as an old man #but honestly I wrote that his eyebrows were bedraggled #and I kind of went from there Love #I hope you don't mind #I thought it would be kind of cute for him to be this annoying grandfather type #he is a philosopher #he has no interest in the literal Goddess of War walking around in their daily life #if anything he doesn't believe she is a goddess #he knows the Eternals are...something #but he certainly knows that Athens impressed their beliefs upon her #not the other way around #so when he sees her haunting around the outskirts of the city #he just lets her #he too is tired of the pomp and circumstance of young Athens #and we may not know for sure #but he doesn't seem to have had a family #he thinks it's funny to get under the Goddess' skin #tease her about the things parents and grandparents tease about #he waves at them when they're out #others are like Socrates do not address the patron gods informally!#he's like ah we're old friends right kiddo?#Thena pretends not to like him #but he gets jostled and falls one day when some soldiers are passing through #and she picks them up and makes them apologise to him at knife point

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crossbowking · 4 years

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More Than This

Summary: (Set during season 3) Daryl and Reader are on a supply run when they find themselves under attack.

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is the very FIRST installment of a series I want to start on my page where we get a bunch of author’s together and write a collective one-shot! I had a blast putting this together. It was so amazing to get a feel for everyone’s different writing styles and it was also super cool how the story ended up blending together.

The order in which we wrote was chosen by a random number generator. After all the participating author’s sent me their pieces, I edited them together -- some stuff was changed or cut for continuity purposes/length. The only thing us author’s had to go off of was the summary -- the rest was up to us! Everyone seriously did AMAZING.

Each author will be tagged after their correlating piece, so be sure to give them all some love!

Thank you to everyone who participated! I hope you all enjoyed the experience!

Happy reading!

xx crossbowking

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Dim and dirty sunlight filtered in through the grimy supermarket windows, providing enough light to see the walker’s blood staining the worn linoleum.

You wrinkled your nose and yanked your knife out of its rotting head before stepping away from the mess. The stabbing you'd gotten used to, but you didn’t think you’d ever get used to that smell.

You looked up when someone stepped into the aisle, but it was only Daryl. You’d recognize those broad shoulders and that crossbow anywhere. You gave him a quick smile and cleaned your blade on the walker’s torn pants. “I think this is the last of them.”

Daryl looked down at the walker. “Better stick together, just in case.”

You nodded, re-sheathing your knife and letting him lead the way.

The two of you did one more sweep of the store before you started your search. You went aisle by aisle, looking under broken shelves and moving piles of cardboard and other debris. But your mind was only half on the task at hand, too distracted by thoughts of Daryl.

You didn’t know exactly when you began to notice the clear blue color of his eyes or how much you wanted to reach out and brush the hair out of his face when it began to grow long. You didn’t know when you started missing him when he was off hunting or how happy it made you when he came back safe.

All you knew was that you were head over heels and that kind of scared you.

You chanced a glance at him and when he looked up from what he was doing and met your gaze, you felt that familiar lurch in your chest. The mad urge to tell him how you felt overtook you. “Daryl, I —”

The front door of the store slammed open, cutting the moment short. You had time to whip around and take in several bedraggled men spilling into the store and realized they were aiming their weapons at you.

But Daryl was there and he was grabbing your arm and yanking you into his chest and diving behind the nearest piece of cover just as shots began to split the air. (@mundieoriley)

Your heart pounded in your ears along with the sound of hailing gunshots.

Daryl held you in an almost painful grip against him, the furious look of protection etched onto his face.

You desperately tried to catch your breath, feeling panic start to rise inside you.

These people came from absolutely nowhere. How long had they been following you? How could you have not noticed? How could Daryl not have?

You had no time to speculate as the sudden silence that followed was just as jarring.

As you stirred in his arms, Daryl pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes and placed a finger to his lips. You nodded and felt yourself calm slightly, the blue sincerity of his eyes radiating some kind of strength you believed in.

"Find ‘em," a gruff voice called out against the stark silence. "Gut the asshole, but don't mark up the girl.”

You could hear the sneer in the man's voice and your stomach turned.

Daryl's grip on your ribs tightened at the words possessively, and if it wasn't any other situation, you would have enjoyed the sensation to no end.

You, in turn, tightened your grip on your knife, trying to be ready for anything.

The sudden sound of multiple people walking in your direction made your eyes flick to Daryl's in a plead. A plead for direction, a plan, any communication as to what you should do. But Daryl had hardened over, the look on his face showing that he was ready to take on a hundred men if that's what it was going to take. (@rhyatt-deauxtreve)

He didn't move until it was almost too late.

You tried to loosen his grip because the men were so close and you had to move now. And then you were roughly pushed forward, Daryl's hands no longer holding you tight against his chest.

You ducked away when the first bullet hit the shelf to your left. You didn’t have time to think, you just ran, half bent, hiding behind cabinets and shelves. Your blood was boiling and you distinctly heard the beats of your own heart. Somewhere behind you, the deafening whistle of a bolt cut through the air.

Suddenly Daryl was a little ahead and on your left. He turned around, loaded the crossbow, hiding behind the wall, and fired another bolt.

They were close, too close, and the small distance that you’d managed to win was rapidly shrinking.

As if through the cotton wool in your ears, you heard Daryl suddenly groan in pain.

A bullet had gone through his right side.

“Daryl!” you yelped.

But before you could react, he grabbed your hand and pushed you into a small room, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. “Lock the door and stay quiet,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“What!” you yelled and immediately lowered your voice. “Are you out of your mind? Get in here, there are too many of them!”

“Ain’t gonna fight,” he shot you a glare. “Gonna lead ‘em away. Now listen to what I say and stay.”

And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Soon you heard firing and shouts. The men ran past your door. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes, praying to whatever God for them to pass you by.

And then, as soon as it had started, the firing stopped.

Sudden silence engulfed the store.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. You no longer heard the voices and shooting. Just dead silence.

And that’s when fear, primal fear, took over. (@aisling-beatha)

"Well, this sucks like the world's worst vacuum,” you muttered to yourself in nervous indecision, breathing away the panic before the idea of hysterical screaming could set in. You chewed on your fingernail while pacing the length of the musty, moth-infested maintenance closet. "Honestly, what was the man thinking? He's just been shot, for God's sake! He has no business leading a bunch of murdering thugs anywhere. It should be me leading them away.”

Your eyes narrowed and your jaw set as everything inside settled into a deadly calm.

You eased the door open a crack and peeked through, knives at the ready, along with a sturdy wrench you'd found and shoved into the back pocket of your jeans.

Sensing nothing of immediate import, you crept out into the gloom of the store's main area to search for clues as to Daryl's whereabouts, all the while keeping to the deepest shadows in complete silence.

One of the raiders was crouched over a fallen display of ratty old magazines, no doubt rummaging for one where the women wore as few clothes as was decent for the mass consumption standards of a grocery store.

Sliding up behind him like a ghost in the night, you pounced.

After a quick and dirty wrestling match — though he had the size advantage, he was stupid-drunk and you had the jump on him. One heavily booted foot dug into the man's spine as you leaned over him, blade a hair's breadth away from slicing his throat.

Your voice was flat, low, and completely without mercy. "I'll ask only once. Where is my friend?” (@darylconnieftw)

He slowly let go of the magazine still in his grip, starting to chuckle.

You felt anger rising in you as his lips formed a slight smirk. You couldn’t help but press your knife even closer to his throat, trying not to kill him then and there.

He lifted both of his hands in defense, visibly amused.

You swallowed, hoping Daryl was still alive and okay – or at least as okay as he could be considering he had gotten shot.

The man moved a little, making you shove your knife against his larynx, clarifying that you wouldn’t hesitate to slice his throat if he did something stupid.

“Whoa,” is all he came up with, glancing up at your silhouette.

You bit your lip, the taste of blood encasing your teeth as you tilted your head to look him dead in the eye. “I ain’t joking,” you stated, causing him to raise his eyebrows in a small nod.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, before taking the knife off his throat and onto his lower arm, placing a deep cut on his wrist before pulling it back up. He screamed out in pain, his eyes asking for permission to stop the bleeding with his shirt, which you granted.

You listened to his panicked breath for a few seconds, blinking a few tears away. “I asked you something,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, yet low and aggressive.

He stared at you, stuttering as he answered. “The, uh, the guy with the dirty hair and, and, and wings on the back of his, uh, vest?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in. “Are there any other people your group attacked in here?”

He swallowed and shook his head as you suddenly noticed a shadow to your side. (@rxsenkrxnz-imagines)

A good thing that had come out of all of this was that after the world ended, you’d acquired very good reflexes.

It was vital to have them good and sharp now, it was the new normal. You would’ve died many times over if you hadn’t, everyone would.

And that’s what got you to swirl around without even having to think about it, bringing the man’s overweighted body with you to face the source of the shadow, the knife nicking at the skin of the big man’s neck, making him whimper. There was a flicker of proudness and a dirty pleasure inside your chest for being able to make a big, bad man whimper.

You’d never thought that you’d be able to do that one day.

From over his shoulder, your eyes focused on another man, this one much more threatening looking than the one under your knife. He was lean and muscular and the hatred and danger in his eyes made you shiver, even though you didn’t let any of them notice.

“Stop right there, asshole,” you said between clenched teeth and the firmness of your voice surprised even yourself. “Or I’ll slit his throat open!”

Of all the things you thought the man would do, a smile was not one of them.

He lowered his head, keeping his eyes on yours, the smile making you sure you’d vomit after all of this was over. “Do it,” he said. “I don’t care. Go on, darling. Do it.” (@elisdays)

Well, that was not what you were expecting to hear.

You recognized the man’s voice though, it was the same one who spoke earlier and you put together that he was probably the thug pack leader. “Don’t test me!” you shouted, although you were sure he wasn’t testing you.

A snicker escaped the man’s lips. “I ain’t testing you, darling, I mean it. Do it, kill him.”

“C-come on, man! Don’t egg her on, she actually will!” the man in your grasp whimpered as he begged for his life.

The leader’s eyes fell on the one you held captive. “Sorry, Greg, but you know how it is. The more of you around, the less time we all have with this pretty one. Be a good boy and let her kill you. You’ll be remembered for your loyal sacrifice.” His words sent a shiver up your spine.

These people, no, these monsters were absolutely sick. You already knew that this new world brought either the worst or the best out of people. It was just unfortunate that most of the world became the worst versions of themselves.

“Go on, princess! What are you waiting for?” the man took a step towards you as he urged you to kill his henchman.

You needed to think of something and fast.

“You know what? This is a waste of time,” the man sighed, pulling his gun from its holster.

You gasped as Greg screamed, the thug leader pulling the trigger and shooting Greg in the head. You felt the dead weight of his body fall limp onto you and you tried to use this to your advantage. You shoved the dead body forward and ran, dashing behind shelves as the body fell onto the thug leader.

You needed to get out, you needed to get away from these people and most importantly, you needed to find out where the hell Daryl went.

Panic struck your heart when you thought about him. Was he okay? Did he run into more of them? Did he kill them? You shook your head before you could finish your thought process. Now was not the time to panic and cry. (@ddixons-angel)

Pull yourself together — that’s what you had to do now.

You crouched down behind one of the empty shelves, near the exit. But what were you to do? Not like it was an easy decision to make. You had to stay alive, that much was clear. Ending up dead wouldn’t be too big a use to Daryl right now.

The thing that worked in your favor was the thing that terrified you most. The reason for these men wanting you alive had very little to do with the goodness of their hearts.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the grumbling leader, seemingly to have wrestled free of his buddy's dead body.

You should’ve been out of here by now, but you knew that running blindly wasn't going to do you much good — who could even guarantee that you wouldn’t be running straight into the rest of the guy's merry band of thugs? No, you weren’t an idiot.

You stilled completely, not daring to draw a breath as you heard the man's footsteps creep your way.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he sang out mockingly, stupidly giving out his exact position.

He was just a shelf away, practically standing right behind you. (@of-storms-and-sadness)

Once he was at arm’s length on the other side of the broken shelf, you reached through with your blade, stabbing him twice in the thigh.

The pain you inflicted caused the man to groan out, cursing through gritted teeth. When he composed himself, he swung around the corner but was met with an empty aisle, excluding the cans and blood that littered the floor.

Before he could take another confused step, you struck from behind, going for his armed hand.

With his wrist in your grasp, you forced the barrel to face off to the side. The gun went off as you backed him into the shelf, using the opportunity to jab your blade into his abdomen once — twice — thrice.

If you hadn’t caught him off guard, you highly doubted that would’ve been the outcome.

The combination of his back slamming against a hard object, your deadly grip on his dominant hand, and you gutting him, caused the gun to slip from his hold and clatter to the floor. You managed to kick the weapon aside before you were roughly shoved into the rack across from you with such force it knocked, not only the air out of your lungs, but your knife out of your hand.

Blinking away your blurred vision, your mind frantically tried to come up with an idea of what to do next. Should you try to reach for the discarded gun? Your knife?

No — there was another weapon in play.

Just in the nick of time, you shrieked and ducked down, barely missing the fist that was meant to make contact with your face. You kneed him in the groin before reaching into your back pocket, feeling the wrench that you had nabbed from the maintenance closet earlier.

Positioning yourself behind the crouched man, you held both ends of the tool, bringing it over his head and to his neck. Your back greeted the ground as you laid there and applied pressure, choking the life out of the once cocky and determined bastard.

“Be a good boy and let me kill you,” you taunted his words back at him through clenched teeth as he struggled.

Once the man went limp, you shoved his body off you with a grunt and went to grab your knife and the owner-less gun — it was yours now.

All of a sudden a shot rang out.

Daryl.

Where was Daryl? (@twdeadlysins)

You squatted down, jamming the knife in your hand into the soft flesh of the leaders’ temple, knowing that it could only take mere minutes for the dead to rise again.

You slowly crept over to the entrance of the store and peeked outside, checking if there were any more of the thugs outside.

Your hands were slightly shaking and your heart beating frantically in your chest as your eyes traced the empty street outside of the store. You needed to get to Daryl fast, he needed your help.

The gunshot you had heard had nearly made your heart stop. Had the thugs already killed him?

Since you could not spot any immediate danger, you slowly made your way out of the store.

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip. You had not seen what direction Daryl had led the thugs, but you figured you just had to start somewhere.

You held the knife in your hand, your eyes and ears ready to pick up any movement or sound as you moved along the side of the building. You glanced over your shoulder, making sure that no one was creeping up on you as you moved forward.

Your steps suddenly came to an abrupt halt as you bumped into something solid.

You yelped and raised your hand, ready to strike, but a firm hand around your wrist stopped you.

“Easy girl, it’s just me,” you heard Daryl’s raspy voice and your wide frightened stare locked with his sky blue orbs.

You let out a relieved whimper and threw your arms around his neck, hugging him. “I thought you were dead, I heard a gunshot,” you said as you hugged him tightly.

Feeling how he flinched, you took a step back and your eyes traced down to his side where he was shot.

“Oh god, you’re hurt. We need to get you back to the others before you bleed out,” you whispered, feeling your heart start to speed up again.

The two of you were not out of danger yet. Daryl was shot and you knew it was up to you now to get you both to safety. (@easnuppa)

You wrapped your arms around Daryl's waist, leading him toward the truck you’d parked a little way back.

Fear gripped at your heart with every step you took, every wince Daryl tried to keep in, every little bit of blood he was losing. “Nearly there, hold on,” you pleaded to Daryl, the truck finally coming into view.

You opened the passenger side door and took as much of Daryl's weight as you could, helping him get in. You took a glance at Daryl as he sat in the passenger seat, his head leaned back on the headrest and his eyes closed.

You had never been more scared in your life as you were right there in that moment.

You quickly closed his door and rushed to the driver's seat where you promptly started the engine and began your tense journey back to the prison.

With every minute that passed, your panic started to rise, Daryl's breathing started to slow, and more blood was seeping through his fingers that were putting pressure on his gunshot wound.

“Keep pressure on it, Daryl, you hear,” you said loudly, trying to keep him awake and distracted.

But as you looked over to him, he was unresponsive.

“Daryl!” you screamed louder, hoping to wake him up, but failed. “God, no please,” you begged, tears threatening to fall as you took the hand you didn’t need and placed it on his wound, keeping the blood flow at a minimum.

“Daryl, don’t leave me, you can't do this to me,” tears now falling down your face as the gates of the prison came into view. “Please help me, it’s Daryl!” you screamed out the open window to whoever was on watch.

“He's breathing but barely,” you informed whoever came to help, feeling helpless as you

watched them cart off Daryl’s unconscious form. (@jodiereedus22)

Everything felt fuzzy.

The world spun around you, noises muted and muffled as the driver’s side door was yanked open. A pair of hands grasped onto your arms and you allowed yourself to be pulled from the truck, finding it impossible to move on your own.

A rough hand grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upwards, your vacant eyes locking with Rick’s frantic ones. He was mouthing something you couldn't quite make out, his hands moving to grip either one of your shoulders, giving you an abrupt shake. “— happened? What happened, Y/N?” Rick’s voice broke through the fog, scanning your features wildly.

You opened your mouth to respond, confused as to why no words seemed to be coming out.

Rick appeared to swallow his frustration, instead taking a deep breath and placing his hand on the side of your neck. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, Y/N, it’s alright,” he soothed before his eyes hardened. “Was this the Governor?”

You swallowed audibly, forcing yourself to calm. “I-I —” you stuttered, exhaling shakily. “I don’t think so. W-We got — we, uh, we got ambushed. And Daryl —” your voice broke at the thought of what had happened.

“Listen ta’ me, Y/N,” Rick intervened, his tone noticeably softer. “Ya did all ya could do, alright? Ya got him home. Ya did all ya could do,” he reiterated.

You took a steadying breath. “I-I need to see him — I need to be with him.”

Rick nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “I know ya do.”

Things still felt hazy as you made your way into cell block C. (@crossbowking)

You sat on top of the steps and waited for news on Daryl. You hoped that he was going to be okay.

After a little while, Hershel hopped out of his cell. "I stitched up his side. But he hasn't regained consciousness yet and his breathing is labored,” he told you.

You headed inside and looked at him.

"Just give me a shout if he wakes up,” Hershel told you and left you alone.

You looked at Daryl and sat beside him. "Dare, you have to wake up, please,” you said with tears in your eyes. (@leej2468)

You hoped he heard you so he knew he wasn’t alone.

The afternoon dragged on slowly, yet you never left his side, afraid he would wake alone. You waited impatiently, perched on a stool next to his bedside.

The events of the day played in your mind, making your heart shatter more at the fact that Daryl almost got himself killed trying to keep you safe. Furiously swiping at the tears forming in your eyes, you just hoped that he would wake up and everything would go back to normal.

But you knew, deep down, you didn’t want things to go back to normal. The unspoken feelings you had were eating you alive and today just proved that you had to tell him before something happened to either of you. You knew he cared for you, he fucking proved that today, but you had to tell him that you wanted more.

You couldn’t help but take his limp hand in your own, slightly squeezing. Eyes trained on your joined hands, you almost didn’t notice his eyes flicker open slowly.

He didn’t say a word, only gripping your hand tightly, eyes wild. “Yer alright,” he managed to gasp out, his other hand reaching up to touch your face.

“Don’t try to move,” you whispered a reply. “Let me get Hershel, okay?”

“Don’t,” he rasped, trying to tug you back to his side. “Stay.”

You couldn’t help but bring his hand to your lips, kissing his rough knuckles. He sighed at the feeling and you leaned into his hand. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered, mostly to yourself in relief, but he heard it.

“Ya won’t lose me,” he mumbled, his eyes lazily trained on you as if he would doze off any second.

“You know what we have is special,” you whispered, raising your hand to move strands of hair from his eyes. “I want to know if you feel the same. I can’t wait anymore to tell you how I feel, especially knowing that something could happen.”

He paused, his expression softening. “I know,” he finally said gruffly. “I want...” he trailed off, thoughtful, trying to come up with something to say. “I wanna protect you, keep ya safe, but —” he inhaled sharply. “But I want more.”

You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding. “Me, too,” you replied, and he nodded, his eyes closing. You leaned forward, lips on his forehead, and he didn’t flinch back like he usually did at physical contact.

Instead, he let you, without restraint, his tense posture relaxing under your touch.

“I love you and I can’t lose you,” you whispered, your lips barely on his skin.

He nodded. “Me, too.”

You leaned back, still holding his hand, letting him rest. (@writerzunite)

Fin.

A/N: So what did everyone think!

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writeintrees · 3 years

Text

Karo

Summary: set in a D&D type fantasy world, a man named Karo has put his past life behind him. That is, until his past catches back up to him and makes him doubt if he ever changed in the first place. His boyfriend sets him straight on that

Wrote this in a frenzy one night when I couldn’t sleep. Here’s the spotify playlist to go with Karo’s life story

Content warning: toxic family relationship, manipulation, implied past sex work and stealing while underage, transphobia, deadnaming and misgendering

2579 words

Karo smiles as he leans against his boyfriend Eumont in the back of the cart. He lets his eyes flutter closed with contentment. It has been days since they’ve seen anyone resembling bandits, and Bug is awake now to keep watch, her chin propped up on her quarterstaff.

“Hey K,” his boyfriend nudges him, “you get some shuteye. You’ve been up for a while.”

“Okay. But Eu? Let me know if you need me?”

“Will do.” Eumont gives a smile and a small wave as Karo pulls his cloak around himself and curls among their belongings and the two other sleeping party members.

------------

They are covered in mud and smell rank from the time on the road. But they have finally reached a town and that means bathing and warm food and beds. Karo is looking forward to that last one the most. His shoulder is aching from sleeping on the wood of the cart.

Adelaide goes to find an inn while they shop for supplies. Karo is mostly just wandering around and looking at the trinkets around them. There is nothing he particularly needs. He has always travelled light.

Farrell is haggling for magic components. Eumont has a list of food and other supplies but is not in a rush to find them. They will be in town for a few days looking for a job. Adelaide does not take long to return with news of warm beds for the night.

Karo spots him first. Ice water floods his veins and he forgets how to expand his chest. The horror plays so vividly on his face that Eumont stops his pleasant conversation and turns around, hand on his sword hilt. But there is nothing that would stand out to anyone but Karo. The man is dressed in ambiguous clothing as his job requires. The only thing that stands out is the metal hairpin in the shape of the moon. Identical to the one wrapped in velvet and shoved deep into Karo’s pocket. The one he brings out when he is alone and watches the sharp edges reflect in the moonlight.

The man looks around casually and his eyes pinpoint onto Karo with a smile that could only be described as predatory. He begins to cross the distance between them in this corner of the square. Karo looks back to find his party gathered behind him, in position for a fight but without weapons out yet.

Karo steps forward and widens his cloak to cover his party from view. It does not escape him that he goes to hide Eumont first and foremost. Eumont, he thinks with a pang. His boyfriend should never be brought into all this. The two of them should never share the same space.

“Karo? Want me to take care of this guy?” Bug asks with a crack of her knuckles. Karo shakes his head and wishes desperately that none of them would draw attention to themselves. He does not want the predator to turn his attention their way. He would rather take the brunt of it.

“Oh Khloe, you’ve got them all wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” He sneers, his voice dripping with more honey and venom than should be possible with so few words.

Karo steps back as if he has been slapped. Nothing could have prepared him for that voice again. He stops himself from running. Running never did him any good, and it would get back to mother and he would never hear the end of it. It doesn’t matter that he has been gone for years, that he no longer lives under her thumb, it feels like he never left. Tears gather in his eyes but he forces himself to look up from where his head is bowed. “Leave.” He wonders at even the little bit of strength he managed to force into his own voice.

“Come on, Khloe, don’t be like that. You always did get catty around your marks. Territorial, that’s what mother would say. Oh poor mother, her baby girl leaving without so much as a note.” He makes a show of looking Karo up and down with disapproval. “Maybe if you clean up a little before coming home you won’t break her heart entirely.”

Karo tries not to audibly inhale with each of the verbal lashes whipped his way. He is mostly successful. He squares his shoulders and looks his brother in the eyes. “I’m not kidding Jace. I’m not like you and mother anymore. I’m out.”

“Aww, got attached to these ones, did you? Don’t you know by now that family are the only ones you can really trust? You always were naive but I didn’t think you were this stupid.”

“I think you should go.” He manages through clenched teeth. His whole body is wound impossibly tight.

“She’d be disappointed to see you now. Oh well-” He says with an exaggerated sigh, “Guess even if we give and give, there’s always going to be the black sheep of the family. So ungrateful. One day you’ll come back around. I’ll tell mother it looks as if you’ve stooped almost to rock bottom. We’ll be expecting you back soon.” He turns on his heel, every movement full of confidence and authority.

Karo hates how even now he is taking notes from his brother. He hates how he wishes he could hold himself that way. He watches to make sure Jace is leaving before a sob wracks his body. He clutches his arms around his ribcage and wills his knees to stay locked. Something touches his shoulder and he wheels around.

Eumont catches his raised fist easily, even though they are usually equally matched. “Hey. Do you want to talk?” Behind him the rest of his party is watching him with wide eyes.

Karo had honestly forgotten that they were there. His brain had just told him there was something he needed to protect. Something he did not want poisoned by Jak, by mother. And now they know, or at least suspect what he used to be. What he probably still is deep down. Every instinct to run. To leave in the night and not look back.

Bug cocks her head. They were marks in the beginning, Jak is right. Jak is always right and it fucking sucks. And now his friends -- his marks he reminds himself bitterly -- are watching him warily and they know he is a no good lowlife and not even a good one at that. If he’s got the guts to be a con artist and a liar and a thief, he should at least be good at it. He’s a disappointment.

Tears well up so high that they blur the faces of his worried party members. Probably wondering what he’s going to do now that he’s caught. A snake is always most dangerous when cornered. A panic floods him at the thought of hurting them, suddenly conscious of the dagger brushing against his fingertips.

Tears spill from his right eye and he can see Eumont reaching for him again. He ducks away from the touch and feels another pang at the hurt and lost expression on the other’s face. There he goes again. Just like the looks of marks who he’d tied up. Ones he’d tricked into thinking they were in love before going and stealing everything of value and leaving them confused and without a single piece of truthful information.

“I- I’m sorry.” He chokes out. Then he’s running. His feet are pounding onto the packed earth.

He is fast. That was the thing that mother always held over his siblings. He could outpace any authorities or bedraggled lovers. He remembers his mother’s voice when he was little after he ran away with some noblewoman's silver necklace “Khloe is my little falcon. She will eat well tonight.” He took pride in putting food in the mouths of himself and his three siblings on many occasions before they started doing the big jobs. Before they started working for the Baron. Code name of course, no way that guy is an actual baron, with all the illegal shit he gets up to.

He runs up the slope of a bluff then notices when he tries to catch his breath that most of the heaving is from tears and not exertion. He sits near the cliff to watch the sun set over the mountains across the way. The tears keep coming, the breeze leaving his face cold. He tucks his hands beneath his knees and continues to sob until he feels light and empty. That is, until he thinks too hard about mother, about what Jace said today, about the life he left behind.

There is noise behind him. He traces their footsteps. One set walks slowly but not stealthily through the grass to his right. Then there is a shape in his peripheral vision.

He glances up just enough to confirm that it is Eumont. The others aren’t far behind, but they are giving some distance. He jerks his gaze back forward. Guess Eu was the only one stupid enough to get within dagger range. Jokes on them, he’d be able to get to them faster than they’d believe. Then he realizes that he has shown his hand dozens of times, using his speed and daggers and cunning in fights. Why’d he done that? There’s the sound of someone sitting beside him.

“How’d you find me?” He says, looking forward. The sun is starting to dip below the horizon.

“Locate creature.” Eumont says easily. His voice is level and not full of the anger that Karo was expecting.

“Shit.” Karo unwinds one of his arms from around his knees and rubs at his eyebrows. Caked dirt crumbles beneath his fingertips and he grimaces. What would mother say if she saw him. It has been so long since he has thought about mother. “I’m so sorry I lied to you- to you all, I mean.”

“About what?”

Karo turns his baffled expression Eu’s way. He looks almost smug. No, that’s what Jace would look like in this situation. Eu looks like he got his way, but in a much different way than his siblings would. “What do you mean ‘about what?’ Did you- did you not hear him?” He allows hope to bloom in his chest. Maybe they can go on like usual.

“I heard. I was there. But I don’t see why you have to apologize?”

“Because you know what I am now? He’s right about me.”

“No he’s not.” Eu replies easily.

“What would you know?” He snaps. The venom in his words is familiar, and he wishes just from his family members’ mouths. His fight drains into resignation that this is just how things are. “See?” He says half to himself. “I was raised a viper and that’s what I’ll always be, a fucking black widow. A conniving temptress murderer thief.

“I’m dangerous. I-” The tears start to drip down his cheeks again. “I don’t want to hurt you all. And if that means I can’t be with you… Well I’d rather you were all safe.”

Eumont reaches forward and easily pulls a crying Karo to his shoulder. He gently shushes him and rubs the back of his head.

“I thought I had gotten better. I wanted to be a better person than them but I must be worse than them if even mother thinks I’m a lowlife.”

“You are so much better than they could ever be. I don’t know what we were at first, but that’s not how people treat their marks. You would rather sacrifice yourself to keep us all safe.” That’s proof you aren’t what he said you are.”

He realizes that Eu is right, at first ashamed that he has messed up so bad. Then his mind quickly transitions back to who he has become in these past few years away from his biological family. He loves these people. He doesn’t treat people like marks anymore. He’s put this life behind him.

He cries himself out. The sky is getting dark and they have to go back to town to the lodging that Adelaide set up for them. Eu squeezes Karo’s hand as the two of them walk towards the others.

Bug uses her staff to get up and reaches down to help Farrell up as well. Adelaide makes indignant comments about being left on the ground but is ignored as Bug takes a step forward. Karo readies himself for a blow. His mind is still in his childhood home. Bug changes her good natured punch into a smile and easy lean on her staff. If the position also clearly indicates she’s not going to touch him, well that is just a perk. “We good? You running away from us again?”

“No. Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool. We were worried about you, that’s all.” Farrell says. “Who was that guy anyway? He was kinda scary. An old ‘friend’ of yours?”

“My brother.” Karo says.

“Ugh. I wanted to hit him in his smug little mouth every time he misgendered you.”

“To be fair, I have transitioned since I last saw him. Mother wouldn’t believe me. She said I wouldn’t be able to do my job if I made things ‘complicated’.”

Everyone pulls a face at that and at first Karo thinks he’s done something wrong. He looks to Eu questioningly.

“We just wish they had been kinder to you. Go on. What was your job?”

Karo swallows and turns his eyes down. “We stole things. I was good at grab-and-dash. But then mother gave me another job. She- um- she had me play long games. Sometimes infiltrating factions to get information or a safe combination. A lot of seducing men, either for one night stands or however long it took to get them to let their guard down. The Duke of Shineguard took until after the proposal. And mister Kej of Klaksberger, he-” A hand grasps his forearm and he stops.

Eumont looks nauseated. “How old were you?” He whispers.

Karo sticks out his lip in concentration, mentally counting through the years. “Started before I can remember with stealing. Then as soon as I could pass as a rebellious teenager I was sent into groups.” He watches Eu shake his head and gives him a pointed look. Even he can admit that was an ameteur attempt at avoiding the question. “Fifteen. That was when I started being a temptress. Didn’t go too well the first time I tried. I freaked out in the bedroom and whipped him over the head and knocked him unconscious. I think that was the first time I lied to mother. I thought that would be the end of it. She was so proud of me though and switched me over to long games from my usual quick grab-and-dashes.”

Eumont gives his arm a tug and they both stop. Karo can tell that it is taking everything in him to not hug him. Eu looks in his eyes with a silent question and Karo nods. Eumont wraps him in an all encompassing hug. He rocks them gently even though Karo is dry eyed this time. He feels a little numb, separated by the emotions boiling deep inside him and needing processing. Instead he focuses on the feeling of being safe with his boyfriend.

“You deserve better. I’m so glad you got out.”

Karo hugs him a little tighter. “Me too.”

#writing #writeblr #original story #milo's stories #fiction #transgender #trans #transmasculine

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atinytokki · 4 years

Text

The Windy Road

iv. Hongjoong

“You’re...real.”

Mingi completely ignored the thief’s question, staring wide-eyed at him before offering a hesitant hand to where he had unceremoniously dumped him.

“Yes, of course I’m real,” the boy huffed, rejecting Mingi’s hand and standing on his own. The shock present in his eyes only a second ago was gone. “What did you think I was- a ghost?”

Mingi watched him brush the dust off himself with a slack jaw. He tried to answer but only a few strangled noises came out and the mysterious boy’s face hardened in response.

“How do you know that name?” The boy repeated, softer this time. Mingi shook himself out of it and pointed to the diary, still protectively grasped by the thief.

“It’s in there. Hyunseok, the boy who... well, the boy who died. His mother wrote about it.”

“You thought I was him,” the boy sighed in recognition, looking away. The market continued to bustle around them and the boy suddenly took Mingi’s hand. “Follow me. We should speak somewhere private."

Mingi should have refused. He would already be in trouble for leaving alone, but he was just too curious about this boy who wasn’t Hyunseok’s ghost, but knew the name.

So he let himself be led beyond the market and along the street for a stretch before they veered off-road and approached the coast. They stopped at the top of the cliff, with the beach empty below.

Mingi forced himself to be patient and keep his mouth shut until the boy was ready to speak.

The boy wet his lips as if to say something, but halted mid-breath and sighed again. “Why couldn’t you just keep to yourself?” He asked quietly, almost to be mistaken as talking to himself. The wind tousled his mop of hair and it was almost like Mingi wasn’t there at all.

Mingi scoffed and took a seat in the grass, wary of the cliffside in front of him. “Look, I’ve been around the country before. I’ve seen a lot in all of the different houses I’ve lived in. But let me tell you, you don’t just come to a cottage, find out the previous owners recently died, keep spying a trespasser in your backyard, and discover a hidden diary about a dead boy and not try to investigate.”

For all his confident talk, Mingi was very much eyeing the beach with a cautious glance. His mother had been very clear in telling him not to go there, not during typhoon season at least. The previous owners of their house had died only a couple weeks ago. And the wind was picking up again, dark clouds on the horizon speeding toward them.

“And I believe you- ghost thief, or boy in the bushes, or whoever you are- have some explaining to do.”

Attention officially redirected, Mingi crosses his arms impertinently and waited for a response.

The boy cracked a tiny smile at his nicknames before sobering and sitting down next to Mingi. He rubbed the back of his neck and kept his gaze on the sea. “It’s all so complicated,” he mumbled. “And I don’t even know you.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Mingi was practically pleading now, dropping the tough facade to give the boy his most earnest expression.

The stranger pouted back at him before his eyes seemed to unlock, resistance fading as he turned the diary over in his hands and began.

“Hyunseok was my older brother. He died before I was born, and for many years my parents wouldn’t talk about him. I just wanted to know as much as I could,” he admitted softly, gently stroking the side of the little book with his thumb. “This is all that’s left.”

It hit Mingi like a load of bricks.

“If your mother was the one who wrote this...” he realised aloud. “...then those were your parents who—“

“Yes,” the boy cut him off, refusing to look at him but staring again into the sea, his face a convoluted map of sorrow, longing, and anger.

Mingi felt pity well up inside him. “So it is your house, then,” he told the boy, shifting uncomfortably. “You weren’t trespassing after all.”

“You threatened me if you caught me there again,” the boy explained. “But I had come for the book- the last thing I have left of them- so I came back one last time, intending to stay away once I had it. I really did intend to stay away.”

Here he turned to face Mingi. “There’s nothing I can say or do to make you and your family go away. You moved into my house and... I live elsewhere now. That’s that. You don’t need to tell your parents you met me.”

He sounded resigned, but somewhere very deep inside was heartbroken that he had been forced to leave.

“Well, where do you live now?” Mingi’s brows drew together in concern. “Not actually in a bush, I hope.”

If the boy appreciated Mingi’s attempt to lighten the mood, he didn’t show it. “With my other relatives in their ancestral home. Not far from here.”

“Do they know you’ve been coming back by yourself?” Mingi asked, semi-aware that he was sticking his nose in too far again, but unable to stop his snowballing curiosity.

The boy actually blushed and turned away again. “No. But I honestly don’t think they’d notice. Everything is... well, everything is in chaos right now. It has been since that night.”

Again, that look was in his eyes and Mingi was scrambling to find something encouraging to say. “I-I’m sorry for your loss. Really.”

It all tumbled out in a bedraggled heap, Mingi’s face burning scarlet with embarrassment that it had taken him this long to say it. He wrung his hands and went back to watching the waves.

Again the sentiment seemed to go ignored, but for a slight wistful shake of the head from the boy.

“What’s your name?” Mingi asked when an acceptable amount of silence had been passed between them and he had made the decision to befriend the boy.

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“I’m Song Mingi,” Mingi offered a sweaty hand and tacked on with an embellishment, “Eleven years old.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow and accepted the handshake. “I’m twelve.”

Again Mingi was fighting the blush that swelled in his cheeks. He had been certain this boy was younger than him.

He had also been certain he was a good-for-nothing thief, but that had clearly been false. This was a victim, not a mischief maker.

“Well, nice to meet you, I guess.”

Hongjoong smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he was trying. “You too. I should probably be getting back.”

Together they stood and brushed themselves off, Mingi trying to create a sustainable olive branch to offer.

“It’s alright if you want to come around again some time,” he finally said as they began walking back the way they came. “I won’t yell at you, I promise.”

“You can’t say the same for your brother, though,” Hongjoong pointed out offhandedly.

“Why, have you met him too?” Mingi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had been fairly sure Minseok hadn’t ventured outside hardly at all in their stay at the cottage so far.

“No, just seen him through the windows.” Hongjoong’s eyes slid over inquisitively, curiosity worn openly on his face for the first time. “He seems... troubled.”

Mingi chuckled but had to concede the point. “I guess he is. He’s just upset we had to move here, like he always is when we relocate.”

“It must be hard,” Hongjoong acknowledged softly, peeking up at him with a hint of pity in his eyes. “Moving around so much.”

Not as hard as your parents drowning unexpectedly, Mingi wanted to say. But he thought better of it and shrugged it off instead. “I suppose I’m used to it by now. It’s just difficult to make and keep friends.”

Hongjoong smiled again, this one more real and heartfelt. “Well, you’ve got me now.”

He spoke as if it were an indisputable fact. As if the ten minutes the two of them had known each other outweighed all the broken friendships and long distance struggles of the past. Mingi didn’t have the heart to deny him.

“So, we’re friends?”

“Yes. Let’s be friends.”

...

A/N: The mystery is solved (mostly)! I wrote this in two hours last night but I promise I'm working on the main series too, you can expect it later this week :) Leave some comments and reblogs if you enjoyed!

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ikesenhell · 5 years

Text

Used to It

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here or become a Patron of mine! NOTES: I had SO MUCH FUN writing this commission for @tarralin! She wanted an answer to a slight throwaway line from The Measurement of Time--the part where Abbot wrote to have a mage brought to The City, which was never resolved. Well, she wanted a resolution! THIS WONT MAKE MUCH SENSE IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE SERIES.

The crumpled missive that made it on the feet of a bedraggled falcon to their walls called for a mage. Abbot’s clean, curt handwriting made it plain: this was an emergency. It wasn’t typical for their northern brethren to call so desperately for magical aid elsewhere. Doubtless it really was urgent.

Still. They couldn’t spare their best--that was the aide directly to the Southern King. The second in command had a horrific fear of water, so she wouldn’t do. So it fell to their third. With little more than an hour’s time to prepare himself, they boarded the finest they could spare onto their fastest ship and sent it upriver, praying they weren’t too late.

---

“His highness of the Southern Kingdom sent me.” Vervan Bistei hadn’t suffered through seasickness, foul food, the constant threat of pirates and the damned northern rain just to deal with the guards of the port. He flapped the royal seal at them. “Lord Tirian Kennyo the Youngest called for our aid.”

Both of the guards stared. Finally, Vervan sighed. “He’s also referred to as ‘Abbot’.”

“Oh!” The taller of the two laughed. “Why didn't you just say so?”

“Because it’s rude?” Honestly, what was it with these guards? Vervan tapped his foot impatiently. “Will you let me through?”

“We can’t exactly do that,” the shorter one explained. “The city is sort of on lockdown. I’ll have to get one of the Nine to clear you, so I’ll just get Abbot up here, and hopefully we can get this whole mess sorted out.”

Simple enough. Vervan nodded. “Right. Then I’ll wait right here. It shouldn’t be too long, right?”

---

Wrong.

They left him waiting in the harbor for the better part of four hours. He nodded off from the bench where they’d let him settle in, and when he awoke it was to a gentle tap on his shoulder. Vervan started, blinking up at the intruder.

“I--oh!”

“I--” Abbot paused and let the mage hastily drop to his knee. “That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is. Greetings, your highness Lord Tirian Kennyo the Youngest, I am Vervan Bistei. Your brothers sent me with their compliments in return to your letter.”

“I--thank you.” Was the man blushing? He hesitated. “Please get up. I am just a soldier here.”

Vervan jumped to his feet. “Of course. My most sincere apologies.”

“And mine as well. Since I wrote that letter, the situation has, ah… resolved itself.”

Oh. So… “What you mean to say is, you have no further need of me?”

“No.” Abbot was silent a sheepish moment. “No, we had another mage sort of--ah, surprise us with his arrival. Unfortunately my missive was long gone by the time he arrived.”

Vervan did his best to shove down his disappointment. “Of course. I suppose it can’t be helped. No harm, no foul. I should just be on my way, then.”

“Of course. Err, where is the ship you arrived on…?”

What a question! Vervan almost laughed. “Why, none other than the Red Flagship! It’s right--”

Where previously the ship had moored there was now nothing at the dock--just a vast red sail in the dusky distance. Vervan blinked once, twice, three times, doing his best to comprehend what was happening. They’d left him. They’d left him! The bastards! He’d only insulted their cooking once (or twice, frankly, but that second time he’d apologized); how dare they just leave him on this slip of nothing!

“Ah,” Abbot noted thinly. “Apparently they were in a hurry.”

“You don’t say.” Vervan couldn’t bite back his disdain. “It seems I am at your disposal regardless.”

The young lord cast him a long, penetrating look before shrugging. “Well, there is the college here. I suppose we could lodge you there while I send for another ship for you--or would you prefer to go with one of the overland caravans?”

The caravans? Through the dusty desert? Perish the thought! Vervan just shook his head hastily. “No, no, I can wait for another ship.”

“Fair enough. Come along, then. I’ll see what we can do for you.”

---

The City was miserably cold in the mornings. Vervan hated how the salty spray gathered in thick bands across his windows, how he could see his breath spiraling overhead in the unvarnished rafters of the mage barracks. Down south, the sun greeted him long before he rose. Here, they were lucky to have it at all. He bound himself in thick layers of cloaks and waddled his way to the Nine’s quarters.

Captain Uesugi greeted him with a penetrating stare. “You’re dressed for winter.”

“Captain,” he replied stoically, doing his best not to make a fool of himself before her. She had such a storied lineage--how could he not know of her? “I’m not quite accustomed to the climate. At least it grows warmer soon, aye?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Our seasons are reversed from the Southern Lands. It hasn’t yet come to winter.”

What? Vervan nearly collapsed. “It gets colder yet?”

“This is balmy. Come. You wanted something to do, yes? We can give you some rounds on the parapets.” And with that, she swept past him, her shoulders bare to the chill. Vervan granted himself five seconds to wonder what god he’d angered before he scuttled after her.

The work they gave him was grinding and manual. Much of it revolved around just walking around the walls and staring out over the ocean and fields, standing out in the rain and sleet, shivering in his layers. How could anyone stand this place? The water crashed like a horrific cacophony against the black cliffs. Its people were drab and lifeless. It was nothing, nothing like the wonderful, colorful, plush life he’d gotten accustomed to in the Southern Lands.

They had him on dock duty in the dead of the damnable night when he met her.

Truth be told, he was barely paying attention. He’d found a dry patch between some pillars and was stuck to it, lighting a little flame to warm his hands when he heard the splash.

“Who is there?” He called.

“No one!” Came a cheery answer.

Someone thought they were being smart with him. Vervan rolled his eyes and extricated himself from the small hole, confronting the woman on the dock’s edge. “By order of the City, these docks are closed come nightfall.”

The woman in the cloak just smiled prettily at him. She had bright eyes like an ocean tide and dark skin, thick ringlets of hair draping around her neck. His first thought was that she didn't belong in this godforsaken place--a lady like her should be someplace civilized, like down south. “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”

“My name?” That took him just off guard. “Err, Vervan. But that really doesn’t matter. You have to leave.”

“Do I?” She shot him a smile and extended her hand, offering him a smooth black stone. “Come on. Throw rocks with me. Are you the one they sent from the south?”

“I--yes, but you can’t be here--”

Finally she peeled back her cloak hood and smiled at him. Jewels dripped from her earlobes, her neck, the trim of her dress. Who was she? Vervan paused, utterly speechless at her beauty. “This could be our little secret.”

“I--” He hesitated once more. Was this a trick? “I’m sorry, my lady, but--”

“It’s alright,” she soothed. “Just ‘Talia’ will do.”

Talia? Talia. Where had he heard that name before--oh!

“Your highness!” Dropping to his knees, Vervan put his forehead to her palm. “I am so sorry, I didn't know--”

“I said ‘just Talia’.” But the queen laughed and touched his head, soft as a feather. “Please. Rise. My mother would have nothing of this thing, and neither will I.”

“I--” Vervan staggered to his feet. He’d never come so close to royalty before. “I apologize. You, certainly, can walk wherever you like.”

Talia shot him a sly wink. “You’d find that Captain Uesugi will disagree, but she’s not here to chastise me now, is she? Come. Would you like to throw a rock with me?”

“I’ll--I’ll decline.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” she mused, allowing a laugh only a half second later. “If someone hits my grandfather, it would be best if it were me.”

He didn't know what to say. Tongue-tied and shaken, Vervan hugged back into the shadows of a nearby statue (it featured a man and a woman dancing, the man wearing a uniform of the Nine) and watched her until she left.

---

The Nine soldier called Sasuke Sarutobi greeted him the next day. “You have a new assignment.”

“Is it outdoors?” Vervan groused. “I hope not.”

Sarutobi shot him a look and offered him the slip of paper instead. “As it happens, yes.”

“Marvelous!” Snatching up the paper, Vervan shook it open with a roll of his eyes. “Shall I stand in the wettest part of the city, perfectly still? Shall the Captain have me walk knee-deep into the blasted surf for eight hours? Shall I clean a rock with a toothpick?”

“Actually,” the other man noted, “It’s a detail assignment. The Queen requested you.”

Vervan dropped the letter from sheer shock.

---

The job was simple enough: serve as her guard while she took the rounds on the walls. Vanity kept Vervan from wearing all his plain cloaks, so he did his best to disguise his shivering in his best southern wear. The Queen took one look at him and unclasped her own cloak, offering it to him.

“You’re freezing.”

“I refuse. You are too kind, your highness.”

She laughed and offered it to him again. “It won’t do for you to chatter the whole way around the walls. Your clothes are not suited to our weather.”

Reluctantly he took it, clasping it gratefully around his neck. “I haven’t yet gotten used to your climate, it seems.”

“No. Few do.” And she smiled--smiled!--at that. “How do you like it?”

“Well enough.”

Apparently that didn't satisfy her. She shot him a knowing look until he broke down and admitted, “Not very well.”

“I imagine. It grows on you.”

“Perhaps like mold,” Vervan answered before he could stop himself, “Or a particularly potent fungus.”

“Oh! And your sharpness returns! And here I thought you’d shamed yourself once already before me.”

His ears were red and he knew it. “Begging your pardon, your highness. I simply can’t fathom how a lady of breeding and charm likes it here.”

“I told you,” she replied, innocent and sweet. It sent shivers up his arms. “It grows on you.”

---

She summoned him more often after that. (“Dare I ask why, your highness?” “Talia. And I find your cutting humor refreshing, Vervan.”) Sometimes they huddled in the library as the storms raged outside, salt and wind rattling at the stained glass. Sometimes he followed her on her long walks around the walls or the city streets at night, watching the way she watched everything else.

And it was impossible, after long enough, not to sense her in the things around him. The freezing mornings no longer bothered him. He watched his breath curl in lacy spirals around the rough-hewn ceiling and wondered at the pattern of it. One day he caught himself swinging the window open and inhaling the tang of salt (and he shivered at how barbaric he’d become, hastily shutting it as soon as he could). Finally he went down to the marketplace--which wasn’t as awful as he’d expected--and purchased a set of new clothes for himself better suited to the weather.

“I received word today,” Abbot informed him. “Your ship will come back in springtime. It’s too choppy in the winter to send a boat.”

“Marvelous,” Vervan allowed. “So I shall be here for the whole blasted freeze?”

Abbot shrugged before allowing a small smile. “You get used to it.”

Damn it all, he was getting used to it. The Southern Lands didn't have stars the way they did in The City. He paused in the empty street center on his way home some nights, staring up into the yawning abyss, trying to guess how many pinpricks of multicolored light hung overhead and failing utterly in his estimations. Snow spiraled in over the ocean and he watched the water freeze in thick sheets by the docks, drifts settling along the houses.

“Your highness,” he inquired one day from his place behind the throne, watching the angry winter ocean break against the obsidian cliffs. “Could you answer a question?”

She cast him a smile. “Talia.”

Vervan swallowed hard. “Forgive me, Talia.”

“Indeed. What is your question?”

“What does one get used to, here?”

Her smile faded. At last she rose and reached for him, entwining her fingers in his. “Come with me.”

Together they braved the frigid chill and took the long, winding path to the docks. He warmed her with a simple spell as they pattered alongside the ocean, the planks bucking and swaying underfoot. There--at the very end--she paused and thrust her hand out toward the horizon.

“Yes?” Vervan asked, uncertain what was happening.

“That water,” Talia announced, gravely serious, “connects us to every single piece of land in the world. It takes us to the Trinity Island, where my grandparents fell in love and my city was saved. It takes us to the river that steers us south. It threatens our destruction and brings us life-giving rain and rocked me to sleep every night as a child. In that water is the spirit of everyone I’ve ever loved. It gives and it takes and it transforms, and still, we know nothing of it. Can you say the same of your land?”

Vervan took a step closer to the edge and stared into the inky-dark water, the sheet of ice over top the only barrier between him and it. It simply dipped down, down, down, well past his eyes, well beyond what he could fathom--like the stars uncountable.

“No,” he admitted. “No. My land is known to me.”

The Queen smiled serenely at him. “That is our beloved city, my dear. It is unknowable, and we love it for its mysteries.”

---

The boat came for him that spring, ferried by the same captain as before. He took one look at Vervan and laughed.

“My, but you look more weathered!”

Vervan could only shrug. “They don’t have lotion like they do in the south here. It’s all for staving off the cold.”

“The bloody north. Well, up you come.” The captain paused to grimace at the City, wrapping his fist tight around the ropes. “I don’t envy your being trapped here. I can’t imagine it was something enjoyable.”

He paused, one foot on the edge of the ship, the other still braced firmly on the docks. What could he say to that? Floundering, Vervan hesitated only a moment longer--

And imagined a world without all those stars.

He backed away from the edge of the boat.

“No, thank you.” And after a pause, he laughed and said, “You sort of learn to love it.”

#Commission #My writing #The Measurement of Time #Used To It #what do I even tag this as?#TMOT #Captain Uesugi #Female!Uesugi #Sasuke Sarutobi #ikesen descendants

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