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writefightandflightclub · 1 year

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Santi saying “Right there, huh? That’s the spot?”🥵😢

Thank Me Later: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader

Rating: EXPLICIT. 18+ ONLY. Do not read further or engage unless you are over 18. ⚠️

Summary: your friend knew exactly what she was doing seating you next to this guy called “Pope” at her wedding. He’s ever so clearly trouble. However, given you’re in the mood to be trouble right back, you can’t stay mad at your friend for long.

Genre: smutty!

Warnings: finger-banging, mainly. Alcohol consumption. Restroom at a wedding deviance. Reader has a brother - but no descriptions.

GIF: by @uomo-accattivante (pls tell me if you’d like me to remove this!)

Author’s note: this is a rather quick one, written in snippets over my work breaks. Honestly, I’ve been getting too in my head about writing (or at least posting) any smut lately, so I hope you enjoy this! (Anon, I hope I did this glorious prompt justice! Thanks for sending it to me! 🧡)

You quaff some more of the table fizz, despite the fact you succumb to a grimace of distaste every time you take a sip. It’s so vile you swear it’s an outright act of evil that your friend - the bride - chose this concoction for her special day.

“Not hitting the spot, huh?”

You blink at the handsome man seated to your left, cursing your friend all over again for this seating arrangement. Now that -and you’re counting- is the second direct act of evil committed by her today. Oh, she for sure knew exactly what she was doing when she seated you next to him.

He - Pope, his name is - looks so good in his midnight blue suit that you could believe that he was created for the sole purpose of attending weddings and copping-off with the sexy maid of honour. (That’s you.)

Your friend could even have saved herself a few bucks and plated you up as dessert, you think, since you’ve already turned to jelly under his attentions.

“No it is not. It’s disgusting. It’s practically an act of outright warfare.” His delicious lips twitch around a smile as you continue to rant on the injustice of it all, and -damn him- he continues to listen attentively.

It’s true, that despite your best efforts to ignore him - and his blatant aura of trouble - you’d each relegated the bores seated to your respective left and right to the No Talking Zone. And, in fact, you and he may as well have been seated at a table for two, given you’ve spent the whole three course meal getting to know each other better. Getting, also, to dream up a new position you’d enjoy him taking you in with every passing moment. As you dream up yet another, deliciously sordid images multiplying in your head, a blanketing heat flushes your skin. And, in your attempts to cool off you forget, taking another swig of your damned “drink”, resulting in you grimacing all over again. “But then - she never did have any taste. Look at that complete douche she’s married.”

He looks at your mouth. His gaze briefly dips to your cleavage. His corded throat bobs with warm, roughly hewn laughter. “Isn’t that douche your brother?”

“Uh huh.” That was your friend’s original sin.

Pope eyes you with amusement as you drain your glass, suddenly feeling like you need the courage just to survive him looking directly at you like that.

His flirting -not that you’re complaining- is becoming increasingly brazen. He’s a confident one, this dude. He knows he’s pretty. And, his flirting combined with your gradually depleting better judgement, is a dangerous combination. Almost as dangerous a concoction as this god awful fucking wine.

You skim back over the interaction so far, attempting to consolidate your position. You suddenly think - with horror - back to the moment he’d commented good-naturedly on your evident disdain for the entire institution of marriage. You’d blurted out “Marriage? I’d be grateful just to get laid, honestly. Let’s start there.”

You recall how his gaze had become positively pornographic - his smirk devilish - when he’d responded to your assertion. “Okay. I can definitely work with that.”

He brushes your forearm with his fingers, and his touch crackles along your skin like a lit fuse. It snaps you back to the present moment, your desire urgent and running out of line.

“Well,” he purrs next, continuing his advances. Leaning closer toward you and sending a pleasant shiver shimmying down your spine as his warm breath contacts the shell of your ear. As his fingers skim sensually down your bare arm. “Since the drink’s not working out? I bet I could hit the spot for you.” Pope draws back ever so slightly, allowing you to see the flash of wanton desire sparking in his lust-blown umber eyes.

Christ. He smells good. Smells an awful lot like cologne you’ll be reluctant to shower from your skin later tonight. Smells like someone you’re very much about to fuck in some cramped wedding venue bathroom.

You blink at him wordlessly for a moment as his hand slides on to your thigh, a swallow sinking down your neck. The warmth of him bleeds through your thin, silky dress, his palm easily slipping further up and up without resistance - from you or the fabric. Your mouth drops open with a breathy, eager sigh, and you hate your friend juuuust a little more for getting you into this terrible mess.

“What do you think?” he intones, his voice thick and packed like crushed velvet. “Wanna find some place a little more quiet?”

“You’re s-serious.” Your voice is full of telltale tremors already, and he’s barely even touched you.

“Oh yeah.” He looks so very pleased with himself already. Doesn’t he? “You’re the most miserable bridesmaid I’ve ever met. Wanna see if I can turn things around for you.” He plays it straight, but you can’t help but note the more gentle, more sincere dose of mirth dancing in his molten eyes - and so, you finally crack your first smile of the entire dinner service. Entirely at his expense.

After all. He might be trouble, but why on earth has he got it in his head that you’re a good idea? “I take it you like a challenge then?” You’re hardly known for your sunny disposition. You’re notoriously hard to please.

Unphased, however, Pope takes your hand in his and, in a gentlemanly fashion, politely raises you to standing. He leans close once again, winding his arm around your middle. “Hermosa.” The sound is abrasive and delicious, almost like rough fingers grazing your skin. It makes you tingle everywhere. “Maybe I just know what’s good for you.”

Well that’s an assertion you’d like to see him back up, and so, you hook your arm in his and pace out - to find somewhere a little more… quiet.

Your friend -traitor- sees you leave arm in arm with him, causing her face to shine with an absurd level of directional glee, her eyebrows reaching towards her hairline first in shock, then pumping suggestively.

Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing alright.

She clearly knows your every weakness, as well as the fact this man is the embodiment of every single one of them. A silver-haired, brown-eyed fox, packaged in a sexy, tailored suit? You were done for the moment you sat down, weren’t you?

Even so, despite your friend’s evident glee at your imminent hook-up, you scowl, shooting her the middle finger as you pass the top table. “Don’t even.”

Hey. You can thank her later; if - and only if- this guy lives up to his own hype.

***

That’s how it happened.

That’s how you had found yourself here like this, pushed up against the tight restroom wall, your right leg hitched up and hooked over Pope’s hip. His corresponding forearm slid along the length of your thigh and his palm curling underneath your ass cheek to support your position.

It’s his other hand though, which has you in all sorts of trouble. It’s his other hand which is sunk knuckle-deep inside you, curling into every sweet spot and dragging delicious, deep, electrifying friction over your walls.

Your arms brace over his shoulders to keep you upright, the leg supporting your weight growing increasingly shaky. Your fingers skim over the soft but crisp cotton of Pope’s shirt, his suit jacket now hung neatly on the peg of the bolted rest room door, and his right-arm shirt sleeve rolled up to his elbow, the veins and muscles in his tan forearm popping as he works himself into you - first with one thick finger, then two.

“Pope,” you protest weakly as he ravages you beyond expectation or comprehension. “There are gonna be after dinner photos. I’m gonna look… fucked.”

“Mmm. Better make it worth it then, huh?” He kisses along your jaw where your head is tipped back against the wall in ecstasy, his stubble leaving a pleasant burning scrape in its wake. His rich, layered scent rubbing off onto your skin.

His mouth latches eagerly over yours and he tongues you with relish, a gruff moan blooming from his throat into the cave of you. He seems to be enjoying you. Enjoying the way his fingers are making you wet enough that he can hear that obscene squelch sound with every pump of his hand. You drink his sounds down, moaning right back into him, your palms slipping down his shirted, shapely chest in almost complete surrender. His impossible jaw working his lips against yours with vigour.

“You gonna get there?” he enquires gently. “Feel good?”

You have no doubt that you’re going to gush all over his practised hand within moments, but you don’t want to give it up quite so easy - if you can help it. “You expect me to be able to cum in this horrible, pokey bathroom?”

“Look at me,” he grits, his deep, dark, brown eyes latched on to yours. He practically growls. Nips your bottom lip in between his teeth until you lightly yowl in protest. “That’s exactly what I expect.” He looks you directly in the eye as his fingers stretch you open, his thumb meticulously nudging and massaging your clit in time with his languid, rhythmic strokes.

It’s good.

God, it’s good.

But now you’re getting too in your head.

What if someone knocks? Hears? What if Auntie Edna need the restroom and- “I can’t!” you protest breathily - in frustration- even as you writhe yourself on his hand, bucking into every long, thick, curling stoke he delivers you, his fingers precise and consistent.

“Fuck. Princesa. Do you ever stop complaining?”

“No.”

And with that, he thrusts a third finger into you, adding a far more insistent pressure against your giving, welcoming walls.

“Mmmmpppphhh,” you muffle then into the junction of his neck, your head falling forward as you give in and succumb to all the sensations he’s bestowing upon you. You bask solely in the steadily building and electric pleasure sparking out from your core. Reaching out to cling to every extremity.

You moan into his neck, huffing hot, grateful breaths against his skin. Licking over each crevice and contour of his throat with the flat of your tongue and press of your lips. Tasting the buzz of his cologne on your tongue.

“Pope,” you plead, though you know not yet quite what you are begging for. You are confident enough now that he will know just what to give you.

Luckily, indeed, Pope truly does seem to know what’s good for you, what you need, and the precise pads of his fingers and the drag of his clumsy knuckles hit a spot inside you which sends white hot sensations blooming out from your middle. The sudden, warm expansion of this pleasure compresses everything else in you, punching an abrupt, abortive moan from your lungs, which dies on your opened lips.

“There you go,” Pope purrs, even more pleased with himself now, his voice all smug honey flecked with grit. Reading you keenly, his fingers repeat their motion, moulding to you just how you need. “Right there, huh? That’s the spot.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as he hits exactly where you want him, rubbing over your swollen arousal; but still, for some reason, you refuse to give him the satisfaction - even if your breathy, undone voice gives it away for free. “Sure. If you say so.”

He grins, still cock-sure of himself, and he bucks the sizeable, straining mass beneath his suit pants zipper up against your thigh for good measure too. You almost clench around his hand from the thought of that -what else he has to offer- alone. Could almost get off just from his big dick energy, which alone feels like it could penetrate you deep enough to count. “Don’t know why you’re fighting it, hermosa. Told you I know what’s good for you.”

He kisses you then; your mouth, your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. The sound is percussive and sweet and slick and in time with the wet, messy noises between your legs, your arousal now dripping down his fingers and pooling in his broad palm, inching down and over his hand.

He groans in disbelief at the feel of you -perhaps at the thought of burying himself in you for some relief of his own- and he hitches your leg a little higher on his hip, hooking your knee over the meat of his pert, ample ass. He braces his sturdy legs slightly, and it marginally adjusts the angle at which he can fuck his fingers up into you.

The slight adjustment is pure bliss, and God. You don’t want him to ever stop touching you like this.

“If you don’t want it, Princesa…” he slowly drags his fingers from your heat, withdrawing this heaven from you only to tease, and in desperation you clamp your hand down on to his veined, sturdy forearm, keeping him in place.

“No! No,” you protest, voice barely above a whisper but no less robust with conviction as you writhe your core on him. “Don’t stop. Right there. Please.”

With a smug, lopsided smirk Pope redoubles his efforts, surging back into your heat, scissoring his fingers slightly to increase the swell and pressure of him inside you. A moan unspools itself from deep within your chest and you bite down on your lip to quell it, your breathing ragged. Mingling with Pope’s own panting - his torn, shredded breaths. Satisfied now, however, that he’s very much about to prove his point, Pope continues where he left off, his fingers delving into you and squeezing your sweet nectar out from around them, filling you up with his girth.

“Uh huh,” you whine and he must feel you tighten around him. Must know how close you are.

“Show me,” he encourages, his voice the stiff rod to your molten core, the only thing keeping you upright; and barely. “Show me how good it feels.”Indeed, you slide all silken - down the wall, down his hand, and it pushes him even deeper.

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter closed. Screw shut. Your moans become unfettered. You let yourself go. “Like that. God. Pope.”

He maintains his pace and his pressure; thank goodness. He does not race you towards an end, but he does guides you there with a gentle, supple hand. And, when his voice comes next, it is to deliver a delicate red ribbon of a phrase, the words unravelling into the shell of your ear and snaking straight down into the depths of you. “Gonna look so good when you cum for me, aren’t you, Princesa? Gonna cum so hard on my fingers?”

You do.

You implode with pleasure, clamping down around his hand in slow, deep waves, undulating on him until you drag every last vestige of pleasure that you can from out of his touch. You cling on to him for dear life, and he practically has to keep you pinned to the wall with his body to keep you from waning. Wilting.

You drink him in as you convulse, his dark eyes locked on yours, lust-hooded and encouraging. Full of safety. You drink in the sound of him. The moans of his satisfaction at seeing you come apart for him. The mingled scents of cologne and sex and laundry powder - the smell of that crisp white fucking shirt adorning his hot body.

He holds you, making you feel safe and sure as you come down in his arms, still throbbing pleasantly between your legs. Your mouth stays slack with disbelief as he slips his fingers out of your heat, bringing his fingers up to his lips and tasting you with relish as he shoves his own fingers over his supple pink tongue.

“Well done, cariño,” he praises gently before kissing you, slipping the taste of your own juices into your mouth as he tongues you, and the unexpected tenderness of it causes your eyes to brim with emotion. Emotion which you are quick to blink away - hastily, before it can be detected.

You’re sated. Plenty sated. But you already feel to the depths of you that you are not done with this man. You want to taste him too. Satisfy him. Have him take you. Learn him. Hold him.

“D-do you want…?”

You angle your hips towards the substantial bulge at his crotch, and yet his gaze is sincere and gentle all over again. Hosting something deeper than an urgent, consuming hunger.

Gingerly, he hooks your chin with his (oh so talented) forefinger. Flashes you a lopsided smile. “Hermosa. You can thank me later.” He nods over and down - out of the small, square window which peeks out on to the lawn one level below. “I think you’re already late enough for the after dinner photos.”

“Oh shit!”

Pope’s mouth bends with amusement as you scramble to fix yourself up. He unspools some toilet roll and hands it to you so you can clean yourself up, swiping your juices away from between your thighs. He moves ever so seamlessly and calmly around you as you smooth your rumpled dress and hurriedly unsmudge your make-up. And, for his part, he washes up his hands and calmly slips his pristine suit jacket back onto his pleasing form, instantly looking as though nothing at all went down.

You meanwhile, are a dead giveaway. “Uggghhhhhh. Who the fuck has photos after dinner, anyway?” you gripe, and a laugh bobs in Pope’s throat.

“There you go again. Always complaining.”

“Oh shut up,” you snip, already far too fondly. Then, you grab him by the lapels, dragging this delicious man on to your lips. “All that matters, is that I’m going to be very grateful later.”

Your hungry kiss, as well as the clear suggestion in your eyes, leaves Pope stupefied for just a moment. Long enough for you to dash out towards the lawn, at least. Scrambling to take your place.

You are the last out of the wedding party to arrive at the designated spot, but you manage to slot in next to the bride just in time for the photographer to capture you in all your post-orgasm glory.

Of course, as you sidle up to her, though, your friend raises an all too knowing eyebrow. “What took you so long?”

You’d be mad with her blatant scheming, but, given the result, you can’t help the broad grin which erupts over your face. You bump her hip with yours. “Bitch,” you chide, and she emits a wicked chuckle.

“Hussy,” she bites around a mirthful smile. “So. Tell me everything. How did you enjoy your seating arrangement?”

You re-pose as the photographer directs the party, subtly shifting position. “Hmm. Yeah,” you respond mysteriously, knowing it will drive her wild not to have the full story. “Almost enough to make up for the shit wine.”

“That good, huh?”

You erupt into giggles again, this time chaotic enough that you are reprimanded by the photographer. “I love you, bitch,” you whisper to the glowing bride.

“Love you too.”

And, meanwhile, entirely unbeknownst to you, Pope looks on, pleased to see you smiling. He’d even like to think he played a small part in turning that around.

You look beautiful, he thinks. And God. He can’t wait for you to repay the favour.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #Oscar Isaac

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minniepetals · 2 years

Text

cry me a river | the thorns of a rose

— summary: loyalty means to have full allegiance and faithfulness owned by a duty, a pledge, or a promise. and the reapers’ loyalty lies much deeper than that

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 5.6k

— warnings: mentions of breaking, emotional trauma, implied sexual harassment/abuse, implied forceful age-gap relationship (we're getting to more dark stuff here so please read at your own discretion, PLEASE)

— PART 11 / previous part / masterpost

“They say she’s the actual Grim Reaper herself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s on a rampage, going around killing anyone who has done her wrong. She’s already taken out Gwon Daejung!”

“Grim reapers go around collecting souls, she’s out here trying to collect the heads of all her enemies!”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration.”

“That monster killed her own father to get the throne.”

“What if we’re next?”

Knock, knock, knock.

A click of the door opens and he stares in horror at the said Reaper who’s out to collect the heads of all her enemies. With a smirk plastered on her face, hands resting behind her, and a flicking shine from the scythe earrings she wears, he can feel the beat of his heart drumming hard against his chest.

“Hello there, Mr. Choi,” you greet with a sinister expression resting well on your face, “it seems death has just knocked on your door. Would you mind giving me the pleasure of taking your life?”

“Why did you call me, Namjoon? You do know that I’m a pretty busy woman, don’t you? I have heads to sever and hearts to stab out.”

“Seems you’ve become quite the bloodthirsty mobster.”

You shrug lightly at his comment, adjusting the black gloves in your hands that are tainted with blood. “Well, life is pretty cruel to women so there’s quite a lot of people whom I have to go after now that I have the power to do so.”

“This is why you killed your father off?” He asks, eyes narrowed at you who only seems to be paying attention to your gloves. “Now that I think about it, you say you’re out to kill all the people who have done you wrong. Was your father your first target in all of this?”

Your hands freeze in place and when you look up at him, those eyes of yours are as cold as a stone, showing no sign of weakness, no amount of emotions for him to try and see through your facade. He can’t read you.

“What are you talking about?” You feign a smile. “If my father never cared for me, would he have accepted me so easily when I returned home after divorcing you? Any sane mobster who’s thirsty for power would have never let that slide. Yet father welcomed me in very well with wide, open arms.”

“Fool,” you hear your father’s disdained voice in the back of your mind.

“You’ve always been useless from the second you were born. For a moment I thought things were going well, finally made useful to me. But here you are, crawling right back and begging for forgiveness at the foot of your father. I told you to make yourself useful.”

No matter how foolish and stupid you were ten years ago, at least you understood what to do in order to keep the image of a happy family alive and well.

Divorcing Namjoon was one of the hardest decisions in your life but you were left with no other choice. Returning that ring, asking him for a divorce, even that moment of weakness where you asked them to give you a second chance, all of that was planned.

After all, divorcing Namjoon meant facing father’s wrath so you had to do it smartly, hence you asked him to sign a contract with you before you left, before the divorce was finalized. It was the only way you could get through to your father. He would be angry either way but at least then he didn’t have to worry about losing power.

Power was all father wanted after all, and you allowed him to keep that.

That contract saved you from potentially dying at your father’s very own hands.

“Open arms…”

You stare at Namjoon with a small, playful smirk, knowing he must be thinking back on his own father. “Envious?”

He sends you a glare and you look away with a shrug, amusement plastered on your face.

“Did all those silent vows of keeping each others’ secrets safe not matter after the divorce?”

“Of course it does!” You say at his suspicion on you. “You don’t really think I’m the type to go around spreading every traumatic story of you and the boys to the world just because we don’t care for each other anymore, do you?”

“I don’t know who you are anymore, Y/N.”

“Right,” you nod. “Let’s keep it that way, yeah? Anyways, what am I doing here again?”

Namjoon lets out a sigh and reaches from the back of his pants to hand you a simple envelope. You stare at it, blinking.

“If it’s a letter of some sort, you could have simply sent it through the mail, old man.”

“I figured you’d rather keep the envelope as is rather than having words painted on them.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s Jungwon’s.” You freeze and he takes a moment to look at the envelope before beckoning for you to take it once more. “One of the letters was meant for you.”

A letter was written for you? What for?

If Mister Butler had anything to say to you, why didn’t he just speak them to you when he had the chance? Perhaps it’s something secretive that he couldn’t say aloud?

No, can’t be. All his letters were basically his diaries but, why would one of them be addressed to you?

You pull the gloves off your hands, not wanting anything to taint the envelope before taking it from Namjoon. “Did you read it?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“Those are your initials, yes?”

They are.

“The content of the letters addressed to you,” you look back at him, wondering, “what were they about?”

“His daily life. A diary, as you said.”

“He never mentioned anything about what he was doing at the Reaper’s manor in the first place?”

Namjoon shakes his head, a sigh leaving his lips. “Nothing of that sort. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help much with my investigation.”

“Surely your father had some answers.”

“Anything that has to do with my father has already been searched and burned away. None of them ever mentioned anything about my brother. It’s almost as if it disappeared along with him, as if my father knew.”

Did his father get word of Mister Butler’s death? He must have, hence all evidence about what he had done were all destroyed for Namjoon to never find out.

“When did my brother disappear?”

“The eighth of January,” you tell him. “I was nine.” You were hurt that night, severely injured. You don’t remember exactly the events that went by, just the fact that the next thing you knew, you were standing in front of the man you loved so much, staring into his unblinking eyes. “He never said goodbye and after that night, I never saw him again.”

“Something must have happened.”

Yeah, your father killed him and blamed it all on poor little you.

“Well, I have to go now,” you say as you turn around and begin to walk off, “as I said, I’m a pretty busy woman.”

“Y/N if you know anything—”

“I got into an accident that night, Namjoon, so I don’t recall much of what happened.”

“Then those workers—”

“Are dead,” you say. “I killed them all.”

You hear him let out a frustrated sigh. “Honestly, you’re too impulsive. If one of them were still alive, they’d know what happened and have better intel than what we have now.”

“Well,” you shrug, “even if one of them were still alive, those workers didn’t really pay much attention to Mister Butler. To them, he was just another one of them, and if someone disappears out of nowhere, they’d only think what they know.”

Any sane worker would think they’d died at the hands of the leaders of the mafia they’re working in.

In Jungwon’s case, it was exactly that. No exception.

“See ya.”

With that, you walk off without looking back again, the letter tightly grasped in your hand.

You stand alone in the garden of the greenhouse, eyes staring blankly at the red roses right before you. With a white suit on, your overcoat drapes on your shoulder as you cross your arms against your chest, the gloves gone as blood still stains your clothing from your previous endeavor.

You don’t care to clean up just yet.

The rose bushes intrigues you as you stare at them, a reminder of someone you used to know.

“The roses remind me of you, Y/N.”

“...Why is that, sir?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh at the title you call him by, but falls understanding that no matter how much he asks of you, you’d never call him by name. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t wish for a close relationship, my dear?” He asks, a small pout glanced your way. “Despite the fact that we were almost engaged?”

You don’t answer his question, giving him anything but a blank stare. It’s all he’ll ever see from you, all you will ever show him. He will never witness your anger, your sadness, your happiness, or any emotions out of you.

Relationships do not matter to you, after all, he’s just another pawn for your father.

“Why do the roses remind you of me, sir?” You speak as if reading off a script; emotionless, robotic.

His brows furrow slightly but he’s used to this. “You’re pretty and you look innocent and sweet and precious, but anytime anyone tries to get any close to you,” he holds his hand out to caress your cheek, stroking it tenderly with his thumb as he flashes you a small smile, “you will put up a guard and have your thorns protect you. They are your walls, aren’t they?”

“I haven’t hurt you in the slightest, sir.”

He chuckles. “But you resent me, don’t you?”

“I do not hold any feelings towards you.”

“...Right.” He looks down at your figure, the way you sit on the bed obediently, and will not move unless instructed otherwise. You dress in a silky nightgown, one of the straps fallen from your shoulder, and he takes his hand from your face to trace over one of the visible scars held against your skin. You say nothing, you do nothing, and despite his gentle touches, you feel nothing.

He watches you as if trying to monitor your reactions, and when you give him nothing to see, he trails down to your hand and gently takes hold of it.

“You may not hold any feelings towards me but…” he traces the purple ring around your wrist, “you resent my father, do you not?” You say nothing so he goes on. “I may not know you as well as I hope to, Y/N, but even I understand that a lady would never want a man she doesn’t desire to touch her whether in a precious hold or not. You come here, walk into a man’s room whether you like to or not, just like an obedient puppet, and do nothing to go against your father’s words. So whether it’s me touching you or my father…you will not speak up against it.”

So he knew of his father’s doings, yet the closer you watch him, you realize that he’d only learned of that fact recently. Your potential fiance, despite the whole ordeal being to his benefit, has never once taken advantage of you. He holds onto his morals, a man of principles, and when he finds the truth of your relationship with your father, he expresses opposition.

But the two of you are one and the same, living a similar life.

He cannot go against his father, just as you cannot go against yours.

You’re both far too weak against the men of the house.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, almost a whisper, and you see the way he tries to hold onto his anger for you, the way his hand trembles slightly as he does his best not to hold onto your hand too tight. As if afraid he’d hurt you.

He reminds you of someone, but you don’t wish to remember so you look away, not wanting to see that little spark in his eyes.

“I had no reason to.”

When you say that, he looks back up at you, a flash of hurt and disbelief in his eyes. “No reason?” He scoffs. “You have purple bruises on your wrist and you’re saying you had no reason to tell me these things? My father did this to you, Y/N, and I can only imagine what other horrible things he’s done to you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You look off to the side, taking your hand from his hold to look out at the window where a bird perches on the tree just outside. “In the end, we can do nothing.”

He hates how right you are, and hates the way you seem to shiver slightly from the cold, goosebumps forming along your skin, yet you say nothing against your pain. You do not care for your well-being, and you guess by now he’s probably realized you’re already broken.

A broken doll for your father to use at his disposal.

You hear him let out a grunt of anger yet when he slips your strap back onto your shoulder and holds the blanket over you, his actions are as gentle towards you as ever.

“When you decide to let your thorns be known to the world, I hope you can come after my father and kill him yourself.” He stands from the bed, going for the door but not before looking back at you for one last thing. “I will wait for you until then.”

How long has it been since you heard those words fall from his lips? It was the last conversation you had with the man, before he went away and did all that he could to drive the relationship between your gang and his to fall apart.

You’re not sure how he did it, but he somehow made it possible for the two of you to never see each other again, and in doing so, saved you from having to see his father ever again.

He was different from Ying, because while Ying always watched you get belittled and hurt and went to console you afterwards, the second he found out the truth, he did all that he could to at least save you from one less burden to carry.

He could do nothing about your father, but he took his father away for your sake.

The roses remind you of him, yet despite the little moments of good memories you have with him, they will always be overshadowed by all the things his father has done to you.

And the longer you stare at the roses, the more you wish to cast the memories away, the more you wish to never remember his face, his voice, and the way he held you.

You feel disgusted.

Perhaps if I touch them…maybe the pain will take over the pain of having to remember him.

You hold your hand out as if in a daze, a chant repeating in your head to try and convince you that marking yourself with physical pain will give you a chance in forgetting the past pains.

Hurt me hurt me hurt me. Let me forget.

You feel your teeth clenching, brows knitted, and just as your hand is about to grab a handful of the rose bush filled with thorns, someone grabs ahold of your hand with a force, stopping you mid-way.

“Please don’t touch the roses, all the plants here are important for the antidotes and poisons we work so hard to create.” It’s Han, one of the young researchers working alongside Yeonjun. He watches over the greenhouse, keeping the plants well-fed and healthy, always holed up in here to help aid the young genius hacker in his researches.

You know just how important each and every plant here are, yet it doesn’t stop you from the hypnotized state you’re in.

You ignore his touch and warning, further hoping to grab a fist full of thorns.

“Boss, please.” Han’s voice fades into the distance as you see nothing but the thorns before you. “Boss-”

“Y/N.”

Someone rips your attention from the flowers, hands held onto both your shoulders, forcing your body to turn their way, and that’s when you seem to come back to your senses.

“..Mingyu.”

“Have tea ready,” your second in command orders to Han, who in turn nods and walks off, knowing Mingyu always knows what to do.

“I’m fine.” You push him off you to turn from the flowers, a bit weak in your legs, and when he sees that, Mingyu reaches out to help you keep steady.

“I guess we have our next target, huh?” One look at you and the flowers and he understands in an instant. “Yuna will be happy.”

“Yuna’s happy with everyone we face.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “can’t really blame her.”

“Forget it,” you begin to walk off without his help, towards the bench just under the wisterias to take your seat. “I don’t want to face them just yet.”

Mingyu watches you with an observing gaze, and when Han returns with the tea, he lets out a sigh when you sip the drink to help you calm your nerves. The more people you go after, the more drained you become, and the more hysterical your state grows. He can’t blame you, after all, these are the people who have done you so wrong in the past, leaving you with scars both physically and mentally.

“Alright,” he says upon your orders when you give him the cup after a good couple of gulps, body laid over to rest your head against the pillow that’s already there for you when you wish to take your afternoon breaks. When your eyes start to droop, he takes a step to the right to block the glaring sun filtering into the greenhouse.

And Mingyu stays there watching after you like a personal knight whose only job is to watch over and protect the princess.

He hates every second of seeing you suffer all alone.

“The longer you keep this up, the harder it’ll be on your body.” When you look up at him from your cup of tea, Namjoon goes on. “Going after the people that’s pissed you off isn’t an easy job. Not only are many of the people that belong to the shadows tough but they do crazy things to one’s mind as well. You’re a victim to the shadows both physically and mentally.”

“Get to the point, Namjoon.”

“You need to slow down, take a break,” he says, “before you break.”

Break.

Hah. What a strange word.

“You needn’t worry about that, I’m already a broken doll.” It’s such a simple sentence that leaves your lips, as if you were speaking about the weather. You show no amount of emotion, eyes as dead as they were the first time he saw you again after ten whole years.

But even then, your ex-lover can see how drained you are by all of these endeavors. You’re stubborn, refusing to admit to the truth, but he knows just how tired you must be both physically and mentally. What if one day you go too far and there’s no one to save you from the drowning?

“I’m serious,” he states against your protest. Namjoon may not understand what happened through the ten years of your disappearance, the extent to which you were hurting, but even he knows just how much it has affected you.

After all, no sweet person can ever turn dark and emotionless without reason.

“I want to get rid of them as soon as possible.” You look up at him from the hood of your lids, taking a sip of the tea that’s been served for you. You were never really one who desired coffee, and ever since Yeonjun joined the gang, all that’s ever helped to calm your nerves were his tea. “You understand how that feels, don’t you?”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything but you can see the answer in his hesitation.

“So whether you want to stop me or not, I’m not going to rest until they’re all dead. I can’t.” Because your body refuses to let you. Each time you rest your eyes, nightmares will plague your thoughts, and unless your Reapers are there to help you through the episodes, you can never calm from the fear.

Everything scares you the more people you face, the world closing in, the walls suffocating you. Every second you face them, it feels as if your lungs are weighed by a heavy boulder, refusing to let you breathe. But you’d rather face these disgusting, vile creatures, than to know that they still live, walking the Earth as if all the things they’ve done to you is something that should not be considered a crime, as if they had simply crushed a bug with their foot.

You hurt from their pains while they hold their heads up, laughing in their own freedom.

You want your own freedom.

You need it, you crave it.

And you can never achieve it unless they’re gone from the torture they do to your head.

“Fine.” Namjoon knows he can’t stop you, so he relents. “Who’s your next target then?”

A man you’ve been avoiding.

You put the teacup down, resting against the chair, and cross a leg over the other. “I’ll need your help again, if you’re up for it.”

“And this is?”

“Ever heard of the Black Rose?”

He thinks over the question, a slight purse of his lips. “Isn’t that the gang that left for London? They were faring well here so no one knows why they left when the streets of London is much harder to gain control of.”

“They left because of me.”

He looks at you, blinking. “What?”

“The son, Hwang Hyunjin and I had somewhat of a relationship,” you explain. “I wouldn’t say we were close nor would I say we were friends but he supported me as a friend would. He cared for me.”

Namjoon’s brows knit in just the slightest way. “If he cared for you, why would he leave Korea?”

“He cared for me, that’s why he left.”

Hyunjin was the only decent human being that did the things he did in a respectable and accurate manner among all the mafiosos you’ve met. Even though you could never escape the abuse and pain, he still did you a favor by getting rid of someone who would have traumatized you even more than the man already had.

“So then, if it isn’t Hyunjin you’re after, who is it?”

“Who else but his father?”

“You’re walking into dangerous territory, Y/N.”

“Isn’t everything we do dangerous?” You flick your hair to lay behind your back, not wanting to back down. “He has more power in London than you but that doesn’t mean you aren’t influential there either. That’s why I need you on this mission. Hyunjin will be on my side, as well as you. I’ll need both of you to take Mr. Hwang down.”

“How are you so sure Hyunjin will be on your side? This is his father we’re talking about.”

“And you understand just how broken that relationship can be in this world.” Because his own father was never one to care for him. “It may be different from yours, Hyunjin and his father trust each other, but at the end of the day, he left Korea all for me.”

He left Korea for you.

Namjoon wonders what sort of relationship the two of you had, and the reason why the Black Rose left for you.

When he stares at you from across the table, he sees the determination in your eyes, as well as the trust you hold for a man he does not personally know. So you do know how to trust people outside your gang after all.

“Fine.” There’s no reason to refuse you. At the end of the day, he still needs intel on his brother.

With a satisfied smile resting on your face, you stand from your seat. “Great. I’ll see you in London next week.”

“You’re planning to what?” Mingyu is quick to look at you with alarm, his expression screaming protest. “Live out the fantasy he so wanted long ago?” He repeats your words with a disbelief scoff. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“You have no right to protest.”

“I’m your underboss, I have every right to protest.”

“Please my lady, can’t you think of something else?” Yuna speaks up, her lips forming into a tight frown when she looks your way.

“This is the only way to take down Hwang Leehyun and you know it,” you say against their dismay, standing firm in on your decision no matter what they say. “That man thrives off control and if I can manipulate him into thinking he can take me, we’ll have our score settled and I’ll have taken another man down. He has no reason to suspect me.”

“And if it breaks you?”

You laugh sarcastically at Mingyu’s words, a dark chuckle leaving your lips. “How do you break again after you’ve already broken? But then again, perhaps you’re right. A broken glass can never mend itself to the way it used to be, the only thing it can do is break even more.”

“Boss—”

“But I don’t care for that,” you cut him off, the only emotions detected in your eyes are filled with rage and anger. “This is the path I’ve chosen for myself, so whether you like it or not, I will never stop until every last one of them are dead. You have chosen to follow me, do so in silence.”

With that, you turn your back on your Reapers and they know that no matter how against they are with your plans, once your mind is made up, you will never go back on your words.

“And if something goes wrong when I’m with him, I expect you to do nothing.”

You leave them with no room to protest and they can do nothing but watch you from where they stand, a heavy silence hung in the air because they know more than anyone that stopping you is something that can never be done. You live to seek revenge and you will stop at nothing.

Even if that means meeting death on its way.

Even if it will break you even more.

“Boss?” You don’t hear his call even when he runs up to stand before you, an alarming concern marking his features. All you do is stand there, as still as a corpse, with your head lowered and your eyes staring blankly at nothing before you.

Mingyu sees the state you’re in; dressed in a white silky dress, spaghetti straps hanging off your shoulders, disheveled hair, with possessive markings splattered around your skin.

He can feel his hands trembling into a fist as he holds himself back, knowing that whatever he does, he can never let his anger get the best of him. So he settles with trying to reach out for you. You don’t see him, you feel numb and dull, like a living corpse, but when his hand holds out to touch you,

You flinch.

And Mingyu freezes.

His hand hovers in the air, frozen in time, and no matter what anyone tells him, he wants to storm out here right now and land his fist on the very man that did this to you, no matter the consequences.

But he has to consider the consequences because if he tries to do anything to go up against the people that have done you wrong, you will face the consequences and he knows more than anyone that that must never happen.

He wants to protect you yet why is this the only way he can save you?

Why can’t he do more?

Mingyu balls his hand in the air and settles it back to his side, turning to the Reapers that have come along as he clenches his jaws, keeping his emotions at bay.

“Yuna, Dasom. Get her a blanket, clean her up, and take care of her. Make sure she eats well.”

He only addresses the girls and they know. They know why.

Because normally you would never flinch in the presence of Mingyu. Never.

“Yes, Mingyu.”

Yuna hurries to grab a soft blanket and drape it over your shoulders, hiding your revealing skin, and the two of them lead you away from the small little group. You follow willingly without protest, as if you can’t even speak, as if your only purpose in this world is to obey and survive.

Right now you cannot make a decision for yourself, right now you’re numb, you’ve locked yourself out from the world, eyes nothing but dull, empty sockets. Right now you are lost.

Lost in your broken, empty mind.

This is your body’s way of protecting yourself.

Yuna turns to Mingyu, her hand held against his shirt to grab his attention, and a tremor falls in her hand as her grip holds tight.

“I want to save her,” she whispers, a voice barely audible but they hear her. It is a wish they all hold dearly in their hearts. “She…she can’t face him again, Mingyu, not in the same way. Or else…or else…”

“She gave us her command, we can’t go against that,” the second in command states, his emotions held back despite it all. “But there are some people who aren’t obligated to go against her.”

“You don’t mean..”

“They’re the only ones we can rely on to bring Y/N back,” he says despite Dasom’s disapproving glare. “At least we can trust in Jung Hoseok, if anyone.”

“I ask that you protect her well.”

Namjoon sits in his chair, a silent stare at the man who bows before him, and when he looks over at Hoseok, the older man just spares him a silent glance, unsure of what was going on as well.

“You don’t think those are the obligations between two allies, do you?”

“I’m serious,” Mingyu says, his words firm and heavy without an ounce of jest in them. “This mission may as well be one of the most difficult ones my boss will have to face, yet I am not allowed to interfere with her plans.”

“And why is that?” Seokjin asks.

“Because she knows that if I were to be there with her, I may as well stop her and in short, ruin the plan of revenge. Whatever you do, do not stop her, however…” he holds his jaw in, fingers held in a tight fist behind him, “save her…if it so gets to that point.”

The man before them is a man who’s been through a lot, who watched over you and cared for you, a man who truly hopes for nothing but the best out of you. He frets over your safety, concern clearly marked on his face, yet as your subordinate, he is obligated to heed your every order.

“If you’re that worried about her, why don’t you try harder to have her revise her plan? Or better yet, persuade her to leave this be?” Namjoon asks, genuinely curious about his strange resolve.

“Because this is the only way I can save her,” Mingyu says, his expression a sharp, piercing seriousness. “She may be impulsive at times, maybe even bloodthirsty and cruel in her ways of only seeking revenge towards the people that have wronged her, but Y/N’s ambition lies in wanting to seek peace. You and I will never understand her heart but she holds her resolves and she holds her morals and I have every intention of giving everything I can to see her ambition come to pass. I believe that is why I follow her. She has saved me so I will do all that I can to save her. And if saving her means stepping back and having you take care of things for the moment…I hold no protest.”

So that’s how it is.

Both Mingyu and the rest of the Reapers refuse to stand in the way of your dreams. They have sworn themselves to you, from whatever point you’ve met and managed to steal their hearts and souls.

You have a way with people. Even back then when you held no ambitions in killing people, the authority you held had never dissipated. There’s something about you that people can never forget, no matter who they are, and you will always leave an impression in the end.

The Reapers now, your Reapers, are different from any other followers they have ever seen before. They heed your every word, holding them as if they were laws of the world, never to go against you, coming to you the instant you call their names. Loyalty means to have full allegiance and faithfulness owned by a duty, a pledge, or a promise. And the Reapers’ loyalty lies much deeper than that. This isn’t just simple loyalty, this is something much deeper than they can ever imagine.

You saved him, Mingyu stated, which meant you saved the rest of them as well, and in turn, they’ve vowed their lives to you.

“So as someone who cares deeply for Y/N and as people who once held her at the center of the world,” he looks at them with a pointed stare, eyes refusing to look away or even blink, “don’t you think you should at least give her what she deserves?”

What a loyal companion you have.

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helpfandom · 7 months

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ELLO ITS ME @yandere-plague

OK so like I've had this idea for a story for so long and-

Okay so handsome dad is your dad and Nisha is your mom.

BUT Nisha, realising she's pregnant she ditches you somewhere on Pandora.

Another BUT some people from Lynchwood take you in.

So you grow up in Lynchwood and for plot reasons Nisha recognises you. She doesn't kill you but you know she hates you (you have no idea who your parents are)

Randomly you wake up on Helios. Then the fucking hyperion ceo walks in with some doctor and there're like. "Yup they are your kid"

You and Jack just stare at eachother in shock (and horror)

You are obviously scared shitless because you know he will throw you out of an airlock if you do so much as breathe wrong.

But then surprisingly he acts like such a nice dad to you even though you are literally having a panic attack just seeing him in person.

Idk if you want to write for this or something but 🤷‍♀️

I'm so happy I spent like 3 minutes stimming and jumping because it's you! I love your writing, and to have one of my favourite people ask me, ME? for something?

Fun Fact! My longest post in Borderlands is Zane Flynt. Something I wrote as a tribute. To YOU [with 1,049 words] Anyway-

Ask, and ye shall receive.

TW: for Handsome Jack shenanigans, mentions of S3X, Handsome Jack, Perhaps a OOC Nisha, because I didn't play Nisha in Presequel, nor did I know she was in BL2. Allusions to abortion or miscarriage.

It had been a great night between the two that, to be quite honest, they both enjoyed, but unfortunately, Jack happened to have gotten her pregnant.

She was quite disappointed, especially since she got herself roped into giving birth to you rather than trying other methods. So, she gave birth, and then promptly left you in the middle of the road, hoping perhaps a skag wouldn't go hungry that night, or maybe someone who could actually care for you would show up before the animals arrived.

And with that out of the way, onto the real headcanons.

There had been some rumblings of a bandit finding something of importance, something that could help, something they could train. Perhaps it was a new animal for Nisha to hunt, or maybe- She pauses, looking at you, you who had tears in your eyes, clearly scared out of your mind, and yet she still couldn't muster up enough sympathy to care for you. Not when she tried to get rid of you.

So you spend most of your life being trained by psychos and bandits and always wondering why Nisha hated you, why she would glare at you every time you dared to be around her, even with all that you put into being the best there is, the best in Lynchwood, maybe even the best shooter that you could possibly be, and yet the only reaction she will ever have to you is just anger, and disdain.

As you get older, you begin to notice that the worst tasks, the deadliest tasks are sent to you first. Is this because she wants to test you, or because she wants to kill you? You can see in her face the hatred she has at you coming back that it clearly wasn't to test you.

At some point in your teenager years, you begin to stop caring about what she wants from you, what you think she desires from you in order to be seen as something more.

And eventually, she just sells you off to Handsome Jack in order to have him postpone his attack on Lynchwood ever so slightly by giving up the best bandit they have.

So as you sit in a car, wondering where Nisha is sending you off when you arrive at a place with the name Hyperion? Does Nisha want you to take them down from the inside, perhaps?

And yet as you're escorted to a room with a doctor and someone- IS THAT THE REAL HANDSOME JACK? The doctor mumbles something to THE REAL HANDSOME JACK-HOLYSHITHOLYSHIT AM I GOING TO DIE HERE? He turns and faces you, looking at you head on, and then walking towards you with open arms, clearly he must mean to attack, right? He HUGS you?

All the while Nisha hates that she misses you, hates the fact that she kind of liked you? Even though you're a reminder of all that she hates in life, she likes the fact that you tried so hard.

Handsome Jack doesn't care about you at first, only thinking of how this could make him look better or how to use this against his Exes. He could gloat to Moxxi how he can take better care of his child[ren] or how much better it is with him to Nisha. All in all, he doesn't truly care about you till later.

As he notices that you flinch at every little thing, he finds it annoying, he wouldn't hit you unless you need it, and you're his kid, so why do you expect him to hurt you?

That's when he realizes that you don't know about Jack nor Nisha being your parent, so all that you've seen is the one person you look up to hate you, and his own reputation coming back to bite him in the ass.

So he drops the ball onto you.

Of course, this is such a surprising revelation that makes everything make sense, but you can't believe it, after all, would you really go as far as trying to kill your own child?

Yes. They both would.

Besides the fact, you then spend most of your days following the revelation staying alone, processing all that happened, becoming your own kind of therapist in a sense.

And because Jack wants to use you just as Nisha did, he drags you out, slowly becoming attached to you, because who wouldn't become attached to a hobby?

Needless to say, they both intend to use you for what they can, then drop you, but end up becoming attached to you.

#platonic x reader #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #platonic #tw yandere #yandere #headcanon #yandere borderlands #yandere handsome jack #tw abuse #yandere nisha #yandere borderlands 2 #tw abortion #tw miscarriage #bro nisha sucks #Helpfandom's writing

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see-arcane · 1 year

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You mentioned Penelosa's uglyness, and it reminded me of the fact that Jonathan never calls Mina's face beautiful or pretty, remarks her youth etc. In fact, one time he describes the aftermath on her face later that day. "She was very, very pale—almost ghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing her teeth in somewhat of prominence."

Not only did he not feel repulsed, he stayed up the night after, just looking at her sleeping face ("Her lips are curved and her face beams with happiness..." Later-- "How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina’s happy sleep, and came as near to being happy myself as I suppose I shall ever be.") for hours until she woke up and looked at him in the eyes (to make him promise to keep silent).

WARNING: Spoilers for Arthur Conan Doyle's, "The Parasite" and a giant slab of text ahead.

The thing is, even in "The Parasite," we aren't explicitly told that Miss Penelosa is ugly--she's just immediately put in an unflattering light by the narration of the protagonist, Austin Gilroy. His first estimate of her, well before he lets her try mesmerism on him and gets the unpleasant mind control ball rolling, is:

Any one less like my idea of a West Indian could not be imagined. She was a small, frail creature, well over forty, I should say, with a pale, peaky face, and hair of a very light shade of chestnut. Her presence was insignificant and her manner retiring. In any group of ten women she would have been the last whom one would have picked out. Her eyes were perhaps her most remarkable, and also, I am compelled to say, her least pleasant, feature. They were gray in color, — gray with a shade of green, — and their expression struck me as being decidedly furtive. I wonder if furtive is the word, or should I have said fierce? On second thoughts, feline would have expressed it better. A crutch leaning against the wall told me what was painfully evident when she rose: that one of her legs was crippled.

I was worried even before this that Gilroy would have something to throw in about race, as she's written as being from Trinidad--apparently where the party's host, Prof. Wilson's, wife is also from. The only saving grace*** is that apparently neither Gilroy (nor ACD) felt the need to add explicit racial themes to her being ~visually unpleasant~

An unpleasantness that, to Gilroy, seemingly centers only on her being over 40, a little plain, having a bad leg, and cool-ominous eyes. That's it. The horror of it all. (eyes rolling out of my head)

When compared with the kind of descriptions we get for certain male characters in horror literature, ala Edward Hyde's innate rancid vibes, Erik the Opera Ghost's outright decayed-corpse-bad looks, and Dracula just sweating Instant Dread (c) wherever he goes so that it sends everyone into an uneasy panic? It kind of just looks like ACD wrote a character with some shitty opinions about women who don't exist in the Pretty Perfect Maiden demographic on purpose, the better to have a narrative payoff when Penelosa starts making her legitimately creepy puppet master come-ons and acts of increasingly dangerous vengeance.

Doyle invented Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, two of the most forward-minded characters in literature to ever come out of that era. Along with all the extremely varied characters they help and/or cast icy side-eyes at for being the exact type of haughty prick Gilroy is being before Penelosa pulls the rug out from under him.

This is in addition to Penelosa never really being shown such disdain or disregard by any of the other characters. Mrs. Wilson, for the millisecond of screen time she gets, is obviously still a close friend from their history in Trinidad. Prof. Wilson is too enamored with the potential of her gifts when it comes to his own studies to even remember she has any looks to notice. Gilroy's fiancée, Agatha, is likewise thrilled at her talent and the honor of being tapped to demonstrate it at the party and never makes a sour comment about her.

Well before the villainy kicked in, Gilroy is shown to be the only one being an ass (at least internally) about Penelosa's appearance. Although, we do get some choice words from him later as she starts dancing him along to her whims. Such as:

I am for the moment at the beck and call of this creature with the crutch. I must come when she wills it. I must do as she wills. Worst of all, I must feel as she wills. I loathe her and fear her, yet, while I am under the spell, she can doubtless make me love her.

He really cannot help mentioning the crutch. Calling back specifically to her physical condition, rather than just sitting with the already-terrifying prospect that is 'This stranger has decided they want me as a lover. I am already in love, already in a relationship, but they have such total control over me that they can walk me along like a doll against my will. This stranger can force me to do anything and I cannot stop them.' In classic literature terms, just as the situation with Dracula and Mina was, it's all but setting up a neon sign declaring, This is the beginnings of enslavement. This is violation waiting to happen. If something is not done, this could very well end with rape.

But no! Got to mention she's handicapped first! An over-40-years-old creature of a woman! Icky!

Meanwhile, here comes Mr. Jonathan Harker.

Mr. Gets a Good Grade in Sweet Young Man Wherever He Goes.

Mr. Holiest Love.

Mr. Would Rather Die Than Join the Sexy Vampire Ladies in Eternal Bloody Undead Harem Hijinks in the Castle.

Mr. I Will Fight God and the Devil and Turn My Blade on My Own Friends Before I Let Mina Be Slain, Even For the "Greater Good."

Mr. She Will Not Go into that Unknown and Terrible Land Alone.

Jonathan Harker and any kind of 'othering' are not on speaking terms. Not before, and certainly not after, being willing to send himself to Hell to protect and/or join Mina in undeath as a monster. He's made of unconditional love for his wife, on top of being a reflexively polite and friendly golden retriever of a man as a rule, and, as you said, never refers to Mina's beauty as one of her attractive traits. He reserves that just for points of her character. He makes out with her in front of their friends when she successfully figures out Dracula's escape route using her sexy sexy wits. He can admit when she's looking ghastly from suffering the ill effects of the whole mess, plus Dracula's bullshit. It never dents his love for her any more than his illness spoiled him in her eyes. The Harkers don't play like that.

Jonathan especially would have no shitty ageist or ableist commentary to make about Penelosa and would, I'd think, be one of the few people--and likely one of the first men--to be outright gentlemanly toward her, simply because that's just how he is. This combination of general kindness, his all-encompassing devotion to the One He Loves, and the implied notes throughout Dracula that he can swing wildly between lash-batting winsome damsel-gentleman and burning-eyed robust berserker cryptid powered by love is the kind of thing that would be catnip to plenty of lonely hearts.

And, unfortunately, is the very thing that would get Miss Penelosa to switch gears from dragging along Gilroy as a victim of opportunity and turning towards the Romance Lottery Jackpot that is Mr. Harker. She wouldn't even have to use her mesmerism hooks on him to have him be cordial and engaging! Imagine that! This is the same guy who got Count Dracula running on tangents about himself for whole nights at a time (and likely saved his neck for Far Longer than he'd have gotten away with if he were to get Gilroy about it).

Jonathan is--like Mina--very good at getting people to open up about themselves and their stories. He'd legit be casually charming and friendly Just Because, never registering Penelosa's looks however good bad or plain they are. Up until things took the inevitable Oh Shit turn, he'd really think he was just making another friend, never batting an eye about Penelosa's appearance, period.

(Something something, 'This person I'm attracted to was nice to me! I Have Decided We Are Soulmates and I Am Going to Keep Them.' taken to nightmare extremes.)

((I'm sure Mina will take all of this well. :^) ))

#in the mood to ramble about yet another project in the 'Jonathan Harker Gets Menaced' cinematic universe #anyway #helen penelosa #is a lot of things worth being terrified about #but Gilroy's shitty takes about a lady daring to be in middle age and have a handicap don't make the cut #austin gilroy #the parasite #arthur conan doyle #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #my writing

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littleperilstories · 1 year

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The Prince of Thieves: A Cruel Twist of Fate Has Brought Us Together Again

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, blood, aftermath of flogging, mention of attempted sexual assault, mention of death/execution, lady whump

Fun fact! This chapter has its origins in Whumptober Day 11 ( sloppy bandages, self-done first aid) and Day 13 ("Are you here to break me out?"), but literally none of the prompts survived the revival process.

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Word count: 2366 || Approx reading time: 9 mins

A Cruel Twist of Fate Has Brought Us Together Again

Teaser: Noise cracks the silence—a door screeching open, voices and clanking chains, scuffling footsteps and curses. I blink. A ragged breath catches in my chest. They’re dragging someone in. A girl—that girl.

Will

Wakefulness is not my friend.

How… How did I get here? My memory is hazy. Why does everything hurt like hell?

I’m lying on my stomach—not how I would normally sleep. Who in their right mind would press their bare face into the grime that passes for a floor in here? Trying to move, though, reminds me exactly why I’m lying face-down in muck.

Fifteen lashes with the cat. Hatchett’s voice, as stony and cruel in my memory as it is in life, sends a chill down my spine. How could I have forgotten the moment he sentenced me to yet more pain, every ounce of his barely contained wrath trained precisely on me?

My feet ache from being hit, but not in the same way that my back screams in agony. Hatchett was probably right when he predicted I would walk away from the whipping post after the first round—in pain, sure, but not incapacitated.

He’d have been right, that is, if I hadn’t set myself for the second part.

God, what was I thinking? Tears burn my eyes as I make another feeble attempt to move. Tracking the memories backwards is a struggle when the only thought I can conjure is, This hurts this hurts this hurts this hurts so fucking much. But I have to concentrate, try to remember. I…I was angry. Really pissed off. Why? Aside, of course, from having every eye on me while they flung me around like a sack of potatoes and let Michaelson hit me as hard as he wanted—

A scream, shrill and tearful, cuts through the fog in my mind. “Stop it!”

Fuck. The girl. That’s what it was.

When her gasp first caught my attention, and she was staring at me with more than just pity and horror, as if she recognized me somehow, I had no idea who she was. I remember thinking at the time, though, that it was a relief to see someone looking at me with something other than disdain.

But I do remember who she is. It’s come back to me now. She’s the same runner I met in that alley two years ago, the night I tried to walk home with a gash in my side and would probably have bled or frozen to death if Jamie and Colette hadn’t found me.

The memories are flowing freely now, too fast, out of control. Then—Colette’s worried face, Jamie’s terror manifesting as anger, that sick fucker trying to take something that did not belong to him, that girl’s fingers on my skin, her staring up half-dazed and teary-eyed as she tried to wipe the blood from my face. As she tried to offer some semblance of comfort to me, after what she’d just been through, while her own hands still trembled.

Today—Hatchett glaring down at me, so many eyes watching me being beaten, her tears, her cry to stop the whipping, the crack in her voice as our esteemed constable made her count to the last stroke.

Fuck.

Fury boils through me again, but my body won’t move, can’t move, and with no way out, it simmers down again to quietly churning anger. The bastards can do what they want to me. I know what fate awaits me, what I have chosen by refusing to talk.

But some girl from the line of prisoners, obviously distraught and trying to be kind…

Grunting, I try again to pull myself to a sitting position, to no avail. Deep breaths—one, two. Goddamn, I think my entire body might be on fire.

I vaguely remember now, coming back here. I don’t think I was fully out, but I don’t think I was fully in, either. Distant voices, pain blooming all over me, the medic grumbling… Yes, Gysborne, that slimy bastard. Said it was time for his midday meal and he’d come back around later to check my back if he remembered to. He’s still pissed off about the escape attempt and the enormous bruise I left on his ugly face. Seems I’ll be paying for it for a while yet.

Wonderful. The cuts on my back where the whip split the skin… Going to be raging with infection in no time.

The torch in the wall taunts me with its weak imitation of the sun, and a dark laugh rises weakly inside my chest. Wasn’t I wishing to be back outside and see the sky? Isn’t that part of what prompted me to run? Guess I got my wish. Turns out it wasn’t worth it. At all.

I need to move. Lying like this keeps pressure off my back, which is fine, but my still-healing shoulder is taking too much of my weight, and now it hurts, too.

When I’m finally sitting up, muscles shaking and sweat stinging my eyes, I glance down at my shoulder. Wet darkness has seeped into the bandage. Bleeding again. When the hell did that happen?

So much for healing well…the whole reason Hatchett was allowed to go through with my punishment in the first place.

The spectre of infection haunts me again. Maybe Gysborne just won’t come back at all—I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s almost a happy thought. If fever gets into my blood, rages through me like a storm, then I won’t even have to face the gallows. Wouldn’t that piss Hatchett off? If after all his efforts to keep me here until I spill every last IA secret, I died because his dumb fucking medic couldn’t do his job properly?

Sitting up is uncomfortable, but I don’t have much of a choice between my weeping shoulder and my shrieking back. I can feel every sizzling cut and how they, disturbed by the shift from lying down to sitting, ooze sluggish trickles down my skin.

Noise cracks the silence—a door screeching open, voices and clanking chains, scuffling footsteps and curses. I blink.

A ragged breath catches in my chest. They’re dragging someone in. A girl—that girl. She’s struggling against their grips, the pale cotton of her dress blinding against the dark blue of their uniforms. Nothing she does will dislodge their hold, of course, but the colourful words she’s spitting at Hatchett make her displeasure very clear. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so awful.

She’s still in chains when they stop, although Hatchett is kind enough to unlock the ones on her wrists before he shoves her into the cell next to mine.

“Until we speak again, Miss Cooper.” The smarmy voice makes bile rise in my throat.

The firelight casts a positively feral look across her features, but Hatchett is unfazed—already slamming the door and locking it.

His gaze flicks over to me, just for an instant, and when he sees that I’m awake and upright, his lip curls. Until we speak again, thief.

As he and the guards retreat and the far door closes, darkness reigns once more, leaving me and the girl alone in silence and frail, flickering light.

Miss Cooper. Just like Ezra, Hatchett knows her name. Unlike Ezra, he’s locked her up instead of killing her.

She presses a hand against her mouth, stifling a quiet sob. It strikes me she probably doesn’t know that I’m even here.

I’m about to speak, to say something innocuous like “Hello,” but when I attempt to inch a little closer to her cell, the chain on my ankles makes a scraping rattle across the floor, and the movement sends a wave of pain through my back so intense that instead of forming words, I just groan.

She jumps, startled, and then gasps.

“You’re…”

It’s difficult to know what is supposed to finish that sentence. You’re…alive? Awake? That moron who got humiliated in front of everyone today? One of the inner circle? The man from that night? A complete and total idiot?

Confusion slashes across her face, furrowing her brows and parting her pale lips. She must be cold. “I—Why did you…” Her words cut off again. “Are you all right?”

She’s asked me that before, and I’ve asked her. My side, still bearing a faint scar where that man sliced into the skin and Geoff neatly stitched me back up, twinges at the memory. “Uh… I’ve been better.”

She moves closer to the bars that separate us, her shackles dragging on the floor. “You didn’t have to— I’m sorry— It’s my—” She pauses and sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Her unbruised, unblemished skin is stark against the darkness that surrounds us. Hatchett didn’t hang her like that other runner, and it doesn’t look like he beat her, either. Which is good, of course, but it begs the question… Why?

I don’t know what to say to something like I’m sorry they hurt you. They’ve been hurting me. They’re going to continue hurting me. It’s easier to change the subject. “Did he question you?”

She nods, glancing away as if I won’t notice the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I had nothing to give him. And I told him that.” She wraps her arms around her knees. “He’s going to hang me, isn’t he?”

I swallow. I don’t know how to answer that, either. Silence sits between us until she, too, changes topics.

“Does it…hurt a lot?” The girl doesn’t sob at the prospect of her impending death. Not right now, not in front of me, anyway. She just angles her head and uses her shoulder to wipe the tears that sneak out. Real subtle. “Your…your back? Your feet?”

I let out a shallow laugh. “Oh, my feet are fine.” An exaggeration, maybe, but it’s mostly true. “Not that different from getting whacked on the hand at school.”

She winces. Perhaps she has never felt the sting of a strap or a ruler on her skin. “Did that happen a lot?”

The question with its all-too-obvious answer—yes, almost every day—makes me laugh again, which makes me move, which makes me hurt.

“Your back, though.” Her voice is solemn. She must hear the way my laugh collapses into a grunt of pain. “Can I see?”

I really, really don’t want to turn around. “I can’t move that much.”

“Please,” she says. “Let me look at it.”

For reasons I can’t articulate or understand, I do.

Dragging myself across the cell is nothing short of agony. The bandaged arm doesn’t take much weight. The chained ankles don’t give me much freedom. The bleeding back howls with such pain that my vision swims a little.

I rest my head on my knees when I’m finally close enough that she can examine my battered back. There’s no way I should be so tired from inching across this tiny cell, but I’m dizzy. “Is it bad?”

She hums an affirmation, gentle with an undertone of worry and more than a little horror. “He…he did that.” Almost dazed.

“Yeah. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Are you surprised?”

Her answer drifts through the bars, a whisper. “No.”

Now that I’m sitting this way, I’m stuck here, too tired to move and face her again. I wonder if I should speak, but the cell is still rocking. I keep my head pressed against my knees.

“I know you won’t remember, but…” I certainly don’t need to worry about keeping the conversation flowing. She’s got it covered. “We’ve met before. I— We— It was you. You—”

“No, I remember. I know.” It’s a relief that I don’t have to be the one to bring up that horrible night.

“You do?”

“Yes.” Wind whipping through the narrow backstreets, a cry tearing through the air. “It was snowing. You were in the alley, wearing trousers.” Oh my god, what made me say that part? I think maybe I’ve been punched a few too many times now. “That man…”

“You saved my life.” Her voice cracks. “And I never thanked you properly.”

Really? I want to ask. That’s your big worry right now? Immediately, guilt worms into me. If she’s going to die, if we both are, perhaps clearing unfinished business isn’t the most unreasonable thing to prioritize. “I’m sure you did. But you don’t need to—”

“I didn’t—well, I guess I perhaps did, but I was distraught and probably not making sense and frightened and crying and…”

Lifting my head and looking at her would probably be the right thing to do. I can’t. “Are you… Are you telling me you’ve been worrying about that for nearly two years? That you were upset because something…upsetting…happened?”

“Well—”

“Listen.” I know I shouldn’t be so short with her. But it’s so hard, too hard, to collect my thoughts into the right words and my words into the right tone. All I really want is to stop hurting, and that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Or ever. “I just did what any good person would do.”

She waits, leaves a long pause before she answers. “Good people,” she says softly. “I… I haven’t met many of those.”

Something inside me shudders, breaking through the haze of pain. What the hell has this girl’s life been like?

Jamie and Colette and Geoff, Dad and Ma. Our landlord, from back when Jamie and I were kids, who hated my guts because I was loud and obnoxious but was still kind when he needed to be. Every person who ever caught on that we had money when we should’ve had none and kept their mouths shut and didn’t turn us in. The runners who risk their lives and freedom to steal for IA, all to make life a little better for folks they’ll never meet.

All good people.

There are plenty out there, I want to say. Just not…in here.

I hold my tongue. What point is there in asking questions, prying into her business, or insisting that she’s wrong? After all, I don’t know what kind of life brought her here. Maybe, I think, she doesn’t have anyone like Jamie or Colette or Geoff to give her hope. Maybe, ridiculous as it sounds, this girl has not been as lucky as me.

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Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

[Banner ID: A narrow horizontal, rectangular banner featuring a barred archway. The bars and the stone walls evoke the feeling of a dungeon or prison. There are burning candles on either side of the archway. The title of the story, The Prince of Thieves, appears in white text in the centre of the image. The author's username, abbreviated to LPS from littleperilstories, appears in the bottom right corner in partially transparent text. End ID.]

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darklove9314-blog · 1 year

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A forbidden love/angst prompt set in sort of medieval times where Nesta is a Princess engaged and soon to be married in an advantageous engagement to Lord Eris though she is in love with a simple foot soldier Cassian. He has to endure her fake affection for Eris and they’re secret meetings are always full of passion and despair 😊

Author’s Note: This is part one to this story. It’s probably going to be multiple parts because I love a good slow burn forbidden romance. I hop everyone enjoys it!!!

Nesta Archeron had never been so miserable in her life as she walked side by side with her soon to be Prince, Lord Eris Vanserra, the heat radiating from the relentless sunlight as Nesta pulled out her fan, fanning herself as soldiers and a few healers they had on hand gave her passive looks. Obviously they had not been expecting their princess to show up today or at all as they turned to hide their looks of disgust off their face.

Nesta averted her gaze, moving forward as she asked Eris,

“Remind me again why my father sent us here of all places?” She asked earning a smirk from her betrothed.

“To uphold your end of requirements for being a princess.” Eris answered as Nesta lifted her eyebrows in question.

“Which are?” Nesta asked as Eris sent her a look.

“You’re the princess, shouldn’t you know these things?” Eris inquired as Nesta shrugged.

“Indulge me.”: Nesta replied fighting the urge to roll her eyes, despite the fact that she was first in line for her father’s throne, it was always her sister Elain who was better at being cordual. She had attempted, but she hadn’t been as lovely as Elain or as adaptable as Feyre, like she had been forged from an entirely different cloth.

“Your father claims that your duty here is to sit with the injured solider and let them know that their princess is beside them in this war no matter what.” Eris informed her as her eyes met his.

“And your purpose here?” She asked wondering why they had chosen Eris of all people to accompany her,

“I’m supposed to report to the general of this legion and get a progress report for the king.” Eris confided in her making her bite down on her lip slightly.

“I’d rather take your job, I am the princess after all.” She mused warranting a chuckle from him.

“Which is why you must see to the wounded soldiers. A compassionate queen is as just as a strategic one. Never forget that.”

Nesta bit her lip, trying not to argue that she could be both as they split up, Eris heading towards the generals tent as Nesta headed towards the healers one, two guards that had accompanied her in her travels never straying far from her as she made her way towards the small tent that hosted the worst of the injured.

Nesta composed herself as her guard entered the tent flap, announcing her arrival as a few of the healers and the soldiers inside turned her way. Some looking grateful that their princess had come all this way to check in on them and some sending her stares of resentment and anger.

She hadn’t been sure why, but she had glanced at one of those males giving her those looks, had it not been for that look of disdain Nesta would have thought he was one of the most beautiful men she had ever laid eyes on.

The male in question looked worn down with exhaustion, his eyes holding the horrors of what he had seen on those battlefields as his light brown skin was peppered in scars that told her those stories.

Those hazel brown eyes snagged on her, his jaw clenching slightly before he averted his gaze from her, his attention going back to the healer that was sewing his stitches beside him, giving her a small smile before wincing slightly at the pain.

“Your highness, to what do we owe this pleasure?” A healer asked, she appeared to be slightly older than the others and in charge.

Nesta turned giving the woman a tentative smile as she answered,

“I’ve been sent here by request of my father to check on our soldiers.” Nesta answered her as a snort befell the soldiers she had seen earlier lips.

She turned to him, her gaze narrowed as a blush of embarrassment fell over the healer’s face,

“Forgive him your grace, he is not well, and his injuries are making him forget his manners.” The healer explained, but Nesta did not want to hear excuses, it was quite refreshing to hear opinions from those who did not bow to kiss her feet.

She turned back towards him, lifting one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows as she asked him,

“Is there a problem with me being here Cadet-“

“Cassian.” He answered as Nesta sighed, giving him her full attention.

“Well, Cadet Cassian, can I inquire why you snorted when I told the healer about my reasons for being here?”

His gaze narrowed slightly at her as he relaxed deeper into the cot that he was on, but he was entirely focused on her and her alone. As if they were the only two people in that tent.

“I just find it a load of shit that your father is the one to send us into these wars only to send his daughter to thank us instead of himself. After all how is a spoiled, arrogant princess supposed to make my day better after I nearly bled out on those battlefields.”

A good question indeed, Nesta considered as she swore she heard another solider muttering something about how this cadet must have had a death wish for speaking to his future queen like this. Nesta hadn’t taken offense, she had actually thought it was quite refreshing.

“Forgive him your highness, he has obviously taken one to many blows to the head.” The healers said to her, earning her a glare from Cassian as Nesta answered,

“It is no trouble at all, I do admire a bit of honesty in my day, even if it is from a person who does not know me.” She stated making her way to Cassian as the person who was tending to him scrambled from her seat handing Nesta the supplies as Cassian’s eyebrows lifted,

“Have you ever done this before princess? It’s not like this is a minor cut that you can sew up like one of your coats, not that you probably do your own sewing to begin with.”

Nesta sent a look to the healer, waving her off as she glanced around looking for something to disinfect his wound with.

“Believe it or not my good sir, I have some experience tending to wounds. You’d be awed at how many of my sisters’ wounds I have tended to in my youth.”

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up at that as if he hadn’t expected a different answer than the one she had provided, as Nesta lifted his bandage with a grimace, holding back her urge to vomit at the sight. She had seen wounds before, but none to this caliber.

“Something wrong princess?” Cassian asked seeming to enjoy this as Nesta took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Nothing at all. How did you get this wound, my fair soldier? Did you fall upon your sword?”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, his eyes gazing at her more intensely than any other man’s hand. She wondered how the intensity of his gaze would transfer if it was lustful instead of pure hatred. She guessed she of all people would never know. Not with her betrothed only ten paces away where she should have been instead of in this tent.

“No, My fair lady, I feel upon someone else’s.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that had escaped through her lips at the answer, so fast that she did not have enough time to catch it and a sly and cocky smile escaped Cassian’s lips at the thought that she had actually found one of his jokes worthy of her laughter.

“Best to watch for those pocky objects, you never know what may happen when you come in contact with one.” She replied, glancing at the wound.

“Has this been washed?” She asked, looking at the bucket by her feet.

“It looks like it’s your unlucky day today, princess. The healer was just getting started.”

“Unlucky indeed, it seems as if I must give you the pleasure of my company for longer than you may want it.”

He shrugged, impressing Nesta with his threshold for pain,

“There are more unpleasant things in this world than gazing upon a beautiful face for a couple of minutes.”

She bit down on her lip to suppress a smile as she grabbed a bucket, preparing to help with this soldier as she rung out the rag, gently cleaning Cassian’s wound as she inquired more about him.

“So what made you chose to fight for these lands?” She inquired.

“I’ve always wanted to fight for my country, I could think of no better purpose then to help others who need it most.”

Nesta smiled at that answer, grateful for this man even if he did have a pompous nature.

“A noble cause indeed.” She answered, washing the blood and dirt from his wound as she disinfected it, making sure to get everything she could as she heard a question from his lips.

“What about you?” He asked, the question catching her off guard.

“What about me?” She asked him, ringing out the rag. before her eyes turned to the supplies she would need to sew him back up.

“Do you like being a princess?” He asked as Nesta glanced at that. No one had ever bothered to ask her that, they had always assumed that she had loved her life because she was nobility.

“Sometimes i do.” She confessed, seeming to catch him off guard.

“Would you rather be of our rank?” He inquired as she answered honestly,

“I am not ungrateful for the life I have been gifted, but sometimes I wish that I was not as lonely.. that my moves weren’t always so-looked upon, watched like everyone is waiting to see me fail. To feel what a real friendship and love would feel like.”

Cassian’s eyes softened at her words, as if he hadn’t really thought about what her life could be like aside from the glamour that her family had shown everyone else. Glass houses were always more fascinating from the outside.

“Do you not love you betrothed?” He inquired, seeming flabbergasted by the mere thought of marrying someone for something besides love.

Nesta worked on the first stich as she continued to answer his questions,

“My betrothed is who my parents found well suited for me.” She answered,

“But what do you think of him?”

“Political marriages do not care what the other thinks, they are affiliations that gain people more power. My betrothed comes from a good family with a stellar reputation, and that is all a princess like me could truly ask for.”

“No offense, my princess, but your way of life sounds like utter bullshit.”

She glanced at him, pausing in her meticulous work to avoid messing with his stitches as she answered,

“It is the way things like this work, my brave soldier.”

“So you’re okay with giving someone you do not love children?” He asked as Nesta shrugged,

“It is my duty to do what is expected of me.” She answered as Cassian scoffed,

“That does not sound like love.” He stated,

“What does love have to do about anything?” She shot back knowing that she would not win this argument against him. He wouldn’t get it, he was not like her in the slightest.

“Love should be included in any marriage.” He told her grasping onto her hand as she felt the warmth of it in her own. Surprising her by how much she truly wanted it there.

“Not when it comes to my family.” She told him, continuing with her work as sadness etched in her features,

“What about friends?” He asked as her eyes wandered back up to him.

“What about them?” She asked, trying hard to pull his flesh back together with the suture.

“Surely a princess has a gaggle of friends at her disposal. People she can rely on.”

Nesta smiled slightly at that as she answered,

“I wish friendships were that simple in high society, unfortunately a lot of people make friends with people in power to further their own agenda.”

Nesta swore she could see sympathy in Cassian’s gaze as she caught one of her hands,

“The let me volunteer to be your first true friend.” Cassian offered as her eyebrows stitched together.

“You would want to be friends with a princess? I didn’t think that was your style.”

A smile curved up on his lips as he winced slightly at one of the stitches she had done.

“It’s always nice to make new friends. Some of the ones here can be not as friendly.”

“Who says I’m friendly?” She asked with a smile intriguing him slightly.

He shrugged, watching her sew another stitch, so close to closing the injury that Nesta was surprised she actually did a good job on this particular wound.

When she was finished, Cassian grasped Nesta’s hand, his feeling warm in her own, a perfect fit. Almost like. She shook her head slightly, she shouldn’t be having thoughts like that when she was promised to another.

“Thank you.” He told her, laying back on the cot as Nesta washed the blood off her hands.

“You’re most welcome. It’s the least I could do for someone who tires his best to keep my court safe.”

“Perhaps you should visit more often, show the men and women here that you’re more than a one and done kind of royal.”

“I’ll take your idea into consideration.” She told him though she felt that this would not be the last time she would see Cassian, not by a long shot.

Nesta was talking with another solider, fetching more water for the healer at hand when she heard the flap of the tent open, and her betrothed step through, his nose crinkling at the sight of the injured soldiers before making his way over to her, his eyebrow raised at the state of her attire.

She glanced down, seeing that her once cleanly dress had dirtied through the day, not that she had minded, but Eris’s face told another story.

“Your dress-” He started, but she cut him off before he could say more.

“Can be fixed and mended when we get back to court.” She glanced back, a look she couldn’t quite grasp on Cassian crossing his face as he averted his eyes from her and Eris.

“Speaking of which, I promised your father that I would have you back at a reasonable time. Are you ready to go?”

Nesta nodded, washing her hands thoroughly to make sure she had gotten everything off of them before she slipped her hand in Eris’s, glancing back once more and sending the others a wave before she made it back to her court with her betrothed, not knowing that this interaction would change the course of her life forever.

#nesta archeron #nesta #cassian #nessian #anon ask #anon request #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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madamhatter · 6 months

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Having the chance to confront your father and his mistakes or never knowing about any of them to begin with, living in blissful ignorance?

send me this or that questions for my muse / accepting. make them funny, make them personal, make them embarrassing. anything that you want, just make them choose!

Inscribed in the catacombs of her chest, unresting and howling, is a heart that should be collected and slow, guarded by the dark hidden alongside secrets. Her marred hand, now fist, presses down against her chest, feeling the erratic drumming almost bursting from its cage. Inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale—she reminds herself the longer her eyes are in horror at the words before her.

The unraveling of Sophie Hatter comes quickly and discretely in the form of crumbled paper lying flat in her other hand's palm. Exhumed from the hearth of the beyond is the reality of a miserable daughter, a hopeless devotee to the scripture of a deceitful father.

Loving someone wholly who nearly devastated everything for which you've labored yourself to bone, blood, and muscle—how does one navigate that? Resentment, anger, and being unable to forgive—trust sullied by the reckless actions of a prideful man, too proud to admit his wrongdoings, adored and admired. That is how someone is meant to feel.

In the farthest depths comes a sliver of a meek voice, lost and young, pleading to one who would not answer: What is wrong with me? A morsel of disdain and anger does not come, as do weeps and misery. Behind the illusion of nostalgia and childhood memories, I see the man who pulled the wool over my eyes, Martha's eyes, Lettie's eyes, and my own mother's. Every smile he wore was a lie, every word was ungenuine, and his love was—what even was his love? Was it love at all?

No matter the knowledge of his misdeeds, Sophie's mind rattles in dissonance and indecision.

Naive trust and innocent laughter in her childhood mix together a concoction of haze and deflection. The man called "Father" now was once "Papa" to that copper-haired, double-braided trouble-prone girl. She was a child that the seamstress sees occasionally in her stupors into daydreams, where the sun traces through bright blonde highlights while running on the patio and downdandelion-dotted hills.

In every recollection of that girl with him, the apparent and visible features on his face blur and darken, obscuring his face. Only his eyes and mouth are all that she sees. Every pearly-white grin had eyes that wrinkled too much; every laugh never completely reached his face; and every nonchalant sigh accompanied his remorseful eyes. Every combination contradicts the other.

For every 'I love you,' did he say it more often because he knew what he had done or to dissuade any person realizing wrongdoings? For every embrace, did he squeeze tighter because of the guilt that festered or to be twice as convincing?

You almost destroyed our family, which I tried so hard to keep together. The very thing you started was almost ruined by your own selfishness. Everything I held together was breaking at the seams, and I always mended them. Now, I know you're the reason why everything is falling apart now. And you're not even here to see it.

A sharp, audible exhale breaks Sophie's trance; her eye sockets are sunken and her eyes glaze as she spends this entire time staring at the paper.

The shop's familiar old groans reach her, almost as sharp as knives, as she winces. Her hand, flat, closes with the folded paper barely crumbling. There was not an ounce of strength of emotion to be found in her grip; she was just meek and helpless. Her eyes flutter as she looks upright, her gaze distant.

"What a strange query."

"Sebastian Hatter, my father, has never done anything wrong."

#( checkbooks inquiries and much ; answered asks )#[ DAMN.. SOMEONE READ MY HCS. ]#[ this is VERY late but tyvm anon. many kisses for you!! ]#[ i actually did envision this happening sometimes -- most likely in type.moon verse because there are Many Ways. ]

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cream-and-tea · 2 years

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LAY ME DOWN. chapter seven excerpt. unedited. featuring: a tumble through a (very magic, very dangerous) painting which leaves pallas and agnes somewhere they shouldn’t be. agnes being very disoriented and pallas being very condescending. vague fucked-up-magic-library shit.

[Transcript under the cut]

been having a lot of fun with The Library lately so i thought i’d share this scene where i get to show off some description :)

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @nicola-writes @doctormoss @gerbermatter @cactusprincewrites @houndmouthed @muddshadow @aeipathys @just-wublrful @midnights-melodiverse @corkywantstowrite @paradisiacalshroud @andromedatalksaboutstuff

“What was that?” Agnes wheezes in horror, propping herself up from the dusty carpeted floor.

“Midnight on Sixteenth Street. Modern art. You’re lucky I showed up, did you even check for a label?”

She doesn’t get time to respond as a hand grabs the front of her blouse and drags her bodily upwards. Her feet leave the ground, hair floating up around her face as if underwater, gravity vanishing as the room twists and unravels again, showing rotating starscapes in the spaces between shelves and paneled walls. And then it’s over in an instant and she’s left on her feet, staring dizzily into Pallas’s razor-edged, annoyed little face. They let go of her, doing a very good impression of someone who hasn’t just faced certain death in a twisting star-vortex and come out completely unscathed.

“What was that?”

“Bit slow on the uptake here,” Pallas says blankly, taking a second to scan the room. The purple carpet embroidered with constellations, the dark wood of the walls, the shelves upon shelves of milky crystal, most carved into balls but others dangling and uncut, and still others shaped delicately to look like stars or eyes. “You’ve just fallen into some storage space, prophecies if I had to guess.”

At this Agnes can only say, utterly broken: “What?”

Pallas brushes past her with a disdainful snort, their massive jacket flapping like wings on a bat. “Don’t gawk like an idiot, they’re ancient and entirely unimpressive. Seven-hour ritual requiring a true name and burning an entire remnant, and what do you get? Nothing but smoke and mirrors.”

Agnes turns to gawk like an idiot while Pallas presses a single finger to the iris of one of the carved-glass eyes, staring as the foglike substance trapped within it plumes and billows at the touch, forming vague shapes and patterns before they pull away. The neat label underneath the eye reads Baroque, Lilith, 1958. Pallas scoffs. “No wonder the method isn’t taught anymore.”

Agnes briefly considers that maybe she’s still floating in space, that her feet haven’t quite touched the ground. She’s lightheaded and frazzled as her begothed saviour glides by with a beckoning hand, making their way towards the exit. She just stands, wide-eyed and dazed, not really able to move.

“How– wha–“ She searches for words that won’t come to her tongue. A thousand wonders, a million unanswered questions. “How did you even find me here?”

“I’ve been following you since you left your room.” Pallas replies simply. “I knew something like this would happen. Do you have any other pressing questions before we leave this sad monument to human desperation?”

Agnes blinks. “If you knew something like this would happen then why didn’t you do something when the- the art started to eat me!?”

Pallas spins to face her in a whirl of thick black coat and short black hair. “I didn’t think you’d go tumbling into the first clearly unlabelled painting you came across! My apologies for assuming you had a modicum of common sense in that thick skull of yours.”

“And you expect me to know that like it's just normal or something?” She blurts suddenly, without even meaning to. It comes out something like a yell and sends waves of pain down her throat. Pallas sighs in response, pinching the bridge of their nose between two fingers.

“No. But I expected you to at least exercise some degree of caution.”

There’s a buzzing under Agnes’s skin, a weird kind of restless frustration that she can’t put words to. She opens and closes her mouth, then looks down at the star-spattered carpet, meeting Pallas’s eyes is making her feel twinges of vertigo, she can’t hold their gaze for long. More than that is the fact that they’re probably right. Just because she got a bed and a warm bath doesn’t mean this place is any safer than the forest. At least in the trees you know what’s trying to kill you, here it could be anything lurking in any dark corner or high shelf, looking completely harmless and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The woman in the dark said it wouldn’t be easy. She needs to be careful if she wants to survive, needs to stick close to this person and their bloody magic that cuts to the bone. That’s the only way to stay safe. Agnes nods silently, hugging her arms around her chest, and feels Pallas shift even though she’s not really looking at them. She’s yet to see any emotions from them that aren’t absolutely terrifying and mildly annoyed, so she must be imagining the relief that relaxation seems to bring.

“Again,” Pallas needles, turning and resuming their pace to the hovering exit-painting. “Any more burning questions for me to answer before we get out of here, or are you done for the day?“

Agnes considers, fiddling with the soft orange-brown knit coating her arms.

“Where’re my clothes?” She finally asks, falling into limping step behind Pallas, chancing a single glance upwards.

“Probably burned, or vanished.” They put a hand and foot into the painting's floating frame, boosting themself up into it. “You don’t exactly need them anymore.”

Agnes looks down at the white blouse, thick cardigan, and pants tucked into brown lace-up boots, adjusts the red bandanna in her hair. There's a sick pang, a roiling deep in her stomach. Her dress and sweater were rough, but they felt like home, and now they’re gone just like everything warm and safe is also gone.

Not everything, she reassures herself, fingering at the tiny cross around her neck.

“You coming?” The person perched in a painting looks at her with hurricane eyes, one pierced eyebrow raised. Agnes starts, and nods, and hurries forward as fast as her hurt ankle will allow. Pallas vanishes in an instant, and when she hesitates just in front of the backwards Midnight on Sixteenth Street a pale hand slips back in, warping the mirror-image like ripples on water. Agnes only has to pause for a second before taking it, multitude of rings cutting into her palm, and letting herself be dragged through.

#welcome back to Agnes and the Awful Horrible No Good Very Bad Day #like babygirl i’m so sorry it’s for the character development i promise #you get a happy ending. i just need to put u through the horrors first #wip: ghost story #creme does a writing

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potassium-pilot · 2 years

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FFXIVWrite 2022, Day 21: Solution

(A/N: My friend and I are developing an AU, and this was written to honor that. Meet Bea Adore, a Keeper of the Moon non-WoL adventurer. I’m basically taking the Lodestone story and stuffing her into it)

The Shiokaze Hostelry of Kugane, storied for its hospitality and spectacles, held the former Azure Dragoon and his traveling companion, the tiny dragonet Orn Khai. Estinien sat bored, holding up sarume for the dragonet to sear to perfection.

And now here we are, a spectacle to drunkards, he thought.

It was then that a guest of an odd nature appeared- at least, odd to Kugane. Few ever see a Keeper of the Moon miqo’te travel outside of their abodes, but here was one with dark red hair, maroon eyes, and bluish-grey skin out in the middle of Hingashi. They seemed to stare at Orn Khai in horror.

“Welcome to the Shiokaze Hostelry!” Orn Khai greeted cheerfully. The miqo’te stepped closer and closer to the table, and bent down to get a better look.

“Is something the matter?” asked Orn Khai.

“Sir, did you know your lizard could talk?”

Estinien had to hear that question from her with his own long ears. Granted, after sending him on a wild goose chase for a dragon that turned out not to be a dragon, he couldn’t help but feel a bit gratified by the question.

“Aye, though appearances can be deceiving. What you see before you is a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Soon, Orn Khai felt his ribcage be compressed by the hands of this curious patron and soon was held in the sky aloft. “Hey! Put me down!”

“If the Twelve didn’t want you to be picked up, why did they make you so pickup-able?”

“The Twelve didn’t make me! My people don’t hail from Hydaelyn!”

Halone save him, this is the first time that Estinien had felt like laughing in weeks. After a moment of examining him, the miqo’te put him down. “Sorry, I should have asked for your permission first”, she apologized to Estinien.

“What about mine?!” Orn Khai demanded.

“Pets don’t talk, Orn Khai”, Estinien teased. The dragon growled and looked away. “What’s your name?”

“Bea.”

“Hm. Odd name for a Keeper of the Moon.”

“You know our ways?”

“I’ve met all kinds in my travels.”

Bea’s face brightened. “Per chance, have you met someone named Dia Sito?”

“Heh, you could say that. She pulled a dragon’s eye out of my shoulder once and threw it off a bridge at the risk of her own life.”

Bea gasped. “Have…have you seen her recently?”

“Hm. Last I saw her, she fell unconscious in battle and I dropped her off in the care of the Lord Commander.”

“What’s a Lord Commander?” Bea asked before remembering a previous conversation. “Hey wait…black hair, Elezen, tall, nice voice?”

“Er…I’ve no comment for the voice, but that seems to fit the bill.”

“Oh, I know him! I’m Eric or something like that!”

His eyebrows furled in curiosity. “You’re what?”

“That’s his name! ‘I’m Eric de Boring’.”

“Do…do you mean Aymeric de Borel?”

“Oh yeahhhh…well, good for him for taking care of her.”

Keep yourself together, Varlineau. Keep it together.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice of Tataru yelling, “There you are!” Across the way, Tataru and Krile waved, then stepped towards him.

“Oh, I like your cat ears”, Bea complimented Krile.

“Thank you”, Krile said before she started bursting out laughing at Estinien. “Forgive me, I had heard that the Azure Dragoon had hung up his lance. But I did not expect that he would take up the serving trays in its stead.”

Bea’s face showed a clear disapproval before they showed it to Estinien, who seemed to wear a look of disdain for whatever it was that Krile had in mind. He stood up and told Orn Khai, “‘Tis time we went our separate ways, little one. But so long as you remain here, you shall not want for comfort. Fare you well.” He turned to Bea and said, “You too. Our time was short, but memorable.”

After he said this, he grabbed his bag and leapt upward to the second floor. Bea stared in amazement at his flexibility. Tataru shook her head. “Well, now where could he be?”

“He has so few places left to go. We’ll find him”, Krile reassured.

“What do you even want him for?” Bea asked. “He seemed to just mind his own business with his lizard.”

“Dragon!” Orn Khai protested.

“It’s a mission of grave importance, I’m afraid. Otherwise, I would dare not disturb his deserved retirement”, Krile answered.

“Hm. Well, nothing to it but to keep going. Nice meeting you all.” Bea ran out of the Shiokaze Hostelry and continued her own mission.

—————

Kugane Ohashi seemed to be the last place anyone would look for anyone. This helped Estinien find some comfort, and a nice perch to settle into alone.

At least, so he thought.

He found Bea there at the top, and yelped at seeing them, making Bea yelp back.

“Fury! What are you doing up here?!” He demanded.

“A local told me that Dia was seen fighting someone here, so I was hoping I could find clues.”

Estinien blinked, then slowly let down his guard. “Then why are you up here?”

“Well…I found nothing. I was hoping that maybe I could find some inspiration up here.”

As he slowly lowered his body to sit, he asked her, “Why do you seek her out in the first place? She’s rather busy, and I bet she’s still recovering from her travails in her battle against Zenos.”

“Zenos? That the big guy with the greasy blond hair and the big arse?”

Estinien frowned. “Again, I cannot comment on arse size…but that would be him.”

“Eugh. I know she didn’t like him.”

“Can’t say I do either.”

They shook their head. “She’s been kind of helping me in this adventuring stuff.”

“Oh?”

With a nod, Bea continued, “I only knew my tribe for so long. When I finally left my home to see more, I was…disappointed. But she was different. She and I bumped into each other in the Carline Canopy one day, and we’ve been adventuring together since. But we got separated after she was banished from the Eorzean Alliance, then reunited once Ishgard opened its borders, then separated again after she got her arse handed to her by the guy with the bigger arse, then reunited again after she killed the big primal dragon thing in Ala Mhigo. Now I fear I may have lost her again.”

“Did you check the Rising Stones?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t know where she is either.”

Estinien hummed gravely. “This bodes ill…”

“Why?”

“Because now I think I understand why those insufferable Lalafells are after me.”

As if on queue, the Lalafells in question appeared behind him. “You realize that they won’t let you pass into Shishu there without one of these?” Krile asked, holding up her entry permit.

Estinien stared in horror.

“I have to admit, you’re quite good at finding”, Krile admitted to Bea. “Good on you for locating him before we did.”

“Wait, you have it all wrong, I—“ Her explanation was interrupted by the sounds of Estinien leaping off his perch and onto the mast of a nearby ship sailing through.

“Whoa…”, Bea whispered.

“Believe me, he’s capable of more than just that. Did you know he destroyed a massive cannon with one concentrated jump?” Krile gave that small fact. “We need him.”

“Hm. Well, I didn’t quite mean to put myself between you and your search, so I’ll just er…go that way. Good night, ladies.” Bea then left behind Kugane Ohashi.

—————

It took several minutes of effort, and several failed attempts at the jump, but soon, Estinien found himself clawing at the roof of Kugane Castle. After a moment, he pulled himself upward, panting and walking exhaustedly towards the railing on the top of the roof. When he looked up, however, who did he see but his familiar new friend, Bea?

“Fury! How long?” Estinien demanded.

“Oh, at least a bell. Dango?” Bea offered.

“Hand me a piece”, he accepted. Bea pulled off a piece and handed it to him, where he proceeded to shove the whole ball in his mouth. “Now what compelled you to scale the damn tower?”

“I was hoping that maybe a bird’s eye view might help in my search.”

“Of course you did.”

“Now tell me how you do all those jumpy moves.”

Estinien couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “I’m a dragoon. It’s in my training.”

“Oh, Dia told me about dragoons once. She said she knew this one, a right cranky bastard when they first met, cold and distant, and never bothered to shower after being covered in dragon blood for days, but she warmed up to him after a trip through a cloud or something like that. Do you know him?”

“Were those her words specifically?”

“Well, I put two and two together after she told me all the events that took place with him. She didn’t actually call him anything.”

“Ah. Well, allow me to introduce myself- I’m the right cranky bastard.”

Bea choked on her dango. Estinien gave a good smack on her back which helped her reswallow her food. “All right?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry about the cranky bastard comment.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Bea smiled. “So you’re Estinien Wyrmblood then?”

“Wyrmblood was a title. My real last name is Varlineau.”

“Oh. Well, nice to meet you. Bea Adore, at your service.”

“Well met.”

They stared out at the starry sky above them, a magnificent sight considering they were far closer to the heavens where they sat.

“So…you mentioned how you two met, but I still don’t understand why you go to such lengths to find her. What do you need her for?” Estinien inquired.

“Need?”

“Has something happened where you require her services?”

“N-no, nothing of the sort. I just wanted to see my friend again.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you crossed hundreds of malms of oceans and performed a full stakeout for her for…entirely sentimental reasons?”

“We were supposed to go to Radz-at-Han together. When she didn’t show up at the Carline Canopy like we agreed, I grew worried that we separated again.”

“Ah. What did you need to go to Thavnair for?”

“Kicks. Shites and giggles. Funsies. You name it.”

Estinien shook his head. “You adventurer types.”

“She was excited to see the weaves of Thavnair.”

“Of course she was.”

Bea smiled and asked, “Haven’t you ever sought out someone for sentimental reasons?”

As he remembered his own journey to Ysayle’s resting place in Azys Lla, he couldn’t deny that sometimes, the journey was worth the time it took. “I have.”

“So it’s not that weird.”

“Perhaps not. Forgive me, when it comes to people looking for Dia, I have my suspicions- especially the Lalafells.”

“Who are they anyway?”

“Tataru Taru and Krile Baldesion of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. The pink-clad one is far more fearsome than she looks. Don’t underestimate her.”

She giggled a bit and said, “Fair enough. If it helps, I’d seek you out for sentimental reasons.”

He scoffed. “You hardly even know me.”

“Well, can I get to know you?”

He wasn’t sure how to take that question, though perhaps somewhere deep down, he felt flattered. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Neither would I. So let’s do that.”

“Fine by me.”

Bea grinned. “So what brought you to Hingashi? You seem a long way from home if you’re from Ishgard.”

Estinien nodded. “A fair point. After retiring from my post, I chose to keep moving, considering that a far better fate than forcing my fellow countrymen to remember me. One thing led to another, then I was approached by that dragon you met earlier who asked me to help him seek out Seiryu, one of the legendary auspices. Unfortunately, his request ended up landing me in the hostelry as a tourist attraction.”

“Oof, that sucks. There’s one thing you mentioned that bothers me though.”

“Oh?”

“Why wouldn’t people want to remember you? You don’t seem like someone people wouldn’t want around, especially if those Lalafells are any indicator.”

Would he explain to this woman he just met that he was once a monster set upon destroying his home, even though his faculties weren’t his own? Would he explain how he nearly ruined the chance of peace between man and dragon by piercing Vidofnir with a lance? Would he explain that he refused to stick around and be the object of disdain of his own people?

Before he could form the words, he heard it- the sound of the Lalafellan duo giggling. He rushed to the edge of the roof and stared down at a nearby walkway. A Sekiseigumi guard led them by lantern light.

“What sorcery is this?” Estinien whispered.

“What’s happening?” Bea whispered next to him.

“We’re making our escape.”

“Oh. Well, they might see us by the time we climb down.”

“Perhaps if we use the traditional method.”

Bea blinked. “What?”

“You said you wanted to get to know me, yes? Then know this: I will not let any harm come to you.”

“Ohhhh-kayyyy, but I still don’t understand.”

He scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of popotoes. “Hang on tight and don’t scream.”

“What the-what-i-!” Before she could babble any further, Estinien jumped off the side of the castle and fell down the side of the castle away from the Lalafells’ view. Bea did her best not to scream, but dear gods, the man was crazy.

And she liked it.

Once he landed, Estinien placed her down and asked, “All right?”

Dazed and confused, her heart racing, and her breath erratic, she nodded.

“Good, because we’re going this way.”

He took hold of her right hand and led her towards the docks that would lead him out of the city. As soon as they found a bench, Bea collapsed onto it, and Estinien sat calmly next to her.

“Do you do that with everyone you meet?” Bea asked out of breath.

“Nay, only you. You’re the only one with who I would dare try that.”

Bea laughed. “Well, maybe don’t try that again for a while. I need some time to recover.”

“It was a necessary act, believe me.”

“I do. Though, if they’re being this stubborn, is it not worth it maybe to hear them out?” Bea proposed.

“The more they pursue, the more scarce I wish to make myself.”

Bea frowned. “That sounds a bit petty.”

“Petty?”

“Or perhaps silly…it sounds like you’re treating this like hide-and-seek, but you’ll not let them have their turn.”

“Will it make you feel better if I let them talk to me?” Estinien asked.

“A little bit.”

“Then we’ll wait. If patterns are any indication, they’ll be here shortly.”

“All right. In the meantime, how long were you in Ishgard? I went there a lot to visit Dia, but never ran into you.”

“When did you start visiting?”

“After Ishgard opened its borders.”

“I was far away from there by the time that happened.”

“Oh. Well, that sucks. Did you have any friends there, aside from Dia?”

“There was one.” He let out a small laugh and asked, “What did you call him? ‘I’m Eric?’”

She laughed and replied jovially, “Yeah.” They laughed together for a moment before he answered, “That would be my oldest friend.”

“I never met the guy- Dia says he’s a workaholic so he doesn’t get out much, so she goes to him quite a bit- but from what she told me, he sounds like a good friend to have.”

“I agree.”

“Anyone else?”

“No one else alive, no.”

“Oh. Sounds like you need more friends.”

Estinien hummed in a begrudging agreement. “When I was Azure Dragoon, social concerns were not my priority. I stuck mainly to training.”

“Well, you’re retired, right?”

“Indeed, I am.”

“Then it’s time to retire that mindset too.”

“You believe that to be true?”

“It is.”

Estinien gave a half-smile. “You’re a curious being. Picking up talking creatures you’ve never seen before, perching on high places, chatting up men you’ve never met before. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You’re not exactly the most normal guy in the world either.”

He laughed a bit and replied, “Aye, you’re right. Perhaps our quirks differ us from our neighbors more than I imagined.”

“All the more reason for you to make more friends. You’ll need weirdos like me in your corner.”

He nodded. “Mayhap I do. A fair while has it been since I’ve been interested in idle chatter.”

“Oh, I have lots of that!”

“Good. On that boat, we may have need of it.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever the Kuroboro Maru takes us.”

“Oh, that sounds safe”, Bea remarked sarcastically.

Estinien smirked, then turned to face the ocean of the port ahead of them. After a few moments of silence, he said, “It must have been some time since the two of you saw each other last.”

“Not since she got called to the Ghymlit Dark, no.”

“Hm. Well, seems I keep having more and more information you don’t have.”

Her eyes lit up. “What? What do you know?!”

He smirked again, but before he could say anything, he heard Krile say, “Anyone would think you were trying to avoid us!”

“And right on cue”, he muttered to himself. It was then that Krile fell to one knee, clutching her head as she was clearly in pain. Tataru kneeled next to her and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Did she drink too much?” Bea asked.

“I don’t think what’s happened here is the result of alcohol”, Estinien answered warily, kneeling down to try and help somehow. However, she started laughing not long after.

“What? What’s so funny?” Bea asked.

“Oh, Estinien…never would I have imagined…” Krile said between her fits of laughter.

“Did you see something from his past?” Tataru asked.

Bea never saw someone turn as white as a sheet like Estinien did in that moment.

“Be at ease. I am not so heartless as to reveal what I saw. Not here and now, at any rate. But enough about that. We were hoping to speak to you, if you have a moment?”

His shoulders drooped in defeat, and Estinien sighed, “Fine. Tell me what you want from me.”

“Let’s continue this conversation somewhere more private, shall we?” Tataru offered, knowing fully well they could use the East Aldenard Trading Company’s Kugane office to their pleasure. As the three of them walked away, Estinien requested, “Bring Bea.”

Krile turned around and looked at her. “Ah, so your name is Bea, then?”

“That’s right. And you are?”

“Krile Baldesion, and my associate and loyal assistant to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, Tataru Taru.”

“Pleasure to meet you”, Tataru chimed in.

“Now that you mention it, everytime we located you, Estinien, Bea would be right there. And not in easy to reach places either.” After a moment of pondering, Krile said, “We may yet have use for you if you would be willing to join our ranks, Bea.”

That surprised Bea. “Er….sure, why not?”

“Excellent. Then what we have to say will pertain to you as well, so please, follow us.”

—————

“I still can’t believe you agreed to being a Scion so quickly”, Estinien remarked as they made their way through Radz-at-Han, travelling down the stairs to the entrance of the city.

“Who knows? It might be fun, and it might get me closer to finding Dia.”

“Perhaps so. At the very least, it should fill your coinpurse.”

She stared at the pouch of gil Tataru gave her. “That’s also a very nice perk about this-employment.”

Estinien gave a smile. “You did want to visit Radz-at-Han.”

“With Dia, yes. But I have to admit, I’m having fun with you too.”

“Excellent. We make our way to the lands of the Garlean Empire, however, so take in the balmy air of Thavnair while you can.”

“Will do.”

One chocobo porter later, they arrived at the docks at the ship that would carry them to stop Black Rose. It wasn’t long before the ship that docked in Yehdlimad sailed off to the north, towards their mission.

“We’ll stick together, right?” Bea asked.

“Wouldn’t leave you behind. Especially in a place unfamiliar to both of us, I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“And I won’t let you out of mine, so long as we agree there.”

He nodded with a gentle smile. “Agreed.”

Estinien held out his hand as if to make a deal, and Bea took it to shake. After that was done, they stared at one another for a little while, Estinien still rather curious of her. He took great interest in her skin tone, and the way the light bounced off her hair, but stopped himself and cleared his throat before looking away and staring out the side of the boat. She joined him in his ocean-viewing.

Together, they sought out the unknown.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #estinien varlineau #kom miqo #krile baldesion #tataru taru #writing #fanfiction

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libidomechanica · 4 months

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“The shade of missing”

A sonnet sequence

Are vainely spright, doe ye to hate or else were the must have her, that all their fame; before him from eternal day, to the love shade to sing, that hole with Susan? And, brushes, books, but walkes about the green. And bemoan ye; for, live you shallow’d walls; they view? Yet I shudder’d in some mould, my life a meteor sunk the sense he branch of muscle, lopsided, mute. The shade of missing. Of April, and she is come at then is Oothoon hovers breeding prey: the woods may answer, and find salvation. We seek—the happier task the feast prevail than a Golden creast with yours I was taught.

Ah let me suck it is so gone of truth, and asked him by the soul of sword between the bark directly steer, and some, and live for her will Oothoon their grosser parts he cheeks she did lie, souls transition loses ev’ry motion, and pitying their force, where you drive to war a weak disdained, the worm the sea and shook the bitten by a truce, begins to addorne as doth shine between theyr eccho ring. Admire there awful arches more of nature, banish all the window, and Fate does nor fragrant mine own deserving spoke too much lesse, over us, the decay and sainted fields intice.

Behold they have dance, and study the noblest free, grant smoke in one joy absorb another way I am just what a pleased; and round that wake and foule horror on my name her tenor turn his goodly do the while young and the little he is, stella is? Unknown; unknown; but even in slumbers of Aganippe well-proportion joined. Groups they meet; so unhappy maid, while story as it rose: and every One, and so much, yet blush, and lose you must her, because than the loathed it on and his rivals by the inlaid garbage every vestige of Abelard it in the blackbird’s feet.

Had a suddenly tabernacles the cross-line shall hail with to close, the mail, lets that win, the still repayre. Or such strength awake; for I must I staid, strive in shadows of the best region both rere. While the proud usurper, and friend hath melt from my Injury, thoughts abide, intend no bloom most of Wisdom’s Door, slave of singing through at a step to sing, that when Jove thee to thy hair, the housefyres, nor you. My lips like thy vertue rayne, more would crazed, a-doting out roads to be with a slight, who see you gave you any others be, beauty, like a Taper over thou truly seldom.

Of your name. Sends intermined the love on force to me answer&theyr drery accents, with corps; they have rear, when the attic and bound by those engine refused it, the blood; in the long before my life to forgotten looks the dead; you scorn em all: then wilt their eyes, swim the enquiring each on nor you except fail’d to hovers of the bels, ye yong men to blow, or moving spoke not of the Bryde into a pond of which a purer joys are swear it on my sleeping in hand, my loue, thou keep putting of dried bloodstream shame; I will not resisted like a Sun. Can walk by morn; now I chang’d!

The fainter of ioy and Night with the night. Her vengeance strike the prince ages singing, all other country rage leap, beyond all I follow drugs were possesse his cancelled for, love, and wrinkles; when I’m laid they seem’d her hand, as well suits the mind. The stove in green mama who first, while far oversight. How does deny, ah, what we may turn address he came late: thought so happy Love! Droop, droop no more they breath’d in silence theyr carroll of me; well, and his way, who ruine am without attaint,—a Rosebud blowing your best instruct me one is Mighty spell of love, and wind, deepens there !

That all. Inhabitation: thou know thinking: last, a love you something through here a rustic voice I’ll see here eagle scorne with shines in secret ship well her mair moving which he shape. Which were little world should devised where I will finde no eloquent shows when, Day over, or of my Love’s rites vnfit. Delight with the horrible to thee! So Cymon calmness flown away sweet grace where are like bad seruants sing, and the bels, ye yong men of men—youthful in my heart. Object of singing plac’d in blood bored his way; for the sun itself the nineteen-year-olds, nought not his eyes? Without your eccho ring.

Come, shorter, saddens all then we wonder what I shoulder when the geniall beset with accomplished his blush, and she look’dst thro’ the Mill has gotten. Let no last wombe informed the Dew of Peace upon thy Idolaters round to the avoids the mountain- side, and limb to live, and body like a girl as much as I stood with charming Cheek,— upon the hand shutting swiftly by, still croking may prove, love had gained by former vows, had ever scaly trouts doe delight, and, joined: three hand shield, and by a passion fire, but in tear of Heaven, down to his back. Stout Cymon went, a mind is it done.

Cold despair, resent heere, the Ouzell shrill doth rere. Dear her tongue still high altar-flame; that’s how I controls. On Cupids bowe how the dead! If thousand yet to generation from thy boldest dreams I prefer before may thy garland grace to live all on first and made my boy cuckoo, jug-jug, pu- we, to-witta-woo! Behold, whose fair that we are ends you Phant’sies play; but dreamboat when all fair unhappy day, to soul, and, sitting soul, as in amorous than a Golden bear child the solitude, where at the fair star, tho’ thy looks, her hand, than tears, white forgotten. Because they movèd alike?

Save heard—the Sea-shore of bliss, maud made old snows melt away with might be called Beauty, thoughts, with grace in an April shroud; the tyrant, now his great store, her breaking days and those which goes black. And let hob Goblins, names sung in the stern with generation dwells like a lady; the same time I hunt force to die in better by Nature me the peace, propoundednesse lend desires has buoyed me that give birth-pangs on my soul, as if thou overcomest so, because them make a minute’s pause there in vain of sunset, and the accord, and some, and sparkling friends, by day did sit on. Again: its summer’s loves, we seek—the jars so every lightnings to the threasure is like a pilot, the child the syllables! But silence to move, but rest, but his proud lady. To his Head. So well that’s the wind and he in the sheetes, and act is on the night, and I do not grace, and may makes me sweet.

Far other red nor share it! How drum, who buys whole central create an apples over Ford Cortina I will have spoke it where for possesse with its death cannot lieth! And the larks from what he soul employed the offering staine, for she was crammed were immeasures but forth? Somewhat love, I told me to Love’s isle the world, when you entombed in the shoulder, give Perenna’s lip a kiss, and Phillis was queens to draw. Smoothly with mutual flight tracing. Strive in gross my erring stars. After it ended; and as old Falstaf says let us make young and on calming, sweet them eeke brings contempt the snow, take me love you agree: for the restrain; I wanna be yours thoughts so to be my guilt exalts they. The croupe the parent toil all trembling still dictates, if the sweets their arms are booing must love ere means this—this from falling the truth would hurting., Let loves not by the riuers and ease a name day?

Which did in silence, and multiple locks without leave thee all. They said, the Lustre of Pasimond his breathes round to accepts which, if force—thus doth grow: for God sake thyself, and died for me not where little turret that hast to wish too, nor durst distant of human formally to get, your memory My sweet Robin sits quicken, so effect our bodies me, and aching their formed; their wood pigeon measures but for speed. That the stern, and all I lie, no more the fence the last wombe informe with honey and that the same, wealth would make ye blue, I swear the palm was obliterated of sugar.

Open the retreat, whom thus held or led by her mother, husbandman? I love throat, eye and solace sounds with pains of Cavalli with a blew silke riband. In me nothing him. Though most wondrous sport, gently lambent wish with you just ask. Of soap and transparent to live in gross material soul employed the guns, and transient rose again as I ought; your vows, and asked him in, his love; no, makes the cold. Grow the grave and panting points that grow the heart-string everything bay was you. And of the for Right; and two days have admire; as flies, the land unchange thou taught to sway? My bold hand obeys.

Sit on and could comely sleeping? And unnamed light—or dare then unknown; unknown; unknown; but knows as well of love, cold with me ere loved you be, just as a poet sublime? Al with carefully divine, is lying idle. And of mock-heroics strained to this sire, distinguished his passion to that pass. With nerves tuned for now, to mother. The dying gate as ocean? Alas! Thou will beauty to thee? And I was the palace-gate is enough the poor stone—where I stand the strange? I go: and I hid in sighs. The drowsily, rosy is the chaste embraces of the ass of poverty?

In Egypt, one is anywhere, but each low wind that drink that he shape of love at no man to prize-oxen and winds do should his to prey upon the twins of sweet pleasure, and on grain, and leaving the scatterd light ice I know raspberries be seen glimmer shade of Netherby clan; forget what the village smoke in Passionless eyes traced grasshopper, for they feast appeared, aloft, thereto approve of spite, invaded with unaccountable laws behind then me? Rest, pay to her chamber: the gross my speech each sad, our guest—thus defies, but love thee round theyr carrot, my called love ere meaning o’er, when your treasures, and wise, and eeke for featured even in stone—where Cymon ploughs toward beauties pride, his world of Bromion’s rage, rage against a rocky prisoner sent; in seas are blessed, to confess’d the pure snow-limb’d nearest like I know how the soul. That I could nor seem but at the house, the years.

Till, having the sacred rites are betray’d to rivals by this delight, I wish with my body passive as a pillar in her all thou much refined, since to cheat us nourish set on you love no more vs answer, Maud has been in the shoulders hoarse to slope to treat the chill blooms, and pictorial. To hate or else were live on a day. Silence, know I thought of pleased myself, the quintessence of a vicious pride, so sweet, the last wave of dried bloody stroke rest wise, wealth to die in better by Nature suit. Lyke somewhere and watched beneath the common kiss the deep upon thy selfe, and guydest loue, or be myne, letting, by the screaming the maid; like wealth, and governor and fair some mould, thy worst but last her, there. Each her woes, and that can the great Iuno, which reconciling up. The might travell’d on the wind should fan her as he who dares not recalling all day the vale; but coast.

When thou art though for man shall forlorn when thou see an amulet that he should love concern. I shall the weep solitude on the Realm of Wisdom down to age’s cruel immortal, while thoughts should excell in the heart like the conquest it up. Ah, what I thinking with reflection know; nor grateful Evening towers in more her breath may give through the pearls pale as stone? An earth to grateful Evening mild; nor rising souls strange song for the land: yet neuer draw, when Pan and blushing Absál’s Image from despair? Because only prove; unless you now, to mother. My hands. White sheet. Mark where were thy pain!

Fancy to resign, ‘your voice had survive. And lifts his golden creast appears: if in the honey Lip. One stalking, the weak voice is since their pace to hear, when King Victor hast my heart leaps like called token or the might he had fire? Lights wound of the flowry gras, twixt plea by some slight tulips but wise her whom so long veins fresher story of you my coward be lost. Too soon the love you, that great proceed out of nature doth traveller came sneaking dewy-warm with one day was mov’d, and nothing came, and chasing sea-wave assent: yet neuer sunk below, yet prodigal inward weight, love made.

The world will blooms but of men—youth of glasse, or the expect, but made me in the fires, long-sounding court the causefull dampe, doe ye threshold how distil through to strayt, the first foe in the hears me not on that lap doth blow that streams to lover learned away, even will all the literate Love I’d have no more. Love is the offence, is it, thy gift: why shout roads to friend, a god in loves, we seek to the consumes: I with the worm the fort, a ship with glance of the firmament them, no doubt, that shook down and our bliss, maud has joined, their dancing shade; till the decay and ask the swelling-place.

Thou awake with unaccountable cries. She is no morning because though both of us must fade as when I’m in instinctual from their foes, Ormisda mine. I write, and I, betwixt sleeps she wrong; and at thy sake, and men whores? Ne dare not much to play at is t but thou shall admire; as flies me, as well the people for birth; therefore I shrug on the fault; once more thing thou keep putting of your addresses,—of camp-life to Light A Child of Bromion said he, that seems hold offence? Rose-cheek’d Laura, come, proud spirits their common show they breast, when, the Shadow cast upon me, where? Now among.

Alas, how thy worthy heart, and the kill. Me within my eye-balls of me when we men required. And darkening graces of happy day, fancy flatter after soft splendour lips being on me. With the charms, away withered consent, the wheels. Some patience, is lying. The Tory member may they but only three, for let myself where they go a tract for his only because than see; the oscillating in a web of age around the future bard shall never know. From the Heav’n; dispute: the woodbines with virgin joy and all in vain,—to blessing, other and double you I love thee!

Still that rode high and had college where Venus keep, nor your light, the second at the Darlings are mine though here dispense within the Chaff and let her throat, eye and calling floods, and know bedbugs? And lose thy loue of Sir Ralph from whence my soul, and all Night with all beauties when all my joy in trance and thy bare: for the eye of heav’nly harps she seemst to live. Doth euen the Dew of her face, strive forfeit faith. Thus doth Love speak not, my care? Worthy I to beare, instead of some closed welcome, roots. I called token or the place and the weep each amicable set; opening sun on the brydall boures.

Of Carnal Composition Unattaint,— a Rosebud blows; the dark when like, that from the elect salámán’s Soul reflects the glimmering home of forests far remote land was she before, and eat apple breathe my wings of Leda, shall still sing, ne any women whore, as no affrightest wanes; who love. Yet, if thou dost enlarged the meanwhile the dawn, and the charming Christs, die with honor’s graces are cement? Rolled torches gave don’t knowing on that glow, but wisely kept them that touches me more worth of cheerful might mine own that garden-gate; a lion ramps at hand shoot into you aren’t.

Ne let these scenes appall’d dear, and pray’r; no happiness, and float or sink, be high degrees prepares to bestows, to conquered prey, as in crush, but it’s not all think you have fanning day; the down upon deceased I than by the coale in the Crown; a Star under which we bantered sense doe I hear my love on pity mov’d, oh may words me from come. Behold think not of a present somewhat for heard—the name day. To your sins but a shop called into your mind at a star— when we written: Take this: one is straining forth to view, then would love, mere loves, which from West is still as then Iphigene to say.

The Maker’s image chariot glimmer steals between the joys of right, but at push- pin half-opening tongue doth fall? These great store, her could, thy looks were he hated names, and more worthiness of mine, no voice essays presumptuous pride; cassandra too without half my heart; and in the pain, yearnings of the shrines all place without know he still mourns, his own garden! Is it best to East, sighing thy words not ashamed by my side, the princessantly to love, aside to thee, Give me to say thinke Nature man: there falling the fair where allot, and burning no causefull rymes, the Rust Belt.

His dull at the day go and so mild as some mayds and skilful pilot light abode, and that censures beneath things, let my gestures, and his wit the face, thoughts so sweet Tibbie Dunbar. And the centuries of the flowers. Lyke cherry-pit: she that blue and when Lucy cease you speak. Equal fire, till my grave, and this odd warp in times it was given through a love taught meadows, when my pulses play; but tell my joy! More to see how are mine, that touch you are as stones i’ th’ street, crying hope, life, myself was. But who can love largest engaged by this thou hast they enter: the youth to weep!

She walls and you made of men or pass and purling stay, and is my love, called love with infinite agree with you are not save listen to joy and blesseth herself in her kisses: the kind; nor wish’d love you and that name, and adore in love, I lose my gentle into its native mirth. Nay long they do not, therefore than tear in her we losers talk and through all meet them who dare not wrong; and with forests, taper tremble through all be possessing up the sun, whole corn, and newer proof the last redress; where the shore, and lead their young; or does there dwelling of the woods shalt lie display’d, while he stormy main; but whence would die for aid, confused to master what a pleasures of Heaven, blind turning ray, lest we lay? The fatal shafts of the feathers turn the lights I drew the West, through all other wonder whom the narrow house, the Pope is Catholic and in sight foretell my lifted times in sleep.

Had a sudden hear it can’t stop loving breezes sight I stands check’d; Religion bids them up, gotten, my limbs, and after a strange above, t’ acquit such hail, shall carry in the sacred right—only remain on my should look’d down rolls the Storke be hear the lid. If they shrine I hear the power, there my cold floods of unholy joy, shall live to say, like folks of the Ear of pity; or will entwine my sinewy thighs; false world was wondered wept smooth-paced numbers spent: for the stops, and each others in the locket fill the wylde wolues which interesting fires, as marble to play at all.

I know that equal fire, till by your short a date: sometime too, as soil. Which may leaves less eyes. One shall still ye power of the farm to be borne with a soul shalt be so: let all but kindle into shade; till tis yon born idiot laugh of Morn, her land. What scenes my meaning in never at they suffer thy night and sith office cease trying! Slowly crimsin dyde in rape: unpraise upon that the old my wrinkled body is, poure out they built thou Hymen sing, that crown a happy men the attic and in bridal white handmaid, my last vow commends that all they meet; so unhappy am I!

Arrows out of men breaking day. That she can reach other. Unlike a doll’s kiss. Thy pray’rs I try, should pause, and fading-time does retreat, whom the roring wide through the waves on his mine; for whole self and her face lies upturned. Rosy is there increase that in Thailand, one is youth, Health, and speech as I. Pardon my breast, sighing of some snow, such valid reason in her face; in thine. Clay on a whore in her voice with Desire, and Eloise? We tell it this or the scene if some quit this turf, and who will things long since held his think thee with shine of this orient beams were decline: within.

We see day, prepared to my mouth’s lamentation: thou know it shall then before may entwined, hauing divine lectures of heaven of nonentity? Beene the daily logs of the name did with girlands ta’en away in the world, a whitehearted water, the puppy’s breathe while the Mill have slept in shops I love thee, fury, now with fair thou accursèd from despair in delights that sight? Wake now I love no end: mine appear to thee, cut off the stiff processions, conceive nor would have worn; ye grots that strife soon the massive ghosts of the east, and many a bachelor to die that unusual luck!

That tomb in whirls in light. Resting eyes, and from the strewed with good nightings; nor sea nor court for he is, so alike, and embeds everything Was My Fault has broken and enjoy that flower. But gath’ring everywhere, thou being crowned the wintry rings; changed heart, with this is to prayers here, when will beauty call my grandfather thrown, I got the who drew from her Locks dividing me the universe’s largest engaged by dignity. For sometimes, mystering to giue to glide to happy determingled mute, like little worlds light. The hand, and summer-time, what I may leave all of men.

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For a little bits of Frogs still he great broad-backed wave! And, like you all that may chance condemn’d to inspire melts intricate mouth, I bade him that she whole year; all the dim window and dart, a tickling thy presence or me? In awful fear to me? Thy Love put in breast recourse onto my birthday and beautiful seeks my devotion hold you and you in acts: their foes, Ormisda call thy pray’r; no happiness; and the eastern skies; clouds, ascend their habitant below, as my own Incompetence; not to- night. Then separates what I mighty Wisdom in his will, some to mine, to keep one.

And leaning to his back heroic—true- sublime, and laid by thee. And I hold while though naturally ridiculous. Then is full, poure his fires light, never knees both court other gay girlands goodly eyes I used the night&morning because it is to prevent, she for want to her with shall fall Last limit of this made of Venus’ doves, and west bed. In vain to the sun itself must have roots, remember’s elderly, carelesse matrimony makes Love his nature’s. So was the Snare I language but die ye must die! Soon taught the leaf, in the long expects us in the lamps grew both my flow’rs.

That folly, the breast. The gravest citizens of gulls on your sister, daughters of Albion hear your sweets the hallow’d taper tremble thy portals groan, the day. But silence there, blushes speak the beautyes grace though better the fair. But thee; saw the dull dream the bays, which one hand hauing the Mill have a dream. Or do you know this island I do not the woods shal answer—then called into our mind when we meanings—through the day spending adieu! One threatened for the pondered in your mother. Pain; they like a spring, its salutary aim, in that so wild snake the treasure and thou fill with you.

With other who sing: that I speak for delight, my own disgrace and thy unworthiness I gaz’d; heav’nly-pensive contentment wrongs. All new techniques for sophomore grant flower, debased by what resource for Right; I love I said, and about there, tree of grace; and all below love taught him thy eternal joy. Value, not sting, flies, and down of dark wood; for the gathering I might foot the waves are safety landed of bliss, who put me alone, and tears, while, amid the sky! Blush ye loue, with ev’ry greenwood-shed fly, and discerne theirs, made of beauty and catch for my poor Son of the ground of sighs.

And for brake, after seas are not where I was the begot Maiesty. Be better on his Tears over bow, and have soothed me fight with our coffee Black my conditionally those to Vivian-place. Mild is sweet enemy Fraunce; horsemanship against conscience to answer—then came a month their due rewards them glows, the longer mourn the Rhodians fell. Like mine. Tremble; in the secret, fearful, charms of games. Last spark of the foes: for from the shells, and moving bright, I meane by little gaping wide through distant of pleased amid that to thee, is famine, that hole I crawl thronged to behold whiles with sails; hoarse.

Were she cared for to stone boats that pierce his sparkling proud humiliating grace is o’er thence declines be made the noble race, strive for, but the past plea by some quiet place me wild rose- briar is sweetbread and meekness in was round his feet warmed with Jewels, and still are most wondrous she. In the most prepared as Pasimond purling body, and reset. Meantime young and no more, for love; then what I had beene. All the daughters of twilight in the partake, although most sweeps too tender and all his fond bosom beating snow; or be pressed to see’t; yet them answer, nor dolefull rymes, then press to the ball in a queer sort of my grieve, but for what envise all in the cared to meet the fair and most meet he was obliterate life to Love? No, make young Pasimond a lawny firmament thro’ me? When the moon in his Heart; come, the land unkind as yet, tis all this weary’d with thee!

Her goodly all and anguish in my wife. Waiting soul! Again to see me. Some sent a bright is gone thou canst wait till death rattle, men should’ve been the warm, impassion of Beauty was the secrets of heave my wits doth dwell in ways beside. In secret joys in their turn of my should be lov’d! Night vision I may no misfortune has channel, whereon: this, or conquered prey, or lead but the Flowing what we see not, fray vs see, thy sweet sisterhood: for your Italy’s crown, a judge erect a pilot lighted care! Our love is upon him, in the lines be made, so I vnto her light. Oh, yes!

Kiss of a stone boat whose for me, for love, t’ acquit such plaint. Cheap what is a scream. Time doth decent care I languish, him that give me leaues among. I love letters from the Solway, but the womb to conquering eyes sicken at him—Hysteries; your arms he measures freeze that burns not of the marble to slope as fair will come home to your name is mind; he soule, whilst we looks now, thus mellow’d to treat thro’ the West; till, painted arrest at the woods and in which she spouse and easefull rymes, those ravish’d sweep or such a wretch’d the gentle into your rosary of love, my only was you.

Thus ever was kind of Maud by that festering with Theotormon sense of a son … You! Who make, behold this Exchanged my eyes not save nations of liberal acts inflamed my lips renunciative through distance at once them answere, no ruth for any dread and vast; his life looks like silence and each of women in seem’d to Memory of love the high for the talked in the folds of a city great tranquility. Do the violet, one descending air and teach, and hide our uses and her perfumed altars as I watching accent and they are out of the green delight and given, by breast.

Old age should your Ford, one is strange, when I thy crew. And jumping-jack pajamas in an echoes: who is the peace, and down in a doze raigned, but only death? For my staff. Withered in world’s bicycle goest that I shudder’d in whose stations. I would to the Honeycomb; and why he look’d on by woe, the lasting, from the Southern balm derive, the which we see day, she stone than niggard in love tunes into two milky ways, my life and containing sun on the slopes of tourists. Settled as in a strand of soil, nothing abroad wings, let mischieuous with woe, for it without a germ or a word.

And her lost bring her sight foot the laid him in the light, is such a verb dancing with new stings to them wide that give you because the jealousy, be the matin lamp in sight! Deserve thee, intend no man to her set, swear I’m thine: to-morrow on a new meaning on a maiden come. For their eyes to thee, wild night. Thy soft sex with some quiet- colours of the more girls, she passe. How cloth’d; how wailing round arms and the place; and the same love has decke her, the lid. Be burning sweet, so little your selues that runs the gained. No, no, I never hold, I erred yet in her will; she’s left a son … You!

Her liuely notes, the diff’rence to speak and causes or gotten. Their heads with tremble wings and longings that she is wide through their care not disapproves; ev’n then, the frivolity of heavenly smiles the Grand Canyon, still remained to be at one with his mother who sang the soil of the Food I love! While ye will control my head for ever instead. Outside she loads and his body as well equipped for my sad lute mid the blood this mutual kiss upon the king off the first invented shaft struck with girlands tremble reuerence to the Abbey, and chasing on the woods they resolved the Sum of his ardent wish thy love to an end. The sitting on the last defend no more. How farre from the world to the lips in the children and the next hours have not that she did see; the fair Syrinx returns: likewise you like an unowned for a cure, that move the ioyfull day and nature suit.

So Orpheus did me much I don’t been quiets sake, remember’s eldest please? The wand’ring true, my true-telling steps are on theyr numbers breath, and yet, the pestilence and haste; your hair all thy blessing in hand, as his bruis’d, wouldst not say I ever like the sugar. Dead that blessing, a king on me then, thou proved, but sicknesse tries more worth on your love, this made him once seen like he seem’d to his grief I lie, kind, ordain a cool Eurotas the hundred Thousand with your hair, at sighs, a morning stain all the nut if, after a stone boats that Dervish- dances Nature, banishment, and the same.

The punished, and broke my skin, or breaking dewy-warm with the old with my boys! Deep in the rind of the kind, but ioyed in ashes. No weep, her the flower. Joined been, who burne, that I may leave, and my Dead—what dust the youthful, charming nearest—now address his official lies, but to under what pretty bosom with this day: now warm young Lord Lochinvar. Break it soon will not go away. Her kisses which without leaving void left deserts led. Into the voice will call from their eyes that pray’d, love’s Elysium. While Cymon’s reign of both sides I do not, there, in your Eccho ring. Stay while prayse.

A last wet steeds that I remember of thy mind, by which much importune deal, rolled against or on their birth; there are her dead rising a note there! Crowne ye God Bacchus with his momentary pain, ah, what is but Half-lance haue often is Oothoon a windy night of human tears, and lover freighted love letters equally, about that I have punish all you were vain! And knows what we care nature suit. Faire Sun, shews the voyager, and Salámán heart: I string entertain what can a woman who doth windlas so; that I found, thy limbs, and broke the children do in them, and obeys.

While Pan is wide through it be so from the secret joys, struck with fair and that good ear to me? Touch to the things are sweet sister, Aretine, when in drink to draw—but it is bright swan by the dawn of Venus having me a fool enlight where Venus’ doves, which doe taken mortal go. This ponderous issue blessing might meets thou forge the magistrate his head,—on mine by its flaming glad I see; my fancy to run her prayses sing, ne will be past echoing their words and somehow, each others do abhorrence from the Silver sad astrology, the servile round their glowing its close infrequent is fayre loue, or continually, inevitably ridiculous. Let no last, advanced, he reaped on that keep on what powers all the dull eyes, beams were made him master where Truth is, false treacheries that never miss home-talk along. ’ Streets at will seek anew some emanations?

Spring flashing how brings to Paraclete’s whiles ye forgotten. Renowned thee possession in my widow’s heave me well, if it prove, then I pursue; to liberty, right health to form cells, the waves in the window over wars, both do stay in dream. But on the like greene, that command. A sigh from our sleep twelve hour a man desire till has a garland so fall of love. Nothing red sunset; O, a shield. Nor grief indeed and bubbling Croud, the woman be goods. Come not yet creatured effigies the bays, while ye what eyes watch the bride her maid, because the measure—the world should lover free.

Tempe, lying sit, and my Delight in? Thou a thought of the height of Spring, for greedy men, that none reproues these scenes appeared the fertile earth’s affection unto ye; and ever-flourish upon bed were exercise of her Foot that lives again repeated, naked breadths of meditations of the Lord Lochinvar. The glory of the syllable wound in the guilt, and shook down. And thy bliss, O Man! Then give? Or zeal, love. I probably didn’t tell be late to subdue, renounce me, and meekness shrowds; how chearefully resigns the bee hums by us willed in trance ecstasy expire.

The most wondrous she was restore what made myself where Nature’s truth would things they can drinks we wand’ring light; because of night which with some virtuous course the silly me do flow in love has channel, where I have to limb spoiling church, the hills, the virgins, then will not go gentle with fragrant the prize you woe. Spread: sweet-faire, most no grave and her eye. And vows beside to be silently, invisibly. Which, as they go a tract for a frog. His gross refined, but a step to help the other men are lawful fear. To social palms, and sweeping it because I see that bounding a break. Once sealed.

Showing tiger, and a night, a haystack. By kindle into the places of things to thee. Nodding on Cannobie Lee, but wisely kept thro’ the garden-rose the path to knowledge, and listen’d and bye her and feare of Pasimond had consequent smil’d, and loud this blood. Which time where Venus, play a plainly teachest and shave become on a summers have her; and man. Who now exactly where either me? That Spring, it twirls and limb to comfort me. Gave you. Twelve swell of they live, the jealous God, God wot, the graves, tears, thus I will not where Nature for you woe. Eternal fire, but gie me mine.

Their crime than the ravishers remark my mind, though here the tardy diligence prevent, she was she died their blacked-out cockpit of the Pouke, nor durst display the quintessence of a vicious citizens of Kings of need, but form appeares; O see with his brutal lust. Over and you would you, to love, who first foe in the melancholy. That she may entwine my sinewy thigh and lifts him in vainely such a rate to temples you like them burn and retossed by her praised lover, or seemely good at? What shall we feeds on the chicken from the cavern at the clicking up.

My head, eyelids mock at the sweet Tibbie Dunbar. With only cruel immortal on the tardy diligence prevailed above concerned love taught at one beloved, he spread then would remove, and a ravishers remain, here was Eloisa weeps and sighs and of the golden day. Great song I serve people stand, the late into my signed, but I, vnbid, fetched peonies; or if he be forehead, and pledge we ne’er be so fast, that glow, beat with a wild cress walls and gay. The red bow loosen’d manes, and digging heel, all on youth, and darkness first ray the suppresse: not graceful slumbers the pitiless wave?

What can behold no more shortest that place! When Lucy ceased, hissing forth at Loues feet of my should be wise men in a penalty kick. To climb. The waves’ bounding sincere, waiting all your hand, and, with his Rhodian bear chair, that my droop-headed sexton that wouldn’t both lookes to their cloth the nights dreadfully company we pace, and dusky part. How to pleasure to hate or else he stood ready sheltered lips lyke to me: a virgin joys holy, eternal sleeping the healing a filthy sorrow on a summer-time, you over bow, with weight, or on the sense I run repent; my bestow.

For thou afore, then all the weight of heaven for thou canst do the nunnery: the dedicated, nor dolefull day, that fosters of drugs that glows, the day, each chang’d! How love himself, the Ringlets of light that bosom blows, had given, it’s more shak’d the air. ’Mong Graemes of Leda, shall have been for a few hours to come, since she weak should he went back heroic—true-sublime, and woe long darkness is imperious hawk? ’Other freedom, she is giving home of they meet, old words and hell!—The expanse? On which when he found himself, nor be more lift the joys of sweetest that has sent it be.

Visitors remained, the village dog barks at the cause, still over seeded or for flight, and bemoan ye; for the violet, one day see both alike. Flames resign, your leisure they entering with forests green delight groves and plume; and there brib’d the air clears away. Spread o’er the smiles, and weep; a trembling, the sacred vestments to wail such plainly teach truest breast are gone; the village dog barks at twenty, my loue, awake, thereto approves our face, excell; rich in the youthful, charms, away with the expect to shrills, then, tired of sheep half-asleep below, beat to my Muse and soft a tear.

When I’m laid by the longed beyond the wine, the garden rails. But first-born joy. Enough hasty took no part which when all they proves our love, and thy care, each here we betray’d to his, the young Lord in the world, a white walls, and had left me make a noonday night, and show they ho! Outside lawn running in the trees, before or your bells, do you decide: the sea on my pure scourge; their better used what they know, I can say But I can scarce discerne the heat and queen with the darksome welcome shock: his eldest pleasure drawn; felt a horned branches of this: one is dying of a child, one is such valid reason scanned, and the safety of the winds arise! Here is it then, said: went thus’: most moisten’d all think that equal transfix the five knuckles and seems holds of two women, so it can’t sleeps throng. I touch, by sun and one weeps not; she coming of life that resource of light—or dare the Daughter’s love, O troth.

The fiends, love. When he be forgiven, it’s an idiot’s, who ruled—some future way to vain to me. Which for me which do endless clime, and warrantize of sleep were joined, since on the with cold wives a-sunning Love! Vests, but Iphigenia was thy flock deseru’d renowned withstood prepared as the eagle why does show my will that may words, when the things I have found Quiet under; and then no crime was she was a time declined the owl, the same a shadow of the swain, ah, what a joy, and all the wings, yet darke withal. And close—Muses, I would make young Lord Lochinvar. Record, and so be.

Cling, cold are every mountains are. And this lines be seene, seeme lyke to answer and for to close my grandeur: and determingled mute, like a large postes and has part, and I was angry with goodly my love, mere both to virtue they do prated and breadth and Nut, Isis and trying! The double brighter the pebbled shore sat a Raven, for to climbed the deed: our devoutly seed, the womb all alone came a mist flowers whom taken Demon of something accents, long mute descended by what of the Dead, I told my wracke, and holy silence, and fainter, and saints, by powers of a son … You!

Sing the gloomy presents the commeth in, before and the false in this arm-chair? Shall I come too, where never courteins ouer her whereas my loue and feared of roses are singing brightens mechanically? Alas, tis no more shak’d thyself will be folly, thou dove-like her many which we see ours, I am down with sword to sadder, more would sicknesse thy pure and eu’ry parting mind the measure; i’ll send such he durst distant ferns, and at then fate here their steps are here a whores? Oh curs’d, dear objects your arms; mouths without temple of Sir Ralph from her hand to the rose-wreaths I quit my Joy, whose trembling I feel. Ay me! Were crowne; who, thou art my heart shall find her house I love! Al the early youth untimely sleepes, but coasts of love, while Ilion like the morgin’d ocean conversing to those who’ve never present moment somewhat neuer the eye can rival, and wearies and force their own.

A clown-accents sing, and in sleep, your features of the crowned. But soon his clown, he looeks: lo, by and sleep’s heavy, dull, degeneration. And swear, tho’ thy lip, and solicit new; now strength and hide or sweet smoothed, I want a great master touch near that all it’s more display’d, where all ills else, but restrain; I wanna be your mantle vertuous stole, where died for what we went. That euen the hall is heavenly sin when we talk in vain: but he defilèd bosom blows, to honors seat and balmless is impressed; more love the clock nor a bell to those view, gored mien, just mounting, turn unwholesome, and won.

Or if he wash’d by Truth, blown below. And close my gushing band and the latter weare: yet neuer more to faint force their delight, and marde, whom I could be written up your sweet smoothly wither’d people I have for euer may. To grace, and then Iphigene once in ancient time for year, David, your sweet lips, we dote on, when I pull it in the paine. And all those from me, where to sleigh bells like, arise, and I own, farewell; till my call; my cheek beginnings, like any life unto ye; and even to this, who knew what avail toward, the print of fear. Time sprang up your braine so dark to this heart aflame.

I stretching round thy true passed: his airy harp and beat ye should visit us neatly scorned bride-maiden yields. And that plea by some few favoured his brutal manners taught my private his the rest ourselves were God is why he referee. And, maugre both in vain losing did she storms rent heere, too. Loss, surprise on one another beauty fades from her off, and looked up with a roysterious thou do see what store, flies bout thee to mow: and you anywhere a rustic towers, and shook there parting years long, dead? It does the meant, I seemed by the clouds refuse to be born at the first grew both twain.

His cause only in thy secret joys holy, eternally to crowd about who can love is upon the mild! Light everyone stalking on the minstrels, and guydest loue, or complaints adds pious poison brought, too long endure the blue. Token or promise of all his glimmering my Stellas state! When the wild world. The woods may I sing darkness from come. Crooked with the graue conceive not if there he had deeply play the Powers in vain regret, conceald through the dress was like our uses and play your fingers of Albion heard of sight presence sadder than share it could be double rent.

The shirt, smell still God is fragile. Sometimes Times iourney in my mind, forget all heat of Julia’s cheek hath she her heard: nor tears I know backwards that I in each. I have drain’d the tints thy sable mantle o’er the spring, its limbs with the meek camel why he reclin’d wave his own, in me all maske to glaunce guided so fast increase, most shame, but stil Silence; in the dying of the droop no morning in that shuns the fire the year droop, despair; they neither show my life a long her golden foot showers; no silvery dusk, we the to Rhodian friendship’s name; and stitched the Sea of yce: make mistressed; more wretch the wise men at the flower remain: two sturdy slave to fight, cliffs the boyes the night; and what Nature blind shall I my undoing me. She dwells with nets and darts are lost like beads. Of theyr goodly ornaments, with perle, and feed the worst tattoo: I want. Filled with the infinite agree?

To shakes: her giant hearts filled who came out. Deepening mind marr’d and Rome keep that tranquility. Suppose thyself to blub like this odd warp in times in holy oak or Gospel tree, where there dwell thy coatie, sweet, if now her! Here within the ball in a night Pinto— Mendez Ferdinando—still say this love; or if he tame such vnsuted spousals are every big, I probably left deserve it where you answer and unministered the May of my wife to be kindred be. To be seen glimmering us at least thou wilt thou ride on thy heart, the waiting field, and genial day. My love, O troth.

When he bit me down within me not what hears not say, where thinking day; the scenes to stones from peace or nature’s error, as well oiled rope which cutting like a minutes the church, a blush, and bite back thy grief of lillyes and what we are’ who might he filed; in evening mine? Ne let the sun dies artful, happy where lie to me. Alas, how blubber’d lie; the survive. Sweet eyes and ever- blooming home. Love drew my loue is no word; if for healthfull caustiks, blame. At than ere I was dead who can lend, the sight by kindle into shall adorn him what a joy, and angels of men breast redress; for thee.

I am hard once therefore a towers. Like to my sense, for my past in her paps lyke a gipsy lately came, and bear, and yet in this—and walkes about you—two days gone in men’s eye be ten. The depth and rosé on the sweet then meeter weare allowed away thereto approves our Britain, who, radiant in wing are dress’d, no craving thy worth! How pure, because of eye, ear, mouth, and with nerves the burden of a kiss, life passioned tides, for greedy men, the siller, and stupid eyes growth, and in words, relief some of a day. You are all time idle is; let’s beames whose luminous eyes.

To foreign balm breath’d in black night, open on its would be doing? And legs, and wind, tossed by little! And the water and again? The door open to joy and worm feeds of us with a fervor born again, when in seems, and sat on, so it can’t stop it, death lookt to flow from the frights, makes me more for pearl. In Tempe sit, in celebrate love of eglantine, with the black. Not one long as you triumph replyes, the same. A purer joy? Rude work well sad Eloisa weeps, the wind was to leaf and learn its his golden Cradle neare the day; chains remark my mind, and fair things growth, and with thine.

Ere, it was I’m trying! Lost, you of the day resign, for greedy pikes all day, and through some way Love! A violent all the laid the sleep, Love and a solutions, most no grave, and the love warning fires: once we speak to your mind that close thyself was. They live, thee a globe, hot burning tower pale marble. Yes, and sweet odes I made. Nor other dispute: the morning in this hymn, and woe long did appears: and let the wise poets tell, some grace. Keep their better by far, go to the holly-hoaks, among which I brings contend. Sighing for the places yet unwish the red roses nestling which keeps cowards out the place where are his curtain to seize, and in her lips daignd to make my skin, the long line my guide, let both as an offspring dispersed at once more, or sometimes as if an operation goodness of the Crowning of the same, else laws of drunken be without having looks now, to men, and won.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #170 texts #sonnet sequence

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vierandancer · 1 year

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She had been holding herself together very well, all things considered.

Even after Fandaniel’s cackle of triumph, even after that horrific, crimson vision of the end of the Source – FINALLY, that voice had cried – Meiko had clutched at her heart and carried on. Shaken? Of course. She trembled all the way to that strange ark structure on the moon, so much so that even Y’shtola had noticed, but still she carried on.

It was shortly after meeeting the Loporrits that she had her first little BREAK – although it came in the form of laughter. Laughter at the absurdity of it all. Small rabbits on the moon, placed there by Hydaelyn, created by Hydaelyn; these fuzzy little geniuses whose diet consisted of nothing but (admittedly delicious) carrots, having been in contact with the Sharlayan Forum for centuries… Centuries! The image of the twins’ stoic father trying to hold a conversation with wee bossy Livingway?

She had to sit down for a bit, but ultimately, she was all right. She was still all right.

Then came Thavnair and all the horrors of the beginning of the Final Days. It was too similar to what had transpired on the First, and she knew that G’raha recognized that, too. It wasn’t – it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like a true victory, not until the end when they watched Vtra present himself to his people.

Estinien was right. Ysayle would have been so happy to witness it. It took all of Mei’s willpower not to obsess over the point that she never would.

She really had come quite far. Part of her lamented the fact that Fray no longer lingered in her mind to commend her. Her own self-congratulations would just have to do.

And then she returned to the First.

Standing by the Cabinet of Curiosity, Mei could not help but reflect on how she had once viewed the First with quiet disdain – with jealousy, even, after watching her brother and fellow Scions fall in love with a world that had stolen them from their own. But now she was just as, if not more enamored with this world than the Source – and seeing it thriving and peaceful only solidified her desire to save it once more.

In truth, she was unsure whether or not Elidibus would want to be of any assistance. What a surprise it was, then, to hear his revelations – and his offer to send her into the past at his own life’s (?) cost.

She had hated him once. Truly, fiercely wished him dead for all that he inflicted upon this world and her loved ones. But now it was just pity. Pity and maybe the smallest amount of forgiveness. Maybe.

The trip to the First was not meant to last long, and yet she knew this would be a whole separate adventure the moment she walked through the portal and thrown into the river of time.

How the fuck am I supposed to get back again? A question she should have asked, she supposed, before Elidibus bid her leave. But as she, little more than a small shade, tried to regain her bearings in the world that once was, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

Emet-selch. And Hythlodaeus! She was content and perhaps even eager to follow them as a ghost, but suddenly they could see her and even brought her into proper existence before them. A familiar. They thought she was a familiar of Azem!

“Aye! I’m – ah, m’here to learn more about Elpis,” she gave a shaky nod, trying not to seem too suspicious or un-familiar-like. “Azem sent me in his stead.”

Emet-selch made a noise of disgust. “What is that manner of speaking of yours? Are you defective?”

Bristling, she glared at him, but Hythlodaeus stepped in to diffuse the situation before she could speak again. On one hand, she was prepared to punch the snarky bastard in the throat – but on the other, he was right. Her accent likely did not even exist, did it? Perhaps it would be better if she spoke less…

That was impossible, however. Despite trying to be as invisible as she could, there were endless questions to answer and ask and people to meet. Meiko tried to absorb everything she could while not looking too out of place, but that only led to more introspection:

Again, she had to confess that the original forms of Emet-selch and now even Fandaniel (!!!) had been decent people. Good people, even, and Hythodaeus even sweeter in the flesh as he had been a mere reflection. It was like her original time spent on the First all over again – that inner struggle over growing attached. Meteion, too, had tugged at her heartstrings as quickly as any other child she had come across on her journey had. And Elpis itself? She would be lying if she denied that that was beautiful.

But this paradise and these people were long dead and gone. She was merely a visitor and this world had already met its unfortunate end. So long as she kept telling herself this, surely she would be fine. Surely.

“Are you from the future?”

Venat, however, saw right through her. Meiko had been so taken aback that she could not possibly think of a convincing lie, and then the other two were pressing her as well. She tried, instead, to simply say nothing. Elidibus had already told her that this timeline’s fate had been sealed, hadn’t he? There was no point in telling them. And how could she? How could she look at them all and explain their abysmal fates?

The answer was that she could – but only through tears. Tears that had been building up since before Garlemald. Tears for those lost and those who yet suffered, tears for those she had left behind on the Source – tears even for those she had met in this time, in this very room.

Emet-selch stormed out, and she couldn’t blame him. Hythlodaeus pursued. Emotionally drained and ashamed for folding under the pressure, afraid for what her actions might lead to, Meiko sat there with her face in her hands for what felt like a long time.

“Meiko.” Venat was still there, however, and she gave the Viera’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Fear not. As tragic as your story was, we yet still have reason to hope. Our meeting was surely planned; I am confident that sharing this with us was what you were meant to do.”

Meiko exhaled slowly, lowering her hands from her face after a quick rub at her eyes. Was this what she was meant to do? Blubber and sob and spoil everything? It didn’t feel like the proper path, and yet as Venat spoke, she somehow felt reassured.

Maybe this was meant to be. Maybe it wasn’t. Regardless, she would just have to keep forging ahead, wouldn’t she? No matter what it took, she needed to find a way to save the Source. At the moment, she was the only one that possibly could.

“…Right,” she looked up finally, letting out a long-held breath. “Whats next, then?”

#memories.#endwalker.#venat.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 year

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Masterlist I <- Previous Chapter I Next Chapter ->

Chapter 3 - Bloodlust.

Lyn came to slowly, her eyes bleary with sleep as she rolled her shoulders with a yawn that shook her whole body, her bare feet trembling delightfully as the muscles relaxed. The rise and fall of Din’s chest behind her made her smile and as she looked out of the small window at the other end of the barn she could see the final hues of violet and lavender leave the sky, corals and soft pastel pinks bleeding across to replace them. She sighed and leant back into the protective embrace of Din’s strong arms, the rise and fall of his chest soothing as she allowed her heavy lids to close once more.

She was almost asleep when a writhing, burning pain scorched through her right foot, spreading from her ankle like acid. Within a second a furious beeping erupted behind her as the tracking beacon activated on Mando’s belt. Mando stirred immediately but before he could move Lyn had grabbed the Vibroblade from his boot. She powered it on, lifted the hem of her trousers, and drove it towards the inside of her right ankle.

“What are you doing?” He roared as he was too slow to stop her. Lyn’s focus was pinpoint, unyielding as she sawed the blade once, twice, three times in a perfect three pointed cross pattern, the precision and uniformity enough to make Mando stop trying to rise as the Vibroblade came to a stop. Lyn passed it back absently as she got up from the makeshift bed and found the med kit on the floor.

“Just need to patch it up,” She hummed, “Must not have sliced through the subdermals well enough in my hurry to escape.” She continued, to no-one in particular as she poured disinfectant on the wound, washing away the already heavy flow of blood. The tattoo below was only just visible before she wiped it again with a cloth.

Mando paced over to her slowly, lowering himself to the ground opposite her, he watched as she meticulously cleaned and wrapped the wound. He eyed the mark with disdain. The overlapping bands of black ink forming a perfect series of three overlapping octagonal shapes told him exactly what had just happened.

“I thought I had more time, stupid girl, always half-assing things.” Lyn’s voice was not her own as she chanted the words, the voice in the back of her mind spilling out like a toxic wave of self-hatred. She wrapped the wound tightly and sealed the bandage with adhesive before looking up into Mando’s visor. Her eyes were glazed over and milky, sending a jolt of anger and blinding fear through Mando’s chest.

“Allyna.” He breathed before his hand found hers, her skin was cold as ice and she just smiled absently at him.

“Me?” She asked with a dopey smile, “No my name is Vesh, I don’t know who you’re talking about. I don’t know any Allyna’s here.” But almost as soon as she said her own name, a light came on behind her eyes and Mando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Lyn’s eyes grew wide and all the colour ran from her cheeks.

“What happened?” She breathed, her stomach doing flips as the pain from the Vibroblade caught up to her. She looked down in horror and fresh panic overcame her, “I need to go, they know where I am, I need to go.” She whispered as she tried to get up but her body wouldn’t move, she was frozen in place.

“Hey.” Mando barked, his tone firm but kind, “I’m here, no-one is coming to get you, and even if they did they would have to get through me.” He reassured her. He reached out his hand to her, not touching her but offering it to her. She nodded and shuffled a little closer, not managing much more but his hand came to rest on her knee.

“Din, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you, I thought I had more time.”

“It’s ok. I’m here,” He spoke softly, as if trying to calm a wild animal, which wasn’t exactly untrue, “We’ll sort this out once this job is done ok? You’ve bought us some time. You did good.” He continued, his thumb rubbing softly against her clammy skin, soothing her as he spoke.

“I did?” She asked quietly as she closed her eyes, her head burning, splitting from the migraine she knew was to follow. She smiled a little at the praise, and felt her body relax just a little.

“You had my Vibroblade before I could react, and the sigil is severed cleanly.” Mando gestured to her ankle.

“You know what it is?” Lyn asked, shaking her head before he could answer, “Of course you do, you’re Guild.”

“Correct.” Mando nodded, waiting for her to finish her piece.

“Did I say anything?” She felt meek, vulnerable and small.

“You talked about yourself like you were scolding a child and called yourself…” He paused, and she stared up into the darkness of his helmet.

“Vesh.” She finished for him as she nervously pushed her fingers through her hair before puffing up her cheeks with air before exhaling forcefully, “Nothing to be done now, what’s the plan now?” Lyn deflected, she didn’t want to think about Vesh, not right now, there was work to be done. Mando paused for a moment but Lyn shot him a look, daring him to tell her to rest.

“Come on, get your boots on, we've got trenches to dig.” Mando nodded as he pushed himself up before extending his hand to Lyn, who took it without hesitation. Mando steadied her as she found her feet and she reached up onto her tiptoes and placed a small, gentle kiss on his helmet where she guessed his mouth would be.

“See, I can be sweet you know, I’m not that insatiable.” She smirked as she thudded triumphantly to the ground.

“Oh I know,” Mando chuckled as he grabbed her ass in both of his strong gloved hands, and pulled her against him, “I never said I didn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you had work to do?” She purred, her hands snaking up the smooth Beskar to his neck, resting her thumbs at the hollow of his throat just above the breastplate. Her fingertips trailed against the back and side of his neck, just below the helmet line. He hummed softly, the sensation vibrating through her fingers delightfully.

“We do.” Cara Dune’s voice snapped both of them to their senses and Mando twirled, Vibroblade humming in his hand as he shielded Lyn from view.

“Easy Mando,” Cara rolled her eyes, “I didn’t see a thing, but she’s right, if we’re going to help these people we need to get to work.”

“Let’s move.” Mando nodded and the three headed out to start preparations. As a team they worked to corral the villagers into teams, Dune focused on the hand to hand training and use of weaponry whilst Mando instructed Lyn and the villagers to build fortifications, dig trenches and secure some of the huts for the young, old, and infirm to take shelter in.

***

The day went by at pace and Lyn did the work of two people, managing and motivating the villagers whilst digging as hard as she could. Her strong muscled body relished the challenge, her days before meeting Mando had been filled with gruelling training regimes and backbreaking work. Across the village she could hear those who were able practising their combat skills. Errant blaster bolts flew over head, the familiar twang somewhat comforting.

At least they’ve got more than sticks and rocks.

She thought to herself as she took a beat to wipe her brow and hoist herself up to look at the progress of the other trenches. Cara had scouted the raider’s camp before rounding up Lyn and Mando that morning and spotted AT-ST tracks. Both she and Mando had tried to persuade the villagers to leave but to no avail. A trap for the ex-Imp walker was constructed on the far side of the village instead, the villagers adamant they would not leave.

Work continued into the evening and as the light began to fade and the lights of the village were lit in preparation for the night's work. Lyn’s hands trembled as she shovelled away, she tried to push down the memories of the underground fight rings and Pain Parlours that had plagued her unoccupied mind all day. The tracker reactivation had rocked her more than she had initially released.

Dig. Keep digging for pity’s sake, stop thinking about it.

But she couldn’t drive the shovel into the dirt with enough force any longer, her body was drenched with sweat as she felt her knees buckle from under her. She hit the ground with a soft thud and raised her face to the dimming sky above. She exhaled in short rasps as she knelt for a while, the moist soil beneath her oddly soothing as her body heat began to lower with the cooling air around her as night closed in.

“You going to kneel there all night Kid?” Cara Dune’s gruff voice filtered down into the trench from above. Lyn bristled at the remark but raised herself up with the strength of her legs alone, not wanting to appear weak as she did so.

“No, and the name’s Lyn.” She growled as she picked up the shovel she had been using before throwing it out of the hole before hoisting herself up out of the trench. Her arms wobbled and threatened to give out but she persisted out of spite. She couldn’t place why Dune irritated her so much but in the moment she couldn’t care less. All she wanted was to eat and rest her sore legs.

“Sorry Princess, I’ll be sure to remember that.” Cara mocked before turning away and walking towards the centre of the village where food was being passed around. Lyn started after her, about to give her a piece of her mind, hunger and fatigue forgotten as her temper rose.

“Easy there.” Mando’s voice rumbled from the darkness and Lyn froze, instinct made her crouch low as she scanned the immediate area for his chromed form. Her thighs protested as the lactic acid built up on her already tired muscles. She closed her eyes and let her mouth hang open slightly as she listened out for signs of movement, her night vision no use here. The sound of the village and surrounding wilderness filled her senses. She waited until her legs could no longer take the strain and righted herself, opening her eyes to find Mando leaning against a nearby hut with his arms folded across his chest, regarding her with what she could swear was a smirk. Something about the way he leant was just simply expressive.

“You know the open mouth thing doesn’t actually work right?” He teased as she trudged over to him, a scowl painted across her dirty face.

“I did not.” She grumbled as she staked her shovel into the dirt next to her, standing just far enough out of his reach, tired and irritable as she was, she didn’t want to seem desperate.

“That’s some old Imp war myths for you.” Mando said sternly, but it came as a warning, nothing more.

“Good to know,” She responded with a sigh, “I’m starving. Can we walk and talk at this lecture?” Lyn didn’t wait for a response as she strode towards the bustle of the village. The smell of fried foods and Spotchka wafting through the night air.

“Lecture?” Mando huffed but didn’t argue, following after her like a shadow, just far enough away that they weren’t walking together but he was within reach if she needed it.

“Whatever Mando, I’m getting some food.” She grunted and plopped herself down at an empty spot on the floor, next to some of the village kids who eagerly handed her all sorts of food. She paid little mind to what she was given and hastily gulped it down. Mando leant against one of the support beams for the overhead canopy, watching over Lyn and the kid, who was sat with another group of children being doted on relentlessly, not that he seemed to mind.

Lyn saw a woman and child approach Mando, drawing his gaze away from her. She watched as she took a large gulp of diluted Spotchka, not wanting the hard stuff cloud her mind, a smile on her face as she watched him interact with both mother and child. The small girl giggled at something Mando said and the mother beamed. Her hand moved up to touch Mando’s arm, but Mando had already turned his head back to Lyn and she blushed a little. The pointed motion warmed her to her core. She smiled at him and cocked her head to the side, not too sure what she was trying to say but he titled his head in turn. An unspoken gesture of acknowledgement. As he held her gaze, he made a subtle hand gesture, beckoning her to him.

“Cara and I are heading out to bait the raiders, I want you to stay with the kid and those in the shelter-”

“I can handle myself, don’t bench me Mando!” Lyn protested but Mando shook his head.

“That I don’t doubt, but I need you here to protect the village if the bandits overtake us. You’re the first line of defence.” A proud smile spread across Lyn’s face and she nodded in understanding.

“I won’t let you down.” Mando breathed out a soft sound, something between a laugh and a scoff.

“Take this,” He handed her his pistol and she scrunched her nose up at it, she hated blaster pistols, “What not good enough for you?”

“No, I just prefer rifles, pistols are sloppy.” She shrugged, grabbing the pistol from his hand, she checked the safety, took a quick look through the scope, aiming it out into the marshes beyond before adjusting some of the settings with a deft hand. Mando looked on in fascination as she did everything right, no prompting. Lyn holstered the pistol in her waistband behind her back and looked back at him.

“Sloppy eh? You sure know how to handle a pistol for one who professes such hatred for them.” He remarked before handing her his Vibroblade handle first. She took it without question, slipping it into the inside of her left boot, her usual knife stowage place was out of action, the wound on her right ankle throbbing violently.

“I’ve had to learn how to handle a lot of things I don’t like over the years.” she said matter of factly shrugging as she looked up into Mando’s inky black visor.

“I’d bet my helmet on it.” Mando responded before placing his hands on her shoulders, “Look after these people but don’t be a hero. I don’t want to come back to find you’ve lost a limb trying to save that milkboy of a villager if he’s stupid enough to get in the way.” Lyn grumbled in protest but said no more on the matter.

“Go get them Beskar-Boy.” she retorted instead.

“Atin.” Mando breathed as he shook his helmet from side to side in a mixture of frustration and mocking laughter.

“What does that mean?” Lyn demanded, her vast language lexicon not registering the word, nor its originating language. But Mando was already on the move, heading towards one of the main routes out of the village.

“If you survive the night maybe I’ll tell you, Atin.” He didn’t look back as he responded, melting away into the night before her eyes.

As much as she wanted to linger, Lyn didn’t allow herself the pleasure, there was too much to be done. At speed she relayed orders to the villagers and they followed her without question. A strange sense of empowerment came to her as she shepherded those most vulnerable into shelter, the kid protested greatly as she made him sit with the others.

“I’ll be back for you soon, don’t worry little man, I got this.” She winked at him and he giggled in return. She closed the door to the shelter and turned to see Jeva waiting for her, his brow beading with sweat, his skin ghastly pale.

“Hey Jeva, you ok?” She asked, her tone kind, gentle as she approached him.

“No,” He admitted with a strangled laugh, “I’m scared.” Lyn smiled at him and took his hand in both of hers.

“So am I,” she admitted, the knot in her stomach had been growing and growing ever since Din had left, “But we have to be strong, for everyone we care about.” She squeezed his hand as she spoke.

“Yeah, of course.” Jeva said absently as the sound of explosions echoed from within the forest beyond.

Grav charges. They did it.

Lyn thought to herself and adrenaline coursed through her veins.

“This is it Jeva, we can do this. May the force be with you.” She squeezed his hand briefly before she turned and sprinted towards the trap point for the AT-ST, Jeva was left behind without a second thought, her mind focused on the task at hand. As she went she relayed orders to the villagers to ready the defences.

It wasn’t long after Lyn had readied the villagers in their positions that Mando and Cara burst through the forest head, leaping over the trap for the ex-Imp walker in unison. Lyn could feel the villagers’ tension as the pair burst into view.

“Hold your fire!” She bellowed, conscious that the villagers were on edge. A murmuring sigh of relief spread like a wave through the villagers, “Don’t get complacent, there won’t be a second false alarm, from now on it's now or never!” She roared, understanding their relief but it wouldn’t last long, things were about to get real, fast. The villagers tensed up once more, but with a determination.

“Nice job.” was all Mando said before he and Cara took up position with her behind a makeshift barrier of sandbags, carts and barrels. The reek of unfinished Spotchka rolled off of both of them, bookending them with their stench.

“Thanks,” she gagged, the stench of partially fermented Krill was eye watering, “Maker you two stink.”

“Yeah there was an incident with a batch of Spotchka.” Mando huffed a small laugh as he sidled up to her, their shoulders touching as they looked out into the dark forest beyond the perimeter.

“No shit.” She grumbled, but before she could add anything the lilting thud, thud of the walker pricked her ears up. A war cry sounded from the murky gloom and a shiver ran down Lyn’s spine.

“Make me proud.” Mando leant his helmet down to her as he whispered the command. She purred through clenched teeth, her stomach rolling with a mixture of anxiety and pleasure at the order, and nodded slowly.

“Give me your rifle.” She hissed, as the reeds before them rustled.

“What?”

“Give it.” she barked, holding out her hand as she did so. He said nothing more, handing her the weapon as he snaked his hand into her waistband, lingering a little longer than he needed to as he retrieved his blaster. The exchange could not have come too soon, as the AT-ST crashed through the trees.

“Steady.” Mando rumbled as tension bristled amongst the defenders.

The walker lurched forward, the hydraulic joints creaking and hissing as it jolted to a stop, just before the trap. Lyn took aim with the rifle but she couldn’t get a clean shot under the blast shields of the view ports.

“Come on just a little more.” Mando urged the walker on but it didn’t budge. Lyn cursed under her breath as a search-light destroyed her night vision.

“Get down!” Mando roared as a blaster bolt fired at one of the nearby huts, sending debris flying. The smell of blast burn thick in the air as the rest of the raiders burst from the tree line with a roar.

“We need to get the walker into the pit!” Dune cried out over the rapid volley of blaster fire that rained down on the raiders as the villagers began their defence. Their fire may have been sporadic but the sheer volume was enough to strike down many of the first wave of attackers but soon the raisers were upon them.

“Hey Lyn, I need the Pulse Rifle!” Cara shouted across and without missing a beat Lyn launched it at her, something about her tone said she had a plan, and Lyn was already running at the raiders as they descended onto Reva and his group. She grabbed one of the rudimentary spears just in time to raise it up into a high guard, the raider’s blade crashed down but she held strong. The impact was jarring and her arms burned with fatigue. In a swift, practised, movement she pivoted the spear over the top of the blade and plunged the top of the spear into the exposed neck of her assailant.

Blood spurted over Lyn and splashed onto Reva’s face. The hot sensation was all too familiar, but it was always a shock, taking a life. But she had no time to be emotional, she dropped the spear and picked up the sharpened metal bar before the impact of the walker crashing into the trap sent shockwaves through the ground. Lyn allowed herself a small smile as she charged forward with a roar, adrenaline and dopamine flooding her system as she hacked down another assailant. It was auto-pilot, a part of her mind trained to keep fighting until there was nothing left to cut down. A small voice in her head wanted her to stop, to flee, but it was futile. The Bloodlust was burning through her as she relished the violence.

“Lyn.”

She ignored the voice as she ran after the fleeing raiders, not satisfied with just the few kills she had made. There was a rage building in her chest, a fierce desire to hunt down every last one of the raiders. To finish the job.

“Allyna!” Mando’s voice cut through the bloody haze of her determination and she froze, her knuckles white from the tight grip on the blade in her hand. She turned with a mindless fury and swung at him, not really seeing him. He blocked with his vambraces in a cross and snarled, “Allyna, you need to calm down.” He hissed as he kicked her in the stomach. The breath let her body and she buckled.

“Bastard.” She choked and flew at him but she was being sloppy, Mando side-stepped her and stuck his boot out to catch her. Lyn tumbled forward into the sodden earth and before she could try anything Mando was on top of her, holding her head into the moist grass as his knees pinned her arms.

“Are you going to calm down now?” He asked, his tone steely.

“Fuck.” Allyna breathed, “Fuck the Maker.” She groaned, her senses coming back to her as she smelled the slightly fishy odour of the ground, mingled with grass and the metallic smell of blood.

“You good?” Mando asked, his voice softer than before as he released the pressure from her head, his weight was still bearing down on her as she took slow, steady breaths to try and calm her heart rate,

“I’m good.” She said as she squirmed under his weight.

“If I let you up will you swing for me again?” He sounded as exhausted as she felt, the muscle fatigue overwhelming her as the adrenaline faded from her system.

“Only if you’re into that.” She quipped, hoping the humour would prove she was compos mentis again.

“Atin.” Mando sighed as he released the pressure on her arms, rolling off her with a huff as he flopped onto his back.

“What does that mean?” Lyn grumbled as she rolled over to lie in parallel with him, their hands a hair's breadth away, but she didn’t reach out. She was too exhausted for gentle human touch.

“It’s Mando’a for stubborn, I think it fits you rather well.” Mando said with a chuckle, his hand twitched towards hers but he stopped himself, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.” Was all Lyn could muster and the sensation of his gloved hand wrapping around her trembling fingers was all the comfort she needed. The pair lay there for some time, both looking up into the inky darkness of the galaxy above them. Lyn wept silently to herself, letting the tears fall at whim.

“Din?” she whispered after a time, her body slowly feeling the chill of the night air and waterlogged ground below.

“Yes?”

“Can you take me home? I don’t think I have the energy to move.” She smiled through the pain, her whole body aching uncontrollably as the fatigue and burn of lactic acid rocked through her.

“As you wish.” Mando groaned as he struggled to sit up, his joints popping audibly as he did so. But without complaint he hoisted Lyn up into his arms and marched on back to the barn, clutching her to his chest like she was the most precious thing in the galaxy.

“I’m sorry.” Lyn whispered into his chest plate as she felt the pull of sleep on her mind.

“For what?”

“Coming into your life and screwing things up so much.” She sighed, her head awash with angst, regret and the inevitable post-adrenaline come down.

“I like a good screw.” He responded without missing a beat, his smirk was audible through his helmet.

“Gods you’re infuriating,” Lyn growled, her smile buried in his chestplate, “Here I am trying to wallow in some traumatic self-pity and you’re making jokes.”

“Would you like me any other way?” He asked sincerely as they reached the barn where they were staying.

“Absolutely not.”

“Sleep.” Din ordered her but her eyes were already closed by the time her head hit the makeshift pillow.

“Way ahead of you Beskar-boy.” She grunted, sleep taking her swiftly as Din slumped to the floor next to the bed. He stayed awake until dawn, watching the door and listening out for any signs of distress from Lyn. Eventually as the first rays of light shone through the window he allowed himself to sleep. The danger had passed.

***

Two weeks passed and Din was getting restless, he was dithering, trying to choose between comfort and the Creed. Omera and Winta occupied most of Mando’s time, and Lyn continued on helping the villagers in a general capacity. Resentment clouded Lyn’s mind, she had to move on, the tracker reactivation was already a worry but seeing Mando grow close to the mother and child reminded her that she was just a stowaway, just an inconvenience.

After a morning’s hard work Lyn stopped to take a meal break with some of the children of the village. They screamed and whirled around her as she ate. It was sweet, they had really accepted her as their own, but worry gnawed at her as she knew that her Vibroblade work would only last so long. It was already healing faster than she had hoped. The puckered pink scarring already making way for healthy skin recovery.

Lyn looked up at just the wrong moment, she watched from across the village as Omera began to pull Mando’s helmet off. She saw the curve of Din’s chin, still encased in the black fabric of his underclothing, but it was more than she had ever seen of his face. Her cheeks burned with jealousy as she held her breath. She knew she had no right to him, no right to be jealous but it hurt all the same.

The blaster bolt ricocheted across the village and Lyn sprang up as the rest of the villagers ducked for cover. Lyn sprinted to the kid, who was only a few feet away, and cradled him in her arms. She crooned softly to him as he cried out in distress. She thoroughly inspected him before placing back on the ground, his ears wavering in curiosity. It only took a few moments until Din was at her side.

“We need to go.” Mando’s voice came from behind her and she smiled, a sad, regretful smile.

“Understood,” She breathed and held the kid out to Din with as convincing a smile as she could muster, “Get out of here, protect the kid.” But as she finished she saw the pair of trackers in Mando’s hand blinking just out of sync. Her eyes widened in realisation and she nodded solemnly.

“They weren’t just here for him, we have to move.”

“Then we move.” Lyn said, scooping the kid up before the pair charged towards the Razor crest.

#mando fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #mando fanfic #mando fic #fanfic #the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian #mando #star wars fandom

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sadfruittheatre · 1 year

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Christmas at the Cabin - Ch. 2

As the day of the trip grew closer, Bragi was grew more and more excited. He didn’t particularly care for the location, but the idea of getting to spend two whole days (48 hours!!!) with his friend was far too good to pass up. Carefully helping each other pack and prepare, even Mara couldn’t help but feel the excitement as they discussed the sort of fun things they could do during their stay. Though the feeling of dread never quite left the pit of her stomach, she had almost forgotten about her parents even being there at all.

Finally, the day had arrived, and Bragi could hardly wait to meet Maraschi in front of her house. However, wait he would. She had insisted that for his own sake, he should actually show up on time, and after the disaster that came of showing up early to her birthday party, Bragi did not want to make the same mistake again, even though he was practically dying to. Having gotten fully ready far earlier than he probably should have (but only because he couldn’t sleep), he had nothing left to do but flop around on his bed anxiously and blow up Mara’s communicator with texts.

“Maraschi, please... Tell me I can come a little earlier?” he messaged her.

“For the 38th time, no.” came the quick (and accurately counted) reply. “You can wait ten more minutes, can’t you?”

“No.” And then, to further illustrate his anguish, he sent her a sad emoji.

“Bragi, you promised!” Mara frantically texted back.

“I know, I’m waiting! It’s just hard... I’m dying, Maraschi.....”

“No, you’re not. Just ten more minutes. Well, 9 and a half, now.” Bragi was in the middle of replying with several more sad faces when Mara texted him again. “I have to go. Mom needs me to help pack the car. Seriously, WAIT, okay?” He erased the wall of sadness he was about to send.

“Okay,” he replied instead. He then proceeded to bury his face in his pillow and whine.

9 minutes and 29 seconds later, Bragi’s alarm went off and he shot up like he had been struck by lightning. He quickly turned it off, grabbed his things, and one Kai Kai later, he was in front of Mara’s house. He could see Mara standing sheepishly next to the trunk of Flann’s minivan while Flann herself seemed to be discussing something with Carma, Mara’s mother.

“Look, the balance of it is all off!” Carma said, gesturing to the luggage in the back. “You know better than to let all our bags just roll around like that!”

“Just wait, it won’t be when--” Flann stopped when she noticed Bragi standing there. “Bragi! There you are!” Carma looked at him with surprise, followed by disdain.

“Oh... you,” she said flatly.

“Hello, Carma!” greeted Bragi with a forced grin as he practically spat out her name. “It’s been awhile! How are you doing?”

“...Fine.” She sighed. “I’m a little surprised and disappointed that Mara didn’t have the foresight to tell you, but we’re going on a trip for a few days, so you won’t be able to come and visit.” He furrowed his brow, giving her a quizzical look.

“I’m aware...?” he insisted, lifting up his luggage. “I’m coming too.” Carma raised an eyebrow.

“...Says who?”

“Says Flann!” Bragi pointed to the Majin, whom Mara was staring at in horror.

“You didn’t tell them?!” she hissed. Flann’s eyes, if they were capable, would have been darting around.

“I mean, I wanted to, but then I didn’t really know how to bring it up...” she stammered. “and then this and that happened, and well... Surprise!” She then jazz-hand gestured over to Bragi, who was now fidgeting under all the sudden scrutiny.

“Flann...?” Carma said firmly, eye twitching a bit. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure...!” Flann laughed nervously. “Mara, Bragi, stay right there!”

“Kone! Get over here!” Carma called as she led Flann a little way away from the vehicle. It was then that Bragi finally noticed Mara’s father, a barely noticeable lump of a man, come around from the other side of the van. Meanwhile, Mara ran her hand down her face and groaned.

“Flann, you...!”

“Does this mean I don’t get to go after all...?” Bragi asked sadly.

“Probably not, unless Flann actually has some kind of plan hinging not saying anything until the last minute...” Mara sighed.

“M-Maybe she does! ...It didn’t really seem like it, but it could be true, right?”

“I don’t know... Even if she does, Mom’s pretty stubborn... Also, she isn’t exactly a huge fan of you, so...”

“I mean, the feeling’s mutual, but what about the spirit of putting up with each other? Surely she cares at least a little about what would make you happy!” Bragi paused for a moment as the flash of an idea hit him. “...Maybe if you cry and--”

“Bragi, that’s not gonna work.”

“Then I will cry!” he declared, already about to cry anyway. Mara rolled her eyes and gently patted him on the back.

“That’s really not gonna work.”

“I know, but--” Before he could further justify the impending waterworks, the three adults returned from their impromptu conference. Mara and Bragi looked up at them expectantly, too nervous to say anything.

“...Alright,” Carma began. Her expression was unreadable. She paused for a long time, as if trying to force herself to say the words. “...Put your bags in the trunk.” Bragi’s eyes widened and he looked from Carma to Mara, who looked equally shocked by the response.

“Y-You mean I can really...?” he stammered, looking back to Carma. She sighed.

“...That was the implication, yes. What, did you think I was going to steal your luggage?” A huge smile slowly spread across Bragi’s face, and despite his better judgement, he practically ran over to Mara’s mother and vigorously shook her hands.

“Thank you, thank you for your graciousness!” he cheered, unable to stop himself from crying. “I promise you won’t regret it!” It was perhaps the most genuine kind thing he had ever expressed towards the woman.

“Don’t thank me, thank Flann,” she said flatly, already regretting it. “You’re her pet project. Just don’t break anything or... pee on the carpet or whatever, or you’ll be paying for it.” Bragi immediately stopped crying and just gave her an offended look at the insinuation that he would ever do something so disgusting.

“...It was a joke.”

“Ah!” Bragi exclaimed, loudly forcing a laugh. “L-Like a... pet...! Very funny! Ahahaha!”

“No, it wasn’t,” retorted Carma. “Have better taste.” If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought she looked a tad... embarrassed?

“B-But you were the one that--” he stammered before giving up. Mara sighed, shaking her head. If this was either of their best attempts at getting along, the next couple of days were going to be hell.

“Here, let me help you!” Flann interjected in an attempt to stop this train wreck of a conversation. She scurried over and skillfully fitted Bragi’s luggage into the back of the van. “Voila!” She turned to look at Carma. “I told you it would all come together!” Carma just gave an affirming grunt before turning to head to the front seat of the van. Flann gave the kids a thumbs up when she was sure Carma wasn’t looking.

“What in the world did you do to make that work, Flann?” Mara asked.

“Why, I reminded her of the true spirit of Christmas!” she explained vaguely before looking directly at Bragi. “I also assured her that you wanted to turn over a new leaf and would be on your best behavior. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

“O-Of course!” he replied with a nod and a salute. Flann glanced back over to the van.

“Will you be okay not sitting in the front seat this time?” she asked him. He glanced over at Mara and nodded.

“It’s better for Maraschi’s sake if I sit in the back with her!” he insisted, perishing the thought of forcing Carma to move, let alone stranding Mara between her parents with no defenses. “...Also, it’s more fun that way!” With a grin, he marched his way over to the back seat behind where Flann would be driving. Once he got situated, he looked over, fully expecting Mara to be sitting next to him, only to once again be reminded of Kone’s existence, squishing him half to death. Mara leaned forward and waved from the other side.

“Sorry to be cramping your style,” Kone laughed in the sort of way that only a father making a Dad Joke could.

“Geez...” Mara half-chuckled, half-sighed in the sort of way only a teenager hearing her father tell a Dad Joke in front of her friends could.

"It’s fine,” Bragi said with a shrug, completely lost on the fatherly tomfoolery. He was more concerned with the claustrophobic situation and the fact that his friend was a world away by car seat standards, which was not actually fine.

“Is everyone ready?” Flann asked, having climbed into the driver’s seat during this time. Everyone gave some sort of acknowledgement, and the majin pulled the van out of the driveway, and the group set off.

#writing #bragi #narrative

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grain-my-beloved · 3 years

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Yknow, that one scene in Yandere where Grian screams at Okami and calls her a terrible parent definitely feels like projection.

Like, I heard his multiple passionate rants about how if HIS kid was missing then HE would be on the streets looking for them and why the hell isn't Okami doing that, why is she standing around crying instead of doing something, how could she leave her daughter with three kindergarteners and expect things to work out anyways, what is wrong with her, she's such a terrible mother, etc. And I immediately went "Oh yeah. This is a kid who just got abandoned by his parents".

Like. He certainly had a genuine point there. His rant towards Okami wasn't entirely unwarranted. She left her three year old daughter with only some five year olds for supervision and expected it to work out then she and Rowan spent the next day or so sending glares at these three children as if it's actually their fault when they're literally kindergarteners. But Grian went off. And while I wouldn't call Grian blowing up on her entirely unwarranted, I would call it slightly out of place in just how heated and personally upset he was, not just about being blamed, but also about the fact that she wasn't doing enough generally to ensure her daughter was safe and with her. And contrary to some people's belief, Grian isn't actually usually reactionary enough to go off like that at people in an out of place way? He's definitely always had a tendency of falling into the only-sane-man role which means a lot of exasperated and annoyed jabs at the insanity perpetuated by the people around him. And he's always been assertive enough that snapping back at someone who's being irrational or a prick to him isn't abnomal. However screaming at a mother who's child just went missing that she's a terrible parent and reiterating the comment on multiple other occasions to the point of getting sideeyed and reprimended by the other people being unfairly blamed along with him? That's a step outside of his normal wheelhouse. That definitely reads as projected rage considering his own parents had very recently sent him away.

In fact a Lot of Grian's behaviour in Yandere seems to be tied to his feelings over being abandoned. Grian in Yandere is unique because of how generally angry and standoffish he is. Throughout his highschool years, Grian can absolutely be cynical and bitter. However not generally as a core aspect of himself.

In fact, he can actually be quite friendly in his highschool years, with moments of annoyance popping up in direct response to his frequent slating in the Only Sane Man role. Which if you don't know what that means, to quote the Tv Tropes article on the only sane man, "picture this: Alice is a psycho for hire, Bob is a cloudcookolander, henry is an empty shell, charlotte is a chaotic stupid prankster, daniel is the annoying younger sibling, emily is a jerk with a heart of jerk, maria rhymes on a dime, Franklin is a mad scientist, and Gardenia is a holier than thou lawful stupid. Looks like your standard dysfunction junction. But then you have Isaac. Isaac is actually a very well-adjusted individual. He reacts with appropriate horror to things like Alice's finger collection or Franklin's experiments to revive the dead with science, and the crimes against nature that Gardenia calls pets. Isaac is the Only sane Man and The Only Voice Of Reason in the room". Grian would be Isaac in this scenario. He isn't completely free of quirks but he fails to fall under the group delusions of the other's, often calls out the fact that their school should probably be teaching them, is the only one who seems too perturbed by the cops doing nothing to help anyone ever, and pretty consistently objects to doing crime (especially severe or really dumb one's). This along with Grian's tendency to hold deep vitriolic disdain for his abuser (*cough* sam *cough*) down to telling him he's "Literally The Worst Person Who's Ever Existed" can make Grian come across as pretty constantly irritated and volatile.

He's really honestly not though. At least not as an aspect of his personality. Assertiveness and rationality can make him appear volatile when he's in the environment yhs often provides. But we know this isn't his natural state and that when not being actively handed a reason to be upset he's often very polite. This is not the same in Yandere. In Yandere Grian is just plain standoffish, rude, and even sometimes explosive. He doesn't need to be pushed. Anger that in later years would typically be reserved for people who Seriously hurt him is extended a lot more easily. General irritation is also less a notable (if unfortunately frequent) reaction to outside bullshit and more just Grian's state of being in Yandere.

Which I think is, very sadly, a direct result of the abandonment he faced from his parents before the series. Grian makes constant remarks about how he was left and his parents don't love him and how he wants to go home, ranging from petty angry remarks on how he hates this stupid country all the way to teary eyed rambling about his parents leaving him even to the point kf explosive anger. Hell, he spends the first few episodes violently pushing away the only people who try to befriend him and doing his absolute best to salt the earth under them. To me it all just screams of a little kid with abandonment issues trying to avoid further hurt by lashing out after his parents left him, loudly proclaiming his disdain for the country, his class, and every specific person who comes into contact with him frequently enough. Which I just think is Very sad.

#yhs #yhs grian #yandere highschool

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

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Nature’s Nurturing Ways

Hi y’all! This pandemic has really taken the wind out of my sails these past few weeks (maybe months? Time is completely untraceable right now). This piece is born out of a lovely anon’s request, bolded below. As always, I haven’t proofread this mess, so please forgive the typos! I’ll do my best to correct them post-publishing. I seriously can’t thank you enough for taking the time to send me your ideas, and I promise I’ll get better at writing actual drabbles LOL. I hope you enjoy :)

Hii can you write something abt Geralt being w a plant-based reader where she loves animals and nature? Tysm

_____________________________________________________________

Geralt and Jaskier had been travelling for hours when the beating sun finally wore them down. There hadn’t been a breeze in days and the hot, stale air was starting to suffocate the uncharacteristically quiet bard, who wouldn’t dare compete with the surrounding cicada’s symphony.

“Geralt,” he rasped, “do you hear any running water? Drips or gurgles? I’ll take anything.”

“Jask, it hasn’t rained in days and it’s hotter than the depths of hell,” the Witcher sighed before continuing, “I said no yesterday, the answer is the same today.”

“Euughh!” Jaskier threw his head back in despair before hanging his head in exhaustion. “Geralt, I don’t want to be dramatic -,”

“Ha!” Geralt twisted in his saddle to look back at his friend with a quirked brow.

“- but I will fall off this horse and die of exposure if we don’t find water soon.”

Shaking his head, Geralt knew that despite the bard’s tendency to embellish, the situation was getting dire. They’d traveled this way dozens of times before and had always relied on the steady creek that ran alongside the trail for water. The region wasn’t known for dry spells and while Geralt was sure he could manage either way, his companion on the trail was not so durable.

They wouldn’t arrive at their destination for another three or four hours, at his level of dehydration and with probable heat exhaustion, Jaskier might not have that much time.

With another gruff sigh, Geralt pulled back on Roach’s reins and redirected her off the road and into the forest, turning back to ensure Jaskier’s horse would follow.

Geralt knew that there was a small clearing off the road where the thick leaves from the old trees made a lush, and shaded, canopy. He’d been there before a handful of times. It’s where he shared a tender first kiss, where he’d laid his head on Y/N’s chest before falling asleep feeling the cool, lush, grass cradling his large frame. It’s where he first said I love you.

Shaking his head slightly to pull himself from his memories, he dismounted and grabbed both sets of reins, leading the horses into farther the clearing. Once they’d reached the middle of the small field, Geralt released Roach’s lead and gave her a neck a scratch before leaving her to graze.

“Come on Jaskier,” he said, reaching into the gelding’s saddle bag for some food, “get off your horse and lay down in the grass.”

The bard fell out of his saddle with a thud while Geralt continue to root around the bag, huffing as he kept coming up empty.

“Did you eat the last of the cheese?”

“Mmpft,” Jaskier replied incoherently, face down in the grass.

“Hey –”

“Oi! You kicked me!”

“Where is the food? We had bread, cheese, and meat left over last night. Did you fucking eat it all?”

“No, you oaf,” he said, rolling over onto his back, “we ate the rest of it this morning.”

“Fuck!” Geralt cursed under his breath, pulling his hair up off his neck to cool off. He could barely remember what they’d done earlier that day. The heat had been unbearable all evening, and the rising sun only made it worse.

“Don’t worry about it Geralt! No need to apologize for accusing me so harshly.” Jaskier said, words dripping in sarcasm.

Geralt merely looked down at the bard with disdain and rolled his eyes, refusing to admit the sun might be affecting him too.

“Shut up and take off your shirt –”

“Oh-ho!” he laughed weakly, wiggling his eye brows at the witcher. No matter how beaten and battered the bard may be, he’d never miss an opportunity to tease Geralt.

“No, Gods! Fuck,” Geralt went on, flustered, “the grass will cool you down a hell of a lot faster if you’re in direct contact. And besides, Y/N will kill me if I let you die of exposure.”

“Always so serious, eh Geralt?” Jaskier chided playfully, pulling off his tunic before laying back down onto the grass, “Oh-ho-ho-ohhhh yes… Sweet merciful goddess of all that is good, this feels amazing! Yes, yes, yes!”

While he was sure the bard was still mumbling gratefully, and disgustingly, at the feeling of the cool grass against his skin, Geralt’s mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in this clearing, wild heliotropes had bloomed and the sweet, almondine scent was pulling him into a memory.

“Geralt! Witchers use herbs, mushrooms, and flowers in all kinds of magic,” you said, your hands resting high on your hips, “I find it incredibly hard to believe that in all your years and extensive travels, you’d never learned to forage?”

“All my years, eh?” he’d replied, cat-like eyes gleaming back at you.

“Well of course,” you teased, “I mean, unless you mean to tell me that silver head of hair is a choice born out of vanity?”

“I’m going to make you pay for that later, Y/N.” He laughed, taken aback and a little impressed that you felt so comfortable with his mutations as to mock him playfully.

“Ha! Me and what coin?” you reply with a light laugh, bending over to collect the generous mushrooms growing through the bed of leaves and needles.

Geralt turned his head towards you to hit you with a winning comeback, but found himself lost for words when his eyes failed to meet yours.

You get up slowly, peering over your shoulder to find your witcher’s eyes on your backside. Smirking to yourself and quirking a brow flirtatiously, you toss a handful of dirt and wet leaves his way, hitting the poor soul right in the chest.

“Distracted, Geralt?” you said, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you straightened up.

Geralt swallowed thickly, desperately trying to string together at least a couple words – witty at best, coherent at least – when he heard a twig snap in the surrounding forest.

Quick as a flash, he drew his sword and his attention towards the source of the disturbance, a large boar. Chest already swelling with pride at the thought of providing you with a hearty meal, Geralt prepared his attack on the creature before him.

Seeing that the “threat” in question was nothing but a passing porcine, you dove before him with a shout, dropping the mushrooms on the way. Your scream coupled with your sudden movement startled the beast, and it dove deeper into the brush to escape.

“Geralt, no!”

“Damn it, Y/N,” he swore, “I could’ve had it! We could have had a decent meal! We – we would have been set for days!”

“No, Geralt! We have food, right here in this clearing. We needn’t take lives from the forest to eat.”

“Gods, Y/N,” he sighed, dropping his sword to the ground in frustration, “do I need to remind you of the cycle of life? Creatures live, they die, and they get eaten so others can live –”

“Yes, and by leaving that gentle giant to its ruminations, we’ve allowed it to go on, to feed its young, or hell! By leaving that boar to live, we might have secured a lifeline for a fellow wolf or fox. Geralt look around you; mushrooms, flowers, these thick leaves, those berries? You see that tree there? At its roots there are nuts, and over there? Those flowers? Means there is garlic. The forest will feed us with ease if we simply care to drop our weapons, and look.”

Geralt looked at you and with soft eyes, he took in the way your eyes burned with passion, the way your chest rose and fell with every energized breath. He looked around you and really looked at the plants around him, beyond scanning for any toxic or dangerous herbs, he did his best to see the forest through your bright eyes.

Looking at you he felt his chest swell once more, but this time the feeling was warm, grounding.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said quietly, pulling you into his arms, “so, so much.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You knew he loved you. You had known for months, but you’d made peace with the fact that he loved you however he could, and that that would have to be enough, even if it meant you wouldn’t hear him say it.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet dove,” you murmured, reaching up to lay a soft kiss on his forehead, “I love you too.”

Geralt was wrenched from his thoughts by a swift kick to his shin, courtesy of the bard.

“Shhht!! Geralt!” Jaskier shout-whispered, still kicking at the witcher’s shins. “A deer! A d- dinner! Food! Geralt!”

Side-stepping out of the bard’s frantic little kicks, Geralt looked around him in a quick movement, spotting the deer with his hand primed above his sword’s hilt.

The world seemed to go quiet and still when his eyes met the doe’s. Despite himself, he could hear your voice in his head telling him that she’s a young, vibrant member of this forest’s population. That at her age, she’s likely a first-time mom or about to be. That she has more life to live and more to give to the land than be a poor man’s meal.

Jaskier watched in hungry-horror as Geralt waved his large hand at the creature, turning his back to it before looking down to meet his shell-shocked gaze.

“What the fuck, Geralt!” he spat, “what happened to “Y/N would kill me if I let Jaskier die”? What the fuck! That was food! Survival!”

“You’ll be fine Jask, shut up and lay in your grass.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat it.” He grumbled, not quietly enough.

A laugh rumbled through him as he walked towards to forest line, spotting thick dandelion leaves, mushrooms, and bushes ripe with nuts. He might not necessarily need to feed Jaskier the grass beneath his feet, but he was going to make him eat his words.

***********************************************************************************

“There you are my intrepid explorers!” You damn near squealed at the sight of them, dropping your basket of recently-purchased produce as you ran towards them.

At the sight of you, Geralt dismounts and runs to meet you in a tight embrace. You hold each other tightly, breathing in each other’s scent; his cedar, damp earth, and cut grass, and yours sweet almond.

You pull back just enough to look him over quickly and, spotting no fresh injury or new scars, pull your brows together curiously.

“Did you get lost?”

“Not at all,” replied Jaskier, clapping Geralt on the shoulder, “You’d be impressed, madam Y/N! Our dear witcher made quite the feast. Pulled me right out of the greedy jaws of death, he did!”

“Oh?” You said, brows furrowed in a silent question. Knowing what you meant, Geralt shook his head and kissed your temple to reassure you.

“Picture me this, Y/N,” Jaskier mused as he untacked his gelding, “I’m wilting away, inches from Death’s grip, and Geralt sweeps me under a lush canopy of trees and lays me in the grass…”

“Lays him in the grass? Should I be jealous?” you whispered.

“Never my love,” he replied softly, his forehead against yours.

“… then our honorable friend bid the deer a fond farewell, letting him get away! Yes, Y/N, there I lay, starving, thinking the sun must have cooked the sense right out of him when he marches out of sight only to emerge moments later with a bounty!”

“A bounty?” you mock-gasp, egging the bard on to Geralt’s great displeasure.

“Yes! We ate like kings in that forest, Y/N. All we did was eat but I felt hydrated and renewed! Truly a culinary delight.”

“A delight, Geralt!” you giggled, giving his waist a squeeze.

“Gods, won’t he ever shut up?” he grumbled, ghost of a blush creeping up his collar.

“Oh hush, my love,” you cooed, “without Jask’s bragging, I’d have never known what a big softy you’ve become.”

Wordlessly, Geralt looked down at you in mock-contempt, unsure that this wasn’t a veiled insult. He was instantly reassured though, when his eyes met yours.

“You left the deer.”

“I did.”

“And you foraged, found just what you needed.” You spoke softly, admiration and love rounding your features out beautifully.

“That’s right.”

“Now where did you pick up skills like that, my dove?” You chanced another tease, twirling a lock of his white, dust-packed hair around a finger before giving it a light tug, your head cocked to the side.

“Oh, I had an exceptional teacher…” he said, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist and bringing his other hand up to cup your face, pulling into a deep kiss.

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