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selineram3421 · 1 year

Text

Ha... Summer is coming. And with it the change of temperature.

Isekai'd

Part 1: Saved By the Undertaker

Prologue

Vash (Tristamp) X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ cussing, slight heat coma?[just passing out] ⚠

You don't know how long you've been walking.

The heat was distorting time and you were uncomfortable, sweat being produced by your body and some running down your forehead.

I can't believe I've been Isekai'd.

Not only that, you didn't know when in the series you landed.

Its only logical that I landed around the first episodes. You thought. But I can't be too sure.. What if I'm in Trigun 98? Geez its hot.

The clothes you were wearing weren't helping. They clung to your skin and trapped the heat in, and your shoes were filled with sand.

The only thing on your mind was to find a town quick, or hope for some help to pass by.

I have to be careful though, there's a lot of creeps and assholes.

At some point you stumbled upon a large rock. You didn't think much of it but then realized that it would have shade to help you cool off.

Oh thank whatever being placed this here.

Rushing over, you slid into the shade on your knees and leaned back, letting your back rest against the rock.

"I swear, if I kept walking any longer I would have gotten a bad sunburn.", you sighed.

Now that you've stopped walking, the feeling of being tired set in your bones. It didn't help that you stayed up all night watching anime.

I can't go to sleep though. You thought, feeling your eyelids droop. I have to..

The heat was making you sleepy.

It was a problem you had even on Earth, your body just shut down whenever it got too hot.

I can't..

That was the last thing you thought before passing out.

✴

A tree.

You saw a tree after opening your eyes. Then the feeling of grass brushing against your fingers.

The wind was blowing softly and made the leafs rustle, light shimmering through the spaces between. Making it look like sparkling gold.

This is nice. You thought, feeling calm.

A song was playing but you didn't notice until the wind stopped.

Someone was humming.

Turning your head, you see a woman with black hair near a meadow of red flowers. And then you remembered.

"Rem?", you spoke out loud.

She turned to face you with a smile.

Then all of it faded away.

✴

You woke up in a daze.

Ribs hurting, meaning you slept for way too long.

After sitting up, you notice that you're not in the desert anymore. Instead you find yourself in a room that smells a lot like a hospital or clinic.

How did I-? You think before a sudden dizzy spell takes over and you lean to the side, falling off the bed with a loud thud.

"Ow."

You hear the door opening and at least two sets of footsteps rushing into the room.

"You shouldn't be moving around yet.", an older man says and helps you sit up.

He looks like the boiler man from Spirited Away, just a little bit. But his moustache is white and he's wearing glasses instead of the little shades. Obviously, no extra set of arms.

"Young man.", he looks over at the other person that followed him in. "Could you help them back onto the bed?"

Following the old man's gaze, you see a tall man with black hair, black shades, and wearing a suit. Smoking a cigarette-

"And please put that out, there is no smoking allowed in the clinic.", the old man says.

Woolfwood!? You think in shock.

"Sure.", he says with a sigh, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out.

Seriously, when the fuck am I in the series!?

Now back on the bed, the old man does a quick check up on you.

"You're lucky. If this man hadn't found you, you would have ended up as worm food.", he says and hands you a glass of water.

"Thanks.", you say and gulp down the water.

I honestly would have accepted my fate. You thought.

"Um, where am I exactly?", you ask.

"You're in the city of Lowland", the doctor says.

You hum and try to remember the map that was brought up in the episodes.

If I remember correctly, Jeneora Rock is to the West of here. You thank the old man before getting too deep in your thoughts. I'll have to draw up the map soon.

"I've got a question.", Nicholas pipes in, making you look over at him. "Where are you from? You don't look like you're properly..uh"

Oh shit oh shit oh shit-!

You hope the panic doesn't show on your face as you try and think up some sort of excuse.

"I-I don't remember.", you stutter out and look down with confusion written on your face.

I'm going to have to play the amnesia card! Its the only way for right now!

"I just remember walking through the desert and resting in the shade.", you say and try to sell the act by looking frustrated. "I can't remember.."

"It sounds like a case of amnesia.", the doctor says.

I'm playing a card that most fanfics use! I'm sorry but I couldn't think of anything else!

"Sounds like shitty situation.", Nicholas syas.

You have no idea. You think, crying internally.

"I'm off then.", the man in the suit says and starts making his way to the door. "You're not dead and I have no reason to be around anymore."

Before he could walk out the door, your brain rushed out some words.

"At least tell me your name!"

The undertaker glances over his shoulder to look at you. "Nicholas.", he says and puts an unlit cigarette between his lips. "Nicholas D. Wolfwood."

Then he walks out.

Very in character. You think and sigh, letting your head hang down. How am I going to survive on this hellish planet?

Looking down at your hands, you notice something that somehow passed over your head.

I'm in Trigun Stampede and-

"I'M FUCKING ANIMATED!?"

Lol, he thought you were dead.

~Seline, the person.

Next: Part 2

Taglist@ ?

ML Vash | ChL Isekai'd

#vash the stampede x reader #x reader #gn reader #tristamp #trigun stampede #trigun #vash #vash the stampede #vash x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood #isekai #playing the amnesia card #tristamp gif #tristamp fanfic #trigun vash

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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 year

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It was difficult, shopping for someone who had everything already.

Harry loved Draco more than he loved life itself, but he was absolutely impossible to shop for. Every year, Harry dreaded Christmas and then six months later his birthday, and then six more months and it was Christmas again, and... well.

He was wandering uselessly down Diagon when a new shop caught his attention. He'd been here just yesterday and the shop hadn't existed at all. Over the doorway there was a sign that only said 'The Bookshop' in someone's hasty handwriting but Harry felt compelled, for no reason that he could comprehend, to wander in.

The shop was packed tightly with books of all sorts, there was, by Harry's estimation at least, no discernible cataloging system and it appeared that every book was in some varying state of use.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, a woman called out, "here shopping for a lover, child?"

He turned at the sound of her voice and spotted her sitting amid piles of books. She was doing some sort of magic on them, but Harry wasn't sure what. Something about her reminded him of wide spaces, of giant trees, and crashing waves; maybe it was the way her curly brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and back like vines; or maybe it was the way her eyes seemed to shift colors, a verdigris mix of greys, and greens, and blues; or perhaps it was the deep wrinkles set into her face, lines for joy, and sorrow, and trials. Or maybe it was none of those things at all, but a deeper magic still. "Err-"

"Don't be shy," she said, beckoning him inward further with the crook of a finger. "Tell me, was I right? Is it a lover you're shopping for?"

And for a reason that Harry couldn't quite explain, he came toward her. "Yes," he said, as he stepped nearer. "My husband. But I haven't any idea what I'm looking for, so I'll just-"

"Hush," she commanded. "He's fair, this man of yours? Tall, slender, and pale?"

He frowned, "Yes, but-"

"Bright with a wild imagination?"

He nodded uncertainly.

She smiled, revealing perfectly white, sharp teeth. "The little dragon lord," she whispered, staring unseeingly at Harry for a long moment.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, taking a step back from her uncertainly.

The woman blinked, "It's a story," she replied. Then she held out her hand and a book that was lying open without any words on the pages, slid into her palm of its own volition. She hummed softly, a melody that left Harry feeling simultaneously afraid, hopeful, and just a little melancholic.

Naturally, those feelings stirred in him the desire to step closer and see what she was creating.

She glanced up at him, eyes warm and fond, before she looked back down at the book in her hands. Harry followed her gaze and saw that the pages were filling up with words, pages flipping themselves as the chapters were written.

A moment later the book snapped shut and she held it out to him.

Without really thinking about it, he took it and opened it. On the first page and written in a lovely curling script was

Le Petit Dragon-Seignior

"It's in French?" he asked, flipping through the first few pages and picking out a few of the French words he knew.

She nodded, "It's a French Story by tradition," she replied. "The first language it was ever told in," she hummed thoughtfully then added, "The only language it's ever been given in, in its entirety."

"I," he started before trailing off. "How did you-?"

"My father was a great seer, my mother one of the few dryads remaining in the forests in the Lowlands of Scotland where Merlin himself once lived," she said. "My gifts allow me to understand the heart of the intended recipient and give me power over the dead trees that have been preserved in the pages of these books," she continued, gesturing to the stacks of books all around her. "The door of my shop only appears to those seeking earnestly a gift that can only be given with great trust and love."

He blinked, glancing back at the door to the shop and watching as a group of people hurried past without seeming to notice the shop's existence at all. "So no one-"

"No," she agreed. "I'm alone here but for my books," one of her hands caressed the spine of one of those nearest to her. "But I don't mind," she added. "The wooden posts and door of this shop have given me sanctuary in a world that has often sought to destroy creatures like me."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, he didn't like that. He didn't enjoy the thought of her here all alone, of the darkness that still pervaded this world.

"Ah," she said softly, mouth curving into a secret little smile at him, "he's found his knight, it seems."

"Sorry?"

"Go," she said, shooing him away. "You've much to do before the day's end. With Christmas tomorrow for you and your beloved," she added.

"Can I come back?" he asked, even as the door seemed to be getting closer without him having moved an inch.

She lifted a shoulder, "Perhaps. When the birth of a new star is on the horizon and you seek just as surely the gift of love in the form of kinship to the past, present, and future."

"What?" he asked, but before he could obtain any semblance of clarity, he found himself standing on the sidewalk staring at a brick wall with nothing but the book in his hand to prove that he'd just seen anything wondrous at all.

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

One gift.

That was all that they allowed themselves to give to the other.

They'd learned their lesson early on in their relationship, if they gave more than one it became a competition. And they both already had too many things. And they were both difficult to shop for.

Harry couldn't say that he wasn't nervous about this year's gift exchange. In fairness, he always was, but the how of getting this gift for Draco only continued to seem more and more impossible.

Still, the melody she'd hummed had stuck somewhere in the back of Harry's brain, repeating over and over, comforting him in his indecision. And when the time came for them to exchange their gifts, still in bed with a tray of coffee and cinnamon buns half finished between them, he and Draco said at the same time, "You're a hard man to shop for."

Harry laughed and Draco rolled his eyes, leaning in to kiss the smile off his lips. "Would you like to go first?"

Draco shook his head, glancing off to the side nervously.

"Whatever you've gotten me," Harry said softly, "You know that I'll love it."

"I haven't actually bought you anything," Draco said, biting his lip.

"Well," Harry said, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the book he'd wrapped when he got home from the bookshop, "I didn't technically buy this for you either. It was given to me by someone who was either one of the most interesting people I've ever met or the most insane." He paused and tilted his head, "Either way, she is still probably among the most interesting."

"That's saying something," Draco teased, "you do so love to meet people."

He laughed, it was a long standing joke that they could never get out of a party in under two hours, no matter how they tried, because Harry always always found someone who was too interesting not to talk to. "I'll tell you the story after you open it," he promised.

Draco took the package and opened it, hands smoothing over the wooden cover binder before turning to the first page. Not a word fell from his lips, but his hand flew up to cover his mouth as he turned to the first page and skimmed through the words. "How-?" he asked, looking up at Harry with tears shining in his eyes. "Wherever did you find this?"

He set about telling the story of how he'd stumbled into the bookshop the day before and telling him all about the woman he'd met there. "She gave me this book and said it was the perfect gift for you."

For just a moment, Draco sat completely still and silent. "My grandmere used to tell me this story when I was a little boy," he said. "Whenever I visited her home in France, I'd get a new part of the adventure of the little dragon-lord," he said wistfully, eyes mostly closed in memory. After a moment he looked at Harry, "I've looked for this story," he said. "I've looked everywhere, I've even hired people who deal in rare books to find it. It doesn't exist," he said and a shiver slipped up Harry's spine. "I thought she made the whole thing up. A story to help me weather the storms of life that were headed my way," he added with a little smile, "to teach me how to love and how to know when I'd found the right man to love me in return."

Harry smiled at him and took his outstretched hand, "I wouldn't be surprised if that was true. The whole book wrote itself while I was standing there."

Draco hugged the book to his chest, eyes closed as he breathed through his nose.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

His husband nodded, a tear spilling down his cheek, "I don't think you'll ever be able to give me a better present."

"I gave you a ring for Christmas last year," he said, trailing a finger over the engagement ring entwined with his wedding band, "And you said that then, too."

Draco laughed, one eye opening, "I look forward to you upping your game next year, then."

Harry groaned, "Impossible."

The smile slipped a bit from his face and he said, "Now I really don't want to give you your gift."

Harry leaned over and pressed a kiss to Draco's lips, "I am sure that I will love it."

Wiping his eyes, Draco set his book carefully on the bed next to them before leaning over and opening his nightstand to pull out a small package.

Harry took it and carefully untied the bow and slid open the wrapping paper. The lid of the box was the next thing to go, followed by a few layers of tissue paper. Nestled in more tissue paper was a vial filled with an opalescent fluid. "Sorry," he said, looking up at Draco, "you're going to have to help me a little with what it is. Potions was never my best subject."

Draco took a deep breath and sat up straighter, like he was stealing himself. "It's a fertility potion," he said.

Harry tilted his head but before he could say anything or ask any follow up questions Draco continued.

"It's an old magic," he said. "Known in mostly only pure blood circles because you have to have quite a bit of generational magic flowing through your veins for it to work. And because it requires at least a little bit of creature blood in your ancestry for it to be safe," he rattled off, quicker than Harry could even process. "And we don't have to, if you don't want to," he added quickly. "It's just sometimes I see the way you look at Ron and Hermione with Rose and I want you to have everything you could ever want. And I love the idea of having kids, I've always wanted to have kids," he continued. "But if you don't then-"

"Draco," he interrupted, "Wait. This potion," he said slowly, afraid that he was going to get it wrong, "would let us-?" he trailed off uncertainly.

"Have a baby," Draco answered meekly, like he was afraid of the outcome. "I've got loads of generational magic in my blood and there's Veela blood on my father's side. Not a lot," he hastened to add, "like I'm not going to sprout claws or grow wings or anything. But enough to be a binding agent for this to work."

"I-" he started, shaking his head, "But it's dangerous?"

"No more than any pregnancy, my healer assured me before I brought it to you," he said. Then, "But if it's not something you want-"

"Draco," he breathed. "Are you serious?"

He nodded uncertainly.

"Is that," he broke off, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Is a baby something you want?" he whispered, terrified of his husband's answer.

Draco nodded again, tears spilling from his eyes again, "I do," he said. "But it's fine if you don't," he said, arms wrapped around his stomach. "I-"

Harry set the box over on his nightstand and then promptly tackled Draco to the bed. "I desperately want to have a baby with you," he breathed against Draco's lips.

"Yeah?" Draco asked, leaning as far back as he could so that he could see Harry's face.

He pulled back to make it easier, "Yes, Draco. Godric, yes. I'd love to have a baby with you."

"Okay," his husband whispered, eyes filling with tears.

"Happy tears?" he asked.

Draco nodded and dragged Harry's mouth back to his own to kiss him again.

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

8 and 1/2 months later

Harry wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for to be honest. He'd just had this itch that was impossible to scratch, this urge to buy everything he could for Draco and the baby (Adhara, he reminded himself, the name making him smile; it was the brightest star in the Canis major constellation, close to Sirius. A name picked to honor the traditions in Draco's family and Harry's loved ones at the same time but without giving her anything to dictate who she'd become).

His need to provide (to nest, Draco had teased fondly, if a bit exasperated) was driving them both a little spare. But Harry couldn't help but wander through Diagon, just in case, waiting for something to jump out at him.

It was then, that the little bookshop appeared once more and her parting words came back to him. When the birth of a new star is on the horizon and you seek just as surely the gift of love in the form of kinship to the past, present, and future.

This time, Harry went in without any trace of uncertainty.

#Not quite sure where this one came from #i'm not mad at it though #drarry fanfic #magic #mentions mpreg #husbands #soft #fluff #drarry #25 days of draco and harry #25 days of drarry #traditional prompt 6 #christmas #a little world building is good for the soul #10/10 would just go vibe in this bookshop. sign me up.

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garagepaperback · 7 days

Text

rise and fall

Next to him, Potter’s a brown sprawl of slope, fuzzy in the dim lateness.

The lights stay off every time and still, the view snags. It caves in the tunnel of his throat just to watch - Potter’s heavy during, shoulders practically stone, a slick weight above Draco, all over, and he's the same after. Languid and thick and easy about falling asleep, humming and pleasure-leaden until his eyelashes settle, a coarse fan on his cheek. His head half-shoved under a pillow, he's curled on his side, palm open with one arm stretching toward nothing. The crest and break of his breathing is huge, and Draco stays very still, watching.

Potter looks dead. Draco thinks so every time.

The impossibility of the whole, strange habit makes the unlikelihood of that particular idea feel dangerously possible. It’s easy; three years ago he was. In the yawning light, he was supposed to be gone and it was - it’s been hard to simply believe he might really be here, after all.

Particularly unbelievable is the look of him like this, careless, crumpled, thick and thin at the same time, too much and too little. Having him is that way - enough that Draco can’t breathe, like every vacant hollow in his body was filled at some point by something syruped and suffocating, something Potter, and in the next moment, looking down only to find his hands empty.

Draco focuses his eyes so hard they blur, bargaining with the little bit of light until the movement of Potter’s lungs is undeniable. The whole room is just the unlit brown of his chest, becoming hilltop and lowland and back again. He reaches a hand out loose and nervous, fingers catching on Potter’s.

It's a temporary comfort, but just then it doesn't matter. The exhale can wait. He's here, he's here, he's -

for day 10 of @microficmay

#microficmay2024 #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #at that point of doing this that i'm like there's fucking how many days in a month

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vaya-writes · 8 months

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Serving the Serpent - 8

Briar owes Lord Isen her life. She works off her debt by serving in his castle. Dealing with the rapidly changing circumstances of her life, she’s not used to anyone paying her much attention. It’s hard when Isen seems set on interacting with her.

Cis female human with selective mutism x male naga (slow burn, co-workers to lovers, power imbalances, eventual smut). 3200 words. Content warnings for this chapter include allusions to Briar’s cult-like upbringing, brief discussion of grief, some explicit details about Isen's shitty childhood and emotional abuse from his father, discussion of burnout and burnout related illness. Divider from firefly-graphics

The preparation before Briar and Isen tour the Ophidian Lowlands. The pair have some important discussions about work/life balance.

Previous - Masterlist

Isen puts Briar in charge of packing for his trip. Without another servant around giving her explicit instructions, it’s her first independent task as Isen’s aide. There’s not much she can do to mess it up, but she still checks and double checks each of the times on her list. And then sets aside the assembled items for Isen’s approval. It’s not a large task – she's only in charge of organising his clothes and toiletries.

Surveying the assortment on the table, it occurs to her that she doesn’t know what she’s expected to bring. She clears her throat to get Isen’s attention.

He’s nose deep in a ledger Dinah had delivered, some business proposal or another. He hums his acknowledgement, eyes flitting up for a second.

‘What do I pack for myself?’

He looks back to his book with a shrug. “A change of clothes. Your coin.” He looks sharply at her, for emphasis. “Wet weather wear.”

She gestures to her uniform. ‘Is this okay?’

He looks her up and down. “You still wear the servant’s garb?”

She raises her brow. ‘Am I not a servant?’ (Worker. Work person.)

“No, actually. As my assistant, your station is significantly higher. I’ll put in a request with Lockwood to find you a more appropriate uniform. It’s not necessary that you wear it, but until you have your own clothes-” he trails off. “Sorry I hadn’t done so sooner. I hadn’t paid much attention to your state of dress.”

It doesn’t bother her. Still, she gives him a stiff little bow. ‘Thank you.’

With her task complete, Briar finishes her tidying for the night. Their dinner trays are removed, the fire is stoked, and the bed is turned down. Afterwards, she lingers by the desk.

‘Is there anything else for me, tonight?’

It’d be typical for Isen to give her some paperwork to proofread. Instead, he gives her a frown.

She can’t help but tense, wondering what she’d done wrong.

“Nothing that needs doing.”

The way he stares tells her there’s something more.

He takes a moment to voice his thoughts. “Have you made any friends yet, Legs?”

She blinks. Straightens. ‘Friends?’

His intensity softens, and he gives her an almost bemused smile. “You know. People you spend time with. People you like.”

Briar considers. It’s not the right answer, but it’s her only answer. ‘I spend time with you. And with Lockwood.’ (Lock, Wood)

His smile becomes more strained. “What about outside of work?”

The almost pitying expression makes her bristle. ‘I don’t need friends. I’ve never needed them.’

There’s a silence, and Briar wonders if she’d been too sharp with him.

“What about hobbies. Do you have any of those?”

Briar tries not to pull a face. She doesn’t understand the question, but can’t help but feel like she’s being judged. ‘What is... what is that?’

“A hobby?”

Nod.

“Something you do for fun? Or because you otherwise enjoy it?” His smile has faded.

She tries not to fidget under his intense stare. ‘I... practice my lessons? I enjoy... my food. And my bed.’ (Bed. Place of sleep.)

Isen is pulling a face like he’s sucked on a lemon and is trying very hard not to show it. “Okay. Is that all?”

Briar gives him a weak smile.

There’s another silence before Isen lets out a breath, and his smile disappears entirely. ‘Briar,’ he signs for emphasis, before speaking the rest of his concern. “I don’t suppose anyone has ever spoken to you about your work/life balance?”

She shakes her head. It’s starting to look more and more like she is in trouble. ‘I don’t know what that is.’

Isen winces. “Yeah, I figured. Look, if you ever want to take some time off, you can. You just need to go to Lockwood and organise it. He’ll make sure you still get paid. He’s also who you talk to if you need a sick day.”

His words sound familiar. It reminds her of something the dark elf himself had said on her first day here. She hadn’t quite believed him. Hadn’t paid attention to his words. At the time she’d been more focused on the change in her situation; her newly acquired debt.

Still, the seriousness of Isen’s tone makes her blanch. She can’t help but feel defensive. ‘I don’t need to take time off.’

Isen reaches across the table. He catches her by the hand, and she’s so surprised that she lets him hold it.

“But don’t you want to?”

She pulls back, shaking her head. ‘We didn’t do that at New Haven.’

He leans forward, intense again. “Yes. But didn’t you want to?”

Helplessly, Briar shakes her head, dropping her eyes.

“Really. You can’t think of a single time where you wanted to stay in bed. When you didn’t want to cook or clean, or do things for everyone else. When you just wanted to be alone for the day.”

There’s a shadow creeping up in her mind. A memory of grief, of pain. She’s swift to shut it down, to scowl at Isen. ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

He pauses. Straightens. She hadn’t noticed how close he’d been leaning. “Okay. I just... okay.”

The silence now is less intense. More awkward.

Isen gestures to his shelf. “I don’t have anything else for you to do tonight. But you’re welcome look at my books. Help yourself to my collection. There’re a few shelves in the third-floor lounge, too.”

Briar wants to turn him down immediately. But she makes herself be polite. Forces a smile, and shakes her head. ‘I’m tired. I think I’ll sleep.’

His expression is gentle once more. “Alright. But the offer still holds. Any time, Legs. Have a browse. Maybe you’ll find something you like.”

---

Briar is tight with tension the next day. She trusts that Isen won’t push most of her boundaries. That if she draws a line in the sand, he’ll be respectful about it. Still, she can’t help but wait for some form of retribution. Some punishment for refusing to talk to him. An expression of displeasure that she’d left early.

It doesn’t help that he’s distracted. Contemplative, even, when he looks at her from time to time. He smiles and thanks her for her work, but doesn’t ask to dine together. He doesn’t prod for conversation, or make any of his usual jokes.

She’s torn between relief and anxiety. Enough so that Lockwood cuts her lesson short. She’s unfocused. Making needless mistakes. He dismisses her, tells her to clear her head.

She doesn’t. She takes up her lessons in her room instead, until it’s time to tend to Isen once more. She serves his dinner, and this time he invites Briar to dine with him. The meal is uncharacteristically silent, until Isen sits back, finished eating, to examine Briar.

The food suddenly tastes like ash, and she has to fight not to fidget.

Finally, she works up the nerve to look him in the eye. ‘Yes?’

Isen looks away. Works his jaw while he resolves to speak.

“My father had high expectations of me, when I was a child.”

She can’t help but straighten.

“Starlen was... a hands-on learner. He wasn’t the academic type, so he was pushed into soldiering. Kylet was... well Kylet was Kylet. But Zyla and I were... talented, I guess you could say. Bright. Skilled. Enough so that my father decided he had to hone our abilities.

“We were tutored every day. By the time I was six, I could recite world history, play three instruments, speak five languages. By the time I was twelve, I was observing council meetings, doing assignments on trade and commerce, intimately familiar with Isle law.

“I worked until I was sick. And then I kept working. In an unending effort to impress my father, to outdo my sister, to do my duty as a Kovit...” Isen swallows. “She might be my biggest rival, but she also saved me. Zyla got me out. Persuaded father into sending me away. Into giving me a territory to rule.

“I... I probably spent a year in bed. I don’t like to think about it. To talk about it. But suffice to say, I’m very familiar with the effects of burnout. I know what it’s like to be raised... like that. To be told that you aren’t allowed to take a break, you don’t need it, don’t deserve it, that wanting it is a luxury you can’t afford-” he cuts off. Takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

“I want to apologise for lecturing you about your work/life balance. When you’re brought up in an environment like that... I can empathise, that you might be dissuaded by the thought of taking time for yourself.”

He peters into silence. His face is drawn, almost pained.

Briar shifts, uncomfortable. Even she can recognise that Isen had just shared something incredibly personal. How is she meant to react to that?

Staring down at her dinner, she lets out a long sigh. She supposes there is only one thing she can do.

‘I wanted to stay in bed.’

Isen refocuses, watching her carefully.

‘The day my Aunt died. I wanted- I wanted to be alone.’

She hasn’t taught Isen the word for death, but he understands. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She shrugs. Nods. Stands and collects his tray. She doesn’t want to talk about it. Will probably never want to. But it’s all she has to give, really. Those pieces of herself that she’d never shared. If Isen can share his truth with her, she figures she can do the same back. If only the once.

---

She’s worried that things will change. That there’ll be a sombre air over their meetings, or that she’d be expected to share more. But Isen is back to his usual self the next morning. In fact he’s giddy with excitement, already awake and dressed when Briar arrives.

“Guess what Lockwood delivered this morning.”

She turns away before he can see her nose crinkle. It’s too early for games.

‘Paperwork.’

Isen grimaces. “Okay, yes, but guess what else.”

She focuses instead on making his bed, quirking her brow in question.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, be a buzzkill. Your clothes are here.”

Her attention does catch at that.

‘So soon?’

Isen lets out a noncommittal hum, suddenly very interested in the package on his desk.

Taking the hint, she approaches. He pushes the bundle towards her, twirling a strand of his hair while she unties it. She’d scoff if he weren’t her superior– she doesn’t know if she’s seen him look nervous before.

Before she unfolds the fabric, he sticks his hand over it. “Okay, well, this is what Lockwood could get on short notice. He had two days to come up with this. That’s no time to get something imported or made. I apologise in advance for the quality. I just wanted to make sure you had something to wear on our tour. Yes?”

Briar looks at Isen, brow raised again. ‘Yes.’

Looking unconvinced of himself, Isen withdraws his hand. Gestures that she continue.

Briar stares at Isen as she does, for once enjoying the way he squirms. She barely glances at the outfit she unfolds, overtly enjoying his embarrassment.

“Stop,” he turns his face away. “You’re not funny.”

‘That doesn’t stop you,’ she says.

He doesn’t react to her jab, but she still stiffens. Looks down sharply, eyes wide, in realisation that she’d just insulted her boss aloud.

There’s a long silence. Eventually Isen breaks it, sounding almost breathless. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What do you think?”

She blinks. He hadn’t even registered her retort. Was focused instead on the outfit she’d been staring unseeing at.

She grasps the shirt by the shoulders, holding it up to the light. It’s a collared button up, starched and stiff, but neat. Beneath it sits a pair of trousers, which Briar regards with suspicion. She picks up the trousers, testing the stiff fabric, lifting them to check their length.

Isen is staring, an air of forced neutrality belaying his anxiety. He raises his brow when Briar meets his gaze.

‘I’ve never worn trousers before.’ (Trousers. Legs. This.)

He blinks. “Never?”

She shakes her head.

He frowns. “If the clothes aren’t suitable, we can find something else.”

Briar eyes the outfit wearily. The Pilgrims had a thing about modesty, and revealing the shape of one’s legs would definitely be toing the line. While Briar personally doesn’t see an issue with pants, the idea of wearing them still makes her uncomfortable.

Isen takes her silence for disapproval, “I’ll let Lockwood know immediately. We should still have time to get you something else-”

She shakes her head. ‘Wait.’

He does.

She takes another minute to process. Struggles to identify the source of that discomfort.

And then, ‘I’m allowed to wear these?’

“You’re allowed to,” he deciphers, before, “Oh. Yes. You’re allowed to wear them.”

She nods. Cautious, but open. ‘I won’t get in trouble?’

Understanding lights in Isen’s eyes. But he doesn’t comment on the revelation. Instead, he gives Briar a soft smile. “No. You won’t get in trouble.”

She can’t help but frown. “Do you promise?” (Promise. Agree. Ensure.)

“Yes. I promise.”

Briar lets out a sigh. Pulls the clothes closer to her. Despite Isen’s assurances, she’s still not sold. ‘Will people stare?’

He keeps his soothing tone. “If they stare, it won’t be because of your pants. It will be because you’re human. Or because you’re with me. Okay?”

She dithers some more. There’s not much left to consider, if she’s being honest. She just needs time to persuade herself to accept them. To become more used to the idea.

She nods. ‘Okay.’

His face splits into a wider smile. “Yes?”

She rolls her eyes at his enthusiasm. ‘Yes.’

"Excellent,” Isen leans back. “We’ve placed an order with the tailor to make you more uniforms. They won’t arrive for another week or so, but I’m looking forward to showing you the different styles we’re having made.”

She looks over the outfit again. Isen had made it seem like any outfit procured on short notice would be terrible. Perhaps they aren't very stylish. And the fabric will be dry and scratchy against her skin; heavy even. But they’re still undoubtedly the nicest clothes Briar has owned. The cloth is tightly spun. The fabric is sturdy. The colouring is even. They look nice. Professional. She wonders if that’s why they’d been chosen for her.

“Now that that’s done with, Arol is coming by soon. He wants to discuss the route we’re taking.” His demeanour shifts, “Even if it’s the same one we take every year...” He brightens after a second. “Do you have a moment?”

She hadn’t served breakfast yet, but if Isen wants to delay, it’s within his right. She shrugs in reply.

He gestures her closer to the desk, circling it to stand next to her, spinning some parchment around for her to see. “Has Lockwood taught you to read a map yet?”

Briar shakes her head, shifting away minutely.

Isen gives her a smile. “The larger labels on the map tend to represent larger things. Like this one,” he points to the header. “It’s not over any piece of the map, so you can assume it’s the name of the whole area.”

Briar squints at the title, sounding out the letters silently, before widening her eyes. ‘Ophidian Lowlands?’ (snake and lizard, low land, here?)

He nods. “Sure is. And dots tend to represent settlements.”

There are five on the map. One is larger than the rest. Once again Briar takes her time sounding out the word. She smiles at the revelation. ‘Riversreach.’ (River, reach, here)

“Yes. Well done. Do you understand the rest of what you’re looking at?”

Briar eyes the swirls and lines of ink doubtfully. She shakes her head.

Isen gives her a patient smile. He points to a star in one corner of the map. “This is a compass. It tells us which way is north.”

It takes her a moment before she nods her understanding. There weren’t many compasses in New Haven. People never travelled far. But knowing cardinal direction had also taught her which way to expect the sun to rise and set.

“And this,” he moves close, brushing her arm as he reaches across her to point at the other corner of the map, “is not part of the landscape either.”

She stiffens at his proximity. Has to resist the urge to shuffle away.

“It’s called a key. Or a legend. Not all maps have them, but they explain what the other symbols on the map mean.” He stops reaching across, the offending arm instead coming to rest lightly against her back.

She has to fight to pay attention, his words fading into the background as she fixates on his touch, frozen and unsure how she is supposed to respond.

“Usually, they tell the difference between roads, boarders, water ways, and so on, but we don’t have many of those in the Lowlands. This one focuses on terrain.”

Briar stares blankly, expecting the touch to become harder, or creep along her skin. But his hand stays gently at her back.

“- marsh, forest, cliffs, river,”

Nothing happens. He doesn't try to flirt or do anything inappropriate. Perhaps not to his standards anyway.

Briar swallows, refocusing her attention on the map, trying to process his words. Key. Terrain. Hands.

She scowls at herself, trying not to let her thoughts wander. She doesn’t even notice how flushed she’s becoming.

Finally, Isen straightens, his touch leaving her as he falls into silence. “And there you have it. Any questions?”

Briar stares at the map, long and hard, rushing to process what’s in front of her, to come up with any potential questions.

The only one that does come to her is not very useful. It’s probably inappropriate to ask her boss ‘Hey, what the fuck was that?’

She shakes her head.

Isen smiles and moves back around to his side of the desk. “Excellent. Shall I show you our planned route for the tour?”

She’s grateful for the space, if a little surprised at the sudden cold that comes with the distance.

Briar forces her attention towards the path that Isen traces across the map, his fingers stopping at the other settlements. He’s gentle, taking care not to mark the map. She wonders how it’d feel if he traced the same patterns across her back. Or over her hand.

She scowls, wondering if there’s something wrong with her. She’d never had the desire to be touched before. Why on earth was she experiencing it now?

“Are you okay? Am I going too fast?”

Yes! she thinks, before realising he’s talking about the map again.

She glances up at Isen, trying to keep the guilt from her features. ‘Sorry. I was distracted.’

He smiles. “It’s okay. We can go over it again.”

‘Thank you.’ She takes a breath, grateful for his patience. ‘You said we’ll go North?’

Isen turns his attention back to the map. “That’s right. We’ll need to leave early enough to catch the tide-”

She absorbs more of the information this time. Even if she still finds herself distracted.

#vaya writes #monster romance #serving the serpent #nagas #hope ya'll enjoyed #these were meant to be trivial little scenes but they got a bit heavy #only one bed trope coming up next >:D

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heart4buddie · 1 year

Text

I’m writing a song for you

#buddie #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #lowland hum

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mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain · 1 year

Text

Wangxian Mermay 2023

Day X: The Hunt.

War was a human invention.

Their blood, and fights, and bodies filled the rivers and shores. Providing food for every creature that came across them. The natural world did not hold their beliefs, they did not care for things such as 'soul' or 'respect'. The Cycle was what dominated. Everything was a part of nature.

Humans just believed themselves exempt.

They cursed when they found their half eaten brethren, tossed ash and perfumed soap into the water, spiked nets with barbs, and when they spotted them in the rivers, took endless pleasure in hunting them.

This time they made a mistake.

They took his son.

Wei Ying hunted them for ten days, inland through the waterways, human built dams, destroyed the traps they set to catch or slow him.

The foolish ones became his prey early on. Keeping his son chained like their four-legged hunting animals, and venturing to the water to wash or relive themselves. They fell first and tasted the worst. He tossed their bodies back on land, daring more to come to avenge their fallen, to come to him in the deep.

Unfortunately, they were smart enough to know better.

As he followed their scent and the smell of his son, he dwindled their numbers down to a scant few. He lured them to the lowlands, then waited, knowing the high tide would cut them off from the shore.

They would have been at his mercy. Had the others not come.

They smelled of winter, of freshwater and crystalline rivers, of an earth ash that stuck in the back of his throat and made him yearn for more.

He watched them drop from the sky, swords gleaming, reflecting firelight and the dark waters as they fed the land the blood of their enemies.

"The reports said there would be more." One of them said, smooth and even toned. His voice did not grate against Wei Ying's ears like so many did.

"Mn." The other hummed.

He stood against the firelight, his white edged in the orange glow. His dark hair hung straight and thick against pale skin that smelled of that scent. Wei Ying wanted more, he wanted that flesh against him, he wanted to breathe it in. He wanted to hear that melodious voice speak to him.

Wei Ying swam closer, intent upon finding his son, and seeing more of this human if he could.

"Wangji!" The other shouted.

His son screamed, he darted around grabbing hands, heading for the dark river.

Wei Ying leapt from the water, coiling around his son, holding his trembling body. He snapped at the hand reaching for his son just catching the edge of his sleeve.

His hearts beat a drum in his ears. The clothes were smooth, like an eel, between his teeth.

His eyes. Oh. His eyes. Bright like every day of sun breaking over the waves. Like the glow of fish in the rivers. Like the human made fire behind him.

Wei Ying released the sleeve, pulling back, holding his son close.

The humans stood upon the wet soil, staring at him with blades bathed in blood, the reek of it permeating the air, mixing with the thick ion of the incoming storm.

"He…is yours?" The one said, his voice resounding through Wei Ying's ears, his longer fingered hand gesturing towards his son.

"He is mine." Wei Ying stroked his sons hair, smoothing it away from the bruise on his temple. His son hiccuped a sob, pressing himself closer.

"Shh baobei, shh, I am here." He kissed the bruise, humming as he rubbed circles around the skin. The bruise began to glow gentle from below, spreading across his skin until it was gone, only healthy, unblemished skin remained.

"That was.." the one said, he handed a dark cloth to the other, putting his blade away. He looked from the bruise to Wei Ying. Folding his arms, he bowed at the waist. "I am Lan Xichen of Gusu Lan, have you heard of us?"

Wei Ying tipped his head.

There were stories sung years ago, one of their own who had been captured and forced to stay. She found her escape, but not after she bore two children. Wei Ying had never met her, Qing-jie had, when she came from tending to her, she always smelled of…

Wei Ying bent closer, breathing in the man's scent. Earthy, spicy, it stuck in the back of his throat.

"I haven't." He said "There have been no formal introductions made since before you." He nodded to Lan Xichen, "Until now, that is. I am called Wei Ying."

"Wei-gongzi, have you been hunting the Wen's? We noticed their decimated numbers."

Wei Ying held his son, kissing the top of his head, "They took what was mine. I had every right." He coiled tighter around his son, bearing his teeth. He dared these men to challenge him, their ends would be as swift as the dead he left behind him.

Lan Xichen held up his hands, "We mean no offense. I was just…the rivers are laid with traps and snare nets to prevent Jiaoren coming this far inland."

Wei Ying scoffed, "We have lived before your forefathers, when you weren't even a thought yet. There is nothing you can do to keep us from where we desire to be."

Lan Xichen shared a look with the other, Lan…Wangji perhaps was his name. Wei Ying only knew him by smell, earth and sea, sunset and spice.

They shared a look for a long time before Lan…Wangji looked back at him, bowing as Lan Xichen had before.

"I am Lan Zhan, courtesy: Wangji. My xiongzhang would like to ask for your help in our efforts against the Wen."

The Wen's were not a singular threat. They knew of the Jiaoren. Qing-jie and A-Ning had worked in his castle before he wanted to conquer the world. They knew his threat would not end at the shore. Conversations amongst elders and Shifters had been tense and long these last few months. Wei Ying was ambivalent towards any decisions made, he knew he would likely be held back until the last minute.

Until they had taken his son.

"We have noticed Wen Rohan's movements. We know he threatens all of us. Not just those that choose the land. However, I must return home, to tell my jiejie that my son is safe." He looked at Lan Zhan, meeting those golden eyes. His hearts racing, the only other time he felt this excited was when his son was born.

"Come with me. I can tell you how the elders decide to help."

"Wangji." Lan Xichen put a hand on his brothers arm, tightening his hold.

It pleased Wei Ying to see Lan Zhan struggle to pulled his eyes away, he bowed to Lan Xichen,

"I will not be gone long." He put a hand over the one on his arm. "I promise to return to you shortly."

"Wangji." There was a wealth of meaning in that single word. 'stay with me' 'be safe' 'don't get hurt's and finally 'come back quickly'

Wei Ying heard it all because he had said it all before. He nuzzled the top of his son's head, pressing kisses into his hair, smoothing the rotten stench of humans away with his own. Truthfully he hardly smelled better, and he would rather his own smell of human-choked riverways on his son, than the reek of them.

"Are you well A-Yuan?"

Tucked in his tail, wrapped up like a octopus does its pretty, A-Yuan blinked his pretty eyes open, smiling at him, "Yes diedie, I'm okay."

"Wei…Ying."

Wei Ying looked up, blinking water from his eyes. It had begun to rain without him noticing.

Being around this man was dangerous, between him and A-Yuan, he forgot all surroundings, made no notice of anything except them.

"You will come with me, yes?"

He nodded, a single polite action.

Wei Ying smiled, "Good, I'm sure your mother would like to see you as well." He turned, pointing to the end of the island, "Meet me over there, we will travel together."

His arm was grabbed, he was not pulled, only held.

Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen had wide eyes, staring at him. Faces pale and mouths hanging open.

He looked between them, turning back around to face them, he laid a hand over the one on his arm.

"You didn't know, did you?"

"We…were told she had…passed " Lan Xichen said. A tiny frown, "Are you sure it's her?"

"You smell like her." Wei Ying bent close to Lan Zhan, breathing him in. He could hear the rushing of blood through his veins, how his heart pounded with Wei Ying so close.

He let his lips drift across his cheek as he pulled away.

"Will you still come?"

"Wangji…the war." Lan Xichen sounded torn between his personal desire, and duty.

Wei Ying did not envy him.

"I am going to ask the Jiaoren for help." He took Lan Xichen's hand, "I will write often. You will know if I am safe."

"I will protect him as I do my son." Wei Ying stroked A-Yuan's hair.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, taking in a breath. The water was lapping at their ankles now, he couldn't not be aware of it.

"Be safe." He looked between them "keep each other safe. Write to me. I will pray that the Jiaoren are willing to help."

He pulled his sword from his hip. It hummed a song Wei Ying could not name, but resonated down his chest, settling into him like the songs of whales, or dolphins, or the way that sharks hum when they're close.

Lan Xichen stepped onto it, flying above the carnage, and away from his brother.

Wei Ying looked back to find Lan Zhan's eyes already in him.

He smiled, "Shall we go?"

Started out as a sort of dark!Wei Wuxian hunting down Wen's who kidnapped his son. In true mirmb fashion it manifested itself into something else completely.

Was it a good something?

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed #wei ying #lan zhan #mirmb wangxian mermay 2023 #wangxian mermay 2023 #mermay prompts #mermay 2023 #fics #fic #ficlets #ficlet #ficrecs #mirmb writes

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darkurgetrash · 2 months

Text

5 songs, 4 outfits: Tav, LMTTD 🎵

I was tagged by @charmedcleric! Thank you so much and sorry for the late post lol, I love these tags. I tag @drizztdohurtin @rolansrighthorn @faerunsbest 🖤

5 Songs

Shadows - Warpaint

All is Soft Inside - Aurora

Steamboat - Adrianne Lenker

Garden Song - Phoebe Bridgers

Block Me Out - Gracie Abrams

BONUS - my favourite ship songs for Tav x Rolan (Lead Me Through the Dark)

Pink in the Night - Mitski

Exist for Love - Aurora

I’ll Be Your Mirror - Lowland Hum

Better - Regina Spektor

I’d Like To Walk Around In Your Mind - Vashti Bunyan

4 Outfits

Here’s a little WIP of some outfits for a character design sheet I’m making! ☺️ Poor LMTTD Tav looks like she’s going through it 🤣 think I might need to do some heavy edits there lmao. x

#lead me through the dark #tag #tagged #lmttd #tavlyn Fairchild #WIP #art WIP

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theluckywizard · 3 months

Text

Songfic Tag Game

ohhhh baby I love these kinds of games. Thank you for the tag @samseabxrn

Rules: Pick a song to accompany each of your fics or as many as you like. This might be the fic's inspiration or just pure vibes that you'd like to share with readers. Tag as many people as fics you feature (or do as you please!)

This is all Dragon Age!

Ok In the Shattering of Things is my giant long fic and it's hard to pick just oneeeee. (It's Cullen x Trevelyan AND Hawke x Trevelyan)

Songs under the cut!

Rose's theme - Dodie - Ready Now 👇

youtube

Cullen and Rose's theme - Lowland Hum - I'll Be Your Mirror 👇

youtube

Hawke and Rose's Theme - Nanna - Seabed 👇

youtube

oOo

Kiss Me Moonstruck is an unpublished WIP but it's my m!Hawke x f!Trevelyan matchmaking fic set during DA2, Act 2:

Hawke x Rose - Mumford & Sons - Wild Heart 👇

youtube

tagging @melisusthewee, @warpedlegacy, @nirikeehan, @monocytogenes, @greypetrel, @delicatefade, @crackinglamb

DA OR OTHERWISE! songs guys! songggsss

#tag game #songfic #In the Shattering of Things #Cullen x Trevelyan #m!Hawke x f!Trevelyan #Kiss Me Moonstruck #Youtube

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potatoesandsunshine · 1 year

Audio

Snow on snow on snow Ice ferns on the window

#bandcamp #been getting very into lowland hum i just love the music #they have a great cover of i'll be your mirror that was my intro but this song is special imo

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dothob · 1 year

Photo

red rain

berlin friedrichshain, 2023

lowland hum - red rain [yes, a peter gabriel cover] (click,hear)

#berlin #photographers on tumblr #original photographers #cobblestone #reflection #red #rain #friedrichshain #low key #night photo

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thefandomwritersblog · 6 months

Text

Ghost of the Ten

Horizon Forbidden West

Hekarro x OldOne OC

Action/Adventure/Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Chapter 15

Part 3: Ghost of the Ten

"Consistency is the true foundation of trust. Either keep your promises or do not make them." -Roy T Bennett

Hekarro grunts as he pushes through the foliage, his shoulders and arms burning from fighting against the thicket of thorns. Scrapes and cuts cover his skin while sweat sticks to him through the dense humidity of the night. With every step, the moist ground gives beneath him, soft enough for silence but firm enough to keep him upright. Occasional beams of moonlight penetrate through the canopy above and dance on his skin while a shadow darts quickly from tree to tree along the dirt path ahead of him.

He doesn't remember why he's here, chasing this formless shadow through the jungle. The only thing he has is a name that tumbles from his lips in a helpless plea.

"Tarrik!"

The thick vines wrap around him, binding him tightly to a nearby tree. He tugs and pulls, frantically trying to free himself, but only breathlessly struggles in vain. Moonlight illuminates a small clearing, revealing the shadow darting among the trees. A young boy turns to stare at him with an unnerving quiet in his eyes.

"Tarrik, please!!"

The silence is deafening. Tarrik turns and disappears into the dense foliage of the jungle, leaving Hekarro standing alone, howling out into the night.

Dekka settled into the seat next to Hekarro, her bowl of food clattering onto the table, its contents steaming. At the sound, Hekarro's jaw twitched, eliciting a low grumble from him. She glanced sideways at him, her eyes narrowing. “I swear, if I keep finding you asleep anywhere else but your bed, I’m just going to tie you down to it.”

"Blood of the Ten, Hekarro."

Hekarro awoke with a start, nearly slumped over the table, a deep groan of irritation escaping his lips. His eyes were heavy from exhaustion as he found himself face-to-face with Dekka, who was standing over him with one hand resting on her hip and a smirk of amusement stitched across her features. The mess hall was still and quiet; the guards had either left to begin their patrols or were already at their posts elsewhere around the Grove. Rikka, a familiar Lowlander from the same village as Hekarro, hummed quietly to herself as she cleared up the mess left behind by the morning rush.

"It would amuse me to see you try..." Hekarro said with a small smirk as he looked down at his own food, now cold from having been forgotten in his tired haze. He shifted in his seat. "Any changes?"

"Victoria still refuses to eat." Dekka shook her head, worrying and creasing her brows. Hekarro cursed under his breath in frustration.

"It's been days."

"Short of forcing her to eat," she replied. "We can't do much but wait and hope, Chief Hekarro."

As much as he agreed in principle to the idea of letting Victoria make her own decisions about food, the thought of it churned his stomach. In the week since her presence was revealed to his people within the Grove, every time he or Dekka encountered Victoria, she seemed distant and withdrawn. Content to hide away in her room or linger like a wraith around the edges of the Grove, silently observing the passage of the Tenakth, or staring off at the empty space of Anne's Vision. The worst thing was that he didn't know what to do for her. She wouldn't speak with anyone—not Dekka, not Beta, or even him.

Hekarro let out a long sigh and silently reminded himself to take things one step at a time. "And what about the rest of the Tenakth?"

"It appears everyone is following your orders to steer clear of Victoria. Gossip is flying around, but it hasn't grown out of hand yet. Though I fear that won't last for long."

"What do you mean?"

Hekarro turned to watch Dekka carefully as she furrowed her brow. "A messenger arrived from Scalding Spear this morning. Drakka informs us that several Tenakth are making the journey to the Grove with supplies for their loved ones stationed here."

Dread filled Hekarro's chest as he realized what she meant; it was only a matter of time before word about Victoria traveled beyond the Clan Lands. Knowing well that he had no control over rumors, he ran a hand through his hair and silently prayed to The Ten for some modicum of mercy for his sanity in the future.

One thing at a time...

“Thank you, Chaplain.” Hekarro muttered, passing a weary hand over his face. The corners of Dekka's mouth twitched into a small smile as he rose from the stone bench and handed Rikka his half-finished bowl before ducking out of the mess hall into bright mid-morning sunlight. He followed the maw toward the arena and saw Petra, her eyes bright and her dark hair neatly tucked underneath a bandana. Her men were already busy at work, performing repairs and readying the equipment. When she noticed Hekarro, a wide smile spread across her face as she energetically waved at him from across the massive arena floor.

Amused, he watched as she made her way over to him. She huffed and puffed as she ran, laughter spilling from her lips with each breath. As soon as she reached him, she exclaimed brightly, “Morning there, Chief! How are you?

Hekarro dipped his head politely in greeting before looking out over the arena. He hummed softly in appreciation of their efforts. “I see you've made some strides since we last talked."

The Forgewoman responded, "Just about. We've almost completed the set-up of forges in the Oseram Camp near the arena. My team is working quickly to assemble the supports. I sent some to begin extraction at the quarry nearby for future stone work, and others back to Chainscrape to acquire heavy lifting equipment. The transport should take several weeks, but it's far more efficient than building the cranes from scratch. By that time, the arena ought to be ready for the new equipment."

Petra nodded excitedly, hands on her hips, as she too surveyed the progress they had made. “That we did," she said proudly. “Couple more days, and we'll have done enough to start fitting those steel supports I wanted."

"Then you have everything you need to begin the project in full."

Hekarro felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the corners of his lips tugged upwards in relief. While he knew there was still more work to be done, Hekarro took solace in the fact that, as of now, the repairs were going as planned. The tired anxiety from earlier had been replaced with a flickering fire of hope. He met Petra's gaze and gave her a thankful nod.

"Your words bring me some measure of relief, Forgewoman. Thank you for keeping me informed."

"Of course, Chief," she replied with a nod. "You ever got any questions, you know where to find me."

He tracked her movements as she made her way back to the opposite end of the arena and started up his own ascent back to the rear corridors. Pausing at the overlook, he no longer felt the dread this view usually brought him. Instead, that small flicker of hope burned brighter than before, and followed him as he continued his walk. As he turned the corner into the passageway, he was surprised to find Beta standing outside a doorway with a curtain closed, worry lining her face and pulling tight on the constellation of freckles that speckled her cheeks and nose. Her hands were clutched firmly around a bowl of food.

“Victoria, please--" As she reached out to gently draw back the curtain, a sudden thunderous crack against the wall inside made her gasp and stumble backwards.

"Beta, are you alright?"

She look up and smiled weakly at him as he approached, a hand extended to her in concern, "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm trying to get Victoria to eat... anything really. But she won't." Beta exhaled heavily and looked towards the door with a pained expression. "I'm getting really worried."

He felt a deep frown crease his face as he glanced to the door. His heart was heavy with worry, and Victoria's temper and angry refusal to eat only further confirmed his fears. He hated this feeling of helplessness; no matter how hard he tried, he had no idea where to start. Unlike him, she had lost everything: her home, her people; forced to live in an entirely new world that she didn't understand. He couldn't even imagine how alone she felt right now.

"Get out!" Victoria hissed from her bed, pressed against the wall as if she were a cornered animal.

“Let me take over from here, Beta.” He requested, extending his arm for the bowl. Beta gave him an inquisitive glance before surrendering it to him. He bid her farewell with a slight incline of his head and watched as she walked away around the corner. The bowl felt surprisingly weighty in his grasp as the other hand reached out towards the curtain, hesitating only for a moment as he tried to brace himself for whatever was on the other side. Instinct saved him as he entered Victoria's room; he whipped his head back, narrowly avoiding the rock that hit the doorway instead.

He disregarded her as he swept his eyes around the room, bisected by sunlight through the ruined roof and stretching canopy of the jungle. An oppressive sadness seemed to pervade the air, and Hekarro felt its weight on his shoulders. He had only been here for moments, but what toll had days taken on Victoria?

When he turned to look at her, her face was blotchy and red as if she'd been crying nonstop for days. Dark circles lingered beneath her eyes, flickering with the storm of her rage and sorrow. Her hair was disheveled and wild, her mouth pulled into a hateful scowl as her hand moved to brush it back from her face. And yet, despite everything, Hekarro could see she was struggling under the weight of exhaustion.

He tensed, trying to keep his movements slow and steady as he approached the bed. Her scowl deepened as he gently lowered and rested his knee on the mattress while holding out the bowl for her. Her eyes flickered downwards and a myriad of emotions passed over her face.

Hunger.

Sadness.

Anger.

Emptiness.

"You don't listen very well, do you?" Her question was laced with sarcasm as her piercing blue eyes bore into him, refusing to be ignored. Her cheeks were flushed in anger, her lips just slightly parted in exasperation. And he was left completely frozen, stunned by the sheer beauty of her wrath like a distant storm gathering over the western coasts. Chaotic and unstoppable, fearsome and breathtaking in its own right.

Finally finding his voice again, he replied softly, “Only when it suits me. Right now, it would suit me if you'd have something to eat.”

Victoria clenched her jaw and crossed her arms, her voice taking on an icy edge. "I'm not hungry."

Hekarro arched a brow as he stomach betrayed her, growling loudly in protest. A furious blush crossed her cheeks as her hands tightened around her waist, as if sheer force of will could silence its demands.

"I think your stomach disagrees," he quipped, trying to keep his tone light in hopes of lessening the tension between them. But Victoria only scowled harder, her eyes narrowing at him in annoyance as she uttered something under her breath and crossed her arms in defiance. Hekarro huffed at that, "I could always spoon feed you."

"You wouldn't dare."

He leaned closer to her, heard the soft gasp escape her parted lips as the storm in her eyes swirled like a violent tempest. “Are you willing to find out?”

Hekarro wanted her to understand how serious he was about this and prayed to the Ten that she wouldn’t call his bluff, but the defiance in her eyes shone bright.

"Try me."

Hekarro’s dark eyes narrowed as Victoria met his gaze. With a surge of determination, Hekarro moved quickly and pinned her wrists together using a single hand. She protested furiously but he ignored her - and his guilt - in favor of tilting the bowl to her lips in offering.

“Stubbornness will not help you here.” he warned quietly, watching Victoria intently as she glared into his eyes. She opened her mouth to protest once more, but grimaced as he tilted the bowl more. Despite her earlier fight, a small sigh escaped her lips as he fed her, steadily pouring mouthful after mouthful down her throat. Hekarro could see the frustration and defeat in her eyes as she reluctantly swallowed each bite. Guilt tugged at him once more, knowing that he was making her do something she didn't want to do. But he also knew that he couldn't let her starve herself.

It wasn't until the bowl was nearly empty that Victoria finally pulled away from him. She leaned back against the wall, tired but with a little more life and color in her face. There was a shimmer of tears in her eyes as she gazed at the distant wall. Hekarro turned to watch the door, gripping the bowl in his hands.

"I am sorry." He said sincerely, "I didn't want to force you, but I couldn't stand by and watch you hurt yourself like this."

"Why do you care so much?" She whispered, though he could still hear the venom in her question. "You don't even know me."

"That's true." He admitted, "But that doesn't mean I want you to suffer. Even if it is self inflicted."

"Why?"

“Sometimes it can feel easier to give in to the weight of guilt and regret,” Hekarro muttered as gazed to the wall opposite the bed. “Letting it pull you further and further away from shore like a relentless riptide until you have no choice but to let it swallow you whole. And even then you welcome the emptiness it brings, because its far better than living in a world with so much hurt in it."

He squeezed his eyes shut and fought against the overwhelming rush of pain that crashed over him like a tidal wave. He refused to acknowledge the screams ringing in his ears or the ghost of the intense heat gnawing at his feet. Instead, he focused on pushing down the guilt and regret threatening to consume him.

"No one deserves to drown like that. Not even you, Victoria." Slowly rising from the bed, bowl in hand, Hekarro he made to leave, but he couldn't resist stealing one last glance at her. He hesitated when saw her watching him with tears glistening in her tempestuous eyes. A fear and timid uncertainty; a vulnerability he hadn't seen since the night he shattered her world for the second time. He gripped the bowl tightly in his hand, gazed at the lonesome room she shut herself away in and exhaled a soft sigh.

"Will you join me on a walk later today?" The question caught them both off guard, Hekarro having no idea where it had come from, but he swallowed back the sudden onslaught of nervousness as Victoria regarded him warily. He could only imagine the sudden shift in her thoughts from being forcefully fed by him to now being invited on a walk.

"If you'd prefer not to, that's perfectly fine," he added after an uncomfortable pause, practically rambling, "You've been in here for days and I thought a change of scenery might do some good. There's a lake nearby that's quiet, and-"

"Yeah," Victoria said, interrupting him with a hint of surprise in her voice. As if she couldn't quite believe she'd agreed to it. Another moment of quiet followed before she spoke again, shifting on the bed. "Sure, I guess. Whatever."

Hekarro gave a subtle nod and exited the room, feeling a flush of warmth spreading across his cheeks that slowly turned into a soft smile. The sensation stayed with him as he returned to the mess hall and carried on with the rest of his day.

#horizon forbidden west #hfw #hzd #horizon zero dawn #hfw fanfic #hekarro #chief hekarro #old one oc #ghost of the ten #my writing

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