#really want to run one in scarlet too but there's not many early game ice types | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ididntneedanewfandom · 3 years

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Continuing my collaboration with @paraniva-art for BakuDeku Winter Week...

We did Sweaters on day 1, Sick on day 2, and now Ice Skates for day 3...

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"Never?"

"Never."

Katsuki frowns. He's pretty sure he remembers a couple of school trips to the ice rink in their elementary school days, so what the hell?

"I didn't go to those," Deku says in a strangely blank voice when Katsuki reminds him of that. He gestures at the mat between them. "Are we going again? Aizawa-sensei is starting to give us the stink eye."

Katsuki glances toward their teacher, and sure enough he's staring in their direction. They're the only ones not actively engaged in sparring, so of course they stand out. He nods and gestures for Deku to come at him. Sparring with no quirks is no fun if you ask him. He understands the reasoning behind the activity, understands that there'll be times when he won't be able to use his quirk, either because the setting doesn't allow it or because a villain neutralizes him in a similar way Aizawa can do, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

At least he gets to spar with Deku. These days, he doesn't mind so much being paired with him.

All right, he doesn't mind at all. He actually looks forward to it.

Not that Deku seems to realize as much. He's as oblivious as ever, and Katsuki is not exactly subtle to begin with. Just about all the class has caught on by now, if he's to believe the amused looks he gets from his band of idiots... and the rather alarmed ones Deku's friends give him on the regular. A couple of weeks ago, IcyHot even warned him that a toe out of line would get him a fist in the face.

Of course Katsuki replied with a fist of his own in the idiot's face. Which turned into an all out brawl. Which is how Katsuki ended up paired with Deku today, much to IcyHot's chagrin. Why he thinks it's up to him to 'protect' Deku, Katsuki has no idea. It's not like he has his sights set on Deku--Katsuki knows; he asked, point blank, and IcyHot was startled enough that he actually replied. And then immediately turned the question back on Katsuki, and took his lack of reply as an answer. He didn't look all that surprised, which annoyed the hell out of Katsuki.

By now, Katsuki is sort of despairing Deku will ever get a clue. Maybe it's time to up the ante.

"Why didn't you go to the ice rink outings, then?" he asks in between not-so-easily parried punches, going back to the topic at hand. He's not even sure how they started talking about ice skating, but now he really wants an answer.

"My mom didn't think it'd be a great idea," Deku mumbles. "You know, sharp blades, slippery surfaces, classmates who sort of pushed me around..."

Katsuki's stomach twists unpleasantly in a way he's learned to recognize as guilt.

"She didn't let you come because of me," he says blankly. "Because she thought I'd get you hurt."

Deku shrugs a bit and opens his mouth--to defend his mother or Katsuki, it's hard to tell--but just then Aizawa calls out the end of class. They follow the rest of their peers to the changing rooms, and Katsuki watches, a little annoyed, as IcyHot gets Deku's attention and makes him smile.

Katsuki wants to punch the idiot again, but he does not follow through. For one thing, it'd annoy Deku, which at this point is counter-productive. And for the other...

The beginning of a plan is forming in his mind, and, sadly enough, he'll need IcyHot's cooperation to make it work. Not his <i>help</i>, he doesn't need anyone's help, just... an assist. Or maybe even two.

Much to the general shock of the class, he volunteers to make food for everyone that night. The look IcyHot gives him when he sees the cold soba is somewhere between appreciation and suspicion, like he thinks Katsuki poisoned the food or something. It's almost entertaining.

Katsuki talks to Yaoyorozu first. He knows everyone in the class has asked something from her at one point or another in the past couple of years, and he was sort of proud that he'd never used the girl in that way, but apparently he's no better than everyone else. The thought displeases him, and he's probably grumpier than he should be when he asks his favor, but she doesn't bat an eyelash and merely smiles.

"Of course," she says. "What sizes do you need?"

She ends up making the ones for Deku bright red; Katsuki's are black with an orange X on the back.

Next, Katsuki has to talk to IcyHot. Which involves explaining to him why he wants this favor. Which means admitting he was an asshole when he was younger--but that's nothing new he supposes. Which also means owing the idiot a favor in return... and he collects right away.

"I want a promise," IcyHot says, arms crossed and looking much too serious for comfort.

"What?" Katsuki grunts.

He expects a ridiculous request, because even if they're--mostly--friends these days, or at the very least friendly, riling each other up is too much fun to forego altogether. Instead, he gets a very quiet, "Promise this isn't just a game for you."

Katsuki feels his cheeks turning bright red. He glares that much harder. "What the fuck kind of games do you think I play?"

"The kind that could get my friends hurt," IcyHot says coolly. "Both of them."

Katsuki sputters. Could the idiot be even more embarrassing?

"I'm not playing," he answers in the end, a barely audible mutter, because IcyHot is still waiting for an answer.

IcyHot just nods.

"All right, then. Is six o'clock early enough?"

Katsuki would have preferred earlier, but it'll have to do. He nods. And, very quietly, very grudgingly, mumbles. "Thanks, Todoroki."

The idiot nods again, and smiles a bit when he says, "Good luck."

Six o'clock.

In the morning.

On a Sunday.

Izuku groans and glares in the direction of his door.

His door on which someone, some very inconsiderate someone, is currently knocking insistently.

The glare doesn't stop the knocking, so he ends up getting up and going to open, so he can glare at--

"Kacchan?" falls from his lips when he sees who's standing there. He's not sure he isn't still dreaming. "Is something wrong?"

Kacchan looks at him as he opens his mouth, then hurriedly looks away.

"Clothes," he mutters. "I mean, get dressed. Warm clothes. Then come downstairs."

"Huh?" Izuku says, because he's still half asleep and none of this makes a lot of sense.

"Just do it already, Deku," Kacchan scowls at him, but just for the time of a blink before looking away again. "I'll be waiting."

He grabs the door and closes it, leaving Izuku so confused that, for a moment, he just stares at the closed door. Curiosity soon pushes him into action.

"Clothes," he says, remembering what Kacchan said, then looks at himself.

Oh.

He's just wearing boxers, and nothing else. And they're his loose sleeping boxers, so they're riding pretty low on his hips.

He got too hot last night, an effect of his new quirk, and he stripped out of his t-shirt. And apparently opened the door practically naked. No wonder Kacchan wouldn't look at him, he thinks, blushing in delayed embarrassment.

He's still a little flustered when he comes down, but Kacchan doesn't say anything other than a quick, "Come on," before he leads the way outside. Izuku follows, and is taken by such a feeling of deja vu that he has to ask, "We're not going to Ground Beta, are we?"

He knows they're not, because they're headed toward the woods, but it sounds better than asking if Kacchan plans to beat him up again.

Kacchan just rolls his eyes at him and doesn't actually answer.

Five minutes later, they get to a clearing in the woods where they stop to spar, sometimes, when they're out running. To be honest, Izuku loves those morning runs, when he gets to have Kacchan for himself for a little while.

There'll be no sparring today, though. The entire clearing glimmers in the early sunlight, and when Izuku lets out a quiet, "Oh," his breath mists up in front of his face. A sheet of ice covers the clearing, as smooth as--

Realization hits like a blast from Kacchan's quirk.

As smooth as an ice rink.

"Here," Kacchan says, pulling a pair of bright red ice skates from the backpack Izuku wondered about earlier. "Put these on."

When Izuku takes them, he draws a second pair from the bag, black, those ones, and sits on a fallen log to put them on.

"Kacchan?" Izuku murmurs, holding the skates to his chest. "What's going on?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm gonna teach you to ice skate."

Izuku blinks repeatedly and just stares at him.

"You... why?"

"It's my fault you never learned, isn't it?" Kacchan mutters. "So, I'm correcting that."

He's done putting his skates on but Izuku still hasn't moved. Rolling his eyes, Kacchan stands and makes Izuku sit on the log he just vacated. Crouching in front of him, he pulls his shoes off and takes the skates from him, sliding them on his feet. Izuku has a flashback to years and years and years ago, when they were small, when Izuku didn't know how to tie his shoes yet--when he didn't know he didn't have a quirk--and Kacchan sometimes helped him. That was one reason out of many why Kacchan became Izuku's favorite person then.

And now...

Now...

"Kacchan," he says again, even more quietly, and waits for crimson eyes to lock with his before he swallows the lump in his throat and goes on. "Is this a date?"

There's a part of him, a teeny, tiny part of him that expects to get punched in the nose for daring to ask such a silly question.

But there's a not so tiny part of him that's filled with hope, because Kacchan has been... different, lately. And while Izuku didn't want to make too much out of it, he's wondering if maybe, just maybe...

"God, do you have to be so clueless?" Kacchan mutters; his cheeks are scarlet.

"That's not a 'no,'" Izuku points out, unable to suppress a smile.

"So?" Kacchan tries to scowl at him, but mostly he looks worried. "What are you gonna do if it is?"

Rather than answering, Izuku grabs Kacchan's collar in one hand and draws him forward even as he leans down. Their mouths meet halfway for something that's barely a kiss at all, just lips on lips, and yet when they pull back after a few seconds, they're both blushing brightly. A moment passes in silence, their eyes still locked, their lips slowly curling into smiles.

"Come on," Kacchan says as he stands. "The ice won't last all day."

He offers his hand to Izuku, palm up. Izuku takes it and holds on tight.

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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And The Livin's Easy, Chapter Three (Multi) - Zyan

a/n: hello! welcome to chapter four of zyan tries her best to juggle all of the characters. i think we’re pretty much done as far as introductions go? so here’s where things start to get interesting. hope you enjoy! my sideblog is @chachkisalpaca - and frey is an angel for beta-ing.

“Is that a hickey?” Jan asks during their improvised breakfast.

It’s still early, so there aren’t many people at the beach just yet. The Sun is up and shining bright, and Gigi is so sleep deprived she forgot about the purple spot in the crook of her neck.

Gigi shakes off the tiredness and blinks repeatedly, her cheeks getting as red as a tomato when she notices all of her friends are staring at her. She decides that there’s no point in lying and sets down her plastic cup with steaming hot coffee Jackie somehow managed to prepare.

“I had sex with someone last night,” she simply says with a shrug. The screeches from her friends hurt her ears, but she had seen them coming.

“What? When did your hoe ass get a hook up?” Brita exclaims, “Did you download fucking Tinder again, sneaked out when we were all asleep, and came back?” Gigi laughs at Brita’s incredulous tone, though she’s nervous and her cheeks are still red.

“Ew, no, you know I don’t do dating apps. That’s how my ex happened,” Gigi says, matter-of-factly, “You see, Nicky was hoarding the tent with her inflatable mattress—”

“Hey! I did ask you if you wanted to sleep with me!” Nicky complains, folding her arms, though a laugh fights to escape her mouth.

“Yeah, and I told you my name’s not Jackie,” Gigi deadpans, and both Nicky and Jackie shut their mouths. She smiles cheekily and goes on. “Anyway, as I was saying; I left the tent, walked along the beach, found this girl all alone, talked a bit, and I guess it just happened.”

She purposely leaves out that the girl was no one other than Crystal, and they entered the sea, floating near the shore until, much like Gigi predicted it, she fell off the board and Crystal had to drag her back to the shore. The fabric of her tank top stuck to her skin, making her shiver like crazy, and Crystal tried to help her warm up, she really did — but one thing led to another, and before Gigi knew it, Crystal was sucking on her neck as her hands pinned her down.

The girls holler, not believing what they’re hearing. All of them say some sort of variation of there’s no way your game is that good, and Gigi just lets them talk as she sips on her coffee.

Her phone rings in her bag so she aims for it, juggling to unlock it. She bites back a smile when she sees the notification from Instagram.

@crystalandmeth has started following you.

Gigi wants to smack Crystal for having such a handle. No wonder she couldn’t find her when she searched her up after that night at the bar.

Scarlet vaguely scans the pool; it’s just opened and it’s still fairly early, but there are girls sunbathing, taking pictures, and some children playing by the edge of the tiny pool, splashing each other. She smiles at that. Sometimes she even likes the kids - when they’re not pushing each other into the big pool and Scarlet has to prevent a child from drowning, that is.

The hotel is medium sized, but since it’s the summer, there’s not a room that’s not booked. She knows. Her mothers have owned it for the last twenty years. She grew up running around the halls and with the noise of the tourists settling in their rooms, dragging their suitcases with big smiles plastered across their faces.

Though her mothers have insisted that she didn’t have to work at the hotel during the summer if she didn’t want to, Scarlet had decided to fill the position of lifeguard for the morning shift until they find someone else. It’s not as if she minds, anyway; she has nothing better to do, since all of her friends traveled outside the country for their vacations, leaving her stuck in the island. That’s the downside of being friends with stuck up rich kids, she supposes.

She tells a few kids to stop running, brings back a volleyball that ended up landing on the deep side of the pool, and that’s about it, for the most part. The morning shift is very laid back; the pool usually gets crowded during the afternoon, but that’s Adore and Courtney’s problem.

Lunch time rolls around before she notices it, and she closes the pool with a relieved sigh, immediately going to the cafeteria.

Scarlet picks a frozen burrito and asks one of the ladies working at the cafeteria if they can pretty please heat it up with the nice microwave they have in the kitchen. Belinda rolls her eyes with a playful smile and squeezes Scarlet’s cheek before complying with her wishes.

“Damn, I didn’t know we could ask to use the good microwave,” a voice pipes up from her side. Scarlet giggles and turns around to look at whoever said that.

She’s met with the sight of a gorgeous woman with pink wavy hair. Scarlet licks her lips before answering.

“Oh, no, that’s uh, that’s staff privilege.” She shrugs, and the woman clicks her tongue, visibly disappointed. Scarlet looks at her plate and cocks an amused brow when she sees the bland vegetarian sandwich. “I don’t think you’ll need the microwave now, though,” she points out, nudging at her plate, and the woman stifles a laugh.

“Ah, that, yeah. This is all my stomach can handle right now — one of my friends got a little too carried away doing the drinks last night,” she comments, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Scarlet chuckles, she knows the feeling.

“Hangover food? Been there. I’m a little bolder though, I prefer French fries with a lot of ketchup,” she replies, just when Belinda hands her back her burrito. Scarlet blows a kiss her way and turns her attention back to the woman, slightly biting her lip before speaking. “D’you wanna sit together? I mean, unless you’re waiting for your friends.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not waiting for them, I’d be stuck here for hours if I was,” she dismisses it with a wave of her hand and laughs. Scarlet thinks she has a pretty laugh. “I’m Yvie.”

“I’m Scarlet,” she introduces herself with a shiny smile.

Crystal sighs as she juggles her phone, struggling to put it on speaker as she currently is trying to make a decent lunch — never mind the fact it’s four p.m. and she skipped breakfast to sleep in.

She finally manages to put it on speaker and Vanessa’s voice fills the room, her tone far too annoyed and one Crystal’s grown to know all too well.

“Can you believe it, Crys? She’s but a child, and the bitch is almost thirty! I’m disgusted,” Vanessa rants, and Crystal almost snaps her optic nerve with the way she rolls her eyes.

“Vanj, hold the fuck up. Plastique is twenty two, in case you didn’t know, and Brooke is still twenty seven; the gap isn’t that big,” Crystal says. “’Sides, you two broke up last year, it’s obvious that she has moved on. So why don’t you focus on your hot bodybuilder girlfriend before I steal her off you.” She smiles cheekily when Vanessa gasps offended on the other side of the line.

“Hey! Plastic, Plastique, or whatever her name is, looks like a fucking teenager. How was I supposed to know?” She defends herself; Crystal can almost see her folding her arms with a childish pout. “Kameron is doing some gigs in California, photographing for an ice skating tour or some shit. She’s busy, but I did invite her for the competition.”

“Ajá.” Crystal is more focused in her lunch, making sure to cut the pepper as thin as possible. She knows it would’ve been easier to just order takeout, buy a soda from the drugstore around the corner, and settle in the couch and watch some garbage TV, but sometimes she misses the taste of a home cooked meal.

Vanessa goes on, talking her ear off about Kameron and how happy she is with her. She rolls her eyes; for someone in a happy relationship she sure talks a lot about her ex.

“…But that’s enough ‘bout me. What happened with you last night? Jaida came back way before you, bitch, and you reeked of sex. Like, you could barely walk straight, and you weren’t that shit faced. Spill, Glass,” Vanessa changes the topic, and Crystal nearly cuts her finger with the knife.

Her cheeks heat up when she remembers what happened at the beach with Gigi. Crystal doesn’t know if telling her to take off her soaked clothes on a whim had been a good or a bad idea, but she doesn’t regret anything — even if she still has sand in her scalp.

She clears her throat before speaking, glad that Vanessa can’t see her awfully red cheeks.

“Well, uh, remember Smoothie Girl?” she begins, throwing the pepper in the cooking pot. Vanessa musters an affirmative response. Crystal breathes in deeply. “So, like, Jaida and I finish our thing, and she tells me we should stop sleeping around, and I got excited, thinking she wanted to go on a date or something like that. But no, she actually meant that in a literal way, and naturally, I had already embarrassed myself,” Crystal rants with a groan. Vanessa just listens, “So, she left and I just. Stared at the water I guess. Then Smoothie Girl appeared out of nowhere, shit happened, one thing led to another, and suddenly I was pinning her to the ground.”

There’s silence on Vanessa’s end for what seems like an eternity, and Crystal proceeds to cut the chicken in tiny cubes, trying to not let her nerves get the best of her. She expected Vanessa to screech so loud she’d end up deaf.

“So, what you’re tryin’ to tell me is that your cheesy ass got ditched, and instead of moping around for a week, you went and slept with someone else right after?” She inquires slowly, as if she’s talking to an infant. Crystal rolls her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Bullshit, Glass,” Vanessa declares calmly, “There’s no way in hell. You’re bullshitting me. You’ve been chasing Jaida Eleanor Hall’s ass for two years now—”

“Hey! That’s not true. It’s been a year and a half,” Crystal defends herself.

“—a year and a half, and you didn’t feel the least bit heartbroken? Really?”

Crystal shrugs, but soon realizes that’s stupid; Vanessa can’t see her.

“Vanj, you act as if I was in love with Jaida, to begin with,” she points out, perching herself against the countertop for a moment. “The girl was hot, I won’t deny it, and the sex was great — but, like, I told you I didn’t think we’d ever be something serious. I don’t hold any grudges against her.” And it’s true. Crystal’s disappointment at the moment had been magnified by the fact she made a fool of herself by misunderstanding what Jaida meant, and the alcohol usually made her a more sensitive person, if that was even possible.

Vanessa stays silent for a moment yet again, until she hears a loud sigh and some rumbling. Crystal frowns as she throws the chicken to the cooking pot, turning up the flames.

“Alright, I believe you, Glass. Now tell me, you and Smoothie Girl…?” She leaves the sentence hanging, prompting Crystal to complete it.

She laughs shortly, before checking her phone and seeing a notification from Instagram. She grins cheekily, wondering if Gigi had waited so long to follow her on purpose.

Jaida takes a spoonful of ice cream, trying not to choke with laughter at Monique’s re-telling of the previous night. She’d been gone for a short while, though apparently that didn’t prevent shit from going down.

“You should’ve seen Vanessa’s face when Brooke left with Plastique, oh my God, it was priceless,” Monique tells her, as enthusiastic as ever. Her ice cream melts more and more with every second that passes, but she can’t bring herself to care. Except when Monét tries to steal some of it, apparently. “Girl, had I known the bitch was that bold, I wouldn’t have invited her. I’d like her to still be alive by the end of the week.”

“Hey now, it’s not her fault Vanessa isn’t over Brooke,” Monét cuts in, “Plastique hardly knew any of y’all. She may not even know Brooke is Vanessa’s ex.”

Jaida hums in agreement, her mouth still full of ice cream. The three of them are staying at the same hotel, and they’re lucky enough there’s a good ice cream shop around the corner, so they decided to take the day off and just hang out. Not that the hangover allowed them to do anything else in the first place.

“Also, Vanessa’s a grown woman; I don’t think she goes around pitching fights because her ex’s over her, she’s better than that,” Jaida adds, wiping the rests of ice cream off her face.

Monét and Monique agree with her, and the conversation drifts to various topics, though Jaida notices they’re making an effort not to bring Crystal up. She appreciates it, because right now that’s a can of worms she rather not open.

It’s not that she regrets being with her, it’s more like she hates herself for dragging their thing for so long, and by the way Crystal bit her tongue and nodded wordlessly when she told her she rather stop this, she can tell she hurt her — at least to some degree, because the rest of the night she’d acted as if nothing happened and everything was cool. Jaida doesn’t know if it was faked or not.

Monét and Monique start to argue about something, probably about how they’re not going to be easy on each other just because they’re girlfriends now; they go way too fast for her to catch up, especially since she’s still eating her frost mint ice cream and can’t be bothered about their relationship right now — she hears about it on the daily, anyway.

Jaida brings the spoon to her lips when she looks past Monique’s shoulder, looking at the entrance of shop, and she freezes for a moment. She blinks repeatedly, until she knows for real this is not her eyes deceiving her; the same woman as last night is seating near the entrance with someone else, chatting and laughing and looking even prettier in the daylight.

She squints, trying to remember her name; Jen, was it? She’s pretty sure she heard her friend say it, but she can’t remember that well.

Jaida pulls her gaze away when she realizes she’s staring, and tries to focus on whatever Monét and Monique are talking about. But soon she feels someone looking at her, and she steals a glance at the girl out of the corner of her eye; she finds that she’s staring back at her, but she quickly withdraws her gaze.

Jaida smiles against the spoon. She doesn’t question how is it possible she ran into her again, especially considering the island is big and the chances of seeing her again were slim. Perhaps it’s a coincidence.

“I’m telling you, ‘Nét, this bitch had an edgy phase!” Monique exclaims, tugging at Jaida’s arm, causing her to accidentally throw a good chunk of ice cream on her blouse. Monique stays still for a moment as Jaida fumbles with the tissue paper. “I’m sorry, girl,” she says, with her tone so high pitched and full of regret, Jaida finds it hard to get mad at her.

She sighs dramatically, leaving the tissues aside and standing up. “Don’t worry, sis, it’s no big deal. I can wash this, anyway.” She shrugs. “Though I’m expecting you to buy me a pina colada next time we hit the bar,” she teasingly says before leaving to the bathroom.

She can hear Monét’s laugh and the smack Monique gives her on the arm, pitching the blame for Jaida’s ruined blouse on her. Sometimes Jaida swears neither one of them knows the volume of their own voices.

She wets a tissue and gets the ice cream off her skin before it gets sticky. The bathroom is tinier than she expected, but at least there’s no one else.

Or so she thought.

“Sweet baby Jesus, Nicole, how did you manage to burn the eggs?” a voice speaks from one of the stalls, and Jaida jumps a little.

A woman comes out from one the three stalls, holding her phone in the crook of her neck as she washes her hands. Jaida stiffs a little when she notices it’s the girl from the beach. Jen (or Jan), apparently, remembers her too, because she stops for a moment when she sees her, biting her lower lip before speaking again.

“Nicks, just, don’t touch anything else from the kitchen. Jackie and I will come back in a moment — please don’t listen neither Gigi nor Brita, they’re as bad cooks as you, 'kay?” She hangs up and sighs loudly, drying her hands before putting the phone back in the pocket of her shorts.

“That’s quite an interesting daycare you got there,” Jaida comments lightheartedly, throwing the tissues to the trash. The woman chuckles, turning to see her.

“Keeping toddlers in their twenties alive is my passion,” she deadpans, playing with the hem of her shirt. Jaida laughs shortly. “I’ve heard they’re easier to take care of once they’re thirty,” she comments with a cheeky smile, making Jaida laugh again.

“I wouldn’t have my hopes up if I were you,” Jaida replies, checking herself in the mirror and making sure she’s wiped off all the ice cream

She sucks in a quick breath, looking back at the woman, who’s perched against the sink, texting someone.

“Hey,” she says, catching her attention. “This probably sounds crazy, but is there any chance you were at O'Ahu beach last night, looking for a ball, maybe?” Jaida wonders, and almost right away she sees Jen (or Jan) cheeks lit up.

“Oh, Jesus, I was hoping you wouldn’t remember me. That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” She covers her face with her hands and Jaida laughs softly, coming some steps closer.

“Girl, it’s fine, for real,” she assures her, and Jen (or Jan) slowly uncovers her face. The rosy tone in her cheeks makes her look cute. She bites her lower lip before continuing. “I did mean it when I said I can’t be mad at a pretty girl.”

Jen (or Jan) smiles sheepishly and laugh, tucking a strand of lose hair behind her ear.

“Well, I meant it too when I said you’re not so bad yourself. I didn’t mean to finger gun you, though.”

Jaida laughs, and for a moment she forgets she has to go back to Monét and Monique. They strike up a conversation, and Jaida learns that her name is Jan and not Jen, and that she blushes a deep shade of red whenever she compliments her in any way. Jaida thinks she’s the cutest girl she’s ever met.

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Cerebus #13 (1979)

This cover reminds me of at least three different nights in college.

One time in college, a drunk friend of mine fell UP the stairs and injured himself. One time in college, a guy down the hall invited me to drink with him and he was telling me about all the dead cockroaches he found under his dresser when he suddenly just vomited all over the front of his shirt. One time in college, I snuck into the top level of a factory in Los Banos which was really just a bunch of creaky catwalks in the dark and I stole their fire extinguisher (I did not go to college in Los Banos. Do they even have a college?!). One time in college, a girl in my Steinbeck class told me all about this cartoon she was watching called Sailor Moon and I desperately fell in love with her (and I also started watching the cartoon and super fell in love with that). One time in college, my friend Soy Rakelson looked at me confused after leaving our Lit Theory class and he blurted out, "Why doesn't he just tell us what is true?!" One time in college, my teacher wrote on one of my homework assignments "Please speak up in class more!" because it was a humanities course focusing on American History, Art, and Literature and all the dolts who did speak up in class were business majors and idiots. One time in college, I...no, you know what. I'm not telling that story. Never mind. One time in college, I went with a friend to a meeting where they were starting a new fraternity and everybody who was starting it automatically was in but my friend just missed that cut off and when they held the vote, he didn't make the cut. He left hurt and angry and pleaded with me to stay after he left to maybe find out more information about why he didn't make it. When they asked me if I were interested in joining, I laughed and said, "Fuck that," and left. One time in college, I had to describe my Halloween costume to my creative writing teacher because she was blind (I was Alice Cooper in Wonderland). That same day in college, my Children's Lit professor just laughed when she saw me and said, "Great costume." I wish I had a picture of it. Basically I wore the Alice blue dress and smock deal and Alice Cooper's make-up while carrying the decapitated and bloody head of the white rabbit. One time in college, I got wasted on Long Island Iced Teas at the Portland Rose Festival with my thirty-something year old coworker and we wound up running around the deck of a battleship when one of the Navy guys invited us on. One time in college, I sat next to my lesbian professor of 19th Century American Literature at the movies where we laughed and joked the whole way through Demi Moore's The Scarlet Letter. One time in college, I read my version of a scene from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest in the style of Shakespeare and everybody after felt too intimidated to read theirs. Man, some of these stories are really sad! And I've purposefully left out the thousand or so stories that would have begun "One time in college during our Warhammer campaign...". Look, I really agonized about the punctuation at the end of that sentence but it wouldn't have been true to the punctuation's job performance to put all four periods within the quotes! I just realized I forgot to discuss the Aardvark Comments at the end of the last issue. It seems the expansion to two pages has stuck. The only part I remember was Dave Sim explaining that because of his nervous breakdown, he actually spent four days in a psyche ward. So I guess he went way past just shitting himself. Dave's Swords of Cerebus essay reveals one important fact: Necross the Mad was based on Exidor from Mork & Mindy. The issue begins with a bird shitting on Cerebus' snout. That's a portent I should use more often in my roller playing campaigns. Roller Playing Games should also have a simple rage statistic. Sort of like a saving throw but it gets harder and harder to save against every time some minor annoyance aggravates the player until they simply explode, becoming so careless from rage that it reflects in all of their dice roles. Or is that simply what going berserk is for Berserkers or Barbarians? Plus, there are so many Roller Playing Games, I'm sure one of them uses those rules in their system. Cerebus is captured by some farmers and taken to a Priest of Tarim to determine what sort of sorcerous monstrosity he is.

Cerebus pleads future violence.

The priest decides to dump Cerebus in the foyer of the castle of Necross the Mad, a sorcerer who has been plaguing the villagers of Lower Felda. His plan is that they'll simply kill each other and he won't have to deal with them anymore. Praise Tarim! Sometimes I wish I had become a priest but I don't think I would have made it through Divinity School. I'm fairly certain everybody would frown on my constantly yelling "Pshaw!" after every few passages from The Bible. I probably don't have to admit this because nobody was around to witness it but I just hopped up to turn on the light and then danced around humming the theme song from I Dream of Jeannie. One time in college, I went to see Ken Kesey speak after which he and his (new?) Merry Pranksters performed a sort of The Wizard of Oz play but about climate change. It was such a train wreck that halfway through, my friend Aaron Voorhees streaked across the stage. Or kind of duck waddled across the stage since he didn't take his pants off, he just dropped them around his ankles. The priest of Tarim has a lackey take Cerebus into the lair of Necross and it doesn't go too well.

Yikes. I'm more evil than this guy.

Sometimes I run outside in the morning to throw out garbage or something and I won't put my pants on. I figure it doesn't matter too much because I wear boxers and those are pretty much shorts. But today in the early morning hours, I was outside with my cat Gravy (on a leash) and I was up on the little hill in the backyard under the tree which enables me to see over all the backyard fences and two houses down, I caught sight of the woman there running back inside in her red panties. It was pretty awesome. I told that story because this guy's confession of looking down women's dresses reminded me of the moment and also because I wanted to tell people that I saw a woman in her underwear. This guy also confesses to having "impure thoughts about farm animals" which I totally have never done except in a rhetorical or theoretical or maybe even philosophical conversation. What I mean is I've never thought "I wonder what it would be like to fuck a goat?" but I have said to friends "You would probably fuck a goat, right?" Necross the Mad materializes so that he can speak with Cerebus (after disintegrating the guy who wants to fuck goats or sheep or chickens). Necross, being mad, decides to prove to Cerebus that he isn't mad. But his proof that he isn't mad is just more evidence that he is. That's what happens when you're mad; you're not the best advocate for yourself. Necross introduces Cerebus to Thrunk, a sixteen foot tall stone golem which Necross intends to bring to life at some point. That some point is soon and not in the way Necross intended because in a few pages, Necross is going to be killed and do an emergency transfer of his spirit into Thrunk.

Okay, less of an emergency transfer and more like an accident.

The priest's mob rushes into the tower where Thrunk begins to smash them all into jelly. While that's happening, Cerebus decides it's time to leave. As he wanders away to more sane territories, Necross the Mad realizes he's trapped in the only reinforced room of his tower. But if you think that's the end of Thrunk, you haven't read Church & State yet! Aardvark Comments just proves that a lot of people were discovering that Cerebus was one of the best comics on the market in 1979. Reading the Cerebus phone book in one sitting never allowed me to realize just how quickly this comic book finds itself and begins gaining momentum. It's truly inspired that Dave Sim, by issue thirteen, has created so many wonderful characters and written so many gags that stuck for decades inside my head. And I'm not a quote person at all! I'm more the type who thinks saying something new and unique and true to myself is dozens of times better than puking out some pop culture reference that everybody will recognize. Sure, I do it sometimes! But when I do, I do it all M. Night Shyamacock style! Cerebus #13 Rating: B+. I've given a lot of issues A grades so I thought I would change it up. This one is actually probably an A as well. I especially loved how Thrunk complains about the bottoms of his feet being sticky after stomping all of the farmers to death. We all how annoying that is, right?

#Cerebus #Dave Sim

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character-scrolls · 4 years

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Miscellaneous Headcanons: Jinx - TSM (Soften Edition)

Enjoy some cute headcanons of some of my Jinx beans <3

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - No doubt about it, Jinx would have a book review channel and it would be as cute as heck.

- An incredibly fluffy and sweet vibe, she'd have a large bookcase in her background with cute fairy lights draped over it, maybe some miniture cactus plants sat on some of the shelves.

- Probably uses some soft music box as the background music or something that relates to the book she's reviewing that week.

- Jinx would mostly be a solo reviewer but she might occasionally bring on someone for a collab

- She has gotten some god awful book suggestions, some she does reviews and some she'll outright refuse to do

- Her channel would probably be something like Bookworm or The BookWorm

- One of her videos showcases a mini tour of all the books she's gotten over the years, she's slowly running out of floor space.

What kinda blog would they run? - PASTEL.COLOURS.FOR.DAAAAYS.

- Jinx's blog is dedicated to all things literature from fiction to non-fiction

- She could talk for hours and hours about her favourite authors and the books she's read that week

- Jinx takes photos of her reading space which is normally a comfy chair with a little side table with her current book and a cup of fancy tea steaming next to it and her reading glasses resting on top of her book.

- Though in reality it probably ends up with her sitting up in bed until god knows what time whilst spouting the false promise of 'yes this is the last chapter I'm going to read I swear' wheather that's a book or a really good fanfiction on her ipad that's upto you.

- Jinx's posting shedule would be at least twice a week, depending

- Would for sure have a side blog for fanfiction

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Jinx would be a cute little ghostie for Halloween

- She's not one for being scary so cute is the next best thing

- Jinx would do her best to hand make the costume, it wouldn't be the neatest but hey ghost aren't meant to be

- The costume consists of a white robe with oversized sleeves covering her hands with a lacy hood over the top and short chains would be attached around her ankles

Who would they cosplay as?

- Jinx would for sure cosplay someone like Yuna from Final Fantasy X or Howl from Howls Moving Castle

- She would try and get a high quality costume, trying to get the most accurate looking one

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - A gooey chocolate chip cookie, because she's a soft that is all

What type of tea would they be? -A cinnamon blend tea

What type of alcohol would they be? - A sweet red wine

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? - For sure, a spellcaster deck probably based around the Silent Magician

- Not just for the obvious reason...also by how it's played

- Not seeing her with any other type

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Possibly Fairy? I'm not entirely sure because they're a number of pokemon I see her having in her team, I have considered like psychic for another option?

What Animal Crossing animal would they be?

- Maybe a sheep? a cute little purple sheep

- Has the cutest cottage aesthetic going on

- Will gift you many, many, many books

Aesthetic: leather bound books, ink stained parchment, burning candle light, dark blues, pastel pinks and purples, empty potion vials, soft touches, sweet smelling purfumes, crytals, the glittering particles of magic, grubby bandages

Extra headcanon:

- The fiction she read throughout her years helped her discover her bisexuality, she had read so many books with different heros and their romantic endevours that it had a profound a effect on her. At first she didn't understand why she liked boys but also girls??? fiction helped her to finally understand that it was perfectly normal to feel like this.

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Ruben - Jinx: TSM

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - This boy. THIS BOY. His channel would be a disaster , but a wonderful one..he's trying

- Ruben would do a lot of dumb but harmless challenges, but it would radiate pure chaotic energy

- He's a gremlin with too much time on their hands lets be real here

- Ruben would do a lot of collabs, which are even more diasterous than his solo videos depending which poor soul he asked

- he edits like it's going out of fashion, jumpcuts galore and dumbass sounds effects for days.

- He has a sizable following

- He would for sure drag his boyfriend in for a video...for a price

What kinda blog would they run? - Like this Youtube channel, it's chaotic but is slightly more structured

- Being a avid comic reader, his blog is centred around comic books

- Will have full-on arguements with other people about which character is strongest/best/weakest etc

- "Now you listen here you litle shit, YOU DON'T-"

- His blog is fairly simple in terms of colour scheme, possibly using themes available to him

- Has an inconsistant posting shedule

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Probably a skeleton, surprisingly good at face painting

- He'd use face/body paint for his neck area and hands

- Contacts maybe?

Who would they cosplay as?

- Would for sure cosplay as Beast Boy from Teen Titans, feel like that would be the type of character he'd go for

- Maybe with full-on body paint too?

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - Ruben would be like one of those giant biscuits with the chunks of m&ms baked into it

What type of tea would they be? - Iced lemon tea

What type of alcohol would they be? - Apple Cider

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? -Elemental Hero deck maybe?

- His love of super heros would play a part in why he chose it

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Possibly flying?

- Has for sure named one of his pokemon Jeremy

What Animal Crossing animal would they be?

-Possibly a squrriel

-Has a mis-matched house because who hell is interior decorating

Aesthetic: Fireworks lighting up the nights sky, scrapped knees, wide grins,bare feet,messy hair constantly running fingers through it,dark greens, off white,loud laughter, dumb jokes.

Extra headcanon:

- Ruben is known for being the town menace, however, when he was younger especially, the elder folk would leave out baked goodies for him to pick up during his escapes. Sometimes they'd even let him hide out near their house if it was safe enough to do so. Now that he's older, they don't let him get away so much anymore but will occasionally leave out a place of treats.

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Lamina - Jinx: TSM

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - Lamina's channel would be dedicated to fitness and her vast collection of swords

- She'll do exercise challenges and inbetween she'd show off her latest custom order swords

- Lamina has an intense energy on screen but will give legitmate advice on health and exercise

- She'll only really soften up if she talks about her girlfriend or her swords, getting equally giddy over both

- Her shedule is regular and she has quite a big following

- Swords will always be present in her backgrounds

What kinda blog would they run? - Her blog would focus on her swords and she'd go into detail about their history and origin

- She takes beautiful pictures of them from every angle imaginable

- Lighting is everything, it's gotta hit the blade juuust right

- She poses them with occassionally, doesn't admit it but she enjoys it

- Her colour scheme would be muted and her theme would be minimal

- Lamina tends to post whenever she has a new sword delievered

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Lamina is not usually one to get dressed up, would probably take some persausion

- She'd want it to be low effect, nothing too complicated

- If she had to pick, possibly an apocolyptic survior, no it's not an excuse to show off her cool swords shUT Up

Who would they cosplay as?

- Possibly Erza Scarlet from Fairy Tail

-Because did I mention swords? because she likes s

-Not sure which armor she'd go for

-Possibly would commission someone to make it

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - A simple shortbread biscuit

What type of tea would they be? - Green macha tea

What type of alcohol would they be? - Straight whisky

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? - Warrior deck or Amazoness deck?

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Fighting type, feel like it fits her

What Animal Crossing animal would they be?

- Wolf possibly? or a bear

- Home filled with work-out equipment

- Grumpy personality?

Aesthetic: Early mornings, sore knuckles, stern looks, hidden softness, sword clashes, the smell of burning, loyal bonds, dark purples and blues,brusied skin and busted lips, quiet nights beneath the stars.

Extra headcanon:

- (tiny spoilers??) After Solus left most of her men dead, Lamina felt geniuely hurt. Her loyalty and trust in Solus was strong. She wouldn't admit but she did shed a few tears when she was alone before completely shutting herself off from her remaining men. They weren't like him, in fact, they were among the ones who mocked her and they only trusted her out of fear. She felt she'd lost her only real connection. Thankfully, she was able to open up again and she couldn't be happier. -------------------------------------------

Katia-Jinx:TSM

Social Media:

What kind of Youtube channel would they run? - Katia would have a fashion channel, she'd showcase the unsual dresses she'd buy and possibly make

- There's always a WIP of a dress on a manniquien in the background of her videos

- She'll sometimes do time lapses of dress

- Katia will occasionally post tutorials on the dresses she makes and leaves materials and such in the description

- She'd talk about the best materials to use to sew with

- Her sewing machine is covered in cute stickers and has become staple in her background

- She keeps a list of themes to explore in a notebook

- Her following is large but not overwhelming

What kinda blog would they run? - A fashion blog

- She'd post lookbooks each with a different theme

- Her colour scheme would be soft galaxy, maybe blue and purple

- Katia loves to talk about the history of fashion and tries to re-create the clothing from different points in history

- Her blog is clean and orginaised to a T. Everything is put into categories

- Katia posts weekly and does at least one lookbook per week

Dressing Up:

What would they be for Halloween? - Katia would be a wailing victorian bride

- With her skills in dress making her costume would be sublime

- She'd go ham on her costume, adding every single detail she can think of to make it look better

- Kinda erie how accurate it would be

Who would they cosplay as? - BOTW!Zelda or Twlight Princess!Zelda

- Again, costume making is her jam! the entire thing would be made from scratch minus a few things like the wig

- She loves the outfits Zelda wears in the games and would study the hell out of them to get the design right

Food:

What type of biscuit would they be? - Simple lemon biscuit

What type of tea would they be? - Earl Grey

What type of alcohol would they be? - Vodka

Games:

What kind of Yu-Gi-Oh! Deck do you they have? - Harpy Lady deck

- She just thinks they're neat

- And she enjoys the play style

What kind of Pokemon Team do they have? - Ghost type

What Animal Crossing animal would they be? - Rabbit

- Her house would be cosy and hidden away within the trees

- Shy personality type

Aesthetic: Silver necklaces, heavy veils, masquerade masks, silk dresses, corset ties, anxious thoughts, strained smiles, secret encounters, fights for freedom, golds, silver, sparkling jewels, touch starved.

Extra headcanon:

- Katia was not always an anxious mess, that only occurred later in life due to the pressure her parents placed on her. As a child, she was playful and witty, she was rebellous and would always find ways to esape her escorting guards. These days the only way she can 'escape' are when she's in her own quaters.

#soft headcanons #headcanon #ocs #fantasy #mage #dark elf #drow

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elane-in-the-shadows · 5 years

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Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

A/N: As I promised this would be the last chapter before the epilogue, I didn’t want to break it in two parts, so this became awfully long. Please stay tuned until the end ^^°

The frozen ground cracked under her boots; the crisp wind blew with shrill cries. Diana stepped carefully, lest she lost her balance over the iced-over spots. She didn’t understand why Operative Swan would choose this February evening in coldest winter to come to the northern Lakelands, but Diana would go to Swan’s meeting no matter what.

Maybe Swan got stuck in the weather here, that’s why. At least it didn’t rain or snow.

“You okay?” asked Marcus Wolff, walking next to her.

Diana hmphed, but as he couldn’t notice her gloomy expression beneath the scarf wrapped around her head, she retorted, “I live here.”

Wolff hmphed back. He returned to his usual silence, yet a few hours before, he’d literally run into her when she’d emerged from the forest in the afternoon.

He’d grabbed her arm. “Come with me,” he’d urged. “There’s a meeting in Aerzen, with Swan. Someone from here should show up.”

“My parents …” Diana had replied, startled by the offer and his insistence.

Wolff had shaken his head. “No time, it’s 15 kilometers and we have to walk.” He’d glanced at her hunting rifle. “Leave that in my transport.”

Apparently, he’d parked his transport at Armina’s Cordes’s farm, to give the impression he was there too, as the farmer had to stay home.

Diana had enough time to ponder on all this, though she was mostly excited about the chance to see Swan again, a real and obviously important member of the Scarlet Guard. She missed the assuring weight of her rifle but agreed with the problems of showing up armed in another place.

Wolff had been right. It would’ve taken too long to search for her parents who she hadn’t seen all day. What was going on here that she didn’t fully grasp? She almost imagined Wolff picked her up specifically, not just because she’d been at hand.

What if Swan does want to meet with me?

Another gush of wind hit her face and she pulled her scarf tighter. She breathed in its woollen scent, hoping to catch a whiff of Giselle’s as well. The scarf was – among others of its kind – a present from her girlfriend. But after much use in the cold and damp weather, it had begun to smell rather of Diana, the woods and the hunt – and thus did nothing now to quell Diana’s yearning.

There had been no time to tell Giselle of her trip, either. In fact, in her parents’ absence this morning, Diana had invited Giselle over to spend the evening with her. In her bed.

It was a few weeks after their first sex. That first time had been in the darkest and shortest days of the last year, when absolutely no one wanted to be, or urged another, to go outside, that Giselle had led Diana up to her bedroom while the rest of the household sat downstairs, chatting in front of the fire.

Perhaps it really had been hesitation, a waiting for their own readiness, that had stopped them before, because now they found it so easy to sneak away and make love. Almost once a week they gave in to their fiery desires.

Diana snorted, assuming her face was already bright red from the cold, so her blush would be fully inconspicuous. The day had been grey and cloudy to begin with and the falling of dusk came early and was barely discernible. Nothing but frost would kiss her tonight.

I hope this meeting will be worth flaking on Giselle and freezing my ass off.

Operative Swan awaited them in the house of the congregation of Aerzen. Looking as formidable as ever, Swan held a speech that did make her sound like a priest. Again, Diana noticed how much Swan resembled the queen.

But no. Although she’d seen only a few images of Queen Cenra Cygnet, there was something off about their resemblance. Beneath the appearance of a veteran soldier, Diana figured, Swan tried to be charming and recruit people for the Scarlet Guard. The queen would never.

The queen has so much power already, she has no need to win over anyone else. Or just believes she doesn’t.

When Swan finished her speech, a few from the two dozens listening left the house. Diana resisted the urge to follow them – she was past being wooed or excluded. Instead, when Swan retreated into an office, Diana came along with the remaining participants who followed the operative, Wolff among them, and took a seat.

Diana’s eyes toured over the group. She didn’t know how to describe them, but they didn’t look like casual listeners who were only curious – they had experience with meetings like this.

Soon, Swan started a new conversation, a business-like one without the recruitment tone. She reported of several Scarlet Guard successes, staying somewhat vague so the others would have little to betray. Afterwards, she beckoned the group to speak about their hometowns in a similar manner, listening to what they could provide or lacked themselves – which included mentions of threats and abuse from the Silvers and the Reds in their thrall.

It was all very conspirative, and very fascinating. This is it, Diana realized, this is what I’ve waited for.

When a pause fell over the group, Swan’s gaze shifted to Diana, lingering there for a decisive, challenging moment. It was less an ask and more of a dare, and Diana was ready.

“I’m from Sieverling,” she began, taking the same approach as the other speakers and ignoring her throbbing heart. “Our harvest was poor due to the weather, and we have little reserves after the tithe paid at new year.” She swallowed, glancing around the table. “We can ration and share, and hunt for some meat, but there isn’t much game to be found now, and,” – did she sound like asking for pity and alms? – “we’ll have to make do, but it’s our turn in the greeny corvee this year, and we’ve already made bad experiences with it.” She shrugged. “It might get worse.”

The group watched her intently, Swan most of all. It was also Swan whose eyes stayed on her just a little longer, before she cleared her throat and wrote something down. “We’ll see to it,” she said simply, just how she’d replied to the other reports, although shorter and with a brusque note.

The meeting continued and ended with Swan wishing them goodbye – conspicuously devoid of conclusions or promises.

Secretive after all. Diana rose and moved out slowly. Wolff had vanished on his own, so she remained in the building, waiting for him.

It was Swan who called her after a few minutes. “Ms. Farley,” she repeated, “I’m glad you made it here.”

Diana almost saluted. She inclined her head. “So am I, ma’am,” she replied.

“You’re new to this,” Swan stated, more serious now.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Swan nodded. “Well, it’s good you’re so committed, but I think you don’t understand yet.” Her brown eyes bored into Diana’s, and Diana’s greater height meant nothing in this moment. Swan towered over her as her fingers clasped around Diana’s arm.

“You see, the Guard has to cover its expenses in some way, or we can surrender right now,” Swan said.

Diana nodded, but for a second, Swan’s grip tightened like a vice, her gaze never leaving Diana’s face. “If you ask the Guard for help, we’ll expect compensation in return.” Swan let go.

“I promise to deliver, ma’am,” Diana said, unsettled but obedient.

Swan inclined her head, her expression softening slightly. “I’m sure of it.”

“Is there … another mission for me?”

Swan crossed her arms and waved a hand. Diana didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean – besides “wait more” – then Swan sighed. “There might already be something under way. Anyway, I look forward to work with you further, Ms. Farley.”

They shook hands and Diana grasped that their conversation was about to end. Yet she wouldn’t be left hanging again. “Please wait,” she called in a firm voice.

Swan raised her eyebrows, half surprised, half affirmed.

“Will we meet again?” Diana asked.

“How would I know?” Swan sounded almost amused.

Diana frowned. “If so … I’d like to avoid wasting any more time.”

Swan cackled shortly. “Of course not.”

“I want to pledge myself to the Scarlet Guard,” Diana went on, unperturbed.

Earnestness returned to Swan’s face. It took a second at most, but Diana felt like falling until she heard Swan reply “yes”.

Rise, red as the dawn.

So simple. So fitting. So obvious. And yet, the credo filled Diana’s mind like a prayer she’d never needed before. It was done, she was the oathed member “Lamb” of the Scarlet Guard. Though it was rather a start than an achievement, she was elated.

She’d be worthy. She’d bring change. She had to admit she didn’t know how to change what, but that was why she joined the Guard, wasn’t it?

The world had kept her ignorant of what could be, but it was unable to hide its wrongness from her and so many others. It was time to step up, to rise.

Although currently, she stepped the long way home, over the icy ground and through the dark. It was almost midnight, and couldn’t be further from the red dawn.

Wolff stayed the night in Aerzen for some undisclosed reason, but thanks to her hunter’s training, she had no extraordinary problems to find her way home in the night.

She’d almost arrived.

At her home, a lantern shone. From her parents? Or Madeline? Though Diana’s sister was used to their family’s comings and goings in the dark, and would have simply retired without waiting, maybe leaving a candle in her window at most. And the light on the porch was clearly brighter than that.

Diana increased her speed, growing a little wary. But she was hit by surprise nonetheless when she heard Giselle greet her. She rushed the last steps up the porch, into the warm orange light of the lantern and Giselle’s arms.

“What are you doing here?” she muttered. “Why didn’t you go in?”

Giselle hummed instead of answering, shoving away Diana’s scarf and snuggling her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Diana shuddered when she felt Giselle’s breath on her skin.

“I should go in?” Giselle murmured teasingly. “Who stayed outside half the night?” She chuckled, one hand on Diana’s back, hugging her tighter, her other hand searching for Diana’s cold fingers. “You’re a literal icicle.”

Diana kissed Giselle’s temple, Giselle’s squeak a proof of the coldness of Diana’s lips. Diana laughed, fumbling with her fingers so she could pull an oversized mitten over their joined hands. “You’re warming me now,” she said softly, and meant it. She hadn’t expected to see Giselle after she’d left for the meeting, and now she wished to bring Giselle up to her room and cuddle with her in her bed.

She moaned as Giselle’s hand found its way under her coat and to her bare back. They began to sway, in a manner that only marginally resembled dancing due to the hour, the temperature, their exhaustion and thick clothes. Yet Diana could easily imagine another dance of them, just as beautiful.

Eventually, Giselle went on her toes and kissed Diana on the lips. “You stood me up,” she breathed, “and I demand compensation.”

Compensation.

The word crossed through her mind as they kissed again, longer and deeper. It was the second time she heard this word tonight, and it made her consider. Was this the moment to confess? It was merely a question of time before Giselle would ask where she’d been, why she’d broken her promise, and Diana had no explanation ready but the truth.

Giselle’s fingers cradled Diana’s face but her gaze wandered, up and down and aside, in that adorable manner of hers. “I haven’t waited here for long, actually,” Giselle said. “I’ve heard something and I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Diana lifted her eyebrows. Giselle threw back her head and laughed. “Well, I don’t know for sure, but the news is already making the round, and Ms. Cordes herself said it too, so …” she shrugged and smiled and – in Diana’s eyes – shone brighter than her lantern ever could.

“Lord Isère bought new land and wants tenants to work it,” Giselle went on. “Tenants like my family.”

Diana squeaked and embraced Giselle. She imagined sweeping her of her feet but was too tired for that by now. Excitement and joy for Giselle’s sake rushed through her bloodstream still. “Awesome!” she exclaimed. “Like you wished for.”

Giselle giggled with her, their joined laughter getting louder by the second until they had to stop to catch breath. “Indeed,” Giselle agreed, “indeed.” She quieted, fingertips brushing Diana’s cheek. “I wonder …” she began, yet drifted off.

“What?” Diana muttered as soon as it dawned on her.

“Would you come with me?” Giselle asked, chewing her lips. She sounded hopeful.

But as Diana stayed silent, trying all she could to freeze her face and give nothing away, Giselle frowned. “I … understand you’d want to finish your apprenticeship as a huntress,” she said, not sounding understanding at all. “But I don’t think the new village will have need of a hunter … “

She was still so close, having only slightly loosened their embrace, but it felt like she was flying way, leaving Diana to fall. Diana fought the sensation, lifting her hand to Giselle’s head, cradling it. “We can –”, she urged – but what? What could she offer?

All she could read in Giselle’s face was disappointment. She inched away and grabbed Diana’s arms. “I don’t get it, Diana!” she shouted. “You always said, you wanted away, you wanted change! What is here for you?”

What is here for me?

The Scarlet Guard, obviously. But that wasn’t why she hesitated. She could still fight with them from the next village over. It was that Diana knew it wouldn’t end there, the Guard would ask more and more from her because that was the one thing Swan was clear about.

And if Diana loved Giselle and wanted to be with her, she had to be open with her.

She shook her head and smiled weakly. She closed the distance between them and let their foreheads touch. The muscles in her fingers tensed, tightening her hold on Giselle’s face, and Giselle took the hand in hers and moved her head to kiss Diana’s palm. She smiled back and Diana remembered how Giselle had beamed only moments before, when she’d talked about her new future.

I have to be honest with her…, Diana thought, her lips already moving as if preparing for the words to say, looking into Giselle’s expectant eyes.

… But I also have to protect her.

She closed her eyes. Diana dreamed of the Red Dawn, but Giselle dreamed of a home in safety. And Diana couldn’t take that dream away from her.

Diana pulled away harshly and both their smiles vanished in an instant.

It wasn’t over yet. She could still go back.

She thought of all those times when Giselle had side-eyed her, full of unanswered and unasked questions. Where had Diana been? Why was she away? Why did she learn to fight?

Giselle had never asked, and Diana had preferred to believe she was just moody, like everyone was. But maybe, Giselle really didn’t want to know, nor cared about what Diana did behind her back and wished for deep down.

If they wanted to go on, they’d need to trust one another. And Diana realized she could not grant Giselle that trust.

She stepped back.

Shock spread over Giselle’s face and Diana craved to reach out, to touch her, just one last time. Instead she balled her fists, straightened her back and gave Giselle a hard gaze, engraving that final sight of Giselle into her mind – even though it was a sight of despair.

“I’m sorry,” she said tonelessly, and turned around, opening the door to her house, dashing through and locking it behind her.

She breathed heavily but bit down her tears and sobs as she sank down. She restrained her cries so much it hurt. Not to wake Madeline, she restrained them as she went to her room, as she undressed herself, put on her nightgown and laid down – and only then, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle the sound, she began to cry.

She wore the nightgown Giselle had given her on her birthday. It was a meager replacement for the real girl’s touch.

Diana fell in and out of sleep.

Madeline went over to her at some point, stroking her back and whispering soothing words until Diana was asleep again.

Later, in the early morning, Madeline chased off Papa when he came looking for her. Diana didn’t care about hunting, or telling them about the meeting. She stayed in bed until it was almost noon.

It was sunnier today, although hardly warmer. When she managed to get up, she wrapped herself in a blanket while washing her face. She looked terrible in the mirror and felt close to crying again when she noticed she wore a nightgown from Giselle, held on to a blanket Giselle had embroidered, and used soap she’d made.

So many parts of her Diana had taken for granted and now they were the only things she’d left from her.

“Stop it,” she whispered to her face in the mirror. “Stop.”

She decided to drink some tea – and realized it would be also from Giselle. But it had to stop hurting, didn’t it? Giselle wasn’t dead, and Diana had a mission waiting for her. Life would go on. The Scarlet Guard, they would be her life from now on.

Downstairs, her mother stood at the kitchen window. And she looked even worse than Diana.

The corners of Clara’s mouth twitched. “Good morning.”

“Mama!” Diana cried out, for a second unashamed of sounding like a little girl wanting her mother to comfort her and not at all like a soldier to be.

Not that she gave in to the impulse, even though she smelled Giselle’s tea, prepared by her mother, drifting over the fragrance of the burning fire. She only held on tighter to her mother, breathing heavily as Mama rubbed over her back.

When Mama pulled away, Diana was ready. Keeping her face straight, she said, “I’ve been to a Scarlet Guard meeting last night.”

Mama nodded, gesturing to the table. Diana sat down, thankful for her mother putting bread and a mug with tea in front of her. Sadness and excitement warred in her and either would make her hands shake.

“I’ve given my oath as well,” Diana continued, warming her palms with the mug and meeting her mother’s expectant gaze. Yet further words eluded her. Shouldn’t she have talked about the meeting first, before mentioning her personal success? She stared into the tea until she found her reflection in its surface –

“Hey.” Mama patted her shoulder and Diana looked up. “Congratulations, lamb,” Mama said and Diana settled back into the here and now, though irked that her old pet name and her Guard designation were the same.

Mama cleared her throat. “I knew about the meeting,” she said and took Diana’s hands. “I couldn’t go there” – she paused and blinked – “because I was on a mission myself.”

“Really?”

Mama nodded slowly, then closed her eyes. “Eleven,” she murmured.

“What?”

Mama looked up. “With last night, I’ve killed eleven Silvers by now.”

Diana was aghast. “You … you never said anything,” she stammered.

“I’m becoming the Guard’s favourite killer,” Mama mused. “Or rather their butcher.” She cackled. She turned her face to Diana who was too shocked to speak.

“Last night, it was at a Silver manor,” Mama narrated. “I was to steal coins and grain, then set a fire for distraction.” Her expression darkened. “It didn’t go as planned. There were guests, and then the house blew up.

“I took what I could, and told the same to the dozen of Red workers at the manor. Also that they should flee and hide here.”

“Here? In – “

“Yes. They’ll arrive in a few days.” Mama sighed. “It was so much, Diana. Enough money to support the Guard for months.” She shook her head. “My handler was elated. Said they can’t wait to finally deploy me on a greater scale.”

In the pregnant silence that followed, Diana grasped the implication. “They want you elsewhere?”

Mama nodded, squeezing Diana’s hands. “Papa too. They’re going to press harder for relocation now, as you’ve become a full member as well.”

So they’ve been asking her and Papa to move for a while. Diana gulped. “I had no idea.”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

Diana’s head sank. “No. Yes …” She looked up. “It’s obvious in hindsight, isn’t it?” She gasped as a consequence crossed her mind. “But Madeline?”

Mama shook her head.

“She won’t come with us?” Diana asked and her mother declined.

“To imagine leaving my little girl behind …” Mama sighed deeply. “You know she never had any interest. She wants to stay at my family’s farm. She isn’t like us.” A hint of accusation swung in her voice, but not for Madeline. For herself.

Diana squeezed her mother’s hand. “We can’t make her join,” she said quietly, thinking of someone else as well. “That would be worse.”

Mama pulled loose and leaned back in her chair. She stared at her hands, stretching her fingers that were worn from work. Her fingernails showed dark grey stains. From the fire last night, Diana guessed. Or from dead Silvers.

“I thought this place is only good for hiding,” Mama said slowly. “Not for living. But it’s still so hard to leave it behind.”

Diana knew. The coming farewell from her hometown soon left her with a constant ache, a fear of the uncertain future. But this ache was manageable because the future was always unclear, because it also came with a glimmer of hope.

It didn’t stop Diana from sobbing in her pillow the next night. And the next. And the next, as she saw her fate weaving a pattern that denied any option for her and Giselle to be together. She hadn’t anticipated that certainty to arrive so fast, had wished, deep down, to return to her, to give her another chance.

There couldn’t be one, so Diana cried in the dark and every time Madeline would go to comfort her for a while even though Diana didn’t explain why she was sad. It became obvious after a few days anyway, but it was also that Madeline wished to be there for her sister as long as they were together still.

It was enough that her family pampered her, Diana wouldn’t let herself be pitied by the whole village. She had enough to do, preparing their – illegal – leave and instructing the fugitive workers from the manor her mother had burned down. With them arrived resources from the Scarlet Huard, like a reward for her mother’s successful mission. Among the newcomers was a hunter boy Diana took with her to make him familiar with the lands and the forest.

There were times when she enjoyed the idea that Giselle might suspect there was something between her and the boy. At other times, she hated the image. What Giselle really thought, she had no idea. From one day to the next, she and Giselle had stopped talking, as if it was easier that way.

Maybe it was. After all, barely a month had passed when Giselle and her family moved out to Lord Isère’s new settlement; mere days before Giselle’s 17th birthday. Another thing Diana was glad about, for she couldn’t imagine to pretend it was just any other day.

It was painful enough when Giselle embraced her in farewell, like she did with every other youth they grew up with. During her turn, Diana noticed how Giselle’s joyful smile dropped just a little.

Then Diana Farley’s first love, in her best dress and with spring flowers in her hair, climbed onto a cart to leave her past, the village and the girl she’d loved behind, to seek her own path.

Madeline sat on her bed, brushing her yellow hair. It was the June morning before Sieverling’s greeny corvee, Madeline’s first.

She’ll take my place, Diana thought. It was strange to realize since, in several ways, Madeline would really take her place, at least in Sieverling. She’d stay. Diana would leave. Today, it was an order from the Scarlet Guard calling her and her father away to retrieve travel permits and other faked papers for Diana and her parents for when they were moving out of their home village to wherever the Guard wanted them.

Of course they haven’t told us anything yet.

Neither timing was optimal with the corvee coming, but as the participation lists were old, Madeline, the other kids older than ten now, and the newcomers could fill the ranks for the next few days. Unless someone with the delegated Silvers noticed the new arrivals. Unless someone wondered about those who’d recently left Sieverling for another settlement.

Diana swallowed at the thought that came so close to Giselle. She couldn’t bear it. She rose from the bed, preparing for her own trip but occasionally glancing at her sister.

The early sunlight gleamed and sparkled at her golden necklace, a family heirloom from their mother’s family. Uncle Timo had given it and another to his sister Clara as a parting gift. Diana had declined hers, and passed it on to Madeline.

“So you’ll remember us,” Diana had said, clasping the necklace around her sister’s neck.

Madeline had quirked an eyebrow. “So you’ll remember we’re still here,” she’d retorted.

Diana didn’t know if she could deal with Madeline away from her on top of everything else. She looked at her sister, taking another mental image of her. At thirteen, her sister had gotten big, so tall and long-legged. Her hair, straight and thin unlike Diana’s, had grown so long too. Yet she was still quite slight, delicate and childlike.

How can we …?

“Hey,” Madeline stood up, brushing Diana’s arm. “Help me with that?” She pointed to the necklace’s clasp.

“Ah, sure.” Diana reacted slowly, still in a slump. Sometimes she doubted she would be a help to anyone when heartbreak could shatter her like this, asked herself how much her family did only to comfort her. They’d even had a photo taken of the four of them, before they’d part ways.

“Thanks,” said Madeline as Diana placed the necklace in her hand. She looked up to her big sister, with her green eyes, her only facial feature that was more like Mama than Papa.

Madeline put the necklace in a box. “Good luck to you,” she said with a smile and Diana had to smile back. “I confess, I’m kind of excited.” Madeline’s grin widened, her voice going higher in jest. “Who knows, maybe the queen – “

“– will visit us this year?” Diana finished and they both laughed at the old joke. “I hope not.”

As Diana and her father were on their hike to the town were their papers waited in a cache, her thoughts returned to her sister’s old joke. Indeed, she was relieved she wouldn’t meet the Silvers of the greeny corvee, let alone the queen of the Lakelands. Despite her oath, she’d be tempted too much to not act against them in a rush.

Must be Mama’s killer instinct, she considered. But since she wasn’t sure she was ready for another kill, it was probably better this way.

Diana felt better in general, too. She didn’t know where it came from in that moment, but for the first time in months, she didn’t only believe, but also trusted in the cause, and walked lighter for that alone.

I have to stop pitying myself, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, Madeline had it almost right – a royal of House Cygnet granted Sieverling a visit. But it was the king, not the queen, and he didn’t come to retrieve crops, but to bring a flood.

She had been wrong to ever feel sorry about the Silver woman she’d killed; wrong to even think Silvers could be “like them.” She’d thought her ignorance about them granted the Silvers the benefit of the doubt, but if she was true to herself, every interaction with them had pointed only in the one direction.

She snorted as she strapped her boots so tight it hurt. She welcomed the pain these days, anything that distracted her from the gaping hole inside of her.

And tightly-strapped boots made it easier to get over the wet ground she was trudging through. She hated it. She hated the walk, the hour, the landscape, herself. When she glimpsed the puddles on the fields through the dark at the end of the night, a fear rose up in her, together with the memory of Sieverling – and what happened to it and everyone she knew.

He was here too, this place was also flooded, and so is …!

She pressed her eyes shut. Calm down. She chided herself, supressing the ridiculous fear along with anything else she couldn’t allow herself to feel.

She was made of stone and, clad in camouflage, invisible in the late night. The world was shades of grey and as colourless as her heart. Just the new poppy buds, about to bloom today, offered a few bright spots.

The newly-built village looked strange: too clean, almost lifeless – because drudgery simply hadn’t worn it out yet.

She arrived this early so no one would be awake yet. The village looked busy enough, with its animals grazing on pastures and plants growing on the fields. Good to know they seemed to do well.

Fortunately, the settlement wasn’t too large and the house she searched for was located on the corner she came from. She was certain enough it was the right one, with its façade painted with familiar, colourful patterns.

She produced the envelope addressed with Giselle’s name from her pocket and crouched down to shove it under the door. She laid her hands on the door. Then she rested her head against it. She breathed heavily. To know that at least Giselle slept safely, just behind this door …!

She balled her fists and got up. She had no time to linger any longer.

The letter had been short:

Dear Giselle,

I’m happy you found and arrived at the place you wished for.

In the end, we’ve left, too.

She’d struggled, laboured over these few words. But she had nothing else she could say. It had been even harder to convince herself to sign it with her name. It would be pointless to end the letter without it, and still she hated how that single signature made her feel a finality in one more than one way.

Looking over her shoulder, she sighed one last time and headed back to their camp where she hadn’t slept in for a minute.

She hurried but he already expected her, looming as serious and soldier-like as ever.

They had that in common now, like they’d begun to share so many traits. None of them were a comfort though, only necessities.

And yet he took the necklaces and even the photo, she remembered. Memories of happiness she’d decided she wouldn’t afford.

“Diana,” he said, the chiding tone unmistakeable. She ignored him. She’d learned, to her surprise, that the Scarlet Guard had made him a major, a rank unattainable to a Red in the Lakelands’ army. He was oh so proud of it and it showed.

“Diana,” he repeated, firmer now and she could no longer avoid his gaze. His sight hurt her. The scowl was the only expression he wore on his face nowadays, and it’d rip her open if she didn’t answer in kind. So she glared at him while he simply continued, “you shouldn’t have gone there. You know we have to stay hidden. Di –”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. She watched his startlement with an icy satisfaction going down her spine.

Her voice and face were devoid of emotion and she hoped that pleased him in turn. “I’m Operative Farley of the Scarlet Guard,” she announced. “And nothing else.”

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @goldfincheli @avid-author-activist @maudthebookeater @spookymareshmallow @misslucyhutton @ghostlymaven @olivegreenolives @neyrriz @gamer670 @loveverygalaxybouquetstuff @shadykittentraveler @yjlover @blairistired @onlycosmere @lil-taco-kid @brightfairyyy @scxrletguardsdawn @sxfik @1booklover @orphic-aubade @prayforthewickedz

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Queen of Hearts (Manila x Naomi) - Ashley

A/N: Naomi is bored, bored of robbing on the road and carrying out her contract killings. Manila is afraid, afraid of upsetting the hold that she rules over. What happens when a heartless assassin is hired to kill the Queen with the biggest heart going?

So I’m back with my extremely literal take on everyone calling Naomi an assassin after she eliminated Manila - this has literally been years in the making so I hope yous like it (it was originally a planned but never written Malec fic). I have a whole bunch of inspirations for this fic from Barbie to Skyrim I can’t even think of them all. Thanks so so much to S for beta-ing. xoxoxo Ashley

“This contract better be worthwhile,” Naomi examined her nails for dirt - above everyone else in the Brotherhood like always.

In her mind, she was always above them, above everyone in Azolla. She had made a name for herself and the Brotherhood knew now only to contact her under special request - she would not stoop to their measly dealings with hidden mistresses or disapproving parents.

The Scarlet Blade was notorious around the hold; she was clean, she was sharp and she left you to bleed. If it weren’t for the dead body lying on the floor, you’d have thought she’d never been there. She was heartless and she did a good job at being so. Days of stopping passing carriages with a dagger and a demand had passed her - boredom teased her with every contract, with every kill, waiting for something more, something bigger, something to intrigue her. She looked around the room, never investing her time in Astrid and her games, never investing in anywhere she went, always wishing she was somewhere else instead.

“It is, my child,” Astrid sat across her.

Where Naomi should have felt a pang of warmth at the woman’s address, all she felt was ice. Family was a thing of the past, not to be touched, not to be toyed with, compartmentalised in a tiny fragment of her brain that didn’t know how to spell the word belonging.

She remembered her first meeting with the Brotherhood, with Astrid. The day she realised that dark underground caverns of murder and money burrowed underneath the blooming hills and castles of Azolla. The day she realised that she was much better suited making crime with the secret networks then living her life in poverty on the streets, envying the wealth that poured into the upper class like a rich bottle of merlot. The day her whole world was destroyed and a new one formed where she would not be shooed or pitied by anyone - and her name would be on everyone’s lips.

“There is to be an uprising. The people of Azolla are upset at the cowardice monarchy. The blood of the poor and the innocent was spilt in the battle against Angeria whilst the Queen tried to make peace with gift baskets and alliances, lying tucked in at night with her windows locked. She now plans to marry the King of the enemy land rather than to fight them, now the people wish to fight her.”

Naomi cocked her head - she was listening.

“Her head is on the chopping board and people are paying good money to see it roll.”

“What’s in this for me?”

“It’s a challenge. I know no one other than the Scarlet Blade who could execute such a plan. These other children wouldn’t be able to kill our divine ruler - they show much too flight, much too emotion. I need someone who likes that challenge, someone I can trust, I need you.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand. Double if you do it on her wedding day.”

“Hmm,” she examined the other hand.

“Your name will be known even further. You will be a hero to the normal folk and a villain to the high and mighty who make people like us fight their battles for them. The Scarlet Blade will live longer than yourself Naomi, ushered on everyone’s lips for centuries to come.”

“Don’t humour me, Astrid,” she snapped a gaze at the woman - her long lashes and fierce gaze enough to kill without the dagger she played with, pressing it sharply between each of her long fingers, deep cuts into the wood of the table every time she impaled.

“I know you’ve been bored, child,” Astrid tried to get a sense of emotion from the girl, hoping that somewhere deep inside her beautiful body a chord was being struck. “I know how you’ve missed playing this game of cat and mouse.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” she half-heartedly took the papers from Astrid’s hand as though they were the scraps of the daily announcements rather than the plans to assassinate their Queen, pointing a slender finger towards her ready to be pricked, marking up their contract bound by blood.

***

Manila’s heart raced as she sat in her carriage, looking out at the green grass and cobbled brick of Azolla, praying that she was doing the right thing for her people.

As a child, she had dreamed of falling in love - of someone to play cards with, someone to pick flowers for. But, alas, her duty as Queen came first. She had lived a sheltered life and even the thought of killing the insects that ate the castle roses made her flinch - she knew she had been criticised, that people wanted her to build an army to fight Angeria, that they blamed her for the deaths of her people - yet she couldn’t possibly send her people away with the sole purpose being to fight, to kill. So she did what she did best and lead with her heart, throwing away her dreams of love to marry the King of the neighbouring hold, to make sure that her people were protected from the soldiers who stormed their houses.

It wasn’t that the King was unattractive. Although older than herself, Manila didn’t see fault with the way his grey hair slicked back to his head, his dark eyes welcoming and illustrious. That image of a connection, of someone holding her hand, just played in the back of her mind as she pictured her new married life - choosing a political arrangement confined in the walls of her castle over a blooming romance that leapt and danced across the farming fields.

She thought of her father, of the man she had watched keep peace among the hold, the burdens that weighed heavy on Manila’s back resting lightly in his hand like a feather. He was beloved and mighty - a friendly giant, humble and strong - he was everything she wanted to be for the people. Ever since the attack, she cried to his portrait each night, too scared to look out of her window at the sleeping hold, wishing she had been able to rule like him, blaming herself for the loss of so many. But deep down she knew that he too wouldn’t have wanted to fight, wouldn’t have wanted to draft their people to kill - that he would be watching when she married Sutan and became the strong ruler that he had been.

***

It was safe to say that this contract was like no other Naomi had completed for the Brotherhood before. Usually, her killings were quick and easy - an arrow fired from the balcony of an inn, a knife in the back whilst asleep - she had never had to get close to a target before, never had to conjure patience. Ever since that fateful day she had never been one for talking, for being in other people’s company - she had quickly learnt that the only person she needed to rely on was herself - now feeling more concerned about having to work at the castle in order to be in attendance of the wedding than the actual assassination.

It wouldn’t be long, Astrid had promised her. Just till they trust you - Astrid told her all about the guards with their sacred oaths and sharp spears, how she would raise less suspicion had she made herself familiar with them beforehand - she didn’t want to think yet about how she would escape that one.

So there she was, the Scarlet Blade, the infamous criminal of Azolla, a cold-hearted killer dressed in a servants robes, waiting on her new master, her new target.

Living alone in the outskirts of the hold, Naomi had isolated herself from the rest of the people. Taught about the cruelness of the world at a young age, she didn’t have friends, didn’t trust others - always quiet, planning, plotting, one jump ahead of the hurdles - keeping in her four mossy walls, only leaving her abode masked as her criminal persona. Yes, she had always had Astrid and the Brotherhood, they accepted her silence and looked over her unfriendly ways but alas it wasn’t Naomi they knew, it was the Scarlet Blade. Because no one really knew Naomi. She didn’t even know herself.

She hadn’t known what to expect of the castle, but it wasn’t this. If people were said to look beyond them with rose-tinted lenses, then Naomi’s were blood red.

Red roses barred the grass - jagged thorns warding off the non-gentile.

The marble floor clicked under her shoes - something heavy weighing her down.

She heard the faint whispers as she was escorted through, her brain already running through four, five, six ways she could escape.

Then the Queen stood before her.

A streak of white seeped through her hair, the rest the colour of fresh coals before they burned.

Naomi wondered if the rest of the hold knew about it - that silent scream of white.

It was meek. And powerful.

She stood fierce. Yet humble.

A strange sensation lingered somewhere inside Naomi’s mind that she couldn’t yet realise.

Adorned in the robes of wealth with a crown of jewels, her skin gleamed, the flowing river just meeting that first beam of sunlight in the early hours. She was female beauty - an angel stole away from the sky and left missing home in the hold - but she was real, normal, a portrait in front of Naomi that had come to life and vaulted right out of the wooden frame.

The river outside stopped in its flow - lying steady for half a second - before returning to its battle against the rock bed.

Naomi curtsied to the queen, a strand of her thick, untamed and treated locks slipping out of place before her.

She pushed it back with automatism - a natural reflex to hide the vulnerable.

“Your new lady in waiting,” Naomi’s guide gestured towards her, “Miss Naomi,”

“Naomi,” Manila looked upon her - a lifetime of wonder in her eyes, for someone who had always been able to read others better than she could a poem, Naomi found herself unable to tell what the Queen was thinking. A huge divide of wood and brick and stone between them. “The mother of Ruth. She bears the name of pleasantness until the death of her husband and sons where she returns as Mara, meaning bitterness.”

Her outer layer was struck by the words, of the change. But it didn’t go any further - Naomi wasn’t pleasantness or bitterness - she felt nothing afterwards, she was nothing afterwards.

“I’m not familiar with the tales from your books, your highness,” Naomi looked to the woman.

“Oh,” Manila paused, feeling some form of emotion at Naomi’s words. Embarrassment? Privilege? Pity? Naomi couldn’t decipher it and almost prayed a silent prayer that things such as were behind herself.

Manila looked onward at Naomi, examining her face is if she were about to be killed and the only thing that could save her was giving the most accurate description of Naomi’s eyes, her hair, her nose, her lips.

Well, she was - but a test there was lack of.

“I was going to begin her formal training, your highness.”

“Yes, I ought to go rest before we recoup schedule,” the Queen regained her composure, falling out of her fantasyland straight back to her duties. She turned a dark eye to Naomi, “I am glad to have made your acquaintance.”

The attendee’s mouth widened a little, a pane of frustration slicing through his throat as the Queen turned on her heel and waltzed away. She had taken an interest in the new servant and Naomi showed no pleasure over it - maybe this contract wouldn’t have been as much as a challenge as she had anticipated.

***

“Naomi.”

She stopped mid-walk as she removed a tray for the Queen’s quarters.

She’d found three, four, five ways to escape by the time Manila spoke once more.

“I would like your word on my portrait,” Manila stared at the girl, dark eyes like the richest of chocolates melting her body.

“My word?” Naomi looked around for another worker, someone to verify the Queen’s words for her.

She found a 6th way she could escape.

“Yes. Something’s not quite right with it and I know the rest of the staff will tell me just how perfect it is,” she looked Naomi up and down again, leaving her no more than a puddle on the floor. “Although you try, you lack the heirs and graces everyone else does around me. I have noticed you, you are not phased by my title,”

“I believe everyone should be equal,” Naomi looked at the girl, memories fighting in the back of her mind to come forward and be felt like they deserved, tied back by aeons of repression.

“As they are, just as you are honest,” Manila motioned Naomi towards her, the painting standing in front of them.

“It’s not you,” Naomi responded bluntly, speaking her mind in a raw and unfiltered way that others lacked around the Queen. “You rule with your heart,”

Manila’s mouth opened slightly at her words, closing again, an unreadable look across her porcelain face.

“This woman,” Naomi pointed a sharp nail towards it, “she has no heart.”

“I need to seem strong.”

“A painting will not change what people think,” Naomi muttered, the thought of the contract re-entering her mind after managing to somehow slip away. “And it will not change what you think of yourself.”

“Perhaps you could paint a real portrait?” Manila lent a gaze her way - two smokeless coals leaping out of stone.

“I am here to wash your plates and polish your floors, your highness.”

And to kill you, she added internally, the word having no higher significance than to wash or to polish. A job. “What makes you assume that I can paint?”

“Your discipline,” she responded instantly.

“My discipline is best used for other practices nowadays, your highness.”

“You can paint,” Manila smiled to herself, shaking her head ever so slightly as she looked towards the floor.

“I ought to take your tray,” Naomi glanced towards it, feeling the heat rise inside of her at the conversation, at the almost accusatory tone in the Queen’s words. Something uncomfortable that her lack of social skills failed to decipher.

“As you must,” the Queen raised her head to meet Naomi’s eye line.

She held the stare for one, two, three seconds.

Then released it like a butterfly from its cage.

Naomi fluttered away as fast as she could.

***

Sitting in the castle garden with her soon to be husband, Manila found her focus to be on anything but the conversation at hand.

In the divine books, marriage was akin to giving up your life for the other, becoming one flesh. Although Manila saw how she was giving her life away by marrying the neighbouring King, she knew it was for the people of Azolla, not for him. He could have all the land, all the rivers, all the flowers and even the sun if they agreed not to spill blood in her hold again, and if this meant giving her life away then she figured so be it.

Her father had told her once that ‘duty means doing the things your heart may well regret’ and she was hearing these words lull through her head at that moment.

He was not in any such way a bad person, he simply wanted the best for his people in the same way Manila did - with the variance lying instead in their approaches. He was gentle with her, affectionate. He was intelligent, adaptable to her needs. Yet the need for someone who challenged Manila, someone who could shake her by the shoulders and tell her the truth played even deeper in her mind, fighting for breath under the vast cloud that was her duty.

A daydreamer by nature, she allowed her thoughts to carry themselves away up hills and mountains until they reached the sky, falling back down with the weight of a thousand knight’s armour. She got lost in the colours of the outside world; the clear blue of the stream, the pure red of the rose, the specks of gold that traced the sky. So lost in her distant surroundings that she would fail to realise those near to her.

It was safe to say that Manila was too help up in her own mind when she spilt her wine on Naomi.

“Oh, my apologies,” Manila’s eyes widened as she saw the stains of scarlet splashed over the young woman’s server uniform - grasping a napkin to try and dab at the stain the best she could.

“It’s fine,” Naomi looked down on her, taking in the Queen’s concerned reaction. Ever since their interaction over the painting, Naomi had tried to keep a low profile around the Queen; hoping to fade into the background and no longer stand out for her unfathomed behaviour. Yet there she was, wearing the Queen’s drink on her body as though it were a set of lavish jewels.

“She is right, my lady, this is no grand issue,” Sutan drawled in his always relaxed tone.

Manila ignored him: “I shall buy you a new one.”

“You, personally?” Naomi raised a brow, finding humour in the visual image of the Queen picking coins out of a purse and purchasing clothes in the market.

A flinch escaped from Manila’s body before she regained her composure.

“Are you suggesting I cannot walk the streets of my own hold.”

“If that is the conclusion you came to your highness,” Naomi shrugged a shoulder, lifting her tray and strutting away with her usual air of superiority that not another sole person in the hold had over the Queen.

***

“Take me into the hold.”

Naomi turned to see Queen at the servers exit, her usual regal ensemble swapped for a simple cotton dress and hooded cape.

There was no denying she was strong and commanding - no matter how she saw herself.

“I have finished my day at work,” Naomi avoided eye contact and continued her strut down the path.

“Then I shall just have to follow you home if you will not take me to the market,” Manila smirked, it was as if she had known Naomi a lifetime sometimes, what would convince her, what would make her roll her eyes. “Please, I want to be closer to my people.”

“You can go alone,” Naomi uttered but paused in her step, waiting on the Queen’s words.

“I want to have a little time to be free before I am wed, I know no other than you who would take me to the market as if I were just ordinary townsfolk. I don’t want to be fussed over.”

Her words chipped away at Naomi’s exterior.

Before I am wed.

Before you are dead.

She didn’t know what made her agree. The repressed longing to be back in the hustle and bustle of the ordinary life that was once hers? The guilt of knowing the Queen’s blood would be on her hands? The desire to see how the Queen would cope in real life? She could not explain why, so pushed it back away. Naomi’s decisions never came with a logical process, or if they did she was unaware of what it was, placing chess pieces randomly across the board without even knowing the rules.

“Take off your rings.”

***

“Just keep looking straight ahead of you, people will shift out of your way,” Naomi’s patience started to thin as the Queen stumbled into her seventh victim of the day. Her words were, however, lost - Manila simply couldn’t help herself from gazing all around her; stopping to pick flowers, running her hands along the stone walls.

Naomi was a trap ready to go off, her pulse pumping louder and louder through her chest as they got closer to the market, her body showing all the symptoms that her brain fought to hold back.

She watched the glee on Manila’s face as the children tumbled across the streets playing tag, the downcast disposition she held as she watched a pickpocket steal a purse of coins from an elderly woman, racing to the woman’s aid and giving her all the value she carried.

A child in a sweet shop, Manila ooh’d and aah’d her way around the market, grabbing Naomi’s wrist ever so gently as she pulled her towards stall after stall, too engrossed in whichever item she was admiring to notice Naomi’s bowed head and inability to form eye contact with the vendors, the fizzle of her usual nature.

“These playing cards are beautiful,” Manila admired the pack in her hands, shuffling through them slowly and gently. “My father and I used to love card games,” she smiled, grateful for the happy times in her grief rather than bitter about their end.

“15 coins,” the vendor cast a suspicious glance towards the Queen.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t have any money,” Manila apologised before placing them back on the table and forging a smile than Naomi could see through as though it were a pane of glass.

“We’ll take them,” Naomi piped up and looked up at the vendor, her lips moving before her thoughts could process what she was doing, her hands lacking autonomy as they took the coins from her purse.

“Daughter of Raven?” the vendor extended her hand to Naomi’s chin, who flinched away as though she was being pricked with a thorn.

Naomi simply stared, her face still as her insides progressively collapsed.

Soon she was pulled into an embrace; “We have thought about you over these years, child. Thought of your safety and where you have been.”

Naomi transformed into a child before the Queen’s eyes, closing her eyes and nuzzling her head into the woman’s shoulder.

“These parts,” she pulled away and gestured to the stalls around her, regaining some of her usual composure, “hold too many memories.”

Manila could have sworn she saw the girl blink back a tear.

“I understand, though you cannot hide forever. The hold deserves to see you and you deserve to be seen,” the woman touched Naomi’s heart with an almost motherly connection; “They may not be with us, but you can keep them alive in here and you can keep them alive through your art, your beautiful paintings.”

But my heart is already gone, Naomi thought to herself. Why couldn’t she feel that it was no longer there? Frustration dwindled over her skin because it was now too late. Too late to feel the feelings she had pushed away, too late to turn her life around, too late to save her family. She still stared blankly, too much to comprehend.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Manila placed a hand on her server’s back, fearing she had been pushed too far.

“Take the cards,” the woman placed them in Manila’s palm and clasped her fingers before turning to Naomi, “I hope to see you again.”

And with that Naomi was running.

Running away from her old life.

Running away from the one she was living now.

Running from the feelings she couldn’t feel.

Running from the pain she could only inflict.

Running through cobbles and bridges and grass and soil.

Running until she was sat by the stream, one slight movement and her whole body would have been engorged.

Running away from the vendor.

Running away from Manila.

Except she couldn’t outrun everything.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” Manila spoke softly to Naomi as she manoeuvred herself next to her, placing an arm around her hunched shoulders, not giving a second thought to the mud staining her dress and cape. “I know how you feel,”

At first, she didn’t think Naomi would respond, but then she felt her back start to stiffen: “No, you don’t.”

Manila didn’t even make it past “I” before she was cut off in her response. Naomi knew there was no way Manila knew what she was feeling, for she didn’t even feel it herself.

“You don’t”

She watched as the stone walls around Naomi’s pain were rebuilt, higher and thicker.

“Maybe we need to be more like each other,” an ironic smirk slipped from Manila’s lips and dived into the stream before them. “I feel too much, I let my heart get in the way of doing what is right, completing my duty. You place every other order above your heart.”

“You do not need to be more like me,” Naomi responded bluntly and honestly. Naomi’s mind struggled to comprehend, it was as though someone was tricking the Queen into thinking she was someone she was not, more than a common criminal and killer, someone with worth.

“You judge yourself too harshly,” Manila placed a hand on her server’s wrist.

“As do you,” her body pricked at the touch, “You are strong. You do not need to push away your heart.”

Manila paused, inhaled, looked at the cards in her hands: “I do when I marry.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t marry.”

She didn’t intend to say it. She didn’t even realise she was thinking it, but she must have been.

The Scarlet Blade never flinched as she took life. It took force to pierce a body, it wasn’t the same as vegetables or meat. But the day her family died taught Naomi that no matter how pure, or how innocent you are, death always wins. So she felt no sorrow, no guilt as she did it. She washed the blood from her hands and moved on to the next contract, it never reappeared.

At that moment she was no longer the Scarlet Blade, just Naomi, the girl who used to run around the market picking flowers to draw - and even though it was too much for her mind to piece together, too much to fully realise it, she knew she meant it.

She didn’t want the Queen to marry.

For she didn’t want to kill her.

“I am marrying Sutan,” she responded as though she was telling herself as well as Naomi, the reality of her life snapping back into frame like a portrait of the perfect ruler. “I must return to the castle.”

With that she was gone, leaving Naomi as no more than a disorientated bundle of a woman, dirt slowly seeping into her nails.

***

“I’ve bought you a gift.”

Naomi stopped dead in her tracks, scanning the room for anyone: Sutan, the other servers. It was of no shock that the room was vacant.

“I do not need your pity,” she stared the Queen down, trying to analyse her motive, going straight to a place of defence.

“It’s not of pity but of thanks,” Manila took a step closer. If she wanted to then Naomi could sweep a strand of her dark hair out of her face, or run a finger across her pale cheek. “A thank you for keeping me grounded and closer to our people.”

She was expecting a shirt to replace the red-stained one, taking the box from the Queen’s hands dutifully, yet she was mistaken.

Brushes, the kind woven of a horse’s mane, smooth in a way that made you want to run them over your palm. Pots of colour, vast and rich. Mauves, crimsons and rubies that couldn’t be compared to anything in the real world.

“I cannot accept,” Naomi pushed the box into the Queen’s arm hastily as if it were plagued.

“You can’t hide inside there forever,” Manila shook a head and pointed a finger towards Naomi, towards her heart, her face a crumpled tissue trying to hide it’s hurt. “In order to move on, you must embrace what you have pushed away inside. I see a lot of myself in you and I know you are hurt but at some moment in time you must realise that this is no way to live.”

Naomi went to speak but was broken, for it was Manila’s turn to stand ground.

“And if you cannot accept that, then I guess I cannot try anymore.”

***

The next day Naomi returned to the castle with a dagger in her hand and a mask in her mind.

Her head in circles of confusion, if one thing was clear to her it was that she couldn’t murder the queen on her wedding day, that she couldn’t go on in this state any longer, even if she need only wait a few more days. She would have to do it now, or she wouldn’t be able to do it all. It needed to stop; the things that attacked her every cell, the things that might just turn into feelings, they needed to stop. And in her mind, the only way to stop them was to get rid of the person who was causing them.

She figured that once she’d done it, she could go back to the way she was before. She could sleep at night without the face of Manila a painting on the ceiling, without the cries of her family loud in her ears.

Her footsteps were heavy as she made her way down the familiar rabbit warren of corridors to the Queen’s quarters - Naomi was past being stealthy, she was compelled to the room, her mind separate from the usual carefulness and precision she had. The Scarlet Blade was known to leave with no trace but blood, but now it was as if Naomi was leaving a trail of red footprints that spelt ‘Come get me.’

Even in the dark with none of the other servers around, she knew the way like the veins that swelled from her skin, her hand on the door handle before making any conscious decision to enter the room.

Naomi was almost surprised to see the Queen laying asleep under her covers even though she was the sole purpose of being there.

Killing her the sole purpose of being there.

What else had she expected? A guard ready to throw her in a cell? An empty bed?

She had no reason to be shocked at the beautiful face that almost glowed in the dim light from the window.

Yet she was just the same.

She took a step, two, three. Pausing, waiting.

In usual business she would have already been fleeing the scene by now, a bloody dagger strewn across the room.

She took a breath, another, and another.

Is she dreaming? Naomi asked herself as she watched the Queen turn her body. Is she in the clouds singing and dancing? Is she in the garden playing cards with someone who truly loves her? Or is she simply living her ordinary life? The role she was destined to be and the duty to which she was bound.

She lifted the dagger from her side, higher and higher.

She found it almost ludicrous that the rest of the people didn’t get to see her in real life, how they would never know the pure black of her hair, the benign curve of her waist.

She dropped the dagger back to her side without hesitation - as though it were her mother, her father, her sister at the other side of it, throwing it into the coals on the Queen’s half.

Her forehead felt soft as she bent down and bestowed a soft kiss to it.

Naomi wasn’t sure if the Queen simply looked like one of the angels from her books or if she really was one, sent to her to show her how to live.

For the first time in years, she knew as she walked out of the room that she had made the right choice. She may have even dared to say she felt it. Because nothing felt more correct.

“Wait,” her voice spoke, the angel who had saved her life.

Naomi turned. She knew she was done but it did not matter. Her body stayed frozen, an ice sculpture melting as the heat of the Queen drew closer.

Manila’s hand touched her hair, pushing it away from her face like she had longed to do to the Queen as they sat by the water.

Her kiss felt familiar to Naomi, despite the years she spent without the touch of another, it felt like walking back to the market to her family, placing a new drawing on the counter for them. She was painting in her mind, using all the colours from the beloved cloak in the stories.

“Thank you,” Naomi choked the word, earning a heavy embrace from the Queen.

“I should be thanking you,” Manila responded, her lips once again meeting those of her lady in waiting, a plentiful well of healing that she longed to drink from.

A mash of two bodies colliding in the darkness that blurred together so heavily they could almost be one.

“My duty,” the Queen pulled away, the gaze of her father’s portrait staring down on her. She turned away, steadying herself on a wooden bedknob: “You must go my ever delight. I hope you understand what I must do.”

Naomi understood wholly, for she had a duty so strong her insides almost crumbled inside of her, leaving the Queen of her heart one last embrace before walking away into the night to her new world.

***

“You are bound by blood,” Astrid slammed a clenched fist on the table before them, Naomi’s eyes drawing to the slits in it that she had made previously.

“I am not the same person I was before,” she pleaded with the woman whom she had once seen as her guardian, the woman that had taught her the ways of the underground life she lived.

“I didn’t expect this of you, child,” her face rung with frustration, all of her plans being ripped apart in her head. “Do you know how serious this is? What money we have been given for this.”

“You can find another-”

“It is not that simple. This is not some barmaid mistress or gentleman’s plaything, this is the Queen of our hold. I’m sorry my child, but I cannot allow you to go forth knowing these plans.”

Naomi watched as Astrid picked up the chalice before her; “You give me no choice, my child.”

Then the darkness swallowed her whole.

***

Manila looked at the portrait of her father longingly, his words playing in the back of her head on a looped ribbon. ‘Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret.’

There she stood, all the servers in the house pressing down the fabric of her gown, flattening the lace of her veil, telling her how radiant she looked. But as she looked at the portrait, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the embrace she had been given some nights before, longing for the company of a particular server.

If Naomi were here she would tell her that some of the flowers in her bouquet were crooked or that the paint on her lips had splashed onto her front tooth.

But she was not there.

She cast a glance to the window, the people of Azolla waiting at the gates to watch her carriage pass. She knew she would give up anything to make sure they were safe, yet that didn’t make the pain of doing so sting any less.

“Are you ready, your highness?” A page entered the door and pulled Manila’s head away from the sky. “Your groom awaits at the hall.”

Taking one last look at her father, she took a gulp of air, straightened her back and lifted her chin, saying goodbye not only to him but to the woman she had pushed away for him - ready to take her head out of the books she gospelled and start a new chapter of her own.

The Queen left the room with a skip in her step and a playing card in her shoe, never one to pass on a token of luck.

***

Naomi awoke to a drip of condensation hitting her forehead, her hands and feet numb from the cold.

Her first thought was Manila, a deep stab to her heart when the wave of realisation hit her that the Queen may no longer be alive.

The memories started to flood back to her, Astrid with her chalice, the binding by blood. I should be dead, she thought to herself as she examined her surroundings. Adrenaline shot up her spine as she began to flee up the shaft above her, her mind fighting to remember the mazes of the underground crime lairs inhabited by Astrid and her guilds of thieves and assassins.

Every rock she tripped up, she kept going, running faster until she reached the cold iron bars that separated her from the world above, the padlock securing her fate bolted tightly.

She searched her shoe for a lockpick - nothing. Racing back down the tunnel for some straw, a splinter of wood, anything she could twist inside to let her reach the Queen.

But no such instrument was in sight.

She cried in frustration, holding out a handshake of hope for anyone or anything to come and help her, her body collapsing against the mortar of the tunnel, almost giving in and surrendering her body to the elements around herself.

With that she heard a slight crumble in the silence of the cavern, turning to see a growing crack in the stone beside her.

Throwing her whole weight against it, she cried out in pain as her shoulder clicked in and out of its socket, the stone around her crumbling more and more to open a thin passage.

Sending a silent prayer to the criminals before her who always worked with a contingency, she bent her back as far as she could, pushing her body through the gap, catching her skin on the jagged stone that surrounded the opening, the adrenaline running through her once more. Her brain thinking only of Manila, her body high on feelings, real feelings.

Scrambling through the passage before her, her eyes were fighting to stay open as she adjusted to the light above her, making out the green of the moss on a grate in the distance.

***

Manila almost tripped as she made her way down the ruby aisle, even on her wedding day her thoughts were playing amiss in a land far from her own.

Even so, she regained her composure not with the regality and grace she was born with but with the traits she had built over her years as ruler, the traits that changed and moulded around the people she met, the people she looked after.

Sutan was a picture in a storybook, his sleek grey hair parted in the middle of his head, his eyes a familiar friend admiring who would soon become his wife.

Manila took the hand he reached to her, feeling the warmth that radiated from it.

Part of her wished it were cold.

His smile shone with impulse and a clear sense of joy from being stood above those they were closest to, everyone’s eyes focused directly on them.

But Manila’s eyes were elsewhere as she scanned the crowd for a familiar nest of dark hair, piercing eyes and a set of dark and thick lips.

“Blessings and merry meet,” the Bishop started their vows as a lull of quiet fell over the room.

***

“What day is it?” Naomi grabbed the first person she laid sight on, watching as the man’s eyes widened at her rugged appearance.

“S-Saturday,” he stuttered, “Do you need some help?”

But she was already away as he got to the ‘t’, dodging villagers at either side as she made her way to the stables she had often visited as a child, the streets she hadn’t visited in years all returning in her memory during her state of desperateness.

Within a few minutes, she had leapt over the wooden gate, evading the calls of the stableboy who tried to stop her path.

She galloped through the fields and over the troughs, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip, trying her hardest not to be thrown from the steed below her.

Hair trailing behind her, she soon set her sights on the royal hall, the carriages in the dirt becoming visible to her, the royal carriage clear and centre, the red heart painted on the side of it a bright, flashing danger sign to Naomi.

Running to the closest window, her eyes set straight on Manila, pausing for a second to admire her beauty before remembering what she was there to do. For she couldn’t see Astrid - but had no doubt in her mind that she was there.

Spotting an entrance to the side of the hall, Naomi recognised one of the servers from her time at the castle.

“I must be let in,” she gave her a pleading look, her heart jumping right out of her chest and falling down the sleeve of her shirt.

“But you are filthy,” the girl’s eyes scanned Naomi’s body, “and bloody!”

With one fell swoop, Naomi pushed the girl aside and made her way through the side door, diving behind a satin curtain adoring the doorway, breathing a sigh of relief that the guests were too captivated with the wedding to notice her entrance.

Peeking an eye from the curtain that is when she saw her; bow in hand, an arrow drawn, feet propped on the raptors of the roof like an eagle.

Blood surged through Naomi’s body as she saw Astrid start to pull back her arrow, narrowing her target.

***

“Swear you now, on this sacred blade, that there is no reason known to you that this union should not proceed,” the bishop bellowed throughout the hall, producing a dagger in his hands.

Manila could think of a thousand reasons not to proceed, but only was tugging on her mind at that moment.

“Naomi,” she cried out in puzzlement as she saw her server hurtle towards her, knocking her body clean off her feet before Manila could comprehend what was happening.

Two thuds followed; one of Manila falling backwards and one of an arrow planting through the heart of her lover.

Screams filled the room but Manila remained silent in her shock, scooping up the woman below her and cradling her body close.

Naomi looked up to the face of her Queen, her angel, fighting to keep her eyes open and see her for just a little while longer.

“Don’t cry,” she stifled, her throat burning with pain.

In those few moments, Naomi felt enough to make up for years of feeling nothing at all.

“Why?” Manila furrowed her brow, placing a hand on the other woman’s cheek, tracing her lips with her finger, letting tears fall on her face like rain.

“It was my duty,” Naomi almost smiled, feeling nothing but glee knowing that Manila could go on to be the best Queen the hold hadn’t seen, not that she wasn’t already. She had carried out her duty in order to let Manila carry hers, and nothing else could have felt more fitting.

Sutan tried to pull her back but Manila would not move, tending Naomi as though she were a China doll.

“Please don’t go,” Manila looked into her lover’s dark eyes, knowing that it was already too late.

“Don’t worry about me,” Naomi spit her last words with blood in the most heartfelt manner she had ever known, “I will get to see them.”

Manila understood thereupon, nodding in agreement. “I shall miss you dearly,” she gripped Naomi’s hand tight with all the life she had in her, a thick strand of her dark hair starting to whiten before Naomi’s eyes.

Naomi’s brain started to clear, everything all falling into place, everything having its own meaning, her early years, her years of living as a criminal and the most recent times of her life with Manila all threading together neatly in its own parcel. She had feelings and she had meaning.

“Go rule with your heart for me, my Queen.”

#rpdr fanfiction #manila luzon #naomi smalls #manila x naomi #lesbian au #angst #assassin au #royalty au #rare pair #as3 #period piece #opposites attract #ashley #tw major character death #tw murder #tw bloodshed #tw sociopathic traits #concrit welcome #submission

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imagine-loki · 6 years

Text

Irked

Title: Irked

Author: lokilover9 Chapter: #22 Rating:Teen Notes: In case anyone is curious, I forgot to post the song title (and artist) to which Loki discovered Shandi dirty dancing in chapter #21. My bad. It was Freaky Girl by Shaggy. For this chapter, it’s Night and Day by the Temptations.

Shortly after dinner that evening, Shandi received the dreaded call from Nat. “Uh oh.” She kidded. “This could take a while. I best make myself comfortable.” She left for the entertainment room.

Moments later, Loki overheard her from the corridor.

“I’m fine, Nat. Please relax?” A brief pause occurred. “Yes, I plan to obey Loki.”

‘Obey me? Stop eavesdropping God of Mischief, before you’re entertaining another boner.’

Twenty minutes passed before Shandi appeared at the library door. “How is it she can express harrowing concern for me one minute, then threaten to go all ninja on me the next, if I even ponder ignoring your request? Clint finally lured her away with some vodka.”

“Eh he he he. Good thing he’s amply stocked.”

“By the way, I forgot to ask if the storm caused any damage to the grounds?”

“Nothing some tidying and readjusting couldn’t resolve. Even the pool cover endured.”

Shandi sighed. “I already miss the towers pool. It’s a shame I won’t be able to enjoy this one. The scenery here is beautiful.”

Loki put down his book. “What if you could?”

“It’s not possible. I’d damage the empathy belly, remember?”

“Perhaps you may not need it?”

“Come again?”

Loki bit his tongue. “Did you see any maternity bathing suits in Beth’s shop?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Then tomorrow we shall do some shopping for Tony’s mini me, while you chose.”

She shot him a look. “What’s the plan?”

“Trust me.”

“Okay, that’s twice you’ve waggled those eyebrows. Now I’m nervous.” ***** The next day, Loki woke Shandi with breakfast again and they were soon off to Beth’s shop.

“Are you always up so early?”

“Gods don’t require the amount of sleep humans do, unless ill or injured. Normally, I’m quite disgruntled in the mornings, but with freedom to enjoy the outdoors again, I’ve embraced it.”

Shandi felt bad knowing once their mission was over, he’d be confined to the Tower again. “What time are you usually awake at?”

“Around 6:30. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

Loki thought nothing more of her question.

Beth was friendly and welcoming of course and obviously pleased, with their over five hundred dollars in purchases. Shandi was emptying one of the baskets and came across some tiny t shirts. “Daddy’s little stinker?”

“Come now.” Said Loki. “You don’t find it fitting?”

“I guess that all depends on who the daddy is.” She casually stated.

Loki knew this referenced Tony, but Beth didn’t and couldn’t resist another opportunity to tease. Feigning the confused husband he froze, reaching into the cart. “Is that so? Care to explain yourself, Elizabeth?”

Shandi went scarlet and rubbed her brow. “Ohhhh, that did not come out right.”

Beth laughed when Loki did. “I’ve been working retail over twenty years. There’s almost nothing you could say to surprise me. Clifford shot me a quick wink before reacting, which helped too.”

“Pfft. Looks like I’ve been had.” Said Shandi.

Loki rubbed her belly and laughed harder. “Yes you have.”

Her face reddened. “Listen Clifford, just pay the lady!”

Beth informed them the ice cream shop nearby, was introducing ten new flavors and as a lover of it, Shandi decided to go. Unfortunately, Tanya’s a fan too and by absolute fluke, beat them to it. Right before they entered she feigned dropping her purse contents on the floor and ducked below a counter to retrieve them. The couple were well into the store when she stood, making them easier targets.

Shandis back instantly went up so Loki rubbed her arms from behind and brushed his cheek against her head. “Look, darling. They’ve Rolo, you’re favorite.” As Tanya paid, he quietly whispered. “Ignore her.”

“And how are you today, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw?”

Her saccharine tone made Loki nauseous and Shandi remained silent, while fantasizing of throttling the little bitch.

Loki’s tone was flat, his eyes sharp and assessing. “We’re fine.” ‘Do not provoke me, imbecile.’

The two engaged in a mini stare down with Loki’s expression unflinchingly cold. Completely unfazed, Tanya continued testing them. “You can’t answer for yourself Mrs. Bradshaw?”

Loki gently squeezed Shandis shoulders. “My wife is capable of things you would never imagine, including speaking for herself. As I’m aware her present state, she’s opted not to.”

With a sly smirk, Tanya salaciously licked the circumference of her ice cream, moaning as her lips slid from the top, then slipped out the door. “Have a nice day, ‘Mr.’ Bradshaw.”

It hardly closed when Shandi muttered a curse and Loki gently stroked her cheek. “How many scoops, hm?” He addressed the young lady, waiting upon them. “Two of Rolo and one of chocolate mint, please?”

She warmed a scooper. “You newbies to town? I’m Ashley.” The couple introduced themselves. “I gather you’ve already had a run in with Tanya?”

“We have.” He replied.

“Then please, take my advice. “Avoid her whenever possible and never trust her. She’s no friend to anyone.”

They started down the street. “The ladies weren’t kidding.” Said Loki. “Beyond suspicion of murder, Tanya has quite a reputation.” It registered Shandi hadn’t once indulged in her ice cream and possessed a slight frown. “I recommend you eat that.”

She shook her head as he wiped a drip already melting onto her hand. “I can’t believe that idiot. I was standing right there.”

“Don’t feed into her game by becoming angered. It’s what she wants.”

“But she thinks I’m your wife.”

‘Worried about something, Pet?’ “The ladies warned us of such behavior, come.” He lead her aside to wrap napkins around the cone. “I sense you’ll wear more of this, than eat.”

“Honestly. She stared right at you and purposely licked her ice cream like a dirty…”

Loki smirked and covered her mouth. “Language, Elizabeth. Must I remind you, we’re in public?”

Shandi started walking again. “She needs a bitch slap. I’ll make Nat do it.”

“No you won’t.” Her frown deepened and he cackled. “I personally believe we’re failing at making this town more aware, the depth of our affections for each other. Perhaps we could try practicing more in front of Tanya.”

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Random hugs, perhaps a few pecks on the lips? We discussed this previously, yet have enacted little.”

“Oh, right.”

“Pshh. What did you think, Lizzy? I intended to toss your pregnant self over a park bench and have my way with you?”

Shandis top scoop plopped onto her shirt. “Did you do that?”

He laughed. “No.”

“Loki.”

“I swear. If you wish, we can retrieve a bib from the car?”

Shandi suddenly envisioned it nighttime at the local park with Loki thrusting into her from behind on a secluded bench, whispering filth into her ear. ‘Oh lord.’

“Elizabeth?”

“Nope, I’m good.” She wiped away the mess. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“A hardware store. The shed needs insect killer and mouse traps.”

Shandi snorted. “Is the God of Mischief afwaid of a wittle spider?”

“‘Wittle?’ The last three I encountered had body circumferences of a quarter coin with legs as long. One took a neighborly pounce onto my head. If you prefer doing the gardening, certainly they’d enjoy your thick and curly locks. Or, I could invite them in and grant ‘you’ the pleasantries of engaging in their doom. Perhaps with your fright inducing duster?”

“Very funny.” She sarcastically replied. “Insect killer is good.”

“I thought you might agree. Does the Queen of Unruliness fear spiders?”

“Ones that big? Yep.”

Upon returning to their public parking, Shandi hesitated entering the car and spoke quietly across the hood. “Are you aware Tanya is crouched down in the driver seat of a silver, Pontiac Vibe, five before us on the right?”

Loki’s brow arched. “Very observant, darling. I’m equally pleased and impressed.”

“So much for having stealth.”

He tisked. “Such sloppiness. She’d make a useless ninja.”

Shandi smiled.

“Let’s encourage her delusion, shall we?”

“How?”

He casually strolled around the cars front. “Practice does make perfect.”

Shandi was stunned when Loki cupped her cheek, then leaned in for a kiss. And not just a ‘peck on the lips,’ either. His free hand slinked around her hip, luring her closer, as his tongue smoothed its way beyond the seam of her plump lips. His alluring scent, a mix of otherworldly forests and musk, permeated her senses and his firm yet gentle grip had her melting as the kiss deepened. Recalling her lower back an erogenous zone, his fingers languidly stroked there in sync with the rhythm of his tongue and a soft moan escaped her. The loud thumping of Shandis heart muted surrounding sounds and she clasped onto his shirt, when her knees began weakening. As it ended, he playfully tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth and smirked when she hazily looked up at him.

“Were we convincing enough for any onlookers?”

“Hm?”

“Of our marital affections?” He opened her door.

‘My panties are undoubtedly convinced.’ “I believe so.” She entered and stared out the window, trying to unpretzel her brain. ‘Wow. His tongue must be capable of wonders, elsewhere.’ Just then, Tanya booted it out of the lot, altering Shandis thoughts to vindictive. ‘Awe, poor baby. Was that bothersome to witness? Suck it up.’ Seconds later. ‘Geez woman! ‘What’ is your problem?’

On the ride home, Loki noticed that same indent in the bushes, on the side of the road again and thought it odd. Upon arrival, Shandi was still quiet as they carried in the bags. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” ‘I’ve only been imagining your face between my legs since fastening my seatbelt and could probably put Niagara Falls to shame, but hey.’

“Up for a swim, then?”

‘Did he really just say that?’ “Not until you explain how this will work.”

Loki gestured towards the stairs. “Suit first, explanation after.”

“Fine, Sir bossypants.”

Loki grinned so slyly, she throbbed and fumbled on the second step. “What’s that about?”

“Shall I pour you a Malibu and mango juice on the rocks? It’s your favorite drink, correct?”

Her mouth fell agape. “How did you know I like coconut rum? And Rolo, too.”

“I’ve seen Tony pour you several from his bar. He chooses that particular brand and keeps a bottle there, knowing it’s your favorite.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.” He smiled, passing her on the stairs. “The vodka you drink mostly to appease Nat, the wine only as you prefer it to whiskey. That’s all we had, until my shop with Clint. The Rolo I’ve noticed you indulging in at the Tower from a place called, ‘Dairy Queen?’ Only twice mind you, but it was easy enough to assume.”

Shandi reached the landing. ‘Well I’ll be damned.’

Loki dropped the larger bags into the spare room. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

Shandi called after him as he started down the back stairs. “You never said what that grin was for.”

“You called me Sir.”

“What the… I wouldn’t plan on getting used to that! In my opinion, Brat suits you perfectly!” She closed her bedroom door. “‘Sir.’ Pfft.”

Loki gulped down some whiskey and dumped ice into a tall glass. ‘We’ve yet to become better acquainted, Pet. Erotically, you may eventually find ‘Sir,’ more suiting.

Shandi returned in a choice very becoming. Black and turquoise, it highlighted her curves, exposing just enough a hint of cleavage to entice the eye. She stilled at the islands end and sipped her drink. Loki even added a straw, something Tony did too and it made her smile. “Thank you. Okay, I’m ready.” Her towel fell to the floor as the suits material began expanding at her stomach. “What the…”

“Relax.” Said Loki. It ceased at the empathy belly’s usual size and he gestured towards the sliding doors. “Refuge awaits you. Enjoy.”

“But..how is this possible? I don’t feel a thing.”

“Illusion. However, mind your step. Your feet shall remain elusive.”

A hand went to her hip. “Why didn’t you reveal this option, before?”

“I was being a Brat.”

“You…” She swatted him with her towel.

“Careful Queen of Unruliness. You haven’t a leg to stand on, should The God of Mischief retaliate.”

She playfully stuck her tongue out. “You don’t scare me.”

“Oh? Then why did you step outside before saying that?”

Shandi smirked. “I’m going in the water now.”

Loki’s phone rang and when seeing it Tony, he closed the glass door and entered the hall before answering. “Hey, Tin Man, what’s up?… She’s in the shower. Well, well, that’s intriguing. Very intriguing, indeed.”

Once the call ended, Loki decided to enquire of the song Shandi was so intrigued by, ‘Night and Day.’ He sauntered to the window, remaining hidden and sought it on Spotify. After finishing a couple of laps, she settled into one corner of the shallow end. Her eyes closed, as a gentle breeze bounced stray curls upon her cheeks. Water reflecting sunlight, danced upon her glistening features, while she basked in its warmth. How the incessant ache to touch, kiss and ravish every inch of her, drove him mad every waking moment. Peaking the volume, he soon became entranced by the words.

Night and day You are the one Only you beneath the moon And under the sun Whether near to me or far It’s no matter darling, where you are I think of you Night and day

Day and night Why is it so That this longing for you Follows wherever I go In the roaring traffic gloom In the silence of a lonely room I think of you Night and day

Night and day, under the hide of me There’s an oh, such a hungry Yearning, burning inside of me And this torment won’t be through ‘Til you let me spend My life making love to you Day and night Night and day.

Loki hadn’t related to song lyrics more in centuries, when thoughts of another love trickled into his mind. “Forgive me Iris. You’ll possess a sacred place in my heart forever. Since your absence, I assumed it hopelessly destroyed. Shandi is giving it life again and I so desperately need to embrace that. Please smile upon us from Valhalla, my unforgettable Dove? I need that too.”

With a heavy sigh, magic altered his clothing to black swim trunks, covered in bright red lip imprints, outlined in gold. The largest two were centered on his butt cheeks. “Norns, I’ve become a court jester. At the least, they should earn me a chuckle."

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #Irked #chapter 22 #lokilover9

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epicsportsbloopers · 4 years

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Exemplary WoW: 10 Memorable Alliance Leveling Zones

Getting an opportunity to return to these famous Alliance territories in World of Warcraft Classic is very nostalgic, and here are our 10 most loved zones!

Universe of Warcraft Classic is a game about the excursion, not the objective. In the present serious purchaser culture, an outlook that qualities the current second over the future objective is something that is progressively phenomenal. Exemplary advises us that on the grounds that a course is more productive, that doesn't really mean it's better. In any game, what should matter the most is the great you have while playing it. All things considered, we started messing around to have a great time, did we not?

10 Things To Do When You're Bored In Classic World Of Warcraft

In the event that you get the most pleasure out of playing the game as productively as could be expected under the circumstances, that is incredible! In any case, for a great many people, fun is conceived from innovativeness and investigation, and improved courses only here and there address these joys. This is to state that, on the off chance that you became involved with the competition to level 60 during your exemplary excursion, you may think that its pleasant to level one more character at your own recreation.

Losing all sense of direction in the World of Warcraft is an entirely unexpected encounter from leading your 37th run of Scarlet Monastery. Regardless of whether you have the tendency to level another character or not, we should investigate some Alliance leveling zones that make the leveling experience better than a pork gut pie.

Note:Also read here more about world of warcraft.

Loch Modan

Home to the dwarven town and lakeside escape of Thelsamar, the sights and hints of Loch Modan put you directly into get-away mode. Overlook the mountain dwellers insulting you with their extravagant mounts, they're for all intents and purposes asking for consideration. Loch Modan is the ideal work environment on optional callings while appreciating an excellent perspective on the lake. However long you wouldn't fret a little rat issue. The kobold places to stay and surrenders dissipated all through the zone are an extraordinary prologue to prisons run at more elevated levels—and, seeing as these regions are covered with chest brings forth, there's likewise the appeal of low-level green things.

Dustwallow Marsh

On the off chance that you aren't playing a night mythical being, Dustwallow Marsh is likely your initial attack into the mainland of Kalimdor. The zone represents an all around made representation of the Alliance being outsiders in an abnormal land.

As you adventure ever farther from the immaculate dividers of Thermaore Isle, it's as though the marsh gulps down you. There are additionally various grasping journeys that happen here. The greater part of them rotate around the obliteration of the Shady Rest Inn. It's seething remains lie on the fringe of the Barrens. Different missions show how notwithstanding group pioneer's earnest attempts towards harmony, some Horde and Alliance officers have a profound contempt for the opposite side—and they will remain determined to see this scorn took care of.

Related:Universe of Warcraft Classic: 10 Best Level 60 Herbing Routes

The Wetlands

The steady rains that fall over the Wetlands take me back to languid, wet days, all things considered. Notwithstanding, your character will be anything besides lethargic here. The dwarves of Menethil Harbor have their hands full with an orc attack, nearby gnoll populaces, and an archeological site overwhelm by local raptors.

There's likewise the matter of Sida, who lost her pack at Ironbeard's Tomb when she was assaulted by a slime. Best of luck with that mission specifically. The red whelplings and presence of the concealed Grim Batol are likewise inquisitive considerations here. Nor is straightforwardly clarified, leaving space for puzzle and interest.

Darkshore

The elective leveling zone to everybody's darling Westfall. You could likewise consider it the night mythical person player's proportional. On the off chance that you truly appreciate the sea shore, Darkshore is an incredible spot to level. Be that as it may, as the name recommends, don't anticipate that the climate should be too inspiring. A considerable lot of the missions here spin around gathering stranded ocean animal remains, helping nearby sellers with fixing tasks, and an amazingly long chain journey called the Tower of Althalaxx.

You won't finish the chain mission until around ten levels after you get it, however it gives a convincing story. The Cult of the Dark Strand is an incredible, though low level, foe, in any case, with your assistance, it very well may be overturned.

Redridge Mountains

Gracious, Redridge Mountains. A zone where Alliance player's disdain for orcs is ingrained through death by street snare and a taken keep brimming with world class orc crowds. Despite the fact that these orcs are not individuals from the Horde, subsequent to being frustratingly executed by these crowds most players won't see a very remarkable contrast. Something that Classic did truly well is give you motivation to detest the foe group, which is something that retail is woefully absent.

10 Most Famous Classic WoW Players

In any case, different missions have you gather meat for certain pies, convey blossoms for an admirer, and recuperate a few jolts and nails for building a scaffold. All things considered, there's something charming about the commonplace questlines experienced here, particularly when's everything being undermined by an orc attack.

Elwynn Forest

The human beginning zone. Does any other individual think that its odd that, in a dream pretending game, most of Alliance players decide to be people? Elwynn Forest is a lovely and inviting passage highlight the World of Warcraft. Between Northshire Valley, Goldshire, and the timber factory, you are acquainted with a zoological display of WoW's famous beasts: kobolds, gnolls, and the lethal murlocs. The Defias posse is likewise flawlessly settled in this zone, making way for your inevitable experience with Edwin VanCleef. LFG Wanted: Hogger.

The ice-topped slopes and frigid pinnacles of Dun Morogh cause us to value the magnificence of winter without enduring the horrendous virus. Dwarves and elves both beginning their excursions here, performing conveyances for the enterprising dwarves of Ironforge and reaping meat and escapes the mountain's fauna.

A clan of savages is one of the early foes presented in this zone, again addressing Classic's capacity to give you motivation to detest the restricting group. The connection between the elves of Gnomeregan and the dwarves of Ironforge is one of fraternity and makes players glad to be individuals from either race.

Howdy there, accomplice, and welcome to Westfall! In the event that you could simply be a companion and get our donkey Old Blanchy some feed that'd put a grin over our appearances. Westfall includes probably the most significant, everyday journeys of the Alliance group while at the same time dealing with a chain questline with the ferocious Defias fellowship that paves the way to a profoundly close to home first prison experience.

Taking everything into account, Westfall is one of the best zones in all of World of Warcraft. The profundity of the contention between the Defias and Stormwind is possibly genuinely uncovered at the end of the day, eventually leaving the player addressing whether they've done well or wrong.

It wouldn't be a really exact rundown of paramount zones without the incorporation of Stranglethorn Vale. This is the place all your developed tension for the foe group can be at last delivered on rival players. Where the granulate out of nowhere stops to hard and fast group fighting, and you can't finish one mission without feeling like somebody's watching you. Sitting tight for their chance to strike.

For all the ground-breaking foes and NPCs in WoW, genuinely the most savage is your kindred player. On the off chance that you didn't play Classic on a PvP worker, we're grieved, however you certainly passed up a great opportunity.

While Westfall inundates you into the nearby saint storyline, Duskwood makes your character the subject of a frightfulness novel. The frightful music, bug silk flung trees, unpleasant, now and again inside and out frantic, journey suppliers, and consistent evening time cool all form a climate that is out and out noteworthy. The zone is abounding with the undead, werewolves, and other dreadful little creatures that all fit in consummately.

Also, the journeys! I wish each questline could be as enchanting and dim. Between the Legend of Stalvan, Mor'Ladim, and Abercrombie's interested tasks, we don't have a clue where to start! On the off chance that you appreciate frightfulness or clashing stories, give Duskwood a run. You won't be frustrated.

Chris Stomberg is an enthusiastic gamer, all things considered. Prepackaged games, games, tabletop games, computer games: if its a game, it will provoke his curiosity. Chris has composed anchor stories for news communicates, modules for his D&D gathering, and is at present chipping away at his first novel. His side interests outside of gaming incorporate yoga, perusing, pub crawling, and investing energy with companions old and new.

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