🦇

Vampire and ..prey?

Zenobia and Dinh are fighting off troublemakers during a travel while arguing profusely:

Two women were at it, as one was shooting while doing quick moves and another is swinging a curved short sword. The woman with the curved sword face was full of wrath and trickles of bloods. She growled as she stab the opposer.

“Out of all things that can go wrong, WE JUST HAD TO GO THROUGH THIS!” She hissed, while angling her body lithely at another. The other woman huffed, as she rolled her eyes once she shot a running man towards her.

“As if, you just had to do those things I severely warned you about. Great job Bia, Great job!” ‘Bia’ frowned at this, swinging her sword again. “Don’t rub it in Dinh! Your one to talk after crudely provoking those man back at the pub!” “Oh so I provoked them?!”

Both women scowled at each other, ‘Dinh’ scoffed. “Says the one who just had to whistle at the dead of night for amusement.” ‘Bia’ eyes widen, “Why…you..scamp!”

The men around looked at each other before charging which was a bad idea. After the fight ended with one man scampering away in fear, both women trudged on silently. Much to the amusement, a lady in beautiful robes chuckled as she saw both women at home. “Zenobia, Dinh, how was the trip?”

“Awful!/ horrible!”

Both stopped, glaring at each other with seething contempt. Soon turning head as they grumble.

Later on, they both made up and went to their merry way to a local pub. Cheering as if nothing happen before. A stoic lady from the window with gilded robes sighed as she turn to the smiling woman that greeted the merry women outside. “What am I to do, Y Lan.”

Y Lan chuckled, “leave them be, they are mature…sometimes.” She set down the cup of tea as she turned to the stoic lady. “Calm down Olga, it’s only normal for them to fight. Have you open that letter from the residents yet?”

Olga sighed, she walked to the desk where three letters resign at. Tracing her hands at the three seals, she picked up a black velvet envelope with a stake surrounded by flowers. “I’ve not, it seems we need to deport soon..” both women looked at each other, with silence engulfing the rooms.

Tagging: @sange-de-romane @pieground @a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @evil-quartett @vio-simps-for-purple-characters

@13th-shard

continued

Wrath could not believe his eyes. "what?... NO! Come back, coward!!!" he screamed out of his lungs. The portal closed right after Erebus jumped in and the nightkin was alone once more. His armor and spear melted into the red liquid again and disappeared. "such a disappointment... Better to keep moving and visit Niqesse." and so he left.

Erebus stumbled out of his portal, dismissing his weapon to avoid damaging it as he landed. By the look of the decor of the house he was in, he was sure he was close to Nyx-- Niqesse’s -- room. With no sign of Wrath close by, Erebus began to wander down the hallway. “Nyx!?” he called out, “My dear friend Nyx, are you home?!”

A little bit of what happened after @kyrie-silverwings Decided to leave Wrath ( @under-the-blood-moonlight ) Alone with Nemi :3c

👧 - What is your muse’s relationship like with their siblings? Who do they get along with best?

Lucian glances at Wrath.“That’s an interesting question, sir de Lith. You see...My brother, Lysander. We were close, when we were growing up. And remained close, even as an adult. He was couple of years younger than me. A great man.. and even greater brother...”Elezen remains silent for a while. The moon is slowly rising above the horizon, bathing the two in its pale light.“.. He died though. In a horrible way. My good for nothing sister, Lucy, killed him in a frenzy. She fled, and I have not heard of her since.She was always an odd girl... Something seriusly wrong with her. If I ever find her, she will burn for what she did. What she took from me.I will never forgive her. Never...”

Firecat

Khleo x Balam

I’m not sure what I or @atypicalacademic have gotten ourselves into, but here we go 😭😭😭 Simply treat yourself to another 0 to 100 whirlwind oc x oc ship. Thank you Kannan for letting me borrow Balam! She’s absolutely delightful!

cw: some biting

~ 1.6k words

***

The tavern saw a new handful of regulars during the week. The only reason Khleo remembered their faces was because of one in particular. There was something vibrant about her, and it wasn’t just because of her bold, shifting shawls and chirping adornments. 

Her friends called her Balam. 

On days she wore magenta bracelets, her companions referred to her as she. On days the bracelets were silver, Balam was he. 

Today, the bracelets were magenta. Yesterday they were magenta. And the day before that.

Khleo spent most of the week hanging back to wait tables and clean booths rather than working the bar. In order to watch. Try and figure out where this patron’s magnetism came from. Maybe they were partial to the features they shared with Balam – tight, bouncy curls, youthful expressions, strong cuts of the jaws that helped to undermine that innocence.

Or maybe Balam was just very good at communicating from afar. With each visit, the patron would glance more often in Khleo’s direction. One time while Khleo was mopping a corner, they tested their theory with a very subtle flex of their arms as they slid the mop forward. Khleo looked over at Balam just before curling their biceps towards them. They flicked the mop and did it again, training their gaze to be coincidental, bland.

Balam had already been looking. But then she looked away. Not completely. Only briefly, to collect herself. She came back with a more confident gaze, working those dark lashes and her decorative brown skin to practically beam a lump into Khleo’s throat. 

This Balam, whoever she was, knew exactly what she was doing despite how subtle she went about it. And it made Khleo itching to pounce.

But it was late and the tavern was full of dinner patrons that night. So Khleo filed all that pouncy, gimme nonsense away for some other time. Then they put their assessment of Balam to rest, and got back to work.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before Khleo’s coworkers required their pouncing services. A fight had broken out and neither side was backing down. Khleo didn’t bother to see who was involved, they just jumped in. They didn’t waste their breath shouting at people to calm down like the other barhands. Their method of de-escalation was to remove the biggest threat. 

Tonight that happened to be the fiery, vibrant Balam. Khleo ignored the small hiccup between their thighs as they made an attempt to unhinge a glass that Balam was about to chuck at a nearby patron.

But Balam was slippery and still charged even though the rest were starting to calm down. She snatched her arm back from Khleo before they could get a good grip and danced backwards like a reanimated puppet. 

“Don’t make me chase you,” Khleo warned, their voice bored and unhurried despite the persistent thorniness they were dealing with elsewhere.

Balam ran. Khleo cursed under their breath and pursued. 

It was a wonder Balam was so fast with all those shawls and patchwork prints that clung to her lithe form. Khleo snarled when they saw where Balam was trying to run off to – the basement.

< Do you need some help? >

~ No, Hefe. I got this. ~

Khleo booked it faster than ever now, leaping over chairs, scrambling across countertops, ruining family dinners. Their boss was going to kill them.

They hoped it was all worth it when they finally caught up to Balam, slamming into her and pinning her down easily. The angry patron roared and thrashed like her whole body was on fire. But Khleo was ready to shut it down.

“You think you’re real cute, don’t you?”

Balam’s eyes were still unfocused and brimming wet rage. “Let go of me, you...”

Khleo jostled her. “Go ahead. Tell me what you think of me.”

By the time their gazes connected, Balam was blushing.

“Thought so. You can’t even say it.”

Balam exploded. “Overgrown housecat!” 

Khleo laughed. “Excuse me? If I’m a housecat, then what the hell are you?”

Balam’s eyes were dead serious. “A tiger.”

Khleo was enjoying themself, tracking the way Balam’s extremes entered and left her body so quickly. They felt the shift in the tension of Balam’s limbs too. It didn’t help to dampen their fire, but felt good all the same.

“A tiger cub maybe,” Khleo mused. “So tell me, cub. Why’d you have to go start shit in my bar? Day’s been hard enough as it is.”

Balam apparently had it in her to throw another tantrum.

“They started it! You’re telling me you’d back down if–” 

“It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?” Khleo said quietly. “How about you demonstrate a little self control next time?”

 Balam hopelessly thrashed under Khleo’s weight. “I do have self control!”

“Oh yeah? Then show me now.”

Khleo made sure Balam’s wrists were secured above her head before dropping very close.

“Let’s see how long you last.”

Khleo coasted over Balam’s features, her nose ring, wide black eyes, her mouth – everything was magnified. Khleo took it all in, climbing that familiar high that moments like these always catapulted her to. That edge of giving in and holding still. That silence before a true strike. They could tell by the way Balam followed them that the cub knew nothing of that place. Never tasted that warm, hidden middle ground. Insanity’s hidden trapdoor. Tight and snug. Nowhere near cozy, but safe. Antidotal. 

“My name is Balam.”

Khleo ignored the distraction. 

“I know.”

Balam tried to snatch a kiss, but the barhand ducked their head over and down, latching onto the exposed shoulder peeking out from the shawls. Balam’s harsh cry echoed through the cavernous space.

“Quiet,” Khleo licked their lips and raised their head. “I didn’t even bite you that hard.”

They sat up straighter, deepening their seat, still holding Balam’s wrists.

“You want to be so bad... but you don’t come close. I’ve been exactly where you are.”

Balam’s eyes burned like black fire. “And look how much you’ve improved and moved up in the world. Congratulations, bartender of the year.”

Khleo kept their tone flat, but their grin wicked.

“A major improvement from where I came from, believe me. Look Tiger, you’re not going to find any low-hanging fruit,” Khleo made sure to gently grind against Balam’s leg for emphasis. They were satisfied to see her eyes threaten to roll back. “So I suggest that you quit trying to go for low blows while you’re ahead.”

The fire had finally gone out. Now it was replaced by water. Khleo let go of Balam’s wrists. 

“You need to cry, then cry.”

They started to get up, but Balam’s hands captured her thighs. “Wait.”

Khleo arched an eyebrow. 

“Can you… just stay right there for a bit?”

Khleo didn’t laugh or mock the patron in any way. The barhand anchored their weight against Balam’s abdomen and allowed her to process her emotions with dignity. When she was done, Khleo helped her to her feet and said, “Go out through the back door. Don’t come back here for a few days. It’ll give my boss some time to forget tonight. That way he’ll be less likely to ban you from the tavern.”

Balam hadn’t stopped staring at Khleo since she got to her feet. “What should I call you when I return?”

Khleo folded her arms over her chest. “Call me Khlee, Khleo, whatever you want.”

The patron sniffed one last time, and glanced toward the door. She moved as if she might go to it.

Khleo wasn’t gentle this time. They used their strength to their advantage as they snatched Balam back until she crashed right where Khleo wanted her. Then they engaged both their arms, locking her in and kissing her the way they wanted to when they had her pinned down earlier. As if Khleo desired nothing else than to see how much they could take, and take, and take some more.

What Khleo didn’t expect, however, was how eager Balam was to give. She fed Khleo her lips, her tongue, her moans like they were such an untimely burden that she was, by the gods, absolutely compelled to share– 

“Enough.” Khleo growled softly. The command was more meant for themself than Balam, but they were careful not to give anything away. When they opened their eyes and looked into Balam’s, they found that her expression was a rare breed of tame. It was the sort of docility that tugged at a different set of strings in Khleo, unlocking a new singularity of primal intention within them.

The way Balam quietly looked at the barhand, in reverence and easy obedience…. Khleo felt the need to flex a set of claws that they didn’t have. Dig them into Balam where it was too shallow for their own blunted teeth to pierce. To keep her somehow? From what, Khleo wasn’t sure.

“Mm.” Khleo’s throat rumbled, “You’ve got a lot of fire in you. I had to see what that tasted like…” they looked pointedly at the spot where they bit Balam. “Again.” Then they let the patron go. “Now get out of here.”

Khleo gave Balam a gentle push. Once again, she surprised the barhand by skipping away on light feet towards the exit. It seemed Balam couldn’t leave without the last word. Halfway out the door, she captured Khleo’s gaze one last time. “You taste of fire too.”

Khleo shrugged. “So?”

Balam smiled as she nodded sagely. “And of flowers. Wild ones. Daisies.”

Khleo was thankful for the dim light. Her face burned from Balam’s unexpected saccharine tongue. 

“You better get going, Tiger.”

Balam wasn’t finished. She leaned her head against the doorframe and batted those damn eyelashes again. “I’ll bring some for you, Firecat. Next time.” Her anklets chirped as she finally slipped out of the cave of brick and mortar and onto the street. 

Khleo stared at the door long after she had gone. She thought about Balam’s journey from the wrathful to the rational and back again.

Hefe emerged from out of the hearth. Illuminating the underground lair with her sheer size and pale, creamy coat, she became a lighthouse to call back Khleo’s drifting thoughts. 

< Firecat. That’s a new one. >

@forgedbyduty​ // Con’t

There was a moment of pure confusion as he was addressed from behind, and before the words fully registered and he could do as much as turn there was a searing pain piercing through his back. His breathing momentarily stopped as he was taken by shock and pain.

Painfully did he gasp for air when the knife was removed and he stumbled, hunched over, grasping for purchase on a nearby wall, already struggling to keep himself upright through the pain, but determined to at least turn to face his attacker.

However, the only thing he saw when he managed to turn, trembling hands gripping at coarse stone, was a hooded figure swiftly making their way down the street.

Why?

The thought was reverberating through him like an echo. They were supposed to be at peace. The fighting should have ceased, there should be no need for further violence. Since the declaration of the peace he had done nothing but work towards a better Ishgard. So, why--?

The thought trailed off, his knees just short of buckling as another wave of pain shot through him. Shuddering breath after shuddering breath Artoirel felt himself grow weaker. His vision blurred and soon he could not tell whether it was feeling unbearable heat or icy cold that had him tremble.

He knew he needed to shout for help if he was to even hope for survival at this point. But his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and his ears rung with a gradually in volume increasing tone. Pure and utter panic took a hold of him.

He was going to die, wasn't he?

No, he couldn't. There were so many things left to do. The war was over. The future was theirs to shape. He could not perish now.

"Help... Someone... Please."

He couldn't tell whether he shouted it atop of his lungs, or if he whispered the words on a faint breath, the ringing in his ears was too loud, the anguish to prevalent.

W h y ?

Early evening - one of Cyvel’s favorite times to take a walk around the upper segments of the city; usually it coincided with the return of his father and frankly he’d made efforts to avoid the elder all the more since the death of his brother for his very features reminded the viscount too much of his beloved eldest. T’was easier for the youth to simply avoid than it was to face double the wrath he once had. 

As he paced did he think over all variety of things, grief still present in his chest; he’d once dreamed of peace, too - had supported it wholeheartedly throughout his life, just as his mother had. He’d dared to believe that one day his brother and he would get along again, once more - that they would rekindle their relationship and prove to be more akin to brothers than ever. Unfortunately - it had never been destined to be that way - and the cost of peace had included his brother’s life. 

The weight of grief grew in his chest as the poet paced, finding himself so weighed down by difficulty and mourning that he’d not managed naught of his usual habits of late - no writing, no expression of his own self - but instead copious amounts of reading in the hopes to keep away the dark thoughts and now, walking. Plenty of walking. 

T’was during said early evening walk that he had heard a cry for help, something he had largely hesitated to answer for a moment - ever fearful it was not as it seemed, some variety of rouse- but that was less likely in the upper parts of the city and thus it was with his heart racing at such a pace that it echoed within his ears that Cyvel moved towards the direction of sound - - just in time to witness the Count de Fortemps fall to his knees aside a wall. 

Booted feet took off against the stone, Cyvel moving the fastest he had in a rather long time; heading towards the other swiftly as there appeared to be no other around. Panic rose far more readily to his chest, fear thrumming directly beneath the surface of his skin even as he dropped to his knees aside the other, a hand immediately going to touch against blood-stained clothing, only to stain the white glove he wore. 

He was.... he was bleeding - - ?! 

“We - - we have to get you to a chirurgeon-” Cyvel stammered, petrified; unable to directly help in the slightest. He wasn’t strong enough to carry him, he wasn’t large enough to simply drag him - - the poet had never been built for such things. But he did looped the other’s arm around his shoulders and he did draw in a deep breath; “Come on - you must stand - Please, Artoirel - - “

Please, I cannot lose another of whom means so very much to me. 

“I know it is difficult and seems impossible, but you must stand- - ” He’d take as much weight as he could, of course, but Cyvel was absolutely more lithe than aught else- and it wouldn’t do much good at all - not in a situation such as this. 

“Help-!” The poet called as loudly as he could, straining his voice to do so. There had to be a knight or someone of equal body strength nearby - someone who could help much more than Cyvel of who was trying not to cry with desperation despite the tears that were easily welling in his eyes. So much so, in fact, that he needed to wipe them aside with his spare hand before he latched it onto the count. 

@frozenbreath​ gets a semi-plotted starter. 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || There is something obscenely and inexplicably beautiful about sprawled violence and splatter of sanguine squelch; it had long drowned the blissful contentment of warm evening sunlight streaming in through the lightwell, painting the dimly-lit room in a dreamy pastel gold, as his strong, protective arms will cradle around Harumi’s lithe, slender form and Satoshi’s ever-growing warmth, quite like that of a faded photograph or a muzzy memory. The balmy air steeping in the fresh, earthy petrichor of a recent shower, blanketed with a sense of evening languidness. A gentle breeze, pleasantly cool against the slight stickiness of his flesh fleeting through the wide-open windows, carrying with it the alluringly sweet scent of Harumi’s cooking. Closing his eyes, Hanzo Hasashi would often lean back to the well-worn rattan chair, legs stretched out lazily as he would take in a deep breath, listening to the faint rustling of leaves as the Shirai Ryu ninja shared stories of battles with his wife and child. Now, the haunted wraith relishes in witnessing Shang Tsung’s palpable shock, along with wielding Quan Chi’s throbbing heart, ruptured and pierced by his merciless kunai, as the Netherrealm’s sorcerer’s crimson leeched onto his arms; heavy, potent, commanding the senses, overpowering, and intoxicating. 

Even in the unknown tide of the battle of do or die, Scorpion relentlessly pursued on. For the wicked sorcerer could never stand against the stifled passion of his wrath and vengeance, amplifying his granted mastery of hellfire. With his strange iridescent dead eyes and chain of inferno, did finally gut Quan Chi’s entirety, beginning with his dismemberment, limb by limb, then de-spining him in his fierce, searing hellfire as the velocity of his immeasurable strength and resolve plunged deep into the architect of his suffering. That should have granted Scorpion some semblance of peace, and yet - sand fills desperate lungs, and the ice is freezing, begging tongues. Dead, withered flowers bloom in empty crying eyes, for his eternal time steals the passion in his forever-lost tries. 

The Netherrealm was never his home to begin with, despite Scorpion having represented the wretched realm as he served as Quan Chi’s pawn. He couldn’t bear to return back to Earthrealm and face the disintegrated rubble of the Shirai Ryu; of all its crude remnants, desiccated and rotted beyond recognition. He still dreams of surging torrential waterfalls of crimson lapping at his feet, while his own, adulterates beneath the unyielding winter’s wrath as a fiery bun of hatred sizzling ferociously within his chest would immediately sever as he would plunge into blackness of eternal oblivion by Sub-Zero’s nonchalant brutalism. The allure of the glowing lava; Scorpion’s molten hurt, desire, and grief, all surmounts him to live on, lest death is the one who answers. He no longer feels alive, unless he exacts the wicked sun’s spindrift touch, as his vicious punishment annihilates through the outskirts of Outworld. He has more debts to pay, and Shang Tsung and Shao Kahn will pay for it. 

In spite and despise; the stifling bloodlust kicks in and Scorpion sees his world turn once again. Enraged and spike of hatred starting to churn deep within him, as he will ground the demons to dust. The Heavens had long fallen and all tears fell from his eyes. How dare the world turn while Scorpion’s heart still breaks, his lungs still drown and his eyes cry an unfathomable ocean deep enough to cleanse the earth? The firestorm ravages and burns, and in his wicked survival and salvation, does Scorpion witness a Lin Kuei amidst the packed hoards of armies, fighting against shared enemies, and also more blue-clad cyberized warriors in pursuit. Time crystallizes, the curve of his downtilt mouth slows a frown frozen. His curl of snarl is inscrutable, but it blooms like a genuine smile. An emotion Scorpion has not experienced for seemingly more than a lifetime and beyond. “You fight with the absoluteness of the one familiar cryomancer,” the severity of his timbre sinks, as he mourns for a death unjustified, Sub-Zero was a Lin Kuei, but at least he was the one with honor and discipline. Hadn’t he falsely manipulated to kill him, they may have joined hands in defense of Earthrealm, despite them being bitter, mortal enemies. “Why do you run, when you can eternally fight?” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || 

Smash or pass

Wrath de Lith :3c

or/and maybe Corveaux Noucins

Hhhhh.

Smash.

mud on our knees (we won’t wash it off)

Written for @shikasaku-week Day 2: mud on our knees

this is supposed to be a "what if". what if naruto isn't a great hokage. what is the clan system doesn't work. what if, instead of going to war with other shinobi nations, konoha turns against itself. what if there is a konoha civil war. you don't have to read this if you don't want to question your views of the naruto world. this world is six pages of being critical of the naruto world and i know it's not everyone's cup of tea. it's fine by me. read what makes you happy.

also there are a lot of real-life believes of mine in this, notably regarding raising children and my view of the nuclear family and the idea that in real life it's very common to have children from different relationships instead of one true love. again, you don't have to read. i'm a bit angry because i wanted to post this on time and it got out of hand and it's much longer and much more complicated than it should have been. so there's that. i hope you enjoy anyway, and the next one is almost finished so you should have it soon. tell me what you think!!

___________________

“GET DOWN!”

Sakura doesn't wait for an explanation, doesn't even stop to think as she crumbles to the ground, plastering her whole body against the sticky, wet earth. Cheek crushed against a puddle, the filthy water going in her nose and her eye, she frantically tries to look around her while moving as little as possible. The sight calms her down as much as it can ; all the other bodies, face down against the earth, all have red or pink hair, and the familiar pitch black body suit with the blood red arm patch, what should have been a white circle stained with dirt, blood, and shit.

Her own patch was ripped from her suit when she had lost her left arm, a week ago. Her cousin had sewn a new one on her left arm and sewn shut the sleeve of her left arm to protect her still tender stump. He didn't look at her with pity, or sadness. In his eyes was the same thing that still burns in hers, in the rest of their clan. Pure, unadulterated wrath, an unashamed blood rage and thirst for revenge. Her arm would be avenge, just like all the dead they had suffered. They're winning now. It's just a matter of time.

Once the last explosion is confirmed to be the last, Sakura gets up quickly, reuniting with the three other members of her squad. The four of them are the only shinobi of the Haruno Clan, so they had been named the de facto leaders with the approval of the Clan Head.

“What's our next move?” Hanako asks, brushing caked dirt from her hands. She's a chūnin, on a clear path to become a tokujo because of the dōjutsu she had developed, to the entire clan's surprise. It's nothing as strong as a sharingan or byakugan, but her iris-less, entirely grey eyes allow her short burst of speed that are so strong they look like teleportation.

“Kura and I are still working on the seal,” Nadamaru says, his arm curling around Sakura's waist. She presses without shame against her cousin, her head falling on his shoulder. Nadamaru and her are the two jōnin of their little squad, him having been in the Sabotage Unit since his promotion and her having joined the unit a few months before the beginning of the war.

“I'm taking Shikamaru with me and we're going to prepare the new set of traps. Did any of you finish the poisons we talked about?”

Both Sakura and Nadamaru nod, handing a leather bag to Mikata who takes it gratefully. He's the youngest of them all, having barely made chūnin when the war started. He's the best infiltrator of them all, his lithe body and small height ideal for stealth. Since the beginning of the conflict, he's been the one making sure the traps are all working, and scouting the enemy camps.

He's also incredibly smart, not that the three others aren't, but he's on par with the Nara, which makes him ideal to work with Shikamaru. They've been planning every move of the Haruno Clan, approved by the Clan Head and the other shinobi, but they're responsible for their most successful actions.

Sometimes, Sakura has to take a step back and remind herself why they're fighting. It's the bloodiest, most vicious conflict she's ever been on and she took on a goddess. She can't believe it's already been five years since they started fighting, and on the worst days, when she's seen too many people die on either side, she can't believe it's only been five years.

What had started as a new law passed by Naruto's Administration had turned into protests and countless strikes, which in turn had become an endless, single strike that went on for so many months Konoha had started to starve, and when winter had come, people were dying of cold, of injuries, because no one was working in the hospital anymore. It had been a grim time. So the government had passed a new law in a panic, stating that all the striking workers would be counted as traitors if they didn't come back to work.

That had been received as well as could be expected. Not only had the strikers not come back to work, but the civilians had decided to barricade the civilian district, building in one night a wall around it. Then they asked the civilian clans, the rich businessmen, the clans that had half-civilians and half-shinobi like the Haruno, for help. Not a single one of them refused. Suddenly, the civilian district was patrolled by hundred of shinobi, not a single civilian was outside of the wall, and they were self-sufficient since they accounted for all the workers in the village, from every single profession.

They had the land to grow food, the workshops to build whatever they needed, and all the healthcare personnel of the village to take car of them. So, in desperation, the Administration had ordered the shinobi force to march on the district. About a third of them refused to fight their brothers and sisters-in-arms and joined the civilian district to warn them of the incoming battle while feeding into their already respectable ranks.

What was left of the shinobi force was still deadly, and it accounted for some of the strongest and most respectable shinobi clans.

Konoha's first civil war was born.

In the last five years, the village had been turned into a battleground, each force having about half of the ground, buildings in the middle reduced to rubble with the dead piling up on each side. The civilian side had been trained intensely by the shinobi within them, each civilian clan taking on a specialisation of shinobi life.

The Haruno Clan is the Sabotage Unit, the small Hagoromo Clan had been trained as medics by Sakura and the hospital staff. The Tsuchigumo Clan is trained in Interrogation and Intel Gathering. The Yanagikage Clan, though the smallest of them all, is their Hostage Retrieval and Escort Unit. All small, or unknown clans, mostly composed of civilians who now have extensive knowledge in martial arts and shinobi training.

They were the healthiest side, because of the food and the medics and doctors, but the other side had the money to bring in food and medicine and even a few medics who kept leaving once they saw the horrors of the civil war and replaced by others.

And then there were the bigger clans. The most famous clans of the village, that everyone knew about, the Noble Clans who had been the pride of Konohagakure before this bloody civil war started. They didn't have a choice. They had to take sides.

Some never recovered from their choice.

Sakura hugs Mikata briefly, who is also a cousin of hers, and Hanako, technically her sister-in-law. When the war started, all three of her parents were killed in a raid that was meant as both a hit against her for her support of the civilian side, and against the Haruno, because as soon as the civil war spread to the entire village, the Hokage Tower had been swarmed by a suicide run from the civilian side and all records made public.

It was a good idea, because it allowed for clearer goals for their side and ammunition against the other. But it also meant that the Haruno kekkei-genkai, a State secret since Mito's marriage, was made public. The Uzumaki who were born with this particular gene were integrated within Konoha with the rest of the refugees from Uzushio, and to protect them from the backlash their kekkei-genkai would cause, they changed their name and became the Haruno Clan. And now their secret is out, and it caused assassin to come and kill her two mothers and her father, who were respectively the previous Clan Head, Clan Second and part of the Haruno Council.

In one night, she lost the three most important people in her life and the assassins' plan almost worked. She had been hit so hard by the three simultaneous losses that she had almost ended her own life in a fit of madness. Only Shikamaru's intervention had saved her life. Her aunt and uncle, twin siblings, had been named Clan Head and Clan Second in replacement, and herself became a Haruno councillor. As per Haruno tradition, she had been adopted by the first willing family, her great-cousin and his husband, and she became Nadamaru's sister, who was in turn married to Hanako.

She had always loved the sense of family her clan has, how you could just choose who you would live with, how children navigated homes like safe havens. The Haruno would either marry out of love and have children that they would keep, or they didn't feel it was the right time for them and have children anyway that would be raised by the community. And those who didn't marry young or didn't marry at all would be encouraged to have one night stands and have children for community raising as well.

That was how Sakura was born, from one of her aunts, though she didn't know which one, and didn't care. Her mother and father had a child who they gave to the community, and when they met her other mother years later, they decided they were ready to raise a child and adopted Sakura, who was seven at the time and completely happy to be cared for by the fifty parents of the Haruno Clan.

That's how it works, and she thinks it's brilliant and she doesn't understand how only the Haruno, what's left of the Uzumaki and the Hagomoro raise their children that way.

Thinking bitterly that those cultural differences were the reason the civil war even existed, she kisses Nadamaru's forehead before shunshining away towards the headquarters of the rebellion, where all the clans and families have a representative to coordinate their side's actions. She needs to get the pages newly translated from the records they stole from the Hokage Tower, hundreds of scrolls scavenged from Uzushio after its fall without ever warning the remaining Uzumaki of what is theirs by right.

They have a woman who specializes in studying dead and old languages, who is translating the scrolls painstakingly to give all the information on seals she can find to the two Haruno, who are crafting seal after seal in a hope to gain a clear advantage against the other side.

In the HQ, she finds a hive of activity, all clans mixed with one another in a constant buzz of intel and planning and headcounting. In the back of the room, there are desks aligned to face the organized chaos, where the representatives are sitting side by side, all working on different projects or talking between themselves.

Instead of going straight to the translator, Sakura makes a beeline for the desks, a smile already forming on her face. There are little signs in front of each desk, drawn by the children of the clans in adorable, wonky kanji and symbols. She doesn't even try to stop the swell of pride that she feels whenever she sees how many clans and families they gathered t their cause.

On the far left, the Hagamoro, then the Tsuchigomo, the chair empty since they managed to capture a Sarutobi and everyone from the clan is on deck to try and get as much out of him, as soon as possible. Next, the silk black hair and single white eye of Hyūga Neji. The Noble Clan had been a total surprise, one of the first to join the rebellion when it was only the Fuma Clan, Ichiraku family and Haruno Clan. He raises his head when he senses her coming, sending her a warm smile that she returns with pleasure.

Next to Neji, another empty chair because more often than not, he's in the training ground helping the weakest fighters, is Lee's desk. His clan is tiny, just him, an adopted Tenten, and the child Sakura and him had together after the Fourth War. They had a brief but incredibly loving relationship, that had healed them both in ways they hadn't expected, and a precious boy had been born from them. Takumi is seventeen now, a taijutsu master like his parents, ridiculously handsome with his long pink hair, always braided, and his lovely dark eyes.

After the empty chair, the Yanagikage elder, then Aburame Shibi. The tragedy of the Aburame Clan had been one of the great costs of the war. As one of the Noble Clan, and as of today, the last to defect the Administration side to join the rebellion, their choice had enraged fiercely all the remaining clans and family of the other side. When Shibi had announced his decision, the others had decided to prevent their defection. There had been a mass assassination, and only the few Aburame who had been on the other side of Konoha for negotiations had been spared. Shibi, Shino, Torune and their mother Kanbai are the only Aburame left.

The second tragedy, and arguably the worst, shows in the dark circles and empty eyes of Akimichi Okashi, Chōji's mother. When the Akimichi had tried to join the rebellion, the Yamanaka had stood against them, in a move that shocked both sides. Their battle had been bloody, ruthless, and tragic. Friends fighting friends, to the death. The Akimichi won. Barely. There are no Yamanaka left, and the Akimichi are half their original number. Chōji is a trainer, alongside Lee and others, and his mother leads the clan.

Next to Okashi, the Fuma Clan, the Ichiraku family, and finally, the Haruno Clan representative. Shikamaru is bent over a pile of paperwork, his pink hair falling over his eyes in an obviously annoying manner given the frustrated, repetitive movement of his fingers to try and put it behind his ear.

His black bodysuit clings to his broad shoulders in a way that makes Sakura's heart beat, the red Haruno patch proudly displayed on his arm. She ignores the ache of her own missing limb, and goes straight to her husband. Only after being a few metres from him does she notice the black strap around his torso, holding the sling that presses their youngest against his back. And playing under the desk, crafting a story of wooden toys and adventures, are their two other children.

She revels in the joy of seeing her family, safe and whole, despite the circumstances. With a flush on her cheeks and her grin matching the beat of her heart, she finally reaches the desk and leans against it.

“Hello, Haruno-sama,” she purrs, enjoying the adoring look Shikamaru gives her instantly, like nothing could make his day better than have her at his side.

“Hello, Haruno-sama,” he answers with unashamed fondness, his hand reaching for her. He brings her knuckles to his lips, kissing it twice in a way that still brings blood to her cheeks.

“I have important news for you. I haven't told anyone, because I made the call that you should hear it first.” Shikamaru is deadly serious, his eyes flashing white for a moment, the Haruno kekkei-genkai showing through his stoic facade.

She knows this game since childhood, so her hand squeezes his and she sends a burst of consciousness through their point of contact, her mind flashing in images through his to convey love and calm and what she talked about with her three clansmen. Her eyes shine a blinding white before turning back to green when the connection stops. Shikamaru nods once, before grabbing his file, ordering it without need in an obvious nervous gesture.

“Get it over with. If it's going to hurt me, I'll heal better with time and the soonest you tell me, the soonest I can deal with it. And if it's going to make me angry, well, delaying won't change that,” she chuckles, her attempt at humour falling flat when Shikamaru grimaces.

“Well, here goes.” He takes a deep breath. “In our last sabotage run, we planted bombs over the supply roads to cut their food chain. But what set off the bombs wasn't a food caravan, but a full escort and delegation for Suna. Apparently, after five years of trying to hide the war, they were getting desperate enough to ask for help. Which they won't get, since everyone is dead.”

“Anata,” Sakura says softly, the pet name rolling of her tongue more like a reproach. He nods again.

“Sasuke, Naruto and Kakashi were all in the delegation.”

Sakura freezes, her mind going numb. Suddenly, she can only hear white noise, the chaos of the headquarters thinning down to a bare hum. She sways on her feet, before the information slams into her like a battering ram. The noise comes back in a wave, crashing into her in a second strike.

“They're dead,” she whispers.

“They are. And when the sabotage team made a quick sweep of the scene for anything useful to scavenge and identify the bodies, they also found the prison's location. Five years, but it was so worth it.”

“Did they—?”

“Yes. Everyone. Sai was starved and probably tortured, he's in the Hagamono's care. And they got...” Shikamaru is chocked up suddenly, looking down at his desk. “They got my mom and seven Nara out.”

Sakura breathes deep, taking in everything, from the death of the people who ruined their life for so long and caused a civil war, to the retrieval of some of the most important people in Shikamaru's life. He's been a Haruno for five years now, having joined when they decided to adopt Yozora from the community raising. He did the ceremony, got the kekkei-genkai that turned his hair pink, like every Haruno child. He became Haruno Shikamaru of Clan Haruno, because he wanted to be a part of something and being a part of Sakura's clan made the most sense. At the time, he thought to be the only Nara left.

Sakura's heart feels full to bursting knowing he'll get some of his family back. Not that her and their children aren't his family, but she's so glad he'll get those eight Nara in his life again.

And she'll be able to see Sai again...

For the first time since hearing the news, a smile breaks out on her face, her eyes welling up with all the tears she didn't shed the last five years. Shikamaru is getting up from his desk, carefully avoiding Yozora and Sora next to his feet, before gathering her up in his arms.

“They're dead,” she whispers against his hair, heart wild and feeling like she can finally breathe.

“They are, love. They're dead.”

“Without them, the Uchiha and the Senju won't have any leaders, and they won't be able to rebuild the Hatake. We've basically won the war.”

“And don't forget that we can now tell our Uzumaki they can finally elect a proper Clan Head,” Shikamaru smiles, fierce and proud.

“They're going to be so happy,” she giggles.

Shikamaru's voice is soft. “Our cousins,” he states, like a fact of the universe that makes him unbearably happy.

“Kura? What's going on?”

They pull themselves apart, turning to look at the rest of Sakura's squad where they just entered the headquarters. Sakura grins wide, feeling like a God and a leader at the same time, her blood pumping through her veins like the sweetest confirmation of everything they stood for in the last five years.

“Sasuke, Naruto and Kakashi are dead,” she announces to her brother, sister-in-law and cousin, face illuminated with glee.

“You're kidding me,” Hanako whispers. “You're kidding me!”

“Yes!” Nadamaru grabs his wife by the shoulders and kisses her hard on the mouth, uncaring for her open, wide eyes. Mikata's shock is so sweet to see, and that's when Sakura and Shikamaru notice the people standing him one by one, getting closer to them.

The news is spreading like wildfire, all the people working in the headquarters passing the information along like water on a summer day, and more and more smiles and laughter and tears are appearing. The noise in the building reaches critical levels, and no one cares. They've practically won the war.

“We're going to be alright,” Shikamaru says, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and putting his chin on her shoulder.

“Yes we are,” she says softly as her children wander next to them, curious and happy.

I want to collect more Tav's on my Dash. Show me your Tav!

Here are my two Idiots (I love them so much)

Wrath & Niqesse, if you want to see more of them you can follow @estai-firina my bg3 and dnd blog.

“My cup seems to be empty, would you kindly fill it up again?”

—  BASICS.

FULL NAME.  lianor catherine beauchamp PRONUNCIATION.  lee-Ah-nor / lee-a (because her name is not its english form, it retains the portuguese spelling which for me it’s how it is written so 🤞) NICKNAME.  goes by lia since she was born to differentiate herself from her namesake, thus it remains her most common nickname. her father calls her lili on letters sometimes, harry refers to her as princess hampton and her husband brands her as poppet. close friends may find some other variations to her name and she is also called by derogatory infamous name-callings depending on whose faction of the court is gossiping about her. GENDER.  cisfemale. HEIGHT.  5’ 2.75" / 157cm AGE & D.OB.  27 & october 10th 1427 ZODIAC.  libra. SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  english, portuguese, latin, italian, some basic french; currently perfecting her spanish

—  PHYSICAL  CHARACTERISTICS. HAIR COLOR.  bright red EYE COLOR.  bright green. SKIN TONE.  pale, with a peachy undertone. she has a couple scattered birth marks on her cheek and neck, but few freckles on her face; they spread across her shoulders and back mostly. BODY TYPE.  petite stature and a slim, dainty frame. ACCENT.  standard english accent, evident in the way she speaks all other languages but portuguese, in which she has mimicked her mother's lisbon accent. DOMINANT HAND.  right. POSTURE.  straight and proper, but not too rigid -- she is dynamic and moves with grace, tending to reach out towards those she speaks to show off her attention on the interaction.  SCARS.  a faint scar on her left ankle from scrapping it against a sharp sea rock on her childhood years. TATTOOS.  none. BIRTHMARKS. a couple on her cheek and neck, a few more across her back. though she has few freckles by birth, she has gained quite a few by years of exposure to the sun. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).  flaming red hair, big green eyes, lithe frame. –  CHILDHOOD. PLACE OF BIRTH.  the beauchamp state at kidderminster, worcestershire. HOMETOWN.   ludlow castle, welsh border. MANNER OF BIRTH.  she was the first born from her parents’ match, and the first of her lineage to be born on the then just finished kidderminster state, after a short month of lying in and nineteen hours of labor. the queen eleanor, her namesake, attended the birth and was her godmother when the girl was christened, a few dayslater. FIRST WORDS.  pa, papa   SIBLINGS. edward (d. 1445), elizabeth and john beauchamp. PARENTS.  beatriz de meneses and richard beauchamp PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.  because her mother did not abandon her duties to queen eleanor after her marriage, lia was at first raised by her father, as his heir. she has little memories of the time, but she still writes to her father fondly about it, even if the time they spent together all through her life is immensely shorter than the one apart. lia gained her mother's attentions only after the age of three, when beatriz plucked the girl from home to be raised at the royal nursery with clementine; throughout her daughter's life, beatriz has been a defining force, zealously looking out for her own agenda rather than, truly, her daughter's, who has been used more as a shadow or a pawn or her. –  ADULT  LIFE. OCCUPATION.  countess, lady in waiting, mistress to the prince of wales. CURRENT RESIDENCE.  she is often between the hampton court and the official court, when in england. at florence, she keeps her own chambers at the palazzo with the rest of the english party. CLOSE FRIENDS.  clementine and henry plantagenet, rosana braganza, tba. RELATIONSHIP STATUS.  married to thomas montagu, earl of salisbury circa 1449. FINANCIAL STATUS.  though not of royal station, her father was financially comfortable after years of service to the crown, and as she was raised as a companion to the plantagenet children, she was granted equally lavish upbringing. she was married slightly above her station as a baron's daughter, to an earl whose rise in court is more in due to her own private wealth than his own. she currently has various states in her name scattered around england due to harry's generous nature, those currently managed between her and her parents. VICES.  hypocrisy, insecurity and indecisiveness, growing pathological nature, anything sweet, from pastries to fruits. –  SEX  &  ROMANCE. SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.  heteroromantic. may have had feelings for a woman or two, but those were quickly brushed as a platonic feeling of admiration or sisterly affection. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.  submissive  | dominant  |  switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.  submissive  |  dominant | switch LIBIDO.  depends on the company she keeps. on the marital bed she is lukewarm at best, treating the act as a duty she has to endure , but her passion is easily lit and enjoyed elsewhere. TURN ON’S.  confidence, contrary physical frames (tall, dominant vs small, “frail”), flirtation, good manners, attention. TURN OFF’S.  poor manners, violence/wrath, pettiness and insults, older men. LOVE LANGUAGE.  quality time, followed closely by physical touch. lia is very big on doing things for people she loves, either that being obvious as helping them in daily activities, or learning something for them, doing something to aid in their cause or well being; once she is comfortable, she is naturally touchy. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. the subject of her desire has long been established, and it is prince harry plantagenet that has both her heart and soul. despite the many years and his string of distractions, she remains constant on her affection and faithful to him foremost. her body, however, has to be shared with her husband, thomas montagu, though the relationship remains platonic at best, a humiliation parade for both sides, at its worst.

TAGGED BY : the bae @hcrryofwales TAGGING : @clementinesx + @beauchampx + anyone who is on the late train like me lol.

The Thin Man & The Ranger - Ch. 3

Things heat up a bit, both for Percy and Vex, who get a little time alone in domestic bliss, and in the investigation.

Another Chapter. This one is a bit more fun and far fluffier with an attempt at cute Percy/Vex banter. I think I came close to getting them right.

If I didn’t I appreciate feedback.

Also posted here.

Percival woke to a damp, warm, and insistent press against his shoulder blade. He lolled his head over in that direction. Most men would go their entire lives without looking into the eyes of a great brown bear from mere inches away (and be quite happy for it, he mused). Percival, however, had long ago come to know that he was not going to live a life like most men.

The bear regarded him, made a relatively quiet chuffing sound, then rested his massive head on the bed, expectant. Percival spoke to him quietly, his voice thick with sleep and the happy remains of last night’s drinks.

“Good morning, Trinket. I expect you could use a visit to the outdoors. I’ll be right with you.” He rolled back over, onto his shoulder, to address the situation that was keeping him from letting the bear out into the hallway, where he could find his own way down and out of doors.

It was quite the situation. He had not gotten used to the feeling of waking up this close to her, and hoped that he never would.

She was truly angelic in sleep, he hated to wake her. The odds, unfortunately, that he could extricate his arm from where it wrapped under her, and unwind his leg from hers, all without disturbing her, were too long, even for him. He lowered his mouth lightly to touch the crown of her head, nose rustling into the roots of thick, dark, hair. Pressed his lips to her scalp in soft kiss, and then whispered.

“Vex?”

“Hmmm…?”

“I need to borrow this extra arm and leg of yours for a bit to take your bear-son out for a walk. May I have use of them?”

Her eyes were closed and her head nestled both on the pillow and his chest, but she was awake and mostly alert. Her voice was a bit muffled, but clear enough to carry a mock-imperious tone. “You may leave, husband, but come back to me quickly.”

He slid out from under her, and out of the bed, brushing against the still-waiting bear. Vex immediately flowed into the space he had occupied, claiming the area, pillow, and covers warmed by his body as her own, all without opening her eyes.

She lay stretched across the bed, a vision of soft skin, lithe muscle and flowing hair. It took substantial resolve on his part not to rejoin her. The inner conflict caused him to pause in grabbing his clothing from where it had been thrown around the room in the hurried mutual-disrobing of the previous night.

Her eyes opened - dark, and instantly aware, as she always was, despite the amount of whiskey she too had consumed. She languidly reached out to scratch Trinket’s chin, and he leaned into her touch as if he were more feline than ursine. “Buddy, Percy will take you out for a quick walk, and we will take a long one around the district later, after breakfast, alright? I love you so much.”

She turned her attention to the now half-dressed man sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, in partial profile to her as he laced his boots. “You know, dear, if you are going to speak to me about Trinket, you might as well begin to refer to him as ‘ours’. We’re a package deal, and he’s your son, as well.”

His mouth curled up at one corner, eyes fixed on her as he finished with his boots and moved on to buttoning his shirt. “I love you, Vex’ahlia, but no matter how many times we say it to one another in jest, I don’t think that you are going to successfully manipulate me into uttering the phrase ‘bear-heir’, to my sister.”

She giggled, ending in a surprise snort that caused them both to laugh. He shrugged on his familiar blue coat, and she buried her head in the pillow, leaving him looking at her bare back, lightly shaking with continued laughter against the cream-colored bedding. He took two long steps over, bent, and kissed her, once between the shoulders, and again at the hollow of her back, just at the edge of the covers. “Back shortly, love, and I’ll order coffee and fruit on my way back up.”

She made a relaxed sound into the pillow, and muttered into it. “Come back soon, husband, and do not go getting us any more involved in adventuring without me.”

“My goal is to be involved in nothing for the near future except my wife”. He opened the door for the ever-patient Trinket, who had sat through all of this with huge, dark, eyes flicking between his two people and the door.

The massive animal moved past him down the hall toward the thankfully wide stairs of the inn on the edge of the Abundant Terrace. Vex sniggered at the potential double-entendre responses Percy had left open with his parting comment and returned her head to the pillow as he closed the door.

**

When Percival returned to the room, some minutes later, Vex was up and about. She sat at the bedside vanity, near the windows, beginning the process of brushing and braiding her hair.

She was pleased to be wearing her new robe. It was colored and styled in the manner of Percival’s coat, down to the stitching and buttons, but in a much softer, lighter material, and was secured with a lavender sash at the waist. It had been a sweet and clever wedding present from her clever husband. She knew he would appreciate her having brought it on their trip, especially once she showed him how lovely it looked when she wore nothing underneath.

She was also pleased to look in the vanity mirror to see her husband, carrying a tray with a carafe of coffee, cups, fixings, fruit and a small bottle of what looked to be brandy.

She was less pleased to see that he wore a hard expression on his face, and then saw why- a thick, man with broad features was following closely behind. The man’s worn, brown cloak not totally obscuring the blade of a knife held against Percival’s kidney.

“Stop there.” The man ordered, and Percival did so. “I wish I was sorrier to intrude, lady, but I need to talk to you and your man here.”

Vex turned on the vanity stool to face the intruder, hairbrush folded with her hands in her lap “This doesn’t look like talking to me. That looks like a knife in the back.” Her voice was flat, utterly lacking of emotion, but not yet angry. “If you want to talk to us so badly, do so, but it seems like you already know who we are. If you do, you should be aware the threat of violence against Percival de Rolo will bring you nothing but my wrath”.

“Thank you, dear”. Over his shoulder, Percy asked, “Can I put this down, or is our breakfast also your hostage?”

The man in the cloak kept the blade at Percy’s back. “Put it on the table, here, and then go take a seat by the lady.” Percy placed the tray down, stiffly, and grabbed the small bottle of brandy as he did.

He stepped over to sit on the bed, perpendicular to Vex, but just close enough to brush her knee with his. The intruder stepped back and to the side, placing himself behind the table and one of the high-backed chairs arranged around it. He held the dagger in his right hand as he folded his arms on the chair’s back.

“I don’t want to threaten or hurt no one, but I’m not going to take the fall for something I didn’t do. I’m not going to let some rich bastards put it all on Relli, no matter who they bring in to hunt me.”

Vex kept her calm. “We’re not involved, we certainly aren’t framing anyone, and we have no idea who you are. We hadn’t heard of you before last night. ”

Percival, fidgeting with the brandy bottle, was not calm. “Frankly, I’m warming to the idea of hunting him.”

“Not helpful, dear.” she took her eyes from Brown-cloak for the first time since he came into the room. “Just because you’re sore that he got the jump on you, doesn’t mean you have to be petulant.”

Percy gave a huff of indignance. “He didn’t jump me, Vex. Give me a little bit of credit. He was acting like a guest, heading up to his room. I thought you would be more upset about my spilling the coffee in the hallway than my losing an organ, so I brought him along.”

“Jokes about you bleeding will never be funny to me, Percival.”

Brown-cloak, Relli, was now aware that despite being the only armed party, he was rapidly losing control of the conversation.“Listen, I’ve heard some about you, and a friend of mine told me that you were asking around about me and Wilfie Wolff. I had nothing to do with that, and I ain’t gonna rot in jail or become hydra-bait because her rich boy-toy’s family can buy off the bastions or hire some fancy. . ” He waved the dagger at them in a circular motion, searching for a word to describe what he thought they were. “bounty hunters to kill me in the street.”

Vex managed to respond before Percy, and her smooth tones carried over his unhelpful muttering, which she was fairly sure was, “Why wait for the street?”

“Mr. Relli, there’s been some mix-up here, I assure you. Yes, a friend of our asked us to help her uncle, who seems to be missing, and accused of killing Ms. Wolff. Yes, your name came up because you had been seen with her.” She raised her voice slightly over Relli as he began to object, “But we aren’t bounty hunters out to get you, and we are not involved in any official way here. We were just trying to help our friend find her uncle and make sure he is safe.”

Relli had straightened behind the chair and was becoming visibly aggravated. He began to gesture at the two of them with the dagger, and spoke even more quickly, as if he hoped to avoid being interrupted again by the de Rolos he had supposedly taken hostage.

“Yeah, that’s rich! You expect me to believe you aren’t here to make me hang for killing Wilfie, and then you tell me you’re looking out for the guy I socked for firing her and kicking her out on the street! After all she had done for him!” In his agitation, he took a half-step to the right; as soon as his hand holding the dagger cleared the back of the chair, Vex took action.

The hair brush that she had been holding when Percy and Relli had entered the room was another favorite gift; this one from her brother. Vax had given it to her soon after they had become members of the council in Emon. Made of pressed silver, with light-colored bristles, it’s back had a depiction of a placid pond surrounded by woods. It had been one of the few items that she had taken from her room as they had fled Emon, when the dragons attacked.

It was a useful bonus that it perfectly fit her hand, and had nice balance and weight for throwing. She flicked her wrist and arm with almost impossible suddenness, and let fly. Her aim honed by years of practice and combat, the brush struck Relli’s hand and dagger, and sent the weapon tumbling to the floor.

Surprise and pain jerked his body, and he bent down, pulling his now-injured hand in toward his belly, and possibly thinking to reach for his weapon with other. Vex was already on her feet and starting toward her own gear.

She might as well have stayed seated. As Relli reacted to the blow of the hairbrush, and bent down, the side of his head exploded in a shower of glass and brandy. Liquid and shards of glass sprayed the wall past him, and the stocky man dropped like a sack of grain to the floor.

Vex changed direction, moving to grab the dagger, but stopped short of the mess of broken glass, brandy and now, blood. Percy stepped around her, hand momentarily cupping her waist, and then dragging off as he moved forward.  He grabbed the blade and poked the downed man with the toe of his boot. Relli did not respond, but appeared to be breathing. The blow with the bottle had knocked him unconscious.

Percy stepped back to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist. They stood a moment and looked down at the defeated intruder.

“Nice shot, darling”

“Thank you, dearest. You as well. It wasn’t as intentional as it looked. I was aiming to disarm him and you beat me to it. I had already thrown it by the time you hit him. He just leaned into it.”

They were silent for a beat.

“It’s a pity.”

She looked up at his face in profile “What is, Percy? He burst in here, knife at your back. He didn’t seem to be listening to us when we told him we weren’t out to get him. We weren’t going to convince him, and I don’t think we hurt him too badly.”

Percy shook his head a small, careful amount. “Not that. The brandy. I was looking forward to having a little with our morning coffee. I thought it might help with this whiskey headache.”

Vex’s serious expression broke into a grin. She turned into him, joined her hands behind his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss, releasing him after a moment. “Well then, that’s the most horrible thing we’ve had to deal with this morning. Let me have someone send for the bastions to take this man to a healer and then jail and someone to clean up this mess, and then let’s see about getting you taken care of.” Her tone by the last phrase was a purr that she knew to be very unsubtle, but highly effective.

She started for the door, but was pulled back to her husband by the hand. After another long, deep kiss, he was the one to pull away, and she became aware that he had pressed the handle of the dagger into one hand, and her treasured brush into the other.

“Let me go, and you watch our uninvited guest. As much as I love that dressing-gown, I prefer it to be for private, rather than public viewing.” He smiled wide at her as he strode to the door to alert the management of the incident and send for the authorities.

𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕷𝖚𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖓

► Name ➔ “Lucian de Sang”

► Are you single ➔ “Yes.”

► Are you happy ➔ “I could say so, yes. A certain pieces of a puzzle are coming together nicely, so yes. Im happy.”

► Are you angry? ➔ “...As the situation in our beautiful city is... I would lie, if I said it doesn’t make me angry. But Im learning to live with it.”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “In the halls of Halone, yes, I would believe so. I wish for my dear mother to see through his bluff in an afterlife, but.. Im not putting too much hope on it. She never did.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “Pillars, Ishgard.”

► Hair Color ➔ “Dark red, with some scarlet stripes.”

► Eye Color ➔ “Blood-red.”

► Birthday ➔ “23rd Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon.”

► Mood ➔ “What can I say... Tired?”

► Gender ➔ “Male.”

► Summer or winter ➔ “Definetely winter. The nights are longer during winter-months, and I tend to be quite a night-owl.”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “If I have to pick one, then morning. But don’t care about either.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “In love? No. Im not. I may have an interest on someone, but calling that love, would be an overstatement.”

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “No.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “I did. The things just did not work out in the end.”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Possibly yes. Then again, among nobility, there tends to be other reasons for propositions than actual feeling for a person, so... Its hard to tell.”

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “No, Im not. I have been putting lot of effort on buiding up the reputation of our House, after the mess my father left behind. So no. Not afraid of commitments.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Yes.”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “Would it be a secret admirer, if I knew?”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “No.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Love. Lust is a fleeting moment. A candlelight in a snowstorm. Love is a fireplace to keep you warm through the cold months.

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Neither. I prefer wine.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Animals don’t like me.. and I dont like them.”

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “If I cant have both, then few close ones. Its better to surround you with people you can trust.. Rather than a rumor spreading flock of crows.”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “A romantic night in.”

► Day or night ➔ “Night.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Never got caught. We used to sneak out now and then. But my father was too busy screwing other women, and my mother too tired to care.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “No. I dont fall.”

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ "Something. Yes.”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ “No. That would be waste of time for everyone.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Eyes. Eyes are the mirror to one’s soul. What do you see in mine?”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Shorter. But in inessential.”

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  “Intelligence. Stupidity is one of the things I cant stand.”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationship. Hook-ups are waste of time for both..”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔  “No one to get along with.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “I think I used to, during my father’s reign as the head for the house. But not anymore.”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “No.”

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “No, I have not. Why do I feel like you are just trying to dig some dirt of me here? You wont find it.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “It depends of how we define a friend. I could say no, I dont hate any of my friends. But there is mutuals I do hate. But thats nothing new in nobility. You have to try to get along with everyone.”

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “I guess I kind of answered this. No.”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “I dont have a best friend. We share the love for good wine with sir de Lith, though... And some other things with lady de Durdael.”

► Who knows everything about you ➔ “No one. And Im good with that.”

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