She hides in the shadows, a keeper of peace in the lands of Summer. Her name is hushed whispers on the lips of the people, a warning to corrupt nobles. She heads a legion of thieves known as the ‘Mirage of Ereve’.To gain membership into this elusive legion, ifyou can trace their hideout, requires two things. One: A vow to never kill a person. Two: You must last three minutes in a duel with Aria.
Surviving a week in the harsh conditions of the Ariant desert is a lot easier than a spar with Aria.
Cataloguing the local flora in the kingdom was one of Freud’s favourite past times. The specimen in interest, this cool autumn evening, was the Nocantor flower, the night singer.
No one knows where the name originated from, or why was it called the ‘singer’. However, Freud suspected that the discover of this elusive flower might have been the venerable scholar, Kyna, hailing from the kingdom of Winter.
Kyna, was a scholar unlike any other, despite her hearing impairment. She travelled far and wide, to the four kingdoms and beyond. She wasn’t just a scholar, she was an adventurer. Perhaps she might have witnessed a patch of these flowers whilst travelling in the dark. Alone with her thoughts, she probably recalled how the people of Summer used to gather around bonfires to sing songs of celebration. Songs she never had the opportunity to hear and enjoy.
And yet right in front of her, with hundreds of gently pulsing lights, glowing and dimming at their own pace; she might have imagined the flowers ‘singing’. A patch of flowers glowing together in a choir, or one lone flower shining brightly while others glow softly around it, as if it was singing an aria with an accompaniment.
Freud took a few minutes to admire the flowers, and tried to experience what Kyna felt when she stumbled across the Nocantor centuries ago.
Sunny wasn’t a careful person by nature, never had been, probably never would be, and she was fine with that. There were times when she tried simply because she had to, but her sense of what was needed, what was appropriate, what was right had sort of gone out the window a while ago. Still, for a brief moment she wished she’d had enough thought to be careful, not get so close her victim–especially when the only sound she could hear was the sickening cracks of what she was pretty damn sure was her ribs breaking under the force of his boot. Seconds later, she’d lashed out and he was down and just a few more and he was up in flames and it was all fine, it was fine, she hadn’t lost, of course she hadn’t, she never did.
But there was a sharp pain in her side, surrounded by a dull ache that she couldn’t shake and whenever she moved, the pain spread all up her side like thousands of small, delicate knives cutting their way through her flesh. But still she ran, because she couldn’t stay there, she had to go. There was blood and ash staining her once white dress and she was pretty damn sure some of the blood was her own, seeping and oozing down her side–man that guy had hit hard–, though it was late enough for no one to see or no one to care. Too big a city for anyone to take notice of one frantic girl, not when there were thousands more seemingly like her running down streets all over the city. So she ran and clambered up the stairs to the almost nice apartment they’d been calling home for the past few days.
Sprinting through the place too fast to notice if anyone was there–she doubted it, it was late but not late enough for any of them to be home–to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door because who really cared? Even if someone was there, they’d seen it all before. She winced and hissed and even let out a dull groan of pain as she slipped out of the stained dress and examined the bruising up her side in the mirror. The entire right side of her torso was turning all kinds of shades of black and blue and there were places where the metal toe of the boot had cut skin and blood was dripping down her sides and all she could do was swear frantically under her breath, knowing there was fuck all she could do to heal something internal like a broken rib–or in this case, several.
Sterek AU: Stiles gets a job on the Hale farm and when Derek meets him he is so flustered that he kinda accidentally introduces himself as Miguel, their senior farmhand. The workers usually avoid Derek while he’s on the farm anyway due to his grumpy demeanor, so Derek doesn’t think it will be much of a problem.
The trouble is Stiles refuses to leave Derek alone and his incessant chatter is actually sort of… charming. Now Derek is completely head over heels for a man who often asks him if he would feel more comfortable talking in Spanish, and he has no idea how to come clean. Honestly, Derek’s kind of a coward. He would probably go on letting Stiles call him Miguel and insult his family, except you can’t sign a marriage licence with a fake name. He’s checked.