who are your ocs who would help a friend out--but only for a price and who are your 100% there for you no matter what and your not even in your dreams would i lift a finge for you characters
would help a friend out–but only for a price
sam
kawai
mickey
javed
winn
rembrandt
tarquin
sheisha
mal
dynnech
lariat
are 100% there for you no matter what
eli
jesse
sonya
banner
tovi
slate
talzee
keo
wyatt
riley
dynnech
the entirety of november red
not even in your dreams would i lift a finger for you
rembrandt
winn
greg >:(
edrian
borza
there’s a couple overlaps bc i could see em going either way, depending on how their mood was.
how’s it feel to be stuck with the evil bastards, winn, ya big jerk?
gonna write a bit about ythea magic system worldbuilding stuff and that’ll count for my five daily sentences. if you’ve been around long enough to have seen other worldbuilding ythea magic system posts and they don’t match up, don’t be surprised. i have never been consistent.
in the broad scheme, there are two basic kinds of magic
aether is naturally-occurring magic that just sort of floats around inert, and can only be accessed by certain kinds of people. in the current modern time of ythea, that process has been all but lost.
the general magic is someone’s personal energy, and a mage has the ability to turn said energy into magic spells.
someone who can access and use aether for magic is called an aether-mage. there has not been one in decades, probably even centuries.
there are different kinds of mages, but those differences are often because of culture of proximity to an aether well. kamean mages, for example, channel their energy into patterns they tattoo into their skin. those patterns store and amplify the magic, ready to be used as a specific spell for later. foisian/erideen mages just pull their energy and convert it directly to spells.
the mainland (foisian/erideen) process allows for more flexibility in their spellcasting, but the kamean inkmage process lends more power and skill.
every mage (and, honestly, every person, regardless of magic ability) has a basic element that their magic tends to align with. this does not stop a mage from using spells that draw from other elements, but by the same token, their spells may tend to take on those characteristics, and be stronger for it.
i don’t know what elements are going on this list. water definitely is.
keo’s element is water, and so his spells tend to have characteristics of water.
tarquin’s is fire.
every mage also has a specific color to their magic. it may or may not match their element.
keo’s is aqua, like the clearest ocean water with sun shining through.
tarquin’s is a smoky, dark quicksilver kind of color and texture.
every mage also has an animal manifestation of their personality/spirit/ancestors/magic/whatever the culture says theirs is. most often, kamean inkmages are the ones who are most aware of these, which they call ‘aumakuas*, and what they are exactly is often up to the interpretation of the individual mage. kamea* is not wholly a monolith, so individual cultures inside the empire have different interpreations, but many kameans see ‘aumakuas as a manifestation of their ancestors into a guardian animal. non-mages have ‘aumakuas, but these ‘aumakuas are not the magical summon of an inkmage*.
tarquin’s is a black panther.
sheisha’s is a type of bird, i’m not sure what kind yet, but definitely a very polynesian-styled bird.
keo’s is what’s called an ʻīlio’lani*, basically an otter/weasel-ish mammal with four giant wings and rabbity ears.
maluko’oi is not a mage, but his ‘aumakua (in a different sense than the magical summon) is a shark.
there are definitely more countries, regions, and cultures besides port au fois, erideen, and kamea that have different modes of magic, but i have not developed them nearly as well yet. i’ll talk about aether, aether wells, and outlanders some other time.
* the world of ythea is very much a work in progress, and this pertains especially to the empire of kamea. kamea is inspired by polynesian cultures, but because i am still researching, learning, and searching for the proper way to take inspiration without being disrespectful, the asterisked terms, names, and concepts of kamea, inkmage, ‘aumakua, and ʻīlio’lani are all very liable to change in order to best respect and represent the cultures i am pulling from for my fictional works. please do not be afraid to contact me to discuss this if you wish to express concern over my world and representation.
Lukilo startled his son into jumping, and the not-quite-random sprinkle of notes that had been coming from the ukulele in question broke off with a jarring chord.
Keo twisted around on the hood of the car, saw his father, and turned his back again. “‘Cause,” he mumbled, his voice thick. Lukilo’s eyebrows arched.
“Didn’t Hine ask you to clean upstairs?” he asked, leaning against the car and crossing his arms over his chest.
Shrugging, Keo went back to picking at the strings on his ukulele, sounding out a faltering melody. Lukilo withstood the assault for all of three seconds, before he sighed and thumped the hood of the car. “Move over.”
Keo scooted to the side, leaving room for his father to hoist himself onto the car next to him. Lukilo was uncommonly slim for a Kamean, but Keo even at twelve, already took more after his mother, thick-framed and decidedly more than solid. He’d been wearing short-sleeved shirts lately, Lukilo had noticed, and now, today, he’d dug out a pair of jeans that were a bit too short.
Not a good sign, but Lukilo wasn’t surprised. He held out his hand, and Keo handed over the ukulele. Lukilo paused when he saw the tear stains on Keo’s face, and sighed internally.
“Watch my hands,” Lukilo told him, and slowly started to play through the same melody he - guessed - Keo had been trying to play. When Lukilo was done, he passed the instrument back, and coached his son through a couple loops of the song.
When Keo finally seemed to have it (more or less), his sniffles and tears all dried up, Lukilo propped his hand in his chin and asked, “Can I see it?”
The wrong chord jarred on Lukilo’s ears, and he winced, but not as badly as Keo, who shrank into himself and mumbled, “See - See what?”
“Keiki, you’re a bad liar.”
“Auntie Nanoni says people are really bad at telling when someone is lying,” Keo retorted, and Lukilo grinned.
“Auntie Nanoni was lying.” Lukilo tagged Keo on the shoulder. “C’mon, you really didn’t think you could hide it forever, did you?”
Keo hesitated, looked over his shoulder, and then slumped, setting the ukulele to the side. Lukilo had expected something on his back or shoulders - maybe even his chest - but his eyebrows shot up his forehead as Keo pulled up his shirt, and showed a brilliant neon blue tattoo curled around his stomach.
Lukilo whistled. “Boy, for someone who’s terrified of spiders, you really aren’t a coward.”
Keo blushed, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “I - I want to be strong.”
Lukilo gave Keo a light smack on the side of his head. “You want to be dead. Your hine is going to bust you up.”
“Don’t tell her,” Keo begged, dropping his shirt. His eyes welled up with tears again, and Lukilo wondered when his son was ever going to grow out of crying at every inconvenience. It would solve most of the problems Keo kept having with his mother. “I just - I-I-I really wanted it.”
“You don’t get inkspells just because you really want them, Keo,” Lukilo said. He ran a hand through his hair. It was the neighbor girl’s fault, he was willing to bet. She’d gotten hers the second she showed a single spark of magic, and had been hounding Keo into it ever since. “Are you going into magery as a profession?”
“I - I don’t know -”
“Well, you are now,” Lukilo said dryly. “Auwe, keiki, you should’ve waited.”
“Hine wouldn’t let me!” Keo said, scrubbing at his face. “Neither - Neither would you!”
“I would when you were older,” Lukilo shot back. “I could’ve talked Hine around it. Who gave you your ‘aumakua, Keo! Do you even know them?”
“Yes!” Keo clenched the hem of his shirt in his fists. “It was - It was the kahuna.”
Lukilo frowned down at Keo. It was better than some random inkmage in the back of a restaurant somewhere, he supposed - and neither his nor his wife’s families were bursting with mages. If Keo had waited, and Lukilo had managed to bring his wife around, they’d probably have gone to the kahuna then.
But the point remained, that Keo had gone and changed his natural magic into something irreversible, and -
“What did you give up?” Lukilo almost didn’t want to ask.
Color rose in Keo’s cheeks, and he looked down. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did, all the exasperation and frustration Lukilo felt melted away.
“…Oh, keiki.” Lukilo slid off the hood of the car, running a hand through his hair. Keo sniffled, and Lukilo heaved a sigh, before he turned and pulled Keo into a fierce hug, nearly pulling his twelve-year-old son right off the car.
Keo hugged him back a second later, just as tightly. Lukilo stared over the top of Keo’s head towards the house, wondering what he was going to tell his wife. Pele, their son was an idiot. Good-hearted and well-intentioned, but an idiot.
He pressed his forehead to Keo’s a moment later, then pulled away and adopted as stern a look as he could manage.
“I won’t tell Hine,” he said, “if you tell her yourself.”
Lukilo cut him off and added, “And, you have to show me your ‘aumakua.”
Keo’s open mouth snapped shut, and he wiped his face on his shirt. “…You really wanna see it?”
Lukilo punched him in the shoulder. “Of course!”
The grin was slow in coming back to Keo’s face, but he finally lit up, and nodded, sliding off the car. “You’re gonna love her,” he promised.
“Her? I thought spells didn’t have genders.”
Keo blushed again, fiercely, and added, “They - They don’t, but - but it feels like a she.”
Lukilo grinned and slung his arm around Keo’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay, lolo. Let’s go clean up your room, and then you can show me your ‘aumakua.”
“Okay.” Keo fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as they started walking back towards the house. He looked up at Lukilo, and asked plaintively, “Do I have to tell her tonight?”
Lukilo stared at him, then laughed. “No, we can wait until tomorrow.”
For the prompt: Unbind me + actual, sci-fi/fantasy binds
SORRY THIS TOOK SO LOOOONG i had trouble writing it and i am not sure why? i know why it’s because i can’t do soft fluffy stuff it took literal months and i apologize, i have had the worst writer’s block. also i uh i guess i kinda wandered away from the initial prompt? but here we are, i’m actually fairly happy with this nonsense.
nanoni belongs to @lisauras and these nerds asked me to tag them because they like me or something??? @gingerly-writing @haphazardlyparked @kclenhartnovels @lux-scriptum @knightedwriter
Mal does not like mages.
Sheisha’s an exception, of course, and, sometimes, so is Keo, when he’s being quiet and useful. But otherwise, mages are a nuisance at best, and a travesty at worse.
This one is somewhere in between, but he continues to slip closer and closer to the travesty side of things. Mal crosses his fingers behind his head, the pastel blue bands wrapped around his wrists tugging at the peripheries of his vision. Black veins wrap through the magical constraints - Keo would call it a sign of haihaiā magic. Unholy, unhealthy, forbidden, and perfect for a double-dealing haole bastard.
More of the bands encircle his ankles, and there is one more around his neck that, unlike the other four, Mal could actually feel, like an itch that won’t go away. That means - something. He isn’t sure what. Mal is so completely devoid of magic that he can’t really feel the slight fizz or whatever that most everyone else does. He’s fine with that.
No bars or doors stop him from getting off his cot and wandering around the building, but Mal doesn’t bother. Redding’s spell stops him at the threshold of any exit and window, and prevents Mal from getting within arm’s reach of the man. This is unfortunate, because Maluko’oi longs to stab him through the neck.
He hears Redding’s shuffling limp stop at the doorless entry to the small room Mal had claimed the night before. Instead of acknowledging the mage, Mal closes his eyes.
“Get up,” Redding demands, his voice gruff. Mal ignores him, until Redding sighs, adds, “Your wife is here.”
Mal’s reluctance evaporates. He swings his bare feet over the side of the cot to stand. Redding has to crane his neck to squint up the near foot of height difference.
“She brought your daughter, as well,” Redding says. Mal is careful to keep his expression blank. “Perhaps not the wisest choice she could have made.”
He looks expectantly at Mal, but eventually Mal’s bland stare disappoints the mage. Redding huffs, then jerks his head to the side. As the older man scratches his short, salt-and-pepper beard, Mal follows.
Redding has designated an old warehouse on the very edge of a near-dead town to meet with Nanoni. It had probably stored farming or construction equipment, once upon a time, but now it’s dusty and empty, though a corner of the top floor shows evidence of Redding having camped out for a few days. The cot, for example, that he, surprisingly, hadn’t forced Mal to give up the night before, once the islander’s resigned himself to being held for ransom.
At the very least, Redding doesn’t talk overmuch. Mal doubts he could handle it if the bastard is smug and gloating. He stands silently in the middle of the open bottom floor, and Mal stays as close as the spell allows him. He crosses his arms over his chest while they wait, rocking back on his heels.
For once, Nanoni is on time. Mal doesn’t doubt that she and Sheisha have already scouted out the warehouse, but he’s glad she isn’t going to play games.
His wife is rattled. It’s difficult to tell for anyone who doesn’t know her well, but Mal can see it in the way Nanoni stalks across the warehouse floor. Her lips are pressed into a small, tight smile, but while Nanoni at least makes an effort to hide her anger, Sheisha does not. Shorter than her mother by a good six inches, Sheisha otherwise looks like the spitting image of Nanoni, kicking the warehouse door shut behind her so that the slam of it echoes through the room. Mal’s lips twitch towards a smile when Redding flinches. Regardless, Mal holds one hand to the side in a calming motion - this isn’t how Sheisha should behave during business exchanges.
Sheisha scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“Darling, are you all right?” Nanoni asks, her glance skipping right over Redding as if he doesn’t exist. Maluko’oi gives one single nod and the slightest hint of a smile in return, and watches her relax by a millimeter.
Redding taps his cane against the floor. “That’s close enough,” he says mildly, and Nanoni stops a few yards away, shifting her weight onto her right foot. Sheisha stays so close behind her mother that she nearly bumps into her.
Nanoni flicks a finger at the blue bands Mal wore. “What are those?” she asks, her voice taut. Redding doesn’t look away from the cloth-wrapped bundle Sheisha carries. It looks like they’ve taken one of the hotel blankets to make an impromptu wrapping for the vase.
“Merely restraints,” Redding says, waving a dismissive hand. “I didn’t fancy getting murdered in my sleep. Put the urn down, please.”
Nanoni tilts her head towards Sheisha, but the teenage girl hesitates. “Aren’t we going to make him let Dad go, first?” she hisses at her mother, speaking Kamean. Nanoni keeps her eyes on Mal.
“Sweetheart,” she says, “just play along for now. We’ll sort things out in a moment.”
Growling in frustration, Sheisha stomps forward until Redding motions for her to stop, midway between him and Nanoni. Sheisha opens her arms, dropping bundle to the ground with a muffled clang.
This time, both Maluko’oi and Redding wince.
“If you’ve broken it, you stupid girl,” Redding snaps, showing the first sign of frustration Mal has ever seen in him. Both Maluko’oi and Nanoni whip their heads around to glare at him, Nanoni’s hand disappearing behind her back. Redding narrows his eyes and wisely swallows whatever he had been about to say.
“Relax,” Sheisha says in a flat voice. “It’s copper.”
It’s also completely useless, but none of them were going to tell Redding that. Whatever curse the urn once held, it faded years ago. Even legendary magic doesn’t last forever.
Redding takes a quiet breath that Mal barely hears, and then forces a smile on his face. He shuffles forward as Sheisha backs away, her arms crossing over her chest with her fingers digging into her skin. She chews on the end of her long black braid, a habit her parents had tried - and failed - to break for years.
The three Neokois stand there in silence as Redding, with obvious difficulty, kneels to inspect the vase, partially unwrapping it. After a moment, he grunts and stands, hefting the bundle under his free arm.
“Redding,” Nanoni snaps. He makes it to the exit before turning to give them a thin smile, and then taps his cane against the ground. The bands around Maluko’oi’s neck, arms, and ankles disappear, and Nanoni’s composure finally cracks.
She rushes towards him, just shy of running; Mal’s quick to meet her, one hand circling around her back, and the other getting lost in her hair before his mouth is on hers.
It’s the easiest way for him to let her know he’s all right.
Sheisha pauses just to the side, as eager as her parents, but hesitant to interrupt. Nanoni breaks away, then nuzzles into his collarbone. Her hands curl into fists against his chest.
“I’ll tear him apart,” she promised, her voice low. Mal grins into her hair, but then he shakes his head.
“No need,” he murmurs. They can worry about Redding later; Maluko’oi just wants to see the back of him, for now. He shoots the limping mage a look over Nanoni’s head, and Redding coughs, straightening as he uses his cane to shove open the door.
“I’d say enjoy what short time you have left,” Redding says blithely, angling the top of his cane in Maluko’oi’s direction. The knob of black glass on top of it flashes blue. “But I don’t think you will.”
Nanoni pulls away slightly, frowning. Mal lifts a hand to his neck. It itches.
“What was that?” Sheisha demands, whipping around so quickly her braid bats against Mal’s side. Nanoni sucks in a sudden breath, and Mal looks down to find his hand wrapped around her throat.
“Mal,” she starts, but then his foot snakes behind her ankle, and Maluko’oi slams his wife to the ground.
He stares at her for one horrified second. The black-veined bonds are back around his wrists, and Mal opens his mouth to tell Nanoni he’s sorry, he hadn’t meant to - hadn’t even realized he’d done that until they’re both on the ground, his knee on her torso, thumbs pressing against her windpipe.
But instead of saying anything, Mal chokes.
“Dad!” Sheisha’s voice is a startled yelp. He catches her moving towards him from the corner of his vision, and his hands let go of Nanoni. Instead, as Sheisha closes in, they latch onto her, and he flips his daughter over his shoulders.
It’s enough of a distraction for Nanoni to eel her way out from under Mal. Sheisha hits the ground with a grunt, and Mal straightens up, bouncing his weight to the balls of his feet.
What is he doing?
“Maluko'oi!” Nanoni snaps angrily, one hand going to her throat as she scrambles to her feet. He tries again to speak, to tell her that he hadn’t meant to, that this wasn’t him - but the band around his neck tightens and burns.
“You islanders make your men so obedient,” Redding says dryly. “Not an ounce of willpower. This was far too easy.”
“Kanapapiki!” Sheisha shouts. She rolls to her feet and rushes for the door. Mal, without thinking about it, without even wanting nothing but to crush Redding’s skull against the pavement, takes three long steps and catches Sheisha around the middle.
“Mal!” Nanoni shouts. “Stop it!”
He can’t stop himself. Something has - has split Mal away from part of himself, separating his mind from any control of his body. He kicks Sheisha’s feet out from under her, and as she drops, turns to meet his wife. From the corner of his eye, he sees Redding leave the building. Thick bars of blue magic appear across the door, locking them in.
Nanoni swings a fist at him. Mal blocks it with ease, shifting his weight forward to strike back. It isn’t someone controlling him, he realizes, as Nanoni skips away from his sudden barrage. These are all his moves, his reflexes and anticipations. He knows how Nanoni fights, and so he knows exactly how to block her, exactly how she’ll strike next.
And he knows when she’s distracting him.
He catches Nanoni’s fist and uses it to push her away, turning as he does so. Sheisha’s rushing him from behind, and she bounces one foot up into a high kick that Mal blocks with his shoulder, bracing against her painful impact. She rebounds off him with a force that will bruise Mal for days, but instead of pursuing, he returns his attention to Nanoni.
He’s too slow. Her elbow cracks into his jaw and he stumbles back. Mal - or whatever it is controlling him - remembers Sheisha behind him, and swings around to lash out. She slides easily under his guard, thumping his ribs before she flashes to her mother’s side. Mal stumbles one step, but his fists lift even as his hopes rise.
Maluko’oi’s sparred with Sheisha and Nanoni millions of times. He’s trained Sheisha; even as he knows all their tricks, they know all of his. And they beat him nine times out of ten. Both of them together could easily take him down.
He tries not to think how most of the time they spar, he holds back.
Nanoni makes it easy for him not to think. She swings a fist towards his stomach, and as he blocks it, strikes him again across the face, a blow that rings in his ears. Sheisha hangs back, and Mal clenches his teeth, wondering why.
“Snap out of it, Mal!” Nanoni skips away from him as he retaliates. He reaches for her, and she slides around him, kicking the back of his leg. Mal drops to one knee, but instead of following up, both Nanoni and Sheisha back away.
They could take him.
“Dad, please - you have to stop,” Sheisha begs, as he advances on them again.
Why did they hold back?
His daughter slips under his swing; Nanoni comes in to run interference, and Mal winces internally as he hits her on the ribs. Sheisha darts in, tripping him up.
They have weapons, Mal thinks with a snarl, feeling a slow anger welling up. They have weapons, they need to use them. He wants to yell, to curse, to tell them that he’s sorry, he’s so, so sorry, why did they hold back -
Sheisha isn’t fast enough.
He slams a fist into the side of her head, and she crumples. Maluko’oi freezes in shock, eyes wide. For one split second, he snaps back into himself.
Sheisha isn’t moving.
Mal stares down at her, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.
“Sheisha!”
Nanoni stares at her daughter’s still form, and then turns her glare on Mal. Knives appear in her hands and Mal, hating himself more and more with every passing second, can only think, Finally.
“That is our daughter!” Nanoni yells, furious and enraged. Mal shifts back as she runs towards him. He snarls silently in frustration as, once again, his body moves without thought. For the first time, though, Nanoni has him retreating; he has nothing to keep her knives from slicing into his skin.
He moves back with the grace a lifetime of dancing lends him, but not quickly enough to prevent a handful of shallow cuts on his arms, as Maluko’oi blocks Nanoni from gutting him like a fish. She’s furious, and the longer they fight, with Nanoni trying to duck under her husband’s guard, the sloppier her attacks become, until Mal grabs her wrist.
The follow-through action is to give her arm a cruel twist, force her to drop the knife and break her wrist. His breath catches - he won’t do it, he can’t, this is his wife -
He hesitates halfway through, just before Nanoni’s arm would snap, his grip on her arm tight as they stare at each other. Then Nanoni stabs him in the ribs.
Mal sucks in a sharp breath, but instead of letting go, backing away, he pushes forward. The pain in his side flares as Mal bulls Nanoni to the ground. He traps both her hands above her head, straddling her waist with his knees. Pinning both her wrists down with one hand, Mal reaches to his side, and pulls Nanoni’s knife from his ribs.
Pain swamps his mind. Under any other circumstances, even Maluko’oi would have been laid low by such a dumb stunt. Pele, how long will it take him to bleed out -
When his vision clears, Mal realizes he’s pressing the knife up against Nanoni’s throat. All the pain disappears, overwhelmed by a sheer, panicked abhorrence.
The part of him that’s been split and shoved aside screams and struggles for control, as futile as grabbing at sunlight on the waves. Nanoni bucks beneath him, and the knife slides against her skin, leaving behind a thin red cut along the side of her neck.
NO.
Maluko’oi freezes. He can’t make himself let go of Nanoni, let her up - but he forces his hand to stop, the knife’s edge resting against her skin. Nanoni stills, staring wide-eyed up at him.
A tear drops onto the bloodied steel of the knife, leaving behind a track against the red. Mal’s hand shakes, trying so hard to finish the job - but he refuses. The band around his neck burns, constricts until he can barely breathe. Through a haze of pain and tears, Mal sees his wife smile.
There’s a sting in the side of his neck.
Mal blinks and looks away from Nanoni, to see Sheisha plunge another handful of paper-thin needles into his arm.
They’re coated in enough sedative to drop an elephant; maybe even enough to drop Mal. He knows this, because he’s the one who prepares the sedative for her. His arm goes numb, his hold slackening on the knife and Nanoni’s wrists. She twists her hands free, grabs his shirt, and rolls them both over. He’s out before his head hits the ground.
Maluko’oi wakes up to a dim room, staring at the ceiling. His neck burns and his head pounds; he closes his eyes again. Aches and pains litter his body, but not even the stab wound in his ribs is bad enough for him to worry over right now. It will heal.
But what he’s done to his family -
He puts a hand over his face, gritting his teeth against a ragged breath and holding it in until he can trust himself not to sob. Someone shifts to his right, reaches out to touch his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.
“Maluko’oi,” Nanoni says quietly. “Darling, you slept for far too long, I was so worried.”
When he doesn’t answer, Nanoni takes his wrist and gently tugs his hand away from his eyes. Mal knows he’s acting like a child, but he turns his head the other way, terrified that he isn’t strong enough to keep Redding’s filthy spell from controlling him again if he looks at Nanoni.
Her voice is a little sharper this time. “Mal, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen you cry before, love, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
He attacked his wife. Mal attacked his wife, and his daughter, and he would have killed them. Nanoni’s hand slips into his own, and when he moves to sit up - his right arm and hand still feel a little lifeless - she’s there with an arm to brace his back.
He fumbles the blanket back with his numb, unfeeling hand, and slips the other out of Nanoni’s grip. Before she can protest, Mal slides out of the bed and straight to his knees onto the floor.
“Oh, Mal, what are you doing,” Nanoni sighs with impatience. “You should stay in bed -”
Mal hates talking, even more than he hates mages. His tongue is not silver; instead, it is a leaden weight inside his mouth, one that takes effort to move. But he can’t stay silent on this matter - and yet, his mind is completely blank. He clenches his fists on top of his knees, trying to force himself to speak.
All he says is the rote, “Nanoni, I am sorry. Please forgive me.”
Mal winces at how pathetic, how utterly inadequate the words are. He should be begging, but his mouth closes instead, and Mal stares at Nanoni’s feet, his mind completely blank of words, but his insides twisting with so much guilt and sorrow and fury at himself that he wants to heave.
Nanoni sighs, and then moves to her knees as well. Mal starts to look away, but she catches his face before he can, tips his gaze up from pointing at the floor. He freezes in panic when he sees her, his breath catching.
Nothing happens. Mal remains where he is, his hands gripping his knees so tightly that both ache, but his body is his own, and stays where it is. Nanoni brushes a hand over his tear-stained cheek, then wraps it gently around the back of his neck. Maluko’oi closes the distance, pressing his forehead and nose against hers and closing his eyes.
They breathe in each other’s air, and Maluko’oi feels himself relax. He can never tell if the overwhelming love he feels, mere seconds into their hongi, is his or Nanoni’s or both, but it soothes him for a moment, forms the base for what’s to come next.
Anger, sharp and hot, for what Redding had done to them, and guilt, for having to hurt each other. Mal puts a steadying hand on Nanoni’s waist, feels her take a shuddering breath, and knows that he’s not in much better shape. But there is no healing without pain, and so Mal lets himself feel it from Nanoni’s point of view, tears rolling down his cheeks.
And then he’s hit with a wave of comfort and forgiveness, so hard that he has to bite his tongue to stifle a sob. Mal’s first reflex is almost to break away - he hardly deserves this, he hurt her - but Nanoni’s hand on the back of his neck holds him in place, and then he realizes that these are Nanoni’s reactions as much as his.
An extended hongi is exhausting, but they ride it out together, and at the end of it, Mal feels - well, not good, but better. The pain is there, but dulled with understanding. Nanoni does not hate him.
She does not hate him.
They’re both crying when they break the hongi. Nanoni shifts angles and kisses him, deeply, before she pulls away.
“Oh, ipo, of course I forgive you,” she tells him, cupping his cheek in one hand. “How could you ever think otherwise?”
Mal gives her a slight grin, and then leans forward, kissing the tears off her cheeks until she lets out a surprised laugh.
“Get off the floor, Mal, I don’t know the last time it’s been vacuumed,” she tells him, taking him by the elbows. He obeys, and lets out a surprised hiss as the knife wound in his side stretches. Mal shakes his head at the sharp look she gives him, but he does not stop her as she lifts his shirt.
A neat patch of bandaging covers the wound. “We had a doctor put in stitches,” Nanoni says, pushing Mal gently back onto the bed. At his questioning look, she adds, “We’re still in town.”
A chair is next to the bed, and when Nanoni sits, she sits so close their knees are in between each other’s. Mal takes in the decades-old wallpaper and the tacky hotel furniture as she goes on, his hands in hers.
“Sheisha is fine,” she adds, addressing his concerns before he could give voice. “She’s sleeping in the other room. We called Keo and had him put you under a sleep spell, and then I went after Redding.”
Nanoni heaves a sigh. “He’s going to Ember Island, Mal. The royal investigators arrested him on the spot. I wanted to kill him - I would have, but…”
Her voice trails off, and Mal waits patiently for her to look up from tracing lines in his palm. “She has a concussion - oh, love, it isn’t a very bad one,” Nanoni adds, looking up as Mal winces. He looks down again. “She’ll be just fine with a little bit of rest. I left her with Keo, to watch over you, but then - but then she caught up.”
Pursing her lips, Nanoni stares off at some point in the wall over Mal’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t have stopped me. She would have done it herself, I think, but - well, that isn’t her place, is it?”
It isn’t Nanoni’s, either. Mal’s killed before, and he’s sure he will again; it isn’t a burden he wishes for either of them to carry.
“Thank you,” he says, softly, and brings her hand up to his lips. Nanoni smiles a weary smile.
“We can always get someone inside the prison to finish him off,” she decides, and Mal smiles against her knuckles. “Let me see the back of your neck, that spell of his left some nasty burns.”
Obediently, he leans forward, resting his head against Nanoni’s chest. The burns can’t be that nasty, if he hardly feels them; there’s a bit of renewed pain as Nanoni’s fingers skim over the reddened skin, but Mal can ignore that. It will heal.
He tries, again, for words. “Nanoni…”
“Darling, you don’t need to say anything. I know.”
“You don’t.” Maluko’oi catches her hand as it slips through his hair while he leans back. Nanoni did not bruise easily, and yet there they are, small dark fingerprints against her brown skin where he’d nearly snapped her arm in half. Tears prickle at his eyes again, and he curses himself softly. He’s acting like a child, crying at the slightest instigation. “You don’t, because I don’t say anything.”
Nanoni takes in a breath to speak, and then stops, gives him a patient look. Mal presses a kiss into the palm of her hand, trying to put his thoughts into an order that will come out as words. It takes far, far too long. Nanoni waits, patient for him when she isn’t for anyone else.
“You are,” he says slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “heart of my heart. I would have never - never hurt you.”
Except he did. He did, and it doesn’t matter that Redding had spelled him. Maluko’oi hadn’t been strong enough to stop himself.
“I just need you to know that,” he struggles to say, “there is nothing in me that - that has ever wanted to do you harm. To you, or Sheisha.”
“Mal, honey, I know,” Nanoni says, her words just as quiet and somber. “I never doubted otherwise.”
He lifts his gaze, but Mal’s eyes snag instead on a thin red line along the side of Nanoni’s neck, cleaned up and already starting to heal. Mal reaches up and skims his fingertips over it.
Nanoni sucks in a sharp breath, her hands in Mal’s lap squeezing into fists. He snatches his hand back like he’s been burned - or like he’s burned his wife - and looks away again, closing his eyes against a flood of tears.
“Mal -”
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fighting every impulse to run. Nanoni wraps her hands around each of his wrists, and he resists a little - only a little - as she tugs at them.
“Maluko’oi, look at me,” Nanoni says sternly. He obeys, out of habit, because he will do anything and everything she ever asks of him, even when his stomach churns, even when this is somehow the hardest thing he’s ever done.
Nanoni takes each of his hands and places them on either side of her neck. He stiffens, even though there is no reason to fear himself losing control again.
“Heart of my heart,” Nanoni tells him, “I trust you. I always will, and nothing you could do will ever change that. “
She drops her hands and Mal just cradles her face for a moment. Nanoni gives out a small laugh.
“After such a pretty apology, I don’t know how to say sorry for being the one to do any permanent harm.” Her hand slips up under his shirt, skimming over the gauze taped to his ribs. Mal scoffs quietly.
“You didn’t have a choice, I was trying to kill you,” he reminds her. And it’s hardly permanent, anyway.
“No, you were trying to stop it,” Nanoni says instantly. “I could see it, love, anyone could.”
She leans in to give him another kiss. Mal moves his hands down to her waist, and Nanoni murmurs, “But if you ever hurt our daughter again, I’ll shoot you.”
Mal laughs, startled and pleased, and leans back onto the bed, tugging Nanoni with him.
He didn’t look up from a sheaf of papers. Alohilani could recognize Mehealani’s color-coding system from over by the door. “I’m going to find them,” he said, not looking up. “I’m going to find whoever poisoned her, and kill them.”
Alohilani pursed her lips. She had left her guards outside, and so, she rolled herself across the room, her arthritic hands tensing in pain. “Put those down, Tarquin.”
“I have to -”
“Put them down,” Alohilani said, this time sharply enough that Tarquin looked up. The papers crinkled as his grasp tightened.
“I - I can’t. She was my wife.”
“And long before she was your wife, she was my daughter,” Alohilani said. Her words were cool and calm, but Tarquin flinched anyway; he could recognize the well-controlled fury running underneath them. “You do not have the right.”
He bit out a harsh, strangled laugh. “I don’t have the right? So what am I supposed to do? Step aside, allow the police to take care of it?”
“Yes,” Alohilani said. She settled back in her wheelchair and stared up at her son-in-law. “Tarquin. They attack my family on all sides, over a political situation of which you have but a very thin grasp. Do not think I don’t understand your pain. But you knew her only for years. I had her for a lifetime.”
His face reddened. “And not even that much matters? I won’t just stand aside, Mother, I -”
“You will,” Alohilani snapped. “I know you, Tarquin. I know how you operate. But this is not your place. You are not the hero in this. I will not allow your rage to ruin everything my daughter and your wife has worked for all her life.”
His eyes narrowed sulkily, but then Tarquin looked away, his shoulders falling. Alohilani sighed.
“You will remain my son,” she told him softly, and reached out, brushed her gnarled fingers against the back of his hand. “And I will seek the revenge we all need. But now, your children need a father, not a murderer.”
He gave her a sidelong look, though his fingers hooked gently around hers. Finally, he set down the papers. “But it is acceptable to have one as a grandmother?”
“You speak as if you don’t know what your own grandmother did,” Alohilani said, amused; a small, worn smile creeped over Tarquin’s face.
“...But you will need help.”
Alohilani sighed and took her hand back, arranging them carefully in her lap. She studied Tarquin, head held high.
“Boy, do not underestimate the power of a wounded mother. They will have no escape from my reach.”
@gingerly-writing said: but also….featherfall? sounds cool af! tell me more?
gingerly-writing said: looooooove this, love this world, love these characters, love youuuu
love you mooooooreeeee
also lmbo so featherfall probably isn’t the real name for it, because it’s literally a D&D spell, but basically, if sheisha falls/throws herself off someplace really high, she can cast a spell that slows the fall and prevents her from dying or hurting herself. and because kamean magic is very flashy and this story is honestly v anime, there are a lot of bright pink feathers involved. she can cast it while hanging onto people, too, but it doesn’t affect them as well as it does her, but she’s used it to cushion falls so neither people die before.
gingerly-writing said: brb I’m gonna marry Slate
brb i’m gonna officiate
i even started writing stuff for him for you but i haven’t gotten very far with it woops
iokay i was tagged by @haphazardlyparked, @writerly-blonde, and @scarvenartist a couple weeks ago, sorry it took so long for me to get to this! i am so embarrassed by my old crap >.>
The Rules:
1. Post a quote or short excerpt from your early days of writing. (I’m talking old fanfics, slash fics, original fics, etc., that are barely edited and have a ton of technical errors and misspelled words.) This is the cringe part. Don’t edit anything! Let it be horrendous. Don’t Panic.
2. Post a quote or short excerpt from one of your most recent works/WIPs. Something that you’re proud of. Something that you’ve written that makes you smile when you read it.
3. Tag a writer you admire, anyone you think is amazing, new friends, followers, writeblrs, anyone who you’d like to know more about. If you think someone is a great writer and you want to see how they’ve developed their skills, tag them! Everyone started somewhere.
old
so google docs is telling me this is from 2014, but i think it’s from maybe a year or so earlier, i used have this junky purple jump drive with a ton of stuff on it that i stuffed onto gdocs. this is not the oldest or even the earliest, but my earliest stuff was all written down in notebooks that i would burn if i ever saw them. i will tell you this: i wrote about furries anthros a lot. anyway, i’ve had winn for a dang long time now.
Javier gave Winn an unreadable glance. “...You might act like it, but you’re not in charge, Yale,” he said in clipped tones. “I will report to McCoy, and if she wants you to hear it then, you may.”
“And you’re back in full agent mode,” Winn muttered, disappointed.
“Holly says that you were only brought in to find me, not anything else.”
“Yeah. Find you and apparently let you beat the crap outta me,” Winn grumbled. “Seems like that’s all you lot ever want me for.”
Javier glared at him. “Holly took a bullet for you last time, Yale,” he snapped.
“Yeah? I’ve been shot, too, Charrans.” Winn stared at him challengingly. “I think everyone here has, and I think I’ve more than worked off my probation. I wasn’t lying to Dominica. I’m done.”
“Done being a hero?” Javier’s question stopped Winn cold, halfway through standing up. The ex-thief opened his mouth, shut it, and looked away.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m done being a hero.”
recent
i know i already posted this one, but i really liked this whole bit.
It pushed its head closer, and Sorien instinctively stepped back - or tried to, but there was nothing to step back on. Keo, however, stayed where he was, as the ʻĪlio’lani lowered its forehead.
Its wide wings swept forward, brushing past Sorien and blocking the islander from view. Sorien shaded his eyes as a sharp, brilliant blue light flared in between the feathers, disappearing as quickly as it had come. When Sorien blinked away his moment of blindness, he no longer saw the ʻĪlio’lani.
A woman hovered in its place, her long, black hair swaying in a current Sorien did not feel. She cupped one hand around Keo’s cheek; their foreheads and noses were pressed together, and he was crying again.
Vivid blue lines glowed against his skin. They weren’t the patterns he had drawn earlier, but instead swirled thickly on his chest and all the way down his arms. Two curls even ran up his cheeks.
The cuts he had made on his chest were gone. After a long, long moment, the two finally pulled away from each other, giving Sorien a better look at the woman. Keo scrubbed at his tear-stained face.
The woman was as dark-skinned as any Kamean, and there was a quality to her face that made it seem as if she had lived forever, and would continue on into eternity. Her eyes were as brilliant a blue as the ʻĪlio’lani’s.
There was something about her that reminded Sorien of Keo and Sheisha both. He couldn’t put a finger on it - the shape of her eyes, maybe, or the way she tilted her head ever-so-slightly to the side as she smiled at Sorien.
“I would not wish to leave you without protection,” she said, holding out her hands towards him. “We cannot assist our child directly - but he has offered his guardianship to you, even if he did not realize it. Will you accept, for a time?”
Sorien hesitated. He looked past her shoulder to Keo, who gave him a watery, but encouraging, smile.
“…Yes,” Sorien said, finally. “Yes, I - I accept.”
The woman’s eyes crinkled with a smile. Unlike Sorien, she moved easily through the space towards him, taking his hands in hers. Her touch was both pleasant and uncomfortable - the same kind of feeling he’d gotten when he was younger, playing with some of his father’s more expensive, artistic figurines without permission. This wasn’t his.
She pressed her forehead against his, in the same greeting Sorien had to use whenever he saw his cousins. A flash of pain raced along his skin, where her hands gripped his wrists - and then a soothing feeling chased it, both disappearing so quickly that Sorien thought he must have imagined it. When he opened his eyes, the woman was gone, and then he fell again.
tagging @josiatara, @s-graves-writes, @hiiimaugust if you want? no pressure for any of y’all o3o
“Why not just have your wife teach him to dance?” Tarquin asked, as Maluko’oi turned the stereo player off.
Mal shot him a sidelong look that could not, in a million years, properly convey the utter loathing he felt for Prince Tarquin. “Because my wife dances with no one but me.”
Tarquin gave a soft laugh and a smirk. “I know for a fact that that isn’t true.”
Mal straightened up and looked Tarquin up and down. His lips twitched towards the slightest smirk of his own. The prince had been present when the Neokois were infiltrating a ball, some years ago; Nanoni had taken him as a partner while Mal located their target.
Mal turned his shoulder to Tarquin and said dismissively, “If she had ever found anyone else who knew how to dance, she would have told me.”
