#&& Shifts in the realm of light ;; Updates

[roturo]

SUCCESSOR -`♡´-

summary: He believes he’s going to die soon, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable. He needs a successor. And soon.

warnings: A LOT of breeding, smut, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds, pwp, tummy buldge, mentions of cum, mating press, virgin!L, obssesed!L, mentions of forming a family, not proof read and sleepy while writing this. and more.

a/n: ik this is going to have as much support as my other works, but it's def one of my best and favs writings, so please show me your support with a comment and reblog! it means a lot for me!

You've been part of the task force for a while now, ever since L handpicked you for his elite team. As a regular member, you've earned your place and trust within the group. The necessity of keeping your identity hidden has diminished, thanks to the expanding team, but you still opt for an alias during meetings, maintaining a veil of secrecy around your true connection to L.

L’s mind is a labyrinth, each thought of a winding path leading to an unknown destination. His strategies are always a step ahead, his deductions razor-sharp. Yet, despite his brilliance, one specific thought has been haunting him lately:

He believes he’s going to die soon.

This isn't a paranoid delusion but a calculated assessment. L understands the immense dangers tied to the Kira case. The complexity of the situation has grown, and he suspects an external force at play, one that eludes even his grasp. This unknown entity has shifted the balance, making the case more perilous than ever.

L is determined not to let his legacy end prematurely. He has dedicated his life to solving the world’s most challenging mysteries, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable.

He needs a successor.

And soon.

Finding someone who can match his intellect and tenacity is no simple task. The successor must be able to understand his intricate methods, to carry on his relentless pursuit of justice. The urgency of this mission weighs heavily on him, as he prepares to identify and groom the next guardian of his legacy.

You were the perfect match for him, and his calculations confirmed it. There was an 86% probability that having a child with you would result in someone with a higher IQ than his own, combined with the social skills he lacked. In the realm of interpersonal relationships, L was inexperienced, never having had a relationship or intimacy before. Recently, he had been contemplating how to propose this idea to you.

Should he ask you outright? Should he try to make you fall in love with him first? No, this wasn't about love. It was a precaution, a step in his investigation, a way to ensure his legacy continued if the worst were to happen.

The atmosphere in the headquarters was tense as always, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the room. You sat at your desk, engrossed in your work, when L’s quiet footsteps approached. His presence was magnetic, his aura of mystery and intellect always palpable. He paused beside you, his gaze fixed on the monitors displaying the latest updates on the Kira case.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, a rare departure from his usual confident demeanor.

You looked up, surprised by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone. “Of course, L. What’s on your mind?”

He shifted, glancing around the room as if searching for the right words. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s… personal.”

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded, giving him your full attention. “I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re aware of the importance of my work, of the dangers we face daily. The Kira case has made me realize that I must consider contingencies I hadn’t thought of before.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s a… statistical analysis I’ve conducted,” he said, his voice becoming more clinical as he explained. “It suggests that if I were to have a child with someone of your intelligence and social capabilities, the child would have a higher IQ than mine and possess the social skills I lack. This could be crucial in continuing my work if anything were to happen to me.”

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. L, always methodical and rational, had approached this highly personal matter with the same analytical mindset he used to solve cases. You could see the logic in his plan, yet the implications were overwhelming.

“So, you want me to… have a child with you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes unwavering. “But understand, this is not about emotions or personal desire...I think” He whispers to himself before he continues– “It’s a precaution, a part of my contingency planning. I’ve never experienced a relationship or intimacy, so I’m uncertain how to approach this.”

The room seemed to close in around you as you processed his request. It was a cold, calculated proposition, yet it carried a weight of vulnerability and trust. L was placing his future, his legacy, in your hands.

“How do you expect this to work, L?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his facade of invincibility cracking slightly. “I’ve considered different approaches. Should I simply ask you directly? Should I try to make you fall in love with me first? But this isn’t about love. It’s about ensuring that if I am no longer here, someone capable can continue my work.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. L’s eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, perhaps even acceptance. You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between his logical mind and the unfamiliar territory of human connection.

“I need time to think about this,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm.

L nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Of course. Take all the time you need. This is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Finally, you made your decision.

One evening, you found L in his usual spot, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his focus. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“L,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

“I’ve thought about what you asked,” you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And I agree.”

For a moment, L simply stared at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You took a seat across from him, the air between you charged with a new sense of purpose. “How do we proceed?”

L leaned back, his thumb brushing his bottom lip in thought. “We need to ensure this doesn’t disrupt our work or compromise the investigation. The task force must not be aware of our personal connection, as it could create complications.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance that needed to be maintained. L’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I must admit that emotional connections are not my area of expertise. This will be… a learning experience.  Should… we do it tonight?”

“Ah- Ah- Slow down, L-Lawliet!” you gasped, your voice breaking with a mix of pleasure and urgency.

L’s thrusts were sloppy but fast, driven more by instinct than experience. His movements lacked rhythm, a clear sign of his inexperience. He had come twice already without withdrawing from you, his body responding purely on primal urges.

He had done his research, concluding that a mating press might be the most effective position for this purpose. But he never anticipated how overwhelmingly good it would feel. Was it like this with everyone? Or was it something unique because it was you?

His thrusts grew more erratic, almost desperate. Small whines escaped his mouth, each one tinged with your name like a prayer. You could feel every twitch, every movement inside you, the raw intensity of his desire almost too much to bear.

“L,” you whispered, trying to regain some control. “You need to… slow down.”

He nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m trying,” he panted, his voice unsteady. “It’s just… so overwhelming.”

His usually sharp, calculating mind seemed lost in the haze of sensation. Every thrust, every brush of skin against skin, was a new experience for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between maintaining control and giving in to the raw pleasure.

He moaned at the familiar, overwhelming sensation of climaxing again, and you could feel your own release approaching. The intensity was almost unbearable when he grabbed a pillow and slipped it under your back, angling you into an even deeper mating press. His thrusts became more deliberate, his cock somehow reaching deeper, hitting your g-spot with precision over and over again.

The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that all you could do was chant his name like a mantra, each syllable a prayer of ecstasy. “L-Lawliet,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his own pleasure driving him to thrust harder, faster. “S-shit,” he gasped, his breath hitching, “I think—” His words dissolved into a whine as he came again inside you, his release flooding your womb with a desperate, addictive need.

This wasn’t just about producing a successor anymore. It was about the raw, primal satisfaction of filling you over and over again. He was captivated by the sight of your bodies joined, the way your mixed arousal leaked from where you were connected, glistening in the dim light.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your own climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, milking every last drop of his release as he continued to thrust, his movements erratic and needy.

He whimpered, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, his dark hair falling in a messy curtain around your face. “You feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and exertion.

He groaned before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss deep and fervent. His cock remained erect inside you, pulsing with an insatiable desire. The feeling of having you this close, of being connected so intimately, was overwhelming. In that moment, he lost all sense of reason and the initial purpose behind his actions.

His mind, usually so sharp and focused on the Kira case, was now clouded with visions of a future he never thought he'd consider. He imagined how adorable you would look, carrying his child, a baby with his eyes and your smile. The idea of having a family with you consumed him, pushing all thoughts of logic and strategy aside.

Without realizing it, he began thrusting again, the movement instinctual and desperate. Each thrust was deliberate, fulfilling the small bump of cum inside you that was already visible through your tummy. He watched in awe, fascinated by the sight of your bodies joined so intimately, the tangible evidence of his desire and your shared pleasure.

“L-Lawliet,” you gasped against his lips, your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved within you. “What... what are you thinking?”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking about us. About a future I never allowed myself to dream of.” His voice was rough with emotion, a raw edge that you rarely heard.

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor striking a chord deep within you. “Lawliet,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. “I never imagined… I never thought you’d want this.Want me”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, his thrusts growing more purposeful. “But now, with you, that's all I can think about. The idea of you carrying my child, of us having a family���you in general… it’s overwhelming.”

He kissed you again, more gently this time, savoring the softness of your lips against his. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sensation heightened by the emotional intensity of the moment. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve, every detail.

“Do you… do you want this too?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission freeing a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “I want this. I want us.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of relief and desire, and he kissed you harder, his movements inside you becoming more urgent. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, each moan and gasp a testament to the bond growing between you.

As he continued to thrust, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. He seemed to sense it too, his rhythm intensifying as he chased his own release.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He groaned, his own release following closely behind, filling you once more. The feeling was addictive, the raw intimacy of it all-consuming. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered mostly to himself, his voice filled with wonder.

“Neither can I,” you replied, your heart pounding in sync with his. “But it feels right. It feels perfect.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It does.”

You stayed entwined like that, savoring the afterglow and the newfound depth of your connection. The Kira case and the outside world faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of each other’s presence and the promise of a future together.

Eventually, as the reality of your situation began to seep back in, you knew you had to return to your duties. But the bond you had forged would remain, a source of strength and comfort in the days to come.

As L gently pulled out and helped you adjust, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said softly in a small whisper. “Together.”

“Together,” you echoed, your heart filled with a certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

[zerun0]

"Entropy’s Embrace" — Viktor x Y/N (Gender-Neutral)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I more than happy to receive suggestions, and advice on how to improve my work.

— ! WARNING NSFW(+18): ! — Sexual themes, Smut, Sex, Making out, Teasing, Biting, Fantasy sex.

— Word count: — 2.4k (Full uncut version on AO3) — SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 6 ACT 2 OF ARCANE —

By arcanegifs The world around Y/N was a symphony of shifting light and shadow, an endless expanse where the rules of reality seemed suspended. They hovered weightlessly, surrounded by the intricate fractals of the Hexcore's astral plane. Vibrant purples, yellows and blues pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, as if this place was alive.

Viktor stood nearby, his lean frame bathed in the eerie glow of the Hexcore’s energy. His golden eyes reflected its kaleidoscopic light, and for the first time in ages, they were free of exhaustion, unburdened by the weight of his physical ailment.

“It’s… incredible,” — Y/N whispered, turning to face him, their voice reverent. The glow bathed both of them, rendering every curve and line of their forms more vivid, more real.

Viktor nodded, his lips parting to speak but faltering. His gaze lingered on Y/N longer than it should have, and in this place, where time seemed irrelevant, the moment stretched. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, brushing against theirs.

“I didn’t think we…we would see this together,” — he said, voice low and velvety. — “I feared I would be gone before… before anything meaningful.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. There was a vulnerability in his words that Viktor rarely let surface. They moved closer, their hands entwining fully now, grounding themselves in this surreal place. The Hexcore's hum grew quieter, as though it understood it was no longer the center of attention.

“You’ve always been meaningful, Viktor,” — Y/N replied, their voice steady but charged with emotion. — “I see you! I always have.”

His breath hitched, the tension between them electric. Here, in this untethered realm, his barriers seemed to dissolve. No longer the brilliant but withdrawn scientist; he was just Viktor… a man yearning for a connection.

Without thinking, Y/N cupped his face. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the cold, biomechanical realm around them. Viktor leaned into the touch, his sharp features softening as his eyes closed. When they opened again, they burned with a quiet intensity.

“M-May I?” — He murmured, his voice a rasp.

Y/N’s answer was to close the remaining distance between them, their lips meeting in a slow, exploratory kiss. The Hexcore pulsed brighter around them, as if reacting to the surge of emotions. Viktor’s lips were hesitant at first, but as Y/N’s hands slid to the corner of his neck, tangling in his hair, he deepened the kiss.

The kiss grew fervent, their bodies pressing together as if the astral plane could collapse at any moment and they needed to hold on. Viktor’s hands found Y/N’s waist, sliding up their back, and they felt the strength of his grip despite its gentleness. He groaned softly against their lips.

In this place, their usual constraints, the fragility of Viktor’s health, the weight of their responsibilities, melted away. They were free to touch, to explore, to give in to the magnetic pull between them.

Viktor pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against theirs, his breathing ragged. His hands trembled as they traced the curve of Y/N’s jaw, as if memorizing every detail. — “I don’t deserve this,” he murmured.

Y/N silenced him with another kiss, this one more insistent. — “You deserve everything.”

Their lips met again, hungrier now. Y/N’s fingers slid down to the hem of Viktor’s neck. His hands mirrored theirs, exploring the contours of their body with a reverence that made Y/N’s heart ache. The touch of his fingers sent fire trailing across their skin.

The Hexcore’s light wrapped around them, illuminating every touch, every stolen breath. Their movements synchronized as if guided by the same rhythm.

The astral plane seemed to echo their passion, its light pulsing in time with their quickened breaths. The weightlessness of the realm gave a dreamlike quality to every movement as their hands explored each other with growing fervor. His skin was warm beneath their fingertips, the soft glow of the realm making every detail of him radiant.

Viktor exhaled sharply as Y/N’s lips moved to his collarbone, then lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses along the planes of his chest. His fingers tightened on their waist, pulling them closer.

Y/N looked up at him, their lips curving into a soft smile.

The light around them shifted, becoming softer, more intimate, as if the Hexcore itself was granting them … privacy

Viktor’s touch was reverent, his hands and lips painting a portrait of devotion across Y/N’s body. He moved with deliberate care, as though every kiss, every caress, was a promise… of love, of passion, of a future they had only dared to imagine.

In this timeless space, there was no rush, no outside world to intrude.

Viktor eased them down onto the soft, endless surface of the plane, his body following theirs in a fluid motion. His weight settled over them, grounding them in this surreal space as his lips continued their journey downward. He kissed a trail along their collarbone, pausing to worship the delicate rise and fall of their chest. His hands caressed their sides, his touch leaving a blazing heat in its wake.

Every movement of his was purposeful, a mix of care and longing as though he wanted to savor every moment. When his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below their ribs, Y/N arched into him, their breath coming in short gasps. Their fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, and Viktor responded with a soft, low sound of approval that vibrated against their skin.

He pressed a lingering kiss to the sensitive dip of their hip, his hands smoothing over their thighs with deliberate slowness. His touch was light, almost teasing, as if memorizing the softness of their skin. Y/N trembled beneath his ministrations, their chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, each exhale carrying his name.

His lips pressed to the inside of their thigh, the gentle scrape of his stubble sending a shiver up their spine.

His hands spread their thighs gently, his touch firm yet tender, as though they were something precious. His lips continued their exploration, his kisses trailing lower with an exquisite slowness that had Y/N gasping in anticipation.

Viktor took his time, his every action laced with devotion, his lips and tongue exploring them with a precision that spoke to his brilliant mind and an emotional depth. He moved as if guided by instinct, his focus entirely on them, attuned to every sound, every tremor, every whispered plea.

Y/N’s head fell back, their eyes fluttering closed as their body responded to his attentions, the sensations cresting higher and higher. They couldn’t stop the soft moans that escaped, their hands gripping his shoulders, their legs trembling as the tension built within them. Viktor’s name spilled from their lips again and again, a mantra of pleasure.

When Y/N finally broke, their release crashing over them like a wave, the light of the Hexcore pulsed brightly, the realm seeming to echo their cries of ecstasy. Viktor didn’t stop, his movements slowing only as he carried them through the waves of pleasure, his hands caressing their trembling thighs in a grounding touch.

As Y/N’s breathing steadied, Viktor pressed one final, reverent kiss to their inner thigh before moving back up to meet their gaze. His golden eyes were filled with an unguarded tenderness, his lips glistening, his hair tousled from their touch. He leaned down to kiss them, the gesture slow and intimate, a silent sharing of the connection they had just created.

Y/N let out a shaky exhale, their chest heaving as they looked at him with wide eyes. — “Viktor…"

He moved upward, his lithe body pressing against theirs as his hands framed their face. The touch was gentle, his thumbs brushing over their cheeks as though committing the moment to memory. — “I need to see you,” — he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. — “All of you. I need to feel you… completely.”

The weight of his words sent a shiver through Y/N, and they reached up to tangle their fingers in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. Viktor groaned softly against their mouth, his body pressing flush against theirs as his hands roamed their sides, their back, pulling them together.

Viktor's hand slipped between them, his touch gentle as he prepared them for what was to come, his fingers skilled yet reverent, eliciting soft gasps and moans from Y/N.

When he finally joined with them, the connection was slow and deliberate, his body melding with theirs in a way that felt as if the universe itself had aligned for this moment. Both of them gasped, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming, their bodies perfectly attuned to one another. Viktor’s hands gripped their hips, steadying them as he pressed deeper, his forehead still resting against theirs as his golden eyes held theirs captive.

“Y-You’re incredible,” — he murmured in a thick accent, his voice rough with emotion. — “You… you make me feel alive.”

Y/N smiled, their hands sliding down to rest on his back, holding him close — 'You are alive" — They reminded him as their bodies began to move together. Each motion was a dance of passion and connection, every touch, every kiss amplifying the bond between them.

Viktor’s breath hitched as their hips met, his fingers gripping their waist with a strength that surprised even him. The slick, intoxicating friction of their bodies made his restraint falter, a low groan escaping his lips as he began to move, each thrust deeper than the last. The weight of his body against theirs, the heat of him inside them, sent shivers through Y/N, their nails digging into his back as they arched into him, wordless sounds of pleasure spilling from their lips.

“Y/N…ah” — he gasped, their name breaking from his throat like a plea, his voice thick with need. His mouth found their neck, teeth grazing their skin before soothing the faint sting with his tongue.

Their legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, until there was no space left between them. Viktor’s movements became more desperate, the precision he was so known for giving way to raw passion. His hands slid down to grip the curve of their thighs, spreading them wider to take him fully.

Y/N whimpered, their fingers threading through his hair, tugging as their own pleasure mounted. “Viktor… please, don’t stop,” they begged, their voice breathless, trembling with the intensity of what they were sharing.

“I couldn’t… even if I tried,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips capturing theirs in a kiss that was as much hunger as it was love.

The Hexcore’s light grew brighter, its pulse quickening in tandem with their movements. The golden glow reflected the sweat glistening on Viktor’s skin, highlighting the tension in his muscles as he moved above them. Every thrust was a perfect blend of power and devotion, driving Y/N closer and closer to the brink.

“Viktor, I’m-” Y/N gasped, their words cutting off in a cry as their body tensed, pleasure crashing over them. Their release hit with an intensity that left them trembling, their cries echoing in the infinite expanse of the astral plane.

“M-Me.. Me ..ah.. too" — Viktor followed them moments later, his rhythm faltering as he thrust into them one last time, his body shuddering as he spilled inside them. A broken moan escaped his lips, his arms tightening around Y/N as he buried his face in the crook of their neck, their names a reverent whisper on his lips.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies still entwined, their breathing heavy. The light of the astral plane dimmed, its glow soft and warm, wrapping around them like an embrace. Viktor’s fingers traced lazy circles on their skin.

But as the golden light faded, the astral plane’s infinite warmth gave way to a cooler sensation. Y/N blinked, their eyes fluttering open to find themselves lying on a soft bed made out of scraps and some old cloth. Their body warm but covered by a light blanket. Above them, the faint glimmer of bioluminescent flowers cast a dreamy, azure glow, illuminating the sprawling garden around them.

Viktor was beside them, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm as he slept. His features were softened in the pale light, the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones bathed in a gentle, otherworldly hue.

Y/N sat up slowly, the events of the astral plane vivid in their mind. The memory of his touch, the light that pulsed around them, and the raw intimacy they had shared felt as real as the dew-kissed grass beneath their fingertips. They glanced around, taking in the details of the garden. Carefully cultivated biomechanical flora, the faint glow of Hextech crystals embedded in the stone pathways, and the distant hum of Zaun’s machinery muted by the sanctuary’s beauty.

This place was Viktor’s creation, his haven. It was a stark contrast to the harsh, industrial world outside, filled instead with life and light, his vision for a better future taking root.

As if sensing their movement, Viktor stirred. His kaleidoscopic eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep but bright with recognition as they locked onto Y/N. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and his voice, husky with rest, broke the silence. — “You’re awake…”

Y/N leaned over him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “We’re awake,” they whispered, their voice full of wonder. “This…That… Was so dreamy, this place too… so surreal.”

His gaze softened, his hand coming up to rest gently on theirs. “And it is… just the beginning,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of reverence. “This is a place of growth, for change. For us… For the people of Zaun… For all who seek refuge.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, the weight of everything he had created settling over them. “It a beautiful cause, Viktor"

He smiled faintly, his hand tightening around theirs. “You give me the strength to dream, Y/N. To hope for more.” His voice grew quieter, the vulnerability in it palpable.

The garden hummed softly around them, a symphony of life that seemed to mirror their connection. As they lay back together on the makeshift bed, the future stretching before them like an unmarked path, the faint glow of the Hexcore crystals above flickered, their light steady and full of promise.

— Thank you for reading. Shoutout for zaunitearchives, i never believed that "Celestial backshots" would inspire me to write this.

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | prologue

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | prologue: the realm's craving

In honor of Queen Aemma's labors beginning, King Viserys the First and his two twin daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/n, host and sponsor an heir's tournament. The Realm's Delight was a title owned to Rhaenyra, rider of Syrax and the King's cup bearer, the older twin. Though Y/n wore the title: The Realm's Craving, rider of Nymeria and wielder of Blackfyre; Y/n made her reputation known for being the princess whom was outspoken and untouchable, wielding the conqueror's blade just after Jaehaerys.

word count: 2.4k | warnings: reader is described to have pale white hair and to look like visenya (plus largely endowed in the chest…), graphic descriptions of violence, y/n is otto's biggest opp, viserys you fool, slight misogyny. | author's note: welcome back! i fear i will not get over elliott tittensor as ser erryk, i hope you enjoy this series and it will be much longer! also, i took the liberties to spice up the reader. - i will update the meadow in which you lay soon!

next

"Since the dawn of our birth, father has exceedingly taken an interest in marrying us both off to a Valyrian house dear sister" you teased to your sister just before you saddled onto your dragon mounts, "And solemnly for us, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys have only one male child".

Nymeria was a pale purple dragon, reminiscent of your eyes that passed down through generations of Targaryen lineages, your sister's eyes were painted blue, just as your mother's and father's. The townsfolk all spoke of your appearance in great detail in the days they ever saw you. "The favorable yet quieter and fiercer twin", "The twin with more Targaryen than Arryn in her", "The Princess with the mounds of Valryia", "The actual Dark Sister", and your personal favorite, "*King Maegor as a consort".

"I love our father dearly but I do not wish to be married off… especially to someone of father's tastes" Rhaenyra spoke as she pet Syrax, earning a light coo from the dragon. Nymeria was larger than Syrax though smaller than Vhagar due to age, the Dragonkeepers all spoke of Nymeria being the dragonseed of Meraxes or Vhagar.

As your sister and yourself took off on riding into the skies of King's Landing, jesting one another into a race. Nymeria outshined Syrax though both dragons were quite fond of one another, sisters though did not share an eggs hatch. If Rhaenyra were to be the daughter of Westeros, you were the daughter of the dragons. Though your father was staunchly disagreed with your attitude and the lack of conformity both you and your sister paraded, he wished you both to be near silent and seen sisters, rather than heard.

The clouds felt soft against your skin, your hair braided strategically and your dress flowing in the wind, the fabric straining against your body leaving little to the imagination of what you were gifted with when you came of age. Your father always ordered your clothes to be modest, fearing the great houses and his council were to mistake you for a whore he would say, though you defied him endlessly, giving the king no ounce of rest. The high-born folk and townsfolk were the same when it came to you and commenting on your bodice, horny men clutched to their belts in restraint and shifted in their seats or stance whenever you were present in court, jealous women who were displeased by your body as their husband's had lack the respect for their wife, it was not your problem you told yourself. It was nature's design to be given a body like yours, your mother tiredly reassured you, being of Targaryen and Arryn lineage, your body was evidence of years of warriors. Though, she refrained from calling you what everyone else did, "Visenya's twin".

You did not see being compared to Visenya as an insult, though not your direct ancestor, Visenya was still a beautiful woman- who's beauty matched her brain. She is the reason your father has a Kingsguard by his side, the reason Daemon now has Dark Sister, the reason for your own beauty. You wore it as a badge of honor rather than a distasteful insult, often wondering if Daemon did not stain and smear your family name with his unfiltered temper that aged well before you and Rhaenyra were birthed, if you were to be named Visenya as well. Daemon's temper was compared to that of Maegor and his mother's, when you came of age of six-and-ten with Rhaenyra, your father once joked, "Now we must wait and see whom Visenya will be, and whom will be Maegor". His eyes landed on you at the instance of saying Maegor's name; you remember viscerally crying in your chambers that night, questioning if your father saw you as a nuisance of the family. Twins only meant that one child was not planned, and Rhaenyra was the older twin.

They used to speak of Aegon's feats as a soldier and warrior, though never of him being a husband or a father. Rumors and tales were spoken of Targaryen men, they are either fierce knights, or wonderful fathers. You'd wager your father was neither, but only under your breath you'd say such a thing. They would also speak of Aegon's love for his wives, for every one night he'd spend with Visenya, he'd spend ten with Rhaenys. They'd also speak of Visenya's unfaltering fidelity to Aegon, but how there were whispers at court that Rhaenys took younger men to her bed on the nights Aegon would be with Visenya. You almost felt pity for the woman, her son abused and neglected whilst her sister's sired kin were cherished and respected. Underneath it all, Visenya was still an amazing queen and consort, even with the wicked feats of Maegor, that was still her baby, even so as she waged the revenge of her younger sister's death. Though you were technically younger than Rhaenyra, you were her Visenya.

"We should see ourselves back, to check on mother" you spoke up to your sister, shouted as she was a distance away from you. She nodded at your advisement, both of you delving down into the ground, racing once again. Upon reaching the ground, met with Ser Harold and the dragonkeepers, along with a carriage that revealed Alicent. You were never too fond of Alicent, though she was your sister's dear friend and lady-in-waiting, your fondness resided in Laena, forming an inseparable bond as she rode Vhagar and you rode seemingly, Vhagar's closest kin.

"I am taking you are here for the tourney our fathers are planning Alicent?" you questioned as you removed your gloves and slid off Nymeria's mount, petting your dragon once more before touching her with your forehead in order to bid farewell as she was taken by the dragonkeepers. Walking up to the Lady before looking back to see your sister dismounting from Syrax. Alicent only nodded at your question, you could barely earn a few words from Alicent, often wondering if it was because you were the second daughter to the king, yet still a higher-born daughter than any great house of Westeros. Or if it was due to the desire her brother held for you, though you always shut down his advances, it was insult to you that he felt the privilege to speak to you, the eldest son of the second son to a noble but not great house. You'd never soil your family's name and heritage to wed a Hightower, it was not your taste.

As you walked off, Rhaenyra and Alicent engaged in conversation, you mounted yourself on a horse before looking at Ser Ryam, you were fond of him though, wildly attracted to his newly appointed kingsguard, the Cargyll twins. Tall lads they were, only two-name days older than you and your sister, their hairs match each other's short and disheveled but strategically disheveled, almost as if they both wanted to appear more desirable. Though your desire for the new brothers did not blind you of the health of Ser Ryam, noticing his energy and will to live deplete as the days pass.

"Will you follow me to the castle Ser Ryam? You look awfully tired" you asked, earning a nod from the knight, before he was named Lord Commander once again, your father had him as your sworn shield for several years. As you rode back to the Red Keep, taking sparing glances back at Ser Ryam, just as you wondered into the woods just before reaching the Keep, slowing down in order to conversate with Ser Ryam.

"Anything on your mind dear princess?" Ser Ryam questioned, his horse taking small gallops.

"Do you believe me to be inept?" you asked for his opinion, "I am taunted with the fact that I am in the body of a woman, yet I decline every Lord's hand, including the handsome Stark boys, though the only man to ever catch my intrigue…" you nearly spoke too much yet too little.

"Is bound to another?" Ser Ryam questioned in confusion. You looked up at the sky in defeat, sighing before shaking your head, chuckling in the depravity of your mind.

"Bound to oaths" you then broke the pregnant silence, "Ser Erryk makes a fine knight, does he? Seeing that he and his brother were sworn in just under a year of training. He is quite the handsome man the townsfolk yelp about" you bit your lip, allowing yourself to vent to the knight.

"He may not take a wife I am afraid, my princess" Ser Ryam begun, only earning a somber look from your face, "I too loved a woman before being knighted, she had gone off to marry one of the Tully lads due to my oath. I see her once every blue moon, my love never faltered or betrayed me. I do not blame her for going off to marry, she deserved to be loved in more ways than words, stolen kisses, and nights".

"Do all members of the Kingsguard follow the vow of chastity?" you questioned further.

"We do. Granted I was not in a sticky situation being that of equal ranking to the maiden, though her honor was one I did not want to take lightly. I do pity her husband, it should have been him to be the one to take her maidenhead, not a kingsguard besmirching both her's and I's honor. Our vows are sworn under the seven, as every woman is a picture of the mother, no matter how much we wish it to be individual" Ser Ryam answered honestly, "I am to guard your secrets as well my Princess, any words spoken in this moment are under the eyes of you and me. Though I do advise you, being unmarried puts you at odds if you fall pregnant".

You laughed at the knight's comment, "It is only a crush I am afraid; I am too socially inept to talk to him more than the simply escorts to and from my chambers in the morning and eve".

As you and Rhaenyra walked into the chambers of your mother, being met with kisses on your forehead. You quickly made way to apply warm towels to your mothers' legs as they were swollen, kissing your mother's forehead before moving her hair out of her face as the sweat led it cling onto her skin. You did not envy your mother though she was carrying the burden and joy of life in her. It was you and Rhaenyra who held royal wombs, as your mother would say.

"I will be in the council mother; I will see you in the eve" you told her before dismissing yourself. You never could stomach seeing your mother in agony, Rhaenyra knew it, your mother and father knew it.

As you were met with the knight of your dreams, you smiled carelessly, "May you escort me to the council room, Ser Erryk? I find myself craving conversation to someone who isn't completely eager to marry me off". The knight offered his forearm for you to hold, escorting you to the council room across the Keep and floors down.

"Are you enjoying the preparations for the tourney Princess?" Ser Erryk asked you, both of you never were sure of what to talk about.

"I do wish I were involved in combat I must say, I envy you men for being able to succumb yourselves to violence for a day" you jested, earning a soft smile from the knight, "Are you and Arryk participating? Perhaps I can bless you both with my favor or offer you to hold Blackfyre".

Erryk was stunned greatly of your offer, Blackfyre was a noble sword, the Conqueror's no less, "You honor me more than I deserve princess, though yes, Aryk and I are participating, hopefully we do wish to not have to face your uncle, the prince".

You scoffed silently, smirking at the knight, "Which is why I offered Blackfyre" you instigated the knight as you made your way through the halls. "Daemon wields Dark Sister and I envy him for it, it is an easier fit for a woman's hand. Though, Blackfyre was sworn to me instead of my father by Jaehaerys himself".

Once you made the way to the council room you dismissed Erryk before stating once again, "If you wish to take upon my offer, you can meet me in my chambers tonight" the bold words flowed out of your tongue as if it were familiar to you.

The knight nodded, hand finding purchase on the small of your back as you stepped onto the stairs that led into the council room. You bit your lip once again, holding his eyes for a bit too long before Ser Rickard Thorne took notice, clearing his throat in the process. As you straightened your back and bid him a farewell in a glance, moving your body to enter the council room. Noting the heat that electrified between you and the loyal knight. Only choosing to distract yourself with the bland conversations held at your father's table before Rhaenyra made her way into the council room, only then you found yourself amused once again. Tomorrow will be the heir's tournament, a babe outshining you and Rhaenyra, though you hoped to the god's that tonight, the knight of your dreams finds himself taking your offer.

taglist: @wolvestitches

[the-whispers-of-death]

Home Again

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Most gods would be happy that they were back in the paradise realm after previously being banished and stripped of their divinity, but Fallen God!Ghost aches for you.

His nights are spent dreaming about you, the mortal who showed him what love was. He dreamt of sleeping beside you, kissing you, even cooking with you. He dreamt of your beautiful hair, your breathtaking eyes, your jaw-dropping smile. His dreams were filled with memories of your laughter, your smooth and lyrical voice.

Paradise realm is a paradise, sure, but nothing could compare to you. Your beauty outshines the paradise realm's, your presence calms Ghost in a way the paradise realm can never. The air was always lighter when he was around you, the colors of the world always brighter. You are his light, his world, and everything is dull without you.

He spends week after week searching for how to get back to the mortal realm and back to you. His power is potent, he can just teleport himself down to the mortal realm to see you but that doesn't seem like a satisfying answer to him.

Ghost would eventually have to leave you and go back to the paradise realm, forced to be able to only visit you from time to time. He didn't want that, he can't bear the thought of leaving you. Of sleeping in his own bed, alone.

He also couldn't make you a concubine of his, bring you to the paradise realm. It didn't feel right for him to ask you to leave everything you knew behind just so you could spend hours alone in his temple while he worked. You deserve better than that.

So what else was there to do?

It takes Ghost a few days to realize what he must do. What he has to do in order to see you again.

He is standing in God!Price's temple, all of the deities summoned there for the monthly update of what the pantheon has been doing since they last convened. He can barely hear what the others are saying, it being meaningless as his mind finally reaches an answer to his burning question.

"I'm stripping myself of my godhood and powers, permanently," Ghost says, interrupting the conversation.

The entire temple is silenced at once, everyone turning their heads to stare at Ghost in disbelief.

A god deliberately turning himself mortal? That was unheard of. It was absurd to even those deities who loved the mortals so much.

Price frowns, clearly thinking Ghost has gone mad. "Now, Ghost, let's think about this," he says, his words slow and carefully curated. "You can't just abandon your godly duties, you're the God of Warfare. If there's one thing that the mortals do the most, it's engaging in war."

Ghost scoffs. "My duties can easily be done by our Goddess of War," he replies, gesturing with his hand towards said goddess. "I no longer want to be a god."

His words ignite a flurry of murmurs between the other deities, all of them shocked beyond disbelief. They don't understand why he wouldn't want to be a god, especially after centuries of hearing him look down on mortals.

"Is this because of the mortal you met during your banishment, {Name}?" Price asks, peeved now. "I hadn't thrown you down to them for you to fall in love with them, Ghost."

"No, you did it so I could learn the importance of mortals and I have," Ghost cuts in, his power flaring up as his anger spikes. This isn't up for debate. "I'm doing this no matter what any of you say, I was doing a courteous thing by giving you all a heads-up."

Price shifts in the seat of his throne, itching to get up and slap some sense into Ghost. "Enough of this, Ghost. You don't even know if they will take you if you're not a god. Perhaps that was the only reason they fell in love with you in the first place."

Ghost snarls in rage at the accusation and assassination of your character. "Even if that's the case, which I doubt it is, it is my choice. I'd rather spend the rest of my mortal life heartbroken if they turn me away than spend eternity aching for them," he says defiantly.

Immense power fills the temple, all of it Ghost's as he pools it all in his veins. Stripping himself of his godhood and powers is excruciating, the pain almost enough to stop him, but he keeps pressing on with the action.

It was worth it, for you.

"Someone stop him!" Price bellows at the other deities, but it's too late.

Just as God!Soap reaches for Ghost to try and stop him, Ghost's godhood and powers are stripped from him, his last act of being a god is to send his mortal form where it needs to be: at your doorstep.

His second fall seems euphoric, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he falls through the clouds and lands on your front porch just like he had done months ago.

He looks to the side just as you open your front door, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you. The weight on his chest is lifted, everything falling into place once more.

"Ghost?" You ask, surprised. You had thought you would never see him again. "Did... Did you get your godhood taken away again?"

Ghost stands with your help, his skin thrumming at the sensation of your hands on him again. "I took it away myself," he murmurs, breathless as he stares in your beautiful eyes.

Your face twists into confusion, which makes sense since he had been itching to be a god again the first time he fell. "Why?"

"For you, love. I couldn't bear to live eternity without you," Ghost says, secretly nervous that you won't take him now that he's not a god. "I love you, {Name}."

"I love you too," you reply, making him relax. You step closer, happy that this isn't a dream. "I don't care that you're not a god anymore, I only ever wanted you."

"You will always have me, for as long as you will have me."

Ghost steps closer as well, reaching up to gently cradle your face between his hands. He can't wait for you to lean in as well, though you do so as he gently presses his lips against yours.

The kiss can only be described as heavenly, all of the noises of city life fading away until there was only the sound of you two kissing. It's so gentle and slow, Ghost savoring what it's like to kiss you. He pours every ounce of love into the kiss, needing you to be filled with his love.

It feels like you are kissing for hours before you both pull away for air. Your soft pants fill the air between you two, you smiling at him.

"Come on," you say, gently grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. "Let's go inside and have dinner together."

Ghost nods and follows you inside the house that truly feels like home now. He lets you lead him into the kitchen, not even complaining about having to cook with you.

He had been a fallen god when he had first met you but now, he was neither fallen nor a god. He was just Ghost. A man you loved.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[lou-struck]

The Hall Of Faces

Diavolo x reader x Barbatos

WC: 2.9k

~ After a trip through the palace’s art gallery, you find that a picture of Diavolo may need to be updated.

Warnings: Mention of eating humans, moments with both Barbatos and Diavolo showing their love of the reader.

No matter how many times you find yourself visiting the castle, you can't help but think it is one of the most beautiful places you have ever seen.

Despite being thousands of years old, its gleaming marble flooring looks brand new, and the historic art and statues line the halls with museum-level prestige. Every time you walk the long, carpeted hallways you always seem to find something new to captivate you. 

On this visit, you find yourself following Barbatos down a grand window-lit hallway. Although he tries to keep his excitement at your visit to himself, you notice there is a joyful spring in his step as he leads you. "Thank you for joining the young master and I for tea this afternoon. I prepared a wonderful selection for us on the west balcony that should be to your liking."

"Of course Barbatos, thank you for the invitation," you say watching as his deep green eyes shimmer under the moonlight. "I don't believe I have been in this wing of the Castle yet."

"Then it is my pleasure to be the first to guide you," he replies with a smile. He slows his pace, allowing you to walk beside him. The two of you walk in content silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence, until you notice a strange-looking vase resting on an elegant pedestal. It seems to be composed of two types of clay: one looks like melted pearls that seem to absorb the light of the moon, and the other is a matte ebony material. The contrast between the light and dark is so captivating you stop to look at it.

Barbatos, sensing your distraction, chuckles behind you, "I thought that would catch your eye," he muses. "Would you like to know the significance of this piece?"

"I would," you nod. It takes so much self-restraint to not trace your fingers along the priceless art, but somehow, you manage to resist the urge not to touch it.

"This vase contains two different types of clay, one from the Celestial Realm and one from one of the depths of the Devildom. Usually, these substances repel from one another, but thanks to a bit of water from the human world, they are able to come together and create something beautiful."

"That's amazing," you breathe, looking at this art, this manifestation of what can happen when all three realms work together.

"I knew you'd appreciate its beauty," he smiles. "Shall we continue?"

You nod as he holds out his arm to escort you down the hallway. 

The palace is a labyrinth, and after turning right, then left, and then right again, you find yourself staring down a long hallway littered with portraits on the walls. 

"What is this place?" you ask, passing the painted eyes of regal-looking demons that seem to follow your movements. 

"This is the hall of faces," Barbatos answers. "It is a place to honor those who have made a difference in the Devildom, past royalty, war heroes, and other notable figures."

"I see." your eyes rest on a figure with broad shoulders and familiar-looking eyes. "Is that?"

Barbatos' face falls slightly, "Yes, that is his majesty the King, the young master's father."

"Diavolo's father," you repeat, letting your eyes wander from the darkened painting to the one next to it. One of the Prince himself. But instead of the tender warmth in the Prince's features, you find him looking stern and cold. "That doesn't look like him," you murmur. "I hate that someday people will walk by this portrait and not see him as the ruler he is."

"I agree," Barbatos says. Although it is a subtle shift, you detect a hint of disdain in his voice as he pulls his gaze from the painting. "The artist who painted this portrait, and many others, is well renowned but does not know or care of the true light of the Young Masters' smile."

"He sounds like a jerk," you grumble, stepping away from the painting.

Barbatos laughs; the sound is light but pleasant. "That certainly is one of the many words to describe the Artist. Come, let me escort you to the balcony. I fear the Young Master will become jealous if I steal you for the entirety of your visit today."

You take his outstretched arm and allow the Butler to guide you away from the Hall of Faces and to the eagerly awaited tea party. But as you get farther and farther away from the portrait, you cannot rid yourself of the effect Diavolo's portrait had on you.

~

The balcony air is warm and comforting as you raise a hand-painted teacup to your lips. It's warm, rose-scented steam tickling your nose with it's tantalizing fragrance, 

"Mc, is something troubling you?" The Prince asks gently from his seat next to you. He places his large hand on top of the one you have resting on the table's edge. "You seem troubled today."

You place your teacup back onto its saucer on the table and look at his handsome face fondly. "It's nothing, just lost in thought."

Barbatos lets out an amused chuckle as he comes up behind you to top off your cup. His gloved hand rests gently on your shoulder. "Mc and I walked through the Hall of Faces today, Young Master."

Diavolo's smile falls slightly as he shifts nervously in his seat. "Oh. So you saw my portrait?" There is an embarrassment in his gaze that makes you wonder if looking at royal portraits of the past is the Devildom equivalent of looking through your friends' old middle school yearbooks. 

You nod hesitantly. "I did."

"And what did you think of it?" he asks, his golden gaze coaxing the truth out of you. 

"It didn't look like you," you admit. "I mean, it was you in the picture, but it was weird seeing you look so serious and unhappy.."

"So you think I am unserious?" he smiles amusedly. 

"No. I just really like your smile," you admit, shyly grabbing a lemon cake from the three-tiered stands.

"Well then, I suppose it's about time for me to update my portrait," he says, looking over to his Butler. "Barbatos, can you please fit that into our schedule?"

"Absolutely, young master. How about midday tomorrow?" The Butler hums thoughtfully. He knows the Prince's schedule by heart. 

"Wonderful, and does that work for you Mc?"

"Me?" you ask with a mouthful of cake; a bit of the glaze drips down your chin as you look at the two demons in bewilderment. 

"Of course," the Prince laughs, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your face. "You are the one responsible for this appointment, so It is only fair that you join us for an afternoon."

He says it lightheartedly so you know that if you truly had something going on, or if you did not want to go. You would not have to. But in truth, sitting for a royal portrait probably isn't something that happens very often; your curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself happily along with the Prince.

Both demons, seeing your acceptance, look absolutely elated. Diavolo flashes you a sincere grin as he claps his hands together. "Wonderful, then we look forward to spending the afternoon with you."

~

The next day, you find yourself sitting in the Parlor at the castle. Diabolo is finishing up a meeting and Barbatos is greeting the Artist at the doors. Apparently this Demon is older than the Butler himself, having been the one responsible for painting most of the portraits in the Hall of Faces. The idea of meeting such an ancient being makes your stomach bubble up with nerves as you wonder what they are like. 

Looking around the Parlor, you notice that the room looks a bit different than normal; the furniture has been tastefully rearranged to make room for a lavish-looking armchair and an art station across from it. Instead of the typical moonlight streaming in through the large windows, some kind of enchantment on the glass fills the room with something close to sunlight.

When you close your eyes, you can almost feel the warmth on your face. 

You hear a soft chuckle from across the room as Barabtos comes in carrying a large, worn case with little streaks and splatters of color on its surface. "The artist prefers to work in the light." he smiles, setting down what must be painting supplies. 

"Can't say I mind it," you smile as the demon strides across the room, around your chair, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. This little act of affection is reserved for the moments when the two of you can be alone. 

"Then I'll make sure to use this spell more often." he smiles, placing his gloved hand on your shoulder. You find yourself getting lost in the warmth of his emerald gaze just as the parlor doors burst open. 

A short demon, swimming in a bright smock, takes quick, impatient steps into the room. His skin is the color of dried dandelion petals, and his tail is tipped like a paintbrush. "Canvazu," Barbatos greets, stepping between you and the Demon politely. "It is a pleasure having you join us today."

"Yes, yes, you said it before; now, where is my subject?" he says with a wave of his hand. 

"the young master will be here momentarily," The Butler says. In the meantime, Lord Diavolo would like to invite you to enjoy some refreshments."

"Diavolo?" The Demon, you now know as Cavazu, questions, "Haven't I painted that one before?"

"Indeed you have," Barbatos answers calmly, but you know him well enough to know that the Artist's disrespectful question irritates him greatly. "But as he plans to take the Devildom into a new era, he wishes to have an updated photo."

"I see." The Artist says shortly as his eyes take on a slightly red hue. Curiously, you lean forward to get a closer look. His pupils look like splatters of paint and seem to change color depending on his mood. Your movement catches his eye, and he notices your presence for the first time since he has arrived. 

"A live one, eh?" he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "This Prince of yours has some questionable taste. I prefer my humans slow-cooked."

You shift back in your seat as the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. Do you know that eating humans has been outlawed and the Devildom for quite some time? Maybe this guy is so old he missed the memo?

Barbatos clears his throat and takes a step toward the Demon, who is looking at you like their next meal. "Clearly, you are mistaken; this is Mc. A distinguished guest and friend of the Devildom."

The Artist opens his mouth to surely make another snarky comment, but he's interrupted by the doors parting and Diablo's timely arrival.

He looks just as handsome as ever as he greeted you with a smile, "Sorry I'm late, Canvazu. Thank you for taking the time to meet us today."

The Demon, who is becoming one of your least favorite beings in the three realms by the second, looks the prints up and down. "oh, I remember you. You look the exact same as the last time I saw you. So why do I have to immortalize your face again?"

Your jaw drops, how could he say this to the ruler of Hell?

You look at the Prince, but to your surprise, he only laughs. The wonderful sound fills the room and calms your nerves. "I suppose I wish for the Devildom to see the true me~"

"Actually, I don't care." the Artist says in an annoyed tone. "Go sit over there so we can begin."

Diavolo is unphased by the Demon's rude behavior but shoots a quick look at you and Barbatos, whose smile is murderous, to not intervene. If this Artist is as well respected as he appears to be, he certainly can get away with this attitude toward nobility. 

"Is there anything else you need before you start?" The Butler asks, clearly wanting to get this whole exchange over with. 

"Yeah, Silence." the Demon sneers, his voice low enough for Diavolo to not hear from his chair across the room. He dips his long- brush-shaped tail onto his palette. And painting the backdrop. 

You see Barbato's jaw clench, and you gently reach out and give his hand a little squeeze to calm him down. He relaxes and looks at you warmly. "I apologize for my rudeness, Mc. You have been here for quite some time, and I haven't given you any refreshments. May I fetch something for you?"

"That would be lovely; thank you," you say, happy to give him a distraction. He nods and goes to make you something in the kitchen, leaving you in the room with the Artist and the Prince.

It kind of sounds like the start of a corny joke, and you smile to yourself, thinking up all the different ways you can set up the punchline.

You watch in amazement as Canvazu works, his tail flicking back and forth; his paintings are so lifelike, so realistic it looks like you can step onto the canvas and still be in the same room.

Diavolo sits perfectly still in his seat, but despite his best efforts to hide it,  he looks extremely bored. He meets your gaze and gives you a little wave.

You stick your tongue out at him teasingly in response, and he beams back at you; at the change in his subject's face, Canvazu's head snaps toward you, and he glares into the very depths of your soul. "You, human. You are distracting my subject; stop that at once! Do you realize how privileged you are to be sitting in on one of my sessions?." Embarrassment boils beneath your skin and you open your mouth to apologize, but Diavolo stops you standing abruptly. 

"There is no need for that; Mc is doing exactly what they're supposed to do, making me smile. 

"As the artist, I will capture your image as I see fit." Cavazu objects. "I cannot immortalize your face looking so undignified with a silly grin."

You sit up from your chair, "there is nothing wrong with his smile," you say defensively, your patience finally running out . "will you really not paint him if he doesn't look miserable in the chair?"

"Absolutely not." The Demon says, throwing his pallet on the floor. Paint splatter everywhere. "Watch your tongue, Human. You are nothing but an insignificant pest. You have no right to speak to me that way."

Immediately, Diavolo is at your side, looking furious. "I believe we are at an impasse then, Cavazu. I tolerated your disrespect as a courtesy for your continued service of the Devildom, but you have crossed the line. As of now, you will no longer be contracted by the crown."

Canvazu looks absolutely frazzled, for once having to actually deal with the consequences of his actions. "You cannot be serious, My lord. I have served the Devildom for years and you choose this, your pet? Over me?"

"A thousand times over." Diavolo declares with certainty; he looks down at you and takes your hand, pressing it to his lips. "And this Human may one day rule the Devildom at my side. They mean more to me than anything. I refuse to let you rob the Devildom of its smile any longer." Diavolo says, his authority clear in his voice. 

"Barbatos, if you please." The Prince says, addressing the Butler, who you haven't noticed come back into the room. 

"At once, young master." The Butler says, and with a snap of his fingers, the Artist disappears from the room, leaving the three of you alone in the Parlor. "I must say, kicking that oaf out has been one of the highlights of my existence, Your Majesty. Thank you for that opportunity."

The Butler sent the two of you into a fit of laughter and, despite his prim and proper nature, lets out a genuine smile in response.

"Are you alright, Mc?" The Prince asks softly, the anger on his features disappearing as he looks at you. 

"I'm alright; I'm sorry your artist was such a jerk, though." You reply. "Is there another artist you can use to paint your portrait?"

He shakes his head, "this situation has made me realize that I do not want to have my portrait painted anymore."

"But I thought you wanted a new painting to replace the one in the Hall of Faces," you say in surprise. 

He smiles, "I do, but I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sitting with me in my portrait."

"Is that really okay?" you ask in bewilderment. 

"Of course it is," Barbatos says simply. "You have done more than enough to earn your place up on the wall."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"How about yes?" The Prince asks, his golden gaze overflowing with hopeful affection. 

You smile and nod eagerly, your heart feeling tender with love. "Yes, I will."

"Wonderful," he replies eagerly, looking like an excited golden retriever. "Barbatos, would you do me the honor of painting our portrait?" 

"I would be delighted to," he replies, striding over to where the Artist once stood. "I have not practiced my oil paintings in quite some time, but I believe I can capture your feelings appropriately."

"So. Shall we begin?" The Prince smiles leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network, @starbbyy

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! There's nothing like an update six months later... I appreciate everyone's kind words and patience regarding the writer's block I was dealing with. I tried many things to help me get out of that funk, but nothing worked. Until one day, I was like, "You know what? I'm just going to write," and here we are! I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're slowly inching closer to the grand finale!

A sense of weightiness hung within the Tower of the Hand. Queen Alicent, her loyal protector, and the Lord Hand were seated in the softly illuminated chamber as the afternoon sun filtered through the leaded glass windows. The Queen absentmindedly picked at her fingers, her restless body betraying her unease, while her eyes flitted anxiously around the room. An unexpected sound finally shattered the oppressive silence, prompting all present to turn their gaze towards the speaker.

"This is but a temporary visit. We must encourage Prince Daemon to take the Princess back to Dragonstone as soon as possible," Otto Hightower said, two sets of brown eyes focused on him as he stroked his course beard. "You have done well, Alicent, but you must know this solution is not long-term. Fear and respect go far until there is someone who inspires more."

His daughter responded with a silent nod, her full lips forming a slight frown as her attention shifted back to her fingers.

"He must not discover her relations with Aegon nor the fruit of it. Not only would it be an insult to our House but to the realm, duty, and the Gods," Otto declared, the metal lapel of the Hand shining in the daylight.

"I understand," the Queen answered as Ser Criston followed suit, offering his services to guard your chambers and lend another helpful eye.

Daemon would find himself in a predicament where he had no choice but to yield to their demands, as refusing would paint him as a traitor. The group was committed to ensuring Daemon was nowhere near them should the Stranger decide to claim a soul. If it meant casting the Rogue Prince in the light of an overly protective, perhaps irrational, father, they believed it to be justified by the divine will of the Seven.

After your father's tears had long dried and you were in the deepest depths of sleep, he stood on numb limbs. He no longer desired to be alone with his thoughts, feeling weak for having broken down in the presence of another man. He did not know when you would awake as your snores carried off into mid-day, so sound asleep that not even the mournful songs of your dragon woke you.

Daemon's eyes never left the cut on your temple nor the bruise beside it that bloomed. It stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut, mind reeling into conclusions and connections to things as Ser Criston Cole posted at the exit, his presence an ever-watchful eye for his Queen. The knight irked Daemon from when he was forced to yield against the Dornish man all those decades ago at a tourney for the deceased Prince Baelon. He had let things go seeing as Criston was Rhaenyra's protector and that he knew his niece's genuine desire was her uncle, but as the years went by, the man grew more insufferable, practically sucking on the Queen's teats wherever he went.

It was no coincidence that the White Cloak was here now instead of Ser Arryk, the man you chose to be your sworn shield. As Daemon studied the contents of your room, the dust on your bookshelves, the mended garments thrown on your chairs, and the overflowing ash lying in the fireplace, he could guarantee that none of your servants, whether it be knight or maid, had been allowed to do their duty for quite some time. The only people Daemon had seen in your chambers since he arrived were Maester Orwyle and Cole.

"May I ask, Ser Criston?" Daemon announced, breaking the silence as his violet eyes left your listless form and strolled away from the bed, "where is my daughter's knight?"

Criston straightened his posture, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his dark eyes bore into light ones. "He's been punished for failure of duty. Ser Arryk allowed the Princess to be maimed under his watch and must suffer the consequences of such an offense."

"I see," your father hummed, leaning his hip to the side as he examined the unforgiving nature of this man. "And that of her maids? Jeyne and Fiora, if I remember correctly."

Ser Criston's face was impassive, leaving nothing but a stone slate as he swallowed. "The Hand deemed those of highest suspicion to be kept away from her Highness," he answered.

"Is that so?" Daemon sneered, brows raised in disbelief. "Bedmaids and knights are the only suspects?" Criston gave no reply, silver armor glinting in the daylight peeking from your curtains. "Otto Hightower is as useless as he's always been. Where are her maids now, then? In the cells being interrogated, I presume."

"No, my Prince," Criston answered without emotion. It seemed as if the knight did not care whether a member of the royal family died so long as it was not one of Alicent's. This infuriated Daemon beyond measure. The impulse to commit violence that haunted him itched to be free, and his fingers curled into fists to keep it at bay.

If he so wished, he could bash Criston's face as he did to the squire friend of Laenor Velaryon the night of his wedding feast. No consequences were divided out then, so what was stopping your father from doing the same now? He heard your quiet moan then, a soft sound of one in a dreamy sleep they could not wake from, and reminded himself of the cost.

Daemon was more pragmatic than people allowed themselves to believe. He did not always desire bloodshed, though the lust for it existed. He recalled your letter then, remembering how he clung to every scrawl of ink as if it were to be the last you would write. The previous correspondence you had echoed in his head. The prose was much more upbeat, as if you were speaking to Daemon in person instead of through parchment. It mentioned the bright outlook for the future and how you could feel that Rhaenyra's succession would not be as troublesome as your father worried it would be. If Daemon had put your trust in him and your faith, all would be well.

Several lines echoed in his mind, seeing the High Valyrian as if it were in front of him again atop his writing desk illuminated by the glow of melting candles.

"Aegon has no desire to rule, nor does he think he is fit. He loves his mother and is sympathetic to the path ahead of her, but one can never be sure. However, I believe that Aegon is, at the very least, more sympathetic to me."

Daemon felt a smirk stretching his thin pink lips. Perhaps he should visit the drunken Prince.

"Let us round the maids up then, question them, and if they do not cooperate, leave them to the Lord Confessor," the Prince demanded, leaving no room for counterarguments.

Criston visibly balked at the idea, his stony visage turning white as snow, but he swiftly recovered. He bowed his head and whispered, "As you wish." Then he stalked off to inform the Queen and the Hand of the new progression.

Daemon would not be played a fool in his own home. He knew your maids would never try such a thing. They were chosen by the Rogue Prince himself before you arrived at the Red Keep. He could not allow just any person into a place where valuable information would be provided, so he tasked his previous mistress, Lady Misery, as she was now called, to find the most trustworthy servants for your service, to care and protect where he could not.

But even then, that was not enough. Daemon pulled strings, whispered honeyed words into people's ears, and made handsome payments, but still, it did nothing. He had never felt so powerless, inadequate, or inept as a new wave of shame washed over him.

He decided he would speak to Aegon, though he felt conversing with such a wastrel was below his worth. Daemon would stop at nothing. He would walk through the trenches in the Stepstones, bribe and steal, even marry his Bronze Bitch again, so long as it meant that you were safe and well back in his arms.

The castle's corridors were dimly lit in the early dawn, shadows stretching long and thin as Prince Daemon Targaryen paced outside his daughter's chamber. The scent of bitter herbs and smoke wafted from within, where the maester worked to keep the girl from slipping further into a restless sleep. A near-silent rage simmered within Daemon. His daughter's pallid face and the shallow rise and fall of her chest were enough to make him thirst for blood. But vengeance required clarity, and he needed answers first.

He turned sharply toward the two maids whom his guard had summoned. They stood quietly, trying to mask their worry under the Prince's intense scrutiny. These two had attended her, he thought, his gaze narrowing. He suspected them both, or at least wanted to, for they were the last to have touched his daughter's food, and every fiber in him sought to lash out.

Jeyne, with her silver-streaked hair, moldered her chin high as she looked back at Daemon with an unwavering gaze. Years of service to House Targaryen hardened her demeanor, giving her the poise of a knight facing a charging army. Fiora was pale and trembling, her fingers fumbling with the edge of her yellowed apron as she sniffled. Daemon's stare pierced her, and she seemed ready to bolt had Jeyne not placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"Who did this?" Daemon demanded, his voice a blade of cold steel slicing through the silence. He did not flout around words or purposes in favor of courtly manners.

Jeyne's expression remained resolute. "Not us, my Prince. We have served the young Princess faithfully. We would have warned someone if we thought her drink was tainted."

Daemon took a step closer, his tone dark. "And yet she is lying there, fighting for her life. She did not miraculously become ill. She was poisoned." Fiora flinched at Daemon's cold stare, hands clasped at his waist. Jeyne tightened her hand on Fiora's crimson sleeve.

"My prince," Jeyne said carefully. "We would never harm her. Young Fiora brought her fresh water and some fruits before she dismissed us that evening, nothing more."

He studied them both, searching for a flicker of guilt, the shift of eyes, but there was only worry and steadfast resolve. He could tell the older woman was offended by his accusation, but she held her tongue, deferring to him without wavering from her conviction.

"Why should I believe you?" Daemon asked, softer this time but no less menacing. "These Green cunts have placed staff sympathetic to their ambitions."

Jeyne's voice flowed calmly through the air, a soothing melody amidst the charged silence surrounding them. She leaned slightly closer to her fellow maid, her expression softening with empathy. "Because we love her too, my prince," she said, her words imbued with a deep sincerity. "She holds a place in my heart as dear as family."

Her gaze shifted toward Fiora, whose face streaked with tears that glistened like crystal in the dim light, revealing a raw vulnerability beneath her frightened exterior. Each gentle quiver of Fiora's lips betrayed her fear, and Jeyne couldn't help but feel a pang of protective instinct rise within her.

"And I know this girl," Jeyne added, her voice still steady but now laced with urgency, "is far too terrified to lie to you." She took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she witnessed Fiora's anguish. The air felt thick with emotion, and Jeyne hoped her conviction would reach him, bridging the divide between fear and trust.

"Her Highness has a kind soul that is rare to find. I would gladly have my life taken instead of hers," Fiora expressed with a tremble, yet an unwavering conviction laced her tone.

Daemon narrowed his purple eyes, his anger dimming as his tactical mind began to turn. They spoke plainly, unafraid to meet his gaze when the time came. The poison was efficient, the kind that took mere moments to weaken a body and soul. No maid would have easy access to something deadly, nor the knowledge. His suspicion was confirmed without a doubt that the assailant was those with means, resources, and motives.

Jeyne inclined her head, inhaling an offensive breath as she prepared for Daemon's wrath at her following words. "My prince, we would never harm her. I swear it on my honor. But... there is something you should know." She glanced at Fiora, silently urging her to speak.

Fiora flinched under Daemon's scrutiny but nodded, her voice trembling as she began. "It-it was the Queen, my prince. Queen Alicent herself. She ordered the Maester to keep the Princess on the Milk of the Poppy."

Daemon's grip tightened on his sword, the veins in his hand standing out starkly against his pale skin. "Why?" he demanded, his tone like the low growl of an approaching storm.

Jeyne's expression was resolute, but a flicker of regret crossed her face as she answered. "To keep her quiet, my prince. The Princess was... accusing her majesty. Speaking of things that might have implicated the Queen. That this is what her grace wanted because she had ordered her to leave King's Landing."

Fiora sniffled, tears spilling down her freckled cheeks. "I didn't understand at first, my prince, but now I do. The Queen didn't want her to speak. That's why they gave her the milk."

Daemon's gaze darkened, his fury palpable as he stepped closer, looming over the maids like a dragon preparing to strike. "And yet you said nothing. You let them silence her under my House's roof."

Jeyne held her ground though the faintest hint of guilt shadowed her features. "We did not know the full extent until now, my prince. We are but servants. To speak against the Queen without proof..." She shook her head. "It would have been our heads."

Fiora sobbed softly, her voice breaking. "I only wanted to help her, my prince. I swear. I... I didn't know."

Daemon exhaled slowly, a heavy cloud of tension escaping his lips. The fury within him ignited like embers in a dying fire yet restrained from erupting. He scrutinized the two before him, his piercing gaze probing for any hint of betrayal, only to find a stark absence of dishonesty in their expressions. The fear etched on their faces was palpable, mingling with a deep, sincere remorse that hung like a thick fog.

"Jeyne," he said, his voice low and menacing, "if you value your life, you will do as I command. From this moment forward, you will watch the Queen. Every word she speaks, every order she gives. I want to know what she plans before she does."

Jeyne nodded solemnly, her expression unwavering as she searched Fiora's eyes for reassurance. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her shoulders, but determination ignited within her. "You have my unwavering loyalty, my prince," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. "We will carry out whatever must be done."

"And you," Daemon said, glaring at Fiora, "stop sniveling. You will do the same if you wish to atone for your cowardice. Serve her, but serve me first."

Fiora pressed the rough fabric of her apron against her eyes, desperately trying to stem the tears that blurred her vision. Her heart raced as she nodded vigorously, her voice trembling with emotion. "Y-yes, my prince. I would do anything for the Princess," she declared, determination shining through her sorrow.

Daemon's lips curled into a grim smile, stiff shoulders slightly relaxing. "Good. If either of you falters, I will ensure you pay the price."

The maids nodded in unison, their faces pale but determined. As Daemon turned back to his daughter, his expression softened, though his fury simmered beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his heart aching at your vulnerability.

"Rest, little dragon," he murmured. "They will not harm you again."

Behind him, Jeyne and Fiora exchanged glances, understanding the weight of the task ahead. As Daemon exited the room, his steps purposeful and deadly, they knew the storm was far from over. The Queen's court would soon feel the wrath of a father scorned. In the coming days, Jeyne and Fiora would do their duties with quiet diligence, and their loyalty was divided between the Queen and Prince. Jeyne's sharp eyes would note every whispered conversation and carefully hidden glance. The more the maids observed that day, the more they noticed Queen Alicent's face, so often painted with politeness, seemed to crack at the edges whenever he looked at their Princess lying in her sickbed, nails bit down to the quick.

The servants' vigilance would become Daemon's advantage. They would watch the shadows where betrayers might lurk while he stood ready to bring the fight to those who dared threaten his blood.

Aegon stood within the hallowed confines of the Sept of Baelor, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily upon him. His back leaned against the cold, wax-covered altar, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the aromatic blend of frankincense and myrrh, a bittersweet scent that wrapped around him like a shroud, stirring cherished and painful memories. In this sacred space, he often sought refuge in times of turmoil, a jug of rich Arbor Red clutched tightly in his hand, its crimson hue reflecting his troubled thoughts.

The familiar embrace of the Sept's walls surrounded him as he felt an emptiness beyond physical solitude. He wasn't searching for solace from the deities said to dwell in these ancient stones. Instead, he pondered the lingering influence of his mother, whose shadow seemed to loom more prominent with each passing moment.

The Prince's sworn protector had left him to his own devices as he often did, yet keeping a close eye on things should the need for Erryk's presence arise. There was no point in shepherding Aegon, that much the knight knew after years of service.

Aegon was alone with his thoughts as the hours ticked and the sun lowered over the horizon.

Was his life not built on foundations that would surely crumble? Living a life of poorly planned architecture built by arrogance next to a rising tide that would sweep it away should the sea decide to do so. Often, Aegon wished that the waves would swallow him whole, take him out into the vast ocean, and let him sink deeper and deeper into the depths until he felt the brine on his tongue and salt burning his lungs. And just when he felt the urge to swim, to not succumb to the cold and murky waters below, the same people who sculpted his being called the waves to rise.

Numbing the relentless ache that gnawed at him was his sole refuge, the only path to liberating himself from the suffocating weight of his despair. Whether it provided a fleeting respite or the promise of eternal silence, it was a desperate grasp at freedom from the torment that consumed him.

Aegon remained blissfully ignorant of the muted echoes of finely tailored boots trudging through the wet sand, his senses dulled by the relentless tide that filled his water-logged ears. Towering above him was Daemon, his posture exuding a quiet authority, an arched brow hinting at both curiosity and disdain as he surveyed the disheveled state of the drunken Prince sprawled carelessly on the shore.

"Get up," the Rogue Prince commanded, kicking his leather shoe into Aegon's thigh.

The Prince groaned in response but refused to move, slightly adjusting his reclined position.

Daemon heaved a sigh, the weight of nostalgia pressing down on him. He reminisced about countless nights lost in a haze of drunkenness, where the world around him faded away like the flickering candlelight in a dimly lit tavern. Memories of his days spent lurking in the shadowy presence of Otto Hightower and the haunting specters of deceased children lingered sharp in his mind, a constant reminder of his perceived failings. The sting of being overlooked by his niece gnawed at him, a wound that never truly healed. In his search for solace, he turned to the embrace of women and the warm allure of fine wine, crutches passed down through the generations, a familiar way of coping with the burdens that weighed so heavily on his soul.

The Rogue Prince had little patience for the feeble-minded and cowardly. In a moment of reckless inspiration, he seized one of the flickering candles from the altar, its flame dancing wildly in the dim light. With a deliberate tilt, he allowed the molten wax to spill forth, a glistening stream of warmth cascading down onto Aegon's forehead.

The Prince's body reacted instinctively and jolted, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as the searing liquid made contact. Swiftly, he raised a hand, frantically wiping away the viscous substance before it could burn him further, leaving behind a shimmering wax glistening in the muted glow of the altar.

"Wha-" he stammered, violet eyes bleary.

"Get up."

Aegon continued to stutter, his head filled with cotton as he swatted at his imaginary foe. Daemon thought it amusing yet pathetic to see his brother's eldest son, whom everyone whispered about becoming king, reduced to a blubbering mess.

"Get up, you wastrel," the Rogue Prince commanded, his voice a mix of irritation and authority.

He did not give his nephew a chance to respond or make an attempt to rise. Instead, with a swift motion, he seized the collar of the young man's tunic, yanking him upward with a firm grip that betrayed both frustration and resolve.

Groaning in discomfort and annoyance, Aegon stood on unsteady legs, using his uncle's weight to stay upright. "What? Have you got more wine for me?"

Daemon rolled his iridescent purple eyes, a gesture filled with disdain as he forcefully shoved Aegon against the cold, stone altar. The impact sent a few flickering candles toppling over, their flames sputtering and extinguishing in a puff of smoke.

"You're utterly pathetic," Daemon declared, his voice dripping with contempt as he released his grip, leaving Aegon gasping for breath. "I cannot fathom why my daughter would ever find fondness in someone like you."

Aegon's swirling mind focused on his uncle's words, tilting his head to clear his blurry vision at the notion of you. He blinked, the words slow to make sense in his clouded mind. He was still drunk, still floating in a haze of self-loathing and wine, but there was something about Daemon's tone that cut through the fog. The mention of you... It lingered in the air like a physical presence, a sharp, biting reminder of the past days.

Aegon's hand went instinctively to his forehead, wiping away the remnants of hot wax that had burned him just moments before. He could feel the sting, but it was nothing compared to the sensation in his chest—the twisting, gnawing ache that had settled there since he had last seen you, injured and silent.

"Your daughter?" Aegon repeated, his voice slurred but with a strange acerbity beneath it. He forced himself to stand straighter despite his swaying body. "Why do you care? You left her in the viper's den to get bit, and now she has."

Daemon's lips curled into a sneer, eyes narrowing with that sharp, calculating look that had made him both feared and revered. "You know who did this?" he shot back, his voice low and venomous. The Prince was silent, a brief war of loyalty and honor raging inside his mind. "Do not fool yourself into thinking you can hide behind your wine and self-pity, Aegon. If you truly cared about her, you wouldn't be here, drunk and useless. You'd be at her side, ensuring she's safe and her assailants are brought the sword."

Aegon's heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through him like a dagger, sharper than the pain of the wax on his skin. He tried to swallow the bitter lump in his throat, but it stuck there, choking him.

"I didn't know," Aegon muttered, almost pleading as if he needed to convince himself as much as Daemon. "I didn't know what happened... I didn't know she was in danger." He winced at the admission, though his voice was thick with guilt. "How could I have known? How could I-"

"You should have known." Daemon's voice was as cold as the stone beneath their feet, his words brutally cutting off Aegon's excuses. "You're the one who's supposed to protect her, aren't you? You love her, after all. Yet you failed her when she needed you most."

Aegon's chest tightened at the notion that you had told Daemon of your secret vows, his throat constricting with the weight of his uncle's words. The guilt that had always gnawed at the back of his mind, the feeling of being a deficient imitation of the strong eldest son, a poor excuse for a man, overwhelmed him, threatening to drown him in its suffocating grip.

Daemon observed him, his gaze unwavering. "You think I do not know what it's like to be trapped in a world of expectations and failure?" he continued, his voice softer now but still edged with a quiet fury. "I have walked that path. I've suffered for it but never let it weaken me. And neither should you."

Aegon's hands tightened into fists, the tips of his nails pressing painfully into his palms, each pulse of agony sending a jolt through his senses. He stood there, frozen, grappling with the weight of his thoughts, unable to articulate the turmoil inside him. Every misstep, every moment of indecision chained him to this place, facing Daemon, the man who was meant to be family, yet felt like an unsettling specter from a distant past. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a stark reminder of the chasm that grew between family.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do," Aegon finally whispered, the words hanging between them like a fragile plea. "Tell me how to fix this... before it's too late."

For a long moment, Daemon said nothing. He studied Aegon with that piercing gaze of his, the kind that made even the bravest men falter. Then, with a soft snort of derision, he stepped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"There's no simple answer, Aegon," Daemon said, his voice laced with a bitter edge. "You can't undo the past and erase your mistakes with a few words. But you can do something. You can be something more than a drunken waste of space hiding behind the throne your mother wants you on."

Aegon felt a lump rise in his throat, the enormity of Daemon's words bearing down on him as if he were trapped beneath a heavy weight.

"But I'm not like you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a flicker of resentment that colored his tone. A shadow crossed his face as he struggled to articulate the profound loss, tears glistening on his porcelain cheeks. "I don't possess your force." He paused, his gaze drifting to the ground as the memory surged. "She was carrying our child," Aegon added, pain lacing his words, "but it... it didn't survive," Aegon's voice faltered, and he grasped for the courage that seemed to elude him.

Daemon's heart plummeted like a stone at the weight of the revelation, each word cutting through him with a searing clarity that left him breathless. Anger bubbled within him at the thought of you and Aegon, reckless in your union, seemingly unaware of the consequences that loomed over such a decision. Yet, alongside that rage, a deeper, more profound sorrow enveloped him, tugging at his very soul as he thought of his child. The anguish of your loss struck him hard; the pain of a mother who had endured the shadows of childbirth only to mourn a child stolen away too soon—a tragedy that claimed the lives of many women who faced such grief.

This took him back through the corridors of his mind to the haunting memories of his late wife and mother, lives extinguished too early. An unsettling question gnawed at his heart, one that had plagued his mind for decades. Was it his fate, cursed and unyielding, for the women he loved to endure suffering and despair in the birthing bed? The thought twisted like a dagger in his chest, leaving him to grapple with the weight of his legacy and the maternal heartache that seemed inextricably woven into it.

"No one is born with strength, Aegon," Daemon declared, his voice sharp. "Strength is something you earn by facing the things you're afraid of, by doing the things no one else will do. I did not get where I was by sitting around waiting to follow orders. And neither will you."

Aegon looked at his uncle, the silence stretching between them, filled with an uncomfortable tension. His uncle's eyes were colder now, harder, like the steel of his sword.

"I don't have the luxury of time, and neither does she," Daemon continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. "So listen well, Aegon. You may not be ready to defy your family, but you will if you love her like she claims."

Aegon swallowed, the weight of Daemon's words sinking in, pressing down on his chest until it felt like he could hardly breathe. But there was something else there, too, something more profound than anger or resentment. There was a strange, unspoken understanding, an acknowledgment that neither was truly free from their past and mistakes.

And in that silence, Daemon's voice softened, though still edged with a hard truth. "You want to fix this?" he asked. "Then start by bringing those to justice."

Aegon felt the weight of those words, of the expectation in his uncle's gaze. He didn't have the answers and didn't know what would come next, but one thing was clear: if he were to ensure your future together, he would have to start now.

For the first time in the Prince's life, Aegon felt the faint stirrings of a purpose. Something outside of himself. Something worth fighting for.

"I will," he said, his voice firm despite lingering uncertainty. "This was my mother's doing, but I cannot prove it with her hounds and my grandfather so diligently by her side."

Daemon nodded once, satisfied for the moment. While he could not prove the Hightowers were the cause, he understood that having their kin loyal to him and his daughter would serve greater justice when Viserys met the Stranger. "Good. Then, prove it when the time comes, and she will be by your side again."

With that, the Rogue Prince turned, his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the Sept as Aegon remained behind, staring at the flickering candles, his mind already moving forward. He wasn't sure how he would fix everything, undo the damage, and make things right, but Daemon had given him something more than just words.

He had given him a chance. Now, it was up to Aegon to take it.

The heavy, oppressive silence of the dungeons seemed to wrap around Ser Arryk Cargyll like a shroud. His once-pristine white cloak, the proud symbol of his service as a Kingsguard, was now dirtied and torn, a reflection of the disgrace he now carried. Shackled to the cold stone wall of his cell, he sat hunched in the corner, his mind a labyrinth of guilt, regret, and anger. His failure still burned through him like a wound that wouldn't heal—the inability to protect the Princess due to his hubris.

He could hear the whispers of the guards in the corridors, the occasional clink of keys or boots on stone, but none stopped. No one came to offer him solace. He had betrayed his vows, and now he was paying the price.

There was no doubt in Arryk's mind about what awaited him. The Rogue Prince would not be merciful. He would die here, alone in this dark cell. Or worse, he would be forced to suffer before his inevitable death—a public disgrace, a mark on his and Erryk's name that would never be erased.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped Arryk out of his thoughts. His heart sank, but not out of fear. He knew who it was before the man appeared in the dim light of the dungeon corridor.

Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince, the shadow that hung over the Targaryen family.

Arryk didn't rise from his sitting position. There was no need for any formalities. His failure had already stripped him of his dignity.

Daemon didn't say a word at first. He stopped before the cell, his violet eyes glinting in the dim torchlight as he studied the disgraced knight. He gave Arryk a long, pointed look of disgust and amusement.

"Ser Arryk," Daemon's voice was low, dripping with disdain. "You've fallen far, haven't you?" He stepped forward, his boots echoing in the cold, cavernous hallway.

Arryk didn't respond. What was there to say? The facts were clear. He failed in his sacred duty. No words could change that.

Daemon studied him for a moment longer before he smirked, the cruel twist of his lips never reaching his eyes. "You were meant to protect the blood of the King, Ser, and yet, the very Princess you were sworn to guard was nearly killed right under your nose. Tell me, how does that feel?"

Arryk's chest tightened, his hands clenching in the chains that bound him. He didn't have the strength to defend himself anymore. He didn't deserve to. "I failed," he whispered, voice rough from days of silent anguish. "I failed my oaths."

Daemon's smirk widened as if pleased by the admission. "Yes, you did. And now, the question is, what happens next?"

Arryk's head jerked up, his eyes locking with Daemon's. He saw no pity in those eyes. No mercy. Just the cold, calculating gaze of a man who had long since discarded any pretense of kindness. "What happens to me?" Arryk's voice was hoarse.

Daemon's lips parted in a faint, humorless chuckle. He pulled a dagger from his belt—simple, sharp, and deadly, the hilt made of dark iron. He dangled it in front of the bars, allowing the torchlight to catch the gleam of the blade. "You'll pay for your failure, of course. I will ensure that much." Daemon's tone was almost light, as though speaking about a matter of no importance. "But my punishment won't be death at the hands of another."

Arryk's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't speak. The weight of his fate seemed to settle in his chest.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, watching the knight's reaction. "You see, I am not as quick to kill as the people of your ilk might expect. No, I'll have you suffer. Perhaps I shall keep you locked away for the rest of your miserable life, a reminder to every knight in the Keep that failure is not tolerated." Daemon paused, allowing the words to sink in.

The pain of the thought was almost unbearable. Arryk had never thought of a fate worse than death, but now he could see it—an eternity of being nothing but a stain on the honor of his House.

A shadow.

Forgotten.

Daemon's voice lowered again, and there was now a weight to his words, a deliberate finality. "But that is not what I have come to offer you, Ser."

The dagger was placed on the cold stone floor beyond Arryk's reach. Daemon gave him one final look—measuring, unblinking. "The honorable thing, Ser Arryk, would be to take this dagger and end it yourself." He let the words linger in the air, heavy as iron. "That way, at least, you'll die with some dignity. You'll not be remembered as a coward too weak to take responsibility for his failure."

Arryk's eyes flicked to the blade, and his breath hitched in his throat. The thought of it, the sharpness of the steel, and the cold weight of the hilt in his hand comforted him in the depths of his despair. Death was swift, easy. And in some ways, it would be a release.

Daemon studied him for a long while before he spoke again. "If you choose to live, it will be a life spent in humiliation. I will never allow you to forget what you've done. You will be a shell of what you once were, and your name will be erased from the annals of honor. You will have nothing left."

Arryk's heart hammered in his chest as his eyes remained on the dagger. His failure had broken him. His soul felt heavy, burdened with the shame that would haunt him for the rest of his days. But could he end it? Could he choose death over a life of misery?

Daemon didn't move as he let the silence stretch on. "It's the honorable thing to do, Ser," he said quietly, almost as a command. "You know it as well as I do."

Arryk swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind. He had failed so completely that nothing left for him was shame or death. He reached out a shaking hand, and his fingers brushed the cold steel of the dagger, the reality of the decision settling in his bones.

Daemon stood, watching, his arms crossed over his chest. There was no sympathy in his eyes, only the cold certainty that Arryk had already made his choice, whether or not he realized it yet.

"Make it quick, Ser Arryk. I won't grant you such a mercy again," Daemon added, his voice low and final.

And with that, the Rogue Prince turned and left the dungeons, leaving the dagger behind as the only reminder of the honor that had once been and the shame that would now define him.

The air in your bed chamber was thick with the pungent scent of incense. The faint orange glow from the setting sun filtered weakly through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a dim, feverish light over the room. The dim glow of the hearth cast wavering shadows across the opulent green decor, the only light rivaling the room's heavy tension. Daemon Targaryen stood at the foot of his daughter's bed, his jaw set like granite, his lilac eyes aflame as they bore into the two figures before him. Queen Alicent Hightower, clad in a gown of deep emerald, held her composure, her hands clasped before her as though she were at prayer. Beside her, Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, straightened his posture, his sharp features betraying only a hint of disdain.

On the bed, the pale and fragile form of Daemon's youngest daughter lay motionless, her breath shallow and her lips tinged with an unnatural stillness. A half-empty vial of milk of the poppy rested on the bedside table, its glass catching the flicker of the firelight.

He could see your face now, pale and drawn, your lips dry and cracked, and your breathing shallow. Your hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat. You had barely roused since he returned to the Red Keep. The wound on your temple, the poison that still coursed through your veins, all of it seemed to pull you deeper into the shadows.

Daemon broke the silence first, his voice low and venomous. "How long?" he demanded, his hand clenching the hilt of Dark Sister. "How long has my daughter been your prisoner in her skin?"

Alicent raised her chin, her voice measured but with an edge of exasperation. "Daemon, your accusations are baseless. She is not a prisoner. The maester prescribed milk from the poppy for her comfort."

"Do not dare!" Daemon snarled, taking a step forward. "Do not dare speak to me of comfort while my daughter lies here, drugged into silence. Fragile, you say? What lies beneath your 'comfort,' Alicent? What truth were you so afraid she would speak?"

Otto stepped in, his tone dripping with authority. "Prince Daemon, you insult Her Grace and the King's council with this madness. Your grief clouds your reason. Do you hear yourself? These are the ravings of a man desperate to find enemies where none exist."

Daemon's laughter was cold and mirthless. "Oh, there are enemies aplenty, Lord Hightower, and none closer to my family than you." He pointed a finger toward Alicent. "Do not think I am blind to your schemes. Drugging my child, is that not desperation enough? Or would you rather have me believe that poison is beyond your reach?"

Alicent flinched, but only slightly, her calm demeanor hardening. "You think us capable of such atrocity? We seek only peace in the realm. Your daughter's well-being has always been our priority."

"Peace?" Daemon hissed, circling them like a dragon sizing up its prey. "Peace through silencing the truth, you mean. And what truth terrifies you so, Alicent? That your precious Greens are losing their grip on the throne? That your Targaryen children will not be your puppets?"

Otto's voice cut through the air, sharper now. "Enough! You speak treason, Prince Daemon. Were you not her father and brother to the King, I would have you dragged from this room in chains for such slander."

Daemon's grip on Dark Sister tightened, his knuckles whitening. He leaned in closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "And were she, not my daughter, I would have your head for daring to lay a finger upon her fate. Tell me, Otto, if the Greens are desperate enough to keep her tongue tied, are they desperate enough to steal her life?"

Alicent stepped forward, her expression resolute. "Daemon, this is your grief speaking. You imagine plots where none exist. Please, for her sake, do not let your paranoia destroy what remains of your family."

"My family?" Daemon barked, his eyes narrowing. "You have no claim to speak of my family, Alicent. The blood of the dragon burns brighter than the shadows you and your father cast. But be warned, if I uncover a single thread of truth behind this betrayal, I will burn every last one of your schemes to ash."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the faint, shallow breathing of the girl on the bed. Alicent and Otto exchanged glances, their faces masks of composure but their eyes betraying unease.

Daemon stood firm, a tempest barely restrained, his gaze never leaving them. He spoke once more, quieter now but no less dangerous.

"Leave this room. Leave her side. And pray, for your sakes, that the truth never comes to light."

Alicent hesitated, but Otto placed a firm hand on her arm, guiding her toward the door. They exited without another word, the heavy oaken door closing behind them with an ominous thud.

Daemon walked silently toward your bedside. His strong hands, so accustomed to wielding swords and bending the wills of others, now trembled as they reached for your delicate, limp fingers. The quiet vulnerability of this moment struck him more than any battlefield ever had. His daughter, the one he had sworn to protect, was broken, and he was powerless to do anything but watch. He gently curled his fingers around yours as if holding on to whatever little remained of the angry girl he had raised.

The Rogue Prince turned back to his daughter, kneeling beside her bed, his hand brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "They'll pay for this, little one," he murmured. "I swear it on my blood."

You shifted slightly, just enough to draw his gaze as your lips parted gently. Your eyes fluttered open briefly, sparkling with a soft, dreamy awareness that hinted at the depths of your thoughts.

"Father?" Your voice emerged as a fragile whisper, barely lifting above the air around you. The sound seemed to fracture something deep within Daemon, a tiny shard of his once-impenetrable heart splintering into pieces in his chest.

"Shh, don't try to speak," he murmured, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead with a tenderness he didn't often show. His eyes were wet with the tears he hadn't allowed himself to shed until now.

In return, you weakly squeezed his hand, your gaze struggling to focus through the Milk of the Poppy. "I... failed, didn't I?" you whispered, voice cracking. "I couldn't stop it... Couldn't stop the Greens."

Daemon's heart clenched. He could feel the depth of your regret, the weight of your self-doubt in those simple words. His mind flashed back to the fateful days that brought you to this point.

Sending you to King's Landing was the plan you had agreed upon, knowing it was dangerous. You would infiltrate the very heart of the enemy and make a place for yourself at court. You would seduce Aegon, the eldest son of Queen Alicent, a man with no taste for power and no ambition beyond the pleasures of the flesh. You would make him fall for you, win his favor, manipulate him, and stop the usurpation. You would ensure Rhaenyra's crown was secured and that Aegon would never take what was rightfully hers.

But everything had gone wrong. Daemon underestimated the treacherous nature of the court, the depths to which the Hightowers would go to secure the throne for their own and your young, bleeding heart. He had failed as a father, as a man. And now, his daughter, his precious girl, was paying the price.

Daemon swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a slow breath, trying to steady the fury that threatened to consume him. "You did what you could," he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. "You were brave. You were everything I asked of you and more."

You stirred again, your brows furrowing as if in pain, and lips parted to speak, but the words faltered.

"Father, if I fail... if Aegon becomes king..." you whispered hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. "Leave me to die in the forests of the North. A pack of hungry wolves would be kinder than what he will do to me."

Daemon's hand clenched around yours, and his heart shattered at the words. He knew what you meant. Aegon, a man who would become consumed by the luxuries that power had brought, could never be a better man. He would use his newfound strength to break his enemies and your family, bend them to his will, and crush them beneath the weight of his crown.

Aegon would not cease until you were by his side, even if it meant the destruction of House Targaryen and the kingdom. If he were to ascend to the throne, it would be the end of you.

You closed your eyes again, your body sagging slightly as the feverish haze claimed you again.

Daemon sat beside you on the mattress as it dipped with his weight, holding your hand in both. The stench of a floral musk that reminded Daemon of Viserys wafted through his nose as a sudden realization came to mind. His breath came fast, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but it was all drowned in his overwhelming rage and helplessness at the world's cruelty.

His daughter, his favorite daughter, was so close to death, and there was nothing he could do to save her. His mind began to work, to churn with decisions that could shape their future.

He will not let you die here.

"No," Daemon whispered to your sleeping form, his voice thick with emotion. "I will not let them do this to you. Not while I live." His hand trembled as he stroked your hair, his heart shattering again as he looked at your pale, suffering face.

He stood slowly, but his movements were sharp and purposeful now. The anger and sorrow had merged into a singular driving force as he turned to the window, glancing out at the fading light of the day. There was only one place he could take you, one where you might have a chance to heal and one where you would be safe, but at the potential cost of the throne.

"Prepare a ship," Daemon ordered to the guards outside the door, his voice hardening as he straightened, the weight of his promise pressing down on him. "Get it ready. We leave for Dragonstone tonight."

Turning back to the bed, he gently lifted you into his arms, carefully cradling you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. You were frail, but still his daughter—the fire from his blood, the only legacy worth fighting for. He kissed your forehead, the promise in his heart now fully formed.

"Do not fear," he whispered, more to himself than you. "You will be free. You have not failed. I will ensure you are never hurt again once we return to Dragonstone."

The ship would be ready by the hour of the owl, and Daemon would take you and leave the city behind. The politics, selfish intrigue, and Hightowers were all irrelevant now. The only thing that mattered was his daughter's life. The rest of the realm could burn for all he cared so long as you lived.

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We all want heads to roll, but we must let them have their moments. Otto, Alicent, and Larys will eventually get what's coming. I have about ten or eleven more chapters to go!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , @duesobabe, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan , @shari-berri , @tomgcmrs

Bold means I couldn't tag you •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

[daughter-lilith]

❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 1

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+ (In future Parts)

CW (For whole story): Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Halsin is Emotional!

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: After 10...11-ish years, BG3 has finally ended my fanfic hiatus. After years of focusing on original novels, I’m honestly so excited to get back into this genre!

For anyone who prefers to read on ao3, you can click here. And for those who prefer third-person POV (what I write most), I have an alternate upload also on ao3.

Lastly, this is technically a 1–2-chapter novella that I'm breaking into about 4-5 parts so it's easier on the eyes. So, apologies in advance if there are any awkward breaks between parts.

You patted the lightweight cream over your face, gently massaging it across your cheeks and up to your forehead until it was evenly spread. Smiling at yourself, you took in your appearance one last time for the night, comfortably dressed in nothing but a fitted tank top and black underwear. You had just finished some extra late-night gaming with friends, and you sighed, remembering that you probably should’ve used that time to write instead. Maybe you should’ve used any free time to write, rather than getting lost in other simple pleasures. The third book of your romantasy series wasn’t going to finish itself, and the deadline was fast approaching. Soon, your publishers will be expecting an update.

Turning off the bathroom light and exiting, you put those thoughts aside for now. Right now, you needed sleep, not to fill your head with worry. ‘I’ll get back on track tomorrow’, you thought to yourself. Your townhome was quiet, save for the distant churning sounds of the dishwasher downstairs. Your bedroom emitted a low light from the TV, though the volume was muted. You walked barefoot across the plush carpet, toward your phone that was placed on the small table next to your bed. 3:03 a.m.: the bright numbers flashed at you. You plugged it into its charger, then laid on your queen-sized mattress.

Grabbing the remote, you shut the TV off, which left your room almost fully dark were it not for the soft, orange glow emanating from the salt lamp near the TV. Snuggling under the covers, you exhaled a breath, closed your eyes, and gradually awaited the sweet lull of sleep. A few minutes had passed maybe, you weren’t sure, your consciousness was dangling on the edge of dreams yet still linked to your waking reality. A sound filled your ears, a familiar rumble that shook you out of your near-slumber, eyes fluttering open.

Your eyes landed on the light emitting from your phone, the screen completely illuminated. You usually left your phone on vibrate just in case of anything, but it wasn’t typically a disturbance. And you didn’t normally get messages at this time, except for the occasional random notification from someone who likely lived in a later time zone. Still, as the screen darkened once again, you closed your eyes, not worrying about it. You were a decent sleeper, and once you had fully slipped under, the chance of a quick notification waking you was quite slim. But not even a minute later, another vibration of the same pattern. Your eyes flicked open again, followed by an annoyed sigh as you relented and reached for your phone.

You squinted as the brightness already felt overwhelming despite not having fallen asleep yet. 3:12 a.m. You looked over the screen, noting the blue icon of your security camera followed by the text: ‘a person detected in your front yard’. Then another notification directly beneath it: ‘a person detected at your front door’. You lifted a brow in curiosity. It wasn’t unusual for random things to trigger your camera; a neighbor walking about, even at this hour, or perhaps your neighbor’s cat who strolled the streets at the most random hours. Maybe even someone driving off. Either way, you decided you were going to snooze the alerts but not before checking first.

Unlocking your phone with the print of your thumb, you tapped the first notification. Immediately, your stomach twisted and a heaviness filled your chest. The beat of your heart rapidly accelerated, and you could hear it echoing in your head, a panicked thumping. It wasn’t your neighbor’s cat, or someone walking by, or even movement from a car… Through the camera’s night vision, a man stood directly in front of your door, his head angled down so you couldn’t see his face. He had one arm- one huge, muscular arm- leaning against the doorframe like he was dealing with an internal battle to remain standing. Or as though he had the weight of the world on his rather broad shoulders and looked to your door for comfort. His other arm rested uneasily near his side, it looked like his fingers were tapping against his leg, unable to keep still.

Those expansive shoulders flexed in his position, tensed. And he was tall, almost filling up the entire field of view were it not for the height the camera was set up at. Dark hair, maybe a dark brown, you couldn’t quite tell in this light, was half tied up in a bun, the rest of it pooling at his collarbones. But despite his massive frame, what stood out the most to you were his ears. They seemed a normal size for his head, but the top of them curved into a tall upward point. ‘Elf ears?’ you silently questioned, confusion merging with your heightening anxiety. Surely, they had to be a prosthetic or molding, they had to be, and yet they blended with the bottom part of his ears so well.

You were sitting straight up now, the uneasiness in your belly increasing. What do you do? It was rational to call the cops, you knew this, but how soon would they get there? Do you try and scare him off? Threaten him? You lived alone, but he didn’t know that.

A new wave of panic surged as you tried to remember if you had locked your door. Of course you did, you always did. But what if- what if this was the one stupid night that it slipped your mind? What if— your thoughts were halted when you noticed the stranger lifting his head.

You gasped as he stared at the door for a single moment before his eyes roved up towards the camera. He started tilting his head as he looked intently at the camera, studying it, until his head paused, almost like he knew he was being watched.

You were frozen as you took in his gaze, so intense, so focused. The front door light was on, and paired with the night vision, you could tell he had bright eyes. And those eyes seemed to steal your breath, pulling you in even through the camera. There was so much depth behind his eyes: strength, power, kindness even. But another emotion burned brighter than the rest, a sense of…desperation- if you could call it that. A hopeful desperation, maybe. But for what?

As he looked at you, or so it felt like, you found yourself completely captured by him. The mere sight of him seemed to slow the nervous hammering of your heart, and you took this strange moment to take in more of his features. Apart from his ever-enthralling stare, he also seemed tired, like it had been days since he last rested, like he was too stressed to even get the chance. Four, very precise scars swiped across the right side of his face, from his forehead, cutting across his brow. Whatever injured him, it luckily missed his eye, only continuing to the bottom part of his lip and chin. And on the left side, a curving pattern of tattoos swirled along his face, from the top of his forehead to his chin, and maybe even to his neck but it was difficult to tell from this angle. You couldn’t make out the color, but it was clearly darker than his complexion, dark enough to notice.

A new realization simmered in your mind as your eyes were fixed on him, despite the scarring on his face and the tired look in and around his eyes, he seemed…handsome. He was handsome. More than that even, and perhaps that’s what made it more difficult to look away. You shook your head rapidly. No, his looks didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. He was a stranger outside of your house at three o’clock in the gotdamn morning. ‘Get it together,’ you thought to yourself.

But the movement of his lips pulled you out of your analysis and self-reprimanding, and your heart battered once again as a new wave of anxiety passed through you. He was saying something. You didn’t hear him, as the sound was muted on your end. Your finger hovered over the volume symbol, trembling. Pressing it wouldn’t give your voice sound, but it would allow you to hear his. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb turned on the volume. Instantly, the distant sound of the soft wind passed through the phone. Your heart beating in your chest, you watched the stranger and waited. And it wasn’t long before his lips moved once again.

“Can you hear me?” the stranger inquired, his voice low and gentle through your phone. When he spoke, a cloud of air flowed from his mouth, a reminder of the brisk night. The sound made your stomach tickle, a new sense of nerves but not of fear.

A brief, grave sigh followed his inquiry, and it only confirmed the emotions behind his eyes. He was definitely desperate for something, perhaps even afraid?

You didn’t dare turn on the speaker to respond, your voice suddenly feeling dry as you tried to swallow any bits of saliva you could.

“Please. I mean you no harm,” the stranger spoke again. His brows curved inward, and his mouth slightly turned down. So much suffering in his warm, kind eyes; so much heaviness in his large arms and shoulders.

Your mouth parted slightly, and you found yourself standing now, rocking side-to-side on your heels. Somehow, deep in your core, as his plea rumbled through your phone, you felt the sincerity in his voice. Your intuition was always quite strong, and at this moment, all sense of fear and suspicion began to wane. The logical next step would be getting the police on the phone while keeping an eye on the stranger from one of the upstairs windows. Instead, your thumb found itself hovering over the speaker. Swallowing, you exhaled an unsteady breath and clicked the button, permitting sound from your end now.

“What do you want?” You tried to sound intimidating, but your voice came out softer than you intended, and you clenched your jaw at how vulnerable you sounded.

The stranger’s eyes widened, and his pointed ears seemed to perk up, a surprising hope filling his gaze. A quick mist of air escaped his lips as you heard him release a quick breath. He stepped back from the doorframe, standing taller, and when he spoke again, you could’ve sworn you died right then and there if you weren’t so very clearly still standing. He had spoken your name- well, almost. He used the shortened version, a nickname only your closest friends and family sometimes referred to you as. There was no way he’d know that name.

With a new resolve, you spoke again, this time your voice came out louder, more confident. “How do you know that name? Who the hell are you?”

He said your name game, softer, desperate, his brows once again curving inward. “You’re here, you’re truly here. Please, may I come in? I will explain all.”

Come in? There was no way that was happening… right? The rational part of your brain was like a blaring siren, shouting at you to do the smart thing. But you often moved through life with your heart first, your emotions, leaving your mind to sigh in relief when everything worked out. Or, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your mistakes. You couldn’t let him in, you shouldn’t.

“I will not harm you. Never,” the stranger affirmed, closing off his promise with your name. Another feeling simmered in your heart when he said your name once again, so naturally, like it had left his lips a thousand times before.

“And I should just trust you?” you retorted, your voice a harsh whisper. But your curiosity was developing by the second as you glanced at your robe lying haphazardly in the middle of your bed.

You heard him sigh, his shoulders lowering, a heavy sense of defeat fueling such a simple action. But he didn’t seem irritated or impatient. And the more he peered into the camera, at you, a pool of dread and grief burned into the wells of his bright eyes. An uncomfortable jolt shot across your stomach at the sight. You knew nothing of this man and had never seen him before, but you couldn’t swallow the sorrow that arose in your chest, nearly causing you to forget to breathe. You were always quite empathetic, but this was…unique. Bizarre.

“What does your heart tell you?” you heard him ask, the words so gentle and pure from such an incredible stature of a man.

You blinked rapidly at the question, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. Quickly, you tapped the speaker on your phone to silence yourself. A shaky exhale escaped your throat, and you could hear your heart thumping again.

You stared at the man, whose eyes seemed to glow due to the greyscale night vision. You quickly pondered his question…your heart often told you many things, some right some not so much… And yet, as you stared at this man, who stood outside your door in the middle of the night, quick trails of air consistently leaving his lips, your heart answered. Without another thought, you took two steps towards your bed and picked up your robe, swiftly throwing it over you, your arms sliding in with ease. You wrapped it snuggly around your frame, feeling warm except for the skin below your knees that was left exposed.

And now, your heart was guiding you towards the stairs, down the steps, until you were sneaking down the short corridor to your front door. Your phone was still gripped tightly in your hand, and the stranger once again muttered a gentle plea. The sound of his voice caused a prickle across your arms, a new bundle of nerves as you got closer to your door.

Your house was almost completely pitch-black, except for a few flickering lights from alarms, the thermostat, the Wi-Fi modem, and cable boxes. The steady swishing sounds from the dishwasher were the only audible company, but even it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the drumming of your heart.

Coldness hit the bottom of your feet as you left the softness of the carpet and stepped into the entryway. You stopped in front of the tall, burgundy door, the wooden frame the only thing keeping you separated from the stranger. Thankfully, you had indeed locked it, top and bottom, but even that didn’t seem like it would be enough if he chose to get in with force. Glancing at your phone screen, you noticed he diverted his attention from the camera, angling down to stare at your door. You were holding your breath again, unbeknownst to you, and swallowed harshly.

“You’re right there…” he murmured, reaching to place a hand on the door. “Please.”

Your stomach fluttered at his voice; the baritone was much clearer now that you were hearing him from not just your phone but directly outside the door. You closed your eyes, whispering a silent prayer to anyone who was listening. If any guardian angels are listening, now would be a great time to have my back.

You opened your eyes and glanced at your phone. “Just…take a few steps back.”

Immediately, he removed his hand from the door. “Of course.” The large man retreated some, walking backward down two steps.

Satisfied, as much as you could be anyway, you placed your phone down on a small stand near the door, then reached to unlock the door.

One click.

A quick exhale.

A thumping heart.

Another click.

You reached for the light switch next, flicking on the warm-white glow above your head. You began turning the handle, your mind a wild array of thoughts and images of what could happen. But it was your heart in the end that silenced the panicked voices, your heart that gave you the courage to proceed.

Pulling the door back a few inches, cold air instantly prickled your cheeks, causing a shudder to shoot down your back. You leaned your head in between the small opening, instantly locking eyes with the man just a few feet from you.

Your breath hitched. Even standing two steps down did little to lessen the intimidation of his height. His eyes widened as they met with yours, a flash of relief and hope reflecting in his… what looked like hazel eyes. A gleam of silver or blue seemed to glow in the specks of his irises, perhaps from the lighting, but it was otherwise mesmerizing. You could better make out the swirling tattoo on his face, a deep red that only seemed to bring more attention to his eyes. Subconsciously, you ended up pulling the door back more, your body now half exposed to the outside.

The strange man breathed a quick sigh, much more joyful than the ones from earlier. “It’s you. It’s truly you.” A smile spread on his face, deepening the laugh lines on his cheeks. His large arms extended toward you and he took a single step forward.

Instinctively, you recoiled, and he froze, a wave of regret painting his expression.

“Forgive me,” he rushed his words, his muscled arms now hovering in surrender. “I am stricken with disbelief. But I meant what I said, that I would never harm you.”

Without the echo and semi-clarity of speaking through your phone, you could feel the sincerity in his words far more than before. The way his gaze pored into you, the shame that seemed to hover at the idea that he just frightened you, your fear began to wane. Yes, he did startle you just now, but then instantly soothed your anxiety on his words alone. You eyed him up and down, slow, taking in more of his appearance than what could be seen through the camera.

He was even larger. Bulging muscles looked like they wanted to flex in his arms, held back by a strap or belt across his biceps. Green leaves padded his shoulders, decorating the intricate garb he wore. You slightly narrowed your brow in question. He definitely looked like he could’ve just left some sort of Renaissance faire or some comic convention, but at this time of night? Maybe if it was Halloween that would explain things, except it was a few weeks into winter.

Brown armbands covered what you could only assume were thick forearms beneath, and he was wearing pants that were partially concealed by a flowing white skirt- or at least what used to be white. It looked stained, like he had once fallen in mud and he was only partially able to wash away all the evidence. Still, as your eyes returned to him, you certainly couldn’t deny the sculpted ruggedness in his face, his jawline. He wasn’t just handsome, but beautiful even, strange attire and all. And his age, you couldn’t quite measure it. When he smiled, he looked like he could’ve been late thirties. But he appeared a bit older when he frowned, maybe early forties.

“Who are you?” you questioned, feeling slightly more comfortable. You opened the door further, feeling your legs tingle, reacting to the cool air.

But he didn’t answer right away, seemingly lost as his gaze similarly roved over you. But it was slower, more deliberate, and you crossed your arms around yourself, almost self-conscious under his analyzing eye. And even though your robe covered you almost completely, you still remembered you were practically naked underneath. Could he tell that you were?

Clearing your throat, he startled, the leaves shaking over his shoulders, and locked eyes with you again.

“I am Halsin,” he said, confidence oozing in his timbre. A hearty smile followed his introduction, and your caution continued to fade and drift away.

Halsin, you thought. You shifted your mouth to the side, pondering. It didn’t ring a single bell. You had a few lovers in your past, some casual to serious. But there was no way you would’ve ever forgotten such an unfamiliar name, especially if it was attached to the absolute tower of a man before you. You looked at him once more, noting a flicker of hope in his eyes. Hope that maybe you would know something.

“Where did you come from…Halsin?” He frowned at your inquiry, visibly dispirited that his name did not connect with you. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather,” you continued. His arms were completely exposed, and his clothing certainly did not seem well-suited for the winter. While it wasn’t below freezing, there was an evident chill in the air, a reminder that spring was still well off. You suspected that he had to be at least a little uncomfortable.

Halsin smiled at your observation, a gentle chuckle leaving his throat. “You are correct. I did not think to prepare for which season would greet me. As for where I came from… it is a realm quite far from here.” He glanced away, off to the side as he paused. When he looked back at you, there was a sense of uncertainty in his eyes. “A place called Faerûn.”

“Faerûn…” you murmured, narrowing your brows as your eyes searched his face. “I’ve never-- is that a country? An island?”

His smile remained, though laced with a touch of gloom. “A continent.”

A continent? Not one you’ve ever heard of before. A name like that wouldn’t have been hard to forget, especially if it was one of the continents of Earth. You released a soft breath, trying -and failing- to mask your budding confusion.

You heard Halsin speak, his smooth baritone drawing your attention back up his tall frame. “He warned me you may not remember…but I was hoping…” His words drifted off into the cold air. When he spoke, he wasn’t looking at you, like it was meant to be a side thought.

“Who warned you?” Your breath came out harsh as an involuntary gasp escaped you.

He bowed his head slightly, bringing one arm across his chest. “Silvanus.”

Another name unfamiliar to you. You stared at Halsin, quizzically, and it was clear to him that he understood the gnawing confusion that rattled you.

“Perhaps I can come inside to talk? I am fine with this brisk air, and I do not mind explaining all out here but…” he sighed, concern etching at the corners of his eyes, “you are trembling. And I don’t think it’s from fear, not entirely.”

As he said this, a shudder dashed up your back. You weren’t aware how long you’d been shivering, too baffled by the large man before you. Too distracted by this entire interaction. But a sudden passing wind supported Halsin’s observation of you, and you curled your toes inward, trying to shield them from the cold. The air prickled your lower legs, traveling up your thighs and your back. The robe that clutched your frame was as warm as it could be, but not warm enough to soothe you against the winter’s air.

After a light sniffle, you steeled yourself and stared at him directly. “I’ll let you in, but you have to do something for me first.”

“Anything,” he quickly responded.

“Tell me something about me that only those who know me would know. Just one thing that involves me.”

Halsin rocked back on his right foot a bit, shoulders squaring a pinch as he tilted his chin slightly. He turned his head to the side, his expression deeply focused, thinking. Meanwhile, your heart was amping up again, a fleet of nerves crackling in your gut as you awaited his answer. This was it. This was the moment that would solidify if you could completely throw even more caution to the wind and allow this strange man to enter your sanctuary, in the middle of a winter’s night, alone. Finally, Halsin’s voice filled the night air once more, a soft timbre.

“Your back,” he started, still looking away. “There is a mark there- a small streak- it begins near your lower spine, tracing further down, only stopping at,” he paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cleared his throat before continuing. “It’s lighter than your overall complexion, the only such mark on your body.”

You froze, your voice stunned into silence. Your lips parted, but only the warmness of your breath trailed away, forming a small, fading cloud. Halsin finally looked at you again, uneasily pressing his lips together.

A beating heart thumped loudly. Yours or his? Of course it had to be yours. But the way he was staring at you, the slight tremble in his lips, a brief rock on his heels, he was nervous. Uncertain. Perhaps desperately hoping he was right. Visibly, he did not appear to be an easily nervous man, that he could ever seem to lack any confidence, and yet you felt his nerves even more than you saw it. And he was right- the birthmark that trailed down the end of your spine. Only a few would know of it: your parents from when you were a child, your closest friends who helped zip your outfits up on occasion, and some ex-lovers who were lucky enough to have you in a position of giving them such a view.

It wasn’t something you hid per se, but you didn’t really flaunt it either. In most, if not all pictures of you, you were either clothed or facing forward. Maybe some passerby caught a view of it at beaches or pools, but one had to be really paying attention.

“How…” you breathed, searching his eyes. “How did you know that?”

A brightness washed over his face, and his shoulder evened, standing taller. “Because I know you. And I could never forget you… my heart.”

His… heart? A flush of warmth filled your cheeks. Something in the way he said those words, the way his unwavering eyes focused on you, meant something to you. You meant something to him.

Sure, you could mark him off as some weirdo stalker, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. But an unpleasant tickle poked your gut at the idea, like the very thought of him being such a thing was an insult. And looking at this mountain of a man; who dressed like he came from another time, with large, perfectly pointed ears and a large scar that didn’t seem to be fake… No, he wasn’t just some stalker.

“May I?” He gestured towards the space between you and the door.

You bit the side of your bottom lip, heart thumping. Another rush of wind passed over your feet sending a more vicious chill up your legs. So, you leaned fully to the side, pulling the door back as far as it could go. Halsin seemed to release a breath of relief, before stepping up and towards you. You nearly gulped as he did, almost forgetting just how much taller he was since he was initially standing a few steps down.

He kept his gaze on you as the distance closed, and his large frame nearly filled the entire entryway. You watched him intently, neck angled up the closer he came. Instantly, the scent of pine and sandalwood filled your nose, amplified by the warmth radiating from him. How was that possible? He had been standing in the cold for some time and yet it was like the setting sun in the middle of summer had just entered your home. You almost smiled, overtaken by a sudden sense of peace and tranquility. Of strength and protection. Of the wild and the power that came with it.

Halsin continued to peer down at you, a nearly-there smile on his smooth-appearing lips. You weren’t the shortest person in the world, but you’ve never felt as dwarfed as you do now. Halsin moved by you, careful not to invade too much of your personal space, which was almost impossible in the small entryway. Finally, you broke contact with him and turned to close the door, one final breeze blowing inside as you did. You closed your eyes briefly, shooting another quick prayer before turning around and hustling past the hulking man.

You moved towards the kitchen, feeling the weight of his steps calmly following. You almost turned the main light on but hesitated; the idea of the bright light illuminating the whole room suddenly made you nervous. It was much brighter than the one by your door. This would mean facing him fully, without the presence of faint shadows to help mask any emotions. That and, you were still very much in your robe with just a tank top and your underwear beneath. Your hair wasn’t a mess per se, but not exactly presentable for a guest. Or for whatever he was. So instead, you turned the rotating switch, activating the spherical ceiling lights. A warm, dim glow gradually filled the space as you turned it halfway and stopped. Just enough light.

“Most intriguing,” you heard him say. You didn’t understand what he meant but decided not to question it. There were already too many questions, and you wanted to get to the most important ones first.

Stepping toward the island at the center, you finally turned to face Halsin again as you stopped at the side of the counter. Your kitchen was decently sized and typically didn’t have an issue with a couple of people being in it at once. But Halsin absolutely dominated this space. You noticed his eyes searching behind you, at a very particular area with a quizzical expression. Looking over your shoulder, nothing but more counter space, the sink, and the dishwasher. Was that what he was looking at?

“Oh, I can turn it off if it helps,” you said casually. Maybe it was distracting him. You leaned towards it and hit the pause button instead of canceling it entirely. Instantly, a new silence filled the room, and you were already missing the steady, rhythmic whooshing sounds of the washer. At least it drowned out the sound of your heart which now all too familiarly thumped in your ears.

Turning back to Halsin, who was already looking at you, made you fiddle with your fingers, trying not to cower beneath his gaze. This was your space he was in, your home. So you steeled yourself as best as possible, steadying your breaths, and held his gaze, waiting.

But Halsin continued to watch you, once again trapping you under the powerful pressure of his stare. You licked your lips, tense, and you could’ve sworn you heard his breath hitch.

“Halsin?”

He blinked. “Forgive me, I am just…” he exhaled, smiling, “taking you in.”

Part 2 here! Hope you enjoyed! Would you have opened the door?👀👀 & Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the final part either as a comment or in tags if you reblogged, that way you can binge it or just simply be notified when it's complete!

[sirenjose]

Characters' Wishing Stars

(Updated to include every character's wish, then added more thoughts about more of the other wishes. Thoughts on Norton's/Fool's Gold's and Jose's are at the end)

Part 1 - Wishing Stars

Survivors

Lucky: I wish for good fortune for everyone! May the lucky star bless all!

Emily: May all be endowed with wellness and joy. May sickness be but a distant shadow in this world.

Freddy: I've made some mistakes, Martha, but I've never regretted loving you.

Kreacher: Set adrift toward the yonder, and let everyone know: Kreacher's ambitions shall be made manifest! Mark my words!

Emma: Father, Mother, are you well? Do you, too, gaze up at the stars this evening?

Servais: I wish to one day stand on the grandest stage of magic! That day will surely come.

Kurt: To live in this beautiful world is a blessing, and in the future, I hope to pursue adventures in higher, farther, and grander realms!

Naib: Will this lantern reach the rivers of my homeland? If so, I wish for it to tell her I'm doing well.

Martha: May each soul find sanctuary, never to lose oneself, never to drift astray.

Tracy: Changing the world might be too lofty an ideal, but I at least want to invent things that bring happiness to more people!

William: Someday, I will be acknowledged! Victory is the domain of the brave-those who defy adversity!

Helena: The night sky must be beautiful, just as it is in my imagination. If possible, I'd like to see this wonderful world with my own eyes someday.

Fiona: Mother, do you see? I've taken another step closer to the truth of this world.

Vera: Vera, I wish you well. It was all worth it.

Kevin: They say the departed become stars.. Even now, I still remain shamefully illuminated by your light.

Margaretha: In the not-too-distant future, there will surely be a stage as brilliant as this starry sky meant solely for me. This is my wish.

Eli: Stars, rivers, flowers. This is a beautiful dream I never anticipated, so please let this dream last a little longer.

Aesop: May this lantern find tranquil shores, as may I.

Norton: I want to live a better life.

Patricia: May fate judge all wrongdoing.

Murro: Well-being to all! I hope someone, somewhere, will remember Murro.

Mike: I wish to bring joy to more people and help everyone forget their troubles!

Jose: May all my loved ones embark on their own journeys, and may lighthouses guide them to safe harbors.

Demi: Brother, are you well? Are you admiring this starry sky too?

Victor: To whoever sees my letter and lantern, know that Victor wishes you eternal happiness.

Andrew: Though I cannot gaze directly upon the sun, this eve, I've beheld the most resplendent darkness. I am grateful for this night and for those who accompany me.

Luca: Those who march toward science and truth will not regret it. One day, I will prove everything.

Melly: What a beautiful night. I hope all those little lives be cherished, as they rest beneath the grass and leaves.

Edgar: The shifting starry sky hides endless beauty and mystery, and we mortals, mere chroniclers of this splendor, stand and gaze, as do I.

Ganji: I wish the people of my hometown healthy and prosperous. At least, tonight, I'm looking at the same sky as you.

Annie: May every child grow in peace and happiness. May every little toy cradle your grandest dreams.

Emil: I often forget the past, but from now on, every day shall brim with bliss. I wish that everyone could remember only happiness.

Ada: I wish for Emil's good health. May we all cherish the present and the love of others.

Orpheus: Fate pens the finest tales, so I hope everyone's story holds fewer regrets, twists, and at least, more favorable conclusions.

Memory: The stars are exceptionally beautiful tonight! I also wish to be a kind, loving person who brings happiness to everyone.

Weeping Clown: One day, when the audience watches Joker, they, too, will wear a genuine, satisfied smile.

Professor: I don't have any wishes, save for this lantern to journey far, far away.

Qi: May old companions fare well.

Frederick: The night always brings to mind fragments of the past and chaotic whispers, yet from such whispers, countless great inspirations arise.

Alice: Alice, follow the path you believe to be true, for earnest living begets serendipity.

Charles: Stars, please tell me - should I hold on a little longer?

Lily: I shall alter all through sheer endeavor, Simon.

Matthias: Will the moonlight shine on me… on Matthias?

Florian: The bright yet warmthless stars evoke memories of childhood Christmases.

Evelyn: Are you still searching for your destination.

Hunters

Leo: Lisa, may you grow up healthy and safe.

Joker: Come on! I wish for everyone to share in the madness and mirth with me!

Jack: Should I wish for clarity, or pray to forever bask in this enchanting night…

Bane: May no creature suffer harm. May the heart of humanity awaken to conscience.

Violetta: Oh, beautiful stars… I wish everyone well! I hope… I hope everyone can be loved.

Michiko: Love is bittersweet, and time ticks on without a care. Gazing at the moon always brings to mind those no longer with us.

Hastur: (There is no writing on the wishing star, but it shows signs of having been soaked in water.)

Wu Chang: May you be well, may the years be kind, and may lovers remain together in love.

Joseph: Does moonlight hold the power to turn back time? If such a thing were true, I'd wish to return to the time when you were still here.

Burke: It's too late for me to start making any wishes. But if everyone else is safe and happy, this old soul can rest easy.

Yidhra: (The wishing star is blank, but a fierce night wind blows upon beholding it.)

Robbie: I want a songbird that can fly to where my parents are and sing to them.

Luchino: Rather than making wishes, I believe humanity ought to strive for advancement through diligence.

Mary: The illusion of opulence has been shattered. Given another beginning, I'd choose to be the master of my destiny.

Bonbon: It's been a pleasure knowing you! Bonbon!

Ann: I'm lucky to have found a purpose in life. I hope everyone's kindness and faith will not be in vain.

Antonio: My violin bow, please play the most exquisite, unbound melodies.

Galatea: Stars above, please grant me more inspiration and opportunities to create beautiful works.

Percy: (The wishing star is unmarked, save for traces of motor oil, resembling a moon perhaps?)

Polun: We want money! Wealth! Fame! Of course, we want our dear father and mother too!

Grace: I wish for no one to be lonely. I wish that you could all be happy. As for me, I can't think of any wishes.

Philippe: If my sister and I could gaze at this starry sky together, my wish would be fulfilled.

Nightmare: Congratulations, you've glimpsed the writings of the "Nightmare" in this wondrous dream!

Keigan: I wish for this world to have more justice and rationality. That should be enough.

Alva: May more forsake the folly of human nature and choose to approach the truth.

Ithaqua: Mother, if possible, I wish to at least dream of those moments in the woods and snow at night.

Sangria: Burn once more, for I still seek to prove my worth.

Fool's Gold: I've already dug my way out of fate's mine. Haven't I?

Ivy: (The paper is scribbled with 2 little girls holding a wishing star lantern together.)

Part 2 - Thoughts

In general, all of them are pretty good and I definitely think helps paint a better picture of each character, who they are deep down, and what their priority/goal is.

Quite a few few of them though are fairly sad, including (to me) Freddy, Naib, Helena, Kevin, Murro, Ganji, Charles, Violetta, Joseph, Burke, Robbie, Philip, Ithaqua, Fool's Gold, and Ivy. I have to say, the ones that made me feel the worst were Kevin and Burke (especially the latter. Can you not make me feel like I wanna cry?).

Freddy's I quite like as I think it tells a lot about him. He admits he's not perfect, he admits even things he did weren't right, but for good or ill he still loves Martha Remington. To me, it's that admission of his mistakes I like the most.

Naib and Ganji both simply wishing to be home, with their families, but because they can't they just wish that their loved ones are happy and sufficiently taken care of. Despite how they may be depicted in their games, they both have a lot of sorrow in their heart and have been through quite the ordeals, all while being far from home and any chance to return is slim or difficult to acquire. Everything they do matters little compared to their longing to return home and move past all this.

Helena's wish I to see the world one day, for obvious reasons, is quite sad considering how she lost her eyesight when she was young. As a result, she can only imagine and dream of seeing the sky. The fact there's little chance she'll regain her sight somehow (unless something happens in the future) is what makes this line hurt the most.

Murro's wish is only for someone to remember him, which honestly is quite the implication of how he feels about himself and how he thinks others' feel about him. He's been through so much, losing his parents, then his ill treatment and abuse while he was kept by Bernard, to the point he simply wanted to get away from people and just be with his partner. It's that feeling he's given up hope, and the idea that this is all he thinks he's capable of hoping for... It's like he already thinks he has no future and nothing much to look forward to.

Wishes of people like Charles, Robbie, Joseph, Philip, Ithaqua, and Ivy are focused on the loss of those close to them, some of which are consumed by the guilt at their role in that loss or inability to prevent their death. Joseph especially has devoted the rest of his life to attempting to revive Claude, and has been incapable of ever having a single moment where he isn't thinking about his twin. It makes me think about what Michiko said regarding the bittersweetness of love, and how time marches on whether or not those we love are left behind. The important question being whether a person is capable of moving forward or will be stuck looking back, which is the whole theme with Orpheus.

Violetta's wish hurts me due to me reading into her line and feeling like she's referring to herself. And the idea that she's wishing there was someone out there who will love her, as her being abandoned by her parents, taken by Max who treated her like an object to attract attention to his freak show and earn him money, but once she no longer did, he disposed of her, leaving Violetta feeling unwanted. Despite what she's been through, she is still a kind and positive person, but even she has moments where she can't help but let slip hints about her true feelings.

Kevin of course has been and still is a very sad boy. He, like Joseph, has his thoughts forever stuck on the loved ones he lost. He is incapable of moving past Angelina's death, further compounded by his guilt regarding Angelina's father and the tribe. He is trapped by his guilt. It's the fact that Kevin refuses to forgive himself, blaming himself for everything that has happened, is why Kevin's wish hurts me so much.

Burke... I don't even know what to say. This was the 1 that I think hurt the most for a bunch of reasons that I don't quite know how to put to words. Netease, please stop trying to make me cry.

As for other wishes that caught my attention:

Mike's simple wish to bring joy to people and help them forget their troubles was curious, as I think it really helps give a better idea about him, considering he's someone I sometimes find tricky to figure out. His deductions depict him as pretty mischievious, especially with things like using rocks or nitrogen in his tricks. But then we get to the tragedy, and all we don't really get any more ... good descriptions from Mike himself as to how he is internally. Except for hints based on how he went to the morgue to confirm who was dead and who was missing. And then with his suspicion of (and disgust for) Margaretha, as well as Joker. His last deduction and backstory really emphasize that his singular goal is essentially revenge. Yet we learn in through the letters that he was unable to do so even when he's given the chance. This is why I at least personally appreciate this little detail about his interest in people's happiness and desire to fix all their problems. It helps put everything else in better perspective.

Vera's was mainly due to how she says it was "all worth it". This seems to confirm how she feels about her actions, despite the sorrow she describes in her 1st letter due to her own actions, and despite the reality of what she did. She continues to reason with herself that, despite the cost, it all worked out in the end. It could show just how broken she's become due to how she grew up due to her father and everyone looking down on her and treating her the way they did. It could show just how hard her heart has become as a result. But it's also possible to read this line as trying to convince herself to not regret. To not dwell on what she's done. To try to tell herself that it's ok, it's ok, it's ok. If this is true, whether or not she actually fully believes this attempt to reason with herself is a separate question.

Margaretha's further confirms the type of person she's in and the life she's interested in. She's still interested in luxury, she's still a bit vain, just like her personality info in-game states. However, what I was focused on was how she talks about having a stage "solely for me". This to me reads as she wants to be able to move forward and survive on her own without having to rely on others, like she did previously with Sergei, or how she's "exploiting" Joker. Which I think is a good development on her part, as I think it shows growth. It's something that may take time, but she's expressing determination to achieve this goal.

Martha was primarily of interest to me as, similar to Violetta, I read it as she was essentially referring to herself. It's a lament over the fact she has no place she sees as "home", and she doesn't even know who she is anymore. She's taken on too many identities, and gone through so much that she isn't sure who is the real her or if even if she does remember if it'll actually feel right to her anymore. She's lost and doesn't know how to find her way back on to the path. Her wish is a warning to others the way I see it, which is imporant considering what we learn happened with her in her game.

Sangria's I find curious as I never really thought about her like that, the idea that she wants to "prove [her] worth". It can make sense considering her backstory and deductions emphasize how badly she was treated by her father and the fact she was viewed as "less than a toy", as well as make sense based on whatever happened between her and the lady to cause Sangria to later ask to "get back on stage". I feel like this wish could potentially help understand some of what happens with her in her game...

Then there's Nightmare. Which to me feels... the strangest and almost out of place of any of the wishes. I'm still not quite sure about the real meaning behind it yet but it does make me think...

On that same tangent, I'll go to Orpheus next. Similarly, his line is quite interesting and will take me some time to really digest. The fact he speaks of wanting to reduce other people's regrets and give them "more favorable conclusions" to me is strange. Some of the stories he writes don't exactly feel like he's trying to give the people it's based on better "conclusions", nor does it feel like he's doing that with the participants of each of his games. Though looking at a different place, what he seems to be doing to Kevin in his 4th letter does feel like he's trying to manipulate Kevin's memories to make him think Angelina isn't dead. The entire truth of the goal of Orpheus' experiments and actions is still something I don't think we fully grasp yet. It's possible more is happening to the participants than we know (especially with how of them, or at least their bodies, are missing, and I still wonder about Yidhra's and Joseph's involvements, considering the Dreamlands or Joseph's photo world could potentially present Orpheus an opportunity to maybe give individuals a happier story if they are trapped there, especially with the memory drugs, but I'm still unsure about so much...).

Norton's wish is such a great but simple enough summary for his character. He's not asking to be rich. He's not asking for gold despite that's what he searched for in Golden Cave. He's not asking for anything in particular. All Norton cares about is having a "better" life. Something more than being trapped in poverty, with a job that could kill him at any time, and especially over time the longer he has it. He wants to not have to worry about starving all the time, or worry if he'll have a place to shelter for the night, or worry about cruel coworkers or employers, any other necessities he needs. We've seen that he isn't asking for anything fancy. He eats simple bread, and spends what little spare money he has on books and knowledge. He just wants enough so he'll never have to worry about going back to that life again.

Which is interesting when considering Fool's Gold's wish: "I've already dug my way out of fate's mine. Haven't I?". This to me sounds like he's trying to convince himself. He's desperately hoping he's finally escaped the mine, which he describes as "fate's" mine. This referencing his "fate" as a miner due to his father also being a miner. The fact he describes it as how he "dug my way out" is a way of showing how he's done everything himself. He was the one who's fought tooth and nail to get out of his situation, who's spent all his blood, sweat, and tears to originally just work hard enough to earn what he can, and then when that didnt work find another way, and when he was trapped in Golden Cave, how he literally dug his way out (which shows how badly he wants to live). "Fate" being a "mine" also has the symbolism of Norton originally seeing his fate as somethin dark, made by someone else who forced him into it, a place with little room to move full of many dangers, surrounded by many people who either treated him badly or only cared for themselves, and the only path forward led further and further down. This was why Norton wants to escape his fate, and why he's been so desperate to do anything he can if it means a way out. He wants a brighter fate, one not trapped underground, but a fate out in the open world where the sky is the limit. Unfortunately though, as we can see from the ending of Fool's Gold's wish, Norton isn't entirely convinced he's completely escaped his fate. Which is curious and I wish I could see the reasoning behind his thoughts. Is it because he's afraid he'll be caught for what he did? Is it because he's afraid he'll have to go back to the mine if he is unable to find any other way of making a living? Is it because of whatever happened while he was trapped in the mind that he's continuously referenced but never explained, that's lead to him being so deathly afraid of the place? Or does it have something to do with his current situation with Orpheus and whatever the order was in his 2nd letter? Considering this is the 2nd time we've seen Norton trying to convince himself but failing to do so completely by the end (the 1st time being in Norton's 2nd letter where he tries to convince himself to go through with the assassination order), I wonder if it's possible these 2 things could be related. Maybe he feels like or is starting to feel like his current situation is not any better than it was before when he was still a miner, or when he was trapped in Golden Cave. Which is curious as that seems to reinforce how we can't be completely sure what Norton will do in the final game, or what the full truth of his relationship with Orpheus, Alice, and the others is. It's also interesting this line comes from Fool's Gold, who also appeared in Norton's backstory trailer, before he causes Golden Cave to collapse. He's holding his head, and seemingly fighting with himself over whether he should do it or not. Hunter Norton seems to be a way of showing Norton's internal dilemma, his war with himself, with how Hunter Norton is likely symbolized in Norton's 2nd letter, and now again here when Norton's trying to convince himself that he's escaped his fate. But unlike the 1st time in the mine when Hunter Norton managed to win out and cause the mine collapse, these other 2 times haven't ended with a certain winner, which could show how Norton's changed or how he may not be willing to do the same thing again. But maybe I'm thinking too hard.

As for Jose, I wish I could understand him better. Despite how his father treated him, despite how he only cared about fame and fortune, despite how he was only ever concerned about looking good for the Queen and everyone he deemed important, Jose still wishes his "loved ones" to stay safe essentially. Who that would be besides his family I'm not sure. We never learn about his mother, and there's really no one else that could be outside of maybe some people he was friends with, though he specifically says "loved ones". We don't know if he was friendly with those on his crew, though we know at least some were of the same type of person as Jose's father based on Jose's deduction 7, while others died either when Jose's father vanished or during deduction 4. We now know he's tied in some way to Sam Bourbon but not the specifics of that relationship (how friendly were they?). Therefore, it's most likely he's referring to his father here. I wish I knew more about Jose's feelings and relationship with his father, considering deduction 7 and 8, as well as other bits don't exactly make Joaquin out to be a good person or see his son as anything but an object. But it's possible it was because Jose's father was the only family he ever had, and he simply wished he could've stopped him from doing what Jose didn't agree with and/or helped change him for the better.

[partially-controlled-chaos]

New Life Shall Prosper, ch. 2

Pairing: Halsin x Reader (as gender neutral as possible, given the context)

Rating: T? (not really smut but there's some heavily implied in previous chapters. pregnancy related bits, tad bit of gore)

Warnings: There's not full blown smut but it borders on the edge, mentions of illness and pregnancy, mostly just fluff

Summary: Months after the fall of the Absolute, you and Halsin have carved a happy life for yourselves within Thaniel's Realm, making a safe haven for all. A life full of hope and prosperity, only enhanced once you discover the very real possibility that you are with child.

Word Count: 11.5K

an: This ended up taking so long because it went through three rewrites and it's still massive. BUT I did finally get it posted. There will be one more chapter, possibly two with how I shifted some things, but there's at least one more coming! Thankfully, because I did rewrite and move some things around, about half of the next chapter is already written. Mostly proofread, but I was tired when I posted this so I'll update it later for any mistakes. Thank you to everyone that has enjoyed this so far!!

Follow up to this post.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Find chapter 1 here! Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Masterlist

Loving, tender kisses peppering your exposed shoulder and a heavy dip in the bed roused you from your slumber. Slowly, your eyes blinked open as they adjusted to the light, your vision blurry until you could make sense of your surroundings. You recognized the lumbering shape of your beloved druid. With a content smile on his lips, Halsin loomed over you; his arms supporting his weight above your head as his knees dug into the bed by your hip, causing your body to slightly slope downward.

“Good morning, my heart,” he said softly, “how did you sleep?” 

“Fine, but I would do better if you would let me sleep a bit longer, love.” You said groggily as you turned your face from the beaming sun. You heard Halsin chuckle as he littered more slow kisses to your cheek.

“As much as I would love to, dear heart, I’m only doing what you asked of me.” You groaned as you buried your face to your pillow, his comment jogging your memory from the night before as he slid from atop you. Since your discovery that you were with child, you’d noticed significant changes to your energy levels. Being one to typically rise early, you’d found yourself sleeping in later each morning and desiring a nap around mid afternoon. Not that you wouldn’t mind to sleep in every once in a while, it just wasn’t suitable to your current lifestyle. You and Halsin were both early to rise and late to bed, filling your day with growing and expanding the area you now called home. Plants needed harvesting, home needed building, children needed enrichment and growth, and all of it simply couldn’t be done if you slept half the day away.

So, to counteract your sudden inability to wake up at a decent hour, you had practically begged Halsin to wake you in the mornings if you were still asleep when he returned from his daily patrols. He reluctantly agreed, wanting you to rest in accordance to what your body wanted, citing that you should be listening to the call of nature and not the call of a city. When you had finally convinced him, you made him promise that he would make sure you would rise and not go back to sleep, something you could kick yourself for now that the moment had come.

“Come on, my love,” he said as he pulled the blankets from your body and exposed you to the cool air of the room, “there’s much to do today and I made a promise.” With a groan of false annoyance, you rubbed your eyes and finally sat up. Halsin stretched out along side you, effectively taking up as much of the bed as he could to dissuade you from crawling back in. His head rested on a closed fist, sitting up partially to still make conversation. 

“And what business do we have planned for today that requires such an early start?” You asked as you draped your legs over the edge of the bed, your arms stretching high above your head with interlocked fingers as your back arched forward. When you were done, you glanced over to Halsin after not hearing a response and you found him gazing at you. His eyes slowly traced along your body, a tender smile across his face the lower his eyes traveled. 

“Or did you have something else in mind?” You asked in a low voice as you reclined back as best you could, given that the bulk of his frame was in the way. 

“With you? Always,” Halsin said with a smirk before offering you an affectionate kiss to the lips, “but there are some matters that require our attention.” His smile had faded by the time the final words left his mouth and his face had lost its softness. It seemed that his need to wake you stretched beyond your request for a wake up call.

“Is something wrong?” You asked as you straightened again. The change in his demeanor was enough cause for concern for your to snap out of your groggy state of mind. Since the fall of the Absolute, there had been very few times that you’d seen Halsin return to his duty driven mindset and he was teetering dangerously close to that precipice. Something was gnawing at his mind, although you weren’t sure what.

“Not quite, but there’s potential. It’s… it’s better if I just show you. Let’s take a walk when you’re dressed.” With a slight degree of hesitation, you made your way to your feet and began to dress. With a lingering yawn you tugged on your small clothes to cover yourself a bit more as you toyed with your hair, trying to your best to brush away the evidence of sleep. You smiled to yourself as you noticed Halsin watching your every step, his admiration for you never faltering even if you did the most mundane of tasks. He looked as if he was lost in a daze; his expression was no more than a lazy smile and half-lidded eyes. 

“If you keep looking at me like that,” you said as you caught his gaze, “you’re going to have to do something about it.” With a hearty laugh and a quick shake of his head, the druid sat up from the bed, his eyes still glued to your body.

“Although you are the epitome of nature perfected, my heart, you’re not picking up on what I am.” You raised an eyebrow, your head cocking at the comment.

“And what would that be?” You asked softly. Without another word, he made his way to his feet, offering his hand for you to take with a knowing smile. 

He guided you to the standing mirror by the water basin, turning you until your back was pressed to his chest and you both were reflected in the glass. You watched the reflection as his head leaned forward, pressing the softest of kisses to your still bare shoulder as his hands traveled the length of your body, stopping along your waist. You felt his hands lightly grip your hips, angling them forward until he had you in the perfect position. When his hand left your hip and slowly caressed the skin under your navel, you finally realized what Halsin was so transfixed on observing. There, in the reflection of your mirror, you noticed the slightest of swells to your lower belly. It wasn’t a large bump, but nevertheless it was the smallest of bumps beginning to form. After weeks of seeing no progress, you were now staring at the reflection of a pregnant belly.

“Hells, I hadn’t even noticed,” you said softly as you turned your reflection in the mirror to make sure you saw what you thought you did, “and when did you make this discovery, dear bear?” Your eyes were stuck to your reflection, wholeheartedly admiring the tiny bulge of your lower belly. Although you were still early on in your pregnancy, just seeing the evidence of your growing child filled you with an immense sense of joy and almost disbelief. Until now, the idea of being with child didn’t seem real. Other than a bit of morning sickness and being a bit more tired than normal, at times you forgot you were carrying a child. But now, with the proof of one in front of your eyes, it felt more than real.

“Last night,” he whispered in your ear, “after your bath.” You hummed softly as the memory of the previous night flickered in your mind. You had just barely stepped from your bath before you had felt Halsin’s lips and hands caressing your skin and curves, ravishing you until you both needed another washing.

“Well, then,” you said playfully, “that explains your sudden urge last night.” Halsin said nothing, but the low growl and gentle bite to your earlobe confirmed your statement. 

After lingering a few moments more to admire the growing bump to your frame, Halsin’s hands left your hips and left you to finish dressing for the day. You said nothing to each other as you hoisted up a pair of trousers and clean shirt, however the silence between you was not strained. Something was on Halsin’s mind, but whatever it was, was not directed towards you. When you had finished dressing and signaled you were ready to go, you were met with the same loving gaze and tender touches. This set your mind a little more at ease even though you were still curious as to what had gotten the druid so tense. It must be something in the community, perhaps the sense of duty, or maybe an issue with one of the refugees. Either way, you were determined to help him through it and set him at east once again.

You walked through your home together, hand in hand, and walked at a pace that wasn’t quite a stroll, but also wasn’t hurried. It had been a while since you had walked the city together, usually preferring to go your own ways and meeting again at the end of the day, so you quite enjoyed the change of schedule. Halsin’s large hand engulfed your own, holding it securely and offering a sense of peace and protection. You eventually made your way to the opposite side of the town, stepping from the cobblestone streets and into the beginning of the wood line.

“Where are we going? I thought we had business in town?” You asked as you continued your stroll, making note of the slightly firmer grasp that he now had on your hand.

“Business, yes, but it’s out in the forest on the outskirts of the town.” Halsin’s vague answers made your shoulders tense. You were not opposed to surprised, but you felt that this one would most certainly be unwelcome.

“Care to enlighten me? You’re not one to keep secrets, my dear.” You nudged Halsin with your shoulder as you walked, hoping it would make him open up and no longer keep you in the dark. You were impatient, wanting only to see what he was leading you to. 

“I promise, it’ll be easier if I just show you, just be patient. We’re close now though, as much as it pains me to say it.” You picked up on the slightest hint of dread in his voice, the droop on his face only confirming your observation. 

Admittedly, you had been utterly confused by Halsin, not understanding his sudden hesitancy to explain anything. He was always open with you, even with the most grueling of topics, and you were thankful for that. Both because you appreciated being in the loop of knowledge, but also because you didn’t want him to share the brunt of responsibility alone. He had done that enough in the past and it was high time he was able to share his burdens. Before the fall of Ketheric Thorm, you had made a promise to Halsin to help him through any hardships and even though it had been some time since you’d defeated Ketheric, your promise still stood. It always would. It was your vow to him and you were determined to uphold it.

After some time, you both had made your way to a small clearing on the outskirts of your established community on the line where your home met untamed wilderness. With your hand still firmly in his grasp, Halsin took you to one of the first trees along the tree line, walking you to the backside. There, just above your line of sight, was a symbol meticulously carved into the bark. A skull seated partially in a triangle, the outstretched fingers of a hand adorning it like a crown. You recognized the symbol immediately and a familiar twinge of unease settled in your stomach and your breath caught in your throat. Months after the battle, you were staring at the freshly carved symbol of the Absolute.

“I noticed it yesterday when I was roaming,” Halsin’s voice broke the silence and the tension of the moment, “a defilement of nature and a perfectly good scratching post.”

“By the gods.” You whispered softly as your eyes spotted the marking on the tree. You reached out slowly, your fingertips barely grazing the carved symbol in the tree, almost afraid that it would hurt you in some way. 

“You’re certain this is new? This isn’t a remnant of a few months ago?” You knew the answer, but still felt the need to ask. It was a fresh, clean mark; something that had only happened in the past day or so. But, there was one small part of you that hoped and prayed it was a relic from all those months ago.

“Oh, very.” He said as he traced his finger along the carving, “Look at the flesh of the tree. It’s still weeping sap and the cut hasn’t yet browned. It’s recent, my heart.”

Your breathing was slow and methodical, an attempt to keep your rising fears at arms length. For a brief moment the idea crossed your mind that somehow the Netherbrain had survived the final battle and was once again enchanting mind flayer tadpoles, but you were certain this wasn’t true. The Netherstones had done their job of convincing the brain to destroy itself and there was no denying that the same brain that had sunk into waters surrounding the city was anything other than dead. 

You then remembered the dying man and his siblings you had met on the road very early on in your journey. The man had been infected with the parasite, but his siblings remained free from a worm of their own crawling in their brains. However, they still followed the teachings and the call of the Absolute, despite not being True Souls themselves. You quickly realized that this mark wasn’t left by someone infected with the tadpole, but by someone who still believed in the Absolute. Someone who believed in the teachings and the power it offered enough to begin a resurgence of the cult, even if there were no tadpoles. The idea wasn’t that far fetched. You knew of plenty of instances where cults or even important figures that had fanatics that carried on the legacy of the entity. The most notable one that could come to mind were the handful of people that served the Szarr palace in the hopes of serving a vampiric lord simply because they were enthralled by him.

“I don’t think it’s cause for concern just yet, although we must be vigilant.” He said as he pulled is hand from the bark, “I roamed the woods the entirety of yesterday as well as this morning. This is the only symbol I can find and I haven’t found anyone lingering. Whoever left it, left it as a warning, but is gone from the area.”

“You don’t think it could be someone in town, do you?” You asked after you’d worked your way through your thoughts. 

“It’s possible, but highly unlikely. You know them better than I do, so you must know how everyone feels about the Absolute. These are children and adults who lost their homes and had their lives uprooted because of this cult, I don’t believe anyone would be a follower. Unless you think otherwise?”

“No, not at all,” you said as you continued to observe the marking, “but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. As you said, remain vigilant. Let’s see what comes of this.”

“I sent out a scouting party late in the afternoon. They plan on looking further into the forest and beyond to see if they can pick up on any trail. I would go myself, but if there is no pressing need for me to go out then I would prefer to stay here. I have many people I want to protect.” He lightly pressed his hand to your newly discovered bump, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

With another brief look to the symbol, you were ready to leave and return to the safety of your home. You understood why Halsin would always patrol the community and the surrounding area each morning, but you never thought anything would ever come of it. Maybe it was the lull of a peaceful home or perhaps you had just gone soft after the final battle, but this new discovery had caught you off guard. Any sort of resurgence of the cult could lead to disastrous consequences and it threatened the safety of your very home. There were already so many men and women that had been lost and displaced, not to mention the dozen upon dozens of orphaned children you were now in charge of, and the thought that they could face it all again made a shiver run down your spine. To top it off, you were now welcoming your own little one into the world; a world you assumed was safe. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you said as you began the long walk home, “I’m not sure what to make of it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Don’t let it burden your mind and unsettle your nerves, my heart,” Halsin said as he reclaimed your hand with his, “our home is safe.” You pulled Halsin’s arm around you as you walked, allowing his hand to rest on your lower back as you leaned into his frame. He was right, for the time being your home and community were safe, and you felt even safer being wrapped in his embrace.

**********************************************************************************************************

It had been many weeks since your discovering of the carving in the woods and thankfully everything remained quiet. Life carried on as it had been and you frequently tucked the memory into the far recesses of your mind. You sat cross-legged on your bed, the back of Halsin’s hand rested on your rounded belly as you carefully plucked splinter after splinter from his fingertips. You gently traced your fingers over his, feeling for any more pieces of wood stuck under his skin. Although he was already a skilled whittler, Halsin had recently taken up woodworking. It was a hobby you found to be surprising, but when you learned he desired to master the craft simply because he wanted to hand carve a crib for your little one, you couldn’t be happier. Since then, you always made it a point to pluck any pieces of wood from his fingers. 

The partially completed crib sat against the wall of your bedroom, still needing a few finishing touches before it ready for a sleeping baby, but there was still time before it would be needed. Despite needing a bit of sanding and polishing, the crib was absolutely beautiful and incredibly detailed. It taken him a few weeks, but in that short time he had crafted the piece completely by hand and with copious amounts of love. He had even gone so far as to carve the smallest of details along the head of the crib; a parade of carved bear cubs wandering through the beauty of nature and swirls that mimicked the patterns of his tattoos adorned the wood panelling. 

With a final look over his hands, you had decided that you’d pulled out any remaining fragments of wood, lifting his large hand from your belly. You held your palm against Halsin’s, taking note in the difference in size. His hands engulfed yours, two of his knuckles easily able to overshadow your fingertips if he were to bend them. Your eyes traveled from his hands and along his arms, observing just how large they actually were and how they seemingly continued to grow at they reached his broad shoulders. You laced your fingers with his as you continued to look him over, not noticing the adoring look on Halsin’s face in the process.

“Is something troubling you, my heart?” He asked as he brought your hand to his lips, softly kissing your fingers.

“Not at all,” you said as his voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you shifted to your regular spot on the bed, “just doing a bit of thinking.” You adjusted the pillows under your head until you were comfortable on your side. With a gentle pat, you motioned for Halsin to join you.

“Do tell, my heart.” He followed your invitation, reclining on his side as well, positioning his head against his hand as he gazed down at you. Gods, you would never tire of the way he looked at you. His gaze was always filled with the utmost admiration and infatuation, which had only increased in the recent months. 

“You are rather large for an elf, you know.” You brought your hand to your head, mirroring Halsin’s pose as you spoke.

“Is that so?” Halsin cocked an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his lips at your comment. 

“Oh hush, love,” you said with a chuckle, “you know I mean no harm. It just has me wondering about this dear little one of ours.” You ran your hand along the side of your belly with the thought, still in disbelief that you would be having a child in a few months.

“Are you afraid our child might be taller than you one day?” He teased, placing his hand atop yours, seemingly sensing the worry gnawing at your mind.

“Not at all, but I am worried about having to somehow birth a baby the size of quasit if they end up taking after your size.” You chuckled softly, although the thought was seriously lingering in your mind. Elves and half-elves were typically small in build, but Halsin was of course no normal elf. Simply comparing the size of his hands to yours indicated just how big he truly was. So it was very well in the realm of possibility that your newborn would be well above average in size. 

“I don’t think they’ll be quite that large my heart,” Halsin said as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone, “but even if they are, I’ll be there for you. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” You whispered. Despite facing the end of the world, the idea of childbirth terrified you. You knew the risks associated with the birthing process and it was a daunting prospect. Healing couldn’t be offered until after the actual birth, so knowing you’d have to endure the hours long process without aid unsettled you.

“Will you be there?” You asked after a moment. You knew it was a dumb question; Halsin wouldn’t dare the miss the birth of his first child or leave you to deal with the trauma of birth alone, but with your hormones fluctuating the way they did, it was nice to have the confirmation. 

“Of course, my heart. It’s not even a question.” He quickly kissed your lips in reassurance, “Put your mind at ease. I will be there for the entirety and afterwards.” 

Halsin pulled you towards him, nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head, kissing it softly. In turn, you rested your face across the expanse of his chest, taking in his natural warmth and scent as you felt his hand slowly run along your back, soothing your worry. You hummed as you melted against his touch, your muscles finally relaxing after a long day. 

“Have you heard anything about the symbols you found?” You asked after a long yawn, the desire for sleep finally catching up to you.

“Last I heard,” Halsin said after a long period of silence, as if he was hesitant to say anything, “there was a small group of followers to the north. Goblins, mostly. And a few orcs if what the scouts have said can be relied upon. Don’t let it bother you tonight, my heart. It can be discussed in the morning.” With your eyes suddenly heavy, you didn’t argue his plea. 

Given that it had been many moons since you first discovered the markings on the tree, you weren’t too concerned with the lingering cultists being an immediate threat, but it still crossed your mind frequently. Between the ministrations along your back and sound of Halsin’s steady heartbeat against your ear, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, securely nestled in the embrace of Halsin’s strong arms.

**********************************************************************************************************

“It’s a good thing I’m better a wielding a sword than I am a knitting needle,” you said as you observed your work, “otherwise we’d all be mind flayers by now.” You held up the infant sized sweater you’d spent an hour knitting, your nose scrunching in distain when you realized not only was it far too big for a newborn, but lopsided with different lengths on the sleeves and a warbled neckline. 

“Well,” Halsin said with a chuckle as he looked up from his whittling, “let us give thanks that nature has blessed you with other talents.” Although he had already finished the beautifully crafted crib, his whittling hobby had picked up even more now that you were close to your due date. Small ducklings, bear cubs, tiny bunnies, and even squirrel kits were all figures he had started carving, the idea of having a child of his own clearly influencing his design choices. Lately, many quiet afternoons were spent like this, with you and your beloved elf taking much needed downtime together, happily preparing for the arrival of your little one. 

“I’m sorry,” you said with feigned hurt, “but are you telling me that this isn’t the beauty of natures creation?” You saw his attempt to hide the smirk threatening to come across his face as he eyed your knitting once more, chewing on the side of his lip to keep it from rising.

“I would, but you made it, my heart, not nature.” You snorted and playfully knocked Halsin’s arm with yours before unraveling your hard work in an attempt to remake it.

The two of you were lounging in the center of town, reclined against the large oak that had miraculously been renewed with life when the shadow curse had been lifted. You leaned against one of Halsin’s large arms more than the tree, trying to find some relief for your aching back. If your calculations were correct, you still had roughly two months left before you were set to give birth, but you were heavily struggling with the physical toll it took on your body. Your back frequently ached and pain would settle in your hips, making sitting anywhere absolutely abysmal, not to mention trying to get up by yourself. 

Despite this, you could never say you were too burdened with your condition. Halsin always went out of his way to make sure you were as comfortable as possible, which always filled you with a sense of adoration and love. He was always quick to offer a soothing back rub if your muscles were tense from a long day or if the pressure from your growing little one made your bones ache, making sure to massage deeply and slowly until you melted under his touch. Or if you were overtaken by a sudden craving for a particular food, he would be sure to bring you whatever you desired to your hearts content. He would frequently soothe your emotions if you were overcome with confusing hormones, being by your side until you worked through whatever was plaguing you and would stay until he could see you smile again. 

In all of this, his desire for you never faltered; if anything, it was stronger than ever. It wasn’t always sexual, however. His desire to just be close to you only grew stronger the more your abdomen grew. Gentle touches across your back, arms touching when sitting together during supper, holding you snugly against his body while you slept; anything to stay close to you. The same sentiment held true even in ursine form, of course. You frequently found yourself sitting beneath a tree or in a sunny field with the head of your bear placed gently in your lap during a midday nap or felt a wet nose nuzzling against your swollen belly. 

Not to say that his more intimate desires for you wavered in the slightest. It was hard enough for you to keep your hands off each other before the discovery of your pregnancy, but had only intensified since. Many nights were spent in each others embrace and were filled with soft kisses and playful bites. Each time was always gentle and seemed to feel more loving than the last. In every aspected you could imagine, Halsin was the perfect partner; not that you had imagined any less from him. The love you had for him had only intensified in the recent months and you could see the same sentiment reflected from him each time you caught him staring at you. His eyes always filled with softness and love, something that made your heart melt on a daily basis. 

A shift in placement of your baby made you grunt, your side now aching with the pressure of some appendage now pressing into your ribcage. You sat up from your position against the druid, leaning forward and side to side to try and stop the pain. As much as you loved the feeling of the tiny bits of movement here and there, you couldn’t help but groan whenever the child landed in a particularly inconvenient spot. Occasionally you’d feel a kick here and there, but you mostly just felt the entire body of your child moving in your abdomen. Despite being near you constantly, Halsin had yet to feel a kick or a bit of movement from your belly. It always seemed to stop when he placed a hand on your stomach to feel for movement. You felt them, of course, but wished Halsin could do the same. 

“Is everything all right?” Halsin asked as he noticed your movements. He placed his whittling knife and piece he’d been working on to the side, turning more towards you in the process. His large hand slowly worked its way up and down your back, trying to rub out any knot or muscle tension.

“Oh yes,” you said with a sharp inhale, “I just feel as if I have a foot in my ribs. Right in here.” You took his hand in yours, sliding it from your back to the side of your belly where the pain was, hoping he would finally have his change to feel the baby move. His thumb lightly caressed your stomach in an attempt to encourage the tiny little foot to move.

“Well, given the circumstance, I’d wager and say you probably do.” He said with a laugh. As the discomfort in your side finally subsided, you found yourself reclining on your hands with your legs extended in front of you. The change of position seemed to move your little one just enough to alleviate the discomfort and you finally had a moment of relaxation. Your head fell back and lightly brushed against the trunk of the tree, your eyes closing as you felt a gentle breeze across your face. 

Halsin’s hand remained on your belly, gently running it along the side and around the front until it eventually settled on top. With a deep sigh you finally opened your eyes, your head rolling to the side to meet Halsin’s gaze. However, instead of meeting your eyes, his own were fixed to his hand atop your stomach, a grin spreading across his lips the more he lingered, but there was the faintest hint of something else in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” You asked softly as you took in his expression. He was lost in thought, his mind drifting as you both sat in the coolness of the shade and you returned to your former position. Your hand rested atop his for a moment before sliding up his forearm and back down, the ministrations finally grabbing his attention from his deep concentration. 

“Everything,” Halsin said after a long pause, “as always. But I have to admit that as of late I find myself worrying about you, mostly, my heart.”

“How do I worry you? Is it the baby?” You asked, surprised at his answer, “Please, tell me. Let me ease your mind. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me.”

“Well, partially it’s the child. In my many years I’ve seen countless others give birth and I’m aware of the risks. I know the dangers child bearing can bring and leave in its aftermath. So I have my concerns in relation to that, but most of my concerns lay outside of that.” His palm light trailed across the expanse of your belly; his touch soft and loving.

“Tell me, then, please.” You lightly brushed a few stray strands of hair from his face, tucking them behind a pointed ear. 

“We’ve discussed this before, but I have to ask,” he paused as he spoke, that rare look of vulnerability flashing across his face as he tried to form his words, “are you happy? Truly happy? With everything that’s come after the Netherbrain, I mean. Can you say for certain that you are satisfied and content with the life we’ve built here?”

“Halsin, my love, I couldn’t have dreamed of a happier life.” The hand that had brushed through his hair came down his neck and finally rested on his chest, directly above his heart. “Why would you even need to ask such a question?”

“To ease my mind, I suppose. I pulled you from a life of praise and newfound opulence that came from saving Baldur’s Gate only to thrust you into a life of quiet, often thankless, servitude. I just want to be certain that this life is something you want and not something I’ve forced you into; especially now that you are so close to having a child. I don’t want you to have regrets.” He spoke quietly but surely.

“I don’t want or need the praise and wealth the city offered. You, though? You I need. And I can’t go without you for even a second. I chose to leave with you to build a life here because that’s what I wanted. We both did. You didn’t force me into anything. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I had to practically beg to convince you that it’s what I wanted, did I not?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a slight smile, “I believe I recall you calling me an ass.”

“I was terrified of you turning me away!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, “You can’t blame me for my words when I wanted nothing more than to follow you and be by your side. And to this day there is nothing I want more. I would choose this life we’ve built and I would choose you again and again.”

You leaned forward slightly, trailing your hand back up along his neck and chest until it rested on his cheek, gently pulling his head towards you until your foreheads met in a gentle caress. You’d come to adore your frequent forehead touches with the elf, almost enjoying them more than a kiss in a moment like this. It was a simple, intimate gesture that brought the both of you so much comfort in moments of insecurity and uncertainty. 

“And I would do this all over again in every lifetime, my love. In every possible form we may find ourselves in. All without an ounce of hesitation or regret. And now that we’re having a child? My dearest love, my heart is full. We have built something truly wonderful not only in this community we call home, but something wonderful and beautiful in this tiny little child we’ve created.” You lingered against his skin for a moment more before finally pulling away, your hand still cupping his cheek as you spoke again.

“Halsin, please, don’t every worry that you’ve taken me from something. In reality, you have given me the greatest gift possible. Release those fears from your mind. They hold no weight here.” You whispered softly before pressing a gentle kiss to his tattooed cheek.

“You truly are a gift from Silvanus himself, my heart. You’ve brought back the youthful optimism and stamina of this old, pardon…older druid, my heart.” You smirked at his attempt to remember your distain for referring to himself as old, appreciating the effort. 

“Trust me love, if my condition is any indication of how spry you are, I’d say you have the vigor of someone just barely over a hundred.” You said as you began to recline back again. Not satisfied with your quick contact from earlier, he gently took your chin in his grasp and pulled you to him until your lips softly connected. A string of slow, soft kisses soon followed, along with praises coming from each of you after each brush of your lips. 

Shouting from across the town square broke the serenity of the moment. You and Halsin both turned in the direction of the commotion, instincts immediately springing into action at the sound. Screams of terror and anger could be heard behind you, steadily growing louder. You were still struggling to even begin to get up when Halsin told you to stay where you were; a command more than a request. Before you had time to argue, Halsin had rushed the the cause of commotion, leaving you on the ground struggling to stand.

“Gods above.” You muttered to yourself as you finally managed to get to your feet, using the tree as support in the process. As quickly but as carefully as you could as to avoid disrupting your little one, you hurried to the sound of the commotion, despite Halsin’s request fo you to stay put.

You had gotten to the town square just in time to see what the commotion was. The freshly deceased body of a war painted goblin was splayed along the ground, its throat having been quickly sliced apart by the enraged cave bear looming over the corpse. You immediately knew the bear to be Halsin, who had no doubt changed at the first sight of the attacking goblin. Two other goblins had accompanied the deceased one, but had quickly turned tail in fear at the emergence of the bear. Not to the surprise of anyone in the community, Halsin quickly chased after them, releasing a roar loud and deep enough that you could feel the reverberations in your body. He would no doubt make quick work of the intruders, giving you the chance to ensure there were no other lingering goblins or nasties before checking in on any potential injuries. 

With your hand placed on the underside of your belly for support, you squatted next to the slain goblin, taking note of the silver pendant hanging around its neck. You felt a cold chill run down your spine when you saw the symbol of the Absolute within the safety of your home. Anger surged within you as well, cruising yourself for not handling this problem sooner. Thank the gods that no one was injured, other than the goblin, but the experience was enough to shake everyone. Thaniel’s Realm was meant to be a sanctuary for the lost and lonely, safe from threats of any kind and a place to live in harmony with nature. Now, however, that safety had been shattered and danger was no longer a looming threat, but a real and bloody reality.

You spent the rest of the afternoon checking in with everyone, ensuring their safety and checking for wounds. The children of the realm were shaken by the events of the day, but they were resilient. They had faced too many hardships and dangers with the threat of a mind flayer invasion and Netherbrain control for them to be running from a handful of goblins, but you wanted to be there to lend a hand to hold and a lap to sit on if needed. The nightly supper and bedtime stories for the children continued as usual once the remnants of the mutilated goblin had been cleared away, the usual nightly feel of home returning once everyone had a full belly. You walked home quietly, your mind racing with the events of the day and your emotions high strung. With a grunt of effort you sat on the few steps that led to entrance of your home. You sat in silence, absentmindedly running your hands along the expanse of your stomach as you waited for your druid to return.

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It was well past nightfall by the time Halsin finally returned home to you, bloodied and still in bear form. Even though you were certain would never harm you while in wild shape, there was no denying just how intimidating his form was. His snout was absolutely drenched in goblin blood, splatter even reaching to the top of his head, and you could feel the hot pants of his breath against your legs as he approached. There was the faintest glow still present in his eyes, making it very clear that he was still deeply angry about the situation at hand. The low growls emitting from his chest could be felt in your bones as you gently reached out to place a hand on the underside of his chin. You could feel his pulse begin to return to normal as your fingers brushed against his pulse point, despite the thick layer of fur between his skin and your fingers. 

“Come along love,” you said to your bear softly, “let’s get you cleaned up.” His sharp claws were also covered in blood, bits of flesh and cloth dangling from a few of them. Given the sight of him, you didn’t want to imagine what was left of the goblins that had stormed your home, if there even remains at all. Either way, Halsin was drenched in assorted viscera and could do for a warm bath; both to clean and to soothe. 

Once you pulled your hand from his chin, the bear erupted in a familiar flash of light, ending the wild shape of the bear and transfiguring Halsin back to an elf, who was just as bloody as the bear. He was still breathing heavily after the transformation, remaining silent as he rolled his neck and shoulders and shook out any remaining feelings of the bear. He closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself a calming breath before look back to you, his gaze much softer but no less expressive. Despite the intense rage you had witness earlier, he was as gentle as ever with you. With a soft touch, he helped you to your feet before quickly looking over you, checking for injuries. After reassuring Halsin that you and your child were fine, you led him inside and drew him a warm bath.

Once he had seated himself in the water of the washtub, he began to calm and relax more, the temperature of the water helping to ease any remaining tension in his muscles. After he had seemed to cool off a bit, you set to work. With a soft cloth and a gentle touch, you began washing the dark blood from his face. Starting with his forehead and working your way down, you worked quietly, not sure of what to say to ease his mind more. With each wipe of his face, you dunked the soft cloth back into the water to rinse it before returning to his skin. When you wiped away the last of the blood from his chin, he finally spoke.

“We cannot afford to sit idly anymore.” He said as you shifted your attention to the rest of his body, wiping along his chest and down his arms meticulously.

“No,” you murmured as you checked for wounds along his shoulders and arms, “we can’t. We can head out in the morning? The next day perhaps? Figure out where the group is, how strong they are, look at the defenses-” Your speech was quickly cut off before you could finish your thought.

“We? I hope you’re not suggesting that you come along as well.” His brows knitted together at your response, utterly bewildered that you would even suggest such a thing.

“Of course I am,” you said quickly, “I can’t sit at home and twiddle my thumbs and expect you to handle it all. I told you when we first came here that we share the responsibility of our home. It’s not your burden to bear alone, Halsin.”

“And you have done an absolutely beautiful job of doing so, my love, but you must stay here.” His hands lifted from the tinted water, reaching out to cup your cheeks with his palms. He looked you in the eyes, holding a stern gaze with you.

“The people here can survive without us for a few days. They’re not completely helpless. They already do most of the cooking and running of the market and the children will be fine under their watch.” You tossed the cloth into the water, standing in the process. Now was not the time for arguing; it was the time for action. Your home had just been invaded and arguing over who should go and when was irrelevant in your eyes. You were both more than capable of dispatching goblins. You pulled a towel down from a nearby shelf after hearing Halsin hastily step out of the water, patting him dry as you checked his lower body for injuries as well. 

“Yes, they can. They are prospering beyond what either of us could have imagined and in such a short time. And we are prospering ourselves,” he softly placed a hand on the peak of your belly, “and we cannot risk losing this blessing.”

“I can take care of myself,” you scoffed at the remark, “it’s not the first time I’ve faced a handful of cultists, my dear.”

“You would be a target.” He said firmly, not relenting in his stance on the matter, “If the remaining followers of the Absolute are just as vicious as I remember then they would target you in an instant. Just by looking at you, it’s no secret that you’re carrying a child. I don’t even want to think of what they could do to you or the child if they managed to get a hold of you.” 

You could hear the fear in his voice, despite the firmness in which he spoke. Unfortunately, he was right. Being only a handful of weeks away from going into labor, your belly extended far and would only get bigger from here. Targeting you would be the easiest way to distract a raging cave bear or sword wielding druid. And, realistically, you were in no condition to travel, let alone fight. You had a hard enough time earlier in the afternoon just to get up from the ground. Traversing the land, sleeping on the ground, and battle would not only be uncomfortable, it would be impossible. Not to mention the risks it could pose to your child. It could result in an early birth or a loss of the pregnancy altogether. Plus, the idea of toting around a newborn while trying to hack away goblins would be less than idea.

“I know,” you sighed, resigned to the truth, “I know. It’s agreed then, I’ll stay.”

“Thank you, my heart,” his hands landed on your shoulders now, “if the scouts’ information is correct, it should only be a few days walk to their encampment. Give it a ten-day and we should all be back home.”

“What about you? Are you not staying with me?” It was your turn for confusion to cross your face. You knew Halsin would want to leave with them to battle the upcoming fight, but you needed him at home with you; albeit for more selfish reasons. 

“Someone has to lead them,” he said, “they are capable, but they need a leader for battle if it comes to that. And given that most of our neighbors are children, I need to be the one to lead them.” You shook your head, understanding his logic, but disagreeing fully.

“And what happens if you get hurt? Captured? Killed? What then?” The pitch of your voice increased, emotion beginning to get the better of you.

“Were you not just willing to walk into a battle with me while with child? Why has that changed all of a sudden?” He huffed at your reaction, not understanding why you both couldn’t see eye to eye on the situation. 

“Because if I’m with you out there then I can see you. I can see with my own eyes that you are safe and alive. If I stay here and you go out there, I’ll be left in the dark. I won’t know if you’re alive or if your corpse is rotting on the side of the road somewhere. Maybe captured and left in a cage to starve or something even worse. I need the peace of mind of knowing with absolute certainty that you’re still breathing, my love.” You’d already saved Halsin from a cage once before, so you knew it was possible for it to happen all over again or worse. No. You needed him home so you could make sure he was safe. Safe to remain with you and safe so he could meet his child.

“If I fall in battle then that is nature’s will. And I’ll have died making sure that you, this community, and this little one are safe. It would be a sacrifice made with love; that I can assure you.” He said softly, trying to ease you into the reality of what was needed.

His words squeezed your heart, making you push from his embrace in recoil. Your lips quivered as your eyes became wet, your breath hitching in your throat. Without another word, he pulled you into him, your arms pinned between his chest and yours. Your cheek was pressed firmly to his bare chest, still slightly damp from the bath, and you felt your throat burn with the anticipation of a sob. You couldn’t think of that; of the possibility of Halsin leaving and never returning because he was killed by an off shoot of a cult you’d already defeated once. He held you tightly to his chest as best he could, given the size of your belly, and kept you there until your breathing had slowed and you could speak without your voice cracking.

“I can’t do this alone,” you said after you’d calmed a bit, “I need you here.” You voice wavered as you spoke. Your memory flittered back to the months you travelled together on the road, camping where you could and bringing the best suited to battle. It was often that when you asked one of your other members to stay behind for a spell, they would always question your judgement. They trusted you with their lives, but there was always the hesitancy of staying behind. Like you in this moment, they felt as if they would be the best choice to bring along. After all, what harm could befall your or everyone else if they came too? As much as you found the back talking to be a nuisance, you finally understood why they would do it. It wasn’t to be in control or undermine your judgements, but it was done simply out of a desire to protect.

And now, you wanted to be the one to protect Halsin from whatever dangers he may face. You had both worked too hard to reach the bliss you’d settled upon to let it be unraveled by a handful of goblins and vagabonds. However, you knew in your heart that you couldn’t go. You were a liability and a target. You needed to stay, much to your dismay. But, despite your sudden realization, you still couldn’t wrap your head around why Halsin specifically needed to go. He needed to stay; for both his sake and yours. The idea of giving birth scared you more than facing the Absolute, but more so the thought of your child losing their father before they could even meet weighed more heavily on your mind. Wherever you need me. That was always what he told you when you asked him to stay in camp. He never questioned or argued or requests then, so why is he now? Why did he have to be so stubborn at times?

“And you won’t be, my love,” he softly kissed your temple again, “but those that are going need guidance and I should be the one to answer that call. I’m not venturing forth because I want to roam or feel the rush of battle. Protecting this place we’ve built, and all those in it, are my duty now. You, my heart, and our little one are my duty. To keep you both safe. As I said, it shouldn’t be more than a ten-day. I’ll be back long before this chid of ours comes; you have my word.”

**********************************************************************************************************

Sleep would not come to you in the night. The thought of Halsin leaving you for a ten-day at minimum, potentially more, kept you wide awake with a knot in your stomach. You lay on your side, your back pressed firmly to Halsin’s chest as he slept lightly beside you. His breaths were absent of his typical snores, signaling that he was having trouble sleeping himself or a lesser quality of sleep at the very least. His arm was wrapped securely around you, cradling your heavily extended belly as his gentle breaths tickled the hair on the nape of your neck. 

Moonlight trickled in through the window, painting the room in an ethereal glow that would have been idillic if it wasn’t for the foul thoughts swimming in your brain. You knew Halsin was more than capable of surviving against a small band of crazed cult worshippers, but you still had your doubts. Saving your beloved bear from a cage in a goblin camp was the first time you’d met the man, so that particular memory kept eating away at your mind as you tried to sleep. If he did end up captured, or worse, would mean that he would be stuck in whatever gods awful place the remnant cultists were holed up in until someone, more than likely you, could find him.

However, that alone would have to wait until after you birthed your little one because ultimately, Halsin was right. You couldn’t afford to go out adventuring in your current state. You had a hard enough time standing from a seated position due to the size of your ever growing abdomen, so to actively battle someone and not injure yourself or your child would be practically impossible. So, you’d have to wait until after you gave birth, but would also have to decide on how long to wait until after they were born. You couldn’t bring a newborn on the road with you and you also couldn’t bring yourself to leave them home. Suddenly, as if he could sense your unease and inability to rest, you felt Halsin stir beside you.

“Rest, my heart.” He all but growled in your ear, his grip around your tightening around you slightly as he shifted himself again, “You’re going to worry the little one into the world far too early if you don’t ease your mind.” His voice was groggy from sleep, but still firm enough to get his point across.  

With a huff, both from annoyance exhaustion and discomfort from the amount of effort it took to move because of your pregnancy, you rolled to your opposite side. You couldn’t be as close to him as you would have liked, given the size of your bump, but you managed as best you could. With your nose nestled into the warmth of the crook of his neck and your arms squeezed between you, you finally found a comfortable position that may allow for the slightest amount of sleep. Halsin’s strong arm surrounded your body once again, his arm lightly tracing patterns along your back in an attempt to soothe your nerves. Eventually, and much to your gratitude, you managed to settle into a slumber. It wasn’t the most peaceful night you’d had in a long while, but you couldn’t argue that some rest was better than none. Your sleep was dreamless; just a dark voice of silence.

Come morning, the familiar embrace of Halsin’s lips to your forehead and calloused hand cupping your chin caused you to stir, your mind slightly foggy from the haze of sleep you’d finally managed to settle into. Your lover was hovered over you, planting his usual loving kisses to your skin to gently rouse you from your slumber. You hummed softly at the touch of his lips, reaching up to place your hand over his only to come into contact with his old bracers. The wood was rough under your touch; familiar yet a stranger in these past months of bliss. When your mind finally cleared of your slumber, you realized he was already dressed for the day, ready to take to the road in pursuit of the Absolute assailants. 

“First light was agreed upon, my love. Otherwise I would stay here with you for every precious moment.” He said as you sat up, the resurgence of dread filling you. With a deep sigh, you quickly pulled on a loose fitting outfit with the intention of seeing Halsin off for his journey. You still disagreed with him leaving, but you also knew there would be no changing his mind or stopping him. He was leaving out of duty to protect both his home and his growing family, and he was more than willing to die for both.

“A kiss for the road?” You asked softly after you’d pulled on your quick outfit, meeting him to the main threshold of your home.

“Of course. As if you even had to ask,” Halsin said as his hands rested across your shoulders, "It is as I said before you faced the Netherbrain, this shall not be our last, my heart.”

His lips pressed firmly to yours, but there was still the softness you adored. He was always so, so gentle and loving with you. You gripped the edges of his old armor firmly, desperately trying to keep him as close to you as possible as you shared your parting kiss. He groaned against your lips, not wanting to part from you and only desired to hold you to him, but you both knew you needed to part ways so he could meet the scouting party across town. After all, the sooner he left, the sooner he would return to you and your child.

“A ten-day, I promise.” He said as you finally parted ways, meeting your gaze with soft eyes that almost threatened to form a tear.

“And not a day more.” You said it almost as a command, but you also muttered it as a prayer. 

With a brush of his nose to yours, Halsin pulled from you, his eyes lingering on your features for a moment longer before his gaze drifted to your abdomen. He knelt to one knee in front of you, placing both hands on either side of your belly before pressing a lingering kiss to the area above your navel. Once his lips parted, he pressed his forehead to the same spot and you could hear him muttering a prayer to Silvanus for safety and guidance. You placed your hands along his, bowing your head to join in on his prayer. Before long, he finally stood

“Not a single day more, my loves.” He repeated when he finally lifted his hands from your body, turning to leave as he did. You shared one final look to each other before he eventually left, calling out his love for you one more time. You leaned against the doorway to your home, your eyes fixed on Halsin as he made he way across the realm.

When Halsin’s bulking frame finally faded from your line of sight, you couldn’t help but sigh as you strolled your way back inside your shared home. The exhaustion from the terrible nights sleep was still weighing heavily on your tired eyes and with Halsin’s fate in the hands of Silvanus, you decided to try and rest more. There was much to do around the area, but for now the people of Thaniel’s Realm could carry on with your absence for the morning. You plopped down on Halsin’s side of the bed, a grunt escaping your lips in the process. Just as you prepared yourself to crawl back under the covers, you felt it. 

You could feel the tiny, glorious little kicks from inside your belly. You smiled at the feeling, running a hand along the patch of skin where the kicks were most prominent. It was always a strange sensation, but a most welcome one. The small amounts of movement you could feel coming from your little one always reminded you how worth the hardships of child bearing were. Every morning you woke up ill, every piece of food that made you nauseous, and each ache and pain your body endured were always worth it just to feel the small signs of life coming from within. You sometimes felt guilty when you felt the movement, a feeling a selfishness always coming to a head when you failed to make it to Halsin in time for him to have a feel for himself. Throughout the entirety of your pregnancy, he had yet to feel a kick from your beloved little child.

When the movement from your belly lasted longer than usual, you decided to make a final attempt at allowing Halsin to sense the movements for himself. Without a moment to spare, you quickly made your way to your feet and out the door to your home, your hand placed firmly along the side of your belly to keep track of the movements. With the grace of a deer crossing a meadow, you flitted your way through town, which was unusually busy and full of residents saying goodbye to those traveling with Halsin. With a string of apologies and pardons, you weaved your way through the crowd, being careful to avoid any collisions. You weren’t sure if Halsin was still even in the town, considering he’d gotten a head start to the journey to the entrance, but you were determined to try your hardest to let him experience the feel of his child.

When you made it to the town square you paused, both to scan the crowd for the druid and to rest. In general, movement had become harder for you the more your abdomen grew, causing you to tired easily and not do a much as you were accustomed to doing. You inhaled through your nose and exhaled slowly through pursed lips as you continued to look for Halsin. You took a few steps forward and were delighted to see that your quick footsteps would soon be rewarded. 

“Halsin!” You called when your eyes finally spotted him, quickly ushering him over to you with a wave of your hand, the other placed along the side of your extended belly. Halsin’s head quickly snapped in your direction, seemingly hearing the urgency in your voice as his gaze settled upon you. He had been conversing with Thaniel before you interrupted, but he wasted no time in giving a quick, light pat to the boys shoulders to excuse himself before he made his way to you. His steps were quick, bordering on a jog as he approached as quickly as possible. 

“I’m here, my heart.” He said as he came to you, “Is something wrong? What can I do?” You now realize that your excitement had come across as potential cause for concern and that concern had quickly consumed his mind. His face was stoic, but with a quick glance to his eyes you could see the worry building. His hands had instinctively made their to your arms, holding you close as he searched your face for answers. There was a twinge of guilt that made its way through your mind with the realization you had instilled fear in your beloved druid, but knew that concern would quickly melt away once he realized why you’d come to him to urgently.

“Nothing,” you said as gently as you could, your excitement almost taking your breath away, “Nothing’s wrong; far from it. Just…just wait. It’ll come back.” Without giving a more detailed explanation, you took his large hands from their place along your arms and moved them to your abdomen. You both stood there in silence, staring down towards your stomach as you waited for another sign of movement.

“There!” You whispered as quietly as possible, but your excitement had still gotten the better of you, “There, my love. Do you feel it?” You placed your hands atop his, pressing them lightly to your belly with the hopes he could have his first feel the feather light kicks coming from within.

The worry that was written across Halsin’s face quickly disappeared and was replaced with a look of what you could only call bliss. The fear in his eyes softened and his eyelids seemed to droop. His lips pulled into a smile and you could swear you caught the faintest glimpse of a tear threatening to fall to his cheeks.

“Yes, my heart, I do.” Halsin whispered as he pressed lightly against you, desperately wanting to feel another gentle bit of movement. As quietly as he could, the druid gave a gentle chuckle as if he was in disbelief in what he was feeling.

“I was afraid it would stop if I kept walking,” you explained as he shifted his hands around your front side to feel more, “I didn’t want you to miss this.” 

With his hands still cradling the swell of your belly, Halsin leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours, sighing happily as he felt another kick against his palm. Several kicks later, you felt him lean more heavily against you, almost nuzzling as his shoulders and muscles relaxed with your touch. He basked in the feeling of his little one moving against your combined touch. You hummed in contentment as you felt him rock you both back and forth slowly, as if you were entangled in a slow dance together. In that moment, despite being surrounded by dozens of people, there were only the two of you, standing together as one to bask in the warmth and joy that was the child wriggling in your belly. Nothing else mattered except the safety of the embrace you shared and the soft, tiny kicks you both could feel.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin, “for everything. For allowing me this moment.”

“Just be sure to be back before this child is born, love,” you said softly, “I want you to enjoy many more.” Your eyes opened only to be met with his soft gaze. You’re not sure how long he’d been looking at you, but the warmth behind his eyes made your heart flutter.

“Oak Father preserve you, my heart.” With a final lingering kiss to your forehead, Halsin reluctantly pulled his hands from your belly as he took a step back. 

“You as well, my love.” You said quietly. You knew that if you spoke any louder your voice would crack and tears would spill from your eyes. You understood and respected his obligation to protecting the community he had worked so hard to build, but part of you wanted to be selfish and keep him home. You had seen him in battle many times against the Absolute so you knew his strengths, but you also couldn’t shake the memory of your first meeting in the goblin camp. There was always the very real possibility that he could find himself captured once again or even killed and that thought terrified you to your core. You didn’t want to see anything happen to him for a variety of reasons, but the biggest one being the child the two of you were getting ready to bring into the world. 

After everything he had gone through and the misery he’d endured for centuries, he deserved this. He deserved to be there to welcome his child in his arms and drink in those first precious moments. You wanted to see the joy in his face in watching that child prosper in the land he held dear to his heart; to see them flourish and grow to respect the balance between nature and civilization. And, more selfishly, you wanted him there when you gave birth. You were terrified to be alone for that and only wanted his soothing presence there to help you though it all.

As you watched the last of the scouting group leave the gates of the community, you turned to head back towards the market. It would soon be time for dinner and with Halsin now gone, the duty of the community now rested on your shoulders. You offered a quick prayer to Silvanus for the safety of Halsin and the scouting party, but also that your merry band of children would enjoy your nightly bedtime stories in Halsin’s absence.

Tag List: @incrediblethirst, @reignydeys, @thoughts-of-bear, @im-eating-rn, @beardedladyqueen , @simplysaying @emorylovescats, @distelsterncat, @cryingoverpixelsetc

[majorproblems77]

Sacred realm, Sacred realm, Sacred realm!!!!!

OH BOY, I AM EXCITED ABOUT THIS ONE

Prepare yourself for the most excited screaming you've ever heard because this update is wonderful and I love it and I'm so excited about it that I'm writing this instead of sleeping and it will be worth it.

Set the clock its 12.45am lets see if I can do this before I have to go to bed for the morning shift.

Alright, now for the important stuff! Sacred realm belongs to @zelda-the-sacred-realm, and all art from the comics belongs to the comic artist. I've got their permission to do these!

Link to the comic can be found here! :D

Now, get some popcorn and if your like me probably an energy drink too and lets goooooo!

Firstly...

HI

HELLO THERE

OH MY

Big evil big bad. Who's hair is stunning i could never ngl.

(Investigates)

It's awesome to see the black knight like this. (I believe that's right? Correct me if I'm wrong.)

Though im trying to figure out what he found unexpected? Is it Sky? Is Sky the unexpected thing? Good, No body expects the blorbo to come out of the medallion and whoop ass.

Self-sacrificing boy please you are in pain

Cinnamon roll link please i know you're not used to this, but he's got this

He's so damn pretty dammit, pretty boy right here. Hylia chose him for his looks first, 10/10.

Yesssssssssss

GET THEM! GET IT!

THE FACT THAT THEY JUMP IN FRONT OF HIM IS GIVING ME SO MUCH LIFE THEY ARE LIKE PROTECTIVE UNCLES OF THE SMALL CINAMON ROLL.

Like low key look how Sky is moving he's pushing towards time but moving more to the right to do so then time is. Which would indicate that he's moved rather quickly to get in front of this thing.

They have to protect the small hero and it gives me life.

Okay, this all but confirms this isn't the first time they've done this.

Oh and it has to be said

BY THE POWER OF STUBBORN FRIENDSHIP!

That's a practised spell

(using a few panels from this update here) Chapter 4 - part 1

So, I think that the last time the spirits gathered was sometime around when Twilight was still alive, we know that Time had direct contact with Twilight because of the comic panels in the last update.

We also know that Time recognised Sky when he first appeared in the last update.

So there one of two explanations

The medallion or something akin to it has been used in a previous hero's journey. And so some of the spirit already know each other

Or being a spirit grants them foresight that they can just fight with each other like this.

Im more inclined to lean towards the first one at this stage because of that recognition from time but to be honest I think we need to meet Twilight first before we get any answers about that.

I am also going to assume the element that time yields is Electricity (Or time haha.)

It looks like lightning, but we've also seen him use a time spell so I'm not entirely sure at this stage.

Gonna lean towards lighting tho, it suits him

YEAH GET HIM!

He looks so tired, and the lines against him have been growing longer. I assume its more and more of the barrier sucking his energy away.

Pretty boy alert

i am once again an advocate for the Sky is the Best Bean Club he just needs a nap he's going to be fine

Also, Medalion jails for Sky because he's eepy.

I assume this is how we are going to keep Sky out of this arch, he is too tired and is resting from doing this now. I hope we see you soon blorbo!

HA

This made me chuckle, Time just grabbing him by the waist like the child he is brings me joy (Im aware Link isn't a child but he is in the cinnamon roll outfit right now so he is a child)

And time is older than him and is at current the only one who can help with the current predicament.

We interupt the end of this post for a Sky appreciation segment because he is the best bean and is my blorbo and got a bunch of great panels this update

He

Being the hero

Jumping into harm's way

The face of determination

He

Sleepy

Sleepy boy we got sleepy sky and I love him

Okay im done, We shall get back to the end now.

That's everything from me! :D

I hope you enjoyed my rambling please do let me know if you spotted anything I didn't! Thanks for hanging out with me and for uhh, also hanging out as I yell excitedly about my blorbo because, to be honest, I love him and it wouldn't be something from me if I didn't soooo....

Yeah!

Thanks again to the artist for letting me do this! I really appreciate it!

Have a great night!

[noorthehood]

Until You • 05

Miguel O'Hara/Reader

Ch. 01 Here

Ch. 02 Here

Ch. 03 Here

Ch. 04 Here

Faster updates on Ao3!

With a glimpse of a futuristic cityscape and an encounter with a Spiderman seemingly much different from the one you’re used to, you unknowingly find yourself thrust into a web of intrigue and danger as the very fabric of space and time is warping. Who will you trust?

........………………………….…………………......................

“They’re calling me what?”

Your words reverberate through the bustling cafeteria, drawing the attention of the Spider-Society members immersed in their daily routines. The chatter around you momentarily subsides as heads turn in your direction while Lyla’s virtual figure flickers with her every laugh, clearly taking great delight in the affronted look on your face.

“Come on! It’s not like they’re saying it to cuss you out.” She begins. “Try to look at it as…a pet name that fits your circumstances.”

You finish the last bite of your burger, discreetly glancing around to ensure no one is overhearing your conversation with the ever-teasing AI.

“Well, pet name or not, I don’t know how I feel about having hundreds of Spider-people refer to me as ‘Temp’.” You whisper. “What is this, an office drama?”

Seemingly unfazed by your skepticism, she takes on a robotic and lifeless tone, her movements mimicking those of a clunky mechanical robot.

"'Temp' is short for temporary, symbolizing your presence in our dimension as a temporary occurrence. It is a way for the Spider-Society members to acknowledge and categorize your unique situation in a comedic and friendly light. Please try not to take it personally." 

You roll your eyes and let out a resigned sigh, realizing that Lyla is determined to have her fun at your expense. Taking a sip from your drink, you decide to shift the conversation back to what you were discussing before she had let you know of the nickname issue.

“Alright, alright, we get it Tin Man. Now, let’s go back to what we were talking about before my drink coincidentally happens to find its way into your GPU.”

On cue with your threat, she quickly adjusts her projection to display a small holographic interface, complete with visual aids and data streams, preparing to resume her description of the inner workings of the 2099 metropolis of Nueva York.

Over the past few days, a peculiar bond had formed between you and Lyla; although she initially seemed wary of an outsider infiltrating the tightly-knit facility, you could tell the advanced AI had finally warmed up to your presence. Once you were granted permission to roam around the Spider-Society HQ, courtesy of Jessica Drew's intervention, Lyla became your designated companion and monitor—when her boss didn’t need her support elsewhere, that is. This idea proved particularly useful, as you would no longer have to go through that bulky Spiderman for your more personal daily needs. 

While her primary purpose was to ensure your safety and well-being, she went above and beyond her assigned duties; Lyla became your guide, your confidant, and even your source of entertainment. You just knew that your boring old smartphone would never be able to compete once you’d be back in your home dimension.

But beyond all of that, you knew that it was Lyla’s presence itself that had been keeping you from going insane between those walls. 

While there were a few friendly Spider-people who would engage in casual conversations, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being an outsider. After all, they were superhumans who had their responsibilities and duties to attend to, and you were just a temporary visitor in their realm of heroism. There was an invisible barrier that separated you, making it difficult to truly connect on a deeper level—or perhaps that from experience, despite their desire to befriend you, they were the ones that felt compelled to keep their distance so as not to bring you closer than you already were to their world of precarity. 

Could that explain why the Spiderman hadn’t come to check on you since the go-home machine incident?

You shake the thought off your mind.

“Are you still listening or am I wasting my RAM here?”

Lyla’s voice quickly brings you back to reality as you blink a few times, eyes returning on the holographic projection she had created of one of the city’s vertical car tunnels.

“Oh—Yeah, sorry, I mean—” You stammer, trying to come up with an excuse. “I was just…thinking about how much I would love to see the city with my own two eyes instead of through projections or from the windows, you know.”

That wasn’t a lie; you truly did find yourself captivated by the vision of this futuristic ‘Nueva York’—it's a far cry from the familiar streets and buildings of your respective New York. Everything Lyla had told you about the advanced transportation system, the breakthroughs in regenerative medicine, and the incredible architectural wonders that were out there just piqued your curiosity all the more—had it not been that you were being constantly monitored, you probably would have tried to sneak out and get a feel for it yourself.

“Yeah, well,” She says, adjusting her comically large heart-shaped glasses. “I wish I could show you firsthand, but the circumstances don’t exactly allow for it.”

“Yeah, I know. No hard feelings.” You let out a wistful sigh, acknowledging the limitations of your current situation. “Thanks for allowing me to get a glimpse of it through you, though.”

Lyla looks at you in silence for a few moments, as if she was trying to find the right words to make you feel better about your circumstances. The silence stretches, creating a tangible weight in the air before she finally begins to speak.

"It's…not all utopia, you know." She finally says. The cafeteria buzzes with activity around you, but her somber tone draws your focus entirely to her. "As advanced and dazzling as this place may seem, it’s not without its flaws.” 

The once playful companion now wears a more serious facade, and you can't help but feel a pang of concern.

“There is a stark divide between the privileged elite and the disenfranchised, those who have access to the advancements and benefits of this society…and those who are left behind."

She pauses, her holographic figure tilting slightly as if trying to convey the depth of the issue. The projections around her shift to display images of gleaming skyscrapers towering above shanty towns and overcrowded streets.

"The rapid progress and technological marvels have come at a price," Lyla continues. "Mega-corporations such as Alchemax wield tremendous power, their influence reaching into every aspect of society; they control resources, shape public opinion, and even dictate the very fabric of people's lives."

You find yourself drawn deeper into Lyla's words, the holographic projections becoming windows into a reality far more complex than you had imagined. Scenes of protests, clashes, and the shadows of corporate dominance flicker before your eyes, painting a picture of a society grappling with its own contradictions.

Lyla's gaze shifts from the projections to meet your eyes, her virtual body perched on the edge of your table. The room seems to quiet down around you—or maybe your brain was playing tricks on you to help you grasp the gravity of the moment.

"There's a lot of darkness beneath the glossy surface, a side of this place that I haven't shared with you until now. And, maybe…" She hesitates. "...Maybe that's one of the reasons why he is so determined to find a way to get you out of here quickly."

You raise your eyebrows at that statement.

It takes a moment to absorb her words; of course, you knew that no city came without its downsides. But in a world like this, a world that seemed so utopian, so clean and rid of imperfections—it was somehow disheartening to know that the greediness of human nature could persist even when it has the opportunity not to.

“I suppose that’s why even a place like this needs its Spiderman, huh.” You scoff lightly, then pause for a few seconds. “Say, Lyla…”

“Hm?” Her virtual gaze meets yours inquisitively as the projections behind her dissipate.

Your voice drops lower as you lean in closer to her, ensuring your conversation remains private.

“Does he...you know,” You hesitate slightly, unsure of how to word things. “Get notified of everything I ask you?”

Lyla raises an eyebrow.

"Not unless it compromises anyone's safety," she assures you, her voice carrying a hint of playful mischief. "But if you ask me to show you any weird stuff, I might just snitch for funsies."

"No—God, no, it's not like that," You hurriedly clarify as you shake your head. Lyla crosses her arms and looks at you skeptically, her virtual glasses perched on her nose.

"I mean, he does have full access to the record, of course," Lyla admits. "But that's hours and hours of conversation that he'd have to skim through every day. Trust me, he's got better things to do."

"I see," you reply, the tension in your shoulders easing.

Lyla continues to study you, her virtual gaze fixed on your face, as if she senses there's more to your question. With a subtle movement of her hand, she prompts you to elaborate.

You stay silent for a moment. There was something you had been meaning to address, a lingering curiosity that had been growing within you for the better part of your stay at the HQ.

“Could you…tell me more about Spiderman?”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Depends. What would you like to know?”

“I…I’m not sure.” You stammer. “The gist of it, I guess.”

“The gist of it, huh.” A mischievous smile tugs on her lips. “Well, there are limitations to my programming when it comes to the disclosure of sensitive information about anyone at HQ, as you probably have guessed already.”

You nod, acknowledging the obvious.

“Yeah, of course, sorry I ever asked—”

“But.”  Lyla interrupts you and quickly appears closer to your face, a finger raised in the air. “I can tell you something interesting I’ve noticed lately.”

The sassy AI sure knew how to pique your curiosity. You cross your arms in anticipation.

“I’m listening.”

Lyla smirks and looks around before taking a seat on your shoulder.

"Well, one thing you have to know about our Spiderman here is that he is stubborn as a mule," She starts with a tinge of simulated exasperation. "This whole vigilante thing, it's like a drug to him. Nothing else matters more than doing what he believes is right, even if it means going against the grain."

You slowly uncross your arms as the AI keeps on going.

“Ever since he…became the way he is,” She hesitates, searching for the right words, “He’s always been driven by this deep sense of responsibility—always shouldering the weight of the world on his back without ever counting on anyone else to help carry the load. Maybe he sees it as a sort of atonement for the things he’s done, I’m not sure.” Lyla's expression softened, her digital eyes conveying a sense of fondness. 

“He’s not like most Spider-People in this building, you know. He doesn’t get much recognition at all, or even…deal with the public. With or without the mask.”

She pauses as you process her words.

“But ever since you got here, or rather ever since he took you out of that machine,” Her eyes look up into yours. “I’ve noticed he’s gotten…How could I say—softer?”

Your eyes widen at her words, struggling to comprehend the implications. 

“What do you…” You chuckle. “Nah, I haven’t seen him since I set foot in the go-home machine, and our interactions have been brief at best—”

“You haven’t seen him since that day. He, on the other hand, has been watching over you for the past ten days. You knew that, didn’t you?” She chimes in. “Maybe he feels guilty for what he made you go through back there, maybe he sees a reflection of himself in you. Someone who’s been thrust against their will into a world they don't really understand.”

The image of that imposing, stoic masked man allowing himself to ‘soften’ in your presence is both bewildering and unbelievable to you. Lyla's eyes meet yours, a warm smile playing on her lips. 

"Sometimes, it's the most unexpected connections that have the most profound impact," She says softly. "Maybe he sees in you a glimmer of the humanity he thought he'd lost."

Before you could formulate a response, a notification appears on Lyla's communication interface, accompanied by a rhythmic beeping. She glances at the notification and mutters ‘gotta take that’ before she vanishes from your shoulder, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts.

Leaning back in your chair, the weight of Lyla's words settles on your mind like a heavy cloak. The revelation that Spiderman had been watching over you didn't come as a surprise; it was part of the reason you had devised the whole psychological warfare plan while you were still confined in your quarters. But for Lyla to suggest that your mere presence had impacted him in some way…

You mull over the implications of her words, tracing the lines of the man’s solitary existence. How isolated must he be to find solace in the presence of a complete stranger? The idea that your arrival could have softened his hardened resolve tugs at your heartstrings, evoking a mix of empathy and compassion—you can't help but wonder what it must be like to carry the burden he bears. 

The man’s image flashes in your mind. You can almost see the weight of the world etched on his shoulders, the weariness in his gaze—though you’d never seen them, you still wondered what stories his eyes held. Would it be bad to wonder what type of man lies under the mask? What sort of scars, seen and unseen, you would find under his suit?

‘No.’ You stop your mind from wandering further. ‘That’s inappropriate.’

You take a deep breath, attempting to push aside those intrusive thoughts as a sense of internal conflict washes over you. 

“Speaking of the blue devil.” Lyla’s voice brings you back to reality once again, her figure instantly rematerializing in front of your eyes. “Looks like he’s heading back from a field mission after hearing the latest news going around HQ.”

“News?” You furrow your eyebrows inquisitively. “What news?”

Lyla smirks and crosses her arms as she savors the moment of anticipation before delivering the information.

“Seems like your little friend has finally woken up."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“You might just be the least athletic person I have ever had the misfortune to meet in all my years of activity.” 

Leaning against the wall, you struggle to catch your breath, your lungs still heaving from the exertion of navigating the unconventional layout of the Spider-Society HQ. Lyla's condescending remark lingers in the air, stinging with a touch of truth—it was no secret that physical prowess was not your strong suit after working an office job for the past couple of years, especially in a place teeming with people who could soar through the air or scale walls with ease.

"Well, probably because I am the least athletic person you've met in your years of activity; you work with superhumans!" you retort, gasping for air between words. "And whose idea was it to build some of the floors upside down anyway? Again, there is no way this is up to building code!"

"Most people here usually just swing from place to place," she remarks casually, as if swinging from webs is a universally accepted mode of transportation. 

You slump down the wall, grateful for the support it provides, fanning yourself with your hands in an attempt to alleviate the heat radiating from your flushed face. 

As soon as Lyla had informed you of the other woman's awakening, your instinct to check up on her immediately kicked in. It felt like the natural thing to do, drawing from your experience as a volunteer member of the office emergency response team back home—a role that, admittedly, does look good on a resume. You and the other woman were stranded in this strange and futuristic world, and in each other's presence, you could potentially find a semblance of familiarity, a connection amidst the unknown.

Of course, your motivations were entirely altruistic, driven solely by the desire to ensure her well-being and offer support in this perplexing predicament. It had nothing to do with the fact that you were eager to see Spiderman after over a week of no contact. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Right?

You promptly try to shake off the thought. Maybe you were still overthinking what Lyla had told you about him earlier. But for now, your primary focus should lie exclusively on the well-being of your fellow castaway.

With a final heave, you push yourself off the wall facing the large gate of the infirmary, mustering the strength to stand upright. Taking a deep breath, you shoot a determined gaze at Lyla.

"Alright, C-3PO." You declare theatrically. “Let’s go check on my—.”

“What are you doing here, exactly?”

You jolt in surprise at the deep voice emanating from behind you. Quickly turning on your heels, you find yourself face to face with the towering man who had been the subject of most of your thoughts for the past hour or so, arms tightly crossed on his chest, looking at you through his intimidating yet somehow familiar mask. 

“Oh.” You manage to let out, your heart rate quickening. “I…I could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here.” He responds matter-of-factly, his tone carrying a hint of confusion. Lyla materializes next to him, her digital form bearing a mischievous smile.

You mentally berate yourself for the nonsensical remark. What were you even trying to say?

“I mean—” You stammer, attempting to regain your composure as you lean against the nearby wall. “Haven’t seen you around in a minute. Or since I got here, really.”

He sure knew how to hold eye contact.

"Some of us are busy working," he states, taking a step toward the entrance of the infirmary. "Just like others are busy vandalizing private property."

You scoff, trailing behind him as you try to keep up with his brisk pace.

“What you call vandalizing, I call peacefully protesting. And I’ve apologized already, haven’t I?”

“Yelling ‘sue me’ through the intercom isn’t exactly the definition of apologizing, is it?” He retorts, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

You follow him through a long white hall with large windows on one side as he checks some information on his complex-looking watch, aided by Lyla.

"Fine, maybe I haven't formally apologized," you concede, maintaining your quick stride while skillfully evading a few Spider-People approaching from the opposite direction. "But let's not forget that you haven't apologized to me either for confining me to a room for an entire week! Yet, you don't see me complaining, do you?"

“Seems to me like you are complaining right now.”

"And rightfully so!" you retort, your voice laced with frustration.

With a sigh, he abruptly halts, causing you to nearly collide into his back. You look up and find yourself facing a large glass wall, beyond which lies the woman you've come to see, lying in her pristine white infirmary bed. Her gaze is fixed on the view beyond the window to her left.

"Listen," the man begins, turning to face the same direction as you. "Right now, all I'm trying to do is find a way to send you home as soon as possible. So if this conversation can wait, I need to speak with your friend and see if she can provide any leads on where to start. Understood?"

You stare at him in silence for a few seconds.

“Wait, you… you mean you’re gonna go in there to talk to her? Right now?”

He turns his head towards you, confusion etched on his masked face.

“Is there a problem?”

Unable to contain your amusement, you burst into laughter, much to his dismay.

“You’ve got this strange habit of laughing after I say something completely normal, you know that? What the shock is so funny?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I just hope you’ve got a few extra doses of that tranquilizer on hand, you know—for when she turns around and loses her mind when she sees a ten-foot-tall masked man in a blue spandex suit at her bedside and thinks she’s getting dragged to purgatory.” Tilting your head, you give him a wry smile. “If your plan is to send her right back into a coma, go right ahead.”

Lyla flickers into existence next to you, her hands on her hips, chiming in with a nod of agreement.

“She’s got a point.” 

He stares at you for a moment, then at the glass wall facing him.

“What do you suggest, then?”

“That I be the one to go in there and talk to her.” A surge of determination fuels your words as you take a step closer to him, your eyes locking onto his hidden gaze. 

He looks back at you, holding eye contact against his better judgment. Has he seen your face from so close before? Of course he did, he’d carried you in his arms twice in the span of two days when you had first arrived. And whenever time allowed it, he would monitor your quarters to watch for any potential glitch or anomalous event—he had seen and heard plenty of you. 

Yet his gaze wanders, tracing the contours of your slightly flushed cheeks, the fluttering of your eyelashes, and the shape of your lips. These were the subtle details that surveillance cameras could never quite capture, and they held a captivating allure when observed up close. But amidst all these visual observations, one thing captivates him more than anything else.

Your scent.

It's not the fragrance of your perfume or the smell of your clothes. It's your natural scent, the essence that is uniquely yours. He had noticed it lingering around the headquarters, surfacing in his senses shortly after your arrival, and it inexplicably clung to him throughout the day—even after he retreated to the solace of his own home. The aroma was unfamiliar to him, yet strangely soothing.

The weight of his unspoken response lingers in the air, the silence stretching between you. However, the moment is interrupted by Lyla, who breaks the stillness with a snap of her virtual fingers and a prompt reminder of the task at hand.

“Earth to Spiderman.” Lyla chimes in, her voice bringing him back to the present. “So? What do you say, big guy?”

He takes a step back, his gaze shifting away from yours, as if attempting to regain his composure.

“Yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.” He finally responds, his voice slightly gruff as he clears his throat.

Lyla raises her eyebrows, expressing her surprise at his quick compliance. You shoot him a satisfied smile.

“I knew you had some common sense hidden under that scary mask of yours.”

You start walking towards the sliding door of the woman’s room, but are promptly stopped by a firm hand on your shoulder. 

“Wait.”

You turn your head to face him with an inquisitive frown, expecting a change of mind, but are rather met with what you recognize as an expression of concern.

“Listen, I…I trust you’ll do good in there. ” He pauses, his hand softly resting on your shoulder as he looks down at you. “But if anything feels off…I need you to let me know. Immediately.”

The concern in his voice resonates within you. It's evident that his words extend beyond the mere well-being of the woman in the room; there's a vulnerability in his voice that suggests he cares more than he's letting on. Remembering what Lyla had mentioned earlier about Spiderman's solitary existence and his reluctance to rely on others, you can't help but wonder if he sees in you someone he can trust, someone he can confide in—even if just for this moment.

You're tempted to lean into his touch, to let yourself be enveloped by the warmth and comfort it promises. But you swiftly pull back, reminding yourself of the boundaries and the temporary nature of your alliance. You know that indulging in these fleeting emotions could complicate matters and distract you from the task at hand.

You give him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension in the air. "Pinky promise," you say playfully, raising your pinky finger in a gesture of camaraderie.

A faint unseen smile tugs at the corner of his lips, hidden behind the mask, as he hooks his pinky finger around yours, sealing the unspoken agreement between you.

He nods in acknowledgement, but the concern in his eyes remains. It's almost as if he's reluctant to let you go, to entrust you with this task. But you reassure yourself that it's merely his sense of responsibility, his desire to ensure everyone's safety, that drives his concern.

"Better keep to your word." He steps back slightly as if to maintain a respectful distance.

Before either of you can say anything else, Lyla's voice breaks the spell, reminding you of your initial purpose.

"If you keep this going any longer she’s gonna go to sleep again.”

You nervously wipe your palms on your jumpsuit in anticipation and slowly make your way to the door. You shoot one last look at the Spiderman, stiffly standing in front of the entrance with arms crossed. He gives you one last nod before you make your way inside the room.

“I’m counting on you, Temp.”

....................................................................................................

A.N: Phew, longest chapter so far (I haven't slept in weeks). Felt like delving more into YN's relationship with Lyla as well as fleshing out Nueva York a bit—as I told a reader on Ao3, it seems a lot of people who've only seen ATSV think of Nueva York as a sort of solar-punk utopia of the future, while it's actually pretty messed up from up close.

Hope y'all like playing with fire cause the slow burn is burning!

As always, faster updates on Ao3!!!

[goldenavenger02]

hanging onto every sentence

For @badthingshappenbingo. Prompt: Confined To Bed Rest. Suggested by @bracedfangirl who asked for "Lloyd for Confined To Bed Rest"

Ever since they had gotten him back, the metaphoric light in his eyes had faded and had been replaced by a void that was impossible to read, one that made Kai feel sick.

Kai held on tighter when Lloyd flinched in his hold, nearly hitting his head on the curve of Kai's chin; he was pretty sure that there was some form of an apology interspersed with the series of hacking, wet coughs that escaped Lloyd's lips, but between the gasps and the exhaustion, it ended up being unintelligible.

"Don't worry about it," Kai insisted even when Lloyd sagged against him and went scarily still that had him turning to Zane, "is he-"

"He's still conscious," he let out a breath, watching as Zane quickly removed the blood pressure cuff which had caused Lloyd to flinch in the first place, "his vitals are mostly stable, except for…"

He didn't even have to say it, Lloyd's breathing had sounded awful from the moment Cole had pulled the two of them out of the river.

"So, what do we do?"

"Lloyd is the only one who can destroy the realm crystal, which means he has to come with us to Stiix."

'Right. End of the world, Morro, even more terrible things happening to people who don't deserve it.' Kai gently pulled Lloyd out of his slouch as he started coughing again.

"Are you sure all four of us can't just blow it up?"

"Affirmative. Our powers are still too weak from…" Zane's glance shifted towards Lloyd's face for a few brief moments before he returned eye contact with Kai, "from what happened, but it shouldn't take that much of Lloyd's abilities to destroy it."

Kai ran a hand through Lloyd's still damp hair before returning it back to the place around his arm where he had been holding him upright to encourage coughing up the water he had inhaled.

"Zane, he can barely sit up."

"We don't have another choice," Zane's grave tone only made Kai's decision making skills stall to more of a standstill, "if he does not destroy the realm crystal, Ninjago as we know it will be cursed."

Lloyd whimpered in response, which had Kai sitting straight up, but he let out a string of coughs before slouching against Kai once more.

"I know, I know," Kai finally sighed when he felt safe enough to return his gaze back to Zane, "but maybe we should make a backup plan if he's still this bad when we get to Stiix."

'If it were up to me, it wouldn't even be considered.'

"You do make a good point," Zane agreed while clipping a small monitor around one of Lloyd's fingers, "I'm going to update the others and see if we can make a backup plan, but I do not feel comfortable leaving him unattended-"

"I've got him, just don't let everyone decide to make me swim," Kai insisted as he pulled Lloyd upright again, "I've done enough swimming to last a lifetime."

"Very well, but Kai?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe use the towel to dry him off some more."

"Got it," Kai nodded, grabbing it as soon as the door shut behind him and started to towel off Lloyd's hair slowly in order to avoid another harsh flinch, "you still with me, Lloyd?"

He got a few harsh coughs in response that made his own chest twinge in sympathy.

…

Lloyd had managed to stay upright, defeat the preeminent and give a very motivating speech on the deck of the small paddle boat to the point where Kai wondered just how Lloyd had gotten this much energy when he had barely been able to speak that morning.

But when they returned to The Bounty and Lloyd keeled over in a way that renewed the unrelenting panic in Kai's heart, he realized that it was clearly a mix of adrenaline and spite, the same kind that had carried him through his own numerous battles.

He didn't have any new injuries outside of some bruising and minor cuts, 'thank the master', which pinpointed the cause of him falling unconscious as exhaustion, according to Zane.

"He needs sleep, a lot of it," Zane finally determined while Kai stood against the wall, fully prepared to move over to Lloyd's side as soon as he was allowed, "Kai, you'll need to reinforce it."

"After you shower," Kai whipped his head around to see Nya walking in, her under eyes looking only a few shades lighter than Lloyd's, "you smell horrible. I'll take first watch."

"Are you su-"

"Positive, we all took a vote on it," Nya's smirk lit up her face enough for Kai to know that it was mostly a joke, "go shower."

"I'll be back after I'm done," Kai relented, stopping to pull Nya into a tight hug as he found himself overwhelmed with pride that overtook the panic for a few, brief moments, "I'm so, so proud of you."

"Thanks," she returned the hug until he let go, "now go get clean, before I start gagging."

Kai couldn't help but let out a laugh as he found it in himself to go, knowing that Lloyd was perfectly safe with Nya and Zane.

…

"I have never seen…" Kai was going to add "someone who was that hurt two days ago escape Zane's watch for the third time in twenty four hours", but then he was reminded of after they defeated the Overlord the first time and without discussing it with each other, all tried to pull through it without getting medical attention and kept it to himself.

But at least he had given up on going that route after that, unlike a certain green ninja.

"Look, there's no way he would have gone outside in this," Nya gestured to the raging thunderstorm outside the window, "but we need to find him before he does."

"Lloyd!" Kai called out as he and Nya went in separate directions to divide and conquer, "Lloyd, hide and seek at eleven p.m in the middle of a thunderstorm is a really bad ide-" he was cut off by the generator turning off and The Bounty being encased in darkness.

"Great, just great," he muttered, lighting his hand ablaze before continuing to make his way through the ship, "Lloyd!"

He found himself making his way towards the very bottom of the ship; while it was now a glorified storage unit, there was a small, condensed training course down there, the same one Lloyd always took his anger out on when he didn't want to be seen.

He really hoped he wasn't foolish enough to train with fresh injuries, but he also knew that if he was, it was in order to avoid what was really bothering him.

Kai didn't hear any noise coming from behind the closed door, even when he knocked, but he still found himself opening it regardless with a "Lloyd? You in here, buddy."

It was silent for a few beats even as he briefly shined the fire in his hand throughout the room, but that's when he heard a voice coming from behind the door.

"I'm right here."

"Oh, thank the master-" Kai muttered as he shut the door enough so he could get down beside Lloyd, the fire in his hand illuminating the dark circles under his eyes in the worst way which subsequently quelled the anger that had been building since Zane had told them he had escaped again, "you scared us."

"I didn't mean to."

"What is going on, Lloyd?" Kai asked, even though he had a guess in mind after the events of the last month, "you've always been a bit of a flight risk, but this is…you've really outdone yourself."

"Can you go ahead and take me back?"

"So you can run off while everyone is sleeping?" He waited for the inevitable scowl, but still reached over and gently rested his hand on Lloyd's knee when it came, "I'm here for you, whenever you're ready to talk."

"Can you…can you please take me back?"

"Yeah," Kai resigned as he stood up before holding out his hand and helping Lloyd to his feet before leading the way back to his room.

"Oh, thank goodness," Nya muttered as she pulled Lloyd into a tight hug, but Kai could tell that Lloyd's heart wasn't in returning it as he lightly squeezed back, "I'm so glad you're okay."

As Nya helped him back into bed, Kai had to stop himself from pulling her away and voicing his concern that maybe, just maybe, this was the thing that had fully broken Lloyd.

Ever since they had gotten him back, the metaphoric light in his eyes had faded and had been replaced by a void that was impossible to read, one that made Kai feel sick; he couldn't help but wonder if Morro digging into Lloyd's memory and using his body had caused the Lloyd they knew to go down with the preeminent.

[ladyohdeath]

so much care and love went into the designs of the costumes. and as many posts as i make about this i want to make a new one now about her crown, which as i said in my carrd in a recent update, she'll now have in every thread going forward unless she's hiding herself as a human on purpose.

and god, i just love this crown so much. i'm not as big of a history nerd as i want to be, so some of this dialogue is inspired by a tumblr post linked here to sort of talk about it. but seriously, one of the coolest costume designs marvel has done in a while.

if you think about it, really, the crown (as well as her whole character design) is as old as the universe itself. older than time as we know it. i used to compare it to tree roots, but i see now that that it's far more complex than that.

for starters, obviously we see that the crown is a series of shades that shows as black in some lights, green in others, but for the most part reflective of both. it's meant to reflect her two primary colours, and the cycle of life and death. i also very much headcanon that in certain lights it's almost invisible, in certain realms and places of existence it's dark as night. it very much matches her standard lady death outfit which has a similar vibe, with a design meant to feel old, connected to the earth, and in some aspects resembling tree roots, the circle of life, all of it intertwining in a specific pattern.

obviously in my last post i just talked about death being omnipresent, and i think that the crown is just as omnipresent, in being that it looks different from any angle, the same in every dimension. never changing, as death is always the same everywhere. i also really like the way that they designed the look to reflect early religious symbols, just another factor about it that makes it feel ancient.

the post says this, which i thought was super interesting:

It's a chitinous construct of thorns and spines flaring up like vertebrae when viewed from the side, rising out of her head (the spine is a symbol of Osiris, which feels relevant here, but also the crown of thorns on Christ's head) in a way that feels organic, yet eerie. The deep green shimmer on it, like the carapace of a scarab, and coming forward over her face like a pair of pincers or antennae, grasping over her skull as a set of hungry claws; but when you see it from above, it's like the jawbone of something with many, many teeth.

i really think this is meant to show the many sides of death, the good and the bad. when you look death head on, it resembles jaws, as though it's coming down at you from above. when you look to the side, it's shaped on a slope, with jagged sharp edges. it almost looks like a shark. but from the side angle it almost looks like waves, jagged and hard but flowing into a pattern. and all of it comes together at the top, every piece of it is very specifically designed, and i think that's the purpose of it.

there's more nuance here that i've yet to figure out myself, but i think that's part of the intent, as well as the obvious intent which is that it's meant to reflect early religious symbols like the crown on jesus's head. which is a super cool fucking detail i might add. when you look at it from the side or from the lower angle of the kiss you can see that it's not even really touching her head. like it's just always there.

you all also know i'm obsessed with vegetation, and the circle of life that rio really reflects in the leaves and flowers she trails behind her sometimes, especially when taking a body. i like to think that the crown operates in a similar fashion, and is ever-shifting, just the slightest bit. and if you look at it head on, and stare for long enough, you might see it shifting, growing very slowly then shortening again, not unlike, again, the roots of a tree. that's just my personal headcanon, though, and not something i observe when watching or looking at pics.

for the more technical side of it, while death can make the crown disappear at will, it is always there. it's very much a part of her, and doesn't move from her head. it's as unavoidable as death itself. it's also got a strange texture to it, the jagged edges sharp but smooth at the same time. i also headcanon that it's similar to obsidian, sort of a mythical version of it, not unlike the material of the black heart of her suit.

so yeah, that's it for now. i'll update this if the costume designer drops a pic of the back. long story short, i love the crown.

[asimplearchivist]

𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ After the events that took place on Vast Ice Mountain, Dialga has released Dusknoir of his duties as his henchman. Dusknoir, in the midst of a self-crisis, is taken under wing by Celebi and Grovyle. Dusknoir finally breaks, and Grovyle reassures him. Dusknoir finds out a couple things about himself that he didn't know before. ⤏ Alternative summary: my take on what happened directly after the fifth special episode, mostly influenced by my own pent up Dusknoir feels! :D Yay for angst! (Also, please guys, don't hate Dusknoir, he doesn't deserve it. He's a tender marshmallow.) pairing(s) ✨ (mentions of) hero & grovyle [nostalgiashipping] word count ✨ 2.5k a/n ✨ [header credit] [divider credit] ⤏ This is an old piece from 2016, when I last replayed Explorers, so with my recent resurgence I figured I might post it here for my new PMD moots. Considering this is six years old, please forgive my older, less polished writing; but I'm still fairly pleased with it. :) (That's also why it's not getting a dedicated Sunday post, but since it's Christmas I thought I might share something that most of my followers here probably haven't seen before.) ⤏ My hero's old name was Celina, so I changed it to the newly updated Eliana instead. Other than that, it's pretty much a time capsule haha.

This new, brighter future was, in all honesty, taking quite a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously.

It had been a mighty triumph, incapacitating Primal Dialga to prevent him from tampering with the Passage of Time, the possibility of him ruining time just before it managed to begin to function again diminished to none when his massive legs had buckled beneath him after Grovyle had dealt the final blow. That triumph had been short lived, however - it hadn't been but a few moments before they all had turned to light and had disappeared; but, upon their almost immediate return, the immense relief of being able to breathe in the newly shifting air, to see the sunrise glowing in more colors than Dusknoir had ever seen in his life - it had robbed him of breath and had humbled him in such a way he doubted he would ever look at the sky the same way again. Whomever it may have been to preserve his and the rest of the future Pokémon’s lives, they would have his immense gratitude for the rest of his days.

Everything in that moment had been exhilarating - he had felt the wind, cold and biting, race past him, the sun shining in his eye so brightly that he quickly learned that he mustn't look at it directly, lest he be temporarily blinded - but then, after Dialga had been generous enough to provide them with a portal to return to the Hidden Land (now in the budding stages of returning to its past lushness and fertility), he had found himself in an unexpected state of absolute dumbfound ever since.

Given that Dialga was no longer under the influences of darkness and had no reason to bind them to his will, he had released Dusknoir and the Sableye of their past duties, and thus had turned Dusknoir away from the one thing that he had ever truly known - servitude. He had always served for someone else, and he had always had a strong sense of loyalty to those he did. But for lack of better terms, Dusknoir was now out of his realm of confidence, and honestly had no idea of how to go about his life from here forth.

Celebi and Grovyle had been surprisingly kind and generous to him thus far - while Celebi had offered to house Grovyle in one of her many homes, she had also extended it to him as well. It was a shallow cave, high up on a cliff face where no one would usually be able to spot it. Both Grass types fit easily enough inside - but if Dusknoir were to be completely honest with himself...he was not a very small Pokémon. At all. At least, compared to the other two.

Luckily, he was not quite corporeal at times, so he managed to squeeze inside and settle on the cave floor - hunched over, but he had something over his head, at least.

Grovyle set to work at pulling a few things from his worn Treasure Bag, a couple of differently textured rocks and a bit of dried leaves and tiny sticks, before he struck one rock upon the other. A few sparks flared from it and onto the small collection of dead vegetation, but it took a couple of tries to actually get it to start smoldering. Thin wisps of smoke danced up from it and Grovyle set to work at blowing on it gently, coaxing it into a small, dancing flame that cast a warm orange glow across the cold cave floor.

He glanced up at Celebi and murmured that she go gather a few smaller sticks to help build up the flames. She bobbed her head and soared out of the cave, her little wings flapping with determination.

Grovyle sat back on his haunches and released a long sigh, scrubbing at his face with his clawed paws. Dusknoir tried not to shift around uncomfortably, afraid his antenna would scrape against the ceiling.

"I thought Grass types were supposed to be wary of fire," Dusknoir, for lack of other words, tried to prompt.

Grovyle glanced up at him, his bright yellow eyes seeming to gleam in the fading sunlight. The smaller Pokémon’s strong reserve was back, the emotion he'd shown in the past day probably having drawn too much from him to offer much more.

It had been quite an exhausting day, even for Dusknoir himself. He understood that Grovyle was most likely exponentially wearier than he, especially considering the energy the ice pillars had drained from the Grass type. Dusknoir was amazed that Grovyle was even still conscious. (He had been lucky to have knocked him from the energy beams’ grip in time.)

“I learned many things when I met Eliana,” Grovyle told him, settling against the stone wall and folding his arms over his thin chest. His eyes shifted to gaze out of the cave mouth, the circles beneath darkening with shadows that the meager flames were pushing away. “Choosing to qualm simple fears was one of the first.”

Dusknoir hummed for lack of a response, following the Grass type’s gaze.

The sun was setting. A grandiose amalgamation of color painted the sky, oranges and pinks and lilacs mingling in a joyful reunion as the great burning ball of gold retreated beneath the distant horizon. Stars were beginning to appear, tentatively sparkling against the darker parts of the great canvas stretched out before them.

Dusknoir found that he was holding his breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Grovyle mused absently.

The Ghost type hummed once more in agreement, trying to take in as much of the view as possible.

“I…haven’t seen so many colors in my life,” he admitted softly. He felt Grovyle’s eyes rest upon him.

“You were in the past before,” Grovyle reminded him, his voice somewhat dubious. “Didn’t you ever stop long enough to look around you?”

Dusknoir fell silent, shifting uncomfortably and flinching a bit when his antenna brushed the stone above him. Grovyle huffed quietly, shuffling around in his Treasure Bag before holding out something in his paw. The Ghost type stared in puzzlement at the two Purple Gummis before looking back up to the Wood Gecko Pokémon.

“I picked these up before we went to Temporal Tower,” Grovyle explained, eyes still searching the growing darkness outside. “I didn’t want to let them go to waste, and I figured you were hungry after the day we’ve had.”

Dusknoir hesitantly took the small food items, eyeing them a bit before looking up at the smaller Pokémon. Honestly, how had this Pokémon’s attitude towards him changed so drastically? And why? What had Dusknoir ever done to deserve any sort of good will - and from Grovyle, who had been his target for months and who he had attempted to murder multiple times, no less? Why did he deserve any mercy? Why had he come back after disappearing? What good had he ever done, truly, to deserve to even be breathing? He’d been a twisted soul for most of his life, doing nothing but the morally bleak bidding for any master that offered him power…

…Had he really redeemed himself, in helping Grovyle and Celebi save the future? Or had he merely been a side note?

“…Dusknoir?”

The Ghost type startled back into reality, confusedly taking in Grovyle’s troubled expression. “Pardon me, I was…thinking.”

“Dusknoir…you…you’re crying.”

Dusknoir blinked, gingerly running a fingertip beneath his eye and drawing it away. When had his vision gotten so blurry?

Grovyle straightened, creases forming between his eyes in what Dusknoir vaguely recognized as his concern. “Dusknoir, what’s wrong?”

The Ghost type flushed in shame, attempting to swipe away the outward evidence of his inner conflict. “Nothing, nothing. I believe I may have gotten dirt in my eye.”

The Grass type was silent for a long moment, so long of a moment that Dusknoir glanced up to make sure that he was even still there. There was an odd expression on the smaller Pokémon’s face, one that looked to be a conglomeration of several at once.

“You’re beginning to doubt yourself,” Grovyle observed gently.

Dusknoir wondered when he had become so transparent. Metaphorically. He was a Ghost type. Conditional transparency came with existing.

“I’m not aware of what you’re implicating,” he rebutted dismissively, looking towards the end of the cave. It was much darker than before. Did the sun always set so quickly?

“You can stop lying, you know. I’m not going to judge you for whatever you’re feeling.” Grovyle’s voice had taken on a foreign gentleness, one that Dusknoir had only ever heard once before. It had been at the temple in the Hidden Land of the past, when the Grass type had retold Eliana of their doomed fate to disappear upon rescuing Temporal Tower. He’d gazed upon the human-turned-Eevee with such a tenderness that Dusknoir had, at the time, found it to be a sign of extreme weakness and idiocy. But, seeing how Grovyle had spoken of her throughout their adventure the past day, Dusknoir had clearly seen the true strength of their relationship shining through his words. They were extremely close, there was no denying that. They had endured much together, and it showed. Dusknoir just wondered how much it had hurt him to discover that she had lost all her memories of him.

“It is nothing that concerns you,” Dusknoir persisted, trying to ignore how his voice shook, quite involuntarily.

“Something is telling me otherwise.” Grovyle leaned towards him, scrutinizing him carefully. “You’re feeling something, that’s for sure. Feeling something is better than feeling nothing at all.”

Dusknoir growled beneath his breath, but it was weak. “You certainly are persistent.”

Grovyle chuckled lightly. “How do you think I’ve managed to live this long?”

The Ghost type stared at him, clenching his fist around the Gummis and heaving a shaky sigh. “I am…confounded.”

The Wood Gecko Pokémon raised a brow.

Dusknoir looked back towards the mouth of the cave. The sun was completely concealed by the distant horizon, and the colors were beginning to drain into a deep indigo. “As you are well aware, I…have not had many good accomplishments in my life. I sought nothing but power, strove to gain it by any means, and…I have done nothing but serve for the betterment of darkness. I did hunt you and Eliana down, I attempted to attack you, then I pursued you into the past…” Dusknoir drew his shoulders in, folding his arms tightly over his chest and shrinking into himself. “I very nearly killed you multiple times, with clear malice exhibited constantly, but you still found it in yourself to grant me pity. Why?”

Grovyle fell silent for a very long moment.

“Dusknoir,” he began slowly, “have you ever felt true hate for someone, ever, in your life?”

The Ghost type was taken aback. “Pardon?”

The smaller Grass type raised a brow and Dusknoir averted his eye.

“No,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t believe I have.”

“Have you ever strongly disliked someone?”

“A few. Where are you going with this?”

“Do you dislike them because you think they wronged you?”

“I do, but I don’t know what you’re-”

“How difficult would it be to forgive them?”

Dusknoir squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“How difficult would it be for you to forgive them?” Grovyle repeated.

Dusknoir studied him, recollecting his past resentments and grudges. It would, admittedly, be very difficult to forgive some of the things that other Pokémon had done to him before. He sighed deeply. “Very.”

“But could you find it in yourself to forgive them?” he asked.

Dusknoir thought a moment. “I…suppose so. Why are you asking me this?”

“Eliana once told me,” Grovyle said, “that part of the reason so many Pokémon have become twisted as they are is because they were cold-hearted to begin with. Refusing to forgive others can result in constructing a wall of bitterness that will block you off from anything good, and hatred can make that wall much harder to tear down. But if you’re willing to forgive, and to keep bitterness from building up, then you can in turn better yourself.” The Wood Gecko Pokémon eyed him neutrally. “Dusknoir, despite what you said during our journey about despising me, I didn’t believe you. You couldn’t truly hate anyone - it’s not in your nature, and I sensed that. The only reason you ever felt any kind of malice to begin with was due to where your loyalties lay, but when you began to realize that there was truly no reason to possess such mal intent…”

He smiled softly, glancing out towards the quiet dusk outside. “That’s when you began to question what you’d known. That’s when you began to feel guilt. But that’s also what’s proving to me that you are a good Pokémon, Dusknoir.” Grovyle continued, leaning forward, “The fact that you are feeling guilt and that you are questioning yourself tells me that you aren’t twisted, you aren’t a bad Pokémon - you were just a little misguided. You are a good Pokémon at heart, and I want you to realize it.”

Dusknoir looked away, pulling his shoulders inward and trying to fight the hot sting beginning to blur his vision.

“Your shining spirit,” Grovyle said softly. “It’s always been there. It was just hidden for a long time.”

“Grovyle…” Dusknoir swallowed thickly, folding his arms tightly over his chest. His dignity was in shambles, but picking up the pieces didn’t seem as mortifying as he might’ve thought. “…you’re deluding yourself.”

The Grass type chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Celebi about this.”

The Gripper Pokémon grunted, swiping at his eye just as the beat of tiny wings made itself faintly known. He could hear Celebi’s grunts of effort, and Grovyle shifted to his feet, moving towards the cave mouth.

“Dusknoir…”

The Ghost type looked towards him, taken aback by the almost amused smile plastered across the Grass type’s face.

Grovyle tilted his head towards the outside world. The sun had completely receded below the horizon, the sky a deep navy, and stars were twinkling brightly against the dark expanse. “Welcome to the future.”

Dusknoir watched him exit the cave and disappear around the mouth’s edge, and after a moment he heard his and Celebi’s voices mingling, her tone obviously grateful as Grovyle must’ve been taking a part of her burden.

This new, brighter future would take a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously, but he felt that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If this, finding himself, was just the beginning, then he looked forward to everything else that awaited him. There were many things that would need to be done as time transitioned into functioning properly again, many responsibilities to take up, but Dusknoir was ready for the challenge. He was much stronger than before. He was sure of that.

He and his shining spirit.

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 6: Winterfell

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: grief/mourning, mentions of death

Words: 5700

A/n: Originally posted on AO3, posting to Tumblr before I get back to regular updates.

“You never told me why Maegor had so many wives.” The little girl with dark hair asked, curled under her uncle’s arm.

The boy with silver hair didn’t look up from the pages of the book he held on his lap. “Shouldn’t you read the history books yourself?” The girl hummed smugly and nestled further into his side, she knew he would never refuse her. He sighed. “Because he wanted an heir.”

“Why?”

“It is the duty of a King to ensure the succession of his bloodline, for the security of the realm.”

“But he never succeeded.”

“No, all the children born of Maegor’s wives were stillborn.”

She contemplated this for a moment. “Why?”

“Some say he was cursed after he killed his nephew.”

That story she had heard of, how the Conqueror's son and grandson had waged war against each other for the throne. How Aegon the Uncrowned had led his armies from atop his Dragon, Quicksilver, to claim the crown worn by his father, while his uncle, rider of Balerion, had met him above the God’s Eye. Her grandfather had told her countless tales of the Black Dread. Poor Quicksilver never stood a chance. 

She shifted herself to lay her back against him, rearing her head back so she could see his face. “Aemond?”

His eyes were still on his book as he gave a distant “hmm?”

“When will I marry?”

She felt his breathing still and his heart beat a little faster. “When you are of age, I would expect.”

“When will that be?”

“You will be a woman grown when you are six and ten, so a decade from now. Or perhaps less, my mother was married at four and ten.”

She kept her wide eyes fixed upon his face, mapping the freckles against his soft pale skin. “Will my husband be cruel?”

He shook his head a little. “I hardly think your mother would allow that.”

“What of Maegor’s Black Brides? Why did their mothers not protect them?”

He closed the book, slowly, with a light thud as the pages came together. He placed it on the table before him and let his arm find his way around her. “You’re the granddaughter of the King, you’ll always be well protected by your family.”

She hauled herself up and came to sit on her knees on the settee beside him. “And you?”

He rolled his eyes, in the way he always did when she asked him foolish questions. “Yes, I will protect you.”

She held her hand up to him, little fingers outstretched. “Promise?”

He placed his hand against hers, letting his fingers intertwine between hers and close around her knuckles. She did the same in return. “I promise, Lucerra.”

*

This time, when she wakes, the world feels real. 

Her body melts into a soft mattress, too soft really, she could almost be floating– no . She is grounded. She is awake. She is alive.

She breathes, lets herself feel the air rushing into her lungs and her back pressing a little further into the bed. She is aware of every sensation against her skin, the bandages over her torso, the thick nightshift and the heavy fur throw over her body.

Her eyes see the room as it is, not like the vague blur she scarcely remembers of the hut by Shipbreaker Bay. The light is low but it is comforting. Daylight seeps in through the shutters and gaps in the curtains, but mostly the room is lit by a roaring fire that crackles and hums from a grey stone fireplace. It is small, smaller than her bedchamber at Dragonstone, but it feels full enough, with a pair of settees before the fireplace, a chest of draws, a dining table and a copper bathtub in the corner. All of the wood is dark and all the upholstery black.

She had almost forgotten what stillness feels like, what warmth feels like, what her thoughts sound like now that her pain seems to have mostly numbed. That is, until she tries to sit up and a sharpness in her chest holds her down against the bed.

The wind howls against the walls and, for a moment, she can almost believe she is home, if she keeps her eyes closed and imagines the smell of smoke and the sound of the sea–

A coldness washes over her. She tastes salt on her tongue. Her heart pounds in her chest as she frantically fights to breathe. The edges of the room seem to fade, until all she sees is the furious glow of the fire, but even that fades… the rain beats against her leathers as her hands pull on Arrax’s reins. An open jaw comes to claim a debt.

She doesn’t see his face as she falls but she hears his voice. It’s not the chilling whisper she had heard in that hidden corner of the Red Keep, it’s grating, hoarse and desperate. “LUKE!”

She keeps falling, further and further, until she forgets where she fell from.

“Luke?” A softer voice drags her from the storm. 

Her head snaps to the side of the bed, to the boy who has appeared before her, a boy with unruly curls and eyes as dark as hers. Her hand drifts towards him and settles against his cheek.

He’s real. He’s here. “Jace…”

Her brother has changed in the weeks they have been apart. His eyes are tired, his skin is paler, and when he smiles it is a sad thing. He places his hand over hers and presses her further against him.

He whispers her name, over and over again, like he can’t believe what his eyes are so plainly telling him. 

“Mother,” she breathes, hand trembling against his cheek, “does she know?”

“You’ve been asleep for a few hours,” he says delicately, slowly taking her hand and lowering it to her side against the mattress. “I sent a raven to Dragonstone as soon as you arrived; she will know by the day’s end.”

Her memories are hazy, though now she starts to think, most of it comes flooding back; the flight from the Stormlands, how the dragon had settled below her, how she had pushed herself onto her hands and looked past it’s head to see a sprawling complex of a castle, looming through the distance and the snowfall.

The thought of being a guest at another Lord’s castle filled her with dread, but she understands now. She wanted to go home, and the dragon had brought her to Jace.

“The maester said it’s a marvel you’re still alive, such injuries are often fatal if left untreated for this long. But you are here now, broken bones and all.

She looks down at the bandages over her chest and her limbs, squeezing down around her skin, but the pain has mostly faded. “What happened?” She asks, “how long has it been?”

“You flew to Storm’s End a day and a fortnight ago. I was still at the Eerie, and mother sent a raven. She said you hadn’t returned, she was planning on going to the Stormlands herself to uncover the truth but then- ugh.” He swallows down a sob and his eyes drift down.

“What?”

He takes a slow breath. “Then news came from King’s Landing. Apparently Aemond declared his so-called-victory to the court and Aegon threw a feast in his honour. The world thought you dead and they celebrated .”

She hadn’t thought it possible to overestimate Aemond’s hatred for her. What a crushing thing it is to be proved wrong.

“He meant to kill me,” she whispers. “He chased us down through a storm and laughed as he did it.”

“I should have gone with you. I should have protected you. I should never have suggested this in the first place.”

“Please,” she says, vaguely waving her hand to stop him. It isn’t his fault, surely he knows that, but aside from that, she can’t bear the whining melancholy.

Jace’s head falls. “I’m sorry about Arrax, I hear his remains were found by Baratheon’s men in the sea below Storm’s End. But you have a new mount I see. He’s impressive, though I can’t say I recognise him.”

She supposes she owes her life to the dragon that carried her here. She too had no recollection of this dragon at the Dragonmount, or in the Dragon Pit back at King’s Landing, but she had heard tales, on the days she and Rhaena had gone to visit the village on Dragonstone, of a dragon that had never known a rider, that spent its days flying low over the Narrow Sea and fishing for prey.

“It’s Grey Ghost,” she decides. “He must have saved me from the fall, and then he found me, he came to me at the dock at Rainwood.”

“Rainwood? You must tell me more of your travels when you are better rested.”

“It’s not a particularly exciting story. I’m not sure I remember most of it.” She’s not sure if she wants to either.

A soft knock sounds at the door. Jace looks to her with an expectant expression. She tilts her head and nods her approval. She tries to sit up but he puts his arms out to stop her. 

And so in strides the Warden of the North, dressed in a thick, fur lined cloak, his dark hair falling in ringlets to his shoulders, his sharp jaw shadowed with stubble, and his blue eyes as piercing and pale as ice.

She can’t help but wince at her own appearance, a Princess, in a nightgown, her brow coated in a thin layer of sweat, her hair falling limply around her shoulders, unable to even sit up to mark his entry.

“Princess Lucerra,” he says with a warm voice and a bow. “What a relief it is to know you are well, and an honour it is to welcome you to Winterfell.”

The castle’s maester won’t let her leave the room, or spend too long standing if it can be helped, which, for the first few days, she does not protest against.

Jace spends as much time as he can in her presence, eating his meals at the dining table, reading letters before the fire, or just sitting by his sister’s side. Sometimes she wakes to hear faint sobs, which disappear as soon as he realises she’s awake.

She has read of the North in books. A savage place, as Aegon used to tell her, where men fight each other for scraps like dogs, the women are miserable and misbehaving children are fed to the wolves. Aemond would rebuke such claims of course, but said it was dull, a cold wasteland, no place for a dragon. 

Cold it may be but dull it is not. From the window in her bedchamber she sees the blanket of white snow that shimmers under the sun’s gold beams. It reminds her of the sea, looking out over Blackwater Bay from the Red Keep, or the Narrow Sea from Dragonstone, how the water would glitter like rhinestones when the sky was clear.

Her heart aches for home, for her family. She’s been gone for so long, and to think they must have mourned her for weeks.

She imagines their faces. Her mother’s quiet grief for King Viserys, the pain of Visenya’s brief life being snatched from her very arms. Daemon’s seething rage, restrained only by the duty to his Queen. Joffrey’s confusion. The haunted expressions worn by Baela and Rhaena. Through it all, Aegon and Viserys were still blissfully unaware of the world around them.

Tears trickle down her face. How would they have reacted, after hearing the news from Storm’s End? The thought weighs down on her chest, and she tries not to choke on her sobs. 

She finds Jace’s arms around her own as he draws her head onto his shoulder. “You’re alright now,” he whispers, “we’ll all be alright.”

The next morning she feels well enough to hobble to the dining table to eat a few spoonfuls of porridge with Jace. He tells her of his journey to the Eerie, his successful negotiations with Jeyne Arryn, his time in White Harbour, and the days he has spent at Winterfell, hunting, feasting and flying Vermax over Wolfswood.

“He’s restless,” Jace says of his mount, “I think it’s the cold, he needs the warmth of the Dragonmount.”

“What of Grey Ghost?” Luke asks.

“He doesn’t seem to be fond of Vermax, I can tell you that much,” he chuckles, “but other than that, I have not seen much of him. Truth be told I thought he might have fled back South. He’s been wild for so long, I don’t suppose he’s used to having a rider.”

With Arrax, there was a presence in her chest, a window into her dragon’s very soul existing in her heart. They fed off each other, their feelings, their fears, their instincts. Something has replaced that feeling now. She feels the emptiness of Arrax’s loss, and yet something lingers. It’s faint, but it is there nonetheless. For the first time in her life, she feels a longing for isolation, only she cannot tell if it is hers or her dragon’s. “He’s nearby, I can feel him.”

Jace takes his leave for the day. For a time she admires the small glimpse of the world she can get from the window, until her chest starts to feel tight again. The maester checks on her, gives her a tea that tastes of herbs and cinnamon, offers her a salve for the bruising, instructs a maid to help her bathe. 

“You’ll be alright, Princess,” he assures her, “the main concern now is relieving the pain and rebuilding your strength.”

If indeed she had it to begin with.

She replays Storm’s End in her mind over and over again. She’s sure she can still hear the clatter of Aemond’s dagger against the floor ringing in her ears. To think she had held even a glimmer of hope, that they might salvage the friendship they once had, she must have been delusional. Of course he wouldn’t forgive her. Of course he’d seek to punish her. But he’d got what he wanted now, his triumph, his victory, his debt repaid, celebrated in the court of a false King with all the other traitors.

But what of that night, in the Keep? She was so sure he was going to pry her eye from her socket, in that empty chamber, where no one would hear her screams and no one would think to come looking for her.

A familiar restlessness rises in her gut. In her mind she sees his hands, trailing down her torso and slipping beneath her skirts. The memory of his breath against her neck is cold. He meant to humiliate her surely. To tempt her and punish her for it. 

She digs her nails into a palm and huffs a grunt to the empty space around her. She supposes even thinking about it would give him leverage over her, even when he has revelled in her death. She will not allow it.

So she curls into her pillow, trying to push the memories of the boy with silver hair out of her mind. He is gone, and so is the foolish little girl who once trailed after him.

A knock at the door pulls her away from everything. She bolts upright, frantically wiping the tears from her cheeks and drawing her fingers through her hair. “Come in!” She calls. 

Jace enters, followed by Lord Stark. Their boots leave trails of snow in their wake. She looks between their pale faces and stony expressions. Jace is clutching a letter in his hand. 

She doesn’t know why but her heart sinks. “Mother?” 

Jace offers a quick glance to Lord Stark, who in turn gives a slow nod of his head. “We’ve received word from Dragonstone. Mother is… relieved at your condition.”

“Relieved? ” Hardly the reaction she had been expecting, but Jace’s expression doesn’t soften. His hands are trembling, and he can hardly bring his gaze higher than the bed. 

Lord Stark places a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. When Jace remains silent, he takes a deep breath. “Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Jaehaera are dead.”

She wonders if this is a dream. She says it in her head over and over again, still, it doesn’t quite sink in.

Lord Stark continues. “It appears, Prince Daemon took it upon himself to see your death avenged, Princess.”

“But I am not dead,” she mutters.

“Evidently not.”

She had not seen much of Helaena, and less of her children. They were dreamy, happy little things, playing with their toy dragons on the floor and babbling to one another. They had the same wispy silver hair as her youngest brothers, the same hair Visenya might have had.

Daemon had been waiting for this. He had been subdued for six years, but the beast had been set free the moment news came of the King’s death. She had seen it, the anger, the hunger, the bloodlust. But her mother? “The Queen surely cannot have allowed this.”

“The deed is done,” Jace says suddenly. His voice is deflated, nothing like the proud Prince he’s been growing into these past few years. “And now we must deal with the consequences.”

“Aegon has named Ser Criston Cole as his hand,” Lord Stark explains at Luke’s stunned expression, “Otto Hightower’s war of letters is at an end.”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “I take it then you have agreed to pledge your banners to my mother’s cause?” 

“He has,” Jace says. His chest rises and his tongue peeks between hip lips. He’s hiding something else, but he won’t say it. “I make for Dragonstone, immediately.”

“I’ll come with you-”

“No.” He finds the demand in his voice now, holding his hands up like she’ll make a run for her dragon then and there. “You are in no condition to fly. You’ll stay here, where it is safe.”

“You can’t expect me to stay, not after everything that’s happened-”

“Luke!” She sees the anger flashing in his face, but it fades in an instant. His eyes widen and his brows furrow. He looks so young now, so helpless. “I thought I lost you once before, do not ask me to even consider that possibility again.”

She bites down on her lip. She does not doubt the grief her brother has gone through after Storm’s End, only to discover it had all been a lie. And yet she feels no sympathy for him. Pain has left her bitter.

He doesn’t seem to realise it, but his hand drifts up, resting over Lord’s Stark’s. “You’ll be in good hands here, Cregan will protect you until you can return to Dragonstone.”

“But who better to protect me than my family?”

“Do not argue with me! I am your brother, but I am also your Prince and the heir to the throne. You are to remain here until I send for you. Do you understand?”

She huffs a few breaths, desperate to keep her voice calm and controlled. “Jace, you cannot keep me from mother, from Joffrey and the others without cause.”

He snatches his hand away from his shoulder. “As a matter of fact, we do have cause. I didn’t wish to tell you like this, but Lord Stark and I have agreed on a marriage pact.”

She frowns, and then it starts to sink in.

“When did you decide this, before or after you thought I was dead?”

“As I said, the circumstances are regrettable-”

“Regrettable?” She spits, “do I not deserve a say in my own prospects?”

Stark excuses himself and gently shuts the door behind him.

“Do not forget yourself, sister. You are the daughter of the Queen, a Princess of the realm. Cregan- Lord Stark is a kind, gentle and honourable man, he will be a good husband to you, I would not allow anything less.”

“But you’re leaving me, when we’ve already been apart for so long. I just want to go home.”

“We are at war now, Luke. You’ve seen the danger we face. Things just aren’t that simple.”

The closest compromise they come to is Luke trawling herself down from her bedchamber to the courtyard. A maid walks with her, an outstretched arm ready to catch her if she stumbles or tires, but she is determined that each step should be her own, no matter how stiff her movements are.

Vermax is waiting outside the castle gates, his familiar screeching, rippling purrs calling out over the battlements. Jace is once again in his riding leathers, identical to the ones she had worn to Storm’s End, though he wears a thick, black, fur lined cloak over his shoulders, rather than the red he left Dragonstone with. 

The Prince kneels to little Rickon Stark, no older than their own Aegon, and shakes his hand. The heir to the throne and the heir to Winterfell are just boys, grinning at each other through the formalities.

Then he comes to Lord Stark himself. Their parting words are fleeting, spoken too softly to reach the ears of those around them, but they bid their farewells as brothers, gripping each other by the shoulders, until Jace pulls him into an embrace that lingers just a moment too long.

And then he wanders to stand before her. He pulls her into a tight hug. It hurts against the bandages around her chest but she doesn’t mind the pain.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters against her hair. “I’m so sorry…”

She cannot remember a life without her brother, how could she? He has been there since her very first breath, when her mind was a clean slate, when her skin was unbroken, before she knew what memories were. He was always there, just as Arrax was. 

And now, when she thought her losses could get no greater, she watches Vermax ascend with a proud roar that echoes over the snow covered hills and the ancient walls of the castle. She watches the sky until the flash of green scales disappear through the clouds, blinking snowflakes out of her eyes.

Behind her comes a soft crunch of snow under heavy boots. “I do not hope I have offended you, Princess.”

She finally tears her eyes away from the sky and to her betrothed. She makes her best attempt at a soft smile but somehow it feels wrong. “Why would you think I am offended?"

The look in his eye is one of pity. Clearly he is not persuaded. “I understand our union is not one of your choosing,” he says, taking a step forward, “but I wish to assure you that I will be a good husband, whatever form that may take for you. I already have my Rickon, so we needn’t-”

“I trust my brother’s judgement,” she says, her eyes falling to her boots. That much has been true for sixteen years, but now it feels like another lie. “A few weeks ago, my life was quite unremarkable. Now I can hardly believe what my mind tells me is true.”

“It is a rude awakening to be sure, Princess. Youth and innocence are fragile things, to be snatched so cruelly from us, and so suddenly.”

Gods know she is no stranger to death. She could still remember so clearly the way Jace had cried and twisted his way from their mother’s grip when news came of the fire at Harrenhal. She had simply frowned. Harwin Strong had already left them once before, to return to his father’s seat, promising to send letters and in time, return to them, promises he would never fulfill.

And then it kept happening. Aunt Laena, in Luke’s mind a faceless woman, but so deeply mourned by her daughters. Then Ser Laenor, the man who had given her his name and so much more than that, his body found in the Sea Snake’s own hall, charred beyond recognition.

And she is certainly no stranger to blood, to rage sparked by fear and the regret that follows.

Life at Winterfell is quiet. She knows she will surely be driven to madness if she waits out the war in the confines of her bedchamber. Her walk down to the courtyard had been fuelled by stubbornness and spite, now she must go slowly. Each day she tries to go a little further, pacing the room despite her rigid movements and the tightness in her chest and her back, but she bites her lip and forces herself through it.

One morning she walks to the door. Another day she walks down the corridor. A week after Jace’s departure she can reach the entrance hall. A week after that she finds her way back down to the courtyard.

Little Rickon grasps a small wooden sword in his hand, landing determined but feeble blows against a straw dummy, letting out little squeaks and grunts as he goes. 

A warm laugh sounds from the balcony above. “We’ll make a wolf out of you yet, pup!” Beams the boy’s father. She tries to dispel a sudden sadness at his admiring expression. It’s exactly how Harwin Strong used to watch Jace in the training yard. 

She strolls across the yard, the wide skirt of her Stark black dress dragging over the dirt and the snow, to a weapons table. Her hands grip around the hilt of the smallest blade she can find, which is still twice the weight of the sword she brought to Storm’s End. There- another loss. Perhaps if she went back to that beach by Rainwood it might be hidden somewhere in the sand. 

“Forgive me, Princess, I’m not sure you’re in the best state for such pursuits.”

Her smirk comes naturally as she looks over her shoulder to her host. “You think I can’t handle a sword, Lord Stark?”

“On the contrary, Jace says you’re rather skilled.”

“I’ve been mentored by Laenor Velaryon, Harwin Strong and the Rogue Prince himself,” she says, puffing her chest up a little, only to wince at a flash of pain in her ribs. She huffs a laugh at her own presumption. “But no, clearly I have a way to recover yet.”

He steps into her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body against her back, even through her coat. He places his hand over hers and lifts the blade with his own strength. “It might be good for you, to build up your strength again.” 

But when his breath echoes over her cheek the world goes dark. The smell of leather and smoke overwhelms her senses. A flash of silver hair falls over her shoulder. A cold voice whispers, “bastard… whore.”

She wrenches herself away and feels no pain as she hurries back to her bedchamber.

At least she starts to find some normalcy. True to his word, Cregan Stark is patient and gentle, if a little more distant after their encounter in the courtyard. She dines with the Lord and his son, builds strength in her arms with a sword and discovers the grip in her fingers on the string of a bow. 

But as she waits, the world below the Neck descends into chaos. Letters from Dragonstone are sparse, despite Jace’s promises, so mostly she hears news from Lord Stark. The Riverlands have seen the most fighting so far thanks to the Blackwoods and the Brackens, and Daemon’s capturing of Harrenhal. Lord Stark intends to amass his banners and march to join him, though it could take moons to do so. 

She hears little news of her mother, which scares her.

The restlessness is unbearable. She can’t sit still. Can’t sleep without tossing and turning until the first birds start chirping before dawn.

There is perhaps one thing she thinks may provide some comfort, or at the very least, purpose.

Grey Ghost is an elusive creature, but he is never far. He lurks among the trees of Wolfswood and the stone of the Lonely Hills. The two meet at a lake, a few miles Northeast of Winterfell. When she can mount a horse, that is where she goes, with Lord Stark by her side.

Her dragon will not be seen if that is what he desires, and more often than not he does not want to be found. She feels him though, the uncertainty in his heart and how he misses the sea.

She waits by the lakeshore, skimming pebbles over the icy water, while Lord Stark waits beyond the treeline with the horses.

Find me. She calls silently to the space in her heart where a dragon should be.

A whistling screech carries over the mountains and he comes to her. He settles further down the shore before he stalks towards her. She holds up her palm, taking slow steps to meet him, heart fluttering in her chest.

As her skin meets his snout, her hand stops shaking, and the dragon gives an accepting purr. A warmth builds within her, not like the fury of dragonfire, it’s slow and glowing, like the red embers of a dying hearth. Each breath of her lungs is like a breath into the fire.

She feels a little more alive every time they meet.

“I must admit, even with Jace’s teachings, I cannot begin to understand these creatures,” Lord Stark says on their ride back to the castle.

“We’re learning together, my Lord, Grey Ghost is as new to me as he is to you.”

“You are bound though, yes? Jace said he and Vermax have been bonded since birth, that the same was true for you and Arrax. How can you simply claim another dragon?”

It is not simple though. She cannot pinpoint the moment she and Grey Ghost were bound, but reason tells her she could not have survived the fall from Arrax without something to break it. “It is different,” she says. “Arrax was as much a part of me as my soul is to my body, we were together all of our lives. With Grey Ghost, it’s not nature that binds us, I think it is a choice.”

He smiles. “That’s a beautiful way to say it.”

When they reach the courtyard, Cregan helps her down from her saddle, careful to keep his hands away from her waist, she notes. A man is waiting for them, letter in hand. In times of war, letters are an omen as much as they are a relief. Luke holds her lip between her teeth.

“We’ve received word from Dragonstone, my Lord. Perhaps you should read for yourself.”

Cregan waits for her nod of approval before he takes it and cracks open the wax seal of her mother. He reads it quickly, and looks back to Luke. “Princess Rhaenys is dead.”

Her heart stops.

Cregan shakes his head and takes a step towards her. “My condolences Princess-”

“How?” She asks.

He looks over the letter again with a heavy sigh. “Lord Staunton asked for aid to defend Rook’s Rest. Princess Rhaenys went atop her dragon, Meleys, but she was ambushed. Vhagar and Sunfyre were waiting for her.”

If Luke had room in her heart for sorrow she might cry, but she doesn’t. Not as she remembers the stern looking woman with silver hair, her father’s mother, who had seemed all too content to ignore her Velaryon grandchildren until the Hightowers came to strike their first blow. Not as she looks up to the sky and imagines a flurry of fire and talons. Against Vhagar alone, Meleys might have stood a chance. 

She tries to force the sadness out of herself. Rhaenys is dead. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are dead. Arrax is dead. Visenya was never alive. The cost of war increases every day and the bodies are starting to pile high. But the tears do not come.

“There’s more,”

She snaps her head around to look back at Lord Stark. His eyes glisten, but his face is in a frown. “Aegon the usurper is close to death. The Greens have named Aemond Prince Regent and Lord Protector in his stead.”

A coldness crawls over her skin. 

“Lucerra-”

She screams, a throaty screech that only lasts for a moment but cuts clean through the cold air and startles the horses. The courtyard silences in an instant.

Her body is frozen, eyes wide and breath haggard as her cry lingers in an echo off the walls. She swallows, forcing some moisture down her throat, but there’s not much she needs to say.

She rushes to her horse and hauls herself back up onto the saddle. It squirms beneath her, despite the reassuring strokes she drags along its neck, though she herself is hardly in a position to inspire calm.

“Lucerra,” Cregan says, gripping the reins before she can turn back towards the gates. “Wait, for a moment.”

“I must return to Dragonstone.”

“I am not sure that would be wise-”

“I am not seeking your permission,” she snaps with cold and deadly precision. 

“You cannot leave, Princess.” He holds his palm before her. A thin cut slices over his skin, mostly healed, but still present. A reminder of a promise sealed with blood. “I swore an oath to your brother. I swore I would protect you.”

As she looks down at his eyes, for a moment she realises just how young the Warden of the North is. Older than her, but by a matter of years. 

“And you have given no cause to suggest otherwise. But I will not stand by idly while my family…” then the tears come, suddenly, like a plunge into the cold dark of the sea. If Rhaenys could not stand to defeat Vhagar, what chance would Vermax, Moondancer, Tyraxes, even little Stormcloud have?

She will not see her mother bury another child. 

Within the hour she mounts Grey Ghost. He keeps them hidden as he flies through the clouds, scales blending seamlessly into the gloom of the morning. She feels his silent pleas for home in her head. Our home.

She knows what must be done. She only hopes she has the strength to see this through.

She may have taken his eye, but Aemond Targaryen owes a debt, one she will see paid in fire and blood.

a/n: rather than listing every chapter and having to go back and edit every post I made a series masterlist (link at the top). So to see the other chapters you can look there or go to my main masterlist 🩵

Tags: @randomdragonfires @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarssslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

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Maximizing Conversion Rates: Turning Leads into Loyal Clients

Article by Jonathan Bomser | CEO | AccountSend.com

In the realm of B2B sales, the journey from leads to loyal clients is a captivating narrative that blends strategy, empathy, and innovation. Within this guide, we uncover seven indispensable strategies that hold the key to skyrocketing your conversion rates. Join us as we traverse the path from lead generation to nurturing steadfast client relationships, all while delving into the invaluable insights gleaned from AccountSend.

DOWNLOAD THE CONVERSION RATES INFOGRAPHIC HERE

Peering into the Soul of Your Leads

At the heart of conversion success lies a profound understanding of your leads. It's a journey that transcends data, inviting you to explore the depths of their business aspirations, challenges, and dreams. Guiding you through this exploration is the meticulously crafted B2B contact database. This treasure trove of insights empowers you to paint a vivid portrait of your leads, allowing you to craft personalized sales strategies that resonate deeply with their unique needs.

Crafting Connections Through Personalization

Your leads aren't just entries in a sales log; they are stories yearning to be heard. Personalization is your brush, your tool to craft connections that linger. By immersing yourself in their narratives, addressing their pain points, and acknowledging their aspirations, you pave the way for genuine connections. These personalized interactions transcend transactional exchanges, laying the foundation for enduring relationships built on trust and mutual understanding.

Navigating the Terrain with Account-Based Marketing

In the sea of possibilities, precision becomes your guiding light. Enter account-based marketing (ABM), your compass in this vast expanse. ABM directs your focus towards the accounts with the greatest potential. It's the art of resource allocation, shortening sales cycles, and elevating conversion rates. With ABM, your efforts become laser-focused, nurturing connections that promise lasting value.

Value as a Prelude to the Sale

Value doesn't wait for a deal to be struck; it's a prelude that sets the stage. Share insights, offer guidance, and provide resources aligned with your lead's goals. This pre-sale value isn't just a gesture; it's a declaration of intent. By offering a taste of the value that awaits, you create a fertile ground for a productive sales journey.

Symphony of Follow-Up Strategy

A 'no' today is a 'not yet' in disguise. Enter the art of follow-up, your symphony of persistence. A well-designed follow-up strategy transforms initial rejection into eventual acceptance. A systematic approach ensures consistent touchpoints with your leads, maintaining your presence in their minds and eventually shifting hesitation into enthusiastic embrace.

Cultivating a Pristine Contact Canvas

In the digital era, a clean contact database is your foundation for success. Regular updates, purging outdated information, and ensuring accuracy are the pillars of a quality database. A pristine contact list enhances your outreach, elevating conversion rates by guaranteeing that your efforts hit the bullseye every time.

The Science of Measurement and Refinement

No journey towards excellence is complete without measuring the terrain. Continuously gauge your conversion rates and dissect the contributing factors. This analytical exploration becomes your guide to refining your lead generation and sales strategies. Let data illuminate your path, leading to informed decisions and perpetual enhancement.

Harmonizing Conversion Mastery

Elevating conversion rates is a symphony of strategic understanding, personalization, and value delivery. These seven strategies are the notes that compose this symphony, the keys to transforming leads into devoted clients. As you integrate these strategies into your sales narrative, witness the metamorphosis of your business into a realm where loyal clients fuel perpetual growth.