#Even if his brother seemed to move more on instinct with the curiosity of a ten year old despite technically being the same age as him

[radiance1]

Damian: [brushing his teeth]

The shadow hanging over his shoulder: [Gets its teeth dangerously close to Damian's shoulder]

Damian: [Shoves a toothbrush into said shadow move and starts brush]

The shadow: [Pauses before starting to let out a contented purr]

Damian then spits out the foam and washes out his mouth, then makes the shadow do the same and then picks out pjs.

Damian: [Currently decided if he should go with the cat, dog, or knife imprinted one]

The shadow: [Starts getting dangerously close to Damian with, toxic green spirals it calls eyes]

Damian: [Throws the dog imprinted one behind him at the shadow and takes the cat imprinted one for himself and tells the shadow to put it on]

The shadow: [Stares at the clothes before hesitantly putting them on before letting out a noise of distress]

Damian: [Turning around to find the shadow somehow stuck in the pjs, lets out a sigh, then starts to help them fit]

Damian then moves over to the bed, he points to one side and tells the shadow to go there. The shadow listens, laying down as Damian also lays down, grabbing the sheets and covering them both.

It barely took a few seconds for the shadow to fall asleep, and Damian stared at it. Damian wasn't quite sure why the shadow of his dead twin was following him, nor why it was even able to and seemed to hide itself from anyone who isn't Damian.

Nobody besides him knew about it, and Damian decided that he liked it. This could have been his younger brother, if the other had survived, and they would have probably been told to fight to the death to decide an heir.

At the very least, that won't ever happen.

Even if his brother was slightly unusual.

===

Danny did not remember much of the before, he remembered people with blurred faces and features, blurred colors. He remembered a lot of colors, then red, then white, then pain.

He doesn't like pain, he believes.

Then he remembered going to sleep, and then he woke up. It was dark and slimy and cramped when he woke up, especially when he realized someone else was in their with him.

Then he fell asleep again, then woke up to that same dark and slimy place, then fell asleep again, all in some weird cycle. Then, moving, and pain.

It hurt, and he was sluggish when it eventually stopped. Then came pain again, and he was asleep.

Then he woke up, again.

He didn't know what was happening, wasn't really aware of too. But he woke up next to the other who was in that dark and slimy with him, and decided he wanted to stay with them.

He wasn't aware enough for most of the things that happened when Damian grew up, but he still stayed regardless, and hide from everyone else.

Danny loves his brother, and he thinks his brother loves him too. Even if he was slightly unusual.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗘𝗚𝗚𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗚𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗬

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Matt uses his loss on the egg challenge as an excuse to reveal Y/N's pregnancy to his brothers.

WARNING: Pregnancy, crying.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I've decided to post it today since it's Father's Day on Brazil! Unfortunately, I had to write it in a rush, so I'm sorry if it's not that good ;(

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Matt, Nick, and Chris had spent the morning engaged in their latest YouTube challenge; a seemingly simple task of caring for an egg as if it were their own child. What had started as a lighthearted competition quickly turned into something more meaningful, though none of them knew it yet.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head, exuding confidence as he glanced at the table. His egg sat intact in front of him, a proud reminder of his victory. He smirked at Matt, who sat across from him, his egg conspicuously absent, the pieces of it having already been swept into the trash.

"Well, Matt, it looks like you lost." Nick teased, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. His grin widened, knowing exactly how to get under his brother's skin.

Chris, sitting at the other end of the table, tried to suppress his laughter but failed, the sound escaping as a snort. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Seriously, dude, how did you even have the courage to throw your egg after knowing that it was already cracked?"

But instead of a witty comeback or a defensive retort, Matt remained silent. His usually quick tongue was stilled, and his shoulders slumped slightly as he stared at the table in front of him. His brothers’ laughter echoed around the kitchen, but Matt seemed miles away.

From her spot by the kitchen counter, Y/N observed the scene unfold, her smile soft and her eyes filled with affection as she watched the brothers banter. She had always loved these moments, the way they could turn the simplest tasks into something fun and full of life. But today, something was different. Matt wasn’t joining in the laughter, and the silence coming from him made her heart tighten with concern.

Matt’s eyes met Y/N’s across the room, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of curiosity and worry as she noticed the unspoken emotion in his gaze. It wasn’t defeat or frustration over the challenge; it was something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. What was he thinking? What was he hiding?

Nick’s voice cut through the tension, snapping Matt out of his thoughts.

"Come on, Matt, admit it. You’re just not cut out for fatherhood." Nick joked, his tone light but teasing.

Chris chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a playful grin.

"Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you’re not a dad yet."

The words, meant in jest, struck Matt like a physical blow. He inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to Y/N once more, and this time, her eyes widened in realization. Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, a small, unconscious gesture that Matt had seen her do countless times since they discovered the news. It was a habit she had developed; whenever she felt nervous, excited, or overwhelmed, her hand would rest there, a protective touch that spoke of the new life growing inside her.

Matt took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to his brothers.

"My egg 'broke,' so technically, I lost-" Matt began, his voice quiet, almost detached as he tried to find the right words.

Nick interrupted him, raising an eyebrow in confusion as he imitated Matt’s air quotes.

"'Broke'? Motherfucker, it broke." His voice was full of bewilderment, unsure of why Matt was choosing to word it that way.

But Matt wasn’t paying attention to Nick’s teasing anymore. He pushed back his chair and stood up, the scraping of the legs against the floor breaking the comfortable rhythm of the morning. All eyes were on him as he walked over to the counter, where Y/N stood, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him. He leaned against the counter, positioning himself next to her, his hand brushing against hers in a silent exchange of comfort and support.

Nick and Chris exchanged puzzled glances, the playful atmosphere from moments ago now replaced with a sense of anticipation. Matt was rarely this serious, especially during their videos, and the change in his demeanor left them both on edge.

"What’s going on, Matt?" Chris asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied his brother.

Matt took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He and Y/N had talked about how to break the news to Nick and Chris for days. They had planned it out, imagined different scenarios, and rehearsed how it might go. But now, standing here in the kitchen with the camera still rolling, Matt realized that all those plans didn’t matter. There was no perfect way to tell them; there was only the truth.

"I didn’t lose." Matt said, his voice stronger now, filled with emotion that he could no longer hide. He took a step closer to Y/N, his hand finding hers and squeezing it gently. His eyes never left his brothers as he spoke. "My baby is safe and sound... right in the oven."

The words hung in the air for a moment, the meaning not immediately sinking in for Nick and Chris. They blinked, their expressions mirroring each other’s confusion as they tried to make sense of what Matt had just said.

"The oven?" Nick repeated, glancing around the kitchen. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Chris frowned, his gaze following Nick’s to the actual oven, which was clearly off.

"Matt, what are you-"

But before Chris could finish, Matt shook his head and smiled softly, a smile that held all the love and anticipation he had been carrying for weeks. He gently guided Y/N’s hand to her stomach, the gesture so tender and full of meaning that it spoke louder than any words ever could.

"The oven," Matt repeated, his voice a whisper now, thick with emotion. "Right here."

It was as if time stopped. Nick and Chris froze, their eyes widening in sync as the realization finally hit them. The weight of Matt’s words, the significance of the gesture; it all came crashing down on them at once.

"Wait... are you saying...?" Nick’s voice trailed off, the disbelief evident in every syllable.

Y/N looked up at Matt, her eyes shining with tears that she had been holding back for days. She nodded, her voice trembling with joy and nerves as she finally let the words out, the truth she had been dying to share.

"We’re pregnant." She whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "I’m pregnant."

For a heartbeat, the kitchen was silent. The camera continued to record, capturing every second of the moment that would change their lives forever.

And then, all at once, the emotions erupted.

Chris was the first to react. His eyes filled with tears that spilled over the rims, his face a mix of shock, joy, and overwhelming love. He stood up so abruptly that his chair almost fell, forgotten as he crossed the room in two long strides. Without a word, he pulled Matt and Y/N into a tight embrace, his arms encircling them both as he buried his face in Matt’s shoulder, his body trembling with sobs.

"Oh my God." Chris whispered, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. "I can’t believe it. You’re going to be a dad, Matt. And Y/N... you’re going to be a mom."

Y/N found herself laughing through her own tears, the sound mixing with her soft sobs as she wrapped her arms around Chris, resting her head against his. She could feel Matt’s warm hand on her back, holding her close, grounding her in the moment.

"We were going to tell you guys differently, but..." Y/N’s voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as she tried to speak. Her lip quivered as she bit down on it, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over.

Nick, who had been frozen in shock, finally seemed to snap out of it. He looked at Matt, then at Y/N, and back to Matt again, as if needing to confirm that this was real. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack, but then, slowly, a wide, joyous grin spread across his face.

"Holy shit!" Nick exclaimed, his voice full of excitement as he jumped up from his chair, his movements so sudden that it clattered to the floor. He didn’t care. All he could focus on was the fact that his brother was going to be a father. That they were going to be uncles.

Nick rushed over to join the group hug, wrapping his arms around the three of them and squeezing as hard as he could, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions.

"This is insane! I can’t believe we’re going to be uncles. Oh my God, Chris, we’re going to be uncles!"

Chris pulled back just enough to look at Nick, their faces mirroring the same shock and joy.

"Yes, you are." Y/N whispered, her voice filled with warmth and love. "You and Chris are going to be the best uncles in the world."

Matt couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He let them fall freely as he wrapped his arms around his brothers, holding them tight, feeling a surge of love and gratitude that left him breathless. This wasn’t the way they had planned it, but it felt right. It felt perfect. He could feel Chris’s shoulders shaking as he cried, and when he finally pulled back to look at his brothers, he saw the same tears in Nick’s eyes.

Chris wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a huge, teary grin spreading across his face.

"You sneaky bastards." He said, his voice still thick with his crying. "You kept this from us!"

"We wanted to surprise you." Matt said, finally finding her voice again, though it was still shaky with laughter and tears. "But I just couldn’t wait."

Nick looked at him, his grin turning mischievous.

"So, technically, you didn’t lose the challenge, huh?"

Matt chuckled, shrugging as he looked at the Y/N glued to his side.

"Nope, I didn’t lose. I think I actually won something even better."

Chris wiped at his eyes again, sniffling as he looked at Y/N, his expression soft and full of love.

"You two are going to be amazing parents. This little one is so lucky to have you."

Y/N reached out and took Chris’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she smiled through her tears.

"Thank you, Chris. That means the world to us."

Nick clapped his hands together, the grin never leaving his face.

"Well, I guess this calls for a celebration, huh? Let’s order some food and make this the best day ever."

They all agreed, the room filling with the sound of their joy, and as they gathered around the kitchen table, Matt couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He looked at Y/N, who was beaming at him, her eyes still sparkling with tears, and ge couldn’t help but think that this was the best video they’d ever made; not because of the challenge, but because it captured a moment that would change their lives forever.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Extra - comments

"this has to be the best twist ever 😭😭 I was NOT expecting Matt to drop that bombshell at ALLLL"

"omg, they're going to be such amazing parents 🥺"

"chris’s reaction had me in TEARS!!! the way he just broke down crying when he realized he’s going to be an uncle… this is why I love them so much, they're so genuine 😞"

"nick’s face when he finally understood what matt meant by ‘the oven’ LMAOOO"

"FUCK NO, I was laughing so hard during the egg challenge, and then I ended up crying when matt revealed Y/N is pregnant 🤧"

"matt is going to be the greatest dad out there, I just know it 🙏🏻"

"who cares about a fucking broken egg when you’ve got a real baby on the way 😩"

"when matt said the baby was in the oven, I thought he was joking about the egg, I did NOT see that coming 🤡"

"please guys, let me in the group hug 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻"

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @earth2starkey @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @junnniiieee07 @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @soso-scarlettolivia @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw @colorthecosmos444 @thewhispersofthewaves @mattslolita @imwetforyourmom @mrl217 @sturnsmia @mattsfavbitchhh @sturnioloshacker @soursturniolo @blahbel668 @sarosfilms @moncherriis @tobesolonelyjess @zainabthescientist @littlemisswhore

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[br0kenangel]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃: 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯.

The Red Keep was alive with the sounds of children at play. Laughter echoed through the corridors, and the warm afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the stone floors. In one of the keep’s quieter corners, you sat in the nursery, surrounded by your beloved children.

Aegon and Aemond were playfully sparring with wooden swords, their faces lit with excitement as they practiced the moves Ser Criston had shown them. Helaena, ever the gentle soul, sat by the window, enraptured by a butterfly that had fluttered in and settled on her hand. And then there was Daeron, the youngest of the brood, who was currently cradled in your lap.

At just over a year old, Daeron was the apple of your eye—a sweet, cherubic child with a smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts. His bright violet eyes, so much like his father’s, sparkled with curiosity as he reached up to grasp at a lock of your golden hair. You laughed softly, letting him tug at it gently.

“You’re getting so big, little one,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over his soft, silver hair. “Soon you’ll be chasing after your brothers and sister.”

Daeron cooed in response, his tiny hand gripping your finger with surprising strength. You smiled down at him, your heart swelling with love. He was the last of your brood, the youngest of the children you had come to adore with every fiber of your being. You had loved him from the moment you first held him in your arms, and that love only grew stronger with each passing day.

You were softly humming a lullaby to him, your voice soothing and sweet, when you heard a sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ma…”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Had you imagined it? You looked down at Daeron, who was staring up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his mouth slightly open as though he was about to speak again.

“Daeron?” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Did you say something, sweetling?”

“Ma… Ma…” Daeron repeated, his little voice clear and earnest.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart overflowing with joy and love so intense it nearly overwhelmed you. Daeron’s first word—his very first word—was “Ma.” He had chosen you, called for you, recognized you as his mother.

The tears spilled over, and you clutched him to your chest, pressing kisses to his soft hair as the emotions you had held in check finally broke free. “Oh, Daeron, my sweet boy,” you whispered through your tears.

Your voice was thick with emotion, and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling. They weren’t tears of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated happiness. You had always known you were their mother in every way that mattered, but hearing it from Daeron’s own lips made it all the more real, all the more profound.

Across the room, Aegon and Aemond paused in their play, their wooden swords lowered as they noticed your tears. Aegon, always the more straightforward of the two, frowned in confusion. “Mother?” he called out hesitantly. “Why are you crying?”

Aemond, though younger, shared his brother’s concern. His sharp eyes, always so perceptive, were wide with worry as he watched you. “Is something wrong, Mother?” he asked, his small voice tinged with fear. The sight of your tears had shaken them, their protective instincts kicking in.

But before you could respond, Helaena spoke up from her spot by the window, her soft voice carrying a certainty that belied her years. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the butterfly, but she seemed completely aware of what had just transpired. “Don’t worry, she’s not sad,” Helaena said, her tone as gentle and serene as ever. “She’s just happy.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged confused looks, but they trusted Helaena’s judgment. If she said Mother was happy, then it must be true. They relaxed, though they kept a close eye on you, just in case.

You managed to compose yourself enough to smile at your sons, though the tears continued to stream down your cheeks. “Helaena is right,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m just so very happy.”

You shifted Daeron slightly so you could look at all your children, your heart bursting with love for them. “Your brother,” you explained, your eyes shining with joy, “just said his first word.”

Aegon’s face lit up with a grin. “What did he say?”

“He said ‘Ma,’” you replied, your voice soft with wonder. “He called me ‘Ma.’”

Aemond’s eyes widened in awe, and even Aegon, who often tried to appear more mature than his years, couldn’t hide his excitement. “He did? That’s wonderful, Mother!”

Helaena, who had finally let the butterfly go, turned to you with a smile of her own. “He knows you love him,” she said simply, her words filled with a quiet wisdom that always amazed you. “That’s why he said it.”

You felt a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill over, but this time, you laughed through them, a sound full of joy and contentment. “Yes,” you agreed, looking down at Daeron, who was now gurgling happily in your arms. “I love all of you so very much.”

You reached out to Aegon and Aemond, pulling them into a tight embrace, and Helaena quickly joined them, her small arms wrapping around your waist. They stayed like that for a while, a tangle of limbs and love, a mother and her children finding comfort and joy in each other.

Part 2 ♡ Part 3 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[sugudoe]

　⁽　༒　⁾　 ── 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄 !

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⎯ the common occurrence of seeking refugee in the cold is to be stopped by the burning presence of him, ryōmen sukuna. sharing your secrets amongst the night and the heat, you both learn more of each-other.

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬 ⎯ modern world!sukuna ╱ change of his plot ╱ characters are aged up ╱ mention of anxiety and blood ╱ reader is a killer ╱ actually fluff ╱ reader has no gender ╱ swearing ╱ suggestive at the end.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⎯ this was supposed to be smut but i got too involved in sukuna’s plot, so the smut is delayed. sukuna is less of a menace and more of a pissed off twin/older brother. there is a curse!sukuna in my drafts that i’m yet to finish, so if you don’t like ooc you can wait a bit, but give this a chance, ‘cause he was actually nice to write and develop. @emilyywhyy ♡

𝐰𝐜 ⎯ 2.8k

Burning chest is a common symptom you have in the presence of Ryōmen Sukuna. One could admit his red eyes shifting intensely to whatever movements you make are the cause to the warm.

The man had always been hidden away in his own place whenever you stayed over. You didn’t blame him, you didn’t tried to make him stay. If anything, you understood. Having his home flooded with four newly adults, all talking loud and laughing like their lives are on the last minute could be difficult — you had always gone away after a few hours, squeezing through the apartment window to reach the terrace and get your energy back.

It’s a routine by now, to laugh and talk and to have you retiring towards the cold breeze of the evening. Dull eyes getting enchanted by the city’s light, soft sighs scaping your lungs, opening space for new energies.

Behind you the window displayed, like an old television, your friends sitting on the sofa, Yuji throwing popcorn at Megumi, accidentally hitting Nobara and soon, he is to approach her and remove the food from her orange hair. It’s makes you smile to see them happy.

Still, you can’t return just yet.

This feeling it’s like miscalculating the steps of a stair while walking down, when you expect to have one more and somehow, the floor greets you. You close your eyes, tense shoulders and gripping the edge, feeling eeire and…burning.

You sense him before his strong scent is brought to you by the wind — car leather seats, expensive whiskey and iron. There is, also, that smell you can never recognize, maybe it’s just something in him, his whole belonging.

Sukuna’s hum makes you look at him, and the male is already by your side, cigarette in his lips and eyes avoiding yours, he stares ahead. The lights in the night, yellow and white from apartments and neon colorful from stores mix perfectly to his face, to his spiked recently dyed red hair. He hums again before shifting his face to you.

“What are you doing here?” It always takes you by surprise how deep his voice can go, but it never scares you. In fact, for you, Sukuna sounds like music. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not cold anymore.” You bite your tongue after saying this, while his face turns into curiosity. “It’s getting warmer now.”

“It’s not.” Sukuna throws the cigarette down from the roof, not caring for any passerby. “It’s still cold, and you’re just freezing as well.”

“I’m not going inside, Sukuna.” You shake your head letting a sigh scape again. “I need more…recharging?” He stares at you as if he is about to tell you how pathetic you are, but goes against it.

“Makes sense.” He moves nearer the edge, resting his arms and closing his eyes, much like you were earlier.

“You don’t have to stay.” You catch yourself saying. It’s seems that in Sukuna’s presence you have no filter for the words leaving your mouth, your attention much more occupied admiring him.

“I’m not staying for you,” liar. “they also drain me.”

Like instinct, you look back at the window, catching the sight of your friends all eyeing the two of you with curious eyes and knowing smirks.

“How can we drain you, if you always stay in your room?” You follow his movements, resting your arms and being by his side. Too close that any more and you’ll find what’s the scent of Sukuna you can’t point out.

“Just the knowledge that I have four assholes in my living room gives me headache.” There is a hint of humor in his voice that makes you smile. “And your voices, laugh, everything it’s so loud. Even if you whisper, is like I can hear.”

“Then, I’m never talking shit of you again.” Sukuna snorts at that. “Or any secrets, for that matter.”

“Your secrets are safe with me.” You both are even more closer, you come to realize, when he moves his head away from the view and into your personal space, you can’t help but move a bit closer. He smiles and open his mouth.

“HEY LOSERS!” A shout comes from the living room, making you both jump apart and stare behind, where Yuji’s upper body is on the roof, already trembling with the cold. “GET INSIDE, WE WANT PIZZA.”

“How is that my — our problem??” Sukuna asks, voice much calmer than his brother, still he is clearly annoyed.

“It’s your money we are using, dipshit.” Yuji yelps when Nobara pushes him back, saying something along the lines of “you’re ruining their moment.”

Sukuna sighs, fingers on his nose bridge.

“C’mon, I can tell you my secrets later.” You grab his hot hands, intertwining with your cold ones, and both of you walk inside the warm apartment. Back to your giggling friends and his short words filled with a bit of stress.

Many hours later, you leave the warm of Nobara’s arm under the fluffy covers on the floor you both shared, standing up quietly and moving to the kitchen with quick steps. It’s a lie to say you are just going to grab a midnight snack and go back to Yuji’s room, instead, you stay on the couch hugging your knees and staring at the window.

Today, of all normal days, you had been more drained than before. Maybe is the past coming to greet you and bringing along their company, anxiety.

You remember the first time you met your friends and Sukuna, how he was nothing more than a boy cursed to be a second vessel to the same monster that shared him and his brother. Unlike Yuji, Ryōmen had less of a control, and his grumbling and short temper had come from his hate towards the past and what he did.

Sukuna has tainted hands with blood, and though most people don’t blame him anymore, some still do and they have tried to get their revenge, or simply take his life, fearing the evil might come back. The monster is long gone, but the aftermath remains touching all of you unwillingly, and Sukuna might act as if nothing happened, but you see the effects.

Sometimes, like the beginning of this week, you are send in special and secret missions regarding Sukuna’s safety, he doesn’t need to know that there is two groups of people trying to come for him — one that wants the curse back and those who want him dead. It’s something you, Geto and Gojo agreed on. It’s scary, it paints your own hands in blood, but it does feel good to look at him going inside his room and know that for one more day he is safe.

This week you almost lost both your life and his ─ they were too close. You managed though, but the fallout was this constant fear, the longing to be outside the apartment and being hugged by the cold of the night.

As soon as you got up and opened the window, you heard quick steps behind you, a large hand coming and closing it. You turned around, and Sukuna’s red eyes looked pissed.

“It’s even colder at dawn, are you dumb in the head?” He goes away, towards the kitchen, while you sighed already missing the view and breeze behind you. Knowing it’s not worth a fight, you moved to the couch.

“I just needed some air.” You mumble.

“Listen, I get it, but the only thing you would get it’s not air or solution to whatever you’re going through, instead hypothermia would bite you in the ass with those pajamas.” At his words, you stare down at your hello kitty pajamas, the soft material would had you freezing the second you stepped outside, even inside the living room you started to tremble a bit.

“You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.” You whisper back, staring ahead at the turn off television. You could look anywhere, minus him.

Sukuna, though, seemed to not want that. More minutes of pure silence and he came near, in his hands two mugs, he gave you one and sat by your side. The steam reaching your cold face was nothing compared to his body heat by your side, it was soothing and it made you want to crawl inside his arms and sleep.

It was no secret of you affection to him, but it was also not something anyone dare to talk about, him much less. Besides, the only time this devotion ever come to the surface, was with Nobara a few days ago, in this same place, on the couch, exactly 4am.

“Do you—“ Your words die when you drown them with the hot chocolate, the burn numbing your tongue for a few seconds of silence where his eyes are on you, solely. “—do you really listen to anything said here?”

“Sometimes.” Sukuna answers, sipping from his own drink. “It’s not on my control, it just happens. Like right now, I heard your breathing and moving to the window, and that’s how I came.” He closes his eyes for a second, before drinking again. “Very rude, by the way, I was about to sleep and you walked like a horse galloping.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper back, avoiding the constant need to look at him.

“You own me a secret.” He says out of nowhere, making you nearly choke on your beverage. You face him, confused. “You told me that you would give me a secret later, remember? I want one.”

“No.” You answer right away, moving to set your empty mug on the coffee table before incredulously laughing at him. “What’s in it for me? I don’t trust you.” It’s a lie, you do trust him, but your secrets as of recently had been paired with his name in red ink, he could never know.

“I tell you one of my secrets.” That’s something.

Sukuna has always been a secretive guy, although he had no control of the curse possessing him, the male still hide it better than his brother. What you could say about Sukuna was his favorite color (red), his disdain for your friend group and that he one day planed to go on a years long road trip that you have kept him away from. Until everyone that wanted him was six feet under, at least.

“What secret?” You ask, body turning on the couch to face him, your knees resting on his thigh and instantly burning up all the way to your cheeks.

“No, you tell me first, and I’ll tell you right after.” He shakes his head, a smile forming on his lips.

“How can I trust you?” Are you seriously debating it?

“You just have to.”

Your options are few, you are an open book, there is only two secrets you hide from Sukuna. The one that you became a killer because of him, and the one that you are in love with him. He could hate you, could be offended by both. The always so prideful Sukuna would burn this building with rage if he knew what you do, as if he was an unprotected person.

Should you take this opportunity to know him more, one you sense no one has ever come closer, or that he wouldn’t grant you ever again. It was in the cold living room with his warm burning eyes and presence you weighted your options.

“I might have a romantic affection for someone we know.” You half tell him one of your secrets.

“Who?” He asks right away, soft eyes replaced by sharp ones.

“Doesn’t matter, you tell me now.” You tap his thigh.

“Fine, if you’re breaking the rules, I’ll do it as well.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, a sarcastic smile plastering his face. “I know something about you, that you have been hiding.”

Fuck.

“Was it what I just told you?” Couldn’t be, he just asked who, but he could also be playing a game. Sukuna can get cruel like that.

“Can’t say,” the smile grows larger. “give me one more secret, a full one.”

“Promise me you won’t burn anyone in this building.” Your voice catches you by surprise, you couldn’t be seriously accepting to lay your bare self to him, could you?

“Is it that weird neighbor that gives you his morning papers puzzles?” Sukuna disgusted face makes you laugh, and he follows with a snort. “Or is it my brother? Sorry, love, you should know he is already invested in Megumi.”

“Is none of them, Kuna!” The nickname slips from your lips before you can bite it, if he notices he doesn’t show, but the point of his ears are growing red. So cute, sometimes he reminds you he is not an old grumpy cat, but just a boy, from your age, who has been through too much. Sure, if he wants, he can bring the whole city to the ground, but in this moment, finishing his hot chocolate in a spider-man mug and leaving it next to yours, he is just your Kuna. “It’s—you, I like you.”

Time doesn’t stop like you expect it to, but Sukuna does stop moving, like a statue. Almost comical if it wasn’t terrible how simply you confessed. Fuck, you confessed. Reality drawn in you when you feel his thigh under your knee burning more and more, so you remove it and sits normally, staring again at the black television.

“Fuck.” He says, and you close your eyes for a second, fearing the inevitable rejection. “I thought it was going to be the other secret.” From your peripheral vision, you see his messy hair shaking. “I’m not complaining, but I needed you to say it.”

“What are you talking about, Ryōmen?” You look at him, elbows on his knees and head on his hands, he turns back to look at you.

“Ryōmen? Dumbass, I’m Kuna to you.” You nearly laugh with the shocked feeling he gave you. “I— Fuck, listen, I know.” He moves closer, burning you with his body heat, yet you adore the hotness of it, so you move closer as well, you both facing each other. “I heard you with Nobara, yet when you admitted now, it still took me by surprise, not much people can do that, but you keep trying and succeeding.”

Sukuna grabs your hands and move to his lap.

“I reciprocate your feelings. Weirdly, I can handle your loud voice and laugh, and I don’t mind spending my money buying food if it’s at least what you want.” He caress the back of your hand, sometimes grabbing it more. “I know of your little ritual to recharge on the roof, and I know it takes just minutes, but you stayed more and I had to see you, make sure you’re okay.” Sukuna moves his hands to cup your face, the heat in his eyes marking your soul. “And I know that it’s all because of me.”

You gulp the uncertain and fear of what he meant, instead of words, your scrunch your eyebrows at him. Please, you silently beg, don’t mean what I think you do.

“Don’t look at me like that, stupid.” He shakes his head, eyes quickly moving to your lips before going up again. “I know what you’re doing, trying to keep me safe. I admire you for it, but you can’t keep doing this, you understand? It’s my fight, has always been, you’re breaking yourself and your soul for me, and I can’t have it.”

“But…” you stop his rant while moving your hands up to his neck. “…it’s yours. My soul it’s not breaking, if it’s keeping you safe, then it’s only growing stronger, Kuna.”

“You’re stubborn.” He shakes your head softly, as if it can make you change your mind. “No more fighting alone for me, okay? I’ll be there, all the way, every time.”

At your nod, Sukuna lunges at you, moving his hands to your neck and kissing you roughly. It seems he was as starved as you, both craving the other in ways never once reached or talked about. Wether it was true or not, had you been bending and corrupting your soul for Sukuna, you would keep doing it, if only it meant this was always going to be the result in the end — be kissed by his hot lips, keeping away the cold of the night that once soothed you. You realized, in that moment, fire has always been more of your choice than ice.

He was perfection in the way he kissed you, with bites and the wetness of his tongue, Sukuna used his strength to move you both to his room. He had you now, exactly where you both are meant to be. You had loved Sukuna for being safe is his room, and soon realized that you were one more addition to his sacred space.

No one, no men with evil intentions or hearts filled with hate could ever come near him, you made sure of that, and glued to his body, being devoted like a saint, you knew your fears would vanish with the winter, for that one scent he had, always a secret to you, came to your senses after more hours under him — Sukuna smelled of ashes and smoke, ready to burn whatever stood in yours and his way.

[shitsndgiggs]

Being Kenans little sister and when he joins the Turkey NT and they have a little get-together, she meets Arda and they both develop a hard crush on each other. The following days Arda asks Kenan stuff about her and Kenan soon notices he's into his little sis bla bla bla so Arda gets green light from big bro but don't you dare hurt her you hear me 😁

THE GREEN LIGHT - ARDA GÜLER

In which Arda finds himself drawn to Y/N, the younger sister of his new teammate

Arda Güler x Kenan Yildiz’s sister! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

As my older brother Kenan's career took off with the Turkish National Team, our family's excitement bubbled over.

To celebrate, we organized a small gathering at our family home. Kenan had invited his new teammates.

I mingled with the group, feeling a mix of pride for my brother and curiosity about the players who had become his extended family.

Among them was Arda Güler, a standout player from Real Madrid.

I watched Arda from across the room, intrigued by his charisma and the way he effortlessly engaged with everyone around him. When our eyes finally met, he flashed a warm smile that instantly put me at ease.

"So, you're Kenan's sister?" Arda asked as he approached me, his tone friendly and genuine.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied with a smile, grateful for the opportunity to chat with him. "It's nice to finally meet you, Arda."

"Your brother speaks highly of you." Arda asked, flashing a warm smile that made my heart skip a beat. "So, how does it feel to have a brother on the national team?"

"It's surreal, honestly," I admitted with a laugh. "But I'm incredibly proud of him. He's worked so hard to get here."

Arda nodded thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and camaraderie. "Kenan's a great guy," he said. "You must be really close."

"Yeah, we are," I replied, smiling at the thought of our childhood antics and shared memories. "He's always been there for me."

As the evening progressed, Arda and I found ourselves gravitating towards each other in conversation.

We discussed everything from football tactics to our favorite travel destinations, discovering shared interests and laughing over silly stories.

Over the next few days, Arda's presence lingered in my thoughts. He'd send a text asking about my day, share funny stories from training sessions, or simply check in to see how I was doing. Each interaction bringing us closer.

Little did I know that my name popped up frequently in his conversations with Kenan. He'd ask innocent questions about me—my favorite music, what books I liked to read, and even my thoughts on certain movies.

Kenan, always perceptive, soon caught on to Arda's growing interest.

Then one evening, at training, Kenan pulled Arda aside for a private conversation.

"Arda, can I have a word with you?" Kenan started, his tone firm yet not devoid of warmth.

"Sure, Kenan," Arda replied, sensing the gravity of the moment as they moved to a more secluded spot.

Kenan studied Arda for a moment, gauging his sincerity and intentions. "I've noticed you've taken an interest in my sister," he began, his voice carrying a hint of protective brotherly instinct.

Arda nodded, his expression earnest. "She's amazing, Kenan. I've enjoyed getting to know her these past few days."

Kenan nodded thoughtfully, knowing his sister's heart was precious to him. "I trust you, Arda. You seem like a good guy, and I can see how much she likes you," he said, his tone softening slightly.

"I care about her a lot," Arda admitted, his eyes reflecting his genuine feelings. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

Kenan nodded, reassured by Arda's sincerity. "Just remember, she means the world to me. If you're going to be with her, you need to treat her right," he emphasized, his voice firm but filled with brotherly concern.

"I understand, Kenan," Arda replied sincerely. "I won't take her trust or feelings lightly."

Kenan placed a reassuring hand on Arda's shoulder. "Good. Just know that if you ever do," he paused, his gaze firm, "you'll have me to worry about.”

Arda nodded solemnly, appreciating Kenan's protective stance. "I won't let you down," he vowed, his voice steady with determination.

"Hey, Kenan," Arda began, pulling out his phone. "Mind if I make a quick call?"

Kenan nodded, curious but not entirely surprised. He watched as Arda stepped away a few paces and dialed Y/N number.

The breeze carried snippets of their conversation back to Kenan as he stretched his muscles.

"Hey, it's me," Arda said warmly. "Yeah, I'm with Kenan. Listen, I talked to him, and... he's cool with it."

Kenan could sense the nervous excitement in Arda's voice as he listened intently, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"Yeah, he said it's okay," Arda continued, a smile evident in his tone. "I know, right? I'm really happy too."

Kenan couldn't help but grin at Arda's obvious happiness. He respected Arda and believed he was genuine, but as a big brother, he couldn't help but feel protective.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Arda bid Y/N goodbye and joined Kenan again. He could see the anticipation in Arda's eyes, mixed with a hint of relief.

"Everything okay?" Kenan asked casually, though he already knew the answer.

Arda nodded, unable to contain his smile. "Yeah, she's really happy. Thanks, Kenan," he said gratefully. "I appreciate you trusting me with this."

Kenan clapped a hand on Arda's shoulder, his expression serious but warm. "Just remember what I said earlier," he reminded him. "She's important to me, so don't mess it up."

Arda nodded earnestly. "I won't, Kenan. I promise."

With a nod of approval from Kenan, Arda felt a sense of relief and gratitude. He knew that having Kenan's blessing meant a lot, and he was determined to show Y/N just how much she meant to him.

[theprongspotter]

State - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - Day 27 - 810 words

When Sirius moved to the United States and begged Regulus to visit him, Regulus did not expect to find himself standing in front of a sprawling ranch. The main house, a charming yet rustic structure with a wide porch and peeling white paint, stood proudly amidst acres of rolling fields. Horses roamed in the distance, their silhouettes framed by a backdrop of towering mountains. It doesn’t seem like a place to find a Black. The Blacks belong in opulent manors, with manicured lawns and marble floors—not here, where the air smells of hay and the earth crunches underfoot. But his phone has no signal, so he stares ahead for only a moment longer before hesitantly walking closer, the gravel path shifting under his polished shoes.

He doesn’t even make it to the barn, a weathered structure with faded red paint, when a horse comes flying up behind him, kicking up dust in its wake. Regulus startles, instinctively taking a step back as a cloud of dirt settles over him, clinging to his tailored slacks. He makes a face, wiping at the smudges with a huff, thoroughly unimpressed by the situation.

The palomino, golden and gleaming in the late afternoon light, comes to a graceful stop in front of him. Regulus lifts his gaze to the rider, and damn if he isn’t gorgeous. Dark skin, rich like polished mahogany, hazel eyes that gleam with mischief, and brown hair that sticks out in unruly curls from beneath a weathered cowboy hat. The man’s stupidly bright smile is almost blinding, more dazzling than the sun that casts a golden halo around his figure.

“How can I help you?” the man asks, his voice carrying a thick southern accent that makes Regulus' stomach do an unexpected flip.

Regulus straightens his posture, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “I’m looking for my brother. Is he here?”

The man’s brows shoot up in surprise, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I’m not sure, darlin’. You sound an awfully far way from home, though. Are you new to the States?”

Regulus nods stiffly. “Yes, but I won’t be staying long. Just long enough to visit my brother.”

“That’s a shame.” The man’s eyes take their time as they rake over Regulus’ body, and there’s no mistaking the appreciative gleam in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Regulus,” he replies, crossing his arms defensively, though there’s a spark of curiosity in his own eyes now.

“I’m James. This is Leah.” James grins wider, patting the horse’s neck affectionately. Leah’s ears twitch in response, the horse shifting its weight as if pleased with the introduction.

James dismounts Leah with an effortless grace that makes Regulus’ heart skip a beat. The fluid motion is smooth, practiced, as if James has been riding horses his entire life. He dusts off his jeans as he walks toward Regulus, the dusty trail settling around his boots. "So, Regulus, you’re Sirius’ brother, huh?" he says, extending a hand, roughened from hard work but surprisingly gentle in its offer.

Regulus eyes the offered hand for a moment before taking it, surprised by the warmth of James’ grip, the way it feels solid, grounding. "Unfortunately," he replies dryly, though there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, betraying the humor beneath his stoic facade.

James chuckles, clearly amused. "Well, I think you’re in for a surprise. Sirius has really settled into this place."

Regulus raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Settled? My brother? In the middle of nowhere? I find that hard to believe."

"You’d be surprised what a bit of open sky can do to a person," James says, his tone gentle, as if he’s trying to make Regulus see something beyond the dusty ranch and endless fields. There’s a sincerity in his words that Regulus isn’t used to, something almost disarming. "But don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure you find him."

Regulus feels a flutter of something he can’t quite place as James leads him toward the barn, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The barn doors creak slightly as they approach, the smell of hay and leather wafting through the air. There's a strange sense of ease around this man, despite the dirt on his clothes and the roughness of his hands—things that Regulus would usually turn his nose up at. But here, with the sun setting over the horizon, casting long shadows across the ranch, and the sound of Leah's hooves echoing softly in the background, everything seems... different. Almost like he belongs, though he’s not ready to admit that.

He pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes. He’s here for Sirius, nothing more. But as James walks beside him, that bright smile still on his face, Regulus can’t help but wonder if this trip might end up being more than just a family visit.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daeron Targaryen - Ashes of Betrayal

Summary - Secrets unravel and tensions ignite between brothers, Daeron's forbidden love for her puts them all at risk. With loyalty and betrayal hanging in the balance, her fate is sealed by forces beyond her control, leading to a devastating clash between love and cruelty.

Pairing - Daeron Targaryen x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Violence, mild language

Word count - 3176

Based on this request

Masterlist for Daeron • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Finding myself captured by the enemy in the midst of a war wasn't exactly part of the plan. 

Yet here I was, shackled, facing Aemond Targaryen, whose cold, calculating gaze remained unnervingly calm, even as the chains rattled against my wrists.

"Tell me this instant how you knew about that route," Aemond demanded. His tone was even, controlled, as though the answer was more a matter of curiosity than importance.

I met his stare, unfazed. "You already have me in chains. What more can you do?" 

My voice was steady, but the deliberate tug at the cold metal binding my wrists served as a reminder that I wasn't as composed as I pretended to be.

Aemond's jaw tightened, though his expression stayed eerily neutral. His single eye bore into mine, assessing every detail, every slight movement. 

My gaze flickered for a split second to the shadows where Aegon and Daeron stood, just out of the light, and that brief glance was all it took. 

Aemond's attention followed, and though he didn't outwardly react, I saw the moment he understood.

"Seems our younger brother has betrayed us," Aemond said softly. His words were cold and measured, though the underlying anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. 

His gaze drifted toward Daeron, who shifted uncomfortably under the accusation, his guilt clear even before he opened his mouth.

Aegon, however, didn't waste a second. He stalked toward me, fury written in every step. 

His hand shot out, tangling painfully in my hair, yanking me roughly to my feet with a vicious jerk. His breath was hot against my cheek as he leaned in, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"I wonder what your smug cunt of a mother would think," Aegon hissed, his voice dripping with venom, "if she saw how her precious daughter was being treated by the rightful king." 

He pulled harder, making me wince, but I refused to cry out.

"She would expect nothing less from a usurper like you," I spat, glaring at him with all the contempt I could muster.

Aegon's eyes darkened with fury, and before I could brace myself, the back of his hand struck my face, the force of it sending a sharp sting across my skin. 

The pain was immediate, radiating down to my jaw, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daeron flinch, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he stepped forward instinctively, hands raised in an almost futile gesture of peace. 

His eyes locked on mine, and despite everything—the chaos, the violence—there was still something soft there. 

A silent plea. He hated seeing me like this, hated what his brothers were doing. But he was powerless to stop them. Or, at least, too afraid to try.

"Aegon," Daeron murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stop. Please."

Aegon glanced back at his younger brother, a cruel smile twisting his lips. His grip on my hair tightened. 

"Stop? Why?" He yanked me forward, dragging me toward him as if I were nothing more than a rag doll. "You're the one who betrayed us, Daeron. You should be thanking me for not gutting her on the spot."

Daeron's eyes flashed with something raw—guilt, fear, love. But Aegon's words held him captive as much as they did me.

Aemond stood slowly from his seat, his tall frame casting a long, ominous shadow as he moved closer. His cold, calculating gaze shifted to Daeron. 

"Do not tell me you betrayed us for some bastard girl," he said, his voice dripping with disbelief and disgust. His words were an accusation, and they lingered in the air like poison. 

He stepped closer to Daeron, not just daring, but almost begging him to deny it, to speak some lie that would erase the suspicion from his mind. A beat passed, heavy, suffocating.

Daeron's silence was damning. 

He glanced at me again, and in that moment, I saw everything he couldn't say—his fear for me, the guilt of betraying his family, and the helplessness of knowing he couldn't save us both. 

His fists clenched at his sides, his whole body trembling with barely contained emotion, but he said nothing. And in his silence, Aemond found his answer.

"Fine," Aegon snarled, shoving me back so hard that I stumbled, falling to the ground with a loud clatter of chains. 

My wrists throbbed where the iron bit into my skin, but I barely registered the pain. 

Aegon loomed over me, his smirk wide and vicious. "You can watch her die tomorrow. Consider it a fair price for your insolence, brother."

"No, please," Daeron's voice cracked, his desperation unmistakable now. He stepped forward again, but Aegon turned away, already done with the conversation.

"You should be grateful I'm giving you a front-row seat," Aegon called over his shoulder, his tone flippant, as though my death were a mere triviality. 

He stalked toward the door, leaving Daeron standing frozen, torn between his family and the woman he cared for.

The room pulsed with unspoken tension, every breath weighed down by the unshakable promise of death. 

Daeron's eyes found mine, pleading, but there was nothing either of us could do.

His love for me was evident, but love had no power here. Not against Aemond and Aegon.

"Brother, listen," Daeron began again, voice cracking under the strain of desperation. He took a tentative step toward Aemond, his body trembling with the weight of it all.

Aemond turned sharply, jabbing a finger into Daeron's chest. 

"Do not say another word," he spat, his voice sharper than the edge of a blade. His single eye burned with barely concealed fury. 

"For now, she is simply a prisoner—chained and forgotten, an afterthought in this war. But if you push me, if you test me, brother, I will throw open those cell doors and let every knight, servant, and man in this city have their fun with the false queen's precious daughter."

His words sliced through the room, venomous and cold. Daeron froze, his face paling as the threat settled in. His lips parted, but no words came out. 

His gaze flickered back to me, and the weight of Aemond's threat crushed any hope that remained.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rising panic in my chest, but the chains felt heavier now, the room colder. Aemond was no longer simply playing a game; this was his final move, and he held all the pieces.

Aemond had always been the calm storm—the silent, calculating force that ruled with a cold fist. I had no illusions about what he was capable of. 

But Daeron... Daeron had been the light, the flicker of hope that perhaps, somewhere, there was still something human left in this war.

"Aemond, please," Daeron's voice was a hoarse whisper, barely holding together. "She's not—"

"Not what?" Aemond sneered, leaning in closer. "Not worth it? Or is it that you think your love for this girl will sway me?"

Daeron's silence only fueled Aemond's cruel smile. "You've always been weak, Daeron," Aemond said, his voice laced with disdain. "Weak and foolish."

The words hung heavy between them, and Daeron's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Think on it," Aemond said as he turned to leave, his tone mocking. "By morrow, it may be too late to save her—or yourself."

The door creaked open, the dim light from the corridor casting long shadows across the room. 

For a moment, Daeron stood there, trembling, caught between the desire to act and the crushing weight of his brother's will. 

His eyes flicked to me one last time, filled with sorrow and guilt before he turned and followed Aemond out. 

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the cold, dark silence, my heart pounding in my chest. 

The promise of death—or worse—loomed closer now, more real than ever before.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Mother, please," Daeron pleaded, his voice cracking as he sank to his knees before Alicent. 

His hands clutched desperately at the hem of her skirts, his tear-filled eyes searching her face for any glimmer of hope. 

Alicent stood still, her fingers trembling as they rested on the arms of her chair. She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking away from his, unwilling to meet the depth of his despair.

"Daeron," she sighed, her voice heavy with the weight of truths she wished she could deny, "they do not listen to me any longer." 

The admission tasted bitter on her tongue.

Aegon and Aemond had drifted far beyond her reach, carried away by power and ambition.

"But Aemond will kill her," Daeron insisted, his voice rising with panic. 

He scrambled to his feet, his hands gripping her arms now, begging her to intervene, to be the shield between Aemond's cruelty and the woman he loved. 

Tears brimmed in his eyes, threatening to spill, and the sheer desperation in his face broke her heart.

Alicent pulled away, her movements sharp and swift as she turned from him, unable to bear the sight of his anguish. 

She crossed the room, pacing, her hand unconsciously rising to her mouth as she chewed nervously at her thumb, a habit long thought forgotten but resurfacing now under the weight of their reality. 

"You know what Aemond is," she muttered, the words half-spoken to herself. 

There was no controlling her second son anymore; he had grown into a storm—cold, relentless, and unpredictable.

"Do not let him," Daeron's voice broke as he followed her, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He reached out, his hand trembling as it touched her arm. "I beg you."

Alicent froze, turning to face her son, her eyes softening. She exhaled deeply, her own heart torn. 

With a gentle hand, she brushed away a tear from his cheek, her fingers lingering on his face, wishing she could offer him some comfort, some promise. But there was none to give. 

"If Aemond has set his mind to it," she whispered, "there is nothing I can do." Her voice cracked, the burden of her helplessness almost too much to bear.

"Rhaenyra will not let this go," Daeron warned, his voice thick with the fear of what was to come. 

The mention of her name made Alicent flinch, her fingers twitching as the ghost of old memories washed over her—memories of friendship now soured by blood, betrayal, and bitter rivalry. 

Rhaenyra's name brought a dull ache to her chest, a reminder of everything that had been lost between them.

"She will not," Alicent whispered, her eyes drifting to the window. 

She gazed out at the sky, her mind flashing with images of her once closest friend. 

The hurt, the pain, the love that had been twisted into something unrecognizable. It all felt like a distant dream, yet the consequences of those shattered bonds were now painfully real.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

It all seemed to be happening too fast.

One moment, Alicent had been trying to make her sons see reason, pleading with Aemond and Aegon to abandon their cruel paths, to halt this madness before it spiralled further out of control. 

But reason had fallen on deaf ears. And now, in the next breath, Daeron was kneeling before me, his trembling hands wrapped tightly around mine, his soft words a quiet comfort amidst the storm. 

Silent tears spilt down my cheeks as the heavy reality of my fate sank in.

"Move," Aemond's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. His footsteps echoed as he approached, the sound chilling in its finality. 

He stood above us, his cold eye gleaming with malice, his lips curled into a smug smirk. But Daeron refused to budge, his grip on my hands firm, as if he could anchor me to safety as if love alone could protect us from the inevitable.

"No," Daeron whispered, shaking his head, his knuckles white as he clung to me. His eyes were wide with fear and defiance, staring up at his brother, silently pleading for mercy.

Aemond's smirk faltered, replaced by cold fury. With a single nod, he signalled to the Kingsguard. 

Two of them stepped forward without hesitation, seizing Daeron by the arms. He struggled violently in their grasp, his body thrashing as they dragged him away from me.

"Let me go!" Daeron shouted, his voice hoarse, fighting with every ounce of strength he had. 

His eyes remained locked on mine, desperate, terrified. The sight of his suffering twisted something deep inside me, and tears streamed freely down my face.

Aemond watched it all with cold detachment. 

Slowly, almost lazily, he unsheathed his sword, the metallic ring of the blade echoing ominously through the room. He stepped forward, the tip of the sword gleaming in the dim light as he approached me.

"Any final words, niece?" Aemond asked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he towered over me. 

He stared down at me, his eye alight with cruel amusement, savouring every moment of my helplessness.

I lifted my head, staring up at him defiantly, though my body trembled with fear. 

"When my mother comes," I spat, my voice trembling but filled with fury, "I hope she brings the wrath of the seven hells with her."

Aemond chuckled, his lips curling into a mocking smile. 

"Such a fiery spirit," he mused, tutting as if I were a misbehaving child. "But you'll soon learn that fire burns out quickly, especially when faced with the cold steel of reality." 

He stood over me, his sword raised high. His cold, calculating eye bored into me, devoid of remorse, devoid of mercy. 

Every second seemed to stretch into eternity as I knelt there, bound by chains, my heart pounding in my chest.

Behind him, Daeron struggled violently against the Kingsguard restraining him, his voice ragged and desperate as he shouted, "Aemond, please! Don't do this!"

But Aemond's attention never wavered. He was relentless and unmoved by his brother's pleas. He had already made up his mind. 

This was his justice—cold, unforgiving, absolute.

I stared up at him, my breath shaky, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. 

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, different tears but I refused to let him see me cry. If this was my end, I would meet it with strength. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Behind Aemond, I could hear Daeron's anguished cries, the sound of his body thrashing as he fought with every ounce of strength he had. His voice cracked, breaking with each plea. 

"Aemond, no!" His eyes, wild and desperate, searched for mine through the chaos.

And then, in that final moment, I locked eyes with Daeron, my heart breaking at the sight of him—tears streaking his face, his lips trembling, torn between helpless rage and soul-crushing sorrow.

Our love had always been a quiet thing, hidden in stolen glances and whispered promises, but now, with death so close, there was no need for silence. 

I didn't have the strength to speak, not with Aemond's sword poised to strike, but I mouthed the words I had longed to say out loud for so long.

I love you.

Daeron's face crumpled in anguish, his knees buckling beneath him as the weight of those words sank in. 

The Kingsguard dragged him backwards, but his eyes never left mine. 

He screamed my name, the sound a raw, broken cry that echoed through the chamber, reverberating with his pain. "No!"

But Aemond didn't hesitate. He smirked, his lips curling in satisfaction as he brought his sword down with brutal finality. 

The cold steel sliced through the air, and in one swift motion, it cut through me.

Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and overwhelming, but it was brief. The world blurred around me, and for a moment, everything slowed. 

My body crumpled to the ground, the chains clattering loudly as I collapsed, the cold stone beneath me stealing the last warmth from my skin. 

Blood pooled beneath me, thick and dark, seeping out in slow, spreading tendrils.

Aemond stood above me, his sword still in hand, watching the life drain from me with a detached, almost clinical gaze. 

He had done what he set out to do—delivered his judgment, his so-called justice. And now, to him, it was over.

But behind him, Daeron was anything but composed. He fell to his knees as the Kingsguard finally released him, their grip no longer necessary. 

His body trembled with shock, the horror of what had just happened crashing down on him. His eyes, wide with disbelief, stared at my lifeless form, and for a moment, it seemed as if the world had gone silent. 

The sound of his own breath caught in his throat, choked by grief.

"No..." Daeron whispered, his voice small, broken. He crawled toward me, his hands trembling as they reached out, gently touching my blood-stained cheek. 

"No, no, no..." His words came out in a rush, frantic, as if he could somehow undo what had been done as if his desperate whispers could bring me back.

But I was gone.

Daeron cradled me in his arms, pulling my limp body against his chest. His tears fell freely now, soaking into my hair as he rocked back and forth, whispering my name over and over, as though the repetition could summon me back to life. 

His hands, stained with my blood, clung to me, refusing to let go.

"Aemond!" Daeron's voice rose suddenly, hoarse and raw with fury. He looked up at his brother, hatred blazing in his tear-filled eyes. "How could you?" 

His voice was a broken snarl, filled with more pain than rage. He trembled violently, barely able to contain the torrent of emotions ripping through him. "How could you..."

Aemond sheathed his sword with a slow, deliberate motion, his expression unreadable as he gazed down at Daeron. 

"It had to be done," he said, his voice calm, as if the weight of my death meant nothing to him. As if it were just another move in a grander game.

Daeron's entire body shook with the force of his grief, his hands clenching into fists as he held me tighter. 

His heart shattered, torn between love and the devastating realization that no matter how much he pleaded, no matter how much he fought, he could not protect me from Aemond's cruelty.

"You—" Daeron choked on his words, his face twisted in agony. "You've killed her... You've destroyed everything."

Aemond turned away, his back now to his brother, and without a word, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a final, resounding echo.

Daeron was left alone in the suffocating silence, clutching my lifeless body to his chest, his tears falling in steady streams. His voice was gone now, replaced by soft, broken sobs that filled the empty chamber. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hitching as he whispered, "I love you... I love you..."

But it was too late.

And as the night stretched on, Daeron remained there, shattered and alone, the weight of his loss crushing him from the inside out. 

The woman he had loved was gone, and no matter how many tears he shed, no matter how many promises he had whispered, there was no bringing me back. 

The hollow ache of regret and sorrow would haunt him for the rest of his days.

In that moment, Daeron knew he had lost more than just me—he had lost himself.

A/n - Sorry this took so long but I hope it's ok I got a tad bit carried away hence the word count!

Daeron tag list - @alyssa-dayne

[osleeplessflowero]

I figured it's time to bring back Classic Sans for a oneshot. Haven't posted about him since Stargazing! My very first Sans oneshot and Undertale oneshot as a whole. - Reader is Gender Neutral as always! Their SOUL type is up to you. - This is a good way to tie these oneshots to another series of mine :)

It's quiet..before a breeze fills your ears. Your senses are overloaded with sound. Soon you can feel the breeze too, gently hitting your skin as you slowly open your eyes and move your hands over the grass beneath you.

How long had you been asleep? What happened? Did you miss anything? Your head is spinning..

A familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts softly, calmly. Just like he always does.

"heya. glad to see you're back." He greets you with a smile once you look over, just as he always does. You can't help but smile too. Sitting up, you scoot a bit closer to him and abruptly drop your head on his shoulder, to his surprise. "woah there, what's this all about?" He raises a browbone as he looks down at you, feeling your arm move behind his back so you can awkwardly hug him.

"How long was I asleep?" You ask, getting straight to the point. He looks back up, focusing on the rising sun before the two of you. "not much time has passed here since you fell asleep. or, i guess you could say we fell asleep, huh?" He chuckles. "guessing you've had lots of opportunities to explore. i couldn't imagine doing all that."

"..Yeah." You think about places you've been, your consciousness moving about through different timelines and possibilities. It is only right here, in this space, that you can truly remember things..and where you originally came from. You've certainly seen a lot of interesting figures recently. All of them being different variants of Sans, and even his brother, Papyrus. The same two, just..in various different fonts.

"it's kinda weird, when i think about it." You turn to look at him. "how there's so many other mes just..hangin' around in other timelines. that even the smallest decision can make an entirely new form, a new me. up to the point where..it's like i'm a whole other person. they're sorta..physical "what if"s. aaand prove that the timeline theory is real..so..that's complicated. i guess i can see why you like to go see them all. curiosity."

"..Yeah..it's..like a new adventure each time." You earn a nod from him, before you sit up and move so you're in front of him, placing your hands at the sides of his legs. "But..just so we're clear, that doesn't mean I want to see you any less, Sans. You're still you, the original you, that..that I fell for in the beginning." Heat rises to your cheeks, burning even warmer as you watch a shade of blue make its way onto the skeleton's cheekbones to match.

"i mean, i understand if you prefer some variations of me more. i'm not gonna take it personally-" You cut him off, placing your hand on his left cheekbone. He freezes like a deer in the headlights, his eyesockets relaxing a little as he leans into your touch almost instinctively.

"Just because I like to see other outcomes it doesn't mean I'll love you any less. I refuse to leave you behind. I won't leave Paps behind either. I promise."

"seems like a pretty big promise. sure you can keep it?" "I'm absolutely sure." You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his own. "No matter what..you'll always remain in my heart, Sans. The true you, I mean." "why settle for me when you can have so many other mes?" He raises a browbone, a soft smile on his face. "At the end of the day it was the two of you that my heart belonged to first. Nothing will change that." His face is now a prettier, brighter shade of blue..you can't help but smile, seeing him like this.

"You're not making puns." "it's not the time for that." He averts his eyelights, earning a chuckle from you. You lightly tap his cheek. "C'mon..look at me." "i dunno.." "Please?" "what if i fall for you all over again?" You smile. "I'd be alright with that."

He turns his eyelights to you, unable to look away the moment he does. You can hear his breath hitch, the lights shifting into little heart shapes the moment he blinks. "..Can I?..Or would that be too forward?-" You mutter, your face heating up again at the thought. "just get over here, you." He puts his arms around your waist, pulling you a little closer so you can make contact yourself.

You lean forwards, pressing your lips against his teeth..feeling yourself becoming lost in the moment. Your heart pounds in your ears, your faces both madly flushed as you embrace each other's company. Eventually you have to break the kiss for air, softly regaining your breath as he stares at you with admiring eyes. He reaches up his hands, placing them on the sides of your face now. The cool feeling both calms your nerves and makes you even more flushed. "you alright being stuck with me? with us, even?" "Always. Don't ever question that." You smile, earning a grin from him in return as you hear footsteps approaching in the distance.

"There You Two Are! I've Been Looking Everywhere For You!" Papyrus comes to a stop before you, pressing his hands on his hips with his all-too-familiar grin. A few seconds pass before he takes in your states, a smug look crossing his face. "Am I Interrupting Something?"

"nah, you got here just in time. right?" Sans lightly nudges you, earning rapid nods from you in return. If you let him hear your voice tremble or crack you would quite literally die inside.

"so, what's up? something going on?" He asks, putting an arm around you. "I Thought You Might Want To See Our New Neighbors! They Are Quite The Interesting Bunch. And..Oddly Familiar Looking.."

You and Sans give each other a knowing look. "You don't think?.." "awfully convenient timing, universe." "Might as well make a good first impression, huh?"

[oliwrites]

Secrets

my masterlist <3

relationship: loki x reader

genre: smut

summary: you’ve been staying on asgard for some time now, secretly lusting for loki all whilst dating his older brother, thor. one day, you find him alone in the library…

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors dni), little plot, mostly porn (sorry not sorry), slight mention of cheating, slight degrading, fingers doing… things… (f receiving), mention of the devils tango,

word count: idk :(

NOT PROOFREAD— SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES

p.s. hi guys i’m back :)

In the dimly lit library of Asgard, the scent of ancient books and the faint glow of enchanted lanterns set a mysterious atmosphere. Loki stood by a tall shelf, his fingers brushing over the spines of old tomes. He was deep in thought, his emerald eyes reflecting the flickering light.

You entered quietly, not wanting to disturb the prince. But the soft creak of the wooden floorboards betrayed your presence. Loki turned, a sly smile curling on his lips as he saw you.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" he teased, his voice a silky whisper.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks but stood your ground. "I was just curious about what you're reading."

Loki stepped closer, the air between you charged with an electric tension. "Curiosity can be dangerous," he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours. "But I suppose I could share a secret or two."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand. The contact sent a shiver down your spine. Loki's touch was cool, yet it burned with an intensity that left you breathless. He leaned in, his lips close to your ear.

"There's much more to these stories than meets the eye," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I'm more interested in unraveling the mysteries you hold."

Your heart raced as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. The distance between you closed, and you could feel the magnetic pull of his presence. Loki's hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw.

"Tell me," he said softly, his voice like velvet. "What secrets do you hide?"

Loki's question hung in the air, the silence between you thick with anticipation. Your breath hitched as you struggled to find words. His touch was intoxicating, and the intensity of his gaze made it hard to think clearly.

"Secrets?" you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what you mean."

Loki's smile deepened, a mix of amusement and something darker.

"Oh, but I think you do," he replied.

"Everyone has secrets, things they hide even from themselves. It's what makes them intriguing."

He moved even closer, his body almost brushing against yours.

The heat from his presence was overwhelming, and you felt your resolve slipping. Loki's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck. his finger tangling gently in your hair.

"I can see it in your eyes," he murmured, his lips inches from yours. "The longing, the desire. You try to hide it, but it's there. Tell me, what is it you want?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you knew there was no use in denying it any longer. "You," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I want you, Loki."

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fierce. The world around you seemed to vanish as his kiss deepened, his hand tightening in your hair.

Loki's other hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the hard planes of his body through the thin fabric of your clothes, and it ignited a fire within you. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his tunic.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, and rested his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how long l've wanted this," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

"Then don't stop," you whispered, your voice filled with urgency. "I need you, Loki."

With a growl of desire, Loki captured your lips again, his kiss more demanding this time. He lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the bookshelf as his hands roamed over your body. You clung to him, your fingers tangled in his dark hair, lost in the sensation of his touch.

The library, with its ancient secrets and forgotten stories, became the backdrop to your passion. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, intertwined in a dance of desire and longing.

The weight of Loki's body against yours pressed you firmly against the bookshelf, and the ancient wood creaked under the strain. His kisses trailed from your lips down your neck, each touch igniting a spark that spread warmth through your entire being.

Loki's hands roamed possessively, memorizing the curves and lines of your body as if he wanted to etch them into his memory forever.

His touch was both gentle and demanding, as though he was savoring every moment but couldn't get enough.

"You drive me mad," Loki breathed against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "I've tried to resist, but it's impossible when you're near."

You gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your collarbone. "Then don't resist," you urged, your own hands exploring the lean muscles of his back. "Give in, Loki."

His response was a low, guttural sound of approval as he captured your lips once more in a searing kiss. His fingers deftly worked at the fastenings of your clothing, each piece falling away to reveal more of you. The cool air of the library contrasted sharply with the heat of his touch, making you shiver with anticipation.

Loki paused for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

There was something almost reverent in his gaze, as if he couldn't believe you were real.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “No wonder my brother is with you”

You shake off that last comment, your mind set on having Loki, even if it is just one time. You reached out, your fingers tracing the sharp angles of his jaw before moving down to the laces of his tunic. "Let me see you," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

With a smirk, Loki complied, shedding his clothes until he stood before you, every inch of him radiating power and allure. You marveled at the sight, your breath catching in your throat. His body was a masterpiece, every line and curve perfect.

“Like what you see?” He grins as he teases you.

“Yes…” You reply, running your dainty hands up his broad chest.

Loki closed the distance between you, his hands framing your face as he kissed you deeply. The hunger in his kiss matched your own, and you felt the last remnants of your self-control slip away. You wanted him, needed him, and nothing else mattered, not even your clueless boyfriend.

He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you to a nearby table that was cluttered with scrolls and books.

With a sweep of his hand, he cleared the surface, sending papers fluttering to the floor. He laid you down gently, his body covering yours as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless.

Your hands roamed over his back, your nails digging into his skin as he trailed kisses down your neck and across your chest. Every touch sent waves of pleasure through you, and you arched into him, desperate for more.

Loki's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you trembling.

Then his finger gently touches your clit, swiveling around the little bud, collecting all of your arousal at the same time. You could feel him grin against your neck when he slid a finger in, causing your back to arch, your chest pressing against his and an uncontrollable moan to fall from your lips.

“Fuck… so wet… so… tight…” he grunts to himself, “I wonder what you’d feel like around my cock…” he adds on, moving his finger at a slow— a painfully slow— pace all while curling his finger up in a “come hither” motion.

“Please…” you whine, wanting to feel more, wanting to feel him.

“So greedy… like a desperate whore…” He grunts as he adds a second finger, relishing in the feel of you clenching around him, “look at that… you’re practically sucking me in, darling…” he teases as he watches his fingers go in and out of your slick heat.

“Loki…” you whine, writhing around in his arms as your hips buck against his hand, causing the sound of slapping to ring throughout the archaic library in the most delicious way, “I’m… I’m close… please… please let me cum,” you plead him.

“Why would I stop?” He smirks wickedly as he pummels his fingers into your heat, all while curling his fingers— pressing into the right spot— causing you to fall apart around his fingers, soaking his hand.

Loki removes his hand, sucking his fingers clean— maintaining eye contact with you the entire time.

“Mmm… now I can see why Thor keeps you around…” he remarks.

“Wait— shit… Thor…” you go pale as you realize that you just cheated on your boyfriend… with his little brother, “Loki… I’m begging you…”

“No need to beg, pet. This is our dirty little secret…” He speaks in a low, rough voice.

“Thank you—”

“Only if you come by my chambers tonight… I fear I’m not done with you yet…”

——

@lokisgoodgirl @divine-knight-hand @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[orbital-inclination]

I requested more of the scenario Molt meeting og nightmare

I'm sorry for the wait anon! For a change of pace, you get a one-shot this time! word count: 3411 general content warning for canon typical violence and angst.

------------

Something grainy, like gravel and sand, crunched under the soles of his boots as he shuffled back a step. One looping tendril made contact with a roughly cut boulder behind him. The height of the stone reached his hip. Clumsily, he ran his phalanges along its surface. He stepped around it and stopped once he stood on the south side, uncertain of how to proceed from there.

It was rare that he found himself in a space so wide open without someone nearby. He’d like to think he was better at navigating now than he had been when he was younger. Yet, regardless of how much time passed, he could never seem to quite outgrow the sudden spike of anxiety he felt whenever he entered a space that seemed... empty.

 He didn’t know what he was walking towards or away from. He could be approaching a canyon for all he knew.

A steady, lonely wind howled above him. It caught the tail of his tunic and the fabric slapped against his side. Something rustled in the distance. 

The wind turned cold. 

Ley lines of magic, negative and positive, wrapped around this world in a vast net of ever-shifting ripe tides. Instinct had directed him to follow the nearest positive swell but now he felt it move again. Bending as though to make way. Just as suddenly as the air had turned cold, a well opened up, and negativity cascaded down the pit and condensed into a single point of black frost. 

A shiver ran down his spine. “Nightmare…?”

Something about Rem’s magic didn’t feel right—

“How unlike you to make the first move. Was it not enough for you to…” his brother’s voice trailed off. “You are not my brother.” 

No... no he was not. Rem’s magic felt cold, but not this cold. Though, the undercurrent of bitterness was painfully familiar. 

“… the sentiment is mutual,” Molt murmured. He steadied himself on the boulder behind him. Silently, he tried to gauge the other’s intent.

An air of suspicion and curiosity rolled underneath the cold. He had the sense he was also being appraised.

“And yet, you are Dream.”

He did not sound—did not feel happy about that.

“If it were not impossible, I would wager you were from a divergent timeline.”

“Our world had only one timeline,” Molt confirmed cautiously. His voice remained low. “… it’s tied to the multiverse itself. No resets. Just the one.”

“Ah, so you are informed,” his brother's voice mocked. “Your presence here suggests a paradox, then. For all my searching, I have never met another iteration of us who could breach the confines of their AU on their own. It seemed there was some law restricting the role of Guardian to Two.”

He nodded because that more or less described the situation back home. With a renewed sense of scrutiny, Nightmare said, “Can I assume then, that instead of your brother, you were the one who bit the apple?”

And Molt stalled. The question was so direct. It felt a bit like a verbal slap to the face. 

Nightmare hummed. “I see. That expression you’re making... It makes sense for my alternative self to have other motives if you are like this yourself.” He heard the grin in his tone, even if he could not see it. “Tell me, Dream. What do you say to adding to that collection of yours?” He— he couldn’t be serious. 

“In this multiverse, you have the opportunity to increase your power. If you collect the last apple from my brother, perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

His mouth felt suddenly dry. He had to consciously still his tentacles to keep them from lashing defensively.

“You… you want me to kill my counterpart.”

He struggled to wrap his mind around that. Less so the threat itself and more so that it was Nightmare who was asking him to do it. He felt sick.

His brother’s alternate rumbled a low laugh. “It would not be difficult for you. You dwarf him in raw power. I’m confident you could easily subdue him... Ah, but I see I cannot convince you. The thought distresses you. A pity.”

Gravel and sand crunched underfoot. The sound came quietly. “ … hmm just as I thought, you are blind.”

“...what are you doing?” 

Nightmare was amused by the question. Dread washed over him. Nightmare had been speaking to him civilly until that point, and while this mirror of his brother gave off an ambient feeling of danger, he had not taken the feeling as seriously as he should have. 

“I am considering what to do with you. Since it seems you are reluctant to cooperate. But you would be of a dull mind not to suspect that already. If you are anything like the thorn I have in my side now, I’m sure you will quickly surmise why I simply cannot let your existence go unchecked.” 

Molt slowly shuffled a step back. 

“… where do you think you will escape to? Are you even aware of what is behind you?”

Molt froze.

He sensed no one behind him but— the subtle rustle of fabric. A step was taken closer and it dawned on him that Nightmare had been trying to distract him.

Molt’s hearing was keen. It had to be. He learned to rely on it when sensing nearby emotions, and the flow of positive and negative wasn’t enough. But his haptic memory was better, and with one tentacle brushing against the boulder behind him, he knew which side he stood on and which direction he originally came from. 

He darted around the boulder, squarely placing it between himself and Nightmare. His brother’s alternate self stood still, contemplative and mildly surprised. 

“Hm. You cannot see, and yet you are able to pinpoint my position. Interesting.” 

Molt didn’t feel like providing a reply.

Nightmare didn’t move for a width of time that felt like years. And then, he vanished. The cold sucked out of the air in a blip of distorted space-time.

Alarm seized him. Given no time to think, he picked direction and distance at random and took a shortcut through. As he felt his bones materialize in reality again, a dense frame of cold magic solidified where he had stood seconds prior.

Displeasure radiated off of Nightmare in waves. “Come now. Don’t run. It’s unbecoming. We can discuss the terms of your departure from this world with maturity.”

Molt shivered. “Don’t. I would return to my reality if I knew how.”

“Then allow me to assist you,” Nightmare said, and the malice in his words sent needles crawling up his spine. He vanished again in a wash of cold. Molt leaped back, grasping at the nearest tide of positivity to carry him away.

He found his feet again on the sand. The sudden incline made him stumble. The seconds it took to catch his balance nearly cost him. A frustrated growl and the sensation of ice to his right was the only warning he had before a sharp object whistled past his skull. He teleported again and Nightmare followed. 

“Enough! Cease this childishness.” The burning cold struck his side. Molt tumbled to the ground. He rolled, gasping in pain, and launched himself to the side. “Stop! I don’t want to fight you.” A loud crack sounded where he’d just been. Gravel pelted his arm. 

“Then what happens next is your own fault,” His brother’s voice snarled.

He took another shortcut. Aiming north of the dense vortex of cold desperately trying to put some distance between himself and his brother’s counterpart. He needed that distance to escape this AU. If he attempted the jump too close to Nightmare he might unintentionally drag him along, or Nightmare would be able to sense where he went and this fight would never end. The temperature plummeted. In a split second, a cold tendril snapped around his middle. And then he was flung. His body hit the ground once, twice, and his skull was knocked against something hard. 

A hiss shuddered through his ribcage. Molt clenched his teeth as the world spun, attempting to swallow back the sound. 

“You brought this on yourself, Dream.” 

Gravel and sand crunched at a steady pace. Malice approached slowly. 

He struggled to push himself upright. The ground beneath him swayed dangerously. His tendrils lashed, writhing in defense of their host. But the ground beneath him lurched, his arms buckled, and the ground swung up to meet the side of his skull again. 

His soul pulsed so fast and hard in his chest, he thought he was going to be sick. 

“Poetic, isn’t it? I wonder... did the same desperation drive you?”

Cold wrapped around him and slammed his back into a hard, stone wall. 

Claws dug into his jaw, roughly pinning his skull to the stone slab behind him. A strained hiss tore from his bared teeth. He found the strength to wrestle one arm free and dug his claws into the wrist pinning his head down. Nightmare’s strength didn’t waver, but an involuntary noise rattled through him, a jolt that was close enough to a flinch to be nothing else. 

Faintly, Molt felt the phantom echo of a hot brand race up Nightmare’s arm, starting from where his claws dug into his wrist.

“W-why are you doing this? I am not from your timeline, so why?”

“The distinction is irrelevant,” the grip on his jaw tightened. “This fate, it’s the least you deserve. For everything you put me through. For every day I was left to defend myself while you selfishly basked in undeserved praise.” 

Exhaustion crept into his limbs. He felt weaker and heavier by the second.

“Would you have always resented me?” Molt gasped out. “If things had been different... If our lives had been better—”

Nightmare barked out a bitter laugh. “Even as you are now, you are naive. No. I cannot imagine a world where I did not hate you. For us, no other outcome was possible.” Molt flinched. “... you doubt me? Do you actually believe my alternate self doesn’t resent you?” 

The knife in his heart gave a sharp lurch. It would make sense... wouldn’t it. For all he hadn’t done, who wouldn’t resent him? 

“N-Night...”

“You neglected your responsibilities, Dream. You were selfish. I’ve always wondered if you had known what I stood to lose that day. If you had known what they had planned to do—” “Nightmare!” Molt snapped. He was terrified, his soul shook, and he was painfully cold. “That was my home too!” Something snapped. He felt the abrupt, quaking shift in Nightmare’s demeanor. Rage colored all rational thought. Molt didn’t know what he intended to do and he didn’t have time to think about it. That rage solidified into a single, sharp tool. Malice soaked the thing so vividly, he could almost see it. A serrated bone dagger.

Molt jerked his head to the side, the claws on his jaw slipped, and something sharp and blisteringly cold scraped the side of his skull.

He might have blacked out for a few seconds. He couldn’t be sure. One moment, his vision was black. Then it was white. He’d yanked a tentacle free in the next. A resounding crack thundered through the stone lab behind him. Nightmare’s grip on his head slipped, caught off guard. Molt kicked his shin, and as Nightmare staggered, snarling, he flash-stepped out of immediate reach. 

A safe distance away he sank to the ground. 

Head swimming, he lifted a shaky hand to the side of his skull. He felt bone. The dry, clean surface of a malar bone. The muddy, blurred shape of his palm swam in and out of focus. 

Nightmare stood very still for a long moment. His emotions felt stunted and Molt could not identify the feeling that had rendered him so still. Moments ago, Nightmare had been content to hurt him in every possible way.

“Get up,” Nightmare said. And he couldn’t identify the emotion behind that command either. It felt like anger but brittle. “I said get up!”

A tremble racked through his body. He felt a forbidden spark of anger ignite in his throat and shakily rose to his feet.

As he slowly lifted his gaze, palm still pressed to the side of his skull, he saw black tar and went still. 

It was one thing to guess the shape of the magic that had tossed him around the field like a rag doll, but it was another thing entirely, to see it.

The ground felt like it was tilting. Nightmare was taking too long to respond. And though he hid it well, he was clearly in pain. Head swimming. Pounding. Red-hot needles. Nausea pricked through his brother’s bones.

Nightmare took one step closer. Molt flinched back, and a bitter smile crawled over his brother’s teeth—

“NOT SO FAST!”

A sharp ping. His vision was eclipsed in hazy blue. Before Molt could blink, he found himself yanked to the side, several feet away.

He was released, gently at that, and stumbled once as gravity resumed its normal weight. The world erupted in a cacophony of noise. With color and light sloshing together, it was difficult to make out shape and form, but the stirring magic immediately in front of him was familiar.

“Blue?” Molt whispered, but like Nightmare his magic felt just slightly off. The hope in his soul withered. He was surrounded by strangers.

“MWEH HEH HEH FEAR NOT STRANGE INTERDIMENSIONAL CITIZEN! WE ARE HERE TO SAVE THE DAY. NIGHTMARE! YOU WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH THIS!”

Whatever his brother’s mirror said in reply it was drowned out by noise.

“Wait.”

But his voice was too low. Too quiet. And his plea went ignored.

Too much happened at once after that. The Swap Sans launched himself into the fight. Light. Movement. A flash of white. Bones summoned then shattered by the furious sweep of a black arm. Nightmare’s strength was weakening. The balance had tipped. And battling three by himself? Nightmare couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Most of the fight happened too fast for his barely stable eyelight to track.

So he did what he always did when the world around him became too chaotic to follow. He reached for the cold pitch of his brother’s magic. 

He followed the current of cold as it funneled into a singular point. Pushed back, and back again by a burning white star. Hope. Concentration. Concern for the other, yet the courage to see his actions through to the end. The familiarity of the magic here was disconcerting. But his head already ached something awful and he didn't think his nausea could get much worse. The phantom lashes he’d endured at Nightmare’s hand still burned. But... Nightmare. He felt his twin’s exhaustion, felt the unsteady slip to his heel, and his alternate was closing in now and—

The shortcut was rough. Poorly executed. And finding his balance on the balls of his feet was not fun. He raised his arm defensively, anticipating the attack seconds before, and found his hand closing around the pole of a golden staff. It smacked into his palm with a solid clank. It hurt only a little bit. His own magic absorbed the brunt of the blow to feed itself. To lessen some of his own pain. And staring into the wide eyes of his own face was... 

Dizzying. 

Everything was dizzying. 

That startled look melted into one of fear, and it didn’t make sense. His own rib cage hitched, sharing that fear second hand and then it dawned on him how this might look. Oh. He thought. …oh.

He released his counterpart's weapon and yanked his hand back. The other skeleton flash stepped out of reach, his soul pulsing with the rhythm of a terrified rabbit.

Within the pool of frigid cold at his back, he felt a spark of something that felt suspiciously like gratitude. Nightmare struggled to stand for a moment, winded, then laughed. The sound was not pleasant. “Recklessness must be a universal trait.”

“That’s enough,” Molt rasped. “Please. Just stop…”

“You should have taken my offer when you had the chance,” Nightmare sneered, words bitting. But more than anything, they felt defensive. The darkness pinched into a small, black star, and then he was gone.

“I SEE. WAS I MISTAKEN THEN? ARE YOU AND NIGHTMARE ALLIES?” Blue had taken a defensive stance beside his teammate. His weapon was drawn, but he didn’t move yet. His soul hummed with grim focus. The suspicion hurt. 

Molt struggled to speak for several precious seconds. Unsettled. He was reeling from the fight, from everything he had learned about this reality and the cruelty of his brother's words and actions and he was trying ever so hard not to let a tremble snake its way into his voice. It was very hard... to hear someone say those awful things in Rem’s voice.

He shook his head and said softly. “We aren’t.”

Blue’s brow furrowed. “THEN, WHY DID YOU DEFEND HIM? 

The words ‘because he is my brother?’ were on the edge of his teeth but the hostile edge to Blue’s magic and tone made him pause. It was less a question and more of an accusation. And that answer wouldn’t have been exactly true besides. 

The tendril on his back coiled defensively. 

He hadn’t stopped to think before he leapt in front of Nightmare. It hadn’t been a “should I or shouldn’t I” situation in his mind. In that moment he was unable to look past the pain and hurt his brother’s mirror was experiencing. In that moment, the distinction didn’t matter. He had to put a stop to it, that’s all. He couldn’t fight his brother. In any form he took. He just couldn’t do it. It reminded him of too much. And he couldn’t stand to watch that either. 

But how could he possibly explain that? 

A step behind his teammate, Dream was trying to calm down. Blue’s presence helped but he was struggling. Molt took a step back. He was causing someone pain and distress. He didn’t want that. Blue’s stance shifted. Bracing.

That felt like betrayal too. Molt swallowed something bitter behind his teeth and tried not to think of it that way. Ignored that small part of him that hissed and felt a little bit angry. It didn’t make sense. He knew the person in front of him wasn’t his friend.

“FRIEND, I WANT TO GIVE YOU THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT BUT... YOU ARE ACTING SUSPICIOUSLY.”

“I’ll leave,” Molt said. His head was pounding, and the last thing he wanted was to be dragged into another fight. “Wait...” Dream took a breath. “You’re hurt. Stay for a minute, let’s talk.” “DREAM IS RIGHT, POTENTIAL ENEMY OR NOT, IT WOULDN’T BE RIGHT TO LEAVE YOU THIS WAY. NOT TO FEAR HOWEVER, I AM ALWAYS PREPARED!” “It’s okay. I don’t need candy,” Molt said and felt vaguely like he was reading the lines of a script. If Rem or any of the others were here, they’d be calling his bluff. “Then, what do you need?”

“Somewhere calm, with hope. That’s all.”

The two exchanged a look. Surprise, suspicion, resignation, dread. “I SEE. SO YOU ARE LIKE DREAM THEN. BUT SURELY THAT'S NOT ENOUGH. I... I CANNOT SEEM TO CHECK YOU FOR SOME REASON, BUT YOU DO NOT LOOK WELL.”

Blue seemed to ask to Dream something silently. Concern. Suspicion. Acceptance. Dream sighed. “I know somewhere. It’ll be okay. We’ll be keeping an eye on him together, right? The place I’m thinking of is isolated so...”

“IT’S SETTLED THEN.” he finally dismissed his weapon, and Molt felt the tendrils on his back slowly lower. “SO THEN, NEW FRIEND, WHAT DO YOU SAY TO A TRUCE? WILL YOU COME WITH US?”

He gauged their intent for a moment. Rem had sometimes remarked that his empathy made him gullible. But Molt was tired, and sore, and aching. The others weren’t here. And he let them make decisions for him too much anyway. He hated to admit it but Nightmare was right. Dream wasn’t a physical threat to him. He was scared and trying so hard to be brave, and Molt was trying equally hard not to feel rattled.

“Okay,” he said.

Blue made a noise, something between acknowledgment and mild confusion. Dream offered a strained smile. He supposed they had a lot of questions.

[ticklishshenanigansau]

LaughterLand - Chapter 6: Not Ticklish

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Kitty)

Sans could feel Papyrus's body jolt in surprise as he hid behind him. The enormous cat continued to stare at them. His eyes were intense and seemed to stare directly into their souls.

"S-Sans…," Papyrus stammered. "Did that cat just...?"

"Speak?" Sans finished his brother's sentence. "Yeah, it just spoke."

This prompted a low chuckle from the red, grinning cat. "But of course I can talk," he said, slinking closer to the pair. His voice was deep and he carried a posh kind of accent. "Look at the two of you, you look as though you've never come across a talking cat before."

"I mean … one or two maybe...?" Sans replied, the image of a group of Temmies invading his mind. "But … even where we're from it's not that common."

"I see … well how very droll," the cat mused. "And where exactly are the two of you from?"

"The Underground Realm of Monster-Kind!" Papyrus replied enthusiastically. Sans immediately shot him a look, causing him to pull back. Clearly, Papyrus hadn't learned his lesson about trying to make friends in this place.

"Monster-Kind, you say?" The cat sat down in front of them, his intense green eyes looking them up and down. "Well you'll certainly find different kinds of monsters around these parts if you stick around long enough." The cat began licking its front paw nonchalantly.

"We don't plan to," Sans answered, sounding blunt. "I think Papyrus and I have had quite enough of this crazy place. So if you could just point us towards the CORRECT realm of monsters that would be great."

The cat scoffed as it switched its attention towards its other paw. "My dear fellow, I can assure you that I know not of any other realm but this one."

"Oh, well, that's just great." Sans rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Then what kind of monster are you supposed to be?"

"Me?" The cat stopped grooming himself momentarily to look back at the two of them, expression giving one of bemusement.

"Yeah, that's a big grin you got on your face, what are you, some kind of Cheshire Cat?" Sans noted. "I suppose you expect us to believe that we ended up in Wonderland?"

The Cat let out another low chuckle. "Oh, you could say that." He stood back up to stretch himself out. "It's certainly a KIND of Wonderland, if that makes sense."

"Oh wowie…," Papyrus quietly marveled. "Does this mean we can expect tea and croquet somewhere down the line?"

"I'm afraid not, dear skeleton." The Cheshire Cat moved to get a better look at Papyrus, it was difficult with Sans doing his best to stand directly between them.

"Whereas, that Wonderland relied on the power of wonder and curiosity to sustain itself…," he turned to look both skeletons in the eyes, his eternal grin seeming to widen even further, "the primary food source for this land is … laughter."

Something about the way the Cat had revealed that statement made both brothers shiver. Especially from the way he was intensely looking at the two of them.

"Every living creature here…," the Cat continued, "...gets its food source from drawing out the laughter of poor souls who find themselves trapped here."

Suddenly it all made sense. What the Ghost Children had meant by the two of them being their 'food', why the animals and even the plant-life was after them. All this time they were all feeding on their laughter by tickling it out of them, suddenly the Cheshire Cat was beginning to look even more intimidating than he was before.

"S-So…," Papyrus stuttered. "Everyone here … feeds on … laughter?"

"Why, yes," grinned the Cheshire Cat. "And you see, that is precisely what brings me here. I could hear the most delicious-sounding laughter I believe I have ever heard in my entire being."

The brothers instinctively took a step back as the Cheshire Cat started to move in closer, his stance becoming lower as he moved into a creeping position like he was getting ready to pounce.

"It has been so very long since I've had my last meal…." He arched his hips slightly, shoulders hiked up, and paws reaching forward. He was going to jump. "And I am just so … agonizingly … hungry."

Sans gripped onto Papyrus's hand, squeezing it tightly as a silent signal to be ready. The cat opened up its lips, Sans immediately grabbed onto his brother to turn tails and start running.

The cat began to whistle his eerie song again. Sans and Papyrus barely got out three steps before they felt themselves being grabbed from above by the all-too-familiar feather-vines.

"AAH!! NO! NOT AGAIN!!" Papyrus screamed once he felt their familiar tangle wrap around his arms pulling him back.

But this time the vines didn't move in to tickle, only to hold them in place. Nevertheless, the brothers pulled and struggled hard to break free, knowing full well that this could turn worse at any moment. The cat's whistling came to an end as it approached them once again. Once he had concluded his song, the vines slowed to a stop, but still kept the brothers restrained in place.

Sans stopped struggling to notice this. He realized that the vines hadn't just come out of nowhere, it was the Cheshire Cat's whistle that had called and commanded them.

"How.… How did you do that?" Sans couldn't help but stare in awe, in spite of his predicament. He had never heard of this kind of magic before, and his curiosity was peaked alongside his sense of dread.

"Ah yes, you're probably wondering just why all of the wildlife scampered away after hearing my little tune, aren't you?" The Cat moved to face the two of them as they dangled there, tied up by their torsos and wrists over their heads.

"Well let me tell you. It's not any kind of spell or magical incantation. But it's more or less an act of persuasion," the Cat explained, his grin starting to take a more malicious shape. "A formal mode of announcing my arrival. A means of letting them know to back away slowly … because this prey belongs to me."

It dawned on Sans just how powerful this Cat really was. The only reason the animals let them go at all was because they didn't want to get in his way. If he was powerful enough to command the plant-life to hold them down the way they were, Sans was beginning to realize just how careful they had to be. This creature was cunning, he wasn't going to let an outside force come to stop him once he had begun to feed on their laughter. So if there was any hope of getting out of this situation, Sans knew that he couldn't allow him to get started, he had to stall him somehow.

"Well … that's not very generous." Thinking on his toes, Sans thought up a plan. "I mean … don't you think you ought to save some for other starving creatures around here?"

The Cat blinked. Its grin never faltered, but his expression changed to one of slight confusion. "And just what do you mean by that?" he inquired. Even Papyrus had stopped struggling to hear where Sans was going with this.

"I mean, I can't even remember the last time me and Pap had a decent meal around here," Sans replied, trying to sound convincing. "That's why we're out here too! We came looking for the sound of that wild laughter, was hoping maybe you could help us out?"

Even Sans had to admit that this was going to be a stretch to pull off. But he figured if they could stall long enough to figure out how to get away, it would be worth playing along. The Cat eyed them, knowingly.

"Oh, really?" he mused. "And here I thought you had said you had come from the Underground Realm of Monsters."

Sans swallowed, but thankfully his quick thinking came up with a good answer. "What? Do you think your realm is the only one that chows down on a chuckle or two?" The Cat's intense eyes were still burning into him, Sans continued to try and roll with his lies. "The Underground's … laugh supply … was in pretty bad shape. So we went looking for food elsewhere … then somehow we ended up here!"

If Papyrus could face-palm right now, he would. Instead, he just stared blankly at his brother, jaw nearly on the floor. Still, Sans went on. "We had heard that hysterical laughter you were talking about and thought maybe those crazy monkeys might have something to do with it … but then you scared them away and … here we are."

The Cheshire Cat sat down, humoring Sans by hearing him out. But still, even he couldn't help but chuckle at this ridiculous idea. "Very, very interesting," the Cat sneered. "But I think we both know that you're lying through that … rather remarkable smile of yours."

"Wait, hang on a minute!" Sans tried to pull his arms loose with his hands open in surrender, but was again reminded of his predicament. "If you let us go, maybe we can help you find where it came from!"

He tensed up as the cat approached his feet with a big fluffy paw stretched wide open. "Oh, but I think I've already found it," the Cat raised its paw, splaying out Sans's toes. "Now it's time to enjoy a good meal."

"Wait! You're wasting your time anyways!" Sans spoke without thinking. "Paps and I aren't even ticklish!" Sans could feel Papyrus's body jolt in surprise right next to him. What is Asgore's name had he just gotten them into?

The cat looked up, his eyes widened with delight. "Not ticklish, you say?" his grin suddenly looked even more sinister to the brothers. "Well, that would certainly prove that you were beings such as myself, for monsters of LaughterLand cannot feed on their own laughter." He turned away from the trapped skeletons, gears starting to turn as he was thinking.

"Sans, what are you doing?!" Papyrus harshly whispered, once the Cat seemed to be out of earshot.

"I had to think of something!" Sans quietly shot back. "Now just keep it together. Maybe if we can convince him that we are who I say we are, he'll let us go and we can find a way out of here."

"Are you sure?" Papyrus asked nervously. "That didn't work the last time, what about your … y'know…." He tried leaning in as close as he could to try to whisper even quieter. "...your secret sweet spot?"

Papyrus had a point, it was hard enough holding it in when the animals were going for their usual spots. But Sans had not forgotten how one swipe against the grooves of his back had given them away. Somehow, Sans just had to keep the Cat away from that spot, find a way to draw him away from that area.

"Don't worry," Sans whispered. "I think I have an idea, just follow my lead."

"I … I don't know, Sans," Papyrus replied as he stared at the enormous cat. Everything about him made him the ideal tickling monster. From his overtly fluffy tail and paws, to his perfectly tufted ears and extra long whiskers. Even if he had managed to avoid the major tickle spots on Sans, Papyrus wasn't sure that he would be able to handle what the cat had to throw at him.

"Pap, listen to me," Sans tried to look his brother in the eye. "We had to deal with a whole group of animals back there, he's just one cat. We can do this."

The Cat finally turned back to them. "If you're not as ticklish as I perceive you both to be … well then how about a little wager?" He narrowed his eyes knowingly. "If you can prove to me that what you're saying is true, then I shall gladly release you. Then perhaps we can pursue the source of our nourishment together. However…."

He approached them again, his green eyes seeming to peer straight into the depths of their souls. "Should you both prove to be as ticklish as I KNOW the two of you to be … you will remain here as my main source of food … for all of time."

Sans and Papyrus gave each other worried glances. Although they tried to keep up the facade of not being nervous, they could both see it in each other just how terrified they were. They both knew that if either of them failed, there would be no escape. But if they refused to accept this challenge then there would still be no escape. As much as a lose-lose situation this was, both of them understood that at least if they accepted, there was a small glimmer of hope. Acknowledging this, they gave each other a small, hesitant nod of approval.

"It's a deal," Sans said coolly.

"Wonderful," replied the Cheshire Cat as he once again approached Sans's feet. "Shall we begin with you then?"

He used one paw to splay out Sans's toes and the other paw to gingerly glide down his left sole. Sans immediately sucked on his teeth trying to hold in his breath. His ribs already felt the familiar ache from trying to hold it in earlier, but he ignored it and tried to stay focused. 

With the animals, there was only an idea that they would let him and Papyrus go if they stayed quiet. With the cat, that promise was absolute. He just had to stay concentrated on that. But even he had to admit, staying concentrated on anything was proving to be difficult with the Cat's extra fluffy paws slowly dragging down his foot.

"I do so love starting from the bottom up," the Cat remarked as he started fluffing up towards the balls of Sans's feet. "Of course, when you're as close to the ground as I am, you can only go up from here."

Sans trembled slightly as he felt the ticklish contact on that part of his foot. It tickled, but he came to realize that harsher tickling seemed to be more effective on the balls of his feet rather than the light knismesis the Cat was presenting. He took small comfort in it being easier to hold in, despite his light trembling. However, it was quickly shattered once the cat had moved up to tickle his toes.

Light tickling was certainly more effective there. Sans gritted his teeth, eyes growing wide with panic and he froze in terror. He felt his fingers start to twitch and clench tightly as a means to distract himself. The Cat seemed to notice immediately as he let out a low chuckle.

"Ah, a bit sensitive around here are we?" He used both of his fluffy paws on Sans's poor toes. One tickling beneath and in between, while the other traced various shapes over the tops.

"N-Nope!" Sans stuttered quickly through gritted teeth. "J-Just.… Just don't … like being … t-touched there." It was so hard to speak, he could feel the laughter threatening to burst out of him with every syllable. "It…. I-It feels … c-creepy...!"

"Hmm … well I think it's a bit more than that." The Cat grinned as it dug a little further into his toes. Sans swallowed hard, he clenched his fists so tightly they started to hurt. He tried to overpower the ticklish sensations with the pain in his hands. It didn't do much to distract him, but it was enough to help him hold on until the cat stopped.

Sans breathed out slowly, careful not to make a big deal about catching his breath as the cat moved on to Papyrus. "Well, how about you?" The Cat walked behind Papyrus's legs and started brushing the back of his knees with his tail. "You wouldn't be sensitive around here would you?"

Papyrus quickly gasped, but composed himself enough to stop. This didn't go unnoticed as the Cat turned to face him. "What was that?" the Cat teased. "Are you ticklish here?"

"Oh-Oh, no! Not at all!" Papyrus stammered. "Y-You just startled me, that's all. Wasn't expecting … that."

"Hmm, we'll see." The Cat turned to brush the front of Papyrus's knees before moving towards the back again, noticing that Papyrus became more and more tense from the back.

With the Cat paying more attention to the back of Papyrus's knees, Papyrus was able to show more expression in his face when the feline turned away from him. He clenched his teeth as they were locked into a helpless grin, and he shut his eyes tightly. Just as he feared, the Cat's fluffy tail was horrendously ticklish, and Papyrus felt like he could detect every little wispy hair as it traveled back and forth across the pits of his knees. 

Papyrus opened his eyes enough to give Sans a helpless glance. Sans returned his brother's worried expression, remembering just how close Papyrus had come to breaking with the animals. Still, Sans tried to convey some amount of encouragement through his eyes, though it was unclear if it was received.

Papyrus let out a puff of air as the Cat returned to face him, momentarily halting the attack on his legs. He grinned up at Papyrus, head cocked slightly off to the side, as if trying to appear cute.

"Are you quite certain your legs aren't ticklish, dear fellow?" he mused. "You seemed to be quite tense back there."

"W-Well … you know…," Papyrus stammered. "I-I don't know of anyone who enjoys having the back of their legs brushed by a cat tail." Even Sans had to admit, that was a fair point. It was well-played.

"Indeed…," the Cat replied as he hoisted his front legs up to lean on the front of Papyrus's right leg. Lifting one paw up, a single claw protruded outwards as the Cat began eyeballing Papyrus's knee. "I'm truly sorry about this, then." A sharp shiver ran up Papyrus's leg as the Cat began tracing small circles around his knee with his claw.

Papyrus tensed up as hard as he could, trying not to make it look too obvious. But the horrible tingling of his knee was quickly becoming too much to simply ignore. He forced himself to stay so still that he could feel his eye and the lining of his jaw start to twitch. 

He tried Sans's method of clenching his fists together, but could still feel his breath come out in small bursts. He wanted so badly to kick his leg, or to at least pull on the vine restraining him, but he dared not move a metaphoric muscle.

"Are you quite certain that you're not ticklish 'round the knees?" the Cat teased. His suggestion, and mention of the dreaded 't' word nearly forcing a large huff of breath from Papyrus's throat. Papyrus didn't dare open his mouth to speak, so instead shook his head back and forth rapidly. Though he forced his mouth shut, his inside voice was begging and screaming for the Cat to move on.

At last after what seemed like forever, the Cat hopped back down on the ground releasing Papyrus's knee. "I have to say," the Cat said after checking the sharpness of his claw. "I'm impressed with your ability to hold back … truly I am." He moved back over to Sans. Sans's soul accelerated so quickly, he was afraid the Cat could hear it. "But … I'm afraid you're just prolonging the inevitable. I'll get you to crack … I always do."

"There's nothing to crack," Sans said adamantly, though Papyrus could still see the anxiety in his brother's expression.

The Cat began to whistle again. Sans and Papyrus jolted in fear as they felt the vines begin to shake. But the Cat wasn't commanding them to move, instead a separate vine descended from the trees. It carried a gigantic leaf amongst its feathers, almost as big as the Cheshire Cat. As he wrapped up his whistling, the Cat proceeded to step onto the leaf like a giant abnormal step ladder. The leaf raised itself very slightly with the Cat sitting on top of it.

Soon Sans found just where the Cat was going to target next … his hips. He curled his fingers in anticipation as the Cat reached out its paws and started mindlessly batting and tickling along his hip bones.

Sans shut his eyes tightly, fighting back the urge to throw his head back. He could feel his body starting to curl in on itself. He breathed out steadily, painfully forcing himself to stay still. It was so hard to ignore the soft bristling fur teasing along somewhere so sensitive. But at the very least, Sans was grateful that he was the one receiving the hip treatment rather than his brother. He was well aware of Papyrus's extra sensitive sweet spot where his hips met his spine, and he knew that if the Cat figured it out they would be goners.

Still, his ribs ached badly from the large swallows of air. It was painful, but no amount of discomfort could completely distract Sans from the agony of being tickled like this. 

"Why don't you breathe?" the Cat cooed. "Surely you must want to let it out by now … don't you?" Sans knew that he was just toying with him, he wasn't about to let it distract him. The Cat let up and stepped his front paws back onto the oversized leaf. Sans opened his eyes and let out a shallow and steady breath. But the feeling of dread once again picked up once Sans peered over at the Cat to see it holding up its claw.

"Your brother over there seemed to have quite a bit of fun with this." He grinned sinisterly. "Let's see how you enjoy it, hmm?"

He hopped back onto Sans's spine and began swirling his claw around Sans's hips. Making little circles and drawing back and forth across the bones.

The tingling sharpness was absolutely horrible, Sans could feel his ribs physically start to shake and he held his breath. He tried everything he could think of to distract from it. Grabbing onto the vine, curling and twisting his toes, looking around in every direction besides where the tickling was happening. Nothing would alleviate the horrible sensations on his hips. He couldn't even fully grasp how something too sharp could tickle him this much. Every twist and turn that the dreaded claw took served as a new kind of laughter for Sans to painfully hold back.

Until at last it was over, Sans's skull felt so heavy with stress that he couldn't stop it from dropping. He realized his face had grown hot and that meant he was probably blushing hard. Still he tried his best to shake it off.

"S-See...?" he breathed out. "I'm .. not … t-ticklish...." When Sans lifted his head he jolted in surprise, his soul nearly jumped into his throat. The Cheshire Cat was right there in his face, apparently he had moved the leaf to elevate himself closer to Sans without him noticing. His grin was still unwavering, Sans realized that he hadn't seen it drop, not once, and it was haunting.

"I do wish that you would give up this charade and give me what I want." 

The Cheshire Cat hopped off of the leaf back onto the ground. As he made his way back over to Papyrus, the vine with the leaf followed him like some kind of servant. Sans tensed, fearing for Papyrus and the possible discovery of his brother's sweet spot. The Cat hopped back onto the leaf as it lifted him off the ground once again. Sans held his breath as he stopped directly in front of Papyrus's midsection.

"Normally, I'm used to getting what I want out of a squishy belly," the Cat said after examining Papyrus. "But I suppose this bony spine will have to do, won't it?" Before waiting for Papyrus's response, the Cat turned and began brushing his tail against the front of his spine like a giant feather duster.

Sans breathed a quiet, yet anxious sigh of relief. He was grateful that the Cat had not intended on playing with his brother's hips in the same way he had done to him. But at the same time he knew that brushing along his spine was still dangerously close to that forbidden spot.

Papyrus's neck lurched forward, eyes bulging out of his head. Sans could see his hips starting to squirm as he fought the urge to twist them. His legs shook with tension and Sans could see him clamping down hard on his jaw trying to keep it all in. It may not have been his worst spot that the cat was going after, but it was still a bad spot nonetheless.

The cat began to switch up its brushing style. First by going back and forth, then by bristling up against one side then the other. By the time his tail was switching between quick flicks and slow agonizing strokes, Papyrus had tears in the corners of his sockets. He shut them tightly to keep them hidden away.

Despite his ever-growing anxiety, Sans marveled at how quiet Papyrus was forcing himself to be. Even with a spot as bad as his spine, his brother hadn't let out a single squeak or groan, no matter how badly he clearly wanted to. But even then he knew it was only a matter of time before the Cat would hit a spot that would break them, he had to really think hard about his next move.

"You might as well give in now." The Cat looked back at the brothers. "Nobody in LaughterLand can hold it all in … not forever." As Sans stared back at the Cat, he could sense just the tiniest fragment of tiredness in his expression. It was clear that the Cat was beginning to grow weary of this game he was playing with the two of them, and was getting frustrated for not being able to get what he wanted from them.

At last, he stopped brushing Papyrus's spine. Papyrus couldn't help it, he let out an exhausted breath of relief, the Cat turned to face him upon hearing this.

"Getting tired are we?" The Cat continued to grin wickedly. "Good. You'll be that much easier to break."

The Cat returned to Sans, and again the leaf followed and this time perched him up a little higher. Sans figured the next spot to go would be the ribcage. It was awful, but he knew that if he could just focus on trying to breathe through it, he would make it.

"Like I said," Sans replied lowly, "there's nothing to break. You're just wasting your time with us while the real source of food is getting away."

"Perhaps," the Cat purred. To Sans's surprise, the leaf had moved him to the back of the ribs rather than the front. Then it hit him, his soul started pulsating so fast he thought it would burst. It wasn't the ribs that the Cat was targeting next.

"I do wonder if the upper backbone would be more effective than the front of the spine,"

Sans gulped hard, it was time to put his impromptu plan into action. This unfortunately meant putting Papyrus back into the line of fire. Sans hated it, but he figured as long as it kept the Cat distracted from exploiting both of their sweet spots it would be worth it. He took in a breath, he had to choose his words carefully.

"Hey, Cheshire," Sans whispered as he felt his shirt being lifted up. "Just between you and me, I think my bro's been keeping a secret." The Cheshire Cat stopped and looked up at him with an intrigued stare.

"Go on…," the Cheshire Cat mused.

"I think his real sweet spot is the back of his skull." 

Sans wasn't actually sure if Papyrus was ticklish there or not. In fact, he wasn't sure if there even was a spot on him that wasn't ticklish. But it was his best guess on where Papyrus might be the least sensitive. At least that way his brother could sustain a break while drawing the Cat away from the grooves of his back.

"Really?" The Cat's curiosity was peaked. So he immediately jumped off of the leaf to return to Papyrus.

Papyrus was so busy catching his breath that he hadn't even noticed the interaction between the two of them, so he was rightfully confused upon seeing the Cat come back to him after not giving Sans another turn.

"Wh-What…. What are you doing?" Papyrus panted.

The Cat didn't answer but instead eagerly hopped back onto the leaf, which took him up to meet the back of his skull. The Cat turned his body to give Papyrus's head a quick brush. Papyrus jerked in surprise, but there was no laughter. Confused, the Cat brushed back and forth again and again. Sans looked on, hopeful that he had been right about his brother's so-called tickle spot.

Papyrus couldn't help but twitch with every stroke of the tail. It was ticklish, but not enough to make him want to burst out laughing like with his feet or spine. If anything, he was fighting back the urge to twist his head and neck around to relieve the irritation. 

But more than anything, Papyrus was still confused, and still exhausted from having to put up with the torture on his spine earlier. Why would the Cat skip over Sans completely? Why go to the very top, when he had been on a streak of working his way up their bodies?

Having had enough, the Cat stopped brushing and turned back to the younger skeleton. "Hmm … well that's interesting," he said as he laid his body down on the leaf. His green eyes looking Papyrus up and down suspiciously.

"What? What's going on?" Papyrus asked nervously.

"Your brother had mentioned something about your skull being the worst of your spots," the Cat replied, nonchalantly licking his paw.

"He did WHAT?!"

Papyrus looked over at Sans in anger. He had not seen the earlier interaction where the Cat had been so dangerously close to his brother's secret sweet spot. So to Papyrus it looked like Sans was trying to get out of his turn by pinning a different spot on him, that cheater! Sans stared wide-eyed at his brother's glare, honestly unaware if he was seriously upset or if this was still part of the act.

"Well, I can assure you that my skull is not ticklish!" Papyrus turned to the Cat, a mischievous smile forming on his face. "Unlike my brother's ribs that is!"

Sans jaw dropped. "Papyrus! What the heck, dude?!" Unlike Sans’s ploy, Papyrus absolutely KNEW that Sans's ribs were horrendously sensitive. He couldn't believe that Papyrus would betray him like that. Papyrus glared back at him.

"What? You sent him over here to me!" Papyrus accused. Sans groaned loudly, trying as quietly as he could to explain the plan. 

"Pap! Don't you get it?! I was trying to lure him away from my—AGGH!"

Sans let out a startled cry as he suddenly felt the cat's fluffy paws start digging into his ribs. As the brothers argued, the Cat had snuck up behind him with the leaf to get at his ribs.

"Ooh, that's the most reaction I've gotten out of either one of you boys," the Cat teased. He turned to wriggle his tail under Sans's shirt to brush the underside of the ribcage, making Sans squirm. "Got any more tips by chance?"

"Mnh...! Hnnh!! Y-Yeah...!" Sans struggled to speak as he felt his ribs being tickled from every side. At this point he couldn't help but jerk around, he lost the chance to gain his composure before being tickled again.

"Y.… Y-You missed out … on—Hrnk! P-Pahap's t-toes...!" Sans was upset with Papyrus, and with his judgment being clouded by anger and the ticklish sensations, he spat out a really bad spot on his brother.

He panted hard once the cat pulled out his tail and the rib-tickling had ceased. The Cat slinked its way back over to Papyrus and pawed at his toes in the same way he had done to Sans in the beginning.

Losing himself as well, Papyrus threw his head back, tugging at the vines that held up his arms.

"W-Well...!" he choked out through holding back laughter. "My-My brohother's u-underarms—AGH! Are-Are t-ten times as … t-ticklish!"

Before they knew it, both Sans and Papyrus were locked in a battle of confessions. As soon as the Cat started tickling one of them, they would confess a true tickle spot for the other.

"P-Papyrus … has a t-ticklish neheck!!"

"Sans h-hates it … behihind the … knees!!"

"Y-You thought m-my ribs were … bad yohou sh-should see his!!"

"Sans has t-ticklish … cheekbohones!!"

"P-Papyrus is t-ticklish thehere too!!"

Finally Papyrus had had enough, before the Cat even had a chance to come back his way, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"SANS'S WORST SPOT ARE THE GROOVES THAT RUN ALONG HIS BACKBONE!"

There was a moment of silence, Papyrus's voice seemed to echo through the forest. Sans's eye sockets widened to nearly the size of dinner plates. Papyrus looked at the unimaginable fear in his brother's face and realized just how bad of a mistake he had made. He gasped sharply.

"Oh … oh no! What have I done?" he muttered to himself.

The Cat gleefully returned to his leaf, and rose back up to Sans's upper backbone, chuckling lowly.

"So that's what started this little rift between the two of you," the Cat cooed as he lifted Sans's shirt once again. This time Sans couldn't help but whimper, this was it. His worst spot was going to give them away again! The worst part being that there was absolutely nothing he could do to protect it.

"I would say I'd make this quick, but well…." The Cat readied his tail, Sans shut his eyes and prepared for the worst. "...I'm just so hungry that I don't think I'll be able to control myself."

"WAIT!" Papyrus called out. The Cat froze, and Sans opened his eyes to look at his brother.

"There's a…." Papyrus gulped loudly. "An even worse spot than that."

"Oh?" the Cat let Sans's shirt slip back down as he turned to look at Papyrus. "And where might that be?"

"On me," Papyrus replied bravely.

"Pap...?" Sans began, fearing for what he was about to say next.

"My hips," Papyrus confessed, hanging his head. "The area where the spine meets the hips, that's my worst spot. So please, leave Sans alone."

"NO! PAPYRUS DON'T!" 

Sans's body tried to leap forward, as if he had forgotten all about being restrained.

The Cat let out a haughty laugh through his teeth as he leapt down to go after Papyrus. "I knew it," he sneered. "You familial types are all the same, you do whatever you can to help each other. But in reality … you've just doomed the both of you."

As the Cat leapt back onto the leaf, Papyrus looked at Sans with an expression that tried to convey comfort.

"It-It's okay, Sans," Papyrus stammered, trying to be brave. "It's fine … this is my fault so…." He winced as he felt the Cat's front paws land onto his hips, and start inching their way towards his spot.

"L-Let me be the one who gives us away … this time...!"

The Cat reached Papyrus's sweet spot, and the entire forest echoed with the sound of his screaming laughter.

***

As Gaster had turned his back to read off his lab worksheets, he looked back to see something peculiar. A special enemy Temmie was curled up between Sans and Papyrus' still-unconscious bodies. It was purring lightly as it was attempting to take a nap between the two of them.

"Hey! How did you get down here?!" Gaster bellowed, waking the little monster from its rest.

"Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here!" Gaster rolled up his worksheets and attempted to swat at it.

The Temmie leapt from the metal tables and scampered off towards the lab entrance with a shrill little, 

"Hooooooiiiiiiii!!"

Gaster sighed deeply. "Must have left the door open," he muttered. "Just fantastic, I'll never be able to get this Temmie fur out of anything."

If anything, Gaster was at least grateful that neither of his sons bore allergies to cat-like monsters.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Saved Part 2

Part 2 – Sihtric x reader

Authors note: while rewatching the Season 2 of TLK and going wild with exploring my newly acquired skill of taking and editing screenshots I became obsessed with the idea of writing my own version of how Sihtric met Uhtred. The story seems somehow complete, but from the other side there is still something missing. I am thinking about an epilogue…

I hope you will like it.

Summary: reader is Uhtred’s sister and a skilled healer. She travels with her brother’s men and after the unsuccessful attempt on Uhtred’s life gets curious about the young prisoner, the sole Dane from the group of assailants that is left alive.

Word Count: 2,615

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

Sihtric raised his head, his eyes filled with surprise as he looked at you.

"Okay, I know it was somewhat strange question," you chuckled, a sense of curiosity driving you forward, "but what would you be willing to do to earn mercy from my brother?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Sihtric's response was firm and resolute, devoid of any doubt. "Everything, lady," he replied, sincerity and commitment lacing his voice, "I would offer Lord Uhtred my life and my sword until death and beyond, if only he would accept. It would be an honour to serve him and to die for him."

You continued to question him, your eyes searching for the truth. "And what about your current lord, Kjartan? Will you break your oath to him?"

"Kjartan is not my lord. I am his bastard son, and my mother was a slave at Dunholm. I have never sworn an oath to Kjartan; he never deemed it necessary. I was merely his property, nothing more than a dog to be whipped into obedience," Sihtric's voice trembled with a mix of shame and vulnerability, as if he feared that revealing this truth would repel you. "I will understand if you now consider me unworthy to serve your brother." As he spoke, his handsome face underwent a transformation, his jaw tightened, and a look of disgust etched upon his features when he mentioned Kjartan being his father. Once again, he averted his gaze, lowering his eyes in submission.

Unable to ignore his distress, you instinctively reached out, gently gripping his chin, and raised his face to meet your gaze.

 "Gods, I am sorry... I couldn't know. But why would I judge you for that?" you were wondering and wanted to reassure him.

"I didn't want you to pity me either," Sihtric sighed, refusing to meet your gaze, and instead keeping his eyes lowered so that his line of sight unintentionally fell upon your breasts. As soon as he realized this, he quickly lifted his eyes in embarrassment, finally meeting yours. Though the dim lighting prevented you from seeing it clearly, you could sense a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

"That's not the case either," you smiled reassuringly. "And I do have a plan," you continued, maintaining your smile. "But first, we need to stitch your brow."

As you began stitching his brow, Sihtric didn't even flinch, proving that he wasn't exaggerating when he claimed not to fear pain. With eyes wide in surprise and awe he kept following your movements his anxiety and impatience openly visible to hear more about your idea. The whole time you worked on his pretty face, you had been kneeling just beside him, so close that you could feel his breath on your neck and feel the tension of his body. Nothing could have prevented him from grabbing you at your throat even with his hands tied up and demand to release him. But there was not even a single motion from him that could hint that he was even considering it. Your closeness and your touch on his skin made his breath accelerate and his heart to pound faster, betraying the effect your presence had on him and the air between the two of you seemed to be getting electrified with anticipation. He did not move as if afraid to distort the magic of the moment. Knowing that he could have used your kindness and forced his escape any moment, but never made a single move to do so made you even more sure you wanted to help him.

"Are you skilled with the sword?" you asked once finished tending to his wound. You retrieved some honey salve and gently applied it to his brow, knowing it would aid in healing and reduce the visibility of the scar.

"I am a warrior, lady," Sihtric replied with a hint of pride in his voice.

"But you were captured, weren't you?" you pressed further, not going easy on him.

"I was fetching the horses. I wasn't even there when the fighting started, and by the time I arrived, it was already over. There was no point in fighting your brother's men alone. I didn't even draw my sword before that big Dane struck me down," Sihtric explained, likely referring to Clapa.

You hadn't encountered a man larger than him thus far. At first glance, Clapa appeared terrifying and intimidating, but you were well aware that while he excelled in a shield wall due to his imposing size and strength, he lacked the speed and finesse required for a skilled sword fight. And though Halig was skilled in swordcraft, you were fairly certain that after completing the task entrusted to them by Uhtred, they would not limit themselves to just one drink, which would inevitably affect their agility the following morning. This knowledge brought a smile to your face, and you proceeded to share your plan with Sihtric. However, his response caught you off guard.

"No, lady," he firmly responded, leaving you surprised.

"No?" you repeated, unsure if you had heard correctly.

"No, there is no way I would endanger your life. You may not believe me, but you are the first person who has shown me kindness in as long as I can remember. Perhaps apart from my mother, but she passed away so long ago that sometimes I fear I can't recall her anymore. So, no, I cannot do this," Sihtric shook his head, his eyes darkening, resolute in his refusal.

"Are you intending to harm me?" you inquired.

"No, I would never..." he exclaimed.

"Then what's the problem?" you interjected, a sense of frustration creeping into your voice. "The only danger to my life would be you, and if you have no intention of harming me..."

"You would truly entrust your life to me, lady?" Sihtric remained hesitant, disbelief and uncertainty apparent in his tone.

"Why?" he asked, almost whispering, his voice trembling with perplexity and disbelief. From his tone, it was evident that he expected a trap, a deception. "Lady, please, don't be so cruel as to play with me."

In truth, you weren't fully prepared for this question, as you yourself were unsure of why you were doing this. You were captivated by this stranger, by his soft voice, his composure despite his dire circumstances, and his despair. Moreover, you were captivated by his honesty and gratitude, which radiated from him. The way he looked at you with awe and indebtedness left you spellbound.

"Believe me, there is no deception in what I am proposing, and I am not toying with you. That would be unnecessarily cruel. However, I cannot explain why," you spoke honestly. "I simply have a strong feeling that you deserve a second chance. Fate is relentless, as my brother loves to say, and it seems that destiny brought us together tonight."

"And you are far too handsome and young to be killed by Uhtred for a mere task of fetching horses," you silently reflected.

"You desire my brother's undivided attention, and I can offer you that. But first, you will have to prove yourself against Clapa and Halig. Consider it a test of your sword skills. I won't deny that my life will be somewhat in your hands, but if you were to harm me, you know that your fate would be far worse. So, what is your decision? Actually, you don't have to answer now. I will learn it tomorrow when I come to see you," you smiled at him, taking again the bread from your bag, and placing it, along with the leather water flask, on his lap.

"Good night, warrior!" With that, you turned away and headed to your tent, leaving the young Dane looking after you, his face filled with confusion and indecision.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of the plan you had set in motion, and your heart raced with anticipation. Once inside your tent, a wave of nausea washed over you, causing your stomach to churn. "Why did I come up with this? Is he truly worth it?" you questioned yourself. "I still have the chance to change my mind until tomorrow," you attempted to calm your anxious mind, but deep down, you knew you wouldn't. Sihtric hadn't asked for your help, nor did he want it. It was your own idea, and there was no way you could betray him and leave him thinking you were toying with his unfortunate situation.

You had a restless night, unable to find sleep as your mind raced with thoughts of what you had proposed to Sihtric. You had to admit to yourself that your life would be in his hands and there were no guarantees that he wouldn't attempt to kill you and make his escape. However, you took solace in the fact that you were prepared for such a scenario, concealed behind your seemingly fragile appearance, but harboring a wealth of experience with a blade that Sihtric was unaware of. Over and over again, you contemplated your actions, unable to stop marveling at yourself why you felt responsible for the young Danes life, not wanting to admit to yourself that perhaps, beyond all else, you had simply fallen in love with that youthful and handsome warrior.

---------------------------------------------------------

"Good morning, lads!" you greeted the groggy Clapa and Halig. Clapa had dozed off, leaning his back against the side of the wagon, while Halig was curled up on the ground, still clutching an ale cup in his hands. "I must inform Uhtred of your remarkable skills in guarding our prisoner while asleep," you couldn't resist teasing them a bit.

You cast a glance at Sihtric, who remained seated by the wagon wheel with his eyes closed. He showed no signs of acknowledging or hearing you, leading you to believe that he had likely stuck to his resolve of rejecting your unconventional proposal. Clapa and Halig stumbled to their feet, startled awake by your voice.

"We weren't sleeping, lady!" they protested, attempting to maintain their composure. However, their sudden awakening had left them visibly disoriented, unsure of their surroundings and their intended duties.

"The prisoner requires your attention," you informed them as you passed by the wagon. At that moment, Sihtric opened his eyes and his gaze met yours. His expression was one of bewilderment, as if he had glimpsed a ghost. He instinctively raised his hands to touch his stitched brow, shaking his head in disbelief. It seemed as though he struggled to accept the reality before him, unable to believe that you were truly standing there. Perhaps he thought that your conversation from the previous day had been nothing more than a dream.

"He says he needs to go to the woods!" you called out to Clapa and Halig, continuing your way. It was not unusual for you to venture out of the camp early in the morning to gather herbs and mushrooms. You quickened your pace and, once out of sight and concealed by the bushes, you stopped to observe what would happen next.

Clapa and Halig engaged in a brief argument, as expected. Their tendency to disagree with each other was a familiar trait, yet it never hindered their deep friendship. You heard them approaching, and when you peered through the foliage, you saw Sihtric being dragged behind them. Remaining hidden, you silently followed them through the underbrush, eager to see where their path would lead. They didn't go far before reaching a secluded clearing, hidden from direct view of the camp.

"Could you untie my hands?" you heard Sihtric ask. "There are two of you, and I am not armed anyway," he continued.

"No way," Halig cut him off. "You need to piss, so you'll have to manage it the way you are."

And then, you heard it—the clash of swords. Sihtric had somehow disarmed Halig and was desperately attempting to defend himself against Clapa, wielding the sword with his still-bound hands. Halig had fallen to the ground but was scrambling to get back on his feet. At that moment, you approached the scene, wearing a surprised expression as if you were completely oblivious to what was unfolding.

"What's happening? Halig, why are you rolling on the ground?" you demanded, pausing amid the brawl. You stood just a step away from Sihtric, who let out a fierce growl as he kicked Clapa with all his strength in the stomach. He swiftly moved to your side, putting Halig's sword at your throat and positioning himself behind you.

"Don't come any closer!" Sihtric commanded with a firm voice, though it was unnecessary as Halig and Clapa remained frozen on the ground, their eyes wide with shock at the sight of Sihtric holding you hostage.

"Go, fetch Lord Uhtred!" he demanded, his voice commanding, unwavering, and filled with determination. There was no trace of the insecurity that had emanated from him the day before.

"Tell him that I mean no harm, I simply wish to speak with him," Sihtric continued, while Halig swiftly ran towards the camp to alert Uhtred.

"Lady, I swear upon my life, I will not harm you. I would rather die than hurt you," Sihtric reassuringly whispered in your ear and so far, everything was unfolding according to your plan.

You could see Uhtred rushing towards you, accompanied by several warriors, with Halig trailing behind.

"Harm her, and I will flay you alive," were Uhtred's first words as he reached the clearing.

"Lord Uhtred, I merely wish for you to listen to me," Sihtric asserted. "I offer you my life and my sword. Look, I disarmed them both," he nodded toward Clapa and Halig, "with my hands bound. I am a skilled warrior, and I can be of use to you. Please accept my oath, and I will be honoured to serve you. And lord…, I would never bring harm to your sister. I swear it on the Thor's hammer. She is the kindest person I have ever known in my entire life," Sihtric clenched his fingers around the Thor's amulet that hung on his chest and his voice carried sincerity and determination, with a slight quiver as he spoke the last words. He lowered the sword, driving it into the ground with all his strength, and knelt down with a bowed head.

"Sis!" Uhtred called to you with a worried tone, and you rushed into his arms.

"I am fine," you reassured him as you embraced him, feeling him draw his sword.

"I will kill that little bastard here and now," he snorted in anger, but you firmly took hold of his sword hand.

"Uhtred, no harm has been done. Can't you see how desperate he is? He's offering you his life and sword. Listen to what he has to say," you spoke softly yet assertively, causing Uhtred to pause.

"Sis, do you even understand what you're suggesting? I can never trust him. He's Kjartan's man and he just took you hostage," Uhtred replied, completely taken aback.

"Talk to him," you took your brother by the hand and approached Sihtric, who remained kneeling, awaiting his fate.

"Are you Kjartan's man?" you asked Sihtric, already knowing the answer.

"No, I am Kjartan's bastard son and there is nothing that ties me to him," Sihtric stated firmly, his voice carrying a hint of defiance. "I have no loyalty to him," he answered, raising his head to meet Uhtred's gaze.

Looking incredulously between you and Sihtric, Uhtred suddenly laughed.

"Kindest person, my sister?” he repeated Sihtrics words suspiciously. “Sis, you already knew! Don't pretend you didn't. I will want the whole story later," he shook his head at you.

"But those two deserve a beating for allowing the prisoner to disarm them," he gestured to Clapa and Halig.

“What’s your name, young warrior?” Uhtred asked.

“Sihtric, lord!”

"Place your hands on the sword, Sihtric," Uhtred instructed and Sihtric obeyed instantly. Uhtred then placed his palms over his, and Sihtric spoke his oath. As soon as he had finished you took the knife from the small scabbard at your waist and freed Sihtric's hands, sensing that you were now bound together, and only the future would reveal whether it was for good or ill.

[damallarky]

Veilguard Prologue, Part 2: Aisling

Guess who finally finished the second of her pre-Veilguard prologue fics? It's Part 2: Solavellan Bugaloo, and by Bugaloo, I mean an emotional rollercoaster. Things need to get worse before they get better, but don't worry, guys; things will get better. I promise.

Also, my Inquisitor, Aisling, has a stutter. I based it on my own experiences with my (admittedly very mild) stutter and the research I did, but if anyone has any suggestions on how to improve or more accurately represent stuttering, please let me know.

If you prefer, this fic is also on AO3. Check it out!

Summary:

Solas's plans will soon come to fruition, but before he can be free of his debt owed to the People, he must ensure the safety of those he loves most. That is how he finds himself at the home of his heart, the former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan and her (and his) children.

AKA Solas and Aisling have their first honest conversation in a decade. Like I said, it's a rollercoaster. Buckle up, folks.

Mentions of my Inquisitor's children Ren and Neria.

-

Solas stood out on former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan’s balcony, staring at the dazzling blue of the Rivaini coastline below. The Inquisitor and her family had moved to Rivain a year or two ago, ostensibly to be closer to Aisling’s older brother Arin, who was currently living with a certain Tevinter Magister, but also to get away from the ruins of their former home after the demon incident at Skyhold had nearly leveled the place.

Another one of Solas’s many, many failings.

However, Solas quite liked the new home Aisling had built for herself. It was a stone cottage that seemed to be built into the very cliffside it stood on, with stone steps leading directly to the beach and ocean below. Inside, it was homely, with plush carpets and furs, plants in the windows, and books scattered about the place. Momentos from Aisling’s time as the Inquisitor filled the various nooks and crannies, and nearly every wall had some example of art made by her children over the years.

Solas had wished he could have explored further and delved into the life Aisling had led the past decade. But he thought better of it, content to wait in her bedroom until she returned, as she had asked him to do.

Solas had informed Aisling of his arrival, of course. He had sought her out in the Fade and asked her permission to speak with her and see her. His plans were approaching fruition. In fact, they needed to be expedited if he was correct in his assumption on the strength of the Evunaris’s prison. He had taken the necessary precautions. Ran countless calculations to ensure the minimum amount of damage, but…

Solas’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing. Slowly, he turned around and, for the first time since the Qunari invasion, he saw her. 

At thirty-four, former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan looked much the same as she had the last time he had seen her, except, of course, for the prosthetic arm, a strange contraption of gears and lyrium that had the markings of a Dagna creation. Her hair was perhaps a bit longer, currently out of her usual braided updo and hanging in loose curls down her back. Her face, too, was perhaps a bit more worn, age and duty just barely beginning to etch fine lines onto her freckled skin. To Solas, however, she was just as beautiful now as she was when he first saw her in Haven all those years ago… a perfect creature in an imperfect world.

He and his kin had once claimed divinity, but before him was a true goddess. She with her soul that shone bright enough to pierce even the darkest parts of his ancient and wretched heart. His fire-haired lady, with her boundless compassion and endless curiosity. The top of her head just barely reached the bottom of Solas’s chin (perfect, he remembered, for tucking her close to him and breathing in the wool and amber scent of her hair), but still, Solas felt small underneath her gaze. He had to fight every instinct not to throw himself at her feet and declare himself her supplicant. To grovel and plead for her forgiveness for being the penitent sinner that he was.

He could not, however. Not while his people still suffered. Not while he still had to fix the mistakes of his past. A sinner he was indeed and there was penance still to be paid… the price of which was the loss of his heart.

He had only wished that he did not have to take her down with him.

Solas had hoped against hope that Aisling would forget him. That she would move on to someone else, someone younger and more worthy of her love. But as the years went on, she had only doubled down on her efforts to find him and bring him home to her. He had read the reports from his agents about how she would work herself to the point of exhaustion. Had listened to her desperate pleas and disparaging cries from the Fade.

He had wanted her so desperately to live, but instead, she was slowly killing herself, bit by bit. His plan to bring down the Veil would only be the final nail in her coffin.

Then, of course, there was Neria… And Ren.

Neria was, much like her mother, a complication he had not foreseen but, also like her mother, could not bring himself to regret. Solas had made so, so many mistakes in his life, but never would he consider Neria among them. Not when his heart swelled with pride as he read reports from his spies that mentioned her cleverness or nearly burst with love as he watched her from a distance while she played and explored the Fade with spirits of Joy and Curiosity.

Each night, Solas wanted desperately to reach out, to talk to her. To close the gap between himself and his daughter that he had unknowingly carved out nearly twelve years ago, and that only seemed to grow with each passing day.

He knew so little about his own child, and what details he did know were shallow things he knew only through his network of spies (and whatever Joy and Curiosity would share with him). He knew that she loved reading, but he did not know what her favorite books were. He knew she had inherited his sweet tooth, but he did not know which sweets she preferred. He knew that she had a love of animals, but which ones Solas could not say.

His child was practically a stranger to him as he was to her, and oh, did that make him want to weep.

Ren was similar, but different. Unlike Neria, Ren wasn’t Solas’s child by blood, but rather the child of Aisling’s late bond mate who had died before the little boy was even born. Though not related by blood, Solas still felt attached to him. Protective of him, even. He remembered fondly showing the then two-year-old how to build snowmen in Haven, or the shrieks of joy as Solas summoned wisps of light to play with him, or how the boy would toddle after him while he painted in the rotunda of Skyhold. Then, as he and Aisling grew closer, how he would help her put him to bed, telling him stories in Elvhen until the toddler drifted off into the Fade.

After Solas had left, he had felt his loss as keenly as he did Aisling’s and then, later, Neria’s. Regretted the pain he caused just as deeply. In the Fade, he watched as the boy grew into a kind, thoughtful young man, with a spirit much like his mother’s. Ren did not shy away from the denizens of the Fade (Curiosity was particularly attached to him and was often seen in his company if they weren’t entertaining Neria) but engaged with them as well. It was the same in the waking world, if Solas’s agents were to be believed. In their reports, which Solas had started to think were filled with such details for some ulterior motive, they would mention how mature Ren was for his age. How kind and thoughtful he could be.

Solas would have been proud to call him his son, if Ren and Aisling would have let him have that honor.

Yes, he had a duty to his people and a duty to every modern Elf in Thedas. Still, he could not deny that he had a duty to his children as well and, of course, their mother.

Which, Solas had to remind himself, was why he was here. To warn them.

That, and to see them one last time.

“Inquisitor.” He said, voice gruff. “You look… well.”

That was when he heard the growling. From behind Aisling leapt a large mabari, it’s coat a bluish silver hue in the evening light. The war hound put itself between Solas and the Inquisitor, fangs bared and growling warningly. Solas stood his ground, staring directly into the mabari’s eyes in challenge, his own figurative hackles raised. The mabari, to its credit, merely flinched but did not back down from what it now realized was no mere man.

“Sathan, Fenan,” Aisling said, grabbing the dog by its massive collar. It was so large she had to use both hands. “Atish dur!”

The mabari, Fenan, stopped growling at once, though he seemed reluctant to retreat entirely.

“Is ju teldin nuem,” she promised, rubbing the dog’s neck. Satisfied, the great beast trotted off, choosing to sit by the door where he continued to watch Solas like a hawk.

“I’m…” Aisling began, “I’m s-sorry. He isn’t n-n-no-normally like this…”

Solas noticed her stammer, which was usually worse when she was excited or tense. Or frightened. He hoped that it wasn’t the latter.

“When did you get a mabari?” Solas asked, desperately trying to keep his voice casual.

“He was a gift for Neria. Cullen’s mabari had puppies, and he let her and Ren p-pick one each.”

“A fine gift. I have heard that there is no better a companion than a mabari.”

“He and Neria are normally attached at the hip, but he wouldn’t leave my side this evening. He must have sensed s-something was off, and unlike Ren’s mabari, Fenan can be stubborn.

“…Ah.”

“Indeed.”

“Inq-“ he began but stopped himself. They were beyond titles now. “Aisling. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Aisling nodded curtly.

“P-p-pl-ple-“ she gave a frustrated sigh, shoulders slumping as her mouth refused to form the words. She tried again. “P-please sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace before sitting down in the one opposite it. Solas sat down, perhaps a bit reluctantly. He felt a sudden onslaught of nervousness overcome him, being in her presence again after so long.

“You said that you needed to speak with me?” Aisling asked.

Solas took in a deep breath. Exhaled.

“I will be bringing down the Veil soon,” he said. The silence that followed nearly made him wince.

Solas watched as Aisling’s expression went from shocked to furious to exhausted in mere seconds before she turned and stared into the fire, face unreadable once more.

“Aisling, I-“

“When?” she asked, cutting him off.

 Solas sighed.

“Less than a year,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Possibly sooner, he thought, if the Evunaris keep chipping away at their prison.

He could feel Aisling’s penetrating gaze on him now, but he could not bring himself to look her in the eye. When he finally worked up the courage to lift his head, he saw Aisling with her chin resting in her hand, her real hand, as she stared pensively into the fireplace.

They sat there in silence, the only noises being the sound of the waves being carried through the open window and the crackling of the fireplace before them.

“Neria will be turning twelve this year,” Aisling intoned, almost casually, before fixing Solas with a penetrating stare, “will… will she even live to see it? What about Ren?”

Solas felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath him.

“That is…” he swallowed hard. “That is why I wished to speak with you. I am doing my utmost to minimize the damage bringing down the Veil will cause,” he explained, his words tumbling out of him faster and faster as he went on. “And while I believe I am close to a solution that I believe will benefit the most amount of people in the long run-“

Aisling stared at him slack jawed and in disbelief. She looked at Solas as if he had sprouted a second head.

“-I cannot guarantee Ren or Neria’s safety, unless…

“…Unless what, Solas?” Aisling asked, the apprehension clear in her voice.

“…Unless the three of you go into hiding. I have a few locations, safe houses where I believe the three of you can wade out the worst of what is to come.”

The silence that followed then was nearly deafening. It was deadly quiet; no noise seemed to pierce through whatever spell befell the two of them, not the fire dancing in the fireplace or the waves outside of the window, or even the whining of the mabari still at Aisling’s door.

Aisling stood up from her chair, slowly, as if possessed.

“What?” she asked, her voice colder than ice. Her tone cut right to Solas’s core, and he winced. Aisling then began to pace erratically, back and forth in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

“Aisling,” he pleaded as he watched her pace, “if you never believe another word I say, please believe this: I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep the three of you safe.”

Aisling stopped her pacing to swing around and face him.

“Everything, except stopping this madness!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up in frustration.

“Do you think I take joy in this?” Solas snapped. “Do you think I want to bring destruction upon the people of this world?”

“So you c-claim, and yet you still continue with a plan to do just that!”

Solas wanted to scream. Why couldn’t Aisling see? Why couldn’t she understand?

“What I do,” he said through clenched teeth, “I do for the betterment of the People. By bringing down the Veil, the lives of Ren and Neria, and Elven children across Thedas would be improved!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT, SOLAS!” Aisling yelled. “BY BRINGING DOWN THE VEIL YOU CAN JUST AS EASILY GET THEM KILLED!”

Something deep inside Solas, something that he kept carefully buried away for eons, snapped. He leaped from his chair as if burned.

“I HAVE ALREADY KILLED THEM!” he yelled back. “AS I HAVE ALREADY KILLED YOU AND EVERY OTHER ELF IN THEDAS!”

Solas’s ears began to ring, and his legs felt like jelly. Then they gave out completely, and he fell to his knees before the former Inquisitor.

“Do you not see?” He cried, pleadingly, silently begging her to understand. “By creating the Veil, I have already condemned you, condemned both of our children, to death. I have destroyed…”

Solas felt himself trail off, unable to finish his sentence as he struggled to breathe. He felt the guilt of thousands upon thousands of deaths wrap around his neck like a hangman’s noose. Elf or spirit- at this point it hardly mattered. He could feel the weight of all the races of Thedas, every living soul that ever was and would ever be, as they cried out for justice. He could feel their spectral hands grab at the noose around his neck and pull and pull and pull…

“…I have destroyed everything.” He choked out.

Aisling knelt beside him. She took him into her arms and held him tightly, rubbing circles into his back in a soothing gesture. He buried his face into her shoulder, heedless of the snot and the tears he was surely getting all over her as he wept like he hadn’t wept in an age, thousands of years' worth of grief pouring out of him in waves that would have pulled him under were it not for Aisling’s anchoring presence.

“Ar lath ma,” he wept, “ma vhenan, ma ghi’lal elen. Ar lath ma sul bellanaris, i ir abelas.” 

“Tel abelas,” Aisling muttered, her own tears spilling down her cheeks and dripping onto the back of Solas’s head while he continued to sob onto her shoulder.

“I am trapped. Trapped on a path I no longer wish to walk.”

“You need not walk it alone, Solas, if you must walk it at all,” she grabbed him by the face, stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. “P-p-pl-please ma lath, if this is something you must do, then let us find a way to do it together. Safely.”

“I…”

For one brief, shining moment, Solas considered it. Aisling had done the impossible before. But this…

No. He couldn’t do that. Not to her. Never to her.

“I cannot,” he said, fervently shaking his head, “I cannot do that to you, Aisling. Please do not ask that of me.”

Aisling let go of him and sat there on the floor in front of her fireplace, looking as broken and defeated as Solas had ever seen her. He hated that he was the cause of it. Solas needed to leave… Leave before he broke her heart even further. With great effort, he hauled himself to his feet.

“I will send word,” he said, his voice hoarse and hallow, “when I have found a suitable location to keep you and the children safe from the worst of the fallout. I am sorry, Aisling.”

Slowly, Solas made his way towards the door, each step a struggle. He hadn’t made it far, however, when he heard Aisling call out for him.

“Solas, wait,” she said. “P-please don’t leave. Not yet.”

He shut his eyes tightly, knowing that, deep down, he should leave before he did any more damage. However, the part of him that was more impulsive and reckless, that was more wolf than man and that kissed her back in the Fade over a decade ago, demanded that he stay. Stay and bask in her presence for as long as he could before he would no longer have the chance to.

Solas turned around and sat back down in the chair. In the end, he didn’t stand a chance.

The silence that followed was painful. Aisling seemed just as surprised that he had chosen to stay as he was.

“How is Ren?” He asked, eventually wanting to keep things civil while also learning as much about the children he abandoned as he could while he could.

“Tall,” she said, “taller than me now,” Aisling smiled softly and stared into the distance, looking at something only she could see. “Ren’s been doing well here in Rivain, though he misses Skyhold t-terribly. He’s been learning magic from myself and Dorian, when he has the time. He’s picking it up fast; I’m proud of him. Dorian even has Ren help him with his research sometimes.”

Solas wanted to ask about what they were researching, but he kept it to himself. It wasn’t his business.

“Ren has also taken quite a liking to p-painting over the last few years. He wants to try a fresco at some point…”

“A fresco?” Solas asked, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“A fresco,” she said with a nod and a knowing smile. “He’s been mostly sticking to canvas, but if he is serious about it, and I believe he is, I can think of a few places here he c-could try it out on.”

“I…” Solas faltered, unsure if he was about to cross some sort of boundary, “…I could send for the type of paint he would need. Brushes as well.”

His fears were unfounded, however. Aisling beamed, clearly happy with the idea.

“He would like that,” she said.

The room delved into awkward silence once more.

“Have you b-been well?” She asked.

Solas couldn’t help the huff that escaped him.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I have been… well enough.”

Aisling quirked an eyebrow, doubt written plainly on her face before she burst into raucous laughter.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes, “it’s just… Neria does the exact same thing, you know? When she’s been c-caught in a lie and doesn’t want to answer. She evades the question.”

“I was not evading the question.”

“Neria says the exact same thing.”

He snorted. Then frowned.

“Neria lies?” he asked, not at all liking the implications, whispers of traitor, harellen, echoing in his skull. Aisling gave him a sympathetic look.

“She’s eleven, Solas.” She said, fondness in her voice. Whether it was for him or for Neria, Solas could not say. “She’s eleven and she has a t-tendency to sneak live animals into her room when she thinks no one is watching.”  

“…live animals?”

“Oh yes… You should have seen the snake brood she incubated.”

“Does she have any preference when it comes to animals?” Solas asked, eager for any scrap of information he could gather on his little girl. His da’vhenan.

“Well, she loves wolves,” said Aisling. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she added, “No idea where that came from…”

“A coincidence, I’m sure,” said Solas, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“Of course,” Aisling replied, a small smirk on her face. “She also loves reptiles. And that one, truly, is a mystery to me.”

“She likes… reptiles?”

“Yes. Lizards, snakes, turtles. We see them all the time here in Rivain. She and Ren will spend hours down by the shore looking for them.”

“And does she find any?”

“Usually. She’ll often sketch the ones she finds in her notebook and show them to me. She’s gotten quite g-g-g-goo…” Aisling let out another frustrated sigh, “…she draws very well, too. You would be proud.”

“I am,” Solas declared. “Proud of her, that is. Proud of both of them… even though I know I have no right to be.”

Hastily, he swiped the moisture from his eyes. If Aisling noticed, she didn’t comment on it, merely stared at him sadly. There was so much he had missed because of his duties. First words and steps. Their first sparks of magic. He should have been there for all of it. Should have been there to watch them learn and grow and…

You should be there for them now, a voice in his head hissed.

And he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to… To give up on his wretched goals and go hunt for lizards on the beach with Neria and teach Ren how to paint frescos.

He felt himself spiraling once more, dangling on the edge of some dark precipice, when Aisling gently touched his hand, bringing him back to himself with a start.

“I-“ he began, “Forgive me, I-“

“Solas, would you like to learn more about her? Ren as well?” Aisling asked kindly.

It was not often that Solas found himself at a loss for words. This time, however, he couldn’t seem to be able to get any past the lump firmly lodged in his throat. He could only nod enthusiastically.

And that was how, hours later, the two of them ended up on the rug in front of Aisling’s fireplace. She had regaled him with as many stories of Neria and Ren as she could. Many of them were tiny, inconsequential things, but to Solas, each little tidbit of information was as precious to him as any jewel.

He laughed right along with Aisling as she told him of the time Neria brought a toad she found to her Aunt Vivienne’s fancy dinner party. Both Neria and Ren had tried to catch it, but the frog was apparently evasive and had landed right on the lap of one of the Orlesian noblemen. He was also surprised, pleasantly so, to find out that Vivienne had apparently found it just as hilarious and had a habit of serving that particular Orlesian frog legs whenever she hosted him.

He marveled at the tale of how the children discovered their respective magic; Ren apparently summoned wisps of light one night when he woke up to find his room frighteningly dark, only to excitedly show off his new trick to his mother the very next morning. Neria and Solas couldn’t help the bark of laughter that came from him when he heard the tale, he had accidentally summoned fire. Apparently, her Uncle Dorian had been showing the little girl magic tricks involving small flames, only for Neria to decide she wanted to try it herself. It was a surprise to them both when she summoned her own flames, and luckily, the only damage done was to Dorian’s mustache... And, perhaps, his pride.

He felt a spike of righteous fury when he learned that the Iron Bull had apparently promised both children to take them dragon hunting and only calmed once Aisling told him that she herself had promised the Qunari that she would turn the Iron Bull into the Iron Steer if he ever dared pull such a stunt. Solas couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. Apparently, the subject had never been brought up since.

So caught up in absorbing as much information about the children as he could, he didn’t notice how the two of them were slowly inching their way closer and closer to one another until they had both subconsciously reached for the other’s hand, entwining their fingers together like that was where they belonged. Solas was the first to notice, looking down at his long, slender hand as it engulfed her much smaller one. Aisling followed his gaze and blushed furiously.

She didn’t, Solas noticed, remove her hand.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Solas,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Ah. She is privy to my ways, it seems…”

Solas thought of how best to answer her. The simple answer was that he was painfully lonely, scared, and unsure. But he didn’t want to tell her that. Not after everything else, he laid at her feet. He had already burdened her with enough worries for one night.

 He didn’t want to tell her of the nightmares that came more and more frequently as of late. Of the Evunaris breaking free from their prison and hunting him down, hunting Aisling and the children down. Images of their corpses haunted his dreams, and many nights, he would wake up with a scream, so panicked, so unwilling to return to the Fade that was once his home, that he would simply stare at the ceiling until dawn came.

 Nor did it feel right to complain about how isolated he felt. How his home, the Lighthouse, that was once a place of refuge, had become something of a prison. How alone he felt as he ate after sharing so many meals with the Inquisition… With his friends... With her… How he had simply started skipping meals, just so he wouldn’t have to eat alone at his long table, meant for more than one single, solitary old fool.

He couldn’t tell her those things. Those were his burdens to bear. Problems of his own doing that he could do nothing but endure alone. He could, however, give her one simple truth.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, finally. “Terribly, in fact.”

At that, Aisling leaned forward, her large green eyes sparkling in the firelight. She was very close to him now, close enough that he could have easily run his thumb across her cheek or tuck a lock of bright red hair behind her ear. For a moment, Solas could have sworn he could smell the scent of wool and amber.

“Truly?” she asked.

“Truly,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Truly, madly, and deeply.”

“Sweet talker,” she replied, and before he knew what was happening, Aisling grabbed him by the collar and kissed him passionately. Then she pulled back, her eyelashes fluttering, and Solas knew if she had asked him at that very moment to give up his mission, he would have done it. Laid down his arms and throw himself at her mercy.

(Months later, trapped in a prison of his own making, Solas would replay this scene in his head over and over again, silently wishing Aisling had asked him and that he wasn’t such a coward so he could have made that decision himself.)

“Stay with me tonight,” Aisling said in a breathless voice that sent shivers down Solas’s spine. “Just for tonight. Please…”

“Vhenan,” he growled.

“Let us pretend. Just for tonight…”

“We shouldn’t,” Solas said even as he went in for a kiss of his own, his hands finding their favorite spot right above the small of her back.

It was a token resistance, and he knew it.

They barely made it off the rug before they were laughing and tossing aside their clothes (or, in Solas’s case, armor) without a care in the world. Aisling yelped, then laughed brightly as Solas scooped her up, bridal style, and carried her off to her bed, laying her down as gently as he could. He crawled over top of her, and as he did, he lavished her body with kisses, worshiping her.

“Ar lath ma,” he whispered with each kiss pressed against her skin. “Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma.”

Finally, as he slid inside of her, his body fitting with hers perfectly as if it had been made that way, he did as Aisling bid him to do and allowed himself to pretend. Pretend that Fen’harel and all his terrible duties were dead and buried with the rest of the Elvhen empire and that he was allowed to be simply Solas, the wandering Elven apostate.

In his mind’s eye, he saw it. The life this Solas led.

Solas, with his clever daughter and thoughtful stepson, whom he would be teaching everything he knew. Magic, the Fade, the Elvhen language, painting, chess… it didn’t matter what. If they were interested, he would teach them. If he didn’t know, then he would learn with them.

And, of course, he would help Neria hunt for lizards by the beach and teach Ren how to bind paint to plaster.

He imagined that they would have more brothers and sisters… as many as Aisling was willing to give him. Multiple sets of tiny, pointed ears surrounded by bright red hair. Multiple little voices all calling him “Papae.”

Solas’s nights would be spent much like this one, with Aisling in his arms. He would card his fingers through her long, red hair. Whisper words of endearment against her skin as they made love, slowly, languidly, and without the baggage from before. There would be no secrets, no duties or guilt to come between them, and he would be free to love the woman who became his heart as she deserved to be loved.

Truly, madly, and deeply.

And each morning, he would wake up to soft, freckled skin against his own and to a smile that was brighter than any sun. Some mornings, he imagined, would start later than others, as he would struggle to keep his hands off her… but eventually, they would make their way down to a long table meant to sit their entire family. Breakfasts would be chaotic, but there would be light and laughter and so, so much love…

He wanted it all so badly.

In the real world, Solas buried his face into Aisling’s shoulder as he continued to thrust desperately into her. He tried not to think about how this might be the last time he would ever see her in person. He tried not to think about how he would be gone before she woke up, how she would reach out for him only to find a cold space where he once lay.

“Var lath vir suledin,” Aisling whispered in his ear as if she sensed his growing despair. She probably did.

Var lath vir suledin. It was a promise that she had made before, and it was a promise that she would keep until the bitter end.

Var lath vir suledin. He didn’t know how. But, at least for tonight anyway, he could pretend that it could.

With that, Solas closed his eyes and allowed himself, just this once, to worry neither about the past nor the future and to let himself simply be lost in the sensation of loving this incredible woman and being loved in turn.

[lynnerdo]

* The Willow's Purpose *

“The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many willows—a wall against the wind. This is the willow's purpose.”

As sister to Paul Atreides, and trained in secrecy to be a healer Bene Gesserit, you witnessed the rise of the Lisan Al Gaib. As you experience visions and dreams of a certain man, realising that he will be the one fighting your brother to the death changes your perspective on everything. An uncontrollable force takes over you as you revive him, questions lingering in your mind.

***

Fic on AO3

***

Chapter 8 - Vigor

As the days turn into weeks, the bond between you and Feyd deepens, becoming something almost feral in its intensity. The pull you feel towards each other is instinctive, a raw connection that defies explanation. Feyd's loyalty is unwavering, his presence a constant shadow that never strays far from your side. His devotion earns him the nickname 'fashii dimib', 'silent knife' among the Fremen, a moniker that, despite its rough edges, reflects the fierce protectiveness he shows towards you.

Feyd seems to accept this role with a mixture of pride and resignation. He stands ready at all times, awaiting your every command, his eyes always on you, as if seeking reassurance in your presence. The Fremen's initial suspicion begins to fade, replaced by a cautious respect for the Harkonnen prince who now serves Lady Atreides with such dedication.

Despite the growing acceptance, a question lingers in the back of Feyd's mind: what will he do when he eventually returns to Giedi Prime? The thought troubles him, gnawing at the edges of his loyalty and purpose. He knows that his return is inevitable, yet the idea of leaving you and the bond you share fills him with a deep sense of unease.

One evening, as you sit together in the quiet of your quarters, Feyd broaches the subject. His expression is thoughtful, a rare vulnerability showing through his usual stoic demeanor.

"My lady," he begins, his voice tentative, "I’ve been thinking about the future. About what happens when I have to return to Giedi Prime."

You look up from your work, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"What about it?"

He hesitates, as if searching for the right words.

"I don't know what I'll do without you," he admits finally.

Your heart skipping several beats at his openness. Your heart aches at his admission, understanding the depth of his fear.

"I feel the same way, Feyd. We need to prepare ourselves for that day to come."

Feyd shakes his head, frustration etching his features. You can sense the feelings he has well enough now, he doesn’t want to lose what you have. You stand up, as he walks over to your desk, and cup his face as he closes his eyes to bathe into the feeling.

"We’ll find a way," you promise. "But you have a duty to your people, just as I have a duty to mine. We have to honor that."

He opens his eyes, piercing blue eyes, filled with determination. His actions are always fast, even when you anticipate them. His face turns to kiss your hand, eyes closed again, as his other hand pulls you towards him. It’s intimate and soft, unlike the ferality you felt from him in the last weeks. You’re almost moved by this, his own feelings shining through. As you whisper his name softly, he turns to face you again, this time closer than before, your noses touching. Feeling his breath on your lips you tilt your head to kiss him, softer than before, purer and innocent.

He reciprocates immediately, his grasp on your waist becoming more desperate, a feeling of dread and loss overwhelming you. Feyd felt deeply about this decision and what the future held but never had the communication skills to express his feelings. Eventually he let’s go of you, his forehead resting against yours. A moment of bliss in between worries striking your heart.

***

In the days that follow, Feyd throws himself into his role with renewed vigor, determined to prove his loyalty and worth. He trains with the Fremen, learning their ways and earning their respect. ‘Fashii dimib’ becomes an integral part of the community, his presence no longer a source of suspicion but a symbol of the alliance you’ve forged.

Feyd often finds himself contemplating the challenges that lie ahead, wondering how he will maintain his loyalty to you while fulfilling his responsibilities on Giedi Prime. One night, as you lie together under the starry Arrakeen sky, Feyd voices his thoughts once more.

"When the time comes for me to leave, promise me one thing." "Anything," you reply, your voice soft in the stillness. "Promise me that you’ll never forget our bond," he says, his tone fierce with emotion. "Promise me that, no matter what happens, you’ll always remember what we have."

You reach up, brushing his cheek. His words sounding more like they came from your heart instead of his at this point. It almost makes you melancholic when you think about it.

"I promise, Feyd.” You say before kissing him softly.

He nods, a look of contentment washing over his features. Little did you know he had other plans entirely for the both of you.

[dllamarama]

Episode 12 Queen of Tears BaekHong recap

Scene: Hae In ah!!! Hae In ah…

We could see that she was shocked to realise that she mistook YES as Baek Hyun Woo and she was devastated by the fact that she could EVER mistake that shibalsaekki as Baek Hyun Woo. This shibalsaekki is really a deviously good manipulator to turn the situation into his favour and Hae In took the bait easily, of course she needed that excuse to meet her grandfather but nevertheless YES manipulation works on her. She left Hyun Woo to follow YES without giving Hyun Woo time to process this information. He had just seen her disappear with YES right in front of his eyes without knowing whether she would be safe or not. He had to risk both of their lives while chasing YES car and crashed into the barrier in order to block them while having millions of thoughts in his mind. That relief on his face when he was finally able to see that she looked fine while shouting her name desperately.

Although he was worried and frantic, he never showed aggressiveness towards her. He is giving her time to process the situation and let her open the door on her own while waiting patiently. He only moves after she opens the door and was relieved when she said that she is fine. We knew that he feels uneasy to let her go with YES, his instinct is screaming at him to not let her follow YES. But, he had to let her go because she wanted that. He had to respect her decision even though he is sure something is wrong with her, even after she denied it. He could sense it.

Scene: Password 1031

Hae In was still confused with her perception and still saw both Hyun Woo and YES interchangeably. She couldn’t trust her own eyes to determine whether the person walking towards her is Hyun Woo or YES. She pushed his hand that was reaching for her the first time and flinched the second time because she still couldn’t believe her own eyes. She was finally at ease after Hyun Woo said the same dialogue he had mentioned previously to her. She can breathe now that this is her real Baek Hyun Woo. She can finally reach his hand and feel the familiarity in his warm hands.

I was very disappointed at the way PJE decided for them to talk about baby 1031. He knew her phone’s password, she knew his house’s password but they didn’t even address their painful memory until episode 16 (will describe this more when it comes up). Hae In was slightly taken aback when she saw his password but didn’t comment on it. She knew that like her, Hyun Woo always keeps a part of that memory alive. That scar will stay with them forever. She enters the apartment and comments about the house. It was just a simple curiosity at first but escalated into a playful banter with panicked Hyun Woo after he mentions that he can easily fall asleep anywhere. Hae In was definitely pleased when he said that he wasn’t comfortable at all because she was not there with him and he missed her when he imagined their married life together in his apartment. Hyun Woo and his sweet talking always makes her seem out of character. He has such a big effect on the mighty Queen Hae In. When she says that she is hungry, Hyun Woo immediately stands and makes dinner for her. She is relaxed now that she is back in her safe space (Baek Hyun Woo) so that’s why she is hungry even after having steak with YES (which was noticeably untouched even without the camera pans to it up close). Another point to notice about this shibalsaekki is that, how obnoxious and full of himself can he be to not notice that she didn’t even touch her food? He doesn’t even care for Hae In, he just wants her to be there even though her soul is not there with him. Hae In also only said that she's hungry with Hyun Woo (in Germany after she saw her brother & after the warehouse visit) while always lose her appetite whenever she's with YES (one of her meeting with him for Hercyna & everytime he ask her for dinner).

Our favourite (divorced) couple is happily and warmly having dinner prepared by the perfect Mr. Baek Hyun Woo. Hae In is back with her dark humour and Hyun Woo choked on his food. She discussed her death and after death like it’s a daily occurrence. She definitely couldn’t let go of this man even after her death, she would probably drown in anger and turn in her coffin the moment she feels someone is trying to date Baek Hyun Woo. He is so weak when Hae In starts to compliment him and couldn’t hide his happy shy smile. At this point, maybe we should be thankful that Hae In rarely compliments him; I don’t think he could handle it or us could handle seeing him being this cute and irresistibly charming.

It’s the next morning and Hae In wakes up first before Hyun Woo. She walked out of his bedroom and slowly approached a sleeping Hyun Woo in the couch while never breaking eye contact. She traced his facial features (he is sooooooo pretty!!) to carve it in her mind so that she will never confuse him ever again, especially with YES. They share small talks while Hyun Woo is half awake. He asks whether she wants to sleep some more but Hae In said no and then he just decides to grab her shoulder and make her lie with him on the couch together regardless of her opinion. Kyaaakkkkkkkkk, Baek Hyun Woo!!!!!!!!! Who taught you to be this smooth?

Scene: Beautiful sunset but a sad truth for divorce withdrawal rejection

Hyun Woo presented Hae In with a new ring to request for their divorce withdrawal. Hae In tried the ring on her finger and for a second, she wanted the same. But, she couldn’t accept it. Hyun Woo was asking softly to her to understand the reason for her withdrawal, because he knows that she wanted the same thing as him. He received a positive sign about their relationship and her feelings for him. Hae In is contemplating for a brief second before she decides to tell him the truth; she followed YES last night because she thought that it was Hyun Woo. Her symptoms have worsened till she cannot recognise the love of her life, and the realisation of it is eating her from the inside. With the revelation, Hyun Woo recalls yesterday’s event when she was so scared and confused when he got close to her. He was also already awake before he noticed his bedroom door opening and all of it makes sense to him now; she couldn’t recognise him. He wanted to console and say something to her but he stopped himself and let her retreat back to the car. He probably wanted to say that it’s okay and they can do this together, but he didn’t. He knows that she is much more frustrated at herself because of her illness and he just let her be. But, he couldn’t help the tears that fell down his cheek and he could hear her crying softly from inside the car. They both need time to really process her new symptoms and the impact of it on their relationship because she already told him in advance that she would not let him stay by her side when her symptoms worsen. This scene contrasted with their first heartbreak due to the miscarriage, instead of closing the door and mourning in silence they are now able to show their vulnerable side by being in the same place, together. But they are doing it separately, because there is nothing they can do about her worsening symptoms. There is no significant improvement in her treatment and Hae In especially has lost hope to recover from her illness.

Scene: Round brilliant cut diamond ring

Hae In sees the ring box in Hyun Woo’s room when she is returning his coat and she is tempted to put it on her finger again. She likes the ring but most of all she likes the man who bought the ring for her. But, of course Hyun Woo had to enter at the perfect timing before she was able to put the ring back into the box. Hyun Woo’s face is gloomy when he takes the ring box from the drawer and he was speaking in a very sad tone while telling her that he will return the ring back and that she shouldn’t concern herself about it again. Hae In is panicking inside with the ring still on her finger. When she turns around and puts the ring back into the box with a nonchalant expression, Hyun Woo is shocked to see that she wore the ring. Hae In started to give excuses and long explanations but this time Hyun Woo is reading her correctly (finally). His eyes were smiling when she was rationalising her action and he was finally able to smile when she was out of the room. He still has a chance to change her mind. Cutie pies…

[maylalupa]

Sirens Are Leading The Way (Aladdin Snippet and sequel to Can’t Change the Past)

Warning: blood and minor character death

—————————————————————

In the bustling marketplace of Agrabah, the sun shone brightly over the colorful stalls, fragrant spices mingling in the air with the laughter of merchants and townsfolk. Among them walked Aladdin, a grin plastered across his face, reveling in the warmth of another normal day. Yet, something seemed different. He noticed his father, Cassim—the former King of Thieves—moving about with a bounce in his step and a lilt to his voice that hadn’t been present before. Cassim’s transformation had sparked the curiosity of the entire town. He was more cheerful and talkative than ever, frequently flashing a radiant smile that lit up his features. And Mozenrath, the ever-skeptical sorcerer, seemed more irritable than usual.

“You’re worried for no reason,” Aladdin reassured Mozenrath one evening as they strolled along the palace grounds, the sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. “Isn’t it wonderful? He’s finally moving on. Maybe he was just waiting for someone like her. People have the right to be happy. Especially our father.”

“Happy?” Mozenrath scoffed, brushing his dark hair back. “I’ve seen Cassim’s mood swing like a pendulum. There’s something he’s hiding, Al.” He paused, contemplating, his eyes narrowing. “And that ‘something’ has a name—Tala.”

Aladdin’s smile faltered. “Tala? You think she’s changed him for the worse?”

“The moment you’re enthralled by someone, it raises my suspicions,” Mozenrath replied decisively. “Mark my words, Aladdin, love blinds even the cleverest of men. I am going to find out exactly who this ‘Tala’ is.”

Yet Mozenrath could not let it go; his instincts told him something darker was at play. While Aladdin relished the thought of Cassim moving on, Mozenrath’s mind spun with stories of deceit. After careful deliberation, he sent Xerxes, his eel-like familiar, to tail Cassim’s new companion. The reports that filtered back were troubling.

“I’ve got your reports, my lord. It’s… interesting,” Xerxes relayed, his voice a sinister whisper.

“Spit it out,” Mozenrath ordered impatiently.

“Tala dislikes seafood—runs in the opposite direction when she smells it. And water? She hates to get wet. And then there’s her singing…” Xerxes hesitated, eyeing Mozenrath as if searching for validation for his odd claim.

“What about her singing?” Mozenrath pressed.

“When she sings, it’s like Cassim is under a spell. He does whatever she asks—hypnotized, my lord!” Xerxes exclaimed, clearly disturbed by the implications.

Mozenrath’s suspicions deepened as he delved into his library, scouring ancient tomes and texts. He found confirmation in the form of a dusty old grimoire, leafing through it until he found the ominous entry—that spoke of sirens: Siren, a creature of enchantment and manipulation, luring sailors to their demise with songs. “She’s a siren,” Mozenrath muttered to himself. “She’s trying to ensnare him for herself!”

As Mozenrath rushed off to confront Aladdin over the findings, the young prince was deeply engrossed in arranging festivities for an illustrious visitor from a neighboring kingdom. “You won’t believe what I’ve discovered!” Mozenrath exclaimed, clutching the book tightly as he entered the grand hall. “Cassim’s fondness for this woman doesn’t just signal romance. She’s dangerous!”

“Dangerous? You’ve read too many fantasy books!” Aladdin snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “What’s next? Are you going to accuse her of witchcraft too? Dad has found romance, and I’m happy for him. Let it be.”

“Romance? Aladdin, this is serious! This woman—Tala—she could be a siren! We’ve battled them before!” Mozenrath pressed, desperation lining his voice.

“Stop it, Mozenrath! You’re being ridiculous! This is just romantic jealousy.” Aladdin turned, ready to dismiss Mozenrath’s worries, but the brothers’ argument erupted, fueled by their different perspectives.

The two brothers argued fiercely, but Aladdin’s convictions stood firm. He left Mozenrath in a huff, dismissing his concerns as mere paranoia. Mozenrath, feeling marginalized, devised a new plan. He would confront Cassim directly. That evening, he found Cassim and Tala in a secluded garden. As Cassim leaned closer, entranced by Tala’s melodic voice, Mozenrath stepped forward, determined to break the spell he suspected she had cast.

“Tala! Show yourself, you deceiver!” he shouted.

Tala turned, a knowing smile on her lips. “Mozenrath, always so dramatic. You can’t splash away the waves of emotion.”

Mozenrath, using his power, conjured a wave of water to drown her song. However, she effortlessly deflected it, her hands weaving through the air as if parting the currents themselves.

“Enough,” she said, her voice a velvet whisper filled with malice. “You cannot interfere with my plans, sorcerer.”

As the sound of waves and an eerie calm enveloped the space around them, Cassim stood frozen, clearly under her spell. In desperation, Mozenrath yelled, “Father! Fight it!”

As Mozenrath began to draw breath to conjure a more powerful spell, Tala seized her moment. “Come with me, Cassim!” she commanded, her voice like silk and honey. And just like that, he followed her, an obedient puppy chasing after its mistress. “Let’s head to the shore, where we can be alone…”

Realizing time was slipping away, Mozenrath rushed to find Aladdin. “Aladdin! We must go now! Tala is a siren! She’s lured Cassim away to the shores!”

But Aladdin stood amidst a gathering of his guests, and Mozenrath couldn’t contain his urgency. “Your father is in danger!” he shouted, eyes wild in the bright light of day.

“Oh for the love of—” Aladdin began, but Jasmine cut in.

“Aladdin, Remember Saleen? The siren? It’s possible!” she urged, her expression turning serious.

Realization swept over Aladdin, in an instant, Aladdin’s activism fused with his instinctual need to protect his family. "Mozenrath, you're right! Tala must be connected to Saleen! Let’s go!” he commanded, leading the way.

On the sands, under a twilight sky painted in shades of purple and gold, Cassim stood mesmerized as Tala’s voice wrapped around him like a silken thread. “You will be mine forever,” she crooned, her radiant beauty glistening under the moonlight, as waves crashed rhythmically.

Mozenrath and Aladdin burst forward, taking in the scene that unfolded. “Tala…” Mozenrath seethed. “Or should I say Saleen?”

“Indeed,” she smirked, revealing her true identity. “Cassim will join me beneath the waves, transforming into a merman forever!”

“Your time has ended!” Mozenrath’s voice thundered, sending a wave of dark magic toward her.

In that instant, Mozenrath launched forward, unleashing his powers against Saleen. The ensuing battle was fierce; blasts of magic collided with waves of water, black sand blasted into the air. “You can build your sand castles as big as you want, sorcerer,” Saleen taunted, “but water will always wash it away!”

During the chaos, Cassim felt his anger boil. The siren had twisted his affection with cruel laughter and playful melodies. In a shocking moment of clarity, Cassim leapt between Mozenrath and Saleen, drawing a dagger—a lethal reflection of grief and determination. “Leave my sons out of this!”

With a swift motion, he plunged the dagger into her heart. Stunned silence engulfed the beach as Saleen’s body slumped lifelessly to the ground, a dark shimmer dissipating into the sand. “Where is your power now?” he spat, anger surging as he remembered all she had taken from him.

Cassim stood shaken, the weight of his actions crashing down around him as he looked to his sons, horror and pride mingling in his gaze.

“What have you done?” Aladdin murmured, astonished, both proud and horrified at their father’s ferocity.

“I’ve killed before,” Cassim whispered, revealing the anguish buried deep within him. “But I did it to protect you. She mocked my past. She threatened the only family I have left.”

As Cassim’s rage calmed, Mozenrath and Aladdin shared a look of profound surprise. The three returned to Agrabah together as the night fell, gathering in the palace to celebrate their narrow escape.

Under the stars, drinks flowed freely, and laughter filled the air. “Well, not every day you discover your father is a stone-cold killer,” Aladdin teased, clinking his cup against Mozenrath’s.

Cassim smiled, a genuine warmth emanating from him. “Let us drink to family—no matter how complicated it can be.”

And with that toast, they embraced the chaos of their lives, ready to face an uncertain future together.