#I wanted to draw her properly but I did not have dark knight armor in my heart for this piece

[mimusbirds]

Day 6: Tears in the Rain

But Ardbert, dear Ardbert, would not forsake his heart. In the end, he chose mercy. He chose love, and I was undone.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

7 with est 👀👀👀

7- hoarse/voiceless

this is absolutely au for est, because there are quite a few major beats in waves & wind that wouldn't really land right after all the au-ing i did four or five years ago. however. i wanted to put est on a boat <3 rough ch 5.3 for spoiler purposes

It’s a little funny, you think, that you’ve never really sailed. Not properly, not like this, not on the open sea where there’s no horizon in any direction and the water is even more unchanging than the open fields of Rohan. The Long Lake is wide and so is Nenuial, but they have nothing on these endless waters- and Sirgon and Daxamat both laugh when they tell you you’ve not yet left the Bay of Belfalas.

You know the storm is coming even belowdecks. It’s no sense so arcane as some of your crew seem to think- only long years spent studying the rising and release of thunder. You warn the others, and hope you don’t frighten Caebar too badly, and go up to the deck.

Dark clouds gather in the distance, visible from miles away with nothing at all to hide them- or to break them. You clamber up into the tangle of low-hanging rigging in the forecastle where Daxamat scowls at the oncoming storm.

“I swear the storms did not used to be so frequent or so angry in the Bay,” he says, and you grip the nearest lines for balance as the Wave-hunter tilts down a steep swell. The waves are already growing rougher.

“Is there no avoiding this one?” you ask, though you have no hope the answer will be yes. Daxamat gives you a disbelieving look.

“Not unless your fancy rocks can split the storm before us,” he says and you smile with half your mouth.

“You overestimate me,” you say, and he sighs.

“I was afraid that was the case.”

You study the angry stormfront. “...is there anything we can do to prepare for it?” You know the storm, but not the sea.

“Tie down anything that can be tied,” Daxamat says with a grim laugh. “Stay out of the way of actual sailors. And… make sure your knights are out of their armor. They wouldn’t want to go overboard like that.” You glance at him sharply.

“You think that’s so serious a risk?” Dax only shrugs, half leaping and half falling from the rail to the pitching deck.

“The way my last voyage ended? It seems better to be cautious in these waters these days.”

You wish, an hour later, that you could indeed control storms as Daxamat said, but you only ever borrow their power for a moment. There is power enough in this one to tear the ship apart.

No one is abovedecks who does not need to be- especially those of you who aren’t sailors. Sirgon listens to the groaning of the Wave-hunter and frowns over the nervous muttering of the rest of your crew, packed into the largest cabin and summarily instructed to stay there until the storm passed.

“We are far too near the Shield Isles for my liking to cross a storm this fierce,” Sirgon says to you under his breath. “We are on the side of the Grinding Jaws, and they were not named lightly.”

The Wave-hunter pitches to the side and even Sirgon staggers. Daxamat has already gone up to the deck to help, taking Sigileth and Legolas with him. You wonder how long it will be before you and the sons of Elrond will be asked to follow. You flex your hands, cold from the damp and the biting winds, and tighten the bindings on your rune-bag and Elenagil in her sheath.

The Wave-hunter shudders under your feet. Sirgon draws a sharp breath. There are cries from above. You're only halfway to the narrow stairs up when the deck goes out from underneath you and wood splinters with a sound only a little softer than thunder.

The water is cold and dark and churns so badly you couldn’t say if it was stone or ship or scattered crew that slams into you from all directions. You’re not a stranger to the water, but you've not seen anything quite like this before.

Well. You’re hardly seeing anything right now, either.

Lightning illuminates the water, brief but bright enough to find the surface. You reach for it, clawing your way skyward while thunder rumbles the water around you like a drum.

Something heavy strikes you across the back. Something cracks; you can’t tell if it’s you or the unseen thing. You lose your air, and you breathe in seawater, and you grab fruitlessly for something solid and choke on the wrathful bay until the waters take you away.

---

It’s dawn when you wake, pink in the sky and gold in the sand and black and brown and brilliant green in the cliffs above you. Your legs are still in the water, brushed by waves that seem gentle in apology for the storm before. You push yourself up, and your back screams as if struck anew, and you fall flat in the sand with a groan.

What became of the rest of the Wave-hunter? you ask silently of the sand beneath your cheek. It doesn’t reply, and you spit some of it from your mouth and drag yourself inch by inch beyond the reach of the water. You lost a shoe somewhere- only the one, though. Your throat hurts. Slowly, you gather yourself, and hope that walking will seem like less of a trial once you are standing.

A shadow falls over you. Someone speaks, and it sounds like Black Speech, and in sudden panic you throw yourself to your feet, already reaching for where your rune-bag should be.

Somehow, it’s still there, though it’s full of water and some of its contents must have escaped. You draw out a stone, but instead of words of power you only get out a harsh fit of coughing as your throat protests absolutely everything it can think of. When you can breathe again you throw the stone aside and draw Elenagil instead, falteringly taking the stance Faeron had tried so hard to teach you.

It is a group of goblins and orcs who scramble away from you, weapons raised and eyes hard, but they don’t fall on you immediately, even when you wobble and fall back to one knee. One of them elbows another and they argue in almost-whispers among themselves. Your head aches less badly than the rest of you and you think you can follow most of it. Some words are Westron and some are the Black Speech and some are another tongue altogether. Umbari, perhaps? You don’t know much of it yet. You catch wait and recognize and Gundabad, and after that trust and safe and can’t let her-. You try to speak, and cough some more, and, eventually, lower Elenagil.

“Who are you?” you ask, hoarsely, in Black Speech like you only really practiced properly with Viznak in the swamps. You’re not sure which of them is more surprised to hear it.

[transformers-fan-continuities]

Spotlight: Ties That Bind

This one’s a doozy folks! If you missed the last spotlight you can go read it here, but strap in for The Ties That Bind, an absolutely brilliant take on humanformers. It’s hosted here at @tiesthatbind-tf​ created by @artsy-hobbitses​!

Q) Give us a run down of your cont! What's it about, what's it called, what's it like?

Ties That Bind is a humanformers-based original continuity which is part Science Fiction and part Alternate History where the invasion of Quintessons and introduction of their technology to Earth in 1920 sets the world and humankind on a completely different trajectory. The active narrative spans a period from 1920 to 2070, covering the First and Second Quintesson Wars, the interplanetary Antillan War (leading to the creation of Unicron on Mars) and the Great War which involves the Autobots, Decepticons and Functionist stalwarts, and how it affects the characters.

The cast is pretty sprawling and the narrative is mostly centred around human drama with bits of humor interspaced and a dash of horror (mostly centred around how the previous government often chose to utilize the technology left behind from the Quintesson Wars to create new systems of oppression, which affected many of the characters, in the name of worldwide rebuilding efforts).

Q) What characters take the lead here? Any personal favorites?

I will admit to this continuity being very much heavy on the relationship between Old Bastards�� Optimus Prime and Megatron, which is given considerable weight as they were best friends who had known each other since childhood and were deeply intrinsic to each other’s growths as individuals, which makes it all the worse when guilt and betrayal enter the party. Despite being captains in two corners of this battle, there’s a part of them that just cannot let go of their pasts together and they need to reconcile with how this will affect their agenda (Megatron) and how they lead their team (Optimus) who don’t necessarily share their history.

Other characters with significant development include:

Starscream, a Cold Construct in a toxic working relationship with Megatron with whom he is hiding a dark secret, who struggles to balance the underhanded viciousness he believes he needs to gain power and his innate desire from his Senate days to make the world a better place. 

Windblade, a Camien native who fights her government’s apathy concerning the situation on Earth which they see as unsalvageable compared to their more Utopian society. 

Prowl, a Cold Construct raised from childhood to be a cop in a police state, who finds out that he was brainwashed several times  to ensure his obedience and efficacy as a government asset and is now working to reclaim some semblance of the humanity he was never allowed to feel and figure out how much of him is who he really is and how much is programming.

Hound, a sheltered Beastman who joined the fight to ensure that Beastmen the world over would have the same rights he did in his homeland of Shetland Isle, but is forcefully stripped of his humanity and faced with his animal side during the war and has to relearn what personhood means amid his trauma.

Q) Is there a bigger point to this, like a theme or some catharsis? Or is it just fluffy fun?

God with the amount of time I spent sleepless trying to figure out how the logistics of this or the semantics of that were supposed to work in universe, I cannot for the life of me say it’s fluffy fun, but I can’t exactly say it hasn’t been pretty engaging either!

There’s elements of war being messy for everyone involved where there doesn’t seem to be a clear line between friend and foe at times, but I think for most part it prescribes to  Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s belief that people are inherently good, but are corrupted by the evils of society. Despite its dark themes (Including but not limited to child abuse, torture, illegal experimenation  and brainwashing), love and friendships do prevail, kindness does beget kindness, found families are made, even the smallest actions matter, and things do get better because there are people on both sides who genuinely want to, and strive to make it better.

With Cold Constructs and Beastmen, it also delves heavily into what it means to be human; to have agency and personhood.

There’s also a strong undercurrent of taking responsibility for one’s actions, even if they were made with the best of intentions (Avoidance of this is what eats up Starscream and Megatron from the inside, and what Starscream eventually embraces).

Q) How long have you been working on it?

There’s two answers to this!

I’ve had a Humanformers-related universe going all the way back to 2007 around the time the first Bayformers came out---basically I had a choice between learning to draw cars or draw people (I was an anthro artist back then) and I immediately chose people.

The 2007 draft however had no worldbuilding or connective storylines and was mostly a fun little venture into character design and practice which were actually instrumental to me experimenting and learning how to draw humans properly.

I left the fandom for about a decade and when I came back to it in late 2020 around September via the War for Cybertron series on Netflix, I immediately got hooked on the 2005 IDW comics I missed out on and wanted to get around to updating my old designs as well find a way to translate several of the concepts I wanted to explore in a human sense, so the 2020 update became its own full-fledged original continuity with detailed worldbuilding and history.

You can see the artistic evolution of several characters from their original incarnation below!

Q) It’s incredible to see your artistic improvement too! Give us a behind-the-scenes look! Show us a secret ;))

Say hello to my workspace! I’ve been working exclusively on the Ipad Pro since late 2016, which is fantastic because I can basically whip up concepts and sketches on the go anywhere. Nowhere is too out of bounds to work on TTB!

Also, do enjoy this sneak peek at true!form Rung, whose synthezoid human body took years to perfect.

Q) YESSSSS alright I must admit this is one of my favorite Rungs, and certainly my fave within TTB. Amazing. Phew, anyway. Where did you draw inspiration from? What canons, what other fiction, what parts of real life?

TTB was initially conceived as a faithful retelling of the IDW 2005 narrative before it was transformed into its own continuity and as such, it borrows heavily from concepts and mirrored plot lines introduced in that run! I chose to have the series inspired off it specifically for the amount of history and worldbuilding it introduced to the franchise.

Anime like Gunslinger Girl and Beastars inspired the depictions of Cold Constructs, especially the more harrowing aspects of their upbringing as government assets instead of children, and Beastmen (Beastformers) in TTB.

I haven’t depicted the world itself in my art all too much, but the architecture from Tiger and Bunny, which has sort of a futuristic Art Deco feel to it, is what you’d usually see in major cities. There is an in-universe reason for that---with a Point Of Divergence set in 1920 followed by 25 years (an entire generation) of progress basically being kicked to the curb due to the Quintesson wars, mankind was basically in a time-locked bubble until the end of the wars, and by then their heroes were 1920s-style rebellion leaders, which lead to 1920s fashion (especially among the Manual Working Class---Megatron, Jazz and Optimus all rock 1920s fashion at some point of their lives) and architecture being celebrated and retained as sort of a reminder of how things were before The Invasion. This anime’s background design is also where I adopted the tiered system TTB’s major metropolises are often built on (with each tier being designated to a different working class) from.

The main artistic style itself is a love letter to 90s cartoons, in particular Gargoyles’ deep and drama-driven character narratives and designs as well as The Centurions’ take on body armor logistics.

I also take inspiration, especially armor-wise, from the characters’ given heritage and background. As an example, Hotrod who is depicted as Irish has the flames on his armor done up with Celtic knots. Welsh aristocrat Mirage’s armor bears olden knight-style filigree and has his Autobot logo designed as a coat of arms. Indonesian Soundwave’s armor and Decepticon logo takes cues from Batik and Wayang Kulit while their mask is based off the Barong.

Q) They are absolutely gorgeous! Show off something you're really proud of, a particular favorite part of your cont.

The worldbuilding in general! Most Humanformers I’ve seen tend to treat it like a fun exercise which it is and is definitely valid, but I found myself wanting a full-fledged world to lose myself in and I sought to try and make that world myself by drafting a detailed history and timeline of events which would affect ongoing narratives, having indepth worldbuilding to include almost all societal aspects of the universe and  expanding on the concept of Beastmen and Cold Constructs existing in a human setting.

I’m not so secretly proud of the research and diversity included to make the cast look like the multicultural, globally-based team that they were meant to be instead of being locked to a single region! My original draft from 2007 was, to put it simply, quite culturally monolithic and I wanted to improve on that aspect with TTB.

I’m also proud that I’ve kept to it this far! I’m a notoriously flaky person jumping from one idea/fandom to another and to have kept at this continuity for the better part of ten months is honestly a personal feat.

Art-wise, this scene depicting a young Megatron working alongside Terminus and Impactor (cameo by @weapon-up-wallflower​‘s OC Missit!)  is definitely one of my favorites since it helps build up the world they live in and plays to familial bonds and comfort found in one another despite their less than ideal circumstances.

Q) Everything has come together so beautifully, you absolutely should be proud. What other fan canons do you love and why? Would you like to see them interviewed?

I am dying to hear more from @iscaredspider​’s Sparkpulse continuity! Her designs are MIND-BLOWINGLY GORGEOUS and I want to hear more about what inspired her to work on it!

Also YOU. Yes YOU BLURRITO. LET ME HEAR MORE ABOUT SNAP.

Q) [wails and squirms away in the mortifying ordeal of being known but in a very flattered way] I WILL SOMEDAY I PROMISE aflghsdjg thank you QwQ

Well that was fantastic, Oni, thank you muchly! A magnificent continuity with so much to look forward to! Coming up next is another personal fave of mine, the first inspiration for SNAP, so stick around...

[suzukiblu]

About 3k of handmaiden!Anakin for @thisarenotarealblog. Bit of a timeskip from where we last left off this time, so we're writing a bit out of order right now.

And a read-more, of course!

--

Obi-Wan has no idea why he's at this party, but he is. It was the Supreme Chancellor's idea, certainly. Usually the Supreme Chancellor is to blame in these situations. Obi-Wan appreciates the man's efforts, but not in this kind of thing.

“Enjoy yourself, Obi-Wan. How often do you take a break?” Palpatine says with a smile, handing him a glass of something definitely alcoholic, and Obi-Wan can’t really argue with that.

He doesn't take breaks, though.

"If you say so, Supreme Chancellor," he says, taking a sip of the drink. It is definitely alcoholic. Palpatine looks amused.

"I do," he says. "Relax. You don't have any responsibilities tonight."

Obi-Wan always has responsibilities.

He drinks the drink, though, and he listens as Palpatine makes political small talk with various senators and other dignitaries, and he follows him from group to group as he does. Palpatine occasionally ropes him into the conversations, but Obi-Wan manages to escape most of them effectively enough. It's a bit of a trick to do it without offending anyone, but he pulls it off, hopefully.

Someone gives him another drink. He’s more than glad to take it.

"Hm," Palpatine says at one point, pausing in his steps between one group and another. Obi-Wan isn't sure what's distracted him, mostly because he's just been hugely distracted himself.

Anakin Skywalker just walked into the building, is the thing. Obi-Wan has no idea where he actually is, but in his defense, the ballroom is crowded and he might be a little tipsy. Or—well, perhaps a little drunk.

But he can feel Anakin Skywalker in the Force like a force, and there is no mistaking his presence. And yes, Obi-Wan is a little drunk, but not drunk enough to miss someone so obvious as that boy. It's been years, but he's never forgotten the feeling of Anakin Skywalker’s Force presence.

He's never forgotten anything about that awful, awful mission.

He exhales, steadies himself, and has another drink. Palpatine continues making his way around the room, continues all his little small talk and pleasantries, and a few minutes later they come face-to-face with Queen Amidala.

Obi-Wan reflexively looks at Padmé, not the handmaiden in the white face paint and red lipstick and golden headdress. The handmaiden is wearing layers upon layers of shining black silk and heavy gold ornaments. Padmé and the rest of her handmaidens are in robes with a simple dark gray ombre, flanking "Amidala".

Palpatine greets Amidala, not Padmé. Amidala inclines her head in reciprocation. Padmé looks at Obi-Wan, just for a moment, and he has to look anywhere else.

She brought Anakin Skywalker here, wherever he is. He can't figure out why. The boy can't be more than . . . twelve? Thirteen, maybe?

He doesn't know.

He should know. Anakin Skywalker should be here with him, in fact, wearing Jedi robes and a padawan braid, and Obi-Wan should know everything about him.

He takes another drink.

"Such a pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty," Palpatine says, smiling serenely at Amidala. Padmé’s eyebrow quirks, and one of the other handmaidens makes a subtle little gesture that Obi-Wan only catches in the reflection of another dignitary's shiny ornamental armor. "It makes me think of home."

"And you as well, Supreme Chancellor," Amidala says. Her voice is a very close match to the way Padmé’s own voice as Amidala was, actually, though that's definitely her actively imitating it. Or she might be wearing some kind of voice modulator; it's hard to tell with all the layers of silk wrapped around her throat. "Naboo misses your company."

"Perhaps one day soon I'll have time to go back for a vacation," Palpatine says, clearly amused by the idea that he'd ever have time for one. "You remember Knight Kenobi, yes?"

"Yes," Amidala says. "Of course."

She bows her head to Obi-Wan. He bows properly in return. He could say something, but all he's thinking about is the smell of burned flesh and the weight of Qui-Gon’s body in his arms.

"Naboo is still very grateful to you, Knight Kenobi," Amidala says. Padmé is watching him intently out of the corner of her eye.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Obi-Wan says, immediately wanting to leave. He doesn't want to be anywhere near all this black silk and bad memories. Everything about Naboo is another reminder of his failures, and Queen Amidala more than most.

He's tried so hard to be a Jedi Qui-Gon would've been proud of, but always there is Qui-Gon’s own death and Anakin Skywalker’s existence.

He can never be the Jedi Qui-Gon would've wanted.

Not that Qui-Gon actually wanted him, in the end.

But that's such a selfish, miserable thought.

"I hope the party is to your tastes, Your Majesty," Palpatine says.

"Of course, Supreme Chancellor," Amidala says, inclining her head politely.

"Good, good," Palpatine says gamely. "I'd hate to see you bored."

"We are far from bored," Amidala says. The handmaidens shift very slightly behind her, but Obi-Wan misses whatever little gesture they've made this time. He's not sure if they're communicating among themselves or just fidgeting, and he's a little too drunk to trust a guess.

It doesn't matter anyway, really. He doubts they'd be saying anything he wants to know.

Or deserves to, more like.

An attendant comes up to Palpatine and murmurs in his ear, and Palpatine pauses to listen, then smiles pleasantly at Amidala and Obi-Wan.

"I may be needed, it seems. Why don't you two catch up?" he says. "I won't be but a moment."

"Supreme Chancellor—" Obi-Wan starts warily, and Palpatine pats his shoulder.

"Offer the queen a dance, Knight Kenobi," he suggests. "I'll be right back."

". . . of course, Supreme Chancellor," Obi-Wan says, too baffled by the idea to argue it. Also he's fairly sure arguing it would come across as an insult to Amidala, so . . .

Palpatine walks away with the attendant. The handmaidens rustle amongst themselves. Amidala looks momentarily bemused, but then clears her face.

"If it pleases Your Majesty," Obi-Wan says, feeling like a fool. He holds out his hand to Amidala, who looks momentarily bemused again but takes it.

And she's not a handmaiden, Obi-Wan realizes the moment their hands touch.

She's Anakin Skywalker.

Hell.

It's too damn late to do anything else, though, so he leads the other to the dance floor. Anakin Skywalker follows with perfect manners, and they step into the dance. Obi-Wan knows it, but not quite as well as Anakin apparently does. It's not too demanding, at least, which is probably for the best for the both of them—Obi-Wan is a little drunk, still, and Anakin is wearing very heavy robes and jewelry. He doubts they're the best for dancing in, though Anakin doesn't seem to mind.

Obi-Wan can feel the handmaidens' eyes on them.

He could speak to him, he supposes, but he can't imagine what he'd say.

What could he, after everything?

"Hi," Anakin says, his voice still a near-faultless match to Padmé’s. Obi-Wan still doesn't know what to say.

"Hello, Anakin," he replies, voice pitched low so as not to carry to the other dancers. Anakin doesn't seem surprised to be recognized. Well . . . Obi-Wan supposes he remembers a bit about Jedi senses, more than likely.

"Nobody calls me that anymore," Anakin says. He doesn't make a face, but Obi-Wan gets the impression that he would, if not for Amidala’s makeup.

"What do they call you, then?" he asks. It's only polite.

"Anaké," Anakin says. Obi-Wan frowns faintly. He would've expected "Ani", he supposes, or just "Skywalker".

"Anaké?" he repeats questioningly.

"Yes," Anakin—Anaké—says. "Except my mom calls me Ani."

"Your mother?" Obi-Wan says, his frown deepening. "Isn't she . . ."

"Padmé bought her," Anaké says.

"Oh." Obi-Wan feels like a fool, again.

"You missed a step," Anaké says.

"Ah—my apologies," Obi-Wan says. Anaké’s right; he did. "It's been some time since I danced."

"You're okay at it," Anaké says, with all the unforgiving bluntness of a teenager. Obi-Wan really doesn't know what he feels right now.

"Thank you," he settles for, diplomatically. He tries not to picture what Anaké might look like without the makeup, and especially not what he might look like in Jedi robes and a padawan braid. That's something that didn't happen, and never will.

Something he couldn't trust himself to let happen.

Something he wasn't strong enough to make happen.

"So you're a knight now?" Anaké says.

"Yes," Obi-Wan says.

"Not a master?" Anaké cocks his head.

"Not yet." Obi-Wan is mostly sure that wasn't meant to be an insult, but the words stab him anyway. He should've taken a padawan by now.

He should've done a lot of things.

"Sorry about your lightsaber," Anaké says.

"What?" Obi-Wan asks blankly. He's wearing his lightsaber.

"Never mind," Anaké says. "Um."

Obi-Wan is about to say something, but then he gets a bad feeling. He tightens his grip on Anaké, and Anaké stiffens.

"What's that?" Anaké says, and then the ceiling blows up. People scream. Obi-Wan throws Anaké to the floor and shields him from the debris with his body, and Anaké lets out a startled yelp. There's already a long vibroblade in his hand. Obi-Wan has no idea where he was hiding that thing.

The handmaidens swarm them. People in armor that Obi-Wan doesn't recognize drop through the ceiling with weapons drawn and start shouting demands. The panicking dignitaries are forced back towards the walls.

Obi-Wan really wishes he hadn't had those drinks earlier.

"Fall back. Don't get pinned down," Padmé says tersely. She's right at their side, a blaster drawn from somewhere within her robes. All the handmaidens are suddenly visibly armed in one way or another, but they're definitely outnumbered.

"Padmé!" Anaké says.

"We'll cover you," another handmaiden says. Obi-Wan thinks she looks familiar, but he doesn't know her name.

They fall back, and Padmé and the handmaiden lay down covering fire. Obi-Wan draws his lightsaber and flicks it on.

He really hopes Palpatine isn't in the building right now. That's not a problem they need.

The attackers shoot back. Obi-Wan dives forward and knocks back a blaster bolt before it can hit the handmaiden. She keeps firing her own blaster over his shoulder, not missing a beat. A few more of the dignitaries and attendants scream.

"Cover!" Obi-Wan barks, slashing another blaster bolt out of the air.

"You're doing fine," the handmaiden says dismissively, firing again.

"Fé!" Padmé shouts. "Fall back!"

The handmaiden sighs, but listens. Obi-Wan covers her retreat, and they fall back towards the heavy buffet tables. Someone's already kicked them over, and they drop back behind them. Fé checks her blaster. Obi-Wan feels like throwing up, which is probably the alcohol's fault.

A few other dignitaries have pulled out hopefully not ornamental weapons and there are guards in the room too, but at this point everyone's taken cover. Obi-Wan can't see or sense Palpatine, so that's some mercy.

Assuming he's not dead, anyway.

Obi-Wan steels himself. Palpatine isn't dead. He isn't even in the damn room.

One of the attackers starts shouting again. Fé takes aim at them, but Padmé puts a hand on her arm to hold her back.

The attacker is clearly under the impression that this is a hostage situation, which is awfully optimistic of them, Obi-Wan thinks. They might have more blasters, but they're nowhere near containing the situation.

"They get one chance to surrender," Padmé says. The handmaidens all nod sharply. Anaké flips his grip on his vibroblade.

Obi-Wan . . . well, he's the Jedi here, isn't he.

"Ready to wave the white flag?" he calls out to their attackers.

"You corrupt bastards will regret your crimes!" one of them yells.

"Oh, well, I could think of a couple people we could let them shoot, then," a handmaiden says.

"Very funny, Yané," Padmé says dryly.

"I was joking?"

"I don't think we should expect them to surrender," Obi-Wan says, adjusting his own grip on his lightsaber.

"Probably not," Padmé sighs.

"Maybe if we shoot a couple of them?" Anaké suggests.

"I do have the shot," Fé says.

"I'm considering it," Padmé says. Obi-Wan wonders if they're always this prepared for chaos. They seem better organized than the guards are. Definitely better than their attackers are.

"Let me take care of this," he says. "I'm the peacekeeper here, after all."

"You've been drinking," Padmé says.

"I'm still capable of negotiating," he says with as much dignity as he can muster. He's not that drunk, dammit.

This is what he gets for letting himself get talked into going to a party.

"I'm more concerned with you being capable of not getting shot or stabbed," Padmé says frankly.

"I'll be fine," Obi-Wan says.

"You almost tripped while we were dancing," Anaké says.

"I did not," Obi-Wan says indignantly. Anaké and the handmaidens give him an unconvinced look.

Teenagers. For Force's sake.

"Just try not to die, please," Padmé says.

"I haven't yet," Obi-Wan says. The attackers fire a few rounds into the ceiling. Some people scream again, which is really not helpful. He sighs, then flicks off his lightsaber.

"We'll cover you," Padmé says.

"That's very thoughtful of you, thank you," Obi-Wan says, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. He really doesn't need the assistance, but he's not going to protest a little bit of insurance either.

Now the question is, can he stand up without getting shot?

Chances may be slim, he admits to himself.

Alright, he may need the assistance. And really, he's done more dangerous things in his life.

"Let's talk, perhaps?" he calls over to the attackers.

"We don't talk to lying politicians!" one of them yells.

"Well, I'm definitely not that," Obi-Wan says.

"Padmé’s not a liar!" Anaké says with a scowl.

"Thank you for your entirely correct priorities in this situation, Anaké," Obi-Wan says dryly.

"Traitors to the people!" another attacker yells, and takes a potshot at the table they're behind. Obi-Wan is grateful that they brought out the heavy-duty furniture for this party.

"I'm going to shoot them now, my lady," Fé says.

"Let's, yes," Padmé says, and fires back at them. The other handmaidens do the same, except for Anaké, who doesn't have a blaster and looks impatient. Obi-Wan considers pulling out his lightsaber again as the attackers return fire. At least they're focused on them, and not any of the less-protected people. No one's died yet, and Obi-Wan would like to keep it that way.

It might be a fool's hope, admittedly, but it's one he lives by.

Enough people have died on his watch in his life.

The table is starting to take some serious structural damage. Obi-Wan gets his lightsaber out again after all.

"I'm going to do something a bit dangerous now," he informs Padmé and the others. "Please don't shoot me."

"No promises," Yané says.

Well, at least they're honest.

Obi-Wan sighs, then shifts into a crouch and leaps over the table with a Force push, high into the air and over the blasterfire. He flicks his lightsaber on and lands in the middle of the attackers, and things proceed logically from there. Some of them attack him; some scatter. He's a bit more worried about the scattering ones, though it looks like the handmaidens are doing their best to pick them off.

Alright, yes, he might've needed the assistance.

Obi-Wan slices his way through opponents as they do their damnedest to kill him, and blasterfire continues to rain down around them all. He's not really sure who's shooting, at this point.

Someone screams, and Obi-Wan senses terror. He jerks his head towards it and finds an attacker doing a very bad job of taking a hostage, by which he means "being viciously stabbed by Anaké".

Very viciously.

Sweet Force, Obi-Wan thinks, then narrowly avoids getting stabbed himself.

The fight is messy but brief, and it doesn't take long. Obi-Wan has been in worse ones, certainly. He does nearly get killed once or thrice, but that's just a normal day, really, and before long he's surrounded by fallen bodies. Padmé shoots past him one last time and takes out one more attacker, and then silence falls in the ballroom.

Obi-Wan rakes his hair back out of his face, trying to catch his breath. He feels . . . pained, a bit, and not because of any injuries.

He just feels Qui-Gon like a lost limb, sometimes.

"Well, that was a bit unfortunate," he says as casually as he can make himself, flicking his lightsaber off.

"A bit of an understatement," Padmé says, standing up and dusting her robes off. The other handmaidens swarm Anaké again, who's busy wiping blood off his hands. It might not be the best example of body-doubling ever committed by the Naboo, but then again, what does Obi-Wan know about either the Naboo or their body-doubling practices. He's certainly never looked into them.

Padmé joins the group around Anaké and steps up to him to carefully wipe a little more blood off of Amidala’s makeup with her thumb. It doesn't smear, to Obi-Wan's mild surprise. He doesn't know much about makeup either, of course.

The guards come out to collect the surviving attackers, and the dignitaries and attendants start coming out as well. Most of them are wary, but they're grateful too.

Obi-Wan doesn't feel drunk anymore, at least, though actually at this point he'd like another drink or two.

He thinks about going over to Amidala and her entourage, but he can't imagine why they'd want him there.

Palpatine comes back as the guards and attendants are cleaning up, looking alarmed.

"What happened?" he says. Obi-Wan still wants another drink.

"Just a minor incident, Supreme Chancellor," he says, though the hall is trashed enough that he doubts that's a convincing statement. "Nothing to worry about."

"I see you've handled things well enough yourself, Obi-Wan," Palpatine says, looking at the lightsaber wounds on the attackers. Obi-Wan straightens up, trying not to look as tired as he feels.

"I had some assistance," he says, tilting his head towards Amidala and her entourage. Palpatine makes a thoughtful noise.

"I see," he says. "Well, it's a good thing you were here."

"I suppose," Obi-Wan says, which logically he recognizes is true, and yet . . .

And yet.

"How was your dance?" Palpatine asks, and Obi-Wan smiles weakly at him.

"Perhaps I owe Queen Amidala another," he says.

"Ah, well, there's always next time," Palpatine says, and Obi-Wan really doesn't know if he ever wants to see Amidala or Padmé or Anaké's faces ever again.

"I suppose," he says again, and watches the handmaidens fuss over the debris-covered hem of Anaké's dark robes, and feels him in the Force like a star: the lineage-brother he'll never have, the padawan Qui-Gon was never able to take, the would-be Chosen One that went unchosen. The boy wearing a queen's face like he's worn it a thousand times, so impossible to miss but so well-hidden all the same.

Obi-Wan still doesn't know what he feels about any of this at all.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter, though.

No one's going to ask him, after all.

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah... i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

It was only to kill time as you waited for the royal gates to open. That night, the King and Queen were hosting an annual, celebratory dinner to commemorate the newest anointment of pages, otherwise known as the fresh grouping of students who would serve the knights and learn about their duties, specifically how they protected and served the kingdom. It was a true honour: you had been requested to cook in the royal kitchen, and the younger apprentice your mother hired at the bakery, Chan, was going with you.

He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down, instead pacing in front of the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds. This would be his first time seeing the royal family’s abode from the inside, and if he was particularly lucky, he might get to meet the Prince. To him it was a big deal, but you couldn’t care less. At even just thinking about the Prince, you started pressing your knife harder against the beech wood, gritting your teeth as a larger piece curled off and fell into your lap. Lee Seokmin, he was the Prince. 

You absolutely hated him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, child?”

The sunlight that glinted against your face was interrupted by your mother, who had her hands sternly placed on her hips, glaring down at you in sheer disapproval.

“Give me that.” She quipped whilst scowling at the blade. “This instant.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up properly on the bench and dusted the cream-coloured shavings off your lap. She never let you do anything, and when you were in close proximity to the castle, she became even more rigid and hawk-eyed. You gave her the knife which she hastily folded up, watching her pocket it inside a pouch on the front of her white dress. 

You still held onto the beech wood.

“There is no reason to bring a weapon into the King and Queen’s home. I should not have to reprimand you like this once more. Behave in the way I have taught you.”

Suddenly, there was a loud command you heard echo from the turret, and the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds began pulling apart. You heard the clink belonging to the iron chains and the cracks in the elderly oak. Chan stumbled backward, leaving sufficient room for the gate to open. Unlike the apprentice whose eyes were glimmering in awe, you had to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and put on your fakest, most convincing expression of content. It was going to be the longest night of your life – even longer if you had to eat supper with the Prince.

Just before you were guided into the royal family’s abode by the caterers, you swiftly pulled up the side of your dress and tucked the piece of beech wood between the garter belt at your thigh. Then, you rushed to stand beside Chan.

“Excited, are you?” You asked him.

He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. “It is my biggest wish to sit down with the Prince! To cook for him is already a sure pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but huff at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t know Seokmin the way you did.

Time passed quickly, and it was almost two hours into preparing the onslaught of fruit, meat, vegetables, and grain required to make the celebratory supper. The royal kitchen was much larger than the small, quaint space you operated back at the bakery, where everything was tightly shoved together and you knew each crevice like the back of your hand. You were working up a sweat as you kneaded a large, thickening dough. Once you were satisfied, you floured a wooden roller and began flattening it out, using a tin can to cut perfect circles.

You told Chan to put the tray in the clay furnace and keep an eye on the rising bread.

“Where are you going?” He immediately inquired upon watching you untie your apron, hanging the splattered fabric on a hook jutting from the stone wall.

“It’s quite hot. I’m stepping outside for a few minutes. No more than that.”

The young boy nodded and proceeded to follow your orders, keeping a watchful eye on the dough that would soon become crispy, warm pieces of bread. You slipped into the long corridor that led outside. There was still a noticeable heat in the evening air, though it was much less overwhelming compared to the kitchen, packed with fires and bodies and steam. A soft, glowing pink tinted the sky, and you were surprised at how little clouds there were.

Just to be certain, you felt underneath your dress for the piece of beech wood, relieved to brush it against your skin.

A distant sound captured your attention, somewhat like the noise of steel slashing against steel. Walking along the side of pillaring cobblestone, the noise grew louder, accompanied by indiscernible, muffled shouting. You stepped around the small wildflowers sprouting from the grass, keeping as silent as possible upon approaching the corner that ended at an iron gate.

Sparing a cautious glance between the bars, you looked into a large courtyard covered with sand. There were two young men sparring against each other, competitive but lighthearted in their expressions and the nature of how they operated their swords.

It was none other than the Prince himself, Seokmin, against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan.

You plucked your head back and inhaled delicately. The unique airiness of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberated into the evening, summer air, joining hymn with the sharp steel. You peaked through the iron bars again. Seokmin was still buried in his hefty silver armor, a layer of chainmail hanging from his shoulders. Expertly, he caught the underside of Jeonghan’s sword with his own and twisted the weapon from his friend’s hands, which dropped against the sand with a soft thud. Jeonghan stumbled backward, panting heavily.

“For God’s sake, I surrender!” He laughed, dusting off his shiny armor.

Seokmin slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist, smiling triumphantly. 

“You squander each attempt at defeating me. Have you just lost another bet with my blacksmith?”

Jeonghan bent down to pick up his sword and huffed, “it could be so.”

“You are inclined to become a beggar,” the Prince teased, “thankfully, tonight’s feast shall leave you with plentiful portions to take to the streets.”

There was a small, stone fountain bubbling beneath an overhang in the courtyard. Seokmin allowed a generous cup of water to form in his hands before splashing it along his face, the droplets streaming down his amber skin that had been caked with dust. Once he cleared away the grit, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the long, black curls. 

He smirked at Jeonghan and uttered something to him you couldn’t decipher as they removed their chainmail. You studied him intently, feeling the warmth in your chest welt into disdain and anger.

“What are you doing all the way down there?!”

You jumped, sensing your flesh bristle. Turning around, you saw Chan standing at the doorway with his brow furrowed, probably wondering why you never returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you hurried toward him and away from the courtyard, praying that neither the Prince nor his friend heard Chan’s shouting.

“Was there somebody out there? Who was it?” Chan immediately pestered you with questions.

“There was no one.” You told him whilst entering the kitchen, heaving a great sigh of relief upon seeing your bread removed from the clay furnace, the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes.

Chan seemed skeptical, but he knew you were infamously defensive, so he didn’t investigate.

“Have you started the pastry for the cherry pie?” You asked him after setting the grain aside.

“No,” Chan replied, “I heard it is a favourite of the Prince. We must prepare it attentively.”

“Of course. Now, ask that lady over there if we can use her pie pan. We will start immediately.”

In complete honestly, you’d rather prepare any other dessert – even the chocolate soufflés, which were arguably difficult to perfect. However, you yet again bit your tongue and helped the eager apprentice remove the pits from the ruby red cherries, which landed in a wicker basket just at your feet. Every moment or so, you were tempted to leave behind a pit, entertaining the tiny thought that it could be inside the slice served to the Prince. You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle.

It wasn’t so much skin off your nose, but Chan would definitely be disheartened.

You made sure to thoroughly clean all the cherries.

The dining hall was absolutely packed. There were rows of young pages standing at the table, hardly able to contain themselves as they stared glossy-eyed into the fresh cooked meals and desserts. No one had sat down yet, not until the King and Queen took their seats.

The Queen, swathed in the long, shimmering silk of her violet robe, observed the hungry crowd gathered before her. She was an alluring beacon, just like a porcelain doll, and the sapphire gems embossed in her crown glinted against the central chandelier. As you were specifically requested by the royal family to cook, you were granted a seat at the table, in between your mother and an anxious Chan who kept stealing glances at the Prince, standing next to his father. You refused to look at Seokmin, even when you felt his gaze trace the side of your face.

Suddenly, the Queen grabbed onto a sumptuous chalice and lifted it high in the air. She began making a toast to the newly appointed pages, congratulating the start of their journey. You copied your mother and reached for a silver goblet next to your plate, which had been prefilled with cold, dark purple wine. Everyone applauded her speech. Then, the King took over.

It was hard to pay attention, until you heard a particular name leave his mouth.

“As we continue the great customs of our ancestors who built this impenetrable kingdom, a new fate has arrived for Prince Seokmin.”

You flicked your gaze toward Seokmin, your heart hammering in your chest. His father set a hand on his shoulder, covered by a velvet, royal blue robe.

“Our son is at the rightful age to marry. After ample negotiation with the neighbouring and prosperous village of Markarth, their Lord has granted permission to his daughter, Lady Adelaide, as a possible contender. She will visit us on the summer solstice. I am prideful, and honoured, to announce this marvellous news alongside the blessed anointment of our pages.”

Instantly, you felt lightheaded, and you had to place the goblet back down on the table in order to avoid spilling the expensive wine. You knew this day would come eventually, but to hear that an arranged marriage was already brewing left a horrible taste in your mouth. The King shook his son’s shoulder with an honest pride, though Seokmin simply pressed his lips together and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the announcement. You felt sick to your stomach. The thought of eating your beef wellington rendered you unable to even look at its outer pastry.

“Let us not dismiss the efforts of our valuable cooks, who prepared this rustic meal.” The King continued, staring in your direction.

He then praised the name of your mother, you, and Chan in specific. Everyone’s goblet remained in the air. Their gazes smeared across your flesh like wet ash.

“Is there anything you would like to say before we commence our feast?”

Your mother was ready to speak, though you managed to cut in before her.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty, I am unbelievably humbled to cook for you tonight, but at this time I wish to be excused from the dining hall. May I part?”

Chan turned to look at you as though your hair were entangled in flames, and your mother grew notably tense. The atmosphere in the room was awfully palpable, like a thick balm that made it difficult to breathe. You could feel the pulse in your fingertips. The King then lowered his head to the Queen, and they briefly exchanged a whisper, seemingly coming to a verdict they both agreed on. Asking to be excused from a royal supper seldom occurred, if ever.

“If that is your wish,” the King said, his voice stern, “then you may part.”

You stepped away from your chair, making sure to bow toward the royal family. Seokmin was staring directly at you, his face looking hardened, cold.

“Thank you,” came your tiny response, “I hope you are delighted by the food.”

In the centre of the royal garden was a magnificent water fountain that came alive at nighttime, small, paper lanterns floating in its pool and glowing a solacing orange. You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. Everyone was still eating inside the dining hall. When you listened very intently, you could hear the faint notes of the live music. You didn’t regret leaving the supper, but you did regret not stealing a tiny bread loaf or even some fresh blackberries from the fruit baskets.  

Your stomach was aching, hungry.

Reaching down to tug up the side of your dress, you pulled out the beech wood you spotted in the grass that afternoon. You had wanted to carve something into its surface with your knife, though you weren’t sure what, and it definitely wouldn’t be possible until your mother returned the blade to you. As you held the smooth nature above your face and pressed your thumbs into its cream face, you were overcome by a new, frothing wave of anger. Seokmin was preparing to get married. The beech wood nearly split in two from your iron grip.

You hated thinking that at one point in your childhood, you genuinely liked the Prince, and harboured this flat-out embarrassing crush on him. So did everyone else, but Seokmin certainly didn’t help your malleable heart in pretending that he liked you back. You remembered it clear as day: Jeonghan, who was much smaller at the time, came bounding up to you, teeming with excitement and using his squeaky voice to tell you that Seokmin wanted to kiss you, and that you needed to meet the Prince by Peace River in the forest.

Of course, you obliged without even having to think, and your friends spent the whole morning twisting small bluebells and buttercups in your hair. When you arrived at Peace River, Seokmin was waiting for you, standing in a patch of sunlight that cut through the trees, wearing a long, silk red robe in addition to his silver crown. It was the most nervous you had ever felt in your entire life, and you remembered feeling dizzy as Seokmin gazed down at you with a sweet look in his honey eyes. The two of you leaned in closer, closer, closer…

And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background.

Seokmin’s friends came stumbling from their hiding spots, some holding their stomachs with how hard they were cackling, others wiping a tear from their eye, all whilst you experienced a shock bottom out in your gut. The realization that everything had been a ruse gave you a tough, metaphorical slap across the face. Jeonghan had to lean against a tree trunk as he gripped his stomach, and a familiar burn stung your cheeks upon remembering the words he coughed out, something along the lines of, “you truly thought the Prince liked you?!”

The worst part was that Seokmin didn’t say anything, he just looked at you sadly. Since then, your contempt for Seokmin blossomed, and he didn’t hesitate to bite back.

Not wanting to break the beech wood, you lowered it from your face and slid it back between the lace garter hidden beneath your dress. When you glanced at the moon, you noticed that a small, orange ball was floating above you. Sitting up, your eyes widened at the sight of numerous orange dots, glimmering all throughout the garden. You recognized them as fireflies, which had always been one of your favourite things about the night. Occasionally, you and Chan would catch the small bugs in mason jars and release them by Peace River.

One fluttered close to your face, so you stuck out your finger hoping it would land. But, out of nowhere, you heard someone walking in the grass and immediately plucked your finger away, instead peering through the moonlight where you spotted a silhouette. Once the figure came into the aurora of the water fountain, you felt your stomach drop. It was none other than the Prince himself. He was no longer wearing his royal robe, just a white poet shirt with the deep, v-shaped collar left unbuttoned, and some black capris. He wasn’t even sporting any jewelry apart from a silver bulb through his right earlobe.

“Why must you act with such blatant disrespect?” He was quick to scold you for leaving the dinner. “Could you have not sat down? Stayed out of honour and given your untouched portions to the beggars?”

You scoffed. “Do not ridicule me like one of your pages. I was asked to cook, and so I did. No more, no less.”

Seokmin huffed, blowing the black curls away from his eyes. “You were invited to eat as well.”

“I fulfilled my principal duty. There was no reason to stay.”

“You could have at least eaten something. A wedge of pie, a peach clove. For heaven’s sake, there was bread at the entryway.”

Unwilling to stay seated and argue, you stood up from the fountain and brushed off your dress, no longer paying attention to the fireflies that illuminated the garden. Of course you wished you took some food; your stomach was collapsing in on itself, though you would not admit it.

“Why are you so concerned with my meals?” You snapped. “Should you not return to your private quarters and get well rested for the summer solstice?”

After mocking his arranged marriage, you couldn’t bear to look Seokmin in the eye. For some reason, a lump got caught in your throat and you felt a hot surge push against your tear ducts.

“Judging by your poor temper, it is you who needs more rest than I.” The Prince shot back.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you attempted to brush by Seokmin and exit the garden. Instead you would find the  gateway and wait until your mother and Chan arrived before leaving the castle grounds. There was food back at the house anyway, you assumed maybe some milk pudding, or sunflower seeds. It wouldn’t satiate you, but at least quell the hunger pangs until morning. However, when Seokmin grabbed your elbow you immediately flared, releasing a sharp yelp as he held you in place.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Seokmin growled, lessening his grip on your arm and leaning in close to your face. “Come with me. I must give you something.” 

Peering into the Prince’s dark brown eyes, you snarled, “what?”

He was close enough that you could see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from when he and Jeonghan had chased each other with fireplace pokers. You thought about looking at his lips, pretty and pink, but refused to break eye contact. The Prince didn’t say anything, just tugged you through the garden, between the thorny rosebushes, the intricate strings of bleeding hearts, and huge pots of pastel, cotton hydrangeas. To your surprise, Seokmin guided you back into the kitchen you had occupied just a few hours ago.

Then, he opened a wood cupboard and pulled out a polished, bright silver tin, which he thrusted into your arms. You peeled the lid open and saw that the tin was filled with raspberry glazed Danishes, to which the fragrant smell of flaky pastry and berries caused your mouth to water.

“S-Seokmin, I—,” you were going to reject him.

“I am not doing charity work for you. It is the custom of our celebratory suppers to not let any guest leave unfed, or pained by hunger.”

He looked at you with a cold expression, and his tone deepened. “Now, you may wait at the front gate for your companion and mother. It is not your place to wander around my castle. I could have you arrested.”

You welcomed his threat. “I anticipate such a drastic measure if it ensures I’ll never have to see your face again.”

Seokmin didn’t look half as amused. He moved in close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin as he uttered inimically, “leave.”

During the walk home to your village quarters, Chan had already shoved an entire pastry into his mouth, licking the raspberry jam off his fingers. Your mother was eager to know who gifted you such an expensive tin alongside the Danishes. Not wanting to admit your confrontation with Seokmin, you churned up a white lie about how they were a present from another cook.

“Certainly?” She seemed quite surprised. “That is a rare gift. To my knowledge, tins with that level of embroidery are only seen inside the castle. Perhaps that cook quite liked you.”

At the early stretch of dawn, you felt someone grasp your shoulder and shake it roughly, until your eyes pulled open, groggy and blurred. You were sitting up in bed, looking bitter. Chan was next to you, and whilst he wore an apologetic expression, you could sense there was a degree of urgency to his actions.

“What’s the matter?” You hummed, digging the heel of your palm into your eye.

Just outside the windowpane, you could see the calm sunrise and feel the morning, serene warmth through the glass.

“Your mother told me to wake you, that we should head to the bakery immediately.” 

As you stumbled around your bedroom, fitting on a pair of degrading, sandalwood slippers before patting your face down with cold water from the well, you were wondering why it was so important that you attend the bakery, that your mother would need to send Chan to fetch you. Still dressed in your nightgown, you left the house alongside the young apprentice and hurried down the quiet road, passing all the tiny markets and apparel shops. As soon as the bakery came into view, you gasped, for a pearl blue carriage was stationed outside, paired to a stallion with silk, white hair. It grazed at a patch of grass and honeysuckle.

There seemed to be a crowd gathered inside the bakery, which only further piqued your curiosity. Chan couldn’t help but stroke the horse’s brilliant fur, which glowed like an amber pool due to the sunlight. You had only taken a measly step or two inside the bakery until jamming to a halt. Right before your eyes, speaking to your mother across the counter was perhaps one of the most pristinely-dressed, elegant girls to ever grace your kingdom. Her dress was long and flowing, a dark green forest jade, accented with gold lacing and a slim pair of gloves that stretched high up her arms.

Chan appeared equally stunned, for he thudded into your backside and stood staring at the girl like she was a rare type of crystal. Almost immediately, you noted the petit, twinkling tiara sitting on her head. Before she could even introduce herself, you knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Adelaide.” You heard Chan whisper to himself.

It immediately dawned on you that the summer solstice had finally arrived. The second she noted your presence at the door, her congregation of guards stepped back, allowing her to approach you. Without a second thought you bowed your head politely. She smelled like fresh clusters of jasmine and her voice was harmonious.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to startle you or your apprentice,” (Chan’s face flushed a shy pink) “I heard from a guardsman of mine that your mother’s bakery is nothing short of wondrous, and I knew I had to stop here before I meet with your kingdom’s Prince.”

You stuttered straight through your teeth, “t-that’s wonderful. P-Pleased, we’re absolutely pleased to serve you, Lady Adelaide. We will prepare anything you desire.”

“Certainly.” Chan agreed.

“I’ll have to spend some time looking over the pastries,” she said jovially, “right now, I am truly awed by how delicious everything appears. My decision will come shortly.”

“Of course.” You responded, rubbing your clammy palms against your dress.

Whilst Lady Adelaide carefully inspected each pastry through the glass, your mother had pulled you and Chan into the kitchen, where she made sure it was clear you show your utmost respect toward the kingdom’s potential princess. Chan still wore a sticky blush on his cheeks, and you could tell he would be about as useful in the kitchen that day as a rock.

“No matter what she requests, we shall honour her needs and prepare it.” Your mother said. “Remember, this could be Prince Seokmin’s wife.”

You felt a streak of envy and wanted to slap yourself. 

Once Lady Adelaide made up her mind, your mother re-entered the front shop with a wide smile. Chan started washing his hands in the pail of fresh water.

“Why was I not born the Prince?” He huffed petulantly. “She is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Does everyone in Markarth have such a face?”

“Oh, cool it, would you?” Came your sharp response. “Our duty is to operate a bakery, not fall in love.”

You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, and you tried desperately to bite your tongue as you fastened on your apron and pulled up the sleeves of your nightgown. The young apprentice wasn’t lying, she was a true and glorious spectacle, one that would surely appease the King and Queen once they saw her next to their son. However, you weren’t keen on entertaining such a sight, and you dismissed it from your head whilst Chan went to the house front and helped your mother collect Adelaide’s dessert.

A week after Lady Adelaide’s arrival at the kingdom, you happened to find your pocket-sized carving knife inside a bakery drawer. You were absolutely relieved to discover it, and took advantage of your mother’s recent departure to slide it back against the garter belt wrapped around your thigh. For the time being, she was occupied at a different village, visiting her sister.

Chan worked on kneading a mound of sourdough, his sleeves rolled high up to his elbows and a cloth tied around his head, pushing back his growing brown hair. You decided to take a break from the kitchen heat, patting him on his shoulder just before you disappeared.

“Huh?” He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the dough, “where will you be?”

“Peace River.” You told him. “I will be taking a short swim.”

The piece of beech wood was already slipped inside your sleeve. Ever since Seokmin gave you that silver, embroidered tin, you placed it on your bedside table and stored the wood inside. 

“Shall I fetch some extra help in the mean time?” Chan asked, lobbing the dough onto a wooden serving board.

“Sure. Why not ask your companion from the academy? Seungkwan is it?”

“Yes.” Chan nodded.

You picked your way through town until you arrived at the pathway that lead into the forest. The dirt was padded down by a century of footsteps, animal paws and wagon wheels, though the soft grass that grew next to it tickled up past your ankles and bloomed with small, purple flowers. You loved walking through the forest, hearing the noises of the village become increasingly muted, replaced by tree branches that gently rocked against each other in the breeze as well as the sweet songbirds.

Upon reaching the river, you sat down on a rock just in front of the grassy bank and pulled out your carving knife. The river created a bubbling waterfall, and whilst you took hold of the beech wood, deciding what to carve, you listened to the trickling sounds. Still unsure of what to scratch in the wood, you continued shaving down its edges until the piece lost its rectangular shape and became more oval. Once you were satisfied with its rounder appearance, you brushed the wispy flakes from your lap, deciding it was time to test the river.

You removed the layers of your dress until you were in nothing but your undergarments, the sunshine that rained between the leaves warm against your skin. After wrapping the beech wood into your clothing, you set the fabric behind a strawberry bush, though left your carving knife folded and sitting on the rock. The river water was cold, but not freezing, and for a few moments you stood knee deep with your eyes closed, allowing the quiet breeze and sunrays to mellow your heartbeat. Then you proceeded to wade in further, until the water lapped up against your chin.

As much as you longed to enjoy the cool river, there was one problem that arose after a few minutes of swimming. 

You heard distant galloping becoming closer and closer, accompanied by the rattling of metallic armour and conversation. Not wanting to make your presence known, you paddled beneath the overhanging rock that created the waterfall, the downpour completely soaking your hair whilst the heavy scent of moss stuck to the stone. You were curious as to who could be arriving at the river. Carefully, you peeked around corner of the overhang.

You felt your blood turn to ice.

It was Seokmin and Adelaide. Her arms were wrapped around the Prince’s waist as he held onto the reins of his beautiful, caramel horse named Apple. You remembered the mare’s name because you were the one who suggested it as kids. Seokmin shook the reins once more, and Apple walked closer to the river, already beginning to graze at the sweet grass lining the bank. Seokmin seemed to be educating Adelaide about the river, though you really had to strain to hear what he was saying. He hopped down cleanly from the horse before assisting the Lord’s lady.

She was no longer wearing her jade dress, but a white gown with many ruffles at the skirt. Her eyes were wide and sparkling whilst she examined the forest. Seokmin set a hand on her waist, gesturing to something in the trees you couldn’t see. The Prince was standing in a patch of sunlight just like he did on that summer day when you were children, waiting to kiss you—well, more like humiliate you, but his amber skin still shone the same, and the way the light reflected off his broad, silver armour depicted just how much he’d grown since then.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently for his words.

“Everyone who visits this river is known to experience a beautiful sense of peace, and calm, hence, why it is known as Peace River.”

Adelaide pressed a kiss to Seokmin’s jaw. “I have never seen such a tranquil sight. Oh, Prince Seokmin, it’s beautiful!”

Whilst Apple continued nipping at the grass, Adelaide squatted down next to the river and let the water gush between her fingers, covered in opal and amethyst rings. She was crooning about how pretty the gems looked beneath the current to Seokmin, though you noted the young Prince wasn’t exactly listening. Something caught his attention – your carving knife, which you left sitting on the goddamn rock. Gulping heavily, you watched as Seokmin picked up the blade and inspected it closely. Immediately, you swam away from the corner when he began squinting around the clearing, as though he were attempting to spot the knife’s owner.

The worst part: Seokmin knew who that carving knife belonged to. He knew it was yours, for he offered it to you, a gift from his blacksmith, a few days before the horrible kissing incident.

When you gathered the courage to peer around the corner again, you saw Seokmin help Lady Adelaide back onto Apple’s saddle. He still had your blade in his hand, to which you watched in complete shock as the Prince ordered his horse onward, deeper into the forest. You cursed him relentlessly under your breath. That bastard, he just took your carving knife! When you only discovered its whereabouts no less than half an hour ago! Boiling with fury, you left the river, threw on the clothes over your wet skin, and marched back into town with your beech wood.

The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

It was the night of the Super Moon Festival.

Raised high amongst the depths of the vast, black sky was the crater itself, bright, shining, and larger than ever. A chilly wind had turned the air quite nippy, and whilst Chan sat next to you, tentatively sipping a warm jar of gold, apple cider, you were simmering in complete bitterness. You had always embraced each festival, especially the Super Moon Festivals, which promised ample fortune unto the kingdom in addition to a prosperous summer; however, that night you couldn’t force even the slightest elation. 

Prince Seokmin still had your carving knife.

A great deal of folk had concentrated to the village square, where the celebration was most vibrant. Certain people had linked arms, dancing to the live music, whilst others were releasing paper lanterns of different colours and shapes into the night sky. There were plenty of drinking games, festive food, and buzzing conversations entangled throughout the square. You were shaking your leg, watching intensely as the Prince and his friends were gathered by an old wagon in the far corner, drinking tall tins of frothy ale, laughing loudly into the crisp, cool air.

Suddenly, Chan nudged your shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “Why do you continue staring at the Prince?”

You peeled your gaze from Seokmin, though the contort of your features remained. Lady Adelaide was nowhere to be spotted. There were rumours that she would be arriving later, that the band would play a special slow song, just so she could share a dance with the Prince.

“I must speak with him.” You replied.

Chan wrapped his cold hands tighter around the apple cider, casting you a peculiar glance.

“Why is that? Has he done something?”

You knew you couldn’t wait forever. Seokmin’s tightknit ensemble didn’t look like it was going to thin anytime soon, and if you allowed the night to end, you would have missed your chance.

“Be right back.” You uttered sharply to the young apprentice as you rose from your chair, leaving Chan to sit alone with his drink.

He could only gaze after you in a thick confusion. It was definitely nerve-wracking to approach the Prince so boldly, especially when he was swathed by his closest friends, all whom lived inside the castle or carried high profiles in the upper scale village. You almost walked straight through a dancing couple on your march across the large square, though you tried not to let any crumb of doubt or intimidation thwart you from retrieving your carving blade. Without a word, you shoved your way between the muscular bodies, ignoring their surprised scoffs.

Seokmin’s eyes were almost as wide as the moon when you stood before him. He stopped leaning against the wagon’s tall wheel and left his half-finished ale on the ledge.

“Return it to me.” You stated simply, holding out your palm.

“Who the hell is that?” One of his friends chided, clearly not amused that you just pushed through their private celebration only to speak rudely at the Prince.

Seokmin’s brow furrowed. “Return what?” He responded. 

His acting utterly irritated you.

“Do not behave so obliviously,” you barked, “come with me, now.”

Wrapping your fingers through the collar of his shirt, you attempted to pull Seokmin away from his companions. Understandably, they were not willing to lose their royal member so easily, which prompted Jeonghan to grab your arm. It came as a slight surprise to you when Seokmin snapped, “do not touch her,” causing him to withdraw his grip, his expression paling. The Prince ensured his companions that he would return soon, only to follow you down a quiet alley, away from the colourful celebration and boasting music.

Folding your arms over your chest, you glared at the boy.

“I want my knife returned.”

Straightening out his collar that you had noticeably crumbled, the Prince scoffed, a smirk trudging across mouth.

“You should not leave any personal property out where it could be discovered.” 

“You knew it was mine and yet you still took it.”

“So you were watching me, is that it?” He had the audacity to smile.

In order to contain your fulgurant anger, you clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“Indeed I watched you take it! Now give it back!”

“Do not get so ahead of yourself.” Seokmin flashed a devious smile, one you wanted to wipe clean from his snide expression.

He reached into his pocket, and beneath the frosted moonlight, you saw him reveal your precious carving knife. You traced his fingers as he unfolded the silver blade and admired the mahogany handle, etched with the smallest, intricate embellishment. If you were swift enough, you could snatch the knife from his hand, but you weren’t sure if the risk was calculated. The Prince gently pressed the pad of his finger to the point, hardly issuing any pressure.

“This did not always belong to you.” He stated simply.

“I know that,” you quipped, “but you decided to gift it to me. So it no longer falls under your property.”

Seokmin blatantly ignored your rebuttal. Instead, he folded up the blade and dared pocket it right before your eyes. You gaped at him.

“Why were you at Peace River?”

“What?!” Feeling completely bewildered, you couldn’t help the loud air of your gasp.

He asked again, “why were you at Peace River? Were you hiding somewhere?”

“That is not your business!” You barked.

Seokmin seemed to adapt your hue of disproportionate awe. 

“It is not my business?” He took a step forward, though you didn’t shy from his advance. “I am your Prince. You shall answer what I ask of you.”

“Why do you care why I was there? Should you not focus on the wonderful time you had showing around your dear lady?”

The young Prince’s face didn’t exactly soften upon your reference to Adelaide, rather there was a subtle shift in the nuance of his gaze, where something murky tinted the surface. It was difficult to pinpoint, but you almost swore that mentioning Adelaide had made Seokmin unhappy. To make the matter more confusing, he was clearly examining your features, from the curve of your lips to the arch above each cheek, you were like a memory he could never lose.

Your heart started beating faster, and you felt dearly flustered.

“I-I was only swimming,” you answered him, “that’s all you must know.”

You hated your body for betraying you, for submitting, for twirling itself in a moonstruck loop at the mere thought of Seokmin needing to commit your face to memory. Wanting to feel angry again, you tightened your voice.

“Now, I answered your question. I have pulled you away for one thing and one thing only: my knife. I do not care that your blacksmith crafted it for you, that it was once yours before it was mine. You gave it to me. I want it back.”

“Mind your manners,” the Prince scolded, his eyes turning icy, less forgiving, “I cannot oblige when you create such a fuss.”

Digging your nails in deep to the fabric of your dress, you exhaled shakily.

”I am going to lose my temper, Prince Seokmin. I want my blade, now.”

He took a step toward you, so close you could smell the rich ale on his clothing. His voice had lowered an octave, to which you swallowed coarsely and had trouble locking eyes with him.

“First, you rudely interrupt my friends and I. Second, you speak to me informally, with no respect, not even bothered to fake it. Third, you drag me to this alley and refuse the command of your Prince to summon an ounce of manner. Clean your mouth, or forget the knife.”

Your jaw clenched, and you started to grit your teeth. Seokmin was not exactly fond of the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact, therefore he placed a light hold on your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head toward him.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” He growled.

A concerning heat infiltrated your body; however, gulping back the rage that burned against your throat, you pulled down his hand, looked straight into his eyes and hissed, “you do not deserve my manners, but for the sake of the situation, may I please have my knife returned, Prince Seokmin?”

He reached into his pocket.

“I am shocked someone so ill-mannered is permitted to live in this kingdom.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watched the boy reveal your carving knife.

“I could effortlessly say the same for you.”

Seokmin handed you the blade, studying you intently whilst you picked up the side of your dress in order to return your prized possession between the thigh garter. Even in the darkness, his cheeks had noticeably pinkened. 

“Enjoy the remainder of your night.” You gave him an exaggerated, distasteful bow before walking down the alley, away from the village square. “Do not keep Lady Adelaide waiting.”

The young Prince didn’t bother responding, only chewed into his bottom lip as you disappeared from his sight, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

Somehow, you and Chan had ended up back in the royal kitchen.

It was in light of a specific request pitted by the King and Queen, in which they desired you to cook a delicious dinner for Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide as they enjoyed their umpteenth date together. You attempted to avoid the situation last minute by faking a dry cough and sore throat, though your mother was far too intelligent to let any elementary performances fool her, resulting in yet another attendance award at the castle. Chan was excited as usual, evident in the small curl to his lips whilst he cleaned his hands in a bucket of well water.

“I never understand you,” Chan said, “why are you never content to visit the castle?”

Tying an apron at your lower back, you simply huffed in response to the young apprentice, not willing to reiterate the whole spiel about your childhood mishap as well as the years of hatred that nurtured it. You knew you seemed ungrateful, stuck-up, but it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“It is not something to concern yourself with,” you told Chan, taking his place at the bucket of cold water, “I am going to cook their meal, and that is all. No more, no less.”

“When do you think we will receive their menu?” Chan asked.

“Whenever it is given to us.”

The royal kitchen was indubitably stocked with produce that could cater to any dish, it was just a matter of awaiting the particular meals Lady Adelaide and Seokmin were keen on eating. Still, you had to agree with Chan, there was an anxious density to the room whilst you prepared your stations, hoping that at least some form of authority would enter the kitchen to update you.

Chan opened a cupboard and found a burlap sack of cherries. He grinned, “do you think Prince Seokmin will want to eat cherry pie again?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “maybe he’ll desire a pineapple upside down cake.”

“That sounds complicated.” Chan admitted with a frown.

You chuckled, “he’s complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

Suddenly, the Prince appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed in a long, garnet cape that draped around his shoulders, embroidered with a dazzling gold thread. His hair, usually left in its black ringlets, had been groomed neatly from his forehead. His crown looked heavy, precious and incomprehensibly expensive. Both you and Chan were stunned by his abrupt appearance, to which the apprentice dropped a pile of tins he’d been removing from a cupboard. They clattered across the stone floor, and his cheeks turned red.

Whilst the young boy quickly picked up each tin, you cleared your throat.

“N-No one. We were speaking about no one.”

Chan hurried to stand beside you, and he bowed immediately.

“Greetings, Prince Seokmin. Must I say it is a complete honour to cook for you and Lady Adelaide tonight. I shall put forth my best effort.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Seokmin said, commending the boy’s display of respect, “I have arrived to deliver the menu Lady Adelaide and I would like to eat.”

The Prince then handed Chan a scroll, which had been tied shut with a tasseled, red string. As Chan busied himself in opening the paper to glean its request, Seokmin glanced you over from top to bottom. You shot him a transient glare.

Folding your arms over your chest and titling your head to the side, you announced, “we will bring your food as soon as possible.”

“Is everything well with you?” Seokmin inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Chan looked up from the unwound scroll nervously, clearly noting the palpable tension.

“Yes, Prince Seokmin. I feel brilliant.” Your tone was drier than chalk.

Some twisted part of you hoped that the Prince would pull you into the corridor, scold you for behaving so blatantly disrespectful, lean in close to your face with a fire that turned to glistering copper in his eyes. You wanted him to grip your chin like he did in the alleyway and demand you meet his gaze. In a bizarre sense, you craved to argue with him. However, Seokmin didn’t engage in anything of the sort, and a vacant feeling encompassed you whole.

“I must return to Lady Adelaide. We will be seated on the outdoor terrace, second level.”

“Yes, of course,” Chan chirped, “I will bring your appetizer shortly.”

“May it also be known that the furnace next to you Chan has not been properly cleaned from a previous service. Do not try to light any fire, or the residue could burn you.”

Chan glanced at the stove warily whilst you released an impatient sigh.

“You should really get going, sire. It’s never polite to make your lady wait.”

The Prince chuckled, and a bold smirk illuminated his face.

“Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

After blowing a tuft of hair from your eyes, you folded your arms over your chest and caught the young Prince in a piercing stare.

“Why must you know? I don’t kiss and tell.”

Chan had not a clue as to what sort of exchange was unpacking before him, he only knew that his presence seemed unbelievably trivial, like a dust mite. You couldn’t deny how satisfactory it felt to wind Seokmin tighter than a wire spool, attempting to snap him somehow, hoping he’d bite back brazenly.

His professional composure was teetering, you could see it. And yet, the Prince was able to sweep away his desires to bicker with you. 

“Aren’t you such a well-behaved little girl?” He dug slyly, the backhanded compliment imbuing a strange rush in your blood. “I have no further business here. As I said, we are seated on the second level terrace.”

The second Seokmin parted, his beautiful cloak fluttering behind him, Chan nudged your shoulder with a big pout on his lips.

“Are you trying to get us banned from the castle? If so, you might just succeed.”

Stealing the scroll from his hands, you urged him to relax.

“Trust me,” you sighed, “I would get banned before any other soul here. Even before the cook who caused a fire hazard.”

You had great trouble focusing in the kitchen, and it seemed like your brain contained no interest in cooperating with the rest of your body. Chan noted your lack of composure and intervened on multiple occasions, a concerned expression covering his face.

It was stupid, shameful, but for an unbeknownst reason you could not stop envisioning Seokmin and Adelaide enjoying their supper together on the pretty terrace. You imagined his soft, attentive eyes tracing her lips whilst she spoke, his hand reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear’s cusp, the evening sun dappling the sky golden and peach-rose. It lit a terrible feeling within your lower gut, a feeling that upset you beyond belief, made you want to run from the kitchen and bury yourself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

The thought of Seokmin marrying Adelaide, sliding that white diamond ring upon her finger, having to watch them parade around the kingdom completely and utterly in love; you hated it, and you kept losing your concentration as that bitterness consumed you.

“They seem to be enjoying everything.” Chan confirmed with a satisfied smile toward the end of service. He just returned after collecting their dishes. “At last, we can begin dessert!”

However, the boy quickly picked up on your temperate, distracted face.

“What’s the matter?” Chan grabbed your shoulder gently. “You look so upset.”

“I’m fine,” you dismissed him with an apathetic air, brushing his touch away, “will they be eating the cherry pie as you assumed? I have already prepared the crust.”

“Yes…” Chan leaned in rather close to examine your face whilst he hummed in response.

“For heaven’s sake, child—what are you doing?”

“S-Sorry,” he immediately backed away, “I-I thought—your eyes just looked so glassy.”

“I have already stated my wellbeing. Now, please get to making the filling so we may get this pie in the furnace.”

Chan grabbed the burlap sack of cherries from the cupboard and dumped them into an apple basket. He then submerged the basket in a water pail, making sure to clean the fruit until they were glistening and shiny. Together, you removed the cherry pits in order to create the sweet, sticky filling which smelled exactly like summer. Chan let you tend to setting the furnace flame whilst he leveled out the pies; however, you’d forgotten about the unusable furnace.

As you got down on your knee and reached into the underbelly of the oven with the starter flint, it was too late for Chan to make a reminder. Once the bright spark touched that mysterious residue, a gigantic flame bloomed forth and licked up the furnace walls. The second your hand felt such an incredible singe of heat, you released a loud cry and crawled away from the glowing oven, your chest heaving at the intense, searing pain that sizzled deep into your flesh. Chan was gobsmacked. He dropped the small butter knife in the pie filling and bent down whilst you tossed your head back, cursing at the pain.

“Oh God!” Chan looked paler than a snowflake. “Y-You have been burned! O-Oh no… this- this is awful! What should we do? H-Here—”

The boy helped you to your feet and brought you close to the water pail.

“Submerge your hand in this,” he offered anxiously, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I need to alert someone of this. Are you okay? Do you believe you might faint?”

“N-No…” you gritted between your teeth whilst heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, “just get somebody – anybody. I-It hurts terribly…”

The boy rubbed your back as a sweet gesture before he left the kitchen. 

“I shall return as quickly as possible! I promise!”

Unfortunately, Chan had sparse luck encountering anyone from the castle. The sole person he could think of alerting was Prince Seokmin. Whilst he was not eager to interrupt his dinner with the kingdom’s potential princess, Chan was far too concerned with your agonizing pain as well as the poor condition of your hand. He knew you needed medical assistance immediately, therefore he burst through the doors in a panic and stumbled onto the terrace, where Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide gave him a puzzled, somewhat undesirable look.

The young apprentice steadied his breath. Once he began informing them of the situation, he couldn’t help but note the overwhelming concern that engulfed the Prince’s face.

“I must know where the nearest nurse is located. She needs assistance and I promised I would return quickly!”

Lady Adelaide wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth, and looked to Seokmin. Her eyes, brushed with a shimmering, metallic gold, widened beneath the evening light as the Prince stood from his chair and threw down his cutlery.

“You have left her alone? Where is she?” He questioned the apprentice.

Chan licked his dry lips. “P-Please, stay with Lady Adelaide. I-I just need to know wh—”

“Does she remain in the kitchen?” Seokmin interrupted him.

He stepped fairly close to Chan, the young boy tilting his head back in order to meet the serious gaze of the Prince. Admittedly, he felt rather intimidated.

“Yes, she is. But you mustn’t abandon Lady Adelaide. I can—”

“I will take care of her,” Seokmin replied sternly, “stay with the Lady if you wish.”

Without another word, the Prince pushed Chan aside and disappeared quickly through the terrace doors, leaving him alone on the beautiful terrace with Adelaide. She didn’t appear entirely thrilled to be abandoned in the midst of a romantic dinner, indicated by the uncomfortable expression that coloured her face. Instead, she tucked the hair behind her ears and pressed her smooth lips together tightly, staring out into the flossy, pink clouds, a calm breeze blowing through the air. Chan swallowed the rock in his throat, squeezing his hands nervously.

“I-I’m sure the Prince will return in due time.” He stuttered.

Lady Adelaide nodded, stiffened, unamused.

“I guess I will just have to wait.”

Standing at the pail whilst your marred flesh scorched beneath the water was a sensation unlike any other. Your bottom lip kept quivering, and your whole body trembled in an attempt to digest such an intense pain. Footsteps reverberated outside the kitchen, to which a hope flourished that a medical professional would be arriving alongside Chan – yet, the person who entered the room was completely disproportionate to what you’d been expecting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help, it was just going to be difficult to accept it.

Seokmin left his crown behind on a countertop and stood next to you.

“Let me see it.” He urged as your hand twitched in the water.

Rubbing your tears off on your shoulder, you rasped, “w-why are you here?”

“Because you’re hurt,” Seokmin replied firmly, “and whether you like it or not, I am going to look after this. You should have your hand beneath running water.”

“W-Where is Chan? I w-want him here t-too.”

“He remained with Adelaide.” The Prince sounded impatient.

“W-Why did you not stay with her? Why did you even come when you cannot stand me?”

Choosing to ignore your questions, Seokmin grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the back of the kitchen where he knew there was a well. Suckling back the thick tears and runniness in your nose, you let Seokmin guide your injured hand beneath the cold water he started pumping from the ground. It splashed onto the stone floor, trickling in all directions.

“S-Seokmin—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” the Prince snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to take care of you, alright?”

For an unprecedented time in your life, you legitimately heeded Seokmin’s words and kept your mouth shut, deciding it was not worth the energy to act so bitter. Whilst the running water succeeded in cleaning any sediment from the wound, the sensitive flesh stung and flared to a degree that was impossible to ignore, leaving you unable to suppress any small sobs and whimpers. If not for Seokmin holding your hand beneath the water, you would have withdrawn it immediately. 

You pushed your face into his chest, your tears wetting his clothing. Seokmin shushed you softly, attempting to keep you calm.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, okay? A minute longer darling, I promise.”

You felt Seokmin’s chin sit on top of your head, and you only pushed your cheek in further against his strong chest, smelling the faint concoction of a luxurious perfume on his amber skin. Somehow, the pain became more bearable when his honeyed voice touched your ears.

“H-Has it been a minute now?” You sniffled.

The cold stream of water that once gushed from the spout diminished. Whilst the floor was rippling with a wide, wet circle, your hand felt less seared, less like a piece of charred meat.

“Mmhm, it’s been a minute,” Seokmin said, “how badly does it still hurt?”

Glancing at the wound imbued an intense cloud of nausea.

“I-It’s throbbing, a-and stings. Should we not wrap it?” You blubbered.

Seokmin brushed his fingers along your warm cheek, removing the new tears.

“Not immediately, angel. If the flesh is too fragile, the cloth might pull up more layers of tissue when it is removed. There should be an ointment station, over here—,” the Prince placed his hand against the small of your back, and you followed him toward a counter, “if the correct gel is in here, my hope is that it soothes your skin. Afterward, we will wrap it cautiously.”

Your injured hand was shaking too much, so you had to grasp your wrist tightly in order to centre it to one place. Seokmin opened a drawer filled with small, glass ampules. He picked between them carefully until coming across the correct ointment, a clear gel that had a strong, plant-like scent when he pulled out the tiny cork. Smearing the glistening gel onto his fingertips, the Prince then asked to see your hand. Knowing it would sting, you clenched your teeth.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Seokmin asked, concentrating on softly massaging in the vital ointment.

Exhaling stiltedly, you shook your head. “It’s getting better, I believe.”

“This is quite deep,” he remarked, scooping up more of the gel, “why on earth did you use the furnace upon my instruction not to?”

“I was not thinking about the furnace.” You admitted, biting down into your cheek.

Seokmin couldn’t help but chuckle. 

He had just finished applying the cool gel, which gleamed on your skin and sunk into the damaged tissue. Additionally, stuffed somewhere in the drawer was a compact spool of bandage that the Prince started unraveling, until he tore a perfect strip to delicately wrap around your hand. Your heart began racing and heat stippled your face as the boy finally looked up from the injury. His eyes were so unbelievably gentle, his lips the colour of roses. It reflected a painstakingly familiar memory, in which you could almost hear the river running in the background and feel the pleasant sunlight warm your arms.

“Then what was on your mind?” Seokmin questioned.

His voice was low, and he stared unabashedly at your mouth.

You didn’t think – you didn’t want to. 

Instead, you pushed to the very back of your skull every malevolent thought you once harboured toward the Prince and shut your eyes, envisioning yourself within a dream. You pressed a short, soft kiss against his mouth.

There was a moment’s pause where Seokmin realized the situation.

Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. It was far from a single, fleeting kiss. Each time your lips pressed together, you would linger for a moment longer and fall deeper into the other, losing all sense of the world around you. A molten warmth expanded in your chest as you felt Seokmin’s tongue make a soft prod at your bottom lip, encouraging you to sigh blissfully into the kiss. He smiled at your quiet noises.

What was happening to you? You struggled to control your own functions. Seokmin was eliciting a powerful feeling that yearned for you to continue kissing. His slender fingers drifted from your face to your hips, and he pulled you tighter against his body, each kiss revealing the other’s burning want and secret desires. As you suckled slowly on Seokmin’s tongue, listening to him purr, there was a rich, unique taste of cider. It prompted you to think about dinner, about Chan who’d gone looking for a nurse, about Lady Adelaide. 

As soon as her face entered your mind, something switched off inside you and your blood transformed into cold liquid.

“S-Seokmin,” you murmured, disconnecting the sweet pressure of your mouth to his, “I-I... I don’t think we’re in our right minds.” 

Your eyes began filling with water whilst you gazed at his pink cheeks and the pretty swell to his lips. The boy grabbed both your hands with a concerned expression, holding them against his chest where you felt his heart beat.

“What do you mean, angel?” Seokmin whispered. He then planted a kiss much too affectionate against your forehead, in which your eyes only grew more watery. “I haven’t anything to drink if that’s what you’re implying.”

“N-No.” You shook your head and looked into his eyes, swallowing back the dreadful taste of pain, of a relationship you could never have, of a boy you could never have. “We cannot do this... t-this is not just...”

“Wait—” Seokmin stuttered when you pulled away from him, “where are you going? We can talk about this.” His voice trembled slightly, heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me, please.” 

But there was nothing he could say or do that would cement you to your spot.

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through your body, and you knew you had to leave the castle grounds unless you wanted the royal family to see you explode into a mess of hot tears and incoherency. Whilst you slipped through the kitchen door, you bumped into Chan who just returned from the second level terrace, his eyes growing wide when he noted the dreadful shadow that hollowed your countenance. The boy swallowed thickly, for the next person to enter the hallway was Lady Adelaide herself, who did not look pleased at the wait.

“A-Are you o—”

“I cannot stay here,” you told Chan in a quick jumble, “I am going to the house. Please, take care of the dessert if you can manage.”

Lady Adelaide stepped aside, allowing you to escape the corridor.

Everything felt like it was collapsing around you.

It was nighttime as you sat in your bed, a candle flickering on the windowsill whilst you examined the neat bandages that enveloped your hand. You couldn’t sleep. Chan was sent home early from the castle by Prince Seokmin, and he attempted to check on you with plentiful knocks to the front door; however, you didn’t possess the right spirit to answer him and instead covered your teary face with the bedsheets until he left. You were infuriated at yourself for kissing the Prince. Inside, your heart felt mercilessly torn up and shredded.

Continuing to look out the window, you were intrigued by a fluttering, orange orb that eventually paused on the leaves of a tall sunflower. It was a firefly.

Quickly, you reached for the silver Danish tin on your bedside table and pulled out the carving knife in addition to the small, smooth disc of beech wood. It was difficult to make incisions in the wood with an injured hand, though you simply bit your lip and didn’t allow the pain to phase you. Making tiny scratches with the fine, sharp tip of the blade, you spent the next hour, maybe more, carving a tiny firefly into the beech wood. When you looked back into your drawer, you spotted a silver-beaded chain, and an idea instantly shaped in your head.

You decided to make the wooden emblem into a necklace.

From the kitchen, you could hear Chan speaking with a new ensemble of customers who entered the bakery, the sound of their abundant coins rattling across the countertop and the apprentice’s cheerful tone as he wrapped their food in wax parchment. You hadn’t spent much time behind the counter that day, for your mood was no better than a cat who’d just been stuck in a thunderstorm. Chan advised you to stay in the kitchen instead. Since that morning, you’d either been making loaves of banana bread or staring into space.

There seemed to be an unsettled atmosphere about the kingdom. Most if not always, it indicated there was a problem at the castle, some sort of dispute amongst the royal family.

Whilst you waited for the loaves in the furnace to rise, you put your head down on the work bench and gazed at the stone floor. You had never felt so off-kilter. The fact you couldn’t do much more than mush bananas and whisk together a batter only added to your melancholy. After burning your hand, you were rather useless in the kitchen, though Chan had a much politer way of wording it whenever you attempted to help him with anything the least bit complex. You wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced you with Seungkwan in the near future.

Once the aromatic, sweet scent of the banana bread thoroughly encompassed the kitchen, you checked on the tin and decided it was time to remove it. Letting the bread sit next to an open window, you heard more muffled conversation through the door.

Suddenly, Chan had slipped into the kitchen. His expression was awfully nervous, to which an unpleasant feeling began brewing your lower gut.

“Your presence is needed at the counter.” Chan said flatly.

“Why is that?” You smiled. “I thought you preferred me locked up back here until closing.”

When the apprentice didn’t return your warmth, you knew there was something wrong.

“You are really needed at the counter.” He urged. “I will cut the bread, okay?”

“O-Okay…” You responded in a puzzled manner, allowing Chan to slip around you and grab a butter knife from the drawer.

Walking out from the kitchen was equivalent to getting a slap in the face, a splinter between your toes, a hard poke in the eye – basically anything undesirable constituted the situation you just introduced yourself to. Prince Seokmin stood on the opposite side of the counter. It appeared as though he recently returned from a valley trip with a congregation of other knights, for he was dressed in his heavyset armour and Apple was tied to a post outside shop.

Seokmin brushed his hair back and smiled at you.

“I know you are surprised to see me, but—,”

“No no no,” you shook your head and gripped the counter tightly, your legs feeling like thin jelly, “you cannot be here, y-you cannot—”

“I have to speak with you.” Seokmin said.

Your eyes flitted toward a metal bucket sitting in the corner.

“Not right now,” you spluttered quickly, “I have to refill the water, for our kitchen.”

The Prince frowned. You were surprised he wasn’t swathed in his usual entourage, that his closest companion, Jeonghan, was nowhere to be seen. Whilst you scooped the bucket from the floor and rushed toward the bakery doorway, Seokmin knew you were only using it as an excuse to avoid him. What else could you do? Your heart was far too fragile.

“This is just as much an inconvenience to myself as well as you,” the Prince announced very staidly, “you know this conversation must happen. Why bother avoiding it?”

Seokmin followed you through the doorway, where Apple was grazing at a patch of honeysuckle in the grass. You refused to look back at him.

“Exactly! It is an inconvenience that can easily be avoided if you return to the castle.”

Marching behind the bakery, you threw the metal bucket on the ground and kicked it under the well, pumping it full of cold water. .

“I refuse to return. Not until we talk about what happened!”

“Maybe I do not want to entertain that idea!” You let go of the handle, instead whipping around, facing the persistent Prince. “It was a mistake! That’s it!”

Seokmin shook his head. “Why are you so hostile? Why can you never discuss anything without starting an argument?”

You didn’t bother suppressing your scoff. “Have you ever noticed the only person I treat with such hostility, is you? Has that ever crossed your mind, Prince Seokmin?”

“Of course I know!” He quipped whilst frustratedly dragging a hand through his curls. “It has always been that way! That is why I always have to scorn you, since you behave so bitterly!”

“There is no one but yourself to blame.” You hissed, sensing the water prickle at your eyes.

The Prince looked stunned, for his mouth dropped open. “You still hold onto that memory so vehemently?”

At even the slightest reference to that humiliating, summer day forever engrained in your past, the heat flooded your eyes and you were completely helpless to stop the first tear from rolling down your cheek. There was no doubt, since that incident your hatred for Seokmin had completely blossomed, and in response to your poorly controlled anger, the Prince was left no choice but to respond with just as much belligerence. The ground between you grew terribly thick brambles and spikes, until it was impossible to even be in the same space without getting hurt.

Yet, if your hatred was exactly what you claimed it was, then your kiss with Seokmin should have never happened. Hatred was merely a dark, sinister form of passion, and no matter what circumstance, passion always lived inside your heart.

Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your dress, you shook your head. “You humiliated me in front of half the royal’s children! How could I ever dismiss that?”

The Prince furrowed his brow. “That was ages ago. We were exactly that: children. Children can be stupid and say stupid and do stupid things!”

“I just don’t understand why you pretended for so long,” you whimpered to Seokmin, tightly clenching your fists, “if you never even liked me from the start…”

“I-I wasn’t pretending… I just couldn’t… I-I…” The Prince struggled to elaborate.

Suddenly, he could no longer look you in the eye, and a raspberry tint flooded his cheeks. You gulped, a dizzying sensation infiltrating your head as you willed your heart to stop beating so vivaciously. 

Seokmin took a step closer toward you, an anxious colour to his face.

“If you just let me explain what I came here to tell you,” he murmured, “then perhaps we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats so adamantly.”

You folded your arms over your chest and pressed your lips shut. The silence was daunting, but at the same time you realized the bickering would lead to endless circles.

The Prince summoned a breath of courage and met your wet stare.

“I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms, you blinked at Seokmin in complete shock.

“S-Seriously?” You stammered, sweat tainting your palms.

“I had to,” Seokmin sighed, his eyes trailing the grass, “because of what happened with u—”

“I did not ask you to refuse her as a bride!” You hiccupped, salt glimmering at your tear ducts. To be the reason the kingdom’s next marriage crumpled apart, you couldn’t bear it.

“I know you didn’t!” The Prince retaliated, his voice booming. “Do you not think I am already aware of the great misfortune and trouble my decision brings to our kingdom? I did not refuse Lady Adelaide because we kissed – I refused the marriage because I do not love her, and it would be an utter disservice to both of us if we cannot reciprocate our own hearts.”

You bit down strictly on your bottom lip. It absolutely boggled your mind that Seokmin felt no love toward Lady Adelaide, when everyone who saw her fell head over heels. Whether it was her beauty, wealth, or the perfect sweetness of her character, everyone in the kingdom had something positive to say in regards to their potential princess. Maybe you had not gelled with her in the same manner as everyone else, but you knew this marriage had been anticipated since the day Seokmin was born, and the fact such a monumental celebration would have to be pushed back created a recipe for tension.

The Prince set his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“That is what I had to tell you,” he spoke in a much gentler tone, “it was not my intention to anger you, or make you this upset. But I have to remain honest with myself…”

“W-What are you saying?” Sounded your trembling, unsteady breath.

The sunlight splashed into Seokmin’s eyes, igniting them in a blazing copper. You felt swelteringly hot as the boy brushed against your cheek with his fingers before he leaned in close to your face, still damp with tears. You couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from the low velvet of his voice and how sincerely he admired you.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

Just before you entered the cool balm of the river, you spent a few moments stroking Apple’s caramel mane and picking berries from the nearest thicket to feed her. For such a strong, firmly-built horse, she was delicate in nature, just as you remembered her from your childhood. You ran your palm along the coarse side of Apple’s fur, scratching lightly so her ears would twitch, before hearing Prince Seokmin lilt your name. When you looked to the river, you saw him grinning at you, his black hair soaking wet and pushed back from his forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there for an eternity?”

“No,” you replied, “I was just looking after your horse.”

“Trust me, Apple gets pampered more than I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed the pale lilac hem of your dress, peeling the material over your head and letting it fall into a ball on the grass. In nothing but your undergarments, Seokmin gazed at you fondly, watching how you carefully waded deeper and deeper into the river until your toes could hardly scrape the smooth pebbles. Afternoon sunlight spun between the canopy of leaves overhead, which dappled the calm peaks in the water, making them sparkle. Seokmin swam closer to you. He was truly breathtaking as the rays caressed his amber skin and danced in his eyes like a honey fire.

The boy’s fingers brushed your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and drape your arms over his wide shoulders. He held you tightly, his lips forming a lovestruck smile.

“Will your anxious mother not worry as to why her son has been out for so long?” You couldn’t help but tease him.

“I told her I would not be back for supper. At worst, she’ll send Jeonghan as my scout.”

“Do you think he could keep his mouth shut if he saw us together?”

Seokmin titled his head back with laughter, and you could see his perfect rows of teeth. “I have little certainty,” he admitted, “but Jeonghan would keep a secret if I forced him to.”

“That is reassuring to hear.” You replied with a smirk.

It was best to give the kingdom ample time to recover after the displeasing news of Seokmin’s cancelled marriage with Adelaide rapidly spread. She was supposed to be his first choice, his destiny as the King and Queen preached with every ounce of their souls. Furthermore, the royal family would definitely not be mirthful to discover that Seokmin had rejected Adelaide because his heart beat for a childhood crush from the lower village. That was unheard of, unfathomable, and rather unorthodox, which caused you and Seokmin to keep your relationship a secret.

At times there was pressure, there was great difficulty and frustration, but neither you or him could keep away from each other. You didn’t have to be married, or live in his sumptuous castle where everything was either expensive silk or encrusted with some sort of precious gem. It was quite simple: you just wanted to be with him – the environment wasn’t important. When you began seeing each other, you realized that on the summer day of your childhood where the Prince had humiliated you was a shtick orchestrated by his friends.

In actuality, Seokmin always had a crush on you, though at the time, the tender strings of his heart were easily pulled by them, and what could have been the start of a relationship ended up in years of bickering, unnecessary hatred, and repressed emotion. Cupping a hand against Seokmin’s damp cheek, you leaned in to kiss him softly. You smiled against his mouth upon feeling his hands squeeze your thighs.

“Can I give you something?” You then asked in a quiet voice.

The Prince nodded, allowing your feet to touch the pebbles again. 

“Of course, angel.” He complied.

Together, you left the river. Whilst Seokmin started petting Apple’s shimmering coat, you picked up the dress on the forest floor and reached into one of its pockets, brushing the beaded chain with your fingers. When Seokmin turned around and saw you holding a necklace, his eyes lit up in a marvelous fashion and an endearing smile beamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was the beech wood necklace, in which you had carved a small firefly in order to complete the pendant.

“I carved this from a piece of wood I discovered outside your castle, on the day Chan and I had to cook for the pages. At first, I had no idea what to make of it, but then I decided on a firefly.”

Seokmin admired the pendant up close. It felt wonderful to see him examining it with such an appreciative light in his gaze. The Prince connected the chain around his neck, to which the wooden oval sat between his prominent collarbone.

“I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.”

Suddenly, the boy’s hands were atop your hips. He pulled you in close against his body, still gleaming with water droplets, and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. You could sense just how much ardour and warmth was laced into the contact, and a dense heat scattered beneath your cheeks. He tasted like the sugar powder and strawberries you ate before visiting the river.

“It’s beautiful.” Seokmin whispered.

He pecked your mouth again sweetly whilst you felt a gentle breeze blow throughout the forest, causing the tiny hairs on your damp skin to stand sharp. You cozied yourself closer into Seokmin’s chest, smiling like a foolish romantic at his words.

“Thank you, my love. I will hold onto it forever.”

✧✎ a/n: okay when i started writing this i THOUGHT it was going to be so short, like at most 4-6k, but then i was at the 6k mark, only halfway done, and i realized it was going to be another ‘wish’ situation lol. i’ve never written a royalty!au before so i felt like i was reaching into the dark a little bit jsefhwef but i hope it was still pleasant! as always i treasure all ur guys feedback so pls don’t hesitate to leave ur th0ts!! i haven’t written for seok in ages and it felt super nice to give him a lengthy fic! contrary to nobody’s belief - this was not inspired by owl city lol.

[mymegumi]

across the sea and back again

pairing: daishou suguru x fem!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 947 words

warnings: reincarnation au, major character death turned to reincarnation and a pinch of soulmate au

notes: for the ly to my lene @kyotarou

A warrior with scales lining along the vambraces that protected his forearms, a gleaming dark emerald that blended easily into obsidian sheened metal. The knight’s helmet was tucked underneath an arm with a cunning smile spread across his lips as he tilted his head lower towards his lover’s.

“Darling, why do you keep leaning away?” His words came off of his lips like a purr, nose bumping against your cheek as you turned away from him in a huff. “I’m going away for a few days and you’re acting so cold.”

You’re dressed in your best clothes; waist cinched tightly and ribbons hanging from the loose ends of your sleeves. There was a heat spreading along your cheeks as he stole his lips against the curve of your ear and you’re left leaning into him.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you murmured against his lips, hands tracing against the warming suit of armor, “you’ll be back before you know it.”

Daishou’s horse was a beast of a thing, standing well over the both of you with the metal armor on its head glinting in the sunlight of the early morning. She was kinder than most of the horses you’d worked with, and pressing a hand to her chin resulted in her jerking her head for you to scratch somewhere she desired.

“I think she likes you more than me,” Daishou grumbled crossly, hand running idly on her back where her coat was peeking out from underneath her saddle, “which is unfair because I’m the one that feeds her and rides her.”

“You forget that I’m the one that tends to her coat and that feeds her when you’re too tired to.” Your comment came out in a light hearted tone, hands finding their way from the horse that had taken such good care of your lover, to your lover himself. Your touch seemed to soothe the lines from his face that you were always warning him would appear if he kept frowning like he did.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’m on the eve of battle and you’re telling me my steed doesn’t like me as much as she likes you?”

A hand cupped his cheek gingerly, thumb brushing along the curve of it. “Yes, darling, I am.”

Daishou hadn’t given you a response, instead pressing his lips against the crown of your head gently. The pair of you hated this part the most—the goodbye. Often the two of you tried to not draw it out any further, but most often you felt like one half of an incomplete pair when he was gone. More likely was the fact that you would be the last pair at the gates of the castle before Daishou would have to ride as hard as his steed would allow to catch up with the rest of the soldiers.

“I’ll miss you most fervently,” he whispered against the top of your head, “don’t forget me when I’m gone.”

“Never.”

Daishou rode off shortly after that, leaving you with a kiss on the lips. His silhouette was a thing of majesty and you were proud of the lover you’d chosen, proud of how far the two of you had come since you were just teenagers in love. Despite all that you had gone through—mostly the inability for your lover to communicate with you properly, of which you’d quickly told him was not going to be an option—the two of you had mainly been focusing on if you should have the wedding in the spring or in the summer.

If only he had made it through the winter for you to have decided it together.

Daishou’s cape was returned to you the first day it snowed that winter, and you had held it together enough for every soldier to leave your home before you allowed yourself to break down crying over the loss of a love that had felt like it barely began.

“I feel like,” you murmured your words into the corner of his smile, “we’ve met before.”

Daishou was resting on the couch at this point, legs sprawled in front of him and sock-covered feet resting on the coffee table gingerly. The television was playing some commercial in lieu of a reality show the pair of you had been binging the last few weeks—a shitty cop show that was definitely dramaticized but everytime you said you’d drop the show, you came back for some reason.

His arm is curled around your shoulders, head propped against yours lightly so he can watch the show without straining his neck. “What do you mean?”

You huffed, not wanting to explain yourself as you push up, looking away from the Empire commercial to look at him in his eyes. “Like. You don’t feel it? Sometimes when we talk, it’s like– I get this feeling like I’ve known you my whole life, like I could talk to you forever.”

“Maybe we were lovers once,” he started, pressing his lips against your nose and then your cheek, “or maybe, we were enemies.”

He gave you a wide-eyed expression, as if the thought were an incomprehensible one, before it dissolved into chuckles that made him clutch at his sides. Before long you were joining him, laughter loud and from the chest as you pushed him away from you time and time again to try and quell the bubbling giggles that threatened to spill from your mouth.

“Either way,” you whispered against his lips when the pair of you had finally gotten yourselves together, “I love you and I’m glad we met in this life.”

“Me, too. Though, I’d love you in any life, regardless.”

[iminlovewithaprettygirl]

After his eyes closed (1/?)

Arthur’s eyes closed and his world ended. He could feel it in every nerve of his body. His chest was cold and tight and he couldn’t suck in a single breath. He was left fumbling with Arthurs limp body, the cold armor brushing against his skin and the weight of him against his chest never felt heavier. Full sobs were wracking his body and as the minutes grew longer he held on tighter to Arthur. He couldn’t let him slip away. 

He couldn’t.

He’s spent what felt like his whole life with this idiot. This brave, loyal, strong idiot. He couldn’t be gone. 

He slammed his hand down on the earth below him. He couldn’t see straight through all the tears and he couldn't think and he couldn’t breathe and everything was too much. He needed to throw something. He needed to punch someone. He needed to run into the lake and swim till his body couldn’t function and he sunk like a rock. He slammed his hand down onto the dirt again. 

He wanted things to go back. He just needed another chance. Arthur needed another chance. He hugged Arthur even closer to his chest. He would give everything for him to reach his arms up and pry Merlin off of him. Why couldn’t he have that. 

He slammed his hand down again with his eyes closed tight. He needed to fix this. He had to fix this. 

He slammed his hand down again and again and then he felt someone tug on Arthur. Honest to god tug on him. He would not let anyone take him away. How dare they. He would fix this. He held on tight with both his arms and then he heard the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his goddamn life. A coughing fit. His arms slacked and he blinked through the water in his eyes. 

“Arthur?” 

“Mer-,” Arthur paused to cough again, his voice audibly scratchy, “Merlin?”

 Merlin, who had finally cleared his eyes enough to see, looked at his friend's face. The man who he was positive just died in his arms. He saw it happen. He knew that he saw his face slacken. Heard his breathing stop. Felt his skin slowly grow icy and his body grow heavy.

But here he is looking up at him with open confusion. 

All Merlin could do was stare at his friends' suddenly healthy and lively face and be dumbfounded. His skin was flushed a healthy pink rather than tinted with blue. He brought his hand down and lifted up the layers of chainmail and fabric on Arthurs chest to reveal the bloody bandages, but the skin was smooth and slowly rising up and down in time with Arthur’s breathing. Merlin's hand traced the skin where the wound should be and he could feel his friend’s eyes boring into his skull. 

He rested his hand on Arthurs chest and looked him dead in the eye. 

“You’re alive.”

The returning smile was blinding. 

“How’d you do it?”

“I, um, I don’t think I did?” Merlin answered honestly, he automatically moved his hand to scratch the back of his head, but paused when he realized that would mean he would stop holding Arthur. He was not ready to do that yet. Or ever. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice much harder and expectant, drawing out the r in a very familiar way that made Merlin’s chest loosen a bit more. 

“No really, I didn’t do anything! You just- you just died and then you were very much not dead. Are very much not dead. I’ve just been sitting here!” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Useful as ever then.” The king still held tight in his arms, brought his hand up and nudged Merlin’s fingers to the side to feel what should be an openly bleeding wound. “How’d you explain this then? I thought you couldn’t heal a wound that was made by a dragon sword. That’s why we were going to the lake.”

“Forged in a dragon’s breath,” Merlin corrected. “I can’t. No one can, even this trip was a shot in the dark.”

Arthur flopped his head back onto Merlin’s chest and made a noise of exasperation. Then there was a moment of silence where Merlin finally took a full breath, he hadn’t been able to breathe properly for days. No, weeks. He thought he might just pass out from the weight lifted off of him. Arthur was alive, everything would be okay. 

“Morgana is dead,” he said in a soft voice, almost quiet enough for the wind to carry it away. 

“Yeah. She is,” Arthur responded in the same tone, Arthur cleared his throat and picked himself off of Merlin. Merlin moved to help him stand, but instead found a hand reaching down to help him up. He stared at the outstretched hand then at Arthur’s face, framed with the warm light of the slowly rising sun before he took him in a firm grasp and pulled himself off the ground. 

“You’re really okay then? You feel fine? No dizziness? Tired at all?” 

Arthur took a moment to look down at himself, apparently just as surprised as Merlin. “I feel fine. Actually no, I feel great.” Merlin could only stare in wonder as Arthur started to stretch himself, arching his back, rolling his neck and shoulders until he paused. Arthur rolled his right shoulder again, slowly and deliberately.

“Arthur?”

“My shoulder, it feels great.” He dropped his hand down and felt along the side of his thigh. “And my leg.” 

Arthur reached to start undoing his armor and Merlin stepped forward to help him, automatically brushing his king’s hands aside, and Arthur easily let him. Once he slipped off the chainmail, Arthur pulled off his red tunic and traced his fingers over where there should be a shiny white line. A silly mistake years ago, the sword sunk about an inch into the meat of his shoulder before another knight kicked the bandit away. Took months to heal properly and he can still feel it stretch with every swing. 

“Merlin. What did you do?” He searched his arms and torso and found none of the scars of a battle worn king. The only mark was a small sliver of white on his forearm. You couldn’t even see it if you weren’t looking. It was when he and Morgana were little and Arthur had helped her learn the beginnings of swordsmanship. They did it in the dead of night so Uther wouldn’t find out. Morgana had accidentally swiped him with a dagger and he cried all the way to Gaius’ chambers. 

“Arthur. I swear I didn’t do whatever this is.” Merlin grabbed onto Arthur’s arms and looked him in the eye. His face was resolute, he had something to say, but hesitant on the same time, like he was terrified of the response. When he spoke, his voice was steady. “Arthur. I am sick of lying to you. I hate it. You are my best friend, and I- we’ve been given this second chance. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to hear this. I need you to know that I will never lie to you again. I’d sooner die. I swear.”

Arthur looked at him. Searched his eyes. Agravaine told him he would never lie to him, said he was his most trusted. His father lied to him everyday of his life about Morgana and his mother, not even in death did his father tell him the truth. Mordred swore an oath to him, pledged his allegiance to Camelot and to him, and then he stabbed him through the chest. Morgana was his sister, they grew up together, he taught her how to ride a horse and how to swing a sword and he let her destroy him. So, when he looked into Merlin’s eyes, the man who had lied to him from the day they first met. The man who deceived him countless times. Merlin, who could probably kill him in seconds flat if he wanted. The man who he had rode into battle with, who he trusted with his life. The man who he ate with and rode horses with everyday for years, who tripped over his own feet when he had to carry more than two things. The man who would give everything for him and proven it time and time again.

He looked into this man’s eyes and he said, “Okay.”

[songofsoma]

Aere Perrenius

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: ava du mortain / cecilia beck rating: mature [ brief nsfw content ] word count: 1,716

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

read it on ao3

He had recognized her right away. It was hard not to since there weren’t many women who matched the beauty presented in the wedding portrait sent by House Beck.

She was supposed to be dead. Soldiers had found her horse with its throat cut on the forest floor, a halo of scattered belongings surrounding the body—a spare dress and slippers, a tattered journal that was barely legible from being soaked through with mud, and a small coin purse that had been emptied.

Dried blood had been found on a few trees as well as in the grass. Thankfully the rain had yet to wash away the evidence.

What they didn’t find was her body.

It was assumed she had been stolen away, judging by the multiple sets of footprints, most likely to be used like a whore and left for dead. Bastardly men haunted these woods so it would have been a reasonable conclusion.

He had almost believed it himself until he had seen her.

He had been riding through the woods, tired of being cooped up indoors, when a melodic laugh broke through the trees. There she stood, wrapped in the arms of a knight, with a smile so bright it could replace the sun. And he, the golden-haired knight, looked at her as if she truly were the sun in the sky.

Jealous rage threatened to tear him to pieces as he watched them from afar.

That man had taken what was rightfully his.

He would pay. 

They both would.

They both would wish that Lady Cecilia Beck had truly died that day. He would make sure of that.

***

She cringed at the sharp crash of metal as swords collided.

Cecilia was a safe distance away from the practice ring, sitting on a blanket one of Ava’s men had scrambled to get her. 

She had thought it was sweet. 

Ava had glared at him suspiciously causing him to swallow hard.

Her knight was in the center of the ring, sweat making every inch of her exposed skin glisten. Much to Cecilia’s horror, she had opted out of the protection of her armor with the excuse that it was far too hot. There was no concrete evidence to prove it, but she figured it was to show off to her lover.

Most of the time, Cecilia wouldn’t have complained. Watching Ava’s muscles flex as she moved was a welcomed sight when she wasn’t in danger. Ava would be disappointed to find out that her attention had been on the agony she felt when the edge of the blade grew too near or when she lost her footing for a brief second. Each time she recovered with astonishing grace, but that did nothing to ease her rising anxieties.

The gods above must have taken pity on her nerves for it was not long after until the man she was sparring with was flat on his back, the tip of Ava’s sword hovering just above his throat. 

“I concede!” He groaned.

It was almost drowned out by Ava’s hoot of victory followed by that of the other spectators.

“Think twice before you challenge me again, Victor,” she chided him boastfully. “I cannot tip the scales in your favor any further without blinding myself or tying my hands behind my back!” Ava roared with laughter, the other men joining in.

Cecilia watched them curiously. It was odd to see her like this, so loud and prideful, it was unlike their time alone. She enjoyed it, nonetheless, it was nice to see her happy.

Ava finally caught her eye whilst sheathing her sword. If it were even possible, her smile brightened further as she began to stride over to where she sat.

“Was my Lady pleased with my performance?” She asked, offering a hand to help Cecilia to her feet.

“I would have preferred if you had been adequately protected.” With one hand, she smoothed down the front of her skirt, chasing away any lingering dirt, the other was still ensnared by Ava’s.

The knight brought it to her lips, gently kissing her knuckles. It was a silent apology for causing her distress. “I assure you, if I would have believed it to have been a challenge, I would have been properly suited.”

She was unable to stay cross with Ava for very long, they both were acutely aware of this fact. Ava’s honeyed words and charming smile were enough to ease the tensions seizing her mind.

Cecilia huffed in defeat and Ava knew she had been victorious once more.

“Would you like to try?” She asked suddenly.

“Try what?” Dark brows furrowed in confusion.

Letting go of her hand, Ava gripped the pommel of her sword for emphasis. “Wielding a sword. Only if you are interested of course.”

“Oh.” Cecilia blinked. She hadn’t ever thought of such a thing. “I cannot find a valid reason as to why I should not.”

Emerald eyes sparkled with delight as she ushered the lady in the direction of the wooden dummies set up for practice.

A few of the other knights had been lingering, watching their superior with heated interest. Ava hardly seemed to notice, but Cecilia could feel their gazes. It didn’t seem malicious. Just simple curiosity.

The sound of metal sliced through the air as Ava withdrew her blade, twirling it in her grasp before handing it to Cecilia. “Now be mindful for it is heavier than it looks.”

She nodded. But still, when Ava dropped her hand away from the blade, the handle fell from Cecilia’s grasp and clattered on to the dirt.

The knight chuckled as the lady scrambled to retrieve it.

Just simply holding the weapon made Cecilia understand why Ava’s arms were wrapped in cords of muscle. Years of wielding such a beast would require her strength. It rendered the skill even more impressive.

She had a better grip on the blade the second time. The thick leather of the handle was smooth in her grasp as she admired the engravings on the blade. It looked like words were carved into the metal, but she couldn’t make them out.

“Omnia mors aquant,” warm breath tickled her ear as she leaned in, Ava’s chest pressing against her back. Strong hands slid down her arms until they covered her own, holding the blade steady in front of them. “Fate will find a way.”

Cecilia’s breath hitched in her throat at the touch. If she wasn’t wielding a large, dangerous weapon she might have lost herself in Ava in the middle of the training yard.

“Ominous,” she mumbled.

A low chuckle vibrated the air around them. “It is a line my father has repeated to me since I was a child. Your fate will find you, my girl. Fate will find a way.” Her voice deepened as she impersonated Lord du Mortain. “I suppose it just…stuck.”

She turned her head, stealing a brief glance at her knight.

“No matter, let us begin.”

***

Cecilia groaned as she fell back into bed, reveling in the embrace of the soft furs and feathered mattress. Droplets of water still clung to her skin not covered by the dressing gown she wore. Her eyes were heavy, and her arms were sore from that afternoon. Ava made fighting look so easy. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There were a lot of activities her knight made effortless.

As tired as she was, she couldn’t help the smile rise to her lips as she felt the bed dip as Ava crawled towards her. Gentle kisses were peppered over her neck and her face as the knight tried her damnedest to capture Cecilia’s full attention.

She cracked open one eye, unable to help herself, and was met with the sight of her lover’s gleeful smile. The ends of a flaxen braid tickled her cheek as Ava hovered above her before her head dipped to press a tender kiss to her lady’s lips.

“Tired?” Ava murmured.

Cecilia hummed a reply with a nod.

“Too tired for me?” The suggestive tone made her brows raise in question.

“Depends on what you had in mind,” she teased, fingertips dancing along the neckline of the aged shirt she wore.

“Nothing too taxing, I assure you.” The smile on her face made Cecilia melt.

Eager fingers pushed open the poorly tied robe. No matter how many times Ava witnessed her beauty, the curves of Cecilia’s body would never fail to leave her speechless. Where Ava was hard muscles and sharp lines, her lover was soft skin and rounded edges.

“You are beautiful.” She kissed the plushness of her cheek, trailing down her neck.

“Beautiful.” Her lips kissed the point of her shoulder and traveled across her collarbone.

“Beautiful.” Ava’s head bent to kiss between her breasts.

She watched her pursuit through hooded eyes, a smile unmoving from her face. What had she done to deserve such a woman?

“Ava,” she whispered, drawing the lustful gaze to her own. “I love you.”

Her movements stuttered for a brief moment before she surged forward, capturing her in a kiss that left them both breathless.

“You are my everything, little bird.” Large hands cupped either side of her face as she covered her in a look of adoration. “For I love you so much, I cannot stand it.”

Cecilia moved to situate herself on her knight’s lap, her arms winding around her neck, ready to lose herself in their embrace. Ava held her just as tightly. She seemed determined to not let go.

Their quiet was interrupted by a thought proposed aloud.

“Marry me.”

The lady pulled back, eyes widening. “What?”

Ava’s eyes glanced away from sudden nerves. “Marry me so I shall be able to call you mine for the rest of our lives.”

Her lips parted in surprise quickly turned into a smile. 

“Look at me,” she finally said.

Reluctantly, Ava complied.

Cecilia held her face with such tenderness, she was sure they both would melt. “There is nothing more I want than to be yours for eternity.”

“So?” Hope blossomed in her gaze.

“Of course I will marry you.”

The smile on Ava’s face surely would put the brightness of the sun to shame as she pulled her close, showering her with kisses and declarations of love through Cecilia’s giggles.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Dream A Little Dream - 3

Our next @bingokisses prompt is Tucking Hair Behind the Ear/Palm Kisses! This fic went in...a rather different direction than expected, but I wanted to make full use of the dream concept at least once.

The earlier sections are available on AO3.

Chapter 3: AD 1017 - The Impossible Dream

The knight rode his white stallion easily through the mist, mirror-bright armor resting lightly on his back and limbs. Ahead, a brilliant white stone tower rose, tall enough to pierce the sky, its peak obscured by black storm clouds. Rose bushes thick with thorns surrounded the base, barring all entry except through a single window, nearly a hundred feet high.

He swung himself down from the saddle and strode across the green sward. “Fair maiden!” The warrior lifted the visor of his helm, throwing his voice to echo off the stone. “Tales of your sorrows have spread throughout the kingdom. But fear not, for I, Sir Aziraphale, have come to rescue you from your sordid fate and see you safely hence!”

Far above, a figure leaned from the window. Narrow face pale above a deep black dress, clinging tightly to every curve and angle. Long limbs lost in sweeping crimson sleeves perfectly matched to the figure's main feature: endless waves of dark red hair. A single lock slipped free and tumbled down the side of the tower, nearly long enough to brush the ground below. Long-fingered hands cradled a pert chin as shining eyes took in the knight.

“Really? That’s what you’re going to open with?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s gauntlet struck his hip with an annoyed clank. “I was trying to set a mood here.”

“You certainly set something.” Crowley chuckled, sending another ripple through the ocean of red hair. “I mean, it started well enough, I guess, but sordid fate? See you safely hence? Kind of falls flat if you ask me. Didn’t even mention slaying any wicked beasts.”

“Well. Not really the slaying sort.”

“Don’t let the princesses hear you say that.” Crowley’s fingers drummed on the windowsill. “They all love to see a good slaying. As for what comes next, is safety all you can promise? Might hold out for a better offer.”

“I hardly think you’re in a – a bargaining position up there.”

“Oi, you know how many knights have come by before you? I usually stop counting after twelve, and that was a while back. This tower is prime real estate.” A flash of white teeth behind blood red lips. “Most of them were much better at the speeches, you know. I can give you pointers if you like.”

Aziraphale shifted his cape back over his shoulders, covering his armor. “This isn’t a game, Crowley. Can’t you be serious for once in your life?”

“Everything is a game, Angel.” A flick of Crowley's head sent another river of hair wriggling down the side of the tower. Thick, loose curls, with a strong braid running through the middle. The tips of the hair came to rest twenty feet above the rose bushes. “Oh, will you look at that? Guess I shouldn’t have trimmed it last week, but you know. Split ends. Did you bring a ladder? None of the other knights brought ladders. You’d think, maiden in a tower, that’s the first thing they’d grab.”

“How many knights managed to scale the tower?”

“Jealous?” Crowley braced against the window frame and leaned forward, spilling out the rest of the hair, as well as an ample expanse of bosom. “Don’t worry, the dragon got all of them. They may have talked nice, but they were just shiny armor and fancy words. No substance. Not like you, of course.”

“Flattery won’t win me over.”

“Flattery can do anything, properly applied.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and adjusted his helmet again. Really, none of this was going remotely to plan. He ought to just drop it and walk away, but not until he was absolutely sure of one thing. “Crowley. Are you alright? The rumors all say that the maiden in the tower is being held against her will. Do…do you need help?”

Crowley’s head tipped this way and that, thinking it over. “Well…yes, I suppose. See, I can’t leave this tower until someone tames the dragon. Why, did you want to try?”

“That was the plan, yes.” He glanced about. The tower was atop a hill, so despite the mist he could see a fair distance. No sign of any monster. “But, if we can get you down before it returns…”

“Nh. Well. About that.” Crowley’s grin grew wider, face grew longer, splitting into a black-scaled, arrow-shaped head with a mouth full of fangs and smoke. “I’m the maiden and the dragon. Ssseemed more efficient that way.”

Delicate, thin hands turned to claws, carving deep cracks into the stone of the wall, and the spill of hair twisted into a long red tail that slashed and darted through the air.

Aziraphale’s horse fled with a terrified scream, but the angel stood his ground, braced and unflinching as the tail wrapped around him, lifted him, pulled him through the air like a fish on a line.

All at once, he was inside the creature’s lair, a deep stone cave filled with stalactites and stalagmites, a pile of shining treasure somewhere just out of sight. One scaled fist clutched the angel from breastplate to greave, while a claw dragged around the edge of his helm, scratching curiously.

“Well? Aren’t you going to sssscream?”

Aziraphale found one golden eye, towering somewhere above him, and held its gaze. “And why should I do that?”

“I’m a monsssster, you idiot.” The fist tightened slightly, enough to make the armor creak and groan. “I could dessstroy you in an insssstant.”

“But you won’t.” Aziraphale wriggled his shoulders, pulling his arms free one at a time. “You won’t hurt me. Ever.”

“How can you be ssssure?” Twin gouts of steam shot from enormous nostrils, volcanically hot. “You should kill me before I tear you apart.”

“You really do need to listen better. I already told you, I’m not the slaying type. I’m here to save you from your fate, no more, no less.”

“You can’t – Angel, there’sss nothing to ressscue me from! You can’t take me away from myself.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t say anything about taking you away.” Aziraphale swept the helmet off his head, dropping it to clatter across the cavern floor. A mass of curly white hair shook free, not as long as Crowley’s had been, but wild and loose, spilling across his shoulders and face. “If you can be both prisoner and dragon…I am both knight and maiden.” His hands rested on the claw that hovered before his face, drawing it close, pressing his cheek to it. “I’m here to rescue you. I’m here to join you.”

“Angel…” The tip of the claw traced across his skin, sharp but gentle, and tucked a lock of hair behind Aziraphale’s ear. “You can’t…you can’t want that.”

“My dear Crowley. What more could I want? You are my friend, my trusted companion. The one being who…who makes me feel…myself. Who makes me feel that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Please, Crowley, let me do the same for you.”

The clawed hand opened, and suddenly Aziraphale stood on Crowley’s palm, every opalescent scale as big as his own hand. Nothing held him back now. He could jump. He could flee.

Instead, Aziraphale knelt down, armor melting into a shining silver gown, and curled up in the cup of Crowley’s hand as if it were the softest down bed in the world. Pressed his lips to the draconian palm. “Whatever form you take, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you mean that?”

Aziraphale glanced up in time to see the dragon’s snout melting again, softening, re-shaping into a narrow face with high cheekbones; neither male nor female, human nor dragon; black scales traced back from a jaw too wide, golden eyes stared unblinking below a sharply sloped brow. The hands that clutched Aziraphale’s elbows were still tipped with sharp claws, and a bright red tongue – splitting into a charcoal-black fork – shot out to taste the air.

He smiled, taking Crowley’s face in his hands. “There you are! My darling…” Aziraphale kissed those thin lips, tasting their desert-dry heat, and felt trembling hands clutch at his hair.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale pressed close, hands tracing down Crowley’s sinuous, bare back, feeling the form shift under his touch – scales, soft skin, silky hair, hot, cold, always changing. Crowley’s tongue flicked down his neck, just to the neckline of his gown, questioning.

“Yes,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “Oh, yes, Crowley—”

The wagon bounced over a hole in the road, jostling all its contents, including an angel who had been more than a little lost in his thoughts. The rap of his skull against a barrel helped to clear his mind.

Aziraphale quickly tugged his tunic straight and ran his hands through his hair – cut short, as always, regardless of the current fashion – glancing furtively at the other travelers. Two men and an older woman had also hitched a lift to the nearest city. He felt certain they must somehow know what he had imagined, that somehow the intensity of the fantasy had projected itself into the air around them—

But, no, all three sat, arms folded, concerned only with their own thoughts and their own troubles.

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale settled back into the corner of the wagon, tugging up the hood of his undyed wool cloak to hide the flush of his cheeks.

He daydreamed far more often than he used to, particularly while traveling – and more and more often, his fantasies featured one particular being. Though they were rarely so complex. Not to mention so physical. His imagination had simply run away with him, as sometimes happened.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the grip on his shoulders, drawing him deeper into the embrace—

Oh, no. No, that was dangerous. Crowley would never agree to…oh, whatever that little fantasy had symbolized. A partnership of some kind.

Well, no that wasn’t true. Crowley had suggested a partnership…an Arrangement…once before. Dropped hints every time they met lately. Aziraphale had refused to even consider it, but perhaps…perhaps…the time had come to think again.

Not just yet. Better to consider such things in complete privacy. He took the fantasy and carefully wrapped it in soft cotton, tucking it into the hidden drawer of his mind where he kept his very favorite daydreams, to revisit at a more opportune moment. He would need something simpler to entertain him on the ride.

Aziraphale carefully selected another dream, well-worn from use, and his mind slowly filled with a little stone cottage in a forest glade, the sound of waves echoing from just out of sight, and a dark-robed figure with red hair dancing in the wind, picking blackberries from the bushes…

--

“There you are!” Aziraphale’s hands cupped Crowley’s face, hideous and twisted though it was, but he only smiled, so warmly, so guilelessly, that it broke Crowley’s heart all over again. “My darling…” The angel rose up on his toes to press full, plump lips to Crowley’s mouth, arms pulling the demon into an embrace so close, so tight, that clawed hands scrambled to reciprocate.

“Angel…” Crowley meant to kiss Aziraphale’s jaw, but the serpent tongue had a mind of its own, exploring his neck down to the opening of his gown, the swells and curves hidden underneath. Surely that would be the last straw; surely now Aziraphale would see Crowley was nothing more than a beast, a monster whose very presence defiled everything pure. Crowley waited for the rejection, for Aziraphale to struggle to get away—

“Yes,” the soft voice curled into Crowley’s ear, even as soft hands clutched at narrow hips. “Oh, yes, Crowley—”

He snapped awake, scrambling to keep his balance on the branch as the wind chilled his flushed skin.

That had…not been the dream he expected. Usually, after an attempted exorcism, he had bad dreams for a week.

Crowley had fallen asleep in a tree, after being driven out of the nearby village by an overzealous priest. It happened more often these days; the humans were becoming more aware, somehow, more able to see him for what he really was. He’d need to improve his disguise, work harder to fit in.

Work harder to be anything other than himself.

The one being who…who makes me feel…myself. Who makes me feel that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“Easy for you,” he grumbled into the darkness. “You’re a blessed angel. You’re as bloody perfect as the day you were made. Why would you ever feel ashamed? And I’m – I’m just…”

Whatever form you take, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

He closed his eyes again, trying to catch that warmth, that feeling of acceptance, one more time. Not that Aziraphale actually felt that way, he’d rejected Crowley's idea for an Arrangement, cut him off any time he tried to even bring it up. But still…

Crowley drifted off to sleep, hoping he’d dream of Aziraphale again.

--

Thank you for reading! This one got WILDLY out of hand as I wrote, but in a good way, I suppose. More will be coming shortly, but if you liked it, please drop a comment here or on AO3!

Let me know if you want me to tag you on future chapters.

@angel-and-serpent

[reynesofcastamere]

Thrown Gauntlet[Ω]

(A/N: Sooooo....I’ve decided to start another series of fics that I will be marking with [Ω] in the titles: To disinguish them from both the main series (which I am still working on) and the [β] drabbles (which are all over the place in terms of timeline, setting, universe, etc.). Essentially a very self-indulgent AU where Savage, Maul, and Feral all get adopted by Clan Wren. This installment takes place in 20 BBY, so Ahsoka is around 16 and Maul is about 34. However. I want to state outright that the dynamic is intended to be a verrrrry slow build and that nothing romantic and/or sexual will be occurring between Maul and Ahsoka until MUCH later. If what I’ve described does not sound like your personal cup of tea, then by all means, feel free to give this fic and/or series a pass. This is getting a bit long, so to sum up: No trigger warnings, Obi-Wan is an Incurable Flirt, Rex is Flustered, and Maul is about 100% Done With Everyone’s Nonsense. Unbeta’d)  The Jedi Temple is buzzing. Not literally, of course, but Ahsoka can feel a strange vibration in the Force. Excitement, or maybe irritation? There’s definitely quite a bit more whispering amongst her fellow Jedi and the clone troopers she passes on her path to the east hangar. Master Anakin had told her to pack for a long trip, which she can only assume means they’ve been assigned another mission and he’s withholding the details so as to ‘surprise’ her appropriately. Typical Skyguy.

She spots Rex near the door, sans helmet. “Good morning, Captain.” A proper salute, quickly returned, though her tone is light. “Morning, Commander. And-er, yes, it certainly is.” He actually seems to be fidgeting a bit, and his face- “Rex, are you...blushing?” “N-no. No. Just-ah...Finished up my workout routine. Took more out of me than I expected. You know how it is; One day you’re all shiny-new and the next you feel older than General Yoda.” “Reeeeexxxx....Come on, whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“The Clawbirds arrived about an hour ago. Captain Wren’s refusing to do much of anything until he finishes repairs on General Skywalker’s ship.” Rex caves, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Master Anakin can’t be too happy about that.” Ahsoka observes, knowing just how...particular he is about his personal projects. “Should I be worried?” “Er...maybe? It’s kind of a toss-up. Depends on whether M-” He begins, before a subtler voice cuts in. “Captain, there you are. I was hoping to speak to you.” The speaker is a male Zabrak with soft golden-yellow eyes and skin, the latter of which is liberally patterned in brown markings. Unusual enough, but he’s also clad in full Mandalorian armor, helmet tucked under one arm and carrying what looks like field medic gear along with the standard jetpack and arsenal of weapons. And he’s glowing; a defined Force signature radiating Light and positive energy like a solar lamp. How-? “Medic Sergeant Wren. They are still getting along, right?” “Oh yes. He’s in a much better mood than last time. Apologies, am I interrupting?” “Thank the Maker. And no, um. Commander Tano, this is Medic Sergeant Feral Wren.” Rex looks like he’s in danger of heatstroke with how red he’s gotten. It’s not hard to see why, especially when Feral gives a smile that could melt half the ice on Bahryn. Rather than salute her, he stretches his right hand out so that they can clasp forearms briefly, a greeting from one warrior to another. “It’s a pleasure, Medic Sergeant.” She smiles back. Ahsoka can’t help it. He’s just...She’s fighting the urge to hug him like some kind of stuffed animal toy. Which is bizarre and will most definitely not be happening anytime soon. “Tano...Oh, you must be ‘Snips’. It’s almost a shame Savage volunteered to help the younglings train, we’ve both wanted to meet you for some time now.” Wait, what? “Tranyc’vod [Sunny(star-burned) brother] Anakin hasn’t been able to call as often, but he’s very proud of your accomplishments.” Feral remarks, genuinely pleased even as her head spins with the implications. Her Master has a lot of explaining to do. “Speaking of which, I’d better not keep him waiting much longer. I look forward to talking to you again, though. See you later, Captain. Maybe you should ask the Medic Sergeant about those stamina issues you’re having?” She can’t resist ribbing Rex as she departs, watching him splutter as Feral, like any good medic, starts making inquiries about his ‘condition’ while looking him over. And placing a hand on his chestplate, apparently. Huh. Maybe her friend’s obvious crush isn’t quite as one-sided as she’d thought. Ahsoka navigates her way through the semi-organized rows of ships. Even if Anakin’s presence in the Force wasn’t abnormally strong, she doesn’t need to focus to find him. Not when he’s talking loud enough to be heard across half the hangar. “-last time, it’s fine! You’re just being paranoid, as usual.” “Every ship I have been forced to borrow from you has either crashed, suffered a critical malfunction, or was confined to the scrap heap mere hours after landing. No one is setting a foot on this poorly-constructed death trap until I am absolutely certain it won’t spontaneously combust mid-flight.” And that must be Captain Wren. He sounds...irritated, to say the least.

“My ships run perfectly, thanks. Must hurt that Mando pride, knowing a Jedi is a better pilot and mechanic than you, Captain.” She’s not quite within visual range yet, but she knows her Master is smirking. “How sad that as a Jedi, you cannot recognize your own failings, General. Perhaps you should conduct a survey of your ‘victims’ instead of this poor attempt at distraction. Mir’osik adiik be’kyorla hut’uun![Dung for brains child of (a) rotten coward!]-” “Ouch. What, did one of your horns get caught in the hydraulics?” “Hilarious. Make yourself useful by grabbing a towel, or something from Kenobi’s closet. I’m coming out.” “Ah, Captain Wren. I thought the general ambience had improved. What were you saying about my clothing?” She hadn’t been aware of Master Kenobi’s presence before this. Either he’d used a secondary entrance or had been waiting for his chance to join the exchange while the captain was busy. “Kenobi.”

“Oh come now, surely you can muster a more polite greeting than that. You’ve been away so long I’ve had to listen to recordings just to remember the sound of your lovely voice.” “Perhaps I will address you with respect when you learn to stop leering at me, besom [ill-mannered lout].” “Busted. Again.” “You’re not helping, Anakin.” Ahsoka rounds a corner and-Oh. Wow. How far down do those-? She blinks a few times, just to be sure of what she’s seeing. Yep, there is a very shirtless Zabrak with the kind of muscle definition that would make scores of artists weep standing with his back to her and wiping his face off with a towel. She desperately hopes that her jaw is not hanging open as he turns his head to survey her with one vibrant yellow tourmaline eye. She honestly doesn’t know if she wants to draw closer or back away in that moment. His presence in the Force is not a benevolent, harmless light, but rather a controlled fire that sparks and issues dark threads of smoke. This...Ahsoka doesn’t understand what is going on, and it’s starting to make her uncomfortable. “The spy finally shows herself.” He remarks, assessing and dismissing her as a non-threat within the span of a few seconds, continuing to wipe off whatever type of mess had been spattered on him. “Don’t mind him, Snips. Someone shoved a shock baton up his ass years ago and the medics never found a way to pull it out. Tragic, really.” Anakin Skywalker grins, arms loosely folded across his chest and leaning against the outside of his ship. “Ahsoka, this is Maul. We’ll be working with him and his people for the forseeable future.” It clicks suddenly where she’s heard both his name and that of his group before: Captain Maul of Clan Wren and his company are the only Mandalorian supercommandos who will actually work with the Jedi Council. At least, when they’re not busy with bodyguard or mercenary jobs. Part of that involves what is referred to -with some awe and a lot of fear- as ‘running the gauntlet’, a mandatory training course for any Padawans or Knights posted to or intending to spend a considerable amount of time in the barely-civilized regions of space. It’s been suspended since the war started in earnest, but if they’re going to be sticking around for a while...Well, the implications are pretty serious. And Ahsoka has somehow managed to ogle one of the most infamous hardasses this side of the Mid Rim. Fantastic. Really. Maul disposes of the stained towel and turns to face her properly, Ahsoka’s gaze staying determinedly on his face as they grip each other’s right forearms. He doesn’t pull back after a few seconds as Feral had, hand locking in place as he seems to peer into her soul.  “I will say this once. We are not like our evaar’la vod’e[young brothers]. We are not subservient to you, and I do not accept excuses or blatant disrespect.” A pause and a slight increase in pressure, just below the threshold of inflicting pain. “Are you ready, Ahsoka Tano?” “Yes, Captain.” She answers with a certainty that she can feel in her very bones, and is rewarded with the hint of a wry smile when he lets go. Well that’s...something. Master Kenobi clears his throat pointedly. Right. Mission briefing first. Sort out her feelings later. Still, she can’t help but look forward to whatever comes next. (A/N: *cracks knuckles* Well, that’s the first installment. A little vague on the details, but I’m hoping to elaborate on what’s been hinted at here relatively soon. The name of the supercommando company comes from the Legends novel Maul:Lockdown by Joe Schreiber. And yes, for fellow Rebels fans who are reading this thing: In this AU, Sabine and Tristan get three badass Zabrak-hybrid uncles and a fair amount of adopted cousins. (Which is entirely Savage’s doing.) I do believe that Anakin is a gifted mechanic, but also couldn’t resist the running joke of ‘Skywalker’s ships/anything he tinkers with only work for him and Artoo’. Cheers!) 

[queenjanai]

Flowers

so a while back this lovely anon saw how much i was thirsty for new janaya fics, and so kindly started to write one for me, and this is their wonderful fic! i’m putting it under a read more, and it’s definitely worth reading, so give it a moment of your time. i really like how the environment feels so warm, and how amaya and janai interact, and just - the whole thing. also, if you want, like, reblog, or leave a reply to let this writer know how great their work is. thanks again, anon!

The summer solstice was an important day in Lux Aurea. There was a ball, which was held in the royal palace, and was open to all Sunfire elves- and, for this year, one human. Offically, it started at the first light of dawn and ended when the stars became visible in the night sky; however, many elves could be found starting early or continuing late. Or both. Amaya had woken up before dawn to stand by Janai’s side to begin the celebration, as the Sunfire Queen was responsible for announcing the official start and end of the solstice. But, while the Sunfire elves could replenish some energy through the power of the sun due to it being the sun’s peak of power, humans had no such ability. By the time evening broke, Amaya was exhausted. Stealing dances with Janai and having friendly sparring matches with Sunfire soldiers was fun and all, but she needed to sit down for a bit. The only seats she could find currently unoccupied were the benches in the garden, which were largely empty due to the fact that no one wanted to risk accidentally damaging some of the flowers and gain the Queen’s ire. Queen Khessa had, apparently, been quite fond of the delicate and beautiful plants she ordered to be grown there, and Queen Janai couldn’t bear to see something her sister had enjoyed so much be harmed in any way. So, most of the partygoers had very deliberately avoided the garden, and as a result, it became a calm area for people who wanted to take a break from the celebrations. People like Amaya.

While any bench would have worked, she didn’t want to be bothered by anyone, so she wandered deeper into the garden, to where Janai had shown her the… Sun Blossoms? No, those were the bright yellow flower bushes at the front of the garden. Dawn Delights? No, the Dawn Delights were wall-clinging vine flowers, and they were found climbing the tall fences that surrounded the garden. Whatever these flowers were called, they stored sunlight during the day, and released it as a glow during the night. Today had been a wonderfully sunny day, so the flowers gave off enough light that Amaya could see clearly nearly ten feet away. The bench was right in front of the patch of glowing flowers, close enough that someone sitting on it could reach out and touch the petals of the nearest flowers. But then the glowing pollen would stick to her gloves, and since Amaya had actually borrowed them from Janai, she decided not to try touching any of them. Taking a seat after so long felt wonderful. Taking her sandles off- also borrowed- felt even better, even though her feet stung where some of the straps had been digging into her skin slightly. The dress she was wearing was the only thing she wore that was hers, having been specially made for the party; it was made entirely of a strange elven fabric that was silky but warm, the most draping pieces of her dress flowing from her body like finely woven water but catching and drifting through the air like wisps of flame as she moved. Such as she did now- she let herself fall backward onto the cool, smooth stone of the bench, watching dispassionately as her stole and the looser parts of her dress floated down after her. Who thought sleeves should be ‘nearly floor-length?’ Once they were out of her range of sight, her gaze turned up towards the slowly darkening sky, until the constant glow of the flowers began to annoy her, and she closed her eyes. - Janai had been running around all day. Getting ready for the celebrations, announcing the start, keeping an eye on all the partygoers, and other responsibilities of the queen. It had left her hardly any time to spend with Amaya, despite having asked her to come from Katolis, all the way to Lux Aurea. Not exactly a short journey. But now, with the evening taking over the sky more and more, she was finally able to relax. Now she could properly enjoy some time with Amaya, like she’d been wanting to do since she’d kissed Amaya awake that morning- the way those dark, human eyes looked around and focused on her, freshly-woken bleariness turning into warm and soft awareness as she smiled at Janai, was the greatest temptation Janai had ever felt to simply go back to bed. But now Janai’s duties were finished, and Amaya was missing. She knew her love had mentioned needing a break, but that was nearly fifteen minutes ago. Surely Amaya would have noticed the sky getting darker, the crowds thinning out slowly but getting more excited? Where could her heart be? She asked one of the guards stationed at the door outside the garden, who was clearly quite eager to be finished with the day’s duties, just like Janai. They informed her that they had, indeed, seen Amaya exiting through the door to enter the gardens, but had yet to see her return. Had she lost track of the time, or gotten held up in conversation? Entering the garden herself, Janai assessed the crowd gathered there; unfortunately, it was all elves. Perhaps, since Janai had given her a tour of it earlier, Amaya had felt bold enough to enter it alone. Did she want to be alone so deeply? Or perhaps… She was waiting for Janai to come find her? It wasn’t a possibility she could (or wanted to) rule out. Sneaking into Khessa’s gardens had been a favorite pasttime of Janai’s, up until a few years ago. Looking at all the flowers blooming, seeing the latest attempts of the ever-ongoing efforts to breed yet more beautiful flowers, investigating if Khessa had decided to rip out a patch of flowers to replace them with flowers she liked better- it had all been so relaxing, a simple and delightful break from the rest of the world. Now, Janai cannot bring herself to journey into the garden too often- it was too rich in memories of her sister. But today, she could not stop herself from entering it if she wanted to- her feet seemed to long for the paths they had wandered down so often, her body ached for the familiar petals and leaves surrounding her. It was no surprise to her when she found Amaya laying near the Evening Brights- she’d seemed fascinated by how brightly they glowed when Janai showed her them the first time. “My light, there you are.” Of course, Amaya didn’t stir from where she… laid. Why was she laying across the bench, actually? Had she been staring at the sky? As Janai approached, the answer became clear- Amaya was asleep. She looked like a painting, one hand half-curled by her head, while another laid across her stomach, with her deep red dress splayed out around her. With the glowing flowers behind her, it was quite a sight to behold. A sight Janai wished she could hold onto forever. A queen though she may now be, and the Golden Knight before that, she found she was entirely powerless against such a peaceful, picturesque scene, against the throb of her heart within her chest as she saw her love so relaxed and so calm. She was similarly powerless against the desire to bend down and kiss her cheek, much as she had that morning. As she pulled away, Amaya’s hand grabbed her cheek to pull her back in for a deeper kiss. 'Sleep well?’ Janai signed, her eyes shining with amusement. 'You didn’t come back, so I came to find you.’ 'Yes, until someone woke me up.’ Amaya answered, looking just as playful. 'Is the party over?’ 'Waking the Queen’s wife? A crime. What is their punishment?’ Janai shot back, fighting to keep the grin off her face. Amaya pretended to think carefully for a second. 'A kiss.’ And then she leaned up to give her lover the 'punishment.’ 'Did you wake me up so we could go back to your room?’ Janai’s cheeks flushed slightly at the question. 'Not yet. I didn’t want you to be surprised by the fireworks.’ 'Surprised by what?’ Amaya copied the sign Janai had made; putting her closed hands together in front of her, then pulling them apart while spreading her fingers, and repeating slightly to the side. But before she could get an answer, the sky lit up- red light filled the air, the aftermath of an explosion. Three streaks of smoke shot into the sky immediately afterward, which also exploded- blue, yellow, and green. They had to be loud- even though they exploded so high in the sky, Amaya could feel them rattle her chest. How could Lux Aurea be under attack now? Now that so many of the elves were defenseless, now that she had no armor or weapon? But Janai showed no signs of worry; she slid her legs under Amaya’s raised head, so she could sit with her head in her lap. 'Fireworks.’ She signed again, then fingerspelled it out as more of them shattered the heavens. 'They’re for special occasions. They honor the Sun. And they’re beautiful.’ She turned her eyes up to the sky, enjoying the display. The pyrotechnicians had worked hard this year, and the results were wonderful; purple filled the sky in a huge burst, no doubt drawing gasps from the crowds gathered in the front of the garden, outside the castle, and in the streets. One of Janai’s hands stroked Amaya’s hair, while the other held her hand. Here in the garden, with the love of her life, watching the fireworks fill the sky… Janai knew there was nowhere else she would ever want to be. But she took a moment to look down at Amaya’s face, seeing the wonder and the amazement in there, and she realized she was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.

[robobirdie]

Fan Story Forward

I have long struggled with mental illness my entire life and in 2012 during a very low period in my life I got a little parrot I named R2 even though we always called him Tooie. I had always wanted a bird, a living dinosaur, ever since I was very young and given my state my family thought it best to get me a companion parrot. He helped me get through many troubled times but in 2018 my beloved companion Parrot when he passed away suddenly July 12 at only six years old from a fungal infection. Just three months later my cat Keiko a beloved companion of 14 years was diagnosed with cancer in the jaw bone the week of Halloween. She was given only a week to live but hung on till February 26 of 2019. R2 loved watching TV with the family or when people played video games. My younger sister got me into watching Ninjago around late 2016 and I came to love it and so did he. Watching the show helped me feel better whenever times were low. I didn’t get into the Nexo Knights till after he passed but knowing him he would have loved it too. I had gotten into the Elder Scrolls series in 2012 during my very low period and it really helped me get by and both R2 and Keiko enjoyed hanging out watching as I played Elder Scrolls games. I’ve always been strongly creative and often write, draw or work digitally to create things and shortly after R2 passed I had started to come up with an idea involving three of the things we loved the most; a story involving the ninja and Nexo Knights. I only started writing however shortly after Keiko passed. I wrote this story as a sort of way to get over the grief of their loss. When I started I had a sense of where the story was going but no real end and many aspects were still blank. I was heavily inspired by the Elder Scrolls series particularly the third instalment Morrowind, the fourth instalment Oblivion and its Shivering Isles expansion plus the most recent instalment Elder Scrolls Online which my younger sister got me as a birthday gift in 2019. This inspiration is heavily noticed in environments, names and parts of the mythology in the story. While the story deals with the very dark subject matter of death and grief I tried to keep it light and keep in plenty of humor despite the dark subject matter. I also tried to keep it light enough in tone for young children which is very hard when dealing with such a dark subject. I originally wanted to keep it short but as I was writing I found that really was not going to work. The story became so complex that restricting it in size was not really wise. I knew from the start I was going to focus on two of the ninja similarly to how the show works. The two I chose are my two favorites', Zane and Cole (if you’re wondering Aaron and Clay are my two favourite knights). As I wrote I began to feel the story was best put into two parts. While the two are focused on through the whole story the focus is more prominent to Zane during the first half and Cole in the second. Part one is titled The Land of Ice and Ash while the second is titled The land of Stone and Shadow.

I have seen all the Nexo Knight seasons and Ninjago up to season 13 of the show so it will fit chronologically up till this point. It also takes aspects from Tomy Andersons story "Way of the Departed" since I have read those. Overall it is not heavily reliant on other seasons being focused on the story at hand though there are times when content from other seasons is implemented. Taking hint from what one of Ninjagos creators said, I believe it was Tommy, the knights and ninja are given a pretty hard time in the story but that helps propel the story and make it interesting. They are thrust into a strange world with strange people who have mixed views of them many hating them and beings who wish to destroy them at every turn. Overall I believe it is a fun, entertaining and heart warming story. It might even help you get over any grieving you might be having. It did that for me.

Originally when I started writing this story I had intended for the Knights of the Prong to be Legos Nexo Knights but did not know how to properly bring them in so simply came up with the Knights of the Prong as a stand in and this helped me get the story out. I always felt I could do more with the knights and as I have gotten close to the end I finally figured out how I was going to bring in the Nexo Knights and I think it offers more to the story The ninja are still the major focus of the story but the knights have their part and help flush out some parts and offer a different view of this place the two groups find themselves in. Like with the ninja the parts with the knights is not heavily reliant on the seasons of the Nexo Knights but does rely that you know who the Nexo Knights are and a bit of a back story on them.

For those who don't know about the Nexo Knights here is a bit of back story to help you know who they are:

The Nexo Knights come from a place called Knighton where they fight monsters created by a necromancer named Monstrux. They work with the great over 300 year old wizard Merlok who gives the knights magical aid to boost the knights powers against monsters. Due to an accident he became digitized. With help from two knights in training Ava a tech master and Robin a mechanic and inventing expert he was integrated into the knights moving fortress a vehicle called the Fortrex. The two are children and rarely get directly into a fight often working in the background alongside Merlok. Ava prefers her technology over magic and Robin aspires to be a full knight like his role model Clay. Clay Moorington is Merloks nephew even though for the longest time he did not know this. He wields a sword and is leader for the knights being the most serious and devoted to the knights code to protect others. During the 3rd and 4th season he got corrupted by Monstruxs magic which turned him to stone. He cured himself when he unlocked a power with magic he did not know he had. His mother was a wizard like her brother Merlok but got corrupted by monstruxs dark magic turning her evil when Clay was young. Macy Halbert is the daughter to Knightons rulers the king and queen however she prefers to be a knight over a princess often sneaking her weapon, a mace, and armor in to places when she is supposed to be doing princess duties. She is the second most serious about being a knight and cares little for the duties of a princess. Aaron Fox is the groups archer wielding a crossbow and is an ultimate adrenaline junky thrill seeker often using his knights shield as a hover board during a fight or for fun. While he often doesn't seem it he is serious about his duties as a knight. While Clay was corrupted he took over as leader for the knights taking his new role seriously. He is most often wearing headphones. Axl, who has no last name, is the muscle of the group wielding a war axe. He's kind, gentle, plays music and loves food. His younger sister has a crush on Robin which makes Robin uncomfortable. Lance Richmond is the spoiled  party son of a rich lord. He's super into his good looks and social media and has been known to pay others off to do or finish jobs for him. Despite this he does take his role as a knight seriously despite originally not wanting much to do with the life of a knight. He has a pet pig named Hamletta and a little sister who's training to be a knight like him. The knights have special shields which can harness Merloks magic for use in combat. Another prominent character who does make it into the story as well is Jestro the courts royal jester. While not a knight he trained alongside the others and is a deep friend of Clays. He is very insecure and anxious and tends to have the unfortunate luck of falling to evil influences, particularly Monstrux, despite his attempts to avoid them. Even when corrupted he’s hesitant to truly hurt the knights preferring to just mess with them.

I am a strong visually orientated person so as I went I created many concept arts to help me visualize environments, creatures, layouts and characters in the story. I will include these with the story so you can help visualize things as well. Many of these artworks you can find here: https://www.deviantart.com/nerdy-hyena/gallery/72478681/story-project

Overall I believe it is a fun, entertaining and heart warming story. It might even help you get over any grieving you might be having. It did that for me.

 Keiko and R2:

As in all Elder Scrolls games there is a prophecy that foretells of heroes journey for the ninja their prophecy as foretold by the scrolls is:

“The scrolls foretold of this; His defeat was merely a delay; after the oni would fall the dragons would fail. When their wings are clipped and they have fallen to shadow the border between realms shall weaken and fall and darkness shall come. Realms once light and familiar shall be covered in shadows, shadows that are in plain view yet hidden consuming the world in darkness. There is only one this darkness fears; one of its own. But to gain this darkness and for the realms to be saved knights must fall to ash and shadow and dragons must enter the tower of first light and fall to its darkness in order for realms to see the light.”

To find all chapters look here: https://robobirdie.tumblr.com/archive

You can also find a copy of the story written here https://archiveofourown.org/works/34894561/chapters/86888878 and here https://www.wattpad.com/1087355671-ninjago-the-oni-scrolls-foreword-important-info You can also find images pertaining to the story here: https://www.deviantart.com/nerdy-hyena/gallery/72478681/story-project

[yastaghr]

Broken Things Shine Brighter 17

I’ve been working on this chapter for a while, it just didn’t want to end for me. So please enjoy it. Or not. That works too.

Warnings: Graphic Injuries, graphic pain

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431909/chapters/54782299

Or below the cut!

The Day of Freedom would long be argued, debated, and discussed by the monsters of the Underground. It wasn’t that they didn’t think it should have happened. Everyone agreed that they should have done it a long time ago. No, what was unclear was the order of events.

Eventually everyone decided that what started it all was the spiders. They hadn't even known there were that many spiders in the Underground. They came flooding out of everywhere ready to fight. They had armor and weapons. And… they handed them to people. Everyone was shocked. Why would anyone just give away armor like this? This was top of the line stuff, not the shabby kit given out to guards. This was good enough for royalty.

The next thing that happened was the broadcast. TVs turned on everywhere and static cleared to show Dr. Undyne, the former royal scientist and face of the resistance. Standing behind her were Muffet, the unofficial ruler of Snowdin, and Captain Alphys, the head of the Royal Guard.

Undyne coughed and spoke simply. "People of the Underground. The time has come for revolution. The Queen has broken one of the Ancient Laws. She has bound another monster by magic to her against his will. Worse, she has lied to us. There is one way to break the barrier. With seven human souls to match the seven mages who imprisoned us, the Barrier can be broken. Two souls have already been gathered. We will reach the Surface within our lifetimes."

Muffet stepped forward, her face grim. "My spiders have provided to each of you armor and weapons best suited to your needs. Should you choose to take them, you agree to fight to depose her. Should you die the urn of your ashes will be brought to the Surface and placed in a monument to the brave monsters who fought back. Should you live you will have brought us that much closer to freedom."

Finally Captain Alphys spoke with a snarl. "Any guards hearing this? Stand down. Turn your back to the world and stare at the wall. Any guard not doing this is hereby free game. Kill them. No Queen of Monsterkind deserves to be protected if she has broken the Ancient Laws and lied to her people. She is now public enemy number one. Protect her and you die."

Then the orders flowed, a genuine battle plan that had every monster in these Underground wondering how long this had been planned. They all nodded as they donned their armor. It was time to fight back.

Beyond that… well, no one could agree. Did the Froggits snatch the keys out of the guards offices before the Pyropes strangled them or after? What about the Knight Knights and their heroic barrage of the treasury? Or the way the Moldbyggs snuck through the sewers and infiltrated the kitchens so the Migosps could liberate the contents of the fridges? And you can't forget the way the dog pack sniffed and destroyed every land mine in the inner yard.

=====

In all the confusion and fighting it wasn't surprising that one monster could be missed. Blue walked through it all like it was a dream. He couldn't help. He could only watch as monsters died in front of him. He wrote down their types and names in his notebook when he could so they could be properly recorded in the monument. It had been his idea. The memory of Sans' little shrine to his dogs would never leave him.

Papyrus was right in the thick of it, too, throwing bones and showing off the sheer power he had hidden every day of his life. Monsters were impressed and in awe. They wanted him to be on top of the list of heroes. He insisted that he take his place alphabetically, just like everyone else.

Muffet strode through the captured palace and monsters stopped to stare. Het magic went everywhere, tying everyone down and ending the fighting in an instant. She left behind awe struck (and love struck) monsters of every variety. She didn’t care or notice. She had a job to do, and until it was done she would focus on it.

The palace was nearly empty when they reached the torture chamber. Captain Alphys and Dr. Undyne were fighting together in perfect sync against the Queen herself. Both were covered in wounds. So was Sans.

Blue immediately ran over and released Sans from his place on the hot coals, leaving the others to worry about the Queen. The other collapsed into the arms of his brother who looked devastated. The small skeleton looked like he'd taken a swim in a sea of barbed wire only to be attacked by the dullest toothed sharks in the ocean and regurgitated into a pool of liquid metal. The worst wound was the one on his chest. A large sigil that burned like magma was branded deep into his chest.

Blue couldn't take his eyes off of it.  It felt like it would be forever scarred into his mind. He wanted to heal it. He wanted to destroy it. He wanted it never to have been drawn. But he didn't dare touch it until a proper healer had seen it.

He was so focused on it that he missed the entire conversation between Muffet and the healer about what needed to be done. He missed Papyrus' heated outburst. He missed Muffet's quiet, angry speech. He only became aware when he was pulled away from Sans and tied down. His shirt was pulled over his head, covering his sight so he couldn't see who was doing this to him.

"hey, uh, not really appreciating the manhandling. what's up?"

Muffet's voice was emotionless, coming from somewhere to his left. "The sigil cannot be undone. The only way to free him is to change who he is bound to and bind them to him. To do that, someone else must be bound. Out of all of us I think you would treat him best, so it has to be you."

Blue struggled in his bonds to no avail. "you can't be serious. you know what that means, right? i'd be soulmates with him. i can't, i- i- i don't know if i care for him like that. we've never been on a date! i don't-"

"blue. please. he needs you," Papyrus pleaded with him. Blue could hear the worry in his voice. The sincerity. The fear. How could he deny something like that?

But how could he do something like this? There was no way Sans could consent. What if he hated him? What if he hurt him? He could hide nothing from Sans if they were bound like this.  He'd be completely bare and defenseless.

On the other hand, Sans would die if he was still bound to the queen when she was executed. Blue had read the sigils. He would die, and he would die a slow and intensely painful death. Blue didn't want that. And Blue had to admit that he was tempted. More than tempted, he wanted Sans. He wanted to see him smile every day. He wanted to sneak a kiss under a sprig of mistletoe. He wanted to sit under the stars with him and make up stories about their pasts. He wanted to-

Oh.

Oh.

He was in love. When did that happen?

"You have two minutes to answer or we're doing it anyway," Muffet said harshly.

"i'll do it. i'll be his soulmate. for better or for worse, right? go ahead," Blue said bravely.

"Good," Muffet laid a hand on his chest. Healing magic flowed into him. It did nothing but circulate. He made a noise of inquiry. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt a lot, but the magic I just gave you should keep you from dying."

Blue gulped and nodded. He’d been through pain before. He could do this. “okay. just get it over with.”

The next thing he knew he was in crazy intense pain. It felt like the time he’d spilled boiling water all over his arm, only much, much worse. The burning, throbbing pain was all he could think of. It filled his whole world, pushing everything else out of his mind and moving in. It rummaged around the apartment of his mind making a huge, bloody mess. Oh, no. That was his chest. He knew what bleeding felt like and he was definitely bleeding. That meant more bandages. Yay.

The pain didn’t so much abate as become normal. Blue sucked in a huge breath, which of course made his chest hurt even more. A battle between his need to breathe and the pain ensued. Eventually he found a rhythm that didn’t feel agonizing. No wonder Sans could be so testy. This hurt.

Blue blinked when Papyrus pulled down his shirt. There was an apology in his eyes that Blue just managed to recognize. He wasn’t quite sure why it was there. This had to be done, right? And he’d volunteered to do it. There was no way this was Papyrus’ fault.

“we need you to do the last bit, blue. can you summon your magic for us?” Papyrus asked.

Blue nodded. He focused through the pain and let his magic swirl around him. It was brighter than it had been the last time he had summoned it, but it still had his signature yellow fringes to the dark blue flames. Someone gasped in a way he didn’t recognize.

He looked up, and it was Sans gasping at him. His eye lights were finally focused, which was good. He was staring at Blue’s chest and magic with a look of… fear?

Sans, despite his injuries, crawled past the stunned audience and stopped in front of Blue. His hands were shaking badly. Blue reached out to soothe them. Sans didn’t pull them back, which Blue had been half expecting. Instead he let Blue place his hands on top of his.

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME AFTER ME. IT’S ONLY A LITTLE BIT OF PAIN. I WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE. I ALWAYS-”

Blue interrupted him. “-have been? you should have asked for help, sans. this is way more than you should have been dealing with alone. this much pain… it’s ridiculous. why didn’t you ever say something about it? you know your brother and muffet would have helped you.”

“I COULDN’T. IT’S IN THE SPELL. I COULDN’T TALK ABOUT IT WITH ANYONE WHO DIDN’T ALREADY KNOW. BESIDES. SHE HAD BACKUP SPELLS TO USE AGAINST THEM IF THEY EVER CAME AFTER ME. YOU KNOW NOW, DON’T YOU? YOU’VE GOT ONE BURNED INTO YOUR CHEST THE SAME AS ME.”

Blue shook his head. “she didn’t draw this on me, sans. i asked for this. you need someone else to be bonded to, and i- i- i wanted it to be me. okay? i know it’s selfish, but-”

Sans laughed in an unhinged way. “SELFISH IS NOT THE RIGHT WORD FOR WILLINGLY TAKING ON THIS MUCH PAIN JUST TO HELP ME. STUPID, MAYBE. THOUGHTLESS. BUT NOT SELFISH. IF YOU HAD ASKED ME-”

“You were comatose, Sans,” Muffet interrupted him this time. “We thought you would be out for days. And we aren’t done yet. We still need to bind you to Blue.”

Sans looked around for the first time. Blue saw his face grow more and more confused as he took in the scene. Papyrus was crouching near where Sans had been. He was watching them intently. Muffet was standing over Toriel, her magic wrapping her up in a struggling bundle of spiderwebs. Alphys and Dr. Undyne stood awkwardly next to one another, refusing to look each other in the eye. Blue chuckled at Sans’ confusion, because he knew it came from disbelief. How would Sans react when he found out that he had inspired the entire Underground to rebel? That would be a sight to see. He couldn’t wait.

“AND WHAT IF I DON’T WANT TO BE BOUND TO BLUE? WHAT IF I WANT TO BE BOUND TO SOMEONE ELSE INSTEAD?” Sans said perversely.

Alphys snorted. He glared at her, but she didn’t back down. “You stood down the fucking Queen, full knowing what she would do to you, just because you didn’t want to tell her about him. She told us. You’re in love with him, idiot. Just admit it so we can go home. My show is on in a bit.”

Sans scowled at her. “THE MAGNIFICENT AND TERRIBLE SANS ONLY FALLS IN LOVE WITH THE BRAVEST OF MONSTERS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK HE QUALIFIES?”

Papyrus chuckled this time. Sans skewered him with a glance. Papyrus acted like he didn’t notice. “you should have heard him helping us plan the attack, bro. he kept wanting to actually help. not to mention the way he volunteered to let us bind him to you. he’s brave. stupid, like you said, but brave.”

Blue jumped in before Sans could jump down his brother’s throat. “i’m not arguing there. with the stupid part, that is. i’ve done a lot of stupid things lately. but i’d like to finish this one before we move on to the next.”

Sans let out a bark of unexpected laughter. Blue couldn’t help the grin that split his face. Sans’ laughter sounded nice. He definitely wanted to hear more of that.

“VERY WELL THEN, BLUE. BROTHER? MAKE IT SO.”

When Papyrus reached out for Blue’s magic to replace the magic in Sans’ sigil Blue already had a ball of it ready for him to use. Sans’ eyes fixed on it as Papyrus knelt down to trace his chest. “this is still going to hurt, bro, but hopefully not as much.”

Sans, oddly enough, smiled. “SOMEHOW I DOUBT THAT. SHE USED SALT TO FINISH OFF THE SPELL WHEN SHE PUT IT ON. AND THAT TELLS YOU ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW.”

Blue winced in sympathy. At least he didn’t have to deal with that level of pain ever again. At least not if Blue had any say in the matter.

The rush of emotion that Blue felt when Papyrus finished off the last rune was overwhelming. Sans felt like so many things at once. Pride, sorrow, curiosity, amusement, love, fear, excitement… wait, love? Blue looked up at his new soulmate and saw the same surprise echoed in his eyes and face that Blue was feeling. Heh. Guess he wasn’t the only one who had a crush on his partner. From the way it felt, Sans had been in love for a while. Blue wondered if he felt the same.

Sans’ soft smile made Blue feel giddy with happiness. He smiled back. He had no idea how long they were staring at each other like that before Alphys’ cough drew their attention. She had the most amused expression on her face. “So! Can we go home now? I’m going to miss my show if we don’t hurry.”

[tozierwho]

(1) Edward Kaspbrak had rather hoped the day wouldn't come-- as much as he'd resented his sickliness, the limitations it placed upon him, the incessant fussing of his mother, there were things it spared him, too. Certain embarrassments he might have suffered had he not been kept from this activity or that. The fact that he had never been expected to be a lover. He was an unattractive prospect in all ways-- delicate, ill, un-moneyed. And his mother had long seemed in no hurry to see him wed.

(2) He’d been so glad not to face the pressure that his friends fell to. Not that they all saw it that way– most of their motley little group saw the prospect of marriage as a happy one. While he sat at home with his mother, his friends lived. Did the season, if they were of a social class to. Courted, even if they were not. Got kicked out of every reputable function, if they were one Richard Tozier, who would hang around the Kaspbrak house’s back door recounting how dull each party was.

(3) Lean on the sill of the dutch door and pinch a cheek and call him ‘Eddie’ at best and several other nicknames as well, if he was in a mood to, and every time, Eddie would dutifully frown against the urge to laugh, and bat him away, and say that it sounded as though the evening was quite the opposite of dull by the time Richie got through with it– somehow there was no outgrowing childish nicknames either way, when they were together– and Richie would say it was always dull without him.

(4) Now it’s Eddie who must suffer through a dull party– not as fine as the ones some of his friends are trotted around to and shown off at, but nice enough– and he looks at Myra (“It means 'sweet-smelling oil’.” She had told him. He had not known what 'Edward’ meant), and he does not want to dance with her, or speak with her. It is not that anything about her is offensive to him, but nothing about her is anything else to him, either. She inspires no spark, no pull, no passion.

(5) She is the girl his mother had picked out for him to pay attention to, but he doesn’t feel anything, when she smiles at him over her fan, when she leans towards him, when her generous decolletage spills just slightly over the confines of her dress. He’s supposed to feel something about that, he gathers as much from the way other young men talk. The way Richie in particular talks, loudly, and in mixed company at that– even if the mixed company is only one Miss Marsh.

(6) More than that, he wants a blush to rise to his cheeks, he wants to find himself unable to stop from smiling. He wants to feel as if a new dawn rises in her gaze, or if not hers, someone’s. Isn’t that what love is? To feel both flustered and certain? To feel alive? To long to take someone’s hand and lead them out into some secluded corner of the garden where you might speak in private, where you might look upon that beautiful face by moonlight, and think it finer than the rest?

(7) Myra politely accepts a dance from a family friend, her smile apologetic as she cites etiquette– it wouldn’t do to spend the whole night only speaking to each other! He nods, distracted, and does not look for someone else to dance with. He appreciates having the settee to himself, to think about what love is, what it isn’t, how it wouldn’t be physical beauty, but the sheer virtue of the face belonging to the right person, which would make him find a person beautiful.

(8) He tries to imagine himself asking a girl to walk with him unchaperoned by moonlight, but the only girl he can imagine asking is Beverly, and he can’t imagine whispering words of love or trying to kiss her in an unsupervised moment. Confiding in her as a brother to a sister, perhaps, laughing about something together, but… He tries to imagine any other lady, with any other blend of qualities to recommend her by, and tries to imagine what it is he might want to say or do if he knew her.

(9) The best he can come up with is not very good, and he still can’t imagine himself asking for her hand, or leading her around to some dimly-lit spot between rosebushes. What would he want to do out wedged between the shrubbery, anyway? It makes him think of being eleven or twelve, running as fast as he could, hand in hand with Richie escaping the fallout of his mischief with him, tumbling into a hiding spot to catch their breath, faces near and grins splitting them, the warmth of his laugh…

(10) Richie could lead him out into the garden, he thinks, and they could have a very pleasant talk, and it wouldn’t even be scandalous because no one has ever needed to chaperone him with Richie, absurd to think it. Absurd to… absurd to think that Richie would draw him into some secluded place, and whisper suggestions into his ear, and place a hand upon his waist, he never has before. Absurd to think of Richie’s mouth doing anything other than talking at him, to think of it soft against his.

(11) Eddie can’t breathe. Which is not particularly surprising, but is distressing. He is at a party, he hasn’t got his chloroform liniment, and even if he had, he certainly couldn’t disrobe sufficiently to apply it. He staggers from the room, and out into the garden, where at least it is dark and no one is in evidence, and he can tear off his cravat and undo his collar, but he still isn’t breathing properly. He could cry, if he could get enough air to. How can this be happening to him?

(12) Richie! Richard Tozier, one of his closest friends! Bad enough to discover himself having impure thoughts about some… some athlete spotted upon a playing field, some labourer seen at work, but Richie! Richie, who trusts him implicitly and who visits him so often when his health demands he not venture far from his bed, who has never once withdrawn the hand of friendship from him… how could he repay him thus?

(13) It is so terribly unfair to him, to have such feelings. To know them now, in all their strange intensity. To recognize for what it is the emotion which always swept through him at Richie’s attentions. He has such a hideous understanding now, for why Richie’s visits have always felt different from the rest, for why he might wait hours by the kitchen door with no real expectation of seeing him, only hope. The warmth that might fill him at the slightest touch.

(14) He has dreamt… he has dreamt about all of his friends, and the dreams of Richie alone stir him, but he had told himself these unseemly things had nothing to do with the waking world, that it was a mistake, that he had forgotten some vital part of his dreaming. Dreamt of anything– anyone– else. What he remembers is never lewd, but the state he often wakes in, even when his dreams are only soft and gentle… this only happens when it’s Richie.

(15) He doesn’t know how to want, carnally, but his skin pricks with heat as he realizes that he does. He yearns for things he cannot envision. He wants to know Richie’s touch, in shameful ways. Illegal ways. He cannot get any air, he cannot breathe, he feels as if he will die in this garden while the girl his mother wishes he could love dances with someone else, and no one will ever know he…know he…

(16) Someone catches him before he can collapse, he is pulled against a firm chest, a few buttons undone by quick and steady hands, before one proceeds to rub slow circles through his undershirt. No liniment, but his breath starts to return just the same, as if the mere act without the medicine could be enough. Or he is in a dream now and he has lost consciousness, for how else could it seem to be that Richie of all people has caught him?

(17) These are Richie’s hands, that’s Richie’s voice murmuring soothingly in his ear, finally audible over the pounding of his heart… Impossible, and yet his head clears, he is still in the garden, still conscious. He ought to pull himself away, and yet he allows the contact a little longer, allows Richie to carefully set him on his feet and walk him to a nearby bench. He would stay leaned up against him if he could, but it is enough to be near him, in his secret heart this is ever enough.

(18) “Richie!” He wheezes only a little around his name, and his face heats. He clutches his shirt closed as if he had not been seen a hundred times in less than this, a thousand. As if they had not slept in a single bed and swam naked before tonight, a thousand times. “What are you doing here? Surely you were not invited– after what I’ve heard of your season, that is, I had not expected to see you! And you might have told me if you were!”

(19) “Do you always thank your knights in shining armor so charmingly, Eddie dearest? If you must know, I was very much not invited.” He grins, leaning in as if nothing is wrong, as if he has no reason not to. As if he shouldn’t flee at once if he knew… But instead he allows his fingertips to glide over Eddie’s cheek without a care in the world. “How fortunate I should not have let that stop me.”

(20) “Stop you from what?” Eddie scowls, or tries to, but his heart beats so rapidly. Richie isn’t even in proper evening dress. His hair is wild and untamed– which only seems appropriate, if improper. He cups Eddie’s cheek in one warm, rough hand, the way he did when they were children whispering secrets. As it did then, it makes Eddie feel unnameable things. The thrill of a secret shared. More. “And anyhow, I haven’t any knights in shining armor.”

(21) “You have me.” Richie says, and his smile sends warmth dripping down into the core of Eddie like syrup. There is a soft light in his eyes, and all that poets have said on the subject of the effects of the moon is true and more. Eddie would very much like to be kissed beneath the moonlight. Richie’s gaze traces over his features, eyes half-lidded behind his spectacles, and he wonders, and hates himself for wondering.

(22) “You are hardly in shining armor.” Eddie swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “You are not even in full dress, Sir. The scandal, should I be caught speaking to you out here, when you have broken in like a thief, and I a respectable guest! The things my mother should say, if she knew I was sitting here with you instead of paying my court to the lady of her choosing!”

(23) “Oh, a thief and not a knight, am I?” Richie’s grin only widens, and his free hand moves to snatch Eddie’s from its gesturing. “So be it! I’ll steal you, then. I’ll steal you away from her, and spirit you off to my… den, or– lair. No, den, thieves do have dens, I think. How shall that be, for a scandal? Poor Edward Kaspbrak, never seen again since he was stolen in the night, but I do hear he lives in luxury in some thief’s den!”

(24) ‘Steal you away from her’, the words echo in Eddie’s head. Her. Her. Her could mean his mother, or it could mean Myra. Either way it excites him, it inflames him beyond imagining, to be stolen. Even for a moment in the garden, to be stolen away… to be prized. And does not the one imply the other? Would Richie wish to steal him, were he a mere tawdry trifle?

(25) “Luxury?” His tongue is near-dumb in his mouth, thick and heavy, yet he forces himself to speak, to tease back until he truly cannot force another word to come. “You would keep me in luxury, if you were to steal me? Perhaps it is in my best interest to let you… I have never been kept in luxury before. I– Richie… I have never been a great many things, before. That is to say… that is to say, I have never–”

(26) “Nor I.” Richie leans closer, so close. “Come away with me tonight. Eddie, I swear– I may lead you to some little scandal, but not to ruin.” And his eyes flicker to Eddie’s lips, and linger there, before he tears his gaze away. “Not to ruin. I shall never– I shall never let you be– be harmed, do you know what I mean? Or blamed for anything, if– I shall never let you be blamed, Edward.”

(27) “Then you are serious.” He whispers, and it is not a question. Richie is serious so infrequently that he thinks it would be impossible to mistake. It is in the weight of his gaze, in the use of Eddie’s full Christian name, and in the gentle tremor of his hand where it strokes over Eddie’s cheek, tracing out the difference time has carved in his face. “And you may steal me. You may– take me.”

(28) Only a short while ago he was so terrified to even think it, but Richie’s wanting has made him bold. He had thought himself diseased, sinful, until he felt Richie’s desire, for he could never think those things of him. Rough and tumble and frequently dirty, impossibly improper, but never sick– never sinful. If Richie can feel such things for him, Eddie is certain they cannot be wrong. The things Richie has felt for him have been ever pure.

(29) There is no greater good in the world to him than those moments of care, of devotion, of childhood love in all its innocence, now set ablaze by manhood. Just as Richie’s touch maps where the softness of childhood has melted into new sharp lines and angles, Eddie sees Richie as he was and as he is at once, and knows him too deeply and too well to fear his love now.

(30/30) They leave by the garden gate, hand in hand. Eddie does not even leave word– later, he will tell his mother that a sudden spell took him and a friend was kind enough to take him home, she need never know the full truth of it, the press of their bodies side by side on the brown leather seat of Richie’s surrey, nor the kiss at the kitchen door, at their parting.

ANON THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED. i love you so much! this is just the cutest thing i’ve read and i’m literally crying. you’re so good at this and i appreciate you so so so so much! i don’t know who you are but my god thank you again for taking the time to write this for me

[swisstheme]

Horror Short Story : Old Vengeance

1. Awakening

He slowly moves the blade up his forearm. The incision is small and shallow, but the blood gushes out immediately. He rolls his eyes in pain, but holds out the open wound to his counterpart.

Through the fog of pain, the other person's voice comes across only softly and weakly: "You know what it means."

"Don't waste any time," the man gasps and presses on the vein. The blood flow doesn't get stronger.

"Do not be sad."

“It is my will. My decision, ”stammered the man. The person opposite nods barely noticeably and pulls back the hood. Then he puts his lips on the cut and licks off the blood that has already flowed. The current begins to slowly dry up again when it rams its teeth into the flesh and begins to drink properly.

Later he carelessly slides the empty shell onto the floor and wipes his mouth. Freshly strengthened, he moves the still somewhat stiff muscles and shakes out the gray, long hair. Countless numbers fall out, underneath you can see the fresh, dark brown hair.

“Are you feeling better?” Asks the observer, who had been standing in the shadow of the corner the whole time.

The vampire is massaging his wrists. “The ropes have dug deep into my flesh. I'm going to need more to close these wounds, ”he explains.

“I'll bring it to you. However many you need, I'll bring them to you. Master?"

The vampire is silent and pushes the curtains to one side. It's not dark anymore, the sun will rise soon.

“Master?” The observer repeats his question.

"Where can I sleep? I am tired."

“You avoid my question. You probably know what I want. "

"It's still too early. I don't want to talk about it yet! ”Says the vampire in a rude tone and underscores it with an imperious gesture. The observer bows slightly and then points to the cellar.

“There is a place for your coffin there. I've already prepared everything. When you wake up, the next drink will be ready. "

"Well. Good day."

"Master?" The vampire turns around questioningly. "Time heals all wounds. You know that?" The vampire grimaces and growls. "Is that why you left me in that hole for almost 400 years?" “You had to be forgotten. Before that, someone could have remembered! ”Defends the observer. "Pah! Nobody lives 400 years. Not even the Inquisition survives that long. She's forgotten, just like me! ”Snorting, he comes closer and grabs the observer by the throat. He lifts it up and pulls it into the light. The observer is young, maybe twenty. The brown curls hang low over his face and there is an expression of naked fear. He gasps for air, but the vampire persists. “That was your intention, wasn't it? That I will be forgotten. That you continue my business. I will? Answer! " “No, master. You don't understand, ”the boy gasps. “Don't tell me lies!” Hisses the vampire and looks deep into the boy's eyes. He tries to avoid the piercing gaze of his master, but the grip only hardens, so that he immediately discards the plan. The vampire is digging somewhere in his soul. Suddenly the vampire lets go of the boy and collapses on an armchair. "I need silence. I'm sorry." The boy gasps too. Nevertheless, he raises his hand and waves it away. “I understand, master. But I never lied to you. " "Now I know," smiles the vampire and drags himself to the cellar. He silently closes the door behind him. The boy gets up shortly afterwards and draws all the curtains. Then he checks again that the door is locked before he goes to bed. It is wrapped in dark cloths, which he carefully closes. A woman lies wrapped in the sheets, gently puts her arm around him and blows a kiss on his cheek. "You let him sleep in the basement?" She smiles. "He does not know. You were a good teacher, ”replies the boy. At the same moment they fall into arms and kiss deeply.

2. Heretic Somewhere in Germany, around 1600: The square was full of people again. Although the morning was freezing cold, they stood close together in front of the gallows and loudly demanded the demonstration. The hangman was already standing next to the rope and nervously twisting the rope in his hand. Nobody could tell what was showing on his face, because he carried a black sack over his head that only had slits for eyes. This time it wasn't the town's executioner either, but an executioner brought along by the Inquisition. The city hangman himself stood in the front row with his son, clutching the ax in both hands. The priest had forbidden him to use them in this case. What a waste. Suddenly a murmur went through the crowd. Heavily armored riders made their way through the mob and often gave way with the stick. A team of two oxen trotted along behind them. On top of the wagon was a steel cage with what was hanging. The three priests of the Inquisition walked in front of the team. Their eyes were lowered and they nervously clutched their Bibles. Some of the mob threw rotten vegetables at the cage, but the prisoner hardly noticed them. He was crouched in the corner, wrapped in a dark blanket, with the blanket pulled over his head. Only his eyes gleamed evil in the twilight of the shadow. The riders dismounted in front of the gallows pedestal and stood to protect the inquisitors and the prisoner. Because some in the mob waved knives and other small weapons over their heads. The priests walked with dignity up the seven steps to the gallows, while the prisoner had to be driven up with strokes of a stick. The sun felt with its rays over the roofs as the prisoner was led under the gallows. The priests said a short prayer and blessed the rope. "Last words?"

"I still want to get rid of something," giggled the prisoner. He stepped forward as far as the guards would allow and spread his arms. “Look at me, you villagers. I am still here! You have led me to the gallows a hundred times and I am still alive. I can't die! Not even these worms with their words about God will be able to change anything. I can't die! Your God has left you and sent me to sow the seeds of the devil! " The crowd backed away in alarm, then the guards interrupted the prisoner's speech and beat him. But not a word of complaint escaped the prisoner's lips, not even when they pulled the black sack over his head. Then the executioner put the rope around his neck and stepped back. Once again an inquisitor blessed the rope and then gave the sign. The gate opened and the prisoner slumped down. It was suddenly dead silent. The crowd stared spellbound at the motionless body on the gallows. They waited, but nothing moved. Finally an inquisitor stepped forward and spread his arms. “God's will is done! This form of the devil has entered his kingdom and will never return. Bless God! " The crowd fell on their knees in prayer. Then they heard the soft laughter. The figure on the gallows began to move again. The laughter got louder and louder and the body moved more and more. The ropes tying the hands cracked under the strain. "Devil!" Shouted the inquisitor. "Devil!" The three priests immediately put a cross. Even the knights backed away and dared not go any closer to the gallows. The executioner even tore his hood down and fled into the crowd. The mob, when they were not frozen in fear, broke out into roaring laughter. Only the city hangman remained calm and nodded to his son. Then he picked up the ax and went up the steps to the gallows. "What are you doing, guy?" Yelled one of the priests. He tried to stand in the way of the hangman, but the hangman's son was faster and pushed him aside. “He's doing God's work. With this ax he will cut off the devil's head! " “He doesn't have the right! Only God…" “God had his opportunity. He did not come. Now we're taking it in hand! " "Blasphemy! You will burn."

The hangman had reached the gallows, pushed a courageous knight aside and swung back. The blade cut the rope and the prisoner fell heavily to the ground. The executioner wanted to jump after him to finish his work, but the knights held him back. They quickly overpowered him and his son and reassured the mob. “Get him out and tie his arms with chains. Then burn this monster! ”Ordered the priest. “And to you! Take them to the castle for interrogation! Perhaps their souls can still be saved. " Two knights tied their hands and led them away. The others dragged the hanged man out of the hole and dragged him back to the cage. In the crowd a young man threw his hood over his head and strolled leisurely away.

That same evening the body burned in front of the village. The prisoner laughed until the flames burned him completely. His body was not freed from the chains afterwards, but consecrated and buried. The Inquisition posted two guards in front of the grave, who were not allowed to leave their post until thirteen days after the burial. The two executioners, father and son, were burned the next day for heresy. Before that, they confessed to having been in league with the devil during the interrogation and attempting to help this creature of Satan escape before the eyes of the Inquisition.

After thirteen days, a figure in a long robe detached itself from the bushes at the edge of the cemetery and strolled between the graves in the moonlight. Flowers that grew on the burial mounds withered and the water in the puddles became bitter. In the last few days it had rained heavily and the ground was soft and heavy. When the figure reached the grave of the satanic creature, which had been buried far away from the other graves, it soon began to dig with its bare hands until it hit the roughly timbered wooden box. For a full hour the figure then just sat on the coffin and stared at the sky. The full moon was suddenly covered with clouds. Nevertheless, there was an evil glow from him. The figure buried the box again and disappeared.

3. Interrogation The sun is just about to set when the boy wakes up again. The woman has already got up and is making coffee. Yawning, he too shuffles into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. Then he rummages around until he finds half a can and opens it with his mouth. He spits the cap on the floor. "Is he up yet?" The woman hisses something incomprehensible and opens the lock. "Without me it would be a pigsty," she protests. "Oink oink", answered the man and goes into the cellar. She only hears the floorboards of a box creak, then the rumbling footsteps. Your mate comes running upstairs. In the back of her head she sees the blood seeping into the ground. What a waste, she thinks. "He is gone!" “Then you should find him. With time he will probably not get along. " "We should have had him signed yesterday and then ended the thing!" The man swore and quickly changed. Then he put on a coat and hat. In the meantime the woman has pushed the curtain back a little and is peeking outside. “Bad weather, it's drizzling. He can be over the mountains in the weather. " “I don't want to hope so,” the man whispers and opens the door. With giant steps he runs to his Fiat and fiddles with the lock. The woman watches him as her friend drives off with screeching tires and disappears. Shaking her head, she pours herself coffee and turns around. Startled, she drops the cup and touches her chest. “So, I'm supposed to sign something. Will you tell me something too, old friend? ”Asks the vampire and grins angrily. There is still a residue of blood on his teeth. "What are you doing here?" “I should ask you that. What did you tell the boy that he would let his master run into the knife so easily. " "You probably know that very well." “I only know that someone told me about four hundred years ago. That I burned and then lay with the wounds in a coffin for two weeks until someone had the kindness to give me at least enough blood to heal these wounds, ”the vampire growls and grabs her hands. “So, Black Soul, tell me now what I want to hear. Then maybe I'll break your neck and leave it at that. "

„Lass mich zuerst los. Sonst sage ich gar nichts“, droht die Frau. Daraufhin lacht der Vampir und verstärkt den Druck. „Ich kann auch anders, Schwarzseele. Ich könnte dir auch die Kehle zerfetzen und dann ihn fragen.“ Er entblößt seine Reißzähne und verstärkt den Druck auf ihre Handgelenke noch weiter. Sie windet sich in seinen Armen und keucht vor Schmerz als er beginnt ihr Handgelenk zu verdrehen. „Ich werde reden!“ schreit sie schließlich.

4. Zwei Was der Junge zu der Zeit seiner Wache nicht wusste, war dass er nicht alleine war. Die andere Gestalt hatte jedoch eindeutig feminine Züge und zog es vor in einem Bretterverschlag zu warten. Dort gab es auch ein kleines, wärmendes Feuer und etwas zu essen. Abgesehen von einer Ratte hungerte der Mann die dreizehn Tage lang. Auch befleckte die Frau ihre Kleidung nicht beim Ausgraben sondern zeigte sich in der zweiten Nacht erst als der Mann den Sarg wieder freigelegt hatte. „Deine Loyalität gegenüber deinem Meister ist bewundernswert. Viele hätten ihre Existenz genutzt um selber zum Meister zu werden“, begrüßte die Frau den Gräber. Er warf die Schaufel weg und zog ein Messer von seinem Gürtel. „Wer bist du? Was willst du?“ „Meine Namen sind zahlreich wie die Sterne und tun im Moment nichts zur Sache. Doch vielleicht solltest du erfahren warum ich hier bin, Gräber und loyaler Diener.“ „Dann sprich, bevor ich dir das Herz herausschneide“, befahl der Junge. Sie lachte. „Das würdest du nicht schaffen. Denn wie du und dein Meister bin ich von einer besonderen Statur. Obwohl ich eine Leere bei dir fühle. Hat dein Meister dir bis jetzt etwa verwehrt was uns allen zusteht, von Geburt an und immerdar?“ „Niedere Tiere stehen mir erst zu“, bestätigte der Junge leise. „Er lässt dich Ratten und anderes Kleingetier aussaugen?“ fragte die Frau ungläubig. Der Junge nickte und ließ das Messer langsam sinken.

"That's why I ask myself what I'm doing here." The woman whistled through her teeth and then jumped into the pit with him. She put her hand on his shoulder and stroked his cheek. “He doesn't deserve to have a student like you, my young friend. That's why I ask you what you want. " "I think you know that. Maybe he'll give it to me if I free him." The woman laughed and wiped a tear away from him. “I promise to give you what you want. For that you only have to do one thing for me. " "What do you demand?" “Fill this ditch again and let it suffer for a few more years. For this I will take you to places that you have not even heard of and you will experience things that even your wildest dreams did not occur to you. At my side you will conquer the world for yourself as a being of the night, equal and masterful. Create servants and empires for you, and get rid of them again when you feel like it. " "Is that all?" Asked the boy in disbelief. "That's all," she confirmed, smiling so he could see her teeth. Her eyes shone like red diamonds as she arched his neck and kissed him gently. He barely felt the bite, and when she let go of him he didn't sag like he usually did when his Master drank from him. She smiled before pressing her bloody lips onto his and sliding her tongue into his mouth. A feeling of strength spread throughout his body from his mouth. He closed his eyes with relish and let it sink in until she broke away from him. When he opened his eyes again he was a different person. Because everything human in him was gone.

5th transition "So that's how it was," sighs the vampire. "In revenge you condemned me to a shadowy existence, Black Soul." “Just like you did with my master!” Replies the woman. “He deserved the stake. You know that as well as I do. I was only the executioner, neither judge nor jury! " “Still, I hate you! Nobody had the right. He never endangered our cause. " “It should have burned in my place. If I had known what was coming, I would not have inserted the stake and left it to the people. Then he would have sung the song under the gallows, not me! " Outside the door opens and the boy returns. "I haven't found him," he calls out as he undresses again. When he wants to enter the kitchen, he stops in the door. "Oh, so you met," he stammered. The master silently averts his face, but she nods. "Then does he know?" "He asked and gave me no chance." "And?" “You will have to choose. Either them or your master! Do not decide right away because the decision will be final. You are selling your soul with it. " "I sold them centuries ago when I came into contact with you and offered my neck as naive as I was", the boy hisses and waves his gaze between the two. “Either the woman who gave me the best years of my life. Or my master, who made me what I am, but denied me everything that makes up my existence. I don't think the decision will be difficult for me. " The master looks down and nods. “Then that's how it should be,” he whispers disappointed. “But allow me one more thing, my young student. One last sip. " The boy looks at Schwarzseele, but she avoids his gaze. "It depends on you. You are free. You were always free, at least by my side. " The master throws back his head and then walks towards his old disciple. The latter lays his head back and offers him his neck.

“Eternity once lay in my eyes, and I made you immortal. But your thanks leave a lot to be desired ”, he whispers before driving his teeth into the flesh. His victim's eyes widen when he feels the bite. It is by no means as gentle as usual. The bite is more like an animal had bitten its throat. An uneven dance begins in which the boy tries to push his master away. Schwarzseele wants to intervene, but a punch from the master throws her across the room. When he releases the bite from the throat, blood splatters from the wound. Panting, the boy staggers across the room and tries to close the wound. But his strength is too little, what the master has taken too great. He wipes his mouth in disgust and goes to Schwarzseele, who crouches dazed in a corner. “There can only be one, my old friend. Our enmity will end here. Do you have any last words? ”He asks grimly. Schwarzseele briefly closes his eyes and then looks at him again with a crystal clear look. “You took everything I ever loved from me. What more can I say? So let me die upright, as one of ours should. " The vampire sighs and then offers her his arm. She takes him and is then pulled to her feet. She slowly opens a drawer behind her while the master bends her head back roughly and stares at her neck. She grabs a knife and makes a deft cut across his face. The vampire screams and backs away. Although the wound closes immediately, he jerks his hand up to protect it. “You will pay for that!” He rages. But before he can attack, she stabs again. The sting is accurate and pierces the vampire's heart. His eyes widen in disbelief. He grabs his chest and wipes the blood off, then looks at his hand. "What did you do?" He gasps. "I will finish what started four hundred years ago!"

6. Graduation Behind Schwarzseele lies the burning house that has long served as a shelter. In his basement, the victims are laid out neatly and doused with gasoline. In their midst is an open coffin with their young companion. He is neatly bedded down, cleansed, and has a peaceful expression. There is a freshly dug grave in the garden. Inside is another coffin in which the master lies. The knife is still in his chest, a sealed letter on his face warning any finder to remove the knife. Schwarzseele waits in the shade until everything has burned down and the ruins are no longer glowing. Then she gets into a car with tinted windows and takes a deep breath. "Back home," she commands quietly. The driver turns around and looks at his mistress. "Everything OK?" “It's done,” she replies. The driver smiles and reaches into his jacket. “Not quite, my lady. One person is still missing. " He draws a pistol and shoots Black Soul in the chest at close range. He then fires three more shots in her head before getting out of the car and lighting a cigarette. Then he rummages for a cell phone and dials the first speed dial. “We got rid of all of them. It's complete. Definitely. "

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[peacekeeper-xiv]

Serious Events

A series of events…

Aeritria and Arakiel meet accidentally inside Samael house.

Aeritria Locklair stopped dead in her tracks when Ara turned around. The blood drained from what little he could see of her face, and her eyes narrowed moving over him to look for weapons, surprises, explosives, all the things he might have on him while in Soren's house. It took her a couple ticks to reconcile the sight of him in Soren's house. Alive. Not dead. Not even thinking of the advantage that came from him not knowing who she was, she finally spoke, "Well bloody damn hell... you look surprisingly healthy for a dead man."

 Arakiel agrees to travel with Aeritria east, having decided that Ikara had been gone for too long and he was going to look for his daughter. They discover that they still have some disagreements though.

Arakiel Etemorah smirked. "Wrath?" He chuckled smarmily. "Kinda daft name to call a kid. He pick that out himself?" Still, he didn't seem intent on keeping up his teasing. "And what do they all mean to ya? What would you do if they were in danger?"

Aeritria Locklair rolled her eyes, "Its short, for Rathorin... " When he questioned her on what they meant to her and what she would do there was clearly a reaction. She tried to keep the calm, snarky demeanor, but too many things had already happened where she had given a whole lot for those three. There was the briefest of haunted looks before it was replaced with tense shoulders and a defensive posture. "Enough..."  Her lips pulled into a thin line, "Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Arakiel Etemorah smiled knowingly and shook his head. "No, but that's answer enough." Sheathing his katana, he stood. "I have a daughter. She should have returned by now, but she hasn't. That's what's in the Burn." His expression turned somewhat grim. "I wanted you to know before you decided to follow me. I'm willing to do -enough- for her.”

 Aeritria agrees to accompany Arakiel in his search for Ikara and together, they make for The Burn. Arakiels insistence on drawing out Aeritrias ire though, nearly sets them at odds.

Aeritria Thorne had never been good at reining in her temper, it was why she made such a good marauder. It was also why she had made such a good criminal. There was a sudden shift from her that would hit every one of his senses. The growled words came out with cold fury, "Fuck you Arakiel. I came out to help you, but that was just another dumbass mistake on my part. Everything is fucking fine. Its more godsdamn fine than it has been in over a twelves damned year, but you just can't leave well the fuck enough alone. I don't want to fucking talk about it cause its none of your gods damned business. You don't get to fucking come back from the dead and act like I should just fucking ugh!" Axe or no axe, there was a hint of red glowing in the abysmal darkness of her eyes before she turned around and started storming away. "Fuck you!"

It would be some time after that they managed to work out their difference, but once they had they concluded, wandering the desert in search of one small Au Ra was futile. Aeritria then turned to a dangerous source of power to send out the needed signal flare, her Dark Knight soul stone.

Aeritria Thorne took a few moments to try to catch her breath and shake away the voices that still tried to reach her from the stone. Running her fingers through her hair to push it out of the way she glared over at it for a moment. "I tried to warn you the darn thing isn't... as helpful as I like sometimes. I really did kick Rath's balls all the way into his throat last time I used the damn thing." Aeri rubbed the back of her neck and looked away, "Sorry... I haven't used it in a long while. With my other soul stones... it’s easy. It’s like they want to help. That one... there is still a bit of a fight going on with who is in charge of who."

 After some time arguing with the voices in her mind, Aeritria finally was able to cause a large enough explosion of aether that could be seen from malms around. The fact that it nearly killed herself and Arakiel was of little consequence.

Arakiel Etemorah wasn't a hero. It just wasn't in him. But he wasn't the same man he'd been a few years ago either. The blade in his hands was quickly sheathed and he rushed forward to where Aeritria stumbled. He wasn't about to pick her up and carry her away from danger like some knight in shining armor. But then, she'd have hated that. He grabbed her by the wrist and literally dragged her behind him. "Come the fuck on!" He wasn't going to let her go until they were behind enough rock to guarantee they would be safe from the explosion that was likely coming.

 Several bells later, their fishing attempt proved fruitful and they noted the appearance of an approaching figure. Unfortunately, it was not exactly who they had been looking for.

Arakiel Etemorah sheathed his blade, looking at her curiously as his hearing had not completely recovered. "One of them?" He looked to where the creature had been sniped and put two and two together. "The boy..." The unknown Miqo'te still seemed rather protective of Beta and stood between them and him, even if his weapon was put away. Beta's familiar voice shouted across the sands as he approached. "It's okay Aasifa, they are... family of a sort I guess?" The one called Aasifa seemed to relax a bit and plopped down in the sand as Beta and Ara and Aeri approached his location. "Aasifa is still thinking there are better ways to fish." He said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Arakiel's steps seemed to hasten as he approached.

 With so many differing personalities… and because Aasifa is Aasifa, some troubles did arise.

 Aeritria Thorne saw Arakiel start choking after Aasifa did whatever the hell it was that he did and her attention snapped to the Miqo'te. Her chakrams came out and pinned Aasifa to one of the rock walls by his sleeves, "The Fuck you think you are doing you piece of shit! What the hell did you do to him?!"  She stood between Arakiel and Aasifa, and if looks could kill he would have been dead a thousand times over. She held a finger up to Beta to shut him up before he tried to 'help'.

 Eventually though, a peace was brokered, and the quartet left in search of the large sources of aether that Beta’s instruments had detected after the explosion Aeritria had caused.

Arakiel Etemorah might have moved to stop Aeri if she had still wielding her chakrams, but he did not expect the idiot cat to die from a punch. Beta called out in frustration as the punch landed. Aasifa for his part might have dodged the attack, if he'd bothered to try. Instead he took the hit to the throat and grinned at her as though he almost enjoyed all the chaos he'd caused. "Was... good... hit." He croaked out from a damaged voice. "Proud... of... sister." He ripped his sleeves free from the blades and found his feet on the sand once more. He didn't retaliate, simply rubbed at his throat and looked at her expectedly. Beta however was exasperated. "I swear to Alexander! Everyone's crazy!" He huffed and put away the smoke bomb and electric charge he'd been prepping if they hadn't stopped. Aeri's words had registered with him, but he knew better than provoking her further and refused to retort. "Can we get back to looking for Ikara now? Since you and I are the only ones who can speak now, I'll take your word for both of you."

Aeritria Thorne grit her teeth, dug her sharp nails into her palms and drew blood from her own hands to keep from murdering Aasifa right there and then. She reached over, grabbed her Chakrams, held them tight for a moment, still wound up and considering putting them through the rest of Aasifa's neck. It was Beta that managed to draw her out of it with his ridiculous cursing, "For fucks sake... didn't anyone ever teach you to curse properly?" She looked to Arakiel then took another breath. "I came out here to find you and Ikara... if Aasifa so much as touches that damn necklace again I will cut it off his neck, and I'm sure Arakiel will help, so if you want to find your girlfriend before something fucking happens to her you better tell you -friend- to behave or leave. Now, if you have an idea of where to go... let’s go."

Beta took in a deep breath and let out a long exhale. "I was trying to..." He frowned at Aasifa and pointed at the necklace. "No more chaos magic!" Aasifa looked like he might argue but Beta glared, and he stopped. "For all you know that thing might have called a hundred sandworms to raid the burn and it would've put her in more danger! So, no more til she's safe!" Beta looked properly angry and despite his inability to curse properly, seemed to convey the same feelings. He then turned to Arakiel. "And don't act like he's all innocent. Stop acting like you are gonna gut me 'cause I didn't know Ikara was out here! Cause I didn't and now I'm gonna find her! Aasifa could easily have seen you as a threat to his friend." Ara narrowed his eyes at the boy but simply turned his chin some and sneered. Finally, he turned to Aeritria. "He goes for the necklace again... stab him... ‘Cause I said not to. But you stop threatening him if he doesn't, 'kay? I've been wandering the burn for weeks now. I'm ready to be done with this place... so I just wanna find Ikara and then we can all go home." He huffed out another breath and continued. "And thank you for helping Arakiel look for her... I'm sorry this is all a mess, but I was trying to do good. So, let's... just do what you came here to do please." He continued a moment later in quieter tones. "And I don't like everyone else’s profanity. It's boring."

 Elsewhere in the Burn though the target of their search was about to have her own random encounter.

Ikara had been wandering the burn for what felt like an age. Trying to track Beta had turned into a much bigger problem than she had originally anticipated. She had made her way into Garlemald, stealing a uniform and posing as a Garlean soldier. Eventually she found the site where the popularis had their operations that Beta had been a part of. She searched every ilm of the area for any signs of Beta or which way he might have went. She eventually found Beta's tomephone, cracked and busted with charred and melted edges. She picked it up and searched the area even more, moving rubble. Eventually she resorted to carefully questioning a few citizens and was told that the rebels had flown off in the direction of the burn via magitek armor. She breathed a sigh of relief in the hope that Beta was on the airship, as she did hear from someone that no one was taken prisoner. All the rebels were killed or escaped, and she hadn't found his body yet. If he wasn't there, he might still be alive. Clutching the little scrap of a tomephone she went in the direction that the few citizens had pointed her in. She eventually found the wreckage of the armor and searched the entire thing from top to bottom. There was still no sign of Beta, but she found some disturbances in the sand and hoped they were the remnants of footprints. She followed them until they disappeared, eaten by the shifting sands. Then she kept looking. She wasn't sure how long she had been searching, but she knew she was lost, and she didn't care. If she was lost, it meant Beta probably was too, and they would eventually find each other.

A few malms away, Lloire had left the simulacrum of Cartenaeu that his mind had created as a battleground for himself and his reflections. Now he wandered the desert sands of the Burn once more, sorting his thoughts. He had no clue how to go about finding the people he needed to find or what order to find them in. Even as that were, were there enough people he worried for to face all the various aspects of his soul?

Some had been quoted as saying that the universe around them had come about in the beginning due to a massive explosion of aether, the same catalyst woke him from his indecisiveness. He hit the sand as an enormous shockwave of aether flew past him, stealing his feet from him.

"The fuck was that?"

As his senses returned to him, Lloire closed his eyes and focused not on where the explosion had been, but on any source powerful enough to have caused it. There was a massive pool of energy to the east of him that was far bleeding aether into the air. It was more than reasonable to assume that who or whatever it was, they were responsible for the massive explosion he'd felt. His fights would have to wait, leaving anything that powerful this close to Doma's borders would be irresponsible. Gathering his feet under him, he took off at a run towards the source of aether.

Ikara had been wandering in the Burn long enough that she felt like she was going blind. The land being so drained of aether meant she saw the world as everyone else did. She felt sorry for them, all the color was gone from this part of the world. She had found a small outcropping of what she originally thought were rocks but had eventually realized was the skull of a very large beast that had once dwelled there, and hidden away for a bit to get some rest and get out of the sun.

Then the world exploded in color far away. She felt it before she ran out and saw it. Her eyes watered from all the colors and she started searching the horizon for any signs of something that would explain it. Clutching the tomephone she started in the direction of the explosion, hoping that maybe if Beta was out there, he would investigate too.

Lloire travelled swiftly across the sand as he rushed towards the source of aether drawing at his senses. Eventually he climbed over an outcropping of rock and saw a figure in the distance. They didn't seem to have noticed him yet but were moving closer to him. If he held his position, he could wait until they were close enough to engage before revealing himself. He moved back behind one of the jutted-out stones and waited.

As Ikara made her way towards the explosion another source of aether caught her eye in the distance and closing in on her position. The aether was wrong, fractured, broken, and extremely potent.

The tomephone she clutched in her hand was tucked into her pocket and replaced by her staff. She had been conserving her aether the whole time she was out here, to the point where it was overflowing. Her necklace had been filled to the brim, but she had waited and not wasted it in case of running into a Garlean contingent or some beast.

She held her staff to her side, loosely and in a nonthreatening manner, but she was ready for whatever was on the other side of the ridge. When she got close enough, she yelled to whoever was there, "I can see you! Come out before I decide that I'll cast first and ask questions later. This is your only warning!"

Her voice was unmistakable. Lloire came out from behind the rocks with a curious expression worn on his face. "Ikara? What are yo--" He wasn't able to finish his question though as the sounds of the winds and shifting sands in the area were pierced with the sound of shattering glass. Ikara, who had the unique advantage of always seeing aether would see a fragment of Lloire's aether break away from the rest.

As for Lloire himself, he collapsed in a heap in front of her while the image of a younger Lloire remained where he had been standing. The Lloire-image began to solidify before finally seeming as alive, even to her vision, as Lloire had moments ago. "I should've known we'd run into you first and I'd be the first to fight..." He sighed. "You remind him... us... of Aliya sometimes." A staff materialized in his hands and a blackmage soul stone pulsed with aether beneath his robes. "I'm called Kid... And so that your older brother can live, I have to fight you with all my might... and you gotta kill me."

As he spoke, the similarities between who Lloire used to be and who Beta was seemed all the more pronounced. "Show him... us... what you're made of. That you won't be another Aliya, okay?"

Ikara was equal parts confused and relieved when Lloire stepped out from behind the rocks. "Nii---..." She watched his aether shard and split then him collapse to the ground and started running for him, without thought to her own safety. That was until a shard split off and started to solidify. Ikara skid to a halt, her staff still out at her side as a younger version of Lloire appeared before her.

"Halone's frosty tits... what the hells?" She eyed the fragment for a moment before flipping down a visor to see if he was still there without her aether sight. Her frown deepened as she tried to piece together what she saw with the visor down, verses what she was seeing with it up, "Oh.... what have you done to yourself big brother..?" His aether had somehow split off and manifested. The younger version of him was real in a sense, but only in so much as the creations she made from aether. It would disappear with time, but not until the wielder or spell was completed or removed.

Mention of Aliya had her frown deepening, "I'll take that as a compliment. Aliya was your best friend." She shook her head at the aether spirit. "I won't fight you. It could hurt the whole of him. He is completely fractured. Let me fix it instead." She wasn't holding her staff weakly at her side anymore though, it was ready in case the splinter decided to attack.

For his part, Kid-Lloire didn't seem to be in a rush to attack her. "It was a compliment. Look, you haven't seen us for a while. The Lloire you know. Nii-san I think? Anyways, he's prolly more messed up now then when he stabbed himself in the chest. He just fought each and every splinter of himself and killed each one. Well, except me and Erioll...." He shook his head energetically. "But that's off subject. The point is... He's finally realized what's got him so screwed up. He's scared that the people he cares for are gonna die. Usually ‘cause of him. There's a lot to unpack, but the basic gist is he needs his friends to prove they can handle their own against him when he's not in control. He's scared of his black magic... or his anger issues... or being you know... Hyur. But the truth is he's only really dangerous when he's whole... and then, only to his enemies. But we gotta prove it to him... us... so, you have to kill me. I'd rather you went into this with full knowledge and not making me force the issue." He huffed a breath, having spoken more than Lloire usually would. "So, what do you say?" The younger Lloire lazily lifted his staff and nodded to Ikara. "I mean, if nothing else... you kinda need to blow some aether." A small almost shy smile was half hidden behind his staff.

Ikara listened and it was clear she was starting to nurse a headache from how dumb it all sounded. Then again, she really wasn't too much different than her brother. She had run off plenty of times without people to protect them. She wasn't sure she trusted any of them to take care of themselves. It was why she was in this gods forsaken desert in the first place.

"Let me examine him, to ascertain that you are telling the truth, though I doubt you are lying. I have to be sure it won't kill him. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I killed him without checking first. Let me do that, and sure... I'll kick your ass." She smirked at him, "I mean, Nii-san is tough, and he taught me a lot, but it’s been a while, and the collective you haven't seen what I'm capable of anymore. Just you know.... do me a favor and let me check him first and I'm down. Also... beforehand... Did you cause that other explosion? Cause really, I can't spend a ton of time here if you didn't. I've god a cute moronic Miqo to save."

The younger manifestation lowered the staff and stepped aside to allow Ikara past to check on Lloire's unconscious form. "Too true, but don't forget... Lloire's been out to war just as long as you presumably have. Don't take this too lightly please." True to his word he would stand still and let her examine Lloire. "Also, no. We thought it was you. You've the largest pool of aether out here beyond our own. The other sources of aether out here are weaker... except one particularly bright spot further south..." His head tilted as he considered -who- she was likely speaking about. "Though, large sources of aether wouldn't help you find Beta but large explosions might. Guess that would make sense. We didn't know he was out here though." He shrugged. "Well, like I said, I can't hold back or we'll know... so I'll try and make it as fast as I can... but no promises."

Ikara was wise enough not to completely let her guard down but moved over to examine Lloire's unconscious form. She examined him as well as she could, even checking to see if he would wake with prodding. He didn't, and she obviously was looking at something with concern, 'These threads of aether tying you to him. If I hurt you, I'm hurting him. To be fair, you are only a portion of his aether, but you are an important part of his being. You won't be destroyed right?" She considered what he said about the spot further south and frowned. "If there was an explosion, I doubt that Beta caused it. He wouldn't give his position away like that... especially when there are Garleans after him... so I'm sorry but I won't be holding back either."

She jumped back and her staff spun in the air as aether pulled not from the land, or from her, but from a single crystal in her necklace. The necklace drained in but a few breaths as she unleashed one of the most powerful spells she had on the fragment of Lloire. She didn't have time to play. Those could have been Garleans killing her boyfriend and she loved her brother, but damn if she was going to let her boyfriend die cause her brother was being stupid. The magic flared bright and large with destruction so that it could be seen for several malms.

When the smoke cleared, Kid was standing in a charred crater, his staff held up as though he were blocking with it and the aether of his mana wall shimmered as the spell dissipated from absorbing the attack. Nevertheless, Flare was an impressive spell and she could see some singed edges around his clothing and armor. Another side of Lloire might have spoken here. Warned her or threatened her, but Kid understood her and knew she was only doing what she needed to in order to protect her loved ones. Instead he returned the attack. He vanished and reappeared nearly on top of her. It was completely against everything one was taught as a thaumaturge and would have been insane if he was fighting a sword wielder. With her so close, she could see the lightning flash in his eyes as his aether swelled. The first strike was a blast of lightning aether that dropped down from the sky towards her. The second was a blast of weak fire that seemed almost pointless in its intensity. Finally, he wrapped up the triple casting of spells with a much more potent fire spell as his entire aura seemed to pulse with heat. The spells complete he took a step back from her to examine their effectiveness.

Ikara honestly would have been disappointed if the first spell had done all the work. It would work for piddly little Garlean soldiers, but this was a part of her brother, and she expected more from him. There was a small smile at the fact that he had gotten his manawall up fast enough. Then again, the spell took plenty of time to cast and gave him amply time to prepare.

When he teleported right in front of her, she laughed. "You should have been a redmage, kid. Its more fun, but to be fair less destructive." to illustrate her point she stepped out of the way of the lightning blast and wacked at his nose with her staff, holding it like a rapier. Which, to be fair, wasn't nearly as quick to maneuver, but was much harder to dodge due to the size of her staff and his proximity. Soul stone or no, she had learned how to leap and fly as a red mage and those things were all body, not magic. She couldn't wield those same spells, but a quick backflip and she was out of the way of the weak fire spell, only to land at the point where he struck with the larger fire spell. It singed her hair and clothes before she managed to get up her own manawall and protect herself from the subsequent blasts.

Already she was working to cast again, though there wasn't a huge explosion this time. Instead she targeted his mind, addling his sense to weaken his spells, then attempted to put the shard to sleep.

The back to back spells struck and Kid felt his mind cloud with the enfeeblements along with the ringing in his head from the staff hit. Still, he seemed immune to sleep spells. It did allow fog his thoughts enough that he responded to her banter rather than continue incessant spellcasting. "Wasn't readily taught when I was around... I'm sure Azure can show you what Lloire's learned though." Wiping idly at his nose to ensure there was no bleeding, he only managed to fire of a scathing blast of energy from his staff as he moved away from her and she saw his aether pool into the ground as leylines became visible beneath him.

Far in the distance of the Burn the group of misfits that were wandering and looking for Ikara could see the mushroom cloud from her first flare, and the subsequent explosions of lightning, fire, and magic lighting the horizon. Aeri immediately turned to Aasifa with an accusatory look, "You do that too?" She was guessing whoever was blowing up the horizon was likely pissing off the little lizard though.

True to Aeri's thoughts, Ikara was getting annoyed. She had hoped to put Kid to sleep long enough to check and make sure her brother wasn't actually being hurt by the fight. "What? I have fight all of you? I ain't got time for that shit. You're wasting enough time as is."

She tried to examine Lloire from a distance to make sure he was still okay, and that moment of distraction gave Kid the opening that he needed to hit her with a blast of energy and make her shake her head to get her vision back. Fighting mages was a lot harder as everything was so damn bright.

Aetheric symbols swirled around her as she started to vent her frustration on the shard of her brother, "Will..." A giant glacier was dropped on him, "You..." Another one, "Just..." Another one... "Piss off!" Aether flared around her in crystalline light and she tapped another crystal in her necklace, though this one didn't drain all the way, instead only draining two thirds of the way as she dropped another huge flare of magic on Kid, then tapped the rest of that crystal and cast a second flare. The power off the flurry of spells back to back was enough to send a shockwave out in all directions.

Kid attempted to ward off the spells but was only able to block off the first set. Those crystals she wore were going to be his undoing if he didn't deprive her of them sooner rather than later. Still, his own pools of aether were rather large and he wasn't exhausting them on flares. Still, the second one she'd unleashed in a row was more than his wards could handle and the explosion blackened his staff arm, leaving it near useless. Still, he wasn't one of Lloire's sides that reacted to anger as easily, not even in the significant pain he was in now. "I... told you... Not going to make this... easy on you!"

He stood up with flames flickering out around him on the ground and took the staff into his other hand. "Enough of this..." Runes began to glow around him as he activated Enochian. "The highest tier of fire magicks he knew was unleashed where she stood, the leylines fed him aether faster and another was cast at her to follow it. "This ends now!" One more swift cast and he'd have the power built up he needed to unleash his largest spell. Another fourth-tier fireball exploded where Ikara was standing and even the group further out could feel the swelling of aether at the battleground.

Hundreds of yalms away Aasifa shot a look around him at the others, looking hurt that he'd been accused. "What? Cannot... be Aasifa, he... is needing to say ...word. Aasifa... has been... quiet. That is a war zone, ...yes?" He croaked out before he grinned widely. "Let's go... and see!" Arakiel frowned and growled but started off towards the explosions before anyone else.

Aeri glanced between Arakiel and Beta both before speeding up the pace the group had set. Which, in all honestly didn't take much as the others were in just as much of a hurry. "I get Ikara can blow shit up... but ... thats a lot of firepower." She shook her head and they all moved as quickly as they reasonably could towards the battle. Aeri had her misgivings about it, as she wasn't really feeling like being blown up in this gods forsaken place, but she had given Ara her word, and she wasn't about to go back on it now.

 Ikara got some satisfaction from Kid's blackened arm. Even thought she had said she was going to put her all into this fight, she was still doing her best to only tap the aether in her necklace as she didn't know what she would find where Beta was. "Oh for Halone's sake... you think this is easy for me? The hardest part of this is not turning the hell around and leaving you to sulk in the fact that I won't fight you. You have the WORST timing ever... I've got places to be! I'm supposed to be saving my boyfriend, not my brother. For fucks sake... worst older brother..."

Fire exploded all around her, but before he could get off all his spells she was moving. This time it was her turn to teleport to him. One moment she was where his spells were aimed, and the next she was standing on top of him and wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug, then smashing her forehead into his nose to interrupt his casting. The first fire spell missed her, the second engulfed both of them, and she aimed her knee for his family jewels when he tried to cast the last spell, aiming to knock him to the ground and just punch him in the face. The whole time she was aiming physical spells at him she was building up her own aether to counter with her own spells.

Kid didn't have a chance to respond right away, her brow had found his nose and it gave a loud crack and blood spewed from the quickly bruising part of his face. "Little brother right now!" He shouted back at her. "You're older than I was!" His aether appeared to stop wavering at all and grew very sure and still as he began reciting the last spell, his eyes locking on her with intense focus. "This ends sis!" The spell was likely one she'd not seen him cast before. It was one that Lloire had learned only recently on the frontlines. His most powerful spell was building over both their heads and it was clear that he meant to put his everything into it, even if it meant a draw and a draw meant they both lost.

Ikara was splattered with warm blood that spewed from Kid's nose, and his words hit a chord with her. It was one of those things she always forgot. She wasn't a kid anymore. She was an adult now. She mostly never felt like one, but she was. She had been through more than most kids ever went through and come across the other side. She had lived to see adulthood. The train of thought was disrupted by the pure aether building as Kid started a spell that she didn't know. She knew if he got the spell off that would be devastating for her, and for Lloire. She had to win, or Lloire would stay broken.

She wiped the blood from her face, and her vision focused on it for a moment making her realize that while it felt real, it still wasn't real. It was all aether, and one thing she was good at was controlling aether. "You're right! I am older than you. I'm an adult, and I don't need Lloire to take care of me. We take care of each other because that is what family does, but I made it this far... and I'll be fine!"

The last five crystals in her necklace started to drain as she pulled the specific types of aether from them. Earth, Air, Fire, Ice, and Lightning... the catalysts that made everything in the world. "I won't destroy you. You're a part of my brother... but I don't have to destroy you to beat you!" She started disrupting the flow of aether in Kid, pulling the elements apart, as she had done so many times with her 'paintings'. Normally she had more time, but right his moment she didn't. She poured all the aether from her necklace into rearranging the aether in this fragment of her big brother. She worked desperately fast, trying to reform him into something else. At the last moment she poured her own aether into building the strongest manawall she could and prayed to Halone to make this work. "I can take care of myself, and you're an egotistical jerk for thinking I can't manage without you!"

 The last words were spoken as his spell went off, and the aether that he was created from shifted into the form she thought of when she thought of their lessons when she was still learning how to cast the simplest spells.

Kid seemed to know that he'd lost in that moment. Despite the spell above them and his own aether breaking down, he smiled. "Good. Remember that... And learn the lesson it took us this long to start to learn..."

Ikara grit her teeth and forced the last strands of aether into place where she wanted them, just as the spell overhead exploded. It could be seen for malms and malms around.