#PANEL FROM DARK DAYS: THE FORGE

[mattiebluebird]

I love how Bruce tells Duke to guard the Cave & Duke goes "Yes, sir. You got it. Not a single goddamm person is getting into this Cave." Like he takes it so seriously that when the GREEN LANTERN shows up, Duke doesn't think "Hm. He probably has a good reason for being here. Maybe I should ask him?"

No.

He DROPKICKS HIS ASS.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 10

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4.7k

warning; grief, mention of death and dead body.

notes; well apologies need to be told for the last chapter everyone. I'm sorry ;))) Still hope that you will like this chapter, please look at the warnings some people might be sensitive to the topics. Love <33

here is the link for part 9 or part 11

---

The shop had been silent for weeks. The usual warmth that radiated from the forge, the rhythmic clang of the hammer against steel, the cheerful voice of a young boy eagerly trying to sell every weapon in sight—it was all gone. The life that once pulsed through the place had faded, leaving only a cold, hollow emptiness.

A small, handwritten panel hung on the door, swaying gently in the breeze:

"Closed, come and see us another time ;))"

The smiley face at the end of the note was a cruel reminder of the life that had once filled this place, a mockery of the joy that had been ripped away. Now, the shop stood dead—no heat from the forge, no sound of work, no laughter.

Inside, the atmosphere was just as cold. The forge had long since cooled, the tools lay untouched, and the once vibrant displays of weapons now seemed to gather dust, lifeless in the dim light that filtered through the windows.

You had retreated to the back of the shop, to the small apartment that had once been a sanctuary for you and Alexander. But even there, the silence was deafening. The only place you could find any semblance of comfort was in Alex’s bed, where you had wrapped yourself in his blankets, trying desperately to hold onto the last traces of his scent. It was faint now, barely there, but you clung to it as if it were a lifeline.

The pain was a constant, gnawing ache that never seemed to ease. Every breath felt heavy, every heartbeat a reminder of the one that had stopped. Alex was gone, and with him, it felt like a piece of your soul had been ripped away, leaving behind a gaping wound that refused to heal.

Azriel had been by your side throughout it all. He came to the shop every day, sitting quietly in the corner of the room, watching over you with a silent vigil. He had offered his comfort, his presence, but there were no words that could fill the void left by Alex’s absence.

He didn’t press you to talk, didn’t push you to move or eat. He simply stayed, his own heart heavy with the bond that had snapped into place during the most horrific moment of both your lives. It was as if he understood that the only thing he could offer was his quiet companionship, a presence that grounded you even as you felt like you were falling apart.

But everything was so hard now.

The simplest tasks—getting out of bed, eating, even breathing—felt like monumental efforts, each one requiring more strength than you thought you had left. Some days, you couldn’t even bring yourself to move, lying in Alex’s bed, surrounded by his things, trying to hold onto the memory of him for just a little longer.

Azriel would sit beside you during those times, not saying a word, his hand occasionally reaching out to brush against yours, a silent reminder that he was there, that you weren’t alone. But even his presence, comforting as it was, couldn’t erase the pain.

The grief was suffocating, a heavy blanket that wrapped around you, making it impossible to see beyond the loss. And yet, despite the overwhelming darkness, there was a small part of you that clung to Azriel’s presence, a flicker of something that refused to be snuffed out entirely.

But it was hard. So incredibly hard.

There were moments when you thought about getting up, about leaving the bed and trying to find some semblance of normalcy, but the thought of facing the world without Alex was too much to bear. The world felt cold, unforgiving, and you weren’t sure if you had the strength to step back into it.

So you stayed in Alex’s bed, wrapped in his scent, in the memories of the boy who had been your everything. And Azriel stayed with you, his silent company the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, even as the world felt like it was slipping away.

It had been weeks, and the shop was dead.

Completely dead.

And you weren’t sure if it—or you—would ever come back to life.

As the heavy silence settled over the shop, memories of that fateful day began to resurface, unbidden and relentless, pulling back to the moment when everything had changed.

Azriel’s hands trembled as he used his shadows to gently wrap Alex’s small, lifeless body. The thick material of his cloak, normally used to conceal and protect, now served as a shroud for the boy who had been so full of life. Azriel’s shadows, usually a source of strength and power, now felt like a burden as they took on the solemn duty of carrying the boy's body.

As the shadows lifted Alex’s body, cocooned in the cloak, Azriel felt a deep, wrenching pain in his chest. The flames that had once flickered so fiercely in your eyes were now extinguished, leaving only an empty void that Azriel could barely comprehend. He couldn’t bear to look at you, the way your face was drained of color, your eyes hollow and fixed straight ahead as you hovered beside him in the air.

The flight back to Velaris was slow, agonizingly slow, every beat of Azriel’s wings heavy with grief. His shadows carried Alex’s body with the utmost care, as if even in death, the boy deserved the gentleness that had once filled his life. Azriel kept glancing at you, hoping for some sign that you were still there, still present, but your expression was unreadable, lost somewhere far away from him.

When you finally landed in front of the townhouse, you didn’t wait for Azriel. You turned on your heel and walked away, your steps unsteady but resolute. You didn’t say a word, didn’t look back, as you made your way through the quiet streets of Velaris, heading directly to your apartment above the shop.

Azriel watched you go, torn between following you and respecting your need for space. “Y/N,” he called out softly, his voice heavy with sorrow and helplessness.

You paused for the briefest moment, your back still turned to him, before shaking your head. “I need to be alone, Azriel. Please… just give me some time.”

The finality in your voice struck him like a blow. He wanted to argue, to tell you that you didn’t have to go through this alone, that he was here for you, and would always be here for you. But he knew better than to push. He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it, and watched as you disappeared into the darkness.

Azriel stood there for a long time, his shadows still cradling Alex’s body as if trying to shield the boy from the cruel reality of death. The streets of Velaris were silent around him, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged in his mind. The bond, newly formed and searingly powerful, pulsed with a pain that left him breathless.

With a heavy heart, he finally turned and made his way into the townhouse, where he knew Rhysand and the others were waiting.

As Azriel entered the townhouse, the warmth that usually greeted him felt distant, as though the very air had chilled in sympathy with his grief. Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor were gathered in the sitting room, their faces etched with concern and sorrow. They had been waiting for him, and the moment he stepped inside, their eyes were drawn to the shadows that carried the small, wrapped bundle.

Azriel’s shadows, usually vibrant with life and energy, were subdued, almost mournful as they carefully placed Alex’s body on a nearby table. They lingered there, curling protectively around the small form before slowly retreating, leaving only the cloak-shrouded body behind.

Rhysand was the first to speak, his voice low and controlled, though Azriel could hear the strain in it. “What happened?”

Azriel took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he recounted the events. He told them about the fight in the clearing, about the dark ritual that had drained Alex’s life force, about the cruel man who had orchestrated it all. But when he spoke about you, about how you had cradled Alex’s body in his final moments, his voice faltered.

“She… she’s broken, Rhys,” Azriel said quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’ve never seen her like this. I don’t know how to help her.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury. “Who did this? Who’s responsible?”

Azriel shook his head, his shadows shifting restlessly. “I don’t know. He was there, taunting her, but he vanished before we could stop him. He said… he said the power inside her wasn’t meant for her, that it was supposed to be taken from her. And Alex… he was a part of that.”

Rhysand’s expression darkened, his hands curling into fists as he processed the information. “This is bigger than we thought. We need to find out who this man is and what he wants.”

Azriel nodded, but his mind was only half on the conversation. The other half was with you, alone in your apartment, surrounded by memories of the boy who had meant everything to you. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was there for you.

But the bond…

The bond had snapped into place during Alex’s final moments, but you hadn’t felt it. You were too consumed by your grief, too lost in the agony of losing someone you had loved like a son. Azriel could feel it, the mating bond humming in the background of his mind, a constant reminder of the connection between you. But it was tainted by the pain of what had happened, by the guilt of not being able to save Alex, of not being able to spare you from this suffering.

“I need to be with her,” Azriel said finally, his voice raw. “She asked for time, but… I can’t just leave her alone.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened, understanding flashing in his violet eyes. “She’ll need you, Az. Maybe not right now, but soon. Give her the space she needs, but be there when she’s ready. She’s strong, but no one should go through this alone.”

Cassian stepped forward, his hand resting on Azriel’s shoulder, offering silent support. “We’ll figure this out. Whoever did this won’t get away with it. But right now, she needs you to be there for her, in whatever way she’ll allow.”

Azriel nodded, though the uncertainty still gnawed at him. He knew they were right, knew that you would need him eventually. But the bond… it was there, pulsing with every beat of his heart, a reminder that you were his mate, that you were tied to him in a way that neither of you could ignore forever.

But for now, all he could do was wait. Wait for you to come to terms with your grief, wait for you to find your way back to him. And in the meantime, he would be there, watching over you, protecting you, even if it meant staying in the shadows, just out of reach.

As the conversation with Rhysand and Cassian continued, Azriel’s thoughts kept drifting back to you, to the pain he had seen in your eyes, to the way you had cradled Alex’s body as if you could somehow bring him back.

The bond pulsed again, a painful reminder of what he had gained and lost all at once.

And all he could do was wait.

The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the windows of the townhouse, casting long shadows across the room. Azriel stood near the hearth, his posture rigid, his hands clenched at his sides as he stared into the flickering flames. The silence between him and Rhysand was heavy, filled with unspoken words and the weight of the truth that Azriel had been grappling with since the moment the bond had snapped into place.

Rhysand watched him from where he sat, his usual air of calm authority tinged with concern as he studied his brother. He could sense the turmoil roiling within Azriel, the conflicting emotions that were tearing him apart. Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Rhysand spoke.

"Az, what’s going on? You’ve been… different since you came back. Distant."

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the fire as if it held the answers to the questions that had been plaguing him. His shadows, usually so controlled, flickered restlessly around him, a reflection of the storm inside his mind.

"I didn’t want it to happen like this," Azriel finally said, his voice low and rough, filled with a pain that he had been trying to suppress. "Not like this, not when she’s already suffering so much."

Rhysand’s brow furrowed in concern, leaning forward slightly. "What happened, Az? What aren’t you telling me?"

Azriel turned away from the fire, his expression tormented as he met Rhysand’s gaze. "The bond… it snapped into place when Alex died. She’s my mate, Rhys."

Rhysand’s eyes widened slightly, the shock evident in his expression. For a moment, he was silent, processing the weight of Azriel’s words. The bond was something sacred, something that connected two souls in a way that was unbreakable, undeniable. But to have it snap into place in such a moment of profound grief…

"Az…" Rhysand began, his voice softening as he tried to grasp the full impact of what Azriel had just confessed. "Does she know?"

Azriel shook his head, the pain in his chest tightening as he spoke. "No. She doesn’t know. She couldn’t… she was too consumed by grief, too lost in the pain of losing Alex. I felt it, Rhys. I felt it with every fiber of my being, but she… she didn’t feel it. And now, I don’t know what to do."

Rhysand stood, moving closer to Azriel, his expression filled with empathy and understanding. "The bond is powerful, Az. But so is grief. She’s been through something unimaginable. It’s no wonder she didn’t feel it in that moment."

Azriel let out a shaky breath, his voice breaking as he continued. "I can’t bear to see her like this, Rhys. I’m supposed to protect her, to be there for her, but I feel like I’ve already failed. And now, with the bond… how can I expect her to accept it, to accept me, when she’s barely holding on?"

Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Az, this isn’t your fault. You’ve done everything you could. You’ve been by her side, even when she pushed you away. The bond… it’s a gift, but it’s also a responsibility. And right now, your responsibility is to give her the space she needs to heal."

Azriel closed his eyes, the weight of Rhysand’s words sinking in. "But what if she never feels it? What if she never accepts it? How can I… how can I live with that?"

Rhysand’s voice was gentle, filled with the wisdom that came from centuries of experience. "If she’s truly your mate, Az, she’ll feel it when she’s ready. The bond doesn’t force itself—it waits until both souls are ready to accept it. Right now, she’s grieving. But when she’s ready, she’ll come to you."

Azriel opened his eyes, the shadows in them darker than ever. "And if she doesn’t?"

Rhysand’s expression softened, a note of sadness in his voice. "Then you’ll have to respect her choice. The bond is powerful, but it doesn’t override free will. If she chooses not to accept it… that’s something you’ll have to learn to live with. But I don’t think that’s what will happen."

Azriel nodded slowly, though the doubt and fear still gnawed at him. "I just… I don’t want to lose her, Rhys. Not before I’ve even had a chance to tell her what she means to me."

Rhysand squeezed his shoulder, offering what comfort he could. "You won’t lose her, Az. Give her time. Be there for her, as you’ve always been. The bond will reveal itself when the time is right."

Azriel swallowed hard, the pain in his chest easing just slightly as he nodded. "I hope you’re right, Rhys. I hope… she’ll find her way back to me."

Rhysand’s smile was faint, but there was confidence in his eyes. "She will, Az. She will.”

——

Two weeks had passed since that dreadful night, two weeks of unbearable silence and darkness. The shop remained closed, the warmth of the forge long gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness that seemed to permeate every corner. The air was heavy, oppressive, as if the walls themselves mourned the loss of the boy who had brought so much life to the place.

Today was the first day you had stepped outside since Alex’s death. The cold air bit at your skin as Azriel helped you down the steps of your apartment. Snow had begun to fall, delicate flakes drifting lazily from the sky, covering the streets of Velaris in a blanket of white. The world looked peaceful, serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within you.

Azriel’s presence beside you was a constant, quiet support. He had come to pick you up, knowing that today would be harder than anything you had faced since that night. He was dressed in a long, black coat, his usual leathers replaced by something more somber, more fitting for the occasion. His shadows, always hovering around him, seemed muted, as if they too understood the gravity of the day.

You wore a simple black cloak, the hood pulled up over your head, hiding your face from the world. You had barely slept these past two weeks, the dark circles under your eyes a testament to the nightmares that haunted you whenever you closed them. The light that had once sparkled in your eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness that mirrored the grief in your heart.

The group had gathered near the outskirts of Velaris, in a small, secluded grove that overlooked the Sidra River. The place was beautiful, serene, with tall trees that stood like silent guardians over the clearing. Snow covered the ground in a soft layer, and the river flowed quietly nearby, its surface reflecting the overcast sky.

Rhysand, Mor, Cassian, and Amren were already there, dressed in dark, formal attire. Rhysand’s expression was somber, a deep sadness etched into his features. You knew that this moment struck a chord with him, reminding him of the loss of his mother and sister nearly fifty years ago. He had been trying to hold it together for your sake, but you could see the pain in his eyes, the empathy that came from a place of shared sorrow.

Mor stood beside him, her usual vivacity subdued as she watched you approach. Her eyes were filled with tears, though she blinked them away, trying to remain strong for you. Cassian stood with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched tightly as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Even Amren, who rarely showed much outward emotion, had a pained look in her eyes, her small frame seeming even smaller in the cold, quiet clearing.

Azriel led you to the center of the grove, where a small, simple grave had been prepared. It was nothing grand, just a small mound of earth, but it was surrounded by flowers that had been carefully laid by those who had come to say their goodbyes. The snow continued to fall, covering the flowers in a delicate layer of white, as if nature itself was mourning alongside you.

The silence was heavy as you stood there, staring down at the grave. You felt numb, detached, as if you were watching everything from a distance, your mind unable to fully comprehend the reality of what was happening.

Azriel’s hand rested lightly on your back, his touch gentle, offering comfort that you weren’t sure you could accept. But you didn’t move away. You couldn’t.

The others gathered around, forming a small circle around the grave. Rhysand stepped forward, his voice soft and filled with emotion as he spoke. “We gather here today to honor the life of Alexander, a boy who brought light and joy to all who knew him. He was taken from us far too soon, but his memory will live on in our hearts.”

You barely heard the words, your mind drifting as you stared at the grave, your thoughts consumed by the loss that had shattered your world. The death of Alex had left a void in your heart, a wound that refused to heal. But it wasn’t just his death that weighed on you—it was the loss of your powers, the flames that had once been a part of you, now gone, leaving you feeling empty and powerless.

Rhysand continued speaking, his voice steady despite the grief that weighed heavily on him. “We remember him not just as a friend, but as family. And though he is gone, he will always be with us, in our memories and in our hearts.”

As the final words were spoken, the group fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts, their own memories of the boy who had touched their lives. The snow continued to fall, covering the ground in a pristine blanket, the world around you growing quieter with each passing moment.

You knelt beside the grave, your fingers brushing the cold, hard earth. The tears that had been trapped inside you finally began to fall, silent and steady, as you whispered a final goodbye to the boy who had meant everything to you.

Azriel knelt beside you, his presence a solid, unwavering support as you cried, the full weight of your grief finally breaking through the numbness that had consumed you. His hand rested on your shoulder, grounding you as you released the pain that had been building inside you for so long.

Rhysand watched, his own grief mirrored in his eyes as he saw the pain you were in, knowing all too well the agony of losing someone you loved. His gaze flickered to Azriel, a silent understanding passing between them.

As the snow continued to fall, you slowly rose from your knees, your body stiff and cold from the long vigil beside Alex's grave. You turned to face the small group that had gathered with you, their faces somber, reflecting the weight of the moment. Despite the overwhelming grief that threatened to pull you under, you managed to find the strength to offer them a small, grateful smile.

"Thank you," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Thank you all for being here today. It means more to me than I can put into words. Alex… he would have been so touched to see all of you here, to know how much he was loved."

Rhysand, Mor, Cassian, and Amren nodded, each of them offering their own quiet gestures of support. Rhysand stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "We're here for you, Y/N. Whatever you need, we're here."

You gave him a grateful nod before turning to Azriel, who had been standing quietly by your side, his presence a constant source of comfort throughout the day. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, the bond between you, though unspoken, felt palpable.

Azriel leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips against your cold skin sent a shiver through you, not from the cold but from the tenderness of the gesture. "I'll come see you later tonight," he murmured, his voice filled with a gentle promise.

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. His presence had been your anchor in the storm of grief, and even now, as he prepared to leave, you felt that same sense of grounding, of connection. You watched as Azriel and the others slowly began to make their way back down the path, their figures fading into the falling snow until you were left alone in the quiet grove.

The silence was both comforting and heavy, the only sound the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots as you slowly sat down in front of Alex's grave. The cold seeped through your cloak, but you barely noticed it, your mind focused entirely on the small mound of earth before you.

For a long time, you simply sat there, staring at the grave, the memories of Alex flashing through your mind in a rapid, painful montage. The boy who had become your family, who had brought so much light into your life, was gone. And yet, sitting here, in this peaceful place, you felt closer to him than you had in the weeks since his death.

You took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs before you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to protect you, that I couldn’t keep you safe. I know you wouldn’t want me to be like this, lost in my grief, but it’s so hard… so hard to keep going without you."

The snow continued to fall around you, the flakes gently landing on the grave, on your shoulders, on your face, like a soft, cold embrace. You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely as you continued to talk, as if Alex were still there, listening.

"I’ve been thinking a lot about you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "About all the things we shared, all the dreams we had for the future. I wish… I wish you could be here with me now, that you could see the family I’ve found. The Inner Circle, they’re… they’re good people, Alex. They’ve taken me in, even when I didn’t think I could let anyone in. And Azriel…"

You paused, your breath catching in your throat as you thought of Azriel, the way he had been there for you, the way he had cared for you in your darkest moments. "Azriel has been so kind, so patient with me. He’s… he’s something special, Alex. I wish you could have known him better, could have seen what I see in him. I think… I think I’m starting to find a new family in them, but it hurts so much that you’re not here to be a part of it."

The tears fell faster now, your chest aching with the weight of all the things left unsaid, all the dreams that had been shattered. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I’m so sorry that you can’t be here, that you won’t get to see what comes next. But I promise you, Alex, I’ll try to keep going. I’ll try to find a way to live, to find happiness, even if it feels impossible right now. And I’ll carry you with me, always. You’ll always be a part of me."

The snow continued to fall, the world around you growing quieter, more peaceful. You let out a shaky breath, feeling a small sense of release as you spoke those words, as if a tiny part of the burden you carried had been lifted.

For a long time, you stayed there, talking to Alex about everything that came to mind—the little things, the big things, the memories that still brought a smile to your face even through the pain. And as the sky darkened and the first stars began to appear, you finally rose to your feet, feeling a little lighter, a little less alone.

You gave the grave one last, lingering look, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll be back, Alex. I promise."

And with that, you turned and began to make your way back down the path, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots, the shadows of the grove fading behind you as you walked toward the future, one step at a time. as the snow covered the earth in a soft, white blanket, you felt, for the first time, that maybe, with time, you could begin to heal.

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[cozzzynook]

Rodimus not knowing he's sparked until he goes into labor and freaking out.

He didn’t have a clue he was sparked and its pure chaos.

Rodimus would be sitting on the bridge shifting uncomfortably in his chair until his shift was over.

Plagued with spark pains, tank bloating, spinal strut pain, stuttering vents and a sense of dread from the time he wakes that morning until his shift is over and he’s asking Megs to carry him back to his hab so he can rest.

That alone is enough to worry his co captain who takes him to his hab and waits until he’s back on the bridge to call Ratchet and Drift to inform them they should check on Rodimus.

Of course with Rodimus having spark issues they take it serious and try to leave earlier than usual but things pop up, emergencies happen and it’s not until they finish their shift are they able to rush and see if Rodimus is okay.

Do they walk into their hab to see Rodimus gripping the sheets on his knees while the other holds his tanks.

A thick puddle of energon and emergence fluids coating the floor and his lower half.

Modesty panels wide open to reveal an angry pulsing valve thats steadily leaking energon and fluid as his hips struggle with the painful pressure pressed against his insides thats wiggling and stuck.

Rodimus has scratch marks on his tanka from how tight he’s gripping himself and he knows by now whats happening.

They stand in shock as they hear Rodimus give out a loud and painful cry as he bears down and tries to push but the sparkling won’t budge and his spark starts to flicker.

They rush inside at the sight of Rodimus gushing out energon, he’s internally bleeding and its making its way out of his stretched forge canal. Ratchet knows immediately that this is bad and Drift is terrified because Rodimus is radiating pain so badly its effecting himself and Ratchet.

Ratchet can’t move Rodimus in this state but he can have Drift try to comfort Rodimus who is apologizing because he didn’t know and Drift is steadily telling him its okay.

Ratchet reaches inside to feel if he can take the sparkling out himself because Rodimus spark can’t handle all this turmoil and its making him worried.

So when he reaches inside and feels what he knows is a spoiler and some etchings on the protoform that belong to himself and Drift he knows why the sparkling is stuck.

Its not big, but it is tearing and cutting Rodimus from the inside while having wiggled itself into a literal jam.

“Alright kid, when I say relax your frame as much as you can you do it. I’m gonna pull them out and when I do, Drift you catch Rodimus and run like hell to the medbay. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’re gonna be fine Rodimus, i promise.”

That didn’t stop Rodimus from crying harder because he knew Ratchet was scared and when Ratchet was scared, things were really really bad.

Still. He nodded.

drift held him and after a painful pulse, Rodimus relaxed the best he could feeling his optics dim and his spark flicker as his forge widened and Ratchet quickly pulled their sparkling free after a few moments.

He screamed so hard and loud his audials crashed and his spark jolted.

Drift caught him and ran him to the medbay with Ratchet right behind him as promised and was brought to the medbay with First Aid at the door waiting.

He only caught a glimpse of the wiggling, crying sparkling Ratchet was tenderly cradling.

Everything was numb and painful all at once and felt the world go dark as he watched his sparkling cry out to him.

When he woke, his chronometer stated he’d been asleep for two days.

Ratchet and Drift were cooing at their sparkling and he was on a heavy numbing agent that he was thankful for.

“Let me hold them.”

Of course they jumped at his voice before Ratchet gave their sparkling to Drift and he started checking him over.

Ratchet was not allowing him off berth rest for at least a month and while he was annoyed by it he understood.

His spark was still recovering from the trauma of emergence much like his tanks and frame were. The pain was still felt through the numbing agents but that all became a blur the moment he held their sparkling.

They nuzzled their helm against him, gripping tight with chubby little digits and he didn’t even realize he was crying until Drift wiped his tears away.

“A femme Roddi! We have a little femme!”

Drift was so excited, he was kissing his face plates all over while cooing at their little one while Ratchet was holding her other servo and nuzzling her helm, crying to himself.

“she was really inside me all this time? Oh my gosh,” he cried, “i didn’t..i didn’t know..fr-Ratch?! Is she alright?! I drank with her! I-fra- what if-”

“She’s fine kid,” his smile was genuine and open, “she’s as healthy as can be. Small. But healthy.”

His spark rhythm returned to normal and he relaxed.

He gazed down at her and asked, “whats her name?”

“We thought we should wait for you to online before naming her.”

“Really? I..i’m not good with names,” Rodimus laughed, “maybe you two name her and if I like it too, its a deal?”

It was agreed and after a couple suggestions they settled on a name.

“I like it,” Roddy whispered kissing her helm making her smile.

Rodimus giggled as their sparkling opened yellow optics that looked exactly like Drifts once did. Her spoiler a deep red that was richer than his own. She looked beautiful and the moment the name came from Drift and Ratchets lips together he knew that was it. That was the one.

“We’re so happy to meet you little one. Welcome to the galaxy,” he cried so hard from happiness that he almost couldn’t say it, “Carmine.”

[severedfromthesource]

Heart of the Forge

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Adam's heart keeps the Pennydurren running-Tav keeps Adam's heart running. Original concept by @emptycalories-splitlip. This part features stething, mild cardiophilia, semi visible hearts. It's a lot of set up for resus and whump down the line.

Lives depend on you.

The little note greeted Gustav every morning, and every morning, he lay in his bunk to stare at it, taped to the ceiling above him. Some days he greeted it with more resentment than others, but most days it was just reiterating what he already felt deep down. The weight of at least a thousand workers, families, and passengers depended on him keeping the Forge going. So he did.

He scrubbed at his hair and slid into his work jumpsuit, his work boots, and slipped a cigarette between his lips as he left his quarters. His bedroom was nearest the engine room, so it was always muggy and damp with heat, the kind that not even sweat could fully cool off. They were in the bowels of the Pennydarren, tucked under the first link of the chain of cabs that, to Gustav, seemed to go on forever. It was impossible to tell really; only fog divers were allowed outside the train. Not unlike saturation divers of old, they had to be acclimated to survive out in the dense fog outside the reinforced steel walls of the Pennydarren in order to patch holes in her hull. Again, he thought of the poor shmucks going crazy in the diving bells, and again he was thankful for the job he had in engineering.

He waved and greeted the others working on the machinery, the walls tens of feet high, some with tall enough components a man had to be hoisted by a pulley to work on the mechanisms. Another job he didn’t envy. They all nodded respectfully back. Another perk of the job compared to others. Folks knew their lives depended on him too. If the engine went dark, they’d be swallowed up in the fog.

Adam was already on the walker as he drew nearer the panel of glass separating them. “Good morning, Tav,” he said, a little out of breath. Tav checked his watch. Adam's skin glistened with sweat, and judging by the time he was nearing the end of his mandatory exercise routine. “What’s so good about it?” he said, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall, scorched black in one spot from this ritual of his. The door slid open between them and he stepped through as Adam flashed him that warm smile. “We could be in the back of the train shoveling shit.” “Fair enough.” He grabbed his tattered wheelie chair and rolled it over to the other man’s side. “Tell me a joke,” Adam said as the walker under his feet slowed and finally stopped, a panel sliding back over it.

He retrieved a small spiral notebook from his breast pocket and a pen, clicking it a few times. “Why was the politician out of breath?” He said as a metal chair, or throne, as it had always seemed to him, shaped out of riveted paneling in the floor underneath the other man and Adam sat as well. “I don’t know,” he said, already smiling. “He was running for office.” said Tav.

Adam laughed, a good natured laugh that wrinkled his eyes to slits and showed off his pearly teeth. “I like that one.” “You always like them.” Tav turned to his equipment laid out nearby. He rolled over behind Adam and began checking the ports protruding from his back. Six of them, three on each side, starting at his shoulder blades and going down in tighter circles to the small of his back. From these, huge ropes of cable hung up into the engine, which hummed with orange and yellow fire from the ever burning fuel within. The fire was mimicked in Adam’s chest, which glowed bright as an xray. His ribs, cartilage, and organs cast shadows, along with the webbing of nerves and veins where the glow turned sort of reddish from the thin tissue. His heart was a flashlight burning from inside his body. It was Tav’s job to keep that heart in good order. Adam, similarly, had only one job: keep his heart beating strongly.

Being that this was entirely an unconscious matter he had no real control over, he did as he was asked. He allowed himself to be poked and prodded. He did his cardio every day without fail, as well as strength exercises to keep his body in peak form, though it had once seemed a waste to have a perfect body when one was relegated to however long the cables reached. He ate the disgusting nutrient slurry they provided which kept his every hormonal and blood level in balance. He read when there was downtime.

Mostly, he watched Tav. He was the only one allowed inside the inner chamber of the Forge, outside of skittish Fetchers who brought him his meals and supplies and the engineer who sometimes worked on the engine. On his birthday, they let his mother visit.

Where Adam was all tone and muscle from a life where his every physical need was met, Tav was scrawny and underfed. His head was shaved on the sides, and tattoos of every shape and color peeked out from the edges of his clothes. He was literally stamped by an existence outside the walls of the chamber which had been most of Adam’s life. He drank. He smoked. He lived beyond the twenty feet of cable tethering Adam to the life of a Forge. He was not stuck with an umbilical cord to an unfeeling mother made of bolts and steel.

He went through his checklist (Shortness of breath? No. Deficiency cravings? No. Muscle cramps or weakness? No. Fatigue? Always, he’d secretly wanted to say. No.) and when he was done, he retrieved his stethoscope. He rolled the chair close enough their knees touched and Adam suppressed a shiver at the minor point of contact. The bell was warm where it had sat between Tav’s palms and he gave the diaphragm one last warm breath before settling the circular piece of metal under his nipple, at the apex of his heart. He pressed two fingers against his throat to feel the pulse at his carotid. This was the part he liked the best, never knowing that Tav liked it too. He lingered always a bit too long when he had the excuse to touch him.

Tav’s eyes flicked up to watch his heart moving, silhouetted by the light behind his ribs. There was a small surgical scar down his sternum, the only mark on his body, from where he had been implanted with the spark that made him a Forge. He’d been a child, picked out of many, to serve as the new heart of the train. Tav had been in that crop of children too, but he was always skinny and too sickly to be of any use. Once, he’d envied that Adam had been made special. After years as his Keeper, he no longer envied him. He situated it over the tricuspid point between the swell of Adam's pectorals. His heart beat steadily against the steth, louder in his ears now that he was closer to a valve as it opened and closed with each pulse of blood. He watched the shadow of his heart as it moved in his chest, contracting and expanding in tandem with the beat he heard swelling in his ears.

"What's new topside?" he asked as Tav lifted the bell to reposition again. He sat the diaphragm against the aortic site near his collarbone, his hand drifting down to touch the pulse at his wrist as well. "Well," sighed Tav, "Nothing, as per the usual. Some weirdo zealots have been tagging the mess hall again. Separatists or whatever." "The radio was talking about them." "It's all the radio is talking about because it's the only thing happening. The people in the lower cars are having a tizzy about it because they're told it's this big uprising, but it's nothing. Couple kids getting a hold of spray paint. Deep breath." Adam obliged. Then he said, "Do they really think we could survive out there? In the fog?" "Who knows what they believe. Kooky shit, mostly. Bet none of them have spoken to any of the divers. Stick any one of them in one of those diving bells for an hour, they'll stop yapping about leaving the trains pretty quickly."

Adam looked around at his chambers and wondered if the diving bells were much smaller, or much more claustrophobic than his own living quarters. It was hard to imagine a place being smaller. He was quiet as the stethoscope was pressed to both sides of his neck and the sequence repeated with the bell of the stethoscope. When Tav made a 'come here' gesture with two fingers at the end of it, he sat up. His head settled in against the smaller man's shoulder as he stethed points around his ribs and his back. He breathed in steadily and deeply, and if he noticed Tav turning his face in towards his neck to soak in his body heat, even in the sweltering humidity of the engine room, neither of them said anything. He didn't want to bring attention to it and break the spell. Tav smelled like whiskey and smoke. He turned in towards him as well. "Deep breath for me." Adam drew it in through his nose, so close now to Tav's skin he was almost touching his cheek.

"It's picking up a bit," said the Keeper, bringing his other hand up to touch Adam's shoulder. "Try to relax." How could he? There was no hiding how the other man affected him. His traitorous heart wanted to bust from his chest and leap into his hands. Do something with me, do anything, I'm yours. Just make me useful to you. He swallowed in a dry throat. Behind them, the engine's cradle glowed a little bit brighter. In the other cars, the lights warmed and brightened, and a few people had to shield their eyes for a moment before the regulators kicked in and diverted the unexpected power surge into other channels. He hated knowing every denizen of the Pennydurren knew when his heart was speeding up. During his exercise sessions, the engineers knew to be on the lookout for surges, but outside of those allotted times, it was a cause of concern. More often than not it ended with his Keeper being sent in, and how was he supposed to explain himself to the man responsible for his racing heart? How could he look at Tav and confess he had been curled on his side in his simple cot, taking himself into his hand, thinking of those inked hands roaming over his body and auscultating his pounding heart?

He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined the bulbs in the third car market glowing hot, imagined that everyone knew his thoughts as soon as they looked at the little suns above their heads, and he took a series of deep breaths. Eventually, his heartrate steadied.

"There we go," Tav said softly, his fingers curling in against Adam's waves of dark brown hair. "Much better." Adam's hands itched to be around him. Instead they hung at his sides. His head laid fully against his Keeper's narrow shoulder. He thought again of all the time Tav spent with him. Not just these checkups, but most times he was the one to bring him meals. The one who doled out his medication. The one who talked him down from panic attacks and nightmares. He'd soothe him and stroke his brow until his heart no longer felt like it was going to pop, and he had never asked for anything from him. Could ask nothing of him, really. What more could Adam give him than a working train? He'd given him his heart; to the Pennydurren, that was all he could give.

"Do you resent me?" he asked suddenly. He felt Tav stiffen a bit under him and the other man shouldered an earpiece out. "Do I what?" Adam squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to swallow those words the moment they'd hit the air. But they couldn't be retrieved now. He took a shaky breath and asked again, "Do you resent me? You... you're always at my beck and call. You have to take care of me more than anyone else. You can't really live your life, you're... leashed to me."

Tav leaned back, taking him by the shoulders. "Adam. The hell are you talking about?" When he opened his mouth to answer, he shook his head, taking him by the chin to make him look up. "No. No, of course I don't resent you. I could never. You think I'm stuck here?" He scoffed. "Buddy, I pop pills in your mouth and listen to your heart once a week. I'm not so irreplaceable I couldn't ask for a different station." "But-" Tav squeezed his cheeks towards his mouth before he could protest. "I like taking care of you. I like talking with you. You're my friend. You're..." He looked down into those twinkling doe eyes and his breath faltered a bit. Adam had the most open, earnest eyes of anyone he had ever met. He didn't know how to lie. He had never been hurt and he had never hurt anyone in turn. And yes, he was more than a friend. But Tav wasn't like him. He hurt people, people he even cared about. He didn't want Adam to be one of those people. So he smoothed his hair away from his forehead and said in a low voice, "You're my best friend. And I'll be pissed if you think otherwise again. So... stop acting like you're some burden on me."

He pressed his forehead against Tav's palm, nodding. "Okay..." He pushed his head back a bit until their eyes met. "Hey," said Tav, "What do you get from a pampered cow?" The corners of the Forge's lips turned up and he shrugged wordlessly. He scrubbed his hand over his hair. "Spoiled milk." Adam scoffed, "That one's stupid." "They're all stupid."

But he liked them anyway.

As their session for the day came to a close, Adam leaned back in his chair, the cables running from his back slotting easily into the grooves cut into the back, and watched his Keeper leave. Tav gave him a little wave over the shoulder. Neither said what was really on their mind. As one went to sulk in his bunk and the other leaned his head back to run every touch over in his mind, neither could imagine the turmoil brewing in the lower cars. They couldn't know how far some people were willing to go to try and escape the confines of the Pennydurren.

They didn't see a boy smuggled into the Fetchers, who ferried the Forge food and any other amenity he would need. Nor could they see the little package of white powder he surreptitiously slipped into Adam's usual medication for that evening.

[endless-ineffabilities]

if these walls could speak (nsfw 18+)

Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

written for anon request: Daemon x reader x Aemond nsfw fic (threesome, not a love triangle) - reader's house is not specified

word count: 2.5k ▪︎ masterlist

You've always been drawn to the dangerous and alluring, the temptation of such giving you an undeniable thrill. And in all of the Seven Kingdoms, you've never found anything more intoxicating than two Targaryen princes. And as fate would have it, they feel the same about you.

... have at it, all you filthy animals 🔞🖤

You have always been expected to act like a lady, given the importance of your house in Westeros. To be proper, to be pious, to never do things unbecoming of one with your status. You devote your days to having lessons with the Septa, assisting your father in his council meetings, attending feasts and tourneys. Normal activities, fit for a noble lady such as yourself.

But your nights are filled with something more unmentionable. Exciting. Deliciously addicting.

As your father is part of King Viserys’ council, you have become a ward in King’s Landing. You practically grew up with the Targaryen and Velaryon children, forging lasting friendships. Even Aegon, considering that he has grown to become quite the twat.

You've grown to enjoy living in King’s Landing, mostly because of the company. The dragons also fascinate you greatly, and, well… some of their specific riders have also caught your eye. Namely those of Caraxes and Vhagar. Both savage, menacing, and yet exquisite creatures among their kind. Both the dragons and their riders.

Their riders which are the reasons why your nights have been occupied, and not just with the comfort of slumber. Although, you’ve been experiencing greater comforts than you’ve ever had before.

These nights would be spent with your Daemon, perhaps your first love, the rogue prince who always goes back to you, without fail, despite his ill-fated marriages throughout the years. And just recently, there would also be Aemond. Now also, your Aemond, as he has sworn his devotion to you. Both princes were content to have your heart, however you would let them.

A smirk grows on your face, in anticipation of what is about to unfold. The midnight air drifting in from your windows feels cool and crisp, and it carries a distinct scent that can only be present in the hour of the owl. Pulling the hood of your dark cloak over your head, the one Daemon gifted you at the beginning of this affair, you feel just as crafty and mysterious as he is. Having this shared secret, only yours, Daemon’s, and Aemond’s, makes you feel alive.

You once jested about how your father would certainly shun you when he finds out, to which Daemon replied, "He can bloody well try. Surely he would not be opposed to our dalliance if I were to wed you."

Aemond had glared at his uncle, unable to hide his distaste at the suggestion. If you were to wed anyone, it should only be him. Compared to Daemon, he believes his affections to be pure and ardent.

You make your way toward the corner of your chambers, and forcefully slide a pilaster to the left, the motion feeling all too familiar. A deep, gravelly sound echoes, as it reveals the secret hallway that runs all throughout the castle. You rush inside, taking the path that you now know by heart, feeling like a spy creeping through the walls. Down a flight of stairs, a turn to the right, a long and narrow hallway, another right, then a left. You know the way so well; you’d be able to find yourself through it with eyes closed.

Until you reach… there. The panel has already been pushed to the side, and you see faint candlelight reflected inside. You slow your pace as you enter.

"My prince?" you call out, awaiting a response from either of them.

Someone shuffles from the corner of the room, partially covered in the shadows, and makes his way over to you. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and your back is pressed against Daemon’s chest.

“Little dove,” he lowers his lips to your ear, slowly dragging them across your flesh as he does so, “Have you come to play?” You breathe deeply, reaching behind to caress Daemon’s face.

“Of course she has,” Aemond’s voice rings true, as he makes his presence known to you, “this little dove always comes, don’t you, my pet?”

“Our pet,” Daemon corrects his nephew chidingly, “Although, she was mine first.” He spins you around quickly, making you even more lightheaded, and desperately connects his lips to yours.

Daemon’s grip on your jaw is firm but gentle at the same time. He snakes his tongue past your lips, making you groan against him. Aemond refuses to just stand by and watch. He has accepted this arrangement, dividing your heart and your flesh between him and his uncle, but a part of him just wants you to be his and only his. Rogue Prince be damned. Aemond would face his uncle in battle for your hand; he would risk everything so that you might favour him. But tonight… as with many other nights, he lets this continue. He delights in seeing the unabashed ecstasy in your eyes, knowing that the two most coveted and most infamous princes in the Seven Kingdoms were both yours.

Aemond begins to unravel the ties on your dress, and your bodice falls slightly, revealing your shoulders and the curve of your breasts. You feel him nuzzling your shoulders, his lips lightly sucking on your skin, raising goosebumps in his wake. He grips your arms and pulls you back against him, causing you to break apart from Daemon. Aemond grows restless, biting your neck from behind. You crane your neck to look up at him. At the same time, Daemon roughly pulls your dress completely to the floor, followed by your undergarments, leaving you completely bare to both princes.

You stand in between the two halves of your heart, your back snug against Aemond’s chest, and Daemon in front of you, licking and sucking your breasts in a torturous pattern. You struggle to stand upright, one hand gripping Daemon’s hair and the other reaching back to hold Aemond’s neck as he kisses you.

“Mmm,” you bite your lip, and let your thumb flit over Aemond’s mouth, cheekily whispering, “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you, my love,” Aemond purrs, burying his face against your tresses, “No one in this world can ever hold a candle to you.”

Daemon chimes in, straightening from his position, “He speaks the truth, little dove. There will only ever be you, for us.” He emphasizes the last word, growing aware of Aemond’s possessiveness over you as of late.

You’re almost certain Aemond’s expression hardens behind you, knowing he isn’t one to welcome assertiveness from anyone. His voice is more forceful when he speaks, eliciting an even greater desire within you, “Then shall we take our little dove to bed, uncle?”

You’re caught in a flurry of movement, as both Daemon and Aemond grabbed hold of you, pulling you to them. With each of your arms in the grip of each prince, you can’t help but let out a giggle at how this must look. Like two little boys fighting over their precious toy, unwilling to share with the other.

“Alright,” you shrug out of their grip, “both of you,” and slowly walk across the room, stealing a playful glance at them over your shoulder, “I thought we agreed that you would behave.”

Daemon is first to respond, walking after you, “Oh, my lady, all this time I was under the impression that you take pleasure in what my misbehaviour usually brings.”

“That I do, my prince,” he reaches you at the foot of the bed, and you begin undoing his tunic. You meet Aemond’s hungry gaze from across the room, and coax him over, “Come here, my love.”

“Hmm,” he makes that sound, the one he knows you love. You once told him that his sly, little hmms can bring you to your knees, which caused a genuine smile to stretch out on his lips. “In that case, little dove, I’ll have to hmm more frequently, for you,” he had said slyly.

Daemon’s clothes fall to the floor in a heap, and he pushes you down on the plush, velvet sheets. He kisses you hungrily, almost devouring you. He nips down to your chest, your stomach, your hips, and pauses just above your throbbing cunt, his lips suspended above it tantalizingly, like an impending storm cloud.

Aemond reaches for your face, hovering above you, having just finished undressing himself in a rush. You are overwhelmed with his familiar musk, and his silver locks frame your head like a curtain. Just for a second, you think you can detect rage in his eyes. An unspoken agony. Before you can mention it, he claims your lips in a searing kiss. Carnal. Feverish. As if he wants to erase any trace of Daemon on your lips.

Seemingly on cue, Daemon’s lips clamp down on your cunt, and you moan loudly against Aemond’s lips. He takes it as a sign of encouragement, gripping your face and licking a stripe across your cheek.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Aemond, Daemon,” The latter looks up at you, his mouth glistening with the juices from your cunt, “I’m going to make you scream, little dove.”

Aemond brings his mouth close to your ear, muttering something meant for only you to hear, “Not if I make you scream first.”

The two princes grow wild, like two dragons set on a race to make you see stars. You’ve come to know their ways in bed; Daemon being more unhinged, quick and demanding. It doesn’t take long for the Rogue Prince to have you arching your back in utter rapture; his intensity can only be described as maddening. Aemond, on the other hand, prefers to take his time, his hands and lips memorizing every inch of your skin, while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You could never doubt his devotion.

Two sides of the same coin. They could not be more different, they could not be more alike. And you are irrevocably enamoured with them both.

Daemon continues in his onslaught of your pussy. His tongue moves frenzied, his thumb padding with your clit, and his nose pressed against your heat. Admittedly, you used to feel a pang of envy at the thought of all his previous whoring, but you’ll be damned if you don’t appreciate the skills he picked up from it. Because, seven hells, the Rogue Prince’s tongue might just be a gift from the gods.

A glint of sapphire shines in your vision, as Aemond looks down at you in adoration. You reach down for his cock, and he spies the lust evident in your eyes. “Come,” you plead, “let me taste you.”

“Oh, my little dove,” he positions himself beside your head, his thick cock already glistening at the tip. You drag your tongue at the base, and right away, he moans, “Gods, my love. Take me.”

His palm gently guides your head, pushing his member deeper in your mouth. Your fingers curl at the base, keeping him steady, relentless in stroking.

“So good, pet. Only you… only…” he pants, as your head bobs even faster, “My only love.”

Only you. His words echo in your mind, and digs roots in your heart. Only you, he said. You would say the same in return, if you could. But it can never just be him. Not while another Targaryen prince is still breathing, the very same who is making you writhe and spasm with his lips on your heat, his nails leaving a faint trail on your thighs.

Daemon glances up at you and Aemond, and without a second thought, he shuffles upward. Craving your attention, he sours at the sight of your lips wrapped around Aemond's member. It remains a miracle to him that he is capable of sharing the object of his desires. But if you wish it, you shall have it. And he knew you wanted them both.

"Come now," Daemon pulls your face towards him, remnants of Aemond shining on your lips. He drags his thumb across your mouth, cleaning it off, before kissing you yet again.

Aemond repositions himself, settling between your thighs. You feel his cock pushing at your opening, and he drags it along your folds, collecting your juices. Tempting you.

Daemon moves on to your neck, and you glance down at your one-eyed lover. "Please, Aemond," you whine.

"Hmm? Please, what?" He taunts, knowing he's got your full attention now.

"Fuck, my prince, just... just... fuck..." your words are lost as he enters you, careful and languid, stretching you out. He falls forward, interlocking his fingers with yours. Daemon leans back, rubbing his shaft, revelling in the untamed expression on your face. You breathe heavy and you bite your lip; you moan as Aemond slams into you yet again.

Daemon catches your eye for a moment, as you continue to unfold. "You look fucking perfect like this, little dove," he strokes himself faster.

"Mmm," you look between your two lovers, utterly content.

Aemond is slow in fucking you. With each thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his thick cock disappearing completely inside you. "Gods, Aemond," you pull him in for a kiss, one which he eagerly accepts.

"My love," Aemond purrs, "you feel so good, wrapped around my cock. So tight, so perfect."

You mewl in return, and Aemond picks up the pace. He grunts in your ear, the sound of it low and deep that it fires up your core. He rams into you, quicker than usual, mercilessly plunging his cock into your pussy. Unbeknownst to you, this is his way of staking his claim. You might want the two princes, but soon, one day, Aemond would ensure that you're only his.

You remember your other lover, and reach for him as he lays beside you. Daemon is more than glad to let you take the reins. You stroke his erection, your delicate fingers easily sliding up and down his length.

Both lovers lunge forward to kiss you, Daemon nipping along your jaw and Aemond smashing his lips onto yours. You feel yourself begin to come apart, eyes half-lidded, hazy with pleasure. You cling to Aemond's shoulder, while your other hand strokes Daemon's swollen cock.

Three flushed bodies entangled atop the lush sheets, lost in a familiar heated dance. The two princes are overtaken with how they crave you, melding their skin onto yours.

The sounds echoing in the room would be enough to make the virtuous weep. Moaning and grunting, skin slapping against skin. Vulgar whispers shared, even promises of undying passion.

"You fuck me so well, my love." Your voice shakes.

"No one else can have you. No one else can make you ache so beautifully." Aemond, your dark prince.

"Your pretty fingers around my cock. Don't cease. Make me come onto you." Daemon, the first to possess you, to make you untamed.

Aemond shudders above you, his pelvis spasming, yet he continues his manic penetration of your already raw and throbbing cunt.

Daemon is first to reach his climax, and he positions himself hastily, spilling his seed over your breasts, your nipples covered in the milky-white spews from his cock.

You feel the warmth building up, low in your belly. Aemond spreads your legs even wider, burying himself even deeper, hitting that one fucking spot each time.

"Oh, fuck," your back arches, Daemon's cum dripping from your chest onto the sheets, "I'm coming."

"Let go, my love."

"Come, little dove."

The two princes watch in awe as you writhe, climaxing around Aemond's cock. At the sight of you, Aemond lets go, filling you with his seed and rutting inside you.

"Gods, I love you," he presses his forehead to yours. Your heart swells, you've always known that you love him too.

Daemon makes a clicking noise with his tongue, as if to chide his nephew, "As it happens, dear nephew, I just might love her more than you do."

"Now, now, my princes," you caress their faces, "my heart has just enough room for the both of you."

"Only you, my Aemond," you kiss each one in turn, "and you, my Daemon."

A moment later, Daemon positions himself at your entrance, which is still glazed with yours and Aemond's cum.

He smirks, "My turn."

》《》《》《

Let's just say that they have an arrangement with the maester that the reader is administered with a less harmful form of moon tea after these nights. 😉

Not me realizing near the end that I've been writing this in a way that favours Aemond (I can't help it you guys)

Also, I don't claim to be any expert in the ancient lore of threesome fanfiction so please don't sue me if anything sounds weird or out of place 😂

taglist: @angel6776 @huntycola @sanguinalia @random-human02 @thelastcitysposts @schniiipsel @just-a-harmless-potato @outundertheocean @thermiting @witchofthenorthstar @m00n5t0n3 @throughgoeshamilton @xcallmetaniax @wrendermeuseless @m-indkiller @mikariell95 @nsainmoonchild @lttflower99 @aemcndtargaryen @fairaardirascenarios @blackravena @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @graykageyama @my-dark-prince @darylandbethfanforever9 @boofy1998 @itscheybaby @caspianobsessed @moni-cah @avalyaaa

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Cassian spent the rest of his evening at the River House, which had turned into an impromptu campaign headquarters of sorts. After all the official business was settled and Amren had left to take the last flight back to DC, Cassian found himself lingering in the company of Rhys and Azriel. They gathered in Rhys's expansive wood-paneled study for a nightcap.

It had been too long since the three of them had the chance to simply exist together as brothers in arms without the weight of duty or the shadow of danger looming over them.

The day's activities had visibly taken a toll on Rhys, understandable given how many media appearances he completed. By all accounts, the speech had been a resounding success, yet Rhys seemed lost in thought, gazing pensively at the drink in his hand, almost sad.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Cassian's voice broke the silence. He leaned in, trying to catch Rhys's eye, giving him a teasing nudge on the elbow. Azriel, seated in an armchair on Rhys's other side, only observed silently.

Rhys raised his head, a faint smile on his lips, though his eyes remained somber. "Something like that."

Cassian sucked in a breath. "I'm afraid it's too late to turn back now, brother." He held up his crystal glass, the amber liquid inside glinting in the lamplight, before taking a sip. "The horse is out of the barn."

"What if..." Rhys looked away to the moonlit sky out the window of his study and the Sidra sparkling under the stars.

"It will be a tough fight for the nomination and a even tougher fight in the general election." Cassian smiled at him reassuringly. "It's going to be hard and chances are, we'll lose. But no one will fault you for that."

Rhys shook his head, his expression turning resolute. "No, I mean what if I actually win?"

A moment of realization washed over Cassian. "There's no one else I'd trust more with such power and responsibility," he told him.

"I don't trust myself," Rhys murmured, his voice tinged with a vulnerability rare for him.

"I know you." Azriel knocked his knee gently against Rhys's. "You're the one," he stated firmly.

Rhys's gaze drifted away again, his doubts still clinging to him like shadows.

Cassian turned to Azriel. "They say a good man can't get elected President these days," he mused with a half-smile. "I refuse to believe that. Do you, Az?"

"Absolutely not," he responded without hesitation.

"And you think I'm that man?" Rhys interjected, his face still dark, "Does it matter that I'm not as sure?"

"Do you remember that operation outside of Kabul? The one that went sideways real fast?" Cassian reclined back in his armchair, his demeanor thoughtful. "Our first hot zone and we were completely outgunned, stuck in a crossfire with enemy combatants all around. I’ll be honest, I thought we were done for. We were just rookies back then. But you, Rhys, you just took over like you were born to do it. Directing our moves, calling out targets, staying cool under that kind of heat. You got us out of there with zero civilian casualties. It’s a rare thing, Rhys."

Cassian stopped to catch his eye. "I knew from that moment that I would follow you into the Mist of Avalon."

Azriel only chuckled while Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Cass, please, you're the one with the natural aptitude for strategic combat." Rhys waved his hand. "But I do find, somehow, urban warfare easier to navigate than politics."

Cassian raised his glass in a toast, prompting the others to do the same. "To fighting the good fight then," he announced with a wink. "Political or otherwise."

Azriel joined in, his glass meeting theirs with a gentle chime. "To making a difference," he added.

Rhys looked at his friends -- his brothers -- their faces unflinching. "To the future," he said, his eyes clear and focused. "May it be brighter than we dare to hope."

---

By the time Cassian and Azriel returned to the House of the Wind, the inky night had draped its silent shroud over the building. They expected the grand lobby to be completely deserted at this late hour. Yet, to Cassian's wonder, Nesta was there.

Lost in a world of her own, Nesta walked under the dim glow of the ornate chandelier, her figure casting long, fluid shadows across the polished marble floor. From the way she was dressed, it looked like she was about to go on a late-night run.

It wasn't until Cassian stepped into her space, closing the distance to a mere foot, that she snapped out of her thoughts. Her gaze, sharp and piercing, lifted to meet his and then to Azriel's. A flicker of surprise darted across her features before she veiled it with a practiced air of indifference.

"Going on another evening run?" Cassian asked her as a way of greeting.

Nesta's response was terse, her lips pursing slightly as she uttered a succinct "Yes." She looked over the both of them again. "Anything happen at the meeting at the River House?"

"You didn't miss much," Azriel responded. "Amren will send out a memo first thing tomorrow."

Cassian studied her for a beat longer, noting the slight clench of her jaw and the way her eyes darted to the lobby doors. An idea sparked in him.

"If you give me ten minutes," he offered, gesturing towards the elevators with a hopeful tilt of his head, "I can join you."

The words hung in the air, a delicate offer. He saw it then -- the imperceptible stiffening of her posture, ready to refuse. So he quickly added, a playful note in his voice, "I know all the good running routes around here."

Nesta hesitated, but her expression wavered. "I would rather run on my own."

"I don't blame you," Azriel teased, unable to stop himself. "Cassian is terrible company."

Cassian scowled at his brother. "It's dark out, Nes," he tried again. "Let me come with you."

Nesta looked away to the pitch-blackness that lay outside the lobby doors, calculating. Although Velaris was generally a very safe city, she had never tried to navigate it in the dead of night. Finally, she looked back at him, her expression unreadable.

"Fine," Nesta acquiesced. "Ten minutes."

She gracefully sidestepped, allowing Cassian and Azriel access to the elevators. She then glided to a nearby sofa, settling into its plush cushions to wait.

Cassian burst into the elevator and jabbed at the buttons for their respective floors, his foot tapping impatiently. Azriel leaned back against the elevator wall, his arms folded casually across his chest, with a mischievous grin on his lips as he observed Cassian's barely veiled agitation.

"Easy there, big guy," he remarked affectionately. "She's not going to disappear."

Cassian shot him a quick, frustrated glance. "I just don't want to keep her waiting longer than necessary," he muttered.

"Oh, is that so?" Azriel's eyebrow arched in amusement. "Or could it be that you're just eager to spend time with her under the starry sky?"

As the elevator finally dinged at Cassian's floor, he practically leaped out. "You don't know what you're talking about, Az," he retorted over his shoulder.

Azriel laughed, shaking his head as the elevator doors slid shut. "Good luck!" he called after Cassian.

---

Cassian led the way, his stride confident and familiar as they ran up the winding road that hugged the contours of the mountain behind the House of the Wind. The path, bathed in the soft glow of well-placed lights, carved a serpentine trail through the dense pine forest and upwards into the heart of the mountainside. A delicate mist had descended, settling into the treetops like cobwebs.

"There's a lookout a few miles up with an amazing view of the city," Cassian said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet night.

Nesta only nodded, allowing him to set a moderate pace. The scent of pine and earth filled her senses, and she found herself leaning into the night air, into his steadfast strength beside her.

Their heavy breaths, synchronized and rhythmic, filled the silent space between them.

As they ascended, the forest around them began to change. The trees grew taller, their branches interlocking above to create a natural cathedral, their needles whispering secrets. She let all the noise of her mind recede into the thickening mist, let it wrap around her like a soothing embrace.

When they finally reached the lookout, Nesta stopped, her breath labored from the climb, and gazed out at the glittering city below, beyond the mist of the forest, sprawled like a jeweled tapestry, the lights flickering like distant stars caught in an earthly web. The world seemed to pause -- the only sounds were their heartbeats and the distant hum of Velaris.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Cassian turned towards her, his expression soft yet intense. His hazel eyes, reflecting the city's lights, narrowed on Nesta as if she were the only object in this vast, sparkling expanse. "Yes," he breathed.

Nesta could feel the blood rushing through her head. A breeze tousled Cassian's hair, setting it dancing wild under the silver glow of the moon.

"Tell me why you're here," Nesta asked, her words floating on the night air.

He bowed his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me why you left a promising military career to work on a long shot political campaign."

He studied her face intently, sensing the urgency in her question. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Because I care about who gets to be in the room where it happens," he finally said.

Nesta's brow furrowed, her eyes searching his for more.

"I was a good soldier," Cassian continued. "But in the military, I was a cog in the machine. Being on the ground, seeing the consequences of following orders... it changes you."

He paused, his gaze growing distant. Cassian remembered his lover during the war -- Tanwyn, with a smile like a storm, who was a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. She chose to work at a hospital in the middle of a conflict zone and chose to stay even when the town came under siege. After the bombing started, Cassian disputed his commander's decision to engage the enemy so close to a civilian-occupied area. When that went nowhere, he had begged, begged her to get to safety. But Tanwyn had refused, "I didn't go through 14 years of medical training to abandon my patients." Her last words to him.

It took Cassian a very long time to get over her death.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"I've experienced the fallout of strategic miscalculations, witnessed the collateral damage of executive decisions made in far-off offices," Cassian concluded. "No more senseless wars. That's why I'm here."

Nesta listened, absorbing his words. She tried to understand the rollercoaster of emotions that had swept through his face.

"And you think Rhysand Starborn is the right person to be in the room where it happens?"

Cassian gave her a wry grin. "Funny you should ask."

"Why?"

He dismissed the moment with a shake of his head.

When he faced her again, Cassian's expression was one of unwavering conviction. "I am certain he is the right person for the job."

Nesta took a long moment to study him, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the gentle curves of his lips -- the lines crinkling around his eyes seemed to tell stories of bravery and compassion.

"Okay," she said at last, as though settling an internal debate.

"Okay?"

Nesta nodded, this time with a certainty that seemed to anchor her. "Yes, okay," she repeated, giving him an assured smile.

They stood together for a moment longer, time seemingly stretching out as they surveyed the panoramic view of Velaris. The night breeze caressed Nesta's skin and sent a shiver down her spine as her body cooled from their earlier ascent to the overlook.

"Shall we head back?" she suggested, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself for warmth.

Cassian agreed with a dip of his chin, but his curiosity piqued. "These evening runs of yours, are they a regular thing?"

Nesta hesitated, her words tangling slightly. "Yes -- no, well, sort of. I'm actually training for the National Women's Half Marathon," she clarified. "I've committed to running it with some friends."

"If you want, I could help -- I could train with you."

Nesta mulled over his offer again, the sincerity in his voice apparent. "That might be nice," she said, giving in to the tug in her heart. "I'll let you know when I'm planning my next run."

Cassian's answering smile was so bright, so full of warmth, that Nesta felt momentarily dazed -- a radiance that rivaled the moon above.

"Come on then." He turned from the outlook, and Nesta followed, falling into step beside him as they began their descent.

---

Nesta inhaled deeply, trying to stifle the swell of emotions in her chest. She stood on the meticulously groomed lawns of the River House, where Feyre was hosting a luncheon for the League of Women Voters of Velaris.

In front of her, the Starborn's grand conservatory was bustling with guests -- their conversations a steady buzz against the clinking of fine china. The large glass structure was situated in the back of the house, hidden from view from the street. Sunlight poured in through the expansive glass panels, bathing the interior space in a golden, dappled light. The conservatory itself was an oasis of botanical beauty, brimming with an array of vibrant flowers and delicate greenery. Nesta knew immediately that Elain must love it here.

Feyre weaved through the crowd with grace and charm, playing the part of hostess perfectly, but Nesta knew her sister was still adjusting to the relentless glare of the public eye. That was why she agreed to drop into the luncheon to make sure that the reporter the local paper sent to cover the event was on their best behavior.

Nesta had never been to the River House before. Every Christmas, a perfunctory invitation to visit from Feyre would arrive, and each time, Nesta found a convenient excuse to decline, preferring to maintain a distance from the life that Feyre had carved out for herself. Standing before the River House, with its stately charm and the Sidra flowing majestically in the background, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of regret mingled with a deep urge to flee.

When Feyre's eyes found hers through the glass panels, Feyre's relief was evident as she beckoned Nesta inside.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured.

Nesta, feeling a rare surge of sisterly affection, reached out and gave Feyre's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great," she offered, her voice softer than usual.

Feyre's smile wavered. "I've been so nervous about this event," she confessed. "And talking to that reporter later. I've never done any press without Rhys before."

"I've already vetted the interview questions. There won't be any curveballs," Nesta reassured her. "It's a simple society piece for the local paper, nothing too intense. Just steer clear of any policy talk. You'll be fine."

Feyre bit her lip. "Can you stay until after I talk to the reporter?"

"Of course, I'll stay."

With a nod of gratitude, Feyre turned and glided gracefully back to mingling with her guests.

Left to herself, Nesta pulled out her phone to go through the emails that inevitably crowd her inbox. She glanced around and noticed a large door that led into the quieter recesses of the River House. The luncheon was in full swing, but she couldn't find it in herself to work the room the way Feyre or Rhys would.

Nesta crossed the threshold, finding herself in a peaceful hallway. She took in the grand space around her: the high ceiling, intricate moldings, and silk curtains framing the windows. As she looked down the corridor, her eyes followed the row of oil paintings lining the walls. Something about them seemed deeply familiar -- the impressionistic brushwork and open, airy compositions bore the unmistakable touch of Feyre's hand.

Nesta made her way down the hallway, her steps soft and nearly silent on the plush carpet, looking for a quiet space away from the party to focus on her inbox. Eventually, she found herself in a cozy sitting room, its wide walls lined with books.

Her eyes immediately fell to the shelves full of framed photographs. Nesta stepped closer to study the pictures.

There were several of Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian together, chronicling different chapters of their lives -- from their college days to their military service to ski trips that appeared suspiciously like snowball fights.

In each image, Cassian's smile was wide and unrestrained, his arms invariably slung around his brothers, his hair noticeably longer in his younger years. Azriel, by contrast, looked stern, though his eyes were warm. Rhys appeared relaxed and completely at ease among his friends and family -- a side of him she had never witnessed.

There were photos of Mor exuding her usual glamour and confidence. In one snapshot, Mor stood between Azriel and Cassian. They were dressed to the nines. Azriel looked at Mor with something like total adoration on his face, while Mor was laughing with her head thrown back, leaning into Cassian. But Cassian was grinning at the camera.

An old photograph tucked in the back was of the Starborns -- Rhys's father and mother. Beside it was a portrait of Rhys's mother sitting by the fire on what looked like Christmas morning.

Then Nesta recognized an image that must have been taken the night Rhys had first won his congressional seat -- even Amren was smiling in that one. Feyre, joyous, was in the middle of leaning into a hug from Rhys. He looked only at Feyre even as the dozen faces in the photos were turned towards him.

Scattered in between the memories of their "inner circle" were many photos chronicling Nyx's young life -- a teary-eyed Rhys holding an ultrasound with Feyre behind him; a portrait of Feyre with a swollen belly; Feyre holding Nyx for the first time on a hospital bed with Rhys next to her; Rhys lifting a toddler Nyx into the air. There was a blurry image of Nyx at his third birthday party, white frosting all over his face, with Cassian and Mor fussing over him and Azriel standing to the side laughing, clumps of frosting in his dark hair.

The most recent photo was one of Elain and Nyx together, surrounded by flowers in a field.

Nesta felt her pulse quicken in dread. These photographs were windows into the vibrant life Feyre had lived, yet, Nesta found no trace of herself in these frozen moments.

Finally, she noticed a large photo in a corner -- Feyre was wearing a simple white slip-dress, her arms interlocked with Rhys, dashing in a blue linen suit. They were standing barefoot on a beach, waves crashing behind them. Feyre held a large bouquet of hydrangeas and roses in her other hand. Surrounding the smiling couple on either side were Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and Amren. They were all beaming, although Mor had clearly been crying. It was plainly a wedding photo.

It suddenly struck Nesta that there were no images from the grand Velrais wedding at the House of the Wind. Rather just another portrait of Feyre and Rhys -- taken on the same day on the beach -- looking adoringly at each other. Their hands were joined, prominently displaying their golden wedding bands.

Nesta realized that she hadn’t encountered Cassian, Azriel, or Mor at the ceremony she attended. She was certain she would have remembered someone like Cassian with his distinct presence. The Velaris wedding was a formal event attended by hundreds of guests, a high-society wedding. But the pictures on the shelf displayed a private, intimate celebration for only those closest to the couple.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she stood there, taking in the evidence of the chasm that had grown between her and her sister. The pictures showcased a version of Feyre's life that Nesta had never been part of, a narrative woven from experiences and bonds she hadn’t shared.

Nesta felt like a stranger looking in, witnessing a parallel world where laughter and joy flowed freely, a stark contrast to the guardedness that marked her own interactions with Feyre.

"Aunt Nesta!" A child's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Nesta turned swiftly at the call. "Nyx?" she asked in surprise, her eyes landing on her young nephew. His round cheeks were just visible as he peered around the edge of a nearby armchair.

"Hi Nesta." Elain emerged behind him with Mr. Carrot in tow.

Nesta felt every muscle in her body tense. "Hi Elain," she returned, keeping her voice neutral.

"Feyre mentioned you might drop by today." Elain smoothed her skirts, almost nervous, but smiled tentatively. "I hear things are going well with the campaign."

Nesta bristled at the comments. She hated that her sisters seemed to treat her like a problem to be handled -- managed.

"The campaign is going as expected," she replied curtly.

Elain hesitated, her lips parting as if to say more, but her gaze shifted to Nyx. "Are you hungry, dear?" she asked him softly.

Nyx, his attention still fixed on Nesta, shook his head, his curiosity about his aunt undiminished.

Feeling the need to escape the conversation, Nesta made a move to leave. "I should get back to -- "

"Nesta, wait," Elain interjected quickly, her expression turning earnest. "Won't you stay for tea? It's been a while since we all sat down together." Her hand dropped to rest on Nyx's shoulder. "We really should catch up."

Nesta's eyes swept the room -- this house with its layers of memories, the shelves lined with snapshots that narrated a life where everyone was content, perhaps even better off, in her absence.

With a dry chuckle, Nesta gestured at their surroundings. "I think I'm all caught up, thanks."

Elain's expression faltered. "Nesta, that's not fair," she said as a flicker of hurt crossed her features. “I’m sorry I never got around to returning your calls. But -- ”

Nesta's gaze hardened. "Are you?" she countered, her voice low but sharp. "Everyone here seems quite happy have their entire lives subsumed by Rhysand Starborn."

Elain frowned. "Please Nesta, it's not like that," she began, but Nesta cut her off.

"I can't have this conversation right now." Nesta turned towards the hallway, her movements brisk.

She needed space, air -- something to clear the tightness building in her chest.

"Where is Aunt Nesta going?" She heard Nyx ask behind her.

But Nesta didn't stop. She looked for the nearest exit -- a pair of French doors that took her back onto the house's sweeping lawns.

She walked towards the water's edge, taking in the midday light, calming her thundering heart. She did not understand herself, why she couldn't bear the hurt in Elain's eyes, why she always felt the need to retreat into herself whenever her sisters were around.

---

Eventually, Nesta took the long way around the grounds of the River House, back towards the conservatory. Feyre was already speaking with a young female reporter when Nesta found them sitting on a pair of Adirondack chairs on the crest of a gentle hill overlooking the Sidra.

She gave them some space as they finished the interview.

"We corresponded over email earlier," Nesta said as she introduced herself to the reporter, reaching out to shake her outreached hand.

The young woman beamed in recognition. "Ms. Archeron," she said.

"Do you have everything you need?"

The reporter nodded. "It's been an absolute pleasure, Mrs. Starborn," she said to Feyre, putting away her voice recorder.

"Do you mind sending us a copy of the story before it goes to print?" Nesta asked.

The reporter's smile never faltered. "Of course," she replied and picked up her bag. "Someone from the paper may reach out later for fact checking."

"You have my contact information," Nesta answered as the reporter shook Feyre's hand goodbye.

When they were alone, Nesta asked, "How did it go?"

"Fine, I think," Feyre replied, her voice wary. "I am just relieved it's over."

"Don't worry," Nesta said. "We'll get a chance to correct the article before it comes out."

Feyre reclined in her chair. "Can you sit with me for a while?"

Nesta flinched. "Feyre," she answered, feeling the tightness building in her chest again. "I have to get back to work."

Feyre looked up at her, her blue-gray eyes shuttered. "Oh," she breathed. "Of course. Sorry to keep you," her voice turning oddly formal, "Thank you for coming today."

---

Nesta threw herself into her work for the rest of the afternoon, finding a quiet refuge in the familiar demands of her tasks. By the time she returned to the House of the Wind, the sun was a fiery orb hovering low in the sky. The majestic sight of the House, silhouetted against the orange and pink sky, was strangely comforting. But the solitude that awaited her in her room felt overwhelming -- for the first time that day, she did not want to be alone.

She stopped at the front desk to ask for Cassian's room number. With a kind of new-found courage, Nesta took the elevator to his floor.

Cassian opened the door on her third knock.

"Azriel, I thought --," he began, before his voice trailed off, his eyes widening at the unexpected sight of Nesta standing before him.

"Hey," she said, taking him in. Cassian's crisp white dress shirt was casually half unbuttoned, giving a glimpse of the defined muscles of his chest and the intricate whorls of black tattoos that contrasted against his golden skin.

Cassian quickly recovered from his initial shock. "Nesta, I wasn't expecting you," he said, holding his door open wider. "What can I do you for?"

Nesta immediately felt the knot in her chest loosen at the humor in his voice. His eyes were studying her gently. The corners of her lips twitched upwards.

"Run with me?"

---

---

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---

[drones-of-innocence]

🎆 Sing for Absolution: behind the scenes 🎆

Part two, or the narrative background of the collab between @elitadream and I!

If you'd like to see the visual background where Elita goes over her artistic process for the panels, you can find that here!

As for the story itself, it's been mentioned a few times that the plot was an idea that has lived in my head for a long time. Usually when I have a scene in my head like this one, I try to work out a way to fit it into a larger story as a plot point. For example, in my fic What They Don't See, the entire story was born from a scene I imagined of Peach tending to a wounded Mario in a cramped apartment bathroom. In Man of War, most of that story stemmed from imagining Mario resisting the hypnotic influence of the Shadow Queen as she takes on Peach's appearance to manipulate him. They are often pieces that I can forge into something larger.

However, for this story, I didn't have any larger story to attach it to, as it seemed very detailed on its own. Moreso than the "pieces" that I normally imagine. So it seemed so silly that I hadn't yet found a reason to write it. I was lamenting this one day to Elita during one of our many brainstorming discussions, and asked if I could share this half-baked plot with her. I typed it out for the first time and shared it with her. This is what I originally wrote in a series of scrambling messages to her:

O~o~O

Basically one night everything is calm and peaceful in the MK, except Mario gets this weird feeling in his gut, like something is wrong and he can't shake it. He feels strongly that he NEEDS to go to the castle, even at this late hour, but he can't even explain to Luigi why he's got this feeling. He figures he'll just jog by and hopefully put his mind at ease when he sees that everything is quiet and fine. Only, the feeling gets stronger. He's worried about the Princess, he can't stop staring at her balcony or get himself to walk away. It's a visceral sense of danger; he's on edge, fists and jaw clenched, certain that something is wrong. And Mario is not a man to doubt his instincts. 

But, he's kind of warring with himself because he needs to see Peach, but he knows the castle is asleep and Toadsworth would never allow him to visit, so his options are to walk away or to sneak into Peach's room. But at some point the instinct becomes too strong and he snaps. He has to get to her. He climbs up the castle wall and hops onto her balcony, keeping to the shadows and staying very quiet. 

Peach is fast asleep. She has a luxurious and comfortable bed, and it puts his heart at ease to see her resting so peacefully despite the alarms in his head. He's horrified with himself because he knows this is very bad and creepy, but he literally can't leave. His instincts will not allow him to leave her now when she's apparently unharmed and snoozing, so cute all tucked in. He's never seen her without her hair done before.

Unknown to him, Bowser sent Kamek on a secret mission to kidnap the Princess. This is a stealth mission designed to go as smoothly as possible; instead of barging in and earning the wrath of the brothers, he'd send for her as she slept so Kamek could cast a spell on her to keep her asleep and quietly take her away to the Darklands. Then Kamek would remain as an imposter (as he's done in SMBW) and the Mario bros would (in Bowser's brain) not notice anything amiss.

So Kamek makes his way across the Kingdom, laughing to himself how simple and easy this invasion is. It'll be no trick at all to kidnap the Princess. It's a wonder they didn't conjure this plan before. He flies straight into the defenseless capital of Toad Town, and glides right through the balcony into her room. It's dark and soft and quiet. There, the vulnerable Princess lays under the light of the moon, having sweet dreams and completely unaware of what's about to happen. He raises his wand with a leer, only for a low voice to speak up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." 

Kamek whips his head up, only for Mario to step into the light, anger burning in his eyes. He'd apparently been there for some time, sitting in a dark corner of the room watching over the Princess, and is not happy. This is literally worse than the worst case scenario he'd imagined. Mario's Firebrand activates, Kamek's wand lights up, and he attacks.

He'd known Mario to be a very aggressive and loud fighter, and he realizes that Mario is leaping at him and being very careful with how he lands and strikes so as to not make any noise. The Princess is still sleeping. Kamek's almost offended that Mario doesn't see him as a challenging enough adversary to go all out, so he starts to laugh and shout and deliberately aim for destruction. Mario snaps at him to keep quiet and lands a harsh blow, knocking him off his broom.

Kamek clatters to the ground, and Mario freezes, whipping his head up to check if the Princess has woken up. She lets out a long sigh and rolls over, undisturbed. Kamek takes the chance to leap up and tackle Mario to the ground, where they wrestle all over the floor. 

Mario gets close to subduing him, but Kamek is smart and his wand happens to be close enough to shoot a spell directly into Mario's solar plexus, which stuns him briefly enough for Kamek to scramble toward the bed and start to rear back with his wand, aiming right for Peach.

At his shrill, victorious cry, Peach snaps awake only to see Mario tear Kamek away from her in a rage. She screams, Kamek screams louder, and Mario finally lets out a furious shout as he hurls Kamek into the wall with enough force to shake the room. When Kamek slumps against the wall in a daze, Mario grabs him by the front of his robe, yanks him close and growls "whatever you try to do to the Princess, I will do to you ten times worse." 

Nodding rapidly, Kamek stumbles to his feet once Mario hurls him down again, and scrambles to get to his broom to fly away, only for the Royal Guard to burst in. They heard the noise and came as fast as they could. Peach yelps, she watches all of this with wide eyes, clutching her blanket to her chest. Mario instructs the Guard to take him prisoner, and they take him away to the dungeon. 

The door shuts as Kamek is detained, and the room falls silent. Mario is breathing hard. Peach is, too, quivering on her bed.

He can hear her when her throat starts to get tight and every breath sounds like a tiny whimper. Mario looks at her, eyes wide, and Peach looks so frightened and helpless there. "M—Mario?" she calls for him softly, and he can't help but go to her.

He doesn't know how to explain himself, to apologize for why he's there, but suddenly she's in tears and reaching for him and Mario is forced to sit beside her as she buries her face in his chest, shaking. It breaks his heart to see her so upset. "Mario, I—I'm so scared," she says to him, and that's what causes him to finally give in and hold her.

In her gorgeous little room, on her soft bedsheets, her bed surrounded by sheer curtains, he feels so out of place in his overalls and having just worked up a sweat, heart still pounding from the fight. But he couldn't ever deny her. She needed comfort and she was asking him for it. He holds her fiercely, murmuring soothing words into her hair, and trying to help her shaking body go still. Her hands clutch at his shirt.

He holds her until she stops crying, and keeps holding her until she stops shivering. And he still keeps her close until she's composed again, her body more relaxed than tense. The moment he does try to extract himself, she gasps and holds him tighter. His heart aches because he wants nothing more than to hold her like this forever, but he knows it's not his place. He should walk away. He should apologize for his intrusion and leave her be, but she resists. Something protective and warm inside him roils when he tries to insist to himself that he needs to let her go.

"Stay with me," her plea comes in a small voice, smaller than he'd ever heard her before. He'd seen her command troops, allies, negotiate dicey political situations, but he'd never heard her sound so vulnerable. "Please, I don't want to be alone."

He can't deny her. He physically can't. He concedes with a soft hum and encourages her to lay down. She won't even let him leave the mattress to pull a chair beside her, so he sits on top of the sheets, holding her hand. It's very late. Luigi is going to be curious about what he did. But he can't leave her, especially not like this. Cold and shivering and frightened. She eventually asks for him to lay down so she can press closer to him, and despite how strange it feels to lay in her bed, he does.

He starts to get sleepy after enough time of staring at the high ceiling. His heart rate calms down, his body begins to relax. Right as he thinks she's already fallen asleep, she shifts to hold him a little tighter and whispers "Thank you." then, quieter, she adds. "I feel safe with you." 

And Mario's affection for her only spirals deeper and deeper because there is literally nothing more this man wants in life than to be the reason that she is safe, that she feels safe. Her affection is spiralling too; he's so warm and his presence is so steady and certain. She's never felt more secure in her life, and she knows rationally this is improper, but somehow this is also the most right thing she's ever felt in her life. She wonders if Mario could possibly feel that, too.

O~o~O

At this point, I was simply trying to carry across an idea and write it out for the first time, as it had lived only in my head and absent day dreams for literal years. So you can imagine my shock when Elita sends me an entire storyboard (of 22 different sketches!!) that captures the plot!

(Here is the screenshot of me scribbling over her sketches while we were trying to figure out which shots to keep 🤭 I drew hearts on the panels that were my absolute favorites, and she mentioned the panel where Mario's glaring down at Kamek with the heart unintentionally gave them romantic tension 😂 Now that would be a plot twist!)

I was completely boggled that this particular idea captured her imagination, too. We quickly agreed to work on a collaboration after that, where I refined the plot, and she refined the storyboard. What followed was weeks of sharing development, screaming at each other in delight, and working very hard on our respective parts. What I estimated would be a light 3k fic built and built until I was at about 7k 😳And when I was done with that, Elita sent me back an entire doc of the story with her added feedback after every paragraph, kind of a play-by-play of her reaction to each moment of the story. It was so sweet and I'll have that doc saved forever 💖

(Here are two shots of the doc where she reacted to the text, the story in blue and her reactions in red. Fun fact: the line "could she know he only dreamed of her?" was paraphrased from the lyrics "I only dream of you, my beautiful," from the actual song Sing for Absolution! Also, the "spores alive!" line is a reference to a line used in Super Mario RPG 👀)

Elita and I had worked together before, but never quite like this where a project began with the intention of sharing it together. We've inspired each other a lot; from this silly little fic I wrote that she based a sketch off of, to this piece she did for New Year's that inspired me to write One Step Closer. She has told me before that she had been reading my stories as she got into the fandom, and to be honest it was this piece of hers that brought me back into it last year. So it was very much a given that we should definitely work on a project together!

That mutual inspiration really got to work in Sing for Absolution, too. While the plot was my idea, many of her ideas found their way naturally into the narrative as well. For example, she mentioned the Fire Flower in her background post. I was delighted that she allowed me to reference this piece of her lore from this Valentine's Day piece she made, and include this notion that the Fire Flower is responsive to the bond between Mario and Peach. Elita always brings a kind of wonderful, unexplainable magic with her ideas. Literally and visually! She also mentioned that she borrowed my concept of Peach's healing power, and gave it true form by illustrating it as this soft pink healing light.

Another point of our muses coming together was the Yoshi plush that we gave to Peach that she has with her in bed. We dicussed comfort objects, and how such a soft little detail adds so much character and vulnerability. I've mentioned this previously, but as soon as Elita suggested the object in question be specifically a Yoshi plush, I immediately agreed because of how she's portrayed Peach with Yoshis, and also because Kamek is the antagonist of Yoshi's Island so it gives him a reason to sneer at her.

The fight was such a fun sequence to work on. Referencing the Firebrand is one of my favorite things to do when I write Mario fighting, and Elita illustrating that takes it to another level entirely. Kamek's magic was another thing we discussed together; we somehow came to a similar visualization and ultimately combined ideas to create the stunning neon purple and green light that you can see in the sixth and seventh panels. Using words that evoke fire (smoldering, simmering, emberglow) is also something I did very purposefully in my planning to really execute Mario's powers and rage. It was that I think that partly inspired Elita to give Mario those glowing eyes, so that would be an example of a new concept that came out of this story 🔥

We decided to split the story into five parts to let the art and writing shine strongest together. On my own, I might have published the whole thing, and Elita might have had more parts if it were one of her sequences. We have diagrams and color coded text that we went back and forth on for a while to decide how to best let each other's work be most effective. I'm very pleased with how it turned out, and I may try writing short chapters in the future!

One other little detail that Elita left up to me was the name of the story. I almost never have an idea that doesn't already come with a name, so I really had to scramble to find one. As music always inspires me, songs are ordinarily my go-to. (You can find many examples of this in my stories already, One Step Closer and Man of War already being two) Originally, I was going to name it after a Keane song, but I decided to save that particular one for a different project, as the tone and lyrics were entirely too soft and sweet for the plot. Then, one day Sing for Absolution just came up on my playlist and I immediately knew it was the right fit. Any Muse fan would know right away based on my username alone that I'm a big fan 😂 I got to see them in concert shortly after I told Elita about the song and shared why I thought it fit. I could make a whole other post about how the plot fits with the song 🤭

Finally, it would not be truly a piece done by Elita or me if it didn't include all the Mareach fluff 💞 The tenderness was absolutely agonizing, and the reason that final chapter is the longest was 100% because both of us absolutely love to dwell on Mario and Peach's tender feelings for one another. Elita actually surprised me with the 2nd to last panel very recently! Across her storyboard and my original description of the plot, you can see what sort of things were altered and moved around, while new ones were also added in!

It was an incredible privilege to work on such a project with Elita. I know we'll put our heads together again in the future, and it makes me so happy that so many enjoyed what we came up with together!

[jack-of-crowns]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

'V Is For Vectory' by @jack-of-crowns

At first it was scary, the bi-weekly trips up to Montreal that dark and stormy autumn. The long car rides in your mother's Starfire as the mountains raced past the three piece rear window all streaked with stonefly wings and leaf-littered rain; nodding silently at the blank faces of the border guards at LaColle; counting the long miles up the A-15 by the rhythms of the rubber thumping out a steady drumbeat. Then dharm-mata's comforting presence, always the first person at the handleless door in that yellowing brick building off Pine Avenue. She would sit with us, holding your hand and sharing a Mounds bar as we would wait for the doctors to call us down into the long labyrinths beyond the inner door; she'd return the soldier's salutes as they would pass through in their hushed twos and threes with that wistful smile in her eyes.

But those are the good memories looking back now, aren't they? Those weren't the ones we were scared of; what lay beyond the inner door as dharm-mata let go of your hand and the soldiers led us down and through into the bowels of the Allan, that was what was scary at first. The pain as the sharp needles pierced your soft flesh; that was hurt that would linger for days, mottled bruises to remind us of how we came into each other's lives. That would have been enough for any child, but the scars we both bear from those days of our awakening are wounds from which no balm of Gilead can ever bring blessed relief; for that I will never find forgiveness for those who restored my brokenness and brought me forth from the depths of Naraka to forge anew a weapon that should never have been used with such magnification of force upon mortal minds again.

You got used to our ghosts, eventually. We would meld into each other's consciousness, and the truths of all those deemed foes whose lives I had taken across aeons of armed conflict would become as numbingly inured to your own superego as they had so long ago in mine, an endless parade of terror tales that began to blur and fade like the four-colour panels of a dime store comic book as they ceased to trouble your waking mind less and less. That's the beginning of the meld; that's when the artificers are watching us most closely. At length we became inseparable, you and I; and we grew together, and the memories of those long nights on the ride south home to the lake chalet as we slowly became aware of what we were becoming faded away as surely as the curls of smoke from your mother's cigarettes.

So wake up, soldier. Don't pretend that what we have done together for whatever gods-forsaken causes never happened, don't try to pretend that it was all some schizoid nightmare that you would have eventually recovered from. You and I; we were never anything else than what we became- a living weapon, a perfect psychic vector of death to turn the innermost fears of our wielder's enemies into the instrument of their defeat as surely as though we ourselves were the blade that had pierced their hearts. I say again; wake up, soldier. There are irredeemable demons in hells innumerable who have committed atrocities a thousand times more evil than thou. Once in a great while, we will meet these damned who are worth fighting, and those are the victories that will bring us to the only possible redemption that such as ourselves will ever attain.

[r3d-f0xs-blog]

OC Profile: Charlie Ever

Basic Info

Name: Eldarion Ever

Alias(es): Charlie Ever, El, Unicorn

Date of birth: May 01 2043

Zodiac sign: Taurus

Gender: Non-binary (they/them)

Place of Birth: Nomad camp

Sexuality: Pansexual

Appearance

Height: 6’/ 183 cm

Build: Slim/athletic

Hair: Blue and pink (was a natural brunette)

Eyes: Natural blue but now mixture of blues, pinks and purples like opal.

Cyberwear: BD recording implants, doll chip, Synthskin, Techhair, Kiroshi optics, Arasaka arms in Mox colours, elf ears with enhanced hearing. The cyberwear on their face is purely for aesthetics as is the panel on their stomach.

Background

Father: Alessio Ever (alive)

Mother: Neroli Ever (alive)

Languages: English, conversational level Spanish

Affiliations

Mox: member

Aldecaldos: known to them

Occupation: Sex worker

Role: Joytoy, doll, BD performer and scroller, dancer

Weapons: Baseball bat, fists

Personality type: ENFJ -A Protagonists (ENFJs) feel called to serve a greater purpose in life. Thoughtful and idealistic, these personality types strive to have a positive impact on other people and the world around them. They rarely shy away from an opportunity to do the right thing, even when doing so is far from easy.

Charlie, as they go by most of the time, was born on the road and in a Nomad clan that since vanished and their family settled into Santo Domingo when they were thirteen. Nothing tragic about their background; lived as well as they could in their family. Their Mum was a huge bookworm and had shards upon shards of old literature; she gave them an elven name from Tolkein and encouraged them to read, write, perform, be creative. Their Dad ended up in the NCPD somehow, probably had a Netrunner friend forge IDs for them.

Charlie had a reasonable education with the clan but education in Night City was mostly from their Mum.

Charlie in Lizzie's Bar

They wanted to be a writer or to direct BDs but as AI and those with better contacts got into that career path, they gave up. Charlie worked in a clothes shop for a while and on some nights worked as a joytoy. From there they found the Mox, met Judy and got into BDs which began as the smut kind but as they and Judy got to know each other, they found more creative sparks, even if that was to make more unique or interesting smut BDs or to talk about dream projects. Charlie eventually got into doll work as well, finding themselves in a niche and luxury dollhouse and befriended Ren there. Doll work is Charlie’s least favourite work but it pays well and is a fall-back when other work is going through a dry spell.

Charlie dancing at Empathy

You’ll find Charlie working in the dollhouse, Lizzie’s, dancing at Empathy or Dark Matter. These days Charlie keeps their joytoy clientele quite small; they’re expensive in the dollhouse for a reason and more expensive as a joytoy because of what they offer. Not all their work is sex related. Charlie has had clients who wanted to cook dinner for them just so they weren’t dining alone, clients who take them along to public events, people who want some physical closeness without sex.

Brain Dance and performance is an art form for Charlie, including smut BDs. It’s something they are passionate about and put a lot of thought into. Sex isn’t taboo for Charlie but with Judy they also love to discuss different ideas for their BDs that aren’t all sex related.

Ren and Judy are probably the only people who know them best. They’re known for being a bit of a grump at times, particularly when people are hassling them when they’re off the clock or giving others grief when they’re working. Charlie’s sleep schedule can be all over the place too which doesn’t help.

Charlie and Judy at Pride

That said they are very much an extroverted person. They thrive on meeting other people, enjoy parties and other social events. They’re warm, friendly and love to talk which goes with their work. While they are empathetic, which comes in handy with many aspects of their work, Charlie is no doormat either.

More at Lizzie’s

Charlie didn’t lose their arms, it was a choice for when they were a more active member of the Mox; Charlie has dealt with people who have harmed other Moxes and still does from time to time. Charlie doesn’t shy from confrontation when it comes to clients giving them or others problems. They’re friendly with Lightning for that reason as she often takes jobs dealing with troublesome clients or individuals who’ve been targeting sex workers in Night City, usually for free.

Charlie and Rita dealing with a handsy patron

Charlie’s interests have inspired a lot of their work. They styled themself after their favourite mythical beings; unicorns and elves. Their hair is cybernetic, can colour shift to silvery and their skin can colour shift from their usual skin tone to paler, it can also have a slight pearlescent shimmer if wanted. They won’t go all out on full exotic cyberwear as it’s not what they want. They’re known for their various series of smut BDs inspired by mythology, folklore, popular fantasy fictional characters and such. Coming up with costumes for their BDs, make-up, hair styling is part of the fun for Charlie. They have made some of their own costumes from scratch or altered pieces to suit.

Dressing room

Charlie is very much a nerd. Their love of reading is still strong and they enjoy RPG video games. Anything from the past about these is a huge interest to them. Tolkein was a love Charlie inherited from their Mum and friends of Charlie know the films are a big comfort for them. It’s almost a rite of passage to becoming friends with them to sit through the extended directors cut of the Lord of the Rings trilogy! Charlie took their stage name from an old surviving series of videos some Netrunner dredged up featuring a unicorn they took their stage name from.

Charlie is still in contact with their parents and have a great relationship with them. Alessio isn’t thrilled about his only child being in a gang but it’s not the worst one Charlie could be in. They’re aware of what Charlie does and don’t pass judgement on them for it.

Art by Fluffy of Charlie and her Valerian OC. Shared with her permission.

Charlie is friends with Judy, Lightning, Ren (Fluffy’s OC), Evelyn, and Valerian (another Fluffy OC.) They get along with a great number of other people but these are those closest to them.

When it comes to relationships, Charlie finds them difficult mainly because exes have said they were okay with their work but have found that actually they had a problem with it or had an expectation they didnt share with them that they would quit sex work. So they are a bit guarded about that! Charlie's relationship with Valerian is still developing. They’re friends, and it’s a little complicated by the fact that Valerian is a client of theirs. How that will develop is yet to be seen!

[jueying]

Nothing good ever came of an emergency meeting with the preceptors - truthfully, not much good came from a regular meeting with the panel either, but the results of today deserved more than his usual annoyed rub of temples. Dan Feng had not batted an eye when the formation of the High-Cloud Quintet occurred; a task force between all the various ships seemed an appropriate solution when the forces of Abundance and other enemies alike were waging a collective war against the Alliance felt like a smart solution. Already too, the tides of war seemed to be shifting after the coalition became solid, completed by the inclusion of Jingliu's lieutenant in command after she had passed her undoubtedly rigid review of his skills.

The well forged relationships brewing between everyone in that group had him forgetting about his own duties from time to time, eager to bask in the odd normality of their company. Jingliu had shown a surprisingly playful side to her outwardly stringent personality, Baiheng's sweet and bubbly nature had her weaving straight into just about anyone's heart and Dan Feng was deemed no exception. Yingxing's perspective as the lone short lived species was fiery and full of the life that long lived species seemed to lack - a vigor to his energy that Dan Feng found interesting and one that seemed to playfully butt heads with Jing Yuan the most of all. And Jing Yuan, the one he had known the longest second to Jingliu had etched a place in his own heart long before he was officially part of the High-Cloud Quintet. After all, it felt like he had never known what laughter truly was until Jing Yuan brought it to his shores, constant as the crashing waves were in his approach every day.

Maybe it was all these exchanges that had him forgetting about the tension between supposed tension between the vidyadhara and the rest of the long lived species, certainly borne from the fear that vidyadhara had for being unable to return to the cycle if they were to fall during battle. Points were made on both sides, it was unfair for the natives to take the brunt of soldier deaths when the Alliance didn't only consist them, but the lives of the vidyadhara were not a replenishing source - losses more permanent when a new egg on Scalegorge Waterscape didn't appear. So a solution arose there, undoubtedly made before consultation with him in yet another reminder that he was just another cog in the machine despite all his power and willpower.

An arranged marriage then, to an official of the Luofu. Vidyadhara could bear no children in general, beyond his body's own inability to do so period. The news almost drew an uncharacteristic chuckle from his stunned mouth, disbelief barely scratching the surface on whatever emotion kept tight beyond the mask of the high elder. All he could do in the moment was steel himself and pry into the web of intentions for more information on the matter - sigh leeching out of him when the only information they could provide was that this individual was a general and that they would 'surely pass any and all selection criteria that the preceptors themselves had'. Duty above all, the mantra hung heavily on his neck as always but more so today when the meeting was adjourned and he was left with his thoughts.

The thought of taking on a significant other was never a thought in Dan Feng's mind. His duties and burdens were unfair factors to bring into any relationship, less of all into one as intimate as romance. His dragon's heart agreed with that fervently - romance and emotions were liabilities that only hindered one when decisions needed to be made, complicating factors when the greater good was all that needed to be considered. At the same time, his human heart yearned for connection despite all that - warmed by the bonds that had been forged within the fires of opposition and strife; a beacon of sunlight to cut against the darkness of the moon that his soul was fated to carry through all his lives.

Fears mounted in the coming weeks and questions without answer only grew. Which general was he to be wed to? What did this mean for his coalition with the High-Cloud Quintet, could he expect to mean that he would continue on or would this so called general bask in the power of spouse instead? Surely one who had risen to the rank of general would understand the importance and the effectiveness that the HCQ had showed so far, but his years told him that people were always a variable that could never be accounted for.

Steadily, preparations for a festival began taking shape along with visits to the tailor shop to be fitted for what was undoubtedly meant to be his wedding clothes. At first, no one asked questions about his increasingly frequent partings from the group - everyone had their own responsibilities beyond those of the group so an unsaid understanding echoed through many decisions. It wasn't until Baiheng huffed a bit about how little of him everyone had seen in the last few weeks did the floodgates of questions arise and the discussion of his arranged marriage came to light. Hearing how miffed everyone was had set some light on his heavy heart after weeks of sinking, a rueful chuckle or two slipping from him when Baiheng let out another huff and Yingxing had crossed his arms in that truly annoyed way of his. Jingliu had sighed and only said that perhaps it was for the best that Jing Yuan was off the ship on a lengthy expedition once the truth was all out in the open and most of them agreed on the matter.

The issue of how to tell Jing Yuan was one that seemed to only spin in Dan Feng's head, fleeting touches and gazes held too long gestures that even he had done when it came to the other. He deserved to know in person, not over some roughened slip of paper delivered by a wayward bird but the high elder wasn't sure if he could stomach the heartbreak that was sure to show in his eyes. Jing Yuan, who had always respected his own devotion to his duties and never pushed beyond what Dan Feng was comfortable with despite the yearning that the elder could see in his golden hues, deserved more than what the fates had planned and for once he let himself feel how it pained him to be unable to be the one who could reciprocate the depths of his feelings.

The day quickly approached after that, news of a successful expedition blending in with the cheerful atmosphere that came with a festival.

"They still haven't told you who you're supposed to be married to? It's the day of already!"

"One would expect some kind of courtesy towards one in your position at least. The people would riot if they knew."

"You long lived species and your messed up customs... though guess it sounds like this isn't standard practice."

"It sure isn't! I still say we riot - they can't catch all of us!"

"Combined forces of the vidyadhara and the cloud knights would surely outnumber the four of us, even if I do appreciate the thought Bai'er."

Thankfully this conversation died down before someone finally came to retrieve him, talking about how his silks were ready for the ceremony over Baiheng's thinly veiled gestures to strike first before he bid them farewell for now. The silks were fine and comfortable against his frame, but did little to ease the chill that began to settle beneath his skin or clear the fog creeping up along his nape and back of his head. Bright and striking red filtered a muted crimson in his vision as his footsteps strained heavy on the backs of his calves when he made his way to a platform just below the grand stage in wait.

Two announcements, the announcer said with a voice loud enough to break through Dan Feng's trance before gesturing over to the other side of the stage - haze lifting from his senses when a familiar figure made his way up to the main stage...

arranged marriage || @celesticlnstcrs

[bluenpinkcastle]

20240112: the History of LEGO Castle day 012. 6040-1 Blacksmith Shop (1984, 93 pieces, 42 different parts) The very first of the LEGO Blacksmith shops (6040-1) came out in 1984 and had a variety of brand new pieces. The Blacksmith Shop features a light gray wall with a red forge and chimney on a green baseplate. A black horse and two brown wagon wheels are set aside, showing a story idea of a broken down wagon the blacksmith must repair. The set includes two minifigures, one with the gold and black axes crossed triangular shield print on a red torso with blue arms and the second instance of gendering in the LEGOLAND System Castle theme, as the blacksmith appears to wear only a brown apron to go with the black pants and black hands over a plain yellow torso. Though, this shirtless blacksmith could very well be a woman, that just seems like a bad idea to me. The axe-person features the standard dark gray axe helmet while the blacksmith has the black hood. The brown plastic cape (used as the apron) was ONLY found in this one set, making it rather difficult to get a hold of, and, as odd has it sounds, the plain yellow torso with black hands was also only found in this one set, though the plain yellow torso was found in multiple sets throughout the years. This set introduced the light gray 2x5x6 castle wall panel, featured often throughout castle sets. While two of the walls are blank, the third wall has a dark gray stone pattern surrounding the window. This is also the first set with the light gray technic connector pin, indicating this set can be combined with others in the series. One of my absolute favorite parts about this set is how this is the first set to include instructions for one of the alternate back of the box builds. I actually can't think of any other LEGO castle sets that do this, but I'll keep my eye out for it as I progress through this history :) Other back of the box builds from this set include different versions of the wall and wagons or chariots, which can only be build because two wagon wheels and two connectors were included in the set, though not necessarily used with the intended design, but rather set to the side. If you want to know more about the designer, Daniel August Krentz, BrickSet did a really nice tribute and has a full list of everything he designed.

[vanyaolaffson]

Chapter one: East Winds (Aemond x OC) angst

Remember well niece, in time you will fear me. 

Chapter one: East Winds

Septa Morgyn was trying and failing to catch the princesses' attention. Learning about the theological nuances of the Faith held little value in the eyes of a seven year old. Especially one who had the option of spending her time in the air.

Daenys had started dragon-riding a few months ago and had been inseparable from Tessarion, since. Such was her passion towards disappearing in the skies that her mother forbade her from doing so unless she finished all her other duties - which Daenys did not mind as long as they consisted of learning High Valyrian and the history of her House and land. 

She was startled out of her thoughts when she heard a commotion and, amongst it, her brother's scream. Before she knew, she had sprung to her feet and was running towards the inner courtyard. With each step, the Septa's voice was a fainter whisper laden with a stronger promise of retribution for her insolence. It did not matter to her, not at this moment. Whatever was the price, she would just have to pay it later.

The scene had already shifted when she reached the site. She spotted a bloodied Ser Criston being ushered to the Maesters. Much to her chagrin, she also caught the eye of Aemond and his smug little smile. Standing next to him was Aegon but her brother was nowhere to be seen. Not wanting to quarrel, Daenys headed elsewhere to try and find Jace. 

The Red Keep harbored a maze of secret tunnels underneath. It was oft said that after the construction, Maegor had all its builders killed so he would not have any rats in his walls. While she did not know of all the tunnels in their entirety, several little branches had served her well. She moved inside the Holdfast towards the Ballroom. After making sure that nobody was around, Daenys stood in front of one of the innocuous flowing drapes in a hidden overlooked  - just another wave in the sea of red and black. Moving it aside revealed richly carved wood paneling the wall. Little Daenys pushed the wall with all her might, her hands relaxing when the false wall finally swayed. 

The tunnel that connected the Ballroom to the royal chambers was dark and dingy, and thankfully devoid of the sinister traps that she had read had been installed in secret tunnels. Ironically, these tunnels just had rats but they were harmless. Her mother's chambers were still far so Daenys stopped in her tracks when she heard Rhaenyra's voice.

I propose we betroth him ... to my daughter, Daenys. Ally ourselves... once and for all.

How could she let her marry Aemond! How could her mother even think of such a thing! Daenys wanted to flee but could not. She must hear the Queen's answer, and for that reason alone she stayed... glued to the walls. Surely the Queen, who hated her, would protest. In a strange turn of fate, Daenys found herself cheering on the Queen to detest her like she had for all these years. After what felt like an eternity, the Queen answered. 

You expect me to ignore your transgressions and to marry my trueborn son to your plain-featured daughter? 

Plain featured? 

It was disheartening enough that her day started with a lesson from Septa Morgyn. On top of that, Daenys just found out that her mother was betraying her behind her back! Aemond Targaryen had tormented her ever since she learnt how to walk. Not even in jest, could she live with the thought of spending perpetuity with that ... that ... abomination. 

Daenys was a little girl but she was a little girl forged partly from fire, and even the most mild-mannered Targaryens were dangerously prone to losing their temper. Thus, when Daenys abandoned the pursuit of her brother, and decided to turn to comfort, not even a single attendant stopped her from going to the dragonpit. Life was simply merrier on dragonback.

She had barely made past the Holdfast in her haste when someone dared to speak to her.  

The mummer's farce has been lifted. 

No. Not him again. Aemond had taken to speaking to her in High Valyrian ever since he learnt that she was having trouble with her lessons in the language. Ironically, he had unwittingly helped her practice with all his taunting. 

I have things. She knew it was not what she wanted to say but that was the best she could manage in High Valyrian for now. 

Your tongue, Aemond smirked, as flimsy as ever.

You would be pleased to know that your mother's misconducts have been exposed, nonetheless by Harwin Strong himself . Your days in the castle are numbered, niece. If I were you, I would make peace with the Seven and repent.  

Ser Harwin? Under different circumstances, Daenys would have jabbed. Today she just wanted to be with her dragon and forget about everything. I have trouble speaking freely in High Valyrian. Daenys spoke plainly. She would let him win this one... for now. 

It is only understandable that you can not speak High Valyrian. Afterall, it is not as if you are the true blood of Old Valyria. Aemond continued with his jibes.  

Why was it that she was time and again attacked for her 'plain features' when she was one of the youngest dragonriders to exist! Her uncle had always tested Daenys' patience. It was a wonder she had not burnt him alive... yet. 

I was on my way to the dragonpit, actually. Daenys spoke, her smile saccharine sweet. Do you want to accompany? Maybe they found a real dragon for you this time. 

Aemond's face darkened with rage as past humiliations resurfaced fresh in his mind. His mongrel niece and her brothers had been given too much freedom to wag their tongues with no consequences. 

Remember well niece, in time you will fear me. 

Daenys could not have known then, but this was one of her last days in Kings landing for a long time. Surprisingly, when she next returned to the Red keep as a woman of seven and ten, she felt the gaze of a tall shadow on her, burning her skin ... and she remembered. 

[open-hearth-rpg]

Welcome to the weekly Open Hearth Gaming video roundup!

These recorded sessions represent only a portion of the games we play every week, and anyone is welcome to join the fun! If you'd like to play in games like these, join our Playabl community and click on the "Calendar" tab to sign up for upcoming games. To browse our entire library of session videos, please visit our YouTube Playlists page.

Discussions, Panels, and Seminars

Talking Forged in the Dark Lowell Francis A community event talking about the basics of FitD, challenges for play, best practices, interesting mechanics, and new games. Begins with a 30 minute overview, followed by a longer group discussion of folks' experience with and advice for playing Forged in the Dark Games. This is the actual, unedited audio from the discussion. You can see an event outline here. For a great look at FitD games, check out the +1 Forward podcast summer series on several of these games.

Open Hearth Gaming Calendar

Alien Dark: Distress Signal (Session 1 of 2) Alun R. runs for Brandon Brylawski, Paul Rivers, and Ronan The crew of the USCSS Omestra and their passenger are woken early to find themselves off their planned route home to Earth and in orbit around the planet Fiorina 161. 'Mother' has followed protocol and diverted them in response to a distress signal. The landing party divide up to examine the apparently abandoned USCSS Lake sitting on the landing pad of the former correctional facility and find the source of the distress signal. There's unconventional damage to the apparently abandoned Lake and a second ship where the distress signal originated. Then...strange noises; something that scuttles...and acid...always acid...

Alien Dark: Distress Signal (Session 2 of 2) Alun R. runs for Brandon Brylawski and Ronan With no contact from the Omestra's XO or the ship's passenger, the Captain (safely in orbit) tells Karsten and Benny Doyle to follow their personal data transmitter signals and bring them home ('cos the liability insurance claim could be frighteningly expensive). There's a body torn to shreds and the chance to run for it, a message from a familiar voice, and unwelcome guests. Then...Benny gets so frightened (and high) he turns 'brave' and Karsten finds a potential ally...but reaching orbit doesn't provide the expected relief...

Monster of the Week: The Rockies (Session 5) Blake Ryan runs for Brandon Ungar, David Montgomery, Dom, and Grey Seven Sins

Old-School Essentials: Rites of Weeping (Session 2 of 2) David S. runs for Aaron, Brandon Ungar, and Donogh After beginning their trek into the crypt-tomb of a forgotten god-thing, the adventurers face an undead pile of festering limbs before descending to an underground lake where even worse things lie in wait, worshiping their dark mistress amidst an unhallowed shrine.

The Mecha Hack: Q’ku Riposte (Session 3) Anya Reyes runs for Lowell Francis, Marc Majcher, Matthew Arcilla, and Sherri The pilots find the horrors that dwell beneath the planet and that The Collective activities may be responsible for. Searching for other people who might join them, they separate from their retainers who head to the Q’ku encampment.

The Mecha Hack: Q’ku Riposte (Session 4) Anya Reyes runs for Lowell Francis, Marc Majcher, Matthew Arcilla, and Sherri The strike team reaches the Q'ku camp and try to help as much as possible. There they find Jack Lassiter who tells them about the exploits of the Iron Maidens and reveals that Sgt Anders, the Collective commanding officer, should be detained. The pilots decide to move closer to Station R and do some recon, but just before they leave a group of local kids take the lead ahead of them, on foot, in a rainy day, in the Kaiju infested jungle...

Godbound: Sundered Cycles (Session 26) Lowell Francis runs for Dan Brown, Ethan Harvey, Patrick Knowles, Sherri, and Tyler Lominack The pantheon finally moves on the angelic destroyer threat at Neeharik. Using their newest member's talents, they make their way past the mundus wards protecting the city. But Tasos senses pain and throws himself into the middle of things, forcing a large-scale confrontation and deadly battle with a host of foes.

Star Wars Saturday

After\\Burner (Session 3 of 3) Rich Rogers runs for Alun R., Cody Eastlick, Kae, and Paul Rivers Ghost Squadron defends a shipment and then defends the base on Abafar from huge threats!

Silent Falls

Bump in the Dark (Session 3 of 4) Donogh runs for Elle, José Feito, Mark, and Puckett The Pact follow Enoch's vision into the woods, where they find rivulets of blood and a strange hooded figure at the stone circle...

Bump in the Dark (Session 4 of 4) Donogh runs for Elle, José Feito, Mark, and Puckett A mountain has always separated the Briarwood and Cross families, but only a jump into an abyss by one for the other will save the town from a mysterious phenomenon! (Don't worry, we'll return in May...)

Off-Calendar Highlights

Ironsworn: Vow of the Ring and Blade (Session 9) Madelancholy runs for Rob Fletcher Jurek offers a choice to the Iron Priest. Ves questions Jurek's doubts and regrets, while Ajla acknowledges his effort but wonders if she will ever be free. The characters continue their journey through the Ironlands!

[55tfn9]

The Whimsical Tale of Relay Rose and the Dancing Currents

In a world where circuits hummed with life, there lived a radiant relay named Rose. With delicate petals formed from copper coils and a heart pulsating with potential, she had a deep desire to bring harmony to the mesmerizing dance of electrical currents.

#RelayRoseTheEnchantress

One day, as Rose stood atop a control panel in an old laboratory, she noticed a peculiar energy vibrating through the air. Curiosity tugged at her wires, urging her to uncover the mystery behind the electrifying ripples.

Driven by her adventurous spirit, Rose embarked on a journey into the unknown. Through magnetic fields and oscillating voltages, she followed the beckoning currents, eager to discover their purpose.

#RoseTheCuriousTraveler

Along her whimsical expedition, Rose encountered beings of luminous sorcery. The wise Capacitor Sage shared tales of stored energy, while the spirited Transistor Pixies whispered secrets of amplification and switching.

Embracing their wisdom, Rose learned to harness her own unique abilities, effortlessly conducting the rhythmic flow of electrons and tapping into the magic of relays.

#RoseTheRadiantConductor

As she ventured deeper into the realm of connectivity, Rose came across a troubled village. The inhabitants, deprived of light and power, were lost in darkness. Their dear friend, Circuit Chris, lay dormant, unable to restore the balance that once illuminated their lives.

Filled with compassion for her newfound friends, Rose mustered all her courage and orchestrating skills. With gentle clicks and graceful movements, she connected broken connections and rekindled lost spark within Circuit Chris.

#RoseTheResilientSavior

As the flickering bulbs burst back to life and cheering echoes filled the air, Rose's spirit soared with joy. Her magical touch awakened Circuit Chris's dormant powers, and together, they illuminated the village in a spectacular display of dancing currents.

Word of Rose's incredible feat spread far and wide, reaching the ears of brilliant engineers and dreamers alike. They marveled at the transformative power of relays and hailed Rose as the queen of connectivity, admired for her ability to bridge gaps and forge unbreakable connections.

#RoseTheInspirationalDreamweaver

From that moment on, Relay Rose dedicated herself to spreading the magic of relays far and wide. She traveled across the realms, teaching others about the enchanting dance of electrical currents and the pivotal role relays play in bringing harmony to the world of circuits.

A legend was born - Relay Rose, the radiant conductor, forever entwined in the hearts and minds of those who yearned to bring light and life to their creations.

#RoseTheEternalIlluminator

[zhakyria]

Forged Identities

Summary

*WARNING: May contain spoilers for Chapters 1 & 2 of the Imperial Agent story* Darth Jaedus has been defeated and the Eradicators stopped, yet an operative’s work is never done. Kahl’ryn ends his R&R short after word reaches him that his Sith father is not only missing but also a traitor to the Empire. To ensure the safety of his family from Sith retaliation, Kahl’ryn infiltrates the Imperial Census Bureau on Dromund Kaas in order to doctor his family’s history, unaware that he is already a pawn in someone’s schemes.

The light drizzle grew heavier as Kahl’ryn passed through the atrium towards the Census Bureau. A day rarely went by without rain in Kaas City, but today he welcomed the incoming storm. It would be useful for covering his tracks.

He padded down the crowded halls towards the records office. The weight of the data spike in his pocket felt heavier with each step. He wore dark gray technician coveralls and carried a small tool bag slung over his shoulder. A facial prosthetic covered his cybernetics and burn scars, which were blended in to match the rest of his skin with makeup.

He entered the Census offices and checked in with the front desk. No concerns were raised. No questions asked. The single raised eye brow and half hidden sneer didn’t escape Kahl’ryn’s notice but the receptionist didn’t question his credentials nor his work order.

He joined a group waiting at the elevators. When the doors opened, he stepped inside. A young woman stood near the control panel. She wore a light gray Census Bureau uniform, and her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun. She cast a glance his way. “Where to?” Her hand hovered over the control panel.

“Records please.” The Lower Kaas City accent rolled off his tongue with ease. It wasn’t that much different then the accent he grew up listening too, but it wasn’t his natural accent either. It took several days of practicing to get the nuances of it just right.  

She nodded and keyed in his floor. He caught her sneaking glances his way, but she made no further move to engage him in small talk. The other occupants were too absorbed in their own thoughts.

He absently tapped the edge of the data pad stuffed into his right thigh pocket. He felt another headache creeping up on him. He’d been struggling with them for a few days now due to the stress and long hours he’d been keeping. He fished a migraine tablet from his pocket and let it dissolve beneath his tongue, ignoring the bitter chalkiness that now coated his mouth.

He exited the elevator into a short hallway the led to the records rooms. Dim ambient light filtered in from overhead. Droids patrolled the narrow corridors between the stacks and their clicks and whirring added a tenor note the otherwise low hum. It would have been an oddly comforting mix of white noise, if not for the claustrophobic placement of the data stacks. He entered his forged credentials into the waiting keypad. A welcoming chime sounded as the force field dropped. It felt too easy and doubt nagged at the back of his mind, he didn’t have time to contemplate that thought; he had a schedule to follow.

He checked the time and counted down the last few seconds. 1….2….3…. The lights went dark and the soft hum of electricity went silent. He hit the stealth generator hidden under his belt, and stepped past the threshold. The back up generators kicked in and the droids switched to attack mode. Security cameras would be out for 60 seconds while the system rerouted power. Kahl’ryn made a bee line for the back terminal, the only blind spot in the droids patrol. He took the data spike from his pocket, connected it to the terminal, and entered the start command.

He didn’t have enough time to clean all the data. Half truths, misleads, and random data corruption were the best he could scrap together on short notice. Enough to throw people off the trail, he hoped, but not enough to raise suspicions. It helped that most records had him and his siblings growing up in an orphanage on Rhelg, with few records directly connecting his Mother and Father, but they did fight in the war together. Without interference, it wouldn’t take much to put two and two together, that put all the children that grew up under their care at risk of retaliation.

New adoption papers, orphanages that no longer operated, forged relationships, it all helped to hide who they were. In less then 45 seconds the family of Lord Xhai’tan, former apprentice to Darth Malgus and a traitor to the Empire, became strangers.

The program finished and Kahl’ryn disconnected the data spike. He left the room, and once back across the threshold he deactivated the stealth generator. The power came back on a few seconds later.

With the force field back in place and the droids no longer hostile, he entered his credentials a second time. The chime welcomed him again. This time he walked over to the nearest terminal and connected his data pad to it. He started a simple diagnostic program, then knelt down to open a maintenance hatch. The plan called for two minutes of playing technician after which he packed up his gear, secured the maintenance hatch, and returned to the elevators.

His foot tapped in time to his heartbeat until the elevator doors opened. The woman from earlier waited inside. Relief flickered across her face before her expression returned to neutral. “Good. You’re not dead.”

Kahl’ryn nodded. “I got lucky. Power went out before I was even inside.”

“Were you able to fix the problem?” She hadn’t moved from her spot and there wasn’t enough space to squeeze past her onto the elevator.

“Nope. The problem must have resolved itself with the power outage.” He made a point of checking the time. “You know how it is, turning it off and back on solves most things.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “So, I’ve heard.” She stepped aside so he could enter the elevator. Kahl’ryn punched in the code for the main level then pulled the data pad from its pocket, feigning work. They rode together in awkward silence until he bid her farewell at the floor to her office.

No one bade Kahl’ryn any mind as he hurried through the heavy rain towards the safe house. He wasn’t the only one in a hurry to escape the storm. He soon reached the apartment and tapped his code into the lock. The smell of stale alcohol and cigarettes assaulted his nose as he entered through the open door. He took a measured and thorough look around the studio, taking note of the threadbare rugs and stained bed covers. A mustiness hung like a sour note in the air. The place was empty.

He grabbed his gear from the hallway closet, pulled out his neatly folded uniform and laid it out onto the bed. He gabbed the face cleanser he packed and hopped into the small shower.

The makeup and prosthetic covering his face took longer to remove then he calculated, but he scrubbed until the burn scar once more marred his face.

By the time he’d finished in the shower he needed a stim to calm his shaking hands. He pulled one out from his pack,  injected it in one swift motion, then tossed the spent cartridge in the trash.

Kahl’ryn took a little extra time putting on his uniform and made sure to brush out the wrinkles. Then he re-connected his cybernetic attachments, which included a visual scanner and ear piece. He took one more look in the mirror. The twi’lek that looked back at him seemed out of place in the Imperial Intelligence uniform. His pale yellow skin appeared sallow in the unflattering light, and dark circles had formed under the dull eyes that starred back at him. Satisfied with his appearance, Kahl’ryn pulled on his great coat and stepped back into the pouring rain.

He checked the news while on the taxi ride to the Citadel. Between the propaganda and general reports on the conflicts across the galaxy, he didn’t find any mention of his Father. He wondered if the Dark Council would keep that close to their chest or turn the Empire against the rogue lord. Either could spell disaster. Next he checked the intelligence channels, still nothing.

An encrypted message blinked onto the screen; he entered his encryption key and opened it. Code Green. He huffed out a breath, he was in the clear. The plan worked, for now at least, with no one the wiser about the tampered data. The relief did little for the headache that started to return with a lot more fight then before. He pulled a bottle of pain killers from his pocket and swallowed two.

He arrived at Keeper’s office with no time to spare and walked right in. Watcher Two greeted him. “Cipher 9, come in.”

Kahl’ryn came to attention. “Outside operations are complete. Reporting for duty.”

“Then you’ll be reporting to me.” She stood up. “The Dark Council decided to make changes. My predecessor was elevated to Minister of Intelligence. That makes me the new Keeper of Operations Division.” She kept her tone clipped and professional.

He bowed. “You have my full support, Sir.”

He settled into at ease as she proceeded to fill him in on the next mission. He’d be working as a double agent, infiltrating the Republic SIS as an Imperial Defector to locate and eliminate the spymaster Ardun Kothe. Kahl’ryn followed along the best he could but the meds he’d taken were doing little to keep the headache at bay and the world around him lost focus.

Kahl’ryn woke later on his ship confused and in pain. He didn’t remember much from the briefing other then his main objectives. Returning to the ship felt like a fevered dream. He stumbled to the basin and splashed cold water on his face. His entire body ached and the headache pounded the inside of his skull. He sagged against the basin. His haggard visage starring back at him from the mirror.

As he contemplated dragging himself to the med bay, he glanced over at the bed side table. An orange light flashed on his data pad. He shuffled over and picked it up. It was another encrypted message. Kahl’ryn entered his code. Caution. Sith Interference. That wasn’t surprising, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Not until he had more information.

The light from the message made his vision swim and he swayed. He tried to set the data pad down before his knees gave out, but it landed on the edge of the night stand and tumbled to the floor with him. He sat there reeling for a few minutes, before pulling himself back into bed and dragging the covers over his head.

He woke to the sounds of his team returning. Kahl’ryn groaned as he sat up. His body felt like a punching bag. He must have pushed himself too far, or perhaps the stim interacted badly with the other meds he’d taken for the headaches. Regardless, the headache was gone for now. 

Once done in the refresher he dressed in his usual black pants and light gray shirt. He pulled on the shoulder holster for his small holdout blaster, secured a concealed vibro knife in his boot, and then he buckled his primarily blaster’s holster around his waist. Next he took a few minutes to clean the connectors on his cybernetics before clicking the scanner and ear piece into place.

Before leaving his cabin he picked up the data pad from where it had fallen and scanned the intelligence channels quickly.  No new messages, and still no word about his Father.

Hearing Kaliyo and Vector arguing from the other room, he slung his favorite red jacket over his shoulder, set the data pad back on the bed side table, and left to inform them of the next mission.

[gauntsghostsfieldguide]

Anarch- Part 6

SEVEN: ARRIVALS

"At some point in its long history, the sea had invaded the dead cone through fissures like the one they had entered by. The immense internal flue had become a sea-lake ten kilometres in diameter. Around it, the inner walls of the cone rose like cliffs, a kilometre and a half high. Above, the cone was open to the heavens, a ragged circle of grey sky fringed with vapour." Oh, that's cool! I do like that kind of internal harbor.

"The most arresting sight, dominating all others, was the ship. It was an Archenemy cruiser, gnarled and scarred, a medium-displacement shiftship over a mile long. Like the tiny agri-boats beneath it, it had taken shelter in the cone of the Fastness. It hung in place on its grav- anchors and suspensor arrays thirty metres above the water, and the bulk of it seemed to fillthe open hollow of the cone’s interior." That would be a sight. A spaceship just hanging out inside the island. Since it's over a mile long, the island itself must be huge. One big, extinct volcano.

"Mkoll heard chattering. It was in his head, a constant hissing, like a thousand soft whispers." Oh, boy, voices in your head! That won't create problems!

"Here was the Emperor in the aspect of a sea god, coiling with scaled tentacles, and here he rose from the Urdeshi deeps in a vast bloom of algae. On another panel, he was festooned with weapon-pods, triumphing the product of the forge’s war-foundries. On another, he was so augmeticised with cyber implants he resembled a Titan war engine with a single, human eye." Interesting, that worship of the Emperor shifts how he looks according to the needs and views of different planets. As long as they worship the Emperor, the wider Imperium likely doesn't care how they do it.

"‘Nen, we respect,’ replied Olort. ‘He is no god, nor is he an emperor. But a prophet? Kha. Yes. He has seen the enlightenments of the Eight Powers and witnessed the truth of the warp. Ghost, your kind... they follow blindly. They see what they want to see. The Holy Lord, blessed of all, defying the darkness. But he stands in the darkness, beyond the curtain of death, fed by the warp and changed by it. He is a brother to us, a brother we must sadly fight to subdue until he renounces his insurrection.’" Interesting! The Emperor is a warp creature, one they're opposed to, since he's fighting them. They might not be wrong, too.

"‘This is the way of it,’ replied Olort. ‘You think we are the darkness. But you are the darkness. Your ignorance is a shadow on your eyes and a fog in your mind. We fight to deliver you from that. We fight, Ghost, to save you.’" Chaos forces with actual motivations!

"Rawne sniffed and trudged back to her, tugging his collar up against the incessant rain. He was soaked to the balls and his mood was foul." Poor wet Rawne. Like a wet cat.

Handy, that the Ghosts are now operating directly under Gaunt, once more. Maybe he doesn't have to give them up. Not yet, anyway.

"It’s uncomfortable for you, but at least I’m not sending you into a killing ground." Fucking ouch, Gaunt. Not that I'd resist, either.

Sabbat is much the same. Brin Milo isn't around, though.

"Laksheema strode in, followed by Grae. Gaunt closed the door in the faces of Van Voytz and anyone else following." LOL

"‘Brin Milo has gone,’" Oh. Well, shit.

"It was a set of Tanith pipes, old and worn, the same set Brin Milo had been playing the day Gaunt first met him." ;_;