#THE SILVER PROMISE AND THE GOLDEN BETRAYAL

[riririkinzi]

THE SILVER PROMISE AND THE GOLDEN BETRAYAL

An au in which Nimona and Ballister have more help and Ambrosius pulls his head out of his ass sooner.

THANK YOU AGAIN @mavka12 FOR THE HELP!!!!

And if you wanna hear the Gloreth version HERE

- Same stuff happens in the Gloreth version but when the wall was fully built, and people stopped going over, not even a knight, everyone rejoiced that the genocide is over.

- But Nimona still kept the sanctuary and army, cause they need to be prepared for any calamity.

- She send out the shapeshifters to spy on the kingdom and institute without being known for any updates.

- When she heard the news on Bal during the knight Ceremony, Nimona knew she Bal would be the perfect candidate as her right hand man for the job cause he's  knew the institute inside out.

- Nimona knew the only way to convince Bal is by recruiting him herself, so like they encountered the same way in canon but when the destruction happened, instead of taking him back to the lair, she took him to the sanctuary beyond the wall.

-  When Bal woke up, he was suprised by the unfamilar surrounding, and was greeted by the heelers and Nimona, then the asking happens like in the movie but with him wondering where he's in.

- Nimona explained that he's in the sanctuary of the Silver society, in the woods and most importantly beyond the wall.

- This completely shocked Bal from everything when he met Nimona, and asked why they took him, and wondering if there's suppost to be monsters.

- Nimona snapped him out of it saying there's no monsters at all, it's just a twisted lie and that she have to explain to him soon but he needs rest first.

- Later when Bal got out of bed, Nimona showed him around and explained everything from the sanctuary, he was quite intimidated, and nervous at the magical creatures and those with non full human blood .

- The fact about monsters is just a twisted lie, and the truth of Gloreth, and why she's doing this.

- It shocked Bal so hard, realizing that everything from the Whitewall is just a twisted lie a propaganda, he can only imagine how shocked Ambro would be that his bloodline is just a lie.

- Nimona explained that not only why she recruited Bal but one of her spies was able to find proof for his innocence, and showed him the footage of the Director switching his sword with the other that started it.

- Nimona revealed to Bal the fact that the institute's jacked system, and the ignorance of Poverty, and the real vunerable

- She made him choose that he must join them to clear out his name and take down the institute, or let them live a lie for more than 1000 of years.

- Bal accepts and joins Nimona, and so when Bal settled in his new room, she gave him new clothes and stuff, and tells that he had to get a tattoo to be apart of the sanctuary unless he has skin condition.

- So when Bal got his tattoo, they strapped him tightly and lay him down something cozy so it won't cause trouble, but Bal handled this like a champ that the tattoo prep was a sucesss, it was placed at the back.

- Things were going well for the next few days until Bal started to vomit frequently, the healers confirmed that Bal is actually pregnant.

- This meant that Bal must refrain from combat battles and training or any heavylifting during the pregnancy, and luckily Nimona and the others were there to lookout for him, but Bal felt that he wishes Ambro was there.

- Meanwhile back in the kingdom, Ambro became depressed and emotionless, he felt like he could have done something, so Bal would stay with him.

- The baby's Labor was a day before the due date, and the way she was delivered is in the lake.

- After the baby is born Ballister and Nimona name him Orion and Ballister notices that his son has poliosis.

- Ballister doesn't care about that and loves his son regardless of what he looks like and Nimona has a soft spot for him.

- After the baby is born, a year and a half passed as they prepared to confront the director.

As the 2 head to the kingdom, appearing infront of the knights, Ambro and the director, exposed her with the footage.

- But the director denies it and saying their lying, the knight believed Bal while the others doesn't and Ambro's stuck in between.

- The fight like the canon happens except crispy scene.

- When Bal struck the sword to the ground around Ambro, his last words to him before he and Nimona escape are "Everything we grew up believeing is just an exaggerated lie" with a harsh cold glare.

- As he and Nimona escape with a smoke bomb. The director knew she's from beyond the wall so she sent Ambro and the knights to go beyond and find the 2.

- One of the spies  got notified on that and fled to Nimona about the news, she alert the sanctuary citizens to prepare everything for evactaution and fighters/magic users for Battle.

- Meanwhile for Ambro during the preperations, he wanders into the vault and looks through every book and scroll about the Gloreth, until he found  a small old journal, that belong to Gloreth.

- In that journal is when Gloreth wrote the truth about her and Nimona, how they used to be best friends, how her parents influenced her that she's a monster, making her go back to the shadows and regretting it every single day.

- She regretting betraying Nimona but Gloreth knew it was the only way to protect Nimona from small minded folks clouded by fear.

- Soon as she got older and was sent to knighthood, she was commanded by the royals to exterminate the mythicals beyond the wall, and that's how Nimona formed the Silver society, to protect those from Gloreth and her army.

- Ambro was stunned and shocked that he froze in thought immediently, his mind repeating in circles of the words "It's just a lie" over and over for a bit realizing Bal was right, everything in the kingdom, the will of Gloreth, the bloodline, the legacy is just a lie and a propaganda.

- He knew he had to do something, so he hid the Journal with him back to his place, as he prepare himself for the expedition, the day came, citizens wished the knights a good luck and go beyond the wall, while for the Silver society.

- Citizens evacuated way before the knights came and was left was Nimona, Bal, guards and the protecters prepared for a battle.

- As the knights arrived, before the battle began, some knights joined the protecters saying they don't want to live in a lie and are tired of everyone expecting them to follow their family's footsteps, and wants to be free and so did Ambro, which lead Todd taking the lead.

- As the battle begans for a while the protecters won and the knights lost.

- After the battle the protecters accepted Ambro but wasn't ready trust him, so they gave him a warning that they got eyes on him if he makes a move, so half of the protecters, Nimona, Bal and Ambro return to Whitewall to finally take down the director and disband the institute.

- They fought off more knights while the  protecters stalled them so the 3 can reach the directors office.

- And when they finally did, the director readys her lazer staff to shoot right at Ambro at his shoulder luckily, and one of the shifters sucessfully grabbed it quickly before more calamity happens then another from Nimona's army grabbed the director as she's now arrested.

- When she surrendered, Nimona grabbed the her neck saying that she's started it all for her sick fantasies to keep up the legacy that's just a twisted lie all those centuries, that Gloreth never slayed monsters, she slaughtered innocent mythical creatures and exterminated them that almost lead to genocide.

- She told her that what everyone believed is just a lie, Gloreth was just a child that betrayed her friend all because she was different, that adults taught her hate and fear.

- The monster never destroyed the village at all it was all on the villagers being clouded by fear all because of a girl who can shapeshift who they think she's a monster, and that girl was Nimona.

- The director was stunned but admits that she killed the queen and framed Bal and explaining why while slandering Bal in everyway, but she didn't know that it's being recorded live for the whole kingdom to see.

- The people are shocked from the truth yet outrage at the Director that they gathered infront of the institute, shouting that she deserves to be executed, that Queen Valerin and Ballister deserves justice, and to take down the wall and the institute.

- Soon as she's executed, Ambro announced the whole kingdom the truth of Gloreth and everything happending that Nimona decided not to disband but to restart the institute, the system, history and everything in the whitewall and taken the wall down as people are finally free to travel the world if they wished.

- Soon Bal told Ambro that he was pregnant while he was gone and had a child, and was shocked, but he can meet him when it's over.

- When Ambro met the child, his heart was melted and cried a bit when he held him.

[pinkdevil0725]

Can you make another fanart of Silver Promise and Golden Betrayal? But with the Goldenheart version pls?

"Everything we grew up believing is just an exaggerated LIE"

-Idk exactly what colour is the smoke bomb in the hc but just used pink for this.

@riririkinzi au

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part iii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 2.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst, references to seduction, sexual innuendo and thoughts, references to violence

The days until the winter solstice tick down. Early Autumn days start to cool at night.

You sleep under the last warmth of the sun, with windows drawn open after he leaves. The canopy is wrapped around your bed, letting in the afternoon breeze but mimicking the darkness.

And still, you feel adrift. That funny feeling is still settling in your stomach. Rolling with the sway of your step as you follow at the Mand'alor's - Din's - heels.

No longer seating across the room in the throne room. Now next to him, in a golden seat that matches his silver one.

Listening as he conducts his business. Trades and agreements, settled firmly and carefully. A disagreement, broken up without violence.

It’s fascinating.

But it feels... wrong. Your own task seeps into the honor of being at his side, polluting it. You're expected to enjoy it, to look happy, and it's become all too easy to forget what happened - why you were here.

Too wrapped up in the quiet questions he asks, in those moments of dusk and dawn. Half truths becoming whole as you guard slowly lowers. As you begin to learn about him, as well.

Things he tells you. Things you pick up, absorbing greedily without thought.

It feels like a betrayal, later.

How could you forget what happened? How could you forget your promise?

His kindness only extends because you are physically keeping him alive. You should have ended things by now.

But, you haven't.

The guilt gnaws at you. Seeping into your dreams, into those moments of connection, when your eyes can't help but close.

The images so much more vivid, now. Almost a tangibility to them - the quick, blurred edges coming into focus. Repeating, growing longer.

So much seems to focus on that night. You think it's because it still haunts you. Replaying how the shouts had awoken you. That startled feeling as you crawled out of bed.

The shadows on the walls, the weak and watery grey sky. Soon turning red, and then black - with flame and smoke.

A glint of gold. Your grandmother's necklace, lying on the bedside table. A photo of their wedding day inside, painted with such care.

Something you wish you could have saved - one of the few relics from your family, a gift from when you had left them to find your purpose.

You had always wished for a love like theirs. A fated connection.

There’s a throb as you remember the collision - something solid that knocked you to the ground. Fingers coming back sticky, your mouth tasting of copper. The visions always swim, then.

Parts you've never been able to remember, before. Always growing dim, until you'd been woken up under the tree, and it was over.

But lately, there's more. As if you're outside your own body. The limp sway of your arm, dangling as you were carried. The murmur of a low voice, though you can’t make out the words. Dark eyes looking down at you, almost brown in the morning light.

There's a sharp edge of a knife that you always walk.

Torn between pressing, nudging - trying to get get a glimpse of the vampires, the destruction. A way to remind yourself what has happened, why you are here.

And then, not wanting to see.

What if it's something you can't take back? What if it disgusts you so much that you can't help but act in that exact moment - ruining your chance?

So, you don't.

You let the images pass - carefully collecting them. Pressing them lkke flowers between a book, something to come back to layer. Not even realizing that deep, deep down...

You’re really just hoping that you don't see him.

You really shouldn’t have gone down to the kitchens.

A heat still burns in your cheeks at the thought, when you finally made your way back to your room. Your treasure procured - a freshly baked pastry with homemade jam clutched in your fingers.

The food here is the best you’ve ever had. You can admit that, at least. All the Companions are well-fed, with treats and delicacies always left out downstairs.

It’s here, that you had found a few others.

Beautiful men and women, all gathered around a smoldering fire as the sun had begun to rise. Their other halves flitting off to hole up until nightfall.

But just like you - there was a desire to see the sun, at least.

You had joined them, half out of loneliness and half intrigue. They had accepted you quickly, stifled laugher and glances over their shoulder as they had whispered questions.

“So how is the Mand’alor? I’ve always wondered.”

“You don’t have any marks. Does he drink from your-”

An elbow then to her side, her words had cut off with a giggle. A head turned- an aside to her friend.

“Lady Kryze is always so thorough. I haven’t slept in days.”

Someone else had sighed.

“What I wouldn’t give to be Lord Fett’s Companion.”

You had realized there’s desire in their words. That none of them were afraid, that there was a sense of private camaraderie and knowing amongst them.

That unsettling, confused feeling comes back. They were human, like you. Did they not know what the vampires did? Were they so shallow that coin and finery had bought their loyalty?

Their eyes were on you, expectant. You had no choice but to shrug with embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

They were quick to set you straight.

“It’s like, a feeling, you know?”

“You have to lean into it. That connection.”

“The first time I tried it, I had marks up and down my thighs by morning.”

There was an eagerness that laced with jealousy, leaving you even more bemused than before. Faking a prior engagement as you had left them, promising to give it a try.

Privately, you told yourself you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Looking back, you can’t even remember the taste of the jam, what fruit it was. All you could think about is this new facet of their relationships.

Wondering if that will be expected of you. Wondering why you weren’t warned.

Wondering if you cared.

Wouldn’t that be a good way to get closer?

The thought makes you uneasy.

You’d put an end to this. But you weren’t so cold-hearted to stoop to seduction. That wouldn’t be fair, to Din.

But as the sun rises, when he comes back.

When his mouth is pressing against your wrist, when you’re looking at the bow of his lips and the wide breadth of his armor, that wondering comes again.

The thoughts creep in.

For he is handsome… the parts of him you have seen. A rich voice and the breadth of his shoulders in his armor. The little upward tick of his lips in a rare smile.

And you are human, after all.

You find yourself imagining marks on yours thighs, on the soft curve of your neck.

How your blood would throb, rushing down to pool beneath heated skin - wet and swollen. The thud of your heartbeat kicks up a notch, as your thighs press together. As you squirm in your seat.

You don’t know his face but you do know his mouth. It’s his teeth you picture sinking into your skin, your mind nudging curiously at the thought.

It sends a jolt down your spine. Pricking at your skin, heat licking at your chest and down to your belly. Then slipping lower. Your breath catches in your throat-

His grip on you tightens, then. It’s almost painful - startling you. A hushed cry rattles from your lungs as he pulls back with a rough gasp.

“Ulyc, cyar’ika.” Din’s voice is ragged, as his hips shift upward - letting go, as you pull your wrist back to your chest, “I’m sorry. But you can’t-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A knock at the open doorway, Boba’s face grave as it turns your way.

“Mand’alor.” His voice is low, his brows drawn together. “The city, it calls for you.”

Din’s chest still heaves, his hand dragging across his mouth as he composes himself. The helmet sliding back into place as he stands, but still keeping himself close to you.

“Wolves?” He asks.

Boba shakes his head, “Raiders, from the looks of it. Like before. I can send someone, or go myself.”

You forget about the pain, about everything, for just a second. The thought of the town below in ruins sends you back to a year ago, sorrow twisting through your chest.

It has you half-standing, but Din’s hand is pressing against your shoulder, carefully easing you back down.

“I’ll go.” His voice is firm, “This has gone on long enough.”

A second, as he turns to you, “I need to take care of this. Boba will look out for you while I’m gone.”

Something like worry creeps in. Aware of the weak light that slips through the cracks of your curtains, how soon it will be morning.

“The sun…” You begin hesitantly, and he’s stepping closer.

“I’ll be fine.” His fingertips touch your jaw and that has you looking up - wishing once again that you could see his eyes.

Giving him just a small nod, instead.

From your window you watch him leave. The glint of his silver armor in the morning sun, now - his movements practiced as he swings a leg over the slate-grey horse.

Drawing his sword - the metal dark and gleaming and looking almost alive, even as far away as you are.

Watching as he gallops down the path, racing off to ward away the threat.

Leaving you inside the castle, to wait.

You worry turns into something else, as the hours pass.

Anger, at the thought of him rushing off to save this town, when he had launched an attack on yours. Did human life mean so little?

Did he even think about the bodies that had lied littering the streets, the memories that has been torn down?

Was it only because these humans were complicit, that they were spared?

You had awoken to screams. You don’t know if your town had even been asked.

The mark on your wrist stays red, unhealed. A reminder while he is gone. That you’ve slipped too far, that you need to get over the tender feelings you’ve pretended not to notice.

They fester inside your chest. You dream about him while he’s gone, as the day bleeds into another.

His face bare, features blurry above the lips and nose you know so well. Leaving you to wonder if his eyes are red, like the glimpses you’ve gotten of Lady Kryze? Are they burgundy, like Boba’s?

Replaying the sound he had made, the morning that he left. The edge his voice takes just after he feeds, lasting through the few moments he stays afterwards. That pulsing, thudding beat that leaves you squirming, when you’re alone again.

Leaving you with the urge to sink your own teeth into something.

Those thoughts are ruled by your heart, not your mind, not your logic. Another betrayal, your eyes unable to help flicking towards the window, again and again.

Looking to the others throughout the day, checking for any news or weakness.

A sign that he’s fallen.

None come.

You try not to think about the relief that follows. Or why you feel listless, your eyes dragging over the same words in the books you pick up, in an attempt to pass the time.

Your enthusiasm for the food waning - more in tune than ever with the hours that pass.

Still wondering about the town, below.

You had spoken to some, in your journey here. They had been good people, honest folk.

Maybe along the way, there had been a mistake. An itch in your brain that you haven’t been able to scratch, irritating you since you arrived.

You’ve decided to ask Fennec about it.

Not about anything that would raise suspicion.

Just why the Mand’alor himself would feel the need to go alone. What sort of promise he had made, to go rushing off with such intensity?

Maybe then, you could understand.

You find her by accident - in a large ballroom that you often cut through.

The ceiling painted in a wash of colors, accented in gold. Seraphs lying on clouds and sprawling gardens and somehow always feeling bright, even in the dim room.

Liking the way your feet echo, in the empty room. A swing in your step as if you were dancing too, even if just pretend.

But you’re not alone today - she sits in one of the plush alcoves. Arms bared where her shirt pushes up, a dark jerkin slung over one of the marble statues that line the walls.

"I'm sorry-" You manage, attempting to back out of the room. The moment looked private - your question could wait.

Her eyebrow lifts, looking unbothered, "You can come in, I'm just preparing."

The way she lounges is casual, as if she does this regularly. Propped up against a nest of pillows, a book opened against her bent knees. An arm draped to the side, an ooze of red that drips down to a half-full goblet below.

A jar of that same salve Din had given to you sits in the open windowsill, for after. A means to wipe the mark from her skin, to knit it neatly together again.

The sight makes your stomach turn, even after all this time.

"Are you leaving, too?" Your head nods towards the cup, as you linger in the doorway - thinking about what Boba had said about her ferocity.

Her brows pinch in question, as you gesture to her arm.

"No," Fennec's head shakes, as she understands. "This is our arrangement."

"I didn't know you could do it another way." You say this without thought - wondering if this had been what Din was offering, that first night. An alternative to biting - another small attempt at adjusting to your comfort.

"I tried the usual way." She shrugs, eyes dropping down at the text, "This is better, for us. It's tedious, for certain. But I've never enjoyed the connection. Boba's memories are..."

Fennec searches for the word, as you go still, "...Unpleasant. And I am sure mine are worse."

His memories.

Is that what you've been seeing? Those flashes of thought that blend with your own, when his teeth sink into your skin?

But how can they be, when you are in them?

"But, I am sure that's different for you." Her expression is sly, lips curving in a small smirk. A sharp glimmer replacing the far-away look in her eyes, coming back from her own evocation.

"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding far away.

Dazed, as if the words are taking their time on their trip from your thoughts to your tongue.

That look comes back. As if you're on two different brainwaves, as if she isn't understanding what you're asking.

"Well, I thought that would be obvious. We’re not like you…" Fennec frowns, her head tilting. A breath, as she clarifies.

"Boba isn't my mate."

Ahh and the last Secret Prompt from the list is soulmates / fated mates! 💕 thank you so much for reading! If you’d like a tag for the last 2 parts, please let me know!

Ulyc, cyar’ika - “careful, beloved”

(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @avarkriss)

[spyridonya]

Distance

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: Teen-Mature Pairing: Zophus Emberbane (OC) x Sasli (OC @chaosteddybear) Words: 1158 Summary: Sometimes, Zophus stays away from the House of Hope Note: Written with the idea of he and Salsi not being together right away, which might have changed, but enjoy the fic anyway!

There aren't many portals to Maladomini; fewer still that weren't controlled by the Baazetu on the behest of the Lord of the Nine. Losing just one was a tremendous loss for planeswalkers, but such an invaluable gift that benefited the budding Archdevil Supreme was reason enough for Zophus. 

All beauty that the 7th layer of Hell once held had been corrupted by Baalzebul’s whims, leaving nothing but ruins and decay. A decay that was so complete, the Slug Archduke could not drive off those who lived among the shadows of ruined cities. Such a place was a boon for the most desperate of thieves and the darkest of secrets with pockets of wealth still under the dark and grime of absence. 

As a former Harmonium, Zophus Emberbane knew it best as a place to find the cowardly and criminal. At his height in Sigil,  he sought many who attempted to escape from the law in such a wretched place and successfully wrestled back many to the city to be placed on trial… or killed in self defense. 

That was before the tadpole had buried itself into his head, taking so much of his earned power and skill. That was before he knew of Raphael who spoke words of order across the multiverse while stroking his cheek, after the betrayal of his dream guardian, and Zophus’ own failure to save Mol. Before he knew Sasli.

And so, Zophus Emberbane carried the location of the portal on a metaphorical silver platter to the new lord of Avernus. It wasn’t quite the macabre gesture as bringing the head of Helsik on her own halberd to Raphael, but such an asset would be treated well enough. On top of this, it gave Raphael access to newly forged allies that he would eventually spy upon. 

He had been gone from the House of Hope, away from Sasl, Cian, and Raphael, for a good week from his perspective, but it could have been longer. Time and the Planes were not always forgiving as he wished, but if they had been, he would likely have no use to Raphael… perhaps not to Salsi as well. 

The paladin, deep down, wanted to be seen as useful despite the glaring flaws shouldered upon him. The burns of his face went down his left check, leaving an angry path down his neck, and his arm. The inner rage that he fought so desperately to control by grace of compassion and justice that failed him. The simple fact is he was merely a true mortal and when he died, he surely would be cast into the pit. 

Zophus was never gentle to himself. Not ever. He was forged with steel and fire, ash and ruin.

If anything, the only thing soft and true in his life was Sasli. Her golden eyes bright, her smile even brighter. Her long hair flowed like curving rivers, her skin pink and flushed with promise, the curves his hands ached to indulge in. Part of him knows she might let him, but another part knows he’d scar her. 

Being so gentle was hard. Being rough as she wanted was harder still. He always feared that anything playful and loving could turn… not playful and loving. 

And yet, upon Zophus’ return, instead of seeing Raphael, he found himself standing before Sasli’s chambers. His little flame in his darkness, bright as a lost star, things he didn’t quite say as he turns a pot of zinnias in his hands. The bright blooms mean ‘lasting affection’ and ‘goodness’. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not without so many other blooms declaring devotion, lust, and need. 

But it would do, he thinks. Slowly, the tall man placed the flowers that are almost as bright as Salsi by her door frame where she would find them. He took a step back, his heart beating in his chest, and his mind demanded he’d take a second step. It would make the third step easier. 

Rather, he fist raised to knock on the door. The aasimar found himself  fearing he would open the door, and smile her bright smile while breathlessly apologizing that she was occupied. Still, that smile would be enough, Zophus told himself. It would be enough to rid the ache in his body and the sour in his mouth.

The door opened at once and the paladin felt his heart thunder as a sweetheart of a face, preferred out to see him. Sasli’s golden eyes were like the sun and the small smile shined like the heavens he’d never really had, "Zophus, there you are! You'd been gone for so long, I'd fear you gotten lost, I was getting worried-"

The paladin's arms went about her petite form carefully, one muscular lip crossed her back while the other cupped her cheek to tilt her head back. There were few other means to fight the nearly foot and half height difference between to give a sudden kiss, though he realized he could have lifted her. It would have been easy. However, the paladin knew that should be asked for. 

Besides, his thoughts were already occupied. His mouth fell readily upon hers, his full lips covered hers before his mouth parted as if he were parched and desperate - which he was. 

Zophus was desperate for her sweetness and warmth that he found on her lips and tongue, his own mouth harsher in his need, adorant of the tiefling before him. His hand swept over the rose colored skin of her cheeks and into the dark chocolatey locks of her hair.  

For a moment, he thinks the hesitancy is rejection, and he panic: Was the desire and affection just in his mind when she looked at to him with candle lit eyes, across Raphael’s body? A small hope in a realm that dashed hope upon rocks? 

Had he hurt her? He was nothing but tender and distant from Salsi in the few times they joined Raphael in bed. She didn’t deserve such a creature like he who could ruin her with claws or coldness-

Then Sasli responded. Her strong arms went around his neck, her fingers clutched to the length of his hair to pull him closer. She tasted and smelled so damnably good that he almost moaned when the heat of her mouth drew away from his lips. 

But it was only to ask, “Please stay?” A gentle plea before she kissed him full of passion and desperation for whatever she saw in him.  Honor? Duty? Misplaced judgment of beauty? And despite her size, despite everything, her hands went to his gauntlets and she took a step away..

If he didn’t want the kiss to end, he must follow her.

So he did, the heavy pieces of armor falling onto the marbled floor in their wake. 

[kalevalakryze]

Ara’novor

Pairings: Shin Hati/Sabine Wren, Shin Hati & Baylan Skoll, Shin Hati & Sabine Wren & Ezra Bridger & Ahsoka Tano Characters: Shin Hati, Sabine Wren, Baylan Skoll, Ezra Bridger, Ahsoka Tano, Huyang Tags: Major Character Death, Blood and Injury, Non-Explicit Nudity, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers Notes: I seriously do think the series might wind up turning out this way after ep 6… Summary: Orange clashed against orange; their arms were on fire with the exertion it took to not buckle under the strength of the fatal swing. Shin’s gaze was determined as they forced themselves to look their Master in the eye for the first time since the traitorous thoughts had begun. Yellow and fury tinted normally kind eyes, his face drawn unrestrained anger and a heart wrenching disappointment as he regarded his Apprentice’s betrayal. Shin stood over Sabine Wren, both hands clasped firmly around the hilt of the saber he had guided her through building, their breathing was fast, nearing hyperventilation as they made their choice. “This isn’t right, Master,” She called, reaching out for him in the force, as they had done hundreds of times before. AO3 Link: here!

"But he shall. Sabine Wren will have the opportunity of finding Ezra Bridger, just as promised. And if she does, you and your Master will destroy them both."

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Baylan’s voice dripped with venom, Shin could feel the anger simmering off of him in waves, their eyes turning towards him to catch the whitening of his knuckles, grip tight around the hilt of his saber as he took in the sight before them.

Sabine did find Ezra Bridger, it seemed, and her Master, Ahsoka Tano somehow crawled back from the dead and followed them to Peridea as well; finding her Apprentice and the long-lost Rebel, and apparently, the band of Noti ‘Rebels’ that Bridger had acquired in his exile.

“And you’re supposed to be a Jedi, guess we’re both failures,” Ahsoka snipped back at him, placing herself in front of Mandalorian and Jedi Knight, willing to take on the two Gray Jedi swathed in dark alone, if it meant protecting them.

“Master,” Shin’s voice was quiet, silver-blue eyes not once leaving the way his tendons flexed in his hand.

“Quiet,” He commanded, taking Shin aback with a tone they had never heard directed anywhere near them. “It must be fate, then; The Purgills come here to die, and so have you,”

The ozone burned as white and blood orange ignited, Shin stayed stagnant beside her Master, even as his saber thrummed to life within her reach. Green ignited seconds white, Sabine Wren shouldering her way to Ahsoka’s side, golden eyes pierced through Shin’s; they could feel it, the betrayal, even if it was expected, Sabine was still hurt by Shin and Baylan’s betrayal.

Their Master’s eyes pierced into the side of her head. “Shin,” He urged, not as kindly as they remembered. It was distorted, it was wrong. This was not the Master that had saved them from Balosar’s overcrowded streets, this was not the Master who had taught her everything they’ve known. But Shin could not deny that while he was wrong, their Master was in there somewhere… he had to be.

Late to the party, Shin removed her saber and ignited it, blood orange thrumming to life in their hand in a way that felt just as wrong as their Master; their Kyber was full of contradiction, mirroring the Apprentice who wielded it.

Anger flashed on the other side of the battlefield, Shin watched the man, Ezra, reach for the painted armor of Sabine, fingertips brushing beskar as the Mandalorian suddenly charged. “Sabine!” He shouted in tandem with Ahsoka.

“You!” Baylan growled, his hand extending menacingly towards the failed Apprentice. Shin’s body jolted forward, though they did nothing to stop the shove of the force from her Master that threw the purple haired woman backwards.

She hit the ground hard, armor clanging against the ground as she skidded against the dirt.

Get up… Move, you must get up, Wren!

Shin’s jaw clenched, muscles in her throat moving, barely cognitive enough to take a step back as the feral Togruta leaped at their Master and clashed orange and white together once more. Shin did not take her eyes off the Mandalorian’s prone form, even as their saber deactivated, and Ezra knelt close his fallen sister.

Get up!

Sabine’s arm twitched, shoulder visibly spasming before the relief of forced breathing, sputtering, and coughing filled their ears like a harmony, blocking out the way Baylan and Ahsoka fought against each other.

Startling blue eyes rose to meet her own as the Jedi grabbed Sabine’s saber, he rose defensively in front of her, not taking his eyes off Shin, even though they made no move to advance.

Baylan wheezed as the Togruta slammed her boot into his abdomen, forcing him to lower his blade and stagger back. Shaking their head, blinking away their own contradictions, Shin managed to kick it in gear, blade reigniting in time to catch the white saber leveled for her Master’s head, glancing white off orange and placing themselves between the two relics of the Jedi order.

There was fear, copious amounts off it that settled in the bottom of their stomach and had their throat bobbing with each breath as the predatory gaze focused on them, still, Shin held their ground.

Ahsoka was fast, unnaturally so, Shin was struggling to keep up with glancing blows; when the second saber ignited and nearly sliced through their chest like she had done to Marrok, Shin could have sworn their heart stopped.

Their armor was strong enough to catch the blows that hit her shoulders and legs where they could not catch both blades in time, exertion had sweat beading on their brow, blurring their vision where it mixed with the dark cosmetic on its way down her face. The muscles in her arms and legs shook with each repeated hit as Ahsoka beat them back. Baylan was no where to be found as Ahsoka forced Shin up the crest of a nearby dune.

Green and orange clashing caught her attention in a dangerous moment, pulling their attention enough that when Ahsoka’s sabers slashed to the side, they had to drop back on their ass to avoid the fatal blow. Saber deactivating with the woman of her nightmares towering over her, the blonde could only focus on the way Baylan was forcing Ezra Bridger back, the Jedi clearly rusty in his saber skills against the brute power of her Master.

The saber was knocked from Ezra’s hands, Baylan’s armored shoulder slamming into an unprotected chest as the ex-Jedi bowled the young man over, sending him sprawling flat on his back and unresponsive.

There was yellow in his eyes when he looked towards Sabine once more, Shin felt the rush of Adrenaline in their veins like fire. “No,” Shoving themselves up, dodging the twin white blades that had been levelled to keep her on the ground, their feet moved, legs burning with each step as they raced across the battlefield.

Orange glinted off of the gold in Sabine’s eyes, her arm raising weakly over her face, not nearly enough to stop the heavy handed, downwards strike of Baylan’s blade. “No!” Shin shouted again as they crested the danger zone, as the darkness radiating off her Master threatened to suffocate them both; this wasn’t right! He made a promise!

Orange clashed against orange; their arms were on fire with the exertion it took to not buckle under the strength of the fatal swing. Shin’s gaze was determined as they forced themselves to look their Master in the eye for the first time since the traitorous thoughts had begun.

Yellow and fury tinted normally kind eyes, his face drawn unrestrained anger and a heart wrenching disappointment as he regarded his Apprentice’s betrayal. Shin stood over Sabine Wren, both hands clasped firmly around the hilt of the saber he had guided her through building, their breathing was fast, nearing hyperventilation as they made their choice. “This isn’t right, Master,” She called, reaching out for him in the force, as they had done hundreds of times before.

“None of this has been right,” They breathed, eyes narrowing and fingers flexing around their saber as they pushed away the anger and pain radiating off her Master.

“All of this has been for you, for us; You keep refusing to see it, Shin,” Baylan attempted to reason, though Shin knew, could feel the Definity in the force; This was the end for them, one way or another.

“Master, there is no world in which this continues, we are in a graveyard… this is the end, and we have accomplished nothing like you have told me we would!” The Mandalorian at their feet shifted; Shin’s bodyweight adjusted to protect Sabine as she struggled to sit up.

“If you are not with me, then you are against me,” His lips pressed into a thin line as he spoke, Shin could hear the echo of a continuation, somewhere in the force, echoing in the footsteps of the Togruta that moved behind them to check on her apprentice. “Only a Sith deals in absolutes, I will do what I must.”

“I understand my decisions, and the consequences that come with it,”

“Then you will die.”

‘Breathe’

Voices they did not know, a thrum in the force they had never experienced before, and the feeling of the three rebels at their back urged the shaking in their hands to still as Baylan’s blade came arching down against their own. This was not their Master, this was the culmination of what this mission, this graveyard had done to him, but… he was not coming back- They did not have a beginning to be found on this planet, at least, not at his side, as he had believed.

‘The Light… Find the Light’

He was trying to flip their positions, to force Shin to duck under his arm and put Sabine to his back, and Shin couldn’t let that happen, not when they couldn’t feel his intentions. When he moved in to make them duck, Shin lowered their body and plowed forward. They were too small to truly knock the hulking man off balance or to throw him entirely, but he did stumble back a few feet before his fingers wrapped in their tunic.

The shove was hard, but the hilt of his saber connecting with the side of their head to force her back was harder. Vision swimming with black spots dancing in their eyes, Shin dropped to their knees, keeping their saber at the ready, not unlike the Mandalorian when Shin had stabbed her on Lothal.

Shin had been running around the Imperial ship for hours as white clad stormtroopers searched for her. Their stolen valuable was clutched close to their chest, some shiny officer insignia that they didn’t know what to do with; she’d only taken it on instinct upon seeing it on the table, but the troopers that saw the child with it hadn’t known what to do about a thieving kid that they couldn’t shoot on sight. So, Shin ran.

On Balosar, something like this could feed her for an entire week! With the shining metal and the little blue and red boxes, maybe even ghri’ka would buy it from her and give her a new oxygen tank! Except, this wasn’t Balosar, they’d been in the recycled environment of the Imperial Light Cruiser for weeks now, leaving that part of their life far behind.

There were footsteps echoing in the hall, only one pair, steps light and nonthreatening, unlike the squads of stormtroopers that had been sweeping for her.

Still, their fear was tangent, heart beating fast in a small chest as they tried to stifle heavy breaths and choked back sobs, still clutching the insignia plate close, like their life depended on keeping it. The closet was small and empty, offering nowhere for her to hide if someone opened the door-

“Little one,” Baylan’s voice was calm through the door, warm and kind and safe. “May I come in?”

Their head nodded even though Baylan could not see, not trusting the way they knew their voice would squeak in that way the Supervisors on Balorsar hated. Still, the door opened, revealing the calm stoniness of the man she was to call ‘Master’.

He was doing his best to make himself seem smaller and less imposing as he stepped into the closet and lowered himself to a knee in front of the child, his hands resting on one knee, facing the ceiling. There were cool patterns etched into the print of his gloves, like a star map.

“Are you alright?” He questioned; concern written on strong features as he took in the cowering of the small force sensitive.

“I-“ They finally pulled the rank plate away from their chest, thrusting it out at him. It wasn’t worth their survival, not worth any amount of food or sparse credits that they could get from its trade.

Confused, Baylan took the small piece of metal and turned it over in his hands, a small smile pulled at his lips as he set it away. “So that’s what this is all about?” Shin’s head nodded quickly as their hands moved to pick at the bands around the braid Baylan had tied into her hair. “Shin, it’s alright. We should not take things that do not belong to us, this is true; but know this, my young apprentice… I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“Let it lift you”

“We stand behind you.”

“Rise.”

Silver-blue eyes met the yellow of their Master’s when their eyes opened, orange blade burning through the air as it arched towards them. Their lips pressed into a thin line as they moved, marking their spot against his chest even as his saber raced towards her.

There was an explosion of burning pain across their collarbone, the smell of singed hair and fabric filling their nose just as easily as the sound of Baylan choking on air filled her ears. Orange burned through his chest, true to their mark; their blade went clean through their Master’s front, through his heart, and out his back. The irony smell of his blood burning to cauterize the fatal wound soon became all they could focus on as his grip loosened on his saber and sent it to the ground.

Hands clung at their back as his body teetered forward hazardously, crimson trickling into the white of his beard and staining the course hair as he stared down at the woman he had raised. The orange disappeared from his middle, their saber falling into the dirt with his own as he finally fell. Shin had just enough time to grab his head to stop it from smacking off a nearby rock.

“Shin,” Sabine’s voice was hoarse, struggling against Ahsoka’s hands on her shoulders keeping her back as she watched the Master and Apprentice in horror. Ahsoka’s gaze stayed on the two as well, though everything about her was unreadable.

“What just happened?” Ezra questioned, rubbing his head as he finally sat up, nose crinkling at the burning fabric and iron in the air.

Ahsoka’s montrals itched as a bird circled overhead; Morai swooping in to land on the young Jedi’s mop of a head as the only response. In the echo of her call, Ahsoka could hear the fight from lifetimes ago… “And now, the student will kill the Master!”

Shaking her head to clear the thought, Ahsoka held her hand out towards Ezra, both urging him to still and keep quiet as she watched the vulnerable Apprentice.

Shin was silent as they held Baylan’s head in their lap, his hand reached for the wound in his chest, blood tainting his gloves before he reached for Shin. They allowed his hand to press against the side of their face, blood smearing across angular cheekbones as he tilted their head to get a better look at them.

“This was not how I imagined I would remove your braid,” He admitted weakly, reaching next for the darkened section of burnt hair. Their chest ached from the burn on their collarbone, and from the ache of knowing what would come next for the man she owed everything to.

“Master,” Her voice wavered, crackling with emotion they did not want to share with the… not entirely enemies gathered just feet behind them.

He quieted them with a shake of his head. “Even so-“ A rasping, churning cough, pain flickering across his face as his heart still tried to pump blood to the rest of his body. “I am proud,” There was no yellow in his eyes, no darkness tainting his words- This was their Master; Baylan Skoll, their father, the man that had raised them, and they had effectively killed him, they could not understand his pride, not yet, at least. “It seems I was wrong. Your beginning is here and will move away from here as well. It seems I was the Purgill.”

The man’s eyes slid shut calmly once he had taken in his daughter’s face for the last time. His chest did not rise again as his muscles went lax, his weight fully in their lap as she reached, hesitantly placing her hand on his cheek. “Master,” She called again, though they knew it would be futile, that he was gone; from this realm at least.

Dusk was announced in the crunching of boots in the dirt, though the movement of the three at their back did not rouse them from their state. He looked calm, at least; calmer than she’d seen him since the Witch approached him with this job. Like the man they’d known when he had finally ended their working relationship with the Empire.

Sabine’s hand rested on their shoulder, just over the silver metal of their pauldron. The Mandalorian’s fingers brushed against the burn on their collarbone, sending them reeling back into their own body in a rush. “Shin,” Sabine called again as the blonde blinked, their hand raising to wipe the crustiness of old and new tears off their cheeks.

When they turned their head, they were met with Sabine kneeling at their side, Ahsoka Tano standing just behind her, though she did not look away from the old Knight’s corpse, and Ezra Bridger, kneeling in the dirt, trying to shake the pebbles and dirt from the two dropped sabers.

“You made the hard choice,” Ezra picked up at Sabine’s loss of words, a knowing sympathy in his eyes as he rose, passing both sabers to the blonde. “They don’t tell you that the hardest part is walking away after it, though.”

▬▬ι═══════>

The T-6 was silent as everyone loaded inside. Shin and Huyang were the last to step inside, both droid and Apprentice needing the time and space to offer a true goodbye to the man they had known, be it as a Jedi Knight, or as a father and a mentor.

There was no talk about Thrawn or Morgan, no words passed between the recently united family, and no words spoken between the Light and the Grey gathered in the ship. Shin had stood numbly in the doorway for a time, seeing through the bustle of movement around them, their Master’s pyre on their mind as the small crew put themselves, and each other, back together.

“Hey,” Sabine was the first to speak, voice rough as she appeared in the blonde’s swimming vision. “Come on, you’re hurt,” The Mandalorian guided Shin past Ezra, who chose the worst place to kneel and tie his boots just in front of the door, leading them to the decent sized ‘fresher added on to the ship.

A bench spanned out against the wall in the hallway sized room, a real shower taking up one end, with a nice counter full of different products for the human’s hair care, and formulas designed specifically for any species with Lekku and Montrals. Cabinets were opened in silence once Sabine managed to get Shin to settle on the bench, their shoulders hunched and back slouched into themselves, the smallest they’d felt since their Master’s biggest promise to them.

“I would never let anyone hurt you.”

Sabine’s hands were warm, hesitant, and gentle on their tunic, an exact opposite of Shin’s own when they’d pulled her armor off just weeks ago. The fabric had burned to their skin, causing Sabine’s face to twist up as she imagined the pain that Shin had long since learned to internalize.

“Can I take this off, all the way?” She asked, kneeling between Shin’s legs as her fingers searched for the clasps holding the thick outer layer in place. The nod of their head was subtle, but clear enough for Sabine to continue her path to pulling away the pauldrons and vambraces on their arms and shoulders.

The wool of her tunic pulling away from the burn was agony, ripping the dried blood and scabbing burn open slow enough to count as torture; Still, Shin remained still and stony, the only visible reaction to the pain was the quiet, sharp intake of breath and the narrowing of their pupils.

Their gloves were pulled away next to give them a moment to ease their silent pain, exposing the chipped blue paint of their nails to the world. The Mandalorian seemed to pause in surprise at the splash of color, but she stayed blissfully silent. The armor at their hips and legs were removed with care, as was the thin leather belt that rested above at their hips, all set aside on the bench in a neat pile then.

When Sabine straightened up, Shin’s hands moved immediately to the backs of her knees, a silent plea not to leave, one they would never voice. “I’m not going anywhere, Kurs’kaded,” She promised, guiding the rest of the tunic back and easing it off of their shoulders, careful on their right side, where the burn brought a stiffness and lack of ability to move. “ ‘m right here,” Her voice dropped as she set the tunic aside.

Their undershirt was still damp with sweat and crusty with both dried and new blood. It would hurt too much to try and pull it up over their head, and as much as Sabine would have wanted that three weeks ago in hyperspace, she could take no joy in those thoughts now.

Reaching for her boot, Sabine pulled a small blade from it, holding it in the palm of her hand, she waited until they saw the light glinting off the metal before proceeding. “I’m going to cut this off so it doesn’t hurt as bad,” She made sure her movements were expressed clearly as she brought the blade to the side of Shin’s throat, her fingers pressing between the fabric to create space so she didn’t nick the delicate porcelain skin concealed by fabric.

Their chest rose and fell slowly, eyes unseeing as Sabine sliced the blade through the fabric, exposing their chest painted in blood, and the purple-green bruises all around their abdomen. With a few tugs, the end of the shirt was pulled away from their skirt and pants, allowing Sabine to finish the cut and begin peeling away black dyed fabric from their torso.

Again, the singed fabric being torn away from their chest caused more rivulets of blood to race down pale skin, disappearing under the dark fabric of their chest bindings. “Sorry!” Sabine hissed for them, trying her best to be gentle as she worked the fabric down their arms.

Shin did not move or react once, even when Sabine went through the much faster process of pulling away their boots, skirt, and pants, leaving them in their underclothes with a sizable pile stacked up on the bench.

“Do you want to shower? ‘soka doesn’t fly anything with a sonic on it,” She jabbed her head to the far wall, where the small shower waited like a safe haven. Still, Shin shook their head in the negatory, they didn’t have the energy; barely had the energy to draw air into their lungs knowing that Baylan would never do the same again.

“Yeah… I get it,” Sabine sympathized quietly, head hanging as she recalled the first few weeks aboard the Eye of Sion, when she believed her own Master to be dead. “Can I clean the blood off of you at least, or do you want to, or…” The artist trailed off, unsure if the blonde would be comfortable with Sabine’s continued aid.

When Shin’s head nodded in the affirmative, Sabine’s shoulders relaxed. “Alright, thank you,” Their hands dropped away from the backs of her knees to drop bonelessly against the bench as Sabine went back to the cabinets for a rag and the alcohol to properly clean the wound.

“Can I take this off?” There was a mild flash of annoyance as the question came up again, arms tried moving to pull her bra off themselves, though a flash of pain from the stiff shoulder had them succumbing to the need of another person. When they finally nodded, Sabine apologetically moved in to undo the clasp and pull the fabric away.

Sabine did her best to keep her gaze as respectful as possible as she started wiping away the blood that had carved rivers into their pale skin, though her cheeks flushed as she followed a trail of crimson over their hardening nipple, cool air bringing goosebumps to their exposed chest and arms. “Sorry-“ She whispered in advance before dragged the cloth over sensitive skin, jumping in expected surprise when Shin’s knee jerked and a soft gasp had their lips parting. “Just a little more-“ She promised, apologetic as she continued to wipe away blood and sweat from the underside of her breast.

When Sabine was satisfied that she’d cleaned all the red away from their skin, she moved on to the medkit on the counter, looking for packets of Bacta to help ease the burn. Before she could tear the packet open, Shin’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrists, skin cool where it touched her. Sabine’s eyebrow rose at the sudden fiery determination in their eyes. “It’ll scar…” She pointed out, a frown pulling to her lips before understanding settled in. “You want it to.”

They did not deny her assumption, nor did they confirm it, but they did not release Sabine’s hand until she tossed the packet back into the kit. “Alright, alright. Can I cover it?”

More silence and another minuscule nod of their head later and Sabine was carefully taping clean gauze across the burn. Shin would up leaning back against the cold durasteel of the wall at some point, leaving Sabine’s knees pressing into the bench as she leaned over them to patch her up. “Well, spoiler alert, I’m no doctor, but it should be alright. I’ll check on it in the morning.. if you’re hanging around that long?”

“I don’t know,” Their voice was hoarse, exhaustion dripping in each syllable as they stared at the silver of Sabine’s belt. Where would they go? Baylan was dead, Thrawn and Morgan would have them killed; not that they would ever choose to go back there.

“Well… There’s an extra bunk, you know…” There was a hint of something more, an offering that went unsaid or I can make room in mine. “I’m sure ‘soka can look past the attempted murder thing, she has before… You know, if you want to, for a while.”

Shin’s head dipped in an uncharacteristic way, their spaced-out gaze finding their hands and the chipped paint along their nails. “If I can stay, I will.”

This earned a beaming smile from the Mandalorian that almost had them regretting the decision. “Hang on, I’ll get you some clothes-“ The purple haired woman popped out of the ‘fresher. “Ezra!” She shouted into the cabin, smirking at the groan that filtered through to Shin’s ears. “Hey, can you grab a spare change of clothes from the bunks?”

“I have literally never been on this ship in my life, ‘bine.”

“It’s through that door, di’kut. Grab..” A hum from the artist as she thought of what would fit best. “the blues, I think there’s stuff in that middle drawer under the bunk that’ll work. Just absolutely don’t open the one on the right,”

A few moments of silence before there was a rustling a fabric being passed between the chosen family. “Sabine, why do you keep dicks with your stuff?” He complained, whining in the way only a vod’ika could.

“I literally told you not to look there,” She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. The door slid shut in Ezra’s face as she took the small bundle of clothes.

“You can’t tell me not to look somewhere, and expect me to listen!” He called from the other side of the door. “Can you believe this, Huyang?”

“For Lady Wren? Yes, it is very plausible,” She heard the droid agree as she set the clothes back on the counter.

“If anything, those two will drive you nuts first,” She informed them, though there was a warm smile on her lips as she unfolded the sleep shorts and sweatshirt. “This is all I have that has a chance at fitting, pretty sure leather pants aren’t the best for sleeping in,”

“Thank you-“ Without waiting and skipping the preamble, Sabine carefully helped Shin into each article. Once the blonde’s head was popped through the neck hole of the sweatshirt, Sabine idly reached out to brush their hair back in place with her fingers.

“I’m sure we can stop somewhere and grab something that’ll fit while I fix this stuff up,” Sabine promised, patting the stack of blood soiled clothes.

The Mandalorian helped Shin up once more, again taking the lead with a gentle hand on their wrist as they rejoined everyone in the main room. Ahsoka was deep in thought at the table, a ceramic mug of tea clasped in her hands, while Ezra packed away at least three days-worth of rations across from her. “Hey, we’re gonna go lay down… long day,” She called to everyone at the table. Huyang popped his head out of his service quarters at her voice.

“Lady Hati, may I take yours and Lord Baylan’s sabers? Ezra mentioned they may have suffered damage from the environment.”

Shin’s hands tapped at their waist where the sabers should have been, though… she did not know where they could have gone, they’d been spaced out too far since Baylan’s last breath that she hadn’t kept track of them.

“Oh! Right here!” Sabine removed both sabers from the back of her belt, passing them off to Shin so they could make the final decision to pass them both to the waiting droid.

“Thank you,”

Sabine and Shin were able to retreat to the crew quarters with no further interruptions. While Sabine was preparing the bunk across from her own, Shin settled down to sit against Sabine’s own decorated bed. By the time the purple haired woman had finished, the wolf was already curled up at the foot of the thin mattress, eyes shut and face burrowed into the tooka plush Kanan had gotten her ages ago for her birthday.

“Yeah, me too,” Sabine agreed in a quiet whisper. Instead of settling into the other bunk, she dropped into the open space of her own without taking off her armor, the exhaustion of the last few weeks finally catching up from the hyperspace lane and sending the Mandalorian off to sleep.

▬▬ι═══════>

Shin’s rest was anything but restful through the night, keeping them tossing and turning, agitating the bandages on their chest until Ahsoka had finally had enough, dropping from the bed above Sabine’s almost silently, only to reach out and shake the blonde’s leg until awareness came flooding back in.

The blonde’s eyes snapped open, recoiling in near immediate fear as they processed the glow of Togrutan eyes and the distinct markings of Ahsoka Tano’s face. “Easy,” She whispered as they scrambled back on the mattress, nearly waking Sabine. She had to wonder what Baylan had been telling them about her.

She could hear the quickened thumping of their heart and the rapid rise and fall of their chest, even as they schooled their features to mask the terror. “I’m not going to hurt you,” She tried to ease, though it seemed to be the wrong move. Sabine and Ezra both shifted, beginning to stir at the commotion and the fear bleeding out into the force.

Exasperated, Ahsoka slipped out of the room to find Huyang, tinkering away at the oddest hours to pull the sediment from Baylan and Shin’s sabers. “Hey, you up for telling the kids one of your old stories?”

“They are all far from children,” He commented as he settled Baylan’s hilt onto a clean rag. “But of course, I will.” He agreed, stepping around Ahsoka and to the room.

Shin was still backed up into the corner of the bunk, her hand resting on Sabine’s wrist, over the trigger for the small rockets loaded into the vambrace , laying in wait should they need to use Sabine’s arsenal to protect themselves.

“Lady Hati,” He greeted, blinking up at Ezra when the man’s hand dropped down to smack against his head.

“ ‘bine, turn your alarm off,” He grumbled, hand limp against the droids head.

“Eat my shorts,” Sabine grumbled tiredly, shifting against the mattress with her eyes still closed, curling instinctively closer to the blonde in her bed.

“Huyang, please,” Ahsoka spoke from the doorway, the light filling in keeping er eyes dull, and only slightly less horrifying to the younger blonde.

“Of course,” He settled himself in the open bunk that Sabine had prepared hours before. “Lady Hati, your Master’s lightsaber was constructed in a style that the Jedi Order had not seen in hundreds of years…”

Huyang talked long into the night about the old Republic and the ways of the Jedi from that era, delving into a plot that had all three young adults sleeping once more, before he could even get to the interesting part. Even with Ahsoka as his only audience, Huyang continued his tale about Baylan Skoll, and the day he came in as an excited youngling and built his very first saber, and the vivid yellow-orange blade he had produced on the trip back to Coruscant.

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Man Description: Saera Targaryen was her father's forgotten daughter. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her sister and seeks solace in the arms of her uncle. Not realizing that the consequence of their affair is just as dire as her sister's. masterlist

A MAN LIVES TWO LIVES: one fighting war, and the other avoiding it. Daemon Targaryen was living the latter. He did not want to fight a war. He wanted to lay in his castle with ale and Saera. He did not want to fight in the name of his spiteful niece, Rhaenyra took everything from his children. She took Driftmark from Baela.

He held no fond memories over his eldest niece. Even as a child, she'd been a spiteful little thing. 'Vain Princess' is what he used to call her. She's grown out of her vanity, but the sins of her past still remained. He adjusted his cloak, ensuring that his face would be hidden. His heart beat furiously, sweat tricking down his forehead — he couldn't understand his nervousness.

"Prince Daemon," the loud voice of Garmund Hightower broke him from his trance. It was scheming and vile to do what he was doing. But it would keep his family safe. "Lord Hightower," he replied in a civil-tone, although venom was concealed in his words. "Oldtown is grateful of your presence." the man gave a vile smile, his teeth were all yellow and a foul smell radiated from his mouth.

"I've come to discuss a marriage pact." he took a step forward, and Caraxes let out a loud roar. If his wife found out about this, she would kill him. "Ahh — the one we've spoken about with the ravens?" Garmund smiled peculiarly, placing a hand on his heir: Tygos who was standing beside him — looking fearfully at the big dragon. "Yes." he replied cautiously, playing with the silver dagger on his pocket. 

He was sure that Rhaenyra deserved the betrayal. 

"I assure you, my prince. This will not reach my brother." Garmund comforted, but he doesn't trust the man. "Lady Rhaena and Lord Tygos will be wedded then?" Garmund inquired, already tasting the golds of Driftmark on his tongue. He was smarter than most — he knew that Queen Rhaenyra had more dragons in her vassal, than his nephew. "Bring me the boy, I'll take him as my ward." Daemon fiddled with the dagger, and Garmund nodded. 

Daemon would never hurt his son. Tygos was the child of Leila Lannister — Saera's only friend. Tygos takes a lazy step towards the Prince, his eyes looking cautiously behind him. "When will the wedding be held, my prince?" Garmund inquired nervously, thinking that he'd be double-crossed. "Soon," Daemon replied vaguely, turning his back slowly and adjusting the straps on his dragon's back. Garmund was too weak to attack him, even if he tried — Caraxes would roast him like chicken. 

"Fear not father — I'll be safe." Tygos' voice mellowed lightly, his posture was akin to that of a little kid. His father rolled his eyes. He didn't care about his son. "I promise you, Lord Hightower — no harm will befall your heir, as long as you follow our agreement." Daemon announced in a cold tone. He pats Tygos' back, motioning for the boy to ride on top of Caraxes. 

Daemon Targaryen was a player too. 

SAERA'S EYES WIDENED, staring stoically at the boy in front of her. Tygos Hightower had sea-green eyes, and golden blonde hair. He was a Lannister through and through. "Where did you get him?" she inquired, feeling tears brim in her eyes. He was the copy of her old friend. The only piece of her past left. "I am Lord Tygos Lannister, my princess." the man bowed his head uneasily. "I made a deal with the Hightowers — I could not ensure their loyalty without taking their prized son." his lips turned into a thin line. 

Tygos wasn't a fine specimen. He was thin and unlikable. (Daemon supposes that he hates everyone, so it wouldn't matter.) "We cannot hide this from Rhaenyra." Saera exchanged a glance with him, and Daemon only shrugs mischievously. "The war will end in five years or less, and we're both expert liars." Daemon pointed out, his wife sighs dramatically. 

"And what will be his cover? A chambermaid? A chamber pot cleaner?" she crossed her finger, biting back a laugh as the boy paled slightly. "Your bastard son?" she suggested but Daemon shakes his head. "I can't have them thinking that I fucked a Lannister." he declined, looking back at the boy who adjusted his collar in a nervous manner. 

"You should've laid out your plans before charging off to battle." she rolled her eyes, leaning into his chest. Both of them were staring at the boy as if he was a foreign animal. "He could be my squire." he offers and she lets out a loud laugh. "Knights have squires. Princes don't have squires." she shot down, and his hands trail up her waist. "He has to be part of our household somehow." Daemon mutters, burying his face in his wife's neck. He was gone for a day — he missed her the same way a man needed water. 

"He could be wine-pourer," Saera suggested and he hummed in agreement. "I believe that I shouldn't be here." Tygos looked down on the floor, looking away as Daemon pressed little kisses on the Princess' neck. "Calm down," Daemon complained untangling his head away from Saera's body. 

"If anyone asks, you are the steward of Daemon Targaryen — my right hand man." Daemon engraved in the boy's mind. "You cannot tell them about the truth of your heritage. They will kill you — but we promise, we will fulfill our end of the bargain." he placed a hand on his chest, enunciating every word that exhaled from his mouth. "You will marry my daughter the moment this war ends, but at the meantime — lay low." Daemon advised, patting the boy's shoulders. 

He was definitely not going to make it. 

A/N: I KNOW THAT I SAID CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN WAS GONNA BE THE LAST CHAPTER, BUT I'VE BEEN PLANNING TO HAVE TYGOS IN THE STORY. 

taglist: @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @mirandastuckinthe80s @duhitzdae @schniiipsel @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @brezzybfan @rockerchick0511-blog @flawrosess @joygirlmelii@princessmiaelicia @prettybiching @saraandthejets1 @naturallyspontaneous @hnybitches @lxdyred @inpraizeof @claudie-080102 @1-800-isabellapotter @mamamooqa @23victoria @curiouser-an-curiouser @queenofshinigamis @alexisabirdie

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[rake-rake]

That mage, Merlon or whatever. Merlin, is it? (Vortigern)

Send "Thoughts on" and a character for my muse to give their opinion on them.

...

Spring. Two boys sitting on the grass with the sun showering their faces, hands touching.

Secrets, time, joy, death. An empty throne, fresh sheets, silver hair and violet eyes, a promise made with a kiss and the moon as witness "Once the Kingdom is safe I will marry you and make you my queen."

Time, death. A single roman soldier dying on the ground. A prophecy. Brothers, heirs, children. A wild animal, inaction. Sowing, reaping.

White hair spread on the floor, blue eyes that don't see, blood in his hands, screams—

Caledfwlch to his face—

Cold. Empty. A single friend. Rage. Madness. Understanding. A choice made to continue falling further. Fairies ripping each other to shreds and offering him the pieces. Blood, human blood, cities, fires, rampage, pain, death.

The fragrance of flowers leaving to never come back.

Further down, further down, until—

Golden hair and green eyes and a haunting face.

Holy light, too bright.

Horns sprouting from his head—

Silence.

Silver hair and violet eyes. Hands cradling his head, silver locks brushing his face. A promise to meet again.

"Vortigern—"

And again.

"Oberon..."

And again.

"...Vortigern?"

A newborn of golden hair and green eyes, hands reaching towards him, his claws brush her forehead when the Fae King commands "You will cast your own Fate."

Yet—

A girl of golden hair and green eyes dying betrayed and alone—

A boy of golden hair and green eyes dying betrayed and alone—

Hissisterhisdaughterhisnephewhis—

ArturiaCasterVivianArthur—

Blood in his hands, silver hair sprawled on the floor, blue eyes not seeing. Betrayal—

EmrysMorgan—

Hisbrotherhisonhisniecehissisterhisdaughter—

Silver hair and violet eyes. Hands cradling his head, silver locks brushing his face.

"I will find you— I will show you the garden we dreamed of together—"

"He," He states, with a expression as still and beautiful as a statue, even though the single black tear running down his face is not something one could ever produce, "Is the one person in this world I want to kill."

[muzzlemouths]

Dead Mall Dare [The Golden Years]

A moment that occurs before the events of Chapter 1.

There's a showing at the Waning Lights theater, and Moon is more than happy to host the event - but things don't always go according to plan.

Wordcount: 2223

It was rare treat when the Waning Lights theater had a showing. Not just any showing, either; a special feature, Saturday Night Fever, viewed on the big screen for one night only. The event drew in crowds from surrounding counties and promised to be a truly unforgettable night.

Customarily, the theater’s very own mascot lead the scene. Moon stood just beyond the entrance, velvet rope sat aside, delighting in nothing more than gesturing the queue through the two crescented doors with a handshake and a smile that reached both corners of the mouth.

Folks piled in by the dozens and left only stragglers, concession connoisseurs and parents who did away with their children by slipping coins into their pockets and ushering them towards the mall’s plentiful list of other things to do, the candy shop and playground being notable favorites.

A particularly bratty shaver caught Moon’s attention as he was headed inside, causing him to pause at the door, ever briefly, before he returned to the outer lobby and came upon the family - mom, dad, and the wailing child, giving his parents a good deal of grief - and crouched down to his level, fitting him with a stern look. “Now what has you in such a fit?” Asked Moon, calm as a clam.

“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” the mother, shame behind her eyes, sighed with exasperation, “he’s only upset with having to miss the show.”

“He’ll miss dinner and a day without chores, too, if he doesn’t shape up,” chimed the father, looking thin in the lips.

“Is that so?” Now, Moon wasn’t a hit with the kids. He catered to the night crowd, business men with a schedule chalked full and youth on the crisp of adulthood who fancied a quieter time and fewer distractions during their visits - it was Sun who carried on conversations with the tots and blew balloons to keep the kids happy and the parents happier - but it was Moon who knew his way around the fussier ones. Though his methods were questionable.

“Well, we could let you in to see the film,” he mused, finger tapping against his lip in thought. Both parents shared a bug-eyed expression, obviously against such an idea, but Moon continued, “though I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t expect anyone your age to want anything to do with a pair cutting the rug,” he watched the boy’s face turn sour and carried on with the wave of a hand and a perfect poker smile, “and I suppose a growing boy like yourself won’t mind the kissing, either.”

His tantrum came to a grinding halt. “The…kissing?”

“Well of course!” Said Moon, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin into his palm, “This story doesn’t end before the star finds himself a pretty lady and warms her up with a kiss. Isn’t that romantic?” He waited. It didn’t take long. The child’s entire posture sank with disappointment and he turned to look up at his parents with a face of utter betrayal, “Or,” Moon called him back to attention with a hand that dipped behind the child’s ear, and away from it he pulled a silver coin - Sun’s face on one side, his own on the other - and slipped it into the boy’s hand with a wink, "you could get lost in a few games until your parents are done.”

The little boy answered with an eager nod and a polite thanks at his mother’s behest, menace easily turned moppet, and scurried off towards the arcade without further argument. Problem solved and with minimal fuss to boot. And just in time, too. Moon beckoned the couple inside right as the screen came to life, a coca-cola commercial beginning the next ten minutes of pre-film entertainment.

A few minutes in and the smell of warm butter and popcorn steam wafted through the room, paper bags worth a handful tucked into one another, pinned against stacks of Mars Men and liquorice twists and all crammed into a wide mouthed wooden box that Moon brought to every row with a flare of glamour, ensuring that each guest in their allocated seat was happy and fulfilled. Behind him the speakers sang with the melody of a brand, giddy voices chiming ‘mix it up, wrap it up, Buttercup is born!’ and boasting a king-sized cup.

It wasn’t until the intro came to an end that Moon left the crowd if only to climb the star coated stairs all the way to the projection booth to personally insure the film began smoothly. Sure enough, the booth’s worker was already having some trouble with the reel. This wasn’t unusual - the projectors weren’t what they used to be, and Waning Lights had been due for a new one since the year prior. The theater’s budget was all tied up elsewhere, management said, and Moon never found it in himself to complain. It was nothing he couldn’t fix in a pinch.

A few precise taps - clearly practiced - knocked the machine back into functioning order, and the reel slipped into its frame with ease. Static formed, then a light, and finally the screen came alive with the opening number. Moon found a chair of his own beside the projector and settled in to enjoy the movie.

Twenty-eight minutes in and things were just starting to heat up when a customer began causing a ruckus. This, too, wasn’t unusual. There were always interruptions in the theater - whispers amongst the crowd and walkouts, or the occasional pair of teenagers who thought they were being sneaky, but this was different. An uproar created from the belly of a drunkard whose vulgar speech competed for volume with the film itself.

This, of course, meant he had to go. The poor projection booth employee wearily found their way to their feet only for Moon to set a hand on their shoulder, standing himself, “I’ll take care of it,” he promises smoothly, “offer the guests more refreshments - on the house.” He waits for the affirming nod, then sets his sights on the man below.

It took all of two minutes for him to be escorted down the theater’s hall and out towards the lobby - all the while Moon soothed his angry prattles with a patient voice and a polite, but firm hand - unfortunately, they don’t entirely make it there. Not ten feet from the exit and the man whipped around, fist raised high, intent on making a scene. Moon wasn’t having any of it. “Sir, you need to leave,” he gave the man a second chance, hoping he might see reason, “you’re causing a disturbance. If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll have to–”

He caught the first throw, easily avoiding the attack. But not the second. A harsh shove against Moon’s shoulders drove him into the wall, the force of it enough to jostle a poster from its place, the wooden frame splintering open on impact.

Moon’s posture changed immediately, manners somewhat forgotten as his system recalculated an appropriate response. The situation was growing dangerous. He pulled himself away from the wall, dented where his joints met plaster, and dusted the fibers from his silicone, retaining utmost composure even now, “Sir,” his head felt funny, static snow dancing in his field of vision, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, “I’ll ask one more time before escorting you from the mall’s premises entirely. Please leave the theater and–”

Again, the man aimed his fist, rage in his eyes and steam erupting from his nostrils, not looking to play nice - but Moon was faster. He caught it by the wrist, long fingers wound in a vice hold. His world swayed and swam. A new protocol slithered into his coding when he wasn’t looking. Then there was a crunch, followed by a scream.

He doesn’t know how it happened. One minute he’s holding his own against this rowdy patron and the next, he was holding him up by a broken wrist, his fingers still bruising around the joint. Then came the security. Alerted by the pained shriek, no doubt, they marched through the theater in a pair and took the customer away by his folded arms. The man’s incessant howling turned every head in the theater, then all eyes fell to Moon, still trying to make sense of it all.

The employee, who appeared at his side a moment later, outstretched a hand to his shoulder much in the same way Moon had a few minutes prior. “Are you alright?” They asked him, thinly veiled distress in their voice, “I heard the commotion from upstairs. Did he hurt you?”

The question caught him off guard. Did the man hurt him? No, certainly not.

“I need to clear my head,” said Moon, avoiding the topic entirely, and he didn’t wait for an answer, either.

Moon recoiled from the touch without another word and strode a far ways from the exits, finding himself inside a photo booth.

With the curtain being pulled taut, he let his head fall to his hands, and a deep exhale escaped. A worrying feeling washed over him like spiders dancing on his skin, creeping along with legs like pins and needles. He found himself nauseated and dizzy, steam sweltered inside his chest and rose to form beads of sweat - that is, condensation - and a hand arrived at his mouth a second later to prevent himself from losing stomach oil.

He heaved, dry and ugly, for a full minute without interruption.

Then the curtains came away with a quickness so jarring it snapped him clear out of his daze.

Moon squinted into the sudden burst of light, and Sun stared back, a look of concern crossing his features. “Are you alright?” He asked, frantic.

His mind flashed to the employee asking that exact question and immediately he remembered his sickness. He shuddered, forcing it down as well as he could manage, for Sun’s sake, “What are you doing here?” He forced the words past gritted teeth, “Your shift doesn’t start for another five hours.”

Sun straightened his back, the action enveloping Moon in his shadow, much to his counterpart’s relief. “They said something happened,” he answered, “that there was a fight, and you got knocked around pretty bad. I was worried, so–”

“I’m fine.” He interjected, the bite making Sun stiffen. There was a broiling heat running rampant in his system, a burning under his skin. He couldn’t place it - the fire, or the source of the sickness. His gears felt like they were clogged with molasses. “I’m–I’m fine,” he tried again, with a much smoother, softer tone this time. His eyes raised, his smile plastered on with it, “Thank you for worrying. I’ve got a headache, but that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“If you’re sure…” Sun wasn’t convinced. Still, it wasn’t kind to challenge the other when he was evidently already going through it, so he let it go. For now. He paused then, thinking, then climbed fully into the booth and closed the curtain behind him. “Mind if I stay with you until then?”

“You don’t seem to be waiting for an answer either way.” Moon replied. He can’t help the way his smile relaxed into something genuine, or the way his shoulders slumped with relief as Sun crammed his way into the seat beside him. The company was nice. It eased the sickly flare somewhat.

“You know what might cheer you up?” Sun reached for the photo booth triggers, “We should take a picture! We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sun, I don’t want to–”

“Say cheese!”

He didn’t have much time to argue. The timer clicked away and Moon, never knowing how to let him down, obliged with a roll of his eyes and a smile. Something a little silly, despite the tension boiling under his fingertips. The printer spit their photograph into his hand a minute later.

“That’s a good one,” said Sun, “we should hang it up in our room.”

Moon nodded, thumb pressed against the smooth film. He didn’t recognize the Moon in that picture.

They sat in perfect silence for some time after this. Moon with his head on Sun’s shoulder, and Sun’s head on top of his, the rays retracted where his faceplate brushed against the hat.

Eventually, Moon was able to return to his theater, but something had shifted. Something was unmistakably different. He caught the tail end of the movie and assured the other employees that he was alright as the final scene played out.

He remained in the booth until the credits rolled, shook the hand of each departing customer, and personally locked up once the last staff member made their way out. Then, finding his way to the middle seat in the center row, Moon sat and stared at a blank screen. He sat there until the mall closed and then opened, and dawn crawled over the horizon.

Sun had already made his way out for his morning shift after being reassured, once again, that he was alright. Moon found his way to their shared bedroom alone and got himself plugged in for the night. He would often dream in this state, but tonight he hoped they would stay away. He wanted nothing but stillness. An empty, boring sleep.

Maybe that would put this nervous feeling to rest.

[riririkinzi]

THE SILVER PROMISE AND THE GOLDEN BETRAYAL

An au where Nimona doesn't stay in the shadows with some help and leads the society to protect those from Gloreth's Reign!

SHOUT OUT TO @mavka12 FOR THE HELP!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! THIS AU WOULD'NT HAVE BEEN COMPLETED WITHOUT YOUR CREATIVE WRITING!!!

- Set after the village burned down/betrayal, Nimona had run back to the shadows heartbroken, while Gloreth felt guilt inside.

- Soon Nimona spotted other shapeshifters and joins them, told them her story with the humans, they shifters were possibly aware of this as humans treated them as monsters too, not just them but other magical creatures too.

- Years past, Gloreth had grown her army, the wall and institute has been built, she was ordered to exterminate "monsters" outside the kingdom.

- Many lives of magical creatures and peacful monster and beast had been layed waste to Gloreth's path and many were killed all for her will.

- Nimona couldn't stand and watch, she had to do something, so she and the shapshifters formed a secret society to protect innocent lives and homes who Gloreth took away.

- Since Gloreth's kingdom was known for the Golden society, the secret one is called the Silver Society.

- From hearing her experience, everyone candidate Nimona as their leader, so she gathered the cunning, agile, and stealthy shifters and train them to keep on eye on Gloreth's update.

- They also need a location big enough for a safe sanctuary for those who withness the genocide, so she gathers everyone in the forest, and mage/sorcerer cast an invisibility spell to hide it. And uses the strongest beings to gaurd them.

- To prevent any destruction and genocide, she gathers the fighters and warriors to protect a village from Gloreth's reign with her coming along.

- Gloreth noticed how are almost the same soldiers know where their heading and how do they know their plans.

- It took a while with on of her spies following the Army, but they found where it led them too.

- As Gloreth finds out the sanctuary, passes through the barrier but the Guards blocked her, then half of the army distraced them as she and the other half were able to go through.

- As they Entered the village, the creatures gathered for saftey, as the protectors gathered with weapons ready.

- Then Nimona came as a bird and landed to her human form, greeted Gloreth after so long but Gloreth, pushed her to the ground, sword aiming at her and ready to strike, saying that she's done for, she found her after following her army.

- That's where the comic happens, and she shouted that Gloreth cause all of the pain and suffering the creatures endured, they glared with hatred and disgust at Gloreth.

- Turns out they fell into Nimona's trap, she was planning to kill Gloreth and her army, for revenge on hurting innocent beings and taking away their homes, but mostly, betraying Nimona.

- As the attack, began Sanctuary Army fought Gloreth's Army, while the 2 leaders fought alone against each other.

- Nimona's Army won, and Gloreth lost, the people of the Silver society won, and finally brought justice to the fallen.

- Gloreth, announced her Amry to drop their weapons, but the Army didn't listen and aim the weapons to Nimona.

- Nimona began to completely lash out at Gloreth of how she felt during the betrayal, and it hurts to have her only friend leaving her because of what others think, she'd say to Gloreth, "You've started this..... You wanted to be a hero since you were small, to slay a monster" "So you want me to be a monster huh? Fine!!!! I AM A MONSTER!!!"

- Then her dark form appeared and runs to her kingdom, but Gloreth follows Nimona as fast as she can.

- Like canon, she heads to the statue sword and tries to imae herself, until Gloreth stops her and apologize everything.

- Nimona shifted back and looks coldy at Gloreth with silence.

- Silence remains for a moment, but Gloreth broke it, saying how sorry she is for causing the genocide, for building an Army just for some twisted story, for letting people hurt Nimona all because of being clouded by fear, and most of all for Betraying her best friend.

- She drops her weapon near Nimona, screaming that she and the innocent creatures can hate her, despise her, blame her, spit and throw dirt at her name all she wants even kill her, because Gloreth knows she deserves it, she deserves to let Nimona kill her, her voice went raw telling Ninona that's not a monster and never will be and that she wanted to let Nimona know that she's sorry for evierything.

- Everyone in the kingdom and magical creatures were watching this and were suprised and shocked even heartbroken on Gloreth's words.

- Then Nimona grabs Gloreth's sword, she raised it up high, while Gloreth looked at her expression of accepting her fate as if she's finally accepting death, but suddenly, the sword, didn't go through Gloreth, it was through where she's laying at.

- As Nimona let go of the sword, she stared at Gloreth with a very cold yet stoned looking expression, turn her back on Gloreth, and walked away for a few steps staring down as tears dropped through her.

- Gloreth immediently got up and runs towards Nimona hugging her tightly at the back, wimpering "I'm sorry Nimona, I see you, and I love you" Gloreth sobbed.

- As unexpected, Nimona hugged back at Gloreth sobbing quitely, the folks who witnessing this were in awe, silently staring.

- After that night, Gloreth Declared that the Institute to be disband, and the wall teared down.

- Gloreth declared an Apology to the magical creature and beings, and offered them a home at the kingdom.

- Before the creatures moved, they must decide on restarting a system, to fix the mistakes, and rewrite the history with the truth.

- They expand their land now that it became a home for man and monster

- They honored the Protecters of the creatures for defending those who are truly vunderable

- As things were bad as before, Gloreth and Nimona's friendship were rebond and stronger that ever now that they vowed reach for the vunderable, and bring peace to all lands.

- As years past by, Nimona vowed to Gloreth that she'd watch over her Descentands till the last of their bloodline ends.

Note: This au is based on the Silver Society Concept that was scrapped from the movie

[pinkdevil0725]

Can you make a fanart of @riririkinzi Silver Promise and Golden Betrayal au pls, in either versions

Images:

Note: i had fun doing this req :D thanks for it btw

@riririkinzi au: Silver promise and Golden betrayal

[doc42]

“Why me, and not my brothers?”

"It means that the battle is begun," said Melisandre. "The sand is running through the glass more quickly now, and man's hour on earth is almost done. We must act boldly, or all hope is lost. Westeros must unite beneath her one true king, the prince that was promised, Lord of Dragonstone and chosen of R'hllor." "R'hllor chooses queerly, then." The king grimaced, as if he'd tasted something foul. "Why me, and not my brothers? Renly and his peach. In my dreams I see the juice running from his mouth, the blood from his throat.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.  "You are dead," Dany said. Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned. "I loved you once." Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother's crown to keep you fed.  "You hurt me. You frightened me." Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you. "You sold me. You betrayed me." No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

"Why me, and not my brothers?"

Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young...

Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . .   

A victory even Robert could be proud of. Robert . . ." His teeth ground side to side. "He is in my dreams as well. Laughing. Drinking. Boasting. Those were the things he was best at. Those, and fighting. I never bested him at anything. The Lord of Light should have made Robert his champion. Why me?"

[i-will-cry-you-a-river]

Rick had enough of Morty's flippant attitude. He was tired of the constant rebuttal, the "I-I n-need to go to s-s-school" excuses, the late night "study sessions" in his "friend's" houses. That little shit had no friends, who did he try to deceive?! Rick was the smartest man in the multiverse! Who did Morty think himself to dare to lie to him?! To use those innocent doe eyes on her mother to turn her against her own father?!

"Oh, he has an important exam tomorrow! Aren't you happy that he has friends? Ah, I'm so proud of my baby, he is doing so well! Please, dad, don't make this harder for him," he imitated her with a high-pitched voice. School was for losers like Jerry. Morty was not a loser, Morty had so much going for him!

Yet, that little shit obviously tried to avoid him. Rick offered the universe- no, the multiverse to him! He did everything for him! And this was the thank you for it?!

No, that won't be happening. That little shit better had a good reason for his behavior, for blowing off his own grandfather! He wasn’t eating more than a mouthful of food a day, usually just played with it to look like he ate, and it didn't escape Rick's notice that at night he had nightmares that made him cry in terror.

He didn't think, not even for a moment, that Morty had a school thing, or that he had a "teenager thing". Beth was full of shit with her "you know, teenagers like to rebel against authority. Maybe he is just trying to find himself. That's not a bad thing, is it?". Sure, the kid had more brain and bravery than Rick liked to acknowledge, but he did not have the ability to concentrate on moronic, planetary things like school. Morty's mind was for adventures, for understanding different life forms, for helping his grandfather! Not for measly things like exams and tests and friends.

He was Morty's only friend. He, Rick Sanchez. Nobody else.

He made sure of it.

But this whole thing, this avoidance, this sneaking around, this blowing off him and his offers of going on adventures was wearing down his already thin patience. That little shit could be as stubborn as he wanted, but Rick Sanchez was even more stubborn than a pubescent, lying little shit could ever be. Everybody had a breaking point sometime and Rick reached his.

Hearing a noise in the otherwise silent house, he jumped on the opportunity. Summer was with friends - she did have those -, Beth drank too much wine so she passed out, and Jerry… nobody cares about what Jerry did. The only person who could have caused the noise was Morty. So, Rick did what he was the best of: kidnapping the little shit.

"W-w-what the-!" Morty screeched as a glowing green portal opened under him, making him fall on the garage floor. "W-w-what's w-wrong with you, Rick?!" He screamed, and that was the last drop of gasoline in the fire. Rick felt like he was outside of his own body, as though he was someone else watching a movie. He could faintly hear Morty shouting at him, saw the fury and slight fear in Morty's pretty golden eyes, but as the boy was throwing all of Rick's failures, broken promises, carelessness and outright cruelty back into his face, the frustration in Rick, the betrayal, swelled into anger that clouded his mind and ignited his inside in fire.

He wanted to show the kid that he had opportunities, he had a future that was more and better than his parents had, he wanted to offer him the multiverse on a silver platter, to be his friend, to be his everything, to make him understand Rick was the best thing that could ever happen to him, but the kid had been pushing him away, denying him and outright turning him down.

Be barely noticed when Morty started gasping, he didn't even notice when he crowded his grandson against the wall.

But that defiant, ungrateful, scowling lite thing still had a last dagger to stab him with. "Y-y-you d-didn't owe me! I-I hate you!"

Rick advanced, angry words, abuse, split and alien alcohol spitting out of his mouth. He was toe to toe with Morty, the small kid covering in front of his furious helplessness and fear of abandonment. He wanted to hit the kid, knock him out and build him back up, make a new one, that would just fall into line and follow Rick's every command, where Rick was the owner, the king, the master, where Morty could never hurt him like this again. Where Morty would take care of himself, go on adventures with him, and do everything Rick wanted him to do. Be completely his.

"O-of cou-urg-rse I o-own you! Y-y-you are mine!" Their faces were only inches apart. Rick didn't know when he grabbed the kid, but he didn't care. The kid was his, he could touch him anytime he wanted, do anything to him. He owned him. Not Beth, his alcoholic, absent mother who, even though was physically with his kids, left them just the same as Rick did to her. Not Jessica, that little bitch who was panting after Morty, yet blew him off each time, trying to make herself be more desirable. Nobody else's.

Morty's expression changed, the defiance melting off of his face. His lips parted, eyes widened, showing off his dilated pupils. He went limp against the wall, into Rick's arms, unconsciously baring his neck, the most vulnerable spot to the predator that was his grandfather.

Rick growled, satisfaction flooding his body. Morty's exposed throat, his little, aching cock pressing against his tight, those beautiful doe eyes made something in him warm and satisfied, content and even more possessive. Nobody could see Morty like this. Ever.

Only him.

He had to own him, to show the world Morty belonged to him, only to him. Rick opened his jaws wide, then clamped down, teeth sliding into Morty's soft, tender flesh. Breathing through his nose, he inhaled Morty's scent, the muskiness, the smell of a horny, sweaty teenager, and strawberry-like sweetness. The boy melted against him, whining, his little prick rutting against Rick's legs, as if the pain, the obvious ownership of his grandfather was the only thing he ever wanted.

Well, who was Rick to deny his Kitten?

Morty let out a moan, soft and high, trembling as he came into his pants. His grip was tight on Rick's lab coat, as though it was Rick who avoided him for the last couple of days, as if he was a flight risk, as if he would ever let Morty go. He sucked lightly at Morty's pulse point, feeling his Kitte's heart pounding like he just escaped from the Galactic Federation Prison, leaving even more marks on the sensitive, pale skin. He made a guttural sound as Morty's little cock hardened against him, again, letting out tiny, high-pitched moans, like a bitch in heat. His tiny body was shaking against Rick, if his grandfather didn't press him against the walls he would have collapsed onto the ground already. Rick pressed his knee against that little cock he was salivating to taste, and the sound that came out of his Kitten's mouth was a little deeper, and a lot more desperate.

"Y-yo-urgh-u a-are mine," Rick snarled.

"Y-y-yes," Morty agreed.

[iviarellereads]

The Eye of the World, Prologue - Dragonmount

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Wheel icon)(1) In which you're right to be confused.

Sit down, relax, have a sip of tea, open the book: everyone is dead, and the architecture distorted from the flawed magic that killed them in myriad unpleasant ways.(2)

And then Lews Therin Telamon calls out for his wife. He's quite oblivious to the destruction around him, unable to see the woman laying dead, her final expression one of disbelief,(3) at his feet as he calls her name.

For a moment he fingered the symbol on his cloak, a circle half white and half black, the colors separated by a sinuous line. It meant something, that symbol.(4)

But he's easily distracted, here, now, until an old acquaintance comes calling, appearing out of the air in thigh high boots with silver trim the fandom still makes fun of when we reread this and remember. LTT doesn't remember him, though, only asks if he'd like to help with the Singing that will happen soon.(5)

"Shai'tan take you, does the taint already have you so far in its grip?"(6)

The stranger's name was once Elan Morin Tedronai, we don't get his current one, only a nickname: the Betrayer of Hope. LTT is known as the Dragon, and now Kinslayer. He's so far gone, he barely remembers that Shai'tan is a name that should never be spoken. It would seem that he, in his tainted madness, killed his own castle. His own home. His own wife. The Betrayer of Hope names a bunch of titles LTT once held, and is frustrated that now he's so much more powerful than LTT, and LTT has forgotten it all, forgotten him, all but forgotten reality itself.

The BOH says he won't let LTT die without recognizing how far he's fallen, and it's unfortunate that one of the Sisters isn't here, for he never had much skill with Healing,(7) and he uses a different power now.(8) And then, using some kind of magic that darkens the room, he heals LTT's mind.

Pain blazed in Lews Therin, and he screamed, a scream that came from his depths, a scream he could not stop. […] Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain receded. […] His eyes fell on the golden-haired woman, and the scream that was ripped out of him dwarfed every sound he had made before.

He crawls to her, screaming and weeping. BOH promises, he could have her back if he turned to the dark, even now. But, LTT remembers, now, that BOH's "foul master" has racked the world for ten years.

"This war has not lasted ten years, but since the beginning of time. You and I have fought a thousand battles with the turning of the Wheel, a thousand times a thousand, and we will fight until time dies and the Shadow is triumphant!"(9)

LTT swears vengeance for Ilyena, but BOH reminds him who led a futile attack that tainted male magic and drove all male channelers mad, and who killed everyone in this castle. LTT howls again, and in his grief, can't bear to stay in his home.

Desperately he reached out to the True Source, to tainted saidin, and he Traveled.(10)

He lands in a vast plain, near a river, and can sense that there are no people for hundreds of leagues.

He was still touching saidin, the male half of the power that drove the universe, that turned the Wheel of Time, and he could feel the oily taint fouling its surface, the taint of the Shadow's counterstroke, the taint that doomed the world. Because of him. Because in his pride he had believed that men could match the Creator[.](11)

He channels more than any one person can bear, begging the Light's forgiveness, and creates a massive volcano that just keeps growing.

At last the wind died, the earth stilled to trembling mutters. Of Lews Therin Telamon, no sign remained. Where he had stood a mountain now rose miles into the sky, molten lava still gushing from its broken peak. The broad, straight river had been pushed into a curve away from the mountain, and there it split to form a long island in its midst. The shadow of the mountain almost reached the island; it lay dark across the land like the ominous hand of prophecy.(12)

BOH watches from some distance, saying LTT can't escape that easily, then disappears. Then two fragments of in-world texts, prophecies about the Dragon being reborn.

And the Shadow fell upon the Land, and the World was riven stone from stone. The oceans fled, and the mountains were swallowed up, and the nations were scattered to the eight corners of the World. The moon was as blood, and the sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead. All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon.(13) (From Aleth nin Taerin alta Camora, The Breaking of the World. Author unknown, the Fourth Age) And it came to pass in those days, as it had come before and would come again, that the Dark lay heavy on the land and weighed down the hearts of men, and the green things failed, and hope died. And men cried out to the Creator, saying, O Light of the Heavens, Light of the World, let the Promised One be born of the mountain,(14) according to the prophecies, as he was in ages past and will be in ages to come. Let the Prince of the Morning sing to the land that green things will grow and the valleys give forth lambs. Let the arm of the Lord of the Dawn shelter us from the Dark, and the great sword of justice defend us.(15) Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time. (From Charal Drianaan te Calamon, The Cycle of the Dragon. Author unknown, the Fourth Age)(16)

=====

(1) Yep, this is the titular wheel itself. I will list the icons on all chapters, particularly because the audiobook readers don't get any indication they exist, but I'm not going to try to post an image of each one every time it comes up. If you don't mind a list that gives away a few concepts that come up through the series, this page has all the images and a one or two word descriptor for each, without giving away where or how many times they're used going forward. I think they're a really interesting little game: what does each chapter icon mean, who or what does it refer to in the world, what might you be able to learn about the meaning of a chapter from the icon? Not necessarily for this one, but keep it in mind, and I might give it away for each one when it becomes clear what it's meant to be. (2) I believe it's fair to tell you it was magic, considering the detail in the introductory paragraph. Lightning down corridors, flames that chase, and stones that flow like liquid. Certainly no natural force we know of. (3) And as the text says she's his wife, wouldn't you be surprised to be magic-murdered by your husband? (4) It sure does. A circle in two halves, the sinuous line… it could almost be a yin-yang, except no mention of an eye or dot exchanged. Still, might be worth keeping this one in mind. (5) Always fun to try and interpret Very Important Capitalized Words in the context of a new world, isn't it? What could the Voice and the Singing be, that we're not used to? (6) Shai'tan, Satan, fairly straightforward. Also, get used to seeing taint because it comes up a LOT and we all like to giggle at it despite its horrifying nature. (7) Another two odd capitals in succession. (8) So, multiple powers are available. (9) Part of the setup, or perhaps conceit, of this world is that time is utterly cyclical. Exact events may not repeat, but the broad strokes will. We don't know how long the cycle is, but this guy seems convinced that it's been cycling a very, very long time. (10) A lot of information and word-dropping here. I think it's safe to say, the True Source is one of many names given to the magic in this world, along with others we'll see along the way. Traveling is fairly self-explanatory, going from one place to another with magic. Saidin is the name for the male half of the source, which was tainted when…

(11) OK, contextualizing what information is here: LTT led the Hundred Companions against the Lord of the Dark (whoever or whatever that is) trying to win the long and wretched war that lay behind them. Instead, they failed, and the DO tainted the male half of the power so that anyone who channels it will go mad, and do little things like kill their loved ones. This isn't your typical "mental illness" sort of mad, but a literal corruption of sanity and body by magical influence directly from the antithesis of literal God. (12) The chapter-namer, Dragonmount, the Dragon's mountain. Born of his shame. Surely not a symbol of anything, nor will it ever come up in conversation again. (13) Funny, we were just told by someone who knew the Dragon that he earned that name before all that happened, since that's what was just beginning in this little prologue. Isn't it interesting how history can lose details in the twisting of time? (14) Hey look, a saying about being born on a mountain, when a very convenient one was just boomed into existence. (15) The other excerpt seemed to indicate that the Dragon was a bringer of death and chaos, but this one, if it's referring to the same man (which seems likely as they're both attached to the same prologue chapter), seems to frame him as an object of hope and protection. Both are given equal weight here. Again I say, it's funny how history, translation, time, and interpretation can shift our understanding. So, is the Dragon a man of destruction and chaos, or of protection and salvation? We have 15 books ahead of us, do you think it will be as simple as one or the other? (16) Also interesting (I'm gonna overuse that word a lot) that both these books are said to be from the Fourth Age. You'll see why literally in the first paragraph of chapter 1 so I don't feel bad saying it here.

[beholdme]

wip word search

I was tagged a few times, so maaaany words to get through. I don't have a lot of WIPs on the go, so most of these are from the same few fics.

@tharkuun ~

anger: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) Of course, Hob must follow him, practically chasing Dream as he strides through the rain and the fog. He says words, but Dream does not register them, not until Hob manages the eat up the ground between them and grab his arm, arresting the momentum of Dream’s forward motion and bringing him around to stumble into Hob’s firm, broad chest. The sheer audacity sends a bright hot flare of anger through Dream, warming his preternaturally cool limbs from the inside out.

heat: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) Very much against his will, Dream feels himself begin to heat with the first stirrings of desire. Something prideful and possessive roars from the very depths of his being, demanding he stand up and claim what Hob would offer him right this very moment. He has never, not even for a moment, considered Hob Gadling as a potential lover, but now his body, his traitorous body which should not yield so easily to the call of ardour, demands he considers it thoroughly.

smile: (untilted fic where Hob and Desire hook up in the early 70s) “I could tell you my name if you like.” Desire smiles, one sharp canine showing, golden eyes glittering pedatorily. “Since I already know yours, Robert Gadling.”

hunger: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) With his mouth occupied with panting, Dream turns his attention to Hob’s neck, ripping off his necktie and button, opening his shirt collar to get at the taut, tan skin of his throat. Hob’s blood pulsing beneath his flesh in a hot, slick slide that Dream hungers for, in the way he has always hungered for all of Hob, with the simmering patience of curiosity. Dream feels sure he will feel the salt coppery burst of Hob’s lifeblood across his tongue one day, and that day will be all the sweeter for the wait he must endure to arrive there.

wet: (from a recent chapter of Chasing that's still in my WIP doc) Breath hitching, close to sobs but held back from the edge of tears, Dream rips his coat off, then his boots, throwing them in whatever direction he happens to be pointing at the time. Deciding that it isn’t sufficient, Dream grabs the next closest thing and throws that too, a decorative bowl off his side table that smashes fantastically against the wall across the room. The noise, a sharp, crystalline shatter, breaks him out of his anger enough to bring him up short. He actually takes a step back, his betrayal and the suffocating frustration of it all retreating enough for him to feel the lump in his throat and the wetness of his cheeks.

@reallyintoscience ~

wet: See above.

sharp: (untilted Dreamling fic where Hob dreams of encountering Dream as a beast/hunt god in the woods during a hunt) When the hoofprints turn fresher, Hob knows he is close. He has caught up with the beast, and he knows he can find it. Quietening his movements, crouching and moving as silently as possible, Hob steps up to a break in the trees and finds his prize standing in a small clearing. A sunbeam pierces the canopy, shining directly onto the massive creature, his white fur gilded warm silver. He is, indeed, the largest, most impressive beast that Hob has laid eyes on, even accounting for his long life. Antlers spread out above his head, large and powerful, the tips sharp as blades and the bone as white as the driven snow. A crown fit for a king.

deep: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) Dream kisses him. Not to stop the words, but to taste them on Hob’s tongue, honeyed and purposeful and honest. He does not know what to do with them, so he gathers them, along with the promise of Hob’s desires, and hoards them in a shining gold treasure chest, deep in the heart of the Dreaming.

glow: (from a recent chapter of Chasing that's still in my WIP doc) It doesn’t help in the least that the first thing he has to deal with when he gets to his office is the deadbolt that Dream broke months and months ago, which still isn’t fixed. So, Hob has to fight with the key lock that always sticks while he has a visceral flashback to Dream’s expression of bliss while Hob fucked him in his office. His sweet smile when he saw the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling, the lithe length of him pressed to Hob from shoulder to feet while they lay on the floor recovering.

rain: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) Dream’s hands fist tighter, gripping Hob by the lapels and using them to wrestle him back against the wall of the nearest building, crowding him against it. Despite the rain dampness of his clothes, the whole of him exudes warmth like a furnace, his chest a raging inferno against Dream’s, his breath a [warm] wash across his face. He smells of whiskey, cinnamon, and something sweeter–the tart crispness of green apples.

@notallsandmen ~

touch: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) Hob huffs, shaking his head, and then he shakes Dream for good measure. His hands, broad and warm and capable, move up to cup his face, and Dream has to swiftly dismiss the urge to nestle into his touch like an affectionate cat.

skin: (untilted Dreamling fic where Hob dreams of encountering Dream as a beast/hunt god in the woods during a hunt) His skin is just as smooth and white as his fur from his previous form, luminous in the sunlight, complimented perfectly among the lush greens and browns of the forest. His antlers sprout from among a wild mop of black hair. “You would think to kill me, mortal?”

light: (untilted fic where Hob and Desire hook up in the early 70s) It’s 1971 and Hob is high off his arse in a club in Brooklyn when he first sees them. They’re impossible to miss, their hair a bright shock of blonde in the dim, hazy room, their outfit an acid green minidress covered in glittering sequins. They catch all the light in the room, reflecting green prisms like a person-shaped disco ball.

hands: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) Dream makes a small, angry noise in the back of his throat, hands fisting in the sodden fabric of Hob’s jacket in what is meant as a warning, but serves more as an anchor. “Don’t walk away from me,” Hob says, not a demand, but a soft plea, like the gentle hands that wrap around Dream’s arms and hold him close. Dream could easily break his grip, but now that he is within the warm circle of Hob’s arms, he finds all his motivation to get away has vanished. “You want me,” Dream chokes out through the tightness of his throat, frowning at him, a tight line furrowed into his brow. “I can see it in you that you want me, yet you would call me friend in one breath and then denigrate me in the next.”

warm: (from a recent chapter of Chasing that's still in my WIP doc) "You left your key. Why would you come back after you left your key?" The key in question hangs around Dream’s neck on a chain, along with the key Hob had given Dream and he was not even remotely brave enough to contemplate returning. The metal is warm from proximity to his skin as he tugs them out of the collar of his shirt and grips them tightly.

honk zone bonus ~

gold: (bottom-virgin Hob fic) A thread keeps catching him though, pulling him this way and that. A bright, shining, strong cord of molten gold runs through Hob’s entire life from the moment he met Dream in 1389 and has not abated even a bit since then.

tsunami: (from a recent chapter of Chasing that's still in my WIP doc) There is a pained exhale, so expressively sad that it cracks Dream’s chest open and leaves his pain spilling through him like a tsunami. A vast, draining flood that demands all his suffering at once.

I'm not going to tag anyone cause I think everyone I know has already done it ^^

[necroarchy]

“My life is yours. Kill me or let me live, if it even matters to you.”

❥     𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓  𝐘𝐎𝐔  ,  𝐀  𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑  . --- accepting

She arrives in hurricane procession.

He keeps no storm watchers on hand, regardless of this one's frequency and carnage. Precaution is kin to anticipation. It bleeds the same color as expectation. All of it, a kind of awaiting. ( A wanting. ) Arthas finds her often enough without making a place for her, and besides --- she would never deign to fit the design.

( “ Jaina usually runs a little late.” ) 

The cost is to ever be blindsided by her. ( You would be blindsided regardless. )

“ … What? ”

The Shadow Throne swallows his slack-jawed stupidity whole. Its walls are soundproof, unlike the rest of his Citadel, whose veins and ventricles were carved to carry the cries of the damned from rampart to spire. He is not his father, to leave unlocked the doors of his imperial chamber for any bad omen winging its way in. He does not accept with open arms his murderous dark son. 

Merely her mother, it seems. ( Again. )

What stands before him could be a stranger. Her golds are bleached to silver. Her hands are metal gleaming. Even this grief is new, kindled to rage by furnace flames he hadn’t known she even possessed. ( Turnabout is fair play. You surprised her first. ) Jaina places herself in his hands with a truly murderous spite, and he can barely bring himself to appreciate it.

Whence comes this sudden sense?

And whence has his fled? 

“ Here you are, come to this place once more … searching this time, for …? ” He rises slowly from his throne, armor clattering in protest. “ You must know by now there are no golden princes awaiting you. ”

One step, another. How easily he crosses the distance. You could think there nothing but air between them.

My life is yours, she says, as though it had ever been elsewise. Why else would her breath suffocate his lungs. What other reason explains her blood leaking still within his cavernous dark chest. He has flensed himself to the bone for nothing. She lives in his marrow, sleeps on those factory floors. There is none of his construction free of her.

A laugh clots in his throat; he feels it throb just below his jaw, at the place a hangman’s noose tightens.

“ There is only me. ”

Overhead: the faint creak of a guillotine. ( Or is that your armor? ) It must be. His gauntlet has risen to her face. Thumb pressed to the long sweep of her pale cheek, blood-black against the snow --- a twitch of his wrist would render her to dust.

( A twitch of hers would rend you both. You wonder, as always, if she knows. )

She wears heartbreak the same as ever, his Jaina. He sees it in the turn of her mouth first; watches, rapt, as it spreads plaguelike to dull her lilac-strange eyes, and drag her shoulders down. Bone presses heavier against his palm, and he does not know if she leans into the touch or merely wilts towards her sad grave.

No difference, really. No difference at all.

If it even matters to you.

His throat unclenches. A wet, red laugh dribbles from between his teeth. Always, she mistakes him for someone kind.

“ Would that it didn’t. ”

His other hand knots through her hair in a barbed-wire grip. A tilt of the wrist makes her ( dust ) gasp, and he surges upon her as an avalanche.

Ghost-pale, but this warmth … this he recalls. She burns his mouth as though he seeks to swallow the sun. Ozone crackles against his tongue, coats the back of his palate in a metal sheen. Magic, or a brewing storm --- he never could parse the difference, married as they are in her flesh. Their teeth clack, clumsy from the long years’ absence. He tilts her head, adjusts his approach --- and here they are. Every betrayal and broken promise washes away in the tide. They could be young again. They could be in love.

The hand not snarled in her hair trails from her jaw to the hollow of her throat, the jut of her sternum. His palm flattens, fingers spread wide over that steady, nauseating beat. He could pluck it free so easily. He could bring it to his lips, and make her last sight him taking a bite.

( You could put it back where it belongs. )

Arthas licks into her mouth as ice pours into her red heart. Frost folds softly over every ventricle, smoothing over fluttering tissues and shuddering wet veins. Close as they are, entwined as they are, he can feel the faltering staccato echo within his hollow rib cage.

( You could --- )

He bites her lip bloody as it cracks in two.

[solthemighty]

Sunlight and Fire

Silva was born into a world of colors, shades and hues so numerous he couldn’t count them all, varied and beautiful. But strangely, the color of the sun, of gold and flowers and so many other things, has grown with him. 

His cradle was green leaves and soft grass, new eyes taking in the veins beneath the verdant surfaces. The sky overhead was grey, pale silver light passing through the clouds while crystal rain fell in droplets upon his face. Lightning, yellow and stark against such a uniform background, crackled with energy and set trees alight in orange fire. Silva, newly birthed from the Mother into the storm, watched the lightning and felt fear.

As he grew, tended to and nursed by dryads and river spirits, his forest cradle grew dense and lush in the coming spring. Vernal danced through the spaces between branches, sang songs with the coming of new life, the plants budding and blooming in riotous colors. Pink, purple, white, red, green, blue, all coiled together along vines and branches and stems that bent whenever Silva passed by. The nature spirit coaxed the young god to join in his merriment, and daisies grew around Silva’s feet wherever he tread. 

The god grew older still, the trees swaying to bow as he moved between them. Autumnal cast the leaves in warm hues of red, orange, and yellow, an ombre that reminded Silva so vividly of fire and magma flowing beneath the earth. Lightning struck, storm winds toppled the forests and flooded the rivers as war began. The forest was alight in yellow flames and lightning, and his once lush home became a grey mountain, bubbling and belching molten rock high into the atmosphere with his rage.

When the fighting was over—for now, the promise hissed—there was rebuilding to be done, as the remaining dryads mourned their fallen kin and the river spirits snuffed the last fires. Silva gathered them all, his nature bound brethren, at the foot of that grey mountain, dried black as ash fell like snow around them. The forest he regrew, the grass and trees growing thicker and twining around him, swaying toward their god, was darker than before, evergreen and deadly with roots to trap and vines to ensnare. Solstice swept over the land, and the flowers that bloomed there seemed to glow white while their thorns flashed amber in the dim light, spreading around the base of the mountain like a protective shield. In many ways, it was.

The city Silva built, heeding the pleas of frightened mortals, became golden, as the new residents painted their houses in colors of brown and red and orange and oddly, yellow. Yellow flowers mimicking those at the base of the mountain, and golden murals in the shape of Oro’s horns took shape along walls and roofs, the solstice casting everything in bright sunlight. Silva was almost blinded as he walked through the city, once small and humble, now resplendent and full of life. 

When there was time, in rare stretches of peace, Silva would trace the patterns on Oro’s back, glowing with white-hot gold beneath dark stone skin. His friend would say nothing, would only wait his turn until Silva was finished, and then the vines that made up the god’s hair would be tended to, stone skin on stone skin as they curled together, powerful yet frightened.

Solaris’ hair is as yellow as the sunflowers she creates to adorn the grounds, tending to the flowers that turn their heads toward the sun. Silva changes their colors, from a lemon hue to blue or purple, all for Solaris to throw her head back and laugh, flaxen hair blooming as she lets the world know of her joy. Silva would dance with her in the square to make more flowers bloom, and the daisies from before made a triumphant return.

Ophel’s eyes shine sallow in the low evening light as they sing in the entrance’s antechamber. They sing of victory, of peace, of tales so old Silva remembers them dearly, all reflected in the color of the spirit’s gaze. The spirit sang of betrayal, of heartache, and of a god who saved them, and all Silva could do was beg that the spirit not thank him. He has done many things, impossible things, but he did not wish to be thanked for saving a life. He has taken far too many.

Winter descends on the mountaintop, the snow dusting the tops of trees and casting everything in a somber silver. Secretly, or perhaps only cautiously, Silva finds winter to be his favorite season. With his yearly visitor, Silva may admit that he has a bias. Hiemal does not wear yellow, preferring blues and greys that suit his pale visage more, but his blue mingles so nicely with the colors of Silva’s wardrobe. He dons a golden robe this time, and the god expects the blues and yellows of their clothes to meld into green, to bloom into snowdrops and winterberry and crocus as snow settles on the windowsill. Instead, they tangle but never mix, the gods a bit too in their cups and sprawled over cushions on the floor, laughing and touching and kissing through the haze as the lanterns cast the room in warm light. 

Of all colors that Silva has seen, of all colors his flowers take on and the many shades of gems hidden beneath the rock, he always finds himself partial to the color of sunlight and fire.