#a glimmer of light refusing to fade ao3

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

Little Miwi headcanons? :D

OHOHOHO YIPPEE

Miwi were attached at the hip. They were together 24/7, 365, and if you took them apart, they would probably cry.

Mike gave Will most of the stuffed animals he owns now, but when Lonnie was around, Will had Mike hold onto them so that Lonnie couldn't throw them out - nowadays, Will has full custody again (lol).

Mike was the only one ever allowed in Castle Byers without supervision - Lucas and Dustin weren't allowed in unless Will was there first, but Mike was allowed to go inside alone.

Will and Mike used to make their own comic books as little kids. The books sucked, but both of them kept copies.

They had a super elaborate goodbye ritual for the end of the school day, taking 10-15 minutes, and Lucas would just stand there in the background like 🧍. When Dustin came along, he tried to interrupt regularly, but Lucas would stop him like 'nonono don't do that they'll start over-'

Thank you for the ask!!

[byler4vida]

What I absolutely love about Byler ao3 stories is that they will ALWAYS choose each other, it doesn't matter who they are with or what they have gone through etc, they will always choose each other, there is no Mike without Will and there is Will without Mike, have you guys read this story on ao3? It's called "A Glimmer of Light refusing to fade by". It's a Byler story and I think it's so adorable how despite what Mike and Will have gone through (especially Will, poor boy) they still choose each other and everytime they argue, they are so miserable without the other (there was originally supposed to be a gay Jewish boy in Lenora who became friends with Will but Mike showed before romantic feelings were involved, but let's be honest, it doesn't who they have a crush on or whatever, it doesn't matter who they have slept with, those two will always choose each other, just the facts 😎😎😎)

[scribbling-dragon]

a tree falls (and it is silent)

summary:

…She can still see the island above her. If she looks. It is fading, retreating back into the void, folding into another corner of reality. The island has shrunk to the same size as every other star around it, glimmering in the same taunting, teasing way. Just out of reach, but almost like she could reach out and snatch it up in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on it anyway, even as it shrinks to a pinprick of light – as though the moment she looks away she loses all hope of returning.

(ao3 link)

(4,638 words)

[AN: not really sure where this fic went, but it was fun to write! just a tiny little warning for slight body modification? not really sure how else to describe it. so yeah]

Lizzie falls.

And it is not a slow, gradual tilting backwards. It is not something that she can replay second by second in her mind’s eye, to watch where it was that she went wrong; where it was that she misstepped. She wishes it was, almost. That she could point at a singular moment in time and go, there, that is where everything went wrong.

But she can’t.

Instead, she felt something give way. Felt her feet slip beneath her as she stepped, and then stepped again. Out into the open air of the void. She had twisted, a mad scramble to save herself, maybe to drag Scott down with her. So that it would not be in vain.

She had caught fabric, for a singular, heart-stopping moment. Her nails had caught on Scott’s jacket, had ripped at the denim. She can still feel the sensation of it beneath her nails now.

And then Scott had jerked back as though burned, eyes wide as he tore himself free of her clutching, desperate grip. It had torn a few threads loose, threads that she still clutches to her chest now. It is a prize, a monument to her stupidity, the culmination of her stumbling steps that have led her unsteadily to this moment.

Every single moment here has left her lost and floundering. She had staggered upon landing and never regained her footing, even as those around her wobbled before balancing themselves again. They had charged forward and left her in the dust, clutching a few threads to her chest as though that undoes any of the mistakes she’s made.

…She can still see the island above her. If she looks.

It is fading, retreating back into the void, folding into another corner of reality. Maybe Scott is still staring over the edge at her, watching as she plunges into a certain doom. Or, more likely, he turned away the moment it was clear she would not be saving herself. He’s probably retelling the sorry, sordid tale right now, to an audience of sympathetic murmurs, ones that are only glad it is not them.

The island has shrunk to the same size as every other star around it, glimmering in the same taunting, teasing way. Just out of reach, but almost like she could reach out and snatch it up in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on it anyway, even as it shrinks to a pinprick of light – as though the moment she looks away she loses all hope of returning. As though she hasn’t already fallen into an inescapable pit.

She was condemned the moment she stepped into this void damned place.

She still keeps staring at their island, even as the other stars – other islands? – glimmer at cheerily at her, attempting to draw her gaze in their direction. She refuses staunchly, watching the island shrink and shrink and shrink. The moment she blinks, the moment her focus wavers even a tiny bit is the moment she passes the point of no return.

How many of those other stars are islands, the same as their own? How many have a dragon curled atop an obsidian pillar, awaiting its next victims?

Lizzie feels a strange tightness in her chest. A breathlessness borne of the lack of air in the void. And yet her chest continues to inflate and deflate, lungs working as they should. The back of her throat tickles, as though something has lodged itself there and is refusing to budge.

She should be long dead, she knows. The lack of air in the void is a swift killer, one that eases you into the darkness of sleep before it finishes you off. A merciful killer.

And yet there is no shadow around the edges of her vision. No darkness creeping over her eyes to obscure the island. To pull the wool over her eyes for the last few moments of her life.

She continues to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breath after breath. Impossibility after impossibility.

It is nonsensical. And yet it continues. Just as she continues to watch the islands above her. Continues to watch her island.

There is a strange calm that surrounds her then, soothes over the aching edges of her mind that continues to worry at the issue of her continued survival. She breathes out, eyes fluttering shut slightly as that relaxation coaxes her eyes into slipping shut. Just a fraction.

It is enough for her to lose focus for that one key moment – the calm is rudely torn from her as she blinks, once, twice, thrice, no longer caring for not blinking as the fateful moment has already passed. Her island blends in amongst the other stars, indiscernible from everything else filling the void.

As she attempts to sit up, and then realises that she is able, the rushing sensation in her ears drops away. She no longer falls, no longer plummets into the open, yawning maw of the void – a seemingly endless depth that should have already closed its jaws around her.

Instead, she…drifts. Saunters vaguely downwards. Hangs on the precipice between something and nothing, teetering back and forth on that unknowable, invisible edge.

Something must push her beyond that edge, must nudge her that final inch over the line as the weightlessness returns for a long moment. It makes her stomach drop out of her body as she falls sharply downwards before…stopping.

She doesn’t slow. Not in the same way as before. This is a sudden, jerking halt, as though something had interrupted her fall.

Lizzie looks around, beyond confused. It was almost as though she had been caught, as though someone had stretched their arms out to stop any further descent, cradling her safely in their embrace.

The void spreads out wide around her, inky darkness reaching into every corner.

There is nothing to catch her out here, where nothingness is all that exists.

That, my dear, is where you are wrong.

She jolts at the sudden voice murmuring beside her ear, quiet as a whisper. She blinks furiously as she whips her head around, wariness swiftly transforming into fear as her surroundings remain featureless.

“Who’s there!” she yells, no longer caring that no true air fills her lungs, and yet she’s able to speak all the same. Able to draw breath from this thin, suffocating air. “Show yourself!”

There is a low chuckle, still quiet. Still barely above a whisper. It is the sound of stars shining high above. The sound of ants scuttling over the bark of a tree: there, but not audible. Something that should not be heard.

My dear, to show myself would be defeating the purpose of my existence, would it not?

“Oh yeah?” She stands, surprises herself a moment with the fact that she is able to stand, before promptly getting over it and continuing to question her sudden companion. “Why’s that? You some nasty creature come to kill me? One of those all-seeing fellas from up there?” She gestures in the vague direction of where she thinks she just fell from.

I am none of those things.

“Then what are you?” The quiet of this new voice lowers her voice. She feels self-conscious yelling while this- this thing speaks calmly, at a level barely above a whisper as though it does not care if it is heard or not.

I am nothingness.

“Well, obviously not.” She scoffs. “If you were nothingness then you wouldn’t be talking to me right now, would you?”

The voice remains silent for a moment after that. As though chewing over her words and carefully considering what she has just said. …And then it continues to remain silent. This silence is thick in the air, laying itself over her shoulders heavily.

She almost thinks that it has taken her advice, that, as a creature of nothingness, it has retreated into itself and becoming nothing at all.

“Wait!” She calls out into the void. Desperate for any response. “I’m…I'm sorry! I didn’t mean it! Please, come back!”

I was never gone.

“Kinda hard to tell that.” Her shoulders slump in relief. The sudden panic that came out of nowhere scared her – it had seized her by the throat, demanding that she call back her strange companion, that she not be alone again. “What with the whole nothingness shtick.”

It is not a shtick.

It sounds offended. Lizzie feels momentarily sheepish, before remembering that she doesn’t know who or what this is, and so she doesn’t owe it anything.

“Then what is it? Something you pull out for parties?”

You know not what you speak of.

“Then enlighten me, won’t you?”

How can I expect you to comprehend the vastness of my being? There’s a pause, and Lizzie almost thinks that the thing would have coughed awkwardly were it a human. No offence.

“Full offence taken.”

Ah, my apologies. It pauses again, and then: I…would something like this help?

“Something like what?” Lizzie raises her eyebrows, glancing around the empty space she’s currently stood in. And then…oh. Hm. She’s…well, she’s not sure how to feel about that, actually.

A crude, rather rickety table is less than a foot from her. The paint is patchy and not complete. It wasn’t one of her finest moments, but she had been in a hurry, had been too full of hopes and dreams, and the belief in her fellow players was far, far too high to care about something like the evenness of paint.

A cake sits atop this table. It is far too big for one person alone, and the table almost seems to groan beneath its weight.

She blinks, and there is a chair right beside the table, turned towards her. This chair is a solid white, sturdily built. It is not something she created. There had been beds, instead. She had imagined a party, each of them with a slice of cake in their hands as they sat on beds. Maybe even crowded several people into one bunk as they laughed like they had the first time around, when everything was better.

She sits down in the chair.

The candle in the cake is lit, and the flame flickers for a moment before blowing out. There is no smoke.

Apologies, a flame does not last well in the Void.

“That’s…fine.”

Unbidden, tears rise to her eyes. They cling to her lashes and make her eyelids stick together slightly as she blinks. She refuses to let them fall, however, because crying in front of some horrifying (?) cosmic entity was not on her to-do list today, and she refuses to add it.

And she can’t stand the feeling of dried tears on her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She says, sat at this party for one. It feels a little miserable, that an entity describing itself as nothingness has thrown her a party. Miserable, but fitting. “I…appreciate it.”

Good. The voice is warm, though still quiet. Perhaps this is the loudest it can be – it is the Void itself after all, Lizzie realises.

Perhaps it was a little idiotic of her not to realise before that this entity beside her, all around her, which described itself as nothingness was the exact void she was currently sat in.

There is a knife for her to cut the cake with, sat next to her hand as though it has been there the entire time. She reaches for it, intent on tasting this cake created by nothingness. She wonders if it will have a flavour.

Well, hello there! Where the Void’s voice had been quiet, barely a whisper, this one is cacophonous, as though someone had yelled right beside her ear. She cannot help but wince at the sound, shrinking backwards.

She leans back so far that the chair topples back, disappearing beneath her back as she sprawls across the ground. When she looks up, her party for one has disappeared.

Really, you could not have found it in yourself to be a little calmer?

And why should I be? You’ve got a guest here, and you didn’t even consider telling me!

Have you considered that there was good reason for that? Look at what you’ve done to the poor dear – she’s startled so terribly that she fell from her chair.

Oh. Hm. Okay then, that’s my bad, I guess.

Silence reigns for a moment, and Lizzie takes the opportunity to push herself back into a sitting position, legs crossed and one elbow resting on her knee. These two arguing entities sounded as though they knew each other – who would have thought there was something so lively in a place of certain death?

Not her, certainly.

Oh, hey. I know this one! Those words are the only warning she gets before something heavy is pressing down upon her, looking over every inch of her being, examining her like a bug pinned beneath a magnifying glass.

‘That one’ as you insist on referring to her is going to collapse beneath the weight of your full attention if you are not careful enough. The Void warns, though its voice is quiet as ever. Lizzie worries, as she feels her skin begin to unravel around her, the layers being peeled back as this second entity looks deeper into her being, that it won’t have heard the quiet sound of the Void.

Then, a moment later, it recedes, and she feels as though she can breathe again.

You were actually a little disappointing, the second entity tells her. I expected something a little better from you – maybe a little more pizazz? Something better than slipping off the edge and into the tender, loving arms of our dear Void right here.

Excuse you? How can you already leap into belittling her, hm? Her death was something tragic, but she did all she could in life.

Still could’ve been better. Her head is beginning to ache at the volume of this entity’s voice. (Thoughts?) C’mon, I expected a little more entertainment from Them, didn’t you? The little things pride Themselves on Their games, and yet They can’t even get everyone to put on a show?

You have done well, the Void assures her. You did the best you could with the hand that was dealt to you – They pick rather obvious favourites. Its voice fills with disdain, disgust worming its way into its words.

Lizzie isn’t sure who They are, but the weight with which it is said, and the disgust with which it is uttered, gives her the idea that They are not someone to get along with. And also apparently someone that picks favourites, however They might do that.

Do you comfort yourself with lies? The second entity demands. Its presence grows heavier again, bearing down on her head and shoulders, almost beginning to crush her into the non-existent ground she sits on. How can you bear to turn and face yourself when you offer meagre comforts through falsehoods and honeyed words?

What has happened, happened. What is done, cannot be undone. As such, why bother over the trivialities of what could have been done better.

“I’m still here,” Lizzie says. Just because it’s almost like these two entities – apparently familiar enough with each other to immediately begin arguing – have forgotten that the subject of their conversation is sitting right there and that she can hear everything being said about her.

We know that. Did you think we forgot?

Somewhat, yes, she doesn’t say. Mainly because that entity has turned its attention towards her again and it feels like staring directly into the sun. She grimaces at the feeling, gritting her teeth until it turns its attention away from her again.

You were disappointing. Lacklustre.

“Gee, thanks.” She’s beginning to dislike this second entity – actually, she’s gone beyond disliking this entity. It is loud and rude, voice giving her a headache and making stars burst behind her eyes with every syllable it enunciates. She wishes it had some kind of physical form so she could grab onto it and strangle it. Her hands itch with the urge, and she curls them into fists; tight enough that there will be crescent-shaped indents if she looks.

Such words are unnecessary. Boundless you may be, but few can achieve the same as you.

I’m not asking for much – like I said, a little more pizazz. A little more something isn’t unreasonable to ask for. They're putting on a show for us, the least They can do is get Their actors performing well.

Not everyone can be outstanding. There is value in being average.

You are insufferable. You’d settle for nothing if you could! You’re such a bore – why must I be stuck with you? All of eternity, and nothing interesting within it!

You are able to watch anything you wish. You do not have to wait for company to return from its wandering journeys, nor watch the condemned fall to their deaths within you. I would say you have it rather well off.

Of course you would. You know nothing of the world.

How could I?

You know of the world. That attention swings back around onto Lizzie, burning intensity. She attempts to stare right back into it, frowning in the vague direction of this thing’s eyes. Would you say you did well? That you were satisfied with what you achieved in the pitiful time you had?

Its voice is mocking. Lizzie’s not stupid, this entity dislikes her for some reason – it has made that very clear since it arrived.

She remains silent. To prove it right is unthinkable; she doesn’t want to give it such satisfaction, not when it’s left her pissed off and angry. She almost wants to bite something. But to prove it wrong is equally impossible. To lie to a seemingly omnipotent entity would be like signing her own death warrant; and who even knows if she could return if killed by an entity like this.

She keeps her jaw locked; mouth shut.

See? The entity seems to take this as an agreement anyway. How can she be satisfied with the hand she was dealt?

Not everyone wants for the impossible.

Ah, but many do – few achieve it, sure, but there is that wishing. That wanting unique only to these creatures with a limited life. Tell me, don’t you want to see how good it could have been? How good you could have been? Its voice turns softer, though it remains loud enough that her ears ache, almost as though its pleading with her, asking her permission for something unknown.

“I…” she looks around, as though there’s someone else for her to look for, to look to. There is nothing but empty void. A chasm around her that only seems to open wider and wider with each passing second. “I guess?”

See? See! It crows, its presence growing overwhelming. Its as though her skin is melting, slowly turning malleable as clay as it slips free of its confines and away from her bones. The feeling is unsettling, not at all helped by the sensation of hands on her arms, pushing at her skin, as though remoulding her. Reshaping the clay of her being.

Those hands brush over her eyes, and the stars disappear.

She panics for a moment, unsure what to do with this sudden darkness – it had been dark before, yes, but there had been the small pinpricks of stars. The little glimmering, far-off sparks that promised some kind of life. She had almost been able to convince herself that if she reached far enough, reached for long enough, that she’d be able to drag herself back to where she should be – pull herself from the pits of the void she had somehow fallen into.

Those hands press into her eyes, deft fingers smoothing out around her eye sockets before forcing her eyes open again.

She squints and winces, shutting her eyes again immediately.

Be more gentle.

I was plenty gentle, the voice scoffs. It’s her causing the issue now.

The bright light of before makes the inside of her eyelids a faint red. There is warmth here, where there had only been nothingness before – it hadn’t been cold, but the lack of warmth had made it seem so.

She tests it by only opening her eyes the tiniest bit, face wrinkled as she grows accustomed to the presence of light once more. It takes a few minutes before she can look around properly, blinking, then blinking again as she processes where she is.

She turns, and her pumpkin is there. It sits comfortably, nestled in the grass and…with a small house poking from the side?

Did you not wish for more allies?

She pauses, before shrugging. This feels like a weird dream, one that she is aware is a dream but is unable to wake from. Knowing you're in a dream means you should be able to control it, right? And yet, nothing she wills into existence appears, nothing changes to fit into her will.

You chased away a potential ally on day one, the entity sighs. There was little to be done from there; you placed your foot on the path of loneliness first.

“That house was only built for a task,” she defends. “And it was ugly.” It was a disgusting thing, something that blocked her from progressing further – from turning her house into a pumpkin. She couldn’t have continued living in a shack like that, even if it kept someone by her side for a little longer.

But…this house spoke of a compromise. Of a discussion and an allyship being struck up.

You got her hair wrong.

Huh, did I?

Those hands are resting against her again, burning her scalp as fingers drag through her hair, teasing out the strands.

Oh, I see what you mean. Hm.

Lizzie runs a hand through her hair. Tries to run a hand through her hair. She lifts her hair up, and it all comes with her hand. She pulls at it, and feels no tugging on her scalp, no individual hairs threatening to break away.

Instead, it’s like someone lay a cloth over her head and glued it down. There are no individual strands, only one thick layer. She freaks out a little at that. She’s like some- some doll with felt glued to its head. She tugs at this felt, maybe a little desperately, attempting to separate it into the fine strands of hair she’s used to.

Look what you’ve done now, you’ve freaked her out. The voice turns patronising. Chill for a second, alright, just…it’s been a minute since I made anything as complex as you. Just be glad I remembered the lungs this time!

That…is ominous. And not at all something she wants to think about.

I appreciate you remembering the lungs this time, the Void says. Listening to the previous one stutter and attempt to inhale was…unpleasant.

It was like someone was trying to force air into a block of wood! She hates this entity. Hates, hates, hates it. Even as it drags a hand through her hair she hates it, even as it falls over her shoulders in a cascade of fine strands, she hates it. Strands that are the same as her own hair, no longer a piece of felt stuck to her head.

Ah, you ruined the hands, too. The Void does not sound surprised, only mildly commenting on all the things this second entity has ruined about her. As though its watching some poorly-made film, commenting on all the shitty practical effects like it adds a certain charm to the movie.

Always a critic, the entity mutters. Why don't you try to make an entire person from scratch? See how well that goes for you.

We have already seen ‘how well’ that goes for me. I am still attempting to recover the pieces, though it will be a few centuries more before there are enough fragments for you to rebuild them.

You’re still working on that? I thought you gave up on that ages ago.

There are too many joints in her fingers. She bends one, and it curls up almost completely. Rolling into a spiral like a snail’s shell. One of the beings – she can’t tell which – tuts softly and uncurls her finger again, smoothing it out and removing the excess joints.

It’s a passion project. I work on it when I feel the urge.

Lizzie feels a wash of fear then. Something that had initially been small enough to ignore, and then forcefully locked away in her chest so she was no longer focusing on it – focusing on the entities in front of her, watching them, making sure that they aren’t casually discussing the best ways to destroy her.

Here, right here, right now, she feels that fear burst free. Like a burst blood vessel as it all pours free from where it had been blocked up. She’s drenched with this fear within moments, left shaking and shivering, too few joints in her hands; her fingers are short and her palms are long, and then her fingers are long and the palms short, as though the entity cannot figure out how to model them.

That feeling of clay is back. But this time there is no darkness, no kind hand covering her eyes to block her sight from the horror of watching her flesh begin to slip free from the bone. The horror of watching a hand-shaped ident press against her elbow, guiding her skin to remain there for a moment longer as it smooths over the mistakes that had been made seconds prior.

She attempts to stumble away, but the hands are all around her, pressing her skin back into place. Holding her together.

Ah, dear. I don't think this was the best idea.

Oh, really? You know, I thought the fast breathing and rabbiting heart was because she was enjoying this.

Don't take such a tone with me, this was your idea in the first place.

I just wanted to show her how much better she could be! Lizzie’s brain begins to fuzz over, words becoming distorted, no longer making sense to her addled mind. Her eyes slip shut all on their own, no longer staring so intently at the remoulding of her skin. If you hadn’t pointed out the inconsistencies then she wouldn’t have noticed! If anything, this is your fault.

Well, alright then. Piece her back together will you? She can rest a little while. With me.

Whatever you say.

The burning hands press close again, before retreating entirely. She doesn’t know what to think. Only that the cool hands that brush over her face are much gentler than the previous pair. They carry the gentle care of a mother, of a childhood friend reunited.

She sighs, and gives into the comfort. Everything burns, and she feels as though she’s been fighting an unknown assailant for hours. Her limbs ache, like her muscles have been twisted back and forth by an unruly hand.

Leave us in peace. I have practice putting people back together…this shouldn’t take too long.

You're going to irritate Them. You’ve interfered with Their games now.

I am certain They will learn how to cope with it. To welcome the Void into that place, They already knew what was being invited.

I'm not helping you when this turns around and bites you in the ass.

Don't be so crude.

Lizzie keeps her eyes shut. Doesn’t have much of a choice with the hand still covering them. Though, if she did choose to open her eyes and resist the calm, she could lay her eyes on the stars again.

Though…she still isn’t sure which star is her own. Which is the one she is meant to return to.

[mellyssageversee]

Eclipsed - Chapter 9

A ZoLu/LuZo fic (AU Nika Sun God)

AO3 Link

Summary: Sun God Nika is accused of a crime he did not commit. Nika goes into hiding to avoid being hunted by other Gods who wish to have him replaced. This inadvertently plunges the world into darkness, triggering an ice age. Only one human has faith that Nika will return the Sun.

For links to other chapters, please view My OP Story Masterpost

✨✨✨

Zoro barely got any sleep after that nightmare. Even with his eyes open, the words still echoed in his skull, curling around his thoughts like ghostly fingers that refused to let go.

"You take lives."

"Devour people's hopes and dreams."

“So much blood on your hands. And you think you can touch me with them?”

Zoro clenched his jaw, pushing the memory aside… but it lingered, sharp as a blade against his skin.

Nika had noticed.

At first, the God insisted Zoro share why he woke up shaking and sweating. When Zoro refused, Nika stayed quiet through the rest of the night, his usual chatter absent as he remained curled beside Zoro, warm and unmoving. It was a rare show of patience, and Zoro might have appreciated it more if it actually helped. However, the longer he lay there the heavier his thoughts became, pressing into his chest , making it difficult to breathe.

By the time the moon rose, Zoro felt worse than before. The lack of rest sat thick in his eyelids, and his usual tolerance for nonsense was at an all-time low. Which was precisely when Nika chose to start talking.

“So, last night I was thinking about everyone’s situation.” Nika said, watching as Zoro sluggishly pulled his gear together. His voice had the same energy it always did; bright and boundless, as if he hadn’t spent the night worrying over Zoro’s restlessness. “So Kaya is always sick because it’s too cold, and Chopper can’t always make her medicine because the herbs he wants to grow won’t survive in this weather. And Usopp can’t fish because of the moldy ice-”

“Rotten ice.” Zoro corrected flatly, pulling his arm halfway through his coat before realizing it was inside out. He let out a tired sigh before correcting it.

“That’s what I said.” Nika pouted but quickly moved on, undeterred. “And since we can’t get a boat because we can’t sail through spoiled ice, there’s only one thing we can do.”

Zoro exhaled slowly and waited, but Nika went silent.

Zoro laced up his boots, glancing up only to find the God staring at him, eyes glimmering with anticipation. His whole body practically buzzed with barely-contained excitement, like he was waiting, begging for Zoro to take the bait.

Zoro sighed.

“What would we need to do?”

The words had barely left his mouth before Nika beamed, leaning forward like he was about to unveil the greatest revelation known to mankind.

“I’m gonna warm up the ocean!”

Zoro froze.

For a second, he didn’t quite process what he’d heard. The words were so absurd that his sleep-deprived brain struggled to keep up.

Nika, of course, took his silence as encouragement.

The glimmer in his auburn eyes burned even brighter, the warmth of his joy so contagious that for a brief moment, Zoro almost wanted to agree. To nod along, to let himself be swept into whatever wild idea Nika had conjured up this time.

But he knew better.

Zoro had seen what blessings had done to Nika. He saw how much the last blessing had drained him, how vulnerable it had left him in his fight against Lucci.

And now he wanted to warm the entire ocean?

“No.” Zoro’s voice came sharper than he intended, cutting through the golden haze between them. “You can't do that.”

Nika blinked at him, taken aback.

“Well, of course I can.” Nika argued, his expression shifting into something stubborn. “I’m the Sun God.”

Zoro’s jaw tightened. He hated this. He hated having to be the one to say no, to be the voice of reason when all he wanted was to keep that light in Nika’s eyes from fading, but better him than someone who would take more than just Nika’s joy.

“You could barely fight Lucci after blessing Nami’s garden.” Zoro said, sharper now, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the fear still clawing at the edges of his mind, but he refused to let Nika do something this reckless. “You told me how much weaker your powers have become since being cut off from your realm.”

Nika frowned, but Zoro continued.

“If you try to heat up the whole ocean, you’ll make it easier for other Gods to find you.” Zoro’s gaze was hard. “And you’ll be too weak to fight them off when they do.”

“But it’ll be different this time!” Nika insisted, pressing forward. “Zoro’s strong! We know about Wado now, and we have more experience fighting together-”

Zoro’s grip tightened.

"You think you can protect someone like me?"

The memory surged up again, unbidden, the echo of his nightmare twisting through Nika’s words. His stomach churned.

“We also have more to lose.” Zoro said, his voice low.

Nika hesitated.

“Lucci found us because of your blessings.” Zoro went on, each word deliberate, each syllable heavier than the last. He wasn’t just stating a fact, he was making sure Nika understood it. Felt it. Let it sink in deep, where even the God’s stubbornness couldn’t shake it loose. “If you do something on a larger scale, then more Gods will come for you. They’ll take you away and your disappearance would have been for nothing. ”

For a moment, Nika looked small.

Like something fragile, something breakable.

Then, just as quickly, he smiled. Not in the way he usually did… not bright, not boundless. This one was different. A mask pulled into place, a shield against something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Then we set sail before they can find us.”

Zoro exhaled slowly, reigning himself in before his frustration could boil over.

“We need a boat for that to work.” Zoro pointed out. “And that still wouldn’t help you regain your strength.”

Nika crossed his arms, his expression shifting into a pout, clearly not ready to give up on the idea, but Zoro had already made up his mind. He wouldn’t let Nika burn himself out. Not for something this reckless… Not for anything.

Nika tore his gaze away, his whole body bristling with frustration, even his eyes flashed red. He didn’t argue, but the silence that followed was loud enough.

They finished preparing for the day without another word.

Nika grumbled under his breath the entire time, muttering what were probably insults… “four sword style” being one of them.

Zoro was too sleep-deprived to care. Too anxious. Too irritated with the sheer recklessness of it all.

When they headed downstairs, Usopp and Kaya were already packing supplies; Usopp stuffing dried meat into a bag while Kaya carefully arranged bread rolls beside it.

It didn’t take them long to notice the tension.

“Rough night?” Usopp asked, flashing an awkward grin.

Zoro barely turned his head before Usopp immediately flinched back, hands raised in surrender.

The swordsman sighed. He wasn’t even trying to look intimidating, but between the exhaustion and his irritation with Nika, he was sure his scowl was more intimidating than usual.

"Had trouble sleeping." Zoro explained.

Kaya frowned as she wrapped the bread in cloth.

"Was the bed not comfortable?" Kaya asked, pausing mid-motion.

“It was fine.” Zoro rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off some of the stiffness. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

Kaya’s eyes flickered between him and Nika, who was still sulking, still stubbornly avoiding Zoro’s gaze. Her face softened.

When Nika wandered off toward the next room, Usopp trailing behind him with a half-hearted attempt at distraction, Kaya dropped her voice to a whisper.

“Just give him time to clear his head.”

Zoro raised a brow. 

“What?”

Kaya smiled knowingly as she tied the bag shut.

"Usopp also gets pouty whenever we have a disagreement." Kaya said, her voice light with amusement. "Give him a bit of time to mull it over, and he'll be back to his cheerful self before you know it. Then you can try talking things through again."

She shot Zoro a knowing wink before hoisting the small bag of supplies over her shoulder and following after Usopp and Nika.

Zoro watched Kaya go, lingering her words a moment longer. It wasn’t hard to figure out what she and Usopp were thinking.

Between Nika’s offhanded comment about them sleeping together and their obvious tension this morning, Kaya and Usopp had undoubtedly assumed they were more than just traveling buddies.

Zoro probably should have corrected her, but what was the point? He wasn’t in the mood to explain himself, not when his mind was still stuck on Nika.

On the way Nika stubbornly refused to listen…

On the way Nika’s eyes had dimmed before he forced that hollow smile back into place...

On the way Nika’s usual brightness had been momentarily snuffed out… because of what Zoro said.

Zoro let out a slow breath.

Maybe Kaya was right.

Maybe Nika just needed time.

Suppressing a yawn, Zoro followed after the others.

Sure enough, by the time he caught up, Nika’s mood had already shifted back to its usual, boundless energy.

“Really?!” Nika’s eyes practically sparkled as he clutched Usopp’s shoulders. “You’ll let me see Merry?!”

“Sure!!” Usopp replied with a grin, adjusting his bag. “But don’t go thinking I’ll let you sail with her. There’ll be others by the docks, though, so you can try asking around. See if anyone’s willing to let you borrow their vessel.” He snorted. “Not that you should get your hopes up.”

“So cool! I can’t wait!” Nika beamed.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned toward Zoro.

“Hey, Zoro! Did you hear we get to see-”

Nika’s voice cut off mid-sentence the moment their eyes met. His expression flickered, as if he’d been caught between the excitement of sharing his news and the lingering frustration from earlier. Zoro didn’t miss the way his lips pressed together, how his brows furrowed as though he was still debating whether or not to stay mad.

Zoro’s gaze shifted toward Kaya. She met his eyes with an encouraging nod.

Zoro sighed inwardly. Fine. 

Deciding to push aside their earlier argument, Zoro offered a small smirk.

“So, we get to see Merry?” Zoro said. “Sounds like fun.”

Nika blinked. Then, just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased.

A grin broke across his face. Not the forced one. Not the empty mask. His smile, bright and unrestrained. The kind of smile that seeped into Zoro’s bones like sunlight.

Although Zoro still wasn’t happy about Nika’s reckless idea from earlier, he could let it go.

At least for now.

✨ ✨ ✨

Zoro didn’t know what to expect when they arrived at the docks, but the sight before him was worse than he imagined.

Half the boats had been pulled ashore, their hulls resting at awkward angles in the frozen sludge. The ones still in the water had long since surrendered to the cold, their broken remains barely visible beneath the surface. Only their masts jutted out, swaying with the sluggish movement of the sea.

On the shoreline, grey slush clung to the ground like rot, packed thick between jagged spears of ice. The air was filled with an eerie sound, the groaning of the ice shifting against the tide, the whisper of frozen waves lapping against the shore, the occasional crack as another layer gave way to the cold.

There were no conditions to set sail.

Usopp led them past the wreckage, stepping carefully over patches of ice, until they reached a boat resting on the shore.

Merry.

Her frame was weathered from the elements, but her spirit remained. The carved ram’s head at her bow stood proudly against the dismal backdrop of the docks. Unlike the other ships, which seemed to sag under the weight of their fate, Merry still carried an air of warmth.

Despite the thick frost clinging to her hull, despite the silence that loomed over the harbor, her expression remained the same.

Bright. Gentle. Welcoming. It was as if she refused to be defeated by the cold.

Zoro exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared up at the figurehead.

Even in a place like this, Merry still seemed to smile… just like Nika.

“What a great ship.” Nika’s voice brimmed with admiration as he stepped closer, fingertips grazing the frost-covered wood, as if he were trying to share some of his own light with the ship. “It’s too bad we can’t sail her. She looks like she’d enjoy a good adventure or two.”

Usopp nodded, his gaze lingering on Merry, his expression distant.

“I planned on taking Kaya out for an adventure before the snow.” Usopp replied in a wistful tone. “Every day, that adventure seems less and less likely to happen.”

Nika turned to him, auburn eyes unwavering, filled with that same stubbornness Zoro dealt with that morning.

“Why do you think that?” Nika asked, tilting his head. “Once the sun comes back, Kaya won’t have to worry about being cold, and you can sail wherever you want!”

Usopp let out a chuckle, but there was no humor in it.

“That line of thinking is a bit too optimistic for me.” Usopp admitted, offering Nika a small, sad smile. “But let’s not dwell on that now. Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

As Usopp led them to the makeshift staircase that led up to Merry’s deck, Zoro didn’t miss the way Nika’s hand lingered on the ship’s frozen hull. The ice beneath his fingertips shimmered, thinning and cracking, melting away in delicate shards that hit the ground like shattering glass.

He was using his powers again.

Zoro’s stomach twisted. The fear from his dream resurfaced, sharp and unwelcome. Without thinking, he reached for Nika’s hand, intertwining their fingers to stop him.

Nika looked up at him, startled at first, then softened. A bright grin stretched across his face as he happily squeezed Zoro’s hand, completely unaware of why Zoro had done it.

Zoro said nothing, letting their hands remain clasped as they followed Usopp, who (thankfully) didn't notice.

They followed Usopp up onto the deck, who was too focused on not slipping on the icy wood to notice the exchange. As they reached the stern, Usopp gestured for them to look over the railing.

Zoro’s eyes swept over the scene below.

Thick wooden planks reinforced the hull where the creeping ice had tried to claim it. Barriers had been carefully placed to stave off the slow merciless advance of frost and patches of old repairs dotted the ship’s sides.

“You did all of that?” Nika asked, leaning half over the rail, his voice laced with amazement.

Usopp nodded, exhaling through his nose. 

“That, and all the patchwork I’ve had to do when a stray icicle pierces the hull.” Usopp muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

His words were casual, but Zoro could see the strain it had on him in the way his fingers curled against the railing.

It wasn’t just work. It was preservation. 

Zoro’s gaze drifted over the ship again, tracing the crude reinforcements, the careful repairs, the stubborn defiance in each plank and patch.

“Even if the sea wasn't so hazardous…” Zoro finally asked, “do you think she could still sail?”

Usopp flinched. The reaction was brief, just a twitch in his jaw, a flicker in his eyes before he hid his face to dig into his bag.

“Kaya and I packed some food.” Usopp said, his smile a little too forced, as he pulled out jerky. “We can eat below deck.”

Zoro let the subject drop, following as Usopp led them through the ship. Nika, easily distracted, was already tearing into a strip of jerky, his delight evident as he noisily chewed.

The small space below deck felt warmer than the air outside, protected from the worst of the cold. From one of the portholes, Zoro could see people tending to their own vessels, scraping frost from decks, reinforcing hulls, doing everything they could to hold onto what little they had left.

Usopp, whether to distract himself or genuinely eager to share, launched into more stories of Merry’s past. They were wild, exaggerated tales of out-sailing flying sharks, of conquering monstrous waves, of skirting disaster by only a hair.

Nika ate it all up, eyes practically sparkling. Zoro, out of politeness, refrained from reminding Nika that Usopp had earlier admitted he’d never actually taken Merry on an adventure.

Hours passed in easy conversation.

Nika had since made himself comfortable atop the ram’s head at the bow, perched there as if he belonged, as if he were meant to be a part of the ship. His dark hair caught what little moonlight the day had to offer, his grin radiant despite the dark sky.

“Merry sounds amazing!” Nika stretched his arms wide, perched atop the ram’s head as if he belonged there. “When we return the sun, you're gonna have to tell me about all the new adventures you take her on!”

Usopp, leaning against the railing, gave him a skeptical look.

“When you return the sun?” Usopp echoed incredulously.

Nika nodded enthusiastically.

Usopp furrowed his brow. 

“Is that why you want to borrow Merry?” Usopp asked slowly. “You actually think you can bring back the sun?”

“Well, yeah!” Nika beamed as if it were the simplest task in the world. “And once the sun is back, everything will get better.”

Usopp’s expression darkened. The warmth in his face drained, leaving behind something cold and distant.

“Even if the sun returns, it won’t fix everything.” Usopp muttered. His eyes turned vacant, unfocused, staring at some far-off place that none of them could see.

Nika’s smile faltered, the light dimming from his face.

Zoro didn’t like where this was going. He could feel the shift in the air. He opened his mouth to change the subject, to steer the conversation elsewhere, but Nika was quicker.

“Of course it will.” Nika said stubbornly, straightening his posture. “When it gets warm again, Kaya will feel better. The ice will melt. You can sail with Merry again-”

Usopp’s fists clenched against the railing.

“Our parents are dead.” Usopp replied sharply. “Kaya’s been ostracized. We can’t just go back to the way things were.”

Silence fell over them.

For the first time, Nika had no quick response. No easy reassurance.

A flicker of hurt passed across his face, and before Zoro could say anything, the God scrambled down from the figurehead, his movements rushed, unsteady. He didn’t stop when he hit the deck; he just kept going, darting down the stairs and off the ship, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Zoro turned on Usopp, his expression dark, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“You didn’t have to say all of that.” Zoro said. His choice wavering with restrained anger. “He was only trying to help.”

Usopp’s glare was sharp, but beneath it, Zoro could see something else. Maybe guilt? Frustration?

“Yeah well it wasn't all that helpful.” Usopp shot back, turning his back to the swordsman.

“He had good intentions-”

“Good means different things to different people.” Usopp interrupted, his voice harder now. “Maybe Luffy will be better off with the sun returning, but like I said before, it doesn’t help our situation.”

Zoro opened his mouth to argue, to tell Usopp that Nika wasn't just saying empty words, that if anyone could bring back the sun, it was him. Before Zoro could say anything, a loud crack echoed through the air. The sound was sharp and deep, like something splitting apart. Both he and Usopp froze.

Zoro saw the fear flash in Usopp’s eyes before he scrambled toward the edge of the deck.

“Was that Merry?!” Usopp’s voice was frantic as he leaned over, scanning her hull for any sign of damage.

Zoro followed his gaze.

His stomach dropped.

“Nika…” Zoro breathed, his body going rigid.

Nika was on all fours at the water's edge, a pool of melted ice spreading around him, steam rising from where his hands met the frozen ground. His disguise had shattered-his brown mortal hair was gone, replaced by wild white locks that flickered like living flames in the cold air.

And he wasn't stopping. 

No…

Zoro’s breath caught in his throat.

No. No. No!

“NIKA!” Zoro roared, forgetting to call out his mortal name, forgetting Usopp was there, forgetting everything but the terror clawing up his spine.

Beside him, Usopp gasped, but Zoro didn't care. He vaulted over the side of the ship, landing on the beach only to sink.

The shore, once frozen solid, had turned into thick muddy sand, swallowing Zoro up to his knees. The cold sludge clung to him like shackles, dragging him down, resisting his every moment. He gritted his teeth, straining and fighting against it.

“Nika, stop!” Zoro shouted, desperation cracking through his voice.

They'll find you.

But Nika didn’t stop. He remained where he was, kneeling in the slush, his trembling fingers pressing into the wet earth as the sea began to shift before him.

The ice that had once choked the waters (thick, blackened, and rotting) began to change. It shimmered, golden light threading through the cracks, chasing away the decay. The ocean pulsed outward, rippling with warmth as the frost gave way to liquid once more. The glow spread further and further, thawing as Nika’s power spread.

And people had noticed.

Zoro heard the hurried footsteps, the gasps, the disbelieving murmurs. Shadows gathered at the edge of the docks, a growing crowd watching the impossible unfold before their eyes.

Zoro clawed his way out of the mud, his fingers raw from it, his chest tightening.

Too late.

With one last pulse of golden light, the sea was clear. The ice was gone.

And Nika…

His white hair flickered, its divine glow dimming as his body slumped forward. His knees buckled. His breath hitched. His skin, once flushed with warmth, had gone pale.

Then, with no strength left to hold him up, he collapsed into the water.

Zoro lunged, catching him before the sea could pull him under. His muddy hands dirtied the clear water as he pulled Nika into his arms, holding him close, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

Too shallow. Too weak.

Zoro gritted his teeth, his grip tightening as he gave the God a small jostle.

“Why did you do that?!” Zoro demanded, his voice hoarse from yelling. He barely registered the hurried steps splashing into the shallows behind him. “I told you not to reveal yourself!”

Nika’s red eyes fluttered open, tears gathering at the corners.

“I just… wanted to help…” Nika breathed, each word labored. “I don’t want Usopp to be sad… I don’t want Kaya to be sick… I don’t want anyone else to suffer.”

Zoro clenched his jaw. His heart twisted as he pulled Nika in just a little tighter, as if he could shield him from the world.

A figure stumbled into the water beside them, falling to his knees.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Usopp’s voice shook, his hands trembling where they hovered uncertainly over Nika’s limp form. “I didn’t know you were the Sun God.”

Zoro stiffened, his arms instinctively bracing around Nika in a protective hold. However Nika, weak as he was, managed to push against his grip, turning to face Usopp.

“No…” Nika whispered. His expression full of regret. “I’m sorry… I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

Usopp bit his lower lip, hard enough that it trembled. His eyes softened, his shoulders slumping as if, for the first time, he was truly seeing the God before him; not as the feared destroyer, but as something else entirely.

The crowd had no such realization.

The whispers had turned into murmurs. The murmurs into sharp-edged words, cutting through the frigid air.

“The Sun God? Here?!”

“He’ll kill us all.”

“He’ll destroy us like he did Ohara!”

Zoro’s head snapped up, his gaze cutting through the crowd like a drawn blade. His glare was sharp, dangerous, his teeth bared like an animal ready to bite.

The people recoiled, but only for a moment.

One voice, braver or simply more foolish than the rest, broke through the hushed murmurs.

"Doesn't seem much like a God to me."

The words rippled through the gathered villagers, emboldening them.

"He looks weak."

"So fragile..."

"He can’t destroy us if we kill him first!"

Zoro shifted Nika’s weight into one arm, his other hand falling to Wado. He drew the blade in one smooth motion, the steel gleaming cold and lethal in the pale light. His stance was unyielding, daring anyone to get closer.

"None of you come near him." Zoro seethed with barely restrained fury. Every venomous syllable burned his tongue like acid. These people had no idea what Nika had just done for them. They didn’t deserve his kindness.

Silence stretched.

Then a rock flew.

It struck Zoro’s forearm, a dull thud against muscle. Before he could react, another followed, then another. The villagers, once hesitant, found courage in their anger. They hurled stones and shouted obscenities, their voices rising in a storm of fear and hatred.

Zoro barely flinched. He gritted his teeth and angled his body to shield Nika as best he could.

Then Usopp moved. He stepped in front of them, arms outstretched, his body a meager shield against the onslaught.

“Leave.” Usopp’s voice was tight, his jaw clenched as he took the brunt of another stone against his back. He barely let out a sound, but Zoro saw the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his shoulders hunched against the pain.

Nika stirred weakly in Zoro’s arms, shaking his head. His voice was faint, but stubborn as ever.

“We… still need a boat…”

Usopp let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Forget it. None of these boats can sail. Not even Merry.” Usopp’s voice broke on the name, his grip on the truth finally cracking. His arms trembled as he fought to hold them steady. “Just go! They won’t stop until you leave!”

Zoro stared at Usopp, something twisting in his gut. There was more to this. To the way Usopp stood there, absorbing the villagers’ rage as if it was a familiar burden. To the way his shoulders shook with something that wasn’t quite fear.

Zoro wondered with a growing sickening certainty: had they done something like this to Kaya, too?

But there was no time to ask.

Zoro tightened his hold on Nika, his muscles coiling as he prepared to move.

He met Usopp’s gaze, the silent gratitude passing between them.

Then he turned, carrying Nika away from the crowd, away from the rocks and venomous words, away from the people who would never understand what they had just lost.

🔥 🔥 🔥

Ace waited in the shadows outside the Celestial Court, his eyes never leaving the massive gilded doors. He was restless, barely resisting the urge to pace. Yesterday's hearing had been a disaster.  He had gone in hoping to confirm that Nika was being kept in the Underworld, but that theory had crumbled before his eyes. All because the God of Nightmares claimed Nika had killed Lucci. 

It was a lie. It had to be. God or mortal, Nika would never kill anyone. 

Still, Ace couldn't shake the feeling that Doflamingo knew something more about Nika’s whereabouts. The God of Nightmares was too smug, too calculating, grinning through his teeth as he spun his webs of deceit, and Ace was going to find out what he knew.

Sabo would lose his mind if he knew what Ace was about to do, but Sabo was always waiting, always planning, always looking for the perfect moment to act as if he thought the universe would hand them a perfect moment. That was never going to happen. Nika was missing, maybe even dead, and Ace refused to spend eternity knowing he could have done something but chose to sit back instead.

The doors groaned as they swung open, golden light spilling into the halls. Doflamingo stepped out, his grin stretching unnaturally wide across his face. 

Ace tensed. He had been watching this bastard long enough to know what came next.

Doflamingo twisted the black ring on his finger, almost absentmindedly, spinning the metal bands until they sparked to life. A swirling mass of fire and shadow erupted in the air before him, shifting and pulsing like a living thing. The gateway to the Underworld. The one way in.

Ace’s pulse quickened. He had only seconds.

Doflamingo stepped into the portal, and Ace moved.

Ace let his hurried steps carry him forward, his body slipping through the shrinking gap just before it snapped shut behind him. The moment he landed, he ducked low, pressing himself behind the nearest pillar, his breath held tight in his chest.

White marble stretched before him, pristine despite the darkness that clung to the air like mist. The Underworld. A place sealed off from the rest of the Celestial Realm, a place where no one, not even Gods, were supposed to tread unless permitted by the God of Death himself. 

If Ace was caught here, the punishment would be severe. Trespassing into the Underworld, especially without the God of Death’s permission, was a crime that even Sabo wouldn’t be able to talk him out of, but Ace didn’t care. All that mattered was Nika before the Elders did.

The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and the halls stretched wide and endless. The walls were carved in a similar fashion as the halls of the Celestial Court, but gleamed under an eerie unnatural light. The glow didn’t come from torches or fire, but from something deeper within the walls themselves, as if the very bones of the Underworld pulsed with remnants of life. Shadows flickered strangely along the surfaces, moving in ways they shouldn’t. 

Wasn’t Homing taking proper care of the souls? Why were they still here? And why did they seem restless?

Ace kept himself pressed against the golden pillars, watching, waiting.

Ace heard the heavy click of boots against the stone, followed by a familiar smug voice.

“Have any news today?”

Ace’s eyes narrowed as another figure stepped into view.

Akainu.

One of the so-called ‘lesser Gods’, though his power was anything but. The God of Volcanoes and Magma was a force of destruction, carving and reshaping the land with fire and molten rock. Mortals feared him, for who would worship a God whose presence only meant ruin? 

“I’ve given the Elders the latest update.” Doflamingo responded casually, but Ace caught the amusement beneath it. His footsteps slowed, deliberately dragging out the moment. “The waters on Earth have very suddenly warmed up.”

Ace felt his pulse jump.

Nika.

“The Sun God’s doing, no doubt.” Akainu replied in a low hum. “Have you informed the Elders about the mortal traveling with him?”

Ace’s brow furrowed in confusion. A mortal?

That made no sense. Nika was too wild, too untethered to let a God, let alone a mortal, slow him down. What had changed?

Doflamingo’s smile widened, though Ace couldn’t see it, he could hear it in the slow deliberate way he spoke. 

“I think it would be better to keep that information to ourselves.”

Ace’s fists clenched. That bastard was withholding information from the Court?!

Akainu didn’t seem happy with this.

“Isn’t this mortal dangerous?” Akainu pressed. “Blessed weaponry in the hands of an experienced fighter, one protecting our target… that could be a problem.”

Ace felt his breath go still in his lungs.

Blessed weaponry? A warrior? Someone strong enough to stand between Nika and those hunting him?!

Who the hell was this mortal?!

A slow, knowing laugh slithered through the air from Doflamingo. Ace felt his stomach twist at the sound.

“On the contrary,” Doflamingo purred with amusement, “I think he’s already proving himself to be quite useful.”

Ace’s jaw clenched. He hated the way that bastard spoke, like he was already five steps ahead of everyone else in the room. 

“You know,” Doflamingo continued, his voice smooth and taunting, “dreams are such fragile things. So easy to twist, to pull apart thread by thread… and that mortal? He’s proving to be remarkably easy to manipulate.”

Akainu made a low, thoughtful sound. “What do you plan to do with him?”

“That depends on what I can get out of him first.” Doflamingo replied easily. “I had hoped he could lead me to more blessed weapons, but that was a dead end. It seems the sword was passed down to him by another mortal. One who’s already dead. A child.” He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. “Shame. I was expecting something more useful.”

Ace barely kept himself from snarling at the God’s callous tone.

“No matter.” Doflamingo continued. “The next time he falls asleep, I’ll dig a little deeper, see if he has anything else of value hidden away in that mind of his. And then…”

A pause.

“Then what?” Akainu pressed.

Ace imagined Doflamingo was grinning his nauseatingly wide grin.

“Well… if Nika hadn’t woken him, I’m fairly certain that mortal would have killed the Sun God for us.”

Ace’s blood ran cold.

“But! I believe I can pull the strings to get it right the second time.” Doflamingo let out a soft chuckle, clearly relishing the idea. “With just a little push… it would be far more poetic to have his own mortal protector drive a blade through his heart.”

Akainu grunted in approval. “Less work for us.”

“Exactly.” Doflamingo replied. “Killing Lucci was as dirty as I want my hands to get.”

Ace barely heard the rest. He did all he could to keep his flames at bay as his body burned with rage.

So he had been right… Nika hadn’t killed Lucci. However, that meant these bastards were pinning the crime on him! They must be the ones responsible for Ohara too! They were setting his brother up, tightening the noose around his neck while they sat back and watched. Worst than that… Doflamingo was toying with the mortal at his side, turning him into a weapon against Nika.

Ace gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

Footsteps began to fade as the two gods moved deeper into the Underworld, leaving Ace hidden in the dark. He forced himself to stay still, to let his fury simmer. He had heard enough. Ace brought a hand to his red beaded necklace, made of gems that would take him back to the Celestial Realm. He could go back now, tell Sabo everything. They could tell the Elders. Once he got home, they could-

Ace froze. 

The necklace wasn’t opening a portal as it normally did. 

Ace used the heat of his powers to try and get the beads to ignite… nothing happened.

His heart hammered as a realization hit him like a punch through the chest. Sabo had warned him that the Underworld had cut off all other God’s access, but he didn’t realize the way home had also been sealed. He had known how to sneak in, but now he had no idea how to leave this place.

Fuck!

[Next Chapter]

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

Not saying Glimmer Byler smokes, but. Uh. Wait until chapter 110 :3

I'm worse at what I do best

And for this gift I feel blessed

Our little group has always been

And always will until the end

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

♡ Byler

HEHEHE

They're attached at the hip. They're always together, and if they're not, they want to be.

Will steals Mike's clothes 24/7, particularly hoodies and shirts. (Mike would steal Will's, but Will is shorter than him, so he just steals his own back and they share drawers.)

Speaking of, Will and Mike have different heights. Mike ends up being 6'1, and Will ends up being 5'8. (Will hates being shorter and complains about it, but he doesn't mind as long as Mike gives him forehead kisses and hugs him tight enough that his feet come off the ground.)

When Mike and Will get together, Mike starts playing basketball and working out with Lucas to get strong enough to pick Will up. (When he does it for the first time, Will is not only flabbergasted but also extremely giddy and happy.)

Mike is an absolute simp. He sits there giving Will heart-eyes 24/7 and just happily flops on him. He's a black cat, but he's the biggest golden retriever in the world when it comes to his boyfriend.

On the opposite of that note, as much as Will is a shy, sweet person, he is also very sassy towards Mike and consistently teases him. (Mike doesn't mind, as it means Will feels safe and comfortable enough to make fun of him, and he knows Will would stop and apologize if he was actually upset.)

Neither Mike or Will can drive. Lucas has to come pick them up to take them to school. Mike can drive a little bit in a pinch (but will definitely hit a curb on every turn somehow, it is a parking lot there are no curbs HOW ARE YOU HITTING THEM), but Will will be so stressed that he does the little jerks of movement from tapping the gas and then panicking and flooring the brake. He might be crying. The gays cannot drive and neither can they.

Whenever Will draws something new, Mike's fanboying over it for at least fifteen minutes while Will turns bright red in the background before he adds it to his collection of Will Art.

WERE YOU SQUEALING AND KICKING YOUR FEET READING THIS BECAUSE I WAS LMAO

[v2aattemptsart]

Some fanart for "A Glimmer of Light Refusing to Fade" by MagicSchoolbusDropouto8 on AO3 😋

(This was my favorite outfit Will wore that was described in the fic and I just RLY wanted to draw it. It just sounded so cozy)

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

HUGSSSSS

[silly-lil-scribbles]

fuck you *purples your Will Byers*

here’s some fanart for @chouthechaoticraccoon ‘s stranger things fanfic A Glimmer of Light Refusing to Fade. It’s really good so you should check it out if you haven’t already (it’s on ao3). I hope the color theory is color theorying bc I don’t know what I’m doing and the background took like 2 hours

[triforce-of-mischief]

Memories and Nightmares

Summary: Legend has a phobia nightmare. Malon offers support and comfort.

Word count: 1980

Notes: Legend describes his nightmare with his little detail as possible, but he talks about events and uses words that may be triggering for trypanophobes.

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

The nightmare didn’t let Legend leave easily. It was a multistep struggle, first to realize that he was stuck in a dream, then to claw his way out. Voices and images danced in his mind, attempting to play out further before he finally gained enough control to force his eyes open. He stared into the dark, more willing to gaze at pure blackness than the visions invented by his own mind.

Ever so slowly, the real world began to replace the realm of nightmares. The calls of imaginary enemies were drowned out by his own ragged breathing, and the soft snores of his brothers. Flashes of sterile light gave way to the sleeping form of Four, bundled right beside Legend.

The heroes had once again found themselves at Lon Lon Ranch, and the younger eight silently agreed to maintain the same sleeping spots as the first time they had visited. This meant that Four and Legend were back to back, which the smith was more than happy about. He was clingier than ever, and by the frequent amber glimmer of his eyes, Legend could guess who was responsible. The vet didn’t mind, though. Four was good at providing comfort without being overly affectionate, while Warriors preferred to keep his personal space altogether. Besides, all of Four would have Legend’s head if he dared to refuse Red’s care.

But right now, being surrounded by his brothers felt stifling. Legend couldn’t shake the memories of what had happened in his dream. Though the details were fading fast, he still remembered enough to know that he needed to be alone, and now. As quietly as he could, making sure to not disturb Four, Legend extricated himself from his blankets and slipped out of the guest room. Walking on half-asleep feet, he guided himself downstairs and to the living room.

He slowly sat on the couch, in the odd balance between wanting to sleep and gradually waking up. He stared at the far wall, feeling a bit dazed now. The remnants of his nightmare growled and hissed from where he had shoved them back, dangerously close to taking over again. He shook his head a bit clumsily, managing to stave off the images, but a phantom pain suddenly pierced his arm. He gasped, flinching away from empty air, defensively curling in on himself.

Go away, he told the lingering sensation. You’re not real.

Something touched his shoulder, and he instantly knew that it was very much real. He cried out and batted it away, his mind a few seconds late to determine what it was.

A cold metal gauntlet clamped around his arm. No- a gentle, warm hand hesitantly reaching out.

“Sorry, that was my fault. I shoulda warned you first.”

Legend had been so caught in his own mind, he hadn’t realized that Malon was downstairs too. He looked up at her, his tired brain taking a few extra seconds to recognize her concerned expression.

“Why aren’t you upstairs with the others?” she asked. “Too loud?”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice to be steady just yet.

She hummed in consideration. “Nightmare?”

He nodded, confirming with a raspy “Mhm.”

“Shoulda known when I saw that look in your eyes,” she sighed. “Link’s given me that exact same face over too many nights to count. Like a spooked horse, I always tell him.”

Legend huffed a little laugh at the thought.

Malon gave him a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep either. Mind if I stay up with you?”

“Y-yes please,” Legend whispered, his voice breaking a little in the way that voices tended to when still recovering from sleep. He winced, but Malon didn’t seem to care.

“I was about to go to the kitchen and fix something up. Do you want any?” she offered.

“Sure.”

“I’ll put some water on to boil, then I’ll be right back.”

Legend was alone for the next few minutes, and spent the time slowly waking up more. Details of the room gradually came into focus and the sounds of Malon quietly preparing things in the kitchen became clearer. The adrenaline from his nightmare exhausted itself, leaving him with tired fear and hazy memories. The imaginary pain in his arm turned to a familiar dull ache, so he gritted his teeth and drew in on himself in a pitiful self-hug. He stayed like that until Malon came back, finding himself unwilling to move even as she sat right beside him.

“Did you have a nightmare too?” he asked, mostly to break the silence that threatened to hang between them.

“Nothing of the sort. I just found myself unable to rest tonight.”

Legend sat quietly for a moment, full of curiosity but knowing that it would be rude to ask. Malon must have sensed it, though, and granted him an answer to his unspoken question.

“To be honest, I was worried about you. You’ve had it pretty rough, huh?”

Legend was grateful that his blush was hidden behind his knees. “Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m sure at least one of the others has it worse-”

“Now, don’t you start with that,” Malon tutted. “I swear, every one of y’all just like the rest. Right now, I’m here to talk to you. Got that?”

“Fine,” Legend sighed. “I’ve been having more nightmares recently. I think we both know why.”

“Have you talked to the others yet?”

It was a gentle, honest question, but Legend flinched as he remembered a reoccurring event from his nightmares.

His own friends turned against him and held him down-

“Not yet.”

She waited a beat before asking, “Do you want to talk to me about it? I won’t judge.”

He would probably regret this honesty by morning, but he found himself nodding as he tried to decide what to say. “Tonight I- they- um…”

Speaking it out loud would bring vivid memories back from their current haze. Gathering the courage to do so was tricky, and Malon understood immediately.

“Take your time, hon. I’ll check the kettle while you find your words, all right?”

He chose his words carefully, mentally sounding them out to determine what he could safely say without sending himself into a panicked spiral. He had to piece a story together too, before the memories of the nightmare scattered into pure nonsense. What could he explain to Malon, and what should he leave out?

By the time Malon returned, Legend had prepared a retelling that was coherent but not detailed enough to trigger himself. The phantom pain had faded enough that he was able to sit normally, releasing his arm from his own grip. Malon offered him a mug, keeping another for herself as she settled beside him again. She took a sip of her drink and Legend followed her lead.

The liquid was perfectly warm, creamy yet smooth, and tasted like sweet honey. It had an immediate soothing effect, and Legend set it aside after only a few sips. “Feels like I’ll fall asleep if I drink any more. What did you put in this?”

“Nothing special,” Malon laughed. “Just water, milk, and honey… and a little love.” She winked, making Legend smile.

The vet twisted his fingers, wishing that he had his rings or his bracelet or something to fidget with as he spoke. Taking them off to sleep did have its occasional downsides. He took a deep breath before saying, “I’m ready to talk about my dream now.”

Malon lowered her mug. “I’m listening.”

The sooner he said it, the sooner it would be out of his head.

“The other heroes were chasing me. I didn’t have any weapons or my Pegasus Boots and there was that weird nightmare feeling where it’s like you’re trying to run through water? It took a while but they eventually gained on me. Th-they were all holding syringes and Warriors was there and he- he looked like a soldier from my era. He grabbed me and I yelled at him to stop before they could do anything and-”

He just had to finish saying it and it’d be over.

“He forced me to hold a syringe and told me to do it myself. I just… froze. S-so Warriors held me in place as the others all came forward at once. Four laughed in my face, saying how stupid my fear is, and- and then- they-”

His throat tightened, choking his words and his breath. He brought his hands up to rub stinging eyes, finding that he was unable to keep his fingers steady. They were trembling.

He was shaking.

Din dang it.

“Come here, sweetie.” Malon held her arm out, and Legend didn’t need to be asked twice. She pulled him into a hug, her presence more than enough to block out the memories of harsh grips and cold metal. She held him tight, undeterred by his panicked shivering. “That sounds like a horrible dream, but you’re all right now. Nobody’s gonna force you to do anything you don’t want to. Our sleeping minds like to play tricks on us, but our worst nightmares are just that- figments of our imagination.”

Legend shuddered. “Dreams are more real than you think… not this one, though. Even if it felt real… it wasn’t.”

If he kept telling himself that, he had to believe it eventually. No matter how many nightmares he woke up from, he couldn’t escape the feeling of being trapped on that island. This was different, it had to be.

“That’s right. The other boys would never do that to you, I promise.”

“Can… can I stay down here for the rest of the night? I don’t know if I’m ready to see them again yet…”

“Of course, hon. I can stay with you too, if you’d like the company.”

Legend sighed, finally feeling a little bit at ease. “Yes, please.”

****

When morning came, Warriors was the first to venture downstairs. His tense posture and darting eyes betrayed that he was searching for something, and he visibly relaxed when he entered the living room.

Legend was still fast asleep, curled up in Malon’s arms. Two empty mugs on the side table and a blanket tucked around the vet indicated that though the situation had been unexpected, they had made the most of it.

Malon gave Warriors a tired smile and whispered, “Glad to see somebody up. Don’t suppose you can go drag my husband out of bed so the animals can be attended to?”

“A worthy challenge,” Warriors said with a smirk. His grin fell as he glanced at Legend, who whimpered and pressed closer to Malon. “Is… he okay?”

“He will be,” Malon said, rubbing Legend’s back until he was sufficiently soothed. “Be gentle with him today, captain. He’s had a rough night.”

“I’ll make sure not to tease him too much,” Warriors said, and laughed when Malon gave him a half-hearted glare. “I know my brother’s limits. Trust me, he’ll feel better if I don’t treat him like something delicate. If he needs to talk about it, he knows to come to me.”

Malon hummed in agreement, but Warriors had the feeling that she was keeping something from him. “As long as you know what’s best for him.”

A floorboard creaked above their heads and Warriors instinctively looked up. “The others will come down soon, I should probably-”

“Yes, go get Link,” Malon prompted, shooing him with a nod of her head. “I’ll wake this one up while you’re gone.”

Warriors gave her a little wave before turning and retracing his steps, this time headed to Malon and Time’s room. He heard Malon say something in a hushed voice and Legend grumble in response.

Warriors hoped that Legend wouldn’t hesitate to approach him when he was ready. Nightmares were yet another thing that they needed to address. Goddesses knew that Legend could use some well-deserved rest.

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

THIS IS AMAZING. OH MY GOD. I CAN’T EVEN SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS, IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL

for @aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade’s fic on Ao3! It’s the scene from ch. 67

tumblr destroyed the quality as usual.

link to the fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49303804/chapters/124412344

The reference was from pinterest but now I can’t find it :(

[separatist-apologist]

The Wildest Winter

In the cracks of light, I looked for you

Summary: Viviane had not been Under the Mountain. As her childhood friend, Kallias had been protective of her to a fault over the years- had placed the sharp-minded female on border duty to avoid the scheming of his court. He didn't let her near Amarantha, either. Didn't let anyone get a whiff of what he felt for his white-haired friend, who had no clue- not one- that he had loved her his entire life.

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | AO3

[six months before the curse]

“Are you sure about this?” Viviane asked, eyeing the curved blade in her hand. Not with distaste for the crystalline steel glimmering beneath a full sun, but because it was inherently an unfair fight. She had to wonder if Nikolai, who had remained behind after Calanmai, was even aware of what she could do with carefully timed ice alongside a Winter Court blade.

Nikolai had stayed to help her train more sentries they hardly needed. Autumn wasn’t so desperate they’d stage an invasion, though Kallias was unnerved after the ice bridge had gone tattling to the High Lord, who of course had money for more soldiers. Nikolai was to oversee and Kira had been begrudgingly called back to court. 

That, Viviane supposed, was for the best. Nikolai had come home that morning coated in blue, his eyes wild, his skin practically frosted over. Whatever had happened had unnerved him enough he refused to speak about it and Kira had sworn up and down nothing had happened.

Viviane wondered which was worse—they had sex and it was so good it freaked them out, or it was so bad they couldn’t make eye contact any longer.

That was how she felt with Einar. All that build up only to be fucked on his dining room table for the better part of two hours. She hadn’t dared tell Kallias the reason she couldn’t finish wasn’t because Einar was no good—he’d done his best with his lips and tongue and teeth—but because she couldn’t get her friend out of her mind. She’d tried. Viviane had taken control, had climbed into Einars lap, eyes locked on his.

Not Kal, not Kal, not Kal—

For all the good it did. In the end she’d faked it and gone crawling home like a miserable, terrible friend. Viviane still didn’t know what had possessed her that day. Maybe Calanmai merely heightened the tension growing between them, twisting it into lust. It had faded by morning—faded with each new carefully drawn sheet he’d made for her where he detailed how much it cost to treat the water each month. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder and woken alone in bed. Kallias had likely put her there before venturing into the city himself, because when Viviane woke, he smelled as though he’d been drenched in arousal not long before and his hair had been wrecked. 

It didn’t inspire jealousy in her, at any rate, which made it easy to write the whole night off as a one off. 

“Square up, Viv,” Nikolai ordered. She almost rolled her eyes at the command. They stood down in the valley in a makeshift training ring Kira had erected decades before. It would have been the perfect place for expanded barracks and an armory, had the High Lord ever allowed her such a thing. Perhaps Nikolai’s influence would change all that. It was the second to last missing puzzle to crafting her city as a major player. The very last was convincing both Kallias and the High Lord that the emissary from Hybern should be allowed to visit—to trade with them. Not just Hybern, of course. Autumn, Spring, and Summer, too. And with even a fraction of the High Lord’s court coming to live in Wegen, even if it was just to ski when the weather was mild, was enough. 

Barracks first. 

Nikolai pulled his icy blade from its sheath, the metal singing in the air. Viviane ignored that Einar had come to watch, his dark eyes blazing with curiosity. She also ignored that Kallias had said he’d come three days before and still hadn’t. All of those things were distractions.

She twisted her blade, offering a show of her teeth that wasn’t quite a smile. She waited for him to lunge before offering her own strike. Nikolai, she’d been told, had some magic of his own. Viviane wanted to find out just how much. And, perhaps, wanted to show off to the people she oversaw, if only a little.

��It was a careful dance of her feet and body, of knowing how she moved against the wind and the squelching mud. Nikolai was a warrior, trained just as she had been, though not quite as quick on his feet.

Not as careful with his magic. He was the first to strike, panting as he sent a blast of skin shredding ice her way. Viviane barked out a laugh, dodging it easily.

And then rained a torrent upon him. Nikolai had to choose between defending his person with his blade and risk her icy wrath or block the ice and risk her blade. It was the oldest trick in Viviane’s book. She thought that because she used her magic so infrequently, and never at its full intensity, that people often forgot what hummed in her veins.

Forgot why a future High Lord courted her attention. 

“Mother save me, Viv,” Nikolai panted. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Her victory was short-lived. As she walked to her friend, offering him a hand and noting where the blood staining his lips and cheeks, a new voice called through the mountain air.

“Now me.” Nikolai’s smirk told Viviane everything she needed to know. She turned, her eyes finding Kallias as he swung his powerful body over the fence with ease. Just to the left of him was Einar, watching her friend with guarded, almost distrustful eyes. She’d forgotten he’d only been interested in her when he learned Kallias was up at the palace.

It was a question for another day. Kallias had never once let her beat him and Viviane didn’t relish being beaten into the dirt in front of all the people she was supposed to oversee. 

“Where’s your sword, Kal?” she taunted, annoyed when Nikolai handed his over before leaving them alone in the muddy pit. 

“Miss me?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. The cold air ruffled at his white air, all but kissing his fair cheeks red. 

“Were you gone?” she replied blithely, pretending to examine her blade.

He shook his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I missed you.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m funny, I’m pretty, I’m smart…all the things you lack—”

His blade sang through the air before she could finish, crashing into hers with such force it made her bones vibrate. Gone was Kallias’s easy amusement–those eyes were practically granite against his glacial face. She had to remind herself that this was how he focused—this was how he’d always been in the ring.

Your enemies won’t smile when they kill you, Viv.

She smiled, noting how he stumbled ever so slightly—not enough to turn things in her favor but enough to remind her that Kallias was so easily distracted by someone acting in a way he didn’t expect.

She sent him that first blast of ice, catching him against the cheekbone. He snarled, flinging his own magic viciously back at her. He was so much stronger she couldn’t avoid it all—she felt the burning sting against her exposed neck. She smelled the salt of her blood in the air but didn’t dare touch it. Not when Kallias’s blade came singing towards her. Viviane slammed to the ground, her whole body squelching into the cold, muddy ground in an effort to block him. 

It was easy to forget what Kallias was beneath his refined clothes and his fascination with numbers. He’d taught her to fight, afterall. His body was a weapon—he was an animal. He snapped his teeth against the cold, one of his thighs pressed between her legs as he bore his blade closer and closer to her wound.

Viviane took a risk, letting go of the hilt of her sword to press her frosted palm against his face. He roared against the pain, distracted just enough for her to plant her boot into his chest and push away. There was nothing fun about this fight anymore—it wasn’t quick like with Nikolai, nor was it particularly like a dance. It felt like a true battle where only one of them could walk away with their pride unwounded. 

Kallias sent another vicious blast of ice and wind directly at her, one Viviane offered up in equal measure. He cut his face again, though not half as bad as his own shards, which sliced through her jacket, exposing her skin to salty mountain air. 

She hissed, slammed right back to the ground as Kallias snarled in her face. His teeth were inches from her neck, his thigh wedged between her leg so hard she could feel the radiating heat. The only thing keeping him from pressing his body wholly against her was her blade between them.

Her arms shook from the effort.

“Surrender, Viv,” he whispered. “Let me clean up the blood.”

“You’re a bastard,” she replied. It didn’t matter. He wrenched her blade from his hand, tossing it to the ground and then pressed his own gently against her skin.

“An admirable effort,” he murmured, removing his blade and replacing it with his hand. All at once his body was off hers and Viviane couldn’t decide if she was angry or she was disappointed.

She took his hand, her body aching as she stood. No one made a sound—not Nikolai, who watched with eyes rounder than saucers.

And not Einar, who had gone ashen in the wake of their brutal showdown. 

“What’s with them?” she whispered, letting Kallias brace her body against his own.

“They’ve never seen your kind of raw power,” he offered charitably. And maybe that was true. Maybe they hadn’t expected that kind of magic to blow out of her.

But privately, Viviane thought it was Kallias who had surprised them. She’d forgotten what he was like when he was unleashed—how uncomfortable the High Lord had once been of him and the magic glowing silver from his skin. No one had ever dared voice those concerns out loud, but Viviane understood them as she looked from the shocked faces of the warriors around them.

Kallias had all the markers of the next High Lord. 

She reached between them for his arm. She didn’t want to think about how she’d lose him should that ever come to pass. 

“Take me home,” she murmured, pressing her head into his shoulder. 

He was just her friend—at least for now.

KALLIAS: 

[five months before the curse]

“Kal–” Kallias cut off her breathless plea, his tongue delving back into her mouth. More, he needed more. He couldn’t stop the desperate glide of his hands over her naked form, mapping her skin beneath his palms. Beneath him, Viviane moaned, grasping at his hair so viciously she was in danger of pulling the strands out by the root. He didn’t care. 

Still clad in his pants, he ground against her, desperate for relief. Kallias was drowning in the scent of her arousal, drinking it down while he tasted every inch of her mouth. Kallias needed to put his tongue between her legs, needed to know if all of her was sweet. She was warm here, open and inviting and he was so wrecked he couldn’t get his stupid body to catch up with his screaming brain.

He was running out of time. He couldn’t explain it. Something was ticking loudly in his head, some countdown to his doom he wanted to avoid. Wanted to ignore in favor of his female clawing at his back. 

“Kal,” she panted, arching her neck so he could nip kisses down her skin. His fingers tugged and teased at her pebbled nipples, drawing more of her arousal into the air. Burying his face between her breasts, Kallias inhaled deeply. This was what he’d been missing. This was what he needed.

He’d never felt so wild in his life. He was unrestrained for perhaps the first time in his life and it was all Viviane’s fault. He pushed apart her legs roughly, taking a moment to admire the splayed out form of her on his silken silver sheet. 

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, lifting her leg to press feather soft kisses up her thigh. She squirmed, eyes locked on his face. She wanted to watch? Kallias held her gaze, lowering his face until he could kiss the pale, pink lips of her cunt. Viviane exhaled, whimpering for more.

It was a dream, he thought. She was a dream, spread open for him to taste. He went to take that first hot taste of her, to slick his tongue over her clit—-

A banging on Kallias’s bedroom door dragged him from an all too familiar dream. He’d never gotten that far before. Usually Kallias woke just as he was about to remove her clothing. To find his head between her parted thighs was a new, almost exciting development, at least where his imagination was concerned. Nothing had changed between him and Viviane. As far as he knew, she was still seeing the disappointing male in Wegen and he was…well, Kallias was doing the world's shittiest job courting her. Unless, of course, utterly obliterating her with his magic counted as some romantic overture.

He very much doubted it. Viviane might have forgiven him for it, but the people of Wegen certainly hadn’t. They’d watched him with narrow-eyed suspicion the following day, as if he might turn her to a block of ice if she displeased him. As if Viviane wasn’t capable of removing his balls should he ever deserve it. 

That vicious knock forced Kallias to snarl. Night still poured through his half open drapes and his cock was throbbing with need. “What?” “Get up,” Kira’s voice whispered from behind the door. “Right now, get up.” He shoved the blanket off his naked body and stuffed himself in the first pair of pants he could find, artfully arranging himself so it wasn’t entirely obvious he had an erection. Kallias pulled open the door, shrugging a shirt over his head.

Kira looked scared. Wide-eyed in the flickering hall light, she lunged for his wrist and began dragging him down the hall. Kallias was barefoot, though so was she, a robe hanging off her small frame.

“What is happening?” he hissed, running a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to keep it from falling into his eyes.

“Gunnar,” she whispered. “Oh Gods, Kal….he…”

A mournful wail interrupted what Kira had been about to say. He knew that voice.

“Gunnar?”

“Killed his wife,” Kira managed, practically shaking as she led him towards the throne room. “She wanted to leave him, too. And I guess…”

Kallias’s steps slowed as he imagined it. Wanting someone so badly you would have done anything to possess them, only to realize they didn’t want you back. The females at court had been lobbying hard, but Gunnar’s wife had been against them. 

“What changed?”

Kira shrugged. “Special treatment for her, hell for everyone else? I’m sorry,” Kira added softly. “I shouldn’t…he killed her.”

Kallias started to ask Kira how she could possibly know that, but the scent of blood flooded his senses. He understood why when he came into the vividly bright throne room, joining the other courtiers flooding in to witness the spectacle.

The High Lord stared at his son with lifeless eyes while his son clutched at his wife's bloodless body, kneeling half naked in her blood. It was the gravest offense in their court—to take a life, especially one as defenseless as Gunnar’s wife had been. 

All Kallias could see was Viviane laying there, her silver hair stained red as her blood cooled beneath Gunnar’s naked knees. She would have wanted the same—maybe not to leave him, given how dutiful Viviane could be, but the autonomy to be more than just the High Lord’s wife. She would have been vivacious and, when angry, vicious. 

She would have died, too. Kallias put his hand over his chest, unable to get the image out of his mind. He might have winnowed straight to her had the High Lord not taken a step towards his hunched over son. 

Everyone fell silent. Even Kallias didn’t believe the High Lord would kill his own son, law or not. Gunnar made no move to defend himself and Kallias wondered if he even realized what his father meant to do until it was too late. Gunnar twisted, eyes wide as he took a gasping breath of frigid air.

Kallia couldn’t watch this. He turned, pulling his arm from Kira’s grasp. He didn’t need to be present to hear that frigid death rattle or to know the High Lord had turned his son's lungs to ice. It was the end of a dynasty as old as their territory, ruined over one spoiled male too unused to being told no. 

Kallias flexed his fingers as warmth twanged through his body. He stumbled, almost crashing into a wall in an attempt to steady himself. His palm caught against the smooth surface, steadied by Kira who had followed him out.

“Kal—”

“Don’t,” he rasped, hating himself for the first time in his life. The High Lord would realize, would know the truth of the matter soon enough. His son might have inherited had he been a better father. And now a new line would rise through Winter, assuming Kallias lived long enough to see the High Lord fade. 

“Kallias—!”

A woman's high pitched scream forced a groan out of Kallias, his knees buckling beneath the weight of a vicious, violent cascade of magic. His palms stung, bracing his weight against the smooth floor while raw, unstemmed magic raced through his veins unrestrained. He looked over his shoulder to Kira, who knelt beside him. Her face was etched with her terror, the screaming in the throne room just behind him ringing in his ears.

“What did he do?” Kallias managed, bowing his head against the onslaught. 

“Could you survive the loss of your own child?” Kira whispered. The scent of warm blood filled the air, driving out all other thoughts. Had the High Lord truly chosen to kill himself rather than live with his grief? Kallias forced himself to stand, his legs shaking. Kira helped, bracing him against her body while he got his runaway heart under control.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Kallias whispered, flexing his fingers. 

How would he ever explain this? To the court, his people��to Viviane? 

“Go,” Kira told him. “The longer you make them wonder, the longer they have to plot against you. Shore up your power now.”

He had only a second to make a decision. It should have been Nikolai, he lamented. Kira ought to have remained with Viviane. 

“Get your sword,” he ordered. Kira’s eyes widened, and yet she nodded, racing down the hall. He had moments to get himself together, to step into that blood-soaked throne room and pretend this was normal–that he was normal. Kallias flexed his fingers, reveling in the feel of his magic, of the newness thrumming beneath his skin.

He took a step, swearing the world around him seemed to tremble. The screaming stopped and, with a breath, Kallias stepped into the room. The sight laid before him threatened to turn his stomach. Gunnar knelt before the corpse of his once beautiful wife, a block of frigid, blue ice. Beside him, the High Lord lay in his own rapidly cooling blood, his heart half torn from his body. It was all so gruesome, so unnecessary. Kallias knew that even if he lived for a century more, he’d never forget the sight. Not of the court that now belonged to him, all staring with wide, mistrusting eyes. 

Kira skidded into the room, flanked by several sentries. She still wore her blue night dress, comical against the vicious look on her face.

“Kneel,” Kallias ordered, watching those sentries from across the room. He needed their support if he didn’t want to die in the next few days. The transition between one family to the next was rocky—or, so he’d been told. Winter had always avoided those kinds of shifting power plays. His eyes drifted back to the High Lord, who loved his son so much he couldn’t tell him no. Would have seen all of Winter crumble beneath one spoiled lordling's whim then govern as he should. 

It was a reminder for Kallias, who turned his back to the kneeling nobility, of what he stood to lose. How things could go wrong so quickly—how he might lose focus if he wasn’t careful.

It felt strange, ascending the white cut dais to the glittering blue and amethyst throne. Kallias seated himself atop it, sweeping his eyes over the room. 

High Lord. 

He’d never wanted it.

[ghirahimbo]

beginnings

a non-specific take on how the Link and Ghirahim master/sword AU might come about. I probably won't post this one to ao3 yet in case I decide to use it in a story someday, but I liked it enough to put it here, at least :)

--

In the Sealed Grounds where the demon hordes had trampled the earth so recently in their violent rampage, the transition to silence was complete. The whistling chirp of birds, the buzz of insects… even the wind through the trees had gone deathly still, all caught up in breathless waiting. Only the pool of inky darkness at the center of Demise's broken prison seemed to breathe, pulsing slowly in and out with uneasy life. Small though it was compared to the spiraling pit containing it, the darkness pulled at the cloud-covered twilight as if its strength alone might dim it. Consume it.

At last, the dark pool recoiled in agitation, and from its churning depths emerged a boy in a green knight’s tunic that had certainly known more pristine days. Bloodied and bruised, yet swaying triumphantly as if standing itself was a triumph, Link stumbled out of the pit’s embrace, adjusting his wet hat to fit more firmly over the mess of hair still dripping from his watery battlefield. The sky above seemed to captivate him, and he craned his head back to stare at the darkened clouds, half in wonder, half in disbelief. Then the hilt of his sword flashed, and a shimmering blue woman emerged to float in front of him.

“Master,” she said, catching his attention. “With the defeat of the demon king Demise, there is a 95% chance that your friend Zelda has already regained consciousness.” Her voice softened almost imperceptibly. “I believe I can say with 100% certainty that she would like to know you are well.”

Link stared at her for another moment, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Of course,” he murmured, and for the first time, he grinned. “Let’s go.”

Strengthened by his anticipation, Link broke into a limping run, eager to put the forsaken pit behind him—but before he could take more than a few steps, a new voice froze him in his tracks.

“Wait.”

Heart sinking like a rock, Link whirled around, one hand hovering warily over the hilt of his sword as a new figure emerged from the retreating darkness. Ghirahim’s skin glimmered like polished obsidian in the fading light, smooth and unmarred except for where fiery cracks split his chest, and a glowing diamond at its center pulsed an erratic, angry red. Cradled against his shattered core was an enormous black sword, its sharp edge not even scratching the skin where it rested against Ghirahim’s hardened arms.

Milky white eyes met tired blue in a silent clash, as if neither had the strength necessary to put words to their feud. Then, without warning, Ghirahim hefted his sword, driving it point first into the softened earth and falling to one knee before it.

“Take it.”

Link blinked, and took a wary step back.

“…What?”

“Take it.” Despite his clear exhaustion, Ghirahim’s voice had that same teasing bite to it as always, coupled now with impatience as he gestured towards the sword. “You defeated my old master Demise, which means his sword is yours to claim. Take it.”

Link stared at him, dumbfounded, and a slow smile curved across Ghirahim’s thin dark lips.

“Let me put it this way,” he said pleasantly. “This sword belongs to you whether you wish it so or not, but things will go much more… smoothly… if you take it now.”

Link shook his head as if to dismiss the notion, fixing Ghirahim with a glare.

“I already have a sword,” he said coldly, starting to turn aside, but this time a light chime from Fi made him stop.

“Master Link,” she said, her cool voice strangely gentle. “I’m afraid that I was not created to remain by your side forever. The demon king’s remaining essence is now sealed within my sword, to be carefully guarded until it is eradicated. The time of our parting will be soon.” She hesitated, and added, “Very soon.”

The first drops of rain began to fall, scattered and sparse. Link stared at Fi incredulously.

“You’re not saying I should trust him,” he said, not really a question, and Fi shook her head.

“Such judgments are not mine to make. I can only report that I sense no immediate intent to do harm from Lord Ghirahim, though whether he hopes to deceive you is less clear. Any further statements would be mere conjecture on my part.”

“Would you mind conjecting then?” Link asked, pursing his lips. After a moment, Fi nodded.

“Master Link…” Her words came with slow reluctance now. “Despite the foreordination of our partnership, I was still given the privilege of choosing you as my master. If what Ghirahim says is true and his sword has passed ownership from the demon king to you, I must surmise that he was not granted that same privilege of choosing Demise.”

“If what he says is true,” Link repeated, sparing another glare for the still-kneeling demon lord. Ghirahim had so far watched their exchange in enigmatic silence, not quite smiling, though he half raised an eyebrow at Link’s scowl. The steadily increasing rain slithered unnoticed in rivulets down his face, striking against his arms with short, metallic plinks.

“I stated that I could not discern whether he hopes to deceive you in some way, and this is true. However…” She paused in consideration. “I do sense a newfound connection between you and that sword, as well as between you and Lord Ghirahim himself. My opinion is that he is telling the truth, in this regard, at least.”

Link stared at her in dismay, and Ghirahim laughed softly.

“Your robotic guide is right, I’m afraid," he murmured. "I’ll have you know that you were not my first choice either, but I think we both know better than most how little control we have over the whims of destiny. Never in this sword’s history has it passed to a human, but it appears our thread of fate has some twists that even I could not predict.”

“There is no thread—“ Link started to say hotly, but let it go with a sigh. Even he could see how pointless finishing that sentence would be. “I suppose you come with the sword, then?”

“I am the sword,” Ghirahim said, his pale eyes glittering. Link paused only a second before nodding. After bearing Fi for so long, he understood how that worked, at least.

“If…” Link took a deep breath, glancing again at Fi. “If I take you with me… what’s to stop you from trying to kill me still?”

“I am physically incapable now of even harming you,” he said, and Link’s eyebrows shot up. A possibility much easier to disprove than prove, but…

“What about Zelda?” he demanded, and Ghirahim’s grin widened.

“On your orders, I would go so far as to guard her from harm, and catch her each time she stumbles,” he said smoothly. Link’s face darkened.

“What about—“

“Master, must we really go through every order that I will or will not obey?” Ghirahim cut him off irritably. “I will obey them all, insofar as I am able. Was it not the same with…?”

He gestured vaguely towards Fi, who looked at him.

“Fi is the designation I was given,” she said, prompting a tight grin.

“Wonderful! I didn’t need or desire to know that.”

“Wait,” Link interjected, his mind spinning slightly. “...You called me master.”

“Is he this slow all the time?” Ghirahim asked Fi incredulously. “How do you put up with it?”

Link let the insult slide, still reeling as he tried to gather his thoughts. Would Ghirahim really debase himself so far just for a chance at revenge? There were other, easier ways to go about it if that was his aim, ways involving less personal humiliation. Fi thought he was telling the truth—about some things, at least—which maybe meant…

“What am I supposed to do with that sword, anyway?” Link said abruptly. “It’s too big for me to even…”

The protest died in Link’s throat as for the first time he really looked at the sword, and licked his lips. Without his noticing, the sword had shrunk in size, though it managed to appear no less menacing despite that. If Link were to hold up his Master Sword in comparison, he doubted that there would be a hair’s difference in length.

“I told you,” Ghirahim said, and Link had to fight down a shiver that he told himself was from the rain. “My sword belongs to you now, Link. Take it.”

Once more he looked at Fi, silently questioning, but if she had an opinion on the matter her blank face gave no voice to it.

“Zelda is waiting for you,” was all she said… and somehow, that was enough.

“Fine,” Link sighed reluctantly. He didn't want to find out at that moment how Ghirahim might try to force him if he refused, and Fi was right. It was time to go. “I accept your sword.”

Trudging forward, Link grabbed it by the hilt, thinking that if worse came to worst, he could still throw it off a cliff somewhere—and felt a terribly familiar warmth surge through his palms as he pulled it free, traveling up his arms to settle somewhere in his chest. A tightness fell from Ghirahim’s face that Link hadn’t noticed until that moment, and he bowed his head forward, pressing a hand delicately against his mangled chest.

“The bonding process is now complete, master,” he said, and despite the formality of his words he had a mocking twist to his lips. “Link… my master.”

Thunder boomed overhead as lightning forked viciously across the sky, the rain falling down in sheets. Link, staring at his own black sword, noticed none of it.

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

☆ Will because WE NEED HAPPY WILL IN OUR LIVES!

WE DO! Buckle up!

When Will laughs really hard, his face turns red, and when he smiles super wide, he gets dimples. Mike loves both, and both end up with him grabbing Will's face and peppering it with kisses.

Will constantly wears a ton of bracelets - some gifts from Mike, others friendship bracelets, one's just rainbow - and he loves them all. He wears hairties on his left wrist, too, because he likes giving them away to his long-haired friends (and sister).

Will and Max are both disabled, and they hang out a lot. Their service dogs like to play with each other, and they frequently go to Will's favorite flower shop, their favorite coffee shop, the park, the mall, etc. Will tells Max what's going on around her (especially what stupid thing Mike's doing so she can properly make fun of him) and she holds his arm and lets him lead them around places, and she signs what she hears at Will when he takes out his hearing aids. She taught him to skateboard, and he learned a style of 3D painting so he could give her art. He also drew her D&D character in this style and made a Braille character sheet. (She cried.)

Will and Hopper get along great. They hang out regularly, Hopper attends the parent function thingamabobs, and they become close. They even come up with a scheme to sneak in a stray kitten and hide it from Joyce at one point - it lasts for less than an hour, but Joyce lets them keep the cat, so they're still happy. El names him Whiskers. Their real bonding moment came with music - Hopper was blasting Steely Dan, and Will came in and made him listen to Fleetwood Mqc, Queen, The Clash, and The Cure.

Mike joins a band, and he and Eddie cajole Will into learning an instrument. Will ends up trying bass and he fucking loves it. Eddie says he's a natural - it's in no small part because Will takes out his hearing aids when he's playing, and he just feels the vibrations of the notes and can tell what note it is just by vibration. He loves it, because music can sound weird through the hearing aid, and he's able to feel it playing bass. (He plays for Jonathan when he visits him at NYU.)

When the Party start 11th grade, they start school at a Montessori K-12 school, which they all do well in, especially Will. With a less structured school, minimal homework, disability aid, and shortened hours (8:30-3:00), he's able to get straight A's and pack his schedule, too. He has talk therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays (3:15-4:30 PM) as well as physical therapy (5-5:30 PM), art club on Wednesdays (3-3:45 PM), science club on Mondays (3-4 PM), D&D on Saturdays, family pizza and movie nights every Friday, and volunteers at his synagogue on Sunday (a lot of the older ladies adore him). He works at a flowershop with El during the summers, and frequently goes to gay speakeasies and immerses himself in Deaf and LGBT+ culture (he starts to take out his hearing aids more the longer he spends with other Deaf people, as he learns sign language and starts to find his place without hearing) and makes a lot of gay friends.

Will gets a service dog. His name is Charlie, a rescued Burmese Mountain Dog, who adores Will. He takes a minute to warm up to the idea, but when he does, Will fucking loves that dog. I'm talking sneaks-him-extra-treats, that-dog-sleeps-in-Will's-bed-every-night, Mike's-cuddle-position-might-get-replaced loves. He's thrilled that Charlie gets to go with him everywhere after a bit, and with the dog around, Will's a much calmer, happier person.

Will becomes a lot less reserved as he gets more comfortable with himself, happily sassing people, flopping down in Mike and his friends' laps, signing more often, being less ashamed of his sexuality and scars and disability, becoming more comfortable with his body, wearing nice clothes, etc, etc, etc.

(Tried to think of enough to come to 11 😭 didn't work though)

[belltrigger]

Bonds Forged Long Ago ~ Chapter One

Hisui AU

I wanted to play, again, with our assumptions as to why and how Ingo got dropped into Hisui. The idea, and my plans for it, got kind of long, only encouraged by sitting in a car for 16 hours over the course of a few days. A little different from my usual fare, this will be positively riddled with angst.

I'll be posting to AO3 as well, and if there are differences between a chapter here and there, I'll mark it per chapter!

Darkness.

It surrounded him on all sides, feeling far too vast and suffocating all at once. He could see himself, as if he were glowing, but illuminated nothing around. There was no sound, even when he was sure words came from his mouth, but a faint vibration thrummed through his body if he stood still.

With solid footing underneath him, he took a chance and walked ahead. The darkness around him didn't change, didn't shift, showed no signs of what distance had been traveled. Until, after what must surely have been hours, a white spot appeared in the far distance, growing larger and brighter as he approached.

*-'Come here.'-*

The words filled him with a sudden, desperate need to run towards the white spot, like it was imperative to reach it at any and all costs. As he got closer and closer, it moved, turned, faced him. He picked up speed. With only a few dozen feet between them, it spread its arms wide, beckoning him forward.

When he'd just about reached it, their fingertips having the barest contact, his light was yanked away, and he was in darkness again.

Ingo startled awake, both arms outstretched in desperation towards the ceiling, a name shouted into the darkness of his room but instantly forgotten.

As he sat up with a shuddering breath, the feeling of brushing fingertips with the being of light still lingered. Any recollection of what he'd been dreaming of, however, faded around him like steam from a cup of tea. His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists in an attempt to stop the tremors. Tears streamed down his cheeks, burning hot, and yet he didn't even know what he was mourning.

These dreams always went the same; he would jolt awake, gripped in panic, desperately grasping empty air for something. And then, no matter how hard he tried to retain his dream, everything would dissipate, leaving behind only an all-encompassing shroud of loneliness.

He had tried putting his thoughts and dreams in writing, no matter how fleeting the glimmer of memory, but it slipped away by the time quill hit paper. He couldn't vocalize them either, the words muddling in his head and catching in his throat until he spoke on another topic entirely. Whether he had been dreaming or awake, the result was always the same.

Less like forgetting, and more like it was being erased.

His body desperately wanted to remember something, possibly someone? But every time he tried to follow the tracks, they disappeared under his feet.

But it wasn't everything. Some things could come back to him, could *remain* with him. He knew what pokémon were with a clear awareness. There was muscle memory to working with them, an innate familiarity that allowed him to befriend and train, even when those around him shook at the mere sight of even the calmest pokémon. The people here believed in the "Great Sinnoh," and while the name echoed in his mind like he'd heard it before, he'd found out they treated it as some sort of deity-level entity.

So, why then? Why could he recover certain bits of knowledge, but other parts, parts that felt immensely more important, were being held just out of his grasp?

Without his memories, there wasn't much he was sure of. Had he done something reprehensible? Was he being punished for some wrong doing? Was the refusal to remember something his own mind was doing, to hide from his past, or was something else responsible?

With a heavy sigh, he settled back down into his bedding, draping one arm over his eyes. Exhaustion always hit in waves after he awoke from these dreams, but at least this time he could still rest for a few hours.

"I won't give up," he promised himself. "Whatever it takes, I will remember." He drifted back into an uncomfortable doze, praying that something stuck this time.

[mooneloquence]

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash

(4/4 of the ficlets I'm posting here to motivate myself to write more in the coming year. This was written and already posted on ao3 for Shadowgastober. Fun fact: I'm currently working on expanding this into a full, multi-chaptered fic with vampires and tasty, tasty smut, so if you're interested please do let me know!)

Have some evil!au Shadowgast around 160 years in the future, having a conversation during a fancy costume party. Content warnings here are: blood, blood drinking, mentions of death, suggestive themes, implied sex. Title is (of course) from Hozier's "Arsonist's Lullaby".

“All of them are yours, dearest, just take your pick.”

On the ground floor, people of all races danced and laughed and drank and ate, with gowns and suits of the most exquisite make, all complemented by their intricate masks. The party unraveled before the two figures watching from a private balcony obscured by an enchanted veil.

"And you, are you mine?"

One of them stood with his hands on the balustrade, his dark burgundy suit embroidered with swirling golden patterns that looked almost like a continuation of his red mane, which fell past his chest in carefully brushed and styled waves that gleamed under the light like burnished copper. His mask, of a solid golden color, was sculpted in the shape of a lion's face. It hid everything from his forehead to his nose, with the only exception of two unnaturally blue eyes, leaving his neatly trimmed, bearded chin and his red mouth uncovered for the sake of convenience.

The other one had his arms around him, stark white suit embroidered with silver thread that formed clusters of glimmering stars on his shoulders, his high neckline, the sleeves of his jacket, and down the train that flared down from around his narrow hips, fading into a deep midnight blue that went far past his feet, which hovered a full foot off the ground to allow the man in question to speak into his lover's ear. This figure's full mask matched the style of his suit, with small diamonds embedded creating mesmerizing patterns over the white background and the shape of a crescent white moon outlined in silver paint across one eye and ending at the opposite cheekbone. Under his eye, there was a small circle of tiny rubies contained within the bigger moon.

The second figure slid his left hand up over his lover's chest until he could caress the cool skin under his ear with his ring, violet eyes peering at the younger man’s hand to look at its matching pair, two bands of white and yellow gold intertwined in an infinite spiral. That one was inlaid with a pearl where the one on his own finger had a teardrop shaped piece of amber.

"Just as you are mine."

With a low, satisfied hum, the figure clad in red took his left hand away from its perch and made it travel up his partner's sleeve to grasp his hand. He brought it to his lips, first kissing his ring— their ring, for it was not the only piece of jewelry adoring his elegant digits—then slowly working his way through each of his knuckles, to finish with a single kiss to the back of his fingers.

"Good." The gentle exhale of a quiet laugh made its way to his ear.

"Something tells me this is about our host."

Still keeping his mouth brushing his lover's hand, he frowned. "His advances have been very… obnoxious."

"Believe me, I know."

"You know I am not averse to sharing, but… I don't like that he feigns obliviousness when you have made your lack of interest abundantly clear."

Another exhale. "Does it make you angry?" Silence. "I bet seeing a few marks on me would help dissuade him."

"Essek."

"I know."

The poor man had cried—although his beautiful blue eyes had remained tearless, so it had been more like whimpering—and trembled like a leaf, refusing to feed from Essek for days until he insisted that Caleb needed blood to keep himself under control before he got too hungry. Only that had made him relent. Still somewhat reluctantly, he had nuzzled into the crook of the drow’s neck, eyes shut as his hands found his waist, caressing him reverently. He had only stopped shaking a few minutes later, when he finally opened his mouth and bit down, liquid warmth filling his mouth as the rich scent of life reached his nose and enveloped him. He didn’t know if the groan he heard had been his or Essek’s.

It was addictive, the vigor rushing through his whole body, feeling stronger with each gulp. Caleb thought he had never felt so strong, so alive , not even when he was, well… living. His breathing—he was breathing; he hadn’t even noticed he had stopped after waking in his new state—was heavy as he alternated between gulps of air and Essek’s blood, and his eyes had fallen shut on their own, eyelids made heavy by the intensity of everything. But the experience was made lovelier by the feeling of his lover's body, fine boned, warm and so pliant, in his arms. He was breathing so close to his ear, each inhale and exhale mingled with the faintest notes of a gasping whimper, which Caleb was only able to notice due to his newly enhanced hearing. One of his arms was draped across his shoulders, his hand resting with its fingers curled at the nape of his neck, the other one was buried in Caleb’s hair, fingers tangled in his locks and tugging softly in the way he liked to do it during...

Oh, gods.

A haze of warm molasses settled over him, and he embraced his lover even closer, tighter, only breaking out from his rapture when Essek’s hands went limp where they had been holding him as his knees faltered.

"I almost killed you," he said in a steady voice that Essek knew hid the guilt Caleb still felt about the incident. They had talked about it often, especially during the first century, but now it had been more than two years since the last time the drow had brought it up.

"But you did not," he replied as always. “You got yourself under control well before causing me any real harm, my love,” he crooned, a reminder. The pair of arms encased in white silk tightened around Caleb’s middle, pressing Essek’s front to his back.  “And afterwards…” Hidden by his mask, the drow smiled when he heard the other man's sharp intake of breath, knowing his words alone had caused such a reaction from a creature that had no need for air. He himself was not unaffected by the memory, molten heat pooling at his core over something that had happened over a hundred years in the past.

Still, after that first time, Caleb had never fed from Essek again, his hunger strong to the point of making him scared of going over a threshold that would be harder to come back from. That was why they had a system—either Caleb lured someone to feed from, or he picked someone, and Essek brought them to him. On the night before the New Dawn of 994 PD, it looked like his lover was in the mood for the second option.

"Perhaps… our host might like to grace us with his company up here for a while. He has been most generous when providing this private area."

Truly, their host had not skimped on their balcony when they had requested it. The two of them had been staying at his manor, coming and going as they pleased, for around five months, and he had furnished this private corner for them to look over his parties lavishly. Foolish man, maybe he thought he could win their physical affections with plush velvet sofas and wine. They would maintain the illusion for a while longer, until they got bored or found something better, something more interesting.

"You have always been such a clever young man. Give him a taste of what he wants—"

"And then, I would like a taste of you." It was Essek’s turn to inhale sharply.

"Just a taste?" he teased, but his voice had acquired a breathy quality. Pressed against Caleb’s back, his heartbeat had sped up considerably.

"For starters." He had already been pretty cheeky when he was alive, but being devoid of blood made it easy not to blush as multiple scenarios unfolded in his mind. "I believe it would be preferable to retire to our chambers afterwards."

"Mm, very well," Essek purred against his ear. With a final kiss to his knuckles, Caleb let his hand go, and the drow extricated his arms from around him. Several feet further away, he spoke again. "Will you watch me from here?"

Caleb turned to face him. Over the more than fifteen decades they had been together, the adoration in his eyes had only ever increased. He gave his beloved a fond smile that hinted at two white elongated canines.

"As if I could ever look away."