#and he just turns to look at them in stony silence; the shadows of some distant nameless war flickering in his eyes

[andypantsx3]

Saw that TikTok that’s like “does anyone else’s boyfriend hate their stuffed animal” and it’s sooo Touya coded. That man has a vendetta that’s personal and a list of revenge fantasies a mile long against your squishmallows.

[moonselune]

HIHI! Huge durge/wyll lover here, could we get a snippet where Wyll and Gortash are maybe, just maaybe fighting over Durge? Or another option, is Wyll’s Father disapproves of his son with a bhaalspawn,..👀👀

stop bcs i made a post about wyll and gortash knowing each other pre tadpole incident and this feeds right into my fantasy

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll x Durge | My love, all mine

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The atmosphere in the audience hall of Gortash’s coronation was thick with pride and dark tension, a place where power echoed off every polished stone. As you entered, memories of your past with him lingered, reminders of something twisted and unfinished. Wyll stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours, a gentle anchor to steady your resolve. He knew the weight of your past but not all of its jagged edges—not until Gortash stepped into view, smirking as his gaze landed on you.

“Ah, my dear,” Gortash drawled, his voice slipping easily into a mockery of intimacy, his eyes bright with something cruel. “And look who’s playing hero now. I trust you’re enjoying the, what was it… tender mercies of Baldur’s Gate?” His gaze shifted to Wyll with a knowing smirk. “Oh, and you brought the Blade of Frontiers, of all people. Tell me, Wyll, have you heard the tale of how the two of us… bonded?”

Wyll’s jaw clenched, and you saw the fire flash in his eyes. He held himself in a stony silence, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. He turned to you with a dark brow raised, seeking some explanation, but before you could respond, Gortash took a step closer.

“I know Orin made a mess of the dear one's mind, but after things we did, not even her butchery could make you forget me,” He took your hand in his with that possessive familiarity that made your stomach twist. “After all, we were partners once.”

Wyll’s fist clenched. “You’re truly as repulsive as I remember, Gortash.”

Gortash smirked, unbothered, his eyes lingering on you. “You’re welcome to ask your new friend here. Not everything between us was allies and daggers. And yet, here we are.”

Wyll's jaw clenched even tighter, and it was clear he was fighting every instinct not to reach out and knock that smirk from Gortash’s face. But with the Steel Watch looming behind Gortash, ready to respond to any threat, he restrained himself. You caught his eye, your own confusion muddling with guilt, and Wyll seemed to understand immediately, focusing his wrath on Gortash.

“You think you know them, Gortash? You think I don’t know who they were, the struggles they’ve endured?” He scoffed, folding his arms. “The fact that you even made it this far is astounding to me. Then again, I hear you’ve hardly used merit to climb the ranks.”

Gortash’s amusement only grew, dark and insidious. “Ah, Wyll, still as upright and pretentious as ever. A little more naive, perhaps, given that you’re here with them now. But then again, maybe you’re fond of cleaning up after the messes of people far more capable than yourself.”

Your fingers reached out instinctively to Wyll’s arm, hoping to defuse the mounting tension, but Wyll only shifted forward, his voice deadly calm. “Better to be in their shadow than have to sleep my way through high society to keep a position, Gortash.”

That struck a nerve, and Gortash’s smugness faltered for a fraction of a second, his brow twitching as he forced his smile back into place. Wyll continued, his voice firm, deliberate, and aimed directly at Gortash.

“You can taunt us all you want, but this power you flaunt?” Wyll gestured around. “It’s nothing without trust. And that’s something you’ll never have.”

Before Gortash could respond, Wyll turned to you, his eyes softening, although they still held that fierce, protective glint.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s leave the filth to its castle.”

But as you turned to leave, Gortash’s taunting voice followed, cold and mocking. “Yes, take them, Wyll. Though, I doubt you’ll ever truly fill the role I once did.”

Wyll’s composure broke just enough to where, in one quick movement, he pulled you close and kissed you, his hand curling possessively at the small of your back. The kiss was searing, a bold claim to counter Gortash’s. It left you breathless, your heart hammering as he pulled away, a smirk finally matching Gortash’s appearing on Wyll’s face.

He held your gaze a moment longer, his voice low and unapologetic. “Guess you’ll just have to live with that, Gortash.”

With his arm around you, Wyll led you out, the weight of Gortash’s frustrated stare lingering as you left. Wyll’s face remained set in proud satisfaction, his jaw hard, and his hand was warm, secure against yours. As you stepped away from the hall and Gortash’s shadow, Wyll glanced down at you, his intense expression softening into a gentle, warm smile.

“That…wasn’t too brash, was it?” he murmured, his voice low, cheeks flushed with both adrenaline and a hint of sheepishness. You couldn’t help but grin.

“No, not brash at all,” you replied, still feeling the lingering fire from that kiss, one that spoke louder than any words he could have said.

Wyll chuckled, squeezing your hand. “Good. Because you’re mine. And I’m not sharing—not with anyone, least of all him.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

OooOOooo sassy wyll my beloved <3 Hope everyone had a great halloween, i am editing/posting this ever so slightly hungover hehe. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[forgesahead]

For some reason, the Scions, in all their curated wisdom, had decided that Meteor would be the mentor of their group. It had begun with Thancred advising Zero to look to Meteor for her answers rather than him, and now Alisaie and Alphinaud looked to him expectantly to help usher Wuk Lamat along her path with more than just his strength.

From a purely logical, objective standpoint, it made sense; Meteor was more than the Warrior of Light, he was perhaps the most hardened soldier in all of Eorzea. It stood to reason, then, that he would have the most lessons to impart to those who would come after him. Yet that was only looking at the larger picture. When it was also factored in that he often chose to follow rather than speak and offered deliveries of food rather than words of comfort to the needy, he really has to question the wisdom behind it all.

Even now, with all the time he'd spent with Wuk Lamat, he flails in silence. So much for all the time he'd spent journaling his experiences as he went-- any wise words he could impart were scarcely covered in the breadth of the few sentences he spoke when prompted to talk in turn, and he found that he'd struggled with much tutoring beyond that. It was why he'd preferred the company of other Scions most of the time. They'd been more than happy to speak where he chose to stay silent, wearing their flowery oratory like a fine frock where he would have floundered.

The Scions were not here, though. Thancred and Urianger had joined Koana's team, and though Alisaie and Alphinaud were with him, this time they had wandered off to question the Mamool Ja on their own, leaving him to deal with Wuk Lamat as she moped over her failed attempts to converse with the locals.

"Gods, I've dealt with unfriendliness before, but this is something else! They won't even talk to us!"

House cat, Bakool Ja Ja had jeered towards her, and Meteor saw where the nickname might have stemmed from, though in a way more affectionate than unkind. Her ears drooped as she rested her hands on her chin, and her tail, once animated even when she stood idle, lay still at her rear, as though it were a prop rather than a proper part of her. It was cute, and he couldn't help the smile on his face despite the circumstances.

Nor could he blame her for her frustration. After getting so far along her quest, she's hit a roadblock. A seemingly insurmountable one, given her approach. She requires open dialogue to be able to understand the people's problems and offer a solution, but the residents here don't even want to breathe towards them. An unpleasantness that is not all unfamiliar to him, given his last expedition to Ilsaberd.

"They're like the Garleans." Meteor murmurs to himself. He looks out at the shadow-shrouded landscape and the stony buildings and finds himself back at the subway station, when he had first arrived. The junkmonger, the mender the people huddled around the fire-- none of them had wanted to talk to him, and the few that did made it well and clear that they wanted him gone. As if the environment wasn't hostile enough, the residents that took shelter within it were as cold and immovable as all the grey contraptions around them.

He hadn't realized he'd been thinking out loud until Wuk Lamat startles him back to the present with a "really?" and he flinches back when he turns around and sees just how close she's gotten. She's peering at him with wide eyes-- newfound hope, he supposes, now that he potentially has some words of wisdom. Meteor blinks at first, because he thinks surely Wuk Lamat would have known about the Garleans already, if she's already talked with Alphinaud and Alisaie. If she had, his words wouldn't have been anything new, only a reminder of what they probably would have relayed to her before. But her stare doesn't relent, so Meteor sighs and looks to the distance.

"They... the Mamool Ja remind me of them, is all." He starts, and winces. This is why he doesn't like explaining so much. He's out of practice, and the delivery is wooden, jilted. Still, Wuk Lamat doesn't seem to mind at all, and only looks at him with more interest, so he continues. "Most of the locals wanted nothing to do with us, and when we came to their leadership offering supplies, they took the twins hostage instead. That's when I realized... our way of saving them was pretty one-sided.. and admittedly naive."

Wuk Lamat seems shocked by the sudden pessimism with the way she recoils, but with his flow found, Meteor looks at her and continues. "Everyone has their own idea of saving themselves, I think. For the Garleans, or at least their leadership, that idea didn't include outsiders at all. Anyone outside of the empire were their enemies, so they would kill them and use their spoils to feed their people, and they would survive. Life would go on. They almost followed through with that, before we finally convinced them to cease fire and lay down their weapons."

There's a long pause after that. Wuk Lamat seems to be considering the words, and Meteor lets her. He turns away and folds his hands behind his back, but beyond that, barely moves where he stands. The drone of the forest's insects fills the absence of words.

Then, "I... am I being naive then? Do you think my approach is wrong?" Her voice is too quiet, and when Meteor looks back at her, he frowns. The sad droop of her ears are back.

He purses his lips as he's flooded with memory, first of his conversation with Gulool Ja Ja. He remembers being asked what he thinks of the Third Promise, he remembers gritting out that he thought her too green, too unprepared for her duties to come. He remembers the raucous laughter that followed after that, the surprise that washed away his frustration when he realized the Dawnservant knew, yet put his faith in his daughter anyways.

He remembers his doubts starting to be assuaged as their journey went on and despite her shortcomings, Wuk Lamat finally, finally started finding her footing again.

He remembers himself, surrounded by Garlean soldiers that were too scared to get close to him despite having weapons pointed at him, as if he would slaughter them all at the first provocation, because he was Eorzea's champion, Garlemald's ill-famed butcherer.

He remembers Fray's solemn words at Myste's reminder of all the blood spilled in his heroics. The reminder that when he cut others down with his sword, he could save only one. Himself.

"I offer you peace! Restitution! A chance to make amends! Do not think you are above it! Do not think that a reckoning will be postponed indefinitely!"

"When it comes, I shall welcome it with open arms... but today will not be the day, and you will not be the judge!"

He exhales.

"Despite all my experience, I can't claim to know what the right way forward is." Is what he finally says, and then he looks meaningfully into Wuk Lamat's wide eyes. "You showed me that. I thought you too naive, once, and though I helped you along, I didn't believe in you, not really. Yet despite my doubts, you've succeeded, and now you've come this far. You're one stone's throw away from becoming Dawnservant."

He gazes at her. Even with the canopies above smothering all sunlight, her orange mane and pale yellow fur stand out starkly against the blue and black backdrop. A flame in the dark. A splash of vibrancy on a murky canvas.

"So I'm going to believe in you still. I want to see you use this method and succeed, however misguided it may be. I want to believe your way works, because I'm tired of fixing one evil by causing another."

Wuk Lamat is eerily silent after that, to the point where Meteor's confidence falters, and he starts to wonder if he'd spoken out of turn. If his honesty had been too much, and doused her spirits completely. Then before he can ask, she gives him a toothy grin, and smacks him on the back hard enough to make him yelp, surprised by the sudden force of the blow.

She laughs at the reaction. "Then that means I'll just have to succeed again!" And despite the pain, Meteor is smiling again. Finally, there's that enthusiasm. "I've finally earned your faith; I'm not going to let you down now just because some people don't want to talk to me."

"Don't get so ahead of yourself." Meteor grouses, but there's no bite to the words, and he elbows her. "Let's go find Alphinaud and Alisaie first, alright? If they haven't gotten anything out of the locals, at least we'll have their counsel."

They make their way to the twins, who seem heartened by how determined their Third Promise looks. Meteor nods to them with a small grin, spirits lifted well enough that he forgets to ask himself if he played his part correctly this time.

For the first time in a while, a weight is lifted off his shoulders.

[halsinsbiceps]

A Great and Sudden Change Update

Well hey there, folx!

It's been a long time. I've been lurking around, liking a bunch of stuff and enjoying what you're all posting. I see I've gotten some new followers and reblogs; thank you all for the love!

I wish I could say I'm making a comeback, and while that's kinda true...I'm kinda not. Life is, as you all know, ever-changing and likes to hand it out in spades when it does. For the most part things have been good, but have left me with less time to write and spend on my own hobbies.

The biggest thing is that we're MOVING! So excited about this, being closer to family, and being back where my heart belongs. But also so fucking sad, because our life was here for so long.

It'll be good, I promise. And hopefully, that will mean more writing!

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

And in the meantime, enjoy Chapter 9 of A Great and Sudden Change!

Fic below the cut, or read on AO3 here.

Throughout the arguments against Kagha, Enelya was reminded - not for the first time in recent months - why she chose to not follow the path to leadership. 

Halsin heard each member of the grove out with a patience Enelya admired. It was no wonder he was held in such high regard; each person's words were just as important as the last. Still, she did not envy him the charge of being Archdruid. She could tell by the way he held himself - back straight, shoulders tense, eyes focused on each speaker - that his duties weighed more heavily on him than she had believed. 

Kagha and the druids who had followed her orders stood against the far wall. Kagha kept her arms crossed as their peers voiced their concerns and condemnation of the group's actions. Her eyes frequently flicked over to Enelya, and every time a scowl would etch into her face anew. 

Enelya did her best to ignore the venomous glares from the woman, but as time passed her skin began to crawl, the tadpole churned in her head, and she wished the ordeal were done and over with. She gripped the staff Halsin had given her and tried her best to pay attention to those speaking, but many of them made the same points as the rest, and soon her mind began to drift. 

Would this have been her life, had she not been waylaid by grief in the weeks after meeting Halsin?, she wondered. Sitting at his side, listening to the issues of the grove come forth each tenday? It was not unlike nobles and patriars in the great cities holding court, she mused. Druids might largely deny a relationship with civilization, but there were truly more similarities than not.

When the arguments against the offending party were finished, Halsin allowed the perpetrators a chance to defend themselves. Nearly all groveled before him for forgiveness, claiming they only wanted what was best for the grove and did not intend to align themselves with the Shadow Druids. Halsin heard them all with a careful, stony expression. When it came to be her turn Kagha chose not to defend herself, instead responding to Halsin’s inquiry with stoic silence. 

Finally, sometime after nightfall, Halsin rose from his stone chair and spoke, gesturing between himself and Enelya.

"Leave us."

Rath approached Halsin and the pair spoke in low tones. The guards took Kagha’s arms and led the accused parties out of the sanctum. Rath stepped away and joined the other druids as they filed out until only Enelya and Halsin remained. When the stone door slid shut above them, Halsin released a loud sigh and sank back onto the stone seat. His head fell back against his shoulders, and he rubbed his face before letting his arms drop limply to his knees. 

Enelya found herself slowly moving towards him, as if drawn by some unseen force. He was not looking at her - his eyes were closed - but she could tell he was aware of her presence in the way his body tensed and his breathing changed. It was only when she stood directly in front of him, her knees knocking softly against his, that their eyes met. 

Enelya longed to slowly reach out and slide her fingers into his auburn hair; to gently press the pads of her thumbs into his temples and scrape her fingernails across his scalp. She wanted to trace the tattoo that twisted down his cheek with a feather-light drag of her fingertips. She knew he would melt into her touch; that his chest would reverberate with a groan as his head fell forward to rest against her stomach. The tension would seep from his body, and his hands would slide up her thighs, gripping her hips as he pulled her down onto his lap…

Gods, she wanted it.

Halsin looked up at her expectantly, hazel eyes darkening and reflecting her desire, yet full of unanswered questions. When he spoke, it was a hoarse whisper.

"What happened, Enelya?"

She shivered - whether from the damp chill of the room or from hearing her name on his lips, she wasn't sure - and stepped away from him, shaking her head.

"Halsin, I know you are eager for answers, but this is really not the time for this conversation. Your thoughts should be on Kagha’s punishment, and I should be looking for a cure for... this .” She brushed her fingers vaguely across her temple with a deep sigh.

“I have already made my decision, and will enact it tomorrow." The tone of finality in Halsin’s voice allowed for no further discussion. Faithwarden or no, she didn't dare question his authority again after their confrontation earlier in the day. Halsin continued, “As for the rest, there is no more to be done tonight.”

“There is plenty to be done,” Enelya argued. She gripped the staff in her hands again, knuckles whitening against her skin. “You could tell me more about this Moonrise, or what you do know about the tadpole, for starters. Instead you'd rather rehash our brief history?”

He frowned and rose from his seat. Silence hung between them as he gazed at her, the frown deepening. "You were not one to avoid an uncomfortable discussion,” he finally replied. “But it appears you are no longer the person you once were.”

She raised an eyebrow at his statement. “You barely knew me.”

"No,” he admitted softly. “But I knew your spirit. Your soul drew me in, the way you shone brighter than the moon itself.” He raised his hand above him in a sweeping gesture. “The way you stood proud and tall, and danced with abandon. It was no wonder you were a champion of Mielikki. Now…” He shook his head. His hand dropped back to his side. “You do not hold yourself in the same way. There's a darkness in you, as if your brightness has been eclipsed."

Enelya crossed her arms. "I owe you no explanation for my change. The seasons come and go and yet you do not ask the trees why their leaves fall in autumn."

"You don’t owe me that, but you do owe me the truth.” He stepped even closer, close enough to touch. “I waited for you, Enelya. And when you didn't come to me, I sent birds to find you. When that didn't work, I wrote to Francesca. All she said was you had gone deep into the forest, and she did not know when you would return." He paused. “Or if you would return.”

Enelya did not reply. Her gaze drifted to the floor near Halsin’s feet.

He reached out then, slipping his fingers under her chin to lift her head until their eyes met.

"The truth is all I ask,” Halsin repeated gently. “Or, if you won't tell me that, then tell me our coupling meant nothing to you. Tell me you didn't feel the same connection I did, and the matter can rest."

His eyes bore into hers, and she was suddenly aware of his proximity, his warmth, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. Her own chest tightened under his gaze, and she bit back the urge to nuzzle her face into his large palm and let him comfort her the way she craved.

She nodded, her throat dry.

"The truth, then.”

Halsin released her chin and stepped back. Enelya tried to ignore the crumbling sensation in her chest as he did so, instead gathering her thoughts and inhaling deeply to steady herself.

“Not two weeks after you left, as I was preparing to go to them…my mother and father died." Her voice was measured, matter-of-fact. Detached. "I honored them. I buried them. And then I retreated into the forest to grieve." She unfolded her arms and held them out from her body in a supplicating gesture. "There. Now you know."

Halsin's pained look reflected the sorrow he felt. "I am deeply sorry for your loss, Enelya."

She shrugged and let her arms fall back to her sides with a quiet thump. 

"...but why did you never write?"

" Gods , Halsin!” The words burst out of her and she glared at him. “What do you want me to say? I emerged from the forest after six months , and there was no word from you. Francesca said nothing to the contrary.” She paused briefly, biting her lower lip as she looked away. “I believed you had lost interest, or that you had found another, and I thought it best to leave you be. Our physical connection was brief, Halsin, and we can't make a garden grow where roots won't take." The words fell flat, even to her own ears.

Halsin shook his head, unconvinced by her entirely unconvincing argument.

“No. It's more than that," he said. "I knew from the moment I set eyes on you that this was more than mere desire. You know it as well as I, and I think you know it still. The roots of thiramin are dormant, they simply-”

“ Enough. ” Enelya’s sharp reprimand interrupted him and echoed in the large chamber. At the same time, she held a hand up to stop him speaking. Her eyes remained focused on the wall behind him. Her next words were quieter. "You deserve more than what I have to offer, Halsin."

His brows furrowed in confusion, and Enelya thought she saw a flash of hurt cross his face. "Why do you say that?"

"You see it better than I can explain. I’m no longer your thiramin , not really.” She shuffled her feet, lowered her head and whispered, “I’m broken.”

He reached out again, this time gripping her arms firmly, willing her to look at him. When she didn't - she'd surely fall into his arms if she did - he spoke urgently. "Enelya, none of us make it through this life unscarred. Do you think I would have asked you to be with me if I didn't want something imperfect? I want all of you. I want your pain and your anger and your sadness. All of it. But if you truly wish to break our bond…” He sighed and eased his grip, rubbing his thumbs once against the bare skin of her biceps as his voice dipped to a gravelly whisper. “...then I will not force you to stay."

Enelya believed him. She believed Halsin would take her just as she was and do all he could to make her see her worth every day for as long as they both would live…but she also knew he deserved better than that; deserved more than her tainted, angry self.

So she stayed silent and prayed that the lump in her throat would not give way to tears; her teeth ached from clenching her jaw. Water lapped softly at the rocky walls below them. 

Halsin finally huffed in frustration and pulled his hands from her arms. He spoke in a low, quiet voice, nearly a growl. "Go."

She raised her head then. "What?"

Halsin waved his hand in dismissal. "Go. Celebrate. Rest." A weary look settled onto his face as he sank down onto the stone bench once more. "I must tend to some things here. I'll be along later.”

Enelya nodded numbly, then turned and climbed the stairs out of the sanctum.

She felt Halsin's eyes on her every step of the way.

The grove was largely silent, only the chirping of crickets and the occasional shout or laugh breaking through the evening air. It had cooled to a comfortable temperature after sunset, and as Enelya made her way through the hills to the ruined chapel she found the slight chill on her skin to be a comfort. The knot that had formed in her chest during her discussion with Halsin slowly loosened as she walked.

“I want all of you.” Halsin’s words echoed in her mind. She could still feel the gentle brush of his calloused fingers on her arms.

Giddiness welled in her chest but was tempered by her sadness and her determination. Regardless of what she wanted, their thiramin must be broken, for Halsin’s sake. She could not drag him down this awful road with her. She clenched her jaw, pushed the thought of him from her mind, and kept walking.

As she reached the hollow outside the ruins where they had freed Lae’zel, a quiet whimper reached her ears, shortly followed by a soft thump and a groan.

“Silence, istik , or I will slice you belly to neck.” Enelya recognized the low rasp of the gith’s voice. Her heart sank, and she sprinted toward the sound.

“I told you what I know! They’re in the mountain pass, I don’t know how many!”

“Lae’zel!”

The githyanki’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of Enelya striding toward her. “Leave us be.”

A young tiefling man knelt before Lae’zel, holding his stomach gingerly. Judging by the way he shook and how he kept his eyes fixed on Lae’zel’s boots, Enelya guessed he was terrified.

She shoved Lae’zel away from him. “What are you doing?” she snapped. Her pain and frustration boiled into anger here, away from prying eyes.

Lae’zel’s eyes flashed at the provocation and she stepped forward again, bringing her face close to Enelya’s as she snarled. “He knows where to find a creche . Since you have been less than accommodating in my endeavor, I have chosen to take matters into my own hands.”

The tiefling scrambled to his feet and ran back to the ruins, leaving the two women to glare at each other. 

“You don’t get to go around accosting innocent people for information,” Enelya said in a low voice. She could feel her veins pulsing, anger bubbling to the surface. She bit her tongue as Lae’zel pressed even closer to her, struggling to keep her frustration in check. The gith’s breath was hot on her face.

“And what would you have me do, istik ? Stumble around this forsaken place until we become ghaik ?” Lae’zel spat. “No. I will find this creche , and a ghustil will cure me of this tadpole. It is the only way.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“My people were slaves to these mindflayers long before you even drew breath, elf. We know how they are defeated. We know how to cure ourselves of their parasites. A zaith’isk will purify me, and I will return to my path of glory.” Lae’zel stepped away then, although her glare lost none of its venom. “And I will go alone.”

The anger dissipated from Enelya’s body suddenly and her eyes widened in shock. “Lae’zel, if you leave the protection of the artefact, you’ll die before you make it to the mountains.”

“I will fall on my sword before that happens.” Uncertainty briefly crossed the gith’s face, and Enelya seized the opportunity like a hawk on its prey.

“And if you can’t?” She kept her voice soft, placating. “We were lucky last night, but ceremorphosis could be instantaneous. I know you don’t want that.”

“Do not presume to know what I want!” Lae’zel snapped again. “You have all but ignored my wishes, my advice, instead prancing around playing she'lak to everyone we come across.”

Her accusation gave Enelya pause. She hadn’t realized she was ignoring Lae’zel; the gith had been quiet, keeping mostly to herself. But she was right. Enelya had been so wrapped up in helping others - saving the tieflings, saving Halsin, stopping Kagha - that she hadn’t given any thought to helping herself, nor helping those who were helping her. Beneath Lae’zel’s angry facade, Enelya sensed there was another message: the woman was feeling left out, and wanted to be heard. Enelya shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Lae’zel. I should have taken your advice more seriously.”

Lae’zel scoffed, but her eyes softened ever so slightly. “Your apologies are a weakness.”

“Maybe among githyanki , but I do my best to listen to all my companions.” Enelya held the other woman’s gaze sincerely. “I dismissed your insight, and I should not have. Truly, seeking out this creche may be the best lead we have, now that we know Halsin cannot heal us.”

Lae’zel’s chin lifted in pride. “It is our only lead.”

“Then we will discuss a plan of action with the others in the morning. I know you are eager to be purified, but we must stick together. I ask you to be patient just a bit longer while we prepare ourselves for what’s to come.”

Lae’zel considered her solemnly. “You are soft,” she said finally, her lip turning up into a small sneer. “But you are right. Our survival seems to be contingent on the artefact, and I will not leave its protection until we know more. But you must swear we will seek out the creche at our first chance.”

“I swear it.”

Enelya stuck her right hand out. Lae’zel eyed the offered hand warily, then slapped it with her own.

Enelya laughed suddenly, and she felt lighter than she had in days. “No, it’s a handshake.” She grabbed Lae’zel’s wrist and slid her hand into the gith’s, squeezing firmly. “It means we’re holding each other to our word.”

Lae’zel scoffed, but gripped Enelya’s hand in return. “Your customs are confounding,” she grumbled.

Enelya shrugged and released Lae’zel’s hand. “You’ll get used to them.”

Lae’zel returned to the ruins with Enelya in silence, stalking off to her chosen corner. Karlach intercepted Enelya and handed her a drink.

“Look!” Karlach reached out and pressed the tips of her fingers against Enelya’s forearm before the elf even realized what was happening.

“Karlach!” Enelya gasped and pulled her arm away, then paused when she felt no pain. “Wait.” She reached out and grabbed the tiefling’s arm. “You’re not hot!”

“Ouch, let a girl down easy,” Karlach said, feigning hurt as she pressed her other hand to her chest. But a moment later she grinned. “Dammon - that’s the blacksmith - he had some extra infernal iron laying around and fixed my engine, for now anyway. Great, innit?” She suddenly pulled Enelya into a crushing hug.

“Oh!” Enelya laughed breathlessly and patted Karlach’s back awkwardly. “I’m glad, Karlach. You seem happy.”

“I am! And now, I need to find someone to cuddle with. You should too.” With a wink, Karlach waltzed off to the fire, where a group  of tieflings and a handful of druids was already gathered and dancing, drinks in hand. Enelya shook her head with a smile and went off in search of her other companions.

Besides Karlach, no one seemed to be in a particularly festive mood. Lae’zel still kept her distance. Gale was quite melancholy, waxing poetic about his magical malady. Astarion complained about the wine. Wyll was on edge, barely able to converse as he continuously glanced over his shoulder. He finally excused himself and slipped away to gaze pensively over the river.

It was when Enelya sat down next to Shadowheart that the evening finally took a more interesting turn.

The women sat in comfortable silence and nursed their drinks for several minutes, during which Halsin appeared through a crumbling doorway. An excited chorus of cheers erupted from the group dancing around the fire. Zevlor approached him with a wide smile and gripped his arm in welcome. Enelya watched Halsin’s movements keenly, unaware that she was also being watched.

Shadowheart smirked and took a drink of wine. "You lied."

Enelya glanced at her with a frown. "About what?"

"About knowing Halsin." She gestured over to the hulking druid, who was now speaking animatedly with Zevlor and a number of others who had gathered. "The tension is practically roiling off you.”

Enelya hummed, hesitating before answering. "It's…complicated," she said, looking down into her own empty cup.

"Oh?" Shadowheart sounded intrigued. She grabbed the bottle of wine next to her and leaned to pour a generous amount into Enelya's goblet, giggling as she did so. "Do tell."

Enelya chuckled at the younger woman's eagerness, then sighed and rolled out her shoulders. She gazed upwards, watching the embers from the fire spark and pop into nothingness against the night sky. "You know about soulmates, right?"

"Yes, I know about soulmates. Not sure how much I actually believe in it, but…" Shadowheart eyed her. "You and Halsin are…?"

" Thiramin is what we call it in Elven. Not just anyone can be a soulmate for us, like humans believe. Only one true thiramin exists for each elf, and we might go our whole lives without meeting them. Halsin and I met two years ago, and it was an immediate and…” Enelya shifted, trying to find the right words. “ Intense connection."

Shadowheart sucked in a breath. Her eyes gleamed. "Did you…"

"Oh yes." The wine was making Enelya bold, her tongue more loose than it normally would be. It felt good, she realized, to talk to Shadowheart about these salacious bits of her life. She bit her lip as she raised her glass again. "Several times."

Shadowheart giggled. "You climbed Mount Halsin!" she teased. It seemed Enelya was not the only one feeling the effects of the vintage swirling in their cups.

Enelya laughed in earnest then, loud and throaty with her head thrown back. "Gods. We stayed in my room for two days. It was…" she trailed off, her cheeks warming from the wine and memories. 

Shadowheart nodded. "I'm sure it was."

They sat in silence for a moment, each of them quietly watching the man in question as he chatted with the others, unaware of their gazes. 

"I'm going to break thiramin ," Enelya said abruptly. 

Shadowheart looked at her in surprise. 

Enelya continued, "I can't bind him to me any longer, not after everything I've done - to him, to others. And with this tadpole, my days are numbered. Better to give him that than nothing." She smiled ruefully and sipped at her wine.

Shadowheart murmured her sympathies. Enelya thanked her, then paused.

"Actually…a cleric of Shar would be able to perform the rite I need." Enelya looked at her hopefully. "If you're open to it, that is. It would be helpful."

Shadowheart thought for a moment. "Normally I would…but I have no memory of such a rite. It would have to wait until we get to Baldur's Gate, if we don't find someone who can do it otherwise." Shadowheart ran a finger around the lip of her cup. "And, if I'm honest, even if I could do it, I probably shouldn’t."

Enelya frowned. "Why not?"

"My own feelings toward Halsin are…also complicated," Shadowheart said slowly. She swirled her wine in her goblet. "My Lady does have rules, you know. It would be quite the conflict of interest to pursue a man I have released from a soulmate."

Enelya's mouth dropped open into an o, and she glanced away. "I see." 

"But if you don't want me to…I mean, you'd have to be dead to not notice someone like that!"

"Agreed," Astarion drawled as he plopped down behind Shadowheart, goblet in hand. His eyes roved lasciviously over Halsin.

"You're undead ," Shadowheart reminded him, her eyebrow quirking in amusement. 

Astarion waved his hand dismissively. "A technicality, my dear."

Enelya chuckled and stared into her cup. "Shadowheart, if you would like to try your hand at climbing Mount Halsin yourself, be my guest."

"Truly?"

"He is not beholden to me, thiramin or no. Halsin has a very open mind about relationships, and we aren't…in love, or anything like that. We barely even know each other really. Even if we were together, he would be allowed to pursue his desires, and I mine."

"Wait, you two were…" Astarion looked over at her, confusion and excitement in his eyes. 

"Yes," Enelya replied. "We were."

He gave a harsh, barking laugh. "Well, that is interesting!" He flashed a smile, then took a gulp of wine and grimaced.

At Astarion's laugh, Halsin finally caught their eyes on him, and with an amused, curious quirk of his brow, he excused himself and made his way across the clearing.

"I can't help but feel I am the subject of your discussion," he said as he reached them. A smirk twisted at the corner of his mouth.

"Why yes, Master Halsin," Shadowheart said. Her words were teasing and slightly slurred. "Enelya was just telling us how the two of you met." 

"Is that so?" He looked down at Enelya, a glint in his eye. "Well, Enelya…please don't go spilling all of my secrets." He looked down at Shadowheart, and a heated look passed between them. "I would like to keep some things to myself."

A sharp pang of jealousy roiled through Enelya’s gut. She gripped the metal stem of her goblet and tried to ignore the feeling. Jealousy and envy were not becoming traits amongst elves and druids, where casual relations and polyamory were the norm. Halsin was not her possession, even if they were currently bound by thiramin . It was her choice to end it, and to avoid her longing until she could. She would not deny him or anyone else a chance at happiness.

She watched Shadowheart as her eyes followed the movement of Halsin's hips as he slowly sauntered away. Then she looked back, and to her surprise, Astarion’s crimson eyes were trained on her. 

He glanced away quickly, but not before Enelya caught the pity in his gaze.

[dracarialove]

📄 Posting my finished fics here, too 📄

The Spy's Final Mission

*Check 'the spy's final mission' tag if you haven't read chapter 1

[Chapter 7: A Light In The Dark]

It was dark now that hardly any sun could make it through the cracks between the sizable stones, their heft blocking the soldiers from entering. Once the opening was shut, Rouge turned and pulled out a small flashlight to brighten the cavern, jogging over to where the Ultimate Lifeform had gone on ahead.

"That'll hold them off for a while," she said, her womanly voice echoing through the small hall. "How's your leg?"

Shadow didn't respond. He continued on, neglecting to say anything to her, and she felt a little shunned. She'd just saved his life, and thought the least he could do was thank her! But she bit her tongue from making a comment that might worsen his dour demeanor.

Soon enough, she had something of an answer to her question, watching Shadow's initial limp revert to his normal walk. She didn't see any blood on the stone floor, which told her everything she needed to know.

'Healing factor…' she silently mused. 'That must be one of his abilities.'

They trekked through the path, dipping and climbing with the changes in terrain. It felt like they were going in a straight line for the most part, but Rouge figured the stony corridor was subtly curving, as cave systems often did.

She hoped it would bring them to a spot where G.U.N wouldn't know to wait for them. After a little while, the path started to widen again, and Rouge decided it was a good place to pause.

"Wait up, Shadow," she said, then faced the space behind them.

"What now?" he asked blandly, any emotion gone from his voice.

He didn't want to stop, but did anyway, looking over his shoulder to see what she was doing. Despite his desire to be alone – and the betrayal he still felt from essentially being lied to by the only other Mobian he'd seen – he couldn't ignore how the winged lady had gone out of her way to protect him.

She was willing to defy her teammates and military orders, even if she could've been badly hurt shielding him from their gunfire. She had courage, and gall, and seemed to know what was right even when her lot in life put her in direct conflict with him. She was sent to detain him, but instead… she helped him be free. And Shadow felt a small but strengthening urge to let her assist him.

With her back to him, Rouge repeated the act of closing off the path behind them, purposely causing a sectional cave-in. Extra security, the hedgehog realized.

If G.U.N made it through the first barricade, this next one would slow them down more, or stop them from continuing altogether. There's a chance they wouldn't even realize the path was longer, if the dead end fooled them into thinking that's all there was to the pair's escape route.

Shadow fixed his gaze on Rouge, seeing her in a slightly different light than before; he'd realized she was manipulative when he found out about her affiliation with G.U.N, but now he was seeing how she used that craftiness for good.

Yet still, he reminded himself of the chance that this was some elaborate scheme to ensure his capture. Despite how her insistence on helping seemed genuine, he'd be stupid to neglect the worst possibility. When she started to turn his way, he averted his gaze and began walking again.

"That should do it!" Rouge chimed, dusting her hands together and letting a smile grace her lips. "Now we have plenty of time to find the other side of this tunnel."

There was more silence, and Shadow started thinking of what he would do when he made it out of there. Getting away from the island was priority one, and finding somewhere to lay low was priority two. After that, he had to consider how long it would take to look for his family.

Even with his speed, he would have to explore every corner of the planet, making it a grueling task. But he would search night and day if he had to; he was still clinging to the idea that they survived.

Rouge got tired of the only sounds around them being the clack of her heels and the thump of his skates. She glanced at the mysterious lifeform, unable to see anything in his expression but neutrality. It made her want to connect with him.

"You know, I wasn't too keen on the containment mission when it was brought up." She watched him, looking for a shift in his features. "I didn't even know the whole story. I doubt the files they had on you were entirely truthful, with how the government is about things like this. But even when they said you were dangerous, I still thought it would be barbaric to lock you up again if you had free will."

Shadow's gaze dropped as his eyes softened a bit, and Rouge caught on that he wasn't ignoring her words. So she said, "From what I did read, about what you went through… I think you deserve a chance at a real life."

That sentiment made Shadow slow his steps until he was standing still. Staring at the ground, his blank expression confused Rouge, who stopped as well. His head turned slightly in her direction to speak over his shoulder, though his eyes didn't meet hers.

"That was enough for you to defy orders?" he asked in a reserved tone, his deep voice floating through the confined air.

Rouge's silence extended as she thought about what to say. When he put it like that, it did make her consider her own nature. Usually, a job was just a job; but now it felt almost like a test.

Her mission started as a potentially perilous duty to prevent destruction and reseal an escaped experiment, who was too dangerous to be left roaming. But all that she'd seen of Shadow didn't paint him as that risky weapon with some kind of lust for chaos.

Especially now, speaking calmly and standing statue-still in a cavernous hallway with her, he was just another living being – one who'd been done wrong by the people of his past, and who really just wanted to exist without persecution.

It's how she was seeing him, anyway. And if he was secretly evil, he hid it expertly. She didn't think someone with bad intentions would've saved her from Dr. Eggman.

"I guess it was," slipped from her lips, a little more hushed than she meant it to. Her gaze trailed down his confident posture to the leg that'd been shot.

Instead of a wound, she saw a streak of missing fur and the thinnest red line on the dark skin beneath. "It wasn't okay for them to shoot you just for running… even if it looks like you've healed from that well enough already."

His attention darted down to his leg as well, and a quiet huff left his nose. Red eyes lifted and stared into hers, and their mutual gaze offered Rouge a sense of bonding with the runaway lifeform. She said earnestly, "I wouldn't want to be captured and controlled, either."

Shadow turned his back to the stone wall, letting his eyes fall to the floor with a somber lowering of black lids, and he descended to sit on the ground. "You're the first who's understood that."

A chuckle left the bat's lips and she joined him, sitting on her side of the cave as she assumed he wanted a rest. Strips of brightness danced around their stone surroundings with the changing position of Rouge's flashlight, then settled when she did.

Their legs occupied the space beside each other, and Rouge gave him her charming smile. "Usually I don't. If we hadn't met the way we did, maybe I would've done my job."

He watched her while she spoke candidly. "But, even I have my biases."

Teal eyes shifted across his expression in subtle motions that gave away a growing fondness for the hedgehog. "You saved me from torture-by-Eggman. And since we met, I haven't even seen you be the weapon they claim you are. So, how could I just blindly follow protocol?"

A pause hung in the air, punctuating her rhetorical question with an echo. Shadow rested his arms atop his knees and replied, "I was supposed to be a weapon. The most powerful one ever made. But… I didn't know if I wanted to be that."

His gaze dragged downward and seemed to glaze over with sad recollection. "There was another reason for my existence… one I felt was far more important."

"Does it have something to do with your family?" Rouge asked, and Shadow's eyes darted back up to hers. She saw his brow furrow and waved her hand dismissively. "Uh- never mind. Forget I asked."

She broke eye contact with him, looking over to the path behind them that led back to the barricade. Shadow continued to stare, thinking that if he wasn't ready to face the world outside just yet, it wouldn't hurt to confide a little more in the one person who was seeming to understand his plight.

But he would sooner share his experiences with G.U.N than speak about Maria; the bat wasn't worthy of that kind of vulnerability. Not yet.

With a steadying breath, he mustered up the readiness to ask, "You said the humans might not have been truthful about my records?"

She looked at him again and nodded. Shadow noticed the slight parting of her lips, as if she wanted to say more, but they closed quickly. So he continued, "Tell me what you do know. And I can tell you what's real."

Her eyelids raised a bit, surprised the Ultimate Lifeform was willing to tell her his story. But she was grateful, spotting more glimmers of hope passing over his face and through his maroon eyes like faintly-flickering sparks of spiritual fire.

He needed to collect his purpose, but Rouge saw the determination in him to carve his own path forward. They just had to settle his past first.

"I know you were created artificially by a genius professor," she started, watching for shifts in his demeanor. "They wrote down details of some abilities he gave you; though, I feel like they had to have stolen a journal to know so much."

"Most likely," he agreed with a brief closing of his eyes. It was another disappointment in humanity that they stole not only him, but Gerald's records of him as well – as if he no longer belonged with his own father.

"There were also speculations of some powers you might have. But I don't know where they got those assumptions from. If I know G.U.N, they probably just laid all the possibilities out there to try and prepare for anything." Her casual tone darkened a little. "Maybe even to make you seem more dangerous…"

Shadow paused, then admitted, "I can be dangerous. There's no denying that."

"Sure, but…" Rouge shifted on the concrete floor, pulling her legs in to lie sideways so she could lean against the wall at a different angle.

Her expression showed disappointment now, too, lit differently by a change in the direction her flashlight was pointed. "The way it was all written, it made you sound almost like a robot. Logical and unfeeling, and of course they stressed how chaotic your nature was."

Her stare connected deeply with his. "The records made you sound like a monster. And… some of my colleagues did, too. As if you would just destroy everything without prejudice."

She thought of the president in particular, about his choice of words when discussing Shadow and 'his' people. He probably hadn't known the truth either.

But through his fear, he was spreading more apprehension amongst his nation's fighters about the experiment's real character. The assumption they had of him wanting to wreak havoc looked to be simply untrue.

"But that was clearly a lie." Her mouth curved into a smile again, trying to add a sprinkle of lightheartedness to her tone. "If you were like that, this whole island would be gone, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. My power is not to be underestimated. But I don't want to make a crater of this place… if I'm not pushed to that point." His steely gaze was unblinking as he stressed, "That's why this organization of yours shouldn't be hunting me like they are. They could corner me into razing everything."

Rouge's eyebrows upturned and her smile wavered. "I know. G.U.N is making a mistake. They're also not unknown to use shady tactics when they're apprehending targets. And speaking of shady tactics… the records also glaze over how they captured you the first time."

Her arms raised to cross loosely over her middle, comforting herself while she asked more about his past. "They only say you were 'confiscated' from an escape pod; not how they were able to seal you up."

Shadow scoffed and his eyes left hers. "Of course. Either they neglected to detail their inhumane ways, or they neglected to give you those details on purpose."

He fixed the floor with a resentful glare. "They raided the ARK. It wasn't peaceful, or an offer, or a suggestion… it was forceful."

Rouge felt a sadness growing at the sight of bitter melancholy in his eyes. Knowing the ARK was raided – likely stormed with soldiers – nurtured a pit in the spy's stomach at a piece of information that now seemed much more important than it had when she first read the documents.

One snippet of detail was nearly overlooked, something that was also glossed over and merely mentioned with seemingly no fault from G.U.N: the names of two deaths aboard the space colony.

Professor Gerald Robotnik had been declared deceased, and at first, Rouge thought that was part of the reason they set to detain Project Shadow. Not only was he a powerful being, but without his creator to control him, they might have thought he could go on a rampage that no one would be able to stop.

The professor was old, losing him made sense. And Maria… poor Maria had been sick. That was the only other thing Rouge knew besides her status also reading 'Deceased.' Now it was starting to seem less like she'd fallen to her illness and more like G.U.N had blood on their hands.

She hesitated to ask for more, knowing they would eventually get to the dark truth about Shadow's family; something he was apparently unaware of, or in denial about. She didn't want to be the one to tell him they were gone, but he would figure it out eventually.

If the tragic news would be his final straw, then she had a dreadful obligation to try and keep him from exploding into an unstoppable rage. He'd saved her, and she'd saved him – she just hoped he wouldn't end up killing her, too.

[sliptohk]

Prompt #4: Reticent

"So what exactly are we hunting?"

Gravel crunched beneath heavy boots as the cohort traipsed alongside the dry riverbed. River and Crater looking anywhere except toward the roegadyn woman between them. Silent offering nothing to discourage that aversion. While some may have questioned the decision of two competing crews mingling before a job, they simply failed to understand the importance of the code. A topic that Ellory would have happily educated them on if they had the misfortune broaching the subject.

None present were so inexperienced as to fumble into that trap. Nor were they so foolish as to enlighten their competitors on just what they may know that the other did not. Only silence meeting that question where it hung by its lonesome self. So after an irritated grumble, Arlette offered another one instead.

"Fine. Then who the hell were those other guys?"

One of the Wretched rose to that inquiry at least. X'lantaa, if Ellory remembered correctly.

"Dunno 'bout those Elements folk, but heard Hear Us Roar ain't never been to Eorzea afore!"

Oliver chewed that over slowly, "Odd choice. Electing an unknown quantity and sending them off into unfamiliar environs? Do they truly seek to win?"

"Probably just thought they looked fierce." The highlander's derisive snort made it clear just what she thought of that. "Consider it an early starlight gift."

"What about that Merciless group?" Ellory made no attempt at duplicity, simply asking while making direct eye contact with Silent. Or at least attempting to. The mass of hair forming a difficult veil to breach. "Any juicy details to air?"

Once again, she found herself ignored. Utterly. Not even a change to the roegadyn's pace nor indication that the shorter woman had even spoken.

Some mercy was had when the lalafel Wanani, walking double-time to keep up, puffed out, "Glory hounds. Heard tell Heribert wants them humbled. Easier to train after arrogance gets worn away."

"Sure talked them up before that humbling." Crater muttered out, as he looked toward the most interesting signpost he had ever seen.

"Gotta prop 'em up before knockin' 'em down! But kinda disheartening! That all we know about the lot of them?"

"They do not seem well-rounded. A coterie of mages in that Elements group. Nothing but melee combatants among the other two, judging by their armaments. While its likely they may simply be over confident in their capabilities, one cannot discount that specificity being selected with some knowledge of the trail before us."

"Can't argue that, Oliver. Might have some crafty bastard scheming away." A loud crunch distracted for a moment as River crushed a desiccated root underfoot. "Or just liked the look."

"Don't much matter what we think. Focus on what ya know." The youngest of them, Hoilan, chipped in, "Terrain and supplies."

"Gonna need plenty of supplies for them!" Ellory encircled the brothers, and the very concept of roegadyn, with a sweep of her arms. They refused to look at her, given how near she walked to Silent, "Keep ya plenty strong for when we humble that xaela!"

It was obvious from the movement of shadow, the sun beating down on the roegadyn woman's back, when their head turned down toward the hyurgadyn. Neither threat, nor emotion, in their voice when they stated plainly, "Avoid them."

Undaunted, she flitted nearer to bump her hip against Silent's thigh, "Only if you tell me why! Do they owe ya gil? Lookin' out for 'em? Gimme somethin' to go off of otherwise I can only assume the most embarrassing thoughts!"

A few of their company chuckled, well-acquainted with just how the two behaved whenever they chanced upon one another. The brothers just pretended they were anywhere else.

"No."

"Don't tell me you're just gettin' all protective over your precious cousin!"

A slight turn of the lip, a hint at an indulgent smirk on those stony features tempered by whatever source drove those warning commands.

"Yes."

[scary-senpai]

Idk. I went back to working on Collateral Damage after writing it almost killed me. The fic is about Garou at the dojo/takes place pre-canon and for the sake of my sanity I locked the draft in a box for over a year. I am going to put this draft out in the aether and then gnaw on furniture or something.

Content consideration: All the angst; T for Trashmouth, death of parents, literally everyone is made out of red flags, pervasive ennui I guess. Sadness. Abuse of commas and metaphor? Too much Charanko for that literally nobody asked for, and yet. Gratuitous creative license vis-a-vis the way the sunlight falls onto the dojo during the scene in which Bang and Garou meet and making some far-fetched assumptions about what that might mean. I don’t actually know how sunlight works. I don’t actually know how anything works. Writing this fic has probably given me an aneurysm but I don’t think it’s contagious. As far as I know all my betas are still alive, just busy. I kind of edited this but mostly I screamed into the void

“You need to tell me shit like this, you know.”

Garou squinting into his phone, turning the camera to a makeshift mirror. Fresh from the shower, his damp hair hangs tangled across his face. Ashen, waxen, and hollow-eyed, Garou tugs at his gi, running a hand over crumpled fabric that will not smooth for him.

Charanko looks down, hopelessly lost in the room they share. Yet again, they are the last students to leave the dorms. Their classmates are already long gone, warming up, stretching, waiting patiently for class to start.

Garou doesn’t seem to care. He can get away with being late.

“Have you seen my fucking face?” Garou continues. “I look like shit.”

Charanko only knows what not to do—refrain from offering any sort of consolation, or encouragement, or words of concern. He cannot say anything that implies Garou might be weak, because Garou is not weak—in fact, Garou's strength is all he has.

“It's like I got hit by a goddamn bus or something,” Garou says. “All week. Can't sleep. Can't...” The words catch in his throat. “Can't anything,” he says at last, running his fingers through his hair, tugging as they snag on the tangles.

Charanko keeps his breathing cool and even. But before he even opens his mouth, Garou silences him.

All it takes is a single, menacing glance to sever this attempted concern. Charanko's comments fall to the floor, unspoken, mingling with all the dust and the dirty laundry, and everything else condemned to hiding in plain sight. All the while, Garou’s eyes burn with a faraway flame—a spark as easily kindled as it is extinguished.

————-

It’s dawn, but the light is elsewhere. This morning, Garou and Charanko walk together in the darkness, just as they have been doing every morning, since they began sharing the same room.

Somewhere above them, the unseen sun has already started its regular, ritual creep along the eastern side of the mountain. Day is breaking somewhere, or so they’ve been led to believe—Bang's campus, nestled on the western precipice, is both sheltered and obscured by the summit, and the stony cliffs that cast the dojo in their shadow.

In the distance, they can hear their classmates begin their drills. The sounds ring out from the dojo and echo through the harsh and hollow scenery—students laboring beneath blood-red rays that have yet to reach them, waiting for a light they cannot see. 

Outside, the darkness is languidly lifting. Charanko watches the sky above fade from jet-black nothing to solemn hues of funereal blue—a sorry palette of bruises, ash, and incense smoke that colors as much as it reveals.

The world, like Garou, is in bad shape today: dark, harsh, and unforgiving, with harsh contours whittled by cold. The spring storms have culled all the petals from their boughs, and the surrounding trees shiver their miserable little branches, their limbs cutting reticulate fissures through gray and sodden skies. 

“I can't take much more of this,” Garou says.

It’s unclear to whom Garou is speaking, if anyone at all. But he’s stopped walking, and he leans his weight into a fallen branch until it snaps, loud enough to make a point.

“You know, my dad would have been 36 today.”

Garou is unforthcoming with details, but from time to time, he lets things slip. Now that they’ve been spending more time together, Charanko is more attentive to these clues, these little hints spring up like new growth from dead ground:

My father wanted me to finish school.

He never once came to a tournament.

He never once saw me fight.

It’s not all his fault, I guess, but fuck—

Garou raises his eyes to the roiling sky, dark clouds backlit by strained light. He stopped walking a long time ago. Maybe he’s waiting for Charanko to catch up, maybe he’s lost in thought. It’s certainly a scene.

Spring in the mountains is mercurial and distant; there’s always more bad weather ahead. Last night's storm spared them, but there’s always more, there’s always something.

Garou grips the cellphone in his hand. Five fingers grip the scratched and battered plastic, five fingers white and rigid, impossibly cold.

“I just want my dead mom to call me once in awhile,” Garou says, staring intently at his feet, at the broken pieces beneath them. “Is that too much to ask?”

Charanko is, as always, lost for words. What to make of this strange boy—this visibly exhausted child, who has dragged himself out of bed, into the showers, and now to class—and for what, exactly? To strike down Charanko's concerns with one breath and then sputter out confessions in the next?

He settles for a murmur and a silent nod. I heard you, Garou. I’m here.

But Charanko, of course, says none of this aloud; Garou is tasked with breaking his own silence.

“I know, I know,” Garou sighs, almost sounding like himself. “No phones in class.”

Garou slowly lifts his head to reveal his features, the wide smile that cuts across his face like an open wound.

“Get the fuck inside, Charanko. It’s gonna rain any minute.”

Already Garou’s laughing, back to normal, or whatever he can pass for it.

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (redux) 86

The door led to a small chamber, smaller than Nyota had expected after witnessing Big Ape’s room and the Avatar of Kluex’s den. As if great threats always liked their rooms vast and intimidating. The floor was strangely free of ice, but not for lack of trying. Creeping ice climbed down the walls and tried to overtake the floor with a thousand tiny cracks and hisses as it turned to steam on contact, turning the air so cold and humid that frost whispered along Nyota’s cheek fur almost as soon as she set foot inside.

Nyota’s earpiece rang quietly in her ear.

“Captain?” Lumen sounded worried. “Yer signal’s sharper’n it was now. Did ya turn back?”

“No.” Her voice held half a question to it, but she had a guess at why. “It must be the vault guardian’s influence. We found the frozen warden’s lair.”

Lumen hissed softly. “Ain’t that a doozy… Ya got a heck of a timin’, Captain. I was ‘bout to call ya anyhow. SAIL’s spotted some small craft hangin’ ‘round the asteroid belt. They ain’t doin’ much yet, not close to the gate or nothin’,” he said, anticipating her sharp throaty growl, “but we ain’t too sure what they’re out here for. I’m doin’ a closer scan. Got Namina on standby in case they ain’t friendly.” He whistled; his microphone turned it into almost a sigh. “I sure don’t like this, ma’am.”

“I don’t like it either.” Nyota swallowed the low snarl as she ran a few short calculations. The timing was almost too perfect… But nothing else had come through here. Sheer foul luck? The drone. She inhaled sharply. Its owners must have received a warning. Or noticed it stopped responding. “Lumen, tell me the moment they make a move toward the gate. We don’t know for sure if they are trouble, but we will be ready if they are.”

Am I getting soft? she wondered as she turned her focus back to the rest of the room. Agent Saimiri would have destroyed them on suspicion alone. But… I am not the agent now, am I?

Arjun was watching her. She couldn’t read his eyes. It did not matter. She was Captain. It was her decision, and no one else’s.

No further time for musing. Nyota felt the warning in a surge of warmth just under her collarbone, just before Arjun’s hand touched her arm.

“Think I found the warden,” he murmured, voice low and tense. “Those carvings aren’t flush with the wall.”

Nyota followed his gaze; a stone figure twice her height and half as broad again sat halfway up the wall. Dark lines ran across it, glinting faintly in the gloom like glass. Her eyes were not sharp enough in the half-light to pick out the shadows, but she knew he was right. The warning rose again, and as if responding, the carving came alive.

Light flooded along the glassy lines, surging white and blue. It pooled in two hollows near the top, like eye sockets in a stony skull, and the figure wrenched itself free with a shuddering crack. It drifted out into the middle of the room, hovering nearly Nyota’s height above the floor without any apparent support or means of flight, shedding ice that in thin sheets that shattered on impact with the tiles. Its head was almost leonine, except for the stone tusks that jutted out of its carved open mouth. Two more lights drifted out behind it, eyes set behind stone carved like the hooked beaks of birds.

Its silence was more unnerving than any battle cry she had ever faced. The warden looked down at Nyota, and she knew she was not welcome.

It wasted no time on ceremony or speech, if it was even capable of either. Nyota grabbed Arjun’s arm and hauled him back as energy bursts shattered at their feet, spreading frost wherever the shards touched. One of the birds smashed into her shoulder and sent her reeling backward. Arjun’s wrench cracked it away.

“This thing has problems,” he panted as he ran after her to avoid a second volley.

“We’re interlopers,” Nyota told him, not caring where the certainty came from. It wasn’t important. “It sees us as a threat to its vault. All change is a threat.”

The old man whistled—he reached the same conclusion as her. “The ancient capricoats.”

“Exactly.” Nyota deflected the second bird with her spear as it tried to ram her like its comrade had. “I would guess that the warden has weeded out anything that… changed too much.”

She could feel the slow horror in him as he processed that through the lens of an archaeologist. “That’s not life,” he said slowly, “that’s just stasis. That’s wrong.”

Nyota looked up at the looming warden. “I don’t think it will listen to that.”

Arjun squared up beside her, more determined than Nyota had seen him before. “Then we fix that.”

[aloudplace]

Dirty thoughts 9

I expected him to be angry with me. To withdraw. Maybe even leave.

He stood in the doorway for a moment and watched me cry silent, angry tears, and then he crossed the room, took the phone out of my hand, tossed it onto the bed and said, "You were the only one who didn't know, Bella."

I looked up at him in shock. "What?"

His eyes weren't as cold as they had been, but they were guarded. His mind was closed to me. Even his feelings were unreadable.

"You knew Stark planned all this? That he let you out thinking you would slip up because of me?"

He touched my hair absently, drawing a stray lock away from my face, fingers barely grazing my cheek–as though he were afraid to touch me. "I knew he didn't trust me. He never has, Bella. None of them do. Why else would he give me leave to run to you?"

I looked away. I didn't really trust him either. But I wanted to.

"It was a good plan," he murmured. "I can't blame him for trying."

Loki hadn't realized yet that Stark's plan had had worked. I'd seen things in his thoughts–in that awful dream–that proved he was hiding something.

I wasn't prepared to believe he was the danger Stark thought he was, though. But I needed to know.

The question was, would Loki tell me the truth?

I met his gaze very steadily. "When Stark first brought me on, they had me watch you being interrogated. Before they introduced us."

Loki's eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

"I was on the other side of the glass when you were in the interrogation room. They had me reading you the whole time."

His lack of surprise told me he'd suspected as much.

"They asked you about something. The Tesseract. They asked you where it was and you said it was destroyed on Asgard."

Nothing. Not even a twitch. His eyes were stony.

"You were thinking about it last night," I said quietly. "You dreamt about it. About Thanos taking it from you and using it to wage war on Earth."

His jaw tightened, but his thoughts were blank. I tried to read his emotions and got only anger.

Stark used mathematical equations to hide his thoughts. Loki used anger.

My heart was pounding. "It wasn't destroyed, was it?"

Slowly, he lifted a hand, trailing his fingers along my throat, tracing my collarbone. His face was still, cold. "You're the telepath," he replied in silky, dangerous voice. "You tell me."

His touch left a trail of simmering heat on my skin.

"I told them you weren't' lying," I whispered. "I believed it, at the time."

Gaze darkening, he touched my throat again, watching his fingers–lingering over the bruise where he'd bitten me, I realized. His silence made my heart contract with anxiety.

Then he licked his lips–a strangely nervous gesture–and murmured, "Did you know, I'm not just called the God of Mischief?"

I asked because I knew he wanted me to, but for some reason, I was terrified of what the answer would be.

It came out a whisper. "What else do they call you?"

His gaze rose slowly to my face.

"The God of Lies."

......................

Loki waited for the look of betrayal–for her eyes to fill with contempt, even hatred. But it didn't happen.

There was a long, painful silence. She was staring blankly at his naked chest. He could almost hear the gears in her mind working.

And then she looked up at him–eyes shadowed, vulnerable. "Stark knows you're hiding something, and he can't use me as a pawn anymore. They'll be sending someone to collect you."

Loki felt cold, stiff. "Probably."

"Will you let them take you back?"

He hadn't expected this to end so quickly–nor that the sting of losing her would be so deep. "Yes."

Her brow furrowed. "Why? They might put you in a cell again."

She asked it almost angrily. Like she wanted him to run.

And Loki answered honestly because she hadn't turned on him–hadn't betrayed him to Stark. Hadn't looked at him with condemnation in her eyes; he wanted to tell her the truth. It was idiotic, really. It wouldn't benefit him at all–accept that it might prolong her affection for him.

"Because Stark Tower is the safest place on this planet," he said.

She took a deep breath. "Safe from what, exactly?"

It was a strange relief to say the name aloud at last.

"Thanos."

Emotion blossomed in her eyes: gratitude and regret. And trepidation–because he wasn't lying anymore, and he wasn't hiding his fear.

"Who is Thanos, Loki?"

He hesitated. Bella might have quit her job, but she wasn't going to lie for him. Not when her whole planet was at risk. If he told her everything, Stark really would put him in a cell again.

He touched her face–the little patch of freckles on her right cheek, fingers gliding down to the corner of her mouth and over the curve of her lower lip. Measuring. Memorizing.

What good was there in hiding anymore? Everyone knew he had secrets–that he couldn't be trusted. Six months on Earth and they'd given him no opportunity to escape. And Thanos was coming–there was no doubt in Loki's mind.

Maybe it was time to stand and fight–for Earth this time, as ironic as that was–even if it would be his dying act. Even if no one thanked him for it.

It would be a relief to not be alone with his fate anymore, at least.

Still touching her face, drinking the emotion in her wide brown gaze, he murmured, "Thanos is the man who's going to kill me."

...........

"So you took the tesseract from Asgard because you knew Thanos would come for it."

Loki didn't answer immediately and I turned from the window to look at him. We were in the kitchen. He sat at the table, leaning back in his chair with an air of angry resignation.

I felt sick, my stomach knotted with fear and anxiety.

"We had a bargain," he said flatly. "I failed to uphold my end. The Tesseract is my only chance to appease him."

There was something strange about the way he said it. Was he bitter about the bargain itself, or the fact that he'd failed to uphold it?

"What bargain, Loki?" I demanded quietly.

His expression creased with bitterness. "The Tesseract in exchange for Earth."

I frowned. "He sent you here for the Tesseract?"

Loki nodded. "It was in SHIELD's possession at the time."

Something wasn't adding up here. "You said this guy is immensely powerful. He has thousands of followers–warriors, armies . Why didn't he just come and take it himself?"

Loki shrugged. "One doesn't do one's own dirty work when one had copious underlings to do it for him."

"Why you, then?"

He sighed. "I ran afoul of some of his lackeys. They took me prisoner, and I convinced Thanos that I could be of use to him." He met my gaze, continuing matter-of-factly, "He would have taken the planet anyway, so I volunteered to do the job. In exchange for rule over Earth, I was to bring him the Tesseract."

It was all coming clear to me now–the alien creatures in his thoughts, the dark cell, the torture. The guilt.

"He would have killed you if you hadn't done it," I said. "And what would have happened to Earth if it hadn't been you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't try to make me into some kind of hero. I wanted to rule, and I was prepared to take Earth by force. I'm sure you saw what the Chitauri did in New York."

"I did. How much worse would it have been if Thanos had come himself, or sent another one of his lackeys?"

He gave me a look, eyes narrowed with contempt, resentment.

"How much worse, Loki?"

"Total destruction," he grated.

I wanted to believe he'd done it to protect the planet as much as to rule it. I really wanted to.

Clearly, he saw it on my face because he said, "Don't mistake my ambition for kindness. I didn't give a damn about the humans. I saw an opportunity and I took it."

I saw an opportunity and I took it.

Exactly the same words Tony had used.

Two men who couldn't be more different doing awful things out of necessity.

Loki wanted me to believe his motives had been entirely selfish–and perhaps they had been mostly selfish–but I stubbornly decided to believe there was more to it than that.

The fact that he was hiding his thoughts and emotions so adroitly only confirmed my suspicions; I figured if he really didn't give a shit about Earth he would have shown me that in no uncertain terms.

"Why are you so determined to make me think you're the villain?"

Loki sneered, "I only hoped to prevent you from succumbing to sentimental delusions about the quality of my character."

I sighed. "You're so condescending when you're defensive."

His glare was just a little bit sullen around the edges.

"Listen," I said, coming across the tiles to him. "I've been privy to people's most private thoughts my whole damned life. I know better than anybody that nobody's really good, and nobody's truly bad. It's all shades of grey. So when you put on this bad guy act, you know what I think?"

"Please," he drawled, "Enlighten me."

Ignoring the attitude, I said, "I think you want to be seen as a bad guy because it's easier than trying to be good and failing."

He rolled his eyes. "What a touching theory."

I took hold of his chin and yanked his face up so he would look at me directly. "I don't need to make you into a hero in my mind to be okay with you, or even with what you've done."

His jaw tightened in my hand, eyes glittering with challenge. "Then why are you trying so hard to convince yourself I came to Earth to save it?"

"I'm not," I replied honestly. "I'm choosing to believe you volunteered for that particular mission because you care just a little bit more about this planet than you pretend to. That's all."

He took hold of my wrist and pulled my hand away from his jaw. I expected a physical rejection to go with the look on his face, but he held on, drawing my hand down and consequently forcing me to stoop very close to him.

"What little concern I have for this planet is irrelevant," he growled, "Thanos is coming. And now it doesn't matter if I give him the Tesseract. The Mind stone is here, too. He's going to rip your world apart to find it."

He wanted me to be afraid; he was afraid–for himself, for me. And he was still trying to convince me of his villainy–trying just a little too hard, I thought.

"So what do we do?" I whispered, heart pounding, nose to nose with the God of Mischief.

"We?" he murmured. "There is no 'we.' You quit your job and Stark's goons are waiting outside to take me in. Whatever happens now is out of your hands."

His bitterness made my heart squeeze painfully.

"Loki," I whispered, leaning down to kiss him. I felt his surprise–the surge of unexpected emotion that followed. He let go of my wrist and I curled my arms around his neck. After a moment he pulled me into his lap and hugged me fiercely.

When he let me break away from his mouth I leaned back far enough to look into his eyes. "Still think there's no 'we'?"

The acrimonious mood seemed to have left him. His expression was grave, open. "Bella, there's no place for you in all of this. There's nothing you can do."

"You don't know that," I said stubbornly.

He sighed. "I don't want you to get hurt."

I hadn't expected him to ever say it aloud. Brimming with emotion, I took his face into my hands, stroking his cheekbones with my thumbs, leaning in to kiss the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, the tender skin just below his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, holding himself very still.

I stroked his eyebrows, kissed each one, pause to kiss his mouth, slow and languid, licking his lips very lightly, dipping for his tongue when he opened to me.

God, I loved kissing him. Especially when he let me be the one in control. The kiss became a sort of erotic worship. I poured all my feelings into it–overwhelming tenderness, affection.

Love.

I couldn't tell him I was in love with him. Not after one day. I could barely admit it to myself.

He would probably laugh in my face, anyway.

But I could kiss him with everything I had– and I did exactly that because it was the only way I knew he would accept my feelings, and I had no idea how long this would last–how much time we would have before it all fell apart.

Before my entire world was under attack.

It didn't seem real–Thanos and his armies, an impending alien war...

At the moment, all I could grasp was Loki and what I felt for him, and that was enough for now because it was good–it was so incredibly good.

I twisted on his lap, needing to get closer, and he seemed to understand because he lifted me a little and helped me to straddle him, hands on my hips, pulling me in tight.

He was surprised when I pushed my hands between our bodies and opened his pants. Even more so when I lifted myself to take him inside me.

" Bella ," he rasped, lifting my clothes aside to watch me sink down on his cock.

His mind flowered open, giving me his pleasure, his gratitude. He hadn't expected me to give myself to him again.

I rode him just the way I'd kissed him, pouring my love into it. Watching his eyes glaze with pleasure, savoring the erotic flow of his thoughts.

So tight , he whispered into my mind, sharing with me the sensation of my sex flexing around him. He opened the robe and took hold of my shirt with both hands, ripping it easily from neck to hem, making me gasp.

Gods, look at you.

I saw my breasts in his mind–through his eyes. Saw the slow undulations of my own torso as he drank me in. The curves of my waist and hips, the contours of my belly–his hands following his gaze as he showed me in images and sensations how the sight of my body aroused him.

I'd never felt so beautiful in all my life as I did at that moment, seeing myself through his eyes.

I drew it out as long as I could, riding him slowly. Kissing and touching, wallowing in every sensation, every thought and emotion he gave me: the taste of his mouth, the texture of his skin, the rigid curve of his cock moving inside me. His lust and tenderness.

As the orgasm peaked he gave me a rush of Seidr and the pleasure carried me so high I actually lost myself for a few seconds. I could hear his hoarse cry, feel his hands gripping my hips–moving me on his cock as the orgasm tore through me, through us both. And then there was nothing but pleasure, like the red-hot crack of a whip, licking up my spine, burning me from head to toe.

I might have actually lost consciousness for a moment. When I came to, Loki was holding me up, rasping, "Bella. Bella?" in a low, hoarse voice.

A muffled, "Mmph," was all I could manage, face pressed into the curve of his neck, little shocks of pleasure still racing along my nerve endings.

Loki rubbed my back for a while, both of us panting in the quiet kitchen. Sebastian jumped up onto the kitchen table and sat there watching us with lazy yellow eyes.

When I could speak again I mumbled, "Are they really outside waiting for you?"

"Mm." His hand slid up my spine and into my hair.

"How many?"

"Half a dozen at least. Thor, too."

Strange. "Why are they just waiting?"

He sighed. "I haven't done anything wrong. Yet. And Stark will want to give you as much time to collect the truth as possible."

I sat back to look at him. "I am not spying for him anymore."

His face was calm, almost contented. "You're not going to tell him everything I told you? When your whole world hangs in the balance?"

"No," I said, irritated. " You're going to tell him."

His brows lifted lazily. "Oh? Am I?"

"Of course you are. Otherwise, you wouldn't have told me ."

He smiled a little. "I suppose so."

I touched his chest, slid my hands upward to fiddle with the ends of his hair, gathering my courage.

"What is it?" he murmured.

"I want to come with you."

That surprised him. "Back to the compound?"

I nodded.

"To what purpose?"

"Uh...moral support?"

He laughed, flashing teeth, eyes crinkling. "Will you go to prison with me too?"

"They're not going to imprison you again," I said firmly.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Like you said, you haven't really done anything wrong."

"You mean besides hiding the Tesseract and concealing the truth about Thanos?"

Shit. "Is that really a punishable offense?"

He just gave me a wry look like, What do you think?

Dammit. "If you help them now, maybe they'll forgive you."

He laughed again, but this time it was dry and humorless. "Don't hold your breath, love."

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

I’ve seen quite a few fics where Geralt’s brothers are worried the bard will leave Geralt and warn Jaskier not to be flighty with his affections. Could you do a fic where they already assumed Geralt and Jaskier were together,and him being touchy about the subject of bards meant Jaskier broke his heart? Cue them saving his life and dragging him to the keep to apologize. Jaskier, goes along with it because they saved his life and he wants to see Geralt’s reaction. Also, do you have a patreon?

(I assume this is for this ask game? I don't have a patreon, but I do have a ko-fi, here!)

It's the first winter after the mountain. Everyone thinks that this will be the year Geralt brings Jaskier home, because he's been talking about him for so long. They know he's got feelings for the bard, even if Geralt won't admit it to himself.

But winter comes, and where they're expecting a colourful, flighty bard in the keep is... no one. Geralt is even more sour and stony than usual, and where before they were bombarded with stories that begin "when Jaskier and I...", now there's only silence.

Lambert had always been a little more cynical. He knows his brother, and he knows enough about Jaskier's amorous exploits through Geralt's complaining (jealously disguised as annoyance) that he reaches the only logical conclusion: The bard has broken his brother's heart, as he always assumed he would.

Winter passes slowly. Finally, spring comes, and they go their separate ways.

Eskel and Lambert happen to meet up in late autumn, as they're on their journeys back to the keep. They're drinking and gossiping when there's a commotion from the other end of the tavern.

They only know it's Jaskier because they recognise his scent - the same one that had been clinging to Geralt's clothes and skin for so many winters. He looks like shit, in a way that has nothing to do with the blood streaming down his face or the freshly broken nose or the darkening bruises around his eyes. His jaw is covered with a thick beard, his hair shaggy and clearly unkempt. Even his doublet is torn, the rip repaired poorly.

"Gentlemen!" Jaskier cries, eyes unfocused.

And then he collapses into their game of Gwent.

They save him from the gang of lads who'd been intent on breaking his fingers, as well as his nose. Jaskier regains just enough clarity to swear that he didn't sleep with the ringleader's sister before Lambert tells him to shut the fuck up and slings him over a shoulder.

They decide to take him back to Kaer Morhen. Rather: Lambert decides, and however much Eskel says that he's sure it's a bad idea, Lambert ignores him. Because Geralt is his brother, no matter how much he complains about him or teases him, and the bard has to pay; or at the very least, apologise.

Jaskier, for what it's worth, seems content to travel with them, until he realises where they're taking him.

He stops in his tracks during the first snowfall, staring at the grey-white sky and the silhouette on the mountains on the horizon. Till this point, he's been a silent companion to them both - more of a third shadow than the loud, boisterous man they were expecting.

"Is this a fucking joke?" He says into the still air.

They both turn to look at him.

"This--" He takes a step back. "You're taking me to the witcher's keep? Now? Was this just some--" he swallows, his hands balling into fists at this sides, "Some twisted joke? To make me feel worse?"

Eskel shoots a look at Lambert. This was his idea. He has to deal with it. Lambert doesn't think twice.

"Yeah," he says, simply. "We're taking you to Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier chokes out a laugh that could nearly be a sob. "Why?"

"So you can fucking make amends, bard."

Lambert fills the final word with as much venom as he can muster. Jaskier doesn't even flinch.

"Make amends?" He's shouting, now. "For what? For... for existing? For daring to continue my stupid trudge up and down the continent without him? Or did he truly mean for me to die on that mountain, and this is your way of finishing me off?"

There is a long silence. Snow falls around them.

"What mountain?" Eskel speaks before Lambert can continue yelling.

Jaskier looks at him, mouth agape. "He didn't tell you?"

They both shake their heads.

"Gods..." Jaskier rubs his hands over his face, through his hair. "There was this dragon--"

~

Geralt returns to the keep late into winter, alone and miserable. The cold bites at him, but he barely feels it. He makes the final stretch on foot, leading Roach along beside him, keen for the respite of the stone walls and the warm fires.

It's oddly quiet as he approaches, and he stables Roach without so much as a greeting from one his brothers. He's late, he knows, so they must already be here - yet no one meets him in the courtyard.

When he finally pushes open the huge wooden door, he's greeted with the sound of laughter. Eskel, Lambert - even Vesemir - and--

and a voice he recognises, but hasn't heard in an age. A voice he had suspected he would never hear again.

He jogs closer to the sound, acting unthinkly, his footsteps echoing in the high-ceilinged entranceway. Before he can make it into the hall, the door opens, and he's greeted to a flash of red and brown and dazzling blue before it shuts again, and Lambert is in front of the now-closed door, arms folded across his chest.

"Wolf!" He says, his jovial tone conflicting with his steely expression. "We've a guest, this year."

"I know," Geralt says. There's no use denying it. "Move."

Lambert smiles. Geralt knows that smile; it's the one Lambert wears right before he bests him when they're sparring, or is about to play a winning card in Gwent.

"How about we have a little chat first?"

From beyond the doors, Geralt hears Jaskier's laugh. Something twists in his gut. He needs to see him. But Lambert sets his shoulders, a single eyebrow cocked. His smile does not falter. Geralt knows he's been beaten; though he's not sure at what.

"Well?"

Another laugh. Another fracture, somewhere beneath Geralt's sternum. He sighs and steps back, even though every inch of him wants to push Lambert aside and finally see his bard again.

"Fine."

Lambert's grin widens as he slaps Geralt's shoulder.

"So," he says, leading Geralt away. "Tell me about this dragon hunt."

[sardonic-the-writer]

Priestbur w/ demon reader. Wax kink. Please?

The church was an extravagant place

A stony white building with many beautiful stained glass windows adorning the pampered walls. Pillars dotted with marble patterns showed off the old wealth that helped to build the structure

Hoards of people would come and go from the wooden doors, some looking for salvation while others craved forgiveness

But you were not one of them

Perhaps what drew you in was the way the church carried the community. How fun it would be to destroy an entire village just by taking away the rock they stood on

Perhaps it was the promise of going to bed at night knowing you had damned so many souls just by slithering your way into the stream of life they fed on and poisoning it

Or perhaps it was the innocent priest who read passages and hyms from that godforsaken leather book, lips forming the holy text while you lurked in the shadows cunningly

He was a handsome fellow. Perhaps in his early twentys. Chestnut hair with coffee colored eyes and plump lips adorned his smooth voice, making for a delightful thing to look at

You could smell the purity coming off him. Clean of sin and wrongdoings

He was no virgin you could tell, only a fool would choose abstinence while looking the way he did, but you sensed he was careful

It was such a perfect offer. So perfect in fact that you could hardly wait to swoop him up in your clawed fingers, tainting his body with delicious sin

Posing as a new churchgoer was easy, if not disgusting for you. But it was worth it when you and him were the only people left inside the wooden pews

Thick silence enveloped the walls as if the church itself knew what was coming while you slowly stalked closer to your target

"Preist Wilbur?" You had approached him with big eyes, just barely keeping your true form in. If you had your tail right now it would be curling around his leg and snaking upwards slowly, watching as he slowly turned red at the contact

But Wilbur, of course, simply looked down at you with caring eyes, adjusting his glasses smartly and setting the Bible down

"Yes dear?"

"I was wondering if I could show you something sir."

"And what is that."

"How it feels to sin."

The rest of the evening was spent slowly corrupting his perfect body. Showing Wilbur how it felt to live and revel in the clutches of your hands

Candles from surrounding tables were dripped onto flesh, the pleasured screams only amplified as the air filled with sweat and sex

By the time you had ruined him and his mind, you left the once faithful preist with a sly smile, slinking away into the shadow

"I'll be back Wilbur. All you have to do is ask."

The community was confused when at the next sermon all Wilbur could do was stare at the spot you had disappeared with wild eyes

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,188 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan + flashbacks in other eras Warnings: language, fear and anxiety, mention of fear of heights Summary: Y/N and Daryl head out on the run for the requested medical supplies. Things are tense, but possibly about to get worse... This part is written in Daryl's POV!

Your name: submit What is this?

* * *

“I ain’t waitin’. I got a whiff of him and I gotta go before it disappears.”

“Daryl, are you sure about this?” Carol pressed him, creases from worry between her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’ve really thought this through?”

“What is there to think through? If he finds her again, he’ll kill her. And I ain’t waitin’ around for that to happen.” The archer was a blur of activity, gathering his gear and shoving it into his pack.

“I think you need to talk to her about this,” Carol insisted, relinquishing her hold on his poncho somewhat unwillingly as Daryl pulled it from her hands.

He shook his head. “Nah. Ya know she’ll want to be there and I can’t risk that…” he trailed off. “I can’t risk—can’t risk that.”

A thick silence stretched for a moment and Carol wrung her hands. “Well, what are you going to tell her?”

He paused, his hands on the clasp of his pack. “I ain’t tellin’ her anythin’. I’ll leave before its light tomorrow. By the time everyone is up, I’ll be gone.”

“What am I supposed to tell her then? When she inevitably asks?” Carol pressed him. “You want me to lie to her too?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Daryl snapped. “‘M just not—not tellin’ her everythin’. ‘M ending this so she can move on.”

Carol’s jaw tensed. “It feels like a lie.”

“Just tell her I went north. To see what I could see. Lookin’ for supplies,” he drawled, setting his pack and crossbow on the ground beside his bed. “I don’t know.”

Carol sighed heavily and shook her head as he straightened up. “I don’t think this is—”

“Look, tell her whatever ya want. Just wait until ‘m gone. This is happenin’. It’ll be done. S’gonna be over with. For good.”

She shook her head and gave him a long look before crossing his cell and gently clasping his shoulder. “Be careful. I mean it,” she said, surrendering to the fact that there would be no changing his mind. He nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment.

“I will.”

Carol gave him one last look full of anxiety and left him.

* * *

I hardly slept. Maybe caught 20 minutes here and 15 minutes there. Anxiety about the run—that’s all it was. At least, that’s what I kept tellin’ myself. Wanderin’ into a hospital was about the dumbest shit we could do. They always promised to be loaded with unexpected bullshit and floods of undead assholes. But lyin’ flat on my back in the dark, I knew deep down it had a helluva lot more to do with her than it had to do with the run. I was tryin’ to remember the last time I’d spent more than ten minutes alone with her and it left me with a feelin’ like somebody had dropped a damn lead weight onto my chest. I turned over in bed in an attempt to throw it off, but it still sat there on my lungs. I knew exactly when we’d last been alone for longer than a few minutes. Of course I fuckin’ knew. It was burned into my goddamn memory.

But it wasn’t doin’ me a lick of good to think on it so I pushed it away and waited for the clock beside me to read 5:15 before I climbed out of bed. My gear was all waitin’ ready, except for pickin’ up a gun on the way out. I half-expected to run into her in the armory, but it was dark and empty when I grabbed a handgun and some ammo. It felt like a lonely walk to Aaron’s, up the empty street, dew heavy on the grass, and my bootsteps echoing loudly off the dark rows’a houses. I never feel right in here… with the square little lawns and lights on by the front doors. It just felt fake, like somebody had built paper houses and was plannin’ to light ‘em up to burn any minute. I couldn’t feel settled. I just felt… lost. Outta place. Like I didn’t belong.

I’d gotten rid of that feelin’ once… My mind drifted back to her like it always did. It was like I didn’t have no damn control over my own mind. She’d been the one who’d made me feel like I belonged. But now? Fuck. I’m doin’ it again. Focus, dumbass.

She wasn’t waitin’ by my bike either, so I rode up to the gate. As the lookout platform came into view, I caught sight of her climbing down, followed by Gabriel. Her pack was slung on her back, a shotgun hanging at her side and her favorite pistol in a holster on her thigh. I found myself chewing the inside of my cheek. Nerves. Anxiety. This was gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I’ve got the gate,” Gabriel said, heading for the latch. She wandered over and I felt a jolt when she met my eyes. I nudged my nose up in a nod, but she just looked back at me with that same stony expression. Unreadable. It always seemed like I never saw her smile anymore. Maybe she did, just not around me. I got that blank look or a glare that I probably deserved…

“Were ya on watch?” I asked, curious why she wouldn’ta gotten rid of her shift in favor of sleep, knowing we’d be heading out on a run early.

“No,” she said simply. No extra info. Typical. Why waste more on me when one word would do? She didn’t owe me nothin’. And she knew it. I swallowed my other questions and leaned forward on my bike so she could climb on. I felt her settle in behind me and glanced over my shoulder at her. She caught my eyes for a brief moment before looking away, down toward the ground. That was typical too. It was like she just couldn’t look at me. Felt like somebody twisted a blade in my chest every time she dodged me like that. And yet I couldn’t get enough of her, even if she was purposely a giant pain in the ass most of the damn time… I still felt like she was a mirage in a desert. A mouthful of cool water in a drought. Food for a starvin’ man.

Gabriel was waiting with the gate open, so I revved the bike to life again. Her arms wrapped around my waist to hold on and for a second I thought I felt her cheek press against the back of my shoulder, but I knew I must have imagined it. My heart was racing as we pulled out. I was more anxious than I had been all night. The thoughts rushing through my head moved so fast I couldn’t even focus on any of them.

Gabriel yelled at us to be safe as we moved through, kickin’ dust up that left a glowing red cloud behind from the reflection of the taillights. The ride to the city was smooth. We made good time, luckily only passing lone walkers or small herds that were easy to avoid. Around the curves, for a brief moment, she’d hold tighter to me and lean into the turns like I’d taught her in what felt like another fuckin’ lifetime. Each corner I could feel every individual fingertip pressing into my waist or stomach. It was always followed by a sudden wash of heat like somebody had shoved me in a shower with the temperature all the way up. I couldn’t control it. Didn’t matter how hard I tried to ignore the feelin’ of being so damn close against each other…

I slowed down as we neared the hospital. Cars sat rusting in gridlocked traffic, tires long gone, frozen in time—same place they were when everythin’ shut the fuck down. I slowed my bike to roll over some debris and hit a chunk of concrete a little harder than I meant to. Her arms tightened around me reflexively at the jolt before loosening again the next second. My heart jolted at the same time. That feeling… of her clinging onto me for safety—but fuck. Let’s not make it out to be more than it is, dumbass. I turned toward my left shoulder. “Sorry,” I murmured. She didn’t say anything back, just shifted in her place behind me, puttin’ an inch more space back between us. The hospital came into view ahead, tall over everything else on the block.

She tapped my arm and I turned so I could hear her over the engine. “We should park. Sound of the bike,” she said. I knew what she was thinkin’. Any walkers or people anywhere around would hear us. I turned down a side street and parked in a loading dock bay. She climbed off about as damn fast as she could. Kicking the kickstand out and swinging my leg over, she was already walking back toward the corner of the building to look down the street.

“Hold up,” I called after her. I still had to get my gear off the back. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t give a shit and I found myself gritting my teeth. But when I rushed around the corner, I nearly collided with her. She did wait. She was leaned up against the brick, her shotgun in her hands, staring ahead at the looming building.

She straightened up as I stopped beside her and we started windin’ our way down the last couple blocks, keepin’ to the shadows of the buildings, stayin’ in cover as best we could. Even so, I couldn’t help glancin’ up at the endless windows, too many high points. All it would take is one asshole with a rifle and a scope... My hands started to sweat as I gripped my crossbow. I glanced at her, but she was as stony-faced as ever. “C’mon,” I said, quickening my stride. “I wanna get the hell off this street.”

I heard her let out a small scoff behind me. “Yeah, you’re the only one worried about being out here,” she murmured. My teeth clenched again but I did my best to ignore it. There was no point gettin’ riled up this early in the day. We still had a lot of fuckin’ work to do. We reached a set of double doors on the side of the hospital, but one glance inside showed they were well barricaded. I stood there rubbing a hand over the stubble on my face. “S’try the south door,” I drawled. To my surprise, she didn’t argue. But that side was a fuckin’ bust too. “Shit,” I spat out. There was a tall cabinet blocking the entrance.

“Good call,” she said sarcastically.

I shot her a glare. And this time when I bit my cheek, I tasted blood. “Ya got a better fuckin’ idea? Huh?” I challenged her.

She rolled her eyes, studying the door for a moment. There was a large glass pane above it that was broken out and I saw her eyes lock in on it. “Boost me up there,” she said, inclining her chin to indicate the window.

Did she want to go in alone? Well, that sure as shit wasn’t fuckin’ happenin’. “Like hell,” I growled back. She rolled her eyes again.

“Just boost me through and I’ll get the door open. I’ll let you in.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “Ya gonna move that cabinet? By yerself?” I asked skeptically. The muscle in her jaw tensed.

“I don’t have to move it far. Just enough to let you squeeze in. And you can help from the outside.”

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. I didn’t like the idea. I paced a tight circle, thinkin’, as she shifted impatiently beside me. “What if ya get in there and there are walkers? Huh? We can’t see shit down the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet. Come on. We haven’t got all fucking day and we’re sitting ducks out here. Unless you’ve come up with something better—”

I didn’t like it, but she was right. Shit. “Fine,” I interrupted. She leaned her shotgun up against the wall as I set my back against the door, fingers locked together and hands low at my bent knee. “C’mon. Gimme yer foot.”

She seemed to hesitate and I wondered if she was having second thoughts, but the next moment she stepped close in front of me and her hands came to my shoulders. “Ready?” I asked. Her face was maybe six inches from mine, her hands light. I started to feel warm again, a flush of heat across the back of my neck that started spillin’ into my chest. I could see every fleck of color in her eyes, the upturned curve of her eyelashes, that little scar on her chin... Fuck. Focus.

“Ready.” She planted her boot in my hands and I boosted her up so she could grab the window edge. The tinkling of glass dropping in was all I could hear for a moment, and then her weight disappeared from my hands. Spinning around, I watched her pull herself through onto the top of the cabinet. She stayed perched there for a moment, glancin’ behind her, scoutin’ the hallway, before she dropped to her feet lightly. She made it look easy. Graceful.

I couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting my weight. I watched her face tighten as she wedged her shoulder into the cabinet, using all her weight, and it started to move at an angle away from the door. I pushed in with my shoulder from the outside and we finally had enough space for me to slip through. I passed her shotgun through first before turnin’ sideways and slidin’ in. It was dark and completely silent except for the sound of our own breathin’. It felt stuffy inside, and I could vaguely smell somethin’ sharp like animal piss and a sickeningly sweet smell. Death. Decay. I paused to draw the string on my crossbow back, cocking it ready to fire, a bolt nestled in the flight groove.

She pulled her flashlight out from the side pocket of her pack and clicked it on, shining it partially up the hallway ahead. “Jesus…” Her boots crunched over broken glass. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her shotgun, her eyes fixed down the hall, following the moving beam of her light. “This place is a fucking wreck,” she whispered. In her distraction, her tone lacked the usual hostility or sarcasm.

“Somethin’ went down since we were last here,” I agreed. There was a lot more debris and furniture toppled over and strewn about. A lot of obstacles to a clean getaway if we had to make one. “Let’s just get this done and get the hell out.”

“What a unique idea…” she remarked over her shoulder. There it was. Damn sarcasm was back.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and movin’ past her so I was in the lead. I knew it would annoy her, but I secretly wanted to be the one in the line of fire if somethin’ was crooked. I headed for the stairwell, pullin’ my own flashlight out and shinin’ it inside before I tried the door. It looked clear. “Upper floors are more likely to have shit left. Let’s go.”

We moved in silence. I could feel her ghosting behind me the whole way, almost mimicking my movements. This was the first time the two of us had been alone on a run since… since I dun even know when. But despite it being so goddamn long, we weren’t out of step. Once we started movin’ it was like no damn time had passed. We fell right back into our old rhythm. I knew her and she knew me. We worked well together when she put aside her need to argue with everythin’ I said. It still felt like we each knew what the other was thinkin’. Not that I expected this run would magically make working together bearable again for good, or solve anything, but at least we could if we had to. I also now was realizin’ this whole thing was probably orchestrated by Rick. Did Denise really need the supplies? Sure. But did it have to be Y/N and I gettin’ ‘em? Alone? Fuck no. I dunno exactly what he was hopin’ for but I’m pretty sure he’ll be disappointed…

Moving steadily upwards, we had most of the supplies on the list, plus plenty of extra finds, but I was growing more and more uneasy as we went on. We hadn’t run into a single fucking walker yet, and to me that meant they were probably herded up in a massive hoard somewhere. It felt like a matter of time before we found them or they found us. I could sense Y/N’s tension risin’ again too. She was more fidgety, more careful about each step she took. I found myself frequently sweeping my eyes back behind us to make sure nothin’ was lurking just outta the flashlight beams. There were the usual signs of walkers nearby; smears of blood on the floor and walls, that fuckin’ smell ya could never get outta yer nose, even chunks of flesh from the rottin’ fuckers. But we still hadn’t seen one, and I was fuckin’ worried.

“Almost got everything,” Y/N whispered to me, shoving a couple more bottles into her pack. “We just need to find the CPAP machine,” she murmured, staring down at the list. “I don’t have a fucking clue what the hell that looks like.” She glanced over at me, one of her eyebrows quirked in a question and I realized she was waitin’ for some kinda response.

“What? Yer lookin’ at me? I ain’t got a goddamn clue what the hell that even is,” I said gruffly. Shit. I saw it. Just for a second, but one corner of her lips twitched up in a smile and I swear there was a spark in her eyes—like the ones I used to see in her all the time. My heart jumped and I tried my best to ignore it. She seemed to turn away, hidin’ her face right as I was puzzlin’ over it.

“Right… well, let’s try down the hall. There’s probably another supply closet at the other end,” she said, nudging her head toward the darkness ahead.

We made our way cautiously. I pushed into the lead again and was surprised when she didn’t argue. I tried every door handle but most of ‘em just led to empty or trashed patient rooms. I caught her frozen in the doorway of one that had a massive bloodstain on the floor and spatter partially up the walls. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and I wondered what she was reliving. “Hey,” I said, just over her shoulder. She seemed to pull out of it abruptly and she turned away, moving on like nothin’ had happened. I let her go ahead, mainly so I could keep an eye on her for a minute and make sure she still had her head in the game, but I didn’t need to worry. Not about that anyway. She’d always been tough. She wasn’t shaken by shit easily. I knew that. And yet I still had this drive to want to protect her, even though she didn’t need it from me. And she definitely didn’t want it from me.

“Here,” she said suddenly, slinging her gun back on her shoulder and more fully opening the door to a small supply closet. There was hardly enough room for her to stand inside, so I posted up just behind her and strained my eyes and ears for anythin’. “It’s all electronic stuff,” she whispered, entirely focused at the task at hand. Her hands floated from one device to the next, illuminated by her flashlight. She was looking for some label or model number or somethin’ to tell her what they were. She bent down and grabbed some scattered papers from among the boxes on the floor. Swearing under her breath she held one up to the flashlight. “Of course the cover and all the useful shit in the front is torn off,” she muttered. She was bending down to grab another handful when there was some sudden, deep noise on the floor above us.

My heart seemed to stall out for a moment and she straightened up and froze, her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, lips partially parted. The sound seemed to reverberate through the building. I could feel it beneath my feet. It resonated through the walls. After a moment, I was looking at her and she glanced over and met my eyes, her eyebrows a little furrowed with worry.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked in a harsh whisper. I only shook my head. She gulped and refocused, shakin’ it off, focusing back on the papers. She was flipping page after page, scanning them as fast as she could.

I started to hear some more noises above us and then eventually spilling toward the other end of the hall. My grip on my crossbow tightened. “We need to move,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She was still intensely focused on the manual in her hands. “Just gimme a minute…” she said vaguely.

I shifted, turning more toward the far end of the hallway, straining my hearing. There was more clattering above us. “We might not have another damn minute.”

“Just—hold on—”

Fuck. I stood frozen for a moment as a herd of walkers started to spill out from the stairwell at the other end of the hallway and start toward us. “We ain’t got a minute, Y/N!” I urged in a harsh whisper. She didn’t seem to hear me.

There were more walkers than I could count. They hadn’t spotted us yet but I had to move fast, so I did the only damn thing I could think of and pushed her forward into the closet, pressing in after her and shutting the door as quietly as I could. I instinctively clicked my flashlight off and hurried to grab hers and do the same, plunging the two of us into darkness in that small space.

“Daryl, what the hell?!” she snapped at me. She’d been so focused she was completely oblivious to the mass of dead wandering our way. The goddamn closet was so small I had no choice but to be pressed into her… My heart started to pound and I think it had more to do with her against me than the undead assholes outside. I was sure she’d be able to feel it and prayed she’d just think it was adrenaline or somethin’. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

I shoved my hand over her mouth, all my patience gone. Did she really think I’d shoved her in a closet for the hell of it? “For once in yer goddamn life just shut up!” I growled in a low voice. She seemed to tense against me but in the quiet the sounds of the walkers outside the door were now easily heard above our ragged breathin’ and they were growing louder every second. I still had one hand over her mouth and the other clenching my crossbow at my side. She shifted against me and pulled my hand away. I could hear and feel her breathin’ pick up pace. I planted my palm on the wall behind her, next to her head, very aware of the growin’ heat pooling between the two of us where we were pressed together. The air felt suffocatin’. I started to worry the walkers outside the door would be able to hear my breathin’ I was so nervous. I wanted to shift, move away from her like I’m sure she wanted… I wanted to change positions and get my bow up, but it was impossible.

She didn’t seem to know where to put her arms within the tight, dark space. I couldn’t blame her. I was leaned in against her, sorta over her even. I felt her hand accidentally brush my arm and my body jolted a little at the contact, like some reflex I didn’t know I had. My teeth ground together. After that she seemed to settle away from me, into the wall behind her.

We had to just stay there, fuckin’ frozen, hardly room to breathe while the hoard passed by. Every once and a while, a body would thump hard against the door and I’d feel her flinch. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck and beading up on my face, my hair sticking to it. We were so close I could feel her breath against my skin when she faced toward me. I felt the rhythm of her breathin’. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that in that tiny ass closet, the only thing I could smell was the faint scent of her shampoo. I tried hard not to notice, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t try to put some name to the smell. Lavender? Not quite. Maybe more like rose? I dunno. And despite the possible death lurking just outside, I found it hard to focus on anythin' other than the feeling of her against me.

It felt like it took hours for the hoard to pass, but it was probably only ten minutes. But after the sounds drifted away we were still left with a big fuckin’ problem. They had to go somewhere, and my best guess was that they were travelin’ down.

It was so dark in there I couldn’t even tell if my fuckin’ eyes were open or closed, and it seemed to be makin’ it hard to think… Or maybe the angle of her one hip pressed into me was—fuck. Get it together, man… I fumbled for and clicked on my flashlight, findin' the two of us both wincin' at the sudden glare, noses almost touchin'. She was lookin’ up at me, her lips softly parted, her expression only full of concern for once, that little worry line she always gets near her eyebrow.

We both stayed like for a second. I guess just struck by actually seein’ how close we were in the sudden light, until finally she tore her eyes away and turned her head.

I tried to clear my throat, worried my voice was gonna come out soundin' strained or somethin’. “Uhh… sounded like they were goin’—”

“—down. Yeah,” she finished.

My eyes traced the angle of her jawline as she kept her face turned away from me. I heard the paper manual crinkle in her hand and groped for the doorknob behind me. “Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “So, we got a problem about gettin’ out.” My hand finally landed on the doorknob and I turned it and slowly opened the door on the hall, checking both directions carefully but also feelin’ like if I didn’t put some damn space between the two of us again I was about to explode. It looked clear and I stepped out. Glancin’ back, she still seemed frozen, up against the wall, her face turned away toward her shoulder so I couldn’t really get a read on her. “Hey. What is it?” I prompted her.

“Hmm?” She seemed to snap back to herself. “N—nothing…” She went back to searching the manual in her hand, like nothin’ had fuckin’ happened. Just one goddamn time I’d like to know what the fuck is goin’ on inside her head… But I ain’t got no right to that. She’s made that pretty fuckin’ clear.

It wasn’t the right manual or the right machine. But she went through two more until she found it. “Got it,” she announced, waving the paper at me before shoving it into her already full duffel bag. She seized a small machine from the shelf and started trying to rearrange items to make it fit in her pack.

“I got room,” I said, still nervously checkin’ over my shoulder. I thought I could hear the hoard moving below us, maybe two floors down.

“It’s fine. I can make it fit,” she said, jostling more stuff in her bag.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the damn thing from her, slinging my crossbow strap over my shoulder. “Ya’d really rather split yer pack at the seams than take any fuckin’ help from me,” I murmured. I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t need one…

She stepped out of the closet and I caught her wiping her forearm across her forehead. It left a smear of dirt near her hairline. I had to pull myself back to the present. “So, how are we getting out of here?” she asked, adjusting her pack and the duffel bag strap on her shoulder.

I glanced at her, knowing she wasn’t gonna like my idea.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve obviously got something. Just get on with it.”

“Fire escape,” I said.

I watched the muscle in her jaw twitch as he jaw clenched. “Fuckin’ great…”

“Unless ya got somethin’ else—”

“You know I don’t,” she snapped back at me. She wiped a hand across her forehead again, swiping away fresh drops of sweat. “It’s—” She cut herself off. “Let’s just go,” she sighed, defeated.

I looked at her for a second more, trying to gauge just how freaked out she was, but it didn’t seem to matter. We didn’t have any other options.

“Let’s go,” she snapped again. “Before I change my mind about being able to handle this.”

“It ain’t—”

She squeezed her eyes shut and I watched her body tense. “I swear to god, Dixon, if you say ‘It ain’t that bad’ or ‘It ain’t that high’ right now, I will lose my shit and attract every fucking walker in this goddamn building. I don’t even give a fuck.” Her jaw muscle twitched.

I couldn’t help letting out a sigh that was more of a growl than anything but then I turned and headed for the window a couple doors down that I’d noticed was busted out. Leaning through, I scanned the outside of the building for a fire escape. Nothing on that side.

“It’s probably around the other side. Let’s try the end of the hall,” she suggested. Her boots stayed rooted to the floor and I glanced at her again. She caught my eyes and must have read the concern on my face.

“I’m fine. You’re the last person I need worrying about me,” she growled.

Fuck. She could be infuriating… I found my hand clenching and unclenching a few times before I followed her back out of the room.

She was right. There was a fire escape down that side. I grabbed a piece of metal off the floor and straightened up. “Ya ready?” I asked one more time. “They might hear this glass break so we gotta fuckin’ move.” I thought her hands were a bit shaky.

“Just do it,” she said. And this time, I could hear the quiver in her voice.

I smashed the window and knocked out the glass before pullin' myself through. The metal grates rattled under my boots and she looked suddenly sick as she approached the window sill. I hesitated a second before reaching a hand out to help her through.

“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t look fine, but she gripped the ledge and climbed out. “Oh, fuck. Fuck…” she muttered as her feet landed on the platform. She was keeping her eyes fixed straight out. Even just the metal grates at th prison used to freak her out, and that was one floor.

I wanted to comfort her but… I wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d help or that she wanted me to, so instead I just started down the stairs at a good pace. She followed stiffly behind me, gripping onto the railing with white knuckles and falling behind.

Every once and a while I’d glance back and she looked like she was about to be sick, but she was still following. We hit a snag as we reached the third-floor platform. A large part of it had rusted and fallen away, leaving a gaping hole we would have to edge around to reach the next set of stairs.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I heard her behind me and when I looked back her eyes were wide and round and she was clutching onto the railing like it was a lifeline.

“S’fine. I’ll cross first. Just keep over—”

“Oh, really, Daryl? I should keep over to the side? You mean I should stay away from the huge fucking hole in the goddamn floor?” It kept drawing her eyes and I’d see her rip them back up and away, reeling.

I knew that was mostly coming from the fact that she was fuckin’ terrified, but every harsh word from her still stung. “Fine. Clearly, yer good,” I spat back. “Ya don’t need me and ya don’t give a shit and yer fine. I fuckin’ got it.” So much for trying to calm her down. I edged past the hole in the metal grating and went down the next set of stairs. Finally, I just had to push down the ladder, climb down, and we’d be on solid ground again. But when I looked back up, she was still frozen where she had been, on the far side of the platform. I watched her for another minute, waiting to see if she’d move. I knew she wasn’t gonna ask for help, not from me, but she obviously needed it and tough shit, I’m the only damn person here. I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, anxious to even try again, and climbed back up. I edged past the rusted-out hole and stopped next to her. “Just gimme yer hand.” She didn’t loosen her grip on the railing, and her eyes landed on my face. “S’fine. Just for two seconds, lemme fuckin’ help ya.”

Her chest was heaving with fearful breaths and I guess the idea of tryin’ to cross along that edge alone was worse than puttin’ her hand in mine. Part of me still thought she’d take the heights over me, but she didn’t… She pried her hand off the railing and placed it into mine. I—I can’t say my heart didn’t jump when my fingers closed around it. The motorcycle. The fuckin’ closet. Now this. We’d hardly been within six feet of each other for years and now all this in one day… I felt dizzy. It ain’t like Rick could have predicted these things would happen. He sure as shit couldn’t command a hoard to force us into each other in a tiny closet… but he must have been hopin’ for somethin’ by sendin’ us out here. Was it gonna work on her? I fuckin’ doubt it.

As we stepped along the edge of the edge of the platform, she held her breath. She always seemed like nothing in this fucked up world scared her anymore, nothing phased her. Half the time it almost seemed like she didn’t give a shit if she died. But this? Heights? This still scared her on some level she couldn't reason away.

But we made it across just fine. She was gripping onto me so tightly I thought she might have bruised the bones in my damn hand. And as we climbed down the next set of stairs, long past the danger, she was still holding onto me. But just as quickly as I realized it, she slipped her hand out and stiffened next to me again, fixing her eyes away toward the railing, which she grabbed onto again desperately.

We made it down the ladder, dropping onto the concrete and making a run back to my bike, slippin' from cover to cover, packs heavy and weighing us down. I was thinking how batshit crazy it was that we’d just done a hospital run and hadn’t had to kill a single walker AND managed to get all the damn supplies... when we rounded the last corner and a string of curses left her mouth.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What the fuck?!” She knelt down next to my bike and as I looked, my stomach dropped.

“Son of a fuckin' bitch.” Both tires on my motorcycle were slashed. Ruined. Fuck.

We were stranded in the city without a runnin’ vehicle and somebody knew we were here.

[raewritez]

For the Want of the Sun | Chapter Two

1

pairing: zuko x reader

I am twelve when I meet the Fire Lord.

I have caught glimpses of him before: a face like a hawk, flame-like eyes cruel and calculating. He is tall and broad, and cloaked in red. Zuko tells me he wants to be like him, and I cringe.

Zuko has grown and is still the same boy I knew, but shadowed. He has a desperation for his father’s attention, and wants to be the Crown Prince that a King would be proud to have take up his stead. I always tell him that he already is all these things, but he would rather hear it from him. Azula is the favorite, to no fault of Zuko’s, but he doesn’t see it that way. I have accepted that she is gone now, no longer the little girl whose hair I brushed and whose hand I held, though it hurts. She is like her father: a leader, by means of terror and cruelty. Even her own friends seem to fear her, as her country does.

I like her friends very much. When she is not preoccupied with courtrooms and training, she spends her time with two girls: Mai and Ty Lee. They come from nobility, as a companion of a royal child should. Sometimes, when Azula is called away, and Zuko chooses to train instead of play, I talk to them. Zuko seems to like them, too, maybe one more than the other. Mai always seems to light up when Zuko is around, breaking her stony facade for a moment. Her cheeks, usually pale and unsmiling, are tinted with a flush of pink.

I like Mai, but I find myself drawn to Ty Lee. She is all pink and laughter and warm hugs, and she teaches me gymnastics. She holds my hand in hers, and I don’t really want to let go, not even when Azula glares, not really ever. She tells me I am pretty and I turn away, smiling. I think she is pretty, too. She is with me when Zuko is not, and although I miss him, her company is a welcome one. He has been around less and less lately, preoccupied with work and princely duties. But Ty Lee finds me, and I am glad. I let her braid my hair, and we pretend we are princesses, but not the Fire Nation kind. We never speak of princes, only of each other, and how we would come to each other’s rescue, slaying the dragon and braving the castle. I live in our pretendings, and I feel myself on fire.

One day when I am twelve, Zuko comes to me, and he is grinning. He comes to my room, shaded in the light of the late afternoon. I raise my eyebrows at his brightness, and the corners of my lips raise in amusement.

“What’s got you so happy?” I ask. He smiles wider and stands straight, his head raised proudly.

“I’m going to fight a general in an Agni Kai.”

The smile falls from my face instantly, and I stand up. “What?”

Zuko nods, and his eyes glow with child-like excitement. “Uh-huh! I was at Father's meeting and I…kind of spoke out of turn, but it’s ok! I’m fighting the general tomorrow!”

My brows are furrowed, and my chest is tight. “Zuko…” I say, and I don’t want to rob him of his enthusiasm. “Just…are you sure you’re ready for this? I mean, a general is a big deal-” “Of course I’m ready, Y/n! I’m the prince! I’ve had the best firebending training there is.”

His face is glowing and his eyes are eager, and his smile has grown more foriegn to me over the last year, so I allow it. “Ok, then,” I say, and I reach for his hand, which he gladly slots against mine. I pull him, and we both fall atop my bed, which is pushed fully against the wall. The mattress is soft under our backs, and it dips with our weight. It is a while before we move or speak, simply existing next to each other in silence. Every once in a while, I feel his thumb move against the back of my hand, or my knuckles. His breathing is soft, and he turns to me.

“I missed this,” he says, and he sighs and looks away again. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much, we used to see each other everyday. I…I hope we can again, and maybe after the fight we could…spend some time together.”

My face feels warm, and I nod. “I missed you, too,” I tell him, and he smiles. He squeezes my hand, and we talk until the sun is set. When he leaves, I promise to find him after the fight, and that I will be there to watch him. Our hands leave each other only as he walks away, and he disappears down the hall with a skip in his step. I did not know what was to come, and I slept through peaceful dreams.

—

The room is wide and vast, with audience rows of dark wood, and an arena lit by the sun. I am sitting in the crowd, my leg bouncing anxiously. Next to me is Zuko’s uncle, Iroh, who I have come to like very much. I know him relatively well, as I was rarely absent from any place that Zuko was, and I had grown fond of his stories, and of his tea. I had turned to him, expecting a gleam of optimism and a smile on his face, but had found only stone-like worry. So I had reserved myself to my own anxieties, but I convinced myself they were baseless. Zuko knows what he’s doing. He’s way better than some general. He’ll be ok, and I’ll be cheering for him.

When he walks out from the shadows, there is silence. It is expected: an Agni Kai is a solemn affair, and not one for applause or welcome. He is sturdy in his gait, and I see his fingers twitch at his sides. Stage fright, I think. He appears as every bit the prince he is: although smaller than the men who line the walls, he brings with him an air of command. Not one that any general could compete with.

He waits in the arena, and another figure emerges. He is tall, and broad-shouldered, and the shadows cling to him like a veil, concealing him from my view. It is when he steps into the light that my heart stops, and my breath is halted in my throat. It is him: black hair and pale skin, an unforgiving gaze. There is fire in his eyes, and Zuko falters.

I do not hear exactly what he is saying, just snippets of pleads and fear and crying. I feel hot tears on my face, and I am not sure when they started. It is when Ozai raises his hand that everything seems to blur, and I hear Zuko’s screams. The audience is cold, unaffected. Their faces are blank as they stare at the scene: the burning of a thirteen-year-old boy by his father. I feel Iroh’s hand on my shoulder.

The moments following blend together, and I find myself outside. I hear words and sentences, but I cannot register their meaning. Zuko is banished? No, no, he’s the prince. That’s not possible. I told Zuko I would meet him outside, but I cannot find him. I see Azula from across the room, and she is smiling. I am left alone, standing outside of the room where the Agni Kai has just occurred. The hours pass, and I am left confused as to what has just happened. Then, when the sun is low on the horizon, Iroh comes into my view. His old face is weary and blotchy,  and his eyes are sad. He holds a hand out to me.

“Come, Y/n,” he says. “I’m sure Zuko would like to see you before he goes.”

He leads me to the hospital wing, where Zuko is sitting on a bed. His back is facing me, and he freezes when his Uncle speaks.

“Zuko,” Iroh says. “Y/n is here to see you.”

He stiffens. “I don’t want her here,” he spits, and his voice is hoarse.

Iroh grimaces. “Zuko-”

“No!” He yells, and he finally turns. The left side of his face is clad in bandages and his head is shaved, spare for a black ponytail that sits atop his head. He is almost unrecognizable, not from the injury, but from the unadulterated rage that burns in his eyes. His gaze fell on me, then, and I almost stepped back. I think for a moment that his stare softens, but it only hardens into a glare. “Get her out of here, Uncle. I don’t need any distractions before I leave.”

I can’t help the whisper that falls from my lips. “Leave?”

Zuko scoffs harshly, and turns away again. Iroh speaks quietly. “Yes,” he says, “Zuko has been assigned the task of searching for the Avatar, wherever he may be.”

The Avatar? The one who hasn’t been seen for a hundred years? How will Zuko ever find him? The chances of that are so low, there’s almost no way he can-

“Let me come with you.”

Zuko stills, but does not turn. I stare at him, imploring, while Iroh turns to his nephew. He does not seem entirely opposed to the idea.

Zuko speaks after a moment. “No,” he says. “You’re not coming.”

I step forward, challenging him. He’s never been able to say no to me before, a fact I have gleefully exploited for gain of fruit tarts and candies. Maybe Zuko, even this new Zuko, still has that same weak point. “Yes I am,” I say.

He spins around, and his eye is fierce. It glows a scorching orange, so different from the soft amber that I have grown so fond of. He looks angry, but he cannot seem to speak. Iroh does, however. “I think that is a wonderful idea,” he says. “It will do well for you to have a friend. Prince Zuko.” He is silent for a moment, a bitter look on his face. “Fine,” Zuko says. “She can come. She’s a servant though. Not…not my friend.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever since felt as lonely as I did at that moment. Iroh’s eyes flash to me - an urgent, pitying look - but I do not indulge in it. He’s not serious, I tell myself. He’s just upset. But in that moment, I don’t know if I believe it.

We leave early the next day, before the sun has even risen from its slumber. I pack lightly: a few tunics and a few robes, some shoes and some memories. I wish I could’ve said goodbye - to Mai and Ty Lee, to the Zuko that left me. But I walk alone until I see the ship, and I am escorted aboard. Zuko stands at the starboard, and I hope he will look my way. But his hands are preoccupied with a map, messed with scribbles and coordinates. He stares only at the sea, and when he does regard me, later, it is with disdain. I find myself longing for his company, for his hand in mine.

That night, after hours at sea and a course set for the Western Air Temple, I leave the deck for my room. The air is cold and dark, and the moon is a kiss against the waves. When I turn and head down the stairs, Zuko is behind me, leaning against the ship’s edge. I think I hear him say my name, and I turn around, but I find him walking away. Perhaps it was only an echo.

i hope you guys are enjoying FTWOTS so far! things are about to get juicy. let me know if you have any suggestions, requests, or questions!

[holding-hands-and-hearts]

Stories in Shadow

Space is cold.

The chill is seeping, slow and calm and pressing. It needles at his bones, a nagging request, a gentle scold that eats at the pit in his stomach.

He blinks, and turns away from the stars.

Chopper hoots softly, tucked into a corner shrouded in shadow where there’s a port. He’s probably programming the navicomputer, or contacting home base, or digging through the ship’s memory, looking for something they can use.

But he would shift his struts back and forth if he were irritated, an insistent clang-clang-clang that would make Zeb’s lip curl, and he isn’t. Instead, the gears in his scomp link twist faintly into the bowels of the ship, and he rotates his head in Ezra’s direction. The indistinct glow of the planet behind them casts his orange paint to beige.

He doesn’t say anything, so Ezra doesn’t either. Chopper will be vague, or he’ll be blunt, and Ezra won’t want to talk about it either way.

Chopper turns his head back to the port, having obtained whatever answer he was looking for in the spaces between Ezra’s silence. Tatooine still stains his paint too light, a dusty pale that seems too unremarkable to hurt, but the memory of grit and sand and sun prods like a bad joke too pointed to feel innocent. His breath stings at the back of his throat, a physiological reproach like bitter distrust after the searing sands.

So it’s just the light and the cold, settling on his skin, a question he doesn’t want to answer.

Ezra mutters something about checking out the rest of the ship and waits until the cockpit doors close behind him before he remembers how to breathe, pretends the walls will shield him from Chopper’s silent sympathy, stinging more than it soothes. A droid’s pity, he thinks, and there’s some dark amusement at the idea of it. Emotional intelligence was never his strong suit - unsympathetic, strong of will, demon of kneecaps, leaving bone bruises in his wake. Whatever, he’d say, if he said anything at all, and continue to plow along whatever path he had been on to begin with, even if your shins were still ringing from his collision with your bones.

Ezra had been hiding in the nose gun, wallowing in shame with the doors locked behind him, and Hera had let him go, given him space, but he was the kind of frustrated and indiscriminately upset that stony reticence spiked when she reached out. Okay, she’d said, when her fingertips set him from clenched-jaw upset to reactive vehemence. Maybe go take a minute. Chopper picked the lock. Suck it up.

Hera would bring him his meal at dinnertime, a soft smile and a soft touch as if to cushion the sharp edges of Ezra’s hurt. Sabine would tread carefully, not too close, but never out of reach. Kanan kept his distance, would meet him when he returned. Zeb would look down, a gruff you okay, kid? that toed the line of too-casual nonchalance, the dusting off of pants after a fall.

Condolence isn’t point-blank, so Chopper doesn’t bother dealing it out.

And maybe the closed doors don’t help, because Ezra is still cold. There aren’t many lights on the rest of the ship, and maybe the darkness isn’t better than Tatooine’s dusty cling.

The ship is small.

But it feels big, unnatural, because it doesn’t feel like there’s anything to fill it. There’s a fresher and a captain’s quarters and the door to the hold all off of the common room, shades of durasteel that have forgotten the concept of color. The corners are swathed in shadow. The air is still, hanging silence and not-quite secrecy, the ghosts of forgotten stories once told here.

It’s kind of funny, Ezra thinks, that a Sith once lived here.

Maul slept on threadbare sheets, pulled his meals from a drawer full of the exact same rations - Ezra remembers eating those, once upon a time when he lifted a crate of them from an Imperial shipment, and thought it was funny that no one seemed to mind. The tasteless tube of nutrition made his mouth thick for the next month, dry crumbs sticking to his teeth, bloated and waterlogged and stubborn when he tried to wash them away. There’s a pile of pens on the rickety nightstand, all run out of ink, and the artificially dyed jar of oral tablets in the fresher has lost its color.

Ezra runs his fingers over the walls, disassembles the pens, digs through the rations, strips the sheets from the bunk as if a Sith Lord would hide his secrets under his mattress. He goes through the hold as if expecting that the Nightbrother had had a penchant for collecting more deadly relics and omnipotent artifacts, tears apart the common room until the shadows shift and he is reduced to checking under the table for whispers of an answer, but he can’t seem to figure out what his question is or whether it’s why or how, whether it’s emotional or academic or compassionate or apathetic.

Did he really live here?

Did Maul walk into this ship and stop and think home? Could he have, with its empty rooms and threadbare sheets and shadows and ghosts? Did the darkness feel like a consolation? Did the cold seem comforting?

Ezra sighs, and tries to imagine Maul, listening to the stories in the shadows, and maybe that was home enough for him. But the cold needles, and the darkness is pressing, and space has never felt so empty-melancholy, a forgotten gap waiting to be filled, those forgotten stories that haven’t been told.

The Ghost always felt like a haven, something tall and wise that bent over to take his hand and lead him to the Light. Zeb’s dry humor, the wit in the clash of Hera’s persistent faith and Kanan’s grounded sagacity, Sabine’s unabated urge to paint her hope all over the walls as if she could will a better world into existence. They’d been running on yet another op gone sideways, and she’d paused to flick a phoenix across a snooty recruitment poster bathed in white helmets and superiority in crimson. Come on, Sabine! Ezra’d yelled. Why do you have to do that now? But she’d shrugged and finished the artful flair of the bird’s wing before moving on. That night, he’d flopped into his bunk before Zeb could start snoring and smelled fresh paint, and there was a crisp new phoenix on the ceiling, as if in answer.

But the walls of Maul’s former home are still a blank canvas of empty durasteel, and the floors are scuffed as if to prove that time used to pass here, and Tatooine no longer feels like some grand story.

It feels like a Jedi growing old, passing something intangible to a boy who thought he was doing the right thing. It feels like the forever-enemy who haunted them both, who was not quite Dark and not quite Sith, who slept on threadbare sheets and kept his old pens after they ran out of ink and listened to the stories in the shadows, maybe. And maybe the dark and the cold didn’t seem so bad, and maybe it was the quiet that was the appeal all along, or maybe it was the quiet that kept him chasing the past like a wraith who couldn’t seem to let go, and maybe his knuckles had been sore from how tightly he clung.

Ezra had been riding north, following the Jedi’s word, leaving them both behind. Your way out. Your way home. The dewback paused, tilted its head to one side like a question, and something had brushed up against Ezra’s mind like the way grass ripples when the wind blows, and the last thing he was expecting was for it to be peaceful.

Death never was. It was candles blown out, saplings crushed, a slow-burning fire that stifled breath as easily as smoke. But there was a finality to it, someone letting out a breath, an old wound that had never closed, laid finally to rest.

And maybe, in the dark of the desert, borne by the life-long hatred of decades ago, the man who could not let go had found some peace. Maybe, the old wound had mended, and maybe, there had been some comfort in the light of the fire and in the lines of the Jedi’s face.

Maybe the man who could not let go had been lonely.

Maul slept on threadbare sheets, pulled his meals from a drawer full of the exact same rations and kept his old pens after they ran out of ink and listened to the stories in the shadows like they could make up for all of those he’d lost. He reached out to Ahsoka as glass shattered around them, an offer that sings of desperation. Join me. He leaves his hand on Ezra’s shoulder, a little hesitant but all too certain. My apprentice. He curls his fingers into a fist, and his voice shakes with a hum somewhere between hatred and amusement, drawn out too far. Kenobi.

But the wind brushes Ezra’s mind the way grass ripples, and the echo of Maul’s death fades with the breeze.

And something settles, a buried memory, a click into place, a peace made. Now you see, Maul says. Quiet and silky, folded with extra meanings and old history and a shadow-shrouded depth.

“I do,” Ezra tells him. His voice fades into the bowels of the ship, and the cold is not so biting anymore, the darkness not so pressing.

He steps back into the cockpit.

Chopper turns to watch him come in, a muted hoot that is both a greeting and a question. They’ve left Tatooine far behind, and only the stars light the cockpit, quiet, omniscient gleams that feel like stories. The galaxy shines in his photoreceptor.

“No.” Ezra sinks into the pilot’s chair. The navicomputer is already programmed. “I didn’t find much.”

Chopper grumbles - something about Maul and stupidity and kriffing Jedi nonsense and sand in his circuits - and Ezra elects to ignore him.

Chopper, after all, was never all that good with emotional intelligence. But he’ll be grateful when they get back home, or something approaching it, will bicker with Hera and terrorize Zeb and run into kneecaps until half of Atollon is covered in bruises. AP-5 will scold him, and Chopper will scold right back until they’ve both forgotten what the offenses were. But he’ll melt into their awkward little family anyway, a grumpy rust-bucket with malicious intent.

Ezra will hesitate, already steeling for a rejection that won’t come. And, eventually, Hera will help him wash the sand from his hair and soothe the angry sunburns patched across his cheeks, and Kanan will bring them both dinner and rest a knowing hand on Ezra’s shoulder, as if there’s conversation there that already happened, an intrinsic understanding that doesn’t require speech or sight. Zeb will be close by, and he’ll look over and say, you okay, kid? with just a little too much briskness packed between the words. He’ll snore too loudly and Ezra will complain in the morning, but they’ll both smile and elbow the other one’s ribs, and there’s some kind of light in the painted walls.

One day, so long ago, a boy with a crate of stolen blasters fumbled his way onto a paint-covered freighter that felt like a funny kind of home, and dropped into the nose gun, and saw the stars. Space, he thought, was mesmerizing. And, for a little while, he forgot what it was like to be cold.

Chopper whistles at him, and Ezra grins. “Yeah, buddy. Let’s go home.”

*******

*quietly creeps out of the ether*

....bye.

Taglist: @sexy-rex @handsignals @artemis98 @ladysongmaster @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom

[aminiatureworld]

Disappearance II

Character: Albedo, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,149

Warnings: None

Premise: In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Idk why I’ve characterized Albedo as a slob twice now. I guess I just think he’s the kind of person to become so engrossed in his research he just, never takes care of himself or his surroundings.

Also this was supposed to be two people but I procrastinated terribly so… here we are haha. Part three tomorrow.

Albedo

It was the third time this week that you had managed to spill his lab notes all over the floor, and frankly Albedo wasn’t sure if he could deal with it any longer.

“You’ve got a lot of papers strewn around,” you said, tone light and joking as you crouched to gather all the papers up.

“You’re the one that keeps bumping into things,” Albedo mumbled, crouching next to you to make sure that you put things back in order.

Seeing that you were putting things together haphazardly he snatched up the papers, frowning slightly as he went through the papers. Honestly, how could you mess up his system so much? As much as Albedo appreciated your interest in his work you were a Knight of Favonius, not a scientist, and as such your visits seemed to cause havoc more than anything else.

“Do you want me to help you with that?” You asked, exasperation creeping into your tone.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You seem, stressed. If you want I could pick up the papers on the tables and organize.”

“Don’t!”

“Albedo?” You leaned back slightly, as if surprised. For some reason that only made the alchemist more irritated.

“If you do that, you’ll just be creating more work for me. I’m very busy right now, I don’t have time to go back and fix your mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“It’s already enough that you keep spilling things all over the ground.”

“It’s not my fault that you leave your papers everywhere without even trying to keep them organized.”

“They are organized!”

“Well they certainly don’t look organized to me.”

“You just don’t understand. Besides, I’ve managed not to knock everything over.”

“You know, you’re insufferable when you get like this.”

“I’m not any different than usual.”

“I hope you don’t really think that,” you replied, tone clipped.

Standing up you turned towards the door. Though Albedo made a half-hearted call of your name you didn’t react, simply walking out of the room and slamming the door as hard as possible behind you.

Albedo didn’t even think of you the rest of the afternoon. Anger iced over his slight worry, replacing it with a burning sense of resentment. Your sudden departure stung, and, though it was admittedly childish, Albedo found himself determined not to worry about you.

Besides, you were simply an obstacle to his research at this point. Maybe it was better if you went off to cool your head somewhere, then he could finish up his work. That was what usually happened with other people anyways. Apprentices, clients, the occasional wandering alchemist; they all fluttered around him until he couldn’t stand it and then when they inevitably got fed up he’d finish his work. His relationship with you was still new, and though he couldn’t say that you were the same as all those people in his eyes, he really had no reason to think you would react in a different way.

The sun had gone down long before Albedo finally locked up for the night. It had taken him a good forty minutes to reorganize everything that had fallen, though admittedly most of that time was spent in angry silence. Now as Albedo walked down the streets, still busy with night activity, he wondered what might happen when he got home. He certainly wasn’t ready to apologize, even if his tone was a bit curt his words weren’t wrong; but he couldn’t exactly see you apologizing either. It was bound to be a tense evening. One Albedo was certainly not looking forward too.

All the lights were off in the apartment, something that struck Albedo as odd. Walking towards the kitchen he found a piece of paper crumpled up on the kitchen floor, though when he uncrumpled the paper he was met with eraser marks. Letting out a huff of impatience Albedo went to put some water on the stove. So this is how the evening was going to pass; you presumably at a friend’s house, Albedo in stony silence.

“How petty,” Albedo murmured.

He didn’t expect such a show of emotions from you, having come to the conclusion that you were quite the rational sort. Really, this was all too much. He had been in the right after all, even if he had been a bit cold about it. There was no reason to react in such a way. It was this mindset that carried Albedo through the rest of the evening and off to sleep. After all, it was better than the kernel of doubt that rested in the back of his head, that told him he was the one being callous.

You didn’t show up at the apartment or the lab the next day. Albedo buckled down to work, but by midday the irritation and anger that he’d been holding over were replaced by a deep sense of unease. Hurrying home after work he felt panic shoot through him at the sight of your home empty, nothing suggesting anyone had been there in the time he was at work.

It took all of Albedo’s willpower not to run out the door and go look for you. All the anger and irritation he had felt had been thrown out the window, replaced instead with an intense feeling of worry, and of the realization that his actions might bear actual consequences.

Tossing and turning in bed Albedo stared up at the empty ceiling. He had been certain he was in the right, even this morning. You were clumsy, you had been inconsiderate of his work, you were simply stubborn and petty. Now however he replayed your argument, your fight, over and over again. The more he did so the more he became aware of how harshly he’d acted; the more he wished you would simply appear in front of him so he could apologize. He wanted to go after you, wanted to let you know that he genuinely felt bad. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so, to go after you. After all, what if you didn’t want to see him? What if he just made things worse? Once more turning in bed Albedo sighed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d see you again. Tomorrow he’d make things better.

There was no sight of you tomorrow either. Albedo stood in his lab in stunned silence, heart hammering in his chest as he contemplated what this could possibly mean. Was this it then? Had he messed up that badly?

Staring around him Albedo noticed all the papers scattered this way and that on the tables and the desks. Seized by a sudden urge he scooped them all up, carrying them over to where he kept his files. A part of him jeered that it was too little too late, but still the alchemist didn’t stop until everything was filed away properly. Turning around to look at his desk he collected the dirty mugs and discarded equipment, putting them in the sink before turning around to pick through the no longer needed papers that still lay sprawled around the room. He didn’t stop for lunch, nor did he go to start back up on the experiment he was currently working on. Instead he kept picking up and putting away and rearranging. It was almost a ritual of some sort, and though it brought little relief, at least it finally brought distraction.

Still that distraction was shattered the minute Albedo stepped outside. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, and the people of Mondstadt were still wandering around, enjoy the cool summer evening. Staring at the people around him, their eyes filled either with purpose or contentment, Albedo realized he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t face the empty apartment again. He thought that his anger would last longer, that he might go a week before feeling as if he burning from the inside out; but now he knew that that had been an arrogant, if somewhat funny, assumption. Turning away from the familiar path home he climbed up the steps of Mondstadt. He knew where he needed to go.

Walking up to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters Albedo was met with the sight of Eula, arms firmly crossed in front of her, faced even colder than usual. Hurrying over to your higher-up Albedo felt uncertainty bloom in his chest. Someone this seemed to bode ill.

“Eula?”

“Ah, the Head Alchemist. What do you wish to say to me?”

“Have you seen my partner?” Albedo paused, somewhat unwilling to reveal what had happened. “They haven’t been home for days, and I wondered if you knew where they might be staying.”

The look on Eula’s face was one of pure disbelief. “You, you don’t know what happened?” Her face shadowed over and she seemed to pull herself up. “If I were your partner, I would declare eternal vengeance for your idiocy. I don’t know what you’ve been doing Head Alchemist, but while you were off doing whatever it is you do, your partner was languishing underground.”

Albedo froze, unsure if he’d truly heard Eula right. The Knight tended to be quite flowery after all with her words. Perhaps this was just a metaphor he couldn’t understand.

“I see that it still hasn’t gotten through your head what happened.” Eula sighed, relaxing slightly. “I sent them off to monitor a few Fatui members, as it seems a group had made their way out of Dragonspine and into Windwail. While doing so they attempted to hide in a small crack in the mountains, but there was a steep drop after that onto the next shelf. Thankfully Amber had also been ordered to scout there, or else who knows how long it might have took to realize they were stuck. I just got the report from them, thankfully there was no lasting trauma.”

“W-where are they?”

“At home I presume. Aren’t you their partner?” Eula tilted her head. “Really, perhaps she should declare a need for vengeance.” And with that the Spindrift Knight walked into the Headquarters, leaving Albedo reeling on the step, heart thudding as if he’d just run a hundred miles.

Albedo practically fell down the steps of Mondstadt, so desperate was he to find you, to make sure you were okay. Eula had said that there was no lasting trauma, but what that meant Albedo was completely unsure of. Had you broken anything? Had you been deprived of oxygen? These thoughts catapulted through Albedo’s brain, constricting his lungs and plunging him into a roil of incoherent emotions.

The sight of you standing in front of his lab cause Albedo to stop in his tracks. For a moment the alchemist was overwhelmed by his emotions, switching between dizzying euphoria, terrible guilt, and unending worry. He took a step forward, then another, walking slowly down the stairs, as if in fear that you might disappear or turn away. However instead of turning away when he reached the end of the steps and made his way towards the fountain you let out a sort of shudder, running towards him and throwing your arms around his neck. Albedo wrapped his arms around you in turn, feeling slightly overwhelmed from the sudden proximity, the sudden feeling of once more being able to feel your skin against his. Letting his head drop onto your shoulder Albedo breathed in deeply, centering himself with your presence, grounding himself in the knowledge that the agony of the previous days was finally over.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“For what?” You whispered back.

“For not listening to you, for blaming you, for being cruel.”

“I’m also sorry.”

“Why? I was in the wrong.”

“Well, I just went off without telling you where I was going. I was going to write a note, but I was so angry I erased it.” You tightened your grasp around Albedo. “I wish I could’ve seen into the future. I never would have done something like that.”

“I don’t care about that,” Albedo ran small circles around the small of your back. “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“No. I’m sorry for not being there, for not being able to help you; for doing nothing while you…” he stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Pulling back for a moment you cupped Albedo’s face in your palms, studying his expression. Finally you bent over to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I forgive you,” you whispered, breath mingling with his.

Albedo leaned into to kiss you once more, finding that his emotions were blocking out any words he might have been able to say. Everything seemed so surreal, as if he’d been stuck in some awful nightmare that only now faded away. And yet this wasn’t a nightmare, this was reality; and Albedo would have to remember that.

For now though, he only wanted to wipe all the fear and conflict away.

[bokettochild]

Hi! I really like the fics you write, and for the requests I was thinking some Wild and Legend bonding? I’m a big angst fan, but fluff always makes me happy :)

Okay, so, this was partially inspired by this, but also this.

I'm not really sorry, this has been brewing since the last update and I finally wrote it. That and I broke my writers bloc and figured out how to write Legend again!

Suffer 🙂

Sunset Comforts

Twilight was dead.

That was the thought flashing through his mind as he called the younger heroes to order. The worry that stung in his heart as Hyrule and Four charged towards the enemy that had downed their friend with ease.

A gleaming axe had struck the wolf form of their brother mid spring, and the pained and breathless whimper of the canine mixing with the wet squelch of the blade pulling free echoed in his mind.

Legend’s stomach rolled, the need to turn to the side and be sick growing as the battle continued on around him.

He didn’t know how he took command, simply let his emotions fall to the back burner, pressing down the need to vomit along with memories of a dark sewer, a gleaming blade, a wizard's cackle and wet and wheezing breaths. He focused his gaze on the enemy and called out orders, forcing the hero’s spirit to take the reins while a young hero fell to the background, eyes wide and full of tears as sobs built up in a throat that words had not poured from in years.

Blades sang a death dirge as monsters had fallen; enemies laid low by the weapons of the heroes still standing. There were no words to the song as an eerie silence hung over the field, only the sounds of battle and the occasional cry filling air that felt thick and muddled as they fought. And when at last the final monster had fallen from Wild’s blade, and the shadow had long since faded back away from where it had come, leaving the heroes bloody and breathless, Time and Wild had sprung to the rancher’s side.

Legend stood to the side, hands gripping his blade, ignoring the blood that trailed over his clothes and skin, eyes wide as they’d watched Time firmly press Warriors’ scarf to the gaping wound in -the now hylian- Twilight’s chest.

White and red clashed beneath blackening green, and Legend’s stomach revolted again at the sight, one hand pressing to his lips as he’d been forced to turn away, the sight to much for him. Bloods stench was heavy on the air, death and destruction smelling of gaping wounds and foul flesh, and it made his stomach roll. There was no task he could complete as he stood to the side and allowed the others to fuss and heal, and the mere smell of the blood on his hands made him wince back nausea.

He was covered in the stuff, it coated his body and overwhelmed his senses, and as the other’s fussed over far more pressing matters than blood; a wound, gaping and black with shining bones exposed to the air and torn flesh and-

Legend keeled over, heaving and wheezing for breath as the contents of his stomach found a new home in the carcass of a slain bokoblin.

The camp that night was plagued by the eerie heaviness in the air that had lain over the battle-field.

Warriors leaned back against Sky’s side, hands shaking from having laid the final stitches, eyes bleary as the Skyloftian gently pressed a potion to the captain’s lips. Not far from the two, Hyrule’s glimmering hands worked over Twilight’s chest weakly, shoulders drooping and hands shaking until Four had gently pulled him away with his one good hand, the other wrapped and hung in a sling from his neck as he gently ushered the traveler towards his bed roll to sleep.

Time, to no one’s surprise, sat at Twilight’s side, the ranchers hand clasped tightly in his own as worry creased already heavy brows, a single eye dark in the fading light as a song, bitter and almost tearful rings through the air. There are no words, but Warriors’ voice, heavy and weary, joins in, and though Twilight’s body lies still and the rancher hasn’t opened his eyes, there’s a flicker of his lids as his breath evens slightly, the faintest of hums sounding wet and broken from blood-stained lips.

Legend turns his gaze away.

None of the others had seen his shameful reaction earlier, and as much as he wants to be of aid, he knows that the blood that coats the bandages wrapped around Twilight’s chest and spatters over his clothing will only made him ill again, which will be in no ways helpful.

Violet eyes drift over leaves and stone before coming to rest on the form of the Champion, curled around himself at the furthest edges of the camp, fingers digging into his arms as his eyes remain fixed on his mentor. The vet blinks in surprise as his gaze trails from Twilight’s broken form to the huddled form of the man’s protégé, hiding on the edges of the camp and making no moves to approach him.

Does Wild have trouble with the blood too?

A closer look reveals that the champion’s face is red, eyes puffy and tear tracks rolling down his face, but the gaze on the champion’s face is hard, and Legend finds himself shaking off shivers from the intensity of cornflower hues as they stare across the camp, resolute and dark.

He’s useless to the healers, and the sight of Twilight’s blood streaked across all the surfaces around camp, red and wet and warm and full of life that should be staying inside him and not bleeding out because he needs to live, he needs to live, he needs to stay alive! Link can’t live without him he can’t it’s just not possible please-

The vet forces himself to breathe, shaking his head and blinking back his own tears as he moved towards his fallen friend’s protégé. He can’t offer any help to the others, but at the very least he can knock Wild out of his own head.

Twilight would want that.

As feet pick across the camp, bare because he can’t stand the ooze that coats his boots, he wonders when he began to wonder what the rancher would want or do.

Wild’s fingers are digging into his arms, blood springing up beneath his nails as they grip tighter, and Legend has to fight the urge to flinch away at the sight. It’s shameful, his aversion. He’s a hero and he’s killed more enemies than he’s seen seasons. Yet, he still flinches back at pooling red, and the droplets that roll down the champion’s arms to drip onto the ground are enough to make his stomach lurch again.

“Quit it.” He scolds, positioning himself in the way of the kid’s line of sight, blocking off the sight of the rancher as cornflower blue flicks up towards him.

His stomach rolls again at the ethereal glare that’s cast his way, eyes too old and a soul too shattered for the young body they’re set in. Still, he’s fought a corrupted goddess, he can meet the gaze of the champion, but it’s hard, and he hates it, but he forces himself regardless. Violet and blue clash, trails of gold set in each as both boys glare at each other, both disapproving in their own way before Legend shakes his head, reaches down and pulls the champion’s hands free of his arms. “None of that now. You don’t need more scars, kid.”

Wild’s eyes blink slowly, but there’s no recognition in them, and Legend finds panic flooding through hm as he realizes that Wild may or may not even be fully aware at the moment.

Great Seven, what would Twilight do?

Wild is stiff as a board and silent as death itself as Legend kneels before him, the kid’s gaze unmoving as he glares over Legend’s head, right between his ears, to where Twilight lays in his mentor’s hold. Pain leeches into the silent cold of ethereal blue, and something inside the vet shatters, his chest burning lightly at the pain and hopelessness that crosses over the kids face for a brief second before it returns to stony coldness.

Ah.

“It’s not your fault.” He breathes, crossing his legs underneath himself as he gazes up at eyes that won’t meet his own. “Wild! You can’t blame yourself; you hear me?” His own gaze hardens as he focused on the kid. “Twilight chose to chase the Shadow. It was his choice-” Glowing blue turns to him with a ferocity that nearly steals his breath, but Legend presses forwards, golden tinging at his own irises as his voice rumbles low and firm, blessedly free of its usual squeaks and breaks. “Twilight chose to fight. I’m not saying this is his fault, but it isn’t yours either.”

The champion’s gaze is stony and silent.

“You had no way of stopping this.” Legend repeats, hand clasping the kid’s arms just below the shoulders and gaze heavy as it meets the flickering blue before him. “You were on the other side of the battlefield, your arrows would have only made things worse and you had no way, on Din’s green earth, to reach him before the shadow struck.”

Wild’s eyes flicker up to Twilight’s broken form again, but the vet catches the kids face in his hands, eyes firm and glimmering slightly in faded light of the sunset. “Do you understand?”

“I failed.” The kid croaks out, broken and stiff and every word labored as if it is a weight that holds down the kid’s tongue. Each weight falls hard and heavy on Legend’s shoulders, pain dancing through his chest at the broken soul that cracks through the stone gaze. “I couldn’t save him.”

“No one could.” Legend presses, voice catching in his throat.

“I should have.”

The words are simple, but they bear a weight that nearly fells the veteran hero right then and there, and he watches in horror as tears pool behind Wild’s eyes as they turn to gaze at the dirt at his feet.

“I’m supposed to be the Hylia forsaken Hero.” The kid curses softly. “And I can’t even save my best friend.”

“You can’t save everyone.” He murmurs in reply, his own gaze struggling to stay on the kid before him and to not follow it to the ground.

Red hair and a bubbling laugh ring in his memory alongside a booming laugh that is weakened by blood that trails from an open wound, hidden in the sewers below the castle. Hands that held his own, laughter that rang with his and voices that carried joy and wonder on tehri lips as they filled his heart and breathed life into his soul.

Both of them are gone. He couldn’t save them. He’ll never have another chance to try.

“But Twilight is still alive. He’s still breathing and...” A wet laugh stutters up in his chest, broken and wrong, but impossible to hold back. “He’s still trying to sing on key.”

Wild’s eyes freeze the breath in his throat, hard and shattered and angry as they bore into him. “Twilight is still alive because Warriors and Time saved him.” The kid hisses. “He’s alive because everyone else banded together and staved off the monsters. He’s alive because you all are heroes enough, that while I was pulling my sorry ass off the top of a wall, you were all down there protecting him!”

The kid’s voice rises and those behind them turn to stare, but Legend isn’t cowed. He’s heard many a worse speech from his own shattered soul ringing in his mind again and again over the years. The kid’s broken voice and aching soul aren’t enough to bring him to tears and reassurance.

Twilight might treat the kid with care and grace that one would a wounded child, which Wild needs. But the kid also needs the sense slapped into him, and Legend’s very good at that.

“You all protect everyone!” Tears spill down the kid’s cheeks as he glares at Legend. “All I ever can do is sit by while everyone else struggles, and I can’t even offer help!”

“Wild-”

“My whole world died while I was sleeping!” Wild’s voice breaks, blue eyes sparking with lights that aren’t natural or Hylian.

“And I killed mine!” Legend shoots back, gaze and voice both dark as he meets the kid’s stare. “You’re not the only one of us to have ever failed!”

The champion blinks at him in shock, and Legend takes the moment to catch his breath, eyes blinking open again to meet the kid’s. “I destroyed a whole world. People, places, families and homes. Just blotted them out of existence.” His voice is firm but tears prick at his eyes as he glares down the taller hero. “You aren’t the only one who messed up.

“What matters though, is that when you were given a second chance, you took it. You stood to your feet, after being killed in battle you came back. And you walked right up to Ganon and drop-kicked his ass back into whatever hell it came from.” Violet and gold swirl in the vet’s gaze as it bores into Wild’s, the kid’s expression fading just left of wonder as he stares back. “You are still living your second chance. You are going to make new mistakes. You are going to get hurt. Other people are going to get hurt. What matters is that you don’t spend all your time crying over what you aren’t, and instead use it to become what you can be.”

The vet’s gaze softens. “You’re a good kid, Wild. And a great hero. Don’t ruin that by worrying about the past. You don’t live there, so you don’t belong there. Get your ass in gear and start worrying about the now.”

Wild opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by Legend. “And I don’t mean fussing about a battle that’s already lost. I mean by getting over there and hugging the stuffing out of your grand-mentor or whatever the shit Time is to you, because the guy is on the verge of tears and none of the rest of us can help.” The vet cracks a weak and strained smile. “Twilight’s strong. He’ll pull through. Don’t make me have to explain that you’re depressed because you can’t accept what he sees in you.”

He’s not fast enough to pull away before Wild’s arms are wrapping around him in a tearful hug, sniffles and sobs escaping the kid as he whispers thanks into Legend’s blood matted hair, and Legend can’t even bring himself to pull away. Instead, he gently rubs the kids back, grumbling back fondly until Wild pulls away, rubbing at his eyes and nose he offers Legend a wobbly smile, before standing and making his way back into the center of the camp.

Time’s face when Wild comes over and wraps his arms around the man is priceless, the tune on his lips fading out as the man folds Wild into his arms with a quiet sob, and Legend fights back a twitch of his lips as the two hold tight to each other.

Night falls as the others fade off into sleep.

Legend had finally pulled himself back into the camp once the lights had dimmed enough that the blood across their faces and clothes could be mistaken for dirt and shadow, and while the others cling to each other in their sleep, his eyes are fixed on the rancher.

Twilight’s breaths are sharp and strained, chest stuttering and stopping agonizingly often as the night continues on. Each time it stutters, Legend has to hold his hand above the rancher’s mouth and nose, waiting for warm air to caress his palm. Each time it comes late, panic blossoms inside of him, and Legend has to hold his own breath as he waits for it to eventually puff out again.

Time sleeps not far off, Wild’s curled in his arms where the two had dozed off after their nerve-wracking evening, and Sky is settled not far from them, Hyrule pressed to one side and Wind to the other, and Four lying across the lot of them while they sleep.

Warriors sits at the edge of the camp, hands working over the blades of his brothers, cleaning away blood and dirt and sweat with practiced movements as his gaze flickers from the forest to the fallen hero, concern in the royal blue gaze as it turns every so often to Legend.

He knows the captain wants to tell him to sleep, wants to tell him to rest, but seeing as the man himself doesn’t seem able to do it either, neither presses the other to sleep. Grim understanding flashes across the camp when their eyes chance to meet, and Warrior’s turns his attention back to Legend’s sword where it lays across his lap, hands working over it while its owner sits beside Twilight.

He doesn’t know when he’s taken Twilight’s hand in his own. Doesn’t know when his fingers start trailing over worn scars and calluses, taking comfort in the warmth that they find there as he holds it close to his chest, breaths deep and stuttering as his eyes flicker over Twilight’s pale face.

“You better be okay.” He whispers, voice breaking slightly as tear prick at his eyes. “I told the kid you will be, but it you make that a lie I’ll-” A sob breaks the silence, one that Warrior’s politely ignores as Legend drops his gaze, clinging to the still hand. “You’ve got to make it through this, Twi. Please! Please!”

Scarred and calloused fingers twitch softly, clasping Legend’s own weakly as another sob shatters the silence.