#and like the crowns and magic and shit are another can of worms

[azureblooet]

Ugh i want to do a Lamb headcanons post but I need like 10 pages of context lore about the cult and the lambs for it to make any sense.

[palidoozy-art]

Session Summary

it was our 69th session, nice. Though technically this summarizes the 67th and 68th session as well, just because that’s pretty much the entirety of the Twilight Lord’s excavation arc.

Note: post is extremely long but I at least throw pictures and the battlemaps I made/used in at places.

The party attempted to descend into the Twilight Lord’s lair, only to discover the only way to access was through traveling in a river of corpses. Having seen Goran disappear into it earlier, they took the plunge, fighting off two giant bone worms while within. Though disgusted at, y’know -- being pinned to corpses with bone shards, they successfully killed them and traveled through the grotesque pile.

Thankfully, the party had a friend on the other side! Goran helped pull them out of the pile. Though he said nothing, seemed he was thankful for the food they gave him earlier. As the party moved forward, he decided to lurk behind him and follow them the whole way. The party kept feeding him, after all!

The group fought the Collector first, the creature responsible for crafting all of the cadaver collectors the party has been running into throughout the entire campaign. After killing him, it was then that they realized he wasn’t undead or a construct -- he was a giant, a living creature, and the last of his kind. Here, Kelogul got a legendary weapon -- taking the creature’s former weapon, a giant fucking log (that deals strength mod * d8 damage).

(note: battle map made with assets from Inkarnate)

They headed in further, saw some spooky ominous shit in the ruins, and found what had happened to all the corpses the collectors were collecting. They were reanimated and... digging. They weren’t sure to what end. An ominous mural showed a giant “worm-like creature” destroying a world. Ellerian successfully managed to intuit that the creature was none other than an astral dreadnought. They fed Goran every opportunity (Kelogul kept giving him rum. Rahadin started making fun of Kelogul, telling him the real reason for giving Goran rum was to see how much the elf would drink before puking).

They came into a room with a bunch of faceless steel mannequins, and discovered the crown of the queen that had gone missing, as well as a few, uh. Suspicious bloodstains. Players connected the dots here. Into the next room, they encountered a room full of urns, as well as an ornate one set up in the middle with a bunch of cards. When Ellerian approached to try to draw one, it sprung to life and attacked as the Prophet.

(battle map made with assets from Inkarnate)

It was a pretty cool fight which I had to buy an actual tarot deck for (the fight mechanics involve its powers being increased depending on the draw), but it was fun, and it terrified the piss out of my players because the thing dealt 383 damage in one round. Mercifully, Ellerian was polymorphed into a dragon at the time. Kelogul missed a whole bunch, blink never worked for Ellerian (an ongoing trend in our campaign), and Yoli got the killshot with a bunch of scorching rays.

They took a rest in the tomb. Goran picked up the cards dropped by the being and taught the party a method of seeing the future -- not with magic, but with the mundane. The end result was the party learning a new skill, Prognostication (they can divine objects and try to see their future or their past as an epic skill). He also gave the deck of cards to Yoli, which wound up being yet another legendary item (5 charges, can use a bonus action to spend as many charges as you want. Each charge either deals 35 damage or heals 35 hp).

(Note: this has also resulted in me having to learn how the fuck tarot cards work, because Yoli now uses prognostication constantly with the deck lol).

They finally pressed on deeper, finding evidence of the Twilight Lord along the way. Blood trails, old ruins. They found a huge old tablet that was purposely damaged and destroyed, and managed to conclude that it was some kind of giant spell scroll. They couldn’t make sense of what it was. Pressing in deeper, they found another one... but this one was blank. Suggesting it had been used. Evidence of the corpses showed that they were former heroes and adventurers who had tried to stop something awful, and failed. The party came to the conclusion it was the Eclipse. Yoli found the corpse of the legendary lizardfolk hero, Ixtzal, and packed the body away to return to her people. The party continued to feed Goran. Kelogul gave him two bottles of rum to double-fist at one point.

(Side lore note: The Eclipse was considered a huge event in the world, where the sun went out for an entire year about 176 years ago and chaos ensued. It set the world back tremendously and is the reason a lot of the nations operate the way they do. I’m not really doing a good job encapsulating how big the Eclipse was in term of campaign events here, but the party finally got closure on it and it was exciting).

Finally, they reached the bottom, heading into a long, stretching hallway leading forward. The party tried to feed Goran... but he refused to eat, instead taking the rations and walking forward. He placed them by a painting of the Three Kings -- one in front of each of the other ones -- before disappearing into the darkness, and it was then that the party connected the dots and realized “aw, shit, this guy’s the final boss huh.”

They finally confronted him in front of one of the giant wall spell tablets, and it was then that the “final battle” started. “Goran” wound up actually being Serafim -- the Lord of Twilight Woods and the last king of the dusk elves. I started initiative and told them that they could either talk to him through RP, use a skill, attack him, or pass their turn. They spent every round trying to talk to him, lol. Nobody attacked and nobody passed. Some generalized notes:

- Yoli was the MVP of the “fight”, being the only one to talk him down successfully without provoking his self hatred every single turn.

- Rahadin existed pretty much just to piss him off throughout the “fight”. He quickly realized that the party was much better at solving... disputes than him and shut the fuck up.

- Kelogul was I think the one that inadvertently convinced him to kill himself every single turn, lmao. His last turn was even spent offering one last bottle of rum out to him so he could drink before he went.

- Ellerian pissed him off before he adapted and learned what worked and what didn’t.

It took 5 rounds, and each round I had a description of how the guy was doing so they could get a gauge on their actions. I went into it not knowing what the fuck they would do, and assuming that the default plan (guy uses the giant spell behind him, then boss battle starts) would go through. I had a final boss fight written and planned. Even had his true form token!

(battle map quickly drawn by me)

They actually almost ended the fight with him simply killing himself, but Yoli swooped in on literally the last round before he took action to crawl up to him, give him a hug, and offer him three of her “best rations.”

So that was how the fight ended. He dropped the staff and the party was able to speak to him further afterwards, asking him his motivations. When he revealed to them that the spell behind him was simply an extremely powerful wish, Ellerian lost his shit. He gifted Ellerian his spellbook with his notes (a legendary item that not only teaches Ellerian Wish and a number of other cool spells, but is also gonna operate basically identical to the Tome of Stilled Tongue. We use gritty realism, so the player is EXTREMELY excited about it, lol).

The group of them realized that since they pretty much had access to a free wish spell, they could make one right there... and with it, instead of empowering themselves, or reviving their dead friends...

... they chose to break the curse of hunger on the Lord of Twilight Woods.

It was definitely an ‘anime is real and friendship is magic’ ending lol, but all my players are extremely excited. They want to try to go find the goddess that trapped him in the woods (the Queen of Air and Darkness -- the three kings made a bargain with her to escape their former master) next. Unsure if this will be the lead in for the epic campaign or what. Next few sessions will probably be wrap-up and figuring out what they want to do.

Oh also because they released two of the kings (their spirits moved on when they wished to break the curse), said Queen of Air and Darkness is EXTREMELY pissed at them. It will be my in-game way of awarding them their first epic “boon” -- immortality! While technically a boon the entire last half of the campaign has been pretty much about how immortality sucks, lmao.

So we’ll see what happens. I’m gonna leave it up to my players if they want to time skip jump into the epic campaign or play their children for a bit of an intermission. :D

[marmosa]

oi, is it hot in here?

Fred x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

A/N: my best friend came over yesterday and showed me a snippet of one of her george fics and then immediately hyped me up to write this one. girls and gays i present the aquamenti spell, enjoy ;) (this is so out of pocket, could you tell i was going thru it). also if anyone wants more george content please let me know, i’m a fred girl through and through, but i have no shame in showing some love to george <3

***

“Fred, just because we’re allowed to legally use magic now, doesn’t mean we’re legally obliged to,” [y/n] mumbled, flat out glaring at him as he pouted at her from across the library table, trying once again to convince her to duel with him.

“Just because we’re not required to, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be tons of fun. Come on [y/n], you know just as well as I do that you’re dying to try out some new spells,” Fred pleaded, reaching across the table and pushing the book she was using to shield her face from his relentless puppy dog eyes down.

“Even so Weasley, you’re going to get yourself in a spot of trouble you’re not going to know how to get out of. Just because I play coy doesn’t mean I wouldn’t absolutely smoke your arse if we did duel,” she hummed surely, straightening her posture to emphasize her sudden breath of confidence.

“Win? I doubt that,” Fred shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a mischievous idea bubbling to the surface of his mind, “No, you’re not bold enough to win.”

“I- me? Not bold enough?” [y/n] sputtered, incredibly offended at his insinuation but still trying her best to stand her ground, “I know what you’re trying to do y’know and I know you’re also full of shit. You wouldn’t last a second against me.”  

Fred glanced over at her, a smartass look on his face, “I think I could last at least two seconds, maybe five, maybe six, maybe a million, but you’re too much of a stick in the mud to find out.”

“I’m not a stick in the mud, I’m just smart enough to not let myself get dragged into your chaos- as fun as it is sometimes,” [y/n] mumbled the last bit, trying not to inflate his ego anymore than he needed, despite feeling no shame in admitting that his antics were usually paired with an inescapable rush of adrenaline.

“Yeah, whatever you say sweetheart,” Fred rolled his eyes, missing the quick crack in [y/n]’s composure at the pet name that practically rolled off his tongue with ease, “just don’t come crying to me when you get bored one afternoon and need someone to duel.”

[y/n] furrowed her brows and felt her competitive need finally snap, “Listen here you dim-wit, if you want a duel so bad you’ll get a duel, but don't you come crying to me when I hand you your arse on a silver-lined platter.”

Fred sat up excitedly, tapping his fingers against the table, “See, there’s that competitive [y/n] I was hoping for. I appreciate the threat, but you might want to save that fire for the duel, you’re gonna need it.”

“You’re a twat, you know that?” [y/n] grumbled, crossing her arms and sinking back into her chair.

“Only for you,” Fred winked, a shit-eating grin plaster on his face, “see you at the dueling grounds.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” [y/n] waved him off, biting back a smile.

***

“Aha! So you showed up in the end,” Fred cheered, dashing over and scooping [y/n] up in his arms, swinging her from side to side as she hung on for dear life.

As soon as he set her down she glared up at him like he’d just forced her to ride the worlds most dangerous roller coaster, “just because I was reluctant, doesn’t mean I’m a downer. I’m always true to my word Freddie.”

“Ahh,” He hummed low, crossing his arms and shrugging, tapping his chin inquisitively, “I suppose so. But what about that one time when you promised me that we’d go up to the tower and then you bailed-,”

“I had a potions exam to study for and my brain felt like it was melting, don’t you dare turn one on me. Last time I checked you were the one who bailed on me when we planned to go rob Filch of his-,” [y/n] started but was cut off when Fred pressed one of his hands against her mouth, shushing her with the other.

“You don’t want anyone to hear do you? That could get us in an enormous amount of trOUBLE- EW!” Fred hacked and jumped backwards, wiping his hand furiously against his jeans, “you’re a sick, sick woman.”

[y/n] grinned triumphantly, wiggling her eyebrows at his disgusted expression, “don’t lie, you loved it. Now come on, we came to duel, didn’t we?”

“You’re really testing my patience, [y/l/n],” Fred chuckled lowly, “but you’re right, get into position so I can completely ruin you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” [y/n] hummed, winking at Fred as she shuffled into her spot, drawing her wand and bobbing it in her hand.

The duel began and the two made no waste of time jumping at each other, throwing charm after hex at one another, testing out every single spell in their arsenal (well the one’s that wouldn’t painfully injure or kill either of them anyway). It was electric, the wild passion for their craft buzzing excitedly behind their eyes, present in the way they danced around each other, avoiding spells and quickly returning them.

[y/n] felt a laugh bubble out of her chest when Fred disarmed her, dashing off to retrieve her tool, ducking as he fired another spell right over the top of her head. Fred couldn’t help but follow suit in laughter as she turned around and flung a disarming spell of her own, managing to hit him and send his wand flying farther away than he probably would’ve liked.

“Come on now, [y/n], you wouldn’t harm a totally helpless boy,” Fred pleaded teasingly, inching to the side while trying to maintain eye-contact with her, mostly for his own safety than showmanship.

“I told you when we started this Weasley, I wasn’t going to go easy on you,” [y/n] called out, jerking out her arm, “Aquamenti!”

Water sprung forth from her wand, shooting directly at Fred and knocking him clean to the floor, positively soaking him from head to toe. He sat up immediately, his mouth hanging open in shock, still processing what entirely had just happened.

“I won,” [y/n] muttered, cheer surging through her in unexpected waves, “I won!”

“Shut up!” Fred groaned from his spot on the floor, pushing himself up off the floor, the cold slowly but surely seeping into his bones, “I don’t wanna hear it.”

[y/n] bit back a smug grin, crossing her arms across her chest and tipping her head back as if she had just won a crown far too heavy for her head, “Sorry, what was that about me losing?”

Fred glared back at her, his narrowed eyes nearly on the brink of being completely shut, “Shut. Up,” he repeated, enunciating his pauses.

“Aww, is someone sad with the outcome,” [y/n] cooed, spinning around to face him as soon as she had retrieved his wand, her triumphant spirit being shoved aside as a more uncomfortable emotion took hold.

“Shut up and hand me my wand ya git,” Fred mumbled, snatching his wand back from her, “we get it, you won.”

[y/n] couldn’t help the heat that was crawling up her neck, suddenly hyperaware of the situation she was currently in. Why’d she chose that spell? Why’d she chose that spell in this random room, away from others, when he was wearing a crisp white dress shirt that was now clinging to him like a second skin- god she could see so much.

Fred glanced over at her with creased brows, confused at the sudden spot of silence, wondering what had gotten little miss triumphant to go so quiet. When he saw her shuffling through her book bag, an amused little smile wormed its way onto his face- oh he was going to have fun with this.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden, sweetheart?” Fred drawled, biting back a grin at the way she tensed her shoulders.

“No particular reason, just felt bad about rubbing in my victory s’all,” [y/n] replied, still shuffling through her bag for a, uh, pack of gum she could have sworn she had had earlier.

“You? Feel bad? About a dueling victory against me? Sounds like a lot of rubbish to me,” He shook his head, grabbing her shoulder and tugging her to her feet, “There’s something else.”

[y/n]’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, straining to avoid glancing down at his toned chest, “There is absolutely nothing else. Scout’s honor.”

Fred sported a smug grin as he leaned down to be eye level with her, his eyes raking over her face, noting her balled up fists shaking at her sides and her abnormally wide eyes, “Are you sure, you look awfully tense.”  

“I’m not tense,” she waved him off, feeling near the verge of combustion trying to control herself. It didn’t particularly help that he was staring at her like that while her mind raced through the hundreds of ways this interaction could go, her heart hammering in her chest at the suggestiveness of her thoughts.

“Come on, you can tell me, I won’t say anything out of line,” he bargained, trying his best to coax her out of whatever dumb act she was playing at.

“Again, I am completely fine,” she reassured him, rocking on the balls of her feet, trying to subtly put some space between them.

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” Fred lilted, titling his head to the side slightly, “what, is something about me bothering you?”

[y/n] felt her stomach drop, so he did know, of course he knew, she wasn’t particularly inconspicuous about her dilemma, but she refused to let up now, “There is nothing about you that’s bothering me, Freddie.”

“Oh, so what I’m hearing is that you like what you see?” he teased, darting his tongue out to wet his lips.

“I-wait, now hold a minute-,” she began only to lose her voice as he backed her into one of the many pillars in that room, her palms pressing flat against the cool stone.

“See, I still don’t quite believe you,” he whispered, pressing his forearm over her head, placing the other on his hip as the water he’d been drenched in had practically sealed his pockets shut.

“And why not?” [y/n] struggled to maintain her composure, her resolve diminishing by the second.

“Because someone who’d didn’t like the view wouldn’t be staring at it so plainly,” He concluded, shamelessly eyeing her up and down.

[y/n] didn’t know if she wanted to curl up into a ball and die or yank him down by his collar and let him absolutely ravish her then and there, her mind was too clouded to pick one. Luckily, Fred seemed to be significantly more level-headed than she currently, which meant he made no waste of time taking the reigns of the situation.

“So, what if I did agree with you what then,” [y/n] muttered, looking down at her shoes, trying her best to avoid his piercing gaze.

“I’d say that you’re in luck because,” he placed his hand under her chin and tipped it back upwards, forcing her to look at him, “I’m enjoying my view just as much.”

“Well then, what’re you gonna do about it?” she quipped, shamelessly darting her eyes between his eyes and lips.

“I’d say kiss you, but only if you want it,” he replied, moving his hand up to cup her cheek.

“I do. I do want it, please Fred,” she pleaded, not even caring if she sounded desperate anymore, throwing her pride to the wind.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Fred leaned down and captured her lips in a heated kiss, his hand finding its way to the small of her back, pressing her off the pillar and into him. It quickly became something desperate, longing, all their pent up tension finally spilling out of their overfilled cup. [y/n] felt up his chest, smiling to herself as she concluded that it did feel as nice as it looked.

He made quick work of hoisting her up, linking his arms under her thighs and pressing her back against the wall, relishing in finally being able to touch her the way he so desperately wanted to for all those years. She did the same, tangling her fingers into the wet hairs at the nape of his neck, basking in the warmth coming from him despite his soaking wet clothing.

“Do you want to stop?” Fred asked softly, pressing a few soft kisses to her jaw and neck, “we don’t have to go any further.”

“As lovely as continuing sounds,” she breathed, smoothing his hair out of his face, “I don’t think we’re geared for that right now. And you need to get changed of those clothes before you catch a cold.”

“Good lord you sound like my mother,” Fred groaned, knocking his forehead on her shoulder.

“Did you really just bring up your mother right now,” [y/n] asked incredulously, wiggling her way out of his grip and back onto her own two feet, “that’s weird man.”

“I wouldn’t have if you didn’t bring up my need of a change of clothes!” Fred exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air to emphasize his point, “Besides, who’s fault is that?”

“Someone stupid probably,” [y/n] shrugged, picking up her robes and tossing them square at him, “wear those so you don’t get colder, if someone asks, you took a dip in the lake.”

“That’s even more unbelievable than just telling someone straight up what we were doing,” Fred replied, flat out, pulling on the robes that we’re obviously too short for him.

“Well too bad, loser of the duel has to follow the winner’s rules,” [y/n] shrugged, offering him a smug smile.

“Can we go back to a couple minutes ago when I’d managed to shut you up?” Fred quipped, crossing his arms as he pouted at her.

“Nope, no can do, you kissed me Weasley which means I have nothing more to be embarrassed about,” [y/n] sang, taking his hands and swinging them along with hers.

“Well I take it back!”

“Please no,” she frowned, sinking her shoulders.

Fred sighed and pulled her into a hug, his words muffled against her hair as he mumbled softly, “I could never say no to that face.”  

[codedredalert]

thoughtful wedding gifts that will leave him speechless [One Piece, fantasy au] – Vinsmoke siblings

Whumptober 2021 No. 3 - taunting | insults | Who did this to you?

1195 words, lawsan arranged marriage fantasy au

tags/warnings: sibling violence, arranged marriage

( On Ao3 )

===/\===

  to marry a prince, the bargain was made  

  and the maiden's voice taken in trade  

      His brothers pile into the bridal carriage, shit-eating grins on their identical faces, and Sanji is instantly on edge.

"Excited for your big day?" Ichiji asks.

"Bet you never thought you'd be useful to the family, huh?" Yonji laughs, clapping Sanji on the shoulder.

"You're getting their crown prince, y'know," Niji reminds him, as if Sanji could forget. "Not a bad deal for an artificial mage who can't do magic. Lucky for you he likes worthless blondes."

The three of them laugh like that was some sort of clever joke. Sanji sighs.

"Old news," he says, willing them to leave. Of course, no such luck.

"Actually, there's a new twist." Niji leans forward. "Apparently, he likes blondes but it's a see and not hear kind of deal. And  e haven't gotten you a wedding gift yet."

"You can get out and stay far, far away," Sanji suggested with just the slightest touch of false cheer. "That'd make a great gift."

They laugh at his joke, which is never a good sign.

"How d'you feel about jewellery, bro?" Yonji asks. "Jewellery that goes 'kaboom'."

Grins stretch eerily wide and suddenly Yonji's hand holding his shoulder is pinning him to the high back of the seat and Niji has his other shoulder, and one knee across Sanji's lap to stop him from kicking. They grab his hands and pin them against the seat back. On the seat opposite, Ichiji sits back and grins.

"Get off me!" Sanji shouts, struggling, but they're stronger, they've always been stronger and they're actually mages. "The hell are you doing!?"

Green sparks to life around both his wrists, a ring of not-quite formed power, and then deep lightning blue joins it. Sanji tries to yank his hands away, but they have a good lock on him. He twists and headbutts Yonji and they both hiss. Yonji flinches and his shoulder shoves into Niji, whose head knocks into the wall where the driver sits outside. The magic around Sanji's wrists flickers unsteadily.

"What's going on in there?" the driver's voice calls.

"Keep driving!" Ichiji orders, a touch of power behind his words. The driver hesitates as he places the voice of one of his princes, even as Yonji curses and Niji backhands Sanji across the face.

"Yes, your highness," the driver says.

Sanji's right leg is free. He knees Yonji in the sternum, and then snaps it up at the knee for a high kick to catch Niji in the back of the head, sending him crashing into the driver's partition again. Niji's elbow lands on the tender part where Sanji's neck, ear and jaw meet, sending Sanji down onto the seat with a strange ringing in his head. He flails as a blow comes down on his eye, and nose, and then there's an outraged noise from Ichiji.

"You kicked me," he says, furious. He slams a boot down on Sanji's shin, and Sanji feels the bone crack. His knee comes up to catch under Sanji's jaw, where Niji's hand in his hair holds it in place.

"Get in here, bro," Yonji says. He has Sanji's arm in a joint lock now, one where he could snap Sanji's elbow the wrong way. He pulls and something wrenches, bruises, but doesn't quite break. "C'mon."

Ichiji's hand wraps around Sanji's forearm, and the other hand over his mouth and nose.

The magic flickers into shape around Sanji's wrists again. Green, then blue, and now neon red. They swirl into one, and then metal lays heavy and strangely alive against Sanji's skin.

"Listen, worm," Ichiji hisses. "One sound out of you, and these bracelets explode with enough force to take out this whole procession. Any non-augmented human will be blown to bits."

Sanji's eyes widen, then narrow, calling Ichiji's bluff. His brothers wouldn't kill him. They'd have nothing to deliver when the procession reached Dressrosa. Ichiji sees it.

"You count as augmented, dumbass," he says. "But it's still enough force to blow your hands clean off. You can kiss your beloved servant's work hobbies goodbye. Got it? Ah, no, don't answer, just nod."

Sanji swallows and nods. Ichiji pulls away and the other two follow his lead, leaving Sanji sprawled half on the seat and half on the floor. They sit to admire their work and Sanji glares at them, but doesn't move. At this point, he knows it'll be over faster if they gloat and leave.

"Hey," Yonji says after a moment as he and Niji get their breath back. "Maybe we should add a failsafe, for screaming and shit. For when he's getting—" he leers and makes an obscene hand gesture.

Sanji's face burns against the seat cushion and his brothers laugh but then pause to think about this.

After a moment, Ichiji half-stands, leaning over Sanji to avoid hitting his head against the roof.

"Hm," Ichiji hums, looking down at him through his dark glasses. He taps his finger on his arm once, twice in thought. Sanji doesn't dare to breathe too loud in case that sets off the bracelets.

"Nah," he says. "Too much work."

Yonji and Niji snicker.

"Yeah, true."

"Good point. You hear that, Sanji?" A blue-gloved hand pats his cheek in a mockery of affection. "Just don't scream like a little bitch and you'll be fine."

They hop out of the carriage, laughing before taking off, the sygaldry in their armour lighting up as it activated. With a step each of them vanished off to terrorise the rural Dressrosan countryside, taking a mile with every step. Sanji lays across the seat and floor, breathing slowly. The bracelets are simple silvery bands that catch too much light and have an almost pearlescent quality to them. There is no opening or join or clasp on them, no point of weakness or removal.

A few times, Sanji tries to pull himself up, but with the jolting of the carriage, and the broken shin, it's all he can do to stay quiet without moving too much. He waits for his accelerated healing to take care of his new injuries, and with nothing to do except stare at the inside of the roof, 'accelerated' felt slower than ever.

At some rest stop or another, the procession halts, and the door opens.

His sister's voice gasps.

"Sanji, who did this to you?"

Sanji doesn't answer, of course. He shakes his head slightly as she helps him back up on the seat and checks his injuries, a frown across her pretty pink-painted lips.

Her eyes catch the new bracelets, and the iridescent sheen of the tandem magic that real mages struggle so much with and the Germa princes are famed and feared for. It doesn't take a Germa spymaster to figure out what must have happened.

"Oh, Sanji," Reiju sighed, her eyes shining with almost-pity for him, for the closest thing that could pass for pity in the Germa royals.

But she is the Germa princess, and spymaster, and diplomat. She will not let him go as she once did, so long ago, and he does not ( cannot ) ask.

===/END\===

( On Ao3 ) ( patreon ) ( kofi ) ( paypal )

[vermillionflames]

hi... idk what this is hehe :)

nozel x oc

word count: 2k+

warnings: language, mention of blood and self-stabbing (non violent)

PROLOGUE

“There, there, Your Highness,” the guard said as he wiped away the princesses tears, “It must’ve been so scary down there. I’m sorry you had to go all alone this time. If I had permission or the strength to go with you I would. But you’re alright now. I’ll be standing guard outside your door all night if you need me.” 

The guard had a smile so small you would only see it if you knew to look for it. The princess didn’t need to see the smile to know he meant what he said. Out of all the soldiers in the Kingdom hers were the most loyal. 

“Please don’t tell my father I was crying… or the King!”

“I would never, it will be our little secret, alright, Princess Seraphina,” he stuck out it pink to show he meant his promise.

“Thank you,” the young girl crawled back under her blankets as her guard headed towards the door, “Goodnight, Dante.”

REAL TIME I GUESS

You know when you tell your husband for days to not do something because there will be a negative outcome, but he does it anyway? And what you told him would happen, does? And yet he still acts surprised and upset? Sometimes takes his anger out on you via a cold shoulder and glare? No admittance that you were right? That’s what it’s like to be married to the Captain of the Silver Eagles. 

I love Nozel dearly but he is more annoying than my father-in-law and the ladies of the court asking about babies. Actually, now that I think about it, the whole Silva family had something about them… 

“Vice Captain? Are you alright?”

That’s one way to snap me out of a scheme

“Oh, Nils, I’m sorry. A thought crossed my mind and I got lost in it… What were you saying?” Will probably get scolded for that later.

“I was just telling you how I’d improve myself before my next mission with what I learned on the previous one… Do you think Captain will be pleased with my plan?” 

Royalty always wants to improve themselves without much training, but I can’t say that to him without it causing a rile so I just smile at him.

“I think Nozel will be very pleased. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I do have a lot of work to get to,” I gesture to some papers on my desk. 

He nods and takes his leave. I sigh and turn my chair to face the window. Noelle should have gotten her grimoire by now, surely. I do not want to do this paperwork or deal with the hell my in laws will unleash on their baby sister, but if anyone had a chance of redirecting their attention to another failure it was me and my womb. 

I play with the ring on my left hand. It was his mothers, in fact Nozel had gifted me with more jewelry than I could ever wear that had come from Lady Acier’s collection. Sometimes I wondered if he got it all or first dibs and took it all because he was the oldest. Perhaps her collection had just been so expansive I could have a shit load and the other kids could do. The girls didn’t ever bat a lash when I wore her crowns and necklaces. 

There’s a firm knock on my door, they don’t pause before opening it. Husbands, ya know? I looked over my shoulder to see he’s entered my office, not bothering to shut the door (to avoid scandal though I’ve never understood how married people can be scandalous with each other? The policies of this country were difficult to understand). 

“Yes,” I ask, raising my brow at him.

“Noelle has received her grimoire,” his face was bleak.

“And?”

“And she still cannot control her magic. She’s still a shame to House Silva.”

The fluctuation in his mana told me all I needed to know.

“Nozel-”

“Don’t try to coddle me, Seraphina. You don’t understand what this means for my family and our reputation.”

I wonder in our 14 years of marriage if he’s ever learned that I can read his mind and emotions. He kept on the mean big brother act and never shut it off. However, I like to take opportunities to argue when I see them. I turn my whole body to face him and cross my arms.

“Like how we don’t have an heir?”

“Don’t start this right now,” his voice was low and serious, “Nebra, Solid, and I will be having dinner with our father and grandparents tonight.”

“Then I’ll join you,” I shot up out of my chair, “It would look bad if I stayed here.”

His stare was cold. I started to prepare an argument in my head.

“Fine. But wear something nice,” he moved his attention to the deep cut of my dress, “Maybe we should get your robes adjusted.”

“Oh darling, I think that’s the most attention you’ve given my breasts in our whole marriage.” I bit my tongue, a little too late for that, Sera. Oops. 

“Tsh,” Nozel turned and headed for the door, “You should probably have the maids at the castle help you get ready… We both know you won’t be able to braid your own hair.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The door closed and I was alone again. The mother fucker. He was right, but that mother fucker. If he knew what kind of foul language I had stored in my head for him… Maybe tonight will be the night all chaos explodes. Dinner and a show with me as the main actress. 

I started to make a mental list of things to bring up during our argument as I made a spacial magic gate to my quarters at the Silva Castle. 

----

I opted for an emerald gown with silver jewelry for tonight. Rule number one of House Silva: all the jewelry is silver. If you happen to have gold it was either a gift from House Vermillion or House Kira and you only ever wore it to fit a dress code House Vermillion made for a ball. Same thing for red and blue. Do not wear red or blue unless you want to piss off your husband, which I’ll admit is fun but he threw the poor dress into the fireplace the next morning. We don’t even share a room, he had to wake up early, come in, and find it to do that. 

Rule number two: be very, very good at keeping your thoughts to yourself. Especially when it comes to Noelle, Acier, and your lack of offspring. 

“Seraphina, perhaps you decided to join us because you and Nozel have some good news to share,”  if Nebra was anything it was blunt and to the point. 

I gave Nozel the side eye.

“No,” He said while lifting his wine to his lips, “Just didn’t want to bother socializing with the rest of the squad tonight.”

I gave her a meek smile.

“Well, Seraphina, I have something to show you, Solid rose from his seat and walked over to Noelle who was staring at her food with tears in her eyes. He pulled her grimoire out from her side while she winced. “Look at how thin this is. You’re more a Silva than Noelle could ever be.”

I dropped my shoulders and focused on my plate in front of me.

“I guess...” 

----

If I got anything from that dinner it’s that I needed to find a way to sneak Noelle out of the castle and get her away; at least for a day. I was sat at my vanity removing all the tiny gems the servant had insisted on putting in my hair. If I couldn’t stand up to her to my in-laws the least I could do was get her away. God how many gems were there? I started at the bell to call a maid… I really hate doing this but if there’s one thing I cannot do it is my hair. 

After a few moments a young girl came to my room and went right to work undoing the braids and taking out the gems. I watched her in the mirror, she never took her eyes off my head.

“So, what’s the hot gossip from the servants quarters?”

She paused.

“I’m sure nothing would be of interest to you ma’am.”

I purse my lips. 

“If I say you can keep all the gems in my hair?”

“That wouldn’t be necessary, the masters pay us kindly.”

“Oh… well surely you heard something that would be of interest to me?”

“Ma’am, I know you don’t stay here often, but typically you wouldn’t speak to me so casually…”

“Who cares about that? It’s late. It’s just you and me here. Everyone else is probably settled into bed,” No budge. Oh. “Lord Nozel won’t be visiting my chambers tonight. It’s alright.”

“Surely the Captain visits his wife every night… You two are in love and you’re so beautiful.”

Great. Not the can of worms I wanted to open. And now I gave her shit to say about me!

“He stays in his room when I am bleeding.” And now I have to stab myself or else she’ll know I lied. Dammit. 

“Oh, the other servant didn’t mention you were… Would you like me to get you some warm towels?”

“No, what I would like is some information that only someone in your position would know.”

“Really, ma’am. There’s nothing happening these days.”

“Please?”

“Um… well I have a friend that works for House Vermillion and she said they’ve been preparing Lady Mereoleona’s room for her return. They expect her to arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

Oh god.

“And Lord and Lady Vermillion had to have meat brought in from the town! The chefs don’t even know how to cook meat!”

“Surely they can just give it to the girl and let her cook it herself…”

“You’re funny, Lady Seraphina.”

“Well, ya know, someone in the family has to be! Thank you for your help. You’re dismissed, go off to bed now.”

The girl bowed and left.

And she had the right fucking idea.

I need to leave too. Mereoleona? No thank you. God only knows what kind of torment she has planned for me. Actually, probably not God. Probably no higher being.

I need to hide somewhere and take Noelle with me. I throw off my dressing gown and scramble to put on clothes, throwing random shit I think I’ll want in a bag. Real manic style. Now if there’s one thing I am not it is a bad liar. I throw the blankets off my bed and lay as if I’m going to sleep. Crossing my leg so it sorta comes to wear my center lays and take out a knife and cut my leg… which heals pretty quickly given my abilities. I’m almost certain it’s not enough to be convincing but I am far more concerned in avoiding the Vermillion to care. 

Next stop, Noelle’s room. I knock on the door. No answer so I help myself. She’s asleep, dry tears around her eyes. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, wake up. Noelle.”

She gasps and her eyes fly open, instantly putting her arms in defense. I take a step back… They didn’t wake her up to hurt her… did they?

“Pack a bag, we’re going into hiding.”

“What?”

“Lady Mereoleona is coming back for her yearly visit. I’m taking you and we’re gonna go hide at the beach castle.” Yeah, I married into a two castle family. Had its perks.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my baby sister by marriage and I think we both could use a little vacation. Don’t you agree?”

“Really? But what about Nozel?”

“I’ll deal with him if he notices. Chances are no one will know. So get up, grab your stuff, and let's go.”

She got out of bed quick. I sat at her vanity while she gathered some things. 

“Also, no servants.”

“No servants?!” She turned me so quick she almost snapped her neck.

“You’ll live. This is about survival. Now,” I stand to make a portal to the beach castle, “let’s go.”

[amandlas]

almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)

tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)

entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.

[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]

*

gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?

vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.

jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.

*

two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.

*

she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.

it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.

jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.

but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.

perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.

survival feels wet against her cheek.

*

he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.

“will i still be king someday?”

as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”

“are you sure?”

she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”

oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”

of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”

her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”

if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.

oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.

“i suppose.”

he remembers none of the stance the next evening.

*

“no word from dad. taryn either.”

jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.

vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”

jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”

her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”

jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.

*

she hates to think of the name.

what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.

her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.

she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.

falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.

*

“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.

they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.

she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.

the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.

heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”

from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”

her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.

jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”

“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”

jude stiffens. “really.”

they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.

heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”

ah. because. she. has. magic.

a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.

*

unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.

mortal.

the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.

she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.

*

it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.

*

her exile hits the half year.

*

bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.

a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.

she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.

oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.

when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.

*

she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.

jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.

“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.

waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”

the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.

sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.

they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.

in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.

*

oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.

she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.

when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.

she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.

music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.

an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.

the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.

*

by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.

i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.

she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.

they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.

he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.

he

doesn’t

want

you.

move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.

*

the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.

“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.

jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?

“help…” she hears.

jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.

human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.

“more,” the girl begs.

like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”

weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”

“what’s your name?”

the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”

lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.

jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.

“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”

she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”

qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”

“is pop meant to be lolli?”

“her full name’s lollipop.”

“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”

qylin whistles.  “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.

“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”

wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.

the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.

*

in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”

months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”

vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.

*

if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.

*

ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.

jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.

the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.

*

saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.

*

oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.

it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.

*

qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.

*

when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.

that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.

“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.

*

lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.

the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.

it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.

she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.

it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that’s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.

she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.

in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.

as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”

not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.

she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”

after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.

without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.

she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.

“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”

a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.

next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.

does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.

his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.

jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.

after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.

why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.

saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.

*

a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.

“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.

the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.

she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.

he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.

if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.

jude’s understanding is little.

something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.

no test could prepare her for this sight.

and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.

in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.

her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.

this was a nightmare.

cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.

she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.

her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.

jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.

*

jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.

“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.

“what was her name?” they asked.

jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”

*

three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.

*

a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.

“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”

jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.

she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.

the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”

the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”

fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”

lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.

the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”

jude understands in a minute.

taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.

summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”

that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.

*

when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.

*

she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.

here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.

how could she have hated such a place?

*

“counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.

jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.

the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.

if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.

*

“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.

jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.

five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.

another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.

bam.

first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.

oh.

when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.

*

in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.

she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.

she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.

she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.

to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.

she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.

*

she should’ve known when she saw the river.

in water all began, and in water it ends.

there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.

“huh,” she whispers.

the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.

she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.

jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.

*

in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.

“jude.”

this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.

“jude!”

or?...

her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.

she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.

it’s him.

jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.

there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.

she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.

“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.

is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.

it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.

he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.

“please,” he whispers.

she hasn’t said his name in years.

“cardan.”

his eyes fall closed.

her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.

cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”

the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:

“almost.”

the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.

if only this weren’t the last time.

“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.

cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.

jude walks into the water.

a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.

“what are you doing?” he demands.

jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.

“stop!” she hears.

the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.

a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.

air. sweet air in her lungs.

jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.

cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.

“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”

jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”

“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”

she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”

cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.

maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.

as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.

“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”

her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”

slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”

love

four letters.

years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.

his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.

“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”

thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.

“hold,” she says weakly.

hold love. he loves me.

impossible. and true.

“huh.”

*

“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.

he does.

he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.

jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.

they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.

jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.

“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.

gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”

his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.

jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”

through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.

“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”

they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

----------------

Title: Gävlebocken

Deputy Mattie Covington/Sharky Boshaw- Mattie and Sharky reunite after a failed trip to burn the Gavle Goat

@ma-sulevin

Hi Kate! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever you are and however you're celebrating! Hope the festive season is full of joy and magic! I had a fabulous time writing Mattie and Sharky together and I hope you enjoy reading it! xxxx

----------

“All I’m saying, shorty, is never leave a man behind. Marilyn Manson and Carly Rae Jepson wanted to go torch some Gävlebocken butt too, y’know? And who was I to deny them their Bejeebus given right as Incendiary-Americans?”

Mattie cuddled the red-cheeked pyromaniac closer into her chest as she eased his sorrows on the couch. He hadn’t stopped blushing since she’d collected him from Missoula International Airport, where he’d been marched from the building between the firm grip of two unforgiving, no doubt underpaid TSA officers, cuffed at the wrist and short two of his beloved (and musically christened) flamethrowers.

“... you know, they probably sell flamethrowers in Sweden. You could have got one when you got there. Or matches. Shit, there’s plenty of sticks you could have rubbed together too.” She mused, trying to make light of the situation.

Sharky Boshaw was having none of it.

“Nuh-uh, no-can-do. Had to be them, babe.”

“Only the best for the holy grail of goat effigies, I guess?”

He nodded and crushed his face into her.

She couldn’t tell if the residual ruby tinge on his face was from the trauma of his ordeal (though he was hardly a stranger to arrest), from the abundance of alcohol still in his system, or from where the ravenous teeth of a cold winter beast had nibbled at him. December had fallen, and the snow was up to their knees. The smell of evergreen firs and smoky chimneys and roasting meat and fresh gingerbread permeated across the county. Even the sickly scent of Bliss had subsided, the cold-sensitive Georgia peaches known locally as the Seeds having retreated indoors for the season.

Christmas was coming.

Boshaw Manor’s festive decorations were tacky and yet, made with love. The Christmas tree was a little scorched on the edges, and adorned with homemade ornaments that were just beer tops looped onto string. They twinkled rainbow in the glow from the string lights, and tinkled as they clinked against each other. Paper chains and worn tinsel in emerald and silver shades hung from every available surface, and though he had no fireplace, he’d dragged a metal bin into the centre of the living room so they could roast chestnuts and make smores through the long winter nights.

However, Sharky’s favourite holiday accessory was a slightly dusty Santa figurine. He had, at some point, made the toymaker his own little flamethrower from aluminium foil, and the rotund, bushy bearded fellow still clung to it with his moth-eaten mittens, ready to chargrill Rudolph. But truly the highlight of Santa’s unusual skillset, the crown jewel in his sleigh full of secret talents, was the voice recording feature.

From the depths of Santa’s cookie filled belly, Sharky’s voice echoed:

“Burn baby burn… CHRISTMAS INFERNO”

And now, the jolly figure danced laboriously by the door, Boomer resting beside him, snoring along to the increasingly demonic rasp (Mattie made a mental note to replace the batteries).

Of course, this year, Mattie had put her own little touches on the place.

When he’d first taken her in, Earl had given her a little archangel statue, with beautiful, expansive wings, and a majestic flaming blade in it’s right hand, and her name engraved upon it. ‘Matilda means mighty in battle’ he’d explained, pulling her into a hug to assure her of just how strong she was. And last year, Nancy had knitted her a little yellow star, gold flecked through it, to sit atop the tree, and now it sat pride of place, shimmering like the true holy light.

It was slightly overwhelming, to see her things, however few, amongst Sharky’s.

To know that now, she and Sharky could make Christmas memories together.

That was the best gift of all.

And normally, snuggled together on a winter’s night like this, she’d be teasing him, slipping her chilled hands down the back of his shirt, or tickling his neck which made him squirm and giggle the most, or even sticking an icy naked foot into his face when he wasn’t paying attention. Or she’d be letting her hands wander into his pants, and they’d be making love and basking in each other’s glow until the sun came up.

But the sheer misery welling in his eyes, Christmas dreams obliterated and Hall of Flame pedestals empty, like a baby bird beak without a worm to sate it’s hunger, sent a pang of guilt ricocheting through every inch of her. One that made her stomach squirm and her lip quiver. He was her family, and though her dad back in Challis hadn’t exactly been the model of perfect, or even the model of good, she knew with all the certainty in her heart that families weren’t supposed to look so despairing at Christmas.

“What were you thinking, Shark?”

“I, uh… I wanted to surprise you.”

“And you thought running off to Europe to go burn down a giant goat was the best way to do that? I’d have taken socks instead, you know. Or a John Seed's head on a spike.”

She moved to hold his hand, fingers intertwining comfortingly, and he sniffed loudly in appreciation. Mattie felt so complete when her hand was nestled in his- who needed gloves to when you had a hand to hold?

"Just because Hurk nearly got Wicker-manned out in Europe, doesn't mean you have to."

He mumbled in reply, sheepishly resigned to his deeper urges- "I'm a Khaleesi. I go where the flame takes me."

She chuckled softly and teased:

“I know, babe. I know. Who do you think is the one who prints the posters? The whole station is more like a groupie's bedroom."

Mattie cursed the day she’d so catastrophically put her foot in it. A late night drinking and feasting up in the Whitetails, near Fort Drubman, out under the stars and the bleak winter moonlight. A slew of cultist corpses were ragdolled along the path behind them, definitely not having a Merry Christmas, and a skinned Judge or two had fallen prey to Jess’s hungry trapper knife. The pelts would make a fine coat for next year’s snowfall and the burgundy branding of Jacob’s chosen mutts was simply an added trophy for Mattie’s slightly feral friend.

There they were. Mattie, Sharky, Hurk, Jess, and Staci (who'd called in sick from his night shift), with Boomer and Cheeseburger at their heels.

Munching on fish from the iced over rivers.

Getting drunk out of their minds and trying to forget all the shit that the past months had wrought.

The topic of conversation had turned to (what else) fire. They’d just proudly set alight to the old lumber mill, and watched the Peggies scatter like roaches from the scene. Merry on Whistling Beaver beer, Mattie had hiccoughed and giggled after her umpteenth bottle, snuggled under Sharky's arm, and announced loudly:

“Did you guys know there’s a huge ass wicker goat in Sweden? They put it up for Christmas every year and it keeps getting toasted.”

Well, it’s not like she’d expected him to take off a week later towards the airport… after he’d downed probably somewhere near a keg's worth of homemade eggnog… all rum, barely an egg or a nog in sight.

But Charlemagne Victor Boshaw’s eyes had illuminated with possibility, and so had the eyes of the airport security officers at the sizable lethal and flammable weapons he’d packed into his luggage. Having the fuzz for a girlfriend, who could come flaunting an arrest warrant and claim jurisdiction over the prisoner was an absolute saving grace, it turned out. The TSA had handed him over with very little resistance.

And now, here they were, back home in the depths of the county, almost definitely up a couple of places on the ‘no fly’ terror watchlist.

Sharky sat up suddenly and rubbed at his slightly runny nose, a sudden determination taking root in his chest. Spring coming early as a flower bloomed there, petals of fury and vengeance and abject loyalty to his cause.

"We gotta get Carly and Marilyn back. We gotta Ocean’s Eight, Sandra Bullock the airport, po-po. You and me, Hurk, sure we can get Nick and Kim on the crew too, what are we up to, five, Boshaw’s five, Sharky’s five-?“

Mattie nuzzled her face into the top of his head. She was a hell of a lot shorter than him, but he’d sunk into the couch so deeply that she could now smell the scent of his Old Spice shampoo and see the bald patch where he'd thought wearing a crown made of sparklers at Thanksgiving fireworks was a good idea.

“Yeah, I’m sure a woman heavily into her third trimester is gonna really be up for a heist-“

“Kim? Fuck yeah, she can kick butt with a bump, her centre of gravity’s probably on kung fu master levels here. Ooooh, maybe the baby’ll come early and kick some airport ass too.”

“I think it’ll be more like she’ll kick your butt for not inviting me along to go torch the goat."

It was crazy, knowing that next Christmas, there would be a Baby Rye for Santa to visit. And that maybe, in the Christmases to come, there'd be a brood of Baby Boshaws too, ready to tear the tree down and hurl food at each other, giddy in their festive hysteria. She thought about sharing such a fanciful idea with him, and went to murmur a few sweet suggestions in his ruddy ear. Maybe they could make some new dreams tonight...

Sharky wasn’t listening though.

“Maybe we go Die Hard 2 instead… be in keeping with the ol’ time of year?”

“All the guys who break into the airport die in that movie, Shark.”

She sighed and stroked his cheek.

"I think, maybe, as much as it sucks, we just have to let this one go."

He went to open his mouth to protest or beg or maybe come out with another heist movie to take inspiration from, but the words seemed to fizzle away on the end of his tongue. He knew it was futile. She was right. His visions of making the headlines in every Swedish tabloid evaporated, his name destined not to be heralded by enthusiasts of the Gävlebocken legacy. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to want to disappear into his worn green sweatshirt, like a turtle burrowing back into its shell.

"Hey, y'know, who wants to go smoke the goat anyway, much better things to burn here. Seeds and shit."

He settled into moody, reflective, uncharacteristic silence and Mattie knew not to push the subject any further. And while searching her thoughts for a way to soothe his wounds and bring the hope and joy of the festive season back into his heart, she casually leaned over to the table and picked up his abandoned plane ticket, also slightly singed like everything else the man owned (what had happened this time, Mattie couldn’t even begin to guess). 

Her stomach dropped.

The rollercoaster was taking an unexpected plunge deeper into irony.

There it was, printed neatly under DESTINATION.

A final foil for the Sharknado that had sought to wreak havoc across the fjords of Scandinavia.

“Shark, babe…”

“Yeah?”

“The big ass goat is in Sweden, right? You know, next to Norway?”

“Home of the dancing queen an' the smorgasbord. Oooh, and the chef.” He proceeded to spit out a garbled string of vowels in poor imitation of the Swedish language.

Mattie sighed and for a moment, debated whether to just keep her mouth shut. To let his Christmas dreams, however shattered, maintain some form of dignity. But laughter pulled at the corners of her mouth, from the singsong Muppetry in her ear and the ridiculous error before her eyes and she just knew it would make him laugh too;

“... Shark, this ticket is for Switzerland.”

He gave her a little confused frown and she wrapped her arms around his neck, to press her forehead, and then her lips softly to his.

“God, I love you so much.”

He returned her kiss, sharing her warmth and the sweet taste of hot cocoa and a sprig of mint and melted marshmallow, running his hands through her wind-swept hair. They lost themselves in each other, forgetting the snow falling fast outside, and the bodies across the county buried deep amongst the icy grass, and the slowly fading tire tracks from their long journey home.

And wrapped in the comforting embrace of her best friend, Mattie’s imagination shone. 

A flame taking to the tinder, spreading until it burned so strongly, it could never be extinguished.

---------- 

"My extremities are getting real cold, chica, an' I'm too young to lose my junk t’ frostbite."

"Don't worry, you'll be warm soon enough."

"Heh heh, sounds like a party."

Mattie had led Sharky through the dark forestry, the trees naked and sparse like a threadbare patchwork blanket. They'd walked for some time, boots snapping the carpet of fallen branches and crunching in the deep snow and squeaking over patches of icy oil spills across the roads, until they'd reached a pasture south of the Henbane.

And now, in the early hours of the morning, he stood blindfolded, Mattie's hands protectively on his shoulders (although she'd been tempted to mischievously let him wander into a patch of shrubbery or two, but decided she didn't want to be pulling thorns and thistles out of his ass all night).

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

A few more steps, up a slight incline, the frozen grass snapping underfoot. 

“OK, you can look now.”

Sharky tore off the blindfold in childlike impatience and his eyes widened at the sight he beheld.

Before them, silhouetted by the amber light from surrounding torches and the staring full moon, stood a large wicker goat.

A Gävlebocken… well, a Hopebocken.

A warm earthy brown, as though the trees hadn’t perished weeks before, with bark flaking from it to make the fur seem shaggy, thick, truly like a majestic beast from the hills of Scandinavia, with fleece enough to shroud a Viking king. Horns magnificent upon its head, red and gold Christmas ribbons adorning them like Roman wreaths. His nose was round and his face was long and he stood watch upon the hill, noble, a guardian, a protector.

And at his feet were gathered the artists of this crudely fashioned idol. Nick and Kim, Hurk and Adelaide and Xander, Dutch and Jess, Jerome and Mary May, Virgil and Wade and Eli and Tammy and Merle… it seemed the whole county, faces beaming and hands willing, had stepped forward to play their part in Sharky's Christmas miracle.

Mattie watched Sharky take a stunned step forward.

"I wanted to surprise you." She whispered into his ear, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze.

And there was that smile she loved so much. His eyes crinkled in the corners and a laugh catapulted itself from deep in his throat into the night air. It rose like a ball of light, and exploded into a thousand stars to light the county and every county beyond it.

"I… I…" He stammered, pupils dilated, entranced, and he turned back to face the love of his life, choking on the wonderment and the realisation of just what she had done for him. “I can…?”

“You bet.”

“And I ain’t gonna get arrested?”

“Like that’s bothered you before?” She grinned and watched as he jumped and whooped, punching the air. Overwhelmed with adrenaline. Crying her name to the heavens, unabashedly proclaiming how much he loved her and all who had come to give him this gift.

“Shark… Shark?”

His head spunt to gaze at her.

An almost breathless gasp escaped him.

And the look on his face made Mattie want to throw herself upon him and never let go.

In her outstretched arms, lay a new flamethrower, blue and purple disco graffiti emblazoned on the side, and a big red bow ornately tied along the neck. She carefully placed it in his hands, and he weighed it, mesmerized, feeling the perfect balance of the full canister of fuel, and the soon-to-be warmed steel. Tears bloomed in the corners of his as he grasped it. As he readied himself for the greatest bonfire of his life.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

She placed a careful kiss on his lips.

“Now… go toast that goat.”

[gwiiyeoweo]

What Regis believes to be Noctis speaking for his imaginary friend, turns out to not be so imaginary after all.

Pairing: Noctis & Ardyn, Noctis & Regis, Regis & Ardyn Rating: G

"Daddy, can my friend sleep over?" 

Noctis peeks out from under the cover, eyes threatening to resort to his infamous puppy dog look. The boy already has his fingers toying with the top edge of his blanket, like they're little paws instead of hands, and his lower lip is ready for that little soft quiver. Even under the dim glow of his carbuncle-shaped night light, Regis can easily see the wet glassy look of his baby boy’s blue eyes. 

Cor really needs to stop teaching his son these tricks. Horrible influence. 

"Hm," Regis starts, rubbing a hand at his beard. "They can stay as long as they want, so long as they pay the rent. A prince's room does not come cheap, after all."

Immediately Noctis turns that woeful look into a bright pearly smile, his shining eyes no longer threatening tears but radiating genuine joy. He also scoots to the far end of his bed to turn half his body upside down, torso hanging over the edge as he peers into the darkness beneath. 

"Dad says you can stay!" Noctis excitedly whispers to the dust and crumbs under his bed. Or maybe to a stuffed toy. He hefts himself back up and returns to position, wiggling into a comfortable spot smack dab in the middle of bed. 

Regis should make it illegal for any child to be that adorable; it makes him want to clutch his heart and keel over, and Insomnia really can’t afford to have their king die from such unfortunate circumstances at the moment. 

But then Noctis hits him with some fancy wording. "He said he accepts your conditions and will provide proper compensation."

Regis lifts his brows a little at that. Has Noctis secretly been hanging outside his office, or did his governess decide on an accelerated vocabulary curriculum? Regis isn't sure if he should be impressed or concerned. 

Well, kids do tend to say the darndest things anyway. But Noctis doesn’t give him anymore surprises after that, just the usual demand for a goodnight kiss before getting tucked into bed. And Regis can’t quite say no to any of that.

“Hey, dad.”

“Yes?”

“My friend wants to know when he has to pay the rent. For staying in my room.”

Regis was putting away the last of Noctis’ toys into a chest when he looks up to see his boy clearing off the scraps of colored paper and crayons from the floor. With how brazen Niflheim’s become, the war just requires all the more attention and effort from the king; before long, he fears it may soon end up being days before he can even have a little short lunch with his own son. So now, whatever scant time he has, he pours it all upon Noctis, even if that means playing make-believe and acting along to a child’s nonsensical imagination and getting crayon shavings in his beard. 

It’s still adorable though. Especially how Noctis remembers the little “deal” they made with his imaginary friend. 

“Ah, let’s see…” Regis lifts his head up and stares at the ceiling, tapping a finger to his chin as he feigns deep thought trying to remember the week’s schedule. “I do believe I have a nine o’clock opening in my office. Would your friend like to drop off payment then?”

He’s only half serious, curious to see what form of payment Noctis will conjure up, if any. Another drawing to add to Regis’ precious collection, a snack or cookie baked up with the help of their many capable chefs, or maybe a shiny beetle found in their gardens. Hopefully nothing poisonous. Though Regis would accept it with all the same gratitude. 

“Umm, okay, I’ll tell him later,” Noctis answers back, eyes still drawn to his clean-up duty. 

Ah, probably “later” when Regis tucks him into bed. He wonders, briefly, what shape or form this friend comes in — probably Carbuncle-shaped, given his son’s affection for it.

“Noctis!”

“Hi, daddy!” Noctis swivels around, immediately dropping the soccer ball he’s been kicking against a tree and running up to his father. “Did you get the rent?”

Regis has his hands turning Noctis this way and that, searching for any and all signs of damage or wear or blood. His boy just giggles, thinking it’s a game of sorts with the way his father has him spinning around, but Regis is silently screaming inside with panic. 

“Ardyn said he left it on your desk.” Noctis says it with such a chip in his voice, that it’s almost comical.

When Regis had walked into his office this morning with his faithful cup of Joe — in a lumpy ceramic mug crafted by his dear son — it was with the innocent assumption of completing some paperwork and chatting with Clarus over a few pedantic details regarding a couple new bills. 

And not, say, approaching his desk to find a polished platter and cloche waiting for him. Regis had smiled into his mug at that, figuring it was the promised “rent” Noctis — rather, his imaginary friend, of course — mentioned. A little cake, or perhaps breakfast, he had thought.

Not the decapitated head of Iedolas Aldercapt, emperor of Niflheim who’s hellbent on conquering all of Lucis. 

Ex-emperor, now, actually. 

(The head had been surprisingly lacking the mess of blood, he’d later realize.)

But right now, he needs to make sure his son was safe. Granted, there had been no screams of panic or trails of blood, no emergency calls or messengers to rush secrets to him. Even Clarus or Cor, often the first and foremost to report anything awry to him, had been off doing whatever their regular Shield and Marshall duties entailed. Clarus would, of course, naturally gravitate toward Regis’s side once he discovered where his King actually went. And Cor would hunt him down to update him on the list of new Crownsguard recruits and who had actually passed the trials. 

As far as they both know, Regis is supposed to be finishing his cup of coffee in his office but! Strangely clean-cut head of Lucis’ enemy on his desk!

‘On my desk,’ Regis remembers, as he’s done patting down Noctis and the boy looks sick of his prodding now. It clicks, but he’s almost determined not to believe it. He gently places his hands on Noctis' shoulders, trying his best to not appear too grave as he looks into innocent eyes. ‘Where his friend’s rent is supposed to be.’

Well, shit.

“Noctis,” Regis barely manages without choking, “you said your… friend? Left his, ah, rent? On my desk. Do you know what it is?”

Noctis only shakes his head. “No, Ardyn just said it should help with all the fighting outside. He wouldn’t tell me.”

At least that’s something to feel relieved about. Despite knowing his son would have to one day take up the crown and all the world’s burdens surrounding it, he would like to shield his son from it all until he could no longer; a child at Noctis’ age had no business handling, let alone knowing about, a corpse’s head.

Regis sighs and lets his hands go slack, finally releasing Noctis to pinch at the bridge of his nose. There's a hundred and one questions swirling in his head, and each one just adds to the aching pressure in his skull. 

"Ardyn!" 

Regis whips his head up and around, eyes trailing after Noctis sprinting to some particularly shady trees where a tall man emerges. His boy wraps his arms around the stranger's waist, essentially latching onto him like a (freakin' adorable) leech, and the man humors him with a few gentle pats to the head. 

Regis almost mistakes him for a homeless man, mistaking his ornate clothing for rags. His attire is… Unique, to put it in kind terms. Still, odd fashion or not, Regis keeps his guard up, ready to strike at any moment should he feel any threat, magic thrumming just underneath his skin in anticipation. 

"Why, hullo there, Your Majesty." The fellow — Ardyn, according to Noctis — takes his hat off with a flourish and a deep bow at the waist, but the smirk he wears lacks the sincerity and reverence he pretends to hold. "Will my payment be sufficient for the month's rent?" 

Regis has so many questions he doesn't even know where to start. 

So naturally, the first thing that comes out of his mouth isn’t a question at all, though his tone could almost mistake it as one. “You’re not imaginary.”

Ardyn, with his ever-widening (and shit-eating) smile, knows. “I am very much real, Your Majesty.”

Noctis was sent off with hardly a fight, thanks to Ardyn’s bribery. 

“Alright, you little rascal, scamper off to your room now. I’ve left a shiny little present on your bed,” he had said. Noctis didn’t need to be told twice, dashing off and nearly running into a manservant. 

It earned Regis and Ardyn an hour to sit in the office, the silver platter hiding a lifeless head all that separated the two. And it’s a riveting hour: ninety percent of it being Ardyn fluttering his hands and speaking in a fanciful tongue about who he is, what he’s done, and what he will do; ten percent of it being Regis doubting all that he’s believed so far, including what his father and his father’s father has told him and what outlandish claims the Ardyn fellow spieled. 

Ardyn, as in Ardyn Lucis Caelum, by the way. Which only served to throw Regis into another absurd loop.

This great ancestor — the Scourge, Adagium, the Fellstar, whatever — reaches over the desk and helps himself to Regis’ cold mug of coffee, twisting his face into a grimace after a sip. “For a King, one would think he’d care for better beans.”

“One would think the King would not be sharing coffee with someone as you.”

“Ah, touché.” 

“You can’t truly entertain the idea that my trust is to be had so easily.”

“I don’t.” Ardyn shrugs his shoulders, the mug nearly sploshing cold coffee with how carelessly he holds it. “There’s really nothing, aside from myself, stopping you from trying to imprison me back in Angelgard. Or wondering if this is all some scheme of me attempting to worm my way into your good graces, to earn your faith only to trod upon it at the end, delivering darkness everlasting upon this good Star. And I really would prefer you to kindly not try to stick me back into that dusty old crypt.”

Regis only eyes him with suspicion, lips straightened into an unamused line. But despite Ardyn’s terrible personality and ill-timed humor, his gut tells him that Ardyn speaks at least some truth, that this dangerous embodiment of darkness and plague may very well prove to be an invaluable ally. Regis is loathe to admit it, but… he’s already trying to come up with some cover-up story to throw to the council on who Ardyn is and why some strangely-dressed fellow is suddenly leisurely strolling around the Citadel, inevitably with Noctis glued to his heels.

Ugh, that’s a strange image: Noctis clinging to his destined enemy like a curious puppy.  

But Ardyn continues his babbling, setting down Regis’ prized mug back on the desk so he has both hands free to do his dramatic gestures, flitting them in the air and making exaggerated motions. “You see, I’m a stubborn man of sorts. Very stubborn. When a god decrees I abide by his will, to make myself the world’s villain only to let myself die in the end, well — I must say, that sort of thing simply does not sound like a jolly good time. This is me, as the young ones like to say, sticking it to the man.”

Regis glances at the platter, the closed cloche hiding the ashen face of Aldercapt, when he shoots back a dry retort. "Or sticking it to the man's neck." 

"O-ho! So you do have a little humor. Glad to see some of Somnus' drab qualities were bred out." Ardyn claps his hands in joy before reaching his hand out, over the desk and above the platter. "I think we'll get along splendidly, dear nephew. "

Hm. Yeah. Ardyn is definitely not gonna call him nephew around these parts, or the best case scenario is a scandal regarding an ancestor’s infidelity. 

Regis eyes him warily, as if the hand could strike him as does a viper. "Upon your word, you will do no harm to my son or my kingdom. And you would wait upon Noctis' final days, when his hair grows white and his eyes weary, to take your last breath upon this world."

"Oh, must I have everything in writing for you? Shall I sign my name in blood while I'm at it? I'm sure there's some old magicks we can find to swear this oath on, if you're feeling so insistent." Ardyn gives a heavy eye roll. "Yes, Your Majesty, I do so swear. Besides, while I look forward to my day of rest, there is just much to do! Being locked up in a prison for so many centuries then becoming trapped in a perpetual winter steals so much of one's life pleasures. I really would like to visit that famous chocobo ranch Lucis speaks so fondly of. I once had a bird myself, a rare black beauty; and Niflheim, unfortunately, has no such feathery creatures."

Regis extends his hand, albeit just a tad begrudgingly, to shake on their agreement, but he hears a familiar pitter patter outside his door that only grows louder and heavier. 

Noctis bursts through the door, glimmering with a faint blue and smelling of magic; he must have warped his way to Regis' office, running in between each shot to save on stamina. 

The father in him wants to feel pride at how quickly his son has picked up their family tricks, but the other father in him zeroes in on the very large, very sharp thing in Noctis' hands. It's nearly as tall as the boy himself. 

It takes Regis a second too long to realize Noctis holds no ordinary sword. 

It's the Sword of the Mystic. The fucking Mystic. 

"Dad! Dad, look at the sword Ardyn got me!" Noctis nearly topples over trying to lug the thing around, barely avoiding chopping his little leg off. 

Sword who? Ardyn what? 

"How many does that make now?" Ardyn asks, looking as if everything is right as rain. He smiles — something like amusement, something like fondness — when Noctis screws his face up in concentration and a dim shimmer spreads from his hands to the entirety of the sword. 

And poof, the blade disappears in sparks of white and blue. 

"Uhhh. I have a bow, a shield, and a stick." Noctis counts them off on his hand, pulling one finger up for each weapon he lists.

"Scepter, little Noctis."

"Okay."

“Stop right there.” Regis butts in, standing from his seat and circling around the desk to Ardyn. It’s not much, but at least some of his anxiety disappeared when the sword did, the threat of his son slicing off a finger or a hand no longer an immediate threat. But he pauses to look at Noctis, breathing out a weary sigh, and shakes his head. “No, Noctis, not you. Not literally. You may move.”

Noctis unfreezes, who stood ramrod still with his arms in the air when Regis gave the order to ‘stop,’ and lets his hands fall back to his side. He looks ready to vibrate with excitement, no doubt ready to chuck out his newly-acquired sword and start swinging it around. And probably chase Gladiolus down with it, if his past week’s grumblings of “Gladio’s always picking on me!” and “One day I’m gonna beat him up!” are anything to go by. 

‘Oh Six, ’ Regis thinks, ‘how do I begin to explain this. ’

But before he thinks of a cover-up story, Regis has some very choice words to share with Ardyn, none of which are meant for little young ears. So he picks his old, forgotten mug of coffee and hands it off to Noctis, tasking him with a simple enough errand while he picks some bones with Ardyn. “Noctis dear, could you get your father a new warm cup of coffee?”

“Oh! Do bring me one too, little scamp,” Ardyn butts in, despite having complaints of the coffee earlier. 

Noctis totters off, kindly closing the door behind him before gunning it to the kitchens, and Regis hears the tell-tale stomping and the crackling chimes of their family magic.  

Regis hopes the chefs would do him the favor of distracting his son with some freshly baked cookies, because he’s going to crack open the book of scathing tongues and dip Ardyn in boiling words by the time that coffee is brewed.

It occurs to him after he tucks his son into bed, after Noctis asks if Ardyn can stay in his room again. 

“Please tell me that you have, in fact, not been living under my son’s bed this entire time.” Regis asks, though he almost doesn’t want to hear the answer to that. 

“Oh heavens no!” Ardyn looks aghast, splaying his hand across his chest like he’s been affronted. 

Regis wants to believe him, as the idea of a middle-aged man hiding underneath his boy’s bed makes for an uncomfortable image indeed. 

So of course, Ardyn has to ruin it when he opens his mouth again. “Not the entire time. Though your servants could put a little more care into tidying up his room; it is a bit dusty under there.”

[slinkinginshadows]

Remembering

Summary: He remembers who he is. Unfortunately, it’s after over 150 years of being a brainwashed pet, and his body’s been changed in ways he isn’t comfortable with... not to mention he’s carrying a baby.

AU summary necessary to understand this for those coming in from tags: Basically, this guy was kidnapped and brainwashed by Dartz, former king of Atlantis who raised the city and killed off like 90% of the planet to feed their souls to the leviathan. The stones mentioned are the source of his power. Yeah, it’s a yu/gi-oh au of season 4 with the bad guy winning with kink shit because I say so, the plot was bad so it’s mine now.

Wordcount: 980

Warnings: Brainwashing, implied dubcon, mpreg, thoughts of self-attempted abortion, big age gap. Basically just a bunch of crap all piling up. No n/s /f w though.

(Note: I kind of avoided using his name. He mostly is called ‘prince’ by everyone since Dartz doesn’t want any accidental memory triggers.)

Reblogs are really appreciated since tumblr’s tags kinda suck, I love seeing reactions in tags/replies!

The gods broke his mind free, and he didn’t know how long it had been. Time was hazy, a blur of turquoise with flush bodies and a loss of control.

He tugged at his silken robes, rolling the ring on his finger that wouldn’t come off. He’d never really tried to take it off before. He’d probably been subconsciously forbidden to, but trying to remove it now resulted in a shock running through his body. He swallowed, setting a hand on his swollen stomach. 

How far was he along? Far. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t really sure of anything. Time was different here- especially for him. His husband had ensured it. 

Outside, there were four other children. Two girls, two boys. All his. He hugged himself. The ring felt like it weighed a hundred pounds on his finger, and he didn’t realize that he was crying until he felt the dripping on his stomach. His body wasn’t his, in more ways than one- he was last truly himself in a locked room with mounds of food that had been forced into him, and now he was heavier and could feel kicks inside of him, from someone he didn’t remember conceiving. He thought he remembered them saying it was a girl, but his memories were so fuzzy that it could have been for one of their older sisters ages ago. 

It was almost funny, as not having his memories was what got him into this mess. He must not have been a very strong person if he’d folded so easily. Or had he? It could have taken days or it could have taken months- it was years ago by now. He certainly shouldn’t have still looked as young as he was before all this. He was on his fifth child, after all, and they hadn’t started having them for ages. Still looking sixteen-going-on-seventeen was due to the stone’s magic, most likely. 

He’d say he still had baby fat on his cheeks, but he was larger all over, pampered as a way to keep him submissive. He wiped his eyes, swallowing. There was no way to escape his own skin, the new life growing inside of him. The fabric of his robes brushed his skin with every movement, a silver chain around his neck and bracelets around his wrists that felt more like handcuffs. They had some kind of intricate locking system and he didn’t want to deal with breaking them open at the moment.

“Poppa?” There were a few knocks on the door, and he took a deep breath. He’d… he’d been given a mission by the gods. He needed to not be suspicious. He slid off the bed, wobbling a bit- although his body was used to being like this, his mind needed a minute to adjust. There was another kick, and he held a hand over his mouth, breathing deeply. 

“Yes?”

“The parade is in an hour. Were you going to have breakfast first? Father’s already there.”

Father. Dartz. The man who had brainwashed him long enough to make him a pet, a breeding toy…

The kids didn’t know. He could remember that much. They assumed he was happy- he’d thought he was happy. It had carved so deep into his brain it was a miracle there was anything left. They were innocent. Another deep breath, setting a hand on his stomach. He’d… he’d figure something out. He opened the door, and nearly gagged again when he saw that they had their father’s hair tied back but with yellow streaks. 

“Are you okay? Is she kicking too much again? I can’t wait until I’m not the youngest anymore.” They had a necklace with the stone. Still, they had his eyes with a gap-tooth and set a hand on his belly, and he forced up a smile, hoping it didn’t look as plastic as he felt.

“I’m... fine.”

________

The parade wormed through the city, and he had to swallow down the bile turning in his stomach. If Dartz knew he’d broken free, he didn’t say anything, arms locked together as they waved.

Trying to act now would get him killed- or worse, broken again. But it was as if the baby knew how uncomfortable he was and was determined to add to it, constantly squirming around inside of him. Once, Dartz leaned over to him.

“She’s being active again, isn’t she? Don’t worry, you can rest when we get home.”

He swallowed. Home. Right. Home was 150 years away and a pile of rubble, and all of his friends were probably dead. Home was gone.

The children were all dressed up- although the older two, a boy and a girl, were in their twenties. Older than he ever was. Absently, he wondered if he would have had to watch them age and die, or if they would be frozen at some date, perpetually ten years older than their mother and ten younger than their father.

He didn’t actually know how old Dartz was, but it was certainly old enough that the thought of what must have happened to create the family in front of him made his skin crawl. He plastered a smile on his face. “How... far am I again?”

“Forgetful little prince... 7 months.” Dartz teased. 

“Right, of course.” He looked away, rubbing his stomach again. He’d felt too queasy for breakfast but now his stomach grumbled. At least he had a good excuse for looking sick, but... if he was seven months, there’s no way he’d be able to be safely rid of it.

A rock settled in his stomach as he realized running would be almost impossible too, in the state he was in. He could be stuck for two more months.

He adjusted his crown, swallowed down panic, and forced his head back up, hoping the gods had a plan, because he had nothing.

[wickednerdery]

Title: Hoarfrost Hel: Spellbound Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Thor & Tony Stark (& Mutant!OC) Rating: Teen Summary: “Loki...Is it a person or item?” Notes: This is back to when Loki was taken away here. This is the second part of what’s shaping up to be a legit trilogy (the first is FrostBitten) - the master list is here. The story on whole is gonna be very dark, this piece itself - which starts Thor’s main story - is actually tame aside from some yelling, cursing, and poor Thor moments. Still, for consistency and length, it gets a “Read More”.

It is Odin who tricks Thor away from his brother, leaving Loki unprotected and easily taken. It is Odin who induces forgetfulness and spreads it through Asgard like a poison. The king works his magic to make it grow so that throughout the realms, in time, Loki might be forgotten completely. Like Hela before his adopted son would become nothing but a story, a mere fantasy; no one and nothing true. Odin would put distance between himself, his family, and his unfortunate error once again to save his pride and crown.

By the time Thor returns to the rock there is nothing there but smashed rubble and the faint sense of urgency. He’d come to the edge of the grounds for some reason, an important task, but the answers are all behind a fog. Earnest eyes scan for answers, for questions, something beyond kicked up and bloodied dirt.

His mother’s lullaby hits his ears and he turns back, up, to the palace. With placid face and knowing smile Frigga hums and, as Thor watches her, she changes before him. Deep blue dress turns green and gold. Long blond hair smooths into shoulder-length black and her whole form changes. The woman looks wholly recognizable, yet Thor cannot place the man she’s become. “You must find him, Thor. Save your brother. Protect Loki.”

“Loki...” Thor repeats the name heard only in his mind; it feels right. Real. He looks around, as if he might find this Loki nearby, before looking back up to catch sight of his mother walking back into the palace. “Loki....Loki...Loki...” The god repeats the name over and over, keeping it foremost in his mind, as he hurries to Heimdall’s observatory. “I must find a Loki, what can you see, Heimdall?”

The man narrows his eyes, ticks head slightly. “Loki? I’m afraid I do not know this word. Is it a person or item?” If he has a clearer idea of what he’s looking for, perhaps he can find it.

“I...” Thor clung to the name, but forgot its meaning. He tries to recall his mother (this Loki is tied to her, is it not?), then smiles. “I believe it is a being.”

Heimdall nods, closes eyes to concentrate, but there is nothing. Only tenuous threads he cannot weave into anything substantial and even those fray before his very mind’s eye. “I am sorry, Thor, but I can find nothing.” It was so very usual, very strange. “Perhaps it’s something to do with your time on Midgard?”

“...Perhaps...”

“Shall I send you there in search of answers and this lost...thing.” Heimdall himself’s already forgotten what they’re in search for.

“Yes, I shall go to Stark’s.” He cannot say why he picks Tony except he’s the smartest man Thor knows of on Midgard. And, if this...Loki...was a dangerous thing Tony would most certainly be prepared and ready for battle beside him.

“Very well, my prince, I shall send you directly,” Heimdall bows his head and, in a moment’s flash, Thor is at the end of Stark’s long landing pad at The Avenger’s Tower.

Not even leaving his lands can stop the disintegration of Thor’s memory though; not even reaching Midgard can protect him from his own father’s magic. By the time he reaches Stark, lounging on a deck chair, his face’s fallen to confusion. ...What has he come to ask again?

Tony’s brows rise in alarm, then fall in the wait for Thor to speak. “You alright there, Point Break?”

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Thor knows he needs help, but the reason, the trouble, is fogged from him. It’s something distant, unattainable, but very true and very real. “I...I came to request your aid...only now I’ve forgotten why.”

“So you came here to ask for my help...” Tony’s stands, examines his friend more closely. “But can’t remember with what?”

"I cannot,” Thor confesses with a sigh, running hand through hair, twisting hammer in the other. He can remember years, centuries. He has a god’s memory, how can he forget something he is certain recently occurred?!

“You hit your head on the Bifrost or something?”

Eyes fall to despair. “No.”

“Uh....huh...” He didn’t think gods could get amnesia, yet here was Thor, a god, standing all amnesiac before him. “Look, buddy, how ‘bout we go inside, have a drink, and see if we can’t figure this out, yeah?”

“Very well, my friend.”

Tony lets Thor follow as his mind begins to gather what little facts there are and formulate theories. Whatever is going on, it’s powerful enough to mess with a god’s mind. That said, Thor seems of sound mind and, potentially, with solid recall aside from whatever he needs help with. So what are they looking at here? Injury? Infection? Something else entirely? Tony skips the bar in the penthouse for the one down in his workshop and let’s Thor settle on a nearby chair as he pours for both of them - definitely need a drink or two before opening whatever can of worms this is.

“I adjusted the coding and cleared out the spare bugs from your latest suit, Stark.” The voice itself is almost robotic, but Thor sees clearly the being is flesh and blood. Back to them, hunkering down over a series of computers, he catches feminine eyes in the reflection of one of the screens. “That Thor?”

“Yeah,” Tony tips back his first drink, pours his second, as Thor takes his first. “Lynk, this is Thor, Thor,” he points to the person’s back. “Lynk with a Y...my tech assistant.” Pepper will always run most of his stuff, but Lynk has certain, unique, abilities that makes her utterly invaluable to him in his work.

Thor smiles. “Greetings, fair maid.”

“Yeah...No.”

Thor’s face falls. “No?”

Lips lift, but focus remains on the computers. “I’m not a fair maid, Mr Odinson. I’m just Lynk.”

“You may call me Thor, if you wish.”

“Okay then, Thor. I’m still Lynk.”

Thor looks to Tony, unsure, but Tony just shrugs and finishes his second drink. “Okay, so this thing you need help with...”

“Yes?”

“Let’s do process of elimination.”

“Very well.”

“It have anything to do with Earth?”

“...Not directly, I don’t believe...”

“Asgard then?”

“Maybe.”

“You personally?”

“…I...in a way, perhaps?”

“Family maybe?”

Thor’s pause is especially long, his heart and mind arguing for an accurate answer. “I...I believe so.”

“Parents?”

“They are not the issue...but maybe connected to it?” His mother turned into it, hadn’t she? Yes, yes she had, but...but Thor cannot recall what she’d turned into anymore.

Tony sighs, now presuming the whole thing a giant waffling by the god. “Fuck. if it’s Loki just say so, Thor. I’m still unlikely to help, but at least I’d admire the boldness of asking directly.”

“Wha-? Who...Who is...Loki?” And why did it sound so familiar and yet not at the same time?

“Loki, also known as Loki Laufeyson or Loki Odinson, is the God of Mischief and listed as a top-tier intergalactic terrorist by S.H.I.E.L.D.. His attempts to take over Earth resulted in the destruction of Manhattan and countless deaths. Captured by The Avengers Initiative he was turned over to his brother, Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, to be returned to Asgard where his punishment would be set by the King of Asgard, Odin Allfather.” The young woman’s turned to them both, face showing a mix of concern and interest. “You can’t remember your own brother?”

She is slight, pale, with spiked, jet black, hair and many bits of metal in her face...Thor cannot recall seeing another like her on Midgard. He smiles in spite of his current predicament. “You know him?”

“Of him,” Lynk clarifies. “I was lecturing in Boston when he came to New York, but I watched the news. Question is, why don’t you?”

“Maybe it’s Loki himself doing this?” Tony offers. “It’s not beyond him, right? Take out his brother, escape, rally some troops, come back at Earth again.”

“You’re making assumptions without basis,” she counters flatly.

“My basis is I know the guy. I’ve seen what he can do, first hand.”

“Why give his brother amnesia then send him in your direction?”

“Distraction? Shits and giggles? How should I know.”

Lynk’s eyes switch to Thor. “We need more data.”

Thor has no issue with basic or advanced memory tests, brain scans show no clear injury or disease, and nothing can be found in his blood that would suggest a cause for his amnesia. Both Tony and Lynk remain stuck, unsure what to test for next, as Thor lays on the table looking up at both of them.

“Do we know why I’ve forgotten what I’ve forgotten?” Again Loki’s existence has slipped from his mind, but not the urgency of the need to help, to get help.

“No,” Tony sighs; Thor frowns deeply. “But I’m starting to guess some kind of magic, which leads us back to Loki.”

“Who?”

“Are you sure you actually need help, Thor? Or do you just...feel like you need it?”

“I need help, of that I’m certain.”

Lynk looks down. “With...or for...your brother, Loki, yeah?”

The fog thickens. “I…cannot recall.”

Tony rolls eyes in frustration, convinced this is some elaborate trick by the God of Mischief. He wants no part of it; better to hunker down, fortify, with backup plans for when Loki’s true scheme is ultimately revealed. “This is probably all just a big fucking hoax.”

“It is not a hoax!” Thor flies up, roars his own frustration, as sparks crack across the metal table. The need to accomplish a goal he cannot recall has settled deep and sure in his heart even if his mind continues to betray him.

“Woah, hey there!” Tony’s thumb discreetly goes to his suit’s activation button as he and Lynk both jump back. “I don’t think you’re tricking me.”

“You think another is tricking us all,” Thor states firmly, hammer held out as if ready to crash. “I am not a fool, Stark, I know my own heart!”

“I might know someone who can help, Thor,” Lynk speaks up quickly, hoping to both placate and distract as she feels the machines around them shiver with the herself and Tony.

The storm in the god dies and he turns as hope blooms once more. “Truly?”

“He might be able to figure out what you can’t remember or, at the very least, maybe why you can’t remember.” She looks to Tony, who’s finally beginning to breathe again. “If it’s a trick by Loki, then you might know what he’s up to and, if it’s not...” She smiles at Thor. “Then maybe we’ll know how to help.”

Honest trouble or not, Tony had no interest in helping Loki. He still woke up in the middle of night, sweaty and short of breath, thanks to that asshole. Best not to piss of his friend, the god, though. “Sure, if you know someone who’s willing. Can’t hurt to try, right?”

“Right.”

Thor grins. “Take me to him now, fair Lynk.”

I legit feel bad writing Thor like this...in part because I know he already gets a bad wrap as sorta being the “slow on the uptake” one and I don’t think he is. That said, Odin’s clouding his - and everyone else in Asgard’s - mind from remembering Loki so it’s not like I can have Thor just putting it all together, haha! Frigga only does because she’s very powerful in magic herself. Lynk is a mutant - though there’s only a hint of her powers shown in this - and will be important to Thor going forward so...hope you like, lol!  (And, damn, I’m prod of myself for getting two out relatively quick after the holidays so go me, haha! ^_^)

(Gifs found on Google, then combined by me)

Tagged: @succumb-to-your-king @chibiyanai @wadeyouwitch @creedslove @lady-crowned-with-stars @moonfaery @annievvv7  @ladyfluff @holykryptonitekitten @lokilvrr @janebrownnie @lokis-little-kitten @alexakeyloveloki @theangelsfightwithdevils @the-blue-tiefling @lokis-lady-death @dangertoozmanykids101 @prometheasmother @vethrvolnir @wintertink @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @drakonwild @starscreamloki @judas-nipples @hiddles-rose  @the-lady-witchitery @galaxies-inside-my-head @jackheart180 @lukeevansandjdmobession @endlessstairway @lanabanana-86 @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981 @lovekrystina @madoka73 @lokikingofasgardslover713 @partiallyinthecloset @ultrarebelheart  @gravitational-anomaly @manip-loki @my-world-of-imagines @lowcarbgem  …Think that’s everyone from FrostBitten, if you want on or off, just lemme know! (Strike-throughs are those Tumblr refuses to tag properly)

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 10

Rating: T

Genre: Angst

Word count: 5117

Chapter: 10/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon knows he has to talk to Baz. But that doesn't make it easier.

Read on AO3

AN: Please don't hate me for this chapter. Also I am freaking the fuck out about the Wayward Son cover, I'm so excited!!!!!!!

———————————————

Simon had been standing just outside the invisibility barrier for an hour. He kept walking away then coming back. Away, back, away, back, over and over, until his feet had left deep impressions in the dirt. His emotions were a tangled mess he couldn’t understand. There had been a pit in his stomach since this morning.

The second they had gotten back to the castle, Simon had told David he was tired and went to his room. Simon spent ages sitting in his room, shaking with panic and fear. His whole world felt like it as collapsing in on itself. Baz knew now. Baz knew he was a prince, and worse, he knew Simon hadn’t told him. Simon had no idea how Baz was going to react. The very idea of Baz having a negative reaction made his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe. It was miracle he had made his way out of the window tonight without falling into another breathless panic. He was terrified.

Which was why he was standing just outside, hand tight on his rucksack strap, terrified of what he would see when he walked through.

But he was home. And he wanted to see Baz, no matter what.

So Simon stepped through.

He scaled down the tree roots and hit the ground with a thump. And when he looked up, Baz wasn’t standing and waiting for him like the time before Simon left. He was sitting on the ground, far away, back towards Simon and facing the lake. His black hair blew soft in the wind. He didn’t move. Simon knew Baz had incredible hearing, so he had to have heard Simon. But he wasn’t turning around.

“Hi, Baz,” Simon said weakly, “I’m back. From the west.”

“I saw,” Baz replied. His voice was colder than frozen tundras. Simon shivered and pulled in on himself.

“Yeah. I, uh, saw you too. You go to that pond often? I’ve never seen you there before.”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The silence fell again. Simon found it strange how completely reversed their roles had become. How Simon, known for his lack of words, was saying so much and Baz was saying so little. And that said so, so much more.

Simon walked aimlessly around the ground. “I-I didn’t know you’d be there.”

Baz scoffed. The sound pierced Simon’s heart. “Obviously.”

“I didn’t even want to do that procession. It’s stupid. But my guardian he-”

“Simon,” Baz hissed. He finally turned his head. A deep scowl pulled on his mouth, and fire burned in his eyes. “Enough dancing around it. Fucking admit it.”

Simon gulped down the lump in his throat. His knuckles were white on the rucksack strap. He looked down at the ground, because looking Baz in the eye when he said it was too difficult.

“I’m...I’m a prince, of Watford,” he said.

“A prince?” Baz asked. “So there are more of you royal spawn?”

“N-No, just me. I’m the only prince.” He stepped forward. “Baz, I’m-”

“So you’re the heir then.” Baz said it matter of factly, but there was a hint of derision that made Simon flinch. “You’re going to get the entire bloody kingdom one day then, yes?”

Simon rubbed at the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah.”

“So you’ll be ruling over everyone one day? Technically including me?”

“Yeah, I guess...” Simon didn’t like to think about ruling over anyone, let alone Baz.

Baz chuckled, low in his throat and menacing. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the strands back. “Wow. I honestly never would have pinned you for a prince. Simon, who stumbles over his words and finds Natasha Pitch’s books boring, is going to be king. May the gods save Watford. It’s bloody doomed the second you take the throne.”

Simon physically flinched. It wasn’t anything he didn’t know, but it hurt to hear. Especially from Baz. He thought he was safe from all his royal crap in the lake. Not anymore.

“Baz, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I should’ve told you-”

“You’re damn right you should have,” Baz snapped. He finally stood up. His scowl didn’t lessen, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I should know when my dueling partner is a prince. That way I won’t risk spilling his royal guts out on the forest floor and having my head cut off.”

“We spar with sticks,” Simon muttered.

“Well, scratching a prince would get me the same execution sentence.” He chuckled again, and it still wasn’t happy at all. “I should’ve guessed, really. All the clues were there. Overprotective ambitious father, surprising amount of good books, unrealistic made up childhood story.”

Simon’s head snapped up so fast his neck hurt. “What!? I didn’t make up stuff about my childhood!”

Baz snorted and looked to the side. “Sure, the heir to a throne used to be a poor mistreated orphan. I always thought it sounded a bit off even when I thought you were common or a social climber, and now it all makes even more sense. You were making it up to appear lower class and relatable to me. Is your common accent fake too?”

Simon vigorously shook his head. “No! T-This is how I sound! And I did grow up in an orphanage! I was left there when I was only a few days old!”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?!” Baz’s eyes were like daggers. He marched towards Simon with clenched fists. “I’m supposed to believe that someone who wears an embroidered tunic and golden crown while riding through the streets on a white horse grew up like that? When it’s far more likely he just told me some made up a sob story to make me think he could understand anything I was going through?!”

Simon stumbled back. He had never seen Baz so angry. He had never seen anyone so angry. But worse than anger, Simon saw the way Baz’s eyes and lips quivered. He was hurt. Simon had hurt him, and that was so unbelievably worse.

“Baz,” he said softly, “I do understand.”

“How?!” Baz roared. “I live alone in a fucking lake, spending my days as a bird, forced to eat fucking worms to survive. You live in a bloody castle getting waited on hand and foot all day! Tell me, what part of our lives are at all similar?!”

Simon rubbed his own forearm furiously. “Well, uh, I-I feel alone too. My guardian, the king, he keeps me away from all my friends a lot. I only get to see you because I sneak out of my tower.”

Baz rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh poor you, being alone in a huge castle, with lots of food and servants, not having to worry if your captor is going to finally kill you the next time he comes around!”

Simon lowered his head. “I-I guess I don’t get that part. But I can still be sympathetic.” He took the smallest, the most cautious step toward him. “I can still be here for you. I want to. I want to break your curse-”

“Is that what this is about?” Baz narrowed his eyes very suspiciously. “Is that why you came back here to see me the second time? Why you come back at all? You hate your restrictive privileged prince life, so you get a little reprieve by wrapping yourself up in my mysterious curse.” He snorted unkindly. “No wonder you were so eager for us to study it. You liked the adventure, not me. You never cared.”

“What?! What, no! That’s not it! Of course I care, I-” Simon stumbled back again, a hand on his forehead. He didn’t think Baz was right at first, of course. But...maybe he did have a point. Simon wanted to be a hero, not a prince, sure. At least, he had at the beginning. Now he was pretty sure he just wanted to help Baz be free. Because he truly cared for Baz, not just his curse. Right?

Baz scoffed. “I should’ve known. What normal person would want to see a cursed teenager in a lake all the time? No, just a weirdo ‘adopted’ prince who wants to escape his oh so dreadful royal duties with a little mystery.” He turned around and walked back towards his lake. “Like you could actually understand what hardship is.”

Simon’s blood instantly boiled. He threw his bag to the ground, fists clenched, and marched towards him.

“Hey!” He shouted. “That’s not fair! Just because my life isn’t as shitty as your’s doesn’t mean I don’t know what hardship is! My childhood, i-it was one horror after another.” Baz scoffed, a recurring sound for him tonight. Simon growled, grabbed his shoulder, and forced him to turn around. “Look at me, arsehole! I got left at an orphanage when I was a baby, with nothing but the basket I came in and my name written on my arm. I slept in a filthy bed for eleven years. The older kids liked to kick me in the stomach and head for fun. The matron once backhanded me so hard my jaw was nearly came off. It took me years to learn to speak properly. I didn’t say my first word until I was six! I’ve been taking care of myself s-since, practically since I was fucking born!”

“Poor you, the tragic prince,” Baz muttered.

Simon started seeing red. “Yes! Poor me! My life wasn’t as shit as yours is now but that doesn’t mean you get to dismiss it, you self pitying wanker!”

Baz clenched his fist even harder. “But you’re royalty now. You have a perfect life.”

“It’s not perfect! It just sucks in a different way, you know that. And I’m only here because-” Simon sighed angrily and ran a hand over his face. “Y’know why King David adopted me? Because when I was eleven, I had a dream that I was on fire. When I woke up, the building was blown to pieces. And I was in the middle of all of it. My skin was glowing too. Turned out my magic had appeared in a really explosive way. I had somehow...transported everyone away, but I didn’t know that at first. I-I thought I had killed them. Everyone I knew.” Simon pressed against his forehead. He hadn’t talked about what happened since he told Penelope and Agatha when they were thirteen. The memories still stung.

“The matron,” he whispered, “she called me a curse and threw me on the street. I slept in a dirty drain for five days, fucking alone and hungry and freezing to death. I nearly died. Then I woke up one morning, and the king was standing over me. He told me I was going to be a prince. So of course I went with him. I was homeless and fucking eleven. I thought I was finally going to be a hero like in my storybooks. But it turned out I’m horrible at real prince work. And David doesn’t give much more of a shit about me than the matron, really. I’ve always been respectful because he took me in, but honestly, you're right. He’s a prick and I’m just something useful to him. And, well, I’m not even that useful. I’m a shit mage and an even shittier prince. You already know half of that. My life is just being a constant disappointment. I-It’s not as bad as you, but it’s still not good. I never lied about that.”

Simon finally looked up. And his heart shattered, because Baz’s face was completely blank.  There was not a single emotion on his stupid pretty visage. That was even worse than him being angry.

“I-I should’ve told you all this, Baz, I know.”

Baz leaned down closer, so close their noses almost touched. But Simon didn’t like it this time. “But you didn’t,” he growled. “You lied to me.

“I never actually lied!” Simon shouted. “I just, left out some parts.”

“And that’s supposed to be better?!” Baz threw his arms up. “You deceived me, Simon. You let me think you were someone different. You made me think you actually cared about me!”

“I do, Baz!” Simon stepped closer. He cautiously placed a hand on Baz’s face, tracing a thumb over his beautiful cheekbone. Baz didn’t push him away. His eyes even fluttered shut, nearly leaning into the touch. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I do care. And I still want to see you.”

Baz took a deep breath, his chest slowly inflating and deflating, eyes squeezed shut. Then they opened And when that bored mask slid over his face again, Simon’s heart shattered in his chest.

“Well,” Baz said as he pushed his hand away, “I don’t.”

Simon’s arm fell limp to his side. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Please, Baz. I-I care, I want to help you get free!”

Baz crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want your help, Simon. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

Simon stepped forward, and Baz stepped back. “Please, Baz-”

“Go,” Baz hissed. “Just, go. ”

When Simon reached out, Baz didn’t even try to do the same. Simon felt the tear roll down his cheek. It felt like a trail of fire his skin.

“I’m sorry, Baz, I’m so sorry. Please don’t do this. I-I have something. I can brea-”

“I don’t care what you have to say, Simon. It’s over. Just leave, and don’t come back. I don’t want you here ever again.” He turned away, letting Simon only look at his stoic back. “I was fine on my own before. I don’t need you. You can go.”

Baz’s voice was so cold, so void of any feeling. Like Simon and everything between them was meaningless. Simon’s sorrow quickly turned to anger. He clenched his fists and glared daggers into Baz’s back.

“Fine!’ he shouted. “Be like that! I won’t come back. Be alone forever, for all I care. Enjoy your lonely cursed life, Baz!”

Simon stomped away, scooping up his rucksack as he went. He scaled the wall with furious urgency. And he didn’t even turn back to look at Baz.

But the moment he was beyond the glamour, alone in the quiet woods, the despair settled in his heart again. Simon took a deep, shaky breath. It felt like the ground had opened up under. Everything had just fallen to pieces. Simon didn’t want to be alone right now. And there was one place he knew he needed to go.

———————————————

Simon banged on the door lightly at first. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Bunce were out of town, and most of Penelope's other siblings were at Mage’s School. Except for the youngest, who slept so heavily a bear attack could happen and he’d still be in dreamland. But no one responded. So he banged harder and harder, loud enough he barely heard the steps coming down the stairs.

Penelope ripped the door open. Her hair was disheveled and her robe wasn’t even done up. She looked furious, then it shifted to more confused than anything.

“Simon?” she hissed. “What the Hell are you doing here?! It’s the middle of the night!”

Simon opened his mouth, but no words came out. They clogged up his throat and tangled his vocal chords up so the only sound he made was a choked sob. Penny’s face immediately fell. She stepped forward and grabbed his foreman.

“What’s wrong, Si? Are you okay?”

Simon tried to speak again, and this time, all that came out were tears. Penny immediately wrapped her arms around him. He pressed his face into her shoulder and held her tight. She stroked his hair softly.

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, it’s alright, Simon.”

“No,” he sobbed. “It’s not, Pen. I fucked up, I fucked up so bad.”

Penny’s grip got tighter. “Are you in danger?”

“N-No. I just, I-” Simon pulled back to look at Penny’s face. She looked so scared and confused. Simon took a deep breath. “Can I come in? I’ve got a lot of stuff to tell you. Stuff I should’ve told you awhile ago.”

Penny still looked confused, but she nodded and let him inside.

———————————————

The silence hung in the air like a thick fog. Penny had been gaping at Simon for a full ten minutes. Simon was pulled in on himself opposite her, cradling his tea cup with a blanket around his shoulders. He wanted to say something, but thought it was probably let Penny process all this on her own first. He had told her, well, everything, and it was a lot to take in.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Wow. That’s just...wow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Simon replied.

“So you’ve been meeting with a mysterious cursed teenager in the middle of the woods for months?”

“Since we explored the Forbidden Lands, yeah.”

“He really turns into a swan during the day no matter where he is?”

“Yup. Second the sun breaks the horizon, he changes. We had a close call after...almost kiss at the solstice festival.” Simon felt the blush creep up his face and saw a smile creep up Penelope’s. He didn’t want to hide anything from Penny anymore, but it was definitely embarrassing to say, for a second time. “We barely got out of sight before the the sunrise.”

“Mhm, I see.” Penny raised a brow. “‘Kaz’ instead of ‘Baz’? Nice pseudonym there, Si.”

Simon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I was put on the spot. I-I wasn’t sure if I could tell you his name.” A wave of shame hit him. He sunk further into the couch. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before, Pen. Baz didn’t want anyone to know about him. He barely tolerated me knowing for a long time. And it’s not that I don’t trust you. I just...I didn’t want to break his trust. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she sighed. “I’m a bit upset, of course, but I understand why you did it. You were protecting Baz from that man.” Simon nodded. She leaned closer, elbows on her knees, eyes curious. “He’s been keeping Baz in that lake for how long again?”

“Since he was five. And he’s been cursed since he was thirteen.”

“Wow. Do you have any idea why the man imprisoned and cursed him?”

Simon shook his head. “I’ve been more focused on just breaking the curse than finding out the reason.” His face twisted again, heart sinking to the floor. “Baz, h-he was right, honestly. I don’t care about him. I just liked being the hero who saved him.” He wiped the fresh tears falling onto his face. “I’m a total prick. No wonder he never wants to see me again.”

Penelope sighed. She put down her tea and crossed over to the couch. She opened her arms and Simon fell into her embrace again. He was pressed against her tight. Simon was never hugged as a young child. He knew he had missed out on a lot growing up, but he really felt that loos when Penny held him like this.

“You’re not a prick, Simon,” she said softly. “Sure, maybe you did get caught up in the mystery of it all. You like adventure. But of course you care about him as a person too.”

“How do you know that?” Simon mumbled into her shoulder.

“Because you care about everyone, Si. You’re one of the most kind, selfless people I’ve ever met. You want to save and protect all the people you can. Your heart is so big it scares me sometimes. And I have no doubt you cared about Baz just as much. Maybe even more, considering how much sleep you lost for him.”

They laughed, quiet and tired and brief. But the sadness quickly settled over Simon again. He wanted to believe her. But after tonight, with Baz’s angry words swirling in his head, he couldn’t. He burrowed further into his friend. “I should’ve told him I was a prince.”

Penny let out a long sigh. “Yeah, you should’ve.” She looked down at him with confusion. “Why didn’t you, Si? Wouldn’t Baz have understood?”

“Maybe. But...” Simon took a deep breath. He tried to sort through the tangled mess in his brain, stringing them together into something reasonably coherent. “B-But, I didn’t want him to know. I...I-I don’t like being a prince, you know that. Baz never had to know. With Baz, I could pretend I wasn’t one. And it was good. No bowing or royal duty talk or-or pretending I had to be t-tiptoed around. And I liked it! With Baz I felt...”

Simon tried to find one word to summarise his existence with Baz. How their time together made him feel. The nights with Baz his only reprieve from living as a constant disappointment to Davy and Watford as a whole. With Baz, he was happy, content, excited, relaxed, so incredibly at peace with himself for the first time in his life.

“Free,” he choked out. “I felt free with him, Pen.”

Penelope held him tighter and petted his hair. More tears fell down his face. They wouldn’t stop tonight.

A terrible thought crossed his mind. He squeezed Penny’s arm. “Not, not that I don’t like being with you, Pen. You’re my best friend. I don’t know, I-”

“Shh, Si,” she said, “it’s okay, I understand. No matter how much I don’t care about royalty, I still know you’re a prince. I can’t change that. Baz didn’t know at all. You could fully be yourself with him. That must’ve been wonderful for you. You really liked being with him.”

“I really like being with you too,” he mumbled. It felt almost childish to say. But he felt he had to, because he didn’t want Penny to feel less.

Penny chuckled into his hair. “I know, thank you, Si. But being with Baz is different, right? And not just because he didn’t know you were a prince. Being with him felt more intense and incredible. Even if he did something someone else does, it felt very different.”

Simon looked up at her with his brow all pulled together. “Y-Yeah, exactly. How do you know that?”

Penny smiled kindly at him. She pushed a curl out of his eyes. Simon had never had real family growing up to counsel and comfort him. But if he did, he supposed they would treat him like this. He liked it a lot.

“Because,” she whispered. “I have Micah. I know what being in love feels like. And I’m very sure you’re in love too.”

Simon inhaled sharply. The words hit him right in the heart. He had thought about love ever since reading Swan Lake, of course. But every time he considered it, his brain fell into a whirlpool of complicated emotions and fears and past trauma. Simon didn't understand his own feelings. He never could, even with the curse at stake. Which made him feel even more useless. He lowered his head and shrugged.

“I don’t know about that,” he mumbled.

Penelope barked out a laugh. “Simon, you sacrificed many good night’s sleeps to see him, spent ages trying to find a way for him to get free, obviously greatly enjoyed your time with him, and you said you almost kissed him at the festival, remember? If all that isn’t being in love, I don’t know what is.”

Simon honestly had no way to refute that, because he was sure he’d never been in love before. He thought he had loved Agatha, but after that ended so quickly, he realised how wrong his feelings were. He knew then that he had absolutely no idea what being in love was. But Penny did, and she might be right about him too. She knew a lot about a lot of things. Her words cut through a lot of the mess in his mind. And honestly, if Simon was going to be in love, Baz was someone he could see himself with. At least, he could if Baz didn’t hate his guts right now.

He pressed his forehead even further into Penny’s soft robe, hoping it would stop his muscles shaking so terribly. “Pen, if this is being in love, does it always hurt so much?”

She rubbed slow circles in his back. “Not usually. But I won’t lie, sometimes it does.”

Simon groaned, the sound coming from deep and low in chest. “Love is terrible.”

Penny chuckled softly, her breath brushing against his skin. “It can be, Si.”

He wiped away some more stray tears. “I don’t know what to do now, Pen. I was going to tell him about the curse and now hates me and I don’t know how I can fix this with him. He told me to never come back, and I...I said such horrible things to him. I was so awful. Even if I do love him and could break the curse, would he even want me to? I-I don't- I just can't- ” His eyes scrunched up in mental anguish. Penelope held him tighter.

“Well,” she sighed, “I don’t think you can come up with anything reasonable like this. You need to rest.”

Exhaustion started to truly seep into Simon’s bones. It had been a very, very long night. He knew he should go back to the castle, but he didn’t want to be there. That wasn’t where he felt at ease. And he needed a lot of ease right now

“C-Can I stay here?” he asked quietly. “Davy’s been holed up in his study since we got back. He probably won’t notice if I’m gone.”

“Of course you can, Simon.”

He smiled against her shoulder. “Thank you.”

They slowly pulled apart. Simon kept the blanket wrapped around himself as they walked up the stairs. Penny got Premal’s room when he moved into the castle, and she now had the largest bed other than her parent’s. She didn’t hesitate to pull Simon onto the mattress with her. It wasn’t weird. They used to both sleep in Simon’s enormous bed back at Mage’s School when Penny couldn’t take Trixie and Keris’ snogging anymore. Simon was alone in his single room a lot. He liked having a roommate every once in awhile.

So when he laid down next to Penny, it felt normal and familiar, and he felt a bit better. Penny pulled the thicker blanket on top of them. Simon felt her hand tap his. He grabbed it, weaving their fingers together under the covers.

“It’ll be okay, Si,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Simon was already slipping into sleep, too tired to actually respond. But he squeezed her hand. And she squeezed back.

———————————————

The toy in his child hands was small but complex. He was trying to to geometric pieces into a coherent shape. Simon didn’t understand it himself. But whoever’s hands he had instead of his own were much better at it. The chubby fingers manipulated them with ease they shouldn’t have at this age. Simon felt the balsa wood, but it was the ghost of a sensation, like he was underwater and a million miles away.

Soon, the small hands finished his puzzle. It became a perfect sphere made of tiny jagged pieces. The little boy let out a little sigh of disappointment. Distantly, Simon was aware that this child was sad to have nothing left to do. He looked up around his room. It was large and grand. The aura was dim, little light coming in the small windows. All the furniture was dark wood and far too tall for someone so short, looming over him like almighty gods of dead trees. Red tapestries fell down from the ceiling. Simon knew there was a symbol on it, but he couldn’t quite make it out. It was hard to focus on something so specific. Details weren’t clear, muddled in the invisible fog of the dream.

He stepped out of his room, toddling a bit on his young feet. The boy walked directly into a wall of soft white cloth.

“Oh, hello,” a sweet, familiar voice said. “Are you done with your toys, little puff?”

The boy looked up. The woman looked like a giant from his perspective. Her face was small and far away, but obviously kind. And that nickname she called him, Simon didn’t know it, but the boy did. He’d heard before from his mum. That was her cute name for him, she used it all the time. So others used it as well.

“I’m bored,” the little boy said, voice high pitched and whiny.

“Don’t you have your toys?” the woman asked.

“I’ve used all the toys.” He fiddled with his tunic. It had a surprisingly elaborate design for someone so young. “Where’s Mummy? I want her to read to me.”

“She’s probably in her study. But she’s very busy.”

Simon felt the boy’s mouth pull into a pouty frown. “Is she too busy for me?”

The woman kneeled down, at level with the boy. Her face was close, but it’s details were distant. But Simon simply knew she looked kind.

“No no, little puff,” she cooed, “not at all. She’s just-” The woman sighed. “You know, you should go see her. Go say hello to your Mum. You would be a welcome break from her work.”

The pouty frown turned into a wide grin. “Okay!”

The boy dashed off, out of the room and down the hall. It was familiar to the boy, but also familiar to Simon. He’d been here before. Tall, boring, lined with pictures and red banners. And the boy looking for his Mum.

“No,” Simon wanted to shout, “get out of here, run, you have to run. Go before it-”

The fire exploded behind him, and the boy screamed as he was engulfed in flames.

———————————————

Simon bolted upright, like he had on many, many nights. He tried to control his shaky breathing and burning magic. He couldn't destroy Penelope's house, he just couldn't. He heard a grumble next to him. Right, there was Penny, laying next to him and still holding his hand. Her grip grounded him back in reality. His magic died down, the glow of his hands receding.

It was still dark outside the window. Simon knew he had barely slept a few hours. As the fear from the nightmare slipped away, the memories of what happened tonight started to creep back into his mind like an oncoming storm. Simon wasn’t ready to to deal with that again yet. So he laid down, pushed everything from his mind, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

———————————————

AN: Well, if it wasn't already clear who the dreams were about, I think this makes it pretty obvious lol. And yeah, shit is bad right now, I'm sorry :( It was hard for me to write but it's necessary for the character development and the plot. Also I know Baz's attitude and views seem really different to canon, but in my mind it was because he was raised completely differently. He's not an Old Family son here, he's an imprisoned orphan who's been alone in a lake for fourteen years. So he would be the more disadvantaged one compared to Simon, not the other way around like in the book. It's a weird role reversal from canon where Simon is the more privileged one and Baz is railing against his wealth, I guess. Idk this is how it worked out lol. Next chapter will be up Thursday baring any complications (aka my horrible health lol.) Brb gonna go freak out about the Wayard Son cover some more haha. See you guys soon :D

[invokingbees]

I finished Dark Souls 2

So you know what that means!

Absolute fucking Biblical CUBIT of text under the break.

Dark Souls 2 is an oft-maligned game. Once a radically different product, its director was fired half way through and replaced, and the game pretty much rebuilt from scratch using already existing assets, story included. The first time I played DaS2, I didn't like it. I played a caster and had much less experience with the series than I do now, so suffice it to say that I gave up and respecced into a pure strength build because of Fume Knight and vowed to never play the game again because I found it so unenjoyable. But after being disappointed with Sekiro and needing a Souls fix, I reluctantly picked it up again, and with much more experience under my belt, I found myself actually really enjoying it, even more so than my three playthroughs of Dark Souls 1, which to some people, is tantamount to blasphemy. So let me talk about why I feel this way.

In Dark Souls 1, you are the Chosen Undead, with only a scrap of legend to lead you on a quest to save a world on the brink of falling into capital D Darkness. Of course that's all bullshit and is basically a conspiracy against humanity by the gods of fire who feared an age of humanity, an age of Dark. In Dark Souls 2, things are a little different. It appears to have been many many ages since the first game, so much so no one remembers Lordran, no remembers the gods, or Anor Londo or anything. It's been possibly hundreds if not thousands of years. You are again an accursed Undead, who has found themselves in the decrepit land of Drangleic, which long ago was brought to its knees by a war with the Giants from across the sea, after Drangleic's king, Vendrick, took something from them at the bidding of his mysterious queen, Nashandra. Vendrick sought a way to cure or circumvent the Undead Curse which turns all undead, eventually, into mindless Hollows. Alas, although Vendrick was close, he didn't make it, and fled from his queen and his kingdom after learning of her true nature and reason for sending him off to conquer the Giants. You, the Bearer of the Curse, like in DaS1, must collect powerful souls, but instead of linking the first flame and becoming glorified firewood, you must prove yourself a worthy monarch, traverse the continent, gather the Great Souls and take the Throne of Want, to inherit the Fire and conquer the Dark, to overcome the curse, or to leave it and seek something else.

Dark Souls 2 has a more personal scope and is actually the main reason I really liked it. You arrive in Drangleic 'without ever really knowing why' but find your objective fairly quickly. You're gently nudged by the Emerald Herald (the level up waifu) to seek the king and eventually discover he was looking for a way out of the curse. In DaS1 you're fed a grand narrative about the fate of the world and the gods and how you'll be the hero to save it all, but in DaS2, you're the bearer of a curse, a lost soul who's stumbled upon possible salvation and has no real other option but to pursue it. It's a salvation with a lot of responsibility, and you must ask yourself (and are asked by the King's brother, the nefarious Aldia) if that's really what you want. In the end, taking the Throne of Want inherits the fire and links it, takes the power of the gods and keeps it all running, but Dark Souls 2 gives this action a much more personal angle. You could have easily been fed a tale that the king needs a successor and that you must prove yourself in his trials, but no, Vendrick went hollow a long time ago and there's just nobody left to pick up the pieces. But it's all there, if you want it. And Nashandra does so hope that you do.

The idea of Want plays a great part in Dark Souls 2, which really cements the personal angle the game takes. The curse of life is the curse of want. The desire for power, security, knowledge. Vendrick wanted a way out of the curse. But this want factors into the game's real antagonists, the Shards of Manus, Father of the Abyss, who fled through the world and became the queens of four lands, all of which fell to ruin. They were weak creatures, they sought safety, they were envious, fearful, and Wanted. And you have to wonder, are they even to be faulted for what happened? Perhaps. But what about you? Your journey isn't a necessity, it's a want, you rail against fate. You kill and take souls because you want a way out of the curse, to surpass Vendrick's failures.

Dark Souls 2's atmosphere has this almost fairy tale-esque, mythical feel with kings and queens, giants and castles, crowns and thrones, but with the weird and dark twist of Souls lore. There is nary a mention of Gwyn, the first flame, I don't think the game has a single demon outside of the one in Shrine of Amana, and for all the complaints of the game calling back too hard to DaS1, I never felt it was anywhere near as intrusive as people say it is. DaS2 almost could have been its own thing. The different approach to its fantasy feels refreshing, moreso than Dark Souls 3, although truth be told I love that game's idea of an exhausted world being artificially forced to continue and falling in on itself. Dark Souls 2 doesn't even present a world ending threat, because there's other lands out there, Volgin, Forossa and Mirrah come up numerous times and seem to be doing just fine. Drangleic is a ruin to pick through for answers. There is no rush to link the flame, everything is placed upon your want to succeed. Quite meta, in a way.

Lore and atmosphere-wise, I'm very fond of Dark Souls 2. I love the whole lead up to finding Vendrick, hearing about this king, going through the land, fighting your way through the castle, feeling like your hot on his trail, fighting his royal guards, his personal bodyguard and then...you find a mindless husk wandering an empty room. That's a fantastic reveal.

Gameplay-wise, though, it's now time to get tough on DaS2. The game has issues, I won't lie, and they're just enough to bug me.

One thing that really bothered me are the weapon movesets which are, for the most part, abysmal. Nothing feels particularly satisfying and most of the choices just feel janky and awkward. Combat in the game is perfectly serviceable and at time it does feel good but the combat, really, is just fine never anything more. It never feels particularly meaty, but sure, Souls games aren't combat games and this isn't Bloodborne which required a more in-depth combat system. Casting is another matter, Souls magic never felt very good but DaS2 has a pretty good amount of variety to its spells.

The main game has some great areas, but also really just terrible ones. The two most glaring areas, for me, are Black Gulch, a frankly bullshit almost straight hallway lined with poison shooting statues that eat your weapon durability like no one's business if you want to be rid of them (also, this game's durability is a joke). It also has OHK grab enemies and worm enemies designed to just completely block movement. It's a bad, bad area with a shit Dirty Colossus rip off boss as one of its Great Souls bosses. Of course there's also Shrine of Amana, an area that was once nearly unplayable and was reduced to just frustrating and unenjoyable. Instant death drops everywhere, a near constant movement penalty, ranged attacks coming from all sides, all the time. Bad fucking area. There's certain sections of other areas that stick out, too, like the run to the boss in Huntsman's Copse, or the foggy forest in Shaded Woods with almost literally invisible enemies.

As for the bosses, they're mostly forgettable. They range from pretty cool gimmick battles like Looking Glass Knight, to complete fucking trash like Royal Rat Vanguard or Authority. I really appreciate DaS2's amount of DeS-like gimmick bosses, especially since DaS3 went real hard with the JUST LIKE ARTORIAS stuff but shit like Executioner's Chariot, tone it down for fuck's sake. At least take out the necromancers if you must have skeletons. I wil say, DaS2 gets flak for having lots of dudes in armour, but to me, it fits the tone of the game, even if some of them are a bit crap. The base game's final bosses, though, are a shame. Nashandra is barely a fight and Aldia even less so. He's immensely tedious and there's just nothing fun, interesting or satisfying about it. He sticks out as one DaS2's worst moments and was clearly added as an afterthought.

The DLCs, I'm actually not the biggest fan. Most people say the DLCs are better than the main game, but Brume Tower? Kinda sucks. It's drab, its boss is frustrating, there's not much to do, Maldron the Assassin is there. Shulva, Sanctum City? Much better, great aesthetic, nice level design, but then it throws in LMAO POISE enemies all over the place, and not just that, but the constant threat of poison and the return of Black Gulch poison statues. Eleum Loyce? Has the best bossfight in the entire game, that's for sure, my heart aches for the Burnt Ivory King, but there's little things here and there and that sour a mostly fine experience. The return of Maldron the Assassin, for one, and of course the fucking spiky rat fucker Wheel Skeleton 2.0 bullshit enemies who can and will kill you in seconds.

Also the intro where you meet the Firekeepers is just fucking awful, oh my GOD.

Overall, Dark Souls 2's bad moments are bad, they're terrible, but let's not forget Dark Souls 1 had the entirely of Lost Izalith, the Demon Ruins and Blighttown, and Dark Souls 3 has TWO poison swamps. The good parts of Dark Souls 2, its amtosphere, its art style, its general tone, are sorely overlooked and sometimes outright ignored in favour of, in my opinion, overbloated nostalgia for Dark Souls 1. Dark Souls 2 has a lot going for it, it has combat mechanics like power-stancing which is great, it has a totally overhauled NG+, it has variety and weird gimmick weapons and armour the ass, it has fantastic fashion, it's a good fucking game and deserves praise for the good things it did. And like the other Souls games, criticism for the things it fucked up on. But regardless, I'm glad we have them, and I'm really glad I've played through Dark Souls 2 again. It deserves to be played.

[qethnehzul]

Casil / Miraak HC III

Inhales feat. a bunch of basic plot ideas for my own reference for post-Dawnguard stuff basically. Feat government overthrowing and kids. And spoilers for fic crap if you Actually Care

Miraak beelines it for establishing his power in Skyrim, initially via the Imperial Court. Once Ulfric winds up with the Jagged Crown, Miraak just finds that a convenient excuse to kick him off the throne and take it himself. 

Ulfric does not win a shouting match against Miraak.

Casil is less than pleased about Miraak’s interest in being king / tyrant / so on, but she can’t stop him.

Miraak manages to worm his way through this and careful manipulation of the court and so on into being Skyrim’s new King, and Casil his queen. Which is largely the only reason they officially married, so people would leave them alone on that.

Casil wants 0 to do with this whole leadership thing. Every time she has to make an appearance she just hides behind Miraak. 

Miraak sets things up for the Long Run because he’s p sure he’s not dying any time soon, and neither is Casil. And he has dragons.

Miraak’s the one who ends up wanting kids. Casil literally never considered it. 

It takes Casil and Miraak years to conceive between Casil’s fucked up body and the fact that they’re a bosmer and an atmoran.

Casil like never wants to be pregnant again because it was miserable and she did not really realize everything that comes with being pregnant because she’s a sheltered idiot.

Serana and Jenassa have to baby her while Miraak works.

And Casil and Miraak don’t even get to hold their first born! Because she is stolen out of the midwife’s hands by Mora, who just fucks off with her before anyone can react.

To the absolute agony of everyone, they resign to assume (and imagine) that their daughter is dead, and that there is no physical way she’s alive and maybe Out There somewhere. They announce to the country that she was just still born and bury a empty coffin after naming her “Saan” (Dovahzul for “Loss”)

Saan is not at all dead. Mora simply drops her off with a bunch of his cultists, initially just wanting to make Casil and Miraak miserable and kind of hoping they’d come after him. He didn’t actually think they’d just. Let him win on that. So instead of killing her he just leaves her to be raised by his followers.

Casil spirals into depression and ends up spending a few years traveling around with Odahviing or just being alone in her old home. Miraak isn’t a ton better, but he’s got a country to run and doesn’t have time for being HYPER BITTER.

Odahviing suggests asking Akatosh to Do Something. Like anything at this point. 

Casil and Miraak end up asking Akatosh to do something. And to their actual surprise big dragon dad Akatosh actually appears to them and rather guiltily agrees, since everything has kind of been shit for them. 

He offers Casil and Miraak a amulet that, as long as their kid wears it, Mora will be unable to touch them. He can’t, however, get Saan back. 

Five years after Saan’s birth, Casil and Miraak have another kid- and this time, Mora doesn’t kidnap him. His name is “Dein” (Dovahzul for “Safeguard”)

Miraak introduces Dein to Odahviing like a whole week after he’s born despite protests from basically everyone else. Baby is a lot less terrified than expected because he is fucking tiny, and Odahviing is rather interested.

Dein is raised knowing sign language, basic tamrielic, and dovahzul.

He talks a lot in sign language when he’s feeling uneasy or anxious and talks a lot in dovahzul to his dad and the dragons.

Dein, while fully capable of it, does not care too much for magic. He likes running and climbing and has people teach him how to shoot a bow.

Miraak is super frustrated by this, because he wants his kid to learn how to be a powerful mage like his parents.

Dein and Miraak butt heads a lot, and Miraak has a sort of rough expectation for what Dein should grow up to be. Casil is a lot more lax, but isn’t... really sure how to get Miraak to let up on their kid.

Dein hangs out with Odavhiing a bunch and ends up going to him whenever he’s frustrated or wants to get away from his parents. They go on a lot of adventures together.

Odahviing and Dein keep secrets between each other.

Odahviing is the one who told Dein that his sister was kidnapped and was had not actually died at birth.

Dein confides in Odahviing that he’s seeing a girl in his dreams, who he later comes to the conclusion that he’s been sharing dreams with Saan from wherever she is in Cyrodiil. 

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 38

*inhales*

It’s here. Pray for me.

(Also, this should be pretty obvious, but this is indeed a chapter with a sex scene, so there will be NSFW text so maybe skip this one if you don’t wanna read that kinda stuff)

And Aelin knew if she didn’t get the hell out of this city for an hour or two, she might very well explode again.

I’m out of witty remarks to make about Alien’s piss poor temper at this point. Can you believe hundreds of people died painful and brutal deaths last chapter and all SJM focuses on is Alien’s feefees?

Rolfe and Alien have “edgy” “thrilling” “banter” where they insult one another, blah blah blah, you’re not here for that.

Also Rolfe sold his soul for the map on his hands which resulted in his sister and mother dying. How many nameless characters are gonna be murdered by SJM’s hands to give her main characters something to angst over holy shit.

Aelin rasped, “No. I don’t know what happened. One minute it was us … then she came.” She rubbed at her chest, avoiding the touch of the golden chain against it. Her throat tightened as she took in that spot on [Rowan’s] own chest, right between his pectorals. Where her fist had been aimed.

FJDHFKJAHJDAS OH MY GOD THIS IS THE MALE EQUIVALENT OF SJM BRINGING TOO MUCH FOCUS ON HER FEMALE CHARACTERS BREASTS I AM ACTUALLY CHOKING AKDHFKHAFJKHD

“If I had killed you,” she hissed, but choked on the words, unable to finish the thought, the idea of it.

This book would be a lot better since it would mean less Aelin gushing and less Ratlin being hailed as the best relationship evah

“She enjoyed every rutting second of it. She wanted to see what my power might do, what she could do with my body, with the key.” [Aelin’s] flames burned hotter, shredding through her clothes until they were ash, until she was naked and clothed in only her own fire.

??? i ????? this is not a private beach???? youre a queen what if someone walked in on you naked im?????? im so confused why does she do this???

“How can you be so … fine with this?” Embers sprayed from [Aelin] like a swarm of fireflies.

FHSHJSD THIS FUCKING IMAGERY SJM YOU’RE KILLING ME

Rowan shucked off his boots, tossing them onto the dry sand behind him. “Because I’m the only one arrogant and insane enough to ask Mala Fire- Bringer to let me stay with the woman I love.” [Aelin’s] flames turned to pure gold at the words—at that word. But she said, “Perhaps you’re just the only one arrogant and insane enough to love me.”

Love it when Alien writes my snarks for me. Makes these chapter reviews a whole lot easier!

Aelin let [Rowan] pivot her in the surf and sand to face him fully, let him slide his mouth along her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone, the point of her Fae ear.“These,” he said, nibbling at her earlobe, “have been tempting me for months.”

Oh god here we go

Before we proceed, let’s have a little chat, shall we? SJM’s sex scenes? They fucking suck. This isn’t an erotica novel, therefore sex scenes serve to help us feel the connection between characters, no? I don’t mind sex scenes; I’ve read many before that made me emotional because if they’re well written, they demonstrate how much a couple loves each other.

But SJM fails so hard at sex scenes. Her sex scenes isn’t about the bond between the characters, it’s about her jerking off to fae peen. They’re so hilariously unsexy with the shitty writing and bizarre word choice, and since I don’t like any of her characters, why should I care? Her sex scenes are there solely to trick readers into thinking these books are hot and sexy. But its much easier to show you rather than explain, so.....*sigh* Here we go.

Rowan obliged her silent demand, pressing kisses and soft, growling nips to her throat. “I’ve never taken a woman on a beach,” he purred against her skin, sucking gently on the space between her neck and shoulder. “And look at that—we’re far from any sort of … collateral.”

Am i reading a bad fanfic? Tell me how the characters feel! If i want graphic descriptions of Rowboat fucking Alien, I’d look up fanfics on AO3. Tell me how they feel! Also Rowboat was literally insisting they shouldn’t fuck like animals out in the wilderness at the beginning of the book. Oh, how naive I was back then to the horrors I would endure...

Aelin remembered herself enough to say, “Someone might come looking for us.” Rowan huffed a laugh against her neck. “Something tells me,” he said, his breath skittering along her skin, “you might not mind if we were discovered. If someone saw how thoroughly I plan to worship you.”

JKDSKHDKADHKASJD YOU’RE JUST OKAY WITH SOMEONE POSSIBLY RUINING YOUR SEX BY WALKING BY. LIKE WTF WOULD YOU JUST CONTINUE FUCKING IF SOMEONE ACTUALLY DID WALK BY?? IS THAT WHAT YOU WOULD DO???

His lips crushed into hers, and he said onto her mouth, dropping words more precious than rubies and emeralds and sapphires into her heart, her soul, “I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”

God ok I take it back I don’t need to know how the characters feel. This is just too much. Pro tip, declaration of love are better kept simple and sweet, with all that big mushy stuff left unsaid. Also pro tip, try to find other ways of characters saying they love one another rather than just “I love you”, having them have their own special ways of expressing their loves just makes it more special and interesting to read and tugs on the heartstrings. Having them give huge speeches like this is just too much for me personally and doesn’t make their declarations of love feel special or meaningful

Aelin didn’t know when she started crying, when her body began shaking with the force of it. She had never said such words—to anyone.

Uh, yeah you have? She’s expressed similar love to Chaol in Crown of Midnight, calling him her home and whatnot. Pretty similar declarations of love.

Rowan pulled back, wiping away her tears with his thumbs, one after another. He said softly, barely audible over the crashing waves around them, “Fireheart.” She sniffed back tears. “Buzzard.”

Human brain: They’re disgusting and annoying characters I am not attached to their shitty abusive relationship in the slightest

Monkey brain: special couple nicknames,, pure and soft,,, favorite trope,,,

“You … are so beautiful.” She knew he didn’t just mean the skin and curves and bones. But Aelin still smiled, humming. “I know,” she said

I fucking hate Aelin’s vain ass

“Is it that different? With someone like me.” “I don’t know,” Rowan admitted. Again, his eyes slid along her body, as if he could see through skin to her burning heart beneath. “I’ve never been with… an equal. I’ve never allowed myself to be that unleashed.”

What the fuck?

This is Lyria, Rowan’s former mate. She was a Fae who was pregnant with Rowan’s child when she was killed, meaning she and Rowan had sex. How has Rowan not been with an ‘equal’ before?? Did SJM forget her own character’s backstory?

There’s more unsexy foreplay and Aelin takes off Rowan’s pants.

Rowan had been bred and honed for battle, and every inch of him was pure-blooded warrior.

Oh my god, I cannot wait to see how SJM skirts around actually using the word dick/penis//whatever

Oh, gods. Oh, burning, rutting gods. Rowan knew what he was doing; he really gods-damned did.

Just... this whole chunk. This is epic fantasy. Also ‘gods-damned’ is a dumb word idc what y’all say

Rowan growled his approval, her breast still in his mouth

JESUS ROWAN ARE YOU TRYING TO RIP OFF HER TITTY

A phantom touch, like the northern wind given form, flicked over her bare breast. Aelin burst into flames.

what the fuck I am sh o cke d

Magic foreplay?? This is the level we’re at, folks. Fucking magic foreplay. The same wind magic Rowan used to kill witches he is now using to feel up Aelin’s boobs. Holy shit.

A roaring wind full of ice and snow blasted around them.

I have several questions.

Rowan’s smile was nothing short of wicked as he pulled away to run a broad hand from her throat down to the juncture of her thighs.

lmfao wtf. SJM wants to have graphic sex scenes in her YA series but won’t actually use the correct words for genitalia? Like christ are you sticking to YA rules or not???

So Rowan did, sliding a finger into her as his tongue flicked that one spot, and oh, gods, she was going to explode into starfire—

I don’t think starfire is an actual word. Also I hate these two.

When Rowan was seated deep in her, trembling with restraint as he let her adjust, she lifted her burning hands to his face, wind and ice tumbling and roaring around them, dancing across the waves with ribbons of flame.

HAHAHA I AM DYING HOW IS NOBODY NOTICING ALL THIS FIRE AND ICE AND SHIT JUST EXPLODING ON THE BEACH

Seriously what does the magic add to this scene?? it’s so fucking weird! How are they somehow fucking but also concentrating on doing all this magic??? Like what the actual fuck it just makes no sense

And as his thrusts turned deeper, she dug in her fingers, dragging her nails across his back, claiming him, marking him. His hips slammed home at the blood she drew

WHAT THE FUCK  WHY ARE YOU DRAWING BLOOD?!?! THAT ISNT SEXY THATS AELIN LITERALLY SLICING UP ROWANS BACK WITH HER NAILS WHAT IS HAPPENING

Rowan’s magic went wild, though his mouth on her neck was so careful, even as his canines dragged along her skin.

How is he careful but also dragging his teeth across her neck you can’t have both

Rowan’s own release barreled through him at the sight of it [Aelin climaxing], and he groaned her name so that she remembered it at last, lightning joining wind and ice over the water.

LIGHTNING

L I G H T N I N G

EPIC FANTASY SERIES COMPARED TO THE LIKES OF LOTR AND WE HAVE A MAIN CHARACTER’S CLIMAX SUMMONING LIGHTNING I WANT OFF THIS CRAZY RIDE

Already, she wanted more, already she was calculating how long she’d have to wait. “You once told me that you don’t bite the females of other males.” Rowan stiffened a bit. But she went on coyly, “Does that mean ... you’ll bite your own female, then?”

Aelin has a biting kink confirmed. Listen, I don’t care what kinks people have as long as it’s kept in the bedroom and everyone involved can and has consented, but this is just gross because I despise these two characters and don’t want any more paragraphs about Rowan biting Aelin please spare me

Understanding flashed in those green eyes as he raised his head from her neck to study the spot where those canines had once pierced her skin.

Are you bullshitting me. Are you actually fucking kidding me.

Rowan assaulted Aelin and bit her on the neck, causing her to bleed.. and this is portrayed as sexy? As a romantic moment between them?? What the actual fuck SJM!!! If a guy you were arguing with bit you, you’d knee him in the balls and call the police because he is assaulting you!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I READING HOW IS THIS IN A NOVEL IM DJHAFJKHDJKAFHJK

I’m done and I want this chapter to be over. tl;dr Aelin wants to bite Rowan and this makes him so horny they immediately have sex again.

They moved together, undulating like the sea before them, and when Rowan roared her name again into the star-flecked black, Aelin hoped the gods themselves heard it and knew their days were now numbered.

You’re fucking like animals in the middle of a beach where anyone could see you. Stop trying to make it all ~epic~ and ~most important relationship ever~ like god fucking damnit this Ratty/Aelin ship is literally my worst nightmare. Fuck this book.

[authorellenmint]

Hurt & Angst with Ali

Taken from The Truth, King Alistair and his wily elven mistress, the Warden, talk about the trials of the two of them suffering under the taint.

For day 3 of @alistairappreciationweek

Alistair burrowed his face into the small of my back. Maker only knew why he loved doing it; his arm hooking around my stomach as his stubble tickled with words spoken against me. I couldn't make out what he said and asked for clarification.

"Do you have to leave so soon?"

"It won't be for a couple more days," I said, running my fingers along his hand clutching tight.

"But you only just arrived," he complained, that patch of face fur around his chin itching my naked skin.

"Three months ago," I countered. With a heavy sigh, he wormed his way higher up the bed until his breath danced across the nape of my neck.

"And now you're off again, for Maker knows how long, to stop the world and save bad guys."

"Yes, that is my exact itinerary. Day one, stop world. Day two, save bad guys. Day three, crown nug king. Day four, mass orgy."

His touch caressed down my bare arms, then rising up to circle the shoulders - always hesitant to drop down to my breasts. Even after all this time he was still shocked a naked woman dared to share his bed. "Court won't be the same without you," Alistair whispered near my ear.

"You'll manage, you always do."

Normally that would be the end of it, but his hand clung tighter, pulling me to him. "Why do you have to go?"

"You know why."

"No, all I got was duty, and honor, and other motto words that amount to a massive headache."

"Eamon's been on you about it more than I have. If Gaspard becomes Emperor of Orlais, it's right back to the war. A war that could last another decade or more."

"So?" Maker that man could play obtuse when he wanted. It worked surprisingly well in his favor with diplomats, most screaming to any demands just to get him to stop being such an idiot. Right now I wanted to bludgeon him with the only weapon handy, which was sadly a pillow.

"The bannorn will not be happy until you produce or name an heir," I stated the obvious. He knew it, had known it since the moment he accepted that damn crown, but somehow it kept getting pushed back to a later problem. We've still got darkspawn, I'll solve that heir issue later. Oh wait, there's Orlais mucking about in politics again, no time to pick that heir. And what's this? A mage rebellion?! Nope, heir stuff has to wait. But it couldn't any longer. Everyone was more than aware of the clock ticking above their king's head even if few were told the full truth of the calling.

But Alistair shoved it all aside, his lips brushing down my back. Despite the obvious attempt to distract me yet again, I couldn't help but sigh at the touch I spent more of my life craving than getting. "So," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss, "let's get married."

"Just like that. The King of Ferelden and an elven mage."

"Hero of Ferelden sounds better on the stationery. I know I could never get better. And there's some other stuff add after, right? Didn't the dwarves name you a thing or what not? Scrubber of the stone?"

We used to joke about it when Derenim was still a smoking husk from the darkspawn. Oh, what if we ran to the chantry and ordered them to wed us before the nobility sobered up. Who could say no while a massive archdemon's corpse rotted at the top of the tower? Let the bannorn raise hell, we've got love on our side. Surely that will shield us from an entire country lusting after the contested throne.

Alistair ran his fingers across my hip, drumming them down my thigh, "I know a place that sells cheap trebuchets. A few mercs, hire some pirates out of Rivain and the bannorn won't know what hit 'em."

"Don't." I didn't mean to plead but the word thudded from my lips. His exploring fingers froze and yanked away. Cold seeped into my skin from the loss of his touch. I flipped around quickly and stared into that doleful face. "I didn't mean," I started. This was why we joked about it. It was easier. "If I can find a cure for the taint, stop the calling, then maybe we'll have some breathing room. Keep the gentry happy."

He shifted his mile long stare upon me and I shuddered. "This need of yours to solve the calling, it..." Sighing deeply, he continued, "it wouldn't have anything to do with your losing a baby?"

I reared back, "How do you know about that?"

"Teagan was concerned, pale as a sheet when he confessed it, and thought I should be told. Unlike you." Of course, out of all the times for the Arl to walk in on me covered in blood, it had to be when there wasn't a bandit in sight I could blame it upon. It was more than a bit awkward to beg for silence while still admitting whose it had been. Not that I didn't feel the occasional noble watching the size of my waistline closer than they should. Everyone knew who shared the king's bed but weren't about to call the woman that killed an archdemon on it. At least not to her face.

"Alistair, I...I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me? Are you all right?"

I nodded softly, "I'm fine. It wasn't that much blood, and," I flared my fist, casting a soft blue flame, "I haven't forgotten how to magic shit. It's fine."

"You already said that."

Placing my hand against his cheek, I drunk in his wounded eyes. He didn't turn away. "I didn't tell you about them because I didn't want you to worry."

"Them? How many have there been?"

Shit! Even I fell for the idiot ploy sometimes. "Four, though none were as far along as this past one. A month or two and then heavy bleeding. Which, given my profession it's a wonder I noticed at all." The joke went over about as well as I'd expected. The man I loved looked like I'd stomped on his face, ripped out his heart, and kicked his kitten for good measure. If it weren't for my connection with spirits, it's doubtful I'd have noticed the loss as little more than some extra bleeding.

"What about this last one?" he asked. His hand drifted towards my broken womb, but he paused, terrified of hurting me.

"Three months, maybe more. Calendar can get a bit muddled in the deep road. I don't know why it lasted longer. Maybe too much elfroot in my diet. I..." a sob broke my sentence. Alistair wrapped his arms around me, pulling my head to his chest. Even angry at my deceit he still needed to comfort me, to try and soothe a loss I barely understood myself. A child from an elf mage wouldn't solve the problems of the crown, it would just exacerbate them. There's already one bastard on the throne, another could jeopardize everything. And if it had magic...

A kiss landed upon my head as he rubbed up and down my arms. I burrowed deeper into him, willing away an ache that could never be salved. I didn't tell him because how could I? So, funny story, I got knocked up a few times and lost the baby before it got bigger than pea. Cramped like crazy and made a mess, but otherwise I'm good. Yeah, it's probably that taint stuff. Sucks we're both Grey Wardens, eh?

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled into my hair.

And that was the other reason. I knew, despite the fact I was the one regularly running headlong into brood mother lairs and charging dragons, he'd blame himself. If he didn't know then he couldn't feel the pain. It seemed a kinder cut.

I pulled back from his chest to find tears streaking down his pale skin. When did I start crying? Wiping the evidence away with my thumb, I planted a kiss upon his slack lips. Just give me something normal for a moment. Please? Alistair sensed my need and returned the kiss, his fingers combing my hair.

"If I'd known, I could have done - you know - things to help. I do have some control. Generally."

I couldn't stop the laugh at his earnestness, "I can control it as well. Better than you thanks to magic. But I didn't think it necessary. I assumed Grey Wardens couldn't even conceive. Oops."

"Maker," he pulled me back into a hug. "Is this why you want to cure the calling?"

"No. Even if I could reverse it, I doubt it would repair ten years worth of damage to all the baby making bits." I'd thought often about the implications, the high cost the Wardens required, but it was the first time I ever said it aloud. Growing up in the circle, children were an accident. A dangerous one at that. Whatever you gave birth to was whisked off to the chantry, never to be seen again. I'd never put much thought into having a child, much less one with an entire nation breathing down its neck.

The man I couldn't stop loving sighed, his arms slacking in their grip. "I don't understand. Massive surprise, I know."

"If I can give us time, more than another ten or twenty years, maybe... There has to be an answer out there. Something to save Grey Wardens from this curse. And it's not as if I haven't delved deep into long forgotten ruins before."

"And each time I nearly had a heart attack until you came home safe," he countered, kissing my forehead. "I don't want to lose you to a fool's errand."

"Oh, I see how it is. You can risk your own life, the damn country even, to run off to Antiva and then Seheron chasing a ghost, but not me researching the blight."

"That was completely different."

"How?"

"In a different way that was in no way like what you want to do," he stuttered around his flimsy argument. I could have killed Zevran for sending him that damn note. Why didn't he contact me, give me a chance to use my contacts? Alistair insisted he had to go it alone, not even letting Eamon send a few bodyguards to protect the out-of-practice king. I was too busy with other matters, and he insisted it would be a minor stop over to crash a Crow prison.

At least he took the time to send a few letters back to me, each one sounding more and more hopeful that he'd find Maric alive. That he could pass this burden off to his father, the true king of Ferelden. With each one, I felt a knot widening in my stomach -- he was risking his own neck not just to change his destiny, to secure his country, but to be with me. When he came back dejected, once again failing to cling to that family thread he craved, I broke inside too.

Eamon ripped him to shreds after that, for endangering the throne, the country, and possibly dragging Ferelden into a war it couldn't hope to win with Tevinter. It also started the clock.

I pushed back the blonde hairs sticking to his forehead, curling each one back the way he liked. "I promise I'll come back."

"You always say that."

"And I always do," I smiled, lightly kissing his slack lips.

But he didn't brighten, "What about the day you don't?" He sat up in bed away from me, his eyes drifting downwards to the old blanket from our campsite. The thing was threadbare to the point of being see through, but he insisted upon sleeping below it. If any servant tried to replace it with a new, they saw true anger in their king.

Picking at the edges, Alistair said, "I know, okay. I'm not stupid. Eamon's been parading the least terrifying of 'available' noble women under my nose for months. Did you know one of them dressed like a mabari? Wore an actual collar and got all painted up like she as about to run into battle. Even barked through the finger food course. I hid in the cellar to get away."

Running my fingers across his thigh, I could only sigh, "Alistair."

"Yeah, yeah, Sire means you need to sire. I got that bit from the big book of kinging. But I don't want to, okay. Shit, it probably wouldn't work anymore anyway."

A morbid thought twisted my tongue, "It's a shame you aren't more like your father?"

"Taking advantage of some poor scullery maid?" he snorted at his own creation.

I shrugged, "It did save Ferelden in the end."

"Yeah, they got stuck with me. Whoopee," he sighed, crumbling in on himself.

Rising up to a sit, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling my head to his shoulder, "It could have been a lot worse."

"Oh?"

"We could have put the dog in charge."

"Ha!" Alistair laughed, then paused and stroked his chin, "Actually, get a blonde wig, a set of armor to fit, and it might fool some of the banns."

I snorted at the idea of the king of Ferelden being a literal dog. The Orlesians would adore it, patting its head and guffawing at the little tail wagging through the gap in the throne. Alistair revived from my smile, his own ornery one appearing as he described how the reign of King Barkspawn the First would go. Snuggling deeper into him, I let his tale wash over uninterrupted. He paused during the great ascension of Andrascat to bring about eternal peace and table scraps and drew my face to his. After a deep kiss, he ran a finger down my cheek and said, "Now you don't have a reason to leave."

And in that moment I didn't wish to. Why was it always my job to ensure the continuation of a country that tolerated my kind? Leave it up to someone else. Just let me be with the man I love and the rest can fall into the ocean. I pulled him tighter into a hug when the door to his room swung open.

"Sire, I hope you're awake because --" One of Eamon's toadies stumbled at the pair of us wrapped around each other; or possibly the sight of his king's naked ass.

Alistair twisted around to face him and raised a shoulder at the man, "Well..."

"I, uh, was sent to fetch you for a meeting with lady..."

Alistair waved him away, the lady's name falling into the void. "Wonderful, great, I'll be sure to rush right down to her." He turned back to me, running his fingers through my hair, in no mood to obey the order. But the toady didn't move, only shifted uncomfortably on his heels. "What is it?" Alistair snapped.

"He said right away..." then the eyes glanced over me, the unwelcoming sneer snapping into place, "and alone."

Alistair sighed with the dramatics of a bard, throwing his hands up to the sky as if the Maker cursed him. Then he ran his hands down his naked chest, "Do you think I should go like this? Might as well get it all out in the open, eh? Here ya go ladies, here's what you're competing for. Is it worth it?"

The toady glanced down the hall, praying for intervention, but no one appeared, "I can leave you to get dressed, but you should do so quickly." He stepped back, dragging the door with him. Before shutting it, he threw out, "Please put pants on."

Alistair feigned hurt at the parting comment, glancing downward at himself, "It's not that bad, is it?"

I pressed against his back, my hands running the gambit of his aging but still toned body down to that prick that was suddenly the most important thing in Thedas to the nobility. He shuddered at my touch, throwing his head back and nearly colliding with my mouth. "You're going, aren't you?" he asked me even as I got him going.

Nodding against his shoulder, I said, "I need to."

He sighed, "There are some books in the library, old diaries or something from Maric's time with the Wardens." I paused in my evil machinations to lean forward and beam a question into his eyes. "I thought every little bit might help. Anything to get you back here faster. I hear they're thinking about upgrading the kitchen with a cheese fountain."

"Thank you," I said, ignoring the cheese fountain. He picked up my wandering hand and brought it to his mouth. Sliding back, I released my unholy hold on him so he could follow his orders; but Alistair flipped around, pinning me back to the bed. He kissed me deeply, sliding in between my legs. Gasping in surprise, I wiggled deeper into him, "What are you doing? You don't have time for this."

That smile that won me over the first time we met danced across his face. "I believe someone once told me, 'No one tells a king what to do.'"

[survivor-ingary]

Episode 3 - "RIP tribe Jenkins we were too powerful" - Riley

The 3 tribes of Pendragon, Hatter, and Jenkins have been reorganized and condensed into 2 new Hatter and Pendragon Tribes. Tribal immunity is Scavenger Hunt.

The fact I have Brayden and Toph in my merged tribe boosts my serotonin. i have a feeling colin may be someone to keep an eye out for in the future now...

RIP tribe Jenkins we were too powerful. I guess we'll see how Pendragon pans out.

yall doin me dirty putting me with brayden i just hope that by some miracle me him anastasia and ellie can work together? like i still dont know if theyre plotting on my ass vdshibshj i know brayden told anastasia to take me out when this game started oop but lemme see if dis works. i hope riley follows the logic of the old tribe sticking together and thatll be 5 votes. im kinda obsessed with toph like since the beginning of the game he looks like someone i could totally play with so def wanna work on that relationship. ava and nya? i believe? lets say hello and work on those relationships as well. dis is a bit overwhelming but we shall see how it goes

uh... well... i am SCREWED. me and ginny were the only ones separated from the Jenkins tribe... RIP. 4 pendragons, 2 hatters, and 2 jenkins... the main things i see here are pendragon yoinking one of the hatters / jenkins and voting the other off... OR a 4-4 tie... OR they're gonna target one of me or ginny cuz none of us have gone to tribal council yet. this is really dicey, and I need to tread very, very carefully from hereon. (ALSO GINNY BARELY TALKS PLS I NEED YOUR HELP GIRL)

This swap actually turned out pretty amazing for me. I still have Keith and Moth who I worked semi-close with in the pre-swap. Additionally, I've met up with Colin and Babs. A little Raffy magic could keep me very safe on this tribe. I think Kenneth is super fun as he is a newbie AND active. He will definitely make it far in this game. I hope, at the very least, that I can be by his side to make that happen. However, I am wary he might just be making these strong social connections with everyone. As a final note, OG Pendragons have this tribe 4 to 8. That's both good and bad. Good because we have numbers. Bad because that may make people target me very early on just for being a part of it. So, I have decided that if I were to throw any of my OG Pendragons to the wolves it would be Jonathan as I haven't been able to connect with them as well as Keith and Moth. Other than that, I hope this tribe doesn't have to go to tribal all that often between now and the next swap/merge. These people are lovely.

I'm getting a bad feeling about this... Since most of my Jenkins tribemates are on the other tribe, I KNOW they're good cuz we just keep getting W's... so I think there is a good chance we might lose the challenge. I contributed a good amount, so I hope that the target won't be on me if ever we lose the challenge :( I really don't wanna go, and I wanna reunite with Dennis/Ellie and maybe Anastasia and get further in the game.

i worked hard on this confessional

Our tribe did our absolute best in this challenge. I have no idea who is getting targeted if we go to tribal as everyone is so quiet. All I know is that I want to keep Colin, Kenneth, and Keith close to me for this stage of the game. They are the only ones who consistently talk to me. Challenge results: Pendragon wins due to a 10% advantage, Hatter Tribe must go to tribal council the following day.

THANK GOD I FINALLY GET TO GO TO A TRIBAL, ITS BEEN TOO LONG!!!!

Look, before you go to tribal with a group of people it feels like there’s a barrier of game socialization because you haven’t been able to go to tribal with them. But leading up to tribal and after it, a whole new can of worms is available for game talk. Unfortunately it’s an extremely simple vote because Nya has ghosted all of us, but at least we still get to go to tribal so I can talk game with more people even if it’s only a small amount with this easy vote. But who knows, someone might decide to switch shit up!

And also I absolutely love this tribe (Minus Nya cause I haven’t met them) so I’m glad that I get to go forward with this group although I won’t be nearly as happy if we go to tribal again because as I said, I do enjoy this group of people a lot

Moth (Tumblr will only allow me 10 images so player banners stop now, whoops) I believe the only reason I will make it to the next round is because of Raffys advantage. I’d be so screwed otherwise

I like Babs. They got good vibes.

Also I’d kill to know how the other tribe reacted

Dennis in a perfect world i would try to not vote out nya but bdksksksoksks theyve done it to themselves. no need to make waves. unless someone else is secretly plotting on me i think this is about to be an easy tribal. damn one point. miss ellie had her name down on stuff that she didnt do. also overslept that first challenge is she purposey trying to sabotage and play the villain? who knowssss also ive broken my streak of never going to tribe tribal sigh

Toph So what’s happening, I can’t remember the last time I made a confession but the tea yall ?! Soooo the tribe swap happened and my gut was right soooo okay intuition work ! I feel like I really like everyone from the merge and nya as remained inactive since, after losing the challenge it seems like an easy vote but you can never be to safe, I have my little allinnce with Brayden and Ava which is wig and I really dig Ellie , Anastasia, and Dennis too, I’m gonna be so nervous if we have to go to tribal agian because it could be me ! I’m not to sure about Reilly but they seem nice ! I feel pretty good with Anastasia as well and feel we could rope her into an alliance easily, I’m just gonna due my best right now to play the middle, keep my head down and speak positively. I really need to find an idol or something even better just so I don’t have to worry as super much and just plain worry then lol. If anything I’m gonna stay loyal to brayden and Ava the most since there my day one homies. Brayden seems to be close with Anastasia which could definitely help in are favor of having the numbers on are side. But could mean he would easily cut me for her if needed, so that mean I need to get closer with Ava, just to gaurnetee my safety, I have to look out for me this game and only me, making sure the numbers are kn my side I’m constantly on the right side of the vote should help me strageticly float to the end and win my crown thank you very much. I’m also lowkey worried about alliance’s being made right now without me! Everyone seems to be online but my chats are a bit quite but this could be me overthinking things mmmhmm I’m not sure, we’ll anyways it was nice to vent to y’all. :)

Riley Nooooooo I can't believe we lost by just one point. Damn the Hatter tribe's secret bonus point boost >:(

Kenneth I am honestly in such a shock that we won that challenge... Raffy really came in clutch and helped us win AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Now I don't have to worry about being randomly blindsided or targeted for at least a couple more days now pls I just hope we get lucky again and another swap happens where I would be on the right side of the numbers, all prepared for merge domination >:) Raffy Oof. I know the other tribe is MAD because I would be too. Like, we only won because of my advantage giving us a 1 POINT LEAD. That's crazy! Honestly, this works for me as I can still focus o n making strong social connections within this tribe. By the time we go to tribal, I will be so integrated with this tribe that voting me out would do a lot more short-term harm than long-term good. I want to see if Kenneth would start an alliance with me as that is someone I want to work closely with. In this alliance? I have no idea. I'll probably let Kenneth take the lead on that since I want him to feel like he is in charge. Dennis nothing is real

if i go tonight i would applaud it bc i am so sure nya is going. it would be a goop if the vote really wasnt nya but everyone is more or less trying to do the easy thing i think. i just hope she is okay and just too busy for dis.

some time has gone by and im just chilling. im not chilling because i feel safe, im chilling because i dont know what else to do. i cant be all game talk 24/7 because then im an outcast and would get targeted. besides the obvi alliances like a+b and maybe(?!?!??) an e(?!) in there, idk what alliances there are. like there has to be something but i dont have the picture yet. as yall know im not in any alliances in my current tribe besides i guess ellie who i fear is a saboteur lol and most likely working with a+b. a+b are such a double edged sword for me ugh. am i really in their best interests???????????????? am i really in ellies best interest???? do they know about her idol too?????????? likeeeee thats the issue. if im not really in their best interests then im the next to go after nya. i am probs very low if not the lowest on this tribe if dats true. i mean what if i really am in their best interests and theyre all genuinely trying to work with me? idk! if not then im next to go efuhijdhvbf and i fear im probably not.

i really like toph. taurus sun (in the 12th!) gemini everything else king. hes got social game on lock like who wouldnt wanna work with him ?! and hes a cutie ?! ?! ?! but i seen the chart -.- i know what hes doin. i think hes working with ellie. but he reaches out to me and probably others but i like our conversations. (but im sure everyone loves their conversations with toph!! hes great!!!!! friendly ol toph wont harm a fly ?!) i hope he likes me and sees i actually would wanna work with him above all the gorls and chooses me over them too.

ava also knows what theyre doing. saturnian legend. we barely talk but little short bits here and there. i hope its bc theyre busy but im sure ellie is talking to them more than me amongst others too. oop also possible alliance, brayden toph ava who all swapped together. so gotta keep that in mind. but yeah i dont really think im much of their priority esp if theyre on vacay they would hear a name and not stress too much if its mine bc we dont have ties like that.

riley and i talk here and there, had a lil chat today

someone once told me that i just look like someone you cant trust but you can :( sometimes :)

so yeah here i am having lots of thoughts over the last few days.

maybe im not super super invested just yet bc i feel like the rug is gonna get swept out right from under me again :))) also back on my bs telling people im a leo moon. i shouldnt weaponize astrology but hey.