#expansion shield with bolt

[konigslittleliebling]

FUCK TRADITION.

table of contents; references to smut, lightly suggestive, age gap, strong language, established situationship ‘cause yes they have those in westeros too, grumpy!sandor, bratty!reader :3

“fuck off, i said no.” sandor gruffs for the fourth or fifth or maybe even sixth time as he stands from your bed, his bare skin appearing amber in the candlelight.

bumpy, raised scars litter the expanse of his back and you rise to your knees, reaching for him. he lets you pull him back to you, and he sinks down onto the mattress. you rest your chin atop his shoulder, and peck a kiss to the healed burns on his face.

“why not? you’re not exactly one for following tradition.” your arms curl under his to scratch at his chest. “pretty please?”

“no. if i have to repeat myself again, i’ll fling you from the red keep’s highest fuckin’ tower.” but knowing his luck you’d survive the fall.

“come on, what harm would come of it?” you lift yourself to swing around him, settling into his lap. he groans when your slick seats snugly atop his cock, his seed still draining out of you. “since when have you been so conventional?”

“it’s not about convention, it’s about you.” he grumbles, large hands kneading at your hips. you’re making it harder for him to say no to you, that’s for certain.

you frown, nimble fingers toying with the hairs that sprout from his chest. “what about me?”

“firstly, you’re a woman,” he begins, not caring for the way you arch a brow at his words. “and secondly, you’re highborn.”

you pull away from him. “so women can’t fight? or learn how to?”

“it’s not a question of can’t, they just shouldn’t.” he says, stuck in his ways.

“well it’s not my fault i was born a woman,” you say, and stand from his lap to crawl back into bed. “and i certainly didn’t ask to be a princess. in truth, i sometimes wish i was neither of those things.”

“that’s nice.” he husks, standing to collect his clothing, scattered and forgotten across your chambers. “still doesn’t change the fact that you’re both of those things, whether you like it or not.” he snatches his briefs that had been slung across the room and landed on your vanity the night before. “and if you hate being a princess so much, stop frolicking ‘round like one.”

you tsk, leaning up on your elbows to glare at him. “i do not frolic.”

“you frolic.” he tells you, tucking his cock away. you’re almost sad to see it go. “you frolic and you lollop and you prance.”

you scoff, sitting up on your hands now. “i bet you don’t even know what lolloping is.”

“aye, maybe not,” he snaps back, and tugs his undershirt back on. it’s the wrong way round, but you don’t tell him that. “but that daft skippy-thing you do is probably what lolloping looks like.”

“oh, you’re insufferable.” you flop back against your pillows in a tantrum, glaring up at the canopy of your four-poster.

“weren’t saying that when you were cummin’ on my cock.” he sneers as he yanks on his boots.

you let out the kind of noise one would make after stubbing their toe and bolt upwards, jabbing the air with an accusative finger. “see? not very conventional of you, is it? bedding the princess you’re paid to protect.”

he only shoots you a cautionary glance, then goes back to searching for the components that make up his armour — also discarded around the room.

“i’d hate to think what my brother would say to that.”

your threat hangs in the air, heavy between you, as if the tension wasn’t thick enough. he stops what he’s doing and narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t i?” you tilt your head, smiling. “i am but a princess, after all. perhaps, i’ll lollop my way to his chambers now and tell him of how my sworn shield loves to ‘make me cum on his cock,.”

he watches you carefully, his undivided attention all on you.

“you know, my house was founded amongst the first men, twelve-thousand years before aegon’s landing.” you begin, rolling onto your side so you can prop your head in your hand.

“so around the same time you started telling this story.” he mutters, re-sheathing his sword.

“and for twelve-thousand years, lannister women, all women for that matter, have been bound by tradition. we’re taught to courtesy, we’re taught to stitch and sing and read and rhyme. well i don’t care for any of it. i don’t care for marriage or castles or silks.” you rise onto your knees, crawling to the foot of your bed. “fuck tradition.”

he stares at you, challengingly. “you want to learn how to fight?”

“i think teaching me would be a far cry from the alternative.” you slink out of bed and saunter towards him. his eyes follow the swing of your hips, then the gentle jolts of your breasts. “i’d hate to see your head on a spike,” you whisper, and trail a dainty digit up and down his chest. “when it looks so much better between my thighs.”

you feel him shudder, his eyes starting to glaze over. you smirk triumphantly, but he grabs your finger and bends it back, not enough to snap it, but enough for your facade to falter. then he sweeps his leg behind your ankles, and lets you drop onto your back.

the fall winds you and you gasp, wincing as the cold tiled floor nips at your skin. you open your mouth to shout or swear but he straddles you, a large palm closing around your neck. he doesn’t squeeze or hurt you, just holds you in place.

“that was lesson one,” he drawls, then leans down to your ear. “your pretty little mouth and your tight little cunt might serve you well in the bedroom, but they’re no weapon, despite what your mother may’ve told you.”

then he takes to his feet, pulling you up with him. “get some rest, princess. tomorrow, you’ll be one no longer.”

“again.” he says, having knocked you on your arse.

you groan, head thumping against the muddy ground. “this wasn’t what i had in mind when i said i wanted to learn how to fight.”

“again.” he repeats, fed-up. he watches you huff and puff and mumble something under your breath, then eventually you roll onto your knees and push yourself to your feet. “what happened to ‘twelve-thousand years ago. . .’? thought you weren’t like all the other women.”

“i’m not.” you grumble, wooden sword clutched between two inexperienced hands.

he raises his sword of steel and falls into stance. “that’s a pretty dress.” he points out, then presses the attack, lunging at you with practiced movements.

you barely dodge it, the hem of your skirts muddied by the sparring yard’s sludge and soil. “i’ve not any practical clothing.”

you circle one another, slow and stalkish. then with a high-pitched whistle, his blade slices through the air and snips a cut through the seam of your gown. “sandor! you could’ve cut my leg off!”

“but i didn’t, did i?” he rasps, sword outstretched. “c’mon, let’s see you move.”

so you advance this time, but he blocks your attempt before you’ve even reached him, and chops through your weapon like it was a piece of sponge. the wooden blade clatters to the ground and you glare at him, still gripping the lead-weighted handle. “what is your problem?”

he smirks. “what? thought i’d go easy on you?” he positions his double-edged steel at your chin, lifting your face with the flat of it. “want me to treat you like a princess?”

you swivel on the balls of your feet, then kick out your leg to catch around his. he lets out a surprised grunt, his balance shifting, and you send your foot into his stomach. “fuckin’ hells, woman.” he grabs your ankle on his way down, and you manage to land into a rather graceful straddle atop him.

“what?” you smile, innocent and doe-like, then snatch the knife at his hip and place the flat of it beneath his chin, tipping it up. “want me to treat you like a knight?”

his nostrils flare and he flips you over, disarming you with swift ease. his knife spins from your hand, and this time it’s a rough palm that confronts your throat. “that’s no way to fight.”

“did i, or did i not, just win that round?” you smirk up at him, nose-to-nose.

“won’t win a thing dancing around like that.” he hisses. “i thought you didn’t frolic.”

you hook your legs around his waist. “you just don’t want to admit that i did a cool trick.” then you reach between your bodies and he glances down when something sharp kisses his inner thigh. “and i just cut your dick off.”

“not with that skimpy thing you didn’t.” he grumbles, ripping your legs from him so he can lift himself away from you. “where’d you get that?”

“it’s okay, i’ll get up myself.” you mumble, taking to your feet and dusting down your skirts. “i always keep one in my sock. you know, catch them by surprise.”

he snatches it from you and turns it in his hand. “it’s a fuckin’ hairpin.”

“it’s a letter opener.” you correct him, plucking it back. “and it could do some damage!”

“aye, to an envelope or an unsuspecting spider, maybe.”

you stomp up to him and stretch onto your toes, barely eye level with his shoulders. “this could have someone’s eye out, i’ll have you know.” you wave it menacingly in front of his face.

“and this could have someone’s heart out.” he positions his knife at your chest; you hadn’t seen him retrieve it. “want to bet on it, princess?”

“i think i’m done with today’s lesson.” you tell him, backing away with a wry smile. “but thank you for showing me where the heart is, i’ll remember that the next time you crawl into my bed.”

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 2 - Frozen Lake || Cold hands, Scarves, and Snow

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Short and Sweet

The frozen lake stretched out in front of you, an expansive canvas of crystal blue and pearl white, its glassy surface reflecting the pale, grey sky that loomed overhead like a heavy shroud. Flurries of snow fell softly, delicate flakes swirling around you, catching in your hair and settling on the oversized, knitted scarf that Katsuki had wrapped around your neck earlier. It was snug—perhaps a bit too snug—tight enough that it felt like a leash, a tether binding you to him. You absently tugged at the fabric, attempting to loosen the knot, but the moment his sharp, piercing gaze landed on you, a jolt of hesitation shot through you, rendering your hands still.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low, rumbling like distant thunder, carrying an edge that hinted at danger.

You flinched at the intensity of his tone, but words eluded you, trapped in the coil of apprehension tightening in your chest. Your breath formed small clouds in the frigid air as you stood hesitant at the lake's edge, the icy wind biting at your cheeks. Suddenly, Katsuki's hand found yours, enveloping it in his warm palm, a striking contrast to the bitter cold surrounding you. His grip was firm, possessive, unyielding, as if he feared that the moment he let go, you might bolt, disappearing into the snow-drenched landscape.

“Let’s go,” he commanded, and without waiting for a reply, he began dragging you onto the ice.

You stumbled, the soles of your shoes skidding across the slick surface, struggling to find your footing. But Katsuki didn't relent; if anything, he tightened his hold on you, his determination seeming to bind you to him as he forced you to keep pace.

“Can’t even stay on your feet,” he sneered, amusement dancing in his eyes, though the undertone of his words bore a darker edge that made your heart race. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you steady.”

As the two of you ventured deeper onto the lake, the world around you fell eerily silent, the snow absorbing all sounds, leaving only the rhythmic cadence of your labored breathing in its wake. Katsuki suddenly stopped, pulling you close until your faces were mere inches apart, the warmth of his breath mingling with the cold air between you.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, but the weight of his words hit you like a thunderclap, resonating deeper than any shout could convey. “Don’t forget that, no matter how cold it gets out here. No one else gets to hold you. No one else gets to keep you warm.”

As he spoke, his hand reached up to tug your scarf tighter around your neck, a teasing smirk curving his lips as you gasped softly, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze and the possessiveness that underpinned his words. The icy air around you seemed to thicken, almost crackling with an electricity that made your heart race. All at once, the chilled atmosphere transformed into something raw and electrifying, much like the connection swirling between you, creating a warmth that melted away the frost threatening to seep into your bones. In that moment, you felt the undeniable truth of his claim wrap around you, as suffocating as the scarf but yet as comforting as the embrace of someone who would shield you from the world, a fragile line drawn in the snow that only he could step across.

[nathanielkreesewriting]

A Kingdom's Blood - Prologue

A Royal Road fantasy series, three new chapters every week!

The Empire has fallen. Now, across shattered lands and broken loyalties, something ancient stirs beneath the clouds.

Prologue

The Fall of the Empire

On the Thistle Plains just north of the Imperial Capital, whistles sounded as the line of Imperial Old Guard pushed forward. The plains, an expanse of thorns and bushes, looked like an anthill from a distance. Millions of soldiers clashed along a seventeen-mile front of death.

Airships hovered above, exchanging cannon fire or dropping large casks of explosives down on their foes. In front of the Imperial armies, mages stood, rune-etched clothes blowing in the wind as they stretched their hands out and let loose bolts of magic.

Opposite them, Paladins stood, their own runes glowing, powered not by their blood or their kingdom, but by their faith and prayers.

Lysa sat atop her warhorse, a checkered mare of black and white, its armor glowing white as its protection runes flashed in the darkness.

The Alliance of Nations had pushed them to the breaking point. As she looked out across the fields, she saw the middle begin to bend backward. Now. She thought, watching the General next to her.

The man, regal and proud atop his own horse, looked over at her and nodded before waving his sword. Flares suddenly shot into the sky, relaying orders across miles of terrain. The lines shifted slightly as the Old Guard sped up their pace and rushed into the middle gap beginning to form.

Nearly fifty thousand men strong, the guard hit the gap and instantly plugged it, their shields lighting up like a line of blue fire across the expanse of ground.

The sound was a melody that Lysa was familiar with, the clash of swords, the crack of cannon and gunfire, and the rare but occasional explosion of a destructive rune.

She spared a glance behind her toward the Capital city; it was a splendid sight of gold and marble white. In its center, a single beam of blue light shot into the heavens above, illuminating the Steel Fleet which sat back providing protection for it.

When the battle was won, the fleet would deploy and hunt down all survivors of this Alliance.

Suddenly there was a rumble from the direction of the Capital and Lysa’s eyes widened as one of the Steel Fleet's battleships erupted in flames and exploded, its carcass crashing down onto a section of buildings below it before secondary explosions sounded in a wall of fire.

The General wasted no time.

"Lysa, take my personal guards and see what's going on at the Capital!" General Leon said, not looking at her as he tried to keep his eye on the battle unfolding.

Lysa wheeled her horse around and drove her hard. Beside her, fifty other horses thundered as they raced toward the Capital.

Another ship of the Steel Fleet exploded, it too crashing down in a rain of fire.

She spurred her mount onward, the mare panting hard as they cleared several lines of brambles. Several lines of skirmishers looked to her warily as they let them through.

A third ship, then a fourth exploded and they too crashed down into the city. As she got closer and closer to the outskirts of the city, she saw with horror that the fleet was firing into itself. Runes glowed bright as beams of blue and white shot across the short distances between ships, exploding in deafening thunder.

Suddenly she caught sight of horses riding to meet her from the city.

General Renald. She sighed with relief as she drew closer, managing a smile despite her growing panic. Renalds long black hair looked majestic even against the backdrop of ruin behind him.

"General Renald, what's goi—"

She never got the words out as the General drew a rune-pistol and fired a shot straight at her. He chest suddenly glowed as her chosen first rune, one which had been forged by her since her time as a squire exploded outward in a shield of light.

The men with him also fired, instantly killing several of her retinue while other runes flared.

One of hers fired his own rune pistol, its rune lighting up with fire and engulfing an enemy in flames before the rune flickered.

A shot hit her horse, bringing them both crashing to the ground awkwardly. Bones broke and armor buckled from the weight of the horse. Both sides exchanged panicked and confused fire.

Some runes sparked and went dim, leaving their users helpless.

Renald swiftly dismounted, walking over to her with cold eyes.

"Renald," she wheezed, struggling to free herself, feeling nothing in her leg. "What have you done?"

The man didn’t reply, his face a perfect mask of neutrality. He raised his pistol again, this time one of its three runes flaring before suddenly dying. He looked at it confused.

Then it happened. The area suddenly was bathed in darkness as the eclipse happened overhead.

The beam of light from the Capital turned red before winking out. So too did the runes of their armor and the runes of the ships. As ships began to crash one after another, Lysa realized what had happened.

The King and his family are dead. And the magic along with them.

"On the third day of the third month of the twenty-third year of King Jericho’s rule, the Empire fell and the world was plunged into a darkness that shattered the continent."

Read more: [Royal Road link] New chapters every week (Mon/Wed/Friday) Follows and reblogs appreciated—thank you for helping a new fantasy author grow!

[fili-urzudel]

Hello!! Could you do 14, 15 and 31 with Fili? Romantic or platonic, up to you. Thank you 💜

13. Sitting together

14. Handholding

15. Sharing a blanket (potentially violent)

31. Stargazing

This combination is classic and oh-so-fluffy, and with my favorite Dwarf to boot! I went ahead and added another prompt as well.

Everyone lives AU, because there is no other ending in my mind.

BTW I'm sick :( but I'm going to try to get at least one other prompt request out this week

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Moonrise - Fíli Durin x Reader

The Durin's Day festival was always fun, but it was all the more spectacular in the newly reclaimed Erebor.

"The first autumn equinox since the mountain was reclaimed, can you believe it?" Fíli said with a bright smile, looking with pride at the crisscrossing bridges and vaulted ceilings of the entrance to the mountain. There was still plenty of work to be done, to be sure, but its improvement was impressive regardless.

"And in a couple days, the anniversary of when it was reclaimed," you nodded in agreement. "A few months after that, the anniversary of the first time you walked around by yourself."

"Hush, I'm trying to enjoy this," Fíli gave you a fake scowl, unconsciously probing the scar hidden beneath his tunic.

You changed directions. "Of course, my Prince," you teased. "You look very nice today."

You meant it. His hair was freshly washed, the slightly damp strands frizzing out in the cool morning air. Each bead was carefully placed, a few decorative gold ones added in place of a crown. His tunic was a smooth yet understated silk underneath his leather vest and wool coat. Every detail was precisely placed, the burnt oranges and browns blending seamlessly. He had clearly been seen to with the utmost care. He looked like royalty, even without the royal garb. Most importantly, he was healthy.

His smile softened, his cheeks turning a bit pink under his mustache. "Thank you," he glanced to the ground before looking back up at you. "And you're beautiful as ever."

You blushed deeper than him, unused to compliments. You plucked at the placket of your own wool coat, dyed a deep woad blue. It was your favorite. "Thank you," you said, choosing for once to believe him. "What duties do you have today?"

"None, surprisingly," Fíli breathed. "Thorin's let me have a break, so I can enjoy the first festival in our new home right alongside you." Something about that little word, our, set your heart ablaze. "You want to stick with me?"

"If you'll have me," he smiled again. That smile was impossible to resist.

"Of course I will."

Erebor had been steadily growing over the past year, but that day, it seemed more alive than ever. The market squares were full, overflowing into the wide side streets. Jewelry, blades, shields, ceramics, sculptures--anything made out of earth or in forges were certainly found somewhere in the expansive space. The Ereborian dwarves' tentative friendship with the Men of Dale caused new, less traditional stands to pop up as well: flower stalls, street food vendors featuring fish dishes, and clothing and homeware shops full of bolts of linen. The mountain had only dwarves—and Bilbo—in its halls, a presently rare occurrence, and so you were all free to speak Khuzdul, the sharp sounds ringing pleasantly in your ears.

The two of you strolled as quickly as possible through all the markets had to offer, determined not to miss the afternoon's performances. You exercised exemplary self-restraint, only stopping at one of every five stalls that caught your eye.

"No," became a very popular word as well, what with resisting Fíli's unceasing offers to purchase anything you liked.

"Well, if you will not spend any of your share of the treasure, I must spend some of mine and relieve what must be the terrible, stifling boredom of your living quarters, my friend," he teased, mustache beads swinging from side to side.

"I will have no prince wasting his money on me."

"Oh, it's never a waste if it's you," Fíli told you surely.

There he went again, saying things that made your palms sweat and your cheeks flush. "You're too kind."

Fíli smirked at the way you diverted your gaze. "Well, if I cannot buy you a rug, at least allow me to buy you lunch," he gestured to a permanent restaurant on the corner that was swarmed with dwarrow.

You couldn't help a smile at that. "Hot stew?" You asked, referring to the almost overpoweringly spicy meat-and-potato stew that was a dwarven classic. Benron's was your favorite.

"As hot as you like, of course," He agreed, guiding you forward with a gentle hand on your back.

The stew made your eyes stream in the best way, and you pulled Fíli out of the restaurant scarcely once he was finished eating. "We have to find good seats!" You reasoned as he raised an eyebrow, still wiping his mouth.

"You do realize that Thorin has the best seats, and by extension, we do as well?"

"Right," you said. You had forgotten. Somehow, none of the Durins were royalty in your mind. They were still your traveling companions, dirt poor and looked at as crazy.

"Still, it is sort of nice to take a seat before everyone starts filtering in and it gets too loud," Fíli reassured you. "After you."

The grand presentation began with a song to the mountain. In the ancient tradition, singing was a way to ask the mountain to reveal its secrets, a careful gathering of tones that would uncover its nature.

This song, however, was made more to please the ears of the listener. It was a song of thanks, of hardly believing that this mountain was once again the shelter for her people. You tried your best to control the tears that rose to your eyes.

Fíli leaned over, bumping your shoulder with his. You gave a small smile that he returned, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking of all that it took to get there.

"We did it," you whispered.

"Yeah, we did."

The opening songs were followed by traditional dances, a speed-forging competition, and a few spars. You cheered on the brothers as they fought each other, with a healthy dose of brotherly teasing. Fíli let his little brother win, or so he told you. The look on Kíli's face was more than worth it. You congratulated him and let them both clean up as you headed to the gates.

The gates were still open, cool air pouring into the mountain as the sun dropped in the sky.

Dale was dimmer than usual—the city was empty. The men were lining the edge of the water with candles. This equinox now also marked the anniversary of the fall of Laketown and many of their loved ones. The dwarves tried their best to be respectful of their vigil.

You leaned against the wall and watched. You hoped they found peace and remembered to enjoy their new lives. Bard, standing at the back of the group, turned around. He caught your eye and nodded.

"Come with me, I think we should see something," Fíli's low whisper startled you from your reverie, and his hand wrapping around yours even more so.

"Where are we going?" You asked, not that it mattered. With his hand in yours, you'd probably follow him anywhere.

He led you on a trek around the front of the mountain, the setting sun turning everything orange and making his hair appear as flames as you went.

Caught in the daze of bliss, it took you a while to notice what was draped over his other arm. "Wait, is that—I told you not to buy that!"

It was the woven blanket you had noticed earlier, the tapestry depicting sunrays falling through a thick forest of firs. "And what if I bought this for myself? I have uses for it."

"Then it's alright, I suppose."

"You can keep it once I'm done with it, though."

"Sly fox."

"Coin pincher."

"Seriously, though, where are we going?" You asked.

Fíli smiled at you. "A certain very large staircase."

You gasped. "Leading to a secret doorway?"

"The very same. I figured, since we were both trying to help Kili, erm, not die, we missed the excitement, and now we can see it for ourselves."

"That's extraordinarily thoughtful of you."

"Eh, I'd say averagely thoughtful at best," Fíli shrugged.

"Perfectly suitable for me," you told him.

"Good."

The achingly long trip up the staircase was rewarded with a very nice sight: another, less decorative blanket spread across the stone, a couple flat pillows, and three lanterns, already lit and ready to face the darkness.

"When did you find time to do this?" You asked Fíli, grinning from ear to ear.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. "And help."

"That's where Bofur, Bilbo, and Dori disappeared to," you observed. "I see. Well, it's very sweet of all of you."

"I'm glad you think so," Fíli said, still holding your hand as he guided you to sit on the blanket with him.

The stairs had taken longer than anticipated, so the sun was already almost gone. You quieted as you realized how close the time was. The two of you watched in quiet admiration as the moon rose, bright and perfect, into the sky, before you turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door.

You gasped. "There it is!" The moonrise revealed the shape of a perfectly hidden keyhole. "That is very neat, indeed."

"Mmhm," Fíli agreed. "Beautiful." The keyhole was not what he thought was beautiful. He wasn't actually looking at the door at all, but rather you, and the way the moonlight reflected off every spectacular detail of your face.

He had never known quite when he started to feel this way, only that he didn't in the Blue Mountains, when he barely knew you, and he did now.

You turned your gaze from the keyhole once the wonder had made a comfortable space in your heart, and looked to the stars, all too aware of how close Fíli was.

You read out the constellations to yourself in the comfortable silence, assuming the prince was doing the same. You then heard him shift.

"Lay with me," Fíli offered, and you turned around in record time, cheeks blazing and eyes wide.

"What?"

He was already lying down with his head on one of the pillows. "To watch the stars more comfortably."

"Alright," you said, voice quiet. You scooted down until you could lay your head on the other pillow, before changing your mind. You decided to take a risk and settle your head on his chest instead.

"Is this alright?" You asked immediately. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in this situation.

"Of course it is," he said softly, his arm raising to hold your waist. "I enjoy being close to you."

It wasn't quite a grand confession, but it was good enough for your heart to begin hammering in your chest. "I enjoy being close to you, too."

[the-fiction-witch]

Yes My Lords

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon & Cregan Stark Couple - Jacaerys X Reader + Cregan X Reader Reader - Y/n (Winterfell Maid) Rating - 17+ (Playful flirting/ playful spanking/ lap sitting) Word Count - 1114

The summer snow swirled fiercely across the expansive hills of the north. The ancient castle of Winterfell loomed majestically over the pristine, snow-covered fields, its weathered stone walls reflecting centuries of history and resilience from the onslaught of winter. From every window of the castle, flickering flames casted a warm, golden glow.

The hearths crackled with life, their heat radiating through the thick walls, creating a comforting sanctuary from the bitter cold. Heavy wooden doors were bolted tight, ensuring that the howling winds and the biting chill could not invade the warm embrace of the castle.

Within the sturdy stone walls of the ancient castle, there lay an intimate chamber nestled high in the south tower. The room was steeped in a shadowy gloom, illuminated only by the flickering light of a handful of carefully placed candles. Above, an iron chandelier hung ominously, its numerous arms dark and cold, neglected in their duty to bring brightness to the room.

The faint crackle and pop of a fire danced in the fireplace, sending occasional bursts of sparks into the air as it consumed the dry wood. The warm flames flickered across the stark stone walls, creating shadows that leapt and swirled in a chaotic ballet. In the centre of the room, were two sturdy chairs, draped with soft, worn furs. Between them lay a thick, luxurious rug, shielding the floor from the chill that seeped through the castle’s ancient stones.

Despite the harsh winter storm raging outside, the air was filled with the joyful sounds of boisterous laughter and lively conversation, harmonizing in cheerful defiance against the howling wind and the crackling fire.

In one chair sat Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Stripped down of his cloak and armour to only his leathers.

On the other sat Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon, Heir to Queen Rhaynera Targaryen. Having also removed his snow-covered cloak now only in his fine black and red clothes.

Both held in their hands goblets of winter mead, bringing them to their lips often.

Jacaerys had arrived just a week prior, to propose an alliance and suppose of House Stark for his mother’s claim to the Iron Throne. The two had found a fondness for one another, the two cut from the same cloth, a mutual like and desire to be taken seriously and seen as men when the world around them saw them only as boys, even in the brief time they had together the two had felt like brothers. They had travelled to the wall together, trained in Winterfell's courtyard together, dined and drank together.

Now they sat beside the hearth, deep in their drink. Joking back and forth, telling tales and drunken jokes.

The only other soul in the room, was a young maid girl. Who was working late into the night as the two’s cup bearer coming with her large jug of wine to refill their cups whenever they demanded her. Which was often.

“…So then he says, well how was I to know the frog would jump out!” Jacaerys finished,

The two then burst into a rush of laughter,

“You are too much my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You must relax every so often my lord,” Jacaerys laughed in return tapping his goblet to summon the maid,

She nodded and headed over to refill his goblet,

“Some of us have not had such pleasure to relax,” Cregan reminded,

“I suppose you’re right,” Jacaerys nodded his eyes falling from the goblet to the maid who filled it, he looked her over a little glancing at her well-braided hair pinned up on her head, her simple northern clothes and the body that lay beneath them, his eyes trailed over her and he captured his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes took their time over her stopping at her arse, “You’re very pretty,”

The maid was taken back surprised he spoke to her, “Oh- M-Me My prince?”

“Yes, you.” He nodded, “I hardly meant Lord Stark now did I?” He laughed,

“I feel somewhat offended my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You’re very pretty too, Cregan” Jacaerys told him,

“Thank you,” He agreed sipping his goblet,

“But, you are very beautiful.” Jacaerys smiled to her, “A very very, pretty girl.”

“T-Thank you, My prince,” She nodded sheepishly,

Jacaerys gave her a soft stroke down her back and pushed her over to Cregan, “Isn’t she lovely,”

Cregan happily held his goblet for her, so she began to fill it for him, his eyes trailed over her more aggressively than Jacaerys had, and far less covertly,

Her eyes remained on the floor very aware of how the two were looking at her,

“She is isn’t she,” Cregan smirked, “Hello little thing,” he cooed giving her a firm smack on her backside,

“Ohh! My lord-” She gasped standing up straight and tall in her panic,

“It’s alright little maid, we won’t hurt you.” Jacaerys cooed leaning forward in his chair, “What’s your name?

“Y/n, My - My prince,” She blushed,

“Y/n… a very pretty name for a very pretty girl,” Cregan smirked giving her arse another smack,

“Ooh!” she gasped almost falling forward from the strength of the slap, fighting the urge to rub her skin to soothe it from the slap,

“She’s a bit jumpy,” Jacaerys laughed,

“She is, isn’t she?” Cregan laughed, “Sweet little Y/n, our guest is not used to these northern snow storms. Go and keep him warm now.”

“Y- yes my lord,” she nodded setting the wine jug down and going over to Jacaery’s chair, she stood sheepishly unsure what she was to do but he smiled up at her,

“Do not worry sweet thing, This dragon does not bite.” he cooed, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her onto his lap,

Y/n softly squealed at the shock of being so suddenly pulled, her body slightly trembling as she felt herself over him, “My- My prince I-”

Jacaery’s smirk only grew, he guided her hands to his shoulders and smiled up at her, “There we go, that’s more secure isn’t it, don’t worry sweet thing, you won’t fall. I’ll make sure of it.” he growled leaning back as far as he could in the chair, his fingers digging into her hips,

“That better my prince? Warmer for you?” Cregan laughed leaning his elbow on his knee watching with a sly grin,

“Much better my lord, much better.” he nodded slowly guiding her hips on him forcing her to shift against him,

“You’ll stay a while longer, won’t you y/n?” Cregan asked but spoke like an order,

Y/n glanced back and forth between them, and gulped,

“Please sweet thing, it would be so much more fun if you stay.” Jacaerys pleaded,

“Y-Yes my Lords.” She nodded,

“Good girl.” Cregan Growled,

[e1ectricwords]

My Shining Star

Sting x Reader Stardust Inspired Word Count: 3371

All things must come to an end. That is the one truth across the whole universe. Inescapable and absolute. The knowledge seared itself into you at the moment of your formation. Time was borrowed, and your time was running out. Your cosmic heart beats its last, each pulse weaker than before.

For billions of years you had burned away in the universe, silently witnessing the cosmos unfold. This was always your life, all you had ever known, and now it was your death. Although, a choice presented itself to you. Your first choice ever. How would you die?

You could slip away quietly, allowing yourself to fade into darkness, becoming a cold hunk of rock. You could burst and scatter yourself across the void, or you could collapse inwards and pull everything into nothing. None of the choices felt right. In the end you fell. 

The planets and stars merged into one around you as you fell through the galaxies. You let it happen. Gravity seized you in its grip as it pulled you through the endless expanse, leaving a blaze of burning fire behind you, painting your path. Only a planet could break your fall. 

The first thing to grace your ears was a chirp. A high pitched, shrill chirp that cut through the silence like nothing you had ever experienced. It was the first thing that you had ever heard and it was beautiful - but confusing. In all your existence, all of the billions of years alone, silence was all you had ever known. The universe was vast and void of music and noise. More sounds followed, linking and weaving together into a peaceful melody. Your facial muscles contracted, forming a frown. It was unfamiliar. Something wasn’t right. There were no sounds in death. You cracked one eye open, only to immediately shield yourself from the bright white light with an arm. The simple motion sent a shiver up your spine. 

Your body had moved.

With a sudden sense of urgency, you bolted upright. Soft blades of grass cradled your skin . The cool earth grounded you. Slowly, you lowered your arm, letting it rest beside you. Turning your head, you started to drink in the sight around you. Trees stretched up to the sky, aiming for the sunlight. Grass fluttered in the soft breeze, painted with bright flowers in a multitude of colours. Sounds filled the air, melding together. Chirping birds, running water, crunching of leaves and twigs. Scents seeped into your nose, tickling at all of your new receptors. You sneezed. It caught you off-guard. 

“Bless you,” a voice sounded. Your head whipped around, trying to find the source of it. Boots crunched closer and then froze. “You’re naked.” Your eyes widened and you looked down at your new body, the body that defied what should have been your death. The figure spun on his heels, clouding his ability to view you. “Shit. Put some clothes on,” the man insisted. 

Your body did not embarrass you - it defined you.  It carried your existence, gave you form and life. It made you tangible and real, not just some hunk of blazing rock and gas. Your new skin was soft and smooth. It protected you, shielding your spark within. Your old form had been marked over all the billions of years of life you had lived, and you were excited to see how this new form would be marked. What indicators would your body form to tell the story of the life you lead? It was so unfamiliar, but so exciting. 

Your vocal chords hummed and twitched, churning out sounds to form words: “I do not have any.”

The man grumbled slightly and briefly looked over his shoulder at you. “What are you, a nudist or something?”

“A star.” You responded. Your tone was flat, although you didn’t realise it. Ultimately, you were just stating a fact, there was no way to put it any differently. 

“As if,” he responded. Despite his dismissive approach to you, he shrugged off an item of clothing and tossed it to you. It was a long white coat with a white fur trim around the neckline. “You can put that on.” Cold pinched at your skin, feeling the temperature for the first time. The man still stood with his back to you and waited for you to shield your body from his eyesight. Rocking forward onto your knees, you inched forward to grab at the coat that had landed on the green grass. The material was soft and welcoming, creating the illusion that you weren’t actually wearing anything once you slipped it on. Warmth still lingered on it, coating your skin. He gave you a few more seconds. “Is it on?”

“It is on,” you stated. 

As soon as your words left your lips, he spun around. His full figure came into view. He stood with his arms crossed, looking over at you with a frown of caution. On his upper shoulder was a black symbol, something that piqued your interest. Branches still obscured him slightly, causing him to step forward closer towards you in the clearing. 

He was close now, and whilst you sat on the grass clutching the coat around your form, he crouched slightly and brought himself down to your eye level. “What happened to you?”

“I fell.” You weren’t lying by any means, but you just had no clue how to fully convey what had happened, or at least how to get him to believe you. 

His bright blue eyes ran up your figure, narrowing slightly at certain cuts, scrapes, and bruises. “I can see that. Drunk?” You shook your head. Truthfully, you had no idea what that was. “What’s your name?” 

Of course you had a name. It was grand and commanding, scary and yet graceful at the same time. You opened your new mouth, trying to force the sounds out but they just wouldn’t form. There was no way to conceive of the sounds used to utter your true name. You had to shrug in response. 

“I’m Sting,” he spoke, trying to prompt you into speaking. When you didn’t add anything to the conversation except a few gargled noises he spoke again. “What happened to you?” His tone was firmer now, more concerned for this strange, naked person he found out in the woods. He could tell that something just wasn’t right but he couldn’t put a finger on it, and he had completely glossed over the fact that you had told him the truth. 

“I fell,” you repeated. This felt arbitrary. Did humans often repeat themselves with no other outcome? 

He started to believe that there might be something horrendously wrong with you. His concern only grew, and he straightened himself back to his full height. Holding out a hand, he gestured for you to grab it so that he could pull you up. As soon as your skin brushed against his, a jolt ran through you. Coursing up your arm, it travelled to your very heart, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Sting felt it too, it was evident from the look in his eyes. 

“That doesn’t usually happen,” Sting spoke. Even though you were now fully standing, his touch still lingered. The connection of your bodies created a warm and crackling sensation. Maintaining intense eye contact, mixed with curiosity, confusion and caution, he slowly removed his hand from yours. “What did you say you were?” 

“A star.” You repeated. 

Sting didn’t want to believe it. The idea that a star could suddenly become human was laughable to him; rock just couldn’t and shouldn’t become human. But he had experienced strange things in the past that turned out to be true; members of Fairy Tail returned un-aged after seven years, and he was raised by a dragon. Besides that, there was something about you that he just couldn’t place. The touch was a mixing of two powerful energies and he was certain that there was nothing else magical about you. He’d just have to take you back to the guild to be sure that you are actually what you say you are.

“And you have no name?” He asked once more.

“I do,” you bluntly stated. This question angered you. Obviously you had a name, it was just inconceivable to the human ear and tongue. “I just cannot pronounce it.” 

“Then what do I call you?”

A frown formed on your face, all of your new muscles contracting in frustration. You wanted him to call you by your name of course, what kind of stupid question was that? The frown fell from your face. He studied you intently, watching you present all of these emotions but not expressing them verbally. “I do not know.”

“Little Star?” He suggested. 

“I could just call you Average Human,” you countered, clearly unamused by the suggestion. 

Sting aimed to suppress a laugh. The comment had pleasantly caught him off-guard, he didn’t expect that from you. Of course, he still didn’t know you that well. Clearly you were going to be full of surprises. “Okay, not Little Star.” He thought about suggesting other names and then quickly countered himself. “We can think of things to call you later. Come, we’ll go back to where I’m from.” 

He started to walk back through the woods, expecting you to follow along behind him. Walking was a strange new sensation, but so was a lot of forcing your body to live and move. The journey stretched far longer than intended as you trailed along behind him, coat wrapped tightly around your body. Every few steps something new caught your eye, and you couldn’t help the temptation to stop and investigate. The gentle ripple of a stream gliding over rocks, twisting, turning, and tumbling down through the woods. Vibrant fungi clung to the damp ground and trees. There was even a fleeting glimpse of a fox as it dashed across your path. Each new sight filled you with a curious wonder for this new world, and a sense of confusion for how Sting could be so used to it all. 

The trees thinned and you moved out onto a smaller, but more obvious path, into a city. The small path turned into a cobblestone road, winding deeper into the heart of the city. Eventually, it led you to a grand building. Throngs of passers-by slowed to admire the architecture (as well as the residents themselves), and individuals dressed similarly to Sting slipped in and out of the building. 

He stopped walking, noticing that you had also stopped to admire the building, a look of awe on your face. He took a few steps backwards, stopping just by your side. “This is Sabertooth.” He watched you soundlessly repeat the words as you continued to look, eyes flitting now to different buildings and different people. “Sabertooth is a magic guild. For wizards.” 

“What is that?” You asked. 

Sting started walking again, slower this time, towards the doors of the guild. He was a few strides ahead, so his head craned ever so slightly behind him to keep an eye on you. “Wizards? Wizards can perform all sorts of magic. And we come together in guilds, it essentially makes it official.”

“What does it look like?” You were so caught up in trying to wrap your head around a new concept every two seconds that you had barely noticed the people stopping just to look at Sting. It was almost like he carried some sort of status that you were just unaware of. 

He stopped once more, just in front of the doors, one hand resting against the wood ready to push it open. “What does magic look like?” At the nod of your head, he raised his free hand and balled it into a weak fist. A ring of bright white light glowed violently around his fist. You didn’t look away, you couldn’t look away. To you, it looked like starlight, it reminded you of home. The light dimmed and he lowered his fist. 

“All wizards do that?” You asked. 

“No,” Sting shook his head. “That magic is unique.” He pushed open the doors to the guild, showing you even more new sights and sounds. As you walked into the building, many people greeted him under a different name ‘Master’. “Most magic is different. Lots of variations. It’s rare to find people who use the exact same magic but some types are very rare and unique. Can you use any magic?”

Keeping the coat wrapped around you with one hand, you raised the other and tried to mimic Sting’s actions. Nothing happened. Closing your eyes and straining, you tried to muster all of the power within you but nothing happened. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Star,” he spoke softly. “You can stay here until you get settled.”

Days spun by in a blur of new sensations and constant learning. You kept experimenting with magic, practicing mostly when you were alone. Trying to summon even the smallest flicker of magic was unsuccessful but it didn’t fill you with disappointment or dread. Everything in this world was still very new, and everyday you were learning something new about your body, so you weren’t so quick to rule out the possibility of magic never working for you. Despite your setbacks, you still found yourself a place within the guild. Your inability to use magic wasn’t forcing you to leave the guild as you had originally feared but Sting had offered you the position of barkeep. It felt exactly where you were meant to be. Bonds grew in the weeks that passed, growing steadily closer to all the members that were a part of the guild. You would listen to their stories behind the bar and always felt included. 

Human existence and condition was still unfurling itself in front of you. People became sad when their drink spilled even though you could quickly remake it, other’s became angry that one particular person would even speak to them. Humans were complicated albeit interesting. Although sometimes, you did just miss your simple existence up in the universe. In the dead of night when the clouds were sparse, you would find yourself up on top of the roof of the guild, just sitting quietly looking up at where you used to live. 

“Watching the stars again?” Sting asked, sitting himself down beside you on the rooftop. Your shoulders briefly brushed as he shuffled to get comfortable. His presence had taken you by surprise as you didn’t even realise anyone knew that you came up here at night. Sting was surprisingly perceptive. 

You moved your head slightly, chin resting on your shoulder to look over at him. He offered you a soft smile but quickly moved his head upwards to look at the stars. “I am,” you responded, moving your gaze back to the sky. 

“Tell me about them.” It wasn’t a question, more like a very soft command. 

Knees pulled up to your chest, chin on your knees, you gazed up at your old neighbours. Sting remained sitting casually, legs outstretched in front of him, leaning back and using his arms as props. “It was lonely sometimes, but I miss it.”

“You miss being lonely?”

“No. I miss being able to look everywhere and see everything. I was starlight and life for planets. But they died, and I got too old.”

“Do you like it here?”

Warmth spread through your body as you smiled. “Oh, I love it. Everything is amazing. Your star really did a good job at keeping you all alive. I’ve never felt this before. This community, this friendship. I knew the stars up there, I knew their names, but I didn’t know them.”

“I’m glad you’re settling in,” Sting spoke. He groaned as he moved himself around, crossing his legs. “I used to be lonely once.”

“Did you?”

Sting made some sort of prolonged noise as he mused over his thoughts. “Briefly. It was right after I lost my dad.”

“Did you find him?”

“No. No, he died. Well…I killed him. He wanted me to.”

“Humans are strange.”

“He was a dragon.”

“Are you a dragon?”

“No. But I did miss him. I know how it feels to feel lonely. You’re doing well.”

“Thank you. I am still trying to understand emotions mostly. Some of them confuse me,” you admitted. 

“Like what?” He moved his eyes away from the sky and they settled back down onto you. 

“Sadness for one. Why do people get sad when their drink spills?”

Sting let out a short, carefree laugh. His nose scrunched and his eyes wrinkled. A soft glow seemed to accumulate around him. “That’s complicated, Star. Some people have had a bad day and that makes it worse. What other emotions confuse you?”

“What other emotions are there?”

“Happiness,” he suggested. You nodded your head at that one. “Anger?”

“Orga?”

“He can get angry,” Sting agreed. “Better than a few months ago. Okay…disgust?” At your look of confusion, he began to explain. “A few days ago you had to pick up some wet food out of the sink. The face you made. Yeah, that was disgust.”

You made the same face again at reliving the memory. “That was horrible,” you slowly agreed.

“Right,” he sighed. “What else? Love?”

“What does that feel like?”

“I think it’s different for everyone.” He mused over his words as if he wasn’t quite sure of himself for that one.

“What does it feel like to you?” 

Sting took a deep breath. “I think love feels fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy,” he repeated. He moved his eyes back up to the stars with some wistful faraway look. “I think love feels like coming home after a long time away. I think love feels like laughing until your sides hurt. I think love feels like taking the first mouthful of your favourite dinner.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you mulled over his words. “It all sounds very simple.”

“I think love is simple when it’s right.”

“Now you are confusing me.”

Sting laughed at your blunt statement and jumped up to his feet, taking you by surprise. “Apologies, my Star,” he grinned playfully, lowering a hand, indicating for you to take it. There wasn’t any hesitation present in you as your hand reached up for his. Skin brushing over skin, warm tingles running through each of you. His fingers curled around your hand, thumb resting over the back, softly locked in place. “May I have this dance?”

Before you could answer, he had pulled you up to standing. His free hand came to rest at your waist, fingers twitching slightly—tentative, unsure of their place. Even more unsure than he was, your unoccupied arm remained by your side, prompting him to move it to where he thought it ought to be - resting around his neck. He started a slow step sequence and you eventually followed. You kept your head down, eyes fixated on where you were stepping. 

“What is this?” You asked.

“Dancing,” Sting replied. “It’s just something humans do.”

A frown formed on your face. His eyes widened briefly at the speed you whipped your head up at him. “Really? Why?”

His eyes remained on you for a moment. Taking in your frown and generic confusion. The faint glow returned, dusting his outline in a white light - strangely much like a star. He hadn’t noticed, not until this moment, just how deeply your presence had woven itself into his life. His days would feel strangely cold, almost empty, if they weren’t lit up by your persistent curiosity and the never ending affection you held for everyone in his guild. It filled him with a warmth he didn’t expect, reminiscent of the sensation felt when you had first touched. The fuzzy feeling bloomed in his chest and spread throughout his soul. He shrugged, “it’s just something to do for fun. You can make all of your old neighbours jealous.”

The frown morphed into a smile, becoming deadly infectious to Sting. He found himself smiling as you grinned up to the sky, once again finding another reason to be thankful that you fell in the first place.

If you liked this, check out the Masterlist

[fandom-lover2]

Energon Is Thicker Than Blood - pt 1

Plot: You are kidnapped alongside Optimus and Megatron. What do your kidnapper wants, and with the two strongest beings you know incapacitated, how do you save the day?

Part 2

-image not mine-

“Ok, but if you could eat ice-cream, which flavor looks the most appealing?”

My guardian hummed, ducking to pass under a lower hanging tree branch.

“And you can’t say bubblegum cause it looks like energon.” I hurried to add, and Optimus frowned at that.

We walked in silence for a couple seconds before he spoke. “Which ones are your preference again?”

“I like chocolate, mint chocolate chip and cookie dough.”

“Then I would say those.” Optimus decided.

“You can’t choose them just because I like them.”

“But you described them so well, I know that I would enjoy them.” he defended.

“Ok, but it doesn’t work that way.” I laughed, reaching up and wrapping my hands around his offered digit as he lifted me over a downed tree. “I’m biased so I describe them better than the others.”

Optimus hummed again, setting me down gently. “Perhaps one day I will know what ice cream tastes like.”

“I hope so. You’re missing out.” I bent and picked up a stick, swooshing it back and forth like a sword. “What does energon taste like?”

Optimus’ strides faltered for a moment, before he continued striding. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Because there isn’t a human version of the taste, or you don’t know how to compare to something I’ll know?”

Optimus took a moment to think, again. “Both, I suppose.”

It was my turn to hum. “Well I hope to one day maybe taste energon.”

My guardian chuckled. “I fear you will disappointed.”

“That bad?”

Optimus shrugged, ducking beneath a tree again. “It is a way of life. We need it to survive. There is no place for personal preference.”

I used my stick to push away some thorny branches. “That sounds miserable.”

“Only because you are used to choice and change.”

Ever the one with the wise words.

We stepped into a clearing, the rest of the forest continuing about a quarter mile away.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the blazing sun. “Anything on the scanner?”

“No.” Optimus replied, looking up from the machine to the grassy expanse. “Wait.”

I tried to see what he might’ve been seeing, but all it was was a grey blur. It was small, and rectangular in shape.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, a feint ringing in my ears making me glance around.

“Optimus, something doesn’t feel-”

My guardian didn’t wait to hear me out, stepping onto the grass and beginning to make his way towards the box.

Thunder roared overhead. No, not thunder. Jet engines.

A large, silver jet passed over us, circling once before the mech transformed and landed on the other side of the clearing.

Optimus immediately took a step back, placing himself between me and Megatron as his blasters replaced his servos.

Megatron seemed just as surprised to see us, but he recovered quick enough, beginning to verbally taunt Optimus.

The hairs on my arms prickled, goosebumps prickling my scalp.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I looked around, trying to figure out what was putting me on edge.

Optimus called to me, giving me an order of some kind, but I didn’t hear it. I didn’t hear anything over the ringing.

My body tensed, ready to fight or flight. My heart beat thumped wildly in my chest. It felt like my skin was crawling, phantom claws running down my spine.

Something was in the tree line, watching us.

I turned back to the box positioned between the two mechs. It was small, small enough for a human to carry. Actually, it was human by design. Something like what the military would use to-

Military…

Military!

“Optimus, it’s a trap!”

No sooner had the words left my mouth, two missiles were fired.

One slammed into Optimus, the other Megatron.

But they didn’t explode, but rather electrocuted. I saw the bolts and sparks, saw my guardian and the war lord stiffen before collapsing.

Vehicles roared into life, cutting across the grass. They moved with precision, circling the downed Cybertronians. Men manned the guns on top, soldiers emerging from the cars donned in green suits.

M.E.C.H.

“Y/n.” Optimus groaned, trying to rise himself to turn to me.

Four soldiers began to approach me, guns at their sides.

I couldn’t fight them all, couldn’t free Optimus and watch my own back. But I couldn’t just stand here and wait for them to take me. No without someone knowing we needed help.

I spun, sprinting back through the trees, pulling my phone from my pocket as I did.

I hit the emergency app Raf installed, instantly connecting to the base’s comm.

“Ratchet!” I screamed, hearing soldiers in pursuit. “It was a trap! M.E.C.H. Optimus and Megatron are down!”

The soldiers were getting closer. I would never outrun them, and would not be able to keep them off me long enough for the team to get to us.

I was going to get taken. I would have to use my last moments to provide the team with as much information as I could.

The soldiers reached me, and I let myself fall to the ground, keeping my phone close as it took them a few seconds to restrain and then pick me up.

“We’re in a clearing 5 miles north of our original location!” I continued, missing what the medic called back in reply was I was dragged backwards. “About 20 humans, 7 vehicles. They’re going to move us. Follow the tracks!”

I was dragged away, my phone left on the forest floor and Ratchet’s calls left unanswered.

I tried to struggle, mostly just to keep up the façade, but in reality I was trying to take in as much information as I could. Unfortunately, Silas was good at what he did and these men didn’t show or say anything that gave me any clues as to who they were or where we were going.

Ahead, Megatron roared and I heard the soldiers shout, gun fire being exchanged.

We brought through the trees and into the blinding sunlight just in time to see them blast Megatron again with the electric shots.

The soldiers pulled me towards the cars. I needed to stay here, to learn more. I needed to wait until the team arrived so I could make sure Optimus got free.

I thrashed around, biting a hand that got too close and kicking anything I could reach.

“Y/n!” Optimus called, trying to free himself, but the human had tied him down, electrified cables paralyzing him anytime he moved too harshly against them.

“Optimus!”

And then the butt of a gun was slammed into the side of my head and I lost consciousness.

[myblissfulignorance]

Slowly but surely figuring out how to use tumblr 😂

Link to chapter 1:

Space Oddity

Chapter 2: Out of the Frying Pan

Dick was only a little surprised that the teleporter actually worked. The Joker was a madman and a bastard, but he wasn’t stupid.

He had managed to work one arm out of the ropes when the red clock timer had ten seconds left. Dick would need to be some kind of super man to get them out at that point, so he just reached out and dragged Jason close and shielded him with his body as best he could.

There was a shudder and a groan of metal and Dick felt cold trickle down his body, like jumping into an ice bath but a million times slower. He couldn’t breathe as it was happening, lungs held in a vice grip. The feeling left, Dick’s skin was tingling and raw, and the capsule shuddered one last time and silence settled. Dick looked around the room and his breath hitched when he saw what was outside. Or what wasn’t. And the fact that everything in the room was beginning to float. Dick decided to employ the Bruce-approved technique of compartmentalization.

“Little Wing? Hey, can you hear me?” Dick did his best to assess his injuries.

His breathing was uneven but steady, probably from the pain. Broken bones littered his body, there were at least two breaks on his right forearm, so many broken ribs, and his legs.. Jason wouldn’t be doing flips any time soon. Jason groaned and mumbled something incomprehensible. 

“Jay, I’m gonna need you to speak up ok? And brace, I’m setting your nose.” He put a hand on the back of his head. There was a small crunch as Dick put his nose back into place. Jason mumbled heatedly and Dick was sure he was cursing.

“Fuck, that hurt! Dickhead are you alright?” Dick peeled off his mask, the adhesive was separating in places. They were floating in the middle of the room, Dick’s left leg stretched out behind him tethering him to something.

“Don’t worry about me Jay, I’m fine-”

“The hell you are ‘Wing, report.”

Dick huffed but relented. “Minor bruising on my ribs and a few scrapes on my face, I also probably have a black eye or two. A little dizzy and lightheaded, but we were blown up so it's minor and expected.”

Jason flipped him off before flinching and holding his arm. He ignored Dick's look and stared out the single window.

“So. Space.”

Dick sighed. “Yep. Sure seems like it.”

The world outside was a sea of black, Dick could see the sea of stars better than he ever could before coming to Gotham. There was a stray asteroid, or meteor? Dick could never remember the difference, floating about the empty expanse. The warmth was rapidly dissipating through the metal walls.

“Bruce isn't coming for us, is he.” Jason said.

Dick held him closer, careful to not exacerbate his injuries. “Don’t be stupid, of course he’s coming.” but will he be here before..?

“Let’s try to be positive! Let me see if there's anything here to splint your arm.”

The three feet of chain links didn’t give him much room to roam, but Dick could almost reach half the space with little difficulty. The contents of the room left much to be desired. No food, no water, nothing that could feasibly be used as medical supplies. The multitude of boxes was full of photos, cds, newspapers, nothing of use for Jason at least.

“Dick I found a paperclip, use it to pick the cuff.” Jason pushed off the wall with his good arm and handed him the clip.

Dick took off a glove to feel for the keyhole, paused, then pulled his leg up to study the shackle. Motherfucker.

“He soldered the keyhole, it's going to have to be cut off.”

Jason cursed. “Let’s see if we can leverage the other side then.”

The other end of the chain was attached to a U-bolt screwed into the flooring. It was rusty, but Dick knew it would be a pain to break in zero gravity. That tends to mess with leverage quite a bit. Jason huffed and floated off to look for something as Dick tried kicking at the bolt to break it. Jay was breathing hard as he came back.

“Jay take it easy, you don’t want to-”

Dick cut off by Jason throwing something at his face. When he saw it was the crowbar he nearly dropped it.

“Jay what-” “Use it to break the chain dickhead, the bolt is welded to the floor. If you break the seal and we die in a vacuum I’ll kick your ass.” He was trembling, and Dick knew it wasn’t from the cold.

Dick shut up and broke the chain link.

~~~

It was nearly impossible to tell what time it was. They had been stripped of nearly all their tech and Dick wasn’t sure how accurate a fifteen year old alarm clock would be. Jason was in extreme pain, especially as the cold set in, but every time he caught Dick looking at the drugs for a little too long he spit vitriol looking every bit like an angry kitten.

~~~

Dick guessed that about a day had passed when Jason caught a fever. Bruce needs to get here soon or they may well just die of dehydration.

~~~

Scratch that, Dick thinks hysterically as the air begins to feel thinner, we’re going to die by asphyxiation instead.

“Hey Dick..” he held Jason closer and carded his fingers through his hair.

“What’s up Jaybaby.” he said.

His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that noise?”

Dick barely had time to register the question before gravity suddenly took hold. He managed to hold in his yelp. Jason, being as heavily injured as he is and delirious from pain and concerningly high co2 levels, could not quiet his strangled scream. Luckily Jason had landed on top of Dick, he held the back of his head as he carefully rolled him over on his back. The capsule had landed on one of the walls, the door outside sitting far out of reach.

Jason held on to him with his good arm. “Is it B?”

Dick looked up at the red glow coming through the window and heard the muffled sound of unfamiliar voices. There was a humming noise and Dick flinched as the metal glowed red hot and started to melt.

“No Jay, I very much doubt that’s Bruce.” Dick searched frantically for a weapon as the hole opened wider. He grabbed the crowbar and tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut as he crouched defensively in front of Jason.

He saw a black, armored hand grab the molten wall and a figure came through. They floated like it was still zero g. They were tall, probably around Dick’s height, but with a stockier build. Their armor looked to be some kind of alloy, it looked black in the red light with jagged ridges and glowing lights in the seams. A single stylized, glowing S was embedded in the center of their chest, their visor pulsed and glowed where Dick assumed their eyes were.

They said something in a strange choppy language, the armor distorting their voice, making it sound like they swallowed gravel. Dick felt his lip curl as they moved closer.

“Stay back!”

The figure set themselves on the ground, pulling their hands back and repeating whatever they said before. Dick didn’t move. There was a commotion outside and the humming started again. The figure was distracted as someone else poked their head in and yelled something at them.

Dick took that moment to strike. The crowbar met with the back of their heads as whatever device they used to melt the wall started again. Their helmet made a disturbing crunch as it met with the floor and their friend started yelling to whoever else must be outside. Dick sprinted back to where Jason was sitting.

“Sorry Little Wing, looks like we’re on the run. Try to hold on, ok?” Dick picked him up in a piggyback and as soon as it was open, threw himself through the new hole in the capsule. Jason grunted at the jostling but still held on with one arm around Dicks neck.

The room was a flurry of motion, bodies flying to and fro, some wearing armor of different colors. It was like a literal beehive of activity. There was a lot of panicked yelling as people began to come towards them. Dick looked around what must have been some sort of cargo bay trying to find somewhere to regroup. He spotted an opening to their ventilation that looked just big enough for him to slip inside.

“Jay, I’m gonna get us up to the vents. You’ll have to pull yourself up before I can follow you.” Dick felt Jason nod his head as he ran, dodging and weaving between their pursuers. 

As he got close, Dick used a nearby person as a springboard up to a ledge. He held onto the vent and punched in the cover and pulled himself up enough that Jason could crawl inside. He was nearly there when something grabbed his chain and yanked them out, the fall to the floor punching the breath out of him.

“Dick!” Jason yelled. It seems one of the guards was aiming to get Jason.

“Little Wing!!” Dick struggled as the guard that pulled them out tried to pin him down. They wrestled for a few moments before Dick was able to hook his leg around them, twisting and pinning them to the floor. He slammed his fist into their face until they stopped struggling under him. Dick then quickly backflipped out of range of another barreling guard.

Jason had managed to throw his elbow into the solar plexus of his captor, causing them to drop him. Dick quickly ran to catch him before he was intercepted. Something had slammed into him from behind and wrapped around his chest, then encasing his whole body and morphing into a coffin-esque shape. It seemed something similar had attached itself to Jason and he was being carted away by a guard and a separate group in a different uniform. Dick cried as he watched them take his little brother away.

“Please! Please don’t hurt him, that’s my little brother, take me instead!” Dick begged. He knew they didn’t understand, but he had to try. “He won’t survive a second time, please.”

He collapsed inside the coffin, wailing as they took him into some deeper part of the ship.

~~~

When Dick was coherent again, he found himself in some kind of observation room. It was plain, a single bed in one corner and a single nearly ceiling to floor length window to the other side. It was at this time that Dick began to accept they were taken by aliens.

For one their technology was wildly different than anything he'd ever seen. The window wasn't tempered glass but some kind of light or plasma turned solid. It seemed the aliens could control it remotely and it was extremely malleable while also practically soundproof.

What really cemented the fact these people were not from Earth was the people themselves. The window was not a one-way mirror so Dick had a full view of the foreign doctors or scientists trying to study him. At first glance, the aliens seemed as human as could be, two arms, two legs, and a normal sized head. But it was when Dick looked closer he could spot the differences.

Most of the people he saw were huge. Like make six-foot-four-Bruce-Wayne look small, kind of huge. Their eyes seemed to also have a kind of glow too, all of them in the range of blue to white. Though it was hard to tell true colors under the ‘golden hour’ lighting of the entire ship.

Dick shivered. They kept it cold as hell in here, too.

The room on the other side of the wall was busy, people coming in and out for seemingly random periods of time. Though there were two recurring faces that stuck out to him. The aliens looked very similar, like father and son, the older having a beard and some grey streaks through his hair. They also had similar style clothing with that same stylized S in the center of their chests. The older one also seemed to be the center of all the hustle and bustle, giving direction and delegation at most times. The father must be in some position of power.

The son's job, it seemed, was to study Dick.

The alien watched him constantly, muttering to himself and looking down at his tablet. Dick hadn't been moving much since he was put in here, the solitude of the room exacerbating his depressive mood. The silence rang in his ears and Dick wondered how long it would take him to go mad.

Everything changed with lights out. ‘Lights out’ meaning they turned blue and just about everyone left soon after. Dick decided to save his strength and get some sleep, the only people left were the father and son, and he doubted they would try anything tonight. Dick would try his hand at escaping tomorrow, for now, he fell into a restless sleep.

~~~

Link to chapter 3:

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 14: Peril

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.3K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Time itself moves sluggishly as the spawn descend upon the petrified, screaming miscreants that share your cell. Your heartbeat thuds in your chest, fighting your ribs like striking bolts of lightning. You steel yourself against the rising panic, wrapping yourself in unflappable poise and watch for your opening.

As soon as the wave of spawn crashes and parts, you squeeze Hecat’s hand to signal her it’s time to move and bound through the gap. The corridor is a catastrophe, the stones painted in fresh crimson, bodies of guards ripped open, with their raw innards spilling out like gruesome garlands wreathing the walls. Hecat pales at the sight, dry heaving, but you’ve long become acquainted with such nightmarish affairs.

You tug Hecat along behind you, bare feet smacking the stone with such force it sends jolts of pain charging up your legs as your bones shudder with the impact of every step. That is nothing compared to the acute, explosive pain stabbing your chest with every inhalation.

Hecat stops, acquiring a shield and sword from a fallen guard. The blood makes the stone slick, and every step must be taken carefully. You cannot afford to fall. A stumble will almost surely mean death. Spawn that have finished their meals are starting to take notice. Hecat deflects them with her shield, stabbing with her sword when she has an opening and keeping you safely behind her.

The passageways are labyrinthine, confused tangles of convoluted twists and turns that sometimes double back or arrive at dead ends unexpectedly. Tears are creeping out of the corners of your eyes, dallying down your grimy, red cheeks from the agony radiating from your ribs with every expansion of your lungs. Panic starts to crumble the blanket of calm, surging through you as you frantically dart through the shadowy, disorienting hallways. The angry army of thudding footfalls of the spawn in pursuit echoes through the corridors.

Bounding up a dim stairway, the hilt of a dagger peeks out from between the joints of armour, nestled into the corpse of a guard. You yank it out with a quick tug, but time is not on your side this night. A spawn grasps your ankle, its clawed fingers sinking into your flesh and jerks you off your feet. Your head bounces off the stone slab stair, peppering your vision with black sparks of dazing pain. The only thing you can see through your muddled sight is those glowing eyes. You lash out with the dagger and sink it deeply into the socket. As soon as you’re released, Hecat is already towing you back to your feet, pulling you up the stairs and into the next room.

The milky eyes and pallor of bloodless bodies greet you. The undead in this part of the prison seem to roam, unsure of their orders, but as soon as the thudding of your heart is heard, their heads snap in your direction. They swarm around you like enraged bees. Despite Hecat’s exhaustion, she is unwavering. Her sword slashes through the air, shield deflecting the snapping fangs and shredding claws.

You feel the pangs of irritation at your uselessness. Your magic, once your greatest weapon, is now a prison in its own right. The vampires press in closer, surrounding you like a pack of ravenous wolves, their movements orchestrated by an unseen hand, but they don’t move to attack further as they corral you.

“What are they doing?” Hecat pants with wild eyes, frantically searching for an escape.

“I don’t know.”

A red aura shifts around the spawn, the same one Cazador used to control Astarion’s sibling during their midnight visit to your camp. They part for a tall, pallid figure that appears seemingly from the shadows.

“Nice to see you again, Sorceress,” it speaks. You recognize that voice, and your heart arrests in your chest, sinking into your stomach.

Aldous.

Your mind reels, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. No. He is dead. You watched the life be abducted from his eyes yourself. Yet, he stands before you, pale as death with glowing crimson eyes. His face splits into that repellent smile, and his cackling resounds off the walls.

“That one.” He points at you, “She is to be taken alive. The Tiefling matters not.”

“What the fuck,” Hecat breathes.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Sorceress,” Aldous laughs, hysterical and bone-chilling. “And your fanged friend. I cannot wait to drain you dry in front of him.”

A harrowing scream tears from your throat, a melody of rage and sorrow as Aldous disappears in a burst of red, drawn home by his unknown master. Grabbing Hecat’s hand, you eye a door and dash toward it with renewed vigour. The vampire’s claws and fangs pierce your skin as you burst through the legion. You stab and slash with reckless abandon, sinking the dagger into anything that attempts to halt you.

Hecat and you stumble into the room and try to close the door on writhing arms and legs. Hecat lashes out with her sword, severing limbs from bodies obstructing it until it slams shut and locks.

“Help me!” Hecat yells as she throws a table over. You help barricade the door with whatever is available.

“They want you?” Hecat snaps, levelling the sword at you, “Who the fuck are you, dragon girl, and why the fuck do they want you alive?”

You’re doubled over, hands on your thighs, trying to inhale as much air as your lungs can possibly take, but the splitting pain in your side hampers your ability to catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” you retort venomously, eyeing the sword and Tiefling.

“That one knows you,” she hisses, shifting her stance and getting ready to strike. “Who the fuck is he?”

“A dead man,” you sigh, pushing your hair from your eyes. “I killed him. Apparently, it didn’t stick.”

“You’re a murderer?!” She gasps, bringing the steel blade to your neck.

“Yes,” you growl, unbothered by the threat.

Hecat laughs, withdrawing her blade, “I would not have thought you possible of such a heinous crime.” She winks, “I like you even more now.”

You cannot help but choke out a pained laugh, but it’s more of a groan than anything. You look around. Waxy moonlight floods the room from a small window. It’s the first window you’ve seen, but bars in a crisscross pattern make escape impossible, and the wood door is starting to splinter and crack under the barrage rattling it on its hinges.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere makes your skin prickle as the dam of suppression is released, and the Weave returns to you in an overwhelming deluge. You don’t have time to wonder why or how, and you don’t much care. The Weave causes the air to crackle, abuzz with powerful energy, and you fill yourself with it. You grip the iron and allow the potency of your draconic fire to spill out of you with a daunting laugh you cannot stifle. The bars heat, whine and wail, glowing white-hot and oozing, and Hecat thrusts her sword into the gooey mess of molten metal to clear your path.

The moon hangs high in the sky, casting an eerie glow upon the building, and the air is brisk as you clamber onto the roof. You cast Shatter, crumbling the stone around the window to block the pursuing spawn.

“That’s some potent magic you have there,” Hecat grins. “I’ve never seen anyone melt metal with their hands before.”

Her words of praise float over you as you eye the raging war of the courtyard below. Some guards remain alive, fighting another horde of spawn descending on the grounds. From the height, you can see beyond the solid walls surrounding the compound, and your feet move unconsciously, eyes skipping over the landscape - searching, searching, searching…

There.

“We could jump,” Hecat says hesitantly, peering over the edge.

“No,” you bark with a smile. “We fly. Follow me.”

You cast Fly, taking her hand and soar into the air. Hecat yelps at the suddenness of your movement and clings to you. You cannot quite reach your target before your feet hit the soft, muddied terrain. Spawn trample the ground, careening toward you like a blight on the land. Hecat stands in front of you, but you are muzzled no longer.

“Detono!” You howl, and the wave of crackling energy bowls the spawn over.

You cast Fireball and rain blazing death, warping the fire into flames that burn blue, bending it to your will. Your fingers dance in the moonlight, under stars that envy how bright you burn. Hecat stands at the ready, prepared and reinvigorated, but with unfathomable rage, you don’t miss. With every step, every twitch of your fingers, every syllable that brushes off your tongue, you are violence, you are slaughter, you are death incarnate.

It feels magnificent. Exhilarating. You are so wonderfully, splendidly fucking alive.

Whatever spawn remain have begun to retreat, much to your displeasure, disappearing in puffs of red mist, back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

“Kamena!” Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground, and pressing you tightly to firm, sculpted muscles. You would do anything to stay in this embrace but the pain in your ribs forces a pained cry from your lips, and Astarion jerks away from you.

Hecat screams, charging forward with her blade levelled at Astarion before you have time to explain. Astarion dodges swiftly and has one blade to Hecat’s throat and the other pressed firmly to her stomach before you can blink.

“Astarion, don’t,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “She helped me escape. Hecat, this is my friend.”

“Friend?” Hecat barks as Astarion releases her with a skeptical frown, and she reels back. “You failed to mention that your friend is also a fucking vampire.”

“Astarion is a person,” you growl. Without the adrenaline rocketing through your veins, your injuries and weariness have begun to take their toll on your body, and you stumble.

Astarion catches you, “You’re injured?”

“Her ribs are broken, I think,” Hecat replies for you. “The guards did not treat her well.”

“Shadowheart!” Astarion bellows and slightly lifts the hem of your shirt, revealing the edges of mottled blue, black and yellowing bruise expanding up your side. “Good Gods, my love.”

“I’m fine.” You bring Astarion’s eyes to yours, gazing into the scarlet sea you have longed to swim in. It almost makes it past you, but your brows furrow, “Did you just call for Shadowheart?”

A hand lays on your shoulder, and blue magic laves away the cutting pain in your side, “This was supposed to be a nice, boring vacation,” Shadowheart tuts, nose rising into the air with a snort. “I should have known better than to think you might be able to keep yourself out of trouble.”

“Shadowheart!” You pivot, wrapping your arms around her. “Gods. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She drawls, returning the hug gently.

“Where is the wizard?” Astarion asks, “We should get her home. She smells terrible.”

Shadowheart chuckles with Astarion as you frown at them. “She really does. If I can smell her, I can’t imagine how bad she smells to you, vampire.”

“Be glad you can’t,” Astarion wrinkles his nose at you but sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing your forehead.

“Take her home,” Shadowheart instructs. “I’ll wait for Gale.”

The conversation between them starts to sound far away as lethargy drags at your mind.

“What do we do about this one?” Astarion gestures to Hecat.

“Leave her with me,” Shadowheart concludes with a tinge of threat. “She can bring me up to speed on exactly what in the Hells is going on around here while we wait for Gale.”

“She helped me,” you murmur. “Be nice, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart smirks, “Aren’t I always nice?”

“Wake up.”

“No,” you grumble, forcing your eyes open.

“Yes.” Astarion purrs with cold breath on the shell of your ear that sends delightful shivers down your spine. “You are not crawling into our bed smelling like a flophouse latrine.”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body tightly to him. He tries to tug you away half-heartedly between his grunting protests, but there’s no real force behind his playful pulling.

“Now, you smell, too!” You chime as he sets you back on your feet and starts drawing a bath.

“Naughty girl,” Astarion smirks, chuckling.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the gilded mirror. Your hair is matted and dingy with grime. Filth streaks your face, dulling your complexion. Your shirt, once a pale blue, has been rendered brown, stained with dirt and blood that’s both new and long dried.

Movement behind you catches your eyes, whisking them away from your reflection. Bottles of oils float through the air, appearing to move on their own as Astarion pours oils into the water, and notes of lavender, sandalwood, and vanilla arise with the steam. This is something you’ve never gotten used to. Objects seemingly floating, as if picked up by a breeze and carried aloft of their own free will.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Astarion says, moving your hair and bringing you back from your contemplations.

“What?”

“No reflection.” Astarion’s cool fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms, allowing him to peel the disgusting garment from your body, “Objects moving on their own, a ghost underdressing you.”

“A little,” you admit. “I just don’t understand how you always look so fucking perfect all the time.”

“Oh,” he giggles, turning you around, hooking his fingers in your waistband, and crouching. “Do go on.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, leaning some of your weight into him while he strips you, lifting one leg at a time, “I missed you."

“I missed you, too. Very much.” He says, taking your hand in his, “Come. Into the bath with you before it gets cold, and you chastise me.”

Climbing into the steaming water is like climbing into a sun-soaked dream. How very odd is it you can forget how your skin feels when it’s clean. As you slough off the dirt, blood and filth, the pads of your fingers do not recognize the buttery softness of your skin without the grainy texture.

“Tilt your head back,” Astarion instructs. He pours hot water over your head, fingers gently detangling your matted hair, lathering it with soap.

The bruise extending up your side is still faintly visible, staining your skin in hues of blue and yellow, and your fingers skate up, poking and prodding.

“What happened in there?” Astarion brushes the backs of his fingers gently down the marbled skin.

“The guards had a bone to pick with me,” you shrug, trying to cover the solemnity of the conversation with a pleasant smile. “I don’t wish to talk about it right now, Astarion.”

“Kamena…” Astarion sighs with a sullen shake of his head.

You press your fingers gently under his chin, bringing his eyes to yours. Gods. When he looks at you, it is not a glance. It is a song, a message, a constellation of promises wrapped in scarlet, and you never want to look away.

“I’m not running, Astarion.” You assure him, “I will tell you all about it, but tonight, can we just be us?”

Astarion smiles, nodding his understanding, “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Astarion’s fingers massage your scalp as he washes the soap from your hair, rinsing it until the water finally runs clear.

“Do we have wine?” You ask on a whim.

“Gale does,” Astarion grins momentarily, but his lips press into a thin line. “Is this celebratory drinking or “it’s better to forget” drinking?”

You wince at the question. You know it’s not exactly the healthiest way to deal with your problems. You are tempted to lie to him but force the truth from your lips, “A little of both?”

“I can live with that, I suppose,” Astarion nods, helping you stand and wrapping a plush towel around you, patting you dry. You smile as he dotes on you, “I know where the wizard hides the good stuff. I will go raid his cellar.”

Slipping into one of Astarion’s shirts, you light the fire with naught but a thought. It feels good to have your magic back after being deprived of it for so long. You grip the Weave, pulling the mystical essence from your blood and bones, and it feels like taking a deep breath after you didn’t realize you were holding it. Fire spurts out of your palm, and you fashion it into a ring, forcing the flames to move unnaturally as they chase each other around in a never-ending loop.

You lift the flaming ring above your head, hovering between your palms like a fiery halo, and force it to expand and contract simply because you can.

“Did no one ever teach you it’s dangerous to play with fire, Sorceress?”

“Perhaps for the untrained, Rogue,” you smirk, snap your fingers, and the halo bursts like a firework, pinpricks of fire whirling around you.

You let the fire ebb and die out slowly, relinquishing your magic with a sorrowful sigh. The Weave fills you with life, comfort and peace. Without it, you’re thrust back into a stark reality. Astarion hands you a glass, and you grab the bottle and wink as you drink deeply. The wine is a crisp white wine, buttery with hints of vanilla. It sparkles on your tongue and fizzes down your throat, and you cannot help but close your eyes at the pleasure of it all after drinking brown-tinged water for a week.

“Shall we sit, or would you prefer to keep standing in the middle of the room?”

“Gods,” you smirk, handing the bottle to Astarion and trotting over to the bed. You flop onto it gracelessly. “Let’s drink in bed! I’ve been sleeping on stone for a week, and this is lovely, but it’s missing something.”

“And what’s that, my dear?” Astarion cocks his head handsomely with a boyish smile that tells you he knows exactly what you think it’s missing.

“You!”

“In that case,” Astarion giggles and removes his shirt. He thrusts the wine bottle into your hands. Your fingers fumble to catch it, senses entirely possessed by him, “We might as well get comfortable, yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe, swallowing thickly.

Astarion saunters around the bed, discarding pieces of clothing along the way. He makes it look casual, unpremeditated, but it’s maddeningly slow.

“You’re a tease,” you mutter under your breath, sipping the wine and slipping out of your shirt.

“I am not!” He chuckles, “You’re just exceptionally impatient. Good things come to do who wait, sweetheart.”

“Do they?” You quirk a brow at him, “I’m not so sure about that. Do you have proof of this notion?”

“I waited two hundred years for you.” Astarion purrs as the bed dips under his weight, and he presses his body against your back, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you,” you murmur, craning your head to look at him, slipping your fingers into his hair.

“I love you, too. I should not have let the wizard talk to me into leaving you in there so long. I—“

“Not tonight, Astarion.” It sounds like a whimpering plea, “Please."

“Right. Apologies,” he rasps, lips against your neck.

“Have you been eating?”

“Always so worried about me,” his lips twitch into a smile. “I’m fine.”

Perhaps he is fine, but you are most certainly not. Suddenly, you’re impacted with a deep-seated need to feel that intimacy, that descent through the branches of his veins. You want to bleed into him, your soul and his, intertwined as one. The intensity of the emotion catches you off guard.

Are you chasing the bloodless daze that his feedings provide? Are you hoping it will lay a shroud over the dread sinking your stomach? Is this another way to run?

Maybe.

But you are so good at running.

“Would you like a nibble?” You bite your lower lip, trying to keep the hint of anticipation from your voice.

Astarion jerks his head up, pushing your shoulder until you’re lying on your back and looking up at him with an arched brow. He regards you thoughtfully, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea tonight.”

“Why?”

Astarion rifles his fingers through his hair, “You are well aware of the effect you have on me when I feed on you. I cannot promise that once your blood dawns on my tongue, your skin under my fingertips, I won’t lose myself in the need to make every inch of you mine.”

You wrap an arm around Astarion’s neck carefully, kissing along his jaw. You whisper in his ear, “So make me yours.”

Astarion shudders amorously as you ghost your lips over the ridge of his ear to the tapered tip. He grabs your waist with a low, rumbling growl, pulling you into his lap to straddle him. His desire for you pressed firmly against your already slick sex. Astarion looks deeply into your eyes, holding you still as if trying to figure out if you’re in your right mind.

You’re trying to figure out the same thing.

He catches your lips in his, gentle at first but with progressively more ferocity. He groans into your mouth. It radiates down your spine, stealing your breath, and a chill rushes through you, settling in your core. Your heart flutters with desire, the increasing drumbeat of it making its way between your thighs.

Astarion’s hand grips your hips, undulating them, his cock sliding between your folds, brushing up against your swollen flesh. You have been so fundamentally deprived of his affection that every touch sends shivers over your skin, every slide of his tongue against yours makes you want to sigh, and every groan steals the air from your lungs.

His fingers tease the peaks of your nipples, and you throw your head back and gasp. Astarion kisses up the column of your throat, his free hand cradling the back of your head, fingers twisted in your hair.

There’s but a moment of clarity. You are running headfirst, barrelling into anything that might hope to make you numb - him, pleasure, alcohol, bloodlessness.

Astarion’s fingers glide between your lips and sweep over your sensitive pearl, and coherence is lost in a white-hot rush of pleasure. You melt, draping your arms over him and biting his shoulder to hush your cries. His lips trace along your neck, and you roll your head to the side. His fangs sink into your flesh, and he growls, deeply and lofty, his chest rumbling against yours as if thunder was rolling through it. Your essence trickles through his veins like a gentle rain as he draws in methodical sips, savouring every drop.

Your hips buck as he continues his ministrations. You yearn to feel that decedent stretch of your walls as they envelop his cock, and he knows it. Astarion encourages you to lift your hips, pressing the swollen, blunt head of his cock to your entrance, and you sink down his length as he rubs against all your ridges so exquisitely that it makes your vision blur.

You don’t even notice his fangs retreat from your neck as his lips mould to yours to dampen your unadulterated breathy moans. You close your eyes and fade in and out as your head spins around with pleasure so intense you cannot think straight. The woozy fog of blood loss only adds to your dwindling reason and logic. With every pump of his hips and every roll of yours, you are walking on the fine edge of paradise.

But there’s something not quite right in his movements. They are tactical, methodical, and too perfect. You drive your eyes open, blinking away that haze of ecstasy. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, he’s not looking back at you. He’s looking past you as if through you, but his body knows this dance well enough, and he continues to go through the motions even when he’s a million miles away.

You go rigid, halting all movement in a split second, and your heart seizes, bound by the flash freeze in your chest. It jolts him back to himself, and he blinks rapidly, almost confused.

“Astarion,” you purr, concealing the hurt in your voice. Why didn’t he tell you? Why didn’t he say something as he promised he would? “Let's stop.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “I��m fine.”

“It’s okay, my love.” You cradle his cheek, trying very hard not to move a muscle until he tells you, “Tell me when I can move.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks away from you, brows downturned, rubbing his eyes. “I want this. You. I was there, and then I just… wasn’t. I don’t know what happened.”

“Healing is messy. Isn’t it?”

“You are a gift,” Astarion folds his arms around you, hugging you close to him, and you try to hug him back, but it’s admittedly awkward when he’s still inside you, and you’re trying your best to keep yourself still. He laughs, “You can move, Kamena. I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re still inside me,” you retort, almost as if to alert him to this fact.

“Yes, that’s considerably obvious, but thank you for pointing it out,” he chuckles as you relax slightly. “Do you think we could stay like this? Just for a little bit? I find it… strangely helpful.”

This is new. Not unwelcome, but definitely new, “You want to sit here with your cock inside me, and what, chat?”

“Precisely!” He chimes happily, leaning back with a grin, “I’m so glad you understand, darling. Hells. Do I have some stories for you! Do you know how hard it is to break into the government buildings here? They are locked up tighter than a patriar’s purse, but I do love a good challenge.”

You can’t help but burst laughing at his carefree attitude, the way he’s still rock hard inside you, talking about committing crimes as if you were sitting at a table sharing stories over dinner and drinks. This is not typically how you remember him reacting, but this… this is progress, and you will take it.

You groan, “Why were you breaking into the civil buildings, Astarion?”

“How do you think Gale knew where to find and nullify the device suppressing magic at the prison?” Astarion drawls, pleased with himself. “That man is terrible at stealth. Even worse than you. He complained about his knees the entire time! Gods. I am centuries older than him, and you don’t see me bellyaching.”

“How utterly annoying! I’m surprised you didn’t kill him,” you giggle at how he smirks with a wily glint in his crimson eyes. He definitely considered it. “In that case, you’re going to have to take me on a date where we break into this government building that gave you a hard time. This is something I must see.”

“You cheeky little minx,” he laughs. “I would love nothing more.”

The murmur of voices, clinking of cutlery on the tableware, and smell of what is surely Gale’s cooking drift down the hallway as you approach. Astarion follows closely behind, his hand at the small of your back. He has not stopped touching you in some fashion since you returned, as if he’s worried that you might disappear.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see the back of Hecat’s head, sitting at the table, shovelling whatever gruel Gale provided into her mouth and nodding as he recounts tales of your grand adventure in the Underdark. It takes substantial effort not to tell Gale to shut his trap. He does realize that you met this person in prison, right?

Shadowheart sees you first, leaping from her chair and dashing over, sweeping you into a tight hug, “Gods. You smell much better,” she giggles when you groan and squeeze her hard enough to expel some air from her lungs, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you nod, but you haven’t been able to take your gaze, etched with skepticism off Hecat.

Shadowheart whispers, “She had nowhere else to go. Gale invited her.”

You snort, “Of course he did.”

“I’ve been watching her closely,” Shadowheart sniffs. “And I will continue to do so.”

You suppose the woman was instrumental in your escape, and perhaps, for now, you should give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Sit,” Astarion instructs, pulling a chair out for you. “I will get you some food.”

You arch a brow at him and give him an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Although anything will be better than the stale bread and dried meat the prison served, whatever Gale has fashioned resembles wet dog food, and your stomach, as hungry as it is, flops in your belly.

Astarion kisses your temple, “Trust me.”

You sit, and Astarion gathers fresh fruit from the fridge, cutting it up in deft, precise movements. He glares at the knife spitefully, assessing the edge and rolling his eyes. You would giggle, knowing he’s judging Gale for the state of his knives, if you were not so flabbergasted that Astarion is preparing your food.

Hecat’s voice breaks you from your astoundment, “You clean up nicely! I almost forgot what colour your hair was under all that crud.”

She, too, looks substantially different without dirt smudged on her face, “I could say the same about you,” you retort a little too sourly.

Hecat smiles, not catching the venom in your voice, “Your friends are very nice.”

“Yes,” you give Gale a sideways glance, and he looks bashful. “Gale is very generous and trusting.”

Gale’s face flushes red, and he clears his throat, putting a finger in the collar of his robe, and pulling it away from his neck like the garment is restricting his breath.

Astarion places a bowl of perfectly diced fruit before you. He sits, dragging his chair close to yours so he can keep a hand resting on your thigh. You don’t miss the way Shadowheart glares at him with unspoken bitterness.

“Dear Shadowheart already gave me quite the berating,” he shimmies his shoulders as if he enjoyed it.

He actually might have.

“Not enough of one if you ask me.” Shadowheart scoffs, her eyes narrowed and blazing with acidity.

Hecat arches a brow, confused at what is going on, and you’re not about to lay out your life story for some stranger you met in prison, so you push the conversation forward.

“Aldous is a vampire,” you say far too casually and are met with looks of shock and silence.

Gale and Shadowheart eye Astarion.

Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my bloody doing. I am a mere spawn. I do not have the power to turn anyone. Gods,” he shakes his head. “I don’t believe it possible. I disposed of him. Thoroughly.”

“Did you destroy his body?” You ask. Gale almost chokes on his tea at the indifference in your voice.

Astarion nods, “Entirely. There was nothing left.”

“Is that the man who was after you?” Hecat asks, but her eyes are not on you.

They are moored to Astarion, like a shipwreck lying on the ocean floor, irretrievably bound. Astarion doesn’t seem to notice as he typically does not, but these dew-eyed ogles always make jealously flare to life. You place your hand on Astarion, stop yourself from growling “mine,” and instead, settle on scowling.

Astarion is alerted to your discontentment by the heat radiated from your palm. He makes a show of kissing each of your fingers, slow and lingering, trying very hard not to snicker. He finds your jealousy endearing but equally foolish, and perhaps it is.

Hecat does not seem to care or notice. It drives you mad, so you crawl into his lap, placing yourself between him and her gawking orange eyes. You can hear Shadowheart chuckling under her breath. She knows your protectiveness of Astarion all too well.

Astarion remains casual about it as if it’s not unusual for you to sit in his lap during breakfast. He grabs the bowl of fruit you have yet to finish and shoves it into your hands, “Eat.”

You grumble curses under your breath only he can hear, at him and his bossiness, at Hecat, and shovel fruit into your mouth.

Astarion chuckles, kissing your cheek, and purrs reassuringly, “I only have eyes for you, thiramin.”

You know this, but it’s not his eyes you’re concerned about.

A knock on the door breaks you from your brewing hostility, and you nearly answer it as a reflex, but he holds you and shakes his head, “No. Not this time.”

“I’ll get it,” Shadowheart chimes.

Gale accompanies Shadowheart. All three of you are holding the Weave, ready to cast at a moment’s notice. There is an undertone of mumbling, and Astarion’s face transforms into a formidable scowl. His grip on you tightens, and he brandishes a dagger.

“Blackwell,” he growls.

Flames immediately jump to life across your skin, licking up your forearms and through your hair. Hecat is on her feet, her fists balled, stirred by your unease.

Gale returns, looking contrite, wracking his hand over his face, “I’m sorry, my friend, but we must hear him out.”

Astarion is the first to answer, his voice rough and grated in warning, “Absolutely fucking not! I don’t care what information he has or what he has to say, Gale. If you let him into this house, I will kill him. I promise you that. You would not want to get blood all over these lovely floors. Would you?”

“Information?” You ask, placing a hand on Astarion’s as he grips the dagger so tightly his fist shakes.

“Don’t be an idiot, Kamena,” Astarion snarls.

“My son,” you hear Mr. Blackwell’s voice as he sidles up behind Gale as if using him as a shield. Shadowheart has a tight clutch on his shoulder, bristling with fury, “I’ve made a grave mistake. I know I have no right to ask, but I don’t know where else to turn. I... I need your help.”

“Help?” You seethe, fingernails digging into the table to keep yourself from burning him where he stands, shoulders slumped, wringing his hat in his hands. “You want our help?! That’s laughable.”

“You killed him.” Mr. Blackwell mewls, “Didn’t you?”

You do not answer. No one does. Instead, you level him with a glower sharp enough to cut through mountains.

It is answer enough.

“I made a deal,” he continues. “No one would listen to me. No one cared. I was out of options, and then I was approached by a woman while I was at a tavern. She told me she could bring him back. She told me there was a spell that would return him to me. She said the only payment she would ask was that he would be in her service. I... I did not ask questions. I did not know what she was!”

“You godsdamned idiot,” you hiss, clenching your teeth so hard the nerves trill. “You made a deal with a vampire?”

“Nobles,” Hecat scoffs with a disgusted twist of her lips. “All wealth, zero intelligence.”

“I didn’t know!” Mr. Blackwell cries, slipping to the floor into a puddle of sorrow. “She said he would return to me the next night, and he did, but he was not the same. His mother let him in. She was so happy to see him she did not notice or care. She hugged him. He… He bit her! I could not get him to stop. He looks like you,” Mr. Blackwell says sullenly, nodding toward Astarion. “Red eyes, pale as a sheet.”

“I am sure he does,” Astarion beams a fanged, threatening grin at him, making Mr. Blackwell squeak like a mouse caught in a trap.

Questions are whirling through your mind. Why would a Vampire Lord take notice of you? Why would they waste resources – spawn, scrolls or otherwise? Why bother having you imprisoned, beaten, and weakened? There is always a purpose to their madness, but what could you have that they want?

“What could a Vampire Lord possibly want with you?” Gale echos your thoughts, fingers on his chin. “And why bring Aldous back? How did they bring him back?”

“Aldous is easy. Most likely a scroll of True Resurrection. I imagine they turned him because they knew his thirst for revenge would make him easy to manipulate. Vengeance is a powerful motivator.” Your brows furrow, tapping the table with your finger rapidly, “What I don’t understand is what use they would have for any of us. I can’t think of a single relic in our possession that would do a Vampire Lord any good.”

Hecat looks between all of you with a puzzled look. She knows too much now, adding yet another complication.

“Astarion,” Shadowheart prompts him, “You’re the resident expert on vampires. Care to speculate as to why they would go through all this trouble?”

Astarion’s brows furrow and he shrugs, “I don’t have the slightest clue. Vampires are territorial beasts, but I do not think they would go to such lengths when they could have simply attacked me while I was hunting if their concern was territory.”

You give the worn noble on the floor a once over, and you feel nothing but hatred for the pathetically snivelling man. Should you feel merciful? Gods. When did you become so callous? “Did Aldous say anything else?”

“He muttered things here and there.” Mr. Blackwell sighs letting his head drop into his hands, “Something about ruins being the key and a contract, but none of it made any sense. He seemed like he was in a haze, drunk-like.”

Ruins being a key and a contract? It's not much to go on at this point, but you suppose, it’s a start.

“Whoever this Vampire Lord is,” Shadowheart crosses her arms, “They will know exactly who we are. They will not underestimate us.”

“Indeed,” Gale agrees with a curt nod. “We must take precautions, prepare and plan for the worst.”

“Who the fuck are you people?” Hecat asks, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

“Adventurers,” you trample over Gale who is about to spill your entire story, looking him in the eyes with a warning. His mouth snaps shut. “Nothing more.”

It seems your adventure in Waterdeep is just beginning.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Shadowheart ❤️

I'm dying to hear all your theories on why a Vampire Lord has taken an interest! 😁

Are we trusting Hecat?

Fucking Aldous 🤬 Hopefully we get the chance to kill him... again.

[usafphantom2]

To help reduce the radar cross-section the pie shaped and rectangular shapes were used around the outer edges of the SR 71. This is one of many reasons why they did not allow photographs. The SR -71 was made of 93% aged titanium and 7% composites. The fins and triangle wedges that framed the outer edge of the aircraft were composite constructionsmade from a mixture of asbestos and epoxy. They provided high-temperature radar absorbent characteristics to reduce the aircraft radar cross-section. They found that to attach thin, titanium skin to heavier wing structures, simple standoff clips were developed. These gave structural integrity while providing a heat shield between components with different expansion rates.

According to Wisconsin Metal Tech, the engineers of the SR-71 were among the first people in history to make real use of the material. In that process, they ended up throwing away a lot of material, some through necessity, some through error. At times the engineers were perplexed as to what was causing problems, but thankfully they documented and cataloged everything, which helped find trends in their failures. They discovered that spot welded parts made in the summer were failing very early in their life, but those welded in winter were fine. They eventually tracked the problem to the fact that the Burbank water treatment facility was adding chlorine to the water they used to clean the parts to prevent algae blooms in summer, but took it out in winter. Chlorine reacts with titanium, so they began using distilled water from this point on.

They discovered that their cadmium plated tools were leaving trace amounts of cadmium on bolts, which would cause galvanic corrosion and cause the bolts to fail. This discovery led to all cadmium tools to be removed from the workshop.

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[cerastes]

any expectations/predictions about the DLC you might like to share, Mr Dreamo?

(This is about the Elden Ring DLC)

My expectations are very high, because FromSoft has always done their very best on DLCs to their games, due to a strong internal culture of taking in criticisms of their base games and trying to rectify them while elevating their base, solid formula. It's why they tend to take a while with DLC: They don't immediately go into DLC development as soon as their base game ends, at least not in full (they likely do conceptual groundwork and all the sundry parts you don't really need a lot of feedback for, like world assets and such), they always take their sweet time cranking out those bad boys, and it always feels like they address the weaknesses of their base games in their DLC.

So to hear that this is the biggest expansion they've ever produced as a company is not surprising at all: Elden Ring is, by far, their biggest game. And not only that, they managed to make an open world game that actually feels full. Miyazaki mentioned in an interview that the DLC map will be as big, if not bigger, than Limgrave, and Limgrave in terms of size alone is like a fourth of the base game, so That's Pretty Impressive (though... Is he counting the Weeping Peninsula in there? WP is part of Limgrave so I assume he is but there was no specificity). There's also apparently 8 new equipment categories, which is kind of insane to me? Likely they'll have 1-3 weapons each obviously but making 8 new equipment types is also pretty ambitious. We saw Dueling Shields, and we've heard rumors of odachi as well (Walmart Mortal Blade real?), and I will be cautious in my enthusiasm and assume it won't be 8 new weapon types specifically (probably some kooky meme items there like the double door shields or some gimmick torch with attacks from DS3, wouldn't be Fromsoft without clown nose equipment) but new weapon types outright is in fact a perfect way to revitalize a game further. All I want is for the new weapons to be relatively easily accessed for new characters instead of necessarily an endgame or NG+ deal unless you're willing to kill endgame bosses with a very low level character so we can do full NG runs with these new toys (see: Moonlight Greatsword runs or Rakuyo runs in Bloodborne. Have fun REALLY learning Ludwig and Maria on no-hit formats! Hope you brought plenty Fire and Bolt Paper, respectively!)

And my biggest hope, perhaps even cope, is that the triple flying kicks we saw in the trailer are Martial Arts weapons and not just an Ash of War. If the Bone Fist from DS2 finally returns in spirit, you will catch me dropkicking player and god alike until the end of time.

[quirkwizard]

Could you do an expansion on the quirk Thunder Bolt?

Training "Thunder Bolt" is difficult because there is a lot of different aspects for the user to cover between the electricity and the electromagnetism aspects. For example, they could have a couple of light bulbs on their tail, carefully making each one float and light up without having them explode. They could go with the with the Ojiro route, learning how to use their tail as a weapon for close quarters combat. They could try to better apply the magnetism aspect, like practicing surfing around on their tail and trying to move metal objects with it.

As for evolutions, it'd mostly be skilled based ones. It's be the user refining and mastering their tail and it's various electrical applications. For example, they could expand their surfing ability to be able to grind around on electricity wiring and bounce between metal surfaces. They could send their electrical bolts out through surfaces to touch to get around their range issue. They could become more precise with their magnetism, like using it to unlock a door by turning the locking mechanism or being able to accurately catch and throw metal objects around them.

Equipment would be pretty versatile. The user could have a suit that uses their tail as a power source, either to charge their equipment or to channel their electricity through it as to not rely on the tail exclusively. They could have some metal on hand to launch around via the tail's natural electromagnetism. A really fun option would be a shield the user can move around with their tail to block attacks. You could combine the two of these together, having a series of metal rings or wires around the tail that both protect the tail and being able to fire them off of the tail as projectiles.

[tashacee]

You said you’d made aspect of grace to be a lot whumpier at first

*Looks right*

*Looks left*

You uh, you still got that whumpier version?/j

Genuinely though, what was it originally like?

Let me look through my drive, see if i can find the rough draft lmao

Okay, turns out i still have the entire original chapter and DAMN it is whump. OOFT.

Also originally the lizalfos that killed Wild was straight up Dink. I forgot about that.

Anyway, I'll put it under the cut if you're interested :)

Wind knelt beside wild, numb, his mind refusing to process, refusing to accept the terrible truth in front of him. Around him he could see movement, hear his brothers shouting, feel someone grab his arm and try to jolt him out of his stupor, but he didn’t pay them any heed.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The world had stopped turning and all the colour had been drained from the world around him

Because wild was dead. 

It had been a normal day, like any other. No, scratch that, it had been better than that. It had been a great day. The sun had been shining and despite the cool autumn morning they had all relished in it, stripping cloaks and coats and enjoying the rare day of quiet sunlight. They were crossing a wide expanse of wetlands, the sunlight reflecting off of the water as all of their boots and socks were soaked through, but despite a few token complaints, no one much minded. 

It was a good day. They were all happy and high spirited, cracking jokes and grinning and messing about, Wind most of all.

Any other day he wouldn’t have grabbed the slate from wild’s hip. Any other day he wouldn’t have cackled and dashed off, waving it in the air in the world’s most childish game of ‘keep away’ he could manage.

Wild had yowled in protest and dashed after him, but fast as the cat man was, wind had a head start and was determined to mess about in the way that only a little brother could. 

The others had joined in. When wild had been about to catch him, wind tossed the slate to wars, who nimbly caught it and took over running away, laughing all the time. Wild had been laughing too, yipping in amusement as well as giving the rumble that Wind was pretty sure was his version of swearing.

If he had really been mad, wind would have stopped. None of them would have gone on. But he was laughing. He was having fun. 

Wars three the slate to Hyrule, who threw it to Twilight, who wind feared for a moment would give it back to Wild. But the Rancher just threw it back to Wind, sticking his tongue out at his brother while the others crowed in laughter, and wind bolted off again.

It was a good day. 

And then it wasn’t. 

The lizalfos had seemed to come from nowhere. It must have been hiding in the space between some rocks, waiting for them to approach. That was the thing about black blooded monsters, they were so much more clever, so much more intelligent, and this one seemed so much more than most.

It sprang out, teeth bared, jagged blade drawn. Its eyes glowed red against the oily black of its scales, and it radiated a dark magic so thick that wind could taste it in the air. He shouted in surprise and tried to leap out of the way, but his foot caught on a submerged root and he stumbled.

He went sprawling, dropping the slate in the mud as he fell and landing face first in the water. He barely rolled over in time to miss the next blow from the lizalfos’ blade. He tried to scramble to his feet, to get his bearings. He needed to move, to defend himself - he reached for his sword but he was of kilter, his hands were shaking and he fumbled. The lizalfos swung-

And it’s bland was blocked, parried away as a massive shape dove in front of him. Wild, his sword drawn as he repelled back the creature’s blade, teeth bared and growling.

Where were the others? Where they really that far behind?

There was no time to stop, no time to think. Wind finally got his grip on his sword and shield, ready to dove in and help his brother, but it was too late.

The lizalfos swung again. Wild blocked him again with his sword, but it was an old, worn thing from his own era, and it couldn’t take the strain. The blade shattered, and seeing the opportunity, the lizalfos lunged again.

And it’s blade met fur and flesh and bone. And wild made a sound, small and breathy and pained, his eyes widening in shock.

Wind surged forwards, kicking the lizalfos backwards and swinging at it wildly as the others finally reached their position. Wars, legend, and time leapt into battle with him, pressing on the beast as behind them Hyrule rushed to wild’s side.

It was only one lizalfos. Even black blooded, it shouldn’t have been as fierce, as intelligent as it was. It shouldn’t have looked like it was smiling. It shouldn’t have cackled when time finally ran it through, and rather than dissolving to dust like a normal monster, fading away like a shadow in the sunlight. 

Something told wind that it wasn’t gone for good, but it was gone for now and that was good enough for him. Shuddering, he dropped his sword and spun around, running to where he had left Wild. He would be fine, they’d all been stabbed before, but wild was strong! He was hardy, he would be fine-

He was lying in the water, limp and unmoving. Twilight has pulled his head and shoulders onto his knees and was bent double over him, his face screwed up and sobbing. Beside him, Hyrule sat pale faced and horrified, his hands at his side. Why wasn’t he doing something? Why wasn’t he healing him? 

The fur on wild’s torso was matted with blood, the water around him stained a horrible red. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing 

“Wild!” Wind ran forwards, grabbing his hand. “Hyrule help him! Do something!”

Hyrule just shook his head, tears beginning to slip over his cheeks. Wind knew why. He could see it plain as day, could see the gaping wound through Wild’s chest, knew that it was not an injury anyone could survive. Still, even as all of his brothers knelt around them, saw the terrible sight and understood the horrible truth, Wind could not accept it. Would not accept it. 

So he knelt there, staring at his unmoving brother, holding his hand and not caring as the frigid water soaked into his trousers.

Wild was dead, and he just couldn’t accept it.

-

After Wild’s first adventure, the gifts given to him by his fellow champions had faded. His old friends had moved on, after all, their spirits finally getting to rest after so long in limbo, and one by one their gifts left the space where they had rested in his soul.

Wild was okay with this. Much as he missed them, much as he missed the powers they gave him, he was glad that they were finally at peace. 

Mipha was the last to linger, and he wasn’t really that surprised. Her caring instinct had always been strong and she had always wanted to help. 

Then the weeks turned into months. And the months turned into years. And somehow, although he couldn’t quite feel her presence, there was still a sense of… something. Something that felt like gentle healing and and glowed a soft blue. Not the presence of a spirit, but the tender touch of a blessing.

know this: that no matter how difficult this battle might get... if you—if anyone ever tries to do you harm... Then I will heal you.

Zelda theorised that it was the final gift of the Zora princess. That even though she herself had moved on, the healing power of her Grace had remained, in one form or other. Even with the scant few memories of Mipha that Wild had, he was inclined to agree.

This said, he had never been particularlykeen to try it out. Mipha’s Grace had only ever activated when he had been injured badly enough to be at the point of death, and funnily enough he wasn’t overly eager to get to that point. It was enough to feel her blessing, however strong it may be, and to know that she had found peace.

Now, though, Wild floated in a limbo.

He wasn’t entirely clear on how he had ended up in this foggy, dark place. Someone had been in danger, someone important to him, and he had acted on impulse to save them. He had saved them, this important person, he was certain of that, but in the process he had gotten himself badly hurt.

He was dying. He knew that. And something about that was familiar.

He floated there, in that dark limbo, neither warm nor cold, neither feeling pain nor comfort, neither seeing nor blind, and he wondered vaguely why he was still here. He was no longer in his body, of that he was certain, but neither was he moving on.

Why was he not moving on?

Maybe something else had to happen first.

He waited, and inside of him something soft and blue began to pulse and itch. Around his chest, he felt something begin to come together.

This was also familiar, but he was sure that whatever it was used to be faster, stronger.

Huh.

He waited, patient in the darkness, and then all of a sudden hhis awareness came back to him with a terrible clarity. He was Link - wild! - and he had been trying to save Wind. He had taken a sword to the chest to save his brother and he was dying, should be dead already - 

But swirling around him, in the soft darkness of death, was a ribbon of blue energy, oh so softly knitting his wounds together. Mipha. Her grace, her final blessing, still saving his life so long after she had left hers behind. It would take longer, without the strength of her spirit to guide the healing, and it would not be as complete as it had been in the past. It would, he knew now, save him from death.

He couldn’t believe that he had been given such a gift. If such a thing was possible in this strange, limbo space, he would have wept.

Instead he waited for an indeterminate amount of time for the healing to be done.

And then he opened his eyes.

-

Every ounce of him hurt.

It wasn’t really the nicest feeling to wake up to, but given that he was waking up at all, he didn’t really feel as if he had the right to complain. In the past when Mipha had healed him he had come around almost instantly, his wounds fully healed and his energy restored, but it didn’t look like that would be happening any more. He was saved from the brink of death, but he still had plenty of wounds that needed healed.

And damnit, they hurt.

He wanted to groan but he wasn’t quite there yet, wasn’t quite ready to fully control his body. Everything felt so heavy. Instead he focused on grounding himself, on figuring out his surroundings, on what was happening around him.

He was lying on his back, on the ground. No not quite on the ground, someone had laid out a blanket underneath him. One of his softest blankets, if he was feeling it right. Aw, guys! He couldn’t help but feel touched that they had done that for him even when-

Oh. Oh right. They probably all thought he was dead. There was no telling how long he had been out while Mipha healed him. Shit.

Well, at least he hadn’t been buried yet. He really didn’t fancy climbing out of his own grave.

Again.

He focused on more of his surroundings. He could feel someone clutching his hand, their head pressed against his knuckles as they sobbed silently. Against his other side a small figure was curled up and also crying, less silently. WInd? And maybe Twilight?

This wasn’t good. He needed to move, to tell them that he was okay. He tried to put some strength into his aching muscles but he was still too groggy, his mind felt like he was swimming through a haze, his body not obeying his orders.

In the background, he could hear the crackle of a fire, but no one was speaking. He thought that he could hear a few more people crying, and someone moving something metal, was that a ladle on a cookpot? They weren’t trying to cook, were they? It was bad enough that Wild had died, now they wanted to give themselves food poisoning?

Wild tried to move again and was not successful, but did manage to push a low whine out of his throat.

THe hand holding Wild’s tightened and the sobbing stopped abruptly. To his side, the small figure that he was certain was wind sat up, moving close to his face.

“Wild?” Wind’s voice asked, horribly rough and choked with tears.

Wild was still too weak to move, but he whined again and managed to get his eyelids to flutter, his vision blurry but just about focusing on the tear stained faces of Twilight and Wind. Hylia they looked awful, their faces pale and drawn, their hair a mess. They were both covered in blood, both red and black, and looked like it had never occurred to them to clean off.

WIld whined again, and Wind shot to his feet.

“HYRULE!” He all but screamed. “Hyrule hurry up! He’s alive! Wild’s alive!”

There was a commotion at the other side of the camp as several of the chain shouted in disbelief. Wild focused on Twilight as the rest of his brothers rushed over, managing to tilt his head to butt at his brother’s knee and rumbling softly.

Twilight’s face crumpled into a smile and he began to cry again, throwing his arms around Wild’s shoulders and burying himself into a hug. Wild couldn’t lie, it hurt, but he didn’t mind and leaned into it as best he could. On his other side, Hyrule had all but thrown himself on the ground beside him, tear-streaked and breathless, his eyes wide with hope and amazement.

Wild looked around and met his eyes, purring weakly in greeting. Hyrule gasped and covered his mouth and then set about looking over Wild’s wounds.

“Twilight.” came Warriors’ voice, thich with emotion, “Come on, you can still hold his hand but you need to sit up so Rulie can look over him.” the Captain appeared in the periphery of Wild’s vision, gently peeling the Rancher back and helping him sit up.

Twi sniffed in an extremely undignified manner and knuckled the tears from his face, laughing weakly as he took Wild’s hand again. He squeezed it, and Wild squeezed back, rumbling softly.

He could see the rest of the chain hovering around the edges of his vision, watching and waiting with baited breath as Hyrule looked over his injuries. The slash across his chest was still there, though no longer so deep, and the myriad smaller cuts and bruises across his body were still open and burning.

The familiar pulse of Hyrule’s magic began to wash across his chest, slowly closing the wound and easing the worst of the pain. While no longer life threatening, it was still deep, and clearly too much for Hyrule to heal all at once, and with the main injury more or less closed he sighed heavily and flopped down next to Wild, exhausted. He turned to look at him, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and buried himself into his side, sobbing.

Wild purred and carefully lifted his arm to stroke Hyrules hair as the Traveller burrowed in closer to his side.

“I think.” Came legend’s voice from beside Hyrule. Wild looked around and was surprised to see that even the bitter, caustic Veteran had tear tracks down his cheeks. “I think that means that Wild is well enough for us all to give him hell for that shock.”

Wild whined softly - the slash in his chest may have closed, but he still felt sore and exhausted. But Legend was smiling as he spoke and reached down to ruffle Wild’s hair. “Glaad to have you back. Don’t know how we would have broken the news to the citizens of cat island.”

Wild snorted and shook him off. Legend cleared his throat and looked away, looking suspiciously like he was blinking back tears.

“Come on, guys, give the idiot space. He’s just come back from the dead, he doesn’t need us climbing all over him.” Legend smiled and moved away, cheeks flushed with emotion. He pulled some of the others with him, Warriors and Four and Sky all pausing to squeeze Wild’s arm, shoulder, to tell him how glad they were to have him back before retreating to the campfire. At Legend’s urging, Hyrule stumbled up too and let the Veteran guide him over to his own bedroll where he could rest properly.

Almost immediately, Wind threw himself back into Wild’s side. Wild squealed as he jostled his wounds and Time, still in his full armour, still dishevelled and battle-worn, put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Sailor, go easy on him.”

Wind squirmed and pulled back a little, his face tearful as he looked at Wild. “I’m so sorry.” he whispered, gently setting a slightly muddy sheikah slate next to Wild. “If I hadn’t stolen it I wouldn’t have tun on ahead and you wouldn’t have - you wouldn’t have gotten hurt-”

Wild whined and turned slightly out of Twilight’s grip to nuzzle at the sailor, ignoring the pain that flared up through his chest as he moved. Rumbling softly, he disentangled his arms from his brothers’ grips to try a shaky sign.

“All good. Not you. Me. My-” dammit, he didn’t know the word for ‘choice’. Ugh, whatever. Moving on. “Wind. Brother. Family. Safe.” that would have to do, he didn’t know any more sign and he was getting exhausted.

“The only person at fault was that damn lizard.” Time repeated soothingly. “Go and get some water, will you, Wind? WIld probably needs a drink.”

Wild nodded and gave a thumbs up, and glad to be useful, Wind dashed off.

Now alone with just Time and Twi, Wild exhaled heavily.  He understood why his brothers were so emotional, he was feeling pretty emotional himself, but he was really too tired to taake it all in.

Time sat down beside him. “You really were dead, weren’t you cub?” he asked. On wild’s other side, Twilight shuddered. Wild nodded. “But you came back. Did you know you would? Or do you know how?”

Wild shrugged weakly and then nodded. He didn’t know for sure it would happen, hadn’t even thought about it when he dove in front of the lizalfos, just acted. But he knew exactly what it was. Who it was.

Time’s face softened and he squeezed Wild’s hand. “Well I’m looking forward to you being able to explain, but for now let’s just get you comfortable. Okay?”

Wild mewled as Time began to pull out and set up his bedroll and myriad blankets next to him. Wild shuffled as Twi helped him to sit up, scratching at his scars. They itched like hell, and he had never been more relieved at how easy it was to unclasp his prosthetic and dump it on the ground beside him. Ah, sweet relief.

He let Twilight help him into his newly made up bed and happily collapsed into it, barely able to draw up the energy to knead with his free hand. Twi curled up beside him, unwilling and unable to leave him alone after the day they both had had. As they settled down, Wind came  trotting back over with a cup of water and wide, anxious eyes.

Wild sipped at the drink and then seeing that Wind was still shifting nervously from foot to foot, held out an arm in invitation. Well. He tried. It was his right arm, which he had recently discarded, so he was actually just wiggling his stump. Still, Wind understood the invitation and immediately dove in beside him.

“I’m really glad you’re not dead.” he whispered, and both Time and Twilight snorted.

“I think we can all agree on that one.” Time replied. “Get some sleep, Wild. Boys, go easy on him, yeah? Hyrule wouldn’t appreciate you wearing him out. Nor would Wild, i’m sure, for that matter.”

Wild chuffed and burrowed down into his blankets. Wind curled in tighter, curling his legs around his brother’s.  Wild wanted nothing more than to sleep, to get some rest, but there was one last thing to do.

He rumbled and leaned into twilight, nuzzling at his hair.

Brother he was saying brother. Okay. safe. Brother.

Twilight sniffed and looked up at him, smiling. He gently butted back. Idiot brother. Scared! Sad! He burrowed in closer, digging his hands into his fur.

Wild rumbled and pulled him in. Safe brother safe. Safe nowSafe. Twilight repeated, safe. Brother. Family. Safe.

[skyrimbookquest]

Book Quest Pt 45

an undead creature emerged, brandishing a staff as it let out a screech that echoed through the expanse.

"This is what was pulling me here." Quill-Finder thought to herself. she readied flames in either hand before looking closer at the monster. this wasn't an ordinary draugr.

The undead creature's focus slowly shifted between the three. first Illia, then Lydia, and then finally Quill-Finder. raising its staff, it pointed the end of it towards Lydia, who could only watch as a powerful flame built up before finally being released.

"Lydia!" Illia shouted, getting between the blast and the housecarl. she quickly threw a ward spell up, shielding them from the spell.

As soon as the spell made contact however, the fireball didn't just dissipated, it exploded. In an instant, Illia's ward shattered, catapulting both her and Lydia back into the rocks behind them.

with a CRACK, Lydia slammed into the rocks, the wind knocked out of her as she fell into the snow. she gritted her teeth, trying hard to get to her feet, before finally passing out in the snow.

Quill-Finder looked in shock, from her companions to the floating draugr. this wasn't a warlord. for a moment, she was hit with a wave of clarity. this was a dragonpriest. a fucking dragon priest!

Quill-Finder quickly shot her hand out casting a fireball of her own.

and nothing happened.

She cursed. Quill-Finder was tapped. She needed to bide some time to recharge, but this creature was here now, readying another blast from his staff.

shit! Quill-Finder ran, trying to keep moving while the dragonpriest built up energy for another shot. the blast fired.

Now! She dodged out of the way, hitting the ground into a roll as the fireball connected with the ground, setting off a large explosion behind her. debris and snow rained on to her, but she was relatively fine.

She was breathing heavy, pulling her bow from her back. getting close felt like a death sentence, and she was out of mana. nocking a bow, she took aim just in time to see the Dragonpriest charging another fireball.

She let loose the arrow, and broke into another run.

the arrow pierced the dragonpriest's chest, throwing the monster's aim off and sending the fireball wide. the creature gripped the arrow in its chest, letting out a pained wheeze before yanking it out and throwing the ground. the dragonpriest looked back to Quill to find... snow.

Quill-Finder huddled behind a large boulder kicked up from the dragon fight. she gripped her bow tight, trying to keep her breath under control.

she began to move just as a bony hand grasps the top of the stone.

"Hi nis vonun nol zu'u, Dovahkiin..." an ethereal voice echoed through the area as the dragonpriest peered past the stone.

Quill-Finder pressed as tightly as possible against the stone, holding her breath. she could feel the freezing air around the dragonpriest as it hovered above her.

"Hi fen siiv hin oblaan het..."

Quill-Finder shook. closing her eyes tight, her body screamed for oxygen as she clamped her mouth shut. waiting.

Eventually, the hand finally retracted. the air returned to the normal cold of the mountain. and finally, the argonian breathed.

she gingerly peered over the rock, looking across the landscape to see any hints of the dragonpriest. nothing. she let out a sigh of relief, rolling a bit of fire between her fingers. she smiled. It wasn't a lot of magic, but it would help.

"Siiv hi..."

Quill-Finder whipped around just in time to see the undead priest extend its hand out.

a frigid energy charged between the draugr's fingers before letting out a barrage of icy spears.

Quickly, Quill-Finder jumped out of the way, rolling into a run as the monster's hand tracked her position. as she ran, her fingers lit up with flame. "Make it count." she thought to herself. rounding the corner, she bolted towards the undead creature, dodging around the shards as they flew towards her before finally pushing off.

She sailed through the air, fist alight, as she lined up her one and only shot. she took a few hits from the ice, but she didn't care.

CRACK

In an instant, the dragon priest was down. he grasped at his face, holding tightly where the punch had landed. the fire hurt him. a lot, by the looks of it. stunned, a flash of anger in his voice screamed "Hi dare nos Krosis??" it raised its staff once more "Hi los mal... dinok los hin dez...!

Quill-Finder kicked the staff away, palming the monster's chest and thowing an empty mana potion to the ground. "Not today it isn't..."

with a thrust, Quill-Finder pumped all of her energy, all of her magic into the biggest fire spell she could, lighting the undead creature ablaze.

the dragon priest screamed in agony, desperately trying to push away, but Quill-Finder held tight. In but a moment, the dragon priest's movents slowed, then finally stopped.

Quill-Finder let out a sigh, letting go of the body. it hit the ground with a thud before slowly disintegrating into ash, leaving nothing but the staff and mask behind. and with it, faded the desire to see what was up here.

Picking up the mask, she looked it over. "that was a dragon priest..." Quill-Finder thought to herself. she gripped it tight, realizing just how much danger she put everyone in.

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

First | Prev | Next

[kazokkazkar]

The trees stood frozen in terror through every hour of that day. A blinding brilliance, a roaring clamor swept through the forest, making the trees tremble—whether from the power surging toward them, or from the dread quaking within their cores. The beasts, too, panicked and scattered, seeking refuge amidst those very trees, among the leafy shrubs, or in the safety of their dark, hidden burrows. They hid, cowered, and shook with fear. Only the bravest among them dared to peek out, trying to glimpse the source of the chaos.

Suddenly, the blow came.

A lightning bolt struck the earth, tearing everything around apart. An unspeakable noise, a wave of panic and terror, surged across the land. Trees ignited, collapsing into miserable heaps of blackened ash. The fire did not halt—it leapt from tree to tree, unleashing an inferno. The lifeless bodies of animals, who had no burrows deep enough to shield them, were swallowed by the earth.

The radiance of the lightning faded, revealing two colossal figures.

The first—a serpent, a monstrous beast, roaring with savage fury. Its wings beat frantically, striving to lift it back into the air, and its eyes blazed with crimson rage.

The second—a mighty warrior, his thick beard silvered with age, standing astride the serpent’s back, holding it down with relentless force.

"Opęto ubijo tebe, arci zálu," the warrior growled fiercely. "I ubijo tebe i ubijo tebe i ubijo tebe, ažь nаkопесъ ty izávěneši iza sego světa, iže gniłeši byti soščestvovanьjem tvojimь!"

"Once more I will slay you, my arch-foe! I will slay you and slay you and slay you until you vanish from this world, where you rot the very air with your existence!"

As the warrior spoke, he raised his axe high above his head—lightning lashing against it, forging it into a weapon of divine vengeance. Planting his boot on the serpent’s head, he pulled its sinuous neck taut, preparing for the fatal blow. But then he noticed…

The serpent’s maw gaped open, and from within poured forth a stream of water—the water it had harbored within all along. It quenched the flames wherever it flowed, granting the forest a chance, however small, to recover. Only the treetops still smoldered; the earth itself would soon be healed.

The warrior watched the flames sputter and die beneath the serpent’s waters. With a growl of dissatisfaction, he struck—not at the beast’s neck, but its wing, slicing it clean away, and then, with another savage swing, the other wing too.

In a final flash of lightning, the silver-bearded warrior vanished.

The serpent lay alone, gazing sorrowfully at the burning ruins of the once-beautiful forest, the fire’s reflection shimmering in its sorrowful eyes. Slowly, it closed its eyes, feeling its mind begin to drift into oblivion...

A new day.

Dawn.

The sun climbed higher, illuminating the wasteland.

Where once a mighty forest stood, now there were only charred stumps, ending in coal-black tips; the ground, stripped of its grass, lay as a gray, lifeless expanse of ash and death.

From their burrows, the surviving creatures emerged—wolves, deer, hares, bears—bearing crimson scars on their bodies, marks of pain both physical and spiritual, reminders of the catastrophe they had endured.

They made their way toward a single spot: a lonely pond, from which water still trickled. There they found a massive human body, its breath shallow and fragile, weakening with every passing moment.

A horned serpent slithered forward, coiling gently around the horns that grew from the man's head, and lovingly licked his face with its forked tongue.

Slowly, the man’s eyes opened—wild and beast-like. His body, though old and worn, radiated a primal strength.

He was an old man—tall, broad-shouldered, yet lean and battered, with countless scars crisscrossing his flesh. Blood trickled from his back, falling onto the soil, and wherever it touched, blades of green grass sprouted anew. Blood stained his cracked and wounded lips as well.

The old man gasped for breath, struggling greedily for air—and as if hearing his silent plea, the wind itself stirred to aid him. But the most striking feature about him was his massive horns: broken, cracked, yet still crowning him like a wild and fearsome king.

The beasts looked upon him with awe.

Sensing the ancient power within him, they bowed low before him, pledging their loyalty without a word.

But the old man did not return their gaze—his eyes roamed the devastation around him.

No longer did the glorious forest stand—no vibrant greens, no brilliant hues of life. All had been reduced to blackness and ash, a land drained of spirit.

Yet the old man knew he had a duty to restore it.

Taking a deep breath, his body began to change.

The animals did not flee; they only stepped back slightly, watching with reverence as their king transformed before their eyes.

The human skin gave way to scales; his eyes became fierce and predatory; his hands turned to mighty, clawed talons.

No longer a man, but a terrible serpent now stood before them—a mighty dragon, dreadful and awesome.

His wings, severed by the warrior’s axe, were gone. Yet the beasts did not fear him. They bowed once more.

The dragon bent his monstrous head low, opened his gaping maw, and released a flood of water.

It cascaded forth like a waterfall, branching into rivulets and rivers, mingling with the dragon’s blood that still trickled down. Together, the blood and water wove life anew—trees shot skyward, grass unfurled in waves, flowers blossomed in radiant hues.

The beasts drank of the water, feeling their wounds knit and their strength return.

When the last of the stolen water had poured forth, the dragon shrank back into the form of the old man.

Broken, battered, and dying, he collapsed.

One by one, the animals approached, crossing streams or leaping over rivulets, gathering around him.

The old man, with a weary sigh, sank to his knees and closed his eyes to rest.

But then—a faint, sorrowful squeak.

He opened his eyes and saw before him two rabbits, tiny and trembling, sorrow darkening their gentle eyes.

Upon their backs they carried a third—an infant, a little one, still and silent, marked by death.

The old man held his breath, unsure what words could be offered.

He reached out, took the small, lifeless body tenderly into his hands, and gazed down at it.

Such a fragile, poor creature.

It had never known life—its joys, its sorrows—born into a world it could not remain in.

A single tear slipped from the old man's eye. Then another, from the other.

A sob escaped his chest.

He struggled to contain himself, conscious of the loyal beasts watching him.

But they understood. They approached and embraced him in their own ways:

The wolf pressed its fur to his knees;

the cat leapt onto his shoulder, purring softly;

a bird perched on the other, singing a gentle hymn;

deer nuzzled his cheeks;

and behind him, a bear leaned into his back, sharing its warmth.

Overwhelmed by their affection, the old man surrendered to his grief at last.

He wept.

His sobs rang out, carrying his sorrow into the very soul of the world.

The old man wept.

The king of beasts wept.

The god wept.

Veles wept, clutching the dead rabbit to his chest, breaking the hearts of every creature, every blade of grass, every mushroom around him, until they too wept with him.

Poor Veles wept...

The crying faded, but the pain, the anguish, the horror lingered as tear-streaked memories on his weathered face.

Still feeling the warmth of his beasts around him, Veles raised his gaze to the heavens—and saw the leaves of new trees already veiling the sky.

Slowly, he moved, and the animals stepped aside.

He lay down upon the healed earth, cradled the lifeless rabbit against his chest, and closed his eyes.

The beasts gathered around him, faithful to the end.

Time passed.

The body of Veles rotted.

The flesh decayed, the bones bleached, and even the bones crumbled into dust.

From that dust, flowers sprouted—beautiful, unseen before, mystical blooms.

Soon, only the flowers remained: first a heap of heather, then ferns, and finally—rising tall and proud—a mighty oak tree grew in their place.

Until one day, someone might come to fell it…

[marroniere]

fic: strength of heart (tenderness of the soul), thranto, E, WIP, almost finished

Word count: 201,308 words so far (5000-word chapters are posted twice a week, 39 chapters overall)

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, mpreg, Thrawn dealing with his traumatic past

Excerpt:

The return to the Springhawk does not feel real. The only sensation that Eli can find remotely grounding is the pain from the blaster burn; the bolt only grazed his shoulder when he shielded Thrawn, but he can barely move his arm now.

The chip with the data thief program and all the ship records is in Eli’s pocket; he can tell he will have a lot of fun deciphering that.

The warriors carry the tied, unconscious Grysk prisoners to the brig. In the medbay, the medics clean Eli’s wound, and then he gets bacta and painkillers. Thrawn goes to the bridge for a quick conversation with Kharill but promises to return.

As Eli watches the medbay ceiling, his heart is still pounding. Reality comes back to him in small increments. Short, simple thoughts. They have won this battle. They have a chance of locating the Grysk homeworld and bases as well, and it might mean no battles with the Grysk invasions anymore.

Tonight, he, Eli Vanto, is going home with his husband and his crew.

He tries to send messages to everyone on Naporar, but all he gets is a pale grey dot on the screen that means no connection. No matter. He will do it again when the Springhawk is closer to the nearest triad transmitter.

“We’re going home,” Eli mutters when Thrawn comes back. “In the end. Can you believe it?”

Thrawn plants a light kiss on his temple.

“There was a moment, I will admit, when I started to doubt that. Not for long, however.”

He reaches for the painkillers left by the medic on the stand by Eli’s bed.

“Not this again,” Eli hisses. “You can’t have them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, y’know.”

Thrawn’s response is a deadpan stare.

“Your suggestions are most welcome, Eli Vanto.”

Eli glances at his shoulder, a blistering red expanse of skin under the bacta patch. He contemplates his situation, but not for long. The shoulder hurts, all right. But the idea of potentially conceiving a child with Thrawn on the Springhawk…Eli finds it too good an opportunity to miss. This would have been quite the story. It’s not as if he has a lot of people to tell it to, so it’s purely for his own sake, but it’s quite the story nonetheless.

“Ah,” he decides, “fuck that. How much time do we have?”

“Pellaeon and Faro wish to meet us,” Thrawn says. “So does Ar’alani. Uingali and the Garwians, as well. They all need an hour to assess the damage.”

“Your quarters, then.”

“I have a better suggestion,” Thrawn says.

“I’m not—” Eli suspects his face must be all flushed red at this point. “We’re not doing it here. ”

“I was not suggesting to do it here,” Thrawn says, his voice innocent. “I would prefer a modicum of privacy.”

Eli studies his face for a few seconds. Then he realizes.

“If you say ‘supply closet,’ I’ll shoot you. I still have one healthy arm, mind you—”

“The supply closet, like my quarters, can easily be locked from the inside with the captain’s code cylinder,” Thrawn says. “But unlike my quarters, one of the supply closets is situated on this deck, which will leave us more chances to stay unnoticed.”

Before Eli has a chance to answer anything, Thrawn adds, “Besides, it makes for an entertaining story.”

“Supply closet, kark’s sake,” Eli mutters. “Promise you’ll never tell this to our children.”

Instead of an answer, Thrawn gives him one of those enigmatic stares that say all too many things at once—and kisses him again.