#faceless demise

[cosmosoracle]

"Here we are, all alone. So, what is it?"

Rasmia gazes at me with a knowing smile. I'm not hiding my hands as they clutch the scarf - I have been tightening my grip on it with every passing moment since the previous confrontation started, and now it may even look like I want to start wielding it in an offensive manner from a second to another. But we both know that's not the case; I'm just that eager to have my own scarf back.

"The last time I sealed a deal with you, when I saved Hoyt from the Faceless Demise curse... I tried to protect something from you. But after what happened yesterday, I know that I have to give this new chance at life everything I have, without any compromise. And to do that, I need to get back what is mine."

She narrows her eyes, giving a half nod to acknowledge my determination, even if something seems to poke at the back of her mind. "And what do you think I may be satisfied with in exchange of that?"

I gulp, thinking mt possibilities over one more time. I keep my eyes closed for a second, then I let the cloth go and speak my thoughts. "I either give you access to my experience on the other side, which I suppose you never had before... mind it, just access. I don't want to lose those informations. Or..." My voice becomes pained as I see familiar faces in front of me. "...one of my founding memories."

She seems to get lost in thought for a few moments, and it feels like the silence is prolonged for ages. When she talks again, she seems intrigued, to say the least. "You tempt me so much...! But you see. It is not often that I commit a mistake; because of it, today I welcomed you into my house in top shape and with the best intentions. So I'm not going to ask for what I really want... I'll go against my own interests, and avoid to claim that."

It's so ominous. My tentacles shift in position around me, curling up uncomfortably for a moment, then I relax them again and wait. It is clear that the witch isn't nearly done with her speech yet, and the feeling of dread starts to crawl up my spine.

"Before we continue with this conversation, however, I'm sure I owe you an explanation about why I didn't let you choose the boon with the others. All I have done so far was to make sure we were all even... and I already am even with you."

Of course, I'm not following her; my eyes open wider and my eyebrows are raised. She tilts her head and sits a little closer to the edge of the seat, so that she can lay both of her elbows on the desk and move her arms to accompany her monologue.

"Despite not liking the way I've been called for and used, I already did something for you. I tried to act like a... hm, how do they say... a good human being. Even if it wasn't you asking, but someone else; I organized everything and moved this entire plane, just for you." She turns to her side and she flicks her fingers, and one of the bookshelves slides on the floor, allowing a passage.

"Now you can come in."

"Was it... you...!?" I'm absolutely taken aback, and my heart is racing in my chest. I'm so confused, at first I almost start to think that she has something to do with the conversation that Pharasma had. But no, it cannot be - otherwise she wouldn't be interested in knowing about what happened there; so what is she talking about? All of this was done just for me, but it was asked by someone else. Very few people know about Rasmia and us... and even less are aware of her ways like we are thanks to Azemondeus...!!

The sound of steps erases any kind of guess I had in mind. I completely freeze, I cannot process this anymore. They're... light steps. Elegant. Now fast. And I see a familiar figure stopping little beyond the bookshelves, looking at Rasmia with concern, and then turning to me... and running.

Echo.

A tall man, half elf and half azarketi like me, with his intense blue skin and his golden irises swimming in deep blue. His wavy hair frames his sharp face loosely, while his webbed ears stretch back, inheriting features from both of his lineages. His fine clothing always made him look distinct in the context of Deadbridge, a pirate city whose economy got destroyed by the madness of the previous Counselor; but of course they suit him so. He's the Headmaster of the Iron School of Magic, and now the new Counselor of the Blue Marquis Jinny. He's exactly how I remembered him. It's him.

I'm out of words, almost scared of what I see and of the thousand of implications this whole situation can have. I look at him straight in the eyes, and he calls my name as he slows down in front of me, touching my face and inspecting me with worry. "Lia! Are you okay? You are real, are you not? This is not an illusion, she's not messing with me..."

He also seems as shocked as I am for the whole situation, while the witch balances our distress almost comically. She rolls her eyes and arches her back forward, looking intensely at us as she leans with a cheek on her fist, elbow pointed on the desk. "I already told you, she is fine."

But he doesn't seem to listen. He stares at me intensely, still holding me, and I still can't move an inch. "Are you okay?" He asks again, a little more firmly than before... and I know I have to force something out to reassure him, somehow..?

"I am alive... but... y-you... and it was... you?"

"...me?" He is obviously perplexed.

"What, what... what happened?! You, here... how..? How!?" I can barely form a sentence, and it doesn't seem to calm him down until he's done checking me over. My breath is short from the surprise; I can't bring myself to form an answer, but I cut the distances short between us the moment I manage to move and hug him so tight! Feeling his warmth, his scent, getting confirmed that I'm not dreaming either. On the other hand, he seems to relax a little bit to that reaction, placing a hand on my back and one on my head, letting me rest on his chest. He gives a sigh, slighty calmer; he offers half a smile, barely acknowledging our host.

"I... I lost you for a moment... When the Status spell was broken I tried to contact you without success, so I thought the worst happened, and..." he takes a breath, lightly regaining his composure and cupping my stained cheek. I'm crying in silence, terrified. "You named her so many times in front of me, I thought that it was enough of an extreme case to give this a try. At first, I received no answer, but then she came to visit me... in my office..."

And we both become pale to the fact. Echo's office is specifically enchanted to make sure that any attempt of scrying, locating or contacting from the outside is severely hindered unless wished for by him, but from how he's speaking and reacting, it doesn't seem to have taken her any effort to reach him just like that. We both turn to her with a mix of admiration and horror. I'm not too surprised by that; I'm more concerned about the fact that she went to see him personally to discuss how to arrange this meeting, finding a perfect chance to obtain anything she could want from him in return served on a silver plate. While Echo, of course, must still be bewildered at having invoked someone capable of bypassing his defenses so naturally, realizing first hand how powerful of a magician we always dealt with. To all of this, Rasmia responds with nonchalance, inspecting her nails. "I do have a name."

Echo gives half a nod, interdict, as if just realizing that he was speaking about her like a sort of alien entity so far. He's so shaken that I can glimpse at the young adult he actually is in proportion with his aging behind the usual composure of the expert diviner I got to know in the material plane. He clears his voice, then he turns back to me; I mirror his movement.

"Rasmia reached me eventually, saying something about having made an 'oopsie'... which made me lucky enough to get her attention. I wanted to get to you, because if you had died, I needed to be there for you. I didn't find the time to teach the Resurrection ritual to Zinnya..." he reminds himself, scratching the back of his head with regret. "...so, since I didn't know if anyone else around could bring you back at the moment, I asked her to bring me to you. She offered me the chance to come with her, even if not to bring me back..."

"For free."

I can't believe what I just heard. Once more, I glance at her, absolutely blown away. Her specification strikes me like lightning, incinerating my fears in an instant, leaving me completely defenseless to shock. She continues undisturbed. "This is the reason why the issue between us is already settled. And he keeps asking if you're not an illusion and if you're really fine, why doesn't he trust me... Haven't I been a decent human being?"

"This is... insane..! Thank you!"

"Yeah, don't get used to it," she retorts with irritation in her voice. "Make sure to not forget."

"...this is... crazy, Echo, we will need to talk about this at some point, but... Yes, I am fine, and very much alive. I'm so sorry I made you worry so, I'm not going anywhere..." I need some more time to put together everything that's been happening, and even if breathing here isn't necessary, I just need to get some time... some deep breaths... and he gives me all the time I need. It feels like a sacrilege to even think so, but this almost feels as stressful as my adventure in the afterlife. But this has such heartwarming consequences instead. Even just the sound of his voice.

"I'm just glad you're alive."

All of my tension in her regards has just faded, replaced by something far more important. Tears carry out of me the turmoil, the fear of him making crazy deals with her to come to me, the worry I still feel for him having left his safe haven to come and see him despite being searched for; the fear I had to have lost the chance to see him one more time. He keeps me close and leans with his chin over my head. I need a minute or so to return in control, in a way or another; when I look back up at him, he lowers his head to touch my forehead with his. He must also have left the doubts and fears behind, at least for now. I see his kindness, his affection. I feel his protection being set up over me again, the invisible presence behind my back, the Status spell I got so used to. I cup his cheeks as well, fixing a pair of curls behind his ear as well when he returns to look at me. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. I sigh...

"Did you... get my message, yesterday afternoon?"

He blinks, seemingly unaware. "No, I must have missed it... This place seems to cut any sort of connection with outside, I see... that must also be why none of my messages was sent," he adds with a murmur. I breath out with a smile, lightly shaking my head. To think that I had to build up the courage to say that by dying again... But right because of that, I'm not wasting any other occasion, ever again. I get on my tiptoes to kiss his lips. He always seems a little rigid when we share something of the sort, especially in front of others - I heard him back then in Deadbridge as he built up excuses in front of Loin, who had been foreseeing our confession for two weeks straight, and I also preferred to be discreet with everyone else and the only one who keeps poking me about this is Zinnya... But then he lets himself get carried too, and everything else around us disappears for a little.

"I said, I almost lost my chance to tell you this, and I'm sorry for it. I love you."

He gasps a moment, and I hear him stutter at first. "U-uh..." but then, he also gathers himself and gives me another quick kiss. "I love you too."

[dnalt-d2]

Oh my goodness Foolish has finally successfully pulled a faceless employee this is a win for homosexuality everywhere

[gachagon]

I've noticed a lot of people are a little worried about the isolationist way that Isagi has been going about games these past few arcs, and I admit I too think Isagi's newfound way of playing isolates him in a negative way. However, I think that's the point almost.

Isagi is letting his Ego consume him and not the other way around, as in he's becoming too addicted to the feeling of outsmarting and over powering his rivals to the point where he doesn't really view them as "people" anymore, but just faceless opponents with names and quaint personalities sometimes.

Often times what happens when someone becomes too self absorbed is that they begin to categorize others into neat boxes that they can somewhat understand, which is just what Isagi is doing in this chapter here. I've always believed that Snuffy's references to "Machines" and such were a direct hint towards the Isagi we see now, where he's almost robotic in the way he interacts with the rest of the team.

Hell, when Isagi talks about his own egoistic abilities and talents, he says thing's like "Analyzing the Field" and "Inputting information" as if he really IS a machine.

I think it's interesting that Isagi realizes that Kaiser let go of his obsession with beating him mid game in order to properly lock in, only for Isagi to feed into that same obsession because he thinks beating Kaiser is the path to the top. And just like he did previously, he's hyperfocused on one rival and not focusing on the other (who's literally plotting his demise across the field lmao)

It's almost like Isagi's ego has blinded him and he's oly able to focus on the path ahead, not the path around him (which is ironic considering his whole meta vision thing.) And that next chapter title has me thinking that more pressure will be put on Isagi to see the whole picture rather than the narrow path he imagines on Bastard.

[spirit-meets-the-b0ne]

I can’t believe what a point of contention this has become. I genuinely cannot understand the animosity towards it lol

Seriously post after post bitching and crying and begging for this to be destroyed - now besides how grossly disrespectful that would be to the stone masons who worked on this for years - it’s bizarre? I understand the criticism against Viserys (as a father, husband, King) but as a Targaryen - this endeavor is probably the most noble. So, while I see the childish thought process behind “smashing his legos” - come on be ffr.

The Doom of Valyria was catastrophic and while I’m hesitant to call it a “lost civilization” it is akin to the Atlantian mythology in nature and description. It’s not only the ancestral home of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, but it was a major hub of magic, the most advanced city in the known world and likely the place of origin of the Faceless Men. The Doom is endlessly fascinating, from its predictions to the sheer cataclysmic scale of it all. I mean 14 volcanoes erupting at once would make Pompeiis explosion look like a candle to the sun.

Recreating Valyria by painstakingly pouring over texts to replicate what once was is a tragic echo that reverberates through generations. And for a fandom that shouts back and forth about “true Targaryen” definitions it seems most of those don’t care for that echo. The epic demise of a homeland filled with magic and dragons that are never to be seen again should be more than a foot note. A generational trauma that follows every Targaryen - the ever present fear that the Doom will swallow them too - down to Dany and her dragons which would have seemingly signified the return of magic long lost. How could any “true” Targaryen have anything but heartache over the loss of Valyria and the Freehold? How could they not be plagued with the weight on their shoulders that none in Westeros could truly sympathize with?

And I’ve long held a grudge against HBO for the way they mistreat Magic (and race, gender, sexuality, etc) in these fantasy series (no I’m never going to forgive them ESPECIALLY in HotD for not doing the CGI purple eyes [somehow Witcher had it in the budget AND it looked good] because of how much that trait was a distinctly other/outsider signifier) but this stupid little model is actually one of only additions I respect. Because while it can be viewed as some petty distraction for a physically deteriorating chronically ill history buff to get away from his kids - it is the biggest symbol of devotion to Targaryen culture - way more than anything else in the series. So I’ll die on this hill. The legos must be protected.

[phoenix10km]

THERES SO MANY DYNAMICS.

Grian, a former watcher either trying to thwart their plans or helping them for some reason. Nobody knows he’s a watcher but it’s clear his power is growing the longer he’s in the games. Third through Limited he was on the same playing field as the rest, but when the portal opened in secret life? Something changed. Now he know what the watchers have planned, he’s able to help his Allies with the information.

Scott, the first to know about the watchers. And is clearly against them. Giving the watchers what they want is not an option to him; but can’t seem to consistently stop them from what they want. After his first boogey curse, she felt the dread and the fear that came with the thought of not securing that kill; not fulfilling the watchers hunger for negative emotions. That’s when he started hating whatever put them there a second time. Despite a faceless enemy he decided to purposely fail his second boogey curse defying the watchers; and when he wins because of that decision he finally gets to see his enemy. Throughout the series he tries to defy them, refusing to take Pearl on as his soulmate, trying to make an Honorable match of the final fight in limited. Refusing to die on anyone else’s terms in secret life.

Maryten, the only one that has some awareness of gods, and the only one brought to the brink of insanity in limited life. He knows their out there, all winners do. But they contacted him before he won; heard them before he won. They favor him, either as a play thing or they want to give him an important roll.

Scar is being pitted as a tragedy, or a villain. Never a hero. The watchers clearly like to push him to his limits. He was so.. happy in third life, fierce loyalty in grian, and they trusted each other so deeply. He didn’t know grian would change after he beat scar limp in the cactus ring. It first started with Grian tricking him and stealing one of his lives in last life. Then cheating on him in double life with big b and getting him killed. Then grian out right stabbing him in the back in limited life. The watchers were pushing scar to snap through grian; and finally in Secret life they gave him a chance to let all the hurt out, to be the villian. He took it. and in a twist, a universe where scar was never meant to win (I have my reasons to thing) grian of all people helped via a completely unrelated suicide mission to kill gem and the Scott’s, significantly weakening them. Now I’m wild life we are seeing them work through the issues, through the hurt and betrayal now that scar can see the influence of the watchers.

Jimmy, If Maryten is the watchers favorite play thing; Jimmy is their favorite toy to break. Time, and time, and time again Jimmy fell victim to a curse the watchers put on him. For him to always be the first to fall. He was supposed to always be their canary. A warning the end is near. A sign of the unavoidable disasters ahead. Feeling so hopeless until the watchers got to focused on scars villian arc; and like sand Jimmy barley slipped trough the watchers fingers. It gave him hope as Lizzie had fallen into the void, he realized there was a way out despite his demise not long after hers. Now, he’s carried that hope to wild life, praying that maybe he would not be the first; and while to watchers were upset about their slip of control in secret life, their gods, and oh boy did it boost their egos to have someone pray for their mercy, pray that they would spare his life just a bit longer. And they did, Jimmy is the first they’ve listened to; and maybe even had mercy on.

These are just my headcannons on certain relationships these characters have with the watchers. I know I didn’t mention two of the winners, mainly because I don’t see Pearl having a relationship with the watchers really, if anything maybe she sees them as cruel? I’d have to flesh it out more. As for cleo while I consider real life cannon story wise and count her as a winner, it’s tough to slot real life in. I think it’s a punishment for the players defying what the watchers wanted to happen in Secret life? But again it needs to be fleshed out more.

[golvio]

i dont really know how to word it, but ganondorfs speech after his rehydration about reshaping the world, crushing opposition, as a king does. i just went "oh so like rauru but hes being more honest and less nice about it."

Yeah, like...the story's mostly uncritical nationalism, but there are certain lines that stand out that I interpret as Ganondorf's existence being a natural consequence of Rauru taking power. Not just as plain, mundane secular politics, but as the universe trying to rebalance itself after Rauru's attempt to build a perfect world by suppressing things like monsters and the blood moon that were a natural part of the world but he nevertheless saw as undesirable.

Take Jerrin's line about the Horned Statue, for instance:

"As there is the Goddess of light, then it follows that she would have an opposite—the horned god. Like light and dark, one cannot exist without the other—their power manifests through the other's existence."

The Horned God wasn't originally the opposite of Hylia. That role would be better suited by an entity like Demise. However, there's a certain implication that, in the absence of a competing counterforce, certain entities eventually emerged in response to Hylia's existence or were shaped by the consequences of her actions to occupy that niche. Jerrin's tone makes this process of opposition sound inevitable.

And then there's the Depths being a mirror image of the surface, a little like ALTTP's Dark World or ALBW's Lorule. The terrain of the Depths is an inverted version of the surface's terrain. The Lightroot names are even the names of the Shrines spelled backwards, and are in the exact same locations as their aboveground counterparts. As above, so below. And although the Depths were Ganondorf's prison, they eventually became his home and the metaphorical womb-of-the-earth where he could be nurtured back to health and reborn. As their ruler, he, too, is a mirror image of someone above: first Rauru, and later his descendants, culminating in the current Zelda.

As Rauru was the self-proclaimed King of Light, it would stand to reason that there would eventually be a King of Shadow who took charge over the things the King of Light refused to touch. Both the monsters and the blood moon, which IIRC existed well before Ganondorf took on the crown if Rauru and Mineru built the shrines to suppress them before the events of Zelda's memories, fall under the Demon King's dominion. And then there's that one theory that Ganondorf might be the Sage of Shadow, which made me literally say "oh shit" to myself because that was the one element that was missing from Rauru's stable of pals compared to the seven sages of Ocarina of Time. Of course Mr. Light-Must-Dominate-At-All-Times wouldn't want a Shadow guy around, even if they were an absolutely loyal secret-keeper and professional warcrimes-mess-cleaner-upper like Ocarina of Time's Impa.

But also...Rauru wasn't just "a king." The narrative presented him as the absolute monarch over the nation, literally sent by the gods to rule. He's elevated so far above "the common people" that even the leaders who aren't part of his Important Royal Bloodline are presented as faceless and subservient, always wearing masks in his and Zelda's presence and never giving their own names, as who they are isn't as important as their oath to serve the king. However, there cannot be absolute power without the capacity to abuse said power. No matter how "nice" the guy currently in charge is, systems of absolute divine-right monarchy are problematic by nature and inevitably create conflict. Ganondorf was the other side of the coin of absolute kingship, the uncomfortable truth lurking in the background, never outright said but always felt. It's kind of why a lot of our ancestors got together and agreed the whole "divine-right monarchy" thing wasn't a great idea.

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 6

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, war.

Word Count: ~1k

Masterlist Previous Next

x x x

Weeks had passed since the Bremen raid and the subsequent mission that had greatly knocked down the number of original men at Thorpe Abbotts. With each passing day the letters from your secret admirer, including the final one that had been delivered to you the day before the mission, grew more wrinkled with each reading- though now you could picture his face clearly as his words pierced your soul so profoundly.

Each time you read that the final letter you were transported back to that day, the moment the breath was torn from your lungs as so many friends, so many brave souls failed to return to the safety of the English fields.

Your tendancy for isolation had been the main reason for a weekend pass to be handed to you on a days notice. You slipped a few of your belongings into a bag, the bag remaining light as there were very few items that you were allowed to own besides a spare uniform and simple compact.

You were driven to the closest train station, it would be your mode of transportation to London. You settled into a compartment with your unexpected travel companian, Major Egan. It was quiet as you both avoided speaking of the reasons why you were practically forced to leave Thorpe Abbotts for a few days. You glanced at John, finding him immersed in a tattered paperback before you dug through your bag for the letter that had been delivered that morning.

“Being in a plane had always provided me with a sense of freedom, it has began to feel like a cage, trapping brave men for their inevitable demise. It feels like it would be cruel to reveal myself to you now as each mission carries a sense of finality after we have lost so many. I hope that I can convince myself to walk up to you in my true form before I depart, no paper or ink between us to hide my cowardice. If not, farewell for now.”

After locating housing for your stay, which you and Egan would be neighbours, you went your separate ways. He moseyed into the pub across the street while you wandered the city, stopping in small shops to spend the little money you had on trinkets and sweets. When the bit of sun peaking through the clouds had begun to set you went back to the hotel, drawing a hot bath to ease the stress from deep within your bones. You settled into the water, a sigh escaping your bitten lips as the warmth overtook you for the first time since you had been home. You wondered what your author was doing now, would he be writing your next letter? Or were the men at base preparing themselves for a raid in the morning? You pictured a faceless man sitting on the floor beside the tub, convincing yourself that you could feel his fingers tenderly brush against your scalp. Maybe one day you would share a moment like this with him, a serene scape where war was merely a torid memory of the past. You were broken from your fantasy by an air raid siren before loud booming and panic filled the streets, a peak out the curtain revealed an attack just across the city.

Sleep evaded you in the large bed, you had gotten used to small, hard beds with scratchy sheets- it felt like a luxury you did not deserve. With the inconsiderately vulgar sounds emitting from your neighbour you tossed and turned until you came to the conclusion that you would not be falling asleep anytime soon with all the noise. You quickly dressed and hurried across the city, knowing that even if not at Thorpe Abbott you could still help someone in need.

The sun had risen long ago but you had yet to sleep. You ignored the stinging from the cuts and scrapes across your fingers and palms, you had been helping a weeping mother find her child burried among the rubble of a collapsed builiding. With the child being found meraculasly with only a few cuts and bruises, you spotted a man passing reading the recent paper. You quickly located a stand, using the very last of your pocket money to purchase a copy of the Daily Herald, the headline was clear about the destruction of the 100th. Eighth Air Force Smashes Bremen- 30 Bombers Lost.

You hurried to find the one other person you knew was also in London for the weekend.

“John!” You shouted, pushing your legs harder to catch up with the man in his all too familair dress greens. “Major Egan!”

He paused just in time to catch your hurtling body as you tripped on the curb. His hard look of determination told you he had already heard the news. “I’m going back.”

“I’m coming with you.”

You did not question where John had procured the jeep from or the speed at which you barrelled toward the countryside. Exhaustion from your lack of sleep was catching upto you but the worried hammering of your heart in your chest for those who had not returned kept you awake.

“You’re still bleeding.”

You glanced down, finding drops of blood and dirt covering your once clean blouse. You regretted not carrying a medical kit in your bag as you inspected the wounds on your hands, most were superficial but there were a few spots that would require proper tending. You shifted in your seat to remove the hoissery from under your skirt, “Keep your eyes on the road.” You teased the Major, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere as you wrapped the pantyhose around your bleeding hand.

“Blakely’s fort went down, with Dougie and Cros.”

You swallowed thickly to clear the emotion tightening your throat with the thought of the loss of your friends, “Buck?”

He nodded erratically, “Benny too.” He confirmed, pausing as he contemplated his next words. “Your writer… I think I know who it is. I think you should know too, now that he won’t be able to tell you himself.”

x x x

I appreciate everyone’s patience!! Reveal imminent in Part 7! ❤️❤️🫣

@jointherebellion215 @orchiidflwer @probabydeadbynow @claireelizabeth85

[azureflight]

"Nettles does not/may not have Valyrian blood" is a fandom misconception

I keep seeing this argument that "Nettles proves you don't need Valyrian blood to tame dragons" all over social media, including the so called book fandom. I apologize for raining on your parade, but that entire sentence, and the logic its built upon, is a complete and an utter farce. Allow me to elaborate:

First of all, this entire argument is based on a whole another misconception. This second, underlying misconception goes like this:

"People in asoiaf universe/westeros/essos, think/believe only Targaryens/Valyrians can ride dragons, and that's why no one tries to claim them."

THERE IS NO SUCH BELIEF IN THE SETTING! NONE!

I am sure, there are people in that universe, who believe that. But they do not represent a universal consensus, especially not one that is ever accepted by maesters, lords, various other mages or anyone with any ambition on any continent really. The way in universe sources talk about dragonriding is that "Valyrian were the first". First, not only, never only.

Now, no one else has yet succeeded, but they still believe it can be done. And motivated by this belief, they keep trying. Yes you have read that one right. PEOPLE CONSTANTLY TRY TO CLAIM DRAGONS.

Before Dance, during Dance, after Dance, they have never stopped. In main asoiaf era alone, we have Euron, Victarion, Warlocks of the House of the Undying, Slaver Masters of Astapor all trying to get their hands on dragons, all thinking they could control them. If certain book theories are correct, then even the Faceless Men are trying.

Before Dance, we have Elissa Farman stealing three eggs from Dragonstone. During Dance we have multiple people with no blood relation, some we know to be brazenly lying, try to claim dragons. After the Dance there are others trying to get eggs, hatch them, get living dragons etc.

People never stopped trying. And perhaps, even more importantly, there was never any claim by even house Targaryen itself, that you just had to be one of them. Never. They passed legal edicts to forbade people from claiming dragons without the king's permission/claiming ownership over all dragons and eggs in westeros but... That didn't stop people, and of course it didn't, because any other form of "theft" is already illegal and yet people still do it.

Even Jaehaerys I, with his exceptionalism politics, made no such claim that "you had to be a Targaryen". And it would be absurd of him to make such a claim, because Targaryens weren't the only dragonlord family in the first place. There were plenty more in old Valyria, up to 40 houses. It was never a "Targaryen only" thing, and everyone and their mother knew. Valyria was around for thousands of years, and their demise is not so old. Everyone still knows.

Targaryens are the only house to survive the Doom and the following Century of Blood. But even that does not mean what it first sounds like. Something Targaryens were well aware of and again, never denied.

Why? Because adultery exists, that's why. Official, properly named members of a house may die, but that doesn't mean all relatives did. And the Free Cities are full of Valyrians. Most of them are former colonies of Valyria, and their population is significantly made up of Valyrian descendants. Furthermore, Dragonlords themselves have shitton of bastards, running all over Essos and Westeros. Even before the doom, people with dragonlord ancestry were not "rare". Now in asoiaf era they are in the millions.

That brings me to our thirds, yes third, misconception. The claim that the in universe belief is "you have to be a Valyrian to ride a dragon." Again, no. But from a different angle.

Being Valyrian was never a condition. Why? Because not all Valyrians were dragonlords. In fact, among the Valyrians themselves, dragonlords were an extremely small, tiny, miniscule minority. Just around (probably less than) 40 houses, within an entire nation, an entire empire. That is a very, very select few.

"But wait, isn't that a contradiction? You just said dragonlord blood isn't rare and now you are claiming they are an exceptionally small group!"

No. What I am saying is that being a dragonlord, was never a normal, standard aspect of being a Valyrian. Dragonlords all were Valyrians, sure. But among Valyrians, those who were NOT dragonlords, far, far exceeded the number of those whole were. And being a descendant of a dragonlord, requires you to have a single dragonlords as your ancestor. It does not require non-dragonlord Valyrian ancestry. And it doesn't matter if your every other ancestor is from some other nation or ethnicity. A dragonlord's child with an Andal, with a First Men, with a Rhoynar, with a Dothraki, with a Lharazeen, with a Ghiscari, with a Summer Islander, is no less a descendant, and has no less dragonlords blood, than one with a regular Valyrian.

There is a reason, dragonlords performed such intense incest. They never wanted to risk weakening or losing the ability to ride dragons. Because you may not inherent the lucky genes from your dragonlord ancestory if there are non-dragonlord genes in the pool of possibility. Like any other hereditary trait, it can be lost. The other angle, was of course to deny spreading of the power, but that was futile and doomed to fail lmao.

There is a fourth misconception fueling all of this. Yes, there are layers to this. The fourth one being that there was some concentrated effort by Targaryens to deceive and lie about who could posses the magical power to ride dragons, in order to manipulate public and maintain their monopoly. Again, no such thing ever happened.

Targaryens never claimed you had to be a Targaryen, or a Valyrian to ride a dragon. In fact, they very openly accept the possibility of some other, as of yet unknown, sorcery to also achieve the same result. That's one of the reasons they tried to regulate who could own and try to claim dragons (unsuccessfully).

In fact, this last possibility, is raised as an accusation against Nettles. Loudly. By the maester which Fire & Blood uses as source and later by Rhaenyra herself! It is a public accusation and a hostile racist slander, not a dire truth anyone is trying to keep a secret.

Now that we have cleared the underlying misconceptions, let's return to the very first one. The one that claims Nettles isn't a Dragonlord by blood, but a completely random commoner who just got a dragon through courage and cunning.

For this one, we will once again need to go step by step. First things first, where does the idea that Nettles may not be a dragonlord even comes from?

Well, it comes from an in universe accusation. The basis of which is racist envy and rage of betrayal. The clown of a maester disparagingly calling her "skinny brown girl" never even saw her. When Rhaenyra accuses her of using some other dark magic to bind her dragon, she also accuses her of seducing Daemon with magic, because Rhaenyra is busy losing her marbles at that moment.

But, none of that means anything. We already do know, you don't have to look like an archetypal Targaryen to have Targaryen ancestry, let alone any other dragonlord. Rhaenyra's own first three sons don't look like Targaryens, yet we all know they are proper dragonlords. We have Baelor Breakspear and Duncan the Small as other examples of obvious Targaryen princes who simply look like their non-Targaryen parent. We have, and I cannot emphasize this hard enough, Jon Snow.

This is a recurring pattern in the story. People who are obviously Targaryens, get accused of, or are seen as, not real Targaryens, just because they don't have the "looks". And each and every single one of those are bullshit moronic bigotry. Nettles is no exception. It is indeed sad, to watch so many of the fandom fall into the same trap as generic westerosi rumormongers and racist dipshits, when it comes to Nettles.

To expand upon this further: Narratively speaking, Nettles' position is pretty much the same as Jon Snow. They both have the blood. Neither of them have the looks. They don't have the papers to prove their heritage neither. And yet, we know Jon Snow is Rhaegar's son and as such, has the possibility of claiming a dragon. Nettles is there to show us two things: Yes, you can claim a dragon even if you don't have the knowledge, the education or the papers to prove your ancestry, because blood is what matters. And no, even if you were to claim a dragon, that does not mean people will now automatically accept you as a true dragonlord, let alone a Targaryen. You will always be doubted, questioned, challenged, accused.

And yet, even with all these misconceptions dismissed, one can still argue the original statement may remain true. That just because underlying fandom "logic" and speculation was demonstrably false, does not mean the final point and the main claim is also false. Reaching the correct conclusion through the wrong way, still results in the correct conclusion. Right?

Not this time. Because, we have access to meta knowledge about how these things work, straight from GRRM's mouth. Something the people of asoiaf, in universe, will never reach.

What's that meta knowledge? It's the knowledge that:

Dragons are magical creatures.

Dragonriding is a magical bond.

Magic in asoiaf is innate and hereditary.

Magic in asoiaf is not procedural, it is not something you can learn and replicate by following instructions.

GRRM, throughout the years, have repeatedly talked about this. As late as his special videos for Max, for House of the Dragon tv show, and interviews he gave around the first season of HOTD.

And over and over again, he repeated the same thing. He doesn't like Dungeons & Dragons style procedural magic. He doesn't like the concept of "magic system". He wants magic to be rare, chaotic and innate. Barely under control, dangerous, unpredictable with unforeseen drawbacks. For asoiaf specifically, he talked about how this magic is all about who you are. Specifically talked about how words, recipes and rituals don't matter. The person who performs them does. He specifically talks about how Daenerys "makes it up as she goes" because magic, in this setting, is innate and instinctual.

He also specifically talked about dragonlords and their practice of incest. And explained that while these people don't know "genes" in the way we do as a modern scientific concept, they are perfectly capable of comprehending what a hereditary trait is and thus acted to preserve it.

None of these are assumptions or interpretations from books. They are straight from GRRM's mouth. Dragons, and the ability to ride them is magic. That magic is innate and hereditary.

So, the irony really is, that while people in the setting think there may be another way and keep trying, it's actually all futile. There is no other way. You have to have that dragonlord blood. You have to get that lucky magic gene. You have to get lucky with your choice of dragon so that it accepts you. Genetics and luck. Both, not either or, certainly not "ackchyually genetics don't matter at all, anyone can do it with a bit of courage and cunning!"

What's really funny is that, this isn't even the only hereditary, innate magic. Skinchanging, greensight, both are hereditary and innate. You are born with it, or you aren't. You cannot learn it from a book, acquire it through hard work and study. Power to transfer your mind into various other creatures, spy on perhaps the whole world, see through past and present, mind control humans, perhaps even time travel. All innate, all luck of birth. Yet I have never seen anyone in this fandom get their panties in a bunch about this, or constantly grasp at various tin foil straws to claim how ackchyually anyone can just skinchange into whatever animal they like/time travel at will with a bit of courage and cunning.

I will not extrapolate further as why I think that is. You all know who you are and know your own inner motivations. All I'm going to say is this:

Life is unfair, so is asoiaf. People are not all made equal in talent and innate capacity, in either world. Some people are born with peek health, a high intelligence and to loving families of means. Others with disabilities, as mediocre midwits or into piss poor abusive parents. And in this magical setting, some guys are just born with the power to own and command flying napalms, and others are born with no magic at all.

Again, sorry to rain on your parade.

Some selection of sources for GRRM's meta info:

[ellieluvr420]

Eye for an Eye - teaser!

MASTERLIST (and information about Palestine) Please read!

The walk was long, not physically but figuratively. Your feet dragged from exhaustion and hunger but every time you tripped or stumbled or faltered in your pace even slightly, you were pushed forward or prodded in the back with the gun that had been trained on you since you were marched out of your cell.  

The closer you got to the podium, the clearer the commotion was. You had always been popular, so the crowd didn’t surprise you in the slightest. The execution of the crown jewel of the WLF, executed for treason no less, that’s a show they’d never miss. It almost flatters you, the grin on your face appearing subconsciously. You felt like you were sleepwalking, floating even but the drag of your feet reminded you of the reality.  

The corridor was dark, dingy, it had never felt like this before but then again, the double doors at the end were never closed. Maybe that’s the point, hide the darkness that infects the prison you had once called home, hide it and convince everyone that they themselves weren’t the darkness, that the whole mission of the WLF wasn’t darkness. Washington Liberation Front, but there was no liberation, only further oppression and further violence. It infected its soldiers, festered inside of them until they weren’t people anymore, machines designed to kill and destroy without mercy, without reason, without guilt. Guilt was part of what kept people human, and you knew now the soldiers here, they were devoid of guilt, they weren’t human. But then again, were you?  

That question loomed over your head and the closer you walked to your death, to be slaughtered like an animal, the clearer the answer became, not because you thought you were an animal, you were above these people, if you could call them that, a fallen angel. The darkness infected those waiting to watch your demise but not you, the darkness bathed you in its glory and you became a vessel for it, you were a soldier for the darkness, not the WLF and that’s why there was no fear, not an ounce, even a shred in your body. You had done its bidding and it had done yours so there was no fear, no panic, no regret.

She was the blood that ran through your veins, the breath that inflated your lungs, the muscle that pumped your heart, you knew it was the same for her and now your paths would cross again, over and over again. You’d make the last thing you said to her a reality, she knew that, she always knew. 

The doors opened and the muffled commotion became a deafening ringing in your ears as the sun blinded you, the light blinded you. The crowd only got louder as you walked up the steps of the podium, louder as you halted and turned to the crowd, hundreds, maybe thousands, livid faces screaming obsenities at your smiling one. Louder and louder as you’re pushed down, your knees hitting the ground beneath you, sending shocks up through your body. You don’t bow your head, you don’t make eye contact, your chin remains lifted to the sky, you’re above them all, you know that, even now, you know that even more.  

Cool metal, the barrel of a gun, pressed into the side of your head, it was refreshing somehow. 

“Any last words you traiterous bitch?” You scoff before turning your head slowly to face him, he was faceless in your eyes, a means to an end, your smile grew, sickeningly twisting on your face. 

psa: just stay with me on this one guys, I swear, this is the most excited I've been to write a fic yet so just stay with me <3

@emiliabby

[majorproblems77]

((I need to make u a new pfp soon caue akdksjs thats some old art))

I finished my rewatch of Skyward sword and I have many thoughts, so have some angst. Also this isn’t really related to LU sky but ya can twist it to fit him i think?

After the fight with demise, the curse hangs heavy over Link’s head.

Its a reminder, a threat, something Link wish he could forget and ignore but he cant. How could he forget the Demon’s haunting words as young boys cladded in green just as he, glare him down from the dark corners of his dreams. Faceless faces of youth so similar to his own, they haunt him- reminding him of every error and mistake. Reminding him how he should of just shoved the sword down that monsters throat— but no, he didn’t, and now he stands at the beginning of a trail of blood.

And he can only blame himself.

—

Link loves the colour green.

The boy loved his uniform, the vibrant- everything about it! he has come to love the colour since he was young. So you can imagine his glee when Zelda told him in secret the colour her father had picked for his year of graduating knights— it stirred something in his lazy bones, a spark of determination- not because he longed to be a knight but…well, he really wanted to wear that green tunic and cap. Link loved the colour green, it made up everything he loved! The cool grass he’d nap on, the sturdy stems of hardy pumpkins, the flowers Zelda would have woven in her hair— it was no secret how much the boy loved the colour green.

But now, dream after dream, the blood stained tunic that pooled at young boys knees- the tainted green now but a murky husk of its former glory was nothing more than a horrible memory.

So no one asked why the boy left Skyloft with uniform and matches in hand, no one asks why he and his crimson loftwing do not return until the last sliver of light dusts the sky, and no one asks why the boy’s eyes were redder than his bird. Everyone knew why, they may not know the horrors or the curse or the dreams, but they all know the look of hatred. So now, when the boy pushes aside offerings of green tunics, jewelry or gifts, they know why.

Link hates the colour green

Just like give me a moment cause like I am just

WODJEIDNEHDJWODNEHUWNXDHWIDNHDOWDNDHWKDOENDHEH

EXCUSE ME? MY HEART?

THE ANGST IS DELICOUS I WILL ALWAYS LOVE SKY SWORD ANGST HES MY FAVE FOR A REASON IN ALL SENSE OF THE WORD TRIPPY THIS IS WONDERFUL THANK YOU IM VERY EXCITED ABOUT THIS

Okay I'm calm

For serious tho this is great and totally makes sense like poor like the bean needs a hug and a new tunic colour

I vote red so he and crimson can match

I always have so many sksw thoughts and now I have more they are spinning around in my head like a microwave

This brings me so much joy trippy you have no idea thank you

[marleykay]

I've been asked a few times for an update and if I had one.

I don't even know where to begin. So much is coming through.

Henry is in the process of taking his power back. In the last few years, he lived his life at a lower level. He was stressed and worried and tried to fix things himself in a very 3D, typical man way. He couldn't see or trust the path Source was trying to show him. If he had just trusted the path Source was trying to lead him to, he wouldn't be in the mess he had landed himself in. Let this be a very hard lesson for him. However, better late than never.

He no longer cares about any extortion attempts. He no longer cares about speculation. He will no longer allow himself to be abused and bullied. He has had enough, and he wants to move on. She fumes over the fact she can't use that anymore.

She is afraid to be alone. She doesn't want to move on. She doesn't want him with anyone else. She is so obsessed about him and the idea of him with anyone else. She is always paranoid that he is spending time away with another woman.

Nothing has turned out how she envisioned. She was hoping for a happy ending with the announcement and knowledge of the child. She never considered that it would go the opposite way she pictured. She was trying to steal and build a life off another woman's tears and heartbreak. It's actually a little scary how obsessed, consumed, and hateful she is towards a faceless, unknown woman. There have been times before red carpets that she has had the thought, "This will make his soulmate jealous," and the idea made her smug and excited. A lot of what she has done has been to "stick it to" this unknown woman. She is so insanely jealous of this woman. She obsessively looked up readings on her and would rage at the "good" and the life she and Henry would have, as well as the positive attention she received. She felt entitled to that life. So it was like in her mind, if she just inserted herself, she could take it for herself instead. It never occurred to her how stupid and crazy that is. So she hoped for a happy ending, things would change, and she could shift in that reality. The opposite has pretty much happened. Yes, Henry has always wanted children, but not the way it was presented here. It has created a huge obstacle for him mentally and emotionally. He has also looked within himself on a soul and intuitive level and feels something is off. As I hoped he would after my last update. Something has always niggled him.

Natalie is extremely threatened when it comes to Henry. She is very controlling. She needs to know where he is and who he is with. She is infuriated being left in the dark. There was someone in recent months she schemed against and tried to sabotage. He had a feminine friend. Not his soulmate but a friend that he wondered if it could go further.

Henry is a little lonely. He misses dating. He misses spending time with someone he is actually attracted to. He misses that companionship. He needs to be careful. I think you need to take a breather. You give off the aura of someone who has fought a long battle and needs to take a moment of recovery. It will come. But just take a moment after the dust settles. And just visualize what it is you want. I want to say soon but again, what is soon?

I have said things are coming to light. I said things were going to be thrown into the open. Things already are.

She realizes time is running out. She knows the huge undertaking ahead of her. She has no one to blame but herself. You don't move with evil and win. You were warned, too. Yet you still schemed. And now Karma has been working with you. And it will continue too. For a long time. You have done things you cannot take back. You have messed with lives. You have intentionally tried to hurt others for your gain.

You should have backed away when you were supposed to. Instead, you have collected a huge karmic debt you can't run from. You can try to plot and scheme. Try to calculate others' demise for your benefit. But that will catch up with you eventually. It has already begun to. Do you feel like you won? How's the victory? You don't feel like someone who can accept their loss. Who can admit their wrong doing. It's everyone else's fault. But you knew exactly what you were doing and what was going on. You just weren't intelligent enough to consider it may not go your way. You were arrogant. You're just an ant in this universe. Just like everyone else, you're not going to out maneuver literally God ha! Just accept the loss. Otherwise, you're going to keep digging your own damn grave. You have already made things so much worse for yourself than they needed to be. I'm actually trying to help you right now.

You can't handle rejection, and it has made you out to be a very vengeful person. Being vengeful, it's not worth it. You will always have a toll to pay down the line.

You think you're strong but you think strength is aggression and disrespect. Bulldozing and taking what you think is yours. If you can't have it then you want it destroyed.

You don't even have the beginning of an idea what true strength is. You can't even look after yourself. You're afraid to. It's why you can't move on and cling to something not meant for you. You're incapable of standing on your own. You blackmail and abuse to get what you want. How is that strength? You're not resilient. You need attention to feel important. You're not capable of any kind of depth. You're after surface level gratification. You are so broken and weak, and you refuse to even acknowledge it and look at it. Someone of strength would be able to gather the courage to look at the shadows within themselves and try to work through them. Instead of running and trying to gather meaningless gratification of material matters. New clothes, makeup, and wardrobe won't make you feel better. It's only surface level. You will still be unsettled in your soul and heart. And you can't see any of that. If you could, there may be some hope for you, but you refuse. You would rather be a mean little girl. It's easier for you. You can also try to work with negative forces you don't understand, but they also cost a price. They don't work for free. You got yourself in quite the mess. Are you capable of accountability?

You're going to have to fend for yourself soon. You've going to have to face the consequences of your own actions. Oh no, the horror.

My advice is, first and foremost, go to a doctor. Get evaluated. There is something on a medical level wrong with your brain chemistry. It would help ease your mental state. If you haven't already. Sometimes, when we grow up in turbulent homes and unsettled homes, our brains actually change. It's no excuse for how you go about life. Many grow up in toxic households and don't turn out hateful. But I do think treatment would help you.

Truth hurts.

Henry and Natalie definitely were a karmic cycle. Doesn't even feel like the first time. They both made it more messy than needed to be. Hopefully, they learned what they were meant to. But it is time for them to move on and has been for a while. She only postponed things and ended up causing herself more mayhem. She has regrets, but oh well. She did things that were quite permanent. She couldn't truly move Henry only because she's not the one too. She needs to accept that. And learn to fend for herself and the child she most definitely set out to have.

He is happy and looking forward to being busy with work in the upcoming months. As of now she isn't invited to any of it and won't be around. He wants to move on and waiting for a few legalities to settle. He also knows within his heart truth of matters. He's finally beginning to ascend and starting to finally get it.

Wait for the dust to settle. Keep admiring your inspiration. You're heading in a better direction. Better late than never. What do you want? Make the choice to try to get it. It's up to you.

[keepmeinmind-01]

random headcanons about FB characters and their levels of jealousy, ranked from most to least:

grindelwald — literally will just obliterate you if he’s jealous of you. will set you up in a saw-style trap, monologue dramatically at you, and orchestrate your tragic demise if Albus likes you even a little bit. struggles so much with jealousy that it’s concerning. will scream and cry and throw things and make terrible political decisions based on the whims of his jealousy. the winner of this ranking by a long long shot. jealous king of the series.

tina — secretly struggles a lot with jealousy. not just romantic, but in general, with her whole life. she’s been dealt a tough hand and tries to push the feelings about it down, but they manifest in a way that’s inflexible and hard to deal with. the spellbound mix up affected her more than she likes to let on and the photo of leta in newt’s case has been on her mind for a while. she struggles with believing she is interesting and loveable (yes Tina, you are) and so can be quite paranoid and suspicious. she wouldn’t actually attack a rival, but she’d certainly shoot them some cold, “don’t fuck with me” looks. but she can actually communicate this quite well — she’s straightforward about it and pretty self-aware.

percival — yeah this guy would create the drama. simple as that. that coat was dramatic for a reason, he’s got the scorpion pins for a reason. there’s sting there.

queenie — wants what she wants and wants to get it. tunnel visions enough that she doesn’t think about people, but she certainly wants certain dreams: a good life, a happy life, and while there’s no one in particular she’d like to steal it from, she has a faceless and unspecified dream she’d do anything to achieve.

albus — you don’t expect it and tbh albus doesn’t expect it either. he notices these things with eagle eyes but wouldn’t do much about his jealousy other than try to “work on himself”. no, he’s not desperate. he’s not afraid to pretend to leave you behind if needed. it’s often more yearning than traditional jealousy — the world goes by without him and he is too alone to form easy connections. he doesn’t think about it much, telling himself there is other work to do, and maybe even that he deserves it, but it emerges at the back of his mind every so often as a somatic desire that feels more like a painful stomach cramp.

theseus — some jealousy problems coupled with intense self-loathing. but theseus’s whole thing is never giving too much away and that extends even to his own private feelings. which, when “bad”, must be dealt with. he’s not been in many relationships and so everything comes up in connection to leta, who’s never impressed. so he keeps it quiet and handles it by himself — taking long walks, smashing glasses, staying up late obsessing and worrying, that sort of thing. morality gone wrong — if he feels this way, he has to be a bad person, or overreacting, or neurotic, right? whatever was going on with leta and newt in 1927, theseus was either unbothered, trusted them too much…or hid his feelings very well. a mixture of naive and very observant. the signs are there and he doesn’t allow himself to read them — a spiral might lie that way, and no one has patience for his feelings, not as the eldest son and a war hero, who’s expected to always be on best form and show a respectable face. he has to be polite about this pain, at least. never mind if it stokes his tendency to irritation when handling a potential rival or makes his heart ache.

newt — unexpected perhaps. newt has a decent amount of romantic experience, but also, it’s not easy being autistic in the early 20th century, especially not having been somewhat overshadowed all his life. he is struggling with contradictions. if he wants to shine with his own light, why does he hate being famous? if he’s staying away from his war hero brother, why is he still stuck feeling somewhat inferior? if he is happy alone and on the outskirts of society, if he doesn’t care for power and only does what’s right, why does he occasionally wonder if things might be different for anyone other than him? he has a longer memory than his shyness belies. and certainly, he can get jealous and make his crafty power plays. it’s not like creatures don’t give these strategies a go too. but they come out too subtle to be seen and he can never bring himself to be too cruel. it’s easier for him to cut people off and be a little passive aggressive and cold until his satisfaction outweighs his jealousy. when it comes to Tina, he’s more likely to collapse into a private depression than confront her male suitor (hello, Tolliver).

leta — very possessive but not that jealous. she’s a bit aloof — jealousy? come on, now. don’t fuck around with her. she has a dark streak and with the help of the scamander brothers she’s pretty okay with it. since she’s been young, she’s been carrying an impossible weight, but she had some sense that her destiny even if self-destructive was always her own. she resents pureblood society and was never interested in the marriage market. there’s nothing she covets other than a nice dash of either self-destruction or peace. or a particularly nice designer dress… she occasionally likes to pretend she’s jealous to wind up theseus, because it’s an excellent proof of love, but they trust one another enough that it never really reverberates within her. she’s not keen on her friends making other friends, or theseus hanging out for too long with other women, but if it gets too bad, then she’ll just handle it. she has a lot of practice throwing hexes.

jacob — straightforward guy. doesn’t tend to feel negative emotions that deeply. chill like that. happy for what he gets (maybe a little too much, jacob…)

vinda — gives no fucks. ever

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 14: The God's Eye

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, angst, grief, death

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

It comes to him in a dream first; the ghost. Faceless, colourless and shapeless, he knows it is coming for him. It follows him wherever he goes, until he can hardly tell the difference between waking and dreaming.

He can scarcely remember his burning of Pinkmaiden. He remembers heat, screams of terror and then agony, the light of Vhagar’s fire, burning as bright as the sun and banishing the darkness of night. He was reminded of how his brother had sounded in the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, his raw, throaty screams as his flesh mingled with his melted armour. Which would be a worse fate, dying or surviving to endure the pain for so long?

Where Aegon’s suffering had made Aemond the equivalent of a King, Pinkmaiden had only made him more of the monster that he is.

He feels it, settled on the edge of a cliff overlooking Ironman’s Bay, the empty feeling in his chest, as though the Gods are withholding fragments of his soul.

He doesn’t know where his brother is now. Perhaps Aegon had found some sense after all and crossed the Narrow Sea to seek refuge in the type of life he always wanted, far from the Keep, far from the crown. He doesn’t know why their men fight for a King who could be dead, or who could have abandoned them altogether. And yet he knows his role in this war has been set out for him, one which he follows mindlessly. He is his family’s terror, the only one who can give Daeron and Cole enough time to rally their forces.

He hears so little as of late. He hasn’t seen another person’s face for weeks. For a time he allowed himself refuge in a tavern with his hood over his hair and his sapphire eye hidden in shadow but eventually he decided comfort was not worth the risk.

Daemon is in the Riverlands, he knows that much, hunting him but never able to catch up to him. So far his uncle has not thought to look this far north, where he can see the Iron Islands clustered in the west and Seaguard to the east. Ships pass the sea before him but he remains unnoticed, as does Vhagar, buried on the shoreline amongst dirt, sand and rocks. If she is hungry she will find a flock of sheep or a herd of cows, but for now she is content to lull herself into a long slumber, occasionally letting out a low grumble as she breathes.

He hunts rabbits and does little to shelter himself from the harsh sea air, the rain and the spray of the sea when there is a storm. He is numb to the cold and the discomfort, retreating into his dreams in the hopes he might find some comfort in a vision of his mother or his sister.

More than that, he prays the Gods will show him an image of Lucerra. He would take anything. The small, stubborn girl disturbing him in the library, grinning as she presented him with a winged pig. Her furious little face when he held her by the throat in the cave below Hightide. He would take the tears she shed in the Hall of Nine, her silent, wide-eyed pleas for forgiveness. He would take the woman who stood before him at the Red Keep, at Storm’s End, the feeling of her skin, the sound of her breath.

Her voice is less than an echo in his head after so many moons. The memory is elusive, he fears he will never picture it clearly, but he can remember her words. My blood is precious, uncle, if you want it you shall have to earn it. 

In Rainwood, they say a ghost circled Shipbreaker Bay in the days after his niece’s apparent demise.

When the dragon with pale grey scales finally comes to him, he knows what it means. Not a ghost, not the one he had been imagining. Grey Ghost, the wild dragon, the beast that attacked Daeron and Tessarion in the Reach, now the second mount of Princess Lucerra.

He mounts Vhagar as the sun sets, its light bleeding across the sky like an open wound, spurred on by desperation and something hungry, like bloodlust. Grey Ghost is quick, flying out of his view but he can guess where the dragon is leading him, southeast, towards Harrenhal. Aemond does not know if they fly to death or salvation.

There is hardly any blue left in the sky when the five towers of Harrenhal fade into view. The setting sun burns in the west like dragonfire, licking at the darkened clouds and shining down onto the surface of the God’s Eye.

The black banners of the pretender, Rhaenyra, hang over the gates to the castle. Below its walls, by the lakeshore, is not the opponent he had expected to meet.

Caraxes rears his head to the sky and lets out a shrieking roar, teeth bared and eyes ablaze. He can feel Vhagar lurch in anticipation. All of her battles, save for Rook’s Rest, have been like bloodsport to her. She wants to fight, wants to rip her talons into flesh, sink her teeth around something larger than a farm animal. But he feels something else, a slight hesitation, a sad sort of growl sounding in her throat, 

Daemon has donned his riding leathers and stands beside his dragon. He holds Dark Sister before him, resting his hands on the hilt.

He sees no sign of Grey Ghost, nor his rider. 

He lands Vhagar along the lakeshore, keeping Caraxes out of reach to avoid premature violence. He is determined this will be done properly. His boots land with a crash against the pebbles once he climbs down, his hand lingering on Vhagar’s saddle.

He remembers the night of the dinner, Viserys’ final hours, as his uncle had stood between him and Jace, eyeing him like a parent stares down a petulant child, a faint smile on his lips. It had amused him, watching the bickering of boys.

Now there is no amusement in Daemon’s eyes, no sense of excitement. They have all suffered too many losses for anything other than pure hatred.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were slaughtered at his order, Helaena left to rot in her grief, to leave her last living child motherless. What were the children to Daemon Targaryen? They were his kin, his brother’s grandchildren. Their deaths didn’t put him closer to the throne, didn’t win him any allies, but it wasn’t about strategy, was it? It was about pain.

Aemond doesn’t care to count the seconds or minutes they spent in a silence, broken only by the rush of the waves and the hisses and growls of their dragons.

It is like standing face to face with a wild animal, anticipating what he may do, which move he may make.

He sees Daemon’s eyes flicker momentarily to the sapphire that sits in his left socket, and smirks. In some cruel twist of fate, a dull pain blooms at the base of his skull, but he endures it.

“You’ve come out of hiding at last,” Daemon says.

An unease pools in his stomach. For a moment he thinks he sees movement in the sky above him, but when he looks, there is nothing. 

“I was under the impression I was being hunted,” Aemond retorts.

Daemon laughs. He means to mock him but it’s not quite careless enough to be convincing. “Do not flatter yourself, boy,” he says. “Your whore said you would come.”

An unsettling feeling washes through him, like he is being watched.

Alys. He had left her in a cell with the bloody remains of the rest of House Strong, evidently not long enough for her to starve before Daemon’s return to Harrenhal. “Did she care to say why?”

Daemon’s lips curl into a sneer. “Do you still believe you are owed a debt?”

He recalls a cold thrill that had come with killing Rhaenys. It hadn’t been enough to justify the anguish he had seen his family suffer, how they have continued to suffer. He wonders if killing Daemon will satisfy him. 

Still, his uncle is not the reason he followed Grey Ghost to the God’s Eye.

She must be here somewhere and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He hungers for her like a man starved. He wants to feel her, her heat, her blood, his hand around her throat and her heartbeat under her skin. He wants to see her eyes again, full of fire and fury. 

He can feel Vhagar’s urge to fight beginning to boilin his blood. He welcomes it, lets it fuel his anger and his grief, pounding in his chest like a war drum. “You have lived too long, uncle,” he says.

Daemon sheathes Dark Sister and reaches up to grab at Caraxes’ saddle, ready to mount. His voice is solemn but his eyes are dark with vicious intent. “On that much we agree.”

And so Aemond mounts his own dragon, fastening the chains that secure him to the saddle. He looks to the sky, then to the castle, waiting for a flash of pale grey scales, a dragon’s cry or a girl with dark hair. He finds nothing. Grey Ghost must be here and yet there is no trace of him or his rider. He clenches his fists around Vhagar’s reins and digs his teeth into his lip. His patience is wearing thin.

Caraxes moves first, leaping from the ground with an ear splitting screech, breathing a stream of fire into the air as he flies.

Vhagar is slower to follow, scrambling over the pebbles to push off from the ground. He feels the force of her wings against her own body, hauling her to ascend, pursuing Caraxes into clouds of grey and red, the sea of flame.

He braces against the fire, roaring in his ears as they break through the clouds and come into the vastness of the sky. Daemon and Caraxes are nowhere to be found. Through the spaces in the clouds and the fire below them, the God’s Eye watches, bathed in red by the setting sun. Soon enough it will all be black.

Vhagar roars, deeply and furiously. A bait, a call to battle.

As suddenly as a thunderbolt, the red dragon breaks through the clouds. Caraxes surges towards Vhagar with eager teeth and talons. She breathes a plume fire unlike anything Aemond has ever seen. Caraxes avoids the stream as he goes for her side, slashing at her belly with his claws and screeches as he rears his head, ready to strike her neck.

But Vhagar gets there first. Aemond’s jaw clenches instinctively, the taste of blood pooling on his tongue as Vhagar sinks her teeth into Caraxes’ shoulder. The dragons writhe and thrash in a deadlock, unrelenting in their attacks but determined to escape each other.

They start to fall. It is a chaotic struggle, beating their wings, screaming in agony and rage, pulling away and ripping at each other.

There’s nothing Aemond can do. He tries to urge Vhagar with the reins, tries to scream at her to let go, to obey, but his efforts are all lost to the wind, the spurts of dragon’s blood rushing through the air, desperate bursts of flame.

Until Caraxes wrenches his claws away from Vhagar’s side. His wings struggle as they fall but he scratches at Vhagar’s head, urging her to release the grip on his shoulder. She does, only to close her jaw around his neck with another snap of her jaws.

The lake is getting closer.

For a moment he wonders if he could jump before the dragons hit the surface of the water. He probably wouldn’t survive the fall, and even if he did, his riding leathers and the chains that keep him fixed to Vhagar’s saddle would weigh him down.

They will die with their dragons then.

He hears the call of a dragon, not the aged roar of Vhagar, not the piercing cry of Caraxes.

Through the haze of blood and fire, his eye finds a pale figure on the lakeshore, another dragon.

His heart stops.

Grey Ghost darts into the air, and glides around Vhagar and Caraxes, coming clearly into view.

And he sees her.

He can hardly make out the details of her face and he feels all the more deprived of her. A silver breastplate glimmers on her chest like dragon scales, catching the final crimson glow of the sunset. Dark hair flies behind her with the force of the wind.

Her hands aren’t on the reins, her arms are outstretched. At first he thinks she is reaching for something, until he realises she’s holding a bow when she reaches for an arrow from a quiver strapped to her back. 

He feels frozen, helpless as he watches her position the arrow and pull back the bow string. It would be a quicker death than drowning, and it would be by her hand. He might find peace in it, if only he could see her face on final time.

It is just, surely. He threatened her, demanded she repay her debt with her body and then her eye, pursued her through a storm and watched as she fell through the clouds with the pieces of her dragon.

He tells himself he deserves it, for the way his mother looked at him when he returned from Storm’s End, the way Helaena couldn’t stand to be near him, the screams echoing in his memories, for all the pain he has caused.

The anticipation doesn’t have a chance to set in. He feels himself knocked back by something lodging itself in his shoulder and even then he cannot take his eye from her.

Vhagar lurches, screaming in pain as something hot and wet seeps through his leathers and the shirt underneath.

The shock takes a matter of seconds to wear off, then there is just a searing pain.

His dragon releases her jaws from Caraxes’ neck. Caraxes’ claws continue their assault on her head, aiming for her eyes, but she is almost indifferent to it as she turns her attention to Grey Ghost.

Vhagar can hardly move from underneath Caraxes, but she can drag him with her. Grey Ghost seems to be larger than Arrax was, but it will only take Vhagar a single snap of her jaws to claim both dragon and rider.

He can’t watch Luke die again. He will not.

He can scarcely breathe, can hardly think straight or see anything clearly, but he musters all the force his lungs can manage and wrenches on the reins. “Daor, Vhagar!” he commands. “Ziry daor!” Not her.

Against her desire for blood and her own stubbornness, Vhagar obeys. She turns her head once more to Caraxes. With a slash of her talons, she makes another tear in his belly. Blood gushes from the wound like a river, streaming through the air as the black surface of the God’s Eye comes closer, and closer. 

This will be a battle with no victor. As Vhagar delivers her blow, Caraxes twists his neck and sinks his teeth into her throat. She tries to cry in pain, but it is muffled as she gargles on the blood that floods her gullet.

Aemond tries to look for Luke and Grey Ghost again, but he cannot find them. He sees blood, he sees flames, he sees the colours of sunset in the sky and the lake.

He has to get out of the chains, but he does not know if he has the strength.

He looks up, or what he thinks is up, following along Vhagar’s neck, to where Caraxes’ jaws are clenched around her flesh, along his red hide, to his back.

Daemon is standing in the saddle, Dark Sister unsheathed and poised before him. He should be falling– in fact he is, falling with the dragons, down, down, down, his sword ready to strike.

Daemon means to kill him, before they can meet the water.

He would give his life to Luke, but he will not allow his uncle the satisfaction. 

He doesn’t stop to consider if he has the time, he knows he has to act. First he takes hold of the arrow in his shoulder, snapping off as much as he can of it, bearing his teeth through the pain. Then he heaves the heavy chains to unhook them from the saddle.

As the point of Daemon’s sword comes to meet him, Aemond hauls his body out of its path. With his left hand he reaches for the hilt, and clasps his fingers around it.

With the force of Daemon’s falling, the Princes are dragged from Vhagar’s back.

Aemond has one final chance and seconds in which to take it.

He grips the hilt of Dark Sister as harshly as he can, crushing Daemon’s hand under his grip. He twists his uncle’s wrist, driving the point of the sword into his stomach and driving it forward into his flesh, as far as it will go.

He doesn’t hear a cry of pain, a final grunt or an exhale of breath before the treacherous waters of the God’s Eye consume them.

The noise of their battle, of screaming dragons and roaring fires, are engulfed in a cold, black void. Everything drags him down, his leathers, the force of two dragons hitting the water, and the weight of the limp body run through on Dark Sister. 

Aemond does not fight it. He feels the sting of cold water against his skin and in his nose and throat. On his tongue he tastes blood but cannot decide where it is from, torn between icy numbness and pain. It is everywhere, his shoulder, his limbs, his chest…

Vhagar is gone. For the first time in so long he feels incomplete. 

But even then the thought of grief fades into the cruel quiet of the lake.

Perhaps his end will be peaceful after all. He is not sure he deserves it, but he wants it all the same.

He hears his heart now, pulsing in his ears, echoing through his veins. 

He thinks of Helaena and his mother and wonders if they are being kept together or apart. He thinks of Daeron, fierce, young, vulnerable, the only dragon rider their family will have left. He thinks of Aegon and Maelor and can only hope they are safe. He thinks of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, little white nightgowns seeped with blood, and tightens his grip on the hilt of Dark Sister.

Something disturbs the water above him.

He can see their faces through the darkness, a thousand and one, constantly shifting. Without saying a single word they tell him he is safe.

Something like a limb curls around his torso and grabs him. The pressure on his chest is excruciating but he cannot scream with water in his lungs. It hauls him up. He feels the break through the surface of the lake but he still cannot breathe. 

He wonders if this is the Stranger himself crushing come at last to claim his life and face whatever judgement the gods will pass on him.

Until he lands on solid ground, though not quite solid. It shifts beneath him, cold and sharp under the palms of his hands and the side of his face. With his heart drumming frantically in his ears, his body acts for its own survival, pushing him up onto his hands and knees, retching up blood and water, gagging on the taste it leaves in his mouth.

He hears something land on the ground before him and knows it is a dragon. Through his own struggle he recognises the sound of footsteps against the pebbles, slow and cautious.

His vision is blurry and the only light the sky can offer is a gloomy red. He can see the gleam of it against Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya, Maegor and Daemon, just beyond the reach of his fingertips. 

A hand that is not his own closes around the hilt and brings it out of his line of sight, the point coming to rest at his throat.

Retribution will come with fire and fury…

He drags his body back to rest on his haunches so he can look up at her.

She’s covered in red, her skin under the sunset, her skirt and the sigil of the three headed dragon embroidered on her riding leathers. But she is unmarred by blood, either her own or another’s.

She looks eerily peaceful, a quiet rage simmering under the surface of tired eyes and a soft, rounded face. He does not take his eye from her and she meets his gaze without shame, without fear or pride. He thinks then, he would be content to die at her hand.

He waits for the blade to pierce through his throat, for whatever warmth is left in his body to fade and for the world to go dark again. He waits for the pain to finally end.

… and so it will be your salvation.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

Series taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

[cookies-and-mirrors]

Prison of Stone and Flesh

Chapter Thirty-Two

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier, @faceless-mirror & @comforting-madness

Dividers by @samspenandsword @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Authors Note: Trigger Warnings for various forms of torture, physical, psychological, and emotional.

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, violence, kidnapping, suicidal ideation, torture, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness

@missduffsblog @witchyweeb34 @spicywhenspeaking @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny

@latenightmusiclover @dontdiganothergravetoday @high-wire @awkwardalex

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Thirty Two

It was night by the time Shade was finished with Noah– a soft huff left him as he adjusted his clothes after his shower, and pressed a small kiss to the tribrid's cheek before going searching for his twin. Despite the all-day distraction, Shade was still aggravated by his brother's choice of tossing Noah off the roof just to demand he not to inform Atsuko of what caused the demise of his mate.

Justin and Chris were out on patrol, and this time, Ryan might have said something about not making any inappropriate remarks this time, especially considering Noah, and what he’d been doing today. If Justin remotely thought a comment was funny, or would undoubtably make Ryan smack him… don’t say it. Sure, Chris was not nearly as wound up as he was last time, and maybe they would heal better this time, but Ryan wasn’t taking that risk. They had almost lost Chris, and now that he had Chenza back, he doubted his mate wanted to take that risk either.

Ryan was sitting in the rectory, where he still chose to stay, even if Justin and Chris were choosing to stay with their mates more often now. While Ryan did spend some time with Gwynn to help them heal, he, he was still unsure, it was difficult… Stretching as he wound down from his workout training, rolling his shoulders as he settled in his chair and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV.

It took a few for Shade to make his way to the rectory, since he was taking in the church's layout, sighing softly. This was to be his ‘second’ home, and it wouldn't feel like it for a while, hating how out of place he feels once again. The first time was when he was taken in by Jolly and Nick, now it's here. Running a hand through his hair, the vampire made his way in once he wandered to his destination but stood by the entryway and stared at Ryan for a moment.

“Ryan, why the fuck did you throw Noah off the roof?”

Flicking through channels, Ryan was thinking about that game he’d been playing of Ricky’s, wondering what the nephilim would say now if he wanted to play it again. Would he still be okay with it now that he knew what he was, he’d been fine last time, just a game after all… Would Gwynn be alright with it? Not that he could go off killing the angel he really wanted to hunt down right now without likely causing them more problems. He knew that bastard had friends in Heaven, he bragged all the time, but Jerahmiel was on his list. Glancing up when the door opened, seeing his brother, it was obvious he was agitated. Rolling his eyes, right, after hearing that session earlier before one of them muted their fun with a rune, Shade obviously, Noah wouldn’t know how yet. Of course, Noah went and squealed. He was almost surprised it wasn’t Chris that was here breaking down his door like the big bad grandpa. 

“Awwww, lover boy tattled, did he? He has to learn to fly some time, his wings are impressive, though his angel ones are going to use a lot of work, couldn’t even pull them out.” Which, considering the fact instinct had the boy attempting to bring them out first, that did seem strange to Ryan. Genetically, he was more gargoyle than angel, he wondered why his instinct leaned towards his angel wings over what his body should be predisposed to?

Shade stood there in silence, setting his jaw at the mocking tone Ryan took but said nothing about it while he listened to him. “I told him the same thing,” he said instead, “But throwing him? You could've just told him to zip it, Ryan.” The elder continued to stare at his brother, a look of disappointment on his face, but what else could he do or say to him? They were both very much changed from who they were when young, and this was his younger brother's home. 

I'm basically a stray. Again. 

A sigh left him from that thought while he wandered towards his brother without another word before sitting on the floor. Wait… angel wings? “You're saying he has two different sets…?” 

Ryan paused at the look on his brother’s face, setting the remote down, “No, no I couldn’t. Shit has been real Shade, and Atsuko is walking on a razors edge. If he finds out what happened to Niko… it’ll make what happened in that clock tower seem like a bed of roses.” Atsuko would go hunting for an Archangel… and not using a computer game like Ryan was thinking about. “Besides, I didn’t intend to throw him off when I took him up there.” However, when Ryan got Noah up there it was obvious there was no way that kid was ever going to take the dive on his own, not then, potentially not ever. Now, however, Noah knew he could fall from that high and not die, it was the biggest first step you could take.

At the question of two, “Well, when he landed, he had brought out a pretty impressive set of gargoyle wings for ones that had never been used, they broke his fall, not to mention, was also surrounded by an array of loose angel wing feathers fluttering down around him. So I’d say yes, two sets of wings. Why he attempted to use his angel wings first is curious.”

The way Ryan set the remote down and began explaining to him why he couldn't just tell Noah had the vampire run a hand over his face. He may not know what's been going on with his brother's troupe, but he does know that there's shit happening as a whole. Especially when it came to Hell. Even after the explanation, Shade was thinking of many possible outcomes of Atsuko’s actions, and they were very… upsetting. Niko… he may not have known Niko then, but he knows Folio now. Nonetheless, hunting an Archangel is suicide. 

That would make us lose Folio. And to them, Niko… again.

“Well, you got him through his very first step of flight. Good job, little brother,” Shade deadpanned with a slight furrowed brow after. It made him wonder, after Ryan told him about Noah’s wings and how the angel wings tried to come out before the gargoyle– that is very curious. 

Anyone else that tried to push, that gave him that disappointed look, and Ryan probably would have just rolled his eyes and flipped off. Why would he care what they thought? Sure, Chris could have stood there and berated him for all he wanted, but Ryan would have tuned him out to the sound of whatever was on the television, Noah didn’t have a scratch on him. He’d survived, he was fine, Chris was overprotective. Shade though, this was his brother, and he had missed him, seeing that disappointment in him, he at least deserved a real honest explanation as to why Ryan had done it. Honestly, he truly hadn’t taken him up there intending to do it, he’d just wanted him out of Atsuko’s earshot this time, or hopefully anyway… unlike when Christopher had only been one flight downstairs and everything imploded. 

“Look, if I swear never to throw him off the roof again, will that help? Will that get me forgiveness points here?” Raising an eyebrow, he cared what Shade thought, even if Noah could hate him.

Shade finally looked at his brother again and an amused expression was there. “Fucking asshole,” he said softly, but it was meant to be affectionate and stands. Moving to pull his brother into a hug, he held him and then flicked him on the forehead. “Just a little forgiveness.” The taller gargoyle then pinched Ryan on the arm with a huff. “But of course none from Noah.”

Pulling away, he sat down in Ryan’s seat and dragged the younger down onto his lap. “He's still adapting to this insane life of ours.”

Now Ryan snorted at the soft asshole, smirking up at his brother before he stood up and met him with the hug that he was pulled into, he was fine with it; even if he’d have pushed the others away in most cases. “Hey!” Knocking his hand away at the flick, and then chuckling at the pinch. “Yeah, yeah, I doubted I’d get any from Noah after how peeved he was, not surprised.”

Which was met by Shade stealing his chair, and Ryan making an affronted noise when he was pulled down, growling at him, shoving his shoulder with his own, a little. “How long have you two been around that lot anyway? Surely, he’s got to be at least used to you somewhat. They all seem to be used to you enough, certainly seemed comfortable plenty with you today.” Not to mention last night, the vampires letting Shade feed on him, and calling the two of them for help with Folio went missing yesterday.

A soft laugh had left Shade when his hand had been knocked away, just thinking about how much of a menace they both were or could be when the mood strikes them. Anyway, he's glad that Ryan accepted his hug and just snorted at the growl, being shoved by the younger. He then pulled the other close and held him, humming softly before answering,

“We've been around them for seventy-five years…” Shade began to idly comb his fingers through Ryan’s hair and sighs while he thought about how the small group came across him. 

Gwynn had overheard some of the conversation- okay, most of the conversation. But they smiled hearing Ryan and Shade tease each other. They leaned on the wall silently listening with soft eyes. 

As Shade pulled him closer, Ryan gave in to the hug, while it might seem reluctant, it wasn’t. He welcomed the embrace, he missed the comfort from his brother… and Ryan did not welcome open prolonged contact very often anymore from a great many people at all. So when he leaned into the touch, he sighed almost inaudibly. It was as he was able to rest against his brother, relaxing at that moment, something he didn’t fully do properly, often anyway… that he noticed… Gwynn.

He didn’t know when they had slipped in, but they had, and his breath caught at the prickle of awareness tingling down his spine. He didn’t see them, but he felt them. After a moment, he turned his head, glancing over towards where he suspected they were standing, “Are you going to stay over there forever, or come sit with us?”

Sitting in silence, Shade continued his small action of carding his fingers through his brother's hair and relaxed as much as he could. As much as he would love to be fully, it's not possible. Not anymore, so he's feeling as relaxed as he can with Ryan. It was funny to think about how similar he and Ryan were, but still their own living beings. Shade loved being in his brother's presence and nuzzles him, sighing softly. 

Sensing something off with his brother, Shade also felt the tingle and saw Ryan looking towards something, no– someone, at the door. Glancing over as well, he grimaced slightly and sighs before giving his brother a small squeeze in his embrace. 

Gwynn slipped out and peeked at the pair, long hair falling down over their shoulders. “I didn't want to interrupt.” They murmured softly walking over, “You guys look comfy…” Gwynn murmured softly with a tender smile.

“We’re just relaxing, resting… Shade had a busy day.” Ryan sighed at the way his brother’s fingers had been brushing through his hair, it might seem odd to some that it was his brother, and not Gwynn being so tender. It had been a long time since he’d let anyone be tender, and he wasn’t outwardly acknowledging it at all. As Gwynn came closer though, he was tempted, but he didn’t deserve their touch, he knew that, not even to reach for their hand. 

The angel was met with silence from the elder gargoyle, just staring at Gwynn and sets his jaw. Shade continues to run his fingers through Ryan’s hair, letting the younger gargoyle rest against him and nuzzles him while he spoke. What he couldn’t ignore was the mixed feelings he got from his brother, just holding him. When Gwynn approached, though, Shade bristled slightly and a soft huff left him. 

Gwynn saw the elder stiffen, and they stopped, looking down. He had heard a fair amount of the conversation… but… perhaps they weren't welcome right yet. “I uh… we can talk later if now's not a good time. I apologise for intruding. It's… good to see you, Shade. I'm happy to see you.” 

Ryan sighed, he wasn’t sure what to make of how Gwynn was like this, though, he knew, assuming any of them were ever going to be the same as they were ever going to be… would be an insult. Still, it was difficult to know, to… sitting forward a little, “You wanted to talk to Shade?” He wouldn’t be surprised, probably wanted to find out about what had happened to him, maybe, figure out better ways to help him… It would be good. Ryan glanced back at his brother, smiling slightly before back to Gwynn, “It’s okay, you can talk, I can go if that's easier.”

Shade just watched the angel. Him, talk to… Gwynn? No.

“I don't want to talk to them,” he said in a terse manner as he let Ryan lean forward. “Don't talk to me as if you actually missed me.” Shade doesn't know what happened to them or why his brother had these fucked feelings about them, yet he knew he should hold his tongue. The older gargoyle had nothing he wanted to say, nor did he want to talk about it either. When Ryan smiled at him, he felt a little bad for snapping, but he didn't want to talk. 

“Besides…” he said softly to Ryan, “I'm sure they want to talk to you. Not me.”

Gwynn winced, swallowing, they had been about to say it could wait…. But they shook their head, retreating some. “It can wait I just… want… wanted to ask- since - I… it's fine.” they whispered looking away, their mind was swimming violently with self-doubt and self-loathing. How dare… how dare Gwynn think they were going to be okay now-

Shaking his head, “Of course not.” Ryan knew they wouldn’t want to talk to him, why would they want to talk to him. Sure, yes, yes he knew they had their moments, but, just the way Gwynn pulled back like this, it, Ryan swallowed, it clenched at Ryan’s heart. All it took was a little silence and spending time with his brother, and Gwynn was pulling away… They said they didn’t want to interrupt, but what was there to interrupt? Nothing. Ryan knew he was worthless, he didn’t need to be reminded. 

Sighing, he shifted to get up from Shade, “I’m going to go downstairs to get a drink. Let you two talk, obviously you have catching up to do.”

Shade sat there, staring at his brother for a moment, and cringes internally as he once again felt Ryan’s emotions. Why? Why did this have to happen now? Never mind that. His face was blank as soon as there was a sense of worthlessness, and oh did that make him want to hit something. Biting back a growl, Shade just leaned back into the seat with a slight head tilt.

Once Ryan had stood up, Shade was staring at the floor and then looked to his brother. “I have nothing to say to them, Ry…” he muttered while standing, “I don't… know.”

Gwynn shook lightly, “I was just going to ask Ryan to go catch skyfish since he threw Noah off the roof and I thought it’d be fair. I…” their eyes watered, “I'll do it myself. Bye.” They said in a rush, heading upstairs towards the roof, swallowing their anxiety.

No, no, no… Ryan had seen the state of Gwynn’s wings, and he knew how badly they were still healing… There was no way they were going to be able to make it up there to catch those fish, not safely. Swallowing, he couldn’t let them risk it. Glancing towards his brother, nothing but fear in his eyes. “Don’t let them leave, whatever you do, do not let them-”  The rest of his words choked in his throat because he didn’t want to think about the possibility that Gwynn could die this time trying this…

“I’ll go, get their stupid skyfish.” He hated skyfishing, he hated it with a vengeance. Stupid angelfood. Not to mention, most of the places to skyfish were so close to Heaven’s boarders, so he was going to have to be careful too. “I’ll be back soon, just… do not let them leave, I don’t care how. Please.”

Ryan didn’t bother with the roof, he used the balcony, the same one they’d just exit for patrols time and time again when they never wanted Ricky or Vinny to see them come and go. Leaving Shade to go after Gwynn and stop them from leaving.

“Fuck,” Shade snarled once both were gone. Not one word could leave the gargoyle when Ryan and Gwynn went their separate ways. He was pissed at the angel because why the hell was his brother so… nevermind. The fear that gripped him, because of his twin, latched on and he himself had to push through it. 

Keep Gwynn here.

He could do that, be a distraction for the angel while Ryan went to get the skyfish. Following the angel after watching his brother take off from the balcony, Shade was seething, but his face held no emotion. All he wanted was to hold Ryan close when he saw the fear in his eyes, but let him do what Gwynn was going to ask. What he felt was that there was supposed to be more there, yet they pulled away. 

Noah. He would've thought they'd be on Ryan’s ass for what he did. Not… not whatever the fuck this was. Justice. Gwynn was Justice, and where was that?

“Gwynn,” he called out a little forcefully but reels it in before being softer yet firm. Almost like a commander speaking with his higher-ups when concerned about something. “What is your issue? Why are you pulling away? Since you heard us about Noah… where's Justice? Where are you?”

Gwynn was still moving up the stairs. Hearing Shade call for them, their chest burned, and they trembled in a small jolt of fear. “It… it's complicated.” they murmured, leaning on their cane, swallowing. 

Justice. Where's Justice? They didn't know anymore. They were unsure. Everything was violently messy. What's their issue? Too many. Fear was the biggest one… 

Where are you?

Gwynn spun around nearly losing their balance, staring at Shade, eyes damp. Hurt and confusion.

“I don't know. Okay? I don't know who or what I am anymore. I don't feel remotely angelic anymore. Not only that, but I ran from my punishment to be immediately slapped, and I don't know if I have my mate anymore when I don't even know if he wants me- I love him. Justice? I don't even know what that is any longer- nothing has been just for anyone and trying to enforce justice and rights and wrongs- I don't know! I don't know anymore! Everyone is walking on eggshells! Everyone is scared! I don't know what to do anymore! I just want to rest! But I can't!” The angel exclaimed, voice cracking and breaking as they spoke. For the second time, Gwynn was breaking walls coming down as they leaned on the wall.

“Shade. I am delighted to see you. I'm happy to see everyone- but I don't know if I can be Justice anymore after running from my own punishment.” They whispered, a single tear rolling down their cheek as they hid behind their long silver blond hair, hiding from him. “I'm trying to be-” they said quietly before turning to limp towards the roof.

Complicated. Complicated…. 

“Complicated you say,” Shade spoke as some frustration bled through his words. “Every‐fucking-thing, is complicated, angel.” Shade couldn't stop the venom that went with that last word and pursed his lips. Not helping, Nightshade. Be calm and think. He listened to Gwynn while they spoke, telling him about how they're feeling, and just grit his teeth when they were practically rambling bullshit in his opinion. 

With a scowl present, Shade ran a hand over his face. “Maybe have you considered actually trying? You keep pulling away. It's hurting you and Ryan. It's hurting me, too. Our bond formed again—” he cuts himself off and follows Gwynn up, grabbing them gently. “You want to rest? You're not allowing yourself to do it either. You're too worried about taking care of us to pay attention to your own needs. We're scared because we don't understand what's happening anymore and why. I'm scared, Gwynn.” He cringed at his admittance and cursed at himself before pulling away.

“You can't be this troupe's handler or… Ryan’s mate if you don't straighten yourself out. Especially who you are. I don't know what happened to you, and it's not my place to ask. But it sure as hell feels like you would rather not be here,” he sighed. “Justice and Trust…you two need to get it together. Please.”

Gwynn looked up at Shade, listening intently. “Shade… I don't think I can be Justice anymore. I don't know if I'm good enough. Truthfully, I've wanted nothing more than to be here, but now that I am… I'm scared of everyone. I want to be Ryan's mate; however, I just keep getting mixed signals.” They paused before taking a deep breath. “Can you… come with me for a moment? Please…” they requested gently, their free hand touching their stomach, lightly feeling the ridges of their scars. 

His anger had died off, but the irritation is there still, but Shade can get a grasp on it now. Listening to Gwynn now, he just stares down at the small angel and frowns. “Mixed signals only because he's struggling too, Gwynn…” the gargoyle murmured while he watched them place a hand over their stomach. He wanted to ask why Gwynn thought they couldn't be Justice anymore, but didn't. When asked to go with, he furrowed his brow for a moment and then tilted his head slightly. “Sure… but why?”

“I… feel like you should… see what part of my punishment was. Ryan, he's seen it but… I… the others don't know. I trust you… and you know Ryan better than most.” They whispered, moving to an empty dusty alcove, slipping inside, leading him in before carving in a heavier silence rune before taking a deep breath. 

There was hesitation. That looming fear of judgement… before they lifted their shirt to show the scars. To scar… the wound had to be repeatedly open. It was black against pure alabaster skin. Crude words… and one large Cherub carved in. The term, to mortals, was just another type of angel, but to the angels themselves, was nothing but the most derogatory term to be used against them. “I ran from my punishment for loving Ryan… for standing up for the gargoyles. This… I… I'm scared if the others knew, they would turn their backs and …” they took a breath. “Leave the church… I know it's not what would happen- but I need to help the others out of their punishments- it… they…” they closed their eyes, dropping their shirt back down, though it didn't help with feeling exposed. “I don't care if you're a vampire Shade. I know you would never harm someone without reason. I see you still as Nightshade, my mate's beloved brother. Nothing will ever change that.”

Once in the alcove and watching Gwynn carve the rune, the vampire waited silently and didn't rush them. Trust…? Why trust him? He didn't feel like he should be trusted but kept quiet. But as soon as he saw what it was that's been so important to show him, a gasp left him and Shade felt disgust as soon as he read the blackened scars on the pale skin of the angel's. It wasn’t at them, but at the fact that they were so… the other angels were so against… The gargoyle moved closer to them before kneeling and went to touch but hesitated, pulling his hand away. Gwynn went through this… abuse because they loved his brother. 

For standing up for his kin…

“Gwynn,” he whispered as he tried to keep calm. He was seething, but being explosive wasn't going to change anything. Nor will it help this situation. “If the others knew… I don’t think they'd leave you… treat you any different… You were their handler. Mine and Riyah’s handler. Our Justice… Ry's.” As the smaller dropped their shirt, he remained on the floor before them and carefully took their hand in his. “You're doing what you can, Gwynn. It takes time—” Shade went quiet as soon as the angel spoke about, not caring what he was. That he was still considered Nightshade. 

He doesn't feel like himself anymore, either, though. Never felt like himself… not after her. Losing her… being turned. Everything that happened to him before his turning.

“Gwynn… no. Don't say that. I'm Ryan’s brother, yes. But… still me? No…”

“Changed, yes… but I still see the love you have for Ryan.”  Gwynn gently reached out his hand, hovering over his cheek for a moment, not touching him. “I love you just as I always have. We've all changed… but I just still see those I love. I still want to help… I just don't know how to be Justice right now.” They whispered to him with heavy eyes, blinking slowly. “I… I want Ryan more than you realize. I just don't know if he wants me as badly as I need him and… I don't know… I asked him to do the unforgivable if I'm being taken back to heaven… but I need to talk to him about it… and apologize.” They said, easing down for him and knelt with him. “I'm sorry for what Gabriel and Raphael have put both you and Riyah through as well.”

Changed. That made Shade keep quiet and stare at Gwynn. Seeing them reach out to hover their hand over his cheek, the gargoyle furrowed his brow when he felt his eyes sting. That was what made him hate himself even more, knowing that he's not just a gargoyle anymore and being a vampire is what damn near killed him over seventy-five years ago because he was so fucking weak. When the angel said that he loved him… the gargoyle pressed his cheek against their palm and a soft sniffle left him. 

“I know,” he whispered. Shade can see the love Gwynn has for his twin, and a soft yet sad laugh leaves him. “He wants to love you too, Gwynn. Baby brother feels unworthy…” Now the mention of them asking Ryan to do the unforgivable– it made him tense and watch as Gwynn went to kneel, moving to rest his head on their shoulder to hide against them. 

Shade felt the ghost of his past clawing at him, and he grabbed Gwynn weakly, a shaky breath leaving him. “I… don't want to think about it… please.”

Gwynn nodded, hugging Shade gently, “It… it will be okay. Gargoyles are coming back. She promised… she promised me she would make it happen.” Gwynn whispered, “They… they have to…” Gwynn spoke softly, silver tears in their eyes. “Shade… I'm sorry I've been gone. I'm so sorry. Most of this… it feels like it's my fault.” Gwynn admitted. “If I had been here… I would have been able to help…”

Gwynn hugging him had the vampire want to pull away from them, reluctant to accept, but just let it happen. When Shade listened to them, he pursed his lips and pulled away enough to look at the angel. What were they saying…? She? Who were they talking about, and more gargoyles? The relief he wanted to have at the idea didn't come, but he just sighed. 

“Not your fault… shit happens,” he said softly, “Things will get better… but of course, it has to get worse before doing so.”

The angel nodded, leaning on his shoulder. “Shade… I'm just tired… so tired…” they whispered, letting go but still resting their head on his shoulder with a sigh. Their eyes were heavy, and their body was aching from climbing towards the roof. Past all the empty alcoves that once held so much life…

“Rest…” he mumbled while letting Gwynn lean against him and sighs as he went to gently rub their back. “Your body is demanding you to rest… it's okay. I got you until Ry is back.” Shade then carefully scoops them up and holds the angel close. Looking around, he pursed his lips at how… unused the alcoves were… how dusty they all were. 

The angel nodded slowly, “I didn't want to interrupt…” they slurred softly with heavy eyes that were slowly closing. “I wanted to wait. You guys… haven't caught up yet…” Gwynn mumbled, drifting off wordlessly, exhaustion rolling through them violently once more.

Shade sighed, sitting there with Gwynn in his arms and rubbing their back. “We will at one point. I promise, Gwynn…right now, we're both worried about you and need you to get better first.” He knows that he and Ryan would get to catch up, yet just quietly holds the exhausted angel and waits for his brother to come back.

Ryan barely got a handful of skyfish, he knew Gwynn probably wanted more if they intended to make different dishes for Noah, or something or other, but he was distracted. The thought of Shade not being able to keep Gwynn from trying to leave the Church had him rushing, and he just grabbed what he could at the border and rushed back, it would have to do for now. He could always go back for more later when they needed or wanted more. It was dangerous, but, it was dangerous for any of them to risk flying now.

Arriving back at the Church, he found Shade, with Gwynn, and Ryan could only breathe a sigh of relief… They were safe. Good. “Here, your skyfish for the kid.” Pulling his satchel from his shoulder, he wasn’t going to want it back, it was going to stink of fish now. 

Hearing Ryan before his brother made his actual appearance, Shade glanced over his shoulder with a soft laugh while holding on to Gwynn. “Easy there,” the vampire quipped and smiled when he heard him breathe that sigh of relief. As he saw the younger gargoyle remove his satchel, the elder male tilted his head some. “They're asleep though… want to take them to their alcove and I carry the fish?”

Gwynn moaned softly, curling up a bit more with a sleepy grumble, their hands folded over their stomach, though the shirt was lifted some. Teasing a slight view of the scars.

When the angel’s arms shifted around their torso, shifting their shirt, Ryan couldn’t help but glance down, just the slightest glance, he knew what scars were there. He’d seen them in all their clarity and hated each one. If he met any angel that had made them, he’d take his hammer to them, with fierce abandon. “Sure, anything to get rid of the fish.” What’s more, he knew it was best for him to be the one to hold them, for their healing, didn’t need Chris rousing him again. Whether he was deserving or not, he wasn’t going to discard Gwynn.

With the sliver of scarred skin visible, Shade wrinkles up his nose as a soft growl left him. With a huff, he gently tugs the shirt down and looks up at Ryan, having seen them also, it had the older gargoyle wanting to rip each angel a new one. Setting his jaw, the vampire glanced up at his twin once the younger answered him, and he stood up carefully with Gwynn in his arms. “You never liked fish, huh,” Shade asked with a teasing smile. His smile then falls slightly, and he stares at the angel. 

“Help them heal, Ry. You deserve them… whatever…—” Shade paused as he felt himself tense and cursed softly. “Anyway… you deserve each other…”

They grumbled softly, “Ryan…” the angel breathed out softly, head lulling to the side, long hair falling from their face sweetly revealing their features more clearly now. How thin and drained the angel had become with stress, concern for their companions and their mate. Their lips were paler than normal, slightly cracked.

Shade didn’t know, he, he didn’t, Ryan hoped he never knew. Of course, Ryan knew he was lying to himself, if anyone knew it would be his brother. Of the nine hundred years he’d been sexually abused, tortured, mentally twisted, emotionally manipulated, his brother would have felt so much of it through their bond… until it was severed. “Not the fish, just skyfishing that's overrated.” He actually liked sushi, but angelfood, tended to feel like it was… too much for him. 

As Ryan moved to take Gwynn from his twin as his brother stood up, as their hair swept back, he saw their grim appearance. Hopefully, they’d save some of those skyfish for themself rather than just Noah, they obviously needed them as much as he did.

Shade’s hesitancy was because he did feel everything and because of it, it felt like he endured just about the same, but not as intense as his twin's. His skin would crawl most of the time, and he wanted to claw at himself to make it stop. No… stop. No thinking about that. It was all too much for him on top of having lost his potential mate– until the bond was severed and made it drove him mad. Close to it, anyway. The grief weighed on him, but he managed. Ryan's voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he just smiles a little. 

“That's what I meant,” he murmured, while letting the younger gargoyle take his mate and he himself take the satchel. Shade also took in the angel's grim appearance and sighs, gesturing for Ryan to lead the way. 

The angel cuddled closer to Ryan, pressing their face into his shoulder, clingy as a child. Long fingers gently embracing his shirt as Gwynn nuzzled in more and more, taking a deep breath of relief. As Shade gestured to lead the way, Ryan nodded and started along the hall the pair were in, but instead of going back the way they had come from, he continued towards the roof. Before they made it to the roof, however, he veered to one of the highest alcove levels where they had their old alcove, the one that Gwynn had cleaned up.

Carrying Gwynn into their alcove, he laid them down on their bed. Ryan swallowed when he saw the cribs… the old cribs he’d once made with his own two hands, and they’d never gotten to use. Fuck. How, how had he not seen them the last time he was here? Nope, wasn’t thinking about them any more than he was wanted to think about how much of a monster he was… he knew, so why bother. At least they could be put to use for Justin and Ricky now, he supposed. 

He hated that he’d rather burn them though, no one else should use then than his mate's babies.

Watching the two had Shade long for something like that. He shouldn't be jealous, but he was, and yet, it just hurts to know he won't have that one. Sure, he has the others, but it's not the same. Once his brother led the way, he followed in silence as he held onto the strap of the satchel and pursed his lips while pushing away any emotion he had. Noticing that they were headed towards the roof still until, they veered off to the highest alcove and followed Ryan in. 

As Gwynn was set down by Ryan, Shade felt a wave of emotion from his twin and turned his attention towards the younger. What could have… oh. Seeing the two cribs, he bit his lip and said nothing as he lowered his gaze from them, shaking his head slightly. 

“Ry…” he said softly and went to his brother but stopped just a few steps in front of him. Shade wasn’t sure if Ryan wanted any form of contact right now but stood there in silence, waiting to see if he’d do something.

The angel relaxed more still lightly holding on to Ryan, rolling onto the pillow Ryan had used the night before, tension melting off him like taking off a coat. Ryan ran his hand down Gwynn’s back gently, sighing, swallowing he shifted to half sit up in the bed with them, pulling them close to cuddle up against them. Holding Gwynn close with a sigh, letting them rest against him, they needed it. “The kitchenette is to the left, it should be fully functioning, stash the skyfish in the icebox, should be good there for now.”

Without a word, Shade went to the kitchenette and set his jaw while he went to stash the skyfish into the icebox. He stood there quietly, staring at the floor, and he took a deep breath before exhaling. The gargoyle didn't really want to be around them both, but he supposed he has to suck it up and just sit there with his brother as the younger was with his mate.

Returning to the pair, Shade went to sit on the floor by the bed and curled up into himself with a sigh. 

Gwynn got more comfy before fully relaxing into a deep sleep, eyes fluttering softly as they sighed out. Ryan could feel the strain on Shade, he didn’t miss the pain he felt seeing them together, and he hated that seeing them together hurt his brother… Especially considering the fact that despite their bond, Ryan knew he would never be worthy enough for them, never again. 

Taking in a deep breath as he looked over towards his brother as he settled, the way he curled up hurt his heart, “Tell me about them, what were they like?” Ryan wished they could have met them, but without Gwynn, Ryan never got the chance to meet the gargoyle that Shade was so close to mating with.

Ryan was met with silence from Shade, while the elder was doing his best to not think about anything, trying to ignore the pair on the bed. He could feel that his brother isn't doing all that well, hating that he can't do anything to help him. All Shade knew was that if he said anything, it would most probably be shut down. Just like how he was just about to do the same to him as soon as he was asked about her,

“I don't want to talk about it.” Shade mumbled as he held himself and grimaced. “Doesn't matter… she's gone.” He did wish that Ryan got to meet her.

She… Ryan paused…

“She might not be gone forever Shade, Gwynn is back, Chenza is back… Niko… I don’t know why them, I don’t know why now, what's happening, but something is…” It was strange, like the calm before the storm… or worse, the eye of the storm. Something was happening, gargoyles were coming back. Niko had been back for longer than they had known…

Shade felt agitated as soon as Ryan suggested that she's not gone forever and that how the others were back. If they're back, then why wasn't she? How come Ryan, Chris and… Atsuko get theirs back, but not him? Was it childish to feel this way? Yes, but he didn’t care. It didn't matter in the end, and it was strange as to why the other gargoyles were even coming back.

The older gargoyle remained silent as he sat there and rested his head on his arms, hiding his face. 

Ryan felt the irritation, and he sighed, he supposed he would feel it too, he would if another turned around and said the same to him not long ago when he saw Chris with Chenza… He’d felt too, disgusted with himself when he’d hated them for a moment, with how… happy they were that night, only to that very same night to come face to face with his mate returned. Returned, and it had been with the most horrifying realization of what he had forgotten of them.

Sighing, Ryan shook his head a little, “Don’t worry, I’d hate me too for saying that. Sorry.”

“Shut it, Ry,” Shade hissed as he looked at his brother. “Shut up…” The older went quiet as soon as he snapped at Ryan and immediately backed off. He wanted to hold his brother, but he knew being with Gwynn would be preferable to help the angel heal due to their bond, and it was just himself being selfish. “I don't know what he did to you, but I…—” 

He shuts up again and scowled, hating how he just clams right up whenever he tries to talk to Ryan about that fucker that caused them all pain. But Shade had to say something… “That motherfucker… anything he told you… he's a liar… ” He's done nothing but use their grief, Shade may have been targeted at the same time as Ryan, but it wasn’t as intense as his, and he's felt all of what his twin went through.

“Ryan… I'm sorry… let's change the subject…”

No, no, Shade had every right to demand he shut up, he wasn’t upset at him for snapping, he wasn’t. Anymore that he hoped that the troupe ever held his reactions against him after Gwynn died… or, didn’t die as the case may be. Swallowing, he wanted to reach for his brother, but feeling the too slight weight of the angel leaning against him, he knew holding Gwynn in his arms was needed. 

“I wonder if Vinny could make food using blood, you could use a cake night…” Hey, Shade said to change the subject, and the last time he had a heart-to-heart, that was what he had been talking over… Cake. “These talks are so much easier with cake, and coffee. Moreover, the other person being pregnant, so I can’t hit them when they’re right and call me out.”

Cake… subject change was cake.

Shade let out a soft laugh and shook his head, the elder raised a brow at Ryan. Since when has his brother become a sweet tooth? It was a surprise to say the least, and he just stared at him for a moment longer before sighing. “I'm not entirely sure,” he replied, “But I don't doubt her skill in learning how to make food with blood.” It made him cringe slightly, but hell, he'll take this topic. 

Pregnant? He furrowed his brow before humming softly as he thought back to the clock tower and saw Ricky. Shade could obviously tell, especially since the nephilim's mate was hovering over him protectively. “If you could, I'd have taken you down to the café so we can have cake. Anything really.” It still surprises him that his brother even liked sweets and Shade didn’t care, Ryan could enjoy whatever the fuck he wants.

Ryan just shrugged ever so slightly, not wanting to disturb Gwynn as they slept. “Ricky brought some up to me when as had a chat, Chris also took me to a rage room, and we smashed the shit out of everything. Both styles of therapy were rather enlightening, not going to lie.” Ryan chuckled low, the sound not quite as dry as he could sound these days. Not anymore…

Chris hadn’t expected him to talk, just let him vent in a very physical way, Ricky, sat with him commiserating with the understanding between them. While he knew he understood Shade’s loss, he also knew, the pain Shade was still in, Ryan felt guilty he had Gwynn back… worse, he felt guilty because he also knew he didn’t. How could he explain to his brother that? How did he explain that Ryan was never going to be able to be worthy of his mate? He was nothing, he was worthless, wasn’t he? … He was… he was, what was he? He didn’t even know what he was anymore. Looking down at his mate in his arms, he sighed, no, he wasn’t worth of them.

That was interesting to know. Ricky brought Ryan cake to eat, and Chris took him to a rage room. At least he had something to do with someone, especially something that simple. Shade and Riyah kept themselves busy; he went on patrol– too many of them, while Riyah was busy with other things. The number of times he's wanted to… yeah. The only kind of therapy they both got was going out on hunts when they were together on a patrol, and then they felt slightly better.

Then there was that feeling of guilt and other emotions again,

“Ryan, get out of your head you brat,” Shade muttered as he tried to ignore what the younger was feeling and glanced over to his brother. “Don't feel guilty because you have them. And that worthlessness… it can fuck right off. Please. He— Dammit. Anyway, the push and pull between you two is what's causing the rift. You want them again but when you're close, too close, you back away. For that reason, they're getting mixed signals Ry…” The older gargoyle shifted a bit in his spot on the floor and sighed.

Why? Why can't he just talk to his brother? Now he felt like shit, incapable of having a proper conversation. Shade wished that he could help his twin and help Ryan see that whatever that asshole had said to him are lies… yet… he can't. He can't help him, can he? What a shitty job of being a big brother… 

I couldn’t even help my own twin against that fucker. And I don't think I can now… 

Ryan just stared at him, “You want me to get close when my mate asked me to fucking kill them? That’s what you want me to do?” His throat choked with the last word, he had begged Gwynn to not actually say the words last night and here he was saying them now… 

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“They were tortured so horrifically in Heaven that they made me swear that, if they came back for them, that I would kill them before I let them take them.” Swallowing, and that wasn’t even the worst part for Ryan, “And I agreed.”

That was what broke him. 

“I agreed because the thought of letting them get their hands on Gwynn again, and hurting them like this all over again, breaking them down again…” The moment Gwynn was dead, Ryan would be as well this time, there was no other outcome. None.

Shade felt Ryan’s eyes on him, not acknowledging that fact, but once he heard what the younger said… What was he supposed to say to that? The elder sat in silence and the more Ryan spoke, he grits his teeth, but it wasn't in anger at his brother or Gwynn. He didn’t know what to feel, but fear was there. Afraid because he didn’t want to lose Ryan again, losing Gwynn again was also something he didn't want to happen, even though he's still warming up to the angel again.

The way his brother choked out his question to him, Shade held himself and shook his head. “Ry I…” he paused. What was there to say? And the fact his brother agreed… Fuck. The older gargoyle reaches up to tangle his fingers in his hair and curls into himself more. “Stop… stop…”

This wasn’t what I meant, but I caused this.

The idea of both being dead… it overwhelmed him. He should fix this, but… how can he?

“Ry… Please. That wasn't…forget I said anything. Maybe… Maybe I should go. Yeah?”

Ryan’s breath caught, seeing the way Nightshade slipped his fingers into his hair, and without thinking he was slipping Gwynn gently from his side as he eased himself from the bed and down to the floor on his knees. Settling in front of his brother, “Shhhh, no, no, it’s okay.”

Reaching for his brother, he didn’t hug him, instead he eased his hands from his hair and replaced them with his own. Ryan’s fingers gently massaging down the back of his brother's head, along his scalp, and down the back of his neck. “I know, okay, I know. I’m fucking up with them, and I get it.”

Nightshade heard movement, but he sat there, trying not to fall apart. Once Ryan was on the floor with him, he looked up at him with unshed tears in his eyes. The older heard his twin, but it was unclear, at least to him, but he picked up on ‘okay’. Okay? What was okay? This isn't okay! No… no, no—

When he felt hands grab him, he let out a soft whimper and tensed before looking to see that it was Ryan. “Ry–” Nightshade murmured softly but went quiet again as soon as he felt the younger's fingers in his hair. A tired sigh left him as he leans into Ryan’s hands, and he weakly grabs at the younger's arm. “I'm sorry…”

Ry’s forehead leaned forward against his brothers, he didn’t care that there were unshed tears in his eyes, watery blood as they were. He wasn’t going to be deterred from comforting his brother as he used to when they were young. They had not been able to be a comfort for each other since that night Gwynn had been taken from him, despite their bond lasting for centuries before his brother’s turning. He hadn’t seen him since before Gwynn was taken from them, and that had been painful. Before, they had had the luxury that others never got, they had a relationship, as brothers. Most gargoyles siblings didn’t get that, but Ryan’s relationship with Gwynn as their troupes handler allowed him contact with his brother.

“Don’t, Nigh, I’m here, we’re together again… we’re going to be okay.”

As soon as their foreheads touched, Nightshade let out a soft sob and just clung to his younger brother. He didn’t want to lose anyone anymore. The older gargoyle didn’t want to think about how he would be if he ended up like Atsuko or Ryan– either way, both weren't good. Nightshade sat there as he tried to hold in any sound that left him, trying to stop himself from crying and just let Ryan comfort him as he did when they were young. It was too long since he's had his brother's comfort, it had been centuries before and after his turning. Before was when Gywnn had passed, or so they thought, and after… of course, what he is now. The elder could only assume he and Ryan were lucky to have had the luxury of bonding as brothers, forming a relationship with one another.

Nigh. Nigh… That was a nickname he hadn't heard in forever.

“Don't go… not again,” he whispered before wrinkling up his nose slightly, “Together… but okay? No… not okay.” 

Ryan’s fingers stroked down the back of his neck, massaging gently to soothe him as his nose wrinkled up, sighing. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here, I’m right here, you have my word.” They both knew how Ryan felt about lying, it drove him insane, Honesty was only worse about lying than Trust. Still, “I know, I know we’re not okay, I… I get that, none of us are, but we’re today, and we can look after each other now. Support each other, right? I’m here, Nigh, I’m here when you need me, whenever, however you need me.”

Nightshade whined, leaning heavily into Ryan’s hand now. Relaxing as much as he can and a soft purr left him, his hold on the younger tightening some. “Okay,” he whispered and sniffled while moving to rest his head on Ryan’s shoulder now, and a shaky breath left the older gargoyle while he nuzzled him. Nightshade knew how much Ryan hated lying, especially since he was Trust. As the other spoke, he listened and nodded. “Yeah… okay… okay. Support… support each other.”

[cowboybrunch]

did i get distracted by a shitty mobile game while editing? yes

did i spend hours playing before realizing that the game never ended and i was in far too deep? yes

did i get way too invested in the nameless, faceless, voiceless playable character? of course

did i write 450-ish words about said playable character? about a mobile game that was solely designed to bombard toddlers with ads? you fucking bet i did

anyways. title? attention span

In the dark, he was as much of himself as he could be: a song stuck on repeat, a joke with the punchline a beat too late. He had a life, once. He had goals, once. A family, too, though he couldn't recall their faces. In the moments between the fall and the reset, in the dim screen of failure, he almost remembered.

It began again with a wail of music and color, the sky a pasty orange, the floor beneath him bricked and blue. A push to move forward shook from him the last vestiges of life, transforming him into polygon instead of person. He had no goal but this: green, not red. Add. Devour. Become durable, become bigger, so that he might defeat the unchecked god who lingered at the end of the platform, so that he might win. This time, he might win.

The entity was a slap of grey against the primary colors of this existence, looming faceless and out of reach beyond barriers and pitfalls, beyond his ability to duck and dodge.

He leapt over barricades and dove down slopes that promised growth, promised more. There had to be an end. Nothing lasted forever; he remembered that much of his humanity.

Muscles stretched beyond the limits of his skin's elasticity. Bones cracked and were built again, longer, as if he could touch the swirls that served as clouds but would never spit rain, as if he'd already found the exit and just needed to reach.

A sigil before him marked the end, a circle that would launch him towards his real target, his creator and demise, the being who drank his terror and rage and used it to paint the next world. He leapt across the open chasm that separated them and landed on his feet, or what he might've considered feet at one point. He was amorphous, a smear of color facing a voiceless giant. There was nowhere to go but forward.

He tore through wall after wall, each stealing just a touch of his strength, of girth and height until he was as he was in the beginning, and then he was less and less still, a scrap of a scrap, a thin line drawn with a trembling hand—and there was one barrier left. He was enough, this time. He had to be enough.

The last barrier stole the fumes of his courage, the spine held together by too-thin cartilage. He fell, and the world spun with flashes of orange and blue and orange and blue— until his head stopped rolling, settled at the entity's feet.

He couldn't be sure, but as his world faded to reminiscent black, he thought he heard laughter.

It began again.

hii everything taglist, enjoy some nonsense on this fine saturday morning <3

@saturnine-saturneight @gioiaalbanoart @tragedycoded @sableglass @the-golden-comet

@wyked-ao3 @deanwax @leahnardo-da-veggie

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

chapter 24

cw: murder, past sexual assault, eugenics, mentions of minor primal kink, drugging, prostitution and abuse

taglist: @justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings

Eva stares at the white rose bush as if she could see the future in its perfect white petals. In less than two weeks they had planned this and only time would tell if they would pull it off.

“If the business with the pigs gets resolved today, I’ll come back for Laurie. Jack’s new badge worked.” Eva half-lies to her aunt who doesn’t pry despite seeing through her.

Laurie was at school and would be cared for by her aunt who had become accustomed to her niece’s lying.

The Rebel knows she has the calming pills the Doctor has given her for her anxiety, but she refuses to take them like she refuses the tequila calling her name. She needs to be completely sober for this, there is no room for failure.

If they fail.

Eva doesn’t want to even think what sort of fresh horrors will be unleashed if they do.

The weather will take a turn for the worse up north. The Victor’s Village is more at the center with a warmer and wetter climate, doesn’t get much snow if any like the southern villages where it’s never cold only in the mountains in the southwest. But the north was unpredictable, hot sun or blistering colds.

Bad weather means Jack can stay longer, means coffee for two and Laurie sandwiched between the two of them because his daddy is never home that long.

This time it means Campbell’s shit out of luck.

The wild hogs would eat him in the ruins between 2 and 10, Beetee would ensure the footage showing him coming here would be erased even if it wouldn’t be on the books either way. His lackeys would be blamed but they were so like him the world would be better with them dead too.

For extra measure the fence in 10 would be broken to allow the wild animals to come here and give them an alibi. The herd closest to them had gone as far as the river that began in 2 and ended in 11, who knows where the proof of his demise will end up.

All she has to do is to meet Jack in town, pretend nothing is going on and lead Campbell to the farm.

Except in the riot gear, Eva has no idea which faceless man is him.

This time she is not armed with her brass knuckles and steel toe boots; this time she carries a knife in her sleeve.

They were to meet near the cantina where the peacekeepers used to loiter around and now are forbidden from setting foot there. But they still went, in plain clothes and often just paying the prostitutes there for their usual services in the alley or the abandoned apartment next to it.

No matter how heavy Campbell’s boot is on their necks, life goes on.

Eva pays for a bottle of whiskey ---for Jack who prefers it--- drinks a shot of tequila for her nerves and finds not one, but two Peacekeepers tailing her when she leaves the bar.

One was Jack, one was Campbell’s lackey.

Only Jack would know where to meet her, so she weaves her way through the back alleys she knows better than them and reaches the meeting point only to be caught by the arm by one of them.

The Victor in her panic reveals the knife and places its edge in the only unarmored part of the uniform: the officer’s neck.

“You have no idea how that turns me on.” Jack’s all-too-familiar voice provides a dizzying sort of relief.

“It’s you.” The woman drops her knife with a relieved sight and rolled her eyes at her husband.

“Make sure you have your pills; I’m going to fuck you until the cows come home once this is over.” Jack enjoys games, the instinct of a born hunter combined with being a professional killer since his tweens somehow resulted in a man who likes chasing her around town with the intention of fucking as a reward. If they were to be put in an arena again, he’d probably find it as arousing as he finds being held at knifepoint by her.

“Your mother will be there, aren’t you worried she might hear us?” she asks handing him the bottle of whiskey she had intended to smash against his head had he been the other man.

“Not if we do it in the barn again.” He takes off his helmet, knowing her discomfort won’t end unless she can see his face and reveals that grin she could see the moment he opened his trap. “Are you ready for the fun part, doll?”

Atia Nelson was no stranger to waiting.

Whether it was waiting to finish her degree, waiting for the pregnancy test to come back positive and waiting twelve years to learn the names of her birth parents.

Atia Nelson was no blood relation to the Plinths nor Servilla’s sister, who adopted her after her biological children were disposed of by Strabo Plinth’s heir, Coriolanus Snow.

Something rather obvious given Servilla descends from the same ethnic group those in 10 do and Atia has hair as red as their district color. Something that disqualified her from the inheritance Snow was supposed to split with Strabo’s nephews by marriage and kept her alive after the uninvestigated deaths of Junius, Balbos and Attius.

Atia was born to a prostitute frequented by Peacekeepers both grunts and officers alike and because Pompeia couldn’t afford to raise any of the children she had, gave her up at birth.

She was the youngest, the last of many redhaired children whose fathers were unlisted in their birth certificates and appeared in the same orphanage in the main city. No one knows what happened to Pompeia after Atia was born and adopted by Selene Nelson and until Atia Nelson turned twelve years old, she didn’t even know her name.

Pompeia Ockerman had only an unmarked grave and a reputation. Her beauty had made her a sought-after commodity for the men recruited into Peacekeeper Corps and her poverty easy to exploit.

Atia’s father was an officer from an old family in the Capitol, and when Pompeia begged him to claim his own child, he left her in the dust because the law forbids capitol citizen to recognize a child or marry someone from the districts, so the line above father will always remain empty.

Castrum ‘Chester’ Campbell believed it was her whore mother’s blood that tainted Jack and resulted into becoming a petty criminal whe should have been culled before he was born.

‘But what was there to expect when his mother followed in Pompeia’s footsteps?’ he had sneered at her because children born from a Capitol citizen and a District citizen were seen as abominations to his ilk and every fuck up in her life seen as inevitable thanks to it.

As if being born from the so-called right stock didn’t make Campbell anything less than a monster.

And just like the men who exploited Pompeia because they could, he convinced her the only way her boy could have his charges dropped was if she submitted to him.

She never told her children, not even her mother and her then girlfriend. But Jack had seen the bruises, seen the fear in her eyes and the night before his reaping he promised no one would ever hurt them again.

And now Atia Nelson waits for Chester Campbell to come into the farmhouse expecting to lay a trap for her son.

He comes alone, a mistake on his part. After all, this was just to provide the proof for the crime and take the glory for himself.

“Been long time, hasn’t it?” Atia smiles and bids him to join her for tea.

“Fifteen years and now the defect has bred a different sort of abomination. Must run in his blood.” He sits, the gun inside his coat loaded and within reach knowing she isn’t easy prey. Not like last time. “The boy will die on his twelfth year just like your other grandchild did.”

He drinks the tea, a sleeping tea Eva brewed strong enough to put him under and leave him to die near dried up river between their districts. It would taste the same as any of her homebrewed teas and so he drinks the magnolia tea not knowing Atia has crushed a sedative in it just for him.

The sedative lasts about eight hours, she’s used them since that night Campbell raped her and after the Games took Jack's peace of mind, her Laurie and sweet little Gina from her, she hasn’t stopped. Now they serve a better use than easing her mind enough to let her sleep.

“Dear me, I think I made it too strong for you, didn’t I?” the redhead pretends this is a social call as her companion slumps to the floor as it all kicks in. Campbell can’t even reach for the gun or the communicator to alert his men. Not that it would have worked anyways. Atia has waited fifteen years to kill this bastard.

By the time her son and his wife arrive, he’s been tied and bundled up in the state-issued fabric used for Peacekeeper’s tents.

“You missed all the fun, kids.” She smiles as she makes sure the bastard is wrapped tight enough for the wild animals that will feast on him until he dies. The reports on the wild hogs say they ate a man in less than ten minutes, Atia hopes they take their sweet time with the good major.

It’s dawn when they return from their trip to the dried up river and the three of them share the whiskey on the porch as Chester Campbell exits the stage forever.

Atia knows the ones to face punishment for this will be Jack and Eva. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the Quarter Quell’s twist will be.

“13 has control of a hovercraft in 2, when the games happen, I will make sure Laurie and the rest of the family are on it or I won’t let it leave the Mountain.” Because she will kill Plutarch Heavensbee herself if they aren’t on that plane.