#first time using vine charcoal how did i do that

[kohihari-art]

skull study for class

[thedragonagelesbian]

@isayashai replied to your post “I should write smthing......”:

kyr x sosiel sketching/painting fic 👁 ? cyrus x halsin cuddles? 👀

​wahhhhhhhhhhhh thank you <33333 yes much to consider.. it's not a full fic, but you inspired me to write a lil something for kyr & sosiel!!

Wrong. And wrong again. Paper crumpled, charcoal smudged, one hand heavy and aching, the other still a fist wrapped around the ghost of Graham's collar, both trembling in the wick-thin light of the guttering candle.

Another sketch. Another scowl. Tore the page from his sketchbook, tossed it aside, and tried again.

Grapes on the vine turned to strips of whipped, peeling skin.

"Sosiel..." Eyes like his own that he could not recognize no matter how many times he drew them, dredging warmth up from the recesses of his memories only for it to turn cold at the tips of his fingers. Again, again, again, he had to get it right-- "Sosiel."

Kyr's voice was sharper the second time, but it was his hands that broke Sosiel from his stupor, palms cool against the fever pitch of his cheeks. Sosiel blinked, and suddenly he was in the study again. In his body. Sore from base of his skull to his knuckles to the pit of his empty stomach, stiff even in his thoughts as he looked up at the Knight Commander.

"What is all this?"

Sosiel realized for the first time that he had destroyed half his sketchbook in one sitting, desk and floor alike littered with his failed attempts.

He shuddered.

"A foolish endeavor, nothing more."

Kyr glanced down at the last thing Sosiel had drawn: a man whose smile had become a snarl despite his every effort.

"Your brother?"

"Trever..." Sosiel couldn't say his name in anything other than a whisper, the kind of frightened prayer that came at the end of the world. "A-as best I can remember him, but I can't... I see him so clearly in my mind's eye, as the good, kind man I knew him to be, and yet every time I try to draw him, the image is distorted. As if my hand knows that it is a lie. And now when I try to think of him, it all blurs together. Everything that the Hellknight told us, all that vile cruelty taints my memories."

He spoke faster and faster, as if trying to catch up to that memory of Trever before it slipped from his fingers entirely, words and images spilling.

"If I forget him now," tears bleeding together, suddenly slow, "the only thing left will be a monster."

And Kyr. Aeon. Judge. A dhampir fit for hating other monsters. Would do his duty if they found him.

And would that not be justice?

"It will not be the only thing." There was something in Kyr's voice. A slight, hesitant quiver against his usual dry deliberation. "Remember what Halaseliax told us: as long as someone is alive, they can still change. Trever still has that. Will always have that. The possibility for redemption."

Whatever Sosiel had been expecting Kyr to say to comfort him--perhaps nothing at all, perhaps his wounds were not worth tending, made to be borne alone--it was not that.

Not after Kyr had warred with himself so bitterly just to let one cultist leave Terendelev's lair.

Sosiel looked up at him through watery eyes. "Do you really believe that?"

Surely you of all people must believe that we can all change for the better.

I have not changed.

"Yes." Kyr's thumb traced the tears along Sosiel's cheekbone. "I am trying to. Believe. In this, in second chances and salvation and choosing to be better. We will give Trever that chance when we find him."

These sketches--messy, brutal, unforgiving toward subject and artist alike--had made for poor worship of Shelyn. As, it seemed, did most of Sosiel's drawings these days, dwelling on the mutated flesh of Areelu's lab and the Ivory Sanctum. Whatever faith he still nurtured, a seedling of beauty tucked away, preserved but hidden, it flourished now. Not as any fruit or flower, something that would inevitably spoil and rot, but evergreen, pine needles all the more beautiful for the snow their boughs supported.

"Thank you..." Sosiel's voice broke with his body, unable to sit upright any longer. He crushed himself against Kyr instead, too feverish for his usual worries about impropriety. Instinctive, safe, hopeful as he nuzzled the other man's chest. Listened to that death-slow pulse beneath his shuddering. "Thank you, thank you."

It took a moment--it always did--but Kyr wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. "You're welcome."

[powdermelonkeg]

Symphonies of Time

This is a continuation. You can find the first part, Secrets in the Breeze, here, and the second, Where the Wind Doesn’t Blow, here.

Small breakers indicate swapping worlds. Big breakers indicate timeskips.

I’ll make better breakers soon.

I also included a few music cues! I don’t know if it’s something I’m ever going to repeat; I kind of just felt like it, but it was fun. Click on the music note when you see it!

Sky gripped the Master Sword’s hilt tight, his knuckles white as he spoke to the younger hero. “Look around. What do you see?”

There was a pause. “...The sky is dark. Everything around me is bluish.”

“More specific. Items, patterns, things moving.”

Another pause. “There’s a circle beneath my feet. It’s like the one I stabbed with the Master Sword.”

Sky gave a sigh of relief. That was all the confirmation he needed. “Good. Stay in that circle for now; as long as you’re in there, the realm won’t wake up.”

“...Sky? I’m sorry.”

The hero’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Wind repeated, hugging his knees. He grit his teeth, fighting to keep from crying. “I took the Master Sword from your stuff, I played that song when I shouldn’t have, I broke the tablet—that wasn’t mine.” He felt the lump rise in his throat. “If I don’t make it out of here—”

“Woah, hey, calm down,” Sky said gently. “You’re not going to die, okay? I’m right here.”

“But...the Phantoms—”

“They won’t hurt you. They’re agents of the Goddess—they’re just trying to protect what she made,” Sky replied. “The worst they can do to you is send you back where you started.”

The spoke softly, doing everything he could to be comforting in the terrifying situation. It was a technique Wind himself had used with Joel and Zill back on Outset. And yet, even still, he found it reassuring to know there was someone more experienced guiding him through this. But, still...

“Do you forgive me?”

“Of course I do.” Sky didn’t hesitate to answer, speaking firmly and sincerely. “I know how the Master Sword calls more than anyone; if she didn’t want you to take her, she wouldn’t have let you.” He gave a soft sigh. “We’re all just glad you’re not hurt, and we want you to come back to the Realm of Sound.”

“...Okay.” Furiously scrubbing at his eyes, Wind fought for his composure, taking a deep breath as he slowly stood up. Time to be a hero and face the new challenge. “How do I get back?”

♪

“Look around you. Do you see any guardians?”

Wind looked around the clearing, alert for silver glints of armor. “...Two.” He frowned. “No, three. There’s a light through the trees.”

“That’s a Watcher. If you need to go near them, you need to be very quiet and sneaky; they can only see what falls into the light underneath them, but if they catch you, they’ll wake the guardians up.”

Wind gulped. Worse than Forsaken Fortress... “Okay,” he replied.

“Now, there should be something colorful and glowing in the clearing. The Goddess never places one too far from the start.”

This one took Wind a moment to spot. Everything around him was gray, but...He spotted something among the dull colors, tucked behind a tree. “I see something pinkish!”

“Pinkish? ...Okay. When I count to three, I want you to run out of the circle as fast as you can and grab it. If it is what I think it is, it’ll put the Guardians right back to sleep.”

Wind frowned. “And if it’s not?”

“Then I want you to book it back to the circle. We can try a different direction.”

The colorful sparkle behind the tree called to him, almost as much as fear did from the direction of the Silent Guardians.

“Okay,” he said decisively, eyes narrowing as he braced himself for a sprint. “I’m ready.”

“Three...Two...”

“...One.”

The instant Wind left the circle, Wild saw his ghostly form materialize in a teal shimmer. He watched with wide eyes as the younger hero darted through the clearing, ducking behind a tree and snatching something up, holding it in the air with a pink flash.

“I got it!”

Sky side-eyed Wild, watching him track Wind’s movement with interest. “Did the sky turn back to blue?”

“Yeah, it—” he paused.

Sky’s ears perked. “Kid?”

“...There’s a flower. On my arm.”

Wind stared at the blossom as it unfurled, the petals spiraling out on the back of his hand as a vine spun itself around his arm. A pinkish-orange light illuminated one of the many buds along its stem, and one of the petals slowly started to turn brown.

“That’s your spirit vessel.”

“What’s that?” he asked, poking the glowing bud cautiously.

“It’s how the Goddess tracks your progress and time. One of the flower petals should be darkening.”

“It is. Should I be worried?”

“No, it’s supposed to do that,” Sky replied. “As long as that flower’s intact and you don’t walk into any Watchers’ lights, the Guardians will stay put. There should be buds along the stem of it.”

“There are. One of them’s lit.”

“Good. Count them for me.”

Wind took a moment, twisting his arm to count the little glassy bubbles. “...9, I think.”

Sky sighed in relief. “Oh, good. It’s a short one.”

“I have to find eight more of those? In the Lost Woods?”

Sky blinked. “...The what?”

“Like the others talked about—the forest tries to spin you around and put you back where you started. It did that with me when I was being chased.”

Sky frowned, then turned to the others. “...Do you guys know what he means by ‘Lost Woods?’”

Half the party present looked at him like he was crazy. Sky narrowed his eyes. “It’s important. I need an expert.”

“I’m an expert,” Time said, raising a hand. “I grew up right next to the Lost Woods. They’re a pain to navigate.” He glanced over at Wild. “...I think we need to strategize.”

Wild looked back, eyes wide. “...We?”

Wild held his torch carefully as Time scribbled down on a map, his eyes trained on Wind’s transparent figure. It was already night time again; Wind had failed the trial more times than he could count. If Wild had to guess, the “lower number” Sky had talked about when explaining the Spirit Vessel was only a small mercy from the Goddesses to account for the sheer confusion that was the Lost Woods.

Wind scaled a tree, then jumped down, rapidly fading pink light in his hand. He turned in the direction he thought his companions must be and gave a thumbs up, unintentionally showing them his shoulder instead. Wild held back a snicker—if the situation weren’t so nerve-wracking, it would almost be funny.

“The kid says he found another one,” Legend’s voice came through the Sheikah Slate, jolting Wild out of his thoughts as he fumbled the torch. “Can you confirm?”

Time caught the torch before it could fall. “Give us a second.” He raised his eyebrows at Wild expectantly.

The blue-clad hero caught his breath and pulled the slate off his belt, coming face to face with Legend’s eye. Wind’s Gossip Stone needs a volume slider... “I can confirm. It was in a tree.”

“Great. That should be all 9. How’s the map?”

“It’s good.” Time peered over Wild’s shoulder. “I’ve marked all the Guardians he’s come across and all the borders the woods has.”

“Then we’re ready for the final run?”

Wild glanced up, watching Wind count on his fingers and no doubt doing his own calculations. “We’re ready. Tell Sky.”

“Got it.”

Wind’s ears perked as he listened to Sky tell him the plan. He lit up, jumping for joy as he realized it was going to finally be over, then waved for Wild and Time to follow as he raced off in a random direction.

Wild sighed in relief. “Tell Sky to tell Wind to wait for us at the gate.”

“Will do. Signing off.” Click.

Time looked over the map critically as the others crowded around him, rubbing his chin.

9 tears, 14 guardians, 6 watchers. 9 minutes of time to spare between each tear, provided Wind wasn’t caught.

His eyes followed possible routes, running the times in his head. This was just like his adventure with Cojiro back in his own time; the amount of times he’d failed to deliver a bottle of eyedrops in time and had to go get another dose had made him an expert at routing.

“...Alright.” He finally said, after a long period of mental puzzle solving. He pulled a charcoal stick from his belt and started drawing the route. “The first tear is the easiest to get; from there, he’ll need to go northeast and grab the one in the lotus pond. There should be enough time to wait out Watchers.”

The others listened intently as Time explained the plan to its completion. “From the last tear here—” He tapped a circle on the map. “—he can just walk off to the right and be warped back to the clearing here. There’s no watchers on that edge of it, so it should be an easy run back to the circle.” He pointed at Wild. “You can see him, so you’re going to run the route with him. Whenever he grabs a tear, tell us through the Gossip Stone where he needs to go next, and how many Guardians are marked.”

Wild saluted. “Yes, sir.”

He pointed the stick at Sky. “Sky, keep the kid up to date as much as you can. He needs accurate information as fast as possible.”

Sky nodded, fierce with determination. “Understood.”

“Great. Let’s do it.”

Wind snatched up his seventh tear. “Got it!”

“Great! Just two to go. Turn left—the next one is the one inside the crack in the ground.”

“Alright. Going left.” He gave Wild an invisible thumbs up, then jogged off after the tear.

After this was all over, he was going to ask the older hero how that spirit vision of his worked.

“There’s a pair of Watchers up ahead, so be careful.”

♪

Wind’s ears twitched as he heard the telltale bell sounds of the Watchers, and his eyes narrowed. Stealthily, he snuck his way through the forest, pressing his back up against the tree trunks one by one, face scrunched up in concentration.

He was so close. There was no way he was going to fail, not this time. He wanted out of here.

A light passed over his location, and he froze, the watcher’s lamplight bleeding through the branches. Wind held his breath in anticipation. Don’t move. Don’t move. They can’t see you.

...A moment passed, and the Watcher departed, returning to its route. It was all Wind could do not to collapse with relief then and there, but he had a job to do. Slowly, he crept towards the fissure in the forest floor, the pink light of the tear seeping through the leaves. He knelt down and reached his arm in, snatching it and booking it back to his post, just in time to avoid the return of the two Watchers.

He peered around the corner, watching them move, his heart pounding in his chest. Their lights overlapped directly on the crack, and they both paused.

Wind swallowed. Did they notice the tear was gone?

After a moment of eerie silence, the watchers looked at each other, then turned around and departed in opposite directions, resuming their patrol. Guarding the tear was not their job, catching intruders was.

With a sigh of relief, Wind gave a thumbs up to Wild. “I got it,” he whispered, voice cracking in stress. “Which way now?”

“Go right. The last one’s under a rock, it has a Sky Guardian in the tree above it. As long as you get there in time, you’re home free.”

“Okay.” Carefully, he made his way away from the Watchers’ patrol routes, then broke into a run. Freedom was so close, he could taste it.

The rock came into view, pink light seeping out from under it, and the cloaked guardian hovering menacingly above it. Gritting his teeth with courage, Wind charged forward with a shout and shoved the rock, practically falling onto the tear.

The flower on his hand shone, the pink light leaving the little glass buds and flooding it with energy. Wind gasped happily, leaping to his feet. “I got it!!!” He exclaimed. “That’s all of them, I’m done!!!”

“Great! Come on back, let’s get you out of there!”

Wind beamed, heading for the woods��� edge to warp back home.

And then...it began to rain.

When the first drop hit Sky’s head, he froze, looking up at the cloudy heavens with a look of sheer terror on his face.

When the second hit, he panicked.

“Kid!” He exclaimed “Get shelter, right now!”

“What? Why?! I’m coming back!”

“It’s raining!”

“So?”

“Water and the Silent Realm don’t mix. If even a drop of that touches you—”

♪

“—the guardians are going to wake up.”

The words hadn’t even fully left the hero’s mouth when a shiny, metallic drop hit Wind’s arm.

As he watched, horrified, the glowing flower on his arm shriveled away into nothing, and orange flooded the Silent Realm.

“Kid? Kid, answer me, did any of it touch you?”

The Sky Guardian behind him drew its blades.

“YES!” Wind shouted, taking off into the forest as fast as he could. He just had to get lost, he just had to get lost, he couldn’t lose this now!!!

The mist faded in around him, and the clearing came into view with an eerie light. Wind raced past the two Earth Guardians, his lungs screaming at him for air as the swing of a massive club just barely missed his shoulder, and dove into the circle—

Wind awoke with a gasp, eyes wide, bolting to his feet and ready to take off like a wild rabbit.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay!” Warriors grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. “You’re alright! You’re safe.”

Wind stared at him, then sat down with a heavy thud. “I...” He looked at his arm.

His skin no longer shone silver, the flower gone. The chirping of crickets and gentle patter of rain filled the silence that had only been occupied by Watchers and his voice for the past day.

It was over.

He’d won.

Wind collapsed back onto the ground, staring up at the sky as the other heroes approached with a hot meal and blankets. “...It’s over.” He finally breathed, relieved. “It’s done. I made it.”

“You sure did.” Warriors offered a hand and a smile. “Proud of you, kiddo.”

Wind glanced at him, then at his hand, before taking a deep breath and grabbing it.

“It’s good to be back.”

Wild slurped up the hot soup happily, bundled up in a blue scarf and furry hood, and glad to finally have something in his stomach.

“I don’t get it” Sky frowned. “The flower should have turned into an item as soon as you went back to the Gate, not sent you back immediately. The Goddesses wouldn’t make a trial for nothing.”

“Wouldn’t they?” Time asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sky’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said. “They wouldn’t.”

Hyrule put up his hand quickly. “Maybe you did something different?”

“There isn’t exactly much to do different.” Sky crossed his arms, thinking. “When I went into the Silent Realm, I played the harp to summon the gate, then knelt and stabbed the Master Sword into it. When I came back, I just drew it and went on my way.”

At the last sentence, everyone turned their eyes to the purple-hilted sword.

It still sat, resting in the gate.

Waiting.

Wind stared at it for a long moment, then looked at the others. “...I...should probably go get that.”

Four put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure? One of us can.”

“I’m sure.” Wind puffed up his chest. “Whatever it does, I can take it. Nothing’s worse than the Silent Realm.”

Time looked over at Wind with worry, the fears from that morning returning full force.

“Hey.”

He turned, coming face to face with the hero of Twilight. “He can take it,” Twi said. “He’s drawn that sword before.”

...He has, hasn’t he? Time sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Despite everything...he wished he knew what that sword could do consistently.

Why had it singled him out?

He shook his head, tossing the thought away. A question for later. He turned towards the camp. “Hey.”

Wind looked over, eyes wide.

Time offered a small smile. “Finish dinner, then let’s see if this trial of yours was worth the effort.”

♪

Wind stood in front of the Master Sword, the same as he had all those years ago, in the basement of the submerged Hyrule Castle. Squaring up, he grasped the hilt of the sacred blade firmly, bracing himself against the ground as he drew it from its pedestal.

The Silent Realm Gate withdrew into itself as the sword left it, the blade itself glowing with heavenly light. Wind pointed the blade skyward, determination in his eyes, then raised it above his head, its might not lost on the young hero.

Wind took a deep breath, then smiled, swinging the blade twice then performing a spin attack, then sheathing it with a flourish.

The Chain clapped in approval, and he bowed, then turned and offered the Master Sword back to Sky. “Here you go,” Wind said, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “I think I’ve had enough of that sword for a little bit.”

Sky chuckled, taking the blade back and slinging it onto his back where it belonged. “Next time the sword calls to you, tell me.” He ruffled Wind’s hair. “I’ll help you figure out what’s going on before you get stranded in another realm.”

A sharp crack startled the heroes out of their exchange, and everyone turned to look at what was left of the stone pedestal.

The rock split in two, its purpose served. It dissolved into dust like the tablet before it, revealing yet another stone artifact to follow. Immediately, Legend snatched it up for examination. “...Hm.” He rapped his knuckles against it. “This has some strong magic in it,” he said, “but I can’t tell exactly what. It feels almost like song magic, but...” He offered it to Wind. “Any ideas?”

Wind hesitated, worried for a moment, then took the tablet and flipped it over to study it. He shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen this before.”

Just then, Four’s ears perked. “Kid, does your baton normally do that?”

“Huh?” He looked down at his belt.

The Wind Waker sparkled, begging for attention. Wind frowned. “No...Hold this for me,” he said, handing the tablet off to Hyrule and pulling out the magic artifact.

No sooner had he done so than the new tablet lit up, markings like before appearing on its surface.

Wind looked up, then stared in shock. “Eight notes?”

“That’s new?” Hyrule asked.

He nodded quickly. “I’ve never conducted any higher than 6/4 time!” He looked up at Time. “...Can I...?”

Time hesitated. Following destiny’s call wasn’t the safest move, and they’d nearly had a close call with this whole Silent Realm business. And yet...he knew meddling with the Goddess’ plans was a surefire way to incur disaster. He’d learned that the hard way.

Reluctantly, he nodded. “Go ahead. Just be careful.”

Wind lit up excitedly, then drew himself up to conduct, playing the notes as directed. Everyone watched with baited breath, waiting for whatever the Goddesses could possibly give them next.

...Nothing.

Wind frowned. “Come on, that’s not right. You’ve gotta do something for all that work.” He tried again, attempting to time it better. “Maybe it’s just a repeated 4/4...”

As Legend watched the conductor’s attempts, he squinted. He recognized it, he was sure of it, but...

He snapped his fingers, eyes wide, then quickly grabbed Sky’s bag and fished out the Skyloftian’s golden lyre.

“Wh- HEY!”

“I’m borrowing it.” He shoved the bag back into Sky’s arms, then stepped in front of Wind. “Kid. Conduct me.”

“What?”

“Conduct me.” He held the Goddess Harp to his shoulder, fingers on the strings. “I know that song, but I don’t know what it does. I want to find out.”

Wind’s eyes widened. With a nod, he held his baton up, then began to conduct. Legend watched his movements closely as he played, the tune matching his memory exactly.

It was...almost scary.

♪

It didn’t take more than a second for the melody to click into place; he’d only heard it once, but you don’t exactly forget a meeting with the Oracle of Ages easily. As he played, blue flecks of light shimmered at his fingers and the Wind Waker’s tip, the etherial music filling the air.

The rain froze, water droplets suspended midair all around the heroes, as time itself ground to a stop. A cerulean glow pulled itself through the newly made prisms, filling the air with rays made of sapphires. They wove themselves together in a net, then spun, before shattering to bits at the song’s conclusion.

The fragments rebuilt themselves into a blue archway appeared before them, a dark vortex of midnight blue spinning into nothingness.

The Chain looked at each other in shock.

They recognized this.

Even if it was different.

You learned Nayru's Requiem! The power of the Oracle of Ages fills the Wind Waker; you can now travel through time at will.

[insomnishnik]

pairing : obsessive! dom eren x god complex reader *wink* *wonk*

rating : smut, 18+, fluff, crack (?)

wc : 53k

cw : degradation, choking, semi public sex, art student! eren, cockwarming, pussy spanking, mention of bruises and injuries, breeding kink ish, obsessive behavior, stalking, borderline yandere 😁 also pliz I'm new so if this bad lemme know

summary : at the very end of graduation, it's time to say goodbye, college is over, now off to the real world. But before the farewell, you as the student president arrange the one last time after party as a sweet goodbye message, little do you know eren have other plan.

“DO WE HAVE TO?” you murmured as Hitch pushed your back while both of stepping inside of a coffee shop. Fragrance of coffee bean, vanilla air freshener wafted to your nose, the comforting wooden minimalist arabica design greeted your eyes for its pleasing aesthetic scenery.

"Yes, we have to i mean how bad could it be?" she grinned, pulling your arm to her clutches while both of you scoured inside, "besides, the past must stay as the past, it was just a silly president election it's not like he would hold grudges against you for getting elected," she continued, referring to the big college event far ago before the senior year. 

That one time when you and Eren Jaeger applied to be the student council president, and like how history spoke, the winner rejoiced, and nobody really care about what happens next to the loser. It was a though fight, you were quite determined to take that core position with your persona, you believed that you could bring greater goods for the community, and you DID do good, but Eren fought back passionately, and you remembered you could see fire in his eyes during his speech at the debate election, he may not smart but he's clever, maybe a little aggressive but hell does he moved so many people's heart, you remembered when he was standing tall and brave on that podium while his sea green eyes glued the room together, the intimacy that is fiery and optimistic, but as the whole world know destiny said otherwise, without your own anticipation 

you won. 

And since then your reign begun. You rule well, you made plenty achievements as student president and you never been so proud of yourself, since then you never lose your dedication for your people, and the feel of being a victor, and oh how you loved the feel of being powerful. 

You and Hitch walked upstairs to the second loft of the coffee shop after you both ordered the drinks you wanted, "I dunno Hitch, i don't think that this is a good idea," you mumbled to the girl next to you, while you scratching the back of your ear, "when Armin said not to mess with Eren i think he meant it."

Sure you were delighted with your victory, but you still couldn't help yourself to feel bad for Eren, there's this strange tingle of guilt vine your stomach when you, the possessor approached your ex rival far a month ago, he gave you this bitter dirty look as you waved him a polite good morning, then he stormed off without a single word, you felt like he was prestige to look into your eyes since then. 

"And when i said he was a wuss, and a man child for going all off emo after that election i also meant it," Hitch rolled her eyes, she pat your back as a reassurance before you two finally found the person you've been looking for, almost unrecognizable from the last time you guys bumped to each other, for a moment your eyes widened to the now Eren Jaeger.

 There he was sitting all pretty at the smoking area, his hair was pulled onto a messy bun with a few loose strands on his nape, he was far more built than the boy you used to know, his bushy eyebrows looking furrowed to a sketchbook, the charcoal pencil he's holding dances on top of it. He was styled in a thin knitted black long sleeve top that hugged his muscular body tightly, army green cargo pants, and combat boots — you know, those kind of boots you wear to a rock concert just to kick someone — his rolled sleeves, revealing his veiny arms that covered with tattoos. His long legs is stretched to the chair next to him while he is leaning against the wall. 

Hitch glanced at you, she cackled noticing you googling at Eren, she pulled you by your wrist approaching the brunet, "you'll be fine," she snickered, while you could only let out a soft sigh, here goes nothing. 

Hitch signal her presence to Eren with a light cough, a small thud hit the surface of his sketchbook after he dropped his pencil. His gaze shifts to both of you who were standing by his side, he raised his left brow when his eyes met yours, you stared back at Eren and he outstared you blankly, "Jaeger," you hesitated. 

About time you finally came to me.

"Y/N," he replied, calling you by your first name. His expression never change, they're rather cold, unimpressed, he studied both of you, then back to you, he lift his chin up as he locked his eyes on you, "you brought a friend." Intruder, he finally said after a brief silence, Eren closed his sketchbook and then cracked his knuckles, Hitch pulled you, taking a seat in front of Eren. 

"Now let's skip the chit chat, because by the way Eren, you smells musty," Hitch waved her hand in front of her face, she's not wrong though, he smells like tobacco and axe body spray. Furthermore when Hitch explained the reasons of hers and yours arrival to Eren, his gaze never really left you, sometimes he would spare Hitch small glances and nods as confirmation of himself still listening, but his attention was on you. 

And you willingly stares back, you still couldn't read his expression, they're as calm as the morning blue sky, they're just so empty it sucks you in, maybe it's the blunt hatred and envy from him for your presidential position, or maybe it was something else, you even almost think that you two are basically eye fucking each other. 

You extended him the proposal and the selected material details to him, it's almost graduation, and you're running out of time to find someone who could make an exclusive design for the jackets you are planning to make as a gift for the after party event. The other councilor members and you also haven't decide the theme yet, it has to be perfect. Your last hope is Eren, the fine arts student all the girls in school droll over, even though his charisma was slightly dimmed after his loss at the election, he still got his charm, and you really prayed to Goddess Fortuna because you don't want to risk looking for someone else to customize this specific special item and just to get disappoint by the erratic result, at least when Eren agree to take the work, someone could watch over.

"No fucking way," Eren let out a smug chortled, "the president needs my help," he added in a sneering tone. Cute. 

"So you agree or not Eren," you try to suppress your nerve, and you really try not to punch his cocky face, the way he throw his head back a little so he gave you this kind of kubrick stare, gazing into your soul as if he wants to eat you alive, and just like they said, if looks could kill, you're probably be ripped apart by now. 

"What if i say no?" he continued, tapping his boot's toe on the wooden floor. 

"You'll waste your talent," you gift a thin smile that hides a very big urge to stab him repeatedly. 

Eren chuckled, he looked away towards the window before he lean forward to you, "What happen to the other art students, L/N? Did they finally acknowledge your overly perfectionist bossy self or what?" 

"And what about it?" you argued, leaning to his face, he wanted to humiliate you, he wanted you to get on your knees and beg, but you still have your dignity. 

"Uh, what is this," Hitch hesitated, "i am highly uncomfortable with the atmosphere we created in this room," what's with the eye fucking? Hitch thought, she felt like she's interrupting a really heated make out session but instead of kissing it was exchanging pure hatred, Hitch nudged you by your elbow, giving you a look. 

You gritted your teeth and pursed your lips together, leaning closer to Eren's face, "Alright, if this is about that stupid president election we had together grow up Eren! The world doesn't evolve in your stupid drama queen head, so please since i'm asking you nicely before i could fu-" You stopped your bust as a waitress came over with the drinks you ordered earlier, you glared angrily at Eren as you caught a tug of amused smirk at the corner of his lips, it was the fact that you desperately needs his help but still play all bitchy, he found it funny. 

Sure you have your dignity, and he is willing to destroy it just because he can.

After the waitress left, you tasted your fresh latte angrily, making Eren chuckled under his husky breath, while on the other side Hitch is silently witnessing the tense between you two. 

"Fine," Eren broke the silence after a few minutes since the waitress left, "i'll take the work." he sat up, you nodded and watched as that key necklace of his dangling out from his collar, and when your eyes laid on the toned chest that peaking under his shirt, you gulped your saliva and quickly looked away, "good, thank you for your understanding."

You clasps your hands together and you could hear Hitch's faint sigh of relief, "great so now i think we have our deal, you know Professor Levi's tea shop right? tomorrow we're doing a gathering, be there before 8, and if-" 

who says that i'm finished doll? Eren tug another smirk, "but with some condition."

⊱✿⊰

"For real? No party organizer available until next January?" you groaned in frustration, frantically flipping through pages of your journal, Hitch and Armin walks by your side to the long table area.

Chaos. 

Chaos everywhere, you feel like your head is going to explode, your blood boils, and there's this uncomfortable anxiety under your skin, crippling under you and devouring you slowly. You've been overworked yourself the entire night after your meeting with Eren, you were brainstorming for your graduation speech, activity recap, and of course other ornaments for the very last project you're having in your senior year, you cried for three hours while listening to montgomery ricky then cried again over the document you accidentally deleted. 

You're exhausted.

Mentally and physically, you woke up with puffy eyes and wrecked brain, but you knew that everything must go on, and no, you won't back down, everything has to be perfect, 

It has to be perfect. 

Hitch pouted as she watches you typing on your laptop, she snakes her arms around your waist and leaned her head against your shoulder, watching you making some kind of budget recap, "sweetie you should rest and lay down." She spoke with a soft smile. 

You pursed your lips together before you leaned your head on top of hers, not leaving your eyes from your laptop, "thanks Hitch, but i'm alright, i'll just finish this and i'll take a break for a bit." You just can't really trust anything without yourself being under control or watching over, you're afraid that everything would astray far from your definition of 'perfection,' this empire you've been building, and this is your last legacy the next generation will remember, and you wanted it to be remarkable. 

"No dumbass, the last catering service was too expensive and apparently our university was filled with cheapskates." argued a voice from across the room.

"Well we have no choice???" other voice argued back, "Or we can rely on your very bad cooking skill Kirstein, just pray nobody's gonna die from food poisoning." 

You huffed at the sight of Ymir and Jean who was sitting face to face on the floor, both are on their phone scrolling on google, you looked around and found Sasha, Marco and Connie, chatting across you, and you looked over to the three people next to you, your vice president Hitch, your treasurer Armin, and your secretary Mikasa. You couldn't help yourself but smiling at your team, they works so well. 

Then you frowned as your realized something, "Have Eren-" 

A short blonde girl with a tray of drinks and snacks entered the room, "Y'all snack time!" she called out with a large grin on her face.

Ymir's face lit up as she walked up to her girlfriend, Sasha sprinted towards Historia, going feral over food as usual. 

"Ugh finally," you chuckled to Jean's mumble. Soon, half of the room crowded the blonde girl, reaching for snacks and drinks, your eyes fixated as you slowly notice the presence of the familiar sea green eyes, you watches as Eren strolls inside of the meeting room, he yawned before he took a seat on Hitch's place, your frowned slightly, "excuse you?" 

"Excuse me?" he replied, plastering that damn cocky smile, he looked to you up and down, definitely mocking you under his degrading gaze, dammit y/n did you overworked yourself?

"Well have you look at yourself, President." he snickered, suddenly a sketch design laid in front of you, you shift your eyes to Eren, before you took the papers on your hands. Soft grazes of colored pencil and ink, the art was delicate yet firm, "what is this?" you asked dumbly to the design of two bomber jackets, each of the jackets has their own scrawled side notes of the color details, embroidery, and even fabric material.

"Both jacket will be make from satin, no argument, satin," Eren spoke, he pointed his polished finger nail to the design, "the girls will have the yellow one, the boys will take the red, it'll have our Uni symbol and our number," he explained, "should be ready as soon as possible," Eren watches you closely, waiting for you to say something. Part of him.....just wants you to react, just anything, just any reaction exclusively for him. 

You blinked slowly, wow. Honestly it's beautiful, looks like it was Harajuku style inspired, you can't wait to touch the final craft, you glanced at Eren, "thank you," you spoke finally, "it's really beautiful."

I'm glad you like it. "Of course it's beautiful, i made it," he replied with a smug face, he cracked his knuckles then tapped his fingers to the wooden table, "now now, what do we have here." 

It was part of Eren's condition. One, he wanted to be fully involved in the graduation ceremony prep and the after party. Two, most importantly nobody touch his creation while he have full control of it, you reluctantly gave him the responsiblity to handle the venue decoration and the theme, most of the people in your team weren't really pleased with that decision, but like you all have time to think? But after considering it, you felt like it would be good idea to have extra hands helping. 

Anything,

To reach the absolute perfection.

⊱✿⊰

"I'm so glad, that this is almost over, because i could not bear drinking another monster and espresso or i might get caffeine intoxication," you grinned as you earned chuckles through the dinner table, it was all paid off, and the grand event was right in front of your eyes, you could already imagine yourself standing on that podium, delivering your grand speech, high and god like.

But now, celebration first. 

The admiration looks from your team and the last year student council team — who decided to join for the gig — feeds your ego, there's Zeke, Nicolo, Reiner, Pieck and her girlfriend Yelena, Porco and Bertholdt. Your friends really look up to you, from the day you earned your position, they knew they could count on you. "Thank you, thank you for all of the hard works this season, i would never ask for a better team, you guys are the best that i could ever wished for," you grinned and picked up the can of beer from the table, everybody raises their drinks, and you looked at the edge of the table, where your graduated senior, Zeke Jaeger sitting down, giving you a proud look, he was a student president before you, "this is for everyone, our community has never been this great, because you all dedicated your hearts." As you cheers together, you looked around, something is missing, you can feel it, yet you can't find any solid answer for that feeling. 

It was a simple outdoor Korean barbecue party in your house's backyard, after all done, you wanted nothing but to treat your friends, because that's what they deserved for serving you right. It was returning favor, while waiting for the meat to be cook perfectly by your senior Nicolo, you sat besides Mikasa as you both chats, while Armin was next to her, busy with his phone. In the distance, chaotic guitar strums and jams from drunk Connie and Jean cracking the air together with everyone that hyping them up. You pressed your chin against Mikasa's shoulder while both of you giggling over a twitter thread. 

"Eren said he's coming over," Armin announced to both of you, he looked down to his phone and let out a heavy sigh. 

So that was the missing piece. 

"Why's the sigh?" you asked Armin.

Armin hesitated, he looked around everywhere that isn't you, he rubbed his hand through his undercut, it feels like watching someone having a very conflicted mind war with themself, he then finally impaled you with a mixed expression, "Y/N," he started, "i don't know how to say this but....." He glanced over at Mikasa, and you followed him. 

The dark haired girl rather gave him a surprised expression, a some kind of you did not! look. You exchanged the utterly confusion to both of them, Mikasa nodded slowly, "She needs to know, Armin." 

"I need to know what?" 

"What are you guys talking about?" you turned around and sees Eren standing right in front of you, bruised up and bleeding, his knuckles was fucked in a shade of dark red and purple, strands of hair falling in front of his face, Mikasa quickly stood up, "Eren did you—"

"Yes i did," he shot her a cold glare, you could see from the corner of your eyes that Zeke started to approaching, Eren's eyes then finally found Armin, who's looking scared and nervous more than ever, "tell me, what's the interesting story Armin?" his tone was striking and icy, under his husky voice, you could track hints of slurs because of alcohol. 

Armin went quiet, he gripped his knuckles, what is this? something must happened and you didn't know, and you hated that. You hated when things was out of your reach. "It's okay Eren, you should check your wounds, they look pretty bad," Armin swallowed, his words came out more threatening than he anticipated. 

"No, no, no, i wanted to know what you gonna say to Y/N," Eren moves closer to Armin, "you are not trying to tell her anything bad about me right?" 

They looked like they're ready to throw hands, but Zeke was already slips between them, holding the both boys's chests with his flat palms, "come on now guys, let's not." he hesitated.

"No, let's." Eren insisted, he slapped his brother's hand, you quickly pulled him down by his arm, he flinched when he felt your touch, Eren glance at you, and for a split second his eyes went soft, it was that soft that you felt nothing but pure affection from his sea green eyes, then something took over his body, he suddenly pulled you by your collar, lifting you up, moving your face closer to his.

His eyes were bloodshot, you squeezed his wrists while kicking your feet on the air, "you," he growled, his warm breath smells like alcohol, you blinked slowly, scanning Eren's animalistic glare, but there is no hate in his eyes, you found yourself trying to look for it but there it none, instead there's this raging desire, he looked at you like you were his prey, "Eren-" you choked, for the first time, you feel powerless.

"I hate you," he hissed, but all you could sense was lie, his mortal fingers squeezing you so deadly but you feel the comfort of it, the bizarrely embracing lust, and his existence blurs all the noises around you, just you and Eren Jaeger. "you took everything from you," he continued, "i woke up everyday wishing you dead." 

You knitted your eyebrows, and you feel your godly ichor rushes back through your veins, a disgusted smirk appeared on your face, belittling him for lying, "liar." 

Then huge arms pulled Eren from you, tackling him to the ground, Mikasa caught you before you hit the ground, Hitch stepped in front of you, shielding you from Eren who was struggling under Zeke, "Eren what the hell!" she shouted. Mikasa helped you up and pulled you close to her chest, "Y/N are you okay?" she sounded so scared, questions and assumptions popping in your head about what happens between Mikasa, Armin, and Eren. You looked up, finding Reiner helping Zeke restraining his own brother. You knew a minute ago that guy attacked you, but seeing Eren in that position just feels so wrong, you never thought you'll get drew by a guy like Eren Jaeger, but here you are finding yourself shoving aside your pride while approaching the two blonds. You put your hand on Zeke's shoulder, squeezing them gently, "it's okay," your delicate tone shocks him, "let him go Zeke." 

You could feel everyone giving you a jaw drop, but when all eyes on you, you find yourself only looking at Eren. 

After a tense moment, Zeke and Reiner finally let go of the brunet, you pulled Eren up then you put the tip of your fingers to his chin, examining his wounds, he scoffed and avoided your eyes, dropping his eyes to the ground. "Let's get that clean up," you mumbled and dragged him by his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Leaving everyone in a ambiguous silence. 

"Why are they leaving? the wagyu is ready."

You walked upstairs to your room, no words exchange both of you before you finally entered the bathroom with Eren, you let go of his hand, your heartbeat strangely skipping inside your chest, while you were searching for the medicine kit in the cabinet, when you finally turn around, you found Eren already sitting on the toilet seat, you kneeled down in front of him and you opened the medicine kit, you pulled a towel from the drawer and stood up, wetting it in the sink, "what happen?" you finally spoke. 

Eren let out a deep chuckle, he wiped his bloody nose with his thumb then wiped it off on his jeans, gross. "Why do you care," he asserted. 

You rolled your eyes and kneeled back in front of him, with dripping wet cloth on your right hand, "please you stormed on me, lifted me up and looked at me like you wanted fuck me against the table while also wanted to burn me alive at the same time." you gave him a judging look. You took his hands, and then slowly pressed the dampen cloth on his bloody knuckles, he didn't flinch, Eren remained silence while he watches you. You could feel his smirk while you were treating his wounds. "Have i told you how hideous you look tonight?" he asked quietly. 

"No, tell me." 

Eren then moved his left hand away from you, extending them, he caressed his thumb on your cheekbone, made you froze, his hand then traveled to your ear, it tugged your hair behind them, "i cannot." He whispered softly. 

You looked up, and put the now reddish cloth on the floor, you moved closer to the burnet in front of you, you intertwined your fingers with his once again, the tense on his shoulders visibly relax while his pupils widened to the presence of you, "now would you tell me what happen?" your voice sweetened, melodic in his ear, and it seems like he's lured enough by it. 

Eren huffed a chuckle, he looked down to both of your hands, "Had a fight with Pops," he shrugged, "took the anger on the wall." You moved closer to his face, close enough to smell the liquor in his breath. Eren stared at you, he never imagine he would have the blessing to be this close with you, he was always watching you from afar. Those interrogation towards Armin regarding you, questions after questions on your personal life, forcing Armin to dug deeper and helped Eren fulfilling his needs on you, he'd followed you after school, to your favorite coffee shop, your home so he'll know your address, to where ever he could reach you, man... he'll go after you to the edge of the world if that's where you're heading. 

"Do you still hate me?" you asked, and to be honest the question kind of scares you, because after these past few weeks of spending more time with Eren Jaeger, you finally caught in his fire, his flaming intimacy you thought was long gone, and you also surprises yourself for not getting pissed off by the feeling, because it makes you feel vulnerable. 

Eren grazes his thumb on your jaw as if you were made of glass, he kneeled down to the floor with you, so you both could be equal, no high ground. "The truth is my darling, i never was," he confirmed, "after you won that election it was my last straw because from the first time i laid my eyes on you, Love.... You have bewitched me body and soul," he's been watching over you from the distance and you still as pathetic as he could remember, maybe it's the way you stole glances at him, the way you would secretly checking him out but little did you know that he notices everything, he's been reading you like an open book without having to flip through every pages, because you already spread open for him, "you have became the very thing that is out of my reach, Love. And for i have fancy you, and you'll be mine not just in my mind but fully," and he is itching to taste you. His warmth envelopes you to a sense of safety, he trails his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you melt like a candle on fire. Right above you stand an entity greater than yourself, the essence of mystery that fold itself in front of you, and with the universe speak between you, everything is a clarity. 

And you, you don't get it, you thought it was all envy to the position you have, and for the first time, you crave something other than power, "Did you just quoted Pride and Prejudice for me, Jaeger?" you snakes your arms around his neck while his growing bulge strokes on your clothed cunt, the rough material of his jeans made your arousal grow thicker, "my, my, my i used to think that you were just a pretty face with zero common sense," you teased, nuzzling your nose against him. 

His husky chuckle vibrates against your skin, without warning he pushes you up against the wall and you immediately jumped onto his waist with your legs, you gasped as your back hit the cold surface, Eren kneading your butt cheeks as he was holding you up, his chest pressed on yours, warm breath mixes together, "ouch, did you just call me dumb?" you snickered, Eren tilts his head before he smirked, "maybe we could be equally dumb after i make you babble nonsense with my cock." His mouth devouring yours feverishly. Frantic gestures rid you and him of clothes on your body, while you helped Eren unbuckling his belt, his teeth grazes yours, tongues fighting for dominance with each other, he latched his lips onto yours, hungry for more taste, you started to sucking his bottom lip while Eren savor your taste, he pushes more for a deeper kiss, his hand fondling your clothed boob, then it slipped under them, as he found your stiffened nipple, you felt his smirk between your kiss, and a moan escaped from your lips, they're already swollen and you knew you needed air soon, but without your realizing, you already breath through his air through the kiss. 

You unhooked your bra while Eren pressed you harder against the wall, his cock was already free from his jeans and boxer, his beautiful tip was coated in precum, when you finally exposed your breasts in front of him, the animalistic side possessed him back, Eren kneads your breasts greedily causing you to mewl, shivers running down your spine, and you unconsciously grinds you drenched cunt against his waist, Eren cackled. 

"What a fucking whore, you looked like a cat in heat." 

You whined when his flat palm hit your cunt, he rubs the dampen clothed surface of your clit, Eren brought his mouth to your breast and started to circling his tongue on your nipple, making your back arched and you grinding to nothingness of his waist, "whore," he spat, a string of saliva bridge between your skin and his lips, "is this what you called a student president? i don't think so." Eren grip your throat and slowly adding pressure to your air circulation with his index finger and thumb, his other hand has been stroking his own cock for awhile, he uses his precum as lube and your eyes twinkled to the beautiful sight. 

Your lips parted, he let out a throaty groan to your ear just to tease you, "what if i just jack myself and leave you like this?" the menacing grin appeared on his face, your desperate look just pleased him even more, he groaned under his breath as he feeling himself twitching, and your drooling pussy just looking tastier than ever, Eren inhaled and faked a pout, "aw, what is it? don't you want to walk around with my cum dripping from your slutty hole aren't you? that is sinful my Love, won't it gonna stain your pride, Miss President?" 

You cursed under you breath, and another slap landed on your cunt, you threw your head back as Eren squeezed you against the wall, "nu uh, bad words," he growled, "what do you want, Y/N? Use your fucking mouth if you want something, did your parents never tell you?" another hard slap on your cunt made you gasp, you cried louder, and Eren shushed you while peppering kiss on your naked shoulder, "careful darling they might hear you from downstairs." 

He pecked your nose before he finally aims his cock to your entrance, stroking his tip to your dripping cunt, "what do you want, Y/N? say it." He repeated.

"Your cock!" you whimpered, "please pound me with your cock.... please Eren.. i just want it inside.."

He slammed into you, causing you to let out a sharp noise, "Oh, like this?" Eren felt your soft warm walls hugging him so tightly, as if you guys just fit so perfectly together, he held his hand on your tummy to prevent you from grinding your greedy self, letting your cunt clenching him by itself, "fuck you're so tight my Love," he groaned subtly. 

"E-eren please move..... i'm begging you...." you sobbed so pathetically. Eren moved his face close to yours and pinned your wrists above your head, "this will need an outcome don't you think?" he tilted his head, making you wept for his cock to move even more, suddenly an idea popped in his head, "I will move," he said, "i'll shoot my loads in you and then you'll be mine, i want you to want me so badly, i'm going to imprison you, and then.... just then...it'll be just you and me, always and forever," he dug his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent so they'll stay in his head, but he knew it won't, you're his own personal drug anyways, "promise, Darling?" Eren whispered against your skin.

You shivered under him, your eyes rolls at the back of your head, your pussy is aching with lust, so needy for his cock. You quickly nodded your head, "p-promise." 

Eren kissed your neck, sucking them briefly, leaving a visible mark on your soft skin, "good girl."

He pulled his cock from you, leaving just the tip, before then he impaled, filling you up with his length, he slide so easily onto your meat, your legs shivered as he endlessly pushed deeper inside you, and you could feel his tip kissed your cervix, Eren then started to moves at a quick pace, "you like that so much hm? taking my cock like a little slut," he said velvety, turning you on even more. He buried your moan into a deep kiss, his big arm scoot your hips close to him as he ramming his cock with no mercy onto your walls, his other hand still pinning your wrists, as if you're gonna escape from him. You started to rolling your hips on him, making him move more faster, you're both skin to skin, grinding onto each other desperately, "Eren....s'big...so deep..." you moaned. He continues to pound into you.

"Fuck, that's right baby say my name."

"Eren!"

After a minute he completely stopped, you opened your eyes and your face shows confusion, before you could ask any questions, he suddenly slams all of his length into you, causing you to yelp both in pain and pleasure, the lewd sound of skin slapping made you curl your toes, he pounding into you like there's no tomorrow, you threw your head back, your tongue lolling out from your lips, he slamming all his length in and out of you repeatedly until you're a shaking panting mess, an amused look plastered on his cocky face, and his hips didn't stop dipping on you, not letting you think straight or put up any fight, "come on, fucking take it like the cumslut you are."

You choked on your breath as the knot in your stomach getting tighter, "E-ren... hugs...hugs....?" you purred to him, he finally let go of your wrists and let your head fell against his shoulder, he increases his phase that you didn't know was possible, you warped your arms around him as he did to you, and you dragged your nails through his sweaty back, Eren started to whisper sweet nothings as he felt himself twitching, he slurred curses underneath his groaned, his veins popped as he gripped you tightly, his muscles flexes at each moves.

You didn't dare to question him when he said that he'll fill you up inside, because no matter what your answer is, he'll do it anyway. The sight of his hard rock abs and v lines sent you over the edge, “Eren i’m gonna cum—“

“cum with me, Darling.” 

You tasted the bitter tint in your tongue as you started seeing stars, you vision went black as Eren rides you to your orgasm while fluid started dripping down your thighs, your body is shaking uncontrollably, Eren let out a loud groan as he riding himself to his own high using your abused cunt, he shot his warm thick load onto your womb, making sure you take all of it, you buried your face on his neck, he slowly pulls out his cock and watches the white liquid oozing from your hole. Eren lifted up your chin, he cupped your cheek and pressed a soft kiss against your lips, mixing your pants together, “mine.” he moaned to your soft plump lips.

“yours."

⊱✿⊰

[thatphatoven]

At the Beginning

 Diluc x Fem! Reader; Anastasia inspired Au

The lost Princess of Fontaine, with vague memories, journeys back to her homeland with the darknight hero trying to discover her past.

Chapter one

AN; This series will set place when Diluc leaves the dawn winery after his dad's death. I apologize if the information is inaccurate or the characters are out of their personality. Also, I used google for translation for some French, so if anyone wants to correct me, feel free. 

Word Count; 2,488

Unedited 

Like a mystery, the night held infinite uncertainty. The blanket of stars provided the comfort of light to bystanders bustling in the streets. Boisterous waves of laughter mingled with the notes of the viola, while at the same time, the patter of feet dances amongst the cobbled pavement as constant jeers chant words of ambition.

A short and stout plump man clambers on the wooden bar table, raising his pint of beer. "Vive la Fontaine!" He bawls. The swarm of drunkards mimics his gesture, laughably heaving their beers. Everyone adores the late-night festivities of celebrations. Conspicuously for a certain Princesse. All classes of the hierarchy were divulging on her 10th birthday. The common folk paraded in the streets, as the aristocrats partake in the Château. One devotee perched away from the horde, gripping his pint considerably tight. Resentment filled this man to the brim. His eyebrows creased at the carefree atmosphere while his teeth clenched vigorously. His unsettlingly deep brown eyes leered at the ripples of his beer. The Tavener in duty glanced at him, wary of his movements. "Are you not enjoying the night, Monsieur?" he questioned. The cloaked man remained mute, desire to be alone with his brooding. Having enough of the repulsive atmosphere,  he pushed the tankard towards the barkeep while fishing out a couple of mora before slamming it against the hard surface.

The barkeep raised a brow at the mug, filled to the brim untouched. "What a waste," he thought, his pupils trailed on that particular individual crashing into other patrons, not until he reached the knob of the entry, but only to slam it vigorously. Not one person wavered at his little act but happily drank more to feeding their drunken state. Outside the Tavern, least people loiter around the city streets. Only the occasional hidden couple is kissing in a dim alleyway as some hasten their journey back to their cozy homes.

Fog swarm the night while the chilly air nipped his skin. In a straight line, rows of oil lamps lit up the murky mist. He begins his stride of pace out of the precinct, and after turning and turning, this section of the city became less active. Only sealed up windows and abandon property lived here. He was passing an unkempt park, with rust and weed growing on the deteriorating swing set. There assigned next to it was where the citizens worship their God. A once tall, beautiful structure is now a decaying building with the statues nation archon, sat in the middle of the courtyard as vines grew on the idol. The wind whistled loudly, fabricating a frightening aura to his personality. Trudging up the cathedral's steps, he swiftly entered the church, in the process of ramming the heavy entree.

Crash.

Shards of a porcelain marble bowl were scattered on the flooring. The heel of his leather shoe crunched against the broken pieces as he stationed himself in front of the altar. Pope Marquis Puissant. A once righteous man was loyal to Fontaine's  God, now castaway for betraying the regality and abandonment of faith. A wicked man, they call him. Instead of the common holy word of the Archon, he was preaching of Ursa the Drake. A draconic creature that wasn't a God. That dragon, though it held an intense amount of power, enrapturing his attention. The local faithful became weary of his sudden turn on his faith which his reputation took a turn. Fewer attended the mass and begged the crown to disown him as a Pope. It was a late Sunday morning when the priesthood strips his power as a Vicar. In a rage, he stormed the Palace ground. "You're all nothing but halfwits blinded by power!" pointing at each, and of them, he cursed words of unpleasantries. "You wait, like this poor country excuse of a God, justice will be served."

Ever since then, he took shelter in a deserted church. Where there in the middle of the stone tablet laid a delusion. The Tsaritsa must have pitted the vengeful man, even if he's not part of the fatui. He will gladly serve two Gods. Now on the night of the beloved nation princess, Marquis will commence his revenge scheme, starting on the birthday girl.

"Higher Papa!" a giggle of chortle escape the young girl's lips. The man twirling her oblige, raising her higher in the air to the beat of the ensemble's melody. The puffy maroon gown fitted around her petite body, while the style of her long white hair swayed with every movement. The (e/c) pierced her fathers, carrying mirth of cheekiness. Sitting on the throne mirrored with the same features of the Princess sat a kind queen, with soft eyes smiling at the ridiculous scene of her daughter's ambitions. "Look at my beautiful Granddaughter." grey-haired, tied in a tight bun with a crown, sat snugly on her head. The Grand-mère watched the ballroom flock in high spirit. However, it was the girl that danced with her Father that held all that energy. "Have the Ragnvindr's arrive yet?" she questioned, looking at her daughter. "Not that I'm aware of Mother, but you should stop inquiring for rare alcohol from Master Crepus." "It's not my fault that the family makes splendid wine" The elderly woman hid her smile behind her gloved hand. "Besides, it's the offspring I'm after," they watched (y/n) grinned at her son-in-law, ruffling the girl's hair. "A charming man, with a charming boy. Don't you agree?" The queen let out a sigh at her Mother's antics.

"Grand-mère!" a small cheer escape (y/n). Pulling the layers of cloth, she began to hurry to the pair leaving her Father on the dance floor. Spreading her arms, the elderly accepted her hug and began smothering with small kisses on her round cheeks; her granddaughter laughed. "Look at you, my little lumière. All grown up," she squished her cheeks together, holding tenderness behind her blue eyes. "Now that I'm ten, you're going to teach me how to play poker! Right?" Tiptoeing closer to her, she held the throne seat, giddy of the thought. Her Mother stared at the child and Grandmother in disbelief. Chuckling nervously, she patted her hair. "Maybe wait until you're coming of age." (Y/N) pouted at her answer, leaving her explanation unreasonable. "But I do have a little gift for you instead." Grabbing the tiny Princess's palm, placing a red leather ring box. In a rush, the child swiftly opened the present. A gasp emitted from her. "Oh, Grand-mère! It's beautiful!" (Y/N) cried. A simple golden chain sat in the cushion, with the same colored ore boldly gleaming in the middle. "Together in Fontaine," reading out loud as she deciphers the cursive writing.  The two grinned at each other as her Grandmother help put the necklace together around her. "When you wear this, think of an old woman who loves you very, very much." (Y/N) nodded at her words, directing her attention to the lockets words—hugging her once more.

"Your majesty," a rich and velvety tone interrupts the tranquility. "Master Crepus," the aging regal announced. A tall, aristocratic gentleman with charm greeted the family. His attire consisted of a simple charcoal black two-piece suit, and the tie he was sporting matched his fiery red hair. A handsome man he was. "Finally declaring your arrival, it seems." she teased. (Y/N) gape at the lord, intimidated by his scarlet hooded eyes. "Apologies, I was struggling to convince my son to attend the party." Crepus sighed. "Is this the boy you took in? Kaeya was it?" The ensemble's melody began a new tune as she glanced at her associate.

“attentive as ever, your majesty." The older woman smirk at his reply, "when you reached a certain age, you recall every little detail." He let out a deep laugh only after he shakes his head. "Diluc was the one who managed to drag him." "Ah, the little Crepus did it?" "Indeed, he promised that he wouldn't abandon him during the party."  Their eyes trailed over to a smaller version of the man, who was currently dragging a bashful blue-haired boy across the room. "That little ball of light does have his ways."

(Y/N) fidget on her spot, feeling increasingly uninterested in the adult's discussions. Aware of her actions, Crepus near the girl and kneeled. "Happy Birthday, your highness." Only to pass his present for her. She lightened up at the gift and hugged it."Thank you, my lord." she smiled at his action while showing a missing tooth in the middle of her teeth. "You must be bored just listening to us old people talk," he spoke. Standing straight, he called to the pair of boys. The bubbly red-haired boy was the first to respond, pulling his brother behind him. The Grand-mère scanned Crepus prized possessions; the boy replenish with enthusiasm did take after his Father. The same color hair, all down to his features. While his adopted brother next to him possessed blue hair and sapphire eyes. Though it was the eyepatch that caught her attention, she raised a brow but didn't question. It was like comparing them to the sun and moon.

"Your highness," The boy greeted as his brother mimic his actions muttering the same sentence. "This is Diluc and Kaeya" Crepus put both of his hands on both children's shoulders. (Y/N) looked at them with awe; she has never come across with blazing hot and cold calm hair.  She ponders wanting those colors rather than her dull white hair. "It is an honor to be in your presence," Diluc address. "My, what a sophisticated son you raised." The women applaud. "That's Diluc for you." The group laughs at the small tease. The bold child reached the girl and stared. Uneasy, she dug her hands into the gown, afraid to look at Diluc. "You have pretty eyes," he said, still gazing. (Y/N) blushed at his compliment. "I like you and your brother's hair!" she returned—Kaeya observes behind his adoptive Father's legs, envious of his brother's daring personality. As the two new friends converse, he felt the older man nudge him towards the pair. "Don't be shy now, Kaeya."

As Kaeya approach the Princess and his brother, the girl let out a gasp. "Your eyes have stars!" she inspected closer, now flusters with her bold move. She kept rambling on waves of compliments towards Kaeya. Diluc giggled at the discomposed Kaeya and band in with more teasing. The child lifts his dark hands in defense, trying to calm them. Maybe it was better to stay back at the lodge.

"What's under your eyepatch?"

Kaeya stiffens at her direct question. All of a sudden, the air thickens, and the ambiance of unsettlement quickly replaces the mood. "(Y/N)," her grandmother warns. At once, she felt guilty at her grandmother's tone and the dismal Kaeya. "It's nothing," he whispers. The reflection of his face that the marble flooring held became more interesting. "I'm sorry." tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She feverishly struggles to hold back the tears, surprising the two boys. "Ah, Princess, don't cry," Diluc reassures, hastily stop her tears with his tie. "But I made him sad! What PrincessPrincess does that to her people!!" Shutting her vision, and her gloves gripped tightly, feeling the harsh material. Diluc looked at both disheartened children; at that moment, he suddenly felt restless. "It's alright, Kaeya doesn't mind that question, right?" looking at his brother for support, he nodded at his words. Then softly smiling at her. 

"Don't worry," he whispered.

The girl gape at him then mirrored his smile. Childish laughter once again replaces their sadness. "Princess, even though we live in another nation, the Ragnvindr's will always aid you," Crepus informed. "Yes! Kaeya and I will be your royal knights when you visit Mondstadt." Diluc hooked his arm under Kaeya while puffing his chest proudly. (Y/N) clapped her hands at his proclamation, "But Diluc were not knights yet." his older brother stiffen. "Maybe wait in five years."

The night crowd with freedom. Not one complained or did the fun died down. The triplex of kids, hanging around each other, and befit on being close friends. This night was the most fun the little Princess had as she watches Diluc tease Kaeya again. However, the night holds infinite uncertainty.

An instant gasp and the shatter of a wine glass caused a halt in the ballroom. The music ceased as a gust of wind expelled the chandelier candles. The cloaked man sauntered his way past the frightened crowd, clapping his hand in slow motion. He let out a deep laugh, approaching the family that strips away his power. "How dare you return to the palace!" The king spoke brashly, pushing his daughter behind. (Y/N) shook in fear, watching the mad man plastered a demented smile at her. "But I'm your confidant," he exclaimed. "Confidant? Ha! You are a traitor to Fontaine!" "Get out!"

"You think you can banish me? Pope Marquis Puissant!" he steps closer to him, hiding his delusion in his cloak. As (Y/n) was watching, she felt a slight tug pulling away from them. Diluc stood in front of her, furrowing his small brow. "By the holy power given by the Tsaritsa and Ursa, I'll banish you and your family with a curse!" The chamber gasp at his comment. "Mark my word I will not rest until I see the end of the Rousseau!" Bring out his power; he directed his attack toward the king. A shriek was let out from the queen as he shut his eye tightly, anticipating the attack.

"(Y/N)!"

The Grand-mère cried, flinging herself out of her throne. All eyes direct their attention towards Diluc; he didn't feel the girl's hand. Turning around, she was gone. "What did you do to my daughter!" Her Father roared. Marquis laughed and grinned, not saying a word. "Guards, get him!"  he ordered to the once holy man. Laughing again, more mist gathered quickly in the ballroom; as the guard's closed onto him, fire circled his figure, preventing them from entering.  The blaze grew quicker; Crepus felt Kaeya stiffen in his arm, watching the delusion in Marquis's hand. The windows exploded in one motion, making the room more in a frenzy while the wind blew harsher.  Diluc, in rage, ran towards him. "Diluc, no!" Crepus warned, however, as he passed the flames and mist, he was gone.

The only ashes and embers replace his spot. Marquis was far gone, along with the Princess. "Quickly close all the borders! I don't want anyone leaving Fontaine!" The distraught Father ordered. " I want every house to be searched, every church, alleyway and caves checked!" "Whatever you do, find the Princess and Marquis!". Tears of despair escape the Mother and Grandmother crying for the kidnapped daughter.  Diluc silently stood there watching the embers die down.

The once festive night took a turn into a nightmare.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 8

A/N: Part 8 is here lovelies! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 🖤🔮🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language

You and Zemo had sat there in silence in the green house for quite some time, watching the rain slowly die down. And though your eyes were focused on the rain, Zemo’s would occasionally leave the windows to glance at your profile, studying the features of your face and the scar that ran down your eye. It was then he noticed that you had a few others, like the smaller ones across your nose, eyebrow, and lip. These weren’t as prominent as the long one you had, they were older and starting to fade. Your cup was already empty while you stared out the glass windows. Your thoughts still dwelled on what Zemo had said to you earlier. As the sun’s rays started to peek out over the horizon, you let out a sigh, standing up as you did so. You needed to go outside and clear your mind.

“If you’ll excuse me. I should get dressed.” You spoke before leaving the glass room, your robe and nightgown flowing behind you as you went. Zemo watched you leave before getting up, taking the tray of the empty cups with him as he decided to get himself dressed as well.

You went back to your room to take a quick shower before grabbing some clothes from your closet to pack up. You threw on a black mock neck sweater and a pair of dark charcoal grey tweed pants along with your grey plaid blazer that had a black velvet collar. You stopped at your dresser and stared down at the intricate silver metal box that was tucked away in one of the drawers. You pulled it out, your fingers tracing along the floral and vine engraving before opening it. Inside the blue velvet lined box sat a silver necklace. Pulling the necklace out, you laid the pendant in the palm of your hand, it was a little crystal ball filled with tiny stars that had a silver tetrahedron point attached to the bottom of the sphere.

Your mother Asteria had given you this. Her being the goddess of shooting stars and nighttime divination such as oneiromancy and astrology, she had made this pendant for you and filled it with her favorite stars. And engraved on the bottom silver point were the words ‘For my favorite star of all. Love, your mother.’ Your heart sank at the words. She had made you this when you were little, to help you with your nightmares and when you had trouble sleeping. All you had to do was spin the sphere and watch the tiny night sky and shooting stars that were captured in it, and soon you would be fast asleep. The only reason you hadn’t used it, was because you would see your mother in your dreams. And though she had made it where she would be there to provide words of comfort, you couldn’t bear seeing her without breaking into tears. Wiping away the tear that slipped down your cheek you decided to put the necklace on anyways, looking in the mirror as it hung delicately under your collarbone, sparkling against the light in your room.

Lacing up your black docs and throwing your hair up in a braided low bun, you went downstairs and decided to head out to the stables as your dogs followed you out. You stopped by the kitchens on your way out, grabbing a big bag of some krystállinomílos, vegetables and a variety of peppers. You grabbed a few pieces of meat and tossed some to your dogs, laughing as they chowed it down eagerly. “I’ll be back pups.” After you exited the back entrance to your home and approached the stables, a smile broke out on your face as you saw your dark dappled grey Pegasus munching on some oats. Once she saw you she neighed in excitement, jumping around in her stall and stretching out her stormy grey wings.

“Thýella!” You beamed, stroking her forehead as you nuzzled your face against hers. “O pós mou leípeis! (Oh how I’ve missed you!)” You had always admired her and had her since you were but a small child back in Olympus. Zeus had given her to you on your birthday when she was merely a foal and you had named her Thýella, which translated to tempest since she reminded you of a storm. Her muzzle was black and faded to a grey as it went up her forehead. Her mane was jet black, and her tail started as black before fading to a white. Her body was a stormy grey with lighter colored spots throughout her coat before fading into black on her legs, save for her left legs that had a bit of white near her hooves.

“Páme gia mia vólta (Let’s go for a walk).” You told her as you set up her saddle and her reins before hoisting yourself on her back. You exited the stable, strolling through the green of your land as you headed towards the bigger stable you had. Getting off Thýella, you held her reins you stepped into the larger stable. As you peered into the wooden stalls you saw your dragon, his black, maroon red, and dark magenta scales rising and falling as he slept in his stall next to the pile of trinkets he has collected. You smiled once you saw him, he was a gift from your uncle Hades and you had him since he was a wee little dragon in his egg.

You creeped closer, hiding behind his stall before jumping out and scaring him. “Kólasi!”

Kólasi jolted awake, knocking his big horned head into the side of the stall before shaking it off. He stared at you with confusion in his fiery eyes, watching you giggle like you used to when you played with him as a child. He was surprised to see you here at first before squinting his large eyes at you and letting out a disgruntled huff as he turned his head away from you with his snout pointed in the air.

“Oh come on.” You teased. “Min eísai étsi (don’t be like that).” You stepped closer to him, stretching over to look in his eyes only to make him huff again as turned away even more. “Den mou leípses? (did you not miss me?)”

Kólasi side glanced at you, giving you a considering look before nuzzling your face since he was truly happy to see you again.

“Mou leípeis polý paliós fílos (I’ve missed you too old friend).” You chuckled as you scratched his head. “Éla. as páme éxo (Come. Let’s go outside).” You led them outside in the warm sunlight before plopping down on the grass with your bag of food. Kólasi sat down behind you, allowing you to lean back on him as his head craned around to face you. He lifted his wing up above you to provide some shade while you opened up your sacks of food. You handed over the krystállinomílos to Thýella and gave the meat, vegetables, and peppers to Kólasi. You grabbed a krystállinomílo for yourself, taking a bite out of the juicy fruit as you pondered on what the three were doing right now. They were most likely having breakfast since you informed Gudrun and the others to make something for them. You then wondered what they would think once they saw Kólasi and Thýella but decided not to dwell on it any longer since you knew there was only one reaction they would have, and it definitely wasn’t a positive one.

You felt Kólasi nudge his head against you, making you look at him. “Ti eínai aftó? (What is it?)” You watched as he nodded towards the sky and a smile appeared on your face. “I knew you’d say that. Éla Thýella. As páme na petáxoume. (Come Thýella. Let’s go fly.)” You went back into Kólasi’s stall, grabbing the special saddle you had made for him before going back outside and strapping it on his back. With a grunt, you climbed into his back, and considering he was about 16 to 18 feet tall standing on all fours, he always had to lower himself for you. Once you were situated and strapped onto the saddle, you held onto his neck as he flapped his dark red wings before taking off the ground. As you turned your head to look behind you, Thýella had just caught up with you and was flying beside you, your castle became smaller and smaller the higher up you went.

A smile was on your lips as you could see everything below you, relishing in the feeling of the wind against your cheeks as you went higher and higher until you could practically touch the clouds. With a small laugh, you stuck your hand out, feeling the whispy clouds slip through your fingers as Kólasi became level with the ground. Thýella stayed beside you, neighing happily as she soared through the sky. No matter how many times you’ve done this, it never got old. After a few rounds of gliding and loops, it was time you headed back home before Sam got worried. As Kólasi began to descend towards the earth you lowered your body to his neck, the wind picking up speed against you as you dived through the clouds. The clouds around you cleared up and you could see your castle in the distance below you, getting bigger and bigger. Kólasi slowed down as he neared the earth, pulling his body up as he and Thýella landed gracefully on the grass of your backyard.

“Theé mou to échasa (gods I’ve missed that).” You breathed out, your blood pumping with adrenaline from the rush you just had.

“Y/n?” You heard Sam call out for you, which made you curse under your breath.

It was too late now.

“Y/n?” Sam rounded the corner of your home and you saw his face turn into one of terror, his mouth and eyes wide as he tried to process what he was seeing. Bucky and Zemo shortly followed and they too mirrored Sam’s expression. “Is that a dragon or am I seeing shit now?”

“This is my dragon Kólasi, Sam. You’re not going crazy.”

“So......you have a dragon and a pegasus now?” Bucky asked you as he eyed Kólasi. Kólasi towered over the three, casting a large shadow over them as he huffed out smoke from his nostrils while a low growl emitted from his chest. He didn’t recognize any of them and they didn’t seem to be a threat, but with one command from you he would readily light them up in flames. You had noticed this uneasiness in your dragon so you scratched his neck, signaling him that they were most definitely not a threat.

“I’ve had them since I was a kid.” You answered Bucky’s question as Kólasi lowered himself to the ground, allowing you to get off the saddle. Giving Kólasi and Thýella a quick pat on their sides which meant they were free to go, you watched as they wandered off a bit before heading back into your home with the three following you in.

“Y/n isn’t he dangerous? Correct me if I’m wrong but don’t dragons breathe fire?” Sam questioned.

“Yes, they do. But trust me when I say that Kólasi is harmless. Now if you guys don’t mind, I just need to get a few things.”

Sam and Bucky decided not question on it any further, trusting your word, though the thought of you having a dragon still baffled them. They’ve read stories about knights and dragons and now were wondering if dragons really did roam the earth and whether knights had really slayed them. And though Zemo knew you meant what you said about about Kólasi being harmless, he knew that wasn’t entirely true and that you understood the limits to that harmlessness. But despite that, he trusted your word, because if you were wrong about your dragon, the earth would already have burned to nothing years ago.

The men had followed you into your library/study, watching as you went over to a certain section on the wall. You reached towards a candle sconce on the wall, pulling it down slightly before there was the sound of gears turning. Then, as they looked, a book shelf began to open up like a door, revealing a narrow stone staircase that spiraled down to who knows where.

“Of course you have a hidden passageway. Why am I surprised?” Sam uttered which made you glare at him.

“You’re welcome to follow me if you’d like, or you can stay out here, if you’re scared. And don’t touch anything.” You informed before disappearing down the staircase.

The men looked at each other before following you down anyways. At this point they didn’t know what they’d expect to find down there. They were curious as to why you didn’t bother bringing a candle with you down the dark staircase, but as they went in, they soon realized why. There were already candle sconces lining the wall of the staircase, and the candles would only light up as they neared, before going out as they passed it.

Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, they found themselves in a spacious, enormous room, which you had used as an armory and a place to keep your artifacts. The walls were hung with weapons of many kinds from different eras. Armor and uniforms which you had worn from various time periods were displayed near the walls on mannequins, as well as different strange looking artifacts dating back to Ancient Egypt and the Sumerian civilization. In the center stood an open space with obstacles and devices which was where you trained in your combat. In the back of the room, down a corridor was where you had dungeons in case you ever needed them. Next to the dungeons was a laboratory, where you used to make potions and concoctions of different kinds. There were even old paintings of you from different eras, some of them were of just you, and some were of you and other people. But the biggest painting of them all hung in the middle, a painting of your whole family in Olympus. Off to the side, separate from the large room was your underground garage that opened up to your driveway. You owned a collection of many expensive classic vehicles, but the majority of them were classic muscle cars, which were always your favorites.

Bucky, Sam, and Zemo widened their eyes as they took everything in. Just when they thought they had seen everything, they had proved themselves wrong. Letting their feet guide them, they walked over to the paintings you had, staring at the large one in the center. Your father stood in the middle and above everyone else with Hera beside him and his lightning bolt clutched in his hand. On his side stood Poseidon with Amphitrite, and Hades with Persephone. Then there was you, wearing your mulberry purple chiton and deep blood/wine red chlamys with a breastplate over it. A diadem sat on your head and a dagger was strapped to your waist, while a sword and shield was held in your hands as you stood at Zeus’s feet with Athena and Artemis on either side of you. They men stared at the painting of you, you looked extremely regal yet powerful at the same time, an embodiment of a queen. The painting next to that one was of a beautiful looking women with stars in her eyes and hair, your mother. And on her lap sat you as a very young child, your eyes holding that same sparkle as your mother’s arms were wrapped gracefully around your body.

Sam glanced around the area once more before his eyes landed on a golden box that sat on a column pedestal. There was something intriguing about this certain thing and he seemed to be almost drawn to the box as he walked towards it. Bucky and Zemo noticed Sam’s slightly strange behavior, and as they looked to see what he was staring at, they too became transfixed, curious to know what the box was. As they got up close to it, they noticed there were these ghastly engravings of the macabre all over it, of tortured souls, demons, monsters, and evil spirits.

When you had walked back into the room with your bag of armor and weapons slung over your shoulder, your eyes widened at the sight of the men crowded around the gold box. Sam’s hand was reaching for it, about to open it until you screamed at them, rushing over to shove them away. “No! What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

“Wha-what?” Bucky stuttered, shaking his head as he was brought out of the daze and so were the others.

“When I said don’t touch anything, I specifically meant ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!”

“Wait, what the hell happened?” Sam asked, confusion written all over his face. Even Zemo had no idea what just occurred.

“That is Pandora’s box.”

“Pandora’s box?” Zemo tilted his head as he furrowed his brows.

“Yes Pandora’s box. Do you know what would have happened if you had succeeded in opening it?” You scolded them. “You would have unleashed all the evils into the world! There would have been complete chaos!”

“I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t know. We didn’t know.” Sam apologized, feeling guilty and terrified that he almost managed to open such a vile and dangerous little thing that had seemed so harmless at first.

“It’s fine.” You sighed. “I have what I need. Now let’s go before you guys try to touch another cursed artifact.”

Once you had your things and everything situated, you said farewell to Gudrun and Bjørn and the rest of the workers, giving them each a kiss on the cheek, their faces filled with disappointment in seeing you leave so soon. You said goodbye to Cerberus, Hecuba, Skiá, Thýella, and Kólasi as well, giving them each a hug. You sat there for a while, surrounded by your animals as they whimpered in sadness. With your final heartfelt goodbyes you left your home.

You walked over with the three trailing behind you to your 60s convertible black mustang with the white racing stripes that you had parked out front to drive to the nearest airport where Zemo’s jet would be waiting. After putting your bags and theirs in the trunk and closing it, you stared off at your home and the forest around it for one last time before your eyes caught the centaurs and satyrs that had neared the edge of the forest. You saw as they raised their hands to bid you farewell and luck on your journey, a warm smile formed on your face as you returned the gesture before hopping in the driver’s seat after the others. Making sure everyone had their seatbelts on, you turned your key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life from the sound of the engine that you always loved. Pressing your foot down on the accelerator, you drove off, watching the rear view mirror as your home got smaller and smaller the farther you drove away.

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky

[demonslayedher]

I'm glad you reactivated the questions, here are some flowers for you: 💐 Seriously speaking I'm sorry that because of a question I asked you a few weeks ago you watched a series of videos of psychopaths 🥲It made me laugh at first but then I felt guilty 💔 it's all Muzan's fault for leaving us all with curiosity (imagine his parents' reaction once they realized there was something wrong with him even as a human)

Yay, flowers (which I shall kill with my black thumb)! And no, no, it’s fine, I had hoped it came off funny! I like listening to stuff like that while I draw anyway because I’m a nerd anyway and I found it very interesting.

Speaking of being a nerd, you have innocuously unlocked the following essay about Heian period nobility and wisteria flowers: There is nothing to state so in canon, but I find it highly reasonable to say Muzan might had been of the very powerful Fujiwara clan. Step inside my office, Anon.

Okay. So. The Heian period, simply put, was a time of cultural flourishing and beautiful pastimes, the origins of a lot of Japanese style aesthetics, and a romantic courtly like of romancing everybody else in the court. This is assuming, of course, that you were at the very, very, very, very top of society. Otherwise, the vast majority of people were poor and sick and starving and ew, in young Muzan’s world, we do not wish to associate with that. In the Heian court, Kyoto basically is the whole cultural world. Even though there were other cities that could rival Kyoto, the emperor was there, so it was essentially the cultural center of the country. The nobles who lived there got money from owning land in far-flung provinces, but actually having to live in those provinces? What a drag! Having to live away from Kyoto for work, even if it wasn’t an official banishment, often felt like a punishment to the nobles and their families who were used to the social scene at court. And, like affluent courts around the world throughout history, understanding all the intricacies of style and “Heian Rumors” was key to having social clout, and popularity was power. And yeah, nobles would be vicious to each other. While clan dynamics and history are complex and not something I’m getting into here (I don’t consider myself well-versed in it enough), the Fujiwara clan is a BIG DEAL.  Basically, in Heian times, children were typically raised in their mother’s home, thereby heavily influenced by their mother’s clan, so besides a young man’s parents, his in-laws also would had been hugely influential in his life, as they will have a long-felt influence on his progeny. The Emperors typically married Fujiwara daughters. This, in addition to other positions of influence of the Fujiwara clan members usually held with influence over the Emperor, means that politically, there was no messing with them. Now, just because I say Muzan might had been a Fujiwara clan member, I don’t necessarily mean a member of the main branch of the family. Often, due to inheritance management, different branches of various noble clans might be given different surnames. The Fujiwara clan does have different branches, some of which did go one to have close ties with the imperial family even after the fall of their power at the end of the Heian period and all the way through the Taisho, and some branches carry some impressive family legacies but otherwise live like normal or high-class common folk in modern-day. (I know one such Ojousama from a renamed Fujiwara branch; she’s a sweetheart and never brings it up herself but every time I hear other people say things about her family, I’m like, dang.) We can venture from Muzan’s likely expensive medical treatment, multiple marriages (meaning other clans sought to be connected with his family even by marrying their daughters to a sick man), and even preparation for cremation as a baby that he was of a very, very high status. 

Being the sick son of a prominent family may have warped his personality in multiple ways: first, he was probably already used to a culture of popularity equated political power. We see in Muzan’s dealings with humans in the Taisho period that he can be exceedingly charming to get what he wants (a psychopath trait, haha), so he was probably pretty aware of the complex ways of socialites in the court. But, even being aware of that, it probably frustrated him to no end that he was too sick to take part in the social pastimes where he’d gain clout. It’s also possible that he was a bit of a bargain husband for his wives’ families who were seeking to a make ties with his family, as they must not had been politically useful enough to be married off to other powerful matches. This may be some of why he was so ruthless to them, for he never saw them as useful to him in the first place. This probably got a bit worse once he became a demon. Now to be lewd, but he probably got more vigorous in his pursuit of more powerful lovers, and knew how to slay the women’s hearts as he liked (you know, popular Heian pastime, everybody had lots of lovers, it was the norm, though political marriages and legitimate children were still important). That new sense of power probably went to his head. But, ultimately, he must had been limited in clout since he couldn’t take part in any daytime activities, thereby limiting his access to more powerful spheres of influence. His reputation from having grown up sickly must had followed him too. It’s anyone’s guess how much affection his parents had for him and how happy they were about his health at first, and if and when they might had noticed his changes. He was a full-fledged adult by the time he turned into a demon, so who knows how closely they even associated with him. They likely had healthier children who they devoted more care and attention to, and invested more family resources in while assuming Muzan would probably die young.

Who knows what the final straw was in Muzan leaving court? Was it frustration at not being able to walk in daylight that made him flee to the Kanto area in pursuit of the blue spider lily (from near where the doctor lived) long before Kanto became politically affluent? Or was it the rumors at court about how he didn’t age, and that he was eating people?

Of note, a lot of the early legends of demons in Japanese culture take place in the Heian period.

In his book “Japanese History of Demon Slayers,” retired Shizuoka University professor Tetsuo Owada capitalized on the success of Kimetsu no Yaiba to dive into a lot of ties between the series and what it may pay homage to throughout Japanese history and culture. While this was published last September and a handful of his theories have been disproven by the second fanbook published last February, and while I think a lot of his theories are stretching a little too far to make strong connections, it’s still deeply, deeply interesting stuff. He goes into some specific comparisons of demons, like Minamoto-no-Raiko and his posse of four big bad warriors taking on the Tsuchigumo (giant spider demon) terrorizing the mountains north of Kyoto harkening to the case of Rui’s family (and, ding ding ding, this was the primary focus of the official Kabuki/Kimetsu crossover last November), as well as takes little questions left in canon and dives into them a bit deeper. One such question is, why were wisteria lethal to demons? According to Prof. Owada’s research, there is no historical basis for this. Some of the talk online is that: 1. Wisteria are in fact poisonous, and consuming too much of them would cause vomiting and diarrhea (though I’ve also seen people make jam out of them because of the fragrance, so, like???) 2. Beans are thrown around at Setsubun to ward off demons (like so, Feat. Muzan and Kimetsu Beans), and wisteria are of the bean family 3. Wisteria like sunlight, so perhaps like Nichirin, they soak up some of the sun’s properties that are lethal to demons 4. In the language of flowers (Hanakotoba), wisteria symbolize kindness, welcomeness, refusing to leave someone’s side, being drunk with love, being straightforward and truthful, not losing the humanity in one’s heart, thereby containing a lot of meaning contrary to the conduct of demons Interesting, but some of its kind of a stretch. While still finding it a stretch to apply it to wisteria being poisonous to demons, Prof. Owada goes on to say that since ancient times, while the wisteria has some negative connotations of how it was sometimes written with characters meaning “doesn’t heal” (不治) and growing downward with smaller and smaller flowers like symbolize the slow downfall of a family line, it conversely also carries positive connotations of longevity and flourishing family due to the fact that its vines grow upward.

Now, you might picked up at some point that the Japanese word for wisteria is “fuji.” Not to be confused with Mt. Fuji (that’s written differently), it IS the same fuji as in “Fujiwara”: 藤.

Prof. Owada goes on to explore the association with the use of Wisteria crests in Kimetsu no Yaiba, especially on the houses of supporters of the Demon Slayer Corp. His recurring thesis is that the pandemic is partly responsible for Kimetsu no Yaiba’s popularity since demon legends have long since had origins in epidemics, and he supposes the Wisteria crest has a protective effect on the houses, similar to a talisman used in a lot of real life rituals for warding off illness and then often displays in or on the entries of houses to protect the family every year (I have one such item gifted to me, it stays by my doorway, along with a couple sticks of charcoal (but the culture of charcoal is a post for some other day)). The talisman is in reference to a god of Hindu/Chinese origins being treated with hospitality by the So clan, so although other families perished in disaster/disease, he promised to always protect the So clan descendants, so the talisman says “Descendants of the So Clan” so that any household may try to claim that divine protection. The gratitude-exchange of hospitality and protection and sure sounds familiar! Prof. Owada isn’t done yet. While the crest design used in Kimetsu no Yaiba isn’t an actual family crest in in real life, there are lots and lots and lots of family crests that use a wisteria design and have the character for “wisteria” in the name. Any time you hear “—tou”, like Satou, Saitou, or even Gotou, you can typically assume it’s 藤. It’s very common nowadays, but the first family to be granted the use of this name was the Fujiwara clan, when one of the pre-Heian and very powerful emperors granted their clan head this surname, which was a major honor, and it marked the start of the Fujiwara clan’s political dominance (there was already influence leading up to this, but meh, we like clear-cut stuff to simply centuries of history, don’t we?). Furthermore, although we often think of the Fujiwara clan for their influence at court, and we might think of the Minamoto clan for warrior heroes who fought demons, Prof. Owada concludes his argument of wisteria’s protective influence by pointed out a long list of Heian period Fujiwara warriors who also were the heroes of demon slaying legends, stating that their name has also long been tied with demon slayer culture. SO!!! Let me go on with my theory here. Muzan is from the same family line as Ubuyashiki. At some point (I assume after Muzan is long gone from Kyoto), the family is told while their children keep dying, and they accept their mission to bring an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and clear this curse on their family line. My thought is that their ancestor was a full blood sibling of Muzan, one whom was more invested in than sickly Muzan. While perhaps already an off-shoot of the Fujiwara Clan and thereby not entitled to the same sorts of inheritance, they probably maintained close ties with them. But, as it was already not direct by that time, the other Fujiwara clan branches were not affected by this curse. To further spare the clan the effects of this curse, this was probably when that sickly branch took the name Ubuyashiki. (And yes, I have things to say about this name and its possible mythological origins which I find a highly, highly interesting connection. Prof. Owada supposes it is tied with Izumo Taisha Grand Shrine and that is why there are nine pillars, but as much as I love Izumo Taisha and its giant pillars I base my argument in separate Shinto (but also Izumo!) mythology and accept that there are not always supposed to be nine Pillars specifically and Gotouge simply chose that number based on the number of strokes in the kanji for ‘Hashira’ (柱) BUT I DIGRESS). So, the Ubuyashiki Clan is it’s own thing, but is sort of like a cousin to the other Fujiwara branches and thereby continues to enjoy Fujiwara support throughout the Heian period, like some of the Fujiwara warriors going out there and slaying some of Muzan’s early demon experiments, and using their influence to bring in other warriors to the demon slaying cause (pet

theory: Genpei War warrior Kumagai Naozane was a member of the proto-Corp and using Kasugai-garasu was in practice since at least late Heian period). While the Ubuyashiki Clan probably already their own inherited land (and funds that came from it), throughout their history, their cousin clans might also have provided financial support to the Ubuyashiki Clan. But, they probably distanced themselves from the clan due to the curse and not wanting to be tainted. When you bring back in the wisteria associations this puts the contrary associations with a flourishing and dying family line in a new light. Furthermore, the “not healing” way of writing “fuji” also means a lot more in the context of Muzan’s, and later the Ubuyashiki clan’s illness.

[elriel-oblivion]

So I started this in the last week of 2020, and I'm ready to post it 😊 I've still got a couple other wips I'd started before this one but I haven't been bothered to finish those lol so I'm putting this one out first. Anyway, this'll be 6 parts long; I'll prob put up the next part in three or four days.

I'll put word counts so you can gauge how long each part is and if you wanna read it 😅 Also lemme know if you'd like to be tagged

Word count: 2.2K

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part I

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The shadows were colder than usual tonight. On better days, their chill wrapped Azriel's bones in an icy embrace, a comforting freeze numbing any semblance of feeling in his wasted heart.

But this miserable night, they were searing cold, the kind of cold piercing the highest of mountain peaks; the kind of cold that penetrated the brain itself. He shivered as he travelled through those shadows, dark mists and wisps coiling like vines about his head.

Maybe he was deliberately searching for the coldest areas. Maybe he wanted a complete absence of feeling: physical, emotional, spiritual. It would certainly be easier to feel nothing than trying to quell the frigid rage inside. How could an avalanche be stopped once it started?

Further and further he moved through his shadows, dawn chasing him from a few hours away. Mountains and villages surged past through those charcoal mists, making way to depthless forests and ravines. He clenched his jaw tight against the cold, memory guiding him home.

But the fresh blood he'd seen earlier, and the mutilated remains of that little girl, one wing torn off and lying bent at the edge of the dirt path ... Her unseeing eyes were glazed, that shine as bright and true on his mind as the glint of moonlight on the blade of Death. And her scream. Cauldron, it curdled his own blood.

He'd been but a minute late. A matter of seconds were all that stood between him and the sadistic bastard who'd brutalised that child. Barely a heartbeat in his lifetime.

He blinked once to rid himself of her stare. Twice.

The image remained, muddying with his path home. His hands clenched and unclenched, nails biting into his skin, but the girl's hazel eyes and her ashen skin and the fingers outstretched for that severed wing remained an imprint on his vision.

Why was this affecting him so much? It wasn't the first time he'd seen horrors like this. But if Azriel wanted to be honest with himself, some days were harder than others simply because they were. Some days, the despair rattled his core and tossed him far out - because he was a person and emotions, feelings, these things were too abstract to be boxed in.

Everything had a limit. Had Azriel ever truly reached his?

Sometimes Azriel himself didn't understand how he kept it all in. How he didn't react or display any sign of having seen or heard the things he did. Sometimes he was repulsed by himself because of it. At least Cassian and his rare vomiting showed some of the humanity inside.

Azriel gave away nothing. Was there even humanity in himself? Everyone but his family looked at him like he was an unhinged monster imprisoned by his Illyrian skin. Like he was moments from escape and they would be his first victims.

Or - not just his family. Her. Elain. Did he consider he family? Perhaps it was too early, or even too inappropriate to do so.

Either way, how could he stain the sudden image of her with himself, with the horrors he'd just seen, had always had the displeasure of seeing? She was lovely and warm and beautiful and he was dark and cold and hideous.

Elain. Something inexplicable stirred in him at the thought of her.

He tried to calm it, this heat, this single star in his midnight sky. But it remained. And it grew.

And he was disgusted. Ashamed. He was not worthy of her.

And it ached. Another unrequited love.

That word snapped something in him. Mocked him.

Love.

A choking sound ripped from his throat and he welcomed it, let it mount into a scream, let it tear through his body and soul. Like that monster was finally breaking free. It was invigorating yet scorching. It burned him from the inside out but the cold of those shadows permeated his mind so heavily, he forgot the essence of corporeality and only his soul seemed to drift.

His ragged breathing sounded, throat parched. Where was he? Through the shadows, all around him, there seemed only darkness. Was he flying? No, the shadows sang their usual baritone thrum as opposed to the high harmony of the wind.

Above, no stars glistened. His eyes strained but nothing peeked through. It wasn't often that his shadows became this thick; usually thin and wispy, they now shrouded his being, coalescing over, in him. He became the cold, a shadow, darkness itself, floating through the ether, higher and higher like ashes on the wind.

But even ashes settled down at some point.

Unless his soul truly were ascending, unless this truly were death. It almost seemed too easy. All the battles, those two great wars, the poison that shot through his veins and stole his breath as per Hybern's whim. Poison that sometimes woke him up in cold sweats, a phantom memory of its iciness picking through his body as though he were being cut up by the sharpest blade ...

Sometimes it even felt like his own blade.

No, this couldn't be death. A mere scream, the image of lives lost, a bloody fight - he hated to admit that these were commonplace among his memories, his life. But in doing so, he knew death was too easy an aftermath for what had happened tonight.

Death, an ascent. But he was sure when his time came, his stained soul would descend like the demon he was.

So he grounded, drifting down weightlessly until the solidity of rock steadied him. He would not go to that darkest of places yet. But he was still exhausted. So damn tired of everything. He feared that if he dropped into a slumber right now, he'd not get up for a lifetime. As it was, his legs almost gave out, but he forced some remaining strength back into them. All he had to do was get home now.

He stepped out of his shadows; Devlon's camp was quiet around him. A fire to his far right sputtered in the harsh winds and Azriel swept himself back into his shadows.

This time he travelled faster, composing himself, locking his muscles and bones up, clenching his jaw. He let that familiar cool comfort drain his rage, cleaning it through his veins before it settled in the frozen lake of his heart where the rest of his darkness lay, inescapable through the impenetrable foot of icy wrath and sorrow. He savoured his shadows, a confidant in their own right, thanked them for their understanding and the escape he found within them.

But they were growing warmer now. Azriel squinted through them as they shifted him across land and water - the scape of Velaris and its brilliant lights greeted him. Closer to home now, he could breathe with a looser chest but this was still unusual; his shadows shouldn't be warmer, they should be cool and refreshing, like the autumn night breeze beyond.

His wings rustled, body reacting to his shadows' autonomy before his thawing mind caught up. 'Where are you taking me?' he murmured.

Mist swirled about him and the shadows deposited him at the far edge of the dimly lit back garden at his High Lord and Lady's riverfront estate. Why would they bring him here? Rhysand and Feyre were at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were together in Illyria and Mor was at the Winter Court. As far as he knew, Amren was at her own apartment so the only person left was -

'Azriel!' came Elain's voice. It was distant in a way it shouldn't be.

Azriel leaned against a tree, pretending to fiddle with the Siphon atop his left hand. Breathing was difficult but he swallowed and exhaled in a shudder.

He needed to fully compose himself before anyone saw him like this. If only his damn shadows hadn't taken control for those last few moments, he'd be in his own home and lying in that swirling darkness in peace. Though, he supposed, it was his own fatigue that had yielded that control.

'Azriel!' Elain cried, stopping in front of him. Her face was caught between a frown and a wince and her arm was raised slightly. 'You don't look okay.'

As always, he was momentarily stunned by how unafraid this small female was of him. Here he was in his full armour, every bit the monstrous warrior that sent his people scurrying into their homes and locking their doors, and yet Elain stood strong before him. Like she saw not a killing machine but a person.

She never even commented on how his shadows made to disappear around her. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

He swallowed before he let out what he thought was a light laugh. 'I'm fine, don't worry.' But he could hear the hoarseness of his voice, now facing the consequences of that scathing scream. And his limbs felt even heavier than before, like someone had injected liquid lead into them.

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she whispered, lowering both her gaze and arm.

He paused, trying to catch her gaze. The constant light in her eyes whenever she looked at him was a balm to his soul. He could use some of that right now.

He reached out an arm, so impossibly leaden right now - if he could just get to sit down -

'Can I wash your hair, please?'

He started. 'You want to wash my hair?'

Elain's eyes flicked back up to skirt over his, up to his hair, where they stayed pinned. 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

Shit. He hadn't even thought of his appearance after that bloody fight earlier. How that had slipped his mind? He ran a hand through his hair, and surely enough, crumbs of dirt rained down.

Although, he really hadn't expected to turn up here of all places. In the privacy of his own home, he wouldn't have cared if he were missing a whole damn limb, if only it meant he could sleep like the dead.

Not to mention that sleeping with a little mud was the least an Illyrian warrior's problems. But Elain's care was something of a punch to his gut. When was the last time someone had truly tended to him for reasons that weren't battle or holiday related?

'You've managed to get some on your face, too,' she said, brow furrowed as she stared at his cheek.

Her eyes were so deep and focused, he wished they would just meet his once. But of course, that level of scrutiny he'd come to learn from Elain meant shyness. Just shyness. She was so endearing, he could've laughed with such fondness if he weren't so damn tired. He wished this whole damn night would be over already.

His leg faltered slightly and he stumbled forward.

'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

He raised his brows at her, but she simply took his arm and began leading him towards the house. She looked so small before him but didn't slow despite dragging his bulk behind her.

Halfway across the garden, he pulled her to him with his free arm, his shadows saving the both of them the energy of walking through that mansion of a home.

'My bathroom,' she murmured. Elain didn't balk through the five seconds of that darkness, didn't even look surprised. She showed no sign of hearing the spike in his pulse either. Thank the Mother.

He set them in her bathroom, and she didn't look at him once as she flitted around the chamber, pulling a chair from her bedroom to the sink and grabbing a towel, soap and a jug from the cupboard. Standing there, his breathing began to smooth out.

The window was open, a chill breeze sweeping in. The faelights were dim and their placid light sent a dusky illumination over Elain's features. Some bottles of oils and herbs sat on the edge of the bathtub. Azriel had heard of people using oils for bathing, but herbs? Perhaps they were like flower petals, used for their scent.

Towel in hand, Elain waited at the sink, placing the soap and jug down. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this.'

Azriel nodded, tapping his Siphon. Within seconds, that second skin of cold scales and gleaming wrath was safely stored away. Just his plain black trousers and tunic were left.

Elain's eyes caught every moment of the transformation. 'It's beautiful, all of it.'

He didn't even know if she was speaking of his armour or the basic clothes underneath or what, but his face warmed slightly, wings rustling.

'Please sit,' she said, gesturing to the chair. As he did, she wrapped the towel around his shoulders, fingers hovering above his forehead for a few seconds.

Those seconds felt perennial. He almost shuddered as her fingers made contact with his skin. Her hands were so gentle as they pushed his head back, and he shifted in the seat. He lowered his wings, and she stepped into the space he provided. She was still as he got comfortable, only turning the tap once he was settled. There was a slight crease between her brows, and he clenched his fists to keep from smoothing it out.

Sounding so much like his own mother that his throat tightened, she whispered, 'You can close your eyes.'

So he did.

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Feedback is welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

[stiltonbasket]

blue of sea, blue of sky

by stiltonbasket

The year Nie Mingjue turns twenty-three, he marries the youngest moon god, Lan Xichen.

(In which Lan Xichen is the Emperor of Night, Nie Mingjue is a humble fisherman, and Lan Jingyi is the half-mortal child growing up between them.)

As far as Nie Mingjue can remember, none of the stories about mortals falling in love with gods have ever ended well.

“They all end with the mortal lover dying, and the god grieving for eternity,” he grumbled, long before he knew just who—and what—his own best friend would grow up to be, someday. “Why do you like them so much, A-Huan?”

“Well, the moon goddess bestowed immortality upon her husband,” Lan Xichen laughed. “And though he could not join her, she could come when the moon was full, and visit him.”

 It is only later that he learns that the moon goddess from Xichen’s stories had married a young scholar and had two children with him; both sons, one human and one half-divine, and that the elder was fated to join his mother among the stars while his brother would remain on earth, with his father.

“That’s a sad story, too,” he complained—now with Xichen’s lips brushing his cheek, even though Mingjue’s skin smells of salt and the sea, and with their hands entwined on the soft grass beneath them as they gaze up at the sky. “She had to leave her husband, and now her son has to leave his didi.”

That last stung most of all, because Mingjue has a brother of his own, and leaving Huaisang would break him in a way that even his parents’ deaths never did.

“It doesn’t have to be,” his beloved whispered back. “Not for us, my heart.”

Perhaps it was then that Nie Mingjue knew the truth, but he refused to accept it until a year later, when Xichen finally kissed him goodbye on the prow of his little fishing boat and ascended in a blaze of silver starlight.

“I’ll bring something back for you,” Xichen said tenderly, dabbing the tears off Mingjue’s face. “Something very small and sweet, for you to remember me by until I can come to see you again.”

And then he could no longer doubt that his husband would return, because Xichen always keeps his oaths; and he keeps this one, too, descending on the tenth full moon after his departure with a drowsy infant in his arms.

“This is our son, beloved,” he smiles, as Nie Mingjue bows his head and soaks the baby’s sleeping face in tears. “His name is A-Yi.”

None of the other stories have happy endings, he thinks, when his newborn son fills the night with a wail that frightens away all the fish within a hundred yards of their boat. But this one—this one does!  

Lan Jingyi is four years old when he decides to find out why he can only see his A-Die once a month.

“Your A-Die is traveling far away,” his father tells him, bouncing him up and down in his lap while he takes apart a chicken carcass for soup. Father is very good at that, since he can disassemble birds and beasts and great fanged fish no matter how big or small they are, and then he makes delicious meat soups and stews in the kitchen with xiao-shushu’s help. “He can only come once a month. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Can we go see him?” Jingyi asks instead, chewing on a dirty spoon until his fuqin pokes his nose to make him stop. “Fuqin, I miss him.”

The look in his father’s eyes is very sad and far away, and sometimes he wonders how much Father must miss A-Die, if it hurts Jingyi so much to be without him.

“I miss him too, A-Yi,” Father sighs, kissing the top of his head. “More than you can imagine.”

Father misses A-Die with all his heart, so much that he covers the wall with charcoal sketches and paintings of him. He keeps them hidden with thick black curtains whenever anyone visits, though–to keep guests from losing their senses to A-Die’s divine beauty, Uncle Huaisang says, even though Jingyi insists that the whole world should know how pretty A-Die is.

“They already do!” Father laughs, when he says so for the tenth time. “Go ask anyone you know what the most beautiful thing in the heavens is, and you’ll see.”

Jingyi tries this out at school one day, and his teacher–Maiden Jiang, father always calls her, though Jingyi just calls her Aunty–tells him that the loveliest thing in the night sky is the full moon, fully risen and surrounded by twinkling stars.

“The stars come second,” she goes on, very seriously, as if Jingyi had begged her to fill his chubby little palms with treasure instead of just asking her a question. “But the moon rules the realm of night, just as Lord Sun rules the day.”

“You were right,” Lan Jingyi says to his father, when he gets home that afternoon. “Even Aunty Jiang knows that A-Die is the most beautiful person in the world, and she knows everything.”

And A-Die is the most beautiful person in the world, because when he visits, everything he touches glows silver and white like moonlight kissing the ground, and his skin is so smooth and fair that even Jingyi’s favorite bracelet–a first-birthday gift from his little uncle, strung with round beads made of mutton-fat jade–looks dingy and dark when he holds it up to his A-Die’s high forehead.

“Is this a present to remind me of my A-Yi?” A-Die laughs, cradling Jingyi close to his breast and covering his face with kisses. His dark hair slips over his shoulders and covers Jingyi’s back like a blanket, if blankets were cool and silky and soft and covered with little sparkling gems that nearly outshone the stars. “Then A-Die will wear it every day, to think of his little moonbeam.”

“No, no!” Jingyi giggles, snuggling deeper into his A-Die’s embrace. “A-Die has to give A-Yi presents. That’s the rules.”

“Hmm.” The soft gleam in A-Die’s eyes dances like light reflected on moving water, and he thrusts his soft hands into his pockets before pulling out–

“A bird!” Jingyi gasps and lets the little creature perch on his hand. It isn’t like the birds he sees every morning, but it sings even more sweetly than they do, and its wings are made of pure white snow with tiny carved-ice feathers. “Is he a real bird, A-Die? Can A-Yi give him a name?”

A-Die nods and pulls Jingyi even closer. “What will Jingyi call him, then?”

“Xiao-Bai,” he decides, missing the tender, loving looks his parents exchange over his head. “He will sleep on my pillow, and I will feed him Wei-shushu’s tianzi xiao. And chicken.”

Father makes a choking sound before throwing his head back and laughing, curving his arms around A-Die’s waist and pulling his magnificent head down onto his shoulder. “Perhaps you should try the roast duck in the kitchen, too,” he says merrily, his fingers entwining themselves with A-Die’s like vines curling into a knot. “Xiao-Bai might like it. What do you think?”

“No, Father! Jingyi wants it, so Xiao-Bai can’t have it.”

A-Die leaves before Jingyi wakes up the next morning, as usual, but there is a cool dent on his side of the bed, and Xiao-Bai is singing his jiujiu’s favorite lullaby on the windowsill. He wonders for a moment (as he always does) if A-Die was a dream, and if he was ever really here at all–but then Father comes back in with the laundry, and his lips are stained with sparkling stardust like frost on an early peach.

“There’s a new gift coming for you,” he says, helping Jingyi clean his face and hands before carrying him to the table. “Even nicer than your Xiao-Bai. Can you guess what it’s going to be?”

“A sword?”

“A-Yi is too young for a sword,” his father grins. “Guess again.”

“A dog?”

“Absolutely not, your Wei-shushu would drop dead on the spot and then Wangji would haunt me to the ends of the earth.”

“…Two dogs?”

“Jingyi!”

But on the next full moon, A-Die doesn’t bring him more snow-birds, or rattle-drums with stars for beads, or even a new puppy. He arrives on an icy winter night with a little bundle of blankets in his arms: a bundle with toes and two small hands and a pair of big round eyes, and Father gives the bundle a name of her own to go with his, and with Jingyi’s.

“We can’t call a baby Xiao-Bai, darling,” he says, when Jingyi pouts at his new sister and cuddles up against his A-Die. “We’ll call her Ying’er, for now, and when she’s bigger, we’ll call her Jueying.”

Lan Jueying, Jingyi thinks. It sounds a little sweet, like Lan Jingyi, and a little happy, and a little mischievous, too.

“….Do I have to share her with xiao-shushu? I won't! Papa can't make me!”

A-Die tries not to laugh, at that. “A-Yi!”

[goldencuffs]

the tape

tw: a sex tape is filmed and released without consent.

Damen didn’t expect to wake up on Wednesday morning to the headline: Famous Football Player Caught in Tantalising SEX SCANDAL, Scroll for Video — but, well. He sort of knew it was a possibility.

 Julius had been a sweet little thing at Ernesta, the club Damen and his teammates frequented after a game or a training session or anything, really. Damen had caught sight of Julius’ blonde hair under the strobe lights, and had made his way over, tipsy and light, and just horny enough that he could last a full conversation with minimal wandering hands.

 Julius had been a ‘huge fan’ and pretty enough that Damen neglected his one rule: which was to never hook up with fans. They’d made it to Damen’s penthouse within half an hour, and Julius must have set up his phone to record them when Damen went to the bathroom after the first round.

It had honestly been the most average sex of Damen’s life — which was the only reason why he had been upset that Julius had leaked the tape at all. Damen hadn’t even tried very hard to make Julius cum, and he’d still been mostly hard throughout it all, his own release unsatisfactory.

 When he tried to explain this to Laurent later that day, during lunch at their favourite brunch place, Laurent’s face twitched. He looked furious, and then upset, and then both those expressions slowly absolved, until his expression was a flat, distant thing that unsettled Damen.

 In fact, it unsettled Damen so much, he began talking, without quite meaning to, “I just wish he’d told me he was going to film a whole tape, you know? That way I could have busted better moves. Or, made suggestions with the lighting or something. Look here — my entire body is blurry, so it’s like, what’s the point? What the fuck are we supposed to be looking at?”

 From his phone, Julius’ breathless voice panted, “Yes, harder, oh you’re so good for me.”

 It wasn’t loud enough to be heard by the other patrons in the cafe, but Laurent put his knife and fork down and hissed, “Will. You. Put. That. Away.”

 Damen did, swallowing. For the first time since he had read the article, seen the tape, and responded to the dozen or so text messages from friends about the tape, he felt embarrassment.

 Laurent wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes slid away, to the busy road outside, his mouth turned.

 Damen turned back to his food. Neither of them said anything else for the rest of their meal.

 *

 Damen genuinely didn’t mind the release of the tape. Julius had wanted his fifteen minutes of fame; Damen had wanted a lay — it was a win-win situation.

 No one else cared too much about it either; his teammates made sly jokes about it in the locker room, Makedon slapped him on the back with a shake of his head, and even Kastor let it slide.

 But there was one thing that did bother Damen — and it was that the love of his life, the man of his dreams, his soulmate, Laurent, was ignoring him.

Laurent had been downright hostile any time someone mentioned it; he’d eviscerated Nikandros verbally during dinner when Nikandros had made a joke about it, and he refused to look Damen in the eye.

 That was the worst part, thought Damen. Laurent was now skittish around him, like the thought of being around Damen too much nauseated him.

 He’d always known Laurent was reserved when it came to sex. He made jokes about it, talked about it as much as a healthy, twenty-seven-year-old man did, but it was never on a personal scale. When it came to Laurent’s own sex life, he was always tight lipped, even though sometimes Damen wanted to know, purely on a masochistic level. It honestly killed Damen when Laurent came in last summer to review his legal contract, briefcase in hand, and a bright red hickey on the white spot beneath his ear. It was the first time Damen had thought he might kill someone — rather violently, too.

 So, that was one of the reasons Damen used to justify Laurent’s behaviour. He was probably embarrassed about seeing… so much of his best friend. Damen wouldn’t have minded seeing Laurent naked, but that was only because he had been in love with Laurent for the last four years now.

 The second reason was that Laurent was so disgusted by Damen he didn’t want to be friends anymore.

 Damen didn’t like thinking about the second reason — so he didn’t.

 *

 A week after the tape, Damen invited Laurent over to dinner, at his family home. Theomedes was obsessed with Laurent, which Damen understood wholeheartedly; he was constantly wondering why more people didn’t fall in love with Laurent three seconds into meeting him.

 At first, it had seemed like Laurent might refuse. He was doing that a lot lately: skipping plans, cancelling so last-minute Damen couldn’t cajole him to reconsider, or in most cases, just flat out saying no.

 It seemed like today, the latter would be the possibility, so Damen said, panicked, “Please. I’ll make your favourite dessert.”

 Laurent perked a little at that. “Really?”

 “Yes!” Damen said, perhaps a little too aggressively, but it had Laurent nodding, a quick, stilted movement.

 Damen ruined the first three batches of chocolate mousse, but the fourth was decent, and the fifth was a bit better than that, so he went with it.

 Laurent arrived at seven sharp, straight from work. He had his favourite suit on, the charcoal wool suit that made everyone realise that Laurent was about ninety percent leg, and he was wearing the bright, spotty tie Theomedes had gifted Laurent about three Christmases ago.

He was so beautiful, Damen’s chest hurt. “Hi,” he said breathlessly, unexpectedly shy.

 Laurent’s gaze was unimpressed. His mouth did something strange; it compressed in on itself, until it sat in a straight line, and his eyes hovered over Damen’s shoulder.

 “You have something on your face,” he said.

 Damen tried a smile. “Well, get it off for me then, sweetheart.”

 He leant forward, very desperate suddenly for Laurent's touch, which in the past, Laurent had been very generous about.

 Laurent shoved the wine bottle he was holding into Damen’s stomach. Damen stepped back with a surprised oof, fumbling to catch it, and Laurent made his way past him, into the kitchen to talk to Theomedes.

 Damen stared after him, at a complete loss.

 He sulked in the bathroom for a while, and only came out when he was sure he could no longer avoid his father’s calls anymore.

 Laurent wasn’t looking at him when Damen returned, but he didn’t shuffle away as Damen took his usual seat beside him.

 Dinner was so pleasant, Damen almost forgot about how strange Laurent had been acting. Even Laurent had loosened, and he gave his first proper smile to Damen in a whole week when he tasted the mousse. It was a small smile, but Damen was going to remember it for the rest of his life, since they were so rare now, apparently.

 Of course, just as Laurent had completely relaxed, Theomedes said, “Do you think we’d have a case if Damen were to sue the tabloids and the man in the tape?”

 Laurent stiffened so much it was like he’d been propped up by invisible string. His shoulders tensed and pulled back, and his back was so straight Damen was sure he could run a smooth line down it.

 Haltingly, Laurent said, “I — don’t. I’m not quite sure.”

 “Why not?” Theomedes said.

 Damen said, “Dad. I’m not going to sue. He was just a dumb kid.”

 Laurent seemed to stiffen further at that.

 Theomedes frowned. “But surely —”

 “I’ll ask someone at the firm for you, sir,” Laurent said, in a polite, contrite tone that wasn’t like him at all. “I only deal with sports law so I — I’d have to ask.”

 That settled Theomedes. Damen relaxed a little too, until Laurent pushed away his dessert, despite having more than half of it left.

 It was such a depressing thing to see, Damen couldn’t finish the rest of his either.

 *

 With how jumpy Laurent was, Damen expected him to leave straight after their plates were cleared, but Laurent lingered, drinking his wine, and talking to Theomedes about the Lions chances of winning this season.

 Damen barely listened. He was upset, and his stomach had been rolling tumultuously for the last hour.

 He excused himself to his bedroom and sat on his small, single bed for a few moments, feeling sorry for himself.

 When that didn’t make him feel better, Damen went to his desk and pulled out a well-read book. Book was perhaps an overstatement; it was a small collection of poetry Laurent had written for him a year after they met. He had handed it to Damen after his birthday party, when everyone had left, and they could have some privacy.

 “You don’t have to read it,” Laurent had said, bashful, when Damen had paused in stunned silence. That was when Damen knew — and over the years that feeling had only solidified.

 The binding hadn’t been the best, so Damen had rebound it himself. Along the way he’d marked a lot of the poems too. The love poems were a source of both serenity and torture, since Damen daydreamed that Laurent had written about making love in moonlit sheets about him, but.

 He was surprised when there was a hesitant knock on his door. Laurent peeked his head through, and then he was stepping inside, wine glass topped up and his tie loosened.

 Damen’s heart lurched.

 “What are you doing?” Laurent asked, and the wine must have made him forget that he was mad at Damen, because he sounded curious, joyful.

 Damen gestured to the curling cover of Laurent’s book. Laurent flushed heavily, the colour vining his cheeks and neck and ears.

 “You kept that?”

 “Of course I did,” Damen said, affronted.

 “They’re terrible,” Laurent said, shaking his head, still red. “I don’t think I’ve even read enough poetry to justify writing so many.”

 “They’re wonderful. See.” Damen flicked through the pages and showed Laurent all his markings, scribbling along the columns of Laurent’s poetry.

 Laurent watched with hungry eyes. But he said, “Oh, Damen,” with so much sadness, Damen went, instinctively, to touch his shoulder.

 “Hey,” he said, unsure.

 Laurent stepped away from his grip, but he sat on the edge of the bed, facing Damen.

 “What is it?” Damen asked, because Laurent’s face was pale, haunted.

 “Nothing,” Laurent said, attempting a small smile.

 Damen tried to return it but couldn’t.

 They sat in awkward silence for a while — which was foreign, between them. Damen talked enough for four people at a time, and Laurent, though he said otherwise, liked that.

 Eventually, Damen said, “You’re coming to Nikandros’ party on Saturday, yeah?”

 “Oh,” Laurent said, surprised. He blinked. “This Saturday?”

 “Yeah,” Damen said, his stomach knotting when he realised Laurent was most probably going to say no.

 It was worse than that. “Ah, shit, I’d completely forgotten…” Laurent trailed off. “I didn’t realise when I — I have plans.”

 “What plans?” Damen frowned, because Laurent had approximately three friends, including him, and they were all going to Nikandros’.

 Laurent flushed again, a finger tracing the rim of his glass. “Armand from work — do you remember? I mentioned him a few times at — anyway. He. He asked me on a date and I said yes.”

 “Oh,” Damen said, so flatly he didn’t think he had even made it sound like a word.

 “Yes,” Laurent said, flushing even more, not looking at Damen’s eyes. “We’re going to Charls. You’ve been there, haven’t you? Is it any good?”

 “Hmm,” said Damen.

 “Oh,” said Laurent, awkwardly. “That’s good.”

 He left ten minutes after that. Damen smashed a penholder.

 *

 The days leading up to Nikandros’ party were the worst of Damen’s life. It wasn’t as though Laurent hadn’t dated anyone for the last few years, but the fact that he was going on a date with Armand, rich, successful, handsome Armand, who cracked dry jokes and said things like, My supervisor would kill me if I said this but did you know… He was just so boring. Laurent could do way better.

 Nikandros’ party was, thankfully, a wonderful distraction. It was as raucous as ever, and the cacophony of noises prevented Damen from thinking too much. Damen drank, he danced, and he thought of flirting with Naos’ sister, but decided against it.

 He was on the alfresco, smoking, trying to ignore the couple in the corner who were three seconds away from having sex, when Laurent opened the sliding doors.

 Damen was so surprised, he almost dropped his cigarette. Then he tried not to get his hopes up. He was either so drunk he was hallucinating, even though it had never happened before, or Laurent had ditched Charls to bring himself and Armand here.

 Laurent was drunk, or at least getting there. When he saw Damen, he smiled wide, his teeth showing.

 Damen swallowed, eyes following Laurent as he made his way over. Laurent surprised him even more; he sat close to Damen, until their thighs touched and rested his head on Damen’s shoulder.

 “Hey,” said Damen, his heart racing, confused and hopeful all at once.

 Laurent propped his chin on Damen’s shoulder. “Hello,” he said softly.

 Damen’s mouth was dry. Laurent plucked Damen’s cigarette from his fingers and placed it in his own mouth.

 Damen asked, “Armand?”

 Laurent exhaled. “He was a dick. And not in the nice, sexy way.”

 “There’s a nice, sexy way?” Damen said, amused and relieved.

 “There can be,” Laurent said, handing the cigarette back to Damen.

 They shared Damen’s cigarette for a while, fingers brushing up against each other. Laurent was still on his shoulder, and this was so achingly familiar, Damen had been afraid he’d lost it forever.

 A few moments later, Damen asked, “Was he a jerk to you, Laurent?”

 “Not really,” Laurent said.

 “Good,” said Damen.

 Laurent propped his chin on Damen’s shoulder again. “What would you do if I said yes?”

 Damen said, too seriously, “I’d kill him.”

 Laurent’s breath caught. His eyes searched Damen’s face, and Damen tried valiantly to keep his expression as neutral as he could.

 Laurent pulled back. His eyes flickered to the ground, then to Damen, and then away. “I should probably go. I have a huge headache.”

 “Okay,” said Damen.

 Laurent squeezed his hand quickly, then dropped it. He made to leave the alfresco, his movements unhurried, a little disjointed.

 At the doors, he paused. Damen saw him hesitate, and then Laurent turned around and asked, “Are you free tomorrow?”

 “Yeah,” said Damen, even though he had promised Kastor they’d have lunch together.

 Laurent nodded. “Good. Come over for dinner. I’ll make lasagna.”

 “Sure,” said Damen, now smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

 Laurent smiled too. “See you,” he said, before he stepped through the doors, into the crowd.

 Damen watched him go, his heart settled and his smile only widening.

[indigowallbreaker]

hi im not sure if ur hand prompts are still open but if they are, “comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together” w/ Lorenz/Ignatz? i would absolutely adore it 🥺

(this nearly became a whole fic rather fast. hello i really loved writing this thank you??)

Thanks to the note left behind by Hubert, the Alliance army was unable to rest after the victory in Enbarr. Lorenz knew the war was far from over. He knew their true enemies were still out there, and that Claude and the Professor would lead them all into yet another battle for the fate of Fódlan.

Yet there was a certain tension gone from Garreg Mach now that Edelgard was defeated. As if the whole of the army had let out a sigh. It helped that they were well into summer and whenever training was over or a meeting let out, the Golden Deer would take to the outdoors and revel in the sunshine.

After a particularity grueling session with Leonie, Lorenz found himself in the shade of a tree, his usual armor beside him, basking in the breeze. Sweat clung to his brow and compelled him to tie back his ever growing hair. 

Further down the lawn, he spotted someone else enjoying the weather. “Ah, Ignatz!”

Ignatz, in the middle of setting up an easel on an even patch of grass, looked up at Lorenz and waved. Leaving his armor behind, Lorenz stood and made his way over. There was no use worrying over his less than graceful appearance-- Ignatz had seen him look far worse. “Fine day, is it not?”

“It is!” Ignatz nodded in eager agreement. “What brings you out here?”

“Just taking a break. Do you mind if I ask what you plan to paint today?”

Ignatz gestured to the field before them. It was a long, empty stretch of land between the east gate of Garreg Mach and the town below. “I wanted to practice landscapes again. It’s been a while since I’ve felt relaxed enough to take my time with it.” He turned to Lorenz with a smile. “Would you like to keep me company?”

Months ago, the question would never have left Ignatz’s mouth. It had taken time for him to become so comfortable in Lorenz’s presence while working at his craft. As always, hearing Ignatz effortless invite him to stay made Lorenz’s heart soar. “I would be delighted. Thank you.”

It was warmer out here in direct sunlight but Lorenz did not miss his shady tree one bit. He was content to sit and watch as Ignatz unpacked his paints, lay out his brushes, and took up a stick of vine charcoal. Lorenz knew better than to speak as Ignatz sketched, so he lay back and let his mind wander in silence.

How strange that art was considered a noble pursuit and yet here Lorenz was, a noble, relaxing as Ignatz, a commoner, created a new piece. As much as the written word occasionally called to Lorenz, he never turned to painting to express his thoughts. What was it that made him and Ignatz so different...

Lorenz sat up. “Ignatz, may I see your hand?”

Ignatz, obviously distracted, rubbed an errant line of charcoal from the canvas. “What’s that?”

“Let me see your hand for a moment.” Lorenz sat up and held out his own hand.

Ignatz turned to him with mild puzzlement. “Alright?” He tucked the charcoal into his pocket and knelt in the grass, placing his hand in Lorenz’s.

Lorenz gently took Ignatz’s wrist and positioned them so their palms were pressed together. Leaning forward slightly, Lorenz observed their hands. Ignatz’s was slightly smaller, the fingers slender and calloused from bow work, and there was a paper cut between his thumb and forefinger. Lorenz’s hand was rough from wielding the lance and his knuckle was still discolored from getting hit with dark magic in Enbarr. 

None of these differences lent themselves to one having more skill with a brush than the other. Lorenz threaded his fingers through Ignatz’s without thought. In fact, side by side, it was impossible to tell the noble’s hand from the commoner’s. 

“L-Lorenz? Have you found what you were looking for?”

For the first time, Lorenz looked up at Ignatz. A dusting of pink had landed on Ignatz’s cheeks and Lorenz realized, abruptly, how improper this was.

“My apologies!” Lorenz pulled his hand back. “I was-- It was a silly thought. Never you mind.”

Ignatz didn’t lower his hand right away. Instead he pulled it back slowly, staring at his palm as if Lorenz could have left something behind. “It’s alright.” Ignatz’s gaze locked on his. “Um. Let me know if you want to... if you need my hand again. Okay?”

Unable to fish up a reply from his repertoire of dignified responses, Lorenz nodded. With a small smile, still pink in the face, Ignatz stood and returned to his sketch. Lorenz did not recline again. He leaned his cheek in his hand and thought about how it had been pressed to Ignatz’s skin just a moment ago.

As Ignatz began to mix paints, Lorenz planned the next time he could ask for his hand.

(hand-hold prompt list!)

[thevoilinauttheory]

Ink Long Dry: Roses

Character(s): Maximiloix Voilinaut, Danny Harold Content Warnings: descriptive eye injury, burns What: An aftermath Notes: A tag for @renofmanyalts​ for implied mentions of Danyell Dwynwen, and @donpom-loredex​ for a continuation of a current thread.

---

His clothes were still soaked, even by the time he arrived back to the scene of the attack. Wool as heavy as his footsteps, heels over cart tracks left in the mud. It had departed already, which Maximiloix was thankful for, having left behind a trail of ash and charcoal - some still flickering with sparks. He brushed back branches and leaves as he pushed himself further into the woods, where he had pulled Danny. No one had seen him, leaving the man unconscious for the past few bells. He brought himself down to his knees in front of him, pulling the mask from his face.

Maximiloix kept his eye on the mask, brushing his fingers over the surface to ascertain the damage. He couldn’t see it - not like this. He could see the fluctuations in his aether, sputtering in and out with his shallow breaths; he could see how it was fighting against another, something not his own, yet mingled almost perfectly. But the injuries? He pulled up his eyepatch, squinting with the light; he rubbed his fingers over his eyes, opening them slowly. The vision bled in slowly - it gave him a headache, seeing both aetherial signatures against the sights. They blinked open further when his gaze fell to his student’s injuries - far graver than he had thought.

“Avis - it is time to get up.” The response was a heavy breath. Danny’s head shifted, but he didn’t stir fully until a hand was placed on his shoulder. “Mngh? Where… Where am--” He shook his head, gripping to the left side of his head, palm pressed to his eye. “M’head hurts bad… m’tired…” “I know…” Maximiloix let out a sigh of relief, running his nails up through his hair. “Master Voilinaut? ...please don’ be mad…” “Mad? Avis, I am worried, not mad. You are in bad shape, let us get you home. I will heal you proper there.”

He draped Danny’s arm over his shoulder, using what strength he could muster to get the man to his feet - and wheezing when the full weight of his body was pressed against him for support. Danny’s feet almost dragged, shaking from reconstruction; his body heavy and sore. He groaned in pain with each step.

When they had made it back, Danny promptly fell into his bed - a longer groan, the pain truly setting in when he rested. Maximiloix kept to his side, using what magic he could to keep it from being unbearable. “...Everythin’ hurts… head hurts th’worst.” “I know.” “Yer not mad?” “Why would I be?” “...Got m’self inta trouble ‘gain.” “This time is different - this time involves lives, not distractions from your lessons. Now… rest. Please rest.”

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

Maximiloix strolled through the Bower, eye shifting from a piece of paper to the stalls, while he ran an errand for his grandson. He could overhear a group of merchants and traders, keeping his visible attention elsewhere.

“No one’s seen ‘em for the past few days’r so. All them attacks just gone!” “Yeah, s’been real quiet.” “Y’know what they say about that - calm before the storm.” “Nah - I heard one Wailer sayin’ they caught ‘em.” “Like hells they did, what took them so long! I think they’d’ve killed him instead.” “Might be dead?” “Might’ve just upset the Wood.” “Either way.”

The rumors were all over the place - swallowed by the Wood, Wailers caught him, Wailers did him in… every one of them ended as if the Masked Man had finally been rid of, that no one would see sight of him again. Perhaps that was true - Danny had not stepped from his apartment in some time. Maybe he’d visit.

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

Maximiloix obtained the chance to visit Danny two days after. When he tried to push the door open, it had been blocked off by a side table - refusing to budge. He let out an annoyed sigh. “Get out! Get out now!” He could feel the same fear Danny felt when he had first found him. “I will not - are you well?” Maximiloix reached an arm through the crevice of the door, squishing his body against the frame to attempt scooting the table from under the knob. It wasn’t working. “No, I ain’t! M’already a swivin’ freak, now… now s’jus’ pathetic.” He let out a huff from his nose as he stood up. “Jus’ like y’tryin’ t’move th’table.” He moved the table for his mentor, letting him inside - he kept his face covered, using his foot to push the table.

“What’re y’doin’ here.”

“Checking in on you, of course. You have not left in almost a sennight, and I suspect someone is beginning to worry about your whereabouts.” “...I don’ wanna see ‘im.” “Do not lie to me.” “...I don’ want him t’see me.” “So you would rather hide from him - never see him again?” Danny had his words turned on him, a response stuttered in his throat. “N-No, that’s not-- I--... is there no way to fix it?” Maximiloix wandered himself to the kitchen, pulling up a pot to start some tea. “Fix what?”

Danny turned around. The mask that he wore was still in place, charred - the paint peeled and melted, scorch marks from the chin up - it was broken, leaving only his left eye revealed…

If there were an eye to reveal. No, instead there were roses - rich in red, deep in crimson. He watched as the broad white petals of a winter rose fight its way from the socket of his eye, watched as the bright yellow begonia petals unfolded, watched as a group of snakeworts tangled with the branches of willow, slowly seeping down his face like tears. The image made him grimace. ( He felt them, the soft petals pouring out. They would grow over the rest of his wounds, soothing them. These petals - these petals, however. They stung, they mocked him. The twists of the stems and branches, leaves that unfolded inside, they made him twitch - how hollow his head felt. The burn scar beneath them grew small stems, small leaves, pushing through the skin. He tried not to pick at the strangely cold sensation. They spread wide and round, lily-pads across fire - and much like him - smelled of mint. )

“Ah… no, there is not. Not without dire consequences.”

Danny let out a heavy sigh and threw himself on his bed, sitting up against the headboard. He curled his knees up and hugged himself. “...He’s gonna be livid.” “Livid? Avis, he would be anything but livid - you misjudge him as you do I. What reason does he have to be angry?” “...Avoidin’ him.” Maximiloix pursed his lips, folding his arms over his chest. “I suppose that would be an issue.” “N’ gettin’ m’self caught up like that ‘gain…” “From what I saw, it seems you do not have a say in that matter.” “Even if he weren’t, s’not like he’d ever look at me ‘gain.” “If he found you that unsightly, he would have left moons ago.” “Still...” White clusters of roseum sprouted from his arms, spruce needles growing over some of his vines, the flowering branches of chasteberry replacing a few.

“M’beginnin’ t’see what ‘e meant by snowstorms.”

[punkpoemprose]

Go Figure- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Art Student/ College AU Length: 2600 Rating: T (I mean there’s nudity and... descriptions... y’all can handle it I’m sure)

Notes: Happy Unbirthday Emma @epbaker! I finally finished that art student/ figure model AU for you. I know I’ve been promising it forever, so here it is! I hope you like it!

Anna yawned as she walked across campus. The art building was mere steps from her dorm, but she’d met a friend for lunch in the science building’s café, had ended up spending a bit too long chatting and subsequently was running late, too late at least to catch the bus across campus. It was not, however, so late that she couldn’t make it across campus on foot, and she was making a valiant effort at it.

The weather was pleasant, the sun was warm on her face and someone was sitting on a low wall outside campus center with a guitar, strumming “somewhere over the rainbow” while being kind enough not to sing it.

All was well in the world, until, that was, a rather strong gust of wind rolled off the Fjord, struck her portfolio and sent her sailing straight into the largest man she’d ever seen. Well, not the largest she’d ever seen really, but the largest she’d ever run directly into, which was saying something as, despite her best intentions, Anna had a bad habit of running directly into people fairly often. The apology she always had prepared slipped from her lips.

“I’m so sorry!” she said as she tried to steer herself and her oversized portfolio away from the man at her side. “I’m so clumsy, I didn’t mean to…”

She paused when she felt his hand wrap around her portfolio handle, two fingers were just on the other side of her four as he turned the whole thing long so as to not catch the wind again. When she looked up to thank him, her mouth went dry. He was not a particularly “pretty” man like many of the guys she had classes with, but he was handsome and looking mildly annoyed.

“I’s fine,” he responded gruffly, releasing the handle and continuing ahead of her, his long legs carrying him along a lot more expediently than her own could manage.

She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she stood, for a moment, to collect herself and watch him get lost in the crush of bodies heading towards the art building.

She made a sound of annoyance under her breath, deciding that she didn’t like people who didn’t take her clumsiness in stride. It wasn’t really her fault this time anyhow, and while he has said that it was fine, his face and his quick walk off hardly said the same.

“Probably a Grad Student,” she decided, mumbling under her breath, “they’re always crabby. Maybe a music major, they’re the worst.”

She sent a mental apology to the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” guy but decided that as he wasn’t singing, he probably wasn’t a music major anyhow. Music majors always sang, whether they were any good or not. It didn’t matter to them, and their favorite captive audience tended to be anyone on campus who wasn’t in the library and who couldn’t run. Music theory master’s student, the truest breed of asshole in the building, was what she ultimately decided on before regripping her portfolio and heading up into the building.

She found her seat in the studio with a grateful sigh. She’d managed at least, not to bump into anyone else. She did secretly like the idea of bumping into Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome again. Despite his crabbiness, or what she’d perceived as crabbiness, he was nice to look at, and Anna nefariously thought that if nothing else it might be fun to mildly inconvenience him again.

She let the thought fade into the back of her mind with other daydreams like getting Chinese for dinner instead of dining hall food and talking Residence Life and Housing into letting her bring her cat Olaf to campus as her “therapy animal”. God knew she needed one with all the stress she’d been under between classes and trying to live up to her family’s expectations of her meanwhile.

“Good afternoon class,” he professor called as she started pulling her supplies out of her bag. “I think I told you last week we’d be starting life drawing from models this week, so I want you all to turn your attention to the center of the room where our model will be joining us in just a moment. His name is Kristoff and I expect you all to be professional and work at your most efficient speed. We don’t want him holding a pose too long, you wouldn’t think it, but it can get quite uncomfortable.”

Anna had been looking forward to this unit. She still wasn’t exactly certain of what she wanted to do with her art degree, but she was leaning towards being a medical illustrator, so finally getting to draw actual bodies instead of working from photographs was an exciting prospect.

She pulled her sketchbook out as well as the conte crayons that were already her worst enemy. It seemed like every time she went to use them she snapped them under her fingers. She was going to ask her professor after class if he would mind her switching to charcoal pencil for next class. She knew that it was her fault for pressing too hard, but her hands just always seemed to work better with a pencil or marker than with small waxy fragile things. Chalk and vine charcoal likewise hated her.

“Okay, you all set Kristoff?” her professor said, “Alright, whatever is most comfortable for you. Perfect! Okay, we’re just going to do some quick gestures first so we’re going to do five minutes…”

A groan came from the assembled students, and Anna almost chuckled, finishing getting herself together as her professor quieted the dissention with reminders that they’d been warned they wouldn’t have long and that they were going to do some longer poses towards the end of class. He was saying something about warm ups and how he was starting the clock now.

Anna pulled out one of the lighter crayons to start with and looked up to the model.

The crayon snapped and fell to the floor, crunched in her grip when she realized that the man standing before her was very familiar. Not only that but that he was very familiar and very naked.

Her heart raced, her eyes went wide, and she wished more than anything that she had taken another seat. Oh to be one of her classmates that wasn’t facing Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome’s face… and perhaps worse than that, his manhood.

The brief thought she’d had while climbing the stairs to the studio that he was rude because he was compensating for “something” was whisked from her thoughts as she was faced with that particular part of his figure. She knew her face was growing hot, and that he caught her eye made her feel like deflating completely into her chair. Recognition sparked in his eye, and then she saw the slightest shift in his own expression towards embarrassment.

She could hear minutes ticking down in the back of her head, forcing herself to keep looking at him, but not to think about anything other than taking what she saw and put it to paper. She scrambled to pick up the broken bits of crayon and press the nub she managed to collect into the paper. This, she decided, was going to be the longest class of her life.

***

When they had taken a break, Anna had excused herself from the room before she could catch their model, Kristoff’s eyes again. He was slipping a robe on when she made her escape. She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and when she’d returned, he’d met her eyes as she reentered the room. She thought that maybe he’d wanted to say something to her, but she didn’t give him the opportunity to say it.

Now though, as class was ending and he was redressing, she didn’t have much of a say in whether or not he’d be able to say something to her. Her professor had seen her conte crayon incident and was discussing the importance of pressure and tool use to her. He was, also suggesting, much to Anna’s relief, that she start using a toned charcoal pencil set instead of the crayons in order to increase her productivity.

She had only a few sketches, and all of them were as much a mess as she felt. Her professor was kindly, telling her how the first figure drawing class with nude models was always stressful and that she’d do better next time, when she saw Kristoff, the model, staring at her, fully clothed.

She nodded to her professor appreciatively and told him that she’d look into the pencil set and that she appreciated his feedback and that she’d see him next week, when she saw him slipping from the room and into the hall. It was a small mercy, she supposed, that he, Kristoff, didn’t want to talk to her after all. She supposed that there was plenty he could say to her “you shouldn’t be so clumsy with your portfolio you could have hurt someone”, “your crayon falling on the floor ruined my focus”, “you probably would have gotten more work done if you weren’t constantly in a battle to look at and to not look at my dick”. She flushed at the thought as her professor released her and she was able to walk out with her things. She didn’t have another class for the day, so she fully planned to collapse on her crappy college dorm mattress and bemoan her inability to be a normal person.

He was in the hall when she walked out, looking sheepish, and totally un-asshole-ish, which made her wish that he was the jerk that she’d made him out to be before class. It would be easier to draw him next class if she just didn’t like him and was hate drawing him. She’d even take any points off her professor wanted to take if she drew him the with tiniest dick on the planet, a clear and evident incorrect detail.

“Hey… uh… Anna?”

She had thought about walking straight past him, making those muscled legs chase after her if he really wanted to talk, but the expression on his face was nervous and shy and she found herself unable to do any such thing. She realized that he must have heard her professor call her over, or maybe he’d asked a classmate for her name during the break. She certainly hadn’t given it to him.

“Yes?” she said, trying her best not to scowl or smile, both of which felt like logical expressions in reaction to him. Her brain was battling between how to treat “jerk who didn’t have the time to deal with her in the quad” and “attractive and shy guy standing in front of her in a tight fitting shirt that barely hid the strong muscled form she knew to be underneath” in a way that felt logical and satisfying.

He looked down at his shoes, pushing off from the wall he’d been half leaned against, waiting for her to walk out. It struck her as a sort of nervous motion, like he hadn’t really thought this far ahead and like he was much less smooth than he’d like to be. It was enough to make a smile ghost on her lips.

“I… I’m sorry about earlier… in the quad. I was late… I commute and my truck had problems and… you probably don’t care about that… I just, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for acting so annoyed with you. I’m just… not really good with people, even when I’m not upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you though. I should have said that it was okay.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small one, and she did her best to cover it.

“No, don’t… Look I’m really clumsy, I shouldn’t have expected for you to say it was fine. I’m sorry too.”

He was standing close, he towered her, but she wasn’t intimidated. She could tell now that she was seeing him as he was, as he usually was at least. He seemed a little shy, a little nervous, but kind, and it made her wish she hadn’t been so mean earlier, even if it was mostly just in her thoughts.

“Can you answer a question for me though?” she asked, unwilling to help herself.

“I.. yes. Sure.”

She smiled at him, trying to give him the warmth she probably should have given him from the start.

“What’s your major?”

He seemed surprised by the question, but quickly answered, “Pre-vet.”

Oh, she liked that. Not pretentious… at least not nearly as much as she thought music majors were. He looked a little bit older than her, so she wondered if he was a senior or just had gotten a late start to still be “pre-vet” instead of on the vet track. It didn’t really matter she decided. He already liked him.

“Can I ask you something too?” he said, seeming nervous again, even when she assented with a nod.

“Can I get you a coffee or something… you know… because I want to apologize. Not because I…”

He trailed off and she watched him brush a hand through his mussed blonde hair. A part of her had wanted to comb her hand through it while he’d been standing there, naked in the classroom when she’d been trying to decide whether she didn’t like him or whether she found him insanely attractive.

“Not because you…?”

She saw the flush on his cheeks and she felt like she was missing something that she should have caught.

He seemed confused for a moment, and then he flushed harder, avoiding her eye as she looked up at him.

“Oh… I didn’t think… I figured you’d noticed and that was why you’d left during the break?”

She shook her head, trying to think what he thought her motivations could have been other than her annoyance about their interaction outside.

“I… well… I was staring and… you’re very beautiful… and…”

She snorted, “I spent a whole class drawing you naked, why would I be annoyed that you were looking at me when I was trying not to stare at your… Oh.”

She put two and two together in that moment. She had done a lot of staring and trying not to stare at a certain part of his anatomy, and she supposed that she might have just not noticed a certain… change in him while she was drawing.

She thought that she might combust. He was standing a bit uncomfortably, she supposed it made sense, she’d just not connected the signs until he said something.

“Coffee… coffee would be nice,” she said, face hot and voice squeaking out of her throat. “But I think I should buy… sorry about that.”

He gave a little half shrug, red as a tomato himself. “It’s not something you should be sorry about I should have…”

She giggled then, unable to help herself, “No, no. I’m flattered, really! And I mean… I guess if I knew that all it took to get someone this nice and this attractive interested was to smack them with my portfolio…”

He laughed then, a warm sound that made her feel like she was melting on the spot.

“I guess I’m lucky you didn’t. Because now we get to have coffee, and maybe talk a little?”

She smiled and kicked out her portfolio with her toe, bumping it into his side again, before walking down the hall, knowing he’d follow.

[huntress1024]

Crashing the Masquerade: (Tyril x MC)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Summary: This is my first ever fanfic, and it’s just how I imagined the Blades gang getting ready for the masquerade! I love the dynamic of their group!! 😊 lemme know if you want to be tagged!

Taglist: @queerbrujas​

Nia chatters excitedly as Adrina braids her hair, “Just imagine! The music, the lights, the magic!” She bounces up and down at the vanity and Adrina almost pokes her with a pearl hair pin as a result.

Imtura, already in her elegant forest green and gold ensemble, scowls from the window seat. “You do realize we’re on a mission tonight, right Nia? We can’t exactly dance the night away while simultaneously waiting for a murderer to strike.”

I expect Nia to blush in her typical fashion, but I am absolutely surprised when she turns in her seat to grin at Imtura. “You look too lovely to be so cross tonight, Immy. Has it crossed your mind that we can do both?”

Our orc companion gapes, before quickly recovering and muttering under her breath, “I am going to kill Mal.” She aggressively tugs at the dress’s waistline for the third time in five minutes.

I laugh and motion for her to stand and turn around. “You have to admit, it’s a cute nickname. And Mal says it with love.” My long, nimble fingers make quick work of the gold lacings at her lower back, loosening them ever so slightly. “Better?”

She breathes a huge sigh of relief. “Much.” With a wicked glint in her eyes, she gives me a pat on the back that leaves me winded from her orc strength. “Thanks, Zammy.”

Nia clamps a hand over her mouth, but a giggle escapes anyway. I roll my eyes at the joke. “That will never catch on.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s rather catchy.” Mal waltzes in the room unannounced, Threep perched comfortably on his shoulder. 

He wears a dusty charcoal jacket with coattails, gold plating running along the shoulders, arms, and belt area. A marble mask covers half of his face, adorned with a gold wing. The look is distinctly Mal, bold and daring, but refined and noble as well. He winks at me, catching my eye. “Well? Do I pass for a snooty noble?”

I laugh, nodding appreciatively at his look. “I don’t think snooty is in your genes, but yes, you look great. Threep, did you help him with this?”

The nesper, smug as ever, flaps his wings in a haughty manner as he gives Mal a once-over. “Indeed. Perhaps you will learn to respect my wisdom, Valori.”

Mal scoffs, dropping Threep in Imtura’s arms. “That’ll be the day. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m gonna go check on elf boy.”

Usually I would laugh at the joke, but instead my heart clenches, thinking of the current state Tyril must be in. “Has anyone been able to talk to him yet?” Mal, Nia, Imtura, and Threep sadly shake their heads, and I sigh in disappointment. On our party’s trek back from the catacombs, I had tried to come up with something to say, but what could possibly have been said to erase the agony he was feeling? I opted for silence instead, staying by his side the whole time. He had brushed his fingers against mine before he headed to his quarters to prepare for the masquerade, and I have not seen or heard from him since.

Mal gives me a dry smile, trying to cheer me up. “I’ll just tease him about whatever the hell he’s wearing. His pompous, stick-in-the-mud attitude that we all know, and love will come back, trust me.” He snatches an apple from the bowl on the vanity before leaving the room. I turn away from Threep’s praise of Imtura’s dress and her mumbled retorts to join Nia and Adrina at the vanity as the Lady of House Starfury recounts stories from previous masquerades. “Last year, the gorgeous Lord of House Moonfall asked me to dance. Three times.”

Nia gasps, delighted. “Really? What was he like?”

Adrina chuckles, smiling at the faraway memory. “Oh, we hardly talked. I was so nervous to be in his presence that I couldn’t seem to get two words out. And he was such an excellent dancer, I did not want to say anything that would ruin the moment. I would have danced with him all night if I could, but Tyril scolded me, telling me it was ‘improper’ to not switch partners after an extended period of time.”

“Well, hopefully he’ll be singing a different tune after tonight,” I say, smirking. “I don’t intend to let go of him.”

Adrina tips her head back, cackling. “Oh, that will be a sight to see. Tyril is horribly proper when it comes to public appearances, but if anyone can help him loosen up, it’s you Zamira.” She places the final pin in Nia’s fiery braid, then offers her a hand to help her rise from the chair. Nia squeals at the sight of herself, twirling and letting the voluminous skirt fly around her. “I look like a princessss!!” She exclaims, dancing a little jig that has Adrina and me laughing.

“You look stunning, Nia.” The dress features various shades of blue, from sheer mint long sleeves to a cerulean corset, and indigo and navy skirts that give a starry twinkle when she moves. Embroidered flowers and vines grow along the dress, and her blue and gold mask compliments her lovely golden-brown skin. “Lords won’t be able to take their eyes off of you!”

She blushes delicately, giving me a bashful smile. “I do not know about that, but I’m flattered all the same.” Her meek mood dissipates as she shoots me a mischievous grin that is surprisingly more Mal Valori than Nia Ellarious. Perhaps he is finally corrupting her, I muse before Nia interrupts my thoughts. “Besides, you and I both know there is one lord who will be positively indisposed tonight when he sees a certain lady.”

Now I’m the one who is blushing, but I refuse to let a bloody priestess know she got the better of me. I feel my face trying to suppress the pleased beam that threatens to take over, but it’s no use as I reply, “Hmm. I don’t know who you’re referring to, but I’ll take the compliment nonetheless.”

“No one will be ogling you tonight if you go in that horrid potato sack of a dress,” Threep says matter-of-factly, sniffing the intimidating golden horns from the shoulders of Imtura’s dress. “Just out of curiosity, are these tipped with poison? It would make for an excellent weapon against Kaya tonight.”

Imtura gapes, outraged. “That was an option? Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“Can we come back to the ‘potato sack’ comment?” I snap, glaring at Threep. “Tell me, Oh Wise One, whatever shall I wear to satisfy you?”

Completely oblivious to the sarcasm, he straightens his posture in Imtura’s arms, studies me with that wide and unblinking stare of his, and definitively replies, “Butterflies.”

Okay, I was not expecting that. “Um, is that supposed to be a color?” I ask lamely.

“No, you simpleton. Butterflies signify transformation, renewal, light. For you, Zamira, I find it a very fitting concept.” Adrina immediately leaves the room, shooting me an excited smile over her shoulder while doing so.

“It’s true!” Nia chimes in encouragingly, taking my rough hands into her soft ones. “You’ve come such a long way from the girl I met in Riverbend who just wanted to escape and go on an adventure.”

I blush at her words and give her a playful push. “You’ve come a long way too, Priestess. I wouldn’t even know how to use my Light if it weren’t for you. Scholar Vash would be proud.” Her eyes brim with tears at my words, and I give her a hug, brief but strong. A light breeze brushes my skin, and I turn to see Adrina proudly holding a dress to me, and my heart stops at the sight. “Oh, Adrina…you shouldn’t have.”

She shakes her head, pushing the dress towards me. “Nonsense. You have done so much for my brother in these past few months, and I cannot properly express my gratitude for it, but this will have to do for now.”

If not for the excitement already bubbling inside of me, the hopeful spark in her eyes would have done me in.  I gently take the dress from her hands, nodding in thanks, and duck behind the changing screen. The dress is easy to put on, and I am pleasantly surprised by how light and airy it feels against my skin. I step out shyly from behind the screen, and Nia, Adrina, Imtura, even Threep gasp at the sight of me.

The dress is composed of a faint sky-blue tulle fabric, the color strongest at the bodice and slowly fading to a white with subtle traces of lavender and pink when the light catches it so. It is sleeveless, but on each shoulder a flower in the very same shade as the lavender accents pin tulle identical to the color of the dress so that it flows behind me like a cape. True to Threep’s word, lavender and cerulean butterflies grace the waistline and front of the dress. I feel ethereal in this dress with the colors of a dawn sky, a delightful contrast to my dark skin, and I grin at Adrina, hoping it is enough to convey how much I love it. It works, for she smiles back and makes quick work of my white hair to pin it into a regal low bun, and adds the finishing touch to the ensemble: a lace silver mask inset with crystals that spans across my face and ends just at my nose.

Imtura breaks the silence first, lips curling in mischief. “I’m no fashion expert, but ladies…I’d say we’re ready to piss off some pretentious elves!” She lets out a cheer, passing Threep to Adrina before charging from the room, not even checking to see if Nia and I follow before she leaps onto the crumbling banister and speeds downward to the once grand foyer. I give Nia a shrug before linking my arm with hers, ad we say a quick farewell to Adrina and Threep before descending the staircase to join Imtura and, not originally noticing him from his veiled position in the shadows until we hear the unmistakable scolding voice belonging to no other, Tyril.

“While I am aware of your opinion towards my kind, I implore you to behave in a manner tonight that will not add to their suspicion of us. We will need as few eyes on us as possible if we are going to succeed in obtaining the Scepter.”

“You mean fewer eyes than the ones openly judging you for showing your face around here and bringing the riff raff into Undermount’s pearly gates? Gee, Tyril, you always ask so little of us, somewhat of a challenge would be appreciated,” Imtura snaps, words dripping in sarcasm from her fangs.

Tyril sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Please. Just try. After tonight, you can drop kick as many of my people as you would like, but tonight, do try to be civil.”

“I think you mean our people,” I say teasingly, trying to lighten the mood once Nia and I have reached the bottom step. Tyril, completely unaware of our descent during his tense exchange with Imtura, snaps to attention and turns to greet us, lips pressed in a tense line before they part in a mesmerized “Oh” at the sight of me. Normally I would glow with pride under his stare, but I’m too busy trying to keep my own mouth from dropping in kind as I take in his appearance.

The outfit bears similarities in style to his everyday armor on our journey, but the colors are pure Starfury. He poses a striking figure in the royal blue and silver armor that extends from his chest to his abdomen, a magnificent steel belt with a royal blue gemstone in the center to accent it all. His shoulders and forearms are adorned in imposing armor the color of an angry sea, and a stormy grey cape clasped by a brooch across his chest. His mask is pure silver encrusted with sapphires and crystals, only accentuating his piercing blue eyes even more. Lord Starfury indeed. It wasn’t hard to imagine him hosting parties and being a prominent political figure in the Undermount hierarchy, not in this outfit where he was the embodiment of a lightning storm.

In a surprise reversal of roles, I am the one at a loss for words, and he is reveling in the idea. My blood rushes through my body as he bows before me, taking my hand and kissing it with such reverence and admiration before meeting my eyes and pulling his lips away, murmuring “My lady” against my skin in a manner that has me blushing furiously. I move to stand beside him, intertwining my fingers with his, grateful for his presence and leadership, despite everything he must be feeling after the catacombs. I squeeze his hand, hoping to express that and more to him, and when he squeezes back, I know he understands.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Mal calls as he saunters down the staircase, smirking at the sight of us all waiting for him.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the dramatic entrance type,” Imtura crows, sticking a foot out in an attempt to trip him as he steps down from the last one, which he deftly hops over.

“What can I say? I’m an insufferable ass.” He offers his left arm for Nia, and his right one for Imtura. “Hope you ladies can tolerate me as escort for tonight.”

Nia curls her fingers around his arm, giggling. “Of course, Mal the Magnificent.”

The rogue turns to me and Tyril with a triumphant glint in his eyes. “See? It was only a matter of time before it caught on!”

In typical Tyril fashion, my elven escort gives an annoyed humph. “I’d sooner be corrupted by the Shadow Court than call you that.”

“Ah. I see even a party can’t loosen up Tyril the Tyrant.”

Even hidden by the mask, I can see Tyril’s sculpted eyebrows rising in horror as he splutters, “Wha—How dare yo—”

Nia, ever the peacekeeper, gracefully interjects “Oh, look, there’s the carriage!” And with that, our party of five sets off into the night, ready to crash a ball.

[ren-c-leyn]

Follower Celebration Story:

As promised, here is the follower celebration story! Thank you very, very much to everyone who sent in words for this. The only word I received a double of was safe, so it will be bolded twice in the story. If I use one of the other words more than once, it will only be bolded the first time. (For those wondering why the word chart is bolded, it was so I could keep track of what words I had and hand’t used while I was writing.)

The word chart:

Feckless, Umbrella, indifference, attentive, vaguely, archetype, diorama, vermilion, Lone, family, angelic, Sally, Safe x 2, Sound, Passion, Adore, Desire, sky, storm, bracelet, resilient, amber, peeling, fangs, fur, claws, abide, lessen, Dynasty, shots, bogwater, Window, Map, Tower, bruschetta, petrichor, disastrous, anachronistic, ethereal, fury, misty, charcoal, greenery, bleach, crown, stuff.

Keep an eye out for the bolded words as you go!

Warnings: This piece does include death, bones, a fight scene, a little bit of blood, but nothing in gory detail. I hope you all enjoy the piece, I had a great time writing this one and am proud of how it turned out =D

~

 The air was thick with the scent of petrichor, and the sky laid heavy with storm clouds, preparing for their second bout of rain. I clutched at my umbrella as I watched the grays of the sky mix with the misty whites that clung to the forest greenery. A terrible day to be the lone traveler.

 Gods know if it wasn’t so important I would have stayed home, safe and sound, by the warmth of my hearth. But no. I had to be out, running errands for the crown.

 A sigh slipped from my lips. No point in complaining about it. I just had to rise to the occasion and sally forth, into the disgusting swampland and get this over with. The sooner I finished the mission, the sooner I could return to my family.

 The trudge through the bogwater and vines would have destroyed a less resilient person. Every step felt like I was being swallowed by the mud. The mist dulled the senses and rendered my map useless. For a long while, I was not sure if I was walking in a straight line or a winding path. The only thing that helped guide me at all was the occasional trees I would stumble into, damp with moss and thin bark practically peeling off at the slightest touch.

 That was the first sign to me that I was on the right path. Or rather, that this path led to something terribly wrong, just as I had been told. The confirmations came steadily after the trees started feeling sickly. The mist darkened first and then the water did. Both of them blackened until they matched the color of charcoal, all the while the water slowly thickened to a paste. All were tells of something disastrous, indeed.

 Time seemed to lose it’s meaning in that place. There was nothing to indicate that it was moving at all, aside from the appalling squelching of my own boots and our seemingly endless battle with the mud. I think I would have gone mad without it, to be frank. Everything seemed to be attempting to rob me of my senses, drain me of my mind. Had I been out there much longer, it may have succeeded.

 However, I found the edge of the black mist before it found the edge of my will. There are no words to describe how absolutely delighted I was to realize that it was thinning, waning. Every fragment of my being had the great desire to see anything besides the deep darkness that seemed to be devouring me.

 I rushed forward with all my speed, sending the dark mud spraying with each heavy step. When I broke out of the mist, my feet hit solid ground and my eyes met with hints of color. The dark greens of moon-kissed grass, the dim twinkle of distant starts, pale stones scattered in the distance, and the grayed silhouette of a great tower.

 A broad smile pulled onto my face as I laughed. The joy, however, was short lived as I stepped forward and onto something that cracked underfoot. My gaze traveled downward only to meet the empty eye socket of a bleached skull. Dread formed a pit in my stomach as I looked up from the bones I was standing on and took a closer look at the rest of the pale ‘stones’. None, in fact, were rocks, but rather... bones.

 I tread lightly as I moved from skeleton to skeleton. Elves, dwarves, humans, male, female, it all varied greatly. The only thing that did not seem to was the terrible cracks and violent tears in the bones themselves. Something powerful did this. Something without mercy nor remorse.

 I swallowed thickly, straightening my cloak before turning my gaze to the tower. My bet was, was the monster responsible for this lived in there, and likely was in possession of my true objective.

 I forced myself to the side of indifference as I stepped past those unfortunate enough to have come before me and towards the tower itself. There was nothing I could do for them now, save perhaps vengeance. And I got the feeling that if I wanted to make it back home, safe and sound, then I would have no choice but to get these people their revenge.

 The tower itself was not the largest I had ever seen, but it was certainly one of the more ornate. Statues depicting mighty beasts sat defiantly on either side of the iron wrought doors, both far from angelic in visage. I did not answer their challenge, at least, not immediately. Instead, I took my time to wander around the perimeter, attempting to get an idea of what I was to face.

The place was peculiar. Almost anachronistic, if I were to put a word to it. The stone work was of ancient designs, almost the very archetype of them. The craftsmanship was similar only to the oldest of the temples in the land, but seemed as fresh as if it were built yesterday. The wild rose vines growing around it, however, were the very embodiment of ancient ruin. Gnarled and unkempt. Some of them even went so far in their defiance of the tower’s perfection to dig into the stones where they were weakest.

 A flash of movement in a window caught my attention, but was gone by the time my eyes had focused in one it. I cursed myself for not being more attentive. It could have been an enemy with a bow, and I would have been doomed. There would have been no dodging such shots unaware from this distance. Thankfully, it had not been, but I believed it was safe to say that I had lost any element of surprise I may have once had.

 A deep sigh escaped me as I turned my gaze up to the ethereal glow of the moon. There was no time left, it seemed.

 I returned to the stone beasts and walked past them to the entrance. Their silent snarls were lost to me as I pushed past the great doors and into the depths of the tower itself. I was greeted with what felt like yet another rift in time, as the interior of the tower was in great disrepair.

 The vermilion carpet was torn and worn down, blood stains long turned brown and rotted in places. Paintings had fallen from the walls, their pictures long faded and frames cracked. There were great claw marks and gouges in the walls and scraps across the dulled flooring. Ruined furniture littered the rooms as I stalked through them, clutching tightly at my staff.

 It was hard to discern exact shapes among the mounds of ruined stuff. I would freeze into place anytime I saw something even vaguely shaped like a beast or a person. By the third or forth room, I was contemplating casting a light spell, but the risk of drawing attention to myself was more than I could abide. Not when it seemed as though something within these walls had a passion for death and destruction. 

 After clearing the first floor, I slowly made my way up the old staircase. There were moments when I feared it would not hold my weight, but it thankfully held firm. I winced at every groan and creak of the decaying wood, however, and prepared myself for a battle.

 But the battle did not come. I arrived safely at the landing of the second floor, and found nothing more than I did on the first floor. Then the third, and the forth, until I reached the fifth floor, where time and reality again seemed to be removed from the tower’s presence. And it was here that I sensed what I had come for as waves of magic energy ebbed down through the halls and to the stairs where I stood.

 The carpet was a darker red, in one piece and untouched by time, only one of the tapestries were torn through with claws, paintings remained hanging, the furniture was whole, everything seemed as it should, except not at all.

 Sparks of magic flitted through the air, casting ominous glows as I checked the floor, room by room. They were dark colors, and almost made crying noises as they phased in and out of existence. Many people mistook such things as spirits of some sort, but they were truly just extra magic that the fabric of reality could not absorb. Nothing to fear themselves, but usually they were the signs that something that should be feared was near.

 In the last room, I found the most curious thing. There was a pedestal with a bracelet upon it, my goal, I assumed. It was a plain, silver one, no markings or jewels of any kind, but the magic energy I felt from it was dizzying. Lesser mages would have fallen to their knees long before they reached this room, but I was not the court mage for nothing.

 After claiming my prize, and sealing it within an enchanted bag to contain it’s power, I spotted something even more odd. On an end table in the corner was what appeared to be a  diorama of the tower itself. I admit that my curiosity got the better of me, beckoning me to have a look. It seemed to be a perfect scale model, everything laid out as I had found it so far, but it didn’t take me long to notice something truly unsettling.

 A little figurine... shaped just like me was standing in the corner of the room, and moving, actually moving, was another figurine, shaped like a monster I had never heard of. Not only was it moving, it was moving down the hallway of the floor I was on, heading straight for this room.

 Fear and adrenaline rushed through my veins as I desperately searched for an escape, or at least a hiding place, but neither were available in this room. I was at the very end of the hall, and I could hear the scraping of claws coming for me. With flight not longer open to me, I turned to face the door, raising my staff as I began to call upon the magic within me.

 “Poor, little, feckless mage,” a deep, growling voice seemed to sing from within the darkness of the hall, “You adore a dying age. The queen’s dynasty shall end, and another will begin.”

 I held the spell, waiting for it to come into view. The little motes of magic flashed in the hall from time to time, illuminating shadows and small flashes, but nothing solid enough for me to know my strike would land true. Then, I saw them, the terrible amber eyes.

 I flung the bolt of ice at it’s head, but it leaped over it and into the room. It was a massive creature, with fangs and claws to match. Pale fur bristled as it laughed, laughed at me.

 “My turn,” it purred, sung, whatever one would call that horrifying voice.

 Then, it came at me with fury enough to give dragons pause. It took every, single bit of my training and experience with battle to so much as lessen the deep wounds it tore into me. I kept the jaws at bay with my staff, or what little of it remained after it took the full force of the first bite. The claws cut through my robes like they were nothing, and aided it in pinning me to the floor. But not even it’s massive bulk could save it at this distance.

 I put my hand to it’s exposed belly and drew on not only my own magics, but those that were floating aimlessly around the both of us. And I set fire to the wretched creature. It shrieked with pain and wrath as it thrashed and rolled. I followed up with lightening and ice and then more fire. It came charging at me, fangs and fury and bloodlust, but I conjured a wall of magic between the two of us that it slammed into.

 “I am the court mage of these lands!” I shouted as the monster wailed in rage. “And you shall pay dearly for the blood you have spilled and the wicked deeds you have committed here.”

 And then, the room went white with the explosion of magic that rattled the tower to it’s core. There was the scream of the monster and then the howl of shattering, collapsing stonework. 

 The walk back was far more pleasant than the walk to the tower, even if I was sorer for it. Between the deep tears the creature left in me, and the bruises and cracked rib I got from the collapse of the tower itself, I felt lousy and just wanted a hot plate of bruschetta, a warm bath, a healer, and some sleep. Frankly, I was beyond caring about which order those came in. But, first thing was first, I had to get back to the castle to have the ruinous bracelet destroyed before it caused the world anymore troubles....

~

Submitter taglist: @1-2-butter-my-shoe, @the960writers, @ducky-writez, @candy687, @silver-wields-a-pen, @whiteomorox, @hyba, @ratherinterestingmilkshake, @bookenders, @leave-her-a-tome, @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @kaatiba, @aziz-writes, @somethingreallydeepandprofound, @montevena, And, last but certainly not least, @innocentreticent.

 Thank you all again! This was quite the challenge and I had a blast working my way through it ^-^ This story wouldn’t have been possible without your combined and creative word choices.

Short story taglist, because this still counts for that: (You may ask to be added to/ removed from my taglists at any time. Just let me know ) 

@wemitodd, @greenwood-writes, @elkatheinkstained, @n1ghtcrwler, @writingiswilde, @say-no-to-negativity,  @dawnscribbles, @silvertalonwriteblr, @inspiring-prompts, @dawnoftheagez, @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @orphicodysseywrites, @mischiefiswritten, @nemowritesstuff

[annablosssom]

dream a little dream

He's alone.

He'd lost sight of Gorgug and Fabian, and now he's alone.

((a look into what Ragh's experience in the Forest of the Nightmare King might've been))

(((read on AO3)))

"Fabian!" He yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Gorgug!"

He waits, listens, but when no reply comes save for the faint rustling of leaves, he calls out again.

He wanders on for a few minutes more, hackles rising the longer he stays in the forest. He starts calling out for the rest of the Bad Kids.

“Adaine! Fig! The Ball!”

Five minutes more, and his voice has turned hoarse with shouting, but he continues nonetheless.

“Sandra Lynn! Tracker! Kristen!”

Five minutes more, and doubt starts to creep into his mind. Doubt that they’ve forgotten him. Doubt that they’ve left him. He isn’t sure which one is worse.

"Ayda! Fabian! Gorgu--"

"Ragh, dude," a familiar voice drones somewhere behind him, “chill out for a sec, man. You’ve been shouting for a while.”

He draws his glaive and turns in one smooth motion, baring his teeth, muscles tense. “Whoever you are, you better be prepared to have your ass kicked!”

“Hey, hey, I said chill, dude. It’s just me.”

From out of the foliage, Dayne Blayde steps out, hands up. He walks towards Ragh, wearing his letterman jacket. He grins in that crooked way Ragh found attractive a lifetime ago, before Jawbone.

Before the Bad Kids.

Before the black eye.

“Stay back,” he warns, brandishing his glaive, “I beat you during prom. I beat you in hell. And I’m gonna beat you here in this forest if you try anything.”

“Ragh, my man,” Dayne scoffs, tilting his head as he leans back against a tree, “ you  didn’t beat me. The  Bad Kids  beat me. There’s a difference.”

Ragh growls, that same doubt coming back twofold, “Shut up!”

“Dude, you’re only mad because you know I’m right. I mean, look at you,” he nods at him. “Sandra Lynn’s a cool ranger, Cathilda’s a badass maid, Tracker’s magic keeps everyone safe at night-- I mean, they even talk to  Gilear more than they talk to you. So, let's face it," he shrugs, "you’re worthless to them, dude.”

His knuckles whiten around his weapon. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna kill you!”

"Dayne laughs, saying, “You’re not a Bad Kid, Ragh. You never were.”

Ragh charges at him, blood pumping as he falls into a rage.

The glaive sinks into nothing tree bark as Dayne flickers out of sight.

“Shouldn’t have done that, man,” he says, reappearing behind him with raised fists.

Raghs growls, yanking on his glaive but then the tendrils of vines wrap around the weapon from where it remains embedded in the tree. Danger sense kicks in, and he lets go just in time to jump back from the thorny vines that whip towards him.

He turns, weaponless, and takes a direct hit to his sternum as Dayne lunges forward and socks his chest. He feels something break. Breath escapes his lungs, and he falls to his knees.

He tries to take a breath, and again, but his throat closes up each time. He reaches up, clawing at his neck.

Dayne kicks him in the ribs, the force sending him to the floor, lying on his side, struggling to breath. Another kick, in his stomach. And another. And another. Another.

The lack of oxygen and pain makes him lightheaded, but he hears Dayne’s voice insulting him crystal clear despite it. Pure vitriol fills his ears, makes shame burn low in his gut. His ears ring. He tastes blood in his mouth.

A hand grabs the front of his jacket, forcefully putting him face to face with Dayne. Still grinning that crooked grin. His mind starts shutting down from the lack of air.

“This is what you get, you fucking fa--”

Ragh flinches at the slur, black spots appearing in his vision.

Dayne raises his fist one last time, and punches him in the face.

 --

 Ragh Barkrock walks home with a bruise around his right eye.

It throbs dully with each step. It distracts him enough that he trips over a tree root jutting out of the sidewalk. He blinks, brow furrowed, because there are no trees in his neighborhood.

His eye throbs, and he looks back and sees a crack on the sidewalk.

Ah,  he thinks. That makes more sense.

So he continues walking down the familiar streets of Elmville leading to the only home he's ever had. He passes by the old park his mother used to bring him to when he was younger, the old swing set rusted, the ground covered with foliage. Forest foliage.

His eye throbs.

He continues walking. He doesn’t know how he got back to Elmville. He doesn’t know what happened in Sylvaire. The details become fuzzy right after Dayne punches him into unconsciousness and right before he started walking. But he does know he has to go home to his mother.

So he continues walking.

 And walking.

 And walking.

 And walking.

 And then he stops.

A familiar burgundy door. His childhood home. Somehow, the paint seems fresh.

He swipes his hand across it and it comes back smeared with red.

He opens the door.

Inside, he hears his mother in the kitchen. He goes there.

"Mom?" he calls out as he steps through the open archway.

Lydia Barkrock is seated in her wheelchair, facing the lowered stove and away from him, humming a little tune to herself.

"Mom," he approaches, but then his black eye flares with a sudden pain, and he gasps, knees hitting the floor as he clutches his eye.

The humming stops.

"What's that on your face, Ragh?" she asks without turning to face him.

He blinks through the searing pain, "Mom, wh--" the pain intensifies, sending him prone on the floor. It feels like a dagger constantly stabbing into his right eye, twisting in the socket as it exits and enters. “It… it hurts, mom--”

"Dayne Blayde gave it to you?" She says, cutting him off, "Why? What for?"

He tries to stand, to ask for help, but he can only scream in agony.

"Oh, you stupid worthless boy," there's mocking affection in her voice, and through the haze of pain, he sees the wheelchair turn. "Did you really think he would love you back?"

"M-mom, please--"

"Did you really think  anyone  would love you back?"

The smell of burning wood and smoke reaches him. Panic makes his guts twist.

The house burns, flames licking at the walls in his periphery. Have to get her out, have to save her--

"Mom, w-we have to go!" He manages to push himself up on his elbows.

"Look me in the face, son."

He urges his body to move despite the pain lancing through his eye, managing to kneel, hands clutching the sides of the wheelchair to keep himself upright.

"Look at me."

He doesn't look, a deep sense of fear telling him not to look. The smell grows stronger, and he feels heat.  Have to get mom out, keep her safe, away from the flames--

"Ragh," her voice softens, a tone of voice he rarely heard from her. "Look at me."

Slowly, he looks.

The vision of his mother's burnt face forever imprints itself in his mind.

"You killed me, Ragh," she whispers, tongue falling to ash as she speaks, her piercing eyes pinning him in place. The smell of cooked meat and singed hair fills his nose as he lets out choked sobs.

"No.  No ." Tears build up in his eyes as he tries to remember, "Principal Aguefort said--"

"He lied," she leans in, voice still whisper-soft. "You told your friends something you shouldn't have, and you killed me."

"I didn't," he whimpers, knuckles white from clutching the wheelchair. He tries to move, to twist his head away from her, but he  can’t . "I didn't kill--"

"You  killed  me!" She screams, the gem in her scorched chest pulsing with light. "You little snitch! You killed me, you killed me you killed me killed me killed me killed me--"

Charcoal hands wrap around his throat, and the paralysis loses its grip on Ragh. Instincts kick in, and he shoves her off him and into the flame.

His mother’s corpse falls to the ground, wheelchair clattering.

Ragh turns, and runs, the glow of his burning home elongating his shadow.

 --

 He runs.

He doesn’t know for how long, but he continues to run.

Exhaustion seeps into his bones, but the memory of his mother’s burnt corpse spurs him on.

So he keeps running.

Eventually, the smell of smoke fades, and he finds himself back approaching Aguefort Academy. He slows to a stop by the gates, legs shaking, feet aching.

He closes his eyes as he leans on his knees, panting with exertion.

A whistle blows, and his eyes snap open.

He’s sitting on a sideline bench. A dozen players stand in the bloodrush field, the stands filled to capacity by a boisterous audience, flood lights turned on as the evening game commences. He sees the Aguefort team playing against an unfamiliar opponent, their team colors unfamiliar to him. He hears a clapping sound beside him, and he turns to see a huge demonic entity wearing a tight white shirt and a tiny blue cap, holding a brown clipboard.

Gorthalax cups a hand around his mouth and yells, “Line, use your hips when you push!”

He turns to the field, He spots Gorgug in the line, pushing against a player much larger than him. The opponent pushes him down, a loud snapping of bones audible across the field as he lands on his arm. The enemy runner rushes past Gorgug and scores. A chorus of gasps and boos.

Ragh watches as Gorgug slowly gets up, fingers digging into the bench, expectantly darting his eyes towards the medical team on standby, but none of them go out into the field.

Horror fills him as he sees Gorgug stand and get into position, his arm twisted. The referee blows their whistle, starting the next play. The audience cheers.

“Coach! He’s hurt!” Ragh shouts, on his feet as soon as he realizes what’s happening, “You gotta get ‘im out of there!”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, bud,” Gorthalax says, nonchalantly writing down something on his clipboard, before raising a hand to adjust his cap. “He’s our only shot at winning the line.”

“His arm’s fucking broken!” He yells, desperate, before pulling on Gorthalax’s sleeve. “Put me in! I’ll play! I’ll win the line, just get him out!”

He realizes his mistake the moment the coach turns to fully face him for the first time. Not Gorthalax, but a demonic Coach Daybreak. He snarls at Ragh, pushing him down on the ground.

“You’re  gonna win the line?” he snarls, pointing a thick, meaty finger at him. “You can’t even win against a bunch of  fucking freshmen! You’re worthless, Ragh!”

Another wave of cheers erupts from the crowd, and Ragh glances just in time to see Fabian get tackled to the ground. His attacker stands, leaving Fabian lying limp on the ground. Another blow of the referee’s whistle.

Ragh tries to run towards the field, but Daybreak grabs his arm and pulls him back. 

“You can’t do anything, boy,” he growls, “so just sit tight and watch them die.”

Gorgug falls once more with another violent push from the enemy line. He lands next to Fabian, unconscious. Another round of cheers. Another whistle.

Filled to the brim with desperation, Ragh turns and punches Daybreak across the face, shocking him enough to make him lose his grip. A glint of metal catches his eye, and he sees his glaive lying against the bench.

He grabs it and charges into the field and stands in front of his collapsed friends, teeth bared. He feels strength come back to his arms as he goes into an aggressive stance. Opponents start rushing at him, and he tries his best to hold them back. The roar of the audience doubles out here in the field, cheers and taunts and jeers and applause overwhelming his senses.

He gets into the rhythm of the fight-- dodging the hits he can and withstanding those he can’t with rage. He slashes at the approaching attackers, uses his weapon’s reach to keep them at bay.

His entire being feels clear in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. Battle ready and out to kill. Every single hit that lands causes the audience to scream with delight, blood spilling into the grass. The sound exhilarates him.

Keen eyes spy a slight figure clad in that unknown team’s colors crouched next to the unconscious Gorgug, and he roars. He swings his glaive high to come down on them, but they dodge out of the way as it does.

The crowd boos, insults falling from their lips with Dayne and Daybreak’s voices overlapping with theirs.

So he tries again, putting even more force behind the second blow, only to be rebuffed by a spectral shield.

Even more jeering from the audience, slurs and mocking laughter. He thinks he hears his mother screaming.

He moves to attack once more, but then another figure grapples him from behind, forcing him into a headlock.

A voice comes through, shouting above the crowd.

“Ragh, Ragh! This is not you!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses brown skin and dark hair.

“It’s  not you! ”

He looks up, and the moon gleams, before flooding the sky with its light. The world turns white around him, and the bloodrush field vanishes. A cool and gentle magic floods into his mind, dispelling the possession and the fear.

His knees immediately go weak and he collapses, the weight of exhaustion coming back all at once. He collapses to his hands and knees, gasping and sobbing.

When his sight comes back, he sees Aelwyn kneeling on the forest floor, crouched protectively over Adaine’s body. His guts twist at the hole in her chest, her denim jacket tacky with gore. Bile rises in his throat.

“Hey,” Tracker says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are bloodshot but determined, mouth set. “Head in the game.”

He takes another gasping breath, and nods.

He looks up.

He sees Kalina, claws out and razor-sharp. He sees Adaine’s mother, floating as she readies another spell. He sees the real Gorthalax, grappling with the Nightmare King.

He sees his friends, bloody and bruised but not backing down.

Ragh stands, glaive in hand, muscles protesting and body shaking with the effort, but he stands nonetheless.

This nightmare's not over yet.