#for TRUE ashen ships are people into those?

[rosemarytrash]

Do you have any ashen ships?

you mean that ♣ type shit?

not really! none that i'm particularly passionate about. when it fancies me i may read some vrisrose hateship fic with kanaya attempting to mediate in a sloppy sapphic way. but in that sense i don't think i've ever been into a genuinely ashen ship that didn't divulge into some actual love/hate triangle situation. that there quadrant vacillation and hiding behind the ashen cloak to keep ones true feelings (poorly) disguised... like i like that dynamic but not the actual thing itself

but that is probably born from my enjoyment of reading kanaya trying her damnedest in spite of herself with vriska and tavros and eridan lol. i did think, way back when, in the moment, that gamrezi with rose on the side had interesting potential as an ashen situation, or at least interesting potential as an exploration of toxic troll romance with a human not understanding shit about jack. i would've been into that had anything ever happened with it in canon, probably, almost maybe because anything to do with the seers is just cool by itself and i like gamzee as a standalone so like altogether that just had a lot of my fav things going on

but in that same moment where that was mentioned and then thrown away, otp graduated to canon, so oh well i guess

[reunionatdawn]

My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 14: Marianne/Lorenz)

Marianne: Back then, I felt that my life served no purpose and that I was nothing more than a burden. In truth, I was begging the goddess to take me to her. That was my daily prayer.

The Crest of the Beast is associated with The Devil arcana. It can signify depression and also be a sign of feeling trapped or restricted, as though outside forces beyond your control are restricting you, leaving you feeling powerless and victimized.

Unless recruited, Marianne was the only student to not appear outside of her home route post-timeskip. Some have speculated that she took her own life, which I suspect is true. It was likely the promise of a class reunion that kept her going those five years. And if Byleth is not part of the class, the house leader will not make the promise. There were only a few people during the academy phase that Marianne connected with strongly enough that they would motivate her to live long enough to see them again at the Millennium Festival.

Marianne: What do you believe determines a person's value? Sylvain: I like to think it's a person's smile. Marianne: Huh? Their smile? Sylvain: A smile, it tells you who someone is. Are they fake or sincere? It also makes you feel stronger when you smile.

While Hilda and Marianne became close friends, that didn't happen until the war arc. During the academy arc, there were only three characters who made a strong connection to Marianne, enough to make her sincerely smile. The first was Byleth. At the Goddess Tower, we can assume she was making a wish to die. But you gain Support points with her if you tell her that your wish is only to see her smile.

Dimitri: Ah, a smile and a laugh. Coming from you, that's a rarity. This must be my lucky day. Marianne: I just find the idea amusing. It's strange to think that someone like you could have anything in common with me. Dimitri: Is it so terrible a thought? Marianne: No, no. It's not that. It actually makes me happy. As though there's finally someone who understands how I truly feel…

Second was Dimitri. Byleth's arc was about awakening her humanity after living as the Ashen Demon, and helping Dimitri become human again, too. While Byleth could understand his capacity for depravity more than anyone, I think Marianne was probably able to understand his survivor's guilt best. If you're playing as Male Byleth, then I think Marianne is by far the best wife for him. Other than Female Byleth, he seemed to have the strongest connection with her because they both felt like cursed beasts.

Marianne: Please, Dimitri. Promise you'll live through this war and long after. I don't know what I'd do with myself if we lost you… Dimitri: As long as you are carrying on, I have yet another reason to carry on myself. I promise to the goddess of Fódlan that I will never give you cause to despair.

Dimitri longed for female companionship. He can marry his childhood friend Ingrid, his BL classmates, and even his old mentor Catherine. But Marianne was the only other non-Byleth wife to give him a reason to live and vice versa.

Lorenz: But perhaps it is for the best that your beauty not be revealed to all the world. Yes, it is certainly better that only I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, can appreciate your true magnificence! And on that note, I bid you farewell! Marianne: What a strange person… But being called beautiful just the way I am? That was nice to hear.

The final one was Lorenz. I believe the writers probably based this ship on Beauty and the Beast directly. Marianne could even talk to animals like a Disney princess.

If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?

The "Survivor of the Curse" felt totally worthless because of her bloodline. She spent her whole life avoiding other others due to her shame of her Crest. She needed hope that she could love and be loved in return in order to survive.

Catherine: That's not to say lineage counts for nothing. It just doesn't count as much as how you live your life, and what you live for. Or, let's say I was descended from some noble house. Would that change how you treat me? Lorenz: Yes, it would. To treat you differently from the commonfolk would only be appropriate.

The "Noble of the Red Rose" was pretty much like the Disney prince. Arrogant and judging people on their status and outer appearance. He would invite girls to dinner just to evaluate them. His character arc was about learning that lineage is not the defining factor in someone's worth and that true beauty is found within.

Lorenz: I have always sought to embody the ideal of nobility. That, at least, is a goal I continue to stand by. But now I know that bloodline alone is not sufficient to gauge a person's worth.

The Crest of Gloucester is associated with The Hermit arcana. The Hermit card in Tarot is a card of introspection, soul searching, analysis, and self-reflection. It denotes that this is not a time of socializing or action but of peace and solitude. And a hermit like Marianne was his preferred dining companion.

Marianne: I've been keeping this from you for a while. It's… It's about my Crest. It's just terrible. I— Lorenz: Please, that's quite enough! You're trembling. If uttering this secret hurts you, then I have no desire to hear it. Your smile is a greater gift to me than any truth. Whatever you have hitherto concealed, I am certain it is essential to you. And I do wish to know it. But not until the day arrives when you can tell me with a smile on your face. I am not the sort of man to prize my own knowledge over others' happiness, you know. Besides. The mystery is part of your charm. Marianne: Hehehe! You're funny, Lorenz… Lorenz: There! That's what I mean! Your beauty has always captivated, but that smile truly warms my heart!

It was cute how Lorenz grew to value Marianne's inner beauty the most and accepted her the way she was. He didn't even want to know about her Crest until she could tell him with a smile. It showed how much he'd grown as a person.

Marianne: But now I fear the idea of dying and being left alone. I have friends who accept me for who I am now, in spite of my Crest. And I have you watching over me. I've finally learned to accept the kindness and warmth of others. It's because of you, Professor. Because of you, I've decided to live.

In Houses, Marianne tells Byleth that they are the reason she decided to live because they taught her how to accept the kindness of others.

Marianne: For so much of my life, I didn't care if I lived or died, and yet… And yet when I saw you there beside me, I realized I did care. I wanted to live. Lorenz: And that is good enough. Such instincts are only natural. You needn't try to justify it to yourself, or anyone else.

In Hopes, Lorenz actually fulfills Byleth's role of being the one who helps Marianne feel like she wants to live. So, this ship definitely felt tailor-made for both of their character arcs and the writers liked it.

Marianne: This is the first time I've smiled in so long…and I have your kindness to thank for that. Lorenz: As I've said, you are perfect just as you are. But I suppose I can take a little credit! Yes, your radiant smile shall illuminate all the world! With me by your side, you will not be able to help it! Marianne: Hehehe! I'm looking forward to that.

Marianne was sent to the academy to marry a powerful nobleman, but unlike many of the other girls, that is something that can bring her happiness. She didn't have any big dreams that she'd have to sacrifice to marry a noble and she genuinely liked Lorenz.

Lorenz & Marianne After becoming the new head of House Gloucester, Lorenz initially focused on the recovery of his own territory before energetically engaging in the governance of all of Fódlan. Having earned recognition as a skilled politician, he suddenly announced his own marriage. His partner was Marianne, the adopted daughter of Count Edmund. Having learned about estate management from her shrewd foster father, she also became involved in the domestic affairs of Fódlan with Lorenz after their marriage. Particularly, she achieved significant success in promoting dairy farming, leading them to be praised as the "parents of cattle and horses." It is said that Lorenz was not pleased with being referred to by that nickname.

Lorenz's dream was for his name to go down in history, and he does achieve a great deal acting in the governance of all Fódlan. In this ending, he has a much different nickname than he probably imagined for himself, but I'm sure it made Marianne smile because her life work benefited the animals that she loved so much.

[floral-force]

Sleeping Bounty - Chapter 9

A Dream Come True

din djarin x f!reader

summary: The time has come for the princess to reunite with her family. Will they accept her and her Mandalorian suitor?

words: 3.6k+

warnings/tags: none, but my blog is 18+ only. gentleman!din djarin, lots of fluff and feelings

read on ao3 | series masterlist

previous | next

Din was nervous. Maybe not as much as her, but nervous nonetheless. At times like these, he was grateful for his gloves and helmet; they hid his clammy hands and sweaty brow. He was staying strong for her in this moment and hiding his wobbly knees under a brave exterior because his princess needed something solid and stable to lean on. Din would gladly be that man for her whenever she needed him to be; his arm would always be ready for her to grasp, and his hand forever hers to hold. 

The noise from the ballroom grew louder with each step, her hold on his forearm tightening when they saw Peli standing and waiting for them at another landing, this one made of smooth gray stone and covered in a rich red landing rug. It ran down the short hallway to another flight of gently curving stairs, the red fabric bleeding down them. They stopped short of the first of three narrow arched windows, decorative and made of ashen stone. The conversations below threatened to consume Din, but he looked down at her—meeting her wide eyes with his hidden ones—and it all went away.

“Glad to see you got her here safe, Din.” Peli winked and he nodded. She flew up and made a few final adjustments, wiping a tear off her round cheek after she straightened the princess’s crown and floated back to take her in. “They’re going to love you,” she whispered.

The princess nodded and smiled. She fought back the tears in her eyes with furious, determined blinks. “And if they don’t,” she said, looking up at Din, “I know he does.”

The short fairy scoffed. “And suddenly, I’m chopped liver!” Peli’s feigned anger melted into a soft smile when the princess giggled. She squinted at Din, then clicked her tongue as she waved her wand, dousing him in blue sparkles that quickly vanished. “Much better. Can’t have you walking down there with grimy armor.”

“Thank you, Peli,” he said with a nod.

She waved it away and gave him a wink. Then, Peli sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’ll let the trumpeters know you’re here. Once you hear them finish their little tune—” Peli hummed what Din assumed to be the end of it— “walk your behinds down those stairs. Got it?”

They both nodded. Peli gave her Rose one last kiss on the top of her head, then changed into a small blue orb, flying up and away. 

“I’m scared again, Din,” she whispered, leaning to the side and snapping back with a gasp. Her eyes were wide. “There’s so many people!”

Din angled himself towards her and lifted her chin with two of his fingers. “Look at me. I’m here, mesh’la. I’m not letting you do this alone.” Din hoped his attempt at a reassuring tone wasn’t ruined by the vocoder. “And if they hate you, we’ll fly over to my ship and leave this all behind.”

That made her laugh, the sound a welcome delight and distraction to his ears. He already knew that he’d never grow tired of hearing it. He cupped her cheek in his hand, running his thumb over the corner of her mouth. She gave him a dreamy grin and leaned into his palm. Apparently, this woman was on a mission to make his heart melt every five minutes. 

“I’ll suffer through that jet pack ride if it means spending forever with you.”

Din shook his head and exhaled her name. “I told you you’d change your mind, didn’t I?”

Before she could offer a retort, trumpets filled the air. Their bright, bold sound instantly hushed the crowd and sent a shiver up Din’s spine. His hand dropped back to his side, and he steadied his bent arm. Din turned his head to see her straighten next to him and squeeze her eyes shut. Din’s heart skipped a beat watching her roll her shoulders back and take a few deep breaths, eyes snapping open so she could steel her gaze straight ahead. She was steadfast and confident in the face of total uncertainty and while under an enormous amount of pressure. She was beautiful and graceful even though her eyes had been wide with fear just moments ago. Even if she’d just learned that she was a princess, she behaved now as if she’d been wearing a crown her whole life.

Din’s adoration was cut short. The final note of the trumpets’ brassy flourish sounded, and they began their descent into a new world. She clutched his forearm, her other hand gently pinching the fabric of her dress and lifting it so she wouldn’t trip. He hoped that Peli’s magic had done a decent job of polishing his armor. Din couldn’t afford to make a bad impression—her parents were expecting the puny prince, not a beskar-clad, weapon-adorned Mandalorian. In fact, Din realized he still had the spear strapped on his back. He winced; at least he was prepared if he needed to skewer someone. 

They reached the first stairstep and Din could hear some hushed whispers and exclamations. His eyes darted around the large crowd waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Din scoffed at the gaudy, brightly colored clothes they all wore; the crowd was a sea of poofy sleeves, belted tunics, gathered dresses, and tall boots, complete with ridiculous hats sticking out above the waves of turning heads. As they reached the midpoint of the stairs, he saw the king and queen waiting on their thrones to the left of the staircase and further back. Din was already charting a course across the vast expanse of red and white checkered marble floor, shoving his anxiety away.

He glanced up at the arched, vaulted ceiling that seemed to stretch to the heavens and realized he’d never been surrounded by so much wealth. Everything around him—the odd clothes, the gold railing and accents throughout, even the rug—reeked of wealth and power. It was almost overwhelming. It reminded him that he didn’t belong here among the bright colors and marble floor. Even though he’d woken the princess up, he was an outsider and could still be rejected. The woman at his side was betrothed to a prince, not a bounty hunter. Din clenched his jaw and reminded himself that he wasn’t owed anything just because he broke the curse. He had to be ready for her rejection. 

Din snapped out of his thoughts just as they approached the bottom of the stairs. The crowd at there quickly backed away and parted for them. Their shoes tapped in tandem against the polished floor as they walked through the whispering aisle. It felt like he was being sent to the executioner; at least he had an angel at his side. Din paused to glance down at her when they reached a golden line separating the plain marble from the checkered. She was already looking up at him, staring through his visor and into his eyes. He nodded, and looked ahead again, turning his head a few degrees to the left, gently guiding her on an angled path to her parents.

He could feel judgmental eyes on him as they made their way across the cleared rectangle in front of the thrones, the empty space only reaching halfway across the vast room. Din could feel the human border of the shape clamoring and mumbling, trying to get a glimpse of their princess and her guide. He noticed her parents slowly rise to their feet as they got close to the base of their thrones’ platform, and Din’s heart raced. At his side, his brave princess kept her head held high like a warrior walking into battle.

At last, they reached the platform, standing a few feet away from the last of the three steps leading to the elegant, gilded thrones that the king and queen stood in front of. Din bowed, and his princess curtsied; he straightened only when he felt her start to do so. A cryptic silence hung in the air, dense and ominous. Din noticed a short man standing a few feet away from the left side—the king’s side—of the rectangular platform. His pale face was growing redder by the minute, his thick white mustache and connected muttonchops slowly starting to look like fur on a tomato. He could only assume this short and stout man in buckled shoes was that prince’s father. He would’ve chuckled, but his attention was focused on his princess and how her shaking hand inched its way to grasp the bend of his elbow. 

“Mother?” she whispered, her voice the smallest he’d ever heard it. Her fingertips were digging into his flight suit’s fabric and pressing into his skin, something almost childlike in the self-soothing behavior.

The queen nodded and choked out the princess’s name with a radiant smile—a smile that was quite like hers. Din smiled under his helmet when she slipped her hand out and ran into her mother’s open arms. The queen held her close, arms looping under her daughter’s, shaking hands resting on her shoulders. The king stepped over to them, a gentle smile on his aged face as he said the princess’s name and stroked her back. 

Din was rarely emotional, but he couldn’t hold back the grin splitting his face at the sight of their reunion. He clasped his right wrist with his left hand and sighed, feeling his love’s relief wash over him. At least he knew she’d be happy if he was forced out of her life and the kingdom. Din could live with the memory of the blissful, teary-eyed smile she threw him over her shoulder after she finished hugging her mother being the last one he had of her.

“What does this mean?” the short man bellowed, stomping over to Din. He was hardly intimidating; Din had to tilt his head down to meet his beady-eyed glare with his visor.

Din shrugged. “It means that she woke up.”

“Hubert?” the king called out. 

Din looked up at the reunited family. The king’s hand was still on the princess’s back, who peered over her left shoulder, slowly turning her body to the front as her eyes flitted between Din and Hubert. The queen looked at her husband with confusion, her crowned head quirking to the left.

Hubert stormed up to the platform, a small, buckled shoe coming to rest on the last step. He pointed an accusatory finger back at Din, scowling at his helmet. “This thing—” he looked up at the king again— “has ruined my—no, our plans for the future!” 

Din raised an eyebrow and saw his princess’s brow furrow. The king walked down to the marble floor to stand in front of Din. He straightened under her father’s scrutinizing eyes, trying not to hold his breath. 

“Stefan, look at him!” Hubert sputtered, stomping over to stand at Stefan’s side. “Wearing armor with what I can only assume are weapons as accessories!”

Din dropped his hands to his sides, clenching his fists. Suddenly, he could feel the weight of his beskar armor and the heft of the darksaber dangling at his hip. Hubert’s comments weren’t slanderous; weapons were Din’s religion, after all. However, their honesty wasn’t helping his case. Stefan’s poor opinion of him probably wasn’t helped by the spear on his back either. 

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst impression he could have made.

“He’s a rotten fiend.” Hubert spat. He shook his head and wrinkled his nose at Din. “He’d only ruin your daughter.”

The king opened his mouth to speak. Din braced for the impact he’d been preparing for since he’d given the princess her crown back after their flight. Before Stefan could utter a single syllable, a blue orb appeared on Din’s right. Peli appeared with a spray of sparkles, her arms out in front of her, her wand in a white-knuckled grip. Her worried face was level with the king’s, who stopped and stared at her, closing his mouth.

“King Stefan,” she said, “this Mandalorian saved your daughter. He broke the curse, Your Majesty.”

Din made a mental note to thank Peli profusely later for coming to his rescue. 

“He did?” Stefan inquired, crossing his arms. His attention shifted to Din, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. Din noticed that the princess had her father’s nose. “What’s your name?”

“Din Djarin, Your Majesty.” He bowed again, awkwardly straightening when the king hummed. 

“He slayed Moff Gideon and rid the kingdom of his dark magic and evil with the spear on his back,” Peli declared, giving Din a quick glance with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. 

He caught on and reached behind his head to grasp the spear, taking a few steps back as he pulled it up and into the air. Din gave it a little push so it flew straight up into the air for a few seconds. When he caught it in his right hand before the bottom touched the floor, he heard scattered gasps and whispers among the crowd.

“Is this true?” King Stefan asked Din, tilting his head to the side. Din looked past the king’s shoulder and saw his princess standing at her mother’s side, a worried expression painting her pretty face.

Din nodded and let the bottom of the beskar spear come to rest against the marble floor. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He continued, “I was hired by Prince Phillip to fight Moff Gideon, retrieve the princess, and bring her to him.”

Hubert shook his head and blubbered, white mustache shaking. “Hogwash! Insulting my son’s name when he isn’t here to defend himself is cowardly!”

“King Stefan, I was there,” Peli interjected. “I was with the prince when he made the deal, and I watched Din battle Gideon. I was the one who found the princess awake—with Din.” She looked at Din with a proud face. “This man saved your daughter—my Rose—from the curse with true love’s kiss.”

Stefan turned around and extended his hand, motioning for his daughter and wife to join him. When they were at his left side, the queen gave Din a long once-over, and his princess shot him a concerned look. Din shook his head just enough so she’d notice, hoping she could tell that he wasn’t worried, and that she shouldn’t be either. No matter what happened, he’d testified and knew it was the truth; he’d battled for her hand and thought of nothing but her as he swung the darksaber and threw the spear at the dragon’s heart. It had all been for her.

Stefan looked at the queen and sighed. “Leah, what do you think?”

Leah scrutinized Din once more. She peered over at Hubert, then met Stefan’s eyes again. She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, fingers massaging her bare shoulder. She said the princess’s name, moving to stand in the middle of her family, the princess turning slightly to face them.

“Do you have anything to say?” she asked, her soft voice floating above the tense air. Din saw the tender, loving way she looked at his princess, and he’d never again doubt her love for her daughter.

“I’ve seen him in my dreams, and his face is the one I saw when I woke up.” The look the princess gave him warmed his entire body. Her eyes sparkled with joy, pure love spreading over her features and infecting Din. She beamed at him as she said, “I know he’s the one for me.”

Before he could stop himself, Din lifted his left hand, gloved palm up and beckoning to her. She stepped over to him and placed her delicate fingers over his leather ones, her lips parting when he curled his fingers in to run his thumb over her knuckles. Din wanted so badly to take his helmet off and kiss her, show her how much he adored her with his lips, hold her close and fend off anyone or anything that threatened her. Her bright eyes and sweet smile were all he saw, her scent was filling his lungs and intoxicating him. 

“We trusted Peli with our most precious possession 21 years ago, and she did not fail us,” Stefan announced, his voice suddenly loud and filling the hall, startling the princess into Din’s chest. Stefan smiled at Din. “We are a family again because of this Mandalorian.”

Din gave him a slow nod and stated, “This is The Way.”

Stefan took Leah’s hand and walked with her back to their thrones. Peli fiddled with her wand and worried her lip between her teeth. Hubert fumed where he stood, crossing his arms with a huff. The king and queen shared a soft look together, Stefan wiping his thumb across the apple of Leah’s cheek with a tenderness Din didn’t think a king would ever show to his subjects. The glowing parents look back out at the room of expectant people. A grin split Stefan’s face, and Leah’s joy matched his.

“Today, we celebrate my daughter’s return and her engagement to Din Djarin, the Mandalorian!”

As the crowd cheered, Din grinned and pulled his laughing princess into a sideways embrace. Hearing Hubert mumble and curse as his shoes tapped away scratched a tiny, vengeful itch Din didn’t knew he had. He felt a tug on the spear and caught Peli trying to pull it out of his grasp. He caught on and released it, letting her take it in a small hand and make it disappear before it could clatter to the ground. She flew off to the king and queen with a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the ceiling above. Hopefully the spear wasn’t gone for good—he’d really liked it. 

His princess looked up at him, placing her hands on his chest plate. A dreamy smile painted her plush lips. Din felt his heart swell at the sight of it; he truly was the luckiest man alive.

“Would you like to finish our dance?” She chuckled sheepishly. “We don’t have to look out for rocks and rabbit holes this time.”

“I thought you’d never ask, mesh’la,” Din purred, sweeping her into his arms and into the center of the rectangle. 

A small orchestra started playing a fluid, light melody, and he took the first step to lead her in the same waltz they’d danced in the forest. Din’s eyebrows knitted together, and he shook his head when the tune picked up and grew louder.

“Din? What is it?” 

“It’s the song I’d hear little pieces of in my dreams,” he muttered, looking down at her. “It’s what I imagined in my head when we danced in the forest.”

The princess giggled when he spun her around, catching her waist with one hand and stopping her. The blue skirt of her dress fanned out and collapsed back in, shimmering as it did. 

“I heard it in mine, too,” she admitted with a coy smile.

Din hummed, hoping she heard it. “My helmet’s lie detector says that isn’t true, princess.”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I can take back everything I said, Din.”

“Playing dirty with the royalty card already?”

She laughed when he twirled her around again. Her beautiful face met his again, and his chest tightened at the sight of it. They danced in silence for a few seconds before she spoke again.

“I can tell when you’re thinking.” When Din tilted his head in question, she continued, “You go silent and you clench your fists, or grip my hands tighter.” She gazed up at him with glistening doe eyes before asking, “What are you thinking about?”

Din shook his head. “Just how lucky I am.”

She replied with an amused scoff. “You’re lucky for fighting off an evil man with powerful magic and having to slay a dragon?” 

The song stopped, the audience applauding and cheering. Her eyes had become glassy with emotion, cheeks pushed up from a warm smile. She shook her head and gingerly placed a hand on the indented part of his helmet. He cupped her jaw in his right hand, the left remaining on her waist. 

She didn’t need to tell him how much she loved him above the jubilant noise surrounding him. Din could feel it soaking his skin and dripping into his bones, seeping into his very being. Somehow, he’d always known it was her; had always known it couldn’t ever be anyone else. His kiss in the tower had been a promise to her, and he vowed to never break it for the rest of his life. When he’d looked into her eyes that were still hazy with sleep, that tiny thing that had planted itself in Din’s ribs as he flew to the castle bloomed and wrapped its roots around his organs and nerves. 

Din knew what it was now. He’d tell her later. Right now, he wanted to be present so he could remember how she held back a sob of happiness when he whispered her name and kneaded his fingertips into her waist, trying to press through the material keeping her warm skin from him. Din wanted to stay rooted in the moment with her so he could recall the way her bottom lip quivered as he tilted his helmet forward and pulled her in for a Keldabe kiss, murmuring her name again.

“I’d do it all over again for the rest of my life if it meant I got to kiss my sleeping beauty and hold her hands in mine.”

previous | next

taglist (join here):

@charlottetownwaffles, @theamuz, @jellybeanstacey0519, @elinedjarin, @kaqua, @tortor-mcgee, @tizylish, @graciexmarvel, @dheet, @kalea-bane, @mymindfuckery, @bbyanarchist, @hardlystrictlystarwars @hrtsforpascal @dindjarinsmut @threeheadedlamb @notsosecretspy @djarinslove @spideysimpossiblegirl

[ashenwinds]

sailor @gamblingluck sent a message in a bottle. . .

hey hey-- more meta time. tell me about Flameheart's decisions for each of the ashen lords

send  [ META ] + a word / phrase / person / etc  and i will write a head  canon around it

( note that this could change depending on if there are others who end up writing the Ashen Lords but this is sort how I see it happened ) Pretty much all 4 of the Ashen Lords were taken on more from a whim than something completely planned out. Haven't seen it mentioned but all 4 Ashen Lords were human w/ flesh before they took on the Ashen Curse. Ruth and Grimm were the first, Ruth taken on because of her reputation as an alchemist + tactical prowess, and Grimm for his intelligence in fortification of a fortress + savviness of collecting ill begotten treasures. Call it something of an intuition from Flameheart, hearing whispers about the two and then finding them -- having a similar outlook on the Sea of Thieves growing weak from alliances. Horatio was not too long after, found to be a very skilled shipwright and somebody who was good at convincing the skeletons to join them. And Chi was last, one that had no reputation amongst the Sea of Thieves, one who was a newcomer when encountered by Flameheart and his crew. There was no way to tell just how skilled they were except for the fact they could hold their own against the crew when the ship they were on was boarded, and just how Chi's philosophy aligned with Flameheart's. Their true skill of interrogation and torture was not seen until they had their initiation into the crew by torturing an ex-pirate for information. Thereafter it was set that they would be in charge of the prisoners and the dungeons, ensuring the most troublesome of people would be unable to die and use the Ferry to return to being a thorn in Flameheart's side. His decision to have those 4 specifically take on the Ashen Curse came from just how vital they were to his plans, and the most loyal and trusted of his crew despite them not having a skeletal curse. So, upon discovering the Ashen Curse, Flameheart did not tell them entirely what would happen ( recalled from the Heart of Fire tall tale, Flameheart mentions with Sticher Jim that "an unwitting sacrifice" must be made to "summon forth an Ashen Lord" ) but they were all trusting of their captain. ( this detail is remaining to be verified // debunked ) Theoretically, if it is similar to the ritual done with Jim, each Ashen Lord has their own Chest of Rage which were constructed specifically for them then hidden. He knew the 4 of them would be willing to go through the pain of the transformation, perhaps even more painful than what he himself went through drinking from the cursed chalices that turned him into a Skeleton Lord

[legitalicat]

The Dragon of Valhalla

An Assassin's Creed Valhalla x The Last Kingdom x House of the Dragon crossover

AN: I am so excited to share this with you! Special thanks to Lana ( zaldritzosrose ) for the header and dividers, and to Foxy ( foxyanon ) for your consultation on Nordic customs.

Masterlist here!

Songs this chapter

Blood Red Sails (from the AC Valhalla soundtrack)

Summary: Destiny, divinity. Whatever it takes to bring heroes together.

CW: Titles used as a way to install fear, brushing off one's mother and Jarlskona.

Word Count: 1.3k

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

893 AD

Ravensthorpe, Kingdom of Mercia

Ravensthorpe, for a moment at least, was peaceful. Children played, reminding Eivor of how small her own daughter once was. She hadn’t seen her in four years. But she could understand the importance of such a journey, of finding oneself and properly testing one’s mettle. Though if rumors were to be believed, that was about change.

Randvi had received a message just that morning that Anya had been seen once more in the rivers of England. Already, Eivor could feel the difference in the air. It was almost like the wind carried the whispered fears of Saxons.

In the twenty years since their arrival in Mercia, they had managed to build their reputation. The Raven Clan stood out to Danes and Saxons alike by now. It was not usual for a Dane settlement to prosper so completely in the way Ravensthorpe had. Most of it was due to Eivor’s leadership. Though, it was Anya’s name that had, at some point, stood out just as her mother’s.

The Saxons were terrified of her. At first, she was called Anya the Ashen, as wherever she raided was left as nothing but ash. But eventually, they adopted one word from the Danes to speak about her. One way to describe her. The name they whisper in fear, as though calling her to them should they speak it out loud.

Nidhogg, Harbinger of the End.

The Saxons only knew that the mythical creature was evil. They did not quite realize they were equating Anya to a being powerful enough to end the entire existence of them. Anya preferred they did not know. She thought it amusing that they unknowingly gave her a power they thought only their God could have.

Hytham walked up to Eivor, who had been leaning against the entrance to the longhouse. He saw his wife look longingly at the docks of Ravensthorpe. Though she was not, this time, hopeless looking.

“Randvi told you?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“She has told me many things,” Eivor said nonchalantly.

She had calmed a lot as she had aged. There was once a time in which Eivor would be piling into a longship and sailing off to greet their daughter in a raid. But now, now Eivor would allow a proper arrival for her. It wasn’t much to most, but it was a lot for Eivor.

“And was one of those things the rumor she brings with her a dragon?” Hytham asked.

“It cannot possibly be true, can it?” Eivor asked. Part of her could only believe that it was the Saxons being dramatic again.

But there was the fleeting thought that maybe her daughter truly was a Harbinger.

Horns sounding from down the river. People started shouting. Eivor and Hytham both started walking forward to see more of the waters. It was like their words had spoken true.

In the distance, there was a great green winged beast, as large as their longhouse if not larger, soaring through the sky. And in the river below came a longship with Anya’s red banner bearing the symbol of the Raven Clan. ( 1 )

By the time Eivor rang the bell, alerting more people of the arrival, and made it to the docks, the ship was pulling in. The crew of warriors she had taken with her had aged. Their journey had taken its toll on them. The dragon landed on a hill just to the west outside Ravensthorpe, shaking the earth all around them.

Anya stepped onto the docks with a quiet but obvious thud as her boots hit the wooden docks. Small sections of her auburn hair had been braided and tied together at the back, keeping it just enough from her face but allowed it to be free flowing otherwise, a feather of a raven tucked behind her ear. She wore a bright red shirt and black pants under her leather armor pieces. Her face held softly defined lines. She looked much more like Eivor’s mother than either of them, though her hair seemed to be made of fire in some lights, and with Hytham’s eyes in both shape and color.

When she looked to her parents, her axe strapped to her back, Eivor swore she felt the winds shift. The cool breeze that once blew over Ravensthorpe going east seemed to have suddenly changed it’s mind. It now went south, dislodging the feather from her hair and carrying it away.

“Ma, da,” she greeted them with a smile before walking over to them and hugging each tightly.

Even now, Eivor could see she was changed. Anya was much like Sigurd in the fact that she left a girl and returned a woman. But unlike her uncle, she was not weighed by beginnings of madness. She did not try to hide coughing up blood or paleness around the eyes. She looked stronger than ever, more sure of herself.

Anya was joined by two men Eivor did not recognize. One from the ship and the other from the direction of the dragon. And again, Eivor could not help but think of Sigurd returning to Norway after his travels, flanked by Basim and Hytham. The man from the ship had raven hair and deep brown eyes, wearing what appeared to be a full armor set fashioned from metal. The man from the dragon had hair so light in color it almost glowed. He wore an eye patch over one eye, the other was a light purple, and he was dressed in leathers.

“Who are these men?” Eivor asked.

“We will speak in private, ma. And with luck, all will be explained. But first, I speak to Valka. Alone. I trust you will help my friends get acquainted in the meantime,” Anya said. She motioned to the blonde man. “This is Aemond, Prince of a realm known as Westeros. And there is his knight, Ser Criston. Make it known they are here as my guests.”

Anya did not give further explanation. She merely began walking up the hill, towards Valka’s Hut.

Kingdom of Wessex

It was midday when Uhtred told his men to stop. They had been marching for hours, making their way towards Mercia.

Rumors of the Raven Clan preparing to welcome The Ashen home had only just reached Coccham that morning when they were leaving. And Uhtred planned to be there. The seer Skade had pushed Uhtred towards this goal, promising victory to fall at his feet.

Sihtric approached Uhtred, both as his soldier and friend.

"You truly think Mercia will be any better? Their king still holds, no matter what this girl says," Sihtric said. His distrust of Skade had been immediate and obvious, viewing her already as a poison to Uhtred. "We should be going straight for Dunholm. Or Bebbanburg. Even East Anglia is a better choice."

Uhtred looked to Sihtric. He had fought beside Sihtric for years, just a few shy of a decade to be exact. He trusted Sihtric, knew as a fighter there was almost none to match him. Yet, for all of Sihtric's positives, he did not possess the ability to see divine truth. Not as Skade could.

"We rest. Then we continue to Mercia. Ravensthorpe would not be a bad place to have allies, if nothing else," Uhtred told Sihtric. "Destiny shines upon this plan, Sihtric."

Sihtric only nodded, very slightly. He muttered something about deciding to hunt, that he would return by night. Uhtred watched as he stalked off.

Sihtric felt the wind once more. He had felt it all day, though he appeared to be the only to notice the way they shifted. When they left Coccham that morning, fifty men behind them, he spoke to Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth of feeling changed. Of feeling a pulling that he did not understand. Not even could properly explain it.

When he stepped out of sight of Uhtred, there was a sudden gust of wind. It caused a sway in the trees, begging them to bend to such a force. Sihtric almost continued forward, needing more space from the camp that was being formed.

Then a feather of a raven fell at his feet, a few strands of flaming air wrapped around it.

Taglist: @foxyanon @zaldritzosrose (if you wish to be added send me a message!)

[elliepassmore]

Winterkeep review

4/5 stars

Recommended if you like: fantasy, magic, steampunk, conspiracies, mysteries

Fire review here

Graceling review here

Bitterblue review here So...it seems as though my initial instincts regarding this book were correct. I was not, unfortunately, a big fan of it. It's still a good book once you get about halfway through, but the beginning felt very confusing to me and I struggled to connect with Lovisa or Keeper. I think part of the problem is that the beginning is kind of skimmed over so that the Monsean group can get to Winterkeep and have things start happening. Even getting into Giddon's head was somewhat difficult even though he's a familiar character, and I felt that his POV in the beginning was just less fluid than the POVs in the previous books. To start off, this book largely centers around the goings-on in Winterkeep, a country that was only recently discovered across the sea/ocean from the Dells and Pikkia. My main question here is...how was it only just discovered? In Fire it's established that Pikkia is a growing naval power, and since Bitterblue is set 50 years after that, it seems more likely than not that Pikkia would've discovered Winterkeep well before when its said to have been discovered here. Theoretically the flip should also be true, with the countries of Torla clearly being advanced and having good shipping/navies, at least one of them probably should've stumbled upon the Dells or Pikkia...right? Aside from that, Winterkeep is a rather steampunkish country, with flying airships and a democracy run by the rich elite and telepathic animals. It's an interesting concept and one of the things I liked, once Lovisa began talking more with Nev, was learning more about how their world worked. It was interesting to learn about the foxes and silbercrows (why silber and why crows, I have no idea), and I even liked learning about the politics of Winterkeep. That being said...I'm not entirely certain this needed to be a Graceling Realm book. It probably could've been totally fine as an unrelated standalone with different characters in place of Giddon, Hava, and Bitterblue, particularly since it doesn't fit with the vibe of the rest of the books (even Seasparrow feels more like the others, even if I don't love the zilfium plotline). That being said, the plot did fit together very well. The stuff going on with Bitterblue, zilfium, and Monsea went together with the Keeper's story and the silbercrows, and all that fit with Lovisa's storyline. I wasn't sure how certain parts fit into it, but everything goes together quite nicely, and the real question is more about how involved each perpetrator is in what's happened, which we don't get a full answer for. For the characters, we have Giddon, Bitterblue, Lovisa, Adventure Fox, and the Keeper as the narrators. Bitterblue felt pretty much as she did in Bitterblue, perhaps just a little older and more stable. It's been five years since the events of the last book and it seems as though she's been able to stabilize Monsea and is working toward some of those goals she wanted. I did notice she was wearing Lienid rings, which is a new development, and that she seems much more interested in romantic/sexual partners than in the last book, which was somewhat surprising. The Bitterblue of the last book 1) didn't feel the type, and 2) didn't really seem like she'd have the time. One thing I did wonder about was why Bitterblue didn't pull an Ashen and resort to bedsheets. It wasn't even referenced. As for Giddon, being in his head actually felt about as I would expect. He's much more sensitive emotionally now (and not just to other people) and does seem to cry a decent amount, as Hava says in Seasparrow, but having seen him in the past two books I actually think his development makes sense. Giddon has grown into someone who almost solely does Council work and he's taken up Bitterblue's offer to reside in Monsea whenever possible. He's gotten quite clever with his sneaking around and getting answers out of people. However...while I liked that both of them talked to each other in their head when they were separated as a way of grounding themselves, the romance between them was...lacking? There was definitely a friend/confidante situation set up in Bitterblue that had indications of a romantic turn, so it's not that it came out of the blue in this book, but compared to the main romances in Graceling and Fire Giddon and Bitterblue in this book felt so...childish. Like, what happened to the bonding and less humorous romance scenes? Whatever, it works better in the next book. Lovisa is really the biggest POV character, but I struggled to get into her chapters. She's younger than any of the previous MCs and she has times where she acts her age and times when she acts older. As with the plot, Lovisa gets much more interesting around the 50% mark. Prior to that she spends a lot of time trying to get into her attic and coming up with excuses so she can sneak into the attic and ruminating on her mother or schoolmates. Other than Nev, I really couldn't care less about any of them. That being said, Lovisa is in a tough spot and has a hard life. Her mother is abusive and Lovisa faces a struggle between staying on her good side and protecting her brothers. Lovisa does seem to be trying to do the right thing, but she can be oh-so-petulant at times and just straight up childish (and mean, and not in the fun way Hava is mean). She's hard to read because she's very convinced that she's right and the way her world works is right, and she lashes out if challenged. She does get a handle on things though and begins growing as a character, though she still has some space left to do so. Adventure Fox's POV could be difficult to distinguish from Lovisa's at times, however, he was a much more pleasant character than her. It was actually kind of funny to switch between their POVs, Lovisa is all "that fox is awful and sneaky and always tattling," and Adventure is all "how the fuck do I protect everyone from Ferla." Adventure has some difficult decisions to make in this book and struggles with the restrictions of fox culture. I feel like he gets the least page time next to the Keeper, who gets even less, so it's hard to know him well, but I did like him from what I saw. The Keeper was an interesting one. I couldn't really have cared less about her in the first chapter, but I did enjoy her in later ones. It was interesting to see her growth and how she decided to expand her heart beyond the little baubles she collected from shipwrecks. I liked the growing friendship between her and the silbercrows and am glad it worked out. Nev was probably one of the highlights of this book and I wish she had been the narrator (just one, please). She comes across as rather unshakable and has a fierce dedication to animals and the environment and is very aware of the class differences of the world without being petulant about it like Saf was. Nev actually holds a large piece of the puzzle and has a good, solid head about it. I liked getting to meet her family in the north and how much she loved where she came from. I also liked that she was more than willing to help both Lovisa and the Monseans. Actually, her whole family was pretty cool and if there are going to be more books can one of them please feature Nev as the MC? (view spoiler) Quona was an interesting character as well, and in that imaginary future book where Nev is the MC, I'd definitely be interested in seeing more of Quona as well. She's kind of hard to get a handle on, and even at the end when a lot of stuff is out in the open, I question whether all her secrets are revealed or not. Quona is obsessed with cats and the environment, and so naturally she gets involved with what's going on here. While this book is still good, if long and of a completely different vibe than the other 4 Graceling Realm books, I'm glad I put it off so long and read Seasparrow first, because I don't think I would've read that one if I'd read this book when it originally came out. I liked the fantasy vibes from the other books and the balanced maturity that allowed for both seriousness and humor. This book was more on the steampunk side of things and was much, much more lighthearted. And also as another reviewer pointed out, the language in this book was much less policed than in the other ones and you get jarring real-world terms like 'boyfriend' and 'slut'...Katsa had a whole thing in her book about being with Po without marriage, boyfriend is the exact term she could've used but didn't, giving a pretty clear indicator it wasn't a thing in this world until now. I am curious if there will be more Graceling Realm books and if so, who they'll follow. I'm desperate for more Katsa and Po content, though I believe they're both in their late 20s/early 30s at this point and so aren't really YA characters. Though I would absolutely still read a book about adult them and think it could work quite well since the fans from when the original trilogy first came out are all adults now. I also wouldn't mind going back in time and seeing some of their adventures pre-Bitterblue or pre-Winterkeep. I'd love to see more of Skye as well, I think he has some potential as a character, and it might be nice to return to Lienid. Raffin and Bann would be good too, so basically any of the OG characters, lol...or maybe Hanna and/or Murgda's baby, I think the two of them also have a lot of potential and they were kind of already introduced. The point is, I want the original cast of Graceling to be centered more in a future book, and if not them, then at least one of the kid characters from Fire.

[silversdragonemporium]

Naked Before the Stars

Ship: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Byleth Eisner (female)

Summary: Whilst helping the professor dispatch the shadowy monsters that killed Jeralt, Dimitri finds himself unable to keep his façade of princely calm when Byleth is put in danger. After the fact, he allows himself to finally let her see him as he truly is regardless of how desperate, unsettling and terrifying it might be.

Written for @dimilethfever's Spring Fever event, albeit anonymously.

Warnings: Yandere Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Obsessive Behavior, That Blaiddyd Breeding Kink™

Rating: Explicit

AO3 Link

It had been his fault.

Dimitri had greatly admired her ever since he had seen her so quickly and efficiently dispatch the rouges that had ambushed them. He had recognized the skill of a practiced and strong warrior as she commanded them. When she became their professor, it only made sense for him to assume that she would always be stronger than anybody that dared to step in front of her. In a sense, he was right. But when they attacked her from the back?

She was dispatching their enemies, the sword of the creator whipping this way and that, leaving a bloody trail behind her with her face as stoic as only the Ashen Demon would in the heat of battle. He could only keep up with her on horseback.

Soon enough, she had come upon Moni— no. The monster that used that dead girl’s face and voice to infiltrate Garreg Mach and kill Captain Jeralt.

Dimitri wanted to charge in, and spear that monster through her wicked heart. But he held back. There were two reasons. Firstly: this was the profes— Byleth’s revenge. She deserved it. And the other one... was more selfish. He couldn’t let her see him become a savage boar like Felix did. Felix had once been his closest friend. And now...

The thought of her looking at him with the same contempt and disgust as his old friend terrified him.

So he kept his distance, offering assistance to his classmates by finishing off the stragglers. And when he was done, he didn’t immediately rush in to her side. Instead, he dismounted and allowed Tiamat to drink and rest after exerting her through the battle they had just fought. She was a good mount: proud and strong, but quick on the battlefield. His horse reminded him of the professor. How he wished he could mount his professor as skillfully as he could with this horse.

Then, he took his silver lance and hurried to her side. Kronya was cornered, about to fall. And that other impersonator that had stolen the librarian’s identity was there, too. He could handle him whilst his beloved professor took Kronya down. Maybe not deal a killing blow... but if anything Duscur had taught him the ways the body could be maimed to bring the slowest and most agonizing death to a person. Dimitri felt a thrill at the thought of seeing that old decrepit monster suffer. Whatever he did to him, it would pale to what the people of Remire went through. What those in Duscur went through.

But just as he was about to reach the hill that they were on, an inky black spell filled the area, and then it was gone. Along with the professor.

Dimitri himself would have rushed in, had Dedue not managed to hold him back, reassuring him that he didn’t believe the professor to be dead. At least. Until the dark mage taunted them, reminding them that there are fates worse than death. Dimitri knew that all too well, he had seen it.

“I will cut you to shreds!” He screamed, not caring for any of his fellow classmates seeing him like this. It didn’t matter. He had to show him true pain.

He had just broken the mage’s arms with the side of his lance, when the sky turned bright red. And out of a bleeding gash of light, stepped a small but powerful figure.

Unbidden, a verse from the Holy Scripture came to him.

The Goddess Sothis was born from the bleeding womb of a star. In one hand she held the fertile land and in the other she held the flow of time.

“So the Fell Star...” murmured the pathetic creature beneath him. “Consumes even the darkness—”

Dimitri didn’t care. He pressed down on the demon’s neck— and then, his crest activated, resulting in Solon’s far-too swift death instead of cutting his airflow to stop interrupting Dimitri’s thoughts.

Curses. This damned crest only activates when he least expects it.

“Professor,” he asked, rising from the mangled corpse. “Is that you?”

Now that the rip in the sky has closed, he sees her properly. And she’s different. Her eyes and hair were now light green, making her look like she was glowing from within.

“Yes, it’s me.” She said, looking around for the other Blue Lions. “Is everybody alright?”

It really is just like her, to worry about others before herself.

“We are all accounted for.” He summarized. “But I’m relieved to see that you’re alright. What happened to you back there?”

There’s a moment that she seemed to try to find the right words to describe what happened to her. And after that brief pause, she only said: “The goddess gave me her power.”

He could have ended his report there and turned to look for Tiamat to start the journey back to Garreg Mach. But he couldn’t. He almost lost her. He did lose her, for a moment. If it weren’t for the goddess’s benevolence...

“Professor—” Well. Now that everybody had a chance to see just how much of a beast he was when he charged at Solon, there really was no need to hold back anymore. He had already been a coward at the Goddess Tower. Dimitri would not repeat that mistake again. “No, Byleth.”

Her eyebrows raised ever-so slightly. He wasn’t sure if she has grown more expressive in the last few months, or if he finally was starting to identify all of her tells. Maybe both.

“I have killed Solon. I apologize for taking from you the chance to get revenge on him. It was... quick.”

He clenched his hands. His gauntlets strained under his strength. A stupid boar that can’t contain his strength.

“It was my own fault.”

“Dimitri—”

“If I had the chance to, I would do it again. I’d do it a thousand times. Each time, I’d make sure to find new ways to make him suffer. I’ll break his arms and legs. Flay him alive. Sever his limbs.”

Cut his head.

Dimitri saw a new expression on his beloved’s face. It was not shock. Nor anger... Not even disgust, like Felix’s had been the day their friendship ended. She’s afraid.

A despairing laugh rose from his throat. There it was. She now saw him as he truly was.

“Hate me, Byleth. I am nothing but a depraved beast. No better than any of them...” He was ruining everything. He was ruining everything. There was no backing out of this with a laugh and a jest.

It’s so freeing.

“I am a rabid cur that will destroy all that dare hurt you or stand in your way.” He dropped his lance, and undid the fastenings of his chest piece.

He didn’t know where his classmates were now, if they were watching this or not. He doesn’t care.

He kneeled before her, only his gambeson offering any form of protection. But it didn’t matter. He looked up at her through his eyelashes.

“I will never stop. I am devoted to you, and only you. So if you hate who I am, or if you fear me, you are always welcome to put me down. I only beg, that you make it quick, even if I don’t deserve that mercy.”

He lowered his head, ready to hear the swinging of the Sword of the Creator before his blood spilled on the ground.

It never came.

Instead, a hand reached out for him. Her hand.

Slowly, he rose his head to look at her. He feared what he’d see on her face. Pity? Fear? Anger? Or worse: blank stoicism?

She was smiling.

She was smiling.

She was—

“I will never kill you for your devotion.” Byleth said, her smile impossibly radiant. “Because I would do the same for you.”

Something within the prince shattered. Or maybe, it had always been broken.

He wanted her. He wanted her to much, his chest hurt. As if he were drowning. As if he were back in Duscur, surrounded by the flames of hell.

What happened next was a blur. He only knew that he had mounted Tiamat, holding tightly unto Byleth, who had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. The sun was setting, and they were galloping through a grassy knoll. The setting sun made the world look golden.

“Dimitri...?” Byleth stirred.

“So you’ve waken up.” He slowed down Tiamat, then dismounted, making sure to gently help her down “The goddess’s power must have put a strain on your body.”

“Where are we?”

“Probably close to Charon lands,” he shrugged, and took out his blue cape from his travel bag. The tents were usually kept in the convoy. He would let her rest on his cape. “I will keep watch. You may rest here.”

“So I’ll take the second watch?” She asked, rubbing her eye.

How quaint. She was so adorable when she assumed such silly things.

“No, Byleth. You will rest, and I will protect you.”

“But I want to protect you, too.” In the half-light, he could just barely see her pout.

He silenced her, pulling his lips against hers. She was soft. She was warm. She was too good for him. But since she kissed him back, he allowed himself to indulge. But even when he got far more than he deserved, he still desired more. He was an animal, after all.

“Please,” he begged pathetically. But he would only beg for her. “Please Byleth, allow me to serve you...”

Her heated breaths filled the air between them, and she freed her breasts from her armor. He desperately removed his gauntlets and seized them between his fingers. Goddess, they were so soft... It was only natural for his wandering lips to find one of her nipples and suckle on it. As he ran his tongue over the tip, he noticed the slight change in her sighs. When he separated his lips to blow gently on her breast and let her feel the chill, her hands on his hair tensed.

It hurt slightly, but he enjoyed the pain she gave him. Whatever she’d give him, he’d take it, and be grateful.

“Haah...” she sighed, and she tugged at his gambeson. “Take it off. I want to see you, too...”

If she wanted to see him, then he had no need for any clothes at all. He removed the rest of his armor, as well as the small-clothes. Her eyes wandered through his naked form, her tongue licking her kiss-swollen lips. He could feel as if he were getting caressed all over, just from her gaze.

“You’re so beautiful...” she murmured, in a haze.

“If my body pleases you, then I am grateful” he reached out for her, and held her close. Feeling her skin on his was dizzying. “Whatever I can do to make you happy, my beloved, I will. Just say the word.”

Byleth trembled, and then she locked them again in another searing kiss. All the while, she had tried to hurriedly remove her shorts. Dimitri couldn’t help but chuckle at how enthusiastic she was. Even if he wasn’t worth it, he still loved—

Yes...

“I love you,” he murmured reverently against her lips. When was the last time he had said those words? Probably over four years ago. If he could taste, the words would have been sweet on his tongue. “I love you, my beloved.”

His.

Even if he wasn’t worthy.

“I love you too,” her cheeks seemed to have darkened, as he felt the heat radiating from her face. Or perhaps, it was his own blush that was causing his face to feel warm. “I love you so much...”

Her fingers intertwined with his. And she gently pulled him down unto the blue cape that protected them from the grass. He realized with great delight that she was bare below him.

The Guardian Moon had been but a mere sliver in the sky, allowing the stars to shine brightly and cover the sky.

Whenever he had envisioned this moment in the darkness of his dormitory room, it had always been back in Fhirdiad. A roaring fire in the fireplace crackling and her enveloped in the royal blue.

But he didn’t mind letting the stars witness this. The Blue Sea Star wasn’t in the sky, but the goddess surely must have been able to see Byleth. How else would she have been able to grant her the power to escape that spell? If the goddess was indeed watching over them, then he’d show her the extent of his devotion right then and there.

Even if he couldn’t taste her, he set about to run his tongue on her neck, on her breasts, down her navel... Even the lips between her legs were as soft and plush as the ones on her face. She smelled of sweat and earth and something else that he didn’t know the name of, but he knew that he liked.

“There,” she cried in a half-sigh. “Right there!”

He kissed her again, gleefully drinking up the mix of his spit and her slick from her. She was shaking, so he kept her still by resting her legs on his shoulders and holding her hips in place. He then realized just how thirsty he was. How helpful of her, to give him more than enough to drink his fill. He was almost drowning, and he would have gladly done so for her, but she pulled him by his hair, forcing him to breathe.

“Have I satisfied you?” Dimitri asked, feeling her other hand rest on his chest. His heart beat faster.

“That felt good,” she whispered to him. “But I won’t be satisfied until you are satisfied, too.”

The hand on his chest wandered down. She took his cock with an almost shy hold. It was far too light and soft to let him get off. But it certainly did wonders to rile him up further.

“I’m not sure if all of you can fit in me,” she giggled.

Oh, goddess… Her giggle was adorable. He wanted to hear it more. He also wanted it to be for his ears only.

“But there’s nothing one can’t accomplish if they set their mind to it.” Her tone had been similar to the one she’d take during special training whenever a student made a mistake. “I’m sure I’ll be fine...”

As if to prove that she was indeed prepared, she moved him to sit and then she sat on his lap, grinding the side of his dick with her inviting wet slit. He wasn’t inside her, but he could feel her burning warmth. Even though they were both naked before the stars in the middle of some abandoned field, Dimitri didn’t feel cold. Their faces were not even an inch from each other. She was so close. But he wanted her to be closer. He grabbed her by the waist to press her small body flush against his.

“Better,” his beloved mumbled. “But not quite...”

She was grinding her clit and lips up and down the side of his shaft, but seemed to have difficulty finding where he could enter her.

“Byleth, allow me.” He lifted her up without much difficulty, and then guided her to finally let his cock pierce her.

Yes. This was it. He had never felt anything like the enveloping warmth that was now consuming his senses right then, but even so he knew this was right. He had been able to fit inside her without much trouble, but she had shaken and let out a strained moan that Dimitri wasn’t sure whether it was in pain or pleasure when he did. When he tried to lift her off him, however, she vehemently shook her head, and held on tight to his chest to stay in place.

“I just need a moment,” her voice was a mix of desire and giddy excitement. Like a child getting a new toy for their birthday. “I’m so full… and I want to keep you inside me.”

So she also had felt that it had been right. Dimitri let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t noticed he had been holding. She rubbed her face on the side of his, almost like one of Garreg Mach’s many cats. She was adorable.

“Is that better?” He asked, after a mew moments of staying still, but connected.

“Yes, I think I can now…” She moved to hold unto his shoulders before she began to once more grind against him. However, now that he was within her, the sensations were intensified. She was rubbing against his navel, and he could feel himself surrounded by her warmth. Dimitri kissed her once more. Yes... this was it. She was his, and he was hers.

He wasn’t really mounting her, but she definitely was mounting him. Dimitri knew Byleth could indeed keep a strenuous pace with ease. He had seen her when she had been teaching him more about horseback riding. However, when he rode against him, she took the time to slow down and change speeds at an unpredictable pace. From gallop to trot. From trot to canter. From canter to walk. He delighted to feel his own pleasure rise and fall with her movements, but with each new height, his lows remained higher than before.

Dimitri realized, as they once more locked their lips together, that he was definitely and undeniably making love to her. It seemed almost silly to not have thought of that before. But even though they were fucking out on an open field, the tenderness between them felt warm and heavy. Like the honey he had once delighted in when he was a boy.

He felt a thrill, knowing that this was the sort of embrace that would allow them to create a new life. The scripture did say that the embrace of all true lovers was a beautiful thing, and that it pleased the goddess. If there were any children born out of a loving union, they were said to be born as strong and as happy as the bond between the lovers. His mind entertained the thought of a child that looked like a bit like him and a bit like her. His heart clenched tightly within him. There were few things that he had ever wanted to the point of his chest hurting. One of them was now sitting on top of him, her breath hot on his ear and his on hers.

It was just like him to want more, even when given far beyond what he deserved. He should be satisfied with whatever scraps of love he got from her. He knew he should... But he didn’t want to. He loved her, damn it all. Wasn’t it only natural to want a child born out of their union? To please not only his beloved lover, but also the goddess?

“You said you wouldn’t be satisfied until I am, didn’t you my beloved?”

“Yes, Dimitri,” her mint-green eyes were half-lidded. But despite that, he could see and feel her lust when she looked deep into his eyes. “Your happiness is my happiness. Your pleasure is my own, too.”

“Then you must know… I lied when I said that I was joking, back in the Goddess Tower. I do want us to be together, forever.” He perhaps should have felt ashamed at bringing this up at a time like this. But he didn’t. He didn’t even look away from her as he continued. “I will be most satisfied if I’m allowed to sow my seed deep within you. I love you, and I want you to bear the proof of it to this world.”

Her breath shook.

He expected her to push him away.

She pulled him closer.

“Then...” she said, in-between nibbles to his earlobe. “Go ahead. Give me your child. Give me all of your children, as many as you want. Because I will want them, too. We will be together, forever.”

With her clear and undeniable permission, he felt drunk on power. He grabbed unto to her waist and helped set the pace. Slow but strong thrusts. His teeth on her neck, sucking, biting and licking. She was pliant under her grip, though he was sure that she might bruise once all of this was said and done. But as she allowed herself to succumb to his grueling pace, she was rewarded with pleasure. He knew, because he could feel her cunt pulse around him, as if trying to draw him further inside. And just in time, too. He was at his limit, too.

“Byleth,” he had gotten used to utter her name as quietly as he could to not disturb the late night stillness of Garreg Mach whenever his pesky lust got the better of him. Even now, he found himself whispering. “Byleth...!”

“Dimitri!” she whispered, too. Did she also—? “Please, please! I need you!”

As she yelled for him, he could finally feel his pleasure take flight far beyond any control. He only had half a second to realize just how close he was, which he used to drive himself deeper inside her. Dimitri allowed his probably undignified cry to fill the air, as he poured his heart and his seed within his beloved. In that instant, his eyes met hers. She was smiling, and his heart clenched once more. At long last, after little more than eighteen winters, Dimitri finally found himself feeling... complete.

He had no way to know how long they had been at it. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he found himself intertwined with her, still in the nude with the first rays of sunlight landing on her skin. She was still asleep, and he decided to let her enjoy her rest for a few minutes more.

His eyes looked down, at where they had not only joined their bodies, but their hearts. He had come so much, that he could just make out some of seed pooling out of her. He found himself smiling. There were no guarantees yet, but he pressed a hand ever-so gently against her belly and whispered to whoever was or wasn’t there.

“Just as I’ll protect her, I’ll protect you too. I will keep you safe.”

After the Lone Moon, he would finish his studies and be crowned. As king, he had authority to marry whoever he damn well pleased and legitimize whichever children he chose. And if his vassals tried to protest too hard... he would just need to beat them into submission.

He was a beast, but at least he was stronger than all of them combined.

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Sacrificial” Sangyao ship, Nie Age Swap, Murder, Guilt and Grief, Nightmares, Future Necromancy. Warning for abuse because Jin Guangshan is a prick.

__________

It always starts the same, with the feeling of elegant, clever fingers combing through his hair and deftly separating tresses to begin weaving.

"You two watch each other's backs out there. Yao-di, make sure my hot head brother doesn't get himself stabbed."

He covers his mouth with his sleeve to hide a smile as Nie Mingjue, his braids already fixed, rolls his eyes at his older brother. "I don't need him to hide behind."

"That's exactly the attitude I mean, didi. Don't be so eager to pick fights."

"I'll be happy to help the young master watch his tongue," Meng Yao teases, earning a scowl from said young master and a snort of amusement from his sect leader.

"At this rate, I should be expecting any minute to receive word that you two burned down Langya," Nie Huaisang says dryly as he finishes fastening a guan around the already completed braids.

Before Meng Yao can mourn the loss of contact, he and Nie Mingjue both are swept into an embrace tighter than outsiders would think Nie Huaisang could possibly manage.

"Both of you better come back safely, understand?"

"Yes, mother hen," Nie Mingjue snipes as if he isn't perfectly content being trapped in the circle of his brother's arms.

"Brat," Nie Huaisang chides fondly and doesn't let either of them go before making his little brother gag and squirm with an overly messy kiss on the cheek.

Meng Yao can't help laughing at their antics, his heart aching with affection at being included in them.

He will miss this.

The goodbyes said, he and Nie Mingjue collect their things and head for the door to go join everyone else.

When his fingers touch the doorframe, his insides go cold in a sudden wash of fear.

Don't turn around, he wills himself, don't turn around, dontturnaround, dontturnaround-

His body acts without his permission.

In the true memory, his lover had simply given him a sad, affectionate smile and waved him on. Here and now, Nie Huaisang stands before him, ashen pale, eyes rolled back in his head, a shattered teacup at his feet.

The sect leader crumples as if someone cut the strings holding him up, and Meng Yao lunges forward to catch him before he can hit the floor.

"Why?"

The question is only a figment of his mind though it sounds like it comes from his lover, struggling for air he will never breathe again.

"What have you done?"

That question comes from Nie Mingjue, who stands in the doorway and stares at them in shock, then fury. "What have you done?!"

The last thing he sees is Baxia aimed for his neck.

---

Jin Guangyao jerks awake, a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream lodged in his throat. Every bit of him trembling, he sits up and rakes his hands through his hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself back in reality.

There are no braids, not even a crimp.

He is Jin Guangyao, not Meng Yao.

He is in Koi Tower, not the Unclean Realms.

He is dressed in the umbers and golds of a Jin, not the greens and silvers of a Nie.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his tongue to bleeding as he forces himself to acknowledge the last truth of his situation for yet another time.

That Nie Huaisang is dead by his hand.

---

He can't help the hiss of pain that escapes his mouth as he carefully paints makeup over the new bruise.

The new Sect Leader Nie may not have voiced any suspicions of him specifically, but it is clear that he believes Lanling Jin to have had a hand in his beloved brother's most untimely death.

Father is, of course, displeased.

Displeased that Nie Mingjue is not actually a mindless, easily controlled brute, that Nie Huaisang had managed to grind some measure of politics into that thick skull, but most of all by the fact that the man will not let the matter of his brother die as easily as his body had.

And when Father is displeased...

Jin Guangyao winces again when another bruise pulls, and his gaze is drawn to a small lacquered box carved with intricate mountains around its sides.

The rolled up scroll inside, barely wider than his palm, is one he had stolen from Nie Huaisang's room that night.

Or, not stolen. Simply claimed. The list of rules so carefully penned to the paper had been written for his sake, after all.

-"For once, I am quite serious, Yao-di. Before we take this even one more step, I need to know what you're okay with and what you aren't. I don't want to risk the possibility of hurting you, even just by accident."-

His hands clench on the dresser as he tears his eyes away from the dark wood and stares at the bruises he has yet to cover.

The longer he sits, the more the knots that have been steadily twining themselves in his heart and stomach tie tighter.

He can't help but laugh at himself because gods above, he is a fool.

He sacrificed a love freely given for a love dangled just out of reach, and in the end, he has nothing at all.

---

Of all people, it is Xue Yang that gives him a spark of hope, and not even intentionally. It's an idle comment tossed out in the midst of complaining about local corpses rotting too fast before he can get to them for his experiments.

"Doesn't the Nie sect use stone coffins instead of wood?"

"They do," Jin Guangyao murmurs without looking up from his notes.

And Qinghe is still half-frozen by winter, unlike the milder temperatures they have been experiencing in Lanling.

His heart begins to beat a little faster as the realization sinks in. It's... it's possible.

It's possible.

But there is the little nagging voice in the back of his mind that worries he will be too late. It has been over a moon since the funeral. What if-

He breathes in deep and braces himself.

He has to try.

"Change out of those clothes," he says as he gets up to begin putting their study materials away. "And gather what things you might need for a test run."

Xue Yang blinks at him, then a sharp, eager grin slinks across his mouth. "Yeah? What for?"

"We're going north."

[thekisforkeats]

TMA Changeling AU Courts

The TMA Changeling AU Courts and their Monarchs (along with a few others we might recognize):

The London freehold is a Seasonal one; those freeholds that held to other systems wound up subsumed as Jonah Magnus merged the myriad London freeholds into one. There are smatterings of holdouts, but it's the four Seasons that hold sway in London--and, up until recently, a surprisingly strong contingent of Dusk Courtiers.

Elias Bouchard/Jonah Magnus and Peter Lukas, the Autumn and Winter Kings respectively, hold most of the power in London between them. Agnes Montague has been Summer Queen for a long time, but she mostly keeps to her own business and focuses on protecting the freehold from physical and outside threats. And Spring, well... Spring's been in upheaval, and it's only recently that Nikola Orsinov came out on top as undisputed bearer of the Antler Crown.

More details below the cut.

The Autumn Court has a great deal of power in London, which naturally means Fear is a dominant emotion for Glamour-gathering. Those few Changelings of an academic or mystical bent who don't wind up in Autumn usually wind up attached to it in some manner anyhow.

Elias Bouchard is the current Autumn King, and has held the Ashen Crown since 1996. His predecessor was James Wright, but of course that doesn't matter; it is an open secret in London that both men, and several more before, are actually aliases of Jonah Magnus, who has held the Autumn Crown of his freehold since at least 1867. The Telluric Fairest is also a Mirrorskin, however, and swaps his identity every few decades, mostly to keep up mortal appearances. It's considered polite in Court society to refer to him by whatever name he's currently under and act as though his predecessors were indeed different men, but sometimes someone will call him "Magnus" out of spite.

Jonah Magnus was a Legate of the Black Apple, and thus, so is Elias Bouchard. This is understood to be part of how he's kept the freehold safe--he makes bargains with the Others, he keeps tabs on Loyalists and privateers. He was a Legate long before he was Autumn King, and he is very, very good at his position.

Much of the Ashen Court works at or is attached to the Magnus Institute in some way; Elias likes to keep a close eye on his Courtiers. There are exceptions, of course, and holdouts, but given that the Magnus Institute pledge has a generous dollop of Glamour harvest involved, it's hard to resist the pull. That Glamour harvest comes from the collection of statements, of course, and while much of the Glamour is channeled into the Panopticon, there's always enough kept aside for those who work at the Institute.

For most of the Institute's history, the position of Archivist was the London freehold's main addition to the typical Autumn Court positions (as outlined in Lords of Summer). In the mid-1970s, however, Gertrude Robinson abruptly abandoned her ties to Autumn and took up the Mantle of the Dusk Court. This severely hampered the flow of Glamour to the Ivory Tower, and forced James Wright to find alternate sources of Glamour, which led directly to his ending the six decade balance in merging the northern and southern freeholds into the present-day London freehold. This fact shifted power away from Magnus, however, a fact that has never ceased to rankle him.

Now that the position of Archivist is firmly back in Autumn hands through Jonathan Sims, the balance of power has begun to subtly shift back. Only time will tell where it will settle.

---

Winter is firmly under the control of the Lukas family, although it wasn't always this way up north. The fact is, however, that anyone who wants to Make It in the Winter Court has to kowtow to the Lukases in one way or another. There are those on the edges, gathering power and influence, planning to take Lukas down, but that's another post.

Peter Lukas is the current bearer of the Onyx Crown, and has been since about 2000. He's an Elemental through-and-through, Airtouched/Waterborn; he uses Contracts of Smoke to disappear regularly, and can be hard to actually meet in-person if you're not Winter Court yourself. He dislikes most interaction, and when dealing with those outside Winter prefers to make pledges based around wagers rather than anything more cooperative.

Peter only spends about four months of the year in London--the two weeks before the Winter Solstice, the season he wears the Crown, and the two weeks after. He spends the rest of the year on his ship, the Tundra, which is actually a big Glamour-harvesting setup. Find people dripping with Sorrow, bring them out to sea and isolate them, drain them for all the melancholy they can get. He rarely kills people, though some do slip into the fog. But it's all in pursuit of the greater good of the Lost, as Lukas puts it.

The Winter King is ruthless, even moreso than any family member before him. Peter will not hesitate to sacrifice a Courtier in pursuit of the safety of the freehold. He has no Entitlement--that would require a willingness to dedicate himself to something other than Winter, and Sorrow. He is, however, a student of the Contracts of the Sorrow-Frozen Heart, and knowing levels of said Contracts is necessary to make it very far in the Winter Court.

Peter is smart enough to know that people need an outlet, however, and so he sees to it that Winter celebrates all the usual festivals and follows long-held traditions. He also has a dedicated member of his Court that runs Radio Free Fae, and he gives them a surprising amount of latitude in what goes on-air. This makes London's RFF station a true delight to listen to, for the content is curated enough to be coherent but with enough freedom to be truly informative and entertaining. The DJs even have a regular naming pattern, each named for a different station of the London Underground (aside from those who channel DJ Otzal, of course).

For the past five years, the London RFF has been run by Martin Blackwood, who DJs under the name of Kensington--which he is quick to point out means Kensington Olympia, one of the least-used stations on the Underground network. He seems to find this funny. Most people do not know that Martin is Kensington, nor do they know that Kensington runs all of RFF, but people have noticed that the quality's gone up in the past five years.

Martin is also Peter's man on the inside at the Magnus Institute, planted there years ago as a "liaison" and recently, at Peter's request, foisted upon the Archivist's motley, to be one of his assistants. Peter's plans go deeper than mere diplomacy, but he's playing his cards close to his chest as he usually does.

---

Spring has undergone some major upheavals in the past few years. The former Queen, Jane Prentiss, had slowly been losing Clarity for years despite the best efforts of those around her and the Blackbird Bishops. Three years ago she lost the Antler Crown to a complete newcomer, Nikola Orsinov. The loss of her position contributed to her Clarity finally slipping away entirely, and after an incident in which she dropped the Mask in a hospital and killed seven people, she was declared a danger to the freehold and cast out of the Court entirely.

Nikola is a Fairest, Dancer and Manikin, and when she came into power she began to reform the Spring Court, which had been in disarray for years due to Prentiss' mismanagement. She is an Elder of the Barony of the Lesser Ones, and has strong connections to the hobs and the Goblin Market. She re-oriented the Court to a strong focus on entertainment and commerce to gather Desire. They still offer healing services, but there's a lot less focus on courtly romance and free love and a lot more focus on what might be politely termed "capitalistic media."

With Orsinov came a whole flood of other Spring changelings, bolstering the previously lagging Court. She also brought along hobs and ensorcelled humans, all part of her rather large "Circus" motley, and it can be hard to guess just what any given member of the Circus is.

Nikola has plans that involve her Court becoming more powerful in London, and she does not trust Elias very far. Under her direction, the Spring Courtiers that had been connected to Autumn in any way have found their way out of pledges and obligations with one major exception: Sasha James, who has been part of a motley at the Magnus Institute for years and has recently gone down to the Archives with the rest of the motley. Whether this is at the behest of the Spring Queen or in spite of her wishes is hard to say; it may even be that Sasha is just unimportant enough to escape Nikola's notice.

But there is the persistent rumor that Nikola's entire purpose in coming to London was to take down Jonah Magnus and his Ivory Tower once and for all.

---

Summer has never been the strongest of the London Courts. It doesn't help that summer in London is, in terms of the weather, relatively mild, even sometimes cloudy or rainy. But for the past fifty years, the London freehold has had a strong Summer Queen and been a largely unsung backbone of the freehold. Elias Bouchard may spy the threats in the Hedge from the Panopticon, but it's Summer that forms the hunting parties to take down those threats.

Agnes Montague was not supposed to be a Changeling. Her mother was a cultist who wanted to bring forth a True Fae born on Earth, one who could tear down the Hedge and bring all the Others to the world. She conceived the child with Pedicle Velvet and gave birth in the Hedge, in a ritual that burned her pregnant body away so only the baby remained. Agnes was born an Elemental Fireheart, raised by the cult, and it was only as she grew older and more powerful that her secondary kith of Flamesiren appeared.

If Agnes has ever been to Arcadia, she does not speak of the visit; it's entirely possible that she never has. When the cult felt the need to give her further connection to the "real" world they moved her to the house of a privateer at Hill Top Road in Oxford, but that only resulted in the house burning down. The cult's control broke when Agnes was in her 20's due to magic that the Archivist Gertrude Robinson performed; it's never been clear exactly what happened, but it led to Agnes coming to London with the remnants of the cult in tow.

Agnes was crowned Summer Queen after besting the former King in single combat on her arrival in London. She is not much of a physical fighter, but her knowledge and control of Contracts is immensely powerful. While rumors insist that she is one of the Lost Pantheon, in truth she joined the Legion of the Iron Wall long ago, and it is with a Legionnaire's knowledge that she defens the freehold.

Agnes is as ruthless in her way as Peter Lukas, but with a core of compassion that can be glimpsed in rare moments. She struggles with her Clarity, and keeps close ties to the Blackbird Bishops as well as spending time on simple, mundane things. (That is, rumors say, why she continues to have an unorthodox relationship with a mortal, Jack Barnabas.)

Summer is the season of Wrath, and typically responsible for the physical defense of the freehold, and the Queen takes that responsibility very seriously. It was she who declared Jane Prentiss cast out from the Freehold, and she long ago set up ties with the police and various emergency departments in London.

Not all "Section 31" officers on the London police force are Changelings--it seems, from what little anyone outside the force knows, that there are officers from pretty much every supernatural groups. Which means werewolf police, vampire police... the mind boggles. Nonetheless, many Summer Changelings with anger problems find a home on the force, and goading mortal officers into police brutality is a great way to gather Glamour, right? Never mind the "collateral damage."

Then there's the Tolltaker Knighthood, the which isn't directly tied to the police force despite their current Knight Banneret, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, being a police detective. The London Tolltakers have a reputation for being deeply ruthless, as the only arbiter of what is a "just" bounty is Daisy herself, and Daisy is deeply ruthless. It's well-known that they rarely take bounties merely to hunt someone down and return them unharmed; Daisy seems to think that beneath her order. Roughing someone up is more likely, and killing? Well. If you can convince Daisy they're a threat to the freehold she'll gladly take up the bounty. She hands them out fairly freely to the other Tolltaker Knights, but she keeps the biggest threats for herself.

---

And then there's Dusk.

There was a time in London when the Dawn Court had more power than Dusk, but it's been so long that many Lost joke that it'd be too cloudy to see the dawn in London anyway. Some people attribute Dusk's power to Gertrude Robinson, the Darkling Antiquarian whose strange alliance with Agnes Montague and usurping of the position of Archivist from Jonah Magnus gave her Court far more power than it typically has in any freehold.

The truth is much darker, as befits the Court of Dooms.

There is something rotten in the core of the London freehold. Many of the Lost know this on some level, although few even think it to themselves, let alone say it aloud. Those who do think about the problem are liable to blame it on Peter Lukas. He has formed the Winter Court into a place where there is little hope or light, no warmth to keep the chill outside at bay. There is no longer the usual flow of fresh from the Hedge Changelings, desperate to just stay safe, to Winter as a waystop on the way to another Court; those who cannot dedicate themselves wholly to Winter find no welcome among Lukas' Court. He has supressed Fetch-hunters such as the Duchy of Truth and Loss, prefering to force new Changelings to give up their old lives entirely, and this has affected the entire freehold. He is barely present in the city for most of the year, which leaves the Winter Court's usual duties of secrecy and security to others such as Autumn and Summer, throwing off the seasonal balance.

And all of this is true, so far as it goes. Winter should, in the best version of the Court, be a place of both ruthlessness and compassion, with some who embrace Sorrow wholly and some who keep it at bay with blankets and a warm fire and good cheer.

But the Dusk Courtiers of London knew that the problem goes deeper than this. Get rid of Peter Lukas, form Winter into something more balanced, and you would still have a rot at the center of the freehold, because Winter is not at the center of the London freehold. Lukas is a symptom, not the disease.

Jonah Magnus is the problem.

Gertrude Robinson knew this, even if she did not know precisely what Magnus was doing. She saw the signs, the way the whole of the freehold bent itself to the Autumn King, the way the freehold population somehow stayed generally the same over time despite the growth of the city itself. Autumn claimed to be keeping the freehold "safe," and the Hedge usually was safe, but how many newly emerged from the Hedge found their way to the Magnus Institute to give a bewildered statement about Arcadia and then disappeared? How many Lost who lurked on the edges of their Court decided to "move" with no forwarding address?

Gertrude knew, because Gertrude was the one in charge of the system Jonah Magnus was using to perpetuate his own power. And if that had been the only problem--if it had merely been that Magnus had struck some horrible bargain to feed the "weak" of the freehold to the Others to keep the rest of them safe--then she might have merely tried to take the Autumn Crown from him.

What Gertrude found, however, was not mere evidence of Jonah Magnus being a Loyalist (which she did), nor horrible bargains with privateers and True Fae to keep the London freehold safe (which exist). What she found was the outlines of a plan to use the Archives for some horrible purpose that, she believed, would bring about the end of the world as they knew it. And so she left Autumn and became Dusk, and the Crown came to her shortly after.

Exactly what she knew is hard to say. Her notes are missing, her once-powerful Court has been scattered to the winds. Gerry Delano, long the Dusk Queen's right hand, disappeared in America a year before her death. Adelard Dekker went missing in Germany a year before that, on one of his many missions to gather information about what he claimed was a push from inside Arcadia to invade Earth. The others of the Umbral Court who have not switched allegiances have gone underground or moved away.

One could think that perhaps this is merely the usual swing of power between Dawn and Dusk, but there are no Dawn Courtiers in London at all anymore. There is no hope of a better day, no glimmering light on the horizon promising change and renewal. There is only the deepening shadows, and the ever-more-persistent feeling of paranoia spreading through the freehold like a disease.

But, then, it is precisely these conditions that leads to a revival of the Dusk Court. Surely someone will read the signs, take up the call, fight the looming disaster. And there is one member of the London freehold that knows Contracts of Entropy, who knew Adelard Dekker, who chose Winter over Dusk in a desperate bid for normality over being any kind of "Chosen One."

But Martin Blackwood is working in the Archives now, and the stench of the rot will be impossible to ignore for very long.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (64) || atz

“Let’s go onto land!” You cheer excitedly, grabbing onto Jongho’s arm and he looks at you with wide eyes, surprised. You’re practically bouncing up and down in anticipation, waving your new arm about, and Yeosang smiles at you fondly from the side. It’s the most energetic he’s seen you for days. “Come on! Let’s go and buy Yunho some grilled squid or something to cheer him up!” Your grin is radiant.

“I’m glad you’re so excited about it.” Your captain’s voice comes from the door and Jongho whirls around to see Hongjoong standing there, wiping the tiredness from his face with a damp cloth, wearing a small smile. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he sees your face go ashen for a second at the sight of your captain before your smile returns, although it seems a little forced. He frowns. “If you want to go onto land, remember to bring Jongho with you.”

“Alright.” You say quietly, suddenly so much more subdued than you were prior. Jongho and Yeosang exchange looks. What is that all about?

“I heard you helped design the arm.” Jongho hears you add on, and your smile is... difficult to say the least, tender but brittle, cracking at the edges. But the gratefulness is your voice is genuine and true. “Thank you, captain.”

“I told you, call me Hongjoong.” His captain corrects with a fond smile, and Jongho finds himself frowning at the sight of it, wondering if... perhaps... but before he can think too much into it, Hongjoong is already stumbling across the cabin and clambering into his hammock. He must be exhausted from the recent events and steering the ship almost the entire way. The three of you watch him as he yanks his red jacket off to cover himself, before he makes a noise of annoyance when his fingers slip through a couple of gaping holes and slashes in the sleeves and sides. “This thing is falling apart.”

“It’ll become more holes than fabric soon.” Yeosang mutters under his breath sympathetically and Hongjoong groans, burying his face in his hammock so you can see the outline of his features against the rough fabric. “It’s going to be so cold soon.” He laments.

“We could start a fire on board.” Jongho pipes up and Hongjoong scrambles to sit upright, waving his fist at him.

“Are you trying to burn the Treasure like a piece of matchwood? No, Jongho, you shall not-” He nearly falls out of the hammock and you rush to flip his hammock back upright, the suspending ropes swinging dangerously. “That’s it, Jongho, you’re on bilge bailing duty for the next week-”

“I’m joking, I’m joking.” Jongho reassures him and Hongjoong gives him a glare out of the corner of his eye, as if not quite convinced. “We’ll be leaving you to your nap in peace now, captain.”

“Nighty night.” Yeosang whispers, as if he’s talking to a little baby and the three of you tiptoe out of the cabin, leaving your captain sulking in the hammock behind you.

>>>

It’s a good three hours of more negotiations and steering the ship into the docks before you, Yeosang and Jongho are strolling through the port marketplace, a cluster of white makeshift stalls set up with canvas awnings, selling brightly colored trinkets made from a rainbow of elegantly carved seashells.

“These are pretty!” You exclaim to Jongho, picking up a hair clip made of iridescent blue and green shells, while Yeosang heads down a few stalls to peruse a few maps. Jongho manages a smile, patting you on the head lightly. “Yeah, they are. You want one?”

“Nah, I have one already.” You say, patting the silver hairpin Wooyoung had given you resting subtly in your belt, the aquamarine inlaid in the middle still shining clear, the light rippling through the stone like sunlight through the ocean. “It’s the only one I need.”

“But you don’t wear it.” Jongho reminds you with a frown and you puff out your cheeks, a little sad. “Yeah, because the last time I did it nearly got stolen. Now, I only wear it on board the Treasure, but sometimes I forget.” You shrug, moving back to pick through the trinkets. “It’s fine though. I’m not really bothered.”

Jongho nods in understanding, moving over to check out some oddly curved daggers, tracing the tip of his finger along the edges. How did people find sheaths for them?

Glancing back at you, he’s about to see what you’re up to when he sees a group of local children standing behind you, chattering loudly in a foreign language and gesturing to your wooden hand. With a frown, Jongho picks through the crowd back to your side, where you’re still looking through the accessories, and takes your wooden hand in his very clearly, before pulling you away from the stall.

“Hey!” You protest, looking at him in surprise as he tugs at you lightly, leading you away from the eyes of the children. “I wasn’t done looking at those-”

“Let’s go eat some grilled squid.” Jongho suggests quietly, pointing to another makeshift stall. There’s a man standing over a charcoal pit, turning sticks of squid over the fire and the delicious aroma of spices waft over to you. Seonghwa would love to try these out, he thinks, and you turn to him excitedly, earlier annoyance forgotten. “Yeah, it looks delicious!”

Jongho smiles and follows after you as you hurry towards the stalls, pulling out his money bag. A few minutes later, the two of you are sitting next to the stall, chewing on the springy treat side by side. “This tastes amazing.” You tell Jongho happily, and he nods, glad to see that you’re smiling once again. “You remember the first time you brought me out?”

For some reason, out of the entire trip the two of you had had, the incident in which you called him cute comes to mind. “Oh, god, don’t remind me.” He groans, putting his hands on his cheeks and you laugh in delight, clearly remembering the very same incident.

“Don’t worry.” You beam brightly, ruffling his hair gently with your real hand and he smacks your hand away lightly, taking another bite to hide the colour rising to his cheeks. “You’re still cute.”

He chokes on his squid. “Hey!”

Your laughter rings out as you lean backwards, enjoying the feeling on the sun’s warmth on your face, eyes sliding shut. Jongho takes a moment to look at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly, the same question rolling around on his tongue since this morning.

What’s wrong?

He just wants you to be able to answer this question with an honest “I’m okay.” Or at the very least, be able to tell him that you’re not, and tell him what’s wrong so he can help you fix it. He waits, waits and waits, but you don’t say anything to break the silence, too preoccupied with finishing your snack and counting the sticks left in the paper bag for Yunho and the rest of the crew.

“Hey, Jongho...” You ask suddenly, and he raises his eyebrow to look at you in curiosity. “Hypothetically... very, very hypothetically... if one of our crew members die, what would you do?”

Jongho’s taken aback for a second, before he frowns, trying to read your face but your expression is unreadable, still carefully counting through the sticks of grilled squid and avoiding his eye. Then he turns back to look at the ground, counting the tiny stones underneath the soles of his boots.

“I guess...” His voice is softer than he’d intended to. “I’d mourn, I’d miss them. Then I’d keep them here,” he points at his chest, “and move on and live well for them.”

You smile, for some reason he can’t quite understand. “And if I die? Would you cry?”

“You’re surprisingly morbid today.” He remarks and you laugh, poking him in the side and dispelling his fears. “And I don’t even want to think about it.” You poke him in the side again, and keep staring at him. Something tells him you’re not going to let up until he gives you an answer, so he sighs and replies. “Perhaps I’d mourn? But cry? I don’t think so. I haven’t cried in a long while since my parents’ deaths.”

You beam back at him, eyes soft. “That’s good to hear.” You say quietly, one hand reaching up to ruffle his hair again and for some reason, this time, he doesn’t want to push your hand away and a feeling akin to fear strikes deep in his heart.

Frowning, Jongho opens his mouth to ask a question.

“Why are you asking these kind of questions-”

“Whoa, look at that!” You’re already rising to your feet and moving to another stall before he can finish his question and he sighs, shaking his head. You pick up something red and furry, holding it up to him. “This looks so cool!”

“That’s fox pelt.” He tells you, running a hand along the fur just to make sure. It’s soft, of high quality. “It’s used to make scarves and other things.”

“It’d be warm, wouldn’t it?” You muse, picking up the fabric and weighing it in your hands with a tilt of the head, and Jongho raises an eyebrow to look at you curiously. “I guess it would.”

“Okay!” You grin, reaching over to pick up a few and comparing them. “I’m going to get a few.” Jongho frowns.

“What for?” He asks, and you chew on your bottom lip as you shake each pelt out and check them for holes. “I want to make captain something.” You tell him absentmindedly. “It’s getting cold and captain’s jacket is full of holes, I don’t want him to fall sick. And besides,” your voice trails off as you look down quietly at the fox fur in your hands. “I want something for him to remember me by.”

“You’ll always be with us.” Jongho says, suddenly feeling a desperate urge in him to make sure he speaks it into existence, a painful feeling clenching in his chest. You smile at him fondly, open your mouth to speak, and Jongho leans in closer, he needs you to reassure him that you’ll always be there, be part of the crew, but before you can say anything, there’s a grumpy call from behind you.

“I see the two of you have eloped together.”

You and Jongho both whip around to see Yeosang stand there, looking remarkably put out, and then it finally hits; the two of you abandoned him at his map stall.

“I’m sorry!” You squeak, running over to squeeze Yeosang’s hand and he turns his nose up, refusing to look you in the eye. “Hmpf!”

But Jongho can see the tiny smile playing on Yeosang’s lips even as you whine and pull at his sleeves, and what scares him the most is that he can’t help but feel like all of this is going to vanish like a good dream in the morning light.

>>>

Back on the ship late into the wee hours of the night, as the voyage to Tortuga continues, you take your pile of furs, a pair of scissors you had borrowed from Seonghwa and your sewing needles in one hand to the main deck, nudging open the hatch to the storage hold.

You pause, wait for the sound of the crunching of apples, but there’s nothing except for the silence of the night, the sounds of water rushing against the hull of the ship and wood creaking. You’re not sure which you would have preferred, but wordlessly pull your things down into the storage hold with you, hang your lamp from the hook in the ceiling and close the hatch behind you.

The flame of the lamp casts flickering light against the wooden beams and shadows that slip into the darkness before your eyes can catch them, but you only find yourself looking at one place; the tiny corner behind the barrels you had first hidden in when you had first come aboard this ship.

You see it in your mind’s eye all over again, how you’d seen Mingi’s face for the first time, how you’d broken his nose, how Seonghwa had led you up the stairs with your broken ankle, all of it. You remember how Yunho had watched the sunrise with you, the story of the rings in his hair. You remember every little thing all too well, and perhaps that’s the greatest gift of all.

How much had changed since, you muse to yourself, picking up a piece of sacking that has fallen onto the ground with your wooden hand, and yet how nothing has changed at all. Who you are, and who you were before, and who you were before that, you’re no closer to any of these answers, and yet, all you know is that you want to stay with the crew that have become your family, to be with them always as the Treasure sails to the end of the world and even beyond that.

“I hope I won’t forget that.” You tell yourself quietly, even as you settle into the little corner just like how they’d found you, pulling the furs into your lap. “Even if I die, I hope I don’t forget all of them.”

You place the needle between your lips and work the screw of your prosthetic hand until the silver instrument is lodged firmly between the two prongs. You remember Yeosang’s smile of triumph and pure happiness for you when he realised that the prosthetic had worked, remember how the very hand you had lost had held his as you fought to bring him back to life.

You pull out the thread with shaking fingers, remember the way your master’s hands held yours gently as he guided the tip of your needle through the fabric, teaching you how to sew stuffed toys made with scraps of old sail to practice stitching. You remember the way you had hurt him and closed the door in his face, how you had reduced him to tears and left him to watch you die.

You don’t have time to cry. You have to hurry and finish this coat, before it’s too late. You pull the needle from the prosthetic, press it into the fabric. Before you know it, tears are slipping down your eyes as you push the tip of needle into the fur and start pulling the thread through, and the fox fur soaks in all of it, all your pain, sadness and happiness, trapping them within.

“I don’t want to just be a memory.” You whisper softly into the silence of the hold.

The night is dark, and silent.

[shadows-of-fate]

When Dragoons Fly...

Colors of red and orange melded with a deep blue as the morning reached up to bid the evening farewell. Nhea's tired eyes peered out into the desert sunrise from the bow of the Barghest, her mug of coffee in hand as she slowly delighted in the waking pleasure of the caffeinated beverage. She had brought aboard her belongings needed for the voyage the night before after having left a small social tea party with a handful of her company members where a new addition to the mission's crew was attained. With everything prepared to set sail, she simply awaited Osric's arrival while taking in the familiar and comforting sounds of a busy crew.

“If I’d known you were going to be up this early I would’ve made my way here sooner. I’ve found in recent months I don’t need as much sleep as I used to.” Osric wandered up behind her, the same bag he’d had with him the night before slung over one shoulder, a pair of daggers at his hips, and lance in hand. He set the bag down at his feet, laying the lance down to rest on top of it as he came to stand next to her, adjusting his jacket, effectively hiding the daggers underneath. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, taking a moment to glance out at the sunrise for a moment before shifting his gaze back to the Miqo’te next to him. “So, to business then. Do you really not have the details about who we’re after and what we’re supposed to be returning, or did you just not want to share it with the group last night?”

A low chuckle rumbled in her chest at the sound of the familiar voice approaching behind her. "I slept on the ship." She began as her attention turned sidelong to him with a grin. " You're fine. We're just completing a few routine checks but should be ready to take off at any moment." His question caused her to purse her lips as she turned fully now to rest her back against the wooden boards. "Who, yes and I know where to find him. What, all I know is it's family relics."

“Family relics, hm?” He tapped the toe of his boot against the deck before taking a few steps, his brow furrowing for a moment. “Well...doesn’t that just sound messy.” He turned on his heel, facing her again, uncrossing his arms and slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I’m tempted to ask how you know the individual we’re after - but I feel the more appropriate question might be how much of a headache are we in for?”

Her lips curled into a bit of a grin as she looked up to him, falling silent for a moment while emptying the contents of her mug before clicking her tongue. “Honestly it depends…” The raven haired miqo began, pausing only to clear her throat a bit as she waved a nearby crew member over and pointed to Osric’s things to usher them to take his belongings to his cabin if he liked. “...on if he remembers me or not.” The final words came as a bit of an after thought but the meaning held true that there was some sort of history between her and their target. 

Osric quirked an eyebrow, leaning down to pick up the lance, leaving the bag to the crew member, offering them a quick ‘thank you’ before slowly turning back towards Nhea. “On whether he remembers you or not?” He exhaled slowly, before chuckling - slowly shaking his head. “Well - I get the sense that this is going to be an interesting trip, at the very least.” He twirled the lance in his hands before planting the bottom of the weapon against the deck. “No sense in delaying. Shall we...captain?”

“Mm, we can leave it at that for now.” She reached over with her free hand, nudging his arm slightly as she flashed him a wink. With his words to be on the way, Nhea motioned toward the upper part of the ship in which the helm awaited her. 

Expecting him to follow behind, she made her way up the stairs that led them to the helm as she took a deep breath with a wide smile. “Care to join me while we set off?” After her question to him came a slurry of commands to the crew below them as the sails were adjusted and the ship roared to life and their course was set. “Our first stop will be in Limsa, we’ll dock there and travel outside of the city toward Summerford. Our friend was last seen there, let’s hope he stuck around.” 

Osric did follow, doing his best to keep out of the way. “Summerford isn’t exactly large - not an ideal place to hide out if one’s goal is to actually avoid being found.” He settled next to a nearby railing, leaning back - slowly turning the lance in his grip. “How...difficult to find is this friend - usually?” His gaze shifted from the crew shuffling about back to Nhea at the helm. “Just...out of curiosity.”

An idle hand rested on the large wheel, the wind picking up as their speed gained causing her dark locks to sway behind her shoulders. “No, I don’t suppose he’s exactly in hiding. If I recall correctly, he’s got a bit of an ego.” Her gaze held forward for a long moment while she spoke though as the way seemed to be clear, she glanced over to Osric with a grin. “It’s not finding him I imagine will be the difficult part.”

There was a long pause as the dragoon seemed to focus on the lance, idly turning the weapon in his hand. He chuckled, reaching up and running his free hand through his hair before easily meeting her gaze. “It sounds like you already have an idea of what the ‘difficult’ part is going to be - care to share?” He didn’t seem bothered by the notion that things might be a bit more complicated than originally implied - complicated meant a challenge, and a challenge meant more focus on the work at hand. 

Her chest rose slowly as she inhaled a deep breath before releasing it with patience. Nhea turned to the woman that had been standing off to the side, a red headed Miqo’te holding a small brass telescope to her eye to gaze further ahead of them. She was instructed to take the helm while the captain stepped aside to join Osric against the railing to lean on her forearms to look out over the side. "For starters, he's a brute of a man but as sneaky as they come. If we set eyes on him, it's probably best we don't lose those sights." Shifting now to rest sideways so she could address him directly. "As for the 'if he remembers me' part...I might have done a job with him a few years ago...where I might have taken off with the entire sum of earnings instead of sharing after leaving him stranded in the desert." Lips pursed in thought before she offered up her ever familiar wide and playful grin.

He drummed his fingers along the grip on the lance, his other hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully as his amused gaze met hers. “You might have, huh? Then it sounds like an individual who might hold a bit of a grudge. I’ve never been stranded in the desert or had all of my earnings stolen away before, but I can recall some situations with not so favorable outcomes that ended up being very memorable.” He let his hand fall away from his chin, tilting his head towards her. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that this friend of yours is probably expecting you, but would he be intelligent enough to plan for you? You mentioned he was a brute, not that he was smart.”

Shoulders lifted in a shrug as she coyly continued to grin as he spoke. Nhea never had a problem double crossing people for her gain but having settled in with the Ashen Wolves, she found herself mellowing to some extent. "It's hard to say honestly," Her tone had found a bit more seriousness now as she began thinking of what they might walk into. "Unless he sought me out specifically to settle that grudge but that would have been quite the work to track me down over a little disagreement. Either way, should be on our guard." 

Osric paused, glancing out over the horizon for a moment. "You learn very quickly in this line of work to stay on your guard, no matter the job. One wrong step, one second too late and that could be it.” He shifted his gaze back to her with a tired smile. “There’s almost always a hiccup of some kind. I don’t imagine whatever this ‘friend’ of yours has cooked up will be any different. But -” he took a moment before pushing away from the railing and stretching with an extended inhale. “...we won’t know until we get there. No need to stress about it now. What time do you expect us to arrive in Limsa?”

"Hm…" she hummed as she stepped forward to extend a hand to retrieve the small telescope from the other Miqo’te to gaze through the brass tube in front of them. "I'm always on guard, Osric. But also I learned to adjust quickly if needed and go with the flow of things." Nhea smiled as she glanced over her shoulder to him before looking up at the large sails of the ship. "Shouldn't be too long, the wind is at our back and we're making great time. But if you'd like, T'khau can show you your cabin to rest a bit more before we get there." Nhea looked to her first mate with a smile who nodded in response before looking to Osric for his decision. 

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, I was able to get more than enough sleep before we left.” He tilted his head from side to side - stretching his neck for a moment before offering the crew member a quick nod. “Besides - if it shouldn’t be too long, with my luck I’ll end up falling asleep right as we arrive. Unless that’s a nice way of telling me to get off your deck…” He trailed off, shifting his gaze back over to her, curious.

Nhea offered the telescope back to the other woman with a bit of a chuckle as she shook her head slowly and stepped back up to the wheel to take the rungs in hand. “I had a feeling you would say that and no- you’re welcome to stay. In fact..” She looked back to him with a grin before motioning to the wheel with a certain look in her eyes. “Ever flown a ship before?”

Osric paused, glancing over at the helm and then back to Nhea, still with the curious look. “No, no I haven’t.” He set the lance down - he’d been holding it the whole time - and loosely crossed his arms over his chest. “I can only claim to have been a passenger a handful of times...are you offering to let me?”

She perked up even further and seemed to slightly bounce in place as she stepped aside and gestured to the wheel once more. “Yeah!” One hand remained on a single rung as she waited for him to take hold of it entirely. “Just hold it steady, we’re straight on course so it would be hard to get us too far off. All the hard stuff is mostly seen to by the rest of the crew, steadying the sails and such.” A hand lifted to remove the object that rested around her neck, flicking the lid open to reveal the compass inside to show it to him. “Should stay heading north west, where it is now and you’ll be good!”

He slowly lowered his arms and approached, cautiously stepping up and gripping the helm - mindful of the direction the arrow within the compass was pointing towards. “I’m not sure if this is an act of trust, or pure entertainment, but I’ll do my best not to somehow get us lost.” He offered another small smile as he adjusted his grip, shifting his gaze from the compass up at the sky before them - checking back every few minutes to make sure they were still on the right course. He was so focused on the task at hand, that it wasn’t until several minutes later that he realized the individual standing next to him was not Nhea.

“Where did she…?”

“Sleep - she’s in her cabin, we’re to help bring the ship into dock and wake her up when we arrive.”

Osric’s jaw clenched for a moment as he sighed before he shook his head with a small chuckle - glancing up just as Limsa started to come into view. 

It was sure to be an interesting assignment...

(This will be fun. Blurbs with @osric-slater-ffxiv​)

[symphonyofmalice]

Introducing AUs!

I’m interested in roleplaying with Nicolas in some alternate universes, especially where he is something other than a vampire. I might write out my headcanons for each of these and add them as a page to the blog. In some ways, these will at as “verses”, though I still prefer to allow myself the flexibility of treating it’s own thread seperately, and not necessarily expecting 100% consistency. All AU’s will have a tag (used for headcanons, threads in that au, etc.) using standard bang path (Au!Nicolas) formatting. 

For my RP partners: 

-These are evocable! If you want a particular AU, just mention in in an ask, starter, meme, etc. 

-These are combinable with existing memes/starters! So feel free to send something like “Demon!Nicolas [quote starter]” or “😘with Changeling!Nicolas” etc. 

The AUs:

🙂Human

NeverWas!Nicolas: For any circumstances in which Nicolas never becomes a vampire. Perhaps he didn’t ask Lestat to turn him. Perhaps he was refused. Perhaps they parted ways too early, perhaps he was kept in the theater as a mortal pet. Obviously, time-limited to a mortal lifespan. This is specific to au’s and not threads within Nicolas canon human life.

NotAnymore!Nicolas: Wether the cause is magic, a blessing, a curse, body-swap shenanigans or anything else, this is for any thread where Nicolas becomes human after experiencing vampirism. 

👻Ghost

Ghost!Human!Nicolas: For a Nicolas that dies while human. The Children of Darkness went too far and lost their hostage, or perhaps killed him to spite Lestat. Now there is a haunting in Paris, a ghostly figure dressed in red, holding a violin. 

Ghost!Vampire!Nicolas: For the ghost of Nicolas after his vampirism, the ashen imprint left behind after his Grand Sabbat pyre. 

🧚‍♂️Fairy: Changeling!Nicolas: A fae child left in a human household, growing up with parents and siblings that found him strange and alienating, uncanny and unnatural. Only as a young adult did Nicolas find his people- with their bright eyes and bell-like voices- returning to play his music under the hills and in the forests. 

🐦Animal and animal related:

Daemon!Nicolas: His Dark Materials/Daemon AUs where Nicolas’ soul is a companion animal, a ~(european storm petrel? whippoorwill?) named Acanthos. 

Matagot!Nicolas: Threads in which Nicolas is a matagot from French folklore: A magical spirit in the shape of a black cat. The matagot can bring great evil and suffering to those it encounters, but if carefully controlled, it can also bring great wealth and riches. (Puss in Boots was a matagot). 

Anthro!Nicolas: For furry AU’s in which Nicolas is an anthropomorphic animal, likely a bird, given the bird-over-a-wasteland depiction of his inner soul. 

Shifter!Nicolas: For threads where Nicolas is a shapechanger that can flip between human and animal forms. As with the others, I will likely stick to bird forms, as I personally see those as most representative, but I’m not beyond a werewolf au. 

😈Demon: Demon!Nicolas: Nicolas as a true denizen of hell, under the reign of Wrath. A devil associated with madness, rage and debauchery. Depicted in human folklore and religious stories constantly with some instrument, from lyres to violins. Much like the namesake Panics of Pan, his music is said to drive human beings to their worst extremes. He can inspire poets, playwrights and musicians with cosmic visions, though the cost for making a deal is high. 

🧜‍♂️Mermaid: Siren!Nicolas: He sits upon the rocks, silver scales glittering in moonlight, wet hair near-black. His beguiling voice can charm any who listen to it. And when their ship dashes upon the rocks, his shark-toothed mouth will feast upon blood and bone. 

This does not need to be an exhaustive list, and I am happy to do other monsters, creatures, variants etc.! 

[gerdavonrinnlingen]

First Lines Tag

Tagged by @phelfromgrace - thank youuuu :D

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

Tagging: @tishinada, @pineaberry and @riajade01 ^^

1. Achromatic (Gingerrose, Spy Handler!Rose) Conspiracy meetings in seedy cantinas, breakneck chases through narrow urban canyons or at least mysterious meetings on foggy bridges - that's what Rose had envisioned when she had more or less begged General Organa to transfer her to the espionage department.

2. For a Fistful of Dollars (Gingerrose, Western AU) Fiery sparks flew up in the air, dancing like fireflies on a hot summer evening. Some returned into the red-hot fireplace, merging with the brightly glowing charcoal; others strayed from the fiery pit, landing on the cold floor, breathing out their short existence.

3. Deep Waters (Gingerpilot, Stranded) The first thing Poe noticed was the unmistakable stench of tibanna gas that filled the air of the cantina. It was the smell of cheap, low-quality blaster cartridges leaking gas. Stepping from the sweltering heat outside into the cool dive gave him goosebumps.

3. Never Alone (Gingerrose, Horror) Rose stared at her hands. They weren’t pretty. Short fingers, palms full of calluses and old cuts where her grip had slipped when using the hydrospanner, short, chewed off nails. She sighed and leaned against the wall of her cell, rubbing her wrists where there were bruises from the binders. It hurt, burned slightly when she brushed against the grazed skin, but she couldn’t stop touching it. 4. Edge of Night (Gingerrose, Spy!Hux) Rose felt a cold, desperate bead of sweat run down her back. An ashen taste spread in her mouth as she marched forward until she reached a door. It slid open with a low hissing sound. She stared at the dimly-lit hallway in front of her, slowed her step and gulped. There was a small door visible at the far end of it; that’s where they were going. Their final destination.

5. Red Salt (Gingerrose, Dark Fic) The air carried the scent of salt when Hux stepped out of the command shuttle; the sun beam reflected by the thin layer of salt on the ground made him squint. A mild, warm wind made the tails of his greatcoat flutter slightly. With the back of his gloved hand he wiped over his mouth and pulled the corners of his mouth down. He caught a whiff of oil, hot metal, and molten iron emanating from the Resistance Base in front of him, or rather from  the destruction of its blast doors.

6. Der Wolf und der Fuchs (Kylux, Smut) Hux tugged at his black leather glove, and straightened his back as he walked towards hangar 23. The only sound he heard were the heavy boots of the Stormtroopers following him. His Stormtroopers, he thought with satisfaction. He had finally arrived at the top… the Finalizer was a magnificent ship. He had gone over the technical specifications as soon as Snoke had promoted him to General. He brushed the two stripes on his greatcoat's sleeve. He shouldn’t allow himself to be proud – this was nothing, just another stepping stone.

7. Heterotopia (Gingerrose, Prisoner!Hux) The worst part was the humming. It wasn’t the scratchy clothes they had given him, nor the lack of privacy. It was the kriffing humming of the force field – the reddish energy wall was flickering slightly. Making a soft clicking sound every time the oscillator kicked in. Hux slowly opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of his cell. It was painted in the red light of the force field, he could see the rivets above him.

8. Ginger Gears (Gingerrose, Spy!Rose) Rose wiped the sweat running down from her forehead away with the back of her hand. She put the hydro-spanner into her mouth and leaned down on the small rectangle hole in the floor. Behind her she could hear a mouse droid scurrying past her with its tell-tale beeping. She opened the top-most button of her dark grey First Order uniform. Finally she saw the chips she was looking for. With a few quick movements she had pulled them out of the energy node and replaced them with chips from her pocket.

9. The Robot and the Old Crank (Detroit Become Human, Friendship) Hank exhaled as he felt the heavy raindrops falling on his head, he waited for a moment before he opened his umbrella. His eyes burned from staring into the computer screen, perhaps he should’ve used the eye drops Jean had brought him years ago. Either that or he should get glasses like Bob Fowler … but Bob looked like a dork with them to be honest.

10. Photophobia (Gingerrose, Companion Piece) Seeing his subordinates working diligently while he stood calmly in the centre of the bridge of the Destructor was immensely satisfying – for a moment Hux almost felt content. Of course it didn’t last; the beeping of the priority comm channel startled everybody around him. Hux himself didn’t move, didn’t allow himself to show how much the call of this child irritated him.

11. The Cruellest Thing (Gingerrose, Companion Piece) Rose Tico used to daydream about all the heroic deeds she would accomplish when she first joined the Resistance. But it took her only a couple of days to realise that the rebels were already full on skilled pilots like her sister, hot-blooded daredevils and heroic leaders like Poe Dameron. They were in desperate need of grease monkeys though, people who could fix blasters, fighters and jammed doors to command centres.

12. Home (Finn/Rey/Hux, Body Switch) The lift doors slid open and revealed an surprisingly unostentatious throne room. There was red tapestry on the walls. The black throne and the lack of ornament were a stark contrast to the gaudy golden robes Snoke was wearing. Rey straightened herself and made her way towards the brightly lit centre of the room. Kylo Ren walked right behind her like an uncanny shadow. She could feel his gaze upon her and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

13. Ryloth: The Return of the Sith (SWTOR, SW/Vette/Quinn) Everything felt numb and cold. Slowly, very slowly an almost painful tingle spread through Badesh’s chest. The tingle became a burning pain that made him grit his teeth. He felt the urge to made the uncomfortable feeling stop, he wanted to push away whoever was tormenting him. But something hindered his movement, Badesh tried to focus and used the Force to… he almost blacked out from sheer exertion. Suddenly he was released and Badesh fell hard on a metallic floor.

14. Big Bet Game (SWTOR, Vette/Quinn) The waiter banged the glass with Tarisian ale carelessly on the table, the dark liquid spilled over and joined the other stains on the wooden surface. Quinn looked up from his data pad and turned up his mouth. The waiter sneered at him and left. Quinn put the pad away – there had been no messages from Agent Shan or Lord Saikrâm. He throat felt parched and he sighed while staring at the ale. With death-defying courage he lifted the slightly smudgy glass and took a gulp, the swill didn’t taste that bad to his surprise.

15. Requiem For A Dream (SWTOR, SW/Theron Shan) Theron rubbed his hands together while he waited for the large holo map to reveal the location of the mysterious super-weapon. Snowflakes swirled around him, he shivered a little when he felt the snow touch his scalp. He allowed himself to take another look of Copero – the beaches at the feet of the mountains, the shimmering ocean and the lush flora and of course the majestic Cling'geam'riro alps … but it gave him no joy.

16. Baggage from Iokath (SWTOR, SW/Quinn) Darth Naqâz was usually an eloquent man. During his tenure as the Emperors Wrath his sharp tongue had been as infamous as his deadly lightsaber. But his wit failed completely him when Lana Beniko introduced two would-be assassins who had snuck in into the Alliance base on Iokath. He just glanced at the blonde woman but when he set his eyes on the dark-haired man who was brought before him by Alliance soldiers his eyes widened and he gasped: It was none other than Malavai Quinn, his former second-in-command.

17. A Night on Tatooine (SWTOR, Vette/Quinn) 'Tatooine sunsets are without equal. What a pity that one must stand on the planet to see them' Quinn couldn’t remember where he had read those lines, but these words rang very true as he put a soothing gel on his sunburnt skin. He sighed as he saw his red face in the small oval mirror; he carefully applied gel on his cheeks and his nose when a loud banging on the bathroom door made him flinch.

18. Rogue Agent (SWTOR, SW/Theron Shan) The Manaan sun shone brightly, and Theron Shan squinted as he scanned the promenade for his contact. The salt hung heavy in the chilly air. Selkath and off-worlders walked past him. Out of habit he listened what they were talking about.

“… the next shipment of kolto is due in three days,” said a green-skinned female Twi’lek.

“Of course. After that we have to negotiate a new deal – the demand for kolto is rising,” the Selkath next to her said. “And with the recent attacks on Tython and Korriban …”

19. Sith Relics (SWTOR, SW/Quinn, Smut) Darth Naqâz left the ship’s training room, his robes were soaked from his sweat and were becoming more and more uncomfortable. He had hoped that a prolonged training session would help with his growing unease – but even after he had slashed his way through three training droids he couldn’t dispel the tension that had taken hold of him in the past week.

20. Time and what became of it (SWTOR, SW/Quinn) The shrill beeping of the chronometer rang through the room. Quinn exhaled and fumbled the shrieking device on his bedstand until he finally hit the off button. He closed his eyes for a moment before he finally got up. He slowly entered the tiny bathroom he had in his own personal quarters. Quinn activated the hydro tap and splashed water in his face. He looked at himself in the rectangular mirror above the washbasin. Had these lines in his face always been there? Or hadn’t he noticed before?

As for choosing my favorite opening line... that's hard - perhaps "Red Salt" or "For a Fistful of Dollars" because there are no hands people stare at xD

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “The Empty Plate.”

Alright guys, here it is, the reason I haven't been positing for the last week. My first and only attempt at true horror. I have spent hours sitting in the dark pissing myself in order to write this, so I am begging you guys please read it. This is probably the most difficult thing I have ever written.

A couple tings before we get started. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

If you want the full affect of the horror, I suggest reading it in the same way I wrote it, In a dark room with scary ambient noises playing on headphones.

If you dislike horror, I still suggest reading at least parts of  it because it is relevant to the plot line. If you don’t want any issues read it in broad daylight in a crowded room. 

Seriously guys, I have never written something so difficult before please make it worth while :) 

A million hateful eyes glint their fury from the darkness, distant and cold caught up in spirals and clusters of ancient anger and the deepest most resounding quiet. They pull towards each other, spiraling, forever spiraling downwards and inwards into an unknown darkness where, if one were to be caught up, they would be suspended in a state trapped between death and life skewered on the descending claws of time.

We knew man was strange when we first met them, a consumer, one of flesh and of resources and of worlds powered, not by the laws that govern our existence, but by a strange and unknown entity glistening behind their eyes. Man is not man, but a shell powered by something strange, something eerie, something not of our plane. I have argued this many times over the years.

But why will no one here me. 

***

Dr. Krill floated quietly on the bridge in the sallow yellow light of an ambient star cluster. Commander Vir sat Stiff and rigid in his seat. His single green eyes glinting with a fine filmy layer of reflected mucus glinting with the pale sickly yellow of that pallid light. The rest of the bridge was unusually silent many silhouettes holding bated breath expressions dark as the unexpected transmission warbled over the line.

It came in  sibilat whispers, gurgles and and the distant sounds of guttural wailing crackling backwards into the maddening chatter of static. 

Krill examined in mild fascination as tiny hairs, like detached spider legs erupted upwards on the man’s skin. The delicate hairs glittered in response to the insipid, sensuous caress of waxen light down the man’s protruding spine delicate mounds and bumps of bone just visible through the back of his shirt.

The man’s skin had gone ashen like that of a bloated corpse decaying in a static pool of water.

“Can anyone understand any of that.” The man demanded, and despite its strength his voice fell flat crushed and squeezed with the weight of the air around them.

“I’ll try to clean it up sir.”

The transmission had begun without premonition. One moment they had been floating quietly through the vast nothingness of space, and next, they had been bedeviled by this Insidious cacophony of voices that seemed human, though individual words could not discerned.

Under the pressing weight of those horrific voices, the bridge remained hushed as the communications officer attempted to untangle the message.

A shadow fell over the Commander’s back, and a set of three tallenous fingers came slithering down over his shoulder to rest against his clammy skin. Sunny lingered at the Commander’s shoulder luminous golden eyes fixed upon the speakers which still crooned that gastly whispering.

“I think I have it, Sir.” The woman stammered 

“Alright then, let’s hear it.”

There was a long moment of silence, like the catatonia that follows psychosis.

“Help, please…. Anyone…. Please help. This is , colony transport…. 331…. Out of fuel….. Running low on food….. The lights… gone out….. eating ….. Can't stop… requesting help.” 

The chattering began again in earnest rising upwards upwards upwards until a crescendo, until the room was filled with it’s warbling madness, 

“STOP!” The transmission cut and the lascivious whispers died. Commander Vir stood from his chair, “That’s enough.” He finished softly, “Someone take a look in the database for a civilian transport with that flag ID.” He stabbed a finger at their radar technician, “Do you see anything.”

The woman stammered for a moment, spun in her seat and scanned wide unblinking eyes over her console, “Uh ... y-yes sir, I have something, not very far at all, its small, about the size of a colony transport.”

“Well what the hell would they be doing out here?” 

“I have no fucking clue.” The Commander muttered darkly glancing towards the eerie image looming over their pathetic tiny ship still thousands of miles away, psr b1509-58 (nicknamed the hand of god) metastasized into the sky less like the hand of god and more like some creeping eldritch horror. The strange, hand-shaped bluish dust cloud writhed from the blackness grasping upwards towards a ball of yellow red fire.

“ID tag confirmed, Sir. The ship has been missing for... Well over a year.”

Commander Vir blinked, “No, that can’t be right.” He shoved past his chair to peer over the shoulder of the technician his face bathed with a hellish red.

“Yes sir, Looks like they lost contact immediately following warp procedures. They did not arrive at their original destination.”

“”Well, I’ll be damned.” He mouthed standing, “Sunny, prep a shuttle and a landing party, get our suits ready. I want the rest of you to try and hail that ship. I don’t have much hope for these people, but done right, a ship can be stocked with enough food to last a year.”

“But…. Commander, what about….” The man’s voice shriveled and ebbed into silence.

Commander Vir nodded expression sombre, “It doesn’t matter. If there is even the slightest possibility that someone aboard that ship might still be alive, than we have to do what we have to do. Come on Sunny, let’s prep a team.”

***

The mood leading up to this mission had been one of inexorable unease, though none of the men or women could really have explained why. Only the Commander had heard the full recording, and as he sat in the pilot’s seat of that shuttle he felt the cold hand of dread slip around his chest, an icy choking feeling on his heart in a way that he had never experienced before, and wished never to experience again. Outside that shuttle window, the icy blue hand of god had beckoned them silently into the lap of eternal darkness.

The civilian transport appeared as a black cancerous spot on god’s wrist,swelling outwards in their vision sprouting sharp, black spines like charred bone pierced through skin. The entire ship, was like that, the mangled corpse of something that had once been now lurking in the shadow of space. But it was odd despite the feeling it gave him, other than the absence of lights, the ship appeared….. Mostly whole. It didn’t look broken down, dilapidated or in any way decommissioned.

It was just, Still, and silent.  

-

The airlock doors shuttered open with a protracted squeal. A wave of putrid humidity washed over them from the pitch black interior. That humid putrefaction slithered past them causing delicate crystal drops to form over the face of their visors foreshadowing nothing but a world of ceaseless decay from within.

And now they had come to stand before a bottomless pit of profound blackness, assaulted by a lurching humid wind that dragged her feted tentacles over his body. Commander Vir felt it, a presence like the weight of an unwanted lover pressing against him with putrid rotting flesh wet and slimy against his bare skin. Like a tongue caressing seductively up his neck, and towards his mouth.

A sensation so malevolent and vile, that began in his stomach, a tingling tightening sensation which wriggled up his throat bringing with it a horrific eruption of tingling beginning at the back of his thighs, trailing up his sides across his back and into his head.

His entire face erupted with that same tingling sensation. His nose and eyes prickled with unshed water, his throat constricted, his cheeks tingled, his teeth gritted. He felt as if he was about to scream, or weep. The impenetrable wall of darkness before him was not just a simple darkness….. It was a message.

GET OUT!

A warning.

Every human in that airlock, every marine, simultaneously erupted into a mass of animal panic. Lights flickered on wildly swinging towards the ceiling as if expecting to see a face come scuttling towards them from the darkness.

“Fuck this.” one marine whimpered crouching low to the ground his weapon raised towards the darkness. The aliens that accompanied them stared in abject terror at the response of their human counterparts. But they could not feel it, the creeping slithering, horror.

“What’s wrong.” Sunny demanded, her voice echoing out around them, thundering down the passageway, not making it very far before being consumed by the dark. 

And it was as if, all around them, the creeping malignancy went…. Silent.

Stopped as if holding its breath.

The humans shifted uneasily in their space weapons pointed into the darkness, though the beams of their flashlights seemed to terminate long before they should have. Despite waiting, the feeling from earlier did not return, though Commander Vir still felt…. Something. It was strange, like the buzzing of flies or a soft humming just out of range of hearing, or perhaps a sound just deep enough to be undetectable by humans, but still acknowledged by the unconscious parts of the brain. 

Whatever it was sent the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as tiny shutters ran up and down his spine.

The darkness stretched on before them.

One of the marines stepped back breathing loud over the intercom inside his helmet, “Commander, we shouldn’t be here.”

Adam agreed.

And he had never wanted anything more than to agree with the marine, and turn tail. But he knew that wasn’t an option, “Stand your ground marine, we have an obligation to these people.”

The group was somber, “I want two of you to stay back with the shutte. Make sure to keep in constant contact with the ship and update them on our progress, the rest of us are going to keep going. I am going to have our hazmat team meet us down here with body bags. With the way everything is looking ...” His voice fell flat on the dead air, and the marines stayed uncharacteristically mute.  

“I’ll take point.” He said lastly, and that seemed to at least galvanize them into action. Pulling his weapon more tightly to his shoulder, Adam faced down the halway following the cold steel line of the floor as it traced it’s way up into blackness, and then vanished. 

He took a step, and listened to it echo into the dark passageway down further and further along what seemed like an endless distance. 

His heart throbbed, and that same tingling sensation from earlier erupted over his cheeks, “Sunny.” he muttered quietly, Reassured when her voice came over the line distorted and warped, but otherwise familiar.

His team continued on softly, pushing back the reluctant darkness with the beam of his light. The floor ahead of him was bare and clean.

“Commander.”

Reluctantly, he turned to the side just slightly to get a look back at his marines, though his eyes still fixed upon that impenetrable blackness, “What is it marine.”

Ramirez’s face was gaunt in the yellow pallor of his helmet light giving him a sickly jaundiced appearance if not that, than the appearance of wax read to drip off a melting candle, “I can’t do this.” The man’s voice quivered with a strange hum that seemed to match that distant buzzing, “I have to go back.”

“What’s wrong marine?” The commander wondered, “We have to keep going.”

“If you can’t tell why than you’re a FUCKING IDIOT” The marines went absolutely still with shock. Staring at their companion in utter disbelief.

“Ramirez, what the hell.”

“Not cool.”

The man began to rock on his heels, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, “We shouldn’t be here.” The mareine was shaking his head erratically, “We have to go. We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here.” His voice once frantic, raising in pitch and desperation.

“MARINE, calm down!” Commander Vir snapped, “Get ahold of yourself!”and the man quieted, but continued to rock refusing to move one step more.

“Someone take him back to the shuttle.” The commander ordered, and one of the marines quickly volunteered, glared off by his companions. Commander Vir could see it in their eyes, what for a moment seemed like terrible…. Ravenous anger.

He shook it off and turned back to the darkness. Inside, his chest was suddenly  filled with the feeling of a thousand scuttling spiders digging their way into his lungs clambering through his alveoli, yet they continued onwards. The pale yellow gleam of their lights continued to show…. Nothing, nothing but the long, dark hallway stretching into blackness.

They came upon a few doors on their way down, which the marines cleared  in their usual fashion, but what they found was no more than storage rooms and offices. It all seemed well at first, stacks and stacks of boxes piled atop one another, a desk stacked with papers, the chair pulled out as if waiting for its occupant to return. The life support lights blinked a soft green to demonstrate that they were working.

Commander Vir stared into one of the storage spaces, and inside he felt a deep sense of dread and unease, but these were simply boxes, just stacks of boxes, nothing to worry him at all/ They even checked behind the crates out of a sense of paranoia, but there was nothing to be seen. Out in the hallway, Sunny, and a team of marines kept their eyes down the hall.

Commander Vir turned to position.

Why had those rooms bothered him so much.

It was just then that a deep, prolonged moan echoed down the hallway. The marines snapped into position facing down into the blackness guns raised. Commander Vir felt a rush of bubbles into his nose and throat. 

“The fuck was that.” Someone was saying

“Where did it come from?” Demanded another

“It came from behind us, I swear!” 

“Shut the hell up all of you!” The commander snarled, “Our ship makes noises like that all the time, it’s simply the beams settling, that's what happens when your ship is in a vacuum.” The marines went silent again. Inside his head the background buzzing intensified, like the static of a TV or the distant muble of a vacuum cleaner.

Inside his suit his hands had gone icy cold. Little eruptions of tingling rolled up and down his left side, like the response one gets when a sensual whisper caresses the ears. His palms and feet were horribly cold, his jaw locked, and his teeth gritted. His face felt as if that distant static had somehow made its way into his skin. Metal clattered and clanged vibrating up into the souls of his feet. The inside of his suit was hot while simultaneously being freezing cold. His only safety came from the reassuring weight of a weapon in his arms.

The floor fell away before him as the dying moan seeped into the metal below his feet and above his head. 

Above his head… he hadn’t thought about above his head, and the horrendous feeling of being watched.

Watched by something….. Something stretching down from the ceiling in long gelatinous strings, just inches from his head!

In a panic he dropped to one knee thrusting the muzzle of his weapon upwards images of wild eyes and rotting flesh burned into his mind. Behind him the marines cursed or screamed reacting as their Commander had.

His light fell upon the ceiling and saw…. Absolutely nothing.

Breathing heavily, Commander Vir cursed. His entire body was a mass of static tingling, like his very skin was infested with maggots. His heart beat so hard and so fast inside his chest, the only thing he could hear was it’s frantic beat, “F-false alarm.” he stammered, unable to shake the feeling that something HAD been reaching for him. There was no way a feeling that potent could have been so wrong.

They continued onward, and as he listened, the echoes branched outwards seeming to reach upwards filling a substantial space around them. The marines fanned out in a wide semicircle,  two facing back in the direction they had come. 

“Cargo bay. Alright marines, this is going to be basecamp. I want those portable floodlights set up, and a guard on any and all exits at all times. Once we have secured the area, I want our other teams to join us.” Honestly, they didn’t really need that may marines for this sort of operation, but Commander Vir was well and truly disquieted, and that trepidation made him eager for more guns.

***

“How’s he doing?” Commander Vir asked, standing at the center of a brightly lit cargo bay made that way by no less than twenty portable floodlights.

Krill’s voice came crackling over the line, “Ramirez… it’s strange, he says he’s feeling better, but he looks terrible, clammy skin pale, rapid pulse. I can’t find anything physically wrong, so I’ll probably get a consult down from psych. He wants me to tell you he’s sorry, says he doesn't know what came over him.”

“Tell him it’s alright, we were all sort of freaked.” easy for him to admit in the comforting light of over a dozen spotlights, but beyond that, where the radius of light gave way to the darkness…..

“Oh… and captain, there is probably something you should know. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you had already left.”

“Oh, go on.”

“It’s Conn.”

The commander stood straighter surprised, “Conn, has he woken up?”

Krill was silent for a moment, “Not exactly, but a few hours ago, he started moving around, mouthing things. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t seem to be registering anything. He seems aggressive agitated, and the uh…. Glados and the others seem very upset too. I have waffles taking care of them, but it’s only so much ...”

“Guess everyone aboard the ship is freaked out, eh, anyway, keep me posted.” He finished the conversation and motioned to a group of marines supervising the setup of the hazmat team, “Alright, you guys, on me, we are going to get this party started.”

Since boarding the ship, and seeing that the life support was still functional, they had chosen to take off their space suits, for gear that would be less cumbersome in close-quarters combat. Commander Vir was still not entirely sure that taking off their respirators had been a good idea. The instant he had pulled off his helmet, he had been nasally accosted by a sickly sweet, rotting pungence that permeated the air and wriggled itself into the very fibers of his soul. 

It was also a heavy smell, one that crawled deep into the nose and implanted itself at the back of his throat. So pungent were the smells, that, he felt like he could almost taste it, and was forced to fight bodily against his gag reflex as bile bubbled into his throat. He had quickly ordered better respirators from the med bay, and was currently sporting their crew’s newest fashion trend, a hard plastic mask that strapped around the back of his head but giving his full coverage over his mouth and nose.

Despite their heavy presence aboard the ship, going on almost half a day, no living being had appeared, that in itself did not bode well, considering the remaining options.

Either, no one was still alive to appear.

Or the living had chosen not to.

As for that feeling from earlier? Well here in the floodlit cargo bay, he could almost ignore the distant buzzing of static, and the chills had died down to a cold clamminess, but beneath all the bustling and movement, it was still there, like the ringing in one’s ears that establishes itself as a high pitched squeal, unheard when talking or working, but deafeningly loud when the quiet takes over.

A team of marines formed up around him, augmented by an extra woman to take the spot Ramirez had left. Somehow, she managed to seem surprisingly unphased while the rest of them were close to pissing themselves. Generally, at this point, he would have fallen back to direct from the rear, but left it up to one of the more experienced marines while making his way to the forward middle just behind the woman from earlier. 

He knew how to clear a room ,though this wasn’t his area of tactical expertise.

“Ready Commander?” The marine called form the back.

“Ready when you are, marine.”

“Tac lights on, we are going to do a slow sweep, pause the stick at every door keeping watch forward and rear, middle clearing rooms. Let’s go.”

Behind them, comforting glow of the floodlights faded. To their right, the marine on guard duty for the passaged looked at them with an expression of trepidation, her eyes wide and glinting wetly with the dull glow, “I’m not sure if it’s just the ship, Commander, but I… it sounds like there is something down there.”

He did not particularly appreciate her warning though it was taken into advisement.

Soon, the comforting cacophony of the cargo bay began to fade warping and melding into a strange distant hum. The light dimmed with it, leaving only the thin beams of their flashlights to cut through the murk. He could feel droplets of condensation beading onto his skin in hot, humid droplets. Beams of their flashlights cut down the hall moving and warping shadows across the hallway and floors. The distant buzzing from earlier grew louder and louder, until he was accompanied by a continual stream of static.

Their footsteps thudded loudly on the meta floors despite every attempt to stay quiet.

Halfway up the hall, a warm gust putrid wind blew past them carrying with it a soft, mournful moan. The marine at their head slowed casting her light over the distant hallway.

“Everything alright, marine?” The commander wondered.

“Yes….. I just, for a second I thought…” She trailed off shaking her head, “Nevermind.”

The hair rose down the back of his spine.

“Two doors, right and left.” The point marine called, coming to a stop just past that point. 

“Clear door.” The column stopped, and Commander Vir turned to assist a marine on the left, while another two took the door on the right. 

They found nothing more than abandoned storage rooms, stacks and stacks of crates illuminated in the light of their torches, and continued onwards.

Something plagued him at the back of his mind.

“Commander, the methane levels are climbing. Same with Hydrogen Sulfide.” The group remained quiet at the news.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, surrounding them in a dim bubble of light crowded on all sides by darkness. The hallway ahead was silent and empty but for the writhing of shadows. 

“Opening.”

They were directed into a quick fan pattern, one of their members facing backwards against the pursuing wall of darkness as they came into the room. The ambient glow of their torches provided just enough light to illuminate some sort of dining hall, or a kitchen. It was an eerie scene in the dark, chairs pulled form the sides of tables, waiting to be pushed back in abandoned plates left with moldering crumbs upon the counter. Cans and cartons were left abandoned to spoil, like whoever had been here had left in a  hurry and never bothered to return. A single lone chair sat isolated in a corner washed of all color transporting them into a dark, alternate dimension of black, grey eeriness. 

Long reaching shadows stretched grasping fingers into the darkness.

The illumination of their tac lights roved about the room in a thin nebulous columns showing nothing of great interest….. until

A hunched figure came into sharp relief against their lights. 

One of the marines cursed, lights quivered. The commander raised a hand.

Even from here, he could tell the man or woman was dead.

Slowly he motioned the others into the room approaching the corpse himself. Not so much a corpse anymore as grinning skeleton. As the light washed over it, the sockets of the eyes sunk into deep pools of blackness. Teeth, still white in comparison to the stained brown bone, grinned at them with a horrid gap-toothed smile just visible through a ragged tangle of drying hair which stick in vein-like trails over the moldering bone. 

The skeleton was undisturbed.

It sat at one of the tables slumped heavily against the wall. Dried brown stains coated the floor and wall around the corpse in a discolored puddle. The putrid discoloration had oozed onto the wall and slowly wormed its way into the minute seams leaving a cracked and drying crust behind it. The clothes, still somewhat intact, clung stiffly to the bone, rigid and brown with dried residue. 

But strangest of all was how the corpse sat, propped against the wall bony fingers still clutched loosely about an oxidized fork and knife, a pristine white plate sitting before him on the table. Aside from a small amount of dust, and residue shed from the hands, the plate was….. Clean.

The man looked as if he had died while sitting down for a meal, though there had been no food on his plate.

“Its like he just… sat down and died.” one of the marines whispered 

Just then a horrendous screech and crash shook quaked the room. A moment of sheer intense panic seized the commander, like the feeling of being constricted from all sides. The static in his ears roared to a crescendo as their lights sent shadows into a crazed and ghastly dance. Adam would have sworn he saw something large, and fleshy skitter away into the shadows just as his tac light fell on a pan still rolling and rattling against the floor. Frantically he panned his weapon in a tight arc, over the floor and across the walls. 

The sound of skittering, like the movement of a million bugs washed over him, so intense he felt as if he could feel the little creatures crawling up his body, burrowing into the fabric of his clothing, and crawling into his ears. His skin crawled and squirmed with a thousand maggots. They invaded his shoes, squelching between his does, filling his mouth and nose, worming their way down his throat.

He could feel them crawling on his insides carving tunnels just under the skin of his back. 

He gagged against the feeling batting at his arms and neck dropping his weapon on it tac sling to bounce against his upper thighs as he swatted at his face and skin spitting and gagging. 

Something grabbed him by the arm, “COMMANDER!”

The feeling vanished.

He stood in a cold sweat tingling like his entire body had fallen asleep quivering with the remembered feeling.

“Commander, are you alright.”

Adam dashed a hand across his mouth expecting to find bugs, but found nothing more than strings of saliva. He wiped his mouth again, “Shit, what the hell was that?”

“Nothing, sir. No one SAW anything, and we were guarding all the doors.”

His body trembled. So, either it had somehow snuck in, or it had been here the entire time….. If there was in fact anything there? Perhaps one of the marines had brushed the pot handle as they walked past causing it to slip and vibrate against the floor. 

He took a deep breath, unable to quell the urge to spit another gobit of phlegm onto the floor wetting his cracked lips with a raspy tongue, “Deploy the micro-drones. Have them get some samples and take pictures, then we will take care of the body.”

While his orders were being carried out, the rest of the marines busied themselves searching the room rummaging through cupboards and drawers though one marine had backed himself into a corner nervously sweeping his light across the floor and ceiling.

There were no more disturbances, and they found nothing but stacks of tins, boxes and packages. They came across a drawer full of pristine, dusty, coated utensils, but nothing remarkably out of the ordinary. 

Radio calls were made, and another team came to collect the body. Commander Vir watched from a pool of darkness as the yellow-suited hazmat team worked to peal the skeleton from it’s cracked juices. WIth enough urging the bones came apart, and the man was slowly disassembled into his component parts and crammed into a black bag whose surface glittered and shone like freshly pourn tar. 

His hands were the last to go, rusting metal utensils wrestled from the still clutching fingers, and left abandoned on the table next to the glittering white plate.

The sull, hunkered in a bed of its own bones, gave him one last knowing grin, before being zipped shut. 

The hazmat team retreated with their group of marines, taking with them the rustling of their suits, and the solemn comfort of their voices. Again they had been left in that dark colorless place surrounded on all sides by the ghost of an evening that would never come to pass. 

There was no knowing how long it had been stuck like this, though a thick mat of dust covered the floor. Nervously he glanced towards the fallen pot, but the ground was far to disturbed to determine what had actually happened.

But perhaps that was a hand-print?

No, it couldn’t be.

“I’ll take point,” He announced stepping in front of the female marine as they made their way into position. He wasn’t technically supposed to be here, but the fear…. The fear was starting to overcome him. That feeling, from the first moment they had stepped onto the ship, that cold icy sensation that licked slowly up his back to the point behind his ear. His skin crawled and his heart hammered as he tucked his weapon against his shoulder in a low-ready position. The only thing keeping him here was the desire to protect his marines.

Stepping into the hallway, his imagination wandered with him into the dark. His marines sitting silently on the floor of an abandoned back room, their bodies withering with the slow decay of time, their flesh dripping like candle wax from their bones forgotten in the slow progression of time as the cold darkness of space surrounded them, lost and entombed forever.

He shivered, “Door right.” He called, just before his light passed over a second door, “Door left.” He called out taking a few steps forward into the darkness and stopping while the marines readied themselves to breach the room. He kept his body at a slight angle head cocked towards the doors so he could hear, eyes looking off down the hallway. He heard the door open, and the marines entered. It must have been a larger room, for it required more than one marine to actually enter and make the sweep.

He heard them speaking, calling out to each other, and tilted his head just a little further in their direction eyes, momentarily, closer to the marines than it was to the hallway.

And that’s when the sensation came, a malicious presence  rushing headlong  from the darkness, a scuttling evil presence fed by spiteful purpose, carried by the slapping of wet feet, and hands upon cold metal. WIth a cry of alarm, he whipped around expecting to find the ravening beast leap at him from the darkness.

But, as before, there was nothing, nothing but the endless dark hallway stretching back into the gloom. Another sluggish breeze cut past him bringing with it a deep and tenuous moan. 

The commander felt sick to his stomach, his hands shook and his face tingled. Tears pricked at the corners of his vision, and inside every fiber of his being told him to turn back. There was something wrong about that presence, something more horrific than any monster or beast, though that’s what he had called it in his haste.

Though he had not seen it, he could feel it’s malicious intent, its hatred, its unholy evil.

An emotion no animal could comprehend, no alien reconstruct.

A human emotion.

-

He told no one what he had felt when they returned, though Sunny seemed suspicious. The rooms had been sleeping quarters at one point, all the beds put neatly away, dusty family photos left forgotten atop nightstands and laying about the floor. It seemed odd how deliberately the beds had been made though family photos were discarded upon the floor.

Though he wished for nothing more than to turn back, he forced himself to keep going reminding himself constantly of the companionship giving him by the marines, and Sunny. 

They cleared several more sleeping quarters, multiple offices and the occasional storage room, though all were left in similar states of, perfect tidiness or abandoned disarray. None of it had been touched in months. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever find the rest of the crew, when the buzzing began.

It was a distant sound, similar but not holy the same as that soft malefic buzzing that had plagued him through this journey. It was, somehow, more substantial, and as they moved down the hall, the sound swelled, louder and louder and louder until it was almost deafening. 

“Methane readings are extremely high commander.” 

In response, Commander Vir panned his weapon about the hallway causing a beam of light to cut upwards onto a set of doors as well as the ceiling and floor beneath, and stopped. The ground outside the door was coated in a glistening greenish-black sludge, the door itself was lacquered in, hot thick moisture, and, somehow, a trail of rotting putrid mold had begun festering upon the ceiling above the door.  The buzzing was louder now, louder than it had ever been, and inside Commander Vir knew what he was going to find.

And for that reason, he had chosen to switch spots with the female marine behind him. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew it had to be done.

He positioned himself to the side of the door, and motioned for a marine to open it.

The doors slid open with a sickening squelch. Commander Vir took one step in, and then stopped as his tac light fell on the opposing wall. The very room itself heaved a breath as the walls and floors around him pulsed and throbbed expanding and contracting like a writhing vat of putrid decay throbbing like the beating of the ship’s oversized heart.

And the sound a gelatinous high pitched squirming in time with deafening, droning buzz.

Behind him, a marine wretched.

“Not in your mask dammit!” one of the others yelled at him

Commander Vir, couldn’t move. He was frozen on the spot hands like ice knees locked. His stomach clawed its way first ito his pelvis, and then into his throat seeking escape. The feeling returned, maggots crawling through his skin chewing their way through his brain and out through his eyes. He could feel them, as real as anything slithering about his body. 

“Holly mother fuck!” one of the marines whispered, and he too turned away to gag. Finally, commander Vir was able to step away backing out of the door and ordering it closed behind him. 

“Call the hazmat team and get them down here. We have a lot of work to do.”

-

When all was said and done, a staggering sixty percent of the crew was recovered. Krill ,ordered over as the ship’s coroner, had been forced to use skulls to count bodies and determine at least sixty percent of the crew was present. Commander Vir tried not to look at the small skulls instead forced to face the reality that,  some of the crew were still in the active stages of decomposition, which, as Krill explained, meant they had died within the last month, some at least within the last weak. He felt his heart sink.

Perhaps, if they had been a couple days earlier….

The issue was, the bodies were in such a state that Krill was having a hard time figuring out what had been their cause of death. Another team of marines returned from the other end of the ship, towards engineering and reported that they had come upon a locked door. The door, they said had been marred with many strange scratches and dents. They were forced to open it with extreme force, and upon coming inside, they had been, again blocked by stacks and stacks of equipment apparently used to block the door. 

Another ten percent of the crew had been found inside….. 

Nothing was making sense, a least nothing except for what the engineers had found when they inspected the warp core. Whatever it was, it had been a catastrophic malfunction which had taken out all central power to the engines, and sent an emp burst which permanently fried their long-distance communications. The backup life support generator had survived though the main one had also been taken out in the blast. The transmission itself had come from a short-wave radio stored in a sort of faraday cage in engineering. In space, the signal would be practically useless, which is why they hadn’t picked up on it earlier. 

The message from earlier repeated on a loop. 

Those bodies were only just beginning to bloat, and Krill determined cause of death on all subjects to be asphyxiation characterized by petechial and subconjunctival hemorrhaging about the eyes and under the skin not to mention ligature abrasions about the neck. 

truthfully , having Krill here was simply a formality…. No one had been surprised about their cause of death…. Especially not after they had been found, alone, in the dark gently swaying side by side. Not alone…. Even in death.

The real question was…. Where was the other 20% of the crew? 

There was only one small section aboard the ship that they had yet to explore, and Commander Vir wagered to guess they would find their answers there, on the bridge.

-

Most of the ship had been explored by this time, flood lights had been set, and informal safe-zones had been set which included a small team of marines and three to four of the massive floodlights. They began the staging of their last push in the kitchen where the first corpse had been found. It was him, three marines, and Sunny, who with the other female marine had shown no great reaction to the strange eeriness of the ship. The other two had been with him since the beginning, and were damned if they weren’t going to see it through.

He adjusted the mask waiting for the other marines to ready themselves.

His eye was caught by a strange and unusual glint. Turning his head, his eyes were brought towards the darkest corner of the room, isolated from the floodlights and a wide ring of caution tape. The single, white ceramic plate from before glinted at him from the shadows it’s surface empty and glistening, though still coated in a layer of dust.

It seemed out of place, though how a plate could be out of place in  a kitchen remained a mystery. 

He turned his gaze away as the marines announced their readiness, and together, they began their trek down the hallway, now lit by a hundred pale orbs of light lining the path to that first door, which was now sealed off with caution tape, beyond that, the darkness began again. Despite the sealed door, the Buzzing was still there to remind him of what lay behind that door.

A fly landed on his cheek, its hairlike feet sending shivers up his skin, and he swatted it away in disgust knowing form where it had spawned.

He stepped over the greasy smear of brownish film and aimed his flashlight down the rest of the hallway, there were many doors here, though only this one seemed to show hints of what it contained. The bulb in his light flickered and dimmed before brightening again.  He moved forward with his team switching on and off the point position as he moved, sometimes waiting outside, and sometimes falling back to clear a room worried for what his marines would find.

He opened a small door himself, while the two others checked the hall and two more remained on watch. It was a small room no more than  a few feet wide with exposed piping and electrical circuits. He reached out attempting to flip on the main breaker, but other than a dull thud, the lock remained stuck and silent. He rolled his light over the floor and paused in confusion when he saw it resting against the far wall.

A can of what appeared to be brand-generic tomato soup. Head tilted to the side, he slowly crouched, and reached out a hand for the can.

His hearing exploded as the high pitched keening swelled in his ears. All sound dulled, and his vision went white fading slowly to black, the light of his flashlight had gone grey and white, tingles erupted down his back, crawling into his face and bringing water to his eyes. His very body trembled with a sense of terror so profound, it was as if the devil himself stood at his back. Even as he thought that, he could sense it, a hateful rabid demonic presence, crouched just behind him. He could feel its hot, rasping breath on his neck, could sense it’s soulless black eyes boring into his soul, and almost feel those slime-coated teeth chattering with anticipation. The sensation was one so deeply profound it was like being stared at by a thousand eyes. The buzzing static in his head became a hissing whisper, a maddened warbling.. The world around him was a slowed grey expanse of eternity, trapped in a state of indescribable panic. Darkness slowly rose up behind him, the presence lifting thin, elongated arms, too long for its body, fingers too long for its hands spreading outwards like he was sprouting an unholy set of wings.

Plunging downward

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he screamed with raw inhuman terror entire body contracting violently away from the touch.  Time around his was ruptured, and he clattered against the wall, sending the can of tomato soup spinning across the floor.

“Commander!.”

The marine stood over him with wide confused eyes.

Commander Vir gasped and panted against the gut-wrenching panic that still gripped his chest. His vision was tunneled into blackness, and all the shapes around him appeared indistinct, “How long…. Have you been there?” He stammered.

“I came to check on you sir, you'd been gone for like five minutes and we all got worried.

Five minutes…. That hadn’t been five minutes. He checked his watch, but the marine was right, 

“Are you alright, Commander. Do you need to head back?”

“No I…. I’m alright, just… let my paranoia overcome me is all.” The marine reached out a hand, and the Commander took it standing and trying to conceal the fact that his legs were shaking.

There were only a few more rooms left, after all. The door shut behind him closing on that can of tomato soup inside.

The next three rooms were clear, though unlike other places aboard the ship, they did show signs of recent use. Running a light obliquely over one of the surface walls, showed raised discoloration from an oily set of hand prints going all around the room, high onto the walls, and across the floor to meld with similar footprints.

Otherwise, the room was empty.

There was only one door left.

Sunny and the female marine set themselves to the side of the doors allowing Commander Vir and the other marine to breach the room. Commander Vir stepped in first sweeping his light from the nearest corner over and around the center of the room. The other marines took their corners, and together they moved inside.

The bridge, didn’t appear much like a bridge anymore, all the consuls and equipment had been unbolted and stripped from the floor. Stiff, brown fabric buzzing with flies had been strung up from the ceiling and down onto the floor giving the room a strange alien quality to it, like they had walked into a cave, or perhaps the throat of some virulent beast.

To add to the strangeness of it all, almost every available flat surface was piled with open containers, bottles and glasses and jars of water. Pillows lay discarded across the floor their generally white casings stained with filth. The jars themselves seemed to make a pathway through the room.

Sweeping his light forward, Commander Vir followed the trail of stained cloth up towards the end of the path, where a single, stained chair still remained bolted to the floor. It was a large chair sat atop a raised dais, though it was slightly tilted to one side.

The Captain’s chair.

All around it lay bodies, piled together in grotesque poses of death locked into place by rigor mortis 

A horrific amalgamation of naked flesh and rot. These people, they lay together in a mass pile before the seat, somehow reminding him of a thrown as if these people had been prostrated in ritual as they slowly expired.

“The fuck.” Whispered one of the marines

Commander Vir remained silent, his eyes roving over the scene before him. The bodies themselves were in a general state of decay, though in better preserved condition than the ones before. 

Slowly he moved up the aisle boots making a soft thud against the unseen metal below his feet, muffled by the crusted fabric. A single body atop that pile stood out to him, in the wan light of his torch, it’s skin glowed a sickly, pale grey, like the body of a decaying maggot. The thing, more creature than man, was horrifically thin it’s spine protruding like that of a rabid, starving dog, so thin and knobbly that it’s joints were thicker than the surrounding body parts.

Its fingernails were blackened.

Commander Vir paused to take a closer look at the body drawn in b some heinous curiosity. The other marines stood behind him examining the pile of corpses.

“No…. no no….”

Commander Vir leaned in further.

“What?”

A shuffling behind him and a soft, “They were EATING each other.” 

It was then, he realized many things at once…. The missing 20%, the blocaded door, the tomato soup, the clean plate, the storage rooms still full of boxes, the kitchen.

And the fact that this corpse was still chewing slowly, and rhythmically.

“COMMANDER RUN!”

The chewing stopped, and an eye flashed open, a delicate cerulean blue consumed by a black pupils and surrounded by jaundice yellow sclera.

He had no time to react.

He screamed falling backwards as the thing slammed into his chest. His tac light was thrown to the floor and sent spinning across the ground. The room erupted into chaos. He kicked out with one foot catching the creature in the chest and knocking it backwards. It skidded back across the floor on all fours, the greyness of it’s skin thrown into sharp relief, an amalgamation of bruising and torn open sores still weeping clear fluid and infection.

He scrambled backwards, and it scuttled after him. Light rolled around him like a strobe giving him only glimpses of the creature as it crawled towards him gnashing yellowed teeth overcome by bleeding, decaying gums. He scrambled for his sidearm running into something soft, and moist at his back. The lights flashed.

The creature plunged from the darkness, its ragged black nails scrambling for his neck.

He caught it by the arms pushed backwards into a putrid mass. Fabric tore and bone cracked desperately he strained against the creature flailing arms. It was inhumanly strong as it pushed them through the mass of corpses tumbling onto a field of open jars.

Glass shattered. 

Water erupted around them. The thing began to shreak so loud that his ears rang. His hand slipped, and the creature got one arm free, more glass shattered. He could see the gelatinous film coating the creature's eyes, watched strings of saliva drip from it’s open mouth. It pulled its hand back fingers curving into talons pressed close together.

“THE EYES.”

The hand came plunging downwards towards his face, and he scrambled back kicking and screaming. The hand came down, again and again and again stabbing down towards his eye. He tried to catch the creature’s hand, but was only able to block it.

It screamed.

Glass shattered as he deflected it to the side it’s fingers stabbing into the glass coming back bloody.

It straddled him by the hips fighting to gain both hands as it jabbed at him again. Greasy black fingernails rocketed towards his face, seeking his eyes.

Teeth gnashed and champed.

Screaming form around the room.

It grabbed him, and together they plunged through a tear in the fabric. Something sharp crunched beneath him, it grew darker, light dissipated by crusted fabric. 

He felt it coming towards his face catching the creature’s wrist. Light grew in his vision, withering black nails inches from his face. It pressed down with all its might quivering closer and closer to the surface of his eye.

Something glinted at him from the darkness.

A panic, and desperation the likes of which he had never felt overwhelmed him flooding his body with strength. He screamed, wrenching the creature’s arm from his face, grabbing it by the side of the head, and thrusting it bodily sideways.

The things scream was cut off by a sickening crunch.

The glinting, the tip of a jagged broken rib.

He lay there, on his side against a field of bones staring into the glassy face of this…. No… not a creature.

A man.

A man with shocked cerulean blue eyes faded in death strings of white-blond hair still clinging to his diseased scalp, and the ore he looked the more human the thing became. A man in his thirties emaciated diseased, probably in pain. Commander vir looked down and saw a jacket tied loosely around the man’s waist.

Pinned to the collar was a dull set of captain’s bars.

For a moment it was as if he could see his own face staring back at him.  This man, he could be any one of them.

He felt his body heave, and he scrambled away clawing his way through the opening and into a field of broken glass.

“Don’t shoot!” Someone screamed.

“Commander!.”

On hands and knees his body heaved violently again his nose tingled, his throat constricted. Tears leaped to his eyes. The heave turned into a sob, but he choked it back down, staggering to his feet his breath heavy and warm inside the mask. Someone rushed to help him, while another shined his light through the opening.

“Holy shit.”

“Commander, are you ok?”

He waved the marine off his ears ringing, “Order everyone back to the ship RIGHT NOW.”

His orders were not questioned. A radio went on somewhere, and two of the marines helped to support him as they walked down the hall. His body felt numb, it wasn’t that he couldn’t move, but he couldn’t feel his feet on the floor.

Eventually someone else took over for the marines. Two arms supported him from the side, in a strong inhuman embrace. Sunny tried to speak with him, but his mind was too focused to acknowledge her. They had to get out, he had to get them out. He refused to go forward unless he could see his marines checking constantly behind him as they went. Anyone they saw along the way was ordered back to the ship. Leave the equipment they could get more.

He stood in the cargo bay surrounded by bodies filtering through the doors calling out names and checking off crew manifest.  Shuttles were launched back to the ship, and he refused to leave until the last shuttle was opened.

Together with Sunny, and his original team of marines, he stepped onto the shuttle. The darkened hallways lined with cheap LEDs stretched back behind him. Something clattered sending echoes up the hall. A marine sealed the door with a sharp his, and with unwavering hands, Commander Vir piloted the ship into space eyes locked forward, body still feeling nothing.

The light that hit him upon returning to his ship was the most relieving sensation he had ever felt, like taking an elevator to heaven from the depths of hell. The crew waited in the cargo bay as they exited the shuttle waiting with fearful, wide eyes. The marines especially gathered around him, but at that moment he felt….. Nothing.

He looked at the marines. He had to make sure they were ok, “The lot of you, get yourself up to psych RIGHT NOW!”

“But captain.”

His voice dropped low, “Argue with me again marine, and it will be the last thing you do.” 

The group stepped back

He lifted his head, “THAT GOES FOR THE LOT OF YOU. Anyone who stepped foot on that ship or even listened to that transmission better have a psych referral to me by the end of the week on my desk in signed in TRIPLICATE from all three of our attending physicians psych and medical otherwise. NOW GET MOVING.”

No one questioned him, and standing there in the crowd, he felt his body go numb. Cold sweat rolled from his temples and down his collar, he began to shiver violently. His hearing still hadn't come back from earlier, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded his heart pounded even as a great sense of exhaustion came over him.

Before he knew it, he was sitting on the floor. Someone was speaking to him, though he couldn’t concentrate enough to make it out. Only that memory, of the repeated hand jabbing downwards towards his face.

More voices muttering, they elevated in shock, and a second later something cupped him gently about the face tilting his head back. The movement was gentle almost caring. Lights blinded him for a moment, but then a face resolved itself in his vision, paper white, humanoid and with wide black eyes.

“Conn.” He muttered.

“Sleep, Commander, and I will ease your fear.”

A sensation, like someone pouring clear warm water into his thoughts. His shivering died down, and he felt himself float away.

***

Humans don’t die easily.

And sometimes when they do, when they should leave, they linger.

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) cin vhetin STAR WARS

Their new protectors seem… off to Qui-Gon.

The Senate had assigned the Jedi Master and his young Padawan to a diplomatic mission in the Mandalore system, to guard and advise the young Heiress to the Duchy during the turbulent times of the Civil War. They were supposed to be helping her guide her people into a new era of peace and prosperity, but it seemed the people claiming a hereditary connection to the planet hadn’t wanted to give up their barbarous and bloody ways for a perceived outsider. Death Watch, a terrorist branch of the Mandalorian traditionalists had launched a vicious attack on the capital, bombing the Sundari palace and killing Duke Kryze, and supposedly his youngest daughter as well. Qui-Gon had been forced to take Duchess Satine on the run, never settling in one place for long, while waiting for the Kryze forces to chase off the terrorists in the capital. They had been running for almost four months when they had been found.

The abandoned farmhouse on Concord Dawn had originally seemed like the perfect place to hide out the Death Watch for a few days; no one would have expected the Duchess to have hidden away in a half-burnt ruin of an overgrown farmstead. They hadn’t expected two Mandalorians in armour to come across the three of them, and at the time, Qui-Gon had hoped that a fight would mean that Bruck could release some of his temper into the Force, and that his teenaged Padawan would stop getting into arguments with their charge.

But they hadn’t been Death Watch. No, the Mythosaur skulls painted on their pauldrons was the symbol of the self-identified True Mandalorians - a political party that was supposed to be dead. The massacre of Galidraan under false pretenses was one of the Jedi’s greatest mistakes, they had trusted the Senate’s information and it had led them astray. The leaders of the movement had been killed nearly four years ago, by a party that Qui-Gon’s own Master had led. The Jedi who had gone to Galidraan never recovered, be it from their injuries or from the mental strain, and many of them, including Qui-Gon’s own Padawan-sister, had chosen to walk away from the Order, their trust in themselves and the Senate gone.

He had been worried that the Mandalorians would try to take a piece of flesh out of them in vengeance for their fallen comrades. Mandalorians were known for holding long grudges, and the True Mandalorian loyalists had been quiet for a lot longer than was necessarily comfortable, putting all the Jedi near the Mandalorian sector on edge - it wouldn’t have been too bad if the Clans had sworn themselves to the New Mandalorians, but they didn’t, and it worried Qui-Gon that they had instead bowed to the Death Watch. They had all expected an attack, and when the two Mandalorians walked into the farmhouse they had been hiding in, Qui-Gon had braced himself, but nothing had happened. Instead, the smaller of the two, armour painted dark red with small details in white, had offered them a lift. Even with the helmet on, his youth was obvious, and it must have been the reason why Duchess Satine had agreed.

Qui-Gon, his Padawan, and the young Duchess had been brought to their ship, and Satine had been reunited with her younger sister, who had been clinging to a third Mandalorian, a woman with black and gold armour, like she was the only thing between young Bo-Katan and violence. According to the woman, Death Watch had made a habit of stealing children young to indoctrinate them, and there had been something in her muffled Force signature that had soured Qui-Gon’s stomach. None of the three Mandalorians had given their names, but the man, identifiable by his grey and blue armour, had promised them safety and a ride, even if he hadn’t seemed pleased with the fact. The youngest of the three seemed to make an effort to make them feel welcomed, even if he seemed more at ease with the Duchess than he did the two Jedi, and Duchess Satine had begun to try to sway him to the ways of the New Mandalorians. He’d listen politely, and agree with some of her points, but he’d also argue others, turning basic conversations into debates that would get heated and lead to Satine storming off from their talk in a huff - but she’d always go back for more, never turning down an opportunity for a verbal spar.

Something about the boy seemed almost familiar, in an eerie, haunting way. He never removed his helmet, but something about him drew Qui-Gon towards him. Perhaps he was an undiscovered Force Sensitive? There was no law outside of Republic space that said that parents had to register an infant’s midi-chlorian count, so there was no way for the Jedi Order to find all of them. Qui-Gon himself had once trained as a Finder, so that could be what he was sensing. The Force moved around the youngster as if he were a favoured child, a bundle of Light and love that lit up whenever he was around the older Mandalorians - his father and aunt, if Qui-Gon’s translations were correct. He was a mystery but not one he would have to wonder about for much longer.

They had been dragged into another fight with Death Watch, having been off the ship to refuel and resupply when they had been cornered. It had been fierce and bloody, and the male Mandalorian had torn through the Death Watch warriors, his sister at his side and his son picking off others with his sniper from up on the ridge where he and Bruck had stayed behind to guard the two Kryzes. Qui-Gon had moved to join the other two adults on the field, when the youngest Mandalorian’s shots had stopped, and the screaming had begun. If the adult Mandalorians were fierce before, they were bloodthirsty afterwards.

The Death Watch soldiers didn’t stand a chance, and within moments, the armoured sentients had been loping back up the ridges to find the younger half of their party facing off against another group of Mandalorians. Bruck had his orange ‘saber lit, and the youngest Mandalorian was at his side, his sniper abandoned in favour of one of his pistols, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Even young Bo-Katan had a hold on a weapon, and both boys had put themselves between the Duchess and her sister, and the assassins after them. The gray Mandalorian took out the last group on his own. He had shot them without hesitation to get to his son, before ushering them all back to the ship, all-but carrying the protesting youngster in his arms. The female Mandalorian had hurried to the cockpit to take off, and was looking for the medkit, and the rest of them were left in the cargo hold.

And then the helmets had come off.

Qui-Gon can’t look away from the teenager that had been revealed. He’s looking at a ghost - older than the Initiate he had known. His round face had slimmed, but there’s still a layer of baby fat on those freckled cheeks. His ginger hair is longer, down to his chin in sleek waves, but his eyes are still blue.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Qui-Gon murmurs, carefully releasing his shock and unease into the Force, and those blue-grey eyes shift towards the Jedi Master. The youngling is ashen with pain, the unmasked Mandalorian leaning over his doubtlessly broken arm and gently stripping it of armour, and he’s wincing every so often, though he’s carefully releasing the worst of his pain into the Force.

Qui-Gon had seen his face in his dreams for years. He had seen the petulant boy he had been when they had parted ways on the Monument, the way he had stubbornly refused to accept the path the Force was leading on. He had been clingy and argumentative; not cut out of the life of a Jedi. He had hoped the life of a farmer would help the child commune with the Living Force, and teach him how to release his arrogance. Instead, Xanatos had mistaken the boy for Qui-Gon’s Padawan, unaware that his former Master had been instead looking toward young Bruck Chun - who had been so much like Xanatos had been when he was a child, who Qui-Gon hoped to save from the same fate as his second Padawan - and had sold him to the slavers in an attempt to hurt Qui-Gon. The atmosphere in the Temple had seemed heavier after Xanatos’ mocking holo had reached them, and Master Yoda himself had led the search party trying to find the missing youngling. Qui-Gon had even joined a few groups scouring the Galaxy, his quietly stunned Padawan at his side, but there had been nothing to find; Obi-Wan Kenobi was gone.

Apparently not as gone as believed though, because Kenobi sits in front of him, stripped of the top half of his Mandalorian armour, one arm a mottled mess of swelling coloured purple and green. He had been right in front of Qui-Gon’s eyes for the last three weeks, but he hadn’t revealed himself.

Kenobi stared back at him, expression carefully neutral, and grey eyes distant. “Master Jinn,” He replies slowly, head tilting and shoulders hunching slightly, “My name is Ben now. Ben Fett be Mereel.”

Beside Qui-Gon, Satine sucks in a sharp breath, and Bruck goes carefully still, both of their alarm flaring in the Force. “Fett.” She says smoothly, but her fear is obvious in her Force signature.

The man kneeling beside the Temple’s lost Initiate straightens, turns, and stares the three of them down with dark, angry eyes. Next to Qui-Gon, Bruck flinches back -

“Buir.” Kenobi chides, voice thready with pain, but carrying enough steel to make the muscle in Fett’s jaw jump, and Kenobi gives the Mandalorian a pointed look. “Arla is on her way back with the kit.” Fett glowers at them a moment longer, before he bares his teeth - an obvious threat - and turns back to the teenager on the crate. Kenobi’s blue eyes drift back to the two Jedi, and his head tilts again, “Do you need medical attention Padawan Chun? That bolt that got past your guard must have been painful.”

Qui-Gon stiffens, turning his head to study his Padawan, who shuffles guiltily with a faint wince of pain that twists the old burn scar covering the left side of his face. He’d need to run the boy through more training katas to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

“I’m fine.” Bruck says quickly, ducking his head - a far cry from the arrogant child he had been, and Qui-Gon is proud of how he was growing.

“Doubt it, Jet’ika.” The female Mandalorian had returned, her own helmet removed, revealing a handsome woman with a strong resemblance to Fett, though her brown hair had been bleached a sunny blonde. She has a medkit in hand, and is studying Qui-Gon’s Padawan with unimpressed brown eyes. “Take a seat. I’ll look at you once I’ve got Ben’ika’s arm under control.” She sneers at Qui-Gon, before her eyes flick away dismissively. “Kat’ika, Lady Kryze - either of you need bacta?”

“No, sir!” The eleven year old chirps, and Duchess Satine soundlessly shakes her head, pale eyes still locked on Fett’s back.

“You’re Jango Fett.” Satine says blankly, and - oh. That would explain the aggression. The disgraced and supposed-to-be-dead Mand’alor had been right under their noses this entire time, likely biding his time until he could remove the Duchess from her throne and seize power for himself.

“Nayc - I’m Arla.” The older woman says cheerfully, but there’s something sharp in her eyes - a dare to them to reveal Fett’s identity, and thus recognize him as a challenger for the Throne of Mandalore, no matter how illegitimate. “Grumpy over there is my vod’ika, and of course, there’s my vod’ad, Ben.” She gives Bruck a pointed look, gesturing at the crate where Kenobi is sitting. “Sit, Jet’ika.”

Qui-Gon sighs, “Go ahead, Padawan. You’ll just slow us down otherwise.”

Bruck flinches guiltily, “Yes, Master.” He murmurs, ducking around him and limping over to the crate where he sits down beside his childhood rival, expression suitably apologetic.

“Initiate Kenobi.” Qui-Gon turns his attention to the other teenager, folding his hands in his sleeves and studying the boy with quiet disappointment that has him twitching closer to the Mandalorians. To have caused so much worry, to run around with Mandalorians instead of doing his duty - “A word.”

Fett growls, spinning around to plant himself between the run-away Initiate and the Jedi Master. He bares his teeth, fury swirling around him and writhing like a Dark shadow. Qui-Gon eyes him serenely, calculating. The man, if he had been Force sensitive, would have already Fallen to the Darkside. He’d have to remove his influence from Kenobi, to ensure he hadn’t tainted the boy.

“My son isn’t going anywhere with you, Jetii.” Fett snarls, “You and your pet Duchess are only here because he wanted to help; you want to talk to him? You do it while I’m there or not at all.” The disgraced Mand’alor glowers, dark eyes burning with hatred, and over Fett’s shoulder, Kenobi watches silently.

His eyes are still blue, but they aren’t warm anymore. There was none of the bright hope and adoration of a Jedi Initiate, there was nothing familiar about them beyond the colour. Instead, they’re cold - frigid and distant with distrust, and similar enough to Xanatos’ gaze in the last years of his Padawanship that it had Qui-Gon itching to palm his lightsaber.

He’d have to report this to the Council.

[stonebreakerseries]

Aftermath (Adiran and Riin)

So this started as a sappy meme prompt about two people touching forward and the stubborn one whispering ‘I missed you’, then turned into a 2200 word monster. Because apparently I have no chill. Who knew.

This is quite spoilery, so if anyone cares about that, read at your own risk!

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

Everything had happened too quickly. Too quickly for Adiran to pause and think. Too quickly for his mind to catch up with what he was seeing, yet alone what he was doing. Now, as waves beat against the ship’s hull, the lights of Vetrose grew smaller and smaller until they were no more than pinpricks on the horizon. Hundreds of tiny, earth-bound stars. All his life, Adiran had never seen those lights slip into the distance like that. It had always been the other way around; always been the lights of Talvera’s capital rising to meet him as he returned from a day on the road, lanterns bleeding life into streets and windows.  

Would he ever see those lights again?

Movement to his right caught his attention. Riin was sweating, his skin ashen, his body wracked with tremors. He was trying to heal. Or at least, that’s what Adiran assumed was happening. He didn’t know enough about the Kyriin, yet alone the black-eyed krea morei, to say for certain. All he knew was that Riin had burned through what little strength he had left during their escape from the palace. Divider, just thinking about how close they had come to being caught sent a chill down Adiran’s spine. If he hadn’t called in his favour with Crosus - if the Northerner hadn’t come through for them and carried Riin from the upper city to the docks - they might not have made it at all. 

A familiar sensation, like a hand closing around his throat, sent his heart into a stammer. With a shaky gasp, Adiran reached up, knotting his fingers in his sweat-damp hair. Stop it. You idiot. You’re out. No one caught you. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine.

For now.

Deep down, Adiran knew that the King and Queen would hunt for them. Try to spin their escape as some kind of kidnapping; anything not to lose face in the spiteful eye of the court. But there was more to it than that. A missing prince warranted a bitter, desperate search - one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. The fact that they were actually after Riin didn’t matter. All Talvera would see were two panicked parents. Not monsters chasing what he had stolen from them. 

No. 

The thought - that single word - arrived so hard and so bitter that Adiran could taste it on his tongue. No. He hadn’t stolen a damn thing. They had no contract. No claim. No right to Riin, as man or soldier or prisoner. No one did. 

I should have seen him off. I should have insisted. Made sure he...

Guilt, like a restless snake, twisted inside Adiran, hollowing out a pit in his stomach. Divider, he’d let a full season pass in a self-absorbed haze, barely looking up from his own loneliness. If he’d just been paying attention, he might have realised something wasn’t right. He might have been able to...

A soft groan, lower than the protests of the ship’s aging wood, pulled Adiran from his thoughts. He looked up, heart stammering to a near-halt as he leaned over the makeshift bed. Hope, like baited breath, knotted at the back of his throat. 

“Riin?”

The Kyriin’s brow was tense; a furrowed echo of a deeper pain. Agony was etched in every line of his face; every clenched muscle. In any other moment, Adiran might have taken him for having a bad dream. A true, burning nightmare. 

Maybe he was. Certainly no one would blame him. 

“Hey…” Adiran hated the way he sounded. Hated the way his voice felt so hollow. Uncertain. Afraid. Weak. But instead of flinching from it like a hand from a flame, he forced himself to move closer. To reach out and rest his hand over Riin’s. “Can you hear me?”

Adiran knew it was a long-shot. Even before, back in the palace undercroft, Riin’s lucidity had been a short-lived, flickering thing, erratic as a candle on a windowsill. Divider, Adiran would never forget the way Riin had looked at him, when he’d forced his way through the cell door. His eyes, framed by dark circles and bled half-way black, had seared into him like hot iron. Thick blood, dark as pitch, was dried in layers on his skin; had soaked into his ruined clothes. It was impossible to tell how long it had been there. 

Adiran wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, when he hit the bottom of those uneven stairs. All he knew for certain was that, after that heart-stopping moment of recognition, Riin had hated him. 

And he’d had every reason to.

Sitting there, his hand a feeble warmth against Riin’s icy skin, a new fear slowly crawled its way up from the bottom of Adiran’s chest. In the frantic mess of unlocking chains and checking wounds, Riin had clearly set aside any mistrust for a chance at freedom, no matter how slim. Even if came at the hands of someone he despised. The entire time, he’d barely spoken to Adiran. But the first words he’d said had been a knife to the gut. 

So, it was all true. He’d gave a bitter laugh. Or was it broken? I wondered how long it would take for them to send you here.

He should have said something. Thinking back, he needed to have said something. But he hadn’t. In the moment, he’d been too focused on escape. Too terrified that Lirea would betray him, and the palace guard would come flooding in like rats to a carcass. There hadn’t been time for reassurances, or the truth, or---

“You’re... hurt...”

Adiran jolted, nearly losing his balance between the narrow crate and the uncertain sway of the ship. Riin’s voice was raw, ragged from screaming his pain and fury to unfeeling stone. The words were barely able to cross the narrow distance between them. He was awake, watching him feverishly, one eye a clear amber, the other drenched in shadow. A dark stain, like spilled ink, spread from the inner corner to the furthest edge of his iris.

There he was, with one foot in the grave, worrying about everyone but himself.

“What? Are you s---” To Adiran’s surprise, his voice hitched. Once the shock had passed, he cleared his throat sharply. “Are you serious? Fuck how I am. I’m nothing. I’m fine. I’m…” Slowly, he realised that Riin’s eyes had drifted down to where their hands were resting, one atop the other. Without intending to, Adiran’s fingers had somehow managed to avoid the ruined skin ringing Riin’s wrist. In a rush, he realised he’d never actually seen Riin bruise before, yet alone bleed. It was childish - sheer foolishness - but he hadn’t actually thought it was possible. Even after eight years of sparring together - eight years of swords and sand - he had been convinced Riin was untouchable. Invincible.

But in the wrong hands - hands willing to scrape and grind - even the strongest stone would eventually break.

Riin’s breathing was shallow. Worryingly so. Still, he forced himself to speak, the words limping from his lips. “N-No... you’re not f---.”

---“Stop.” Adiran barely recognised his own voice, pleading and pathetic. All of a sudden, he was a child again, curled in the corner of his room, his first bruise blossoming on his upper arm. “Damn it, Riin - don’t. Don’t make this about me. Not now. You… you’re…”

He couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t say them. What could he possibly say? You’re hurt? You’re shaking? You’re terrifying me?

“You’re crying.”

Adiran froze. His awareness, weaponised over the past hours like an out-turned blade, faltered at Riin’s words. Then, slowly, it angled inward. In that hanging silence, his sense of self slipped back beneath his skin, and Adiran finally realised that yes. He was.

“I’m not... it’s nothing.” Roughly, he pressed the heel of his free hand to both eyes, swiping away the offending tears. There was too much to say. Too many emotions pushing against this skull, ravaging his chest, crowding his throat. “I’m just… I...” Like betrayal, a sob broke past his defenses, weak from exhaustion. Weak from relief. “I’m sorry. Riin, I’m so f-fucking sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think...”

The shame was too much. Adiran cracked. Curved forward. Buried his face in his hand and just cried. It was all too much, but at the same time nowhere near enough, as though he was deep inside his body and outside and around it all at once. He knew he had to stop. That this wasn’t the time. His guilt wouldn’t help anyone, yet alone Riin. It was just another burden; a capstone atop the torture he had already endured. Divider, Adiran didn’t even know what he had been through. The extent of the pain he was in. How deep those wounds truly ran. But he knew what he should have said, back when he had first laid eyes on his friend in that dark cell. When he’d first seen the blood, smelled the sour sweat, tasted the rot on the back of his tongue. An apology was not enough. He knew that. No words could ever undo what had been done. But Divider, that didn’t make it any less of the truth. 

If Riin let him, he’d spend the rest of his life proving it. It was the least he could do for the only man he’d ever called friend.

Suddenly, Adiran felt a pressure on top of his hand. Heavy, but without force. Without roughness. Part of him knew that, if Riin had the strength, he would have squeezed. Maybe in reassurance. Maybe in forgiveness. Maybe just in tribute to the bond they had shared; one that had surely been severed, now. But, when Adiran finally looked up, only one thing had truly changed. Riin’s gaze was resting on him. Quiet. Pained. Feverish. Relieved.

But the hate, seared so clearly and so terribly into Adiran’s memory, was gone.

“I knew,” Riin breathed. “I knew y---AH!” Suddenly, he cried out, arching, gritting his teeth as his upper body spasmed. Maybe it was a fit. Maybe it was pieces of bone snapping back into place beneath his skin. Regardless, all Adiran could do was look on, horrified, and hold his hand through it, wishing feverishly that he knew how to make it stop. It passed in seconds that felt like minutes. It left Riin gasping, shaking, tangled in his thin blanket, skin soaked with sweat. Just as Adiran was about to scramble to his feet and call for help, Riin’s weak voice reached out from the bed, like a hand snagging the corner of his shirt.

“I-I knew you couldn’t have… they said... so many things. But I didn’t...”

Adiran just nodded, not quite understanding. almost afraid to. Just thinking about what Riin might have been told - things to make him break - turned Adiran’s stomach. Cheeks damp, throat tight, Adiran just shifted closer instead, his thumb stroking the back of Riin’s hand in a feeble attempt to smooth away the pain. “Whatever those bastards told you, they were lying,” he said, because he desperately needed him to hear it. To know it the way Adiran knew every line of Riin’s face. Every scar on his hands. “I swear on my life, Riin, if I’d known…”

Slowly, Adiran trailed off. Partly because he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. If he’d known… then what? How would he have stopped it? Would he have challenged the King and Queen - his own family? Would he have kicked and screamed and threatened his way into his own set of shackles?

He didn’t know what would have happened. Maybe they would have both found themselves in chains, Inquisitors cutting bored slices from their skin. Just the thought of it was enough to turn Adiran’s stomach. If he’d been there - if he’d been forced to watch... Divider, he would have told them anything. Anything to make them stop.

Would Riin have broken his oath and done the same?

Luckily, there was no immediate pressure for Adiran to finish his hanging sentence. At some point in the silence, Riin’s breathing had slowed its pace into something halfway resembling sleep. His hand lay limp in Adiran’s, but somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to untangle their fingers. Not just yet.

Instead, Adiran hesitated, then leaned forward until their faces were just inches apart. Slowly, tiredly, he closed his eyes, exhaled, and gently rested his forehead against Riin’s. Their lashes brushed, their breath mingled, and just for a moment, he let himself feel it. Really feel it. Just for long enough to remind him that the man he cared for more than anyone else was really, truly there. Beaten and bruised. Alive and wonderful.

“I missed you,” Adiran breathed. The confession fell from his lips more easily than his own name. And, for the first time, he didn’t care if anyone heard him say it.

They would get through this. 

Somehow, they would get through this,