#frostbite did not fall for the lies

[woodland-gremlin]

How to Adopt Your Clone Pt. 4

Previous Ao3

Those words cut through her core, cracking it.

“No, no, no, no, nO, NO!” she cried, shaking her head, trying to get rid of the memories of what she did under Plasmius’ hand. The people she hurt. The lives she destroyed. The ones she kept ruining, no matter how hard she tried not to. But no matter how much she cried and raged at the world nothing could change that for the first few months of her life she was brought up by the man in front of her. That she was just as much of a he was.

Clutching her chest where her core rested Ellie felt the pain of a cracked core, her very being attacked. With Plasmius denying her agency, claiming that she was still under his thumb, he attacked her Obsession Freedom. It hurt. She didn’t want any of this. All she wanted was to be free.

“Oh, no need to cry Danielle,” Plasmius cooed, “It is only the truth.”

“As true as the possibility of Maddie divorcing Jack and marrying you!” a voice claimed, cutting through the heavy weight in Ellie’s mind.

“What?” Plasmius questions before taking an ecto-blast to the face, a small shadow falling with him. Then with a flash of light he and the shadow were sucked into the thermos.

Ellie turns towards the voice, somehow still holding onto Superman through all the chaos.

“Danny?” she croaks.

“Ellie!” Danny cried, rushing over towards the distraught clone’s side.

“Hey,” he whispers, floating near her, “How are you feeling starlight?”

Ellie sobs, not understanding why Danny would touch something as dirty as her. Didn’t he know that she was a monster? That all she ever did was hurt people? She hurt him! She lied to him, lead him right into Plasmius’ hands to torture! So why-

“Because I love you Ellie,” Danny says with a sad smile, “You aren’t a monster, Vlad is.”

What?

“You’re mumbling starlight.”

“That doesn’t, doesn’t-” Ellie tried to say, quickly losing control of her words, the weight of the day setting in.

“Ellie,” Danny says softly yet firmly, “What happened with Vlad wasn’t your fault. He abused and manipulated you. Told you that it was the only way to save you and your siblings. You were only a few months old and scared. It was never your fault.”

Ellie clings to those words like they were a life line, hoping beyond hope that Danny was telling the truth. That she wasn’t a monster but, even then doubt creeped in.

“Now I need you to breathe,” Danny says, seemingly ignoring her incredulous look, “Yeah, yeah, I know neither of us need to breathe but it will help. The Fruitloop was working with Spectra this time making everything ten times worse. 0 out of 10 would not recommend.”

Ellie chuckled through her tears. Spectra was a bitch, but her powers were top notch. It would explain why the Creep’s words cut so deeply this time. What the explanation did not do was make horror go away, or why her chest felt like it was on fire.

“Now let’s get you to Frostbite. Spectra already put a few ghosts in the hospital during her escape, so we should get you checked-”

Ellie tried listening to the rest of what Danny was saying but everything started to sound and feel like static. Her vision blurred and her eyes felt heavy, like everything weighed 10 times more than usual. It felt like she was back in that horrid lab, melting into a pile of goo just like her siblings. But the worst part was her chest. It felt like it was split in two, her very being cracked open.

“Starlight? Ellie! Ellie!” Danny screamed as Ellie’s consciousness faded.

To be continued . . .

Next

[mayfay-analysis]

Danny's Medical Complications

Or: I had an idea and it won’t leave (and unfortunately I can’t do dialogue to save my life)

It started simple enough, a quick visit to Frostbite for a general checkup. And then it kept going. New machines, techniques, people, and an increasingly worried yeti was starting to freak Danny out a bit. Eventually it all went away and Frostbite set him down for A Talk.

See, Halfas are hella rare for a reason. The conditions needed to form them are really rare yes, but they aren’t the Main problem. No the main issue is the Disparity. Ghosts are beings of emotions, sufficient stress, emotional/mental harm, lack of ecto, and more can all lead to death. And Halfas crank that up to 11. They have a human side to take care of that’s constantly changing and growing, a higher ecto requirement to fuel their higher base strength, and a myriad of other minor complications that haven’t been properly studied cause Halfas are rarely found and usually don’t form ghosts on death

Say what

What do you mean “don’t form a ghost” they’re already half way there!

And there lies the problem, they’re halfway there. Ghosts are pretty static. they might change yes, but it’s usually due to major events or over the course of eons. And how do they decide on what they’re gonna be? By dying of course! Once the body dies its ghost is formed based on the current life situation and they move on. Simple, quick, easy. No complications here no siree!

Enter Halfas

They already died, and while infant ghosts and experience some major changes as they settle it’s nothing to the degree humans do. And as time passes the static ghost half and changing human half can drift, wobbling on that line between life and death. And once it gets to extreme? They fall. If the ghost half starves or dies the human half experiences Major health complications, leading to death shortly after. If the human side dies they try to form a ghost using all the ambient ecto the ghost side has been feeding on, leading to the ghosts death in most cases but if not they’re practically two different beings and fusing them will kill both anyways.

Good news though! With all the combat and rediculously high ecto levels Danny was exposed to to form his other half, his ghost side has stayed pretty adaptable! The other ghosts didn’t realize they were fighting a literal infant thanks to the high ecto levels he had (and the knowledgeable ones that Did had other reasonings the meant a little smack down they totally wouldn’t lose was an acceptable trade off for them). Horrifying, he will spend the next century finding all sorts of animal pelts, boxes, music tracks, etc landing on him in the middle of the night. But it has a silver lining! Thanks to not being allowed to settle Danny can still shape his ghost form to a degree. And Clockwork, brilliant old man that he is, has an Idea on how to fix this.

Great! Lay it on him Clockwork! What’s he gotta do? Get de-aged and die? Ha Ha! You sure know how to make a good joke old man-child, now what’s the real way?

Oh

Oh no

Danny Can form a ghost on death, but it’ll require dying while as mentally and physically similar to how he was when the portal closed. Problem there, he’s changed. He’s changed a Good Bit. Luckily Clockwork can handle the physical aspect but Desiree needs some extra time for her end. See, she Can change brain chemistry and whatnot, but it takes time to become permanent. A quick fix like her usual work is fragile (lies, it’s still stupidly powerful but forming a ghost relies on the persons deepest core, and that takes time to settle in to Desiree’s magic). So they just have to de-age Danny to an appropriate age where once he hits around the age he was when the portal closed Desiree’s magic will have settled, molding his personality/core to as close as they can be.

And then he has to die.

Doesn’t have to be as extreme as the portal incident was (in fact new factors like major doses of ecto would be a Very bad idea, his malleable ghost side is already pushing the limits with the minor variation he’ll already have) but it Does need to be in an area with high levels of ambient ecto, preferably his new hometown to match his current life’s lack of geographic movement.

He’ll also need to have his ghost half locked away to a degree. He’ll still need to be liminal of course, that long term exposure to ecto is needed to fuel a ghosts transformation, but proper ghost powers are getting put away unless Clockwork thinks they’re needed (and if it Does get to that point he’s getting pulled out for a second try anyways).

So where to put him? Well Gotham of course!

Clockwork…. Why are you like this (it’s all for the good of the timeline. And Lady Gotham owes him a favor he prepared just for this)

From there if he ends up in the Bats care (Nasty Burger explosion, Ghost Jazz, or simply not having anyone capable of properly raising him knowing he’ll die at 14) it doesn’t take long for one John Constantine to notice the Heavy Infinite Realms influence on the small child and drag the big bat away for his own Talk (double angst if he’s able to recognize the specific brand of Time Magic indicating a death prophecy). If he ends up under Jazz’s care then it might take a bit longer, but she’ll likely end up tied up in Bat business and from there it wouldn’t take long for a Very stressed Jazz to accidentally reveal something (or a child Danny not realizing “I know when I’m going to Die in excruciating detail!” is Not something you share with strangers, especially not ones as paranoid as the Bats).

Also for loose threads I imagine Ellie is unstable because her ecto is cloned off of Danny, while her human half is its own person. That large disparity usually leads to death (as seen in the other clones) but she’s able to force it off with sheer ecto strength, using the ecto shots as fuel to Force her body to stay together until they reach an inevitable conclusion or potentially meld together like Dan does).

As for Dan he’s not Properly a Halfa. I never watched the show so I don’t have all the details but I understand he’s some kinda mix of future Danny and Vlad gone evil and destroying the world. This mix Might be able to last longer than a regular Halfa would due to the insane amounts of ecto he has in his system. And as time passes the mixed ghost halves Could be unstable enough to sort of meld with his human parts, creating something of a Highly unstable ghost-human hybrid (seperate from Halfas since this is a blending of the two, not a distinct line between two halves).

That wouldn’t work with Danny cause it requires a second ghost mixing with him And the two somehow not destabilizing during the years it takes for the blend to settle. And the Ellie route is out since that requires So Much fine control and vigilance over a Very long period of time to slowly manually shape the ghost half to better fit the human half, rather than the other way around like Danny’s doing.

[actual-changeling]

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

———

scully knows too much about him. too much and somehow never enough. whenever she dares to assume she has finally figured him out, a new piece appears and destroys the picture she's been puzzling together. in the back of her mind resides an ever-growing collection of useless information she has no idea what to do with now.

he no longer looks at her the same, heavy and searching and all hers, and she tried to settle for whatever remained; she really did. whenever he raised his voice at her she lowered hers, she swallowed his anger and shrugged off his blame no matter how violently it weighed her down.

she didn't know she had lost his trust until his doubt ate away at her soul like a chemical burn, hot and all-consuming. until she went numb and then some, a cloud of cold slowly killing her nerves. until all that remained of them was a blistering trickle down her spine she could never quite reach and wipe away, even if she wanted to.

instead, she immerses her hands in boiling water and waits and waits and waits for the frostbite to disappear. pain paints a picture for her with wild, flickering strokes, and she watches.

mulder walks away from her, and she sees him find her in the middle of the forest, in the snow, in panic and bone-deep need. he avoids her gaze, and she sees him kneeling at his mother's bedside, younger, just as broken. he refuses to take what she offers him, more and more desperately, searching for something, anything, in return—the hurt that sparks and is buried underneath his hands on her back, washed away by the tears he cried over his sister.

he tells her he loves her, and she knows enough to know that he means it, too much to believe that it will change anything.

that night, scully doesn't sleep. she hasn't slept in two days, and she's cracking open, falling apart in the dark silence of her bedroom. he loves her, he has loved her for longer, too long, not long enough. she can trace it back all the way to oregon.

why say it now? why bring to life what should be unspeakable? he tells her because he stopped showing her until she stopped believing, but somehow he still wants her to know. maybe because it's cloaked in honesty but carried by lies. maybe because he almost died while she lost the last parts of herself looking for him. maybe because he needs her as deeply as she needs him.

maybe it's a kindness offered, his guilt erased.

her fingertips burn against her skin until they too grow cold, until the morning blinds her with greying light, until she has recited every single thing she knows about him under her breath. tiny, forgettable facts surrounded by the building blocks of their life, and she knows he loves her. she knows. he has to. the lasting pain etched into her can only be a result of love, twisted as it is.

it has to be.

it's what makes staying—no matter how much he takes and takes and takes—worth it.

(it has to be.)

still, the days pass, and nothing changes, and she holds onto the useless information with white knuckles and tells herself the truth they're looking for is somewhere within. it has to be.

———

i am once again thinking about triangle so have some more messy s6 angst

[mayfay]

Danny’s Medical Complications

Or: I had an idea and it won’t leave (and unfortunately I can’t do dialogue to save my life)

It started simple enough, a quick visit to Frostbite for a general checkup. And then it kept going. New machines, techniques, people, and an increasingly worried yeti was starting to freak Danny out a bit. Eventually it all went away and Frostbite set him down for A Talk.

See, Halfas are hella rare for a reason. The conditions needed to form them are really rare yes, but they aren’t the Main problem. No the main issue is the Disparity. Ghosts are beings of emotions, sufficient stress, emotional/mental harm, lack of ecto, and more can all lead to death. And Halfas crank that up to 11. They have a human side to take care of that’s constantly changing and growing, a higher ecto requirement to fuel their higher base strength, and a myriad of other minor complications that haven’t been properly studied cause Halfas are rarely found and usually don’t form ghosts on death

Say what

What do you mean “don’t form a ghost” they’re already half way there!

And there lies the problem, they’re halfway there. Ghosts are pretty static. they might change yes, but it’s usually due to major events or over the course of eons. And how do they decide on what they’re gonna be? By dying of course! Once the body dies its ghost is formed based on the current life situation and they move on. Simple, quick, easy. No complications here no siree!

Enter Halfas

They already died, and while infant ghosts and experience some major changes as they settle it’s nothing to the degree humans do. And as time passes the static ghost half and changing human half can drift, wobbling on that line between life and death. And once it gets to extreme? They fall. If the ghost half starves or dies the human half experiences Major health complications, leading to death shortly after. If the human side dies they try to form a ghost using all the ambient ecto the ghost side has been feeding on, leading to the ghosts death in most cases but if not they’re practically two different beings and fusing them will kill both anyways.

Good news though! With all the combat and rediculously high ecto levels Danny was exposed to to form his other half, his ghost side has stayed pretty adaptable! The other ghosts didn’t realize they were fighting a literal infant thanks to the high ecto levels he had (and the knowledgeable ones that Did had other reasonings the meant a little smack down they totally wouldn’t lose was an acceptable trade off for them). Horrifying, he will spend the next century finding all sorts of animal pelts, boxes, music tracks, etc landing on him in the middle of the night. But it has a silver lining! Thanks to not being allowed to settle Danny can still shape his ghost form to a degree. And Clockwork, brilliant old man that he is, has an Idea on how to fix this.

Great! Lay it on him Clockwork! What’s he gotta do? Get de-aged and die? Ha Ha! You sure know how to make a good joke old man-child, now what’s the real way?

Oh

Oh no

Danny Can form a ghost on death, but it’ll require dying while as mentally and physically similar to how he was when the portal closed. Problem there, he’s changed. He’s changed a Good Bit. Luckily Clockwork can handle the physical aspect but Desiree needs some extra time for her end. See, she Can change brain chemistry and whatnot, but it takes time to become permanent. A quick fix like her usual work is fragile (lies, it’s still stupidly powerful but forming a ghost relies on the persons deepest core, and that takes time to settle in to Desiree’s magic). So they just have to de-age Danny to an appropriate age where once he hits around the age he was when the portal closed Desiree’s magic will have settled, molding his personality/core to as close as they can be.

And then he has to die.

Doesn’t have to be as extreme as the portal incident was (in fact new factors like major doses of ecto would be a Very bad idea, his malleable ghost side is already pushing the limits with the minor variation he’ll already have) but it Does need to be in an area with high levels of ambient ecto, preferably his new hometown to match his current life’s lack of geographic movement.

He’ll also need to have his ghost half locked away to a degree. He’ll still need to be liminal of course, that long term exposure to ecto is needed to fuel a ghosts transformation, but proper ghost powers are getting put away unless Clockwork thinks they’re needed (and if it Does get to that point he’s getting pulled out for a second try anyways).

So where to put him? Well Gotham of course!

Clockwork…. Why are you like this (it’s all for the good of the timeline. And Lady Gotham owes him a favor he prepared just for this)

From there if he ends up in the Bats care (Nasty Burger explosion, Ghost Jazz, or simply not having anyone capable of properly raising him knowing he’ll die at 14) it doesn’t take long for one John Constantine to notice the Heavy Infinite Realms influence on the small child and drag the big bat away for his own Talk (double angst if he’s able to recognize the specific brand of Time Magic indicating a death prophecy). If he ends up under Jazz’s care then it might take a bit longer, but she’ll likely end up tied up in Bat business and from there it wouldn’t take long for a Very stressed Jazz to accidentally reveal something (or a child Danny not realizing “I know when I’m going to Die in excruciating detail!” is Not something you share with strangers, especially not ones as paranoid as the Bats).

Also for loose threads I imagine Ellie is unstable because her ecto is cloned off of Danny, while her human half is its own person. That large disparity usually leads to death (as seen in the other clones) but she’s able to force it off with sheer ecto strength, using the ecto shots as fuel to Force her body to stay together until they reach an inevitable conclusion or potentially meld together like Dan does).

As for Dan he’s not Properly a Halfa. I never watched the show so I don’t have all the details but I understand he’s some kinda mix of future Danny and Vlad gone evil and destroying the world. This mix Might be able to last longer than a regular Halfa would due to the insane amounts of ecto he has in his system. And as time passes the mixed ghost halves Could be unstable enough to sort of meld with his human parts, creating something of a Highly unstable ghost-human hybrid (seperate from Halfas since this is a blending of the two, not a distinct line between two halves).

That wouldn’t work with Danny cause it requires a second ghost mixing with him And the two somehow not destabilizing during the years it takes for the blend to settle. And the Ellie route is out since that requires So Much fine control and vigilance over a Very long period of time to slowly manually shape the ghost half to better fit the human half, rather than the other way around like Danny’s doing.

[shieldkeeper]

Writing Prompt: Perpetuity Word Count: 511 (Frostbite AU) ---> masterlist

Few would know of the secret that oracles kept well under wraps from any normal person. For if they learned of it, they would have a hint of an oracle’s true nature… and how to control that nature.

One easily assumed that a seer’s visions eternal for the rest of their days, aye? A fact that is only partially correct but purported nonetheless far and wide by those who would experience these visions. A way of protection so to speak, as they spouted daily prophecies. Truths and lies. Vague predictions without answer to any listening ear.

Garen could never fall in line with the ways of the other seers. He wished to tell the truth and only the truth of what he’s seen, to lead credence to himself and to undo the decades of harm this reputation has done for his kind. He speaks only when he has experienced a vision tried and true. One that he’s pieced together proper and can regale as much.

But with that, he risked outing their most fatal flaw…

The flaw that seers did not dream. 

How else could they make certain their prophecies after all? To convince that foreseeable truth?

In exchange for these glimpses or full-on sequences that played in one’s head through the night, Garen and all seers alike never once dreamed. But a transition from one state of wakefulness to another as nights passed without coincidence.

Not only that, but there were clear signs when one did happenchance to have a vision. Their sleep would not be so peaceful. They’d toss and turn as their mind wrestled to understand the things they witnessed during nightly visages. 

Nothing would wake them either. Entrapped in their own mind and whisked away into prophetic visions till seen in its entirety. Their bodies may as well turned into helpless vessels as though possessed all throughout.

An unknowing person would likely mistake them for hard sleepers! Or think them to have gone mad when caught in such states. In reality, however…

Were any outside of this circle of knowing to learn these truths, they could find plenty a way to force an Oracle to do their bidding proper. They’d be watched like hawks. They wouldn’t be able to thrive in the way that they have until now, rather they be seen as shams than to face a potential life of strife.

Luck would have it that none have picked up on Garen’s flaw. On why he was such an anomaly compared to most seers. Why his word had always been truth. 

His defense comes in the ways he portrays his visions: Like those of a bard singing embellished tales that could mean one thing or another. Even if he might truly understand all the details in depth, he would purposefully make it vague enough for the common villager that would ask of him to be true without finer print.

An eternal cycle of slumber that meant all or nothing… 

They could only pray that this truth never be gleaned by outsiders. Not even to closest companions.

[thekingofthenameless]

I suddenly got the inspiration to revamp day 7 of Flufftober, and I thought I’d share it here! I also have the first version below.

Merlin:

“Mama?” “Mama.” “Mamaaaaa.” She groggily opens an eye as Charlie’s voice grows louder, looking down at him. “Mm?” He grins and snuggles into her side, happy she’s awake. “Can we go look at the stars?” She tries to process that. Sleep’s hold is too strong, though. Her son waits eagerly, still grinning. “What time is it?” she finally mumbles, voice rough. Charlie shrugs, and she slowly sits up, stretching. Right. It’s not like he’d know. He immediately flops onto her, red eyes glowing as brightly as his body. She lowers her hand to pet his fur, resulting in loud purrs and affectionate nuzzling. He closes his eyes, stretching out across her lap, but she knows he’s not going to fall asleep. Not until he looks at the stars, anyway. “Are you ready to go?” she asks after a few minutes, voice still rough. “Mm-hm!” he answers eagerly, jumping off of her and racing to the door. She yawns as she stands up, wrapping her nearby cloak around herself. She puts her shoes on, not bothering to get dressed otherwise. It doesn’t make sense to; they won’t be out there that long. He steps back to allow her to open the door, staring up at her eagerly before racing out ahead of her. She covers her mouth as a yawn escapes, rubbing her hand over her face. Her baby’s easy to see, but she still creates a ball of light, which slowly cuts a hole through the darkness. The stars shine brightly above them once they step outside, the sky shades of blue, purple, and green. Her magic spreads across the snow, illuminating it; her breath shows in the cool night air. She lies down after a moment, admiring the beauty of it all. Charlie lays by her side, raising his head to stare at the sky. Peaceful silence settles over them. She begins to card her left hand through his fur, and he curls closer, soft purrs emerging from him that slowly become louder. Love blooms through her chest, filling her with warmth despite the cold. She finds herself closing her eyes, putting her hand on her boy’s head. It’s only for a moment, she tells herself. She isn’t actually going to fall asleep.

“Merlin?” “Merlin!” She opens her eyes to their family’s worried faces. She blinks up at them before looking down at Charlie, feeling his body tense. He doesn’t meet her gaze, tail slowly swishing behind him. “What are you two doing out here?” Vivian asks. She’s kneeling next to them, and like everyone else, she ignores her son in favor of looking at her. “Charlie wanted to see the stars,” she responds, anger and confusion rising. Her numb hand strokes his head. He looks up at her gentle touch, and she gives him a soft smile. He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You didn’t have to follow him,” Ganieda replies, annoying as ever. “Do you want to get frostbite?” She glares at her sister, picking Charlie up to gather him close. “It’s all right,” she whispers to him, petting his head. “I love you.” He crawls up her to nuzzle into her neck, rumbling softly. “I’m not going to get frostbite,” she answers Ganieda. “And I think even if I did, I’d heal.” “Don’t risk it,” her sister says, persisting. “He’s going to get you hurt.” “No, he’s not!” she snaps, magic aching to be released, aching to protect her boy in more than just words. “Girls, calm down,” her father murmurs, attempting to mediate. She ignores him. “You’re cruel. You not liking children isn’t an excuse. He’s your nephew!” “He isn’t your biological child.” Their parents freeze, and Vivian stares at her wife, sharing the two’s shock. Charlie whimpers and closes his eyes, and tears well up in hers because of how he’s feeling. “He’s mine. He’s mine in all but blood.” She wraps her hand around him before sitting up, tears beginning to fall. “You wouldn’t be as bad if he was human,” she mutters after a moment, full of spite. “What?” “You wouldn’t be as bad if he was human.” “…You’re ignoring the fact that Vivian’s a fairy,” she answers, trying to save herself.

“That doesn’t mean anything! Not with how you treat him!” He’s shaking now. She sobs a little, releasing her right hand to clench it into a fist. Her eyes feel hot, and she tries to calm herself to no avail. “Merlin, breathe,” Mama tells her, reaching out to touch her face. “What do you want?” “I want her to apologize,” she hisses, some of her anger barely subsiding when her baby opens his eyes to look at her. Charlie’s scared, scared of the anger in the air, the loud voices, the arguing over him. But he’s not scared of her, and that fills her with relief. “Fine. I’m sorry,” Ganieda huffs out. There’s a tense silence. Then she takes a deep breath for her son, letting it out. “I accept it. This time.” She leaves the threat unspoken, finally standing. Her boy snuggles into her chest, looking up at her with sheer adoration, as though she was the one who hung the moon and stars in the sky. “Breakfast is ready,” Papa says, breaking the second bout of silence. “We started looking out here when we couldn’t find you.” “I’m not hungry,” she answers tersely. “Are you?” she murmurs to Charlie. He shakes his head. “He’s not hungry either. We’ll eat later.” She turns to head inside, ignoring their expressions as much as she can. Once they’re back in her room, she sets her son down on their bed, kneeling to kiss his forehead. “I’ll always view the stars with you,” she whispers. “Whenever you want.” Charlie croons, nuzzling into her side after she lies down. She wraps her arms around him, holding him close. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” He blinks slowly, loud purrs beginning to fill the air. Soon, he’s asleep, breaths evening out. She smiles down at him before looking at the wall. Grief and anger return, rising in her chest, and she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. Why does him being a dragon still matter so much? After fifteen fucking years? Is it because he isn’t normal enough besides his species? Because he doesn’t like being touched by anyone besides her? Because he’s so shy and goes quiet sometimes, or doesn’t get jokes unless they’re really obvious? That shouldn’t matter to her sister. He’s hers. He’s hers, and she’ll die before she lets anyone hurt him. I wanted to make things better for you, she thinks, opening her eyes to look down at him. I didn’t think she’d act like this, like your parents. Nothing’s changing, but what if running away, starting over, hurt him even more? He likes it here. But Ganieda keeps hurting him, and her, only apologizing when her magic goes out of control, or when she makes her sister look down at her boy and see who she’s saying those things about. How could she? Right in front of him, no less? He’s always around you, a different part of her mind offers. No. No. She can’t justify her sister’s actions in any way. That would be letting her win, and she can’t do that. She’ll keep fighting for him, and if things don’t change by the time she finally looks like an adult, then she’ll leave. She sighs softly, barely resisting stroking him. He’d wake up, and he needs rest.

A quiet knock startles her. Charlie doesn’t stir, thankfully. She slowly extricates herself from him when it repeats, slipping out of bed. She opens the door to her father, who meets her eyes with concern, before looking past her- to Charlie. Protectiveness rises in her chest, even if he’s never done anything to hurt her baby. “Papa,” she greets formally, trying to distract him, wishing she was tall enough to block his view. “Merlin… look; I’m sorry. No-” “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do it.” He studies her face, worried, but she tries to keep it neutral. “Nobody expected her to say that,” he continues after a moment, so she hopefully succeeded. “I know.” She crosses her arms over her chest, staring at him. “Are you trying to make excuses for her?” She turns when Charlie trills, yawning and stretching. Her boy groggily looks around for her, spotting her by the door. His body tenses when he sees his grandfather, and her heart aches. Uncaring of what her father might say, she goes to her baby, picking him up and holding him close. She kisses his forehead before turning back, staying by their bed. He watches them without saying anything, watching the way her arms wrap around him, and the way her son leans into her, body slowly relaxing. She gives him a challenging stare, wondering why he’s silent, why he’s watching them as if he hasn’t seen this before. Well, that isn’t true. His face only holds affection for both of them; it’s her protectiveness clouding her perspective. “Charlie?” he murmurs, slowly walking closer. Her boy raises his head to look up at his grandfather, tilting it curiously. “Don’t worry about Ganieda. I love you, and so does your grandmother. Vivian and your mother do, too. So, so much.” Her son nods after turning the thought over. Then he blinks slowly, making her and Papa smile. She kisses his forehead again; he leans onto her chest, purring, and she tries to relax. They’ll be all right. One way or another.

Version One:

A gentle nudging against her side slowly wakes her. She groggily opens her eyes, reaching down to pet her son’s soft muzzle. He smiles at her, red eyes glowing as brightly as his body, and she returns it as her mind becomes a little less sluggish. “What is it?” she mumbles, voice rough. He stands, hopping down from the bed and padding towards the door. She sits up, watching her dragon place his paws against it, looking back at her. Oh, that’s why. She slides out of bed, wrapping her nearby cloak around herself and putting her shoes on, not bothering to get dressed otherwise. It wouldn’t make sense to when Charlie only has to go to the bathroom. He steps back to allow her to open the door, staring up at her eagerly before racing out ahead of her. She smothers a yawn as she follows him outside, creating a ball of light even if Charlie’s easy to see. The stars shine brightly above them, the sky shades of blue, purple, and green, and she sits down on the soft grass, admiring the beauty of it all as she waits for her dragon. Instead, her son returns to her side when he sees her, flopping down on his own side and staring at the sky. She stares at him in confusion. Why would he have woken her up if he didn’t have to go? Realization comes a moment later; he only wanted to look at the stars, didn’t he? “Did you just want to look at the stars?” She asks; he nods. “Fair,” she murmurs. “I thought you had to go to the bathroom,” she admits after a few moments, and he giggles. Peaceful silence settles over them. She begins to card her left hand through his fur, and he curls closer, a soft purr emerging from him that slowly becomes louder. She finds herself closing her eyes. It’s only for a moment, she tells herself. She isn’t actually going to fall asleep, under the beautiful sky, with her son against her side and happily staring up at it. Soft laughter is the first thing she hears. Charlie chuffs as she opens her eyes, leaving her side to stand and yawn before stretching. She’s greeted with the rest of her family, who look down at both of them with amusement. “What are you two doing out here?” Vivian asks, grinning, and really, all of them are finding this far too funny for what it is. “Charlie wanted to see the stars,” she responds, sighing and sitting up. He grins at her, coming closer to receive affection. She scratches his head, yawning. “You didn’t have to follow him,” Ganieda says, annoying as ever. “Do you want to get frostbite?” “I’m not going to get frostbite,” she replies, outwardly calm so an argument doesn’t start, because she really doesn’t want to have one now, scooping her dragon in her arms after standing. “And I think even if I did get frostbite, I’d heal.” “Don’t risk it,” her sister says, persisting, and as much as she loathes to admit it, she has a point. “At least get more dressed than your cloak and shoes.” “Or better yet, don’t fall asleep outside,” Mama laughs, reaching out to touch her face. She smiles at her mother, some of her annoyance dissipating. Her son snuggles deeper in her embrace, purring when Mama pets him. “Breakfast is ready,” Papa says, smiling. “We started looking out here when we couldn’t find you.” Charlie wriggles in her arms, excited for the bread that he hopefully made, and they all laugh. “Don’t worry, I made some bread,” her father teases, making her son’s face light up. It became his favorite food as soon as he tried it, and he doesn’t care that they all find a dragon eating bread amusing. “Seems like he’s omnivorous,” she’d said, giggling for the first time in a while, and he was as relieved to hear her laughter as everyone else, even as he stared at her in confusion around a mouthful of bread. She kisses his forehead before they begin to head inside, whispering that she’ll always view the stars with him, whenever he wants. Charlie purrs.

“Why did you make it angsty” I thought the first draft/version was cheesy even when I was writing it. Besides that, it was outdated anyway; Charlie couldn’t talk then, and he can now.

TKN Taglist: @gaylightisminetocommand, @taag-the-withering, @mxxnlightwriting, @lets-zofifi-stuff, @aroace-edward-elric

[hamburgerndsprite]

✦ WHISPERS OF AURELYA ✦

PART VIII: Let The Games Begin

“Even the stars fall silent in the presence of fate.”

Alyana’s POV

The air in the dining hall shimmered softly, as though the magic that lived in the stones and the air itself had grown restless. The lullaby still hung in the air like stardust as she stepped into the softly lit hall. Elian had fallen asleep with his cheek against her shoulder, trusting her heartbeat more than the lullaby itself. And now, she stepped into the hall where destiny awaited, cloaked in shadows and lies.

The assassins—seven of them—sat at the grand dining table where flickering golden candlelight cast shadows that danced across their faces. Alyana took them in one by one. Still and silent, yet more alive in her magic than they realized.

She had felt them the moment they crossed the kingdom’s threshold. Not through the usual wards, but in the trembling of the rivers, the nervous flutter of the swans, the sudden hush of the pegasus in the western forest. The land had whispered their presence before they even knew they were being watched. And now, here they were. Close enough to touch.

Mira hovered nearby, composed and gentle, her watchful eyes reading the air. A few other castle staff stood at a respectful distance, pretending not to listen. They wouldn’t interfere—Alyana had made it clear.

They sat before her, dressed in the simplicity of travelers, the softness of their cloaks contrasting the rigid walls they had built within.

And yet—she knew them.

Not in the way names are known, but in the way a soul remembers another across lifetimes.

She knew the grief carved beneath their skin, the hate they wrapped around themselves like armor.

She knew what they had lost.

She knew who they had been meant to be before the world made them assassins.

And still… she smiled.

It was a delicate, unreadable thing, her smile—neither warm nor cold, neither open nor guarded. It was the smile of someone who had seen the end, and still chose to begin again.

"Forgive me for the delay," Alyana said softly, taking her seat at the far end of the long glasswood table. The table’s surface shimmered faintly, enchanted by moonlight that spilled from the enchanted crystal windows above. "Elian doesn’t fall asleep easily these days unless he hears that particular lullaby. You must be tired from your journey."

The assassins bowed their heads slightly in response. Even now, she could feel their emotions rippling through the air—hatred burning like frostbite, longing buried like ash, suspicion curled tightly in every breath. They wore masks, but magic saw through masks.

Still, she smiled. Still, she welcomed.

“You’ve come a long way,” Alyana said, her voice warm, distant as moonlight.

They nodded, some more curtly than others. She felt it like rain against her skin—their tension, their mistrust. Magic stirred beneath her fingertips, wanting to rise, wanting to protect. But she pressed it down gently, like calming a restless child.

Her eyes drifted over each of them.

One sat stiffly, his posture rigid with purpose. There was calculation in his stillness, like a blade sheathed but not forgotten. He was the kind who observed before speaking, measured before moving. Grief had carved precision into him. He had learned how to lead by losing. A wall of steel and strategy, her magic whispered. Not cruel—but carefully forged.

Another, younger perhaps, wore silence like armor. His gaze barely lifted, but when it did, it brushed across the room with a haunted softness. There was something searching in his quiet—a question he didn’t know how to ask. Still waters, Alyana noted, but not still at all. A tide restrained by pain, threatening to rise.

The third one shifted more than the others, never fully at ease. Suspicion curled in his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. He was sharp, always a breath away from flaring—emotionally volatile, mistrustful. Sparks ready to burn. His silence was not peace; it was protest. His energy clashed most with the magic in the room.

And then there was one whose emotions churned with frustration. Not at her, not truly, but at circumstance—at a plan that had fallen apart the moment it met reality. His stare lingered longer than the others’, but it was not cruel. It was... unsettled. There was conflict in him, like a boy holding back a question he had no words for. One who expected ice and found warmth instead.

A fifth figure stayed quiet, but not detached. There was a lingering softness in his energy, buried beneath a lifetime of command. He was used to protecting—used to shielding others from truths he carried alone. His soul felt worn but not dimmed. Kindness lived in him still, albeit buried beneath purpose. A quiet guardian, she felt.

Another seemed constantly pulled between hesitation and defiance. His energy shifted subtly, like wind changing direction—drawn to something he did not want to understand. His gaze met hers briefly, almost in apology, then darted away. It left a hollow ache in her chest. Not from fear. From recognition. A forgotten thread pulling tight again.

And the last... His presence was the hardest to read. Not because it was blank, but because it was veiled. He wore many layers—confidence, charm, calculation—but beneath them, something ancient stirred. Of all, he was the furthest from revealing who he truly was. Her magic sensed a deep sadness there, sealed away with a practiced smile.

Seven. Each cloaked in intent, wrapped in stories. Seven hearts wound tight with grief and purpose and questions they hadn’t yet dared to ask.

Alyana did not know their names.

She did not need to.

Her magic hummed gently through her—watch, listen, do not fear. These were not strangers. Not entirely.

“What brings you to Aurelya?”

The question was gentle, not sharp, but it settled heavily in the room like a drop of ink in water—subtle, but inescapable.

There was a brief silence. A flicker of tension.

Then the one she had sensed as the leader—tall, composed, and unreadable in that meticulous way people learn when they’ve lost too much—spoke.

“We’re wanderers,” he said, his voice smooth, calm. Too calm. “We fled the eastern lands. Our village was... lost.” His gaze did not falter, but his fingers curled slightly against the grain of the table. “War and ruin left us with nothing. When we heard of Aurelya, we hoped to find sanctuary here. A chance to start over. Perhaps even work, if the palace permits.”

The delivery was almost flawless. Almost.

Lies, every word of it.

Beautifully spun and confidently offered—but the land itself whispered the truth to her beneath their breath. The earth thrummed faintly beneath her feet. The trees beyond the window stirred though there was no wind. Her magic curled around her bones like a shawl, not violent, but alert. The kingdom remembered everything. And it did not forget the scent of intent.

She said nothing, let the silence settle just a moment too long.

Beside the leader, another one shifted in his seat—the quiet one with dark, solemn eyes. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look up at her, but she could feel his heartbeat stutter slightly through the magic that laced the room. He was tense in a different way. Not from deceit—but from pressure. From a fear of being seen too clearly. His mouth parted slightly, as if to add something, but no words came. There was doubt in his silence. Almost… remorse.

Alyana tilted her head just slightly, a silent observation.

Then another voice stepped in to fill the pause—a little sharper, quicker, the sparks she’d sensed now flickering into flame.

“What he means is,” said the one seated next to the quiet boy, his tone breezy but a little too quick, “we didn’t really have much choice. War took everything. The people, the homes... we barely made it out. We heard of Aurelya from passing merchants—said it was safe here. Peaceful. Different. We wanted to see it for ourselves.”

The leader, though she still did not know the name—nodded, smoothly re-aligning with the tale. “And if there’s work available, we’d be grateful for a place to contribute.”

More lies, now layered atop one another. Not panic, but precision. A cover-up done in practiced tandem. They had prepared for this, rehearsed it even. But the magic within her—the old, rooted kind that breathed with the land itself—saw through masks and stories. It wasn’t just deceit she tasted in their energy.

It was grief.

It was anger.

And beneath it all... longing.

She let none of that show. Her expression stayed warm, her voice a balm.

“I’m glad Aurelya found you,” Alyana said softly, her hands folded gently before her. “This land opens its arms to all who seek shelter... and to those willing to work with kindness in their hearts.”

She watched as subtle glances passed between them. Relief. Doubt. Calculation. The leader held his composure, but she could feel the tightening of the others’ shields. They were wondering if they had succeeded. If she had bought their story. If their presence here—so deliberately executed—was going according to plan.

And in their eyes, Alyana saw the same mistake she had seen in many before them.

They thought kindness meant blindness.

Let them.

Because she knew the storm that would come.

She would welcome them still—with grace, with patience, with hope.

Because destiny did not arrive dressed in truth.

It arrived in lies... and left in light.

Author’s Pov

Alyana’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer. Her voice, when it came, was soft—like a warm wind brushing over wounds that hadn’t healed.

“What about the others from your village?” she asked, tilting her head gently. “Are they safe? Did many survive?”

The question was kind. Unthreatening. But it scattered something quiet in the air.

They hadn’t prepared for that.

A moment passed before one of them—Jungkook, though she did not know the name—shifted slightly in his seat, lips parting as if to speak. But then his eyes dropped, and he faltered. “Some of them… we… we think they made it to the border,” he said, too softly.

Another immediately jumped in—Hoseok, his voice a little too firm. “Yes. A few families escaped before the fires spread. They’re safe. With… distant relatives. We just don’t know exactly where.”

Taehyung nodded along, his jaw set. “There wasn’t time to look back. The place was… gone. We’ve spent weeks trying to get here. We didn’t stop. Not really.”

Alyana heard every crack in their story. The overlapping details that contradicted, the scramble for consistency, the pause where grief should have lived but didn't quite ring true. Still, she didn't press. Their fear was real. Even if the story wasn’t.

She offered a quiet smile, her hand gently resting against the edge of the table, the tips of her fingers touching the wood as if in prayer.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice was filled with such honest empathy it softened the room. “No one should have to leave home behind like that. I’ll ask the High Priestess to light a lantern tonight—for your people, and the ones you couldn’t bring with you.”

They were silent for a moment.

Then, the leader—Jin—gathered his voice again. It was steadier now, but the edges were frayed.

“Your Majesty,” he began, more carefully this time, “if it’s not too bold to ask… we would prefer to serve within the palace itself. It would give us a sense of safety. We’re... not used to unfamiliar places.”

Alyana lifted her eyes, violet with glints of silver. She studied him with a softness that masked the sharpness underneath.

“That’s a rather specific request,” she said, with the faintest hint of teasing. “Do tell me—why the palace?”

It was a fair question. After all, Aurelya was safe in every corner. There were farmlands, river towns, magical sanctuaries—all peaceful, all protected under her magic. No threat loomed here. No danger would touch them, whether they lived in the palace or in the hills.

Taehyung was the first to answer, his lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Your palace is beautiful,” he said smoothly. “We thought… we could be of more use here. Surely there are tasks that require more trust. We can prove ourselves.”

Jimin, seated beside him, glanced up for the briefest second. Then away. His voice followed, quieter.

“And it’s easier to feel at ease when you’re close to... order,” he said. “Routine. We’ve seen too much chaos.”

Jin nodded slowly. “We’re not asking for comfort,” he added quickly. “Only purpose. Even small tasks. Cleaning, lifting, sorting—anything that helps. We’re just not used to living far from... a central guard. Something about being inside these walls, it feels... easier to breathe.”

Hoseok added his voice last, a little too eager now. “And if we stay nearby, it’ll be easier to communicate. If there’s trouble, or if you need hands for errands or patrol—”

“—or if something happens,” Jungkook interrupted softly, though it sounded more like a slip than a strategy. They all fell still for a second.

Alyana watched them, quiet. Her magic circled around her ribs like a whisper, but she didn’t speak to it yet.

They were scared of something. Of being found, or failing. Or maybe of the truth they were burying under every word.

She let them wait in the stillness. Let the weight of her silence draw the edges of their nerves taut.

Then, at last, she gave a small nod.

“Of course,” she said simply.

Behind her, Mira stiffened ever so slightly, and Alyana felt it through the bond they shared. But she didn’t turn. Her eyes stayed on the seven before her—so certain they were fooling her. So desperate to stay close.

That was fine.

Let them think they’d won something.

Let them believe this was their victory.

Because fate always smiled when lies entered the palace.

She would let them in.

And watch the truth unfold.

➳ masterlist ⤞ Part IX

[cerebral-starleigh]

asymmetrical

melting into zenith endless ceaseless streaming, crying and screaming kicking and pleading

i beg and i inquire and i look and see the darkness laid out before me: yellow and blue and black and all the hues cut through the cones colors beyond my vision; ultraviolet tones

i tried, though worth nothing, to understand the runes inscribed into the hairs split ends and parted friends tears cried turned to null when you spoke all that was was no longer

black holes in your mouth, retrieving my self and keeping it, selfishly though i know it's pointless to struggle through vomit and saliva my autonomy stripped in an instant as all become nothing "but that's how it works," i surmise

stardust pouring forth from my ears my breaths heavy, i can hear the heart beat i can feel it grow weak struggling to speak frostbite on the tip of my nose it took too long to move

the cars passed without me; as did the butterflies and doves the angels died that day, my moon and my stars began to fall all made no more sense the ground dissipated, scuttled and scattered behind my vision i felt myself floating as my feet hit the ground

my thoughts ascended this plane that day leaving home and never returning leaving trails everywhere they went blood, stardust, and destruction everywhere all burned and all healed

these eyes: i deify-- that see your lies today, there is nothing but everything left

[fascinatedscrawls]

Phic Phight Prompt: The Box Ghost, aka the most un-frightening pathetic nuisance ever, is actually incredibly powerful compared to the average ghost.

Word Count: 1425

For @phantomphangphucker

Summary: There are a lot of different kinds of power. Some are easy to see and others - others take a little more perspective to understand. Of course, realizing that the Box Ghost was both feared and respected within the Ghost Zone is still a bit baffling even after Danny gets to see it first hand.

"Wait, wait, wait." Danny held up a hand to stop Ember before reconsidering and putting it to his own forehead in an attempt to drive off the headache he could feel building there. "Can you repeat that?"

"What am I, a wind up doll?" Her look of disgust made way for an eye roll when Danny dragged his hand further down his face to glare at her over his fingertips. "The Box Ghost will have what we need."

Hand now over his mouth, Danny wondered if he needed to get his ears checked. When she clicked her tongue at him and went to keep moving, Danny quickly followed her gesturing wildly.

"The Box Ghost? Really? As in, the guy who comes to Amity just to grab cardboard boxes and crates? The one who won't stop introducing himself and screaming 'Beware!' - that guy?" Actually, a thought occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes trying to fly ahead of Ember to try and read the truth of it off her face. "Hang on, does he introduce himself because he's trying to use some other ghost's reputation? Is there another Box Ghost out there?"

Ember sped up shaking her head as she sped through the Zone.

"Of course not, anyone would be able to tell that the imposter was lying. Or, well," she winced a little, "no one would believe that guy when he lied. I mean, he's not the best actor. Not everyone's meant for the stage, obviously."

"Obviously." Danny repeated, voice and expression flat before he remembered that he was here to ask Ember for help. Pasting on a friendly smile when she sent him a warning look, he tried for a little more clarification hoping that she wouldn't change her mind. "But how did he become the ghost to see?"

"I'm the ghost everyone wants to see." She reminded him instantly, striking a pose like she was getting photographed before waving off his fumbled response to that. "I know what you meant. For this type of thing it's more that it just falls into his domain."

"Like, a kingdom?" The Box Ghost had a whole realm like Dorothea and Frostbite? Danny almost breathed a sigh of relief when Ember shook her head.

"No, more like a website."

Danny wasn't aware that he could stumble while flying, but he managed it anyway. "Excuse me?"

"No."

Ugh. Ember was sometimes all the parts of Jazz Danny couldn't stand - a big sister without any of the care that made Jazz one of Danny's favorite people. At his groan Ember came to an abrupt stop and reached for her guitar. Danny almost brought ecto to his hands before he realized she was holding it out instead of readying an attack.

"Look, everyone has what they're good at, right? Like I'm amazing at singing and playing my guitar so when I play I can do things through my performance."

"Right." Danny drew out the vowel a bit, following but not really sure where this was going.

"It also means that things pertaining to my domain of Rock Star Sensation are more likely to find their way to me even inside the Infinite Realms." Flicking her fingers, she rolled a guitar pick down her knuckles in a practiced move. "That's why my guitar is always in tune and I usually have all the things I need to play it. Strings, picks, if they fall into the realms there's a good chance I'll find them."

So ghosts frequently found things that related to their obsession. Danny wasn't sure how true that was - that things find their way to the ghosts that wanted them rather than most ghosts only paying attention to things they were personally obsessed with, but the Ghost Zone didn't exactly run on any logic he truly understood so he was going to roll with it for now.

"And the box ghost-"

"Finds boxes." Ember finished his sentence, swinging her guitar back over her shoulder and starting forward once more, more noticeably following the path of a few other ghosts Danny could see in the distance. "And other packages, though he doesn't like those quite so much."

"He finds boxes and keeps them no matter what's inside, got it." Which explained why she was leading him to the Box Ghost for those supplies Frostbite was looking for. "How often does he find more boxes?"

Just how likely was it that Danny would find the laundry list of things Frostbite was looking for?

"Oh," Ember didn't even knock before pushing a double wide set of swinging doors open so they could step inside what Danny now saw was their destination. "Almost constantly, I think."

Goggling at the ghostly equivalent of a big box warehouse complete with rows and rows of aisles that practically scrapped the almost cavernous ceiling, Danny didn't even care that Ember was absolutely snickering at his reaction. "Where do they even come from?"

"They're every package that gets lost in the mail, I think." Ember answered, grabbing his arm and pulling him further into the store. "And there are a lot of lost packages these days."

They passed huge piles of boxes, each stacked higher than the Fenton Works Ops Center, many of which baring familiar logos from various online retailers. Danny snorted before his eye caught on a ghost reaching through the cardboard to triumphantly pull something (hedge trimmers?) from a box only to very quickly place whatever was in his other hand into the box in its place. Looking around at other ghosts who were sifting through the madness or bargaining between themselves Danny noticed something.

"Does everyone bring their own stuff?"

"Money doesn't really mean much here, so like everywhere else in the Realms this place runs on trades." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few CDs some of which Danny vaguely recognized as being popular a few years ago, all of which wouldn't have fit in her pocket if she weren't a ghost. "The Box Ghost doesn't care about what's in the boxes so long as something is inside the box."

Danny's next question was forgotten as the Box Ghost himself burst intangibly through the boxes on the next aisle over, hands raised with a loud, "I am the Box Ghost!"

After months of being warned by the same ghost with nothing resulting from it other than maybe a few hours of annoyance as he chased the Box Ghost around town before capturing him, Danny watched incredulous as the smaller ghost the owner of this 'store' was threatening cowered, literally tripping over themselves as they searched their pockets for something to put into the box they'd left empty a few minutes before.

Around them the other ghosts scattered as the Box Ghost yanked the offender up by their collar, eyes burning bright and an surprisingly impressive wave of energy rolling off him that even Danny could fee,l before a figurine (in mint condition) was held up in shaky hands as an offering.

There was a pause as the Box Ghost blinked away his rage to inspect it. Then he snatched it from their hands and put it ever so gently back into the temporarily empty box. Giving it a satisfied pat, he then threw out a practiced "Beware!" before vanishing back to wherever he came from.

Danny watched the ghost he dropped snatch up their prize and shoot out the double doors before giving a knowing Ember a wide eyed look.

"Never mess with a ghost over their obsession on their own turf, especially not a guy who gets all his power from the ecto people give off his his warehouse." She warned him.

"But - he's so-" Danny struggled to put it in words. "He never does anything like that in Amity?"

"Not his turf is it?" The pointed look met its mark even before she followed it with, "Besides, you've got his kryptonite."

Baffled, Danny pointed at himself. Ember helpfully pointed at him too. Following her finger, Danny unhooked the thermos from his belt.

"For a guy who is all about boxes and other things cubic, the only thing worse for him would be a sphere."

Aaand there was the Infinite Realm's 'logic' catching Danny off guard again.

"I guess it doesn't matter how powerful he is if I'm always fighting him with the perfect weapon."

"Yep, now get searching. I don't have all day and this place doesn't have any sort of organization."

With a groan, Danny snatched the CDs from her hand and got to work.

[ampleappleamble]

—

Sleep Drifter

(a love story, told in five parts)

—

Part 2: Evening

—

Vatnir woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, and he immediately wished he hadn't.

Once when he was still rather young– no longer a child, but not quite yet a man– he had tried to abscond from his clan in some wild and desperate bid for a chance at a better life, or if not that then at least a different one. But as he'd gone off completely alone and with no real plan or even a fixed destination in mind, it hadn't taken him long to become hopelessly lost and badly exhausted, and eventually he'd collapsed in the snow, numb in body and mind alike, fully expecting to die. He hadn't, of course, but later in his life he would often wonder whether he'd have been better off if he had. The search party had discovered him in time to save his life, but not quickly enough to prevent his nose and lips from succumbing to frostbite. And so he had paid the Beast in blood for his foolish attempt to deny his destiny, screaming and struggling as the clan's healer had cut the dead flesh from his face with her obsidian blade, as Valbrendhür had held him steady and whispered that he was sorry, that it would be over soon. But it was never over, not really. Not for him.

His was a life shaped by pain. As far back as he could remember, disease and disfigurement were his constant companions, persisting stubbornly through all of his futile attempts to avoid or alleviate them. Boils and blisters, rashes and sores, infection and fever and dyspepsia, on and on with nary an end in sight. And malady was only one side of the coin: on the other, there was violence. Before he'd met the Watcher of Caed Nua, most of his injuries had been accidental– falls, burns, hunting mishaps– but he'd been through his fair share of combat too, even before accompanying her to the Vytmádh. And afterwards, after he'd felt the chill winds of the Void cut him down to his soul, after he'd felt his bones crushed beneath the hoof of his god, he had thought that surely no pain in this world could ever even hope to compare.

The pain he felt upon waking in that strange bed was worse.

Worse than the Beast smiting him, worse than the old healer slicing off his face or digging into his infected eyesockets to pluck out the remnants of his dead, withered eyeballs, worse than any pain he'd ever experienced before. It engulfed his entire body like flame, ran through his veins like acid, paralyzed him like venom. He couldn't move or breathe or think– the most he could do was produce a thin, feeble wheeze with the distant, desperate hope that someone might hear and come to his aid.

But no one did.

So once again he trembled helplessly beneath the hoof of the Beast, gasping for breath as pure agony crashed over him in great, unrelenting waves, searing his flesh and boiling his insides, over and over and over, until at some point he took a chance and tried to draw a deeper breath so that he might cry out for help– and the resulting coughing fit was so overwhelmingly, excruciatingly painful that he didn't even have time to pray for death before his world once again dissolved into insensate darkness.

The pain was still there when he woke again, still intense enough to muddle his thoughts and turn his stomach, but it had receded considerably. He could think again, though not very clearly, and his ability to meaningfully interpret sights and sounds had returned, though it taxed him terribly to do so. Still, his desire to orientate himself compelled him to push through the malevolent fog in his head, so he cracked an eye or three and squinted into the space around him.

Not that it told him much. He was... indoors. It was nighttime, or else wherever he was was lightproof, and darkness obscured most of what laid within his field of vision. A single lit candle illuminated the space immediately surrounding him, and Vatnir could just barely make out the shadowy figure of a kith seated near his bed. Gathering what little strength he had, he slowly slipped one hand out from under the covers and lifted it up, every twitch of his muscles causing a new sharp shock of pain to shoot up and down his arm, as though he had ground glass under his skin, and for a second he seriously thought he might black out again but still, he had to try–

And Aloth finally rewarded his efforts, his book sliding off his lap and onto the floor as he leapt up and took Vatnir's hand in his, warm, strong fingers pressing into the cold, clammy palm. The godlike very nearly sobbed with relief.

"Oh thank the–" He stopped himself. No, he wasn't about to thank them. A different approach, then. "Vatnir, I'm– I'm so glad you're alright."

"Where are my underthings," Vatnir blurted. He'd only just realized that, excepting his usual swath of linen bandages, he was quite naked underneath the inexplicable amount of blankets that had been piled atop him– even his ever-present mask had been removed and set aside somewhere. His body felt oddly wet, too, but he'd quickly and mercifully recognized that it was only sweat. Probably.

"They're– perhaps you ought not to worry about that right this moment." Aloth cleared his throat nervously.

Vatnir let his eyes slip shut, already fatigued from even the minor exertion of looking around and talking. "Where are we? What happened?"

"We're in Twin Elms," Aloth sighed. "Still. Unfortunately. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Arriving in Twin Elms," Vatnir groaned. Ever since they'd made landfall in the Dyrwood two weeks ago, Axa had been dragging her little retinue all over the Eastern Reach, so sure, why not come to Eir Glanfath as well?

Her earlier predictions regarding the state of the Dyrwood had been correct, of course: the country was indeed embroiled in conflicts both domestic and foreign the likes of which she hadn't seen since the War of Defiance, and the mysterious and legendary Watcher of Caed Nua returning to her shores with tales of witnessing the destruction of the Wheel by Eothas' hand had only served to throw oil on the fire. House Geiran, a family of Aedyran loyalists who had been stripped of their lands and titles after Dyrwood had won its independence, had taken advantage of the pandemonium following Eothas' rampage to seize the Grasp from its rightful erl, including the land on which Caed Nua had once stood. Axa had come to Twin Elms not only to petition on behalf of the Dyrwoodan government for the Glanfathans' aid in retaking the erldom for Dyrwood, but also to secure her daughter and brother's safe passage back to her native land. Tico had been visiting the Dyrwood– had, in fact, been on his way back to Caed Nua from a trip to Dyrford with Vela– when Eothas had risen, and after he'd assisted the Steward and Edér in liquidating his incapacitated sister's assets and purchasing a boat on which her allies might pursue the god who'd stolen her soul, he'd stayed behind to settle the rest of her affairs as best he could. It was only right that she now see to his safe return home, and of course, she had to make sure Vela was kept out of harm's way as well. So, provided Axa's proposal for an alliance with Dyrwood didn't get her laughed out of the city, she'd planned to hire a team of rangers and bodyguards to protect and guide the avian godlike and his niece northeast through the mountains and into Ixamitl, far from the bloodshed and chaos of the ongoing struggle in the northwest.

Twin Elms. Vatnir remembered riding through the archway, remembered helping Vela dismount from her pony before following Axa and Aloth and Tico into the anamfath's great hall while the townsfolk stared at him, whispering prayers and making warding gestures...

"That was four days ago," Aloth murmured gravely.

Vatnir's eyes flew open. Four days? "What happened?"

"Shall I give you the short version first, and the long later? Begging your pardon, but you don't exactly look as though you can withstand–"

"What happened," Vatnir repeated, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut again.

Aloth looked away, going completely still for a moment before finally huffing a quick, sharp sigh. "You were shot," he stated simply, gesturing to a spot on the left side of his own chest. "Here. Between your left shoulder and your clavicle. With an arquebus, not a bow."

Vatnir peered down at himself as best he could, and ended up feeling rather foolish when, of course, all he could see was blankets. It did seem to hurt worst in the spot Aloth had indicated, the pain radiating from just above his left armpit out to the rest of his body, and for the first time since his frostbitten face had been mutilated by the clan healer, he didn't want to know what the wound looked like.

Aloth continued. "You're lucky the bullet didn't strike bone, else we'd have had a much harder time removing it. As it is, we've reason to believe it was enchanted with some sort of corrosive hex, or perhaps coated in a very potent poison. The currently leading theory suggests it may have actually been both. Hence, your delayed recovery. You're in good hands, though, I assure you; the Glanfathan healers have been working on you on night and day." He winced. "Erh. Are you in much pain...?"

The look on Aloth's face told Vatnir that he knew exactly how stupid a question that was, and yet some bizarre Aedyre politesse demanded he ask it anyway. He chose not to embarrass the man further by answering. "Where's Axa?"

"Seeing Tico and Vela off. The guides she hired advised leaving after sundown, for safety's sake. Especially after..." Aloth trailed off, but his gaze strayed in the direction of Vatnir's bullet wound again.

"Hnh. The negotiations went well then. That's good."

"They did," Aloth agreed, smiling softly. "It is."

"Think the shooter was targeting godlikes?" Vatnir asked, somewhat surprised to find himself worried for Tico. For as few words as they'd exchanged during their short time together, he'd rather liked the little fellow. He was easygoing, down-to-earth, inoffensively sardonic. Nothing at all like that Vailian paladin...

But Aloth shook his head. "I can see how you might have come to that conclusion, but no. Although you were the one he hit, the assailant was actually aiming for Axa. You just happened to–"

He stopped himself and frowned, looking away again. "No. No, it wasn't happenstance, and you deserve the credit you're due. You purposefully stepped in front of her. And you took the bullet in her stead."

Vatnir blinked, stunned. "What? I– d-did I?"

Aloth looked him hard in the eyes then, the taut, straight line of his mouth tightening even further. "You did, yes. And what's more: considering the difference in height between the two of you, I think I can confidently say that had you not done what you did, his shot would almost certainly have struck her in the head. And considering what your recovery has been like, I also think I can confidently say that if that bullet had found its intended target instead of you, Axa would have been dead before she could hit the ground."

A peculiar swirl of emotions swept through Vatnir as he listened. The tone of Aloth's voice made him feel as though he was being scolded or accused of doing something untoward, but his words didn't match that sentiment at all, nor did the solemn look in his eyes. And processing that was just the tip of the iceberg compared to contemplating the gravity of what had actually happened to him, what had almost happened to Axa, what he'd apparently done for her. Aloth said he'd done it on purpose, but had he really? It certainly didn't sound like something he'd do.

"I– I don't remember it," he rasped. "Any of it."

"We were told that you might have some short term memory loss," Aloth replied, his demeanor softening again. "It's nothing to be alarmed by."

"But I– I don't–" Vatnir sputtered briefly before sighing and falling silent for a moment, his thoughts too muddled by pain and exhaustion to try and explain. So he changed the subject instead, asking, "What of the shooter, then?"

"Axa reacted... strongly to his assault against you. And swiftly. His head must have rolled fifty feet before you even started screaming." The corner of Aloth's mouth twitched once, quickly. "She peered into his soul afterward, of course, in the hopes that she might find out his motive, whether he'd been hired or was acting alone, and if so, who had hired him..."

Vatnir had been an acolyte of the god of misfortune long enough to see where this was going. "Nothing, then?"

"He was a Goldpact Knight. He accepted the contract, the payment, and the provided ammunition, no questions asked, no identifying details given."

An uncharacteristic snort of derisive laughter suddenly burst from Aloth's nostrils. "Fye, sure t'was pure middlin' fer our wee lass, aye?"

"Typical," Vatnir agreed. "Well. At least she's alright."

His hand was still in Aloth's, his grip warm and gentle. He flexed his fingers experimentally, squeezing the other man's hand, and he couldn't help but be a bit surprised when he felt Aloth squeeze back.

"She stayed by you as often and as long as she could," he murmured, "and I with her. We slept at your bedside, in those chairs there, just behind me. And when she absolutely couldn't be here with you, I held vigil alone until her return. I– we owe you more than–"

"I didn't really save her," Vatnir confessed suddenly. "I couldn't have. I'm not– it's not in my nature to–"

Aloth's brow furrowed in confusion. "Vatnir, I saw you do it."

Guilt bubbled up in his throat as he spoke, and it tasted of blood. "I mean– yes, obviously I got in between her and the bullet, but– but I almost certainly didn't choose to do it, I don't– I've never thought to try and sacrifice myself for anyone or anything before. Gods, I only ever even met her because I tricked her into nearly getting killed by a frostbitten dragon that I was too craven to–"

"And what does it matter whether you consciously chose to shield her or whether you did it without thinking? Some might argue that acts made without forethought are more meaningful, more telling of the true nature of the one performing the deed." He squeezed Vatnir's hand again, his voice thick with emotion. "What matters is this: You saved the life of the woman I love. And you very nearly exchanged your own life for hers in the process. I'll– I can't even begin to think of how to properly repay you for that."

Vatnir had been on the receiving end of gratitude like this many times before. During his tenure as High Harbinger, innumerable kith had thanked him, praised him, worshipped him for his wise counsel and noble sacrifices. And he realized as he squirmed uncomfortably under Aloth's gaze that it had been much easier for him to gracefully accept the adoration of others when he knew that everything he'd said and done to prompt that adoration was based on complete horseshit. After all, their adoration of him was based on horseshit too, borne of little more than an accident of his birth and extreme superstition, and so he felt at best a vague pity for his gullible devotees when they fell fawning at his feet. But genuine affection, based not on his perceived sanctity but on his actual deeds or, gods beyond, his personality? He had no idea how to react– how to feel, even– when someone sincerely admired him, and no one made that more clear to him than Axa and Aloth. How did those two make him so–

He coughed suddenly, and a fresh wave of pain tore through his body, his whole world shattering again in a shower of acid and broken glass as he gasped and whimpered. Aloth leaned close, his face alight with alarm, his grip on Vatnir's hand tightening slightly as his other hand shot out to rest gently on the godlike's forehead. "Vatnir? Is there– w-what can I do to help?"

"You could start," he choked, "by finding me someone who can make this all hurt less."

"Of course," Aloth replied, stroking Vatnir's brow, brushing back sweat-slick strands of fine, white hair. "I'll get a healer. Is there anything else you...?"

"Ja, ja, sure," he snapped, pain quickly eroding his already thin patience. "Get me a beer, why don't you? And some fried ysae while you're at it. And a slice of Rauataian sweet pie. And a back rub." He grimaced, his face burning with shame the instant the words were out of his mouth. I didn't just say that. Oh, gods, please tell me I didn't just say that...

Nevertheless, and despite the panic clearly threatening to overwhelm him, Aloth still managed to laugh. Or at least Vatnir had thought it was Aloth, right up until the next words out of his mouth were, "Aye sure, slobbergob, soon's yer oop off yer arse, the laddie'll rub ye where'er ye fancy!"

An awkward moment passed between the two men, finally ending when Aloth stammered something about being right back before rushing out of the room, the tips of his ears so red they were practically glowing.

Vatnir tried not to think too hard about that. But he did recognize his need to think about something, if only to keep his mind off of the pain until the healer arrived. So he tried to focus on the opposite of pain, reminding himself how soft and warm the bed was, appreciating the cozy darkness of the room, realizing that the pain had actually receded enough that now some parts of him barely hurt at–

Oh. Oh, gods.

His hand. His forehead.

Wherever Aloth had touched him, it didn't hurt anymore.

...He decided to try not to think too hard about that, either.

[dadjokestop]

If you think you can keep a straight face through these try not to laugh jokes, think again! These gems are guaranteed to challenge even the toughest audiences. Whether you’re with friends, family, or just in need of a good chuckle, these jokes are here to test your composure. So grab a seat, prepare your best poker face, and let’s dive into some giggle-inducing hilarity! Why "Try Not to Laugh" Jokes Are So Fun The beauty of try not to laugh jokes lies in their absurdity and punchy delivery. They’re designed to catch you off guard, with unexpected twists that lead to uncontrollable laughter. Plus, the challenge of trying not to laugh makes it even more fun! So get ready to stifle those giggles as we dive into the world of side-splitting humor! 20 Try Not to Laugh Jokes to Test Your Willpower What did one wall say to the other wall? I’ll meet you at the corner! Why did the bicycle fall over? Because it was two-tired! What did the grape do when it got stepped on? Nothing, it just let out a little wine! Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was outstanding in his field! Why don’t scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything! How does a penguin build its house? Igloos it together! Why was the math book sad? Because it had too many problems! What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, it just waved! Why did the cookie go to the hospital? Because it felt crummy! Why don’t skeletons fight each other? They don’t have the guts! What do you call fake spaghetti? An impasta! Why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants? In case he got a hole in one! How does a scientist freshen her breath? With experi-mints! What do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese! Why did the computer go to the doctor? It had a virus! What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire? Frostbite! Why did the stadium get hot after the game? All the fans left! What do you call a bear with no teeth? A gummy bear! Why can’t you give Elsa a balloon? Because she will let it go! What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie? Sofishticated! Bring on the Laughs! With these try not to laugh jokes, you’ve got a foolproof way to lighten the mood and spark some laughter. So gather your friends, challenge each other to keep a straight face, and enjoy the hilarity that ensues. Remember, it’s all in good fun—let the giggles flow and enjoy the moment!

[pikaclan]

Moon 399

Season: Greenleaf

Overarching Events

Not enough medicine cats

Misc

Scorchbud finds a warrior from FlightClan named Ravenstreak, who asks to join the Clan

Ceremonies

PikaClan welcomes Peartree as a new warrior, honoring their pragmatism

Newly-made apprentice, Nimblepaw, touches noses with their new mentor, Treestar

Newly-made apprentice, Orchidpaw, touches noses with their new mentor, Ravenlake

Deaths

Shrewdusk died from a broken bone

As the Clan sits vigil, swapping stories of Shrewdusk's life, Av Avalanchebeetle speaks of what they admired, and is grief-stricken Treestar grieves Shrewdusk but is not stricken

Roarweb was murdered. The culprit is unknown

Frogcry appraches the clearing where Roarweb's body lies, cold and lifeless. Defying expectations of sympathy and grief, Frogcry instead curses their fallen Clanmate to the Dark Forest where they belong (Roarweb was sent to StarClan but he did have DF affinity and was too insecure to act on it) Beamdrizzle grieves Roarweb but is not stricken

Riverfish and Stemkit go missing in the night

Fadedflake, Silkmimic grieve Riverfish but are not stricken

So much grief and death has taken its toll on PikaClan, Gingerhorn, Lemon Boy, and Starlingholly are particularly shaken by it

Deino and Bastettiger grieve Mistlewing but are not stricken

Misc 2

Starlingholly is caught breaking the Warrior Code

Flurryjoy received a present, crow feathers, from Gingerhorn and decided to keep it on their pelt

Quiverkit was playing with crow feathers, and decides to wear some

Thistlekit falls into a river, but is saved by Lightningblink

Health

Thundersight announces they're expecting kits but choose to continue duties for now Avalanchebeetle's phantom pain is gone, but their weak leg is bothering them Tremblemask fought a rogue and drove them away, but needed to be rushed to the medicine den, and got heat exhaustion Oddflight's bruises are gone Fogcrawl's shivering and frostbite are gone Silkmimic's weak leg is bothering them Frannie's running nose is gone Starlingholly misstepped and slipped from a rock, spraining their paw Scorchbud's wound is no longer infected and healed, but scarred

Andrew accidentally crossed the border on patrol and got their ear torn Shiveringivy got heat stroke Edelweissthrift got fleas Shadowgoat is no longer shivering/running nose gone Pearpaw's shivers died down Glowpaw is no longer shivering Lilacpaw is no longer shivering

[persephoneblackrose]

'You lied to us.'

The JL stood on the barren field behind Phantom, looking up to where he floated like a whisp. His cloak buffered around his shoulders, the crown slightly smaller than before and suspended above his head, just brushing the icy curls, and definitely not in danger of tipping over his eyes. Phantom had fought with a different sword than originally presented, a sword he held now. Batman moved to a more defensive position and the rest f the league followed.

'No, not technically' Danny smiled, 'Just a bit of a redesign.' he spoke kicking further off the ground, 'You assumed.'

Eyes narrowed, 'You told us you were 14.' Superman accused.

Danny tilted his head to the side, the crown did not fall, it fit now. 'Not a lie., He grinned amicably, 'technically.'

Constantine groaned, interrupting before anything potentially insensitive was spoken (Hal Jordan currently looking as a likely candidate) 'You died at 14.' rubbing between the eyes, 'illude and deceive.' He pulled a book from his trench coat, muttering, 'A Ghost King at 14. A kid to defeat Pairh Dark'

The idea to him must have suddenly seemed outlandish.

Danny must have heard; his eyes sharped marginally, he took a mental note for later, and disregarded.

Batman drew Phantom's attention, beginning his interrogation 'Who trained you?' The battle was intense and colossal, making on-scene analysis difficult if obsolete.

Phantom quirked a nod upwards, 'A king has its council. I was trained by the Ancients, Frostbite, Clockwork, Pandora-'

'Lady Pandora?' Wonder Woman stepped up, 'of the Box?'

'Yes.' Danny softened a smile. His eyes almost twinkled like stars, '..Cousin Diana.'

Wonder Woman grinned broadly, whip falling to her side, 'Ah, a Warrior of Ol-'

'How old are you really?' - Hal Jordon, the present Green Lantern. (looks like that comment was only delayed, not diverted entirely)

'16.'

Danny was entirely plain-spoken when he shattered their assumptions once more. (though, this time, he is unaware of that fact)

You know how most every au where the JL meet Danny and try to intimidate him, he just intimidates them back and does his best to give a "don't fuck with me" or "im tired leave me alone" vibe to try to make them back off? That or he's star struck. What if he decides to do something else. See, he does still do the intimidation thing to the random cults that summon him every other Tuesday. But the first time the JL does it? He decides to go a slightly different route to make them leave him alone.

Danny knows that the heroes don't take their young side kicks into the big fights. He knows they don't like it when kids get involved. He hates being referred to as a kid, but he's still 16 and well... why not use the heroes weakness against them? Instead of making himself a big and intimidating as he can, he makes his crown a bit to big so it keeps falling in his eyes, the fluff of his cape extra big so it all but swallow his neck and chin, lengthens it so that it drags on the ground just a bit, he has a sword that isn't the type he learned to fight with but is close so he seems off balance and untrained. He makes it look like everything is made for someone bigger and older than he is. He tells them freely that he is the *new* king, that he took Dark's place a year and a half ago. He tells them freely that he is 14 (technically not a lie). He makes sure to trip on his cape at least twice before he leaves.

After all, what better way to make sure they never summon them again than to make them feel guilt and horror at the thought of doing so?

Well what Danny didn't account for is most of the JL deciding "im gunna adopt the child and teach him how to use his powers properly."

Danny trying to make himself seem small and weak is probably the worst way to get the JL to leave him alone. Might as well have hit himself in a box with a "free to a good home" sign. Of course, a Phantom cross trained by all the league members would be insane. Like, hand to hand with Wonder Woman. Detective skills with Batman. Plus, can you imagine Superman tearing into Clockwork for allowing a child to take the throne?

I'd like this made into a full length story please.

[fairy-writes]

IM BACK!!! Here’s my second ask for your 900 followers!!

Could I get Douma x female reader with the dialogue prompt #17 please and thank you!!

Have free reign but FLUFFY!!!!!

ONE KISS LESS

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Demon Slayer

Pairing(s): Douma x Female!Demon!Reader

Prompt: “Will you let me fall in love with you?”

“Only if I can fall right back.”

“I’ll be sure to catch you when you do.” (Dialogue Prompt #17)

Notes: I have no clue if Douma is in character for this, but I’m trying anyway.

Some mild spoilers for Douma’s Blood Demon Art? But I don’t really go into detail, I only mention his weapon and what his ability does. 

I also stole the backstory of my kny character that I never published here (though I hadn’t figured out the pairing for that yet). 

__________________________________________________________________________

You were a peculiar character to Douma. Mostly because you never showed your face. 

You were a fellow demon, a low-level one. Though he learned it wasn’t because of any lack of talent on your part. On the contrary, you were quite powerful and had a myriad of clever and dirty tricks up your sleeve. You just never tried to get more power from Master Muzan. You were content to hide away in your little lair and eat whatever cocky demon slayer or regular human came by. 

The more he got to know you and your tricks, the more he decided he wanted you for his own.

So he started “conveniently” being in the area whenever you ventured out of your little house with pristine tatami mats and sliding doors. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a small Japanese-style home with a koi pond just on the edge of the Engawa. 

He discovered you mostly left your house to get more food for your fish. A mask always hid your face and your scissors in the sleeve of your kimono in case anyone got handsy with you. 

Which he also discovered happened more often than he would like. But he very well couldn’t do anything about it unless he wanted you to catch him. And he didn’t want that. Not yet, at least. 

When you finally did manage to catch him in his games, you weren’t upset like he was expecting. You were curious. 

“What would Upper Moon Two want with someone like me?” You ask, voice muffled through the ceramic and paint of your okame mask. The rosy cheeks mocked him, and he yearned to just rip it off and look upon your features. But that would scare you off. And he didn’t want that. Despite loving the idea of fear coloring your eyes. 

He gets the chance to see your face when he watches you almost die. 

You were dodging a swipe from a young demon slayer’s sword glinting a light blue in the moonlight. Douma watched from the trees, rainbow eyes flicking this way and that as the two of you traded blows. The demon slayer—a young boy of seventeen or eighteen—had cuts littering his face from your scissor blades, and your kimono was soaked in your blood from already healed wounds. 

Your white hannya mask is almost blinding in the light of the silver moon. Douma knows it’s just a trick of the light under the stars. But it’s stunning regardless. 

He steps in when you’re pinned against a tree by the Nichirin sword through your shoulder. The demon slayer stands triumphantly before you as he draws a shorter sword from its sheath on his opposite hip. 

Just as the blade comes down to sever your head from your neck, Douma whips out one of his gold-plated fans and freezes the demon slayer with his Blood Demon Art. The ice coats the slayer from his head to his toes, and Douma can see the frostbite settling in from underneath the ice.

You stumble away from the tree, tearing the Nichirin blade from your shoulder where the wound was already healing. In the blast of his fan, the ice had torn the mask from your face and shattered it against the ground, exposing your features for the world to see.

Brutal scars slit your mouth from the corners of your lips to your ears. They’re jagged and puckered and colored a perpetual angry red as if you had just received them. But if he were to guess, you had received them long ago. Likely when you first became a demon by Akaza’s hand—a fact he learned long after you two became acquainted. 

You had first gotten your scars when your husband flew into a violent rage after learning you could not bear him children, claiming you had mothered a child with someone else and was refusing to give him an heir. 

You had killed him with a blow to the head. 

Soon after, Akaza had found you covered in the blood of your husband’s head wound.

Never before had Douma wanted to thank Akaza for anything. But now he wanted to thank him for letting him meet you. 

Your relationship was a carefully cultivated thing. One built on trust on your part and scheming on his. But nevertheless, you two grew closer than Douma had planned. Until one day…

“Will you let me fall in love with you?” You whisper, face close and nose brushing his own. If he moved at all, he would have kissed you. 

And so he did. 

Just lightly, gently, as if he wasn’t even there. You inhaled, surprised, but you didn’t pull away. You press closer, a hand coming up to touch his unblemished face. Your hand is soft, like a feather. And he loved it as much as a demon could. 

But Douma pulled away with a mischievous smile. 

“Only if I can fall right back.” He teased and delighted when you smiled. It was a bit twisted with your scars marring your face. It was beautiful nonetheless. 

“I’ll be sure to catch you when you do.” You breathe and lean in to kiss him again. 

He grins against your lips. A small smile that twisted his features. But you couldn’t tell. Not when you pulled away and hid your face in your hands in utter joy. 

Oh, the plans he had for you.

[okiesoapie]

permafrost

kaeya alberich x reader

inspired by @hiraya-rawr’s post here

notes: established relationship, heavy angst, slight gore(?),

tw: major character death

Despite his seemingly friendly exterior, Kaeya Alberich was a cold man. His touch could give frostbite, and his words could leave one frozen. Life had him build walls of ice around his heart. A fortress impenetrable to all except you.

You, with your sunny disposition and comforting warmth. You, a traveling merchant who settled in Mondstat. As long as Kaeya had you by his side it felt like sunlight was warming him from head to toe, soothing the chill in his heart. You were like a fireplace on a freezing night, one that Kaeya couldn’t help but huddle closer to. The pain of his past was all worth it if it meant he could have you.

Kaeya didn’t realize the true meaning of “the light of my life” until he married his.

A newlywed man shouldn’t be working the day away, he muses to himself while eyeing paperwork. Kaeya had stayed in bed with you that morning for as long as he could, peppering kisses against your bare skin. Maybe even lingering by the doorstep to give you “one last kiss” goodbye.

Fidgeting with his wedding band (part of a matching set, with a sapphire in it’s center), he truly couldn’t wait to go home. It was funny how things he used to think of as mundane were much more pleasant when with you. All he could think about was having dinner together then relaxing with you in his embrace until he fell asleep.

Another busy day for the ever inefficient Favonius Knights. Kaeya found himself at Windrise with his order. It turned out that caravan carrying imported goods from Liyue had collapsed during a raid. 3 dead, 4 wounded. Kaeya planned to finish this efficiently yet as quickly as possible, so he could once again resume newly-wedded bliss.

Then, at a glance, he saw it. The faint glimmer of blue that he saw every morning in your shared bed. On the hands that passed him a cup of coffee before work. On the fingers that caressed his face, around his blind spot, during intimate moments. A glittering blue stone embedded in a silver band. A symbol of his love and hopes for the future.

Kaeya walked hesitantly to the the wrecked carriage paying little mind to the frost that followed him in his wake. His boots thumped heavily against the soil. Tendrils of ice scattered over pebbles and grass. You had told him that morning, over your morning coffee, that you were going to oversee a shipment of goods from Liyue. You had told him, when he kissed you goodbye, that you would see him at home.

Kaeya believed in your words like a devout worshipper, like a faithful man before the Divine. You were the only truth in a sea of a hundred lies. If you said you would be home, you would be. You had never lied to him. Not once.

Until today.

The hand found under the rubble, wearing a sapphire wedding ring, was devoid of life. Kaeya bent down and gave it a squeeze. You didn’t respond. He gripped you again, a little harder this time, and yet you remained limp in his hand. The metal band felt bitterly cold against Kaeya’s palm. A mockery to his belief that his happiness could last forever.

It felt like an eternity and a minute before they could get your body from under the wreckage. Kaeya scooped you into his arms and held you against his chest. He rocked you back and forth while burying his face into your hair. Kaeya felt his own chest rise and fall against your unmoving body. Whatever semblance of warmth you had left, he would take it. Kaeya would soak you into his skin until he was swallowed whole.

“Please,” he whispered, “it can be anyone. Anyone but you.”

You didn’t respond. You did nothing except lie still in his arms. Kaeya laced your hands together, so that both rings were touching. He wanted to scream. Cry until his voice was shattered. Yell so loud that it was certain you would hear him from the other side. Instead Kaeya pressed his lips to your face, staining your cheeks with his tears.

“It’s so, so cold.”

Windrise, with all its greenery, felt like an icy tundra, and he was a straggler caught in its snowstorm. The world had suddenly dropped a hundred degrees, and you had taken all of it’s warmth with you.

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a/n: hello everyone! probably will rewrite this in the future because this is my first angst fic, but I hope you liked it :))

[vuldak-juneau]

Juneau could see through his lies nearly as quickly as he could identify when she was being dishonest. His lie wasn’t what she found interesting, though. If she had to suffer this fool, she was at least curious as to why he felt compelled to lie. Plenty of people were going without rest as a compulsory part of their duty, but they didn’t lie about it. “Oh, really? When?” she asked, arms folded and tone direct. She didn’t believe him, and since he had no qualms about making his disbelief in her answers plain, neither did she. “Two, three weeks ago? I see you surveying others all the time, and somehow every time I lay down to rest, wake back up, and just about everything in between there you are. I beg of you–humor me. Why?” 

In an alternative setting, or perhaps a different phase of the moon, his vigilance might not be so irksome, but everything bothered her these days and his presence seemed to be unrelenting. As did his optimism. She blew a puff of breath through her nose. “For now? Sure, now until the next time we get ambushed,” she scoffed. However, if pressed to be realistic they were moving a little faster than she’d expected now that all of those sick with the blight were expired. Perhaps she ought to mourn those souls, but it felt more like the troupe had cut weight from a ship whose sinking was inevitable. 

Her hands settled on her hips as she watched him size her up. Even bundled into every layer of ratty cloth, worn clothing, and scraps of animal pelts she could find she was barely more than a slip of a girl. She was thin–thinner than normal as the journey starved and worn on an already small frame. It was a miracle the few fingers that poked through the hokes and missing fingers of the gloves she had managed to find weren’t lost to frostbite yet. Even so, a foxlike grin crossed her sharp features. However, the smile wasn’t exactly emoting happiness. “Of course it isn’t, but you had to stop and think about it,” she pointed out as if it was a small victory. “What is it my pa always used to tell me? You can’t bullshit a bullshitter? You didn’t fall for it, so I guess that makes you a bullshitter.” 

Juneau thought she had achieved some sort of small victory when he returned to tending the dying embers of his fire. She turned to make her exit again but halted when she heard his voice.  She could have guessed that he would try to tag along. The amount of people whom her protesting would rouse wasn’t worth the trouble, not when she could lose him in the woods. “I guess you better go fetch an ax,” she mumbled irritatedly as she began to march toward where he sat at the edge of the resting area completely unaware that what she said to him mirrored his reasoning for doubting her intentions just seconds earlier.

"I've had plenty of sleep already." He lied, shifting his gaze between her and the fire. She spoke the truth, although they were moving, it was not near satisfactory, some would blame the sick and the injured for that, but Alder only saw them as the ones that needed help the most, and that's what he was there for, even though the needs and urges would soon prevail - he could already feel weakness take over slowly as the darkness inside of him grew stronger in an attempt to survive. "It is enough for now..." At least they were moving, even if not as mucha as one would like, which meant they were getting farther and farther away from the problems of Iskaldrik.

Alder lifted his gaze towards hers finally, taking his time to look at her properly this time as he pondered about what she'd just said, looking for signs of what she was speaking of, but ultimately failing to see how she could be scarier than a creature of the Blight. Maybe youth really was that scary. "Is that so...?" He asked, trying not to sound unimpressed, offering her a soft smile. It was not good to contradict the newer generations as he'd been told, after all, they were the future and it would be best if the future didn't lose hope and bravery.

By herself? In the dark? Without an axe? The thoughts filled Alder's mind for a moment. He placed two of the left few pieces of dried wood in the fire so they'd burn for a few more minutes and got up. "Let's do it then, I'll help you with it." It was important to keep the fire alive as to not allow the group to freeze to death, so even though he knew she didn't mean it when she said she was going to collect wood, it'd be good to have another helping-hand. "You don't want to turn into an ice cube, do you?"