#fume veneer

[misswynters]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

featuring. Ekko x fem!reader

wc. 15.5k

synopsis. Born from house Arvino, one of the richest and influential families of piltover. You had it all from luxurious gifts, fancy meals, a magnificent bedroom and much more. You’re parents gave you everything you asked for. However still never satisfied you. You’re mind always looked at the injustice and suffering zaun was going through. That’s when you first met ekko, the firelights’ leader. Not very happy to have a pilty messing stuff up.

trope. “enemies to lovers”

warnings. slow burn, cursing, blood, kissing 0-0, suggestive

requested. by anon

a/n. slight spoilers for arcane s2, it’s more like enemies to friends to lovers (sorry) if there’s mistakes you don’t see it! aka not proofread (read it thrice) also there’s no war in this :)

Above, the shimmering towers stood tall, their wealth and power casting long shadows. Below, Zaun suffocated in its neon haze, its people forgotten in the depths of the city’s ambition. Whereas the glow of Piltover’s lights filled the skyline. From the balcony of your family estate, the stark contrast between Piltover and Zaun was undeniable.

“You think your actions are noble, but you’re a fool,” your father’s voice thundered from the dining room. His words, sharp and unyielding, echoed through the halls as you stood silently by the doorway. “Consorting with the undercity rabble is not only dangerous, it’s treacherous.”

“They’re not rabble. They’re people,” you countered, stepping forward with clenched fists. “You act like Zaun doesn’t exist, but they’re suffering because of Piltover’s greed.”

“You don’t understand the world you live in,” your mother added, her tone softer but no less cutting. “House Arvino holds power because we uphold order. Piltover thrives because of people like us. You risk everything with your reckless defiance.”

Frustration boiled within you. “Piltover thrives at the expense of Zaun. Those people deserve better.”

Your father slammed his fist onto the table. “Enough! You are an Arvino, and you will act like one. This rebellion of yours ends now.”

His command hung in the air, suffocating and absolute. You didn’t argue further. Instead, you turned on your heel and left, the weight of their disapproval bearing down on you. You wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Zaun had become a second home to you, even if it was a dangerous one. It was there, in the grimy depths of the undercity, that you had met Ekko. The boy with paint-streaked cheeks and a fire in his eyes had been as wary of you as you had been of him. Unfortunately, you had been too blinded by your own self-righteousness to notice the fire in his eyes. You thought your mission was noble, an act of goodwill to deliver medical supplies to Zaun’s struggling districts. Your family, House Arvino, had always prided itself on maintaining a veneer of philanthropy, even when their true motivations were rooted in politics. You had accompanied a group of Piltover enforcers on the trip, believing your presence would emphasize the importance of the task. You were wrong.

The moment you stepped into the heart of Zaun, the air itself seemed hostile. The tension was palpable, the sharp smell of chemical fumes mixing with the weight of countless wary stares from Zaunites who lined the streets. Your voice was soft and unsure as you addressed the gathered crowd, holding out your hands to show the crates of supplies. You thought you were doing something good, offering some small relief to people who had been forgotten.

But the enforcers who were armed and stoic, turned the scene into something far more sinister. They barked orders at the crowd, waving their weapons to ensure no one got too close. You had tried to intervene, to tell them this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos they had already sown.

That was when the boy appeared, the one you heard slight rumors about. At first, you didn’t know exactly who he was, only that he seemed fearless as he stepped forward. Placing himself between the crowd and the enforcers. His voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Another topsider playing savior,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think you can fix Zaun with scraps from your table?”

You had never been spoken to like that before. His words, sharp and accusatory, made your cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. You turned to him, trying to keep your composure despite the growing crowd that was watching the confrontation unfold.

“I’m not here to play savior,” you shot back, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. “I’m here to help.”

“Help?” He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. “Your kind doesn’t help. You just come down here to feel good about yourselves, then leave us to clean up your mess.”

“I’m trying to make a difference!” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his posture radiating defiance. “If you really wanted to make a difference, you wouldn’t bring enforcers with you like we’re criminals. You’d be standing with us, not above us.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Somewhere deep down, you knew he was right. The enforcers’ presence had turned an act of charity into a display of control, a reminder of Piltover’s dominance over Zaun. But admitting that felt like defeat, and you weren’t ready to back down.

“This isn’t about standing above anyone,” you argued. “I came here because I care. That’s more than most people from Piltover would do.”

“And that’s supposed to make you special?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Newsflash, princess, Zaun doesn’t need your pity. We need change.”

The enforcers stepped in before the argument could escalate further, pushing the crowd back and ordering you to return to the transport. You left with the weight of his words pressing heavily on your chest, his voice echoing in your mind long after you were gone.

Over the weeks that followed, you found yourself returning to Zaun despite the tension and despite him. Every time you came, he was there, watching you with that same guarded expression. It seemed like he could sense your discomfort, the guilt you carried for what Piltover had done to his home.

“Back again?” he would say, leaning casually against a wall with a smirk that made your blood boil. “Guess you didn’t get the message last time.”

“I’m not here for your approval,” you’d hiss back, your tone dry. “I’m here for the people who actually need help.”

“You think you’re helping?” he’d shoot back, his voice low and laced with frustration. “All you’re doing is putting a bandage on a bullet wound.”

His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they forced you to confront truths you didn’t want to face. He wasn’t wrong. Everything you did felt small, insignificant compared to the scale of Zaun’s struggles. And yet, you couldn’t stop coming back.

Ekko was unlike anyone you had ever known. He was quick-witted and determined, a rebel who refused to back down in the face of injustice. But he didn’t trust you, not completely. “You’re just another Pilty trying to fix a world you don’t understand,” he had told you once, his voice filled with disdain.

“And you’re just another rebel too angry to see the bigger picture,” you had shot back. Yet despite the constant sparring, you found yourself drawn to him, to the hope buried beneath his frustration.

That hope turned to chaos one night when enforcers raided the Firelights’ hideout. It happened so fast. One moment, you were in the Firelights’ hideout, quietly listening as Ekko outlined plans for their next move against Piltover’s oppression. The next, chaos erupted.

The sound of boots echoed sharply against the metal grates of Zaun’s narrow passages. The enforcers had found the hideout. Your breath caught as the unmistakable clatter of their weapons reverberated through the space. You stood frozen, staring at Ekko as he barked orders to the Firelights around him, his voice sharp and commanding.

“You brought them here, didn’t you?” His words were like a blade, cutting through the noise. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and your stomach churned with guilt.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, but your voice was drowned out by the growing commotion. The enforcers didn’t give anyone time to explain. They swarmed in, their heavy armor gleaming under the dim light, weapons raised. You reached for the nearest object which was a dainty metal rod. And tried stand your ground. You weren’t going to let them harm anyone, not here.

Ekko was already moving, his quick reflexes guiding him as he darted through the chaos. The Firelights fought back, using their intimate knowledge of Zaun’s layout to their advantage. Smoke bombs went off, shrouding the room in thick, stinging fog. He towards you with a slight disgusted look and yelled, “You have to leave, Now!”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, your voice defiant.

“You’ll just slow us down,” he snapped, the frustration in his tone cutting deeper than he intended. “They need me. And you need to go back to your perfect little life, staying safe.”

His words stung, but before you could argue, he vanished into the fray, leaving you behind. You tried to follow, weaving through the chaos, but you weren’t quick enough. An enforcer caught you in the shadows, his grip like iron as he slammed you against the wall. “Here you are.”

However the enforcers were relentless. One of them caught sight of you, his eyes narrowing as he grinned. You swung the rod with the little strength you had left, but it was no match for their training. Pain exploded across your abdomen as he shot you. It nearly missed your stomach, however you crumpled to the ground. Gasping for the little air you could muster.

Through the haze of smoke and pain, Ekko pull something from his belt. A device crackling with vibrant green energy. “Firelights, cover your eyes!” he shouted. The device emitted a blinding flash, followed by a wave of sound that sent the enforcers reeling. Their yells of confusion filled the air as they stumbled back, disoriented and clutching their helmets.

The Firelights seized the opportunity, retreating deeper into the hideout and disappearing into secret tunnels. Ekko crouched beside you, his hands shaking as he lifted your chin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

Without replied to his question, you stumbled out of his grasp. Going into the streets of Zaun, clutching your side as every step sent searing pain through your body. The world around you blurred, a mix of dim lights and the shadows of the towering structures above.

He was shocked to say the least. ‘Why did you leave so abruptly?’ he questioned himself. Ekko didn’t waste a second, he truly did try to hide it. But as soon as the enforcers were gone and the Firelights were safe, he was out the door. Searching for you and he didn’t want to admit it. He knew didn’t know you as much, but he knew you were stubborn. Matter fact for the short period of time he was with you, he knew you were too stubborn to admit how badly you were hurt.

“Where the hell did you go?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the narrow alleys and dimly lit corners of Zaun. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. You were nowhere to be found.

The beating left you crumpled on the ground, your vision blurred and your body trembling with pain. Somehow you managed to drag yourself back to Piltover, every step a battle against the agony that wrecked your body. By the time you stumbled into your family’s estate, the grand halls felt like a mockery of your suffering. Your parents returned hours later to find you collapsed in the foyer, your bruises stark against your weak skin. Their shock quickly turned to anger, though it was born of fear.

“This is what happens when you defy us,” your father said, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you see now? You can’t change the world. You can only get yourself killed.”

“I trying to help,” you murmured, your voice weak but resolute.

“They are not your people,” your mother said, her tone filled with a mix of pity and frustration. “You are our only child. We can’t lose you to some pointless crusade.” Their words lingered, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. The divide between Piltover and Zaun wasn’t just physical, it was ideological. You were caught between two worlds, neither one willing to accept you fully. The summons to the Council came the next morning. As you stood in the grand chamber, the weight of their judgment bore down on you. Ambessa Medarda, seated at the center, regarded you with cold disdain.

“You stand accused of undermining Piltover’s authority by associating with the undercity,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Do you deny these charges?”

“I was just trying to helping people,” you replied exhaustively, your voice steady despite the pain in your ribs.

Ambessa’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Helping? Piltover thrives because of order. And you, as an Arvino, have brought chaos to our city.”The council murmured their agreement, their disapproval a suffocating presence in the room.

“Your actions were reckless,” Ambessa continued. “And your injuries are your own doing. You clutched the knife and cut yourself on its blade, all in the name of some misguided sympathy for the undercity." Her words felt like another blow, each one landing with precision and force.

You straightened your back, though the pain flared at the effort. "I acted because the people of Zaun are ignored and oppressed. Piltover turns a blind eye while it prospers off their suffering. That's not order, it’s exploitation." The murmurs grew louder, some council members shifting uncomfortably in their seats. But Ambessa didn't waver. Her gaze bore into you, her lips curling with faint amusement.

"Such passion," she mused. "But passion without purpose is just noise. You may think yourself a savior, but all you've done is tarnish your family's name and threaten the stability of our city."

Before you could respond, the chamber doors swung open with a heavy groan, and your parents entered. Dressed in their finest, House Arvino's patriarch and matriarch carried themselves with the grace and dignity that Piltover revered. Yet the tension in their features betrayed their unease.

"Ambessa," your father began, his tone measured but firm. "My child's actions, while impulsive, stem from a place of compassion. Surely the Council can recognize that their intentions were not malicious."

"Compassion?" Ambessa's tone was mocking. "Compassion does not excuse rebellion. House Arvino has always stood for loyalty to Piltover's ideals. Is that no longer the case?"

Your mother stepped forward, her voice calm but resolute. "Our loyalty has never wavered. But to degrade my child in front of this council as if they are a common criminal is unacceptable." Ambessa's expression darkened.

"Unacceptable is your heir jeopardizing the balance we've worked so hard to maintain. Zaun is a powder keg, and actions like theirs threaten to ignite it." You bit your lip to keep from speaking. The words you wanted to hurl at her-at all of them-burned on your tongue, but your mother's warning glance silenced you.

"House Arvino will address this matter internally," your father said, his voice brooking no argument. "We will ensure that such actions are not repeated."

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, studying your parents with a calculating gaze. "See that you do. Piltover cannot afford dissent from within its own ranks." The council murmured their agreement, and the session was adjourned. As you were escorted from the chamber, the weight of the council's disdain hung heavy over you.

Back in the confines of your family's estate, the anger you had suppressed boiled over. You slammed your hands against the polished surface of your desk, the pain in your ribs flaring with the movement. "They're cowards," you spat, your voice trembling with fury. "All of them. Sitting in their gilded towers while Zaun suffers."

"Alright thats enough," your father said sharply, entering the room with your mother close behind. "You don't understand the position you've put us in. House Arvino cannot afford to be seen as weak or disloyal."

"I don't care about any of that!" you shouted, turning to face them. "Zaun doesn't have the luxury of appearances. They're dying while we live in luxury!"

Your mother's expression softened, but her voice was firm. "We understand your frustration. But your actions cannot continue. They will destroy you, and us." Their words echoed Ekko's from the night before, and the parallel struck a chord. You sank into a chair, the fight leaving you as exhaustion took its place. "I can't just stop. Not when I know what's happening down there."

Your father sighed, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Then you must find another way. A way that doesn't make enemies of those who hold power." The conversation ended there, but the fire within you didn't dim. If anything, it burned brighter. You couldn't stop. Not now.

Months have passed since your bruises had faded were a careful balancing act, though you still visited Zaun, slipping away under the guise of errands or charitable outings. But you couldn’t risk your parents catching on. To lessen their suspicions, you began inviting Ekko to your home. It was a calculated move, one that made your absences less frequent and gave the illusion that you’d abandoned your cause entirely.

Your room was a testament to Piltover’s grandeur, a lavish blend of opulence and elegance. High ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing framed the space. The sheer curtains cascaded from tall windows, filtering moonlight across the polished marble floor. A canopy bed, draped in silken fabrics, sat at the room’s center, its pillows and blankets impossibly soft. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes ranging from engineering texts to poetry. A chandelier, all crystal and gleaming light, hung overhead, casting a warm glow over every corner.

It was in this very room that Ekko sat now, hidden behind the lush velvet curtains of one of the tall windows. Your father had come to check on you earlier, his heavy footsteps unmistakable in the hallway. When he entered, you were seated at your desk, feigning focus on a mundane ledger. He lingered by the door, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on you. “You’ve been staying home more often,” he observed.

You offered a nonchalant shrug. “I realized it was pointless to keep going there. It’s useless trying to fix what can’t be fixed.”

Your father’s face betrayed nothing, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “A wise choice,” he said simply, and without another word, he left.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly, waiting until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then, turning your head slightly, you murmured, “You can come out now.”

Ekko stepped from behind the curtains, his movements silent but confident. He was a great contrast to your room’s pristine elegance. His clothes patched and worn, his presence a reminder of the worlds you tried to somehow balance. “You’re getting good at lying,” he remarked, a teasing edge to his tone.

You rolled your eyes, motioning for him to sit on the plush chair near your desk. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on brainstorming plans here.”

“It’s safer,” he replied, settling into the chair and pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “Besides, you’re the one with the luxury of access. If we’re going to unite the cities, we need someone who can work both sides.”

You hated how his words made your heart race. Not because of their weight but because it was Ekko saying them. Somewhere in the months of sneaking around and strategizing, you’d grown to like him in a way that went far beyond friendly admiration. You buried those feelings deep, telling yourself there was no time for distractions.

The hours passed as the two of you pored over maps, scribbled ideas, and argued over logistics. The moon rose higher in the sky, its silver light pouring through the windows and bathing your room in an ethereal glow. Ekko grew quieter as the night wore on, his usual sharp wit replaced by a pensive silence. You noticed his gaze flickering to you more often, lingering for moments too long before darting away. At first, you ignored it, chalking it up to exhaustion. But when you caught him staring for the fifth time, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you questioned, leaning back against your chair.

“About how strange it is, being here,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. “This room, this world…it feels like it shouldn’t exist. Like it’s too perfect to be real.”

“It’s not perfect,” you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the papers on your desk. “It’s a gilded cage. Nothing more.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Then, slowly, he stood and crossed the room to where you sat.

“I hate to say this. But atleast i’m here…” he said hesitantly, his voice low and steady.

Something in his tone made your breath hitch. You looked up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in.

Ekko met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. His hand found the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was raw, desperate, and full of the emotions you'd both kept bottled up for too long.

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you back toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The world blurred around you, your senses overwhelmed by the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he made you feel alive in a way you never had before.

You fell onto the bed, the soft blankets and pillows cushioning your back as he leaned over you, his weight a comforting pressure. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you again and again, each one more passionate than the last.

It wasn't until his arms braced on either side of your head that he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes.

"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, his voice hoarse. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "You might as well…" And as he leaned down to kiss you again, you knew there was no going back from this.

Golden hues of the afternoon sun spilled into your room through the tall, arched windows, painting the polished wooden floors in a mosaic of light and shadow. Outside, the tranquil sounds of Piltover carried through the crisp air. The distant hum of mechanized carriages, the faint chatter of passersby, and the melodic chirping of birds perched along the grand gardens that surrounded your home. Everything was perfect, picturesque even, but it all felt hollow.

Your bedroom was a masterpiece of luxury, a reflection of House Arvino’s status. Elegant bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes you once eagerly devoured. A velvet armchair sat by the fireplace, its cushion still as pristine as the day it arrived, and your grand four-poster bed was draped in silk, untouched except for the rumpled corner where you sat. Yet, despite the warmth and beauty of the space, it felt cold.

You hadn’t touched your breakfast that morning, nor the one the day before. The silver tray your maid brought hours ago sat untouched on your writing desk, the tea long gone cold. Your appetite had vanished with him.

“Miss,” came a tentative voice from the doorway. You turned to see Anya, your maid, standing there with a concerned expression. She stepped into the room, her brow furrowed as her gaze swept over you. “You haven’t eaten again. This isn’t healthy.”

You waved her off without meeting her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she pressed gently, her voice tinged with worry. “You’ve barely touched your meals for over a week. If this continues, I’ll have to tell your parents.”

Her words sent a jolt through you. The last thing you wanted was for your parents to get involved. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. But you knew Anya was serious. Her loyalty to you didn’t outweigh her duty to ensure your well-being.

“Alright,” you relented, forcing a weak smile. “I’ll eat later.”

Anya didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and left the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You leaned back against the plush pillows of your bed, staring up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling. Days had turned into weeks since Ekko had kissed you in this very room. Weeks since you’d seen him, since you’d spoken to him. At first, you’d waited eagerly, expecting him to climb through your window with that same confident smirk he always wore. But as the days passed, hope turned to disappointment.

However, the first week had been agony. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the trees outside, had sent your heart racing, only for it to sink when you realized it wasn’t him. You told yourself he was busy, that Zaun demanded too much of him to spare a moment for you. But as the second week came and went, you began to question everything.

Was the kiss a mistake? Did he regret it? The thought gnawed at you, leaving you restless and irritable. Eventually, you stopped waiting. You stopped glancing at the window, stopped listening for the familiar sound of his footsteps. If he didn’t want to see you, then fine. You wouldn’t waste your time waiting for someone who clearly didn’t care.

But despite your best efforts to move on, the ache in your chest remained. It showed in the way you pushed away your meals, the way you avoided the social gatherings your parents encouraged you to attend. Your mother had noticed, of course, her sharp eyes taking in your pale complexion and listless demeanor. “Are you unwell, darling?” she’d asked one evening, her tone as polished as ever.

You’d smiled and lied, assuring her it was nothing more than fatigue. She’d accepted your answer, but her gaze lingered, skeptical.

Now, as you sat in your room, the weight of it all pressing down on you, you realized you couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep letting his absence control your life. If he didn’t care, then neither should you. But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, the truth was undeniable. You missed him.

The days stretched on, blending into a monotony of forced smiles and empty conversations. You threw yourself into the routines of Piltover’s elite. Attending social calls, charitable luncheons, and the parties where everyone whispered behind jeweled fans about alliances and intrigue. On the surface, you seemed like yourself again. You laughed when expected, nodded politely during dull conversations, and played the part of the perfect child of House Arvino.

But beneath the carefully constructed façade, a storm brewed. No matter how hard you tried to bury it, the memory of Ekko lingered, sharper and more vivid with each passing day. His voice, his touch, the way he had kissed you. It all haunted you. It didn’t make sense, you told yourself. He was just a friend, nothing more. Yet the thought of him ignoring you, of deliberately staying away, clawed at your chest.

One night, long after the rest of your house had gone to bed, you sat by your window, staring out at the glowing lights of Piltover. The thought hit you with the force of a hammer. You know deep down that you couldn’t keep waiting. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would go to him.

The decision wasn’t easy. It took days to build up the courage, to push aside the fear of what you might find. But when you finally made your way to Zaun, the heavy air and dim light of the undercity greeted you like an old adversary. You navigated the twisting streets, every step bringing back memories of the times you’d spent here. How he had carefully and slowly opened this world to you, how you’d fought for it together. Well atleast try to.

When you finally reached the Firelights’ hideout, you felt your stomach tighten. It looked the same as ever, but something about it felt different. You spotted him almost immediately, standing near a table strewn with maps and tools, his back to you. “Ekko,” you called out, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.

He turned slowly, his face unreadable. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it surprise, maybe even relief. Either way it didn’t matter because it was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy look. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone cold.

The words hit you harder than you expected. “I… I came to see you. It’s been weeks, and—”

“And what?” He cut you off, turning away to fiddle with something on the table. “You’ve got a life up there. What do you need me for?”

Your chest tightened, anger bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I just forgot about you. You’re the one who stopped coming around.”

He scoffed, finally turning to face you. “Stopped coming around? You think I’ve got time to play house? I’ve got real things to deal with here, things that actually matter.”

The words stung, but you refused to back down. “And I don’t? Do you think it’s easy for me to come here, to fight for a place I don’t even belong to? I thought we were doing this together, Ekko.”

He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t belong here. This about you. You can go back to your fancy dinners and your perfect life anytime you want, but this is my reality.”

You clenched your fists, your own voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare act like I haven’t sacrificed anything! Do you know what it’s like to lie to everyone you care about, to pretend you’re someone you’re not, just so you can try to make a difference?”

“Sacrifice?” he shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You don’t know the first thing about sacrifice.” The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you both. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the anger simmering in the silence.

Finally, you took a shaky breath, your voice softer but no less firm. “You don’t get to decide what I care about, Ekko. I came here because I thought you were my friend.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for you to come.” The words were like a slap to the face, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t bother you again.”

You turned on your heel, walking away before he could see the tears starting to swell in your eyes. But just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you. “Wait.”

You hesitated, your hand on the worn wood, but you didn’t turn around.

“I…” His voice faltered, the anger replaced by something softer. He inched his head as he paced around, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You looked back at him, his expression finally cracking. There was pain in his eyes, the same pain you’d been carrying for weeks.

“Then what did you mean?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I didn’t know what to say. After what happened, I thought it’d be easier if I stayed away. But it wasn’t.”

Your shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of you. Looking at with with complete disbelief. “Seriously! You could’ve just told me.”

He nodded, his expression filled with regret. “Yeah. I should’ve.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the weight of the argument lingering in the air. But as you looked at him, at the boy who had opened your eyes to so much, you felt the anger fade, replaced by something else. This was something you weren’t ready to admit to anyone.

A few months have passed and things were relatively calm, much hasn’t happened since then. The suffocating air of Piltover’s council chamber lingered in your mind as you strode through the bustling streets of Zaun. The conversations in those hallowed halls always left a bitter taste on your tongue. They spoke of progress and prosperity, but beneath the gilded rhetoric, it was all about control. To control of resources, people, and power. It was a game you were born into but had grown to despise.

You moved swiftly, your hood pulled low to shield your face from prying eyes. The undercity was alive with its usual chaos, but you’d long learned to navigate its labyrinthine streets without drawing attention. This was your escape, your solace. The world of House Arvino, your family’s wealth, influence, and ties to the Council. It all felt more like chains with each passing day.

The hideout was tucked deep within the shadows of Zaun, a sanctuary for the oppressed and rebellious. It had become a second home to you, a place where you could finally breathe. Ekko had been wary of you at first, rightfully so. Your name carried weight in Piltover, and trust wasn’t something he gave freely. But over time, you’d proven yourself.

Today, the air in the hideout was thick with tension. Ekko was at the center of it all, his voice calm but commanding as he gave orders to his crew. He noticed you immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as you approached.

“Back again?” he asked, leaning against a makeshift table. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a quiet concern he rarely voiced outright.

“I can’t seem to stay away,” you replied, offering a small smile.

His lips twitched, almost forming a grin, but he shook his head instead. “You’re playing a dangerous game, y’know?”

You shrugged. “I know.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering as if he was trying to decipher something. Then, with a sigh, he gestured for you to follow him to a quieter corner.

“What’s really going on?” he asked once you were alone. “You’ve been coming here more often, and I know it’s not just to check on the Firelights.”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of your cloak. “I… I don’t know if I can keep doing this. Pretending like everything’s fine topside when I know how much blood is on their hands. My family’s hands.”

He frowned, his usual confidence giving way to something softer. “You’re not responsible for what they do.”

“Aren’t I?” you countered, your voice rising. “I’m part of them, Ekko. Every time I go back to that house, every time I sit in those meetings, I’m complicit. I’m part of the system that’s crushing this place.”

The intensity of your words caught him off guard, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. “Then why do you keep going back?”

“Because…” You trailed off, your throat tightening. “Because I thought I could help. That I could use my position to make a difference. But now, I’m not so sure. The Council sees Zaun as nothing more than a problem to be solved, more importantly, destroyed.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. “They’ll never stop. Not unless we make them.”

You couldn’t stop thinking of the face ekko made when you told him what you were internally thinking. How the council thinks so poorly about zaun, how it can be something that wouldn’t be missed if it was gone. It was horrible that most of the topsiders thought the same way, had the same mindset.

You walked briskly, the streets unfamiliar under the heavy shadows of the evening. You had chosen this route for its discretion, a calculated decision that now felt dangerous in its isolation.

Your heart pounded in your chest, though you didn't want to admit why. It wasn't fear of being recognized or stopped by one of Zaun's residents. No, this was something more insidious. A seed of doubt planted by weeks of balancing on a blade's edge between two lives. House Arvino's influence was undeniable, and it had kept you shielded from true danger for so long. But here in Zaun, your family name meant less than nothing. To most, you were just another noble, another cog in the machine grinding them into dust.

Ambessa had recently cornered you in Piltover's glittering council halls, her words honeyed but laced with venom. She had offered you promises of power, privilege, and security for your family. In order to gain immunity from suspicion, all in exchange for complete submission. You'd nodded and played your role, but the encounter left you hollow. The high society life you'd once cherished now felt like a gilded cage, and her offer only tightened the bars.

Yet, her influence was terrifying. Under Ambessa's direction, the Council had started scrutinizing House Arvino with an alarming intensity. The Firelights, they claimed, had spies in Piltover. And somehow, House Arvino's connections to Zaun became their scapegoat. You were well aware of what that scrutiny meant-your family was being squeezed, maneuvered into a position where betrayal seemed the only way to survive. A betrayal by who? you thought.

As you turned a corner into an empty alley, those doubts turned into a growing unease. The silence around you felt oppressive, unnatural. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder. That was when the first strike landed, the butt of the gun hitting your head. You staggered, gasping in pain, only to be shoved against the damp wall. A rough hand grabbed your cloak and yanked it back, revealing your face to the enforcers.

"Well, well," one sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A little lost noble playing savior in Zaun yet again."

"Let go!" you hissed, trying to pull free. But there were too many of them, and their grips were forceful and rough.

"We know all about your little meetings with the boy," another enforcer said, driving his fist into your stomach. "Did you really think you could run around down here without consequences? Or did your family forget to teach you how the real world works?" The pain blurred your vision as you crumpled to the ground. You clawed at the dirt, trying to crawl away, but another blow landed, then another.

Laughter echoed around you as they kicked and struck without mercy. The worst part wasn't the physical pain. It was the guilt, the sickening realization that you'd been naive enough to believe there could be change. Especially from within the Council's walls. You'd hoped that by walking the line between your family and the Firelights, you could create something better. But this? This was your reward for dreaming too much.

Tears blurred your vision as you curled into yourself, trying to shield your head. "Stupid," you whispered through clenched teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." You slammed your fist against your temple, desperate to drown out the pain, the voices, the failure.

The enforcers stepped back momentarily, likely to assess whether you were still conscious. But before they could strike again, a loud crackling sound filled the air. "Back off," came a familiar voice, sharp and commanding.

You barely managed to open your eyes, but the sight was unmistakable. Ekko and his hoverboard gleaming as he charged forward. Behind him, several Firelights emerged from the shadows, their makeshift weapons glowing in the dim light.

"What the-" one enforcer started, but Ekko was already upon him, a precise swing of his bat sending the man sprawling. The Firelights fought with a ferocity that sent the enforcers scattering, though Ekko's eyes never left you. He reached your side in moments, dropping to his knees. "Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Don’t go close your eyes, stay with me now."

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Blood trickled from a huge gash above your brow, staining your face. Ekko pressed a hand to your shoulder to steady you, but you flinched. Your fist weakly hitting your own head again. "Stop it," he said firmly, grabbing your wrist before you could hurt yourself further. "Hey! Don't do that."

"I'm an idiot," you mumbled, your voice barely audible. "| thought... I thought they could change. That Piltover could change. But I was wrong. They'll never stop."

His expression softened, though his jaw was still tight with anger. "You're not an idiot. You're just optimistic... too hopeful for your own good."

The Firelights surrounded you, their movements tense as they prepared for more enforcers to arrive. Ekko lifted you carefully, his arm supporting your weight. "We need to move," one of his crew said.

"Yeah i know," Ekko replied, his eyes still on you. "Let's get out of here."

As he carried you to safety, the weight of your choices pressed down on you like never before. Your family would demand answers. The Council would escalate their efforts. And Ambessa? Oh, she’s gonna have a fieldday with this. She would stop at nothing to make you pay for what she'd see, see it as a betrayal to your own people. But as Ekko held you steady, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos, you realized something else. You were no longer just caught between two worlds, you were tearing one down to build the other.

Ekko’s chambers weren’t lavish, but they were purposeful, an organized chaos that spoke of a leader always in motion. The space was tucked inside one of the largest branches of the Firelight’s sprawling treehouse hideout. The soft glow of lanterns filled the room, their light reflecting off walls adorned with maps, sketches, and scattered tools. From the small window, you could see the hideout below, a buzzing network of walkways, platforms, and people moving with quiet purpose.

The bed you lay on was makeshift but sturdy, piled with blankets and pillows that smelled faintly of Zaun’s metal-tinged air. Your body ached everywhere. Sharp, stinging pains in some places, a deep, relentless soreness in others. Slowly, you tried to sit up, wincing as the movement sent sharp jolts of pain through your ribs.

Across the room, Ekko stood at a workbench, tinkering with something that sparked faintly under his fingers. His braids were tied back, and his jacket was slung over the back of a chair, leaving him in a simple shirt that clung to his frame. When he glanced over and saw you struggling to rise, his eyes widened, and he immediately abandoned his project.

“Hey, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, crossing the room in a heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you tried to wave him off.

“You’re not fine,” he countered, his hands carefully but firmly guiding you back down onto the bed. “You’ve been out for two days, and you can barely sit up without wincing.”

“I can handle it,” you said, though your body betrayed you with another sharp wince as you tried to adjust yourself on the pillows.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ekko replied dryly, but his voice softened as he knelt beside the bed. “Seriously. You need to rest. Let me help.”

There was a quiet moment as he adjusted the pillows behind you, moving with surprising gentleness. His hands lingered briefly, his eyes scanning your face as if double checking for signs of discomfort.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

He shook his head, leaning back on his heels. “You don’t have to thank me. I just… You scared the hell out of me, y’know?”

You glanced away, guilt stirring in your chest. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t think it would get THAT bad.”

Ekko sat back on the floor, his arms resting on his knees as he studied you. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “When I found you, you were hitting yourself and saying all these… awful things. About yourself.”

Your breath hitched at the memory, shame washing over you. “It’s just… something I do when I’m frustrated,” you admitted, not meeting his gaze. “I was angry, at everyone and everything. Y’know, I thought I could make a difference, but I was wrong. I let everyone down.”

“Oh come on don’t say that,” Ekko said firmly, cutting you off. “You didn’t let anyone down. You’re one of the only people from Piltover who actually cares about Zaun. And yeah, maybe you were too optimistic, but that’s not a bad thing. You don’t deserve what they did to you.” His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, he added, “It’s not safe for you to go back to Piltover.”

You frowned, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been hearing things,” Ekko said, his expression darkening. “Rumors. Ambessa’s pissed. She thinks you’ve betrayed the Council, and she’s not the kind of person to let something like that slide. Word is, she wants your head.” The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you slumped back against the pillows. “So that’s it, then?” you said bitterly. “I can’t go home. I can’t go back to Piltover. What am I supposed to do now?”

Ekko leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “You stay here,” he said simply. “With me. You’ve got people who will vouch for you for the most part. I’ll fight for you.” Something in his tone made your chest tighten, and for the first time in days, a small, hesitant smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, Ekko. For literally everything.”

He reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Anytime .”

, marked with red ink, highlighted the areas where House Arvino’s trade routes intersected with Zaun’s underbelly.

A grizzled Baron leaned forward, his metallic fingers tapping against the table. “House Arvino’s little noble has gone rogue,” he rasped, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “The Council’s after them, sure, but that just makes this all the more interesting for us.”

Another Baron, her voice honeyed but sharp, chimed in. “If we get our hands on them, imagine the leverage we’d have. Not just over Arvino, but the Council and even the Firelights. They’re a walking, breathing key to the chaos we’ve been craving.”

“They’re already in Zaun,” another added, her tone laced with confidence. “All we need is patience. When the time is right, we’ll make our move.” The Barons exchanged nods, their plan unspoken but clear. For now, they would wait, watching, their web of spies and informants slowly tightening around you.

From across the platform, Ekko leaned casually against a railing, watching the interaction unfold. His arms were crossed, but there was a noticeable softness in his gaze, a flicker of something close to admiration.

In the days that followed, the children of the hideout began to gravitate toward you. They tugged at your hands, peppering you with questions about Piltover and laughing at your awkward attempts to keep up with their boundless energy. You found yourself helping where you could, organizing supplies, assisting with small repairs, and even attempting to teach some of the younger ones how to read.

Though the older Firelights were slower to trust, you noticed their glances were no longer as sharp, their whispers not as harsh. You were earning your place here, bit by bit, though it was a far cry from the life you had once known. Piltover, with its grand halls and polished façades, felt like a distant memory now, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to cling to.

Ekko, ever watchful, seemed to take quiet satisfaction in your efforts. He didn’t say much, but his presence was definitely there. Whether he was checking on you or working alongside the others. There was a rhythm to life in the hideout, and you were beginning to find your place within it.

Unbeknownst to you, danger loomed closer than you realized. The Chem Barons’ spies were everywhere, watching, reporting back with meticulous detail. Every interaction you had, every movement you made, was noted. To them, you were a pawn in a much larger game, one that could tip the balance of power in Zaun.

“They’re softening,” one spy reported back, his voice low as he spoke into a communicator hidden beneath his cloak. “The Firelights trust them more every day. If we move now, it’ll be too obvious.”

“Let them feel safe,” came the reply, cold and calculating. “When the time is right, we’ll take them. And when we do, House Arvino will learn what happens when they meddle in Zaun’s affairs.”

It was another ordinary morning in the hideout when you decided to venture outside Ekko’s chambers. The soreness in your body was a dull ache now, manageable but constant. As you stepped onto the main platform, the sunlight filtering through the leaves felt warm on your skin, a stark contrast to the chill of Piltover’s marble halls.

You hadn’t noticed Ekko watching you until you caught his reflection in the metal plating of a nearby railing. He was perched on a ledge, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone teasing as you turned to face him fully.

Ekko smirked, hopping down from the ledge with practiced ease. “Just making sure you’re not overdoing it,” he shot back. “You’ve got a habit of biting off more than you can chew.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms despite the ache in your shoulders. “I’m fine, Ekko. I’ve been fine. You don’t have to keep hovering.”

His expression softened, but he didn’t back down. “Someone has to. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably still be lying in the street.” The reminder stung, not because it wasn’t true, but because it forced you to confront just how fragile your position had become. You looked away, scanning the hideout below where Firelights bustled about their tasks. The children’s laughter floated up, a soothing balm to the tension that threatened to settle between you and Ekko.

“I’ve been trying to help,” you murmured. “I don’t want to be a burden. It’s just that…” You trailed off, unsure of how to put the conflict in your heart into words.

Ekko stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re not a burden,” he said firmly. “But you’re not invincible either. And if you keep throwing yourself into danger like this, someone’s going to take advantage of it.” His words hit harder than you cared to admit, but before you could respond, a group of children came running up, dragging you into their latest adventure A game that involved climbing ropes strung between the platforms. You gave Ekko a grateful smile, silently promising him you’d be careful, even if you weren’t entirely sure how.

That night, as the Firelights settled into the quiet hum of evening, Ekko pulled you aside. His chambers felt more like a refuge now than a room, its warmth amplified by the soft glow of firelight reflecting off polished metal and glass.

“You’ve been doing good here,” he began, leaning against his workbench. “The kids adore you, and even the older crew is starting to come around. But it’s not just about fitting in, you know?”

You tilted your head, unsure where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the table. “The Chem Barons,” he said finally, his tone heavy. “They’ve got their eyes on you now. Your family’s deals with them? Those don’t go unnoticed. And with the Council already hunting you, you’re stuck between two very dangerous sides.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. “So what do I do?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ekko stepped closer, his gaze meeting yours. “Like i said earlier, you stay here. The Firelights are your best chance now. We’ll protect you, but you’ve got to let us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the fear gnawing at your resolve. “And my family?”

“Well they already made their choice,” he said, his tone softening. “Now you’ve got to make yours.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. Ekko’s steady presence was a comfort, a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you felt.

You have spent the last few weeks peacefully managing your new life in zaun. As for today, it was surely a day to remember. It had been long but rewarding. You’d spent most of it helping around the hideout, patching up clothes, organizing supplies, and entertaining the children with small stories and makeshift games. Their laughter had been infectious, warming a part of you that you didn’t even realize had grown cold. But now, as the sun set and the last streaks of orange faded from the sky, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket.

Returning to Ekko’s chambers felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The room was quiet, the gentle hum of activity outside muffled by the thick wood and steel walls. The soft glow of a makeshift lamp illuminated the space, casting warm shadows across the worn furniture. The room smelled faintly of oil and smoke, mixed with something earthy. You didn’t even bother taking off your boots, flopping onto the bed with a sigh and burying your face in the worn but surprisingly soft blankets.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. You weren’t sure. You only stirred when you heard the sound of the door opening and closing quietly. Lifting your head, you spotted Ekko standing near the entrance, his figure backlit by the dim lights outside. His jacket was off, his sleeveless shirt revealing the lean muscle of his arms. His hair was tied back tonight, though a few strands had fallen loose, framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You look dead,” he teased, though there was no humor in his voice. His eyes swept over you, his usual sharpness softened by concern.

“I feel dead,” you replied, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Ekko crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling a chair closer to sit by the bedside. “Long day?”

You nodded, not bothering to sit up. “Rewarding, though. The kids are exhausting, but in a good way. I think I’m finally starting to feel like I’m… I don’t know, contributing?”

He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “You’ve done more than enough already. They’re warming up to you faster than I thought they would. Guess you’ve got a knack for making people feel safe.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, but your body felt too heavy to do much more than that. “Maybe. Or maybe they just like the shiny Piltover noble playing dress-up as a Firelight.”

“You’re more than that,” he said softly, almost too softly for you to hear. The weight of his gaze drew your attention. Turning your head, you found his eyes fixed on you, dark and intense in a way that made your stomach twist. There was something unspoken in his expression, something raw and magnetic.

“Ekko,” you said, his name slipping from your lips like a warning. He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he brought himself closer to your level. The air between you grew thick, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed willing to break.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved, not to touch you, but to hover near your face, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right. “You should rest,” he said finally, though his voice was strained, as though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed you. There was a nervous tremor there, one that you couldn’t quite suppress.

“You’re not,” he replied, his tone sharper this time, though the edge was softened by the way his hand dropped to his lap, curling into a fist. “And you shouldn’t have to keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. He was too close, his presence overwhelming in a way that left you both yearning and terrified. For a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might close the unbearable distance between you. And part of you wanted him to. But you couldn’t.

As if sensing your hesitation, Ekko pulled back, though his expression betrayed the conflict raging inside him. He rose from the chair abruptly, turning his back to you as he ran a hand over his face. “I need to check on something,” he said, his voice tight.

You sat up slightly, confusion and guilt warring within you. “Ekko, wait—”

“There’s food on the table,” he interrupted, not turning to face you. “You should eat. And…” He hesitated, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I left something for you. Thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. You stared at the space he’d just vacated, the room suddenly feeling much larger and lonelier than it had before.

Rising from the bed, you made your way to the small table in the corner. A covered plate of food sat there, still warm, alongside a neatly wrapped package. Your fingers trembled as you opened it, revealing a small, intricately carved pendant in the shape of a firefly. The sight of it brought a lump to your throat. You clutched the pendant tightly, sinking back into the chair as a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. Ekko had left, but his presence lingered in every corner of the room, in the care he’d shown you, in the gift he’d left behind.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the hectic day and the unresolved tension between you pressing down like a heavy blanket. But even as exhaustion pulled you under, you couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes. The way they had looked at you, filled with longing and restraint.

Hours ticked by like an endless parade of thoughts that refused to settle. You sat in Ekko’s chair, knees drawn up slightly as your elbows resting on them. cradling your head in your hands. A sigh escaped your lips, heavy and full of frustration, as your thoughts spiraled into overthinking once again. Why hadn’t he kissed you earlier?

At first, you tried to dismiss it as if it was nothing, just a fleeting moment, something that could be easily explained away by the heat of the moment. But deep down, you knew better. The way he had looked at you wasn’t casual or friendly. It was something more, something intense and unspoken.

Still, you couldn’t help but doubt. Maybe he had been teasing, the way friends sometimes did to lighten the mood. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and you’d simply read too much into it. But then your mind wandered back to that day in your bedroom. The memory of his closeness as the tension that sparked between you like lightning in a thunderstorm.

Friends don’t act like that.

But then again, why had he ignored you for weeks after that moment? Why hadn’t he said anything or even done anything, to give you some clarity? The questions swirled in your head, each one feeding into the next, until your chest felt tight and your breathing shallow.

You let out another sigh, leaning forward until your forehead almost touched your knees. “What are you doing to me, Ekko?” you murmured to yourself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

You glanced at the door for the hundredth time, wondering where he’d gone. What was keeping him out so late or rather so early, given the faint light of sun beginning to creep into the room. Would he even come back tonight? Or was this going to be like before, where he disappeared for days, leaving you to piece together the fragments of what you thought you understood about him?

The thought of being ignored again made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared to admit. You leaned back in the chair, closing your eyes against the onslaught of emotions. Sleep pulled at you, but you resisted, stubbornly staying awake as if you could somehow summon him back to you. Eventually, though, your exhaustion won. Your head lolled against the back of the chair, your breathing evening out as sleep claimed you.

Ekko slipped into the room quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The sight of you hit him like a punch to the chest. There you were, curled up in his chair, fast asleep. Your face was soft in slumber, but there was a faint crease between your brows. Almost as if even your dreams couldn’t fully erase the tension you’d been feeling. His gaze softened as he took you in, a pang of guilt threading through his chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Carefully, he crossed the room and crouched beside you. You stirred slightly at his presence, murmuring something incoherent. Without thinking, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly into his strong arms.

You mumbled something again, your head lolling against his shoulder. Which caused him to freeze for a moment, waiting to see if you’d wake up. But you didn’t. He carried you to the bed and laid you down gently, pulling the blanket over you.

As he turned to step away, he felt your hand grab weakly at his shirt. “Don’t go,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. He froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at you, your eyes half-open and drowsy but locked onto his.

“You shouldn’t sleep in a chair,” you continued, your words slightly slurred. “And you… shouldn’t leave me like that.”

His breath caught. “I wasn’t going to leave,” he said softly.

You tugged at his shirt again, pulling him closer. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his face hovering close to yours. “Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The question hung in the air, heavy and electrified. Ekko’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “What?”

“When you had the chance,” you mumbled, your voice fading as sleep pulled at you again. “You looked like you wanted to, but you didn’t. Why?”

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The proximity, the softness of your voice and the vulnerability in your question. It was almost too much to handle. He didn’t know how to answer. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could answer it.

“You were exhausted,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think it was the right time.”

You hummed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so stubborn,” you whispered, your eyes drifting shut.

He exhaled shakily, his heart continued its rapid pace as he watched you fall back into sleep. For a moment, he just sat there, his gaze tracing the outline of your beautiful face. He wanted to kiss you. God, he wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

Instead, he stood and grabbed the chair, dragging it closer to the bed. He sat down and rested his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He stayed there until the drowsiness claimed him too.

You woke to the warmth of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden walls, a golden glow bathing the room. It was already late, half the day gone, by the looks of it. You woke up to the warmth of the sun shining through the cracks on the wooden walls. It bathed the room. You stretched lazily under the blanket, the aches in your body from the past few days reduced to a dull throb. Turning your head, you saw Ekko. Who was still slumped in the chair beside the bed, asleep.

Your brow furrowed as you watched him. His head rested awkwardly on one hand, his legs stretched out, his shoulders slightly hunched. How could he sleep like that? He must’ve spent the entire night sitting there just to keep an eye on you.

How can he sacrifice his comfort like this?

You studied him, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his features. He looked so tired, so worn down. Ekko carried so much on his shoulders. The Firelights, the fight for Zaun’s freedom, the safety of the kids who looked up to him. And not to mention you as well. It wasn’t fair, you thought. He gave so much of himself and rarely took a moment for his own peace.

You slid out of bed quietly, wincing at the soreness in your muscles, and approached him. Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Ekko,” you said softly.

He stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open, and then he bolted upright, instinctively swatting your hand away. His palm struck yours with more force than he intended, making you hiss at the sting.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up fully now, his face a mixture of alarm and regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, shaking your hand out with a small wince. “It happens.”

He ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have spent the whole night sleeping in a chair,” you cut in, your tone playful but firm. “Are you crazy? You’ll wreck your back.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a faint, sheepish smile. “It’s not the first time.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you said, crossing your arms.

He gave you a tired chuckle, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll survive. I’ve been through worse.”

But that wasn’t enough for you. Watching him now, the weariness in his eyes even as he tried to act like everything was fine. An idea sparked in your mind, one that you knew he’d hate at first. But it was for his own good.

You grinned, your excitement bubbling over as you clapped your hands together. “I have a surprise for you!”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “A surprise?”

“Yep!” you said, bouncing on your heels, your eyes alight with mischief. “But I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll just have to trust me.”

His skepticism deepened. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He gave you a flat look. “I think I left it behind when I became the leader of the Firelights.”

You pouted dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “That’s tragic. Guess I’ll have to help you find it again.”

Ekko shook his head, laughing softly despite himself. “You sure are something alright”

“Yep!” you chirped, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. “Now, come on.”

He resisted, planting his feet firmly. “Wait. I have things to do. The kids—”

“They’ll survive without you for a few hours,” you said, cutting him off with a pointed look. “You need this, Ekko. Trust me.” He opened his mouth to argue, but the determination in your eyes stopped him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But you’d better not get me killed.”

You grinned triumphantly, grabbing a scarf from the nearby table. “Oh, and one more thing.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

You stepped closer, holding up the scarf. “You’re getting blindfolded.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.

“Yep,” you countered, your grin widening. “It’s part of the surprise.”

“I’m not letting you blindfold me,” he said firmly.

“Aw, are you scared?” you teased, leaning in closer.

His jaw tightened, and you could tell he was trying not to rise to the bait. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like surprises.”

“Well, too bad,” you said, wrapping the scarf around his eyes before he could stop you. He grumbled under his breath, but you could see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re lucky I’m weak for you,” he muttered, his voice low and resigned. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you quickly brushed it off, tightening the knot of the blindfold. “You won’t regret this. Promise.”

He sighed dramatically. “I already regret it.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door. “Come on, leader of the Firelights. Let me lead you away to freedom.”

He followed reluctantly, grumbling the whole way, but you could feel the tension in his hand slowly easing as he let himself trust you. And deep down, you knew that despite his protests, he didn’t truly mind.

Ekko groaned softly as you guided him along yet another bend in the trail. The blindfold tied snugly around his head meant he couldn’t see where he was stepping, which made the journey feel even longer. His feet ached from the uneven terrain, and he couldn’t tell how far you’d dragged him from the hideout. “How much longer?” he asked, a playful but weary edge in his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve walked enough to circle Zaun twice by now.”

You laughed softly, your tone teasing. “Not much farther. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He scoffed but didn’t pull away from your guiding hand. “You said that an hour ago.”

“Well, this time, I mean it!” you chirped, your excitement palpable. “And quit complaining. You’re a leader, remember? A little hike shouldn’t break you.”

Ekko grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He trusted you, blindfold and all. Still, his curiosity was killing him. The journey had been filled with faint sounds of nature, quite the opposite to the chaos of Zaun. The air was fresher here, the scent of greenery blending with faintly damp earth. Birds chirped somewhere above, and there was an unfamiliar stillness that made him uneasy in its serenity.

Finally, the sound of running water reached his ears. It was gentle but distinct, the rhythmic splash growing louder as you led him forward.

“Is that a waterfall?” Ekko questioned as he looked around blindfolded, listening with his ears.

“Nope,” you said cheekily, your grin audible in your tone.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The moment his boots scuffed against flat, smooth rock, you stopped. You squeezed his hand and stepped in front of him, your fingers brushing against the scarf as you untied the blindfold. “Okay, are you ready?” you asked, your voice playful.

“Depends,” he shot back. “Am I about to fall into a pit of snakes or something?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just hold still.” With a dramatic flourish, you pulled the blindfold away. “Ta-da!”

Ekko blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light. The sight before him was breathtaking. The waterfall cascaded gently down smooth stone, its waters pooling into a crystal-clear basin surrounded by moss-covered rocks. The greenery around it was lush, vibrant, and untouched, with delicate vines draping over the edges of the falls like curtains. Shafts of sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy, casting a golden glow over the scene. It felt like another world. Like something out of a dream. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just taking it all in.

“Well?” you asked, bouncing slightly on your heels. “Do you like it?”

“It’s… something,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. His gaze lingered on the water, the way it shimmered in the sunlight. “I didn’t know there were places like this between Piltover and Zaun.”

You smiled, feeling proud of yourself. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

He turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll give you that. But…” His expression shifted, concern creeping in. “Should I really be out here? The hideout—”

You cut him off, your tone firm but not unkind. “Ekko.”

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I’m serious,” you continued, your voice softening. “If you really feel like you need to go back, you can. I won’t stop you.” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I mean… I’ll understand.”

He studied your face, noticing the way your eyes darted away as if you were trying to hide how much the thought bothered you. You were giving him a choice, but it was clear how much you didn’t want him to leave.

Ekko let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really bad at hiding what you’re feeling, you know that?”

You glanced up at him, startled. “Who, me?”

“Yes you. But relax,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’ll stay.”

Your eyes lit up, and before he could say anything else, you were practically jumping in place, your joy spilling over. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small chuckle, watching you with amusement. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the water. “You won’t. I promise.”

For the next two hours, the two of you wandered the area, exploring the hidden beauty of the place. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a comfortable ease as you talked and laughed together.

Ekko, ever curious, peppered you with questions about your life topside. “So, what’s it like being a noble?” he asked, kicking a stray pebble along the path. “I’m guessing it’s all fancy parties and expensive clothes?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not quite. Sure, there’s all the glamour, but it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

You sighed, nudging a rock with the tip of your boot. “My parents had this… idea of what the perfect daughter should be. Polished, obedient, always smiling. I never really fit the mold.”

Ekko tilted his head, studying you. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Exactly,” you said with a wry smile. “I was always too stubborn, too opinionated. They wanted me to follow their rules, and I wanted to make my own.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, a hint of understanding in his voice.

You glanced at him, curiosity sparking. “What about you? Ever feel like people expect too much from you?”

He let out a short laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “All the time. Being the leader, people look to me for answers. For direction. It’s… a lot.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “And yet you never take a break.”

“Someone has to keep things running,” he said simply.

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “And what happens when you burn out? What then?”

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, your words sinking in.

“See that’s what this is about,” you said gently. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Ekko. Not just everyone else.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave a small nod, the vulnerability in his expression making your chest tighten.

Soon the peace of the waterfall was shattered by the faint sound of voices approaching. Ekko froze, his head snapping toward the direction of the noise. You followed his gaze, your heart sinking as the muffled conversation grew clearer. It wasn’t just random passersby. The tone was too low and suspicious.

“Get down,” Ekko whispered urgently, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the water.

“Ow, hey-!” you hissed back, but before you could argue, he tugged you forward.

The two of you splashed quietly into the cool water, wading toward a large rock near the waterfall’s edge. Its size provided enough cover to hide you both, but your movements felt clumsy and loud in the stillness of the moment. Every splash made your heart race, and every breath felt too loud.

You crouched low, gripping the edge of the rock as you peered out cautiously. The voices were clearer now, distinctly rough and laced with malice.

“… shipments are in place. Should be an easy job if everyone keeps quiet,” one of the men said, his voice gruff.

“Easy? You think dealing with Piltover’s dogs is ever easy?” another sneered.

“Relax. It’s all set up. By the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be gone,” the first man replied with a dismissive chuckle.

Your ears were ringing, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making it hard to focus. Your breathing quickened, and the world around you felt distant, the voices blending into an indistinct hum. “Hey,” Ekko spoke quietly beside you, nudging your arm. But you didn’t respond, your mind spinning.

“Hey!” he whispered again, more insistent this time. He leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. Finally, his voice broke through the fog in your mind. You turned your head slightly, meeting his sharp gaze. Before you could say anything, his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you.

“Don’t-” he mouthed, his tone firm but his touch surprisingly gentle. His eyes were steady, reassuring, even as they flicked toward the Chem-Barons’ direction.

You nodded, your breathing still uneven but quieter now. His hand lingered for a second longer before he slowly pulled it away, his fingers brushing against your skin. The tension between you was palpable. The closeness and adrenaline, it all made the space between you feel charged with something. You were about to whisper something when the sound of boots crunching against the rocky terrain snapped your focus back.

“Keep it moving,” one of the voices barked. “We’re wasting time.”

The group of men moved on, their voices fading into the distance. Only when the silence stretched did Ekko exhale, his shoulders finally relaxing. He peeked cautiously around the rock, ensuring they were truly gone before turning back to you.

“We’re clear,” he whispered, though his voice carried an edge of lingering tension.

You nodded, still crouched behind the rock, your limbs stiff from staying still for so long. Ekko moved toward the water’s edge and helped you climb back onto the bank. You followed his lead, water dripping from your clothes and pooling at your feet as you tried to steady your racing heart.

“Chem-Barons,” he muttered, more to himself than you. He looked toward the direction the men had gone, his expression hardening. “They’re up to something. And if they’re this close, it’s bad news.”

You wrung out your sleeves, watching him warily. “Do you think they saw us?”

“No,” he said firmly, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Still… we need to get back.”The urgency in his voice left no room for argument, and you agreed without hesitation.

The journey back to the hideout was tense. Ekko moved swiftly, his steps purposeful and his gaze darting toward every sound in the dense trees. You struggled to keep up, your thoughts spiraling as your footsteps lagged behind his.

What if the Chem-Barons had seen you? What if they followed you back? Your chest tightened as the weight of your continuous overthinking pressed down on you. You replayed the encounter in your mind, picking apart every detail. Had you been too loud? Too slow? What if something went wrong because of you?

“Keep up,” Ekko called over his shoulder, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked, realizing how far behind you’d fallen. Quickening your pace, you forced yourself to focus on his figure ahead of you, his steady movements grounding you in the moment.

When you finally reached the hideout, the familiar sounds of laughter and the hum of activity greeted you. The Firelights’ sanctuary seemed untouched, the chaos of the outside world unable to penetrate its walls. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Ekko headed straight for Scar, who was leaning against a rusty table, tinkering with a small device.

“Everything okay?” Ekko asked, his tone sharp.

Scar glanced up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah. Quiet as usual. Why?”

Ekko hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Oh nothing, just checking.” he said finally, though the tension in his posture remained. Scar gave him a curious look but shrugged, returning to his work.

You lingered near the entrance, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you scanned the area. Everything seemed normal, the kids laughing, people working on repairs, the occasional drone zipping by. But you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in your chest.

Later that evening, you sat by yourself in one of the quieter corners of the hideout, staring blankly at the firelight lamp in front of you. Your mind was still spinning, your earlier overthinking creeping back in.

“You okay?” Ekko’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find him standing nearby, his expression softer now.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, though the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

He frowned, stepping closer and crouching down so he was at eye level with you. “You’ve been quiet since we got back. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. What if we were seen? What if they followed us? What if—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but kind. “Nothing happened. Everything is fine. The hideout is fine.” You nodded, but your shoulders remained tense.

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Worrying until you exhaust yourself i see.”

“I just can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sat down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot to deal with. But we can’t let them get in our heads. That’s what they want—to make us paranoid, to make us slip up.”

You looked at him, his calm determination grounding you once more. “I just don’t want to fuck things over for the millionth time.”

“You won’t,” he said simply, his confidence in you unwavering. For a moment, the tension between you eased, and you allowed yourself to breathe.

The night stretched on, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence. When Ekko finally stood, he stretched and yawned, his usual energy dimmed by the day’s events.

“Well, I’m gonna check on a few things,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

You joking said, raised an eyebrow. “Here you go again, always busy.”

He smirked, his usual charm peeking through. “Says the person who can’t stop worrying.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. As he walked away, you found yourself watching him, your chest tightening with admiration. You couldn’t quite name why. The hideout was quiet now, most of its inhabitants having turned in for the night. You eventually made your way to your small corner of the space, lying down on your bed and staring up at the ceiling.

But sleep didn’t come easily. Your mind kept drifting back to Ekko. The way he had looked at you by the waterfall, the way his hand had lingered on your arm when he pulled you out of the water, the way he had stayed by your side despite everything. Ekko, it’s always him. He always even if you tried to deny it, has an affect on you. You sighed, closing your eyes and willing your racing thoughts to quiet.

A wind of cool night air hit you as you slipped out of the hideout. The faint scent of distant rain mixing with the scent of metal and smoke that always lingered in the air of Zaun. Ekko had been out helping with a situation that had gotten out of hand. It had something to do with one of the Firelights getting into trouble, as usual. He hadn’t been there to protest when you quietly slipped out of the hideout, and part of you was relieved. You needed to clear your head, to have a moment of peace where you didn’t have to think about the danger you constantly felt closing in around you. It slowly suffocating you. Unbearable.

You had heard rumors, of course. Whispers and murmurs of people coming after you because of who you were, because of your connection to the topside. They had no idea who you were, only what they thought you were. You couldn’t allow them to find out. But tonight, you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about how to live in the moment, even if it was fleeting.

The Last Drop was not your first choice, but it was the closest. The faint buzz of people laughing, drinking, and shouting hit your ears as you stepped inside. Your heart raced slightly, but you pushed it down. You’d taken precautions, after all. The cloak you wore concealed the colors of your family, the opulence that could mark you a target from a mile away. With your hood low, you blended in with the crowd, keeping your gaze focused on the bar, where the noise was loud enough to drown out any attention.

“Drink?” the barkeep asked, raising an eyebrow at you, the flickering light of the bar casting long shadows across his face.

“Something strong,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your nerves were anything but.

A quick, hard drink was what you needed. You knew the risks of coming here. This wasn’t the safest place in Zaun, but it was the only place that wouldn’t ask questions about who you were. The clinking of glass and the murmur of conversation surrounded you, a blend of voices that blurred into one singular buzz in your head.

You let your gaze wander as you took your first sip. The bitter warmth of the alcohol spread through your throat, giving you a momentary sense of relief, but it didn’t last. Your eyes flicked to the edges of the bar, noticing the way people moved. There was a tension in the air, something off, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Your fingers tightened around the glass as the sensation of being watched crept down your spine.

Before you could dismiss the feeling, something sharp pricked your neck. You froze, the sensation like a needle pushing into your skin. A wave of dizziness hit you instantly, disorienting and deep. You jerked your hand to your neck, but there was nothing to see. No blood, no sign of injury. Just a strange, heavy heat creeping through your veins, seeping into your bloodstream, clouding your thoughts.

The world around you tilted. It was a slow shift at first, just a sense of things being slightly off, but soon it became overwhelming. The air felt thicker, the sounds louder, as though the entire bar was buzzing, vibrating against the space between you and them. Your chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke out across your skin. ‘No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

Shimmer. You realized it too late. The telltale signs were unmistakable. That feeling where your body was being pulled apart, your thoughts slowly being smothered by a fog. You clenched your teeth, trying to fight it, trying to keep yourself from losing control.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice broke through the chaos in your mind. One of the patrons had noticed, a man with wild eyes and a drink in his hand. He was staring at you with concern, but you barely registered his words.

“I’m fine,” you said, though it came out more like a growl. You stood up quickly, the motion far too fast for your brain to follow. The room spun around you, the floor swaying beneath your feet like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. Your hands shot out to steady yourself against the bar, but it felt like everything was slipping away.

The bartender moved closer, his voice urgent. “You need to sit down. You’re not looking good.”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let them see you like this. You tried to move toward the door, but your legs wouldn’t obey. Each step was like wading through thick tar, the world warping around you. Your vision blurred, and before you knew it, you were on the floor, struggling to push yourself up, your limbs stiff and heavy.

“Help!” someone shouted, but the word sounded distant, muffled, as if coming from underwater.

You didn’t know what was happening to you anymore. The pain in your head started to intensify. No. Don’t lose control. But it was too late. The shimmer was already twisting your mind, and it wasn’t long before the voices began. They started quiet, like whispers in the back of your head, but soon they became clear.

Someone spoke your name. Your father’s voice.

“You never lived up to my expectations, did you?” The accusation burned in your ears. “Always the disappointment.”

You wanted to scream at the voice to shut up, to make it go away, but all you could do was stand there, shaking, your hands gripping the counter as you tried to steady yourself.

“You think you can escape me? No one escapes me,” your father’s voice mocked. “No one escapes their blood.”

The voices overlapped. Shut up. You couldn’t make out the words. You only felt the anger, regret, and shame. You felt like you were drowning in it. The voices kept yelling, taunting you, until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. You swung at the air, trying to bat them away, but there was nothing there.

Why don’t you listen? You never do what I ask, do you?

Another voice, it was your mother now, cold and distant. “You’re useless to me. Always have been.”

The pain was unbearable. Your head throbbed as you sank to your knees, clutching at your skull, your fingers digging into your scalp in a futile attempt to stop the onslaught of voices. Get out of my head!

You screamed, but it was a scream that only echoed inside your mind. Your body trembled, and you stumbled backward, falling into the chaos that surrounded you.

“Someone get them out of here!” someone shouted, but it was like the words couldn’t break through the fog that had settled over your mind. You could hear them, feel them moving around you, but they were all far away. Then, another voice. This one was different. It was familiar.

“Hey, listen to me.” Ekko. His voice, clear and strong, cut through the chaos. You tried to focus on it, on him, but it was so hard. Your mind was a warzone. You gasped for air, your hands pressed against your chest, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of the shimmer. You looked around, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw him standing there, reaching out for you, but when you blinked, he was gone.

Your vision darkened, the last remnants of the shimmer clouding everything. You couldn’t stand anymore. You collapsed against the ground, your breath ragged as the world spun out of control.

“Ekko…” you whispered, but you weren’t sure if you said it out loud or if it was just another hallucination. The voices faded as everything went black.

part two soon!

taglist: @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin

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[propagandagothic]

Minneapolis Home Bar Seated Bar

Seated home bar - contemporary porcelain tile seated home bar idea with glass countertops, open cabinets and dark wood cabinets

[1800-page-not-found]

HELLO‼️‼️‼️ I SAW YOU OPENED YOUR ORV REQS AND DECIDED I WANTED TO BRAIN DUMP HETE JUST IN CASE TOU FOUND ANYTHING INTERESTING... ANYWAYS, REQUEST 1!!! Yjh x gn!reader where the reader gets burned in a fight and either dies if were going the angst route, or just reader and Joonghyuk struggling to take care of reader's burns lol

THIS REQUEST IS KIND ASHIT BUT I HAVE MORE‼️‼️‼️

yippee

Yoo Joonghyuk x reader

ft. eco friendly wood veneers

its so funny bc i can tell which requests are yours in my inbox

-

Damn this hidden scenario!

You shouldn't have been so tempted by the reward, your confidence was placed too high when you figured joonghyuk would make it easy as pie...

You coughed, inhaling the fumes of the fire, why out of all places did the monster have to live in an extremely flammable house...You shouldn't use your skill around such frail houses again.

The wooden beam sat on top of you, holding you in place. Joonghyuk found you, drawing out his sword to try to break the beam, yet the eco friendly wood veneers were high in its defense, yet not to flames apparently...

He dropped his sword, abandoning it.

No no nononononononono.

"You shouldn't regress. This round...I think you'll make it." You smile, the smoke clouding your vision.

As his hands burned, he lifted the beam from your body. You could almost breathe again. He carefully picked you up, ignoring the burnt flesh from his and your body.

"I promised you we'd finish the scenarios together." He spoke in a soothing manner. You smiled before fainting.

-

One week, two days, five hours, and twenty minutes has passed since you lost consciousness. A bed next to yours lays Yoo Joonghyuk, sifting through the Dokkaebi Shop.

Your body was quite healthy, although it hurt like hell. But the scars from the burn were already almost healed.

You looked at your arms, afraid that joonghyuk would find you disgusting. You knew he wouldn't do such a thing, yet you were still afraid.

"You're awake." he looked at you vulnerably.

It was just the two of you.

He got up, walking a few steps to get to you. "Ah, erhm, can you lie on your side?" He asked softly, reaching for the SS grade soothing gel, given by uriel. You surprisingly turned on your side with out much pain or struggle.

The cold gel washed onto your back, soothing your skin. Although cold at first, the warmth from his hands spread onto your back.

You felt vulnerable. weak. "I-"

"It's okay, [name]. I will always love you." Right.

Love was when he had regressed over and over, until he would finally find a timeline where he would finally feel worthy of you. And perhaps this was the one.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 98

Part 1 Part 97

It’s fucked up, but Steve’s never been happier. He’s not sure how much of it’s the drugs, and how much is the relief, but it sits like a weight on his chest that he never wants to shake off.

There’s a constant stream of visitors. Ms. Byers, who’s taken to cupping her cool hands around his face and kissing his forehead each time. Uncle Wayne, who’s calluses are starting to become as familiar as Edde’s to the skin of Steve’s palms.

Barbara and Carol, attached at the hip in a way he can’t parse. He doesn’t think he was gone that long. How did this happen? But he knows that flirty smile, knows what his best friend’s fingers trailing over Barbara’s shoulders means.

Tommy doesn’t come. It shouldn’t hurt, but – But. Something inside him tightens and contracts. It might just be his heart.

Jonathan and Nancy come together. Jonathan’s bubbling over with apologies, contrite in contrast to Nancy’s fuming.

“You should have called me,” she says, curly hair practically raising with the power of her ire. “I could have helped.”

From his seat by Steve’s side, Eddie huffs and puffs and barely holds back his yell. He doesn’t see the way her fists are curled, can’t see past the veneer of control that hides the worry behind it.

“I was possessed, Nance,” Steve replies, smiling up at her. His face hurts with all the smiling. “I didn’t even know who you were.”

She sputters and stalls while Jonathan stands beside her, shooting worried looks out of the corner of his eyes.

He can almost feel the hole they’d left in his brain. The shape of their outlines at high school parties and in line at the cafeteria. Nancy’s firmly raised hand, Jonathan’s slumped shoulders. It’s filled now.

He wants to fill it with more memories, so many that the bad ones just shake loose.

“Oh, alright,” she huffs, settling down on the other side of the bed, far away from Eddie’s twitching fingers. “But that won’t work as an excuse next time.”

The kids are easy; they come in a pile, stacking against each other in his room’s doorway until Dustin comes pouring in, everyone else after him. They all crowd onto his bed with no regard to his personal space. Even Mike slinks onto the end to sit with sullen shoulders and shining eyes. 

They’re like puppies, yapping over each other for his and Eddie’s attention. Will’s planning a new campaign, and his eyes light up when Steve agrees to play.

Chief Hopper comes next with a girl hiding behind his back, clutching onto the hanging lapel of his jacket. Her head peaks out behind him, curls springing wildly from her scalp as she smiles shyly at Steve. 

“I know you,” Steve says.

The chief huffs, as the beams, and says her part in their little play, “I found you.”

Steve shuffles up in his bed, not looking as he feels Eddie prop up pillows behind his back. He holds his arms out and open, waiting even as his muscles begin to strain. 

She shuffles out from behind Chief Hopper, head down as she climbs onto the edge of his bed, butting her forehead against his chest like a cat. He puts his arms around her, slow as he feels what he’s come to find out are burns of varying degrees. No one will tell him what they’re from, but Carol had looked especially shifty when she’d witnessed the bandages being changed. He elected not to ask.

The girl doesn’t put her own arms around him, just lets her hands settle into her own lap and leans in. 

“You really are a supergirl, huh?” Steve asks, reaching his hand up to play with her curls. His splinted finger knocks against her skull once before he holds it back as best he can. 

She leans back to beam up at him, eyes alight. “You can call me El”.

They probably both look stupid, smiling at each other, one of them all banged up, the other in what must be Chief Hopper’s cast-offs. 

Hopper clears his throat when the silence lingers. He stomps in his clunky work boots over to the seat beside Eddie and sinks down, almost reclining into it despite its straight back. Eddie curls away from him, glaring at the man like he’s got a live grenade. 

Or like he’s been searched for drugs before and doesn’t want the fuzz to be sniffing around. Steve laughs, loopy and pleased while they both look at him with the same furrowed brows and worried frowns.

“You alright, kid?” Hopper asks gruffly, reaching out to put his meaty hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve winces, feels the bandages pull until Hopper drops his hand. 

“Did you know she was real?” Steve asks, reaching out to pull one of El’s bounciest curls atop her head. It all goes straight and taught and then bounces back into place.

Hopper snorts. “Where do you think she’s been living?”

“Oh,” he replies. 

His brains clicking in his skull, weighed down by morphine and too much sleep, but when his gaze flickers around the room, he recognizes the awkward grimace on Eddie’s lips.

“You knew,” Steve accuses, finger pointed toward Eddie’s face, to emphasize who he’s accusing. His finger shakes unsteadily until Eddie snatches it out of the air and pops it into his own mouth to bite down. “Ow, what the fuck?”

Eddie’s dimples pop around it as he nibbles into the knuckle one more time before letting go with a suctioning pop. “Don’t be mad, Stevie,” he weedles, looking up at Steve through his lashes with wide, innocent eyes, even as his prominent dimples give away his amusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Steve’s slightly damp finger flicks Eddie’s nose until he hisses and snatches Steve’s hand to interlace their fingers with a shrug. “I thought it would be funny.”

It’s hard to hold a grudge when El giggles, light and airy as it breathes life into the room.

“He’s got you there, kid,” Hopper replies, reaching out again, this time to ruffle El’s hair. 

Steve huffs, “whatever, man,” but his lips are little traitors and they can’t stop from turning up at the corners. “See if I introduce you to the next superhero we meet.”

Eddie squeezes his hand, familiar callouses scraping against Steve’s palm. “You’ll introduce me, Stevie.” he replies. Steve closes his eyes as he feels warm lips on the back of his hand. “You love me too much.”

Steve closes his eyes against the feeling, still smiling even as his healing skin pulls, and his finger feels unwieldy and wrong, and his head aches and floats up toward the ceiling. 

Yeah, he really does. 

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

Part 99

[ther3allyra]

Christmas argument

Veneer x GN!reader

Summary: When you go out to secretly buy your boyfriend a Christmas present, he ends up getting worried sick starting and argument and turning to velvet to advice. Only leading to the both of you trying to comfort each other in the end.

Type: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 826

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS PEEPS, hope y’all like this & this was a Christmas gift for the AMAZING @arknq so I especially hope you enjoyed this <3

The car door beeped as you opened the door stepping into it, Veneer had fallen asleep giving you the perfect opportunity to wiggle out of his grasp on his bed and sneak off to buy him a Christmas gift. You didn’t think you’d take to long so you quickly drove to the jewellery shop where you new you’d be able to get the perfect gift, you’d been dying to get a new ring for yourself and what better than to do matching rings with Veneer! Just as you pulled up outside the shop that’s when you heard it. The constant buzzing noise coming from your jacket pocket.

‘What the-‘ you mumbled taking at your phone and unlocking it, you stare in disbelief at the phone screen. Well shit!. You thought to yourself 15 missed calls and 9 text messages, god you’d only been gone for about 19 minuets, you loved Veneer with your whole heart but damn he was clingy sometimes.

You quickly hurried into the shop looking for the two ring set and there you found it, a silver and diamond ring with a matching silver and diamond band ring. You thought it was gorgeous and you couldn’t wait until Veneer opened his on Christmas Day. You quickly payed for the items and got back in the car where your phone had gone off, yet again. You sent Veneer a quick text telling him ‘I’m out right now, be back soon I love you xx’, to which he replied by ignoring you. This was soon to cause a fight when you got back.

Pulling up outside his and Velvets mansion, the sensation of guilt I’m your stomach for leaving Veneer without telling him, you slid out of the car door trying to sneak back in the house without notice to where Veneer was just coming down the stairs as you walked in the entrance. There were no words of you and Veneer wasn’t being clingy, he just looked at you, scoffed and walked away which left you stood there simply in disbelief. You knew what had happened, he’d gone to velvet and she’d told him to act petty and give you the silent treatment . Sure enough this would cause an argument later between the both of you, sure arguments were very rare but when they happened oh boy where they some of the worst.

Closing the door as gentler as you could feeling your anger rise, you quickly headed upstairs hiding the gift and sitting there waiting for Veneer to come in, soon enough he did and oh boy was he fuming.

‘Where the fuck have you been’ he stated extremely pissed off, as he leaned against his bedroom door frame.

‘I was out, for fuck sakes cant I do ANYTHING on me own?!’ You answered back almost shouting at him, this made him step back from you.

‘NOT WHEN THERES WEIRD FUCKING PEOPLE OUT THERE NO!’ He screamed.

‘LIKE FUCKING WHO?! I KNOW YOUR DAMN PROTECTIVE OF ME BUT FOR GOD DAMN FUCKING SAKES, I WAS JUST TRYING TO BUY YOU A CHRISTMAS GIFT’ You could feel your eyes fill with tears, you knew he was just trying to protect you from stalkers and such and you didn’t have to be so mean, but the protectiveness was to much sometimes.

You watched as Veneer’s face stared at you in disbelief and his lips form an ‘O’ shape, as he watches the tears began to fall from your face. He rushed forward wrapped his arms around your back taking you to the bad, so your sat in his lap as he’s running his hands up and down your back. You quietly sob into his chest as he mutters ‘I’m sorry’ a few times. The both of you simply sit there for a while with no one talking, before you dry your eyes and look up at him.

‘Look Veneer’ You started with a sigh, ‘I’m sorry I know your just trying to protect me’

‘Hang on baby’ he muttered giving you a kiss on the cheek, ‘I know I’m clingy and over protective but I just don’t want to loose you, partially because of some weird stalkers but mainly because I don’t wanna loose you, I’m scared you’ll get up and leave’

You stare and Venner, you leave him? You thought he’d leave you. ‘Look Veneer, I promise I’ll never leave you ok, I love you so fucking much just only promise to leave me go out once in a while, and I’ll text you updates when I go out on my own’

‘Sounds like a deal to me!’ He smiled at you.

You reached into your pocket slightly laughing, to Veneer’s surprise you pulled out some mistletoe.

‘How about a Christmas kiss, huh?’ You laughed and Veneer leaned down and capturing your lips in a kiss, your hands slowly grasping his hair humming against his lips, it truly was the best Christmas ever.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hey, BPP, do you think this show’s “explicitness” (in the limits, of course, as we saw) is/could kinda put Jimin and Jungkook in a difficult position in the military? I’m not only talking about themselves or the way THEY feel, because they probably knew everything that was gonna be aired ahead of time or what at least could’ve made it to the final editing, so they could just be two bold gays who would show their butts touching to the world if they could. I’m talking, instead, of the environment they’re in, people they’re surrounded by who read what goes on online, see this clips and probably chat about it among themselves. Probably the military environment is described as the trap it is not, but I think it’s pretty plausible for bad and evil people to exist and judge others in there. Because, I’m not into the Korean culture fully and I don’t properly know it, but I still feel like it was very obvious how the skinship limit was kinda crossed. I hope my point is fair or at least clear, thank you already for reading this.

***

It’s expected that people in the military will talk about them, but based on my experience, the way people talk about BTS members in Korea is more about them being BTS, than what they actually do as BTS members.

The veneer of BTS’ fame in Korea is as though it’s its own entity, and it practically dominates all conversation. Meaning, for a lot of people it’s more salacious to talk about them being BTS, than it is to talk about what can be explained away as ‘idol activities’ for BTS. This is the biggest way BTS’ fame protects the members in a sense, in the ‘glass closet’ as some people call it.

Also, while I’ve not served in the Korean military, I have family members who have and they describe it as a fairly insular community. Meaning, what really matters for military people is what happens while in the military, rather than anything happening outside of it (that is for people enlisted in active service, not community service). Jikook could be sucking each other’s toes on screen in BTS content, and while that could generate chatter, what matters more to people in the military, is their behaviour while in the military. Everything else can be covered by plausible deniability.

I’m writing this to say, if you have any concerns that jikook’s jikooking in AYS could generate rumours that makes its way into the military and possibly endanger them, then I think you should rest your worries. By this point, jikook have made acquaintances and possibly even friendships in the military, and so long as their behaviour while there is above-board, they’ll be fine. For all the people who want to maliciously attack them, it’s riskier to try to defame an actively serving BTS member based on ‘idol footage’ and get hit with a lawsuit, than it is to keep your mouth shut and fume in silence.

Unless someone reports jikook sucking on each other’s toes in the military, they should be just peachy.

[simplydannie]

Previous: Chapter 1

TRIGGER WARNING ‼️ MENTIONS OF DEATH AND VIOLENCE

Velvet has made it to Bergentown where she seeks refuge within the castle. One thing they notice is that she arrives without her brother…

Still pained by the memory, Velvet slowly begins to loose it, sadness winning her over… but her brother’s m*rder was planned… and so is hers.

NOTES: I also wanted the opportunity to showcase just how cruel Vaughn can be if you mess with him… or his family.

She was being held back by the Goyle Rageons. They were strong, anything she tried didn’t work… she couldn’t break free.

“VENEER!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. She could see the other Rageons had him pinned to the ground, one on top of him…. A knife in his hands.

Her brother let out the most painful, agonizing cry she would ever here… but even that wasn’t enough to cause her to break free. What was happening? Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she muster the strength? Velvet stood there, staring in horror at what they were doing to her brother. He cried, he screamed, he begged them to stop.

“Please stop!” She cried, the tears escaping her eyes, her body shivering in hopelessness, “Please!!”

He cried, he screamed, he begged. She heard him call out one more time, “VELS!”

……….

……….

Then silence…… there was no more crying….. no more screaming….. only silence.

The Goyles finally let her go. Velvet fell to her knees, her body still trembling. She looked up towards her brother… he lay there… motionless…

“Ven….” She slowly began to crawl towards him, “Ven….” She called out again. The closer she got, the more she could see the horror they did to him. His face…. His adorable little face… bloodied and scarred…

“Oh…. My…..” Velvet couldn’t finish the words as she let out a scream. She hugged herself, “VENNIE!!!” She cried.

Velvet could hear the Rageons behind her laughing. A rage ran through her, but still nothing, nothing came to her, she only continued to stare at the horrifying scene in front of her. She reach over and took his beanie off, holding it close to her as tears continued to fall. “I’m sorry Vennie…. I’m sorry.”

“One down. One to go. Get her.” The Strobe Rageon commanded…..

….. it was that instant that she took off running…….

“What the hell!!!! Get her!!!”

Goyles were fast. It be a matter of time before they caught up. With a leap she jumped on the fencing that surrouded Under Rageous. She climbed and climbed, the barbed wire scratching at her legs.

…. The Goyles grew close…

With a push she shoved herself across the fence and landed to the ground with a hard THUD. Pain crawled up her thigh. She looked as the Goyles began climbing the fence with ease….

….. she took one last glance at her brothers body……

“I’m sorry….I….I lo-……” She was so stubborn she couldn’t say the words. She took off running into the dangerous woods of Under Rageous….

Velvet woke up with a sweat….. Her body trembling.

It was a nightmare. The same nightmare of that horrid memory every single night. Since it happened, she couldn’t get any sleep. The same memory kept replaying over and over in her head. The sound of her screaming brother echoing in her mind.

She glanced at her surroundings.

Velvet should feel safe. She should feel free. She had made it to the Bergen Castle just like Veneer had wanted them to do… before she convinced him it was a bad idea. Perhaps if she would have listened, he’d still be here, he would have occupied the empty bed on the opposite side of the room.

“Oh! There’s an extra bed for your brother. Just in case.” Bridgette had told her when she showed her the room.

….Those words stung Velvet. It shattered her heart into a million pieces. Was that possible if her heart was already broken? She had glared at Bridgette. Velvet was fuming….She was mad…She wanted to be mad…but how could she? The Bergen didn’t know anything. She was so clueless to it all…in a way it reminded her of Ven-…No, Velvet refused to say his name again. The more she buried it, the more she forgot what his name was…It would become nothing but a painless memory. Velvet let out a sigh…

“…Thanks.” Was all Velvet told Bridgette..

Velvet broke down once the Bergen left. She had cried and cried until she couldn’t anymore, until the exhaustion lulled her to sleep….She was afraid to sleep now though because every time she closed her eyes, the same memory would replay over and over in her mind. For three months she wasn’t able to sleep. Velvet was so tired, so, so tired. She curled up in her bed, staring out at the window as the moonlight shined through. Her head then turned towards the door.

Deep inside, she wanted her brother to barge in like nothing happened, like it was all some kind of sick twisted joke.

“Psych! Got you Vels! That was payback for that time you scared me and made me pee myself! Who's laughing now?” She wanted him to come in. That those sick twisted Rageons were just paid actors…but no…it was all real…he was really gone. Velvet cocked her head to the side taking a glimpse at his purple beanie laying on the night stand by her bedside….That was all she had left him; his stupid purple beanie he never took off….now it was her that never took it off.

She didn’t want to go back to sleep again… So she cried, her tears staining the blanket, her shoulders and body quivering and shaking.

Outside her door, a small Troll stood listening to everything, he listened in to the stifled cries and whimpers. Branch peeked through the partially opened door to see Velvet sitting curled up on the bed…and….crying? This surprised him. The one time he met her, whatever he had known about her, she never seemed one to cry. If anything, he’d imagine her brother doing all the crying. Branch glanced at the empty bed that lay on the opposite side of the room. He began to feel that this had something to do with Veneer. It was odd to see her arriving without him.

“Where’s Veneer?” They had asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” Was all that she had responded. Her tone made them afraid to ask any further.

…This was odd. This was all odd. Branch didn’t trust Velvet one bit…but his heart went out to how miserable she seemed. Was Veneer in trouble? Was something happening that she didn’t want to say…or couldn’t say? Velvet was not one to easily trust anyone, he knew that for sure. She had come here for a reason….and he might have figured what that reason was for.

“If any of us can talk to her, it’s going to him.” He whispered to himself. Branch ran off to find Floyd.

3 months prior, back in Under Rageous…

A tall pale Rageon stood staring off out the window. Next to him lay a map…It was crossed out, written in, utterly almost destroyed…He knew he was close, those two were hard to find. He knew they were back in the under-city, and he knew there was only a matter of time before others were on the hunt for them too…

Vaughn fiddled with the wedding ring on his finger, “We’ll have them back to us in no time Vivian.”

The doors to his office swung open as two more pale Rageons entered. Vaughn turned to them, “Well?”

“Sir…We…..We found….We found your son. But your daughter was nowhere to be seen…”

Vaughn clenched his fist…Velvet…Why wouldn’t she be with Veneer? They always stuck together, always. What would cause this?

“Bring him to me.”

“Sir…”

”I SAID BRING MY SON TO ME!” He demanded, but the Rageons didn’t move. They looked at him with sad, sober eyes. Vaughn knew that look, he knew that look all to well, “…..Where……Where is Veneer?”…..

…..There….

…..There his son lay on a metal table, a white cloth draped over him, covering his entire body….

Vaughn hesitated at the doorway, his men still behind him…

“….Where did you find him?”

“In a ditch near the outskirts. Near the broken walls that lead out of Under Rageous..”

“Did….Did you find anyone, or anything else?”

“No sir. There was no sign of your daughter anywhere.”

Good. That meant she could still be alive….

“Leave me. Now.” He commanded. With a single nod, they left him alone in the cold room. The door shut behind him loudly…A silence lingered in the air as Vaughn stood there staring at the white sheet…and the motionless body that lay underneath. Slowly…he began walking towards it…

He soon stood hovering over the covered body of his son…of his boy…not even eightteen, and his life was already over. Vaughn’s hand hovered over the white sheet…he allowed the silence to linger as his thoughts wandered…Grasping the sheet, he pulled it back…and there he was…

Veneer lay motionless on the cold steel table. His eyes closed…his face marked up and cut, gashes going down to his neck…They left him nearly unrecognizable. Vaughn clenched his fists, the blood draining them, a scowl coming across his face, his heart racing as the anger built. His lip quivered…but he refrained from crying any tears.

Ven, who would do this to you? The words echoed his mind. Where was Velvet? Did they take her? Did they kidnap her? Oh god, the horrors they would do to her alone? Is that why they killed Veneer? Was he trying to protect her? So many questions built…Questions he was determined to get an answers too.

He reached up and grasped his son's cold hand. Vaughn stared at Veneer, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would move, he would budge, he would wake up.

“If you hadn’t run away…You would still be here .... If i hadn’t messed up as a father…this wouldn’t have happened..” He moved his hand up to stroke his son’s cold face, his cheeks which once held such warmth and life….

Vaughn…

He heard a sweet voice echo in the room…

Darling. I have him now. Let him go.

“…Vivian…”

He’s with me. I have our baby boy. It’s okay, he’s safe now.

“…But…”

…Now go find our girl…

Present day…

Blood trickled down their nose and fell to the ground in small drops as they hung by chains upside down in an abandoned warehouse. It was three Rageons held captive, two Strobes, and a Goyle. Groans of pain escaped their lips as they drifted to and from conscience…

With blurred vision, they saw the tall figure standing in front of them. Black vest and pants, his white collar shirt rolled up to his elbows revealing his tattoos. He wore black gloves as he sharpened his knife, the darkness and shadows of the warehouse covering his face…

“..P-please….L-let us go…” The strobe Rageon begged. The tall pale Rageon continued sharpening the knife as he heard them beg.

“Funny. Is that what my son told you when you murdered him?” The Rageon spoke. The Strobe stared at him, a confusion struck across his face.

“What the hell are you talking about? We ain’t killed no one's son.”

SHRINK!

He finished sharpening the knife. It glistened in the light ever so beautifully. He finally stepped out into the light where the captive Rageons finally saw his face for the first time…the ice blue eyes, the scar running along his left eye…

“….Vaughn….” A terrified expression crossed their face, a horror in their voice as it escaped the lips of one of the Rageons.

A terrifying cunning smirk crossed Vaughns face as he knelt down in front of one of the Rageons, his knife gliding playfully across the Rageons cheek, “What made you decide to kill my son?”

“…W-we…w-we didn’t know he w-was your son! W-we s-swear.”

“….BULLSHIT!” Vaughn cut the Rageons cheek.

“Please, please don’t!”

“Then answer my damn questions…WHY DID YOU KILL MY SON!”

“W-we were told to pursue a set of twin Succubi! We were paid to exterminate them! They didn’t tell us who they were, they never told us they were your kids!!” The Strobe cried out in tears.

“Who was it that told you?” Vaughn asked.

“We don’t know! We swear!”

“Where did the girl head off to?”

“We last saw her running out of Rageous. We couldn’t catch her, so we let her go!”

A scowl came across Vaughns face, a twist of disgust on his lips. Thugs, worthless thugs, he thought to himself. He looked at one of the Rageons, Vaughn pointed at him with his knife…

“How old are you boy?”

The Strobe Rageon didn’t answer at first, “….Twenty-two….”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“…..Fifteen”

Vaughn looked at the other two in disgust, “Bringing in children to your little gang. Have them do the work you cowards can’t do? Despicable.” Standing up he cut the ropes of the young Rageon loose. He stared up at Vaughn in disbelief.

“Get out…If I EVER see you again, you won't be so lucky.”

The young Rageon stumbled and fell as he ran out of the warehouse back into freedom.

“Wait! What about us! We told you everything…We told you the truth!!”

“….I believe you…” Vaughn replied.

The remaining captive Rageons sighed in relief…A cunning, wicked grin twisted on Vaughns lips as he twiddled with the knife in his hands, “But that won't save you…Allow me to inflict the pain you inflicted on my son.”

…Terrifying screams were heard coming out of the warehouse. Screams no one would hear…Screams no one would ever want to hear…Screams that would haunt anyone’s nightmares.

One thing was certain….Vaughn wasn’t the only one looking for Velvet now…

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

My thing with writing König is trying to find the sweet spot balance point of like 3-4 different angles that are integral to the characterization I want to put out there.

I want him absolutely riddled with the kind of dangerous loser vibes that start the first day of kindergarten as almost an leprotic aura of Contaminated: Do Not Touch that everyone he comes into contact with wordlessly picks up on and carries for his entire life.

Just borderline violent othering that he struggles to fight, embrace, and figure out without ever getting a clear answer or mitigation method. He gets older and becomes a problem, a human toxic waste dump, and the avoidance is tinged with alarm. He figured out how to cover it, though, like he’s pulling on a patchwork person suit.

I’m a real boy, I’m like everyone else, nevermind the seams. Yeah, they’ll split the longer you’re around, but maybe this time—this time—I will have become an endeared thing and I will be understood instead of left.

Skin-splitting horniness, which is ha-ha on the surface, but Jesus Christ, it’s starvation, straight-up. Man is a fucking alien, he doesn’t get people, his veneer of normality is quick to shatter, and he just wants-wants-wants to be wanted. To be needed is a pipe dream. He’s like a dog taken away from mom and litter mates too soon—the need for closeness is set at so high a threshold it’ll never be met, never be fixed.

Fucking is a quick fix for this desperation. Bandaid over a bullet hole, finger in a cracked dam. Gets sharper teeth and longer claws the lower the fuel gauge is, and he’s been running on fumes for years. He’ll eat any scraps given to him at any table. Any even mildly kind word, any mote of attention, approval, or acceptance.

Even in his worst mind, he knows he’s not owed, he is not dying because he is not getting fucked or loved or befriended, but god fucking dammit, what he wouldn’t give for company to cut the bleakness, to not be fucking flinched at or eye-rolled. He wants to eat someone piecemeal as they eat him piecemeal, and the brutal symbolism of cannibalism is the best way he can understand the depth of this fragile-skinned desire.

A level of jaundiced, yellow-eyed sweatiness that pervades every aspect of his life. This is more difficult to describe. It’s literal sweat—from flop or exertion, it doesn’t matter—it’s also a state of being. It’s having not a flicker of volume control—indoor yelling or outdoor muttering. It’s being exhausted and anxious to the point of hysterical cry-laughing at hallucinations after 3-4 days sleepless. It’s saying the wrong fucking thing at the wrong fucking time and chasing yet another person off and wanting to kill himself for it.

It’s surviving on 4 hours of sleep and cigarettes and any kind of caffeine and below-board military amphetamines he can get his hands on for the last ten years because he feels like he’s wasting time. It’s getting smacked because his monstrosity of a body fucking hurts and being borderline greened-out makes it easier to go grocery shopping or to the gym or outside. It’s showering and then cutting his hair over the sink and not giving a fuck what it looks like as long as it’s not getting caught in his collars.

He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t sleep, he’s constantly spilling hyena-pitched stupid nervous laughter, and he bites when he’s overdone, and his teeth aren’t dull. He’s never threatened violence that he can’t overpay out on. He pulls on his face and his scars and that might as well be the same thing, gets sick to his stomach that they’re still numb and he can’t push into the pain he remembers from them. Sometimes he just moans and groans, shoves a hand up under his mask to cover his mouth like he’s going to hold back the tide of bile. He does this shit in front of people, and wants to die when he figures it out.

He likes killing people, he likes feeling powerful, he likes being seen when he’s the executioner, he likes being a scary nightmare. He doesn’t even know if he’d rather fight than fuck, but at least he’s good at it, and there’s undeniable imagery in driving a knife in between ribs over and over and over. He’s never not throbbing hard at exfil, and he’s never not sick to death with himself and his fantasies after he beats off the second he gets privacy.

Anyway I love him, he’s a sad sack.

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 11: After Meeting Petras and Dal

Chapter 11: After Meeting Petras and Dal

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, Canon-typical violence, Astarion's quest, cw: Astarion's trauma, Astarion's coping mechanisms

WC: 1.4k words, 11/18 chapters

Summary: Set in early Act 3, Rogue!Tav and Astarion encounter Astarion's siblings.

Ao3 | [Hug10][Hug12] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

To say that you’ve had a crazy week between Rivington and Wyrm’s Crossing would be an understatement. Deep gnomes, drow twins, devils, doppelgangers, you feel like you’ve lived an entire lifetime in mere days. In fact, compared to how you all looked entering Rivington– haggard from the Shadowlands, running on fumes and willpower– you look like completely different people.

Just yesterday, you took a detour to Carm’s Garms and, while you normally don’t pay for goods and services, you couldn’t resist having some of those garments immediately. Especially once you had Astarion try on a few options. Needless to say, you’ve never spent so much money before, especially on clothing or dyes.

So when you set out this sunny morning, you take a short detour to his tent to witness firsthand the results of your shopping trip. “Don’t you look dashing,” you say, with a satisfied little smile. Your love is dressed to the nines, in a delicately embroidered obsidian coat, its filigree a deep crimson to match his ruby eyes. 

Astarion pulls at the lapels of the coat, tilting his head up toward the sun. “Don’t I always?” he asks, the pride in his voice feels fresh, renewed by a confidence you’re happy to see in him. He does deflate a moment later, fingers picking at the trim of his sleeve. “Not that I would know. I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Shall I get another statue commissioned of you?” you ask, half-joking. The half that is serious knows that if he says yes, five-thousand gold is a small price to pay for even a moment of his happiness.

He doesn’t take you up on it though, laughing at the suggestion. “Maybe once we’ve settled somewhere more permanently. If Lae’zel and Karlach have to carry a second statue of me from campsite to campsite, I may not be long for this world.”

You take a moment to imagine a world where you are settled somewhere with Astarion, where you can decorate with as many statues and paintings of him that you can commission. “Very well,” you respond. “When this is all over, you won’t want for a mirror, trust me.”

Something about the sincerity in your voice throws off his usual veneer of vanity. “My love, you really are quite frightening when you set your mind to it.”

“Don’t you forget it,” you respond with a grin. The unspoken communication of what’s to come after this is all over still lingers, and you’re drawn to it like a foolish moth to a flame. “Speaking of planning ahead, you mentioned that we should look for your siblings before we enter the city?”

Astarion’s face sours into a grimace, but he doesn’t shy from the subject. “Yes, we should look about the dirtiest hovels. I would start somewhere like Fraygo's Flophouse, it looked miserable enough.”

You nod at his suggestion, ready and willing to face his past. “Let’s go today.”

– 

Well, you thought you were ready and willing to face his past. While you started your encounter with Pale Petras and Dalyria on a strong note, with Astarion interrogating his siblings, ultimately getting the information that you need – you end it on a sour one. As soon as his siblings flee, you come face-to-face with an Astarion you haven’t seen in weeks. 

“We have to face him and take that power for ourselves,” he says, a low growl to his voice.

“Not that they were the epitome of a loving family, but those six spawn are your brothers and sisters,” you start, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Are you ready to sacrifice them?”

“Trust me I’d rather slaughter someone else’s family, but… if that’s what it takes,” he says dismissively, waving away your concerns with his hand. “And it’s not like they’re sweet innocents: they brought Cazador just as many victims as I did.”

You give him a look, not hiding your disapproval of his words, nor his dangerous train of thought. “It’s not like you had much of a choice. I don’t blame you for your actions, I could hardly blame them for the same thing.”

“You’re not getting sentimental, are you? I thought you were with me on this,” he says, an unveiled attempt to appeal to your practicality, your pragmatic leadership. When your expression doesn’t waver, he continues, voice infused with a new emotion: desperation. ”We are a team, aren’t we? You are still with me?”

Despite yourself, your heart aches at his pleas. “I just… want you to be happy,” you say, honestly.

“Then you’ll help me in this. Nothing would make me happier.” You stare uneasily at him, before hazarding a glance at Karlach and Shadowheart, their worries are clearly written on their faces. 

“We’ll do our best, Astarion,” you swear. “We will deal with Cazador one way or another.”

He seems mollified at your words, and a bit of erratic glee enters his tone as he says, “And now we know he’s skulking beneath his palace, we can take the hunt to Cazador.” 

You and your companions nod warily, tiptoeing around the anxious energy about Astarion. Something in his demeanor scares you more than even your most fearsome foes have. His familiar attitude, the oddly comforting sass and sarcasm, is nowhere to be found. You need to do something, anything, to diffuse the situation.

“Love,” you begin, deliberate in your small movements toward him. You reach out a single hand, palm up, facing him. “I know that was a lot to handle this early in the morning. Would you like a hug?”

In his regal attire and smug look, he seems leagues away as he scoffs. “Oh, please. It was nothing,” his words are confident, but something about the way he’s standing, posturing, seems defensive, afraid. “I don’t need comfort for dealing with a sniveling fool like Petras.”

You’re not convinced, of course, but drop your hand regardless. “Suit yourself, my dear.” You pause a beat, as you settle on a new way to bring your vampire out of his temper. “Truth be told, I was being a bit selfish– after all, it’s not every day your handsome lover grabs someone by the throat like that.”

Karlach’s startled snort sounds like music to your ears. It snaps Astarion’s face out of his pompous expression. When he looks at you, surprised and satisfied, you know he’s a bit more himself again. “Well if that’s what gets you going, I’m happy to provide a cuddle.”

You don’t need any further affirmation, closing the distance between you with a step. Your arms wrap under his, holding his body tightly to yours by his shoulders. Astarion, despite his airs, melts in your arms easily. There’s a bit of a crinkle to his movements, as the fresh garments bend in unfamiliar ways. 

This is by far the nicest outfit you’ve ever hugged your lover in– you can feel every exquisitely stitched seam, the cloth is soft to the touch, pristine and shining. You have a brief moment of wonder; is this what hugging Astarion two centuries ago would have felt like? It’s likely he hasn’t had anything this nice in recent years. You’ll need to sort out an entire new wardrobe for him, of only the finest make.

Something about the moment compels you to say as much. “When this is all over, we’ll need to find somewhere to put your new wardrobe, in addition to all of your statues and paintings,” you whisper, a promise meant for only his ears.

He chuckles into your hair. “You like fancy clothing as well. I’m learning so much about your preferences today, love.” You roll your eyes at his teasing and move to break the hug, but he only grips harder. His words are the barest breath on your skin, “Just… one more moment.”

You would happily give him as many moments as he needs, and you curl back into him. Karlach and Shadowheart don’t interrupt, perhaps sensing that he needs the comfort he so vehemently denied. For your part, you can feel the tension leaving his body, slowly but surely. The instinctual fear that Petra and Dal evoked, the memories of his past life, retreating back in the face of his overwhelming reality. He is safe here, in your arms, with his friends– each of you ready to face his fears alongside him.

“All right, let’s go,” he says, finally releasing you. Then, with his usual flair, looks around, as if realizing where you’ve had this moment. “This place stinks of rat blood and despair.”

“Let’s go,” you confirm. “We've almost made it back.”

[dr-futbol-blog]

The Siege I, Pt. 4

So, Sheppard and his team consisting of Teyla and Ford have gone off screen to what was to become the new Alpha Site, and we don't get to see them on the planet at all. Whether Sheppard is feeling overheated or not, Bates informs Weir on the intercom that "Major Sheppard is coming in hot!" And he sure does, backing in out of the gate.

Bates is certain that the reason they are coming in so hot is Teyla having given up their position to the wraith, and he has had it. Before Sheppard has even had the chance to catch his breath Bates gets all up in his grill about it, not even the thinnest veneer of respect left for his superior officer.

And what he spits in Sheppard's face is the same thing that all of his superiors (including Weir, who is not making it easier to hear these same accusations from Bates just standing right there listening in on this) have told him, the thing that he already uses to beat himself up all the time:

Bates: I told you she was a liability, sir! Now, I'm not gonna let your personal feelings endanger this facility any longer! Teyla: What?! Bates: Look, I'm not accusing you of doing it intentionally, but the wraith must be getting information from you! Sheppard: What the hell are you talking about? We ran into a... what the hell was that? Ford: Looked an awful lot like a T-rex, sir. Sheppard: Yeah, a T-rex! It wasn't even a wraith! So why don't you check those accusations!

Sheppard is clearly irritated but his indignation is also very clearly feigned, it has a performative quality to it. He believes that Bates is treating Teyla unfairly, yes, but he does not believe that his accusations toward himself are unfounded. He is doing exactly what Bates accuses him of.

Weir, the diplomat that she is, tries to diffuse the situation by changing the topic:

Weir: I take it you don't recommend the planet as an Alpha Site, Major? Sheppard: Wouldn't be my first choice. If McKay doesn't get the satellite online, we're screwed.

So, there are a bunch of things happening on his face as Sheppard says this (and like, he's been separated from McKay for all of a few hours by now and he's already back to his compulsion of mentioning him by name at every available opportunity; he could just as well have said "if they don't get" or even "if we don't get"). At first, he's still fuming from Bates' accusations. As soon as he mentions McKay, is eyes shift to the right to access a memory of talking with McKay (he's unwittingly accessing an auditory memory) and just as soon, the anger dissipates and he seems to be expressing conviction, his belief in McKay and his abilities.

But then he suddenly realizes what he actually said ("screwed!") and, true to form, it's never not time for this man's mind to go to sex when McKay is involved and he raises his eyebrows in a minute wiggle. However, just as soon as he has the thought this is replaced by worry. He glances over to his team, concerned for them, but then he shifts his eyes to the left and looks at nothing at all. He is not looking at any of the people standing before him, he is looking to the side at nothing. This is where people are meant to be looking at when they are accessing emotional memory and feelings.

Most of all, Sheppard is worried for McKay and how he is doing right now, somewhere out there. Without him.

And that is when we finally get a glimpse of McKay in the jumper with Grodin and Miller. From Sheppard's look of concern we transition to see how McKay is doing just underlining the fact that McKay was what he had in his thoughts in that moment.

McKay seems to be wearing a space suit as they approach their destination, getting ready to do something that goes far above and beyond the duties of a scientist. I mentioned earlier that it is likely Sheppard had a talk with Miller before they took off just as McKay was having a talk with Zelenka. And Miller does seem to be watching over McKay in a way that suggests extra vigilance, especially since we have never seen the characters interact before and it is very likely they don't even know each other that well. He even tells McKay "good luck" when it is his time to go out for a space walk. All throughout their scenes, he seems much more concerned for McKay's well-being than Grodin does.

The fact that Miller is acting as proxy to Sheppard is shown in how he does exactly what Sheppard would have done here (although let's be honest, if Sheppard was on the mission he would be doing the space walk himself), turning back to look at McKay, watching him leave:

Meanwhile back on Atlantis, Teyla corners Bates because she has had it with his accusations. They have some words which ends up with Teyla decking him just as Sheppard and Ford were coming in around the corner. Bates is about to return the favour to her when Sheppard and Ford get in between them. Ford walks into Bates and holds him back with his own body blocking his forward momentum where Sheppard turns Teyla around, placing his own body between them. He is not trying to shield Teyla from any harm, they are trying to create space between the belligerents and to hold both of them at bay.

Sheppard didn't even have time to issue Ford any orders when they came in, so it's very good that he took the initiative to hold Bates back, as he seems to have been a hair's breadth away from assaulting a superior officer however much his intention was to get at Teyla. Sheppard has been trying so very hard to keep from having to reprimand Bates, and this just keeps getting worse. He doesn't even care who started what.

Sheppard: What the hell's going on here? Teyla: I was simply stating an opinion, Major! Bates: She attacked me! Teyla: And for good reason! Sheppard: Yeah, what reason would that be?

Under normal circumstances Sheppard might have been more sympathetic for Teyla's cause. They are aliens to her world, there are bound to be cultural differences. But here they are, on the eve of total annihilation with only McKay out there, alone, standing between them and the wraith, and with every passing minute he feels more and more like he made the wrong decision staying back. He could be out there with McKay making a difference and he stayed back for this. They are both getting on his last nerve.

Bates: My guess would be the wraith! Sheppard: Walk away, Bates. Bates: Sir! Sheppard: Walk away! Bates: This isn't over.

Sheppard isn't officially taking any sides here. We have seen him defend Teyla privately, argue her case against Bates almost since the very beginning but because this is happening in public, it places him in an extremely difficult position. Teyla is a member of his team but Bates is an officer in the military that he serves and whose regulations he is bound by. Yes, Teyla has reason to be miffed and it isn't her fault that she doesn't know the rules they operate under, but he doesn't need this right now. They don't need this right now. If there was anything he learned from that chapter of War and Peace he had apparently been reading recently (The Gift, S01E18), it was Pierre's idea that it is necessary for the forces of good to be united because at cross-purposes, they are making it easier for the forces of evil to defeat them.

Sheppard has too much on his plate to be dealing with this right now, so he ends up taking it all out on Teyla:

Sheppard: What the hell are you doing? You don't go around decking the head of security! Teyla: He said... Sheppard: I don't care what he said! He says a lot of things. You just stay away from him.

He says a lot of things, Sheppard says. I find this interesting. Certainly we have heard Bates say all manner of things relating to Teyla, but they've really all been variations of the same theme. So has he said something else worth note?

Like pointed out previously, Sheppard seems to be very uncomfortable around him, acting almost cautious. He has had ample reason to reprimand Bates officially, and yet he has not taken the opportunity. Bates is the second highest officer on base, he is the head of security appointed by Weir, he was one of Col. Sumner's men and his allegiance is still clearly to his former superior (Marines are known to be Semper fi, 'always faithful' or 'ever loyal' to the USMC), all of which might make Sheppard disinclined to pursue any formal proceedings for his behaviour. Both toward Weir as his higher up and Bates as someone directly under him, he is trying to maintain a fraught peace so as not to rock the boat unnecessarily especially at a time that calls for unity.

But Bates is a marine. Marines had a reputation for saying a lot of things about gay men as a form of homosocial bonding. "There's nothing as gay as a straight marine," goes the saying but this does not mean that they were accepting of homosexual or bisexual servicemen, much to the contrary. There was a well-known culture of playing "gay chicken" among the marines, being a homophobic game in which the masculinity of the participants is measured against the degree of sexual advances they could tolerate from another man. The straighter you were, the further you could go without being considered gay. This is a more severe version of what we actually saw Ford attempt to initiate with McKay in The Gift (S01E18) by making a disparaging comment about the size of his penis. Now, I'm not saying Ford was or had any intention of being homophobic there, only that his motivation for the remark was in homosocial bonding (especially with Sheppard), which is also the impetus for why this has been practiced in the Marine Corps probably up to this very day but certainly was back then.

It's not really about gay men but the stake of the game is avoiding the stigma associated with homosexuality, and the negative consequences associated with the suspicion of homosexual desires could adversely affect one's position in the homosocial environment of the military. That is, disparaging the very concept of homosexuality was the way marines asserted their masculinity and manifested the hierarchy within units. Something similar was certainly happening in all branches of the military as a form of hazing during DADT but USMC was an especially egregious example of this. They were famous for being like this.

Now, we know that Sheppard himself is not homophobic because he is canonically (Sunday S03E17) fine with people under him dating which ever sex they prefer, and let's not gloss over what a huge moment that actually was for a show with such deep ties to the military-entertainment complex. But most of the troops that he, an Air Force Major, commands on Atlantis are marines and one wonders whether he would have put a moratorium on that kind of talk under his leadership. Or that he didn't, because he tells us that Bates does say a lot of things, but that he certainly would like to have put an end to it. But because it strikes too close to home, it is too personal, he has too much to lose and his authority among them is hanging by a thread as it is, that he doesn't dare reprimand them for it even when it has to be killing him inside.

If John Sheppard was straight, it would be no problem to tell them to cut that shit out and tell them that anyone continuing it under his watch is going to be disciplined. But because he isn't, it becomes more complicated. Now, whether or not what Sheppard says is a reference to this, this is effectively what they are playing out in these scenes. Because Sheppard is guilty of what Bates accuses him of, of letting his personal feelings come in the way of his duty, he is incapable of performing his role as a leader to its full extent. He can't tell Bates that he's out of line, he can only tell him to walk away. In the previous episode, Teyla's connection to the wraith was allegorical of homosexuality so using her character, using what makes her "different" with regards to her inborn connection to the wraith, makes it safer to explore these dynamics that very much existed in the real world of the US military at this time.

Continued in Pt. 5

[superconductivebean]

#921: imelda headcanons post - 2

@amberlide you ask and I shall answer! But first, a bit of context:

Brainrot has affected this section more than it did yesterday, but general line is basically this: Imelda is a lesbiantragedy of a girl. Tough veneer for confidence and uncertainty in attitudes didn't make her favours. Bear in mind: the Brainrot stretches far beyond the game's timeline; when I'll get to thee requested, it's 7th year and beyond. Before that comes a brief overview; I'm not sure it's not convoluted.

Please note: I'm an ace, my NSFW is very mild but nsfw nonetheless.

This post also includes general relationship headcanons. NSFW ones are under the cut. Without further ado, IMELDA REYES HEADCANONS:

Imelda was quick to accept herself but wasn't sure her family wouldn't be quicker to cut her off or turn a blind eye and think she will grow out of 'these games';

These fears were unwarranted, nobody gets to talk Imelda down when her abuela is around, but it all got on her nerves nonetheless because of the uncertainty they brought. Imelda hated it. She needed everything to be lied out clear or, to the very least, giving her a sense of traversability, of direction;

As you can imagine, a girl she doesn't know is a whole new world of uncertainty;

Getting more than a fling requires a different set of skills, too. But how to build friendships, how to entrust people with stuff and how to let them close without risking being hurt were questions Imelda tried to attach to a set of answers she collected from Merlin knows where but all of her efforts went in vain. Girls as abrasive as her, Constance and Charlotte -- both were Quidditch players, they were beaters, and Charlotte was the captain for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, -- had more confidence than she did, was certain in what sought from the relationship, and would eventually just… leave. Not to mention these were school romances, you can imagine the drama, the horror, everything really;

Imelda is terrible at breaking ups even if she needn't anything more than a fling. She gets attached to people; it became easier for her with age but here's the catch: in the Brainrot, by which this all is powered, she can't know the extent of the severity of this attachment issue -- or to determine if this is even the issue -- because when she could've let go and start anew, she sort of went va-bank and although she won, at the moment it felt detrimental to her character and to the relationship she'd gotten into;

It caused her to treat any further relationship as such. A meet up, no commitment, no talk, no obligation, all-nonchalance, despite it all being out of her usually committed-to-the-bit character;

In conclusion, as @celestial--sapphic once put it, she's a girlfailure in her own right (and she's her own worst enemy at times);

To the other people, however, it doesn't look she is desperately trying to hide a beaming weakness. No, she must be valuing her time a tremendous lot, besides, people seem easily discardable to her, she'll practically smash anyone with her overbearing aplomb;

Brainrot: Not to write an essay but imagine a situation: 1) her 2) her bestie-rival MC on whom she has a crush 3) MC's girlfriend Poppy -> 4) Imelda gets super jealous and fumes the world does not know fair game. Cloudy with a chance of occasional girlfailing right here;

Brainrot: Not to write an essay but [2] the result of it was Imelda started to gain confidence she lacked with the besties' help*;

It isn't the kind of confidence needed to wear a shield for expletives to see them bouncing off of her but the one that comes from the satisfaction with life; doesn't necessarily mean sex but any point of contention. In Imelda's case, it was finding people she could trust;

Subsequently, it sorted her feedback-receiving issues. Might sound like an insight from my side and it is: core support group greatly reduces the feeling of dread and anxiety because they are the audience who love and adore and support you no matter what;

That being said, Imelda favours being on the receiving end of the praise, she craves positive and encouraging feedback whenever;

Imelda can be incredibly attentive in addition to being insightful; she easily spots patterns and notices links and correlations. It may be attributed to her natural abilities but most of it are trained and acquired traits after years of playing a ridiculously harsh and tough game of Quidditch. She needs to see where to fly and how, she must be aware of the positions of at least four people at any given moment midair in a 3D space; no wonders she could play out the entire chess session in her head and advise moves;

Her tease isn't a warm up, it's a field study and a subtle way to have an ongoing conversation about the preference for rough(less)ness;

She prefers to have things -- anything really -- under not her direct control but within the grasp of her immediate comprehension. Yes, Quidditch again. Being aware of available options and paths to take gives her the mettle to keep tackling the unfamiliar and cross sets of obstacles, especially when she's given a couple of affirmations;

While not calling her possessive, I would say she is assertive and inspires her lovely/ies with a sense of trust, just hold her hand;

Nor I'd say she is overly controlling and/or domineering; it requires too much mental exertion to act like this all the time; the only thing Imelda would need from this act are to ward off people she doesn't trust and have her boundaries well-established, neither she'd want her gf to feel weirded out by the implication of smn being tamed. Meaning, she wouldn't want to have an overkill in outward attitude;

But you bet she will pull off stunts to spice things up on occasion;

Words 'Imelda' and 'being inappropriate' are put synonymous btw;

Dirty talk;

Words 'Imelda' and 'physicality' are mutually interchangeable ftw;

Imelda likes to be physically there. PDA isn't her strongest suit but when privy she'll steal space, hug, and pester just to remind she's there; being physically close, in every sense of it, means a lot to her, it's her telling her loneliness she's by herself no more -- and to her lovely/ies they could put aside the wary of ever losing touch;

Imelda enjoys receiving praise but ^this effectively renders her a little sex pest who is always up to body worship and up to a little bit of compliment bombing because pleasing people makes them go soft and flustered, they'll give as good as they get >:3c;

as u can see imelda is a sly snek, she was put in the right house;

Brainrot: all of the above is the general summary of adult imelda without mentioning the important transition from a meek and an insecure bad-mouthed bitch to cutthroat and frisky Bitch. That, frank, asks for its own fic and it is sitting in my drafts.

Melly Gal kicks ass and doesn't like to remember her 15yo self when she's 25; she laughs at her teenage dramas when she's 35 and older.

tags: @thriftstorebabayaga -- it has breached containment again.

*I'm yet to become comprehensively cohesive with this part of the Brainrot bruv, but atm you can read more here and here. Also, this. If you thought it's a monolith of delulu: 1) it is; 2) explaining my MC is helluva task, her story reaches and goes full wlw romance around her ~7th year and ensues into Disaster Lesbians vs Bureaucracy trope (?).

[softsky-daily]

10/25/2024

A blurry sky is still beautiful.

Positive thing: I spent a lot of time out on my own today.

I turned in my vote-by-mail, did some thrifting, and got groceries. It was really nice to just be on my own outside for a while. Tomorrow I'm going to a vegan fest with my friend, so that'll hopefully be a good time too. I'm not vegan, but I do enjoy vegan food sometimes, and fests around here usually have some good vendors.

I've been feeling a bit defeated lately. I think I'm just overwhelmingly exhausted. Burnout is definitely no joke, and it feels like I've been running on fumes for way too long. It especially hits when I haven't been sleeping too well like lately. Everything I experience in my day-to-day is covered in this veneer of indifference that numbs me out. It'd be nice to have a win sometime soon - I don't know in what exactly, but I could really use one.

I was getting caught up on Skip and Loafer today actually, and without getting too spoiler-y I really relate to Shima (he's the main blonde guy). The latest chapter hit a bit too hard too. I think there's a lot to be said about building up an image, and then realizing that image was actually just a wall keeping everyone else out and leaving you lonely. Poor Shima. Poor me.

I didn't have therapy this week either so I can probably blame that on my mood slowly worsening too. But to be fair, it was either go or not get enough sleep, and I decided on sleep.

Hmm. Positive things. I've been getting back into QuizKnock lately, which to explain as simply as possible is a Japanese YouTube channel where these Tokyo University guys make up quiz games and play them together. They come up with some really interesting ideas. Also they're incredibly smart and incredibly silly in equal measure, so that always makes it a good time. One of the ones I just rewatched is where they made up questions only using dessert names and the players had to answer while trying to guess what the question actually was.

But anyway, tomorrow's a new day. At least I get to sleep in.

[xantchaslegacy]

Rise and Fall

(Below is the unabridged version of a fanfic I did for the very cool MtG Lore *Adrift* fanzine. You can also read the unabridged version on my AO3 if ya like ;) )

Vaash Vroga walked the beach on a nameless world, following in the wake of its creator.

It was not the first artificial plane she'd ever tread. Her journeys through the multiverse had taken her through the meditation realm of Nicol Bolas more than once (an oddly high number of times, truth be told, for a place closed off to so many). She had even spent several painful minutes staggering through the ruins of old Phyrexia, failing to locate some ancient artifact or another at the behest of her now-discarded mantle, before the vile fumes of the place had overcome her and forced her to flee. She still bore scars along her legs from the whip-like blades that passed for grass on the sixth sphere.

This current plane had a more convincing veneer of naturality to it, but the hallmarks of a planeswalker's vanity were still there, if one looked close enough: The sand was just a bit too clean and golden, and the air not quite as fishy as it ought to be, this close to the sea. 

An unsettling creation to tread, pleasant though it was on the senses.

The creator, for his part, moved at an infuriatingly leisurely pace, slowing often to stare out over the water at storm clouds which had been gathering for the past half-hour. His eyes were bright, and uniformly amber, set deep into chiseled features lined with age.

“How much further?”

“Hm?” The creator turned his head, slackening his pace further by half a step. He was dressed in a simple sleeveless tunic of gold-trimmed white, with a cloak of the same pristine fabric that left his legs bare from mid-thigh down. Both garments glowed with an almost imperceptible light.

“How far is our destination?” Vaash gestured ahead, jabbing all five fingers at the stretch of beach and grassy hills before them.

“Ah.” The creator nodded and resumed his previous pace. “No destination. I thought a walk would be a nice change for you." He veered a degree to the right, and started up a low rise overlooking the shore. Tall, dark-green grasses grew in patches that quickly thickened as the beach rolled inland into a meadowed field. "'Tis nicer by far to walk in the open air, under the sun, than remain cooped up in some Izzet lab or tolarian dormitory."

Vaash squinted up at the sky. It was decidedly overcast by now. There were rays of light still peeking through the seams in the clouds, but those seams were closing rapidly.

"Did you make that?” She asked. “It feels just like natural sunlight."

"It's a rescue," the creator replied, his grin full of teeth. "A treefolk 'walker pulled that sun into the eternities about five hundred years ago to deny it as a power source to a rival. I plucked it from there."

"The Battlemage Ravidel is as resourceful as he is formidable," Vaash remarked.

The creator paused, mid-stride, and Vaash halted two paces away. When he turned to look at her, his smile was tight.

““Ravidel,’ if you please. We will have a frank, straightforward conversation, unmuddied by titles or deference. We are peers of the multiverse, you and I.”

“No deference here.” Vaash held out her hands and gave a mock bow. “If the mighty Ravidel wishes to call me 'peer', I won’t deny him.”

Ravidel snorted. “Very good. You can lose ‘the mighty,’ but good.”

“Surprisingly humble for a centuries-old tyrant.”

“Hm.” Ravidel nodded, not turning back. “I find myself discovering and re-learning humility every century or so.”

The two planeswalkers hiked a ways longer in silence. They passed two fishermen, and a group of children combing for shells in the surf, but weather had driven the other inhabitants of this pocket plane further inland. The fields Vaash could see were mostly empty, save for fireflies and a far-off shepherd herding a flock of woolly, blue-furred creatures. The grassy portion of the beach started to slope upward, and soon they were walking along the ledge of a low ridge, with the meadow to their right, and a straight drop of several yards down to the sands on their left.

"Well." Ravidel paused at a small boulder set at a high rise, and perched upon it. "What do you think? Not bad for my first plane."

Vaash regarded the sea and sky.

"Not bad for an old man's retirement home, I suppose."

Ravidel chuckled. "Hard to impress a planeswalker. Even one of you young bloods."

Vaash shrugged. “I’ve seen plenty impressive bits of this vast multiverse; Jodah could have told you as much. My adventures on all the planes that Ral and that little mind-mage friend of theirs chased me through could fill a book.”

“Mind mage?” Ravidel shot her quizzical look. “Jodah told me it was a necromancer that helped them subdue you and strip you of the mantle.”

“So he thinks,” Vaash grimaced. “Ral insists their ally is a geomancer. And the first time we fought, I was certain their traveler friend was a beast mage. The only explanation I have for the discrepancy is that they’re actually an illusionist, hiding whatever other powers they have with mind-tricks. Of the three, they are the one I trust the least.”

"Hm." Ravidel shrugged. “Sounds like an unusual fellow."

“What planeswalker isn’t?” Vaash shook her head. "Ral and Jodah think I'm a bit mad. They don't even realize that they can't agree what their nameless friend is."

Ravidel didn't offer a response to that. His attention had turned to the figures on the beach below: a clutch of older children, human and goblin. A few were tending to a small fire, while the others stood in the shallows, ankle-deep in the slightly-too-sapphire-colored water, fishing with sharpened sticks. The ones by the fire caught sight of Ravidel and called out excited greetings. Ravidel acknowledged them with a wave and a nod.

"You're wondering why you're here," he said.

"You didn't give Jodah much time to explain...or make introductions."

"I thought he'd have filled you in on who I am ahead of this meeting."

Vaash grimaced. "The archmage can be a bit absent-minded in that regard."

"Old, old habits," Ravidel sighed. "My name, at least, speaks for itself?"

"I have had a rudimentary schooling in history, but even that poor education found time for you.” Vaash lifted her hands and made a line in the air. “Apprentice to the long-vanished planeswalker Faralyn, Destroyer of Arathoxia, ‘The Plague Upon Corondor,’ scourge of your fellow planeswalkers, and bitter enemy to the line of Carthalion."

"All apt monikers." Ravidel patted his knee thoughtfully. "History has judged me fairly, if harshly."

"The old Cabal head claimed some of those names for his own, a while back." Vaash lowered a hand to the ground, dropping spores of green and black to the grass. "Your monikers, and others, too. Though he's dead now. Pasty-skinned demon bastard." She spat in the grass, and a saproling shimmered into being where the spores hovered: thigh-high, and made of thick tendrils supporting a cushion of tan toadstool caps.

She sat down upon the saproling, and sighed as the pressure eased off her tired soles. Ravidel regarded her, elbows on his knees.

"You slew him?"

Vaash shook her head. "Other ‘walkers took care of him. The same ones who thrashed old Bolas on Ravnica."

"You'd rather have done the deed yourself." It wasn't a question.

"Sure." Vaash shrugged. It was an easier gesture to do nowadays, without that heavy garment draped around her shoulders. "But it's a positive outcome no matter who killed Belzenlok. The Cabal is weakened and Urborg is safer for it."

"And that is important to you."

Again, not a question. So Vaash did not answer.

They sat in silence a long while, faces cooled by the pre-storm winds whistling in from the sea, and backs warmed by the inland breeze, smelling now of bittersweet milkweed and ozone. Ravidel's breaths were short and loud enough to be heard over both winds. Awkwardly so. The few oldwalkers Vaash had encountered in her time were all like that in some regard. Still uneasy in the trappings of newly mortal bodies, even decades after the mending had lessened the nature of the spark.

Maybe they just breathe loud because they miss being the center of attention.

"What is it you want out of life, ultimately?"

Vaash looked up at Ravidel. He'd lifted up a hand, where five rings gleamed, one on each finger. Each was inset with a gem.

Vaash could have sworn they were not there a minute ago.

“What?”

"What does Vaash want for Vaash?” Ravidel continued. “Surely you do not begin and end at Urborg." As he spoke, points of colored light peeled off from the rings and swirled in his open palm.

“‘Vaash’ has not had much time alone for Vaash. But I am content in the freedom I enjoy as a mage and ‘walker to do as I please.”

Ravidel raised an eyebrow. “Or as others please that you do?”

Vaash regarded Ravidel. He held her gaze, lights spinning faster and faster in his palm.

"This talk is going to be about Leshrac, isn't it?"

"..Yes." The lights in Ravidel’s palm did not falter, but as soon as Vaash said ‘Leshrac,’ their rapid orbits expanded to circle around the back of Ravidel's hand.

"Why?" Vaash rested a hand on her hip, close to the hilt of her sword. Ravidel had requested she not bring her blades with her. This was her compromise. "Why bring me here to lecture me on my tormentor?"

“I am uniquely qualified to do so: I know what it is to be twisted to the ends of another planeswalker. I know what it is to twist others to my ends. And, of course, I knew the planeswalker who has most recently twisted you to his ends."

The colored lights slowed and hovered, one over each of Ravidel's fingers. The pearly light elongated into the figure of an old man with golden robes and a shining crown. The sapphire unspooled into a burly, many-tendriled beast with scales the color of dull steel. The black twisted into what appeared to be an old crone, with flame around their brow, and a large tunic the color of night.

"Leshrac,” Ravidel said as this last figure spun into being. “A peer of my first master, Faralyn. Along with Tevesh Szat, they conspired to slay one of their fellow 'walkers during a Summit on the Null Moon, and then to use the life force to escape their joint imprisonment on Dominaria. Instead, their plotting led to my own death and sparking, and the death of my dearest friend.”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Vaash whispered, eyeing the dark-cloaked image. “Supposed to have died decades ago in the mending, shoved face-first into a rift by the god-emperor-dragon of Madara.”

“We died with surprising regularity, we walkers of old,’” Ravidel sighed. “an astounding regularity, for beings so close to gods.”

“Well he didn’t die...or at least, old Bolas didn’t do his job thoroughly enough.” Vaash crossed her arms. “Left enough of that wretch alive in the mantle to use and torment me.” She shrugged her shoulders again, to reassure herself they were still bare.

“Yes,” Ravidel said, not soft, but softer than he had spoken previously. “But that can all be behind you, if you would re-think your schemes for the future.”

Vaash scowled "I have not spoken of schemes for the future. Or for Leshrac. To you or Jodah or Ral."

"But you have spoken about him to Jodah, and for all his peculiarities, a planebound mage as old as Jodah doesn't survive as long as he has without a sense for reading intentions between the lines."

"Go on then." Vaash rose from the saproling seat and placed her hands on her hips. "What are my intentions?"

Ravidel’s eyes tracked hers as she rose. He pursed his lips, watching her and breathing sharply through his nostrils.

"Your intentions are ones I know well," he said at last. "Vengeance. Plain and simple."

"Yes, plain and simple." Vaash walked past Ravidel, moving slightly past him along the slope. Her saproling scurried to follow. "Intentions so plain and simple, in fact, that we don’t need to discuss them further."

"Jodah wishes you to reconsider. I wish you to reconsider."

Vaash turned and frowned. Ravidel had risen from the stone, and the colored lights were circling his entire arm now, tracing a rainbow of lines through the air.

"By threat?" She snarled.

Ravidel shook his head. "By reason. By example and demonstration."

“The great Ravidel has become a teacher?’

“Ravidel is more than a magical tyrant,” he replied, with a dry smile. “Ravidel has had centuries to hone subtler arts than spell-craft. You’d be amazed what you have time for when you step away and let all the world think you’re dead.”

“I have too many responsibilities for something like that. Urborg’s enemies are many and industrious; I cannot tear my attention away from their activities for long.”

“Urborg is important to you.”

"Urborg is my responsibility. A land in need of Freedom. All the world dismisses us as a sulfurous swamp, yet all the world cannot help but interfere with our people. The black primeval, Nevinyrral, the Cabal...tyrants all, and I would see an Urborg free of tyrants. I would see a multiverse free of tyrants, if possible, but Urborg is where I have started."

"Noble and high-minded." Ravidel nodded. "Were you brought up among freedom fighters, or do you come by these ideals yourself?"

"Hah!" Vaash spat upon the grass. "My ideals are my own. 'Freedom' couldn't have been further from the aims of those who raised me."

"No love lost between you and your parents, then?" Ravidel turned a wry look out toward the beach. He was watching the children in the surf tramp back to the fire, with nets and sticks full of fish and shellfish. The fishing group had taken notice of the planeswalkers as well, and a few were waving to Ravidel. He returned a broad wave, and motioned for them to return to their play. "I sympathize."

"I lost my parents to the breathstealers when I was six." Vaash hissed. "Urborg’s infamous death cult. They are the ones who brought me up, raising me and children like me to feed into the meat grinder of their mercenary service.” Vaash paused. her chest was filling and falling rapidly. She closed her eyes. And slowed her lungs, letting the rise and fall become deeper, slower, and then regular again.

"And yet the breathstealers taught you many lessons," Ravidel observed, as she opened her eyes again. "Your prowess with death magic demonstrates as much."

Vaash shrugged. “A good lesson can come from anywhere. It does not make the teacher good. Always there was an ulterior motive with the breathstealers. They taught power for no purpose but to farm us out as child soldiers to any unscrupulous mage willing to pay the right price. Breathing exercises to make us silent killers. Lessons in eating mana and casting spells to make us deadly in magicks. Artifacts of power gifted to us not out of pride or for our protection, but always in service of the Nightstalker Spirit in its many manifestations. Can you guess how many times I was taught growing up that the greatest thing I could aspire to was to die and merge with the great nightstalker? To die and spread death in the names of Avarre and Necros and Bethanelle? To serve-" Vaash cut off, and folded her arms, looking out toward the water. "No, Ravidel. My inclinations to freedom are separate from and antithetical to the breathstealers. They are another ill upon Urborg and upon Dominaria, and I will see their cult erased from the world."

This time she did not need to correct her breathing, though Ravidel still waited a long moment before responding.

"That's where the mantle came from." This time there was the hint of a question in his voice. But just a hint.

"Jodah told you of the mantle?"

"A power-storing and consuming garment that bears the mark of Leshrac? Of course he did. I am, as I said, one of the few living authorities on the Walker of the Night."

"I thought you didn't care for titles."

"This particular title might be salient, given the mantle's origins." Ravidel looked her up and down. "‘Spirit of the Night’… ‘The Nightstalker’… ‘Walker of the Night’ … I am curious why they would bestow such a tool upon you. Are you a descendant of Leshrac? Was he a breathstealer himself?"

"I do not know or care if Leshrac was a breathstealer. A handful of my elders among the breathstealers thought he might be some legend from their past...perhaps even the Nightstalker itself, taken the form of a man. As for me...I was an orphan," Vaash turned away from Ravidel. Her voice became a harsh whisper on the breeze. "My parents were nothing and nobody, but they were mine, and the breathstealers killed them to make me into a tool. This is their practice all across Urborg. I was nothing special to them, and the mantle was just a means. A pretty basting on another sacrifice intended to raise another iteration of their night-stalking god." She let her arms fall to her side. "Well, I guess they succeeded in the end, didn't they?"

Ravidel nodded. “I must ask...do you have any inkling of how Leshrac survived? How he came to be in the mantle? Anything you didn’t tell Jodah?”

“I have answered every question Jodah has asked of me fully and honestly. Do you have any inklings? You claim to be the authority.”

Ravidel shook his head. "I have theories, but that is all. Perhaps the mantle was made from the same artifact Nicol Bolas stuffed Leshrac's spark into. Perhaps it was an unrelated contingency Leshrac cooked up after seeing so many of his fellow walkers of old perish so suddenly and unexpectedly over the centuries.”

"In any case," he sighed, "you are better off quit of the mantle. And of Leshrac.”

"We are all better off quit of Leshrac," Vaash replied through her teeth. "So it will be quite the favor I do the multiverse when I track him down and erase whatever sliver of him still lingers among the living."

Ravidel pursed his lips, eyes on the clouds in the distance. The colors circling his arm shuddered, leapt up into the air, and spiraled in a wide ring overhead, twisting around one another into a broad, tangled, rainbow-hued circle.

"Your life magic is self-taught, I gather, given your upbringing, so likely you never had a mentor to teach you of the cycles of life."

"I taught myself quite adequately," Vaash said, eyes narrowing. “And even self-taught lessons can be educational.”

"Humor me." Ravidel's eyes flashed, and the space within the ring overhead filled with a blaze of imagery. Dragons, forests, fire-red skies, armored giants, and dozens of scenes lasting but a fraction of a second that Vaash could not identify.

The images began to slow and blur. Color melted into color, and for a moment the disk was pure, unbroken white. A second later, two figures resolved from the blankness. A tall woman with a warrior’s build and cascading blonde hair. Beside her, a hunched but burly old man with a walking stick and a thin cap upon his head.

“Tev Loneglade was a planeswalker,” Ravidel began. His voice had a slight echo to it. More vanity. “Old and powerful. Not the friendliest of ‘walkers, but content to keep to himself.”

"Tev Loneglade had a sister, Tymolin. One precious to him, for whom he expended his magical prowess to protect and keep alive. She was taken from him-"

A flurry of figures swirled around the two Lonelades – saprolings and elves, merfolk and lobster-people. Goblins, orcs, and dwarves, a man speaking to a cluster of hunched homunculi, and figures in white. These last surrounded the tall woman, and she fell out of the disk, limp.

“-and slain. So Tev fell to rage and despair, and became Tevesh. Tevesh Szat.”

The hunched and burly man turned reptilian and blue-scaled. Tentacles blossomed around the ring. The reptile-man reached down.

“Szat swore a vengeance against his sister's killers, and then against Dominaria, and eventually, once free of the shard, against everything and everyone, so fully did he lose himself to his hatred of the few that stole away his sister. He sowed discord and ruin across all Dominaria and every plane he could in the Shard of Twelve Worlds.”

Steaming tears streamed from the burly thing’s red-hot eyes as it tore through figures – black and white at first, then green, blue, and red.

"Many years later, Tevesh Szat slew my dearest friend at the Summit of the Null Moon, to escape the Shard. Tore away the most precious one in my life in the same way the Farrelites took his sister from him. He did not do this to spite me. Nor did he act with any intent to inflict a wound on my soul the same as he had suffered, but he did so nonetheless, and in doing so spurred me to become a beast not entirely unlike he was."

The scene twisted again and fractured – the golden-robed man in the crown spoke to a blue dragon, and was vaporized by mist. A long-antlered man screamed from a pyramid as the dead rushed around him through knee-deep snows.

“I became a scourge to many, mortal and walker alike, all in the name of revenge-”

Ravidel himself stood on a rise before a collection of figures, brandishing a chained bowl. A red-haired man was struck dead by Ravidel’s magics. A freckled woman trudged through a dark forest. A man in a turban assaulted a minotaur with magics, and was in turn cut down by a golden-haired figure wearing dark glasses. Szat screamed in a dome of glass as electricity cooked his flesh.

“-and all for naught. Did my campaign of vengeance bring my friend back from the dead? It did not. I accomplished nothing against the ‘walkers I saw as having manipulated me, other than to hurt the ones who once wished to help me. Faralyn got himself killed like a buffoon the moment he made it out of the Shard. Tevesh Szat evaded me for centuries, only to die at the hands of some greasy-fingered tinkerer. Taysir and I sealed Leshrac away for a time, but by then my hatred...my bitterness had a mind all its own. It had become so core to my being that I could not put it aside, and I embraced means that made me indistinguishable from the walkers I had sworn vengeance upon at my sparking.”

Ravidel closed his eyes. “So it was that the cycles of vengeance claimed me, and used me to perpetuate further misery.”

Vaash snorted. "And let me guess - it all starts with one bad decision. A decision to chase vengeance."

Ravidel nodded. “It starts with a compromise. A bending of your principals, justified with the belief in the good of your ends. Then another compromise, allowed because two compromises cannot possibly be that worse than one. Then, eventually, comes a complete break from your principals, once you are well and invested in your ends. Before you know it, a snowdrift of compromises have buried the ruins of whoever you once were.”

“So what’s the solution?” Vaash spread her hands. “Never risk compromise? Never retaliate against the wicked?”

“Not at all. A better way is to be honest, and to not fool yourself when a compromise comes. When you break with your ideals, acknowledge the break, and reassess yourself. Otherwise you’ll have no idea what you’ve become. You won’t understand that you are fundamentally a different person, and in trying to reconcile the self with the lost ideal, you will lose yourself further.”

“Easy enough. I promise to assess whether I am at peace with killing Leshrac.” Vaash stared at Ravidel for two and a fraction of a second. “Done. I have decided to proceed.”

Ravidel shook his head. “Whether or not you make that honest assessment of yourself, you’ll still have changed. You’ll still have become the you who makes the compromises vengeance demands, and even if you make peace with that person, the rest of the world must now contend with them. The person you are now, or the person who compromises. You can’t be two people at once.”

“What if I want it both ways?” Vaash drew her hand in a line through the space between Ravidel and herself. Five spears of mossy light bloomed around her. A moment later, a second Vaash stood on the rise beside her, skin glowing with green veins. “Who says I must choose between the Vaash I am and the Vaash who takes vengeance? Why must it be an inherently corrupting process?” She cut another line, and a third Vaash appeared, this one trailing wisps of black smoke.

The green Vaash nodded. “Who says it is even vengeance? That is your word, and Jodah’s. Can I not simply be a responsible mage who cleans up after her own messes?”

“Everything we do changes us, Vaash Vroga.” Ravidel clenched his fist, and the ring above pulsed with fresh power. Overhead, the red-haired man knelt before a black horse with a flaming mane. The turban-clad man spied on the freckled woman from before, as Ravidel whispered into his ear. A young man with long black hair raised a sword above a fallen archer, screaming in rage. A bronze-skinned woman poured fiery magic into a burly elf, who spasmed in pain. “One does not pursue a creature like Leshrac, or even the shadow of Leshrac, without risk to oneself and others. Inherently self-altering risk. Did you not compromise yourself significantly in your pursuits for artifacts to feed to Leshrac’s mantle?”

The black Vaash crossed her arms. “It seemed a better path than nourishing the mantle with the breath of orphans.”

“And yet look at what you did do. Destabilizing Zendikar. Attacking your fellow ‘walkers.”

“Walkers who did not care to understand-”

“And Shiv? Were your actions there the work of the ambitious, high-minded mage who wishes to free the planes of tyranny?”

The black Vaash’s eyes fell to the ground. “That...was a compromise. A bad one.”

“A man like Deniz-”

“I know!” Vaash herself interrupted. “I know and I regret it! I told myself he was Benalish. That his people also fight against the Cabal. I saw them as allies, and I thought his intervention on Shiv would be beneficial for their...”

She tapered off as Ravidel raised an eyebrow.

“...it was a compromise.” She turned to face the beach and the sea. A trail of smoke was blowing off the children’s fire, swept inland and up the slope below them, where the warm breeze from inland carried it back over the sands and the waves. “One of many. There was power to be gained in having an ally who controls the mana rig. Enough perhaps to power the mantle without hunting artifacts on other planes.”

“It must have been quite the burden, keeping the mantle fed.” Ravidel lowered his ringed hand. “What was that like? The hunger of the mantle? Of Leshrac?”

“At first? Not much at all. I fed his mantle because sustenance for it meant power for me. A pool of energy. Easier spellcasting. A sort of intuition that helped me develop my own casting. But after a while...” Vaash grimaced. “...it became worse than hunger. Worse than any thirst, or the need to breathe, even. I would have cut the throat out of my own mother if it meant staving off the pain the mantle’s cravings caused me.”

She looked over at Ravidel. “Still, I told myself it was better than feeding on others. Better than sucking the breath out of children to keep the mantle...to keep Leshrac sated.”

“When did he take control?”

“He didn’t...” Vaash paused. “That is, there was no one moment. It’s not like I became a puppet or anything like that, it’s just that feeding the mantle became its own end. That’s how bad the ‘hunger’ was. One day on Zendikar I woke up, and instead of feeling an intuitive guidance from the mantle, it was whispering directions into my ear.” She clenched both her fists. “I could have not listened, maybe. But I’d lived so long feeding the mantle at that point that, well...” She trailed off. “Let’s just say it’s good Ral and his mystery friend stopped me when they did.”

“It’s the cycle.” Ravidel said. He said it like that was all there was to say. “The Breathstealers wronged you. The Cabal wrongs your homeland. And in your efforts to right those wrongs, you have spread the cursed cycle of wrongs wider still. The only solution can be this: Remove yourself from the cycle, and feed it no longer.”

Vaash and both her copies were silent. Green looked down at her feet, scowling. Black gazed off into the sky, arms folded and face blank. Vaash herself regarded Ravidel. He had his clenched fist raised, and one foot resting on a rock. His breath was slow and steady, his belly swelling and contracting with each breath. He might have looked grand, posed as he was, if she weren’t completely certain it was all just a display. The emerald ring on his finger was glowing a conspicuous degree brighter than the others.

“Do you like the person you are, Ravidel?”

Ravidel blinked. “I...what?”

“Would you say that you like yourself? As you are now?”

“I am proud of what I am,” Ravidel said. “Of what I have made of myself, considering my past. He gestured toward the children, who were cooking their catch over the fire, surprisingly uninterested in the magics happening above their heads. “Where once I ruined lives, broke homes, now I provide preservation of both. A whole plane, safe and peaceful, for the orphans I left in my wake, and for their descendants.

“And for myself, I have found that, removed from the cycle of vengeance, I have had time to find out who ‘Ravidel’ is. I am a powerful mage, yes but also a cultivator. A builder. A provider for many. I have found peace, humility, and an appreciation for my place as a walker of the planes.”

“You found humility?” Green Vaash raised an eyebrow, eyes on the battlemage’s impossibly gleaming garments.

He shrugged, spreading his arms. "I found out Ravidel is someone who enjoys a bit of theatricality, and grandeur. I like that about myself as well."

“And would you be who you are now, if you hadn’t done all those things? If you had not fallen into the cycle of vengeance? If you had not learned all you know now from the mistakes you made?”

Ravidel’s arms faltered, falling a few inches. He pursed his lips. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t be. Still, I would excise those years of my life from existence, if I could. All those lives lost, people killed...were they worth it for one mage to become a better man?”

Vaash stared at him, and shrugged.

“Yes,” Ravidel said, smiling sadly. “Fair enough.” He looked at Vaash and each of her simalcra in turn. “I suppose we live with all versions of ourselves at all times, don’t we?”

Vaash shrugged again.

Ravidel took his foot from the stone, and sighed. “Taysir told me once, back when he deigned to be my mentor, that the people of old Yotia believed we have many souls. Many selves throughout the many stages our lives. They believed the good would be judged separately from the bad. Redemption and ascension for part of the self, punishment for the rest.”

Green Vaash laughed. A rough, harsh sound. “Sounds like a fiction to comfort the repentant wicked.”

“Perhaps,” Ravidel sighed, “but Taysir took comfort in it, I think, when he abandoned his interplanar questing and settled down to live apart and in peace. His own nature was such that a belief system built around a multiplicity of souls must have felt natural. I find myself taking comfort in it in my twilight years...and who's to say? Gods, immortals, afterlives; I’ve seen a dozen different belief systems play out before my eyes on a dozen different planes. It’s hard to fully be a skeptic.”

“Being a planeswalker is a great cure for skepticism,” black Vaash muttered.

Ravidel laughed. “Agreed.”

Vaash’s response faltered on her lips as a fork of lightning speared the sea, far out at the horizon line. The sky had grown quite a bit darker since they’d left the sand for the grasses, but the bolt illuminated the landscape like a flicker of sunlight.

Another spear of lightning flashed across the sky seconds later. Then another and another.

Another.

Another, far too rapid in succession to be natural. Vaash looked over at Ravidel. He nodded, and put up a hand, but his eyes were fixed on the crackling horizon. She bit her lip, but turned to face the sea, and inhaled. The green and black Vaashes flowed back into her.

The children were likewise transfixed, but weren’t retreating. A few of them had actually walked closer to the shore, skewers of roasted seafood in hand, though they stayed well clear of the waterline.

All the while the lightning riddled the distance with lines of power.

Just when Vaash thought the noise and the light could not grow any more overwhelming, the horizon fell dark and silent.

But just for a moment.

A dragon flashed into being over the sea. Then again. And again. It took three strobes for Vaash to realize the dragon was not real, but a sculpture of electricity, soaring toward the shore, roaring with the blast of thunder. By a trick of light, its scales appeared to be solid chrome, reflecting the sea and the clouds.

It rushed the shore, blinking in and out of being with millisecond rapidity, wings wide.

Closer it came. Closer still, until Vaash thought it would tear through the sky overhead. Just as it reached three hundred yards from the waterline, the dragon reared up, wings and limbs spread in a triumphant display. There was another, booming roar-

-and then silence.

The sky was empty once again, save for the undulating blanket of stormclouds.

The children lost no time in cheering and jumping about the sand. It was odd, Vaash thought as she watched them. The bolts never actually touched the water.

“A tribute to a friend,” Ravidel whispered, hoarse. “A little vanity built into the structure of the plane back when I had the power for such things.”

“Was he fond of dragons, this friend of yours?”

Ravidel tilted his head as if considering the question, then let out a soft laugh.

“You know, one could make a convincing argument that he was not. His name was ‘Rhuell.’ As in, ‘to rule.’ An ironic name for one who spent so much of his life in servitude.” Ravidel closed his hand. The ring of mana above them collapsed into his fist and was extinguished. Raindrops, minute pinpricks of coolness in the still-warm air, dotted Vaash’s face and arms.

The wind slowed from bellow to whistle, a warm whip across the skin.

“I’d welcome you to stay here a while,” Ravidel said. “To think over vengeance before you take it. The planes will carry along fine in your absence. All our schemes and plots spilling out from world to world? It isn’t natural, and it isn’t beneficial.”

“Natural?” Vaash laughed, swinging her hand out over the ocean and the children. “None of this is natural. A world with engineered weather? A world peopled by transplanted citizens? Only a planeswalker could do such a thing, and you cannot tell me it is not an especially slick patch on the slippery slope of abusing godhood.”

Ravidel grimaced. Not quite a flinch, but the closest thing to it Vaash had seen from him. “It would be impossible for me to do more than this now, with the nature of the multiverse so changed by the Mending-”

“You’ve made a dollhouse that will fall apart as soon as you are gone from the multiverse. An irresponsible decision even when you were a true immortal, and downright ruinous now that the Mending has come and done its ravaging work upon the nature of the spark.”

“I’m trying!” Ravidel snapped back. His brow furrowed. Just a fraction, but it was the most agitation he’d shown so far. “Do you think I haven’t considered the fragility of this place? It weighs on my every moment. Not a day goes by that I do not plumb my prowess and knowledge for a way to preserve it past my passing. I do not mean to be Ravidel the careless, any more than I wish to again be Ravidel the cruel. Ravidel the callous and hateful.”

“That’s my point. A walker does not have to be cruel or hateful or vengeful to be a danger to the multiverse.”

“I am more at peace with the multiverse than-”

“Peace!” Vaash laughed. “Don’t kid yourself, Ravidel. We ‘walkers can never be at peace with the multiverse. We are an aberration. Intruders by nature. Every trip we take through the eternities is an affront to the nature of existence. A man might tread cautiously through the swamp, but still he will trouble the fish with his movement and crush the snails underfoot.”

She cut off, breathing measured, but deep. Ravidel grimaced, and said nothing.

“But,” Vaash said, after a moment, “it is not a terrible thing. What you have done here. I think it admirable in its aims, overall. I would commend you for it on another day, when my temper does not run so hot. But what I will not do is nod along with you and pretend that your sort of meddling is less a danger to the planes than mine.”

“I keep myself to this plane now. I have left the rest of it to be as it will.”

“As it will?” Vaash’s nostrils flared. “And how exactly do you think it will be, left all alone? Sunshine and freedom for all, now that big, bad Ravidel has graciously decided to rampage no longer?”

Ravidel, clenched his jaw. “I acknowledge I am not the only danger out in the multiverse, but by leaving my own vengeance behind-”

“It is not better to leave the cycle behind than to remain.” Vaash snapped. Her saproling, which had gone to huddle in the taller grasses when the lightning began, scurried over for her to sit upon. “Power not used for good out in the multiverse is power that might as well have been snuffed out. Was it not a great tragedy when your actions removed more benevolent planeswalkers from the world? Or when Lord Windgrace gave his life to preserve the nature of reality itself? Tell me, how did it help the multiverse at large when Taysir went into seclusion and hermitage? Doesn’t the inability of such powerful beings to do good throughout the multiverse tear at your heart? And would the outcome not be the same if they had just disappeared to a pocket plane, never to be seen again except to lecture at-”

“Lord Windgrace was just as much an isolationist as I when he lived-”

“-And now he can never be anything else!” Vaash snapped. “Your question before, if your growth was worth the cost of your sins – it’s the wrong way of looking at things altogether. Nature does not care about moral equity. What is done has been done. Maybe you’ve become a better person, but it’s of no benefit to the multiverse if you stay here, closed off from it.”

“Be careful how much you presume the multiverse needs people like us.” Ravidel extended a hand toward the storm. “Despite the many ills that ravage it…” He gestured toward the fields, where fireflies drifted through the grass “...the denizens of the planes will endure.”

“Yes,” Vaash replied, “But I would rather they endure without tyrants than with. With fewer storms and calamities.”

“An answer for everything.” Ravidel let his hand fall.

“Yes. This is a conversation, isn’t it?”

Ravidel opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to think better of it. He exhaled instead, still loud and abrupt, and sat back down upon the stone.

“It is that. I forget myself.” He inclined his head, and gestured at Vaash. “Please.”

“All belief and magic comes from nature, and all nature is about the cycle. The cycle of wrongs and responses is as natural to human intercourse as the predator-prey system. There’s no escaping the cycles, at least not for the planebound. Even the gods must live within them the best they can.” Vaash clenched her fist. “You’ve made me realize something. As walkers, don’t we have a privileged position? A rare perspective on the cycles? Of life and death, vengeance and kindness? How can you tell me it is good to remove ourselves from the cycles when our privilege makes us among the few who can ease the suffering of those within?”

Ravidel stared at her, though by the way he worked his jaw, he did appear to be considering her words.

At last he smiled.

“The green mage wishes for harmony, and black mage will do anything to achieve their ends...together...peace at any cost.”

Vaash frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Ravidel chuckled “Just thinking about some blowhard old friends. Antiquated theories on the colors of magic. I’m not sure how much stock I put in them anymore. We used to be very old-fashioned about spellcasting.”

“Old indeed,” Vaash shrugged. “The magic of the forest and fen are closer than most mages imagine. On most planes it’s just the ratio of mulch and moisture.”

Ravidel nodded, slow. “The same tree that drinks sunlight above casts darkness below its leaves.”

Vaash grimaced. “Yes.” She flexed her fingers, and a five-pointed fork of moss and mud-colored light jabbed up into the space in front of her face. The spikes of light twisted into a spiral, and collapsed again into a single point over her palm. “Many cycles at work. And these… ‘colors,’ as you put it, are not always what they seem.”

He nodded, first at Vaash, and then toward the fields, glowing the fireflies. “Do you know, they call them ‘lightning bugs’ in some places? Fire...lighting...the very soul of the red mage, yet I’ve yet to find the pyromancer or lightning mage who have ever called such creatures to their aid. I suppose lightning bugs make for poor combatants.” He raised an eyebrow at Vaash.

“We summon for reasons other than combat,” Vaash returned.

“We do that,” Ravidel acknowledged with a smile. “I have considered your rebuttal, and I think us perhaps both wrong.”

Vaash raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So an old dog can still ponder new tricks?”

“To stay in the cycle and let it buffet us about is beneath a walker. Even if we see the cycles for what they are.” Ravidel opened his hand. His rings glowed, faintly, but there was no display of light this time. “But to abandon it is, as you suggest, a waste of our potential. We can be proactive in our good as much as in our wickedness. More so, if we are willing to be selfless.”

“I say we must still be careful about assuming a direct outcome between good intentions and good outcomes,” Vaash offered. “My vengeance against Leshrac has much to offer the multiverse. My vengeance might do more good and save more lives than the high intentions of most other powerful ‘walkers.”

“So what do we do then, young blood?”

“You seem to have all the answers, old man.”

Ravidel stood, and clapped his hands together. “We cannot leave the cycle, and it make no difference to simply remain.” He began to pace the grasses.

Vaash pivoted in her seat to follow his pacing. “So we guide the cycle.”

“We influence it the best we can.” Ravidel pounded a fist into his hand. “Use our knowledge having been tossed about by the cycle to determine how to best spin to the ends of peace. Perhaps find an equilibrium where those within the cycles do not just survive, but thrive.”

Vaash nodded. “Remove the worst elements to keep the cycle from spinning out of control. Elements like Leshrac.”

“Yes, like Leshrac.”

“Agreed on all points.” Vaash tapped the hilt of her sword. “Not a conclusion I would think it’d take centuries to arrive at, but agreed.”

“I don’t talk much with other travelers these days. The mind stagnates when left alone.” Ravidel stopped in place. The winds were picking up again. The fireflies were going to ground once more. “It will be dangerous, chasing Leshrac. There will be risk and a great danger of collateral damage if not handled carefully. It would be completely understandable if you preferred to leave this task to me.”

“Fuck off, old man. I am the one allowing you to accompany me in this endeavor.”

“...very well. I’d hoped I could be an instructor to you, but perhaps you’ve got a thing or two to teach me as well.” Ravidel waved his hands, and his garments transformed. His tunic turned to leather armour, and his cloak to a cape of crimson.

Vash grinned. “There we go. I won’t call you ‘Battlemage’ if you truly loath the title, but I’m happy to see you looking the part again.”

“You have quite formidable allies already, Vaash Vroga.” Ravidel clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the edge of the rise. The children had returned to the fire to eat their catch. A few had finished and were playing some sort of dancing game on the sand “I ask again, are you quite certain you want one like me in your life. Not just to offer my advice, but to strive alongside?”

“Ral has been an agreeable companion, and Jodah a useful contact. Now, I need an ally with fangs, and a willingness to draw blood with those fangs.”

“This has been a serendipitous meeting then.”

“Serendipitous, sure. If we will be working together, you should know I make my own luck.”

Ravidel blinked. He hadn’t done much of that, even with the storm winds battering them.

“How do you mean?”

“You said it yourself: you are one of a very few people alive who know Leshrac. Who can speak to his person and power from personal experience. Who would have a reason to go after him, as I would like to. Jodah in turn is one of the few people alive with the longevity to have known a person like you. It stands that, if I indicated an interest in pursuing Leshrac, he might draw you in as a resource.”

Ravidel stared at Vaash. His mouth was agape by a sliver of an inch; somewhere between amused and aghast. The two warred a moment, before he smiled.

“I appreciate the honesty, though I grow warier of you with every surprise you throw my way.”

“Good. If I am to learn from you, I would rather you be on your guard.” Vaash returned Ravidel’s smile. “If you are still willing.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Ravidel smirked at Vaash. “I’ve years of practice at manipulating mentors to my own ends. I’m on the lookout for your tricks.”

“Don’t you worry about me; I’m not an aspiring megalomaniac.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I hope you will not take too much offense when I say you have the perfect cadence and bearing to become one.” He raised his brow. “I have some expertise in this area, you understand, having studied a few up close over the centuries.”

Vaash raised an eyebrow. “Thank Windgrace you didn’t pick up any of their bad habits.”

Ravidel laughed at that. Really laughed, a cackle that cut through the growing bluster of the storm. A madman’s laugh, no mistaking it, but Vaash found it oddly comforting.

“I try to limit myself to their good habits these days. For example: I would be following Taysir’s path to the letter if I took on a protege.”

“Taysir is dead, if I recall my history correctly. He and his protege.”

Ravidel shook his head. “He is my model, not my destiny. I have my own path to walk.”

“Nothing is foreconcluded,” Vaash ventured. 

“Very green of you,” Ravidel said with a smirk. He stepped back from the ledge. "I would ask one thing of you, at the outset of our partnership here."

"What would that be?"

"If we do this...once its over...while it's underway...I want you to think long and hard about who Vaash Vroga is, and what she wants for herself, should she ever allow herself to rest." He held out a hand. "Agreeable?"

"Tolerable," Vaash clapped hands with him, and they shook. "I look forward to getting to know both of us."

"Indeed."

“And when we find what remains of Leshrac, will you be kind to him, as you have been to me? Is rehabilitation on the menu for the walker of the night?”

Ravidel laughed. “There is more difference between his wickedness and yours than there is difference from a drop of water and the core of the sun.”

Vaash paused. “...and what is the difference between your past evils and his?”

"Hm..." Ravidel tilted his head one way, then another. “My rehabilitation was a rare bolt of lightning shot through the eternities.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”

“I just might. Regardless, I would not count on such a turnaround happening lightly.”

Vaash snorted. “Sounds solipsistic.”

Ravidel grinned. “It is.” He spread his arms at the sea and hills around them. “But much of my life has been similarly self-centered.” He laughed again, and Vaash found herself chuckling as well. The air was still warm, but now thicker droplets of cool water were beginning to pepper them, wetting her face and bare forearms.

“Arcades’ Scales, that’s a nice feeling,” Ravidel remarked as the laughter faded to a chuckle. He had his face upturned to the sky.

“You’re breathing wrong.”

“Hm?” Ravidel turned to look at Vaash sidelong.

Vaash drew in a long breath, letting her chest swell slowly. She gestured at her breast. “Expand as you inhale-”

She let it out, whistling into the wind. “Draw in as you let your breath go. Let your chest rise and your lungs fill. Your lungs, not your belly.”

Ravidel copied her for several repetitions. “Hm. The benefit being?”

“Oxygen gets into the blood; you’ll live longer, old man.” She smirked at him. “And waste less time on spells of vigor.” She nodded her chin at his emerald ring, which still glinted brighter than the others.

Ravidel snorted. “Impudent. You’ll make a fine protege.” He breathed in and out again, with a thoughtful grimace. “And is this a technique of…?”

“Just good practice in many cultures, on many planes.” Vaash turned back to the sea, and nodded. "But yes, learned in Urborg.” She let the weight put on ‘Urborg’ say what her words did not.

“A lesson learned can be put to good use no matter the source,” Ravidel said. “I heard that once, but in my old age, I can’t quite remember where from.”

Vaash snorted. The rain water had soaked her hair by now, and warm trickles of water were pouring down her neck and face.

It did feel tremendous. She allowed herself a smile.

A laugh.

Ravidel howled in turn. Their laughter melded with the rumble of thunder. The whistle of the storm wind. The laughter of the children on the beach.

They both sounded quite manic.

But it takes a bit of mania to change the world.

[grief-worn]

🔥🔥🔥oh god

Another day, another creepy, old catacomb just teeming with booby traps and artifacts older than Elminster's own beard. The terrain isn't especially challenging. Stale, musty limestone tunnels and the occasional crumbling staircase. No, the real risk lies in the security system. Gale had almost lost both his feet to spikes thrusting up from grates in the floor. Lae'zel was nearly minced to bits from a volley of arrows overhead. Karlach leapt just in the nick of time, before the floor gave way to a pit of venomous, snapping vipers. Whatever this lair is hiding, it must be worth all the labor spent constructing such an elaborate design.

The deeper they venture, the more the architecture shifts and morphs. Symbols etched on the walls illustrate fair and noble maidens, with curls in their manes and coquettish grins upon their faces. There are inlaid frames against the stone on either side, where mirrors once sat, now shattered, the glass grinding beneath their soles with every step. Creeping vines tangle and gnarl across the ceiling, overgrown and unfettered, coated in tiny thorns too sharp for bare skin. Each new room feels less like the foul prison they first discovered and more like an elaborately decorated shrine, perhaps memorializing a notable figure. Of course, it now sits wholly abandoned. It's clear no one has stopped by to do any sort of maintenance in quite a while.

The hallway opens at its mouth, connecting to a vast room of gilded pillars and a deep pit caved at its center. It's some sort of bathing chamber, the pool now hollowed and cracked. The group splits up, tentatively checking each nook and cranny, hoping for treasure, or even something to pawn off at the next town.

Shadowheart stands at the pool's edge, tilting her head up, admiring the ceiling's handiwork. Colored seashells paint a picturesque mosaic, depicting a vivid scene of utter whimsy. Naked ladies giggling around a clear pond, washing their hair and embracing one another in a celebration of pure womanhood. It stirs something in her chest. Something that envies the carefree and the intimate. She doesn't dwell on it. Look at where such foolishness got them, wasting away in a smelly forgotten tomb.

She turns her back on it, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Across the room, she can hear Gale and Lae'zel bickering over some unrelated disagreement, sorely unfocused on what should be taking precedent. It's up to Shadowheart to get shit done, as per usual. The rest of her troupe proves entirely useless.

Her tenacity pays off, and there she spots it. An opalescent orb that catches light off its rounded surface. It looks like a pearl. Massive. Easily the size of a ripened peach. Simple enough to stash away, and presumably worth quite the hefty sum of gold. It's nestled in the bowl of a stone fountain, jutting out from the wall's edge. There are more women carved into its design, and of course, they're without clothing. Was this whole labyrinth a memorial to blatant nudity?

It's not wise to blindly wiggle your hand in places unfamiliar, but the day's worn her mind to a strand, and she doesn't think twice about snatching up the gem for her own collection. Dusting off its veneer, she lets her eyes widen in quiet admiration. Ivory swirling with seafoam and dainty pinks. Like the sunset caught in an ocean's tide. In her captivation, she neglects to notice the motion above her head. At the fountain's peak sits a stone swan. Its bill opens, and out puffs a cloud of something purplish and powdery. It sprays Shadowheart, fumes clogging her nose and mouth. She doubles back, swatting the air, coughing and gasping.

Something like putrid rosewater clings to her nostrils, and she hacks a glob of spittle at the ground to rid her tongue of its bizarre profile. That had to of been a trap, or some devised way to ward off buttery fingers. She waits, allows a gap of time to pass, anticipating pain, or blindness. Nothing comes.

"Huh." she remarks, rubbing a finger at her eye to swipe off the remaining bits of dust. "Maybe the effects expired a long time ago." No matter, she'll deal with the consequences as it comes. The pearl is stored away in her pack and she routes back towards the others. Her eyes fall to Astarion. He's crouched to her left, digging through a heap of old junk. Silver chalices and rusted cake stands. Hmm.

Had he always looked so … handsome? Did he style his hair differently? It's difficult to look away. Dashingly quaffed curls of snow, and such an angular quality about his jawline. His back is arched, forming a tempting bow that naturally leads her gaze to his thighs. Long. Strong. Perfectly attuned for both stealth and lethality.

There's a drumming inside her rib cage, and she feels warmth bubbling in her own head. Just the mere sight of him has her gut swarming with butterflies, and she's momentarily afraid her knees might collapse beneath her body.

They have their differences, sure, but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is what destiny had prepared her for. To meet her one true love, in the bowels of this crappy dungeon. Her legs are carrying her on instinct, and she lowers herself to his side, cupping a palm at his shoulder.

"How are you holding up? You look tired. It might be best to take a brief rest. You shouldn't push yourself too hard."

[bedofthistles]

Strawberries and Mint

It's good soup

“Princess, I heard you weren’t eating.” Robin came up to the cell and leaned against it, his arm somewhere above his head and one ankle crossed behind the other. (One might know this as a common flirting technique, cleverly called ‘leaning’, it's a very masculine form of flirting, in which a man opens up his body, raises his arm above his head to make himself appear taller, and leans forward, usually crowarding a woman. When done correctly, and by the right person, the effect is one of offering protection, cutting off the rest of the world so that it's just the two of you. When done incorrectly, it's annoying, claustrophobic, and chauvinistic. So be careful, and use the lean appropriately, lest come off as an overbearing he-man.) Robin, in this specific moment, was not flirting (consciously), he was trying to evoke a more predatory stance, like a bear. What more, leaning as a technique doesn’t reach its full potential when there’s a fucking door in the way. 

But, nevermind that. 

Maria had been, to put it politely, stubborn. 

Her absolute refusal to eat the gruel they brought her could be heard all the way to the Coeur’s office, and probably all the way to Moonacre Manor. 

She had called it: a disgusting slop that would not even be sniffed by dogs. It looked rotten, poisonous, toxic, and had a sweating, greasy veneer that would most-likely coat the insides of her stomach and then destroy her lining. Most likely made from old stockings, the rotten tomato they had thrown at her, and mire.

This shouting was almost drowned out by the growls of her stomach. 

In truth it was a pretty good stew, it wasn’t pretty, but it was packed with nutrition, and she hurt the cook’s feelings when he heard. Almost all of the De Noir’s were insulted, as that was their favorite dish, and they had tried, and failed, to recreate it at home, many times.

Robin, was a little insulted himself, as he was one of those who liked that stew, but then he remembered. 

Loveday had hated that stew, as well.

Robin wasn’t really allowed to remember his sister, she was as good as dead, and her memory had been erased from Castle Black. Her room was boarded up, and a place no one was allowed to enter. Even just the mention of her name was enough to get one sentenced to the stocks. (And yes, the De Noir’s still had stocks). 

Robin did his very best to not remember Loveday, but sometimes - and the mind is funny in this way - memories popped without him meaning to. 

Like in this instance, Loveday turning her nose up at the stew, and eating- 

“I have an alternative.” He said.

Maria had tucked herself away in a dark corner of the dungeon. She had her thighs up to her chest, and her face buried in her knees, and her eyes were not filled with tears, because she cried herself dry. It was nearing nightfall, and she was tired, stressed, hungry, aching in many places that had never ached before, and above all she didn’t want to have to look at Robin ever again. 

So, she didn’t answer what was obviously a cruel and unjust taunt. 

“Strawberries. And mint, as- uh- a garnish.” 

Maria knit her brows together in confusion, and lifted her head just enough to peer out over her folded arms. Robin leaned (not flirting) against the cell and offered a wooden bowl, he adjusted his hold so that she could see the tops of bright red strawberries. 

He tilted his head, his eyes searching hers, his mouth not in a twisted and mocking grin, but a slim line. 

Maria sniffed. “You probably hid the gruel under it.”

“Please, just listen before you pitch another fit? I’m only doing it to shut you up.”

Maria fumed as she shot up off the floor. “Do you have any manners? Or were you raised specifically to be a great, big oaf?” 

Robin scoffed, “You should see yourself, Princess! Insulting our favorite food, that's how you be polite!” 

“There is no way that is anyone's favorite food.” She crossed her arms defiantly. 

“It’s my favorite food.” 

Maria pursed her lips. “You’re lying.”

“Come hold this.” He said, and pushed the bowl through the heart-shaped window. 

Maria rolled her eyes, and compiled before she knew what she was doing. She snatched the bowl away from him, and cocked a brow. “Well?” 

Fortunately, one of the bowls of stew that she had refused (and not thrown) was still by the door. Robin sat down, crossed his legs, and began to eat it. 

Maria bit her tongue, and waited for the moment of utter disgust to cross his features, but it never came. 

“Sit down, Princess, eat.”

Maria clutched the bowl tightly, but then her stomach grumbled in discontent. In defeat, she sat down and put the bowl on her folded legs. She poked around, looking for hidden gruel. “Alright, I suppose I could eat-” But Maria gasped in surprise, for when she looked up, Robin had lifted the bowl to his mouth and was slurping down the final dregs of soup. 

He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, and her nose scrunched up. 

“That’s appalling!” 

“No, it's good soup. Well, go on.” Robin pointed to her bowl, before leaning back on his hands. 

“My hands are dirty, you don’t potentially have any utensils on you?”

He held up the dirty spoon he had just used. 

Maria’s lips twisted, “Nevermind.” She would forgo etiquette, just for a moment. 

She devoured the strawberries, she had not intended to. She meant to show him up, by eating slowly and delicately, but she was monstrously hungry, and her hands scraped at the empty bowl. 

“Thank you.” She said, because she needed to say it, social convention required it of her, she only hoped she hadn’t been loud enough for him to hear.

“Sorry, what’s that?” Robin held a hand to his ear like an old man. 

She glared at him. “Thank you.”

Robin smirked. “Very kind of you, Princess, it was quite a valiant effort on my part.”

Her glare only hardened. “You’re a kidnapper, any display of basic human kindness is not a valiant effort.” 

Robin shrugged. “We showed you basic human kindness with our People’s Soup, you’re the one who was being fussy, and refused it. I on the other hand, had to go down, pick the strawberries-”

“You did not pick-”

“Yes I did! I went down into the fields, I picked the best ones.” His smile grew wider and wider on his face as hers contorted in disbelief. He, of course, had picked her strawberries. 

Loveday preferred fresh fruits and vegetables, and the Castle garden had since been stocked with her favorites, even after her disownment. (She liked good food, after all.) Strawberries, squash, peas, there was even an apple tree, though they were not ripe yet. If Maria was still there in the autumn, he would pick those for her as well. 

The mint, of course, was not planned, as he was just going to bring her the fresh fruit, but then he saw the herb in the kitchen, and remembered how much Loveday liked the two paired together. Since Maria was a fancy city lady, he was sure she would prefer the pairing as well. 

“I cut off the tops, I chopped the mint, and I got it all prepared, just for you.” Robin wore a pretty self-satisfied smirk, right up to the moment when Maria asked:

“Why?”

Then, the smirk fell. 

This is where silly teenaged emotions, hormones, adolescence, young love, and all that comes in. 

Maria was a pretty little thing, she was feisty, and she had those lovely eyes he couldn’t stop staring at a chapter ago. 

Robin could puff up his chest and lie, to her and himself, about why he did it, and it went something like this: “Can’t have our prisoner die of self-inflicted starvation.” But, in reality, it was because his little heart had begun beating after hers. 

She was hungry, and the strange, irresistible desire to feed her and satisfy her needs, became too great to ignore. 

That was why he had stayed, he could have handed her the bowl and walked away, but his heart needed to see her eat her fill, it could be satisfied no other way.  

He didn’t think about it too much, he simply trusted it. Robin relied heavily on his instincts, and he learned to listen to them well. They didn’t always make sense, but more often than not they rang true. 

But, she had asked “Why?” and now Robin was giving those instincts some thought. 

Why had he gone through so much trouble for a girl who had, one: kicked him in the balls, two: was a De Noir captive, and third: was a Merryweather. 

Who he hated. 

He didn’t know why he hated them, just that he did. As his father hated them, as all De Noirs hated them.

But, he didn’t hate Maria. 

He should have, but he didn’t. 

How could he? Look at her! She was so pretty, and soft, and brave. 

Robin shook his head, collected the bowls, and stood to leave, but Maria called out his name. 

“Robin, wait.” She rose up onto her knees, and had wrapped her hands around the bars. “You- in the forest, you were going to tell me about the Moon Princess. I- I still don’t know what that is.”

Robin looked over his shoulder, down the empty hall (evacuated, because of Maria’s shrill dismissal of the People’s Soup) and sighed. He plopped back down and put the bowls aside. 

Maria settled back down on her folded legs, and clasped her hands in her lap, before looking at him expectantly. 

How did Loveday tell it? That was his favorite version. 

“Well, a long time ago, the De Noirs-” He pointed to himself. “- and the Merryweathers -” and to her. “- lived in peace. And Moonacre Valley was magical I think? Anyway, there was a girl, who was pure-hearted, and good, and brave. Nature loved her like a daughter-? No, the Moon?”

Maria’s brows knit together, he wasn’t the best story teller, but they couldn’t go and find someone better, that was for sure. Maria did her best to control her stupefied expression, and nodded for him to continue. 

“Yeah, I think the Moon. So the Moon gave her these magic pearls, that could… grant…?”

“Wishes?” Maria supplied, trying to be helpful. 

“Of course, but I think there was a limit?”

“That’s djinn.” 

Robin scrunched his face up, “I think I’m getting it mixed up.”

“That’s alright. So this woman was the Moon Princess?” 

“Yeah, but so are you.”

Maria blinked. “Am I her granddaughter?”

“No, she was a member- let me just, finish, I think it’ll come together.”

Maria bit her lip, and nodded, but very much doubted that it would ‘come together.’

“So, the Moon Princess was in love with a Merryweather, and on the day of her wedding, they were exchanging dowries- I think the Merryweaher gave a Unicorn to William De Noir, in exchange for her hand in marriage.” 

“A Unicorn?” Maria refused to believe this story was legitimate in any way. 

Robin pressed his lips together and raised his arms in a I-don’t-know gesture. “That’s the story!” 

“Well, its terrible! This a fairy tale! You’ve kidnapped me because you believe in a fairy tale!” Her hands fisted into her skirt. 

“It’s not a fairytale! It’s the history of Moonacre!” 

Maria lifted herself up onto her knees to glare down at him. “You’re all insane!”

But two could play at that game. Robin scrambled to his knees, reclaiming the advantage of height. “Would you listen, Maria! I haven’t even finished! There’s still more.” 

Maria crossed her arms, but he was doing that thing with his eyes again (he wasn’t actually doing anything with his eyes, his heart was simply begging her to listen, and that resulted in his eyes softening, just a bit). Maria was finding it harder and harder to remain strong and stubborn. She huffed and turned her glare to the floor. “Explain it well and fast.” 

“At the wedding, her father, William De Noir, and the Merryweather began to fight over the pearls; they each wanted to use their power to rule over the Valley.”

“That I can believe.” Maria snarked under the breath, but Robin caught it, and laughed.

“So, instead the Princess cast a curse over the Valley. At the 5000th Moon, those guilty would suffer the consequences, and be destroyed.” 

Maria crossed her arms as she considered the words.

“But, one day a girl with a pure heart would enter Moonacre, and break the curse, freeing all from punishment.” 

When Maria’s gaze rose, Robin’s head was tilted towards hers, trying to find her eyes. “Me?”

He nodded. “You.” 

Maria still thought he was crazy (and the rest of the De Noirs), it was clear he believed his delusions, but that didn’t mean she had to. “You don’t want the curse broken?”

Robin shrugged, “Father says the curse will bring an end to the Merryweathers. That, after the 5000th Moon, we’ll have the Valley.” 

“The Valley that’s going to be destroyed?” 

“Were you listening? Only those guilty will get destroyed.” 

Maria shook her head, how dense could this boy’s skull be? “Are you not guilty?” 

“No! Of course not! I didn’t scorn Nature!” 

“Why should that matter?” 

“Because- that’s the reason she curses them! Because they were greedy and power-hungry-“

She lifted a brow. “And you’re not?”

“Well- we’re not- I mean-” 

“Oh, I see, that explains it! Very well then, I’m perfectly content in my nice, cozy cell, and you can all watch the Valley being decimated!” 

He scoffed. “Don’t you understand?”

“I understand perfectly! Two families both alike in dignity! From ancient grudge break new mutiny! Oh!” She pressed her finger tips to her temple. “This is ridiculous, and I would like to leave!”

“I’m sure you would. My father will release you after the 5000th Moon-”

“After the curse takes place and everything you love is gone?” 

A heated argument can make or break a lot of people. Some can’t stand the fighting, and when it becomes too much, they leave. Others enjoy the passion, the pounding hearts, and the quick-witted tongues. It is possible to have a disagreement without arming one’s self, but humans are fickle, and stupid, and tend to rise up in defense of themselves without keeping calm. 

In Maria’s life, most people didn’t disagree with her. She was a Lady, most people listened to what she said, and answered in a polite “yes ma’am” or “I can see your point, my lady”, no matter their feelings or opinions on the matter. Ms. Heliotrope was really the only person who told her she was wrong, and while Maria had tried to argue with her, that usually didn’t turn up in her favor. 

“No, Maria!” 

“But-”

“Maria, go put that down! It belongs outside!” 

“But-”

“Now!” 

And that was the end of disagreements between herself and Ms. Heliotrope. 

In Robin’s life, the opposite was true. Most of the time, people were telling him what to do, and arguing or talking back, resulted in a quick smack upside his head. In an environment such as this, one learns to keep one’s mouth shut. In his group of friends, he wasn’t the ‘leader’ but they deferred to him. For instruction, what they were going to do that day, etc, etc, because he was the Coeur’s son, and would be the next Coeur soon. 

And, if they did disagree with him, they usually did so with the intention of getting a rise out of him. 

Maria was making sense, but it also went against what he had been raised to believe his entire life. 

Robin was not making sense, but he had such conviction, Maria felt a certain amount of pity for him. 

“Robin, please, how is the curse coming to fruition good for anyone?” Maria looked at him through the bars, they were quite close, though neither had come to realize it just yet. As they argued, they had scooted incrementally closer to one another until the only thing that truly separated them was the cell door. “You’ve kidnapped me because of my name, and my name alone?”

“You’re the Moon Princess.” 

 “I’m a Merryweather! First and foremost! You’ve stolen me from my coach because of that fact! How do you know I am the Moon Princess? Could it not be another De Noir girl? Why is it me?”

“The Moon Princess is always born to one of the families, the last Moon Princess-” Robin looked back over his shoulder, double checking no one was there, before he whipped his head back around to face her. Only, now he had broken the spell, and he saw how close she was to him. Close enough that if he wanted to, he could reach between the bars, grab her face, and- Robin shook his head. Silly, teenaged hormones. “Was my sister, Loveday.”

“Did she die?” 

Robin wasn’t sure how to answer. When someone was dead to you, that didn’t mean they were no longer breathing, but to admit, after all this time, that she was alive and out there somewhere in the world? Rejected not only by her family, but the man she loved? 

“I don’t know. But that doesn’t matter, what does is you’re here now, and you’re the Moon Princess. It’s not Loveday anymore, so it has to be you.”

Maria tilted her head. “You truly think that?” 

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t! So, you should let me out, because I’m certainly not going to go running around in a bizarre attempt to break a fake curse!”

 Robin chuckled. “Why don’t we settle it this way? You stay here until the 5000th Moon, whether or not the curse takes place, and then we’ll let you go?”

“You were going to do that anyway!” She craned her head further. 

“Trust me, Princess, this is the best thing for you.” 

Maria pouted. “When is the 5000th Moon?”

“Beginning of August.”

“You’d have me stay in this cell for a month!” She looked back over her shoulder in disgust. “There’s not even a bed.” 

She was right, although it depended on how you defined the word “bed”. There was hay on the floor, and she could have made her “bed” out of that, but that wasn’t how Maria defined “bed”. 

This of course, fired up that strange and irresistible desire within Robin to meet her needs and see to her satisfaction. But there was a difference between strawberries and a whole room.

He could get her strawberries, he very much doubted whether or not he could get her a whole room to herself.

Of course… 

There was Loveday’s room…

Completely unused…

Untouched…

Unvisited…

He was going crazy, he was going insane, he was losing his mind, and all over some stupid, insolent girl, with the loveliest eyes he was, at the moment, getting lost in. 

“Goddamnit-” He muttered before rising up and walking away from her. He dug his hands into his hair, and kicked the two bowls as he passed. 

The cell door rattled, and he could imagine her pretty face peering out through the heart shaped hole. 

“Just… just wait, okay?” He threw his hands up, and chuffed as he walked away before she could convince him to do anything else. 

But, as he walked out into the fading sun, and across the rickety bridge, he saw a stern-looking man dismounting a chestnut stallion, demanding to speak with the Coeur. 

Robin had never seen Sir Benjamin, but there was no doubt in his mind that that was who stood in their courtyard.

That had been the worst year of his life. Loveday had been disowned, and Robin’s not-yet-seven-year-old heart broke. Robin did not know his mother, she had died in childbirth, but he had known Loveday. She had raised him, and loved him more than he deserved to be loved. His father disowned her, and forbade all of the De Noir Clan from speaking her name. It was more than he could understand at the time. 

But, the day of their nuptials came, and… well, Sir Benjamin had scorned Loveday. 

No one knew the whole truth, but they did know that they had not gotten married that day. 

The Coeur’s spies came to report that Sir Benjamin was scouring the woods for her. 

The Coeur had laughed, half in pride, half in cruelty. “Serves him right for trying to take my daughter! She knows the forest too well, she’ll stay hidden as long as she wants to stay hidden!”

So, Sir Benjamin was the man who had stolen Loveday from him, and the man who had broken her heart. And his heart, subsequently. 

Maybe hatred towards the Merryweather’s was based on nothing but blind hatred, but hatred towards Sir Benjamin was well deserved. 

“Merryweather!” His father shouted from the ramparts. He came down the wooden steps, and gave Sir Benjamin a victorious smile. “To what do we have the honor?”

“Coeur De Noir! If you have laid a hand on her I’ll-” But Sir Benjamin didn’t speak another word as he launched himself at the Coeur.

He was quickly restrained, and the Coeur was not touched. 

“Who?” 

“My niece! Maria Merryweather!”

The Coeur lifted a confused brow. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken! I didn’t even know you had a niece.”

Several of the guards that surrounded them laughed stupidly. 

“Shut up.” Robin grit out, despite being too far away for anyone to hear.

“My coach was attacked this morning! It was carrying my niece to me! I would like her returned.” 

Robin crossed his arms, not liking the man for a second. Who was he to demand Maria? 

(Her Uncle, for one.) 

“I do apologize, Merryweather!” The Couer’s eyes flashed to Robin’s, and he straightened, not misunderstanding the order. “She is not here, if you would like, you can look around-”

Robin ran back into the tower and down the hall. “Maria!”

Maria appeared in the heart-shaped window, and lifted a single brow in response.

“You wanted a different room? C’mon.” Robin knelt down by the lock and began to pick it, his skills nowhere near matched Richard’s, but he was second best. 

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t have keys, those are with the guard.” 

“Are- are you breaking me out?”

Robin paused, in truth, he did want to break her out, take her to a place she would be safe, never to be found by his father or her uncle, but that would be treason. And there were some rules you just did not break. 

Betraying his father was one of those rules.

“I’m moving you, whether or not anyone knows about it however…” The door unbolted and he rose to his feet as he swung it open, “Do I need to tie you up again, or can I trust you?” 

“You probably shouldn’t trust me, but I would rather not be tied up.” Her hands rubbed her wrists, and he could see the red marks left by the rope. 

“I could carry you ag-”

“I would rather not.” 

“Well, then…” Robin looked down at his feet, trying to think, when the red of his scarf caught his eye. “That’ll work.”

 “What?”

Robin pulled the scarf off his neck before taking her wrists and binding them together. “How’s that?”

Maria glared at him so strongly, he was sure she had the full force of the sun radiating in her eyes. He smothered a laugh before pulling her along. 

They went down, rather than across the rickety bridge, and into the old De Noir tunnels. 

They zigzagged beneath the castle like a maze, and led to a variety of places. Castle Black was, after all, a fortress, and it did no good if there were not a few easy escape routes handy. 

For the boys, it always resulted in summers full of exploring the tunnels, knowing exactly where they lead, the myriad of paths one could take to get to the kitchen, or the forest, or the village of Lamour. All that experience meant Robin could lead her anywhere inside of the Castle. 

While his father probably intended for him to just hide Maria, Robin thought this was an easy solution to her complaints. 

“It's dark.” Not that he could solve every complaint. “Robin, I can’t see!” 

“Trust me, I know where I’m going.” He did, but his hand was upon the wall, and he was able to feel where he was going, Maria on the other hand could not. 

She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of falling on her face because she tripped over a damned rock because she couldn’t see! 

“Alright.” Robin turned and took hold of her shoulders. She jumped in surprise, but this time his hands were gentle, and they did not stab into her. Their only intention was to stop her, and perhaps to comfort her, but that was beside the point. “Just wait right here.”

Then, he disappeared.

In the pitch black, Maria did not see him at all, and she could not hear him at all, he had simply let go, and this was perhaps worse than falling flat on her face and breaking her nose. He had abandoned her, and was going to leave her down here to rot! 

She never should have said anything! At least her cell had sunlight, and air, oh god, how much air was in underground tunnels?  

She was hyperventilating, she was trembling, she couldn’t move. “R-Robin?”

Robin hadn’t abandoned her, but two feet ahead of them was a tall ladder that - he hoped - would lead to Loveday’s old room. This one, or the next one. And as he climbed, he didn’t hear Maria’s pathetic mewling. He got higher and higher, until he reached out and pulled on a horse head lever that would open the door. 

He blinked at the light, and allowed his eyes to adjust before he immediately sneezed. 

“Argh!” He sniffed and looked around the dust covered room, yep, Loveday’s room. It was in much worse shape than he had remembered, but it would do, and it had a bed, so it was better than the cell. Ha ha!

Robin began to descend, and small hiccupping cries met his ears when he got close enough to hear. 

“Maria? Maria!” He jumped down the last few rungs, and stretched out his arms to find her in the blackness. His hands bumped against her and he took hold of her arms. “What’s wrong?”

“What- what's wrong!” Her voice high and shrill and watery. 

Robin flinched. 

“What do you think is wrong! This has been the worst day of my life-” She choked on her words and took a few stuttering breaths. “How was I to know if you would come back at all? Or if you planned o-on leaving me here! In an oubliette!” 

Then, Robin had another memory of Loveday pop into his head.

He was young, the memory blurred around the edges, but there were two things of utmost importance. The first being that Robin had been injured, and was bawling. 

The second, that Loveday had pulled him into her lap, stroked his hair, and held him until he stopped crying. 

But then another memory came, this one after Loveday had left, he had fallen from a tree, he was a blubbering mess as he approached his father. But the Coeur De Noir only sneered at him and told him to get a hold of himself. 

The words, get a hold of yourself, almost passed over his lips, but as Maria continued to shake and cry, he couldn’t help but feel that that would only make it worse. 

So he took the Loveday approach. 

Using his pre-established grip, he pulled her into him, cupped the back of her head and pressed her face into his chest, and wrapped his hand around her back. 

Maria stopped crying instantly, not because she was being comforted, but just at the surreality of the situation. 

“I-”

“You can let go now, Robin. I apologize for losing my composure.” 

And he did, he stepped away and held his hands behind his back. “I didn’t mean to make you think I was leaving you behind.”

Maria sniffled and nodded, “That’s all well.”

“There’s a ladder two feet in front of you, it will go up to a room.”

Robin took her by her wrists and led her to the ladder, when she knew where it was, he removed the scarf, so she could use her hands. 

“I’ll go ahead of you so I can pull you out.”

Maria scoffed. “Fine.”

Maria did not relinquish her grip on the ladder, too afraid she wouldn’t find it again, but stepped aside so Robin could go up first. She waited a few moments, and began to climb herself. 

When Robin reached the door at the top of the ladder, light streamed down through the tunnel, and Maria winced at the brightness. 

“Come along.” He said, kneeling on the floor and offering his hand. 

Maria rolled her eyes, but kept climbing until her head poked into the very dusty room. She looked around in disgust. “This is almost worse.” Her footsteps disturbed the dust, and it rose in clouds around her, making her sneeze. “My goodness! How do you expect me to stay here?” 

“I could take you back.”

Maria pursed her lips, because she knew this was the better option. “No, thank you.”

Robin left through the trapdoor down the ladder, and the door shut, disappearing into the floor, as if there never had been a secret entrance there. 

Maria ran to the door and pulled on the handle, but of course, it was locked. She ran to the slim window, and looked out, but all she could see was the darkening horizon, and the dim stars that were beginning to twinkle. 

Maria turned down the bed, but it too was more dust than bedding, and Maria almost couldn’t bear to sleep there. 

Almost.

When she woke the next morning, there was another bowl of strawberries and mint on the floor. 

[37q]

that -oid shit reeks of prototypic colonial social stratification like we get it youve just barely developed a superstructural rationale or any effective propaganda whatsoever for whichever class destiny is most comforting to you and frankly your lexical lag is embarrassingggg like at least put some effort into the veneer of ideological palatability with some discrete, easily manipulable empiricism instead of writing like a hermetic reactionary high on her own colon fumes and the dust from esoteric imperial texts HAH your dualism isnt even legible enough to communicate!