#heart out of the pyre and kept it for the rest of her life

[coffinflop]

got invited to a “valentine’s vs anti-valentine’s” party so i decided to go as mary shelley holding percy shelley’s heart

[volkarine]

love me forever, a yenralt fanmix 23 songs, 1hr 53mins listen on spotify here tracklist and lyrics under the cut

YENRALT APPRECIATION, VOL 2. -> prompt: forever + two colors

poison, alice cooper

I wanna love you but I better not touch (don't touch) I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop I wanna kiss you but I want it too much (too much) I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison

be my druidess, type o negative

Around the pyre, a circle of thirteen Throughout these woods, ecstatic screams I look deeply into your eyes I smell your hair, caress your thighs Now we'll make love by fire light A blaze so high it lights the night

love is a fire, subvision

Baby, listen, I'm sellin' my soul to the devil in you So give me, give me the strength and I'll push it through Love is a fire, and it's ragin' out of control Love is a fire And it's burnin' up my soul

love walked in, thunder

So tired of waiting, I walked an empty land I was looking for something to help me understand But bad luck kept turning my dreams into sand I didn't want pity, I had my share of friends I wanted somebody more special than the rest I was aching inside like I was approaching the end Just about that moment the timing was so right You appeared like a vision sent down to my life I thought I was dreaming when I saw you that night

spell i'm under, winger

Woman, never before Without a word I hear so much Woman, under the spell Every sin holy in your touch It's all I feel, it's all I see And all I know it must be you You're the spell I'm under

prisoner of your eyes, judas priest

When I saw your face I became a prisoner of your eyes And I would do just anything To stay and be with you

love me forever, motörhead

Love me forever, or not at all End of our tether, backs to the wall You give me your hand, don't you ever ask why Promise me nothing, live 'til we die

hold on to my heart, W.A.S.P.

Take away the pain, inside my soul And I'm afraid, so all alone Take away the pain, that's burning in my soul Cause I'm afraid that I'll be all alone So just hold me, hold me, hold me

love you to death, type o negative

In her place one hundred candles burning As salty sweat drips from her breast Her hips move and I can feel what they're saying, swaying They say the beast inside of me is gonna get ya, get ya, get

dance macabre, ghost

How could it end like this? There's a sting in the way you kiss me Something within your eyes Said it could be the last time 'Fore it's over

sleeping (in the fire), W.A.S.P.

Touch, touch in the flame's desire Feeling the pain's denial And your finger's in the fire Look, look in the candlelight See in the flame of life And my spell is our lie

darling, mcc

Been on my way so many times I walked away so many times From you But in the end you held the key And as it seems the fate of me In you It's ashes and dust Where are you now? I need you now You're lost somehow Where are you now?

jasmine and rose, clan of xymox

The air tastes just like you, it's the smell of June A sensory shock that jolts my spirit, I slowly swallow you A spray of little droplets, a fragrance so refined The spirit of nostalgia is passing me by

darkness at the heart of my love, ghost

There's a darkness at the heart of my love That runs cold, runs deep The darkness at the heart of my love So bold, so sweet

one more fucking time, motörhead

Both your eyes wide open You see the shape I'm in It wasn't of my choosing It's only bones and skin And I will plead no contest If loving you's a crime So go on and find me guilty Just one more fucking time

hell is living without you, alice cooper

Try to walk away When I see the time I've wasted Starving at a feast And all this wine I've never tasted On my lips your memory has been stained Is it all in vain? Tell me who's to blame, yeah

mama i'm coming home, ozzy osbourne

You took me in and you drove me out Yeah, you had me hypnotized, yeah Lost and found and turned around By the fire in your eyes You made me cry, you told me lies But I can't stand to say goodbye Mama, I'm coming home I could be right, I could be wrong It hurts so bad, it's been so long Mama, I'm coming home

only my heart talkin', alice cooper

Anybody's dream can fall apart Anybody's mask can break Couldn't tell you how I wanted you Enough to make you want to stay I never said the words out loud I guess I couldn't get' em straight Baby, give me one more chance Before you walk away

this heart of mine (i pledge), pain of salvation

I lie awake watching your shoulders Move so softly as you breathe With every breath you're growing older But that is fine if you're with me I pledge to wake you with a smile I pledge to hold you when you cry I pledge to love you 'till I die 'Till I die

i don't want to live without you, sleeze beez

I find myself in a strange situation And I don't know how What seemed to be an infatuation Is so different now I can't get by if we're not together Ooh can't you see Girl, I want you now and forever Close to me I'm longing for the time I'm longing for the day Hoping that you will promise to be mine And never go away

save your love, great white

I wake in the night To find you on my mind Deep in a dream, You'll always be Until the end of time I look in your eyes They touch my soul My love is hard to hide I'm never alone when we're apart. I feel you by my side

angel, judas priest

Angel, put sad wings around me now Protect me from this world of sin so that we can rise again Oh, Angel, we can find our way somehow Escaping from the world we're in to a place where we began And I know we'll find a better place and peace of mind Just tell me that it's all you want, for you and me Angel, won't you set me free?

life eternal, ghost

Can you hear me say your name forever? Can you see me longing for you forever? Would you let me touch your soul forever? Can you feel me longing for you forever, forever?

[totally-not-here-for-the-smut]

This stuff is LONG and complex, and I’m not a native speaker. Which means, it’s hell, WHY BRAIN GOT NO RIGHT WORDS DAMMIT, but it’s also cool bc I can’t really understand HOW bad it actually is, so I’m less self-demanding about the actual style quality than in my own stupidly demanding language. Let’s get to the content then. I’m so very sorry for my children’s book language-level.

Pls believe that I am, in fact, not a child.

Tw:death, sickness, angst

and this is-

Loved & Lost

A The Arcana prequel fanfic - part 1

When the plague came, it started robbing you right away- it took your aunt and, before eventually claiming your own life, your love.

The wise woman who had been your magic mentor was one of the first to fall ill, as if the pestilence were trying to thin out the ranks of those who could stop it. She felt right away this was not a normal illness. The sickness got slowly the best of her body, as if it wanted to seep unnoticed into the city. Your aunt's body withered a little bit each day, her skin slowly tinging red by the engorged veins, but it never managed to steal her wits until the very end. When she was at last bedridden, she had Asra call for you.

You didn't recall where you were at that time. Your magical training was long completed, and you were travelling the world, scavenging for rare spell components, old scrolls and lost magic to bring home to her and to her new apprentice. You got home just in time.

The woman who was a little sore as you kissed her goodbye all those weeks ago now seemed barely more tangible than a ghost - pale and trembling, her clothes hanging empty from her once proud and graceful shoulder. But her eyes, although now tinted in red, were sharp and stern as they had always been.

You did not show any pity for her -she would never have allowed you to-, but when she took you hand in hers her gentle touch unveiled her deepest nature.

"I'm leaving, child", she told you. "But I need the two of you to stay as much as you can".

She called Asra by her side with a nod.

"I have lived a long life. The time I gave it back has long passed, but now death is catching up to me. Spare your tears and magic for the victims to come" she turn her head to face your friend. His purple eyes were veiled in tears.

"Asra, you're a mage now, your training is almost done. In fact, my nephew took my place as your master some time ago already. She'll be more than capable to fill in the gaps in your knowledge. Soon, you'll be a mage, but" - her eyes went narrow- "I want you to remember that you were took from the streets. Someone cared for you, listened to you, taught you everyone you know. You will have to pass your care on to whoever will need it. This is why I taught you magic". Asra couldn't do anything but nod. His lips parted, pronouncing a promise so feeble you couldn't hear -but your aunt did, and a faint smile showed on her chapped lips.

"Believe me, soon many will need it. But I know you'll both live up the cause. Now leave, I need to rest".

You didn't even take your travelling clothes off - you threw yourself into Asra's arms -now your apprentice's arms- to hold each other through the sorrowful night.

She died shortly after. Many vesuvian would have come to salute her, but you and Asra decided to do hold a more private gathering - you, him, and Faust. The snake was so torn that even her scales seemed to grey. She squeezed one last time your aunt's familiar, a pitch black crane called Hermes, who took flight as soon as the mage's funeral pyre was lit.

You kept your head high and your eyes on the flames, resisting the urge to bury your face on Asra's chest and cry your heart out. Instead, you held his hand tight, grounding yourself into the two things that mattered in that moment: Asra's love, and the promise you both made her - to stay and care for the city.

So, when the plague erupted in Vesuvia and Asra began insisting to leave, your fights became vicious.

✧

I want to really thank @wilson-artisan and @lovely-dove69 for their help as proofreaders. They un-dorked my writing a lot.

I feel that I must pay credit to various writers as well who inspired me: check bakuliwriter's "Hurt", that set ablaze my drama thirst. I can totally see it in the same timeline as this thing.

The other parts will be in te reblogs!

Navigate it from my masterlist

[honeysmokedham]

Icarus || Solo

TIMING: The Day of the Trial LOCATION: Saol Eile, the waterfall PARTIES: Declan and Nora SUMMARY: Nora burns Declan's body WARNINGS: Suicidal Ideation tw

Icarus flew too close to the sun. That’s the only thing people know about Icarus. The only fact that matters when it comes to discussing him. In an incredible display of hubris, he flew too close to the sun and it killed him. His hubris. His decision. His death. Nora now knew the truth. It wasn’t hubris that killed Icarus. It was elation. Icarus spent his life locked away. It was never for anything he’d done, but to control his father. Icarus’s crime was to be the son of the smart and talented Daedalus. There was never any choice for him. There was never a moment in his life where he chose to do the wrong thing and end up locked up. There was no reason for him to exist until the day Daedalus slid a pair of wings onto his back and told him he was finally free. 

Icarus saw the sun for the first time. She kissed his skin. She whispered endless possibilities to him. She told him, you can be whoever you want to be now, you’re free. Icarus never knew that happiness before. That level of freedom. How could he practice self-control, when his self was always controlled by someone else? He saw the sun and her beauty, and he was too happy, too excited, too ready to cup the sun in both his hands and kiss her back to say thank you, I’m free.

Nora was Icarus, or was Icarus Nora? And they are falling out of the sky together, leaving a trail of smoke. The ocean grabbed them and ate them alive. The waves chomping against their bodies, Icarus was the lucky one. He got to die. Nora had to live. Standing in the spot they’d shared the best moment of her life, and everything had shifted. Declan was dead. Nora was alive. Her hand gripped on the wheelchair with his slumped body. 

One foot after another. The physical labor kept the shadow at bay. It lounged under Declan’s chair as it watched Nora collect the wood. Sweat and grime coated Nora by the time she’d set up something suitable. Something worthy of Declan. This was her last gift to him. Everything had to be perfect. She laid him on the pyre with all the love and reverence the world had to give. The banshees would not mourn him here, but the waterfall would. It cried around them, maybe the waterfall had always known what would happen at its shore, and was crying the whole time. 

Icarus’s burnt wings set the pyre alight. 

The flame overtook Declan, much the way their love had blossomed. It burned slowly, smoldering under an unsure surface. It took a moment to establish itself, and when it did, it blazed. It flared to life in a beautiful and bright moment that overtook Declan, consuming every inch of him. Nora had held Declan until the moment the flames had gotten too bright, too hot, too much to keep holding. It was Regan’s words in her head that made her let go. She had to live to mourn him, or no one else would. She had to keep her promise to free him, or she’d make this her final resting spot so they could share forever together. 

She let him go with a kiss, leaving with him the Nora she’d been when she’d gotten to Ireland. That Nora died with Declan. She was forever changed. Her canvas would always be stained in the smoke of his pyre. Her picture would always depict the decapitated flowers of their love. Her heart would always be broken and mourning for what was lost.

Through the flickering flame, the rising smoke, and the drifting ash Nora could see the faces of all her failures. Everyone who had been burned by the sun while she flew too close to her beauty. The nameless hunter whose head had rolled across the ground. Debbie, her knife sticking through her skull. The tour group consumed by rock. Everyone she couldn’t save. Everyone she’d killed. They stood there, watching Declan’s body get eaten and turned to ash. They stood there until the pyre burned itself out. They stood there as Nora collected the ash, burning her hands on them as she painstakingly collected them. They judged as she cried. 

Nora left the wheelchair next to the waterfall. She found her phone in a pool of dried blood. She made her way back to Cliodhna’s house. A collection of kneecaps broke under her fingers, but she didn’t feel a thing about it. She packed her bag. She moved Elias upstairs in the clinic, and stored him with her stuff. She stripped and turned into a bear. She headed to a trail. She did it all on autopilot, clinging to the words “You have to live to mourn.”

[abbatoirablaze]

Surrogate Luna, Chapter 16

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings:  angst, mentions of violence, mentions of death, medical situation, mentions of blood. 

Cinna stopped, eyes wide as she stared at the wolf in front of her. 

She had caught the lingering notes from the wolf, but she’d assumed that he’d moved on when he couldn’t find her.  Just like all the rest normally would whenever they did their patrols. 

Not only that, but they were never as close to her as she currently was.  She didn’t expect him to be standing in front of her.  Especially not after what had happened a few months ago, when she’d come back from building a pyre to see that Wanda was dead and Stevie was gone. 

She had expected that Sharon killed everyone that had remained of the Rogers pack.  Part of her had even expected that maybe Sharon took and killed Stevie for her act of hiding away her own omega pup.  In all of her worst thoughts about Sharon, she had thought that she’d taken the body of her pup away from her, so that she couldn’t properly morn the loss.

So she hid in the last place that she and Steve had been.

In the cave just outside of his lands. 

She didn’t have any idea on what to do, or where to go from there, as trying to shift and run in her current condition wasn’t an option. 

She couldn’t go back to the program, not when Steve had purchased her outright.  And she certainly didn’t want to put Tony’s pack at risk. 

No. 

There had been enough death and destruction around her.  She didn’t want to keep Pepper’s life full of it too, by bringing back her own drama. 

But in the time that she’d taken to get lost up in her thoughts, Sam had shifted back to his human form.  And his confusion was not masked.  His eyes were held firmly on her stomach.  Or rather, the swell of it. 

Instinctually, a growl rose from the back of her throat, and she cradled the bump, her own worries about Sam existence becoming a nervous thought, rather than a happy idea, “what are you doing here, Sam?  H-how are you here?  This isn’t Steve’s land…or Sharon’s for that matter.”

“Y-you’re pregnant…” he said amazed, eyes still wide as they shifted to hers.  And then they fell onto her neck, where the mark had healed, left from Steve.  His lips parted and he gasped, “it’s Steve’s, isn’t it?  Your pup?  Say what you would, Luna, but I know that you wouldn’t go to someone else…not after Steve.”

She kept herself from letting her lip warble.  She had the slightest idea that maybe Sam was on her side when he called her Luna, something she knew that Sharon wouldn’t approve of, but she tried to keep herself firm.  That was, until the tears pricked the corners of her eyes before falling down her cheeks anyways. 

“Well, no one else has touched me in seven and a half months!” she answered sadly, “i-I wouldn’t cheat on Steve…despite his passing…”

“Passing?  Steve’s not gone.  Sharon just-she’s gotten to him again,” Sam frowned, “he misses you…you know?  He-“

“He’s alive?” she asked, her own eyes going wide as she cut Sam off, “Steve’s alive?”

Sam nodded, “Sharon removed his mark and re-marked him…she didn’t want you and Steve connected…”

“Stevie…” she asked hopefully, trying her luck as she questioned Sam about her pup, “if Steve’s alive, then-“

“He’s safe,” he affirmed, nodding his head, “When Sharon came upon the den, she killed Wanda…but she let Stevie live…he’s her leverage over Steve now…he’s the reason that Steve hasn’t fought back…he’s doing it for your pup, Luna.”

Her heart ached for her pup, and the man that she loved, “What does she want?  Why is she doing it, Sam?”

“You, luna…she wants to find you…” he confirmed, “you’re too close to the Rogers land…Sharon’s been expanding onto other packs territories…this is now her land…I was sent to scout things out, in case of other wolves guarding their borders.”

She felt worry gnawing away at her stomach, “S-she’s pushing out?  But how?  The Carter pack always seemed more-”

“They’re savages without Steve keeping them in line,” He admitted, cutting her off, “they have no sense of honor…it’s why I was against Steve taking in Sharon to begin with years ago…but you know Steve…he always tries to find a way.”

“Are he and Stevie alright?” she asked gently, “A-are they safe?  Are you and the rest of the pack safe?”

“As we can be…” Sam nodded, confirming her questions with his own unanswered bout of sadness, “she sends what’s left of Steve’s pack to go on the scouting missions…”

“Why?”

Sam scoffed, “we’re worth less to her.  If another pack comes across us for going into their territory it matters less to her if we’re killed.”

“Wh-why are you doing it then?” she asked softly, cradling her stomach once more, “Sam…why didn’t you run with Sarah and her boys?  Why are there still wolves-“

“Our pack may be in shambles, Cinna…but our roots run deeper than just all following the Rogers pack bloodlines,” he sighed, “Steve’s been my best friend since we were pups.  His dad and my dad were best friends, just like our grandparents, and their grandparents.  Some of us believe in loyalty and honor, and that includes-“

“But what about your family?”

Sam shook his head, “those who have families left…it’s just us loners at the pack with him.  The ones who never made a family for this exact reason.  Luna…I have to bring Steve here.  I have to show him that you’re alive.  That he’s going to have another pup.  Tha-“

“Sam, no…” she said quickly, cutting him off, “Steve-he can’t-the last time he was made aware of my existence, Wanda died, and Sharon stole my pup…I can’t lose her…I refuse to lose my daughter as well.”

“She?”

“I can feel it, Sam,” she smiled softly, looking to her stomach, “she’s a fighter.  And it feels so much different than when I was pregnant with Stevie…I know this is a girl.  And this feels-primal.”

“Did you and Steve-“

A blush rose to her cheeks, “he knotted me first when we were in our wolf forms…yes…”

“Might be a sigma,” he smiled, lightly teasing his luna, “you know what they say about a primal mating…especially one that was in wolf form…”

“Sam…”

“Steve would want to know, Cinna…”

“Sam, I ca-AGHHHH!” she began, ending her comment with a scream, as a pain ran from the pit of her stomach all the way up her spine and through every nerve ending.  She fell to her knees and clutched her stomach, the tears streaming down her cheeks for an entirely new reason, “S-something…something’s wrong!”

Sam’s eyes widened as her scent quickly turned bitter, “Wh-what’s wrong, Luna?”

“It’s too early!” she said quickly, nervousness coating the air as she clung to the swell of her stomach.  Another scream erupted from the back of her throat.  Sam cursed.

“I have to get you medical help, Cinna…especially if something is wrong with the pup.”

“Sam…do-don’t leave,” she begged softly, looking into his deep chocolate eyes.  Sam’s inner wolf cried at the thought of leaving his luna, but he didn’t know how he could truly help her.  He shook his head, trying to take a step back, but she clung to his arm, “please…don’t leave me alone out here, Sam…”

“I’m sorry Luna,” he apologized, backing quickly away from her, “I-I’m going to go get help.  I promise.  I’ll be back!”

“Well?”

“She was here…I-I swear, Steve…”

Sam frowned, looking at the dirt.  Steve felt a sense of loss that he hadn’t felt since the day at the den when Wanda was killed and he thought he’d never see Cinna again, as it’d become Sharon’s primary objective to hunt her down.

But in the half a day and some odd hours that had passed since he’d arrived at the packhouse and managed to sneak Steve out, he’d expressed how he’d found Cinna in the middle of a medical emergency.  And despite Sam telling him that she was in desperate need of medical attention, Steve felt a burst of hope-one that she might still be alive and waiting for him.  And Steve, not wanting to waste any time, shifted, allowing Sam to take the lead the second that they hit the forest. 

They’d run through enough rain, that by the time they arrived at the spot Sam had claimed was where he found Cinna, there was nothing but a muddy pile of leaves in her wake. 

Leaves, with the slightest tinge of blood on them. 

It made Steve sick to his stomach, thinking that not only was Cinna out there alone, but in pain.  He knew that she needed help, but he didn’t think that she would have been bleeding.

That she would have been in distress.

And that’s when he felt the guilt gnawing away at him once again.  All of the guilt that reared it’s ugly head every time that he thought about Sharon

Why didn’t he just crush her pack?  Split them up?  Exile them? Why did he always have to reach out and help someone, even if they showed that they weren’t worthy of his assistance. 

“Steve…”

And that was when his mind drifted back to Cinna.

How she’d been alone because of the previous trap that Sharon had mounted, where she killed Wanda and kept his son held hostage. 

He’d been the reason why his pup hadn’t seen his mother in nearly seven months.

He’d been the reason that she was alone.

Him and his weakness. 

“Sam…”

Sam looked at his alpha, before his eyes widened.  He’d caught sight of the blood mixed with the mud and pile of leaves.  He shook his head, “She knew something was wrong, Steve.  She-“

“We have to find her!” he said quickly, cutting his best friend off, “we have to find Cinna before something bad happens.”

“Steve…” Sam frowned as he looked at his friend, sadness in his eyes.  Steve’s head cocked to the side and Sam nodded, before following over to a tree, where there were three marks scratched into it.  At the base of the tree, some more blood, “Steve…it looks like something might have already happened when I went to come bring you.”

Chapter 17

Tag List:  @lohnes16, @prokey16, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @teambarnes72, @mrsevans90

[swampstew]

What's the Magic Word?

Chapter 8: The Island of Thorns

It was an exceptionally overcast day as the Victoria Punk sailed towards an isolated island. Large grey shelf clouds covering the sky and blocking out the sun, the ocean water choppy. Killer stood at the helm watching his Captain through the open doorway, Kid stood at the railing inside of the dragon mouth inspecting the island with a pair of steampunk binoculars. He saw a large cliffside on the west side of the land, miles of beach shoreline and what looked like the worn remains of a ship dock. The vegetation was overgrown, blocking view of anything else.

“When we dock, I want a team to take the dinghy and sail around the area, check to see if there’s any settlements or anything of interest. Keep a small group behind and divided between inspecting the beach and guarding the ship; you, me and the rest will follow Rowena to wherever her coven used to be.” Kid handed off the binoculars, switching roles with Killer.

They sailed in silence, getting closer to their destination when Killer made a choking noise, “You’re going to want to see this.”

Taking the binoculars back, he focused on the direction Killer pointed at. He felt a catch in his throat. There was a patch in the vegetation where he could see the remains of pyres, blackened and broken down. He counted at least seven from the clearing alone.

Kid was a brutal and bloodthirsty pirate; his reputation was that of a man with the largest civilian casualty count and he was proud of that. He simply did not give a fuck for anyone who stood in his way or mocked him, and he didn’t care how many people were hurt or killed in the process. However, the scene and the history of what they were coming upon made him scowl, lowering his binoculars. When they finally reached the dock, Kid went inside to retrieve the Witch.

Knocking on the door he could hear shuffling and stepped back as the door opened. Rowena greeted him, looking morose. She had donned on a black dress that reached her ankles with large slits that exposed her thighs and legs, the heart shape neckline connected to lace floral sleeves that covered her arms and shoulders. Motioning his head upwards, Rowena followed him off ship. Their group walked in silence as they trudged up the beach, Rowena and Kid leading the crew; she had donned on a black wide brim hat, sand getting kicked up from her combat boots.

He knew they had reached the place when Rowena’s steps began to falter, as if she was trying to literally drag her feet. Kid stepped behind her placing a hand on her shoulder, his large frame and equally large coat shielded her from the others.

“If you need a moment, tell me.”

She shook her head, muttering a harsh “let’s just get this over with.”

So they continued walking, reaching an opening at the end of the forest trail. Kid was sure the scene would haunt him for the rest of his life.

As the crew and Witch entered the clearing, they were greeted with a staggering number of pyres, one next to the other with little space between them, scattered around the settlement. All of them were blackened and crumbling; it was a mystery that they hadn’t blown away entirely from the elements. Kid couldn’t explain it but there was a heavy, weighted feeling in the air. Like there was a presence around them but also not at all.

It made him feel like he was being stalked, hunted even. He could hear the crew muttering, nerves clearly on edge. Rowena kept walking, not looking anywhere but straight ahead and he quickened his pace to catch up to her.

Rowena continued until she reached the destroyed foundation of what he assumed was her home as she tripped over herself, bending slightly and he could see her shoulders heave. It was a small dwelling, holding probably only two bedrooms and one main area. Rowena stepped over the rubble and walked into one of the bedrooms, tears streaming down her face, and she stopped over what Kid could see were the remains of a stone bed. The room was littered with burnt cloth and wood.

“This was the room where my mother and I slept.”

Walking into the next room she trailed her fingers on the broken walls. “This was our ritual room; it had a roof that we could open so we could see the moon and stars as we did our practices. I used to love dancing in here under the stars,” she sniffled.

Walking back out to the main room, she lowered her body to the ground sitting on her heels to keep her upright, head bowed. After a moment, she pulled a vial from her waist bag and with scooped up dirt and ash from the ground, pouring it in the vial.

“Hundreds of years ago in our prime, our coven had nearly 400 witches. There were maybe 90 of us left by the time I was born and we all lived here. Prejudices and fear kept us isolated, and if any Witch dared to emigrate elsewhere, they usually came back driven out by the locals, or they died out there by them. This island was our only safe space. I don’t know who betrayed our secret but if I could, I would send them to hell myself.”

Turning to face Kid, “What now?”

“I guess we should start wherever you kept any books or places of learning. You said your coven had a Supreme Witch; we should check her dwelling too. Is there anything here you can salvage?”

Rowena walked around a few times, poking around the debris. She picked up something from her former bedroom, wiping it clean with the bottom of her dress. It was a small black ring, with a magnificent stone in the center, albeit dirty. At first glance it looked deep green.

“It was my mother’s. I remember she never was without it. I can’t believe it was back here.”

“You said when the incident happened you were with your Supreme. What was that about?”

“We were having a private conversation.” Kid gave her a look. She let out a pained sigh.

“I was born under a blood moon. It’s a lunar eclipse event typically interpreted as an omen of death, or the usurping of kings. Additionally, my birth element is water, one of the harder elements to master. Birth elements mean that you can use that element without needing to borrow a source, like I would with say Earth or Fire. I can pull water from the moisture in the air if I so wish, but I can't manipulate Earth unless I'm holding a piece of Earth. If they’re ranked: fire is the strongest element, then water, earth, and finally air. I-uh…also have a degree of power over life and death,” she said rather flippantly.

Kid blinked. “Did you just say you have power over life and death?”

“Yes. Haven’t you noticed how my plants have grown and matured repeatedly on your ship despite me only being onboard for like a month?”

“N-No!”

“I can force most plants to speed through their natural life cycle if I concentrate hard enough. I can also recover from grievous injury by applying my magic to myself. That’s how I survived the pyre. My body was destroyed and I just sorta regrew everything. I don’t even have to think about it, it’s like an automatic response. I’m not sure I can do this to the same degree to another person or animal.”

Kid looked at her incredulously. “Would you be considered a highly gifted Witch or were you par for average?”

Rowena furrowed her eyes in confusion. “How does one even measure gifted qualities? I can’t say for sure, I know I’m not anywhere near powerful as my Supreme was or many of my sisters.”

“Are you sure? Cause you’ve done some pretty powerful things by my standards and if that’s not you at your full potential then I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of training you would need or that I could provide.”

“Then checking the Supreme’s abode will be the best place to start, although if it looks like this then there isn’t much hope.”

“You didn’t finish telling me why you were meeting with your Supreme.”

“Oh, right. We were discussing my next set of tribulations. I was being tested since I was learning more advanced forms of witchcraft. But more importantly, she confessed to me that she had been feeling rather weak lately, she said her power was leaving her body gradually. That’s the sign that means a new Supreme is budding. There can only be one Supreme Witch at a time: she who is so powerful she has mastery of every element without needing to borrow from a tangible source. Not only can she use them at will but she can also manipulate them to into new forms. She can call forth ice by manipulating water and air; lightning by manipulating fire and air. The Supreme Witch can use every form of magic in our recorded history and is also responsible for keeping the records safe. She confessed to me that she saw me in her visions as the new Supreme on the day of my birth and that she was taking me under her wing to learn from her personally. I was so happy, Kid. Can you imagine, being destined to be that powerful?” she was smiling through her tears, then it faded.

“She started clutching her head, the excitement on her face was replaced with one of sorrow. Then she looked at me and told me our secret, our hidden island location, was out and that we were under attack. We’ve never been assaulted on our land but if there was ever a threat, we had a plan to keep ships from docking on the beach. But these Marines had gotten the jump on us, they were already at the shoreline. They rounded us up like we were wild animals and I saw my sisters fight back but there was one Marine, he overpowered everyone. And you know how the rest happened.” Rowena lowered her head, tears overflowing anew.

Kid lifted her chin and wiped her tears away but that only seemed to make her cry harder. Frowning, he pulled her into his chest and held her as she sobbed. He could feel the wetness on his body but he stood perfectly still, arms around her shoulders keeping her close. Feeling her trembling and not knowing what else to do, he leaned down and awkwardly whispered into the shell of her ear, “I got you, Ro--wena.” Cringing at himself for the attempt at shortening her name during a vulnerable moment.

She let out a gasp and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him with surprising force. He rubbed her back slowly as she let herself cry; for the loss of her family and for the years of pain and suffering that lead up to her emancipation thanks to Luffy. After a few moments, she had her breathing under control. She wiped her face clean with her hands before extricating herself from the Supernova who used his coat to wipe his chest.

“Are you ready to move on?” He asked quietly.

Rowena nodded. He led her out of the ruins holding her hand; it was small against his but he held a firm grasp on it.

“If you want to cry again just squeeze my hand. I’ll let you hide under my coat if you don’t want the others to see you.”

She bit her lip as another fat tear fell from her eye, she nodded vigorously and he once again wiped it for her, the action quickly becoming second nature for him. She led him to the Supreme’s dwelling and like the others it had been destroyed. Rowena pilfered through the remaining debris but found nothing that she could see. Kid frowned, calling out to Killer for a report.

“The scouting team reported nothing except a sea wall, they docked and are scouting the forest and land on the east side; the beach team is scouting the west side finding nothing on the beach itself. We’ve searched the buildings but it’s all just ash and broken bits.”

Kid tsked, he wasn’t giving up that easily. He dropped Rowena’s hand and walked out to where larger foundations laid. Raising his hand, he partially closed his eyes deep in concentration.

“Uh what are you doing?” Killer tilted his head.

“Investigating,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rowena stepped out and started collecting more dirt in a larger vial. How deep is that waist bag of hers? he mused. Kid walked around the settlement and after making the same circuit three times, he came to a stop.

“There is a large mass of metal somewhere in the Supreme’s dwelling, it must be underground. Too much Earth keeping it in place for me to just lift it out.”

Rowena walked back inside and asked Kid to clarify where the metal was. Re-entering the room, Kid walked over to the northern most wall and pointed to the ground. Nodding, she told him to back up to the other side as she took a few steps back herself.

She dug both hands into the dirt, dragging her nails into the Earth building up debris under her nails, letting her hands get stained and dusted. Rowena straightened her back and took a wide stance. She began making fluid motions with her hands and feet, dragging her right foot from outside her left one, and dragging it to the outwards to lift and stomp her boot into the ground. A large square outline appeared in the ground as the dirt crumbled and lifted away, small mounds creating a lip around the hole.

She nodded to Kid who walked over, toeing the edge. He raised his hand and used his power, they could hear a grating sliding noise and after a minute, a very worn and rusted metal container was lifted out, spilling dirt everywhere. Rowena’s eyes bugged, waiting for Kid to open the safe. As soon as he did, she pilfered through the contents and started making hyperventilating noises.

“Everything ok Ro’?” he peered over her shoulder. She whipped her head back, arms loaded with thick textbooks.

“Kid, this is my Supreme’s Grimoire, her Book of Shadows, scrolls and other sacred texts. These are the only written records of witchcraft dating back 800 years,” her face a mixture of happiness and melancholy.

“I’m sorry I doubted you. This priceless knowledge would have been lost forever,” she put everything down and wrapped her arms around him as she cried again.

Kid froze, turning deep red as she held on to him, his crew averted their gazes. Suddenly a voice could be heard over Killer’s transponder snail.

“Hey Killer, this is the dinghy team, we found remains of an old settlement but it’s been abandoned for a very long time s’far as we can tell. Also, I’m not sure if it’s just us but this place is creepy. The men keep reporting whispers in the fields or feelings of being watched.”

“Hey Captain, this is the beach team scouting the west side, we concur with the creepy vibes. There isn’t anything out on this side either but I’m not liking the feeling like I’m being stalked through the trees.”

Everyone turned to Rowena who pulled back from Kid, wiping her face.

“The island is likely haunted. The immeasurable pain and agony from the victims who died here cannot be erased. This land is tainted and stained, the ghosts of my sisters are here, crying in despair, furious at the injustice. And with so much pain and anger, it invites…other things...this place is no longer safe, we should leave as soon as possible. I don’t think we should be here when night falls.”

Kid pulled out his pocket watch, it was about five o’clock. Grabbing the transponder snail from Killer, “all teams head back to the dock and prepare to sail.” Looking to the present crew, “gather everything out of this safe and drag it back to the ship.”

The crew hauled ass, piling the texts and items into a four-wheeled cart. Rowena walked around the perimeter, collecting things she found on the ground. As the crew carted the relics back towards the forest trail path, a sudden strong gust of wind shook through the trees, branches all swayed forward and the leaves bristled creating a loud, ominous sound around them. Everyone froze.

“We should go, we should go right now,” Rowena’s voice was alerted and Kid barked at the men to go.

The sound of whispering was much louder and clearer now. Invisible voices were crying out for help but amongst them were other voices too, not crying for help but something much more odious. The hairs on the back of Kid’s neck began to stand up and he started speed walking, which prompted everyone else to run.

As they rushed down the path of trees, it felt like they were no closer to reaching the beach than they had when they had entered the trail. In fact, the longer Kid stared at the exit the further away it seemed to get. Breaking through the whispers, the crew could hear shouts of fear around them.

Rowena stopped running and unsheathed her blades. Pulling out a vial from her bag, she quickly doused her swords.

“I’ll double back to make sure the rest of the crew make it to the beach; you go on ahead,” she shouted over her shoulder as she turned back the way they came.

“No, stay with us. I believe in my men and if they don’t make it, they didn’t have what it takes to sail with us anyways.” Kid snapped.

Rowena eyed him; he couldn’t read the emotion on her face but he wasn’t sure he liked it. Not caring, he grabbed on to her arm and yanked her with him, running towards the exit. Again, the exit seemed to just be out of their reach and he roared in frustration. The rustling in the trees ramped up and the whispers sounded so close to them now.

“What do we do?” Kid looked at her.

Handing him her blades, she dug in her bag rummaging through her items. After a moment, she pulled out small cones that she quickly lit aflame with a gold lighter. They let off a woodsy scent and as they began to burn and the smoke furled out, he could feel a woosh in the air and suddenly the whispers didn’t feel right in his ear. The Witch began tossing several lit cones in either direction, the smoke plumes rising in the air as they burned.

Holding one in her hand, she called over her shoulder, “Let’s move!” In just minutes they reached the beach and Kid almost threw himself to the ground to kiss the sandy shore.

The pirates raced down the beach, out of the corner of his eye he could see the other teams emerging from the woods, some of them looked rough as if they had been fighting only who knows what. They all ran towards the ship. A loud, terrifying roar began emitting from the forest. Rowena pulled back, waiting for everyone to get ahead of her as she held the rear, swords raised.

“WITCH! MOVE YOUR ASS OR I’LL MOVE IT FOR YOU” Kid screamed at her as he stood by the boarding plank while the crew boarded.

She ignored him, holding out her hands and yelling at the last of the men to hurry. Letting out a frustrated yell, Kid ran up the beach to retrieve her. As he neared her, a wave of birds flew up from the tree line, screeching.

A massive shelf cloud was completely covering the island and there was a deep rumbling noise, but whether it was coming from the sky, the sea or the land, Kid couldn’t be sure. One more man broke from the tree line, running towards the boat. Just as he reached Rowena, Kid saw blackness shoot out and grab at the man. He was a newer member named Cut. Cut was pulled down and being dragged backwards, screaming for help.

Rowena sprinted to him, swords swinging at the black mass. It let out a vile hiss as her swords made contact, and the tendrils whipped back into the shadows of the trees. The man got up and left only a trail of dust and sand as his legs carried him to the ship. Rowena started walking backwards, swords up in defense as she eyed the trees.

Kid grabbed her arm and started to pull her again when another set of tentacles came shooting out, this time aimed directly at him; she blocked them before it could touch either of them, the same hissing noise came from them as her blades sliced against them. Kid could see a black ooze drip down into the sand, a vile smell in the air.

The tentacles retreated again – Rowena turned to him, “Now you can move my ass.”

With an annoyed growl, Kid picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, sprinting down the beach.

“More are coming,” she warned and he willed his legs to run faster.

He kicked up a flurry of sand as he sprinted towards the dock, using his devil fruit power to pull the anchor up. He yelled at Killer to get moving as the men withdrew the plank from the dock completely.

Putting Rowena down, “What now?”

“We’re safe here. We’re on the water and they cannot touch the salt from the sea, it burns them.”

“What the fuck was all that?!” he barked.

“Demons.”

Everyone’s eyes bugged as they all looked between the Witch and the island of hell they just barely made it off.

“Evil spirits and monstrous demons are attracted to strong, negative emotions. Any emotions will due honestly but when it’s pain and anger, it’s like a feeding frenzy for them. After what happened here, it must have been a feast for them, there’s a legion deep in there.”

“You can see them?”

“I can hear them, each voice speaking out to us. Every dying wish, plea for help, lust for blood,” she was shivering.

A low groaning came from the island as darkness overtook the land, tendrils trying to reach them as they raced down the shoreline. They stopped just short of the shore, tendrils testing the wet sand and immediately pulling back. Kid felt himself shudder.

“The land is haunted both by the vengeful spirits of my coven and the greedy mouths of those demon shits. This was once a powerful land teeming with magic and now its poisoned,” she slammed a fist on the railing.

“Is there anything you can do?” Kid asked, standing next to her.

“I don’t know, the sheer number of them is already overwhelming. I don’t think I can just cleanse the land by flooding it with the sea. It might take something much greater.”

“Like what?”

She frantically waved her hands in the air, “I just don’t know. Where are the books, maybe I can find something,” she walked to the cart and started digging through the materials. Finding the Grimoire she sat on the deck and ran through the pages, the ship sailed a mile off the coast for safety.

After several minutes, Rowena hopped up and showed Kid the page she was reading. He looked skeptical, “You can do that?”

“I can try, we’re a good distance away but we should put some more between us while I prepare. Is there a space where I can be alone while I get ready for this?”

He quickly instructed Killer to sail further away from the land as he led Rowena through the helms room that sat inside the dinosaur skull’s mouth. Through the second door in the room, they walked out to an open space still covered by the massive skull, looking out to the ocean.

“The aftereffects will make the sea a bit choppy.”

Facing the island, she bowed her head and began to mutter a chant quietly, holding her wand as she started making sharp hand motions. Kid crept up slowly so he could see her better – she was still chanting but ceased her hand motions. Two fingers pointed upwards on each hand as they clasped together, her wand sandwiched between them.

He felt his hair tugging upwards on his scalp and skin. He saw that Rowena’s hair had also been pulled up, it was standing straight up in the air and he hadn’t really appreciated how long it was before. It reached the roof of the dinosaur’s mouth, clumps of hair stuck out like spikes in his, only black in color.

She whispered to herself, as if forgetting Kid was behind her. “I miss you all so much. I will carry the weight of your pain and thirst for vengeance.”

Opening her eyes and speaking louder in a deep voice, she rumbled out, “Cataclysm.” A single tear fell from her eye, hands broke apart and she raised one up; clenching it into a fist, she dropped to the floor and punched it with all her might.

Hearing a thunderous cracking from the sky, Kid watched as the sky opened in the shelf cloud, and he could see black plumes and fiery embers falling through to the island. The thunderous roar became louder, as if the planet was being screamed at by an unseen Titan. The ocean began rolling, waves became choppy and the ship was rocked sharply.

Large objects were raining from the sky itself, exploding on impact as they fell to the land. Giant clouds of smoke and dust blew out from all sides of the island, the cliffside broke and crumbled into the sea. They could feel the land shaking as it became pummeled with more mass objects and Kid watched as the beach and land became ruptured; cracks breaking through the shoreline, water engulfing the sand as it rushed to flood the ruined land. It took 15 minutes for the island to sink entirely.

Breathless and in awe, he reached out to Rowena, “What was that power?”

She turned to him, a dead look in her eyes, “Solar magic. I pulled meteors down and destroyed the Island of Thorns. In doing so and burying it at the bottom of the East Blue, I’ve purified my home. I only hope that by doing this, my coven is free to move on from this purgatory.” She stumbled, depleted of energy.

Kid caught her, holding her against his chiseled body, both hearts beating rapidly. They stayed like that as the ocean calmed itself, the ship no longer rocking violently. He found that he didn’t really want to let go of her, but he knew they had to get a move on.

“Can you make it back to your room?” she nodded weakly. Not liking that, he bent forward intending to scoop her up in his arms but she protested.

“Before we go, I need to do something,” she pulled back and sat down on the wooden floor.

Kid kneeled next to her. From her bag she pulled out several pieces of colored yarn, feathers, raw cut gems, shells, and other items. She began stringing it all together.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a Witch’s Ladder.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a useful tool for scrying, meditation, and can be used in my rituals too. My mother and I made my first one together, it was bounded with bay leaves, rose quartz gems and seashells. Haven’t had one in years.”

She gingerly stood up; a bit unsteady on her feet. Kid straightened up and stood directly behind her acting like a wall for the Witch to lean on, which she did to his delight. Facing the direction of her former home, Rowena let out a small, sad sigh. Wand anchoring her string, she began to recite words while tying knots into the string, eyes partially shut.

By knot of one, the spell's begun. By knot of two, the magic comes true. By knot of three, so it shall be.

Her voice faltered and cracked at first, but it became more confident as she spoke her chant.

By knot of four, this power is stored. By knot of five, my will shall drive. By knot of six, the spell I fix.

She shut her eyes and spoke more fiercely.

By knot of seven, the future I leaven. By knot of eight, my will be fate. By knot of nine, what is done is mine.

Rowena opened her eyes, chanting the final line with clear determination; the knotted string dangled from her wand. She pulled it off, wrapping it around her wrist twice. She turned to Kid and asked him to tie a slipped buntline hitch to keep it from falling. As he tied it up, he saw the heavy bags under her eyes. She tried to walk back to the door but her energy was fading fast. Her knees buckled and Kid grabbed her. Scooping her up he swiftly carried her to her cabin.

Laying her down in bed, “You did good today; I know it wasn’t easy and you really saved our asses. I’ll give you some time to recover, don’t worry about training for the next two weeks, just rest up and read your books, I’ll have Killer bring them down in a bit.”

The Captain walked back to the deck and began addressing the crew; instructing the wounded to visit UK and the rest were dismissed to their daily duties. He had Gig take control of the helm and chart a course back to Sabaody so they could finally get back on course to the New World.

With Killer, the two men brought down Rowena’s books to her room. They knocked but there was no answer. Entering cautiously, they realized she was out. They quietly placed her items on the small table and exited.

Kid stood at the threshold, giving her one last look and walked back inside to remove her boots from her feet and drape the blanket over her. He hesitated for a moment before leaning down and kissing the top of her head. Finally satisfied, he walked out to let his Witch get the rest she deserved.

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[antihibikase2]

Dr. Colress realizes he's been staring at Shauntal a little too long when she makes her way towards him from across the room, playfully tilts her head, and puts her hands behind her back, a cat-like smile on her face.

"Hm? Have I done anything to displease you, doctor?"

Of course not; he himself could acknowledge that, out of everyone in the league, Shauntal had all of his respect- surely, it was not easy to be both a doctor and an accomplished writer, a public figure, a member of the league, and a priestess of Mt. Pyre back in her home region of Hoenn.

But, he could not help himself from glancing over her shoulder- and, shamefully, Shauntal had noticed.

That smile on her face grew bigger, however.

"Oh, you don't need to worry,"

She would give him a pat on the shoulder- but she knows Dr. Colress is not fond of being touched.

"I'm not interested in him. Like, at all."

If it were anyone else, he'd let out an indignant huff at such assumptions.

But for Shauntal, who had earned his respect- his admiration, even, all that came out of his lips was an uncertain "Are you sure?"

She doesn't laugh at him.

"Yup! I promise you,"

She puts a pinky up- a childish gesture.

"We've been friends since we were kids- but there's nothing going on, I guess? Besides the hauntings, but well," Now she laughs- out of amusement of her own jokes. "He's scared of ghosts."

Dr. Colress glances again over her shoulder, seeing him guide his brother out of the ballroom and into the balcony- the younger of the two seemed to be getting suffocated by the crowd.

He links his pinky with her's- something he briefly remembers doing with his mother a long time ago.

"I trust you."

...

"I loved him, you know?"

"I know."

Still, there's no venom in her tone when she applies the lacquer, nor is there disdain in her expression as she carefully pieces Dr. Colress- Doctor Nikolai Colress, back together.

He remains in Grimsley's arms, unmoving like a doll- unwanted like one too.

"If- If I had known, that he was involved, that he was the reason for Cheren's suffering-"

"It'd make me naive to say it's not his fault- but it would make me reckless to completely agree with you, even if you are my best friend."

For how whimsical she was compared to the rest of her colleagues, Shauntal sounded uncharacteristically serious.

She and Grimsley had many disagreements over the past, over matters both big and small. From what Nikolai knew, Shauntal never took most of them to heart- and Grimsley never tried pushing harder, to see if he had a winning chance.

Grimsley was the same as ever- but Shauntal was different today.

"The wandering doctor- another character forgotten by all, who disappeared from the narrative as soon as the shared heart of the princes was cured from his poison,"

When she speaks, she commands authority- when she places a careful hand on Nikolai's cheek, she reminds him of someone from a simpler time.

"If they themselves were trapped in this cycle, doomed to repeat- who is to say that Dr. Colress here is not the same?"

Even after all that he's done, his sins bare for the world to see, she still found herself addressing him with nothing but respect.

...

"He no longer loves me."

"False,"

The tables have been turned- he, the league doctor, found himself relying on someone else to tend to his needs; he thinks, if not for the stroke of luck that led to Shauntal and Caitlin's friendship, and therefore, their knowledge of his predicament, he would have been long dead in the Plasma Frigate.

They could have chosen to leave him to rot in a cell, but-

"It wasn't only me, but it was Grimsley who made sure you would be kept somewhere- well, comfortable isn't really the best word to describe it, but,"

The lacquer on his arms was a soothing baby blue; a shimmering river.

"You know, despite what many people think- he's a good guy."

Nikolai was not stupid.

He wasn't like others- he knew very well that the image of a hedonist, a frivolous gambler who lived life to the fullest, was nothing but a farce.

"Some say he's being too lenient on you- but, really, what will your suffering bring to him? It certainly would not explain what's going on with Cheren now, nor would it bring his heart back."

"He said he loved me."

"He still does."

"But in the frigate-"

She laughs again.

"Oh, come on, Doctor Colress. You of all people should know that people say things they don't mean when they're under a lot of stress- and he was still level-headed enough to understand you needed immediate help at the time."

He wants to disagree.

But, he clings onto this childish feeling of hope- hope that, despite everything,

"I do not reciprocate his feelings in that manner."

"He knows."

Shauntal finishes tending to his palms- the cracks were more obvious on his fingers.

"That doesn't mean he can't care for you, you know?"

She squeezes his hand.

"And that doesn't mean you can't like it either."

...

He remembers the feeling of sand brushing against his skin, the sound of screams overwhelming his senses as he's approached by the false prophet- the devil that tempted him and forever corrupted him, rendering him impure; unworthy of Arceus', or anyone else's, love.

It was never Beam's fault- he understood that Pokemon merely reacted to the wishes and emotions of their trainers, their bonds a vital piece to the puzzle that was their true potential.

Still, even as Beam summoned pink spheres of energy, directing them at the members of the league he was trapped with in this building,

That foolish gambler still ran towards him.

With a tight embrace, he felt himself calming down, curling into his arms like a scared child.

"Houndoom,"

Grimsley hugs his head close to his chest, roaring out an order.

"Don't let him get away! Pursuit!"

The sound of something shatters, accompanied by a ghostly scream.

His amulet clatters to the floor, immediately picked up by-

"Shauntal!"

"Oh dragons, he's breaking apart."

She's back to work as always- as if she hadn't been tossed around by a Beheeyem, slammed down against a desk, and even thrown against her other co-workers.

She lifts up her cracked glasses, squinting as she assesses the damage done to Nikolai's head.

She could have sworn that she saw a tear slide down his face- but whether she or Grimsley noticed, neither of them said a word.

...

He was near silent as he watched a path to the heavens open, the spirits of Relic Castle finally finding peace.

Fingers pressed against the glass, he wondered if he would ever be granted the same mercy.

Shauntal wasn't used to others seeing the spirits she had grown accustomed to all her life- still, she smacks Grimsley on the back as if to clue him in on the situation, snapping him out of his frozen state.

"They're benevolent spirits, Giima- and they're leaving anyway," She says quickly, voice barely above a whisper. "What are you waiting for? Go to him, he needs you."

He's flustered for a moment, stumbling over his words- but he thanks her, making his way to Nikolai.

...

He thinks that, for the remainder of his time as the Unova League's prisoner, he has made a friend or two.

He knows this because Grimsley's pain becomes his own; a feeling he realizes only two decades later.

He remains by the doorway of the chapel, afraid and unsure; Grimsley sobs over a white coffin, barely held up by his father who stands by his side.

It is difficult to not feel partially, if not wholly, responsible for the early death of Cheren Slater- but he supposes he should thank Arceus for giving the child a fulfilling life, even if he led the remainder of his days without a heart.

"He passed in his sleep peacefully, and he was surrounded by the people who loved him,"

Shauntal appears with the flowers she was asked to gather- the white jasmines in her basket clash with the black dress she was wearing; yet again another reminder.

"I think he was happy."

He would have been happier if he lived longer.

"He was far too young,"

Nikolai lowers his head.

"If I could have given him my lifespan, I would."

He would have done anything to retribute for his sins.

"Ah, but you'd just be pawning off your curse to him, no? If you don't like immortal life, I don't think Cheren would have either. It's going to crush him if he has to watch Nate grow old and die before he does."

"Just like it is with Giima now."

She bites her lip for a moment- but as always, she never looks at Nikolai with anything other than maybe pity.

A sense of understanding.

"It was something we've discussed even a couple of years back- Cheren knew, his chances at a normal life after the thing with Kyurem was,"

She thinks of a word.

"Slim."

And yet,

He was able to reclaim his rightful place as the gym leader of Aspertia.

He was able to teach new generations of trainers year after year.

He was able to nurture the career of Unova's reigning champion- the Hero of Ideals.

He was able to rekindle his relationship with his father and brother- and even with the Hero of Truth.

The thought of "What have I done for myself and for others, in the past hundred years?" passes in his head.

"He's happy, I know this. There's a reason he chose to resign from his position just a year ago."

She glances at Nikolai.

"I don't think he blames you."

I know for a fact, but she chooses not to say.

Not when the spirit of Cheren Slater sits atop his own coffin, a ghostly hand running through the hair of his brother.

...

He's long believed he was undeserving of love the moment he stepped out of his village.

He's become rotten and dirty, impure and sinful. Something Arceus would never accept in His kingdom.

But, as everyone parts ways in the funeral, Grimsley gingerly takes Nikolai's hand and leads him to his home.

In this timeline, they could never have that normal, simple life they desperately wanted for themselves- not when both of them found themselves in situations where they couldn't be anything but themselves.

At the very least, however, Nikolai is quietly thankful to not be abandoned once more- and Grimsley, still in grief, is thankful to still have someone to live for.

...

Other members of the league pass as the years do; it was no surprise when Grimsley eventually does as well.

Yet, as Nikolai weeps in the chapel, kimono wrapped around his shaking form, Shauntal crouches next to him- wearing almost the same dress she had worn many years ago to Cheren's funeral.

"Have you eaten yet?"

He shakes his head frantically, wiping his tears with the sleeves of the kimono. He's tempted to lash out at her like a child would, cheeks flushed red and tears streaming down his face.

"You should, you know,"

She's never lost that bright personality of her's- but as years passed, she's started to sound more and more like his mother.

"Giima would get worried if you weren't taking care of yourself."

Grimsley- Giima, who he once thought foolish, yet endearing.

Giima, who could have left him to rot and spent the rest of his days living happily alongside his family.

Giima, who still loved him, despite everything.

And Nikolai, who felt the same- even if he didn't deserve it.

...

Shautal is not an exception to her own mortality, despite her wisdom and connection to spirits.

She was the last of the league- the one he had grown accustomed to anyway, to pass; and the past few years had been entertaining for her, playing up rumors of her supposed immortality when all her co-workers had come and go, and she herself was the last one standing.

Nikolai holds tightly onto the Odd Keystone as he crouches by her urn- she had requested for a cremation, and soon, her ashes would be taken back to her home in Hoenn.

"I will be moving to Route 10- the forest that has grown there would make a perfect home for me."

Even if the league- Grimsley especially, had arranged for Nikolai to live a comfortable existence after their passing, it felt wrong to stay in a place they would no longer visit.

"I am uncertain as to who will treat me now,"

Partially a lie- Nikolai himself was more than capable of tending to his own worn body.

But really, how could he- after all this?

"But I will be alright."

He's not sure if she appreciates wild berries, herbs, or the dandelions he's picked up on the way- he's still very much poor with handling money, and he's absolutely refused to touch any of what was left for him by Grimsley.

But he thinks he knows her well enough to know that she appreciates his little gifts over store-brought flowers.

As he leaves her, and by extension, the rest of the world as he knew it, Beam accompanies him as it always had, hand in hand.

Nikolai wonders if Cheren had waited for Grimsley when his time had come- and he wonders if Grimsley, in turn, waited for Shauntal.

He hopes it wouldn't be presumptuous of him; but, he childishly wishes, that when the time comes and Arceus grants him mercy, they would wait for him all the same.

[goddesstrolls]

Marzic attempts to end his curse; TW for suicide attempts, descriptions of dying

Marzic lay on his back on the cold stone floor, staring up at the dark ceiling.

He'd been here for... At least a week, now. He had tried everything he could think of to end his own life; Thought up elaborate ways to circumvent his own regeneration. He'd burned himself on a pyre, screaming all the while; Never quite dying despite being scorched to a featureless husk, and then healing in a mere hour.

He had crushed his head beneath a heavy stone, but remained some form of conscious, able to feel and move his body for a while. It faded out and, when he came to, he had regenerated.

He tried to keep his sword stuck through his heart, but it kept beating regardless. He tried to hang himself, but even though he couldn't get a single breath for hours, he still didn't do so much as fall unconscious.

Nothing was going to work. Marzic had known that from the start; Having been killed once already by a fellow hunter, and then returning despite her stake through his chest and burying him six feet under. He'd dug himself out in a drawn out, blind panic, and only realized the entirety of what happened after.

He knew, too, that he wasn't fully resolved to die.

He just didn't want to live like this. Alone, starving, for eternity.

So, the only alternative was to live, and break this damned curse. There was no easy way out.

Marzic walked up to the large stone he'd rolled in front of the crypt, a precaution in case he lost himself and went feral during his attempts- Which would have been a mercy. He shoved against the stone, and it didn't budge.

He pushed against it again with all his might, forcing until he thought he might break his own bones with the strain of his muscles pulling against them, and still the stone did not budge.

Marzic took a step back, trying to wrap his mind around this new conundrum.

Perhaps his attempts to die had weakened him. Perhaps someone heard his screams and blockaded the entrance.

He attempted to dig his fingers under the stone to get better leverage and pull it aside. He tried his several more times, his fingers just slipping off the unmovable stone- Until he scoured his fingertips raw and began leaving streaks of blood on the stone.

He kept trying, clawing desperately over and over, trying to find other ways to get leverage or move the stone.

A feeble trickle of dawn light from a tiny gap in the ceiling eventually told Marzic he'd been trying for hours.

He didn't need to sleep, drink, or otherwise rest. He didn't even need blood, technically.

He could try for hours more. For days more.

For sweeps more.

[demona-andariel]

Tristan's Hawk - 4 / ??

Fandom: King Arthur (2004)

Pairing: Tristan x OFC

Summary: They were enemies, fated to kill each other. Yet a curse ends up binding her to him. Hawk by day, woman by night. She needs to find a way to break the curse and return home before he realizes just how much control he really has. Unfortunately, all too quickly, things become a lot more complicated when the heart is thrown into the mix.

Warnings: Nothing to bad. Possible eventual smut, undecided. I would say canon typical violence.

Word Count: 3,193

Chapter 4 - They Meet

The knights and the Romans huddled near their own fires. There was a small but noticeable separation between the two groups. Tristan kept a sharp eye on the treeline while he made sure once again that his weapons were ready for an attack. He wasn't going to get caught off-guard again. Not that he expected another attack. The Woads were clearly after only one person.

"Unnatural," Lancelot muttered to himself yet again.

"He was a little bit older than you when you first started fighting," Bors said with a hearty laugh.

"It's not the age of the lad," Lancelot said with a shake of his head. "The way I cut his leg, he should have fallen."

Tristan gave his friend a glance. After burning their dead, it had gotten too late to travel any further back to the Wall. They had to set up camp near the funeral pyre. The injured Romans weren't as badly wounded as Tristan had initially thought. Which was a good thing. But, they still needed to rest for the night before making their way back home.

If two of the Romans weren't in the shape they were in, Tristan had little doubt that the centurion would have ordered them to search for the closest Woad village for some revenge. The knights would have to follow his command and innocents would die. And Arthur would not be happy. But, two Romans were in just the right poor shape that going to the Wall was a better option. He felt relief about that.

Lancelot hissed.

"Don't be such a baby," Bors said with a chuckle.

"Stop stabbing me so hard," Lancelot shot back. "You're going to leave a scar."

Of the three, Lancelot received the most injuries. He had several long cuts along his chest. A deeper wound on his left arm and one on his left leg. Injuries that weren't life-threatening.

Bors snorted. "As if you need to worry about another scar. There, done," he said as he put in the last stitch then playfully pressed on the wound.

"Bors!"

Bors waved a hand in the air as he opened his back and brought out some food. "Think they were after the girl?" he asked, taking a sip from his flask.

Tristan didn't reply.

"All that for a girl? A pretty one, but," Lancelot shook his head. "Did she escape?"

"Yes," Tristan replied softly. His mind brought back the images of that moment: The wolf releasing the Roman's neck and walking toward the young woman in a way that made him think it was going to attack her. He kept replaying those moments in his head. The wolf was there and then it wasn't. The woman who attacked him. Rina? Yes. She'd called the prisoner Nola. Maybe the wolf belonged to Rina and she'd called it off. But, why put herself in danger to save the beast? But, he didn't hear a whistle or any sort of signal.

Tristan closed his eyes for a moment. Those wild light brown eyes had stared down at him with such a ferocity. Her long dark brown hair, with deep curls that were a tangled mess, tried to hide her nudity, not that she seemed to mind. Her skin was so soft. Something that hadn't sunk in until he let himself think about it.

It was useless, wishing that she'd not put herself in danger like that again. Someone had wounded her right shoulder. A wound he'd noticed when she fought him. The Woads were getting far too desperate, sending in young women like her to attack and die? It was unfortunate.

Tristan frowned as he thought about her shoulder again. There was something about that wound. He felt as if he knew something, but his brain refused to give up the answer, whatever that was.

"A life," she had said. What did that mean? She looked at him as if she recognized him. But, he had no idea who she was.

"I'm telling you, he was unnatural," Lancelot stated, breaking through Tristan's musing. Tristan looked down at his weapons and got busy making sure that they were clean as he listened to his friends.

"Never seen anyone look like that. His eyes. Black as night. Focused on one thing. Almost as if he weren't here. None of the wounds he received seemed to affect him."

Bors snorted. "What? You thinkin' they somehow training their people to not feel pain? Never thought Lancelot would be scared of some boy."

Lancelot glowered at Bors. "If we run into him again, you fight him next time." He shifted his gaze to Tristan before looking at the fire. Lancelot rolled his shoulders, shaking his head. "It was rather unsettling."

Bors let out a sigh. "Remember when we were his age?" he asked. "We'd forced ourselves to pretend we weren't injured. Just normal, trying to act as if he's invincible. He'll learn if he lives long enough."

Lancelot didn't answer. The two knights looked over at him. He'd fallen asleep. It was one thing they were good at. Falling asleep almost instantly when they had the chance.

Movement caught Tristan's attention out of the corner of his eye. Two yellow eyes momentarily flashed, causing him to tense. The wolf. Was it about to be stupid enough to attack? It caught his gaze and then disappeared back into the forest.

Tristan sheathed his sword and got up.

"Where ya going?" Bors asked, noticing the scout's movements.

"I'll take first shift," Tristan stated.

"Course you will, you always do," Bors said. He let out a yawn despite himself and wrapped his cloak around him. "Wake me up next. Let Sleeping Beauty over there get as much rest as possible."

Tristan didn't reply. He fell into his zone, pretending to go one way as he entered the forest. He double back and around. Getting his bow and arrow ready to kill the beast. It was a beautiful creature, but he couldn't have it sneaking into camp and killing any of them.

He made sure to stay downwind of it as he crept up to the spot he'd last seen it. It was gone. Unfortunately, the night sky and heavy brush made it impossible for him to be able to track the beast. He let out a soft sigh and started to scout around the area, making sure that there was no one trying to sneak up and attack them.

He crept through the forest, his senses on high alert. Normally, he had his dog with him to help him scout. But the beast had gotten too old so he'd left it back home.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him still. He spotted someone. Nocking his arrow, he carefully stepped through the trees, trying not to make any noise. He raised his bow then paused.

A woman stood with her back to him. She ran her fingers through her long hair for a moment. It was her. He wasn't sure how he knew. Could have been any woman.

She adjusted her clothes as if she were just getting dressed. Midnight frolick with a lover? But where was the man? And why so close to her enemy's camp?

She bent down and picked up his dagger, slipping it into her belt. He lowered his bow. Probably a mistake, but he didn't want to hurt her.

"I'll take my dagger back," he stated, stepping out from behind the trees to confront her.

She whirled around and placed her hand on her belt. Her hair was a mess and had leaves in it. Dirt was on her hands. She had been with someone. What kind of foolish, idiotic man would leave her alone instead of making sure she was safe?

"Ah, ah," he said with a shake of his head "Don't.".

He watched her muscles tense and inwardly sighed. She was quick. He gave her credit for that as the next thing he knew she was lunging at him, dagger in hand. But he had decades of training behind his muscles, and he was more mentally prepared for her this time.

"You seem to enjoy courting death," Tristan commented, easily dodging her attack.

"You shouldn't have come out here alone, knight," she snapped back.

He dodge the blade again and spun around her. He placed his hand on the small of her back and lightly pushed her forward. She stumbled but corrected herself and spun to face him again.

He hid his amusement, curious as to what she'd do next. She lunged again. He caught her wrist and twisted it, forcing her hand open and the dagger to drop. To his surprise, she seemed to expect his move. Her left hand caught the falling blade and she slashed at him, forcing him to jump back.

He clicked his tongue and cracked his neck. The blade had cut into his leather armor just a little bit. Not enough to worry him. But enough to slightly annoy him.

"I told you next time you would not be so lucky," she said with confidence.

He didn't reply. He let her make the first move. She rushed at him again, dagger in her right hand. At the last second, she switched it to her other hand. That surprised him. He didn't react fast enough. The blade sliced through the back of his hand. It was a shallow wound, but it stung. She smirked as she jumped back, showing him the blood on his knife for a moment. Then her muscles tensed as she readied to attack again.

He let out a heavy sigh. She injured him. He was done playing around. She attacked. He used her momentum against her, grabbing her wrist he threw her over his body. She landed on the ground with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of her. Before she could recover, he quickly straddled her, throwing the dagger far away so she couldn't reach it.

"Enough!" he commanded.

"Get off me," she said as she started to wiggle, pressing her hands against his chest. She was stronger than he expected and nearly succeeded in pushing him off her.

He grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head. "I did not plan on killing a woman tonight," he said.

"Well, I have no problem killing you," she replied as she continued to try and get free. She kicked her legs behind him, digging them into the dirt in an attempt to push her body out.

The darkness lightened around them as the clouds released the moon. They were in a perfect spot, oddly enough. The leaves of the trees were just right, allowing the moon to shine down on them. He cocked his head. Despite her threat, her eyes read otherwise. She didn't want to kill him. She moved her head up to see how his hands held her before looking at him. She was scared, though she hid it well.

"Stop," he said softly as she continued to struggle. "You're going to tire yourself out."

"So you can kill me without a fight?" she asked. Her voice sounded strained from her effort. Soon enough she would stop fighting even if she didn't want to. She clearly didn't see that.

"If you keep struggling right now you won't have the strength to protect yourself later," he said.

She gave him a cold glare but stopped for a moment. Her brown eyes stared into his own with defiance. Such fire, such spirit. It would be a shame for her to die.

"If you think you can so easily kill me-"

"I'm not going to kill you," he interrupted, surprising her and himself. But it was true. He wasn't going to kill her. He examined her. She was actually wearing a dress. "Well, at least you're dressed now." His teasing words surprised him, but he kept his emotions suppressed. He couldn't let her know that.

Her wide eyes immediately narrowed. "Let me go," she demanded as she struggled to push him off.

"I don't think I will," he stated. "You're playing a dangerous game here." He paused. "Rina."

She immediately stilled, confirming her name. "You don't get to call me that, knight," she snapped as she started to struggle again.

"Your lover should have known better than to leave you alone. It's dangerous out here," he stated.

"I don't have a lover," she growled. "And I'm not afraid of the night or danger. I can handle myself." The conviction in her voice would have convinced him. If he didn't have her pinned to the ground.

"Then whoever sent you to fight a Sarmatian knight was a fool," he stated. He watched her reaction, curious to see what she was doing out there alone.

She snarled in annoyance. "No one sent me to fight no one," she said as she wiggled in vain.

"To spy on us?" he asked. The moon hit her brown hair just right. He resisted the urge to let one arm go just to see if it was as soft as it looked. It was a little bit tangled in some areas, but there was a nice lock of hair that was so tempting to touch. Her silence and stilled body were answer enough. "The wolf is yours?" At his question, he looked around. But he didn't hear it.

"I will not let you take me prisoner," she said as she started to struggle again. She nearly got her hands free, but he quickly tightened his hold on them, shaking his head.

"I'm not going to take you back as a prisoner either," he said. The Romans were looking for blood, and it didn't matter whose. Although, she, or at least her wolf, was responsible for the death of one of their own. He knew better than to bring her back with him as a prisoner. The things they'd do to her.

The muscles in his neck tightened as he clenched his jaw.

"Then what do you want?" she asked.

"Are your people so desperate and low on men that they are starting to send their women and old out as well?" he asked.

"If you refer to the prisoners you were escorting, they were falsely accused of a crime that didn't happen," she said with confidence.

He nodded. He could see that. "Why risk so many lives to save one?" he asked. If she were a spy, she would be horrible at it. She didn't answer his question, but her pupils dilated.

"She's important," he said. Her throat moved as she swallowed. To his surprise, she finally stopped struggling.

"Why did you go into the forest? Why did you go after her?" Myrina asked. Her voice was surprisingly softer. The furious fire in her eyes held more curiosity than anger. The way her eyes looked at him, the answer was important to her.

"I heard her scream," he said.

She blinked a couple of times, clearly trying to make sense of the hidden meaning behind his words.

"You were going to help her?"

He couldn't answer that. They both knew that. But the look of surprise in her eyes confirmed to him that she understood.

"Why?" she asked.

Another question he couldn't answer. The air around him seemed to thicken. And he watched as she swallowed again.

You're far too old for her, he thought. She had to be at least ten years younger than him. She's a Woad, Tristan. You're a Sarmatian knight. Enemies. Still, his mind couldn't help but be attracted to her.

Her lips parted as she took in deep long breaths. He felt an urge hit him, to press his lips against hers. So very tempting. He moved his gaze from her lips to her eyes. Her brow was knitted with confusion as she searched his eyes for answers.

Tristan immediately rolled off her and stood up, shaking his head. Do not even think it. He didn't take his eyes off her, though. And watched as she slowly rose to her feet. She still looked confused. She slowly brushed her dress, clearly trying to gain control over her emotions. Did she feel it too?

"You're my enemy," she stated.

"Yes," he said with a nod of his head. "But not for long," he added.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"The Sarmatian knights' duty to Rome is ending soon," he said, turning his head slightly. He still had to keep an eye on her, not completely trusting her to not try and stab him in the back.

"Ending," she said softly. "Why are you telling me this?"

Why was he telling her? Why hadn't he killed her? Why did she mesmerize him?

"Go back home to your husband, Myrina," he said with a wave of his hand as he tried to get control of his attraction toward her. She had to be married. Especially at her age. Probably had a few kids at home. Or maybe, her husband was killed by one of them. Maybe she was out there for revenge. That would explain why she seemed so overly confident when it came to not losing her life. Maybe she didn't treasure it. "If your people are patient they won't have to deal with us for very long."

He started to walk away, making sure not to turn his back to her.

"Knight!" she called out.

"Tristan," he said, turning completely to face her again. His heart picked up. He told her his name. Why did he do that?

She had his dagger in her hands. "This belongs to you," she said, holding it out to him.

"Keep it," he said, holding up his hand and shaking his head. "You won it."

She hesitated, looking down at the dagger for a moment then back at him.

"We're still enemies," she said.

He nodded his head. "Didn't expect anything more from us."

She took a step back and then another and then she ran off. He didn't hesitate in making his way back to camp.

His body pulsed with a need. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. Bors was right. He was getting soft. A pretty young thing like her had distracted him. He wasn't necessarily old, but he thought he'd passed the years where a woman could excite his interests in such a way. She could have had her Woad friends waiting for that moment, and easily could have killed him. He was lucky that she was alone.

That was a little bit worrisome. Why would they allow a young woman like herself alone out in the middle of the forest like that? She seemed overly confident in her ability to take him on. But then again, she also appeared tired. She was stronger than he expected at the start of their fight, but that strength quickly waned.

Midnight trysts with the enemy, Tristan? he could already hear Bors or Lancelot tease him. He looked behind him but didn't feel as if anything was watching him.

You're getting soft, Bors's voice echoed in his mind.

He paused, the moment he saw the two small fires from the camp. Glancing behind him he couldn't help but hope he wouldn't see her again. He didn't like the way she distracted him. Didn't like the intrigue and desire that she sparked in him. He couldn't wait to get back to the Wall.

He let out another sigh, condemning himself to a bad choice. Although he'd pulled away from her some time ago, he had a feeling he'd have to find his former lover to scratch an itch that this Myrina put inside of him.

Tristan scratched his head. Although, perhaps the trouble and drama that would cause would not be worth it in the end of him.

[tarnishedxknight]

This was... certainly not what she should be doing. She was a guest in another kingdom - not at home where she was free to step out on the balcony at night. While not there as a potential suitor for the Princess, she still represented Archadia, and if she were caught...

Oh, she wasn't certain who would be more furious - her father, or Vayne.

No, it would certainly be her brother for ruining it for him. Her father would be upset, but... he would get over it, at least. Vayne would...

Cygni shook her head at the thought, still undeterred despite the hesitation now in her heart, and leaned against the parapet as she gazed up at the clear, starry sky above. The chill from the desert air was surprising, yet... felt rather nice when compared to the heat of the day. She had to admit Dalmasca had its own charm, aside from certain shortcomings, and a part of her wished she were there on more friendly terms, instead of there just to understand what she should expect if she were ever in the position of her brother or the Princess. Maybe she could be a visitor if Vayne was chosen, although she pitied Ashelia at the idea of that alone.

Ah, but she should just let herself enjoy the night for a little while more before she retreated to her temporary quarters. She doubted her luck would hold for much longer, anyhow.

((@lambofasolidor))

@lambofasolidor

"Oh. Oh! Oh!" Ashelia said to herself frustratedly, tossing and turning in her bed, slamming her fists down on either side of her as she rolled onto her back. Vayne Solidor?! Really?! An Archadian prince. Wonderful. That's all you're good for now. That thought... doused her fire. She swallowed hard, feeling a painful lump in her throat as tears began to burn her eyes. She'd known Rasler had his pride, but... never did she think she'd be tossed aside like so much trash. She'd... She'd trusted him. And she shouldn't have. Telling him about Vossler, hoping to confide in someone who would become her life partner, had been the worst mistake of her life. From that moment on... everything had changed for her.

It seemed like almost overnight, her reputation had been ruined. The horrible letters that she and her father had received... And within the week, the King of Nabradia, Rasler's father, had broken off the engagement. Ashe had never been so hurt, mortified, ashamed, and sad in her life. Everyone seemed to look at her differently, even the servants. They snickered and then dispersed when they saw her. The information spread like the worst sandstorm in history, blotting out Ashe's sun with its darkness.

The only consolation was that Basch - her father's ever-faithful, gentle, and kind Knight Captain, and her dearest friend - hadn't been among those who'd turned away from her. In fact, he'd come to her, looking as grim as she did, offering a formal apology that he did not notice Vossler's behavior earlier and expressing his deepest sympathies to her regarding what had happened.

Ashe's response... had been to rush to him and cry against his armor. She didn't care what it looked like, her reputation had already been destroyed. What she needed right now was a friend, someone who understood. Basch had loosely held her in return, albeit stiffly due to the discrepancies in their stations, and said nothing more. He didn't tell her it was going to be alright, or again that he was sorry, or any of the other stilted courtesies that others offered. He was just... there for her. Why could Rasler not have done the same?

At this hour, however, Basch was sleeping, and a well-deserved rest it was. He worked so hard and kept such long hours that Ashe didn't have the heart to knock on his door to say she couldn't sleep. No, she needed to leave him be, to let him rest and then do his job. These were her problems, not his. But this bed was beginning to feel like her own funeral pyre, and she couldn't stand it for another instant. With a frustrated sigh, she sat up and threw off the blankets. She needed to go for a walk.

No... Not a walk.

That was how all this mess started in the first place. She knew Vossler had long since been removed from his post, and the man Basch had placed on night rounds in the palace to manage the overnight guardsmen was one Ashe had no issue with. He was another Knight, one she knew decently well. Given the situation, and she knew Basch would have chosen someone he was sure would not give her a problem. Certainly she trusted Basch and the other Knights of Dalmasca, but... something about walking in the palace late at night held a terror to it that she just didn't want to deal with right now.

But if not a walk, then what? Suddenly, she grinned with a childlike mischief in her eyes. She hadn't done this in years, but... surely she remembered the way? If her father or Basch found out, they'd nearly die at the thought, but... yes, let's go! Ashe got out of bed and put a robe on over her nightgown. Then... she put another thicker robe on over that one. Ever since that night with Vossler, she didn't leave her room at night without many layers on. Plus it was very cold outside, and that's exactly where she was going.

She went to her balcony and threw open the doors, stepping out into the blues, grays, and whites of night. Dalmasca looked so different during the night than during the day, but she always loved her so. The only problem was... her balcony was not in the most ideal position for looking at the stars. The city? Sure. But the stars... no, there was a better one for that... way over there. She turned to look at it, some distance away. It was a higher balcony, accessible by going through the palace through a long and circuitous route and ending up in one of the halls to which the balcony was connected. Or... Part of it was obscured from where she stood, but Ashe knew it was there, and she had a mind to do what she pleased.

Rolling up her sleeves, Ashe climbed up onto the parapet and from there, hoisted herself up onto some of the decorative sandstone trim. It had a ledge just wide enough for her feet, but she had to be quick. One wind gust could prove tragic, but she wasn't afraid. She'd done this numerous times as a little girl. It was actually harder now that her body was larger, but she was determined anyway. Fortunately, it was a rather still night, albeit chilly. She inched along the narrow ledge to a border wall that would take her to the next parapet, and from there she climbed a short way up to another stretch of trim, thankfully wider than the last. She followed that all the way over to where she knew that the other, higher balcony was right below her. Carefully sitting on the ledge, she dropped down, hanging by her hands for a moment before letting go.

She was so proud of herself, until she turned around to see... someone was already on this balcony? "Oh!" she yelled as she was startled, stepping back a bit. "Who are you?! What are you doing here at this hour?!" she asked, not realizing the irony of how she wasn't supposed to be there either. Ashe was also turning red, embarrassed at how scared she'd been for a moment to see that she wasn't alone.

[onecanonlife]

Tommy is dead. The server reacts.

(word count: 1,732)

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

“What have you done?”

His voice is a reedy whisper, thin with horror and the realization that he is too little, too late. He doesn’t expect the sound to carry over the lava, but a response comes soon enough.

“He wouldn’t stop talking. And he killed the cat.”

Dream’s voice is even, calm, almost a bit defensive, as if he truly believes that he is justified in his actions. Sam swallows down his mounting nausea, places his trident against the floor to steady himself. The lava crackles, hisses, bubbles, orange and glowing, and he can’t cross it. Not now. Not when the security threat remains unresolved. Not when any wrong move on his part could very well mean Dream’s escape.

But he’s already made the wrong move, hasn’t he? Made the wrong move, and Tommy has paid for it. Has been paying for it, this whole last week. He kept him in there, kept him locked in a box with Dream even though he knows very well how it would effect him, kept him locked in with the reasoning that it was temporary, that he would let him out as soon as he could, that he couldn’t risk Dream’s release for anyone, even for Tommy.

But it’s not temporary.

Tommy was sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed when Sam last saw him, when he said that this would be the last time, that he was going to put his past behind him and look to a new start. Tommy will always be sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed, and locked in a box. There will be no new start. No seventeenth birthday. No triumphant return, no shining hotel. No tricks, no scams, no pranks.

Tommy was sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed. Tommy is dead.

He can’t even get his body.

He can’t even get his body.

Sam stands on the edge of a curtain of lava, staring into the orange glow that hides a monster in a room that is now a child’s pre-made coffin, and he wonders if he is a monster himself.

***

“He’s fine.”

It’s the only thing to say. The only truth. The only possibility. Sure, the message is there, glaring up from his communicator in bright yellow letters, but it’s not real. It’s a joke of some kind, a trick. Something to fake everyone out. Maybe Sam’s in on it, too. Tommy must be going crazy in there, to think that this would actually be funny, but it sounds like something he would do.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo says, and then stops. Nothing else. His face is pale, though things like that are hard to tell, with him, considering that half his face is always pale. But he’s gone an ashy-grey sort of color, and it doesn’t look great.

“He’s not dead,” he says, and laughs a bit. “Tommy wouldn’t just die like that. That’d be ridiculous.”

Tommy’s death would never be so meek. Tommy’s death, when it happens, will be a spectacle, a dramatic showing with speeches and explosions and the sun rising at just the right time and haloing his hair, because TommyInnit deserves nothing less than the best death scene. Women wailing and the like. So Tommy is not dead, because if Tommy were dead, that would mean that he died alone, in the company of no one but his murderer, that he died scared, trapped in a small space with no way out, that he died without Tubbo by his side.

“Right,” Ranboo says, and his voice is doing a peculiar thing that Tubbo can’t quite work out. “Yeah, of course. Do you wanna—do you think we should go check it out? Go stop by the prison?”

“What for?” he asks. “Sam’s not going to let us in. He didn’t even when I built a dick on top of it.”

And here is another thing: Tommy can’t be dead because it was never supposed to be Tommy first. Tubbo has tried to live without him, and he found it very hard. So Tommy is not allowed to die before Tubbo does. That is the rule that he keeps locked up in his heart, because Tommy would be upset if he knew about it. But it’s a rule that Tubbo intends to follow, so Tommy can’t be dead.

That would be against the rules.

“Just to see?” Ranboo tries. Tubbo’s not sure why he’s being so insistent about this.

“Nah, we’ve got a hotel to build,” he says. “C’mon.”

Ranboo follows along behind him. His feet drag, like he’s reluctant. But Tubbo has long since given up on understanding why Ranboo does the things that he does.

***

He’s dead.

She should be glad about it. This is what she wanted. Tommy dead, punished for all the pain and suffering he’s caused everyone else. No longer able to start wars, to cause harm, to blaze his way through the server and leave a path of destruction in his wake.

Tommy is dead. She should be glad about it. She is glad about it. She’s even smiling.

There is a message from Jack. She doesn’t check it.

Tommy is dead, that blue-eyed, wide-grinned boy who followed along on his brother’s coattails. Tommy is dead, that fiery spirit crushed and his overbearing, fast-talking voice silent. Tommy is dead, that loyal friend, the protector and defender of all that he called his, the fighter, the scammer, the boy who loved with all of his heart and then some.

Tommy is dead. Dead, dead, dead. There is no coming back from dead. Dead is final. Dead is an ending. Dead means it’s all over. Tommy is over. Tommy is gone. Tommy will never grow old.

It’s what she wanted. She should be glad about it. She is glad about it. She’s even smiling.

Niki brings her hand to her mouth to check. It’s a smile. A smile, for sure.

Her fingers come away from her face wet.

***

It was an empty castle already, but it feels emptier now. The different between a possibility and its lack, they suppose.

Tommy was never supposed to die. They can’t fathom it, somehow. Can’t fathom that it’s real, that Tommy will never grace these halls again. They’d finally begun to fix things, begun to work toward redemption, well and truly. And now Tommy is gone.

Eret grips their communicator tightly in their hand.

“I’m sorry,” they murmur to no one at all.

It was never meant to be echoes in their head, over and over and over again, an apology that means nothing but so much scattered dust.

***

He closes his eyes. Breathes. In and out.

This happens. People die. They die, and they leave, and he’s left behind. That’s his life. That’s how it is.

It still hurts, when it happens. He’s still learning how to make it not hurt. Still learning how not to be angry, that people find it so easy to abandon him. That people find it so easy to go where he can’t follow. Wilbur first, now Tommy, and he doesn’t have anyone left, really.

But it’s fine. It’s alright. He can manage on his own. He always has.

Fundy decides to go to bed early.

***

He takes a moment to breathe. To process. To absorb.

To regret, for what might have been.

The voices in his head call for blood, as they always do, but he will not give them the satisfaction. Not this time. The blood he wants most is not readily accessible, and he will not put himself in the position of confronting the favor owed. Not now. Not like this. Not ever, if he can help it, though he knows that these sorts of things always take their due, always steal their pound of flesh.

“I know, chat,” he says. “You can all shut up, I know.”

It doesn’t appease them. He wasn’t expecting it to.

Tommy is dead. Tommy is dead, and their relationship with it. Any tentative attempts toward repairs have been left to rot, to burn on the funeral pyre. Theseus, fallen from the cliff at long last.

The story was always going to end this way. No one can stop the Fates from severing the string.

He stands with a groan. He is not built for this weather, for this cold, and it is a wonder that he keeps being drawn to it, time and time again. It is a balm, he thinks, but for what, he doesn’t know. For nothing, at the moment, as the voices threaten to crowd out all the rest. But he can’t deal with them right now.

Phil has his own house, now, and a bridge to connect the two. A bridge over still water, such that Tommy will never cross. He should not feel the way he does. Tommy betrayed him. Tommy used him. Tommy discarded him, so he tossed him aside in turn.

But once they were called brothers. Does it mean anything, in the end?

Phil is standing in the middle of the floor, ruined wings on full display. His face is blank, his communicator held loosely in one hand.

“Phil,” he says.

“I failed him,” Phil says. “I should’ve been there for him, and I wasn’t.”

Technoblade has no comfort for the truth.

But he has comfort for his friend, for his friend who is perhaps his father but is definitely family, so he stretches out his arms and catches Phil as he falls, falls and falls and screams, and it is good, he thinks, that the wings are already ruined, because Daedalus tried to catch his son and failed. It is good, he thinks, that the wings are already ruined, so he cannot try again and ruin the rest of himself, too.

***

He nudges the body with his foot.

“You shouldn’t have killed that cat,” he murmurs. The body does not reply, and he sighs.

Tommy’s face is beyond recognition. The blood coats his knuckles. He hopes that there’s enough water in the sink to wash it out before it sets. He hates it when the blood sets.

He didn’t mean to go as far as he did. That doesn’t mean much, in the end. This will work just as well.

He is a god, after all. He is a god, and he will have what he deserves, and more besides.

“Don’t worry, Tommy,” he says. “I’ll make a believer out of you yet.”

[clareguilty]

Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

[silastheanon]

HAPPY FRIENDAVERSARY @professionallydeadinside !!!!! I LOVES YOU AND ITS BEEN AN HONOUR AND AMAZING BEING YOUR FRIEND FOR A WHOLE YEAR!!!!!!!! BARK BAKR BAKR BARK WOOF WOOF ARFF ARFF GRRRR BITE BITE WOOF

<3

Tess’s eyes were almost black.

They’d always been that way. They were actually brown, but they only revealed that part of themselves when light came, when the light saw and coaxed it out. Only then would Tess’s eyes be golden, beautiful and glowing in the light that revealed it.

They were gold then, but it wasn’t beautiful anymore.

She rested on a bed of branches and flame, her eternal ending, hidden deep within the cliff his castle rested on. If she had been in her right mind, Allison would’ve worried about the smoke killing her.

As it was, she could not think of anything but her loss.

Tess was always beautiful, but she would be no longer. Her laugh was the sound of heaven, but it would ring no longer. Her eyes, the darkest black without the golden light of the sun to turn them into liquid metal, hot and dangerous and gorgeous, would never see again.

He’d killed her. Dominic had killed her. He’d made her feel loved, then ripped her life from her. He was the reason Tess would laugh no longer, he was the reason Allison held a funeral hidden from the world.

He’d not even dignified her with a burial.

She should’ve closed her dearests eyes, Allison supposed as she stared into them, resolutely ignoring the way her flesh turned black, the crackle and snapping of her body surrendering to the heat, but she couldn’t. She needed to see those eyes turn gold, one last time.

Foolishly, a spark of hope believed that, if she kept Tess’s eyes open, that they’d blink, and she’d smile, and rise from her pedestal of red and orange and yellow and offer Allison her hand.

Tears, unshed and burning, filled Allison’s vision, blurred her view of the pyre, choked her. The smoke burned her eyes, too, but all she did was wipe her eyes, never closing them, never looking away for even a moment as her love died, as her loved burned, as he took everything away for good.

Her hair blazed, the brown turning a red it never should’ve been, a colour that should’ve never graced her face. Her eyes, still open and unseeing, felt like they were wrenching Allison open.

She could hear Tess, begging for her help, assuring her Dominic was kind, defending him, asking “please, please, Allison,” laughing as they ran and joked, gasping as she died.

With a snap, branches in the pyre broke, and Tess’s head lolled, her eyes now staring into the flame.

Allison choked, lurching forward, grabbing Tess’s burning hair, trying, trying, to get her to face upwards again, to look Allison in the eyes one last time.

Her fingers burned, her hands turning red, red, red, pain blistering through her, but she couldn’t feel it. She tried to wrench Tess’s head back up, but there was little to grab.

The rest of pyre collapsed, too, hiding Tess away for only the gods.

For those asleep in the Darthen castle, they’d awake the next morning and discuss over tea and fancy foods, “Did you hear that noise? Sounded dreadful, like a beast in the night!” “Oh yes, dear lady, I did hear! I say, it didn’t sound like anything else I’ve ever heard in my days!” and they would then discuss a hunting party going out to find the wretched thing that made that noise, but never would they know that it was simply Allison Cassitone’s heart shattering.

A wail, a sound of pure pain and agony, rang out from the little cave in the cliff of Darthen castle and into the calm night. Allison kneeled beside the still blazing fire, her anguish streaming down her face. Her hands were nearly black, her clothes covered in ash or burned away.

Her sobs were not pretty, not distinguished, not lovely at all. They were loud, shuddering things, loud and sharp gasps interspersed between cries of pain. She wanted to let her head lol down, to stare at her hands, her lap, anything but the burning ends of her beloved, but she couldn’t. She needed to see Tess go.

It was less than she deserved, but it was what Allison would do.

Tess deserved all the fanfare, the mourning from all at her passing. She deserved a gold gilded coffin, a burial in a glade full of red carnations, red chrysanthemums, white clover, coreopsis, she deserved horns sending her off, songs of goodbye to follow her to death.

She got none.

All because of him.

Dominic Darthen killed her, and, Allison decided as the fires finally died, he would die, too.

She’d kill him, ruin his life, his world, take all from him as he did to her. No other’s would suffer at his hand.

Slowly, so slowly, Allison stood, her eyes glazed over but still locked on the ashes of the pyre. Her mouth moved, her voice coming softly, so softly, it was near impossible to hear.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess,” she muttered, her eyes unseeing just as Tess’s were, “Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess. Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess. Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

She repeated the words like a mantra, a chant, as she made her way out of the cave, slowly climbing down to the beach at the base of the cliff.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

There were stairs from the beach to the castle, stairs she would take to get back to her home.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

She began to trek upwards, the name on a loop in her mind. The pain in her hands grew sharper and sharper, more and more clear as her grief transformed.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

They were all people who were gone, people who were dead.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

They were all gone.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

Allison was the only one still standing.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

Allison was the one who survived.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

Allison was the one who lived.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

Soon, Dominic would be joining all of them.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess.”

Soon, Allison would kill him.

“Gabriel, Raphael, Eve, Tess, Dominic.”

[amchara]

Tears - Whumptober Prompt 9 / Angst War 1

Tears

Cordelia Carstairs, Sona Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs, James Herondale, Lucie Herondale, other TLH characters mentioned

Prompt: Tears

TW: (Major Character Death... but is it permanent?) 🤔

The February air was biting on her cheeks and her flimsy shoes - meant for London streets, not Idris fields - slid on the wet snow that had freshly fallen overnight.

She pulled her cloak close to her as she looked up to the pyres, their hulking presence blocking out the weak, winter light.

Her brother’s pyre. And beside him, her husband’s pyre.

Less than a month ago, she had said good-bye to her father in this very same place. The Imperishable Fields.

At the time of Elias’ funeral, she had thought it the most painful day of her life, unmatched by any other.

But this day, these funerals… the pain she had felt then was nothing compared to the bone deep, hollow feeling in her chest. It alternated with a mindless, raw anger - at the demons who had killed them, at the rest of the Merry Thieves, at Charles… but most of all, at herself.

Beside her, her mother let out a noise that might have been a sigh or a sob, as the Silent Brothers brought out the biers holding Alastair and James’ bodies.

As in life, Alastair was elegant in his white suit, his black hair arranged in a slightly different part than he had usually worn it, and her fingers itched to smooth it to its rightful position. But it would be improper to do so, Cordelia thought, as she stepped up beside the bier.

“Good-bye, Alastair joon,” she whispered, allowing herself to touch his cheek briefly with her gloved hands.

The expression on his face was oddly peaceful, she thought and not reflective of how he had been in life- sardonic, thoughtful and caring. His soul had already gone to join Raziel in heaven- this was merely an empty vessel.

Sona was taking her last moments to croon words into Alastair’s ear, her heavily pregnant body trying to find the best position to reach across and place one last kiss on her son’s forehead.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia could see Thomas, his tall presence marking him out from the crowd. Though he hid it well, Cordeliai could see the agony kept just in check as he viewed Alastair and despite her anger, her heart went out to him. She did not know for sure what had passed between them but she did know that Thomas cared- had cared - for her brother a great deal.

Ahead of her, she could see the Herondales huddled together. Will Herondale - his face blank and despairing, supporting his wife under his arms, as she held onto him, as if she could barely stand to look down at her son. Despite the expectations around funeral etiquette, she could see tear tracks on both of their faces.

Cordelia wished she could cry - she did not care at this point for societal expectations - but the tears would not come and her eyes burned with the dryness.

Standing a little apart from Will and Tessa, was Lucie.

Cordelia could barely look at her, remembering with cold shame their conversation the night before.

“But Lucie… you could bring them back, I know you could,” she had cried, grabbing the other girl’s hands, even as she pulled away.

“I… I want to with all my heart, Cordelia. But I musn’t- I… I- I almost had my marks stripped for bringing Jesse back, and that had been unintentional.”

“Then you’re a coward,” Cordelia had said, almost spitting out the words. “If I had the ability I would do so - I would bring my brother back in a heartbeat.”

Lucie’s blue eyes had filled up with tears and she had fled, begging off due to a headache the rest of the evening.

She did not want to look at James’ face- the boy she loved and had finally seen her love returned, only for it to be snatched away so cruelly. It was more than she could bear.

The faint smell of cloves and expensive cologne brought her back to herself and she looked up to find Matthew standing in front of her. He stood a proper distance but she could see the indecision he held, in trying to decide to approach her. His green eyes also held unshed tears.

“Cordelia…” he started.

But she couldn’t. Not right now. Not today.

“Matthew,” she managed to nod politely. After a moment, he left and she could see him stop at James’ bier- and throw his arms around his parabatai, his shoulders shaking with grief.

Cordelia closed her eyes and turned away.

Shortly after, the bodies were placed on the pyres and as the smoke stung Cordelia’s eyes, finally provoking tears, she thought she could see a woman hovering in the air between the pyres.

Her blood ran cold as she recognised the woman.

Across the field, Lilith’s eyes locked on hers.

And in a voice that only she could hear, Lilith’s voice drifted across to her. Let me in, Cordelia. Let me in, my paladin. And I will bring them back for you.

Cordelia hesitated. And then, she nodded.

-----

Joining in on the Angst War!! (and crossing off a more prompts on the whumptober list)

Tag list: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @littlx-songbxrd @writeordie-4 @lifewouldbebetteronmars @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @thomas-thedavid-lightwood @fair-childd @melanielocke @dontmindmyshadowhunting @of-same-steel-and-temper

Previous Whumptober fics:

Prompt One - “You Have To Let Go” (James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild)

Prompt Two - Choking/Gagged (Dru Blackthorn, Ash Morgenstern, Ty Blackthorn, Kit Blackthorn, L.A. Institute inhabitants)

Prompt Three - “Who Did This To You?” (Cristina Rosales, Mark Blackthorn, Kieran Kingson)

Prompt 4, 7, 22 "In Cold Blood" (Kit Herondale, Belial, Sammael, Carstairs-Gray family)

(link to prompts)

[omniscientoranges]

Advanced Reader Copy

Dean gives Cas a book to read. Or, well, a passage from a book.

(basically, Cas reads a part of Lost and Found)

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"Hey, Cas, can I talk to you?" 

Cas stops in place at Dean's voice, a few feet in front him. They're standing in the middle of the library, where Cas had just been trying to stealthy avoid Dean noticing him walking by. 

It's been a little over a week since Dean (with some help from their friends) had pulled Cas out of the Empty. Since then, they've been not-so-obviously/obviously avoiding each other. 

The reason being that, basically, they haven't talked about what Cas said. Yet. Maybe they wouldn't ever talk about it. Honestly, Cas would be absolutely fine with that, if it meant he got to keep Dean as a friend. That would be absolutely fine and not at all painfully heartbreaking in any way. Not at all. 

Cas nods. "Of course, Dean. What is it?" 

Dean shifts on his feet. "It's, well, it's kinda important." 

"Okay," Cas says, smiling slightly even though his heart has started to beat erratically in his chest. 

"Look, I- shit. This is-" Dean stops himself, and shakes his head as his eyes dart back and forth across the concrete floor. Then he pauses, eyes fallen on one of the shelves, and looks back up at Cas. 

"Just gimme a minute, I'll be right back." 

Cas squints, "Alright, I'll just-" he starts to say, but Dean's already ran off to some far-flung corner of the bunker — taking whatever he wanted to say and whatever idea he's suddenly had with him. 

Cas stares after him, but stays rooted to the spot. 

Time passes. It is — possibly — the longest string of minutes Castiel, former Angel of the Lord and current Angel of Absolutely No One (Except, Maybe, the Winchesters), has ever experienced. 

After an eternity passes in 10 minutes, Dean walks back into the library. He's carrying a beat-up cardboard box, with a single book resting on top of where the box has been folded closed. 

Dean drops the box onto a nearby table, and the old wood creaks under the new weight. Before Cas can see it, Dean quickly grabs the single book off the top and holds it tight to his chest. It's angled in a way that Cas can only make out that it is, in fact, a book; but not anything else about it. 

"What are these?" Cas asks, moving the cardboard flaps out of the way to peer into the box. 

"Books." Dean answers. 

Cas rolls his eyes, "I know they're books, Dean, I mean what-" and Cas finally catches sight of one of the covers. 

Carver Edlund.

"Oh," Cas says. "They're, um. Our books, I suppose." 

Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess, uh, I guess Chuck kept writing. Sammy found them when he went to check out Chuck's old place a few weeks back. Looks like the rest of his books never made it into circulation though. I think he just mojo-ed up some printed copies for himself when he finished with 'em, pompous bastard." 

Dean's mouth forms a thin line at the thought of Chuck, but wipes it away as quickly as it came. "But anyways, here," Dean holds out the book he was carrying between them. "Take it." 

Cas reaches out apprehensively, and pulls the book from Dean's grasp. 

"I promise it'll all make sense," Dean insists. "Just, um, flip to the page I have marked." 

Cas takes a moment to look over the book before opening it. The paperback is a stark black, contrasted by a stylized funeral pyre adorning the front, which is set at a distance so the majority is taken up but a long trail of smoke curling up until it disappears beyond the edge of the cover. 3 figures are silhouetted by the flames, and they stand apart from each other. Separate. The title reads Lost and Found by Carver Edlund.

Cas opens to where Dean has dog-eared the book only a handful of pages before the end, and reads. 

Dean held the lighter close to his chest, almost like he was holding a candle at a vigil. In a way, he was. 

Dean had been to a lot of funerals, built a lot of funeral pyres, but something about this one had broken him in a way he wasn't expecting. It broke him in a way he had spent years — decades, really — fighting against. 

You see, Dean wasn't the kind of guy. He was a red-blooded, beer-drinking, pool-hustling, bacon-cheeseburger-eating, classic-car-driving, skin-mag-reading American male. Guys like that don't have game-changing feelings for other guys. They just don't. 

At least, that's what Dean always told himself. 

But standing in front of that pyre, watching the smoke rise, he told himself something different for once. Dean told himself it was all a bunch of bullshit, because he was still all those things he was before, and he wouldn't ever stop being those things no matter what. He was just something else extra, too. 

Because Dean would have traded anything in that moment to get Cass back. Would have traded all the cheeseburgers and beer in the world. Would have traded his life. Hell, he would have traded his car if it meant he'd get another chance at this. Another chance with Cass. Just one chance to finally tell him what he'd been too scared all these years to say. Because Cass had always been around, even when he didn't need to be — he was there. But now he wasn't. And Dean wanted more than anything else in the world for him to be there so he could finally say— 

"Dean," Cas says, voice wavering. The paragraph cuts off mid-sentence; if he wants to read the rest of it, he'll have to flip to the next page to see. "What is this?" 

"Your funeral, after Lucifer killed you." 

Cas shakes his head, not quite believing Dean's words, or Chuck's for that matter. Surely this couldn't be, he couldn't really mean—

Dean interrupts Cas' swirling thoughts. "It's Chuck's words, but it's- it's all me. He writes it more flowery than it really was, ya know, up here," Dean taps two fingers to the side of his head, "but it's the truth." He laughs to break the tension, but there's an edge of nerves there. Cas can almost hear his heartbeat across the room. "Don't tell Baby this, but I really would've given her up if it meant getting you back." 

Cas shakes his head harder, tears springing loose and dropping onto the page, smudging the ink. 

"Dean-" 

"Turn the page." 

"What's on the next page, Dean?" 

"You know what." 

"I-" 

"Cas, just turn the page." 

Cas turns the page with an unsteady hand. It's blank, likely formatted that way for dramatic effect, save for 3 words in the top left corner. 

I love you.

Cas makes a choked sound and breathes out in disbelief, in sheer amazement. He runs his fingertips over the letters, traces the shape of them, feels their weight and knows it's heavier in his hands than any cheap paperback ever could be. It feels too much all of a sudden. Like something so remarkable shouldn't be confined to print — like 3 typeset and faded little words shouldn't be enough to shift the core of him so intensely that it makes his whole body ache. 

Then, the feeling of hands brushing over his pulls him out of his own head, and he looks up to see Dean (Dean, of course it's Dean, who else would it be? Who else could it ever be but Dean). Dean shifts one hand over Cas' around the spine of the book, and uses the other to push Cas' fingers away from where they rest on the page. He gently pulls the book out of his grip, and sets it on the table next to them. They both stare at it for a long moment, and then Dean is moving his hands back onto Cas, bringing both of them up to cup his face. 

Dean looks at him, eyes shining. "I meant it, I mean it. I know I'm not the best at showing it all the time, and I know I should've told you a million times before this, but I really do mean it." 

"I know you do." Cas wraps one hand loosely around Dean's wrist, and lets the other dig into his hip; anchoring both of them in place. "I- I mean it too." 

"Yeah?" 

"Of course." 

They smile at each other and rest their foreheads together, just standing there breathing the same air like it's the first time they've let themselves breathe for months. 

When they kiss, it's not a storybook. It's not bargain bin horror fiction. It's not a bestseller. It's not scripted, or planned out, or lighted particularly well. It's a kiss. It's a little awkward, a little unpracticed, a little gross through the tears. 

What it is, is the promise of another. And another after, and after that, and after and after and after. As many as they want for as long as they want. 

Their life isn't a story anymore, not in the way that they're used to. And it's no longer getting written down to be conveniently handed to each other to read whenever they have a hard time expressing their feelings. But, for a time, it was a story. It was their story. 

And it was a hell of a story, all things considered.

[casualcatte]

FFXIV Write 2021 :: #1 - Foster

All the world trembled in fear in the wake of the Chantry; our word was law and our justice sacrosanct.  Where there was corruption, our Holy Fire was there to purge and destroy; where there was darkness, it was there to bring the Light and hope of the Mothercrystal. And I -- I was the right hand of the Light, called by the Mothercrystal to be Her will and the reach of Her arm across the face of our world.  It was a job I did ruthlessly well.

Until you.

Death reigned around you, your entire village naught but a pile of bodies that you haphazardly managed to drag together in a morbid pyre. Your tear-streaked, dirt-smudged face is still cherubic and innocent even beneath the veneer of the horrors you’d been witness to.  Eyes the color of newly-budded bluebells still held hope within them. Hope that even out of this madness, out of this pain and this tragedy, you might yet find something good. Something worth living for.

Around me, the soldiers beneath my command put your village to the torch; the air was redolent with smoke and the scent of everything you ever loved being consumed in flame. You wept, but not in fear, not in pain, but out of a heartfelt desire that you could do no more. That, helpless as you were, you could not ease the passing of all that you loved. Even when my own commander approached you, sword-in-hand, to put an end to you like we had the rest of your village you sat in silent resolution.

It fostered in me a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time: devotion. Your quiet strength and courage touched me deeper than my grandfather’s pride; it touched me deeper than the Lord-Chanter’s faith in me.  In but a single glance from your gentle, blue eyes I saw someone I was willing to fight for -- willing to die for.  

“VALERIA!”

The name tore from my throat, a mixture of anguish and rage straining the intonation into a near-shriek that was unrecognizable.  It was primal and base, without word or thought other than heart-rending, soul-shredding pain. I stared ahead with eyes wide in disbelief, tears straining at the rims until they fell unfelt and unheeded. 

There was so much blood pooling beneath your limp, still form as the cultists set you aside like little more than a broken doll shattered against the altar of their ambition. So much blood for one so small.  Your life had been mine to protect -- and I had failed you utterly.  I could lay the blame upon the war your “father” had started.   Or the duty that had kept me from your side until this one crucial moment.  But I would not.  The fault would eternally be mine and I would bear it hence unto the Lifestream in bitter regret. 

How could I not be there for the one person I loved most?  For the one Light in my life that burned for me and me alone?  There was not enough rage, not enough sorrow, not enough anguish in existence to personify the way every part of me that meant anything shattered into naught but stardust. 

The Chantry placed their faith in the Mothercrystal, looked to Her for their Light and their hope.  I was, perhaps, an outlier in this because I had forever placed my faith -- in you.   As the spark of life faded from your eyes, held within my arms, I knew there was nothing ahead for me but darkness.  Darkness and death.  For I could not imagine living in a world that did not have you in it.  Such is the price of loyalty.  Such is the price of love.  And, for you, I would pay it a thousandfold, time and again.

As our world shattered, Calamity bringing an end to everything we held dear, all I could do was hold on to your tiny, broken form and pray that whatever came next, some spark of you would be there to guide me. 

My Light… My Heart… My Morning Star.