#hollow bastion lift stop

[luxmoogle]

. ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅𝒲𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝓃𝑜𝓌… ⟡ ݁₊ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts - Hollow Bastion

[phantomkinggaming]

I've been replaying the first Kingdom Hearts and I think this is the first time I've ever just blitzed through Hollow Bastion. Usually I get all turned around because of the Lift Stops

[eryna]

if you could read your own trauma as someone else's story

there something freeing about dissociating. forgetting who you are, the world you live in, just...

walking forward, ever forward, completing the mission you were assigned.

the mind feels like an expanse of empty, windswept caves

the howls in the hollows blowing through

your mind, instead of being a bastion of warmth in the cold, is instead a clean, efficient machine. your thoughts, once jumbled, simply don't appear at all.

I revisit these times, these fragments of memory of places where my life has broken, because even now they do not feel like they were me. Even still, they feel as though foreign memories, as if they are from someone else's head. The strange emptiness of the school courtyard, snow covering the sidewalk, bus letting people off and leaving. My skin cold, but my mind colder, not a second of wasted thought. Memories that don't feel like memories.

And the much closer ones. Ones, just days ago, where I looked at my mother and didn't feel anything. I knew something was different, and after a few seconds I acted as if responding normally, but when I looked into her eyes, I just... Didn't feel anything.

Then there are the much worse times. Times when the stress has gotten so high that it almost constantly makes me dissociate. I remember at FSY, a week long church thing with some hundreds of people, the stress had gotten so bad that I stopped being able to regulate myself. It felt like the parts of me that were inside were outside. My analysis of people was constantly stated directly to them, the thoughts that made up me were now their own, and my mind was uncontrolled. My thoughts, my feelings, my ideas, my mind, all felt alien. Like they were someone else's, forced on me.

Then, the heat would build, ramping up, until it crashed. Everything would stop, crash to a halt. I would retract as far as I could go. I dare not respond to my friends as they interact with me, I dare not lift my head from my arms, I dare not speak, I dare not breathe, I dare not. I was terrified of myself.

But time moves. Eventually I grew. Eventually I rested. Eventually I went home.

Still, though, I remember. I live through memories that are not mine. I watch myself through someone else's eyes. This history of everything that is not me is my history. This history of my life is my trauma. This trauma is someone I will live with forever.

[crossover-enthusiast]

Beyond the hollow was the square top of the mountain and soon they were standing on it.

They had guessed before that this was an island: clambering among the pink rocks, with the sea on either side, and the crystal heights of air, they had known by some instinct that the sea lay on every side. But there seemed something more fitting in leaving the last word till they stood on the top, and could see a circular horizon of water.

Ralph turned to the others.

"This belongs to us."

It was roughly boat-shaped: humped near this end with behind them the jumbled descent to the shore. On either side rocks, cliffs, treetops and a steep slope: forward there, the length of the boat, a tamer descent, tree-clad, with hints of pink: and then the jungly flat of the island, dense green, but drawn at the end to a pink tail. There, where the island petered out in water, was another island; a rock, almost detached, standing like a fort, facing them across the green with one bold, pink bastion.

The boys surveyed all this, then looked out to sea. They were high up and the afternoon had advanced; the view was not robbed of sharpness by mirage.

"That's a reef. A coral reef. I've seen pictures like that."

The reef enclosed more than one side of the island, lying perhaps a mile out and parallel to what they now thought of as their beach. The coral was scribbled in the sea as though a giant had bent down to reproduce the shape of the island in a flowing chalk line but tired before he had finished. Inside was peacock water, rocks and weeds showing as in an aquarium; outside was the dark blue of the sea. The tide was running so that long streaks of foam tailed away from the reef and for a moment they felt that the boat was moving steadily astern.

Jack pointed down.

"That's where we landed."

Beyond falls and cliffs there was a gash visible in the trees; there were the splintered trunks and then the drag, leaving only a fringe of palm between the scar and the sea. There, too, jutting into the lagoon, was the platform, with insect-like figures moving near it.

Ralph sketched a twining line from the bald spot on which they stood down a slope, a gully, through flowers, round and down to the rock where the scar started.

"That's the quickest way back."

Eyes shining, mouths open, triumphant, they savored the right of domination. They were lifted up: were friends.

"There's no village smoke, and no boats," said Ralph wisely. "We'll make sure later; but I think it's uninhabited."

"We'll get food," cried Jack. "Hunt. Catch things. until they fetch us."

Simon looked at them both, saying nothing but nodding till his black hair flopped backwards and forwards: his face was glowing.

Ralph looked down the other way where there was no reef.

"Steeper," said Jack.

Ralph made a cupping gesture.

"That bit of forest down there . . . the mountain holds it up."

Every point of the mountain held up trees--flowers and trees. Now the forest stirred, roared, flailed. The nearer acres of rock flowers fluttered and for half a minute the breeze blew cool on their faces.

Ralph spread his arms.

"All ours."

They laughed and tumbled and shouted on the mountain.

"I'm hungry."

When Simon mentioned his hunger the others became aware of theirs.

"Come on," said Ralph. "We've found out what we wanted to know."

They scrambled down a rock slope, dropped among flowers and made their way under the trees. Here they paused and examined the bushes round them curiously.

(Stopping so ya can read)

Hmmm

[pred1059]

Just A Chance Chapter Twenty Two

<- Previous Chapter | Current Chapter | Next Chapter ->

Ansem Report 15

When I had departed years ago to rally the heartless, I had expected that to be the end of these reports. I had all I needed to know to accomplish my goal, so recording my findings was a meaningless effort now.

Yet after ten years, I have found reason enough to review my work.

Those hollow shells left behind by the strongest heartless. The Nobodies. I had considered how they might be filled and shaped by others. But left alone, what would these Nobodies fill themselves with?

Light?

Or Darkness?

Kairi held the dark lamp before her, a vortex of magic vacuuming the geniefied Jafar. Right as the genie was sealed, the lamp itself vanished into nothing. Just another phantom of the past that was brought back for no other purpose than to menace her. Besides Axel’s brief attack and that strange voice, enemies were her only company up until now.

Of course, this world brought a big difference. Kairi had hoped that the further she went, that eventually she would meet a memory of one of Sora’s friends. But actually seeing Naminé and Riku did so much to lift her lonely heart. It was a sign that her journey wasn’t for nothing, that she was closer than ever. Yet, what should have been a joyous moment was marred by separation, as both of her friends slipped through her fingers again.

“Then perhaps,” Ansem struggled to retort as he lifted one of his hands, “you should choose which of your friends matters more!” In a flash, he managed to fire a bolt of darkness towards Naminé and the boy. Naminé raised the keyblade in her hands to block it, but the blast knocked the two of them into the depths of the cave. 

“NAMINÉ!!!” Kairi cried out as her friend and the boy in black fell, one hand reaching out to them on instinct. But the feeling of light slipping away caused her to grip the keyblade once again with both hands. It was only a moment that her attention was split, but it seemed almost as if that small window of escape was enough, as Ansem’s form became more solid.

Kairi felt the spell she was trying to weave falter, ready to snap at a moment’s notice against the darkness pushing back against imprisonment. Even so, she didn’t stop casting the beam of light at Riku. “No! I’m not giving up! Riku, can you hear me!?” Riku had held Ansem back before in Hollow Bastion. Maybe the two of them together could stop the dark seeker for good.

Ansem scowled as he tried to gather darkness in his hands. “You. Are wasting. Your—!”

“KAIRI!”

Her eyes widened at the voice of her friend, and for a moment, he was visible again. “RIKU! Hold on!”

“Listen to me! I can’t do this for long!” Riku strained as he reached out, trying to draw on the light to strengthen himself for just a few more seconds to speak. “Ansem’s planning something, and Naminé and that boy in black are—!” He was cut off as darkness coursed through his body.

Kairi shook her head and tried so desperately to hold on with her light. She looked her wayward friend in the eyes and pleaded, “Riku, please! Don’t give up!” 

Riku’s eyes widened at her words, but slowly he began to nod. “If you think I’m worth fighting for, then I won’t ei—.”

“ENOUGH!”

At Ansem’s snarling voice, a blast of darkness finally broke  the attempted sealing spell. Kairi held up her hand in reflex, watching as the form of Ansem retreated into darkness once again.

It was bad enough watching Riku being taken by darkness, despite the two of them trying to fight Ansem. Even worse, searching the caves for Naminé and the boy just turned up nothing. Even if she knew the boy was too different from Sora to really be him, the resemblance was just too uncanny. It just seemed like her friends were slipping away from her.

Riku was being consumed by darkness, even as he had begun to fight against Ansem’s corruption.

Naminé had vanished once again after their reunion, after getting a keyblade that mirrored Kairi’s own.

And even though she hadn’t seen any sign of Sora, her heart could feel that he was somewhere close in this castle of illusions.

All of her friends were in danger. Danger she barely knew how to fight. Despite the keyblade in her hands and light at her command, there was little Kairi could do to help them. The only path she had was to continue her ascent and hope to find them again. As she walked up the marble steps through the castle proper, another thought came to her. Who was that boy? The one in the same kind of coat Axel wore with Sora’s face. He seemed determined to keep Naminé safe, but was he friend or foe?

As she began to reach the top of the stairs,she stopped at the swirling sound of darkness. Her eyes widened at a blur of a black cloak coming through it. Was it someone else? She called her keyblade to her head, ready to fight.

*THUMP*

But Kairi’s grip loosened as she realized the figure had unceremoniously fallen to the floor. Wincing, she made her way over to the small black cloaked figure picking themselves off the floor. She began to extend a hand as she asked, “Are you okay?”

Getting to their feet, the black cloaked figure pulled off their hood as they answered back, “Yeah, I’m fiiiii…” The boy’s words seemed to fall out of their mouth as he saw her. Though Kairi was hardly any better. This was the same boy from before, and just as it was then, his resemblance to Sora was uncanny.

The boy took a step back, steeling himself as Kairi regained her composure and asked firmly, “Where’s Naminé?” He made a stand against Ansem while crying out her name. That wasn’t something a person did for a total stranger.

The boy slowly curled his hands into fists as he tersely said, “She’s safe, Kairi.”

At the mention of her name Kairi tightened her grip on the key. She barely knew this boy but he already knew her name?! “Safe where? Who are you anyway?!”

“My name is Roxas,” he introduced himself as he raised one of his hands, a familiar flash of light calling the keyblade to his hands. ”And I can’t let you go without a fight.”

Kairi’s blood ran cold and her eyes widened as she saw the familiar silver and gold keyblade in Roxas’ hands. The Kingdom Key.

Sora’s keyblade. 

“Where did you get that?” Was it stolen? A fake? Something else? Kairi wasn’t sure, but one question raced to the front of her mind and she demanded, “Did you do something to Sora?!”

“He’s fine!” Roxas answered back, holding out a hand. Shaking his head he began to explain, “It’d be trouble if I told you everything, but he’s alive.”

Kairi looked back at Roxas' eyes as he tried to explain, trying to understand what he was thinking. That sort of explanation and the way he was acting seemed straightforward enough. But that left one question. “Why do you have to fight me anyway?”

Roxas gripped his keyblade with both his hands and settled into a stance. “I need to prove that I’m strong.” 

Kairi’s eyes narrowed as she questioned, “Is that really it?” The line wasn’t just clichéd, it sounded like Roxas didn’t really care about it much himself. 

He closed his eyes with a sigh before tightening his grip on the keyblade, “There’s someone I want to see again.”

Kairi gasped quietly as she recalled how Naminé mentioned someone she cared for deeply. Maybe someone who would put their lives on the line with a sense of honor.

Maybe it was Roxas. But she had no time to dwell on maybes, as Roxas rushed forward and she had to parry the swing from his keyblade.

Naminé watched the crystal ball as it showed Roxas and Kairi lock blades before the latter pushed back. Taking a chance, Kairi went on the attack as she swung her keyblade at a blocking Roxas. Unfortunately, her gamble was a mistake, as there was just enough of a gap for Roxas to dodge away and start casting magic.

Axel chuckled as he saw the fireballs Roxas began to shoot from his keyblade. “Guess he’s taking a page out of my book.” 

Naminé clasped her hands tighter as she watched Kairi stand her ground, not moving to defend. But before the spells reached her, she began to swing and knock the barrage of magic back at Roxas. Zexion raised an eyebrow as he saw Roxas respond in kind to parry the spells back. “Fascinating. The two of them have become capable.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough.” Larxene crossed her arms as she watched the two combatants bat the spells back and forth between them “The princess is fighting for her friends,” she spat out as she rolled her eyes and continued, “What’s Roxas got to fight for besides living?”

Naminé had an idea, or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. However, she dared not say it out loud. She couldn’t bear exposing it before Marluxia and Larxene and their cruel scrutiny.

Axel put his hands on his hips as he shook his head and asked, “I think that survival is a pretty good motivator. What are you really getting at?”

In the crystal’s projection, Kairi had managed to gain the advantage by outlasting Roxas, one final flurry of reflections finally forcing the latter to block and stumble back. Marluxia stepped forward and tapped the crystal ball and raised an eyebrow. “The right motivation can drive even a rank amateur to beat the odds. How else could you explain Sora’s victory over Ansem and all his darkness?” As Kairi rushed forward to attack, she was brought to a stop as a burning firestorm of energy began to glow around Roxas and he regained his footing. Marluxia closed his eyes and turned to the group, “Survival can spur one to action, but its longevity as motivation is lacking.” 

Larxene began to smile, and Naminé knew she wouldn’t like what she had to say. “But we might have a way to fix this. It all depends on you, Naminé.”

She swallowed the lump growing in her throat as Larxene looked to her and Marluxia walked ever closer. “What do you mean?”

Marluxia opened his eyes as he looked down on her. “You hold sway over his memories as he is connected to Sora. All you would need to do—.”

“No.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could even think about the answer. But the strangest thing is that Naminé realized she meant it with everything she was.

Of course, that was before she had time to worry about the consequences. Larxene barking out a laugh. “No? Did you just say no, little witch?

Marluxia leaned down, a sinister wind beginning to gather around him as he questioned, “Are you refusing our commands Naminé?”

Naminé cringed as she knew what Marluxia’s power could bring. Petals that sliced at the slightest touch, the threat of death in the air. When he first explained their initial plan for Sora and she refused, that power was used to bring her in line. The easy thing to do would just be to apologize and think of a way to change Roxas’ memories.

But the idea of changing him so completely and fundamentally made her sick. To erase the one person who saw her and cared. Someone who gave her the slimmest hope that she was real? No, she dreaded that far more than any pain. She clenched her fists as she began to look back at him. “I won’t change Roxas’ memories, Marluxia.”

The wind began to grow to a gale as Marluxia scowled, “You should reconsider your answer. Allow—”

“Actually, you’re the one who should reconsider, Marluxia.” At Axel’s words Marluxia’s winds came to a stop. He raised an eyebrow as Axel made his way over with crossed arms and a frown on his face. “Tampering with Roxas’ memories is off the table.”

Marluxia glanced at Axel and demanded, “On what grounds do you question my order, Axel?”

Zexion walked next to Axel and explained, “On the grounds said order goes against the direction given by the Organization’s true leaders. We cannot risk altering his mind to the point that it drives him to madness.”

Axel held two hands up as he sighed. “Look. I get wanting to get a leg up with all the upset plans. But take a look at what we have.” Placing one hand on Marluxia’s shoulder, he gestured to Naminé and the crystal ball. “Two keyblade wielders that we’re training up, and one of them isn’t doing half bad.” In the image being shown, Roxas was flinging blasts of fire at a dodging Kairi before unleashing a burst of flame that knocked her back. Axel smiled and put both of his hands on Marluxia’s shoulders. “The plan is working. Okay? Just relax, and we’ll take care of keeping them motivated.”

The room was silent for a moment as Axel’s words sunk in. Finally, Larxene clicked her tongue and returned to watching the crystal ball. “Would have been funny to make him go nuts for Naminé. I was looking forward to making Sora crazy with that.”

Marluxia moved one of Axel’s hands off as he narrowed his eyes. “We will be watching this closely.”

Axel smirked as he patted Marluxia on the shoulder with his remaining hand before letting go. “Don’t worry. You’ll get what you’ve earned.”

Naminé wondered if she and Roxas would be so fortunate. 

Though now that hope seemed a little less distant.

Kairi’s sneakers squeaked on the hard marble as she avoided Roxas’s fire infused swings. Even dodging away, she could feel the sweltering heat radiating all around him. Clearly, Roxas wasn’t just copying Sora, he had picked up some power that neither Sora or Riku had learned. A power that wasn’t making things easy.

But then again, Kairi had a power of her own as well.

She jumped over Roxas as he charged forward with a wave of fire. Aiming her keyblade at him as he turned in surprise, she called on the power of light. Roxas swung to try and interrupt, but a shining spark rotated around her and intercepted the attack.

The clash of metal and magic was enough for Roxas to stop wide eyed and take a step back. It was likely what kept him from feeling the full force of the spark exploding into a dazzling shimmer of light magic. Even so, he cried out as the spell caused him to stagger back. Kairi saw her chance and rushed forward to try and knock him down with one last overhead swing of the keyblade.

Roxas caught the attack with his own sword, but the blow caused him to drop to his knees as he held her back. He gritted his teeth as he put both hands on his grip and tried to push back. “No! I can’t lose!”  

Kairi stopped for a moment as he saw a familiar glimmer in Roxas’ eye.

“I won’t lose!”

A touch of darkness.

Kairi let go the instant that darkness began to explode forth from Roxas. The blast of shadow that comes from him knocking her away. She watched wide eyed as Roxas gasped for breath as he struggled to his feet. 

The moment where she saw his eye as he tapped into darkness haunted Kairi. It wasn’t the consuming hunger that Riku had which was fostered by Maleficent. It was despair she saw, the fear that something precious would be ripped away from Roxas which drove him to tap into that power. 

She wasn’t even sure he knew what he’d done as he began to look at his hand as the shadows gathered around it. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him throw himself away. Especially if he was who Naminé cared about. 

“Can I ask you something, Roxas?” Her question snapped Roxas out of his stupor and he gripped his keyblade tightly. Kairi simply stepped forward and questioned, “Is giving yourself to darkness really the best way to help someone you love?”

“Love?” Roxas furrowed his brow before shaking his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I have to make it back.” He pulled back to swing, shadow gathering in his hands, “And if darkness gives me that power—!” “Even if it changes you and you lose yourself?” Kairi’s plea made Roxas stop mid-swing. Kairi placed a hand on her chest as she asked. “Would your friend be happy with it?”

Roxas gasped and in that moment the darkness faded away from him. He looked to his hand before screwing his eyes shut. In that moment, Kairi began to relax as she saw him pull away from the abyss that had consumed Riku. 

However, that relief was short-lived as a dark portal appeared behind Roxas. He glanced at it before sighing and dismissing his keyblade. “Looks like I’m done here.” He reached up to his hood and pulled it over his head. “Kairi, I hope you make it through this.”

With those parting words before Kairi could even move to reach him, he stepped into darkness before the portal vanished. She stood there, hand outstretched to where Roxas was. Even though she didn’t quite know him, her heart could tell that he needed as much help as Sora, Riku and Naminé. And she knew that it would take more than a keyblade to save them.

But maybe what Kairi needed wasn’t an unbreakable weapon or unstoppable magic. Maybe all she needed was to trust her heart. It led her here, and she was sure that somehow she managed to reach Roxas’ heart.

Maybe she could reach the hearts of her friends too.

[hyperionswrath-a]

@destiny-bonded​​ || ✽ 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐔 || unprompted

He was never a fan of waiting around  —  now of all times especially. Being on the same side of the Heartless, or rather… the witch that controlled them, while it had its perks, still left him uneasy, knowing what they were capable of. What they could do. His heart clenches in his chest as he recalls Kairi’s deathly stilled form, trapped in a wake-less sleep from her lack of a heart  —  unable to wake up. The youth balls his fists up at his side as he continues to stubbornly pace, hoping that eventually he’d come up with an idea to throw the Old Hag’s way, one that’d help push their plans along to get what he wanted sooner or at the very least, get him out there to try searching himself.

She was vague. Frustratingly so. He didn’t trust her… but he had no other choice,  &  with his options limited at best here, he needed to tread lightly but listen if he wanted to save Kairi.

A sound of irritation leaves him when thoughts drift to his former friend, to Sora  &  the new gaggle of people he surrounded himself with, replaced him & Kairi with so soon. Teeth press together firmly, coming to a stop as he crosses his arms over his chest, shield like almost in a defensive way. He doesn’t hear the sounds of someone or something approaching, too wound up in his whirling storm of thoughts as he glares into the ground below.

So much for seeing the worlds together…

The constant, yet low buzz in the back of his head would drive him insane one day, he was sure of it. But there was no escaping it, no ridding himself from it, no matter how much he tried to align the contradicting pictures and voices swirling inside of his mind, sometimes louder, sometimes quiter. The only thing he could do was follow, focus on his duty, and eventually, she would let him dream again - that she had promised. ”Oh, my loyal knight, Seifer…               The― …is… ― The sorceress is alive...                   The sorceress d―… demands. Find the ―         … Lunati―              … seven princesses… Grunting, he lifted a hand, rubbing at his forehead as the voices once more began to overlap, pinching his eyes closed in an attempt to ward off a wave of nausea before the noise finally started to subside. Right… the princesses. He was tasked to find them and bring them here, along with the boy he was assigned to train. Fulfilling his own duty as her knight, and furthering her plans to fight… who exactly? It didn’t matter. He had sworn his loyalty to the sorceress and he would not disappoint. Not this time. Steering his steps through the dark halls of Hollow Bastion, emerald eyes wandered over dark corners, scanning the area for both the creatures her powers kept at bay, as well as for a certain, silver-haired youth. It was time they made their next move, and from what he had seen so far, Riku was eager to do the very same. Hearing a sound from around the corner, Seifer closed in on the direction it had emitted from, sure enough seeing the kid in question pacing one of the corridors in a display of frustration. Sometimes he eerily reminded him of himself. Not making any effort to be particularly quiet in his approach, Riku still seemed too lost in whatever thoughts kept him occupied to notice, prompting the tall blond to stop rather close behind the younger one as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and quirked a brow. “Not paying attention to your surroundings can get you killed pretty fast, you know?” Baritone voice rang through the deafening silence of the Bastion as he considered the silver-haired youth with a mixture of his usual air of provocation and inquiry. What kept him so occupied that he didn’t even notice someone like him approaching? Seifer wasn’t exactly the epitome of stealth. “The Sorceress wants us to continue with our task.” 

[drrutherford]

This time, as they stand face to face, it's long enough for the Rutherford to take in her appearance, to really look at her. Beyond the red eyes and the slight smear of makeup, it's the weight loss that stands out the most. Leyla looks more gaunt than ever before; the hollows of her cheeks pronounced, the fold of her arms thin in a way that suggests muscle wasting, rather than an intentional trim. She was slim to begin with, the change registers only as another mark for concern as his eyes lift back to meet hers.

"Don't be daft, it's hardly my space. And if it were, it's bloody miserable enough you'd be doing me a favour by stealing it." He nods to the bareness of her surroundings; the hospital's on-call room could serve as a bastion to minimalism. Aside from one springy bed with the world's thinnest mattress, there's a wooden desk, an ancient computer, and a broken heater. If she wasn't already depressed, that room alone could push her over the edge, he suspects. "Seriously. My room's warmer. We can swap if you want."

"Ley..." His voice travels off for a moment, wary of misspeaking; misstepping. "You're not okay. And you don't have to be okay right now... In fact, it'd probably take a real psychopath to be okay with any of what's happened to you."

They both know his opinion of her partner. He respects Leyla too much to pretend otherwise, but that doesn't stop him from hoping she'll know that he's there, should she ever need someone from her old life to turn to, however briefly, between all the newer faces that have come to form her new entourage over the last few years.

"I didn't realize that you-... That you were spending this much time here. Overnight, I mean." Maybe there's an excuse tucked in there somewhere, an apology that it's taken him this long to notice; to reach out. "Is your son—" Okay?... Coping?... Does the young child even understand what's keeping his parents in the hospital day in, day out?

Antoine's always been a relatively safe topic between them, ever since Leyla joined the ranks of parenthood alongside him. But in light of her ongoing grief, no topic is steady water to tread right now. This time though, it doesn't keep him from trying.

It wasn't often that she slept in the hospital. Not that she didn't want to, she just had a child to look after. Leyla didn't want Antoine to feel any more lost than he was. Already he was asking for his dad, when he'd come back, why wasn't he callings? Daddy always called. Did he forget him? Was he bad? And then the promises to be better, to eat his food, to put his toys away...

It was fucking heartbreaking. What could she even say? Certainly, Leyla didn't want to bring him to the hospital, she didn't want... Didn't want possibly the last time he would see him... Like that... No, not until there was no hope. Only then she'd take him to say goodbye.

But now? No... Leyla kept telling him that he was away, that he would come back... That the connection was bad and daddy loved him so much.

Tonight, Odile was with him so Leyla could stay just in case anything happened. They didn't allow her to stay while they were doing their check ups, so instead she came to the room to rest, though never did she plan on sleeping. It must have just happened. Not that she was getting a lot of sleep these past few months.

How funny that sometimes, a thought came to her mind... The one where she wondered if it would be better to be taken away like she was last time. That maybe that emotional torture would be better than what she was going through right now. At least then...

No, that's a ridiculous thought.

It was the door that woke her, or some sort of noise in an otherwise deadly quiet room. "Huh?" She asked, scratching her eyes, as she tried to sit up. "I'm okay." At least that's what she thought. She was always cold these days, so it felt as nothing really made much of a difference. "I'm fi-..." Leyla cut herself off as she looked at Gideon. He had that determined look on his face that she knew she wasn't going to win. So instead, she took the blanked, placing it on her lap. "Did I take up your space?" She didn't want to be a burden to him, not when she knew where he stood, not when she knew what he'd say.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Kingdom Hearts Re: Chain of Memories Recap: 10th Floor: Hollow Bastion

Donald observes that, since they're on the 10th floor, they've gone pretty high up in Castle Oblivion.

Jiminy points out that they've lost 10 floors worth of their memories.

"Sora, it's still not too late," Jiminy pointed out, "Don't you think we should turn back?"

Sora states that he can't turn back, because that would break an old promise he made.

"On the islands, I promised Naminé- that I'd keep her safe, no matter what," Sora explains, "But, I forgot it... I didn't remember until I started forgetting everything else."

He insists that he can't leave. Now that he remembers the promise, he HAS to keep it.

"Of course," Jiminy replies (resigned yet sincere), "We understand, Sora."

The first room takes the form of Hollow Bastion's front gates.

There, they see Belle telling Beast to get lost, while the Beast is trying to convince her to come home. She insists that he's wasting his time, and tells him to leave.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy can tell that something isn't right, even if they don't remember Belle or the Beast, and so decide to investigate.

Key of Beginnings retrieved!

The Attack Card for this world is Divine Rose, with both a fast swing and a powerful strike.

The Bounty for this world is Reflect Raid (Cloud+Attack+Attack), a Strike Raid variant that causes the Keyblade to split into multiple duplicates after hitting its target, allowing it to ricochet.

The treasure in the Room of Rewards is Mushu's Summon Card.

Mushu's ability is Flare Breath: a targeting reticle appears on screen and the player must aim with the left stick and fire with the attack button. Stocking more prolongs the attack.

The Room of Beginnings takes the form of Hollow Bastion's Library. There, Sora, Donald, and Goofy meet up with Bell, and ask what's going on.

It turns out, she actually IS miserable here and would LOVE to go back home with the Beast, but she can't for some reason she isn't able to put into words.

She then orders the trio to hide, and a bookcase opens. In KH1, opening this bookcase lets you access a special lift that takes you to a treasure trove at the top of the castle. Here? Maleficent strides into the library, asking Belle why she isn't with the Beast at the moment.

Belle claims not to want anything to do with the Beast, and that Maleficent is wasting her time.

Maleficent only remarks that they'll see about that, since the Beast still hasn't left, and teleports herself and Belle away.

Sora realizes that Maleficent must be up to something, and leads the trio off to try and stop whatever that is.

Key to Guidance retrieved!

The Room of Guidance takes the form of the room where Sora reclaimed the Keyblade from Riku, but now there's a random statue in the middle of the room for some reason.

Belle again claims that she wants nothing to do with the Beast again, but then the Beast speaks from his heart:

He knows Belle well enough to tell that she's miserable just by looking at her. He can't', in good conscience, leave her at Maleficent's mercy, no matter how much Belle tells him too.

"Consider it my final selfish act."

Maleficent arrives, and declares that she can feel all the love radiating from Beast's heart, and decides that she'll just take his heart instead.

The Evil Fairy launches a spell at Beast, but Belle shoves him out of the way. She vanishes, and Maleficent claims Belle's heart as her own, revealing that this had been her true plan all along, and teleports away before Beast can attack her.

Sora, Donald, and goofy offer the Beast their help in rescuing Belle.

Key to Truth retrieved!

THE BEAST HAS JOINED THE PARTY!

His ability is Ferocious Volley, wherein he'll hit an enemy at Sora and Sora can hit it back. Stocking more cards allows them to continue the combo.

The Room of Truth takes on the form of the Castle Chapel, and Maleficent reveals why she abducted Belle: Her powers need beautiful hearts in order to work. And so she sought out Belle to power herself up. However, Belle caught on to her plans and acted cold to the Beast, both to protect him from Maleficent AND to conceal her own heart's beauty.

But in the end, she could not stand around and do nothing when the one she loved was in danger.

The Beast vows to make Maleficent pay, but then Maleficent explains the real reason why she revealed this: the Beast's love for Belle has grown stronger as a result, making his heart's beauty shine as well.

She will claim his heart as well, and become unstoppable.

She then transforms into a dragon, kicking off the boss battle.

Maleficent does not use sleights, instead using endless numbered versions of her Enemy Card to attack.

She can breath fire, create shockwaves, snap at Sora with her jaws, basically anything she did in Kh1, but with a bit more time in between attacks.

The Gimmick Card creates a floating platform for Sora to ride, allowing him to attack her head and float over the flames. (In the GBA version, it caused stone platforms to fall from the ceiling and create a stairway up to Maleficent instead).

Upon her defeat, Sora gets the Dragon-Maleficent card, which grants Overdrive: Sacrifices reload speed to power up Attack Cards for 30 Attacks.

Maleficent's demise frees Belle's heart, allowing her and the Beast to reunite.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy decide to give the two some privacy.

In the exit hall, our heroes are immediately confronted by Vexen, who claims to be there to collect Sora's debt.

Goofy asks him if Sora owes him anything, but Sora insists that he doesn't.

Vexen then claims credit for reuniting Sora with his "former friend".

"I'm the one who brought Riku to you," he explains.

Sora realizes that this means that he's the one who's been controlling him, and demands to know what he's done to Riku.

"I see no need to give you information about where Riku is. After all-" Vexen summons his shield in a flash of ice and frost. "Why trouble you in your final hour?"

Vexen uses a deck like Sora's, including a Blue Rhapsody Enemy Card that powers up his ice elemented attacks (which is all of them).

He's also healed by Blizzard Magic, and will block any attack that hits that shield, so Cross-Slash+ might be a good idea for this fight.

He can cast Blizzara with just one card, and can perform a combo attack with his shield. He can also use a sleight to trap Sora in a block of ice (dodging right as he raises his left hand will let Sora avoid it), or send icicles across the ground towards him.

Upon defeating Vexen, Sora gains the "Freeze" Sleight. It increases surrounding enemies in blocks of ice, and it's formula is Blizzard+Blizzard+Stop.

Vexen notes that, as expected, Sora isn't one to die easily, while Sora angrily states that he'd never lose to a guy like him.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Vexen argues, "Did you even notice? I was delving deep into your memory as we fought."

He then reveals what he found, a World Card, crafted from all the memories locked in the other side of Sora's heart.

He tosses the card to Sora and vanishes.

Sora examines the card, wondering what Vexen meant.

This is the Twilight Town World Card, a new world introduced in Chain of Memories.

Back in the meeting room, Axel notes that Sora's demise would mess up the Organization's plans.

Marluxia asks if Axel knows what he needs to do, and Axel asks him to spell it out.

"Vexen has clearly committed a treasonous act against the Organization," Marluxia explains, "You must eliminate the traitor."

"No taking that back later," Axel warns as he vanishes through a dark portal.

-

OH BOY OH BOY

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

Celebration

In which an unexpected servant congratulates my mastersona for both passing their Mage Exams and helping Gudako complete yet another singularity!

(The true backstory is that I recently finished all of my essays, my thesis and exam- so thought I should treat myself by writing a fic to commemorate it!!! YIPPEE!!)

Staring blankly at the spotless ivory walls looming above their head, Seihai frowned. Listlessly plonking yet another slice of pizza into their mouth, they flopped onto their bed.

‘What the heck do I do with my life now?’ At current, Chaldea had lapsed into a week-long festival, due to everybody successfully completing yet another singularity.

As a result of this, Gudako managed to rouse the entirety of Chaldea into a tremendous partying mood; in which servants were blasting sparklers at one another; Liz was hogging the speakers to blast out her latest hit tunes; and the Chaldea kitchen was overwhelmed with both chefs as well as hungry customers.

Although Seihai did actively partake in some of the activities, and was overjoyed to see Chaldea enveloped in such joy, a gnawing sense of unease still tore at their stomach. Even though today was the dawn of Chadea’s first ever Nightclub Party- a day that Seihai had been dying to experience- said anxiety made it all but impossible to enjoy it.

‘I’m not in the mood to party anymore,’ Seihai languidly flicked through the television channels, eventually landing upon yet another battle anime. ‘I dunno...It feels like the victory’s hollow or something...’

In Seihai’s eyes, the one who did the bulk of the work during singularities were Gudako, Mash, the staff and their servants. When it came to Seihai’s own place in this war; they had no idea in hell where they belonged. Besides from offering support, assistance, and lessening the load on Gudako’s shoulders- by providing mana to servants that Gudako hadn’t the energy to supply- they were naught but a small bit-piece in the war.

Clutching their fists -as a character on the television behind them began to yell, they contemplated the box of pizza sitting before them.

As a treat for also passing the Mage Association’s rather convoluted, and extremely unnecessary Online Mage’s Exam with flying colors, Seihai had more or less begged Boudicca to make some pizza- so that they could celebrate on their lonesome. Lifting the glimmering slice towards the sky, Seihai smiled wryly.

“Congratulations, me. We’ve fought hard. Let’s not let the negativity beat us today.” Before they could chow down on the beautiful, tantalizing slice- an array of golden sparkles invaded their vision, as they choked on their slice.

‘H-HOLY SHIT!!!’ Slapping their back, they managed to slide the slice back out again, only to be distracted by a horrendous clunking noise; as Seihai’s room shook like a tornado.

Only one person would enter their room like this.

Spinning their head to the side, they take sight of the king’s pernicious smirk; his red eyes sparkling with impish glee.

“G-Gilgamesh....You sure as hell caught me off guard this time.” Sighing audibly, Seihai rubbed their crimson red locks of hair. “Why don’t you like to knock before entering?”

“You would ask one as mighty as I- the King of Heroes- to knock on your measly door before entering?” He looked genuinely shocked by the suggestion. “Have you lost your mind, by perchance?”

“I feel like we’ve gone through an argument like this already.” Helping themselves to their feet, Seihai attempts to look him in the eyes.  “I tell you ‘Yes, you should knock’, and then you go ‘you foolish cur! The king shall never knock before entering! It’s my right!’ or something like that.”

“Well, there you have it. Although wisdom initially evaded that tiny brain of yours, you’ve finally conjured up the answer to your own enquiry.”

“Hey, my brain isn’t tiny. I just can’t keep up with you sometimes.”

“If you’ve managed to fool yourself into believing that, then who am I to disagree?” Whipping out a decadent golden throne from a rippling gold portal, he places himself by Seihai’s side. “Now, I’m here to depart a word of wisdom. Listen carefully.”

‘W-Wait, he’s here to talk?! Why?!’ Utterly bemused by this turn of events, Seihai felt compelled to burst into laughter. ‘Oh shit, hold it in! Hold it in!’ Last time they laughed at the king; Gilgamesh threatened them with a thousand deaths. “Er...You want some drinks? Food?”

“Hoh...I’m glad to see that you retain enough honor to serve your king. However, the food of mongrels isn’t to-” As soon as Seihai pulled out an assortment of global snacks, Gilgamesh’s words caught in his very throat.

“Fine. Pass that one. On the right.” A look of embarrassment briefly flickered across his features, as he coughed lightly. “Don’t hesitate, mongrel! Pass it, post haste!!!”

Seihai smirked proudly at that. ‘Hehe, that’s payback for you being so damn rude! Can’t look down on my global snack collection, huh?’ 

Keeping such thoughts locked firmly within their mind, they pass Gilgamesh a vanilla twinkie. ‘How amusing...Gilgamesh, the arbiter of all pleasures; owner of all the items of the world, is a fan of snacks like twinkies...’ Seihai would most certainly make a note of this later on.

As they both settled down, munching down on an assortment of foods- Gilgamesh cleared his throat, his expression as hard as stone. “Mongrel.”

“Hm?”

“What ails you, to be avoiding a festival as grand as the Chaldea party? I’ll have you know that even I have no choice but to approve of its splendor.”

Seihai’s mind boggled at this. Was he inquiring as to their health? Lowering their head, Seihai mumbled a tiny “Well, you know...I’m just not in the mood. That’s all.”

“That’s all? I hadn’t taken you to be such a bore.”

“Well, that’s not really my problem; you know. Sometimes, I can be boring as hell, and today’s just one of those days.”

“Mongrel, Chaldea’s been renovated into a sparkling nightclub. A nightclub.” Gilgamesh placed heavy emphasis on the word ‘nightclub’. “And yet you still manage to profess that you’re ‘not in the mood’?! Whatever happened to that mongrel that wouldn’t stop dancing in the canteen the other day?” Gilgamesh looked truly offended, as if Seihai had broken a sworn covenant or something.

‘Wait, what the hell?! He caught me dancing in the canteen? FUCK!’ Seihai grimaced at this. “W-wait, Gilgamesh. How the hell did you catch me dancing?!”

Ignoring Seihai’s question, Gilgamesh continued to complain. “Don’t you understand? A night as dazzling as this may never happen again. I declare that you enjoy it to the utmost, before everything disappears.” He had an excellent point there. Life was all but fleeting, a translucent kaleidoscope of effervescent events. Who knows when all of Chaldea may breathe their very last breath?

“Okay, I’ll admit you have a pretty good point there.” He definitely did! However, Seihai was yet to be moved by his advice. “However, I don’t feel like I’m worthy enough to join...I messed up so many times during the last singularity....and it took me quite a few tries before passing the mage exam.”

“So, you’re a fool then.”

Before Seihai could leap up in outrage at this statement, Gilgamesh silenced them with a flex of his golden-plated hand. “However. Albeit being a fool, you’re a determined one; who fights for their own cause. And as the King of Heroes, I must acknowledge that such actions are actually worthy of merit. Therefore, I shall not allow you to wallow in such pathetic self-misery! Celebrate your achievements with all of your might, mongrel- and REJOICE!”

Eyes widening with awe, Seihai’s heart sung with joy at his words. Spirit roused, they gawped at him in shock. “W-what...?!”

Did he just praise them? Gilgamesh offering praise? The world must certainly be ending soon. Looking around them, to check whether they were dreaming- Seihai was completely befuddled. ‘Of all the people to come and cheer me up when I’m feeling sad...How the heck did he end up being the one to do so?!’

“Fuhahaha! You look as if you’ve transformed into a fish! How utterly amusing!” Gilgamesh’s shoulders trembled with laughter. “You heard me clearly, mongrel. Even fools such as you have inherent worth. Now go out there, and rejoice!”

“Er...well, thanks Gilgamesh. That was kind of you to say that.” To see one’s own failures as a bastion for developing success...Seihai was taken aback by Gilgamesh’s perspective on things. However, it was much appreciated. “I do like hearing your titbits of wisdom.”

“Don’t grow too accustomed to them. I shan’t hand them out willy-nilly, you know. Now, rise to your feet; so that we can descend upon the dancefloor!”

“Haha, that does actually sound like fun. Thanks again, Gilgamesh.”

“Don’t get too conceited, mongrel. I’m only offering you alms for this particular occasion.”

As Seihai chuckled at this (as Gilgamesh obliterated their bedroom door with a flying kick), the two rivals (Friends? Enemies? Who knows, really), made their way to the festival.

The End

WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. THIS WAS MUCH MORE FRIENDLY A FIC THAN EXPECTED. ALSO, I AM CERTAIN THAT MY MASTERSONA AND GILGAMESH WOULD BE LIKE ARCH ENEMIES BUT THEY ACTUALLY GOT ALONG????????

[maleficar-writes]

Empress

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent

Summary: Fen'Harel sweeps across the nations like vengeance, and all that will stop him is Ellana Lavellan as his wife.

On AO3: Link

He had razed Halamshiral and built in its place a palace of crystal spires that speared the heavens with their glory. Sunlight glittering off balustrades and parapets and reflecting off towers and arches blinded the devout and the apathetic alike. It was a castle meant to inspire wonder and awe, and it did those things well. It also inspired fear. Bone-deep, icy fear that clawed at the spine and twisted the stomach, and as Ellana stepped from her carriage and regarded the magnificent work of his magic, she felt that fear.

That terror.

Magic had built this castle. The magic of the ancients, once lost and now resurrected. By the man she’d called Solas. The man who was Fen’Harel.

That one name was enough to bring out a host of feelings in her, and fear was the least of them. Her emotions roiled inside of her, a confusing mass of sensation that left her dizzy and weak, and she hated feeling weak. If only she had time to sort through her thoughts.

Time.

He tantalized her with promises of time, coming to her in dreams as he swept across Thedas with his armies. If she would just give in to him, if she would come to him, if she would love him once again, he would give her immortality. He held her in her dreams, possessed of a strength she hadn’t seen in him before, and he’d stroked her hips, her back, her breasts. “Come to me, vhenan’ara, give yourself to me, and I will give you immortality and freedom and a heritage of pride.”

She’d spat in his face. “Look what pride has wrought,” she had snarled, and that dream had dissolved.

But he was nothing if not persistent. Night after night, he had slipped into her dreams, sometimes to whisper promises, sometimes to tease her body to the point of madness, and sometimes to gloat over all he’d done. How Fen’Harel had brought nations to their knees, causing mighty Tevinter to crumble and proud Ferelden to fracture. Orlais, he promised, was next. Unless…

Unless.

Ellana lifted her chin, set her expression into one of stony indifference. She refused to be cowed by his glory, even if she had, at last, agreed to his terms. Her hand in return for peace. She was bartering her body and soul for all of Thedas.

And some dark, awful part of her delighted in it. Her body thrilled to the knowledge that he wanted her so desperately that he would stop his tireless march in exchange for her. The death would stop because she was giving herself over to him. A god desired her beyond all other things.

She took a shuddering breath, horrified at the ache between her legs. It was Fen’Harel who wanted her, the architect of her people’s destruction and, now, the vehicle for their salvation.

Closing her eyes, she took a minute to compose herself.

She was alone, without any of her companions to offer council. She hadn’t dared bring them when she finally gave into his summons. She knew what they thought of him. Half of them wanted to crush him and were still dedicated to resisting him at every turn. The other half simply despised him.

“God or no god,” Vivienne had said with fury lacing her tone, “I will not bow to him.”

A hand touched her elbow, reminding her that she wasn’t truly alone. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy, that the hand belonged to Cassandra. Cassandra would murmur a line from the Chant, tell her she was strong, tell her she was making the right choice. But it wasn’t Cassandra’s hand. The hand’s owner was the only person Ellana’s honor guard.

Once the Hero of Ferelden, now Fen’Harel’s general.

Exerting a subtle pressure, General Mahariel urged her forward. Opening her eyes, forward she went.

In their traveling together, the General hadn’t spoken a single word to her. There were stories that spoke of the Hero as a quiet soul, so Ellana hadn’t expected great amounts of conversations. Maybe a few traded pleasantries. Instead, she hadn’t even received a hello.

Mahariel guided her into the great palace. Its insides were as grand as its outsides, all glittering and glimmering and, quite frankly, breathtaking. Overwhelming. The vaulted ceilings were so high she half expected to see clouds gathered at their peaks. Instead, the ceilings were painted to look like the sky, and starlight glittered in their far reaches.

Magic crackled over her skin. Even a warrior like her could feel it. It pressed all around her, a static force. It tickled her naked arms, ghosted up her legs, curled against her thighs. She stopped walking abruptly, taking long, slow breaths to steady herself. The magic felt like his. She knew well what it felt like when he touched her with the Fade, when he bent the Veil around her to caress her and leave her gasping. How many times had he done that to her in dreams? How many times had he sat, just watching, as he brought her to quaking orgasms with nothing more than the force of his will.

She swallowed a whimper, and still Mahariel said nothing.

So she straightened her back. She took a deep breath, inhaling sharply through her nose and ignoring the spice of his magic on the air. Lacing her fingers before her – ostensibly to appear composed, but truthfully to hide their shaking – she strode forward to meet her destiny.

Destiny, it turned out, was even more breathtaking than she could have imagined. Some part of her expected his throne room to be gaudy to better show off his power. It was not. It was simple, understated, made of white marble threaded through with rich veins of emerald. Golden mosaics on the walls were inspired by those they’d seen in the Temple of Mythal but were clearly crafted by Orlesian hands. They depicted scenes of elven liberation and magic. They depicted him, in his glory. But nothing about the mosaics was tacky. Nothing about any of it was tacky.

All around the throne room, conversations died. The words simply dried up, turning to ash that floated away on a cold wind. Just like her freedom. But this was the duty of a Keeper, and Ellana had no illusions about who and what she was. She was no mage, but she was Thedas’s Keeper now, and Keepers stood between the Dread Wolf and their people. She stood between him and Thedas.

As her eyes swept over the people, her heart broke. There was Tevinter’s once might Archon, now a trembling, broken man. There were rings of scars all over his body, as though someone had tried to flay him. Across from him, the King and Queen of Ferelden. They watched her with hollow eyes. Accusing eyes. If you had done this sooner, they seemed to say, our people would not have suffered and died.

She had failed.

Worst of all was the sight of Celene. Because when Ellana saw Celene, she realized that Orlais was not the last bastion of a dying world. Orlais had fallen long ago, and Celene… Celene was a shell of herself. Gone was the mighty, assured Empress. In her place stood a woman who wore the trappings of royalty without any of the power.

Briala stood beside his throne in the position of a favored retainer, and Ellana had a moment of clarity. Briala had been the first.

Finally, Ellana’s gaze shifted to him. Once Solas, now Fen’Harel, and her breath caught in her throat. He had turned from a missive held in Briala’s hands, straightening slowly. His every motion was grace given physical form. Power dripped from him, distorting the air around him. Gone was the unassuming apostate. The man on the ironwood throne, wearing cloth of gold and a cloak of midnight, crowned with flame, was a god.

His expression didn’t change from one of mild interest as he rose.

All around her, the court went to its knees. Ellana’s eyes darted from face to face, finding rage and hatred on some and devout reverence on others.

“Welcome home, my queen,” he said, striding down the dais. He stopped when he stood an arm’s length from her and extended his hand.

For Thedas, she reminded herself, but she was unable to keep her face as blank as his. He regarded her with the same kind of curiosity one reserved for ants. She felt her expression twist into one of pain.

She hated him. She loved him. She craved him. She despised him.

For Thedas.

She put her hand in his.

His eyes softened with heat and longing, and he drew her close. With barely any space between them, his magic curled around her like a palpable force. It swept over her skin, caressing her cheeks, her throat, the daring neckline of her gown. He’d give her the dress. She’d worn it as a sign of her submission, but she detested it.

“Andaran atish’an, vhenan’ara,” Fen’Harel said to her in a voice so low it rumbled between them. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the swells of her breasts.

“You summoned me,” she returned, trying not to stiffen at his greeting. Trying not to melt.

His brows rose. “Ah. I see it is to be like this between us.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing her knuckles across his lips. His tongue flicked against her skin and she ground her teeth together, ignoring the flood of wet heat between her legs. “It need not be, ma vhenan.”

“You made it this way,” she said tightly, “when you abandoned me only to come sweeping across Thedas, killing everyone who stood in your way.”

“An act of justice for our people.”

“Murder.” She whispered the word, sharing it with no one except him. “Murderer.”

A grin tipped up his lips, but it was not kind. “You see yourself as Thedas’s Keeper though you are not a mage. You view this as a failing. You did not fail, vhenan’ara, this was as inevitable as the changing of the tides.” His thumb brushed over her palm, drawing circles against her flesh, and she shuddered at the prickling heat he conjured beneath her skin.

“You crushing Thedas beneath your heel? Doing to the humans what they did to us?”

“No,” he said, nonplussed. He leaned forward, into her space. The magic that wreathed him curled around her breasts, stroking her nipples through the thin fabric, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She strangled a whimper in the back of her throat as the fingers of his freehand brushed over her cheek. “You coming to me.” He chuckled lightly, softly. “And, soon, for me. I have long dreamed of this day.”

Drawing away from her but not releasing her hand, leaving her trembling and all but panting, he turned to his court. “Let us celebrate,” he called. “Let us feast, for our empress has come at last.” And then, shifting close to her, he murmured, “Come, vhenan’ara.”

Fire washed through her, fierce and sudden, and his magic pressed between her legs. She would have stumbled if he hadn’t taken her arm. Gasping, she clung to him as an orgasm tore through her, sudden and impossible to hold out against.

She lifted her eyes to him, not sure if she should be starting at him with fury or lust, and she found him gazing back with barely concealed lust. “Come,” he said again, gently, and an echo of the pleasure rolled through her, making her legs tremble as he brought her to his throne.

Throughout the wedding, which was vaguely Dalish, and the feast, which was also vaguely Dalish, he toyed with her. He fed her from his own fingers, leaned close to whisper filthy promises in her ear, and used his magic to stroke and caress every inch of her body. She could barely lift her goblet of wine she shook so badly, and when he noticed, he plucked the glass from her hands.

“Allow me,” he murmured, and he lifted it to her lips.

She despised his proprietary behavior, as if he had the right to bring her food and drink. What made it worse was that, now, bound to him, he did have the right. It was his right and his right alone, and there wasn’t a single person in the throne room who would stop him.

“Why do you tremble so?” he asked her as he brushed his thumb over the corner of her lip. His long-fingered hand curled around the back of her neck. Slid between her shoulders. The gown he’d chosen had no back, so his caress fell on naked skin.

“Fuck you,” she breathed, arching away from his touch.

Something like a tongue licked her inner thigh. Fingers of magic caught the crotch of her smallclothes, pushing inside to stroke through the swollen, wet lips of her cunt.

“I plan to.” His voice was so steady. So assured. As if he wasn’t using his magic to wring pleasure from every inch of her body. In public. Where his defeated enemies watched. “Slowly, Ellana.” It was the first time he’d spoken her name. “So very slowly.” He brushed his lips over her ear. “Ellana.”

She went rigid, clenching her hands into fists in her lap. The tongue licking her thigh turned inward. Apparently cloth was no barrier for magic because the tongue swept through her folds without any hindrance, and she gasped softly, all her muscles tightening even more.

“Ellana.”

“Enough,” she spat. “I’m your wife, your empress, at least treat me with respect.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he drew away from her. His hand lingered on her back, but the magic pressing against her cunt withdrew. “You are right, Empress,” he murmured, and he lifted a fruit from her plate, offering it to her.

After a second’s hesitation, she closed her lips around his fingers. Tit for tat, she figured, tucking the fruit to one side of her mouth. Her tongue swept over the tips of his fingers. Her teeth grazed his skin. When she released his fingers to bite into the fruit, he was watching her with wolf-like intensity, his eyes hooded. “Do not tempt me,” he said softly.

The remainder of the feast passed slowly for her, dragging by in agonizingly slow measures. His hand never left her back, and instead of being a comfort it gave her a sense of dread. Soon enough, that hand would be on her hips, her breasts. Between her legs. Before he’d returned, before he’d left her, he’d teased her mercilessly in the Fade, touching her until she screamed for him. But never once had he done anything but kiss her in the physical world.

No one had done anything more than kiss her in the physical world.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to bed someone. In the Clan, there had never been time, and then once she became Inquisitor, it had always been him, and he had always been very strict about where they drew the line for physical intimacy. After him, she’d had Cullen and Blackwall both being incredibly solicitous, but she could never bring herself to do more than kiss either of them. It just seemed wrong.

And now he was leading her down a shimmering hallway into a room draped with fluttering strips of cloth, a room where the light came from the walls themselves. There were no windows, only gorgeous, vaulted arches, and though it the night was chill, warmth seeped from the very stones beneath their feet.

Neither of them, she realized with a start, were wearing shoes.

He led her to the massive bed in the center of the room. Circular, it had no head or foot, but was laden with sumptuous blankets, pillows made from silk and velvet with gilded fringe.

For Thedas, she reminded herself as he stopped beside the bed.

He released her, lifting his hands to her face. Tilting her head back, he gazed at her with a soul-shaking tenderness, his eyes soft and gentle. He was so much taller than she was, towering over her.

The wicked part of her mind whispered, For you, Ellana.

Beside him, she was so small, so vulnerable. She once thought she was physically stronger than him, but she doubted that was true. He had magical and physical strength, the wisdom of ages, and she had nothing.

“You are terrified,” he observed, and she was.

With him staring down at her, she already felt naked. Her limbs trembled, feeling weak in a way she’d never felt weak before. Even standing before Corypheus, she hadn’t felt like this. Like she was giving away part of herself. It was for the greater good, everything she did was for the greater good. Part of her would die in this room, in his arms, so that everyone else could live. So the fighting would end.

Life was a series of sacrifices. Either you sacrificed yourself or someone else, but in the end, someone had to go to the knife. All she could hope for was a quick death.

Withdrawing his hands, he stepped away from her. She watched him, swallowing hard, trembling as her stomach twisted and turned. All the food he’d fed her burned the back of her throat, but she forced it back down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her throw up. Then she thought maybe she should. Maybe it would turn him off her.

But she didn’t want to turn him off her. She just wanted things to go back to how they were before all of this, back to the times when he slipped into her dreams. When he—

All the breath left her. He had dropped his midnight cloak and shrugged out of his golden tunic revealing a body that could only be described as perfect. Seeing him in the Fade was one thing. In the Fade, things could be manipulated. He could manipulate them. Reality was… She licked her lips.

How was she supposed to hate him when he was everything she wanted?

“Ask me questions, ma vhenan,” he said as he settled on a padded bench. He didn’t look at her, but she didn’t feel as though he were being dismissive. Rather, as he unwound the lacing around his ankles and calves, he was offering her privacy. Or keeping his. “Let us relearn one another.”

She bit back a waspish first question. Demanding to know why he razed half of Thedas wouldn’t do either of them any favors. Instead, she asked, “How much older than me are you, then?”

He paused, his fingers hovering over his calves. Then he straightened, turning to her with a look of dry amusement. “I make many mountain ranges look young.”

“Cradle robber,” she muttered.

The most miraculous thing happened. He threw back his head and he laughed, a full, rich sound that made colors ripple through the air. She tasted those colors on her tongue, bursts of bright citrus, and felt them like silk against her naked arms and chest. Heat unfurled in her belly, a warm rush of need and want that had her panting.

“Was there ever any doubt?” he asked her when his laughter subsided.

She was still too stunned to answer.

He rose from his chair, naked except for his trousers, and he passed her, moving toward one of the walls. A mural covered it. A living mural of a great forest that stretched for miles, so real she thought she might be able to step into it. He touched it, brushing his fingers over the wall, and the scent of pine filled the room.

“Another question, perhaps,” he said, and he turned back to her, padding slowly toward her. He moved… simply. Still elegant, but not predatory. It was a man’s walk, not a god’s. It set her at ease.

“Do I call you Solas or Fen’Harel?”

“Are you asking who I am or which I prefer?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Solas was a mask you wore to bear your shame,” she said softly.

“Just so,” he agreed.

The setting sun poured scarlet and violet light across the room, across him, painting him in fire and midnight. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if his skin burned or froze, but she was afraid to. Afraid of what she might feel if she did. She wanted him, desperately, but he was still the Dread Wolf. She was Thedas’s Keeper. By that logic, she really should just give in to him.

“Fen’Harel,” she breathed, testing the name.

He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin. This time, when their gazes met, his was full of hunger. Desire. Heat flared in her in response, and he inhaled sharply. “Let me show you that it will not be such a burden to be my wife,” he murmured, his fingers sliding over her jaw, along the length of her ear. She shivered, allowing him to draw closer. “My Empress.”

She licked her lips, a flick of her tongue over dry skin, and he groaned softly. It was a sound of need, of weakness, of helplessness, and it made more of that delicious, electric heat crackle through her. A god wanted her. She made a god weak.

“Allow me to taste you, vhenan’ara.”

He’d moved so close that his chest brushed the tips of her breasts, a tantalizing tease. “Yes,” she whispered, hating herself for giving in. A Keeper stood against the Dread Wolf, and here she was giving in to him in the most primal and elemental way.

His mouth brushed over hers. It was hardly a kiss at all, just a simple caress. A strangled sound escaped her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and drag him against her. She’d never had the patience for these sorts of kisses, these light, teasing, ephemeral things. When she kissed someone, she liked fire and heat, passion and torment. She wanted his arms banded around her like iron, wanted him to crush her to his body as he pressed her to the bed, parted her legs, and—

Wrenching back, gasping, she pressed a hand to her chest, staring at him. Such a light touching of lips should not inspire such a conflagration. But more than that, the ferocious depths of her desire terrified her more than he did. She wanted him beyond reason, with all the strength of her spirit, and it made her shudder with uncertainty and fear.

“Ma vhenan, my Empress,” he said, so gently, so kindly.

“I…” She choked on the words. “You…” She’d faced dragons and darkspawn and terrors untold, and the simple act of going to bed with a man frightened her more than all of them.

Because he wasn’t just a man. He was a god, the one she had been taught to respect and fear more than any other. And he was the man – the god – that she loved. With everything she was, she loved him, and that should make this easier. That should make giving herself to him simple. But there was all the hurt, all the pain, and the deep, yawning stretch of the unknown.

“What frightens you so?” he asked softly. He hadn’t put his hands on her yet. Though he stood achingly close to her, if she stepped back, his arms wouldn’t cage her. His eyes searched her face, bright with wisdom, and then he let out a quiet sound of comprehension. Of wonder. “Virgin.” He uttered the word with no small measure of awe.

Balking, she turned away from him, even though she was acutely aware of how close they were. How every breath brushed her breasts against his chest. How their breath mingled in the space between their bodies. “It doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t…” She choked on the words. She hadn’t been saving herself for him. Before he left, she had fully intended on him being her first, but after that she just hadn’t wanted anyone else. It hadn’t seemed right.

One of his hands cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. He turned her gaze back to his, and his eyes were full of banked heat. Of want. Of predatory desire. She began to tremble.

“No, no,” he murmured, settling one hand on her hip. In spite of all the lust in his gaze, his touch wasn’t heavy. It was possessive, but not caging. He would let her run if she so chose.

Of course, he would probably chase her. And like it. She knew better than to run from a predator, from a wolf, so she remained in his hold, still like a deer.

“I’m not who I have or haven’t slept with,” she finally said, her voice strangled. She fisted her hands in the gauzy fabric of her skirt, twisting it, wringing it.

His teeth flashed. A feral grin. Animalistic. Unnatural. So much more than elven. “You are mine,” he growled, and he bent his face to hers, brushing his lips against hers in another of those wispy, ephemeral kisses. His gazed fixed on her own eyes, and she released her skirts to brace her hands against his chest.

He felt like fire against her palms. Fire fierce and deadly, like the sun had taken up residence in his form.

“People don’t belong to people,” she whispered against his mouth, shocked that she was arguing with a god.

“My Empress,” he returned, his voice like gravel, rough-edged and jagged. He stepped closed, into her, and she felt the hard line of his cock against her body.

Suddenly, she was in a memory, in the Fade, with him wrapped around her, kissing her, whispering the sweetest things against the point of one ear. His heart, his love, the breath in his lungs, the light by which he saw. His hope, his joy, his relief, his succor. He rubbed against her in that memory, her legs around his waist, their clothes a flimsy barrier between them. And then she was back with him, truly with him, in his arms. His lips were hot on hers, tongue tracing the line of her mouth.

She opened for him, needing that kiss to quench the fire he stoked inside her. Her arms slid around his neck, drawing him to her, against her, and it was all too much and not enough. She thought she might sob with relief that she was holding him again. That he was holding her. That it was real.

The minute his tongue touched hers, he changed. He all but dragged her against him, wrapping one arm around the small of her back so she couldn’t escape. She felt the strength in his embrace, so much greater than any man’s had a right to be, and her body answered it with a flood of wet heat and burning need. He snarled softly into the kiss, the sound one of delight not violence, and he moved her, pushed her, crowded her until her legs hit his massive bed.

Together, wrapped around one another, they tumbled down. He twisted to take the brunt of the fall, landing on his back with her on his chest, and still he kissed her. He devoured her. His tongue swept into her mouth and consumed her with a passion that stole her breath. With him, she didn’t need to breathe. He was all the air she needed.

She was trembling when he finally drew away from the kiss, his hand still in her hair, and it wasn’t from fear or uncertainty. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, because he looked at her like there was no one else alive in Thedas. Like it was just the two of them. Like there was no such thing as time or conflict or anything else.

“I need to see you,” he said, and though it was a god’s command it sounded like the plea of a desperate man.

It gave her strength. Not the kind of strength it took to swing a sword or lift a shield, but the strength that women held over men, a sexual power of mystery and allure. The power of pleasure promised by the hollows of her body.

Straddling him, she pushed herself up, freezing when the motion brought her into contact with his cock. There were still his trousers and her smalls between them, but that pressure, that rub, arrested her entirely. She gasped, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Slowly, carefully, she rocked against his cock, like she had in so many dreams, and a little moan escaped her.

“Later, ma vhenan,” he said roughly, grasping her hips and stilling her.

“Now,” she insisted, trying to move in spite of his hands and not succeeding in the slightest. He was too strong, too firm, too everything.

“Later,” he said again, rising, trapping her against his chest. “Your gown. Remove it.”

She shot him what she hoped was a venomous look as she started shrugging out of the dress. The sleeves were just caps on her arms, there was no back so there were no buttons. It was a gown for an elven queen, something he’d commissioned and sent to her. Truthfully, it seemed made for slipping into, and out of, easily.

“No.” He stilled her with gentle hands, but his expression was intense. Intent. “You have me in your power, my Empress.” He leaned close, tipping his head to the side and kissing her softly, lingering for a moment. “Kill me with it,” he breathed against her mouth.

She was panting when he drew back, a little dazed by his words. Then, slowly, she rolled her shoulder and drew one of the straps down her arm.

A quiet groan escaped him, and his eyes followed the path of the sleeve. Watched her arm pull free. Fixed on the place her scandalous décolletage started to gape and sag. His lips parted as though he were about to speak, but he didn’t. He simply turned his gaze to her other arm and waited.

There again was that feeling of power. Of control.

Emboldened by his rapt attention, she pushed lightly on his chest. “Down,” she said. He gave her an arch look, and though it pained her, she added, “Please.”

“As my Empress asks,” he murmured, and he stretched himself across the bed, still watching her fixedly. Hungrily.

Astride him still, she felt the hardness of his cock rubbing between her legs, and she had to steel herself against the faint, burgeoning pleasure of it.

Slowly, she stroked her hand over her shoulder, dragging the sleeve with it, her fingertips trailing along her skin. She gasped softly, back arching, surprised by how her own touch sent pleasure feathering through her. When she released the fabric, her bodice sagged, falling away from her breasts. They were firm and high but terribly small, and she’d always been self conscious about them.

He stared at her breasts like they were the humans’ Golden City, like they were the most beautiful things he’d ever beheld. So she lifted her arms above her head, struggling against shyness, and arched her back.

A string of Elvish she couldn’t understand flowed from his mouth, and then his mouth was on her, on her breast, sucking her deep. She cried out, stunned by the shock of pleasure that tore through her, by the sudden fire that burst in her veins. Her body curled toward his, her head bowing over his own, and she shuddered as he suckled her, as his teeth worried one hardened nub. He bit her, just hard enough to hurt, then soothed the pain with a stroke of his tongue, and she was panting, gasping, barely capable of breathing.

“Fen’Harel.” She whispered his name, and he groaned against her breast, turning to the other. His hands swept up her side, lifting her breasts for his teeth and tongue and kisses. His hips shifted under hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him. Rubbing over him. The motions were instinctive, needy, and felt so damn good.

Reality exceeded everything he’d ever done to her in the Fade. Which, admittedly, hadn’t been much. Their clothes had never come off. He’d never seen her. Never touched her like this.

His arms came around her, and he bore her gently down to the bed. Then he rose over her, staring, taking her in. The shyness overcame her then, and she started to cross her arms over her breasts.

“No,” he said firmly, catching her wrists in his hands. “Don’t hide from me, ma vhenan, my Empress.” He paused, briefly, before adding, “If you do, I will bind you to my bed. Let me drink in your beauty. Let me feast on the sight of your body.”

Her body flushed with heat at the same time her mind suddenly screamed protests at her. This was Fen’Harel. This was the man who slaughtered his way to his throne. Who had betrayed her. Who loved her, the forgiving part of her whispered. “Who talks like that?” she said aloud, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

He arched a brow. “I do. Hmm.” He ran his palm over one of her breasts, and she arched into the touch mindlessly, already addicted to the reality of him. “Hands above your head, Empress.”

She hesitated for just a moment before obeying, lifting her arms and dropping them above her head as commanded. His eyes swept over her, over her breasts and the toned musculature of her stomach. His fingers followed his eyes, dipping into the valley between her breasts and then following those lines of muscle. “You were always magnificent,” he murmured. “You still are.”

His fingers dug into the fabric of her gown and he pulled it down her legs in a single motion, pulling her smalls with the dress, and he tossed both aside. Leaving her naked. She cried out in surprise, feeling suddenly, terribly vulnerable. But instead of leaning back to stare at her, he stretched over her, curling her against him, and he kissed her.

He kissed her for what felt like hours. The tension in her melted away, replaced by sweet fire. Her body pressed against his, molded itself to his form, and he laughed into her mouth. She whimpered in response. One of his hands curled over her naked hip, pulling her leg over his, spreading her, opening her, and it didn’t frighten her. Instead, she arched against him as he ran his tongue over her lips, into her mouth. She moved sinuously against his body, his cock trapped hard and hot between them, and she moaned softly, eagerly.

“Please,” she whispered into their kiss, the fire inside her becoming too much. Too strong.

“Ah, my sweet Empress, what need have we to rush?” he asked, but he urged her onto her back, settling between her legs. Open-mouthed kissed scalded her neck, her chest. He laved her nipples with a rough tongue, and she shivered against him, whimpering. His hands swept over her sides, curling around her hips, and he rubbed himself against her, the friction of his clothing almost unbearable against her sensitive cunt.

His tongue traced the lines of her muscles. His teeth bit the arch of her hipbone. Then he drew back. He looked at her, splayed and open before him, and there was nothing but desire in his eyes. Hot, hungry desire, and she was too fascinated by it to be ashamed of her nakedness, of her openness.

One of his knuckles brushed over the outside of her sex, stroking her, and the electric pleasure of it bowed her back. She cried out, feeling as though she’d come out of her skin, and anxiety, sharp and terrible, replaced pleasure. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Release me, ma vhenan,” he said so softly she nearly missed the words.

Her eyes flew to his, and she realized she was pushing him. She didn’t want to push him. Well, that was a lie. She wanted to shove back against him. Maybe grasp his cock and stroke it to repay him for that caress between her legs. She wanted more power. More control. With his every touch, he stripped control from her even as he gave her power. Power over him.

“I…” How could she tell him the intensity of this was overwhelming her? Subsuming her? She felt like she was drowning, and it was wonderful and terrible at the same time. “I can’t.”

“This is no different from the Fade,” he said, prying her hand off his wrist. He kissed the tip of each of her fingers and then set her hand aside.

“I wasn’t naked there,” she whispered breathlessly, staring at his face like he was a solid anchor.

He slipped off the bed, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or bereft. But then his hands were at the sash holding up his trousers, pulling the knot free. He tossed the red slash of fabric aside, and she stared as he began stepping out of his trousers. Then she turned away, but not before she saw his cock, hard between his legs.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus on breathing. But breathing was next to impossible. She wanted him but was afraid of him, she loved him but she detested what he’d done. No, no! She was giving herself to him to save Thedas, not because she cared. Not because she wanted. Not because she desired.

She certainly didn’t want to see him naked.

What a lie that was.

She felt him settle beside her, felt his naked skin on hers. “Now we’re both naked,” he murmured. “Does that help?”

“No.”

His mouth found her ear, and she shivered as he traced the shell of it with his tongue. He took the point of it into his mouth, sucking lightly, and she whimpered. At the same time, his hand settled on her belly, and her eyes flew open as it crept lower. But curiosity kept her silent.

“I dreamed of touching you,” he murmured as he released her ear, as he kissed the tip. “Of dipping my fingers between your legs and finding you wet with your need for me.” She trembled as his fingers curled over her mound, slipping between the swollen lips of her sex. “I have often wondered what I would do to find you—” He broke off with a growl. “Wet,” he hissed, and she moaned as his fingers stroked her, teased her.

“Wonder no more,” she said breathlessly as he began a ruthless perusal of her body.

“Indeed.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Look at me, my Empress. Let me see your face.”

Shaking, she obeyed him as his fingers stroked her, caressed her, traversed every inch of her. He was meticulous but not dispassionate. Every time he coaxed a quiet moan or whimper from her, a restless, needy sound broke from him. His brows drew together, his lips parting. She bit hers, not to hold sound in or for any logical reason. Just because. It made him growl.

Then he slipped one finger inside her. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders hard enough to bruise, her nails digging crescents into his skin, and he snarled, dragging her against his chest. His finger curled inside her, moving hard and fast against tender, sensitive flesh, and she cried out again, her head falling back as her eyes drifted shut. All she could feel was the pleasure, the burning intensity of it, of him.

He whispered to her in Elvish as he stroked her, caressed her, as he burned her with that single finger inside her. She didn’t know the words, but she didn’t need to. She understood his intent. Either he was complimenting her or speaking filth, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was how he was touching her. It was so much more than having her own fingers inside her, so different. So surprising. He did things she’d never tried, stirring her, pressing against her, curling that finger against one spot that made her scream.

“Fen’Harel!”

He snarled against her neck, slipping another finger into her. His fingers stretched her, and there was a shocking, obscene pleasure to that. She let out a keening wail that transformed into his name and then into senseless pleas for more.

She thought he’d bring her to a swift completion.

Wrong. She was so wrong.

He tormented her, thrusting into her and building the pressure but never letting it overwhelm her. She was drowning in it, swept up in it, suffocating in it, but it was wonderful. He was wonderful, and she’d never known. She hadn’t guessed she would find this in the Dread Wolf’s arms, this pleasure, this mindless, aching need.

As he worked her body over, as she arched and twisted and begged senselessly for him to give her completion, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Beautiful,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Indescribably beautiful. You are perfection, vhenan’ara, my Empress, my wife, and you are mine.” He snarled the word. “No one else shall ever have you. No one else will touch you, taste you, fill you. You belong to me.”

“Yes, yes,” she chanted, beyond any sense of arguing with him.

“My name, Ellana.” He all but purred her name, dragging it out with sinfully rounded vowels. Her body rippled around him, and he laughed, the sound delighted. “My name, and I will give you everything.”

Arching into his hand, trying desperately to get him to touch some nameless place inside her, she whispered, “Fen’Harel.”

His thumb brushed over her clit, his fingers curled, and she came with a shattered, broken cry. Pleasure coursed through her, burned her, scalded her. It devoured her body and left her empty and formless, a piece of clay for him to remake.

Before her orgasm died, he was between her legs, spreading them wide with his hands and dipping his head. She tried to stop him, to tell him not to, but then his tongue touched her, and she was lost. Oh, she was lost to everything except him, except his touch, except the sheer agony of him.

He consumed. He devoured. His tongue ran over every part of her sex until she was shuddering and trembling beneath him, until she was barely sensible. Every thought of resisting him was gone, replaced by the singular need to have him. To be had by him.

She reached out blindly, her back bowed as she gasped his name, and he laced his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing the scar of the Anchor on her palm. She cried out, gasping, for that simple touch made her burn brighter, hotter. He laughed against her, and the sound resonated inside her, shattering her, breaking her into a thousand little pieces as she came undone for him again and again, until she lost all sense of anything but the endless pleasure.

It was dark when he slid up her body, still holding her hand. It was midnight when he finally eased into her. “Ar lath ma, vhenan’ara,” he whispered against her mouth, and she drank in the words, unable to repeat them for her murmurs of more. More of him, more of his pleasure, more of everything he could possibly give her.

There was no pain when he was finally inside her, no discomfort. Only glorious, impossible fullness. She rolled her hips against him to test the feeling, gasping with delight at the pleasure that sparked through her. Her revelation of ecstasy made him laugh again, and his laughter delighted her. She’d never seen him so pleased, so happy. But his eyes shone as he braced himself above her and thrust slowly into her, taking his time taking her.

He brought her hand to his cheek, nuzzling against her palm, and then he kissed the green slash of light. It flickered, crackled. Then he licked the mark, and she whimpered, staring at him.

Releasing her, he bent his head to her lips, teasing her with promises of kisses but making good on none of them. She chased him as he thrust into her, his pace even and steady, until the friction of his cock in her became too much to ignore. Then she wrapped herself around him and pleaded for more, for something, for some end to their dance.

“Do you want it to end?” he asked her, his lips brushing her ear again. “I could make love to you until the sun rose over the mountains and bathed us in its light. I could make love to you until days turned to weeks, my Empress.”

She gasped, straining beneath him. Sweat slicked their bodies, and they slid together so sweetly, so perfectly, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want…”

“What do you want?”

She wanted to come with his cock inside her, but he was denying her that, keeping her on the edge. She wanted him as mindless as she was.

So she did the only thing that seemed logical. She bit him, digging her teeth into the unyielding flesh of his shoulder, and he howled. Her name echoed through his room, and then he was moving against her, driving into her, his hands on her hips to hold her.

Elvish words spilled from his lips, and she understood some of them, more of them than she expected. He spoke of filling her, of completing her, of branding her with his essence. He snarled softly and dragged her mouth to his, murmuring more words into their kisses as one hand slid between them to find her clit.

He touched her, and with that touch, he ended her. Her world dissolved, and she drowned in the shattered pieces of it, crying out his name as her body clenched around him, rippled around him, grasped at him with greedy pulls to drag him deeper. And again he laughed, the god and the man jubilant and victorious.

“You are magnificent when you come,” he told her, still moving inside her, but now his thrusts were harried instead of measured. “Your sweet cunt squeezing me, your back arching, your gasps and moans.” A groan escaped him, then another. Then his hand closed hard on her hip and he jerked into her, his head falling back and his lips parting. He breathed her name as he came, as he spilled hot jets of his seed into her pliant, open body.

Her fingers curled over his shoulders, brushed over the base of his neck. “Yes, yes,” she whispered, awed by his face, by his pleasure, by the look of utter freedom and contentment he wore.

When he was finished, he dropped his forehead to hers, and for a time they stayed like that, still wrapped around each other. Their gazes locked, they simply breathed.

Then, softly, as if the words might break her if spoken to loud, he murmured, “I have waited ages for you, vhenan’ara. You are the heart that beats outside of my chest.”

She smiled at him tentatively, and because the world and its troubles seemed so far away, she said, simply, “You are everything.”

[luxmoogle]

₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊✧ Open your eyes..✧˖°. ₊˚.⋆

[phoenix-downer]

Thanks for Waiting Chapter 1/2

For Rikunami Day 2019. Chapter 1 will be posted today, and chapter 2 will be posted next Monday. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Length: ~3300 words

Summary: Riku and Naminé are an unlikely duo working towards a common goal: helping Sora. But as they spend more and more time together, they start to question if they’re doing the right thing. It’s easier to focus on that than on what might be happening between them. After all, a Nobody doesn’t have feelings of her own, and a human wouldn’t fall for a Nobody… right?

Characters: Naminé, Riku

Relationships: Riku/Naminé

Additional Info: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Mutual Pining, (Mostly) Canon Compliant, Missing Scene(s)

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Naminé rubbed her eyes, then picked up the pencil and continued her work. This memory was an old one; Sora wore a white shirt with red pants, and there was a light shining in his hands. It was one of those memories he probably didn’t even remember, but it was a part of his heart all the same and needed to get put back together. 

“Naminé? You’re still awake?”

Naminé looked up from her sketchbook. A figure wearing a black coat and a blindfold had entered her little sanctuary, a blank white room with drawings of Sora’s memories attached to the walls. 

“Oh, hello Riku,” she said as she turned her attention back to her drawing. “I take it our hideout is still safe?”

Riku took a seat at the opposite end of the table from her. “For now,” he said with a sigh. His silver hair was getting long, including his bangs. Between that and the blindfold, Naminé wasn’t sure how he could even see anything.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked. 

“I guess. I just… don’t feel like I’m doing anything.”

“Well, there’s not much you can do right now other than stand guard over Sora. And it’s an important job. His life is in our hands.” 

He rested his head in his hands. “That’s just it. After what I did, I don’t know how I’m gonna face him when he wakes up.”

“Well,” Naminé said as she put her pencil down, “if it makes you feel any better, there are plenty of good memories of the two of you together. And Sora forgave me for trying to replace Kairi. He wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t hold it against me. If he can forgive me, he can forgive you too.”

Riku was silent, and Naminé stole a glance at his face. With his eyes covered, it was harder to get a read on what he was feeling, but not impossible. 

“Riku,” she said softly, and he lifted his head. “I think you’re being harder on yourself than anyone else is.”

“I could say the same about you. How long have you been working on Sora’s memories without a break?”

She pursed her lips. “That’s different. I have to make it up to him. I have to fix my mistakes. With each day that goes by, he’s apart from his friends for that much longer.”

He sat back in his chair. “And how is what you’re doing any different from what I’m doing?”

“It’s not,” Naminé finally admitted.

His lips twitched, ever so slightly, and for a moment Naminé caught a glimpse of the Riku Sora and Kairi must know.

“Listen to us,” he said. “Two people bumbling around, trying to atone for what we’ve done but probably doing more damage in the process. What a pair we make.”

Naminé stilled at that. “I’m not a person the way you are, Riku. I’m not… human. I’m just a Nobody. Kairi’s shadow.”

He said nothing for a long time, and she picked up her pencil again and continued. When he stood, she glanced up at him one last time. 

“Goodnight, Riku.”

“Goodnight, Naminé.”

With that, he stole out of the room as quickly as he’d entered it. The only sound left was the scratching of pencil against paper.

The more Naminé spread her drawings of Sora’s memories across the walls and tables of this lonely room, the emptier Naminé felt inside. Like she was pouring everything into those drawings until there was nothing left. She set her pencil down, the drawing of Sora as a child finally finished, and rested her head in her hands.

His memories mocked her. They were always waiting for her as soon as she closed her eyes. Reminding her of the life she could never have. It didn’t matter that Sora had promised to be her friend. Once he woke up, he wouldn’t even know who she was. She was alone again. 

Riku was trying, he really was. But a human like him couldn’t understand what it felt like to know you were never meant to exist. That you were a mistake, an accident. Naminé could hardly blame him for thinking that way. She and Roxas and Xion were all just fakes, and he and Sora and Kairi were the real ones. The humans. The ones with actual hearts. And even though Roxas and Xion were never meant to exist, either, they still had Axel. Who did she have?

No one. Sora had chosen Kairi over her. Riku wanted his friend back, and so did Kairi, even though she couldn’t remember his name. 

There was one person who had wanted to be with her. The Riku Replica. But he was gone now, and his feelings had been fake. Given to him so Marluxia could manipulate Sora. Given to him so she could toy with him and break him. No one had ever cared for her out of their own free will. 

What she wouldn’t give just to have that, for once. But she could never ask for it, for if she did, she would simply ensure the same thing would happen again. Love without a choice was not love at all. 

When she left the white room for the night, a shudder went down her spine. How could a Nobody like her be haunted by ghosts of memories that weren’t even her own? 

But it didn’t matter. Her time was limited. In the end, she would have to return to her Other, just like every other Nobody did in the end.

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Riku sighed as he sank into his creaky bed that night. The Old Mansion was hardly a nice place to live, but somehow it was still less creepy than living in Maleficent’s lonely old castle with its big empty room back on Hollow Bastion.

Being away from Sora and Kairi was hard. But it wasn’t their fault Riku was currently in this mess, struggling with his darkness as he tried to fix his mistakes. And Sora wouldn’t wake up unless he went to questionable lengths to get his friend back. 

His thoughts wandered to his task at hand. Sure, DiZ kept saying Roxas and Xion and Naminé weren’t real people. But if that was true… why did Xion have a face now? A face that looked like Kairi’s? And why did Roxas seem so much like Sora? Why was Riku reminded so much of his friend when he saw him?

And Naminé. Naminé, with her gentle smile and earnest manner. Naminé, who was just as determined to atone for her mistakes as Riku was for his. How were the two of them any different, really? Why was it that he was human and she was a Nobody? Did it even really matter?

Yes, it did, because if he accepted Naminé had a heart, then he’d have to accept Roxas and Xion did, too, and he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that and still bring Sora back.

DiZ was right. Nobodies and Replicas weren’t real people. They were just fakes with fake hearts, and no amount of wishing would ever change that. 

But as Riku fell asleep, Naminé’s face was in his thoughts, and a part of him wished he was wrong.

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When Naminé woke up the next morning, faint smells were coming from the direction of the mansion’s kitchen. 

Curious. Usually she was the one who did the cooking. Riku was in and out too much to be a reliable cook, and DiZ had probably never made anything more complicated than a sandwich in his entire life. 

She had no clothes but her white dress, so she slipped it on now and folded the oversized Twilight Town t-shirt that was her nightgown in a neat pile on her creaky old bed. She’d managed to snatch it when no one was looking, because Diz didn’t think a Nobody like her need worry about things like clothes or even food.

But her body, faint and ethereal as it was, still needed sustenance of some kind. She had made do by scrounging around in the woods near the mansion or snatching scraps from food stalls in town until Riku put a stop to that and started bringing back actual groceries for her to cook with.

Taking the stairs as quietly as possible, she made her way down to the kitchen. The smells drifting to her nose triggered Kairi’s memories of other mornings spent with Riku and Sora, mixing batter and adding in chocolate chips.  

Sure enough, Riku was hunched over the stove with a metal spatula in his hand. The stove had been a little too short for him before, but after his recent growth spurt, it was comically so. 

“Good morning,” she said as she peered over his shoulder. A plate of pancakes was next to the stove, and he scooped the latest one off the skillet and dumped it on top of the pile.

“Morning,” he replied. “Pancakes are about the only thing I know how to make, so I figured I’d take over cooking duty for once. Grab yourself a few and take a seat. Syrup’s already on the table.”

“Thank you.” She found a chipped but clean plate to use, along with a mismatching fork and knife, and took a seat on one of the creaky old chairs. Miracle of miracles, the table didn’t wobble as she set her plate down, and she gave Riku a curious look.

“I tried to stabilize it this morning,” he explained as he brought the remaining pancakes over along with another clean plate and took a seat. She watched as he poured syrup over his stack of pancakes, leaving a few for DiZ. 

So that was what you did with the syrup. She copied him and then tried a bite. The pancakes were warm and fluffy, and the syrup was just the right level of sweetness.

“These are really good, Riku. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, you can thank Kairi. She’s the one who taught me how to make them.”

But of course. Riku wouldn’t make them for her sake; he was making them because he missed Kairi. 

“I hope I get to meet her soon,” she said. Well, more like she knew she would, she just wanted to talk to Kairi before she merged with her.

“She’d like you,” Riku said. Not a question, a matter-of-fact statement.

“She would? Even after I made Sora forget her?”

“She’s not the kind of person who holds things against other people.”

“Why don’t you go see her then?”

Riku sighed. “I can’t. Not without Sora.”

Naminé didn’t know what to say to him. What she wouldn’t give to have real actual friends of her own. He had friends who cared deeply about him, and yet he wouldn’t even talk to them.

“Well,” she said at last, “I hope the three of you can be together again soon.” 

He coughed and quickly changed the subject. “What will you do, when all of this is over?”

“I suppose the same fate that befalls all Nobodies will befall me eventually. I’ll return to Kairi like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent for a while, then finally replied, “Doesn’t that make you sad?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have a heart, remember? So I can’t really be sad about it.”

But Riku’s head drooped, and she had the curious thought that perhaps he was sad for her.

No, that was impossible. Humans didn’t feel any empathy for Nobodies. How could they, when Nobodies were just empty husks masquerading as people?

She couldn’t let Riku get attached. That would just lead to heartache for him and make it harder to do what had to be done. 

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

Naminé sat in the white room, staring blankly out the window at the courtyard below and the woods beyond that. Xion had made her promise to look after Roxas, and… 

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

She glanced at Riku, who must’ve entered the room without her noticing. His eyes were still covered, but she didn’t need to see them to sense something was on his mind, too.

“I don’t know why,” she said, “but something about this feels wrong. I know I’m not supposed to be able to feel, and yet… I can’t help but wonder… are we really doing the right thing, Riku?”

He didn’t answer her for a few moments as her question hung in the air. Was he having a crisis of conscience over what they were doing? Was it possible he felt guilty? Ashamed?

But this was all to help Sora. That was what mattered, right?

“Right or wrong, Xion made up her mind in the end,” he said at last, his voice heavy. “There was no stopping her.”

“You’re sad for her?” 

Riku didn’t reply; he just sat down and stared at the drawings on the wall. As the memories of Xion faded one by one despite her attempts to cling to them, Naminé couldn’t help but wonder. Would anyone remember her after she’d returned to Kairi? Or would she just fade away? Would everyone forget her like Sora had forgotten her, or would someone, anyone, remember her? Would she become a part of Kairi, or would she… 

She shook her head. Roxas. She was supposed to look after Roxas, for some reason. 

Riku stood and walked to the door. 

“Where are you going?” she asked. 

“Xion… I’m supposed to… face Roxas.”

With that, he was gone, and so were the last memories of… 

That was the thing about memories fading. Once they were gone, they were gone for good. Hoping that someone would remember her after she returned to Kairi was pointless. She was doomed to be forgotten in the end, just like every other Nobody. 

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

Diz’s secret basement laboratory, with its blue glowing lights and creepy monitors, was usually somewhere Naminé merely passed through when she wanted to visit Sora. But someone had entered the Old Mansion and was in the lab now, and she wanted to know what was going on. Otherwise she’d never find out, as Diz wasn’t going to tell her otherwise. 

She took the steps one by one, clutching her sketchbook to her chest as she peered down. What she saw at the bottom of the stairs made her breath catch. 

A tall figure was there, dragging an unconscious Roxas along with one arm as it favored the other. Her promise to help Roxas rang clear through her head, and she cast her sketchbook aside and addressed the figure.

“Who are you?”

“Naminé, it’s me.”

She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Riku?”

Sure enough, the memories were his. His heart was his. But his appearance was not. He… he looked like Ansem now. Like his own worst enemy. He still wore a black coat, but he was taller and bulkier than he should be. His hair wasn’t messy anymore, either; it was perfectly smooth, and he was no longer blindfolded. Instead of the beautiful green eyes she had come to expect, golden ones stared back at her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, averting his gaze. “But I had to do this to defeat Roxas.”

Naminé’s lower lip trembled as she looked from Riku to Roxas back to Riku. How was this right? How was any of this right? Why had Riku transformed? And why did Roxas have to be sacrificed? Why did bringing Sora back have such a high cost? She didn’t know helping him would… would—

Her eyes rested on the unconscious Roxas once more. Maybe she and Roxas weren’t human, but surely they didn’t deserve to just—

“I see you’ve brought Roxas back,” Diz said, and Naminé stiffened at the sound of his voice. “Place him over there. The digital Twilight Town is ready.”

Riku moved to do as Diz asked, and Diz turned his attention to her.

“Naminé, now that we have Roxas, you must make haste. The Organization will begin searching for us.”

“Of course.” 

She still owed it to Sora to put the rest of his memories back together. She’d promised.

But… she could at least comfort Roxas in his final few days of life. It was the least she could do for him, for the only person left who might understand. 

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

“Dispose of Naminé.”

DiZ’s command to Riku rang through his head as he listened to Axel and Naminé speak to each other. And then Axel brought up the elephant in the room, the reason why Riku had come to  Sunset Hill overlooking the real Twilight Town in the first place. 

“DiZ? Wants to get rid of me?” Naminé asked. Her voice wasn’t angry or accusatory, just sad and a little surprised. She stared at the sketchpad in her hands. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. He doesn’t want a Nobody with powers as dangerous as mine around.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were heavy. “I don’t blame you, Riku.”

As he stared at her, he thought of all the days they’d spent together over the past few months. Thought of how she’d treated him kindly, even after he’d taken on Ansem’s form. Thought of how she’d smiled when he’d made pancakes for her. Thought of how she always knew just what to say as well as when to be silent. Thought of how upset she’d been over Roxas’s fate. How she’d defied even DiZ’s orders after she’d cooperated with him for so long. And why? 

That was when it hit Riku. She was lonely. She was trying to bond with the only person she thought might understand her. If she really didn’t have a heart, then why was she trying so hard to connect with someone else?

DiZ was wrong. Riku had made a terrible mistake. Naminé had a heart. Roxas did too. Maybe even Axel as well. And even though it was too late to help Roxas now, he could still do something for Naminé. He could still show mercy on Axel.

“Go,” he told them, and Naminé’s eyes went wide and her lips parted. “I owe you both,” he explained after Axel questioned him. What he didn’t say was that a part of him couldn’t bear to see Naminé dead. Couldn’t bear the thought of her not existing anymore. 

“Thank you,” was all she said after a few moments, but it was all she had to say. He watched as she disappeared inside the portal Axel had opened. Now he was the one defying orders, but he didn’t care. She was gone, but at least this way, she might be safe. 

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

As Naminé merged with Kairi, she realized at long last the truth that had been staring her in the face: she did have a heart of her own, a will of her own, a mind of her own. 

While she was glad that she continued to exist at all, a part of her still wished that she could feel the breeze on her skin again, the sunshine beaming down on her face. Wished she could talk to Roxas and Kairi and Sora face to face again. Wished she could see Riku again—

She caught herself. Where had that thought come from? Strange, unbidden, and yet… here to stay. The more she tried not to think about Riku, the more she thought about him. Thought about his wry humor and dry wit and teasing smiles. Why had he spared her? Was it really because of guilt, or could it be something more?

No, it had to be guilt. There was no other explanation. He felt bad about what he’d done to Roxas, and this had been his way of making up for it. 

There was no way he felt anything for her. None at all. And that was how it should be. She might be her own person, but she had no hope of being distinct from Kairi ever again.

Did she?

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A/N: I’ve been wanting to write something that delved into Riku and Naminé’s bond in more detail, as well as what might have happened behind the scenes during those moments the games can’t include because of time and budget restraints. This chapter covered the material leading up to KH3, and next week’s chapter will cover KH3 itself. Hope you enjoyed!

[lethe626]

Xemnas’s Story: Nobody Knows

[I mean, it’s kind of Xemnas’s story... Xemnas was there for... all of it...]

It always seemed like Xemnas was trying to lure us into doing something. When he first showed up, it was like watching a play. I wonder if it was because he didn’t have a heart…

It was back when Radiant Garden was still called Hollow Bastion. We were fighting the Nobodies that had been swarming the town.

Six people in black coats showed up in front of us—the members of Organization XIII. They all had their hoods up so we couldn’t see their faces.

The first time we did see Xemnas’s face was also in Hollow Bastion.  He appeared there while we were fighting a horde of Nobodies.

He turned to look down at us and slowly took off his hood, revealing his silver hair.

“It’s the guy who’s NOT Ansem!”

“You mean it’s his Nobody!”

“The leader of Organization XIII…”

Donald, Goofy & I called out one after the other. And then the King shouted,

“Wait a minute. Now I know! Now I remember! Xehanort! Ansem’s apprentice! The Leader of Organization XIII is Xehanort’s Nobody!”

It seemed like the King had just realized the true identity of the man calling himself Ansem.

We shouted his name.

“Xehanort!”

“How long has it been since I abandoned that name…” he said like he was talking to himself.

“Out with it, Nobody! Where’s Kairi?! Where’s Riku?!” I shouted, brandishing my Keyblade.

“I know nothing of any Kairi. As for Riku… Perhaps you should ask your King.

Leaving just those words behind, he vanished. And then, when we were overwhelmed by all the things we couldn’t comprehend, Axel appeared.

“Way to fall right into their trap.”

Once we saw Axel’s black coat, by reflex, we got ready to fight.

“C’mon, it’s a setup by Organization XIII. Xemnas is using you to destroy the Heartless—that’s his big master plan.”

“Xemnas?”

“The guy you just saw. He’s their leader. Got it memorized? X-E-M, N-A-S.”

That was the first time we heard his name.

~~~

Then, finally, we stood off against him in the World That Never Was. It was right around the time we stopped Kingdom Hearts from being completed.

“Ohh… my Kingdom Hearts… ruined. Now I’ll have to start all over again.”

As usual, Xemnas was apparently talking to himself.

“Warriors of the Keyblade! Go forth, and bring me more hearts!”

“No!” Riku, the King and I shouted together and levelled our Keyblades at Xemnas.

Xemnas wasn’t bothered at all and just shrugged his shoulders. “You accept darkness, yet choose to live in the light. So why is it that you loathe us who teeter on the edge of nothing? We who were turned away by both light and dark—never given a choice?”

“That’s simple. It’s because you mess up our worlds.” Riku answered him clearly.

“That may be… However, what other choice might we have had?”

Xemnas looked sad, but he didn’t have a heart. So---

“Just give it a rest! You’re not sad about anything! You’re just using the power of darkness to do horrible things!”* I yelled.

Xemnas laughed.

“Very good. You don’t miss a thing. I can not feel—sorrow…  No matter what misery befalls the worlds. No matter what you think, how you feel  or how you exist.”

Xemnas raised both his arms to the sky and an incredible number of lights—the scattered hearts—lifted into the sky.

It was so bright I had to close my eyes.

And then our final fight with Xemnas began.

~~~~~

*The last sentence he says here doesn’t seem to line up with the Japanese game, so it doesn’t line up with the English game, either? I dunno.

[silver-lily-louise]

Shoot The Moon (And Miss) – a Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ The Shadow World is disappearing, piece by piece. Six people, refusing to let danger pull them apart, make a last-ditch attempt to save it. (Set after the last episode’s time skip, and after Clary rejoins the Shadow World.)  Word count: ~2.7k Warnings: Major character deaths, plural. This is not a happy story. It’s an ‘everybody dies’ angsty fic about finding comfort in love at the end of everything. 

~oOo~

An angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. (Luke 2:9)

***

They’re together, of course, the six of them half-collapsed on the damp, slimy ground. It could never be any other way. The island they’re on is really more of a tiny, rocky hill, surrounded by choppy waters and far, far away from civilisation. In the distance, an unnatural glow is beginning to light up the storm clouds.

Alec supposes he should be afraid, but he’s just numb. We failed. He feels hollow, and the thought echoes around his head like the words are bouncing off the walls of a cavern. It’s over.

***

Raziel created the Shadowhunters to protect the Mundanes, or so the story goes, and in doing so had forever linked the world with its Shadow. The Nephilim were proof of the bond forged between the mortal and the divine, as Downworlders were proof of the irrevocable, ancient bond between the Mundane and the infernal. So when Clave authorities first started getting reports of the disappearances – entire parts of the Shadow World gone, lifted and erased from remote corners of the planet like a fading dream – they’d been baffled by why the Mundane world in those places seemed totally unaffected. Clary’s connection to the angels provided the answer, when she woke from a nightmare screaming. ‘It’s them,’ she sobbed, shaking as Jace held her in his arms. ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ 

It seemed impossible, but when the two of them stood in Alec’s office in Alicante, Clary recounting what she saw, there was no doubt among any of them that it was true. The angels had apparently decided that the Shadow World had become too unruly, growing larger and less controlled than they ever intended, and they were going to cleanse the world of it like fire cleanses a forest. They would sunder any connection between the mortal and the divine, between the Mundane and the infernal – and thus eliminate any who straddled those lines.

Panic washed like a flood throughout the Shadow World, and only through the joint leadership of the Clave and the Downworld was it channelled into action instead of chaos. Defences were put in place, countless ideas of how to avoid or redirect or destroy the onslaught of divine destruction. But as Institute after Institute fell, talks turned from victory to survival, from battle strategy to hiding places; and after countless devastating losses, one solution finally presented itself. The Seelie realm is not a mere border between the infernal and the divine, for those worlds could never meet so simply. Instead, they infuse each other, heightening the call of both magics in the very air, pulling and shifting the veil between all worlds until something entirely separate is born. If anywhere could be safe from the cold Armageddon of the angels, it would be there.

No-one with any experience would call the fair folk kind – but above all else, they value life, and so the Queen agreed to the Shadow World’s plea for help. Alicante was fast becoming their last bastion, the final keep in this siege, and portals from there to the Seelie realm operated almost non-stop to complete the evacuation of as many Nephilim and Downworlders as possible.

But even as the entire Shadow World braced for the worst, in the libraries of Alicante, the search for a miracle continued. It came as no surprise to Alec that Magnus was the one to find it.

‘Here,’ he said, thumping the open book down on Alec’s desk. ‘These records are ancient – even older than I am – and they talk of a diamond altar in the middle of the ocean. Mundanes call it the Bermuda Triangle, and nowadays they blame the odd occurrences there on natural gases, but their previous theories were actually more accurate. It’s where we’ll find the thinnest part of the veil between Earth and the angels, and therefore the only place we have any chance of successfully using this.’ He opened another book – this time, a hand-stitched grimoire – to an intricately illuminated page. ‘I can perform this ritual there, sending a shockwave through the veil. If we’re lucky, it’ll distance us from the angels before they can finish their… clean-up of the Shadow World. It won’t tear us completely away from them, like they’re planning, but it might stop them being able to get through with all their fire and brimstone.’

Alec looked over the books quickly, turning Magnus’ words over in his head. ‘And if we’re unlucky?’ Magnus grimaced. ‘Well, put it this way – it’s not like things can get much worse, right?’ Alec wasn’t so sure about that, but he put it aside. This could be their only option. ‘Alright. At this point, pretty much anything’s worth a shot. What do you need for the ritual?’ ‘I have the herbs and almost all of the magical components – it’s old, old magic, so there’s surprisingly few of each needed. But the preparation of the altar requires a gift from two of the world’s veils – angelic and demonic blood, each mixed with mundane but separate from the other.’ ‘So, warlock and Shadowhunter blood?’ Alec stood, rounding the desk to join his husband. ‘Guess that means I’m joining you.’ ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Magnus said, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll take a vial of your blood with me, complete the ritual by myself. You can stay here and oversee the evacuation.’ Magnus’ tone was breezy, confident, and Alec reckoned that anyone else would have been fooled. But he wasn’t just anyone. ‘Helen and Aline are handling that,’ he said slowly, not bothering to hide his suspicion. ‘Which you already know. Which means that there’s a reason you don’t want me there, and I’m probably not gonna like it.’

Magnus’ face quirked as he obviously considered maintaining the charade, but apparently he thought better of it, because he dropped the false casual tone and sighed. ‘The altar is a strong source of angelic power,’ he explained, ‘and that can attract a slightly-higher-than-average demonic presence. But I can handle it,’ he said hurriedly, probably in an effort to forestall any objection. ‘You don’t have to be there. I’ll be fine.’

Alec just stared at him for a moment, exasperated. How he loved this man. This beautiful, brave, unfathomably powerful idiot. ‘I’m coming with you, Magnus.’ ‘Alexander-‘ ‘No.’ He took both of Magnus’ hands in his own, stooping down when Magnus tried to avoid his gaze. ‘You’ll have enough to do completing the ritual without fighting off a swarm of demons. You’re my husband, and I love you, and I’m coming with you to watch your back.’

Magnus pulled his hands away, and for a moment Alec thought he was going to argue. But instead, he smiled softly, reaching up to clasp his hands around Alec’s neck. ‘Alright,’ he murmured. ‘Do we bring anyone else?’ Alec hesitated. ‘No,’ he said, trying to sound decisive instead of as unsure as he felt. ‘We’ve lost enough people, and even with your magic expertise, we’re shooting the moon here. It should just be the two of us.’ Magnus opened his mouth to reply, the look on his face suggesting that he rather liked the sound of just the two of us, but he didn’t get a chance to speak before another voice came through the door. ‘Oh, like hell.’

The door opened and Jace strode in, Clary and Izzy at his heels, Simon lurking in the doorway. ‘No way are you two going in alone,’ Jace continued. ‘I’m coming with you.’ ‘So am I,’ Izzy chimed in. Alec frowned, annoyed that he’d forgotten to ask Magnus for a silencing charm before starting this conversation. He drew himself up tall - he’d learned early on to use his height to his advantage when in command – and folded his arms. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘You two are to head to the Seelie realm with the other refugees.’ ‘Correction,’ Clary said, meeting Alec’s stare in clear rebellion. ‘Us three are coming with you.’ ‘Four,’ Simon added. ‘I mean, I’m coming too.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Alec said, irritation beginning to show – and the conversation quickly devolved after that, all of them talking over each other. Jace was adamant that he wouldn’t leave his parabatai (besides, I have more angel blood in me, you should use mine for the ritual), Clary wouldn’t leave Jace, Izzy was determined to stand with her brothers (what happened to ‘three go in, three come out?’), and Simon declared that if Clary and Izzy were going, there was no way he was being left behind-

‘Enough.’ Magnus’ voice rang with power, filling the room with an unnatural echo and stunning them all into silence. (Well, almost all of them. Simon turned to Clary and whispered ‘Woah, he’s like Gandalf.’) When he spoke again, his voice had dropped back to normal levels. ‘We don’t have time for this. Clearly we’re all too stubborn for our own good, so I don’t see that we have much of a choice. No-one stays behind. We’ll do this together.’

***

In hindsight, it was a godsend that they hadn’t come alone. ‘Slightly-above-average, my ass,’ Alec muttered, decapitating the nearest threat before returning to his bow.

They’d arrived on the small island to find it absolutely teeming with demons – shax, ravener, every kind Alec had fought before and some he was pretty sure he’d never seen, not even in his textbooks growing up. Thankfully, they all died the same, and Alec launched arrow after arrow while the others fought close-range, trying to keep the space around the gleaming altar clear enough for Magnus to work. He and Jace had fought their way through first, and Jace was already back in the fray, paying no mind to the still-bleeding cut along his forearm. With the blood offering made, Magnus had moved on to the main part of the ritual, closing his eyes and chanting in a deep, guttural language as he threw the spell components into the pool of his and Jace’s blood, weaving the magic from his fingertips. Alec belatedly realised that he should have asked Magnus how long the spell would take, because the tide of demons seemed never-ending, and they were beginning to close in. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold them back.

He changed tactics, stowing his bow and drawing his blades again. He leapt forward to stand between Jace and Izzy, weapons arcing in a graceful rhythm, cutting down as many demons in his path as he could. The three of them co-ordinated their attacks effortlessly, a lifetime of training together making itself known. But still, it wasn’t enough, and they were forced backwards, ever closer to the altar. Alec slashed and thrust until his blades were covered in ichor, but he was flagging, and they were pushed back farther, and farther-

‘Down!’ Magnus’ voice rang out in command again, and Alec automatically dropped to his hands and knees – just in time to stop himself being knocked over by a pulse of gold magic that evaporated every demon in front of him. He jumped to his feet, whirling around to face his husband, stomach dropping when he saw him sway on his feet and brace against the altar. ‘Magnus!’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus said, gritting his teeth, but he leaned into Alec as soon as he was near enough. ‘Keep an eye out for any others. I should have just enough magic left to finish the ritual.’ He reached into his bag for another component, resuming his chant.

The sky exploded above them.

And suddenly Alec felt himself falling, a tiny patch of ground rushing up towards him, dread running heavy through his veins because even with the runes he had active he knew there was no way he’d survive that fall -

His stomach turned as he felt himself slow down. Looking around in confusion he saw Magnus, arms outstretched and blue-white magic flowing from him to the rest of them. They touched down slowly, the magic flickered out, and Magnus collapsed. ‘Magnus!’ Alec ran to his side, lifting him up and leaning him against his chest. ‘Magnus?’ His husband’s eyes fluttered open, and then Alec’s attention was ripped away to another explosion in the distance. A lightning bolt, bright and furious, slamming into something that glittered like glass as it shattered. Alec knew that power, could recognise it even that far away, his runes singing under his skin at the show of divine strength. ‘No,’ Magnus whispered, and the penny dropped. The altar. The ritual.

We failed. It’s over.

***

‘We have to get out of here,’ Jace says. It’s the first thing to break the silence since their last chance at victory was destroyed right in front of their eyes. ‘Magnus, if we all lend you strength at the same time, can you make us a portal back to Alicante?’ In answer, Magnus just sits up straighter, still in contact with Alec but no longer leaning his entire weight against him. The others converge on them, each laying a hand against Magnus’ shoulder, his back, his arm. He moves his hands slowly in front of him, magic sparking at his fingertips as he tries to conjure a portal. Alec feels himself grow woozy, his strength being sapped for the spell.

He’s on the verge of blacking out when he feels the last shred of his stamina snap back to him. Magnus slumps against his chest again. ‘I can’t,’ he says dully. ‘I can’t do it.’

And that’s it, that’s their escape plan dead in the water. Because Clary can’t portal anymore, the angels took that ability from her when she rejoined the Shadow World. Magnus was their only way home.

There’s silence again for a moment, until Simon lets out a shaky breath. ‘Oh g-god,’ he says. ‘Oh god, oh god…’ Alec feels Izzy turn away, settling with her back against his as she reaches out to Simon, hushing him, starting up the same comforting ramble she developed when Max was a baby.

Max. Alec’s mind flicks to his family, his friends. Mom, Dad and Max, Catarina and Madzie, Helen and Aline – they’re as safe as they can be, taking shelter in the Seelie realm. He spares them a thought, almost prays for their safety before he catches himself. It’s not like the angels are on their side right now.

He looks over at Jace, and his parabatai meets his eyes in understanding. In acceptance. His right hand is in Clary’s left, both of their knuckles white with how tight they’re holding on, and all three of them look back out at the light in the distance – still now, but steadily growing.

Sparks in his peripheral vision draw Alec’s attention back to Magnus, who’s waving his hands with increasing violence, trying again to conjure the portal. But he was already low on magic from taking out those demons, and probably used his last reserves saving them from that fall. Alec reaches out his free hand to still his husband’s, because he doesn’t want Magnus’ last moments to be passing out in frustration and fear from magic depletion. ‘Hey,’ he says gently, and when Magnus looks up at him his eyes are wild like those of a frightened animal, the glamour long gone. Alec finds himself smiling gently, lifts Magnus’ hand and kisses it. ‘Aku cinta kamu,’ he murmurs.

A strangled cry tears itself from Magnus’ throat, and then he’s grabbing Alec’s collar with both hands and pulling him down into a hard, desperate kiss. Alec tastes salt and doesn’t know whether it’s from Magnus’ tears or his own. When they pull apart, it’s just so they can tug each other closer, Magnus’ face buried in the crook of Alec’s neck. ‘Alexander,’ he says, his voice breaking even on a whisper, and Alec holds him even tighter because he knows, he knows what Magnus is saying. I’m afraid. Don’t let go. I love you too.

The light is closer now, and growing brighter, too bright to see, bright even when Alec screws his eyes shut. The last things he feels are Izzy’s back pressed against his, Jace’s heart pounding in time with his own, and Magnus wrapped safely in his arms. 

~oOo~

[megaderping]

Okay so, I've been rereading the Antipode series lately (just got to Wonderland because I'm a slow-reader), and one thing I remember really liking is that, unlike in KH2, the Organization is undeniably in the wrong. I mean, in KH2, Maleficent invades Hollow Bastion with an army of Heartless, and then you join forces with her to stop the Nobodies who stopped her takeover. In "TYB", the Organization levels Twilight Town. One of those things is more evil than the other.

Oh yeah. Zexion’s plan to level Twilight Town was undeniably evil. He schemed it as a way to force the Keybearers to lift their Keyblades again. He thought the threat of destroying Twilight Town would be enough to convince them, and Xemnas gave the okay because a) lack of empathy, b) the belief that Aqua’s moral compass would push her to do the “right” thing in that instance.Like, Antipode Xemnas himself is... dubious in terms of morality, since on one hand, he has zero interest in making more Xehanorts (y’know, since he’s Terra), but on the other hand, he’s still complicit in some pretty messed up stuff. Yes, he helped Riku in the simulation, yes, he has guaranteed that Riku and Aqua are... mostly safe, and yes, he even let Repliku/Xiruk live despite several acts of betrayal.He also manipulated and abused Namine, Roxas, and Rep/Xiruk, encouraged the other Organization members to make Riku feel vulnerable, and has allowed the Organization to perform many a heinous act. And that’s one thing I definitely want to keep in mind, even though he’s a more “tragic” Xemnas. I would argue that there’s still some nuance to Antipode’s Organization on a case by case basis, but they are undeniably antagonists and their lack of remorse and regret is a big part of that.