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planet-marz1 · 1 year ago

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Our Little Sheep

Summary: You and Joel celebrate christmas with your many children Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Word Count: ~4.1k

Tags/Warnings:18+MDNI no use of y/n, implied age gap(not specified), reader is able to get pregnant, jackson!joel, peepaw!joel(really peepaw), mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of childbirth (nothing graphic), brief mentions of breastfeeding (again, nothing graphic) Lots of fluff & cuteness, Joel being a cute girl dad™, this seems like it should be a crackfic, but I promise It's so wholesome

A/N: Ok so this fic idea was born out of my cold medicine induced haze, so bear with me here guys. It's just a silly little fic, not meant to be taken seriously at all, and It's the most fun I've had writing in a bit, so I hope you enjoy reading! Just a little clarity here, the kids' ages range from 0 to 9. I know it gets all confusing here, so I am welcome to provide any further clarity if anyone needs it! A huge thank you to @catchallfangirl for helping with the naming of all of these gremlins & with the constant encouragement ❤️ Thank you to @fhatbhabie for beta reading!

lovely dividers by @pamasaur

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You open your eyes slightly, squinting them. Joel sleeps peacefully next to you, his breaths even and steady. Burrowing yourself further under the blankets, you scoot closer to him, your head on his chest and intertwining your legs with his. You run your fingers through the curls of his now, fully gray hair.

Slight whines start to fill the room, and you lift your head up and glance over your shoulder to peek into the bassinet next to your side of the bed. Joel had been up with the baby all night after you two had finished wrapping up the gifts for the other kids. So, you groggily sit up in bed, reaching over to pick up the tiny little infant.

“Shhh, It’s alright, little one.” You whisper quietly, trying to calm him. After a few attempts to shush him, it’s still not working. He’s probably hungry, you figure. Lifting your shirt, you help him latch onto your breast, and he finally calms. You sigh quietly with relief. It’s all a part of the process, you try to remind yourself. Little baby Joelseph had only been born a few weeks ago. No, his name isn’t actually Joelseph. Simply a nickname given to him by his many older sisters when you had been pregnant with him. It started as a cute joke, but sure enough he came into the world, and no one was able to call him by his proper name. Named after his father, but considering the chaos of your family, the nickname is simply just another thing that you don’t bother to fight to keep the peace in the house.

The early hours of the morning are usually the small period of time when the house is completely silent. Every other waking minute is filled with the sounds of the kids, either giggling, or fighting with each other over something. Though, silence isn’t always a good thing. You’ll never forget the time the kids got into the kitchen cupboards and practically wreaked havoc in the kitchen while you were outside tending to the sheep.

Sure enough, you hear the trampling of footsteps coming down the hallway. No matter how chaotic it may be, this is your favorite part of the day. Getting to start each day greeted by all of your beautiful children, reminding you of why you are so lucky. You softly graze your fingers over the baby’s hair.

“I think your sisters are here, little guy,” You chuckle softly. The doorknob jiggles a bit. Before all of your daughters begin to spill into your bedroom, all eleven of them. Yes, eleven. You and Joel had, admittedly, gotten out of control in that department.

You and Joel had met when he had returned to Jackson in the spring with Ellie in tow. It had been an immediate connection, quite literally. Hooking up one night in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison, which is what led to your firstborn, Emilie. The pregnancy had come as a shock, but you and Joel were excited nonetheless.

A chorus of variations of “Mom,” or “Mommy,” begin to fill the room, and you try to shush the girls, reminding them of their little brother. “Ok, girls, I know that you’re excited to get downstairs to all of your gifts, but you’ve got to settle down a bit, alright?” You whisper gently. Finally, they all nod in understanding. The calm is short-lived, though. Jane and Jules, the cutest, but menacing pair of instigators, hop on to your bed, shaking Joel’s shoulder, trying to wake their father.

They were your fourth pregnancy, which was by far the most difficult one you had ever experienced. Constant discomfort, and sleepless nights from the relentless kicking and movement from them. It wasn’t the first time you had been pregnant with twins, but It had gone nothing like you had expected it to.

Joel, though typically a light sleeper, is particularly hard to wake after a night with no sleep, hence why you’d opted on letting him sleep in. The two of them, each on one side of him, lean in close to his face, leaving little room for personal space. “Daddy.” Jules says quietly, Jane keeping a close watch.

Joel peeks one eye open, a bit startled at first at the heavy breathing from the two girls so close to his face, but the confused expression on his face is quickly replaced by a tired grin. As soon as all the girls spot that their father has woken up, they all pile onto your bed, excitedly squealing and giggling. Luckily, little baby Joelseph had already been lulled into a deep sleep after he finished nursing. Even if he hadn’t, you're pretty sure the few short weeks he’s been in the world, he’s already used to the constant noise and chaos from his older sisters.

Joel sits up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and tries to wrap his arm as many of them as humanly possible.

“When can we open our presents, daddy?” Tiny little Aurora questions impatiently. This is the first year she’s been able to fully understand the concept of Christmas, and all the gift giving. So, understandably, she is ecstatic for all the festivities of the day. She crawls into his lap, after attempting to clamber over all of her sisters in the way. Joel scratches at the scruff of his beard, and lifts her into his lap.

“How about we all eat breakfast first, sweetheart, then you all can tear into your gifts.” He says lowly, his voice still laced with sleep. “Sound like a plan?” He asks. The girls all nod in agreement.

You slowly stand up from the bed, still cradling baby Joelseph in your arms. Walking towards the door, you gesture for the girls to do the same. They all climb off of the bed, and without fail, the house is once again filled with chaos. All eleven of them racing out of your bedroom, and down the staircase to the kitchen.

Joel meets you by the doorway, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Well hello, sleepyhead.” You tease him. “Sleep well?”

“Just like usual, darling.” He kisses you again, this time placing kisses all over your face, and down your neck, before you place your hand gently on his chest stopping him from going any further.

“Not so fast, old man.” you chuckle softly. “We don’t need another one of these.” you say, gesturing down to the baby bundled up in your arms.

“One more wouldn’t hurt, huh?” He teases, and you just shake your head.

“You say that because you aren’t the one who has to push them out.”

“We should probably get downstairs before they get into stuff that they shouldn’t be” You murmur, and Joel quietly nods in agreement.

The warmth of the morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you make your way into the dining room. Joel follows you, his hand brushing against the small of your back.

You and Joel enter the dining room, and expectedly the room is already filled with screaming and chaos. Alive with the energy of your daughters, and the two mischievous kittens, Ginny and Joel, weaving in and out of the chaos.

Emilie, your oldest, is trying to settle an argument between Lacy and Lily, your first set of twins. Nothing new in your household, nearly every morning, no matter how many times you have to tell them that every seat is the same, the kids insist on fighting on who sits where, who sits next to whom. It’s exhausting, but you can’t help but smile at the chaos unfolding before you-it’s simply the routine of your everyday life.

Emilie, with her stern expression, finally manages to resolve the seating dispute between Lacy and Lily. You glance at Joel, and he chuckles, a knowing look passing between you. The girls quickly settle into their chairs, the anticipation of Christmas morning evident in their sparkling eyes. As you take your seat at the head of the table, Joel sits beside you, and the cacophony gradually subsides. Little Aurora, perched on Joel’s lap, swings her legs excitedly, eager to dive into the festivities.

“Alright, everyone, let’s dig in!” you announce with a smile, and the room erupts in cheers. The aroma of the freshly cooked breakfast wafts through the air as the kids eagerly serve themselves.

Emilie diligently helps the younger ones with their breakfast. She occasionally steals glances at the pile of gifts under the Christmas tree, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

Lacy and Lily are engaged in animated conversation, their excitement palpable. Daisy can’t stop giggling at something Theo whispered in her ear. The second set of twins, Jane and Jules, sit side by side, already plotting mischief as they eye the presents.

Willow, with her big curious eyes, is inspecting her plate with utmost concentration, trying to decide which part of her breakfast to tackle first.

In the midst of the laughter and chatter, you catch Joel’s eye. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent acknowledgement of the beautiful chaos that is your family. His gaze is filled with gratitude, and you can’t help but feel the same.

As the kids enjoy their breakfast, you steal a moment with Joel. “Can you believe how fast they're growing?” you murmur, your eyes dancing with a mixture of love and exhaustion.

Joel leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking around the Tipsy Bison.”

You laugh, the memory of that fateful night vivid in your mind. “Look where it led us.”

Kylie babbles incoherently as she attempts to mimic her older siblings. Aurora still sits on Joel’s lap, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the festive scene, and Joel aids her with her breakfast.

Maggie sits contentedly in her high chair, fingers sticky with syrup, as she munches on a piece of a pancake you’ve carefully cut up into small pieces for her.

The kids, fueled by excitement and sugar, chatter animatedly about their plans for the day. You and Joel exchange glances, both silently reveling in the joy of parenthood. The journey hasn’t been easy, but moments like these make it all worthwhile.

As breakfast winds down, you glance at Joel, both of you silently agreeing it’s time for the much-anticipated event of the morning.

The living room is now adorned with brightly wrapped gifts, a colorful display of the love and thoughtfulness you and Joel put into each one. The kids finish their breakfast, their eyes darting eagerly between the tree and the presents.

“Alright, kiddos, let the unwrapping begin!” Joel declares, and the room explodes with excitement. Each of their little faces lighting up with joy.

“Okay, kiddos, let’s see what Santa brought us this year!” Joel exclaims, and the room erupts in cheers. The kids, now fueled by excitement from their furry friends and a hearty breakfast, rush to the tree, each claiming a spot around the mountain of gifts.

Emily takes charge, distributing gifts to each of her siblings with precision. Paper tears and laughter fill the air as each child discovers the treasures hidden beneath the wrapping.

Lacy and Lily eagerly tear into their presents, sharing excited glances when they unveil matching toys. Daisy clutches a doll close to her heart, and Jane and Jules giggle in delight at the surprise in their packages.

Theo, wide-eyed, unwraps a superhero action figure, and Willow discovers a fluffy stuffed animal that instantly becomes her new best friend. Kylie is overjoyed with a set of building blocks, her imagination already running wild.

Aurora claps her hands in glee as she unwraps a musical toy, and Maggie, though more interested in the wrapping paper than the actual gifts, coos happily.

Daisy twirls with a new dress, her face glowing with delight. “I’m going to wear this everyday!”

Aurora, surrounded by a pile of toys, claps her hands and points excitedly. “Look, Daddy, Mommy, so many toys!” Maggie, with a new plush toy in her tiny hands, giggles with joy. The room is filled with laughter and chatter as the kids excitedly showcase their new treasures.

Jane and Jules squeal in delight as they discover Joel curled up in the tangle of discarded wrapping paper, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Willow, with her big curious eyes, watches the kittens in fascination, occasionally reaching out to stroke their fur. Kylie bursts into giggles as Ginny playfully bats at a shiny ribbon. Aurora claps her hands in delight at the sight of the playful duo. Maggie points with chubby fingers, her face lighting up with a smile as Joel gracefully leaps onto the back of the couch.

Joel catches your eye, and you share a moment of warmth as you witness the joy on your children’s faces.

“Looks like our little fur balls are the stars of the show today.” He chuckles.

Watching as the kittens continue their playful antics. The room is filled with laughter, shouts of excitement, and the crinkling of wrapping paper.

As the chaos subsides, you lean into Joel, watching the kids with a contented smile. “Merry Christmas, Joel.” He whispers back the same sentiment, wrapping his arm around you, anchoring you in the midst of the joyful storm that is your family.

The room buzzes with the joyous laughter of your children, the kittens weaving throughout the living room. As the kids continue to show off their presents, Ginny and Joel curiously inspect the colorful array of toys and trinkets scattered across the room.

Emilie, your eldest, sits by your side, flipping through her new sketchbook. “Mom, look at this! It’s perfect for my drawings. Thank you, Santa!”

Lacy and Lily, wearing their matching necklaces, approach Joel with enthusiasm. “Dad, Dad! Can Joel play with us too?” they ask, extending an invitation for the adventurous kitten to join in on their imaginative play.

Daisy twirls around in her new dress, and with a dramatic flair, she curtsies. “I’m a princess, just like in the stories!”

Jane and Jules, holding their new board game, insist on a family game night. Jules, gives you a confused look, glancing from the box, and then back up at you. “What is Boggle anyway?”

“It’s just a word game, sweetheart, definitely an easy game to beat your dad at.” you laugh softly, shooting Joel a teasing grin.

Willow proudly shows you the fluffy stuffed animal she received. “Look Mom, It’s Fluffy! Daddy, feel how soft!” She grabs his hand to place it on the stuffed animal, and Joel enthusiastically plays along with her.

Kylie, engrossed in building her tower with the new blocks, beams with accomplishment. “It’s bigger than me, Mommy!” You smile at her gently, and give her compliments on her tower building skills.

Maggie, in her own little world, squeezes her plush toy and gurgles happily. The kittens, sensing the playful atmosphere, join in on the fun, batting at the discarded ribbons and chasing each other around the room.

Joel, still basking in the warmth of the family scene, leans over to you. “Seems like Santa knew exactly what they wanted.”

You nod, a content smile playing on your lips, ‘And the best part is seeing their faces light up with joy.”

The room is filled with laughter, the sound of wrapping paper being crinkled, and the occasional meow from Ginny and Joel. The chaos is harmonious, a melody of love and togetherness that defines your family.

The kids, their excitement undeterred, start brainstorming plans for the day–games to play, stories to tell, and perhaps a snowball fight if the weather permits. As the festivities continue, you can’t help but feel grateful for the love and warmth that fills your home–a treasure more precious than any gift under the tree.

As the kids reveled in the excitement of unwrapping their Christmas gifts, their attention turned to the chalkboard on the mantle–a poignant memorial to their older sister, Sarah. The room hushed momentarily as the children exchanged thoughtful glances, understanding the significance of the chalkboard.

The kids had put together some artwork and drawings the night before. They gather around the chalkboard, placing their artwork in front of it, creating a beautiful display of love and remembrance. The room, now adorned with their heartfelt tributes, felt infused with a sense of warmth and connection to Sarah’s memory.

Joel, watching from a distance, can't help but be moved by the sincerity and creativity of his children. The simple act of setting their drawings in front of the chalkboard transformed the mantle into a gallery of love—a tangible expression of the enduring impact Sarah's memory had on their hearts.

As the morning continued, the drawings stood as cherished tokens—a beautiful reminder that, even in the midst of joyous celebrations, the love for their sister would always hold a special place in the family's heart.

You nudge Joel gently, catching his attention. “Any Idea when Ellie, Dina, and JJ are planning to arrive?”

Joel looks thoughtful for a moment, his eyes scanning the room to make sure all the kids are engaged in their newfound treasures. “They’re aiming to get here just in time for lunch. Should be any moment now.”

Excitement lights up on your face at the news. “The kids are going to be over the moon to see them again, and It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”

Joel nods in agreement, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Ellie’s always been good at timing. They’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a gentle knock at the door catches your attention. You glance at Joel, both of you sharing a knowing smile. The anticipation in the room heightens as the kids, sensing something special, look toward the door with wide eyes. Moments later, the front door bursts open, and the lively chatter of Ellie and Dina fills the air. The children squeal in delight, dropping their toys and rushing toward the doorway. Ellie enters first, holding JJ’s hand, Dina follows closely behind with a warm grin on her face.

The kids shout at them in unison, enveloping the new arrivals in a sea of hugs and excitement. You and Joel stand back, watching the heartwarming reunion unfold.

Ellie, catching your eye, gives you a knowing nod. “Merry Christmas!” she says as she greets you and Joel. You welcome them with open arms, a surge of joy filling your heart. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

As the laughter and joyful chaos continue to fill the room, you can’t help but marvel at the beautiful tapestry of your family, woven together by love, shared moments, and the bonds that withstand the test of time.

Amidst the joyful commotion, you navigate through the sea of excited children, still cradling little Joelseph in your arms. Joel joins you, and together you watch as Ellie, Dina, and JJ immerse themselves in the holiday cheer.

Ellie, after receiving an enthusiastic welcome from the kids, approaches you with a playful grin.

“How’s the newest little troublemaker doing?” she asks, casting an affectionate glance at Joelseph.

You chuckle, gently rocking the sleeping baby in your arms. “He’s been an angel all morning, surprisingly.” you yawn, tiredly.

Dina joins the conversation, “He’s gotten so big since we last saw him. Mind if we steal him for a bit?”

You nod with a smile, carefully passing Joelseph over to Dina. The little one stirs for a moment, but settles back into a peaceful slumber in Dina’s arms. “He’s all yours.’

The room continues to buzz with giggles and Ellie, Dina, and JJ become a seamless part of the festivities. The kids eagerly show them their new toys, and soon, the kittens, Ginny and Joel join the playful parade.

As the day unfolds, the house becomes a vibrant canvas, painted with the hues of love and togetherness. Joel, now with Aurora on his shoulders, navigates through the lively crowd. You find a quiet moment with Ellie, who is holding Joelseph with a tender smile.

“He’s adorable,” Ellie remarks, her eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “Feels like just yesterday you were dealing with my teenage antics.”

You laugh, remembering those not-so-distant days. “Time flies, doesn’t it? Now look at us, and you, with a little family of your own.”

Ellie glances around the room, the sparkle of the holiday lights reflecting in her eyes. “Couldn’t ask for a better way to spend Christmas. And look at Joel, still being the heart and soul of this chaos.”

You follow her gaze to Joel, who is now surrounded by a group of kids, listening intently to one of Jane and Jules’ stories. The love in his eyes is evident as he shares in their laughter and mischief.

Ellie looks back at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You both did an amazing job. I’m proud to be part of this.”

And in that moment, as the laughter and warmth of your family envelop you, you couldn’t agree more. This Christmas, with all its magic, has woven another chapter into the rich tapestry of your lives–a chapter filled with love, laughter, and the cherished moments that make your family truly extraordinary.

As the festivities continue, Ellie, still cradling Joelseph, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Joel. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she approaches Joel, who’s now attempting to disentangle himself from a knot of kids.

“Hey, old man,” Ellie quips, giving Joel a playful nudge. “You holding up okay with all these little rascals running around?”

Joel chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep ‘em in check. You’ll find out soon enough, Ellie. Parenthood’s no joke.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Joelseph. “You’re the expert now, huh? It took you guys long enough to figure out the secret recipe for a baby boy.”

Joel grumbles and feigns offense. “Well, it’s not like we had a manual.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Says the guy who needed a football team's worth of daughters before finally getting a son.”

You join in on the banter, giving Joel an amused smile. “Took a bit of trial and error, but look at our charming little Joelseph now.”

Ellie leans in, bouncing the baby gently in her arms. “Not bad for an old guy, huh, kiddo?” she cooed, earning a content gurgle from the baby.

As the day of joyful chaos begin to wind down, the once lively house now settles into a more serene atmosphere. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast a gentle glow over the living room as the laughter of the children gradually transforms into quiet giggles and yawns.

You and Joel, tired but content, herd the kids upstairs for their bedtime routine. The kittens, Ginny and Joel, follow along, their playful antics slowing down as they, too, sensing the impending calm.

“Alright kiddos, time for bed.” Joel announces, his tone gentle but firm as he ushers the kids into their respective rooms.

The procession of bedtime rituals unfold–one by one, teeth are brushed, pajamas are put on, and stories are read. The younger ones nestle into their beds, eyelids growing heavy with the sweet fatigue of a day filled with excitement.

As you check on each child, offering goodnight kisses and tucking them in, Joel moves gracefully through the house, turning off the twinkling lights and closing curtains. The house seems to exhale, the echoes of joyous laughter replaced by the hushed whispers of bedtime.

In the quiet moments between putting the kids to bed, you found Joel in the hallway, sharing a look of satisfaction passing between you. The day had been a whirlwind of love and joy, and now the peaceful hush settles over the house like a comforting blanket.

“Another Christmas for the books,” Joel remarks, his voice low.

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “And many more to come, I hope.”

The two of you continue the nightly routine, gently closing doors and ensuring the house was ready for the calm of night. The soft glow of the light spilling from your bedroom illuminates your path as you and Joel make your way into the room, where little Joelseph lay sleeping in his bassinet.

Joel pauses by the doorway, his eyes fondly watching the baby. “He’s been the best gift, hasn’t he?”

You nod, a warmth settling in your heart. “The best, indeed.”

The day had been a symphony of chaos and joy, a beautiful crescendo that had now found its resolution in the quietude of the evening. As you and Joel retire to your room, you can’t help but reflect on the blessings of family, love, and the precious moments that make Christmas truly magical.

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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paraphwrites · 1 month ago

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inspired by that one answer from mr zack, i give you- season 11 of dbda, a baby is left on the gang's doors.

edwin is, immediately, team hire a ghost nanny. "we are not the dead boy orphanage." he storms off to re-shelve books. however while he is reshelving he stumbles across some parenting books and decides to read it to simply educate himself, as they may be stuck with the lifeform for an entire day. anyway three hours later edwin's at the local magic book shop, hair horribly tousled, demanding all of their books on child-rearing, parenting, and how not to permanently traumatize your child. he also questions modern medicine and what the current amount of cocaine is best to be used to counter colds.

charles, on the one hand, is totally trying to collect baby toys and make sure this kid has the brillsest childhood ever. but also charles is terrified to come within a meter of the baby, because what if he manages to traumatize him? what if he really is like his father? he decides to distract himself by assembling some ikea baby furniture. it... does not go well. jenny finds him, distraught, hiding in the bag of tricks, and tries to calm him down. in the end it is decided that abuse is likely not contagious, charles probably will not traumatize the infant by being in the same room as it, and charles is no longer allowed to go to ikea.

crystal immediately decides to track down the shitface who left their baby in the hands of four teenagers, a millennial, and an interdimensional scottswoman. crystal is actually moderately successful at solving this case, via a combination of a tracking spell, facebook, and taking on the identity of three different instagram influencers. when crystal does find the parents, she gives them a proper tongue-lashing --she's really using all of her daddy and mommy issues here-- and she's properly going at it for at least seven minutes until she realizes the parents are fucking dead and that's why they can't care for their baby. a horribly emotional conversation is had, as the parents basically apologize for crystal's shitty parents, and how this family could never move on until they knew their kid is safe and well-adjusted and happy.

niko is trying very hard to set up a nursery but she keeps getting derailed by various side-quests, because there are some interesting people vibing about a babyshop. in the end niko is roped into solving 2 cheating scandals, setting up the cashier and the stockwoman, resolving 1 money laundering scheme within a fabric store, befriend 3 separate pet birds, set up 1 pet bird owner group chat, officiate a wedding between two adorable 5 year olds, resolve a generational long feud between these two very wealthy families, and adopt 4 cats. she does not, however, find the fabric for the quilt she was going to make. or instructions on how to make said quilt. but someone who knows how to make a quilt now owes her a favor, so maybe-

jenny is actually not paid enough. she's literally not. she sees the baby, asks if they should call CPS (resounding "NO") and then fucking walks away to hang with her harem. however she does make sure the baby is securely with the night nurse, and makes sure the night nurse knows that if they need absolutely anything to call her immediately. while jenny is out, her harem and her do buy all the non-essential but fun baby items (clothing, accessories), and jenny is coerced into getting matching items.

god look the night nurse is trying her damned best, but everyone else is so fucking busy that the raising of the child falls onto her. it's a damned good thing the principal had made everyone learn about the species they were gathering (one to eighteen year old humans). so the night nurse just kind of girlbosses parenting. and, where credit is due, the baby is relatively non-problematic. they end up keeping the baby so the night nurse just walks around with a babycarrier on her chest. charles carries the baby's diapar bag -- he fully could put it in his bag of tricks, but the two backpacks makes him feel very adult and parent-y. everyone lives happily ever after & the baby is raised excellently & becomes someone in the lost & found department.

#dead boy detectives #mr zack has given me so many ideas #i feel like mr zack is probably not what i should call him #it's what we're going with tho #unless mr zack specifies otherwise that is #god everyone give mr zack a round of applause for doing that #and a round of applause to the loyal tumblr users who reposted screenshots here because i don't actually have twitter #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #jenny the butcher #the night nurse #save dead boy detectives #renew dead boy detectives

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llondonfog · 7 months ago

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OK so Baul and Lilias friendship lives in my mind rent free, so I think that a few days after silver gets sick for the first time and mama and papa zigvolt manage to teach lilia the proper way to care for a sick infant after he comes over to their house tembling with poorly restrained panic, Baul goes over with v little persuasion from his daughter to check up on them.

What he sees is a happy and healthy Silver just quietly smiling up at him from Lilias arms while Lilia is passed out in his rocking chair fevered and red from catching baby's first cold.

Baul immediately assigns himself caretaker duties, doesn't even bother trying to move Silver from Lilias arms and instead just picks them both up to deposit them both in Lilias bed for a proper nap before checking the fridge for tomato soup ingredients.

When he first heard from his daughter that Lilia— Lilia Vanrouge, the once General of the Right, feared commander of the fae armies and scourge of humankind— had adopted a human child and had been caring for it for several months now, Baul had roared with laughter so hard that he split a scale wide open on his cheek.

It was certainly a poor excuse for a joke, the very kind of rumor that the castle fae still bitter over Lilia's persistent existence four hundred years later might spread. The very idea that Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge, would debase himself to care for a human child not of his blood, to stoop so low as to toil over its screeching and wailing demands when he had bathed in the screams of its own kind with a mad vengeance after the tragedy of Lady Meleanor . . . not even four hundred years of honeyed peace was enough to sweeten that wound.

Time, it seemed, had forgotten what was so cruelly emblazoned in the very depths of Baul's mind, in Lilia's own memories, and the nightmares of all those surviving fae who stalked the forests during those blood-soaked nights. Those born in kinder years had never known the horror of human avarice, and even his own daughter had taken up residence with one of their kind despite her father's immense displeasure, simpering, soft-hearted fool that her husband was.

At least, to Baul's proud credit, their lineage rippled strong and true through his grandchildren— and with his daughter due any day under the weight of a third, he's only too certain for another healthy, bouncing, scaled Zigvolt.

So when she had simply stared back at him with crossed arms and an arched brow while he had laughed and laughed and laughed, a sinking kind of horror began to creep into his heart— surely . . . she wasn't serious?

Months— hardly the blink of an eye for faekind, but everything to humans. Months, Lilia had kept a child for several months, and not once had tried to rid himself of it? Not once tried to deposit it upon the stoop of a human village and wipe his hands clean of the responsibility of child-rearing? He had been taking advice from Baul's daughter and her wisp of a husband on how to pacify and coddle it? He had barged into their home, fretful beyond measure with a colicky babe clutched in his arms, and all but demanded them to cure the child?

("Or what?" Baul found himself asking, utterly bewildered and needing to find some kernel of normalcy in the fact that surely Lilia had menaced his daughter's husband some into obeying his whims.

"Or nothing, Father," she said, the taunting ghost of a knowing smile playing about her lips. "In all the years that I've known him, I've never seen him quite so distraught. He stayed by the crib all night, frozen— we had to tell him it was alright to breathe and to hold Silver's hand if he wanted, it was as if he was afraid to hurt him.")

Silver? Lilia, afraid? Holding the hand of some human child?

It simply couldn't be true.

It couldn't be, this had to be some elaborate, poorly executed prank.

He clung to that belief even as his daughter shoved a bundle of medicine, food, and knitted blankets into his arms with the stern instruction to deliver them to Lilia's home (Home! He had never heard the forest cottage to be described in such terms! The place was a hovel, a storage shed for Lilia to dump his treasures before venturing off to the next location, how could it be considered a home?).

He clung to it even as he emerged from the woods to the path that led up to the cottage's door, casting unnerved glances to the strange and new abundance of woodland creatures skulking about the thatched roof and scampering along the thick tree trunk supporting the cottage like a lean-to, soft little animals that would have darted away in fright from Lilia's presence before Baul's own.

He clung to it until he could no more, when he threw open the cottage door with an odd tightness in his chest to see his oldest friend collapsed on a worn and lumpy armchair with a honest-to-goodness human baby snuggled safely within his arms and sucking happily on a stray piece of ruby-stained hair. Beyond them, a soothing glow flickered in the fireplace where a kettle of milk quietly steamed, and the scattered presence of cloth toys littered the living room floor along with (Baul shuddered) well-thumbed pamphlets, their covers illustrated with the cheerful faces of frolicking human children.

What had this child done to Lilia Vanrouge?

#lettie's asks #lettie writes #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #baul zigvolt #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #diasomnia #ughhhh baul is so FASICNATING TO ME #i like to think that he's absolutely disgusted at first that lilia's adopted a human child #and he cares for it by the sheer virtue of his friendship and loyalty to lilia #BUT THE SIGHTS IN THAT HOME!! THE SHAKEN FOUNDATION THAT IS HIS BELIEF THAT LILIA WOULD NEVER CARE TO INVITE HUMANITY UPON HIMSELF #TO SEE ALL THE TOYS AND SOFT BLANKETS AND THE EVIDENCE THAT THEY SLEEP SNUGGLED TOGETHER #get WRECKED you useless old men #that child is lilia's BABY #HIS BABY BOY AND BY GOD SILVER DOMESTICATED HIM WITHIN 24 HRS #lilia: oh how could i ever love a human will i ever know #silver: exists #and now im off to nap bc these cramps are Winning

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vampyrial · 1 year ago

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A World For Her Alone | Stranger

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, murder, suicide, misogyny

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude completely loses his head.

He opened his eyes once more to the dimness of his bedroom. His despair did not break, it lengthened like a long red string from one life to the other. His body was whole, reset again to perfect health and he knew that the ringing of his ears with the sound of an infant wailing was only an illusion. However, that reality only made things harder to bear than if there were medicine to be taken to rid himself of the noise. He laid in bed for a while longer, gazing listlessly at the sliver of sunlight that slipped through his heavy curtains. He gave himself over to the utter despondency of one who simply has no choice but to go on. That darkness was very tempting, he could give his strength over to it, he could fall backwards into it and know it would embrace him like a mother. But Claude was not so used to his helplessness, so somewhere in his mind, he held a small flicker of determination which kept him from falling completely. He had but wax wings to fly with and the sun was indeed approaching but he had some thought that he could reach you before they melted.

He set eyes on Diana yet again, and yet again with childish glee. He looked deeply into her ruby eyes and saw nothing but the blood which was still wet on the bedsheets you laid cold and lost to the world on. He thought of the violence of it, your marriage. Even still, the muddled euphoria of being in Diana’s presence raged on, desperately trying to smother everything else. The memory of you remained a cold corner in his mind, a cell to lock his inner self inside as if it would help anything. As if that was the person who needed to be contained, needed to be reminded. But he was just so disgusted with himself, from his past life and watching his current one from outside a body that no longer seemed to be his own that he needed a place to take everything. He needed someone to punish…and he had no one who would obey but himself. He had no one to blame but himself regardless of the fact that he no longer even knew who that was. A ghost perhaps, unable to rest and unable to move forward, to be better. He would always be that man who died under the sword of your knight, always the last to realize. Always too late to save you.

In the corner of his eye, casting a shadow over Diana’s eyes, he saw you stumble to the table. You were a sight that shocked his body into moving as he would if only he controlled it. He had never seen you this way, you stumbled clumsily like you were drunk but your face was harrowed and tense. Words of concern left his mouth but he knew, he knew what the truth was. For once, he knew without doubt what had been done as it unfolded. He looked into your eyes and knew.

Had you come back the same as he had?

“Where are they?” You muttered. His heart dropped. Your eyes were unfocused, forever staring at a point past both he and Diana, at an unreachable figment. He saw your chest rise and fall rapidly with your breaths. He saw your body tremble.

“Sister?” Diana called, her eyes clouding with genuine confusion and unease. Her lovely face went slack with surprise as she watched her sister mumble like a madwoman.

“Where is my child?” Words that bit a hole through his chest. He had desperately hoped that what he believed couldn't possibly be but just those words alone had consumed him completely. You confirmed the nature of this reality, the true extent of his sins. The you who had given birth to his copy, who had died knowing her husband was at the side of another woman, who had died believing he doubted her fidelity, was the same you who stood before him now.

He remembered the eyes of your daughter, those teary eyes without malice that he thought would damn him. He was wrong to think the girl was his complete copy, no, right now he felt her eyes and yours were the same. Crying for something lost, a hazy, clouded little memory. A warmth that dissipated into nothing, a weight that held them to the earth.

But the resemblance was fleeting for your eyes quickly filled with anger. You seized Diana by the shoulders and you looked into her eyes unflinchingly, although Claude’s body rose on instinct, the him within only wondered if you saw in those rosy eyes the very same thing he did.

“It wasn’t enough for you to have him, you wanted the only thing—” He didn’t let you finish, he was grabbing you and pulling you away from Diana like an animal. He felt his hand take your arm into a forbidding grasp. He could not stop, it was useless but if it were inevitable he wished to retreat inside. At very least he did not want to watch himself hurt you, not as he carried the knowledge that you had every right to go mad. Every right in the world to rage against him, rage against Diana even if in her eyes was an utter guileless that he could not deny.

“You don’t have a child yet. No one has taken anything from you.” Uselessly cruel words from a thoroughly and uselessly cruel man. They were more than lies, they were violence. He knew he was robbing you of any right to mourn the loss of a child who never had the chance to even have a name of her own. Forcing you to pretend, he was dragging you from your child just the same as death had. He was twice as forbidding as the universe, far more cruel, far more violent because unlike the universe, he knew your pain inside and out. And he watched himself wound you again.

You wilted, went limp in his grasp, your eyes went blank and confused. Your eyes were big and teary like your daughter’s were. “Please help me….I….” You muttered. He knew you were seeing her in him as you pulled away from his hold and he thinks, just for a moment, he might have been the one to soften his grip. To open his hands. It had felt like a long time since he could control his body in any meaningful way, he could no longer be certain. You were swaying on your feet, teetering away from him. He was still arrogant enough to want to comfort you, even knowing he was the source of your pain. His limbs almost trembled to hold you. To tell you that he had known your daughter too.

Instead, your knight stepped forward and gently caught you before you fell. He felt such a relief to see you caught even if his own body would not move at will. And then he felt…a sickness he could not place. “I’m afraid my lady isn’t feeling well, I’ll see her to her room” He said, without looking at Claude. He spoke informally, inconsiderately. Before he could respond, Felix was already walking away with you. A hollow hearted feeling came over him as he watched your body lean against his as if he was the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. He ought to have been relieved and the darkness that grew on him mostly felt annoyed at your outburst but it wasn’t the only thing there…his heart was sinking too. The one that was his own.

This life, despite the revelation he’d been shown, was much the same except that he was far more brazen than he’d ever been before. He came over to your parent’s manor without even hiding the fact that he only intended to see Diana. You stayed wherever you were, he wasn’t even sure you knew he was there. Your mother led him up to Diana’s room without question, not once did she utter your name. Nor did he.

Again he was shut into a shared world with Diana. Her love was like climbing ivy, it smothered and it grew until he could not see anything more. But a part of him loved the feeling so desperately, he hoped he’d never breathe again without feeling the leaves brush against his insides. He hoped her love would grow part of him, he hoped that her love would continue to be so evasive that he would feel her vines cage his lungs. The longing for her to be a fundamental part of his life was strong, so strong that he pretended it was already so. When he strode up to your parents’ doorstep, he pretended he was supposed to be there for Diana, that she was his fiancée. He did not even have to ask her to indulge this charade, she was more than happy to live in one of the romance novels that lined her bookshelf.

It did not escape his notice that you had been imprisoned in your own home. He looked toward your window each time he came over and the bars installed there remained. You did not even leave your room, he knew not whether you’d been forbidden or whether you simply did not want to see his face. The latter was the better, he thought, if you hated him then there was something to be saved. You not been entirely broken if you still had capacity to hate him for what he did. It would mean you understood his fault, it was all his fault. He would tell you as much if he was free to speak. He would say, “Give it to me, give me what pain you carry and leave it there.”

In this life, he saw you scarcely, desired you frequently. He was pulled this way and that by the high of Diana’s love and the time slowly disappeared. There was dread in the days approaching your wedding and he lived in a daze, always in a daze. This devouring thing inside made him feel bleak, numbed all his concern to nothing but the pathetic mourning for Diana. The wedding date slowly approaching was like a noose around his neck slowly tightening and he knew exactly when the platform would drop from beneath him but it did not give him peace. He could not enjoy his final moments. In other words, he was burdened on both sides.

The day your parents arrived hastily, hands clasped and eyes on the floor, informed him that you’d run away, the first thing he felt was relief. It hit him like the first burst of cold air from outdoors, it stunned him that his own consciousness was forefront for once. But before he had the time to wonder, there was more to be said.

Your mother, her eyes on the floor, had more to confess. She looked like a scolded little girl and frankly, he wanted to laugh at her until she opened her mouth. “It seems she has run away with her personal knight.” She was near choking on the words as if they made her sick.

A strange feeling came over him. A unbearable burn searing through his chest at the thought of you with Felix, alone and out of reach. But his lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, a bitter and hateful smile. “Our knights will take over the search for them.” The anger of his greater self, took him over with ease. It buried and twisted into him. It grew to a flame that cast his own consciousness into shadow. You betrayed him, you ran away with another man after promising to spend your life with another. He grabbed onto the fragments of thoughts his empowered self was too angry to finish. “How could she…” “A whore, nothing but a whore…” “If I ever see her again–”

Wherever you went, he hoped it was too far for his men to reach. He hoped you’d never be close enough for him to reach again. The darkness churned up thoughts to quell itself. Thoughts of the violence he felt owed.

In the days without you, he stewed in his own thoughts. The silver lining was being given reprieve from Diana, at least most of the time. She still sent her letters and he still answered them and enjoyed the brief moment of peace they bought him. The first letter, a hateful thing of pretty lace and ribbons, he wanted to throw out without reading but his hands worked against his own interests and he was treated to Diana’s apology. She apologized for her sister running away and disgracing him. ‘Disgrace?’ he remembered thinking. ‘Am I the one who has been disgraced?’ His fingers traced the lace decorating the letter, as he remembered what he’d accused his wife of in their very earliest life and the life directly after. Death by prison filth and deprivation, death by birthing the child of a man who left her alone. A disgrace? What did he know about being disgraced? All he knew was the very opposite.

All of these were whispers, of course. His greater self was soothed by Diana’s words, words he felt negated his responsibility. For what had he done other than be an exemplary fiancé? What did you have to be displeased with? What was he lacking that any other nobleman had? What was so bad you would run away with another man and have him made into gossip fodder? Her words fortified him, they justified his anger not as an ugly thing eating away at him but as righteous outrage. Diana was comforting him as no one had, not even your sniveling suck-up parents. She understood the value of a promise better than anyone. He held the letter up to his lips with shaking hands and he pressed a kiss to the place where her hands must have been when she pressed the ribbon into place.

The waiting for you to be found was the hardest thing for him. Perhaps if you were not found in a decent amount of time, it would be more prudent both fiscally and emotionally, to wed Diana who was also a daughter of your house. Oh, how he reveled in that thought. His mind conjured such pretty, bloodless thoughts of marriage to Diana. It almost combatted the thoughts he had about seeing you again, the words he’d bring forth to shame you in a place where you could not do anything but accept your own fault. Your indecency, your infidelity, your selfishness. The irony of his anger and his eagerness burned no one but himself, who lay paralyzed in his own mind as he settled into the fact that if you were found, he might truly have to watch himself beat you. For something he was far more guilty of, no less. He couldn’t so much as grit his teeth to express the anguish, all he could do is call upon god, the well in the sky he poured desperate wishes into.

‘Dear god, you seek to punish me, I know. But do not punish my bride, let me go hollow from missing her, from wanting to retrieve some of the person I used to be but do not hurt her to show me your wisdom. Tear me apart as you will but do not use her to do it. Let her stay lost to me.’

The sky really must have been empty, there really must have been no god to hear him, for you were found on a rainy night and brought to his mansion. Felix was dead, slain as a matter of course. A sick delight came about as he heard the report that your new lover had been killed where he stood. He heard himself speak in a low voice that suppressed none of his malice. “Let me see her, then.”

But his mother stopped him, assessing at him with serious eyes, sizing him up. “No. You’re too angry. You might do something to damage her.” She was right and the inner self rejoiced for the prolonged distance, for the fact that although his mother clearly considered you more product than woman, she would not have him harm you.

He kept you like a prisoner, sequestered to some bedroom at the center of the manor, locked from the outside and served by maids who watched you carefully as their jobs would not be spared if you were to pull the same trick again on their watch. The greater part of himself did long to look into your eyes, to feel the rage inside bloom and overflow and finally, finally allow him to release it. He nursed this hate like the phantom child he had left behind.

He allowed for one visitor, the young lady betrothed to Felix, who beseeched him. He wanted you to feel as he did. This woman who’d been forced to only partly display her mourning through plain black clothing rather than the true mourning garb of one whose loss was as great as hers, was a perfect tool for it. It was to show you who your actions hurt besides him. The extent of your selfishness brought consequences for more than just him, he wanted you to know that. He could tell you himself but showing you was all the better. If you hated him so much you’d run away short of your wedding, his emotions likely meant nothing to you. So let you have the hatred of someone else you hurt, let you see what you’ve done through the tears of a woman you’ve hurt just as badly.

The day of your wedding was a humiliation, for both of you. A farce that became the den of gossips gawking at your stiff steps down the aisle. He was relieved to know that you were the target of insult but displeased to be pitied. Still, such was worth it, if only to show a woman who seemed to think she was above having loyalty to her betrothed that you were not even above being gawked at on your wedding day like a caged animal. If he had to put up with being humiliated the inevitable moment everyone found out you fled with another man, you would put up with this. He would have his pound of flesh before you were married, before he’d have to forgive you.

Still, though he wanted your pain, he was caught between that motive and the fact that it still severely angered him that you thought you had the right to pity yourself. When he saw tears in your eyes as you reached the altar, he snapped at you in a whisper. Why were you of all people crying? If anything, it should have been him. You did this, what right had you to cry about it now? In the time you were far from home, living with that knight, what had you done together? Living in the squalor among commoners, had you found some pleasure in that? He had no choice now except to marry a woman who ran about with another man short of their wedding.

Claude rejected the notion of your culpability, but that didn’t matter when the loudest voice within his mind did not belong to him. He knew he had no right to be jealous and bitter as he was, he knew it was ludicrous for him to act like you were the one to betray him as if he wasn’t always alone with your sister, coming to visit her while neglecting you. Never mind the fact that he knew what you had lost, what he had stolen from you. But what did knowing that do? All that mattered to this darkness above him was that you existed and therefore had sinned. The more he pondered this thing which plagued him, the more hopeless he understood his situation to be. This thing, this darkness, its separation from his true self only mattered to him at this point. All you could see was a cruel husband, a man who hated you, who would leave you to die alone. Did it matter if there was more to him, if all he could show you was the most hateful part of him? It might not have been his true self that tormented you for so long but…they shared one body and it was still his hands that dripped with your blood.

When he woke one morning and his consciousness had swam up to the surface of his mind, allowing him to control his own body for the first time in ages, he knew that something was wrong. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the quiet of his room with the faded rays of sun reaching through the curtains after a stormy night. The moment he realized he was free, he went to your room still wearing his pajamas, his hair disheveled. Each step was his own doing and yet it still felt as though the path was fated, there was nothing to be done except go to you. See what this life had made of you, pray to a god who wasn’t listening. When he opened the door, what he saw struck him so hard his vision went white.

You were hanging from the center of the room, your body was still and cold. He knew it was too late to save you but stupidly he fumbled with the sheets around your neck, trying to get your body down. Murmuring little words of comfort to ears that could not hear him. If only he could just get you down, he could save you. This time, this time, he had to save you. How foolish he was. How could he not see that such was not the way things worked for him?

Your body was not even warm when he set you down on the floor, when he put his head on your chest, he heard no heartbeat not even a weak and staggered one. Your eyes were open, unblinking and looking constantly at a point in the distance away from him. You had been dead for some time, for your body had not even been swaying from where you hung. He couldn’t feel you anymore. But he could not let go of you either, he stayed with your body until the steward was firmly pulling him away. “My lord…please leave her to us.” His head had been lain again your chest, his tears wetting your chemise for how long? He did not know.

Even after your body was taken, he remained kneeling on the floor where he had held you.

He was not even coherent enough to kill himself but for the state he was in, the doctor recommended he take sedatives. They made the days pass like minutes and often he was in the dark with his misery, not able to speak it, show it. Not allowed the reprieve or the punishment of a knife against his throat. He was in the dark with your body hanging in front of him. He was in the dark every day until the morning he was woken up for your funeral. That day he awoke by a caress, a warm hand against his cheek and for a confused, bleary moment, he thought it was your hand. His heavy eyelids opened and caught a glimpse of golden hair.

He was besotted again. Diana was beautiful even in mourning garb, dressed in delicate black lace, inches away from him with tears in her eyes. “Lord Claude” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to wake up. The funeral is soon, I’ve already let you sleep as much as you can.” He couldn’t help the enormous love that came over him as he saw her trying to be strong before him. He stretched his stiff limbs around her and held her to his chest. She did not refuse his comfort, she fell apart in his arms and cried. Her face was nuzzled into his neck as he ran his hand up and down her back. Yet again, something had bloomed from the void inside. The honey of her love had sweetened everything and it was reaching inside him to claim control once more. What defense had he against her, his consolation and mercy?

The funeral service was carried out at the marquisate. A lady should be buried in her husband’s family plot after being married, after all. A marchioness is a marchioness, not even the part of him that despised you could deny as much. He’d relinquished himself to that greater instinct again, he was sure it had happened while he was in Diana’s arms. The moment his control was undone indefinitely was when remembered his love for her.

Diana cried throughout the funeral and held to his arm, looking at the coffin which cradled her sister who looked fitful as if she were having a bad dream even in death. She trembled to see her sister, young and newly married, dead. Perhaps she saw herself in the coffin next and the thought of that made Claude hold her closer. No one commented on him embracing his sister-in-law so intimately at his wife’s funeral, least of all your parents who looked more burdened than bereaved. They apologized to him for the inconvenience caused by the whole ordeal from your wedding to your death and offered to take over the planning of the funeral at some point. They apologized to him for your death. Instead of mourning you, their firstborn daughter. You, your mother’s only daughter, a loss that should have shaken her to her very core was being treated as a matter of political burden. You were no more to her than a fallen knight, a matter of replacement or compensation. A financial headache, perhaps a political one but never a mother’s heartache or confusion for a daughter who took her own life.

What did he feel? Was it a husband’s grief? No…no, it was impossible for him to only feel a husband’s grief now. He was not just your husband, he was your killer, your jailor, your tormentor. The constant catalyst of your demise. He had not just lost a wife, he had killed one. There was never a time where he had been a husband to you, it was fitting that his grief was not that of a loving, dutiful husband.

Diana insisted upon not leaving him alone so your parents left her in his care. They didn’t flinch when she asked them and she didn’t think anything of spending so much time alone with her dead sister’s husband even though she had flirted with him so heavily while she was alive. Should she not be ashamed to ask this of him? Or did she think it was alright since she believed what everyone else did, that you didn’t love him, that you ran away to elope with your lover and killed yourself because he had been slain in the end? Nevertheless, he welcomed her.

Diana spent an entire week with him, days that comforted his hateful heart more than anything ever had. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, for she was mourning you as he was supposed to be. But it was as if they were playing pretend again, except this time they had the entire marquisate at their disposal instead of just Diana’s bedroom. When he wanted to see her, she was in the library or out in the garden or taking lunch in the guest room. Always in reach, it made him feel better. She was safe, she was healthy this time around and she was his. More than she ever had been before. Perhaps the suddenness of your death made her all the more open, made the need for comfort greater. Either way, the sweetness of her love was falling over him as warmly as summer rain.

But after that week, Diana did need to return home. For the sweet girl did not want her parents to miss her for too long. Claude insisted on accompanying her home in the carriage, under the guise of her safety but in all reality, just to spend even a few more moments with her.

They were halfway there when the carriage started moving faster than it should have. The horses were whinnying in fright desperately racing forth, Diana’s slight frame nearly flew across the carriage before he caught her and held her. They were run off the dirt road and into the forest. Claude couldn’t understand what was happening, he only caught the glimpse of dark figures out the window before the carriage flipped over.

He used his body to keep Diana from getting hurt the instant he felt the carriage tip. His head hit the door of the carriage hard but he seemed to be alright, there was only a little blood. “Diana?” He hadn’t the time or the wits about him to form the sentence he wished to speak, he could only call her name, frantic and panicked. “I’m alright!” Diana answered, looking up at him, still in his arms. She was trembling and fear clouded her eyes. He could hear commotion outside, fighting, the clang of swords. His heart sank at the staggered realization that they were being attacked but he was quick to action regardless of how badly his head pained him and how he couldn’t find his balance.

Still, by the time he’d helped Diana out of the carriage, his two knights were laying on ground before several men, cloaked in black with their swords wet with blood. He pushed her behind him and gripped his own sword to hold out before him. It was at least four swords against one, there was no way for him to live but he still needed to save Diana. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t logical, that he knew in his rational mind that he had no chance, he had to wield his sword against them. They were quickly done in, Diana seized and his sword arm badly injured. Strangely, they did not seem to have any intentions of killing him which gave him hope that it was a ransom situation. Until the man who had Diana, who seized her as she tried to flee to her best bet of survival — the thick forests around them, slit her throat unceremoniously and let her body drop to the ground into the dirt.

Claude let out a sound of unbridled anguish that startled birds from the trees. He fought against their hold wildly, turned half feral and dripping blood on them. The man who stayed back, took down the hood of his cloak revealing black hair, he seemed to be their ringleader. “Now that we have that out of the way, let me.” He stepped forward and drew his sword. Claude was still fighting, still writhing in the grips of his assailants, uttering curses at them. The stranger pulled Claude’s hair to lift his head and make him look up into his eyes. He wore a soft smile, dissonant from the situation. “Lord Claude, I hope you’d agree you’re entirely too important to be dealt with by just anybody.”

The stranger, his eyes glittering with joy, stood back and brought his sword down over Claude's head.

author's note: Oh, Claude. Didn't anyone ever tell you the forest is full of wicked things?

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl @s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic #x reader

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cipzercare · 1 year ago

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youtube

Amla Juiceis a great source of vitamin C that promotes hair growth & works to fight cancer cells

#infant cold medicine #humidifier for cough #over the counter cold sore medicine #Youtube

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pro-birth · 1 month ago

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The Marshall Project interviewed dozens of patients, medical providers, toxicologists and other experts to report the story. They also collected information on over 50 mothers who faced investigations over positive drug tests that were likely wrong.

At least 27 states require hospitals to alert child welfare agencies if a mother tests positive for an illicit drug, but no state requires hospitals to confirm the test results before reporting them.

While it's unclear how many of the nation’s 3.6 million births every year involve drug testing, healthcare experts told The Marshall Project that urine screening is ubiquitous and “tens of thousands of infants are reported annually to authorities for in utero drug exposure, with no guarantee that the underlying tests are accurate.”

Many common foods and medications — from antacids and antidepressants to blood pressure and cold medicines — can prompt false results because urine drug tests are often inaccurate.

#systemic sexism #medical malpractice #obstetric violence #birth justice

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mercy-love-joy · 2 months ago

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Small Snippet of BAAU mini-fic idea

BAAU belongs to @cuppajj

premise: Frigid Cacao Cookie sees a tiny baby

He stands over the crib, his face shadowed by his lock locks while his hands stay by his side. He dares not move nor touch the crib, even though he has control over his frost powers- he would rather not turn the infant into ice and the boy merely wiggles and flaps his arms at the king. His small chocolate eyes stare at the silent king while small horns poking out from behind his curly whip of chocolate icing. He is almost a picture-perfect image of his father while he holds his mother’s dough. The king blinks slowly, trying to keep himself from falling into a pit of rage or frost that could kill everyone in the room, including the weakened mother. Choco Bow hasn’t moved since she finished feeding the small minotaur.

Her body was weak from the long hours of labor and even when she was feeding the infant, she was drowsy and nearly falling faint from holding the infant. The king received word from the oozes who peeked into the room to see the advisors and Second Watcher helping the new father adjust his newborn in his arms while also attending to the mother as she finally fell asleep to recover from her motherly duties.

None of the cookies were expecting to see the king at the door to the mother’s room until the First Watcher opened the door and shouted in surprise. The infant was just placed to sleep, although awoken by the shout, and the cookies quickly bowed or stood off to the side to give the king his space. The quiet king didn’t do much beyond bowing back to his advisors and then moving towards the crib, where Chocolate Yule had to be warned to not approach the king.

The miniature minotaur snorts a puff of warm breath as he wiggles his arms, reaching for the king who stares so blankly at the boy. It makes the boy whine then start to cry, unhappy about the lack of attention he was receiving from the king. The frozen cookie didn’t react upon the small wail but the mother did. Choco Bow woke from her slumber and turned her head to see the king hovering over her newborn, watching him cry and wiggle for some warmth or love from someone. Choco Bow strung herself up and it caused a few to whisper shouts at her to lay down but even when her beloved stepped forward to grab her, the frost started to crackle along the floor. The king warned the cookies to not come near him. Choco Bow ignored the others and appeared by the king’s side, she scooped up her newborn and tucked him to her chest, her loose clothing on her top becoming undone by the infant’s wiggling but he quickly stopped when he recognized his mother.

The infant giggled. It was loud and clear, like bells ringing in a courtyard. The king raises his head to the new mother and the baby who snorts and giggles, the room filled with sounds of joy and happiness shining like the sun. Choco Bow bows her head to the king as she looks at her son, who blinks at her with such wide eyes, then her eyes glanced to the king who stared solely on the infant.

Maybe she was singing a death wish to herself and her child.

Maybe she was delirious from the medicine and the long labor hours.

Or perhaps she was someone who recognizes a cookie who wants to hold an infant.

The new mother stepped to the king, her feet touching the ice but it did not swallow her being, she steps closer to the king who adjusts his body to face her, neither speaking as the mother is mere inches of turning to ice or dying by the king’s silence. The mother stands before the king, her arms shakily offering the infant who immediately is fascinated by the king, the cold king doesn’t respond- as he stands there- unmoving. The advisors would have said that Choco Bow was asking for an early grave but yet, they were surprised to find the infant boy being scooped up by the king and held in the perfect position. His part acting perfect to support the baby’s head, he holds him with such ease and it reminds the cookies in the room that the king had to do this once before with the prince.

Now he does it again with an infant of another cookie.

The smaller cookie giggles, laughing as they reach up to the king, wishing nothing more than to touch his face. But his Majesty does not allow him to do such, so the baby grabs onto one of the long strands of the king’s hair and he grips it like an iron grip, refusing to let go as he kicks. The king blinks slowly at the boy, watching the life in his eyes gleam like the sun while his face illuminated the room with a tender glow. He pats the baby’s back who squirms at the ticklish delight, and then, the boy is returned to the mother. Choco Bow takes her son and holds him as the baby takes the warmth of his mother to feed.

The quiet cookie steps back and bows to the mother, silent as he arrived, he leaves. Choco Bow relaxes instantly as her beloved comes to her side and scoops her in a hug. The two look at the feeding infant who nuzzles his face into the warmth of his mother’s dough. Both smiling as they looked at one another, a hope bloomed in their chests as they hoped this newborn will bring light to the darkness within the cold palace.

…

Atticus Fruit Cookie paws the ground with his cloven hooves, clutching to his mother as he hesitates to touch the snowy ground. Choco Bow holds her son’s hand while Chocolate Yule stands in the snow, patting it to show that it wasn’t dangerous. Atticus Fruit whines as he looks around the courtyard, unhappy being outside the room of warmth but also curious about his surroundings. The minotaur boy looks at the incense wafts into a gentle smell of lavender and salt, and he sees the trail of ooze on the snow from the licorice oozes that came in early that day. The boy whines as his mother steps into the snow and tugs at him to follow along. The bull cookie whines again but when he looks across the courtyard, he sees a hulking figure in the shadow of the halls.

Atticus Fruit perks up at the sight of the king and starts to clop to the king, stepping onto the snow which then makes them shout and jump into their mother’s arms in alarm. Choco Bow laughs at the boy’s plight and holds him as he whines about the cold. But he only goes quiet when he sees the hulking figure again, he sees the outline of the crown in the dim light of the wafting incense and he waves, hoping for the king to notice but the king only turns away and disappears to his chambers. But a small smile lingers on the king as he thinks of the boy's little wave.

Atticus Fruit Cookie frowns, wishing the king would play but he quiets himself as his father takes him up and tosses him in the air. The Citadel was filled with childish laughter.

#I wish I could elaborate more #but I want to get the main idea out so I can draw it tomorrow #fanfic #crk #cookie run kingdom #frigid cacao cookie #Dark Cacao Cookie #OC cookies #my writing #this is more than likely OOC for Frigid Cacao #I just wanted to write a scene with a baby minotuar #I will draw a pciture for this and rewrite the small snippet

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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Am I the asshole for getting a restraining order against my anti-vax sister and her family?

I know that sounds bad but hear me out.

So I (27 M) and my wife (28 F) recently had our first child together six months ago and my parents and sister have started coming over to see our baby girl.

I didn't let them see the baby when she was born because unfortunately my wife and I were in a bad car accident. (Drunk driver ran us off the road and the car rolled down a small cliffside until it flipped over and crashed) we're both ok but my wife is now wheelchair bound and our daughter had to be delivered and put in an incubator for the rest of pregnancy because my wife was only 26 weeks pregnant at the time.

It was a miracle that our baby even survived.

But because my daughter was born so early she has a lot of health problems, including an incredibly weak immune system.

This is where the Am I The Asshole part comes in.

Obviously because of the horrible circumstances my family, particularly my sister, have been very patient on not being able to see the baby until everything settles down.

Well things have settled enough that we felt comfortable enough letting my parents come over to visit and meet their new granddaughter.

And that would've been fine if my sister (30 F) hadn't come too.

My sister is an anti-vaxxer. A hardcore anti-vaxxer.

Like full on believing in essential oils and healing crystals and literally ANYTHING other than traditional medicine. And considering the fact that she spent the entirety of my wife's pregnancy sending her guides for "vaccine detoxes", what essential oils to use and constantly pressuring her not to get our daughter vaccinated...yeah.

(Luckily my wife is way too smart to actually believe that bullshit and kept leaving my sister on read whenever she would start)

So my sister came over and brought her three children with her. None of her children are vaccinated.

She wanted to let her unvaccinated spawns near my heavily immunocompromised infant daughter.

Two of the three spawns were both sick with colds.

I cannot believe she would be that stupid.

So I yelled at her, telling her to take her children and leave because they sure as hell arent coming NEAR my daughter. She yelled at me saying that she wanted to see her niece and her essential oil covered gremlins would help give my daughter "natural immunity" and other anti vax crap. I argued back that if my daughter catches whatever PREVENTABLE diseases the kids are carrying she could very likely DIE.

And it turned into a whole big fight in the driveway. I ended up punching my brother in law (sister's equally anti-vax husband) in the face when he tried to push past me and let the children into my house. (He also punched me twice after that)

It was an entire mess.

Eventually my parents dragged my sister and her husband away and made them leave with their kids.

Once that whole ordeal ended I gave the entire driveway a deep clean and threw out the clothes I was wearing that day. (Call me paranoid but I do not want ANY risk of my baby girl getting sick and very possibly DYING because of my sister and her family)

My wife and I have my sister and her husband blocked on everything and I'm working on getting a restraining order against those people because there is no way in hell you could convince my sister to just vaccinate her children. So I do not want her, her husband or her children anywhere near my family ever again.

So Am I the asshole? My sister certainly thinks I am (my mother told me. she's been yapping away to her facebook group friends about how unfair and horrible I'm being when she did nothing wrong)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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dragongodryss · 3 months ago

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The knight and the dragon

(Stingue centric) (Warning: (Long( 16'000+Words)))

Incorporates the following prompts: Cursed, Impossible Quest, Abandoned Child and Forbidden Love.

Once upon a time, there lived a knight, Sir Sting Eucliffe by name. Though he was well liked by the common folk for his radiant self confidence and easygoing demeanor, his peers despised him for his arrogance and strange origins. Not that he would ever care.

He'd been abandoned, left as an infant at the order's door, and taken in by the knights of the Dawn Order. From a young age, many had taken notice of his talents. Some whispered vicious rumors in envious tones, whilst others sought to groom him into the perfect weapon, to be used for their machinations. Sir Eucliffe was well aware of that, for he was no fool, and so he hardened his heart and carried on.

To the common folk, he was quite the hero, defeating monsters, witches and bandits alike with ruthless efficiency, a confident smile on his face as he fought alone. No one would fight beside him, they all considered it beneath their station. With no one to turn to, all Sir Eucliffe had to rely on were himself and his skills. That was plenty, he told himself. More than those weak willed mongrels that boasted themselves to be knights would ever have.

To the knights, he was an arrogant fool who had rejected the gods themselves, who had only gotten away with it because he was the cruel and corrupt commander's prized weapon. Needless to say, there was no love between Sir Eucliffe and the knights of the Dawn Order. And so, for years to come, Sir Eucliffe of the Dawn Order fought alone, amongst cheers of hollow praise and whispers of jealous hatred.

When he had reached his twentieth year, or thereabouts, he had developed a reputation among the knights for being quick to draw his blade and slow to forgive. That meaning that he had yet to forgive any transgression against him. By that point, some had come to miss the mischievous yet kind and hopeful child he had once been, but it was too late.

Slowly, stories of his many duels had reached to common folk that had once loved him so, and as they found their way back to his ears, he grew enraged. But still, he fought on, further hardening his heart as the only source of warmth in his life started to fade. His light burned on, as cold as the ghost lights that haunted the moors. Present, if only as a cruel mockery of the warmth he once held.

The day the commander fell, all expected Sir Eucliffe to fall with him, and he would have, if not for the king's intervention. Never one to pass up the opportunity to appear benevolent, he offered the fallen knight a chance to redeem himself.

Deep in the mountains, far beyond where any sane traveler would ever venture, a toddler lay crying, deep in a cold dark cave. 'Monster', they had called him as they had dragged him out there, for the simple crime of being cursed by a witch, for the sins of his parents, no less. Not that he understood, not yet.

They had been scared to kill him anywhere near home, for fear that he would return to haunt them, and thus had taken him high up into the mountains, where no one would come across his vengeful spirit. As fate would have it, he wasn't alone, and the voice coming from deep within the darkness started to soothe the crying toddler, offering him his life for his company. Of course it was not so simple, but the child would have done anything to not be alone, for the voice to stay. It was no price to offer the shadow his company, not when he had nowhere else to go. Unlike him, however, the shadow wanted vengeance for the betrayal he had suffered, no matter that it had taken place centuries prior.

Over a few years, the nameless child, with the shadow's help, learned read and write and hunt and gather and make medicines. But slowly, his curse began to rear its ugly head as the small patch of glossy black scales on his hand began to spread up his arm. It was a good thing, the shadow assured him. Harnessed properly, it would give him power. And so the child began to exert control over the curse, learning to force it to turn his fingers into razor sharp claws or to retract back into the small patch of scales.

On his tenth year, or thereabouts, he ventured from the mountains with the medicines he'd made, to find more people at the shadow's behest. He didn't understand why; As far as he'd known, they'd been happy. They'd had everything they needed. But when he finally set eyes on the village, the scent of warm bread filling his nose, he understood, or at least he believed he did. It was busy, but absolutely captivating. His scales covered, he made his way into the settlement, returning the strange looks he received with a silent, wide-eyed stare.

For a couple of weeks, he found refuge in the stables, until one day, a stable hand came across the sleeping child and saw the scales on his hand. Once again, the child heard that nigh-forgotten word: 'Monster'. Never again would he forget it. Many words clung to his mind like the cobwebs that littered the mountain caves, but none like 'Rogue'. The tale repeated itself on occasion, with the shadow's whispers becoming ever darker as he encouraged Rogue to try again and again.

Every time he was rejected by a new village, Rogue fled to the mountains. Every time he was forced to use his magic to defend himself, the scales spread a little further, until the transformation reached his lungs. He was maybe fifteen when it happened, the townsfolk's violence, his growing curse and the shadow's whispers finally getting to him, and all his pain flowed out into a river of darkness pouring from his mouth as he screamed in frustration. As he blinked to awareness, he took in the destruction, the crumbling walls, the shallowly breathing forms of the villagers that had so viciously attacked him.

"Finish them."

The coldness in the shadow's voice snapped Rogue to awareness and he turned to flee when something caught his attention. He was on all fours, his back arched, looking at the small villagers. He looked down at his feet, no, his hands, to find scaly claws digging into the ground. In panic, he jumped back, feeling a surge of pain in a limb he was sure hadn't existed before. He'd hit a house, but with what? He tried to move the limb to find his feet lifting from the ground and flapped his newfound wings once more, soaring into the skies back into the mountains. Only there did he force his body to return to human form.

From that day on, knights and adventurers alike ventured into Rogue's mountains. Frequently, he moved deeper into the mountains, away from the hunters, and away from the shadow, who had once been his only friend. But though he could outrun the hunters, he could never escape the deal he had made that fateful day, deep in the mountains. Never again, he vowed, would he seek out another human.

But his heart was stronger than his mind and his honor combined, for many times he broke that vow. Every time he found one of pursuers injured by the many peril the treacherous mountains his, he turned back to heal them. It was his fault that they were there in the first place. Their lives would be on his hands.

As though they were the plague, Rogue avoided using his powers, for fear that he couldn't turn back to being human. Though the hunters never found their dragon, rumors of a mountain witch started to spread, and many would feign injuries to lure him out. But in spite of the shadow's warnings, Rogue would still go check. What else could he do? What if he let someone who needed help die for fear of his own death?

Sir Eucliffe pondered the impossible tasks set by the king, wondering if it would not be better to die with honor. Retrieve the Heart of the Northern Skies, an ancient gem with the power to grant wishes, lost generations ago, slay the dragon of the Traitors' Mounts and capture the mountain witch and bring him before the king. Any one of these tasks would difficult for a group, but for one man, it was an impossible task.

But Sir Eucliffe would not back down. And as such, he announced his decision to the king and made his way to the mountains, to hunt down the elusive witch.

Cold glares followed him in every town he passed through, but he dismissed them with a bright smile and mocking wave. Perhaps it would have been easier on his heart to avoid settlements when possible, but Sir Eucliffe was a tenacious man, and so he kept his head held high. After two days, he reached his first destination, the home of two of the hunters, one of whom was said to have encountered the witch.

He knocked on their door, loudly and firmly, unwilling to suffer a refusal. Fortunately for everyone involved, a woman, with a jagged scar running from her jaw to her chest, opened the door. Her eyes darkened when she saw the knight, but he entered without a greeting and sat down at her table.

"You are the one who came across the mountain witch, are you not?" He asked flippantly as the woman reached for what he presumed was a weapon. She nodded grimly, closing the door.

"What does that have to do with you?" She growled, moving toward the door on the other side of the room and gripping her weapon. Someone had to be behind there, someone she wanted to protect. Sir Eucliffe couldn't ever have imagined what that felt like.

"The king has tasked me with capturing the witch. That is all that you need to know. Now will you hinder me, knowing I come on behalf of the crown, or will you do your duty to your kingdom?" He asked coldly, all semblance of friendliness gone like the wind. The woman's face set in grim determination, but she called to someone beyond the door. Someone stirred within, carefully making their way toward them. A man, sporting a mangled leg, limped through the doorway, supported by a rough crutch. Fearless, he sat in the seat opposite the fallen knight, his wife standing protectively beside him. Sir Eucliffe repeated his questions.

"Indeed. I was caught in a rock slide as Karina and I were hunting down the dragon, and we got separated. I shouted for help, but with all the wind, I feared that the gods themselves wouldn't have heard me. And yet here he was. A young man, probably about your age now, sliding down the cliff so gracefully that I mistook him for an angel, until I saw his eyes. No angel would have eyes like that. No human either, for that matter. I still dream about them, you know. He couldn't have heard me calling, I tell you! He must have conjured that rock slide himself to trick me. I very nearly fell for it, you know. He pulled the rocks off me as though they were but pillows, but he was smaller than me. Than I am now! Taller than you, mind. He could never have lifted all those rocks so easily, not without magic!" The man rambled. He was a fairly skinny man, about a head shorter than Sir Eucliffe.

"And then? What did the witch do?" The knight interrupted.

"I was just getting there. He pulled out some potions and started healing my wound. Then he just left. Disappeared. Karina arrived a few minutes later. And you know the crazy thing? All the other sightings are the same. Severe injury, the witch appears and leaves just before backup comes. And he'll come even if you just pretend, or so I heard, but only if you're alone. The minute before backup shows, he'll be gone."

"Good thing I'm going alone then."

With those words, he left the village, making his way to the mountains. His sharp eyes, rivaled only by his blade, watched the skies. With his luck, he couldn't rule out that the dragon wouldn't strike while he was distracted.

After a week of traveling, Sir Eucliffe prepared to set a trap for the witch, with little hope that it would succeed. It was hardly a refined trap, merely designed to test the limits of the witch's abilities. Sir Eucliffe would stage a fall, leaving his sword just out of reach, and if the witch appeared, the knight would strike him with a poisoned dagger. The place was isolated, he would see the witch coming from afar.

However, in his plan, there was but one hitch: The ledge from which he would stage his fall was but an arm's length away from the nest of a griffon! Barely concealed by the jutting rocks, it had avoided Sir Eucliffe's attention. As such, when he climbed the ledge, about to 'slip', the griffon struck him from behind. His sword, which he had rigged to fall out of reach, did just that.

His options were to use his dagger, which he had concealed from the witch so far, or kill the griffon with his bare hands. Ever the valiant knight, Sir Eucliffe seized the griffon by the throat, pressing his thumbs into its windpipe. For a few agonizing minutes, he held on, despite the panicked monster's struggles, until it fell from the air into the valley below, far further than Sir Eucliffe had anticipated. With great dexterity, he maneuvered himself to fall onto it, breaking his fall.

Then he lay, with bated breath, at the bottom of the valley, hoping that the ordeal hadn't been for naught. Luck was with him that day, as the witch appeared not an hour later, trotting cautiously towards the fallen knight. "Another?" The breeze carried his tired whisper as he slowed to a walk.

"Please... Help me..." Sir Eucliffe begged, though he was unharmed. The witch closed the distance, kneeling an arm's length from him.

"Where does it hurt?" He asked softly, as though speaking to a frightened child. Sir Eucliffe resented it. The witch's eyes swept over him, and could see what the former hunter had meant. Those captivating red eyes could bewitch any who looked upon them. Such was not an angel's power. His mark's face was gaunt, and his eyes were sunken, almost overshadowed by the dark circles around them. Sir Eucliffe thought that would serve to make anyone else less attractive, but it only made him wonder what could possibly have caused him to look like that. Finally, he realized that the witch was expecting an answer.

"My...my back. And my shoulder. The right one." He cursed himself for getting caught in the witch's spell. He had been the kingdom's greatest knight! Shame crept over him.

"Can I take a look?" The witch asked. What did he think Sir Eucliffe expected him to do? "I mean, because of your armor. I can't check with your armor on." Some witch he was.

"You may." Sir Eucliffe agreed. The witch shuffled over, trying to make sense of the knight's pauldrons and how to remove them. It didn't help that Sir Eucliffe was lying on his supposedly injured shoulder. Perhaps he could stab him now, but he wanted to give the witch a chance to let his guard down first. Finally, the witch sighed.

"I didn't want to do this before knowing how grievous your wounds were, but I don't suppose we have a choice. I'll have to move you." The witch paused, waiting for Sir Eucliffe's assent. The knight nodded slowly, his back was supposed to be injured after all. "This will probably hurt. I could give you something for the pain, but it will make it harder to find what's wrong. It is your choice." The witch kept his voice low, but even then, it was bewitching. If this was how he spoke, Sir Eucliffe feared to hear him sing.

"I'm strong. I'll do without." The first part had been an affirmation to himself more than an answer. But it was the right choice. Who knew what side effects the potion would have?

Carefully, the witch snaked a hand under the knight before lifting Sir Eucliffe's left arm over his shoulder, preparing to pick him up. As the witch started to pull, with a gentle strength Sir Eucliffe hadn't anticipated despite the hunter's warnings, their chests connected, and Sir Eucliffe wondered when the last time he had been held was.

The dagger was in his left bracer, his left arm conveniently at the witch's back. The knight shoved down his sentimental side, which had to have come from the witch's magic anyway, and struck. He felt the weapon slide smoothly into the witch's lower back, prompting a cry of shock from the witch. Sir Eucliffe braced himself to be dropped as he roughly pulled out the dagger, but even as the witch crumpled to his knees, he didn't drop the knight. Worried, Sir Eucliffe contemplated stabbing him again, not wanting the witch's strength to be turned against him. It didn't come to that, as the witch carefully placed him against the griffons cooling body and staggered back. It seemed like the poison wasn't working, Sir Eucliffe noted for future reference.

Lifeless red eyes met Sir Eucliffe's cold blue ones. No surprise could be found the witch's face, only disappointment.

He dropped his bag of potions within reach of the knight and staggered away into the bushes, away from this newest betrayal. It was foolish, Rogue knew, to hope that things would be different every time he met a new person. In his defense, however, victims of legitimate accidents were usually less likely to try to kill him and any who did end up attacking usually did so a lot sooner, as soon as he came into range. His shadow mocked him once again, as always when he was betrayed, but Rogue could barely hear it. Could only register the ground approaching at frightening speeds. Had the dagger been poisoned? As his limbs grew ever heavier, Rogue concluded that the answer was yes.

So this was how he would die. A raindrop narrowly missed his eye as the rain he'd been looking forward to since that morning finally came.

Sir Eucliffe looked through the bag, filled with potions and medical supplies. The witch had made the effort of labeling the potions and had clearly made the conscious choice of leaving the bag with him. Not for the first time, the knight was starting to suspect. Thud. Sir Eucliffe looked up in the direction of the sound, where the witch had gone. Gingerly, he got to his feet, picked up the bag of medicine and followed the witch's path as it started to rain.

The rain had started pouring in the short minute it had taken him to reach the witch, who appeared to have succumbed to the poison. He was still conscious, at least somewhat. The side of his face that was visible was wet with rain, his hair and clothes already drenched. Though he lay still, Sir Eucliffe could see the fear in his eye. The knight looked around for a dry place to hide and wait out the rain. His eyes fell on a small cave nearby and he gritted his teeth, preparing to carry the witch there. Because he needed him alive. For no other reason.

To Rogue's surprise, the knight picked him up and started to walk away. Didn't he know that it was dangerous to travel in this weather? Rogue tried to tell him, but he could not make his tongue cooperate. Fortunately, the knight stopped soon after, putting him down on the rocky floor of a shallow cave. Then he started rummaging in his backpack out of Rogue's sight. Desperately, Rogue tried to turn his head to look, but he couldn't move. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy and fought to at least control them. He couldn't fall asleep now. In a frantic attempt to free himself, Rogue called upon his curse, scared of the knight's silence.

Wings burst from his back, tearing his shirt and painfully colliding with the cave wall. Thanks to them, he got to his feet, but those couldn't hold him.

Sir Eucliffe spun around as he heard something hit the wall, just in time to see the witch fall to the ground. He tried to lift himself up by his draconic wings, but he seemed to have less control over them with every moment that passed. In his addled state, the witch still seemed to realize it. In but a second, the wings folded in on themselves and disappeared, leaving the witch to collapse miserably onto the floor.

Sir Eucliffe grabbed the rope he'd been looking for and made his way to the witch, dragging him to the wall once more, below one of the roots partially protruding from the deepest wall of the cave, far from the rain. He looped the rope around the root and started to bind the witch's wrists together, all the while contemplating the implications of the draconic wings. As he worked on securing the restraints, the witch's sleeve fell back to reveal glossy, obsidian scales. Sir Eucliffe ran his finger over them, marveling at how smooth they were. The witch's hand twitched, as though he had tried to pull his hand away, and the knight turned to see that he was still stubbornly clinging to consciousness. He took his hand away from the scales and got up to set up camp. They weren't going anywhere tonight.

The witch had finally gone to sleep, slumped against the wall. He was turned towards Sir Eucliffe, reproachful even in his sleep. If Sir Eucliffe was right, and he was sure he was, the dragon and the witch were one and the same. Problem was, he needed one dead, and one alive. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. Now all he needed was to find the Heart of the Northern Skies, a gem lost for centuries. Daunting as defeating a witch and a dragon seemed, the task he'd feared most was this one, the one he'd left for last. Where could he even start?

He'd heard rumors of a seer on the other side of the mountains, perhaps he could start there. But for now, he needed to perform a little magic of his own. He looked at the enchanted cuffs in his hands, recalling the ritual. Draw blood from himself and the witch, pour it on the cuffs, then cuff the witch. If it worked, it would bind the witch to him, preventing him from going further than Sir Eucliffe allowed and, more importantly, from using magic. The king had lent them to him for the purpose of bringing the witch back, like a trophy of sorts. Though disgusted by the idea, the knight started the ritual. His life depended on this mission. Meticulously, he cleaned the dagger of any traces of poison before drawing blood from himself, before suddenly remembering the stab wound that he had given the witch. He took some blood from the wound, smearing the cuffs. They started to glow red, absorbing the blood. After untying the witch, Sir Eucliffe cuffed him, before carrying him to the open bedroll. He laid the witch down on his stomach before cleaning his wound. Removing the tattered shirt, he saw scars, many of them. Not from weapons, or at least not from things intended as weapons. If he had to guess, the two round scars, one on his arm and one on his lower back, had come from a pitchfork, several years ago. The slashes had probably come from a bullwhip, Sir Eucliffe thought, tracing them. They were also old, likely sustained during childhood. Feeling sick to his stomach, Sir Eucliffe wrapped the knife wound before wrapping the witch in his blanket and tucking him into the bedroll.

The knight removed his armor before sifting through his supplies for food. As he ate, he watched the witch. What was his name?

After a couple of hours, the witch started to stir, but stayed asleep for the moment. Sir Eucliffe wondered if he should wake him to offer him some food. Looking at the shadows under his eyes, he decided against it.

Rogue felt warm. Warmer that he had in a while. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the memories from before he had fallen unconscious started flooding back. Warily, he opened his eyes. He was lying face down on... was it a bed? He wasn't sure. Gingerly, he sat up, or at least tried to, until a sharp pain shot through his back. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, more slowly this time. The cold air bit at his exposed back, and the resulting shiver made his arms give way. An arm snaked around his chest before he could fall down again, lowering him gently back into the bed. Rogue turned his head.

The knight was crouched beside him, a look of concern on his face. "Stay still. You've torn your wound open." He told Rogue firmly. Rogue froze, abruptly aware that the scales on his arm were in plain sight. Had the knight noticed them?

Sir Eucliffe worked on wrapping the wound again. He felt the witch's heartbeat quicken and tried to work more gently. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed the witch's arm move, then felt him wince beneath his hands. Firmly, he took hold of the witch's arm, stilling it. "You'll hurt yourself."

Rogue was tempted to ask why the knight cared. It wasn't as though he had stabbed himself. More worryingly, the knight's hand was on his scales, though he had yet to comment on them. "Let me go." He ordered, as menacingly as possible.

"I'll get off you when I've finished taking care of your wound." The knight told him, but let go of his arm. Once again, Rogue tried to hide it under the blanket. He was already a witch to the knight, no need to appear a monster. Suddenly, he froze, remembering his attempt at escape before passing out. The knight had seen his wings! Then why was he taking care of Rogue now? "I know you're cold, but I'll only take a minute." The knight promised. Now that he mentioned it, Rogue was cold.

Once the knight had finished, he put one of his hands under Rogue's shoulder and put the other around his waist, carefully turning him around. Rogue hissed at the unexpected touch, but the knight carefully put him down and pulled the blanket back over him before moving away.

Sir Eucliffe pulled the food out of his bag before returning to the witch, who was warily watching him. "You must be starving. Help yourself." He handed the witch the food. Hesitantly, the witch took it from him, not taking his eyes off him as he started to eat. "My name is Sting Eucliffe. What's yours?" The witch swallowed his mouthful before answering.

"Rogue, I suppose." He said. He took another bite of the dried beef, still watching Sir Eucliffe. The knight sat down beside him, meeting his reproachful eyes.

"Please to make your acquaintance, Rogue." Sir Eucliffe said, desperate to stop the witch from looking at him like he was some sort of monster. He didn't know why. He had stabbed Rogue in the back mere hours ago, after all. He had every right to see Sir Eucliffe as a monster.

"Are you really?" Rogue asked dully. Sir Eucliffe bristled, forcibly reminding himself that Rogue was asking a reasonable question, no matter how much it stung. He thought for a moment, searching for an answer.

"More than I have been meeting most people, especially of late." Rogue would have hated to be someone he wasn't pleased to meet if that was the case. "Are you still cold?" Absolutely, but Rogue wasn't going to tell him that. He shook his head, and yet Sting clearly didn't buy it. Before he could respond, however, Rogue finally noticed the cuffs on his wrists. What were they for? Were they magical? They had to be. What did they do?

"It's alright! They're just there to stop you from running away. Just try to ignore them." Sting said quickly. He unbuttoned his coat and took it off. "Since your shirt is ruined, you can wear this." He reached for Rogue, but now that he had regained some strength, Rogue didn't intend to let himself be picked up. Hastily, he tried to shuffle away, but the pain in his back made him pause. "Careful!"

"I'm alright. I'm not cold." Rogue lied.

"You're still shivering. I know you're afraid of me, and you have every right to despise me. That doesn't mean I am going to let you make things worse for yourself." Sir Eucliffe told him firmly. "Now we're going to put the coat on you, and then I'll go back to my book and leave you alone. Then when the rain stops, we'll leave." He reached for Rogue again, and though the witch glared at him, he didn't back away. Sir Eucliffe would consider that a victory. He sat Rogue up and bundled him up in his warm coat. He was already missing it, but Rogue needed it more. "There we go. Now as promised, I'll leave you alone."

When the rain ceased a couple of days later, Rogue watched Sting pack up his camp, valiantly ignoring the way his stomach felt as though it had been filled with lead. The knight had been silent for the most part.

The only conversation of note was when he had told Rogue that he was free to go as far as the cuffs would let him. That had been followed by a short argument once Rogue had found out just how short that distance was. After dragging himself ten meters along the cave wall, his feet had simply ceased to move. Panicked, Rogue had sought another path, but never could he stray further from the knight. The bastard had been watching his every move from the dry safety of the cave, likely gloating at the terrified man’s attempts. Rogue had, in his desperation, tried to manifest his wings. That was when he had discovered the cuffs’ secondary properties. Distraught, he had slumped down beside a tree, which did little to shield him from the pouring rain. His wounds were tearing into him, some of his old scars even acting up.

Once Sting had dragged him back into the cave and Rogue had caught his breath, he had started shouting at the knight, demanding to be set free. Of course, his request had been denied, and after repeated attempts, Rogue had stopped trying. He hadn’t spoken since then and had no intention of changing that.

Sir Eucliffe felt Rogue's glare on his back, but every time he turned around, the witch had turned away. Sighing, Sir Eucliffe finished packing and turned to the witch. The silence had gone on long enough. "Alright, Rogue. Ready to go?" Not a word. Shame. "Come on Rogue. Lovely voice like yours, tis a shame not to use it." The witch still didn't speak, but he found the courage to glare at him again. Anyone else, he would have challenged to a duel. It was an insult after all. But not only did Rogue have every reason to look at him that way, not least of all after his comment, he was completely the knight's mercy. Not to mention it would have been odd to challenge him after staring at his eyes for so long. "I suppose that was hardly appropriate." Sir Eucliffe conceded gently. Rogue looked at him blankly.

The knight made his way over and slowly tried to lift Rogue to his feet. Letting himself go limp, the witch gave Sir Eucliffe a wide smirk. Sir Eucliffe rolled his eyes. "Not going to make this easy for me, are you? Brat." Rogue stuck his tongue out. Sir Eucliffe chuckled faintly, the first genuine laugh he'd had in a long while, and carefully set him down. The witch's triumphant smile brought new laughter to the knight. "I'd wager you're proud of yourself."

"Very." Rogue didn't manage to stop that one word. He cursed himself internally as Sting's cold blue eyes lit up the slightest bit. He locked his jaw and looked away. The knight chuckled gently.

"Very well, but we need to go. We still need to find the Heart of the Northern Skies. Come on."

"What do you mean we?" Rogue spat.

Sir Eucliffe explained his quest to the highly unimpressed Rogue. Slowly, the witch grew more worried. "And as you're bound to me for the time being, you're coming with me." Rogue didn't seem to be paying attention. His normally sharp eyes were wide and glazed over, staring slightly over the knight's shoulder. After a moment, his shoulders jerked, and seemingly subconsciously, curled up into a ball.

Until now, Rogue had not fully grasped the extent of the trouble he was in. He didn't want to know what the king had planned for him. Witches were dangerous. He wasn't one, but the king didn't know that. Keeping one around, especially one who was here against his will, was deeply foolish. What could the king possibly want with him? "Rogue? Focus on me." Sting ordered him firmly. Rogue blinked at him. The knight was kneeling beside him, genuine concern on his face. His hand cautiously hovered over Rogue's wrist, and he almost pulled it away out of habit.

Rogue wanted to ask him what would happen, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was look intently at Sting. Comfortingly, the knight brushed his fingertips against his scales. "There, there-" His whisper cut off, his hand stilling against Rogue's arm.

Briefly surprised by the tears flowing freely, Sir Eucliffe resumed his attempts to comfort the witch. Guilt stabbed at his heart as he watched Rogue break down. He'd seemed so stoic, and Sir Eucliffe hadn't expected him to fall apart in front of a stranger. "Come on. Tell me what's going on." Rogue glared at him, hastily wiping away his tears.

"What do you think? I got stabbed in the back and you're going to drag me back to your accursed king for who knows what." The witch growled in a cracked voice.

"My apologies, Rogue. It is the only way for me to find redemption."

"Redemption for your crimes. Why must I bear the consequences?" Rogue snarled, looking more dragonlike than ever. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"The people fear you, and nothing else matters. Perhaps I can persuade the king to release you, when we return victorious. But for that to stand a chance, you'll need to convince the people that you aren't a threat to them. Come with me. Help me find the heart." Sir Eucliffe requested earnestly. Rogue's glare softened, and Sir Eucliffe could practically see the moment he started to hope. The knight prayed that it would not be in vain.

With that, Sir Eucliffe carefully helped Rogue leave the cave, slowly making their way down the winding mountain path. Fortunately the skies remained clear as they cleared the mountains in a week's walk. Fewer and fewer people recognized the knight, and slowly, his demeanor brightened. Rogue grew less nervous the longer they traveled, as they never stayed long enough for his scales to be discovered.

They reached the town where the seer was said to live. Sir Eucliffe asked around as to where they lived, and soon, they found the house. The knight knocked on door, breath bated. Rogue stayed behind him, eyeing the door uneasily. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a blonde woman, far younger than Sir Eucliffe had expected the seer to be. Maybe she was their granddaughter. "Good day, madam. We come to seek a seer, we heard of one who lives here." The knight told her. She shook her head.

"Begone. You aren't welcome here."

"For what reason?" Sir Eucliffe demanded.

"Your reputation precedes you, Sir Eucliffe of the Dawn Order. You are not welcome here." She reiterated, her voice growing heated.

"Let us go, Sting." Rogue suggested. Maybe if they never found the Heart of the Northern Skies, he would never be turned in to the king. The woman's brown eyes briefly flashed gold, so quickly that Rogue almost thought he had imagined it.

"A moment, please. You, we are willing to deal with, Ryos of Anemone. No... Rogue, isn't it?"

"What was the first one?" Rogue asked quickly, the rest of her sentence rapidly fading from his mind. Her eyes flashed gold again.

"You didn't know? Your given name is Ryos. Ryos of Anemone." We know our target. Anemone. His shadow spoke for the first time since he's run into Sting. Having grown used to the quiet, Rogue jumped back. Sting caught him as he stumbled, drawing his blade as he glared at the woman.

"What did you do to him!" Sir Eucliffe shouted. He hadn't registered anything the woman had said, had only seen her eyes flash gold.

"Sting, what are you doing?" Rogue hissed, struggling to his feet. The woman, no, the seer, tapped her knuckles against the door frame. Rogue heard two people get up and make their way to them, stopping just out of sight.

"Will you come or not?" The seer asked, her patience seemingly fading fast. Little as Rogue wanted to find the Heart, he didn't really a good reason to refuse. He nodded reluctantly.

"No. He won't be until you tell me what you did." Sir Eucliffe threatened.

"Yes I will be. She didn't do anything, Sting. Besides, you have no reason to care." Rogue snapped. Sir Eucliffe considered dragging him away, but they needed the information,

"Very well then. Call out if you need me." Rogue had no intention of doing that. A little annoyed at himself for giving up an ironclad reason to reject information, he stepped inside. The seer shut the door, and the other two people stepped into the light, seemingly from nowhere. The tallest one, a pink haired man somewhat shorter than Rogue, spoke:

"Luce, why have you gone back on our decision? We agreed that we wouldn't assist knights, and certainly not the witch-slayer himself!" He asked, confounded. The white haired woman was still eyeing the door cautiously, watching the seer lock it.

"We'll discuss this upstairs, Natsu. Lisanna, sweetheart, could you get us something to drink? This may take a while." Sting would be very pleased with that. Natsu led the way upstairs, gesturing for Rogue to follow him. Luce joined them after assuring that the door was properly secured.

"Who are you?" Natsu questioned, sitting down in a plush chair.

"Rogue."

Natsu waited for a moment, as though expecting Rogue to continue, but Rogue didn't, still wary of the trio's motives. "Could out-babble a brook, you could." The man commented, reaching out towards a candle and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. Rogue's eyes widened. "Never seen magic before? Hey Luce, why would you let him in if he's traveling with the witch-slayer and he's not magic?"

"Not now, Natsu. Wait until Lisanna gets here." The seer said. "It will save me my breath."

Fortunately, it was not long a wait, for soon Rogue heard her footsteps on the stairs. She carried two platters, one containing two jugs and four cups and the other carrying a mountain of bread rolls. They were still warm, their smell carrying over to where Rogue was seated. "Milk or wine?" She asked. Rogue asked for the former, his experience with wine limited to observing the occasional town drunk. Hardly a favorable impression.

Once they all had their respective foods and beverages, the seer started to speak: "As you may have gathered, my name is Lucy, and these are Natsu and Lisanna. Lisanna, this is Rogue." The white haired woman waved at him, and Rogue hesitantly waved back. "The three of us are all witches, so I hope you understand why we don't wish to deal with your companion." Rogue nodded. He didn't really want to deal with his companion either. Perhaps it was in his head, but the half healed wound in his back twinged a little as he thought so. Lucy had stopped speaking, and Rogue realized that she was expecting a response. He nodded hurried, turning his focus back to her.

"We came here to ask about the Heart of the Northern Skies. It's been missing for centuries. We don't know where to begin looking." Rogue explained.

"Yes, I am aware. But that is not why I let you in. You're not here of your own free will, are you?" Lucy asked. Natsu and Lisanna's eyes widened. Rogue shook his head, wondering where this was going. "I can't see the specifics, but you have two options: The first is to stay with us, and kill the witch-slayer. The second is to go with him and fulfill his quest." Her tone was grave, and Rogue knew she was hiding something. Silently, he waited for her to continue, twisting the cuffs around his wrists. "If you stay with us, your curse will never be lifted. Your mind should remain the same, but eventually, you'll transform permanently."

"I don't believe I could stay. These cuffs bind me to him." Rogue admitted, revealing the cuffs and by extension his scales.

"That is why we would have to kill him." Lucy stated, folding her hands into her lap. Rogue didn't know what to say. Freedom was within his grasp, but he wasn't sure he could kill for it. It was of no matter. He didn't want to kill for it. He didn't want anyone to die for it.

"I'll go with him." Rogue decided.

"What do you mean? He put a sealing spell on you, and you want to help him?" Natsu growled, baffled by Rogue's choice.

"It would be for the best, yes. If you are willing to do that, there is a chance that your curse will be broken." Lucy said. "And we'd never be able to rest with the Dawn Order after us."

"How? Can it really be broken?" Rogue asked hopefully.

"I don't know how, I just know that it can. Sorry I can't be more of more help."

"That's alright. Do you know where we can find the Heart of the Norhtern Skies?" Rogue asked, trying to hide his disappointment. Lucy shut her eyes, trying to find at least something.

"I see you two finding it, but I can't see how. As far as I can see, no one will tell you. -Wait! No. It's strange. Like you suddenly knew. I'm sorry, I don't know." Lucy apologized. Rogue froze, looking at his shadow.

"Thank you. I think I know who to ask." He wasn't looking forward to it. What he looked forward to even less was whatever the king had planned. "One more question: You called me Ryos of Anemone. Is that really my name?"

"Ryos was the name your parents gave you, yes. Anemone is your hometown."

"Right. Are my parents alive?" Rogue queried.

"A moment, please." Lucy said, her eyes flashing gold. She reached a hand out to Rogue. "May I?" Rogue nodded. She touched his forehead lightly, the gold color in her eyes fully taking over the brown for several seconds. "They don't appear to be. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Thank you for telling me." Rogue thanked her. "I thank all of you for letting me in, and for the food."

He said his goodbyes to the other three and walked out to Sting, who hadn't moved from the door. "Did she tell you where we'll find the heart?" The knight asked once the house was out of sight.

"She said we'd find it, but she was vague on the how. I think we need to keep going until we figure it out." Rogue would be damned if he told Sting about the talking shadow that kept telling him to seek revenge, preferably through murder. Sting sighed irritably.

"Well isn't that helpful? Fate could not possibly have spared me this, could it?" The knight complained. "Could she have lied to you?"

"No. No, I believe she was telling the truth." But Rogue was the same person who had fallen for the same trap a hundred times, so what did he know? That very thought seemed to be on the knight's mind. However, he let it go.

Since they had no leads, aside from the vague prophecy, Sir Eucliffe decided to start searching in a more enjoyable place. The coast was nearby and was said to be wonderful this time of year, and it was as good a place as any to start their search. Though it was not far, Sir Eucliffe felt that they would be traveling a lot, and as such decided that a wagon would be a wise purchase.

The trouble was, he lacked the funds to purchase one. Thus, followed by a confused yet resigned Rogue, he started to look for something to do.

"Would you care to tell me why you seek an audience with the count?" Rogue hissed into Sir Eucliffe ear, wrapping the knight's coat around himself uncomfortably.

"We need money for a wagon and horse and supplies, and we need it soon. Might that the count has some monsters that require slaying." Sting told him. As long as the 'monsters' he spoke of weren't witches, Rogue didn't mind. Not that he would have a choice in the matter. As such, he nodded in understanding, warily following the knight's lead as they were announced.

It was but a short conversation, as Sting left out much of their story in his explanations. The count might have found it suspicious, had he not been desperate for help. But as luck would have it, he was, for a town south of the one they just left had recently become the hunting grounds of a griffon. Considering just how well Sting's previous griffon battle had gone, there was no way this could go wrong.

Still, the knight accepted at once, for what Rogue assumed was a high price. As Sting turned to leave, the count spoke again: "And your companion? What of him? He hardly seems to be a fighter." Sting turned around, briefly glancing at Rogue as he did. It was a fair question. With the cuffs on his wrists, he couldn't transform.

"You think me incapable of slaying a griffon alone?" Sir Eucliffe growled disdainfully. The count started to rescind his impertinent question. "He is traveling with me. He isn't here to fight." Sir Eucliffe didn't know why he was angered by the idea of Rogue having to fight, but he didn't have to.

"Of course, of course! My apologies, I shouldn't have pried." The count said shakily, hurriedly trying to get back into Sir Eucliffe's good graces. Magnanimously, Sir Eucliffe decided to forgive the man, brushing off his prying. On the edge of his vision, he could see Rogue rolling his eyes. He turned around to shoot him a brief glare, but Rogue didn't flinch, looking unimpressed.

On one hand, Sir Eucliffe was worried that this would make the count rethink his fear of him. On the other, Rogue didn't seem to be scared of him anymore, which could only be a good thing. Fortunately, the count didn't seem notice. Thanking his lucky stars, Sir Eucliffe left the building, Rogue right behind him.

They set off right away, back to the mountains to slay the beast. While Rogue wouldn't be helping him fight, he couldn't stay in the village alone, and thus he had to go with Sir Eucliffe. He didn't seem to mind, at least.

Rogue wished Sting good luck when they separated at the foot of the mountains. Due to the magic of the cuffs, he'd still have to follow him, but at a distance, hopefully far enough to stay out of the fight.

He watched Sting make his way to the griffon's nest, sword drawn. As such, he noticed the griffon before the knight did, seeing it circle back when it saw him. He could just stay put, do nothing. The knight would likely win, but the sneak attack would injure him. Rogue would be able to easily overpower him.

No. Rogue gripped his arm, his nails cutting into flesh. The shadow's voice was becoming ever harder to distinguish from his own. "Sting!" He called out to the knight. Sting didn't turn, not until the griffon swooped him. Then, as fluidly as a river, he spun around, his sword finding the beast's heart. It's momentum carried it forward, Sting's sharp blade almost tearing it in two. As the bloodstained blade caught the light of the sun, it cast small speckles of red and white light onto the mountainside, dancing among the spatters of blood that covered it as Sting moved.

The spell broke as the knight lowered his blade, walking over to the griffon's corpse to sever its head as proof of his triumph. Unfazed, he made his way back to Rogue. "Let's go get our reward." He said simply. Rogue nodded wordlessly, following him back down the mountain.

It had taken all Sir Eucliffe had not to turn around the moment Rogue had called his name. He had expected the griffon to move the way it had, as that was their typical hunting strategy, and had planned accordingly. He had neglected to tell Rogue as much, but even then, he was surprised that he had chosen to warn him.

Now, his main struggle was not to bring it up. Rogue had always helped people when he could. He wasn't special. "I apologize if I distracted you."

Sir Eucliffe froze at the unnecessary apology, but responded swiftly: "Nothing to apologize for. I should have told you about the plan." They walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again: "When we get our reward, we're going to go to the seaside to start searching. I don't expect we'll find anything, but we should go regardless." Rogue nodded.

"Is it far?" He asked.

"Not very. But as we will be traveling for a while, we may as well buy a wagon." Sir Eucliffe explained. "It's quite nice there, I'm sure you'll like it."

"Will there be many people?" Rogue asked, twisting the cuff on his scaled arm.

"Some, I'm sure. We shan't stay in one place for too long. The weather will be nice, or so I'm told, so we should be able to stay in the wagon some nights." Sir Eucliffe offered. They had reached the foot of the mountains at that point, not to far from their destination. When Rogue nodded, the knight continued: "It may be pretty warm, so we'll need to get new clothes. Something light. I'm sure we'll find something to cover your arm."

They returned to the count, with the griffon's head as proof of their victory. He was a little surprised at how quickly they had returned, but compensated them as promised. Within the week, Sir Eucliffe had managed to get his hands on a wagon, alongside the necessary modifications. Rogue stayed beside him as he did so, working on his potions. They went out for more herbs when Sir Eucliffe wasn't negotiating, Rogue finding those he needed with practiced ease. Still, he checked them every time, just in case he was wrong.

Their last job before they set out was to pick up their clothes from the tailor. Sir Eucliffe dressed quickly, not bothering to put his armor back on. When he came out, Rogue was already waiting for him. For a moment, Sir Eucliffe felt that he had forgotten how to breathe. Rogue had decided to cut his hair that morning, and had put it up in small ponytail, exposing a small sliver of his neck above the high-necked collar of his shirt. That might not have been an issue were it not for the fact that the shirt only had one sleeve, loosely covering his scaled hand in contrast to how the shirt clung to his upper body. The bottom of the shirt was tucked haphazardly into his light trousers, as though he'd done so in a hurry. Sir Eucliffe barely spared the clothes a glance, his eyes drawn to the exposed arm. He could barely make out the muscles, but they were definitely there, moving as Rogue shifted awkwardly. Sir Eucliffe tried to snap out of it. He'd seen Rogue without a shirt before. Unfortunately, as he snapped his head up to face Rogue, he met his gaze. Those enchanting eyes were no longer surrounded by dark circles, and as such appeared a far deeper red, small specks of violet and a lighter red catching his eye.

Rogue shifted as he noticed Sting watching him, worried he had been caught staring. His shadow berated him, telling him that he was being distracted. It could shut up.

Without his armor, Sting looked far more approachable, gentle even. He was wearing a sleeveless blue shirt, which he hadn't bothered to tuck in, as well as white trousers and brown leather gloves. His sword hung at his hip, swinging with every step he took. When the knight met his gaze, Rogue froze, trying to place the look Sting was giving him. His deep blue eyes had widened slightly, following Rogue's eyes every time they moved. His mouth hung slightly open, revealing perfect white teeth. They were straight, unlike Rogue's sharp fangs.

"Shall we go?" Rogue asked, attempting to cover his face with his hair before realizing he had put it up. Quickly, he ran his fingers through some of the strands, loosening them from the ponytail to frame his face. Sting jumped, hurriedly agreeing. Rogue decided not to question whatever that was about, instead waiting for the knight to lead the way.

Embarrassed, Sir Eucliffe walked to the wagon, his face burning with the might of a thousand suns. Rogue, walking beside him, suddenly sped up to stop in front of him, rummaging in his bag. "I can feel you burning up from here. Just a moment, I should have something for a fever. Is anything else wrong? Headache, sore throat?" Sir Eucliffe hadn't thought he could have been more embarrassed, but it appeared he was mistaken. He hadn't thought that Rogue's heightened senses would pick up on something like this. Was it really that bad? "Do you need to sit down?"

"No- No, Rogue, I'm fine. I'm not sick."

"You don't look fine. You look sick." Rogue argued, still sifting through the clay vials for some medicine.

"Rogue. I'm not discussing this with you. I'm not sick. Trust me." Really convincing. Rogue didn't look like he believed Sir Eucliffe, but he closed his bag. "It's not serious." He tried to reassure Rogue more softly. He hoped he was right. That this wasn't serious. It would become a huge problem if it was. Rogue wasn't paying full attention.

"That's weird. Your fever is going down."

"It's not a fever, Rogue."

"Alright. If you say so."

The rest of the walk to the wagon was quiet, with Rogue occasionally throwing concerned looks at him. Once Sir Eucliffe moved past his initially embarrassment and annoyance, he found it somewhat endearing.

Whatever was wrong with Sting wasn't among the ailments that his shadow had taught him about. That meant that it was either extremely trivial or extremely rare. Rogue wasn't on speaking terms with the shadow right now, but he might have to change that once the knight was out of earshot.

The first hour of the trip was largely uneventful, but Rogue found himself feeling sicker as the road grew rockier. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he opened his bag, running the possibilities through his mind. Food poisoning? Some other disease? He had a concoction that could make him throw up if it was the former, but he wasn't sure.

"Rogue, I told you I'm not sick." Sting reminded him. He turned to look at Rogue as he spoke and his face fell. Within moments, he stopped the wagon. "What's wrong? You look like death warmed up." Was it really that bad? He did feel faint. Before he could respond Rogue felt the bile rising in his throat and leaned over the side of the wagon, gracelessly emptying the contents of his stomach onto the road. He felt Sting pull away the hair that covered his face, waiting until Rogue was done to speak again: "Easy now. It's alright. Are you travelsick? Or is it something else?" He pulled out a handkerchief, gently wiping Rogue's face. When he regained his bearings, Rogue took it from him.

"Travelsick?" Rogue croaked miserably.

"Some people get sick on wagons and boats. When it's just boats, we say seasick. Do you think that's it?"

"I don't know. I've never been on a wagon before." He did feel better now that they had stopped moving. Slowly, he leaned back into the bench, staring at the wagon cover. The sunlight filtered through it, not too bright, but still warm. Rogue closed his eyes, enjoying it.

Sir Eucliffe watched Rogue relax, catching himself smiling as he did. He decided to give him a few minutes to recover. Meanwhile, he would rest as well. Sir Eucliffe didn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to laze around like this. Not in at least a decade and a half, he supposed. It felt wonderful.

Far later than Sir Eucliffe had intended, they set out again, going more slowly than before. In the middle of the afternoon, they reached the seaside. Sir Eucliffe decided to set up camp on close to a small town.

For a few days, they stayed there, questioning the locals for a couple of hours a day before returning to camp. After that, they moved to the next town, going at a leisurely pace, in part to spare Rogue from his travelsickness, in part because they were in no hurry. It was quite enjoyable, but Rogue dreaded the day they would find the Heart.

One night, when Sting had fallen asleep, Rogue got up and walked as far as he could from the knight. "Shadow?" Asking aloud was unnecessary, but it made Rogue feel slightly less insane. It made it easier to tell his thoughts and the shadow's apart. It was listening, Rogue knew. "Are we close? To the Heart?" Further than they'd ever been, his shadow told him. He didn't know how, but he was sure it was telling the truth. Rogue leaned against a rock, letting himself slide down to a sitting position. He was ashamed to find himself trembling in relief, but he couldn't tell why.

The weather was warm and sunny for the most part, but a few days after they reached the second town, clouds started to build on the horizon. "Smells like a bad storm's coming. Day or two from now, I'd say." Rogue warned Sting one morning, pointing to the clouds. The knight frowned, looking into the distance.

"I don't see anything. But it can't hurt to be cautious. We'll leave tomorrow. There's a town further inland, if we make it past the cliff." Sir Eucliffe suggested. Rogue nodded, though he seemed a little disturbed. "What's wrong?"

"I think we should leave today. Just to be safe." Rogue told him. Sir Eucliffe shook his head.

"I want to check the caves. The Heart might be there."

"It isn't. We shouldn't risk it." Rogue knew as soon as the words left his mouth that speaking had been a mistake. In his worry about potentially braving the cliffs during the storm, he'd ruined everything.

"What do you mean?" Since the night he'd overheard Rogue talking to himself, Sir Eucliffe had been sure he knew more than he let on. He'd kept quiet for the time being, for reasons he didn't fully understand. Rogue took a step back, away from him. His face was blank, his eyes darting around frantically, looking anywhere but Sir Eucliffe's face. "I know you know something, Rogue. I heard you, the night before last." Rogue took another step back. "Come back here. I'm not going to hurt you." The knight promised, forcing himself to calm down. After a moment of hesitation, Rogue complied but stayed silent.

For a couple of hours, both stayed silent. Rogue sat on the seat of the wagon, watching Sting make dinner. What could he even say? Should he tell him about his shadow? What would he do when asked why he hadn't said anything? Rogue didn't know. The obvious reason, not wanting to be dragged back to the king, didn't feel good enough for some reason. Not when he had misled the first person to show him compassion! With a jolt, Rogue realized why his original reason felt hollow. It had changed. Well, not changed. He had a second reason: He hadn't wanted to lose the companionship he'd found with Sting. Arguably, that was a far worse reason, and a stupid one at that.

"Sting?" He asked hesitantly. The knight got up from the fire and walked over to him, sitting down beside him.

"Do you know where the Heart is?" Sting asked after a moment.

"No. But I know how to find out." He admitted. "I'm sorry."

Sting flinched at Rogue's quiet apology. "What are you apologizing for? You've been far more helpful than I would have been." Rogue hadn't really done anything to help, but he supposed he could have been more difficult.

"I know how important this is to you. I'll find out. I'll tell you where it is." Sir Eucliffe almost wanted to tell him not to, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he watched at Rogue spoke to his shadow, trying to ignore the self-loathing that sparked up within him. "Huh... I wasn't expecting it to be there." Rogue noted after a few minutes of intent listening.

Shadow told Rogue, for the first time, the story of his death.

Once upon a time, centuries ago, there had been a king. He had been a strict ruler, but a just one. The common folk loved him, but the nobility grew resentful of him, both due to his insistence on holding them to the law and his refusal to use the Heart of the Northern Skies. His sister, hearing rumors of a coup, joined forces with the plotters to save herself and the rest of the family. With her help, the king was none the wiser. When the plotters struck, the king knew that his final hour was near. To his lover, he entrusted the Heart, the kingdom's most valued treasure. Valiantly, the king fought the enemies back, buying his lover some time to flee. The lover fled into the mountains, mortally wounded, and cursed the mountain range itself with his dying breath. For centuries, none had gotten far enough to find the Heart, and many took their search elsewhere.

Shadow had long since forgotten his name when Rogue had been left in his cave, and his sense of self was fading rapidly. Seeing that the child was his only hope at vengeance, he took him under his wing, trying to keep him alive.

Rogue could tell that Shadow didn't want to tell him. He had refused to speak of himself every other time he had asked. But with their rapidly merging thoughts, he had little choice. Rogue pushed his own concerns regarding that aside. Instead of dwelling on that somewhat horrifying fact, Rogue told Sting where the Heart was.

"How do you know?" Sir Eucliffe asked. After taking a deep breath, Rogue told him of the shadow that had followed him since his abandonment, of its history and most terrifyingly, of how their minds were slowly becoming one. He could tell that Rogue was scared of that, but didn't know what to do about it. "Let's eat." The knight instead suggested. Rogue nodded, leading the way to the fire.

Rogue hardly slept that night, dreading the day they found the Heart. When the sun rose, he got up and started to pack everything up. There wasn't much, and as such he finished quickly. With that done, he returned to Sting, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sting? Wake up! Everything's packed."

"Huh?" Sir Eucliffe blinked a few times to discover that it was indeed dawn. "Rogue, what in the heavens' name is wrong with you? We're not leaving now. Go back to sleep." He grumbled. Rogue quietly went back to his bedroll, lying completely still, seemingly waiting for Sir Eucliffe to go back to sleep. The knight sighed, getting up. "You're worried." He stated. Rogue rolled over to face him, the look in his eyes confirmation enough. "Don't worry about what will or will not happen when we get back. I'll protect you." Sir Eucliffe promised.

"How? You'd barely have regained your honor. What power would you have?" Rogue questioned. He flinched, surprised at how bitter his voice sounded. Sting looked downcast, stung by his words. It only lasted a moment, however, before his eyes hardened, determination written on his face.

"I know what to do. On my life, I swear you'll be safe." Sir Eucliffe knew that that didn't answer Rogue's perfectly reasonable question, but his plan was truly a last resort, and he didn't want to bet on it. To his surprise, Rogue shrugged.

"Shall I trust you then?" Rogue asked, knowing he would regardless. There was nothing else he could do about his situation, and at least trusting Sting would give him some peace of mind.

"Yes. I'll burn the kingdom to the ground if that's what it took to keep my oath." The knight told him earnestly. Rogue felt his heart race.

"I- You need not do that." Rogue told him, trying to slow his breathing.

"Don't I?" Sir Eucliffe asked, smiling as he noticed the blush dusting Rogue's face. He recalled the incident a dozen days ago and decided to give him a hint. He reached out to touch Rogue's cheek, causing him to turn redder. "You're burning up, Rogue... I think it's the thing that happened to me. You know, when we got the wagon?" It took a moment for his words to register with Rogue, but when they did, they had the intended effect.

Rogue's face went from anxious to confused to slightly embarrassed, before realization dawned on him. "Ah, right. Then I guess I'll try to sleep it off." He suggested quickly, flopping back down onto his bedroll.

"You do that." Sir Eucliffe agreed, getting up. He wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, he supposed. He made himself breakfast, watching Rogue pretend to sleep. Not for the first time, Sir Eucliffe had doubts. Even with his backup plan, he would still be endangering Rogue. What if he skipped the original plan, abandoned his tasks and went straight to the backup?

No. He wasn't that strong. His whole life, he'd worked to rise in the ranks of the Dawn Order, even as it took everything from him, from his joy to his heart. He wasn't willing to throw all that away, not if there was the slightest chance that he wouldn't have to.

But he would not let it take Rogue from him. He was the one that had made Sir Eucliffe feel like a person again. The only one that consistently used his name. Sting. Not even he could bring himself to do that. Was it such a surprise that he had come to love Rogue? It hit him like a landslide. He loved Rogue!

Sir Eucliffe watched the sun continue to rise, letting it warm him up as he listened as Rogue's feigned sleep faded into being real. The slow, deep breaths combined with the warmth from the sun and his epithany lulled the weary knight to sleep.

It was nearly noon when Rogue awoke again, the sun, though high in the sky, almost fully covered by clouds. He looked around to find Sting leaning against the wagon, fast asleep. Quietly so as not to wake him again, Rogue got up to find something to eat. He settled on an apple and gave another to the horse. Poor thing might have to carry them up the mountains.

After that, he sat down beside Sting, looking out at the sea. He was going to miss this. After a while, he got up to get his brush, fixing his hair, which had become a mess while he slept. Stroke by stroke, he untangled it, wondering how he'd ever made do with just his fingers. Sting shifted beside him, resting his head on Rogue's shoulder. Since Rogue had already finished brushing that side, he didn't bother moving him, instead continuing to brush his hair. Once he had gotten over his surprise at the touch, he found that it felt nice, comforting even. When he couldn't realistically continue brushing his hair, he put down the brush and after a moment of hesitation, rested his head against Sting's.

Sir Eucliffe slowly awoke, the scent of wood-smoke and honey filling his nose. He opened his eyes to realize he was still outside the wagon, his head resting comfortably on something warm, a soft, heavy weight covering it. He could stay like this forever, and likely would have, were it not for the fact that he suddenly realized that he was sleeping on Rogue, who had sat down beside him at some point.

Sir Eucliffe jolted, causing Rogue to move immediately. "Are you alright?" Rogue asked him. Sir Eucliffe acquiesced, not sure if he was embarrassed at laying on Rogue or at his cowardly reaction to discovering that fact.

"My apologies for leaning on you. Must have been uncomfortable." Sir Eucliffe apologized. Rogue shrugged.

"Was it for you?" He asked.

"Come again? -No, it wasn't! I meant, it must have been for you!" Sir Eucliffe clarified, fearing Rogue would misunderstand.

"It wasn't. I would have moved if it were." Rogue assured him, watching relief flood the knight's face before he could mask it.

They made their way back to the mountains, leaving the brewing storm behind them. Driving slowly, they reached the foot of the mountains. Sir Eucliffe made the decision to sell the wagon, to Rogue's chagrin. He seemed to have grown fond of it despite his travelsickness. They kept the horse however. She would be helpful when it came to crossing the mountains. When Rogue remarked that hey had forgotten to name her, Sir Eucliffe spent the whole day coming up with a name. It had to be good. If it was bad, Rogue would think he was an idiot, and he'd made enough bad impressions to last a lifetime. Fortunately, Rogue found the name Solence to be wonderful. He failed to mention that he had been debating between Solace and Silence when Rogue had asked him, and that that been what had come out of his mouth.

Now they rode into the mountains on Solence's back, Rogue sitting behind Sir Eucliffe, both due to being taller and not knowing how to ride. Several a monster came their way, but the knight had ample experience with slaying them, so they were promptly defeated. Every time, Sir Eucliffe felt Rogue's eyes on him, and every time, his heart swelled with pride. It was different from the admiration of the people that he had long lost. It was quieter, warmer. Safer, and yet so much more fascinating.

Eventually, they made their way back to the cave where they had stayed when they first met. The night was close, and Rogue's cave a few hours away, so they decided to make camp. Sting decided that they should make stew, given that they had a few hours to spare. Rogue brushed out Solence's coat while Sting cut up the meat, and then went to sit down beside him, stirring the pot while the knight cut up the vegetables.

"What are you going to do once you're redeemed?" Rogue asked, continuing to stir lazily. Sting thought for a moment, his face slowly twisting into a haunted look.

"I don't know..." Sir Eucliffe realized in horror. He didn't want to go back to the way things were. The other knights had always hated him. The common folk had turned their backs on him the moment he was less than perfect. The king had only made a show of sparing him. Sir Eucliffe suddenly realized he had never been meant to succeed, much less in under two months.

He wanted to be safe! He wanted to be loved! He wanted to be able to look in the mirror every day and be proud of the person he saw looking back at him! He wanted to be Sting Eucliffe. But he'd come too far to turn back now, hadn't he?

Sir Eucliffe sighed, trying to shut away the incoming existential crisis. The concerned look Rogue shot him almost broke his resolve, but he stayed strong. "I'll have the king release you. After that, I'd like to continue traveling with you, if you'll come with me. Or at least stay in touch." It was more than he deserved ask for, or so he thought. Until he saw Rogue's face light up, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"I would love that!" Not like. Love. Was he overthinking this? The knight looked into Rogue's eyes. There was no doubt in Sir Eucliffe's ability to get him released, only the desire to go with him. Rogue was smiling at him, as happy as Sir Eucliffe had ever seen him.

"That's good to hear."

They left the next morning, reaching Rogue's cave by noon. It was high up in the crags, likely dangerously windy even on the loveliest of days, let alone now, with another storm a day away. "They left you here?" Sir Eucliffe asked, looking at the gaping entrance. Earthen spikes jutted from the floor and ceiling, a small brook chattering in a corner, leading outside of the cave. At the far wall, Sir Eucliffe could identify a crude shelf and a tightly woven nest. Some threadbare clothes hung from the shelf, along with some clay bottles.

"The bed and shelf weren't there yet." Rogue pointed out lightheartedly. Sir Eucliffe resolved to make sure Rogue got to experience a real bed soon. A nice one. With soft blankets. Maybe with some furs. Winter Wolf furs were really soft! He could get some of those if he went up north. They were pretty difficult to hunt, but Sir Eucliffe was a hardened warrior. He could handle a few Winter Wolves.

Suddenly, he realized that Rogue had started searching. Hurriedly, he joined him in his search. After an hour or two of digging and searching Sir Eucliffe's hands found a small smooth rock. He called Rogue over and unearthed it in full, washing it in the brook, revealing a black, heart shaped stone, hanging from an undamaged silver chain. Blue and green and purple speckled and swirled within it, like the polar lights Sir Eucliffe had seen on one of his missions. "It's pretty." Rogue said, a massive understatement if you asked Sir Eucliffe.

"Yeah..." He agreed breathlessly, struggling to tear his eyes from it as he held it into the sunlight, watching the colors dancing on the cave walls.

Rogue watched Sting, the look of wonder on his face captivating him. He looked so amazed, so innocently happy, the cool colors of the Heart of the Northern Skies reflected in his eyes. After a few minutes, Rogue decided to check on Sol. He left the cave, running his fingers through her mane. "Give it a bit longer, Sol." He told the horse, handing her an apple. For a while, he sat by the cave's entrance, watching Sol crunching up her apple.

Sir Eucliffe had barely registered that Rogue had left the cave. He got up from his seat beside the brook and went out to find Rogue, who was watching Solence. "You should get your things. We're nearly out of the mountains, and I'd like to make it down by nightfall." Rogue nodded, disappearing into the cave.

With a heavy heart, Rogue looked around the cave that had been his home for so long. He folded his clothes quickly and piled them onto the shelf. His hand hovered over the bottles, but thought better of it. He could always make more. Someone else might have use for them. With that in mind, he left all but one change of clothes behind too. And with one last look at the cave, a goodbye on his lips, he turned away, towards Sting. He packed the clothes into one of the saddlebags and looked at Sting, nodding to the horse, as though saying 'shall we go?'

With Solence, the journey was quicker than Sir Eucliffe's way there. More people recognized him as they came closer to the capital, dirty looks and insults becoming more common as they approached the palace. Rogue shifted closer to Sir Eucliffe, anxiously eyeing the rapidly forming crowd. "It's alright Rogue. It's fine. We're almost there, love." He didn't realize just what he'd said until it was too late. Mortified, he kept guiding Solence to the palace.

"Love?" Rogue asked, stunned to the point that he forgot about the crowd. Love? Rogue hadn't considered it. Now that he was forced to think about it, he wasn't sure. He did like Sting, a lot. He wanted to stay with him. But Sting had stabbed him and had been willing to take him here. But Sting had been kind to him since then. He had a plan. Rogue decided that that shouldn't have any bearing on if or not he was in love with Sting. He looked at the back of the knights head, trying to figure out his feelings. He closed his eyes as they kept riding, Sting still not answering his question.

He felt safe with Sting. And he did like him. Romantically? Maybe? He didn't really have a frame of reference. "You love me?" He asked again softly. So quietly that only Rogue's draconic senses allowed him to pick it up, Sting acquiesced. "How do you know?"

Sir Eucliffe jumped at the gentle, curious tone. He wasn't sure what else he had expected, but for some reason, it wasn't this. "I want to be closer to you. And I think about you all the time, even when I can't see you. I want to keep seeing you. I don't mind if you don't feel the same way." He whispered as the gates to the palace opened.

"I- I'm not sure how I feel. But I like you and I want to stay with you. I think I feel the same way you do." Rogue admitted. He did feel all of those things. He clutched Sting more tightly, knowing that soon, he would have to let go.

Sir Eucliffe was announced soon after. He made his way to the throne room with a large escort, Rogue in tow. As they entered, he briefly brushed against Rogue's hand with his own, an encouraging smile on his face.

The king sat on his throne, disdainfully looking down at them. His face twisted to feign kindness as they approached. "Sir Eucliffe! I see you completed your first task. You've acted faster than I had expected. Congratulations on capturing the witch. The guards will take him off your hands." Helplessly, Sir Eucliffe watched as a guard roughly grabbed Rogue by his arm as the King continued to speak, waiting for the king to finish talking. Interrupting him was a punishable offense. "I expect that you'll be leaving soon?" Though Rogue was perfectly cooperative despite the rough treatment, one of the guards grabbed his hair, twisting it to bring Rogue to his knees.

"One moment please." Sir Eucliffe requested. The king nodded his assent. With that, Sir Eucliffe strode over to where the guards were manhandling Rogue. "Let him go. I need him for this." He ordered coldly. The guards turned to the king, who once again nodded. Immediately, they released their grip on Rogue. Sir Eucliffe helped him to his feet, taking his scaled wrist in his hand. "I request permission to approach, your Majesty."

"Denied. Why?"

"Rogue has been cursed. It forces him to transform into a dragon. The cuff you provided me with have halted the curse indefinitely." He pulled Rogue's sleeve back, giving his wrist an apologetic squeeze. "I show you those scales as proof, your Majesty." He explained, holding Rogue's arm out towards the king.

"You may approach."

The two of them slowly approached the throne, showing Rogue's arm to the king. The king ran his fingers across the scales, to Rogue's visible discomfort. "Since the cuffs seal the curse, I would like him to be released." Sir Eucliffe requested. The king stared at him with cold, baleful eyes.

"Guards. Remove the witch. This impertinent fool and I have a lot to discuss." At once, they were surrounded, Rogue again being grabbed by the hair and dragged away. "Let me make two things very clear, Eucliffe: Firstly, you have no right to ask anything of me. I am giving you a second chance. Secondly, I don't care about the witch's circumstances. The people are going to see that I have captured the witch they have feared for years, and when they have all seen him and sung my praises, I'm sure many will pay to see a freak like him once again. Now go back out there and retrieve the Heart for me or die here in disgrace."

Panic shot through Rogue's veins as he heard the king's words, causing him to freeze up. His body wanted to flee, but his mind knew, rationally, that he would only make things worse for himself. Unfortunately, the guards kept pulling on his hair, and before he knew it, he found himself on the floor. Hastily, he tried to find his feet, but the guards continued to drag him, and his feet couldn't find enough purchase on the ground to get him up. Until suddenly, the guards could no longer move him, as the cuffs worked their magic.

"You want the Heart, your Majesty? Well I'll show you the heart." Sir Eucliffe said, regretful and yet not surprised that it had come to that. He pulled the Heart of the Northern Skies out from under his shirt, revealing the dazzling jewel. With every ounce of his body, he felt its power respond to his determination, surging through him as it waited to bend the world to his whims. Right now, he was invincible! Lost for words, the king stared at him, mouth agape. He knew it too.

Four wishes. That's how many the Heart of the Northern Skies could grant. One for every 77 years that passed. He knew it instinctively, as though that knowledge had always been there.

He had made his plans quite carefully, at least well enough to know his first two wishes. He knew to word them carefully, having read tales of being that could twist wishes to the maker's undoing. He didn't know if the Heart was one of them, but the fewer chances he took, the better.

"I wish for the ability to control the land and the waters in their entirety, as much or as little as I please." No sooner than the words were spoken, Sir Eucliffe felt the power within him take form. Suddenly, he could feel the world around him, his own to command. He reached out to the earth below the city and willed it to shake, and for a moment it did. Some of the guards fell to their knees, while others started to flee. One, however, had drawn his sword, holding the blade to Rogue's throat.

"Stand down, knave, or I shall tear out the witch's throat and feed him to the crows!" He threatened. Rogue eyed the sharp blade, before turning to look at Sting. The king stood up, livid and more than a little terrified. On stiff legs, he made his way to Rogue and roughly grabbed his arm, or more precisely the cuff. On instinct, Rogue tried to pull his arm away, but the guard tightened his grip on his hair. "Stay still!" He barked tensely. Rogue complied, given that the lunatic was holding a blade to his throat. Sting was clearly seething, trying to find a way around this.

The cuff fell away, and the guard tightened his grip furthermore, dashing any hopes of escape. The king did something to the cuff, muttering angrily, before ordering the guard to draw blood from Rogue. At once, the blade sliced the skin of his neck. The smell of blood filled the air, the warm blood dripping down his neck, soaking his shirt. He stifled a cry as the king dug a finger into the wound, before smearing the blood onto the cuff and clasping it onto Rogue's wrist once more. Or at least he tried.

For the guard had moved the blade to allow the king to gather blood, and thus gave Rogue the space he needed. He yanked his arm away at the last moment and spun around, grasping the guard's sword arm with one hand and kicking the king in the gut, sending him scrambling. Squeezing the guard's wrist, Rogue forced him to drop his sword, before kicking him away and fleeing towards Sting. Separated from the first cuff, the second too fell away, freeing Rogue at long last.

Once Rogue was by his side, Sir Eucliffe -No! Sting- didn't waste a second. The ground rumbled beneath his feet as he growled: "Enough!" Everyone left in the audience chamber froze, watching the former knight, hanging on to his every word. "Rogue and I will leave. You will not pursue us. If you see either of us in this kingdom again, I suggest that you mind your business, under pain of death. Am I making myself clear?" Frightened nods and mutters of agreement rippled throughout the room, but the king stayed silent. "Your Majesty?" Venom dripped from Sting's words like the blood from Rogue's throat, making the king quake in his boots.

"Yes. You are." The king spat out.

With but a look, Sting asked Rogue to fly them out of the city. Obsidian colored wings sprouted from Rogue's back, followed by a soft smile. "Where to?"

After looping back to pick up Solence, they made their way to the mountains. In a small wood on the way, Sting decided to make his second wish. "Do you want your whole curse to go, or just the parts you can't control?" He asked Rogue. Without hesitation Rogue picked the latter. It was what he was used to. It was part of who he was.

Sting made his wish, transferring most of Rogue's curse to Solence.

In but a moment, Solence transformed, becoming more reptilian in nature, her eyes becoming more intelligent by the second, until a dragon stood in her place. Meanwhile, Rogue could feel his curse weaken, like a weight off his shoulders.

"Good evening. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Solence, at your service!" The dragon chattered, beaming at them.

"Sol? How are you feeling?" Rogue asked.

"Better than ever!" Solence chirped loudly. Sting smiled.

"Good to hear! Quick question. Do you want to stay with us, go your separate way or decide later?" He asked bluntly.

"Ooh! I want to stay. You're both fun."

Sting's third wish was for Shadow to pass on, to let go of vengeance and to go reunite with the one he loved.

And the fourth? That one was for emergencies. Sting hoped from the bottom of his heart that he would never have to use it.

The three of them continued their journey, Solence flying them into the mountains. Deep within them, they came to a halt.

"This place would be perfect!" Sting exclaimed. Rogue couldn't see how. The slopes were steep and the wind howled constantly. But as Sting called upon his powers, the place started to change around them. One of the mountains started to sprout walls and pathways and windows, becoming something between a mountain and a fortress. Springs spewed from the sides, forming waterfalls and streams. Trees and grass and wildflowers grew on the mountains. Moss and vines and other flowers grew throughout the fortress. Trees sprouted, bearing fruit. Rogue thought he could see vegetable gardens. Sting grabbed his hand, running towards their new home, Sol flying along behind them. Inside, there were many rooms, large and small. Some were open and flat, whilst others were made up entirely of shelves and corners. Fluorescent moss grew all over the place, in green and yellow and blue for the most part, though other colors popped up on occasion. "Wow! It turned out way better than I thought!"

"It's beautiful, Sting." Rogue praised him as they looked around.

"Yeah! It's so shiny! Solence agreed, the multicolored moss turning her midnight scales as stunning as the Heart of the Northern Skies itself as she flew around one of the larger rooms.

Even inside the fortress, streams flowed, one even leading to a small lake, while others passed through small pools.

Rogue dipped his hand into the water, finding it pleasantly cool. "Is it too cold?" Sting asked. "I can make it warmer."

"No, I think it's nice." Rogue said. With a splash, Sol dived in, soaking the other two.

"I agree!" She chirped joyfully.

The next few days were spent traveling to get supplies Sting couldn't make. Solence and Sting went to get the larger things, while Rogue got the smaller ones, using the money they had left over from selling the wagon.

He flew from town to town, landing out of sight so as not to scare the villagers. In the end, he found the town where he'd met the other witches. He already had most of what they needed. He just wanted to pick up some flour and recipes. Sting had talked about trying to make some treats. He wandered the market, looking at the stalls.

"Rogue?" A faintly familiar voice called out. He turned around, to find himself face to face with Lisanna. "How have you been? You look far better." She said.

"I am. I'm living in the mountains again, with Sting and Sol. Lucy was right, the curse stopped spreading! Speaking of which, how are you guys?" He asked, happy to see a familiar face.

"We've been doing well. Natsu's employer found out about his powers, but he agreed to keep it a secret. He even got a raise, because fire magic is really useful when blacksmithing!" Lisanna told him proudly.

"That's wonderful!"

"Right? And Lucy's writing another book. She won't let me read it yet, but I know it will be good! And I'm working at the Violet Road Bakery now! It's been fun. We've been doing pretty well for ourselves."

"Really? Then you wouldn't happen to have any recipes to share with me?" They chatted for a short while, Lisanna writing down some recipes as they did. He bought his flour and bade her goodbye, promising to visit again.

He flew home, to find that Sting and Sol had already returned, animatedly talking about a hunting expedition up north. Rogue dropped his purchases off in the designated kitchen area and joined them, sitting down beside Sting and listening to him talk about his plan. "We should only be gone for a few days. Rogue, since it's a surprise for you, you should probably stay here. Do you mind?"

"A surprise?" Rogue asked. "What is it?"

"It's-" "Solence we talked about this." Sting interrupted her before she could reveal his master plan. Take down five Winter Wolves. They were a menace up north, and they were enormous. He would be paid handsomely and he would get to keep the furs. Besides, rumor had it that they tasted good. They would need five furs, he and Solence had decided. Three for her nest and two for his and Rogue's shared bed.

While not officially courting, they had gotten used to sleeping side by side, they had continued to do so. On many a night, one or the other would wake up to find himself fully entangled with the other.

A month later, the night before Sting and Sol's hunting expedition, Rogue decided to broach the subject of a romantic relationship.

"Sting? Can we talk?" He asked gently.

"We are, aren't we?" Sting quipped. Rogue rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Not the time?"

"Not really. I wanted to talk about us. What you said about love." Rogue admitted bashfully. Sting smiled.

"Alright. Well, my feelings haven't changed. I love you." He said sincerely, smiling as Rogue's face flushed red again.

Rogue took a steadying breath. "I love you too. I've been thinking about what you said. I've started making other friends, and I don't feel the same way about them." Sting's eyes brimmed with tears, taking Rogue by surprise. Not as much as the hug that followed.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." The words were like music to Rogue's ears, and he returned Sting's hug.

"I love you too. You don't need to cry." Rogue whispered softly, his breath brushing past Sting's ear. Sting shuddered, causing Rogue to hold him more tightly. After a few moments, Sting pulled back to look at Rogue again. Warm red eyes looked back at him.

"I want to kiss you." Sting stated, trying not to get lost in Rogue's eyes.

"Do it then." Rogue invited him, a small smile on his face. Sting didn't need further invitation, leaning in to capture his lips.

It felt like coming home, or seeing the sun rise for the first time, or stepping into the shade after hours in the sun, and so many other things, both comforting and exciting.

When they finally broke apart, after what felt like an eternity (probably a few seconds), Sting grinned at the large smile on Rogue's face.

"You're pretty." Rogue told him earnestly.

Sting struggled to come up with a response. Honestly, it was unfair of Rogue to throw that at him when he had just kissed him. "Takes one to know one." Really? That was what he had settled on? Rogue chuckled, and good grief he looked like an angel. His laugh was contagious, and soon Sting was laughing right along with him.

Sting's laugh was beautiful. That was simply a fact. One that Rogue was quickly rediscovering.

Neither expected to sleep that night, too giddy at finally having said told the other how they felt. But they did, and quite quickly, curled up together on their bed. The next morning, Sting and Sol bade Rogue farewell, to embark on their next adventure. Once they had left, Rogue made his way to his friends' town. He'd visited them several times in the past month, and had even introduced them to Sol. They had adored her, Lisanna especially. Even more so when Sol, upon discovering Lisanna's shapeshifting ability, had challenged her to several races. None of them were fond of Sting, and had no interest in meeting him again, and Rogue hadn't pushed the subject. Today, he was going to visit the library. Lucy had promised to show it to him.

The king's soldiers had come after them about a week after their escape to attempt to wrest the heart from Sting, but without success. Rogue could only hope that they had given up.

That would be all it took for them to have their happily ever after.

#FTOUAT #fairy tail #rogue cheney #sting eucliffe #stingue #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #lisanna strauss #naluli #fairy tales #a sincere attempt was made at writing it with a fairy tale vibe in mind #it kinda fell apart at the end though #gonna post it to ao3 if you'd rather read it there (same username)

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