#let me go back to the realm of crack where I belong!

[lostchildofthenewworld]

me forcing myself trying to write this last bit

[novaursa]

Hi love

Can I have a Daeron x twin sister

me was sent with him to old town, Gwayne raised her and become her father figure and is very protective of her.

She and Daeron become lovers through the years but no one know that at king’s landing. Otto want her to marry a Lannister to make the family more powerful.

Gwayne talk to Daeron about it, and the both of them decided to join Rhaenyra in exchange of her to accept their love and weeding

To Defy the Realm

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your grandsire, Otto Hightower, wishes to give your hand to a Lannister, your twin makes a decision that may turn the tide of the Dance.

- Paring: twin!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The first list is pinned to the top and the link is there for the second one.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The warm glow of the evening sun filtered through the high windows of the Hightower, casting the chamber in golden hues. Daeron Targaryen stood at the center of the room, arms folded, tension rippling through his posture. His violet eyes, a signature of his bloodline, flicked towards his uncle Gwayne Hightower, who sat across the table, brow furrowed in contemplation.

Word had arrived from King's Landing, carried by a raven no more than a day past. Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, had sent a formal proposal for the hand of Daeron’s twin sister, your hand. The thought of it made Daeron's blood simmer. The idea of you being promised to anyone else, let alone Jason, a man of arrogance and ambition, was an affront to everything he'd come to feel over the years. You were more than his twin, more than his closest confidante. You were his love, his secret, shared only between the two of you in the quiet moments away from the world.

And now, Otto Hightower sought to use you as a piece on his ever-ambitious game board. The notion of it had Daeron’s pulse quickening, anger curling hot and unforgiving in his chest.

Gwayne noticed his nephew’s agitation. He spoke after a heavy silence, his voice measured and calm, “Daeron, I understand your frustration. But we cannot make hasty decisions.”

“Hasty decisions?” Daeron’s tone was sharp, and his usually calm demeanor cracked. He paced across the stone floor, his footsteps echoing in the room. “Uncle, this is no trivial matter. How can you sit so calmly knowing they would send her to the Rock? To Jason Lannister, of all people.”

Gwayne’s weathered hand lifted, signaling for Daeron to sit. His eyes were softened by an understanding only years of guardianship could bring. “I do not favor the match. But I know how things work in court, Daeron. Your grandsire—Otto—has made this move because it suits his plans. She’s valuable to him in more ways than just blood.”

“She’s more than a pawn,” Daeron growled, his fists tightening. “And I won’t see her sent off like some prize to the highest bidder. She deserves more than that.”

Gwayne sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You speak as though I disagree with you. I’ve raised her, protected her. But the weight of decisions like this… they are not easily reversed. Going against your grandsire’s wishes comes with consequences.”

Daeron stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. “Consequences? I’ll tell you the consequences—if I allow this, I’ll lose her. Not just to Jason Lannister, but to the life they’ll force upon her. You know as well as I do, the Rock is not where she belongs. It’s not where we belong.”

The last word lingered in the air between them. We. Daeron’s admission wasn’t lost on Gwayne, though it had never been spoken aloud in such a way. Daeron and you had always been inseparable, but this was something deeper, more dangerous. Gwayne knew. He’d seen it. He was no fool.

“And what do you propose?” Gwayne asked quietly, his gaze sharp now, appraising. “Because once you act on this, there’s no returning.”

Daeron stepped forward, his jaw set, determination burning in his eyes. “We go to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra will shelter us there. She will understand.”

At the mention of their half-sister, Gwayne’s brow lifted slightly. “Rhaenyra has never been one for traditions or alliances dictated by the throne. And she has always favored you, Daeron. That much is true. But to join her…” He let the words hang. It was a risky move, openly aligning themselves with the Princess of Dragonstone, a declaration that would put them at odds with the Hightowers.

Daeron met his uncle’s gaze evenly. “Rhaenyra will support us. She will bless the union between us, and there will be no Lannister, no Westerlands, no alliances forged in fire that can take her from me.”

Gwayne studied him for a moment, the weight of his responsibility hanging heavy on his shoulders. Daeron had always been the calm one, the diplomatic one, but love—love was something that often burned too hot, too wild for reason. Gwayne had seen what it did to men. Yet, as he looked at his nephew now, the boy he had helped raise, he saw more than youthful defiance. He saw conviction.

“Then you know what this means,” Gwayne said slowly, his words careful. “If you leave, there’s no returning to the neutrality of Oldtown. The Hightower name is bound to Otto’s ambitions. Going to Rhaenyra is taking a side in this coming conflict.”

“I don’t care,” Daeron replied, his voice low but unwavering. “I would face the whole realm for her. We belong together, Uncle. The time for hiding is over.”

Gwayne leaned back, crossing his arms. His face was pensive, torn between his duty to his family and the care he held for you and Daeron. “I raised you both like my own, you know that. What you’re asking for, Daeron, it’s not just rebellion. It’s a declaration. And if Rhaenyra accepts, there’s no undoing what follows.”

Daeron nodded once, firmly. “I am ready. We are ready.”

Gwayne’s silence was long. Finally, he exhaled and stood, walking towards the window, looking out at the distant sea. The Tower’s height allowed him to see beyond the city, towards the horizon where Dragonstone lay hidden in the mists. He spoke without turning, his voice quieter now, more somber. “Then it’s decided. You leave for Dragonstone. I will make the arrangements.”

Daeron’s heart surged with relief, a flicker of hope igniting inside him. The thought of you, of your future together, felt almost within reach. No longer would you be a secret, hidden behind the walls of Oldtown. Together, on Dragonstone, with the support of Rhaenyra, you would be free.

Gwayne turned back to face him, the light from the window casting his features in shadow. “But Daeron,” he said gravely, “this choice will change everything. Once the wheel of war begins to turn, there’s no stopping it.”

Daeron met his uncle’s gaze, steel in his voice. “Let it turn.”

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Sunday morning

"Morning", she whispered in his ear as she cuddled and his eyes fluttered open. Legs tangling as she held him tightly and he groaned before slowly snapping out of his slumber.

"Morning," he said in a hoarse voice that she was getting used to and needed more than coffee first thing in the morning.

She rolled away from him and he brought her back to his chest, where she belonged, her breasts slipping from beneath the covers as her body came to rest against him again.

Skin to skin, covered in sweat and filling the air of the room with moans and dirty talk, they reinvented the meaning of the word chemistry and redefined the concept of passion as an incarnated verb.

The sun shined outside for the mortals that jumped out of bed to jog or walk their dogs that Sunday morning, which looked like any other Sunday morning in May, on this side of the world. Poor fools!

Syd and Carmy were not in the same realm as them. They were on a whole other level in that bed. They were closer to God.

After the fact, only a few minutes passed as they silently rested in each other's arms trying to calm their breathing.

This moment of calm came to an abrupt end when Syd's stomach churned.

They both looked at each other and cracked a laugh.

"Oh, I think you just earned that breakfast, chef, what do you want? Name it, I'll make it for you."

"Hmmmm... anything?"

"Anything."

"Careful Carmy, I'm very hungry..."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a warning."

Challenge accepted.

He growled, rolling her onto her back and attacking her neck in the spot he now knew drove her wild. He wedged himself between her thighs, his body ready for her instantly once again. She had that effect on him. Sometimes it only took enough time to share a cigarette before he was rock-hard once more and prepared to endure another round. Sometimes not even that long.

She giggled, pulling the sheets over their heads as his mouth descended to her breasts, making its way to her highly responsive and impossibly taut nipples and eliciting sounds from her that drove him to edge faster than any physical touch.

Her nails racked across his back, urging him on, all the while she was encouraging him to fuck her and drawing her knees up against his sides. Her fingers twined in his hair as she pulled his ear to her lips. He responded by sliding his pianist fingers desperately against her slick folds and she stiffened and gasped beneath him.

After that, the passionate haze again.

All of it was rough, sloppy, and quick, thirsty and aching, and it was over when she lifted her hips angling them so he could lose himself in her. Carmy sank down deep inside her calling her name as he choked down against her forehead letting it fly.

Moist rippled around him and a couple more of his erratic thrusts were all it took to push her over the edge. She came hard, arching her back, lifting herself in a brusque shiver, grabbing his shoulders, and biting hard on his flesh there, leaving marks he loved as her whole body trembled against him.

They knew. They always knew the other one was never far behind. They trusted their bodies and were never let down.

Carmy managed to maintain a slow and steady rhythm throughout her violent orgasm for just a moment, long enough, and then he crashed on top of her, crying out her name once again.

He didn't pull out right away. Carmy loved nothing more than to be completely encased in the tight warmth of hers. It was intoxicating.

Syd was still lost in the reverie of having rocked against the man she loved till she could feel him under her skin, throbbing, yearning, and making her whole world collapse into a perfect and breathless instant that seemed to last forever yet never lasted long enough, keeping her coming back for more. And more. And more.

When she could master the art of forming full sentences again, she insisted "I haven't forgotten, Carmy".

"What?"

"Did you really think that I was going to let you ravage my body like that if you didn't cook me breakfast later?"

"Right!"

"Chap, chap! I'm hungry."

"You're insatiable, chef!"

"You feed me too well, chef!"

"What do you say we take a quick shower first and worry about breakfast later?"

"Heard."

The water didn't do a great job of putting out the fire they had lit in the bedroom.

Shortly after, they were in the kitchen, playfully trying to cook breakfast together.

The team-building activity didn't seem to work because Syd was too hungry—a different kind of hungry. She wanted more of what only Carmy could give her.

So Carmy grabbed her with one arm and in one swift motion lifted her up and placed her over the counter. She giggled. And when he kissed her neck her giggles turned into shaky sighs.

From that strategic position between Syd's legs that were wrapped around him to keep him in place, he cooked the most delicious breakfast and they spoonfed each other.

-The kettled hummed.-

In between kisses and bites.

-The kettle hissed.-

As the world raged outside.

-The kettled whistled and the steam swirled upwards mirroring the rising temperature of the bodies to the left.-

Oblivious to the lovers who whispered soft confessions of never-ending lust in each other's ears.

A/N: Seeing as no one else gave a fuck, I did → inspo.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[dragon-kazansky]

Veil of the dreamless

Morpheus x Reader

A cursed Morpheus holds your father prisoner when he enters The Dreaming without permission. You, also able to enter the realm, take his place. Now a prionser to the Dream Lord, you do all you can to learn about the curse and hopefully break it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Nine - Sibling rivalry

☆☆☆

Hob leads you to the tavern. He opens the door and lets you go inside first. He keeps a hand on your back, gently guiding you to where he wants you to go. He leads you to the back.

At the very back sits a woman alone. She is sitting facing you, a smile on her face as you approach. You've seen this woman before. She was stood outside the tavern before it was even open before you entered The Dreaming.

"You."

Her smile widens. "Yes."

"This is Death. She is the older sister of our dear Dream." Hob explains.

"You're his sister?"

Death nods her head. "I am. Hob has told me you had taken your father's place in The Dreaming. That was very brave of you. How is my brother?"

"He's... been better. He needs help." You tell her.

"I know, but only you can help him."

"How? He wouldn't tell me how."

"Of course he didn't." Death chuckles. "My brother is an idiot."

"Please." You lean forward. "Tell me how I can help him."

"Do you love him?" She asks.

You state at her. She is waiting for you to answer. Your heart races. You know the answer to that question.

"Yes."

She smiles. "He deserves to be loved. You must tell him before the last petal cracks."

"What?"

"That's how you break the spell."

Hob looks at you gently. "If Morpheus could get someone to love him as he is now, the spell would break. However, all he does is push people away. He sent you back, I believe, because he was falling for you."

"But..."

"I shall send you back to him, but you must he careful. Desire plays games. Do not let your guard down." Death says.

"Okay... Send me back."

☆☆☆

Morpheus sunk down on the stairs to his throne. He buried his face in his claw like hands and sighed quietly.

The silence of the palace was haunting him. When you were here, there was life in these walls. Now that life was gone.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, but they did not belong to Lucienne. He knew her footsteps.

"My my, big brother. How the mighty fall."

Dream lifted his head to see Desire walking toward him. He glared at his sibling. He knew his time was almost up. The rose had barely any petals left. In fact, he was certain it was down to the last one.

"Came to gloat?"

"I won't deny, I'm here to see me win." Desire smiles. "I really got you this time, didn't I? The price is steep."

"Death would be more welcome." Dream says.

"Oh? Shall I request our sister join us then? Will she put you out of your misery?" Desire teases.

"If I ask."

Desire scoffs. "You're no fun like this. Where is the rose? I'd like to see it."

Morpheus sighs and stands. He leads Desire uo to his room where the rose sits. The last petal was already cracked. Once it shattered, that would be it.

"You let them go knowing the curse wouldn't be broken without them?" Desire grins. "Foolish brother."

"I let them go because they deserve better than anything I can give them."

"Fool."

Dream turns to his sibling. "This will be the last game you ever play."

Desire chuckles. "Oh, exciting~"

Morpheus prepares for a fight. If he goes, Desire goes with him.

☆☆☆

You find yourself standing on the bridge to the palace. Death is holding your hand. She has brought you back. Hob promised he would go back to your father and tell him everything.

You let go of Death's hand and ran across the bridge. All you could think about was getting to Morpheus and telling him how you felt. You just hoped you had enough time.

You ran through the grand doors and wondered which way to go. Where was he?

Matthew came flying in and looked relieved to see you. "You're back! Come quick! I think they might kill each other!" He flew up the stairs.

You felt fear set in and chased after him. Matthew led you to Dream's room. It was even messier than before. You eyes catch sight of the rose. The last petal was barely together.

"This way!" Lucienne calls. "Hurry!"

You ran after her, following her up some stairs you hadn't seen before. They go up and up and up. Matthew flies right over you. You reach the top of the tower to find Dream and Desire fighting each other.

"Morpheus!" You gasp.

He turns and looks at you. You shouldn't have called out. Desire takes the chance to push him down to the ground and stand over him.

"No use trying. Your time is nearly up." Desire grins.

"Don't hurt him!" You call out, stepping a little closer.

"Don't!" Morpheus says, looking at you.

"Please don't hurt, Morpheus." You plead.

Desire chuckles. "You came back for him? That's a first." Desire looks back down at their brother. "Your time is up."

"No! I love him!" You yell.

Morpheus looks up at you. His eyes are wide.

Desire looks at you and then down at Dream.

"I love him," you repeat.

The last petal on the rose crumbles. There is nothing left. You look at Morpheus.

Desire watches. Nothing happens. Desire laughs. You feel tears brimming as you rush over to Morpheus. Desire back away and let's you get close.

"You came back?" Morpheus asks softly.

You cradle his face. "I came back to tell you I love you..."

He smiles softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You did nothing wrong. I spoke to my father. I spoke to Hob. I even met your sister. She allowed me to come back here so I could see you again."

Morpheus leans into your touch. "I love you too."

You smile and lean in. He leans in, too. The kiss is the most magical feeling ever. His lips are so soft.

Before you know it, a gust of wind picks up, and Morpheus is surrounded by feathers. You have to let go of him as they explode everywhere. You're left looking a pile of the black feathers.

"Morpheus?"

He sits up. Feather falls away from around him. You can see his face. His actual face. Black fluffy hair sticks up from his head and his bright blue eyes have never been clearer.

"Morpheus." You smile.

He smiles at you.

Desire no longer smiles.

You have done it. You've broken the curse.

Morpheus stands up and reaches for your hands. You take hold of his with a bright smile on your face. He leans in and kisses your forehead softly.

Death enters the tower and looks at Desire. "You should go."

Desire chuckles and then leaves. Maybe next time.

Death turns to her brother and smiles at the sight. He's in love, and someone loves him. She's happy for him. She takes her leave.

Morpheus does not let go of your hand. He never wants to let go again.

☆☆☆

@littleblackcatinwonderland - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @missdreamofendless - @intothesoul -

[thelordofgifs]

the fairest stars

What if Angrist was a little tougher, and Beren and Lúthien managed to steal two Silmarils from Morgoth instead of one? Somehow I’ve already written NINE parts of this unhinged bullet point AU here and decided it was time for a fresh post to avoid that one getting too long.

Where we left off: Lúthien has been negotiating with Mandos like a pro, Maglor is nearly-but-not-quite-dead in Menegroth, Thingol has taken one Silmaril from him, Fingon has the other Silmaril and ditched Curufin outside the Girdle even though they did some bonding on the Worst Road Trip, and people are still upset about Celegorm’s death. YES I am well aware that the pipeline from the fairly normal first sentence of the post to this mess is insane.

Fingon and Maedhros are both very, very good tacticians. Between them, it isn’t very difficult for Fingon to follow Maedhros’ directions towards Menegroth, and then to find the hidden pathways by which Huan led Maedhros out of Thingol’s halls.

It helps that Thingol is still under the impression that the Girdle is impenetrable with the aid of his Silmaril, so he doesn’t have anyone keeping an eye out for the High King of the Noldor sneaking into his realm on an Adventure.

Finding Maglor's sickroom/prison cell/whatever is a little trickier, but not impossible. Long ago in Tirion Fingon was a mischievous child, so he's well aware that the best way not to get caught sneaking into a forbidden place is to make it perfectly clear that you belong there.

He strides confidently down the corridors, silently reciting Maedhros' directions to himself. Nobody stops him.

He's hoping that Curufin was wrong, and he'll know Maglor's door by the holy light showing through the cracks; but when none is evident he's forced to take his chances and start trying doors in the area Maedhros indicated at random.

Since he has plot armour is very lucky with this whole improbable-rescue thing he comes across Maglor without any trouble.

Maglor is only half-conscious – quite apart from the wounded leg, he hasn’t eaten in days – but his eyes flicker open when Fingon comes in.

“Hello, Makalaurë,” Fingon says, deliberately cheerful. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“You can’t do that,” Maglor says dazedly. “It burned – in the Bragollach – remember?”

Fingon opts not to answer that. “Russo said you were healing when he left,” he says instead, frowning at the bloodstained bandages around Maglor’s leg. “What happened? Has Thingol been mistreating you? I thought Lúthien at least was kind!”

Maybe he was too hasty in leaving Curufin outside the Girdle.

Maglor hurries to explain that Lúthien is dead, and that he’s actually in this pathetic state by choice or something.

“Right,” says Fingon, “well, you’re coming back to Himring now.”

But Maglor shakes his head. “I can’t, Finno,” he says. “Thingol took the Silmaril from me. I don’t – I’ve been trying to hold it back. The Oath. But I can’t leave it in Doriath and go, I can’t. So you’ll have to leave me behind.” He manages a brave and tragic smile.

On Thangorodrim while Fingon was struggling futilely with Morgoth’s iron shackle, hopeless tears running down his face, Maedhros said, You’ll never be able to free me, Finno, just kill me, please—

Fingon is rather sick of Fëanorian melodrama.

“One step ahead of you,” he says brightly, and he produces Maedhros’ Silmaril from its box, handing it to Maglor before his Oath can stir at the sight of it. “Here it is.”

This would never normally work. But Maglor is very tired and ill, and not thinking as clearly as he otherwise would.

As long as the obvious question doesn’t occur to him until they get outside the Girdle again—

Maglor takes the jewel and gives a relieved little sigh as the bite of the Oath eases. “You really took it from Thingol?”

“Of course,” Fingon lies. “Let’s put it back in the box for now so that it doesn’t attract too much attention?”

Maglor acquiesces. He and Fingon aren’t close exactly, but they get on well – certainly far better than Fingon does with Curufin. There’s an odd shared camaraderie that comes from loving Maedhros; it lends itself well to cooperation in difficult circumstances.

Fingon picks Maglor up – he's alarmingly light – and they begin to make their way back out of Menegroth.

"You're to be my betrothal gift," Fingon tells Maglor, and Maglor actually laughs.

Unfortunately it's much harder to look innocuous when you're carrying someone about five minutes away from expiring on the spot.

They haven't got very far before an angry voice comes from behind them: "Who are you and where are you going with the Fëanorion?"

Damn.

Meanwhile

[I should clarify my definition of "meanwhile" here. Evidently time runs much slower in Aman than it does in Middle-earth, even post-Darkening, or it's difficult to fathom why Beren and Lúthien canonically took two years to return from death. In vague support of this, the Fellowship find that time runs slowly in Lothlórien, presumably with the aid of Galadriel's ring, so I posit that the more Divine Stuff there is near a place (and Galadriel was ofc a student of Melian too), the more weird time shit occurs. So since I've anyway fudged the timelines so that travel times work out conveniently, we can also put the bits of story occurring in Aman here for funsies.]

Meanwhile, Finrod has been following Celegorm around in the Halls of Mandos.

"Was it worth it?" he asks. "Did you take joy in the lordship of Nargothrond, once I was gone?"

"I could ask you the same," says Celegorm, responding for the first time. "Did you die for anything in the end, Ingoldo? The mortal's here, after all your efforts. So much for your oath."

"So much for yours," says Finrod; "it looks like that eternal darkness you doomed yourself to wasn't that dark. Or eternal. So what was it all for? Do you even regret any of it?"

The dead can't lie. Artifice and deception are matters of the flesh, and they are buried with it.

"I didn't want you to die," Celegorm says.

"Well, that's a start!" says Finrod. "I can't say I'm glad to see you here, either."

"O Fair and Faithful one," says Celegorm, "spare me none of your pity. They are already whispering that you will be released soon, first of all the Exiles to walk again in Aman. So it's all turned out rather well for you, despite your evil cousins' machinations."

"I suppose it has," says Finrod, thinking.

The thing is, it was worth it. Beren's life mattered. It mattered that he saved it, even if he died to do so, even if Beren is dead now too (although word is that might be changing).

He did not do it expecting a reward.

"And my werewolf was bigger than yours," says Celegorm.

Finrod rolls his metaphorical eyes. "At least I actually killed mine."

Cousinly bickering is still kind of fun, even when you're dead.

Curufin, fuming outside the Girdle, would not agree.

After a time he's forced to conclude that the only thing he can do is head back to Himring.

The ride through Himlad, once as green and fair a land as any, does not improve his mood.

Also his burned hand is still hurting.

Look: here's the little stream where Celegorm caught a huge fish once; and here are the low hills where, a couple of centuries ago, they held some war games and Curufin's people thrashed Celegorm's decisively.

Here's the copse where, years before the Dagor Aglareb brought tentative peace to East Beleriand, Curufin and his son were surprised by a party of orcs, who took their small patrol all captive.

Tyelpë was just barely of age at the time. How trusting his eyes, then, how baby-soft his hair: how easily he had believed that his father would fix everything.

As for Curufin, he spent the hours-long ordeal learning anew what terror was, rendered compliant by the mere possibility that they could hurt his child.

They were fine, in the end. Celegorm rode up to the rescue while the orcs were still quarrelling over where to take them.

But Curufin remembers: how disabling love can be.

Meanwhile Fingon finds himself surrounded by a crowd of angry Iathrim in their home city.

He sets Maglor down on the floor and sets a hand on his sword-hilt, wondering if he is about to become a Kinslayer again.

(Fingon regrets Alqualondë more than anything; and he'd do it again, for Maedhros' sake. He knows this about himself.)

Before things escalate too far, Thingol shows up at the scene of the disturbance.

"We haven't met," Fingon says. "Fingon son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. I've come for my cousin." He gives Thingol a rather dangerous smile.

Thingol thinks he might be in serious trouble. He attempts to adopt a conciliatory tone (which is really really hard for Thingol ok he's trying).

"He'll die if he's moved," he says, nodding to where Maglor is slumped against the wall, shivering.

"He'll die if he stays here!" Fingon says. "Is this the famed hospitality of your halls?"

"He has been offered every treatment he could ask for," Thingol says. "It is not the fault of Menegroth if he chooses to refuse them. Now tell me, son of Fingolfin, how came you through the Girdle of Melian – without her leave or mine?"

Maglor puts the pieces together. "Finno, you lied to me," he breathes, glancing at the box in Fingon's hand.

Fingon wonders if it would be diplomatically insensitive to kick Thingol.

"The jewel alone does not explain it," Thingol insists. "While I hold the Silmaril my daughter won, surely—?"

"I could have told you that, had you asked," says Maglor. "Silmarils aren't weapons! You can't use one as some sort of military defence."

Thingol is now questioning all his life choices.

He only took the Silmaril from Maglor in the first place because he thought it would protect his kingdom, and now—

Maglor is feeling resigned. He should have known Fingon's claim was too good to be true. Thingol still has the Silmaril, and Maglor can't leave Menegroth without it.

Face pale and set, he attempts to get to his feet, mostly unsuccessfully.

Fingon looks down at him. "Seriously, Makalaurë?" And when Maglor ignores him, he says, "Sorry about this," and kicks Maglor's bad leg – carefully, but still hard enough to hurt.

Maglor faints.

Fingon picks his limp body up. "The Silmaril isn't yours," he tells Thingol.

"The white ships of Olwë my brother's people were not yours, either," Thingol returns.

Fingon inclines his head, acknowledging the point. "I don't wish to start a war over the Silmaril," he says. Maglor is so cold and still in his arms. "My cousins have done enough for that cause lately. Only let me take my kinsman home."

Thingol hesitates. The iron box in Fingon's hand is so close, and Fingon is outnumbered, and he has his injured cousin to worry about—

It could all be over, if he took the second Silmaril. He'd never need to worry about his people's safety from invasion again.

"Elu," comes a voice from behind him, "enough of this. Let them go."

"Queen Melian," says Fingon, bowing his head.

She barely looks at him, meeting her husband's gaze instead. "Time and again you have disregarded me," she says. "Lúthien is lost, and yet you persist with this. Will you heed me now?"

Thingol stares at her, and then, finally, he waves his hand. The bristling guards move aside, allowing Fingon free passage down the corridor.

"I trust you can remember your way out," Thingol tells Fingon, and turns away.

Fingon looks at Melian. "Thank you," he says, "and I am very sorry about your daughter."

He has met Maiar before, of course, in Valinor: but Melian is still unsettling, with her implausibly flawless face and eyes that hold yet the memory of a time before Time.

"Little king," she says, "only hope that you will not know any such pain yourself."

Fingon manages a smile. "I'm good at that," he says. "Hope."

On that note he leaves Menegroth, carrying Maglor, and begins to make the long trek back through the Forest of Region, and thence to Himring.

Curufin has managed the journey significantly more quickly. On a crisp cold morning he rides back through Himring's gates.

Maedhros has been... managing. Not well, but he trusts Fingon.

Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you.

But here's Curufin by himself, looking pale and tired, and after all it was only a hastily-scribbled note, not an incantation.

Maedhros arrives at the gate at a run.

Scarce weeks ago it was the other way around, Maedhros riding into the fortress with Fingon's cloak only just concealing his bloodstained clothes: and Curufin met him as he came in and he can still feel the terrible jolt of knowledge in his stomach, and Celegorm is still dead.

How can it be borne?

A thought comes to Curufin and for a moment he thinks it the cruellest idea he has ever had, but Celegorm is dead and his hand is still burned and nobody expects any better of him anyway.

"They're dead," he says flatly, "they're both dead," and Maedhros just – stares at him.

(to be continued)

[ravenlking]

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐀 "Where you go, I’m going, so jump and I’m jumping Since there is no me without you"

gender-neutral warnings: s*icide genre: angst a/n: - inspiration from the recent malleus groovy and also the song, achilles come down - the banner belongs to me, but the pictures are from the official manga! please do not steal! - please give me feedback :)

Let me know if you'd like more!

He doesn't know how long he's been here. It could be days, weeks, months, or even years; time seems to pass by in a blur, like a train ride. Only Malleus wasn't on it. He was simply watching the train with blank stares and a hazy fog over his mind, baring him from thinking straight.

Malleus stares from his spot on Ramshackle's shabby roof, staring aimlessly into the faraway distance of Night Raven College. His arm is fisted; his sharp nails could almost cut crescent scars into his hands. His bottom stings from the rough edges of the rubble and decaying thorny vibes embracing Ramshackle's rooftop. Still, Malleus doesn't falter.

"I thought I might find you here."

Malleus ignores his guardian who grunts as he takes a seat next to Malleus. Lilia sighs and too, joins Malleus in staring at the slowly setting sun. It painted the skies in shades of cerulean blue, coral orange, neon pink, like a mini rainbow against the calm, light blue sky.

They were in a sort of silence, in between awkward and comfortable. Neither party wanted to break the peaceful ambiance, too afraid that once they broke the bubble, there would be no more turning back.

"Lilia," Malleus finally croaks out, not realizing how parched his throat was from weeks of radio silence. He stands up, unafraid of the cracks and holes that slowly began to rupture, like a spiderweb slowly unfolding. "Do you truly not notice?"

Lilia sighs, his youthful face finally matching his age. "I noticed, young Malleus. The lack of magic. You were always quite reckless. Impulsive."

Malleus hums.

"You always knew my next step. But, do you truly not notice?"

Lilia stands up as well, holding out a hand to Malleus.

"Malleus, come down. Ramshackle isn't safe-"

"-Of course it is!" He cuts him, too lost in his memories. "The many dawns and dusks I have spent with my lover, wandering across the roofs and admiring the gargoyles; the roof is nothing but sturdy!"

"That was years ago, Malleus," Lilia looks at him pleadingly. "Malleus, come down. We can talk when you're level-headed, more sensible."

Slowly, but surely, a chuckle escapes Malleus's lips. Lilia stares at him, frozen, as Malleus steps backward, laughing madly.

"They left me," He finally speaks. "My lover, my treasure, my reason to live, they left me! Why should I continue living this miserable, wretched life without them?"

Lilia stares at him with such pitiful eyes.

"They no longer exist in this realm," Malleus hissed out. "I cannot feel their soul anymore. It used to linger everywhere; the corners where we giggled and hid from Sebek and Silver, the bedroom where we would slumber hours after the rising sun, the memories and jewelry they gave to me with that beautiful smile on their face."

His face crumbles. "But time passed on. Their essence seem to fade with each passing day. Do you know how much it pains me? To be immortal, to watch as the world caves in around me?!"

Lilia opens his mouth to speak but Malleus shook his head.

"What do you know? You never experienced love."

"You think I don't?" Lilia hissed out. "I lost countless friends and comrades in the war, Malleus. Don't think that you can talk me down like this, I am your guardian-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT FEELS!" Malleus cries out. He thumps a hand over his heart. "Do you know how much my heart shattered? I had to watch as my lover die in front of my eyes. The shield and wall gluing my heart together broke, my heart falling into a million pieces, and I could do nothing but watch as the light fades out of your eyes."

He steps forward, towering over Lilia's petite frame. Lilia could see something change, something absolute settle in Malleus's emerald irises before the fae heir chuckles bitterly.

"If I can't have them in this life," Malleus raises his foot and Lilia was frozen. Of course, how could he not realize? This area was the center of the roof, the area with the least stability. "I will find them in the next. Whatever it takes."

He stomps his foot down, shattering the roof. Lilia instinctively floats himself but was too late. A desperate cry tear out from his lips as he tries to catch Malleus, but doesn't succeed. His fingers brush lightly before Malleus escapes his reach.

"MALLEUS!"

Malleus Draconia falls; a minuscule smile on his lips as he falls in slow-motion. Around him, Ramshackle crumbles, ashes falling and creating a halo around the fallen heir. He feels agonizing pain flaring in his abdomen, hazing eyes staring at the shard that pierced his flesh and bone. Crimson blood spurts from the wound; it felt like an inferno or lava burning him from the inside out.

He laughs weakly.

'How ironic,' Malleus thinks to himself. He faintly remembers one of the fairytales you told him about, back in your world. Back when the days were lighter, more enjoyable, time having not ripped you from his hands yet. 'Oh how the tables have turned.'

"When the princess dragon fae pricks herself himself on an enchanted needle, she he shall be cursed to fall asleep. Forever."

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 The Prophecy of Imortal Fire: 3

Warnings: a bit of blood and gore mention

.......

"So.. where exactly are we going?" Ella asked as she looked around, her shoes clicking on the floor. "To try to find my dad... usually he's yelling at servants and stuff..... it's wierd... I dont feel his presence," Loreley explained. "His presence?" Mia asked. Loreley nodded her head. "When a god or goddess have kids, the children get some fragments of their parents powers while still having their own. Thus creates a type of... pull..? I guess is what'd you'd call it. Basically it feels like being tugged by a rope. But I don't feel it down here," loreley replied as she lead the way. Ella stopped walking, looking around. "Do you hear that?" She asked. Everyone stopped, turning to look at her. Carol looked around before spotting tracks on the floor. "Dog prints," she stated. "Cerberus," Loreley replied. "He won't hurt us. He's basically a puppy.... a giant, 3-headed puppy," Loreley joked. As the group continued to walk, the light at the end of the tunnel shone through the darkness. The road ended, and just below, the river Styx flowed. "What the...." Loreley muttered as she knelt down, examining the river. "What is it?" Clarissa asked. "Theres no souls in here. Like... at all.... it's empty...." Loreley replied as she stood tall once again. "That can only happen if a spell is performed. But my father would never have let that happen.... unless it was a soul who was working right underneath his nose. And even then, there has only ever been a handful of souls with that power, and they were mostly good beings," Loreley explained. Carol raised an eyebrow. "I taught John how to practice magic when we were younger.... but he called it nonsense and hit me. Not nonsense anymore apparently," Carol muttered. "How abusive WAS he?" Ella asked. "To me? Pretty bad... but to Alistar?...... I try not to think about it," Carol replied. Ella looked away, her eyebrows furrowed. "So how exactly do we undo this? Put everyone back?" Alruna asked. Carol and Clarissa looked down in shame. "Back?" Mia asked. "Well... yeah I mean.... having the dead walk around as if they never left... that's gonna cause problems..... They're dead. They aren't supposed to be here anymore," Alruna replied. "But-" "Mia... darling... she's right. We don't belong up here. It's not natural," Clarissa spoke, placing a hand on Mia's shoulder. "But... we... we JUST got you back," Mia argued. "Yes. But you Also gained my son.. and my husband," Carol replied. "So. How do we fix it?" Eli asked. Loreley shrugged. "I've never had to worry about it..... my father told me that if we kill the spell caster, it could work. But he put loads of emphasis on the word 'could'" Loreley explained. "And we don't even know if it was Alistar's dad or not. We haven't confirmed anything," she finished. "Then what do we do?" Alruna asked. "..... we kill king John and hope and pray that he was the one who cast the spell," Loreley replied. The group stood in silence before Lireley transferred them back to the mortal realm. "Come on. We have another war to win," Ella stated. ..........

Alistar hissed in pain as the guards threw him into the cell, his hand cracking unnaturally as he landed on it. Ah yes. His cell. After the guards left, alistar scanned the wall for the opening that he had used to escape more than once. His hand burned. But he would worry about it later. He needed to warn people. Finally breaking through the wall, alistar made a run for it, taking a horse and riding away as fast as possible. He let out a shaky breath as Ella's kingdom became visible.... She would kick him out.. immediately. But he had to try. It was one thing when it was him she was going up against. But his father? His father scared him. A lot. And there she was. A crown on her head adorned with Amethysts, her purple dress blowing as her friends walked behind her. He took a breath. "Ella!" He yelled. She turned to him, her eyes widening with so many emotions he could barely even make out what she was thinking. Elias' eyes flashed pure anger and hatred as he stood in front of his wife. Alistar got off his horse. "L-listen I know I'm an asshole and an enemy to you right now but my father... hes-" "Alistar?" Carolyn's voice gasped. Alistar snapped his head away from ella and Eli, seeing his mom for the first time in the past 30 years. "M-mom?" He asked, tears in his eyes. Carol made her way quickly to alistar, not noticing the flinch he made with the sudden movement before she hugged him tightly. His face morphed into shame as he cried, not hugging her back. She pulled away from him, noticing the scratches and bruises on his face, as well as his broken arm. "Oh my god...... he did this to you?" Carol asked. "It's not the worst he's done......" Alistar muttered, holding his broken arm to his chest. "Okay this is a wonderful reunion between the guy who tried to kill us 10 years ago and his mom. But I wanna know why the fuck he's here," Alruna deadpanned. "R-right.. well i-" "He can tell us after his arm is fixed up," Ella spoke out, her eyes not wavering from him once, her expression unreadable. Alistar looked at her before looking at the ground in shame. ....... The group stood in Eve's shop. Ella's kids had been passed over to Clarissa in another room as eve worked on Alistar's arm. "So what's going on?" Mia asked. "..... my father is planning on taking over the island.. all of it. Including Morellia...." Alistar stated. "So basically what you did?" Elias asked, harshly. "I didn't want to take over morellia. I just-" "Then what DID you want?" Eli asked with a sneer on his face. Alistar stayed quiet. "I..... I know what I wanted.... but I didn't..... make the choices that made sense to get it..... and I did horrible things to people who didn't deserve it.... and I realize that, and after this you can do whatever the hell You want with me. But my father is worse. And he won't stop from a stab wound. Believe me," Alistar muttered. "Why should we?" Elias asked. "Because I have no reason to lie.... i.... I dont have the energy to lie...." Alistar replied. "Do you have the energy for me to punch you? Because I've been fantasizing about that all day," Elias hissed as he walked up to Alistar sharply. "Elias," Ella scolded from her place I the corner of the room. Elias backed off, stepping away as Ella walked slowly toward Alistar, lifting his head up gently to look at her in the eye. She examined his face. His eye was bruised, almost black. His lip was split and bleeding, and his nose looked broken. Ella sighed removing her hands from his face. "I believe him," she stated.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

The world came back into focus agonizingly slowly. Eda blinked and blinked again, trying to resolve the shapeless blurs before her eyes into something solid— only, even after the world was clear again, it still didn’t make any sense.

Before her was a mass of twisted metal, a barred window that had been broken open, framing Lilith, drawn and worried, King, now outfitted in a white-and-purple robe speckled with stars, and a long, shadowy hallway behind them. Half a dozen empty bottles of elixir were littered at their feet.

“Thank goodness,” Lilith gasped, hopping into the cage to hug Eda tightly. “That was my last one!”

Eda’s arm reached up unconsciously to pat her sister’s back as she tried to think through her confusion. “What— Lily? I thought that strange child turned you into some kind of puppet.”

Lilith pulled back, biting her lip. “He did. But King made a deal with him to set me free.”

Eda shifted her gaze from her sister to her son, who was looking down at his feet. “That kid… that’s the Collector, isn’t he?”

He nodded.

“King. What did you do?”

Finally, King lifted his head. “It… it seemed like he just wanted a friend. I told him I would play with him if he stopped the draining spell. I didn’t know he’d do any of this.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Eda stepped through the bars, kneeling down to embrace him. “You saved all our skins by stopping the draining spell, King. That’s what matters.”

“Most of our skins, at least. Edalyn, what in the world happened to your arm? Did it disintegrate?”

Eda let go of King, running her fingers down the stump. “Yes and no. Raine ripped it off to disconnect me from my sigil and save me from the spell. The arm disintegrated as soon as they did.”

Lilith’s eyes widened, and she whirled around. “You what?” She asked the empty air.

Eda blinked, slowly lowering her gaze to King. “Has she finally cracked under the pressure?”

“No. It’s… well… I should just show you.”

King stood and Eda followed him over to a line of what he had thought were just shadows… which resolved into shapes… which resolved into more puppets. Adrian, Darius, Eberwolf… and…

“Raine.” Eda’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no.”

“They tried to get you to calm down after you turned into the owl beast, but they got hit. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t able to convince the Collector to set them free. The only way I could convince him not to turn you into a puppet was to say you were stuck as the Owl Beast. They insisted on posting the coven heads as guards.”

With difficulty, Eda tore her eyes away from Raine. “But how did you convince him to free Lilith?”

“I said the Owl Beast would need someone to take care of it full-time, and that it couldn’t be me if I was going to have time to play with him.” King sighed. “Speaking of which… I should probably get back to him. He can’t find out that you’re healed or he’ll turn you and Lilith into puppets, too. I need to distract him while you escape.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“You have to. If I leave the Collector, no one on the Isles will be safe. You and Lilith have to go free so that you can figure out a way to beat them.”

Eda shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere without you and Luz. Where is she? Does the Collector have her puppet somewhere?”

King’s face fell, and the terror that sliced through Eda made her stagger. “No,” she gasped, “she’s not���“

“She’s okay!” King promised quickly. “She’s just… in the human realm. With Willow, Gus, Amity, and Hunter. They escaped through the portal door right before the Collector broke it apart.”

Relief was the first thing to course through Eda— with a throbbing, heavy pain a close second. The human realm. So Luz had finally made it back to where she belonged. And the door was broken. That was it. Luz the human had returned to her real family. The bird had left the nest. 

Eda’s throat throbbed, the world before her eyes blurring again. She blinked rapidly. This is good, Eda. This is good. 

“Good,” she managed to choke out. “She’s safe.” She’s where she belongs, Eda wanted to add, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“She’s safe,” King agreed. “And I want you to be, too. So you need to go.”

“Absolutely not. Being separate from Luz is bad enough.”

“Eda,” King begged, exasperated. She held her ground.

“Mom.”

Finally, her eyes met his.

“Go,” he said softly. “Please. I can’t fight back, but you can. Leave now so we can be together later.”

Everything in Eda wanted to protest again. What kind of mother left her son alone like this? What kind of fighter couldn’t even protect one person? But deep down, an awful part of her knew King was right. What could she do here? Fight Raine again, put Lilith and King in danger, all in the hopes of getting to the Collector and, what, attacking them? How had that worked out for her the first time?

“Okay,” she rasped. Then, louder, “Okay.” She bent down to place her hands on King’s shoulders. “But if you need anything, you come find me, all right?”

“I’ll visit as often as I can,” he promised. 

“Good.” She pulled him in for a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He pulled back, wiping his eyes. “The Collector will be looking for me. I need to go.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Eda said, in a tone that allowed no argument.

“Soon,” King echoed. Eda watched him disappear down the shadowy hall, everything about him slumped, and fought the impulse to race after him with all the strength she had.

Lilith squeezed her shoulder. “We should get going too, Edalyn.”

“I know.” But as she turned back to the broken bars, her eyes caught on Raine once more. “Lily,” she asked, a hitch in her voice, “what does it feel like to be a puppet?”

“It’s… well, it’s—“ Eda turned a glare on her, silently warning her not to sugarcoat it, and Lilith’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not wonderful. You can’t see. You can hear, sometimes, but not always. The only time it’s guaranteed is when the Collector is commanding you.”

You can hear, sometimes. Driven by the words, Eda stepped forward, laying a hand on Raine’s cheek. It felt all wrong— smooth and hard and cold. Dead. Eda swallowed hard, sorting through the thousands of things she wanted to say. All of them years in the making. All of them inadequate. 

Finally, all she could get out was, “I’m so sorry, Rainestorm.”

I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for letting you go that day in the woods. I’m sorry failed to protect you, again and again and again. I’m sorry I never found time to apologize properly.

They didn’t speak, didn’t react, but she heard their voice in her head anyway, and she smiled just slightly as she repeated the words. “But I’m not going to stop until I make things right. I promise.”

She stepped back, and to her surprise, Lilith stepped forwards, whacking Raine’s shoulder with her fist. 

“Lily!”

“That’s for ripping my sister’s arm off,” she said, then threw her arms around Raine and hugged them. “But thank you for keeping her safe.”

Eda swallowed again, frantically blinking back the tears that just wouldn’t leave her alone. “They’re good at that,” she whispered.

Lilith stepped back and wrapped an arm around Eda’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go figure out a way to return the favor.”

Taking a deep breath, Eda nodded, and turned back to the wide, open wall and the forest beyond, the bars between her prison and freedom twisted and broken in a fit of power she would never be able to remember. Silently, she thanked the owl beast as she stepped forwards, and the sisters crossed the threshold to freedom together. 

[mystical-flute]

Checkered: Chapter 6

Also on AO3 || Buy me a Ko-fi

There was no sense of time in the Field of Reeds. Days blend into weeks bled into months bled into millennia. There was a time when it had been possible to sort of gauge how long it had been, when her children and grandchildren had met her here, but once everyone she had known in life had joined her, everything had bled together

She had known since coming to the Field of Reeds that she would eventually go back to Earth, to help guide the spirit of the Puzzle to come to home, where he had belonged for thousands of years.

The problem with this was that she wasn’t sure who the Spirit of the Puzzle even was. She knew someone had been sealed away, but who he was or what even happened had been lost, and Osiris had not been forthcoming in the answers. How was she supposed to help the Puzzle’s spirit get to the Field of Reeds if she didn’t know who they were and what even happened to lock them into one of the items?

But here she was, standing in front of the veil between the living world and the world of the dead,

"You will be an excellent guide, Azila," her husband said, leaning to press his lips against her forehead. "I wish you luck. See you soon."

Azila nodded. "I will be back as soon as I can."

It was a rare gift, to be able to travel to and from the realms, and she intended to embrace every second of it that she would.

Stepping through, Azila found herself in a dark room, lit by only what was coming in through the cracks of the fabric covering the window.

A shifting noise caught her attention, and she glanced over to find a bed with a sleeping young woman inside it. Her wrist was out from under the covers, and there was the Bracelet, visible in the moonlight.

Azila smiled. So it was another young woman who ended up with her bracelet. Though it was dark, she could see that there were… very similar features between the two of them. The shape of their noses, wavy hair, though this girl was missing the blonde strands Azila was currently sporting.

Strange, she had stopped dyeing her hair long before she went into the Field of Reeds. Why would Osiris had dressed her like this? So many mysteries to unravel, and yet she was supposed to help escort the Spirit of the Puzzle onward?

She looked around the bedroom, seeing what looked to be a large, ornate lantern on the bedside table next to a small rectangle with a string attached to one end. Next to the window was what Azila assumed was a work desk, with a strange closed rectangle with another long string attaching itself out the back of the rectangle and into the wall behind the desk. Against the wall was a large shelf full of tomes. The girl liked to read! How lovely!

Azila moved over to the shelf to take a look at the tomes.

Geography, mathematics, Japanese history (Japan… is that where she was?), Ancient Egyptian history -

"Ancient? Well I'm sure that can't be right…"

"What the hell? Who are you?!"

Azila turned to find the young woman sitting up in bed and switching the lantern on. Interesting - so she could do it without fire? Still, Azila gave her a polite smile. "Oh wonderful, you're awake! My name is Azila. I was sent down here to help the Spirit of the Puzzle discover who he is, and train you in the art of shadow magic."

The girl blinked at her several times, then rubbed her eyes and heaved in a breath before picking up the brick and staring at it. "I'm dreaming. It's three-thirty in the morning, I have brunch with KC at eleven, and I've got exams next week. I'm on edge. This is a dream."

"You are most certainly not dreaming," Azila scoffed, making her way over to the bed just as the girl flopped back down and switched off the lantern. "Young lady, I mean it. This is not a dream, and it is important that you listen."

The girl let out a groan and opened her eyes. "You don't have to sound like my mom when you talk to me y'know."

Azila chuckled softly. "Forgive me. I spent most of my life as a mother and grandmother. It comes naturally."

"Okay, okay fine. If all of this is real and you're really a ghost come down from on high, who exactly are you and who sent you?"

Finally, the girl was amenable to discussion, and Azila smiled as she settled - or settled as much as a spirit could - on the end of the bed. "As I said, my name is Azila, and I was sent down by the god Osiris to help guide the Puzzle's spirit to the Field of Reeds."

The girl gestured to the door. "Well, he's in the living room with my cousin. Have fun."

Azila chuckled again. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. The truth is, I don't even know who the Spirit of the Puzzle was. Just that I have to help him… somehow."

"Oh my god," the girl muttered, putting her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. "If you don't even know who he is, how are you supposed to help him?"

"He owned a Millennium Item, so he must have been someone important to those of us in Court. That is why it is important that he come to the Field of Reeds… there are so many people waiting for him."

The girl stared at her in sleepy confusion. "So, let me get this straight. You have no memory of this guy, but you think he's super important that you and a bunch of other ghosts have been waiting for him in the afterlife. And you're only here because Osiris told you to?"

"Yes, now you're getting it!"

"You picked the wrong girl to try and help you with this," she sighed. "I'm not even going to be living here in a few months."

Azila shook her head. "Whatever you might believe, you will be involved. The Items do not choose their owners lightly. You are meant to wield the powers of the Bracelet. Besides, have you not noticed that we look similar despite being born years and years apart?"

The girl blinked again, but turned the lantern back on to get a better look, squinting in confusion. "Your hair… you have wavy hair like me, the black and magenta like me… but you have a streak of blonde framing your face, like the men in my family. I don't understand. Why do we look alike?"

"Fate. It is the most powerful force in the world. And I will teach you - "

"I knew there was another soul here."

The girl blinked in surprise at the sudden arrival of another, the room door cracked open. "Yugi, I'm fine. Go back to bed."

Azila stared in horror as the figure approached. "No, it is not fine. Look at his forehead. The symbol there…"

The girl focused on the spirit (it was a spirit in charge, not a human, she could tell), before her eyes widened and she got out of the bed. "Wait - hold on. Who are you?"

The spirit grinned, though Azila could see - and sense - nothing but malice. "Consider me a guardian angel. I will determine if this spirit is actually safe or not."

"Where's Yugi?"

The spirit shrugged. "He is resting. He had such a tiring day. Everything with Ushio was exhausting. Surely you know that, Reika."

The girl - Reika - shuddered. "How do you know my name?"

The spirit tapped his temple. "Yugi's memories are available to me."

"Well get out of his head and get out of my room."

"I will… just as soon as I make sure this spirit means no harm."

The room began to warp, and Azila instantly felt the old, familiar tug of the shadows and the games they played. Reaching out with her hand, she could feel the power of the bracelet radiating, tugging and pulling and wanting to be free. Reika was woefully unprepared for this, especially against an opponent as unstable as… whoever this was.

"You are not the only one experienced in the Games," Azila said, her fingertips brushing against the bracelet and drawing its power to her, felt the DiaDhank form on her arm. She didn't want to - she really didn't want to - but she would summon what she needed to if it meant stopping this boy. "I will be your opponent and prove to you that I am not the hostile spirit here."

The Puzzle's spirit laughed. "Are you implying that I am?"

Azila raised a brow. "Yes."

"Interesting," the spirit said, tilting his head before flicking his wrist.

Reika went sent flying back onto the bed, the covers wrapping around her and binding her down onto the mattress despite her struggles.

"What do you have in mind for this Game?" Azila asked.

"I call it Truths and Lies. We each write down facts about ourselves and one lie. Then the other must guess which is the lie."

Azila raised a brow. It sounded simple enough, but these games never were. "And what does the loser get punished with?"

"Banishment."

Azila tilted her head in confusion, unsure if the spirit had played many of these games or if he just hadn't played one with another spirit. Azila hadn't either, but she was fairly certain neither of them would be able to be banished. She was at the mercy of a god, and he was bound to the puzzle itself.

But she knew the rules of a Shadow Game, and so she nodded, taking a seat at the table that had materialized in Reika's bedroom. "I accept your terms. Let's begin."

The pen she wrote with was strange, not nearly like the ones she used when she was alive, but she managed to write down her list.

I am a Great Royal Wife

I am a healer

I am the youngest of seven children.

The spirit laughed as he picked up the paper. "Do you want to lose? Clearly the lie is that you're a Great Royal Wife!" The shadows swirled around him, but she kept her gaze even with him as she spoke.

"I was the eldest, and I only had four siblings."

"'Only?'" came Reika's mutter of disbelief.

The shadows swirled around her, and as the Puzzle's spirit looked at her in horror, she only gave him pity.

"I do not know your name, nor do I know who you were in life, but I make a promise to you that I am only here to help you, so that one day, you can gain entrance to the Field of Reeds with your memories in tact," Azila said carefully. The shadows did not move from around her, but stayed pointed at him in warning. "I do not wish to bring harm to any of the humans. Nor will you be banished. We must work together to find out what is happening."

The Spirit looked at her, no longer looking manic, but instead quite sad, and very, very, young. "You… want to help me? How?"

"I do not know. But I do know that our god Osiris was the one to send me down… you are meant to come home to the Field of Reeds, I promise. But you cannot do so if you keep running around harming people with the Games. That was never what these powers were for."

Not exactly true, but the less insanity there was surrounding them, the better the world at large would be.

The spirit nodded, and the shadows began to vanish, freeing Reika from the bedding. Azila watched as the human scrambled off the bed with wide eyes.

"Yugi?" she whispered when the shadows completely disappeared, and the spirit retreated back into the puzzle in a flash of gold.

The boy, Yugi, snapped his head up in surprise. "Reika! What - "

(The spirit and Yugi were disconnected… interesting)

"This… is going to be a very long conversation that we can finish tomorrow but… you need to know that what gramps told us about the shadow games is true. They're real. And… your puzzle has a ghost in it."

Yugi stared at her. "Wait, the Shadow Games? So that means Ushio playing in the dirt and thinking it and the leaves were money…"

"He was being punished for his transgressions," Azila said, coming into Yugi's view. "I have seen that game used before, on con men."

Yugi blinked. "Who - "

"My item has a ghost attached to it too. This one is Azila. She wants to help us figure everything out," Reika explained, rubbing at her eyes. "But we really should get some more sleep."

Yugi nodded, but hesitated in turning around. "I… don't want him to take control of my body again."

"I will keep watch over you," Azila said. "I am well-equipped in the art of the shadows as well. You will be safe to sleep, I promise."

Yugi nodded and began to make his way out of the room. Azila turned back to look at Reika, who was sliding back under the covers.

"Thank you, Azila…" Reika said.

Azila smiled. "You are very welcome. Get some rest."

And with that, she followed Yugi out of the room.

-

"Yugi, I've got some books on Ancient Egypt in my room, if you want to take a look at them. See if you can figure anything out about… all of this," she said the next morning, glancing at Yugi with a shrug.

Yugi nodded. "Thanks Reika. Do you mind if I invite Anzu over too?"

"Of course not. Just don't make a mess and don't eat all of our food. The takeout menus are in the drawer next to the stove if you get hungry again and I'm not home," she replied as she made her way to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

She paused at the mailbox upon realizing it had mail in it, and felt her eyes widen when she saw what exactly had been sent priority.

A letter - from the University of Kyoto.

Reika practically sprinted to her car and tore the letter open the moment she was alone.

Dear Miss Mutou,

Congratulations! You have been accepted to the University of Kyoto's Music Education program -

She stopped reading. That was the only sentence she needed for now. The rest would come later, after brunch, after the weird conversation with Yugi about the Shadow Games. For now, it was time to be a member of the Young Five.

"You cut it close this morning, Miss Reika," Lector said as she rushed into the restaurant's private room. "It's not like you."

Reika bowed deeply before she made her way to the table and took a seat next to him. "Apologies, Mister Lector. I received some big news just as I was leaving and I needed a moment to gather myself."

"Oh? Good news I hope."

"Yes sir. I got accepted to Kyoto for their music education program."

Lector grinned. "Well that is excellent news Miss Reika. Congratulations! I suppose that means all of you now know what your plans are for after graduation."

"A toast is in order then," Seto said. He was sitting at the head of the table and radiating an aura of being in charge despite five men in the room having decades on him in life and work experience. A wave of his hand, and servers were arriving with wine and sparkling cider, quickly placing them on the table. "To the Young Five. May the dedication and commitment they have shown to KaibaCorp carry them into their future endeavors, and may they excel at all they choose to do."

The glasses clinked together gently, and she took a sip of the cloyingly sweet liquid.

"Hey Reika! What's that design on your bracelet?" Mokuba piped up.

She blinked in surprise, momentarily forgetting what she was wearing. "I - oh, it's an artifact my grandfather brought me from one of his expeditions in Egypt. He gave it to me when I was nine."

"Hold on, didn't you tell me years ago you said you wouldn't wear it unless Yugi finished that puzzle?" Noah asked with a frown.

"And I kept my word. He finished it last night."

Noah stared at her. "He did? It was taking him so long I never thought it would happen!"

"Heh, yeah, neither did I."

"Is it true? Do they actually have powerful ancient magic? Your grandfather mentioned that once, didn't he?"

Mokuba's eyes widened, but Seto's rolled. She already knew how this conversation was going to go, but she soldiered on.

"Ah - right, that's the rumor," looking at Mokuba, she continued. "The bracelet and Yugi's puzzle are part of a set of ancient objects known as the Millennium Items. There are only eight of them in the world. Each one is said to contain powerful, dark shadow magic."

"Really?" Mokuba gasped. "Like what?"

"Mokuba," Seto said sharply. "Don't be ridiculous. None of that is real."

Mokuba frowned and turned back to Seto, but Noah rolled his eyes.

"It's real," she murmured, leaning closer to Noah. "The Shadow Games, the spirits… all of it. We don't know what it means but… gramps wasn't just telling us scary stories."

Noah's voice was low and level with hers. "What are you going to do?"

"Research, I guess. Deal with whatever comes our way. I don't think this is something e can avoid, Noah."

"You are correct. It is not."

She rolled her neck in an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling of hearing Azila's voice in her head.

"Reika?" Noah murmured.

"It's fine," she said. "I'm fine."

So why were her hands shaking?

—

"Are you sure you don't want your father and I to check on you?" her mother asked, worry clear on her face even on the small cell phone screen.

Reika groaned and rolled her eyes. "Mom, I'm fine, I promise. The nurse said almost everyone gets a cold this time of year."

After not being sick once during the first semester of university, luck had not been on her side going into the second, and instead of being able to attend Yugi's first non-tabletop duel, she was being forced to watch it via streaming.

"You can call us at any time if you need us. We'll be on a train in seconds," her father added. "With food and medication."

She didn't have the heart to tell them Seto had already sent her a large care package with just those things. "I know you will, and I'm fine for now, I promise. I've got soup and honey. and tea. It'll tide me over until tomorrow. I'm going to be watching the duel tonight so I'll have something that makes me happy."

Her mother sighed. "Don't stay up too late! Go straight to bed once the duel is over."

"I will, promise."

Or not.

With a sigh, she ended the call with her parents and connected to the stream Noah had sent her to watch the duel. Yugi and his friends were just entering the arena, with the Young Five already sitting in the stands with Mokuba and Noah. Seto was standing in his spot at one end of the area already, a manic grin on his face.

She had been worried about him for a few days, even when they'd managed to get together for dinner for his birthday, he'd been wild-eyed as he talked about the future, and about the upcoming Japanese dueling tournament, and it had all felt so off.

Seto was always a passionate about whatever caught his interest, but his face, and the way his pupils seemed to shrink as Yugi stepped into the arena, told her something was wrong.

"I think you'll find our brand new duel arena to be quite exciting Yugi! And how lucky you are to be one of the first to test it out!" Seto laughed.

"There is a heavy energy around him," Azila said, materializing into the room with a frown. "It feels dark but… not in the way the shadows do. Has anything happened to him lately?"

She shook her head. "No, not that I can think of. Mokuba and Noah haven't said anything either." Mokuba, of all people, would have told her if there was.

"Odd… he was not like this before, was he?"

The duel began, both players making their first move.

"No, he seemed okay, until a couple of days ago," she said, coughing into the crook of her elbow miserably.

"Have some tea, and a spoonful of honey." When Reika gave her an odd look, she shrugged. "I was a healer before my marriage. There has been much changed in the world since my death but those two have remained."

Reika rolled her eyes as she got off her bed and moved to the small kettle already filled with hot water. While waiting for the tea to steep, she did indeed take a spoonful of honey. With that done, she returned to her bed with a mug of chamomile, leaning back to watch the rest of the duel.

It… was not going well for Yugi. He was down to four-hundred points to Seto's one-thousand, and Seto had all three of his beloved Blue-Eyes cards on the field. She could tell Yugi was using Grandpa's deck, so what other tricks could he possibly have…?

Surely not -

"You are pathetic Yugi, and so is your deck! So go ahead and draw your last card so I can end this duel already!" Seto still had that manic grin on his face, that seemed to only grow with each turn taken.

"Pathetic? The only pathetic thing I see here is you, Kaiba! My grandfather's deck may not be the strongest, but it does contain - "

It was.

"The unstoppable Exodia!"

Grandpa was a lot of things, but a fool was not one of them. He had stacked his deck for strategy, not just for strength, and it seemed that was a lesson about dueling Seto had forgotten.

The other Yugi was standing in Yugi's place as Seto's life points hit zero. "You have so much hatred in your heart, Seto. It has started to cloud your judgment. But don't worry… I can help you. Mind Crush!"

The Eye of Anubis flashed on Yugi's forehead, and Seto fell to his knees, his eyes clearing, pupils returning to normal.

And the feed went black.

"Reika…" Azila asked. "Are you certain there has been nothing wrong with Seto recently?"

Reika's heart was in her throat. "I - I - "she glanced up, spotting the calendar hanging on the wall across from her bed.

October thirtieth.

"Oh shit," she whispered. "Today is the anniversary of Gozaburo's death."

[sapphicdib]

Saint and Enot au

lore dump

give pls

Just did here!! However have a lil snippet of extra stuff:

“Hey!”

Sig cracked open her eyes to the feeling of Rivulet’s wet paws slapping against his face, and the sound of a new voice, the one that belonged to the strange…slugcat, if you could call it that, that had apparently just saved his life.

“You…you talk.” Sig mumbled, watching the creature roll its eyes.

“Yeah, yeah! Big deal! We have bigger issues right now, okay? Don’t pass out on me again, I need your help.” Enot flicked his glitchy tail as Ruffles helped Sig sit back up.

“What about the others?” Sig asked, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging them, appearing a lot smaller than she usually did.

“Oh, like your girlfriend?” The slugcat’s multicoloured ears perked, sending little pixels through the air. “I’ve been protecting them, chasing down my little buddy and beating the shit out of him if he gets too close.” Enot shrugged, sitting back on his haunches.

“So he’s…trying to kill us?” Sig asked hesitantly. Ruffles’ gills puffed up protectively, and Sig gently patted her head.

“Yeah. Says y’all have ~overstayed your welcome in this cycle~ and ~need to let this realm rest~.” He put on a goofy voice as he mocked Saint, doing air-quotes with his stubby fingers. “Stupid, right?”

“Uh, I guess, I mean, they didn’t even ask or anything.” Sig shrugged, a chill going down her spine as she realized just how close he’d been to death—actual death. The one you don’t come back from.

“Exactly! The dude’s crazy. Anyways, I’ve been chasing them around, but obviously I can’t do that forever. So, I’ve got a two-step plan that should prevent unwanted ascension.” He pressed his paws together and glanced to Sig, who only looked at him with expectant eyes.

“Step one: get off that thing,” He pointed at the broken mechanical arm keeping Sig rooted to the ground, “and step two—“

“I cant…we can’t get off these.” Sig interrupted.

“Not with that attitude you can’t!”

“Trust me! I’ve tried!” Sig gestured in frustration. “And with how deteriorated my systems are now…it’d be basically impossible.” She sighed in defeat, resting her head in her arms. Enot frowned, watching the iterator pout.

“Well maybe ask your girlfriend for ideas or something!” It said, swishing its glitchy tail. “C’mon, use that supercomputer brain, are you gonna waste all your RAM on being mopey? I know you’ve got friends, maybe all of you can figure something out together!” He crossed his arms. Sig’s gaze returned to Inv, and he looked like he was about to snap at him.

“Wawa!” Ruffles stopped her from saying something rude, waving her arms. “Wa! Awa!”

Sig looked confused, before looking back at Inv.

“She said nothing is impossible. If she managed to reactivate your girlfriend, then you and your friends can figure out how to get off your damn strings.”

Sig was silent for a moment, before giving in and pulling up a screen. “And in the meantime?”

“I’ll be keeping the moss with a god complex in check so they can’t hurt you guys while you’re figuring this out.” Enot stood, going to the wall, where a ladder of spears had been constructed to get to the access shaft. However, instead of climbing, his body glitched and he suddenly appeared a couple rungs up, balanced on the spear. “Chop chop, we don’t have infinite cycles!” He sang, once again teleporting higher onto the ladder. “I’ll be back shortly. Say hi to your girlfriend for me!”

[fabien-euskadi]

My dear friend @run-mouse sent me this and I took ages to reply her. Still, thank you very much for the ask - I hope you like the replies (and let me send you greetings from a valley lost somewhere between Portugal and Spain):)

Black: 1 fact about the person I like

Let’s start this answer by defining one crucial aspect of this question: the expression “the person I like” will be understood as “the person I have romantic feelings for”. Obviously, I like all my friends and my closest family, but we are going to leave them out of the equation, shall we?

That means this is, undoubtedly, the hardest and the easiest question to answer. The truth is that, as we speak, there are two categories of people in my life: those I know well enough to say that I don’t have romantic for them, and those I don’t know well enough to have romantic feelings for them. Obviously, I cannot possibly state, in this very moment, that things will not change somewhere in the future – there is always the chance that someone I already know is THE one.

But that does not answer the question, does it?

So, the only fact that I can point out about the person I like is that I genuinely WISH she exists at all. Unfortunately, I fear she is no more than an idealization, and that my life and heart are both doomed. And even if she exists, the fact that I love her doesn’t mean, by any means, that she will love me back.

Grey: 2 facts about my favourite things

Do I really have things that can be considered my favourite? Do I feel any form of real attachment to mere objects? Do I feel anything for whatever belongs to the realms of the material?

I have already answered this one, and that means that, after struggling to find two things that I consider to be my favourite, I need to find another two. Still, let’s do this.

An object that I have a particular affection for is my black backpack. Usually, whenever I am going to explore/photograph a new place, the old back backpack is my partner in crime. Inside her, I store my other partner in crime: my camera.

My second favourite thing is… well, I am going to stretch a bit the concept of “thing” now. My second favourite thing is my next house, the one I shall, at last, call “home” – so, it’s quite a big thing. However, I still have no idea when will I move – I don’t even know where this house is located, how it looks like or how many rooms it has. My next place will be THE place, and it will feel like home, but, so far, it’s just an idea, a concept, a wish, a goal. But the optimist in me says it will be even better than I could possibly imagine (and my imagination, as long as I allow it to run free, can take me to the edge of the Solar System). And I will also decorate this house with many things that I like.

Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood

This one is not exactly easy, but I shall give it a go.

FACT 1: I don’t remember a single thing about the first house I lived in. Don’t get me wrong, the house still exists, and it’s even not too far away from my mom’s place. Sometimes, I even happen pass in front of the old number 12, and, inevitably, an intrusive though invades my mind: “This was my very first home”. But… was it? How can I call “home” to a place that simply does not exist in my memories? I lived on that house, and, yet, I have no idea how it looks like inside, since I was only months old when we moved to another place.

FACT 2: Once, when I was seven years old, I was hit by a car in one of the busiest streets of Lisbon. I remember the struggle to breathe after being hit by the old BMW (was it a 1602?), but the fact is that I didn’t break a single bone. Basically, I have been a hard nut to crack since I was a young child. You have been warned.

FACT 3: As a child/pre-teen, I had tennis lessons for roughly two years. But I was always a mediocre player, to put it (very, very) mildly. My motor coordination is a tad lame, to be honest.

FACT 4: When I was seven, I witness an event (I am not going to talk about it) that left me permanently traumatized. That summer morning is the main (sole?) reason why my self-esteem and self-confidence do not exist at all - they died on that very day, and nothing I can do will be able to resurrect them. I still recall those terrifying minutes vividly - and, honestly, I wish I didn't. And, above all, I know very well who to blame for what happened - alas, how could I possibly forget it?

FACT 5: My first driving lesson took place when I was 11 and could already reach the pedals. I drove my mom's old Renault for some metres, but I screw it all when I had to change gear (as usual in any novice driver having his first lesson in a manual car).

FACT 6: I was the very last person to see my great-grandmother alive. She passed away on her bed a couple of hours later, at the age of 87.

FACT 7: I memorized every single Portuguese king when I was 10, and I still remember every single one of them. Mind you, we are talking about all the kings between 1143 (the date is, technically speaking, debatable) and 1910. I also memorised every single nickname. No wonder that I majored in History.

[kayssweetdreams]

Mirror Mirror Mayhem Ch 20

The Real Mei and Mirror Mei fell deep into the Mirror Realm, farther and farther away from the opening. The two girls struggled before they fell against a mirror that showed Cal and Lucy in a gallery. "You Little-!!" The reflection yelled before she tried to tackle the Real Mei. Mei jumped out of the way before.

"Mei! C'mon!" Rebecca's voice yelled from the opening of the mirror realm. Mei looked up before she began climbing the mirrors that made up the realm. The reflection saw this before she growled angrily. No way was she getting out. Not after she had been locked in here for who knows how long, and wanted OUT. However, the reflection had one advantage that the real Mei didn't have...

This was the Reflection's Domain.

Diving into a mirror, she dissappeared, and ventured to find which mirror Mei was going to jump onto next before she shattered it from the inside, making her fall onto another mirror below her. Mei went pale as she saw the long way down in the mirror realm. One wrong move and it could be all over. She saw the reflection sneer at her from the glass shatters

"You aren't getting out of here. EVER." She growled before diving into another mirror and shattering it to bits. Mei braced herself as the mirror broke apart when she noticed something. The mirror was destroyed, and she could no longer see the outside world of that one, but she noticed that the glass remained, and floated like a regular mirror. Not only that, but it was close enough for her to get to.

Taking a leap of faith, Mei jumped over to the shard, that was big enough for her to stand on, and climbed upwards before setting her sights on another shard and climbing up that one as well. Using her makeshift staircase, she continued to climb up to the entrance of the Mirror Realm. "Mei! Hurry!" Emma yelled.

Mei was just about to cross through, when her ankle was grabbed by her very vengeful reflection

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

She roared, rage in her eyes. Focusing herself, shards of glass began to form around her body. In seconds, where Mirror Mei was, there was now a large dragon formed from glass that roared violently at her. The Wonder Stars paled as Mirror Mei began to charge directly at them. Mei ducked as she landed on a Mirror showing the damage Mirror Mei caused. The glass encased dragon chased down the real Mei as she ducked and dodged her every attack, but she needed to be careful

"I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE HERE!!!" Mirror Mei roared as she charged into a mirror that held the reflections of Iben and John snuggling near a fire, making that mirror shatter to pieces. "YOU'RE STAYING IN HERE EVEN IF I HAVE TO DESTROY MYSELF!!" She screeched, making multiple mirrors crack and shatter. "No. You've been out long enough, and you and your friends have caused enough Chaos." Mei said as she jumped back to the entrance of the mirror "HURRY MEI!!" Trisha Jane yelled as she grabbed her arm, and pulled her through the Mirror.

Mirror Mei let out a violent yell before glass encased the entrance once more, making sure that there was no means of getting out the kids let out a sigh of relief when they saw Balan was the one that closed the Mirror Realm. "Thanks Bal..." Leo panted out. "It's no trouble, but what about the others mirror double's?" He asked. "Well, it did say that as soon as the first reflection went in, the rest would follow, so I guess we just have to wait and see..." Rebecca said as they walked out of the Hall of Mirrors, to see Kaylo at the top of a nearby palm tree.

"Hey Guys! Could you give me a hand?"

Mei and John belong to @sundove88

Rebecca belongs to @thehypercutstudios/@thehyperrequiem

Trisha Jane belongs to @lovelyteng

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #46 + #47

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Let’s start picking up the pieces.

At the height of summer, with the moon an immense golden eye hung over the world, Sean went before the woods and forswore the crown. His family disowned him. He didn't seem to care. He took what he'd saved of his royal stipend and what belongings his pack pony could carry, and rode away on his charger to join the forces that guarded the realm's passes. He was heard to say that there, at least, he would be fighting honest enemies.

Adam came to see him off and gave him a gift of names, those people that might think well of one prince who'd visited in years past, well enough to take his recommendation of another prince. Sean surprised him with his gratitude and with a sturdy handshake. "Leave, Adam," he told him as they said their farewells. He was a profoundly freckled boy who looked absolutely nothing like Adam or the Dowager except for his storm-blue eyes. "Leave. I don't know what your feud is; we all worked hard not to look at it, to be honest. But I don't think I'm wrong to call it revenge at this point." Sean shrugged. "It won't be worth it. It'll turn you into her, and you'll be doing to people what she did to us."

"You aren't wrong," Adam admitted, his voice strangled to be so clearly read. "I don't think there's much left of me but what I feel for them."

Sean shook his head. "I'm sorry for what you've lost, even if I don't know what it is."

Those simple, honest, calm words nearly unmade Adam there and then. He wrapped his rage about him like a cloak, like armor, and managed to offer Sean the ghost of a smile, even if he didn't trust himself to speak.

He couldn't go back into the palace. Sean's words haunted him, despite his efforts to drown them. The grief he refused to acknowledge threatened to break the wall of his fury, like frothing water putting cracks in a dam. In desperation, he did what he'd always done when he wanted to get away from his thoughts, from his obligations, from everything.

He climbed.

He kicked off his shoes. He hung his coat away - he'd grown out of the habit of throwing it every which way when he'd started to carry a pixie in a pocket. Trout lunged out of it and scrabbled to latch onto the back of Adam's shirt; the prince's hair had grown long enough to hide a small golden fairy. He made his way out to a lovers' garden and leapt onto a bench, onto a statue, onto a wall. He started walking, then picked up to a trot, and by the time he was three stories up he was running. His greetings to the water-spouts were distracted. He didn't stop to look at the cistern fish. The storks watched him pass like the wind. Trout clung to his shoulder and spread its wings.

He ran past the swallows in their mud nests, roused a flock of wood pigeons that had taken refuge under the eaves of a tower from a hawk. He leapt and caught thin wrought  iron railings, launching himself from them without pause. His heart was pounding, his chest hurt.

And still he couldn't outrun his loss. Still he couldn't forget that they sat there, beyond the woods, killing princes for sport and starting wars for fun, destroying everything they touched if they couldn't have it, command it, devour it -

The edge of the roof where he'd just landed gave under his feet.

Adam plummeted. Trout shrieked, high and sharp like a shrike. The prince's flailing hands found the wooden support where the elderly roof tiles had once rested, and caught it. It shattered in his grip and he fell for a single heartbeat before his fingertips found the brick lip of the wall itself, and caught him.

"Adam!"

"Trout." Adam swallowed tightly, eyes closed while he waited for the cloud of dust to settle. "Climb up my arm." He felt the prickly talons of the pixie as it obeyed, felt the last of the dust settle on his face, and opened his eyes.

The pixie was waiting for him expectantly.

So was the ground, seven floors down.

Adam, breathing hard, felt his sorrow break free, and hung there, hoping for what would never happen, wishing for what would never come. There would be no hand to take his anymore, no one to pull him away from a fall, no laughter at his recklessness. Linden was gone.

He wept, at first. And then he screamed, following what had become a familiar path within the tangle of his emotions. He screamed in fury at the unfairness of it, at the cruel truth of the Dowager Queen's words that life would not stop simply because half his world had ended. He screamed himself hoarse and finally hung there, exhausted, panting, and still not sure whether he should let go or not.

"You might want to choose, mortal prince," Trout's voice startled him, "before your fingers choose for you."

Adam looked down.

That won't bring back Linden, his sorrow whispered.

He looked up. That won't bring back Linden, either, his rage hissed, quickening into something far deadlier, far darker. But it doesn't have to.

He kicked against the wall until his feet were bloody, until he had enough momentum to reach for the next wooden beam under the crumbling tiles. He fought his way back onto the roof, shirt torn and chest scratched up, leaving his skin, his sweat and his blood as sacrifices to the heights, Trout backing away one inch at a time. He used the fairy as a lodestone, climbing up, away from the fall, fighting to reach safety, and finally he crashed down onto a solid section of the roof, panting and filthy, curled up in a loose, trembling ball.

"Well, fine, then," he told no one, feeling an odd sort of calm come over him, something cool and unyielding, far better than overwhelming sorrow or fickle wrath.

Trout scrabbled over the prince, keeping guard, and of the two of them it alone knew nothing was fine at all.

***

The pixie flew again with the first true autumn storm, late in the season. It launched itself out of Adam's open window and danced with the golden and red leaves as if it were one of them, spiraling and diving, much to the delight of Culli-maid and the boys. It was dark when it came back into the room, nearly crashing onto Adam's desk and kicking an inkwell, sending splotches everywhere. Its glow lit up the entire room.

"Give me your messages, mortal prince," it demanded, wings buzzing restlessly. "It's been too long and I would fly with moonlight on my skin."

Adam put aside his work and laced his hands on the empty table. Very careful, conscious that he might only have the one chance at this, he described Needlemaw and Boul in painstaking detail.

"And your message?"

"None. Tell them what you told me, about the war."

"You would end the Court's fun without their leave, mortal prince. They will not like you for it."

"I don't mean for them to like me. Trout, you do know, the pixies in the woods, they would take you in." Adam was very gentle. He opened a drawer and took from it a small envelope.

"They would," the pixie agreed. "But I am not of them, and they are not of me. I am of the city." The small fairy shrugged. "And I still owe you a life."

"Then please be careful with your own." Adam opened the envelope; he'd spent a great deal of time thinking about it, and had prepared accordingly. "I don't know that it'll do any good, but take this with you." He offered the pixie a very small pendant, made of ivory and lacquer and set in a bit of leather.

"Shiny colors!" Trout snatched it away and bit it carefully, the hummingbird whip of its tongue licking it. "Sea tooth! Mine! Mine to keep?"

"Yes, yours, always, even after you earn your freedom."

"What is it?"

"I can't give you a signet ring, so it's a signet shield. May it protect you while you go on an errand for a mortal prince."

"You would shield me," the pixie clutched the tiny shield close. "You would care for my safety." In a burst of excitement, it snatched up a charcoal stick and ate it messily. Adam sighed as both table and pixie ended up smeared in black powder, then jerked back as Trout took off, the wind from its wings sharing the coal powder generously with the prince.

"It's also a nice pin on that scatterbrain of hers," Beli pointed out casually.

"His," Culli corrected him, trying not to laugh.

Adam merely stared at the window and sighed resignedly.

He knew results wouldn't come immediately, but he also didn't know how long he was supposed to wait. He hadn't realized how much it helped, having the pixie always on hand with its ruthless wit and its focus on the present. He'd given up trying to figure out what others saw when he realized that Culli-maid saw something very different from what Beli and Dane did and had simply taken Trout as he had all his other friends, of a piece.

In the silence of Trout's absence his loss loomed overwhelming.

Adam felt as if he were losing his mind. The world carried on, the palace full of princes, the staff preparing for the multitude of parties and celebrations that filled the empty months of late autumn and winter. How could they simply go on as if nothing had happened?

At those times, the Dowager's words would come back to him, and he struggled not to rage against them. He'd been taught from too young an age to act as an adult, to take responsibility as an adult. He'd had to steal his childhood back, and even while being a child with Linden he'd learned too well to be a prince, mindful and dutiful and thinking. He knew it was not the staff's fault. He understood that life had to be lived. It still angered him, and there was nowhere in the palace grounds he could escape the endless hum of everyday living.

For the first time, he fled to the woods and found them alien. Amidst the near naked boughs and with the thick carpet of leaves underfoot, they would have been saying their farewells. But the Court Beyond the Woods had stolen everything from him. Even when the green flock of pixies came to greet him, a glad little whirlwind chirping and shrieking, it didn't feel as if the world would ever be right again.

He sat with them on the root of the linden tree that had grown smooth over years of sheltering the little group, and they clung to him. They grieved, Adam knew, but they didn't exactly remember. To them Linden had come and gone and then passed beyond what their minds could reach. They would tell tales of the Danu-child that had given them a home, but it would be to them like speaking of a distant mountain, or the sky: something perceived but unrelated to their everyday. So he let them instead tell him of their lives and their days. They showed him tiny spears made from hedgehog spines and declared the Royal Gardens free of rats and mice, which had tried to move into the water-mill. They informed him that, with full bellies and good nests, they had several cocoons already waiting for spring. They danced in the blustery breeze.

Surrounded by the simplicity of their lives, exhaustion caught up with him and he fell asleep against the linden tree.

And heard the language of the trees at last.

They mourned. They wept. Their memories were immense, the beat of their life-thread as slow as a dirge drum. They linked hands from one end of the woods to another, root laced with root, sister to sister and brother to brother, grandmother to mother to child, elder to sapling. And they all remembered. For the cherry trees it was a matter of minutes that they'd all been gathered under their branches, trying to predict where the next cherry would fall so they could catch in their mouths. For the willow it had been yesterday that it had yanked them up in its canopy, away from the kelpie's hunger.

The linden tree wept, and did not wish for spring.

Adam, he heard, a familiar whisper that yanked him from sleep in the faint hope that it would all have been a nightmare.

But there was only him and the linden tree, and the sun nearly setting. Stay, the linden tree whispered.

Adam hesitated. He could, he realized. As many times as he'd come to the woods, the linden tree's protection had never faltered.

But if he stayed, he would lose the dark and hard thing that had smothered his grief and doused his fury. He would have to face his loss all over again. The rational part of him knew that it was a needed thing, like lancing a wound that's gone bad. But in mourning and healing with the woods he would have to forgive, eventually.

He did not want to forgive.

"I can't."

The whisper faded, and all he heard was the breeze through the woods.

Trout came back the day before the Longest Night. It was pure blind luck that Adam had been out in the archery range, trying to organize his thoughts, when he heard the panicked shrike's call of the pixie. He looked up and squinted into the sun, daring to hope. With a cool, dead calm that he didn't even recognize as his own he dropped the training arrow and picked up a heavy iron broadhead, knocking it, aiming and firing without hesitation.

A few black feathers went astray in the wind as the black hawk skittered out of the way of the shot, just barely. It shrieked fury and dashed away toward the woods.

Trout slammed into Adam and scrabbled under his winter coat, shaking. The prince curled protectively over the pixie. "I've got you. I've got you, Trout. He can't get you."

Trout twittered in its own birdlike language, all sense knocked right out of it by its panic. Adam raced back to the palace, where a fried sausage and a powdered jam cookie did much to settle the fairy down. It nearly fell asleep on the shallow bowl of warm milk that Culli-maid had added to the tray, and Adam set it down on its pillow.

"He looks bigger," she murmured to Adam as they watched the tiny creature settle down to sleep. The tiny signet shield had talon-marks on its sea-ivory surface.

"Her colors changed while she was gone," Dane pointed out. He had two heavy bows and barbed boar heads on quivers by the windowsills.

"You're both right," Adam replied thoughtfully. The pixie had put on an easy inch while away, which meant it had eaten someone, not just something. There was a faint blue undertone to the gold of its glow. "Let Trout rest as long as it needs to. Send word if it wakes up, and try not to let it come find me on its own," he told them as he left for his lessons.

He shouldn't have worried. Trout slept the rest of the day away, and woke up when Adam was settling down to bed himself. "Mortal prince," it said, scrabbling onto Adam's chest. "I did it, I found them."

"You sound so surprised, Trout." Adam had to smile a little, reaching out a hand against which Trout rubbed like a cat. "I never doubted you would."

Trout huffed, wings buzzing.

"Did you tell them what you told me, about the war?"

"I did-did-did." Trout sat on Adam's chest and laced up both hands and feet in a cat's cradle that hurt the prince’s joints just to look at it. "The redcap, she had questions, so many questions. Ugh! But she gave me good good meat. I ate with a redcap and I was not the food!" it declared proudly.

"And Boul?"

"He was easier. He only asked to make sure it was from you. I showed him my shield." It growled, picking it up. "He clawed it all up."

"I'll have it repaired for you -"

"No!" Trout clutched the tiny pendant greedily, teeth bared. "Mine."

"But it's clawed up. Don't you want it to look nice?"

Trout turned the signet shield over to examine it. "No. It looks fine like this. A warrior's shield should have scars and chips and such. And I'm a warrior now, been to war, ate with a redcap, spoke with a troll."

"You did. What do you think will happen now?"

"Well, how would I know, mortal prince? What do you want to happen?"

"I want the war to be over, and my friends to be safe. Home, with their own."

"That will take a bit, I think. But don't you want to see them, too?"

"I'll see them again, I think. At least once. Did they ask you about me? About... Did you tell them what happened?"

Trout's wings slicked down. "Did. The troll was sad."

"And Needle?"

"That one was all the things at the same time. Angry and worried and sad. Very complicated, redcaps. I always thought they just ate things."

"And I always thought pixies were silly," Adam replied, smiling faintly. "Shows that you never really know about someone until you meet them."

"I'm not silly to you?"

The question pinged painfully against Adam's memories. "Truth, you've never been, Trout. Blind with hunger, when we first met. But you are your own creature, and that's not silly, just different. Do you want to go to sleep, or shall I open a window so you can come and go?"

The expressionless face of the pixie seemed all the same to stare at him. "You'd do that. You'd let me come and go free."

"You owe me a life, Trout, not your service. I don't own you."

Trout seemed to think on that before going back to its pillow. "I'll stay. It's toasty-warm-on-soft-pillow night. And there's him out there. I need a spear, or a sword, or something long and sharp like a toe."

"I'll see what I can do," Adam assured it.

[ailithnight]

In his defense, it's not Danny's fault.

He and his bleeding heart just couldn't walk away or turn a blind eye when someone was in danger.

He and his 3 brain cells just couldn't help but panic when he realized the civilians were staring at him.

No one should stare at him. No one should look at him. He needs to keep his head down. Draw no attention. Stay hidden. They're looking for him. They'll find him. They'll put him back on the table.

Okay, he panicked. But it's not his fault!

And then people jumped to their own conclusions.

And now Danny is impersonating a dead kid. Er, a different dead kid. A dead rich kid. Maybe dead kid?

It's a maybe because Danny is here, standing at the very humble grave of one Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. Once he learned about the public theory, he wanted to apologize. So he did some digging (heh) and found the right grave and came to do just that.

But the grave is empty.

Danny doesn't know how he knows that, but it's intrinsic. There is no body in this grave.

But he also, somehow, knows it belongs to someone. Not in an abstract sense like 'every grave must belong to someone'.

No, Danny can feel that this is some ghost's final resting place. It's not a memorial or a shrine either. Not just some symbolic thing. Danny has seen those. Felt those. They're different. This is a grave. Kinda like that metal hole in the wall is his own.

And ghosts don't get attached to graves that aren't theirs. It's a faux pas. So the ghost attached to this grave is definitely Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. And therefore this is where his body should be. But it's not here. And something about the ghost attached to it feels different. Almost an ache familiar. And Danny doesn't understand why. He wants to understand.

If this was Amity, if Danny could still go home (his thoughts stutter over the idea of home, not quite knowing anymore which side of the swirling green vortex home is supposed to be on) he'd just go ask one of the ghosts about it. Pandora knew almost everything. Before, they'd been doing bi-weekly get together for various forms of training. Everything from fighting to ghost society. It was cool and fun and helpful. Danny misses it.

And what Pandora didn't know, Frostbite usually did. Danny had still been having monthly check ups with him to keep an eye on his "young and still developing core".

And if all else failed, Danny could always go to Clockwork for answers. Or at least puzzles, riddles, or sometimes errands, that would lead him to answers. That's just how Clockwork ticked.

But Danny couldn't go home right now. Unless he spontaneously developed portal powers- unlikely given the new, ever present ache in his core- he might never see the Infinite Realms again. Never see Pandora or Frostbite or Clockwork or Skulker or Ember or Youngblood or Boxy or...

This train of thought was not helping anything. Danny had been standing at this grave for several minutes now. And as much as he wanted to understand this weird grave situation, he had no way of getting answers and it's not what he came here for anyway.

He came here to apologize to the dead kid for kind of accidentally impersonating him. Then he was gonna dip. He'd let himself stay in Gotham for far too long already. Let himself get attached. And now he'd drawn attention to himself. If they caught wind of his recent heroics... its time to run again. They have plenty of heros anyway. Danny shouldn't feel too bad about ghosting them.

But first, he came here to apologize.

"Hey." The word comes out a breathy whisper. Danny clears his throat and tries again. "Umm, listen man," he winced at how his voices cracks and fails, falling back to that whisper of disuse, but pushes on. He needs to say this. He needs to apologize. And warn him.

"I... I don't know if you can hear me. Usually, any ghost can hear what goes on at their graves." Danny can still hear the gentle electric hum of his.

"But, you seem like a special case I guess, so... I hope you can hear me. Cause I owe you an apology. I've kinda been impersonating you for a few weeks. I didn't mean to, I swear! I just, some people needed help and I couldn't leave them be. So I helped them. And then I panicked and, uh, ghosted them. And now people think I'm you. And, honest, I know what it's like to have someone do things in your name without your knowledge or consent." Amorpho comes to mind.

"It sucks. And I... may have drawn some attention here. There are probably hunters coming. I'm really sorry about that. I can... maybe bait them back away. They're really after me, not you. So just, stay hidden for a while I guess. Don't get anywhere near the guys in white suits or the teal and orange jumpsuits. S'long as you don't get too close, you should be fine. Gotham's got enough ambient ecto to keep their long range sensors scrambled." It's the only reason Danny stayed this long. He'd hoped, for a while, maybe he could settle in here, have a halfa normal life. He should have known better.

"Anyway, just... stay safe, m'kay? And if you know any other ghosts, maybe pass the message about the hunters. And, sorry again. I'll leave you now. Should be outta Gotham within the hour. And like I said, I'll try to bait the hunters away. Least I can do for kind of impersonating g you and bringing them here anyway. Sorry."

His piece said, Danny starts to walk away, shoving his hands into the pockets of the threadbare hoodie he'd stolen from a dumpster. He pauses. After a brief moment of contemplation, he steps back. Ignoring the sharp stab in his core he's grown quite accustomed to lately, he focuses his energy into forming and molding ice on his palm. It's very draining, Danny can practically feel even more of the nonexistent fat left on his body melt away as he burns the extra energy. But it feels right to leave a little gift and the little ice ducky also just feels correct.

Apology offered, warning given, and gift left; Danny lets the cool and buzzing sensations of invisibility and intangibility slide over him. At least these abilities are so basic, they barely throb in his chest. Best not to fly though, that one still stings like a hundred angry hornets. So Danny, invisible and intangible, walks away from the grave of Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. Time to find a new city to haunt for a while.

Across the graveyard, a bat stares, suspicious and uncharacteristically dumbfounded at where the young, sickly, frail, scared, endangered strange teen had vanished.

Across the city, a crime lord is having a crisis about the voice in his head and everything it said.

…. More dp x dc because brain rot

So Danny ends up homeless in Gotham after a revival to his parents gone wrong and is trying his best to stay out of the bats way. Unfortunately the kid has the worst luck and an even worst hero complex so when he stumbles across a mugging he can’t help but jump in.

It’s only after he K.O.ed the mugger that he looking up and saw the civilian he saved looking at him and in a split second of panic just faded from visibility. I mean who’s gonna believe the guy if he says his rescuer just fu/king upped and vanished.

It worked out tho. So much in fact that when Danny once again found himself jumping in to trouble before he can think he just decides to disappear after.

This happens so much that people start to take notice and the conclusion they come to? A ghost. More specifically a 13-14 y/o ghost with black hair and blue eyes. More specifically the ghost of the black haired, blue eyed, Wayne kid that died when he was 13. 

Yep! Gotham comes to the conclusion that Jason Todd has come back as a ghost to protect the streets of Gotham!!

Now obviously this gets to Bruce who knows this isn’t the case because Jason is over in crime alleys right now hopefully not going on a murder spree again so he’s gotta find out who this is and preferably before Jason hears about this.

[plush-rabbit]

Divinity in Impurity

Request: Okay but what if I actually request solo Simeon and him moaning through prayers and being just totally repressed and painfully turned on because his precious lovely MC makes him go doki doki? And of course a shameful messy clean up :3c I love u bestieee ✨✨💋

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: Couldn’t get this out of my head, I want him to be repressed and emotionally conflicted

-

Simeon enters the House of Lamentation, a gift bag in hand and he’s grateful none of the brothers are home. At least for Beel since the angel is sure that the gluttonous demon would’ve sniffed out the lovely baked goods that he carries. The home is quiet, but he knows you’re here. He sent you a message, confirming that you would be here. The house is empty and it’ll just be you and him, sharing a treat from his home and chatting away. It’s so rare to get you alone and while he’s glad that the brothers are there to protect you, they are also highly possessive, not letting a soul get near you and even less likely to allow someone to be alone with you for so long. There’s a light feeling in his chest, making his lungs expand with air, making him feel as if he’d float away from the simple joy of spending time with you. His cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile he has etched onto his face.

Guilt may lap at him for not informing Luke or Solomon of his whereabouts, but for just once, he wants to be alone with you. He wants to sit and talk about anything other than school work and how everyone can’t seem to focus on the task at hand. He wants to talk with you, learn more about you until you’re all that fills his mind. Or at least, occupy it.

He’s excited, standing at your door and he knocks, a smile on his face. Patience is something that he’s born with, having the time and mind to save those that stray from the path of light, to mentor the young angels, and to grant him his title. Yet, he can’t stay patient. He’s at your door, he can hear you hum and only a piece of wood separates you for him. His patience is thinned, eagerness taking over and he turns the knob to your door. All he wants to do is see you, to be unbothered as he spends time with you and listens to you talk. He wants you, that’s all he wants. The knob is cold underneath his hand, and he steps into your room, greeting you with a wide smile.

The bag tightens in his hands, his eyes widening slightly and smile falling. You stand in front of him, slightly turned away, a shirt pressed against your tummy, your chest bare and legs naked, the only clothing you have on is your underwear, shaped to your body. Your eyes are wide, a heavy flush takes over your face and he’s expecting you to yell, an apology already at his tongue, his eyes dipping for just a moment, catching the swell of your breasts, the lovely aroma of the cream you wear, your fingers that twitch ever so slightly as you grasp the shirt in your hand.

“Simeon?” You call, and he’s quick to dart his eyes back to meet yours- back to where they belong. “I appreciate you coming over, but could you-” you gesture your head towards the door- “you know, leave for a moment?” You smile at him, the shirt in your hands now fisted tightly.

“Ah, yes, of course.” He nods his head, trying painfully to grapes at his composure that is now slipping through his fingers. “I’m terribly sorry,” he mutters, exiting the door, the door clicking behind him.

Rather than sit there and wait, he glances at the door, knowing you’re behind it, your body untethered by cloth and bare. He leaves, his steps quick and quiet, walking away without so much as a goodbye. How could he possibly stay there? How could he look you in the eyes when he was so obviously staring at your body? How could he have done something so raw and primal of him- something that isn’t him.

He hadn’t meant to walk in on you while changing but- he bites his tongue, his face hot and an aching pain in stomach. There is no “buts” or ‘ifs’ or anything of the sort. He should have known to knock before he entered your room. He’s an angel, of course he should have knocked. It doesn’t matter if you two are close, it doesn’t excuse his action for being so forward. He was just so excited to go and see you, to gift you a treat sent from the Celestial Realm. Oh- the treat. It’s still in the bag, protected by a glass casing and covered with tissue papers that glitters under the light. He had forgotten to give it to you in his rush.

There’s no going back now, not when he saw you and had the audacity to even stare at you. He’s humiliated. His face burning and any breath that he has is taken from him, squeezed out of his body and forced out. He runs to the safety of his room, glad that no one seems to be home. He slams the door, his back pressed against the wood and when he closes his eyes, he can still see you- your body bare and nipples pert, your face holding a slight flush. He can see everything behind his eyes. The lock quickly snaps into place, his steps hurried as he walks toward the small table in his room.

He places the bag down on a table as he rests on the chair provided in his room. He leans back, the cushion soft underneath him. The wood is scratched at by his covered hands, his gaze focused on the wall. Simeon mumbles under his breath, an apology said to no one, his bottom lip teased by his teeth.

How could he possibly face you tomorrow? How could he do anything after what he just witnessed and did? He removes his gloves, dragging a free hand down his face, leaving the palm to cover his mouth. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he reaches for it in the same second, half hoping and half dreading that it’ll be you.

It is.

You ask where he went. You even apologize, saying that you mustn’t have heard him.

He laughs bitterly. You apologize to him. He was the one who entered your room without permission, invaded your trust and yet, you were the one who was apologizing. He simply leaves the message on read, not knowing what to tell you. Would you believe him if he told you that he had felt sick? Probably not, but for his sake, you would have, he’s sure of it.

He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes on the wall and there’s an unfamiliar itch in his body. Or rather an itch that he shouldn’t scratch at. Looking down only confirms his suspicion. He’s erect. Could it be from you? He sighs. What a silly question. Of course it is.

It’s wrong of him to even keep the image of you ingrained in his head. “Touch me, O Lord, and fill me with your light and your hope. Amen,” Simeon whispers under his breath, trying so desperately to keep his hands away from his erection. It pains him so, his body growing hotter by the second, sweat starting to bead and eyes watering at the tempting fate of actually touching himself to you. “Please Father,” he whispers, “grant me strength. I can’t- I am but a humble servant of yours. Please take away all these sinful thoughts.”

His chest trembles, his mouth dry and tongue thick. There’s a pressure against his stomach, his hands grip at his thighs, his head bowed and no matter what, you are just in his mind. Perhaps you’re the real sin, the real test in all of God’s Grand Plan. How is he supposed to be an angel when a human of all things is the one that is turning him to sin. The one being who has managed to ruin him, to unthread his wings and have him even think of reaching out to you and be selfish.

The unzipping of his zipper is loud, echoing in his ears, drowning out the holy blood that rushes inside of him. He lets out a sigh when his cock is free, the cool air in his room making contact with the hot flesh. When his hand wraps around himself, he lets out a sob. It’s filthy, but at the same time, it’s something that makes his mouth water and want more. You are the most beautiful sin, the one that he will risk everything for, for just a chance to touch you.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers. He’s unsure of who he’s speaking to. He doesn’t know if he’s asking father for forgiveness, unknowing if his message is reaching out, unknowing if he’s hidden from his light and his view; or if he’s apologizing to you, for walking in on you and now pleasuring himself to the thought of you.

You are all that invades his mind, his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the ridges underneath his fingertips pulsing with heat. You stand bare in front of him, your body soft and blemished with little scars and ridges. He tightens his grip, his teeth clenched and jaw starting to ache. He’s touched your hand before, felt how soft you are, how loving your touch can be and he can only wonder if you're still gentle in bed. If you’d play the act of the blushing virgin under him, if you’d whimper and buck your hips if he were to kiss at your neck and cup your sex under his hand. You allowed him to stare, even if it was for just a moment, you had reelected so calmly, smiling at him, acting as if he were your lover who had seen your body countless times before. You are molded under God’s light, given freedom and kissed with the gentle lips of God, birthed and given existence, your path defined only by you, and you’ve allowed him to see that. You had acted so calmly, telling him with a smile if he could excuse himself for a bit. It’s almost as if you were used to that sort of thing. He stops in his movements, his eyes wide and breaths coming out in uneven pants. You live with demons, you must be used to that. To have such devils enter unannounced and watch you strip yourselves from your clothes.

The thought fills him with fury, his lips curled and brows knitted together. Yet, his hand continues to pump at his cock. The ridges near his cockhead tingle under his thumb, his head thrown back and eyes shut tightly.

His thighs tense, the muscles in him pulled taut as his grip tightens. “Something so tainted shouldn’t be the thing to witness you,” he hisses through his teeth, brows furrowed and hips bucking. “It’s outrageous that they’re the ones you live with. Beings so full-” his voice cracks, his head dipping down- “full of sin, touching and dirtying you.” His cockhead leaks with pearly white semen, dripping off his cock in heavy, thick strands.

When he closes his eyes, he can imagine you, dressed in white, spread before him, pleading with him to be gentle- you’d be the blushing virgin, ready to take in God’s Grace and kiss lips so pure that you’ll whine against him. You’ll be under him, your fingers lost in your sex as you tell him that you’ve been waiting for this moment. His pace quickens, his eyes closed as he thinks as to how you’d feel. Your thighs plump and your walls tight around his cock, your sex pulsing under his touch. You’d kiss him and he'd return it. He lets out a cracked moan, his breath sharp and head thrown back.

Beside him, his phone rings. He gives a slight turn, his clean hand going to lift the phone. A deep frown settles on his burning face as he realizes what he’s done and to who he’s done it to. Your image fills his phone, a call from you. He clears his throat, and quickly accepts your call.

“Simeon!” You sound worried and the tugs at his heartstrings and further cements his guilt. “I was worried, you didn’t reply to me. Are you okay?”

“I-” his voice cracks, and with a deeper flush, he clears his throat. He wonders if you know what he just did. He wonders if you would figure out what he’s doing as he listens to your voice. “Ah! I’m sorry, I thought I had replied to you but it seems like I hadn’t. I- uh,” he bites on his lip, trying in vain to muffle his moan- “My mistake. I- I just, I needed to get something,” his voice strains at the last word. “I’ll be over shortly. I promise.”

“Simeon,” the way you call his name makes him tug harder at his cock, “if this is about what you saw, then it’s okay. I know you. You didn’t mean to.” You sound so sweet, trying to comfort him while he’s doing something so perverse. “Listen, if you want, we can forget that that happened and start new, okay?”

“Really?” he breathes out, already closer to his high. “I would appreciate that. I-” His nail grazes over a vein and he lets out a deep groan.

“Simeon, you okay?” You say hurriedly. “You sound hurt.”

“I just bumped into a table,” he laughs breathlessly, his phone pressed roughly into his ear. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he mumbles. “I’ll be over shortly, my dear. Just wait a moment.”

He barely has a chance to hear you say goodbye before he ends the call. “Fuck,” he groans, snapping his mouth close and turning his head, sliding his hand up and down his cock. Clicking noises fill the room, his cock pulsing in his hand, feeling as if it were about to burst. So heavy and foreign in his hand, Simeon pushes past the thought of his own hand touching himself, and tries to imagine yours. He thinks of your voice, of how you said his name, rushed and high, calling out to him.

You’re this glowing thing, something so pure but also full of sin, so human and lovely for it. You’d be this thing he was able to touch, this person who would love him and beg for touch. Under his wing, you’d be protected, cared and loved. Tears brim his eyes, trailing down his cheeks in hot flashes, sparking and disappearing into nothing before they have the chance to wet his hand. He’s already so close, his stomach knotting together, and body beginning to shake. As he releases, his free hand covers his mouth, muffling his moans that are drenched in cries. His seed is thick, coating his hand and leaving him in burning ropes. He looks at his hand covered in semen and he wonders if you would have been so kind to lick it off of him, to treat him as if it were your finest meal. His cock twitches at the thought, dribbling out more semen onto the seat.

Simeon lays in his afterglow, taking deep, slow breaths, his palm open, his seed dripping onto the floor in syrupy strands. The tear tracks begin to dry, his eyes still watery and the image of his ceiling blurry. With a wince, he stands, and grabs at his soft cock, walking to the nightstand and pulling out tissues. It’s humiliating to cleanse himself, to dry off his semen and to wash his hands. He can’t touch you with his hand, with a hand that had sullied the image of you in his mind, that had gripped at his own cock and covered himself in seed. The semen comes off of him in rushed waves, slipping down the drain and leaving his hand wet and clean as if there was nothing there to begin with. In the mirror, he is greeted by his reflection- messy hair and flushed cheeks, tears in his eyes and puffy lips from being bitten by. He wonders if you’d recognize this dirtied version of an angel when he greeted you. He wonders if you’d still hold his hand that grasped his cock not too long ago. With another message from you, he grabs the sweet he was supposed to bring, giving a glance to the gloves that rest on the arm of the chair. With a sigh, he decides to leave them there, hoping to hold your hand and memorize the feel of it

[kjack89]

Guess who watched and is now reading The Sandman and had an idea…

Probably the start of a longer fic. We shall see.

“Grantaire.”

As soon as night had fallen on the barricade, as soon as the fighters, exhausted and hungry, made what beds they could among the rubble and spent ammunition, Grantaire had known he would come. Still he kept his eyes closed, as if keeping them shut might keep him at bay.

“If you wish to avoid me, feigning sleep is not the wisest idea.”

Grantaire cracked one eye open, then the other. “Who said I was feigning?” he asked, a weak attempt at humor, as if that too might keep the tall, thin man standing next to him from his purpose.

The man did not smile. “That you managed to slip from the Dreaming into the waking world is feat enough,” he said, his voice low. “That you have continued to evade me these years is even more remarkable.”

“Can you blame me?” Grantaire asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

If the man had any response to that, it did not show on his pale, thin features. “You are a nightmare of the Dream realm,” he said. “Your purpose is to haunt dreams, not this place.”

“You are the master of stories as well as dreams, are you not?” Grantaire replied. “And this – this is a story that deserved to be told.”

“A story, yes,” the man said. “But one that would have been told without your part in it.”

“You will see.” The man’s fathomless eyes stared at him and Grantaire wet his lips before starting, “Please, let me just—”

“Just what?” asked Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Grantaire’s maker and, in due time, Grantaire was certain, his unmaker.

“Let me see his nightmare through to the end,” Grantaire pleaded. “Let me stay until Enjolras finds himself in your sister’s realm. Let me see if there is any role yet that I have to play in his story.”

For a long moment, long enough that Grantaire was certain he would be refused, Morpheus’s eyes bore into him. Then, when Grantaire could almost take it no more, he nodded. “Very well.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “You mean—”

“You may finish what you started,” Morpheus allowed. “But I warn you, should you fail to find yourself back in my realm where you belong—”

“I will not,” Grantaire said, practically tripping over himself to assure him. “And I will face whatever punishment you have for me, I promise.”

Morpheus said no more, just disappeared into the shifting sands of his realm, and Grantaire all but collapsed against the table in relief. His relief was short-lived as another figure stepped out of the shadows, scaring him half to death.

Of course, as he saw the ankh pendant that swung around her neck, he supposed that was half the point.

She studied him for a long moment, and he wondered just how much of his conversation with Morpheus she had overhead. “I will be back for the rest,” she said finally, and he recognized it for the gentle warning that it was.

“I know.”

“But not for you,” she continued. “Nightmares do not belong with the dead.”

He nodded, his throat suddenly tight. “I know that, too.”

She looked at him closely, a frown puckering her forehead. “If you are worried about my brother—”

“No,” Grantaire said, a little too quickly. “It is not Lord Morpheus that I fear.”

“Then what?”

For the second time that night in the presence of one of the Endless, Grantaire wet his lips before uttering something so foolish even he could hardly believe it: “May I ask you for a favor?”

She stared at him as if he had grown a second head, not that he blamed her. Grantaire doubtedly highly that Death was used to being asked for favors by nightmares.

Then, to his surprise, she smiled. “Yes,” she said simply.

Grantaire blinked. “Yes, I may ask, or yes, you will grant my favor?”

“Both,” she said. “Depending on what the favor is, of course.”

“Why?” Grantaire blurted.

“Because I suspect that whatever favor you’re going to request will provide my brother with a certain amount of, shall we say, consternation,” she said cheerfully. “And I rather think my brother could use some consternation.”

Grantaire tactfully chose not to comment on whether he thought the Lord of Dreams needed additional consternation in his life. Instead he met Death’s eyes and took a deep breath before starting, “It’s about Enjolras…”