#like a simple scratch from the weapon that Shadow is

[patfr8]

[Movie Lore once more] [Post Sonic 3] [Long(?)]

We all agree the boys suffered a lot when Tom was in the hospital. In a way, they all think they could have done something more. Now, as always, I will focus this point on my favourite boy, Knuckles.

He is a protector, a guardian, doesn’t matter where or when. Not the games, not the comics, not the movies. No one can change that. He’s the guardian of the emerald, yes, but he’s also the guardian of his friends, of his family. And now someone he sees as the patriarch of his new tribe is severely wounded to the point that they thought he wouldn’t make it. The same one that accepted him even though he caused so much trouble to his kid and his town. Knuckles respects Tom.

After so long of being alone, he has somewhere to go. He has a family. They will never replace what he lost, it’s new. Just that. New. And suddenly, almost broken. He had to fight his brother, make sure his other brother was fine, suppress his own emotions for their sake. All without knowing if they would make it out alive.

When everything is done, he is exhausted, but has to take care of them. He is the only one that can. The guardian. They arrive at the hospital. Tom will be fine, the patriarch is fine. His brothers rest along side their father Tom. But he can’t.

Knuckles is anxious, and doesn’t even know why. Is it because of the emerald? No, if he found it once, he can do it again. And he doesn’t care that much now. Honestly, if it were up to him, he would destroy it. His past self would have killed him for just thinking about it, but now? He just wishes it had never been created to begin with. So no, it is not the issue. But then, what is?

Who is he kidding, he knows. He is the issue. If only he hadn’t broken the control pad, they could have gotten their hands on the card. Maybe Shadow and the Robotniks would have found another way to get it back, but at least Tom wouldn’t be hurt. He would be fine. They would have defeated them together. But no, he had to be a complete idiot, destroying it like that. If anyone was to blame, it was him.

He thought of it. Deeply. It would have been the second father he lost because of his negligence But what could he do now? He was hopeless. After everything, it was his fault.

Knuckles goes to the roof. The people let him. Maddie has already warned them that it was fine. He could glide after all. And a fall like that wouldn’t kill him. Almost nothing did. He sometimes wishes it wasn’t true.

Knuckles thinks. And he cries. Because he failed at the only thing he was supposed to be good at: protecting those he loved. He almost lost his father again. An intrusive thought came through his mind.

“If only it had been me the one to explode and not Shadow… everyone would have preferred it anyway. A powerful ally, not a broken… me”

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

When Gods Listen

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x female!Durge/reader

Summary: Astarion is hit by a memory spell mid-combat. You fear what will happen to him, but Astarion only knows he woke with the answer to his prayers looking down at him.

Word Count: 6,162 words

Warnings: post Astarion's first romance scene, descriptions of battle, Astarion's past, typical Durge thoughts, temporary memory loss, temporary amnesia, Gale being helpful, vampire feeding, a cliche 'oh. oh.' moment, kissing, unspoken confession

Note: Reader is based on my drow half-ef Durge, Nixu, but remains from the second-person perspective with only brief & vague mention of her appearance. My first time writing Durge (resisting), so let me know what you think!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

How long had you been fighting? Ten minutes? An hour? Gods, you didn't know. You couldn't focus on anything other than the weapon in your hand, the number of arrows in your quiver, and the spells you had prepared. Letting your focus stray to your companions had already cost you, proven by the blood running down your arm and the claws that had torn your pants to shreds.

Need new armor, you thought as you slammed a dagger into a goblin's throat. The creature gurgled and clawed at your hands, leaving behind red scratches, until you yanked out the blade. The goblin fell to the blood-soaked ground with a wet thud.

Shadowheart screamed behind you. You heard the snarl of a wolf and turned to find one lunging for her, the cleric frozen in fear. You reached for your bow; Gale was faster, sending a Fire Bolt at the wolf. It snarled and turned on Gale.

You strung an arrow to your bow. You had four left, including this one. Your shot would have to be incredibly precise if you didn't want to get any closer to the wolf; you didn't have enough arrows for do-overs.

Taking aim, you drew back your string, taking a deep breath. Easy does it, you told yourself.

The wolf's body tensed. It sat back on its haunches, ready to lunge for Gale. He was in the middle of preparing a spell; it wouldn't be ready by the time the wolf's jaws were around his throat.

An arrow flew directly into the wolf's jugular. You blinked. Had you loosed your arrow? No. It remained in your fingers, notched to your bowstring.

Your eyes sought out the arrow's source and landed on a pair of red eyes creeping out of the shadows. Astarion slipped out of hiding, his face stony. He held his own bow. He stared down the wolf until it collapsed with a pitiful whine.

Both Gale and Shadowheart turned to other enemies, knives flashing and spells meeting their targets.

There was a horrid howl from somewhere on the battlefield. You whirled toward the sound and found an irate human hurrying down the rocky hill. You guessed the howl had been the wolf's name, then, and this was its owner.

"Astarion!" you shouted. "Behind you!" You pointed in the direction of the approaching human—a wizard, by the looks of her.

Astarion turned and dropped into a crouch. She began summoning a spell; you recognized it as a memory spell. Temporary, but all-encompassing. Before Astarion could hide, the spell hit him square in the chest.

Dread coiled in your stomach. Astarion stumbled backwards, a hand coming to touch his chest. Then his body went rigid. You weren't close enough to see it, but you knew his eyes had glazed over.

Astarion glanced around, clearly confused as to how he had ended up in a battle.

"Shit," you muttered.

He'd be easy to kill in this state, you thought. All too easy to stab in the brain and watch the blood run into his eyes. Ugly desire curled through your stomach, a desperate need to gut him from the inside out settling in your chest.

You blinked and the urge was gone. You glanced around you, expecting your butler, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Gods, why can't the urges be something simple, like wanting him whimpering beneath me again?

You started toward Astarion. Goblins swarmed you. You cast a poison spray across them and cut them down as quickly as you could. You looked up to find the wizard whispering in Astarion's ear. He turned toward Gale and Shadowheart, expressed pulled into confusion.

A goblin clawed at you, trying to climb your legs. You shook it off and slammed your knee into its face. You looked up again and found Astarion with an arrow pointed at Shadowheart's back. You shouted a warning.

"What the hells is he doing?!" she shouted.

Gale frowned at Astarion. "Amnesia," he said. "She messed with his memory."

All eyes widened in horror as the woman gave Astarion an order: "Kill." He loosed his arrow and Shadowheart just narrowly dodged it. Astarion readied another.

"He's under her command," Gale said.

You jumped to a higher vantage point. "Can we stop the spell?"

"Not the memory spell, that will take time to fade," he reasoned, "but if we kill her, she can't command him to kill us."

"Great," you said. "Now I have a plan."

The wizard shrieked with laughter. She turned around, her hands spread, a sneer on her face. "You'll never kill me," she snarled. "I'm far more powerful than—"

She fell with a thud, your arrow buried in her heart. You jumped to the ground and looked down at her where she lay, gurgling and glaring at you. You cocked your head. "You should know better than to expose yourself to attack, wizard. Now I will make your head a statement piece."

Without thinking, you drew your knife. Yet you froze when you heard Gale give a shout. You looked up and found an arrow—one of Astarion's—in his shoulder. The wizard could make no more orders, but her last command was still standing. He was still attacking the others.

"No time for that now," you said to the corpse. You left it where it lay and ran toward Astarion. As you got closer, you realized he looked incredibly confused about having shot Gale.

Gravel crunched under your feet, sliding out from underneath you. You slipped to a halt in front of him. "Astarion? You okay?"

He flinched as your hand came to rest on his shoulder. He shrugged off your touch. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"I'm..." The words died on your lips. What were the two of you? Gods knew there wasn't really a label for whatever it was the two of you had. Would he even believe it if you tried to explain it, while the memory spell lasted? "I'm your friend. We met on the road. We stuck together with Gale and Shadowheart here and the others back at camp to get rid of the tadpoles."

Astarion looked at you, studying you with a gaze as guarded as it had been when you'd first met him. "I don't..."

"You've been hit by a memory spell, a very powerful one," you told him, resisting the urge to grab his hand. "It's given you temporary amnesia."

"Why are we fighting?" he rasped. "I... I don't know who to... She told me to fight you." He glanced back at the body. He seemed to be panicking a little now. "But then you killed her and now I... I don't want to kill you anymore."

"You don't have to," you promised. "You don't have kill us, Astarion, we're your friends."

"No, not them," he said. "Just you."

He raised his bow, an arrow already prepared and aimed for Gale's heart. You grabbed the bow, wrenching it from his hands and throwing it to the ground. He growled, deep and animalistic. His eyes flashed a brighter red and his lip pulled back from his fangs. They dripped with saliva.

Such a pretty monster, you thought. It will be a shame to rip out his heart.

But you didn't follow your urge. Instead, you slammed the pommel of your dagger into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the ground.

Gale shouted at you, utterly horrified. "What was that for?"

"He was going to kill you," you said. "I don't think there's anything we could have said that would stop him." You glared across the battlefield. "Let's deal with the rest of this and get him back to camp."

Shadowheart yanked the arrow out of Gale's shoulder and healed him quickly. You watched his skin knit back together with a strange fascination that tingled beneath your own skin, like you'd felt it before...

The rest of the goblins and wolves felt like they took no time at all. You were aware, of course, that your sense of time was disrupted by your worry; every so often, you cast a look toward Astarion's crumpled body, passed out but corpse-like for his lack of breathing. A discomforting desire shuddered through you at the sight.

He is my friend, you told the need in your gut that told you to kill him twice over. He trusts me. I will not hurt him.

Yet you weren't so sure you could trust yourself to keep that promise.

When enemies finally stopped swarming, you went back to the wizard's corpse. You dug through her pockets for anything useful. You found several amulets imbued with powerful magic and plenty of scrolls. You took her weapons without much thought; you could inspect them later, but you had more important matters to begin with.

"Is he alright?" Gale asked as you knelt beside Astarion.

"He should be," you said. "I didn't hit him that hard."

"Something tells me he won't be too pleased about that when he wakes up," Shadowheart said.

"If he remembers it, that is," Gale said. The wizard sounded the most worried you'd ever heard him. "That was a powerful memory adjustment spell."

You frowned. "It is temporary, isn't it?"

"I certainly hope so. For his sake and for ours," Gale replied. "Here. Let's get him back to camp. It's too dangerous to continue on with him like this."

Gale cast a levitation spell and Astarion's body rose. His face was obscenely peaceful and it dawned on you just how tortured he usually looked when he tranced. You cocked your head, wondering just how deep that memory spell was going.

A hand fell on your arm. "Is everything alright?" Shadowheart asked.

"I'm fine," you said. "Just thinking." You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from Astarion's slack face. "Come on. We've got a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of daylight left."

~❊~

Astarion felt like he was...swimming? Maybe. Everything was fuzzy. His mind felt bizarrely empty and way too full at the same time. He saw nothing through his heavy, closed eyelids. Try as he might, he couldn't get them to open.

A sense of urgency was sitting in his chest. He had something to do, didn't he? He'd been...

The feeling of whatever it was, of holding something light and curved, of pulling his arm back and letting go, disappeared back into the murk.

Frustration bloomed in Astarion's mind. What was going on? Was this a trick of Cazador's?

Oh, there! That was...something. A person? Yes, an unpleasant person. Someone he was rather upset to have remembered, even if it meant at least there was something in this useless head of his.

A vile taste filled Astarion's mouth, like rat's blood and salty bodily fluids. Somehow, Astarion knew it was because of the person he despised so completely. Yet how?

Sudden hunger curled through Astarion's stomach. He groaned, clutching at his stomach. I have to hunt, he thought, but he still couldn't get his eyes open. Trying only pushed him further into the thick, liquid blackness that surrounded him.

Help, Astarion tried to say. His mouth remained closed. Someone help, someone get me out of here. Gods, please, get me out!

The silence of his mind answered him.

Astarion whimpered, curling into a ball. I'm so hungry, Master, he whined, but only one rough word came out, nearly lost in his throat. Once again, he was dragged back into darkness.

~❊~

"Astarion's not doing so hot."

Karlach's voice roused you from the thoughts swimming in your head. You sat back on your haunches, somewhat surprised to see the weapons you'd been sorting through from today's battles still in front of you in a heap. Had you gotten so lost in your thoughts you'd stopped working?

Never mind that, tend to the pretty corpse, you told yourself. You stood up, ignoring the saliva gathering on your tongue. "How so?"

"He's tossing and turning, groaning in his sleep," she said, chewing on her nails, glancing in the direction of the trancing elf.

"I'll check on him," you said.

You walked across camp toward Astarion's tent. When you'd gotten back to camp, Shadowheart had thought it wisest to keep him in view of everyone, just in case something went wrong, so Astarion currently lay on your own bedroll in front of his tent.

You could see Astarion's sleep had become fitful. He had tossed and turned so much that he'd thrown off the blanket he took everywhere that you'd put over him. His hair was beyond messy. His eyebrows were pinched together and he was panting unnecessarily.

A soft groan slipped past his lips as he rolled to one side, desperately hugging his arms to his stomach. You cocked your head. Was his hunger causing him to stir?

"At least we know I didn't kill him knocking him out," you said.

Karlach opened her mouth but was interrupted by Astarion's whimper. The two of you both looked at him again, concerned. "Master," he rasped.

Your body stiffened. You had a sudden need to keep Karlach away, sure these babblings were not something Astarion would want anyone to hear.

Why are you not also leaving him be? you asked yourself. You decided against answering that question.

"I'll keep an eye on him," you promised her.

Karlach gave you a curious look, then nodded. She turned away and headed back across camp.

You sat down beside Astarion. You peered down at him, his face fixed into an expression of pain.

Poor creature, you thought.

Astarion gave another whine of hunger, curling into the fetal position. Your own face pinched into an expression of sympathy. You took your dagger from its sheath and pricked your finger on it. With your free hand, you held open Astarion's mouth, then hovered your bleeding finger over it.

Achingly slowly, the blood dripped into Astarion's mouth.

~❊~

Food.

A sharp, iron tang filled his senses. He could smell it, so close he was sure if he could just convince his body to move through the sluggish black around him that he would be able to taste it—

Blood hit his tongue, the taste of a single droplet bringing saliva that coated his jaws. Another drop followed. One after the other, droplets of blood collected on his tongue. Somehow, he found it within himself to swallow.

Astarion knew this blood. The taste was oddly familiar, though it wasn't part of his regular diet. No, this was not the blood of bugs and rats—this was the blood of a thinking creature. One he'd feasted from before.

Master will torture me for this, he thought. Master will write more poetry on my skin.

But Astarion no longer found it in him to care. As more blood dripped into his mouth, he swallowed it down with enthusiasm.

Strength returned to his limbs. The hunger that plagued him constantly began to subside, easing into something bearable. Old aches and pains disappeared.

There you go, Astarion, a female voice said. She sounded close—and worried. Just drink. It will help.

Astarion obeyed on instinct. He knew this voice. It was uncannily familiar, the kind of voice he'd listen to for hours just to keep hearing it. Yet...where had he heard it? Was this a victim, coming back to haunt his memories? It certainly wasn't one of his sisters...

With a full belly, restlessness took over. Astarion quickly grew bored of the dark surrounding him. He shifted, the movement slowly bringing him back into his body. He huffed impatiently.

Are you coming back to me? the voice asked, accompanied by a soft touch on his cheek. A brief moment of silence followed, then— You're scaring the others, Little Star.

Astarion tensed. That name. No one called him that. His siblings knew better and his victims never got close enough, so...

A hand slipped into his hair. Panic took over. Astarion's scalp tingled. He anticipated pain to follow.

Something within him snapped—

~❊~

Astarion's eyes opened the same time the thread within him grew too taut. He lurched upward, a snarl on his lips. He bared his teeth, prepared to rip out the throat of whomever had touched him—

"Easy!" It was the same voice. The hand left his hair and pushed him back to the ground. A figure appeared over him. "It's just me!"

The voice stopped him. Astarion let himself be pushed back down—surprisingly gently, with only one hand on his shoulder. He focused on the figure above him and slowly your features come into focus.

You're...beautiful. Your hair has been pulled out of the way, leaving the concern and worry on your face clear to his eyes. Your eyes were wide, but you didn't seem to be afraid of him. In fact, the look on your face suggested you know his dangers all too well.

You were the answer to every prayer he'd always been too scared to voice.

Slowly, Astarion relaxed. You looked instantly relieved.

"It's me," you said again, calmer now. "Do you remember me yet?"

You lifted your hand to his cheek. Astarion could smell the blood on it—the same blood he'd just tasted. He turned toward it and saw the small slice in your finger.

"You fed me?" he asked.

You nodded. "Of course I did, Astarion."

Astarion flinched. "How do you know my name?"

Disappointment flickered in your eyes. "I'll take that as a no," you sighed. Only then did Astarion realize you'd asked him a question. "We travel together, Star. With our friends. So that we can get the tadpoles out of our heads?" You spoke slowly, trying to give him time to catch up.

But Astarion didn't recognize anything—except for the smell of your blood, which seemed so innate to him, beyond the taste of it on his tongue.

"I— I'm sorry, I don't know," he whispered.

"Nothing sounds familiar?" you asked. When he shook his head again, your disappointment showed on your face for a moment. You hid it quickly with your next breath, but Astarion saw it. "That's alright. It'll come back to you."

Fear suddenly wrapped its claws around his heart. "Will it?"

"Yes," you said firmly. "It will. I promise, Star." You took his hand in yours and squeezed gently. "And I'll be with you until you do remember."

A thousand questions swirled in his mind. Who were you? What had he done to deserve your kindness? How could you be so certain that he would recover?

Deep in his heart, he wondered if he even wanted to recover. The bits and pieces floating around inside his head... They were not pleasant. And yet, all he could think to ask was, "Why?"

You smiled softly at him, almost regretfully. You were silent for a long time, avoiding his gaze. Your hair just barely covered your eyes; Astarion could not make out your expression. At last, you raised your head toward him. "If you were in your right mind, you'd know." The muscle in your jaw feathered. In a hushed voice, you added, "Honestly, that scares me more than this."

Astarion's eyes narrowed. He felt like he was missing something, something obvious. You were hiding something, but he couldn't fathom what or why...

You turned away from his intense, questioning gaze. "Rest. I'll be here when you wake up." You pulled a knife from its sheath on your boot and a rag from your pocket. You began polishing it.

Astarion watched you for some time, entranced by the methodic way you cleaned your weapons, pausing to inspect the shine of the blade. It did not take long for the drowsy blackness to seep into the edges of his consciousness, taking over with every blink. Soon, there was nothing left but...

~❊~

You weren't entirely certain when Astarion had dozed off, just that you had suddenly felt the loss of his gaze. You glanced at him, his body still on your bedroll.

A few moments passed while you watched him. Once you were certain he was deep in his trance, you left his side to collect a handful of herbs and a water flask.

You measured out the herbs and tied them off in a mesh pouch. You steeped them in the cold water and watched the color change achingly slowly. Only when it had reached a greenish-yellow color did you gently reopen the bloody spot on your finger, hissing as the skin split again, and let your blood drip into the mixture.

You stared down at it, watching the blood sink to the bottom of the bowl. The herbs, meant to help improve memory, ought to do something for his memory loss... Or so you hoped.

With Astarion still trancing, you left the herbs to steep. You returned to your own tent briefly to retrieve a book to read while you waited for him to wake.

The evening passed surprisingly slowly. You got through several chapters before you were interrupted by a gentle tap on your shoulder. You looked up to find Gale offering you a plate of food.

"Thank you, Gale," you said, accepting it after you'd put your book down. "How's the arm?"

"You're welcome. All healed up, thanks to Shadowheart," he said. He glanced at your mixture. "Is that for Astarion?"

You nodded. "It's a bunch of herbs to help improve memory. I was thinking it might speed up the 'temporary' part of the wizard's spell."

He thought for a moment. "I have a few spells that might help," he said. "Pass me the bowl."

You did so and watched curiously as Gale muttered a few quiet incantations over the mixture. When he passed the bowl back to you, the water faintly glowed lavender.

"That should help," he said.

"What did you do?" you asked, frowning. You hadn't recognized any of his mutterings.

Gale bit back a smile. "Those spells should increase the herbs' potency. It will strengthen the potion, and our elf's ability to retain his memory."

For a moment, you just stared at him. Then you said, "You have to teach me those spells."

Gale smiled. "Anytime," he promised. He nodded to the plate he'd given you. "Eat. You need your strength, too."

You nodded and ate quickly. Astarion shifted in his trance, mumbling quietly. You glanced at him and heaved a sigh when you realized he was, once again, clutching his stomach.

"You are a pain to feed when you can't bite me," you said to him before once again opening your finger and letting your blood drip into his mouth. Yet you weren't nearly as annoyed as you sounded; you honestly didn't mind caring for the elf. Gods knew he deserved it.

You returned to your book until night fell. The others came to check on you and Astarion before they retired. Wyll put out the campfire and you looked at the vampire still knocked out on your bedroll.

"Guess we're sharing again," you murmured to him and wriggled into your bedroll. You got cozy, comforted by his presence, despite everything. You rolled to put your back to him, but whispered over your shoulder, "Good night, Astarion."

~❊~

Astarion woke up very suddenly, a scream in his throat. He covered his mouth with a hand before it could come out. He lay that way for several moments, trying to calm the sense of panic in him from yet another nightmare of his master, before he realized he was not in his tent. Or any tent.

His head rolled to the right, toward the heat next to him and the scent of you. You had curled up beside him, your back to him, some distance between the two of you. For some reason, his heart sank. Why hadn't you cuddled up close to him?

Bits and pieces of memory hit him with a pounding headache: something slamming into his chest, loosing an arrow from his bow into Gale's shoulder, waking up and lunging for you, watching you sharpen your knives...

Gods, what had happened over the past few days. When had they left that battlefield?

Astarion glanced at your sleeping form again. A deep ache sat in his chest; he wanted... Gods, did he really? He wanted to hold you. He wanted you in his arms.

For her heat, he told himself as he rolled onto his side and closer to you, draping his arm over your middle. He ignored the fact that his explanation did not cover the little kiss he pressed to the nape of your neck.

You stirred in your sleep. "Little Star?" you murmured, pushing back against his chest.

"Don't wake up," he murmured. "I'm here."

He watched a sweet, sleepy smile cross your face. "It worked," you mumbled. You hand came up to slide into his and squeeze gently.

Astarion frowned. "What worked?"

You rolled to face him, even though your eyes remained closed. "I'll tell you in the morning," you said. You yawned and nuzzled your face in his chest, apparently happy to hide in the fabric of his shirt and his scent. You hummed. "My pretty little death."

There you were with your strange little sayings. Astarion raised his eyebrow, assuming you'd caught a whiff of his (albeit faint) odor of death. "Do I need more perfume?"

"No," you said, quite adamantly. "Smells good."

Astarion bit back a giddy, boyish smile. "If you say so." He put his hand into your hair, fingers scratching your scalp gently. You hummed contentedly and, within seconds, fell back asleep against him.

He wrapped his other arm around you as well, pressing you close to him. A twinge of hunger passed through him, but he ignored it; while you had told him plenty of times he could feed while you slept, he'd rather wait until the morning than risk waking you again.

Too alert to fall back to sleep, Astarion looked down at you. He brushed a few strands of your hair from your face, reveling in the softness of your hair and skin. He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, content to admire you until his eyes got tired of you. Truthfully, he wasn't sure that day would ever come.

"Oh, you," he murmured. He kissed the top of your head and you lifted your head toward him while you slept, turning your face toward him. Like a sunflower seeking the sun, he thought, a very old distant memory surfacing—his tiny hand in a bigger one, belonging to someone telling him to look at the big yellow flowers in front of him...

He was your sun. And you were...his.

Something in his chest stirred. It wasn't quite a heartbeat, but it was very close: a fluttering in his heart, truly awakening for the first time. A shuddering breath escaped Astarion's lips.

Oh.

Through the fuzz of the past few hours, Astarion dimly remembered you smiling at him, soft and sad and unsure, sorrow in your voice as you said, If you were in your right mind, you'd know. Honestly, that scares me more than this.

And Astarion did know. He did.

Oh.

"My darling," Astarion murmured, shifting to curl his body around yours. You responded in your sleep, clinging tightly to him. He kissed your cheek and then rested his head against yours, watching the sky and patiently waiting for the sun to rise.

For the first time in two hundred years, the gods had finally listened.

~❊~

Your body registered the warmth of the sun before you fully woke. It spread through you, spreading a lazy comfort through you. You slipped between peaceful sleep and fuzzy wakefulness for some time before lips roused you completely.

Tiny kisses covered your cheeks and nose. A hand cupped your cheek. "Wake up, my love," a soft voice said. Your heart warmed and your eyes flickered open. Astarion!

His crimson eyes crinkled with a smile when you looked at him. "There she is," he whispered, fonder than you had ever heard him.

"You're back," you murmured, overjoyed to be his love again but desperately tamping the feeling down. He would certainly see it now if you were not careful to hide your heart.

"What happened?" he asked. "I remember fighting goblins, but nothing else until I woke up to you avoiding me in your sleep." His tone was teasing, but there was something else there—some little bit of vulnerability. Your heart began to beat faster in your chest.

You propped your head up on your hand. "It's a long story, Star."

"Tell it to me while I feed," he suggested, already shifting to perform your morning ritual.

You rolled onto your opposite side and exposed your neck to him, sweeping your hair out of the way. "Alright," you said, barely suppressing a shudder as his lips brushed your skin, leaving a soft, yearning kiss.

What has gotten into him today? you wondered.

Astarion finally sunk his teeth into your neck. You let him take one, two, three swallows of your blood before you began talking. You spared no details, telling him what had happened since he'd been hit with a memory spell as steadily as you could with him sucking at your neck.

When he was finished, Astarion licked over the holes in your neck until they stopped bleeding.

"Thank you," he said, uncharacteristically quiet. "For the meal and for staying with me. I can't imagine it was easy work."

You looked up at him, entranced by the flush on his cheeks. You reached up to cup his face, admiring him for a moment before snapping out of your daze. "No, it...it was fine. It was..." You.

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. Your heart sank into your stomach. He knows. Gods, he knows how I feel.

Astarion took your chin in his hand and lifted your head. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. He looked at you with that sweet, fond look in his eyes for a moment. Then they fluttered shut as he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours.

Your surprise melted quickly into content as his thumb stroked your jaw instead. He tasted vaguely of iron; arousal fluttered through you, your urge only growing more powerful at the taste of your lifeblood on his tongue. Yet it slipped away as Astarion cuddled closer to you, sheltering within your arms, his lips never leaving yours. His soft, barely audible moans, were like an epic poem, his kiss a balm to the worry that had been building in your chest.

He feels it, too.

You broke away for a moment of air. "Astarion," you whispered and he let out a feral growl, chasing your lips eagerly. But for all his eagerness, it was not the kisses he gave you before he ravaged you. He was softer, slower. You felt the promise he was making you in that moment.

The kiss went on. The dynamic changed slowly; his fangs scraped across your lips—his tongue slipped into your mouth—your tongue into his—he suckled on your lower lip—you gently held his lip between your teeth—your fingers curled in his hair—his hand on your neck.

You let Astarion decide when he was done, happy to kiss him slowly. Your hand fell to his chest and rested above his unbeating heart. He hummed into your mouth.

When he did finally pull away, his cheeks were delightfully red, the tips of his ears pink. His eyes fluttered. A slow, content smile formed on his lips.

You kissed his forehead. He turned a deeper shade of red. "Thank you, my Star."

Astarion nuzzled into you. "Darling..." He dropped his mouth to your neck, once again kissing his feeding place. "I don't want to stop."

You smiled. "So don't."

Astarion was kissing you again in an instant, his hands cupping your face, cradling you close. You melted into him, giving control over to your pretty corpse.

You were interrupted by a throat clearing above you just as a shadow fell over the two you. Your lips parted from Astarion's as you both looked up, somewhat guiltily.

Lae'zel stood above you, already ready to move on. "Unstick your maws," she ordered with a snort. "We must go." She left as quickly as she had arrived, but watching after her made it clear the rest of camp had also been watching the two of you.

"Maws," Astarion mused.

"She's right," you said, sitting up. "We should get ready."

Astarion caught your hand and pressed a tender kiss to your fingers. "Alright, my love."

The two of you slipped out of the bedroll. You helped Astarion fix his hair, mussed by sleep and your hands, and then the two of you packed up your belongings quickly to catch up with the others. You hadn't realized just how much time had passed while you got lost with him.

"Good morning!" Gale said cheerily, striding over, a twinkle in his eye. "I see Astarion's regained his memory!"

You glanced up in time to see Astarion blush and give Gale the universal look that meant 'shut up' and realized Gale had known all along. When had the two of them gotten close enough for that? Or was Gale just very good at reading people?

"I have," Astarion said coolly, recovering. "Our lovely leader here has filled me in on what happened while I was...indisposed." He looked awkward for a moment, then continued, "I apologize for shooting you, wizard."

"Apology accepted," Gale said matter-of-factly. He lifted his arm to prove it had healed. "No harm done!"

You finished up with your packing. "Where are we off to today?" you asked Gale. "Have the others decided?"

He pulled a face. "Everyone's got their own ideas," he said tactfully. "I think it'd be best if you decided what we handled first."

You sighed. "You mean that Shadowheart and Lae'zel are trying to kill each other, and I have to stop them and take the heat from whoever I piss off more."

Gale winced. "Yes, something like that."

"Alright. I'll be right there."

Gale nodded and started back toward where the others were gathered. You watched him go with a sigh.

"Is that why Lae'zel interrupted us?" Astarion asked. "Because if she thinks that's a way to gain favor, she's most certainly wrong."

You giggled at him. "Did someone want to keep kissing?"

He tried to hold your gaze, but looked away as his ears turned pink again. "Maybe," he muttered.

You kissed his cheek. "Later," you promised. You offered him your hand. "Come on. Let's get this sorted."

"Alright, my love," he said—a new phrase of his, it seemed—and took your hand. For a moment, he just looked at you, like there was something he wanted to say. You paused.

"What is it?" you asked.

He shook his head, a tiny smile on his lips now. "Nothing." You raised your eyebrow. "We'll talk about it later."

You nodded. "Alright."

You walked toward your bickering companions. Lae'zel was muttering about the creche, Shadowheart adamantly refusing not to go, with Wyll and Karlach trying to placate them both. At least those two weren't still at each other's throats.

The minute Shadowheart saw you, she darted over. "We have to get to the Temple of Shar," she started. "We made so much progress before we reached the goblins—"

"Chk! Our top priority should be the creche—"

Shadowheart glared at the githyanki. "We are not going to the creche!"

"We are going to neither place just yet, and you are both staying here in camp until you learn to get along," you said sharply. You saw Astarion smirk out of the corner of your eye. "Gale, Karlach, you'll come with me and Astarion. We'll see how far we can get and make a decision from there."

Karlach pulled a face. "Are you two going to kiss all day?" she complained.

You rolled your eyes. "That depends on how much you annoy me. Now, come on. I'd like to get going. And for the love of all, can we please avoid memory spells?"

Gale bit back a smile. "Are you certain? It seems to me you've gotten something rather good out of it." He glanced down at your fingers, still twined with Astarion's.

You glanced at Astarion. "Yes," you agreed. "And he is enough for me." You kissed his cheek again. For only his ears, you whispered, "I mean that, you know."

He smiled at you. "I know."

"Good," you said. You kissed him quickly.

You waited for Gale and Karlach to get what they needed with your head resting on Astarion's shoulder. You knew as well as any that you were far from steady; you still had much to talk about. You looked up at Astarion and found a far-off look in his eyes, one that looked a little too much like sorrow for your liking.

Astarion's "nothing" was looking an awful lot like "something."

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[moralesispunk]

Chapter One - Terra

Din Djarin x Witch! Reader

Summary: Injured and unable to go on, Din finds sanctuary on your farm

Warnings: canon typical violence, injured Din, no use of y/n, as with all my work this will be blank slate reader (no physical descriptions used other than being afab, using she/her pronouns and having an ankle injury sustained before this story begins)

Word count: 6.6k

Prologue | Series Masterlist | Chapter 2

“I asked… what… are you doing?”

"I’m helping you.”

When Din rouses to consciousness once more, the moon is once again resting high in the sky.

Astra’s surface soaks in all the light of the stars around her, a stream of bright light slashing through the window of The Crest and bouncing off the edge of his visor. He winces, turning his head away from the light, only to be assaulted with an entirely new pain.

The sharp throbbing spreads up and down his side, stealing the very breath from him. His body slumps, arm missing the controls and his weight buckles to the floor.

There have been plenty of times where Din has been close to the edge. Most of those times were as a young man, the urge to prove himself overriding any fleeting thoughts of self-preservation. He would take bounties that were that side of too dangerous; ones that had the other members of the Guild looking at him like he was reckless or mad, or perhaps both.

It had been easier to bounce back then. Twenty years old with the ability to sleep curled into the cot of his first ship that was little more than a third of the length of him without so much as a twinge of back pain. He could spend days trekking a bounty that left the entire of his body bruised and sore, and yet one good sleep was all he needed to move onto the next one.

Now, it took longer to recover - mentally and physically.

His body aches as he rolls onto his elbows and knees, somehow managing to drag himself to the ladder and then down to the hatch. The only thought urging him on being the thirst he feels, the cartons of water kept stored away all empty - slashed through by the very bounties that had left him in this condition.

He registers, as he stumbles down the ramp, that his body feels abnormally light and pats down his hips and thighs only to realize that all of his weapons are gone.

He can’t even tell for certain how long he had been unconscious for. The sky is now a dark navy and his shadow casts eerily around the small clearing he landed on before losing consciousness. With the way his throat scratches as he tries to swallow it’s likely that there has been a full night and day to pass since then.

He pushes himself from tree to tree as his body pains and groans with injury, hunger and most of all thirst. The ache scratches at his throat and pounds in his head.

The third bounty had certainly been a surprise to Din.

He had only expected two having read over the holosheet the night before his attack as he rested against a rough tree, detailing a pair that liked to work together. Even with the knowledge that there was only meant to be two it had still felt too simple but, tired after a week of traveling on foot, he had ignored the alarm bells that were chiming as he bound their wrists and ankles and instead thought about how he would return both men to the Crest.

His back had been turned for less than a second when the blow came, one that had his head ricocheting against the inside of his helmet and his body falling to the ground in a slump.

When he woke again he found the cantina was empty. The chairs and tables had been toppled over and the two bounties that had been unconscious were long gone along with the third attacker, but Din could barely remember the scuffle that had happened or the group of a dozen men who had returned to finish the job as he fled back to The Crest.

All he knows for certain is the pain he can feel now, the one that starts at the top of his head and thumps and aches all the way down to his feet.

It feels like hours have passed in search of water when the trees finally give way to a large pond.

The water is clear, surrounded by wet rocks that glisten in the moon and patches of fresh grass and flowers. His whole body sags before it, knees narrowly missing a patch of white carnations.

He rips the helmet from his head and throws the water into his mouth like an animal, the palms of his hand barely wet before the cool water slips past his dry lips and into his mouth as he swallows it down again and again. He makes the effort to take in his surroundings as he does so, too wary of letting his guard down again, and he finds himself looking up at the trees that surround the water hole.

They’re thin and tall, full of thick leaves as they reach up towards the sky where Astra shines brightly down on her earth. He can still see the reflection of the moon when he looks back to the water, the ripples growing out from where his gloveless hands plunge back into the pond to disrupt her brightness for a moment before the water settles and she shines brightly down on him once more.

His eyes stay focused on the white light as he quenches his thirst but as he drags his hand down his face and the water settles once more, another light shines into the reflection.

It’s a lighter blue than the sky, dancing and breezing out with the wind. It is entrancing, the kind of light Terra fawns over each night, but before Din can lift his head in search of the cause he realizes that it’s not a light. Instead, it is a woman who is standing on the other side of the pond watching on.

He reaches for his helmet and blaster at the same time, the beskar slipping over his head as his other hand lands on the empty holster. He pushes himself to stand quickly, looking across at the woman who doesn’t seem to pose a threat to his much larger self but still he squares his shoulders and stares back.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his words harsh and loud, sending birds fluttering from the trees.

“I could ask you the same,” your reply is softer - calmer - than his rough words and Din tilts his head. “You are on my farm.”

You hold your hand out to the side and his eyes track the way your dress slips from your shoulder, your fingers pointing towards the large clearing to the left of the pond that Din seemed to have missed, or ignored, when his body first slumped down by the water. There is a large and imperfect circle of grass and at the other end there is a cottage where smoke billows out from the chimney. The sooty fog makes the whole scene before him hazy, though when he blinks again the haze only worsens, darkening at the corners of his eyes, and the smoke begins to turn the entire scene black.

His legs grow weak and his blinks seem to slow. His whole body sways.

“Sir? Are you alright?” You ask, gracefully stepping around the pond in bare feet that sink into the soil as Din stumbles to meet you where the pond ends and your farm begins. “Do you need food? Some more water? I have heat too-”

You stop talking when Din falls to his knees, his body managing to take down a fence that runs around the land as he does so.

You catch him with an oof, breath knocking out your lungs when you stop him before he hits the ground. His heavy arm rests across your shoulders, his legs able to hold up only enough of his weight to stop himself from dragging you down to the ground with him.

“I’ve got you.” You press your hand against his chest plate and allow his weight to lean against you. “Are you a Mandalorian?”

“Yes,” he answers, however strained.

“And you cannot show your face?” You ask, voice slightly labored as you carry his weight across the field.

“No.” Din chokes out a cough and you push open the heavy wood door before carrying your bodies into the cottage.

“I will keep it on. Your helmet, I mean” you reply, letting Din’s weight fall onto a soft surface.

He tries to keep his eyes open when you let go, watching the flurry of your dress move around the room as you lift jars and bottles, digging through shelves to find a mortar and pestle.

“What-” Din tries to lift his weight up onto his elbow but he falls back, the whole room spinning as he goes. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, instead looking down at where Din’s armor had been damaged at his side showing the gaping wound in his skin. You chew on your bottom lip for a moment before turning and reaching for another jar with a different kind of herb, mixing the ingredients into a paste.

You walk across the room as you do so, kneeling by his side and letting the soft material of your dress fan out around your legs. You place the mixture down long enough to pour in a drop of water before going back to… whatever it is in your hands.

Din is still too weak to concentrate, his eyes barely able to stay open long enough to take in the scene before him, but then he feels your soft fingers graze his side and his hand snaps out, gripping your wrist.

“I asked… what… are you doing?” His voice is strained through gritted teeth but you only blink in return, settling down on your knees.

“I’m helping you.”

Your eyes don’t move from Din’s, your hand pausing where it had been when he grabbed your wrist. He takes a moment to look at you, forcing his eyes to stay open and his mind to concentrate, to take in any signs of threat or danger.

Yet instead of the usual danger he feels as a bounty hunter - one that makes him feel both predator and prey - when he looks into your eyes that stare back into his very own, his whole body relaxes on instinct.

There is someone who will save you.

Only when his hand drops from your wrist and he nods do you begin to lather the medicine onto his side.

Din is too weak to stop the groan that fights its way up from his throat, but he doesn’t expect when your other hand slides into his in return.

“How do you-” he begins to grunt through his gasping breaths “-know of the Mandalorian?”

“I’ve read of them; of you I suppose.”

You scoop another slab of paste onto his side and he hisses.

“Just a little longer,” you whisper, squeezing his hand once.

Din can’t stop himself from squeezing back, his teeth biting into his bottom lip until his mouth fills with a copper taste of blood while you concentrate on his side. Soon enough the sharp pain gives way to a dull ache and soon enough he can no longer feel the injury, his hand slipping from your hold to run along his side only to find it numb.

“Please.” You stop him quickly, taking his hand and placing it back down against the blanket he lies on. “Don’t touch it. Your hands are dirty and I mixed a few things together that should stop the pain and rid you of infection.”

You clear the mess of jars and bowls by your side, brushing the dusting of powder from your dress as you carry it back towards the sink and place it into a basin. Despite the pain easing little by little, when you open the curtain enough for the moonlight to pour in he still can’t find the strength to concentrate, his eyes fluttering closed every time he tries to look around the room.

He’s already on the edge of sleep when he hears your voice again, a glass of water being passed into his hand before you place a soft blanket across his body.

“Drink the water before you sleep.”

And those are the last words he hears as you leave the room and he only just manages to finish the glass before his body slumps back down against the soft surface.

*****

When Din wakes again it takes him a moment for him to remember the events of the last few days.

There are bits and pieces floating through his mind of two bounties that were really three, of the dozen or so men who returned to try and finish him off, a journey in the Crest, a long trek to a water hole and….

He sits up quickly, surprised by the lack of pain in his side. He looks down to find the wound dressed and when he places his hand to his side the pain is gone; the numbness too. It feels… normal.

His head whips up quickly again, finding himself in an empty room he doesn’t recognise and the mysterious woman missing.

It is a small room, a small cottage really. It looks like there is only the one main room with two large chairs, a table with four mis-matched stools, a kitchen, dozens of shelves made from different coloured woods filled with books and jars, and a door behind that lies open an inch or so and lets him see into a room with a bed and large basin, where the woman he recognises from the night before is perched on the side.

The sleeve of your dress is rolled up to your elbow, your hand dancing delicately through the water where steam rises, and before Din can make another noise you look up and smile.

“You’re alive.”

He could barely see you the night before between his inability to keep his eyes open for more than a moment and the dark of the night but now you are bathed in the sunlight, your face etching into his mind line by line.

Everything from your eyes to your smile, the slope of your shoulders and wrists. When you stand and walk out of the bedroom, his trained eyes notice how you favour one leg over the other, a weaker ankle that doesn’t seem to stop you from moving any less gracefully.

“I’ve warmed a bath,” you say, nodding back to the other room. “I will clean your clothes while you’re in.”

There is no room to argue when you walk out of the room, the door to the outside opening and closing behind you before Din could blink.

Despite the lack of pain, Din takes his time getting up. He walks into the second room and closes the door behind him, stripping the clothes off and placing them outside of the door while keeping his beskar and armour in the room along with him, within arm’s reach and sight at all times.

His fingers dance around the lip of his helmet for a moment before he eventually kneels down by the basin, taking it off only long enough to clean his face and scrub his hair before he slips it back on and steps into the bath.

The warm water settles his tired muscles, the steam pulling him in until he is sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him and the water splashes against his chest as his arms come to rest on the side of the cool brass tub. It takes him a moment to register something else that has been added to the bath, a lavender oil, and every second he stays in the water his shoulders drop lower and lower until the tension is gone.

He can hear you moving around the farm from the open window. If he leans over the edge of the basin ever so slightly he can see you, his clothes from earlier being hung on a line in the sun as you place your weight on your toes every time you secure his shirts and trousers with a peg.

He watches for a moment, and when your gaze never strays towards the window he lets his eyes drift close. The water sloshes up against his chest, the soothing rhyming motioning pulling him closer and closer to sleep until a knock comes to the door.

“Are you alright in there?”

“Yes,” he answers sharply, the water splashing as he quickly turns to face the still closed door.

“I have left some clothes for you outside,” you reply, tone still soft.

He spends another few minutes in the bath before he steps out, the water spilling down his body and back into the bath before stepping out and opening the door only enough to reach for the clothes.

It doesn’t take long for Din to come back out in the dark green shirt that reaches high up on his neck and the dark trousers that cover his legs, armour strapped on top. There was even a pair of gloves laid out. Well worn leather that is slightly too small for his hands but good enough for now.

He finds you on the farm when he is dressed, back turned to him and mind elsewhere while you remain concentrated on the task at hand as he approaches.

“How can I repay you?”

You turn around, wiping sweat from your brow before shielding your eyes from the sun as you look up at him.

“There’s no need for that,” you reply with a wave of your hand. “Many travelers come through, most injured or hungry, so I fix them or feed them and send them on their way again. All I ask is that if they ever return they remember my name.”

Din shuffles his weight from foot to foot, the soil crunching beneath him.

“Can I have your name then?” He asks, knowing he’ll likely not return to this planet unless another bounty brings him here.

You share your name and Din repeats it back, ignoring the softness creeping into his voice.

“And yours?”

Din stills, his shoulders stiffening and hands clenching into fists by his side.

“Is not something I can give.”

You ponder it for a moment, head tilting slightly, but then you nod and back to the crops, digging into the ground once more, dusting your hands on your dress and reaching into the pouch tied around your waist before picking out three seeds and placing them delicately in the hole. With a few whispered words and closed eyes as you do so, you scatter the soil back over the hole and pat it down.

“I can fix your fence,” Din says once your words are finished.

You turn around and look at Din, eyes then honing in on the Mandalorian sized hole in the fence. You consider for a moment, head tilting and lips pressed together before nodding.

“Very well.” You pat the ground once more, placing the tools to the side and moving to stand with your weight resting on your good ankle.

Din holds his hand out in your direction. You look at it for only a moment before slipping your hand in, his gloved one wrapping completely around your soft skin as he helps you to your feet before your touch slips away.

You show him a small shed to the side of the cottage, full of an array of tools - some that look handmade and some that must have been bought - but once you have told him that he can use what he needs you go back to working the crops and Din walks over to the edge of the field.

Every so often Din finds his focus moving from the fence that is slowly but surely being rebuilt to the strange woman at the other side of the farm. You are still kneeling on the grass, knees digging into the mud and your dress - a dark green today - becoming more and more marked with the soil as you shuffle between each crop you are planting.

He has watched you for almost an hour now, watched you plant forty-seven crops, and even with every last sensor turned up inside his helmet he still can’t quite make out what you are doing.

You hum under your breath as you dig a hole in the ground with an old, rusty shovel before you sprinkle in three seeds - always exactly three as you count them out into your palm - and then close your eyes and whisper the words he can’t make out. After a while he resigns himself to the fact that they aren’t in basic, or any other language he can understand, but he continues to watch anyway as your eyes open again and you cover the seeds up with soil using your bare hands.

Between working on each crop you shuffle along, lifting the basket with your hand as you drag your knees back and forth before settling in place once more, you look up to Din. He pretends to look away, bending down and reaching for another plank of wood, but he can feel his cheeks warm every time as your eyes gaze right into his even behind the visor.

“Sir?” Your voice calls across the farm and he looks up, finding you now standing at the other side of the farm towards the cottage. “It’s about to rain; shall we take a break?”

“Rain?” Din tilts his head up to the sky, the blue one that still hangs brightly above their heads. “It doesn’t look like it will rain?”

You smile and from across the farm he can see how your features soften even further. “Can’t you smell under that helmet?”

“I can smell,” he replies, almost defensively. He doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. He takes another look up at the bright sky - not a cloud in sight - and places the plank of wood in his hand against the post, lifting a hammer with his other. “It won’t rain. I can keep working.”

You open your mouth to reply but close it before any sound comes out, clasping your hands in front of you before nodding once with a humorous smile. He keeps his eyes on you as you turn around, stopping by the basin at the door and washing your hands and feet before skipping back into the cottage.

He continues to work for another ten minutes before he watches the first spot of rain drip against his glove. He grinds his teeth as it rolls down and off the leather, his helmet focused down and his self-pride too strong to look up to follow the dark gray cloud he can feel covering the farm.

Before the raindrop disappears completely another lands, and then another, one after the other splattering against his glove and the rest of his body until he finally grumbles under his breath and walks back across the farm.

His boots sink further and further into the mud with each step he takes and despite the rain now falling heavier than he has ever felt before he makes sure to avoid the neat line of freshly planted crops as he makes his way towards the few steps that lead to the cottage.

You don’t look up when the door opens, not even when the wind howls so strongly that Din has to use both hands to close it behind him. Your eyes stay focused on the meal you are preparing on the table as he walks across the room, his clothes weighing him down with the water that drags across the floor behind him. It is not until he stops before the table that he sees your eyes are crinkling by the side, teeth biting into your bottom lip to stop your smile from growing any wider.

“Not. A. Word.” Din speaks slowly, leaning across the table slightly with a fist resting on the curved wood.

You lift a hand up and pretend to zip your soft lips together, the smile that is straining to be free still painted across your features as you shake your head and pass him a bowl. Din can’t help the smile that begins to tug at the corners of his mouth in return but he keeps his posture steady, his host showing no signs of being intimidated when you finally look up to him.

“Your clothes from yesterday have been washed and are on the bed. Go change; I don’t want you catching a cold and putting all my hard work to waste.”

Din opens his mouth to speak but when you level him with a look that makes him stop, soft features hardening ever so slightly when you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head towards the bedroom.

He changed by the window with the door open an inch or so, enough so he could still hear you moving around the kitchen and by the time he was finished changing the only part of him that was visible was the thin sliver of skin between his helmet and shirt.

His pile of polished armor, minus his helmet still on his head, lay on top of the bed. His eyes lingered on them for a moment before he looked through the gap in the door towards the kitchen. You were humming under your breath and mixing the contents of the pot, and he decided to leave the amour; opening the door with his thick black under layers and helmet with the rest of the armour remaining on the bed.

When he made his way back into the kitchen there was a knife by the bowl and when Din looked at the you and then the knife, you nodded, eyes looking down at his armour-free body for only a moment, barely an inhale of a breath, before you looked back down at the contents of your bowl. You worked side by side as he carefully chopped the vegetables from the bowl, looking over to his side as you did the same to the others.

The only sound was the rain that battered the roof, filling the kitchen with an echo that was both frightening and calming, the way you were ignoring the sound being enough for him to lean towards the latter.

When the vegetables in your bowl are cut he keeps his helmet trained down to the table but watches up through his lashes as you move around the kitchen, grateful hands opening and closing drawers before bending over a stove and lighting a match.

The small flame is enough to light the stove top, soft lips pressing together for a moment as you blow the flame on the match out before waving the smoke back and forth. You smile kindly at his messily chopped vegetables, moving around his large and imposing body while working around Din. When the broth is finally finished, you share it into two bowls, leaving one by the stove and carrying another in your hand.

“You can eat first,” you say, placing a bowl in front of the table.

“No- No, you can. I can wait until you are in bed-” He stops again when you raise an eyebrow at him once more, your hand gently wrapping around his wrist as you tug him towards the table.

“I will clean the clothes that are soaked from the rain. They should be dry by the morning.”

There is no room for arguing once again. You turn and walk back into the bedroom as he waits a moment before lifting his helmet from his head. You wait in the bedroom, and he takes his time enjoying the warm, spicy broth; trusting that you won't look.

Eventually he finishes and slips the helmet back on, clearing his throat. You enter the room again only then, settling by the table to eat.

After a moment of eating in silence Din finally speaks.

“Are you married? Will your husband not worry about a strange man in your home?” He winces at the blunt questions but you smile softly.

“No husband. No-one to worry.” You lift another spoonful of broth and blow on it ever so slightly before slipping it past your lips, only speaking again when you swallow. “May I ask what you were doing here? I am guessing you are not from here.”

“I am not,” Din answers plainly before going on, “and I’m a bounty hunter.” You don't look shocked or surprised, simply nod around another spoonful. “Were you born here?”

“A month's travel from here… I think. I was only ten when I left so I’m not quite sure I remember right.” Your lips press together and twist ever so slightly, eyes focused on the table like you are trying to remember. “I know it was colder than it is here. I have seasons on the farm: summer and winter, spring and fall, but my homeplanet was always cold. Not cold enough for snow but the kind that was found in the wind and made your nose and ears hurt with how bitter it could be.”

“What was it called?” Din asks patiently.

“I’m not sure.”

“You…” He tilts his head. “You’re not sure?”

The name of his home planet. The name of his mother. The name of his father.

Three names that Din will carry in his heart till the end of his days.

You shrug and look up at Din with an almost sad but resigned smile.

“I try to remember but I don’t think anyone ever told me. Nearly everyone who lived there had been there all their lives and no-one traveled so long as I was alive so… I don’t think there was any need to know the name; it was just home.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“Raiders came one night when I had been gone. I couldn’t sleep, I sometimes go through a few weeks where sleep just doesn’t come, and so I had wandered down to the river. I was there till morning and when I came back… everyone had gone.”

“They left you? Your family?” Something in Din hardens as he thinks about this stranger who has been so kind to him being abandoned by her parents.

“No.” You smile sadly across the table and pat Din’s hand once before reaching for another slice of bread. “Gone.”

A sadness blooms inside of Din’s chest, spreading up to his throat and making it difficult to speak as he stares back into your sad eyes. Din had been a similar age when he had lost his parents but the Covert had been there to take him in, to feed him and clothe him and teach him, but you had been left as a young girl without anyone to help.

“Is that how you hurt your ankle?” He asks.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“You must be a good bounty hunter with that keen eye,” you tease. “But no. That happened when I was here. I had worked at the port for a while and fell. There were no medic droids near and so it never healed right.” You shrug. “It’s fine for a quiet life, it never causes much bother unless it’s the middle of harvest season.”

“How did you end up here?” Din asks.

“I managed to find my way to a shuttle and I snuck on with the baggage. My mother had always told me that when we die we become stars and so I thought…” Your eyes glaze over with tears and you shake her head, looking out the window before going on. “I thought that I could take a shuttle up to the stars and find her there.”

Din has to rid the ache in his chest and he clears his throat, leaning back into the chair as his fingers dig into the rough wood of the table.

He can feel the way his mother’s hand had rested over his own from his dream, the ghost of a touch that brushes his hand now.

“I didn’t know anything about other planets or how to get anywhere and so I ended up on another shuttle and then another before I landed here. I was so tired and hungry and ended up working at the port a few days walk from here, selling tickets and then selling lost luggage to the scrapyard in return for food or wood.”

“Wood?” Din asks and you finally look back at him, the sadness not quite gone but the tears disappeared now.

You gesture around the cottage. “It took me a few years, I lost count after two because I was never good at tracking the moon like my mother until the past few years, but when I was fifteen I think, perhaps sixteen, I started to build the farm.”

“You built… all of this yourself?” Din asks, unable to mask the disbelief.

“I did.”

And then the sadness in your eyes is gone and your bright smile is back, the moon light catching your eyes as you reach across and rests your palm on Din’s hand once more before you squeezes gently.

“Please don’t feel sorry for me Mandalorian, I love my farm and when I look up into the sky I can see my family every night.”

He doesn’t speak for a while, your hand still resting on his as you scoops up the rest of the broth with two more slices of bread. It’s not until you finish, until your hand begins to slip off of his, when he talks again. He turns his hand over and catches your hand before it moves too far, his fingers curling around your own.

“I’ve traveled through the galaxies and been to many planets. If you tell me anything you can remember I can maybe help you remember the name?” He asks it so gently he’s not sure you hear, but when you rest your other elbow on the table and place your cheek against your palm, you begin to talk again.

“It was cold, like I said, but not with rain or snow. Mostly wind. There was a waterfall near our village and the mountain around it was the most unusual shape, all because of the harsh wind my mother had said. At the bottom of the waterfall there were these rocks, flat and long and looking more like glass than an actual rock. The trees weren’t tall like here but they had thick leaves; the moon also wasn’t as bright, I remember the stars more than the moon.”

When you don’t go on Din finally nods, squeezing your hand in his gently.

“I don’t think I’ve been to such a place but I will keep it in mind on my travels.”

“You will?” Something in you brightens even more, the light coming from you rivaling the moon outside.

“I will. I may not be able to give you my name, but that I promise.”

A silence falls over you again but your hand remains in his, your other hand moving across the table and picking at the small bowls of vegetables that were too much for the soup. When you finally move to the other room to sleep, Din crawls into the soft chair he had slept in the night before, and his own sleep comes to him much easier than ever before.

*****

Din stays for a week longer. He helps around the farm until he is fully healed, though something tugs inside him at the thought of leaving.

It’s perhaps the peacefulness of life here. Their easy conversations as you work the farm side by side and he tells tales of his travels while you tell him of the people who have spent the years camping just off the edge of the farm and bringing with them tales and trinkets from across the universe. The swipe of dirt that always ends up on your cheek or forehead that he has to curl his hand into a fist so he doesn’t reach out to brush it away.

Eventually, when he knows me must move on, he walks into the cottage to find you waiting by the table where a small bag rests.

“What’s this?” He asks.

You open it an inch or so and Din peeks in, your hand lifting each item out.

“There is food and water for your journey. I have also given you some of the medicine from the other night should your side become infected; lather it on the injury and it should clear within an hour or two. Also…” You dig your hand deep into the bag and pull out a small pouch. “When you reach the next clearing you pass on your way to the ship there is a man who has a speeder - give him this and tell him I sent you and he will take you to your ship free of charge, you won’t tire yourself out that way.”

He stares down at you as you tie the bag back up, his mouth still firmly shut when you hand it over to him.

Their goodbye is brief and quiet and Din isn't quite sure he would ever be able to tell you how thankful he is, how much he will miss you after only a week together, but when he reaches the tree edge he turns back and finds you still watching, arms locked around your waist as you lifts one hand in a slow wave and he does the same in return.

*****

Din treks through the familiar forest towards the wide clearing. He told himself as he placed the coordinates into the Crest that he was returning as a favor - to check on the woman who had saved him and to make sure that no raiders had harmed your farm during the most fertile season for the crops. He had stopped a day's walk away so as not to disturb the farm with his ship and had barely stopped walking the entire time, moving forward and forward until the moon was shining down on him and the cottage finally came into sight.

The fire was no longer burning and the night air was so still he could almost convince himself that you weren’t here - but then he saw the figure at the top of the stairs with the same dress on that you had worn that first night.

It was lighter than the blue morning sky and hung loosely off your shoulders, giving him the perfect view of those soft sloping shoulders that set off a feeling in his chest that he battered away as he leaned against the tree. Your eyes lifted from where they had been gazing at the blanket in your lap, on your fingers that were deftly working as you knitted row after row of yarn to protect you in a few months time when the winter rolls in, but your gaze stops before it reaches him. You pause and listen and Din finds himself holding his breath until you turn your gaze back down and your fingers begin the familiar pattern.

He stays there for an hour, perhaps two, just watching the peaceful scene unfold before him and only when he pushes off the tree and into the moonlight do you finally look up, the blanket placed to the side as you take one step and then another until you are off the porch and in the farm.

His hand slides into his pocket as he walks towards you, the small but heavy rock rolling between his fingers. It’s not flat or glass-like - not similar to the ones from your home planet - but it’s light gray and smooth, an almost perfect circle.

You stop halfway into the farm and he finds himself halting a few feet away, watching as your face softens and gives way to the smallest hint of a smile.

*****

Aaaaaand that is the end of Chapter 1! For anyone reading this for the first time, this will be a (long) multi-chapter fic based of a two-part Din fic I wrote years ago - it will be a slow burn and it will be “dual POV” (next chapter will be from reader’s pov then the next from Din’s then back to reader…)

I won’t be using a tag-list but instead I will keep the masterlist (linked at the start of this post) updated with the date of each chapter uploads - I will try to be consistent but I am writing this around my 9-5 and writing what will be my own debut novel!

[thisblogisaboutabook]

When the Lightsinger Calls (I Hear a Symphony)

An Azriel Drabble

Azriel daydreams of his mate -Inspired by ‘I Hear a Symphony’ by Cody Fry

I used to hear a simple song.

The warm winds of summer blew through the Illyrian mountains as Azriel sat sprawled on a thick branch fifty feet in the air, one leather covered leg dangling as the other stretched across the branch, his back resting against the trunk of an old Oak tree.

Cassian had been butting heads with Devlon for hours. Same shit, different day as they heatedly negotiated new terms for the training of Illyrian females. Devlon, of course, remained as stubborn as an ass. Even after decades of his bullshit, it never failed to chafe Azriel’s nerves that they were under the regime of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history yet had to make nice with stuck-in-their-ways pricks like him. Today in particular had left Azriel feeling less than giving.

Cassian booted Azriel out of negotiations in record time, which admittedly, was likely for the best. Azriel’s dominant stance, deadly gaze, and violent whirling shadows were not best suited for these futile attempts of “sweet talking” Devlon out of his deeply rooted misogyny. If Azriel had his way Truth Teller would do all the talking, but diplomacy unfortunately took precedence.

He may have put up more of a fight when storming out of the Camp Lord’s office had Cassian’s weapon of choice today not had a unique way of toeing that line between diplomacy and force in a way that even Truth Teller could not. No blood spillage necessary, though, Azriel thought with a smirk, the weapon could do just that as well.

The warmth of the suns rays shining through the rustling leaves and the scratch of bark lightly grazing the sensitive membranes of his wings - hitting those spots he could never quite reach - had Azriel drifting off into a light dream state.

As he began to doze, shadows hummed around him, the whistling breeze mixing in with their whirring as they sensed for any incoming threats.

Blending in with their simple song, the creek nearby babbled with the sounds of trickling water, crickets chirped beneath rocks below.

His thoughts became more vivid as his conscience drifted deeper into sleep.

His jaw ticked, wings jerking slightly as he dreamed glimpses of deep red coating his marred skin from the countless souls he’d drawn blood from, lifeless bodies scattered across bloody battlefields, dark cells, the bright flare of roaring fire scalding a child’s hands, his shadows melody becoming broken as they attempted to soothe their master.

The melody became lighter as the flame in his dreams became flashes of light, blurred glimpses of a lovely face appearing in and out of his dreams. A soft laugh intertwined itself with his shadows, the solemn hymn becoming lighter, with vibrant bursts of energy leaving his heart fluttering. More images of the ethereal face flickered through his mind, soft blush dusted cheeks, a radiant white smile, supple fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, plush lips on bare skin, all appearing to the beat of the rising staccato. His lips quirked upward in his sleep as his guard dropped lower and lower and the melody continued growing louder, building into the crescendo of the loveliest symphony he’d heard yet, even in Prythian’s most renowned concert halls.

The music filled Azriel’s entire being, leaving him light as shadow, his flaws forging themselves from ugly into something beautiful, something worthy, as the melody carried his soul toward the light.

Just as his body began to slump out of the tree a sing-song voice brighter than day awoke him. “Careful, Shadowsinger. One might think you’re sleeping on the job.”

He looked down to his beautiful mate, the face his dream had called him to. “My little Lightsinger, did you give Devlon hell?”

She beamed. “Worked a little on him. The girls get seven more hours per week and Cass or I can do spot checks whenever we please. I’ll push for more when we meet again in a few months.”

“That’s my girl.” His eyes shone with the pride filling his chest as he launched out of the tree and swept her off her feet.

“Let’s go home.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose. Azriel only blushed and did just as his lady said, the two falling into companionable silence as her light and his shadow mingled in harmony the entire flight back to Velaris.

And now I hear a symphony.

———————————————-

[iamthemain-character]

Sankt Milo

platonic! The Crows x reader

gender neutral pronouns (reader is referred to as “you” and the occasional “Y/n”)

TW: show-based, non-canon compliant, 2014-Avengers-Tower-fic-type of writing

a/n: milo is my favorite character. that’s all.

Shadow and Bone Masterlist

You had been absent for almost a week.

Sunday afternoon, you simply disappeared from the club and hadn’t returned since. The only reason the Crows hadn’t completely panicked yet was because you had left notes for all of them saying you had to leave but you would return (each with a special indication that you did not write this as you were being kidnapped). Nonetheless, The Crow Club felt emptier without you, and each member missed you terribly.

It was storming late that Friday, and after closing the club post-another successful night, all 6 crows were gathered around a table, enjoying a drink together. With a clap of thunder the group heard the back door slam open, then shut again. Everyone drew their weapons, hearing heavy footsteps slosh their way across the wooden floors. A figure, cloaked in shadow, stopped in the entryway from the storage rooms, and everyone waited with baited breath to strike.

With a flash of lightning, the figure’s shadows were cast aside, revealing you. A very drenched and bedraggled you, but you nonetheless.

“Y/n!” 5 voices cried out.

“Milo!” Jesper’s voice carried over the others, for even more astonishing than your return was the furry, black and white animal you carried in your arms.

The Zemeni man quickly crossed the room, but not without Nina, Inej, and Wylan on his heels. The latter three took your hands, throwing a dry blanket over your shoulders and Jesper carefully took the goat from your arms, pressing kisses to it’s head over and over.

“Oh Milo, I have thought of you every day.”

The group helped you sit down at the table, bringing more towels and blankets, and Kaz pouring you a strong drink. But despite your shivering, you couldn’t help the smile that cracked across your face as you watched your friend reunited with his emotional support goat old friend.

Wylan turned to you, an incredulous look on his face. “That’s Milo?”

Nina and Matthias had matching confused expressions on their faces, but it was Nina who spoke up. “So did you disappear without a trace for the goat or was that just a happy accident? Also why is Jesper in love with a goat?”

With a laugh, some help from Inej, and some quips from Kaz, you told the newer Crows of the treacherous and disastrous journey the group had taken through The Fold and how Jesper had formed a trauma-bond with this particular goat.

Jesper came back to your table, Milo still clutched in his arms, just as you were explaining yourself.

“Jesper was so sad to say goodbye to Milo, and I just wanted to get him back. But I didn’t want to tell you guys that’s what I was doing in case I wasn’t successful. But thankfully that sweet barmaid had sent him to her father’s farm, and I was able to buy him back.”

“Please tell me you didn’t spend too much for that goat.” Kaz’s voice cut, head turned with his classic look of disapproval.

No longer able to be scared by Dirtyhands, you waved him off. “No price is too much for our little Milo.” With a smirk you turned back to the club owner, “Perhaps we should rename this place The Goat Club?”

The table roared with laughter at the pure look of disgust upon Kaz’s face at your simple suggestion. Inej reached across and scratched Milo’s chin, a smile upon her face. “That’s not so bad, after all, Milo is like our own little Saint.”

Nina clasped her hands together, delighted at the Suli girl’s suggestion. “Sankt Milo! Oh how perfect. I am all for the changing of the name.”

Kaz’s voice broke through the laughter. “We are not changing the name, and we are not keeping it.”

Despite what he said, Wylan found himself grateful for Jesper’s arms around him as they fell asleep, because otherwise the former feared he would have fallen of the edge of the bed. Somehow, one small goat seemed to take up half the bed.

And even though Kaz swore that the goat would be sold in the morning, everyone turned a blind eye when he placed a plate of waffles down for Milo in the morning.

That was, everyone turned a blind eye until Nina realized they were her waffles.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

The Soul Yearns

Author’s note: More of First Words Can Damn You. Soul Mate Horror AU in the 40k. *bold italics* means it's from Book paraphrased, to be from Honsou's perspective.

Summary: Honsou's reaction to first meeting his soul mate. And one of the people who he'll become utterly obsessed with.

Warnings: Yandere vibes. Honsou. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

You are Honsou?

That is the first words that his soul mate will ever say to him. He'd grown up in a version of hell. As a child experiment of Fabuis Bile, learning to fight, to survive, to kill, to hunt, to expect betrayal and cruelty from all around him.

So learning about Soul Mates- was something he'd only heard about in snippets from his older brothers, the bastards, were frustratingly closed mouthed on the subject.

And trying to figure out what a Soul Mate is, and what The First Soul Words are and what to expect had been information that he'd collected over the centuries that he'd lived.

You are Honsou?

Once he'd learned of all of the different things that there is to know about Soul Mates, and First Words, and how different people could be affected by them.

He was pleased- that his soul mate would know his name, would know of him. Although he wonders what the context, ever a very important context for such things.

He'd been told that he would know without a shadow of a doubt, just who his soul mate is. No one, and nothing can fake a soul mate bond. Not with how the soul pain burns, not with how the words glow and pulse in time with the heartbeat of your soul mate.

You are Honsou?

It was such a short phrase, but it was a simple one. Many people could say those words, many people had. It's a casual phrase, but no matter who said it, he would only feel a rush of disappointment that they are not his soul mate.

During one of the many battles he'd fought, a certain blue and gold clad Space Marine- with the Ultima scratched out- but the gleaming of his armor marking him out as a Son of Guilliman.

Rare is it so see one of them on this side of the Eye. And there are two- the one who'd nearly taken off his head, and his large friend who'd fought side by side with him.

"I know you," Honsou says, recognizing the warrior who'd nearly killed him.

"You are Honsou?" said Unnamed Ultramarine, for now at least. As the Ultramarine spoke those words. Instead of the anticipated rush of disappointment, he felt the euphoric rush of soul deep pain.

He keeps his face stone still and doesn't react to the pain to the best of his ability. To Show pain, to show weakness, was to be showing vulnerability to others, and that would have his older brothers tearing him apart.

He was already thought of as a bastard hybrid. Should it be known, without the Ultramarine proving his allegiance, either way, that this one is his Soul Mate.

Someone might be stupid enough to try and use this as of yet unnamed Ultramarine against him in the dance of bloody politics that the Chaos Marines, particularly the Sons of The Iron Lord Use.

*An Iron Warrior stepped in and hammered the butt of his weapon across the back of so far unnamed ultramarine's skull. He dropped to one knee, the wound on the back of his head opening once more and fresh blood soaking his armor.**

With that, his Soul Mate's face was briefly shadowed, hiding the fact- that he's likely reeling from the soul deep agony of a fresh soul mate bond.

Mine. Honsou thinks to himself. This one. He's mine. Now and Forever.

*Honsou nodded, "You know of me, but I don't know of you. What are you called?"*

Honsou has waited so long to meet his soul mate. He had wondered what faction his soul mate could be from. If they were mortal, xeno, dead, alive, or something else.

I finally found you. Honsou thinks to himself pleased as he eyes his soul mate.

"I am called Uriel Ventris," His soul mate says.

"A Former Ultramarine," Honsou says.

His Soul mates jaw jumps and clenches a little at his statement. How curious.

[astarionancuntnin]

Taming a Tempest

summary: oh, to be the Vampire Ascendant's dark consort. to have eternity and enhanced powers right at her finger tips - only to be denied. but two could play this game, and Malva would make Astarion regret witholding anything from her.

rating: E

word count: 3.5k

pairing: ascended astarion x consort malva (oc, evil!sorcerer!tav)

cw: 18+. post-game setting with an "evil" ending, mention of violence/murder, smut, hate sex, vampire sex (blood/bites), bdsm (Master/Pet, teasing, choking, slapping, degradation and praise), semi-public sex, overstimulation, p in v, possessive sex, creampie. full list on ao3

a/n: song inspo was BURY YOU by ari abdul

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Love.

It was such an alien concept to her. 

A weakness, something to take advantage of, to manipulate. 

A weapon.

Charming people, luring them away, leading them to their demise — for business or for fun, although the two coincided more often than not in her case.

So when Astarion first flirted with Malva, she saw right through his little games, but instead of giving him a taste of what she could do, she decided to play along. After all, he could be a distraction, but one she could afford.

Until it turned out to be more, and she realised she had fallen harder for him than she anticipated, and soon enough he was offering her eternity by his side, as his consort. Obviously, as the promise of everlasting life and uncontested power were all that she desired and more, her choice was clear.

However, after a few years of this, life became dull, and Malva found herself wanting — no, needing, more. She had had as much fun as she desired, killing, torturing, draining, now too. She had risen to the top of the city’s hierarchy, along with Astarion, while the city itself became a shadow of its once glorious self. But it had all become dull, and she wanted more, always more power. 

A routine had settled, and with the rules her Master established to keep a minimum of decency around the palace, she couldn't indulge as much as she would've preferred, and recently, it had become an itch that she urged to scratch. If she was already bored after a measly few years, eternity would be dreary.

“Kill only the targets I assign you, and no matter what, you are forbidden from bedding them.” He had ordered her. “You can seduce them, tease them, even, but I won’t allow anyone to lay their tainted lips on your body. You are mine, and mine only.”

Following this command was simple enough; next to her Master and herself, all her victims were considered lowly people, insignificant. 

Tonight, her Lord organised a soiree of debauchery to share a part of his ever growing army of spawns; those who specialised in pleasures of the flesh. He had repurposed the mansion’s rooms to turn it into a luxurious whorehouse, inviting the remaining power figures in the city — all more corrupt than the last — to establish an alliance.

That’s what he made it out to be, but really, everyone knew this was only meant as a show of power from the Vampire Ascendant. To show everyone else who owned this city, and exactly what their fates could be if they accepted his reign, and make an example of those who were to challenge his authority.

Just like this pretentious Lord who dared to gossip about him and his consort, questioning their position, but it didn't matter; he would be dealt with, just like the others.

Malva was well known across town; the Ascendant’s whore, she had heard, being passed around by the visitors that the vampire Lord deemed worthy. How ignorant of them, how perfectly blind they were to reality.

Her shoulder-length, light purple hair was let down for the night, and she wore a simple eyeliner and mascara, emphasising her soulless, black eyes. Her natural features hid her vampiric nature perfectly, blending in as nothing more than a mean-looking high elf, and Astarion made sure to keep this a secret. The only piece from her ensemble to hide the one proof of her immortality being her neck piece: a dark, thick choker, that hid the otherwise evident bite marks depicting her ownership, with a conveniently placed silver ring in the back of it, barely hidden by her hair.

She made sure to wear one of her most revealing dresses to fit the occasion, one that fit Astarion’s ensemble; a dark, see-through dress, with vines of bright red oleander flowers embroidered onto the long sleeves and bleeding over her chest, barely covering her nipples, knowing anyone who looked at her for too long would get their eyes gouged out by her Lord. A smile crossed her dark lips at the thought.

As Malva scanned the ball room, sitting in display over her Lord’s lap, she found her target: Lord Azarzi. 

He might’ve been considered handsome by mortal standards; with his deep brown eyes, short, wavy hair and a full moustache of the same colour, a bright smile and tanned skin. Faerûn would lose yet another soul tonight.

How tragic. How exquisite.

Through their bond, Astarion felt her delicious hunger for blood.

“Now, now, pet, no need to be hasty.” he purred close to her ear. “Remember what’s at stake; I'll reward you if you're good,” he let go of her waist, pushing her towards the open floor, where the remaining guests waited for an available room. “Now go on, make me proud.”

She always did; seeing her work her way around their enemies was a delightful sight to him, she was his most precious possession, and he loved to see her in action. 

Although Astarion’s rewards were nothing short of delightful, she was dying to know what a punishment would look like.

She had to have her fun one way or the other, and if he wasn’t going to allow it, she would show him that she never asked for permission in the first place.

Her bloodlust naturally guided her next movements, fluidly passing through the crowd as she made her way to her victim of the night.

“Lord Azarzi,” she greeted him, his name gracefully rolling on her tongue. “I'm pleased to see you have accepted our invitation.” 

“Ah, Lady Tavaler,” he reached for her hand, lifting it to give it a light kiss before letting it go. “Of course, I could never refuse an invitation from the mighty Vampire Lord.”

She despised the use of her name, but tried to shrug off its mention, along with the vivid images she had of how long and painful would this man's torturing be. All in due time.

“Call me Malva, please. I don't believe titles are quite necessary for this kind of occasion, don't you think?” She moved closer towards him, her hands finding the front of his shirt, tracing her way down his chest. “Have you had the chance to enjoy our exquisite company yet?”

He shivered under her touch, her sharp, dark nails digging through his shirt, “I'm afraid I haven't yet, no. Your rooms are quite busy, as it turns out.”

She clicked her tongue, “That simply won't do.” She took a hold of his hands, guiding them over her waist where they now laid, and pressed herself into him. “You're our guest of honour, you deserve the best treatment.”

His eyes peered down her dress, where her breast squeezed against his chest, with his hands lowering towards her ass, fully bare under her dress. “Do I now?”

She would enjoy killing him.

Her lips ghosted over the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Absolutely.” 

Her eyes darted towards Astarion, and she smiled wickedly when she noticed the way his hands dug into the armrests at his side, fighting to contain the seething fury within him. 

“Why don’t you follow me into one of our classier suites, reserved for the richest of our guests?” She continued, with her hand dancing around the back of his neck, guiding him into her, “I’ll personally take care of you tonight, if you will have me. Consider it a gift from the Vampire Ascendant, for accepting his invitation.”

He smiled, his brown moustache lifting along his lips, “Well then, who am I to deny the Vampire Lord himself?”

Her dark smile reached her cheeks, keeping her lips closed to hide her fangs, “I was hoping you would say that.”

As she grabbed his hand to carry him away to her special chambers where she guided all her victims, she felt the reach of Astarion’s mind.

“Careful, pet, wouldn’t want me to be jealous, would you?”

“Jealous? Of this meek mortal? My Lord, that doesn’t sound very highly of you,” she answered back through her mind.

“You know how I feel about people touching you, Malva. This is my last warning.”

“And here I thought you were the most powerful being of this city. I wasn’t planning on bedding this man, but maybe I should now. Maybe he’ll show me how a real man fucks and he’ll make me come in ways you never could.”

Oh, she could feel Astarion’s anger even from this distance. Good.

She didn’t make it to the room before she felt the Lord at her back pinning her to the nearest wall, his body pressing against her, rubbing his bulge between the curves of her ass.

“So the rumours were true; the vampire Lord has a whore as a wife…” He chuckled deeply, his hands roaming at the front of her dress, groping her breasts through her dress. “I have to admit, I always wondered how the Ascendant’s witch would feel stretched around my cock.” He breathed hard down her neck, his tongue tracing just below her ear, “Do you wanna find out, doll?”

She tilted her head as an invitation, “I believe I can please you in more interesting ways, my Lord.”

“That so?”

She smiled a toothy grin, “Ways you could only ever dream of.”

He scoffed, pulling back to free her from his hold on her, “Fine, I’ll bite, show me what you can do.”

The irony of his choice of words wasn’t lost on her, as she turned back to face him, unbuttoning his shirt to expose his muscled chest. A shame he had to die really, he had at least some potential.

Pulling back on his rolled down shirt, she guided her head into his neck where she breathed in his essence; pine and charcoal, with hints of citrus. Not the most displeasing, but would he taste the same?

She closed her eyes as she licked along the vein popping from his neck, her next feeding point, and he groaned, “You’ll have to try harder than that to please me, sweetie.”

Just as her tongue licked over her threatening teeth, about to dive her fangs into the delicious vein put on display just for her, she felt him being pushed into her, and when she opened her eyes, she was met with the very face of her Creator.

He twisted the blade into his back before pulling it out to slam it back into him countless times, blinded by his anger, as Malva was sprayed of his coughed up blood, adding a nice shade of red onto her pale, tattooed face and staining her skin through her dress. 

Lord Azarzi, now nothing but a lifeless corpse, sank to his knees before collapsing on the wooden, waxed floor.

“Really? That was a waste of perfectly fine blood,” She grunted as she crossed her arms, dismissing the body at her feet. “Now how am I going to feed tonight? This is as good as rotten.”

“Oh, you don’t get to give me that attitude,” He growled, grabbing her by her throat and pushing her against the same wall she was pinned to moments ago. “Not after teasing me like you did.”

She smiled, flashing her fangs, “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

“You insolent, little brat,” He tightened his grasp on her neck and her mouth opened up with a gasp. “I’m a lenient Master, giving you liberties and letting you practice your art in the comfort of our own home, and yet here you are, spitting on my generosity.”

“I just followed your orders, Master.”

“Oh no, no, no,” he clicked his tongue. “I ordered you to kill this man, and I had to do it myself, because you decided to play with your food.”

“It’s not my fault you’re an impatient bastard,” she spat out, defying his gaze.

His eyes turned a darker shade of red and Malva knew she had pushed him to his limit.

“That’s it. I’ve had it with you.”

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a leash he clipped to the back of her collar before yanking on it, sending her to the floor. 

“I think you’re long overdue for a corrective measure, don’t you think, my dear?”

She pulled back against it, pointing towards the remains of the lord she had lured away, “What about my drink? Are you really gonna make me starve?”

“I don’t think you deserve it, frankly,” he sneered.

“Gods, I hate you.”

“Now, now, where are you manners, dear? This isn’t how I trained you, is it?” He pulled her up, grabbing her by her throat. “Is it?”

She hissed through her teeth, “I’m not yours to tame.”

“Let’s see about that.”

He walked her to the nearest chair and bent her over his lap, keeping a tight hold on his leash to have her stand upright.

“Now,” he lifted her dress to reveal her bare ass, “I will give you a slap for each victim you have claimed within these walls.”

As she opened her mouth to speak up he gave another yank on her leash, silencing her. “Don’t you worry, I am a merciful Master; we’ll keep it to the number of souls you’ve claimed just this year. Twenty, was it?”

She tried to turn around to contest his claim, only to be met with a first slap on her ass.

“However, any other words you utter will count as an additional slap, understood?”

“Fuck you.”

Another slap, stronger this time, made her yelp.

“Twenty two, then.”

She gritted her teeth, debating on her next comment.

Slap. “Cat got your tongue, my sweet?” Slap. “Please, I would love to know what you think of me now—” Slap.

She cried, the sting spreading to her thighs.

“Do you still hate me?” Slap. “Do you fucking loathe me?” Slap. “Answer.” Slap.

“Yes!” She shouted. “Yes I do, fuck!”

“In that case, let’s make this more interesting; any sound coming from you will warrant an additional gift from my hand, hm?” Slap. “How’s that sound, darling?” Slap.

She yelped once more, the burning sensation of his palm against her taking her by surprise.

“One more, then.” Slap.

She bit her lip, silencing her moans. 

“That’s better.” Slap. “See how pretty you look on my lap?” Slap. “With your cheeks all red and your pussy all wet?” Slap. “Wet from me punishing you—” Slap. “ — like the little brat you are?” Slap.

“Would this be as fun if I didn’t have control over you, pup?” Slap. “Do you see how silly of you it is to desire anything more than I already have offered you?” Slap. “Don’t you love to be my little whore to put on display?” Slap.

Tears swelled to the corner of her eyes and her fists balled up, nails digging into the soft of her flesh as she held back the cries stuck in her throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, so incredibly well, my love.” Slap. “And look at you, not making any sound at all.” Slap. “Such an obedient little consort, all mine.” Slap.

“Last one now, are you ready? You can speak.”

She breathed hard, taking a moment to utter an answer, “Yes.”

He landed the last slap, harder than all the previous ones, and leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“Say ‘thank you Sir for my punishment’,” he rubbed her ass, bright red from his abuse.

Her mascara ran down her face, mixing in with the dry blood from the corpse laying not too far away.

“Thank you, Sir… for my punishment,” her voice was small and quiet, tamed.

“Now,” he easily dipped two fingers into her drenched pussy. “Do you think you’re ready for your reward, pup?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Get up, and remove my pants.”

Her shaky legs made it hard to stand up, but she followed his orders nonetheless. Removing his trousers, she set his raging erection free, veins popping out and already leaking from his arousal; the sight was both terrifying and incredibly exciting.

“Lift your dress back up and sit on my cock. You’re going to take all my come inside of you, and then we’ll go back to the party, understand? I want everyone to smell me on you. We can’t have people doubting my ownership after seeing you walk away with another man, can we?”

She nodded and did as he asked, straddling him with her hips lowering themselves onto his shaft with ease, and finally allowing herself to moan as she felt his length filling her up.

“Fuuuuuck,” he sank his nails into her hips, pushing her deeper. “You’re perfect my love, so perfect. Keep going for me, you’re doing amazing.”

The echo of their thighs slapping against each other faded with the sounds of pleasure from the neighbouring rooms, and Astarion wanted theirs to be louder.

His thumb found its way over her clit, pushing her closer to the edge as he rubbed circles around it, striking every nerve in her. Her hands grabbed onto the armrests, holding on for dear life as the stimulation became too much and her moans grew louder with each thrust.

“Come on, pet. If you come around my cock I’ll give you a little treat. You love treats, don’t you?” She nodded, words failing her. “Good, now make your Master proud, come for me, and scream as loud as you can.”

When she cried out from her earth shattering climax, it's as if the rest of the world paused around them, and it was only her and him, lost in one another. Every touch, every thrust, was all too much, pleasure blending in with pain as Astarion kept pounding into her.

The sight of Malva losing herself on his lap was almost enough for him to implode, she was only missing a single thing.

“Are you thirsty, my dear?”

She nodded, tears rolling down her defiled cheeks.

“Come here,” he pulled the collar of his shirt aside, giving her an opening. “Drink.”

Without losing another second, she bit down into his exposed neck, and she drank. She drank like he was the oasis in the middle of a desert; parched and ravenous from her stolen meal from earlier, exhausted by how he had used her body.

He grabbed the base of her scalp and pulled her away from him, making sure she didn’t drink too much. He could only allow enough that would satiate her thirst without freeing her from him.

With his forehead pressing against hers, he groaned, ”Say that you're mine. Say that you love me.” 

“I… love you,” her voice trembled.

“Mhmh, that’s right, my sweet. That’s right.”

Whether she knew it or not, ever since he made her his, he guided this dance. Everything she did was carefully thought through by him, knowing exactly how she would react every step of the way. He was the one pulling her in, like a pet on a leash. His pet.

And no matter how much she wanted more power, she couldn’t deny that the pull of his control felt delicious against her neck.

“Now, let's try this again, pup. Who owns you?”

“Y- You.”

He pulled the leash backwards, “Who?”

“You, Master.”

“That's right little love, you're all mine. Even if your dark, stubborn heart thinks it hates me, even if you don't see it, even if you try to deny it, deep down, you love me, because you know I am everything you need.” He breathed hard into her ear, “I’m the only one who understands you, the only one who could truly love you the way you deserve it.”

With one last push of his hips, he came roaring inside of her, filling her to the brim with his thick ropes of warm come. His hands over her waist held her tightly around him, making sure her womb would take every drop of him.

He enraptured her lips with his, kissing her fervently to taste himself on her mouth. When he finally pulled back, they were both panting, “Was I too harsh, love?”

She shook her head, her eyes half-lidded still dizzy from her unbecoming, “No, you were perfect, Astarion.”

It was rare that she used his name, but he allowed it in moments of intimacy like this one. The sound of his name rolled deliciously on her tongue, it was as much a reward for her to say it as it was for him to hear it.

He lifted her to her feet, pulling down her dress to give her a minimum of decency before putting his pants back up, straightening his jacket, and replacing his hair to appear as graceful as he was before taming his consort.

She smiled, linking her arm with his as they walked back to the ballroom, completely enamoured, “I love you, my Lord.”

He smiled back, giving her a quick peck on her cheek, “I love you too, my sweet.”

Was it love? She doesn't know for sure. Maybe some twisted version of it.

Was it passion, in its most depraved and unhinged state, an obsession for one another that would leave this city in ruins? 

Most definitely.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @ladycroft5245 @lets-just-daydream @pursuitseternal

[wendingways]

Wendingways' Star Wars fic recs

The vast majority of these are fix-its. Some are time travel/time loop. Most revolve around PT, TCW, and OT characters. A lot are also gen, as it turns out.

The order of the list has nothing to do with how much I enjoyed each fic, because I've enjoyed them all in different ways, for different reasons! Fics that seem to be really popular have been placed toward the bottom of each section, because I'm guessing they already appear on a lot of other rec lists. Aside from that, the order is pretty much random.

*Chapter and word counts may not be up to date. I try to go through once in a while to update the details for WIPS, but it's a lot to keep track of!

Complete multichapter fics

Finding Obi-Wan; T, 86.9k. Obi-Wan, having disappeared from the Jedi Temple, wakes up with no idea who he is or what the Force is and gets pulled into all manner of messes (yes, Hondo gets involved, of course he does), while Anakin refuses to believe he's dead and struggles to find him.

Blood and Copper Oxide; T, 36.3k. "Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader crash land on a planet that shouldn't have existed. Luke can't escape Vader and survive the planet at the same time. Darth Vader can't capture Luke and fight off the innumerable threats the planet sends his way. They might have to work together instead." Very cool story!

The Skywalker Secret; T, 39.8k. Anakin time travels back to the Clone Wars following Endor. The story is told mostly through the eyes of perplexed observers, and has an excellent ending; it's very satisfying and lovely!

Lunches at Anakin's; T, 93.1k. After Endor, thanks to the Force's meddling, Anakin finds himself alive but stuck on Tatooine, where he ends up reluctantly mentoring a Force-sensitive girl. (Technically complete, but part of a series which is not complete.)

(Tooka)Cat Scratch Fever; not rated, 17.7k. Luke adopts a tooka which turns out to be his father, under a curse by Sidious. (I would probably rate this one as T.)

In the Tall Grass; T, 18.5k. "After a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along." This one is so cool, it has such a fairytale feel to it! And there's a sequel!

Shadows of the Future; K+, 129.3k. Obi-Wan dies on Mustafar and is sent back to TPM, where he bonds with Anakin and begins to change the future for the better.

Gut Feeling; T, 7.5k. Amusing little multichapter wherein Piett is assigned a new aide who goes by the name of Lucas Starkiller (who is clearly not Luke Skywalker, definitely not), and from there becomes embroiled in treason.

May Death Find You Alive; T, 11.0k. Anakin gets stuck in a time loop where Obi-Wan keeps dying.

Empire Reimagined; series, T, 341.7k. A saga of Luke, Vader/Anakin, Piett, Veers, and Leia covering from ESB-era to post-ROTJ. Epic friendships abound! (Series not marked complete, but the last completed fic doesn't leave you hanging.)

Mirjahaal; T, 132.8k. Another lovely Wishful fic in the spirit of Empire Reimagined, involving favorite characters and somebody else who's a surprise!

The Exiled; T, 20.1k. "Leia has tried everything to help her baby son. She has turned to every expert on the Force she knows-- all but one. (Ben and Grandpa go camping)" (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Cloudy Symbols of High Romance; G, 22.1k. This one's a bit of a relict! Posted pre-AOTC, way back in 2001, it's a cool take on how Anakin and Padmé's AOTC-era reunion happened, and omg, it's so much better than AOTC. It's actually cute, and you can see why they like each other, and man does it make the knowledge of what's coming so much the worse.

Kintsugi; T, 16.7k. Quietly tragic, even though nobody dies and it's broadly a fix-it. Not a comfy fic, but one which is well done.

What Lurks in the Dark; T, 155.4k. "A simple mission to check out an abandoned weapons factory turns into a dangerous fight for survival. Trust is broken, loyalties will be tested, and dark secrets are brought to light. Because sooner or later, the truth always comes out."

The Beauty in the Beast; T, 46.1k. "When the Force decides it's had enough of Darth Vader and wants Anakin Skywalker back, it dumps his long-lost teenage son on his doorstep with an ultimatum: unless Vader renounces the Sith and turns back to the Light within three months, Luke will die."

Sibling Revelry; T, 24.9k. "After Bespin and before Endor, Darth Vader is shocked to discover that Luke and Leia are twins. Especially since Imperial Intelligence just told him that Organa and Skywalker are, erm, a tad closer than previously suspected..." A hilarious comedy of misunderstandings!

The Sith Who Brought Life Day; G, 13.3k. A rather entertaining take on how Vader found out who blew up the Death Star.

This Life of Ours; T, 53.9k. "On the run from the empire and the remaining Jedi alike, Vader must come to terms with his past and his future, all the while learning to care for the boy that is his only connection to his life as Anakin Skywalker." (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Teach the Padawan. Save the Galaxy.; series, T, 387.4k. 4 books complete, but the series itself is not complete. Ben Kenobi goes back in time and becomes Obi-Wan's master instead of Qui-Gon.

Legacy; G, 175.5k. Post-ROTJ Luke and Leia time travel to the Clone Wars.

there but for the grace of god; T, 49.2k. Young Luke winds up time traveling to the Clone Wars, where he causes both confusion and conversations that will lead to a brighter future for the TCW crew and the galaxy in general.

Precipice; M, 231.7k. "An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall." Padmé and Anakin each raise a twin and work to bring Palpatine down.

Don't Look Back; M, series, 533.7k. 2 books complete, 1 in progress. Leia gets sent back to AOTC-era, and omg is she a force to be reckoned with! Very detailed, very political series.

Oneshots

Negative Static Stability; G, 8.1k. Vader and Leia meet when Leia is 5; lessons on the workings of ships ensue, along with some good old Artoo scheming. Adorable!

Palpatine's Greatest Hits II: Imperial Boogaloo; T, 1.3k. Just Palpatine being salty. It's very fun! "Fortress Dramaticus" has got to be one of my favorite bits, coupled with Palpatine's ongoing disgust at its lack of shields and certain people's inability to learn certain lessons. And his disgust at Vader's Kenobi obsession. Okay, the whole thing is great. Go read it!

Dust to Dust; T, 4.7k. "Darth Vader goes back in time. The Galaxy is saved; he is not."

Puppet Kings; series, T-M, 18.8k. Really nicely done, dark oneshot trilogy (complete) about Luke, Vader, & Co. I'm not usually one for horror and tragedy, but I read the first fic in the series and didn't want to stop!

Amelioration; T, 8.2k. "A recently liberated Vader attempts to ameliorate the future by changing the past." A different sort of angle, and an interesting fic!

The Horrendous Space Kablooie; T, 6.2k. "9 year old Anakin wakes up on the Executor. Chaos ensues." Well worth reading! Can't say more because I don't want to spoil anything.

The Agony of Tarkin; G, 4.8k. "An extra in the Imperial Opera Company discovers he has been assigned the role of Darth Vader in its upcoming production of The Agony of Tarkin." Another hilarious fic in the vein of The Sith Who Brought Life Day and Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic.

Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic; G, 7.0k. "Palpatine makes a choice to hide his fiscal manoeuvres in the Financial Department. The Financial Department takes advantage of this lack of transparency to do whatever they want. This saved the Republic." It's always fun to watch Palpatine shoot himself in the foot, and all the better when it comes completely out of left field.

Out of Step; T, 4.9k. Nice little oneshot with post OT-era Obi-Wan and Anakin stuck into their TPM-era selves.

FIVE HUNDRED AND ONE THING THE MEMBERS OF THE 501ST LEGION OF THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO; T, 4.9k. A hilarious list composed by General Kenobi. I laugh myself silly every time I read this. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

501 MORE THINGS THE 501ST ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO; T, 3.4k. A sequel to the 501st list fic, also very funny, although it only has about 250 entries, not 501. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.) Listed with oneshots because the extant 250 entries can be read as a complete list.

Where Have We Come?; T, 2.0k. "The first time was one of the hardest and the easiest. Obi-Wan loses at Mustafar, but instead of dying he wakes up at the dawn of the last day of the republic, doomed to repeat the worst day of his life, over and over again." Time loop!

you drew stars around my scars (but now i'm bleeding); not rated, 1.1k. Post-Twilight of the Apprentice, Ahsoka and Anakin. I'd rate G or T. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

still dancing with your ghosts (sleeping with your memories); M, 1.1k. "Everyone knows about the Massacre, and how no Jedi made it out alive. The Jedi refuse to let anyone forget." I do not cry easily at fics. This one made me cry.

The Trick is to Keep Breathing; T, 3.5k. "She's older now, and so is he. Far older now. She wonders: will he have lost any power with his age? Will he be shorter, weaker? An old man on a ventilator? It's hard to imagine that he won't still be dangerous. But then, that's exactly what she's counting on."

Tuning up your TIE-Fighter to prove you’re better than the bastard currently running the TIE-Fighter Program for fun and profit; G, 7.1K. "As a rule, Vader didn't really do anything with his social media account, but then the rant of some kid from Tatooine about the inefficiency of TIE Fighters began trending, the pilots and engineers on the Devastator started fixing their ships and Vader got invested."

Multichapter fics that are incomplete but still appear to be alive as of now

Turning Point; T, 9.8k. After Vader dies on the second Death Star, he's sent back in time to the year 69 BBY, on Naboo, where he picks up an unfortunate barnacle in the person of the teenage Sheev Palpatine. Quite entertaining, and I can't wait to see where it goes!

The Good He Seeks; T, 70.1k. "After killing the Emperor, Darth Vader agreed to serve the fledgling New Republic and destroy the last true-believers of the Empire he had once helped create. But he's living on borrowed time." Though I do enjoy pure fix-its, there's just something that really gets me about fics that are fix-it-ish, but life is messy, the characters are messy, there are no easy answers or perfect solutions, and every positive development really feels earned. So far, this is one of those fics, and I'm loving it!

The Galaxy Revolves at a Million Miles a Day (Around Me); T, 40.7k. After dying on Executor during the battle of Endor, Piett finds himself trapped in a time loop which he must break. I'm a sucker for time loops, and this is such a good one!

The Sleepover to Restore the Republic; T, 56.1k. This many Skywalkers, clones, and associated friends, relatives, and coworkers were never intended to be thrown together, and when they are, boy oh boy. Gloriously chaotic and funny. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Nameless, on the Edge of Nowhere; M, 100.7k. Vader survives ROTJ, but both he and Luke made it out of the second Death Star via random hyperspace jumps in separate ships. After getting by for a time, the not-fully-Sith-but-not-fully-redeemed Vader ends up with the Rebellion, where Leia becomes his handler. Slow build, and a really rewarding read thus far! (Also, I love the OCs in this one; they all feel very natural and vivid, and like people in their own right.)

Multichapter fics/series for those okay with living on the edge (inconsistent updates, long hiatus, or abandoned)

Headaches; T, 31.2K. "When Luke overhears his aunt and uncle arguing, he follows old Ben to Daiyu. Skywalker shenanigans ensues." Oh my goodness, the pure child chaos that is in this fic, it's an excellent time. Hasn't updated in almost a year, but what's there is so good!

Balance on the knife edge; T, 136.6k. After dying on Malachor, Ahsoka time travels back to Mortis, during the Clone Wars.

The Thunder Answered Back; M, 13.1k. "Count Dooku survives his duel with Anakin Skywalker only to wake up as a captive in the Jedi Temple on the evening of Order 66 and the siege. Betrayed, maimed, and surrounded by slaughter on every side, he must choose his path forward - and choose it quickly. RotS AU." Featuring Jocasta Nu.

Synchronous; G, 67.9k. "It's the usual time-entangling fiasco: 'Find the disturbance. Rectify the wrong. Fix the anomaly. Bring balance to the past so the Force may be balanced in the future.' There is a slight miscalculation, however, and Luke Skywalker finds himself in the Clone Wars while having to masquerade in the body of his late father Anakin Skywalker. Leia and Han aren't so helpful either."

In the Midst of Darkness Lays a Sleeping Light; T, 26.0k. Series, wherein Palpatine turns Vader into a dragon. (It goes great for both of them. Totally.) Angsty and enjoyable, and an interesting exploration of dehumanization/rehumanization.

To Set Up a Sith; T, 35.2k. "Teenage Luke tries to help his unwitting Sith father make a friend, with a little help from his ghost mom and the Force." Interesting story with fun and sweet bits, and I'm super curious about how it will turn out if it's ever finished!

like a lazy ocean hugs the shore; T, 10.7k. After Vader kills him, Fox gets stuck in a time loop around the time when Fives is killed.

Living Every Day; T, 82.9k. "When Satine Kryze survives her encounter with Darth Maul, it changes the galaxy. But even more than that, it changes the lives of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Skywalker family."

Dancing with Ghosts in Your Garden; T, 979.3k. Star Wars PT and TCW characters, but in a Hogwarts setting. It works surprisingly well! There's a little more teenage romance than is my personal preference, but it's a cool AU and quite long if you're looking for a fun, imaginative fic to absolutely bury yourself in for a while. (And it looks like Ahsoka might finally be entering during the next year of the fic!!)

What We've Become; T, 82.0K. "Darth Vader and Ahsoka’s fight on Malachor takes a different path, and Ahsoka actually is able to save her master. Or rather, she’s able to convince him to save himself. Diverges from canon in the last few minutes of Twilight of the Apprentice and goes increasingly AU from there."

better late than never; G, 41.4k. Ahsoka wins at Malachor, Vader redemption fic.

Madhouse Promenade; T, 13.0k. "In a bid to save his new apprentice's life, Darth Sidious siphoned the life force from Padmé Amidala, ultimately killing her. Ten years later, after finding out the truth, Darth Vader finds himself haunted by her ghost, and Padmé finds herself face-to-face with what her husband has become."

Hard Reset; T, 33.4k. "Anakin Skywalker wakes up to his worst nightmare, and he doesn't even know all of it yet." Aka Vader gets amnesia, and Anakin is confused about everything. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

The Ghosts on Coruscant; T, 143.6k. After surviving Mustafar and living as a rebel for eight years, Padmé is captured by the Empire, and Vader finds out.

Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns; T, 616.6k. ST-era Leia time travels back to ANH.

Old Man Luke; M, 109.4. ST-era Luke and Leia time travel to the Clone Wars.

Comics (all wips)

Dark Chasm; T, 21 chapters. "On Bespin, the truth is revealed, and Vader bids for Luke to join him. Luke looks down into the dark chasm and makes a choice."

Imperial Babysitters; T, 17 chapters. Cute comic/art series with Luke being raised by Vader, Piett, and Veers.

Our New Hope; T, 57 chapters. "After Ahsoka Tano discovers 12-year-old Luke Skywalker on Tatooine, she takes him under her wing and around the Galaxy. Meanwhile, Darth Vader has found Bail Organa's force-sensitive daughter and has started training her as a Junior Inquisitor. A chance encounter between the twins brings their worlds together."

The Tinies; G, 76 chapters. Cute comic with Vader and Padmé raising Luke and Leia.

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 23- shadows, stalking, who’s there?

The only times that I use all three prompts is when it’s a super goofy and lighthearted fic lol.

Anyways Twi loves cats. So very much.

Warnings: implications of broken bones, implications of animal abuse, but it’s very, very mild.

~~~~~~~~~~

Everything about this place put Twilight on edge. He couldn’t explain it, but he constantly felt like he was being watched by something in the shadows. But everytime he looked over his shoulder, there was no one watching him. He tried to convince himself that he was overreacting, but the feeling never went away. Eventually Twilight found himself alone in an alleyway, away from other people. His heart rate spiked as he looked around, his paranoia getting the best of him as he got even more lost. The sun was setting, making the alleyway harder to see, which didn’t do him any favors for his anxiety.

Something was knocked over behind him and he flinched, pulling out his sword to protect himself from whatever appeared. But he found nothing, just an empty alleyway with knocked over crates scattering across the ground. Twilight growled and got low.

“Who’s there?” He called out in a firm voice, holding his sword defensively. It was silent for a moment, until Twilight heard the tiniest little meow. He gasped when he saw a little orange kitten wander out from behind the crates, staring at Twilight with the biggest, darkest eyes he’s ever seen. The rancher quickly put the sword away, the fear of being stalked immediately leaving him as his heart practically exploded. He gave a small squeal that the others would never let him live down, and he got on his knees as the little baby trotted towards him, sniffing his hand cautiously before rubbing his head against it. Twilight gave out another squeal and picked the kitty up, scratching its little head as it purred.

“Oh sweet spirits above you are so cute,” Twilight cried, trying not to smother it with kisses. The kitty sniffed his cheek and Twilight gave it a very gentle squeeze. “You’re just a babyyyyy.”

The kitty meowed and Twilight practically started weeping, stroking its back gently, until he heard another noise behind him. Twilight snapped out of his stupor and he shot up, holding his sword in one hand and the kitten in the other.

“Who’s there?” He called out, more aggressively this time, holding the kitten protectively. This time, a group of men walked out from the buildings around him, surrounding him. They all snarled and sneered, pulling out their various weapons. Twilight glared at them, holding his sword defensively. “Who are you?”

One stepped up in front of the others, swinging around a club arrogantly. “We’re just simple folks trying to make a living, my good sir.”

Twilight narrowed his eyes. “And what does that have to do with me, exactly?”

The leader chuckled, looking at the men around him, who chuckled as well. “You’re worth a lot of money, boy. And we got families to feed.”

Twilight growled. “You’re bounty hunters!”

“Not very bright are you?” The leader sneered. “So soft too. I knew the kitten would lead you in somehow.”

Twilight gasped. “You used it against me?”

“Of course we did. It wasn’t easy to get either, the darn mother was so… feisty.”

Fury built up in Twilight’s chest. “You took it from its mother? What kind of a monster does that?”

“Oh please, it’s just a cat.” He said nonchalantly. Twilight growled holding the kitten tighter against his chest, and the bounty hunter scoffed. “Get him boys, try not to hurt him too much.”

Twilight brought his sword behind him, deflecting an attack from behind. He kicked the person who attempted to take a blow at him, and dodged another attack from someone with a knife. He fought defensively, making sure that nothing would hurt the kitten bundled up in his arms. He deflected an attack from a sword and punched the owner’s nose, hearing a satisfying pop. He kicked another bounty hunter in the chest, hearing a loud crack as he was slammed against the wall. One grabbed the arm that was cradling the kitten, and Link gave him a death glare. He saw the fear in the hunter’s eyes and he punched him hard in the face. Soon, there were only two remaining, the leader, and one holding a spear. They looked at him in fear, and the leader glanced at the other one.

“C– c’mon! It can’t be that hard to capture him!” He shouted. The spear-holding bounty hunter huffed and charged Twilight. The rancher planted his feet and grabbed the hunter with one hand, throwing him across the alleyway. He turned to the leader, who looked terrified. Twilight gave him a smirk and checked the kitten, who was purring and snuggling up against his chest. He gave a hum of satisfaction and walked over to the leader, who hopped back.

“W-wait! Wait hold on, we can come to an agreement,” he stammered, dropping his club. Twilight glared at him, holding his sword to his throat.

“Why would I come to an agreement with you?”

“We’ll come for your friends next, boy. They, especially the smaller ones, seem easier to nab than you.”

Twilight pressed his sword up against his throat, snarling. “I’m not going to let you hurt any of them, especially the smaller ones.”

“You know, if you give yourself up willingly, I might… well… forget about them.”

Twilight tilted his head, then snorted, bringing his knee to his gut and punching him unconscious.

“As if I’d give you the chance to hurt any of them,” he muttered, grabbing rope that fell out of the crate. He set the kitten down and tied up the bounty hunters, walking away from the alleyway with the tiny feline in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kitten was talkative as Twilight walked towards a farm as a wolf. He held the kitten gently in his mouth as he talked and talked about his life on the farm.

“And I tried to catch a mouse myself, but it was too fast for me and the others kept making fun of me ‘cause of it,” the kitten rambled, and Twilight only hummed in response. When he got closer to the farm, he made sure to stay out of sight from the farmers, not wanting to scare them with the presence of a large wolf. But luckily, a different pair of eyes saw him, a momma cat came running towards him, looking frantic as she saw her son in the wolf’s jaws.

“Mommy!” The kitten cheered as he was set down, and he ran to his mother while she rubbed her face against him.

“You’re safe! I was so worried!” She cried.

“I got taken by humans, but that’s ok! Because this wolf saved me!”

The momma cat looked at Twilight, and rubbed against his legs. “Thank you so much. Wolves don’t normally help us smaller animals. You’re too kind.”

Twilight booped her with his nose, and the kitten joined them.

“He’s not actually a wolf, he’s a human! He just turned into a wolf!”

“Oh, enough with your stories,” his mother scolded.

“But it’s true!”

Twilight gave a wolf-like chuckle as the kitten and his mother argued. Soon, more kittens came by, looking at the large and gentle wolf with their mother and brother.

“Woah! A wolf!”

“Is he nice?”

“Mommy don’t get eaten!”

Twilight laid down as all the kittens laid on top of him, playing with his ear, snuggling in his fur, and licking his nose. The rancher was enjoying every second of it.

“I’m so sorry about my kits, they don’t know manners,” the momma cat apologized, but Twilight huffed it away. He loved being bombarded by kittens. “I can't blame them for wanting to play on you, your fur is so soft.”

Twilight booped her with his nose and rested his head on the ground. The momma cat reluctantly curled up on his side while her kitties joined her. They all nuzzled in comfortably, some of the kitties making biscuits on his back. Twilight rested his head on the ground and let out a huff, and soon, the animals were drifting off, with Twilight feeling like he was in heaven.

He loved cats.

[wildflower-whisperss]

A letter to my little furball

My life changed in ways I never thought possible the moment you entered it—a tiny black furball that looked more like a moving shadow than a puppy. No, you weren’t a soot sprite from Spirited Away, but you were just as magical. Cuter, fluffier, and way more chaotic. At first, I couldn’t even tell where your eyes or ears were. You were just this round, fuzzy little thing with a single speck of golden light hiding in your eyes. And when I found out you were a boy, I named you Bolt. You didn’t care about the name. What you did care about was making one thing clear: my sister and I were officially your moms now. And in that moment, my world stopped being mine. It became yours.

You were so small, so clumsy, and yet somehow, so full of energy that I wondered how it all fit inside you. You couldn’t decide if you were a rabbit or a dog, bouncing around on those wobbly little legs, your body too heavy for you to control. Watching you try to scratch your ear with your hind leg was comedy gold. You’d topple over every single time, looking both confused and determined, like, “Wait, why is my body working against me?”

And then there were your teeth. Oh, your snippy, snappy baby teeth. They weren’t teeth—they were tiny needles, sharper than they had any right to be. You didn’t just nibble, you attacked. Your play language was simple: bite everything and everyone. Fingers, toes, sleeves—nothing was safe. My sister and I screamed more than we laughed because you treated our hands like chew toys. And the worst part? You thought it was hilarious. Your tail would wag as you pounced on us, your tiny mouth full of mischief, like biting our fingers was your favorite game in the world.

Taking care of you felt like a crash course in madness. You demanded food every six hours, no compromises. Boil water. Cool it down. Add tonics and mix it into your royal feast. You ate like a king, and when you were done, you’d sit there licking your tiny nose like you’d just finished a five-star meal. But the aftermath? That was less royal. You pooped everywhere. In the corners, in the middle of the hall, next to the couch—no place was safe from your mushy little “gifts.” My sister and I became professional poop cleaners. We gagged, we groaned, and we laughed, all while scooping up the mess with paper. The faces we made could’ve won awards for the world’s best memes.

But even in the chaos, you grew. Your fur turned a soft, warm brown, your eyes became big and golden, and your ears finally decided they belonged on a dog… mostly. They still looked more like rabbit ears, but I adored them anyway. You stopped being just a furball and became a tiny bear-sheep hybrid. You were ridiculously, impossibly cute, and you knew it.

Our walks became sacred. The moment you heard the word “walk,” your tail would wag so hard I thought you might fly. You’d sprint to the door, full of excitement, as if we were about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life. But halfway through, you’d stop, plop down in the middle of the road, and give me those puppy eyes—the ones that said, “I’m tired. Carry me.” And of course, I did. How could I not? My sister and I took turns carrying you in our arms like a baby, and you loved every second of it. Your smug little smile gave you away.

And the tantrums! Oh, Bolt, you were dramatic. If I wore track pants but didn’t take you for a walk, you’d throw a full-blown fit. Your face said it all: “Why are you even wearing those if we’re not going out, huh? Huh?” And let’s not forget your barking. You barked at crows like they were plotting against us, at newspapers like they were deadly weapons, at people wearing caps and masks as if they were villains from some crime thriller. Even strangers walking past our gate weren’t spared. You acted like you were the last line of defense against the apocalypse, even though we both knew you were just a big, goofy cinnamon roll.

Now, four years later, I look back and realize how much you’ve changed my life. You’ve taught me to notice the little things. The way your ears perk up at certain words. The way you sleep so deeply, yet always wake up the moment I leave the house, as if you’re keeping track of me. The way you sneak into my room, even when you know you’re not allowed, just to give me a sloppy, wet boop on the face.

You act grumpy sometimes, like when we don’t share our snacks with you, but underneath it all, you’re soft and sweet. You don’t ask for much—just love, belly rubs, and your favorite treats. And in return, you’ve given me everything.

You’ve been my anchor in ways no one else could. On days when I felt like giving up, you were there��wagging your tail, looking at me like I was your whole world. You didn’t care how I looked, how much I achieved, or how many times I failed. You loved me for me, in the purest, most unconditional way I’ve ever known.

Sometimes, I try not to think about a future without you, but the thought sneaks in, and it’s unbearable. I can’t imagine coming home to empty bowls, or a clean floor that doesn’t need sweeping four times a day. I can’t imagine the front yard without you waiting for me, tail wagging, eyes full of excitement. I can’t imagine a house without your warmth, your fur, your presence.

Bolt, you are my heart, my light, my home. You are the Calcifer to my Howl, the spark that keeps me alive. If I had to trade half the years of my life to spend an eternity with you, I would do it in a heartbeat. And if I have to bear the pain of losing you just for the privilege of loving you, I would bear it, a thousand times over.

You’re not just my dog—you’re my shadow, my joy, my reason to keep going. I may not be your biological mom, but I’m your mom in every way that matters. And I love you, Bolt. More than words can ever say. Always. Forever.

[the-forests-blessing]

Chapter 7

There’s something therapeutic about disabling simple traps set out for him. It’s a daily ritual. There’s a muted sense of pride to be felt in keeping the innocent creatures away from harm, and away from the hunters that invade his forest. The hunters that plague his entire life are a sickness he knows that he’ll never truly be free from. Staying hidden in the forest is the only cure when it comes to survival. There used to be some semblance of a sanctuary he found deep within the heart of the forest. Where the shadows are darker, and the fog is thick. The mobs don’t even find safety and comfort in the glittering teal glow of the foliage and knotted roots. 

     This is where he thrives, this is where he finds his peace and quiet.      That is... until these past few moons. 

     There’s a pesky blond bee that keeps buzzing around his territory, talking to himself and leaving tracks all over his pathways. Wasted efforts in keeping that human out, for he keeps returning and asking more and more questions. Hard to have an opinion on such an unfamiliar face, he’s never seen him amongst Beacon’s guards nor hunters. Nor.. anybody!      While the scholar evades the deity’s enthusiasm, he also evades his will to cast him out after that grandiose display of.. something . Something different that Admin has not seen in all his years of haunting these woods. The human seems to care for the wildlife and has no fear of traversing the fog that lay, having.. apologized for the plucked leaf. Although he’s just a mere scholar, for his insistence and determination, the Admin cannot fault him for just being a human. Though he’s loud, clumsy, and very ill prepared for any sort of threat; Admin felt seen, just for a moment.      A spark within the author's gaze, the words he had spoken. Admin had taken the first chance he could to leave him alone now that he’s gotten a much closer look at who’s scaring the birds and stumbling through his trails. That excited gleam in his eye, always pointed upward towards the trees.. It’s no wonder he fell into that pitfall. The insolence of those hunters, they never truly realize the trouble they cause or the dangers they put themselves in, with the scholar included.      His boots land heavy in the mud as he makes his own tracks toward the familiar depth of his own woods. Everyday is a different path, but one he’s walked before with the decade he’s spent alone. While images of that blond man flash in his mind like static memories, the deity finds the pitfall once more.      The pitfall that seems to be the cause of it all. The forest has been much noisier since the scholar fell, his stupidity was blinded by bravery and curiosity. He’s seen the notes, he’s seen the clothes, and he’s seen the man’s inventory. Not a single weapon wielded by this surprisingly brave author. There’s no right reason why the man would be traveling alone during the night in such an unfamiliar place. 

     The Admin frowns and shakes his head at the feel of an irritating beetle crawling upon his hair. With a few scratches the pesky little bug goes away. His illuminated gaze rises as he takes in the surrounding foliage. Checking for signs of any further.. tampering. He stands motionless as he then peers down, seeing the pointed wooden stakes that now stick up from the muddy pitfall, the mild scent of residual smoke makes him scrunch up his nose. Horrid. These hunters.. They find one of their own citizens, be it very ill prepared, and they return to not only check the pit, but to make it more dangerous. The scholar would die from this newly set trap. No cover, no ropes, no precautions taken while resetting the pitfall. All it would take is another rainy night.      Briefly the sun shines through the clouds, the light catching within his gaze. So he looks upward, shading his darkened eyes with a raised palm. It’s been a very long time since the sun broke through this dense fog. Seeing its light, and feeling the warmth upon his face, seems like years since he’s felt this. And only for a moment too, before the sun is shrouded in the clouds and its rays snuffed out. With an exhale, the Admin looks back down to the pit. Using that same hand raised for the sun, he lowers it just a bit, keeping it hovered above the deep hole.      The earth beneath his feet begins to shake as the sound of tearing roots and pouring dirt fills the air. In mere seconds the wooden stakes are buried, snapping loudly as the weight of the dirt and mud begins to settle in fast. Without a sound from the deity himself, he turns his wrist and flexes his fingers before tightly closing a strong fist as the trap is completely filled in. With the author in mind, the patch of land has been restored to its former self. The trap will eventually be forgotten, as were the past traps he’s destroyed already. He scuffs his boot along the damp soil.

     Naturally, the grass would take some time, but that’s what’s lovely about the forest, it's his domain and his influence runs deep. With another wave of a mighty blue palm, unseen sprouts come to life and bloom within an instant. The grass grows into a small patch of dark green, while soft white wildflowers puff up and bloom. Naturally weeds come in too, while the soil itself decides what is going to grow. The damp moss will be quick to spread with the fallen rain that still lingers within the substrate, so he leaves it alone to bloom naturally.      Admin drops his hand, expressionless as he looks over his work, then over his wide palm adorned by a leather glove torn with time and use. He knows the author will return, no matter how often he’s kicked out. A single deep sigh later and he runs his palm down his face. The area hardly looks the same without the massive hole, the flowers hide the scars.       So he turns and carries on his way, further into the thicket.      When completely alone, after spending quite a bit of time with the little blue creature, it’s strange when the Allay is not around. The skittish little bugger must be searching for its new friend, the lack of trilling in his ear reminds him that it is his own fault. Behaving in ways he doesn’t understand. He recalls how he treated the author the previous day, coming from the shadows and instilling fear. This man has betrayed everything he knows already about humans; how they lie and cheat, and say what they believe will keep them protected. The Admin grimaces. He is nothing but just another trespasser. One who’s.. Shown interest in the forests biome and refused to believe the rumors spun around by the BeaconTown guard. No threats, no pleading for his life, he only..      ‘You.. don’t talk...’ The man had said. 

     ‘They said you’d kill me..’ The thought never crossed his mind. The scholar's eyes were so painfully honest as he continued to speak. Even after throwing him to the dirt day after day.. It was strange, undeniably different and too friendly. Regardless, the blond is still clumsy, stupid, and distracting. Invasive. Something to keep an eye on, for he may switch up when given the chance..       Admin scratches at his hair yet again, having spent enough time thinking about the scholar, it’s slowed his patrol for long enough and he’s not even here yet. There’s plenty of daylight left, it’s only a matter of time.

     ~

     Lukas wasted no time packing up for another adventure into the woodland bordering Beacon’s territory. The trees are just too tempting as compared to the drab sights BeaconTown has to offer. Seriously, whoever chose to change the town’s vibrant array of colors to this dull mixture of reds and blacks needs a big wake up call. It just makes the place look so… self centered. A vision composed by one person rather than the citizens the town promised to bestow creativity towards. If it’s the mayor’s doing, someone really needs to go to her office with an extensive and well thought out complaint. 

     The town would probably benefit better if it was gifted the right to create once again. 

     What on earth is holding them back? 

     Our author stands at the end of the grassy field, just barely touching the tree line. His attention was briefly brought back to that imposing tower in the sky. He watches the clouds drift lazily overhead, just barely grazing its peak. Such a powerful monument... He wonders if that’s the place where this mayor resides. Afterall, he hasn’t seen her, or even heard of her outside of the quiet mentions of her existence from few willing conversations here in town. Lukas drags his eyes off it, finding it to be nothing but a distraction from his goal. 

     Yesterday was a massive leap in progress in comparison to the past week since he arrived in town. 

     While the Admin certainly did frighten him a tad at first, he quickly reassured himself with the reminder that this is the same guy who had made an effort in saving him from the pitfall. He didn’t have to, but the fact that he did keeps Lukas’ spirits high. He’s not sure what the tension between BeaconTown and the Admin is. He wishes someone would just tell him, but he’s quite confident that that knowledge is far out of reach, at least for now. With a town full of neglected citizens, too weary to speak of the town’s true nature, and with an Admin.. This massive, expressionless, and mute god who keeps his secrets to himself. Well…

     Lukas can only hope that with time will come understanding. 

     Today’s focus is… A proper introduction! And hopefully the Admin accepting his advance in establishing a form of communication that he’d come up with the night prior. 

     The moment Lukas breaches the dense fog, he can already tell something is different. The fog didn’t linger very long, nor did it take him through a maze of twists and turns. The blue mist filled his vision and, within seconds, he was emerging on the other side of the forest. The Admin’s forest. 

     Today, he took himself down the most familiar route he’s taken thus far. The same one he’d familiarized himself with on his first adventure through the shadowed woodland before his excitement was cut short by an… unforeseen pitfall trap. The only difference this time is he’s well more acquainted with his surroundings and… Dewey isn’t here. His ocelot companion he knows is safer residing back at the BeacInn. He knows Dewey wants to join him, as he makes a show of it every morning with a begging meow and an extending paw before Lukas heads out the door. Lukas’ heart is crushed every time he leaves him, but ever since he fell into that trap, his mind explores treacherous and unwanted thoughts where it’s Dewey who gets caught, and if there’s deadlier traps awaiting him... 

     Lukas shakes off that thought. He’s safe back in the room. He’s probably curled up on the bed, dreaming of chasing birds while snoozing in the nearest sun beam. 

     One thing Lukas recognizes is different about the dark forest as compared to the normal one, is that this one here is undoubtedly more wet. Even with the few rainless days he’s been blessed with, there still seems to be a wealthy supply of moisture enriching the soil here. From the damp moss that covers the trees and their twisted roots, down to the muddy substrate that dirties the forest floor, it makes traversing the forest a bit more tricky, especially not wanting to get his nicer shoes wet. 

     “Mmmaybe today would have been a good day to wear my gear.” He ponders, gazing down upon the muddy ground. It’s not muddy to the point that the ground will grab his shoes and suction against them like the sticky mud in mangrove swamps, but it is enough to make Lukas a bit less confident in where he’s stepping. The blond sighs and gives his surroundings a good look over before he decides to just get over it. What kind of ecologist would he be if he’s afraid of getting a little dirty? Lukas presses forward, simply keeping a close eye on where he’s stepping. 

     Eventually, Lukas is approaching a familiar spot. Or well, at least a spot that felt familiar before he approached closer and, to his surprise… 

     Lukas looks around, recognizing this clearing as something familiar but… different all the same. He could have sworn he was on the correct path that led him to the pitfall he’d been fated to discover. He remembers some of the trees and moss placement from when he would glance up from the map he’d been working on, but… 

     There is no pitfall. There is, however, a nice little patch of grass sprouting from the earth and what seems to be a few delicate flowers protruding from the damp soil. Lukas approaches the patch, kneeling down and gently laying out his palm. He graces the flower with the soft touch of his palm, examining it closely. “Woah… beautiful.” The blond whispers his awe. “Azure bluet? Growing out here?” He draws his hand back and stands, backing away from the patch. “ That’s strange. Not the kind of flower I’d be expecting to see growing in some place so…” He looks around. “ Dark.” He lifts his journal from his bag and jots down a few notes. “Though I guess strange isn’t anything out of the ordinary here.” 

     Well… He came here today with a goal. The author sticks his journal back into his bag, closing it with a soft pat. He returns his gaze to the foggy distance of the forest, taking a few minutes to work up his confidence. Why he’s suddenly so anxious to initiate contact with the Admin? He isn’t sure. He probably already knows Lukas is here, but knowing now that the creature who saved him and is the soul protector of these woods is a god… Well, it’s just a bit nerve wracking trying to get the guy's attention, because after most of his short encounters with him, he’s not exactly certain the Admin really wants it. 

     “Admin! Hello!” Lukas calls out to him anyway. Calling the deity’s… name? Or title. He isn’t sure. That alone encourages Lukas to extend his reach further, calling out louder, listening to how the forest of silence is no more with his continuous calls for attention. “It’s me…again!”  The hand he had risen up to his mouth as he called the Admin’s name now falls. The blond looks around, and of course, he’s not seeing much. After yesterday’s outburst, Lukas wonders if he’s simply awaiting a challenge again. Waiting for Lukas to say the wrong thing or make the wrong move just to take advantage of the moment and catch Lukas off guard in some way. 

     After a whole four minutes of waiting, the Admin never shows. “I guess.. You won’t mind if I go deeper into the forest then?” Lukas tries to instigate some sort of appearance. Nothing. 

     The ecologist sighs deeply, feeling the heavy pressure of disappointment weigh him down. He carefully walks around the little patch of delicate white flowers, admiring them one last time before he begins to press further in. This will be the deepest he’s gone so far. While he was hoping to at least talk with the Admin, he knows that there’s still much exploring to be had. So he continues onto a new trail, the path dark and muddy. 

     It’s not long before he’s noticing something deep within the dark mud. Lukas stops and stares, recognizing the unmistakable shape of boot impressions within the damp earth. Excitement surges through him instantly. The blond wanders close, kneeling down to examine the tracks closer until he’s realizing… the impressions are heading towards him. Back to that small clearing with the flower patch. His disappointment returns. He didn’t see any impressions on the way to the clearing, so the Admin must have taken a different route, or he simply teleported himself away, leaving no tracks to follow. 

     In that single moment, Lukas feels a chill breeze glide by. The blond’s skin prickles with goosebumps, and the hair on the back of his neck raises. Though he doesn’t feel fear, his body reacts to the feeling of being watched. Lukas swiftly turns his head over his right shoulder and… sees nothing. …Silence… That uneasy feeling returns again, so he looks over his left shoulder and still… nothing. “Hello?” Lukas stares back behind himself while he stands, his eyes slowly scanning the trees. 

     Slowly, the blond drags his gaze away from the path he came and– “Oh my gosh-!” He stumbles back a bit, looking at the cheerful blue spirit he’s been so restless to see again. The Allay laughs at his surprise, the sound so heavenly, it immediately eases the human’s tension. Lukas straightens with a relieved sigh. “It’s you… You and your Admin friend sure do like surprising me, huh?” Lukas’ startled expression has softened since recognizing the Allay, watching it flutter around him merrily. “Have you been following me?” He asks.

     The Allay merely blinks at him. Its eyes close as it then nods. 

     “Heh, you and the Admin sure share some similarities then. …Do you know where he is?” Lukas asks and, to his surprise, watches the Allay stop fluttering to tap at its own face as if to ponder a thought. It emotes similarly to humans, he examines. How much experience does this Allay have around humans? What of its origins? Lukas wonders. He watches the Allay turn and flutter back the way he had come, so he follows it. Out of the thicket and back to that little clearing with the flower patch. Lukas stands at the edge of the small circular space between the trees, watching the Allay closely as it flutters around the bundle of flowers. 

     “Listen, I don’t think he’s around here, trust me. I spent almost five minutes embarrassing myself by calling him and nothing happened.” He tries to explain, but the Allay itself seems distracted by the flower patch. The little spirit flutters around the patch of white flowers, kind of reminding Lukas of how a bee buzzes around flowers when collecting pollen. He doubts this is anything similar to that, because now the Allay returns to him, clutching a flower close to its body, then drops it off into Lukas’ waiting palm. The author looks down at the plucked flower, confused. “Well, thank you , it’s lovely, but I’m not sure this is going to help me here.” He says as he tucks the azure bluet into his satchel and gives the Allay a gentle smile. 

     The creature doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to him anymore. Its focus is now maintained on the satchel Lukas carries over his shoulder. The Allay makes a move towards it, pulling at its flap. “Well hold on a sec,” the human chuckles, humored by the little creatures' lack of muscle. Seriously, it could hardly lift the flap open with the golden magnetic strip keeping the flap secure against the bag. “Here, I think I know what you’re looking for,” Lukas walks to the grass patch and settles down on his knees, settling on everything but the flowers. “I wanted to bring enough for both of us this time.” Lukas reaches into this bag and draws out a single bundle, offering it to the Allay. “For you.” 

     The Allay hesitates.

     Lukas tilts his head to the side, puzzled by the lack of reaction. Instead, he holds out the bundle further. “They’re sweet berries. You loved it last time, remember?” he asks. 

     Lukas’ gaze searches the Allay, wondering what’s gotten it so… immobilized, when suddenly– Our author sucks in a sharp breath, his entire body freezing in place, his hand still and unmoving as another hand, much larger and blue reaches down from behind him and gently takes the bundle from him. Lukas and the Allay both look up, the spirit with a lack of expression, meanwhile Lukas is stunned into silence. 

     The Admin stands behind him. Tall, dark, and extremely menacing. His illuminated gaze locked with Lukas’ own, again bearing an unfriendly glare that would freeze the hearts of any unfortunate soul who dares trespass into his territory. The bundle stays lifted in his hand as they lock eyes. 

     “Uhh…” Is the most Lukas is capable of uttering until a few more intense seconds pass. “I uh..” Lukas averts his gaze while he stands, noticing how quick the deity is to take a number of heavy, yet slow steps back from him. The distance between them grows once again, and Lukas is stuck in his spot next to the azure bluets while the Allay comes to a comfortable hover near his shoulder. He glances at the trusting spirit, then back towards the Admin. The silent entity stays close to the shadows of the trees, allowing the most of what Lukas can make out of him only to be his glowing eyes. 

     “H-hey there..” Keep it together. Our writer straightens himself into a polite and proper posture, closing his eyes briefly just to breathe in and regain his professional composure before opening them once again. “About yesterday.. I apologize humbly for my outburst. Today I hope to make up for my wrongdoing by properly introducing myself.” He reaches out, extending a hand to initiate a handshake. “My name is Lukas.” 

     …

     The deity’s eyes sharply glance down at the invitation, yet he makes no move to return the gesture. Lukas feels his chest tighten with embarrassment, slowly withdrawing his hand and laying it back at his side. “Oookay. We can work on that– the handshake I mean.” He says, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck with his other hand. “Well. Admin… Should I call you that? Is that just a title or your actual name?” Lukas asks curiously, eyeing the deity with wondrous suspicion. The question only seems to make the Admin’s glare strengthen. Lukas backtracks on that question. “Alright. Admin it is then.” He smiles nervously, though the Admin doesn’t make any attempt at correcting him. Jeez.. He could really use a mere nod or shake of his head right about now. 

     “Did you hear me calling you earlier?

     …

     Lukas sighs, finally laying his hands on his hips, his eyes descending to the ground at his feet. What do I say to him!? I know he’s understanding me. What do I do here to get a response? Or just… anything! Lukas’ brows furrow, feeling increasingly worried about what to say. Maybe I should just be forward with him? I don’t really have much of an option if he’s just going to stand there and stare at me. 

     The Allay is the first to make a move between them, fluttering over to the Admin. Lukas watches as the deity turns his expressionless features to his spirit companion, then to the blond’s surprise, lays the bundle out in his massive palm, allowing it to unravel and the Allay digging in, pulling a berry out. The Allay chimes happily, doing a spin before wandering back over towards Lukas. The author is overjoyed to see the Allay finally accept his offer, albeit from the gloved hands of the Admin. Lukas watches the deity himself tuck the rest of the bundle into one of his own pockets on his utility belt. 

     Lukas blinks, realizing… “You’re the one that took them before?” He asks, then doesn’t pay much attention for an answer he knows he isn’t going to get. “I figured it was just the Allay, but if you like them too, then I can bring more for all of us when I come back.” He smiles shyly and grasps his arm, knowing damn well he’s practically promising the Admin he’ll be back. He wants to ask if that’s okay, if the deity would like that, but it’s hard to see a point in asking if all he’s going to do is be glared at in return. 

     Instead, he comes up with a solution to cure the awkwardness. “Oh! Hold on a sec...” Lukas quickly reaches into his satchel, shuffling around a bit until he finds his journal. “Okay, so -” he flips a few pages. “Something I can’t help but notice is our communication barrier. You don’t talk, that’s totally okay, but I do, so I figured why not come to a compromise where it’s not me doing all the talking! Because I don’t want everything to be completely one-sided, you know? I’d like to know what you’re thinking too! So…” Lukas opens his journal entirely and offers it out with one hand, his quill in the other. “I was thinking I could do the verbal form of speech and you could do the writing form.” He finishes, giving the Admin the nicest, friendliest and most sincere smile he can muster. 

     Hesitation… Then finally his heart skips and his hopes skyrocket the instant he watches both the journal and his quill lift from his hands. Lukas clasps both his hands together and lays them in his lap as he watches with unwavering amazement at the visual of the items floating freely in the air before falling into the hands of the silent Admin. Lukas stands there holding his breath in anticipation, watching the pages flip without a touch, his eyes flicking between the Admin’s own averted gaze, then back down at the journal. Even the Allay is wide-eyed and intrigued by the gesture, watching by Lukas’ side. 

     The deity’s scowl faces the journal, landing on a page and Lukas swears he might explode from anticipation… all until his hopes are shattered and crushed when the Admin snaps his book shut and flicks his eyes back at him. 

     “W-wait.. No. Nonono..” Lukas takes a few steps forward, making the deity tense and his glowing eyes flare, yet he makes no move to stop the author. Lukas comes to a halt just a few feet away from him. “Please.” He pleads. “I just… Something. Anything. That's all I’m asking.” 

     The deity’s glare narrows on him. Lukas suddenly grows extremely distraught. This was all he had left. He’s exhausted himself trying to come up with ways to go about this. If this doesn’t work… then…

     “I just want to be able to communicate with you. A simple nod yes or no would mean the world to me. Anything. I–” Lukas stops, his distressed gaze dropping to the ground. 

     He doesn’t know what reminds him, but he’s suddenly remembering all of the horrible encounters he’s had in BeaconTown this far. How rude and standoffish everyone seems to be towards him, aside from Radar and Nell of course. These past few days have been some of the worst when it comes to social encounters, and for the very first time in his life, he’s found something he’s grown desperate for information towards. Information that seems so frustratingly out of reach, even as it looms only a few feet away from him. No matter how hard he tries to initiate a positive connection, his efforts are futile.

     He’s discovered something an ecologist of his stature could only ever truly dream of, yet this person, the Admin, seems like he truly wants nothing to do with him. He’s a god. Something far beyond Lukas’ comprehension. The act of standing here in front of him is truly an incomprehensible honor in itself.

     Unless… he is unworthy of receiving the Admin’s verbal or written judgment. He hasn’t exactly made a very good first impression, has he? He’s shown nothing of value to this deity, only that he’s extremely motivated to come back and bother him in his own domain. 

     He finds that the situation is painfully familiar.

     Is this why he doesn’t want to communicate? Because I'm… a nuisance?

     “I…” Lukas takes a few steps back now, then turns away. His voice shakes unevenly as he speaks. “I’ve been going about this all wrong.” His face scrunches up, and he exhales a deep sigh. “I came to BeaconTown to explore its territory and study the biomes here. Never in a million years did I ever think I would be arriving in a town full of such draining negativity. I’ve been to so many cities and towns around the world, hearing from all these different people about how BeaconTown is the best place on earth. How the hero’s who built it from the ground up saved the world and wanted to share in the glory by giving the people the freedom to enjoy the lives we’re so luckily given. ‘A beacon of hope’, some people would call it.” Lukas crosses his arms and shakes his head.

     “But that’s not what it is. I’ve been met with nothing but hostility, that I thought my one escape, the place where I would feel the most comfortable, is here.” He opens his arms to gesture around, turning back to the Admin now. “Is here in the forest. With nature. Away from people. ” Lukas practically hisses the word. “But now, I realize my presence here is nothing but the same to you as it is back in BeaconTown for me. I was… relentless in the way I kept coming back. You saved my life and I was so obsessed with that, and then– then I challenged you, because I was being selfish and only thinking of myself and what I wanted.” His hands then drop again, clenching into fists with frustration towards his own arrogance. “I see now why you don’t want to talk to me. I wouldn’t want to either. I may as well be the same as them back in town.” 

     He hadn’t even thought of how the Admin might have taken his own careless actions. Running around in his forest, acting like he’s got the right to be here. Most forests are public and welcome to all, while there are some that are under heavy restriction due to criminal griefers attempting to hide within them amongst other reasons. This may not be the same case, but the forest is clearly off limits to outsiders. Something Lukas has continuously ignored, too caught up with the need to fill his journals and finish his work to care. 

     Lukas sighs again, hesitantly drawing his gaze back up to the Admin. The man stands still, unmoved since snapping the book shut.

     “I apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you, but I swear my intentions here are only good. S-so please… can I… stay?” 

     ~

     There’s no change in the Admins expression, but the power he exerts lightens up. Lukas has finally admitted what he’s doing, and why he’s doing it. The explosive speech from the day prior matches perfectly with the humbleness and gratitude he shows now. He can see that there is truly more to this human than what he expressed yesterday. He senses no hostility and garners no hard feelings towards Lukas , he simply has no reason to trust him.

     Yet, here they both stand. Lukas is standing just beyond the wildflowers that Admin had bloomed not long ago. He may not trust him just yet, but with these patterns, Lukas has had plenty of time to ruin his sanctuary or to attempt and join in the hunt. 

     Admin looks to the journal, then back to the remorseful author. 

     Then… grants him a small nod. 

     Accepting the apology for what it is while acknowledging and allowing Lukas’ need to explore and study. 

     Lukas is.. different. The Allay seems to enjoy the scholar's presence and the berries he’s brought. That alone is another reason why Admin gives his permission, he trusts the Allay’s judgment. After all, Admin views him as.. harmless. For now. No self respecting hunter would double down so easily, let alone apologize . Hearing him talk, It sounds like Lukas isn't being welcomed with open arms, confirming that BeaconTown has only gotten worse. 

     Strange how it's still hailed as a community welcoming all considering how long it's been. Drawing people like Lukas in, only to spit at the ground he walks on and tell him to leave. Nobody has ever ventured this far with an honest heart, not without joining the forces he’s so passionately against. There was a time that he’d still try to keep an eye on BeaconTown, but as the fireworks stopped and the lights went out.. there was nothing left for him. 

     ~

     The Admin nods, accepting his apology and… initiating the very first communicative response Lukas has been desperate for. The blond stills, shocked and completely taken off guard by the act. This was not the response he was expecting. Lukas lights up instantly, all of the remorse he’d previously been feeling disappearing from his pale features to make room for the excitement that lights up his teal eyes.

     “R-really!? Oh my gosh you mean it!?” Lukas asks with disbelief. Even the Allay is stunned, posing next to Lukas and mimicking his shocked demeanor. 

     The Admin rolls his illuminated eyes at them both, then turns.

      And he rolled his eyes!? This might be Lukas’ lucky day. 

     The journal and quill blink out of the Admin's hands, and instantly Lukas feels the added weight of their presence return to his satchel. The Admin returns to the shadows of the surrounding trees, making no move to look back when he hears a loud “Yesssss!” from the clearing he’s leaving behind him. 

     The Allay chooses to stay with Lukas to the author’s delight. While he and the little spirit celebrate this monumental day of progress, he does still wonder… His hands drop and his gaze looks back to the thicket the Admin disappeared in. The same path Lukas was intending to use to traverse deeper into the woodland. 

     Will he be watching me when I come back? 

     Part of him really hopes so. 

     Coming back to BeaconTown feels almost as incredible as the first time he arrived now that he’s finally made a positive connection with the Admin. For all the other times he’s returned feeling defeated, returning to his room to confront his journals and search for new ideas. This is the first time he’s not looking for new ways to enter the forest or finding ways to get the Admin’s attention. He gained his permission, which means he’s more or less welcome to visit whenever he pleases! 

     He enters through the broken wall just as he usually does every day, avoiding unwanted interactions in town by taking the alleyway to get through the BeacInn’s back door. All is going accordingly, until the author’s arm is grabbed by a strong grip and aggressively turned around. Lukas gasps in shock, immediately clutching at this satchel and holding it close. 

     “I knew it!” 

     Lukas’ wide eyes instinctively narrowed on the man, immediately recognizing him as one of the hunters who accompanied the search party the other night. Lukas scowls at him while looking over his appearance. 

     Super short, choppy brunette hair. Looks quite untidy. A nasty scar on his forehead, as well as his left cheek. He’s got green eyes glaring back at him and a very unpleasant frown to match them. Lukas returns the glare, pulling his arm away from the man and taking a step back. 

     “You keep going back to the forest! Even after Jack told you not to.” The man growls, clenching his fists and baring his teeth. “What do you think you’re doing in there!?” 

     Lukas raises a single eyebrow, giving the man a judgmental look up and down before turning away. “What’s it matter to you?” 

     “What’s it matter to me?” The man takes heavy steps forward, getting far too close for Lukas’ comfort. The author bristles, flashing the hunter with a defiant glare. “You aren’t authorized to enter those woods. Only hunters like me can do that. You’re an outsider.” He scoffs, crossing his arms. “And a stupid one at that.” 

     Lukas is… absolutely astounded by this stranger’s hostility. He’s definitely the same man from before. The one who’d been questioning that Jack fellow. His name… What was his name again? Lukas searches his memory banks whilst the hunter continues. 

     “What’s your problem? Cat got your tongue? You know you aren’t supposed to be in there so give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go and report you to Petra.” 

      Petra?

     That’s a new name.

     “Psh, I’m not scared of your threats.” Lukas rolls his eyes, releasing his satchel and allowing it to lay back down beside his hip. “If you must know, I’m only exploring the forest for my ecological studies.”

     “Ecological studies? What’s that supposed to be? Nerd bullshit?” The hunter steps in closer, causing Lukas’ own uncomfortable expression to strengthen, leaning away. “What have you seen out there?” 

     Lukas backs away again , feeling increasingly more uncomfortable as the seconds pass. “What have I seen? I don’t know, a pine cone or two.” 

     “What else have you seen!” The man practically shouts.

     “Uhh.. Oh! You know I think I saw a bird too.” Lukas smirks and shrugs. 

     “Hah.. Okay.. A smart ass are you?” The man hesitates before he backs off, shaking his head with his own cocky, prideful grin. “Then I guess you won’t mind me bringing this up to the mayor. She’ll make sure your little studies are put to an end real quick. You’ll see.” He fixes Lukas with a spiteful glare one last time before sharply turning away, leaving Lukas alone in the alleyway to stand there and soak in what just happened.

     “What is his problem?” He draws out slowly. 

     After a few seconds of standing still to let his adrenaline die back down, the author sighs and turns away. Lukas decides not to linger and quickly makes his way back into the BeacInn. He quietly greets the front desk girl while he heads up the stairs to his room. 

     His mind is storming, searching his memories of that dark, rainy night. It’s when he gets back to his room and sets his things down and watches while Dewey eats does he stop and remember. 

      Aiden. His name was Aiden.

     That was the name Jack used to refer to him. 

     Lukas scowls at a random spot in his room, thinking about the hunter and his venomous words. There’s no denying it. This Aiden person is going to become a problem. He seems far more ambitious than the other hunter’s, going so far as to search Lukas out. Wait… was he waiting for him to return? He said he knew it, in regards to Lukas going to the forest, so has he been suspicious of him since the beginning? Or did Lukas fail to leave the town without being noticed? 

     The blond is stumped, as well as a little worried.

     Aiden said he’d be reporting his outings to the forest to the mayor. If that’s the case then he’s going to have to come up with plenty of reasonable excuses. 

     So much for that amazing feeling he’d come back with. Now he’s ridden with anxiety. 

     Well… it was only a matter of time.

[tgrailwar-zero]

(holding the scraps of Chaotic Heroic Act 3, contemplatively)

Egh... hey, ah, Empress Nero... if we, uh...

... if we found a... really grim portent...

... when would be a good time to ruin the mood?

Asking cuz I think we found Act 3, and it's rather...

There was a short moment of silence as NERO read, and then as it was passed around to the others to read. Eventually, it found its way back to Nero.

CONSTANTINE placed a hand on her shoulder, with a worried look.

CONSTANTINE: "…Antecessor Nero…"

NERO shook her head, folding it up and casually sticking it within her bosom for storage. MUSASHI whistled. CONSTANTINE frowned.

CONSTANTINE: "Antecessor Nero."

NERO: "Do not worry for me. I am well. An Emperor knows better than to cry around her peers. I will say this- I won't forgive that Titan. I will not be satisfied until I am victorious..."

With that statement, it seemed as if the air changed from quiet contemplation to tactical plotting incredibly quickly.

NERO: "Let us see… a Rider, a Caster, a Saber, a Foreigner, and an Avenger… and of course, whatever you are, my Ensemble. Perhaps you're the key, as you were the gestalt necro-weapon born from the Moon, and presumably one of the Titan's thralls. I'd hope so, as I do not believe we have the firepower ourselves."

She began, with a stately tone.

KUKULKAN: "Nothing's changed then! We protect the Masters with everything we have!"

MUSASHI: "So, the goal is simple. Gain the permission to leave from the Lair Servants, and then reach the Moon, and then win."

AVENGER: "They'll will need to pass Saber first. With that being the case, would that not mean that Saber's alliance is with the former 'Interlopers', rather than the current? Making him an enemy of the Solar Cell, and a prospective pawn of the White Titan?"

The Avenger's voice rumbled and echoed throughout the camp, causing the campfire itself to shudder as his shadowed form grew slightly more tangible.

CONSTANTINE: "…Right. That White Program… and what was happening to those Valkyrie..."

MUSASHI: "That, in addition to Saber and Caster going at each other's throats… if I didn't know any better, I'd think there's a storm on the horizon…"

AVENGER: "The War is over, so attention must be shifting elsewhere."

MUSASHI: "Yeah, I got that from my source too. Let's scratch everything- forget red versus blue, we're dealing with four potential factions."

KUKULKAN: "Right. First, the Lair Servants- Servants that have been summoned to the Solar Cell. We'll say that their 'Master' is the 'Heavenly Divinity' that everyone keeps going on about, though who knows how their contract works. Let's call them the 'Keepers of the Solar Cell', for simplicity. Or the Sun Buddies, maybe? That's cute, yes?"

NERO: "Of course, there are Servants like you, Lady Musashi. Rogue entities that have the capacity to join our cause."

KUKULKAN: "Saber has the Origins of… what was it? Berserker, Rider, Foreigner, and… Caster? And Lancer is a Lair Servant now, so that means… potentially Assassin and Archer, yes? Those are the only ones left?"

AVENGER: "In the case that they're alive and can be reasoned with anyhow…"

NERO: "Or their Spirit Origins haven't been altered, or used to summon a new Servant. We can't assume that trick can only belong to the Masters."

CONSTANTINE: "Then, there are the now rogue Servants from the War. Chances are that most of them are gone, faded away without any sort of Mana Regeneration or Independent Action skill, unless they're being very careful about the souls they're stealing for mana- enough so that they don't get slaughtered by the local Lair Servant. Let's… assume that means at the very minimum, the Red Archer remains… and pray that I'm proven wrong."

KUKULKAN: "…And finally, Saber. Visiting his city, I don't think mana resources is a problem, yes? And he has claimed two major territories. The Hamlet alone had very good leylines thanks to Doctor Asclepius… if he was smart, he'd turn that place into a battery, yes? It's not as if there are people there to oppose any terraforming."

CONSTANTINE: "To clarify- four factions. The Keepers of the Solar Cell--"

MUSASHI: "--Sun Buddies. I like what Kuku said."

CONSTANTINE: "…Keepers of the Solar Cell, then King Charlemagne's Army, Rogue Servants drifting around from the prior wars, and us."

NERO: "Lots to think about… ugh, my migraine is coming back. I'm going to retire to my chambers. Go team, and all that."

With that, she clutched her head and stumbled off to her own tent.

MUSASHI: "...Sheesh... she knows she doesn't have to try and keep it together for us, right?"

CONSTANTINE: "Pride is important to an Emperor. Still... she has a point. This is a lot to take in. Resting our eyes and our minds for at least a little while is probably the best course."

With that, you watched as the camp grew more and more silent as each Servant vanished off to their respective quarters, leaving you alone in the night air for a moment.

[lamuradex]

Signs of Light and Shadow - Book 1

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Dragonridge

Cerris led the way, as Elena followed, and Gareth lagged behind with the cow. He had joyfully accepted their offer of help, and so the girls had gathered up a few essentials for the trip. There was no need for water or food, as it would supposedly be a short trip to civilisation, so Elena only took a coin purse and an empty satchel, while Cerris took her axe and her shield.

They had been walking for a while now, and had passed the elms that marked the girls’ safe territory over an hour ago. Cerris eyed their surroundings suspiciously while Elena and Gareth chatted.

“So, what is it like, using magic?” he asked her.

“I don’t know how to describe it. It’s just something I do. It feels natural,” she explained.

“But does it tingle or hurt or anything?”

“It doesn’t hurt, no. Sometimes it tingles. More often it’s just tiring.”

“Does it need much focus?” Gareth asked enthusiastically. “Did you have to concentrate to heal my arm?”

“Sort of, for healing. You need to hold a concept in your mind.” She picked up a twig as she walked, twirling it between her fingers. “You focus on that concept, or word, or idea, you focus on what you want to happen, and then… it just sort of happens.” Runes formed in the bark and the end of the stick began to smoke. She made ribbons in the air with the vapor. “I’m still learning what I can and can’t do though.”

“So, could you make that twig grow?” Gareth wondered.

Elena looked at the dead stick between her fingers. It was half rotten.

“That… might be a bit beyond me,” she admitted. “I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start. What word to focus on. All I really know how to do is to burn something or crumble it to dust.” She demonstrated, the runes changing and the stick breaking into little pieces. It was so rotten that she likely could have crumbled it without sorcery. “I can also make a little ball of light, but that isn’t worth the trouble. Takes far too much effort.”

“And what about healing?”

“Healing is simple but… imprecise. It only speeds up the natural process and would still take a long time to heal a proper wound. You, Gareth, were merely scratched.”

Gareth sighed admiringly. “Wow. I can’t imagine just being able to fix people like that. I mean, I’m learning from one of our healers how to patch up wounds, but I wish I could just magically heal people.”

“Well… some people aren’t as fond of it as you are,” Elena said sullenly.

Gareth paused. He understood her meaning. He nodded in quiet, awkward sympathy, and soon thought of a different question.

“Where does it come from?” he asked.

“Magic? Inside me, I suppose.”

“No, I mean, how did you get magic? Where does it come from?”

“Oh, right,” Elena understood. “Well, I inherited it from our mother. I learned most of what I know from her.”

“And is Cerris a sorcerer too?”

“No, she isn’t,” Elena shook her head. “I was born with it. Cerris wasn’t.”

“Oh. That must be disappointing for her,” Gareth said before he caught himself. “Oops. Sorry, Cerris. That was rude.”

“No problem,” Cerris called back. “I could still beat her in a fight.”

“She’s not wrong,” Elena agreed, “but once I learn how to use a weapon-”

Elena was cut off as Cerris stopped. Past the trees, they could see a cottage. Gareth moved between them, still pulling the cow behind, and his face lit up. He strode forward, Clara keeping pace.

With a tense glance to each other, the girls left the safety of the trees.

They found themselves on a farm. It sat past the edge of a town, with a long stretch of road between the farm and the town proper. The town looked pretty standard, all grey and dusty buildings with mud roads between them, and behind the town, a colossal, flat-top mountain loomed, its sheer cliffs pressed against the town’s rear edge like a grey backdrop.

The girls turned back to the farm. At its centre was a cottage which was surrounded on three sides by fields and pens of animals. The cottage was big enough to be mistaken for a barn, if not for the smoking chimney. Chickens and sheep made confused noises as Gareth approached, and the girls followed at a short distance, eyeing their surroundings carefully.

A man was knelt next to one of the pens, who stood to inspect the noise. He was tall and muscled, with tanned skin from days working in the sun. A tidy beard decorated his chin, covering his mouth and dangling in a short braid. His hair was short too, apart from one long plait which reached down to his shoulders. He wore a shirt and trousers of a thick durable fabric, all uncoloured plain-brown. It sat in contrast to the royal blue belt around his waist which was adorned with golden thread. Seed bags hung from the belt like coin purses, dangling next to a sheathed broadsword.

Gareth stopped a few paces away, about to speak, before the man got there first.

“And where have you been all morning, young man?” he asked, his voice calm and deep even as his tone was scolding. He tapped a foot impatiently.

“I’m sorry, father. One of the cows got loose, I must have left the gate open last night and it got out, so I went to find it,” Gareth explained.

“And where, pray tell, did you venture that it took you all morning?” Gareth’s father looked down at him. Then he glanced in the direction his son had arrived from, ignoring Cerris and Elena, eyes landing on the tree-line. He returned to Gareth, wide eyed.

“Father-” Gareth tried to answer first.

“The forest? You went into those woods by yourself?” he erupted.

“I didn’t want to bother you, and I didn’t think the cow would be too far in. I could get her back and you’d never know. I’m sorry.”

“Forget the cow, Gareth. What about you? Those woods are riddled with predators. Who knows what could have happened.” He knelt down and gave his son a quick look over for injuries. “We can always buy a new cow, Gareth, even one as good as Clara.”

“But it was my fault,” Gareth murmured.

“And I’d have understood, but if anything ever happened to you…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He hugged his boy.

“I was in good hands on the way back,” Gareth croaked from within his father’s arms. His father released him, taking notice of Cerris and Elena for the first time.

 “I’m guessing you two are the ones who brought my son home safe?” he beckoned.

“Yes, sir. It wasn’t much trouble,” Cerris stepped forward.

“Well, you have my thanks all the same. My name is Bardor Everett,” the farmer introduced.

“I’m Cerris and this is my sister Elena.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Elena gave a courtly bow.

“Well, please, come inside. It must have been some journey,” Bardor gestured to the cottage. “Gareth? Show them in,” he prompted, as he grabbed Clara’s rope and led the cow away to a nearby field. Gareth gestured for the girls to follow him in.

They entered into a front room which was warm and well-decorated. The room was dominated by a dining table with a half-dozen chairs surrounding it, cabinets pressed against some of the walls full of books and trinkets, and a stone fireplace burned in the corner, the chimney running up into the ceiling.

Elena wandered around the room, inspecting the furniture. She cooed at some of the finer elements, with velvet cushions and little bits of inset filigree. Cerris stood by one of the windows and peaked out. Bardor had finished dragging Clara to her paddock, and as he returned, he pulled seeds from the pouches on his belt, scattering them in the fields. Cerris turned back to Elena, who was staring at the tablecloth.

“Have a seat if you like,” Gareth offered. His tone was edged with nerves, his eyes glancing to the window. Cerris walked over and stood near the table, feeling too awkward to sit in a stranger’s house. Elena was still inspecting the fabric.

“Learning a lot from that tablecloth?” Cerris elbowed her.

Elena snapped out of her daze and stood up straight. “It’s quite a nice fabric. Fine quality,” she coughed abashedly.

“It was a gift from a seamstress in town,” Gareth elucidated. “Most of the furniture is a gift from one person or another.”

“What? Really?” Elena glanced around at the other bits of finery.

Before she could ask further, Bardor entered the room. He stepped past Gareth, walked over to the table, and pulled out a chair to sit down. Then he looked over to Gareth, who approached and stood before him.

“Gareth. You should not have wandered into that forest,” he said, his voice cold and judgemental, his face stern.

Gareth nodded.

“You could have been hurt, or worse. These two seem to understand the dangers of the forest.” He gestured to Cerris. “Do you see how she carries a weapon?”

Gareth nodded again.

“Now, I realise you were trying to help, but that does not excuse your actions. As punishment… you are going to have to prepare all the meals for the next two weeks. Is that understood?”

“Yes, father,” Gareth nodded rapidly.

“Good. Now, these ladies might be thirsty. Fetch some drinks, would you?” Bardor’s tone relaxed.

“Yes, father,” Gareth said again, hurrying off to the kitchen. He sighed in relief as he left.

After a pause, Bardor turned to the two girls. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience my son has caused you. This must have led you quite astray, helping him get back here.”

“It’s no problem,” Cerris dismissed.

“Well, I thank you anyway,” Bardor insisted. “So, what purpose had you travelling through those woods? Whatever distance my boy has diverted you, I must pay you for your time.”

Gareth returned with a collection of tankards. “They live in the woods, father, in a camp a few hours north of here,” he described, passing the cups between everyone.

“They live in the woods? Those woods? The Greenveil Woods?” Bardor doubted.

“If that’s what you call them,” Cerris shrugged, distractedly inspecting her water. “We’ve never really needed a name for it.”

Bardor quirked an eyebrow. “You truly live in the Greenveil woods? Genuinely? I lose a chicken a month to the foxes alone, let alone the wolves and bears I hear live in there. Traders and merchants tend to just go around it rather than risk becoming prey. And you live there?”

“It’s true, Mr Everett,” Elena confirmed. “In fact, we were both born out there. We’ve lived there all our lives, barring the occasional trips to Greenwood. It’s our home. But it isn’t quite as bad as you describe,” she smiled.

“Well I never…” Bardor looked between them, perplexed. “How strange. I’ve honestly never heard anything about people living out there. I always thought those woods were too dangerous to walk through, let alone live. And you’ve never visited Dragonridge before?”

“We’ve never come this far south before,” Cerris said carefully, sipping her drink. “And don’t worry about paying us. We wanted to come. We have business of our own.”

“You’ve never visited Dragonridge before…” Bardor rubbed his chin. “Well, if you won’t take coin, then I can only see one way to repay you.”

Cerris and Elena looked at each other uncertainly.

“The town is always glad of visitors, though they admittedly aren’t common. If you won’t accept coin, we could at least do you the courtesy of showing you around. As payment for your help. What do you say?”

“If you insist,” Cerris accepted, but looked to Elena, who nodded in agreement.

“We’d be glad to,” Gareth grinned. “Now, is there anywhere in particular you wanted to visit?”

* * *

The little group walked into town following the dirt road. It took about twenty minutes, as Cerris and Elena stuck together, while Bardor led the way and Gareth swung back and forth between them.

As they entered the town, the dirt road became muddy streets with buildings either side. The houses were mismatched, some made of old brick, some made of rural planks and logs. Some were tall with multiple floors while others were bungalows barely tall enough to stand in.

As they reached the streets, passersby greeted Bardor, who responded in kind. The girls had seen similar, ordinary looking people in Greenwood, but they were still cautious of the strangers, their parents warning lingering in their ears. Even so, they proceeded without incident. After a little while, they came to a stop at a crossroads, with varied buildings on all sides. All eyes were drawn to one building, which rose before them, much larger than the others.

“This is the town hall,” Bardor gestured. “From here, Mayor Wilsh runs the town. Laws are written, court is held, and the rich stay rich,” he mocked.

The town hall was extravagant, especially in comparison to the ratty neighbouring buildings. Made of rich oak and red brick, it stood three stories high and significantly broader than anything around it. Some effort had been made to position wooden gargoyles and other statuary decorations, but most of it had been rain washed into disrepair. Massive oaken pillars held up the lip of the first floor, and lead crossed windows littered the façade the whole way up. The outside was also much cleaner than the surrounding buildings, with the exception of some soot and dust.

Cerris nodded, attempting to both look interested and watch her surroundings, while Elena politely listened to Bardor’s directions.

“Now, this is the main crossroads for the town,” Bardor began. “Most roads lead back here sooner or later. Down there-” He gestured to his left- “are various clothes and fabric merchants. The next street leads back the way we came. It’s mainly housing down there. That way-”

“Bardor!” a voice called. Bardor stopped and turned to see a stocky, muscular man approaching. He was wearing heavy clothes and a thick apron, his beard stained with soot. “There you are, Bardor,” he sighed.

“Smithy? What brings you away from your forge?”

“That you aren’t there,” Smithy said gravely. “The mayor needs that armour finished by end of day, and you promised to help me sort it.”

“By the heavens,” Bardor cursed through gritted teeth. “Sorry, Smithy. I’ve been busy. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He turned to his son. “Gareth, I have to go. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours. I hope you can look after these two while I’m gone?” He gestured to the girls.

“I’ll be fine, father. Take care,” Gareth wished.

“You as well,” Bardor smiled, before hurrying off with Smithy.

Elena watched the pair disappear. “My my,” she said. “He is a busy man.”

“Oh, yes. Always someone to help,” Gareth nodded. “But, while he’s gone, we should get started. So, where do you want to…” He stopped. “Cerris? What’s the matter?”

Cerris wasn’t listening. She was staring fixedly at a building across the way, fingers picking at the back of one of her gloves. The building was made of smooth grey stone, like it had been carved from a single piece of granite taken straight from the quarry. The walls sloped up, the building being basically triangular, as it stood in contrast to its boxy, shabby neighbours. A massive set of oaken doors hung open, welcoming anyone inside. Cerris stared at it with a lump in her throat.

“You alright, Cerris?” Gareth asked.

“What?” She stirred her brain. “Um… sure, I’m fine. It’s just… Is that your temple to the divines?” she asked. Her stomach churned as a cold weight formed in her heart.

“Oh, yes,” Gareth said brightly, not seeing Cerris’s nerves. “You said you wanted to see it, didn’t you?”

“It’s why we’re here, honestly,” Elena prompted, moving up to hold Cerris’s hand.

Cerris gripped Elena’s hand tightly, but tried to hide her face. She could feel her blood rushing from her cheeks into her toes. Forcing a smile, she turned to her sister.

“You two stay here. I won’t be a moment,” she said, trotting towards the temple, hands by her sides to resist clutching at the divine symbols beneath her gloves.

Cerris entered the monolithic building, the interior lit by candles ensconced in lanterns. The pews were made of fine wood, carved with ornate patterns of trees and branches. She approached the altar, looking up at the mural behind it. The carving depicted three mythical figures, the three of them combined covering the entire wall. One was a tall, cloaked man, shrouded in shadows, or in this case carved of a darker stone, with ravens flapping behind him. Opposite him was a woman, bright as the sun, carved in sandstone, leaping with deer and sparrows. They each stood at the edges, facing inwards. Facing the third figure.

The third figure was a silhouette, standing taller than the other two spirits, arms extended out to the very edges of the mural. The figure’s skin was dotted with stars, and their eyes were the sun and the moon, depicted as a spiked circle and a crescent respectively.

But Cerris had seen such a thing before. It was just a much larger version of their little shrine at home, which was just a little woodcut with a prayer written on the back. And it was more detailed than the one in Greenwood, though she had rarely been in there.

Cerris knelt down in respect.

“Dear Holy Father of Skies, grant me wisdom,” she prayed to the central figure.

“Feel free to sit if you wish,” a nearby man spoke up. He was hunched and old, and wearing a traditional holy man’s robes, white with two purple sashes hung across his chest. The old man tried to hobble over, before Cerris decided to spare him the trip and went to him.

“Are you a preacher here?” she asked.

“I do my best,” the clergyman greeted.

“Then, may I ask you something. What do you know about the powers of Aheazal and Zaheal?” She fidgeted with her gloves.

“Well, what do you need to know?”

“Everything you can tell me,” she begged, her voice close to cracking.

The preacher took a moment, but could see she was serious. “Well,” he ruminated. “Aheazal is the spirit of darkness, mystery and knowledge. We pray to him for wisdom and insight. He is a guardian of knowledge, and it is believed he has the ability to hide secrets, but also uncover those secrets through his darkness. For those that praise him, his symbols are the veil, the shadow, and the raven.”

“Mysteries and knowledge,” Cerris muttered to herself. She rubbed the back of her right hand without realising it.

“In partnership and opposition is Zaheal. She embodies light and ambition. A being of will and might. She is believed to have the ability to see into the deepest shadow, and to never tire no matter her efforts. She is the giver of willpower and truth. Because of this, we pray to her for revelation and strength in dire times, as her light is said to dispel illusion and bring hope. Her symbols are the horse, the sun, and the sword.”

“Willpower and truth?” Cerris repeated, less certain.

“That’s right, young miss,” the preacher continued. “Finally, there is the Father of Skies, sole parent to Aheazal and Zaheal, and the one above all others,” he gestured grandly. “The Father watches over this world, and is guardian to all the grand dominions of the heavens. He guides us through subtle winds and pouring rain and the blessed sun. The Father protects us, we weary souls, and we pray to him in hopes of a better dawn.”

Cerris contemplated what she’d heard. It wasn’t much help, and she vaguely knew much of it from her youth. She rubbed her hands, feeling the scars beneath her gloves.

“Preacher… Do you know anything about the gods giving their power to mortals?” she asked. While she held her composure, her heart pounded in her chest. Cold dread filled her gut. Fearful possibilities battled in her brain. Horrors and terrors and curses. The old preacher only took a minute, stroking his chin, but it felt much longer.

“I have heard of such things,” he began, “The gods have been known to bestowed their power on mortals, but alas, all I know is that there are stories of it. Myths and fables of spirits, aiding and cursing mortal men. Unfortunately, I can’t recall any of the details at the moment, and I’m not sure if we have any texts on the subject. To be honest, this isn’t the most stocked temple when it comes to ancient writings. My apologies.”

“Oh…” Cerris said disappointedly. “That’s all you know?”

“Sorry,” the old man said kindly.

“Okay. Thanks anyway…” she stammered, and sat in a pew.

Her heart fell. A new coiling tension writhed in her gut. There was still something inside her. Something that wasn’t her.

Cerris realised she was shaking, her heart like a drum. It was like a predator had been stalking her, and then it had just… stopped. The empty dread of not knowing whether to be scared or not. Her thoughts ran out of control. What power lay inside her? Had she been cursed, blessed, or some other thing? Was it dangerous? Why give it to her? What did the gods want with her?

“Are you alright, miss?” the old man queried, snapping Cerris from her worries.

 “I’m… I’m fine,” she nodded. “Thank you.” She forced a polite smile, then turned and headed for the door.

The blessings itched at her thoughts. Their meaning, their purpose, their power. She plodded back towards the door, where Elena stood waiting.

Elena walked up, gave her a soft smile, and hugged her. Cerris relaxed into her arms.

 “Are you okay?” Elena asked.

 “I don’t know. I really don’t. I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Cerris sighed.

 Elena pulled back and nodded. “Trust in the gods, I suppose. Divines watch over us,” she tried to soothe.

Cerris looked back at the grand mural behind the altar. “Honestly, I’ve never had too much faith in the gods. Not after what happened to Mum and Dad…”

“Cerris…” Elena put a hand on her arm.

“…but I’ll trust in them for now, if you say so,” Cerris accepted. “No worries. Not now anyway. For now, we have a new town to explore, right?”

“Right,” Elena affirmed with a comforting smile. “No worries.”

Gareth stood waiting, having not pressed for details when Elena excused herself. He met the girls as they returned, Cerris hanging an arm around Elena’s shoulders, both of them smiling.

“So, where to now?” Cerris said, glad of the distraction.

“Well, there’s a number of places we could go,” Gareth said openly.

“Could we take a closer look at the town hall?” Elena requested. “It’s quite an impressive building.”

Cerris sniggered. “Wow. You really are wild, aren’t you?”

Elena pouted. “Well, it can’t hurt to take a look, can it?”

“It is the hub of important business in town,” Gareth said alluringly.

Cerris rolled her eyes. “If you insist,” she conceded, following them across the square. As they passed, she looked up to a sign hanging from a post outside. Its symbols were indistinct to her, but were marked in a fine gold paint. She recognised one or two of the letters but didn’t spend much effort on it.  She assumed it read “Town Hall”.

They passed through and stood in the main hall. While the outside had been grand, it was still rough and patched together in places, like its neighbours. The interior was a marked difference. Marble pillars lined the hall and crystal lanterns illuminated the walls. Rows of simple chairs covered the floor, all facing a podium with a lectern, which was carved from a varnished dark wood and adorned with silver filigree.

As they took in the space, a servant shuffled out of a side door followed by a well-dressed young man. The young man berated the servant, then sighed and sent him on his way.

“This place is gorgeous,” Elena grinned, admiring the pillars.

“By the skies,” Cerris swore, more surprised by the grandeur.

“This is the oldest building in town,” Gareth explained. “Other buildings have burned down or have fallen into disrepair, but this one still stands strong. And so, the mayor lives here and uses it to hold court and have town meetings.”

“Well, it certainly is impressive,” Elena observed.

Cerris nodded, unable to argue, staring up at the patterns painted on the ceiling.

“It is,” Gareth said with a tone. “To be honest though, most people around here think it’s a tad extravagant.”

“Only those peasants who lack good taste,” a voice argued. “So, what can we do for you today, Gareth Everett?”

They turned to see the well-dressed young man. His tone rang with pomposity, and he wore a broad smile like a mask.

“We don’t need anything, Tiber,” Gareth sighed. “I’m just showing some visitors around town. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Tiber didn’t seem deterred, though he did take notice of the two girls. He inspected them both, looking them up and down, before returning his focus to Gareth.

“Are you certain you’re best suited to that task, Gareth? Surely, these ladies would prefer to be shown the joys of our town by someone who actually has a hand in running it.” He grinned, condescension radiating off him.

“Tiber, can you just-” Gareth began, before Tiber simply stepped past him towards Elena.

“Charmed, my dear lady,” Tiber greeted, raising Elena’s hand to kiss it. As his lips approached her skin, Elena realised what was happening and pulled her arm back. He didn’t break stride however, and stood up straight, grinning. Cerris looked him over.

He was nimbly built, around his early twenties, and from his face and body alone some might have considered him handsome. That was if not for the rest of his image. He had pale blonde hair, cut neatly, but it was greasy and matted, perhaps from some product. His clothes were of a similar nature. The articles themselves were a fine jacket and buttoned shirt, with various gold buttons. Unfortunately, the image was ruined by the fabric, all course and tough material. Not strong or durable for purpose, but worn and dull coloured. There appeared to be some attempt at red and yellow dyes to brighten it, but they were washed out and faded, the fabric nearly frayed to its limits. He stood in his false grandeur and bowed to Elena.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Gareth?” he commanded.

Gareth sighed again. “Cerris, Elena, this is Tiber Wilsh. He’s the son of the mayor.”

“Charmed, my lady,” Tiber preened. “I’m guessing you are Elena?” he spoke solely to her.

“Yes?” Elena answered cautiously.

“I knew it. No one as beautiful as you could ever have a name as simple as Cerris.” He smiled another empty smile, not turning to see Cerris react. Cerris just raised an eyebrow in disbelief, while Gareth watched her cautiously.

“I think my sister’s name is quite pretty,” Elena argued. “A name to be chronicled in history.”

“Recorded as a footnote to you,” he parried in a manner he seemed to think was charming.

“Maybe it’s recorded for slapping the mayor’s son,” Cerris muttered. Gareth withheld laughter, as Tiber noted it with a glare. He returned his focus to Elena.

“Now, Elena, would you like me to show you around this wonderful town of ours?” he asked. Elena considered the offer for a minute.

“Sorry, no,” she answered curtly. “We already have Gareth to guide us, but thank you for the offer.”

“Oh, but this fool doesn’t know anything,” Tiber continued, oozing his so-called charm.

Elena looked to Gareth, as if to assess him. “He seems to know his way around.”

“But Elena, it would be a much more… private tour. Just the two of us,” Tiber purred seductively. Cerris suddenly felt nauseous.

“But I don’t want to go alone,” Elena rebuffed. “I’m here with my sister, who you haven’t even given the time of day to,” she added, sounding every bit the offended aristocrat. “That is very impolite of you.”

“My apologies,” he uttered, then turned towards Cerris. “Good day, madam,” he said, then returned to Elena.

Cerris rolled her eyes and decided to end this. “Alright, sir, but we are a bit busy today,” she said, pushing past Tiber. Tiber stuck out an arm to stop her.

“I’m not done,” he said annoyed.

Cerris grinned. “Yes-” She forced him aside, causing him to stumble. “-You are. We’ve got our guide. You can get back to your important business. And, of course, you must be very busy, being as important as you are.”

“But-”

“Good day, Mr Wilsh,” Elena called back as she headed for the door.

Gareth hurried past Tiber to join the girls. Together, they all wandered out, leaving Tiber to fume by himself.

The air outside bit with cold as they left, but Gareth beamed the moment they were out of sight, as Cerris and Elena hurried to gain some distance from the hall.

“What an unsettling man,” Elena shuddered.

“Sorry about him,” Gareth apologised, still smiling. “Should have realised he would come over just to mock me.”

“Not your fault,” Cerris reassured. “Though he does seem to have a problem with you… or is he just that rude to everyone?”

“He’s rude to everyone, but he’s always been annoyed by me and my father. Jealous, I’d wager. Everyone around here respects my father more than they respect Mayor Wilsh.”

“They do?”

“Oh yes. Tiber can’t stand that some farmer and his son are who people go to for help, and not the man who actually holds court.”

“Why is that?” Elena asked. “I’m not trying to say your father isn’t important, but…”

“He’s not the mayor,” Cerris finished for her.

“Precisely.”

“Well, it’s been like that for as long as I can remember,” Gareth reflected. “Father’s a good man, and people respect him for that, while Wilsh is a wretched old coot. But, looking back, I suppose it all started the last time the dragons attacked.”

Cerris and Elena froze, wide eyed.

Gareth looked confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Dragons?” Cerris checked she’d heard him right.

“Well, yes. Why did you think it was called Dragonridge?” he said casually.

“As in, big, fire-breathing, flying lizards?” she clarified.

“Yes?” Gareth continued to look puzzled.

“You’re saying there are real dragons here?” Elena worried, clutching at her dress and watching the sky above. “I thought you said this town was safe.”

Gareth stopped for a moment. Finally, he smirked and laughed as he realised. “Oh, that! No, there’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured. “Sorry to have frightened you, but we’re not in any danger. The dragons don’t just attack the town, or at least they haven’t done so for a long time. What I’m talking about happened decades ago, when my father was a young man, long before the three of us were even born.”

 “Really?” Cerris checked one last time. Gareth smiled and nodded. Cerris relaxed and unclenched, and Elena straightened up, as if nothing had happened.

“The dragons live up on Dragon’s Peak,” Gareth explained, pointing up towards the mountain which loomed over the village. “There’s maybe a few dozen of them. Occasionally you can spot one, but other than that…” He paused and seemed to rethink his sentence.

“Are you sure? How are fire breathing lizards not a problem?” Cerris said doubtfully.

“We’ve only heard stories of such things,” Elena stressed. “Tales of giant serpents, big as mountains, and the knights who run to slay them. Princes rescuing maidens from scaly claws, and fiends that can melt steel with a breath. Honestly, I don’t think I ever considered them real,” she confessed.

“Well, they are real, but they aren’t the size of a mountain,” Gareth corrected. “Sure, they’re big, but not that big. Maybe about the size of a house at their largest. There are dozens of them up there, and they’re all different. Colours, shapes, sizes. And they aren’t constantly being fought off by princes either. We have…” he paused. “We have other methods to stop them. We should keep exploring,” he said distractedly as he led them down the street.

“If you say so,” Cerris said uncertainly, eyeing the mountain.

They marched on, Gareth leading and looking for some new destination. When it had been quiet for a few minutes, Elena pranced up to his shoulder.

“So… What did your father do to make everyone love him? Did he slay one of those beasts?”

Gareth blinked, then shook his head. “Oh, no, it was nothing like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever killed one. No, my father was just a young man who saved a lot of lives that day.”

“How so?” Cerris came up to his other shoulder.

 “Well, from what I’ve read, the dragon attack was terrifying. Burned houses, ruined crops, many people injured or dead. And during the chaos of it all, the fire spread to a building where many people were sheltering. They would have sheltered in the town hall, but the mayor at the time sealed the doors to save his own oily hide, leaving everyone else to die.” Gareth spat in disapproval.

“He sounds awful,” Elena commented.

“He was. Father meanwhile leapt into the burning building by himself and tried to help the people to safety, even in the middle of the bombardment. Putting himself at risk, he used his broadsword and cut his way through to save them. It’s said that the moment those people were safe, the dragons just left. Some people even say it was because they were afraid of a man such as my father.”

“Quite a tale,” Cerris said simply.

“He really is a hero,” Elena admired.

“It also explains why your dad carries a sword, despite being a farmer,” Cerris noted.

“Yeah. He still carries it to remind people they can trust him, as apposed to the mayor,” Gareth said proudly. “And, ever since that day, people refuse to trust the seat of mayor, even since Wilsh took over. They trust the man that saved them instead.”

“Gareth? Why doesn’t your father just become mayor?” Elena enquired. “I believe it’s an elected position, correct?”

“Oh, he doesn’t like the responsibility of it,” Gareth dismissed. “He may like to help people, and he is quite wise, but he couldn’t run the town. Property disputes, legal matters, sentencing criminals. He prefers his work on the farm and helping out where he can in town, like helping Smithy, or settling the occasional petty argument.”

“Are there a lot of petty arguments?”

“Well, Mr and Mrs Baker often fight over how to best sell their breads. And those debates can get quite vicious,” he smirked.

“Saving the town and dealing with angry bakers. Truly a hero,” Cerris snickered.

Their walk reached a crossroads and Gareth decided they would head left, back behind the town hall, towards the mountain. As they turned, Cerris noticed a structure in the distance.

It was a raised wooden platform. The platform was on struts, only a few feet off the ground, with a large wooden pole through the centre, which stood about twice the height of a man. It looked recently built, the wood pale and unstained by rain. Despite people walking past, they all passed on the other side of the street. It had been constructed at the furthest edge of the town, with only the mountain wall behind it.

“What’s that?” Cerris pointed.

Gareth looked up and visibly clenched. “It’s… It’s part of what keeps us safe from the dragons. It’s nothing to worry about,” he dismissed and went silent.

Cerris and Elena could each feel the tension. Even so, they silently decided not to press.

Gareth didn’t relax until they were well past the structure and around a corner. Then he spoke, as if changing a non-existent subject. “Hey. It’s getting close to evening. How about we visit the pub?”

The sun was going down, but the sky wasn’t even orange yet. Even so, with a nod, the girls followed, glad of something a little more familiar.

* * *

The tavern was located in an old, wooden building on the far side of town. It was large enough for a few dozen patrons, with simple tables scattered around for seating. The bar and its barkeep rested against one wall as a fire burned in an open hearth opposite. It was currently a little early for most people’s days to have ended, so most of the tables were empty. There were a few idle townsfolk, one already sleeping at his table, but none of them noticed the trio. Gareth stood at the counter, waiting for the barman to pour some ale. Pressing the tankards together, he carried the cups to where Cerris and Elena were sat.

“Lovely place,” Cerris said falsely.

“It may not be so glamorous, but it serves its purpose,” Gareth retorted.

Elena eyed the décor harshly. “I’d hope so.”

“Here are your drinks.” Gareth put down the tankards. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” the girls answered, then took sips of their drinks. They placed them down on the table silently. Cerris’s mouth twisted, while Elena’s nose scrunched up against the taste.

“I’ve had worse,” Cerris said eventually, her voice strained. “It’ll do.”

“It’s quite bitter,” Elena followed up. “Should it be?”

“I don’t know,” Gareth shrugged. “It’s all they serve. Don’t worry. It grows on you.”

“Then it’ll do,” she agreed reluctantly.

The three sat and drank for some time as they talked. Gareth explained what he knew about the town, such as interesting local residents. The blacksmith, who Bardor sometimes worked with. The family of tanners who had a constant bounty of one thousand gold for a dragon hide. The various little dramas and feuds.

In response, the girls told some stories of their lives. Battles with wolves. Friends they had made in Greenwood. The delicious ale and mead served there. Every few stories were accompanied by another round of drinks, which, true to Gareth’s word, did start to grow on them. After the third round they were already giggling.

Outside, the night was beginning to settle as a clock tower rang seven chimes. The door to the bar swung open and a figure entered, accompanied by two others. The man surveyed the bar, then wandered straight over to the group’s table.

“My dear ladies,” Tiber greeted, his two burly friends remaining silent. “I see you still choose to spend your time with this meagre boy, when you could spend it with a true man.” He put up his collar and puffed out his chest as if to illustrate the point.

“Go away, Tiber,” Gareth groaned.

Tiber ignored him. “Elena, a woman such as yourself should not have to drink such slop in such squalor.” He looked disgustedly at the cups. “You should join me and my father upstairs for a drink of wine.”

“I must refuse, Tiber, but thank you,” Elena said politely. She didn’t even look at him.

“I don’t think you understand,” Tiber resumed. “This will be fine wine, a vintage fit for kings. A delicacy. Infinitely more enjoyable than this bitter swill.”

“I’m starting to enjoy it,” she countered, looking into her cup. “It has a kick to it.”

“But, my lady…” He glanced around as if trying to hide something. “A woman of such refinement as yourself, dressed as you are, cannot be seen with the scum of this town.”

Gareth looked offended but Elena continued to sit. She finally deigned to look at him.

“I don’t know, Tiber. I like them,” she said, speaking with perfect diction. “And who am I to talk? I was born and raised in the woods,” she said, complete with fancy accent.

Tiber took a second to respond. After a long pause, he laughed.

“Oh, very good. You are a funny one, Elly,” he chuckled.

“Don’t call me Elly,” she snapped, rounding on him, eyes burning. Tiber took a step back.

“My apologies,” he recovered. “But you must join us upstairs. My father is waiting for us.”

“She said no, Tiber. Leave it alone,” Gareth said loudly.

“Ah, that must be it.” Tiber snapped his fingers. “You must not want to embarrass these two by up and leaving them alone together. They’re the ones keeping you here,” he smiled unpleasantly.

“I choose to be here of my own free will, thank you,” Elena answered. “And you continue to be rude to my sister and my friend.”

“There you go again, trying to protect these little peasants’ feelings.” He leant on Gareth’s shoulder. Gareth winced.

Cerris sat quietly, eyeing Tiber’s brawny cohorts.

“Maybe if my boys here take them somewhere, then you could join me without guilt.” He kept smiling.

Without a further word, one of Tiber’s friends grabbed Gareth by the arm. At first he was trying to guide him from his stool, but it quickly escalated to dragging.

“Let him go, you brute!” Elena called out.

The other man went to grab Elena, but no sooner had his hand touched her arm than Cerris got to her feet. Her shield rattled against her armour. She placed a hand on her axe, stopping when it was a couple of hands out of her belt. Tiber’s friend saw the axe. He saw Cerris. He saw her blank, cold expression. Both men let go and backed away, hiding behind Tiber.

“You idiots. If you want something done,” Tiber muttered and reached out, wrapping a hand around Elena’s arm.

Elena stared daggers. She reached down, grabbed her tankard, and whacked it squarely into his cheek. He recoiled and stumbled back, but Elena stood and advanced, pursuing him. The entire tavern was watching by this point, every eye and chair turned to them.

“You pathetic snake,” she growled. “I tried to be polite with you, but you didn’t seem to get the message. As such, here it is, put as simply as I can. Leave. Me. Alone.”

She punctuated her statement by throwing what remained of her drink in his face. It splashed over his head and his clothes, and without waiting for his response, she turned and returned to her table.

Tiber stood baffled in the centre of the tavern. He slowly became aware of everyone watching him, some of them laughing. With a huff, he turned and left, storming away with his two friends. As they left, he hissed to himself.

“I’ll make that harlot pay for this.”

* * *

The night continued undisturbed as the trio sat at their table. An hour or so later, after another new round of drinks, Cerris and Elena sat staring at each other, tankards in hand. Gareth watched, bemused.

“You ready?” Cerris asked competitively.

“As long as you are,” Elena grinned.

“Then after the count of three.”

“Alright then.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

At once, both girls lifted their cups and began drinking as fast as they could. Gareth watched as they gulped down their beverages. Drink dribbled from the corners of Cerris’s mouth while Elena looked as prim and proper as ever. Twenty seconds later, the first cup was slammed upside down to prove its emptiness.

“Victory!” Elena celebrated. Cerris was still drinking and pulled the tankard away from her lips, gasping for air.

“I still do not know how you do that,” she spluttered.

“Undefeated!” Elena added, as all three burst into giddy laughter. Gareth was the first to stop as he had drunk less over the course of the evening.

“I hope you girls are enjoying yourselves,” another voice broke over the laughter. Bardor was stood beside the table, smiling. “You three have a good day?”

“Yes, father,” Gareth replied. “It’s been fun.”

“That’s good to hear. But for now, Gareth, you have some dinner to make.” He ruffled Gareth’s hair, then turned to Cerris and Elena. “And you two girls. Bit late to be travelling back to your camp, I’d suppose. There’s an empty house on the far side of town, and I’ve paid to let you stay the night if you want.”

“You didn’t have to,” Cerris responded, blinking tiredly. Then she yawned.

“I insist. Gareth repaid you today with his tour-”

“And the drinks,” Cerris added. Gareth nodded in agreement.

“His tour and the drinks. I’m repaying you now. Follow me.” Bardor signalled to follow. After a short pause to down the last of their ales, the three stood and joined him.

They wandered across town, the streets lit by burning torches and the moon above. The group chatted and giggled, stumbling as they walked. Finally, they reached an old house not far from the town hall, near the cross roads at the rear of the town. Bardor opened the door and let the girls inside.

“There are bedclothes and water in there for you,” he said kindly. “Now, Gareth and I must be getting home.”

“Goodnight, girls,” Gareth waved before following his father away.

Inside, the girls found two beds with fresh linens and a candle to light the room. One of them changed into their bed clothes in the other room, then the other. Very little was said between tiredness and drink flooding their heads. They both lay in their beds and relaxed. In the quiet, Elena spoke first.

“Hey, Cerris?”

“Yeah?” Cerris answered sleepily.

“Seeing Bardor and Gareth together is really sweet.”

“Yeah,” Cerris agreed blearily.

“It makes me miss Mum and Dad,” Elena admitted. Cerris didn’t answer. “Do you miss them as well?”

“All the time,” Cerris said quietly.

“Alright then,” Elena nodded. “Love you, Cerris. Goodnight.”

“Love you too,” Cerris answered, before blowing out the candle.

*  *  *

Shapes and images swirled and shifted. Dark clouds like mist and smoke.

The vision became a deep dark cavern. Images painted upon the wall. Silence in the stone.

A swirling flame of blue and green and red. Something inside. Something fighting.

Something sealed. The words on walls inscribed. Something breaking free.

She knew the images. She had seen them in her dreams before.

She could hear a voice shouting.

“Cerris!”

*  *  *

Cerris awoke with a start. She looked at her surroundings, surprised that she didn’t recognise them, then looked at the bed beside her. It was empty, with bed clothes folded and placed on the pillow. Elena had clearly woken early and gone out. Cerris climbed out of bed and stood, her armour laying out nearby. She just about recalled what had awoken her. A voice calling.

It called again.

“Cerris!” Elena screamed. “Help me!”

Cerris didn’t hesitate for a moment. She sprinted from the room and out of the house. She looked back and forth like a frantic animal, trying to pin down the sound. It didn’t take long. A large crowd was gathered at the far end of the street, surrounding the wooden platform they had seen the day before. Someone was tied to the stake.

Cerris sprinted towards the scene. The wind rushed over her as she went but she didn’t slow down. Elena kept calling for help, yet the crowd just stood and watched. One of the crowd happened to spot Cerris hurtling towards them. They warned the others. The crowd parted to let her pass, just as several guards in armour, wielding spears, charged to meet her.

The first guard was too far to stop Cerris at her current speed. The second attempted to block her path, but she pranced around him. Cerris suddenly became very aware she’d forgotten her axe and shield. The third guard tried to stop her with his spear, but she leapt aside, keeping momentum, struggling against the slippery mud of the road. The final two guards crossed their spears to block her. With a swift movement, Cerris fell and slid on her side between them. She converted her slide into a roll and returned to her feet. She was so close. She could hear the guards behind her, but she was yards away now.

Someone in the crowd screamed.

From the stake, Elena looked hopefully at her. But something was wrong. Cerris couldn’t hear the guards anymore. She could only hear people in the distance, getting further away. Elena looked up and went wide eyed. She screamed as a vast shadow fell on her.

Something landed. A powerful blast of air slammed Cerris backwards into the mud. She struggled to face forwards, and saw the beast before her. It was colossal. Its body was the size of a small building, even without its tail, head and wings. The wings were long, leathery, and reached to either side of the road, resting on clawed wingtips. Its legs were small for its size, but each was still as big as a man, holding up its behemoth body. A serpentine tail sprang from its rear, swinging back and forth, spikes covering its entire length. Its neck was nearly as long, topped with a massive, fang filled maw, armoured with horns and more spikes. Tiny eyes gleamed from the sides of its head, each one emerald green, contrasting the cold bronze of its scales. Its head reared back, its maw opened, and it fired a jet of orange flame into the air above. Cerris flinched as the heat fell on her, drying the mud beneath her.

The dragon stood, perched on top of Elena and the wooden platform. Elena screamed. Then, with an ear-splitting roar, the dragon flapped its wings and launched clear into the sky, ripping the platform free and carrying the entire structure with it.

Cerris cried her sister’s name, as Elena disappeared into the clouds.

[violentdesires]

if you wanted me dead , you should have just said . nothing makes me feel more alive . so i leap from the gallows and i levitate down your streets , crash your party like a record scratch as i scream : who's afraid of little old me ? you should be . i was tame , i was gentle 'til your circus life made me mean . don't you worry folks , we took out all her teeth . who's afraid of little old me ? well , you should be .

𝐈 , application .

( camila queiroz / 635+ / she, her ) — it’s been a while since we’ve seen kaelie morais in the shadow world. the unseelie-siren resides in the faerie realm and reminds us of dressing for revenge, freshly manicured nails and bloody hearts. rumor has it that they might have a connection to the unseelie court as princess, but only time will tell where their loyalties really lie. until then, only one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the saccharine.

𝐈𝐈 , basic information .

name . . . kaelie morais .

nicknames . . . kae .

species . . . unseelie-siren .

age . . . 635+ .

date of birth . . . february 14th .

place of birth . . . unseelie realm .

pronouns . . . she , her .

sexuality . . . bisexual .

residence . . . unseelie tower .

languages . . . english , french .

𝐈𝐈𝐈 , personality .

zodiac sign . . . aquarius .

negative traits . . . illoyal , untrusting , selfish .

positive traits . . . fierce , confident , tenacious .

hobbies . . . dancing , shopping , exploring .

𝐈𝐕 , appearances .

faceclaim . . . camila queiroz .

height . . . 1,78 cm .

hair color . . . brown .

eye color . . . brown .

notable facts . . . while many do not expect it when they see her , kaelie is capable of raising and controlling hellfire . every now and then you will find her surrounded by fiery flowers , a more or less conscious occurrence .

𝐕 , relatives .

parents . . . zagan , the unseelie king and an unknown mother .

siblings . . . auraline wayne ( half-sister ) .

familiar connections . . . emilian varon ( betrothed ) , inês morais-varon ( daughter ) .

pets . . . tba .

𝐕𝐈 , biography .

Every king is supposed to radiate power and the unseelie king has never been an exception to that rule. He reigned his lands with an iron fist, leaving no doubts that he belonged on the throne. Many believed him truly immortal and all-powerful, but even the strongest of creatures have their weaknesses: His indiscretion happened behind closed doors and only his most trusted guards weren’t surprised when he presented yet another child to his court: Kaelie was the result of an affair. The oh-so powerful king was seduced by a siren, but he did not plan on revealing the truth about this child, showing flaws which could be the end of his very sovereignty. He introduced his daughter as the child of his queen and made plans to observe and punish any behavior his daughter may have inherited from the siren. Being a princess comes with a lot of heavy expectations and Kaelie was rather young when she learned how to meet them. It was not owed to a particularly strong sense of obedience, but the cruel punishments inflicted by her father and a desire to experience more freedom. She learned how to wrap those that surrounded her around her little finger, ensuring that they would not inform her parents about her shenanigans. Her childhood and youth were hardly filled with happiness, a notion that many faeries never care for, but no one treated her as viciously as her own father did. The king believed that his youngest child was far from useful and his nobles could not believe their eyes when he summoned an ancient creature - one that even unseelies and demons knew not to mess with. The being ruled its own hellish dimension and he arrived to tend after a simple task: He was meant to turn the princess into something more advantageous. A weapon. Kaelie’s dark education begun and no matter how much she suffered, her father did not rest until she learned to control one of the world’s most dangerous powers. Hellfire. For once in his life, the leader of the unseelies felt pleased with his offspring – and his amusement only increased when she turned on her teacher, destroying him with the very same flames he forced her to raise. Perhaps he could find himself in the child, after all.

Once her father became more accepting, the hybrid tried to forgive her relatives for their forceful methods, but some wounds never heal. There was a burning rage inside of her, the bitter taste of hurt and betrayal, but Kaelie learned how to hide her feelings behind the sweetest of smiles ; just like she learned to hide the effects of her voice and the thirst for blood that she inherited from a woman she did not even know of. Countless of faeries surrounded her as they were tasked with raising her, but no one ever dared to tell her where her strangeness stemmed from. While her parents spread their poison and mischief, the princess stayed in the castle - but faerie politics were starting to bore her. Why would anyone want to claim a throne when it cost them their freedom? Fortunately for her, ruling the unseelie lands was something she would not ever need to consider: Even without her older siblings, her father was a strong man, one that defended his throne and his life with everything he had. Long live the king. Growing up, there was only one thing that stayed completely off limits, no matter how much Kaelie argued. The human realm. It was something that did not change until the Clave began to crumble and she was tasked with simple duties as a representative. One of her missions lead her to France ; a country that she learned to love almost instantly. She found herself staying longer than necessary – for the landscape, the food and the people. Commoners hardly noticed the absence of the princess, but it began to ruin the mood of some nobles. Little did they know that they would feel even more anger once the wayward daughter returned. Pregnant. Kaelie made every attempt to hide the news from her family, but it was to no avail. The magic she loved so very much betrayed her and her father never felt angrier with her. How could she dare to have a child out of wedlock? He locked her away, beginning to plot ways to hide the horrible mistake that could – once again – make him seem weak in the eye of his enemies. To protect his reputation, he arranged her betrothal to Emilian Varon, the father of her child. If his daughter wished to live, she would not only play along but learn to obey ; but he did not pass up on the opportunity to inform her that he would not mind if she chose death. It was not fear for her own life, but fear for the life of her unborn child that made her give into her family’s demands and months later, Kaelie gave birth to a healthy daughter. Inês.

While the pregnancy was far from planned and caused her more trouble than she ever imagined, Kaelie could not even begin to describe the love that she felt for her little girl. Being a mother consumed her with pleasant feelings and she did not care if her happiness fueled her family’s hatred. Her child meant the world to her, but unfortunately, her attempts to stay out of rivalry and politics became more difficult when word about Amara’s foolishness spread like a wildfire. Some unseelies believed that it was time to make a move on the seelie throne. According to them, Amara’s young daughter had to be far easier to take on than the late queen, but the unseelie king warned his people to be patient. He claimed that he had great plans for the future, plans that would result in them reigning over both, the Seelie and the unseelie court. Kaelie could not understand her father’s hesitance – until she overheard heated arguments between her parents, revealing that Auraline was more than a potential threat and enemy. She was her father’s child. Kaelie’s half-sibling. Learning about her connection to Auraline left her curious and, since her parents were not aware of her newfound knowledge about her sister, Kaelie convinced her family to let her spend time at the seelie court to ‘gather more information and aid them in their plans to take the newly appointed queen’s crown’. They believed that she would do everything to get close to Auraline just to take her down – but the princess ended up protecting the children at court when enemies attacked the realm. New York has not been much of an adjustment for her. She took on the name ‘Morais’ to blend in among the humans, studying their customs and their behavior to gain the ability to act as if she happened to be one of them. Some of her relatives were not pleased with her decision to spend any time in the human realm, least of all without any guards, but she soothed them by claiming that she is merely doing her job – gathering information about the seelie queen. Little do they know that she is seizing any opportunity to have sweet revenge on their endless punishments ; Kaelie recently brought Victrola and while she knows that the fun might not last when her family finds out, she plans on making the most of it for as long as she possibly can…

𝐕𝐈𝐈 , wanted connections .

familiar . . . cousins , half siblings , her mother .

romantic . . . ( former ) flings or partners .

platonic . . . her best friend , ladies in waiting , guards , partners in crime , etc .

credits : psd , template .

[the-other-blue]

He knew. Because why else wouldn't he?

Always the one in the shadows, never the one in the spotlight. Yet even with freedom as a blessing, the curse of knowledge was still one resting on his shoulders.

No amount of time spent in the woods, no amount of solitude, and no amount of sharing memories with family would relieve him of that.

Knowledge comes with a price, one that both his mother and sister had also paid for. Yet neither of them had been... "blessed" with the same methods he did.

His isolation wasn't only for want of rest after years of his people being slaughtered. It was to avoid accidentally discovering details and secrets he wasn't meant to know.

Yet... Here he was again. Fighting. Protecting. Wielding a weapon that felt lighter than the weight on his shoulders.

One precise throw of it.

One dive through the aetherial lines left by it.

One swift motion with enough momentum to behead the large creature before him.

......

It fits him like a glove.

The spear is tough, and his movements are clearly stiff (at least to his standards). Too much time idling, hiding, and resting can do that to one's flexibility and muscles. But his armor was different.

He couldn't feel a single section of it creaking or protesting against any movement he did. The cloth wasn't too warm or too cold. The wind couldn't seep through it at the speed in which he could dive and come back out. And the armored pieces weren't crashing against one another, making sounds, or hindering his movements.

It was the perfect fit for him. Simple as that.

And the first time he'd ever worn it.

If a captain, or vice captain of the Crystarium ever wore far better armor than his peers, only to let the soldiers do the work and watch them being slaughtered, he was no better than what Eulmore had become. There is something inherently stupid about that philosophy, that much he knows.

If figures of direction go down, it would only make things more difficult to coordinate for the survivors. He should know, because he'd seen it happen. His captain had died. His squadron had gone into chaos. And Rhea had stared dumbfounded and bloodied as he wasn't the one to resolve a life or death situation but his own bloody mother.

But Rhea's blood refused to let that go, stay alive and in safety and make sure order never falls into chaos. If there was danger to face, he'd always be there, at the frontlines. And he'd do anything in his power to set his fellow soldier's worries at ease. Act like a reckless idiot. Wooo! And what not. Rally everyone while still barking orders for direction. Facing something that could kill you with a scratch wasn't a matter of being reckless. It was a matter of keeping calm and seeing the best paths through at all times.

At all times. And wearing dingy generic armor.

Sometimes the leather could give in. Others he'd accidentally tear away a pauldron. And there was even one where the chainmail literally made it impossible for him to dive and almost costed him an eye. The only commodity he'd ever allowed himself were his weapons. And even then, relying solely on them was a crutch he refused to ever accept.

But now? Where he is standing on his own with no lives on his hands? His body may be heavy, his bones may protest from a lack of action for so long. His blood is taking a moment to warm up. But his armor fits like a glove, and his spear isn't as heavy as it used to be.

But, no.

People will die today. Just none that he knows of or would lament.

Hypocritical to say the least.

Rhua was in there. And his mother was standing on her own before blasphemies. He was just noise introduced into the fight. Just an extra hand to handle these attackers. He was just an executioner doing a side job. Tasting the freedom of not being the one responsible for their doom.

[unlackeyed]

"...The family resemblance is uncanny."

It's the first thing that Shadow has said since his arrival. He'd taken his perch atop a crate of salvaged badnik parts and had been watching Snively work, cool and quiet as a wandering stray cat. What had initially led Shadow to seek him out was anyone's guess—maybe he just had nowhere else to be.

(Or, privately, it could be that Shadow craves the familiar background noise of someone tinkering away. It's a sound that he hadn't realized he missed until recently.)

"What are you working on?"

Snively is like most who've survived years in a perilous and unpredictable situation: he moves very little when he can avoid it. He makes himself small and quiet, erases himself from the picture of any conflict. Movement opens the pathway to pain.

So when Shadow, renowned (infamous?) all over Mobius, appears in the doorway of the workshop shared with Tails, Sir Charles, Rotor, and other inventive prodigies of the Resistance-turned-Restoration, well....Snively's pale, frigid eyes turn toward G.U.N.'s once-weapon. And nothing else.

A sniff of his sharp nose.

"I'm rather curious to know what part's so similar," and out comes a voice always just nasal enough to rankle nerves. "And while I'm at it, I'm wondering whether you're just socially inept, or attempting to compliment me in earnest."

His head tilts a little. He doesn't blink enough for an ordinary "Overlander" (the slang of most Mobians, for the dwindling human population of this planet). He knows it's unnerving: one of his few effective weapons. Because Snively once had great ambition, but he knows now he was always too craven to see his schemes through. Nah, these days, he'd rather be the man behind the curtain, tapping on a makeshift keyboard at lightning speed, inventing code for the "good guys." Code over which--he must pause, smugly, to acknowledge--even his genius uncle the "Eggman" would stumble.

There's a reason Colin Junior was Dr. Robotnik's right-hand servant for over a decade. He worked like a dog, with no illusion of grandiosity, no poetic vengeance, no "here's my evil plan in verbose detail while I hold you at gunpoint," to blind him to the most practical, logistically sound solutions. No glory, just bloody results.

Shame his uncle rarely listened to him. Or, perhaps it's no shame at all. He IS alive and well now, because Sonic didn't die.

Maybe Shadow knows all that. Maybe he's clocking the kinsman of everyone's common enemy for signs of double-dealing.

Well, the human quietly scoffs and returns to his work, better put on a pot of tea, kiddo. You'll be waiting a while. My motives are very simple these days: fuck over Uncle Julian in any way possible. My allies are anyone who can make that happen. Hate is an exceptional motivator.

He hums a bit, off-key. He runs a simulation on the laptop he built (in hours) last week. He clicks his tongue, puts his welding mask back down, and continues fusing together the parts of old Badnik "friends" from his planet-destroying youth. Scratch, Grounder and Coconuts haven't shown up yet. Maybe they survived the last long war, and don't need to be swept and reactivated as....eugh...Goodniks. Maybe. But doing something with his brain and his hands keeps his mind from roving down even darker paths of memory.

"Reconstructing the past more efficiently," he drawls. "And you?"

The urge to ask something deeply irreverent, like, How they hangin', Doom Patrol?, momentarily seizes Snively. But he lets it pass, like the urge to sneeze. He's very good at placating big egos.

But the silence drags on. So he finds himself lifting the mask again to peer at Shadow. A small smirk wins over his attempt at a pokerface.

"Well?"

God, what a weirdo.