#like i've managed to get to a point where i'm considered a golden child by practically everyone

[liebemich]

the constant urge to ruin my own life

[whelpimnauthuman]

My current Clangen has had at least five murders (and I will not be surprised if we get more). Which is already wild, but then looking at the revelations I've gotten so far and then coming up for motivations is. Just. Wild

Clangen Murder Lore under the cut

I have one guy, Lupinerustle, who's done the majority of the murder (I think it's 2, maybe 3 other cats? Need to check my notes tho) He's charismatic, so finds it easy to laugh off and deflect any accusations (doesn't help that at least one of his "confessions"was a flashback/nightmare overheard by a kit who didn't understand it.) I don't have a motive yet, but at this point whenever there's a murder I'm like "ah, yeah, that was probably him".

One of them was not subtle at all, brought the guy into camp and damned him to the Dark Forest; he was an apprentice about to graduate so I imagine it was right around the assessment. Not entirely sure method or motive, but he ends up killing the apprentice (I think he name was Rapidpaw?). Debating on having Lupinerustle ambushing Rapidpaw, so he doesn't have a chance to fight back, or Rapidpaw fighting for his life.

Either way, the body is brought back to camp, Lupinerustle claims they were attacked and the apprentice ran, abandoning him and dying in the process. "In the end, he wasn't fit to be a warrior."

Second murderer is his mate, Frozenmane. She grew up as kind of the golden child; I imagine her and her sister Icystem having a relationship similar to Dovewing and Ivypool, where Frozenmane was able to get away with almost anything - sneaking out to the Twolegplace and eating their food, going missing for weeks on end, even returning with one of their collars - and still managed to graduate on time, yet Icystem was held back despite doing everything right. To add insult to injury, around the time Icystem graduated, the medicine cats received a prophecy. Frozenmane overheard it and thought it must be talking about her, and her sister wasn't exactly pleased when she went to tell her. "You couldn't even let me have this (my graduation/ceremony), without somehow making yourself special, could you?"

A few moons pass, and Icystem (along with a few other cats) are taken by two legs. Famine strikes, the old deputy dies and is replaced, and Frozenmane... Lives life as normal. She finds a mate, has kits (Icystem, ironically, returns the same moon her kits are born). Her mate dies, her kits grow, and she's just... A common warrior.

And it kills her inside. Wasn't she meant to be special? Hadn't Starclan chosen her? Wasn't she the favorite?

I'm not entirely sure her motive for killing this (seemingly random?) warrior, but I feel like it's related to that; her victim, Toadflood, was everything she wasn't: a relatively laid-back warrior who was just. Enjoying life. Didn't care about being special, or raising in ranks (I think they were actually from outside the Clan originally). They weren't holding themself to such a high standard, and Frozenmane hated it.

The murder just adds on to everything tho. There's that combination of horror and guilt, but also... Lupinerustle has killed at least one cat by now, and can recognize there's something off about her. TL;DR they bond over murder and become mates, honestly probably enabling each other? (Considering, y'know, Lupe is still murdering his Clanmates)

Frozenmane is eventually confronted by Falconheart, a younger warrior (and one of the deputy's current mates), who plans on sharing the revelation with the Clan (preferably after their mate becomes leader, as Antlerstar is on his last life, and Frozenmane is a well-trusted warrior; it's basically the equivalent of Firestar accusing Tigerclaw). Falconheart is hoping to find guilt, remorse, maybe to hear it was an accident, anything to keep from reporting this. Instead, Frozenmane simply replies "So? Plenty of cats - good cats - die or go missing all the time. Why does it matter now?"

After all, Frozenmane was chosen by Starclan, she can't be wrong. Her killing a Clanmate is 100% okay, at least, in her mind.

Final murder is Antlerstar, who's currently on his last life. He's old, and quite honestly seen a lot, being the Clan's first leader (and one of two founders remaining). He's actually lost all but one of his other lives to famine, so has no problem giving for his Clan; however, he's no pushover, having led his Clan to war as well.

He was once a wise and noble leader, but age, as well as the trials of leading a Clan, have made him more feeble and hesitant; he fears leading his Clan astray, causing more loss and pain. He's plagued by nightmares, mistakes and visions from his past. It's not uncommon for him to get lost in a memory, or awake from a nightmare unaware of when or where he is.

His murder of (*checks notes*) was accidental, having lost himself to one such memory. The realization of what he'd done haunts him, and he's mostly confined himself to his den, only being visited by his deputy, Cinderfeather, and his medicine cat, fellow founder and friend, Foxpath.

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Fai's Fic Ramble: The GorseTale AU (bare basics)

Ever since roughly... 2017 I think, there been a single Undertale fanfic I've been tapping away at and though it's nowhere near done or even organised enough for me to think about posting chapter 1 on A03, I recently posted a spinoff fic related to it called Eight Coloured Picture about the deaths of all the fallen humans and how some monsters each time were effected by their passing, and well.

I wanna ramble about the main story that fic comes from for a bit!

So.

Working Title: 'Gorse, Blackthorn and Buttercups' I also call it GorseTale in my head for short since Gaijin Goombah's rather fun video on why Undertale's Golden Flowers are most likely Gorse was a HUGE inspiration for the fic back when I started out (it's er changed quiet a bit since then but I'm keeping the flower vibes because Chara likes them and I did way too much research into both practical and symbolic uses for plants in the Underground for this fic not to use at least some of it at some point XD).

Core premise: Story is a Slice of Life/Drama AU set around Frisk being born in the Underground and taken in by Toriel right around the time of 'Undertale canon' (for Undertale Yellow fans, roughly a year or so after Clover's death), and through a series of domino effects stemming from that, various monsters of the Underground are confronted with the flaws of both themselves and their kingdom, and as a result start putting in effort to try fixing things so the little human child they've become so attached to can actually live their life to the fullest without fear of being murdered just for being born a non monster.

Aka: Toriel and Sans experience the joys and terror of co-parenting a child who only survives past the age of 3 because they have phenomenal cosmic power. Papyrus discovers the Royal Guard is NOT in fact something he wants to join (and accidentally becomes politically active in an effort to right by his new nibbling). Undyne takes some time to really rethink her career path and motives. Alphys somehow manages to turn former mistakes into miracles (oh and cures death maybe). Mettaton learns to take time off and share the spotlight, and finally King Asgore gets a surprising amount of hope in encouraging peaceful rebellion against his own accidental dictatorship.

Main cast: Rotates a bit since every major monster (and Flowey) matters in this and who's most in focus depends on the exact arc but Toriel, Sans, Papyrus, Chara and Frisk are the ones who I have the most planned scenes for since well, they're where the 'domino effect' starts.

Ships: Fic is pretty gen for the most part but leaning Undyne/Alphys, Papyrus/Mettaton (who knew all Paps needed to become popular was to openly try convincing monster kind that killing all the humans is wrong in front of a very specific underground star XD), and some very very very slowburn Sans/Toriel (is teased throughout the story because Sans IS Frisk's other parent Sans just means 'Dad' in Frisk speak and I find various Monsters' "Wait Sans has a kid- Wait Sans is married?!" reactions hilarious (Paps giving 'context' to why he suddenly has a nibbling to Undyne especially) but actual, real Soriel doesn't happen until near the very end because Toriel is Not Ok, Sans leans AroAce/Demi and both agree that while the odd kiss, hug or 'real talk' is fine neither up for anything more than that right now. Also Toriel has yet to get a formal divorce and er, she can't even think of him for much of the fic without wanting to set him on fire so... Yeah). Also considering Mad Mewmew/Asgore (because funny but also oddly sweet), and Mettaton trying to get over a crush on Alphys at the start (due to Mettaton's Winter Alarmclock dialogue reframing all of Mettaton's actions in canon in a whole newlight for me), but for the most part romance really isn't a focus.

Things to set it apart from every other 'Frisk grows up in the Underground' fanfic:

A LOT of worldbuilding focus on stuff how monsters get food and materials.

Toriel teaching everyone how Monster society was before the War vs now (aka lots of cultural trauma themes here).

More emphasis on how little Monster society these days really knows about things they really should given their Kingdom's plans.

Sans 'timeline trauma' getting tossed out the window for joining Toriel in 'worried parent' stress (hard to be upset about LOADS when they're specifically stopping a toddler you love from getting murdered).

Papyrus accidentally making everything better just because for the sake of his nibblet he can't back down.

FLOWER SYMBOLISM AND DISCUSSING THE UNDERGROUND'S VERY IMPORTANT PLANT LIFE!

Undyne having a character growth arc triggered by Papyrus.

Mettaton having a character growth arc triggered by Papyrus (and a passing mention of Napstablook).

Alphys not being fired post Amalgamite reveal making her realize she has in fact actually kinda created the cure for death (by 'Falling Down') or at the very least is only maybe three steps away from that and actually works on that alongside a bunch of other stuff with other scientists because working alone sucked.

Lots of focus on the humans who fell before Frisk because their lives mattered! and also the Blue Soul was Kris because damn if I don't feel the need to really hammer in Toriel's trauma caused by Asgore here

NarraChara and Napstablook being ghost buddies =D they suck at it but Chara will take literally anyone who can hear them for company and Napstablook feels bad about that

Snowdin being secretly a hub of human sympathisers! (None of them knew they weren't the only ones).

MONSTER RADIO and ANIME/WESTERNS ON TV!

Tems and the Riverperson mattering while still being true to their very weird selves!!!

Asgore learning that he DOES in fact have a lot of influence and that maybe, juuust maybe, that his screw ups were worse for his Kingdom than he already thought (don't worry Asgore fans, despite my having to write a lot of Asgore grr due to Toriel being a major character, saving him and showing how much he loves his people is a major goal of mine <3). He still f%cked up majorly though XD

Frisk dealing with, well, the stress of growing up in a place that says their death would make everyone (except their immediate loved ones) happy and constantly having to live in hiding/disguise...

Flowey being a murderous little shit but also not having reset power and both Frisk and Chara in his life again.

Undertale Yellow and Deltarune characters! Who probably won't be in focus a lot but they've helped me out a ton for fleshing the out my setting so I will 100% be giving them at least a little screen time to make up for that (like Amalgamate Kanako playing with Frisk, and Martlet and Noelle being VERY interesting in Papyrus's 'Lets not kill the humans' movement for reasons our main characters will eventually learn <3).

Oh and a huge amount of 'Unseen in game' areas I made for the Underground which include:

SnowDen: a 'town' of Dog and Rabbit made tunnels underneath the ENTIRE Snowdin region (connects to every dog sentry post, the 'Toby Fox secret area' and the 'very efficiently laid out' travel tunnels seen in canon Undertale). Generally requires those living there to get through given how winding and confusing the tunnels can get (all guideposts are puzzles made with scent markers...).

TooHot: basically a 'lethal lava land' housing district for fire monsters below general Hotland. Predates the Wat and is too hot for most non fire monsters to go anywhere near (the current name was given by Asgore though).

Cliffstop: a 'thin' vertical crevice monsters in New Home unearthed a while back that goes from from all the way to the very top of Mt Ebott down to the dark of the Abyss below (locals there call the top of the area Clifftop and the lowest safe for travel Cliffdrop). Gets a fair bit of sun and has flying room so it's popular with plant and flying monsters but the cliffs are very unstable so the bottom is covered in rope nets to prevent accidents. Most puzzles about the place are moving rope bridges, loading up vertical conveyer belts with the correct weights and 'light and mirror' puzzles.

Riverfolk Waterway and True Tem Village: settlements hidden deep within Waterfall's 'unreachable in canon' winding waterways. The former is a small inlet where 'Riverfolk' monsters like the Riverperson have a small collection of boathouses they dock at, and the later is exactly what is sounds like, with the 'Temmie Village' we see in canon being merely a Temmie trading outpost. Can accessed only by Riverperson boat or the Temmie's secret tunnels and is home to all sorts of cool things like the Temmie 'Colleg' and 'DEEP HISTORY mUSEEum'~ XD

WebbInn 'the Spider district': Mostly a giant communal spider web hanging Hotland's ceiling but also connected to a tunnel that goes up near Mt Ebbot's peak (the spiders have been digging upwards in hopes of getting a 'sunspot' they can use to advertise their 'sweet little town' to tourists). Has a... Very distinctive culture compared to the rest of the Underground and the 'puzzles' there tend towards being 'social' in nature (aka fey logic games where how you speak and act gets you directed every which way).

Starlite Strip: A little connecting area right underneath the path/cliff Monster Kid and Frisk see the castle while travelling through Waterfall in Undertale Canon. Not a big settlement on its own but something of a trading hub for monsters from New Home and the surrounding areas in Waterfall to buy and sell goods (also has a LOT of Royal Guard presence which is why absolutely no one in Undertale recommends it to the very human Frisk). Very sparkly but in a gentle 'crystals, glowing water and fire flies' kinda way.

And... Yeah. Wanna post a full script of what I've got planned so far but this post is already massive so will do that in a bit.

Will say though that the general ending plan for this fic arguably goes full fix fic with:

12-14 year old Frisk comes out as human publicly and goes through the entire Underground arguing their case (something the Underground has been publicly debating for the last 10 years or so thanks to a very motivated Papyrus and a wanting more ratings + genuinely interested Mettaton).

Undyne attempts to kill them but well, she's only going all out because she and Paps had a deal about this (he vowed that he'd defend any innocent human from her killing them so she could still go all out at her job) and Frisk knows that.

Mettaton gets to do THE biggest and most historically important interview in the Underground's history.

Asgore declares that the Underground will try out this whole 'everyone in the kingdom votes' thing on both the upcoming war and how they will treat humans living here because he wants to make sure he's doing what his people want (Mettaton asks what Asgore will vote but Asgore, finally realizing his own influence, refuses to say).

Asgore and Frisk spend a nice, if slightly nervously time together drinking tea and talking about the future while the votes are being counted. (Toriel and others may join them but mostly this is Asgore getting to know... the last of Toriel's adopted children she told him about the others when she asked for a divorce).

Monsters choose wisely because for all this fic is 'Monsters are flawed too!' they are good people and I want to make that clear <3

Cue Frisk publically trying to help break the barrier while being very alive...

Flowey pulling a 'God of Hyper Death' except well, he, Frisk and Chara maaay have discussed a bit of this beforehand (Flowey did want the souls and this would get him them), so er, the fight might be a touch more mixed with genuine anger and playfulness. Note: Still working out the exacts.

The human SOULs get brought back to life as monsters while Flowey gets a SOUL of his own and Chara gets enough magical matter to be visible to people other than Frisk (it required less waste of the accumulated magic, the soul of an additional human another girl falling into the Ruins was what got Frisk deciding to come out actually, the kids using a bunch of Alphys' furthered research on the interplay between Determination, matter and Dust, and breaking down the dead humans' bodies for enough 'compatible matter' to work with, and the destruction and repurposing of the Barrier but hey! Back to life! Or arguably Chara's case an upgrade to proper ghost-hood). Oh and the Amalgamates that want it are safely separated but not sure if that's a 'before no' thing or a 'here in this big finale' thing~ XD

And yeah. That's all of my 'extra happy ending just because I can' stuff the entire fic eventually builds towards. Will post all my planned scenes/'domino effect planning' some other time but for now I'm done.

If you liked any ideas in this feel free to use them please (I'm a slow ass writer and I write what I want to see more of in the world XD) and er, hope this was a fun ramble to read <3

[yungfrieda]

6.9.23

whew, okay.

i feel like i've had a moment to sit, reflect, and truly realize how fucking hard and intense things have been in my personal life and it's been... jarring.

i spent an immense amount of my living years up to this point attempting to suppress my past and the traumas i've survived from the forefront of my conscious mind (outside of any writing i share here). even from a young age, i operated on the belief that i am capable of so much more and able to be a lot more "effective" when i put a time constraint on my coping. Or alternatively, when i have no needs to ask anyone else for support with.

it was something i grew up knowing. My parents were never shy about declining/deprioritizing my needs emotionally or otherwise, citing my older age as the fact that i was meant to be "strong" and "tough" - my needs weren't needs, just weaknesses that i needed to go on my own and fix. it was strange, having to go away to fix my own emotional wounds and being my parents' golden child all at the same time.

subconsciously or otherwise, i did everything i could to make them shocked & disappointed when i was young. I remember the day i decided i was never meant to be an athlete - both of my parents, who had grown up rural and took great pride in their extracurriculars, tried so hard to get me into track, soccer, cheerleading (which i actually liked), softball, and the like. my mom tried he creative route - but band was a flop. i was every after-school special's 2 week trial period goer. i remember throwing my clarinet down a 4-foot flight of steps in 8th grade. i wanted to play the flute, as a baby who had grown up listening to Kenny G, but for some reason my mom was deadset on clarinet. it made for a good meme when i'd practice despondently at my grandparent's house - blowing harshly against the frail wooden reed all while forcing my gram to watch an all-day marathon of Spongebob. Squidward and I had a lot in common.

despite those small acts of rebellion, i remember having the ability to tune in to some other part of myself in an emergency or for something important. there were / are presently moments where i tell myself "snap out of it, you've got to make sure this happens the right way". my therapist used to use the term "apparent competence" to describe it and i feel like it fits perfectly.

this apparent competence coping mechanism kicks in when something i consider high priority comes into the fold of my focus. it does not kick in for anything that has to do with my own care or well-being. i've spent such a long time prioritizing the care of others and managing the priorities of people (parents, supervisors, partners) who couldn't be assed to do it themselves. it never stopped anyone from being disappointed in me when i faltered in effectiveness or usefulness as it pertained to their needs.

this is the core reason why i've been trying to be easier on myself. it's become... well, easier is not the word. more like, i've created the space to be more mindful about it, for sure. after years and years of therapy, i'm able to hit pause on any situation and evaluate it after it's occurred. even during - i'm beginning to recognize a moment in myself and my experience where i say "Okay wait. Take this one internal for a minute."

the internal space has become deeper and deeper the more i'm able to lean into this. The depth is good in terms of procuring more information and learning about myself, but it's been scary in terms of the structure of "stability" i've been trying to maintain. it's taken this long to realize that the "apparent competence" doesn't keep me safe - but even with all of this internal knowing, I'm still afraid to let it crumble.

I wonder to myself "what will be left?" and "what will keep me safe?" All valid questions given the level of intensity and toughness I'd mentioned above... but I spent 28 years realizing it never did anything in the first place, so what am i truly holding on to aside from the illusion of control? maybe that's the only thing i'm really holding on to. idk it's been a long time coming, maybe i'm just learning how to let go more and more, every day.

[whimsicallyreading]

For Rowaelin Month day 17

 “A sick day”

CW- PTSD, mentions of violence

Aelin considered herself a fortunate person.

She has survived genocide, her family's murders, losing loved ones, slavery, torture, and the Great War. Now she is a queen, a mother, a beloved Mate.

Her life had changed since those bleak days where she'd wondered if she would ever escape captivity—the days when Aelin didn't know if she would ever be free or find love again. Every morning she woke up curled into Rowan's side, and while she drank her morning tea, Aelin could count on her young daughter snuggling into her lap.

Yes, she was swamped most days, but that was normal for a queen. But even the moments between boring meetings brimmed with life and laughter. Rowan's hand on her thigh beneath the table. Fenrys' theatrics when conversation spiraled off-topic. And even the hardened lords thought it was hilarious when their three-year-old princess barged into councils and demanded her mother's attention.

Her family gathered for dinners at the end of every day. Aelin's little family, Fenrys, Emrys, and Malakai were the regular attendees. Aedion, Lysandra, Elide, and Lorcan joined when they were present. It was a time reserved for family only, and it was by far Aelin's favorite part of the day.

Aelin had a good life now. Her family was growing, and her country thrived beneath her rule.

So it always took her by surprise when a bad day came.

She had woken up fine. Delly had slammed open the chamber door with a gust of wind and squirmed herself between her and Rowan in the early morning. Usually, Aelin treasured the moments when her daughter joined them, but being pregnant again had taken a toll on her sleep.

Rowan tried to stop their child before she entirely collapsed onto Aelin but was a moment too slow. Delly flopped onto her mother's chest in a disarray of wrinkled nightgown and golden curls. Soft sobs were sputtering out of the tiny figure.

I'm sorry. Rowan whispered into her thoughts. He knew how hard pregnancy was on her and took his mate's comfort very seriously. It troubled him that their toddling daughter woke Aelin so abruptly.

Aelin blinks the sleep from her eyes and sends him a happy smile to assure him everything is fine.

"What's wrong, Dell?" Aelin soothes a hand up her baby's quaking form.

Adelia sniffles harder, unable to talk through the tears. She'd started to have bad dreams in recent weeks, but never had she been so inconsolable.

Aelin shifts as Adelia's arms tighten uncomfortably around her bump. Rowan sees her discomfort and reaches around to pull Dell to him instead, but it is met with resistance.

"No," Adelia finally wails. "Mama. I want Mama."

Rowan frowns. Adelia was a daddy's girl to the bone, and this was the first time she'd ever refused to go to him. Their daughter squeezes harder and burrows her face into Aelin's torso.

"Dell," Rowan leans next to her and whispers, a cool breeze brushing against her flushed cheek. "What's wrong little love?"

Adelia lifts her head, and Aelin's heart contracts painfully. Her cheeks are red and swollen from the intensity of her crying, little sobs still stumbling from her chest as Rowan settles her down enough to speak.

"Mama was gone. She was hurt, and she couldn't see me." Dell sniffles, her green eyes glassy. "Can you see me, Mama?"

Aelin tugs her daughter in closer, unable to stand the sight of her so sad. "Yes, of course, I can. I'm right here."

"You were in a box. She wouldn't let me see you," Adelia whimpers in a small voice. "She told me she was gonna keep you. I don't want you to go, Mama."

Aelin's face blanches. It wasn't possible. Her little baby couldn't possibly have seen what was coming to her mind. She looks at Rowan, and his face is pinched with worry.

"It's not real, Dell." Rowan uses a thumb to wipe the tears off her cheek.

Adelia flinches. "Uncle Ress told me it was. He told me Mama had got stollen and put into a box by the bad lady and that she should have stayed there."

Aelin's heart stops. Nausea crawls up her throat, and Rowan tugs Adelia away just in time for her to crawl out of bed and gag into a potted plant. The sickness grips Aelin, the shudders in her arms only growing worse with her daughter's mumbled cries.

"Daddy, I want Mama to stay here." Rowan hushes her and murmurs quiet reassurances. "Don't let her get stollen."

Ress had said that? In front of her daughter? Aelin tries to close her eyes against the visions creeping into her mind. The places her scars used to be ache, and her hands pulse with the remembered pain of reconstruction.

The baby in her womb squirms under its mother's stress, and Aelin throws up again.

She should have stayed there.

Cairn brings the hammer down onto her frail knees, the ringing of cracking bone splits the air.

She should have stayed there.

Aelin opens her eyes to endless darkness. Sweet smoke wafts through invisible holes and sends her to sleep- leaving her mind vulnerable to Maeve's manipulations.

She should have stayed there.

More and more memories swarm behind her eyelids until a pair of grounding arms wrap around her shoulders.

"Fireheart, you are home. You are safe. Can you breathe with me?" Rowan sighs loudly behind her shoulder, and Aelin tries to force her own breath out.

Breathing in is harder, but Rowan's scent fills her nose and loosens the binds on her lungs. Soon, Aelin is doing the exercises independently, and Rowan nuzzles his face into her neck. His hands snake under her bump and lift some of the pressure, easing more of her tension.

"There you are," Rowan kisses her cheek as Aelin comes back around. "Are you okay?"

Aelin shakes her head and sinks into his arms. "Can you take me back to bed?"

Her legs feel like jelly, and her stomach is weak from turning. Rowan lifts her with ease. His arms are warm, and he murmurs sweet nothings into her ear as he carries his mate back to their bed.

"Adelia?" Aelin looks around for their daughter.

Rowan pulls back the duvet and reveals the sleepy from nestled right into the middle of the pillows. "She fell back asleep quickly."

"I can't believe Ress told her those things," Aelin can feel a tear slipping down her face. Ress had never forgiven her for her days as Celaena. Darrow had grown to accept her, but Ress never warmed up to having Aelin as his queen despite her efforts.

She hadn't realized the extent his hatred went.

Rowan scowls as he lays Aelin down next to their daughter. "Ress is young and foolish. I have forgiven a lot of his hostility and ignored most of his juvenile antics, but Aelin, I can't forgive this."

"He should never have said those things to Dell." Ress's words linger in her head. She tried to do right by her title and live up to her parent's legacy. Aelin took a lot of pride in listening to the demands of her people and tending to their problems personally. But the odds of Ress being the only one to feel this way are slim. Did they wish she'd never returned? Was she arrogant to take the crown just because it was her inheritance? She'd never had the formal training as ruler and relied a lot on Rowan to help manage foreign affairs. Despite the loss of her fire, many still feared her and considered her a murderer. No matter how hard she tried, Aelin's history as Adarlan's Assassin proceeded her.

Tears burn Aelin's eyes, and Rowan's scowl deepens. "He should have never spoken of you like that at all."

Aelin shakes her head, "It's his right to think what he wants. Maybe he has a point."

"No." Rowan growls, and Dell flinches in her sleep. Taking a deep breath, Rowan softens his voice. "He's wrong, Aelin. Ress was wrong to scare Dell, and he has no right to demean everything you've sacrificed. You've suffered for your people."

"I closed the lock because I had to Rowan," Aelin argues. "That doesn't automatically make me a good queen. What if I'm failing?"

Rowan pulls their duvet up to Aelin's chin, and Dell instinctively snuggles to her mother's side. Her daughter was a leach for warmth, and Aelin could feel her remaining flames writhing in her veins agitated.

"You are a wonderful ruler, Fireheart." Rowan bends down and kisses her lips reverently. "I've met my fair share of emperors, kings, and queens. None of them have given up so much to better the lives of their people. They care for you in return."

Rowan steps away from the bed, and Aelin makes a displeased noise. "Where are you going so early in the morning."

"I'm awake now. I feel like a flight through Oakwald. Go to sleep, and when you wake up, I'll bring my females breakfast," Rowan pulls on a plain white tunic. "Sleep, love. You both need your rest."

Rowan can read her too well. Aelin can feel her eyes drooping despite how much she wants to deny it. "Very well, but there better be tea and pastries."

As Aelin drifts back to sleep, she swears that a mischievous smile passes across her mate's face.

~~~

"Aelin," Maeve twirls a lock of blonde hair in her fingers. "Where are the keys?"

Cairn twists the blade in her thigh again, and Aelin screams, "screw yourself."

Aelin writhes beneath the pain and the dark queen's gaze. Her torturer goes to twist the blade again, but Maeve holds up a hand. "Wait. There is a smarter way to go about this."

"I won't tell you anything," Aelin gasps, the blood seeping from her thigh pools onto the table. "There is nothing you can do."

"Not even to spare the princess?" Maeve smiles as the cell door opens. Connall walks into the room, a squirming girl in his arms.

"Let me go," the girl screams, and the air in the room turns frigid. Her blonde hair whips around as she twists and fights. The little girl's head turns, and she freezes when she catches sight of Aelin. "Mama?"

"Adelia?" Aelin asks, confused. "You can't be here. You aren't supposed to be here." With renewed energy, Aelin thrashes against her bonds and bares her teeth at Maeve.

Maeve takes Adelia from Connall and strokes her hair. "Such a pretty one."

"This isn't real," Aelin hisses. "I wasn't pregnant when you took me. Adelia was born in Terresan."

Maeve hums a sympathetic note, "It seems you're confused." Aelin fights as the dark queen sits with a frozen Adelia in her lap. "Begin again, Cairn."

A hot iron is lain against Aelin's neck, and Adelia's screams rattle the stone chamber.

~~~

Aelin wakes with a gasp. Her chest is seizing in uncontrollable fits, and little hands cup the sides of her face.

"Mama?" Adelia's concerned face hovers over Aelin's. "Why are you crying?"

Relief washes over her at the sight of her daughter, safe and sound. She tries to take deeper breaths, but her body fights against her. The baby in her womb squirms uncomfortably. Aelin feels guilt that they are so subject to her moods. She tries to open her mouth to speak, consol her frightened daughter, but Aelin can't get any words out.

"Daddy!" Dell screams, frightened tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

Rowan bursts through the door, "Dell?"

Adelia sniffles and kisses Aelin's face sadly, "Daddy, what's wrong with Mama?"

Aelin grabs at her chest, trying to ease the tightness there. She was scaring her daughter. What kind of mother would do that? Rowan sits beside her, and a cool wind goes up her nose and fills her lungs.

"Fireheart," Rowan lifts Adelia and sits beside her. "Is this a sick day?"

It was the code they'd come up with for the days when the past came back to haunt them. When the turmoil in their mind forces their bodies to rebel, and they can't seem to put on their usual facades. It used to shame Aelin, the days she couldn't rise from bed and do her duty. But her mate's unwavering love soon cracked that lie and eased her burden. Rowan had convincing arguments. Aelin's people needed their queen at her best, and on sick days, she wasn't able to give that to them. Their court was strong. They wouldn't allow Terresan to fall while she recovered. Aelin deserved time to heal.

Rowan must have been able to tell that she wouldn't be able to settle herself this time as his winds continued their push and pull in her chest. "Yes," she rasps dejectedly.

Dell buries her face into Rowan's shoulder. Her mate rests a hand on the side of her face and soothes her cheek. "To whatever end, Aelin. We will get through this just as we do everything else."

Rowan kisses the side of Dell's face. "Little love, do you think you can go to the kitchens and have someone bring Mama tea?"

That fae instinct to fuss rears its head in their child. Adelia perks up at the opportunity to do something useful. "Yes!"

Rowan sets her on the floor, and she takes off in a blur of untamed hair and swishing skirts. They wince as a gust of wind slams the doors of their chambers against the wall.

"She's a handful," Rowan talks, aware of the soothing effect his voice has on her. "But we always knew our children would be. I can't wait to see what kind of chaos our son brings into our lives."

Aelin wraps her arms around him as the remnants of her dreams finally fade away. "You think it's a boy?"

"I know so," Rowan pinches her side, and Aelin smiles. He'd also been confident that their first child would be a girl. His smugness after Adelia's birth was unbearable.

"Rowan," Aelin whispers. "Can we just lay here today?"

"I could never deny you anything," Rowan leans against their headboard and kicks off his shoes. "You don't need to ask, Aelin. It's okay to take time for yourself."

"What if I'm just proving Ress right?" The insecurity slips from her lips before she can stop them. "What if there is someone more capable?"

"Ress won't be a problem anymore," Rowan rests a hand against her bump, and the baby withing kicks at it, bringing a smile to his face.

Aelin narrows her eyes, "What have you done?"

"Nothing that anyone will blame me for," Rowan assures. "He would be in a lot more trouble if the rest of the court learned what he said in front of Dell. Ress should be grateful I didn't do a lot worse."

Aelin sighs, "I don't understand why I can't just let it all go. Why do I allow myself to be so haunted?"

"It's not that simple," Rowan shakes his head. "I'm hundreds of years old, and no matter how many years pass, there are things from my past that haven't healed. The mind is different from the body, and sometimes it takes longer for it to recover. There is nothing wrong with that. You gave up everything for the people you loved."

"Because I had to," Aelin contradicts.

A hardness comes over Rowan, "because no one else could."

Rowan rolls over her body into a plank and looks deep into her eyes. "No one else that day would have made the same sacrifices out of love. Not even me. I was too selfish to let you go. You gave up everything, and by the strength in your soul, you came home to me. In all my decades, I have never met someone so remarkable, and I never will again. Take as many years as you need to recover, Aelin. This world owes a debt to you, and I will make sure it pays. You deserve every happiness."

His hand threads through one of hers and drags it up to rest on the bump between them.

Happiness.

Dell darts back into their room, a cup of tea sloshing in her hands as she runs. "Daddy, I put extra sugar in it. Uncle Fen is coming with more cups, but I made this one special."

Rowan pulls away from her, and the laughter on his face is contagious.  

Aelin smiles and accepts the tea from Dell's hands. She even manages a few sips without cringing from the sweetness. Fenrys follows behind her shortly and sets a fresh cup covertly on her bedside table.

There may be hard days, Aelin realizes as her family gathers around her, but the love they showed her every day made it all worth it.

[cinnamonrollstark]

Irondad Bingo: Trope: Protective Tony

Wow, thanks for the repost @irondadbingo!! Hope yall like the last one. If you haven't read it yet, do, because this is the second one in this little mini series! Enjoy!

◇◇◇

Peter's been sleeping in Tony's bed. He refuses to leave, get up, or to eat. He's still and unshakable, and hasn't cried since Tony picked him up. It scares the man, even though he knows that greif is different from person to person, he wants Peter to feel free to express what he needs to.

Periodically, Tony comes in with a drink and a snack- neither of which the boy consumes. He's focused on the blue walls of Tony's bedroom, breath still and concentrated.

"Kiddo?" Tony asks at the door, not picking up any real movement from Peter. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Just the slight movement of Peter's head, the almost nonexistent shake of curls. "Okay." He says, crossing the threshold, over to the bed, where he sits next to Pete. He rests a gentle hand between the boy's shoulder blades, sinking with each breath.

No words are enough to fix this. I'm sorries and condolences do nothing to mend him. The only thing that has made the slightest impact of the kid in the past three days is contact. Hugs, ruffles of the hair, and at night, being sandwiched between Tony and Pepper.

Tony was never a snuggler before Pepper, but when he started having nightmares, the warm form of her body molded around his was the only thing that could save him. He understands that now, as he pats Peter's back, occassionally running a hand through his hair. It's a very intimate thing, but in a very innocent way. Intimate in the way a newborn is as it rests against a parent's chest, feeling the heartbeat of a mother or father against their own.

Tony can feel Peter's heart, and he's grateful. Peter is alive. He cannot fathom how he or anyone else might've managed if he'd been with May that morning.

His heart breaks for the child. May was a kind and patient soul, a good mother- even only as a role she'd stepped into, an aunt in a parental set of shoes- and this loss is greater than Tony could ever wish Peter to outlive. He is small and shaky, a child taking his first steps in a world without one of the closest people to him.

Somewhere in another room, CNN drones on, some famous Republican and some famous Democrat arguing over something unimportant. Tragedy puts it all in perspective; everything outside this world is menial, a grain of sand against the asteroid-sized hurt.

"Peter, buddy. You've got to eat something," he whispers, expecting resistance. "I know how this feels, but you are here, Peter, and because you are here, you need to take care of yourself."

Peter rolls sideways against the comforter of the bed and props his head against his hand. His elbow makes a dent in the fabric.

"Okay," he resigns. "Okay. I'll eat."

He doesn't look too enthused, but he accepts Tony's word, and slowly gathers himself up and out of the bed. He stands in front of the blinds, and soft afternoon light creates a halo over his chestnut hair.

Tony watches him from the safety of his pillows and is amazed at his strength. From legs to belly to shoulders to neck, he holds himself upright, and manages to stay that way.

"On one condition," adds Peter, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "we go out somewhere."

°°°

Tony had definitely been suprised by the suggestion, but agreed all the same. They pull up out front and wait a moment before exiting the car. Peter's shaky in his seat, likely nervous about being in a car.

"What is this place?" Asks Tony, because he's lived in this city forever and he's never seen this resteraunt.

"A thai food restaurant. I haven't been in a while."

And Tony's not opposed, because honestly, if he thinks about it, pad thai doesnt sound so bad. When the sit down inside, he notes the lively lighting- bright and colorful. It seems like a great environment to be in tonight, and he feels that it will cheer him up.

They flip through there menus, and although he's not sure why, Tony gets the sense that's something's wrong. Peter frowns at his menu, either in concentration, or maybe he's just upset.

There's an item on the menu he just knows will make Peter laugh, thank god. "Pete," he starts. "Look at this."

Tony flips the menu around and points to the dish, giggling. "I could totally go for some Larb right now, what about you?"

At first Peter smiles, but the expression falters and crumples after a brief second.

"Oh, Peter." Tony grabs his hand across the booth, squeezes the soft skin. "Don't cry, buddy."

He instantly regrets it, although Peter doesn't really seem to mind. He's too focused on reeling it in, but Tony wants to tell him to forget that, to go ahead and cry if he needs to.

Peter wipes his eyes, smearing tears across his cheekbones. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and let's it out. "I'm sorry," he says, hiccuping against the ball in his throat.

"Don't apologize. You do what you need to do."

"I know," sighs Peter, sniffing. "But I don't want to cry right now. I want to feel something other than sad or numb, and that's all I've got right now."

Tony gathers his thoughts for a moment before he knows what to do. Peter's been singing this song, nonstop for the past few months, a relentless tune that plays in the back of Tony's mind whenever he sees the kid.

"What are you doing?" Peter asks in response to Tony stepping up on top of his chair, and then the table.

"I try to say goodbye and I choke," Tony starts. Peter is instantly embarrassed.

"Mr. Stark. Get down."

"I try to walk away and I stumble,"

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh my God."

"Though I ate a pie and its clear,"

"Those aren't the words."

"My world crumbles when you are not here!" Tony puts his hands on his hips. "Get up here."

"Tony. No."

"Tony yes. Goodby and I choke," He continues, louder now. By now, a good lot of people are staring. Waiters and waitresses are not amused.

Peter resigns to the fact that he has to join in. He stands on his booth and sings with Tony,

"Try to walk away and I stumble,"

And they're loud, now, probably too loud. Tony continues to sing the incorrect lyrics but Peter adds, "and though I try to hide it, it's clear, my world crumbles when you are not here."

"Sir," says a waiter, hands planted angrily at the small of her back. "I'm going have to ask the two of you to step down and exit the resteraunt."

Tony steps down and holds up a hand. "You finish singing." He looks to the waiter, who is annoyingly taller than him. "Let him sing."

"Sir!" Says the waiter, as Peter finished. "My wo-o-r-ld it crumbles, when you are not here."

When he's done, Pete looks down, satisfied. "Its time the two of you leave. Now."

And that same faltering, from before, that spark of joy that flits out of those big brown eyes, and it's the waiter's fault. Tony's fist rises and plants itself squarely under the man's nose before he can stop it.

As he tries to recover, Tony watches the light filter back into the kids eyes, and he pulls him off the table.

"Let's get out of here," he says, his hand gripped around Peter's exiting the door and laughing as it clinks in goodbye.

When they get to the safety of their car, Peter smiles at him.

"Well," he says, "I certainly didn't larb him."

And he laughs, and it's a glorious sound, a miracle to hear considering recent events. When Tony catches that fleck of golden hope hidden in Peter's irises, he hopes it never fades, and if it does, that he is not the cause.

[the-huntress-songblade]

The Owl and the Raven

Part 2

"I go by Reth." He said, offering no further details.

The huntress tilted her head to one side before looking at the satyr, then back to the man called Reth, "You are not one of Salis' hunting trainees... what is your mission?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if confused by her question. "I do not know any such person." Then he nudged the stirring leader, who groaned from his injuries. "My mission? Who needs a mission to hunt these abominations?" Then he blinked at her. "And what is your mission, you sound quite official."

Arrianna looked the man up and down before retraining her bow on the satyr instead, pausing only long enough to pull down her mask so that more than just her amber eyes was visible, "I am Nightstorm, huntress aspirant under Salis Ashenbow's cadre." She looked about at the various crystals, then back to Reth, "The satyr here have been performing Fel magick and it was my mission to collect at least one of these crystals so that we could discover their intents."

He lowered his hands. "Well then, feel free to take your fill. I have no interest in demonic jewelry." The smoldering satyr was groaning and gripping at Reth's boots, like he was struggling to pull himself up. Reth kicked his hand away. "If you don't mind, I'm going to have a conversation with our friend here about where his comrades are hiding. And he's going to be very helpful if he knows what's good for him."

Arrianna's grip on her bow loosened, the string coming to rest back in its ready position as she looked between the elf and his prisoner. She glanced about at the crystals she'd been tasked with collecting, then back to the satyr again. If she had the information from the leader of the satyr about the rest of the vile creatures... Salis would be sure to not only reward her but she also could show her parents that she didn't need to be a druid or priestess to be successful. With several long moments taken to get to this train of thought, she looked back at Reth, voice still stern, "You mind sharing? That information would be invaluable to our people, after all."

Reth the hunter arched an eyebrow as he stared at her, the satyr still uselessly clawing at the ground. "Are you asking to interrogate a prisoner together? Strange idea for a first courting." He said with a chuckle. "What do I get in return for sharing this information?"

Arrianna recoiled slightly, the look on her face clearly one of frustration at his mention of courting, "Excuse me? First courting? You're a bold one..." She pursed her lips together in thought before answering, "What would you want from someone like me... and don't think about cracking wise." Her bow was now back in its sling, but her polearm was at her side, the blade so sharp it looked like it could shave the hide off the satyr before them in a scant second.

He held his hands up apologetically. "Relax, huntress, I was only jesting." He pushed the satyr with his foot, rolling the creature onto its back. "Since I assume you wish to know the information to hunt the satyrs yourself, how about you agree to leave any valuable items they may possess to me." There was a small sound of his stomach growling. Spending so much time in solitude, honing his skills and hunting demons was not precisely a lucrative career decision.

Arrianna looked the man over again, catching the sound of his stomach in her sensitive ears. She frowned, looking back to the satyr before nodding, "Of course... assuming the items are not helpful to my superiors, they are yours." She turned her attention to the satyr, baring her fangs at the creature as he stirred. "Looks like this one is about ready."

Reth planted his foot on the demon's chest, none too gently. "You heard the lady, demon. Speak. Tell us where your disgusting comrades are." The demon managed to raise and turn his head slightly, the better for him to fire a glob of fel-glowing spit onto Reth's boots. "So rude... suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He drew one of his blades and held the tip down against the satyr's throat. "Lets try that again... with a little more civility." The demon unleashed a stream of demonic, what could only be insults.

Arrianna watched the exchange in silence. With a quiet inhale, she grabbed her polearm and brought it to the satyr's foul hide, making a two-inch cut on his arm, drawing blood and a sharp hiss from between his teeth. But she seemed unfazed by his reaction, saying only, "I'd suggest you answer his question, foul beast... and every time you don't, I'll add another cut... a single one won't kill you, but you won't last past the thousandth."

The hunter glanced up at her with a bit of surprise at her ruthlessness. Reth pressed his foot down harder. "It seems my new friend here is even less in the mood for impoliteness.” The satyr swore again and began to speak, entirely in demonic. And though his words were unintelligible, he turned a charred arm and pointed northwest, seemingly in the direction of the woods at the western base of the mountain. "That wasn't so hard was it?" He removed his blade and his foot and turned to the woman. "Any other questions?"

Arrianna thought about it for several moments before shaking her head, "No... no, I think not." She tied her polearm to her back before moving to tuck the glowing crystals in the vicinity into a leather satchel.

The satyr had a momentary look of relief. A look that was short-lived. Reth nodded and looked down at the demon. "Thank you." His sword sliced through the air and cut across the demon's flesh, trachea, and arteries. Blood flowed from the wound and pooled around his body as jerky thrashes overtook him for a moment. Then his strength gave out and he fell still. "Been hunting this one for three days,” Reth mused.

Arrianna's face held an impressed expression, and she looked him over again as she tied the satchel to her waist, "Only three days? I wasn't even sent here for him... just the lesser satyr. Salis will be quite impressed that we got to one of the leaders." She tilted her head again, looking Reth over in confusion, "How is it you don't have a superior officer to report to?"

He arched a brow again, equally confused and amused by her question. "Because some of us have no interest in following along like a child. I'm quite fine pursuing my own goals, on my own schedule." He paused for a moment, blinking. "And what's this about 'we'? Did we become partners at some point?"

The huntress made a scoffing noise at him, hands landing on her hips, "I'm sorry, did I confuse us as being of the same people? Can't imagine why I would've done that." She stared at him for several long seconds and retorted, "And using 'we' is just a... a habit, I suppose..." She frowned, looking the man over again, taking in the full sight of his form wrapped in worn leather armor.

He sheathed his blades at his belt and moved to spy around one of the tents at the rest of the camp. The satyrs seemed to have assumed he'd escaped into the woods as the camp was mostly empty save a few sentries left behind. "Yes, well, my 'people' aren't really my people. So you might say I'm better off on my own. Now, WE should probably make ourselves scarce before they come back even angrier."

Arrianna blinked as he started looking about the rest of the camp, and gave a nod, following after him quietly, "Yes, you're probably right."

Reth glanced over his shoulder as she followed him, then quickly stood and made his way out of the camp, heading west.

She had little trouble keeping up with him, pausing only to grab more crystals on their path - she knew the fewer the satyr had, the more advantage her people could get over them, however small that might be. But as they walked, her mind was on something else... something he'd said. "Thank you." she offered simply as they made their way west.

The hunter looked over his shoulder as she spoke, making their way around the shore of the lake. He looked mystified. "For what?"

"For sharing... you didn't have to do that."

He shrugged, as if it didn't seem like a big deal to him. "Uhm... you're welcome. It’s just information, as long as you're not going to get in my way, I don't see the problem... and I'd prefer if you not tell any one of your... superiors about me."

Arrianna frowned more, tugging her hood from her head so she could shake out her short silvery-white hair. Her golden eyes shone back at him confusedly, "What exactly is your issue with our people?"

He cleared his throat as they walked through the forest paths, toward the northern woods. "Those people have an issue with me. They think me corrupted simply because I refuse to hide timidly in the trees. Fine with me, I can get more done without 'orders'."

Arrianna tilted her head to the side, brow furrowed deeply on her visage, "Why would anyone think you corrupted? You are as talented a hunter as any of the rest of us... perhaps more, considering how quickly you located the leader of that group of satyr." She sounded genuinely confused as to why anyone would feel alienated against him. She thought about it further, remembering the look in his silver eyes and suddenly wondering where she'd seen that look before.

He remained silent for a moment, a bit longer than he usually took to answer. "Because they seem to think that hiding like frightened children is preferable to employing ALL possible weapons in order to drive the terrors from our home. Stormrage was right to turn the demons' power against them... and they call him Betrayer."

At this Arrianna blinked in surprise, staring at the hunter's back as they stopped in their walking. "... you... I know where I've seen you... I saw several of you whispering amongst yourselves some weeks ago... something about the Stormrage brother... the one who traded away his sight." She frowned again, jogging to stand before him and look at him more fully, her tone both stern and reassuring, "There's nothing wrong with seeking to destroy our enemies, you know." Her piercing amber gaze was unwavering as she looked back at him, her youth betrayed with her face fully visible - she could not be much more than three hundred years old, barely past her Coming of Age. Her facial tattoo still looked fresh on her face, framing her eyes like the feathers of an owl.

He glared at her from beneath his mask and hood, and after a moment finally pulled both free to reveal his smooth face and mane of messy, shoulder length black hair. "Yes. And a waste of time. Some of the more... zealous followers seem to believe they can break Illidan from his prison... a fool's errand. I would rather seek out his source of power directly." He paused in his explanation as he looked over the girl, apparently younger than him by a small amount. "You would think that would be true, but apparently leaving ourselves vulnerable is a fine price to pay to remain 'honorable'... which I'm sure the thousands who've died appreciate."

Arrianna looked taken aback at the hunter's brazenness. And at his overall physical wildness. But seemed ensnared by his sharp mercurial gaze. It took a few times of her mouth opening and closing before she said, "That... that's exactly right! Where our elders continue to try to stick to outdated traditions... where someone like me should be dressed in a priestess' garb and singing prayers to the White Lady, or at the very least training under her father to follow in the footsteps of Cenarius' teachings, to be of any value to society... why must we hide and remain passive in our pursuit of safety and happiness in life?!" She looked him over again, a slight hint of color painting her purple cheeks. "You... you said your name was Reth?"

He nodded along, seemingly impressed with how agreeable she was. "Reth'lazar. The whole thing is a bit much. Reth is fine." He cleared his throat again. "Nice to meet someone who seems to see some sense. Besides, I don't think you'd look as good in a priestess’ robes." Then he raised his eyes as if he were trying to look at himself. "Not that I can talk much."

Arrianna smirked at his comment, shaking her head. "No, that's... I think you look just fine." Even as she said it, she averted her amber gaze to one side awkwardly, glancing back up the path they'd been walking. She looked back at him curiously, hand motioning toward Hyjal, "Where, eh... where do you call home? Near the base?"

He ran his fingers through his wild hair, as if somewhat surprised at the compliment. "Thanks. And... not exactly. I live wherever I find a piece of cover to sleep beneath."

The huntress took a turn to run her gloved hand through her own hair, glancing up the path, "Well, Reth'lazar... I still need to turn these crystals in to my superior... are you hungry?"

"Reth, please. Ahem... I suppose a meal wouldn't go amiss."

Anna smirked again, nodding, "Well then... my name is Arrianna. Arrianna Nightstorm. And I'm inviting you to dinner. As thanks." She looked back up the path, "The glade a little further north is where I call home... and anyone who helps hunt the satyrs is welcome."

He nodded with a slight grin. "So long as you don't plan to try and recruit me, I'll be glad to accept."

"Psh." She chuckled and shook her head, "I'm not an officer, I'm just an aspirant... a trainee. I'm a nobody."

He moved to follow her this time. "I don't think that's likely."

[ratmor]

Fairytale Lies Along (Russian Fairytales in OUaT)

5. THE NIGHT

Spending the night in the backseat of our Beetle is not something to expect from a seemingly normal ending of the evening with a relatively pleasant conversation with the mayor of a small town in the wilds of Maine, is it?

As a result, Emma and I - she’s a little tipsy, and I’m a little discouraged - we are going on sly through the town. It all seems suspicious, you know. When Regina Mills subtly asked if she should worry about Henry's father, I literally forced my dear ward to say that she could call the boy's father if this a little bit imbalanced woman would like so.

Sometimes Emma can be a huge slowpoke when it comes to such a long con, like the one I thought of, making this Mills think that Emma can still somehow claim to be Henry’s mother, despite all our assurances that this won’t happen. After all, if Mills does not twitch, then all our stay here really ends extremely unproductive and quickly. Emma won’t stay if she feels the kid is loved. True, Emma very much regrets putting the kid for adoption, but it was too long for us not to cope with her self-blame much earlier than the kid showed up. So, on the part of Emma, Regina never really had a problem, and we would quickly ride back to Boston, regardless of the strange town and its inhabitants, and I urgently needed to come up with something to keep us here for a longer time. A confrontation with the adoptive mother of this tiny piglet, who, by a misunderstanding, considers himself our son, would be reason enough for Emma to stay. She is a keen and stubborn person.

Here in this town I need time to find my salvation from being only nearby the body of my ward, because I don’t really want to kill her if that heroism I've been waiting for begins. Well, I just could not wait for twenty eight years of her life for it to begin but…

Everything is too strange, because I definitely remember, and Emma just didn’t yet add the pieces to the puzzle. The little Us happened to be found in this particular area in the state of Maine.

As soon as it reaches Emma’s dimwit brain, it will be even easier to convince her to stay here, leaving her not quite miserable life in Boston and moving into these still waters with magical stink.

After all, I still feel this... Not just some obscure strangeness of this town, I kinda recognized something dormant and at the same time immensely familiar. I felt it a long time ago while in my travels as still a disgraced prince I wandered into the City of Masters on the border with the Infinite Forest and couple of Distant Kingdoms.

It housed a rarely used portal supposedly leading to other realities and parts of the world, but usually it was connected to the Tower of Silence, which was used at that time to expel those who had problems with those who were in power in my realm. That tower actually belonged to the Princess Nesmeana, the One Who Never Laughs, the great grandmother of mine, The Immortal Stone Princess.

She was called such a nickname in ancient times, when the curse of the Stone Heart was in action and it fettered her feelings, when she was the sovereign of the Dark Forest, she was the daughter of one of the ancient Yaga and the strongest witch of her time, and of mine too actually. By my time she had already settled down and turned soft, it became possible when she returned her fiery heart and felt the heart-ache for the first time in hundreds of years. That story is long and I don’t have much to say about it, I was not there and I did not eat bread there, as they say in The Thirty Realms. [ Authors Note: that’s the saying you say if you want to admit that you have no idea what you’re talking about but you still try. It’s related to the other saying that shows that you’re going to tell something that’s hard to believe in but you still try. “I certainly was there, Mead and wine I drank, I swear; Though my whiskers bathed in wine, Nothing passed these lips of mine.” ]

That blood relation to the Princess, by the way, once upon a time allowed me to positively participate in the skirmish that was extremely profitable for me at that time and also allowed me to receive the support of the City of Masters in my claims for throne in the Distant Kingdoms. I managed to save those who were in opposition to the acting regional government of one of sovereigns, they still existed those days.

It was from the City of Masters that my conquest began at the time...

Meh. Well, this is not what I’m talking about right now. The city of Masters was at the crossroads of worlds and, as we the poor inhabitants of a world without magic say, it was more magical than real. Here everything seemed diametrically opposed, although in its own way similar - the fairy tale was only in the air, and now it wasn’t so unattainable to get to Magic.

The portal to the Tower was through the well, and I never tried to go to other worlds - I had other things on my mind, but it is worth looking for something similar to that well here. Here's the problem - as long as I'm so tightly attached to Emma it's just hard to do. And the last time I separated from her …

First of all, everything did not end too well, and I still think that partially I was to blame for what happened with that jerk Neal and with that giving the child up thing. After all, if I had not disappeared for such a long time after she fell in love with that dull dude …

And I would not have disappeared if it weren’t for that very “second of all”, which goes after “first of all” by the default.

Second of all, I tried to seize Emma’s body. As you can see from the result, I did not succeed.

I remember, it was also a restless and half-drunk night …

***

“Well, hello, Emma,” - I said to Swan, who had not yet realized anything, while she peered into my eyes with all curiosity she had in her and tried as if to absorb my face in her memory.

“Hi ... You are ... Old man, right? Don’t look like the old one. Why you never correct me if you look like thirty years old? Where are we?” - she bombarded me with questions, looking around, but I looked at her point blank until she finally stopped talking and looked back, asking the most important one. - “Why are we here?”

A green steppe stretched around us, an almost boundless and life-giving plain, familiar to me from times of travel and conquest. The steppe united three states - the Golden, Silver and Bronze Realms. Where the Three Wise Lady-Sorceress ruled since time immemorial, and that land was called Wonderful, because their castles were - one’s more beautiful than the other and besides in the colors inherent in the name of each kingdom, and in the castles those were gardens of magical plants, and in the middle of that steppe was the source of healing water, it was also called the Death Water. A tidbit, if you look at it like that ... Meh, wasn’t going to go there now.

“Because I'm sick of enduring it,” - I came closer to her, without meeting the slightest resistance of the surprised girl, and put my hand into her chest, squeezing the pulsating heart with the usual gesture.

She looked back with pain and incomprehension, so vaguely familiar and unpleasant to me, that I decided to remain silent and finish it as quickly as possible, tugging at the focus of her power.

The next moment I was blinded by a bright light, and the steppe turned around, then whitish magic began to shimmer, cast in gold, but cold ... And then I discovered my spirit, barely dense and quite visible, outside of my girl’s sleeping body.

Next to Emma, Neal Cassidy slept, whom I hated with every bit of my soul, because it was because of him that I made the decision.

She wasn’t even eighteen yet - it was not by my rules. She should’ve never fallen in love so much. My reaction even reminded me of some kind of irrational jealousy. Irrational because I was dead for a long time and never even supposed to respond to the romantic relationship of my, let's say, random transit point, but no, I was ready to devour her and kill her just because of that relationship. It would be extremely strange if it weren’t for the constant vague feeling that slipped into me gradually… I had to prevent the continuation of that relationship, because I was seized with fear every time I imagined that I’d stop playing the primary role in her life, she would gain more power and get rid of me.

And now she knows that I am not her friend anymore, and I don’t have much magic left.

I touched her forehead and measured exactly half of the remaining mana on the spell.

The condition is… She will remember only when she finds true love and a dear soul in the world, which is saturated with magic no less than my own, and will share the kiss of true love with that person. It will never happen, will it? Indeed, in this world there is almost no magic.

My limbs grew dim, and I became fully disembodied again. But it's worth it - I now have where to come back. And now I’ll let her be alone. Now she remembers only that we shouted at each other, and I left her, promising to return someday.

And I came back when she called. And then, too, was the night. That night Henry was born.

“His father’s name is John,” Emma said, noticing me behind the midwife who was holding the baby — I was only visible to her, and she looked into my eyes with regret and pain, so that my heart would have sank in if I had a the body and the heart. - “John Oldman.”

“You screwed up my name,” - I said and smiled like I shouldn't have smiled.

I looked at her face with an undoubtedly noticeable painful tenderness I felt, and she smiled encouragingly at me - even now she remained the same Emma, whom I would never touch or try to do what I did, my baby Emma, whom it was impossible not to adore. And I touched her cheek.

She began to cry, still smiling shyly, and she snuggle up to my hand, forgetting that I’d been dead long ago, and the child had been taken away - I had not even looked in his direction.

“Honey, hush. Hush, do not cry. We'll figure something out. We always come up with something.”

“I gave up the kid,” - she whispered. - “I didn’t think you’ll appear. Together we’d come up with something.”

“I also didn’t think I’d appear,” - I touched her forehead with my lips and then pressed my palms to her cheeks, looking into her dilated pupils. - “Take me back again. Forgive me. Is he already impossible to?..”

“Impossible,” - she closed her eyes and began to cry softly again, barely sobbing and swallowing tears.

I hugged her and disappeared again, losing my freedom.

Before that I looked through the prison hospital window.

There was a moonless night

[oneeyedmask]

The capital of the Jötunn Empire, Dämmerung, had an excited buzz that early morning. The sun had not yet risen when the news spread from person to person, door to door, tower to tower, and far beyond the gates of Dämmerung; a new prince was to be born that morning.

Crowds gathered outside the palace, wrapped in cloaks and blankets, huddled together for warmth in that cold, spring night. Their gazes were up at the palace's terrace where they awaited the confirmation of the news. They whispered amongst each other as the time dragged on, all smiles and excitement. Vendors and merchants began setting up shop around the crowd, expecting a grand harvest.

The stars that spangled above faded as the black night declined into a cerulean heaven from the arising light of the sun over the valleys. Finally, as the sun peaked its head across Dämmerung, a blonde Jötunn Knight in golden armor walked out and pumped his fist, beaming at the crowd. The crowd cheered in elation and the bells of Pagan churches rang throughout the city.

Inside the palace and the bedroom chamber where the news had been born from, the Jötunn Empire's knights, warlords, princes and princesses had gathered to witness one of their newest High Princes. They stood around a large bed, some weeping as they looked on at their Queen cradling a miracle before their eyes.

Frigga held her newborn child closely to her, now sitting upright on the bed. She was sweating and dark circles clung beneath her eyes, but she was smiling with a mother's warmth.

The baby's golden eyes looked on curiously from beneath its white blankets at its mother, then at the crowd, and then at its blue-haired father who was kneeling beside the bed with tears in his eyes. Osmund came off his knees and kissed his son on his blonde head and then Frigga on her forehead.

"He did not cry," said Frigga, her voice shaky.

A titan of a man with burning red hair let out a hearty laugh, slapping him in the back, "But this one did!"

"Cut me some slack, Logan," Osmund chuckled, stretching his back. "I know you wept when Thoros was born, I was there."

"Like a maiden!" Logan barked, beaming. "What will be the child's name?"

"Arthurius," Frigga declared, brushing her baby's cheeks with her thumb.

"I'll tell the crowd. They're gonna love it!" said the blonde knight with golden armor. He walked back out into the terrace and shouted, "HIS NAME IS ARTHURIUS!" The crowd responded with a chorus of cheers and he strutted back into the room, grinning.

"You seem to love doing that, Edward," Osmund remarked to the blonde knight.

"I was born to please crowds, it's in my nature! Let them be excited! It's the first time royalty has been born in the empire in a time of peace."

Frigga nodded thoughtfully, then looked up.

"Ymir, let the kids in, they'll want to greet their new brother."

A young man with long, white hair braided back nodded and walked towards the door. He opened it and three children immediately swept past his legs in a blur, sprinting towards the bed. Another taller child with short, sea blue hair walked behind, greeting Ymir politely at the door.

The three children huddled together, looking at their baby brother with a hint of awe in their eyes.

"I thought you said it was a boy, father!" blurted the shortest child. His hair was dark, a faint hint of blue on the edges only visible from the faint morning light.

"Why don't you check, Wulf?" Osmund grinned.

Wulf peeled back Arthur's blanket and promptly pushed it back over him.

"It's a boy!"

"It really was a baby brother then," the second child said bitterly, a girl with long, sea blue hair. "I was hoping for a baby sister! Papa, make a baby sister with Mama now!"

Osmund choked back a cough, sensing Frigga staring exhausted daggers at his neck as the others around him laughed. He patted the little girl's head with an awkward smile.

"Now, Lyanna, papa can't do that. The family's getting too big! Arthur is going to be the last one."

"Then you owe me, Papa!" Lyanna whined.

"How about this. I'll give you Lobera instead of a baby sister, is that okay with you?"

"YOU'RE GIVING HER LOBERA?!" cried the two boys indignantly as Lyanna nodded happily with bright eyes.

"Why are you giving her a sword when she uses spears?!" pressed the third boy, the tallest of the trio and with short, blonde hair.

"She can learn to use a sword like you then, Valerius. I'll teach you both together. It'll be easier!"

"Easier on you!"

"Okay then, make another bastard, old man!" Wulf ordered.

"WHAT? Where the hell did you learn that word?" Osmund fumed. In the corner by the door, Ymir, who had not participated in any of the laughter up to that point, was looking away and trembling with a grin on his face.

"AHA! So you can't! Now you owe ME something," Wulf ruled, crossing his arms with a huff.

"That's not how it works!"

"Oh it's because I'm a bastard now is it?"

"Wulf, you're not a bastard. I've already told you countless ti - you know what, fine! I'll give you all something."

The three children cheered as loudly as the crowd had.

"Being extorted by your own children? Fatherhood must be quite unpleasant," mused a man with long, white hair and venomous green eyes. He had been standing by the terrace, holding a staff with a glowing blue crystal at its head. His face was feminine and his voice was soft and honeyed, easily capable of being mistaken for a beautiful woman if it weren't for his skintight attire on his upper body, which showed all the features of an athletic man. "The Queen must be tired. Everyone, please bid your farewells."

They all congratulated Osmund and Frigga, laughing and patting their backs, leaving one by one. Lyanna, Valerius, and Wulf were the last to leave, trying to ask their father what they were receiving until Ymir shooed them away.

Finally, it was just Osmund, Frigga, the baby, and the strange man. The joyful, warm atmosphere was now gone, replaced by a cold silence as they stared at one another in tension. But such a frigid ambience was unnatural, too bitter to be simply because of the strange man.

"You can stop hiding yourself now, Agmund," the strange man said, looking toward the darkened corner of the room by the door.

Out stepped a towering man, becoming visible in the light as he had been completely invisible in the shadows. His hair was long and an impenetrable black, pierced by curved black horns on the sides of his head. His eyes were a spectral silver, their gaunt glow further making his sickly pale face wraith-like. He was hunched over, being too large for the room.

Agmund walked with long strides over to them, dragging behind a long, black cloak that waved like the surface of water with each movement. Most prominent of all was his aura, a constant eminence of pure dread that made even the hairs of valorous Osmund stand on end. The strange man looked uncomfortable standing next to him, subconsciously taking a step away from the deathly figure.

Agmund turned his head toward the man, speaking in a deep, hushed voice that still managed to resonate, "You've learned to sense my presence, Ancelot."

"Only an idiot would not be able to learn how to," said Ancelot, regaining his composure. "You hide yourself too often that it's easy to learn by now."

"It's rude to consider others fools despite your advantage in power, Mage...." Agmund cautioned.

"Apologies, my King. But I wish to speak about the current advantage in power our empire has in the Nine Worlds."

"What you wish to to discuss is war, Ancelot. Say it clearly." Osmund growled. He was standing at the foot of Frigga's bed, glowering at Ancelot.

Ancelot looked directly at Osmund's eyes, imperturbed by Osmund's posturing. "I understand you wish to savor your time with your wife and children in tranquility, High Prince. However peace will not last. Not with barbarians at the gates looking for an opportunity to assemble and attack."

"Your lobby can be discussed another time. You're right, I am tired." Frigga professed.

"What do you think, my King?" Ancelot looked at Agmund. But Agmund was not listening. He had been gazing at the baby in Frigga's arms, who looked back directly at him, eye to eye, both with intense interest. No hint of dread nor fear lay in that baby's golden eyes and Agmund looked back with confusion and curiosity.

"Agmund!" Frigga called. Agmund snapped out of his lull and realized Frigga had been calling his name several times. She held up the baby toward him, "Would you like to hold him?"

Agmund hesitated for a moment, looking down at the baby once more. Osmund moved in, carefully taking the baby from Frigga and cradling him in his arms. "At least not before me." He stepped toward Agmund, holding the baby to him. It reached out to him and Agmund hesitated before slowly taking the fearless baby in his sickle-like fingers.

The warmth that spread over Agmund was felt by those around him as if the baby's radiance melted the cold aura of the phantom. The sun now bathed the room in its embracing light, revealing the odd smile on Agmund's lips. Osmund and Frigga smiled radiantly at the pair.

However, it was not all smiles. Ancelot, unnoticed, took another step away from Agmund as if his current aura was more dreadful than his previous. His face was unreadable as he looked away from the sun, but his eyes hid a burning anger at the pleasant peace that had befallen the king and his empire; a spark that would fester and soon ignite tragedy.