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lady-quen · 23 days ago

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End of the Line

"A lifeless mannequin, dancing on strings. Each string spoke to him in the thousand hushed voices of magic. It hurt. Each string begged him to usher his body back together. The Alchemy danced behind his eyes. A silver serpent, swallowing its own tail. It fucking hurt. It isn't over, it said. You made it so." "You killed your death, now live with it."

[Post-EoD drabble, 3k words, just exploring the consequences of people finding out my Commander a is a lich. Part of joint canon with @commanderteag (Maolmuire used with permission.) Angst, tw for decapitation, swearing, fantasy racism. I took some very mild creative liberties with the Pact status and the Void.]

Even times of newfound peace still had their work cut out for what remained of the Pact.

The original plan had been to dissolve after Jormag and Primordus. Then, after Soo-Won. And now, with Void stragglers remaining all around the world, he was in charge of the strike forces in a large-scale round-em-up-and-neutralize operation. Because of course he would be - the famed Pact Commander that he was. At least the rounding up part was easy, with choice waypoints repurposed into ley-line beacons at Taimi's suggestion. One he took gladly, with the haze beast as the precedent for Void's attraction to energy nexi.

At least, this time, his emotions weren't being used as the lure. Even if the calculations were just barely within the margin of error, his daughter's plan was working.

"Sir! We've got sightings in the canyon!" Elina, one of the scouts, reported. Maelmordha nodded, comms device clicking to life.

"Hundar Pike strike force! On my mark, unload all explosives into the valley!"

"Demolitionist Tirxxi reporting! All troops in position!"

Splendid. Despite last minute adjustments when the Void headed down an alternate path, everything was going more or less smoothly. Much easier this way - if this continued to go well enough, nobody would even have to engage the enemy in ground combat. He alone would likely be more than sufficient to pick off the leftovers. A bitter smile graced his features in anticipation. Ever since Aurene had departed into slumber, he could no longer count on that little miracle atop the Harvest Temple. And so, he had to make this work without her.

The Void was already dying out, but the last of it congregated in areas most affected by the late Elder Dragons. Though waiting was certainly an option, there was always the risk of further loss of life - and so, mobilizing the army for one final cleanup was the most logical course of action. The Commander's voice once again entered the channel.

"Site Alpha confirmed, reached. Team Alpha, on my mark... Now!"

He could feel the explosion from miles away. The ground itself shook as a decent part of the canyon collapsed into itself, burying the monsters below in a rockslide, clouds of gunpowder, and an avalanche for good measure. Freeform Void attempted to bleed through out of the cracks before dissolving into the air without particular fanfare.

He repeated the order for site Beta, cutting off the encroaching shadows and closing the valley behind them. Perfect. Like sheep herded to the slaughter - without the mind behind it, the chaotic element was as directionless as any other dragon minions left without their master.

Still, where it was directionless, it was certainly not a complete pushover. The final act drew close; Descend into the valley on-foot with Legion choppers monitoring closely from above. If it gets ugly, fall back. It shouldn't, but he was no fool to risk his troops like so.

"Lieutenant Tornbanner. Everett. Cinniod. Maolmuire. We're going in."

"Sir yes Sir!"

A small contingent of shock troopers under Tornbanner, Everett's medics, Cinniod's mages and Maolmuire would be more than enough to make quick work of whatever creatures still clawed their way out of the snow. There weren't many, and most were already far too dazed by the explosion and distracted by the ley line energy wafted into the canyon to be as much of a threat in close quarters as they used to be during the Canthan campaign. And so, in they went.

Two dozen pairs of boots touched the ground when suddenly, the Commander raised up an arm, signaling for the soldiers to wait. His gaze, fixed on the heaps of rubble, was unreadable.

"...Allow me to handle this by myself. Stay behind and make sure nothing sneaks up on any of us. Eyes and ears wide open."

He did have a rather poor track record with magical lures. It would be for the best if he went on ahead and cleared the way, with the others as backup but otherwise out of harm's way. The unmistakable spires of Brand crystals shimmered all around him in their rich, purple hue, framing an entrance underground. Kralkatorrik. Guess a piece of the old man remained beneath the canyon, after all. Not that completely erasing an Elder Dragon's influence from the world was easy, even for another one. Forces this old had their roots set firmly in the world.

A part of him wondered whether she really wanted to purge every last trace of her grandfather. These crystals, now dormant - in a sense, were they not the final keepsake she still had of him..?

Did she remember him? Were the Dragons not connected by some sort of Dream? Did it possess past memories, as well? Did she know what he was like before he -

Went mad. Razed billions. Slaughtered her mother.

Something turned deep within his gut, a familiar pain he did not expect. Visions of a burning blade, the same one that took his life - and an asuran prodigy, the only other mortal he had known who stood, with him, at the precipice of immortality. How did it feel..? To achieve the state he had. Locked within the chassis of a machine, mind uploaded into ones and zeroes. A novel form of life, if it could be called that.

Blish, do you think you were alive?

He descended further into the cave, Banner warband watching closely behind.

My golem body kept me safe, but... if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself.

Forgiveness. What a fleeting concept, comparably far easier to give than to receive. He stared into the brilliant violet. Hey, old friend... are you in there, still..? Do you "forgive" me?

Killing and corrupting... it's what you do. It's what you were born to do.

W - what?

A harsh left, swords pointed at nothing. Gold eyes blinking against the crystal gleam before turning to face his troops. The Commander gave a reassuring nod - nothing here, either.

He wasn't sure whether whatever he heard was a voice inside his mind or a product of stress. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. The crystals had eyes.

Could a dead thing feel..? This wasn't Kralkatorrik. He was gone. And yet, there was a distinct sorrow within the air, and each step felt like moving through mud. He couldn't help but wonder: Did the beast regret all that he had killed? Was this a final vestige of his tortured soul, buried in hopes of never again seeing sunlight? Was what Aurene had been doing all this time..?

It wasn't just to erase his corruption. It was to erase his pain. Kralkatorrik, he... couldn't rest easy until he was gone to the very last, it seemed. But what about Blish? Was he gone, too, or was he suspended in that hellish state of darkness? Unable to pass on until the silent prison holding him was destroyed without a trace? Dear Mother, why did everything have to always end in boundless suffering?

And it was then that he realized. The miscalculation was not a miscalculation. They accounted for it, yes, but the Void? It hadn't been following the ley line at all.

It was following Kralkatorrik's torment.

The ground shook. Tendrils of black slithering through bedrock, snaking around Brand pillars.

Several malformed creatures emerged, taking on shapes of the long dead in a chaotic masquerade. Icebrood. Risen. Branded. Destroyers. Mordrem.

"Fall back!" Maelmordha wasted no time. This was bad terrain - a chokepoint. They needed to make it back out into the open, into a direct sightline with the choppers, should all this go south even faster than it was already going.

Wherever he was involved, things had a habit of turning to shit. SNAFU, indeed. At least then, his presence usually prevented the situation from escalating from merely "shit" to "fucked beyond measure and then some."

He was not about to let anyone die this time.

For you. Trahearne, Eir, Almorra, Blish, and too many others to count.

"I'll hold them back! Go! Go! Go!" A swift cut from Lædingr ended a charging Icebrood. Black ooze splashed his armor, sizzling where it hit. "Don't worry about me, I'll be right behind you!"

It was a lie. But, hah, he was very much planning on surviving. Call him a control freak - but this? How this ended was entirely up to him.

No more hesitation. No more loss. No more -

Vaughn Tornbanner's matchlock took out one last Mordrem before the Lieutenant herded his warband outside, the charr providing cover for escaping medics. Flame and lightning magic crackled all around them, lashing out against whatever unlucky monsters sought a bite of the Commander's forces. Here and there, phantom mirages of the fourth Knight of Thorn distracted and incinerated foes with beams of light.

There was more Void here than they had ever accounted for. Even in its death throes, it closed in like a storm.

The diabolist focused, and shade magic enveloped his form. The necromantic fire in his blades erupted into a blaze of blue, his once-gold eyes opening to the same, cold hue. Rows of fangs unfurled upon his chest, a full-body snarl.

In the shimmering dragon amethyst, he swore he could glimpse an image of a small and sickly asura. In life, Blish had mirrored Taimi so closely.

His lips moved, soundless. There was judgement in his eyes.

The front line of Void creatures suddenly stopped, phantom hooks digging into the mass of writhing shadow as his chains constricted all like hungry serpents. With a sickening crunch, the bodies before him were warped, limbs torn from their sockets, necks snapped, multicolor eyes fading in the flash freeze of death. He exhaled a puff of frigid breath, attempting to channel enough ice to seal over the entrance. In his chanting, Grenth's own magic - permafrost extending out of his palm in an explosion of crystalline shards.

The Void. It was trapped... finally.

"Commander!" There was abject terror in Cinniod's voice. Several people gasped. Maelmordha made a single step to turn around, dual blades still held firmly within his grasp.

"Everyone! Is everyone -"

There was the vague sensation of something cold passing through his flesh. A blur of black and technicolor, a flash of steel on his left - his eyes followed it, and then it was on his right. He... his neck... hurt.

Something strange happened to his vision and he watched his own body collapse with a thud against the ice wall. Rivulets of gold quickly seeping into black fabric as he convulsed and fell slack, Dromi and Lædingr falling from the grasp of still-twitching fingers.

"Holy shit." Someone commented, eloquently.

Vaughn's rifle and Maolmuire's blade made short work of the beast who had mysteriously gotten behind the seal.

"Commander..!" A cacophony of meaningless voices that only registered as though from underwater. Gibberish. People shouting, shuffling closer, then back again in sheer disbelief. Distant sounds of magic and gunfire, a yelled warning as more Void began to close in, this time having dug itself out of the avalanche resting outside. Someone at his side, clearly shell-shocked, calling for a medic.

What... what was... going on..? His senses, suspended and disembodied. He willed his hands to move and watched them do so, as though he were a puppetmaster observing his doll.

A lifeless mannequin, dancing on strings. Each string spoke to him in the thousand hushed voices of magic. It hurt. Each string begged him to usher his body back together. The Alchemy danced behind his eyes. A silver serpent, swallowing its own tail. It fucking hurt. It isn't over, it said. You made it so.

You killed your death, now live with it.

The body slumped against the ice seized, more sap spurting out of the stump of its neck. But his spirit held dominion over it yet. That foolish, foolish spirit. Fists clenched, feeling the familiar shape of sword handles. It was jarring. Utterly disorienting, but he closed his eyes, and he allowed the puppet strings of his curse to guide his movements. And he rose, like the countless dead he once commanded.

Now upright, the lich's body stumbled over to where his head lay. He released Lædingr and felt his own fingers in his leaves, and then he willed them to lift.

Only then did he open his eyes. Nothing but blackness and striking blue. Phantom pain pulsed throughout his flesh, and it maddened him. Even now, disconnected from his lungs, he let out a broken laugh - it seemed to reverberate, like the voice of a ghost. The Pact forces turned to face him. Several drew their weapons.

The implications of everything that transpired in this cave would wait.

"Just... let me handle this. Nobody dies here... but me."

He was the expendable one. He was the sacrificial lamb. And he was the wolf, draped in lambskin. Every death he took instead of another was penance. His every breath was a lie, for as long as nobody knew the true extent of the monster he really was.

Blish' mechanized voice echoed in his mind. This is the end of the line.

No more secrets.

That's right. He was the accursed; The Commander of Death. And all his fallen subjects haunted him.

Maelmordha stepped out of the darkness, Dromi hovering patiently next to his hand as he cast a spell. Without a shred of mercy, phantom fangs crushed the few Void creatures that still remained, grinding them into less than the dust they had come from. And then, all was quiet. Only the winter wind and the buzz of ley magic in his ears.

The Pact troops slowly approached, and with a deep sadness he realized most of their weapons were pointed at him. Their eyes, reflections of terror. And he realized he was still holding his head like a grocery bag.

The necromancer loudly cleared his throat - if a ghostly impression of doing so counted.

"...Excuse me." He fumbled for a moment to place his head where it used to be, making several adjustments before what seemed like blue fire began to knit his flesh back together.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Cinniod confessed, knees giving out as the elementalist violently dry-heaved into the snow. Several worried voices chattered, indistinct. Indecisive. He couldn't blame them - after all, they had just witnessed their hero turn out to be a villain. Perhaps Joko had been right - at least in the sense that both of them were abominations.

Perhaps the world would one day need saving - from him. But until then, he could still work to make it better.

"Soldiers."

His troops shuffled uncomfortably. They had every right to. Monster, someone snarled. He smiled.

"A good friend once told me.. to stop keeping secrets. I admit I fumbled that spectacularly. So, now, there you have it."

"Fucking knew you can't have killed a god." Vaughn spat, lips trembling over angry fangs. He raised his rifle, claw hovering dangerously over the lever. "Without selling your soul for power."

He laced his fingers, and smiled apologetically. There was no resentment in his eyes, only understanding. No words to make it better. Only open ears, to hear what was overdue. The price for this betrayal. At the very least, he had managed to keep up the act until the Dragon War was over. This operation? He would gladly step down if asked. Though Logan had been aware from the start, they both agreed on one thing: keep it under wraps. And if the cat ever gets out of the bag, then, well...

"Soldier." He addressed the charr. "While we're still on the field, your behavior is mutiny. Reconsider."

"Fucking bold of you to talk, monster!"

"And pray tell, what will shooting me accomplish that cutting off my head failed to?"

The Lieutenant snarled, but slowly lowered his gun. Bronze eyes gazing with nothing but pure disgust at the sylvari who seemed to be, despite all, a picture of flawless stoicism. All a part of his charm. Every liar needed a strong façade.

The Commander opened his mouth to speak. Maolmuire, however, had other ideas.

"Everyone! Don't you know the Void's properties have been evolving? Didn't you hear about the haze in the Gyala Depths?"

Maelmordha sighed. "Maolmuire..."

"It's messing with us. This is a mass hallucination!"

It seemed he had to be more... forceful.

"Maolmuire, stop! You've said enough."

"You're complicit, huh, you malformed weed?" Tornbanner sneered. "All you hivemind bastards were in on it from the get-go."

The necromancer focused his gaze on the Iron Legionnaire, something dark in his eyes that sent a shiver of dread up the warrior's spine. "I'm asking for the last time, Lieutenant Tornbanner. As for everyone else. I do not intend to falsify the truth, and welcome those who wish to report the incident to do so at their leisure."

He could feel an era close with his words. Despite everything, still he smiled. Time and time again, he found a way to smile in the face of those who doubted him. Always, he would.

"It is overdue that I stand in front of the Pact War Tribunal for my crime against Tyria and her people. But first... Lieutenant, report. Is everyone alright?"

Something shifted behind Vaughn's eyes. Flews slipping over jutting fangs - a predator that only stood down knowing its might to be no use. Not in front of a Godkiller. A Dragonslayer. A... whatever this man even was.

"Nobody was badly hurt... Maelmordha." The name tasted like venom on his tongue. "I answered you. So now, you'll answer us."

"I will, rest assured." Without further ado, the choppers descended, extending ladders. The necromancer looked away, turning his gaze to the sky.

"Everyone. It was an honor to be your Commander."

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 oc #gw2 commander #gw2 necromancer #quen's ocs #Maelmordha #About the Commander #gw2 fanfic #gw2 fanfiction #also for context: taimi is like his adoptive daughter and he refers to her as such #eod spoilers

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creativegirl247 · 2 months ago

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Break from art posts for a thing about instrument headcanons(+some canon) for the mercs!

Scout plays the bongos in his spare time. He plays it in the Runner's Rythm taunt, although idk if it's a canon taunt.

Demoman can canonically play the piano, as seen in Expiration Date, but it's unclear how well. I headcanon that he can also play the bagpipes because of his Scottish origin.

Soldier is seen playing a trombone in the Fubar Fanfare taunt, but I headcanon that he can play the trumpet, idk how well tho.

Medic is seen playing the accordion in the Surgeon's Squeezebox taunt, but I imagine him playing the violin, and he's pretty talented at it.

Sniper canonically play the sax and is seen playing it in Expiration Date and in the Killer Solo taunt, but upon further research, he plays the didgeridoo in the Didgeridrongo taunt, but I can't really see him playing it.

Engineer is literally playing the guitar throughout Meet the Engineer. The instrument appears in the Guitar Smash taunt, electric guitar in the Shred Alert taunt, and plays a little guitar tune in an unused taunt without a name. Notably, he also plays the banjo in the Dueling Banjo taunt.

Heavy doesn't seem like the type to play an instrument. His hands are really big and would probably struggle with precise playing. In terms of canon taunts, he doesn't play anything, and the Bolshevik Ballad isn't in the game.

Spy may or may not play the piano. I've seen him depicted singing, but with a guy who smokes that often probably doesn't sound great.

Pyro... Oh, Pyro. I've seen him depicted playing the piano as well, whether it be a grand on or a child's toy, but I want to note that the Rainblower looks a lot like a brass instrument, maybe hinting at something. No headcanon here, I don't know if he would actually play anything.

I hope you enjoyed my little insight. I've been wanting to do this for a while 💀

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 headcanon #scout tf2 #spy tf2 #sniper tf2 #soldier tf2 #pyro tf2 #medic tf2 #heavy tf2 #demoman tf2 #engineer tf2 #i spent my whole lunch period on this

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porkcracker · 5 months ago

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Greeting and welcome,

this little story is my part of the Reverse Mini Bang 2024 from @tf-bigbang. For anyone who doesn't know what that means, you sign up and get assigned to a piece of art and then write about it. You can read this story also on my AO3 here.

To see the comic my story is based on, check the end of it. The credit for it goes to @transformer-hardlyknowher.

As well as a shout-out to inconvenientfish on Discord for beta reading this story.

And with that, I hope you enjoy reading!

The battle over the Allspark and the Space Bridge was challenging and a matter of spark for all involved. The end seemingly clear for each faction. And still the end is not what they expected at all, rather it might be the start to something much bigger. If only the Trine did not have more important problems. Frag the rest, only Trine matters.

Consequences

The battle had been strenuous, but with the future of all mecha on earth, there had been not one spark who hadn't fought with everything at their disposal. At the centre of it all, the metal cube veined with gentle glowing blue that was the deciding point in their entire species future.

Decepticons were throwing themselves in the way of the yellow scout as he sprinted and then drove towards the space bridge guarded by humans, being tackled out of the way by Autobots in return. The Allspark changed servos once, and then it dropped as Prime crashed to the ground in tandem with Skywarp as her thrusters were hit by her trinemate.

In any other situation, Starscream would have wasted no time to berate Novastorm for hitting their own trinemate in such a crucial moment, but as it was, there were far more important matters to attend to. Up to this point, Starscream had been able to avoid excessive injury, something that came in handy as the Allspark hit the ground behind him and tumble past him. Millennia of reoccurring pain made it easy for him to bear the agony echoing through his trine bond with Skywarp, pushing it aside in favour of crouching down quickly before taking off in a sprint.

There was a strange feeling to the Allspark that made it unexpectedly distracting to carry it. It seemed as if there was a spark beat pulsing through the glowing veins that was undetectable to any onlooker, a warmth and a coldness at the same time. It made his digits tingle in a way that urged Starscream to shake out his servos. There was the short moment of curiosity, if it had felt like this for everyone that had carried the Allspark before him, but it was cut short rather painfully.

A pained and enraged hiss left the Seeker, as the heavy mass of a familiar frame dropped onto his wings and back. The Allspark slipped from his servo without fanfare, and the sudden loss of the feeling lead to a desonance Starscream was quick to ignore, quickly getting on his pedes once more and wasting no time to fire at the quickly departing form of what had once been the leader of the Decepticons. Once the leader, now a filthy traitor, it had been vindication to be proven correct in claiming to be the rightful - better - leader of the Decepticons. While it would have been pleasing to have his shot hit, and an advantage in the fight as well, Starscream was well aware of Novastorm's approach and as such there was little surprise for him as she dropped onto Megatron in a mirrored attempt to retrieve the Allspark. It also meant he had to stop his shooting, for the high possibility of hitting Novastorm in the position she was in, but that was only a small worry.

They were, after all, not the only Decepticons on the battlefield...and he was not the only Decepticon fuelled by deep rage and hate.

Truly, there had been seldomly something that had brought him more joy than then the utter betrayal Soundwave had felt when Megatron had turned his back and become the Prime's lapdog instead. Perhaps he would have been more empathetic, if the Host had not been a witness to his treatment at their master's servo, but as it stood it was a pleasure to see him suffer at Megatron's servo instead. It was not the pain he himself had suffered, but it was perhaps a worse fate for the Host.

Nevertheless, as much as Starscream enjoyed Soundwave's pain in this matter, he could not deny that this had also caused them to work together better than ever, fuelled by the same distaste for the same mech, they had become a rather formidable team.

Starscream hurried to use the opening Soundwave created with his supersonic ability and threw himself at Megatron as well. With Novastorm attempting to restrain his helm, Starscream focused on wrenching the Allspark from his grip, nearly losing his halt as Megatron fell to the ground it was easy to overplay it with victorious words.

"Decepticons, bear witness to the fall of Megatron!", it was with these words, even if they were most likely drowned out by Soundwave's ability, that Starscream doubled his effort.

Truly, even if the rest of the Decepticons would not hear it, it would be enough for Starscream, if Megatron heard it and remembered who had been the one to win in the end. Alas, it was a fruitless endeavour, with a last gathering of his strength Megatron pushed himself up and the Seekers clinging to him to the ground and pulled his arm back.

It felt as if the battlefield was suddenly slowing in time as Megatron's arm moved forwards once more, the Allspark leaving his servo and moving towards the space bridge. Starscream's optics widened, there was no doubt that the Allspark would pass Soundwave.

And if it did and entered the space bridge? Everything would be for nothing.

It hurt, but the Leader of the Decepticons pushed himself up and forwards, towards the space bridge, he was not the fastest Seeker for nothing. The rapid built of speed was anything, but pleasant, but it all paled in the light of the stakes. When the world seemed to regain normal speed once more, everything happened at once, Starscream had just a moment to note in the back of his processor that Soundwave was turning his helm to watch as he passed him, his digit tips brushing the surface of the Allspark, and he could feel the familiar pull of the space bridge.

Then everything lit up in white-hot pain.

Starscream's relationship to dying had been ever-changing. In a time that felt lives away, back on Cybertron, before the war, before losing one of the most important mecha in his life he had not thought about death much, there had been no reason for him to do so. But then he had lost his partner and death had been the only thing on his processor. The responsibility for his death and the wish that it had been him instead, a wish that had never been granted.

Then the war had started and Starscream had thought himself above death, something that had not been changed by the enemy, but instead by his own leader. It had built a vicious cycle of abuse and revenge that over millions of years had made Starscream fear death and then accept it. There had been no doubt to him that one day he would die at the servos of Megatron, if he did not kill him first, a sentiment that had not changed after Megatron had left and had become an Autobot lackey instead.

But for all the times Starscream had thought he would die or had thought about how he would die, he had never imagined dying for something other than himself, which while one might argue it was the case indeed, there was no denying that the Allspark was far more than just for himself. With the Allspark gone, and the space bridge destroyed, they were all doomed to a fate on earth with no escape. While there was the common assumption of one's life flashing before their optics upon death, Starscream could not claim the same for himself.

There was only pain.

Every cable, every plate, every last piece of his frame lit up in pain before falling numb in the face of the agony centred in his wings and cockpit, or was it his spark? He couldn't tell, any rational thought drowned out by the pain numbing his frame, before that too faded into nothingness.

The battlefield had come to an abrupt halt, as if suddenly frozen. All optics were directed towards the smoking crater that had only nanokliks ago held both the last hope for their species and their last hope to return to their home, both gone, wiped out in an explosion that had rattled the ground and the armour on everyone's frame. EM fields flared with terror, hopelessness, grim determination and pain, there was no longer a way to leave earth. But that was not the only thing that had changed in the drop of an eye.

Watching the dark smoke rising from what had only seconds ago been the space bridge back to Cybertron, red optics wide and intake slightly open, Megatron stood frozen. Were someone to stand beside him at this moment, the strength of the once Warlord's EM field would have most certainly been enough to force them to take a few steps away at least. But as it stood, his allies were not within reach. Perhaps for the better for more than one reason.

Millennia upon millennia had made Megatron a battle experienced warrior far outreaching any gladiatorial fight he had fought before and the logical part of his processor was well aware that it was perhaps the better choice to destroy the space bridge lest any of the Decepticons followed after it to Cybertron. He had after all been a close witness and the leading force in the faction's stubbornness before this, and as such was well aware that there was little that would stop his most stubborn warriors - his once most stubborn warriors, there were still times he spoke and thought of the Decepticons as his, a habit he had yet to fully break.

There was a part of him that was not fully willing to let go yet. Not for reasons some may have thought, no rather Megatron caught himself in the quiet hours of the day regarding the Decepticons as his to master, his to own. Perhaps another reason he had to join Optimus. He had no doubt that he had strayed far from his original goals, something he did not regret in all cases, but this one was one in which he did so.

Had he not rebelled in the first place, as to enable all Cybertronians to life their lives as they wanted with no one to call themself the master of another mecha's life? And yet it was a role he had settled himself in so easily and comfortably at the cost of not only his own ideals and goals, but the misery of his faction and now at the cost of never being a witness to the Cybertron he had done this for.

Perhaps the eternal payment for the destruction he had brought to the planet in his quest to better it. But no matter what the logical part of his processor said, the thing at the forefront of his processor was the abject horror of being stuck on this planet so far away from their home that it was a certain doom to remain here for the rest of his life.

With all his focus on the smoking crater, Megatron paid little attention to the yellow Seeker not all that far behind him, but in return Novastorm did little to pay active attention to the once Deception leader either. She had only managed to sort through her internal alarms and cleared her HUD of warning messages dying it red, in time to watch the fatal shot hit, and the space bridge explode as she had sat up. The shock at seeing the only way back to Cybertron blow up made her freeze, wings dropping in disbelieve, making her wince automatically at the pain flaring through her system at the abrupt movement of her injured wings.

But her focus did not stay directed towards the crater of the space bridge all that long, or rather not on the part of the crater that had once been the space bridge. Familiar purple lightning whizzed past her faceplate and her optics automatically trailed it, only for her expression to shift from shock to abject horror.

Scrambling to get to her pede, Novastorm did not even manage a full step before falling to the ground once more. In the horror of the moment she had forgotten that the damage that had grounded her in the first place had been a shot out thruster, and as such the sudden weight of her frame on it had sent burning pain through her frame. However, the pain of her battered frame and shot out thruster paled in comparison to the black hole in her spark. What had previously not fully registered came in full force now. It felt like someone had ripped out her spark and cut out a third of it, leaving it incomplete and instable in the face of a suddenly cut trine bond.

Her whole frame and processor were taken over by pure agony, the pain of her crash fully overshadowed by this new kind of pain filling her frame. Novastorm once more attempted to rise to her pede, ignoring the pain flaring in her pede, but once more she found herself crumbling to the ground, leaving her unable to walk or stand a prolonged time. Horror and agony burned bright in her field, only overshadowed by the pain in it, a little less than a hundred meters, and she was incapable of reaching them. There was a rattling noise she noted in the back of her processor, but did not even fully realise was coming from the shaking of her own frame, as yellow digits dented black plaiting as her arms wrapped around herself in a hug. Of course, all Seekers were aware of the risk from the day they were able to comprehend the meaning of trine and even more so once they had found a trine, but there was nothing that could have prepared Novastorm for the full agony it would be.

It was suddenly far more understandable why this pain was said to drive Seekers into lifelong depressions, or even simply kill a lone left Seeker. With the sudden loss with of one of her trine bonds, Novastorm buried herself in the one that she had left, reaching out and being equally reached for, clinging to each other in the bond to reassure that at least this one was still there and not simply cut in the blink of optic like it had never been there in the first place. It was horrifying to know that from one moment to the other any proof of their trine bond had simply been whisked away into the nothingness of the black hole in her spark and still she knew if she opened her chassis right this second, there would be no physical damage to prove.

With her focus turned inside and towards her bond, Novastorm did not even notice the way her derma was quivering or the way her vision was blurring as optical fluid gathered in her optics until it simply spilled over and ran down her faceplate in big tears. There was no sound, no sobbing, no sniffling, only the reflection of the setting sun in the increasing wetness of her faceplate, as more and more tears spilled from her optics, until they had crossed her full faceplate and dripped to the floor and unto her arms. It was only then that she noticed the outward change and with a muted pained whimper quickly wiped her faceplate with shaking servo's, before simply burying her faceplate in her servo's.

Whereas Novastorm and Starscream had reached the Space Bridge, Skywarp had been stopped in her tracks by Prime, the moment she had collided with the earth, she had triggered her transformation just in time to meet the bigger mech helm on. The crash had been anything, but pain free, but it was easy for her to ignore the pain with the amount of signals shooting through her circuit. The pain signals the last of her worries at the moment, still in the end it didn’t prevent her from being disoriented by a fist to the faceplate. Her view momentarily darkening as she stumbled back, servos shooting up to hold her faceplate, she expected more attacks to follow, but none did.

By the time she regained her view, her optics widened in shock as she realised just why this had been the case. The Prime had used her moment of disorientation to make his way quickly towards the edge of the canyon, his weapon aimed at something Skywarp did not immediately realise. It was as he shot, her helm turning to follow the visible laser streak, that she understood.

The Prime had doomed them. It filled the usually rather cheerful Seeker with raging hate. They had fought millions of years, brought sacrifice after sacrifice to move towards a Cybertron that they could one day call theirs and that would thrive and Prime simply decided for all of them that they would never return, stuck on this dirt ball filled with disgusting fleshlings. But the rage was catapulted to the back in mere milliseconds, for the Space Bridge was not the only thing destroyed by the Prime. Undoubtedly there was only one other mecha on this battlefield that felt the same rage, pain, desperation and shock than her.

It was like slow motion that she watched Starscream reach for the Allspark before the whole area lighted up in a big explosion, leaving nothing but a charred crate in its wake. But what did it matter, if they could no longer return home, there was no longer any kind of hope of their species continuing on after this war would be over, no, the only thing that mattered was the blinding pain that ripped her spark apart as a connection she had thought to be lifelong flickered and then vanished leaving an empty space that surely would reflect in her spark as a piece having been simply carved out. There was no way that this pain was not physical. What felt like an eternity of her simply standing there like frozen, must have been a few seconds to any witness before her frame was suddenly gone with the crackle of purple lightning.

When Skywarp took form again, a violent flinch shook her frame, wings flared unevenly and in contrast to the usual elegance Seekers carried themselves with in the day-to-day life, but the purple Seeker could not have cared less as bright red optics stared at the ground before her. Starscream had been a constant of life for a very, very long time, there had been more than one fight inside the trine and more often than not they found themselves arguing, but they had been trine.

Trine was more than any non Seeker would ever understand, it was something that had prevailed from the moment the first Seekers had wandered Cybertron. Trine was more than family, trine was more than a silly relationship, trine was a commitment for eternity. No matter how often they argued and fought and disagreed, there was a bond deeper than any love between them and now Skywarp was looking down at the destroyed frame of her trine leader and the pain that had previously been near paralysing reached a new height.

There were no words, no gesture, that could express the agony filling every atom making up her frame, it was like Primus or Unicron or whoever was out there was peeling her apart atom by atom and scrapping out any bit that had ever been Starscream with a blade.

It was by then that Novastorm seemed to have woken from her stupor and buried into their bond, and Skywarp was glad for it. It was that movement in the bond, that little bit of life in the consuming darkness that forcefully reminded her where she was and why she was here, not that she paid any more attention to it than she had prior. No, for all she cared everyone, Autobot and Decepticon could frag right off, what did they matter in the face of this damage they had done. The only things that counted right now were Novastorm and Starscream.

Extending her bond towards Novastorm, Skywarp attempted to express as much comfort as she could while being consumed by the same pain and agony that was consuming her yellow trinemate. In the end, there was not much they could do besides share their pain, for neither of them had much energy to comfort the other with positive emotions at the current time. Later, mayhap when they were alone and had done their duty, they could grieve and comfort each other, but right this moment it was simply impossible. It was then that her legs simply gave in, a tremble running through them, before Skywarp crumbled to her knees next to the frame of her trine leader. His frame was for all purposes beat up, but not as bad as he had been beaten before.

The white had been charred with black and his optics were offline, his cockpit was smashed, and his wings were melted at the edges, but Skywarp had seen him in worse states before. Had felt the pain echo in her own frame through the bond as grey servos inflicted more and more pain, followed by prolonged stays in the medbay or not, if Starscream managed to scurry himself away or Megatron decided he did not deserve it. It was with these thoughts, memories of an even worse crumpled frame filling her processor that her servo let go of her thighs, the armour crumbled under the strength of her straining grip and instead reached for the frame of her trine leader.

Logically, Skywarp knew that Starscream was dead, there was no way to replicate a broken bond and there was no doubt in her mind that there was no comparable thing to the pain they were feeling that could be anything other than a broken bond, but nonetheless a small perhaps childish part of her hoped that if she was to simply shake Starscream he would online his optics again and glare up at her before hissing at her to get the frag out of his berthroom and how dare she wake him up like he had done so often before he had been calmed with a nice cube of Energon. The scene playing back in her processor was so… domestic in retrospect that Skywarp could not help herself but curse herself for never appreciating the grumpy aft Starscream had been whenever he had been caught up in an experiment of his own and had fallen asleep on a datapad. Back at the moment she had only ever been annoyed and so had Starscream been and more often than not the result had been an argument that had reached on for the entire morning.

It was only at the feel of a new stab of devastation in the bond that was left that Skywarp realised that her clawed servos had closed around Starscream’s arm and shoulder and were shaking him. Red optics slowly filled with unspilled tears as the Skywarp slowly stop shaking Starscream, forcing herself to do so.

After what had felt like several minutes and had in truth only been a few seconds, Megatron’s focus had shifted from his musings to the world around him once more, fully expecting an attack from an enraged Starscream or Soundwave, but it was as his optics landed on the view only a few meters away from the crate that his thoughts screeched to a stop and his optics widened in abject horror. There was his SI- his once SIC’s frame, and Skwarp was kneeling next to it with a look on her faceplate that Megatron had never seen there before. The way she was shaking Starscream was the second thing that clues the once warlord in to what was happening, and it was enough to make his vents momentarily stop. There was no denying that Megatron had beaten and degraded Starscream on more than one occasion, bending his armour, breaking his struts, watching as his Energon leaked over his frame and had coloured his armour and the floor he had been lying on in a bright pink. There had been far too many times when he had done so in the view of all and everyone, but never had Skywarp reacted like this.

The pain, the shock, the way she seemed so desperate as she shook Starscream was enough to make him assume that Starscream was either dying or dead already. A part of Megatron wished to walk over and reassure himself of the fact, offer comfort to the purple Seeker in the wake of what undoubtedly was an agonising pain, but he was under no illusion that he would not be welcome, not as an Autobot and not as a leader either. And if Megatron was honest with himself, another thought he could not let Optimus hear about, another equally big part, if not bigger, did not want to do so. Said part was filled with satisfaction and pleased fulfilment at the traitorous Seeker finally dying.

There had been many times when the Seeker had been in his grasp, optics filled with pain and pleading, and Megatron had wanted to do nothing more than to disregard the pleading and the whimpering and simply tighten his grasp, until the Seeker’s optics darkened, but to do so then would have robbed him of an at times, rather competent SIC and the loyalty of the remaining Seekers as well, so he had never done so, but the wish to see the white, blue and red Seeker in pain had grown over the millennia and there was little pity for the way he had ended. To a certain degree, Megatron was disgusted with himself for how he thought about Starscream, but he was also aware that if he had not kept the Seeker in check the traitorous electro viper would have killed him instead, and there was no doubt that Starscream would not have had the mercy that Megatron had shown to him again and again.

Starscream against what many liked to rumour, and there were many rumours, had no noble upbringing, no fancy connections, nothing like that. The first memory the young Seeker had was the dirty streets.

How he got there he would never fully know and quite frankly at this point he no longer cared, he had carved himself a place in this world, and he had done so by himself. Science had been his first passion and love, stealing and pirating any data he could get on it to teach himself had been hard, but it had made his life brighter, and then he had managed to achieve what he had considered near impossible back then. An application to the Academy of Science with the alt mode conveniently left off, it had been good enough for a scholarship and by the time he had arrived, and they had realised they had let a Seeker into their precious Academy, it had been too late. A trick the professors and fellow students never let Starscream forget, how he wasn’t supposed to be there, but he hadn’t been alone.

There had been another flyer, a shuttle, brilliant and compassionate and caring. Starscream had quickly found his first true friend in him, and their partnership had been a close one until the fateful expedition that had changed Starscream’s life once more. He remembered the coldness, the way his wings had ached, and his fuel lines had hurt, and the white had become all composing. He had circled the whole planet nearly twice by the time his fuel was so low he only barely made it back to Cybertron and still there had been no sign of his partner. Not only that, but he had lost consciousness upon arriving back on Cybertron and when he came online again he had been accused of murder and no one listened when he begged for a search party, for help to search, Primus to let him go alone.

But no one listened.

Stripped of his place at the academy, his achievements and worst of all, knowing his partner was still somewhere out there alone, this was the first time Starscream truly thought about dying. He had begged for Primus to change their places, for his own death, if it meant Skyfire would be alive and well, but it had never come to fruition. There had been little left for Starscream that had mattered at all to him until he had heard of the start of a rebellion. There had been little consideration needed for him to join those that rebelled against those that had left his friend to die, and Starscream as such threw himself into the cause, quickly gaining the leaders' attention. Rising through the ranks hadn’t been all that complicated, and in the process of doing so he had found trinemates as well, Novastorm and Skywarp.

And for a time he had been almost happy, and then his relationship to Megatron had begun to deteriorate and a vicious cycle of scheming, punishment and more scheming had begun that had once more brought Starscream closer to death. All this played in front of Starscream like a film, it was near enough to make the Seeker scoff at the idea that it was truly true that one saw their life before them when dying and there was no doubt he was dying. He knew he had been in agony and now there was nothing, it felt like he was floating in a vast nothingness…no. Not nothingness, he was floating in the universe, dotted all around him were stars and planets, galaxies and black holes, it was quite beautiful. Is it not? The question made Starscream tense and his wings flare, that had not been him, he was sure of it, but what had it been then? Was he not dead after all? Had he been captured by the Autobots? But before he could get more agitated, a fond chuckle echoed through every atom of this scenario and his frame was filled by a soft numbness.

There was movement. The universe was fading, but the feeling was not, and then his optics onlined suddenly.

Bright blue optics stared up and tear filled red optics stared back. “....Starscream?”, it was more a disbelieving whisper than a true question and as Starscream opened his intake to answer he balked on the inside as something not him answered. “Yes, we are.”. It was in horror that the Seeker realised that he still felt numb, and the view was like watching a film instead of truly witnessing himself. His frame moved without any command of him, and ice-cold fear that was quickly dosed with more numbness and calmness filled him as the Seeker realised he was as much in control of his frame as a copilot watching a pilot fly.

A soft comfort and reassurance was projected at him calming him, if he wanted or not, wordlessly promising him to be taken care of and that all would be well. It was time that the Allspark had a chance to act, this Seeker was a prime example on how badly this war was impacting the bots participating. They would fix it.

#reverse mini bang 2024 #transformers #transformers earthspark #maccadam #starscream #skywarp #novastorm #implied major character death #mild gore

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koizumiyuu · 1 month ago

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Social Outcasts

Part 12

warnings: none.

The next few days pass in a similar fashion then. (name) avoids Niragi and the rest of the more easily aggravated people, instead hanging out with Kuina and sometimes Chishiya. Her arm heals enough to no longer throb with every move she makes, and Kuina even convinces her to go swim in the pool together, when it’s earlier in the day and most of the Beach members are still asleep or recovering from the previous night of never-ending party or attending games.

When Chishiya explained the plan a few days earlier, (name) was under the impression that he has every detail worked out already. Apparently, that was not the case, and as he further explained, he still needs to scout out a person who will be completing the riskiest part of the plan. Though she has a feeling he’s leaving out some details.

This morning the Beach buzzes with a new rumor. Apparently, last night the militants recruited two new players. Everyone knows it likely wasn’t by their volition, but nobody says anything, of course. That’s just how things are here. They’ll have no choice but to adapt to the life and rules at the Beach. And if they don’t, then maybe they’re not fit to survive in this world.

The new faces show up down at the pool around midday, both already forced into swimwear and looking as out of place as ever. (name) is hanging back by herself this time, lounging in one of the chairs further back in the shade as she half-heartedly sips some cocktail of juice the clearly overly-friendly bartender mixed up for her. It’s hard to not notice the newcomers, as they automatically gravitate to awkwardly stand next to each other among the chaos of people dancing and having a good time. The stiffness is not what draws (name)’s attention though. It’s the somewhat familiar sky-blue shirt. These two were the ones who completed the Tag game she and Chishiya were in. The boy with the shaggy haircut and the athletic girl. ‘So they got roped into this too, huh? Shame, the guy looked pretty smart too… just maybe a little soft.’

Evening rolls around and the party only intensifies, before eventually, the fun part begins like every night. With fanfares and loud bass thumping, most of the drunk, half-naked, and laughing Beach members make their way to the main hall in preparation for the games where Hatter soon appears in his balcony to deliver the expected motivational spiel. (name) still has days on her visa, and her unbothered attitude has somehow made it fairly easy to slide under the militants’ radar, so she’s not attending any games herself. But she still moves with the crowd, not wanting to stand out.

Her eyes find the two newcomers in the crowd fairly easily, sticking out like sore thumbs with obviously less enthusiasm and more anxiety than the rest. Then she scans the room some more, and sees who she was looking for hanging back further away with an unbothered expression like always.

She makes her way over to him just as Kuina walks up from somewhere behind too. She smiles at (name) before following Chishiya’s gaze focusing somewhere into the crowd, giving him a questioning look.

Chishiya doesn’t avert his gaze from the two as he answers her, “We were in the same game as them.”

Kuina then looks to (name) for clarification and she just nods, equally tracking them with her gaze just like Chishiya is, “Mhm. Seemed smart enough.”

Chishiya nods slowly to her statement, adding, “They might be useful. To our plan, that is.”

Kuina just raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t comment further before walking off to find her group for joining a game. (name) silently wishes her good luck before she can catch up to that stray thought.

When the crowd starts dispersing to their respective cars, or returning to the party, (name) and Chishiya both make their way out of the main hall. Over the past week or so, (name) has gotten secretly more used to handling interactions with him, so now they even hang out by themselves sometimes. Even when Kuina isn’t around.

He’s intriguing, she thinks. For most of her life, (name) has tried time and again to limit her interactions with people. She found most of them repulsive. Selfish and careless, hiding behind a false façade of politeness and respectful words, drilled into their culture from the day they’re born. And yet they can never fully hide it, the selfishness or perverseness rearing its ugly head sooner or later anyway.

But despite (name)’s original opinion of Chishiya, he isn’t like that. He has shitty humanly flaws like all of them, but he doesn’t try pretending to be perfect, hiding behind the fake politeness. He’s selfish, and manipulative, and emotionally distant, and sure, he uses deception to make people believe otherwise when it suits him for survival. But he puts little effort into trying to appear what he’s not for most of the time. Their alliance is transactional, and both of them understand it. There’s no blown-out expectations, knowing that the other party is cooperating purely out of own self-interest.

At the start, (name) compared him to a psychopath, but after interacting with him further, she’s starting to get a feeling he’s just as done with life as she is, making him like that. It’s been a long time since she’s last been intrigued by a breathing human being, usually more fascinated by a computer screen and lines of code displayed in it. Much like many things concerning Chishiya, it’s unsettling. Though understandable, in a way.

They climb the stairs slowly, and (name) pauses at her own floor. Glancing back at Chishiya, she catches his gaze looking back in a silent conversation to follow him instead. She doesn’t question it too much, sparing one glance down the hallway before catching up to him.

He doesn’t stop at his own floor either though, instead continuing on to the very top floor and starting down the hall. Realization hits that there’s only one place they could be headed from here, and she briefly wonders how she didn’t think of coming here herself.

Chishiya pushes the roof access door open, walking through first, then holding it for her before he speaks up, “It’s less irritating to watch things from up here.”

Makes sense, she thinks. He’s one for always observing what people are doing, but staying down by the pool for long enough certainly gets overwhelming. With crowds of drunk people tripping over themselves and stumbling about.

He walks to the edge of the roof, sitting down cross-legged, and (name) follows his lead, taking a seat next to him. Sure enough, the whole pool area is clearly visible from up here, and if you lean a little, the gates to the parking lot are partially visible as well.

They sit in quiet observation for a moment, the music still clear up here but not as loud, before (name) breaks the silence, “So he’s the last part? For the plan.”

Chishiya hums in thought as if he expected her to bring it up, “I think he’d do well. Kuina’s in the same game as him right now, so we’ll see what she observes, but he seems like just the right person, you saw.”

‘Just the right person…’ (name) has some idea of what in Chishiya’s eyes is ‘just right’. The boy is fairly intelligent, but he’s soft-hearted and trusting. She briefly wonders how he even made it out alive so far. (name) nods slowly, eyes absentmindedly tracking the people dancing below, “You’ll use him and then drop him, won’t you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees one corner of Chishiya’s lips tilt up, “Observant.”

(name) hums in response, unruffled, “Yeah, I had a feeling there was more to it.”

He doesn’t offer up anything else for now, so she speaks up again, “So why him? Why not use me or Kuina?” the answer to that is fairly obvious, but she wants to hear it from him anyway.

Chishiya doesn’t miss a beat in his answer, “Because Kuina is more useful as an ally, and you would have figured me out.”

Expected answer, yet again, and she just nods in response, not really concerned even now that she knows the full details.

A couple of hours later, Kuina is back from her game, and (name) and Chishiya meet her down by the pool again, briefly discussing what happened in the game and whether or not it was difficult. Then Chishiya encourages her to go talk to the newcomers some more, smirking in his usual way as he reasons with her to ‘make friends with them, it won’t be hard for you.’ Kuina rolls her eyes, but complies, making her way over to where the two now sit on the lounge chairs by the pool.

Their interaction doesn’t last long as soon Aguni comes strolling in, followed by his gaggle of goons and Niragi loudly ordering to cut the shitty music. At least that’s one thing out of that scumbag’s mouth (name) can agree with.

She feels Chishiya tugging on her sleeve and glances back to see him shuffling further away to not be in the spotlight. Sound idea, she thinks, following.

Aguni engages the newcomer boy, prompting him about his blond friend who seemingly hasn’t been around since the Tag game, and a brief conversation follows before he orders Niragi to bring the girl over. Niragi of course complies, always eager to act on any perverse fantasy he gets a whiff of, but to everyone’s surprise, the boy stands up in her defense, despite Kuina’s loud warning to stay out of it. (name) hears Chishiya hum in interest next to her, and her thought process is about the same. ‘Ballsy…’

Thankfully, the bullying doesn’t have a chance to escalate, as drawn by the sudden lack of music, Hatter comes to the scene, breaking up the fight, sending the militants off, and calling an executive meeting. But not before inviting the new boy along as well, whose name she now learns is Arisu. Chishiya clicks his tongue in what could be taken as displeasure at being interrupted and (name) gives him a glance.

He just shakes his head faintly, “I’ll find you later.” Before walking off after the Hatter.

Next.

#chishiya #aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x original character #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland

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theawkwardterrier · 1 year ago

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Year by Year

Steggy Week 2k23, day 1 Prompt: headcanons and meta

Summary: They mark the day with their own particular observance.

Thanks to @steggyfanevents for organizing!

It is not something celebrated with that mild fanfare the way that birthdays and holidays are in their house, nor like their wedding anniversary either — no gifts or dinner out or being allowed to pick the details of activity or company or entertainment for the day.

But it is also not like those other milestones of their past, the ones that crop up even though so much of the war had blurred together or taken place in ways that make memorializing specific events impossible. Still, every so often one of them might realize that this was the date Steve started boot camp and therefore the one on which they saw each other for the first time; that it has been so many years or decades since that day in a SSR lab in Brooklyn; that although they are here in the midst of an ordinary winter now, the two of them once stood on a frigid Russian battlefield on this same day so long ago and saw one another for the first time in months and knew each other to be alive. It is not even like those more easily noted commemorations, Memorial Day or Veterans Day, which are memorialized for them with more solemnity than for many of their neighbors, especially as the decades wear on and war becomes a more remote thing for so many, nor even like the more personal times of remembrance: the day that Bucky fell, and the days, as time wears on, of their friends’ passings, or the day that Steve's plane went down.

Yet it also does fade for them entirely either, blurring into normalcy among the notes on the calendar about appointments with the dentist or the elementary school's spring orchestra concert, conferences in Brussels and a spate of classmates' birthday parties.

Instead, it becomes something contained and particularly theirs. Wherever they might be on the day, whether in their own living room or a rental house on vacation or the tarmac waiting for a SHIELD plane to bring them back from some world-saving venture or the middle of a national park because they somehow foolishly agreed to chaperone the latest Scouts trip or the Stork Club just before it closes for the final time, they will find a few moments and turn to each other, clasp hands and turn in slow, swaying circles. Sometimes they will have music — they keep a turntable on hand at home even as it begins to eventually feature a cassette or CD player alongside, preferring their old 45s of Etta James or Ella Fitzgerald or Harry James — and sometimes they will only have the quiet or the crickets or the wind around them. Pressed together and without speaking, they will think of the time apart and the time together, all that they have gotten to do in the years since, the life they have built and the ways that things might have been different and the parts that they wouldn't change.

"I'm glad you came back," Peggy will say softly after a while.

"I'm glad I could," Steve will say. "I'm glad that you were here for me to come back to."

And, absorbing the feeling of the two of them together, relishing it all the more for the familiarity that they have earned, they will dance as they commemorate another year of return.

#steggyweek23 #Steggy fic #Steggy #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers #my brain/writing motivation is still wonky #but I wanted to write a little piece about my headcanon that Steve and Peggy dance together to remember the day Steve came back #sorry it's all run-ons and not great!

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apocalypticavolition · 7 months ago

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Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 7: The Way Out of the Mountains

People, the fact that I'm using a generic image here is a failure on the part of the fandom. There should be art of this incredibly tiny chapter and its delightful moment! But Google finds nothing. This is outrageous! Great news, everyone! The wonderfully talented @pien-art did in fact make fan art and is even willing to let me use it on my silly little post. My unspoken plans to balefire you all are hereby put on pause. Please go check out their blog for more art!

Also, if you hate spoilers, this whole post is outrageous because I'm going to spoil everything about The Wheel of Time because I can!

This chapter starts with a Flame of Tar Valon icon because Moiraine goes fishing.

Lan spent most of his time scouting their path on his black warhorse, Mandarb, following Rand’s tracks as the rest of them followed the signs the Warder left for them. An arrow of stones laid out on the ground, or one lightly scratched in the rock wall of a forking pass.

Lan and Mandarb get all the more impressive when you consider that in addition to leading the way, he's probably also doubling around them (unnoticed by Perrin) and clearing out the signs he leaves behind so no one else can follow.

Her reply was always very much the same. “If you cannot move any faster than this, perhaps I should send you off to Myrelle before you get any older. Well, perhaps that can wait, but you must move us faster.”

Moiraine, I love you but what the fuck? Lan is doing an incredible job and you're joking about sending him off to get raped because it's not good enough for you.

“No day soon,” Lan said, and surprisingly, there was open anger in his voice. “Never, if I can help it. You will outlive me long, Moiraine Aes Sedai!”

She probably will, but how much longer, I wonder. Did the Finn steal her longevity when they stole her strength, or will she still age according to the power level she was born with? If the former, then she might not even have two centuries of lifespan in her. (Also note how touchy Lan is, to use such a formal address.)

“As difficult as that?” Moiraine murmured. Her hands slipped into the water—and a moment later came out with a splash, holding a fat trout that thrashed the surface. She laughed with delight as she tossed it up onto the bank.

Perrin thinks it's luck because Perrin is very, very silly. Also he doesn't know that she's best friends with a former fisherwoman.

Perrin thought about reminding her that whoever took the fish was supposed to clean them, too, but just at that moment she caught his eye. There was no particular expression on her smooth face, but her dark eyes did not waver, and they appeared to know what he was going to say, and to have dismissed it out of hand already.

Perrin, be grateful that the nice witch caught you a huge dinner. Another problem with not communicating is that of course Moiraine is probably doing useful magic tricks like this all the time with exactly as much fanfare and while effortlessly keeping her composure so Perrin has no idea that as far as the party dynamics are concerned, he and to a lesser degree Loial are the potential dead weight.

“I doubt she sees it that way. First she had to put up with Rand arguing with her all the time, and now you’re ready to take over for him. As a rule, Aes Sedai do not let anyone argue with them. I expect she means to have us back in the habit of doing what she says by the time we reach the first village.”

Loial's probably got a point too about Moiraine's Aes Sedai pride influencing her behavior. She likely strongly feels that she fucked up by giving Rand too much independence (even though really the boy needs as much as he can get) and is aiming for damage control by being extra shitty about things to Lan and Perrin as well.

Loial gave in to it as inevitable, but not Perrin. He tried refusing, resisting, but it was hard to resist when she made a reasonable suggestion, and a small one at that. Only there was always another suggestion behind it, as reasonable and small as the first, and then another. The simple force of her presence, the strength of her gaze, made it difficult to protest.

Perrin is getting worked over like he's saidar and it's a little funny.

He accused her of using the One Power on him, though he did not really think that was it, and she told him not to be a fool.

It is indeed very unlikely that she's Compelling him when she's just so good at social engineering.

The wolves should not have been there. Wolves avoided places where men were, but Perrin could still sense them, an unseen screen and escort ringing the mounted party.

The wolves are of course sticking around because Noam's also in the area.

Short chapter, huh? Next time: Fourteen hundred weddings and no funerals!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #perrin aybara #lan mandragoran #moiraine damodred #loial

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quartzhearted · 7 months ago

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(Alcryst is 3-4 years old)

There's one old family portrait in Brodia Castle that always confuses Alcryst whenever he sees it. He recognizes his father's face, of course, but the man next to him remains a complete and utter stranger. Alcryst secretly calls him Rockbert, because it's sad to think of him being nameless all his life, but the truth remained out of reach.

Until today, that is! Father holds his hand as they walk to the kitchen, all according to Alcryst's plan. Once they pass by that painting, the young boy digs in his heels and announces his theory. "Dad! Is Rockbert my grandpa?" He points to the stranger in the picture for emphasis.

"ALEXAND!" morion drops his sword and runs so quickly he trips over himself. his heart beats in his ears and blood drains from his face; there's no color that suits his brother worse than the deep crimson that pools around him now. as usual, when the scouts came running into brodia castle to warn of incoming elusian reinforcements, morion and alexand grabbed their weapons and made for the field. this war against elusia has gone on for longer than any previous, and it's concerning; what of the brodian people? what of the loved ones that go off to battle, never to return? and what of those who come to replace their ranks? alexand himself was troubled by the sheer force elusia pushed with and had refused to sit back and watch utter slaughter when something could be done. he led the front and sent morion to the rear. morion wasn't a fan of staying behind, but he knew that his brother gave him the assignment for a reason. fending off pegasus knights was no easy feat, but morion had just obtained a hand axe for the express purpose. his throwing arm wasn't all that accurate, but when he could land a hit it was an almost instant kill. perhaps, morion thought, his brother ought to get something like this for himself. but after picking off a fleet of the airborne soldiers, morion heard no fanfare. all he heard was the sound of distress, screaming brodian soldiers tumbling over themselves to get to a certain place. he couldn't understand at first; what on earth were they so afraid of? as a soldier ran past him, morion grabbed him by the collar to stop him. "what the hell's all this about?" morion had growled. "you're not runnin' off scared, are you?" but the soldier had news that shook even morion's constitution. "it's-- it's prince alexand! he's been shot!" and now morion kneels over the corpse of his older brother lying face down on brodian soil, watching as he still bleeds pitifully from the thousand arrows rising from his back. how had this happened? how could he have not seen archers among the ranks, ready and waiting to take out the pillars of brodia's army command? how could he have let the future king of brodia down? his brother, the respected king-to-be, lies here, not even knowing he rests in morion's arms. he doesn't know how morion weeps with his head tucked into alexand's broken armor, cries never rising above an audible pitch. why did this have to happen to them, when their father neared the end of his reign and alexand had readied for his beginning? morion wasn't ready to lose his brother like this. he never was.

...

of course alcryst would ask a question like that. he's only a child. a child who never knew his uncle nor the rule that he'd promised, and a child who only ever sees happiness and plenty of love from his mother and father. death is not a concept here, and morion does not want to be the person who introduces it.

instead, he takes the question humorously and pats alcryst's head. "rockbert? now there's a name," he chuckles, though his gaze draws mournful along the portrait. every day he wishes he could see his brother again. there are so many things he wants to tell him.

"his name is alexand," for 'was' would bring too many questions. "he's your uncle. you guys haven't met because he's gone on a long, long trip." he hates lying to his kids like this, but alcryst is much too innocent to know about the fact that his father is not without his own stormclouds.

he doesn't want to get too far into the fib because it'd be too much to untangle later. for now, he begins walking again, taking alcryst with him. "but we can talk about that later, kid," he sighs, suddenly feeling very, very tired. "your papa wants a snack and a nap."

#⚔︎ ic #⚔︎ starrook #⚔︎ answered #[ SO FUN FACT. THE MANGA JUST REVEALED THAT MORION HAD AN OLDER BROTHER ]#[ KEYWORD HAD. ]

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sincerely-sofie · 1 year ago

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So, uh… PMD gang, wanna meet my original exploration team trio?

Together, they form Team Crypt— a group who travels the land solving mysteries and barely escaping the fights they’re grossly unprepared for! A bit of character trivia below for those curious:

Omen has a bad habit of accepting information for payment instead of actual money, much to Jeepers’ disappointment.

Jeepers is very easy to spook. Maynard enjoys startling him by lurking around corners.

Maynard is a flat-earther. Omen is locked in an ongoing argument with him about the shape of the world.

Jeepers is 100% the type of character to look into the camera out of desperate exasperation when Omen and Maynard start another bickering session about whether or not the moon is real.

Omen’s job is to scout and be the team’s spokesperson. Jeepers’ is to carry supplies and hold the brain cell mediate the inevitable discussions that his other teammates get into. Maynard’s is to serve as a sentient Bulbapedia (nobody seems to remember how type matchups work besides him) and confuse any aggressive Pokémon with rambling explanations of how the planet’s developing paralysis is actually the result of an underground rebellion against a secret society of Celebi who control the flow of time using Dialga as the powerless figurehead of their operation and (etc, etc)

Omen and Maynard were the founding members of Team Crypt. Maynard and Jeepers knew each other for years prior to the team’s creation, but Jeepers was reluctant to join forces with a strange Spritzee when invited onto the team. Some time after the invitation was extended, he had a sudden change of heart and joined without fanfare. Neither Maynard nor Omen know what caused him to change his mind so abruptly. Something tells them it has to do with a group of thugs that have started tailing Team Crypt since Jeepers joined, but what exactly do they want with some random Pawniard?

#stuff by sofie #pmd ocs #pmd oc #pokémon mystery dungeon #pmd2 #pmd explorers #pmd eos #PMD2 oc #original character #duskull #spritzee #pawniard

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shiorihyugawrites · 12 days ago

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The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Nine

The day of Eren and Aurora’s wedding arrived quietly, with no fanfare, no audience, and no grand celebrations. It was a simple, intimate moment in a world that had been filled with nothing but chaos and destruction. But for them, it was perfect.

Aurora had spent the morning in their cabin, preparing in silence. She had gathered wildflowers from the garden and the woods, weaving them into a simple but beautiful bouquet, the vibrant petals adding a splash of color to the day. Her dress was white and modest, something she had managed to piece together from fabric they had scavenged over time. The dress wasn’t extravagant, but it was elegant in its simplicity, fitting her figure in a way that accentuated her natural beauty.

As she stood in front of the small, cracked mirror they had in the cabin, Aurora took a deep breath, her fingers gently smoothing over the fabric of her dress. The reality of what was about to happen settled over her—she was about to marry Eren. The boy she had known since childhood, the man she had fallen in love with, the person who had saved her in more ways than one. Her heart swelled at the thought.

Outside, Eren was waiting by the lake they had chosen for the ceremony. It was a spot they had discovered not long after they moved into the cabin, a place that felt peaceful, away from the horrors of the world. A large, ancient tree stood near the water’s edge, its branches sweeping down toward the surface of the lake, creating a canopy of leaves that provided shade and a sense of tranquility. It was the perfect place for their vows.

Eren had dressed simply for the occasion, wearing a plain white dress shirt and dark pants he had managed to acquire during his time undercover. There was no need for anything fancy, nothing to distract from the moment. His hair was tied back, a few loose strands falling around his face, and his eyes were focused on the tree, waiting for Aurora.

The elderly clergyman Eren had found stood nearby, quietly preparing for the ceremony. He hadn’t asked too many questions, assuming that Eren and Aurora were just a young couple in love, looking to be married in secret. Eren had given the man his undercover name, Eren Kruger, to keep their true identities hidden. The clergyman had simply nodded, happy to perform the service without prying.

When Eren heard the soft rustle of leaves behind him, he turned, and his breath caught in his throat.

Aurora was walking toward him, the wildflower bouquet in her hands, her white dress flowing softly around her as she moved. The sunlight filtering through the trees illuminated her like something out of a dream, casting a golden glow on her platinum blonde hair and the soft curves of her figure. She looked ethereal, breathtaking, and Eren couldn’t help but stare, his heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt.

Aurora met his gaze, a soft smile spreading across her face as she walked toward him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the bouquet. But as she drew closer to Eren, all of her nerves seemed to melt away. This was where she was meant to be—by his side, always.

When she finally reached him, Eren took her hand, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. He couldn’t stop the small, awestruck smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

Aurora blushed, her smile widening as she glanced down shyly. “Thank you,” she whispered back, her heart fluttering at the tenderness in his voice. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

Eren chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. For a moment, they just stood there, gazing at each other, the world around them falling away. It didn’t matter that they were in the middle of enemy territory. It didn’t matter that war was looming on the horizon. Right now, in this moment, all that mattered was them.

The clergyman cleared his throat gently, reminding them that the ceremony was about to begin. Eren and Aurora turned to face him, their hands still tightly clasped together.

The ceremony was short and simple, but it was perfect for them. The clergyman spoke softly, reading the vows that had been spoken by countless others before them. But for Eren and Aurora, the words carried a special weight. They weren’t just vows to love and cherish each other—they were promises to protect one another, to stand by each other in a world filled with danger and uncertainty.

When it came time for their vows, Eren turned to Aurora, his eyes soft but filled with unwavering resolve. He squeezed her hand gently, his voice low but steady as he spoke. “Aurora, from the moment we found each other again, I knew I couldn’t live without you. You’ve been my light in a world full of darkness, and I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. I’ll give you the world, no matter what it costs. I love you, and I always will.”

Aurora’s eyes filled with tears as she listened to him, her heart aching with love for the man standing before her. She took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke her own vows. “Eren, you’ve saved me in more ways than you’ll ever know. You’ve given me hope when I thought I had none left. I love you more than anything in this world, and I promise to stand by your side, no matter what. I’ll love you forever.”

The clergyman smiled softly at the two of them before he spoke the final words that would seal their bond. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Eren didn’t hesitate. He gently cupped Aurora’s face in his hands, his fingers brushing against her soft skin as he leaned in and kissed her. It was a slow, tender kiss, filled with all the love and promises they had just spoken to each other. Aurora melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back, her heart soaring.

When they finally pulled away, Eren rested his forehead against hers, a small, contented smile on his lips. “Mrs. Aurora Jaeger,” he whispered, his voice filled with pride and love.

Aurora smiled, her heart swelling at the sound of her new name. “Mrs. Aurora Jaeger,” she echoed softly, her voice filled with the same pride and love.

They stood there beneath the large, ancient tree, the lake shimmering in the background, the world around them quiet and still. For the first time in a long time, Eren felt at peace. He had Aurora, the woman he loved, and she was now his wife.

But even in this moment of happiness, Eren’s resolve hadn’t wavered. The Raid on Liberio was less than a month away, and the weight of that mission still loomed over him. But now, with Aurora by his side, he felt more determined than ever to see it through. He would do whatever it took to protect her, to create a world where they could live together in peace. Even if it meant burning everything else to the ground.

The clergyman gave them one last smile and blessing before he turned and left. And as the newlyweds walked hand in hand back to their cabin, Eren couldn’t help but feel that, despite the war, despite the bloodshed that awaited them, they had won something today. They had won each other.

And that, above all else, was worth fighting for.

…

Later on that night, Eren led Aurora through the small garden behind their cabin, his hand warm and steady in hers as they stepped onto the soft grass. The moon hung full and bright in the sky, casting a silver glow over everything, making the scene before them feel even more magical. Aurora gasped softly as they came into view of the surprise Eren had prepared—a simple but romantic setup that made her heart swell with love and happiness.

There, under the soft light of the moon, was a nest of blankets and pillows, surrounded by the soft glow of candles. Wildflower petals, gathered from the surrounding woods, were scattered across the blankets in delicate patterns. Everything was laid out carefully, as if Eren had put his heart and soul into creating this moment for her. It was simple, but it was perfect. A gesture of love that left her speechless.

“Eren…” Aurora whispered, her voice filled with awe. “I… I didn’t know you planned this. It’s beautiful.”

Eren smiled, a rare, soft smile that only she ever saw. “I wanted to do something special,” he said, his voice low and full of affection. “I know we can’t have a honeymoon, not like a normal couple. But I thought… maybe this would make tonight a little better.”

Aurora’s heart swelled with emotion as she looked up at him. The man who had been through so much, who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, had taken the time to create something so beautiful, just for her. For them.

Eren moved away to light the candles, the soft flicker of the flames adding a warm glow to the moonlit garden. As he knelt down to light the last candle, Aurora watched him, her heart pounding softly in her chest. She hadn’t known what to expect tonight, but as she stood there, watching the man she loved more than anything, something inside her stirred.

Eren was always so careful with her, always putting her comfort above everything else, and she loved him for that. He never pushed her, never expected more than she was ready to give. But tonight… tonight she wanted to be close to him in a way she had never been before. She wanted to share herself with him completely, to show him how much she loved and trusted him.

When Eren finished lighting the candles and stood, Aurora felt a surge of emotion wash over her. She moved toward him, her bare feet softly brushing against the grass as she closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, she placed her hands gently on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Eren looked down at her, his eyes soft but questioning.

“Aurora?” he whispered, his voice low, filled with concern and affection.

She looked up at him, her heart racing but steady in its certainty. Her blue eyes, reflecting the soft glow of the candlelight, met his gaze, and Eren could see everything she felt in that moment—the love, the trust, and the desire. It was written in every line of her face, in the way her hands trembled slightly against him, in the way her lips parted as she tried to find the right words.

“I want to be with you, Eren,” she whispered, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I want to be close to you… in every way.”

Eren’s breath caught in his throat at her words, his heart thudding in his chest as he processed what she was saying. He had always been so careful, always holding back because he didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for. Even now, on their wedding night, he had prepared himself to wait, to take things at her pace. But hearing her say those words, seeing the love and trust in her eyes, made his heart ache with a love so strong it was almost overwhelming.

“Aurora… are you sure?” he asked gently, his voice low and filled with care. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you’re not ready.”

Aurora smiled up at him, her heart full. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. “I’m sure, Eren,” she whispered. “I love you. And I trust you. I want this… I want you.”

Eren felt a rush of emotion surge through him, his eyes softening as he looked down at the woman he loved more than anything. Slowly, carefully, he reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin. He could see the love in her eyes, the desire, the trust. It made his heart ache with the need to protect her, to cherish her, to love her the way she deserved to be loved.

Without another word, he leaned down and kissed her, soft and slow, his lips moving gently against hers as he poured all of his love into that one kiss. Aurora responded immediately, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she leaned into him, her heart racing with anticipation and love.

The kiss deepened, becoming more intense, more urgent, but always careful, always gentle. Eren’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as the world around them seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them, standing under the moonlight, surrounded by the warmth of the candles and the soft fragrance of the wildflowers.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady their racing hearts.

“I love you, Aurora,” Eren whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long. I’ll always love you.”

Aurora smiled, her eyes filled with tears of happiness. “I love you too, Eren,” she whispered.

Eren’s hands moved to her waist again, and slowly, he led her to the nest of blankets and pillows he had prepared. The candles flickered softly around them, casting a warm glow over the garden. Eren’s heart was racing, but it wasn’t just from desire. It was from the overwhelming love he felt for the woman sitting beside him.

As they lay down together, their bodies pressed close, Eren made sure to move slowly, giving Aurora every chance to stop if she wasn’t ready. But she never hesitated. Her hands moved to his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as she looked up at him with a soft smile.

“I trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I want this.”

Eren nodded, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. His lips found Aurora’s again, slow and tender at first, as though savoring the sweetness of each kiss. His hand rested gently on her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest, her fingers tangling in Eren’s hair as she responded to his kisses with growing intensity. Each kiss seemed to pull them closer, the connection between them deepening as their bodies pressed together.

The warmth of Eren’s touch sent shivers down Aurora’s spine, and she felt herself melting under the weight of his affection. There was something so gentle, so deliberate in the way he kissed her, as if each touch of his lips was a silent declaration of the love he held for her.

Under the soft glow of the moon, Eren’s hands began to explore, his fingers brushing the curve of her waist, tracing delicate lines along her skin. Aurora felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as his hand moved to the small ties of her dress, and for a moment, she hesitated. This was the first time they had ever been this close, the first time she would bare herself completely to him.

But when she looked up into Eren’s eyes, all the fear and uncertainty melted away. His gaze was soft, filled with so much love and care that it made her heart ache. He wasn’t rushing her, wasn’t pushing her into anything—he was simply there, waiting, his love for her evident in every breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” Eren whispered against her lips, his voice low and filled with reverence.

Aurora blushed at his words, her heart racing as she nodded, silently giving him permission to continue. She trusted him completely—trusted him with her heart, her body, her soul.

With slow, gentle hands, Eren reached for the ties of her dress, his fingers working with care as he loosened the fabric. He moved slowly, giving Aurora time to adjust, time to let the moment sink in. As the dress fell away, pooling around her on the blankets, Eren’s breath caught in his throat.

The moonlight bathed her in a soft, ethereal glow, highlighting every curve, every line of her body. His eyes drank in everything, her soft skin, her supple breasts, the curve of her waist—it was all driving him wild. Aurora’s skin flushed under his gaze, but there was no shame, no fear—only love and trust. She looked up at Eren, her heart fluttering as she saw the passion and desire in his eyes. He was looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

Eren’s eyes roamed over her, drinking in the sight of her bare body with a mixture of awe and tenderness. His heart pounded in his chest as the raw emotion between them became almost overwhelming. He wanted to worship her, to show her just how much she meant to him.

Slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing against her neck, then her collarbone, leaving a trail of soft kisses in his wake. Aurora shivered at the feel of his mouth on her skin, her hands gripping the blankets beneath her as she tried to contain the rush of emotions flooding through her.

Eren’s lips moved lower, kissing across her breasts, swirling his tongue around he sensitive nipples before leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach, each touch sending waves of warmth through her body. He moved with such care, such reverence, as though every inch of her deserved to be cherished. His lips found the soft skin of her thighs, and he left gentle love bites there, his hands resting gently on her hips.

Aurora’s breath hitched in her throat as she bit down on her lip, trying to contain the soft moans that threatened to escape. But Eren noticed, and he lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers, filled with a tender intensity.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I want to hear you, Aurora.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she nodded, her breath shaky as she let herself relax, let herself give in to the feelings swirling inside her. She trusted Eren with every part of her, and she wasn’t going to hide from him.

Eren kissed her again, slowly, tenderly, one of his hands moving to intertwine with hers as they lay together beneath the stars. The world outside no longer existed—there was only this moment, only the two of them wrapped up in their love, making memories that would last a lifetime.

His other hand moved with gentle care as he slowly parted Aurora's thighs, his gaze never leaving hers. The moonlight bathed them in a soft, ethereal glow, casting a serene stillness around them. His eyes flickered down to her hot core and he could see by the way it leaked, Aurora was very aroused. His heart was racing, not from haste or urgency, but from the overwhelming love and devotion he felt for the woman lying before him.

He settled himself between her legs, one hand still intertwined with hers. Eren wanted her to feel everything—to know that in this moment, she was the center of his world. He pressed soft kisses along her inner thighs, his lips brushing her skin like whispers of affection. Aurora’s breath hitched, and a soft sigh escaped her lips, her fingers tightening around his as a wave of emotion washed over her.

He could feel her trust in him, the openness in her body and her heart, and it filled him with a sense of awe and responsibility. Eren’s touch was tender, every move deliberate, as though he was worshipping the ground she lay upon. He was aware of her every reaction, every sigh, every tremble of her body as she responded to his gentle caresses.

“Aurora,” he whispered, his voice filled with reverence, as he pressed another soft kiss to her skin. The sound of her name on his lips sent shivers down her spine, and she let herself sink deeper into the moment, surrendering to the overwhelming warmth and safety that Eren provided.

Her fingers tightened around his as she felt the intensity of the connection between them growing. She had never felt this close to anyone before, and the trust she had in Eren, in this moment, made her heart swell.

Aurora's soft moans filled the quiet night air, growing louder with each tender caress and kiss Eren gave her. His movements were careful, deliberate, as though each touch was a silent declaration of how deeply he loved her.

Eren’s mouth finally latched onto her core and Aurora’s back arched as she let out a loud moan–her free hand instinctively reaching down to grip in his hair tightly. Eren swirled his tongue around her clit and sucked on it gently. He loved the way she was responding to him. Eren then began dipping his tongue into her hot slit, reveling in the delicious flavor of her juices that were overflowing down her thighs.

Aurora’s breaths became shorter, her chest rising and falling with each wave of sensation that coursed through her body. Her mind swam with emotions, the overwhelming love she felt for Eren mixing with the pleasure that was building inside her. The connection between them felt like nothing she had ever experienced before—it was as though their souls were intertwined, bound together by the love they had for each other.

Eren never took his eyes off her, watching as she responded to his every touch. He could feel her body tensing, her breath catching in her throat as the sensation within her grew stronger, her moans becoming more intense. He squeezed her hand gently, a silent reassurance that he was there with her, guiding her through the moment.

“Eren…” Aurora whispered, her voice breathless, filled with both love and need.

He responded by sucking on her clit even harder, his touch filled with nothing but care and affection. And then, with a shuddering gasp, Aurora felt herself reaching that point of no return, her body arching as she gave in to the wave of pleasure that washed over her.

Eren felt her tremble beneath him, and he held onto her, not letting go as she reached her peak, her soft cries of ecstasy filling the air around them. Her body pulsed with the intensity of the moment, and Eren stayed with his head buried between her legs swallowing every drop of her climax. His hand which was still entwined with hers was grounding her as she slowly came down from the high.

When it was over, Aurora’s head collapsed back onto the blankets, her chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. Her fingers were still tightly intertwined with Eren's, and she looked down at him, her face flushed, her eyes filled with both vulnerability and love.

Eren moved to lay beside her, pulling her into his arms as they lay together beneath the stars, the world quiet around them. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, holding her close, feeling her heart beating against his chest.

"I love you," Eren whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion.

Aurora smiled up at him, her heart full as she snuggled closer, resting her head against his shoulder. "I love you too, Eren. More than anything."

But even though she just had an intense orgasm…Aurora wanted more. And one look into Eren’s intense green eyes, she saw the desire swirling around in them—he wanted more too.

Aurora laid next to Eren, her nude form bare for him to drink in. Her platinum blonde hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, shimmering in the candlelight. Her heart raced as she looked up at Eren, her body trembling not out of fear, but out of the sheer anticipation of what was to come. She had never felt this vulnerable, yet with Eren, she knew she was safe.

Eren’s breath hitched as his gaze swept over her, the sight of his bride filling him with a deep longing. His hands shook slightly as he removed his shirt, tossing it aside, revealing the toned, scarred muscles of his chest and arms. He had always been strong, but standing there with Aurora, he felt exposed in a way he never had before. His heart pounded in his chest as he slipped out of his pants, the cool air brushing against his skin.

Aurora’s eyes widened as she took him in fully, her gaze dropping to his manhood. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a deep red. The sheer size of him made her wonder if it would even fit, and she knew it would probably hurt, but despite the nervousness fluttering in her chest, she wanted this—wanted him. She had never felt so connected to anyone, and tonight, under the stars, she would give herself completely to him.

Eren was already trembling with desire, his body tense with anticipation as he gently pushed Aurora onto her back on the soft blankets. She let out a soft gasp as she lay back, the cool grass beneath the blankets grounding her. Eren moved over her, his hands trailing over her body with a reverence that made her heart swell. His touch was soft, but there was an underlying intensity to it, as if he was holding back the storm of emotions surging within him.

He hovered over her, his forehead resting against hers for a moment, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the night. His hand caressed her cheek, thumb brushing over her soft skin. “I love you, Aurora,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“I love you too, Eren,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words was undeniable.

Eren positioned himself between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs gently as he wrapped them around his waist. He lined himself up with her, the tip of his hardened length pressing against her core, and they both sucked in a breath. The sensation was foreign to both of them, but the desire to be closer, to become one, pushed them forward.

He moved slowly, pushing inside her inch by inch. Aurora gasped, her fingers digging into his back. The feeling was intense, a mixture of pleasure and pain as her body adjusted to him. Eren, too, hissed at the sensation, his brows furrowed in concentration as he fought to maintain control. The pleasure was overwhelming, more than anything he had ever imagined, but the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

He paused, sensing her discomfort. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice strained but full of concern.

Aurora nodded, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. “It’s okay, Eren,” she reassured him, though her breath was shaky. “I want this. I want you.”

With her permission, Eren continued, pushing deeper until he was fully sheathed inside her. They both let out a simultaneous moan, the feeling of being connected so intimately overwhelming them. Eren stayed still for a moment, letting Aurora adjust to his size. He could see the tension in her expression, but also the determination. She was strong, his Aurora—stronger than anyone he had ever known.

After a few moments, Aurora shifted beneath him, her body relaxing as she got used to the sensation. She gave him a small nod, signaling that she was ready. Eren began to move, slowly at first, his movements measured as he fought the urge to lose himself in the pleasure. Each thrust sent waves of sensation through both of them, the connection between them growing deeper with every moment.

Aurora gasped as he picked up the pace slightly, her hands gripping his shoulders as she arched her back into him. “Eren,” she moaned softly, her voice laced with both pleasure and longing.

Hearing her say his name in that way nearly undid him. His control wavered, and he found himself moving faster, his thrusts growing harder, more desperate. He was gripping her tightly now, his hands roaming her body as if he couldn’t get close enough. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a fervent kiss, their breaths mingling as he murmured against her lips, “I love you, I love you so much.”

Aurora’s body trembled beneath him as she felt herself nearing the edge, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel Eren’s body tensing as well, his movements becoming more erratic as he fought to hold back. But when she whispered his name again, pleading for him, he finally let go.

They reached their climaxes together, Aurora crying out softly as her body tightened around him, the sensation sending Eren over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he released inside her, the world around them fading away until it was just the two of them, lost in each other.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They lay there beneath the stars, their bodies tangled together, hearts racing as they came down from the high of their union. Eren held Aurora close, his hand stroking her hair as he whispered her name softly, over and over again, like a prayer.

In that moment, everything else—the war, the chaos, the destruction—seemed far away. Here, in the garden of the cabin he built for them, under the infinite starry sky and the blessing of the full moon, they were simply Eren and Aurora. Husband and Wife. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Eren felt a glimmer of peace.

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dreamersinthedaylightinspo · 2 years ago

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Autumn Revolution: An ACOTAR Fic

Idk if this is part of anything but recently I was thinking a lot about the Autumn Court and Eris and Lucien and LoA especially - so I wrote this down. Takes place after a hypothetical scenario where the Night Court somehow accidentally reveals the Affair(tm) so Lucien is on the run and Beron is trying to decide how best to punish his wife for her infidelity - which prompts Eris to say, "Now or never." (Also featuring a handful of OCs because I literally can't NOT add new people to this world.)

Note: The Autumn Court boys are named, for the purposes of this fic Eris, Warrin, Roland, Rennard, Josse, Durante, and Lucien. Lucien and Eris are the only ones with Greek-origin names, showing that they have a closer connection to their mother. (Amara is the name I've chosen for Lady Autumn.) The others have French-origin names, showing their loyalty to Beron and the Autumn Court.

WARNING! This fic contains brief instances of strong/implied anti-LBGT sentiment and misogyny in language. Please use caution when reading.

They were all gathered up in the great council room. Wide, arching windows, inter-spaced with the banner sigils of Autumns’ High Houses. The table was long and severe, its dark wood shining under the light of torches and dripping wax candles, bereft of any decorations. Beron sat at the head, his sons flanking him on each side. Eris was seated at his right, as custom. He watched each of the lords fall in – every male head of family in the Forest House, and several from the Eyrie, and the Cliff House, and even the Foxhole. Within a few minutes, every significant political figure in Autumn was seated at the High Lord’s table.

And then, the door was closed, and everyone was silent, waiting for the High Lord to speak.

Eris wished he could feel surprised, taken aback, perhaps, at all the fanfare. But he’d known as soon as that idiot girl calling herself “High Lady” had opened her mouth –

He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and swallowed it calmly.

No good in getting angry now. Nothing to be done in remembering it. The past could not be undone. He thought of his mother, locked in the Forest House’s prison-towers, high above the rest. She’d be as carefully warded as the main gates, if not more so. For the past three days since Feyre Archeron’s careless pronouncement, Amara had been imprisoned. Even the servants could not confirm which of the towers hosted her, and the guards were summarily forbidden from speaking of it. Only Beron knew her exact location.

Only he would decide her fate.

Eris had accepted that he was a bad person long ago – but no one could ever deny that he loved his mother. Even Under the Mountain, he’d protected her. All of his brothers had, in fact.

That solidarity was long gone now.

Beron did not address the gathering. His voice rang like a death knell.

“Have we located the bastard?”

Eris could have laughed at that. He’d teased Lucien about being a bastard for so long – it was possible that Lucien wouldn’t even be hurt or offended by being called that. But Beron’s ambered eyes were cold, and he spoke with the expectation of response.

Lord Corentin of the Eyrie stood, neatly pushing his chair back.

“The northern border has seen no sign of him.”

Lords Tanguy and Winoc also rose, their chins low in deference to the High Lord.

“We have no indication that he has crossed back into Spring,” said Lord Tanguy, whose estate now hosted the graves of two of Eris’s own brothers. He was a fair, stout old creature with no spine, Eris thought, and seemed sensitive to the knowledge that he’d buried a High Lord’s children in his orchards. He was always especially keen to do Beron’s will as a result. “Rest assured, my lord, my scouts will not stop searching until the traitor is located.”

If Lord Tanguy wanted to risk his own neck by trespassing into Tamlin’s territory, he was welcome to do it, Eris thought. This whole discussion was somewhat pointless – Lord Winoc was now espousing the virtues of seeking potential aid from the Winter Court, while Calixte and Kylian, both of the Cliff House, posed the ludicrous idea that Lucien could have somehow escaped by sea to the Continent – because if they had really wanted to find Lucien and bring him to heel, they would have asked Eris to lend his smokehounds.

But they hadn’t. And, perhaps, they wouldn’t.

As Eris had always suspected, Beron did not give a single solitary shit about Lucien.

When the lords had returned to their seats, anxiously waiting their High Lord’s judgement, there was a beat of silence. Beron said nothing. His expression was somewhat pensive and dark. The silence dragged out; Eris found himself listening rather intently to wax dripping from one particularly green candlestick into the bronze dish below. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Perhaps,” said Lord Onesime, “we should change the subject.”

There was only one other subject.

All of them kept looking right at Beron, waiting for his word. It would have been the height of disrespect to remark on the Lady of Autumn’s fate while in presence of her husband, who controlled her future.

“I think not,” said Josse.

Eris looked at his younger brother, eyebrows raised just so.

Josse had their father’s unkind mouth, his sharp features, and none of the elegance that made Beron’s countenance at least bearable. He was a sneering, crass fool.

“We need to bring Lucien in as soon as possible,” he said. “Too long has he scorned us, laughed in the face of our father, our House. What will the other Courts say of us if we can’t punish our own when he’s clearly transgressed?”

Transgressed how? Eris almost asked. Just by being born?

Across the table, on Beron's left, Rennard and Warrin merely nodded along. Idiots, all of them, Eris thought.

He found all of this sort of childish, in a way. Josse was an ignoramus too up his own ass to know to know the reason he was angry was because he was jealous of Lucien and always had been. It was the same with the other two. Mother had always liked Lucien best, and they all knew why. Eris, who had known from the start, didn’t even blame his mother for it. When your options were true love and a life of pleasure and peace in Rhodes, or Beron? She was a saint for even trying to stay here, to mother them, when it clearly made her suffer beyond their comprehension.

In any case, by the time Josse was born, birth was a chore for the Lady of Autumn. She’d been begging Beron to go on a contraceptive for decades upon decades, and only after Lucien’s “miraculous” birth did he actually allow it.

In fact, Eris strongly suspected that Beron had always known that Lucien was illegitimate. He was always harsher on Lucien than the rest of them – but simultaneously spared his youngest from some of his more intimate and painful tortures. Perhaps Beron had even been expecting this, and that was why he now hesitated.

Helion was no slouch, no matter what his brothers believed, and Beron knew that as well as Eris did. The fact that Lucien had never gone down to the Forest House’s deepest pits, that he had never seen the rack – that might be the only diplomatic saving grace that Beron had, should Helion decide that he was angry and bring his army of spellcasters down on Autumn.

Eris, however, was rather tired of diplomacy.

“I don’t know why you care,” he said, leveling his gaze at Josse. “Your position in line isn’t any more secure now that we’ve determined for a fact that Lucien is out of the way.”

They all looked at him. All of the lords – his father, and his brothers. The silence was deafening.

Josse snarled back at him. “It’s not just about him. It’s about that whore.”

Eris frowned. “Well, that’s awfully rude. That is still our mother you’re speaking of.”

“Not anymore,” said Josse. He was pale and clammy; steam practically poured from his ears. “She’s no better than any harlot on the streets of Rhodes. She’s sullied the honor of our house – of our whole Court.”

He looked back at his father, who still said nothing. His face was marble, his eyes sharp. Eris ran the numbers, looking for something he could say in response. The others nodded, murmuring their agreements. Mother’s odds of survival were not looking good. They hadn’t been good to start, given that this was Beron they were dealing with but – they had no idea if Helion still had feelings for Amara. If he would try to avenge her death in some way. That was the thing he needed to leverage.

“So, we send her back to Helion,” he remarked, casual and dismissive. “Problem solved.”

“This insult cannot be born,” said one of the lords, further down the table. Far enough away that he was out of range for Eris’s glare. “For the Lord of Day to claim both the usurper and one of our noble ladies?”

Warrin risked a sneer directed at Eris. “Going soft?” he asked.

“What? You want to risk war over a single female? That’s horribly stupid, even for you.”

Rennard snorted. “To be honest, I had no idea that Helion even liked females. Though I hear his catamites are almost indistinguishable from females in Rhodes. Perhaps he simply made a mistake.”

Nobody laughed with him. It was a bad, sick joke anyway. Helion’s sexual proclivities were among the host of reasons why he was disliked in Autumn. Not the fact that he could crush these petty, squabbling lordlings like a bug beneath his heels – to admit that fact would show weakness. So, they complained about who Helion shared his bed with.

Again, Beron said nothing. His face gave away nothing. None of the things that Eris could use – damn it. Was it possible that this turn of events had somehow disrupted their father’s bank of responses? It had been like this with Amarantha. When that devil-woman came, and when she humiliated Beron by stealing his powers, when she had strung up a few of Autumn’s wealthiest, hanging them from the towers of the Forest House after she robbed them of their riches and salted their lands –

Beron had done nothing. He had refused to rebel.

He put his head down, and was quiet. Like this.

Eris had a bad feeling. Just as he had then.

“It does not matter,” said Beron. Their lord father’s voice sent all of them into silence. “Lucien is in the wind, to be sure. And if Helion claims him, then so be it. He was never my son to begin with. He was no threat to my throne, now or in the past. I don’t care. But the fact remains that this slight cannot go unpunished.”

And then he rose.

“I will do it,” said the Lord of Autumn, cold as frost. “She was my consort, and my responsibility. The honor lost was mine. And the vengeance paid will be mine.”

Mother.

“Josse,” said Beron, and he lifted his head, eyes shining with twisted eagerness. “Go down to the square and order them to begin constructing the pyre.”

At once, his brother rose, and made to leave the room.

Eris went numb. This was too soon. His eyes swept the table. The lords nodded, and his brothers – by the fucking Cauldron. Rennard lowered his chin, and Warrin stared straight ahead, stonily. None of them would protest. Josse would build her pyre, and Beron would light it, and all of them would listen to their mother’s screams as she died, and none of these people would mourn her when she was ashes. None of them would shed a single tear.

Josse was nearly at the door.

“Eris,” said Beron, the final knell. “Come with me.”

Now?

Now. It was clear. He couldn’t speak. Mother.

Eris did not rise right away. The silence dragged on and on, a deafening drone to his ears. He looked out the windows, at the dark sky. In a few hours, his mother would be dead. No one was coming to save her – or any of them. She was the only decent person in this whole damnable Court, and she was doomed. Eris knew from one look on his father’s face that he would never convince Beron of anything.

He had been looking for an excuse to kill his wife for years.

There was only one thing left to do.

“No.”

Shock resounded where silence had reigned. Eris’s refusal dropped the curtain. All of the lords stared at him.

“I am not asking what you want,” said Beron. “I am giving you an order.”

“And I said no.”

It felt good to say it. Damn, but did it ever feel good to refuse. Beron’s fury was expected but his surprise was a rare treat. A rush of fire flooded into Eris’s veins, a sweeping pleasure at how shocked they all were. Josse paused with his hand on the golden ornate handle, turning around in astonishment as his oldest brother rose from his chair, standing with his back straight, at his full height. The Prince of Autumn, ascendant.

Finally.

“Listen to me, son,” said Beron, growling now. “That creature–”

“My mother,” Eris retorted, “should be given an award for putting up with you snakes for so long. Truly, I’m amazed by her fortitude. Be honest, Father, would you have ever noticed that Lucien was another male’s child if the Night Court hadn’t pointed it out to you? Because I, for one, figured it out about three seconds after Lucien was born. It was so obvious. Anyone with more than a grain of sand for brains would have seen it. Though I suppose, for you, you had stopped paying attention to somewhere after Roland. What’s one more of the brood, eh? You blind fucking fool.”

Eris had never spoken so directly, so callously, to any of them. Not once in his whole life. He drank in their astonishment like a fine, sparking wine. Roland had been a worse bastard than Josse, too. He was not sorry at all that Tamlin had murdered him, except for the fact that he hadn’t gotten to do it himself. Rennard was the only one who had bothered to mourn for that brother. That was just the way things were in the Forest House.

Beron was turning crimson. His thin lips curled back.

“Listen here,” he said.

“No,” replied Eris, before he got the chance to start. “Hm, no, I don’t think I will. I’ve been bored of this game for about two hundred years. Let’s quit while we’re ahead, shall we?”

It was sort of funny, Eris thought, finally allowing a smile to bloom over his face. To his brothers, what Eris was doing was as good as suicide. There was no way in the world that Beron would allow him to live after speaking to him like this in a room full of his own lords. Even if Eris was his heir. This, of course, was why Beron had kept fucking his wife for all those years. To have insurance. A guarantee that his bloodline would survive, and the throne would remain in his family’s name.

Well, Eris, at least, was a Vanserra by blood.

“This is no game,” said Beron. “Are you refusing to comply?”

“Seems that way,” Eris replied, casually. “Will you kill me now, or later? Perhaps we should ask Josse to build two pyres.”

He flashed a savage smile at his younger brother, whose fear immediately stank up the room.

Pathetic coward.

He wasn’t the only one. A bouquet of terror wafted over the lords. None of them were as strong as Eris, and he knew it. They knew it, too. The only one who could match him now was at the head of their table, with murder in his eyes.

Beron stared at him, and Eris gazed calmly back.

“Bastard,” he breathed.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m no such thing. And I won’t allow you to lay a single finger on my mother – not again.”

And Eris lit their table on fire.

His fire was pure, and powerful. It did not simply linger over the table’s surface, allowing them all to leap back. Heat poured from every inch of his skin. Fire was more than just for show on the equinox. It was a form of light.

The table exploded.

At least one person screamed. Burning shards of wood pierced the walls, the ceiling, and shattered the windows; a wave of scalding blue flame torched the council room, setting the curtains ablaze. Moans and cries were heard as the initial explosion dimmed. A few of the lords were dead, lying in pools of blood from where they had been struck, pierced by debris.

Warrin and Rennard were shouting, cursing, their clothing and hair singed.

Josse was still pressed against the wall, apparently forgetting that he was the one closest to the door and in the best position to leave.

Fine. It didn’t matter if they were dead or alive at the end of this. Good riddance to this whole cursed house and everyone in it. Eris casually brushed some ash and splinters from his coat. His control was perfect; the fire would not touch him unless he personally willed it, but he didn’t particularly care about things like simple debris.

It was Beron that he needed to be concerned about.

The High Lord of Autumn stood among a perfect circle of flames. The fire could not touch him. He was fire.

There were no taunts, no questions. Beron was stunned and angry – calculating. Just for a few seconds of silent contemplation, while he assessed the situation and pondered how much damage he could do. Which of his sons would survive the duel, to be his heir. Because there was no question: Beron was going to kill him now. Eris would not go quietly or gently. He would tear this whole Court to pieces with his bare hands before he allowed anyone to usurp his throne.

Eris faced his father, and breathed deeply.

This was how it was always going to end.

The cache of weapons was too far away. And winnowing in the Forest House was impossible, because the wards prevented it. So it would be a blood duel, then. Eris had always known it would come to this. Kill them all, or die trying.

Beron turned to his remaining sons, who flinched.

“Don’t just stand there!” he roared. “Kill him!”

And Eris raised his hands, to defend himself.

At that moment, there was a tremendous cacophony – the sound of so much glass, shattering, all at once.

Air rushed in as something in the atmosphere corrected itself.

Fresh, Autumn air.

Beron howled and the flames screamed, climbing higher and higher in response to their lord.

The wards around the Forest House had broken, for the first time in centuries. And it didn’t matter how, or why.

Without hesitating, Eris winnowed.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The wards were broken.

Amara felt them shatter even within her prison cell. She rose from her bed, dazed for a moment. The Forest House had never been breached. Even Amarantha had come in with Beron’s permission. Even she had never attempted to undo this magic. There was an automatic tremor of fear when she realized the implications. Her children – her husband, who would rain fire down on the intruder, the likes of which only Hell had ever seen.

But also, there was a wild, desperate hope.

Helion. He’d come for her.

Finally.

Amara looked up. The missing brick which qualified for her window showed only a black stripe of night sky. But the guards in the hallway looked at each other.

“What’s happening?” she dared ask them.

Both of them started. Of course, they had never heard her speak before. When she was in the Forest House, she only spoke with her immediate family, or her personal servants. They were both High Fae, both pale as the moon. They could have been brothers, or perhaps cousins. They exchanged a knowing look, a significant look.

“Please,” she whispered. “The wards.”

At last, the one on the left spoke gruffly. “We’re aware, lady.”

The guard on the right snorted at his companion’s politeness. Amara didn’t even blink. It did not matter what they thought of her anymore. Beron would just as soon as kill her than allow anyone to know of her disgrace.

But it wasn’t a disgrace. Amara had stopped feeling guilty long ago.

And now, Helion was coming for her. Her heart beat slowly, steadily, each pulse filling her with certainty.

“Please just relax,” said the left guard. “I am sure that Lord Beron will send for you soon.”

Another scornful laugh from his companion. Amara pressed her hands against her chest, feeling the icy bite of Autumn air.

Another few minutes passed. Amara sat down on the bed, and stared into the candlelight again. The candle had no scent, no oils or dyes to make it pretty and pleasant. It was the only light she was allowed in her imprisonment. She gazed into the fire, watching it dance, watching the light and shadows it cast as if they were a puppet show.

When the scent of smoke reached her nose, she knew it was not from her candle.

At once, Amara stood up.

“Fire,” she said.

Once again, the guards exchanged a glance. They were less certain now. Surely, they smelled it to. There was a fire, somewhere in the Forest House.

“Lord Beron will call for us,” said the left guard, slowly. “If there is an emergency. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The guard on the right muttered, “Seems like it.”

His companion swatted at him.

“There could be danger,” Amara said, stepping forward with her hands outstretched. As if that could somehow convince them. “Please – can you contact Lord Beron? Or my children?”

Eris was the one she needed. She did not know what was happening, but it was something that only her eldest would be able to resolve. She knew that, instinctively. Eris was the cleverest of them, and even this was an eventuality that he would have prepared for. The wards were breached, and fire had started. Now, she could hear shouts below them. She could hear the clang of metal, the roar of magic, of fire. An explosion echoed. It was distant, but climbing, along with the smoke. Surely, they would not ignore it. The guards merely looked at each other again.

And then, as she watched, both of them dropped like flies. One after the other, in quick succession. Right went first, and the left barely had time to breathe before he, too, dropped to the floor in a clattering of silver armor. It was impossible to tell what had hit them. One minute, they were standing, lips parted as if they might speak, and the next, they were on the ground, and blood was pooling, seeping through the bars and into the tower cell. The candlelight flickered and Amara caught the gleam of two fine, glass needles, jammed into their necks.

She gasped, and stepped back, pressing herself against the wall.

In an instant, a shape emerged from the darkness. To Amara’s shock, it was a female shape. A younger, female version of Helion, clad in dark pants and a dark hood, which she dropped from her face as she stepped into the candlelight.

“My lady, please don’t be alarmed. My name is Jocasta. Helion sent me.”

By the Mother. She bit the inside of her cheek, and nodded.

“What is happening out there?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Jocasta, kneeling at the lock. “I broke through the wards in hopes of drawing your husband and sons away. But I’m not sure what started this fire. There’s commotion down in the square, as well. And it appears that something may be happening in the council chamber.”

Amara nodded, pressing a hand to her heart. Eris. Perhaps he had sensed the change.

“This will take some time.”

Jocasta looked up at her, with Helion’s eyes.

“Please, be patient, my lady. It is not nearly as complex as the wards, but…”

“Do whatever you have to,” said Amara, and began to silently pray.

The fire climbed. It was impossible now, to ignore the sounds of screaming. Of singing. Amara could not block out the sound. She heard, distantly, the sounds of singing. What in the name of all things holy was happening out there? Jocasta moved her fingers across the lock, picking apart the spell that held it before she undid the mechanism itself.

With a crack, the spell finally broke. Jocasta reached into her deep pockets and pulled out a roll of leather, which she unfurled to reveal a set of tools.

At once, she began to pick the lock.

“Do you have anything here that you can bring?”

“No,” said Amara, dazed. She tasted ashes. By the Cauldron. “Everything is in my rooms.”

If Beron had not destroyed her things by now. It did not matter. The material things did not matter at all – but now, Amara had a different thought. Of course, Beron was going to have her executed for her so-called crime. The crime of loving someone, forsaking her shameful wedding vows. For bearing a child that was not his own. But Eris –

Eris was not just Beron’s child. He was her firstborn. Her first baby. And she had loved him most of all, despite everything.

The lock clicked, and Jocasta opened the door.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Is there anything?”

“No,” Amara breathed. Oh, Mother above – I’m saved. Helion had sent a champion for her. But at the same time…

“My children.”

Jocasta’s expression hardened as she put away her tools.

“My lady, I understand your concern. But the fire is spreading. You smell it, yes?”

Of course, she did.

“There is a chance that Beron will believe you are killed here,” said Jocasta, who was now yanking the needles out of her guards’ necks. “If the fire reaches this tower, then it’s already reached the rest of the Forest House.”

“But I can’t,” said Amara, dazed. She could have laughed. She was so close to freedom, and yet, she was terrified to go. The terror leeched into her very bones, into her blood. She felt weak, paralyzed. This could only be a dream. There was no way.

“My lady.” Jocasta pocketed her tools, and stood, stepping into the cell. “My lady, please stay calm. Do not panic.”

It was a little late for that. Amara had numbed herself to terror long ago. Even when that horrible queen of Hybern had come, she felt no fear. Only in that moment – when she plucked out her baby’s eye, when she clawed his face.

She put her head in her hands, breathing shallowly.

Jocasta cursed quietly, and took another step into the cell, hands out. “My lady, I didn’t bring any medicine for you. I need you to breathe. Stay calm. Breathe.”

There was a crack, and a flash, and Amara let out a helpless cry.

Jocata immediately whipped around, a knife flashing from under her sleeve as she turned.

But then –

“Eris,” said her rescuer, icily.

“Jocasta,” said her son, smiling faintly back. It was a dangerous look, Amara noticed with dawning apprehension. A look that he’d learned from his father.

She whispered, “Eris?”

He still wore his Court clothes. A smart green jacket, the sleeves embroidered with golden leaves. But his hair was mused, tangled, and his eyes were slightly wild as he beheld the two of them. Amara could see the gears turning in his brain, the clockwork moving faster than she could comprehend. And across his back – there was a sword, and a quiver of arrows. He had a bow in his hand. And there – a long, thin dagger strapped to his thigh, over the leg of his pants. Her baby was dressed for war.

The realization prickled at the back of her neck.

It was happening. It was happening now.

“Seems I wasn’t needed here,” said her son, and Jocasta went completely still. Her surprise was obvious, but Amara felt only a relief that there wasn’t going to be a confrontation – that Jocasta, at least, could be reasoned with. She didn’t know Eris as his mother did. They had nothing to fear from him. “I can keep the fires from reaching this tower for a while. Where’s your ship?”

“I don’t think I should tell you that,” said Jocasta.

Eris smiled again. “Wise choice, as always.”

Then the only sound was crackling fires, and the distant roar of combat. Jocasta regarded Eris carefully, and then faced Amara.

“My lady, it’s time for us to go. We can’t stay here any longer.”

So soon. Her heart was wild, but her thoughts were sluggish as reality crept in. I’m free.

Now she would say goodbye to this place forever. Her home. Her prison.

This was the end.

She had five living children, but it was impossible to say if what would happen when dawn came. She thought of Warrin, who had fought so hard for Eris and Beron to recognize him, only to grow cold and bitter when they rejected him over and over. Josse, who she hadn’t been able to mother, lost in the fog of pain and darkness after his birth and perhaps that wasn’t her fault, but she had never stopped blaming herself for the way he'd turned out. She thought of Durante, of Roland, who were buried on the borders of the Spring Court by the sentries, because her own sons had tried to murder her youngest baby. Rennard had sobbed in her lap when the news came back; she hadn’t seen him cry since he was just six years old, when Beron had lost his temper, and kicked at him, and screamed that he was too old for tears. This house had known nothing but pain and suffering for so many decades. Even uniting against the High Queen’s poisonous rule couldn’t take the bad blood out of the carpets, couldn't bleach it off the walls.

Amara stepped forward, brushing past Jocasta despite her protests. Eris said nothing as she approached him. He was very, very good at keeping still, and quiet – hiding. Oh, how he used to hide. In the nursery, she would find him buried under blankets, and she would pretend to search for him until he burst out, laughing. Precious memories of an innocence that was stolen from him far too soon.

She put her hand against his cheek, feeling the hollowness there.

Still, he said nothing. But there was life, and fire, in his eyes.

The worst part of all this was that Amara felt, even now, that she had failed him. She’d failed all of her children, for somehow not having the strength to fight her husband. There was an ugly little voice in her head that scorned her, from the very first time Beron had raised a hand to her, to now. You should have done more. But she knew that Eris held no resentment for her. Her firstborn, her darling boy, who had come into this world by no fault of his own, and who had survived everything that would have destroyed a lesser male. The bond between them was unbreakable. And Amara knew what was going to happen next, and even if it hurt her to imagine, she knew that the memories she had, and the love that she felt for her son, would never disappear.

So, she went up on her toes, and kissed her son on the cheek. The air was filling with smoke, and the acrid scent of blood, and the tang of metal, but she breathed in the scent of him, and it was the same as it had been on the day he was born, when she first pressed her nose into that shock of soft red hair. My baby. And Eris closed his eyes, and did not open them again until she drew away and stepped back.

This was the end.

“My lady,” said Jocasta, urgently, “we need to go, now.”

“Yes,” said Eris, in a practiced, neutral voice that betrayed nothing. “And be careful with my mother, won’t you, Jocasta?”

Jocasta snarled at him, but Eris was turning away, walking back into the rising fire.

Goodbye, Amara whispered, in her heart. Goodbye, my baby.

And she took Jocasta’s hand, and the Day Court female twisted, and spun them into darkness.

When the world righted itself, they were outside the Forest House. Amara sucked in a breath as she caught a glimpse of the smoke rising against the star-speckled skies, as she heard the shouts of panic, the howling of wind in the trees as if the very Court’s foundations were shaking. Fire poured from the windows, leaping into the bare, stark trees beyond and lighting them with the full colors of Autumn. The wards which had protected this place for so long were shattered, appearing like shards of broken glass suspended in the air above their heads.

Again, Jocasta winnowed.

This time, when they emerged, Amara heard the soft crashing of waves.

She didn’t open her eyes; when Jocasta released her, she simply sank down onto the damp wood of a ship’s deck, tasting nothing but salt. Tears were pouring down her face. Someone asked urgently if she was well, and Jocasta shouted.

“Back! Everyone, back – give her space!”

Voices reached her, but she was beyond hearing any of them. There was grief and anger in her, so many years of unspent feelings. She’d made herself numb, and now –

“Cast off!” Jocasta ordered. “Cast off, now!”

The ship lurched, and Amara knew, in her heart, that she was free – but all she could do was sob.

Goodbye.

#acotar #acotar fic #beron vanserra #eris vanserra #lady of autumn #high lord eris #autumn court #helion spell cleaver #original female character #my fic writing

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