#snuffed out that light so bright and it did not take him with them

[impossible-rat-babies]

sitting here goofy pool for the 283737 time of zenos killing eyrie. the is no ruin for the both of them—there is merely the cold silence of loneliness when he holds their limp body and they empty eyes staring at the heavens and realizing there is nothing left in the universe now.

[mistreatedangel]

the stars between, theodore nott.

SUMMARY — you were his world, and he was your galaxy.

WARNINGS — nothing but fluff, short and sweet.

AUTHOR NOTE — i did write this off half an hour of sleep. so don’t kill me! written while listening to this song here.

WORD COUNT — 582.

it was more chillier then you thought it would be tonight. shivering in your loose ill—fitting sweater, that was more then two folds bigger then you. the fabric swallowing up your frame casting a blanket over your shoulders.

take a deep inhale, sucking in the air around you. drinking in the sweet scent of woody, a musk like scent with a hint of cigarette smoke.

he was here.

he always was. this was like his second home, a safe space he inclined himself to share, no graced, your presence with. his own little paradise. a heaven in the hell you and half of the students were doomed to live.

with the threat of death and destruction.

you wouldn't pass up a chance to live a little on the edge, even if you had to share it with an snake. you didn't need that it was him out of all of them.

he was once of the nicer ones, on the eyes and in personality. theodore nott, was a man with a heart of gold. doomed to follow his family foot steps.

"i see your darling friends let you go." he voiced dragging out word darling in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes. flicking the ash from his cigarette on to the railing before him, inhaling the smoke filled air around him. as it burned his lungs in a familiar sensation.

a gentle, almost comforting taste of freedom.

ignoring his word of distain for your friend. closing up on the older male (only by a few months, which he had no problem rubbing in your face ever chance he got.) snatching the cigarette from his frail, skinny hands. taking a few puffs before flicking it to the ground, trapping it beneath your heel, twisting your foot on it. snuffing out the flames.

"rude." he mumbled with half lipped eyes, turning his body towards you. pushing his back against the railing, looking you up and down.

"whatever teddy," you giggled rolling your eyes. pushing his shoulder back. pushing his further into the railing of the astronomy tower.

raising up his eyebrow, in curiosity. "oh so i'm teddy now. what happened to theodore amore mio’? i thought i was in time out." he teased tapping his lips with his index finger, admiring your facial expression.

". . . you know what. yeah— theodore!"

snickering his teeth, waving his index finger back and forth in a taunting gesture. "no it's teddy tesoro'."

pulling your body closer to him, soaking up all your body warmth. he could be like this for days. just laid up in your arms. pushing away the inevitable doom, that seems to be knocking on the doorsteps of the castle.

moving your body around, snaking your arms around the older males torso. digging your nails deep into the Theo's side. which for sure would leave crescent moon marks on his back. a reminder, a claim, a mark that his was yours. and only yours.

"ow— i know you like it rough. but hell woman." Theo hissed slapping at your hands playful. grinning like a mad man. oh how much he loved, no loves you. you were the stars in his bleak skies. the light the shined bright even when the most damn tried to dim your light. there you stood, headstrong. his very own star, a gift from the gods above.

his very own star, you were his world. and he was your solar system.

two pieces made for each—other, destined to fall.

[novaursa]

The Fire That Binds Us

- Summary: The aftermath of Blood and Cheese. Aegon and you find comfort in each other once more, and later, make plans with your council for attack on Rook's Rest.

- Pairing: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. Aegon has two surviving children with a reader. And the reader is bonded with a dragon called Starfyre. These events happen after The Silent Pyre and before Eternal Blaze. If you want to read all parts in chronological order you can find a list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned on the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 613

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The echoes of the past haunt the halls of the Red Keep, each stone a silent witness to the horrors that have unfolded within. The shadows of mourning drape over the castle like a shroud, heavier than any nightfall. Your chambers, once filled with the innocent laughter of your sons, are now cloaked in a grief that is too vast, too consuming to ever truly fade.

You sit by the window, staring out at the sky where Starfyre soared a week ago, her radiant scales shimmering like the night sky filled with stars. But even the memory of her brilliance cannot pierce the darkness that has taken root in your heart. The weight of your grief presses down on you, suffocating, as if the air itself has turned to stone. Your body feels numb, cold—almost as if you’ve become as lifeless as the small bodies that were taken from you so cruelly.

The door creaks open, but you don’t turn your head. You already know who it is. Her presence, once comforting, now brings only pain, a reminder of the tragedy that unfolded under her helpless watch.

"My sweet girl," Alicent’s voice trembles as she speaks. There is a rawness to it, a wound that has never healed. "You must eat something. You haven’t touched a morsel in days."

Her words fall flat, meaningless. How can she speak of food when your very soul feels starved, stripped of the light that your sons brought into your life? Aeron and Vaelon—they were your stars, bright and full of life. And now they are gone, snuffed out by the cruelty of war, by the hatred of your own blood.

You shake your head slowly, the movement taking more effort than it should. “I can’t, Mother. I can’t stomach anything. The thought of food…” Your voice breaks, a sob threatening to escape, but you force it down. You’ve cried too much already, and yet the tears never seem to run dry.

Alicent’s face crumples, her own sorrow breaking through the fragile mask of strength she tries to maintain. She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it on yours, the warmth of her touch only a painful reminder of what you’ve lost. "Please, Y/N, you must take care of yourself—for Daena and Baelon. They need their mother."

Her words, though well-meaning, feel like another weight upon your chest. How can you be a mother to the children you still have when your heart is buried with the ones who are gone? The sight of Daena’s silver hair, so much like Aeron’s, and Baelon’s innocent smile, a mirror of Vaelon’s, only twist the knife deeper into your soul.

You pull your hand away, the motion sharp and cold. “And why haven't you warned anyone, Mother, when they came in to take my sons?” The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but it’s a poison you cannot hold back. “You were there before me, in the nursery. But you didn't scream or resist, you just surrendered to them as they gagged you.”

Alicent’s breath catches, her eyes wide with shock and guilt, the guilt she has carried since that cursed night. You know it’s unfair, that she did all she could, but the rage within you needs an outlet, needs someone to blame besides the nameless killers who stole your children away.

“I tried,” Alicent whispers, her voice breaking as tears well in her eyes. “I tried to stop them, Y/N, you know it. I held Aeron in my arms with you, I tried to save him, but—” She chokes on her words, unable to continue as she’s overcome by the memory. “I felt his blood on my hands... I can still feel it, and it haunts me every night. Please, forgive me.”

But forgiveness is a luxury you cannot afford. You stand abruptly, the motion causing a wave of dizziness to crash over you, but you refuse to let it pull you down. You walk away from her, your steps unsteady, and collapse onto the edge of the bed that once held your children when they were babes, now cold and empty.

Before you can say anything more, the door opens again, and Aegon steps into the room. His presence is both a balm and a wound, for he too is a reminder of what you’ve lost—of what you both have lost.

“Leave us,” Aegon says to his mother, his voice a low command. Alicent hesitates, her eyes flickering between you and Aegon, but she knows better than to argue. With a final, sorrowful look, she exits the room, leaving you alone with your husband.

Aegon approaches you slowly, as if afraid that you might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. And perhaps you will. He kneels before you, his hands gently taking yours, and the warmth of his touch makes you flinch. How can anything be warm in a world so cold?

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with his own grief. “My love, my sister… please, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you lift your gaze to meet his. His eyes, so much like yours, are filled with pain, with sorrow, and with a rage that simmers just beneath the surface. The rage that has kept him going, kept him breathing, when all you want to do is stop.

“We will avenge them,” he swears, his grip on your hands tightening, as if he can tether you to life through sheer force of will. “Rhaenyra and Daemon will pay for what they’ve done. I swear it on the blood of our sons.”

His words are meant to comfort, to give you some semblance of hope, but they only deepen the chasm within you. You pull your hands from his grasp, turning your head away. “Vengeance won’t bring them back, Aegon,” you murmur, your voice hollow, devoid of the fire that once burned within you. “No matter how much blood you spill, it won’t return Aeron or Vaelon to us.”

Aegon’s face hardens at your words, the pain in his eyes turning to steel. “But it will make them pay,” he insists, his voice rising with the anger he cannot contain. “It will make them suffer as we suffer.”

You shake your head, tears finally spilling over as your resolve crumbles. “I don’t want more suffering, Aegon. I just want our boys back.” Your voice breaks into a sob, and you collapse into his arms, the weight of your grief finally pulling you under.

Aegon holds you tightly, his own tears falling silently as he presses his face into your hair. “I know,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I know, my love. And I would give anything to bring them back. But all I have left is this rage, this need for vengeance. I can’t let their deaths go unanswered. I can’t.”

You cling to him, the only solid thing in a world that has crumbled around you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, his vengeance will bring you some peace. But deep down, you know that nothing will ever fill the void left by your sons. Nothing will ever make you whole again.

Aegon’s arms tighten around you as if he could shield you from all the pain in the world, as if his embrace alone could mend the shattered pieces of your heart. His breath is warm against your hair, mingling with your tears as you bury your face against his chest. For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist; there is no war, no death, no sorrow—only the two of you, clinging to each other in the darkness.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so that your eyes meet his. There’s a tenderness in his gaze that you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity, a softness that cuts through the cold numbness within you. Slowly, as if testing the fragile connection between you, Aegon leans in and brushes his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost tentative, as though he’s afraid of breaking you further. But when you respond, when your lips part to welcome him, a hunger sparks between you—a need for closeness, for the comfort that only each other can provide. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you can fill the void left by your grief with each touch, each breath shared between you.

His hands move to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears as he kisses you again, this time with a fierceness born of longing. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a plea, a silent cry for the connection that has been stolen from you both by the weight of your loss. And you answer it, pouring every ounce of your sorrow, your love, your need into him, hoping that he can feel it, that he understands.

“Aegon,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t let me go. Not tonight.”

“Never,” he breathes, his words a vow as he pulls you closer still, his hands beginning to roam, tracing the curves of your body as if reassuring himself that you are still here, still real.

The need for each other becomes overwhelming, a tidal wave that sweeps you both under, and before you know it, he’s guiding you to lay on the bed. The same bed where you’ve spent countless nights in tears, in mourning, now becomes a sanctuary, a place where you can find solace in each other.

He lays you down gently, as though you’re something precious, fragile. But there’s no haste in his movements, no rush as he leans over you, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You reach up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his lips, memorizing the feel of him beneath your hands.

“We’ve been lost for so long,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you, Aegon. I need to feel alive again.”

“And you will,” he promises, his voice rough with emotion as he begins to undress you, each piece of clothing slipping away like the layers of grief that have kept you apart. “I need you too, Y/N. You’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

There’s something sacred in the way he touches you, in the way he lays you bare before him, his hands reverent as they caress your skin. You respond in kind, your fingers working to undo the ties and clasps of his own garments, your need for him growing with every second, every inch of skin revealed.

When there is nothing left between you, no barriers of cloth or grief, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over you as if committing you to memory. The weight of the world seems to lift in that moment, the sorrow and rage fading into the background as all that matters is this—this moment, this connection.

He leans down to kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours as his body presses against yours, the warmth of him chasing away the cold that has settled in your bones. The kiss deepens, growing more intense, more desperate, and you lose yourself in the sensation, in the feel of him—of Aegon, your husband, your twin, your other half.

As his hands roam your body, exploring the familiar terrain with a tenderness that borders on worship, you feel something shift within you. It’s not just about the physical act, not just about seeking comfort in each other’s touch. It’s about reclaiming something that was taken from you—your love, your bond, your life together.

When he finally joins with you, it’s like coming home. The world falls away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you are whole. There are no words, only the sounds of your shared breaths, the gasps and sighs that fill the room as you move together, as you find solace in each other’s arms.

But as you reach the peak of your passion, as the world seems to blur around the edges, you find your voice again, whispering his name like a prayer, like a promise. “Aegon… we will survive this. We have to.”

“We will,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion, with the weight of the love and the grief you share. “As long as we have each other, we will.”

The words are a vow, a promise that despite everything, despite the darkness that surrounds you, you will endure.

And as the night fades into dawn, as the first light of morning filters through the curtains, you find a fragile peace in each other’s arms, a brief respite from the pain that has become your constant companion. It’s not a cure, it’s not an end to your sorrow, but it’s enough—enough to remind you that you are still alive, that you still have each other.

And that, for now, is enough.

The days following your shared moment with Aegon are a blur of whispered plans and unspoken grief, the fragile peace you found together now threatened by the storm brewing within the walls of the Red Keep. The small council meeting looms ahead, a gathering of minds meant to steer the course of the war, but you can already feel the tension crackling in the air like a brewing tempest.

As you and Aegon make your way to the council chambers, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back, a silent reassurance that you’re in this together. But you know him too well—there’s a fire in his eyes that betrays his intentions, a need for action that cannot be quelled by mere words.

The council chamber is already filled when you arrive, the lords and advisors gathered around the table, their faces set in various shades of concern and determination. Lord Tayland is whispering something to Grand Maester Orwyle, while Lord Jasper taps his fingers impatiently on the table. Ser Criston Cole stands by the door, his gaze sharp as he watches you and Aegon enter. Prince Aemond, your younger brother, is already seated, his one good eye burning with intensity. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, occupies his usual place, his expression unreadable as always, but you sense the unease lurking beneath his composed exterior.

“Let us begin,” Aegon announces, his voice carrying the weight of command as he takes his seat at the head of the table. You settle beside him, your presence more than ceremonial—Aegon has insisted that you be involved in these meetings, that your counsel is valued, even if the others in the room might silently question your place here.

Aegon’s gaze sweeps over the assembled lords, his eyes narrowing as they settle on his grandfather, Otto. “We can no longer wait for whispers and rumors to guide our actions,” he declares, the impatience in his tone unmistakable. “The time has come to strike at Dragonstone directly, with our dragons. Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Starfyre will be more than enough to break Rhaenyra’s hold on the island and crush her forces before they have a chance to regroup.”

The room tenses, all eyes turning to Otto. The older man doesn’t flinch, though the slight tightening of his lips betrays his discomfort. “Your Grace,” he begins carefully, “we must be cautious. We still await word from the Free Cities and Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The alliance we are proposing is crucial. Without their fleets, we cannot break the blockade of the Gullet, and we risk being isolated if we act too rashly.”

Aegon’s expression darkens, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, Otto. Every day we delay gives Rhaenyra and Daemon more time to gather their forces, to prepare for an attack of their own. The longer we sit idle, the weaker we appear. They will see it as a sign of our hesitation, of our weakness.”

Prince Aemond leans forward, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “The time for caution has passed. We need to strike now, decisively. Dragonstone is vulnerable, and with Vhagar and Sunfyre, we can take it within days. Let Rhaenyra know that her stronghold is not as secure as she thinks.”

Otto’s expression hardens, his voice taking on an edge as he replies, “And what of the Gullet? What of the supplies and reinforcements that will be needed once we engage Rhaenyra’s forces in earnest? Without the ships, without the support of our potential allies, we may find ourselves trapped in our own capital, besieged on all sides.”

Aegon slams his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. “Enough! We cannot continue to play this game of waiting. Rhaenyra has already shown her hand—she murdered my sons, our heirs! And you ask me to sit here and wait for a letter that may never come?”

The room falls silent, the weight of Aegon’s grief and rage pressing down on everyone present. You can feel his fury radiating off him in waves, a storm that is barely contained.

Otto meets Aegon’s gaze, his eyes hard. “Your Grace, my only concern is for the stability of the realm. Rhaenyra is a threat, yes, but if we lose the support of our allies, if we spread ourselves too thin—”

“No more excuses, Otto,” Aegon cuts him off, his voice icy. “You speak of stability, yet all your cautious plans have brought us nothing but delay and indecision. I need a Hand who will act, not one who will hesitate at every turn.”

Otto’s eyes widen slightly, realizing what’s coming, but before he can speak, Aegon rises from his seat, his decision made. “You are relieved of your duties as Hand of the King. Ser Criston Cole will take your place.”

The shock ripples through the room, though no one dares to speak. Otto stands slowly, the lines of his face deepening with the weight of his dismissal. “As you command, Your Grace,” he says, his voice strained but steady. He turns to leave the chamber, his exit a silent acknowledgment of the power shift that has just occurred.

As the door closes behind him, Aegon turns back to the council, his gaze hard. “We march on Duskendale. Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Ser Criston will lead the assault. We will cut off Dragonstone from the mainland, and then we will take Rook’s Rest. I will not allow Rhaenyra another victory.”

Aemond nods in agreement, his expression grim. “You must remain in the capital for now, brother. Let us secure Duskendale first, and then you can join me at Rook’s Rest. We need to draw her out, force her hand. Rhaenyra will retaliate, and when she does, we will be ready.”

You listen to their words, the cold logic of their strategy, but all you can think of is the danger they are about to face. The thought of Aegon flying into battle, of him facing Rhaenyra’s dragons alone, sends a chill through your blood.

“I’m coming with you,” you say suddenly, your voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Starfyre and I will be at your side.”

Aegon turns to you, his expression softening for a moment, but there’s a firmness in his eyes that you recognize all too well. “No, Y/N,” he says quietly but firmly. “You must stay here, in the capital. Daena and Baelon need you. I need you to watch over them, to protect them.”

Your heart clenches at his words, but the resolve within you burns stronger. “And who will protect you, Aegon? Who will keep you safe when the battle begins?”

“Sunfyre,” he answers, stepping closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I cannot risk losing you, Y/N. You are my heart, my strength. Stay here, where it’s safe.”

You want to argue, to fight him on this, but the look in his eyes, the plea behind his command, makes you pause. He’s not just ordering you—he’s begging you, in his own way, to stay, to keep the last remnants of your family safe.

But even as you nod, your mind is already made up. You will not let him face this alone. You will follow him, no matter the cost, and protect him with everything you have left. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words, the council around you forgotten as you lock eyes with Aegon.

“I understand,” you say finally, your voice soft, but there’s a fire in your heart that refuses to be extinguished. “I’ll stay.”

But the promise you make to yourself is unbreakable. You will not remain in the capital while your husband flies into danger. When the time comes, Starfyre will fly with Sunfyre, and you will be at Aegon’s side, no matter what.

The meeting concludes with final orders and plans, but you barely hear them. Your mind is already racing, thinking of the preparations you’ll need to make in secret, the steps you’ll take to ensure that when Aegon leaves, you will not be far behind.

As the council disperses, Aegon takes your hand, guiding you out of the chamber. He thinks you’ve agreed, that you’ll stay safe in the capital with your children. But he doesn’t know the resolve that has taken root in your heart.

You will protect him, even if it means defying his command. Even if it means risking everything.

As you walk together back to your chambers, the weight of your decision settles over you, but there’s no turning back. You’ve already lost too much. You will not lose Aegon too.

[syndrossi]

Reverberate AU Concept #1

Aka "what if Resonant!Daemon woke up in the Stepstones shortly after the twins' conception, resolved the first Stepstones conflict in record time, and flew back to Runestone to convince Rhea to announce the pregnancy as her own?"

I may eventually throw these up on AO3, but for now, enjoy them on Tumblr in their roughly hewn form. (There's a second part/scene in progress but it's not directly related to this one.)

x~x~x

“No,” his son said, his first word and his favorite since.

His grey eyes were fixed on the spoon and its cargo of cooked peas in Daemon’s right hand. With his left, Daemon brought the other spoon to Rhaegar’s mouth, and his other son opened his mouth dutifully for a bite.

Daemon moved the full spoon back and forth, mimicking a roaring dragon descending, and brought it right up to Jon’s closed lips. His son’s stare found Daemon’s, deeply unimpressed.

“There are foods other than carrot,” Daemon informed him with a sigh.

He moved to feed the rejected peas to Rhaegar, but now his other son was in rebellion. Daemon tried another dragon maneuver, and his other son’s purple eyes sparked with delight, allowing access. Two more fiery whooshes of the dragon finished off the peas, and Daemon moved on to the finely-diced carrot, which Jon immediately demanded.

If Rhea were in the room, she would scold him for caving to Jon’s demands, but Daemon had never been able to deny them anything. She could be the villain instead, if she so desired. Jon made short work of the carrot, which Rhaegar ate more sparingly, his eyes drawn to the final bowl, which Daemon uncovered with a flourish.

“This,” Daemon said, dipping the spoons next into the gooey mass of blueberries cooked down to a thick, nearly jam-like consistency, “is blueberry.”

Blueberry was a new, messy favorite for both of them, Jon’s indignation over the insult of peas entirely forgotten as they finished the small bowl in record time. Rhaegar got fussy when he was left sticky, so Daemon was quick to wipe their faces with a damp cloth after.

With the completion of their meal came Rhaegar’s daily demand. “Zaldis!”

Zaldrīzes, the very first word his other son had decided to attempt. Far more ambitious than “no,” but certainly less intelligible.

“If we are to ride Caraxes, we will have to sneak past your mother,” he informed his sons.

She fretted about him taking them out in the waning last days of winter, which was a far bitterer cold here than they would have been in King’s Landing, but he had wanted his first year with them to be as safe as he could arrange. His brother had no reason to assign special guards for them at Daemon’s behest, though perhaps he would have.

At Runestone, he did not need to ask. Daemon had informed Rhea that the enemies he had made in the decisive victory over the Triarchy in the Stepstones might seek to target the twins, and they were promptly assigned their own knight to protect them, her cousin Willam.

It was not the Triarchy he feared, of course, but Volantis. The Free City seeking to steal his children as infants or toddlers now that they were known to the world from a young age was a possibility he would not risk ignoring.

“You must be at your most quiet,” he instructed, to solemn blinks from either. They were bright, even so young, at times seeming to understand him perfectly.

Daemon bundled them into thick furs, taking care to make sure their heads and ears were covered, until only small wisps of black and silver escaped along the sides of their round little faces. He grinned at the sight of them swallowed by the furs, nearly spherical in either arm, and crept out with his bounty, both utterly silent for the entirety of the walk to Caraxes’s enclosure.

There was a trace of warmth in the light breeze, a promise of spring, and the air lacked the bite of months before. When spring came, Daemon guessed, it would come quickly to melt the snow that remained on the ground.

Caraxes snuffed at his sons, and they both happily babbled at the dragon for the few minutes Daemon left them on the ground beside him to fetch his own personal saddle, as he’d taken to calling it. He secured them to it first before fastening the straps around his own chest, and when he was finished, he had one on either side of his back, peering over his shoulders.

Mindful of the maester’s many lectures on how much fresh air was acceptable for infants, he kept the flight short, guiding Caraxes along the northern shoreline before completing a wide circle around the outer perimeter of Runestone, landing back at the enclosure to a welcoming party of Ser Willam and his lady wife herself, her lips pursed in disapproval.

Daemon approached her unapologetically after dismounting, his two passengers giggling their glee at the ride, until her frown began to waver.

“I promised Jon he could have a dragon ride if he ate his peas,” Daemon said.

Rhea’s eyebrows crept up, her gaze shifting to his right shoulder. “And did you, Jon?”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, expressing far too much merriment in his betrayal for Daemon to do anything but smile.

“Rhaegar ate his peas,” Daemon said. “I could hardly leave one of them behind.”

Rhea walked up to him, her intention plain, and Daemon crouched so that she could reach each of their cheeks for a kiss. “You must not encourage your father. He is more than capable of doing so of his own accord.”

Daemon begrudgingly surrendered them to her for the walk back to the castle, their destination his wife’s solar with its large hearth, already radiating heat into the chamber. Tea, piping hot, was brought up from the kitchens, and once Daemon had finished unwrapping his sons from their layers of fur, and set them upon it with their beloved dragon dolls within reach, he poured himself a cup and settled on the floor beside them.

“Did you seek me out for a particular reason?” Daemon asked, knowing that as much as Rhea might fret about the dragon excursions, she no longer believed he would endanger them in any way.

“A raven arrived from King’s Landing.” She grabbed her own cup and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, tossing him a rolled up slip of parchment. “From the king himself.”

Ignoring the twist of apprehension in his stomach, Daemon broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning it quickly for any unwelcome surprises. The contents, however, though not particularly welcome, were not a surprise. “My brother has a new son. We are invited to King’s Landing.” He handed the letter to her. “He is still set on throwing a tourney for the twins, and plans to tie it with celebrations of his son’s birth.”

If there was one lesson his brother had learned at long last, it was not to celebrate births before they happened.

Rhaegar had crawled to Rhea’s chair to tug insistently at the laces of her boots. She scooped him onto her lap, holding him there as she read the letter herself. “Six moons. Spring will surely be upon us by then. The seas should be calmer.”

“Choppy water is little concern to a dragon,” Daemon said.

“It is to those of us who must travel by ship,” she retorted.

It would be at least two weeks by sea, and even in spring, not a pleasant voyage. Daemon hesitated, then said, “Come with us on Caraxes. The saddle seats two.”

The offer caught her off guard, her eyes narrowing briefly in suspicion as though she thought he was not being earnest. “You have not let me ride with you before.”

You have not asked, Daemon almost said, before remembering his very first arrival at Runestone—less than a decade ago to Rhea, but nearly two for him. He had been bitterly furious about the marriage, escorted there by his own father on Vhagar, as though he might try to flee otherwise. His new wife had borne the brunt of Daemon’s resentment, his interactions with her curt. When she had asked him if they might ride on Caraxes together, he had coldly informed her that such privileges were for Targaryens alone.

“Jon and Rhaegar will want you there,” Daemon said, by way of excuse.

“Zaldis,” Rhaegar said solemnly to her.

“Very well,” Rhea said, her expression now one she often wore in his company—as though she were not quite sure what to make of him. “It would be an honor.”

It was a matter of pragmatism as well. Rhea’s confession to treason on her deathbed had settled any doubts about her truly being his sons’ mother. Here, it was still possible that a whisper or two in King’s Landing about Lady Elys also being present at the family’s summer home at the time of birth could raise suspicion. The more amicable his relationship with Rhea in the eyes of the realm, the less likely anyone would be to question—or question successfully, at least.

Daemon retreated to the desk to write a response to his brother’s letter, a frown finding him midway through. His sons’ sworn shield, Ser Willam, would have to travel by ship, which meant they would be without protection for a time in King’s Landing. Viserys should be able to spare at least one of his Kingsguard until he’s arrived, he decided finally, including a request for such in his letter. He can have his damned tourney in return.

By the time he had finished, both of his sons had started fussing for their linens to be changed, which was one of the few tasks he happily let their nurse handle, taking a small meal of his own before rejoining them in the nursery. They were sleepy with milk when he arrived, fresh from the wetnurse’s breast, and he eagerly reclaimed them, kissing each soft cheek as he carried them back to the solar, where their cradle was kept.

It was an elaborate piece, with an intricate relief of two dragons perched vigilantly at the head of the cradle, sized for two babes, rather than one. He’d commissioned it the very day he had arrived back in Runestone to confront Rhea about Elys’s pregnancy, and if the woodworker had wondered about his confidence about having twins, he had kept his curiosity to himself.

It only saw use during the day, when his sons napped. At night, they slept with him. He had lain awake for most of the first few nights, terrified that he might somehow crush them in his sleep, but that fear had eventually subsided. The fear of someone taking them from him, however—that had not.

He watched them sleep from his chair by the hearth. They stalked you from the shadows before, and struck in broad daylight. Has it begun yet? Do they watch us even now?

One of the posts on his brother’s small council that he had not yet held—and subsequently been dismissed from—was that of master of whisperers. With the Stepstones claimed for now and its crown bestowed upon his brother, he had been promised a favor. A position on his small council would certainly be within reason.

But it would require moving his family to King’s Landing. Once, he would have wanted nothing more than to escape Runestone and return home. But even just the past year he had spent in the Vale, first anticipating his sons’ arrival and then raising them since, had shifted the castle from a hated prison to something almost like a sanctuary.

How do I protect you? He reached into the cradle, stroking the back of Jon’s small hand, which immediately curled around his forefinger in response, his grip strong. Daemon smiled. When will you first demand a dagger to wield?

He repeated the motion with his other hand on Rhaegar, who also instinctively grabbed for his finger. Daemon recalled the first few weeks after their birth, when his younger son would wail whenever he tried to hold him or even approach. That phase had fortunately passed. These days, Rhaegar happily demanded dragon rides and cuddles.

“You have trapped me,” he murmured, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake them.

He could feel Rhea’s eyes on him from where she worked at her desk. All their marriage, she had built him up as a monster in her head: selfish, cruel, ambitious. When he had hurried on Caraxes to Runestone to find both Rhea and her sister in the midst of drafting their proposal to Corwyn Redfort, he had nearly flown into a rage. Instead, he had confronted her about all that she sought to steal from him, every moment he had mourned since rescuing them from the Vale the first time, equal parts fury and grief.

She had not looked at him the same since. Daemon wondered if she struggled as he did when he tried to reconcile his own hatred for what she had done to him before with her newfound tolerance. That first exchange had been—heated. Daemon’s infidelity, after all, had been the very reason for the pregnancy. Yet she had been willing to hear his proposal and forgo her own honor to offer the twins a life free of the stain of bastardry.

“Do you regret your choice?” he asked, turning to her.

Rhea regarded him with a raised brow. “Have I given you cause to believe so?” She rose from her desk to approach the cradle, gazing down at the twins with a smile that did not fully reach her eyes. “I feel guilty that I may have them, and my sister may not. It is—difficult on her.”

Elys had been forced to stay behind at the summer estate after their departure with the twins, though they had remained there for the first week. Daemon’s jaw clenched, and he shifted his gaze back to the cradle. He did not regret taking them for his own, but the pain and loss in their true mother’s eyes as they had been plucked from her arms for the final time reminded him uncomfortably of his own grief at their childhood having been stolen from him.

“When enough time has passed, I do not see why they should not know the company of their aunt.”

But enough time could very well be another year or two. First she would need to be safely wed, perhaps with another child on the way that would be trueborn and hers to keep.

By the shake of her head, he guessed that Rhea was thinking the same. She reached out her hand toward Jon, only to pull back at the last moment. “I cannot help but feel that I have stolen them.”

And yet you felt no such guilt in taking them from me. He swallowed that old anger, then wondered if it had been her reason for only seeking them out twice a year. Whether they would always feel stolen to her.

“Do not let that stop you from loving them,” Daemon said, earning another of those uncertain looks. He fought back a frown, misliking the sense of being constantly evaluated and reevaluated. “They deserve a mother’s love.”

“Though you would rather it not be mine,” she said with a hint of challenge.

“It does not matter what I want,” Daemon replied, feeling himself grow heated. “It is a matter of what they need.”

Their raised voices had woken Rhaegar, who was peering upward at them now, his purple eyes fixed on Daemon. They had darkened some since birth, from a lilac that had immediately recalled his uncle Aemon, to something closer to the darker violet he remembered. Rhaegar’s brow furrowed, the beginning of a whimper forming in his throat, and Daemon quickly began humming a lullaby as he rocked the cradle back and forth.

Rhaegar settled eventually, snuggling into Jon’s side, and they sat in silence for several minutes as Daemon continued to rock and hum.

“I do love them,” Rhea said eventually, voice lowered to a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping infants again. “I had grown resigned that I would never have children of my own. To have them, but in a manner so steeped in dishonor, both yours and mine own—”

“They live,” Daemon interrupted. “They breathe.” He leaned in to kiss their tiny foreheads. “How can there be dishonor in that?”

Rhea fell silent, watching them for a time, before leaning in to do the same. As she pulled back, Jon’s eyes opened to fix upon her. The hint of purple in them at birth had since faded, almost lost now within the pensive grey. Rhea stared at Jon, as though trapped by his gaze, then leaned in to kiss his cheek as well.

Daemon overcame his reluctance and rose to give her space. “It is your turn to sing.”

[cursedbycain]

touch - Dmitry x Yan

tagging: @rc-catalog and of course @agattthaa who's on vc with me rn as i type this hi baby

synopsis: feeling so lonely because it's not enough

tw: some light threat of violence with a gun, nothing major! rated T

wc: 1.3k

The squad says nothing as Yan grabs his coat, fingers trembling with frustration as he shrugs it over his shoulders. He steps outside into the bitter Rotkov air with an anger that radiates off him in waves. The door slams shut behind him, echoing in the cramped space of the estate like a final word no one dares to speak.

A long moment of silence stretches. Dmitry’s eyes remain locked on the door, as if sheer force of will could draw Yan back through it. He’s aware of the squad’s eyes on him, of the cryptographer’s cold, disapproving gaze, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even bother to grab his own coat as he pushes back his chair, the wooden legs screeching on the floorboards, and strides for the door.

The cold hits him like a slap, stealing his breath. Snowflakes swirl around him, the wind cutting through his thin shirt like knives. For a moment, he panics. Yan isn’t there. The area is empty, the night around him silent but for the moan of the wind. Had he really left? Was the idea of being near Dmitry so repulsive that he’d rather vanish into the frozen dark?

But then, a thin curl of smoke, faint but unmistakable. It snakes out from behind the cracked stone column near the doorway, dissipating into the night air. Dmitry’s breath hitches, something hardening in his chest. Stupid, he scolds himself. Yan hadn’t left, he was just there, blending into the shadows like he always did.

Yet the distance between them feels immeasurable.

Leaning against the wall, Dmitry watches him. Yan’s shoulders are hunched against the cold, his fingers, wrapped in bandages as always, deftly holding the cigarette. The item flares bright with every drag, briefly illuminating the harsh lines of his face. His lips wrap around the paper with a practiced ease, smoke curling from his mouth like a phantom.

Yan’s eyes narrow in irritation as he senses Dmitry’s gaze, but he doesn’t look up. Dmitry pushes off the door and takes a step toward him. Each footfall feels heavy, as if the snow itself is conspiring to hold him back. He is the general of an elite military squad, a man who has ordered countless soldiers, yet here he stands, feeling smaller and weaker than he ever has before.

“You don’t need to patrol out here.” The words are clipped, a command more than anything. Most would obey. Yan doesn’t even blink. He tips his head back, letting a thin stream of smoke escape into the night air.

“I didn’t ask for any orders, General.” The title is a blade, spoken with a sneer that slices straight through Dmitry’s composure. He had known dredging up the past would be a mistake, but hearing it in Yan’s voice, like a curse, still makes his gut twist.

“Don’t call me that.” He snaps.

Yan smirks, but there’s no humor in it, only old wounds and jagged edges. “Why not?” His eyes flicker, green in the cold moonlight, and Dmitry feels the weight of everything they’ve never said.

“I’m not your general anymore.” Dmitry says, voice low.

“I’m a part of the squad, aren’t I?” Yan lets the cigarette drop, crushing it into the snow with his boot. The ember dies in an instant, snuffed out like everything else they might have been. “Or has that changed too? Half your precious team has either abandoned you or ended up as names in the dirt. So you’re stuck with me, and my monstrous aid.”

The bitterness in his tone cuts through Dmitry like a whip, and something inside him snaps.

“You weren’t always a monster.”

Yan’s eyes darken, and he pushes off the column, stepping closer.

“And now? Have I fulfilled your expectations? Have I become the monster you want me to be? Would that make it easier for you?”

“Make what easier?” Dmitry demands, though he knows exactly what Yan means.

Yan laughs, the sound brittle and twisted. It’s a laugh that speaks of pain and defiance, a laugh that dares Dmitry to face the truth. “Don’t play dumb.”

A hot flash of anger surges through Dmitry, pure, blinding fury. His hand moves before he can stop it, the cold weight of his pistol pressing against Yan’s forehead. The safety is already off. Yan’s expression doesn’t change; if anything, his lips curl into a faint, amused smile.

“Will you do this every time?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the barrel. Green eyes bore into Dmitry’s blue, unflinching, daring. Dmitry’s finger hovers on the trigger, his hand trembling despite his iron will.

“You’re a liability,” he growls. “You could turn on us in the dead of night. I was weak before, I let my feelings cloud my judgment.” His voice cracks, and he hates it. Hates how close the truth is to the surface.

Yan’s lips quirk, the smile sharp and knowing as he slowly raises a hand to the gun, pushing it aside. Dmitry doesn’t resist.

“Is this what you need?” Yan asks softly, voice like poison. “To bury everything in violence? To pretend there’s nothing here?”

The dam inside Dmitry finally breaks. He lets out a harsh breath and grabs Yan’s coat, yanking him forward. Their lips crash together in a bruising kiss, desperate and raw, a collision of everything they’ve spent years denying. Dmitry presses forward, pinning Yan to the column, their bodies shielded by the shadows.

The winter air gnaws at his exposed skin, but he barely notices. Yan’s lips are cracked from the cold but pliant, moving against his with a hunger that mirrors his own. Dmitry’s fingers fist in the thick wool of Yan’s coat, pulling him closer, closer, until there’s no space left, no room for doubt or fear. His hands, still cold from the cigarette, cradle Dmitry’s face like a lifeline. For a moment, they are the only two people in the world.

His mind is a blur of need and regret, of duty and want. He had wanted to protect Yan, to keep him safe, but how could he protect him when he was the greatest threat to the man’s sanity?

When they finally break apart, their breath steams in the frigid air. Yan’s eyes, those maddening green eyes, search Dmitry’s face, the bitterness replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“You’ll regret this.” Yan whispers, his voice hoarse.

“I already do.” Dmitry breathes back, his forehead resting against Yan’s. “But I can’t stop.”

Yan’s hands slide down to Dmitry’s chest, clutching the worn fabric of his shirt.

“Then don’t.”

For a heartbeat, Dmitry hesitates, then he kisses him again. Slower this time, less like punishment and more like confession. A promise made in the silence of the Rotkov night.

The squad will be waiting. The cold will seep back into their bones. But for now, it’s just them, two men who have seen too much, held too much inside, and are finally too tired to pretend otherwise.

When they pull apart again, Dmitry doesn’t let go. His fingers still curl around Yan’s coat like an anchor.

“Come back inside,” he murmurs, softer now.

Yan’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile, one that almost reaches his eyes.

“Alright, General.” he says, but this time the title isn’t mocking. He lets Dmitry pull him back towards the door, and they disappear into the night, two shadows clinging to each other against the bitter wind.

[diristine]

pls Simon angst

I started writing Simon angst, it turned into everyone angst. You're welcome!! Also I wrote this entire thing on the treadmill and just edited all the spelling mistakes after, if it's shit blame my dehydration. If its wonderful, I am a living god bow before me

WARNING: DEATH, PANIC ATTACKS, DEPRESSION

Simon was only human, he could feel the sharp sting of words just as intricately as any other. He could withstand the hurricane of verbal shots that tore through him daily, he could hold put against the onslaught of jeers from others if only to help the few he could reach. He was human, with a penchant for taking the pain of others so they could discard their rags of insecurities and self hate.

He would pass in the halls, hearing the murmurs of how he was too soft to be a field agent. How Simon Glass was demoted from the ranks of importance to slave for those who didn’t carry the burden of life in their bones.

Oh how the psychologist yearned to be more than the victim to petty emotions and unfurling strings of sanity that were one gust away from snapping. 

His own wills were taught as is, yet he held onto it if only to ensure others would withstand their own storms.

Simon watched as souls flocked to him as a last resort, or perhaps as a means to ensure their job security. Prove to themselves or to their bosses they were sane as a whistle, bright as a star. To prove to someone, to anyone that they were more than the sinking wreckage of a ship whose bow had already split. A mere wistful hope they were okay, before they were snuffed out in the flood.

He often counted himself amongst those that swarmed his office, between those who were convinced of their own sanity, to the ones who wanted to peel off of their skin and start anew in a different form. Simon became each of his patients as he sat with them.

If it weren’t for Lucky, he would have collapsed into himself with how often he took upon the stories of the damned.

On Mondays he stumbled through an empty apartment at night, the taste of alcohol lingering as the metal of the muzzle tasted like sweet release. Only to put it down, for a son who would never forgive himself. Amnesia hitting him harder than ever, he forgot what his eyes looked like. What did his eyes look like? Why didn't he have eyes? Why didn't he have memories? Why couldn’t he remember? Why couldn't he think? He heard butterfly wings as they pushed out of his skull again.

Why didn't he have eyes?

With a start Simon woke up in a new body, staring at fluorescent lights as he was ushered out once again to another exam. Hoping desperately that the ethics committee would interfere soon. He felt the wrath towards the man that sentenced him to this fate, who sealed his soul within a pendant of quartz and silver. He hadn’t been a good agent for sure, but he didn’t deserve this surely.

He would never forgive Dr. Glass for giving him this fate.

On Tuesdays, Simon gasped awake, boiling water escaping his lungs as her eyes tore through him. Her loving terrible eyes watched from the shadows, her thousand eyes never blinking. Her claws sinking into flesh and tearing his humanity from him. Every scratch appeared on his back, his arms, he could feel the blood trail down his form. Shaking he fell out of his bed, coughing up the blood and sea water stuck in his chest. He gasped and choked on words that would never escape, that would never become separate from the idea he had become.

He would never forget her eyes, as much as he wished he could.

Ice slipped between his fingers where it never existed, a name wiped from every record. One lost to time as sand lost itself to the sea.

You do not have a file on the deceased Foundation agent code-named Iceberg.

No one has a file on the deceased Foundation agent code-named Iceberg.

On Thursdays, sitting at a desk Simon gazed upon the photograph of his daughter, a child he abandoned due to his godforsaken work. Yet he couldn’t find it within himself to leave, to return to his child. He would never forgive himself for losing her and his friend. Time ticked past as he gazed, slipping through his fingers. Oh how he yearned for rest that he would never allow himself. He stood, facing the door, for he had a friend in need of medical care.

He simply hoped Kain would forgive him for being late.

Simon would wake up, wondering what his past was. Reminded himself that it wasn't worth remembering if he had shown up in the Foundation willing to forget the past. Who he had once been. Now he pulled on the armor, staring at the mirror as he prepared for the barrages of comments within the corners of the halls. How he had to babysit a kid who had her life torn from her, and pretend it would be okay.

Foxx should be able to make up for whatever she lacked in herself, he was a father already after all, he was good at this.

On Fridays he became a young adult, a girl stuck in a cell. With a designation tattooed to the back of his neck. He would watch and listen to the murmurs of researchers continue to call him an object while his task force treated him as a human. Sometimes he wished he could end it, but he had made a promise and would push on. He couldn’t let them down.

Maybe she’d convince Meri to wear anything other than that hawaiian shirt that reminded her of her boss.

He would become an agent, without freedom. Once sent out on missions now stuck to a desk to play handler for people who didn’t even exist in a physical form. He did this for his love. The one who woke with a soft golden smile, who would sing in the car and light up the world by simply existing. His anchor, someone who would no doubt bring him misfortune. He would watch ever so lovingly at said muse, heart never wavering in its ticking. Eyes never leaving the face of his beloved, he would kill for this man. He has killed for this man.

He would forever owe Simon, he would forever be Simon’s. He found himself to be very Lucky in this manner.

As the days passed, Simon became each of the souls that he passed in the halls. Felt their burdens claw against his own. Pushed against the ones that attacked just to strike, the ones who had no idea of any better. He felt the bite of their stares, of their egos as they spat on his name. Hissed and clawed against the mere conceptual idea of taking care of one’s mind.

When they cornered him, they tried to make him cower beneath their lack of self worth. He took it, if only to help lift the weight of their anger and desperation off of their shoulders. Free their lungs and chest from the animals that clawed for their freedom.

He would listen, no matter how much it pained him to. No matter how it ripped his intestines out whenever one of his willing patients got killed in a breach. Oh how it was always the ones that were making the most progress that burned the fastest. Simon often found himself hoping some would refuse his services, if only so their luck in survival would rise by some meaningless percentage.

Simon sometimes wished that he could take their places, strip those burdens from their being completely. Allow them to start anew.

Yet as he holds another bloody corpse in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel empty. 

The blood soaked into his clothing, saturating his very being. The crimson liquid near black in the lost lighting of this small corner, he could only hold them closer as the last light escaped their eyes. Desperation to live leaving with their soul in a fleeting moment.

He held them. Even as the sirens continued to sound.

He held them as their body turned cold.

He held them as he heard the cries of others slowly cease.

He held them, whilst the breach came to a stop.

He would hold them until someone pried them from his arms.

Even then, he held them in his mind, a memory he would never easily forget. One whose sinew and bones would forever rot his nightmares, ghosts blaming him for their lack of survival. He knew better than most that these were not true ghosts, but it never made the collective any more welcoming at night.

This one was one of his better patients, one who was being released from the Foundation’s clutches in a week. To be given amnestics and shoved into the cruel world of ignorance, of simplicity. Yet thanks to the red heap of flesh and voices lying dead next to him, he could only laugh at the fate of this person.

Now the poor thing would only be a number in the count of the dead, nothing more than a number.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the same.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

To Lose Everything- Alternate Happy Ending!

-You remember the day well, when the girl, six years older than you, was adopted by your family, who adopted you as well, she was twelve going on thirteen while you were six, small for your age but shining under the love from your adoptive family.

-That is, until Emilianna was brought in (trying to make up a name I hope nobody else has and if you do I sincerely apologize), and your little light was snuffed out by her sunshine brightness.

-You wanted to be happy, telling her how happy you were to have a big sister, which your family thought was adorable, and while she was smiling on the outside, hugging you close, inside she was sneering, annoyed that she had to share such a wealthy family with someone who was mere trash in her eyes.

-Aware from prying eyes, you learned that she was a cruel and vain person, teasing you for your short stature, telling you that you would never be cute and that your family only loved you because they had to, while they loved her because she was perfect, cute, delicate, and gentle.

-Emilianna also threatened you if you ever told on her, pinching and beating you behind closed doors where your bruises and marks couldn’t be seen and pain scared you, so you kept quiet, desperate that your family would soon recognize what was going on as you began to shy away, not joining in family activities, almost like you were hiding from all of them.

-All of their attention went to Emilianna, if she wanted to go out shopping, they would all drop everything to take her out, to make her happy if she were to ever bat her sad eyes, telling them that she had never had a family shopping trip before.

-You woke up from your nap that day to a completely empty house and panicked, checking each room for someone before you came to Emilianna’s room, finding it full of clothes, toys, and so many lavish things, while you were still in your clothes you’ve worn for three days, since you had no clean clothes, as they were all forgotten in the hamper in your room, as you couldn’t carry it as your hamper was bigger than you.

-There was no longer a plate for you at the dinner table, as they had forgotten about you, and you would have to find something, usually a bread roll or something small, to stave off your hunger pains, while Emilianna could throw her food away if she didn’t like it.

-You endured this treatment for almost two months, nobody ever seeming to realize what was happening and that they were forgetting you. Emilianna was always sure to keep you under her control, threatening you if you cost her the lavish lifestyle she’s come to enjoy.

-It was winter waiting to be picked up as it was a half a day, so there were no buses, you stood in the snow, wearing only a tee-shirt as Emilianna told you that you didn’t need a jacket today since you were going to be picked up and didn’t need to walk.

-You tried not to cry, but the tears seemed to force their way out before you head, “Y/N?!” you gasped, looking up to see Hercules running towards you, nothing but concern on his face.

-You quickly broke down in sobs, lifting your arms up as he swept you into his arms, “What are you doing out here? Where’s your coat?” he received no answer other than your harsh sobs as your hands clutched at his shirt.

-Hercules didn’t know why you were crying so harshly, his heart breaking even more after he rushed out of the house when he noticed that you weren’t there and Emilianna told him where you were, apologizing while bringing tears to her eyes that she ‘forgot’ to tell them about you.

-His hands slid across your back and you let out a harsh cry of pain and he froze, immediately kneeling down, “Are you hurt?!” you flinched at his loud tone, showing him that you were scared as he sat you down and pulled up your shirt.

-You could tell his was mad, fury written on his face as he saw your wounds, “Y/N… who did this to you?” you hesitated, showing him that you knew who did this, but you were scared to say anything, more tears coming to your eyes.

-Hercules softened, trying to hide his anger as his hands cupped your cheeks gently, brushing your tears, “It’s all right Y/N, I’m not mad at you. C’mon- let’s go home. We need to have a family meeting.”

-He held you as if you were made of glass, warming you up after he had pulled off his own jacket, wrapping you inside of it and you felt yourself dozing until he entered the house and everyone shouted out your name, making you snap awake.

-Eve ran for you, tears in her eyes and your eyes widened, seeing this, seeing her love and care for you as Hercules, his tone scarily low, “Family meeting- now!”

-Very few people had seen Hercules so mad, even Jack was stunned to see such a bright color of fury before Hercules took you upstairs to your room, Brunnhilde following after him and instantly they froze, seeing your room.

-Brunnhilde turned, her eyes wide, “Where’s all your toys Y/N? And all your clothes?!” you curled up, looking afraid before you spoke, your voice barely a whisper, “I was told not to tell.”

-When you were brought back downstairs, Brunnhilde announced how they found your room, everything missing and everyone was quickly in an uproar, wanting to know where it all went.

-Hercules then sat you down, so everyone could see you, and pulled up your shirt, showing the bruises and welts, like you had been whipped and once again the room was in an uproar.

-Loki was instantly kneeling, holding your shoulders gently, “Y/N who did this to you?!” Jack got a closer look before he pulled your shirt back down, “Some of these wounds are old- this has been going on for a while.”

-Jack could see that you were terrified, your hands clutching at your shirt as Adam kneeled on the other side, “Y/N why haven’t you said anything?” he kept his tone soft, not wanting to scare you more than you already were.

-You bit your bottom lip, “I tried- I kept trying to talk to you all but you all said you were busy and that you had to do stuff with…” you trailed off, glancing over at Emilianna who instantly glared harshly, silently threatening you.

-They were all very quick to realize that this was true, they had been working hard to welcome Emilianna into their home that they forgot about you- their little ray of sunshine, and with it, they weren’t seeing the monster that they had accepted into their home was hurting you so badly.

-Eyes turned to Emilianna, her glare quickly fading to bring tears to her eyes, trying to play innocent, “I would never do anything like that to Y/N!”

-Hades and Poseidon went to her room, after they asked you again where your stuff was but you shook your head, “I don’t know.”

-Emilianna was pleading for them to not go into her room, but there everything was, in her closet, all your belongings, thrown in the back of her closet, your toys broken and your clothes shredded, like she had taken scissors to your clothes in a fit of rage.

-They carried your stuff downstairs and threw it down in front of Emilianna, showing the others as Hades spoke, his voice cold, “We found all of Y/N clothes and belongings in the back of your closet, everything ruined. Would you like to explain?”

-Emilianna was almost hysterical, “That wasn’t me! I swear- someone must have put it there!” Jack’s eyes narrowed, “You’re lying, you’re painted in the horrendous color of a liar. Why Emilianna- we brought you into our home, our family- why would you treat Y/N in such a way?”

-She glared, as she had forgotten about Jack’s ability, “Because I wanted to be the only child- so all your attention and love is for me and me alone!! I’m not sharing!”

-Brunnhilde instantly stood, “I’m calling your case worker, you’re no longer welcome in our home.” Emilianna’s eyes went wide as she tried to plead, begging them not to kick her out, before whirling on you, “I’m sorry Y/N! I won’t hurt you anymore! Just tell them to let me stay!  Do it!”

-Hercules picked you back up, keeping you away from Emilianna, not wanting to risk her hurting you again as Shiva, Raiden, and Ares went to her room to throw everything in boxes.

-Her case worker was horrified to learn what Emilianna had done, seeing your wounds and seeing what she had done to your belongings, looking down sadly at her charge, “Let’s try again, Emilianna, we’ll get you some counseling as well.”

-She was dragged off screaming, begging to stay, not wanting to leave such a lavish lifestyle behind and she gawked when Loki shut the door on her, so you and the others didn’t have to listen to her screaming.

-Your wounds were tended to and you were passed around to everyone, each one of them hugging you, apologizing to you for making you feel neglected.

-Tears welled in your eyes, but this time with happy tears- you were so happy your family still loved you and they cared so much about you. You never wanted to leave your family!

[littlepeakydevil]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Chapter 11: Kiss Me Where I Break

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, chronic pain, sexual harassment, and references to infidelity and sexual content.

Prev Chapter • Series • Part 26 • Next Chapter

Tommy was beginning to worry that he might have broken her.

She said next to nothing the entire train ride from Birmingham to London. All his attempts at initiating conversation met with one word answers or just quiet hums in acknowledgement while she stared out the window. Eventually, he gave up and decided to leave her alone.  

The past few days had been utterly hellish. He kept forgetting that Lily wasn’t at the house anymore. He’d be in the throes of work, and call out for her, only to realize a second later that no one was coming. She wasn’t a simple holler away anymore.

He had gotten so used to her always being there. Right by his side. To help him. To talk to him. To just…be there when he needed her. It was like someone had amputated one of his limbs.

But being around her during the workday did little to soothe the ache of her absence. Something had undeniably changed between them. Lily was more distant, more subdued. Like the bright spark that she always carried within her had been suddenly snuffed out. He missed her, even when she was standing right in front of him. 

He wanted his Lily back. 

For a while, he thought that perhaps she was immune to him and the darkness that he carried. And yet in the end he sapped out her light. Broken her like he did everyone else close to him. 

He rolled his unlit cigarette between his fingers, striding down the hallways of Westminster. Frustration crackled beneath his skin. His meeting earlier that day with Aberama had gone well. Aberama agreed to postpone his planned killing of McCavern. And he was planning to propose to Polly. But despite the recent string of accomplishments, Tommy felt no joy or relief. If anything, he felt even worse.    

He couldn’t help the prickle of jealousy he felt towards Polly and Aberama. How fucking lucky they were, to actually be marrying someone that they loved. 

He eyed the golden band on his left hand disdainfully. It felt more like a shackle than a wedding ring.

Pushing open the door to his office, he chanced a glance at where Lily was sitting, bent over a few documents with her fists pressed to her temples. Her lips were tilted downwards. Next to her, the fresh bouquet of sunflowers he’d sent was perched on the edge of her desk. He opened his mouth, considering asking her if she wanted to go out to dinner, then closed it. Why bother? He already knew that she was going to say no. 

Still, worry festered at the edges of his already frayed mind, longing to fix what he had so stupidly broken. He needed her. Everything was ten times harder without her there to lighten the load. He hadn’t even fully realized just how much he’d come to rely on her until she was ripped away.  

He didn’t know what to do to make any of this better. They had never had problems before. Sure, they’d had their arguments from time to time, but they never lasted long. When it came to Lily, this was entirely new territory for him.     

Wandering into his own office, he tossed the folder of papers he was holding down, reaching for the decanter usually filled with whiskey only to find it empty. Scowling, suddenly deeply irritable, he opened a drawer and snatched the large bottle inside, taking a slow swig. A soft sigh left his lips, eyes briefly slipping closed.

With the meetings with McCavern, Chang, and Aberama, he barely had time to stop to catch his breath.

Without even so much as a knock, the door to his office opened, and, of all people, Mosley came slithering in. Tommy quickly stashed the bottle back into the drawer and wiped at his mouth, turning to face him. Mosley’s voice set his teeth on edge, discussing the invitation Tommy extended to him to the ballet performance at Arrow House for Lizzie’s birthday. As the conversation continued, Tommy moved to sit in his chair behind his desk, suddenly eager to have some sort of barrier between them. 

Mosley eyed him up like an animal waiting to pounce when he started speaking of his past acquaintance with Lizzie. No doubt hoping for some sort of reaction from his words. Tommy kept his hands laced in his lap, hoping that the other man didn’t see the way his fingers tightened against each other.  

“Well, if you recognize her, maybe you can talk about old times, eh?”

“Maybe, if we have met before, your wife and I could even renew our acquaintance. I am invited to stay the night, yes?”

It was becoming increasingly hard for him to remember why he continued to tolerate Mosley’s presence. With each passing moment the temptation was growing stronger to grab the gun in his drawer or use the blades in his cap to slice the man to pieces. Or to perhaps call Lily in and have her deal with the fascist piece of shit. That could be fun.

“I too have done some research, Sir Oswald.” He allowed his eyes to narrow a fraction. “Yeah. I researched your wife. And your wife’s younger sister. And your wife’s stepmother, Lady Curzon. All of whom you are fucking. If such things were to take place on a narrowboat, the church would get involved.”

“But…” Mosley’s voice was a whisper, “it’s not happening on a narrowboat.”

“No. It’s taking place in your apartment, in your country house, sometimes even in your office here in the House of Commons.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “So no secrets. And yes. Yes, you are invited to stay the night with whichever member of your family finds favor. Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to leave. I need to lock up my office.”

Mosley looked at him for a long moment. “Funny,” he said, “how disapprovingly you speak of my liaisons. Considering that lovely redhead that you always keep so close to you. Pretty thing. A bit plain, for my taste, to tell you the truth, but still. Lovely.” Tommy’s stomach churned. “Tragic past too, poor thing. She’s been working for you for many years now, hasn’t she?” Mosley cocked his head. “And I hear that she has quite the array of talents. Tell me, was it her that you had do your research on me?” He didn't wait for a response. “Wonderous job, if it was. Very few people know about my particular relationship with Lady Curzon. Perhaps I should borrow her, at some point. I’m sure that she could be of the utmost use to me.” 

Tommy felt like he was going to throw up. Mosley took another long, slow drag from his cigarette, eyes not once leaving Tommy’s.

“Actually, I will come alone,” he said, finally, in response to Tommy’s invitation. “In society, you are judged by your hospitality. I will expect adventure.” He leaned across Tommy’s desk to put his cigarette out in the ashtray. Tommy was certain that if he had to hear one more lecture about the ‘rules of society,’ he was going to scream. Mosley straightened. “Such rogues we are, aren’t we? Sing like songbirds in the House. And then afterwards, relieve ourselves in the bodies of whomever we choose. Two men for whom forbidding is forbidden.” He raised the little paper that was his invitation. “Should be quite the party.”

Tommy managed a smile that was more of a grimace, and Mosley finally slunk his way out of the office. He pressed a hand to his face once the door closed, mind whirling. The idea of letting Mosley near Lily or Lizzie made his skin crawl and stomach heave. And yet he was going to do it. To let the man waltz right into his home on an invitation. His hand trembled. Neither of them deserved him. Lily’s sad eyes and Lizzie’s resentful gaze danced in his mind. He should have left them both alone. They would be better off now, if he had. Rather than latching onto them and dragging them down with him into the depths of hell. He’d only wanted to help them, and yet all he accomplished was ruining their lives. And that wasn’t even counting this current mess he had made. A mess that he had no idea how to fix without hurting at least one of them.

His eyes flickered down to the topmost right drawer of his desk, hand pulling it open almost of its own accord. The gun sat atop the papers stacked inside. Tommy let his hand fall from the handle, eyes still fixed on the gun. He leaned forward with an exhale against his desk, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. There was a breath echoing in his mind. Slow and steady with its inhales and exhales. He rested both hands on the back of his head, rubbing at the skin in an attempt to quell the swirl of self hatred that he was drowning in. The room was suddenly very dark and cold.

“You have to listen to the voices that you hear.”

His head snapped upwards, eyes wide open. No.

“Do what they tell you to do.”

The breaths were continuing. Her breaths. Her last breath as she died in his arms. Yet another of the women in his life that he failed despite how much he cared for her.

“You don’t even have to rub the lamp anymore to summon the genie.” Grace continued to speak from where she was standing in the corner. A shiver ran down Tommy’s spine. Grace raised a hand, and dangling from her fingers on a chain was the blue sapphire, the one he had locked around her throat. His greed having sealed her fate. “It wasn’t the blue stone, Tommy. It was you.” She pressed the necklace to her chest. He could hear her heartbeats, a rapid thumping in his head. The drip of blood running from her chest to the floor. Tommy’s hand tightened into a fist. He couldn’t look at her. At those accusatory eyes. “It was you.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “Tommy?” Lily’s voice called.

The breaths and heartbeats faded away. Grace vanished from sight. Tommy leaned backwards, squeezing his eyes shut tight and exhaling. 

“Just a minute, Lils,” he choked out. He forced deep breaths to pass through his lips, pushing the panic down with each one. Eyes opening, he pushed the open drawer with the gun in it closed, sitting up and straightening himself out. “Yeah?”

The door cracked open and Lily poked her head in, a folder tucked under her arm. She stepped into the room, walking to his desk and holding the folder out to him. “I need you to sign these.”

He took the folder from her, scribbling his signature on the documents inside. Lily passed a hand over her hair. 

“I sent Adam home. What did Mosley want?”

“To talk about ballet.”

She snorted. “He’s really coming then?”

“Yep.” He handed her back the folder.

“Goody for us.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Tommy grunted in response. Lily tucked the folder back under her arm. Her brown eyes swept over him, carefully. “Are you alright?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just been a long day.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but nodded, heading back towards the door. “I’ll get these filed.”

He watched her disappear out the door. “Thank you.” 

He remained reclined back in his chair for a few more minutes, until his breathing fully evened out and he felt a little less like if someone touched him he might collapse. He glanced back towards the door that led to Lily and Adam’s office. When this business was done and the mess between them straightened out, he needed to do something nice for her. He tried to think back to the last time they had done something, just the two of them, that didn’t have anything to do with work. His brow furrowed at the conclusion that he couldn’t think of anything outside of stolen kisses and touches in dark corners or in her room at Arrow House. Tommy frowned, lips pursing together, another wave of guilt slicing through his being at the way he had been unintentionally neglecting his lover.

Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket to check the time on his watch. He stood from his chair, locking up the drawers in his desk, stuffing a few files into his briefcase, and heading out the door, locking that too behind him. Lily was sitting at her desk, riffling through some papers. He gently touched her shoulder.           

���It’s getting late. We should lock up.”

She looked up at him, nodding wordlessly and beginning to stack the papers she had been working on. Slipping them into a folder and locking them away in the filing cabinet kept in the corner. Tommy watched her cautiously. He reached out a hand to wrap around her wrist, brow furrowing at how cold her skin felt. 

“We could go to the apartment tonight.” He knew it wasn’t much. Certainly not enough considering what he was putting her through. But it was the best he could think to offer at the moment. 

Lily looked down at the floor, and when she looked up at him those brown eyes were shiny. 

“Lizzie’s bringing Charlie and Ruby up to visit the office tomorrow,” she reminded him gently. Tommy blinked. He had forgotten. He’d promised to show them around Westminster and then take them all out to lunch.

“So?” His fingers remained wrapped around her wrist. Lily gave him a look.

“I’m assuming that you’d like to be able to hold your daughter’s hand while you show her around?” 

Alright, he definitely deserved that one. 

“And you have an appointment this evening with Dr. Brooke.”

“I remember,” he sighed, letting go of her wrist and shoving his hands deep into his pockets, eyes glancing out the window while he frowned. “It’ll be too late after I'm done to go back to Birmingham.”

“I was thinking that while you’re at your appointment I’d follow up on some research on Mosley’s associates,” Lily added. “And I need to pick up Lizzie’s birthday presents.”  

“And what did I get her this year?”

“A diamond necklace she’s been eyeing in the magazines. Part of the same collection as those earrings you got her in Paris that she likes so much.” 

He touched her face. “Whatever would I do without you?”  

Her lips twitched upwards into a small smile, though her eyes still looked sad. Tommy let his thumb stroke over her bottom lip. He just wanted to see her smile again. A real smile. The kind that she would often shoot at him from across the room at family meetings or during the workday. Mischievous and bright and warm enough to thaw even his ice cold heart.

“Alright, I’ll go to my appointment and run some errands in town. You go pick up the gifts, do your work. We’ll meet back at the apartment.” At her raised eyebrow he held up his hands. “We just won’t fuck. I promise that I won’t try to maul you.”

That earned him a small, amused snort. “You think Lizzie will believe that?”

“Let me worry about Lizzie.”

Lily nodded. “Okay.” She went to grab her coat from its hook. Tommy watched her, reaching out again to touch her arm.

“Maybe…maybe after Lizzie and the kids have gone back home…”

“A day on either side, remember?”

“Yes, but we could still plan on the day after…”

“Why does it matter so much?” she asked, voice suddenly sharpening. “It’s not like you’re not still getting any.”

Tommy had to suppress a flinch. “It’s not the same…” he tried to argue softly. Lily sighed and looked away, fiddling with her rings. He cocked his head, taking a cautious step towards her. “And what about you, eh?”

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not…”

“Can we talk about this later, please?” She looked around the office, shifting uncomfortably. “Not here.”

Tommy wanted to argue, because not speaking of it was driving him mad. But he held his tongue. He was worried that if he pushed her too hard on it, she’d retreat even further away inside herself. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to keep working on Lizzie and coming up with his own solutions to the problem. Any conversation that they had about it was sure to go better if he came to her with a potential fix already in hand. 

“Okay.”

She gave him a grateful look, shoulders relaxing at the reprieve. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he cocked his head. 

“What time do you think you’ll be back?” 

“Late.” That wasn’t uncommon when she was doing her spy work for him. 

“Be careful.”

She smiled another smile that still did not quite meet her eyes. “Always.”

He watched her leave with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, worried frown set like stone onto his face.

—

Lizzie sighed, flopping down onto the couch in one of the large sitting rooms in Arrow House. The children playing in front of her on the rug near the fireplace. She smiled softly as she watched them, appreciating the way Charlie played so gently with his half-sister. Such a sweet kid. She wondered, sometimes, if that was what Tommy was like. Before the war.

Long fingers adjusting on her cigarette, Lizzie’s eyes caught on the chessboard sitting on the table. The little pieces all arranged into their starting positions. A memory of Lily sitting down unceremoniously in front of her one evening, chessboard clutched in her hands, played within her mind.

“Play with me, Lizzie?” she asked, widening those big brown eyes at her. Lizzie shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed.

“I don’t know how to play,” she admitted. Lily shrugged.

“That’s alright. I’ll teach you.” She spoke without missing a beat. At Lizzie’s apprehensive look she groaned dramatically. “C’mon Lizzie, please? I’m bored. Tommy’s busy. No one else will play with me.” She flashed her that teasing, mischievous smile. “I’ll be your best friend.” 

It had been hard not to relent, when Lily was looking at her so hopefully, eyes dancing and playful. One game turned into several, and soon it became a sort of tradition between the two of them.

Lizzie frowned at the sharp ache of missing the little redhead that throbbed in her chest. 

Her absence felt like a gaping hole had been ripped open in the middle of the house. Everyone’s moods–even the staffs’--had taken a turn towards melancholy. The children weren’t as joyful when they played. Cyril was depressed and barely eating. Trouble paced the halls while crying, but hissed and scratched at anyone who so much as tried to come near her. The horses in the stables were gloomy.

Even the fires lit in the hearths at night didn’t seem as warm. Tommy spent most of his time holed up in his office, his mood somehow even darker than it had been before. He yelled at everyone more often. And one evening, when she couldn’t sleep and wandered down to the library for a book, she was pretty sure that she heard him weeping. 

What the fuck have I done?

Head falling back against the couch, Lizzie breathed out an exhale of smoke.

When she put the phone down after calling the solicitor in London, she had made the decision to stay. But not for Tommy. Not really. It had been for the children. For the house. For the luxury and money and status that Tommy gifted her when he signed their marriage license. All he’d asked for in exchange was that she care for his home and children, and allow him to be with his lover. 

She made a promise, when she married Tommy. She swore to him that his relationship with Lily would be allowed to stand. That she wouldn’t interfere, or make things difficult for them to be together. She had promised the same thing to Lily.

Poor Lily, who had only ever tried to be her friend.

Christ, she hadn’t even realized how big of a presence Lily had in the house, in all their lives–in her life–until she was gone. 

She fucking missed her. Missed the way she always seemed to sense when Lizzie needed a break from the kids and was happy to take them off her hands for a few hours. Missed the way she’d make her an extra cup of tea whenever she fixed one for herself. How she would help her during her horse riding lessons. Or when she would fold over the pages in the catalogs that they got of the things she thought Lizzie might like. 

Yes, they had clashed a lot. Even more so than usual, as of late. But they did have some good times mixed in there. 

She passed a hand over her eyes, swallowing down tears. Tommy said that he probably wouldn’t be home tonight. She hadn’t been able to muster any disappointment at the news. Only deep relief. He was unbearable to be around. But in a different way than he had been before. Prior, they had always been fighting. But now, he just seemed so…sad. With Lily around he was still Tommy, closed off and gruff. But his eyes were a bit softer. And he smiled more, even if they were just subtle little twitches upwards of his lips. 

“Mommy?” Ruby asked, glancing up at Lizzie from where she was seated on the floor. Lizzie looked down at her.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Where’s Lily?”

Her throat went dry. The children had asked her several times where Lily was, and she was never able to give them a straight answer. Unable to bring herself to tell them that she likely was never coming back.

“She’s away at work, sweetheart, remember?”

“Is she coming back?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I don’t know, honey.”

Ruby returned her gaze to her doll. “I hope she comes back.”

Lizzie cocked her head. “Why’s that?”

When Ruby looked up at her, her wide dark eyes were filled with wisdom far beyond her age.

“Because Daddy’s happy when she’s here.”

—

“Hey, do me a favor?” he asked Ada. “When that kid of yours arrives, keep it away from me.” He turned before he could really see Ada’s reaction from her place seated on the steps. Heading for the door.

“Tommy,” Ada called out. He glanced back. She was worrying at her bottom lip nervously, eyes darting about before focusing back up at him. “I heard that Lily left you.”

“She didn’t…leave me,” Tommy said, hoping that he was successfully able to hide his wince at the word. “She’s just not living at Arrow House anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Arthur mentioned it.”

He shook his head. Looked down at his feet. Arthur and his big fucking mouth. “You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you’re surprised that it took me this long to fuck things up with her.”

“That wasn't what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, well, then you’d be the only one.” It came out bitter, the taste unpleasant on his tongue.

“Tommy…” His sister started and then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm. Goodnight, Ada.” 

He walked back to the apartment miserably, opening the door to be greeted with a dark entryway and an equally dimmed sitting room. He pulled off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket, taking off his coat and hanging it up on the hook next to Lily’s. 

He found her curled up on her side in bed, already asleep. He changed out of his clothes in a daze, sliding into the open space beside her. For a moment he just stared at her. Taking in the soft material of her silk negligee, red hair spread out on the white pillow. 

He wanted very badly to wrap his arms around her. To hold her against his chest like he had almost every other night they had shared a bed. But he didn’t know if she wanted that. Any attempt he had made over the last few days to bridge the growing gap between them only seemed to succeed in her pushing him even further away. He didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t sure what it was Lily really wanted anymore. It was her idea to leave. Perhaps she had finally realized what he was: a monster that corrupted and ruined everything he’d ever touched. 

—

When he woke up, it was to find that Lily was no longer beside him. 

He reached out, half asleep, only to find her side of the bed cool to the touch. Frowning, he raised his head, blinking open his heavy eyelids and squinting in the dark of the room. No light was sneaking in through the curtains. It was still night outside.  

“Lils?” he mumbled. The ensuite washroom door was open, the light off. No Lily there. 

Pushing himself up, he felt a frown twist his lips downwards. Did she so badly want to get away from him that she’d gone and slept in the other room?

His eyes landed on the sliver of golden light sneaking in through the crack under the door. Head cocking, he climbed out of bed, snatching up one of his white shirts and pulling it on over his naked torso. The fuck was she doing out in the sitting room in the middle of the night?

He found her on the couch, the lamp on the end table flicked on. For a moment, he didn’t entirely understand what she was doing. Her back was curved forward, both arms bent so that her hands were reaching backwards towards her shoulder blades. As he watched, her hands flexed, scratching and pressing at her skin, as if trying to massage it. A little whimper emitted from her throat. 

Then he understood. 

He should have guessed that this would happen. It had been raining pretty hard when he visited Ada’s, and the cold and wet always seemed to make Lily’s shoulders act up. Plus he had to figure that the mattress she was sleeping on at Charlie’s wasn’t all that good for her back, either.

He wished she would let him at least get her a suite at the Midland to stay at. Even if only for herself. 

Hurrying around the couch, he sat down beside her, hands reaching for her shoulders to try to help. 

But at the first brush of his palms across her back, she jumped and jerked away. 

“N-no…” Her face whipped around to stare at him, and he was met with distraught, teary eyes. The very sight was enough to hurt him to his core. 

“I can help,” he said, half begging. 

She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I can handle it–”

“I know you can,” he told her gently. “But you don’t have to.” He saw something waver across her face, his hands reaching tentatively out for her again. “Please, let me help you.” Don’t make me sit by and watch you suffer through this on your own too.

Her bottom lip trembled a little, eyes searching his. Her shoulders slumped, face angling towards the ground while she nodded in consent. Moving slowly, half afraid she would spook again, Tommy rested both hands on her back. He started rubbing at her skin slowly, searching out the spots that he knew always gave her the most trouble. 

Lily let out a deep breath, and he felt her relax a little under his hands. 

At least I can do this for her.

“There you go,” he said quietly. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She let out another little hiccupping sob. He shifted a little closer to her. 

“Did you take your pain killers?” The doctor had given her a prescription to use in the event that the pains ever got especially bad. 

She nodded. “Haven’t kicked in yet.”

He sat there rubbing her shoulders for a good thirty minutes, until her spasmed muscles relaxed and the pain medications started to do their job.

“Let’s go back to bed, eh?”

Lily wiped at her eyes. “Okay.” 

She let him shepherd her back into the bedroom, curling up on top of the mattress. Watching him flick off the lights and get in next to her, pulling the blanket up to tuck around her. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, after they’d both been still for a moment. Tommy stared at the outline of her next to him in the dark. Tentatively, he reached out, stroking his hand through her hair.

“It’s alright.”

—

“Lily!” 

She turned, smiling and scrunching her nose at the two little figures running towards her. She bent down to press a kiss to Charlie and Ruby’s foreheads.

“Hey kiddos.” She squatted down to their level. “How’ve you been? Have you been good?”

Ruby nodded her head, voice chirping out a sweet little, “yes.” 

At the same time, Charlie cast her a mischievous look. “No.”

“No!? What do you mean, no!?” Lily cried playfully, reaching around to tickle the boy's sides while he squealed. He looked so much like Tommy when he laughed, it was almost spooky. She pulled the two children in for a hug. “I gotta get back to work, okay? But you two have fun with your mum and dad, alright?”

The children whined but relented, Ruby shuffling back to grab onto Tommy’s hand. He smiled softly down at her. Lizzie ruffled Charlie’s hair affectionately, expression loving. Lily smiled at her awkwardly.

“Good to see you.”

Lizzie nodded, eyes not quite meeting hers. “You too.”

“Right,” she looked at Tommy. “I gotta go help Adam with paperwork.”

His expression was difficult to read, though she thought that she could see a regretful glimmer enter his eyes when he looked at her. “Alright.”

She waved and flashed a smile at Charlie and Ruby before ducking away. Watching from her desk, she looked on as Tommy ushered his children and Lizzie out of the office. He and Lizzie were both sporting wide smiles. Lily huffed out a breath, nodding to herself. Good. That was good. They were happier now. Finally at peace with their little family.

Now if only her heart would stop hurting. 

—

They met with McCavern that evening to confirm the plan for distribution of the opium.

“Now who’s this fine lady?” McCavern asked when he spotted her, eyes shining in the lights of the lanterns, looking her over. 

Lily smiled thinly, taking his hand and shaking it when Tommy introduced them. What the fuck was it with these fascists and their constant leering?

She took a seat next to Uncle Charlie, listening to Tommy deal with McCavern. He was bad, that much was obvious to her, even without taking into account what he’d done to Bonnie and Aberama. But he didn’t make her skin crawl as much as Mosley did. So that was something. Unlike Mosley he was just loud and obnoxious.

Tommy and McCavern shook on their deal, and Tommy poured them all a drink.

“In the firelight, your hair looks like the color of blood, love,” McCavern whispered in her ear, breath tickling her neck when he leaned down to pick up his cup. Lily tensed, fingers tightening around her own mug. McCavern chuckled and pulled away. From across the table, Tommy’s jaw tightened, clearly taking notice of the encounter.

But he said nothing. 

She understood why. McCavern was volatile, their peace pact fragile. He couldn’t be risking upending that all over a half flirtatious remark.  

But still, it stung. 

Maybe he didn’t see her as someone worth expending the effort to protect anymore. 

“You’ll use the cheque guarantee from Mosley to officially connect him to McCavern,” she guessed, after McCavern and his men left. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m going inside,” Charlie announced, standing. He gave Lily a pat on the shoulder as he passed her and they said their goodnights. And then it was just her and Tommy. 

Tommy cleared his throat. “Are you still coming to the ballet tomorrow evening?”

She swiped a hand across her face. It was Lizzie’s birthday tomorrow, and in celebration, he was having a private ballet company come to his house to put on a production of Swan Lake. A ballet about love, apparently.

A particularly paranoid part of her brain wondered if they’d chosen a romantic ballet specifically to rub her nose in it. 

Jealousy pulsed through her. Lizzie always got the big, grand public displays of love and affection. She got to go to fancy theater productions with him, and expensive restaurants. When he won awards and made speeches, she often got mentioned by name in his thanks towards those who had helped him get where he was in life. And at every lavish function, she got to be on his arm.

Even before she moved out, Lily was always relegated to the shadows. Their dinner dates were at home, where no one could see them. Or maybe the rare picnic out in the wilderness. Assuming they had the time for dates at all. He’d never be able to throw an extravagant party in her honor.

Looking down at her hands, she frowned. “Wasn’t sure if I was still invited.”

Tommy looked at her sharply. “Of course you're invited.”

“I’d hate to ruin Lizzie’s birthday with my presence.”

“You won’t. She knows you’re invited. She made sure that an invitation got sent to you herself.”

The furrow in Lily’s brow only deepened. Why the fuck would she do that? Maybe she was trying to remind her of her place. To make sure that she saw the massive effort that Tommy had gone to for her.  

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to come if you really don’t want to, but…” Tommy shifted, looking uncomfortable. 

“Mosley’s coming,” she finished for him. 

“Yes.”

“And you want me to babysit him.”

“Not…babysit. But I might need you for any business we may conduct while he’s there.”

Of course. He didn’t want her there to enjoy herself. He wanted her there to work. Silly her. 

God, when did you get so bitter? she asked herself, cringing at her thoughts.

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

Tommy exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I might not be able to come pick you up with all the preparations that need to happen, but I’ll send a driver.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll ask Polly if she can drive me.”

His brows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You want to ride to Warwickshire with Polly?”

“Want is a strong word. But it’ll free up one of your drivers to pick up some of the other guests. Besides, she’s been a little nicer to me lately. I think Aberama’s been putting in a good word for me.”

He examined her for a long time. “If that’s what you're comfortable with.”

She nodded. 

They stayed there for a while, both looking out towards the darkness of the canal. 

“I need to be getting back.” Tommy’s hands had slipped into his pockets at some point. 

“Okay.” 

He made a move as if to approach her, then stopped. The soft glow of the lanterns cast sharp shadows across his face. She could just barely make out the reflection in his eyes. 

“Goodnight, then.”

Before she could reply, he started to walk away, the darkness that surrounded them seeming to swallow him up. 

She stared out into the dark. 

No kiss. No I love you. No touch.

“Goodnight,” she whispered. Even though he was already gone.

Prev Chapter • Series • Part 26 • Next Chapter

[huneyproses]

Concept: LU all boys meeting their pre-adventure selves (as a chain)

I'm posting in shorter parts than will be posted to AO3.

Part 1/? (Aiming for 20/10)

Note: Switches POV throughout, I am a firm believer in "give them some oddities funny little man" It is explained in this part (with reasonings), but for ease of reading: Soldier -> Warriors Guard -> Wild Rancher -> Twilight Farmer -> Legend Crimson -> Sky Smithy -> Four Traveller -> Hyrule Outset -> Wind Green -> Time

Oh how glad he was to never grow up.

Link placed his hands below himself, giving a small cushion for his tail bones to rest on. The harsh rock of the cave floor had begun an all out war against his rear end with how many positions he had shifted to in an attempt to get comfortable. Oh how he wished to return to the soft cushion of his own bed back in the forest, sleeping till the sun began wain in the sky, and only waking up from Saria’s incessant shouts at the base of the latter. There was always something to be done—always something Link would forget about until she reminded him.

He brought his knees in closer, resting his forehead on them. He really did miss her. Not just her, the whole lot of them. The very forest itself.

They had been trapped in the cramped cave for a long time. He wasn’t fully sure how long, but time felt immeasurable during the tense silence that had preceded the discussion. When they had arrived in the cave, the man that appeared to be a Hylian soldier motioned for immediate silence, only whispering a short “Do not speak” before turning his attention to the gap between the stone. 

Link had assumed, based on how easily the man had commanded authority over the eight that he would be the one to break the silence, but instead it was broken by an all too pitiful yip from the small brunette in a ratty cloak. It was difficult to see with the little light streaming in, but even so the bright red of his cheeks was somehow readily apparent. A few had responded with a chuckle, Link, himself, even let out an involuntary giggle. 

His hushed explanation—“It was a really big spider”—and the muddled, yet frantic apologies made it difficult to not let out another laugh. 

But with the glare the soldier had levelled at them, any jovial atmosphere that could’ve emerged was snuffed out. He had followed it up with a loud sigh, dismissing any sort of plan he may have had with a wave of the hand. And following, the man began his interrogation, citing the need to be familiar with those he would need to fight alongside—and, based on the way his eyes flicked towards Link and the other three younger boys, protect.

It almost seemed like some sort of game they would all play back in the forest. The soldier had instructed them all into a circle. Saria would’ve named the rules, taking charge as she always did. Eventually, halfway through the game, Mido would’ve gotten fed up with losing and have started some dumb argument that somehow was always Link’s fault. They’d fight, kicking and scratching their way through an argument—all before someone threatened to tattle and it ceremoniously ended with forced, muttered apologies. Despite how at-odds Link and Mido seemed to be, Link still found him to be a comfortable constant. He never changed, and his antics could be amusing. Sometimes.

But he wasn’t in the forest, these people certainly weren’t his friends, and going around in a circle naming their names, oc-u-pations (?), and fighting ability wasn’t a game. Link drew his gaze up once again, avoiding the eyes of the older men, looking towards the fidgety brunette. He seemed incredibly downcast after the silent reprimand the soldier had shot them. Without thinking, Link nudged himself a tad closer to the boy. If it was for his comfort, or the boys, Link wasn’t all that sure.

Though, the more introductions they went through, that feeling of defiance and wariness had shifted to befuddlement. Occupations, Link had surmised, meant jobs. That was all fine and dandy; A farmer, a smith's apprentice, a rancher, and quite a few knights. The loud boy didn’t have a job, and the boy beside him called himself a traveller. All the knights seemed confident in their fighting experience, and even a few of the others seemed to have training, which was probably good news, if the loud grunts of the monsters stalking the perimeter of the cave was anything to go by.

But somehow there was something wrong. Something very odd. Each and every boy began their introduction with their name: Link. They were all named Link. It sure surprised Link (himself)—sure, he’d never been out of the forest before, but having 9 people all with the same name, that was definitely odd, right?

Link (him, Link. This was already annoying!), was the last of the group, having refused to speak the first go around, the soldier offered another chance. But, given the pure look of awe mixed with indignation Link gave the man, he simply let out a sigh.

“Right.” Soldier-Link had started, brows knit in a mirrored way as a majority of them, “We…all share a name. That will get confusing quickly.” He crossed his arms, closing his eyes for a moment, “I suppose we can refer to each other via occupation, though a few of you have none…therefore…”

“I will simply assign one.” With a forming smirk and a renewed confidence, Soldier-Link leveled a pointed finger at each Link.

For himself, “Soldier.”

To the stoic boy with a ponytail, “Guard” for his occupation of being a guard for the princess (however dismissive the eye-roll Soldier-Link posed while giving the name—he still gave it).

The boy beside him denoted “Traveller” for simply being such. For a short second the brunette caught Link’s eye, offering a reassuring smile. Link turned indignantly; he was trying to comfort the boy, not the other way around!

The same was true of “Farmer” and “Rancher” and “Smithy”; the former two being older boys. One looked like he could toss Link across the room, another that had a deer in the lantern light look about him. The latter was the younger of the three with relentless strands of tuft out the back of his head that gave a real funny look to him (especially with his contrastingly wise face).

The sickly boy with a weird outfit was nearly coined “Knight'' but was deemed too confusing with the other two. After a moment of deliberation, he offered up “Crimson”, with an explanation cut short by a sudden fit of coughs with intermittent apologies. Rancher gravitated closer, bringing a hand up to his back.

When Himself-Link refused to speak (he began to be unsure if he was doing so because of a lack of trust, some complex, or because he was genuinely frightened), he was called only “Green.”

“And for you—”

“Outset! I’m not anything yet so that makes the most sense since it’s the island I’m from.” The boy with messy hair and bright expression blurted out, “Plus I’d rather not be called, like, lobster.” He gestured to his shirt (The same thing Link was definitely named after), before placing his hand on his hips. He must be proud of one-upping the older guy, Link sure would be.

As if to confirm, the Soldier huffed, “So that was why the air smelled salty.” brushing his hair back, he moved to lean against the wall of the cave. He had opened his mouth to speak before the serious one—Guard—spoke up.

“—We are nowhere close to the sea.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know exactly where we are but…” He trailed off, bringing his attention to the side of the cave, tracing around the wall to the entrance. “These caves were carved as encampments—as safe havens from the creatures, but also for the possibility of war before…” He trailed off momentarily before continuing, “The entrance is marked. They were only built in certain areas around Hyrule. None are close to the ocean.”

Soldier remained silent, having brought his own gaze towards the slitted entrance of the cave. After a moment, he scoffed incredulously, “You’d think a soldier of the castle would know about safe havens;” challenging Guard, he moved closer, “Lying about something as great as being the Princess’ royal guard when it's so easily disprovable. You’ve sure got some balls.”

Guard remained silent.

Suddenly, Soldier grabbed the collar of Guard’s shirt, lifting the smaller man with discomforting ease, “Stop fuc—” He cut himself off, glancing towards Link, “Stop lying. Who are you? I won't hesitate to throw your sorry excuse out of here if you don’t answer. You’re short, certainly not Sheikah, and not to mention a man, so you’re certainly not her highness’ guard.” 

Guard matched Soldiers vitriolic glare, gripping his arm with a vengeance even Link could tell wasn’t going to end well. Rancher stood from his spot, placing his hand firmly on Soldier’s shoulder.

“You need to calm down man; we can do this later. You’re gonna scare the kids.”

Soldier glanced between him and Guard, taking a deep breath before dropping his collar. He leaned into Guard’s ear and whispered something indecipherable. Turning around he pushed back his hair again, “Weapons. What do we have?”

“I have a sword,” Traveller said, bringing it out into his hands. Guard followed suit, flashing a shiny sword with a purple and green hilt. Compared to travellers, it was stunning. Alluring in a way Link couldn’t understand. It had a triangle with four smaller triangles inside at its base. It was so long it nearly stood at half Guards’ height. It was probably too big for Link to even hold. 

And yet, just looking at it made him feel an indecipherable sense of dread. He looked away, tucking further into his knees.

Soldier had approached Traveller, from what Link could tell, his voice echoing from directly beside him. He had even squatted down to meet their sitting position, “Do you mind if someone borrows it, Traveller? I assure you it will come back—if not I shall purchase you an even better one.”

His voice was deceivingly sweet compared to his earlier disposition, but, even so, Traveller handed it over, if the steps following the exchange were any indication. 

Link turned his head towards Traveller, legs crossed as he focused on the fate of his blade. He hadn’t had a good look at him before, but with their renewed proximity, he got a better sense of the brunette's features. He was definitely close to Link’s age, with girly features and freckles dotting his face. Were it not for his name and clothing, Link certainly would’ve definitely thought him as a girl. He was pretty.

“Green?”

Oh—he hated that nickname, “...You really gave your sword to that guy?” He cursed himself for how pathetic the voice that echoed from him sounded: quiet and frightened with a higher pitch than he swore was normal. Link discreetly cleared his throat.

“Well he’s an adult. He seems to know what he’s doing with it—well, better than I would anyway. It’s mostly just for protection.” He let out a small laugh.

“He’s some adult. You really trust him?”

Traveller blinked, averting his gaze as his smile fell. After a moment, he shrugged, “I don’t have a choice right now.”

“What?” Link sat a bit straighter, furrowing his brows, “Why wouldn’t you? It’s your sword.”

“If I want people to stay safe, it isn’t. I shouldn’t be reckless. These guys work with the kingdom from what they’ve said; they know how to handle a sword better than me. I’d rather have them wielding it.”

“You trust them more than yourself, then?”

“No!” Traveller let out a short laugh, earning a glare from Link, “Sorry, sorry—I don’t mean to laugh at you. Of course I don’t.”

“Then why are you giving them your sword?”

“Um…” His bright expression had all but dissipated, leaving only the trace of a smile as he finally set his eyes back on Link’s. Suddenly, his face seemed a lot older than it had before, “I just think it’s the best thing I can do to keep everyone safe.”

Link crossed his arms incredulously, breaking off the conversation with a discomforted huff. That conversation gave him more questions than answers. He supposed that could just be what Hylians were like—confusing! The guy’s reasoning was dumb. How can you give away your protection for someone else’s and still say you trust yourself more?

Watching the quiet conversation between Soldier, Crimson, and Farmer. Soldier gestured towards them a few times before they both nodded, eventually turning their backs on Soldier and venturing closer. Link spotted Traveller’s sword on Crimson’s back. At least it’d be close to Traveller.

At some point, Outset had also joined the newly formed group, hands lazily laced behind his head. Smithy followed him at a distance, fidgeting with the band on his head.

“We’ll split into two groups.” Soldier started, gaining everyone's ear, “Guard, Rancher and I will get the attention of the monsters. Farmer and Crimson will take the kids east towards some stable that should be there.” Link didn’t miss the distrusting glance Soldier shot Guard before continuing, “It’s a risky plan, but it’s our best chance of getting out of here before night falls and we become stuck without food or water.”

Link glanced at a few of the others. Guard hadn’t offered a readable expression since the encounter with Soldier. Smithy looked uncomfortable, tossing his gaze around the room. Outset had a sour expression, pursed lips in a pout with his gaze towards the cave wall. Rancher looked sceptical, scratching the side of his head with averted eyes, yet spoke nothing in contrast to it. Traveller and Farmer looked worried and uncomfortable respectively. Crimson had placed himself beside a cave wall, head leaned against it with his eyes scrunched closed since Soldier had begun to speak. 

All in all, great plan. 

But it wasn’t as if Link was going to offer anything better; As little as he trusted this Hylian soldier, it wasn’t as if he had a choice. No weapons and no real fighting experience bar practice duels with other Kokiri….

“Alright, we’ll head out on my signal.”

They all shimmied their way toward the mouth of the cave, Soldier remaining just outside the entrance. For a discomforting amount of time, he waited with his right hand palm up. Yet, with the ambient sounds of the birds and unfamiliar buzzing whirring outside, silence had yet to add to it.

Suddenly, his hand moved. Three fingers up—

Two—

One—

“Now!”

[miasma-museum]

~ Not really a fic just a piece of lore... But it's long so I'm adding a cut

Miasma's prayers concluded with the extinguishing of his candles. A tremor ran through his hand as he snuffed out the small flames, releasing a shaky exhale that seemed to carry with it the last sparks of his dwindling energy. Exhaustion descended upon him with an almost unnatural swiftness, his limbs feeling like weights as he dragged himself towards the bed. His eyes fluttered shut of their own volition, his body surrendering to exhaustion.

An unknown amount of time later, a sensation like a warm caress to his cheek stirred him from his deep sleep. His heavy eyes opened slowly. His pupils, dilated in the sudden illumination, struggled momentarily to adjust to an intense light that bathed him from above. It was a luminosity that would compel one to instinctively cover their eyes; yet, inexplicably, Miasma felt no pain, no discomfort. Instead, a curious numbness pervaded his senses as he gazed into the light with no apparent source.

Without a moment's notice, he found himself upright, his feet sinking into the a tall field of creeping foxtail. Silence lied upon the landscape, amplifying the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Above, the sky was a bright blue, devoid of even the slightest wisp of cloud. His gaze fell upon his hands, no longer the peachy, human anatomy he had just been growing familiar with. A breath of surprise escaped his lips as he stared at the return of his demonic heritage - the deep violet hue that now covered them, the curved claws that extended from his fingertips. He lifted his head. The light that he had woken to had dissipated, yet its warmth lingered, a phantom sensation against his skin. Despite his solitude, he did not feel like he was alone. There was an unseen presence that undoubtedly resonated within him, something vaguely familiar.

He moved forward, each step drawing a dull ache from his shoulder blades, an almost magnetic pull guiding him towards the unseen. Then, a voice, resonant and multi-layered, as though a chorus of beings spoke in unison, pierced the silence, reverberating especially in his head.

“A abysso inclusus, infernae originis creatura, emergis. Animae quamvis umbrae cicatrices, et mentis praecipiti labes teterrima, cor tamen lucis praelucet anhelitum, ut videtur. Responde, ligamen, quae virtus in te residet, quae amplexus audet redemptionis vindicare?”

“Nothing.” Miasma answered honestly, collapsing to his knees, the ache in his shoulders intensifying as he spoke.

"I am defiled," he continued on, his voice thick with remorse, "my being is covered in the crimson stain of blood. Yet, I find calmness in the fact that my God's love and forgiveness transcends the depths of my grand imperfections. He does not forsake those who have strayed, no matter their origins. He has the power to protect, so long as they take Him in their hearts. It is my yearning for Him, my unyielding desire for redemption, that shall elevate me from this miserable abyss. It is this yearning that shall secure my rightful place within His realm, for my God's compassion knows no bounds."

Miasma's breath hitched in his throat, his body succumbing to the torment that tore through his back. The pain surged with an unbearable intensity, like the tearing of flesh and the splintering of bone. He pressed his chest to the earth, his cries for divine absolution mingling with the sobs that tore from his throat. A gush of golden blood erupted from his wounds, cascading down his back, soaking into his hair, and tracing rivulets along his arms. The divine luminescence returned, engulfing him in its incandescent embrace, searing his flesh with its purifying fire.

Miasma awoke with a jolt that sent him over his bed and on to the floor, his breath ragged and his body drenched in a cold sweat. Tears streamed down his face as he hyperventilated, his eyes darting around the room in a panic. His fingers, blunt and human, scrabbled against the carpeted floor as if trying to escape some unseen horror. The familiar surroundings of the room slowly seeped into his consciousness, reassuring him that it was just a dream. But the lingering sensations were vivid, a strange mixture of pain and relief, like that of the extraction of a deeply embedded splinter.

Pushing himself onto his knees, his gaze drifted upwards to the miniature altar adorning his desk and wall. The sight of the crosses, their symbolism resonating with an unfamiliar intensity, brought an unexpected wave of tranquility. In that moment, they offered solace beyond anything he could have imagined, a balm to his troubled soul.

~

Latin translation from Google Translate (does not translate directly to what I typed but I lowkey forgot exactly what I typed lol)

“Closed from the abyss, a creature of hellish origin, you emerge. Although the soul is scarred by the shadow, and the mind is in the most terrible decay of the precipice, the heart still shines before the light, as it seems. Answer, bond, what virtue resides in you, what embrace dares to claim redemption?”

[anon-sect]

PART TWO

It was five hours later when Reed returned to his apartment. He had bought several different outfits to go along with his new sneakers he got at a discount price. The one thing he did notice was that he feet felt so heavenly the entire time he wore his new sneakers. No pair of sneakers had ever produced such comfort for his feet. He took them off and placed them under his bed.

Jake was so relieved to be off feet. He could tell the insides of his sneaker body were starting to smell like the pair of socks that were constantly crushing his face. To make matters a little worse, his insole face was slowly conforming to the contours of the guy's feet. At least he knew the guys name as Reed, from the conversation he could hear when he and his friends were talking. But it was now time to plan his escape back to his humanity. He had been footwear long enough. He tried to change back, but nothing happened. Tried as hard as he could, but every attempt failed. He saw only a glimpse of light for his perspective. He realized he was in a confined space. He would have to wait for another opportunity to transform back unnoticed.

The next morning, Reed decided to wear his new sneakers for his daily five mile jog. He normally would use his workout sneakers, but his new AND1s were so comfortable yesterday after being on his feet for hours. He wanted to test them on a five mile jog.

Jake finally saw bright light, only for it to be snuffed out with a white socked feet that secured themselves in his sneaker bodies. The good thing was that the socks had a fresh smell to them. He was unsure of what was about to happen.

Jake found what adventure awaited him as the constant pressure was different from yesterday. It felt like he was running. He knew exactly what would happen to him now. The socks would sweat, and there would be a strong foot odor once more. He mentally begged for mercy but knew there was no way for Reed to know what he was doing to him. To him, Jake looked like regular sneakers.

One mile into his jog, Reed was so amazed. His feet felt no fatigue or pain. The level of comfort coming from the insoles felt like he was running on fluffy pillows. And like massaging his feet at the same time. He really had never encountered such sneakers as these. He really began to wonder about them. They weren't feeling like normal footwear should, even though there was no complaints about the comfort he was getting.

By the time Reed had returned from his jog, Jake's insole face was soaked with sweat from the socks. The odor of Reed's feet had saturated every part of the insides of the sneakers. His insole face had fully contoured to perfectly match Reed's feet. He wanted to end this shoe nightmare as soon as possible. At this point, he didn't care he he got caught with his secret known. He would tell Reed his complete story on how he was trying to elud a stalker only to end up being bought by him at a department store in the mall.

After Reed had removed him off his feet, Jake saw this as the perfect opportunity to transform back and get back to normal life. He watched as Reed left to go shower. The time was just perfect. He thought about his human form. But something happened or didn't happen. Try as he might, he could not return to humanform. This was a first for him. Every attempt ended in failure. It was then that he knew why. All that sweat and conformity was preventing him temporarily from transforming back. It was impossible for him to turn back, at least for now. He was truly stuck temporarily as Reed's sneakers.

For the next four months, Jake was subjected to the normal abuse sneakers take from their owners. He was used for more than just workout sessions. Reed nearly used him every day. He would get a day off at times, and placed under Reed's bed. He rather enjoyed the breaks from being wrapped around his owner's feet. But soon it was back to the torture of Reed using him without mercy. Treated like normal footwear completely unaware.

Reed took a good look at his AND1s. They still looked in perfect condition four months later. And they still felt the same as the first day he bought them. Normally, insoles wear down over time, but these didn't. He wished he could find more shoes like these. He definitely was glad he found them on the mall department store that day.

One day, Reed came back to his room to find some stranger on his floor. He wondered how the stranger got past him and into his room without him knowing. "Who are you?" He asked with his cellphone phone in hand, ready to call the police.

Jake got to his knees. "Please don't call the police, Reed. I can fully explain everything." He saw a confused look on Reed's face. "How do you know my name?" He heard him ask. Jake expected that question.

Reed was surprised and confused. The stranger knew his name like he was familiar with him.

"Some months ago, you came looking for a pair of AND1s in your shoe size, but couldn't find any till you spotted a pair on the floor without a price tag. Since there was no price tag, the store manager sold you the sneakers at close to half price. " Jake paused as the next part would sound impossible to Reed. "I was trying to elud my stalker, so I turned into a pair of size fourteen AND1s on the floor. My stalker did find me, but he didn't realize that I was the sneakers on the floor. After he left, you arrived in the area. I didn't want to expose my secret, so I stayed in sneaker form. I have been trying to transform back. It just took this long." Jake finished his tale of how he was found in Reed's room.

Reed heard the fantastic tale the stranger weaved. But something did catch his attention about his story. He knew about the shoes being sold half price because there was no price tag. He needed further proof that the stranger wasn't lying to him about being a pair of sneakers. "If your tale is true, what was the full price, and how much did I buy you for?" He asked.

"Full price was $32.99, but you paid $15.00" Jake responded. He could not forget that part. The fact that he was literally sold like a common object was a bit morbid to him. He was just ready to go home and back to normal life.

Reed realized the stranger was telling the full truth. He now sees why the sneakers were so different. The shoes he has been wearing for the past four months were really a person who turned himself into sneakers. "Why didn't you turn back sooner, and what's your name?" He asked. He was getting a devious idea in his mind.

"Name is Jake. The times I was in confined spaces and the fact that your foot sweat and constantly conform my insole face to your feet prevented me from doing so earlier. Not to mention the stinky behind socks you stuffed into me, sometimes overnight. As you wore me, I could not transform back. All these factors. But at least I finally was able to do so." Jake spoke, getting to his feet, a little relieved the cops weren't going to be called.

Reed had no intention of letting his special shoes leave so soon. He knew he had to trick him into being sneakers again. "I don't believe you. I am calling the police." He spoke, pressing the number for 911 in his phone. "Please don't, I beg of you." Jake pleaded. "Prove to me that you was a pair of AND1s, or you can explain your story to the cops." Reed demanded, with his finger ready to dial.

Jake saw no other option. He didn't want to go to jail. He thought about the sneakers in size fourteen. Instantly, he was back on the floor as a pair of sneakers. He realized he made a critical mistake, but he was already too late to stop Reed.

Reed quickly grabbed the sneakers off the bedroom floor. He found a pair of stinky dirty socks on the floor and stuffed them inside both sneakers. He knew this would prevent him from transforming back. "You were the best pair of sneakers I ever bought and I simply can't let you leave so soon. Besides I paid for you, so technically you are my property legally even though I didn't know my shoes were a person at the time." Reed paused as he continued to speak to his special footwear. "Now that I know how to keep you as footwear, better get used to your new life." He finished and placed them under his bed to further trap Jake in shoe form. He went back to what he was doing previously.

Jake felt like a fool revealing how to trap him. Reed now truly owned him. There was no way he was getting his humanity back unless Reed made a mistake. But that was doubtful. Reed liked his AND1s, and he wasn't going to let them go, even if they were a person.

[yamisnuffles]

nothing i can come up with right now has the subtle touch that makes all your aus so good, so you're gonna get what you're gonna get, and maybe i'll send another later lmao. so same question i just answered: what would an ascian or unsundered azem au look like?

Okay, so, for Ascian Azem to make sense for me, she would have to have in this universe gone along with the Zodiark plan because I still hold that they were to some extent tempered. Also, she would need to be Sundered still, to keep that time loop.

So, starting with that base:

She would be a bit broken before the Sundering even happened. It would break something in her to give up on finding another way. Doubly so when Hyth sacrifices himself. That said, I think Hyth telling her and Emet his plan is what would have swayed her in the first place. With Emet so adamant about the Zodiark plan and Hyth literally offering up his life to see it through, she could have in some universe decided she couldn't turn on both of them. It would very much destroy some part of her to do so, though.

When the Sundering happens, what bright, flaming light was left in her would be snuffed out. When she had her memories restored, she'd have instant, crushing regret that she hadn't tried to find another way. She'd be certain that things would have ended differently if she had (even though she'd be wrong there). This would result in her becoming withdrawn. Depressed. I think it would take a long time for her to snap out of that. Perhaps that's what leads to her death a few times with different shards.

Eventually it would be too much. To still have Emet but see him changed every time she's restored would crush her and she would see it as another failure on her part. It was already too late for Elidibus and she'd never been on the best terms with Lahabrea but if she'd pulled herself together sooner, maybe she could have at least kept Hades. So she would leave. Go her own way and hop from body to body as needed when one passed awa. Belatedly try to find a different plan.

She would spend a long time on her own. From time to time, Emet would try to get her back for personal reasons and Elidibus for the good of the plan, but she would rebuff both. That said, she wouldn't do anything to interfere with their plans for the Rejoining. She would still long for Zodiark's return and, with him, hopefully Hyth. Also, like Emet, I think she would be determined to hold onto her original, unsundered appearance.

Eventually, after thousands of lifetime's of failures, I think she'd go back to Emet's side. By this point, they'd have sort of swapped places in the relationship, with him the bringer of chaos and her the weary, hard working one. What finally snaps her out of all of this would be the modern day warrior of light. In Aubrey, she would see a mirror of much of who she had once been. Still so alive and full of so much fire and love despite everything, it would be enough for her to see hope. They would fight so that Azem could see if she actually had what it would take to overcome the Final Days when they returned. Upon defeat, with classic chaotic style, she would offer her soul up so that Aubrey could be empowered.

So there you have it. It would be complete with lots of tragic attempts by Emet for them to have what they once did (and for her to sometimes try as well). Lots of them regretting what the other had become and Emet convinced any shard he'd restored had just come back wrong. In the end, things would be about like canon, except that Emet would have an extra streak of "Why YOU" with Aubrey (as would Elidibus, but in a different flavor).

[lunarcovehq]

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, WILLIAM HAWTHORNE

GENDER/PRONOUNS: CIS Male, He/Him

DATE OF BIRTH: September 25th, 1991

OCCUPATION: Firefighter

RESIDENCY: Downtown

FACECLAIM: Aaron Taylor-Johnson

IF I DIE YOUNG

SPECIES: Witch

INHERENT ABILITIES: Familiar Manifestation, Healing, Water Manipulation

COVEN POSITION: Member

COVEN ABILITY: Animal Telepathy

LAY ME DOWN IN A BED OF ROSES

Trigger Warnings:

Will would be the first to admit that he's had a good life. He was lucky enough to be raised in a loving household and one of the few people on Earth who can say they've known their best friend since the day they were born. From the moment they babbled their first words, their fathers would say that the twins were like fire and water--and oh how true those words would turn out to be. Where his sister burned bright and fast, Will was slow and steady. Like a river cutting through rock, he seemed to flow effortlessly through life, brushing past every obstacle. Prom King, captain of the football team, and friends with everyone he met, Will was the center of attention everywhere but at home.

His dads were never neglectful, of course; they hung his straight A's proudly on the fridge and showed up each week to his games. He never had to wonder if they were proud of him--they always made sure to tell him that they were--but there was no denying that they were distracted. Between her fires raging throughout town and the phone-calls from the principle's office, Reese kept their fathers busy, and Will quickly learned--though no one ever said it to him outright--that it was his job to be "the easy one," the one they didn't have to worry about. He was the one who never got in trouble, who never broke the rules, the one who never had a bad day and never needed help.

When graduation came around, Will was accepted into every college he applied to--and he had thrown his net wide, from New York to California. Perhaps he just wanted to see if he could do it; maybe a small part of him even wanted what those schools promised: a chance to explore the world beyond the borders of their little town, to see what he could make of himself if he dared to venture out alone. But in the end, he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave his parents--and most importantly, his sister--behind. So he hid the acceptance letters, told his family he'd been rejected, and instead, he enrolled in the Lunar Cove fire academy. It seemed the right fit. After all, he'd been snuffing out his sister's fires for as long as she'd been lighting them, and his abilities to heal injuries and manipulate water almost made the job too easy.

Lunar Cove had always been his home, and by now, he knew it always would be. Just as he'd thrown himself into every facet of school life, he did the same in town. He joined the coven, volunteered each weekend, and made friends across species. It was a simple life, but it was his. The only thing missing was someone to share it with. Seeing just how in love their fathers were--the picture perfect marriage--Will longed for a relationship just like theirs. Where his sister flittered from relationship to relationship, terrified of being stagnant, Will wanted nothing more than to settle down, to find a partner of his own. He wanted the full picture: a house he built with his own two hands and the pitter-pattering of little feet as his family grew. But that life hasn't come yet. For now, he's living in a little apartment in Downtown, and the only pitter-pattering feet are those of his familiar: a large German Shepard he's named Stacey...and the dozen or so other animals he's let take shelter in his apartment since developing the ability to telepathically communicate with them.

[kujiua-kun]

[Moomins FC || In the caves...]

I hate doing painted backgrounds...

I wanted to make a sorta fake screencap featuring my FC and semi-self-insert Lily/Layla.

I already plan on making a full ref and bio for her, so her appearance may change a bit.

But for now, take this mini-story (under the cut, also I wrote this on the fly, so I apologize if it's shit)!

"So what happened Snufkin?"

Moomin asked excitedly, for Snufkin had finally made it back to the valley, after his latest journey.

"Well, I came across a village that was built right on the water!"

"On the water?" asked Moominmama

"Yes! The houses doubled as boats." He said as he took out a small box from his bag.

Everyone looked at the wanderer in awe, except for Sniff who looked worried.

"That sounds scary! What if it floods!?"

Snuf took a quick puff of his pipe before speaking.

"Apparently they've never experienced a flood. They say their village is protected by a goddess of sorts."

He took another puff.

"They called her 'The Mother of the Sea', supposedly she controls all the water, from the small streams to the biggest ocean, and she brings good fortune to those who praise her. "

Before anyone could say another word, Snufkin opened the small box. Inside was a pile of shimmering stones, that filled the room with a blueish glow.

"And I was given these as a parting gift-"

"Diamonds!?" Sniff yelled in excitement.

The mumurik chuckled and nodded his head.

"No, They called them 'Aquirio', the man who gave them to me said they actually form when water gets trapped in clear quartz. "

Sniff's face shifted to a frown, Moominmama walked over and patted him on the back.

"Well even if they aren't diamonds, they're beautiful!"

She said picking one up.

"And, I think they'd look lovely in my garden,"

she said as she turned the stone around watching the water slosh inside.

"Snufkin do you know if you can get anymore?"

She asked.

Snufkin simply shrugged.

"I wouldn't know, the man who gave me these said they formed deep in a cave, and that no one goes in there anymore."

Moominmama looked over a bit confused.

"Why not?" she asked, her head slightly cocked.

"Rumors say it's protected by a 'siren'."

"Siren?" everyone seemed to ask in unison.

Everyone except Moominpapa that is.

"I've heard of those things," He said sounding agitated.

"Nasty creatures! They lure in sailors with their songs, promising them their heart's desire, before sinking their ships and drowning them!"

Everyone's face shifted into one of fear. However, Snufkin still had his usual calm expression painted on his face.

"I actually walked by the cave to see if there was anything,"

"You did!?" Said Moomin.

"Yes, and while I was there I heard a voice singing, it was coming from inside, so...I walked in."

"Oh, my goodness..." Moominmama said a frightened expression plastered on her face.

"As I walked further, I noticed some bright lights shining in the distance. When I was close enough to who was singing, I saw...a girl- "

Everyone was hanging on his every word, staring at him, wondering what would happen next.

"She didn't look how I expected. She had these big black eyes, Bright blue hair, and a shiny light dangling from her forehead. When I got closer she swam away, I wanted to go after her, but the water was already pretty deep, and I dared not go any further."

[jotunkhiicha]

My ragtag group of mercenaries… my babies 🥰✨

This is a long one with 2,205 words!

“𝐴𝑐𝑡 𝐼, 𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒 2: 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑎/𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑚.”

Sunlight spills from between the cracks in the blinds in her office, daring to weave through her locks and drown her visage in light. In many ways, the sun is her antithesis; she sulks about in the shadows, dances along the edge of danger under the cover of darkness, but this mission—this recon chore—she is being sent on, she’d be thrust into the light like a sculpture placed under bright, blinding, lights to be marvelled at.

What are they thinking?

It seems off, this entire mission; like a farce, a grand and elaborate plan that she has been cast to act out. The notion makes her uneasy, more so than she would, ordinarily, be. She feels their strings, the fierce tug that pulls her around in many directions, forever bound to the wax and wane of men who dream of being the ones who snuffed out the darkness and bathed the world in light. She ponders the nature of her life, the reason she sat here, in this dingy office that is no more home than a cell of concrete, and how she came to be.

If this mission really has something to do with Evelynne, is there a chance that she lives, free from Wesker’s chains that seemed so much like a gentle hold?

There are three, gentle, knocks at her office door that rouse her from her stupor.

“Boss? It’s me.” A gruff voice, one that’s born from rocks grinding against one another in a larynx, slithers from behind the frosted glass.

She recognises that voice from anywhere—Antonio Bucker.

“Come in.” Rosalyn muses with a light tone, her Italian rasp not truly lost when she wistfully murmurs.

Gently, or at least as gently as he can possibly muster, Antonio eeks through the door with a sheepish smile, a small part of him is apologetic for having disturbed her deep thought and the ramblings of her mind.

In many ways, Antonio is the softest person in her squad, despite being the most intimidating by far in terms of appearance. His upper body is built for strength, pure and unbridled muscle that can break through almost anything and be a shield for the others behind him, and he uses his frame for just that. His hair is a dark brown with a few grey hairs, salt and pepper hair, she recalls it being described as. While he cares little for what others think of his apparel, he does take care of his beard, trimming it so dutifully that it looks near pristine—near perfect, dare she say; something he probably does for his wife, and no other.

He’s dedicated to few things; his wife, a bottle of expensive brandy is somewhere close to the top, and his team. A few of his scars that litter his body like the grooves on a map, or the Braille that communicate the words of the world to those who cannot read them, have been from being that barrier between enemies and his team; Rosalyn regrets this fact deeply, apologising to his wife whenever she can but she shakes her off, noting that her Antonio has always been like this.

“Sorry for bargin’ in like this, boss.” He apologises, his tone heavy with the tilt of guilt, “You alright?”

Rosalyn laughs dismissively at him, waving a hand in his direction that tells him to cut it out. “You worry too much,” She shakes her head with a humble smile, calming his jittery nerves as he stiffly stands in her doorway, “I’m okay, you?” She leans back and gives him her full attention, her emerald eyes like two glistening gems that shine in the morning light.

Like this, with her dark brown hair spilling across her shoulders like a fated waterfall, Antonio is struck by how beautiful she is; she could’ve easily become a model, someone his wife would fawn over at dusk with magazines on their coffee table but, here she is, in a veritable hell. How did she come to be here, sat across from him, leading a ragtag group of operatives who were too outlandish for most others to handle?

He supposes it takes one to know one, as they say.

“I’m good. How’s the Kennedy boy behaving?” Antonio drawls as he slips into place opposite her, folding his arms and his biceps flex at the motion, barely able to fit beneath that white leather jacket he wears.

Rosalyn shrugs. “Oh, you know, same as usual,” She hums and hooks a pen from her pot to resume her report on their previous mission, “How’s Penelope doing?”

He shrugs. “Oh, you know, same as usual,” He parrots back with a mischievous grin; he’d met her evasion with repetition, “It’s our anniversary smack bang in the middle of this mission so, I don’t think she’s all too happy about that.”

“Buy her some flowers. She’ll like that.”

“Think she’d prefer my head on a silver platter.”

“Oh hush, Antonio,” She chides playfully, “She won’t stay mad at you long, no one can. Just put in a bit of effort and I’m sure it’ll be fine. Take her somewhere nice after, on me.”

He huffs, his firm features looking so bleak at that notion. “After... right.”

Rosalyn tilts her head and sets down her pen, turning her focus back to his scattered gaze. “Something’s bothering you about this mission.”

It was a statement; it wasn’t a question. There was no doubt about it, Antonio has never been good at playing poker; he holds his cards out for others to read and pluck, he wears his heart on his sleeve and she could see the weariness that sagged his shoulders. That was the thing with Rosalyn, she could read her team as simply as one might read the headlines—especially Antonio—so what did he think he could possibly hide from her? Did he even want to, to begin with?

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “We know fuck all about this, Boss. It stinks. It stinks like a babe’s first shit. It reeks.”

Eloquent as well, she notes.

She sighs exasperatingly, unsure of whether she wants to dance around the landmines of his ire and, much less, her own conspiracies that are a horrific tint to all she has seen. The two of them have always been staunch allies; where she went, he followed, pistol and combat knife in tow. They are two peas in a pod, perhaps that’s why he’s come into her office, away from the ears of the others and is still keeping his voice measured, quiet enough that the others cannot hear, but loud enough that she can grasp the weight of his words.

“It certainly does, doesn’t it?” She glances out to the wider office outside of hers and spots Elouise turning some medical supplies over in her hands while Isabella reclines in her chair, with her feet on her desk, vaping, “What about it bothers you?” She asks, wondering if it’s the same things that irk her, the same things that niggle at her mind and leave an entrance for doubt to seep into her foundations.

“The fact they won’t tell us anything. All we know is that we’ve got to retrieve something, so why are they sending us, of all squads, to get it? They trust us about as far as they can throw us.”

 “It’s not like you trust them very much either, Antonio.”

“Not after that Baker incident, not after anything. They’re rats and I reckon they’re weeding out people like us to make their lives easier.” He hisses.

She widens her eyes at his brash insubordination. Any other operative under any other superiors haze would’ve been suspended right then and there for that, he would’ve faced the BSAA’s full wrath for such comments. Part of her knows, the piece on the leash, knows that she should scold him for such an outburst, but that would be uncharacteristic of her.

And how can she punish him when she thinks the exact same thing?

“I agree, but be mindful where you talk about it,” She warns, gesturing with her finger to the ceiling where there is a spherical camera, “They could be listening. You’re lucky Kiran disabled the audio for these cameras ages ago.”

Antonio follows her gaze. “My bad.”

“It’s fine. We’re safe here. Do you think the others feel the same?”

He shrugs. “Maybe Kiran. I don’t know about Bella or Elouise, though she doesn’t really trust people to begin with.”

She hums in approval and settles for looking at the space outside her office, trying to gauge her team’s faces and she spots Kiran, eyeballing them through the white blinds.

Walking over to the window, Rosalyn taps her nail on the glass and the team sit upright, their gazes snapping to her office window. Once all eyes are on her, she gestures for them to come into her office with her index finger, enticing them in like fish to her lure.

Antonio looks between the window and Rosalyn as the others approach, sheepishly and sparring glances to one another, murmuring to each other. “Boss?”

She turns to the door and folds her arms, watching as Elouise pushes the door open, her heterochromia eyes hesitantly searching her superior’s for an answer.

“Is... everything okay?” She mutters, her tone unsure as she steps into the room, making way for Isabella and Kiran, “You don’t usually call us all in here.”

It’s true. When Rosalyn has briefed the team before, it was usually in the armoury, at brunch or on the way to their mission in a cramped jeep, shoulders pressed impossibility close to one another that they blend together and the acrid smell of sweat burns in their nostrils.

Isabella laughs and puts a hand on her hip. “Maybe ‘cause there’s hardly room for us all with Antonio here.” She jokes as she shoves his shoulder to prove her point, a playful tilt in her tone to belie the unease in the room.

Isabella never liked the politics of guilt or fear, never enjoyed the idea of her life, as she knew it, coming apart. She prefers to dance around these heavier issues, never once setting foot in the barbed terrain of life and remaining distant from it whilst desperately trying to cling to it; this team was the closest thing she had to family, she didn’t want to lose it.

“Harr-harr.” Antonio flatly drawls.

“Seriously though,” Elouise interjects, stepping closer and pressing the issue further, “Why?”

The small office becomes impossibly smaller as they look at one another, wondering if she’ll break the silence. She mulls over her words, wondering if she should stroke the flame of their paranoia by confirming her own burning bridges.

Until the silence becomes all too much and she’s overcome by it, allowing it to speak for her.

“She probably wants to gauge if we trust the top brass, what with that lacklustre brief and all.” Kiran’s cool and aloof tone breaks the silence as he cuts to the heart of the matter.

Isabella widens her eyes and turns to him. “What? You also got a redacted version?” She glances to Rosalyn and sees her exasperated expression, “I thought that was just me.”

Shaking her head, Rosalyn walks around to the front of her desk, resting back against it as she folds her arms. “No. We all got the same brief, or lack thereof, and it sounds like we all find that a bit strange.”

Elouise shrugs. “You know what they’re like,” She sighs, “Never want to reveal too much to their ‘rogues’, after all.” She emphasises her point by making quotation gestures with her fingers.

“Think they’re trying to get rid of us?” Isabella asks, unsure.

“If we go out from a mission, that’s pretty convenient for them.” Elouise counters, “Makes it easier than firing us.”

Isabella sighs. “Certainly cheaper.”

“Alright,” Rosalyn nods, “Seems we’re all on the same page.”

“Yeah. We are. What’re we going to do about it?” Antonio asks, moving to stand.

The Italian taps her foot. “We go ahead as we normally would.”

Kiran furrows his brows. “What? But we all just agreed we think that they’re trying to get rid of us?”

“I know, but there’s something more to this—more than just the removal of our squad,” Turning to him, she meets his sapphire orbs with a firm stance, “Kiran, I want you to try find out more; find who drafted that brief and who assigned it to us. I want to know who is sending us on this mission.”

The red haired shakes her head. “The mission is in two days; that’s not enough time to find that all out.”

“That’s not something you need to worry about,” She bites back, “Other than that, we continue on as normal.”

Isabella widens her eyes as it hits her. “You want to use the plan to drop off the grid? What about your husband, he’s the president’s best friend. If you die, he’s going to ask questions.”

Rosalyn smiles and Kiran whistles as he catches on to the thought she lets go.

“She’s banking on it.”

The blonde applauds and can barely hide her grin. “Classy.”

[xxdemonicheartxx]

DOGMA CHOIR SERIES

A flightrising lore post

Ch 1. Nimue, The Sundrop of Life

check out the freaks(\affectionate) here

Living in the Shifting Expanse is already.... strange. The heat lightning, the endless amount of fulgurite, the way your path slithers and shifts right in front of you and the stars are a concept never seen lest you risk the thin atmosphere beyond the endless storms.

The Ivory Eye Tribe is a well established clan of dragons that span loosely across the whole territory, more so passive aid than any aggressive conquerors. Their most well noted locations of occupation are the Wiretangle Walk, embedded deep into the stone formations, threaded quietly within the Carrion Canyon within pueblos shared generously with beastclan flocks and a lone monolith of stone in the Charged Barrens.

Rikke and Wayward oversee the shifting expanse and help often so long as you can teach them something new or share something wildly unique, their price is always absurd but cheap. The strange is valued amid this troupe.

-

And strange had found them. On a particularly hot and windy night, shutters closed, doors shut and tarps hung over belongings to keep the sand away did something truly bizarre arrive. The blackened night, humming with heat lightning, lit up brilliantly like the day, a glittering streak plummeting into the Charged Barrens before snuffing out. the night silent once again. The outpost known as "The Old Gardens Tearoom" in the Barrens was about three to five miles away from ground zero, the head of the post, SlateLip, an aged and grey coatl, roused her companions before taking wing to the impact site.

In a glass impact crater was some burning substance that had smelted the sands and shattered it, sliding down to the core of the fragile bowl, SlateLip approached the mass. The heat was radiant, once her eyes adjusted to the warm glow could she see bright orange feathers glowing like hot steel, sparks flying harmlessly in the immediate area. Nudging the mass of embers carefully, proved this creature to be flesh and bone, and warm like the sun.

However its voices proved disorienting as it lifted itself slowly, shakily, ready to crumple. SlateLip being a mother, grandmother, matron, and mentor put her much larger body to its side and held it up without thinking. Ot at least under its wing where its side should've been. There was no body to be seen, but it could be felt.

"Are you injured? Can you walk? Let me help you" SlateLip's crackly voice cooed to the individual, laced with worry. She had seen things that came from the Forbidden Portal and knew this was not some dangerous rift jumper.

Numerous voices all spoke at once, no less than three at a time "I am..... tired..." "Well, sweetheart is it okay for me to carry you?" "...please"

Dozens of eyes manifest and look to SlateLip. orange, watery, scared. SlateLip would've been terrified too if she wasn't so worried for this individual. She crouches her feathery body low and helps nudge the mass of heat and light and eyes onto her shoulders, under her wings. The warmth sinking into her feathers, soothing old aches.

Hours later, arriving back to the Tearoom enters the old dragon. Greeted by Rikke, Wayward, Gelerox, and even Haren. The ruckus of the meteor was noted by the whole tribe and its main figureheads were all present.

"SlateLip, love, are you well?" Rikke's motherly voice speaks first, soft and filled with concern. Her massive antlered head bumps against SlateLip's gently in a caring greeting.

"I am well, but I fear for our guest"

"I see no visitors in your establishment, feathered kin." Gelerox, Rikke's mate, was gruff always, but SlateLip knew he was concerned, she hummed in coatl to him her reassurances and he relaxes visibly with a soft nod.

Lifting her wings like a mother swan, she reveals the living heap of burning coals, letting it spill into the surplus of cushions found in the Tearoom for its guests. A collective silence gathers over the group.

"What..." Haren starts, her withered voice creaking from deep in her chest "Who" SlateLip corrects softly "..Who.... who did you find?" "I haven't learned their name yet," SlateLip nudges the shimmering individual, "sweetheart, wake up for me... do you have a name?"

There's a pause as some of its eyes appear, opening blearily. Theres a heat shimmer where a body would be.

"Nimue." It's voices ring in unison,sounding like a choir or some vast machine.

The candles in the room flair to life, shimmering brightly in response to the name being spoken by its owner. The dragons all shift as they feel the power of the name welling in their scales and humming behind their teeth. Haren crumples into a reverent bow with a hushed gasp.

Rikke, Wayward and Gelerox all note this shift from their scholar.

"Haren. Who did we find...." Wayward's voice croaks out, knowing the enormous ridgeback's stubborn nature bends to very, very few. Her four dark eyes boring into the clan's director with a tense anxiety.

-

"An angel... Nimue, the Radiant Healer"