#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.

[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.

- Paring: 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.”

[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!

[randomwriteronline]

Not in a million years would Melli have meant to slip it out like that, so naturally, so nonchalantly. He would rather have kept it to himself for the rest of eternity, or if he'd ever changed his mind he would have liked it to have the appropriate amount of flare and stone cold stalwartness as it deserved - though anything that wouldn't have been a broken whisper would have done.

But instead, because Ingo had held out a hand to catch his own as he helped him down a steeper step down the mountainside, and the gesture had been kind despite the fact they were arguing, he simply conceded with a frown: "At least you know how to treat a lady."

Then he bit his tongue; but the damage was already done.

Ingo looked at him, stone faced as always if with a glint of surprise in his eyes.

"Ah," he noted simply, with a slight apprehension: "Pardon me, I am worried my memory might have once again failed me. Have you shared this information with me beforehand?"

Melli shook his head.

"I see! That's a relief. I feared you might have mentioned that already and unbeknownst to myself I had kept on employing wrong terms when speaking of you."

The words made the Diamond's danger sense perk up, and he hastily asked: "What wrong terms?"

"Mister, sir, man, he, him, and the such," Ingo helpfully replied.

Oh.

General terms.

Still, Melli gave him a deep, haughty frown: "I never said I wasn't ‘him’," he hissed, "For your information."

"I understand! I do agree I should have asked instead of assumed. Thank you for correcting me," the other responded without even a flinch, or a gawk, or a doubtful grimace, or a shake his head in disbelief, or a few hasty blinks as he had to do a double take just to make sure he had heard him correctly.

His tranquility somehow only worsened the antsy mood Electrode's warden found himself trapped in. He lifted his chin high with as scornful a look as he could muster: "I wasn't planning on telling you either way," he scoffed: "But since you tricked me into doing so I better hope you won't have the bright idea of sharing that with any of your folk, or I'll have my Lord zap the breath out of your lungs!"

"I had no intention of pushing you to reveal such a vulnerable part of yourself," Ingo replied apologetically, "But do not fret: I shall endeavor to protect your privacy and keep it to myself."

Melli's solemn nod branded his response with a seal of approval.

Of course, Sneasler’s warden had to ruin that by adding: “Much like I would like you to endeavor not to undo my hard work and keep yourself from snuffing out my torches.”

The tentative calm was shattered in an instant as the woman angrily replied: “Well! Maybe I wouldn’t bother you so much if you just stopped doing that! The Pokémon don’t like the light, I’ve told you!”

“Yes, and you are perfectly right in saying so, Miss Melli!” (and in a moment the animosity was once again blown up with a loud poof!, leaving the lilac haired head to be gently swarmed with a pleasant shapeless feeling very similar to euphoric joy) “But while the species residing in such an environment have long developed methods to orient themselves in the dark, humans can only count on their sight to do so, which is greatly impeded by the lack of any light source. I understand the sudden change might be jarring for the Pokémon themselves, but in the long run it might be safer for them as well as ourselves if passing commuters do not stumble directly into their jaws because they could not see them.”

The side effect of having a mind unclouded by petty hatred was that this time Melli actually did listen to whatever was being said to him instead of automatically deciding against it.

That strange positive feeling still had him ensnared in its gentle grip, causing him to twirl the tips of his silky hair as a kinder mood had him twist his mouth and admit: “That’s… A fair point. But then how would you suppose to fix that, hm?”

“Through a collaboration, perhaps.” Ingo offered: “I unfortunately lack the additional years of experience on the territory that you have, since you’ve been a warden longer than I have. If you would agree to work with me, I’m certain we would have little trouble devising effective routes through the various caves in the Highlands that would both guide commuters safely out of them and make sure the wellbeing and comfort of resident Pokémon is maintained.”

“An acceptable proposal,” Melli nodded, his good mood slowly passing but still unclouding his pompous mind enough to actually hear the man out.

“I’m glad you think so! Perhaps we could start right away, tomorrow morning.”

“Not a chance,” the woman quickly stopped him: “I need to leave the Highlands for a couple of days. You people Pearls love your space, I get it, but I cannot be in two places at once, now can I? And don’t you even try putting up torches while I’m gone! I’ll take it all back!”

Ingo hummed thoughtfully: “By when would you plan to be back, Miss?”

A smile lit the other warden’s face right up: “In two days,” he replied much more amiably, giddy once again, “I’ll be here by midday.”

“Then I suppose your request to keep the caves unlit is reasonable, though it pains me to leave them lacking proper lighting,” the man nodded. “If your return had been delayed for even just a day longer, I fear I would have had to disobey your orders to ensure the safety of potential passengers. I shall simply accompany them through instead.”

“Hm! I guess it would have been fair,” Melli conceded.

It took maybe less than a moment to properly realize he had just agreed with the other, but even despite the minuscule amount of time that had passed the damage had been done; so he stiffened slightly again, shook his head, held his chin high so he wouldn’t have to look at Ingo’s shit-eating grin (or at least at what he was certain was a shit-eating grin, which it wasn’t, because Ingo was not a man who made such faces due to his struggling expressivity, plus he was honestly just glad they had gotten an agreement) and huffed.

“I better go!” he announced. “Lord Electrode needs me before I leave. Don’t slow me down.”

“I would hate to do so,” Sneasler’s warden reassured him, and kindly tipped his hat: “Have a safe trip, Miss Melli.”

He could not see Melli’s face as he left, since he turned away very quickly and marched off as fast as he could; but if he had, he would have seen the biggest smile on the woman’s face, and he probably would have even heard the joyful thundering beat of his heart as it hammered away in his chest with pure mirth.

-

“I’m a miss,” Melli gloated.

Adaman raised an eyebrow at him: “Hm?”

“I’m a miss, now,” his sister repeated. The hand on his chest was full of pride. “Ingo’s called me ‘Miss Melli’.”

“Ingo knows?”

“I didn’t mean to tell him, but I did, and it’s fine either way because he’s been very nice about it. He calls me ‘Miss Melli’, now.”

The leader hummed, smiling slightly: “That’s Galarian, isn’t it?”

Melli nodded.

“And how do you know it’s not an insult?”

At that the warden turned sharply to shoot a venomous glare straight at him: “It’s not!”

“Oh? You know Galarian?”

“I know it’s not an insult! Ingo wouldn’t do that! He’s too nice!”

“And how are you sure? Have you been…” and at that Adaman grinned mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows: “Fraternizing with him?”

Seeing his sister’s face turn beet red was absolutely priceless. He laughed at his fuming anger, shielding his face with an arm when he seemed about to be getting a whole faceful of kindling wood thrown at himself.

“I am not fraternizing!” Melli hissed: “He’s just around all the time!”

“Stop playing!” Mai yelled at them before going back to preparing the pyre for the evening.

Her younger sister whined back at her: “He’s being mean to me!”

It was, however, Iscan who came to his aid - as he always did, of course.

Their cousin’s unmistakable wavy hairline peeked out from beneath a discrete amount of fish he was gutting exceptionally quickly: “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Adaman cackled, “Melli’s just been fraternizing with the weird old man Ingo.”

“I’m not!” Melli shrieked: “He’s just being nice! Unlike you!”

“Calm down now,” Iscan soothed him, “What happened exactly?”

The Highland warden sighed: “My tongue slipped because of his good manners.”

“His good manners?” his brother echoed.

Iscan masterfully redirected the attention back on himself before another squabble could begin: “Oh? You told him?”

“Yes! And now he calls me ‘Miss Melli’,” and he smiled brilliantly for a moment, face lighting up with genuine euphoria, before side-eyeing his grinning brother with piqued disdain as he clarified: “Because he’s being nice, and not because I’m fraternizing with him.”

His cousin smiled at that: “Ah, that’s good to know. He did strike me as a kind fellow.”

“I still think it’s an insult,” Adaman commented.

He ducked to evade a branch smacking his nose right off.

Fed up with his cackling, Melli stormed off stomping his feet to help Mai and Arezu instead, mumbling angrily about how he should have gone with them to begin with, since ladies don’t usually make fools out of fellow ladies - which was wholly untrue, especially in the case of Arezu who had that annoying habit of gossiping about everything and everyone at their expense, but it is worth pointing out that neither of the other female wardens made fun of him as much and as obnoxiously as their leader currently was.

Even Iscan gave him a gently disapproving look as he went right back to deboning Barboach.

His leader raised his shoulders as he still chuckled: “What!” he laughed, “You never know! Maybe he’s calling him a tramp behind his back.”

“Come on now, let him have this,” the warden replied: “You’ve met the man before, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know that warden’s not one to do something as mean as that. Melli’s just too much fun to watch him when he’s angry like that.”

“I bet he thinks the same of you.”

At that, Adaman groaned: “Oh, I know he does. He’s been doing that for years now. I bet he thinks it’s hilarious.”

“And do you want to stoop to that level and bicker like kids until the end of time?”

A huff: “No…”

“Then let that poor girl keep his bubble of happiness just this once,” Iscan concluded, satisfied, and threw away the bones in a neat pile by himself.

The younger man also momentarily dropped the conversation, going back to work to bring the kindling over to the growing bonfire that would have been lit up that night in celebration of the first half of the year passing. He returned after a short while, however, hands empty and steps as quiet as a Leafeon’s, to sit by his cousin again with a conspiratorial air and a smirk that promised nothing good.

He put his hand to the man’s ear and whispered: “I still think they have something going on.”

Iscan sighed and laughed a little bit: “How about you leave the gossiping to Arezu and help me get dinner ready instead?”

Adaman groaned again.

Much to his cousin’s satisfaction, he picked up a Barboach, a knife, and got to work.

-

Working with Ingo, as it turned out, was actually really easy.

He was very receptive to instructions as well as intuitive when it came to finding fallacies and offering solutions, and while he had his own discrete amount of expertise on caves he was also quite happy to listen to Melli’s inputs and follow them if he judged them better than his own ideas.

It was almost as though the Diamond warden could have benefitted from this pleasant cooperation from the start if he had just pulled his pretty head out of his own ass!

He squashed that thought under his boot, of course.

Especially because, after the first few caves, the woman had noticed something that had started worsening his mood.

Ingo was as polite as ever, helping him down steeper ledges, calling him ‘Miss’, thanking him and all; but he kept avoiding ever meeting Melli’s eyes like the plague, and never dared to look at him for too long. As soon as he wasn’t concentrating on the task at hand he would fix his gaze somewhere else entirely, more often than not turning his whole head away even while talking directly to him, sometimes with a low, almost hesitant voice.

The woman’s mind churned around these details, turning them around angrily in his skull as his thoughts worsened, and his mood together with them. A shadow was cast over his fair face as he brooded in silence, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

It did not help that he felt worse than if it had been anybody else.

Oh, it hurt when somebody treated him like this once they found out, of course it did, and in a way he had always expected one of those blasted Pearls to see him as lesser for it, and had prepared himself so that he could drown their disgust in his roaring assertion of his own exceptionality and myriad of incredible qualities; but when it came to his fellow hermit he could not help but feel like no amount of screaming in a mirror that he was worth just as much as all his sisters and brothers and cousins and clansmen would have soothed the disheartening feeling agitating his chest.

As mentioned, the other warden was very receptive when he wanted to be; so as they both placed the last torch in the path they had both devised, his white eyes turned upwards, towards the scowl darkening in vitriol of his companion, and carefully asked with earnest concern in his voice: “Forgive my indelicacy for asking you so bluntly, Miss, but - may I help with whatever is vexing you?”

His kindness was unfortunately undone as he once again averted Melli’s gaze for a second, and the tall woman snapped at him venomously: “If you were so disgusted by my existence that you couldn’t stomach looking at me, you could have said that earlier!”

Ingo seemed taken aback for a second.

Then he shouted: “AH!” and slapped his face.

He shook his head several times, humming and groaning, playing with his hat as though he was about to smack it on his leg in frustration - a display that confused Melli greatly.

“Forgive me, Miss Melli,” he finally explained guiltily: “I’m afraid my struggle with being visibly expressive has thwarted my relations with others once again. It was not my intention to appear as though I find the sight of you unpleasant – it’s, ah… Forgive me, it is a little embarrassing to bare my thoughts like this. I find it hard to look at you for, well, for the opposite reason, truly.”

“Which would be?”

“I find you to be very beautiful.”

The Diamond stared him down, remaining briefly silent: “I am,” he replied. “You didn’t have any trouble looking at me before.”

“I am very aware of that,” Ingo reassured him, “I did not mean to imply that you were not lovely to behold, that much is very obvious to anybody who is capable of seeing without problems. The matter is simply that, not being attracted to men and mistakenly believing you to be one, I had not been fully exposed to any side effects your looks could have had on me until very recently.”

The harshness in Melli’s expression mellowed slowly, turning his furious frown into a thoughtful neutral look; the tension left his shoulders, his thin hands began playing with the ends of his hair as he reflected on those words. Anger had left him.

In its stead, a slow realization caused a smile to creep onto his face.

He eyed Ingo without a word, fluttering his lashes gently a few times to watch him struggle not to follow his slender finger as he dragged it along his own jaw.

“I see,” he chirped, sweeter than honey: “So it’s because you like me.”

The man looked at him almost in a daze as he slowly processed the words.

His entire face turned completely red in a matter of seconds.

He jerked his head away completely to both pitifully attempt to mask his embarrassment at having his feelings so easily unveiled and avoid deafening the object of his infatuation as he shouted hurriedly: “OH GOODNESS ME WHAT IS THAT MEOWLING SOUND OVER THERE, I DO BELIEVE SNEASLER IS REQUESTING MY PRESENCE POST HASTE I’M AFRAID I MUST ANSWER HER CALL IMMEDIATELY, THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP AND HAVE A GOOD DAY MISS MELLI!”

Then he speeded away, as fast and stiff as a boat with powerful winds in its sail, followed by the beautiful sound of Melli’s unrestrained laughter.

-

Skuntank hadn’t seen his companion so exuberantly happy in quite a while now.

The woman was still cackling at his admirer’s reaction, recounting over and over his accidental confession and subsequent swift departure as he combed his hair through his fingers – a gesture that betrayed how overwhelmingly pleased he was to have learned what a special opinion of him his fellow warden had.

Ingo might have had him wrapped around his little finger with that ‘Miss’, but Melli had him completely bewitched!

Ah, he could see himself already, Electrode’s warden mused, getting out of an argument by flustering him, convincing him to run some errands for him just by batting his lashes, watching him color red and hide behind his hat at a flirt, teasing him endlessly, making him shake just by offering the slightest glimpse of bare skin!

His trusted partner listened without a care, happy to listen to joyful ramblings instead of whining yet again - though he did quickly notice how the fantasies were slowly veering away from simply taking advantage of the man or delighting themselves with making fun of him… Now where had ideas of sharing food, or baths, or kisses come from? What exactly would his mistress have gained from it in terms of amusement or favors? He wasn’t mentioning any as he spoke of those…

But all Skuntank had to do was take a better look at the woman, and he understood instantly.

Melli stopped laughing just enough to hear the comforting yet thunderous sound of his partner purring knowingly, almost mockingly, with a wide smirk on his already smug muzzle as he laid his chin on one of his large hind legs.

The warden tilted his head: “What’s so funny?” he asked, still cackling.

The Pokémon mewled with a low rumble as if to feign innocence and kneaded a single paw, his right one, in the carpet.

His companion imitated the motion by reflex, tightening his own fingers absentmindedly. Oh? And what was this, now? He’d been playing with something, apparently. He traced the shape and took in the texture while mindlessly running his digits over the mystery object, only vaguely recognizing that he was grazing his own neck as well.

In the end he figured out what Skuntank was trying to bring his attention to: he was just turning the pendant of his necklace around his palm! Such a small thing… Though it had been a while since he’d last done so, hadn’t it?

Yes, he could remember it – the last time he’d played with it like this was when he’d fallen for that annoying boy a few years ago, like a foolish girl, returning all bashful and shy…

He did not make the connection immediately, still so caught up in his own thoughts that he could barely understand the subtext his partner was trying to bring his mind to. But the more he touched the smooth stone, the more he realized the tenderness of the motion was intrinsically linked to his plans regarding Ingo; not only that, but when he tried stopping either the thinking or the caressing he found with growing horrified embarrassment that he could not manage, for in order to cease doing one he would have needed to stop doing the other as well, and the more he thought of stopping the more his mind went right back to the Pearl clansman, to his honesty when he’d confessed himself, his red face, his sweet words, his hands, his eyes, his—

“Oh no,” Melli wheezed at last.

Skuntank gave an intermittent grumble similar to a laugh as his mistress hid his fair face against his knees with a high pitched groan whilst kicking his feet, half mortified, half excited.

Ah, fuck.

It was mutual.

[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!”

[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.

[mythicandco]

Hehe

Fic name: "Such simple, human things"

tw for self loathing/minor self harm, identity crises, minor body horror, and other typical tmc things

birthdays are one of the most human things one can imagine. what other creature celebrates anniversaries of its own birth? it's just one year closer to death. just another 365 days you can look at and say, "hey, I didn't die." it's another reminder of their impermanence, their fragility, wrapped in a pretty bow with icing and candles on top.

Adam Murray only ever had four(three?) birthdays. the rest were stolen from him from the monster in his bedroom, in his television, and now in his place.

his - the real one, not the copy, the simulacrum, the lie (because as much as they tell it that it had no way of knowing, "it wasn't your fault," that it's just as much Adam Murray as the human was, it knows they're lying) - first birthday was a half-remembered blur. there were smiling faces and bright balloons and a little cake with a single candle that his parents blew out for him snuffed out much the same way he had been smothered by shadowy claws, swallowed up by snapping jaws, given away to an insatiable hunger that didn't even remember itself and a pile of toys they'd gotten him as presents, but the details were smudged and darkened and buried and burned around the edges, like a polariod partially consumed by the hungry flames after a house fire.

its first birthday, after Lynn and Jude were gone, was spent in a hollow room. the caretakers at the orphanage had done their best to put together a party for it, but they functioned only on donations and so it was a bit small, with scarce decorations. it didn't need it, anyways. it stared blankly, almost hungrily at the five candles flickering before it, their light glinting and reflecting on its eyes.

"make a wish," a smiling adult said, trying to keep the unease out of their voice. it drank it up, sweeter than any icing, before speaking.

"I wish-"

"no, you don't say it out loud," another kid protested, a bit older but not by much, seeing as in truth the thing across the table from her was older than time. "if you do, it won't come true!"

"oh." it blinked at her, and she looked away quickly, biting her lip. "okay." it thought for a moment, then closed its eyes.

I wish for Mommy to come back.

some habits die hard.

it blew out the candles.

on its thirteenth birthday, he had already known Jonah for a handful of years. they'd met the forth time Adam ran away from the orphanage, when they were both eight, on an almost-warm day in September where the air lingered with schoolwork and guilt. Adam had been slowly taking it in when he heard a sharp cry of pain and, lo and behold, there was a boy on the sidewalk, fresh treacle salty tears streaming down his face and sticky sweet blood oozing from the scratch on his knee.

Adam looked down at him, blocking out the sun behind him, and reached out a hand. Jonah took it and stood up.

"th-thanks," he managed, wiping at the corners of his eyes.

"no problem. where do you live? I'll walk you back."

"oh, it's just here. where's your parents?"

"I'm alone."

"oh." Jonah stared at the other boy with silent reverence. "that's so cool."

it wasn't, but Adam latched onto the way Jonah looked at him, and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

they'd been best friends ever since, and Jonah's parents had arranged a party for Adam. Jonah got to design the cake, and it was a lovely thing, all black icing with overlapping red leaves, little glimpses of white teeth gleaming from behind them.

"impressive," Adam hummed, and meant it. the cake was styled with exquisite detail he had no idea his friend was capable of. "you should be an artist or something, this is super cool."

Jonah grinned with pride. "I knew you'd think so." he held up his hand. Adam blinked. Jonah blinked back, and after a moment whispered, "give me a high five."

"oh," Adam said. he flashed a smile and did just that.

Jonah's parents watched the children from a distance.

birthdays after that passed in a blur. Jonah was no longer allowed to decorate birthday cakes. Evelin came into Adam's life. the "party" part of "birthday party" began to fade. his friends would still get him presents, but for a while birthdays held almost no meaning- just another day of his life, nothing important, certainly nothing to celebrate.

and then there was Adam Murray's sixteenth birthday.

his sixteenth birthday was his favorite. it was a freezing January day, the kind of cold that could easily give you hypothermia if you stayed out in it too long, the kind of cold that made tongues stick to telephone poles, the kind of cold that made your joints go stiff and brittle, enough that maybe just a little bit of pressure would make them snap-

Jonah was the first awake that day, since he was gone when Adam sat up, still cocooned in the navy blue sleeping bag on the other boy's bedroom floor. Jonah's parents had decided that they were too old to sleep in the same bed during sleepovers anymore, and the couch was too far away downstairs, so sleeping bags it was.

"Jonah?" the blonde called out, swirling blue eyes like the sky on snow trailing across the room. empty.

and then he came trudging in, beaming from ear to ear, donning a thick winter coat that was a little too big and tracking snow through the house with his snowboots, which he hadn't bothered to take off. "Adam! you're awake! great, come on, come on come on."

without further warning, the other boy took Adam's arm, dragged him to his feet, and out they went. the blonde let out a yelp, struggling to free himself and throw on a coat and some shoes before they went outside.

"what are you-" Adam tried to start, but Jonah froze to the spot, closed his eyes, and placed a finger to his friend's lips. "shhhh. shshshsh shhhh shh. it'll ruin the surprise."

Adam kept his mouth shut, rolling his eyes and trying to hide his smirk.

"so, y'know how you're sixteen and all now?" Jonah remarked conversationally as the duo stepped outside, putting a hand over Adam's eyes. he tried to push the other's hand away, but Jonah held fast, harshly whispering "stop, you can't see it yet." and he stopped struggling. "welll, I figured, hey, maybe now's a great time to show him... THIS!"

he lifted his hands from Adam's eyes and the boy blinked, momentarily blinded by the dazzling white snow. his pupils shrank for a moment to accommodate, and then there it was.

"oh."

Jonah was somehow beaming wider now, cheeks and nose flushed with red from the cold, breath misting in the frigid air. "sooo? whatdya think?"

it was... a van. silvery-black and sleek with a new paint job, glistening like something unearthly against the clear blue sky and stark white snow.

"oh, wow."

Jonah excitedly rapped on the hood with a mitten-sheathed hand, eyes sparkling as brightly as the van was. "I found this old girl in a junkyard a while back- remember?? and I got Dad to get a tow truck to bring it back here and I was keeping it a secret 'cause I wanted to surprise you and aren't you surprised? isn't it awesome?"

Adam cracked a grin.

"it is awesome. I mean- holy shit, Jonah. you did this all yourself?" he leaned closer, peering at his reflection in the window before his eyes refocused to see the interior.

Jonah's glee was all-consuming, giddiness pouring out of him like sunshine, and Adam let himself bask in it while his friend rambled on about technical jargon and engineering manuals and months of trying to find the right parts and-

"and today's the test drive! if you think you're up for it."

"I don't have a license."

"neither do I!" Jonah grinned, devious and yet innocent. "I've scooted it around a little, I think it handles pretty well, but it's your sweet sixteenth. you only get one of these. I want you to do the honors."

"what if I crash it?" he could imagine it; the vehicle slamming into a wall or guardrail, metal crunching, glass shattering, leatherette seats melting into flesh, bones cracking under the weight of the impact-

"you're not going anywhere," Jonah chuckled, wrapping a warm arm around Adam, so unaware. "just around the block. if you go too fast or anything I'll tell you to slow down, don't worry."

with that, he slid the keys into Adam's hands. they were still warm from his pocket, his eyes still wide in anticipation.

Adams fingers curled around the metal as it cooled in the air, meeting Jonah's eyes with a smile of his own. "alright, if you're sureee- RACE YOU TO THE VAN!"

"wh- HEY!" Jonah yelped, almost tripping over himself in the snow as he flailed, trying to grab the back of Adam's hoodie. "UNFAIR, I WASN'T READY!"

"BETTER CALL SHOTGUN!" the blonde hollered back, skidding into a sharp turn and grabbing the driver's side door.

"THERE'S ONLY TWO OF US!" Jonah complained back, kicking up snow in his wake as he nearly slammed his weight into the door. the boy's hair - dyed dark purple this month - peeked out from under the hood of his puffy winter jacket, and as soon as he was in the passenger's seat he pulled his hood down and hummed a little, combing through his bedhead with his fingers.

Adam's fingers tingled with anticipation as he closed them around the steering wheel, feet feeling for the pedals. Jonah was taking driver's ed, and had given him a handful of sort of-driving lessons, enough that he knew to shift the gear into reverse to pull out of the driveway.

"CAREFUL! careful," his friend yelped. "don't forget to adjust the rearview mirror and shit so you don't hit anything."

Adam smirked. "right, because I'm taller than you."

Jonah sputtered indignantly for a second, then huffed and sank into his seat, pouting comically. "only 'cause of that random stupid growth spurt."

Adam shrugged, which involved closing his eyes, and Jonah screamed again as they nearly backed up over his parents' flowerbed.

after slowly edging the van around the block a few times (each successive round making Adam more confident in his driving ability, and Jonah less so), the duo switched seats and Jonah made a few more excited noises, flapping his hands a little before settling them on the steering wheel. Adam quirked an eyebrow at him.

"where are we going now?"

Jonah smiled. "another surprise, I'm afraid. now buckle up, buttercup."

they arrived at the cinema just as the movie Jonah had picked out to watch was starting.

"where'd you get enough money for tickets?" Adam asked, already half-knowing the answer. Jonah theatrically placed a hand to his chest, mocking a surprised expression.

"Adam!" he exclaimed, draping an arm around his friend's shoulders and falling back with the other to his forehead. "I'm surprised you think so highly of me!"

they snuck in, blending with the crowd and hiding their faces with their hoodies. the movie itself - something called The Butterfly Effect - wasn't great; it was an interesting premise involving amnesia and time travel, but that was the extent of the praise.

"BOO!" Adam shouted, hands cupped around his mouth to make his voice echo. Jonah laughed and threw a discarded bucket of popcorn at the screen. security came and kicked them out, but the teens didn't stop laughing even as they were shoved back out into the bitter cold.

Jonah, doubled over, finally regained his breath and inhaled deeply, wiping away his tears before they could freeze on his cheeks. Adam chuckled a little, gelid air rushing down the back of his throat. he stifled his laughter with a cough, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie after a minute.

"that was great," he'd come to say later, once he and Jonah got home, changed into something comfier, and flopped onto the couch, letting the radiator bring warmth back into their bones.

"no problem," his friend replied, flashing that winning smile again and looking to Adam with the same reverence his eyes had held when they first met. he held up a hand, and Adam moved to high-five it.

that had been his favorite birthday. seventeen was fine, eighteen was fine - that party had been at the BPS' new headquarters, and yeah, that was pretty cool - and from there things only got worse.

and now Jonah's gone. it's still cold and snowing outside, but it's dark and deep. this cold has claws that are all too happy to slit a throat.

it swallows down the bile rising in its mouth, shuffling around in the dark and adjusting the old, worn blanket over its shoulders. it's been two days since what happened at the house, but its ribs still ache and its throat still burns.

somewhere in the other room, Thatcher and Evelin are asleep in their respective spots, Thatcher on one side of his couch and Evelin on the other. it remembers almost thinking Thank God when it found out Evie was safe before catching itself, because there was no God to hear it and anything that did would be considerably less friendly.

it remembers begging them to just lock it in the closet or something, but the other two had for some inexplicable reason decided that they would be fine on the couch, and "you can have the bedroom, Adam, it's okay. we can block up the door fine, and you deserve a comfortable place to sleep as much as any of us."

it doesn't. it doesn't deserve any of this. it deserves to be brought out back and shot until it can't hurt anyone ever again. it deserves the fate Jonah didn't- to die out in the snow, alone, forgotten. it deserves to be hurt in all the ways it hurt everyone around it.

its hands curl around the fabric over its chest, a spare hoodie Thatcher had lying around. it fits surprisingly well, and was a reluctantly welcome change from the... open-ness of before, sitting shirtless in the corner. there were no dark corners to fold into and hide away, nowhere to disappear to, nothing to shield it from the outside world. it was awful, being exposed like that. it deserved the discomfort, yes, but that had never made it feel better.

despite the fact that there's a bed in the room, it had still refused to sleep in it, instead opting to have a blanket and some pillows on the floor. it doesn't even need to sleep, why should it have a bed for it? monsters don't have beds.

there's a little tap on the door.

"Adam?"

the stolen name whisps into the bedroom like something physical, a reminder of the human boy that lost his life to further the plans of a false God. its chest feels heavy.

"I'm awake," it says, instead of echoing Evelin's words back at her. her voice tasted wrong in its mouth anyways. "what's up?"

there's a little tug. a thin thread of string connecting them, and Thatcher, and every alternate, and everyone else with M.A.D. in the universe. Evelin shifts to lean her back against the wall on the other side of the door, and it listens to her heartbeat through the wood.

"can't sleep. you?"

it shakes its head, and she half-feels it. it adjusts its heartbeat so that they're in unison. "nope."

there's a light, bitter laugh. quiet enough not to wake Thatcher, loud enough that it imprints itself into Adam's bones, and for a moment it can almost pretend that it does deserve his name.

"it's almost 12 AM," Evelin breathes. there's a quality to her voice, like a mourner at a funeral. it drips through the cracks of Adam's mind. "it's almost January 18th."

its stomach twists into a knot. "I'm sorry."

"it's okay, Adam. I'm sorry that you're turning 21 while... all this is going on."

they sit in silence for a moment. the digital clock on Thatcher's nightstand changes from 11:59 PM to 12:00 AM. Evelin gets up, presses her hand against the door. Adam moves to do the same, and it's almost like their fingertips are touching.

"happy birthday."

"I don't have a birthday," it tries to say. "it's just a date I stole from some kid with his whole life ahead of him. he should be alive right now, not me. Jonah should be alive right now, too. and Lynn. birthdays are a simple, human thing. nothing about me is simple or human."

"what about humans is simple?" Evelin asks, looking up as though looking to the stars, or looking to the red fruit hanging just within reach over her head. "you're not a monster, Adam. you had no way of knowing. and when you found out, instead of going with their plans for you, you fought back. are fighting back."

"but Jonah's-"

"I know. it's not okay. but we're going to stop this before anyone else gets hurt. and it's not your fault. being human isn't about- it's not biology. it's about heart. you can have humanity. you can have love. you can have friends. you can have birthdays."

their hands are still pressed against both sides of the door. he feels the air in his lungs, the wood against his skin, the blanket around his shoulders. "why are you so good at this."

"I used to date you, you idiot. I know you. plus, everyone's brains are kind of melting right now. it's hard not to be empathetic."

he wipes away the tears he's sure they're sharing, pulls away reluctantly. "thank you."

"maybe when it gets light out we can throw together a cake. or something cake-adjacent." she laughs, just a bit. "good night, Adam. happy birthday."

"night, Ev."

he finds himself smiling a little, through the tears. happy birthday.

love. friends. birthdays. such simple, human things.

[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).

[lindszeppelin]

I'm just curious, IF there were a breakup, how do you think the other half of the fandom would react, and how would y'all react in response? From what I've seen lurking here with my popcorn, they can sometimes be...very passionate and less than kind about people who disagree with them (just as a general rule; I'm sure there are kind and unkind people on both sides). Do you think your side would return that energy if it did happen? This may be veering too far into the hypothetical, but I'm catching up on all the breakup rumors and it got me thinking.

I think the other side of the fandom would truly go into crisis mode. We're going to see them lose their minds more than they already have been. Some will probably try to save face and pretend they cared about Austin's happiness all along. But it won't be for the actual love of Austin. It will be for their own bruised egos. I cannot see them acting humbly about it either. They are going to carpet sweep, they're going to save face, they're going to act as if everything they've ever said was conjecture to begin with... and "of course Austin and Kaia were never secretly engaged, i was just joking" backpedaling. "I'm not going to talk about it, Austin deserves his privacy" bullshit that will not be believed by anybody with a working brain that can see through their phony attitude. The other side cannot win no matter what stance they take after a breakup. They know this, so they try to cling and throw things at the wall and pray something sticks in their favor by total accident. The ending of the relationship means the ending of their relevancy in the fandom.

My side will jump for joy knowing that Austin will finally have his happiness and freedom restored to him. Those that genuinely care about his wellbeing and have the entire time have never supported this situationship. Seeing him unhappy, or putting on a brave face, or working with the PR-ness of it all to make her and her family happy has worn a hole into his soul, and once free he can finally mend that hole. His real fans will lift him up and rejoice that he can live an authentic life that's adjacent to his own vision for himself. And we cannot wait to embrace his phoenix rising from the ashes moment. He's a good man that doesn't deserve to have his bright light snuffed out by the likes of the Gerbers and the shippers that want to force him to stay for their own agendas. They can go to hell in a handbasket.

[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."

[ants-personal]

okay i gotta jot this down real quick so fuckin a

tw. suicide attempt

okay its the idea of after randy being shot he instead of admitting he called the cops he whimpers out a plea for benson to just leave with him let's just go please and honestly at that point feeling so overridden with guilt benson listens they drive away right as the cops pull in. Benson is full on panicking randy's hurt he hurt him he did the opposite of what he promised why did he ruin everything everytime he just wanted to do one thing right before he died and he couldn't even handle that. He's rotten hes disease a bad dog that tears up anything given to him

Randy bleeding the passenger seat asks benson if he's okay and that makes benson bark out a laugh cause of course randy is checking in on him while he's the one with a hold in his shoulder. Sweet strong randy who stood up like benson wanted who learned and will go off to be wonderful a real angel in his passenger seat he says nothing and randy just stares. tries to reach out gets a growl in response like the ungrateful mutt benson is.

He robs a corner store everything he'd need to patch up randy best he can he cant let him die wont let him die. Golden tears run down soft cheeks as he digs into sacred flesh with blacken thread. whispers apologizes asks for mercy flinches when a gentle hand rests on his cheek. Kneeling with precious blood on his hands blood he cant help but puke at the sight. Putrid vile like him. Randys shaking and asleep in the backseat he barely keeps his eyes on the road terrified if he takes them off him hell disappear into the moonlight.

Its only when he can stop his pathetic tears and really think he knows what he has to do knows it must end this way always was going to when he walked out to his car today. He pulls over when he spots it a large weeping widow just off the back of some pound a few yards from the road. He grips the wheel selfishness fighting him fresh hot tears well in his eyes. Grabbing the gun and his cigs he leaves the keys in the ignition and begins his walk to the end.

He sits and smokes it's really fitting that his life began and ends at the hands of a coward too afraid to face his actions himself. He deserves it stuff like this didnt happen to good boys. It's quiet out here damp and cool least his body will be useful to the wild life out here one positive for all the destruction and pain he has caused. Once this last cigarette is snuffed out so will he.

He hears it the call of his angel stupid stupid the keys are there he needs to go back home back to a world that needs randy and not benson he shouldn't have to see bensons rotten insides splattered against a tree trunk. He curls into himself winces as randy stumbles into view eyes him with all the dark mean energy a dying stray trying to hole itself away make him leave its all he wants hands trembling hates the precious tears he keeps spilling

Bares his teeth when soft whimpers spill from randy mouth inching closer eyes bright in the shadows this might be what people see when they look up at the eyes of forgiving god then randy gets to close tries to wrap slender fingers around the gun loosely in bensons hand and it's instinctual to lash out dig his claws and fangs into heavenly flesh tackling randy till he has him pinned tears not to let his acid tears sear and stain randy. And randy's pleading with him like he is anything more than the dirt hes laying on.

He rest his forehead against randy's brings a hand up to wipe away tears. Reassures this is what needs to happen randy needs to heal himself his world and benson needs to kill his its just what sinners like him deserve tears himself away from the heat and light that is randy bradley crawls back towards the gun and his final resting place. He has to finish what he started and he's so so sorry there's nothing to save there never was.

the gun goes off

and yet he still breath feels the divine warm solid figure of randy pressed into him fingers digging into his wrist and twisting it like a croc with its kill forcing him to drop the gun pulled into a sweet safe embrace he doesnt deserve and never will sobbing his distasteful tears into the shirt of his personal saint

[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"

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 25 | Words: 4.7k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Tar'eon leapt onto the platform, not allowing Ketheric to look down upon him like he might his companions, raising himself to his full height before him. The half-elf turned to him, not looking alarmed in the slightest. He had been waiting for him, for them.

"There you are. As predicted. What is it, I wonder, that draws one towards death like a moth to light?" Ketheric regarded the tiefling with an equal amount of respect for his bravery, and impertinence for his idiocy. "You could have run away. Absconded with the Prism - the one thing that could prevent me from fulfilling my destiny."

The Prism stirred in his pocket as he held the Generals gaze, refusing to back down.

"But the lure of one's destiny is irresistible, isn't it?" He spoke from experience. "Perhaps you hoped to learn your place in history before you are erased from it. A bright flash of clarity before the snuffing out."

"I just want this parasite out of my head."

"Impossible - you are bound to it, and in death it will bind you to me. That is the power my Lord Myrkul has granted me - command over the immeasurable legions of the dead." He spread his arms as if to show off all he had accomplished, all he had been gifted. "But he did not only give me power - he gave me the one thing no other god could grant me."

There was reverence and sorrow in his voice as he bowed his head.

"My daughters life returned. Her heart beating once more." There was a shine to his eyes now, the gratefulness in his words potent even to Tar'eons ears. "For that, he asked that I serve as his Chosen, join Orin and Gortash to grow the cult of the Absolute, and then...take control of it. He's never had a more devoted follower."

Tar'eon pursed his lips. This god, this Myrkul, had taken advantage of a mortal mans grief. Bound him to him with this debt, and Ketheric worshipped him with rose-coloured glasses for all he had returned to him. He was being played for a fool - Tar'eon did not trust any god with a mortals life after how Shar abandoned Shadowheart.

"I have fought great wars before, in the service of other gods, and other powers. But for Myrkul, I would condemn all of Faerun to death. You are all that stands between me and my destiny - and you have brought the Prism here." He squared his shoulders and somehow stared down his nose at the tiefling, despite being the smaller man. "I will kill you now. And then I will raise you as my servant."

Tar'eon shook his head. He did not fear the man, as much as he pitied him.

"I told you once before; if you surrender, I will consider letting you live." Ketheric scoffed, like he was being told off by a child who knew nothing of the real world.

"Mercy. A fools choice."

"This god gave you the power to regained your form glory, Ketheric - your daughter too. But the power of the Gods is not worth the death of countless others." He stepped closer, and the General looked as if he wanted to step back, but he was too prideful to do so as he was stared down by glowing eyes of fire and ice.

"You wavered before, and all I ask is that you give in. Surrender. Right your wrongs, for the rest of your days. Your story doesn't have to end here - You can still repent. We can help you tear down the plans you've built." Tar'eon offered his arm, willing the man to take it, to grasp it like men of war did when greeting a fellow ally. "I know, despite all you have done, Isobel still loves the man you were. Prove to her that you still are. My mercy is not only for you. It is for her."

Despite it all, she had admitted she did not want to see her father perish. Did not want all the good memories to disappear. He had revived her, brought her back from the dead, because he loved her. Isobel knew that, and Tar'eon did too. Knowing now that he had traded her life for all the others in the world...Ketheric was simply a father making all the wrong choices, trying to save their child they'd already lost once.

"Repent?" Ketheric looked at the man, something about his hardened resolve seemingly tumbling in itself. Like Tar'eon had smashed the beam that held all his conviction up. "Would that even be possible?"

Ketheric did not want his only child to hate him. No father desired the scorn of their daughter. Though, he deserved it.

"I don't know." Tar'eon admitted truthfully. "But is it not worth it to try? For her sake?" He reached out to touch his shoulder, to make the man face him, but he stepped back, avoiding his touch.

"No...no, there is no repentance." He shook his head. "No release. My debt can never be repaid." He continued to walk further back until he reached the edge of the platform. Tar'eon made to come closer, to follow, but ominous whispers filled the room, echoing off the walls as he tried to make sense of them, but there was nothing to make coherent.

Ketheric listened closely, before turning his head to the sky.

"He is here." His arms came up as if to greet the whispers, opening himself up to the god who gave him his everything in exchange for every other person in Faerun's life. For even his own. "He is watching. He is listening. He is..." He trailed off, and Tar'eon watched the older man sway, tilting back.

"He is..." Tar'eon launched forward as Ketheric fell back into the unknown, his fingers just barely grazing the stone in his armour before he fell out of reach.

"Ketheric!" He shouted, the feeling of failure splitting down his centre. He'd come so close to convincing the General to let it all go. To surrender. To help them make this right. He'd been so close to returning Isobel's father to her.

He fisted his hands by his side, glaring into the glowing green hole below.

The accumulation of his continuous failures weighed heavy on his chest, the burning his eyes only making him clench his fists tighter, claws digging into his already wounded palm. He had failed to intervene with the Duke's possession, had failed to save Arabella's parents, and now, he failed to return Ketheric to Isobel. For once, he just wanted to see a child reunite with their fucking parents. Their family.

He wanted his own. It felt like a bitter twist of irony, to only ever see such bonds be torn apart before him. To be ripped away.

"You dare end one who belongs to me?" A raspy voice called from below, and Tar'eon stepped back, eyes widened. "I am the smile of the worm-cleansed skull. I am the regrets of those who remain, and the restlessness of those who are gone."

"Oh fuck." Karlach breathed as she climbed onto the platform, Wyll, Shadowheart and Lae'zel close behind.

"I am the haunt of mausoleums, the god of graves and age, of dust and dusk." A large hand made of bones grasped the ledge and Tar'eon stumbled back as another followed, the room rumbling beneath his feet. "I am Myrkul, Lord of Bones, and you have slain my Chosen."

"Shit." Shadowheart agreed, holding her spear tighter as the enormous skeleton raised itself up to greet them.

"But it is no matter. For I am Death. And I am not the end - I am the beginning." A scythe came to it's hand, looming above them, and Tar'eon for the first time, truly feared Death itself, if only for a moment. It was only when he saw the scythe zip past him did he notice the Nightsong - Aylin.

He unsheathed his blade and hissed under his breath as the gash across his palm seared. He would not let it be a distraction. If Aylin could not fight this battle for them, they would simply have to give it everything they had. He looked from side to side, noting the minions and mindflayers at his left and right, raised on separate platforms.

"Shadowheart, take the lower ground, and focus on healing and wards - Lae'zel, Karlach, I want you at my east and west, take his pawns off the board. Wyll," He looked at the warlock and nodded, lowering his stance. "I want you at my side, lest Death try to warm me over." The swordsman gave a grin, Mizora's power burning through his veins as he readied himself for the battle ahead.

"Astar, I want you-" He turned to his other side and his eyes widened. "Astarion?"

He couldn't see him. How hadn't he noticed his absence? How long had he been gone? His heart rate kicked up into a frantic beat.

He wasn't given any warning before a bony hand swiped at him, throwing him to the side with a groan, barely catching the edge of the platform before he tumbled face first to the ground below.

"IGNIS!" Wyll slammed a fire bolt into the God, more for a distraction than for damage, taking position by his body as he collected himself. Making sure the god could not take another strike at their leader before he was ready to face it.

"I am no slave to Death - I am it's master." Myrkul rasped and Tar'eon pulled himself to his feet, narrowing his eyes.

"You are nothing by bones - there is nothing to fear from your rattling." Tar'eon squeezed the hilt of his blade, letting the pain centre him rather than distract him. He growled as he slashed at the god, but it occurred to him that he hadn't even caused a chip. The damn thing was as invulnerable as Ketheric while Aylin was trapped.

"Shadowheart, new plan! Get to-!" He turned his gaze to Aylin and his eyes widened as the space beside her warped, revealing pale fingers curling around the woman's shoulder. In a ripple of fading magic, Astarion appeared before his eyes, ruby red meeting his as the vampire gave a coy grin, waving to his lover as Aylin unfurled her wings, shooting up to crash into Myrkul with everything she had.

Tar'eon grinned back, Astarion disappearing and appearing before him, shrouded in a cloud of mist, with a smirk that spoke of deep satisfaction, awaiting the praise he knew he deserved like a feline awaiting to be admired and given a treat.

"Someone had to make sure you lot didn't get yourselves killed. Who better to fight a god than the child of one?"

Tar'eon didn't even justify his words with an answer, pulling him in by the waist and kissing him hard. Astarion made a sound of shock before chuckling lowly, nipping at his bottom lip as consequence for catching him by surprise. He licked away the faint trances of blood from his lips and grinned.

"I would have settled for a 'well done', but a passionate kiss? Why, I might just swoon."

"Well done, ph myirz."

"A little help would be nice, you two!" Wyll yelled as he cast another eldritch blast.

"You're just jealous!" Astarion laughed, but grasped his bow and slotted an arrow into its place, flying it into the god. "Let's finish this quickly, hm? I want to rub defeating a god in Gale's face later."

Tar'eon shook his head fondly and turned his gaze onto Myrkul once more. God or not, he would not forgive one who took advantage of the weak. A mortal man, compared to a god, was indeed weak.

But not today.

****

Or perhaps, especially today. Tar'eon cradled Ketheric's head in his lap, staring at the stone in his chest. He had said Isobel's name with such grief, fearing the unknown, and Tar'eon had watched as he died, the General believing himself forsaken.

He placed a hand over his eyes, attempting to shut them, but the man had had the life burnt out of him. He was nothing but a dark husk of his previous form, adorned in bone-like armour. He'd given everything to a god, only to have it strip from him in moments when he failed him. He pitied the faithful who were discarded without hesitation. Shar, discarding Shadowheart, Myrkul discarding Ketheric. All because of their failures to comply to their orders.

He closed his eyes and sent a prayer into the void, hoping for a god to hear him. 'Let him spend his afterlife with the memories of the good times', he pleaded to whatever god or goddess would show the most mercy. 'Let him be the man he once was, the man Isobel loved, even if he had died as a twisted version of himself. Let there be forgiveness, even for the unforgivable.'

He opened his eyes and sighed, putting his hand out to Astarion.

"A dagger. Please." Whatever the stone was, he knew they would need it. Astarion frowned but offered a spare to him, watching as the tiefling dug the tip into the gold encasing it, prying it back carefully until he could break the stone from its confines. It glowed pink in his palm, and he studied it with fascination. Tar'eon noticed a bright light open up from behind him and quickly stood to face it head on, squinting at the familiar figure.

"Remarkable. Truly." His sacrifice - his guardian. With dark hair pulled back, white braided into the side of his head, and freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose. The inky black tattoo consumed half of his face, trailing down his neck, and Tar'eon couldn't help staring. This face before him - he didn't know if it was a truth or a lie. He wasn't quite sure he trusted his guardian as much as he had before.

"And now the picture comes together. The Absolute is neither god nor man. It is the elder brain you saw, held here by those three against its will." He sounded disgusted by the threes control over the brain. "The crown it wears controls it, and those stones control the crown. It has been dominated. To master an elder brain...to subdue it...Our enemies are more formidable than we thought."

"What are these stones?" Tar'eon stepped forward, showing the stone to the guardian but not getting close enough to be within arms reach, lest he try and snatch it, whoever he was. "How do they control them?"

"The crown's markings suggest it was forged in Netheril, an ancient empire whose mastery over magic rivalled that of the gods." He explained, hands behind his back. "It is a crown of domination. The stones were taken from its crest. They are Netherstones, imbued with the ability to control the wearer of the crown. The crown's Netherese magic must be the true source of the parasites' abilities. This must be what elevates their potential. And it must be the reason nobody could heal you."

"Netherese magic...?" Wyll queried, looking perplexed. Tar'eon wasn't sure where he'd heard the term before, but it was obvious the warlock had. He looked away grimly, and Tar'eon focused his gaze back on the guardian.

"Yes. Netherese magic. If the crown can do this to the parasites, I dare not imagine what it is doing to the brain."

"And those other two...they're our enemies." Tar'eon said rather than asked. "They're controlling the brain." He looked at the stone in his hand. Ketheric had also been a part of their plans. "Myrkul - we defeated him, right?"

"One cannot defeat a god so easily." The guardian shook his head. "I believe you fought and defeated an avatar of Myrkul, the god of necromancy. A remarkable feat, even if you did not defeat the god itself. Ketheric was Myrkul's Chosen." He said the term with weight. Being chosen by a god...he knew that meant something. Something important.

"I know Lord Enver Gortash," Before him, an image of the man appeared, an illusion, Orin standing beside him in her carnage attire. "An arms dealer and a slaver. He is a worshipper of Bane, the god of tyranny."

Tar'eon walked up to the vision of the pair, reaching out to brush along the Chosen of Bane's jaw, like he might be able to turn his face, to find an angle that would remind him of who he was to him. To find out why his chest stirred with emotion when he looked at those dark eyes. He could not identify what he was feeling, but if was almost...lustful. Whether he was lusting for blood or body, he couldn't tell, which concerned him deeply. Gortash's image faded at the faintest touch.

"The other is mystery to me." His guardian stood beside Orin's form and Tar'eon brought his gaze to hers, her pale eyes. "But the way she spoke, it is most likely she follows Bhaal - god of murder." Her image smiled cruelly at him and he lunged his hand out for her throat, disappointed when she vanished as well, like a cloud of smoke. He gritted his teeth. Something about her rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

"Which means the Absolute is a front for the gods of death and our enemies are the Chosen of the Dead Three." Tar'eon fisted his hand, turning his glare reserved for Orin onto the guardian.

"What do we do now then?"

"We prepare for the fight of our lives, and the lives of everyone in Faerun." Tar'eons stomach churned. "The army of the Absolute is marching on Baldur's Gate. Within the city, an elder brain brimming with power, ready to turn everyone with its reach into mind flayers...? All it needs is an order. An order the death gods' Chosen are on the cusp of giving. We must wrest control of the brain from the Chosen before that happens - we must take their stones. Our chances of success are slim, but we must not fail. If we fail, everything ends."

That was a lot to put on the heroes shoulders, but they were the only ones capable of carrying the heavy weight of that burden.

"I will be your shield, but you must be the sword. And when the chance comes to strike, you must take it. For there may only be one chance."

Tar'eon nodded solemnly. Whether he trusted the man or not was irrelevant. He could not let Faerun come to ruin.

"I will make it count, even if that strike is my last." His guardian nodded, taking his word and disappearing in a flash. Tar'eon sighed and turned to Ketheric's body.

"Hells...what did we get ourselves into?" Shadowheart looked like she needed to sit down.

"That bastard...I'll kill him the next time I see him." Karlach muttered to herself, a dark scowl marring her features.

"Great. Another deadly adventure." Astarion grumbled, but he was pleased, if a bit anxious, to see Baldur's Gate once more.

"We should probably start heading back." Tar'eon knelt down beside Ketheric's body and searched his pockets. He grimaced, not wanting to disrespect the dead, but if he had carried a stone with so much importance, it was possible he had something else on him that could make their journey easier, or give them a clue to more of their plans.

Alas, all he found was a crumpled note, words written in childish scrawl.

Papa, I love you. LOVE FROM IZ

His heart ached. In another life, maybe they could have been a happy family. If only greed and grief were not so easy to succumb to.

****

It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Watching the shadows be cast aside, watching light spill in through the curse's tendrils that were being stripped away. Astarion closed his eyes and soaked in the sunlight once more. Gods, he had missed it.

"Ar'eon! Astar!" Mirkon led a gaggle of children towards them, having somehow managed to escape Isobel's watchful eye. No doubt distracted by her lady love, now back in her arms.

Tar'eons lips split into a wide grin, something rare and pure, falling to his knees to wrap the boy up in his arms before drawing the other children in, his body large enough to make room for all of them. Arabella and Doni were the only ones who stood back from the group hug, Mattias giving a complaint even as she hugged the man just as tight.

"I take my eyes off you lot for one moment," Gale's voice, full of disapproval, was cut off by the sight of his companions. "By Mystra, it's good to see you all made it." He breathed like he had doubted such odds.

"An old man like Ketheric is hardly a battle." Karlach assured with a laugh, nudging her girlfriend.

"It's not every day you defeat an avatar of Myrkul."

"Myrkul?!" Gale gaped. "I- I am never staying with the children again, you fought an avatar of Myrkul? Lord of Bones?"

"It's a long story, and I promise to fill you in on it during our journey to the Gate." Wyll assured, a small smile on his lips as he approached the wizard. Gale stood a little straighter, his eyes trailing over the swordsman, checking for any injuries, and then simply admiring.

"Good, good, I- I would expect nothing less after you banished me from all the fun." Gale reached out to nit pick at the crooked collar of Wyll's armour, clearing his throat. "It must have been quite thrilling, I'm sure, fighting off such a fearsome foe. You know, I once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one's desire for...other forms of stimulation."

"Oh?" Wyll gained a charming smile.

"Have you ever read anything on that subject?"

"You know I'm quite...particular about my genres, but I've been known to dabble in books of...anatomy, and the wonders of it."

"Oh, Gods." Shadowheart wrinkled her nose and Karlach laughed, pulling her in to kiss her crown.

"Hey, you should admire the ability to try and hit in broad daylight." She snickered, watching Gale lean in closer, their conversation growing quieter, more secretive as they shared coy smiles. Whatever they were saying, it was probably best to leave it alone.

Halsin approached, Jaheria at his side, and Lae'zel stepped forward to regard the man, her face still stained with blood. His own was not dissimilar.

"The curse is no more. Are you satisfied, druid?"

"I'm just glad to be able to continue my travels with you - all of you." He added the last part like an afterthought, but they allowed it. Nobody was going to remark on the way he looked at Lae'zel.

"Chk." The githyanki tsked, turning from the druid sharply with a flick of her hair. "Let us make haste then. More ghaik await to taste our steel and claws, ra'stil." She beckoned him to follow her march onwards to the gate, and Halsin took the chance to take her hand and kiss it, the woman giving a huff and a glare.

"Do not be so coy, or I will have your head."

"I do not intend to be." Halsin laughed, Jaheria eyeing the strange pair before she turned to Tar'eon who was assuring the tiefling children he'd see them again soon, and warning them to be cautious in the city, to stick close to their guardians.

"How come Arabella can come with you, but we can't?" Mirkon whined, and Tar'eon sighed.

"Arabella won't be staying with us more than a night. Our path is dangerous, and I wouldn't dare risk any of you, asking you to come along. Please, stay with the others. Arabella, well...once we reach the city, she will have to make her own way too, with no guide but herself. Trust me, if I could, I'd take you all with me."

"Yes, he would, he's a bleeding heart for young, fresh monster bait." Astarion remarked haughtily. "Having you lot with us would only cause more distractions than we can afford. Do you want Tar'eon to die protecting you lot?"

"Of course not!" Silfy gasped, horrified by the mere idea.

"Given our journey so far, and knowing it will only get worse from here, we can't afford to be distracted. And frankly, you'll get bored very quickly being stuck at camp all day." Astarion rolled his eyes. "Be reasonable and stop causing more heartache than necessary for your saviour twice over."

"We're sorry, Ar'eon...we know you have your reasons. But we'll miss you."

"And I will you miss you. I promise, once my journey is over, I would delight in nothing more than to spend all my remaining days with every last one of yous." Tar'eon assured, bringing them all back in for a bone crushing hug. Once he released them, he forced a smile on his lips. "Now go. Rolan, Zevlor, Lia, Cal, Rikka - all of them, they're no doubt worried sick, seeing you all run off."

Doni gave a grunt, looking back at the towers, no doubt thinking of Rikka and her worrying frown. Tar'eon stood and gave them all a wave as they made back to their group, Arabella standing at his side. She waved to them too, eyes wet, trying not to cry. She'd miss them, if only for a short time. Astarion placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair.

"No need for tears, little thief. Good riddance if anything." Despite the cold words, his voice was warm, betraying his usually callous nature. "It will be a quiet night tonight. And you can even pick the story this time." He picked dirt from under his nails with a smirk, intending it to be a slight at her childishness, but Arabella simply smiled up at him.

She gave him a quick hug around the waist and ran off after Karlach and Shadowheart who were walking at a leisure pace to the road.

"Did she just-?" Astarion looked bewildered, and Tar'eon chuckled, admiring his features in the sunlight. He had missed the sight. He kissed the vampires curls and breathed in the scent of rosemary and citrus.

"She likes you."

"Gods, I hope not. I'm awful with children." Astarion shuddered like he'd found a new horror in life, following after the group. Tar'eon smiled and turned to Jaheria who seemed to be waiting for his attention.

"The offer still stands, you know."

"I know. And I'm taking it. I simply came to tell you Isobel, Aylin and I will be a short journey behind you. We have things to wrap up before we go. Keep to the road, so we may find you tonight."

"To work beside the famous Jaheria Karlach talks so highly of? I must have impressed you." He mused.

"Perhaps." The older woman smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. "May your journey be safe."

"May our journey be safe." Tar'eon bowed his head in respect to the Harper. "Oh," Tar'eon reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled note. "I...pass this on to Isobel, would you?" He wasn't sure what her reaction would be, but he knew he wouldn't be able to watch it. It would be too painful after seeing Ketheric's charred body.

Jaheria took it with a curious quirk of her brow.

"Please." The Harper frowned but nodded and Tar'eon jogged after his companions to catch up with them. He looked back at the lands, free of shadows, as he passed the threshold. Even though the sky was brighter, the nature thriving, and the birds singing...The shadows continued lurked within him.

Who was he? Who was he really?

Astarion's cold fingers curled around his bicep, and he turned to look at him, drawn out of his trance.

"Don't linger now, darling. I have so much to show you, once we get to Baldur's Gate." Tar'eon smiled softly and gently took Astarion's hand off his arm, instead placing it into his own. Perhaps the sunlight deceived him, but he thought he saw the faintest pink in Astarion's cheeks.

"I can't wait to see it all. To relearn it through your eyes...It almost makes forgetting it to begin with worth it." Tar'eon squeezed his hand, lacing their fingers together as he finally turned his back on the cleansed lands.

He walked towards the sun in the distance, and let its warmth chase away his worries, thumbing over the pale hand in his.

[alexandersimpleton]

Frederick's legs were aching. It hadn't gotten any better since he was ten and first started showing symptoms, but they were still hurting more than usual.

He was talking with Gwen about a book he had an idea for during a sort of lazy day at their castle. They were in the living room with the other two couples, Jack watching the children like a hawk.

"So anyways, they're fighting the big parasite, but a bright light suddenly flashes in Ashling's eyes, and the book ends on one line."

"What what what?" Gwen was hooked

"'The woman woke up, noticing she was chained to a bed. A small part of her started to panick a little, as if she was seeing some sort of truth, but before she could complete the thought, she snuffed it out. After all," He added a final flare to the line, making sure the tone was just right "it would do no good to panick.'"

"Wow. Holy crap that would be so cool!"

"I know right! Someone should totally write that!!"

"Oh, you should write that!"

"Do you really think I'd be able to pull it off?" Frederick sounded flattered.

"Oh, you definitely would!"

Frederick smiled a little, but suddenly winced in pain.

"F-Frederick?"

Frederick found himself falling face-first into the floor, and blacked out.

Frederick woke up in a hospital bed. This brought back memories...

He looked around trying to distract himself, noticing Gwen looking at him.

Frederick was pretty flustered. "G-Gwen! I didn't notice you there." The worry won however, so he asked her "Uh, what's going-" he tried to pull his legs up to his chest, but he realized that he couldn't feel them. He looked down and tried touching them a little, but he didn't feel it on his leg, just his hand.

Gwen noticed the boy cut himself off. Why would he- he touched his leg a little, recoiling back. Did something happen to his legs.

Frederick started hyperventilating. He tried to push himself into the wall with his legs, but he still couldn't feel them.

Gwen put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"F-Frederick." She took a deep breath. She was panicking just as much as Frederick right now. "Breath with me, okay. In two three four, hold two three four, out two three four." She has only saw Prez do this. Luckily, it seemed to be working somewhat.

Frederick's breathing slowed, and he seemed lucid, but he still looked at his legs, fear in his eyes.

"Do your legs hurt?"

Frederick shook his head.

"C.. can you feel them?"

Frederick shook his head.

Gwen didn't know what to say. She didn't know much more than Frederick.

Blaine walked in, breaking the silence and seeing his brother. Her ran up, hugging the boy tightly. Gwen saw more emotion in his face than she had ever seen out of him before.

But than, Isolde and Leland followed him. Gwen thought he looked rather scared of the latter as the scampered over to the side of the bed.

"Little bro!" Lance looked more panicked than anything as he rushed in. "What happened? Are you hurt? Are you dead? Are you a ghost? I don't want you to be a ghost!"

Frederick chuckled a little. "No, I'm not a ghost. I just-"

"Managed to break himself more." Leland interrupted. He looked at the boy coldly, as if he was some mut to be looked down on rather than his own son.

Blaine wanted to intervene. He wanted to yell at his father, say that Frederick wasn't broken, and that he was amazing, but if he did, Leland would... And he'd... Blaine couldn't. He couldn't take objecting to his father again, or the scars might start showing.

And so, he just looked down, clutching the floor as hard as he could. Gwen noticed the pained look on his face that he had failed to hide. Like his favorite recipe book was being torn up right in front of his eyes and he couldn't do anything about it. Like he wanted to pounce on Leland but couldn't. Isolde was having a similar feeling, though she was better at hiding it.

Frederick didn't look as impassioned however. He simply looked down as Leland berated him. All that light that has been slowly building up over time was gone from his eyes.

Eventually, the family, minus Frederick, left the building. As they left, Lance put a hand on Frederick's, taking it back after a glare from Leland. Blaine and Isolde just followed the man, heads down in redesigned silence.

Frederick just stayed in that position, that same, dead look in his face.

"C-can you just leave."

"If you want."

So, it was just Frederick. He pulled his legs up to his chest with his hands, resting his head on them a crying.

Frederick didn't know when he'd fallen asleep. He only knew that he had fallen asleep when he woke up to a window opening.

"Hey kiddo." It was Prez. "A little birdie told me something happened. How are you holding up?" Frederick noticed Monika was riding on her shoulder.

Little to anyone of the plaid or pastel family's knowledge, Monika had come to make sure everything was going well, and hadn't seen Frederick anywhere in the main parts of the castle, so she had searched all over until she found Frederick while he was getting berated by Leland and went to tell Prez.

"Uh," his voice was slightly raspy from crying. "I haven't died yet, I guess. C-can't say the same for my legs though." He let go of the now useless appendages, watching them slide back down the bed.

Both of the two noticed that he was about to cry.

Monika snuggled up to Frederick's neck. She knew crow feathers were soft, so she hoped it'd help.

"Wow. I didn't know crow feathers were so soft."

"Yeah, I know right." Prez said.

"But anyways, Monika said that she saw your father talking to you." Her hand clenched up at the mention of him. Her opinion of the man had been getting low as of late.

Monika turned back into a human. "Yeah, I didn't have my glasses, but you looked kinda sad."

Frederick nodded. "Yeah. Father said some.. not very nice things."

Frederick thinks that was the first time he ever saw Monika look pissed off like that. She had been mad at him for pushing her off a cliff that one time, but here she looked less like she was salty and more like she wanted to peck out something important.

"Kid," Prez seemed serious. "did he say anything about you being broken or whatever? Because if he did, he is so wrong! Got it?"

Monika nodded. "Yeah. You're awesome!"

Frederick blushed a little. "T-thanks."

"Good." Monika said. "Now that that's out of the way... WHERE THE CRAP IS YOUR DAD?! I SWEAR I'M GONNA PECK OUT SOMETHING IMPORTANT!"

Frederick put a hand over her mouth, or tried before he fell off the bed, before crawling over with his hands. "Shhhhh! There are still doctors outside." He was giggling at the sudden change of the girl's tone.

Monika crossed her arms over her chest, resigning to silence, as Prez helped him back on the bed.

The two left the room eventually. They had to get sleep too after all.

But Leland seemed tired the next day. He said a crow kept squawking as he was trying to sleep.

[drowning-in-cacophony]

to break and to keep

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 231: a promise to break

[Summary: promises are made, one to keep, one to break]

Some promises you make to keep.

Oaths. Swears. Bound in blood and in kisses, to treasure deep to your heart. Tightened like a ribbon across your chest. These you’d rather die than break. These you’ll take to your grave, or to theirs.

They make the promise to break it.

-

Somewhere in the dark, a stream’s falling.

Somewhere from her bitten lips, blood’s tracing a river. She stares at him, wide eyes and wet lashes.

“You’re sure about this?”

His eyes, winking jewels in the dim, and his fingers press their tips into the skin of her wrist.

“Very. If you are.”

She lets him trace her solemn nod, the shape of her skull and the flopping of the locks of her hair. Her heart thrums, a new instrument inside her chest. It’s a sound the organ’s never made before, anticipation crossed with nervousness, this sort of paralysing burning. Against her bones, they’ve wrapped a secret, one of the deadliest ones out there. His secret, smouldering like embers and made into the thing she’ll build herself around. His secret – the thing people would do anything to own, and now the only thing stopping them from getting it will be her promise.

Her oath, woven into her cells in a dim cave, somewhere a hundred miles below the surface. Like the place his secret will bury inside her.

The news will get out. The news will get out, and eventually – weeks from now, maybe years. Maybe days if they’re particularly unlucky – someone will come asking. Wheedling, convincing. There’ll be evidence to why she should spill. Atrocities, dangers. Does she want the blood of a million upon her shoulders, as tangy as the copper working its way from the tiny punctures her teeth have ripped into her mouth? Does she think her muscles strong enough to hold all of that, the guilt and the rage and the candles snuffed out without a care? Does she not have responsibility?

They’ll persist, push, and eventually, she’ll give in. Open her chest, carve it out, confess it all. The embers stitched into her very soul. Her promise, shattered at her feet, and her lashes will hold a constellation of tears, but they’ll tell her it’s all worth it, because of what he did. It’s worth it, they’ll say, even as a different ember ignites in their own eyes.

They’ll find him, with his secret revealed, her words ringing like a bell. They’ll find him, strip him back, drag him before their lord, watch in righteous fury as the punishment sets to begin. Of course, that would be where everything would go to shit. Embers would turn to a howling blaze, and the truth would fall as soundlessly as his head. Her skin would streak; the world would go on, a different path to tread. A worse one.

This – this is precaution. This is trust and foreplanning, because this is a promise he needs her to break.

His mouth ghosts her cheekbone, presses a touch against her skin. His fingers, still delicate-light against her wrist, and if she was to look down she’d see the glowing burn of their oath, sealing them together.

There’s a chance the promise might never need to come under the axe. There’s a chance this oath will just be an oath, her carrying his secret for the rest of her mortal life. But if that chance was wide, they wouldn’t be here.

In breaking this promise, eventually, tomorrow, at the end of all things, whenever – she’ll be giving him the only chance he might have. So even if it feels wrong, a betrayal of everything she’s ever been for him, she closes her eyes, feels his touch against her skin, and seals their oath. She'll do this, for him - and that's a promise she won't break.

-

And later, when she stands before all those concerned eyes, the devastation and ashes bright on their cheeks, she thinks about the stream’s drizzling, somewhere deep under the earth. The place where his gambit was formed, among the writhing muscles of her core.

She opens her mouth, and smashes it all open.