#sticky nightshade

[mothmiso]

(1) (2) by Maria Thallya da Silva Santos

[punk-in-docs]

A song of liars and beggars: part II

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 5.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter; mainly violence and cruelty and mentions of death/imprisonment. also this has turned long winded im so sorry- i wish i could just bang out some gratuitous smut but noooo i need 7k of angst before penetration apparently --

The cell you are thrown into is poky small.

When the guards push you into it, you stumble and you fall. Stone breaks your landing. Collapsing in the dusty dirt. Soiling your pretty blue dress. The sea blue churned into mud. Into filth. Spoiled tide.

Bloody grit and sand sticking to your chin that still drips blood. Ichor dripped on your silk chest. Lip throbbing. Body bruised into the colour of nightshade petals.

You twist back, eyes blurred with tears, to see the dark expression under the Roman guards helmet.

Who spits at your feet and calls you a traitorous whore. He was the same one whose ring of fingertip bruises now circled your upper arm. Even though you were in chains.

Your surroundings are grim. There’s no window. No bearings. A bucket with filthy stagnant water sits in the corner.

The air is stale. Packed close and scorching. It reeks of piss and decay. Necrosis. Festering. Yellow bleached skulls. You hear the wailing shouts of men. The rattle of chains. You will be left down here until they come to take you. In whatever form that may be. Beheading. Or a stoning.

Maybe the Emperors really are gods. Those twin golden growling wolves. And now they’ve thrown you down to the underworld. Left you down here with the dying and the dirt and the vermin for company.

The walls are grimy stone, and strung with chains. Torches the only lick of civilised orange light in these otherwise miserable caverns. Rats creep along the floors - the scurry and click of claws. Not that they’ll find any scrap of food near here. There’s none to be had. Not even corpses. Death isn’t merciful enough to visit here.

Bile coats the back of your tongue. Sour and acetic. The men in the cells opposite you m, sneer and call filthy propositions in the dark. Dark so thick it was like wool. Ask to see under your pretty dress. Leering at you. Puckering kisses.

You are a rare drop of clean ocean in this savagery to them. Pure. A blue crocus blossoming in a crack in the barren dessert. Wash away the sin. Their rotten teeth shine in the dark like knives. Hungry and waiting.

You curl into a ball in the corner. Bring your knees to your chest. Cower in the shadows as the rats run past your feet. Clammy tails flicking over your toes.

You sob quietly. Arms folded. One smashed elbow drying to sticky blood, stuck with grit from your collapse.

Your father was torn away before you could see what happened or where they took him. You heard his shouts at Macrinus, his begging, but couldn’t see where he was taken. You couldn’t bear thinking about the alternative.

Your brothers body will be laying in a paupers grave somewhere you’ll never know. Never be able to go and lay orange gladiolus flowers before his headstone. Forgotten. Your mother will be told nothing of this- of you. Of the supposed treason-

Or maybe a garrison of soldiers were already marching on their way to deliver news. To slaughter the traitors family in that white villa by the sea. Smear crimson up the walls- droplets of red splashed on the jasmine petals. You think of the linen shifts your sisters ramble around in. You think how the perfect hues of soft blues and olives greens will be ruined with the garish red of blood-

You squeeze your eyes shut. Drops of salty ocean squeezing down your cheeks. And even that is of no use to you now. Landed sea nymph. Away from the oceans call. And now you’re bound for desolation. Gasping. Dying. Dragged to land by men who want to pick at your scales and leave you raw, bare.

You never should’ve left home. Not for a distant hollow man and his even emptier words.

Sleep doesn’t come to you. Nor are you awake. You slouch, curled on the cold dirty floor and envelop yourself into the grit and dirt. Abrasive on your soft milk-and-honey skin. The cornflower blue of your dress matted with mucky earth.

You enter a state between waking and sleep. A shallow one, spliced with sliced necks, pooling blood on biscuit coloured sand, and your brothers final cry.

Sounds start chipping at you. The slap of metal. Clicking and shuffling steps.

A jolt across your cell rouses you from your purgatory. Head snapping up on your shoulders. When you accustomed your eyes to the dim, the sight of the person unlocking your cell, makes your stomach plummet.

General Acacius.

There’s no mistaking him for another. That unmistakably noble profile. The firm set of his brow. His aquiline nose. The curl and bend of his greying hair. The way he looks at you - it might just be the kindest thing you’ve been awarded in this abrasive hell you find yourself in.

You raise to your wobbly feet. Heart felt like it had taken to thudding in your throat. Choking tempo as it beats there. Muscle thick and ticking on the back of your tongue.

One thought echoed around your mind; this was to be the path to your death.

You were being led by the General of the armies of Rome. It seemed a grand imposition for escorting a mere slip of a traitor to her death.

War has thickened his body. Muscular arms swing from a wide back and shoulders. Sun weathered skin which spoke of his time out in the elements, fighting for the glories and victories of Rome. Age lay in the silver threaded though his hair. The muted pain in his gait of past injuries catching up with him. Body littered with scars that probably ache and tug. Mars made flesh. Glory for Rome. Victory.

You swallowed. Throat dry. Easing your way to the door on uncertain feet. Hands clasped in chains still. They feel heavy as mountains to carry along. He’s come with guards. Four of them. Armed and marching to the beat of his strides. A valorous man indeed.

You step close to the heavily armoured man. Salty tears leaking down your cheeks that you don’t care to bat away. Atleast one spec of home will cling to your skin when life is gone. Even if it is only your silly scared tears.

He leans close to you when you come to the door

Suddenly a warm hand - calluses and hard furrows that only come from years of grasping a sword hilt - is around your forearm to steady. He unlocks the iron heavy chains and cuffs that surround your wrists. The chafing welts they left circling your wrists as the only impression of your imprisonment.

It’s the kindest touch you’ve felt in what seems like years.

You look at him with incredulity. He claims it all off you so easily. You were easy to devour. Every emotion worn open on your face.

Your lashes glued together with tears. Eyes so wide. Big and shining and they must reflect spring sun off beaded waves like a blanket of sapphires. A question lingers, tucked back shyly behind your teeth. Unable to wander off the curl of your tongue.

Why are you unlocking my hands?

He tilts his head at you. It’s almost chiding.

An unexpected warmth flows from his dark eyes. It’s too dark down here in this filthy stuffy pit to discern their colour. They swing somewhere between bronze and amber.

There is a mercy in them, a mercy to him, you’ve seldom seen anywhere else. Let alone a man as slaked in blood as he is.

Maybe it’s mercy- more likely that it’s pity.

He throws the shackles aside to the guard. Eyes for a long moment the way the iron has cut into your wrists. Raw skin. Damaging such a fine beautifully untouched creature.

He’s certain there’s worse damage to come to you.

His voice when he speaks is honey thick. Deep as it carved down all the rock walls around you. Louder than the clanking of chains and the wails from prisoners. Whom, you noticed, suddenly quieted down. They were whipped when they spoke up, you guess. So they go quiet. Like cowed dogs.

“I’ve slaughtered many a traitor in my time. You don’t seem a danger to me, or my men.” He observed. It’s both a warning and a comment.

It’s ridiculous really. The thought you could be a threat. All slippery, skin soft and coveted as a purely formed ocean pearl.

When you are in fact shivering in a silky thin dress the colour of harmless cornflowers. Huddled in your cell corner gently spilling tears. No hint of resistance or fiery hatred. No storm to be found here in your veins that houses entire oceans and their tempestuous wrath.

He knows innocence when he sees it. That rare, very rare, taste that clings to his tongue like sugary sweet ripe fruit. Something to cut and slice through all the ichor and viscera he all too well knows the flavour of. There’s a calmness to you. A damned sort of acceptance. Calm as still waters.

“Come.” He tilts his head. “The likes of you doesn’t belong down here.” You with your stock of noble blood, shouldn’t perish forgotten in these filthy caverns.

He walks to the pathway that you vaguely recall you were led down. The one that ascends steps and up into daylight. Out from the dust and the dirt and the still living bones of the trapped and the damned.

“General. Pray tell me. Is my father dead?” You ask. Whisper a pathetic imitation of your voice. Raw and weak. Choking on the unknown.

His face is stiff. He doesn’t seem inclined to reply.

“I cannot give you answers.” He chides. He turned his back to you. And his brute tone slaughtered any further enquiry you may have felt compelled to make.

You shrink down as you fell into step. Being led in your dirty dress, littered in cuts and scrapes.

Numerous guards form a metal lined wall around and behind you. Shields and swords and the metal clink of their steps. Trapping you. Armoured cage for a pretty captive. You wince when the new sunlight hits your eyes. Bright and acidic. Gulp for thick air that meets your lungs like ambrosia.

You walk and follow, silently. Waiting to come to the place you’d die.

Expecting to be led to gallows. Or an executioners block. Maybe even a court lined with people, one where you’d be trialed to death for a plot you’d no idea even existed. Maybe you’d be shoved into the coliseum on the next fight to be mauled to shreds by lions. Gouged by teeth and claw. Die screaming in the same dirt as your brother did.

It doesn’t come. None of that comes.

Your surroundings change again and you find yourself outside the grand walls of the coliseum. Looking up at the huge enormity of its powerful walls. The golden stone standing proud against the searing blue sky.

You’re marched across the dusty dirt of a yard, to yet another cage; this one held bars just like your previous one. A cage built on the back of a cart that has two horses ready to pull it along the capital roads. The general opens the barred door and gestures guards in around you.

One of the soldiers hit you forwards with a harsh shove. The back of his sword hilt. A hard enough shove for you to know it would purple to a bruise soon enough. Mulberry purple staining your skin at the back of your hip. You barely even yelp.

The general admonishes the soldier harshly for his rough treatment. You were to be brought - unmolested.

A word the Emperor had ordered with a growing wolfish grin.

“Where am I being taken?” You dare ask. Words crack out your throat. Unused. Thirsty. Timid. Ocean starved. All this dry land is making you dizzy and miserable.

He explained. Tone grave. Before you are pulled inside the bars. Caged once more.

“You’ve been summoned.”

“By whom?” You seek.

His eyes weight into you. Wrapped in pity and severity. His words clang around your head. Coffin nails. Just like bars he shut around you.

“You’ve been requested by the Emperor himself.”

~

You struggle to comprehend the enormity of the palace before you.

Palatine hill boasted of the richest and finest palaces in all of Rome. Including the imperial palace. The huge sprawling building. The importance and grandeur of these halls weighted on you like tonne heavy rocks.

You feel like a smear of dirt among these polished white walls and halls. Crawling with servants and guards. Stuffed with so much riches and finery. You’ve heard tale of how Emperors were hand picked by the gods. They were gods to the people they reigned over.

You are escorted once again out of a yard and into this place you’d heard only grand things about. Marched along corridors longer than you’d ever known. You saw fountains spitting streams of clear crystalline water and imperial gardens with huge tropical plants. Statues of marble and tiled mosaic floors that shine as if recently scrubbed.

Guards at every door. Servants clad in cloth finer than you’ve ever owned - or touched - they carry huge platters of bread or bowls spilling over with plump fruits. Large amphora jugs of wine held aloft in careful hands. This seemed like a luxurious heaven. You wondered if you’d see clouds, goddesses and sun beams even from your lowly mortal perch.

The guards keep you in step. Hauled along so fast you feel blisters aching at the balls of your feet. As you’re traipsed in. Bloodied and low. Beaten down. Your split lip has dried to a cut. You worry it with your tongue. The little whip cracks of pain a reminder of your mortality - one you’re certain you will be relieved of soon.

You are brought to a set of huge imperial doors by the general. Who is bid to enter right away.

Your eyes don’t know where to settle first; the room is one of the richest displays you’ve ever seen. Orange fabric the colour of vibrant mandarins, hangs in drapes over the open arches and doorways. Mosiac floors polished to a shine. There’s gold and marble statues and plinths. Paintings in dark deep colours of battle scenes. Swords and blood and male glory. As if it had come to life right before your eyes. This room is threaded with gold and devotion to male gods.

As is the man who sits leisurely awaiting you on a padded lectus. One spilling with tasseled silken cushions to soften his seat. Emperor Geta.

His robes were the same as when you last saw him. Dark jewel colours of black and blue. Gems cast in gold on each finger. Dark cloths with gold items of jewellery on his breast in the form of a broach. So much gold you don’t now where to test your eyes first.

Maybe he is a god. He certainly has all the riches of one. Stood before you as if he were Jupiter and all his delights. Thunderbolts seeping from his powerful fingers.

A golden crown of laurels ringing his light waved hair. His eyes was where true darkness laid; dark kohl ringing eyes the colour of the darkest Umbrian. Earth of shadow.

He was idly picking at food laid on a rose petal strewn table before him. You’ve never seen an offering of food so large and all for one. Cups of wine. Bread. Dried Fruit and a tiered stand flowing with fresh fruit. Some cheeses. Meats and fish. All laid on plates for him to pick over and discard, or saviour at his behest.

You wonder which category you’d fall into- the former appears the more likely.

Your stomach pangs for the smell of the freshly baked bread. The sweetness of the fruit. The tart wine. Tongue dry as sand and sluggish in your mouth.

“There you are. My little sea nymph.” He sneers over at you. One side of his lip curls upwards.

In panic, you bend the knee and bow your head, subservient, meek, and that makes him smile more.

He’s snapped his regal bejewelled fingers and had you bought to him. Bloodied and blinking dust out your eyes. Dirt stroked on your once fine dress. It now hangs in shredded tatters at the hem by your sandals. Blood spots dried like rusted petals. Brutal handling from guards lay in the bruises now scattering your lovely arms and the welts banding your wrists.

You want to cower behind the wall of guards. But you are rudely thrown forwards. Those shadowy eyes trace over your poorly clad form; you do feel like a minuscule scrap of dirt. A crack in a looking glass. A tarnish on something gleaming golden. The smear of imperfection allowed to exist in this heavenly palace.

He sees your hands are loose by your sides; unbound.

“Why is she not in chains, General? Have we stopped chaining our prisoners” He asks. Ire woven into his words. Eyes unflinching and hard and he scowls at Acacius. Who remained unmoved even in the face of his petulant wrath.

“I saw no need to chain her. Emperor. Such a woman in her position could surely not be a threat to you.” It’s a barb. A small sensible thorn, perhaps.

You flick your eyes across to the General.

“I didn’t even have to draw my sword or threaten her. She came willingly.” He tells his Emperor.

Like a sweetly led fool. A sacrificial creature led blindly to her own slaughter.

The guards stand to attention. Unwavering. Wall of armour and swords around your back as you cower. Eyes cast to the floor as you’re being discussed like a slab of meat. Something without autonomy or feeling.

You can feel Getas eyes on you still. Hard and weighty as warm metal. Searing into your skin. The way livestock are branded.

Those eyes are unrelenting. Violating. Scouring you up and down some more. Inspecting the span of your hips. The dip of your waist. The fall of your chest. Plump of your breasts and hips. The once pristine coil of your knotted hair.

Goddesses would envy you. The furies would want to tear down your beauty and goodness in wrath. Scratch out your eyes. Shear your hair. Anything to steal the golden thread of goodness from you.

Juno had blessed you and kept you indeed. Like you’re fresh out of her temple and sparkling with promise. He knew it the second he saw you. He made up his mind to have you then.

You had something. Something wrapped inside yourself like a shell protecting a pearl. Something good and virtuous. He wanted you all for himself.

If he was good as a god, then blessing himself with a wife who was a gift from the most beloved goddess was his right.

He can smell lemons and salt. And wondered if he inhaled the nubile skin of your neck and hair if then he’d find the source of it. Made him want to bite down on that supple neck and leave his mark-

“An unlikely source for a traitor do you not think so, General?” He asks.

General doesn’t answer but his expression is very telling. “My spies tell me she was not in the capital for two days before the suspected treason.” He offers.

Your stomach lurches, manages to tie itself into knots. Clammy sweat prickles your brow and your neck.

“Maybe she wasn’t aware of the plot. An unwilling participant dragged into the sordid scheme.” Geta speculates.

No answer comes from you still.

“Is she mute? I certainly heard her screams well enough at the coliseum.” He mocks. Impatient.

“Speak. Your Emperor demands it.” The General barks at you. You flinch at his sudden raised voice. Finally trailing your eyes from the mosaic tiles.

“I am not mute. Your majesty.” You explain. Feeling the tickle of humiliated tears at your eyes.

“I can offer no plea for innocence, except the truth that I had no knowledge as to my fathers schemes.”

Because no such schemes existed. Macrinus should be here in chains instead of you. The lying snake. He orchestrated the whole thing.

Geta savours your words. Drinks them in the way he’d taste wine. Rolls them around in his mouth.

He merely nods slightly. You hold your breath for his response.

“Come.” He sneers. “There’s something I want you to see.”

He guides you across to the huge marble pillars which guarded the open mouth of the balcony.

You walk behind him and come to the balustrade of white marble. Peering over the ledge. Out into the courtyard below where a cluster of soldiers and horses are gathered close.

“The soldiers will ride on my command.” He tells you. Sick delight in the power he wields.

When they pull away, and the sight below is exposed to you, your entire body wrenches forwards. Desperation grips you violently. A cry shattered out your throat.

They were going to quarter your father before your very eyes.

He stood, small and beaten, blood pouring from a gash to his head, in a filthy cloth tunic, because they’d humiliated him. Had him stripped of his noble senate robes.

His limbs each tied to separate riders on separate horses. When they galloped off in different directions, he would be torn to pieces. Barbaric.

Through a blackened eye and a swollen brow your father gazes up at you. Despair on his face. A once strong man brought so very low. It wounds you.

Geta is drinking in your every expression. The full horror and pain writ across your pretty face.

“No. No, mercy, please. Your majesty. I beg of you. Mercy.” You babble.

Eyes wide with desperation. Voice breaking as surely as your heart was. Cracking in two in your chest. Sharp as glass shards. Clinking to pieces sharp enough to make your insides bleed anew.

“Why should I spare a liar? Salacia?” He asks you. “Why should I not make an example of what happens to traitors in my court…” He demands. Eyes locked on you.

“He’s offered me things I don’t want or need to delay his death. Money. Information. I cannot help but feel it’s inevitably drawn him closer to it.”

He raises his hand, calmly. You sob. The riders bolt to attention. One more move and that would be it.

You flew for him. Unrestrained. Desperate. Willing to beg on your knees if needs be. You put yourself in front of him. Put your hands to him.

The General and his guards drew swords and came close. Geta turned and and ushered them back with a harsh wave of his fingers. He was enjoying this too much. The nature of despair- the clammy stench of desperation pouring off you like ocean waves.

You could only think of one instance that might appease his lust for blood-

Dying in the place of your elder for his crimes was all you had. All you clutched in your empty injured hands.

“Let me take his place. Put the bonds on me instead. Let me take his punishment. Make me the example.” You beg. Tears shiver and fall down your cheeks. Burning drips of salt spear at your lash-line.

In your desperation you cling to Getas chest. Your nails raking gold and the fine threads of the fabric coat he wore. He didn’t seem to mind. He seemed amused by it.

“Little Salacia.” The way he used your name with a brazenly satisfied smirk altered something in you.

An arm winds itself around your hip. Cups the back. Pressed a bruise that you want to hiss in pain at. But can’t.

His other hand rings your neck. Ghosts his thumb over the curve of your chin. Smearing tears with the gold and jewels on his fingers. You gasp. Air emptying out your lungs in one fell swoop.

“You have so much more to offer your Emperor than your death.” He says quietly. His meaning became intimate. Wrapped in insinuation.

Your mouth opened, no sound came. Your lower lip trembles. You glance down at your father who is crying. Straining, wrenching forwards at his bonds. Desperate to keep you from this.

Geta takes his hand and runs his hand through one knotted lock of it for a moment. Leaning in to savour the smell of you. He moans with it.

Definitely lemons. Mixed with something briny salt, the ocean. In odes to your name.

Your father sees this. The closeness. The insulation that this man would take you. He shouts from his bonds below. Begging.

“By the gods, spare her.” He cries.

“Not my daughter. It is my crime. Take me. I am here. Take me!”

With your father and oldest brother dead, your mothers and sisters would be destitute. They would be reduced to beggars. Brought low. With him alive they were respectable- reduced in honour perhaps, but at least they’d live.

Tears bite at your eyes. You let them. Blink them away.

“What’s say you? My patience is wearing thin…” Geta bullies. Hand dropping from your hair.

It pushes you to act.

“Servitude of my body. I will enslave myself to your every whim. Emperor.” You say through tears. Every sordid whim.

“Exile him.” Youoffer.

Geta’s eyes gleam to that. Intrigued. You would exile and dishonour your own father?

“Exile him from Rome and the Senate, and send him back to Corsica to be with my mother and sisters. Where he is needed.” You implore.

“And what of you, how will you serve me?” He drawls.

“I will stay here and act as your servant in whatever manner you wish.” You accept.

“I have servants. Little nymph. I don’t require any more servants. I don’t need whores or courtesans. What I do require, however, is a wife. One who will give me strong heirs.” He smiles. Clutching your hip in a strong, thick fingered hand.

Your throat constricts. Tears squeeze. As if he’s fisted a hand around your throat and squeezed and choked until you gave. Melted into his hands pliant.

Geta has you exactly where he wanted you. As he planned.

“I need your word you’ll spare him if I agree.” You counter. Eyes hard as diamond tips. Still watery and half logged in tears.

“My word is bond. He will leave this city unharmed.” He assures. Displeased at your doubt.

Clever little nymph, too. To bargain with a god.

Asking an Emperor like him to pledge his fealty. Were you any other commoner he’d have your tongue cut out for that insolence.

Then again, cornered creatures will snap and bite and claw for survival. They will do anything.

“Then I agree.” You cry. “I accept.”

His smirk grows. Wolfish. Unsticking a coil of hair from the blood on your cheek. And he’s close. Too close for your comfort.

“You will be my Empress.” He decides.

“My wife and my property. I will own you in every manner there is. You will give me healthy sons that will dethrone my brother.”

Those words make you shrivel inside.

What have you just agreed to. You may have delayed your fathers demise. But it appears you’ve just turned the sword aimed his way to your belly. Chalked a target on your own back instead- an eye for an eye-

He turns, keeping you in his hold, he lowers his hand.

“Exile that snake out of Rome. This instant-“ He orders sharply. “Take him to the city walls and tell him never to return or I will have his head on a platter for me and my wife.”

You watch with thinly veiled relief as the guards come in to cut his bonds and drag him by the collar.

You want to run to him. You want to embrace him and tell him to return to mother with kind words and love. He is dragged away out of sight.

Bleeding and battered. But safe.

You lock eyes. Same colour as yours, shaded ocean, surrounded by bloated skin and blood sheeting his face. Cut with paths of tears rolling down, before he is gruffly marched away. Dazed, bound, and bleeding. He is choking on his sobs too.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Nothing. No familial words. No kindness.

He was torn from you. Now your every whim is stolen away. Dictated by this man. This cruel stranger. One who would bed you and keep you cowed like a broodmare.

You stood there. Watching down on the scuffled marks in the dirt where he’d once been. Dust clouding. Now empty. It seemed like an illusion. Had it all just passed like air. Like a warm sea breeze. Your life altered in one brief moment of mercy and begging.

Geta turns to his General. “You are dismissed. Leave. Go win my wars.” He sneers curtly.

Acacius took his leave with a frown and a bow. Look directed to you as he did. “Emperor. Empress.”

The Emperor snapped his fingers. And within seconds, servants scurried silently from other rooms. A handful of maidens came. Long hair unbound. Robes of orange and blue. He snapped his orders at them. They folded their hands in front of themselves. Heads low as they obeyed.

“Escort my new bride to her chambers. Have her bathed and made presentable. Put her in something decent. We will marry at dusk.” He informs. Glancing you up and down with a leer.

“Then she will grace my bed. Doing her duty like a proper wife.”

He strides over to you where you stand on the balcony, the marble thing holding you up. All strength sapped. Your knees and arms and bones were water. Not marrow.

It was always foam whipped off the waves that made you up. And now you sagged with it. Plaint and drowning. A sad drowned maiden in her brook. A doomed saint of the sea.

“Leave her hair unbound. I like it down.” He orders. Wrenching his hand to the back of your neck. You wither under his touch. He senses this.

“Be grateful. I spared your filthy treasonous father. But I can still make your existence an unpleasant one if I choose.” He warns.

He leans close to claim your mouth in a kiss so sudden and brazen it makes you weak.

His lips are pillow soft and anything but delicate. His tongue seeks your mouth, licks the blood off the healing cut. Moans sordidly when he does. He kisses like a starving hound.

A trail of spit connects your mouths when he pulls away. He smears it to your chin with a finger. Rubs his essence into your skin to stay forever stained.

“I eagerly await to taste more of you later. Empress. Don’t disappoint me. It’s not a wrath you want to risk.”

“Yes, Emperor.” You sigh.

He leaves you so quick, you almost keel over. The servants wait patiently to escort you out in his absence.

In the faraway sky, over the capital, new clouds sag and bloat. Darkly stalking across the once clear blue. The sky turns to grey and churning clouds. It’s too bad you couldn’t see the sea. You had a feeling there would thrashing, heaving storms and waves double the size of these damned palace walls.

Thunder crashes in the distant gathering dark. The ocean wanted you back. Neptune’s rage for the loss of you. You picture home. Humble white walls. The wind so fierce it ripped petals clean off the climbing vines of jasmine. The lemon trees swaying and rocked violently. News of treason and abduction reaching your sisters’ horrified ears. Your mothers cries in situ with the storm.

You watch at the sky until rain pelts the marble walls like lashes. Rain dots your skin. Cold stroking your hair and shoulders. Marring dark blue arrows down your ruined dress. Maybe you’re grieving-

A servant girl has to hook a hand on your shoulder and kindly try to urge you inside. Your tears entwined with the howling rain. It feels like that’s all that’s left of you.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

@ceriseheaven @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[macabrecabra]

Now can't have the Silph Bros having a gang without the prominent members of it! Introducing the Nightshade Mafia members under the direct command of Ghast, formerly Hauts' underlings.

Exception is Hund. Hund is only ever with Gen 100% because he's the 100% competent good boy.

Read more for more info and some design notes on each!

Hund VonDoom (Hounddoom)

The ever loyal butler, bodyguard, and all around the one person Gen tells everything to, Hund is often regarded as a member of the family for how he is always with Gen. He is a silent sort, never speaks unless spoken to and follows orders faithfully without question. Probably the only person Gen trusts without a second thought.

The question most have is if Gen and Hund are actually a couple or not which is hard to say as Gen says nothing about it and Hund is a quiet judgmental look to all. However, it can't be understated that no one probably knows Gen best than Hund.

Design Notes: I just imagined this bodyguard of Gen who hides the lower half of their face in their collar, giving them a kind of stern and mysterious look as a minion. Hounddoom because they are good boys and Hund would def have that guard dog vibe!

Kofco & Whezle Smogbur (Wheezing)

With the strange evolution of pokemon without humans about, the Wheezing evolution has taken a turn! Usually the two parts of Wheezing are surgically removed, leaving the two as close brothers. Such an ascension is seen highly in the Koffing community, thus Kofco and Whezle command some level of respect among their fellows.

The two have a rough and tough street-wise attitude and like to think they are the big pokemon on the block, more than willing to get into a scrap and show people who get in the way of the mafia who's boss.... until things get sticky, then they are both looking for the door in a blast of gas attack.

Design Notes: When I started to design their outfits, I kept thinking of Jasper and Horace from 101 Dalmations and the style of clothing they wore and it just really stuck in my head! The tiny hats on their heads was just the icing on the cake <3

Arbel Jessic (Arbok)

Arbel is a classy snake who is in the criminal business to satisfy her lavish spending habits and get access to all the best fashion at a discount. She is not above getting her hands dirty or taking charge of her dumb co-workers is need be. Can be the voice of reason at times in the group, tampering down the chaotic leanings that can happen. She is looking for love and loves to date in her free time, looking for the one.

She can be a bit vain though and when someone makes a comment about her looks she doesn't like, she will be quick to anger and to lash out. She gets along best with Victor in the group, mostly because Victor doesn't know what she is saying half the time... Design Notes: I was channeling Jessie from Team Rocket when making Arbel, just wanting a strong lady in the gang and just really brought the design together in the end <3 the patterns she has is different than official Arbok art as I feel each Arbok has its own special markings!

Victor Belkavitch (Victreebel)

An immigrant from another region, Victor came to Kanto for a new start in life and to take care of his very large extended family of cousins, nephews, grandparents, aunts, and uncles that followed after him. He fell in with the Nightshade Mafia for his impressive work in a bar shootout and has been with them ever since as the pay is good and he does not have to talk much. He is still learning the local language of Kanto and struggles at times with things.

He is the largest one in the gang and can brute strength a lot of things. Loyal to his co-workers whom he treats as family, he is a dependable sort and not above sticking a fight out to keep others safe. Also he is of a pokemon kind that is not above swallowing things whole, including other pokemon when ordered.

Design Notes: As soon as he was named Victor, his design of leather jacket and dark jeans was set in stone as a nod to the dress of gangs/mafias that are found in Eastern Europe. A hat didn't really fit as he had that leaf to be his hat. I just like Victreebels....

Wolbert Buffet (Wobbuffet)

They have been the mafia since it was form as a best friend of Hauts. They actually have the other half of Hauts' hat so between them is the whole hat which means a lot to both of them. Wolbert can come across as rather energetic and a bit absentminded about things, more emotional than most, but more than willing to take the brunt of an attack without hesitation. They took news of Hauts' death hard but remained in the gang to keep an eye on Ghast and make sure he doesn't get into trouble.

They really want to help Ghast in leading the mafia, but they themselves aren't really good at leadership things as motivating people is hard. They just yell loudly and act like they have an idea of what they are doing most of the time. They really shine when it comes to being in a fight or having to get through doors with their sticky fingers.

Design Notes: Wolbert was, by far, the hardest one to design of the gang. Wobbuffet has a simple design that I had to translate into a more anthropomorphic style. Also it felt better with their body type that they probably favor dresses or skirts, so they got a blend of a suit and skirt! Also no shoes, but nice socks!

Gilliad Gligland (Gligar)

Gilliad is the new face on the block and the only one of the mafia who never knew Hauts. Ghast has adopted them as their best friend as a result, teaching them how to be a real ganster! Gilliad is a tad gullible as a result, believing everything they are told. still green about the gills, they get really scared by being in situations and stumble a lot. He's still learning!

Design Note: Given that Gligar has the webbing for gliding, it felt important that their outfit gave them access to their ability naturally and that clothing was designed around them. It is something I'm keeping in mind with designs to take in the pokemon's anatomy when humanizing them! Also having a goofy friend for Ghast was key, so they share similar fashion and being goofy little boys!

[jadegretz]

Poison Ivy: Toxic Temptress of Gotham by Jade Gretz

Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood at the precipice of her creation, a manic grin plastered across her emerald-hued face. Gone were the days of tattered clothes and makeshift shelters; she was a queen in her own verdant dominion. Thorns, as thick as her arm, rose from the cracked asphalt, their tips glistening with a bioluminescent green that cast an unsettling glow on the Gotham skyline.

This wasn't just a maze – it was a living, breathing organism, a testament to her power over plant life. Vines, intricately woven, formed intricate pathways, some leading deeper into the labyrinth, others dead ends that snagged and tore at the flesh of unsuspecting trespassers. Poisonous blooms, shaped like grotesque carnivorous flowers, emitted a sickly-sweet aroma that promised both seduction and a slow, agonizing demise.

Tonight, her prey was a particularly irksome one – Harvey Dent, Gotham's disgraced District Attorney. He'd spent years hounding her, his once charismatic face now twisted in a permanent scowl, a grotesque reflection of the Two-Faced monster lurking beneath.

She watched from a hidden vantage point, her skin blending seamlessly with the verdant foliage, as Dent stumbled through the undergrowth. His once crisp suit was now a tattered mess, his face scratched and streaked with blood. Every panicked cry of his name, a name synonymous with chasing justice in Gotham, was a twisted symphony to Ivy's ears.

Dent had always been a thorn in her side, his rigid sense of order clashing with her vision for a world reclaimed by nature. Now, the roles were reversed. He was trapped, a helpless insect caught in the sticky web she'd spun.

As Dent stumbled upon a particularly elaborate dead end, a wall of thorns snapping shut behind him, a guttural roar erupted from within the maze. Ivy smiled – one of her creations, a mutated panther she'd dubbed "Nightshade," was taking an early interest in the game.

Nightshade was no ordinary beast. Enhanced by Ivy's bio-alchemy, it was a creature of pure aggression, its sleek black fur barely visible in the dappled …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[themotherofblood]

Prologue . 3 | RIVER OF FIRE | Goodbye | D.T x reader x R.T

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2

warnings: angst! funeral,

synopsis: when Daemon and Rhaenyra find their own means of love and passion within a Martell princess, within them is the support for this union, the rest of the world will never agree. Not that Daemon cares.

~ did some force take you because I didn’t pray ~

“I am torn, so very torn. Alicent lied to us, to Rhaenyra. For months we thought she was coaxing us through our grief, helping heal Rhaenyra and Viserys’s relationship. She lied. This isn’t her, it was her father. We are ladies, it is our duty from birth to be married but this, I pray that she remains Alicent not just the Queen.”

“I know you’ve refused once before,” Rhaenyra mumbled, she clutched onto your hands with conviction. Please say yes. “Ride with me to Dragonstone.” 

“On dragonback?” Your eyebrows furrow as you cease your mindless folding of handkerchiefs. That wasn’t an odd request, denying her however would prove to be impossible. 

The court was to gather together this evening as a sail for Dragonstone to perform Aemma’s final rites. The stay would be for two days, though Rhaenyra insisted on remaining on Dragonstone for a week. It was good, Viserys agreed. She could use a change within her drill monotony of receiving condolences and stiff-lipped smiles to the congregation for she was a princess of the Realm, she had duties even when she must mourn her mother. 

You placed down the last handkerchief by the mirror of your vanity as you turned to look at her. “You won’t let me fall?” 

“Never, please duck.” The dropped lids of her eye, red and bruised from her spurts of cries. You nodded, walking over to engulf Rhaenyra once more, having predicted the soon wobble of her lips before the tears yet again came. 

Rhaenyra couldn’t fathom the agony that persisted within her chest, weighing it down so heavily that if she were to lay in bed, she couldn’t breathe. Gasping and face red until her lady-in-waiting Enorah would pull her upright, she would then realise that she had been sobbing so hard there was no room to breathe. Those moments were so aching and yet fleeting as she would soon find herself whimpering and sniffling in Alicent’s or your arms. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent together had mourned Aemma, you’d find Alicent often, wiping at her eyes. Memories of her own mother consuming her so heavily, she couldn’t find it in her to hold the onslaught so she may soothe Rhaenyra. You, nought is to be said about your mourning, even Daemon appeared to be tearful at breakfast the last morrow but you. Not a single drop of tear split to patter on your bath water or wet your pillow. 

Sleep however had evaded you entirely, Rhaenyra had stopped consuming Nightshade after the third night, finding that her spurt of sobs lulled her to an exhaustive uncomfortable sleep. You however laid flat against your bed one moment, a book meant to read laying on your tummy untouched and nothing. The first night you turned to the window and realised the Hour of the Nightingale as you heard them chirping, this followed the second night. Rhaenyra curled asleep next to you and you, nothing. 

Oberya had appeared concerned, nought had shifted in your demeanour and that precisely tickled her irked. Yesterday when the court convened to the Throne Room, you set eyes upon Viserys for the first time in three days. He announced for the court to set sail to Dragonstone to perform Aemma’s last writ of fire. Your head was so heavy, you profusely blinked your eyes to wash away the clouding in front of your eyes. The figure of Viserys’s white hair was merely spot within your vision as you stood in the gallery with the other young ladies. 

When the court dispersed, you lingered in the galleries for a moment. Letting the fog cut from this sticky slack it had found itself into. You grew tired walking back to your chambers, legs heavy, fingers heavy, head heavy. You climbed the stairs only to stop four floors below yours and rest for a moment. One moment your head rested on the cool red rock of the walls, the next—nothing. 

Oberya had found on her way up to your rooms, she called your name once and then twice more but you were beyond the line of consciousness. The impetuous change from the colour of your skin, she yelled for the attendants to call for the Maester. Lack of sleep was your diagnosis, from the night after Aemma’s death. 

Once more, nightshade was prescribed for your condition, Rhaenyra beyond dejected, cursing at herself for not seeing your declining vigour. Though today as you told Oberya to help you be dressed in riding clothes, she was strictly against it. You mind still astray from the after effects of Nightshade. She urged Rhaenyra to not encourage your first joy ride above the clouds to be on such a strenuous day. Nyra gave her a stiff lipped nod before she left for the Dragonpit.

Your wheelhouse already held another companion, Alicent sat with a thick blanket draped over her legs. As you climbed on she lifted the free end to let you underneath. You hadn’t seen her much in the day, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said she was affected by Aemma’s loss. Her mother passed two summers before, the emotions and the grief of it would stain her skin like an old wound gaped open. 

The Motherless Luncheon, that’s what your gathering should be called. First your mother, then hers and then Rhaenyra. All passing in similar ways. 

“Will you be staying the week with us?” you questioned, you hoped she would. It would be a pleasant time away but mostly she could comfort Nyra in a way that it seems that you couldn’t. 

“Father wants me to return.” She said disappointedly, she too looked forward to staying at Dragonstone. She could pry away from her father’s demands to visit with Viserys every night.

You reached to pat the hand over the blanket. “I’m sure we can try convincing him after the funeral,” you reassured “mayhaps the King could help.” 

Alicent absentmindedly nodded, looking at the flora carved holes on the metal walls of the wheel house. 

At the docks, boats remained tied in an organised line, awaiting to row the nobles of the procession to their designated ships. The King’s vessel was prepared for him, the Hand, Alicent and you along with other required essential staff, a separate cabin to lay the silk wrapped bodies of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon. Your Daima Oberya was to board another ship along with Queen Aemma’s former ladies in waiting. 

Even the Blackwater seemed to have been weeping today, the grey skies outlining the black sails of the Targaryen sigil, you looked to the sky. Waiting to see Rhaenyra fly from King’s Landing. You rested your head against the iron railing of the ship for a moment— Oberya was right, your head still felt uneasy because of the drift wind. Then you heard it, with King’s Landing fading in the horizon. Loud melodic chirps and gruntled whines, a red and a gold dragon following behind flew from the dome roof of the Dragonpit. Daemon, pulling Caraxes higher in the air and Rhaenyra still flying lower towards Viserys’s ship, towards you. 

You waved at the yellow figure right above you, Rhaenyra’s silver hair flying as she gave you a second glimpse before pulling on Syrax’s reins to catch up to her uncle and his mount. 

The pyres were built as the court mingled and took lunch together, Rhaenyra pulled you along to the gardens to pick up stray twigs and fallen flowers onto the pyres before her brother and mother were placed on them. The dragon keepers had fed young Syrax a sheep, to keep her tempered, her demeanour matched the mewlish clinging of Rhaenyra. 

The sunshine that she was covered by the ghastly shade of this moon’s untimely events, you could sing to her, help her pick a star in the sky like you did for your mother. Have her wrapped around you as she wept, or perhaps even the frequent visits from her dear uncle Daemon. He mostly gave her things, mumbled Valyrian poetry as held her sobbing frame. You could do nought but work away at your needle point, he would ask you the same thing over and over again. Surely having heard them from Oberya. 

“Have you cried yet?” 

Such stoicism in the short body of a girl of two and ten would have anyone gossiping about the possibility of madness or cruel disinterest. What Martell would weep at the loss of another of the Targaryen ilk.

The wind blew wild as the court gathered upon the Ashen Rock, Aemma’s silk wrapped body awaited with her son Viserys whispered his final partings. Rhaenyra couldn't look at her father as she stood next to you, her hand firmly holding your, preventing herself from falling over. Everyone lingered in the discomforting mourn of the royals, awkwardly looking at one another or away from the former Queen’s body. The other’s gawking at Syrax stood over the giant dragon glass scaled rock, swaying back and forth and sniffing the ground beneath her. 

Daemon looked between his brother and his niece, havethe courage damn you, cutting his wife open for a son he now does not have. Yet, here a cruel decision, he should do it himself, the King should burn the consequence of his ill made choices himself. Instead, his red faced niece stood shuffling her weight, unable to speak the Valyrian command with only her companion to comfort her. Daemon stepped forward, making his footsteps louder to not startle the girls. 

“They’re waiting for you.” he whispered, how was he to urge such puling babe to burn her own mother. 

“Nyke pendagon lo isse se dorolvie jēda issa lēkia glaesagon, lo kepa istan biare.” Rhaenyra voiced her resentment, the sorrow unfailingly creeping its way into her voice. Wondering if her father truly found happiness in the few hours her brother lived. 

Daemon tutted, a daughter losing faith in her father he recounted “Ziry jorrāelagon ao sir tolī gō mirre.” he hoped to sway her. 

Without Daemon, Viserys would live. The court had long wedged seeds of distrust between them but without his daughter. Viserys would be no man, merely a sack of meat and bones. He needs you now more than ever. 

Rhaenyra scoffed, sniffling before stepping forward. She looked back at her father, hoping he would look at her once, apologise for what he had done. Look at mother, look at her, she wanted to scream as she bore daggers onto Viserys periphery. She then turned to you, tilting her head, not wanting to do this. Someone else should do this, she couldn't, she cant. 

You nodded at her, eyes filled with sorrow over her pain as she shook her head. You looked up at Daemon, unsure how to help her. He, too, nodded at her. Mentally coaxing her to say the word. Rhaenyra turned, her shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath of air, whispering the word under her breath. Never had it tasted so bitter in her mouth as she stammered before looking up at Syrax. 

“Dracarys.” she ordered loud and clear before swiftly turning on her heel to look away as her mount waddles down the rock to blast her dragonfire upon the pyres. 

The pyres burnt in a bright yellow hue as Viserys swayed onto the ball of his feets before promptly walking inside, the court taking their leave one by one as they bowed at Rhaenyra and Daemon before following behind their King. Oberya had been watching you still, you held Rhaenyra in your arms as her tears followed new, nothing– dry to a bone were your eyes and you walked with Rhaenyra back to Visenya’s Hold, Alicent hot behind your heels as you escorted her upstairs. 

“I hate him! I hate him.” She wailed, shaking in your arms as you tried to calm her. Such words were blasphemous, even if they came from the mouth of the Princess Royal. He may be her father but he is foremost the King. Forever bound to the ideals of his Small Council and the Realm.  

Oberya wandered the halls at night, an oil lamp clutched to her hands as she checked any open ante chambers to find you. Peaking through one door then another, cursing you for leaving your bed chambers so late at night. Two other handmaidens also aided her in her task to find you, two plaits and cream shift. Shouldn’t be hard to find in manse this grand and dark.

She stumbled onto another receiving chambers, only this time great with a frown struck prince sitting by the hearth and nursing on strong wines. 

“Forgive my intrusion, my prince.” She apologised, she bowed her head.

“Bother not, I figured you’d be at a brothel my lady.” Daemon quirked his brow, having encountered the Martell bastard in Mysaria’s establishment, a fine specimen in the sea of pretender in tight corseted gown and pinned up hair. She was amusing, a fine jape at his brother’s court. 

“I should be,” she stressed “but it seems my niece is wayward.” 

“At this hour?” He frowned, the little viper, forever pussyfooting past your night guard.

Daemon downed the rest of his wine before standing up, “has there been a search party?” 

“Two handmaidens, three house guards and I, I’m afraid.”  Oberya shook her head, making way for Daemon as he walked past her. 

The groups broke to two, part of them heading to the Great Hall and the other half to Aegon’s Gardens. Discreetly but thoroughly searching through ever room and corner, mindful to not wake any of the other nobles. 

Daemon instead head upstairs, the top of Visenya’s Hold. The lush balconies carved off the volcano looked just over the water, the Ashen Rock and the east end of the city, and gold struck him as he found you leaning over the stone barricade. 

“Princess?” He called out, approaching slowly.

You flinched and then turned, you eyes looked with tears and cheeks red. A tremble running in your fingertips, you forgot all of courtly manners— not a bow nor acknowledgement as you stared at Daemon wide eyed. You had been watching the simmering pyres, the truth engulfing you whole. She was truly gone, just blacked ash of bones and wood with her son. The mother you had known for the longest time. 

“S- she’s truly gone…” you whimpered “She’s dead.” 

The tears finally came, wetting your cheeks like the dried desert weeping for rain, the grief welcomed you with open arms as you fell to your knees.

let me know in the comments if you’d like to be on the tag list.

Thank you for reading

Comments and reblogs are appreciated

[trobeds]

things i want for the community movie (but some of it is just wishful thinking)

canon trobed. self explanatory but if this doesnt happen ill be pissed so bad + if they dont make it canon they should at least have them b ambiguously gay bcs girl have u SEEN them

TROBED REUNION I NEED THEM LIVING TOGETHER AGAIN I NEED DOMESTICITY I NEED THEM TO BE GLUED TO EACH OTHERS SIDES

annie my everything edison being an absolute badass detectifying the shit out of the film with her cute little outfits

384973984 STICKY NOTES BINDER REVIVAL

put her in a pantsuit dear god.

jeffbritta got married (FINALLY. AFTER TRYING LIKE 3 TIMES) during the timeskip drunk and theyre just staying married because of tax benefits. literally always hanging the empty ass threat of 'i will divorce you'

brittas really into gay rights

GIVE ANNIE A GIRLFRIEND!!!! PLEASE SHE DESERVES IT!!!!!!!!!

mmmfgfnmgh frankie........ shes so beatiufl

shirley comes back !

chang pulls something absolutely INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

POP POP!!!!!!!!!

trobed reenact a movie kiss plspls. made out for the bit (they have canonically filmed a sex scene together even if trobed isnt canon this is veeeery possible)

hugs

can we brign back ricky nightshade and goth britta. they were so hot and i am but a feeble bisexual

more stuff i cant remember

so much troy and abed singing their catchphrase. what if they got married. what if

abedison (platonic) + can we get a don draper/han solo callback i think it would be so funny if annie was like im a lesbian but GOD

[saintfrancesworld]

GOD IS A GUN

by Frances L.

Mid-day tears of soy-sauce sweat

slinking down

my forehead. The fidgeting wisp of a

baby pink

birthday dress—

It is summer. I don’t know what to do with my hands.

I never know what to do

with my hands. Except maybe

devour.

They exclaim, “Happy 23rd!” the day after

the day after.

And my laugh, bitter as nightshade.

And my head,

still a haunted house! Even in these brights!

But I come alive now

and I don’t ever

stop. It’s a county fair occasion.

Remember: No goldfish this time ‘round! No winning.

I sigh. I look down.

I sigh again. I look around.

I have schemes and no friends. Not really.

But I? I would like to be the westward expanse;

the ugly foreign beauty tilting off the edge of the known world.

And I could be swimming somewhere,

an emancipated fair fish, a slash of defiant orange.

But I’m not.

I’m not.

I’ll watch the others glide past instead

and swell.

How do I look? they ask.

I think: The depression is always back and I’m beginning to fear it’s all I’m good at.

I think: God is a gun pressed to the back of my neck.

You look fantastic, by the way.

(Only dead fish go with the flow.)

I glared with hag stones held up to my eyes. Nothing.

My mouth stings, by the way.

(Only dead fish go with the flow.)

But this? This

isn’t a squirt-gun game anymore. It’s

Russian roulette now, carving out

the hollowness.

I like it! My fingers already

sticky.

All right, I hate hypotheticals. Pull the trigger.

[mochinomnoms]

*slides you yellow sticky note w/ "$20" scribbled on it with a green colored pencil that evaporates immediately when I turn on "Ask Anonymously"*

So... tell me about the ✨️ symbolism ✨️ (all the detail you can manage without spoiling chapters 5+ please)

-nightshade anon

YES

The titles of each chapter represent either Jade or Yuu's thoughts and the progression of their relationship. If you listen to the songs and/or study the lyrics, you can see which title goes to who.

There is a sprinkling of the reasons why Yuu suddenly gave magic, as well as a consequence that they can't avoid besides the which is sprinkled in each chapter.

Everyone from the main cast is doting/attentive to Yuu for a very important reason :) you'll notice it in everyone's interactions with them. This is most notable in the overblotted students.

There is a reason that Jade's daydreams are so detailed and intricate, and it's not just because of Jade.

All the OCs introduced have lots of details to their names! They reference not only their twisted character, but their backstory/relationships to other characters. Aspen is especially full of references!

You can tell by the titles at which point Yuu will fall in love with Jade if you pay attention to the lyric/song name used.

Okay that's all until chapter 5 or else I'll have too many spoilers.

[ethereal-ineffability]

Hi tumblr, this is a complete list of every ingredient you need (minus rupees) to upgrade all armor pieces in Tears of the Kingdom to full. I saw them in lists per set/item, but that didn't scratch my "run around collecting all the things efficiently then upgrade everything all at once" AuDHD gamer itch so I did it myself. I spent 2 hours of my life organizing this list so I'm back from the dead to save hopefully at least a single person the trouble. :'D

-Special Plants-

Shock Fruit x9

Fire Fruit x9

Ice Fruit x9

Puffshroom x9

Dazzlefruit x60

Brightbloom Seeds x90

Giant Brightbloom Seeds x105

-Normal Plants-

Voltfruit x15

Mighty Banana x30

Swift Carrot x10

Acorn x30

-Mushrooms-

Sunshroom x15

Chillshroom x15

Zapshroom x15

Rushroom x39

Razorshroom x15

Silent Shroom x24

Bright Caps x15

-Flowers-

Warm Safflina x9

Cool Safflina x9

Electric Safflina x24

Mighty Thistle x9

Swift Violet x90

Blue Nightshade x24

Silent Princess x72

Sundelion x75

-Seafood-

Hyrule Bass x15

Hearty Bass x9

Voltfin Trout x30

Sizzlefin Trout x30

Chillfin Trout x30

Stealthfin Trout x30

Glowing Cave Fish x15

Sneaky River Snail x15

Razorclaw Crab x9

-Insects-

Energetic Rhino Beetle x9

Bladed Rhino Beetle x9

Thunderwing Butterfly x9

Summerwing Butterfly x15

Winterwing Butterfly x15

Smotherwing Butterfly x24

Electric Darner x15

Cold Darner x15

Warm Darner x21

Sunset Firefly x15

Deep Firefly x39

-Lizards/Frogs-

Hearty Lizard x5

Hightail Lizard x21

Fireproof Lizard x15

Sticky Lizard x24

Sticky Frog x30

Hot-Footed Frog x30

-Stones-

Opal x276

Ruby x121

Sapphire x121

Topaz x121

Diamond x27

Flint x367

Amber x565

Luminous Stone x450

Star Fragment x100

Fire Like Stone x15

Ice Like Stone x15

Shock Like Stone x15

-Zonai/Constructs-

Zonaite x150

Large Zonaite x180

Large Zonai Charge x114

Soldier Construct Horn x15

Soldier Construct II Horn x15

Soldier Construct III Horn x15

Soldier Construct IV Horn x15

Captain Construct I Horn x15

Captain Construct II Horn x15

Captain Construct III Horn x15

-Misc mobs-

Courser Bee Honey x15

Dark Clump x15

Chuchu Jelly x15

Red Chuchu Jelly x24

White Chuchu Jelly x24

Yellow Chuchu Jelly x33

Gibdo Wing x24

Gibdo Bone x50

Gibdo Guts x5

Molduga Jaw x9

Molduga Fin x5

Molduga Guts x23

Octorok Eyeball x6

Octorok Tentacle x5

Octo Balloon x5

-Keese/Aerocuda-

Aerocuda Eyes x42

Aerocuda Wings x48

Keese Eyeball x30

Keese Wings x33

Electric Keese Wing x15

Ice Keese Wing x39

Fire Keese Wing x45

-Bokoblins-

Bokoblin Horn x15

Blue Bokoblin Horn x15

Black Bokoblin Horn x15

Silver Bokoblin Horn x24

Bokoblin Guts x42

Bokoblin Fang x9

Boss Bokoblin Guts x9

Boss Bokoblin Horn x9

Blue Boss Bokoblin Horn x9

Black Boss Bokoblin Horn x9

Silver Boss Bokoblin Horn x9

-Moblins-

Moblin Guts x18

Moblin Horn x9

Moblin Fang x15

Blue Moblin Horn x15

Black Moblin Horn x15

Silver Moblin Horn x9

-Horriblins-

Horriblin Horn x15

Blue Horriblin Horn x15

Black Horriblin Horn x15

Horriblin Guts x39

-Lizalfos-

Lizalfos Horn x9

Lizalfos Tail x18

Lizalfos Talon x15

Black Lizalfos Horn x15

Silver Lizalfos Horn x9

Blue Lizalfos Horn x15

Blue Lizalfos Tail x15

Fire-Breath Lizalfos Horn x30

Fire-Breath Lizalfos Tail x48

Ice-Breath Lizalfos Horn x30

Ice-Breath Lizalfos Tail x54

Electric Lizalfos Horn x33

Electric Lizalfos Tail x54

-Hinox-

Hinox Toenail x15

Hinox Tooth x15

Hinox Guts x33

Black Hinox Horn x9

-Frox-

Frox Fang x9

Frox Fingernail x9

Obsidian Frox Fang x9

Blue-White Frox Fang x15

Frox Guts x18

-Lynels-

Lynel Guts x30

Lynel Hoof x15

Lynel Saber Horn x6

Lynel Mace Horn x6

Blue-Maned Lynel Saber Horn x9

Blue-Maned Lynel Mace Horn x9

White-Maned Lynel Saber Horn x18

White-Maned Lynel Mace Horn x18

-Gleeok-

Gleeok Electric Horn x15

Gleeok Flame Horn x15

Gleeok Frost Horn x15

Gleeok Wing x36

Gleeok Guts x18

-Dragon Parts-

Naydra's Scale x5

Naydra's Claw x3

Naydra's Fang x3

Naydra's Horn x5

Naydra's Spike x15

-

Farosh's Scale x3

Farosh's Claw x3

Farosh's Fang x3

Farosh's Horn x5

Farosh's Spike x15

-

Dinraal's Scale x3

Dinraal's Claw x3

Dinraal's Fang x3

Dinraal's Horn x5

Dinraal's Spike x15

-

Light Dragon's Scale x3

Light Dragon Claw x2

Light Dragon Fang x3

Light Dragon Horn x3

Light Dragon's Talon x1

[seytazen]

🌹🌹🌹🌹

This is so late but dammit life has been rough lately I hope you can forgive me but here's an Earthspark ficlet for ya.

Optimus tapped a digit on the desk, staring at the data form waiting for him to read, fill out, and file it. He glanced at his chronometer mentally noting he had been at this for about an hour now… and not even the first question was done. 

Tap tap tap tap tap. 

This form was a field report for GHOST, he told himself. Therefore important. This report was already late, so it’s a priority now. Either way it must be done. He shifted in his seat, leaning forwards to get a closer look at the sentence.

Why couldn’t his processor just process the information? He knew how to read in English, so why are these English words registering as gibberish? He fidgeted with the stylus in his hand trying to keep his mind off of the terrible helmache brewing. He was also so tired… he hadn’t actually gotten any recharge in- 42 hours? 

His optics glanced over to the other parts of his paperwork he had not gotten to yet. The large messy stack that took up a terribly large portion on his desk contained the various unread reports, to do paperwork, receipt copies covered with sticky notes, empty reusable energon cubes, and an empty orange prescription bottle. 

Right… that was why. 

He shook his helm. He couldn’t dwell on that too much, Ratchet said there was a shortage of the compounds he needed, but there was a shipment on the way. He just needed to hold out for another week. 

Mind over matter…

Tap tap tap tap. 

Oh come on, he had done this sort of stuff before. He just had worked through all sorts of things… a helmache and a little fatigue? It should be a walk in the park. He scratched behind his audio with another loud sigh. There's a million things he’d rather be doing right now… basketball sounded like fun. Maybe Elita would be free for a one on one- NO. 

No no no. 

Important paperwork first.  

Important very late paperwork first.

Focus. 

He flipped the stylus he was holding around in his right servo. He could do this, it was just a field report… Question one. 

Question one… 

Question…one. 

He fiddled absentmindedly with the stylus in his servo. He sure had a lot of paperwork to do today. He had been terrible about letting it pile up this past week. And he knew that he had to have it finished if he wanted to watch the Lakers Game on Thursday. He still had the budget to do for this quarter, several reports from Megatron and Elita to read, Prowl’s patrol schedule for everyone needed to be confirmed, he still had this field report and the other three to do too for Executive Agent Croft, Agent Schloder had a few wordy reports in here as well.

 There were also Arcee’s reports to read and file…

 It’s been a little while since he checked up on Bumblebee too-and then the Terrans training needed to be checked up on. Dottie had mentioned something about them. What was it again? Right- he had been meaning to visit and Nightshade was rather curious about Cybertronian history and he still had a few textbooks laying around his quarters that he could loan out. Anything to keep Cybertron’s history alive and breathing right? Now that he thought about it, where did he put those? He knew they were in his quarters somewhere-but where? He really ought to clean his room sometime soon- he was certain that he was the main culprit of the missing cubes from the recreation room. He didn’t even know how many he had accidentally hoarded away, but Jazz was getting very persistent with the base wide emails asking- no pleading for them to be returned. Prowl wouldn’t be very happy if he had to give in and order some more to keep the rest of the autobots fueled. He should set a reminder to do that right now on his comm- oh right- he turned his comm off and he also couldn’t use the internet in his office right now- the router was unplugged. Well it was kind of important that he get a reminder on his comm about the missing reusable cubes, otherwise he would forget about it and then he would feel worse the next time he checked his emails and found another base wide demand for people to return the cubes when they were done with them. Speaking of emails, he should give his inbox a glance while he had his comm on-

Wait, now he was off track again. 

Scrap. 

He rubbed at his optics tiredly. His helm ached and he could go for a quick powerdown… after he does at least half of this paperwork because he wanted to go to the game on Thursday. Where was that ticking noise coming from? Right right- Earth clocks make noise because they have mechanisms that keep the time. There was one on the wall. How had he wasted another 20 minutes staring at this datapad?? 

Tap tap tap. 

He narrowed his optics to it. Earth time was a lot faster than Cybertronian time, and it was dwindling away in front of him. He leaned against the back of the chair glaring down at the datapad again. 

These were his responsibility. People needed him to get his paperwork in. And they needed it like yesterday. There were no excuses for a Prime being so lazy, so he just needed to get it done. 

He stayed right where he was. It was like he was stuck…He glanced over at his comm’s full inbox blinking in his peripheral. He needed to do something about that, there was no telling how many messages he had missed while he sat here struggling to do anything about the massive pile of work he had neglected. Oh, there were a few missed calls from Bumblebee here too… maybe he should check up on him, it must be somewhat urgent if he’s calling- wait no! He was doing it again! He had turned off his comm specifically so he wouldn’t get distracted with a call or emails or TikTok videos! These papers were urgent too, and if Bumblebee needed something Elita and Megatron were both available to back him up. 

He slumped over, putting his helm in his folded arms with a groan.

It was time to stop messing around. Stop procrastinating, and just do it. He had to. He had to. He had to… 

Do it. Do it. Do it, do it, do it. DO IT NOW. 

…

This was pointless…

Maybe a walk would help get his helm in order.

Optimus stood up slowly and walked to his office door in defeat, once again guiltily leaving the pile of paperwork behind him. Just 15 minutes. 15 minutes and he would try again. He had to, there was too much to do for him to not get anything accomplished again. 

He shut the door behind him quietly as he looked back and forth down the empty hallway. He turned to walk down the hallway. Base was pretty much a long rectangle if you took the halls around the long way. Just to get some energon flowing, he’d take a quick walk and then go back to doing paperwork. 

He paced down the hallway, letting his mind wander a little bit, but still watching for humans underfoot. 

“OP! There you are, I was hoping I’d catch you,” a familiar voice called from behind him, the footsteps quickening to catch up to him.  He froze in his steps before slowly turning around in dread.

Please don’t have another report. 

“Elita,” he greeted back watching the pink femme walk up to him with a datapad in hand. He hoped that wasn’t what he was assuming it was… “What can I do for you?” 

“Glad you asked,” she replied, holding the datapad out. He grimaced behind his mask, taking it from her servo. She continued to speak, “Saw the Do not Disturb sign so I held off, but hey, since I ran into you might as well give it to you. Getting all caught up?” She elbowed him gently. 

He thought about telling her briefly. He really did. But if he admitted he was so far behind she would be appalled and ask why- and then he would have to explain why he couldn’t focus on measly data work, and that would lead to him trying to explain the disorder he had, and THAT would lead to her asking all sorts of questions about how he can want to do something but somehow can’t do it, and he didn’t have the time or the patience.

He didn’t want to be shamed for this, he was already ashamed of this problem as it was and that she knew he was behind in the first place. 

“Um. Yes! Yes, I am,” he replied with a stiff nod, keeping a forced smile on his face. He was practically gritting his teeth. He didn’t care about lying, he really didn’t, but he didn’t want to make excuses for a hole he dug for himself. “Nothing quite like getting caught up on paperwork! I’ve just been churning them out, one right after the other!” He chuckled, hoping deeply she would buy it. “Just taking a little bit of a break and then I’ll get right back to work on them. Should be done really soon… Yes, another report should be no issue. Thank you, Elita.” 

“Yeah, no problem! Keep up the good work, yeah? I’ll let you get back to your break,” she smiled, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “I’m hitting the gym. See ya at the watch party OP! Go Lakers!” She called as she jogged away. 

He waved to her even as she disappeared around a corner. He slumped where he stood once she was completely out of view looking down at the training report he was just handed. The watch party… if he didn’t finish his paperwork he wouldn’t be permitted to go. And he had been looking forward to this game. He sighed, shaking his helm. What was one more anyway? He slowly turned back around and continued to walk. 

He turned another corner through the hallways, holding the datapad from Elita in one hand as he let his thoughts wander as he walked. There was a soft tapping on his shoulder. He turned to see what it could be. He felt more weight settled on top of the report he was already holding. His optics widened a little bit, turning back to look down at his hands. He blinked, finding another two sitting on top of Elita’s newest report. 

“Turning in my scouting reports! Thanks Optimus!” Arcee’s voice called from behind him. He wrenched his helm back behind him, watching her frame disappear around the corner he had just turned. 

He sighed softly, turning back to stare harshly at the total of three new reports in his servos. “No problem…” he muttered. 

…

He completed the loop around the base he had meant to walk, he still had zero interest in doing any of the work already piled on his desk, and he had somehow accumulated 7 more datapads to do. 

There was an unpleasant pressure in his chest as he dropped them roughly on top of the pile. How frustrating- he just wanted to throw them all against the wall! He stared at the mess every passing second rage gathering in his spark. He could identify at least 65 different tasks he could do, and yet he couldn’t pinpoint on a single one to start on! 

He stared harder, clenching his fists.

Annoyance/Frustration/Overwhelmed colored his field.  

This was officially a breaking point. There was too much of it and he was sick of looking at it. 

The only way there was to get it out of his sight was to do it. 

He could do this. 

All he had to do was start. 

Just one at a time.  

Knock knock knock. 

Dammit, not now! 

Knock knock knock.

He slowly turned to stare at the door. He could pretend he wasn’t here… 

Knock knock knock 

“Optimus? It’s Megatron. I know you’re in there!” He called through the door. 

Optimus felt his optic twitch. So much for that idea. Begrudgingly, he opened the door a little bit. “What can I do for you, Megatron?” He asked, trying not to sound annoyed, but he knew he had failed when Megatron took a small step back.  

Megatron gave him a small sheepish smile. “So how are the reports going?” 

His optic twitched as he took a slow vent in. “…good. They’re going good,” he replied stiffly, not breaking optic contact with Megatron. 

“Great! That’s great, So you won't mind if I hand you a few more?” He asked, pulling another three datapads from behind his back. 

Optimus felt like he was on the verge of glitching. He took a deep intake staring at the additional three reports. 

On top of the mess. 

Frustration was rapidly building. 

“Yes. I can definitely take those. That will not be a problem at all,” he replied, reaching out and trying to take them. 

He must not be doing a good job at masking his building anxiety because Megatron gave him a look and pulled the pads back out of his reach. He frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Are you…sure?” 

Optimus hesitated. He must have had a tone. He straightened up a little bit, speaking slowly and reminding himself that this was his fault- not Megatron’s. “Yes. I’m sure,” he sighed. “Sorry, I’m just a little tired is all.” 

Megatron slowly tried to look over his shoulder and Optimus quickly sidestepped to block his view of the messy office. Megatron narrowed his optics just a little bit. “Optimus, are you absolutely sure you’re okay taking these now? I can always bring them back later if you aren’t caught up-“ 

“I am caught up! I am. I’ve got it under control. So I’ll just take these now,” he replied, panic seeping into his voice. He couldn’t let Megatron figure out he was drowning in procrastination! Elita finding out was doable, but Megatron would certainly judge him. “It’s no issue! I assure you.” 

Megatron seemed to hesitate, looking at Optimus critically. “You just seem kind of… jittery. You know, if you’re having trouble catching up…” Optimus narrowed his optics a little bit, beginning to grow rather short tempered all of a sudden.

“I’m not having any trouble catching up-“ Optimus replied in a low warning tone. 

“All I’m saying is if you need a little help-“

“Megatron, I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about. I am on top of it. I do not need help and I am perfectly capable of datawork so why don’t you just hand over the reports!” He snapped, exasperated by Megatron’s concern. 

A low whistle from behind him caught his attention. “Wow… quite the stack there, huh?” 

His spark sank rather quickly. He knew Dottie was standing by his desk. Shame was burning through him as he turned around to face her. “Lieutenant Malto…”

Dottie chuckled. “I was starting to wonder why my paperwork is still pending…” 

Megatron stepped inside the office now that Optimus had been found out and was no longer focused on keeping him out. . “Yikes… and I thought I was terrible with paperwork,” he teased. A part of Optimus knew it was meant to be in good nature, but it tugged at him. 

“Usually I’m not this terrible with it…” he replied softly, shutting the door behind Megatron and watching Dottie scale the side of his desk. “Trust me, no one is more frustrated with this mess than I am. If I could I would, but I just… can’t. 

“So what’s going on then, Big Rig?” Dot asked as she searched for another crevasse to further her climb up.  

Megatron strolled over to the side of the desk to give Dot a boost. The orange bottle caught his optics. He sat Dot down and slowly picked it up. 

Optimus visibly bristled at it averting his optics. 

Dottie looked between Optimus and the empty bottle Megatron held. “I assume it has something to do with that?” She asked, crossing her arms. 

Megatron gave him that concerned look he had practically mastered over the last 15 years. 

The one that merely said ‘spill it.’ 

No point in hiding it now…

He sighed heavily leaning against the door and folding his arms. He looked down at the floor. “…I’ve always had trouble doing desk work,” he said, shaking his helm. “It’s boring and monotonous and I sit down to do them, and I get… stuck… I-I know it sounds strange. I want to sit down, focus, and finish my paperwork, but I can’t do it.” 

“Can you elaborate on that?” Dottie asked crossing her arms and looking up and down the piles that towards precariously around her. 

Optimus looked back up at the orange bottle Megatron was holding. “It’s not that I don’t want to do it… it’s like my mind won’t let me. I’ll get distracted with thinking about all the other tasks I need to do, or I’ll try to focus on what is in front of me suddenly I’m unable to comprehend any data input I observe, or I’ll set it down for two minutes and accidentally forget I was supposed to do it in the first place, or its something ridiculous- like the sound of electricity or air conditioning drowns out my thoughts. I talked to Ratchet about it years ago, and after I talked to Ratchet I went through a series of tests and he diagnosed me with this uncommon computing disorder. It’s a little bizarre and it sounds like I just don’t want to do it, I know, but It really does render me unable to ‘regulate my attention.’ Ratchet makes this medication for me to help fix it. I don’t know everything that’s in it, but I do know when I take it, it helps me feel much better… I’m able to focus, I feel more in control, and I don’t forget things as often,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“So… why is this bottle empty then?” Megatron asked, shaking it gently to illustrate his point. “Why not go get more medicine from Ratchet?” 

Optimus sighed, rubbing a servo down his face. “Ratchet can’t refill my prescription right now. He doesn’t have the components he needs to make it…” 

Megatron let out a quiet “oh.” Dottie walked over the edge of the desk and sat, her legs dangling. “Sounds a lot like something humans have sometimes. We call it ADHD. It’s actually pretty common on Earth. How long have you been without your meds OP?” 

“What day of the week is it?” He asked frowning, trying to remember. “Tuesday.” 

Optimus recounted the days. “A week ago?” 

“Bots have something called withdrawal, Megs?” Dottie asked, looking over at the former decepticon. “You know, you stop taking something and you get jittery and you start feeling a little sick?” 

Megatron gave a firm nod. “We do. It’s not fun,” he said, shaking his helm. “And that certainly explains why you look like you haven’t recharged in a good while.” 

Optimus sighed faintly letting himself slide down against the door to sit on the floor, his field still buzzing with distress. He felt pressure beginning to build behind his optics. He felt horribly small in that moment- Optimus Prime defeated by mounds of datapads and sticky notes- that was a line for the history books. He pulled his knees to his chest staring at the floor. “I want to get it over and done with- but all I can think about is how badly I want to sleep and how much my helm aches, and the fact that Prowl is going to end me if he ever finds out about how many cubes I’ve forgotten to return, and how deeply embarrassing it is that I’m still a week and a half behind on data work after I’ve taken every precaution to limit distractions, and I’m never going to catch up ever let alone by Thursday evening because my CPU doesn’t work right.” 

“Why is Thursday the deadline?” Dottie asked, tilting her head. “The basketball Game,” Megatron replied, all too familiar with Optimus’s love of the Earth custom. “The game is televised on Thursday night and there’s a watch party. He wants to go, but obviously if Croft or Schoder or Primus forbid- Prowl catches him doing extracurriculars while he’s this far behind on paperwork- they aren’t going to be happy.” 

Optimus nodded with a heavy sigh. “There’s 78 datapads on that desk. I’ve completed 3 of them in 10 days. If I want to watch the game with everyone else then I need to complete at least 26 of them today, 26 tomorrow, and 26 before 6 o’clock on Thursday.” 

Megatron hummed thoughtfully before he sat down in Optimus’s office chair looking down at the report sitting open and ready to be filled out. “A week ago, you engaged a rogue decepticon during your scheduled patrol, right?” 

Optimus frowned, recalling that afternoon. “Yes.” “Out of curiosity- what happened?” Megatron asked, picking up a stylus. “I was patrolling the Southeast quadrant of my route during the morning and I came across a trail of muddy footprints that were far too large to be anything other than a cybertronian’s, so I followed them through a clearing in the tree line. I found and identified Hook, a known Decepticon Medic. I confirmed my suspicions that he was alone then I cornered him and asked him to comply and told him I was arresting him. He resisted, there was a short exchange of blaster fire, I temporarily stunned him with a good shot that landed on his shoulder, I overpowered him and he submitted. He was taken back to base loaded in my trailer.” 

There was a beat of silence and the sound of a pen scribbling away. He blinked slowly looking up from the floor and at Megatron. It was only a moment more before the datapad he was writing away at was tossed in his “finished” basket. 

Optimus watched as he grabbed the next datapad off the pile. 

“Megatron,” he said, frowning. “You really don’t have to do my paperwork for me. It’s my responsibility not yours…I’ll just not go to the watch party- it’s fine.” 

He clenched his fists, willing himself to not sound quite so upset about it, because it was just a game- but still. 

“I’m not doing your paperwork for you,” he said looking up from the datapad. “You’re telling me what to write. I’m just moving my hand accordingly, Prime.” 

They locked optics for a moment, Optimus’s confused and Megatron’s sympathetic. “Why are you helping me with this?” He asked, sounding far smaller than he ever would admit. “I’m sure you’d rather spend your off time doing anything else.” 

Megatron gave a small shrug, a ghost of a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I want my fraggin paperwork processed. And I guess, maybe I also know what it's like drowning in crap you have to get done when it feels pretty damn hard to function and I’ve got some sympathy hidden away in my spark for your sorry backside, Prime.” 

“But-” 

“But nothin!” Megatron interrupted, pointing the stylus at Optimus. “Let’s just get these blasted datapads where they belong, hmmm? If you feel that bad then you can thank me by owing me a favor later.” 

Optimus paused in his half formed protest and slowly smiled at Megatron. “Fine, then.” he sighed, letting one leg stretch out in front of him. “Let’s hear the next one…” 

-end

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday prompt - Addams Family inspired au

@saeths thanks babe for the prompt 💜 but also rude because then I craved BACKSTORY

Addams vibes: mentions of birth, pregnancy and nursing.

—

The Truebloods, while not as renowned as the Lightwoods or the Herondales, are known for one thing.

Their deep and lingering ties to the more eldritch of angelic natures.

It’s not a secret; it simply is rarely mentioned outside of Alicante, because the Trueblood’s stay close to Idris… until one marries a Lightwood.

At first everyone is sure that the Lightwood blood will overpower the Trueblood legacy.

Until the heir is born.

Maryse insists on birthing him alone, in the Trueblood manor, deep in the wolf woods of Idris.

She screams in blissful agony as she labors, her voice joining the symphony of the feral pack that runs and howls through Idris.

Her son is silent when he’s born. All bloody skin and sticky fluid and he smiles up at her, tiny-too-sharp teeth poking out his gums.

Maryse coos in delight and lifts him carefully, cradles him to her breast and encourages him to latch on.

His tiny razor fangs break her skin and Maryse can only hum a delighted lullaby as he suckles blood and milk eagerly.

He’s a greedy little thing, his dark eyes fixated on her own as he drinks.

He’s perfect.

Maryse has never felt a worse or more lingering pain than childbirth and it’s euphoric.

Robert may have left her to join the Circle—she refused, had refused the very thought of not welcoming her child to the world in her ancestral home— but she was in the right.

As violently and viciously decadent as Valentine’s cause would have been, nothing can beat this. The brutal and bloody personal battle of motherhood sates the gnawing hunger in her soul. The delicious pain and desperation of bringing forth life soothes her nerves and instincts.

Maryse’s little angelic terror is going to be vicious as he grows. Already his instincts are showing, his teeth baring and his pudgy little fingers are nearly brushing from where they cling to her pinky.

So while Maryse could leave, go and join Robert like they planned, she won’t.

She’ll raise Alec, her precious son, in the tragically glorious gloom of her home. Teach him the lullabies of the screaming wolves, show him how to track and trap and clean prey.

Maryse can refine his palette with the poisons she’s lovingly tended. Can wrap him in the deadly vines of her most violent plants and let him nap there while she works.

It’s a lovely idea. Maryse carefully makes herself a cup of tea and adds just enough nightshade that it will linger in her breast milk.

Alec seems to enjoy it, gurgling and serious as he drinks. He’s a solemn babe, and Maryse holds him too tightly for his age but he never cries.

—

Maryse keeps them isolated until it’s time for his runes. She shows up in Alicante with a black parasol to protect her skin from the too-bright sun.

Alec steps closer to her and scowls at both the sun and the crowds. Maryse has spoiled him too much, keeping him hidden away in the haunting mist of their forest. Alicante is too bright, too new for either of them to truly appreciate. His little mouth curls in a grimace as more and more people turn and stare at them.

Maryse smiles to herself. It seems Alec will finally interact with his peers today, she’ll have to remind him that maiming is only for official events. She doesn’t want to have to confiscate his poisons because he gets carried away.

“Maryse?” Asks a shocked, familiar voice and Maryse turns and lets a dark smile curve her vibrantly red lips.

“Imogen, how tragic to see you. Have you been well?”

Imogen is nearly gaping at her and Maryse wonders just what has happened

“You, what are you doing here?”

“It’s time for my son to bear his first rune.” Maryse tells her calmly, her hand coming up to proudly clasp Alec’s shoulder.

“Lovely to meet you.” Alec mutters and Imogen twitches. She knows the Truebloods enough to know that Maryse’s greeting was welcoming, Alec’s is not.

“Your son? But you, you disappeared, you joined the Circle?”

Maryse blinks and then deliberately turns and bares her neck. The only rune on it is the deflect rune she added when she married Robert.

Oh… Robert. She’s quite forgotten about him.

“Actually, I took maternity leave.” Maryse says dryly, “as the last Trueblood, I felt it important to birth and raise my heir at home.” She frowns, “do you know what happened to Robert? Alexander is such a darling child but quite like myself, I rather forgot he had a father.”

Imogen gives a dry little croak and then beckons —she knows better than to touch a Trueblood— and says, “please come with me, Maryse. I’m about to have a meeting with Jia and Malachi. Your presence is very unexpected but I welcome itl.”

Maryse shrugs and then smiles with venomous tenderness down at her son.

“Enjoy making trouble, my love. Try not to do anything too permanen, alright, my cherub?”

“Of course, mother.” Alec says and he smiles, his teeth baring in a perfectly angelic smile.

—if the angels in question we’re too terrifying to truly behold—

Imogen shudders and gives Alec an entirely unnecessary, worried look.

Alec turns and cocks his head, a sudden predator gleam entering his gaze.

Maryse hides a laugh, perhaps Imogen worry is necessary after all.

Later, when Maryse is smiling coldly at another mother, who is hugging her sobbing child, Alec leans against her side, blood smeared across his mouth.

“I told him to stop talking about our family. He didn’t listen, so I made him listen.” Is the only explanation Alec gives.

Maryse isn’t sure why Alec thought his best course of action was to tear off the other child’s ear, but it wasn’t an entire limb, so she’s happy.

The other parent is very much not as happy. And Alec scoffs when the woman starts yelling at him, “he drew a blade on me. He should be glad I only used my teeth.”

That silences everyone and Maryse’s smile grows wider, her own sharp teeth baring.

“Oh, he must have been trying to make friends! How lovely, I didn’t realize anyone else still followed our customs.”

Alec, taking her words at face value, raises a brow and looks at the still wailing kid. Something like disgust flickers across his face before he looks up at her and flatly says, “I can’t be friends with prey, mother. They wouldn’t survive it.”

Maryse laughs and when the other nephilim steps away, she laughs louder.

Truly, she has the most atrociously adorable child in the world, it’s practically a crime.

—

Life continues and Maryse begins to leave the woods more frequently. Sometimes Alec will join her, but his hunger for battle exceeds even her own and he is restless around other nephilim and they skittish around him in turn.

There’s a small opening of hope, when Robert’s parabatai dies and leaves a child, but Jace is angry and lashing out and Alec thinks it’s a game. Playing into his rage and fighting him brutally in return.

Those first two days end with two concussed children and Alec telling her, “he’s pretty and his blood tastes nicer than most.”

Which seems to be a positive and proof this is working, until the third time Jace steals Alec’s dessert and winds up poisoned. Then she packs Jace up, takes him to Jia and Imogen and is hurriedly shooed away, as if they’re relieved she won’t be raising two children.

Alec seems more upset to lose a daily sparring partner than a friend. So when the offer comes, Maryse accepts the demotion —after all, even if it comes with an increase in rank she’ll be leaving her home— and becomes the singular HOTI in New York.

With the understanding that she is raising Alec to take over.

Alec takes to New York like a hyena to scavenge.

He finds demons like a bloodhound and disappears into the shadows like they are his own.

Not even Maryse can keep track of him once he’s unleashed on New York. But he comes home every dawn like clockwork and completes his paperwork after every mission.

No one asks how many missions he takes unasked.

No one, not even the Clave, wants to know what he’s doing when they aren’t looking.

And no one wants to look.

His mother asks, once. If he’s enjoying himself. And Alec thinks about the circle member he strangled to death just before dawn and smiles.

“Looking.” Is all he says and his mother pours him another glass of tea, the sweet scent of almonds wafting from the pot. She doesn’t ask what he’s looking for and they share a quiet moment over arsenic and toast.

To be honest, Alec doesn’t know what he’s looking for either.

But he will.

Once he finds it.

On the other side of New York, in the heart of Brooklyn, his destiny lies sleeping.

Neither are aware of the other, but they will be soon enough.

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 10 - The Bloody Blade

           " What do you know of the Deadly Nightshade? " Aoife's voice echoed in the basement room where most of the palace's laundry was washed.

          It was a small chamber, barely big enough for the five of us who gathered to change in the smelly uniforms of the palace guards. They reeked of fermented sweat and rusted iron, and the metal cuffs pinched your skin as you pulled them on. Kallus had the idea, thinking it would be much better if we covered our own scent not only with what was left of my potion, but with the unwashed stench of fae men.

          " What would a blonde like you want with the Nightshade? " Nimue cringed, her thick lashes framing her lilac pupils perfectly. " It's deadly. "

          The witch stood with her back straight as if it was nailed into the wall. Her lilac and herbs perfume wafted through the room like an aphrodisiac, overpowering the other, more disgusting scents. I move a little closer to her, the nothing in my stomach ready to spill up my throat at any moment, and take a deep breath. Not only did these clothes stink, but they were sticky and stained with God knows what.

          " Did you touch it? " I ask her worriedly, looking at her smooth palms. " I hope you didn't put your hands in your mouth afterwards. "

          Niven raises her eyebrows and leans into a corner, her oversized black shirt half unbuttoned, straining to tie a cord around her waist. Kallus is silent, only poking his head out from behind the curtain we have improvised to change in as much privacy as possible. The man looks at her questioningly, as if guessing what she's thinking, but his mouth remains tight.  

          " I didn't touch it. I was just asking about it. " Her plucked eyebrows rose up to her unwrinkled forehead, scolding us. " I happen to have it in my garden, I want to know if I should use it in my tea or not. "

          The young woman looked like a deity poured down from heaven in the light provided by a few bitter candles. Even tired from a full day's work of washing the stinking clothes of the castle's inhabitants, her hair, tucked under that ugly hat, looked just as shiny, her complexion just as clean, and her blue eyes darkened by a few shades.

          " We're breaking into a prison and you want to ask about tea? " Niven's smile spreads across her sweaty face. " Are you nervous? "

          Aoife is silent for a while, looking at me, threatening me not to open my mouth, not to explain more than necessary. There was a glimmer of hope in her sky-blue eyes, a glimmer that I didn't want anyone to extinguish. I suspected that the maid who had witnessed the humiliation during dinner had already informed the blonde that Draegan had asked her back to his bed, but I didn't know that she knew I had been there and that I was technically supposed to take her place tomorrow night. The real problem was that she had no way of stopping him other than letting him fall asleep and sneaking out of the room untouched. I didn't even know what I was going to do tomorrow night, the thought left me completely cold and empty. I hoped he would see my naked body and squirm and then let me go. But Aoife might have a much better idea, one that we could both do in secret.

          That pain in my chest comes back, as if my heart is detached from the surrounding organs and falls into an endless void. Both men looked at me tonight like a zoo animal: one with a pair of eyes that had killed me so many times, and one with a hope that brought me back. Eris had sacrificed another human for me. I had sacrificed someone else for my own goals, which I put above all else. That's not what I was supposed to do here, I wasn't supposed to kill them, I was supposed to save them. And yet the first innocent life had just been lost because of me.

          " I'm stressed when we have to steal from the most dangerous, unpredictable, mad-man in the continent, yes. " Aoife puts her hands on her hips, perfectly hiding the fear she knows she wears on her body like a coat.

          " Atropa Belladonna is deadly, in the right dose. " I explain, pulling those huge, man-made pants up my thighs. " If you use too little, it can cause paralysis, pain, vomiting, muscle cramps, all sorts of horrible symptoms. "

          Nimue throws her fierce eyes at me and crosses her hands on her chest. " You finally made your homework? Is it from those books you've been stealing from me? " 

          " I borrowed them and yes, I learned from them. A lot actually. " 

          The witch's smile spreads like a serpentine river across her thin, almost proud face. " I knew you were a good thief. But I wonder how you got that map. I wonder what you paid. "

          Even though we had become close in a very strange way, there was this... awkwards connection between us, laced with bitterness, a hint of animosity and trust. Nimue still looked at me like I was about to grow a second head. But the good things had come after she'd saved us from Thaibar that day, when all the guards were looking for Aoife. I still wished I knew the limits of her powers, what kind of witch she was, if there was such a thing, what she could do, and if I could learn more from her than just potions and rituals, if I could steal some raw magic.

          Niven glares at me, holding the huge helmet under her arm, then drops her head. She knew about Eris, about him catching me with the map in Draegan's bedroom, and she also knew that I'd met him to take it back. She also knew what he'd asked for in return, and she knew that I approved. But I gained so much more: crucial information. Eris had told me that the prison still wasn't on very good terms with Draegan, and that they didn't approve of his leadership over the kingdom, which is why it would have been easy to get in, based on the fact that they wanted to get rid of certain prisoners he had also sent there. In addition, Eris had secretly stamped the letter Kallus was holding, requesting the release of a prisoner for a short period of time.

          Little did he know that the ultimate price was a woman's life. Outrageous or not, part of me was glad that someone had gone to such lengths to keep me out of Draegan's fingers. The other part felt a dark cloud over her head, like an impending curse about to break in her temples: she would pay for the death of an innocent life. I would have gladly paid anything if I knew it would have saved me a quarter of this suffocating feeling.

          I don't know what I was dreaming about, I don't even know why I had such high expectations. Whenever I read romance novels and the protagonist mentioned that she was breathless when she saw him, I preferred to roll my eyes and say that she was easily impressed. I had a bad habit of thinking that I would be harder to surprise, that I wouldn't be so easily struck by the beauty of anyone, male or female. All my life I have been firmly convinced that there is no such thing as a perfect human being, that this concept is really in the eye of the beholder, the one who describes or paints a muse who for him or her represents the sum total of subjectively excellent qualities.

          That's what I like to think about all these characters I read about in fantasy books. From the first day I started working at the palace, I had noticed how flawless these supernatural creatures could look: fine complexions, shining like porcelain, pointed ears, silky, shiny hair, dazzling eyes, full or thin lips, tall, athletic, well-shaped bodies, with roundness where it belonged and an appropriate amount of muscles, with a slightly icy aura about them, as if they refrained from blinding us with their natural light.

          I got used to all that. Then came Eris Vanserra. Nothing but cool and cheeky flirtation, wide grin, fiery brown eyes full of promises, high cheekbones with thin, tight lips, slim waist with just the right amount of muscle in the places that mattered. He smelled of nutmeg and the fires we made in the forest of Thaibar, and he dressed exactly as an heir to the throne should. He was unexpected in every way. The misunderstood anti-hero turned pale when he returned the map to me and I told him I trusted him enough to explain why I needed the map. I don't know if it was the fact that I had the courage to put my trust in his hands that shocked him the most, or if it was my idea to break into Hybern's prison to free one of its most dangerous prisoners. But I could feel his temper change, as if for the first time someone had placed their life in his hands and he was afraid not to break it.

         Well, I was impressed with Eris and what he did to protect me as best he could. But the winged one had me head over heels after I saw him once. And my infatuation cooled as quickly as it came.

          If I had butterflies in my stomach seeing Eris so close, Azriel made me hold my breath. No, literally lose it. And with my breath I lost my logic, my train of thought, forgot where I was and what I was doing, what I was saying. I felt no dopamine coursing through my bloodstream, just a tremendous desire to impress. A blanket of silence had settled around me at that moment, my ears were completely sunk in and all my attention was focused on him, my body was painfully numb and any emotion had been silenced. It was as if I was in that oasis I had fallen into for the second time a month ago, completely calm and at peace. Yet I had been as dumb as a virgin in front of the most beautiful man I had seen in two worlds. He spoke to me, but I ignored him. I didn't have a good enough sentence to say to him. I could have given him a sign, pulled him aside, asked him to help me.

          I couldn't even look him in the eye. And I didn't want to. They melted and froze me in the few seconds I allowed myself that luxury.

          He was so tall and imposing, so grandly contoured, painstakingly carved as if by two right, expert hands, merciless to those who might see him and be blinded by his beauty. He had a strong chin and a sharp jaw, lips full enough to be kissed if the opportunity arose, with a Cupid's bow cut roughly to perfection. All framed by wide, slightly arched eyebrows and thick, glossy black hair that grew slightly over the ears and high forehead. The piece de resistance were undoubtedly the eyes: hard, enigmatic, surprisingly gentle, yet agile and unforgiving, quick to take in every detail, like whiskey through a glass in a smoldering fire, like amber unraveling in the sun's rays.

          Not to mention that I shuddered at the sight of his famous shadows. They weren't just shadows, they were more than that. They were like slippery tongues of darkness, rising and dissipating like smoke, concentrated at a particular point on his intensely forged body, playful and subtle, the more you looked at them, the more you realized that they were living elements, with a consciousness of their own, capable of inflicting wounds like any sharp knife. I could feel them studying me closely, as if they wanted to take a close look inside my mind. They sniffed at me like guard dogs, eager to protect their master from any threat. Fear gripped me as I noticed them moving around my waist, where I held the dagger I had stolen in my dream. Fortunately, I retreated in time, or I fear they would have shreded my clothes there to see what I was hiding and how deadly it was.

          I had decided by then, however, that I would not be approaching Azriel anytime soon. I didn't have the courage, not after seeing his monstrous wings rise like mountains from his back: black and violently muscled, with scars and bony fangs piercing painfully through the shiny wing membrane.

          I don't know what I expected from him. The same protection Eris had offered me so quickly and without question? More attention? If I was the main character in this story and had to help this world, that didn't mean I was a beauty, that such an imposing man with so many other options would notice me. I sighed inwardly as I realized how ridiculous I was, trapped in my own fantasy with him. But I already knew he was taken. I knew his heart belonged to someone else, and there was no way I could compete with a beauty like Elain, even though I hadn't seen her yet and didn't know if I ever would. So, with an empty heart, I put aside whatever love subplot might have happened during my journey here and moved on.

          Then, during dinner, when he looked at me so disappointed, so silent and angry, like a father who disagrees with his daughter's actions, I felt like the sky was cracking in my head. It was as if he was expecting me, a mere servant to do something, to save them. Did he realize that I didn't belong in this place?

          I had still hoped that he would somehow save the day, as he had at the meeting of the High Lords, when he defended Feyre, or when he freed Elain, or when he saved Gwyn from Sangravah. I had waited for him to intervene when Draegan slapped the first handmaiden, when he invited the second into his bed, when he kissed me disgustingly, or when he killed the fourth. But none of that happened, and I returned his gaze just as sourly, allowing myself to watch him as disappointedly as he had studied me for minutes.

          " Nimue, it doesn't make any changes to the plan if we know how Cyan got the map. " Kallus talks slowly, pulling me violently from the thoughts that had gripped me like ivy. " We should go over the details again if we want everything to work. "

          " I have another, I'd say good question, if Kallus allows me to make assumptions: how much can we trust the information that you heard from Eris Vanserra? " Nimue helps me strap something to my arms, the same suspicion lacing her words. " They say their lineage is descended from foxes. How much can you trust a fox? "

          " It's all the information we have in a time that's running out too fast. My father has heard the gossip from the continent: that Cyan's landing has brought anomalies to the surface that others consider the end of the world. " Niven mumbles worriedly, tucking her map into her armor. " Many say the Devourer rebels in his tomb between worlds, others that a Dark King stirs the forests and lakes between the continents. "

          " It means they felt it too. " Aoife whispers, staring into the flame.

          " The Night Court also sent his Spymaster here. " Nimue spoke again, considering me. " It means they might suspect something is wrong too. "

          " The Shadowsinger is the one we should fear, not Vanserra. " Kallus concluded, not taking his eyes off Nimue. " He hears and feels things no one else can, he might have sensed the change in the atmosphere and it took some time to find the place the energetic charge came from. It won't take him long to find us, to find you, Cyan. "

          " The one from the other world surely knows your fate. " Nimue concluded, clenching her fists. " Amren. "

          Amren, of course, how could I forget her. She had been... something, something very powerful before she died and was brought to life in the books. An angel, most readers in the other world suspected. She should have been the first to figure out what was going on and how to find me. That's exactly why I shouldn't have been afraid of them, especially if they were trying to find me, maybe they wanted to help me.

          " We must find this woman and save her. If there's anything left to save. " Kallus rubs his overgrown beard and looks sternly at Nimue, a whole conversation unfolding between them. "I looked some more and managed to find her name: Malou - the Bloody Blade. "

          " That Bloody Blade? " Nimue asks sternly and it's the first time I see her shocked by something.

          We all look at each other, dazed, as if a ghost had suddenly came among us, as cold as a raging winter, entering our bones. The candlelight dances and I can feel the strands of hair that washed over my face dancing in front of my eyes. I stare at the door, expecting some huge creature to enter and crush us all. For minutes we are silent, aware of each other's presence, but no one steps through the door.

          " The temperature has dropped, do you feel it? " Niven asks, pulling the sweaty armor closer.

          " There's a spirit with us. " Nimue concludes, closing her eyes and extending her palms. " It's harmless, but she wants to listen. "

          " Who is it? " Aoife asks, drawing a piece of cloth over her shoulders.

          " The last true, living Valkyrie is with us. " Kallus sighs, happiness filling his features.

          " Is she the one we're going after? " I ask, overcome with adrenaline and excitement. " Why is she a spirit? "

          I feel her surrounding me, like a curtain fluttering in the wind, almost suffocating me. I feel her unpleasant eyes on the back of my neck, sniffing me. I feel compelled to stand as straight as a tree..

          " One of their most important powers was their ability to cultivate different elements around them to improve their own strength. It's called Cultivation, it's a sub-power of Thriving, something only an extinct cult could do. It gives the wielder enough power to astral project. The Valkyries and the Eyes of the Mother were closely related, being the protectors of the Mother herself. But a group of beings brought their downfall far too many years ago. " Nimue explained as she looked around, as if she could see the silhouette of the one walking freely among us.

          " If she is Malou and still has this ability, it means -" Kallus was interrupted by Nimue, who smiled triumphantly.

          " That she's still in contact with one of the Eyes. It means one more is alive and waiting. " 

          " Do we have to find her too? " I ask enthusiastically.

          " Only Malou can lead you to the last of the Eyes. They share a bond that allows them to use their co-dependent magic. " Nimue explains, equally excited as she looks at all of us. " That's how she survived all these centuries... It's wonderful... You were right Kallus, there is hope for us. "

          " After everything is over, we'll celebrate. " Kallus allowed himself to chuckle softly in that darkness, and with that, I allowed myself to feel joy as well.

         We can do it. We can get out alive.

          With that hope still imprinted in all five of us, we quickly recapped the plan we were supposed to follow. Aoife had been another important part of it, bringing us another item we couldn't have gotten into the prison without: the key. It was a single one, made of a hard, black material that would open all the cells. There were several sections in the prison, categorized according to the danger level of the creatures imprisoned there. So all the wardens had one. The problem was that we didn't know exactly at which level we could find Malou.

          Kallus suspected that she was in section 'S', the highest level of security, where the walls were carved with runes on the inside, preventing any magic, designed to weaken the inmate himself. They fed off their life force, their energy, their powers, so they were always on and they never failed. That's why we had Nimue, who had been working for days on a symbol and the ink we needed to use. It was a diamond with elongated corners cut by a straight line in the middle. I'd seen it before in the other world, used by self-entitled witches on the internet. I'd used it myself, but it never worked.

          Kallus was to provide transportation from the prison to the palace and then to the farm. Then, right after all that, we were to run away with Aoife's uncle. That evening. Malou was supposed to be one of the most important prisoners Hybern had kept forgotten in a dungeon for so long, and her absence the next day would set off a lot of alarm bells.

          " May we not shrink from our purpose. " Kallus whispered, looking at Niven with his sad, green eyes, now shining like emeralds in the candlelight.

          " May we not falter under darkness's terror. " Niven goes on, grave as a tombstone, looking at her father as seriously as if she felt this was the last road.

          " May we finally rest when we are claimed. " Nimue seemed to end, placing the palm of her long-nailed hand over her heart in a final prayer to anyone who would listen.

          Aoife lowered her head, respecting the silence and the prayer they had said for all of us. There's no stopping us now as we sneak out the door, finally ready to finish what we started a month ago.

          After everyone has left the laundry room, I stop Aoife with a hand on her shoulder. " Brew this tea tonight and put a cup in his wine. It should kill a man in less than ten minutes. I don't know what effect Nightshade has on faes, so you might want to add another cup just to be sure. And whatever happens tonight, don't let him touch you or the other girl. " I whisper and hand Aoife the most precious thing I had with me, the black leather sheathed dagger I had stolen in my dream.

          " How do you know I have it on me? " Aoife looks at me puzzled and taps her apron pocket.

          " No offense, but you smell like dead rats and you have pink stains on your shirt. Nimue know you have it, too. So don't falter tonight. " I place my hand on her cheek, encouraging her, and walk away.

          As if she didn't know us, Nimue quickly sneaks back to her hiding place on the ground floor of the palace, where the doctor's office is. Her purple velvet gown covers her hips, swaing them as elegantly as a proud cat. Kallus and Niven retrieved their swords and set off in that robotic way we saw the guards walk.

          A sudden pull binds my legs and stops me in my tracks. For a few seconds I am unbalanced, pulled down by the weight of the armor. Tingles spread across my shoulders, as if thousands of butterflies had flapped their fine wings against my cold skin, and suddenly I realize why.

          " I've seen you before. " A deep, deadly voice speaks a few steps behind me. 

          I turn a fraction of an inch and see him again, the same man of my dreams, the same man I had lusted after not only in the other world, but here too. He grabbed Nimue harshly by the arm and demanded answers. Azriel was a few heads taller than the brunette, broader in the shoulders, and this time he was clean, his Illyrian skins now washed. He felt me watching him like a hungry animal and turned his head to me far too slowly, defiantly. Azriel had something murderous written all over his face, and he focused all his attention on me.

          " In your dreams, maybe. " Nimue answers proudly, unnafected by the Spymaster.

          My legs are racing, and with them my heart, as if they were competing to see who could go the furthest. All this infatuation mixed with disappointment and hatred and anger, and even though I knew that I shouldn't blame him for the girl who lost her life, but myself, my expectations demanded more and more from someone I didn't know at all. Azriel had his reasons for being here, and the way he was looking at me right now, I had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he realized who I was.

          Once we reach the stables, Kallus uncovers the imperial carriage the guards used to transport the prisoners. " I have been looking for one of these all day. Get in, I'll talk if anyone asks too many questions."

          Outside it was raining heavily, loudly and violently, like a bad omen, and suddenly I felt the need to be held, to be protected and to hide.

          " Wait! " I shout, stopping them before they get into the pitch-black carriage. The two horses whine and kick their hooves, but I don't hesitate as I throw myself into their arms like it was the last time. " No matter what happens tonight, I have the utmost respect for your family, Kallus, you have helped me more than others have in a lifetime, and I will forever cherish what you gave me: another chance. "

         " Don't say goodbye. " Niven whispers and I can feel those tears straining her soft voice. " This is not a goodbye, Cyan. We'll make it. "

          " I know. But I feel like I never had a chance to thank you and tell you that you have a place in my heart forever. " The hole in my stomach grows bigger and I regret that I can't say 'I love you' to these people, but I hope they read between my words. 

          " I love you like my own child and I would do anything for you, Cyan. We'll make it through the night. " Kallus says in a final tone, sucking back his own tears. " Now hurry before someone sees some guards bonding in the barn. "

          As Niven and I go to close the door, someone calls after us. " Chief Carambian, head of palace security. Identify yourself and your purpose in taking a royal carriage. "

        Kallus presents a paper, torn and signed, then speaks in a deep, dark voice I have never heard before. " The king requests that a prisoner be brought to the palace. Tonight. " 

          Through the open window of the carriage, I watch the other man carefully read the letter and then approve it. " You have clear path. "

         We stop stalling and set off at a fast pace. The horses gallop furiously through the backyard, stopping only for a few seconds, while Kallus is forced to show the false letter to the guards at the gates. The prison is a few miles away, in the opposite direction from Thaibar, hidden in the woods. At this late hour, only the lanterns attached to the cart illuminated the beaten path. The trees seemed taller and more menacing than those in the forest near Thaibar. Many of them had no leaves at all, just twisted trunks, as if they were in pain and had no one to comfort them. Outside it was still pouring heavily, soaking the path and making it slippery as Kallus turned. It smelled of wet leaves, cold and muddy, and the silence was so ingrained among the long branches that we were the only ones to break the seemingly sacred silence.

          We had that hope that we would make it tonight, that the first step of our plan would happen without anyone getting in our way. Even though my breath came in short and quick, like an asthma attack, even though the feeling of impending doom seemed to creep over my skin, the adrenaline I felt was more alive than anything else, burning my body from the inside out. I don't know how Kallus was able to stay out in the pouring rain, but he assured us that it was better for him to drive alone; too many people would have drawn attention to us.

          Sleep soothed my eyes, but I couldn't close them, I was too full of conflicting feelings. I don't even know what time it was, one, two in the morning? By now Aoife must have been in the imperial bedroom, pouring poison into glasses. The thought provokes a physical reaction of nausea in me, so I glance at Niven out of the corner of my eye to reassure myself. She's asleep, head down on the opposite couch, mouth open. She slept the entire twenty minutes we'd made it from the palace to the middle of this wilderness.

          There is a knocking on the metal roof of the carriage and Kallus calls from outside: " It's time, girls. "

         " Wake up, Nivy, we're here. " I shake Niven gently, pulling her hair away from her face and helping her out of her dream's grip.

          " I'm up. I'm up. " She mumbles, wiping the saliva from the corners of her mouth and pulling her hood over her head. " How long have I been out? "

          " Barely twenty minutes. " I answer as I open the door and jump onto the earth. A wet sound comes from the impact and I dive a little into the mud.

          " Here, take the declaration and Nimue's ink. You remember the sigil, right? " Kallus jumps out of the driver's seat as well, pulling all the tools out of his pockets, then continues when I nod. " Whatever you do, whatever they ask you, just say that Draegan sent you and that if they have anything to say about it, to come to the castle for answers. Malou might be in the last cells, just ask them to show you the Valkyrie. I'll wait for you in the carriage and keep an eye out. You have to understand that if you reach the basement level and something bad happens, you'll most likely be trapped down there. Move quickly and stay alive. Let's hope our Valkyrie is holding strong. "

          We both nodded, then poured what was left of my potion down our throats, then added a second one that Nimue had made to glamorize us. We needed to sound and look like men, not two twenty-year-old girls, so Nimue had prepared two extra bottles. I don't know how long her magic lasted, but I guessed no more than an hour or two, so we had to move very quickly.

As far as I knew, there were two parts to the prison, the above-ground part, where the humans or not-so-dangerous prisoners were kept, and the underground part, where all the creatures and nightmares we were supposed to run away from were trapped.

          " May we not falter... " Niven whispers as we step out, away from the cover provided by the trees, and thousands of crossbows are aimed at our heads from the outer wall of the prison.

          " Amen!... " I mutter, already frightened.

          We advanced robotically, with the spears we had obtained from the palace in full view and with our backs straight. There was no turning back. The rain pelted down hard and furiously, seeping through the seams of our armor and soaking into the sweaters we had put on underneath to make us look more massive. Huge drops of water made a disconcerting sound as they made contact with the obsidian on our shoulder blades and helmet crest. The boots, five sizes too big, were playing havoc with my legs and the soles of my feet were already getting wet from the puddle that was forming beneath us by the second. Niven was no better, only a head taller than me, but much, much skinnier. She'd needed two pairs of pants and two blouses to fill the armor to the brim.

          " Legitimize yourself! " A voice shouts out of nowhere as we reach the huge gate. On the outside, it is lit only by two massive torches, which illuminate the rusty and bleeding spears coming out of the gate.

           I could feel the magic sweeping over me, from my ankles to the top of my head, raising my temperature and sharpening my vision. I felt more massive, as if I had grown a few inches taller, but also heavier, as if I had gained weight. I could feel my jaw tingling under the balaclava, and was surprised to find that I had grown a beard, and my ears were painfully pricked by the roundness of my helmet. We had already transformed.

          " General Charon. " I scream as loud as I can, feeling the witch's brew constrict my lungs.

          " Chief of the palace servants, General Carambian. " Niven shouted back, raising her head to be heard.

          A few horrible seconds of waiting pass, then a deafening screech almost makes me duck. The gate opens painfully, creaking on all sides and dragging heavily on the ground. Five fae await us at the entrance, shining swords, seemingly freshly sharpened, lying murderously on their arms, torches in their hands.

The man who looked at us questioningly could not have been more than thirty years old, though he was a fae, which could mean he was easily five hundred years old. He was bald, his pointed ears protruding past the edge of his occipital bone, and his eyes were small and wrinkled, set in the center of his hateful face. He didn't smile, but his lips were thin and parted in a harsh, implacable line.

          He walks toward us, with his torch blowing in the wind and shows his sharp fangs. " It is past midnight, Lord Charon, what does His Highness desire at this obscene hour? "

          " We are not to judge King Draegan's orders or desires, so read for yourself. " I reply with how much coldness I am capable of, considering my underwear is shaking on me, and hand him the same sheet that Kallus had shown the stableman.

          " You wish to escort an ' S ' classed creature to the palace?! " His voice sounded hoarse, as if he had eaten forks and knives all his life, and his throat was not in the best shape. " I have to refuse. I can't let such fae out. It's dangerous. " 

          " Sire. " Someone speaks behind him, and the man turns his head to the side. " Sir Lisko, if the Master wishes, we must obey. " 

         " The prison still does not answer to its own self-appointed leadership. " Sir Lisko spits, obviously irritated, then stares at us for a second in silence. " Why would he want such creature free inside the palace. "

          " The creature must be bound and gagged. " Niven's words come out with a raspy, purely masculine timbre, and I smile under my mask, begging to get inside faster and get it over with. " King Draegan wants a spectacle for a guest - The Autumn Court's Heir and The Night Court's Emissary. "

          " You see, sire, he already has connections across the continent. He'll free us soon. " The same voice speaks, changing Lisko's mind.

        " Fine. You have one hour to take whatever you need. " He turns and gestures for us to follow.

          We obey without comment and the joy begins to grow in me. I hope that luck will be with us all the way.

          First, we crossed the small courtyard, where it seemed that the prisoners were allowed to go outside from time to time, judging by the number of tables and chairs arranged one on top of the other, balls and obstacle courses, probably made for training. Lisko, as the other man called him, lifts the latch on the huge, tree-covered building and invites us in. We enter the above-ground prison without much fuss, only to be bombarded with moans and groans.

         Darkness reigned over the smelly, cold cells, and for a second I wondered if anyone was alive in those cages. Not even the moon shone through the holes in the prison stone. At this late hour, everyone was probably fast asleep. Only the few candles in the walls lit the way for the guards. Niven looks around too, and I can feel the tension in her muscles and her disgust. There was an overpowering smell of closed air and unwashed bodies, feces and rotten food. All I could see were limbs: crippled hands half covered with blankets eaten away by rats, legs with gangrene that looked like they had been eaten by bugs. I almost vomited when I saw a man relieving himself between the sheets that should have been his bed. Someone screams above us, and I jump, stifling a scream of my own.

          Was it a prison or a sanatorium?

          " Don't be so scared, Charon. They're as good as dead and doped up. " Lisko says proudly as he grabs a set of keys from nearby and unlocks some doors. 

          " What did they do? " Niven can't help but ask as she watches a woman write in stone with her fingernails melted and bloodshot.

          " You may think we put all people in jail, but there are real criminals here. " He answers, then we stop in front of a cell where a man is fast asleep with his back to us. " He killed his entire family in a manic episode, then he ate them one by one. " We walk a few steps and stop in front of another cell where a child was lying in rags. " Don't be fooled. He raped his aunt and hung her in the attic, then stole her money and lost it gambling. He paid whores to please him, then cut out their tongues when he wasn't satisfied. He's barely fifteen. " 

          The boy's sardonic grin is all the confirmation I need as he bares his razor-sharp teeth like a hungry shark.

          " So you don't have innocent humans here. " I ask as I watch another man satisfy his needs under the covers.

          Lisko's wrinkled face turns toward us, cold and emotionless. He opens an obsidian door that leads to a staircase.

          "I'd say it's too late to seek your penance, General Charon. Freeing one prisoner doesn't make up for all the innocent lives you've taken. " He doesn't wait for me to answer, so he rolls his eyes and speaks again. " If you want to expand the cells under the palace, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the prison is full. I thought you'd put all the people you torture in there. "

          I try not to be too impressed by the way Sir Lisko, the last fae I would have expected, spoke with such disgust of the things Draegan and Charon had done to the humans. As if he really cared about the innocent lives lost within the palace walls. I look at his disheveled hands and my eyes widen when I notice the gold band that marks him as married. Could his wife be human?

          " We do. " Niven agrees for me and steps in front of me. " We need to find the Valkyrie. "

          "I don't know if she's still alive in this pit. You'll find her remains in the last cell on the left. Just stay in the main hall and you will be fine. I don't get paid enough to go into that hole with you at night. If you have what you need, I'll be waiting upstairs. " Lisko announces, and before he closes the door, he tells us one more thing. " Don't listen to the voices. "

          When the door behind us was unlocked, the silence washed over us, broken only by our intertwined breaths. It was hard to carry armor that weighed half as much as you, so I was out of breath every few steps. I picked up a torch leaning against the stone wall and stared tensely at Niven. Her helmet was turned toward me, as if she, too, was watching me in confusion.

          " We'll manage. " I speak and the echo answers me with the same words.

          We make our way down the spiral staircase, descending for minutes as if driving into the center of the earth, and at the bottom we would find the lava boiling. Occasionally we'd come to a window that once let in fresh air, but was now covered over. I looked down, careful not to slip on the broken steps that were missing large chunks of material. Not even the spiders lived here.

          Niven stops abruptly, both palms pressed against the narrow walls of the stairs for balance. " Did you hear that? "

          A shiver ran down my spine and I suddenly became much more alert. This was everything I didn't want to hear while I was buried in a grave. I frown from behind my metal helmet and sharpen my ears. Too bad the potion didn't give me their fine hearing as well, just the sharp look, maybe I'd hear the thing Niven was talking about. My heart raced, pounding so hard that I could see my chest heaving under those powerful beats.

          " I don't hear anything. I'm only really cold. " I say as we walk down a few more steps, then she stops again.

          " Strange, I'm really, really hot. But I hear them talking. "

          " Don't listen to them, Nivy, you heard the guy. " 

          When we finally step onto level ground, the fog engulfs my ankles, and with it, panic settles in my chest, sinking its insatiable claws into my heart. Pitch black. A deep blackness, as if I could cut it with a knife, surrounds us and with it the smell of decay. I refrain from any sarcastic comment and just clench my jaw, trying to find the courage to continue. I swallow dryly and raise the torch even higher, trying to shed as much light as possible into the wide corridor. I would never have dared to venture into an underground graveyard alone, filled with creatures that had magical powers and probably loved the taste of human flesh. I probably reeked of fear, a smell I'd always heard creatures of the dark loved, as if it were an aphrodisiac for their nostrils. I look back and am relieved to see the stone wall, it meant we could start somewhere, that this was the main corridor Lisko had told us about and we didn't have to wander lost through this cursed place.

          " Do you still hear them? " I ask skeptically with a sigh as we walk down the muffled corridor.

          The cells were hidden in the darkness, and I didn't dare bring the fire near them, not wanting to disturb whatever was in that darkness. It was enough that I felt thousands of pairs of eyes in the back of my head, watching me far too closely for my own liking. I was sure that, unlike the inhabitants upstairs, those down here were not sleeping, but hunting at these hours. I stayed as close to Niven as I could, the same distance from the cells, to reduce the chance of being grabbed by one of the tentacles. Sometimes I even felt ghostly touches on my back and forearms and forced myself not to look back. I had heard that it is not good to look back when someone is calling you, whistling at you, or when you feel unseen touches, so I preferred to stick to my earthly teachin

          " Yes, they want you to set them free. They promise to obey. We both know they won't. " Niven encourages me not to listen to them either.. 

         " What if they're innocent? "

         " I don't trust anything that thrives in the darkness. " 

          When we finally reached the end of the haunted corridor, it took me a few seconds to work up the courage to put my flame in front of the cell. I knew the underground prison wasn't empty, not by a long shot, even if I didn't hear any voices. Niven probably heard them because she was one of Mother's benefactors.

          " Maybe is on another hallway. " Nivy whispered manfully from behind me, turning her head. " But there's no light anywhere, we could easily get lost in this labyrinth. "

          " It can't be. " I say, waving the torch back and forth as desperation begins to overtake me. " She can't be dead! She's here, she's close, my intuition never lies to me. "

          But as I searched for the uninhabited piece of land, staring in shock at the perfectly made bed and the unused dresser, hope seemed to leave me as quickly as it had come. I could feel it inside, the certainty that I would find it here, still alive, that reality seemed to be playing tricks on me.

          " You finally came after me, mighty Benefactor? " Someone is talking, and for a second I think the fire is casting shadows on the walls as I see a pile of clothes jerking around, trying to turn around. " I died long ago. Buried in my own grief. "

          " Are you?... " I ask in a whisper, as if I could wake the dead. " You were the one listening, back in the palace? "

          Niven comes closer, mouth agape in shock and hope and triumph, and before I can stop her, she lunges for the iron bars, clenching them into tight fists.

          " Malou? Yes, but I'm not a Valkyrie anymore. " An endless sadness poured from her timbre, which seemed so, so old. " I could never be one again, after what I've done... You seemed quite thrilled to come and die here for my sake. "

          We had come this far and planned how to get in and how to get out, and we were so blinded by the idea that the woman might be dead that we hadn't thought about how to convince her to come with us. I wasn't being absurd, I had considered her mental situation, but I hadn't prepared any emotional speech about life and death, I had relied on her desire to be free again. But what if she didn't want to be free? I knew from my experience with my father that a conversation with a traumatized person is a constant back and forth, and that it is very difficult to reason with them.

          " Please, I need your help. We need your help. " I manage to speak slowly, as if the woman was deaf. " Something bad is happening outside, and we need you by our side. "

          The woman laughs, jerky, hoarse, then coughs as if her lungs are filled with pus. In this cold place, I wouldn't be surprised if the creatures ended up with bronchopneumonia from these precarious conditions. I wasn't even sure if they were being fed or even offered a glass of water.

          " Oh I know. I've heard about you're coming - Ves-per-tus. " She takes a long pause, then continues. " I used to guard and train women like this. Tragic miracles... The world may need you, but it does not need me. The world has been nothing but cruel to me and my sisters. So why should I make another sacrifice for something that erased me? "

           " The world has changed, some parts have been rebuilt by people with hope. Kind people. They fight for the minorities, they try to help, they try to dispel the darkness. " I try to convince her, not knowing if what I said was the truth or a lie, but thinking of Prythian, I knew some of my words were sincere. " You've been locked up for too long and the world has moved on, but you don't need to be caged just because you're afraid of the outside. You deserve freedom. "

          She fully turns and for the thousandth time tonight I allow myself to be surprised. An old, chocolate, wrinkled face looked back at me as if I had insulted or slapped her. I could see how her white hair framed her bony face, how it accentuated her glassy eye, crisscrossed by a deep, still reddish scar. Her cheeks and chin were adorned with tribal tattoos, now faded to gray marks. The real, healthy one, however, betrayed so many emotions in the blackness as deep as the one in prison: grief, regret, and such low self-esteem. Her lips were still round, fleshy, and well-defined, but they had become discolored with age.

          " The prison is sucking the life out of you. " Niven explains, still gripping the bars. " You are not alone. You are a legend, Malou. My family and I have waited centuries for this glimmer of hope, please don't say no. "

          " I do not need the mercy of the Benefactors. You have chosen to wait and be crushed by the ever-growing forces of darkness. You never fight, governed by that pathetic law of not harming anything that moves. We lost the battle once because of you. I let myself be captured. I don't deserve freedom. I deserve to rot in this cell. " Malou spits angrily and approaches us. " Now get the fuck away from me. Every glimmer or nice word you tell me will make me vomit in my mouth. "

          Niven squirmed, apparently shaken by the old woman's words, but I didn't have time to ponder all that had been so casually thrown in her face.

          " Malou, I know you may feel hopeless and alone and tired, but you are a warrior at heart. I was alone too, I was dead inside too, but there's a way home for all of us, even for you. You have to fight again. We have to fight again. Don't let your potential be lost in Hybern's hands. "

         " My home is lost. I don't want to be a blade again. No one came to help us when we needed help. I lost the most important battle - the war. "

          " No, it's not. You can find it again. Home is not a place, you can find it in someone else's heart. And I know for sure that you still have a piece of what you call home that is lost somewhere in this world. Fight by my side, let's rebuild what was lost. I beg you, I will give you all that you need, all that you desire. But I need you, the Mother needs you, everyone needs you. You may not feel like a Valkyrie, but you're a strong woman. You have the power to begin again. I'll be beside you in this war. "

          She puffs, then a wry smile spreads across her dry lips. " It's easy to throw words, child. Wars are not won by a handful of trained warriors. War means blood, colossal losses, dying loved ones, strategic battles, and sacrifice. Are you ready to make that sacrifice when the time comes? If you had to kill ten people to save one important man who has all the advantages over the enemy, would you do it? When you find out what I've done, what I've had to give up, you won't need me anymore. And more than that, you're just a human now. You're still not a Vesper. You don't have anything I want or need. "

          " That's why I need you. You can teach me everything you know. "

          " No. " Malou almost screamed, snarling at me with her sharp teeth. " It takes years, years! Even more, to train one fucking soldier. But a living Vesper? That takes centuries. All the arts you must master to fight the darkness are no child's play. You won't be able to save anything. We will die under your clumsiness. "

          " You have to give me a chance. " I say, her words tearing the hope out of me piece by piece, slowly killing me. " Don't die without putting up a fight. Don't give up. Stop running from the past, stop hiding in the darkness, you are a creature of light, a symbol. You have a chance to right your wrongs, don't kick it away! I'll go out there and do my best, even if I die. But I'd like to have at least one small chance of winning. "

          Malou looked at me with her healthy eyes and frowned so hard that the wrinkled skin between her eyebrows formed a deep crease. Obviously I've pushed all her buttons, because I see something change in her hard look. The 'no' becomes a 'maybe if...' inside her and I feel her change as she stands on her two feet and stares limply at us and back at the greasy cell. I feel the frustration seeping out of me, my patience wearing thin.

          " The Mother calls your name into battle and you refuse? Your comrade, your Carranam is still alive, still suffering, Gods knows where, waiting for you, and you choose to be nothing but trash to Hybern. Their punching bag. You are no longer a Valkyrie, indeed. "

          " Nivy... Don't say that. " I place a hand on her shoulder, trying to stifle any harsh words, but she shakes away from my touch.

          " Don't stop her, she's right. " The old woman stands on her emaciated feet, dressed in a long robe, sweeping the stone floor. A new light appeared in her eyes, as if the thought of her Carranam had restored this last hope. " If you become a Vespertus, if you manage to survive the literal heartbreak, I would want one thing, but you must do it with your hands. No one else. If I protect you with whatever power I have and train you in the old ways, you owe me one thing. "

          " Whatever you need. " I promise, feeling in my gut that I was making a colossal mistake.

          " My word is law, and so shall yours be. When the time comes, at the very end, my life will perish under your sword. You will sacrifice me so that I may finally be with my sisters. "

          " What? " I look at her in shock, overcome with horror. " Why would I kill you? "

          " Because she can't kill herself. " Niven concludes nervously. " The Mother would never allow such a sacrifice. It's an insult to her for you to take your own life. So if her work on the material world is not done, the Mother will not call her to the skies. The only creature that can end their misery is the Mother herself, or... "

          " The Mother's own daughter, blood from her blood. " Malou smiles, satisfied, knowing she had us trapped, we couldn't refuse when her agreement to come with us was depending on this bargain.

          Niven's words settle in my head and I look at Malou, her cunning face still strong. That's why I couldn't kill myself, because my life was in Mother's hands and she wouldn't let me go.

         " That's why you couldn't do it either. " Mallou approaches me and smiles sadly. " That's why you couldn't kill yourself. "

          " Have you... " Niven turns her head, and I refuse to look at her, overcome with shame.

          " How did you know? " I ask her with all the emotions churning inside me.

          " I'm almost as old as time, I know a lot of things. Accept my offer or I won't come. "

          I look at Niven, who is as dizzy as I am. I realize that I'm running out of time when my skin starts to tingle and my facial hair starts to fade.

          " Tic- tac. " Malou whispers, covered by the shadows.

         " I'll do it. " But I will decide when the time comes.

         Malou slips her hand through the iron bars like a snake and steals a dagger from Niven's armor, which makes Niven fall on her ass. She cuts her palm, then hands me the bloody blade. " Seal the deal! "

          I don't think too far ahead as I throw down my glove and follow her gestures, feeling the sharpness of the knife nick my skin. Pain shocks my shoulder and almost immediately dark blood spurts out, spilling everywhere, running through the cracks in the stones on the floor. Malou grabs my hand aggressively, digging her unkempt nails into my blouse. A cold thunder rumbles in the distance, as if what we are doing now is against nature, as if we have broken the laws of the universe. I feel the clap of thunder as if it had struck me, a strange energy coursing through my whole body, invigorating and exhausting me at the same time. 

          I refrain from screaming, the pain from the cut pumping through my muscles. I feel her dry skin rub against mine, our blood now bound together for what seems like forever. Tongue of darkness climbs up our arms, marking the bargain. Malou just grimaces, apparently gripped by this strange, piercing pain as well. Time stops for a few seconds and I watch silently as the black ink sprouts in my palm, closing the cut. A snake blooms from under my skin, while a bird, a raven, entwines itself on Malou's old palm.

          " I am the eye of the crow that watches over the head of the mighty serpent. " We say in unison, our voices possessed by thousands of ancestors.

          Niven stares at us dumbfounded, but doesn't linger long and begins to draw the seal on the cell door. Something crackles in the walls, disabling whatever was keeping Malou exhausted. The woman gasped, as if a pain had been removed from her soul. She quickly opened the door with the stolen key, then hurried to support Malou, who was barely holding on.

          " I won't always be like this. " She admits when I position myself on the other side and we start walking down the corridor. " I just need time to recover my strength and youth. "

          We'll wait for you here, when you need us the most. We'll feed from your blood, your sacrifice and we'll live. We won't forget your taste.

          I turn my head back when I hear the voices speaking to me. Malou looks at me with her different eyes and warns me not to pay attention to them. And so I do, throwing the voices out of my head, ignoring this warning and promise. Climbing the stairs with such a heavy weight becomes even more difficult. The magic begins to wear off when I notice that my height is beginning to decrease, Malou's shoulders are now suspended at different heights.

         Lisko opens the door when I knock on it with my boot and has Niven sign the register, leaving proof that someone had released the prisoner, then slips the King's letter into a file as well. He accompanies us to the gates in the torrential rain, along with five other guards, but he doesn't say much, as if satisfied that we've taken a nuisance off his mind. The gates close roughly behind us and I can hear the locks turning. The torches outside die before my eyes, extinguished by an unseen magic, leaving us alone in the woods.

          " Father! " Niven shouts into the night once she reaches the carriage. " Father! We're... here. "

          Her voice trailed off as she opened the door and saw the horror. Blood. Blood everywhere and Kallus nowhere. The red liquid was dripping from the horse's neck, their life stolen from them. I turn my head from the scenery, unable to witness that cruelty.

We were trapped here.

          " He's not dead. " Malou shouts over the pouring rain, leaning painfully on my shoulder. " I would've smelled it. But he's far away from this place and I think he's hurt. Badly. "

          " Kallus! Where are you? " I scream, shaking violently, surrounded again by that doom.

         The emptiness in my stomach grows, and I feel like banging my head against a tree as I watch the desperation with which Niven surrounds the carriage, shouting wildly through the forest. Angrily, she throws her helmet to the ground and falls to her knees, screaming again and again, calling her father. I see her shoulders moving convulsively, as if she can't catch her breath, as if she's crying and laughing at the same time. I don't even dare look into her eyes. I am afraid it will break me, so I hide my eyes when she turns to look at me.

          " He is gone. " Niven says, crying, and as I watch the night creep through the wicked trees, I know the truth: Kallus was the price I had to pay.

[incorrect-lightlark-facts]

The rest of the sticky notes:

- Kind of fucked up that the dreks used to be people. Fortunately they were Nightshades so it's okay.

- I love the idea of Nightbane as a potent drug with healing properties when processed correctly, because I'm a scientist. The metaphor for Isla as "both curse and cure," however, is incredibly forced. Also not a strong enough motif to justify having the book named after it.

- Please please please stop with the segues into the flashbacks. It reads like a fifth grade essay I'm begging you

- Being able to teleport everywhere kind of kills the tension and urgency

- All Of The Spicy Scenes Are The Same

- Also if the book is allowed to have this many straight-up sex scenes, I kind of feel like they should also be allowed to swear, or at least use less tepid insults. Isla calling Grim a bastard or a son of a bitch would soothe my soul

- I want to scruff Grim like a kitten and toss him in the ocean. He's still not a good character and he has no personality and he's awful. Every time I feel a shred of warmth for Grim I have to remember that it's because my version of him is so unrecognizable against canon that I probably need to start from scratch again just to be able to call him the same character

- Cleo ily never change (but also shoehorning in a dead son just to give her a reason to side with Nightshade is so bland I'm losing my sense of taste)

- GRIM MENTIONS GODS. WHO ARE THE GODS.

- And They Were Married (Oh My Unnamed Gods They Were Married)

- Is. Is this a normal amount of sex scenes for a YA novel.

- Some of this feels like borderline retconning (eg. Isla surviving being shot through the heart in the first book not just because of the Heart of Lightlark but also because of the ill-defined power of the love bond)

- No training montage for Isla learning to steal Grim's powers :(

- There Are Hot Air Balloons. The Event Is Called The Launching Of The Orbs.

- EGG CAMEO

- Grim and Isla have a moment where they both gush about everything they've learned about each other, and it's nothing. It feels like they don't know each other at all, but of course we're supposed to find their relationship heartwarming and intimate

- Am I going to have to make a spicy sideblog for this oh my god

- Pointless baby dragon. Did I zone out at the wrong time or did nothing become of that?

- The Terra fight is also nothing :((((

- Just like the first book, so many bombs are dropped at the end of the book because simply resolving the existing plot threads isn't enough I guess. Anyway the founders of Lightlark came from another world and created Lightlark in its image like reckless teenage gods but anyway GUYS there are HOT AIR BALLOONS

- Unearned final battle. Book once again lacks the guts to kill a major character and expects us to be moved by the deaths of interchangeable background cast members

- Damn crow-caller is right this REALLY aggressively sets up a third book. I'm wondering what middle book syndrome looks like for something like the Lightlark Saga and whether this is it

- This book was Not Good. It feels like poor fanfiction of the first book and I cannot stress enough that I enjoyed every second of it no matter how frustrating it was. Thank you Ms. Aster I owe you my life

[stealing-the-smp]

Member 4

The Glitchis Mahogany

Lives before end: 3

Alignment: Lawful Chaotic /j

jk jk lawful neutral

Sides: Lmanburg(traitor), Greater smp(current), Pogtopia(past)

Age: Immortal

Species: Glitchis

Gender: Genderqueer

Pronouns: Any

Sexuality: Bi and poly

Morals: Many! Kids need to be protected, The wars need to slow down at any cost, More

Goals: Live in peace, Help others, Be a good monarch, Not be outed as nonhuman

Likes: Royal theming, Shiny things, Fidgets, Caves, Nether fortresses(one of the best creations in this world to Mahogany), Warm places, Vian’s wings, Noting things down on sticky notes

Dislikes: Wars, His bad memory

Allies: Demi, Komo, Hydrangea, Whiterose, Nightshade, Patch, Nutmeg, Bee, Cas

Allies or Enemies or both?: Vian

Enemies: Xade, Asphodel

Family: Found family with Nutmeg and Bee they be siblings then Cas is Mahogany’s kid

Appearance: Usually in a human form with pure white eyes that tend to induce fear in anyone who sees them so are covered with sunglasses, they also have shortish brown hair and a Royal cape that’s actually weighted for comfort, they wear a fancy white button up that has ruffles near the buttons, they have a belt that is like two crossed over belts for fanciness and it has little pouches on both sides that they use to store their communicator, bandages, a pen, some paper, and anything else they may use in the day. They have a couple scars like some weird burn scars on their back where someone may have wings attach from. (long explanation)

Another form they have features three added details fox like ears and a fox like tail that are both pitch black fur and some black fur around their eyes but to be seen as human they don’t take this form often

The True form is a 44 foot fox or wolf creature with white eyes and pure black fur also the weird feeling that it should have wings? But that’s unexplained to most only one person knows what happened to the wings and it isn’t even Mahogany

Quotes:

“I’m aware I’m not supposed to exist”

“Demi you *chuckles* worry too much I’ll be fineeeeee I’ll live through anything..”

“Oh that sounds interesting count me in”

“Sighhhhh No Hydrangea you can’t just bite our enemies”

“Cas pup come here I’ll grab you some food”

“Hey Soot do you think if I bit god again he’d make all of our lives easier or harder?”

“Bee you really need to stop ramming into walls before you get a concussion……yes I know Chord needed you to break down a door but next time you two should try the handle bud”

“Oh it’s you you’ve fallen…”

“Peace?”

“It’s a deal…”

“The baker and Cypress don’t have to be in the control room given Hydrangea is just a baker and Cypress is a robot so logically nothing would happen if he got stabbed”

“Down with the revolution boys it was never meant to be”

Mouths “I’m sorry Vian”

“this didn’t bring peace……”

“I’m sorry”

“This wool is the you matter wool because you matter!”

“I guess if you want to call me a traitor…. I’m a traitor Soot”

“I don’t remember you but something in me does”

“oh ok”

whispers “I’ll continue being alone”

“I beg to join you again Vian please!”

“Vian am I a traitor again?”

“yeah i understand why you want my crown back”

“NO shit fuck what was that guy’s name?? DEMI HELP”

“I guess I’m a wanted man who’s watching sibling drama”

“Vian I need to stay here”

“Wait Chord calm down where’s Vian?”

“people would rally around me…but I’m no better then Vian….I may even be worse”

“I’m sorry Hydrangea I’m too busy with paperwork today”

“Cas why are you hiding behind me? Need help pup?”

“Yeah you can stay at my castle pup I’ll even make you a entire wing”

“why is it more peaceful when he’s gone….”

“I’m sorry Asphodel but I agree with the others you need to be locked away”

“Who would’ve thought locking Asphodel up of all people would mean so much paperwork….”

“Vian! ….oh you’re a hallucination”

“Sure yeah I’ll come pick the lil guy up”

“why do others trust me so much still”

“Pfftttt yeah you can hide in my cape pup…..actually what are baby pigs called? Piglets I think?”

“Hmmmmm here maybe you’ll be able to do sign language I’ll figure out how to adapt it for Piglets though”

“This won’t go too bad like dangerous but eh a monarch must attend a gathering such as this one”

“Oh! My dress is actually! Pants!”

“*chuckles* sure I’ll dance with you Demi”

“Oh shit heheheh yeah should’ve expected I was first”

“DEMI NO”

“Demi? You ok?”

“yeah I’ll take a explanation why are we tied to each other?”

“Oh *chuckles* you’re sweet Demi”

“You’re back? No I’m hallucinating like usual”

“Vian don’t leave I’d…I’d let you move into the castle with me!”

“Bee if Chord jumped off a cliff would you?……NO”

“Oh shit DEMI VIAN WE NEED TO GO NOW”

“I’m sorry anyone I could’ve saved…”

Replacement of

Eret

they were my favorite character so lots of info

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday💛

Ahhhh, Wednesday. And today has been a productive one! Lot of writing done, a lot more to do, and I can say for certain that the next chapter of The Perfect Storm is going to be a bumper one! And to mirror what I posted this morning, if Elyse had a septim for every time she had a poison in her hand with a blade at her neck, she'd have two septims - not a lot, but weird that it happened twice and technically once was in a nightmare but you get the point heh.

I'm not going to tag anyone specific, and instead do an open tag for anyone who wants to say that I tagged them 💛

As Elyse brushed the cobwebs off her hands on her clothes, then scowled as she noticed that there was skeever blood on her boots, she began to feel a cold draught coming from nearby. That meant that she had to be near some sort of exit.

Carefully stepping over the unconscious man, she began to walk towards where the cool air was coming from, resisting the urge to wrap her cloak around herself just in case there were any more surprises which needed her to draw upon her spells once more. There was a slight tunnel, just enough for a person to navigate through, though was particularly dark – unsettlingly so. She had to cast a magelight spell purely to see where she was going.

Soon enough, a gentle light – no doubt that of either a lantern or a handful of candles – began to seep into the darkness and gave her a sense of ease.

Then there was a large, gaping hole leading into a room which looked similar to the basement she had entered that small cave system through. A room adorned with barrel after barrel of mead, though quite a few had obvious bite marks and chipped wood scattered around them, leaving the floor both sticky and wet with the scent of honey and alcohol permeating the air. It looked stagnant and foul, with bugs hovering over the pools of mead. She had but one thought in response to that as she felt the liquid seeping into her boots through the stitching - had Sabjorn honestly not checked on the state of his Meadery once since the skeever problem started?

There was also a door further into the room, which she was very glad to reach as the floor around it was dry and gave her the opportunity to shake off her boots as much as she could just to stop the squelching of each step she took. The door was wide open, though not leading outdoors as she had first anticipated because of just how cold the room was. Instead, it led to a room with yet more barrels, and huge vats of mead. There were also numerous sacks across the borders of the room, and an abandoned satchel in the middle of the floor which looked very much out of place.

She approached it, and went to pick it up, just for something to roll out as she did so... A small bottle with a somewhat viscous liquid of an incredibly off-putting reddish brown colour, almost reminding her of medicine, contained within. The only definitive thing about it that she could discern was that it definitely not mead... But so long as her alchemy skills hadn’t gone to waste during her time in Dragonsreach, she could probably figure out what it was.

She barely had to examine the liquid in the bottle for long after opening it before she could detect the delicate scent of nightshade flowers, and her eyes grew wide as she put the stopper back in place, not wanting nor willing to smell it any longer. Nightshade was a common ingredient for poisons… and that was all she needed to know to conclude what it was. It was almost certainly the poison which Sabjorn claimed that his employee went to collect just for it to ‘not be ready yet’. There was even a handwritten receipt from Arcadia in the satchel, when she checked back inside it.

This wasn’t an out-of-control skeever problem... This was sabotage.

Just as she turned around to go back the way that she had come from, to let Sabjorn and Lydia know about what she had found, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with Sabjorn’s employee, and a dagger pointed right at her throat.

[volhoe]

The silence in the room was a palpable suffocating one, it sunk into his belly and weighed him down as though he had swallowed rocks.

He barely dares to utter a sound.

Not even a wince or gasp each time they applied the purple substance to each open wound.

And as the short clan leader worked on his wounds, one thing tugged his mind, stuck in his throat to ask, but barely rising in his voice as he looked down at them, carefully studying the gash in his stomach.

Why?

Not why they didn't just leave him to the nurses within their clan, though that certainly was a thought.

But why they let him back-

Why the leader of the Platinum clan let the man responsible for ripping open the sky with their deity, had nearly caused a catastrophe and risked everyone's lives back into the walls of their clan, the warmth of their bunking, the familiar lavender incense once welcoming now drowning.

They had paused while he settled in his thoughts, hands dropped over their knees, bloody and sticky from the smere of medicine.

Their shoulders rose and fell slowly, bangs a dark curtain over their eyes, before a crimson glitter peeked through as they rose to their feet, making the man on their bed lift his head at the suddenness of the action.

"You're finished...."

Their voice came out gruffly, like when he had first met them, making him swallow.

This didn't change anything, they were still furious at him, not unjustly of course. But it still made his skin prickle uncomfortably.

Robes dropped into his lap, black and red in color, the colors of their clan-

He lifted his gaze again, red eyes blood shot and dark, from lack of sleep or tears he couldn't place.

"As I've already told you...You shall be EARNING your stay with my clan...You will live among us. Work as us. No special treatment..."

They hissed, it made his back tingle hotly, uncomfortable under their harsh gaze, it was warm once-

He shuddered and swallowed thickly as he slowly nodded.

"Then get dressed and get out....My second in command is outside...He'll show you where you're staying...Your pokemon will be there in their pokeballs as well..."

His pokemon-

He had nearly forgotten, how they trusted him to still wield them he couldn't understand...Then again he hadn't come here to cause harm...

The robes fit him perfectly-

As if tailored especially for him, it was soft and warm, and even smelt like them.

It made his stomach churn.

"Thank you-"

Their gaze hardened on him and it quickly shoved a knot in his throat. As they eyed him cooly..

"You...Are my responsibility...Don't make a mockery of me. Again."

--------------------

Something random that came to me lol

Nightshade takes his ass back, all battered and bloody, and man they are aggravated about it tho-

But still Volo is allowed to stay...But they're responsible for him once again