#to me it is a sustaining flame in my spirit

[unproduciblesmackdown]

it's a cyril krampusfucking year we should be nonrhetorically asking why we can't have anything we want

[novaursa]

The Chains We Break

- Summary: Otto Hightower comes to negotiate the release of his son. Daemon does not humor him. But you and your sister are dragons as well, who answer to neither gods or men.

- Paring: Gwanye Hightower/trag!reader/one-sided Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Flames We Share. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (chapters that follow will be rated higher)

- Word count: 4 580

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

You sit beside your sister, your gaze cast toward the window where the distant waves of the sea crash against the shores of Dragonstone. The sunlight, filtered through heavy clouds, is gentle on your skin as the salt air brushes your face. The wounds you sustained at Rook’s Rest have begun to heal—your body mending faster than your spirit. Every breath still carries a phantom ache, reminding you of how you fell from Silverwing’s back, the cries of dragons echoing in your ears as death nearly claimed you.

Rhaenyra sits close, her face etched with remorse. She hasn’t been the same since Rook’s Rest, the burden of guilt gnawing at her. You see it in the way her fingers fidget, how she can’t meet your eyes for long before looking away. She’s your sister—your queen—and you know the weight she carries. But you do not hold her responsible for the choices that led to that fateful battle. It was war, and war spares no one, even the innocent.

“I should have never let you go,” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice thick with regret. “It should have been Rhaenys. Not you. It was my decision that put you in harm’s way.”

“Rhaenyra,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “You did what you thought was right. We cannot turn back time, nor can we carry blame that doesn’t belong. It was my choice, too. And I would do it again, even knowing the cost.”

Your words hang in the air, but they do little to soothe her troubled heart. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until you find the courage to speak what has truly been gnawing at you.

“Gwayne Hightower,” you begin, lifting your eyes to meet hers. “You must release him from the dungeons.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightens at the name. The guilt in her eyes shifts to something more conflicted, more political. “It isn’t as simple as that, Y/N. He betrayed his own House, his blood, to bring you back here. Daemon—”

“Daemon,” you interrupt, bitterness lacing your tone despite your attempt to remain calm. “Daemon has imprisoned him, forbade me from even setting foot near the dungeons. He practically bought the loyalty of the guards to keep me away! But you are the Queen, Rhaenyra. Daemon may be my husband, but you hold the power.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrows, and for a moment, the sister you know peeks through the layers of the ruler she has become. “And if I were to free him, what then? Daemon will see it as defiance. You know how he is—he will not take kindly to having his authority challenged, even by me.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Gwayne, alone and confined, after all he sacrificed for you. A man who went against everything he was raised to believe to save you from certain death, only to be thrown into a cell by the very people he saved you for. “He did not deserve this. He did what he did for me, and now he is paying the price. Rhaenyra, please. He doesn’t deserve to rot in those dungeons. He saved my life.”

Before she can respond, Grand Maester Gerardys enters, his expression grim. “Your Grace,” he says with a deep bow. “A ship bearing the banners of Aegon II has docked in the harbor. Prince Daemon has gone to meet them, with his men.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, but your thoughts drift to Daemon, and what this meeting could mean. Your gaze darkens at the thought of your husband—how he holds Gwayne’s fate in his hands. He’s always been a tempestuous man, fierce and unyielding. The very traits that once drew you to him now feel like iron chains wrapped around your heart.

You watch as Gerardys takes his leave, the room falling silent once more. “Daemon may be the one to hold him prisoner, but I will not let this stand,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Rhaenyra. The decision settles like a stone in your chest. You have to do something. You owe Gwayne that much.

Daemon strides down the rocky path that leads toward the harbor, his cloak snapping in the breeze. The sea roars beneath, a fitting backdrop to the turmoil within his mind. His steps are sure, his presence commanding as always, but there is a tension between his shoulders—an unease that’s hard to shake. Vaeron, your son, walks beside him, mirroring his posture. Boy’s gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, but he keeps stride with Daemon, a silent observer to the storm brewing within.

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” Daemon says, his voice low but carrying authority. “In these dealings, never let them see weakness. We do not bend to those who would see us destroyed.”

Vaeron nods, but his thoughts are torn. He has spent his life idolizing Daemon, the man he believed to be his father. But now that illusion is shattered, replaced by the knowledge that his true father sits rotting in the dungeons beneath their feet. The revelation has left him conflicted, struggling to reconcile the man he loves with the man who has imprisoned his blood.

“What will you do with him?” Vaeron asks, his voice careful, testing the waters.

Daemon’s eyes flicker with a dangerous light. “With Otto Hightower? Or with the man who abandoned his oaths to save your mother?”

“The latter,” Vaeron clarifies, though he knows the question risks Daemon’s ire.

Daemon’s expression hardens. “Gwayne Hightower is a traitor, no matter his reasons. He made his choice when he turned his back on the Greens. Such a man is not to be trusted lightly.”

“And yet he saved her,” Vaeron says, his voice dropping. “Would you have let her die, had he not intervened?”

Daemon’s steps slow, and he turns to face Vaeron, his eyes narrowing. “Mind your tongue, boy. There are things you do not understand.”

“I understand enough,” Vaeron counters, his voice tinged with defiance. “You taught me that loyalty is everything. But Gwayne’s loyalty was to her, not to a cause, not to a side in this war. Can you not see the worth in that?”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his patience fraying. “You forget yourself, Vaeron. This war is not a matter of sentiment. Your mother’s survival matters because of what she represents—our family, our claim. If you think Gwayne Hightower acted out of love, then you are as naive as you are young.”

Vaeron’s hands curl into fists at his sides, but he keeps his emotions in check. This is the man who raised him, who taught him strength, yet in this moment, all he feels is a cold distance between them. Daemon sees only the war, the struggle for power. But Vaeron sees something else—something more human in the man who risked everything for his mother.

As they near the harbor, the banners of Aegon II come into view, and with them, Otto Hightower’s grim countenance. Daemon’s focus sharpens, his thoughts already turning to the game of strategy ahead. Vaeron falls silent, but in his heart, the conflict festers. 

The wind whips through the banners of Aegon II as they flutter in the sharp sea breeze, the air thick with tension. Otto Hightower stands at the head of his retinue, his face carved from stone, the faintest flicker of unease buried deep within his shrewd eyes. He is older now, his hair nearly all grey, but the calculating sharpness in his gaze has not dulled. Daemon approaches with that characteristic swagger, a predator prowling toward prey, flanked by his guards and with Vaeron at his side. The contrast between them is stark—Daemon, vibrant in his ruthlessness, while Otto wears the weariness of his long-fought battles.

Otto speaks first, his voice carrying the authority of years spent in the small council chamber, dictating the fates of lesser men. "Prince Daemon, I come on behalf of my King to negotiate the release of my son, Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Daemon’s lips curl into a mocking smile. "Negotiate?" He laughs, the sound rough and laced with dark humor. "You truly believe you are in any position to negotiate, old man? What is it that you offer in exchange for a traitor? Perhaps another decrepit stronghold that falls to ruin as we speak?"

Otto's jaw tightens, but he remains composed, his voice cool. "You underestimate what Gwayne’s return means to the Greens. A gesture of goodwill in such tumultuous times could open pathways you might find advantageous."

Daemon’s amusement only grows, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Goodwill? From you? That’s as valuable as a beggar’s coin. Come now, Otto, surely you didn’t travel all this way just to insult my intelligence. Speak plainly, before I grow bored and send you back to King’s Landing with nothing more than salt air in your lungs."

Vaeron stands to the side, his gaze flicking between the two men. Inside, a storm churns. He has known Daemon’s temper his whole life, the simmering cruelty always ready to break the surface. Yet today, that same temperament is turned toward negotiations that directly concern the man who is his true father. The words spoken twist in his mind—‘traitor,’ ‘exchange,’ as if Gwayne were nothing more than a pawn to be bartered, his life subject to whims and strategies. Vaeron keeps his expression neutral, as Daemon taught him, but beneath it all, the confusion gnaws at him.

Otto, sensing that he must tread carefully, adjusts his approach. "You dismiss too quickly what might be gained from a show of mercy, Prince Daemon. Your position, while strong, is not unassailable. A trade, even a gesture, could ease the tension between our forces. And you would gain much in return for sparing Gwayne’s life."

Daemon narrows his eyes, his amusement slipping away, replaced by cold calculation. "And what is it that you think I desire so much that I would let a Hightower return to his family? More land? An empty promise of peace? We both know that Gwayne’s life is worth more to you than any temporary truce you could offer."

Otto’s voice drops lower, becoming the tone of a man who has orchestrated more than one coup from the shadows. "There are things we could discuss—terms that could shift the tide of this war, perhaps even ending it in a way that leaves the realm less fractured. Aegon is willing to be reasonable if it means preserving our shared interests."

Daemon’s smile returns, this time sharper, more dangerous. "You think I care for shared interests? I care only for victory—unquestionable, complete. I care for the destruction of every man, woman, and child who stands between me and that victory. Gwayne’s life is a grain of sand on that battlefield. You know it, and so do I. The only reason he breathes is because my wife begged me not to have his head on a spike the moment he arrived on Dragonstone."

Vaeron stiffens, eyes fixed on Daemon’s profile, a silent witness to the deep ruthlessness within the man he once saw only as a hero. But now, he sees the cracks—how Daemon views everyone as a piece to be sacrificed for his goals, no matter the cost to their souls. He swallows hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "And what of mercy, Father? Does it not hold any value in this war? Or is it all to be blood and fire until none are left standing?"

Daemon turns sharply to regard Vaeron, his expression unreadable, a flash of something indiscernible crossing his eyes. "Mercy is for the weak, boy. Those who offer it do so only when they have nothing left to give. Do you believe Gwayne deserves mercy for betraying his family, his House, for a fleeting moment of sentiment?"

Vaeron meets Daemon’s gaze, unflinching. "I believe that loyalty beyond reason deserves acknowledgment. Even in war, there are choices that define a man. He chose her—he chose my mother. If that is treason, then perhaps we are all traitors in our own ways."

Daemon studies his son with a shrewd gaze, weighing those words. The silence stretches until Otto steps forward, seizing the opening Vaeron has created.

“Let me look upon my son, Prince Daemon. Let me see the man who has caused this… conflict. If nothing else, I would know whether the man I seek to retrieve is worth the trouble. Bring him up from those dungeons, and if you wish, you can watch as I confront what my son has become.”

The corners of Daemon’s mouth twitch upward in a grin that holds no mirth, only cold amusement. “Very well, Otto. I’ll indulge this request. Let you see what has become of the son you so poorly raised. But do not mistake this for mercy, nor a sign of weakness.”

He turns to one of his men, gesturing with a flick of his hand. “Bring him up, but keep him chained. Let his father see what the consequences are for those who betray their kin for a moment’s folly.”

As the command is relayed, Otto’s mask of composure remains intact, but there is something strained in the tightness around his mouth. Vaeron watches, his heart pounding, knowing that soon he will come face-to-face once more with the man who has haunted his thoughts since learning the truth. The man who is more than just his mother’s savior but is also the father he never knew.

The minutes stretch painfully, each one heavy with anticipation. The creak of footsteps echoes through the stone as the guards finally return, dragging Gwayne Hightower from the depths. The man who emerges is a shadow of the knight he once was—his face gaunt, his clothes tattered, and his once-proud bearing diminished beneath the weight of his chains. But despite his disheveled state, there is a spark in Gwayne’s eyes, a defiance that has not been extinguished.

Otto’s gaze is icy, but there is a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or shame—as he regards the man before him. “You’ve disgraced us all, Gwayne. For what? For a woman who was never yours to protect?”

Gwayne’s voice is hoarse from disuse, but it still carries strength. “For a woman worth more than all the crowns and thrones in the world. If that is a disgrace, then so be it.”

Daemon’s laughter rings out, cold and mocking. “Hear that, Otto? Even chained and broken, he clings to his foolish convictions. This is what you came for—this pathetic display of misguided loyalty.”

Vaeron watches the exchange, torn between anger and a deep, aching sadness. The man before him is no longer the fearsome knight from the stories but a father who sacrificed everything for a fleeting chance to save someone he loved. The realization sinks in like a stone—this war, this endless cycle of violence, leaves no room for anything as simple as honor or love. It’s all twisted, corrupted by the ambitions of those who claim to know best.

The tension in the air crackles like the distant storm clouds gathering over the horizon. Gwayne Hightower stands before his father, closer now than he has been in years, his once-strong frame worn by weeks of confinement. He walks with a limp, the weight of chains dragging at his wrists, but there is still a pride in his bearing, a defiant spark that refuses to die.

Daemon watches the exchange with a calculating smile, his eyes flicking between father and son, delighting in the bitter reunion. 

Otto closes the distance, gripping Gwayne by the arm with a roughness that belies the controlled facade he wears. The old man’s eyes burn with a fury tempered by long years of cold, strategic thinking. “Have you lost your mind, Gwayne?” he hisses, his voice low, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “All your life, you’ve chased after her like some lovesick fool. You could never accept that Viserys refused your suit, that she was never meant for you!”

Gwayne’s expression barely shifts, but the muscle in his jaw twitches, a hint of the rage he has long kept buried beneath duty and restraint. He leans closer, ignoring the sting of Otto’s grip, and murmurs, his voice so low only his father can hear, “The boy standing next to Daemon is my son, Father. And that is all that matters now. My fate is inconsequential.”

Otto’s eyes widen, his breath catching as though he has been struck. For a moment, his iron composure fractures, disbelief and horror warring on his face. He releases Gwayne, recoiling as if the revelation has physically burned him. His gaze snaps toward Vaeron, the truth now laid bare, searing into him like a brand. The boy—no, the young man—is not just the child of Daemon’s wife; he is a Hightower. His grandson.

Vaeron meets Otto’s gaze briefly, not fully understanding what has just transpired but sensing the seismic shift in the atmosphere. Daemon notices the exchange and narrows his eyes, his amusement giving way to suspicion. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to end this farce with a single stroke.

Otto recovers quickly, his face once again a mask of practiced indifference, but there is a tremor in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. “You’ve doomed us all, Gwayne. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You threw away everything—your name, your family’s honor, for what? To save a woman who could never be yours? A child you will never truly claim?”

Gwayne’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “I would do it again, Father. A thousand times over if it meant protecting her and our son. You can call me mad, you can brand me a traitor, but I regret nothing.”

Otto’s eyes darken as he processes the full scope of what has been revealed. He turns slowly to Daemon, who watches him with the cold eyes of a dragon ready to pounce. Otto studies Vaeron with renewed interest, seeing him now not just as a pawn but as a potential key to unraveling this web. He tries to capitalize on this revelation, his voice taking on a more calculated tone. “It seems, Prince Daemon, that the boy you’ve raised as your own has more complicated parentage than we knew. Perhaps this presents an opportunity—one that—”

Daemon’s face hardens instantly, his lips curling into a snarl. “Do not presume to speak of him as a bargaining chip, Hightower. I care nothing for your intrigues, nor do I care for whatever misguided sentiment your son clings to.” He steps forward, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You came for your son, and I’ve given you this moment to see the disgrace he has become. But do not mistake this for weakness. Gwayne Hightower is nothing more than a broken tool, and I’ve no use for broken things.”

Otto opens his mouth to argue, but the steel in Daemon’s eyes leaves no room for discussion. He knows better than to push further when the dragon’s teeth are bared. Reluctantly, he pulls back, the wheels of strategy already turning in his mind, but knowing this is not the moment to press.

Daemon turns sharply to his guards. “Take him back to the dungeons. Let him rot where he belongs.”

The guards move swiftly, seizing Gwayne by the arms. Before they drag him away, Gwayne locks eyes with Vaeron one last time, a silent exchange passing between them. There is no plea for understanding, no attempt at explaining what words cannot convey. Just a look—a father recognizing his son, and a son realizing the depth of what was sacrificed for him.

The confrontation ends not in bloodshed, but with Daemon’s final, sardonic remark. “You’ve seen your son, Otto. Now crawl back to King’s Landing and tell your king that mercy is the last thing you’ll ever find on Dragonstone.”

Otto holds his gaze for a moment longer, then turns on his heel, a man who has measured his options and found them lacking. As he departs, Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons, his chains rattling with every step. 

In that instant, Vaeron knows that the next time they meet, it will not be as strangers, but as something far more complicated—something that even Daemon may not be able to control.

The clinking of chains and the rough shuffling of boots against stone echo through the courtyard as Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons. His face is set in grim determination, resigned to his fate, yet his eyes still hold that spark—the fire of a man who has found something more precious than victory in war. The guards are silent, their expressions hard and unreadable, loyal to their prince’s orders, despite whatever inner conflict they may harbor.

But as they round a corner, the way is blocked. Standing firm are Rhaenyra and you, their Queen and her sister. The two women’s presence immediately shifts the air, tension snapping taut like a drawn bowstring. The guards pause, uncertain, as their gazes flicker between Rhaenyra’s command and the one issued earlier by Daemon.

Rhaenyra’s voice rings out, clear and commanding. “Release him to Otto Hightower. He is to leave Dragonstone at once.”

The guards stiffen, the weight of conflicting orders hanging heavy on their shoulders. “Your Grace,” one of them ventures, his voice laced with hesitation, “Prince Daemon’s orders were clear. Ser Gwayne is not to be released.”

You step forward, eyes blazing with resolve. “And who is your Queen? Who commands this keep? You will do as she says or face the consequences. Daemon’s orders hold no weight when the Queen herself speaks.”

There’s a moment of palpable tension as the guards exchange uncertain glances. But the authority in Rhaenyra’s gaze, coupled with your fierce insistence, finally breaks their hesitation. They nod reluctantly and begin to unshackle Gwayne, their hands shaking slightly as they fumble with the locks.

Gwayne breathes out a quiet sigh, rubbing his wrists where the heavy manacles have left raw marks. He looks to you, a softness in his gaze that defies the bleakness of the situation. You step closer, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you in that instant. His eyes hold yours, and in them, you see the unspoken words, the regret, the love, and the inevitable farewell.

“This is not the end,” Gwayne murmurs, his voice rough but steady, his eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. “If my nephew has any mercy left in him, I will find a way to return. But if not… know that protecting you was worth everything. Every sacrifice.”

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly, resting it against his chest where you can feel the steady, yet faint, beat of his heart. “You’re the only reason I’m alive, Gwayne. You risked everything for me, and I won’t forget it. No matter what happens next.”

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and whispers, “Remember me, Y/N. And if this war ever ends, perhaps fate will be kinder to us in another life.”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, but you manage a faint smile, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek in a rare display of affection. “I will. I promise.”

Before either of you can say more, the guards hastily usher him toward the docks, anxious to see him gone before Daemon can intervene. Gwayne casts one last lingering glance over his shoulder, a look full of unspoken promises and finality, before he is led away.

As they escort him down the winding paths toward the ship, the sails already being unfurled, Daemon and Vaeron catch sight of the commotion from a distance. Daemon’s eyes narrow dangerously as he realizes what is happening. His fury builds like a storm, the anger practically radiating off him as he strides toward the scene, Vaeron following, his own emotions churning in the wake of what has transpired.

As Gwayne passes by Daemon, their eyes lock for a brief moment. Gwayne’s lips twitch into a faint, knowing smirk—one that speaks volumes, a silent challenge, as if to say, You didn’t win this time. It’s a gesture that only fuels Daemon’s rage, the dragon within him rearing its head.

Daemon’s hand tightens on the hilt of Dark Sister, his knuckles white with fury, but before he can draw it, Gwayne is gone, escorted swiftly onto the ship where Otto waits with grim satisfaction. The gangplank is raised, and the ship begins to pull away from the harbor, sails billowing as it heads back toward the horizon.

With the Hightower entourage retreating, Daemon’s fury turns on Rhaenyra and you. He storms up to the two of you, his eyes blazing, voice like thunder. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing, woman? Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

Rhaenyra stands her ground, unyielding, her chin lifted defiantly. “I did what was right, Daemon. Ser Gwayne Hightower saved my sister’s life at Rook’s Rest, and I will not be the one to condemn him to rot in chains for it. Let the Greens decide his fate now. It’s no longer our concern.”

Daemon’s glare shifts from Rhaenyra to you, his gaze scorching with silent accusation. The promise of a reckoning lingers in his eyes, a vow that this conversation between you and him is far from over. But he turns back to Rhaenyra, the anger in his voice uncontainable. “You’ve weakened our position, Rhaenyra. Do you not see what this act of so-called mercy has cost us? We hold every advantage, and now you hand them back one of their own, giving them hope when we should be crushing it.”

Rhaenyra’s voice remains steady, firm in her conviction. “Hope may be our enemy, but I will not sacrifice decency for the sake of cruelty. This war has already claimed enough souls—if showing mercy weakens us in your eyes, then so be it. But I will not let this conflict strip us of our humanity.”

Daemon’s eyes flash dangerously, his rage palpable, but even in his fury, he knows better than to challenge her publicly. The exchange bristles with barely restrained venom, both of them locked in a clash of wills, neither willing to yield. But it’s clear that this is a rift that will not be easily mended.

Vaeron, who has watched it all unfold in silence, feels a small surge of triumph swell in his chest. For the first time, his mother acted on her own terms, free from Daemon’s influence. The knowledge that Gwayne is safe, at least for now, is a balm to his inner turmoil. Yet, even in his moment of quiet victory, he knows that the repercussions of this day will ripple far beyond the shores of Dragonstone.

Daemon finally steps back, his gaze returning to you, the promise of confrontation lingering like smoke in the air. “This is not over,” he hisses, his words directed more at you than at Rhaenyra. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks off, his rage still burning as he disappears from view.

The ship grows smaller on the horizon, taking with it the man who dared defy every loyalty, every oath, for the sake of love. And in that moment, you know that whatever happens next, the war has shifted—not because of power or strategy, but because of the choices made out of love and loyalty. Choices that may very well reshape the fate of everyone involved.

[endless-ineffabilities]

the aftermath

Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader

part four of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me? - part two: and what of your love? - part three: the flames that divide -- part five: never tear us apart

themes: injury, violence (choking/assault), language, dragonrider!reader (her house is not stated)

word count: 3.7k ▪︎ masterlist

The reader is left comatose after the curse inflicted by Alys Rivers. Daemon and the rest of the Blacks are determined to set things right. Aemond finally learns of what happened, and makes sure that the guilty pays the price.

The gillyflower lies on the round desk in the middle of your chambers.

It has been three days since its arrival, and devoid of the solace of its earth, it has inevitably began to wilt.

Rhaenyra had been the one to pull it from the box in which it arrived, for its intended recipient lies unconscious on the bed. She comes back to check on you each day, opening the windows to let the morning air in. The ladies-in-waiting tend to you, running warm cloth over your face and body, cleaning and replacing the healing ointment on your injuries.

It has been nearly a week since the tragic incident, which still remains unexplained by everyone. You had sustained treatable injuries, including a broken leg and wrist, but you were also left comatose, after hitting your head in the fall. Thankfully, in a desperate effort by your dragon Fyraxes, the blow was softened as she did her best to minimize the impact in her final moments. She is afflicted with a similar condition, yet to wake again, just like you.

The door to your chambers flies open, and in enters Daemon followed by the maester. He has also been a steady visitor, making sure that all measures are taken toward your recovery. He had been the one to take you back to Dragonstone on Caraxes. Jace stayed behind with Vermax in Horn Hill to watch over Fyraxes, awaiting Baela on Moondancer to help carry her back on makeshift mesh netting.

Daemon’s rough hands carry an ebony box, and he need not open it to determine its contents. It’s the usual one, sent by your lover. He sets it down on the desk. It is left adjacent to the one previously sent, the contents of which have already grown much fainter in vibrance.

Gillyflower. Yet again. In its usual shades of red and violet. A secret call, another attempt to coax you back into his arms.

He knew nothing of what happened. If he did, it would only be reasonable to assume that Alys Rivers would take the brunt of his wrath.

If Aemond only knew, then there is nothing in this world that he wouldn’t burn to reach you.

Daemon’s low spirits intensify as he observes you, lying supine and unmoving in the room. He hates not understanding your affliction. This never should have happened; something clearly isn’t right. Both you and Fyraxes showed no sign of any ailment prior to the incident, and nothing could have overtaken you that quickly. You were laughing one second, and gone to the world the next.

He is determined to see this right. Daemon needed you to be well, as he’s grown to see you as a kind of younger sister, someone he would protect at all costs. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t even fucking fly his dragon fast enough to save you from the fall.

“Well?” Daemon irately questions the maester who looks over you, yet again, “you wanted to say something? Speak it plainly, then. If you have any idea at all as to how we can help her, hold nothing back or I will make sure you regret it.”

“My prince, it is hard to say-”

“Say it.”

“It is only a matter of possibility. A mere assumption. I, myself, do not claim to have any determinate method to confirm this, but the lady y/n may have been targeted with dark magic.”

Daemon pauses, not expecting those words from the maester. Dark magic? “Do make it clear how exactly you arrived at this assumption.”

“Well, if I may show you,” the master lifts your hand, palm upwards, beckoning to Daemon, “if one has been targeted by a spell or an incantation of sorts, it tends to leave a mark.” He traces the lines on your palm, “As you can see, the creases on her palm have been tinged with a shade of maroon. It is almost hard to distinguish, unless studied closely.”

Daemon lowers his head to detect the traces of this on your palm, as the maester continues, “There are records of similar traces from victims of such witchcraft in our histories. One being a lord who was seemingly branded with a murky red contusion on his back, and another lady whose iris morphed into a similar colour. A telltale sign of the work of someone who practices the religion of R’hllor. A disgrace to the one, true religion of the Seven, if I do say so mys-”

Daemon straightens, a fit of rage starting to resurface, "This must be the work of someone from the fucking Greens. It has to be. We must question any known priest or priestess from this Red religion. Anyone who might have any idea about the doings of these bloody witches," his lips curl in distaste, "Immediately."

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

Aemond sits at the edge of the bed. The very same one that you shared nearly a fortnight ago. In this familiar cabin, in your secret field, he waits. He has been waiting for several hours, as he had waited several days ago.

And yet, you are nowhere to be seen.

The gillyflower must have reached you. He made sure that it would not be intercepted on its way to Dragonstone. It must have arrived in your chambers, for your immediate notice.

So where are you? When you did not arrive several days prior, Aemond tried to let it pass. You must have been preoccupied with other pressing matters. You are a trusted ally in the Black Council, after all, with your own duties to fulfill.

But again, you have yet to make your presence known. You have yet to come home to Aemond’s arms, where you belong. He tries not to worry, not to let it get to his head. Perhaps, it’s the same case. You must be occupied, or sent on an envoy to one of your allies. There must be a reason that would justify your absence. Surely, you would not choose to simply ignore him, ignore the constant arrival of gillyflower to your chambers.

He lets his fingers drift across the sheets, going over the memory of the both of you entangled in them. It’s been too long, and he’s just gotten you back. There is no way in seven hells that he would let another separation linger between you and him.

Perhaps it’s time to leave. His entire being pulls him toward staying in the cabin, perhaps just a little while longer. Just another minute, or another hour even. Maybe then, maybe you…

Out in the hills, Vhagar huffs impatiently. She feels distraught, struggling to maintain a sense of calm, mirroring her rider’s exact sentiments. Vhagar and Aemond have always been attuned to each other in this way, which has also led to the largest dragon’s affinity for you. She watches Aemond walking back to her, stone-faced and looking downcast. He certainly did not get what he came for. Silently, he clambers up onto Vhagar, and sits back, assessing the field and the skies. Trying to catch a glimpse of your arrival. Anything at all. Even a raven that holds a letter to explain your absence.

He's not certain how much more time passes, as he sits atop Vhagar. The dragon shuffles slightly, pulling him out of his thoughts. In a huff, he makes a split decision, voice sounding agitated, “Ivestragī's jikagon. Sōvegon.” Let’s go. Fly.

The field is enveloped in a massive gust of wind, grass and gillyflower whipped about in a flourish. Gravel and dirt are spread out from where Vhagar took off. Back in the cabin, candles are left lit around the room, casting a warm glow in the emptiness. The entire place - the field, the cabin, the skies above – seems to have lost its wonder, its defining spark, without the star-crossed lovers who have made it their home.

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

Rhaenyra Targaryen’s sworn knights escort a woman into the great, looming hall in Dragonstone. The elderly woman walks with dignity, her head held high, her modest red dress billowing slightly as she strides. The queen and Prince Daemon finally take notice of her, as the maester walks forward to announce her arrival.

“My Queen, my Prince, might I present the Lady Cerrah. She hails from Essos, but she currently resides in the Riverlands, in the employ of our ally, House Tully.”

“They have a fucking witch in their employ?” Daemon doesn’t mince his words, as always, eager to get on with the interrogation.

“My queen,” she bows her head in obeisance, before adding in response, “I am a respected healer in House Tully, Prince Daemon, and I do not appreciate your tone.”

Rhaenyra gives her consort a sideward look, advising him to take caution, “We welcome you to Dragonstone, Lady Cerrah. I suppose you have been informed of why you have been summoned?”

“Summoned?” The lady’s voice is shrill, disbelieving, “I was plucked out of my chambers in the middle of the night and dragged out here in a pathetic carriage-”

“You should consider yourself fortunate that you weren’t put in chains, witch.” Daemon snaps, “This is a matter of urgency, so the sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we can be rid of each other’s presence.”

Lady Cerrah doesn’t recoil at Daemon’s tone, already accustomed to men approaching her in a brutish manner, without any effort made to hide their prejudice. “The maester has already informed me of the Lady Y/n’s condition, and I’m afraid he is not mistaken. This is the work of a priestess, and quite the powerful one, might I add.”

Rhaenyra proceeds in a practiced, diplomatic manner, “We have reason to suspect that this might be the work of someone from the Greens. Perhaps they too, have a priestess such as you, my lady, in their company.”

The priestess does not appreciate having to be a mere tool, her religion clearly viewed as lesser by these nobles, “And? What do you require of me? The name of everyone who might potentially be a priestess who sided with the Greens?”

“Just one name would suffice. The name of the cunt who put a curse of Lady Y/n and her dragon,” Daemon fiercely says, matching Lady Cerrah’s derision, “Whoever they are, they’re likely to be under the command of the Hightowers, or any of the traitors in King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra interjects, “Daemon, we can’t be certain-” but her husband does not cease his tirade.

“It must be. Do you know of any priest or priestess who may currently be in King’s Landing?”

“We followers of the Lord of Light know better than to be under the direct control of any of you Targaryens,” Lady Cerrah sneers, “You only seek to bring about the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms, simply because you wage war amongst yourselves.”

Just before Daemon angrily speaks up, Rhaenyra is quick to implore, in a comparably calmer tone, “I do not wish to antagonize you, my lady, and if you felt as if you were not properly treated as you were brought here, then I offer my apology.  But the Lady Y/n is quite dear to me, and to all of us. She is more than just an ally; she is my family.” At that, Daemon can’t help but sullenly nod in agreement. Rhaenyra continues, “If you know of anyone who might be rightfully suspected of harming her, then speak their name.”

Despite Lady Cerrah’s resistance, the queen’s genuine sincerity was something she could not ignore. She speaks again, her voice softer, “In King’s Landing, you say? Well, I suppose there is someone who is close enough to the royals, that it is likely her faith is being utilized to their advantage,” she pauses, making up her mind, “You must have heard of Alys Rivers. The consort…well, former consort of Prince Aemond Targaryen. She is the daughter of a devout follower of the Lord of Light, a true priestess who devoted her life to the faith. I came across her mother several times in our youth, before she was impregnated by the late Lord Strong.”

Daemon’s blood runs cold. He mouths slowly, “Alys Rivers is a fucking witch.” If she had anything to do with this, then it must only be at the behest of his nephew, and Daemon knowingly let you go to him. I let her go to him, to that fucking traitor, and now she lies unconscious, her fate uncertain.

Rhaenyra and Daemon share a knowing look, both aware of your history with Prince Aemond.

“Thank you, my lady,” Rhaenyra says, “That will be all for now. You will be given your own chambers during your stay here. Clear the room,” she hurriedly commands her loyal knights.

Before she is ushered away, the priestess adds, moved by the queen’s grace, “My queen, I wish to express my regret for what happened to the Lady Y/n. I shall look over my texts, and see if there is anything I can do.”

The room has just been emptied, before Daemon angrily speaks, "That one-eyed cunt shall pay for what he's done to her. He clearly has not learned his lesson after-"

Rhaenyra stops him with a single look, and Daemon knows better than to bring up the subject of her second son.

"If this is all Prince Aemond's doing, then why does he persist in sending gillyflower to her, in hopes that she might meet him? It does not seem like he's aware of her condition."

"It must be a trap," Daemon asserts, "or a diversion. To make it look like he's innocent in all this-"

"Daemon, you said so yourself that you believe them to truly care for one another. This is why you let her go to him. If that is true, then Aemond would not have done this."

"Well, perhaps I thought wrong," Daemon hissed, "If Alys Rivers is a priestess, then her connection with Aemond would deem her most likely guilty of the fucking curse our Y/n was put under."

Rhaenyra reaches for Daemon's hand, attempting to ease his agitation, "She will make it through this, Daemon. She's a fighter, always has been."

"I know she will," Daemon mutters, "but Alys Rivers must be dealt with, and I know just the way to see this done."

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

Aemond absentmindedly plays with the sapphire-blue stone ball in the symbolic round dish set before him. His mind is elsewhere, fixated on you. The other members of the Green Council drawl on, and his mother Alicent’s expression grows dimmer as she sits at the head of the table. The proclaimed King himself is once again absent from the council meeting, no longer a surprise to anyone, for it was always clear that the Hightowers have been the ones to maneuver the plans of war. Figureheads in the shadows who are actually running the Seven Kingdoms.

Ser Tyland Lannister drawls on about the need for more resources in some battle, which of course, Casterly Rock would be more than happy to provide. Not unusual of their House which constantly leeches off of the power of the Iron Throne, through favours and self-serving flattery. Tyland poorly hides his annoyance when  Jasper Wylde interrupts, who claims to have good news from the Greens’ network of spies.

“Word has reached us that a very important player in this game for the Blacks has suffered a grave injury. As luck would have it, her dragon is in the same condition. The Lady Y/n is rumoured to be lying unconscious, and it is uncertain whether she will ever wake.”

Aemond freezes completely. His stomach twists and a sense of nausea threatens him, his eyes widening in shock. Rage quickly follows, when he replays what Jasper has just reported, his increasingly grating voice a mere echo in the background.

… suffered a grave injury… rumoured to be lying unconscious… It is uncertain whether she will ever wake.

“Wonderful news, dare I say!” the bumbling Lannister exclaims, unaware of the inner turmoil about to be unleashed from the Targaryen prince across the table, “And she rides one of their largest dragons, doesn’t she? A true loss for the Blacks, so this should…”

Alicent grows aware of her son’s distress, of his fist turning bone-white, tightening around the blue stone ball, “Aemond,” she implores, “Aemond, don’t-”

Tyland Lannister drones on, “…be a cause for celebration. But we should also make haste in considering our next-”

Gasps erupt around the table. Silence falls. Tyland Lannister’s speech was effectively halted by the same symbolic sphere, that shining blue implement, hurled from Aemond’s fist to his mouth.

The council members look from their prince to the Lannister, who stands in shock. His quivering hand covers his mouth, but blood has already begun to seep through his fingers. He makes a gurgling noise, and keels over, spitting a heavy clod of blood and several of his teeth on the stone floor.

“Fuck!” Tyland yells, muffled by the damage done, “You…you utter cunt…”

“Careful how you address your prince, Ser,” Ser Criston threatens from the side of the room.

Aemond stands tall, dominating the room with his silent, burning wrath. Lips tightened, jaw tense, fists curled at his sides. The very image of a dragon prepared to bring about destruction with his fire. He makes no move to excuse his action, and does not offer any semblance of an apology, both in word and in his expression.

Alicent is quick to act, fearing further escalation into violence, especially due to her son. “My lords, I must declare this council meeting over. We shall discuss any proceedings on the morrow.”

“What of… of what’s been done to me?” Tyland wheezes, blood still spilling from his lips, “I demand justice!”

Aemond’s head whips to him in a fury, “Justice would warrant that I have your head mounted on a spike, for levying insults against my-” He pauses. My love? My consort? My... my life.

The air is thick with anticipation and intrigue. The intrusive thought of Prince Aemond and Lady Y/n settle uncomfortably within their minds.

“Ser Criston, see everyone out,” Alicent instructs, “and have the maester see to Ser Tyland straight away.” Everyone shuffles out of the room, apart from Alicent and her son. She takes one of his fists, squeezing it gently between her palms, beseeching him to meet her gaze.

“Speak to me, Aemond,” Alicent pleads, “Why have you acted in such a way? You swore to me that you would never let your anger take over you again. Do you still care for the Lady Y/n?”

“Mother, I-” Aemond whispers, words failing him, “I…” He sits back down, leaning forward on one arm to steady himself. His hand is still curled tight, fingernails digging into his palm. Alicent sits beside him, pulling his fist close. Prying it open, she is saddened to see familiar, bloody crescent marks on his palm, from where his nails dug too deep. A memory flashes across her eyes, a sensation from her long lost girlhood, her hands defaced in a similar way. Of her own doing. And now her son has to suffer the same, and whatever pains have led him to this, she only wishes to take it away.

“Was this our doing?” Aemond says lowly, “Was this an attack orchestrated by our allies? I must know who dared harm Y/n.”

“I am not certain of this at present, Aemond. However, I will have Ser Criston report every detail he can collect about this incident. Rest assured, you will have your answers.”

Aemond envisions you, hurt, and he feels powerless to do anything to remedy it. His chest tightens with a pain he is sure he has not felt in a long time, not since he lost you the first time. Now, he could lose you for good. He refuses to entertain that possibility; he fears the monster he will become if that ever came to be.

He forces himself to nod to his mother in acknowledgement, before striding out of the council room, every step he takes bearing heavy. He was never a devout man, only playing the part of the dutiful son who upholds his mother’s beliefs. But a prayer repeatedly races through his mind. By the old gods and the new, let her be well. Let her recover completely. Let her return to me.

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

Aemond walks the halls determinedly in apparent calm. His face does not betray what simmers within. After Ser Criston Cole left his chambers, having reported everything he had gathered about your condition, Aemond sat transfixed by the flames. The amber flickers drew him back to one dark-haired bastard girl. The one who worships these flames. That witch.

It had been her. She was the one whom the Blacks have apparently determined as the likely cause. Aemond can’t help but concur. You had been allegedly been afflicted with a curse, the doing of someone who practices the religion of R’hllor. And who else would have reason to target you? Who better to suspect that his scorned former consort.

The door to Alys Rivers’ meagre chambers flies open. She had been sitting in front her mirror, running a comb over her long tresses, when she felt a cold gust of air from behind. She turns, finding the object of her fixation. The one-eyed prince, the love that had been promised to her by the Lord of Light. She was sure, he was meant to be hers.

She stands, excitedly at first, until she manages to observe him entirely. His entire demeanour is dark and menacing, his regal, austere face taking on a cruel edge.

“My Aemond,” she tentatively whispers, her hands reaching out to touch him. She lightly grips the sleeves of his tunic, but he remains unmoving. A long, torturous moment passes.

Then Aemond snaps, springing into movement, too quick for Alys to comprehend. His fingers tighten around her neck, cutting off any air in her windpipe. His fingernails dig into her skin, and her eyes widen alarmingly, begging him to cease his assault.

His seemingly dead eyes look right through her, numb to her pain. For once, the witch’s heart is stricken with fear caused by her true love. She can barely recognize the man in front of her.  

“Ae..mond,” a desperate croak, her slender hands scrambling and failing to urge him to release her neck.

Aemond finally speaks, voice dripping with menace, “What the fuck have you done?”

-----------

Sorry that you did not make an appearance in this chapter, dear reader. 🙃 I wanted to emphasize the gravity of the situation, and we simply can't have you just gallivanting around right away, if you're meant to have suffered a great blow from your nemesis, now can we?

I hoped yous understand the reference to the symbolic stone balls used during council meetings. No, Aemond does not have a blue ball he just brings around and plays with. (Lol)

And that's right, no smut in this one. This is kind of a filler chapter + you're in a bloody coma so simmer down for a while 😂

What to expect in the next chapter: you'll finally wake, Aemond will attempt to come see you (risking his head because Daemon will surely be out for blood the moment his nephew sets foot on Dragonstone), you might see Aemond in a new light (you'll be more distrusting, because it was his fooling around with that witch that led to your affliction after all) ...

the taglist continues in the comments, I sincerely apologize if I missed anyone. There must be nearly 200 of you that asked to be tagged so it's been insane! (in the best way) thank you all for reading!!! 🖤

taglist: @schniiipsel @thelastcitysposts @angel6776 @huntycola @sanguinalia @just-a-harmless-potato-05 @outundertheocean @dazecrea @ladystardvsts @afro-hispwriter @dudfahsn @poohkie90 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @lilostif16 @deeeeexx @nephitis @minicikasworld @livimulati @the-orions-belt @stillinracooncity @lawlerek @missusnora @wickedbutlovely @umavvitch @claudie-080102 @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @puredicks @crazylokonugget @lj127 @icarusignite @mandyki @darylandbethfanforever9 @highexpectationsgurl @whitejuliana1204 @caught-in-the-afterglow @witchmoon @meilikki @carlottalhn @xcinnamonmalfoyx @writer-lee5 @solacestyles @noneedtosearch @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @vensidia @xinyourdreamsx @mikariell95 @cryztalline @fairaardirascenarios @aemondswh0re

[zapreportsblog]

A little different his time! We're going to Italy for this next one.

I'd love to see Felix/and or Demetri(separate) with a mate that doesn't live in the castle. There is a fire in the city and while most people are running away from it she's determined to help people out of the building. By the end her hair is singed, she smells of smoke, her skin has minor cuts/burns and is darker due to soot. Her vampire mate is NOT happy she put herself in that situation but knows how stubborn she is and is just happy to hold her after and won't be letting her go for awhile. Please and thank you!!

Ah so two different fics once more, sounds simply enough :)

❝as long as you’re okay❞

✭ pairing : felix volturi x reader x demetri volturi

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : (y/n) decides to play hero leading to her sustaining some injuries, her mates aren’t too happy about that but luckily she’s okay and Al that’s all that matters

✭ authors note : as always this is divided between 3 sections

✭ twilight masterlist

Felix :

Felix, a loyal member of the Volturi guard, had found his mate in (Y/n). Their connection was undeniable, but unlike most of the Volturi, (Y/n) chose to live outside the castle walls, immersed in the human world. She had a compassionate heart that couldn't bear to stay away from those in need.

One fateful day, a fire engulfed a building in the city where (Y/n) lived. Panic spread as people fled from the scene, desperate to escape the engulfing flames. But (Y/n), driven by her unwavering sense of duty, was determined to help those trapped inside.

Ignoring the danger, (Y/n) rushed towards the burning building, her heart filled with a mix of fear and determination. She knew the risks, but her instincts pushed her forward, urging her to save lives. As she entered the inferno, debris fell around her, flames licking at her skin and smoke filling her lungs.

Time seemed to blur as (Y/n) focused on her mission, pulling people from the wreckage, guiding them to safety. Her hair became singed, her clothes covered in soot, and her once pristine skin bore minor cuts and burns. But she persevered, driven by an indomitable spirit.

When the last survivor was safely away from the building, (Y/n) emerged, her body exhausted and her spirit weary. But her heart swelled with a sense of accomplishment. She had made a difference in the lives of those she had saved.

However, as (Y/n) emerged from the scene of the fire, she was met with the stern gaze of Felix. His eyes filled with a mix of concern and anger, his vampire instincts having sensed the danger she had put herself in. He rushed to her side, his arms wrapping protectively around her.

"(Y/n), what were you thinking?" Felix's voice was filled with a potent mix of worry and frustration. "You could have been seriously hurt, or worse!"

(Y/n) looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination and defiance. "I couldn't stand by and do nothing, Felix. People needed help, and I couldn't turn my back on them."

Felix sighed, his anger giving way to understanding. He knew how stubborn (Y/n) could be, and he also knew that her compassionate nature was what drew him to her. He gently brushed away the soot from her face, his touch filled with tenderness and affection.

"I'm just glad you're safe," Felix said softly, his voice filled with genuine relief. "But please, promise me you won't put yourself in such danger again."

(Y/n) nodded, her expression serious. "I promise, Felix. I'll be more cautious in the future. But sometimes, I just can't stand by and let others suffer."

Felix pulled her closer, his embrace offering comfort and reassurance. He knew that (Y/n) had a heart that couldn't be contained, and while he worried for her safety, he also admired her bravery.

In that moment, all he wanted was to hold her, to cherish her, and to let her know that he would always be there to protect her, no matter what challenges they faced together.

Demetri :

The city was ablaze with chaos and panic as flames licked at the buildings, devouring everything in their path. People ran in every direction, desperately seeking safety and shelter.

But amidst the chaos, there was one person who stood out from the crowd - (Y/N), the mate of Demetri Volturi. (Y/N) was not like the others in the Volturi castle. She did not reside within the grand walls of the ancient fortress, but instead chose to live among the humans in the city.

Her heart was filled with compassion and a burning desire to help those in need, even if it meant putting herself in harm's way. As the fire raged on, consuming everything in its path, (Y/N) could not stand idly by.

With determination etched on her face, she disregarded her own safety and rushed towards the burning building. Her mind was focused on one thing - saving lives. Ignoring the screams and cries of those around her, (Y/N) fearlessly entered the inferno.

The intense heat licked at her skin, causing her to flinch, but she pressed on. She knew that every second counted, and lives were at stake. With each step she took, (Y/N) could feel the heat intensifying.

Her hair, once flowing and vibrant, was now singed and tangled. The acrid smell of smoke clung to her clothes, seeping into her very being. Her skin bore the marks of her bravery, with minor cuts and burns scattered across her body.

The soot that covered her face and hands had darkened her complexion, a stark contrast to her usual radiance.

Meanwhile, Demetri Volturi, her vampire mate, watched from a distance with a mix of concern and frustration. He knew all too well how stubborn and determined (Y/N) could be. He admired her selflessness, but he also feared for her safety. His instincts screamed at him to swoop in and whisk her away from the danger, but he knew that she would not appreciate his interference.

Finally, the fire began to subside, leaving behind a charred and broken structure. As the last flicker of flame died down, (Y/N) emerged from the wreckage, her body covered in soot and her clothes tattered.

She was weary, but her eyes shone with a sense of fulfillment. Seeing her emerge from the chaos, Demetri's heart swelled with a mix of relief and adoration.

He rushed towards her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, a reminder of the danger she had willingly faced. "You're safe," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and reproach.

“But you shouldn't have put yourself in such danger, my love." (Y/N) smiled weakly, her body still trembling from the adrenaline rush.

“I couldn't just stand by and do nothing," she replied, her voice filled with determination. "I had to help those people, Demetri. It's who I am." Demetri sighed, knowing that he couldn't change her nature.

He held her tightly, vowing to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In that moment, he realized that he couldn't imagine his life without her fiery determination and selflessness.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Demetri knew that he would never let her go. He would cherish her, protect her, and support her in all her endeavors, even if it meant facing the flames together.

Felix and Demetri :

In the midst of chaos and panic, flames dancing against the darkening sky, (y/n) raced towards the burning building. It wasn't in her nature to stand idly by when people were in danger. The screams of terrified individuals echoed in her ears as she pushed forward, determined to do what she could to help.

Her movements were swift and focused as she entered the smoke-filled building. Despite the thick clouds of black smoke, (y/n) could hear the cries for help coming from the upper floors. With a heart full of resolve, she pressed on, ignoring the burning sensation in her lungs and the stinging sensation of smoke in her eyes.

Every step she took felt heavy, the weight of the danger and the responsibility she had taken upon herself pressing down on her shoulders. She found herself relying on instincts, guiding her through the smoke-filled corridors to the trapped individuals.

With each person she managed to rescue, (y/n)'s determination grew stronger. She moved with urgency, using her strength to help those who couldn't escape on their own. The fire raged on, consuming everything in its path, but she was undeterred.

By the time she emerged from the building, her clothes were covered in soot, her hair singed, and her skin marked with minor burns and cuts. The smell of smoke clung to her, a testament to the danger she had faced. But she wore a satisfied smile, knowing that she had made a difference.

As she stepped away from the burning building, her mates Felix and Demetri were waiting for her, their expressions a mix of worry and relief. Without a word, they rushed to her side, their arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace.

"(y/n), you could have been hurt," Demetri's voice was laced with concern as he held her close.

Felix's grip tightened around her, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and annoyance. "Why didn't you wait for us? We could have helped."

(y/n) let out a soft sigh, leaning into their embrace. "I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. People needed help."

Demetri's gaze softened as he brushed a soot-covered strand of hair away from her face. "We understand, but you mean the world to us. We can't bear the thought of losing you."

Felix nodded in agreement, his fingers tracing the cuts and burns on her skin with gentle care. "Next time, please let us know. We want to be there for you, always."

Touched by their concern, (y/n) looked between them, a small smile gracing her lips. "I promise I'll let you know next time. But for now, let's just be grateful that everyone is safe."

With that, the three of them stood there, holding onto each other, finding solace in the warmth of their embrace. The flames may have consumed the building, but the bond between (y/n), Felix, and Demetri had grown stronger in the face of danger, reminding them of the strength of their love and the unbreakable connection they shared.

[reaper2187]

Asami sato x firebender reader

I still remember the first time I saw her.

It was during one of my training sessions, when I was still a young firebender trying to master my abilities. As I practiced, I couldn't help but notice her, standing at the back of the room, her long dark hair tied up in a ponytail and a confident aura surrounding her. I was instantly captivated by her beauty and strength.

Asami Sato, the heiress of Future Industries, was well known among the benders community. Her business empire was built on groundbreaking technology and innovation, and she was also an accomplished non-bender martial artist. Her reputation preceded her, and many firebenders admired her from afar.

But I was not content with merely admiring her from a distance. I wanted to get to know her, to be a part of her world. And so, I mustered up all my courage and approached her after the training session.

To my surprise, not only did she reciprocate my interest, but she also offered to help me improve my firebending skills. Asami could see the potential in me, and she was more than willing to mentor me.

With her guidance, my skills as a firebender improved tremendously. I was able to control and manipulate flames with ease, creating intricate shapes and patterns with my fire. Asami was patient and understanding, never once losing her cool even when I struggled with a particular technique.

As we spent more time together, we grew closer. We shared stories and experiences, and I learned that Asami was more than just a powerful businesswoman. She had a kind heart and a fierce determination to make the world a better place.

I found myself falling deeper in love with her with each passing day. Her strength and grace were irresistible, and I felt grateful to have her by my side.

But we both knew that our love was forbidden. As a firebender, I was expected to marry within my own kind. And Asami, being the heiress of Future Industries, was constantly watched and scrutinized by her father and the public.

However, our love was stronger than any societal expectations. We decided to keep our relationship a secret, knowing that the consequences could be dire if anyone found out.

Despite the risks, we were happy. We sneaked away to spend time together whenever we could, whether it was on a rooftop under the stars or in a secluded area of the city. Asami even started to join me during my training sessions, bringing along her latest invention to assist me in my training.

Our love blossomed, and I felt like I was living in a dream. But as they say, all good things must come to an end.

One day, while we were enjoying a peaceful moment in a garden, we were ambushed by a group of firebenders who were against any kind of relationship between a firebender and a non-bender. Asami and I fought against them, our bending skills meshing together perfectly as we defended ourselves.

But it was no use. They outnumbered us, and just when I thought the end was near, Asami stepped in front of me, using her martial arts skills to fend off our attackers. However, in the chaos of the battle, she sustained a severe injury, and I was too preoccupied with protecting her to notice.

When the attackers were finally defeated, I rushed to Asami's side, my heart sinking as I saw the blood seeping through her clothes. With tears in my eyes, I tried to heal her injuries with my firebending, but it was no use. Her injuries were too severe, and she needed medical attention immediately.

Without hesitation, I scooped her up in my arms and rushed her to the nearest hospital. As her life hung in the balance, I prayed to the spirits, begging them to spare her life. I couldn't imagine a world without Asami by my side.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally regained consciousness. She looked at me with a weak smile, and I knew at that moment that she was going to be okay.

Asami's father, Hiroshi Sato, arrived at the hospital soon after. He was shocked and angry to find out about our forbidden love, but as he saw the love and care I had for his daughter, his heart softened. He gave us his blessing and even offered to help us keep our relationship a secret.

From that day on, Asami and I were no longer just two people in love. We were a team, facing any challenges that came our way, together.

Asami and I eventually got married, and we continued to train and support each other in our respective abilities. Together, we used our skills and resources to make a difference in the world, just like we always dreamed of.

Looking back now, I realize that our love was the catalyst for great change. Our love had the power to overcome any boundaries and obstacles, setting an example for others to follow.

And as I stand here, beside my wife Asami, I couldn't be more grateful for our love that started in a training room. It was a love that transformed not only our lives, but the world around us.

[underscar]

Hello~ can I get Kobeni with a Male S/O who's energetic and affectionate towards her. Like always telling her how much he loves her and how cute she is.

ESCAPISM

Pairing: Kobeni Higashiyama/Male Reader

Summary: In the midst of a lively park and bustling street, Kobeni found solace in the enduring glow of the streetlights. As the noises faded into the background, her focus shifted to the person by her side—you. While Kobeni's memories were mostly muted and melancholic, you always stood out vividly in each one, radiating with vibrant colors. After a demanding day as a devil-hunter, you both took a stroll, prompting nostalgic reflections. Despite being financially strained like Kobeni, you generously offered to treat her to some exquisite fried chicken to uplift her spirits, but she declined. Her sole desire was for things to remain unchanged between the two of you.

CHAINSAW MAN MASTERLIST | TAGLIST FORM

A/N: thank you for requesting! your request was somewhat similar to a oneshot i was already gonna write for kobeni, i just shortened it.

WORD COUNT // 1,554 words

CSM TAGLIST: @loveydoveydouche

WARNINGS: spoilers but not really, more like references.

In the midst of a lively park and bustling street, Kobeni found solace in the enduring glow of the streetlights. As the noises faded into the background, her focus shifted to the person by her side—you, who walked briskly beside her. Your face attracted the light and a sparkle twinkled in your eye, she noticed, as she stared. 

After a fun night of drinking with the rest of the division, Kobeni reveled in the joy of dining out. Eating out was one of her greatest pleasures. Once the night came to an end, you kindly offered to chaperone her on the walk to the train station. Though the walk felt more like roaming.

Despite your aimless wandering, a glimmer of hollow light constantly followed you, devouring you. No matter how far you both went, there was always that persistent glimmer. You had a radiant glow for as long as she could remember. Kobeni’s memories were all in a monochromatic filter, melancholic and lagging. Despite the darkness of her life, she met you, her bright light at the end of the tunnel. You shone with vivid color in every memory you shared. She was at a loss for words in the face of your enlightening presence.

Luckily, you broke the silence with ease. "How has work been?" you inquired, curiosity lacing your voice. "I heard your division was assigned to eliminate some devil at some hotel. Which one was it?"

Kobeni's gaze dropped, her hands clasping together in a display of unease. "It was the Eternity devil," she admitted, her tone tinged with remorse.

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words. "Did everything go smoothly?" you asked cautiously.

A shadow of shame passed over Kobeni's face as she took a deep breath. "No, it didn't... I... I made a terrible mistake," she stammered, struggling to find the right words. “I panicked…and tried to stab out the heart of one of my coworkers, it was Denji. But instead, I...stabbed one of my superiors, it was Hayakawa.”

You struggled to conceal your amazement, the marvel evident in your voice. "Woah! That's quite out of character for you, Kobeni," you remarked, though deep down, you knew that her impulsive tendencies were not entirely foreign to you. Kobeni had always possessed a combination of timidity and recklessness, traits that had persisted since childhood. The life of a devil hunter seemed ill-suited for her, you knew that, and witnessing her current state pained you deeply.

Kobeni frowned. “Yeah…I really need to apologize.” She continued, strolling unhurriedly beside you. "How about...your work?" she asked, her voice trembling like a flickering flame, trying to sustain the conversation.

Resting your chin in your hand, you responded. "Miss Makima had requested for me to accompany her on a trip to Kyoto tomorrow, but with all honesty, I don't anticipate anything eventful happening."

"Oh, well, I'll be patrolling with Galgali tomorrow," Kobeni shared. 

You let out a sigh, disapproving of Kobeni working alongside a fiend of all things. "The violence fiend, huh? I wish I didn't have to leave you with it."

Kobeni wanted to defend the fiend, tell you how he wasn't all that bad, but she bit her tongue, opting to remain hushed. "It's alright, really. I wouldn't want to be a bother--" 

You interrupted her, your voice filled with affection. "It's cute how apologetic you are, but Kobeni, know that you could never bother me."

A fiery blush crept onto Kobeni's cheeks as she softly replied, "I'm sorry."

Suppressing the urge to laugh at her response, you decided against teasing her about her apologetic nature. Instead, you simply smiled down at her, letting the conversation naturally come to a close. Sometimes, silence and a knowing smile spoke louder than words, you thought.

You close your eyes, as the cacophony of the city becomes distant, gradually fading into the background. The honking of car horns, the chatter of pedestrians, and the bustling energy of the streets all blend into a symphony of urban life. Instead of overwhelming you, this constant noise seems to envelop you, providing a sense of comfort and anonymity.

At this moment, you allow yourself to detach from the chaos of your daily life. The towering buildings, with their mesmerizing lights and windows reflecting the night sky, remind you of the vastness of the world. You feel like a small observer in a grand spectacle, the world moving around you while you find solace in the stillness within.

“Don’t stress yourself, _____.”

Startled by the sound of Kobeni's voice, you are abruptly jolted back to the present moment. The tranquility you were experiencing quickly fades as your attention shifts from the vastness of the city to the immediate presence of another person.

Turning towards Kobeni, you find yourself facing a familiar face. "Sorry, what was that?" you ask, your mind still lingering on the brief respite you had just experienced. You didn't fully catch what she said.

Kobeni, feeling sheepish, turned away and stumbled over her words. "Please don't stress yourself too much. It's not healthy to work excessively. B-b-but I understand that you need to provide for yourself, especially since... well, your family isn't in the picture anymore. However--" --her sentence was abruptly interrupted by the ferocious growl of her stomach, akin to that of a beast.

Kobeni's face flushed with embarrassment, turning a deep shade of crimson. Overwhelmed by the sudden interruption of her growling stomach, she came to a halt and instinctively clutched her midsection, as if trying to suppress the noise. "I-I-I'm so sorry!" she cried, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

Having grown up with Kobeni and accustomed to her occasional dramatic outbursts, you shrugged it off. You stopped in front of her, interrupting her string of apologies. "Hmm, Kobeni. Let me treat you to some fried chicken tonight. You know, the good kind near that park we love."

A glimmer of surprise and gratitude flickered in Kobeni's teary eyes as she mumbled amidst her apologies, "Is it open this late?" However, she quickly gasped and shook her head. "Wait, no, no, no! You should be saving your money, not spending it on me!"

You responded with a playful smile. "Oh, I have a few twenties to spare."

Kobeni frowned, her disbelief evident on her face. "No, you don't."

Chuckling softly, you responded, "You're right, I'll worry about that later. Besides, treating you to a delicious meal is worth every penny." Playfully, you hung your arm around Kobeni's shoulder, pulling her close. "Now come on! Do you want chicken or not? You can tell me all about that fiend while we eat! Okay? Please? I'm literally begging you now~"

Kobeni couldn't help but smile at your persistence and the playful tone in your voice. Blushing slightly, she nodded and chuckled back. "Thank you... really. You're too kind."

You released your hold on Kobeni and exclaimed, "It's decided then! Let's hurry up and get there! What are we doing standing around?"

Kobeni's attention, however, became fixated on your face and your radiant smile. Lost in her thoughts, she couldn't hear your words anymore. Deep within, she silently pleaded, "_____, please don't die tomorrow, or the day after that, or any day that follows. Please keep wearing that smile. That's all I truly want from you."

Unaware of Kobeni's inner turmoil, you enthusiastically started walking towards the fried chicken place, unaware of the profound impact your presence had on her.

"Wait!" As Kobeni called out to you, you halted in your tracks and turned around to face her. She stood still, her words catching your attention. "Um, thank you for staying with me... for the long run. I know it's been difficult throughout the years for... both of us."

Arching your brow, you responded, "Hey, we're not kids anymore, Kobeni."

Confusion washed over Kobeni's face as she tried to make sense of your words. Before she could respond, you walked closer to her and gently rubbed her head, messing up her hair in an affectionate gesture. "Don't be crying. You'll make me think you're sad, even after I've been trying so hard to keep you smiling all these years."

Blushing, Kobeni realized tears were streaming down her face, a realization that had eluded her. "O-Oh..." she stuttered, a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude flooding her emotions.

You put your hands in your pockets, a sense of reassurance evident in your posture. "And it's no problem. Let's never separate, Kobeni. I'll always be somewhere," you say with a hint of playfulness in your tone.

Kobeni stutters in response, desperately hoping her words sound platonic. "M-Me too, for you," she manages to say, her voice filled with sincerity. Please sound platonic, please sound platonic, please sound platonic. "I-I love you, _____."

You smile warmly, appreciating her genuine feelings. "You can be really cute sometimes, Kobeni," you mutter softly. Turning around, your back facing her, you respond, "I love you too." Before she can fully process your words, you add lightheartedly, "Now come on, enough with the sentimental talk! Our fried chicken's getting soggy!" With that, you take the lead, both of you moving forward, leaving the heartfelt moment behind as you embrace the present, ready to enjoy the simple pleasure of sharing a meal together.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

© UNDERSCAR 2023 - All rights are reserved to underscar. Do not repost, copy, change/modify, plagiarize, translate or screenshot my work: this will also include not reposting my writing on other social media platforms and writing platforms

[snarky-art]

Dark Bloom post!

Lore below the cut!

In my thing, Bloom is super insecure in s2. In s1, she was insecure in the sense that she didn’t know who she was or where her powers came from or how magic worked. She still ends up kicking ass in the finale, but when she goes back to school, she notices she isn’t able to summon that kind of power again. She learns the real reason she was so strong during the fight during The Attempted Siege of Magix is because The Great Dragon resonated with Daphne’s spirit when they were speaking, and that gave it a huge boost.

Her totally awesome “I’m So Built For This And This Is Who I Am” moment was helped by her accepting her role and who she was (it was the best she was able to utilize The Flame separate from Daphne actually), but it was nothing compared to what even a glimmer of Daphne’s essence could conjure.

In s2, her insecurities now come from knowing who she is in relation to the great royal line of Domino and her feelings of inadequacy as The Holder of The Flame in regard to her predecessor, Daphne.

She does still get counseling sessions helping her connect to aspects of her past, but it’s done with both Avalon and the school therapist present as well as Griselda (having her alone with Avalon with all the weird subtext in s2 with him made me feel ick and as an adult now I don’t wanna have a repeat of that).

Avalon focuses on exploiting the insecurities he knows she has because of her talking about it during their sessions and seeing her struggle to try and gain even a sliver of the power she knows Daphne had and live up to who she was, which only gets worse the more she learns through her memories and general study and research on Dominion history (it’s now much more openly spoken about and is being reintegrated properly into the core curriculum. She does extra research on her own time, to the detriment of her actual assigned course work sometimes. It is indeed noticed by the faculty and her friends. Slipping into her flop era) as well as her continued conversations off and on with Daphne’s spirit.

This form is a manifestation of all her complicated feelings: the sadness, jealousy, rage, guilt, etc., combined with her already present survivors guilt and martyr complex due to her feelings of inferiority and need to do anything she can to make the sacrifices from The Fall of Domino worth it.

Her eyes are yellow and slitted to match Daphne’s, with the purple colors matching the ones used by Dominion royalty and courtesans, specifically those who work with The Flame. Her crown shifts to look similar to the crown Daphne often wore during important events, emblematic of The Crown Princess next in line for the throne. Her darker color scheme is to represent the ashen smoke and decay that came when Domino fell, and to reflect how overwhelmed by The Flame’s legacy she feels, all consuming and as far as Bloom is concerned, worthy of burning her to a crisp with how little she feels she’s worth. Her nails are extended to mimic dragon claws, something Daphne was able to summon and morph her body to have because of how integrated The Flame and by proxy The Great Dragon was with her being. The winged ear piece is also a reference not only to the obvious but to the pointed ears of Dominions, something she feels shame for not having sometimes due to how she had to be hidden away on Earth and as the only living relic of a time long past, the survivors guilt rearing its ugly head and reminding herself of her belief that she’s a poor excuse for a legacy.

She’s a bit more power hungry and her feelings aren’t great in s2 and only get worse as time goes on and with Darkar’s influence, yeah, maybe having the ultimate power would be a decent way to sustain some sort of legacy, since Bloom has no idea what else she could do and what else she should think at this point, being so manipulated and broken down. She gives in to the torture quickly and helps Darkar, and is then broken free by the support of and love from all of her friends at the end of the season, reminding her that she has so many wonderful qualities of her own, that she’s done amazing, she’s done more than she could’ve ever imagined even 2 years ago, and Daphne’s spirit is even able to make an appearance and tell her she’s so sorry, she didn’t imagine the toll holding The Flame would have in her, how that’s her fault, even if she did feel it was the best she could do at the time, with the consequences being unthought of, and how Bloom doesn’t need to live up to her or the legacy she left or even any legacy. Bloom simply living is enough for Daphne, so why shouldn’t it be enough for Bloom?

Sooooo yeah! That’s Dark Bloom!

Also Icy has An Epiphany that she wants to be stepped on but only if it’s by Dark Bloom and that’s all, folks!

[skylarksilver]

With a Grain Of Salt: Spirit Guides and Gumbo.

Part 1 here

Being made half a student had its own pros and cons. As a campus handyman, I had thought I could work my way up to gaining some rights as a member of the school staff. I mean, the janitor was still faculty even if respect was in short supply. But after the debacle in the mine and finding that magestone with Ace and Deuce, I was surprised and suspicious when Crowley decided to, seemingly spur of the moment, enroll Grim and I as a single student.

 On the one hand, being a student gave me a stable position and some measure of rights. And, should long term solutions become necessary, it gave me an identity in Twisted Wonderland.

On the other, it made me totally reliant on Crowley's good will and Grim's cooperation to keep myself safe from the other students. And I was made the only school prefect, which felt entirely like a token position.

“How does a prefect compare to a housewarden? What do they do?”

I asked Alfonse, one of Ramshackle's ghosts that evening as I hauled some broken furniture out of the room Grim and I had claimed as our own to a more open space. 

“Housewardens have a lot of authority in their own dorm. Prefects have a little bit of authority in every dorm. Generally, if there is an event that pulls students in from multiple dorms, prefects are there to help things run smoothly.”

“Crowley made me a student ambassador.”

Hugh popped through the door and helped grapple the other end of the more broken of the two bedframes I had found in the room.

“Quite literally. The different dorms are basically their own countries. And it's a good day when they don't come to blows just walking past each other in the cafeteria.”

I decided not to question my fortune in the ghosts being able to touch and manipulate real objects, or their willingness to help me move heavy things as we carefully made our way down the stairs. Since I didn't have much by way of funds, I wanted to make sure I could refuse and recycle as much of what existed in Ramshackle as possible.

That had been a brief, very one sided conversation where I was left with more questions than answers and solutions. Crowley had informed me that I was free to repair and alter Ramshackle as I pleased since Grim and I were the sole residents. But did he tell me what budget I had to work with? No, he was unsurprisingly an expert in dodging the questions I had regarding that.

And while a lot of the furniture looked worn and broken down, some of it was surprisingly sturdy and well made.

A good dusting, some replaced slats, a pass with some sandpaper and I'll have myself a decent chair. Anything with upholstery is a different matter, but I'll take the win.

The first week of school consisted of learning classroom locations, gulping down as much basic knowledge about the world as I could and getting a feel for the respective teachers' and faculty members styles and quirks. I could confidently say that picking a favorite was easy: it was Knox, the school nurse. A himbo in every sense with dark hair, dark eyes, and always with nuts and candy close at hand. And squirrels, oddly enough. He also had a cat, a small, absurdly fluffy looking creature who was glaring murderous at the camera, so he likewise gave Grim a look over when I broke up Grim literally eating a rock off the ground of the mine.

According to his assessment, Grim needed an incredibly high nutritional intake as he was a direbeast that manifested actual open flame. He needed the extra fuel to not only sustain himself but his fire. And if his flames got weak, he'd be at risk of injury, or his immune system being compromised.

It was incredibly funny to see this huge, hulking man cooing over the picture of an incredibly grumpy cat.

But I supposed that was pretty true to character. Kronk from the Emperor's New Groove was after all very much like that. And taking another look at that picture of the angry cat. It looked a lot like Yzma's feline form after a transformation potion went wrong. The similarity to the familiar character wasn't the only reason I felt so at ease, but it certainly contributed.

And Knox was one of the only people on campus who seemed to realize I didn't belong for an entirely different reason.

~

“It's totally your call on what I do. But no matter what the Dark Mirror did, you're still not exactly the typical student, miss.”

“You can tell? No one else has remarked on it.”

“That so? It seems obvious to me...”

 He frowned, squinting at me. Grim's ears flattened and he looked up from where he was chowing down on the treats Knox had blithely bribed him with. He jumped between us, paws spread wide sparks flying from his ears 

“Woah, human! Back off of my henchman!”

“It's OK Grim, we can-”

I stopped speaking, breath catching in my throat. I'd spotted the pattern just then. The rhyme and reason behind who seemed capable of seeing me clearly and who didn't. I finished my sentence as levelly as I could.

“-we can trust him.”

~

It was far from conclusive. Thus far, only the ghosts had remarked on my being a girl and had agreed to keep it a secret. Knox likewise assured me that he was a strict follower of Doctor-Patient confidentiality. But things were too different otherwise. Ghosts were ghosts and seemed to follow their own rules. Knox was a human mage. But it was a reassuring thing to imagine that I might, just maybe, have a way of gauging who I could trust. Or maybe vice versa, that once I trusted someone they could see through whatever the Dark Mirror did to make my presence go more or less unnoticed.

About a day after the Magestone Debacle, already well on its way to Might Raven College infamy in the gossip circles, I had a visit at Ramshackle. Reiner hovered before the door, looking determined but pleased.

“Miss Yuu, I may have found a way to secure you a more favorable living situation. May I come in?”

I invited Reiner inside and he drifted around the furniture instead of through it like I'd seen Alfonse, Beau and Hug do before. We didn't have much by way of a sitting room, and I sheepishly asked if there was anything that I could offer a ghostly guest.

“There are some steps a person can take to allow us to taste food. And there are memorial holidays where we can bring offerings back to the Netherworld. A planned, very formal and official visit would call for refreshments. As it stands now, since I came to you, you needn't even offer.”

I digested that factoid, tucking it away in my growing book of social cues for Twisted Wonderland. It was filed right alongside, ‘eye contact for beastmen is both a challenge and a warning’, ‘if a tall merfolk crouches to your level, they're being polite not condescending’ and ‘fae do partially still use the barter system and no one is sure how they assign value.’ Cater Diamond was a goldmine for me, and I definitely wanted to use that resource.

“Good to know, Mr Reiner. Is this a social visit?”

“Partly. Here.” He offered me an official looking envelope tied with a grey ribbon and a misty looking seal holding the flap closed. “This is just an offer, Yuu. But your words resonated with me. About the injustice of you being brought here without your consent and forced to rely on the Headmage's charity. I am sure what you would most prefer is being sent home. But that's beyond what the Netherworld and its residents can offer. What we can do is take up guardianship of you in a sense and get you involved in a Spirit Guide program.”

I was hanging on every word, and so was Grim, whiskers twitching as he stared at Reiner's ghostly tail. I pulled Grim into my arms, but he didn't stop staring.

“Spirit Guide? Is that like, a little angel sitting on my shoulder, a full time babysitter or a pseudo adoption?”

“The best way to describe it would be an apprenticeship. Plenty of skilled people, from brick layers to world famous alchemists, have died before they elected a successor to their work. Or conveyed trade secrets. If enough ghosts are interested, and they agree on a candidate, they can form a coalition and sponsor a living person to learn from them and carry on their work. This-” He held the letter out time again. “-is a letter inviting you to appear before the Seance Court. This would just be to explain everything in more detail. How your situation changes, expectations, and gives other ghosts a chance to get your measure.”

I swallowed, taking the letter which felt like it should weigh a 100 lbs.

“When...when would this be?”

The chef looked a little chagrined and laughed, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well, it turns out that there hasn't been a hearing for this sort of thing in a long time. Close to 40 years actually. And there are a lot of ghosts eager to pass on their knowledge.”

I broke the seal and opened the letter, scanning down to the date. I counted the days twice just to be sure.

“Tomorrow night, are you serious?”

Orientation had been on Sunday night. My misadventures with Ace and Deuce had been the following day, Monday. Today was Wednesday, and the invitation asked for me to appear on Thursday evening. Under the heading ‘dress code’ was the invitation to come ‘as you are’. Which was good because I had next to nothing.

“They got a little excited! Like I said, this hasn't been offered in a long time. Mostly due to the fact that there aren't many locations with enough ambient magic for ghosts to manifest as strongly as on Sage’s Isle.”

“Mr Reiner. How many ghosts are going to be at this thing?”

~

 The meeting was going to take place in the wooded area on the edge of Ramshackle Dorm's grounds near sunset. I had wrapped myself up in the ceremonial robe to stave off the chilly evening air. But it was not enough when surrounded by this many ghosts. There were so many of them, all crowded together, it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began. But looking around, I was surrounded by a ring of blue mist nearly 50 feet across.  But Reiner was sticking close to me and I was looking out over the assembled ghosts with a bit of trepidation. Grim had knocked out for a nap after being put through some remedial training by a much more himbo version of Gaston who was the equivalent of the gym teacher for this school. Actually, meeting all the teachers had been an exercise in keeping a blank face. The history teacher was a gender bent version of Madam Tremain, Cinderella's evil stepmother. And the alchemy teacher was very obviously a Cruella de Vil variant. He was also my homeroom teacher. Which apparently had a lot more weight in this school than simply monitoring students for the first part of the day. Frankly, the man scared me a little.

I'd rather deal with Crewel barking at me than these ghosts right now.

I strangled the fearful thought where it stood, forcing my back to remain straight and shoulders level. Not letting myself hunch in and betray unease of discomfort despite the chilly air swirling around me. The ghosts were all kinda merging together in a mass of pale blue and white and in the dark it was hard to tell them all apart. And the whispers were setting my nerves on edge.

Why do ghosts automatically have to mean things are cold?

I wished Grim was here. The tiny space heater that he was had made sleeping relatively comfortable even if he was a bed hog.

“Mr Reiner, what exactly are we waiting for?”

The rat beastman ghost leaned down to murmur to me.

“I decided to reach out to an expert on wrangling spirits. There are even more than I was told would be present.”

“How many more?”

I matched his tone and he looked very young and sheepish for a second.

“Maybe...20 or 30 more?”

One figure broke from the crowd and brought with him another icy current of air. His features gained distinction as he spoke.

“Well you bring a little gem like this to the table and of course everyone will be swarming.”

His voice was dark and smooth and the form that emerged didn't register properly at first. My initial thought was ‘centaur’. His top half was that of a handsome man with long hair, swept back from his face like he'd just emerged from water. Strong nose, high forehead, striking green-gold eyes. But the bottom half was weird, it was like he was sideways but still coming right at me. 

Then I realized his bottom half was a massive crab like body with his torso positions roughly where the eyestalks would be on a smaller specimen. His shell was practically gleaming, embedded with gems that glittered even in death. And when he was fully separated from the waiting crowd, his shell and skin lit up with a rainbow of bioluminescence.

He extended a hand with a smile that sent off alarm bells in my head. 

“The name's Tamak, little gem. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

The feeling is so not mutual, please back off.

Reiner drifted between us, growing darker and throwing the crab merfolk a fierce glare.

“You know how we do these things Tamak, wait your turn.”

“I'm just being friendly. The little mite was almost shaking where he sat.”

I seized on those words and resolved to not have anything to do, if I could help it, with the Tama'toa like character. The crab had given me the ick when he was just a giant crab. But this man felt like a predator.

Tama'toa targeted Maui and Moana's personal weaknesses during their encounter. Ruthlessly. If I give this guy an inch he'll take a mile.

And the fact that Tamak referred to me as he was further support that there was something interfering with his perception.

Tamak was several times larger than Reiner, in fact he towered over him. But the chef held his ground between me and the menacing crab. The whispers from the crowd had fallen silent. Save for a few muttered and a swirling that formed to the left behind Tamak.

“Thank you for your concern, Tamak. But we aren't starting until my requested guide is here.”

Reiner said politely, not quite baring his teeth but standing firm. Tamak narrowed his eyes, the pleasant smile dropping to reveal a cold calculation. Then he looked over his head at me and the smile was back, the performance all for me.

Red alert!

“This gutter resident surely doesn't speak for you, gem.”

I felt like speaking was both a bad idea and highly necessary. But I was saved by a slender blue ribbon of ghostly presence launching out of the crowd and appearing with a puff beside Tamak. It took the form of an elderly woman with a broad, friendly face and long pure white hair. And she glared at the large crab fearlessly.

“Bold words coming from the biggest bottom feeder in the ocean, Tamak.”

She wore a sleeveless wrap dress and had no shoes on but there was a commanding presence to her that could not be denied. Even Tamak withdrew slightly, a subdued sneer on his face.

“Lia. As lovely as ever.”

His tone made these short words sound as disdainful as possible. She jabbed her finger at him and then back and away from the gathering.

“You know the law. You've got another 313 years before your sentence is lifted and you can offer your services as a guide. We'll not stop you from observing, but that is all you may do. Is that clear?”

And this reminder seemed to enrage Tamak even as he withdrew into the crowd. He didn't cast another glance at me, all his vitriol was focused on the woman, Lia. She didn't budge, hands on her hips as she stared after him.

But the atmosphere seemed a lot lighter once he had disappeared back into the crowd of ghosts. Lia turned back to Reiner, her face lightening with a smile.

“Sorry we were late, sweetheart. Once you get to our age, you move at your own pace. She's coming now.”

And the circle of ghosts loosened into a more distinct pattern when one especially bright ribbon of presence streaked in. It formed into a cloaked, hunched figure that tapped a transparent cane on the ground as they moved. The kind a blind person would use as a guide. The cane whipped out but Lia dodged it with a sigh, looking rueful at the antics.

“Odile, dear, the ‘old blind woman’ bit doesn't work so well once you're dead.”

My mind moved at lightning speed.

Reiner said we were waiting for a ghost expert. These women both had some weight in their community. And the new arrival was accustomed to being seen as an ‘old blind woman’

If that isn't Mama Odie...

The hooded figure turned towards me, the features of the face difficult to make out in the myriad of white and gray. And a long fingers hand lifted to under the hood for a brief moment...Then a loud cackling belly laugh startled me, making my heart leap into my throat. Odile straightened, dropping her hood and looking straight at me with a toothless grin. Her eyes were the same milky white as the rest of her body and she lowered a pair of darker gray glasses back over them.

“Not in this one it won't! Oh Rein, you've found a good one!”

Several figures turned towards me with interest. Men and women alike, and with a few beastmen scattered among them. This felt like a critical endorsement in this process.

Odile drifted right up to me, holding out a hand.

“Good even, sugar. Names Maman Odile, like crocodile. If you're willing, I'd like to help you figure out what's what with this business going forward.” She tilted her head with a grin. “And can teach you to make some banging gumbo while I'm at it.”

~

Having some experience with food, and with Reiner demonstrating, Maman Odile set me to deveining the shrimp as she chatted with me. She asked about everything from my hobbies to my goals. And told stories about the rapscallions she raised as children and grandchildren. Even with the night growing darker, the kitchen of Ramshackle seemed a bright and merry place. Maman had thrown a glare at the old lights at the ceiling and they had hurriedly blinked on as though scared to cross her.

I mean, I would be too.

Reiner chopped the veggies and prepared the aromatics for the gumbo while Maman washed a pot of rice and set it on the stove. I gave it about 15 minutes before Grim smelt the food and came downstairs.

“Now then, Miss Yuu. You got an opportunity here. It may be making the best of a bad hand, but it's an opportunity all the same.”

The old ghost never stopped moving as she pulled a few shakers and small bottles out of her sleeves. She set them up on the counter and snapped her figures to conjure a large pot on the stove that quickly turned on.

“Ghosts got habits and holdovers from their lives. Sometimes, their lessons won't be so free and easy. They'll teach you, but they'll have things they want in exchange. Maman's been listening to you, and you've got something rarer than a blue firefly in the bayou.”

“What would that be?”

She chortled, dropping in a large pat of butter into the pot. I scooped the prepared shrimp into a bowl and placed them on the counter with the other ingredients. Then I went to wash my tools because the funky smell that came from seafood set in if not cleaned up right away. Luckily, I'd been allowed to take a small bottle of soap from the kitchen during dinner.

“A decent heart, and sharp eyes are already uncommon. But you got both these things in Night Raven College. That's gonna stand out, even if that fancy looking glass o’ theirs has made you pass for a boy. Put them shells and tails into this pot with the veggie trimmings and cover them with water. ”

More evidence to support my theory that trust plays into whether people can see me as I am. Also, homemade stock. That's definitely something to remember as option for food.

If I couldn't trust Mama Odie, or her equivalent, then I was hosed in more ways than one. I did as she directed, but kept up speaking with her.

“How will that help me when it comes to dealing with ghosts?”

The butter was already sizzling the first pot as she dropped in several spoonfuls of flour and tapped a whisk to make it start stirring up a smooth roux. I placed the stock pot on the other lit burner and covered it with a lid to get to temperature. 

“It already has. I know Reiner. He had a Spirit Guide himself, Ol’ Gus taught him everything that a person can do in the kitchen. He wouldn't put this out there if he didn't think you could stick it out, or that you'd do the same thing and pay it forward for the next person who needs it.”

So it's a referral based thing. I suppose since ghosts are around for...practically the rest of time just having connections to the living world could have a lot of value.

I looked at the chef who fidgeted slightly.

“That sounds like you were only taught by one person.”

“He only had one thing he wanted to do and had to know and that was food. Here, chop these inta little coins.” Maman threw a package of smoked sausages at me which I barely caught. “You're starting from less than nothing in this world. Even the stuff that keeps the lights on is different from what you're used to. You got a lot more to learn if you're gonna get a handle on living by yourself.”

“The headmage said he was going to try and find a way home.”

This felt like a weak excuse even as I said it. It made Maman Odile crow with laughter, wiping at her eyes under her glasses.

“Oh did he now? Well, we can take that as meaning he'll do something but it's anybody's guess as to what that'll be. Maman's take on things is this is brand new territory. Someone coming from another world with no magic. By all rights, there shouldn't have been a way here for you. So there's no way of telling how long it'll be before someone finds you a way back. So until then, best to learn everything and get yourself set up as if you were gonna live here. It ain't pretty, it ain't nice, it ain't fair, and I'm sure you'll get awful homesick. But that's what we're looking at.”

This was an unmistakably practical outlook. And even listening to this frankness made me feel better than Crowley's offhand assurances that he would research a way for me to return home again. Even her acknowledgement that I could miss home felt soothing. Right now, I was sure I was still in survival mode. Just moving along one day at a time. I moved mechanically, trying to keep the sausage slices as even as possible.

“That makes sense even if it is depressing.”

It was probably a better deal than I could expect from mist anyone else. The goodwill to help a stranger seemed to be in short supply in this school. It made it much more clear as to why Ace and Deuce had both decided to pursue a friendship with me. I was something they couldn't expect to find in many other their current peers.

That or getting chased by a monster in an abandoned mine caused us all to trauma bond in the extreme. Which I shouldn't rule out.

“What do I need to do to accept this...program?”

“That'll take a minute to fix up so you just leave that to Maman. In the meantime, you gonna start learning. Reiner's gonna help you get skills to live, and me and mine will help talk to the other ghosts so we can get decent folk together to help you out. You gotta think about what it is you wanna learn.”

The nutty smell of the browning butter and cooking flour filled the air and made my stomach perk up hopefully. I'd not eaten since lunch. Officially, the dorms were responsible for their own dinner. There came a sudden scramble of claws on wood and carpet from upstairs and dust fell from the ceiling.

Grim’s awake again.

Maman tutted, waving the dust away from the food and eyed the cracked plaster of the walls and ceiling again.

“Gonna get sicker than a dog if you breathe in this stuff for too long.” 

She contemplated for a moment, tapping the whisk on the edge of the pot with a frown.

“Whatever's cooking, I want double servings!”

Grim entered with a rapid scampering of his paws on the old wooden floors, skidding through Reiner’s legs and into the counter. He shook off the undignified tumble and started eyeing the bowl of raw shrimp on the counter.

Maman weilded a wooden spoon with expert precision and warded his hungry paws away from the small crustaceans. I caught Grim's attention with a piece of sausage.

“Leave the shrimp for the gumbo, Grim. They'll taste even better once they're all cooked up with our spices and served over rice.”

He inhaled my offering with shining eyes, doing a happy little dance.

“As expected of my henchmen, you came through with dinner for us!”

I didn't do much actually, and I am wondering where Maman is getting the ingredients from.

I was only going to question a free dinner if someone came and tried to make me pay for it with funds I didn't have.

Note to self, get someone to explain how the money system works around here.

Until I had an idea of the value of the currency, I would have no idea if any pay rates I could get were fair.

“You sit your fuzzy self down! You ain't sneaking off with my ingredients, no sir!”

Maman caught Grim by his scruff and plopped him at the kitchen table. “Set the table, scamp, three settings.”

Three?

I assumed if Maman told Grim to lay out three settings that she did so for a reason.

“I think I've got an idea on what I would like to do first.”

So I pulled together my faculties and began to lay out needs I had noticed. I didn't want handouts, I wanted to be able to provide for myself. The list included learning how to make Ramshackle livable, learning about the various other species of Twisted Wonderland, learning the value of currency as well as getting caught up on the functional technology of the day and basic first aid. And learning to defend myself even against mages because there had been at least 1 fight a day in the cafeteria and only the fact that I had Deuce, Ace and Grim on my side had let me escape without getting pummeled.

“Most everything else can be secondary to that.”

This list of mine took more than 30 minutes to run through. Maman had had me add the minced vegetables and sliced sausage to the roux, which was a lovely dark color and was now softening the greenery in there. And I was stirring the roux carefully to make sure it didn't burn.

“What I'm hearing, hon, is you wanna get as self sufficient and independent as possible.” Maman Odile nodded firmly. “And I can work with that. Already got a name in mind to lend a hand about fixing this place up a bit. Reiner and Mr Porter can get you started by working with them in the kitchens rather than letting the headmage run you all over the place. Reiner can apply to take you as an apprentice chef. He needed to get cleared to be able to teach their culinary courses as is. You'll be taken on with him the whole instead of a little bit here and there. We'll have a chat with our legal man too. Now, be a doll and strain that stock for me. We're about ready to bring everything together for the last simmer.”

Reiner went over the paperwork with me to sign on as kitchen help for Night Raven College. As well as a basic beginnings of what the pay would be. It would be menial, but it was so much more than the nothing I had right now. And he did say that the hours would require some early mornings for me since I would have to be up to help prepare ingredients for lunch. Breakfast preparations took place the evening before for breakfast. At least four hours of my school day would be dedicated to this, with weekends off to allow for homework and rest.

“I still expect you to come by for your meals on the weekends, even when you're not going to work.”

And the rat beastman ghost said this in a way that allowed for no argument and I was grateful for it. The gumbo smelt amazing and Maman Odile was fluffing the rice to be served. Grim was salivating at the scent of the Cajun spices and the scent of shrimp and salty sausage blending in the air.

“Well I think we've made a lotta good progress.” the old female ghost proclaimed, slipping a bottle of what looked suspiciously like hot sauce out of her sleeve and giving it a few shakes over the simmering pot. “Let's dish up and we'll leave you be, dearie.”

I still didn't question the third bowl, and I did have to keep Grim from taking it.

“If you want more, just get seconds, henchhuman.”

“Right back at you, fuzzball. If Maman Odile said to have three, I'm gonna trust she had a reason and it wasn't to let you have two from the get go.”

The old ghost cackled as she dispersed into blue mist.

“Oh indeed I do. You're in for some fun, honey. Be smart now!”

She was gone in an instant. I looked to Reiner.

“I feel like I just met with a life coach or academic counselor.”

He shrugged.

“Not too far off. Maman's the one who matched me with Gus when I wanted to learn to cook. She'll do right by you, Yuu.”

The relief I felt at having something more than prayers and blind faith merged with gratitude even as Grim attacked his food with gusto.

“I am going to owe you so much for this.”

He waved his hands.

“I'm not a deal maker, so don't go putting that out there. Besides, kitchen work like what you'll be doing is pretty demanding. So we'll see how grateful you feel after your first few shifts.”

“I know what to expect for meal prep on this scale. And I feel a lot better about being grateful for your generosity than only having the headmage in my corner.”

At this, there came a heavy knock at the door that made Reiner and myself look towards the sound. Hugh, the smallest of the ghosts, popped out of the ceiling.

“You expecting a Heartslabyl boy, Yuu?”

“I'm not but someone was. Here, make sure Grim doesn't eat everything.”

There were only 2 Heartslabyl boys that could be at my door right now. And I had a hunch who it would be.

Sure enough, when I opened the door, standing on the ragged excuse for a porch was Ace Trappola. Wearing a thunderous scowl and a heavy, black and red heart shaped collar around his neck. And what he greeted me with? 

“I'm transferring to Ramshackle.”

I'm so glad I seem to have some help from Reiner, Maman and the other ghosts.  Because this feels like this isn't gonna be the last time Ace drags me into something.

[misirosekisiro]

Bullied No More 4-5

Chapter 4

Finally a night of judgement day. Shota head to the place that Akira said.

The dense foliage of bushes and trees enveloped the landscape around the dilapidated ruins of the former industrial site, creating an eerie ambiance. Slowly, the moonlit sky cast its illumination onto the crumbling structures, giving off a haunting effect.

As Shota approached the rendezvous point, he found himself marveling at the surroundings. Despite the isolation of the location, it had an air of mystery about it—an ideal setting for his grand scheme. Drawing closer, he noticed that someone seemed to be waiting for him.

Although partially concealed amidst the shrubbery, the silhouette standing motionless revealed itself to be none other than Akira. Relief surged through Shota as he realized that he hadn't arrived too early nor missed their meeting entirely. Quietly, they began to strategize the rest of their operation, ensuring nothing went wrong once Ryuji entered the picture.

The pair proceeded to scavenge for firewood to sustain their vigil during the hours ahead. They gathered several fallen tree limbs and dry leaves strewn across the earth.

Using their bare hands, they managed to ignite the materials with relative ease, quickly producing flames dancing beneath the dim glow of the moonlight. Once satisfied with the intensity of the fire, they took turns warming themselves beside the crackling inferno. The warmth offered temporary relief from the chilliness of the evening, though it didn’t dispel the ominous atmosphere lingering throughout the deserted terrain.

"Now you need to hide , got big brush there where you can hide and clearly see me, Wait silently until i signal you, ok?." Akira said.

"Ok!" Shota nods. He move to the brush just not far form, hiding. Let's Hiroki or Akira waiting for Ryuji come.

Ryuji arrive little later than expected. Maybe because he party whole night with his gang yesterday.

"Hey, Hiroki!" Ryuji greeting to his best friend.

"Yo, Ryuboy. Finally show up Hm!" Hiroki reply. "Think you forget about my birthday.. " Hiroki do fake sobbing.

"Stop do fake cry! You know i will not miss my best friend birthday!"

Ryuji exclaimed, putting on a convincing smile. "Let's celebrate properly, eh? We haven't hung out much recently since we joined the football club.

"Nah, you know, my old man want me to act as "A man who will conqure a future of Namisawa group", Damn shit. So he not want me to hang out too often."

While talking, Ryuji grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his bag. He took a swig from it and handed it to Hiroki, inviting him to partake in the liquid courage. Hiroki accepted cautiously, taking a modest sip, allowing the strong spirit to burn down his throat.

Both friends continued to chat animatedly, unaware of the hidden spectator watching closely from afar. Feeling increasingly anxious yet determined, Shota maintained his silent vigil.

Hiroki try not to take too much, but keep filling Ryuji's glasses.

His face became flush, eyes glazed, breath heavy. Yet he retained his sense of confidence and self-control, impressive given his diminishing mental faculties.

Understanding full well what transpired inside Ryuji's brain, Shota anxiously waited for the opportune moment. His hand trembled slightly, betraying his nerves. He reminded himself repeatedly why he was here — for justice and retribution against the vicious perpetrator that tormented him daily.

With baited breath, Shota eagerly observed as Hiroki skillfully manipulated events, lulling Ryuji further intoxication. Time was running out. Just a little more, and the opportunity awaited them.

Finally, Hiroki succeeded in getting Ryuji completely unconscious, leaving him collapsed against a tree trunk.

Hiroki turn his face to where Shota is hiding. then show his thumb up.

Shouting triumphantly, Shota emerged from his hiding spot within the surrounding foliage. With practiced efficiency, he produced the precious vial containing the potion a "Miracle drug".

"Finally we do it right?" Hiroki said.

Shota nods without word, he walk to unconcious Ryuji. who laid on the ground, snoring.

Glancing furtively toward Akira for approval, Shota hesitated briefly before approaching the prostrate figure. His pulse raced madly as he inched ever closer to achieving his objective.

Stepping away from the darkness of the forest brush, Shota positioned himself directly above Ryuji. A sudden rush of euphoria coursed through his veins as he looked upon his lifeless victim. All these years of suffering bore fruit today.

In his palms, Shota held the means to exact sweet revenge upon Ryuji. This newfound power electrified him like nothing else, driving away the coldness seeping through his clothes. He couldn't believe his luck.

Suddenly aware of his impending victory, Shota felt alive, as if each pore absorbed energy from the world around him. Every fibre of his body hummed with electricity, while anticipation coursed through his veins. This was his time to reclaim something vital taken from him so long ago.

He pour a "Miracle drug" in to Ryuji's mouth.

Shaking back, Ryuji struggle for a second, but soon fall deep into unconsciousness. There it is. The miraculous transformation begins.

Samething that happen when Hiroki take "Miracle drug" now showing on Ryuji.Ryuji body start to deflat like a balloon lost it air.

Shota feel nervous excitement, he watch Ryuji's muscle lose their definition, turning soft, limp, vulnerable. When it finish what left is only Ryuji's skinsuit wearing loose clothes on the floor. Wait for new owner.

As ethernal that he wait, Shota move to Ryuji's skinsuit and his belongs. Shota pick Ryuji's skinsuit up. all clothes was fall down to the floor left only a flatten body of Ryuji, wait for Shota to wear.

Shota feels immense satisfaction and accomplishment at having completed his task successfully. In fact, the very thought of possessing Ryuji's skin excites him beyond measure. He knows that it might seem morbid, but he sees it as payback for all those times Ryuji hurt him, physically and emotionally. He put the skinsuit down, and start to strip himself.

As he did, his heart racing in anticipation, a thrilling sensation surging through his entire body. Each piece of clothing shed revealing layers upon layers of raw sensuality.

Feeling liberated, Shota discarded all traces of his previous existence, embarking on a journey towards claiming ownership of a fresh new persona. Like peeling off layers of skin, he gradually stripped away his individuality, symbolizing a rebirth of sorts.

"Yo Yo slowly boys, No ways he will run aways right?" Hiroki said as he laugh to how rush Shota was.

Shota smirked at his friend's teasing remark, acknowledging the humor in the situation. Both young men shared a bond borne from their collective pain inflicted by Ryuji and his cronies.

They stood, frozen in silence for a few moments, gazing intently at Ryuji's deflating body lying helplessly on the ground. Their faces displayed expressions of sheer disbelief mixed with elation, as reality set in.

This marked the beginning of their grand experiment, and its success hinged upon the successful transition into their newly acquired personas.

Shota pick Ryuji's skin suit up, then he start to pull skinsuit's mouth open wide. Hiroki don't hesitate to go help. Compare to when Akira take Hiroki his size still not this much different. Shota is so short and little frame compare to Ryuji. But with both boys work together finally both Shota legs is fill in Ryuji's skinsuit.

It wasn't perfect fit, but it would suffice for the immediate task at hand. Gripping onto the material tightly, Shota took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then it's happen, his legs is start to fill in skinsuit's legs. longer, bigger. Until it's show only Ryuji sport legs.

"Ha ha ha, you know you look so wried in this stage. Your legs is so long and muscle. while your upper body seem timit compare to them." Hiroki laugh.

Then Hiroki help Shota to put in his body in skinsuit. His tiny arm like fill in a large loose glove. Even it's challange, but finally Shota was in full Ryuji's body suit.

Looking at Shota transform, one could say that it was truly an amazing sight. Shota had transformed almost entirely – his once frail arms now resembled robust tree branches, extending effortlessly, their strength undeniably impressive. Even his formerly delicate hands seemed to exude masculinity. It was astonishing to witness firsthand how quickly Shota's body began adapting to the physical attributes of his former enemy. The change was evident across his entire being, encompassing subtleties such as posture, gait, and facial expression.

Standing tall and proud, Shota radiated confidence, commanding respect despite the foreign surroundings. Shota marveled at his metamorphosis. He glanced sideways at his alter ego—the once feared bully turned into a mere shell. Satisfaction permeated every fiber of his being, instilling an irresistible urge to taste vengeance.

The two friends grinned broadly at each other, reveling in their accomplishments thus far. Having claimed control over Ryuji's life, their mission appeared complete. However, there remained the matter of replacing themselves with their targets. This final step would require great care and precision. Shifting uneasily in his borrowed body, Shota silently contemplated the complexities involved in assuming someone else's identity.

To ensure their efforts were not futile, Hiroki suggested they test their abilities by engaging in typical activities associated with their counterparts.

Stepping into Ryuji's shoes, Shota relished the feeling of dominance that came with inhabiting his rival's life. Conversely, Hiroki struggled to maintain the stoic composure usually attributed to Ryuji, finding it challenging to suppress his natural inclination for warmth and compassion. Nonetheless, they persisted, taking advantage of every available resource to immerse themselves fully in their roles.

Overwhelming waves of sexual attraction consumed Shota as he assumed Ryuji's persona. He look at Hiroki. He can see a passion is Hiroki's eyes. Still nake he walk toward Hiroki.

Understanding his intentions, Hiroki didn't resist, instead allowing Shota to take the lead. Embracing their new personas, the pair indulged in the most daring and erotic display possible. Sensually, they explored each other's bodies, testing the limits of human endurance and pleasure. Shota traced Hiroki's lithe muscles, feeling the heat generated by the contact. Hiroki reciprocated, drawing attention to the intricacies of Shota's well-defined features.

He ran his fingers along Shota's sharp jawline, admiring the contrast between Ryuji's hardened visage and Shota's tender countenance. Breathless and trembling, they continued to explore each other’s bodies, further cementing their connection. With gentle nibbles and kisses, they traversed from lips to neck, leaving behind a trail of moans and gasps. Their movements became increasingly fervent, as they sought solace amidst the chaos of their tumultuous lives.

Inhibitions faded into insignificance as lustful desires gave way to primal instincts. Shota grabbed hold of Hiroki's firm ass cheeks, squeezing them with intensity. Simultaneously, Hiroki pressed his palm against Shota's erect penis, stroking it gently yet determinedly. They moved rhythmically, becoming entwined with each other in a dance of ecstatic passion. The scent of sweat, sex, and uncertainty filled the air, intensifying the ambiance surrounding the lovers.

Under Shota's influence, Ryuji's previously subdued libido emerged with renewed vigor. The pair found solace in the comforting embrace of each other's arms, surrendering completely to the intense wave of passion consuming them. Together, they navigated the labyrinthine path of desire, seeking out the sweet release hidden beneath layers of repressed emotions.

Drenched in sweat, they climaxed simultaneously, collapsing onto the ground in exhaustion.

Panting heavily, Shota buried his face in Hiroki's shoulder, inhaling deeply to savor the lingering essence of their encounter. Meanwhile, Hiroki caressed Shota's back, whispering endearments that fueled the fires of passion burning inside him.

For several minutes, neither spoke nor moved, content in basking in the afterglow of their experience. Eventually, though, they felt obligated to return to their primary objectives. With heavy hearts, they knew their time together must come to an end.

Shota or now Ryuji standing, walk to what Ryuji belongings that left on the ground. Hiroki watching quietly know this is the time for Shota to fully took Ryuji's place.

Shota start to pickup Ryuji's clothes.

First, he grab Ryuji's favorite Spendex Red Bikini. Smelling the fabric, Shota couldn't contain his excitement. The familiar scent triggered memories of Ryuji's cruelty, making him feel stronger and more determined than ever before. He held the garment close to his nose, inhaling deeply, absorbing the unique essence of his nemesis. The smell sent shivers down his spine, heightening his sense of power and satisfaction.

Next, Shota picked up Ryuji's boxers. These too carried the same tantalizing scent, stirring within him a mixture of repulsion and fascination. He examined the worn fabric closely, observing the subtle signs of damage caused by years of usage. He touched the seams, running his fingers along the edges, committing these details to memory.

Each scratch, mark, and wrinkle bore witness to Ryuji's life experiences, adding depth to the fabric itself. Intrigued by the concept of possessing such tangible remnants of Ryuji's existence, Shota placed the boxers aside to examine the rest of the items.

Feeling triumphant, Shota moved on to inspect Ryuji's jacket, another prized possession. Carefully holding the sleeves between his thumb and index finger, he breathed in the familiar mix of fabric softener and body odor.

Each sniff provided a window into Ryuji's personal space, imprinting indelibly upon Shota's sensory memory. Adjusting the jacket around his shoulders, he noted the subtle creasing near the elbow where it often rubbed against his books during class. The faint outline revealed a piece of Ryuji's daily routine, reinforcing Shota's growing attachment to his host's possessions.

Satisfied with his findings, Shota proceeded to inspect the remainder of Ryuji's clothing collection.

There lay a pair of jeans emblazoned with numerous holes scattered throughout its surface, evidence of prior confrontations that occurred during Ryuji's rebellious youth. A thick leather belt hung nearby, bearing traces of dirt collected from various locales frequented by Ryuji. All of these articles served as silent witnesses to Ryuji's history, offering Shota a comprehensive understanding of his adversary's life.

As Shota gathered these relics, Hiroki observed discreetly from afar.

Recognizing the importance of this moment, he offered silent support, patiently waiting for Shota to assume his role as Ryuji fully. Shota carefully donned Ryuji's clothing, mentally preparing himself for his transformation. Each item added to his ensemble symbolized the culmination of his journey toward reclaiming what was rightfully his.

Fully dressed in Ryuji's attire, Shota start to flash with Ryuji's memory. slowly but it never stop.

It seemed like forever since they had last engaged in such acts of intimacy. Yet somehow, Shota found immense gratification in revisiting the uncharted territory of Ryuji's psyche. His breath quickened as he imagined how different this experience might be if he were truly Ryuji, experiencing the world through newfound eyes.

Having established a solid foundation for their bond, Hiroki felt emboldened enough to express his own needs.

"Now pal, I understand when you say, you still be Akira, while act as Hiroki." said Shota, but in Ryuji's voice, tone and style.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a wicked smile playing across his lips. “Yes, my friend” he replied, adopting Hiroki's usual mannerisms. The sudden change in persona caught Hiroki off guard, causing him to falter slightly.

Ryuji smile, "Now we got new world to explore right? pal!"

Ryuji laughed, placing a hand affectionately on Hiroki's shoulder. This gesture caught Hiroki off guard once again – the tenderness displayed by Ryuji only amplified the stark difference between their former selves.

"Sigh... I think i need some time to familar with this new Ryuji" sighed Hiroki.

Both laugh with content

"Take your time," chuckled Ryuji, playfully poking Hiroki's ribcage.

Chapter 5

In the school after judgement weekend. Ryuji on the limo to school, his driver just stay in silent cause his boss's son don't want to talk with mere driver.

When finally arrived at school, Ryuji step out of the limo, looking around school campus. He never realize how beautiful this place until today, maybe because today is special, he's different, and everything seems different to him too. Even sunlight hit differently nowadays, seem brighter, warmer compared to yesterday.

The morning light danced gracefully across the verdant landscape, casting a serene atmosphere upon the hallowed grounds. Birdsongs harmoniously accompanied the early risers as they began their routines.

"Yo, pal" familar voice greeting. Ryuji turn to Hiroki that entering school gate with fake boring face.

"There, there who here. my damn friend, Hiroki finally approch..."

"Damn Ryuboy! you must shame, even take limo to school everyday, you still almost late compare to me that need to walk here."

Ryuji smirk. "We should have race see who arrive first, bet?"

Hiroki grinned mischievously, "Sounds fun, let's do it. We haven't really had a proper challenge since our little escapade."

This brought a wave of nostalgia rushing through Ryuji, flooding his mind with images of past encounters. Sensing this, Hiroki quickly changed the subject.

"By the way, did you hear about Tomoko's party tonight? She mentioned something about inviting popular kids, so I thought we could crash it for some entertainment."

Ryuji raised an eyebrow. "Crash her party? Why would we bother doing that?"

Hiroki grinned cockily. "Well, she invited us, didn't she? Besides, I heard she has quite a reputation among girls."

At this remark, Ryuji perked up considerably. "Reputation among girls, you say?Ryuji's eyes gaze piercing to Hiroki.

"Ok Ok! no more joke." Hiroki laugh. he look around, see no one looking. Step in and kiss on Ryuji's cheek.

His heart racing, Ryuji turned towards Hiroki, feeling his lover's gentle touch resonate deep within him. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to succumb entirely to the tender connection forming between them.

But then Hiroki run away with laugh.

"Ryuboy, if you not run now, you will late you know!"

Hiroki continued, taunting Ryuji playfully. Unwilling to lose this friendly competition, Ryuji broke into a swift jog, catching up to Hiroki effortlessly.

They raced through the hallways, skirting the crowds of curious onlookers who recognized the two renowned figures of their school. Their determination to reach the finish line ahead of each other ignited a fierce rivalry, fueling a mutual desire to assert dominance over the other.

In the class room, Teacher seem worry. Akira still absent, and now his close friend Shota also disappear. Ryuji watch on empty seat that use to be a Shota place. He feel a bit sorry to his parents, even he left a letter that say he need torun away from home for some reasons. To make sure that his parent will not desperate about his disappear. He decide that will sent mail to his home time to time to show that he still alive, well.

At the evening in soccor club.

Both boys sit on benches, watching sunset painting sky with brilliant colors. Feeling tranquility fill the air around them, Ryuji leaned back, closing his eyes briefly to savor the warmth of the setting sun.

They resting after a heavy training, now watch other teamate clearing the field to call it end for today.

"Do you think, we done right thing?" Ryuji's asked.

Hiroki hesitated before answering honestly. "I am unsure. But perhaps taking control of our fates feels better than being helpless victims anymore. If anything, this gives us the power to rewrite our destinies."

Ryuji mulled over Hiroki's response, nodding in agreement. "And perhaps, our true purpose lies beyond the walls of this school—somewhere else, where we can create a life free from judgment and expectations."

Looking towards the horizon, Hiroki smiled dreamily.

"At least, form tomorrw... Ryuji who love to bully people will no more" Ryuji said. "I will finally decide that bully people is such a waste of time."

"So, from tomorrow, what will you choose instead?" Hiroki probed gently.

"I don't know, but I only know that it's better for other people. those who always a prey, such as Shota, Akira... right?" Ryuji asked.

"Umm.. I guess so, if we continue bully people just to show who we are. May someone... going to seek for revange the same ways Shota and Akira do. A vicious circle right?" Hiroki whisper while look upon the sky.

'Let's hope our future days aren't filled with darkness.' He confided softly, a solemn expression crossing his features.

Ryuji looked deeply into Hiroki's eyes, sensing his vulnerability amidst all the changes. 'If there ever comes a time when the night turns darker,' he promised, cupping Hiroki's cheeks lovingly, 'know that I won't leave your side.

In the forest near tokyo, there was an abandon hut. One boy standing in front of the door. He look nervous.

Hands clenched tightly, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Steadying himself, he reached for the keyring dangling from his pocket, its worn metal surface reflecting the dim light filtering through the trees overhead. Pulling the small key from its loop, he inserted it cautiously into the rusty lock, turning it smoothly clockwise. As the tumblers clicked satisfyingly into place, he pushed open the creaky wooden door, admitting a faint whiff of dust and decay into the crisp autumn air.

Entering the abandoned hut, the interior appeared even gloomier than outside, a testament to years of neglect. Cobweb-covered windows cast eerie patterns onto the floor, adding to the overall sense of mystery surrounding the building. Despite these ominous signs, the boy pressed forward into the depths of the structure.

With each step taken, the ground beneath his feet groaned in protest against the passage of time. Dust swirled silently in the low beam of light provided by a single lantern, illuminating the dilapidated space with a somber radiance.

Suddenly he saw a figure standing in the dark.

Panicking, his hands shook as he tried to pull the flashlight. The sudden brightness revealed another person standing in the corner of the hut. The man, in black jacket with hoods. Standing there silently.

the mysterious stranger stared unwaveringly at the young visitor, leaving him trembling from unease. Finally breaking the silence, the intruder spoke with a voice like gravel, raspy yet oddly calming.

"So you finally here, hmmm"

said the mysterious man. His words felt like sharp stones rubbed against a raw wound. Yet, the boy couldn't help but stand his ground, despite the uneasiness he felt.

Despite the situation, the boy managed to ask cautiously, “Who…are you?”

"My name is none of your concern, boy.” The stranger replied coldly, causing the boy’s knees to buckle slightly under the weight of his secrecy.

"But you come here to looking for me isn't it?"

the mysterious man prodded, studying the quivering boy intently. There was a brief pause as the young visitor summoned enough courage to respond.

"Yes," he murmured quietly, though he wasn't certain why exactly he had ventured here. The answer seemed insignificant and vague, but strangely fitting.

"If you are that one, t. t .The Dealer..." boy whispering.

The Dealer giggle.

"You follow the bread so far but still not sure what you found?"

The Dealer questioned, maintaining a cool exterior, despite the boy’s evident distress.

Fear coursing through his veins, the boy fought hard to find his composure. Taking a deep breath, he slowly regained focus.

"So, it real? D.D.Do you have it?"

The Dealer not answer, he pick up a vial form his pocket.

The boy feel his pulse quickening rapidly. Is this it? This object hold the key to changing his destiny?

He looks at the strange man, confusion etched across his face. "What is that?" he asks timidly, pointing toward the vial.

The Dealer chuckles once again, enjoying the suspenseful moment. "That, my dear boy, is the potion that shall change your fate forever."

The boy blinks, processing the implications of the statement. "Changing my fate... Yes! Yes! the rumor was real! That damn Ryuji! I will, I will! "

Can you really give me this potion?", the boy eagerly asked, holding his breath.

The Dealer smirked sardonically, enjoying the young boy's excitement. "Ah yes, lad, it's yours for the asking. Just remember, nothing good comes without sacrifice."

Confusion clouded the boy's face. What does he mean by sacrifice? Does he require blood or payment? Surely this potion cannot cost too much.

"You know everything have a price, boys..." The Dealer smile "So how much you will pay?" The Dealer asked, again this question that will always get same answer... everyone always thrown anything they have to bend their destiny. No one can stop themself and think, is it really worth? What really price will be at the end. He can only laugh form eternity to eternity.

Boy shout "I will.....!"

[theprayerfulword]

September 25

John 6:35 Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst."

Matthew 5:14 You are the light of the world.

Romans 12:13 Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Matthew 10:29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.

Romans 8:16 The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.

Song of Songs 8:6 NIV Place Me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

May you know that the Lord works in mysterious ways, hiding Himself from casual view, though He has created the heavens and fashioned the earth, designing it to be inhabited, not empty, and saving His people with an everlasting salvation. Isaiah 45

May you understand that the Lord wants to be in relationship with you, for God has not spoken in secret nor told you to seek Him in vain, but speaking the truth and publicly proclaiming bold promises, He declares what is right, drawing you by hunger for His Word and thirst for His Spirit. Isaiah 45

May you be confident that there is no God apart from the Lord, Who is a righteous God and a Savior, for He has declared what will be from long ago and foretold what would happen from the distant past. Isaiah 45

May you turn to God and be rescued for there is none but the Lord Who can swear by Himself with integrity, Whose mouth utters words that will not be revoked, before Whom every knee will bow and by Who every tongue will swear allegiance, proclaiming, “In the Lord alone are righteousness and strength.” Isaiah 45

May you exult and boast in the Lord, glorying in Him Who justifies you and declares you to be righteous in His Son, vindicated as He delivers you from your sinful nature, while all who have raged against Him will be put to shame. Isaiah 45

May you listen to the word of the Lord, Who has upheld you since you were conceived and carried you since your birth even to your grey hairs, for He has made you and He will hold you, He will sustain you and He will rescue you; therefore, to whom can you compare God on an equal basis? Isaiah 46

May you remember this and fix it in mind, taking to heart that He is God and there is none like Him Who knows the end from the beginning, declaring what is still to come even from times long ago, for His purpose will stand and He will do all that He pleases, calling those who will fulfill His purpose, for His righteousness is not far away and His salvation will not be delayed; He will grant His splendor to His people as they accept His salvation and purification. Isaiah 46

May you show mercy to those God is dealing with, for you will need mercy in a time to come, and may you humbly help lift the load of the aged, lest the anger of the Lord come upon you in the midst of your pride and remove you from your comforts. Isaiah 47

May you daily understand anew the need to always walk in humility before the Lord, trusting only in God, depending on Him for the strength, wisdom, direction, and resources that you will need that day, never resting in what you claim to have accomplished or relying on your own prudence as you boast of your own abilities, for you cannot remove yourself from the reach of calamity nor protect yourself from the plagues of the world. Isaiah 47

My child, do you stand confident and calm, filled with peace at the thought of God's justice being visited upon you? Or do you feel a certain fearful, terrifying expectation of fire and fierce fury threatening to envelope you when you think of receiving divine judgment in your life? Your conscience and My Spirit no longer accuse you once you have accepted the free offer of My redemption from your sins. Peace enters your heart and, though memory looks back on past sins with deep sorrow, your thoughts are no longer filled with great dread of punishment or penalty but thanksgiving for the joy of justification before the Father. I paid the debt of your sin, willingly, to the utmost demand and received the receipt marked “Paid in Full” when the Father judged Me worthy of life eternal, sending the Spirit of resurrection into the tomb where My body lay. The very justice of the Father's nature that causes fear in one who does not know Me will bring peace to one who is found in Me for you know that He will not, and cannot, be so unjust as to demand payment again for a debt that no longer exists. The power of sin is broken and the authority of the carnal nature is canceled as you identify with My death and walk in the new life, reborn, a new creation accepted by the Father in Me. The life you now live in your body is lived by faith in Me because I love you and have given Myself for you. There is no more fearful expectation of punishment, for I bore that once, for all. From here, there is only growing into the maturity and unity of faith with all the other members of My Body as you are led by My Spirit and walk in humility before the Father, obedient to the ministry of My Word by My servants. In this way you will attain to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ, bearing gently with one another in love.

May you walk ever more closely with the Lord, giving Him access to more of your life and opening your heart to His Spirit so that He can cleanse and purge the attitudes and rebellion that prevent His holiness from permeating all you do and say, for unless you dwell in the truth and righteousness of Christ, you cannot know the Lord Almighty. Isaiah 48

May you not yield His glory to another or let Him be defamed, for in His mercy, and for His praise, He has held Himself back and delayed His wrath so that He might refine you and form you into a vessel to His honor and receive the praise He is worthy of as you show forth His grace and salvation. Isaiah 48

May you live a life worthy of the calling you have received, to be completely humble and gentle, patient, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace in the one hope to which you were called, for there is one body and one Spirit, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all Who is over all and through all and in all. Ephesians 4

May you receive the grace which has been apportioned to each of us by Christ, Who ascended above the heavens after descending to the lower regions in order to fill the whole universe, giving some one task and others another skill, to prepare God's people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ. Ephesians 4

May you daily walk in God's grace that will grow you to maturity so that each day you will be less affected by tossing waves and blowing winds of doctrine and teaching and scheming, but instead, speaking the truth in love, grow up into Him Who is the Head, that is, Christ, for from Him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work. Ephesians 4

May you give praise to the Lord, to God our Savior, Who daily bears our burdens, for our God is a God Who saves, and our Sovereign Lord provides escape from death, since He has crushed the heads of His enemies. Psalm 68

May you willingly join the procession of God, going into the sanctuary of your King, led by the singers, then the musicians, praising God in the great congregation, so that when God summons His power and reveals His strength, the beast among the reeds will be rebuked and humbled, and the nations who delight in war will be scattered, for God is awesome in His sanctuary, the God who gives power and strength to His people. Psalm 68

May your house be built by wisdom from God and established through understanding of God's ways, with rare and beautiful treasures filling its rooms through knowledge of God's Word. Proverbs 24:3-4

[cristian-calistru]

"Revelation" is my new work, which I created over two days and finished today around 4 in the morning. The idea came to me almost spontaneously, and it represents my recent reflections.

The artwork explores humanity's spiritual journey toward understanding the divine, a process of profound transformation sustained by the presence of the Holy Spirit. It also symbolizes moments of illumination and personal revelation that God offers each of us, guiding our steps toward genuine soul renewal.

In theological vision, the Holy Spirit is perceived as a sacred fire, a purifying and enlightening force that burns not to destroy but to renew, opening the heart and mind. This sacred fire represents a living flame of divine grace, which, when received, cleanses us of impurities and guides us toward an authentic existence aligned with God’s will.

_______ You can read more about this project here: www.cristiancalistru.com/conceptposters

[renee-writer]

The Fire Chapter 8

AO3

I thought I knew natural beauty but was wrong. The Highlands are stunning. Breathtaking. Mama smiles at the look on my face when we stop to rest the horses and ourselves.

 

“Glorious isn’t it?”

 

“It is. Amazing.”

 

“You come from a beautiful place.”

 

I do. This is my father’s home and therefore mine. The thought lifts my spirits. No matter what we face here, this place will sustain us. I wholeheartedly believe this.

 

The next day, we ride down a lane that has mama weeping. It leads into Lallybroch. At the stone arches, we stop a moment. She wipes her face putting on a smile.

 

“He will be so excited to see you.” I tell her knowing she is nervous about the reunion.

 

“Yes, I believe so. You will be a wonderful to him.”

 

“Shall we?” I gesture towards the arches ahead of us. Dog’s barks are heard as we draw closer. They are almost drowned out by the squawk of chickens and the voices of adults and children’s  laughter. Family! That is what those sounds represent. I urge the horse on faster.

 

A young girl is the first person we see. She stops feeding the chickens and looks up at us. Mama and I dismount.

 

“Can I help you?” her face is open and friendly.

 

“Yes, I am Claire Fraser and this is my daughter, Brianna.”

 

Her innocent eyes go wide with shock as her mouth falls open.  

 

“Janet, why haven’t …” The lady’s voice fades away. Mama turns and runs over to her, “Claire! My God! It is really you.”

 

“Jenny. It is me. I have brought Jamie’s daughter home.”

 

That is when the lady I now know is my auntie notices me.  She turns, her dark hair coming lose from the bun it is in. Her eyes grow larger.

 

“Lass, you are the spit of my own mam. Jamie’s  daughter indeed.”

 

I curtsy the way mama taught me. “Brianna Ellen Fraser.”

 

That is when she turns and runs towards the house. “Janet, see our guests, nae family in. I must fetch your Uncle Jamie.”

 

“He is here.” Mama breathes. My cousin nods.

 

“Aye Auntie Claire. We thought you dead. That is what Uncle Jamie told us. To see you alive and brawl with his child… a miracle is what it is.”

 

“I thought him dead as well.”

 

“Auntie, he almost was. Mam willed him back to life, that is what father says.”

 

We hurry after her into the house. Mama gasps at seeing the old stones. They are remarkably cool under my hand. I stare in wonder. A house like this, intact, doesn’t exist in the time we came from.

 

“Come, mam will bring him to the great room.”

 

Grand is more like it. The furniture is something out of a museum. The fireplace takes up a wall and blazes the cool out of the room.

 

Two tall men enter. One has sandy hair and a missing leg. The other dark curls and a look of pure amazement.

 

“Fergus!”

 

“Mílady!” They are in each other’s arms. Not my father but someone important.

 

“Brianna, a pleasure to meet you. I am your Uncle Ian, Jenny ‘s husband.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” another curtsy, “Fergus, is he…”

 

“Your brother. Jamie and I found him in Paris.” A choked up mama replies.

 

“Mílady and Mílord rescued me. Took me in. You, mí fílle look so much like mílord. We never thought to see mílady again never mind her child.”

 

“It is true!” We all turn to the door where a tall man with flaming red hair stands before he gracefully falls on the floor.

[arkhamcalamity]

"Oh Roooooooommiiiiieeeeeee!" Two fingers to her lips and a harsh whistle. With a flourish she revealed a large barrel of what was clearly Smilex. A grin on her face as she tapped the side of it with her cane. "If you don't come out here and talk to me, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll douse the Gotham Academy with my special perfume, HAHAHAHA!"

@thewomanwholaughed made a surprise visit

"You would have had quicker time at the cemetery." Well, the asylum too but she doubts the clown wants to return so soon. For the first time in who knows how long, Amity's secretly pleased that Olive took the Mizoguchi family up on their offer to tag along on their end of semester trip. Though, it did come with one particular drawback...

The usual flame-like quality to her form, was lacking to say the least. More translucent, less red, sometimes fading into a silhouette that was barely visible. Need to visit the sigils in the tunnels, she mused, glancing over her wisps. Without Olive for a major boost, the city's architecture was the only major point to keep the spirit grounded.

"I cannot sustain this visit long. Thou hast poor timing." Her irritation was showing in her glare even if she wasn't quite to the point of mustering flames. "You disappeared awhile. What is it you want?"

[ladyzee-oddityhunter]

Cw - Drowning, injury, possession, broken bones

“Litwick Fun Facts, and Hospital Update”

[Stream Beginning Soon…]

[The lobby screen wipes away to reveal a slightly unusual setting for one of Lady Zee’s streams. It’s not uncommon for her to visit hospitals in pursuit of her paranormal content, but today she appears to be hospitalized herself. She’s sitting up in her bed with a hot pink cast around her right arm and a muted blue medical gown in place of her black jumpsuit and cape. There’s a brace around her neck. Her signature pink hair is hanging over her shoulder in loose, slightly bed mussed waves instead of curls due to a tragic lack of hairstyling equipment in this situation. She’s also going makeup free, leaving the deep purple shadows under her eyes in full view. Nevertheless, her beaming smile without lipstick is still her beaming smile]

Greetings my lovely skiddo kiddos! You’re here with me, Lady Zee, in the hospital. Before anyone worries, yes, I’m okay. I’ve been here a few days because there was some bleeding or something of the sort the doctor wanted to keep an eye on, but that’s why there has been so little content lately. I can’t in good conscience apologize for being hospitalized, so I won’t. Never apologize for seeking help when you need it, darlings.

[There’s a faint sound like wind blowing through a metallic wind chime tube, and a small purple light appears behind Zee’s cast. A tiny purple flame rises up behind it, then a small litwick’s face peeks up toward the phone shooting the stream]

[Buffering]

[The stream returns, and the litwick is sitting comfortably on Zee’s lap, smiling at the camera]

Sorry, skiddos, the hospital wifi is very weak. It’s been much better today, so I wanted to try streaming, but we’ll keep an eye on it.

Anyway, this is a litwick. If you remember the last, uh, stream… You know the one. We were pursuing a lampent, a pokemon known to linger around hospitals to collect spirits as they die. I found this litwick, the baby form of lampent, sneaking into my room this morning. She’s been by my bed all day siphoning my life force.

[She strokes the tiny pokemon’s head with her fingertip, carefully avoiding touching the purple flame]

I know that sounds horrifying, but it’s actually not that bad. You may have seen trainers with litwick, read the pokedex entry, and thought to yourself “What the heck? So it’s KILLING its trainer?” Well, that’s technically a yes, but realistically a no.

Most ghost pokemon, especially pure ghost types, don’t eat food the way most other pokemon do. Some of them can but prefer not to. Some physically can not eat. Litwick does not eat physical food. It subsists purely on life force which, if you think about it, is probably a much more efficient way to live. You could just eat the life out of something else to sustain your life.

Now litwick, especially this one because she’s a baby, are very small. The flame on top is essentially its stomach. When it’s lit, it’s eating.

[As if on cue, the light on top of the litwick’s head goes out, leaving a smokeless grey wick behind]

Ah, there we go. She’s had her lunch. And see? I’m still alive! So litwick is very small, meaning it doesn’t need to eat much, and it does not eat constantly. Whatever life this litwick just took from me I’ll replenish soon if I haven’t already. I definitely will after I eat my dinner and get some sleep.

It should be noted that it is possible for an older, stronger litwick to create some negative impacts when feeding. The more active you are, the more calories you need to eat, right? Litwick is the same way. Trainers raising litwick for battle need to be aware the highly active state of their litwick will lead to the litwick feeding more voraciously. This can lead to symptoms like fatigue, dizziness, nausea, depression, or a general sense of dread. This is also a symptom of the litwick getting ready to evolve into a lampent, a pokemon that eats spirits. It’s like eating life force was the practice run to eating the whole spirit, huh?

Again, this should not be life threatening unless you already find yourself in a weakened state, or if you find yourself exposed to multiple litwick at once. To meet your litwick’s dietary needs without compromising your safety, you could take your litwick somewhere public and crowded like a shopping center or a movie. If it’s able to pull life from multiple sources, it’s unlikely any one individual will feel any side affects.

[The litwick begins trying to crawl up the front of Zee’s gown. She catches it and picks it up before it can pull the gown too far ]

Oops. Here cutie, let me just hold you, alright?Okay, now, has litwick feeding EVER killed anyone? I mean, anything is possible, and not everything is on record, but is it likely? No, not really. You contain a lot more life force than you think, so unless you’re swarmed by ravenous litwick, you’ll be okay. Just… When your litwick becomes a lampent, do try not to die around it.

Now, litwick has another sinister reputation. They have been rumored to occasionally bait lost children away or lure explorers into the woods. And no one is ever seen again of course. It’s unknown if litwick have latent psychic abilities that would allow them to manipulate a victim into following, or if lost travelers simply see a light and assume following it will lead them to safety or civilization without realizing they’re just following a pokemon that LIVES there, getting themselves even more lost until they simply run out of strength. This is hard to examine because the people who blindly follow these little forest lights and are never seen again are, you know, never seen again, so we don’t know what exactly it was they saw or why they followed. It’s also unknown if litwick lead people astray on purpose because letting people wander in fear until they die is funny, or if they’re just minding their own business and think people are stalking them when they turn around and see a giant with a backpack following them home. I may have to wander after a litwick on stream for you once I get out of here. Just to see what happens.

[Zee grins, but it swiftly wobbles and fades from her lips. She takes a breath and sighs, looking toward presumably a window off to her side]

Now, I’m sure some of you are wondering WHY I’m in the hospital. If you saw my last stream, you know I had a bit of an encounter with a, um… A ghost. By the lake. It wasn’t my intention to interact with a ghost at all when I went, it… It was just there, as they sometimes are, and I somewhat EXPECTED to find one, but… But this one was…

[She takes a quivering breath, bringing her good hand carefully to her mouth]

I’m sorry, I need a moment. Deedee.

[We’ll Be Right Back!]

.

.

.

[The stream resumes five to ten minutes later. The litwick is gone, replaced by Zee’s oricorio, Carmelita. The bird pokemon is wrapped in gauze and bandages, much like her trainer, and is perched comfortably on Zee’s shoulder, leaning her little head against her’s]

Thank you for waiting. As I was saying, the ghost was… She was unhappy. Very unhappy. She carried a lot of rage, and this rage became a great source of power for her. She wanted revenge, but the anger that gave her a ghost form also kept her bound to the lake where she died. She, um… She tried to take over my body. She… She succeeded. It was… It felt…

[Zee is quiet for a long while, turning again to look out the window. Carmelita shuffles a little closer against her]

My regular ghost management strategies DID work. I was able to stave off her control and… Well, usually I’m able to allow the ghost to “slip” by me. That means that they THINK they have control, but rather than being INSIDE my head they’re basically just riding on my shoulder whispering suggestions rather than giving commands. This was not an option with her. She was so strong, and just so full of hate. I had to keep her OUT. And I… I did. For a while. She realized what I was doing, that I was shielding myself from her. To distract me, to break down my shield, she…

[Zee brings her hand to her throat as her voice fades, then to her mouth. Her eyes look glassy as they stare absently into the space beside the camera. Silence. Then she blinks a few times, seeming to draw herself back as Carmelita nuzzles her cheek]

I almost drowned. She knew she had to break my concentration, so she tried to drown me. And it worked. I… It was so cold, and I… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t… Sh-she…

[There are tears welling in her eyes now]

[We’ll Be Right Back!]

[The stream resumes. Carmelita is still on Zee’s shoulder, gently preening her pink hair. Zee’s eyes are burned red and a little swollen, but she seems to have wiped away the tears]

Thank you for being patient with me. This is a bit difficult to talk about. I’ve… I’ve never felt so violated. The drowning was terrifying and painful enough, but to have my BODY taken. And used. Used to hurt someone even. S-someone I care about.

[She squeezes the blanket in her good hand and stares at a point just beyond the camera rather than at it]

My noivern, Benjie, ran for help I… I think the next day when he realized I wasn’t going to save myself. He fetched Simon. Simon saved me. I don’t want to discuss the details of how right now, but he did. The ghost tried to use me to hurt him, to kill him, and I couldn’t stop it.

[She sniffs and squeezes her eyes shut]

So the takeway was being possessed is… It’s so awful. The ghost wasn’t connected to my nervous system. It was more like she was just wearing my skin like pajamas. She couldn’t FEEL what she was making me do. She couldn’t feel when she broke my hand, or when she snapped my arm. She turned my head so hard she strained the tendons in my neck, almost broke it. She made me fight my own pokemon, and threw me around so roughly and for so long she tore my muscles. I started bleeding on the inside.

[Despite her efforts to contain them, tears begin running down her cheeks now, dripping gently into the blankets bunched around her waist. She makes a dismissive hand gesture to stop her rotom from pausing the stream again]

So that’s what happened. I’ll be okay, my skiddos. This… This is going to find it’s place in my life. Stay strong for me.

And remember, mommy loves you.

[Thanks for Watching!]

Previous Stream

Part 1

Part 2

Write Up By @pokeglitchden

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[chiliadicorum]

Glorfindel and the Balrog (Again)

Glorfindel was a badass and I need to talk about this AGAIN.

I thought I was done waxing poetic about Glorfindel's fight with the Balrog after the last post. I mean, what else was there to say? Joke's on me. Because I just had an epiphany recently concerning that duel that I realized is so grossly overlooked because, you know, epic battle and badass awesomeness that takes priority over anything mundane (I'm guilty of that. Refer to: said post).

I'm going to dredge up some popular fanon again and declare that it's canon. Let me ask y'all a question:

DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT FIRE IS?

Hear me out. Yes, simple question and yeah, everyone knows fire is frickin hot. As I said though, it's a mundane detail and as a result, tends to be overlooked. However, my attention was drawn to it when I recently took part in a brushfire.* Do not confuse this with a typical bonfire. This brushfire was to burn dead brush gathered over the course of several years and can only be burned in the middle of winter. It's way hotter, way bigger with way more fuel burning. I'd seen a brushfire before but I'd forgotten what it felt like.

We all had to stand, at minimum, 20ft away (30ft or more was better). The fire itself was impressive, but the intensity of that heat was insane. We maintained a safe distance, but our faces still turned pink from the heat. My actual eyeballs began to burn and I had to either back up further or turn away completely. The heat converted the 1°F air (-17°C) into something comfortable to breathe even that far away. But I have to emphasize that, no matter where you walked, you could not get safely within 20ft of this fire without proper apparatus. It was too hot for your face and eyes to tolerate.

Guys, that Balrog was a beast of living fire and Glorfindel grappled with it. I mean, he was already in proximity close enough to engage in that combat. Let's recap: struck the Balrog's head (impressive btw, considering Balrogs are twice an Elf's height), hewed off its whip-arm, and drove his sword through the Balrog's shoulder, not to mention all the other blows he landed in the combat:

"The ardour of Glorfindel drave that Balrog from point to point, and his mail fended him from its whip and claw.” 

But remember, when he struck the shoulder and the sword caught, the full-on brawling on the mountain pinnacle began:

“Then sprang the Balrog in the torment of his pain and fear full at Glorfindel, who stabbed like a dart of a snake; but he found only a shoulder, and was grappled, and they swayed to a fall upon the crag-top.”

....This is actually blowing my mind a bit. How has this not clicked before? Because this speaks volumes to Glorfindel's determination to see the demon killed, to save his people. Glorfindel wasn't a safe distance away shooting arrows or hurling spears. He wasn't 20ft away. He was fighting with a sword. And he was literally embracing that creature of living flame in a fight to the death. We don't know the literal degree of how hot the Balrogs burned, but by intuition alone, I think we can deduce that they were a lot bigger and hotter than some mere brushfire. Let's recall some details from the book in The Bridge of Khazad-dûm:

"The flame roared up to greet [the Balrog], and wreathed about it; and a black smoke swirled in the air. Its streaming mane kindled, and blazed behind it. [...] The dark figure streaming with fire raced towards them. [...] Fire came from its nostrils."

From The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, #144:

"The Balrogs, of whom the whips were the chief weapons, were primeval spirits of destroying fire [...]"

Balrogs were their own self-regulating and self-sustaining inferno, with "hearts of fire". Peter Jackson may have exaggerated the height of the Balrog in the movie, but he nailed the physiology, imo. Balrogs never laughed, never spoke, but they could control the amount of fire and darkness/shadow they emitted.

Getting back to that fanon I mentioned, it's a popular idea that Glorfindel sustained burns or caught fire in this fight, something like that. It's a notion regularly used in fanfic for years but always something relegated to the fanon category, an "unconfirmed" theory. I've enjoyed those fics, still do, but there's always been the back-and-forth about how accurate it is, if at all. I was on that fence too because Tolkien never explicitly stated it happened.

But guys, it's canon. Glorfindel got burned in that fight. Even if he never came in contact with its living flame (he did), even if he never brawled with the Balrog (he did), the heat alone would've burned him from the proximity of fighting with a sword. That's the whole point of this post.

This is the one time I'm not giddy about declaring a fanon is canon. It's so awful. Of course, it's left to the individual imagination as to the severity of his burns and where they occurred. Elves are not humans and I submit to the idea that there can be a difference in tolerance with such elements (such is the case with cold temperatures), but Tolkien still made it clear they're not immune to fire. I recall wondering if Glorfindel ever got burned, but it was such a passing thought I think because I put too much focus on this text:

"The ardour of Glorfindel drave that Balrog from point to point, and his mail fended him from its whip and claw.” 

Tolkien made it clear that Glorfindel obtained no fatal/serious injuries in that fight, which is significant and should be recognized precisely because it's a testament to Glorfindel's insane skill and speed. But Tolkien says it, or rather omits it, right there: "his mail fended him from its whip and claw". Tolkien doesn't mention the fire. He's talking about the attacks the Balrog is trying to strike Glorfindel with and failing abominably. It's so easy to ignore a mundane factor like temperature when there's so much epic action to fixate on.

Because before Glorfindel even began grappling with the Balrog and came in contact with its fire, he was getting burned.

And it never slowed him down.

Have you ever been even minorly burned by fire before, like a candle flame or heat from a stove? I have and it's the mildest as far as burns go but IT HURTS. It gets your attention like nothing else and makes you yank back on pure instinct. Yet Glorfindel never yanked back. He wasn't fighting any candle flame, yet he never faltered or stepped back at the searing touch of that heat. Let alone the actual fire later.

Glorfindel was plainly hell-bent on saving his people from this threat. No one can argue that, particularly when he was the one to pursue the Balrog. But this new aspect just further drives home that single-mindedness of that determination. That desperation. That's a better word. For as calm and in control of that fight as he was, despite being seared by that heat which would cause a normal person to falter, he never once retreated even for a moment to regain ground (he had room) or wait for aid (Elves were rushing to help him, Tolkien said) or reassess (he had time - that Balrog was terrified of him at that point and was actively trying to run away from him). My conclusion? Glorfindel was desperate to kill it. Frantic in that calm, disciplined way that's terrifying. Grief from Gondolin's destruction, grief from the massacre of his people, anger and uncertainty at their dire state, and now this demon was coming to finish off what remnant was left?

No. Soon as Glorfindel "leapt forward upon him" there was only one objective in his mind, one end: that Balrog was going to die now. And nothing would stop him or slow him down until it did.

*descriptions of the battle on Cristhorn from “The Fall of Gondolin” HoME II.194-5 *(disclaimer to ward off comments: this fire was in the middle of a field of snow, was law-abiding, was city-approved, etc. It was a controlled burn so no worries)

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 180

Zawq and ‘Atash (Pleasure and Thirst)

Meaning the feeling of happiness and satisfaction, and enjoyment and amusement, zawq (pleasure) in Sufi terminology is one of the first breezes of Divine manifestation and one of the first gifts that appear from time to time on the horizon of witnessing the signs of God. It is also the invasion of the heart by which the “hidden treasury” of God is uncovered so that one can know Him by the rays of the Divine light, which we can call succeeding flashes of lightning. Furthermore, it is the first mansion where one can distinguish right from wrong. Yearning for lofty, elevated goals, for virtue, for sincerity and purity of intention in one’s actions, can be regarded as the passport for entering this mansion.

As long as one maintains relationship with God faithfully and from the heart, one begins to feel in the depths of the heart the spiritual pleasure that we can also call “imbibing,” but an “imbibing” without need for a cup or cup-bearer. This pleasure makes the travelers on the way to God intoxicated, according to their rank. As they feel the pleasure, they grow thirstier and desire more and more pleasure, with the result that thirst and satiation follow one upon another in the spirit. They express this state as Gedai did, who says:

O cup-bearer, in the fire of love, I have burnt away, so give me some water!

This comes to the point where the travelers on the way to the Truth, their desire and yearning for Him ever growing, feel pleasure embedded in longing and satisfaction embedded in hunger. They burn with passion for the door that is ajar to be opened completely. The interruption of these favors is impressed on them like a fast, while the resumption of the favors is like a feast, and they murmur in expectation as Muhammed Lutfi Effendi[1] does:

Offer the wine of union: it is time to break fast; Improve this ruin: it is time to display favors.

Another approach to thirst is to see it as such a longing and passion for the Truly Beloved and Desired One that the initiate aches intensely for satisfaction saying, “My liver has become roasted: will there not come help in answer to my sighs?”; the heart of the initiate overflows with love, burns away in flames, and his/her eyes scan the horizon in expectation of Their Lord Who offers them pure drink (76:21). However, so long as a loving initiate remains imprisoned in the lampshade of corporeality, the Truly Beloved One does not manifest Himself to him/her in His perfection. This is why the thirst of the yearning lover who still lingers between corporeality and spirituality increases more and more to the point of being consumed in the flames. The following couplets by Sa’di al-Shirazi[2] are truly beautiful in expressing such a degree of spiritual pleasure and thirst:

You show Your Face, then avoid showing Yourself, Increasing thereby both demand for You and our heat. Whenever I see the Beloved Who has seduced me into His love, I am confused how to act, and bewildered on the straight path. First He burns me in flames, then extinguishes with sprinkles of water, This is why you sometimes see me in flames, And sometimes drowned in water.

Just as ordinary pleasure with its painful and pleasant aspects impresses itself on other organs and parts of the body, so also this pleasure impresses itself on the heart and the conscience or on conscious human nature. God’s Messenger declared: “One who is pleased with God as their Lord (The One Who sustains, administers, and brings up), who is pleased with Islam as their religion, and with Muhammad as their Messenger has tasted the pleasure of belief.”[3] He sometimes expressed this pleasure with the words used to denote bodily pleasures, as in the hadith where he prohibited his Companions from fasting every other day: “I am not like you; my hunger and thirst are satisfied (by God in ways unknown to you).”[4] Whereas, the pleasure tasted by the heart and spirit as a result of spiritual life is purely spiritual, it is more constant when compared with ecstasy and feeds the heart and spirit with ever new radiations. As for ecstasy and stupor, they are gifts that come in certain states of the initiate’s journeying and, despite their being dazzling, they emerge in proportion to the seeker’s spiritual depth.

Pleasure also differs according to its sources. God’s promise of Paradise, eternity, and a vision of Him, one moment of each being superior to thousands of years of worldly life spent in happiness, in return for belief, confirmation, and obedience, is one of those sources of pleasure. Without considering any of the material and spiritual or worldly and other worldly joys, the conscious human nature’s pursuit of nearness to God and always feeling His company and Presence give another kind of pleasure. Completely freed from conceit and egoism, being favored with absolute nearness to God and feeling the uninterrupted pleasures of subsistence with God at the summit of seeing, hearing, and knowing Him alone, is another summit of taste. In short, everyone has their share in the spiritual pleasures in proportion to the degree of their belief, confirmation, and knowledge of the Almighty God.

It is when initiates feel indifference to bodily pleasures, when they are satisfied with them, it is then that they begin to feel constant thirst for spiritual pleasures. We can describe this as an unquenchable thirst. Initiates yearn more and more for the Divine gifts that an excellent guide will pour into their hearts through words and behavior, and feel their conscious nature open to an infinite degree to the knowledge and love of God and spiritual pleasures. Such a conscious nature or, rather, heart, which is its primary pillar, continuously yearns for God until it attains absolute nearness to Him. In time it is completely freed from the prison of corporeality and the density of bodily life and, favored with transcendence of time and space and flying in the heavens of the heart and the spirit, it constantly moves between thirst and satiation, expecting the doors that are slightly ajar to be opened wide.

When at last the disciple willing the Beloved and in love with Him becomes willed and loved by the Beloved, when illumined with His light, colored by His color, and, when, as a result of the burning manifestations of the Divine Existence, all things other than Him have been burned up, the true nature of existence shows itself. Beyond all states and appearances, the One, Unique Being is felt free from all qualitative and quantitative considerations and restrictions; He is the One Who creates all states and makes His servants go from one state to another, He is the one Who gives abundant favors, and the Creator of all acts and deeds. In the following verses, Jalal al-Din al-Rumi illustrates this highest degree of pleasure:

Drink such wine that the jar containing it should be the face of the Beloved, And the cup in which it is offered be intoxicated with the wine itself. Drink such wine from the cup of the Everlasting Face that its bearer should be the One alluded to in Their Lord offers them pure drink. When that wine is brought forth, it leads you to a purification of the filth of corporeality at the time of intoxication. How strange a drink, how exceptional a taste, how unusual a pleasure, How nice a fortune, how great an astonishment, how peculiar a zeal!

Another Sufi, as if leading our hearts to taste the pure wine of pleasure, voices his feelings as follows,

See, all have been intoxicated when Their Lord offers them pure drink, Four, five and seven; are all intoxicated by the Unending Majesty.

O God! Offer us of the wine of Your love and include us among those loved by You!

Let Your blessings and peace be on our master Muhammad, the master of all loved by You, and on his family and Companions, who are approved by You. [1] Muhammed Lutfi Effendi (1868-1956) is one of the Sufi masters who lived in Erzurum. He has a Divan containing many beautiful, lyrical poems. [2] Sa’di el-Shirazi (1215?-1292), the greatest didactic poet of Persia, author of the Gulistan (“Rose-Garden”) and the Bostan (“Orchard”), who also wrote many fine odes and lyrics. [3] Al-Muslim, “Iman,” 56; Al-Tirmidhi, “Iman,” 10. [4] Al-Bukhari, “Sawm,” 48; Al-Muslim, “Siyam,” 55-56.