#to think that the outsiders power may protect from snow and all that? perhaps. perhaps not

[lapinposts]

winter tyvia in june? yes.

[ninjago-forever]

Ninternia: The Ultimate Elemental

Chapter 9: From Ice To Life

"Hey, I don't think freezing yourself will unlock your powers," Khan said, joining Cyrus outside in the snow ."If that was how it worked, I would've just set myself on... nevermind." He sighed, and kicked at the frost under his feet. It had only been a day since the fire. A place that had withstood the test of time, destroyed in a few hours. Cyrus felt a tightness in his chest whenever he thought about it. Perhaps he was malfunctioning.

Not to mention the missing pieces the siltharaa had taken. They weren't sure how to get those back yet. The backup plan was if they didn't run into the snakes again, they'd go to the waterfall door Shadow had found. Khan was not happy about that plan. 

A frigid breeze blew down the mountain, causing his companion to shiver a little. As a robot, or rather nindroid Cyrus didn't react to the cold, and strangely, neither did the reason he was out here.

Shadow just sat far above them, on the branch of a snow covered fir tree, her cloak flapping in the wind. You could see the disturbances in the snow where she had climbed, yet it still looked almost impossible to reach her perch, and Cyrus had seen her get there.

"Why are watching her?" Khan asked.

"I was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves," he stated. "Someone should supervise her, she is a child. What if she falls?" 

"If she falls?" Khan scoffed. "She thinks she's a squirrel! And I'm sure she can pro-HEY!" He yelled as a branch dumped its share of snow on him. Shadow, who had jumped on it causing the white powder to fall, landed on her feet beside them.

She looked at Khan "Careful what you say. You never know who's listening."

"See?" Khan said, trying to get the snow out of his hair "No protection needed."

"Sure, if you want to freeze," Katara said, throwing a black parka at each of them as she came out of the bus. "But if you'd rather not, I'd wear the jacket."

"That wasn't what I was talking about," he muttered, shrugging it on. The rest of the Guardians soon joined them, all dressed in the parkas, each trimmed in their respective colors. Katara herself only wore a plain, black cloak like Shadow's atop her gi. Atalie followed, shivering in her thin long sleeve.

"The third piece of the Blade of Elements is, well, the blade. The Vault is at the top of Tuinval Mountain, the tallest mountain in Ninternia." Atalie explained, "No human that's attempted the climb was ever seen again."

"There's a reason for that, " Katara said." Tuinval Mountain is the home of the winter contingent of the Last Liegion, or, in other words, the last home of the winter elves. Well, that and the subzero tempatures."

"That's where you grew up?" Jaya asked.

"Not exactly." Katara replied. "Anyways, I'm sure you've noticed how warm the jackets are. They should keep you from freezing. I also worked a technoband into the right sleeve. It's not as high-tech as mine, but it has a grappling hook, spike, and a couple other things for the climb. There's also a communication device worked into the hood so we can hear each other over the wind. Any questions?"

Cyrus watched as they put the new jackets on. Clay's was trimmed in orange, Khan's in red, Jaya: turquoise, Ren had blue, and Shadows was all black. The young girl had to take off her cape to put it on and she didn't seem happy about it. Cyrus's own trim was ice blue.

"May I asist you with that?" R.A.L.I. inquired, approaching Cyrus.

"Of c-course," he stammered, allowing her to help him put the parka on. After she'd zippered it up, she stood there for a second, just looking at him, before going back inside. It was only the Cyrus realized he was holding his breath.

Wait... I do not require oxygen.

He frowned, perplexed. He really needed to get Katara to do a full systems diagnostic. He was about to call for her when a sudden movement caught his optical sensors.

Cyrus looked up to see Katara lying in the show, Clay on top of her as he'd dove into her. Where Katara's head had been was a grappling hook, now buried in the wood of a tree.

"Oops, my bad" Shadow said innocently.

Katara glared at her as Clay helped her up, both of them brushing off show. The others exchanged looks. None of them were sure if Shadow had simply been testing her technoband, and misfired, or if... they'd just witnessed an attempted murder.

Ren coughed, "So..."

"The jackets are powered by a fire sapphire, an elven gem. It's in the reinforced pocket. If you open it..." Katara trailed off, looking straight at Shadow as if daring her to see what would happen.

"Okay, how about we spread out and practise?" Jaya said before Shadow could do anything. As they started climbing short ways up the cliff and dropping back down, Cyrus approached Katara.

"Could you run a diagnostic on me?" he asked her.

"Sure, something wrong?" she tapped at one of her technobands.

"I have been feeling unfamiliar sensations of late, such as a fluttering in my chest, losing my train of thought, and, most recently, a tightness, like my core is being squeezed."

Katara paused and looked at him. "R.A.L. I. around whenever you feel the first two?" 

"Yes."

"And the tightness, did that start after the fire?"

"Affirmative."

She gave him a small smile. "Nothing wrong with you Cyrus. Those are just natural reactions to love and loss."

"But... I am a machine. I am incapable of feeling emotions."

"You're a lot more capable than you think, more so than some other people. Now come on, we should start climbing. We don't want to get stuck on the cliff face overnight." As she and the others began their final preperations, Cyrus just ste there, thinking; she's wrong I'm not like them. I'm not alive. I can't feel.

No matter how much I want to...

Hours later, he was much more concerned with physical ways of feeling rather than emotional ones. They were thousands of feet above the ground, clinging to the rock face in the middle of a blizzard. Cyrus was just wondering why he was capable of feeling such cold when something grabbed his arm, and pulled him into the mountain.

He yelped, but quieted after realizing it was just Katara, who had been ahead him. She gave the others the same treatment. Clay and Jaya were startled a bit. Khan screamed and flailed around in the show before coming to his senses. Ren freaked out and fell, so they had to pull him back up. It was a good thing they'd tied themselves together. Shadow on the other hand...

"What the-" she rolled while holding Katara's arm, using the momentum to throw the poor elf into a nearby snowbank

"Kat!" Clay shouted, going to help her while Ren and Khan cracked up.

"I think we're going to get along," Khan told Shadow. She glared at him, then flicked her wrist. Next thing they knew, a knife was pinning his hand to a nearby tree.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said.

"Are we at the village?" Jaya asked, changing the topic.

"Not yet," Katara replied, spitting out snow and glaring at Shadow. "Come on."

After they released Khan from the tree, they continued their journey into mountain peak. Looking up, Cyrus could see a widening strip of sky that looked blue instead of cloudy. As for the rift itself, the entrance was narrow, about a foot wide, but the walls soon began to open up.

It was warmer inside the crack, likely because there was no wind. Small trees and bushes grew here and there. The snowfall was light, just enough to cover the ground in a pristine white blanket. It was so peaceful...

"When we get there, follow my lead. My kind don't trust humans and with good reason. You'll be the first humans to step foot in it as far as I know. Anyways, just be on your best behavior," Katara finished.

"This group? Never," Shadow smirked.

"Never say never," Ren grinned

"Why not? You just said it twice," she countered.

"Ooo, she got you there Sparky." Khan snickered.

"You're just jealous I have powers and you don't!" Ren shouted back.

"Just wait till we finish the Blade, then we'll see who's jealous!" Khan spat.

"Wait... you think you're going to be the Ultimate Elemental? Oh, this is rich" Shadow laughed.

"How? I'm perfect for it," Khan glared, a little miffed that a little kid was laughing at him.

Before anyone could respond, seven white clad figures surrounded them, some from the snow, others from above. Each of them held a knife, and had a bow and quiver of arrows slung across their back. One of them stepped forward, jabbing their knife into Khan, ice blue eyes boring into his warm hazel ones.

"How do you know of the Blade of Elements?" they hissed in a low voice.

"Leave him alone," Katara answered, stepping between them. Thankfully, the knife hadn't done any damage. The Guardians tensed, unsure if they were going to fight or not.

To their surprise, the one who'd Khan pulled down his hood and face mask, revealing a surprised looking, raven haired elf.

"Katara?" he whispered. She froze, then pulled her own hood back. Next thing Cyrus knew, the two elves were hugging each other and talking in a strange language. The rest of the elves relaxed, and put their weapons away.

"So... they're friendly?" Ren asked.

"Yes" Katara said, "Everyone this is my uncle Levi.  He-"

Cyrus never heard the rest of sentence because someone grabbed behind and pulled him...

Into the rock?

"Some advice, if anyone grabs you from behind, resist." Shadow said, dragging from him along a passageway carved into the rock. The blue tinted rock. The reflective, blue tinted rock. That was cold to touch.

Oh, it was ice. The further along they got, the more reflective the wall's became. Soon, the floor became too slippery too run, but instead of slowing down, Shadow started skating. More or less helpless to stop, Cyrus just let her pull him, watching the strange phenomena of the walls reflecting  each other into infinity.

It was somewhat mesmerizing to watch. Whenever he looked, there was hall after hall, identical to the one they were in. Strings of bioluminescent microorganisms were frozen in the ice, giving off an odd light, only adding to the uncanny beauty. And of course each hall had its own Shadow and Cyrus. The nindroid found himself wondering if one of them were the real ones and he was the reflection.

"Whoa, slow down Dreamer Bot!" Shadow called as she let go of his hand, flinging him forward....

Straight toward a ravine.

In a panic, Cyrus grabbed for the doorway, and managed to swing himself sideways. He promptly crashed into wall.

Shadow skated over to him. "I don't suppose you know how to get across?"

"I do not even know our current location," He said, getting up.

She rolled her eyes. "Where do you think?"

Cyrus frowned, attempting to run a scan through the place so he could match it to somewhere in his data base, and... failed. Or perhaps he didn't. He knew where he was now.

"The Blade Vault."

"Maybe there's hope for you yet." Shadow said.

He blinked, then turned his attention back to the chasm. It was too deep to see the bottom, too wide to jump across, and everything was sheer ice, impossible to climb. Across it, Cyrus saw a flight of stairs leading up. There was also the remains of a bridge, a few feet of ice sticking out on either end.

"Any ideas?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I am useless here... Something shuts down modern technology."

"It's all the elemental energy, boosted by the Blade piece. The air's so thick with it, I can almost feel it." Shadow answered, "But that doesn't matter. You can still brainstorm."

"Why would-"

"I meant come up with ideas."

"Oh," Cyrus watched as she sat down an the edge of the cham, lege dangling over the darkness, muttering nonsense under her breath. He didn't make any suggestions. She was a smart girl, and had no lack of ideas. Despite her being over ten years his younger, she'd probably solve this quicker without him. Without his systems, he was nothing more than a fancy toy.

"Well?" Shadow asked him.

"Could you repeat your query?" Cyrus inquired sheepishly.

Is my audio system not functioning as well?

She rolled her eyes. "I was asking if you'd come up with anything because I don't want to get the others when we could bring it back, and rub it Lady Lectures-a-lot and Hedgehead's faces."

Cyrus blinked.  

She sighed. "Katara and Khan,"

"Oh."

"So?"

"I do not have any ideas."

"You have to have something."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Cyrus asked quietly.

"What?"

"Why do you think I have ideas? I am robot, a piece of machinery. My mind is made up of ones and zeros, just programming. I cannot feel, or ever think for myself. Without my other systems, I am nothing," he finished, staring into the void.

"Dunno, you seem pretty sad right now," Shadow commented.

"I-what?"

"And now you seem surprised, little insulted, a bit disbelieving, and confused. Now that think about it, you're confused a lot of the time. Not that I blame you, humans are confusing. Been one my whole life and I still don't get them."

He frowned. "You do not understand. Those are merely simulations of emotions my creator programmed into me so I could seem more human."

"What'd he 'program' you to do?"

"I am built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"How can you protect if you can't care?"

"I-But... but..." Cyrus stammered she was wrong. She had to be. Dozens of people over the years had told him he couldn't feel, they couldn't all be incorrect. It was statistically impossible, yet...

If that was true...

Then why did Shadow sound so...

Right?

"Butts are for sitting," she decided.

Cyrus couldn't help it, he laughed. It had been so unexpected, so ridiculous, so simple, that it was perfect.

Shadow smirked. "See? You can laugh too!" She met his eyes. While her face was still locked in a sneer something in her deep green eyes made him question if she was still just trying to make him question his exsistance, or if she was actually trying to help him when she added; "I think the only thing that's stopping you, is that you don believe you can."

Cyrus stared at her, trying to process what she'd just said. For such a long time, as long as he could remember, he'd been told the exact opposite. He could even remember the day he'd stopped trying to feel.

He'd been meditating in a pond when he'd heard a muffled shriek. He'd kicked to the surface. When he'd emerged he'd seen a little girl speeding down a hill on a bike. She was out of control, and heading towards a busy street. A woman in a lab coat was chasing after her, screaming for her to stop.

Cyrus had pulled himself out of the water, and cut the child off, tackling her into the grass. She's been crying, hiding her face from him. She wore a lavender, grass stained hoodie, a pair of thick gloves, jeans, and dirty, purple, sneakers with untied laces.

By this time the woman had caught up with them. "Minnie?! Onh, Minnie, you're okay! You scared me." She'd sobbed as she'd embraced the child. She'd turned to Cyrus, her expresion thankful...

Until she saw him

A look of horror had come over her face. "Get away from us!" Shed screamed 

He'd been so confused. "Ma'am, I'm just trying to help, please-"

"I said get away! No machine could ever care enough to help without being told. You all just do what you're programmed to! I know that now, after - Just go!"

Since that day, Cyrus had never stayed after helping anyone, never remaining in one place for too long. Not until Master Ju had found him, and trained him. He'd changed so much because of one little girl.

And now, here was another making him question himself all over again. Now there was only one thing to do. He needed to know what he wanted. Did he want to be an emotionless droid, or take a chance at being human?

Was it even a choice?

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, searching his mind, breaking every barrier he'd built over the years, and just letting himself feel. Before he understood what was happening, a flood of familiar images he didn't quite recall flooded his mind.

A young man holding him tightly, running through a snowy forest.

The same man, now middle-aged, smiling with pride as Cyrus played with a flying prisimfin.

A very old version of the man, lying in a bed, whispering something to Cyrus, "You'll remember when you're ready. Farewell my son, I wish you the same love and happiness you gave me..."

The man was his creator, his father: Ty Julian. Before he could process what that meant, another wave of emotions hit him, and this one made him collapse.

Pain

Loss

Sorrow

The man flipped a switch on Cyrus's chest, then his eyes closed a final time as he took his last, shuddering breath...

For a second, Cyrus felt a sense of loss and loneliness too big to comprehend. 

Then he felt...

Emptiness.

Blackness.

Nothing.

It was like he was trapped a freezing void. He was completely numb. There was no point to do anything. Only to go through the motions. The cold seeped into him, and took away his senses.

He didn't feel any drive.

Any determination.

Any reason why he did anything.

He just... 

Did it.

Years flashed before his eyes, lost in this haze. He didn't think it would ever end. 

Suddenly, a memory flashed in his mind, of when they were racing through the maze under Lyra, laughing. Other memories of the others poured through his mind.

Ren showing him how to play video games.

Khan talking to him about R.AL.I.

Katara maintaining him.

Jaya explaining the others jokes.

Clay always checking up on him.

Even cold, distant Shadow leading to him to this point.

A warmth began to spread through him, chasing any trace of the numbing cold.

I am Cyrus Zen Julian, creation and son of Dr. Ty Julian, and a pair of the Guardians, my... family.

As soon as he thought the last word, a new set of images fell into his mind, but these ones were strange, blurry, forgien.

Katara slumped in red puddle inside a transparent silver dome.

Half of his power source in the back of a metal hand.

A complete Blade of Elements landing in the intersection of Nelson and LuMonica.

A shadow trapped in a web of lightning, ice, fire, earth, and so many things exploding in light.

His eyes flew open and he bolted upright.

"Took you long enough," grumbled Shadow."You gonna make a new ice bridge, or what?"

"What?" Cyrus asked, disorientated by everything he'd just been through. "You just unlocked. Fix the bridge."

"...."

He quickly realized she was right.

He could sense a new... energy in his mind. He stepped up to the edge of the bridge, and reached out with it... only to create a layer of ice on an existing bridge.

"You've got to be kidding me," Shadow groaned. "It was there the whole time!?! I listened to all that for nothing!?" She yelled out at nothing, before never doing that again.

"Can't stop me," she muttered under her breath, causing Cyrus to look at her in confusion.

When she didn't elaborate, he said, "It appears to be made of the same reflective ice as earlier, making it seem like there is nothing there because of the darkness above and below it. Ingenious." 

"I can't decide if that's straight up brilliant, or downright cruel," she said in response, stalking across the bridge. Cyrus just smiled slightly as he followed her across then up the stairs.

Why was he so calm?

Because that last set of memories weren't memories at all, but rather visions of what was to come, and if he played it right, he could bring an end to this fight.

"Wow..." Cyrus breathed, as they emerged from the stairway. As it turned out, the never before seen by human eyes Tuinval Peak was a ring of stone and ice. The center of it was sunken hundreds of feet down. Within that crater was the last winter elven village.

Cyrus could see the elves homes, some of which were carved half into the cliff, but, thanks to the high walls, it was already dark down there, and there were twinkling lights scattered throughout the buildings. In the center of the village, and by that extent, the mountain, was a tall rock formation reaching all the way up to their level. On the top of it rest a pavilion carved out of ice, inlaid with gemstones. A bridge led from the outer ring to the pavilion, where Cyrus located the blade piece. It was a magical sight, right out of a fairy tale, but it was nothing compared to the view surrounding them.

They were so high up, the storm clouds that had given them much trouble lay below them, surrounding the peak in a fluffy blanket. It looked like a lone island in an endless sea of clouds, tinted in pinks, lavenders, and oranges as the sun began to set. The sky itself was so many colors, Cyrus wondered if he was looking at a rainbow. It was completely breath taking.

I wonder if a moment can last forever... He wondered as he stood on the pavilion, turning slowly, trying to see everything at once.

"Why haven't you grabbed the blade yet? It's freezing up here," Shadow grumbled, ruining the moment. Cyrus sighed as he went to retrieve it. Despite her comment, she didn't look the slightest bit cold. He made a replica of the blade out of ice, and switched them.

"Now we get to do all of that in reverse, yay." she complained, but then a sly smile spread across her face. Cyrus wasn't sure he trusted it.

"What?" he asked hesitantly.

"Do you like sledding?"

[fandom-puff]

Guard

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Requested by: anon ‘Can I get literally anything with Sandor Clegane? Maybe reader is a highborn child of a lord, and the Hound is hired as their bodyguard. And reader is very flustered around Sandor and can’t help but try to seduce them nervously? And Sandor is secretly digging it but tries to remain stoic and scary. Did that make any sense? I hope that was coherent’

Note: I... got a bit carried away here lol, sorry it took a while to write. also the reader in this is Robert Baratheon’s eldest daughter :)

Warnings: drunk shenanigans, references to sex

Gif creds to owner

“Oh father, honestly. What need have I for a guard?” You sighed, setting your book aside as Robert Baratheon sat across from you. “I can barely leave my chambers without a swarm of mother’s little birds to watch my every move,”

“What good are your ladies maids against would be assassins, Hm?” Robert said gently, brushing your dark hair away from your face. “All they can do is tell your mother you’ve had your throat slit,” you didn’t grimace at his bluntness.

“Surely Joffrey would be the prime target?” You insisted. “He’s heir to the throne seeing as he’s the eldest son. And he’s an ass as well,”

Robert laughed, knowing of your disdain for your younger brother. “I know, my girl, I know. Still, I want you protected, especially when we set off for the north. It took a while to convince your mother but... well, she can’t deny her own bannermen will be the best to serve the job,”

“Lannister bannermen?” You asked, taking your father’s arm as he began to walk you to dinner.

“Aye. Don’t worry, I won’t let the Mountain anywhere near you,” he said, patting your hand gently. “But his brother, Sandor, is to be your guard,”

***

The journey north was... arduous, to put it diplomatically. Your mother was overbearing, Joffrey grew bored, Myrcella was travel-sick from the bumpy road and Tommen was dearly missing Ser Pounce.

When the parade of servants and guards and carriages and luggage stopped for dinner before sun down, you sighed, happy to stretch your legs and get away from the claustrophobic Queen’s litter.

After dinner, you followed your father and uncles to their own carriage, insisting you couldn’t bare another moment of your siblings bickering and your mother trying to get you to sew. Your father allowed it and you smiled as he helped you into the carriage, sitting next to him and across from your uncles. Tyrion smiled at you, asking about the book you were reading. You soon found yourself relaxing, under no pressure from Cersei, being treated as an intellectual equal. You even drank some strong wine (under Robert’s supervision of course) and soon nodded off to sleep against your father’s shoulder the way you used to when you were a girl...

“YN, wake up,” you jolted awake, blinking away your sleepiness.

“Are we at Winterfell?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Robert smiled fondly.

“Almost, my dear. Your mother is going spare, says you’re to go to her litter right this instant and put your best gown on,” he grinned, nudging you as you rolled your eyes. “Clegane will escort you, he’s outside,” you sighed and nodded, slipping out of the carriage, almost colliding head on with the Hound.

“Princess,” he said, looking down at you and bowing slightly. “I’m to take to you your mother,”

You smiled sweetly up and him, nodding. “Thank you, Ser Clegane,”

“I’m no Ser,” he said firmly.

“Then what should I call you?” You asked, looking up at him expectantly.

“Well... your brother used to just call me Hound, or Dog, princess,” he said, frowning.

You stared up at him, locking eyes with him, taking in his scarred face and stoic expression. “I am not an ignorant arse like my brother. I’m sure your first name shall suffice, Sandor,” you said firmly and he nodded, helping you navigate the uneven ground to your mother’s carriage

***

Your stay at Winterfell was enjoyable, yet suffocating at times. You grew used to the cold rather quickly, donning furs the way the Starks did. You got on well with Sansa, let Arya show you how fast she could run, held Rickon on your hip when he raised his arms up, let Bran quiz you on the different creatures Old Nan had told him about, spoke politics with Robb. You even beckoned the bastard, Jon Snow over after Robb told you they were as close as real brothers. You admired how warm Lady Stark was with her children, and how Lord Stark was firm but fair with them, disciplining them when need be.

Of course, wherever you went, you had a shadow. Sandor Clegane followed your every move, standing just close enough so he could see and hear you, but far away enough to not stifle you. It was odd at first, but you soon got used to it, smiling softly when you found him waiting outside of your allocated chamber each morning. You couldn’t help but be curious about him. Many recoiled in fright when they saw his disfigured face, but you couldn’t care less. It intrigued you. He was... handsome. In a rugged, scary, gigantic way. At night you couldn’t help but let your mind wander... thinking about his strong arms and great height and low, rumbling voice... you often woke in a sweat, despite the frigid wind of the North, your entire body alight with desire.

It was wrong, you knew it was. He was your guard. Father would have his head if anything untoward happened, and your mother would surely condemn you to a life as a Septa. But still... there was something about his powerful presence that stoked the fire within you.

***

There was a firm thud at your door. “Princess, I’m here to take you to the feast,” Sandor’s gruff voice sounded.

“A moment, I’m just... is there a ladies’ maid nearby?” You called

“No, Princess. They are down at the feast with your mother and sister... should I fetch one? Or perhaps the Septa or the Maester, if it’s women’s troubles that are ailing you?”

You rolled your eyes and opened the door. “There’s no need for that, Sandor,” you said firmly. “I’m simply having difficulty trying to do up the clasp on my necklace. Would you...?” You opened your door a little wider, inviting him inside. Sandor hesitated for a moment before following you, his armour rattling with every step. He admired your figure as you walked; you had decided to wear the colours of your house for the Feast. A black gown, embroidered with twisting golden antlers. You stood in front of the mirror, holding out the ends of your pendant. Sandor’s hands brushed against yours as he took the ends, and you couldn’t help but shiver, goosebumps spreading over the swell of your breasts as you swept your hair aside. Sandor gulped, clasping the fiddly chain against the column of your neck, his knuckles caressing gently.

“There,” he said, clearing his throat as he felt your heated skin. “Come on... before your mother castrates me for making you late,”

You smiled gently, walking slightly ahead of him toward the noisy Hall. As you approached the head table, Ned and Catelyn stood, but you quickly gestured for them to sit. “Please, sit. This is your home,” you said gently, allowing Sandor to pull a chair out for you next to your mother.

“Thank you Clegane,” she said coldly, eyes narrowed. “You may leave us now,”

You turned to him and smiled shyly. “Stay,” you said softly.

“YN,” your mother said warningly.

“Sandor, go and enjoy the feast. Have some food and some wine, I’m sure Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion can spare you some. Go. Make Merry,” you said gently and he nodded, bowing slightly.

“Of course, Princess, your majesty,” he said, before stalking away.

You ignored your mother’s disapproving look and engaged in pleasant conversation with Lady Catelyn, mainly about when you were to be wed, but your mother cut across.

“I believe Robert intended to betroth her to your eldest son, but we must consider Joffrey’s future first. He is after all to be king and needs to have heirs,”

“Of course,” Catelyn smiled. “I’m sure a suitor will come shortly,”

You nodded, although your attention was no longer on the conversation; your eyes had drifted to Sandor. For once he was smiling, looking at ease as your uncles poured him more wine, your father laughing jovially with a woman on his lap. “I’m going to see Uncle Jaime,” you said to your mother, who sighed but let you go.

“Ah, YN,” Tyrion smiled as jaime poured you a goblet of wine. “I see you’ve managed to escape your mother’s side,”

“Don’t,” you said, taking the wine and drinking it quickly, sitting yourself next to Sandor. Robert sent the woman on his lap go, frowning at you.

“Careful now, YN, that wine’s stronger than you’re used to,” he warned, but you reached over to clink your goblet with his. Sandor gulped, seeing the curve of your back as you swayed slightly.

“Oh, nonsense, father. I am your daughter after all... and my uncle is the drunkest man in the seven kingdoms. It’d be rather shameful if I couldn’t manage a cup of wine,” you smiled, sitting back down and knocking back another cup as the men roared with laughter.

Your father was right. A few cups of the strong wine later, you were rather giddy, insisting Jaime dance with you. He humoured you, your father and Tyrion laughing and cheering you on while Sandor smiled bemusedly. “Come now, YN... that’s enough for tonight,” Jaime said, helping you stagger back. “She’s drunk,” he grinned as you giggled, sitting yourself back down. Your fathered grinned, allowing you one more cup before smirking.

“Gods above, Cersei will have my head for getting you drunk...” Robert grinned, although he didn’t really look too worried. “Clegane, take her to her rooms and guard the door. Send for the maester if she’s unwell,” Sandor nodded and bowed, watching as you hugged your father goodnight, before taking your arm and guiding you out of the crowded hall.

As you walked through the courtyard of Winterfell, you shivered in the cold, leaning into Sandor a little more, trying to keep up with his wide strides. He helped you up the stairs to your room, rolling his eyes fondly as you giggled when you stumbled. “Come on, Princess, need to get you to bed in one piece,”

“I’d like you to get me in bed, Sandor,” you grinned, nudging him, fuelled by liquid confidence. He said nothing, opening your bedroom door, helping you inside before turning around. “What’re you doing?” You asked indignantly.

“Turning my back so you can get yourself dressed for bed,” he said lowly, gritting his teeth.

“I can’t undo the laces at the back... my ladies’ maid is still at the feast. Help?” You asked, already clumsily undoing your braids. Sandor sighed softly, cursing under his breath as he turned around. You had your back to him, holding your hair out of the way so he could unlace your gown. When you felt his strong hands against your back, caressing with the gentlest touch, you let out a little sigh, leaning back into his touch. Your gown pooled onto the floor, leaving you in your corset and chemise. His breath hitched, unlacing your corset. You smiled, turning around and he quickly averted his eyes- he could see your nipples through the fabric, thanks to the cold.

“C’mon, princess,” he said, clearing his throat, thankful his armour covered his cock; his trousers were feeling uncomfortably tight. “Into bed with you,” you nodded obediently, letting him help you up into the high bed. He pulled the blanket over you, and as he was straightening, you reached up to kiss him. He froze for a moment, before kissing you back gently, stroking your hair. His whole hand almost covered your head as he cupped the back of it gently. Slowly, he pulled away, much to your dismay. “Sleep, princess,” he said softly, pushing you down. You reached up, pouting.

“Stay?” You slurred, eyes already drooping as the alcohol caught up to you.

“I’ll be standing just outside the door, YN,” he said, blowing out the candles. “Can’t keep you safe if I’m in here, can I?”

***

Tags: @lotsoffandomrecs @zodiyack @rabeccablake @simonsbluee @wonderwoman292 @little-bit-of-randomness @doozywoozy

[nastybuckybarnes]

Of Kings and Beasts  -  Seven

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrust to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Angst, Injuries, Violence, Language (Maybe)

Word Count: 3.7K

A/n: hello friends! Enjoy this plz. also idk what’s wrong but I’m having a hard time remembering things and my brain is just super mush. I think I’m like, malnourished and exhausted but I really don’t know. Goodnight though, I love you all!

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

“How many times must I explain this? I hardly remember anything. I could barely see his face through the snow. I know not his name nor his rank, all I know is that he was wearing the armour of a Knight.” You’re getting frustrated now as you explain for what feels like the thousandth time what happened before you ventured out into the snow.

James and Steve exchange glances.

“I did not send for her. And I know you would not trust her safety in the hands of anyone who has not fought alongside you in battle. I believe-” James stops speaking abruptly, shaking his head. He’s not sure who is trying to sabotage his marriage, and he doesn’t want them to know that he knows.

“What?” You ask softly, stepping towards him. He takes a step back and you frown. You’d thought that after the night you had spent with the man that he would be more open to having you, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Nat!” The redhead is in Steve’s office as soon as he says her name.

“I want you or Sam with (Y/n) at all times. You may only leave her side if you are directly dismissed by one of the three of us. Do you understand?” She nods, guilt heavy in her gut at the fact that you could’ve died because of her carelessness.

“Have Clint bring the stable boy here. I want him to give me details. I need to know who the traitor is and why they want my wife dead,” Steve says after a moment, his eyes hard at the thought of someone wanting to bring you harm.

“I’ll go,” James pipes in, avoiding your eyes as he walks to the door, closing it tightly behind himself.

Your shoulders slump and you shake your head sadly. “I had thought that after our night... we may be starting to rebuild our relationship. However, it seems as though he does not wish for that to happen.” Steve sighs, walking around his desk to wrap his arms around your frame.

“He is sad and afraid. He has not been himself for a long while, but he will come back.” Your bottom lip quivers and you curse yourself for being so emotional.

“I do not wish to be the cause of his unhappiness. At times I wonder if it would be better if I stayed away. If I allowed the two of you to continue as if I were not here at all.” Steve turns you around and lifts your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“You are very important to both of us. If he truly wanted you out of the picture he would not have gone out to find you. You matter far too much to the both of us. He will come around again, he just needs some time.”

A knock on the door pulls your attention from him and you sniffle, wiping a stray tear off of your cheek.

“Come in.”

The door gets pushed open and a red-faced young man scurries in, his eyes focused on the ground as he bows.

“Y-you called for me, Your Majesties?” Your heart warms at the obvious nervousness.

“What is your name?” You ask, cutting Steve off. He raises his eyebrows at you and you simply smile, taking a step away from him and towards the boy.

“P-Peter, Your Majesty. A-and I did not mean for any harm to come to you. I was led to believe that the man was indeed a knight of the king and that the business transpiring was none that should involve me. I ask that you are lenient in your punishment, for I truly enjoy my position and I am so grateful that you have given me the opportunity to work here. I-” You raise your hand, silencing his rambling and looking every bit like the queen you are.

Steve watches from behind you, never having seen you truly take control of the title you have.

“You will not be punished for following the orders of someone who seemed to be an honest man. No harm came from it. We simply would like to know if you have any recollection of his name or his rank. Or perhaps a description of his appearance.” The boy stares at you in shock before looking to the King. Steve simply nods and the boy inhales deeply.

“I did not gather his name nor his rank, Your Majesty. But he seemed tall. Not as tall as the King, Mind you, but still taller than most knights. And his build was slimmer, which I found surprising. I should’ve questioned it and I will spend my days regretting that I did not because our Kingdom could have lost its queen due to my carelessness and-”

“Peter, please stay focused,” Steve says. The boy swallows hard and nods, clearing his throat before speaking again.

“He had... dark hair and dark eyes... bared no resemblance to any knight I’ve ever seen before. He lacked the composure of a knight as well. It almost seemed as if he were trying to mimic the actions of one.” You turn to Steve, brows raised at this new information.

“Thank you, Peter. That will be all.” The boy bows again then hurries out of the room.

“So someone was able to pose as a knight? But who? And why? I hardly have a purpose in the kingdom. Why did I become a target?” Steve shakes his head, wishing he had the answers of which you seek.

“I know not. But I will be bringing this up when James and I meet with the council next. Any threat against our wife is a direct threat against our kingdom, and justice needs to be served.” The mention of your other husband has your heart aching.

“Do... do you think he would talk to me were I to find him?” You ask. Steve purses his lips. James seemed so comfortable with you the other night. He hates the thought, but maybe it’s his presence that is making James so distant.

“There is no harm in trying. Have Natalia accompany you.” You nod, gathering your skirts and hurrying out of the room, the redhead hot on your heels.

“I offer you my sincerest apologies, your majesty. I should have been there.” You shake your head at her, smiling softly.

“Do not apologize, Natalia. No one was harmed.” you pause just as you’re about to walk past the glass doors leading to the gardens, a glint of silver catching your eye.

“You may wait here. I fear having any more of an audience will only have a negative effect,” you whisper, pushing the door open and venturing into the snow.

Natalia stands just outside the door, watching with her hand on the hilt of her sword as you walk down the path towards the brooding king.

“James?” You call, waiting until he looks at you.

“You should not be here,” he murmurs, his eyes closing tightly and his hands clenching into fists. He huffs out heavy breaths through his nose, the air forming a misty cloud that dissipates slowly.

“James, please. I cannot stand the distance you put between us. I am begging you to let me in.” He grinds his teeth together, his face contorting in what looks like pain before suddenly going stoic.

He’s quiet for a long moment, long enough for you to slowly approach him, fingers prickling in the cold winter air.

“James?” You ask softly, hoping he’s ready to open up to you again.

His eyes snap open and in a flash of silver, he’s got his metal hand wrapped around your throat, fingers flexing and nearly crushing your windpipe.

Your eyes widen and you instinctively grab at the metal appendage.

His face is devoid of emotion as he lifts you nearly clean off the ground, the tips of your toes hardly brushing the ground. Your lungs burn and tears of pain and discomfort well up in your eyes.

There’s a whooshing sound and then he grunts, toppling to the left and dropping you to the ground.

You collapse in a heap, hands grabbing at your throat protectively as you draw in huge lungfuls of air between painful coughs.

The sound of metal clanging against metal has your eyes shooting upwards just in time to see two swords connect above you, one belonging to the king and the other belonging to Natalia.

“Your Majesty, get back!” She shouts, her eyes on you for a brief moment.

You scramble through the snow, trying to get to the palace and call for help.

James overpowers the redhead with practiced ease, and then his murderous gaze is focused on you again.

Fear freezes you in place and you stare up at him with wide eyes while Natalia is screaming for him to stop, for someone to come to your aid.

His sword comes down right as a powerful hand jerks you to the side.

The blow that was meant to kill you draws a red line across your cheek, blood spilling out and trailing down your chin.

The hot liquid splatters against the frozen snow, melting a hole and staining the white.

For a moment you’re reminded of your place in the world. A stain against purity. A mistake.

You’re wrenched back to reality by hands yanking you backwards, away from where the two Kings fight each other, Steve with desperation and James with determination.

“Come, Majesty.” Nat helps you inside but you don’t move past the doors, heart hammering in your chest as guards rush out to help the blond king.

“Your Majesty, you’re injured. We must-” you shake your head at her, eyes far too focused on the fight.

James manages to knock Steve’s sword away but is quickly distracted by the other men, giving the blond an opportunity to deliver a nasty blow to the back of his head.

The brunet collapses in the snow, groaning and grabbing his head.

You watch with nothing but terror and tears in your eyes as he slowly pushes himself to his knees, familiar blue eyes looking around in confusion.

They land on you, blood on your cheek and fear in your eyes and he nearly throws up as he realizes what he’s done.

“James?” He shakes his head at Steve, stumbling to his feet and hurrying into the Palace.

“James!” He runs straight past you and down the hallway, disappearing after a few moments.

Steve stands in the snow, blue eyes narrowed and pink lips parted. He pants, trying to gather his thoughts while the cold air bites his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

Steve is at your side in a flash, his hand cupping your cheek and angling your head to allow himself to inspect your wound.

“Just a scratch,” he murmurs, brows drawn together as he glances to where his husband was.

Your eyes, however, are drawn to a movement in the garden.

A familiar pair of muddy brown eyes stand out against the snow and you inhale sharply.

“Steve, it’s him.” He follows your gaze to the garden,

“Guards!” He shouts, grabbing his sword and hurrying out into the snow.

“Please, your majesty. I need to tend to your wound.” You finally allow Natalia to drag you away, but not before hearing Steve mention something about the dungeon to one of the guards with him.

~*~

You toss and turn all throughout the night, missing the warmth of your husband and beyond afraid at the events of the day.

Not only were you attacked, but you also potentially caught the man who wants you dead.

The worst part? Steve has given you zero information. No matter how much you asked, he refused to say a single thing about James or the stranger in the garden.

So that is how you have ended up here, pacing through the dark palace halls in search of your blond husband.

As you’re leaving his empty office you hear a whisper of your name, followed by a soft laugh.

You frown and follow the sound, the voice beckoning you closer and yet getting further away every time you approach.

The voice leads you through the halls for what feels like hours until you find yourself in front of a wooden door that nearly blends in with the walls around it.

Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you push the door open. It creaks loudly and you instinctively look around to make sure that no one heard.

Once deeming the coast to be clear, you slowly walk through the doorway and nearly fall.

It’s a spiral staircase going downwards.

Your heart beats loudly in your ears as you take the steps one at a time, getting reminded of all the times you snuck around the Palace back home.

Through the darkness, there’s a yellow glow that you identify as candlelight.

You dare not step into the light, so instead, you stay tucked safely around the corner, ears straining to hear... anything.

You make out two voices, one of them far more familiar than the other.

“I am going to ask you one last time: who is it that is plotting against me?” Steve demands.

The other man sounds weak, his breath coming in ragged pants.

You risk a glance around the corner, eyes finding the two in the dimly lit room. Th man on the ground is bloody and bruised and you can hardly recognize him until he speaks.

“You’d best be careful who you allow into your circle, your Majesty. I serve my Kingdom, but not all who are close to you are true to their word. Is it not suspicious that so many terrible events have occurred so soon after the Queen was brought here?” Steve's hand comes down hard against the man’s face and you hold back a gasp.

“If you do not cooperate and answer truthfully, I will rip your teeth out one by one and force them down your throat.”

The man spits blood onto the ground then chuckles weakly.

His bloodied face is too much for you, and you turn on your heel and run up the stairs as silently as you can, hands trembling with fear and disgust as you realize that both kings are brutal in their own sick ways.

“You know I speak the truth. The change in your husband has only occurred since your wife has been here. Has Orlen always been a friend to us? Or have they been trying to get into our Kingdom to take what they wish?”

Steve is silent for just a moment too long, long enough for the man to know he struck a nerve.

“If you wish to kill me, do so. But remember my warning. And do not be surprised when she turns on you, too.”

~*~

He doesn’t return to his chambers for nearly an hour after that, and as much as you try, you cannot fall asleep after what you witnessed.

Sure, you expected there to be consequences, but you never imagined that Steve would torture the man with his own hands.

When he finally returns to you, he climbs into bed without noticing your stiff figure.

His arm comes around your waist as it usually would, and you try your hardest not to flinch away from him.

A single glance down shows you his split knuckles and you have to bite your lip to stop from making a noise of fear.

He falls asleep quickly behind you, and you’re horrified at how comfortable he is with being so brutal to another human being.

~*~

The King paces in his office, the question of the prisoner echoing in his mind.

He had not even considered the possibility of you being responsible for the change in his husband’s demeanour, but it only started since you came to the palace.

A weight settles in the pit of his stomach and he takes a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down.

He needs to speak to you immediately.

Just as he pulls the door to his study open, you raise your hand to knock.

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing your chest and taking a sharp breath.

“You startled me. I was just coming to find you. H-have you any news of James?” Your eyes stray down to his split knuckles and Steve takes notice of the tension in your shoulders.

“He’s locked himself in the east wing. He refuses to speak to anyone but doctor banner,” he says, voice stiff and mechanical.

You nod slowly, stepping into the room when he steps aside and motions you to come in.

It’s silent for a long moment, the pressure nearly making your eardrums burst.

You want him to say something, anything. Explain what happened last night or what’s going on today. You’re far too terrified to ask him, however. After witnessing what you did... you do not want to anger him.

That seems to be a futile wish, however.

“Is he alright?” You try, hoping that this is a safe topic.

Steve doesn’t reply. No, instead he paces slowly around the room.

“Do you take me for a fool?” He asks, eyes finding you for the first time.

“What are you talking about?” You’re genuinely curious, trying to think of what you could’ve done to make him ask you this.

“I will ask you again, and this time you will answer. Do you take me for a fool?” He’s walking to you now, steps purposeful and intimidating, a walk that he has practiced and perfected.

You back up a step, fear coursing through your veins. “N-no, of course not. What is this about, Steve?”

“You will address me properly.” You’ve never seen this side of him before. Except for last night.

“I-I don’t think I am understanding... Your Majesty.” You’re not sure if you are more disappointed or sad, but you drop your eyes to the floor.

“Rumours have been spoken, words whispered of a traitor among us. Someone who wishes for the kingdom to fall. Someone close to myself.”

You furrow your brows, taken aback by the accusation.

“And you think me capable of that?” You demand.

He shrugs but his eyes are anything but calm. There’s a fiery storm in his blue eyes, accusation and rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“I hardly know you. It would be foolish of me to think you are anything more than a spy sent by Orlen.” Your heart hurts and you need to take a few deep breaths before you speak.

“I have been nothing but loyal to you, your husband, and your kingdom. Who might I even have to conspire with? I have not been allowed near the people, and I fear my own ladies because their loyalties lie with you.”

Your words ring with truths that even you didn’t consider until now. Steve opens his mouth to speak but you do not allow him a turn.

“I have not breathed a word of the brutalities I have experienced at the hand of your beloved. I have not even dreamed of leaving the castle walls for fear of what consequences would await such thoughts. From the moment I arrived, I have been treated like dirt and yet you stand here with the audacity to question my loyalties!”

He’s taken aback for a moment. He wants to trust you, he really does, but he just can't. Not after what the man said last night. It makes too much sense that you would do this.

“You speak of rumours... as if you do not have your own to worry about. Your brutality is spoken of throughout the continent. Clearly, the rumours hold true, for your brutality extends far beyond the lines of the battlefield. The kings show no mercy, not even to their wife in the privacy of their bed chambers.”

He grabs your forearms tightly, face full of fury.

“You will watch your tongue, woman!” You huff out a breath and shake your head, face contorting in pain as his grip tightens.

“You are so quick to accuse me when you were nowhere to be found in a time that I needed you.” His brows raise nearly to his hairline.

“Are you implying that I had a hand in that?” He demands, a vein in his forehead throbbing as he only gets more furious.

“I imply nothing, your majesty. I am simply taking note of the fact that you were conveniently away during a time when I was in peril.”

His hand comes up before he can register what’s happening, and then you’re tumbling to the floor, the crisp sound of a slap ringing in his ears.

Your hands tremble and your cheek burns. You stay rooted in place, eyes squeezed shut in fear as he towers over you.

He stands before you, chest heaving and eyes wide with horror at himself.

“Your actions only further prove my point,” you whisper, blinking your eyes open to suppress your tears.

“And do yours not prove mine?” He counters, glaring at you as you rub your aching wrists. Seeing you cower beneath him, so small and so fragile, his anger starts to melt away.

“I would like to remind you, Your Majesty, that I do not benefit from being here. I have only traded one prison for another, and I am not sure how much longer I will endure such treatment.”

He opens his mouth to speak, one hand extending to help you to your feet. His eyes find a line of red on your cheek and he glances down at his hand, the mark on your cheek matching his wedding band.

Now you have matching scratches on either side of your face.

“Do not touch me,” you hiss, glaring up at him with wet eyes.

He’s crouching down when there’s a knock on the door. Sam pushes it open without waiting for an invitation but the look on his face is enough for Steve not to snap at him.

“There’s been an attempt on Doctor Banner’s life.”

[genshin-pals]

Corruption......part TWO!!!

Part one is here!! 

At this rate we’ll just do all the genshin characters because GOD I love this trope and y’all apparently do as well.

Characters: Venti, Lisa, Razor, Hu Tao, Qiqi, Rosaria

He hates Dragonspine. The snowy mountain only brings him sadness and pain. It serves as a reminder of a horrific battle that would end with his dear friend in pain and susceptible to suggestions of the abyss.

Anxiety consumed him when you told him you were off to the mountain, but he smiled and waved you off anyway. He regrets that.

There was a pain in his chest, fingers hovering above the strings of his harp as he stops in the middle of a song. 

Without another word he started running, running to the mountain he hated. 

It was up at the top of the mountain he found you. Kneeled down in the snow, clutching your head as something dark pulsed through your body. Tears fell. You were hurting.

Without his Gnosis, Venti’s power is limited. But he’ll be damned to leave you in this state. Taking a step forward, you turn at the crunch in the snow. Frantic like a cornered animal.

Kneeling before you, hands raise to gently cup your cheeks. He sees the pain on your expression. You’re frightened, much like Dvalin was when you first arrived in Monstadt.

“With the last of my divine strength, let me share in this curse...” 

The tips of his braids started glowing, and the boy’s form changed. Wings grew, and he was now dressed in white. However, all of that soon vanished, crumbling away as the darkness that haunted you moved over to the former archon.

Thoughts started becoming clearer, and recognition returned to your eyes. Venti...what was he doing?

Winds dying down, you stared at the other as he breathed heavily, still holding your face so gently as he panted.

“You, who have traveled the stars, also have your limits...” He forced out. Lifting his head, he smiled, despite the purple crack crawling across his face. “...but perhaps in a smaller dose, this hatred can be healed by your spirit...”

With the cursed blood split between the two of you, Venti helped you down the mountain. Windrise would help cleanse the last bits of corruption from you both.

How curious Lisa was. She wanted to know the truth of this world, but once she saw the madness that quest for knowledge cursed those around her, she gave up.

If the price of knowledge is the well being of others, it is best to remain ignorant.

Now, she’d use all her knowledge and power to save you. The witch was quite knowledgeable of legends of Monstadt, and the curse of Durin was no different.

That hatred radiating off of you was familiar. When you brought that corrupted tear drop crystal, that felt the same as you do now.

“Looks like I’ll have to play rough...”

Spell circles appeared at both her and your feet. The snowy clouds turned dark and pitch black. Lightning flashed, crashing down where you stood.

Identifying the woman as the source, you charged towards her.

But you couldn’t even get close. Thunder roared, and the air itself seemed to be filled with electro. 

This type of powers was almost unimaginable. Lisa may have forsaken the title of “grand mage”, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still qualified for it.

With all of her magic, a bolt of lightning finally struck it’s might upon your form.

The scream you let out pained the woman’s heart, but the fight was over. Rushing to your side, she kneeled down, lifting your head to rest on her lap. Gently, her hand stroked your hair.

Lisa hated work, but she’ll work as hard as she needs to in order to heal you.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Razor followed you to the mountain, met a mysterious blond boy, and you got some weird sword. The more you battled, the more you changed. 

He was scared, but couldn’t find the words to express his concern. You assured him you were alright, but he never believed it.

One night, a blizzard raged across the mountain. The two of you rushed into a cave for shelter. Strangely, the cave seemed to radiate warmth. Razor looked at the white hail outside, calling your name. When you didn’t answer, he turned around.

You started at a large red...thing, in the back of the cave. Razor didn’t like it. If it wasn’t for the blizzard he would suggest leaving. But then something else happened.

You lunged at the wolf boy, slashing the cursed sword towards him. He gasped, quickly dodging.

“Please, calm!” He shouts. “Why attack?!” 

You weren’t listening, charging once again.

This was so bad. Survival came first, that’s what his head told him. But you were his lupical, and you were in pain... He could see it in your eyes, and the unnatural cracks in your skin.

Razor wanted to protect his lupical. So he had to think. This started when you entered the cave. No...before that. When you got the sword.

Static pricked on his skin, his sword clashing against your own. With a growl, electro burst forth from his blade. 

You were slammed into the wall of the cave. Razor was fast, roaring as he drove his weapon into Festering Desire. The piercing gaze of the gem cracked, and you let out a gasp.

Slumping down, you were out cold. Nothing Razor did would wake you up.

Positioning you on his back, he would run down to the city. Through the storm and over the hills, he needed you to be okay.

Dragonspine was a good source of business for Hu Tao. Foolish adventurers who believed they could conquer nature often lead to their own downfall.

Sometimes, she goes out there herself, knowing that there are bound to be bodies and spirits that have been lost for years. The pyro spirit that followed her kept her warm as well as helped to locate the corpses. But this time, it found something else.

Something else caught her attention. A disgusting energy. But it was you.

You rushed to slash at the girl, and Hu Tao dodged. This was unlike you and she knew it.

“Trying to send me off, hm?” She called to no response. Any sense of teasing was lost. This was serious. “I see...” Eyes drifted down to the weapon you held.

Twirling her spear, Hu Tao prepared herself for a fight. “Sorry, y/n. No discounts today.” She would take you back alive.

As the fight went on, the cold was starting to get to her. How long have you both been out on the mountain? This needed to end, and soon.

Summoning her blazing spirit, she swung it around and hit you. It burned, and you stumbled backwards. 

Hu Tao was running at you, before vanishing for a moment. In that single moment, the blazing spirit appeared from nowhere, screeching into your face. 

Something grabbed your wrist, turning, you saw the girl you were fighting.

“Boo~” She said with a grin, knocking the sword from your hand and holding you down.

Vision began to blur, and all you remember is a calm, forgiving warmth...

Someone who made Qiqi not mind the warmth was now so cold.

The energy created from the sword you were given wasn’t good. She didn’t like it, and yet Qiqi was unable to tell you.

You were hurt, attacking everything in sight. Somehow, that felt familiar, as if sparking a memory.

Qiqi didn’t want you to be sealed. So she would help you now.

With her orders received, she jumped into action. 

Even when you were marked with her talisman, the battle was difficult. The strength radiating off of you was almost overwhelming. But Qiqi felt if she didn’t save you now, you would be destroyed.

It was dangerous, but Qiqi unleashed the adeptal powers within her. Snow and ice raged around you two, and the small child rushed forward once again. She slashed at your hand, the evil sword sent flying.

You gasped, turning to retrieve your weapon when someone stopped you.

Small arms wrapped around your legs. They were cold, but shockingly strong.

“Qiqi loves you the most.” The girl spoke quietly. Those were the words used to cancel her orders. Typically spoken by Baizhu with no sincerity. But now? Qiqi means those words with all of her heart.

The adepti power helped to clear your mind, and soon your eyes fell heavy, along with your body. Now passed out, Qiqi would drag you down the mountain. 

Qiqi doesn’t ask for much, but she would demand Baizhu help you once returning to Liyue harbor. She would stay by your side until you woke.

Albedo is a dead man. She doesn’t know how, but she knew this was his fault.

It can wait, though. But for now, she focused on you and you alone. If you became a threat to Monstadt, she would end you. That is what she told herself. And yet, looking at you now, she wishes to save you instead.

Rosaria was making more work for herself, it seemed.

With a tired sigh, the sister darted forward. Blades clashed against one another, and Rosaria wasn’t above underhanded tactics.

Kicking up snow into your eyes, Rosaria moved to your back, slashing hard and fast. Blood dripped onto the white snow. You were injured, so that should slow you down.

It should have, but the power possessing you didn’t care what your physical state was. You fought regardless of the blood loss. Swearing under her breath, Rosaria noted how the darkness seemed to originate from your sword.

You ran to pierce her chest, but Rosaria’s spear parried your attack, sending Festering Desire into the air. Before anything else could happen, the woman tackles you to the ground, holding the handle of her spear to your throat.

You couldn’t get up with her sitting on top of you, and the bar above your neck made it hard to breath. Senses returning, your eyes fluttered close.

With a sigh, Rosaria stood, pulling you up and onto her back.

She would head back to the city, hoping Barbra would be able to heal you properly...

[dreadwulf]

2: The Black Mountains

Post-Apocalyptic Modern AU. Chapter 1 is here.

The last thing his right eye ever saw was Brienne. 

In that eye she is shouting. Of course he couldn’t hear her at the time over the jeers of the Bloody Mummers tying him to the table. Their laughter had been right up against his ears and the sound of it drowned out everything else in that abandoned mall. The image is soundless: her mouth is just open, her throat pushing out a word that looks like No. Her blue eyes are also open wide, both frightened and angry, a righteous fury that came to him as a surprise, at the time.

She is a still image that resides in the abandoned nerves to that empty eye socket. If he cares to, he can still see her there, superimposed over everything.

She hovers over The Spider’s right shoulder just now. Still saying No.  

He tries to focus on the Spider’s face instead. Varys raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow on his immaculate bald head.

“You can’t shoot anymore. Not like before, not with one eye. You know this.”

“I don’t mean to shoot.” Jaime shows his palms. “I have two hands still. I need a weapon I won’t have to aim.”

Varys measures this statement. He is a man who deals in knowledge more than goods, but he has an armed guard, and a collection of interesting weapons. Both for his own protection, and for use in acquiring the most valuable intel.

“In that case,” the Spider presses a button on the trailer wall. To one of the bikers, a large man with a burnt face who looks in the door in response to his call, he instructs, “bring me the Widow’s Wail.”

The same scarred man reappears with a comically oversized weapon in his hands. Turns out Widow’s Wail is an axe. It is a huge, two-handed, double-bladed axe and when the burnt biker hands it to Jaime his hands dip with the weight.

Axes, Brienne used to tell him, are the best weapon for killing Others. You don’t need to reload an axe. It can’t jam, doesn’t recoil. Simple and effective. 

Messy though, he had said back. He had always preferred his rifle -- clean and fast, one shot and done, and hopefully at a distance. The Others would fall down like carnival targets, one after another, and his favorite jacket would remain spotless. But after they took his eye, he had needed a new weapon, and his jacket was long-ruined by then. 

This is messy work, she had replied.

Now, he lifts the weapon, turns it one way and another. Both edges gleam in the fluorescent light. This axe has been sharpened recently. It is spotless. This weapon has never seen battle.

“It’s new,” Varys fills in immediately, “but it was designed to kill Others. Old valyrian steel, made the old way. We haven’t yet had opportunity to test it, but it will strike true.”

Jaime doesn’t ask how Varys would be able to make a valyrian steel weapon. Knowing how is what he does. 

The Spider watches him curiously. “Are we square then, Slayer?”

“Almost.” He sits again, crosses the long weapon over his lap with both fists grasping it tightly. “Where did it happen?”

“In the North. What exactly happened is unclear even to me, but we know for certain she had traveled north with a small gang. There are reports of her at Winterfell, and then she went with Snow and a small band of Starks beyond the Black Mountains. They returned without her.”

Jaime nods shortly. “Winterfell, then the wilds.”

The Spider frowns. He is perhaps a little perplexed by this conversation, or by Jaime himself. He likes to think he knows people, knows how they will react. But recent years have made a different man of Jaime Lannister. The fall of King’s Landing, his father’s death, the business with Cersei -- after all that, the arrogant and impetuous adventurer of his younger days is long gone. He is a ghost of himself, and the Spider doesn’t know what this ghost will do. He doesn’t like that.

He sits up a little bit straighter on his couch.  “Then it isn’t our local outbreak you intend to fight? I expected you would be nearby. Kill some Others, burn off some steam, and incidentally clear out some of the infestation in the Riverlands, which would be convenient for me. But you aren’t doing that, are you? You mean to follow her? To what purpose?”

Jaime’s eye flickers briefly right. “Hunting.”

“It will be pointless to mount a rescue mission, I assure you.”

“That isn’t the point.”

Their eyes meet for a moment. Jaime isn’t about to elaborate on his intentions, and Varys is visibly frustrated. His silky tones shorten, revealing something sharp beneath. 

“I ought to stop you. You have brought order to the Westerlands, and you’re starting to bring it here too. Alliances, patrols for the roads. Your brother, clever as he is, did not do that. If you abandon these lands, it may all fall apart.”

Jaime feels a flicker of guilt for that, but it is quickly doused by everything else happening inside him. No, this is important. Maybe the most important thing he has ever done.

He shrugs stiffly. “If it falls apart without me, it was too fragile to last.” 

“You’ll need more than an axe and your motorbike to make that journey. You have favors to trade, certainly,” Varys cuts him off before he can argue, “but not that many. The scouting party went beyond the Black Mountains, across them, into the far North. There are few enough waystations on the way to Winterfell, and everything North of Winterfell belongs to the Others. There will be no shelters for you along the way, no refuges, no refueling.”

Jaime is unconcerned. “If she made it there, then I can too.”

“The Blue Angel had a party of supporters, specialists. She would have been outfitted with the best supplies and equipment. She was welcomed everywhere she went, and at the peak of her powers. No offense, Slayer, but you are past your prime, and your powers lately end at the borders of Lannister territory.”

He smiles thinly as he stands. “I didn’t know you cared, Spider. Thanks for the weapon. We’re square.”

Jaime takes the axe outside, and stands staring up at the moon, while the bikers retrieve his motorbike.

Anytime he looks at the moon, anytime there is a moon, he thinks of her. Remembers how they had looked on it together, during those long nights on the road, even though they had parted years ago now. Her on to glory, him back to the arms of his family. They delivered the girls to Winterfell, and he left her to the Kingsroad. It was her territory after that, what once had been his. She had earned it in sweat and tears and blood. She tended it well without him. He had gloried in tales of her exploits.

Whenever he looks at the moon, he has always wondered if she is looking too. Wherever she is.

He thinks he will not be able to look at the moon anymore.

When he turns his head, Varys stands on the steps of his trailer, his bald head gleaming against the fluorescent light. Jaime has never seen him outside his trailer. It’s confusing, a little like seeing a penguin in the jungle.

“The Others of the Black Mountains are different,” The Spider warns him. “Worse.” 

When his bike comes rolling back with two of the Spider’s bikers, it comes with a few more gifts. Two metal spheres, one the size of a softball and the other the size of a chestnut.

Grenades, obviously Old World. Gods know where Varys got them from, certainly they aren’t made this way anymore. What they’re calling grenades now will mostly just make noise. But these two could probably blow a hole in a tank. He packs them onto his bike carefully.

Any old-world weapon would be priceless now, Jaime knows. Varys would not overpay a debt.

He squints up at the Spider, who makes a silky shadow in the doorway against his light. “And the cost?”  

The Spider smiles -- he can’t see it, on a shadow, but he can hear it in his voice. “If you come back, tell me what you saw. I hear very little of the Black Mountains and none of it first-hand.”

Jaime can promise that easily enough. He knows he won’t be coming back.

He walks his bike in silence about a mile up the road before waking the engines and roaring away.

He rides the motorbike until the last of his carefully hoarded gasoline is run out, rides right through the next day and into the night. Gets more miles out of it than he would have gotten with his creaky armored car, and certainly faster. 

Along the way he sees no other travelers. Five years ago there would have been at least a few others, some other vehicles, perhaps spaced out and alone, perhaps all in a big caravan for safety. But there is not much fuel left anymore. And North is not a direction people go in now.

It was how he had met her, actually. On a road much like this one.  He had been on a different motorbike and she had been driving a sedan. Obviously following him, less obvious why. He made it a chase - weaving between the stopped traffic, blasting around the walkers and cyclists and parades of cars going nowhere. She had somehow kept up with him, pushing her poor little car to its limits. Eventually he decided whoever it was had earned his attention for at least a few minutes, and he pulled over on the road to watch the tallest, ugliest woman he had ever seen unfold herself out of her car. 

She kept his attention considerably longer than a few minutes. .

Of course, he could enjoy a chase back then - you could still count on petrol, could siphon it out of most any vehicle you encountered along the way. The cars along the road here are bone dry by now, haven’t moved in years, and the electronics, trunk supplies, and even promising upholstery have been stripped out of them long ago. The cars pass by now in muted streaks of blue and red, dulled by layers of paint-stripping weather damage and snow. 

When his bike sputters to a stop, he leaves it right out on the highway. Packs his equipment onto his back. Then he begins to walk.

Without the headlights of his bike, it’s quite dark. No streetlights, of course. He has a torch in his bag, but he’s saving that battery as long as he can. Anyway, the moon is out, and once his eyes are adjusted he sees well enough. The trees encroaching on the interstate have not quite overtaken the shoulder, and the glow of moon and stars light up the cracked concrete in front of him, and glitter in the frost.

His boots echo his footfalls up and down the highway. First the gritty sound of gravel, and then the crunch of ice, and then the quieter scrunch of snow. 

There are no other sounds to hear out here -- no bird cries, no insects. They aren’t sure if the animals are dead, hiding, or run away, but no one sees them anymore. Means he doesn’t have to worry about being eaten by bears, at least.

The last bear he has seen was that time with Brienne, actually. It might have been the last bear, period. He hasn’t heard of any other ones since. That would be a shame, if that had been the last bear, and they’d killed it. He hadn’t wanted to. He can’t take it personally, the bear trying to eat them. He was only hungry, and they were all very hungry that winter. 

He didn’t know he would be fleeing the last bear in Westeros with her, when he met Brienne on the road. He only knew she was capable, and she was following him, and anyone out in the wilds could be dangerous. Out here other people were either foolishly overconfident, robbers, or competition. 

Brienne proved to be the last type, possibly also the first. She was after the Stark bounty, same as him. She had a personal stake. He could keep the money, she said. He had a lot more experience and knew where he was going, but she could be an ally. She could help.

He had laughed in her face, more or less. Said she was free to make the bounty herself, but he traveled alone. Newbies tended to die almost immediately, and he hadn’t stayed alive this long by babysitting foolish college students. He would locate the missing Stark girls and deliver them home. But if she wanted to return them herself she’d have to beat him there. 

A few weeks later they had wound up with one Stark girl apiece -- him with Sansa and her best girlfriend Jayne, her with Arya and her mate Gendry -- and again she had proposed an alliance for the trip up to Winterfell. No one had made it to Winterfell since the disaster, but their chances were better together, she said.

His better idea was that he could take the two valuable girls to Winterfell and she could take the two spares and go back to King’s Landing where it was safe, or jump in a lake for all he cared. But that conversation had been interrupted by the Bloody Mummers, and after that… things were very different after that.

Jaime slows to a stop with this remembrance, digs in his bag for his water bottle and takes a long pull. He’s tiring faster than he expected. He has tried to keep himself in fighting shape the last few years, but he hasn’t made a journey like this in a long time.

You’ve grown soft, he thinks, but inside his head it sounds like Brienne’s gentle ribbing. The tone she had taken after she stopped insulting him for real.

I’m refined, he answers back, slinging his pack over his shoulder and walking again. Answers between breaths, like he’s actually speaking. I’m a diplomat these days, remember? 

Will you try to negotiate with the Others then? She laughs in his ear. What will you trade them, wine? Broken electronics? The only economy they know is violence, and we trade them blows. 

He smiles to himself, despite everything. Young lady, it’s a good thing you didn’t come back to King’s Landing with me. You would have knocked out the Small Council within a day, and we’d both have been out on our asses.

And King’s Landing would have better off with us in the street than you in that office. We might have saved it. Old man, whatever have you done without me?

Jaime stops a moment, breathing hard, looking up at the moon.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, where the time went. It all blurred together without you.

He has been having these conversations for years now. It isn’t exactly imagination. More prediction. He knows exactly what she would say in every instance. What she would think of the people he meets, the places he goes. He hears her critiques of his private practice sessions, when he tries to stay in shape for the inevitable invasion. Her quiet, private commentary. Her icy rejoinders to his jokes. They come to him like a reply. Like she has heard him gods-know-how-many miles away, and answered him back. 

It’s painful now, hearing her voice. He doesn’t know why it would be different - alive or dead, he is only talking to himself after all. Perhaps it is only more obviously futile this way, knowing she is gone. 

He was never going to see her again, he knows that. The things she does, they were always eventually going to get her killed. Hells, he told her that himself more than once. 

Even now it still isn’t entirely real to him. It doesn’t seem possible. But the Spider knows things, and if he knows them they aren’t just rumors. It’s true. It’s sinking in. Brienne is gone. 

She doesn’t walk the same world as him anymore. He will hear no more tales of her adventures, and smile privately at the things nobody else knows of her. He will not wonder if it snows where she is, or if the sun shines. Whether she ever thinks of him, the way he does of her. They traveled together only a year, but she carved a place for herself in him, in the slow and brutal way water carves a cliffside. He has kept her there all this time. Now in that space there is emptiness, a brutal, sucking vacuum that might just pull him apart if he stops moving long enough.

So he starts walking again. Keeps walking, on and on, without rest, for as long as he can stand it.

Here and there one of the Others comes onto the road ahead of him. They wander on and off aimlessly, looking lost. At a distance they look nearly alive, so long as they aren’t missing any limbs, and only the directionless of their movements give them away. As you get closer you can see their clothing is wrong -- it’s not enough clothes for the weather, or their clothes are torn, bits are missing. Maybe the clothes are rotting right off their bodies, if they’re been out long enough. Closer still and you can see the blueish tinge to the skin that the Others are famous for, the thin layer of frost that covers them head to toe. At ten feet or so you can make out the ice blue eyes that glow like cat’s eyes in the light. But by then they’ve seen you, and they move much faster than you think they can. Best not to get that close. Best to stay well away, and let them turn and wander in another direction out of sight. 

As always, one wonders what they’re looking for. Where they’re going.

Some of them will wander away before he catches up, and he pays them no mind. If he is quiet, and they didn’t take notice of him, it is easier to let them pass by. Fighting can be loud, and that sort of noise could bring more of them running.

But eventually one is too slow. They can be damaged, and those stumbling steps can be frustratingly deliberate at times. This one is fairly tall, and drags its foot in the snow. On the highway, it reminds him of an elderly driver occupying the fast lane at a crawl. Even as he slows his pace, he gets closer and closer, and the dead thing shows no signs of changing direction.

Eventually he can wait no longer. He will have to overtake the creature. At least he hasn’t seen any other Others nearby. This Other shows no sign of noticing him. Jaime slowly draws the axe off his back, and makes six rapid, long strides in the thing’s direction, winding up for a massive crossways swing.

Varys didn’t lie; the axe cuts true. One good blow across the back is enough to bring it down, and he remembers where to strike. Sever the spinal cord, destroy the brain, or burn them, that destroys them. The axe is so sharp it cuts the thing nearly in half. There is a quick, sharp sound of impact and the thud of a body hitting the ground, and then silence. 

They don’t scream, the others. They don’t make noises of any kind. Maybe because they don’t breathe anymore; who knows. He pulls the axe out of the thing’s bulk and wipes it in the snow. 

The first Other to fall to him in five years that he didn’t hit with his car. It feels good. It doesn’t relieve the great sucking void he has inside him but it does feel good.

He shoulders the axe and keeps walking. After that, he strikes down one of them every few hours, until the sun comes up, and then he huddles on the embankment, dozing, for most of the morning. It’s not so cold he’ll freeze - not yet, anyway - and there aren’t so many Others around that he can’t risk it.

He’s lucky, for the most part. There aren’t any big clusters of Others out here. Those tend to form up around settlements and cities, or lingering around empty houses. Not out here in the open space, where there aren’t travelers anymore. 

He passes the next night in a car, after crawling in a broken window. It’s not especially safer, but it is more comfortable than the ground. He sprawls across the backseat and thinks about the red wood-paneled station wagon he had found buried in a parking lot and managed to start. He and Brienne drove that car all the way to Harrenhall, the now five children sleeping in the back. The seat was so wide even Brienne could lay down in it, and she was inches taller than him. 

This car is blue, and he has to bend his knees and curl up to fit on the seat.

Keep watch for me, Angel, he tells her, before he drifts off.

Days of steady walking pass this way, with fitful bursts of sleep. 

The Black Mountains are looming in the far distance when he nears Winterfell. So tall he can see them all these miles away, staining the low edge of the horizon like a shadow. 

Jaime keeps his eyes on the ground mostly. He’s only been here once, and it wasn’t an enjoyable visit. It was a destination, and it meant the end of a long journey. He’s never much liked those. Endings. He tries to get those over with. If he can help it, he’d rather turn around and begin again right away, try to get back to the middle.

Wintertown is relatively intact, patrolled by fur-clad soldiers with shotguns. The town has grown since he was here last. The streets have people on them now, much more than in Lannisport or anywhere in the Riverlands. No cars, but regular people, old folks and even children, strolling about. He has to stop and stare at that for awhile. Pedestrians. It’s been a long time.

Perhaps things are better in the North? Maybe they are safer than they were. But Wintertown is small, and easily guarded, and in the shadow of the old Winterfell fortress these people know they can flee within its walls and be safe, should the Others attack again. That’s more reassurance than most places have. 

For a little while he walks up and down those streets, just another window-shopper. The buildings are mostly refitted as residences, but on the sidewalks people sell goods out of carts, or spread out on the sidewalk. Wanderers come through and trade the trinkets they’ve found. There aren’t prices. Most likely they will take food, and medicine, and more practical items, in trade. He didn’t bring anything like that, unfortunately. But there isn’t anything he needs here.

At the end of a long boulevard Jaime finds himself before the gates of Winterfell, and he pauses.

This was where he had parted from her. Right here.

He grimaces past that memory. He was an ass about it, of course. Tried to sneak away. She caught him. There was a confrontation. Things were said. 

Things? Brienne-in-his-mind prods him indignantly. Have you forgotten already?

I remember every word. He sighs. Unfortunately.

The gates to Winterfell stand open for now. Probably so that Wintertown can run inside, if someone rings the alarm. Jaime passes through and takes the gravel path to the old castle. It’s a sturdy thing, for being several hundred years old. Solid and undecayed. Sure, they have to replace the wood every few decades, but the stone is thick and unbroken. There are walls behind walls, like any medieval keep, and courtyards and gates separating them. Guards stand atop the fortifications with guns, and they watch him approaching. Wary, but welcoming. Anyone not undead is allowed to pass through, at least to the midden.

The kids are here at Winterfell, probably. Somewhere. Many of them stayed, he has heard. The Starks for sure, and maybe some of the other strays he and Brienne had picked up along the way. Any of the running kids in Wintertown could have been Apple, that baby that Willow and Sansa had fawned over. He would be five, six years old now. That is, if he were alive. 

He doesn’t want to see any of them if he can help it. Best not to go inside the Great Keep then. He goes to the Great Hall instead. The velvet ropes are all taken down. It was a tourist trap for a lot of years, before its fortifications became unexpectedly useful again. Used to be you could get a feast inside, with cosplayers and a jester and a bard, and then you could get back in your car and drive away home. 

Bit different now. The fires are still roaring, but put to more practical use. Broken furniture surrounds the great fireplaces where they have been stripping the upholstery and feeding the fire. Laundry is strung up before them, and boils in great kettles. Nearer to mealtime the laundry will be replaced with soup and stew. The fireplaces in the living quarters had been stripped out long ago, replaced with appliances that no longer work. They have to do nearly everything in the great hall now, and gather in smaller rooms. 

The head washerwoman takes his message back to the living quarters and Jaime sits down to wait. There is an armchair that is strikingly comfortable for as old as it looks, upholstered in a velvety material. It might be some kind of antique, something with a PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on it back when this was a museum. There isn’t much use for antiques anymore. He sits in the chair.

He sits back and stares at nothing for a time. He might have fallen asleep, because the girls appear as if by magic, just as he remembers them but taller and leaner, their chubby faces hollowed by early adulthood. 

Sansa is quite tall, for a Stark anyway. She looks like her mother otherwise; red-haired, high-cheekboned, very pretty. Her sister looks like their father, sturdy and strong-jawed, Northern. They stare at him owlishly, and he wonders what he looks like to them. He is not nearly so changed -- grew a beard, added some lines around his eyes -- but they were children when they saw him last, and they are not children now. He has to look up to see them.

“You came for Brienne,” Arya says abruptly -- as usual she realizes the obvious first and doesn’t hesitate to speak it aloud. 

Jaime nods. There isn’t much more to say than that.

“We had a memorial,” Sansa hovers over him awkwardly, looking unsure. “All of Winterfell came, much of Wintertown as well. We would have waited if we had known you would come.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He says it more sharply than he intends.

Arya snaps back. “You’ve been gone a long time, and not a single letter. What else could we think?”

Sansa stops her with a hand to her shoulder. She was always an empathetic child. “You’re welcome here now. Can I get you anything?”

“Your brother. If he’s here.” His eyes drift to Widow’s Wail, where it sits on the floor beside him. “I’ve heard he was there when it happened. I need to hear it from him.”

Sansa leans forward and touches his hands, briefly. “We can take you to him.”

He can only nod. 

He follows the girls through the old fortress into a more modern living area. Home, most like. The Starks have all congregated here, the ones left.

Jon Snow he has never met before. The girls’ half-brother. Lord Snow of Winterfell, now. He stands straight and stiff, trying to look older than he is. He has a warm parka on over his polar fleece, something puffy and filled with down. It’s hard to be serious in a puffy coat without coming off at least faintly ridiculous, but the young man manages it somehow. 

“She was a great help to my family,” Jon says, and shakes his hand vigorously. “A great fighter, the bravest of all of us, and the kindest too. Every one of us here at Winterfell thought very highly of her.”

“And your mission?” Jaime shuts down the reminiscence quickly. He does not want to remember Brienne here. Certainly not with the Starks.

Jon hangs his head. “It wasn’t a complete waste. But it wasn’t quite what we wanted, either.”

He gestures to a sofa. Jaime sits on the edge of it, unwilling to relax. This is rather too much civilization for him right now. Jon sits down expansively on an easy chair, and runs a hand through wild black hair. 

“We were hoping to find something that would explain where the Others come from. We thought the Black Mountains might have the answer, the mountains and the land beyond. It’s hard to find much on the Mountains though -- only one road is passable, everywhere else is ice and deep snow. Beyond the Mountains there is a place they’re calling Craster’s Keep. We knew something was very wrong there. We should have stayed away.” Jon shakes his head, so serious. 

Jaime waits.

“We suspected they were colluding with the Others somehow. The ones on the Mountain. The old man… it was terrible. What he was doing. We had to put a stop to it. Brienne followed one of the men to their meeting place, where the Others come down the Mountain. She never came back.”

That is rather less definitive than Jaime wants to hear. 

“That’s all? Did you search?” he asks sharply.

Jon looks defensive at first, but softens quickly. “I assure you, if there was anything to find, we would have found it. We were very fond of her. There were signs of a battle, and several Others fallen there. But of her there was no sign. There was no body.” Jon looks reluctant to continue. “We did find this.”

Hesitantly, he holds out the wrapped bundle to Jaime. He knows it immediately. Takes it like he took the grenades, carefully and reluctantly.

His hands unwrap the thing before he can think twice, to show himself what he already knows. It’s Brienne’s titanium bat. Bloodstained, dirty, with a single chip in it near the tip. 

They had nicknamed it Oathkeeper, way back then. It was more like a mythical sword than a bat. Titanium bats weren’t even allowed in baseball, in any league. They hit the ball so hard it was dangerous to the other players. They probably shouldn’t have been made in the first place, and they stopped making them decades before the Others came and their true usefulness became apparent. 

Jaime holds the bat. Brienne had carried this thing for so long. He puts his fingers where she would have put hers, the way a player held it  to hit a ball. He can see the mark of her fingers there, slowly rubbed into the metal across the years. 

Jon is still talking. “These Others are different. Our Others will kill and turn. But these... We suspect that they consume the bodies instead of raising them. I think there was nothing remaining to find.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jaime stands.

“If you will insist…” Jon rises as well, solemn. “My friend Sam stayed behind there. If you reach Craster’s Keep, ask for Sam. He’ll tell you what you need to know.”

*****************  

He passes a night there, lying awake in a bed. 

They gave him her room. A quiet, out-of-the-way guest bedroom with little in the way of modern amenities. It has a homey feeling, just the same. It feels like her.

She left some things there; little knick-knacks. She liked to pick up small things, put them in her pockets. Her coat had loads of pockets hidden everywhere. By the end of the day she would have lots of little treasures. You could turn her upside down and shake her and all sorts of shiny treats would come rolling out. Figurines, stones, tiny toys. They’re arranged all around the room, on the windowsill, on the dresser. Probably if he went through her clothes he would find more things still hidden away in her pockets. The coat, though, that wouldn’t be there in the closet, he knows without looking. She would have it with her, wherever she has gone.

Jaime leaves her things alone. It’s enough to know they’re there, waiting for her. 

Brienne slept in this bed. This is the only home she had, so far as he knows. She stayed here after he left, here at Winterfell. She would have rested here -- she was still a little sick. It had been a few weeks, at least, before she went back to the Kingsroad. After that she came back here between adventures, making the long, dangerous journey there and back again. In the dead of winter she would rest here at least a month, from what he could tell, every year.

He should have stayed with her. 

She never asked him. Not out loud. But he knows, deep down, he would have been welcome. He knew it then, too. But he had left her at Winterfell and gone back. Back to the arms of his family who needed him more than she ever would. Back to his father and his expectations, to his siblings who needed his protection. The job was over, and he went back to where he belonged. 

Not a day has gone by that he doesn’t regret it. 

************************

In the morning he is lacing his new boots in the great hall, a gift from Jon. They are a little large, but warm, and useful for maneuvering on ice. He suspects they had once belonged to Ned Stark; certainly none of the Stark boys have feet this big.

Jon has also given him a down parka like his own. Such a thing would fetch a lot in trade these days, but he insists Jaime take it. “This is the least I can do, for bringing my brother and sisters home.” 

Jaime promises to return it, though he can see that Jon does not expect to see him at Winterfell again. Neither of them do.

His pack has been refilled with food, bandages, antiseptic, and an icepick. Arya had thrust the bag at him wordlessly and turned on her heel and left and he does not see her again. How much and how little people change from when they are small; he can still see the dark-eyed child in the woman she is becoming. It makes him feel positively ancient.

Sansa accompanies him to the gates of Winterfell, gliding elegantly over the snow in her warm winter coat. She chatters as much as she always did, though it was never to him before. She used to keep her distance from him, as she had from most men. She misses Brienne, he realizes, looking at her. She must have been like an older sister, or an aunt, or...

He never did lay eyes on Rickon, did he? He is probably running wild somewhere, running with the wolves. He doesn’t ask, though he suspects Sansa would like him to. Nor does he ask about Willow, or Gendry, or any of the others. He has too much to carry already.

“You’re different,” Sansa tells him, nearing the gates.

“You’re older,” he says. “You see me better.”

“Maybe.” The auburn beauty frowns. “Do you think she’s still alive out there?”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to see the concern on her face, not if it’s for him.

“Do you think Brienne would want you to do this? Go after her like this?”

No. “That won’t stop me.” 

“She would want you to go on with your life.”

“I don’t care.” He can’t quite look at Sansa. He couldn’t look at Arya either. They remind him of too much. 

“Why did you never come back? She waited for you. She was still waiting.”

He shuts his eyes against her. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t. Not now.”

Sansa sniffles, and her voice trembles. “I’m so sorry. You were both so good to us. I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and tries to put her arms around him, but he’s already walking away.

He’s going through the gates of Winterfell, straight down the boulevard of Wintertown.

He doesn’t stop. He turns to the Black Mountains, and keeps walking.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Right Hand Woman | Part Two

Summary; your father is dead, just as you and Loki had planned. All that stands in the way of your reign over both the Cold Shores and Asgard, is your partner’s one eyed adopted parent.

Warnings; mentions of death, deception, brief smut (oral sex, fem receiving), attempts of murder

QUICK LINK TO MY MASTERLIST, IN CASE YOU’RE INTERESTED IN READING MORE OF MY CRAP 😬

Frigga frowned, suspecting something the moment that she caught Loki sneaking into her and Odin’s chambers. It was not wise to trust the boy so easily, whilst she felt tremendous love towards her found son, he was the god of mischief.

And so she watched him from the corner, cloaked by her own witted spell, and studied how he rummaged through the room. “Damn you father!” He whisper shouted to himself, and that was whence his witch of a mother made her presence known.

A soft yet malleable frown cast over Loki’s sly features, as he gulped inherently. “What is it that burdens you my boy?” If only she knew the full extension of the answer to that, but he would not curse her with the details.

“Odin.” That was how he labelled him as; the king. Not his father. “The man that you are wedded to has hidden the book of counsel once again from me. If I wish to be a husband, then I must read and study its contents, for it is not everyday that anyone from the nine realms marries a god.”

With relief indulging her airway, Frigga sighed. At least he was searching for something worthwhile, rather than an item or clue that could get him in attentive trouble.

“Loki.” His name surpassed the barrier of her bewitched lips, earning her child’s attention. “I shall find it for you, but be aware that there is no rush to become one with y/n so soon. It is certain that she is still experiencing the shock and mourning of her father.”

An inclination to smirk at the mention of the dead man arose in Loki’s chest, however he kept his face mute of amusement, and instead, looked up at his favourite parent. She knew, as he noticed his inclination to spill all, that he was holding a secret close to his chest. But he had never been one to be entirely truthful, and so instead of berating him about it, she left him alone.

“I suppose.” He didn’t. It was a white lie in his eyes, but a vast one in the eyes of his family, with the sorrow pent up in y/n. She was far from sad, rather, he was the only one that could see how truly joyous she was concerning the fall of her father.

The small spilt tears were a lie, all to deceive the Odinson tree. Thor was certainly the most gullible of all when witnessing it, he would order the guards to abandon their duties to go and fetch her something to dry her eyes on, and if they were not fast enough, he would do the job himself.

It was truly a sight to behold though as Odin would nurture her with caring phrases, and lay a comforting hand upon her slunk shoulder, praising her for having some sense.

Loki’s family knew that it had been difficult, protecting herself whilst in the meanwhile wearing her father’s blood upon her hands. It showed her loyalty to the youngest of Odin’s sons, and that was what they wanted in a dame.

“That poor girl.” Frigga reminisced all that she had heard regarding the death of the opposing king, that had once been an ally. “Killing her own father, it must have come with some difficulty.”

The man was assured that there had been none, y/n had wanted to do such amends in a great long time. However, she had to wait for the perfect moment, so that Odin could be blessed of the sight of her above her father’s carcass.

“Perhaps, but it has shown me how perfect she is for marriage material. We aren’t even combined into one yet, and she has already proven her loyalty, presenting that she has the same image for Asgard and the Cold Shores in her peripheral.”

His mother, whom was married into the line of the throne, sighed. She felt great pity for y/n, for she felt torn; but ultimately, chose herself over her father’s selfish wishes. And through his actions, y/f/n had broken the contract and his own blessing of allowing Loki to take her hand.

The same image. If there was one thing that Frigga had nervous thoughts about, it was Loki, and his problematic situation in wanting the throne. But to the dismay of the trickster god, it was promised to his brother Thor; the real heir of Odinson royalty. And though Frigga adored Loki as though he were her own son, because essentially he was, her trust in him regarding his hunger to rule Asgard was thin, like a silver platter.

Y/n sat, pondering her decisions. She liked Odin, despite him being like all kings, even if he had turned over a new leaf in the latest centuries. He had adorned the rivers of Valhalla with bloodshed, passing through the nine realms with his weapon unsheathed, pooling blood so that in return he could take the gold that the men and women harboured so slyly.

Her father had done the same thing, but he had been much more humble regarding his lifestyle. A grand and glorious display of buildings had not been considered necessary in y/f/n’s rich eyes. Instead, he opted to remain vigilant, living in hoisted tents, so that he had the freedom to move him and his people about as he pleased.

But he had wanted to depart from his only child, in order to gain another ally, but in doing so, he had lost that trust with Asgard. And now she was the heir of his ruins, but she had left with the man that had reckoned pain upon his people for his treachery.

The only thing that was left in their plan, was to kill Odin. It was rather simple thinking of it, however proceeding to do so would be a far different story. And first, so that their power was in conjunction, her and Loki needed to marry. She found no problem in doing so, especially since it was one of her greatest desires to do so already.

She was laid beneath the sheets of the guest room that was supplied to her, adorned in nothing but her underwear. One feature of her icy homelands that she was used to was the cold. Here, it felt so warm, she felt enclosed by the heat; trapped even.

As a child, she often wore a red nose, hardly feeling the end of it, as snow would balance upon it, and fall around every inch outside of her tent. But in Asgard, a place that she had visited many a time, she was sweltering. A part of her feared that it was a flaw granted by karma, for killing her father.

There was some truth to her lies; he had wanted her to wed another that was not Loki, but she didn’t tell him of whom, knowing that he would grown furious and insecure, and surely take everything that he was feeling out on her competing suitor.

However, she had deceived his father as well, made Odin believe that he was trying to pass y/n onto another kingdom. Instead, y/f/n had been talking of with his lower level colleagues, that he was considering Thor as a replacement for the sorcerer prince.

That was an idea that she was not fond of. Whilst she got along well enough with Thor, she loved Loki, it was simple as that. And she was against anyone, even if it be family, trying to rip apart the contract of her childhood dream; to wed the sneaky, yet charming prince.

Y/n was ripped from her thoughts as knuckles rapped on the display of double doors, that lead into the room that she was currently occupying. “You may enter.” She informed whomever was wishing to see her on the other side, the door groaning open as a sleek and fetching man entered.

Loki made sure to close the barricade behind him, walking closer to his future wife with purpose in each step that he instructed. “Beloved y/n...”

“Did you find it?” She asked, referring to the last piece to fill in their mystical puzzle. Her brow quirked, watching as her to be husband exasperatedly sighed, combing a talented hand through his long black locks.

“No, but my mother has taken upon herself to aid us in doing so.” His green and keen eyes looked down upon her, gently hoisting her to be on her feet by a carefully tugging on her arm.

“This needs to be sped up my love, otherwise they will catch onto our intentions before we can complete them.” Y/n tried to pace, however, Loki kept a grip on her, refraining her from doing so. And so she was kept right before him, in a face to face manner, frozen like the ropes of water by her original home and his birth place.

“Relax for a moment, there needn’t be a rush.” Loki cooed at her, brushing through her hair with an underlying content. “To distract you, I am here, and I will do anything to remove your mind from all that troubles you.”

He lightly pushed down one of her shoulders, making her fall elegantly back on the bed, her bare breasts bouncing as she fell. Loki licked his lips at the sight, raking his cold fingertips up her thighs, parting them to his will. “Did you know that it was me that had intention to pester you at this time, or were you prepared to allow any nimble soldier see you so- so open for their unworthy pupils to devour?”

“I knew it was you Loki.” She rolled her y/e/c eyes, resting on her forearms on the fresh fabric, that rubs tenderly against her skin. “Otherwise, I’d have not answered, making them search the grounds for me until they persisted you with having an inability to find me.”

“Little minx.” Loki smirked, rubbing softly on the insides of your thighs. He crept closer, collapsing between y/n’s spread legs, rutting his covered cock over the promise that came with marriage. “I cannot wait for us to bind together in an established union, that will be recognised by all, and we will never be mistake for a pair of lovesick fools ever again.”

“And when we reign, all will know that we are not to be reckoned with.” Y/n reached up, guiding his hands lower. “But until then, I want you to ruin me, until I am screaming loud enough for all the habitants in nearby rooms to hear.” Her eyes were glazed, Loki licked his lips as he swept down, casting his mouth passionately upon hers.

His raven tendrils swayed around them like a curtain, enclosing their faces in an intimate proximity. Whilst his mouth explored her own, content sighs renegading from his lover’s busy mouth, his hands slipped down, finding penance at her waist.

They traced the outline of her underwear, teasingly moving underneath the sides, making y/n flutter with anticipation. Her cheeks grew warm as she looked down at her partner in treachery, letting out a startled gasp whence he ripped the seams, discarding of the useless material.

He ran his slippery, cursing lips up her leg, tracing them sensually around the budding lips of her pussy. Y/n nestled her head into the comfort below, watching with Loki with dazed eyes, that were heavily plagued by the dreariness of her lids.

“By the gods!” In an instant, he had suctioned his mouth around her entirety, suckling with his cat like pupils boring up at his lover in ecstasy. He always got what he wanted, and he would marry this princess, and then, their journey throughout royalty would continue.

The occasion had finally arrived. Odin stood at the centre of the platform, between the two lovers. With gratitude to his mother Frigga, Loki sent her a pleased nod, before once more tuning his attention back onto his lovely fiancé.

All of Asgard watched dearly from below, holding onto their kings every word as he spoke the age old coronation into a pairing’s vows. His speech was slow, and it made y/n slightly antsy.

She wanted to marry Loki, and despite going through the prior orchestration of doing so, she wanted nothing more than for the process to speed itself up. But she remained silent, and apparently patient to all that stared with fawning smiles.

It wasn’t everyday that the royals were wed, and the citizens of the plain were in for a treat. It was something that was viewed sparingly, for their children that would be procreated in the distant future would hear tales of such a collision of two people, not actually baring witness to the ongoing.

Odin cleared his ancient throat, folding the scroll back into its exterior, and declared the emission and final act. “Y/n, of the cold shores, do you take my son, Loki, to be your partner for as long as you live?”

“I do, King Odin.” Her childhood dreams were being brought to light, after all this time. They had waited a thousand years for this exact moment, and every second that she had thought and not acted on it had been essentially worth it.

Loki stood across from her, their hands intertwined in the space between their bodies. There was a glimmer sparkling in his devious eyes, and y/n gulped at the sight of it. As happy as she felt, there was a brewing in the pit of her stomach, for she knew the god far too well.

“Loki, of Asgard, do you take the woman before you, y/n, to be your wife for your eternity?” The green eyed prince smiled across at her, giving her shaking fingers a comforting squeeze.

“I do, father.”

“Then, you may kiss your partner to seal the vow.” Y/n had an exhausting smile pinching her cheeks, and as Loki swiftly removed his hands from her own, she moved closer.

But that look had returned, and before she could stop him, he had slipped a blade out from his sleeve, and directed its spear tip towards Odin. This was not the time or the place for the violence, but the deed was done; they were exposed.

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 25, Cassian POV prompt)

Notes: Many of you asked for the POV for when Cassian slept beside Nesta in the most recent chapter... so here you go! Apologies for any typos etc, I’m really tired today! Let me know if the tags don’t work...

Together, Cassian and Rhys trudged back to the bungalow. It was still snowing, albeit less than it had been earlier. White came down in light flurries, the flakes falling from the sky in whirlpools suctioned by the wind.

“Trust it to snow when we’re in the middle of relocating,” Rhys mused as the wind dropped, his voice purposefully light.

Cassian only grunted in response, weaving through the dug out camp fires set into the ground, which leant a lick of warmth and provided hot food for the Illyrians. Cassian tried not to think of the steam cabins set over the hot springs a few miles outside of the camp. Of how warm they’d be on his tired limbs…

A good steam in one the Illyrian steam huts usually undid the tension from Cassian like nothing else, but he'd prefer to scrub away the excess grime from his skin. Whilst Rhys might have magicked away the blood, sweat and dirt from him, Cassian could still feel it coating him like a thick oil. And whilst the thought of sliding into the tub and staying there until it turned cold would normally be the only thing on Cassian’s mind after this kind of long day, all he wanted was to settle himself anxiously into the armchair beside his bed and make sure Nesta was alive and breathing.

She wasn’t in agony at least. That open tether was enough to tell him that the tincture was working. And from the flash of irritation he had received a few moments ago, Cassian knew that she was finally awake.

“It’s time to build housing,” Cassian told Rhys after a long reprieve of silence, pulling his thoughts away from the female in his bed. He tossed the words over his shoulder, ploughing through the snow for the both of them before he met a well-trodden path. “You saw the state of the widows tents up the mountain. This is the time to start anew. To provide them with proper shelter. To start initiatives…”

“I know,” Rhys agreed. “It’s time to find a solution rather than opting for leniency when it comes to the war-lords and how they rule.”

Cassian nodded tightly. “We don’t have the luxury of allowing them free-reign over the camps anymore. And help needs to extend beyond us relocating one camp of widows. What of the other camps? What of the females there? The bastards? The poor?”

He sighed wearily at the situation that was so impossible he did not know where to start. “Nesta would probably have some good ideas. She comes out with things sometimes…” Cassian paused to drag his hands over his face at the same time as he shook his head, “Ideas like that seem to come to her as easy as breathing…”

Rhys nodded again, but it was not tight or dismissive. Wary, perhaps and a little tentative, as if he was weighing up how tightly wound his brother was. “We need ideas,” he admitted, “but right now you need Feyre and I to leave so you can rest.”

He eyed Cassian with a slight tilt of his head. His blue-black hair did not so much as move or ruffle in the wind. “I’ve never seen your siphons drain that quickly,” he observed, staring at the jewel that rested in Cassian’s armoured scales, right in the middle of his chest like an additional heart. The siphon that did not wink or glint in the dark, but remained cold and lifeless.

The drink Frawley had given Cassian had barely been enough to have his magic whispering back through his veins. He needed to sleep for his power to replenish itself. And whilst Frawley had barked at him to drink more tea before the day was out, he had yet to find the time for another mug.

It was a while before Cassian realised he had not responded to Rhys. He had been too stuck in his own thoughts, and by the time he glanced sideways at his brother, they were approaching the front of the stone bungalow.

Rhys was not looking at him. Instead, he was blinking in a way that told him something had just happened down that bond of his.

“Feyre kick you out?” Cassian asked, making his lips twitch upwards. The action alone was difficult and he just barely willed his facial muscles to obey. He knew that the smile did not reach his eyes. His body yearned for sleep in a way that told him he was ravaged. Something deeper than his bones and blood was begging him to curl up on the mattress beside Nesta whilst she slept.

It was a starved comfort Cassian had not known he hungered for with such ravenous intensity until that moment.

“She’s speaking with Nesta,” Rhys replied smoothly.

Cassian did not tell his brother that he had already guessed that. He only let out a soft grunt and levelled his brother with a ‘no bullshit’ gaze. “If you don’t forgive Nesta you will ruin the healing between the sisters.”

Rhys’s violet eyes came to rest on him. His brother opened his mouth and then closed it. “Is this really something to discuss now?”

When you’re raw and exhausted. When you are this protective.

“Probably not,” Cassian admitted, knowing that it could end in fists and he didn’t have the energy. “But if the sisters want to rebuild a relationship, then you need to let any past grudges go. Focus on the present. On the actions that matter now.”

A long silence. Too long. It wasn’t the sort of prolonged pause that was as sharp as a knife, but it held some quality that Cassian could not decipher.

Cassian hadn’t meant it to come out as a criticism barbed with thorns. Had intended to present it as casual fact. It was a truth that Cassian had only fully realised in that moment when Nesta had challenged Rhys in the living room. When Cassian had thought power could fly.

He’d known who he would have protected.

Rhys did, too.

And magic might have flown if Nesta had not been replenishing her power reserves. If Rhys had not seen Nesta save his mates life and wield her magic in such a selfless way. If his brother had not witnessed how Nesta had changed. How her concern for the females was the reason why her voice was fierce, rather than consumed by trauma and stubborn will.

Cassian wondered how different Nesta appeared to Rhys. Azriel could see it. The shadowsinger had grown to like her, Cassian thought. Enough to break his usual silence and interject when there could have been heated words. Azriel had assisted Nesta when she had been in pain rather than remain cold and impassive. Cassian had even spotted the shadowsinger’s lips twitch upwards at Cassian’s territorial behaviour, knowing all too well that it had irritated the hell out of Nesta.

And Rhys… his brother had welcomed Nesta to the Court of Dreams, something he did not do lightly. He had even said he would train her if Azriel was not available.

That was a concession in itself.

Cassian knew what a peace offering that was from his brother. And whilst it had been a stiff gesture, it had been the first thing Rhys had offered Nesta because she was needed and useful, rather than because she was Feyre’s sister. Because she cared about the Illyrians and she had worth amongst the females in a way that none of the High Fae had ever managed to attain.

Many thought Nesta had a heart of ice, but Feyre had been right all along; Nesta’s heart was too full — too aching — that she encased it into an impenetrable cage to protect herself.

Only now was that cage breaking… and without it, Nesta was more powerful, more formidable than ever before. There was no denying it. Cassian had felt it — all of it — when she melted that cage of ice and let everything finally hit her. And there was no denying that Nesta was someone with good intention. Someone who did care about others. She may have been lost for a very long time, but she had finally fought back.

It made Cassian ashamed for things he had said previously. From the minute Nesta had shed a tear for the humans who would not be protected in war, Cassian had known she was capable of more.

Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do.

Cassian could not have uttered crueler words. Knew what he’d been doing as he’d said them, desperate to get some sort of reaction from her. He had been so successful at reaching her before, but that day he had been unable to pierce that impenetrable, icy tavern. But even though she hadn’t shred him to ribbons, his words had still served a purpose. They had covered up the terrifying fact that he loved her more fiercely than he had ever loved anyone. That most of the time, he couldn't so much as think about her because it hurt too much to know that she wanted nothing to do with him, even after he’d worn his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see.

If Cassian had not brought Nesta back today, she would have died thinking his words to be true. Even as she sacrificed her life for someone so many perceived as unworthy.

“I’m working on it.” Rhys’s words pulled Cassian out of his self-deprecating thoughts.

Nodding shortly, Cassian raised his palm to the wooden door. It clicked beneath his palm and the bungalow hummed to life as he stepped inside.

He was not going to push Rhys now. Another time, yes, but not today.

The bungalow was wonderfully warm. The fire was still blazing silently in the living room, but Cassian barely noticed it. Instead, his gaze flew straight to the bedroom door.

It opened as he shucked off his shoes and knocked the snow from the tread against the doorframe. As he flung the wet snow from his wings that were burning from the cold.

Feyre looked weary and wrung out as the bedroom door clicked shut. She tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace. “She woke for a few minutes,” Feyre told Cassian, “but she’s just falling asleep again.”

“Is she in pain?” Cassian asked, even though he knew it wasn’t half as bad as earlier. Nesta’s walls weren’t back up yet — something he was mercilessly happy about — so he would have known if she was in agony, but it was habit to check. To throw them all off of the scent.

Feyre shook her head. “Not as much as before. She didn’t ask for any more of the tincture.” She rang her hands in front of her hips. She looked nervous. “I told Nesta she could leave, if she wanted to.”

Feyre looked as if she was expecting him to completely lose his temper, but Cassian only nodded tightly. She frowned. “Nesta said she wanted to stay to help, but—”

She stopped abruptly and cocked her head at him. Her brow knitted. “You already told Nesta she could leave, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied tersely, stalking over to the fire to toss some logs onto the burner. He fanned out his wings so the heat sunk into the membrane. It felt delicious and he bit back a groan. “A long time ago,” he clarified. “Did you give her the sedative?”

Hazel met blue. Feyre did not look annoyed. To his surprise, her features only softened, as if her heart were aching.

“No,’ she replied with a small shake of her head, “she didn’t seem to need it. She could barely keep her eyes open.”

A tight nod. “Ok. I can watch her.”

It was not true. Cassian would watch her. It was not a choice he was giving Feyre or himself.

Closing the front door behind him, Rhys came over to press a kiss to his mate’s temple. As if he could sense Cassian’s impatience, he asked, “Ready to go?”

Feyre nodded.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Rhys told Cassian.

“And if you hear from Az?” Cassian asked.

“I’ll let you know,” Rhys said, tapping two fingers to the side of his head.

Then they disappeared into nothing.

***

It didn’t take Cassian long to step into the tub. He had checked on Nesta first and foremost, but she had already been far, far under. Her brow had been knitted in anguish, but when he had rested his palm across her forehead, her features had momentarily smoothed, as if his touch had erased the visions beneath her eyelids.

The water was near scolding but Cassian endured it anyway, allowing the burn to scorch through his skin until he was thoroughly thawed. He stood there for too long, trying to wash away the memory of Nesta’s pale, blood-streaked face as her eyes rolled back into her head.

He was just finishing washing the suds from his hair when a sound pierced through the bungalow.

Cassian heard it at the same time as Nesta’s pain hit him square in the chest, travelling down that bond which, for once, was not clamped shut but wide open.

He was out of the tub before he had the time to think. Was half way to his room before he deigned to wrap the towel he’d grabbed on the way out of the bathroom around his waist. He dripped across the carpet, his hair water-logged and running rivulets down his neck and shoulders... But he didn’t even notice because all Cassian could feel was distress and terror so fierce the sensations were bitter on his tongue.

Bursting into his bedroom, Cassian found the sheets twisted around Nesta’s body. Her brow was creased again and fresh tears slid down her already stained face. But it was the sounds coming from Nesta’s throat that that made Cassian’s already aching heart wrench out of his chest. It sounded animalistic rather than Fae. It was deep, wounding horror and he would give anything to rid her of it.

“Sweetheart,” he called desperately. “Sweetheart, it’s a nightmare. You’re ok.”

But no matter how much he called, he couldn’t reach her.

Balling his hands into fists, Cassian sat down in the armchair and buried his head into his hands. But the sounds didn’t stop. Neither did the tears. It took everything in Cassian not to touch her. He was too scared he would trigger her battle trauma, that she was in so deep that her brain would conjure something he was not. Something threatening.

So he watched helplessly as mist began to seep from her fingers, her magic coating the bed in a pearlescent fog as those noises became truly feral. Called for her to come back to him until his voice was hoarse.

Unable to sit still anymore, Cassian tugged on some clothes before he came to sit beside her on the mattress. He rested his outstretched palm on the blanket, hoping that she would sense him nearby, but Nesta only sobbed harder.  

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice raw from trying to reach her. “You’re safe. You’re ok. You’re having a nightmare.”

He stayed beside her, murmuring comforting words. Clenched his other hand into a fist at his side. Let his wings snap in and out with such agitation they cracked through the air. He didn’t care. There was no-one to witness it anyway.

Cassian knew all to well how fiercely sedatives could clutch you to sleep. It was why he didn’t use sleep tonics. They made his nightmares worse — more vivid. He would rather suffer from too many sleepless nights than live through terrors he could not escape from. And he’d guess that the severe pain from Nesta’s injuries was manifesting into her dreams but the sedative was too fierce to wake her up.

“You’re safe,” he murmured softly. Words he had been saying over and over.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re with me. You’re safe.

For a moment, Nesta settled. But then she was moaning again, the sounds torn ragged from her throat as she began to thrash.

Cassian’s blood spiked with panic. Frawley had insisted that Nesta remain as still as possible. That movements to Nesta’s abdomen would not only be incredibly painful, but that they would undo the magic both she and Madja had administered.

And then Nesta started to scream.

It was one of the worst sounds he had ever heard. It knocked the breath from him and the chill that ran through his blood was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Cassian fell to his knees, barely registering the impact as his bones creaked.

“Amore,” he rasped softly in Illyrian. “Nesta.”

His wings extended outwards, furling around her like a protective shell — an instinct buried deep that pulled through his chest until his limbs obeyed. Something built into his DNA that had only been opened for Nesta. As if a key had finally been fitted into a lock and unveiled the most intrinsic part of him. Something only for her.

“Amore,” Cassian said again. The word soft, curling off the back of his tongue like a caress.

The screaming stopped, falling into stifled, suppressed shouts. Nesta’s pain travelled down their twisted of rope; the bond that had been open since Nesta had started to die that afternoon. The agony of it hit Cassian clean in the gut, knocking the breath from him with a whoosh, but he willed everything in him to soothe, pushed back on the pain…

There was a moment’s reprieve where the agony didn’t cut through him. When for a few seconds, Nesta stopped screaming.

Cassian jumped at the opportunity. Reaching deep inside of himself, he felt for that rope which even now, he could not let go of for fear that it would break.

And then he tugged. It was a gentle movement — smooth. More of a nudge than a prod, using just enough pressure for Nesta to feel it… to cut through the nightmares and offer a hand back to the light.

Gradually, Nesta quieted. Screams turned to shouts. Shouts turned to moans. Moans turned to whimpers. Until eventually, Nesta only murmured in her sleep, the sound unbelievably soft in contrast to the blood-chilling screams.

Hardly daring to breathe, Cassian lifted a hand to rest his palm against her forehead. Nesta’s skin was warm — flushed — but when she leant in a little to his touch, his heart beat so fiercely he felt it pulse in his mouth. And knowing how rare the moment was, Cassian indulged himself; allowing his fingers to trace a path down her cheek where before there had been tears.

Only Nesta could look so heart-achingly beautiful in the midst of a nightmare.

Only Nesta could make him lose all sense of himself.

Only Nesta could make him feel this vulnerable. As if even in her sleep, she was witnessing all of him.

This close up, Cassian could see every one of Nesta’s dark eyelashes. The slight upturn at the tip of her nose. The smattering of freckles that were so faint across the bridge of her cheeks, Cassian wondered if anybody but him had ever noticed them.

If she hadn’t rejected him, Cassian might have traced those freckles with his lips and fingers so many times he would know exactly how many there were… Would know what her lips tasted like when she wasn't about to die with him.

Time passed, stretching out far and wide before them.

Cassian wasn’t sure how long he stayed on his knees. What he did know was that Nesta remained settled. He did not move his hand. He continued to brush his thumb over her skin. Continued to soothe down that bond, until her breath evened out and no longer rattled in her chest.

When his legs had long gone numb beneath him and his back ached from leaning over the mattress, he retracted a wing with the hope of easing himself off the floor.

He had barely moved when she started to moan again.

Immediately, he threw a wing back over her. And everything ached inside of him when she settled again. The knowledge that it was him — the safety he provided — that warded off the nightmares.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he soothed gently. “I’m just going to move closer, ok?”

And without stopping to think, Cassian allowed himself to do what he had been yearning to do since before he had arrived back in the bungalow; he crawled onto the mattress beside Nesta and curved his wing over her.

Nesta settled immediately, her head turning on the pillow so it was tilted towards him. He could feel the soft flutter of her breath on his cheek. His heart leapt against flimsy strips of bone, reaching outwards until it beat in tandem with hers. The sound melded into one, filling his ears and making his pulse slow until it was thick and sluggish in his veins.

She was so warm. His body was only just ghosting hers but he groaned a relieved sigh as every muscle relaxed at the heat. At the knowledge that the bond had turned peacefully quiet. That Nesta was safe and unharmed. Content.

And then he slept.

He did not have a nightmare.

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta

[ktheist]

in another life (i would be your man)

muses. hero!yoongi / assassin!yoongi / father!yoongi / lawyer!yoongi

word. 2.5k

genre. reincarnation au

x

time and time again, you find yourselves in the other’s absolute mercy.

mercy, which both of you know, the other will not grant.

“have you any last words, hero?” the grass shrivels up around yoongi all because hot air wilts the greenest of life.

a single bead of sweat trickles down the side of yoongi’s face as he looks at you without a shred of fear in the face of death.

“all the gold you’re hoarding... does it bring you happiness?” he says, as though already finding serendipity before you can even drive your talon into his chest.

“happiness!” you roar, mockery dripping off your word, “such humanly sentiments. you forgot who you’re speaking to, hero.”

“yoongi... yoongi’s my name” he sighs softly, eyelids fluttering shut, “say it.”

it is you who fall silent this time.

to say the name of the soul who’s bound to you not for love but for destruction... have you the right?

in your last life, a good few hundred years ago, he’s the one that drove the cross into your chest.

in the one before that, you burn him at the stakes for the wretched powers he held.

in this lifetime, even the armor made of the silver cannot withstand the weight of your paw, talon digging into his chest as he lays underneath you, ready to accept the heroic death.

“very well, if not in this lifetime, then perhaps the next...”

you live for three human lifetimes as the great dragon who brought the continent together. the humans, without their hero, are mere mortals. they learned better than to put their faith in one man.

in the next lifetime, you find yourself kneeling in front of a silver haired man - what a striking hair color for someone who’s supposed to be on the low.

“my hand’s gonna slip,” that gravelly voice still sends shivers down your spine.

“what-” you breathe out, eyebrows knitting together.

he takes his aim.

but there’s something wrong.

the angle he’s pointing at will graze your cheek and ear at most.

then he shoots.

when the bullet bounces against the cement somewhere a few inches away behind you, your body moves on its own. your leg sweep out to send him tumbling down onto the ground. your thighs pin his hips down so he can’t get up and you push the gun farther beyond his reach.

“why are you doing this?” you hiss, knife against his throat.

“don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to be happy?” yoongi says simply, too complacent for a man who’s about to lose yet another life to his enemy.

“that’s not how it works,” teeth gritted together, you press the dulled side of the knife harder against his snow-kissed flesh.

“then, how does it work?” he asks.

for a moment, you’re frozen in place. then you’re taken back to where it all begins.

you were a queen who poisoned her king before proceeding to ruin the kingdom until it remains but a memory to those who’ve lived through your tyrannical era. yoongi was the crown prince from a small country who enticed you into his chambers and kept you locked in a tower like a caged bird while he went to war with the neighboring kingdom with your kingdom’s army.

“i- i hated you for seducing me and locking me up in that tower,” you murmur, breath shaky, “a- and you hated me because i-i couldn’t be killed... because i was...”

“a blood sucker.” he finishes for you.

a flash of anger crosses your eyes and paint your vision red. you press the knife harder - no doubt there would be a bruise, “no matter how immortal i was... i died because of a broken heart. you killed me!”

“i was breaking my own heart for having to keep you locked in that tower but if i let you go...” he trails off, his hand coming to settle on yours.

it’s the first time you hear him choke up.

“so many died because of our love,” yoongi’s voice comes out barely above whisper.

“your sin is mistaking hate for love,” you flick your wrist, switching the side of the blade pressed against his neck to one that could cut through clean and swift.

but before you can seal yet another lifetime of your surviving, a sharp pain cuts into your arm, forcing you to release the blade, your free hand cupping the familiar circular wound that’s gushing with blood.

you push yourself off him, going over the ledge and jumping off to your safety. and yoongi’s left in the cold, night air, the coms in his ear buzzing back to life.

it’s six months later that he finds you, dressed in deep red, smiling seductively as you cling on a man twice your age. all of a sudden, he finds himself ignoring whatever his partner’s saying in the coms and approaching you and the man.

yoongi can barely remember what he said but he remembers the overwhelming feeling of relief when the man pushes you off and march out of the room, shouting russian vulgarities.

“planting a bullet hole in my arm isn’t enough, you just had to sabotage my mission, don’t you?” you’re on top of him once again but the ground isn’t cold and hard as he’s always remembered in the series of you pinning him down in differing lifetimes.

“have you thought about what i said?” he doesn’t look like he minds it anymore.

being pinned down by you, that is.

rather, yoongi quite likes the view of your cleavage when you lean down close enough to whisper into his hears, “i reflected on my past mistakes... and truly, i wish nothing more than to have you gone from my sight once and for all.”

then his index finger ghosts over the softest protrusion of the healed up scar on your arm. and you feel goosebumps on your skin.]

you leave in the morning, slipping out of the hotel room in that skin tight maroon dress, noticing the woman in the lobby, looking like what you would’ve looked like if you were waiting for your partner who went against orders and checked into a room in the very same hotel he was supposed to eliminate his target at.

sloppy. fucking sloppy.

yoongi never sees you after that. he got reprimanded and almost got eliminated by his own agency if it hadn’t been his father, the head of the extermination department who pulled some strings and buried the matter.

it’s a surprise he’s still alive at the age of of thirty-one, owning a lawfirm of his own and living the life he’s never thought he’d have.

a normal one.

then, he spots you, walking down the sidewalk holding a toddler’s hand and smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing you’ve ever hold dear to.

“stop the car,” yoongi orders.

“s-sir?” the driver, surprised by the sudden request, hesitates.

“pull over!” it’s the first time the young man has ever hear his boss raise his voice.

so he does just that, but a block away from where yoongi last saw you.

he runs as fast as his legs could carry him. but the sidewalk is empty of a woman holding a child’s hand.

it takes another year of him searching records of faces and names. for you have many and unlike yoongi, he’s sure you have no one to pull the strings and make one blunder disappear.

then he finds you, under a pseudonym, of a certain kim hana whose child is named kim youngsoo.

“it’s me,” he announces, stepping into the light that pours past the window and over not even half of the room.

“mommy, can we order pizza?” youngsoo’s lively voice rings from outside of the room.

“yeah, why don’t you decide what toppings you want and i’ll be out there in a sec, sweetie,” your voice sounds heavenly - none of the guarded strain that he usually hears. but your eyes, they look like the eyes of a woman who would give everything to protect her most precious possession.

“so it was you... one year ago,” you say, ambling to the dresser where yoongi easily finds out your motive.

“the gun’s not there anymore, you really think i’d break into the house of an ex-assassin and not think to look for weapons tacked up somewhere out of sight?” he hears the frustrated sigh you make before you stand with your feet apart.

looks like you believe his words.

looks like you’ve got no problems taking him on with bare hands.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?”

a scoff.

“you’re pretty dumb if you think one night’s all it takes to get pregnant with your bastard child.”

“who’s the father, then? why isn’t he around?” he presses on.

and his questions have always been intrusive but you notice the weight of his every inquiry. as if he’d drop dead right this instant if you don’t answer them.

“he walked away, couldn’t accept that we had to always be on the move just because he had a baby with a wanted woman.”

and it’s not the police that wants you.

“his social security number?” yoongi shoots you another question.

“i don’t know. i don’t remember,” you say simply, a shrug accompanying your answer.

“number one rule of being an assassin: never forget anything,” yoongi recites easily, even after five years, he still recalls the drilling his mentor forced him through, “so that leaves us with one possibility: he doesn’t exist, this ex of yours.”

“mooooom.” youngsoo calls out, sounding too close for comfort.

“just a minute, sweetie. why don’t you take my phone out of my bag and get ready to dial up the number to the pizza place?” there’s a lightness in your tone.

envy wraps around yoongi’s heart before he even realizes it. how he wished you’d speak to him in that delicate, loving tone as well.

“look, i’m tired, i’m done playing games, i’ve been done since that night. i know i fucked up and i know some day i’ll pay for it but not tonight... tonight... at least let me have one last night with my kid.”

it’s the way the word ‘my’ and ‘kid’ fall naturally off your mouth that makes yoongi realize that he’s the one stuck in the beginning all along. that he’s the one who couldn’t move on from the past even though he sought to change the present and threw your world upside down when he decided not to take the shot.

before he can say anything, you’re already out of the door but he senses no rush in your footsteps.

“do you have the pizza place’s number down?” there it is again, the soft, tender tilt in your voice.

it’s a little faint but he hears it clearly.

and it may very well just be a trick to make him sympathize but what is he to sympathize with when he’s only here to ask for confirmation?

why do you treat him like death who’s finally come to take back your borrowed time?

well, the answer was simple.

“i paid off the bounty,” yoongi meets you at a cafe where he knows you’ll feel safer.

no assassin will make a move in broad daylight, in public, with his face out for the cameras to record.

“how much?” you sound like you just got another loan tying you down.

“enough that they can’t resist,” he states.

and before you can even say anything, he goes on, “i want to see him.”

“no.” you say curtly.

“he’s my child too.” he slides the white envelope he pulls out of his pocket to you.

it contains the dna results from the hair on the comb youngsoo complained he lost and yoongi’s own hair.

“he’s doesn’t need a father,” you don’t even give the envelope a second glance, “if that’s all-”

“that’s not for you to decide on your own,” he cuts you off.

it’s the firmness in his tone that makes your eyebrows rise. min yoongi has always been a gentle soul. even when he was driving a cross into your heart, he’d done it with the heaviest heart.

and for him to place his foot down like this - how very unlike him.

which is why, when he pulls, you pull harder.

“if you so much as appear in front of youngsoo, we will disappear and i’ll make sure you’ll never us again.”

and with that, you take out the blank check from your purse and slip it over to him. the check and the envelop laying side by side.

money isn’t the issue, you’ve managed to wire every single penny you have to different bank accounts before the agency could even freeze the one in seoul. it took several trips to japan, hong kong and china but you eventually got enough to start a new life with your new life.

and that new life of yours is being shaken by the presence of an entity of the past.

you begin noticing the men and women dressed in plain clothing standing a few feet away from where you and youngsoo go. they’re there, acting absolutely normal which makes it unnormal. always watching, always being on guard as if their lives depend on you and youngsoo’s security.

it goes on for another three months before you finally get tired of it and approach one of them, “call your boss over.”

youngsoo’s blowing bubbles at the park when a sleek black car pulls up at the curb and a familiar face steps out.

“you can see him every week on saturdays, one no-show and you’re out. also- i decide when he finds out,” you set the rules and yoongi looks like he a little kid who’s about to perform at his school’s talent show, “do we have a deal?”

“absolutely,” he nods readily.

yoongi’s hand moves on its own and he almost hooks his index finger around your pinky finger as if asking for some kind of emotional support. but he stops himself.

he walks beside you, watching as you walk out from under the shades of the tree, your expression instantaneously brightening when the sunlight hits, “youngsoo-ah,” you wave the toddler over.

his little legs comes running towards you, curious, bright eyes staring at yoongi and right through his soul. he’s never felt so bare and defenseless.

the only thing that keeps him from running away is the fondness in your voice. and the smile on your face that he’s never seen before, “youngsoo-ah, this is uncle yoongi, he’s mommy’s friend...”

yoongi musters the best smile he can - he never needed to try. it’s the people around him that force smiles to please him. never the other way around. never him having to smile so he wouldn’t scare off his son.

he crouches in front of the child that’s partially hiding behind you, “youngsoo-ah, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

[random-tinies]

Crowza - 2

Hey, I’m on AO3 too! It’ll be the first thing updated when I finish a chapter from now on, but only by like, a few hours. :P I’ll be updating this fic on the first of every month so you guys know when to expect it next. This was sitting in my Docs almost done for weeks and I finally sat down and went “I’m writing the rest of this.” and did it, so here’s chapter two!

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AO3 Link 

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Sunlight filters through the branches and leaves of the old oak. Phil lifts a wing over his face, grumbling about how the sun is always at the perfect angle to blind him every morning. Of course, he does this song and dance every spring. He’s not exactly an early bird, which is why he never blocks it. It helps him get up in the morning.

The tiny bird hybrid resigns to his fate and sits up, blinking blearily at his old home. A torn picture of his boys hangs on the far end of the hollow. He grins, happy to be greeted by their faces. The photo had been yoinked last year when it fell out of Tommy’s jacket during one of his more daring excursions. Always so chaotic, that one, Philza chuckles to himself as the thought crosses his mind. Good memories.

He walks to his stash of nuts and jerky and various other bits of food he collected and preserved the autumn before migration. He crafts a quick granola bar, thanking his lucky stars that chocolate is so easily preserved, and enjoys a sweet homemade breakfast. Pleased chirps escape him as he basks in the perfect simplicity of it all.

Today is full of plans. A lot can happen in a few months and Phil needs to make sure there’s no new predators in the area that might get the jump on him, so he’s going to patrol the area. His territory needs to be safe. He’s always very careful about going about this. It’s rare, but if humans decide to start building near him, he’d need to know.

That and he needs somewhere to get coffee. He’d think that centuries of drinking the stuff would convince him to invent a tiny coffee machine, but why create something that will break eventually when he can just sneak into a human’s house and borrow enough to last him a month of two? Of course, he won’t be borrowing that much today, but the next time all three boys leave the house, he’s certainly going to stock up. Today, he just needs a little pick-me-up.

Phil walks to the edge of his home and ducks under the branches protecting it from outsiders, then hops up them like a staircase to get the best vantage point to take off flying. A low mist hovers over the pine forest, the sun’s rays burning away at it and painting the morning in brilliant hues of gold. Phil launches himself into the air, powerful flaps disturbing the mist and sending him high above the trees. The sky above is void of clouds as he spreads his wings and coasts. The air he breathes chills his lungs but the morning sun provides a warm contrast to the feeling. Appreciation for the peace fills his chest as if it were something physical.

Spring truly is his favorite season. The crisp scent of pines and melting snow permeates the air. A few shy birds send their song up, declaring their presence to the world. This is home, this is where he loves to be, where he longs to be every winter when he has to migrate south. Occasionally, a crow joins him in the air, lazily flapping in the soft breeze.

Phil casts his eyes towards the ground, watching for any stray movements. He’d heard of mountain lions moving into the area from Kristin. They’re fleeing the forest fires west of them, she’d said. She thought maybe they were the cause of the odd feeling she has and Phil was inclined to agree, but you can never be too careful. Eventually, after finding nothing, he flies to the humble house his boys call home.

When the birdman reaches the cabin that houses his boys and nothing is amiss, he decides to land in a nearby tree and rest. The sun had climbed to about midday and he has yet to find anything that would tip him off. He fluffs his feathers as a chill sets in, the branches and needles of the tree warding off the sunlight, and takes out some squirrel jerky he packed for lunch. Perhaps it simply isn’t time to find this ominous omen Kristin gave him and he’s jumping the gun.

The door to the home opens and two people step out. It’s the blonde and brunette from the previous day. Philza watches them as they talk about something with low voices. It’s a bit odd to hear the youngest one talking so softly. Tommy’s usually boisterous and loud, throwing banter back and forth with Wilbur and giving the occasional sibling shove.

Philza hums as he takes another bite of jerky. When he goes on his coffee run inside the house, perhaps he’ll look for any clues. The thought that something could be wrong with them twists a knot of worry in his stomach. A chill goes down his spine as he realizes he hasn’t seen Techno out and about these last few days. He forgets any plans to raid the house later and throws all caution to the wind. Oh Ender, please let him be okay and not deathly ill or something.

Tommy and Wilbur climb into the red pickup next to their house and drive away. Phil immediately swoops down out of his tree and soars the short distance to the old cabin, flapping to slow himself so he can land quietly. It was his saving grace that they like to decorate the windows so he doesn’t crash into them all the time. He flap-hops around the house until he finds a window cracked open and slowly opens it further so he can crawl inside. It’s harder to find open windows further into the season since so many bugs come out.

He listens hard and looks around for any movement, staying stock still.

Nothing, the house is silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace.

He carefully steps in further, wings poised to take off at any given moment. The inside is just as cozy as the outside. The walls are decorated with photos of the trio, of a family Philza has watched grow up over the years. It’s surprisingly clean, the hand-knitted rainbow blanket folded over the back of the old leather couch. It smells like pine smoke and coffee, and bacon. Phil would find it funny if he wasn’t so worried for Techno at that moment. He hops about the living room, making his way towards the kitchen. If he can’t find anything here, he may as well get some coffee.

There’s nothing amiss on the coffee table. Phil’s claws leave tiny indentations on the softwood as he walks across it. The lamp next to him offers a little bit of light but he can see fine with the natural light coming through the windows. There’s an ad for an animal shelter in the newspaper, a comic making fun of teenagers with phones, news of the new president, and an article about a pipeline being built sometime next year. The birdman frowns at that, making a mental note. He’ll need to put an end to that before it ruins his home. He shakes his head. Right now is not the time! He needs to see if there’s anything wrong! His gaze gets caught by the fashion magazine open to a page on robes and turns a few pages, admiring the modern clothes that differ so much from his own- Oh right! Techno!

He flaps into the kitchen and trots across the counter towards the calendar hanging on the fridge. Today is circled in red with the word “ADOPTION” in messy, bold lettering. Adoption? Techno and Wilbur aren’t married, right? They can’t adopt children, right? Confusion replaces the worry in his mind but he shrugs. As far as Phil can tell by all the clues, Techno isn’t in any danger and it’s safe to get some coffee from the pot on the counter opposite of him. He hops over and crouches on the edge, dipping his rabbit-skin waterskin in and filling it full of the delicious drug.

There’s a cough from upstairs in the attic and Philza nearly jumps out of his skin. His feet slip on the edge of the pot and his wings flare out to make up for the sudden loss of balance. The mug next to him falls off the counter and shatters on the linoleum flooring with a loud crash. Oh god, oh fuck. There’s no way Techno didn’t hear that. The bird hybrid quickly reaches into the pot and retrieves his waterskin and swiftly flies back to the window, heart pounding.

He knows he’s leaving a few feathers behind, but it doesn’t matter as long as he himself doesn’t get caught. He can hear the telltale creaks of a ladder as he takes off into the open air again, inhaling deeply and landing back in his tree. What was he thinking?! Going to check on one of the beans?! He put himself in unnecessary danger just for some person he got way too attached to!

From the safety of his branch, Phil watches Techno shut the window he’d made his escape from. The piglin hybrid seems fine, no hint of any severe illnesses. The cough didn’t even sound that bad, like he was just clearing his throat. That was too close. He can’t let it happen again. Phil takes a swig of his coffee and flies off to keep scouting out his territory. I’m going to give myself a nice preen tonight, he thinks as he coasts over the trees. That nearly gave me a heart attack.

He goes back to doing his routine check-ups and patrolling around his territory, promising himself he would do better to keep himself safe. Surely he’s not losing his edge, right? Surely not…

[behind-the-hood]

Demigod AU I Never Got to do Anything With but May Continue Some Day

He takes aim, letting out a careful breath, then lets his arrow fly. The stag lets out a cry, falling over as death claims it, Laurent's arrow having flown true and hit its mark in the eye. A good kill, clean, quick.

"Well done, my son," his mother says, petting his long, golden hair.

Laurent beams up at her, happy to have pleased his mother in the gift she cherishes most. She moves forward, sandalled feet soft as a whisper as she glides over the forest floor. She hefts their kill over her shoulders, effortless, and leads Laurent back to her temple.

He and the priestesses live there, and they watch him, teach him, fawn over him. It's like having many older sisters, his mother once said. He should be proud to have so many.

His uncle comes by some times when his mother visits; mostly to teach Laurent instruments. He says Laurent has a divine singing voice, and little Laurent preens under the praise.

-

Laurent never learns of his father; some man good at hunting his mother deemed would have seed fit to produce a child with. But that's where her interest ended. She'd wanted a child, had told him honestly but not unkindly that she'd prayed for a girl. But she didn't love Laurent less for who he is, for he is everything she could have wanted in a child.

So Laurent only ever knows of his 'sisters', his mother, and his uncle. And it remains this way for many years, well into Laurent's adolescence. And as he grows older, his mother visits less. His sisters say it is because he is grown now, and does not need the same careful guidance. It doesn't lessen the abandonment he feels. The loneliness. The isolation.

So Laurent hunts. Small kills to justify the need to go out more. He was taught to only kill out of necessity, not for sport.

It's on one such hunt that he feels his life took a drastic turn. A man, one he'd never seen in this forest before, is checking a trap for a rabbit, and holding his trophy by its ears.

Neck snapped, the man stands, tall as a giant and dark as the dirt, and Laurent feels his pale face flush.

Dark eyes catch his, staring stunned for all of a moment, before the man is moving towards him. Without much thought, other than for that of the safety of his home and sisters, Laurent lifts his bow and aims his arrow for the man, the threat clear. "Come no closer."

The man's lips quirk, but he stops. "You must not have heard of me."

Laurent frowns, glares. "I need not know who you are to put this arrow through your eye."

The man's smirk stays in place, and he looks amused at Laurent's show of aggression. "I'll warn you: that won't stop me."

Laurent bristles at the threat, but doesn't show the man how much he's affected him. "You are trespassing into territory protected by a goddess. This is your final warning."

"A goddess?" the man asks, looking intrigued. Gone with the teasing look, he glances about, though Laurent knows not what he hopes to find. "Which?"

Laurent's lips pinch. Why should he tell the intruder anything? He's only proven to be hostile and arrogant.

Bolts of lightning hit the ground before the two of them, knocking Laurent back and unbalancing the man across from him. Laurent gasps, getting his feet back beneath himself, the bluish moonglow of his heavenly skin returning with the vicinity of his-- "Mother."

Artemis stands before him, posture protective and spear in hand. She's adorned a war helm and leathers, her stags at her sides.

Across from her, Laurent sees a man who could only be Ares, his twisted smile and blood thirsty eyes locked with his mother's. "Long time, no see, Arty. You don't visit Olympus enough. The old man misses you."

Laurent sees the way he stands, broad shoulders protecting the man who'd been hunting in his mother's forest. He's frowning, rabbit forgotten, as he watches what unfolds between them. His skin glows a haunting red.

"Take your spawn and be gone, Ares. This land is sacred. I will not have it sullied by your kind."

That only seems to enrage the war god. "My kind?!"

He strikes with no further provocation, and Artemis manifests a shield, blocking the blow of Ares' greatsword. "Your chastidy is defiled! Your vows broken, Artemis! Your child is forfeit!"

Laurent flinches, holding his bow closer. The man cross from him looks just as surprised, and perhaps even a little betrayed. Laurent doesn't stay long enough, fleeing back to his home and away from the fight.

It's just as he's coming upon his mother's temple that he hesitates, thinking of what harm could come to his sisters. His mother wouldn't fall, but should Ares get around her, he could destroy their home and everyone within while looking for Laurent. So Laurent turns tail and heads for the alcove the nymphs call home.

-

"Laurent? My son, Ares has left and taken his son with him. You can come out now," his mother says, speaking to his Laurel tree. A gift from his birth, from the nymphs. They'd called it a safe space; he hadn't known why until now.

So Laurent spreads the bark as the nymphs taught him, and peeks out. Sure enough, it is his mother, smiling kindly.

Except his mother doesn't give him that smile, not anymore. She wouldn't hold her hand out to him like a lost child, wouldn't lean down to his level in her towering, godly form. Laurent doesn't even have the glow of his skin that comes with the presence of his mother. So he wordlessly closes his bark, and whoever it is outside his tree makes an angry sound from deep within their throat.

A sound, like ripping paper and the tides during a storm. "I've found you, and if you do not come out of that tree, I will simply rip the tree from the ground by its roots."

Aphrodite. She can change her form, as the goddess of beauty. Men have all different tastes, why should she be confided to a single one? But little know that she can be worshipped in times of war, and that gives her powers unlike the love and pleasure she is known for. A different kind of passion. Bloodlust.

So Laurent prays to his mother, prays to Apollo, prays to Zues, that he will make it out of this alive, that his sisters are fine, that whatever has provoked the wrath of these gods will dissolve like snow in spring.

[shyrose57]

I fell like Tommy came out looking just a bit to pretty sooo I’m going to make up for that byyyyyy making ANOTHER IDEA😃

Tommy takes care of the garden but he want’s some decorations, so what better way to decorate a garden than status! This begins Tommy's unstoppable work of making the perfect statue.

Tommy spends about one or two months on this, with absolutely no brakes, when finally he's done! The statue looks solo real! In fact it looks as if an actual angle fell from heaven and became stone, just an angle kid! Tommy ends up getting attached to this statue the spent so much time on that he decides to add something extra!

Tommy heads to the garden and finds the most beautiful flower, it's bright green on the center with petals of magenta and windage blue, mixed with bits of lavender and bright purple, Tommy makes sure to leave a don't/offering for snowchester and only picks up the flower once the gifts disappear.

Now with the statue holding the flower in it's tiny, almost flawless hands, Tommy leaves and heads to bed for the night.

The next morning there is no statue in sight but a little girl, younger than Michale, looks at him with big blue, Rosie checks, Light blond hair, pure white wing on her back and a little halo shining golden light. The angle reaches out her hands and calls Tommy ‘dad!’

Tommy completely fails to notice the transparent wings on his back, or the multicolored halo on his head.

The blond girl becomes Tommyinnits daughter, Clemetine goddess of life. Tommy becomes the keeper of life, Creation, still Tommy, he’s just far more intun with life, and can seamlessly create anything.

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

What do you think? Give me your ideas on how things would happen/playout after this.

Btw Tommy totally ran to purples house with clementine in a complete mess just to figure out what the fuck was going on, once he wasn't freaking out and being well Tommy, they figured things out and mostly everything stays as it normally would!

Well as normally at it’ll be getting!

I like a lot of things about this!

Tommy wanting more decorations for the garden? Cool. What else does he had to that hauntingly beautiful vibe his greenhouse has?

And I’m really interested in the whole offering for Snowchester thing. Snowchester doesn’t really require them, but it’s certainly a nice way to say thank you, so everyone in the town leaves some small sort of gift out for it once in awhile. The only one who never has is Tubbo, unaware of it’s sentience-but it will never want for anything for him, when he already pours so much love into it’s land with each day. As long as his heart beats in time with it’s own, Snowchester will be content.

The flower sounds very pretty too. If Tommy’s the one who grew it, he probably wouldn’t need Snowchester’s approval to pick it-the greenhouse is his place after all, and though it may reside on it’s land, it respects Tommy’s space. and knows that he trust it to protect this place for him. Maybe he was just saying thank you for keeping watch over Tubbo while he was so invested in the statue.

His statue becoming a real person? Absolutely amazing. I love that. Clementine deserves a place in Snowchester. Michael declares himself her older brother, and the two kids can often be seen laughing around Snowchester, safe within it’s grounds. Clementine more often than not has flowers in her hair, and her little wings blend in with the sparkling snow.

I do feel like Tommy being Creation is a touch overpowered, especially with him already having his ghost/phantom abilities. I kind of want the kids to be a bit nerfed power wise, if only because they live next to literal deities. 

But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Maybe not now, but in a far, far future, where Snowchester is but a legend of the SMP, and it’s inhabitants have long since become more, coming into power written in myths.

An End King, and his husband, the Ambassador to all. The ruler of the end, and the immortal who understands the words of everyone and everything, and is equally heard in turn. 

A long lived assassin, said to speak to the dead and weave spells and potions as fatal as his blade. 

And a young deity, who creates something from almost nothing(a shattered piece of a soul made new, lingering despair made into powerful hope, ect), a specific creaition, with the iridescent, shattered pieces of a halo floating above his head, and bearing ghostly wings on his back. 

So, alternatively for Clementine’s creation, maybe it’s a similar scene to Snowchester’s awakening, with a mix of some magic. Maybe it’s partly to do with the lingering revival magic on Tommy, his growing care for both the statue and his already powerful bond with his garden(perhaps similarly becoming sentient to Snowchester, if a bit less), and something to do with that beautiful flower you described. 

Tommy sets it into the statue’s hand with gentle care and tired fondness, finally going to sleep-he may not need as much, but he’s definitely pushed himself to the limit these weeks. 

He passes out at Purpled’s house, and in the morning, takes him to see the statue-imagine their shock when a little girl sits sleeping in the garden instead, unbothered by even the more snappy plants, and immediately calls Tommy ‘dad’ upon waking up.

The two spent a moment having a silent conversation(read:panic), before bolting to Tubbo’s house with the girl in Tommy’s arms to bang on his door until he opens it so he can help-after all, he’s the parent here. 

After a lot of confusion, and shouting, everyone eventually settles down with hot chocolate in Town Square, and introduce Clementine to the other residents of Snowchester. Michael takes to her immediately. Puffy offers to babysit. 

Hilariously enough, nobody outside the town thinks Clementine’s the slightest bit strange, despite the fact that she literally appeared from nowhere. They’re all convinced Tommy just grabbed a kid off the street-he’s picked up some of Phil’s habits, they decide, oblivious to the way the flora reaches out for the child, and how her wings are whiter than any avian they’ve ever seen. 

She’s just a kid, no more, no less.

[kyogre-blue]

Dragonspine lore

Just gathering all this in one place, for my reference.

Information about the Frostbearing Tree, from the Frostbearer catalyst:

When the daughter of the priestess of Vindagnyr was born beneath this white tree, the king in the verdant mountain was filled with joy when she received her blessings. Surely, the blessing of Sal Vindagnyr would be everlasting, just as the undying silver-white tree whose roots pierced the earth.

When the nail that froze the world descended suddenly, and that tree, too, would be shattered by it, that girl took the most complete branch, thinking to breathe new life into the tree that once overshadowed a nation.

But in the end, the grafted life could not flourish. The cutting snowstorm eventually covered the moonlight like a curtain of countless blades...

A long, long time later, yet still long ago - when the deathmatch between the dragons of darkness and wind was decided at last, when corrosive blood stained the ashen valley red, the tree, at last, remembered that it had not died with that entombed city,

And it extended its greedy roots towards the warm ichor that irrigated the land. And as a certain someone poured a crimson essence upon it, the tree that should have long died remembered its past, and bore a single fruit from the gathering of all its might...

Here for those who dwelt in my safe shadow, for the priests who eulogized me, for that lovely maiden who oft painted upon my form, for all the happiness they could not possess - I enjoin them all into this crimson, icy fruit.

To the ones who can render recompense upon this poisonous world shall it go, and may they carry my innocent, bitter fruit as they enact justice.

To summarize: Long before Durin, the Dragonspine was called Sal Vindagnyr. It was a prosperous, verdant kingdom that worshipped a Leyline tree. However, one day the Skyfrost Nail fell from the sky, breaking the tree and engulfing the mountain in perpetual ice. The last princess of the kingdom had preserved a single branch from the tree, which lay dormant until the mountain was tainted by Durin's blood. Absorbing the tainted blood, the former silver Leyline branch sprouted into a crimson Frostbearing Tree...

The Ancient Writings on the tablets:

"...far from snow and strife, and came upon this verdant paradise. A monument was laid down in this place, and it was named Sal Vind[agnyr]..."

"...guided to where the pale white tree stood. That month, the underground waterway..."

"...dreamed of the black dragon that blotted down the sun, and knew it to be an omen of doom. That same month, the outlander..."

"...its soul, and Starsilver its bones. But the one who could wield it, the ice-breaking outlander, Imunlau[kr]..."

"...attempted to heal the Leylines, but the tree had already withered. After burying the princess..."

"...without result or reply, Varuch proceeded on to the summit..."

"...snow whipped across the skies. The pillar that fell from the heavens was riven in three..."

"...ended. There is no more need for records. Yet I regret nothing more than having been unable to watch her finish the fresco within that great hall..."

To summarize: The people of Sal Vindagnyr tried to stop the perpetual snowstorm, including the king (named Varuch) heading to the summit himself. However, only an outlander named Imunlaukr was able to wield the Starsilver weapon they forged for this. He was too late, and the princess had already died. Somewhere along the way, the Skyfrost Nail was split into three pieces, which is how we find it.

From Snow-Tombed Starsilver, the claymore in question:

Tainted black blood dripped from the blade of his greatsword, as he trudged through now-foreign snowy paths.

But when he returned to the great hall of that mountain country, naught but ringing deathly echoes welcomed him.

"So even here, there is nothing left for me to protect... You who dwell in the heavens, you must wish for naught but to watch our ashen suffering here below. In that case, then let me help you pass the time with a song of iron and blood."

The outlander left the Starsilver originally meant to shatter snow and wind alike between the frescoes. Then, he descended the mountain to search for a land full of war and strife - a place he might paint red with blood.

Note that the Imunlaukr clan is also mentioned in the Sacrificial Greatsword description. They were a clan that sought battle in the belief that it would amuse the gods and joined the new Mondstadt that Venti created after Andrius melted the ice across the region. Interesting point: This is also the description that says, "On the cliff facing the eastern sea, the ancestors worshiped the masters of Time and Anemo together." It also again brings up "brave warriors stained black with blood."

Purely speculating, Sal Vindagnyr was probably BEFORE the rebellion in Old Mondstadt (they are mentioned fleeing "snow and strife" to settle in Vindagnyr, which sounds like Mondstadt pre-Andrius unfreezing it and the Archon Wars, respectively). So the founding clan perhaps picked up these traditions of "fight for Celestia's amusement" from this specific dude after he left Dragonspine.

There's also this image of the inner chamber and the frescoes that the princess had been painting, which I saved from a tweet that doesn't seem to exist anymore (not mine):

Completely irrelevant small point: The eight letters outside the great hall which you have to make light up spell "veremini," which wiktionary tells me is second-person plural present active indicative or imperative of "vereor," which means "to revere" or "to dread."

Aside from this, there is a series of Ruin Guard remains which spell out, "For the nation, we can't forgo this skyborne power, but we failed." We know the Ruin Guards were created by Khaenri’ah, so they were probably sent to retrieve the Skyfrost Nail after Sal Vindagnyr had fallen but were unable to make it through the ice and snow. 

Most of this isn't particularly relevant to the main storyline, but there are two points that link back to the ongoing themes:

Even though this was before the Cataclysm, Gold, and Durin, Imunlaukr fought something with "tainted black blood," so the whole business with tainting is OLD. Gold wasn't the origin as such, they just used it. Imunlaukr particularly seems to have thought that going the Abyss (assumed) might have some answers re: the Skyfrost Nail.

Both the Frostbearing Tree and Imunlaukr consider what happened to Sal Vindagnyr to be unjust, and Celestia's fault. Now, this might be just their bitterness at what feels like meaningless suffering, but it could also be that the Skyfrost Nail didn't fall on them accidentally. (AKA Khaenri'ah was not the first or only case of human nations getting slapped down by the divine.)

[darling-i-read-it]

Su-Zakana

2x08 

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, insinuations to smut, murder, dead bodies, manipulation 

Author’s Note: This took so long and it is super long and I am very tired but I really hope you guys enjoy!!!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary :Will helps investigate the case of a woman's body found inside of a horse; Alana worries about Will's intentions toward Hannibal; Will and Hannibal rush to protect a witness they believe to be in danger.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif) (this was one of those episodes where i’m like WILL IS PRETTY ALL GIFS OF WILL) 

“Where are you off to?” you asked, looking up at Will. You were amazed at how compused he had been since arriving back from jail. You weren’t going to lie, it was attractive. But also semi worrying. Ever since he had sent someone to kill Hannibal he had been this way. Maybe it was just because he was more sure of himself now. Either way, you liked this Will more than the one who seemed to be breaking at every touch.

“Fishing.”

“It’s snowing,” you pointed out.

“Ice fishing.” 

“Are you going alone? Should I come?” 

“No, I’m going with Jack.” You scoffed and Will smiled. It was nice to see some things would never change and your distaste for Jack Crawford was one of those things.

“Alright, have fun then. Be safe!” 

“I’m a good fisher Y/N,” Will promised. You shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tell you to be safe.”

-

You sat at Hannibal’s dinner table. It was odd to be back here. Sitting beside Will, across from Jack, near Hannibal. It reminded you of the times before your boyfriend was wrongly put in jail but then again, mostly everything did these days.

Hannibal placed the fish down on the table and you were happy to see the pieces of it and know Will had caught it.

“Truite saumonee au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side. Beautiful fish Will,” Hannibal started to dish up each plate and place them in front of everyone. Will gave a strained smile.

“It was my turn to provide the meat,” he quipped and you chuckled a bit at that. Jack gave you a look but you couldn’t care less what he thought.

‘More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzsche-an fish. Trials of hsi wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal sat down. “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn’t mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.” 

“No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds ew dealt to each other before we got to the truth,” Jack explained. 

“Speak for yourself Jack,” you said, cutting harshly into the fish on your plate. Hannibal had to admit how distinguished you and Will looked beside each other once more. Like all was right in the world. 

“Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness. Chilton has many victims besides the dead,” Hannibal countered. “We will absorb this experience and it will change us. We are all Nietzsche-ian fish in that regard.” 

“Makes us tastier,” Will said and you couldn’t help but smile. Funnier then he had been before. Hannibal and you shared a secret glance. 

“None of our actions were personal,” Jack said.

“I tried to have Hannibal killed. Isn’t personal?” Will inquired. You wanted to tell him that he was on fire tonight but bit your tongue. 

“No because you did not succeed,” you said, pointing a fork at Hannibal. “Clearly.”

“You thought I was a killer,” Hannibal said.

“I don’t blame Miriam Lass for shooting Frederick Chilton. I wanted to kill him myself.” Jack looked away from the three of you. The situation itself was so odd to him. He didn’t understand where you stood with the boys and how the boys stood with themselves. 

“Greatest crime now would be to walk away from what we’ve shared and suffered. In many ways, we need each other. We’re the only ones who will know what this feels like,” Hannibal said simply. Will took a bite of the dish.

“This fish is delicious.” 

You snuck a smile

-

Jack got up and left before you and Will. You glanced out the window behind where Hannibal usually sat. It was snowing steadily. You heard the door shut, Jack had been gone. You turned back, your hair falling on your back. Will and Hannibal walked inside the dining room.

“It’s snowing,” you whispered. They both smiled but the smile was different. Will smiled at you because he had seen this bit of you. The part excited by the snow. He smiled at a piece of you he knew. Hannibal smiled because he felt like you never showed this piece of you. 

“Looks like it,” Will said. “We should go soon.” You nodded and moved away from the windows.

“Yes we should. It’s getting late.”

“Actually I was hoping to run something by the two of you” Hannibal said. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes?” Will asked, back stiffening. 

“If you are pursuing working with Jack perhaps,” Hannibal said which made you narrow your eyes. You hadn’t talked with Will about that yet. “I was hoping to have Y/N come with us.” 

Will looked at Hannibal hard. He tried to figure out this angle. To an untrained eye it was likely because Hannibal wanted to spend time with you. To Will, he wondered if you coming along was to keep both of them in check. Perhaps it was something entirely different.

“I would love to. Especially if Will decides too.” Hannibal nodded.

“Then it’s settled.” 

-

In the car you looked over at Will as he drove back to your home. The snow was coming harder but you could only tell by the headlights.

“Are you really going to go back to working with Jack?” 

“I don’t know.” You looked out the window, not being able to look at him.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Will nodded.

“I know you don’t.” He glanced at you. “You’ve always been against it. But I can handle it now. It might even help me.” 

“But if it breaks you…” you trailed off.

“It won’t.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You nodded.

-

You sat at your desk, fiddling with your pen when the appointment came in. Margot Verger. She was a pretty thing, someone you could probably be friends with. She approached you with a sense of cool confidence.

“Verger?” You nodded. 

“Right on time. He’ll come when he’s ready,” you promised. She nodded and sat at one of the chairs. You watched her for just a moment before she caught you. What an interesting lady.

-

Alana stood across from you. She had come to Hannibal's office to see you while Margot was in.

“Can I help you Miss. Bloom?” She had a stiff back and you could tell whatever she wanted to talk about was not something you wanted to hear about. You had been distant from her since Will tried to kill Hannibal. 

“I’ve been talking with Hannibal,” she said simply and the way she said it made you wonder what the talking insured. “I want to know how Will is.” She paused and you didn’t answer her, looking up at her from your desk chair. “I want to know if he’ll hurt Hannibal again.” 

You paused a second longer as you studied her. 

“Are you and Hannibal...sleeping together?” you asked, laughing a bit. She looked straight at you. You felt semi betrayed. You couldn’t tell by who. 

“Is he safe?” 

“I don’t know Alana.” Your voice was cold, calculated. “Is he?” 

The door opened and Hannibal stepped out. He raised an eyebrow at the two of you. You hadn’t slept together but you thought there was something there, something unspoken. Something with Will, something different. You must have been wrong. 

“Hello Alana,” Hannibal said. You stood up. 

“I have to go home,” you said simply. Hannibal shook his head.

“I was hoping to speak with you alone. Can you excuse us?” Alana then seemed semi betrayed by the both of you. Served her right. You nodded and grabbed your jacket, showing him that you weren’t going to be staying long. You walked into the office and Hannibal shut the door right in Alana's face. 

You stepped in further and walked to your regular seat on his desk. You leaned against it, following him as he walked in.

“Yes?” you asked, a touch of annoyance in your voice. You knew it was unfounded but you ignored it for the moment.

“Do you know why Will tried to kill me?” Hannibal asked. A tough memory for both of you but you ignored the emotions.

“Because he thinks you're the Ripper,” you stated dumbly. Hannibal walked over to you and leaned against the desk beside you. His hand landed on yours but neither of you addressed it. 

“It wasn’t to avenge Beverly Katz’s death. It was to prevent yours. He was protecting you. The only way he felt he had left in him.” You thought about this a moment. You looked down at the floor and nodded.

“I’m afraid he’s opened a door in himself that won't’ close again,” you muttered and looked over at Hannibal. “And knowing I had a hand in opening it makes my stomach churn.” Hannibal smiled weakly. 

“I don’t believe you were truly the one at fault.” 

You shared a long look and then you got up.

“I hope Alana has fun tonight,” you said slowly. “I know I will,” you told him as you opened the door to the office. 

Despite the fact that you were only able to see Hannibals face for a moment you knew that your comment had hurt him. You were beginning to understand that Hannibal didn’t want to be Alanas. He wanted to be Wills. He wanted to be yours. He wanted to be part of the two of you and telling him, so blatantly, that he wasn’t was a power move. 

You passed Alana and were no longer bitter.

She was being used.

-

You stood at the stables beside Jack. Will was inside one of the doors, doing his thing. You and Jack were alone outside.

“I’m annoyed that he’s here,” you said. “For the record.” Jack nodded.

“I’m annoyed you’re here. I suppose no one got what they wanted.” You looked over at Jack. How oblivious that man was. 

Will stepped out.

“It’s a coffin birth. Decomposition builds up gasses within and putrefied the body and pushes the dead fetus out of its mother’s corpse. It’s really more of a prolapse than a birth,” he explained.

“Not to whoever did this,” Jack said. 

“Whoever did this knew the horse. Knew she was dying because her foal was born dead. Knew Sarah Craber. He’s familiar with the stables. He knew when he wouldn’t get caught. He works here or maybe used to. He has medical knowledge of animals, but isn’t a veterinarian. He considers himself a healer.” 

“How is he healing?” Jack asked. 

“Sarah Craber was reborn. And a mother and her child are finally on the same side of life. This wasn’t a murder.” Will looked over at the two of you and away from the corpse. “This was grief.” 

-

“Peter Bernardone?” Jack called. You stepped inside a small place, filled with metal cages containing small wild animals. Will walked closely beside you. The fact that you were there did leave him with a certain level of comfort. He was surprised how that made him feel.

A wild looking man was in the house, scrambling around. He wouldn't focus on you or Jack or Will. Instead he focused on the animals and the things around him. 

“You don't seem curious who we are,” Jack pointed out.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Agent Jack Crawford. FBI. This is Will and Y/N Graham. We’d like to ask you about someone you might have had contact with when you worked at Blackbriar Stables. Sarah Craber. Her body was found recently in very unusual circumstances,” Jack explained. 

“I heard.” 

“There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?” Will questioned. 

“Is the bird alive?” Peter asked. Will looked taken aback and curious. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

“Who’s taking care of it?” Peter asked. 

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack asked and you thought that was rather rude. 

“I didn’t know her.” He was so skittish, his mind in so many different places. 

“Would you mind looking at a photograph for me?” Peter shook his head and then turned around, murmuring something to his animals.

“I know who she is, I just didn’t know her.” 

“Just to be sure,” Jack said. He handed Peter the photo. Will watched him closely, as did you. Peter glanced wildly around and when he did look at the picture it was very briefly.

“Peter, you had a head injury when you worked at the stables,” you said gently. Jack looked annoyed that you were speaking. 

“I was kicked by a horse,” Peter explained. 

“It’s an atypical motor response. Peter’s ability to look and touch can only happen as separate events,” you explained a bit. 

“Aggravated by stress, isn’t it?” Will asked. He nodded, surprised the two of you had gotten it so on the nose.

“Are you feeling stressed?” Jack asked. 

“I’m worried about the bird,” Peter explained.

“A woman is dead, Mr. Bernardoen. And you’re worried about a bird,” Jack said bluntly.

“I’m sad for her, I’m sad for the horse. But I can’t help them. I can help the bird.”

-

Therapy for Will was still hard for you. You didn’t like it. You didn't’ like not knowing what was going on in the room beside you, if Will was being hurt, if Hannibal was being hurt. You were usually told about it after but sometimes things were left out or forgotten.

Will sat on your desk and you looked at him.

“If I wasn’t doing this as an official session then I would let you come in,” he said gently.

‘I don't’ want to invade your privacy like that,” you explained. “I just wish I knew he wasn’t hurting you.”

“Do you think he’s going to hurt me?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I think you might hurt him.”

“Are you worried about that?” Will asked. You shrugged. 

“I don’t know.”

Hannibal opened the door.

-

After Will talked to Peter some more alone he came up to you. He was stiff, like something was bothering him. 

“I’m getting Alana to talk to the social service man assigned to Peter,” Will stated. You nodded.

“I’m sure that’ll help something.” You paused. “Why?” 

“Because someone wronged that man as much as I was wronged,” Will explained, voice barely audible. “I want to see him held accountable.” You nodded. “I want you there while Alana does it. Hannibal and Jack will be there too but I want you there.” 

You couldn’t tell if he wanted you there to witness it or to be a crutch. Either way you nodded.

“Anything you want.” 

-

You sat in the back seat, Hannibal driving and Will in the passenger seat. The night was dark as you drove to the stables.

“You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss,” Hannibal pointed out.

“I’m trying to prevent one,” Will explained. 

“Do you think if you save Peter Bernardone, you can save yourself?” Hannibal asked.

“Save myself from who, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked.

“From who you perceive me to be.” 

“I’m afraid I need to be saved from who you perceive me to be. And for the record, I’m not the only one who sees you that way,” Will said. 

“Ah yes. Because you share in his beliefs don’t you Y/N?” Hannibal asked, looking in the rearview mirror at your face.

“Yes I do. Well truthfully I dont’ think Will’s ever been wrong about anything so I have to believe him. It’s my code,” you said simply. 

“Even with all you know me to be?” Hannibal asked. He was referring to the nights you spent together.

“After all Alana Bloom and I know you to be,” you quipped. Hannibal smiled a bit. He deserved that one. 

“Everytime you think about it, it stings, doesn't it? Wondering if I could be right about Will.” He was talking to both of you at this point. “Many troublesome behaviors strike when we are uncertain of ourselves. Peter Bernardone lies in the same darkness that holds you Will.” Will looked straight ahead.

“I’m alone in that darkness,” Will said. 

“You’re not alone, Will. I’m standing beside you. Y/N stands closer,” Hannibal said and you nodded.

“He has you there.”

-

Will walked beside you and Hannibal into the stables where Peter waited. You were the first to see him as you were the first in the stables piece where he was. You were all silent however until Will spoke.

“Peter...is your social worker inside that horse?” Peter nodded. You almost scoffed at the absurdity of the question.

“We are hardwired to see human beings everywhere. Every animal. Every life. We’re all human,” Peter explained but he looked disheveled, bad. 

“Every God is personified,” Hannibal stated simply. 

“He couldn’t see that. He forfeited his humanity. I forfeited mine. I used to have a horrible fear of hurting anything. He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.”

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior,” you whispered. 

“He deserves to die,” Peter said. 

“But he didn’t deserve to kill him,” Will stated. You felt his heart then. You wondered perhaps if Will could feel your emotions how easily you could feel his. “I want you to come with me, Peter.” 

Peter stood and allowed Will to lead him away. You gave Will and look, a look of worry. Will gave you a look of comfort back. He was in control. He was okay. You stayed with Hannibal.

“Happy I suggested you tag along?” Hannibal questioned. You both walked over to the sheep that were there and started to pet them a bit. 

“Actually, yes. I want to see what Will goes through.”

“Always his savior.” You glanced at Hannibal.

“Is Alana yours?” He chuckled but thought about it for a moment.

“Curiously enough I think you might also be my savior as well. In a way, differently than Will.” You were satisfied with that answer and you had to be because the horse started to move. The stitches ripped open and the social worker you had seen talk to Alana stepped out. 

“Mr. Ingram,” Hannibal said, stepping away from the sheep. Ingrahm stood up. “Might want to crawl back in there, if you know what’s good for you.” You scoffed and nodded. Hannibal stepped aside and Will held up his gun to the man. You wanted to swat it away from him. For a moment you recognized the ease he held while he pointed the gun, the almost attractiveness he held. 

“Officer, I’m the victim here,” Ingram said. He got on his knees and Will pointed the gun at his head.

“I’m not an officer. I’m a friend of Peter’s.” You walked up to Will but didn’t touch him. You and Hannibal shared a look.

“Peter’s confused.” 

You had been raising a hand before Ingram said then. You dropped it just as quickly as you had raised that. You had heard those words spoken to you about Will countless times. All three of you realized that.

“I’m not,” Will said sternly. “Pick up the hammer.”

“Will,” Hannibal said.

“Pick it up.”

“It won't’ feel the same, Will. it won’t feel like killing me,” Hannibal said. 

“It doesn’t have to. I know what it will feel like. It’ll feel good,” Will said. You watched his face. A focus came over him that you barely recognized. 

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don't do this for him. Not for Mr. Ingram’s victims or their many friends and relatives who would love to see him dead. If you’re going to do this Will…” he paused, “You have to do it for yourself.” 

“Please don’t,” Ingram whispered. 

“Shut up,” you muttered. 

“This is not the reckoning you promised yourself, Will.” 

Will was so close to pulling the trigger. You could see his finger shaking. The trigger clicked but it didn’t hit. Hannibal took the gun swiftly from Will’s grasp and put his hand on the back of Will’s head. 

  “With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you. I can feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me,” Hannibal whispered. He let your boyfriend go and you walked over, grabbing Will’s arms as he stumbled into your embrace. Hannibal watched the two of you, Will still shaking from adrenaline. 

He watched as you brought a hand up and grabbed Hannibal, hugging him too. 

Finally you pulled away from both of them and looked at the social worker.

“What do we do with this guy now?”

2x09

[blooddrop-palace]

DMC-OC-Week Day 2

(I’ve decided to share more Picrew for the ones I have Picrew images for. Welcome to day 2!)

Day 2 - Connections to the Cast

Seraphina Valkyrie - 

My version of “the lady in red.” Nero’s mother, Vergil’s brief moment of human connection. A Holy Knight, though she was regarded more as a rogue knight… not so different from how Nero was treated. She took a risk to banish demons who were after her and her just-born son, and the risk took her to hell, leaving Nero behind. 

“Am I crazy? I suppose you can call me that. I have enough sense to know that other people will find it not normal that my reaction upon finding a stranger in an alley that could cut down demons with superhuman ability… was to invite him to my apartment, give him a place to stay for a month, try to challenge him to a duel, and then invite him to my bed. But what can I say? Many Fortunans feared me because I tamed a devil arm. Most men I knew were cowards who feared a woman with claws. How could I not become infatuated with a man who did not fear me?”

Kassandra King - 

A girl with some demonic ties who visited Redgrave to check out what was up with the tower that appeared “a while back.” Had a fling with Dante… and the results lead to other things. 

“I’ve always dreamt of having a knight in shining armor. It’s not that my brothers aren’t nice, but they are my brothers. To find someone from outside of the family who would be willing to learn about you, and let you learn about them, and for them to want to stay with you and raise a family with… it’s a fairytale. And I want that fairytale…”

Arabella -

In an AU where Nero is ¼ human and ¾ devil, Arabella is a “Great Winged Serpent” devil whom Vergil met in Fortuna. She allowed him to take her on a journey as a devil arm, and after the Temem-ni-Gru, she talked him out of immediately seeking out Mundus, and offered to teach him how to properly survive in Hell, first. This agreement got a little… tangled up in other things… and the next thing Vergil knew, he woke up one day and Bella was coiled around him and an egg.

“Humans call love to be the most powerful emotion. I would have to agree with them. The idea that I would ever want to leave my secluded life guarding my territory and stop chasing out every trespasser was unthinkable. I liked my loneliness… until Sparda taught me how to be better. But it wasn’t just Sparda. I had a lot more to learn, still. And so did Vergil. We make a good match, don’t we? And Nero would grow up learning of the power of love, too.”

Snow King - 

The “results” of Kassandra’s fling with Dante. Following near-canon, she never got to meet Dante until post DMC5. She will come to meet Nero and Nico first, and perhaps that’s for the best. 

“Mad? At Dante? It’s my mother’s own stubborn fault that she wouldn’t tell him! But that’s an old song and dance already. If anything, I feel kind of bad for Dante. I really want to have a connection with him, but it’s probably a lot for him to take in now that I’m grown. The first thing I want to talk to him about is how he’d like to handle my mother, not me. If they can put a case closed on that, then maybe mom can just… stop feeling guilty and let go. After that? I guess if he lets me call him “dad”, I’ll be content enough.”

Noel - 

What if Vergil and Dante’s positions had been switched? Dante ran out to the park and nearly died, believing that no one will ever help him, he will never believe in or rely on anyone else again, and set out to “become a devil if he had to so that he will never rely on anyone else again.” Vergil, saved but an amnesiac for his younger years, regrets everything about pushing his brother away when he recalls his past, and after losing more people who showed him kindness, decides he must do what he can to protect what little he has left. So, who is Noel, then? Well, she has a devil bringer of copper-red tones that glows honey gold, and grew up in Fortuna. Does that shed some light? (She also eventually fesses up to a relationship with Credo. Well, more like Credo finally asks her if she’ll allow courtship.)

“I can’t BELIEVE my dad! When Uncle V drags him back, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind! No, I don’t want to hear it, Nico. I’m mad right now, can’t you tell? No, I’m not crying. Shut it will you-- Devil May Cry-- Fuck. Oh, hey there Credo. Lady and Trish safely back at the shop? It’s still standing? Cool. Hey uh… NICO! Saviour, are you trying to kill us? Oh, fine. Hey, we’ll pick you up with a delay, okay? No, don’t trigger just to get to us. It’s just small fry. Yeah, see you soon. I got work to do.”

Anthony and Caesar - 

(Nope, still don’t have images for them. Picrew isn’t working today.)

What if Kassandra got in contact with Dante after she found out she was pregnant? And came to live at DMC? Well, everyone around Dante would be in for a surprise when he starts to work his ass off to make a comfortable home for the new little princess in his life, but the bigger surprise is that he doesn’t stop there with Kassy, and they become a family of five. Tony and Caesar would be rambunctious twins, of course, but Dante would make sure to do right by these twins. Being a family of part-devils, of course, he will not avoid teaching them how to fight. Tony will find himself equipped with an axe and a pair of gauntlets when he becomes old enough, and Caesar was gifted with lighter weapons of a scythe and a pair of deadly shuriken. This might sound familiar to some people~

“Our family? Yeah sure, Caesar and I have lots of family! Just from mom’s side alone we have 7 cousins!”

“Within our own family, we have our older sister, Snow. And when we were about… 14 or something, dad found our cousin, Nero.”

“...Dad never said anything ‘bout having a twin brother before. It was kind of a shock.”

“I think meeting Uncle Vergil was probably the more shocking thing. He’s, uh…”

“Abrasive?”

“I was going to say broken but yes, he’s a bit abrasive, too.”

“Well I guess that explains Nero’s reign on his attitude.”

“Does it really? Sometimes I think you’re kind of like Nero, too.”

“Eh. I mean, in the end we’re all family. Dad’s happier to have his brother back. I get it. Mom thinks Uncle Vergil will figure out how to deal with the human world over time. And if mom thinks so then yeah! Sure!”

“I would rather believe that it will be for the best, yes. After all, if you got yourself into trouble due to your own stupidity, I would still want to help you.”

“...I still can’t believe you voluntarily allowed yourself to get locked up with me for a night when I stole a motorcycle because I got cornered by a demon and had to get away. I get it, bro, we got each other’s backs, but jail isn’t fun.”

“You get into too much trouble. Someone has to keep an eye on you. Dad can only do so much to get you out of trouble.”

Tony groans. 

[keeppushingme-bookboy]

Here it is, my first CR fic! It's such a me move to finish my first CR fic the week the campaign ends. I am so happy to have this finished and really excited to get it out into the world. I hope you all enjoy!

All I Want is to Trust You

Word Count: 4278

Summary:

Essek and The Mighty Nein set off for Aeor and what could be their final adventure, but encounter an old "friend" on the way... Or, Ashley Johnson rolled another dragon.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Luxon, it’s bright. Essek thinks for the third time in twenty minutes. The parasol Jester gifted him several weeks ago offers some relief from the sun above them, but the reflection off the snow is relentless. Even the others, with no naturally ingrained light sensitivity, squint at the glittering landscape around them. He had been doing his best to hide his discomfort throughout their travel. They have only been on the road for a few hours; he couldn’t let them question for even a moment that he couldn’t handle this, that they had made the wrong decision.

“Sunny day,” Caduceus remarks, and not for the first time Essek wonders if firbolgs can somehow read minds. “How’s that treating you?” the cleric nods towards the spiraling configuration of lace and silk casting inappropriately-shaped shadows over Essek’s form.

“Ah, it is doing well enough.” Essek offers a smile that feels a bit more like a grimace. “The glare can get a bit irritating. But I’ll be fine.”

Jester snorts out a laugh somewhere to his left. “What did your soldiers and stuff say when you used that at the outpost?”

“I, uh, have not had the need for it until we disembarked. I do not spend much time on the walls outside of brief inspections, which I usually do when the sun sets. But it is certainly coming in handy now.”

“Not that he would use it around his people anyway. Gotta keep up appearances, right, Shadowhand?” Beauregard calls over her shoulder from her position at the front of the pack with Yasha, packing an extra note of sarcasm into his title.

His mouth begins forming a retort, but a soft Zemnian voice cuts through from somewhere close behind him, “He has to command respect from his people, Beauregard. Not all of us can punch our way through a bureaucracy.”

Beauregard mumbles something that sounds vaguely insulting and turns her gaze back on the fractured and frozen landscape ahead of them. Essek looks over his shoulder at Caleb, shooting a brief but genuine smile before quickly turning to focus again on the snow several inches below his floating feet. Gotta keep up appearances, right? sneers once again through his mind, laced with mistrust and a wound still far too fresh. Another voice creeps in: Time. It takes time. He had meant that for Essek’s change, for his growth and healing, but he supposes it’s true for the rest of them as well. Choosing him for this journey is a good step in a lengthy process, but perhaps he can speed it up a bit. Time is one of his specialties, after all.

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the chill Essek glides gently down until his feet rest on the snow’s surface. It is much softer than he thought, and he sinks several inches further down with each step. He glances at some of the Mighty Nein around him, hoping he looks as though he is scanning the surroundings rather than watching for their reactions. Jester brightens and Fjord’s mouth quirks up at the edges. Caduceus’ easy smile widens for a moment. He will not turn around to look at Veth and Caleb, that would be far too obvious, and Beauregard and Yasha are too far ahead to have noticed so he is unsure of their reactions. But for a moment he allows himself to imagine Caleb’s eyes crinkling at the edges, some of the ice crusted in his beard shifting and falling into his scarf as he smiles.

He starts to imagine brushing the crystals from his scarf, resting a hand on his shoulder, then the side of his face, leaning in slowly… when Caduceus stiffens beside him, squinting at something in the distance. He motions for the others to stop and calls a low warning to the fighters in the front. “South.”

Essek turns and looks southward and struggles for a moment to see what has Caduceus worried. When he does, though, the chill beginning to seep into his feet and legs travels directly to his heart. A white dragon, and a big one from the looks of it, is swooping low over the tundra. Beauregard’s voice momentarily breaks him out of his panic as she and Yasha rejoin the group.

“Aw, this bitch again? She doesn’t know when to let up. Are we hiding or fighting?”

Again? Light, they’ve fought an Ancient dragon before?

“She certainly wasn’t pleasant to encounter last time, and we had Lucien and his group with us then. Perhaps we hide and continue making our way towards the ruins when it’s safe.” Fjord replies.

“But we have Essek with us now! He’s super powerful and the Tomb Takers didn’t care if we died in that fight. Essek does!” Jester pipes up.

“U-um,” Essek stammers. Coward.

“I am also sure he cares if he dies in that fight, Jester.” Caleb comes to his rescue once again. “Perhaps we take cover for now and prepare for the worst?”

The Mighty Nein begin scanning their surroundings for something large enough to offer all of them enough cover. The ice spires have been increasingly sparse as they moved closer to Aeor, but Yasha manages to spot a few groupings of broken spires and large sheets of ice that may be able to offer some cover. Essek stows away his small globe of warmth and Jester’s parasol and follows the group as they attempt to silently make their way to cover.

Upon further inspection they will have to split the party between two clusters of spires and fragmented ice sheets roughly 35 feet apart. It will make for good cover but will also make it difficult to plan in case of an attack.

After a few moments of tense bickering about what to do next Beauregard grabs Caleb and Caduceus by the elbow. “There’s no use fighting over a plan we’re going to abandon anyway. Separate the clerics and wizards, stay hidden until you can’t anymore, and fuck that dragon up if we need to. Everyone good with that?”

Everyone nods their agreement and Beauregard drags Caleb and Caduceus over to the farthest ice cluster with Yasha close at their heels, leaving Fjord, Veth, Jester, and Essek to take cover at the closest.

They spend a few moments crowding closely underneath the ice, Essek readying some components in case things turn sour. Luxon, he hopes they are hidden well. He will not run from this fight, and has complete faith in the Mighty Nein’s combat abilities, but an ancient dragon? This is not exactly what he bargained for when he signed up for an adventure with this group.

Veth perks up for a moment and glances quickly at Essek and the others before whispering “Yeah Cay, we’re ready. Does Deucy see anything? I can’t see around Fjord’s skinny ass.”

“Thank you?” Fjord comments, his blade shimmering faintly in one hand and the other firmly grasping Jester’s.

Veth shoots a lingering look at Essek in the silence, presumably listening to another message. She whispers again to thin air, “Yeah, he looks scared shitless but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Right, Essek?”

Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, Traitor of the Dynasty, is confident he has never been described as ‘scared shitless’. And it has never been more accurate. “I’ll manage,” he replies through gritted teeth.

She pulls out a wire and whispers into cupped hands, “He said he’ll be fine, but baby boy Fjord needed Jester to hold his hand,” she chuckles into her gloves before muttering “youcanreplytothismessage” and shoving the wire back into a pocket of her pastel-hued winter garb. Essek has a moment to briefly wonder if she ever gets the wire tangled in those peculiar antlers before there is a soft whooshing of wings nearby.

Jester and Fjord, who had been softly talking strategy, fall immediately silent. Everyone huddles impossibly closer in an attempt to stay hidden, and Veth manages to disappear completely in the center of their clump. They all hold their breath as the dragon, called Gelidon as someone mentioned, flies closer to the hidden party.

The beating of leathery draconic wings grows louder with each passing moment, Gelidon releasing a thundering roar that sounds far too close for Essek’s comfort. He can’t help glancing in Fjord’s direction out of fear. The half-orc has always had a calm, steadying nature in the face of the Nein’s dangerous brand of chaos. Now he looks towards the direction of Gelidon’s fury, his hand shifting to Jester’s waist while she gathers spell components.

Fjord catches Essek looking at him and gives a tusk-filled grin. “We like to take all of our friends dragon-fighting on their first adventure. Really gets the blood moving.”

“Yeah Twiggy really seemed to enjoy it,” Jester chuckled lightly, twisting the ruby at her throat with a nervous tremor in her voice.

“You are some very interesting people,” Essek returns Jester’s nervous chuckle before his focus is pulled once again to the dragon-shaped shadow racing across the tundra. The hulking beast lands with a crash about a hundred feet away from the group’s hiding spot, kicking up a wave of snow around her taloned feet.

She crouches low towards the snow and moves a few feet in their direction, nostrils flaring as she breathes deeply. Her breath escapes in a low laugh that reverberates directly into Essek’s nerves.

“I have not forgotten your scent, you little cretins.” She breathes deeply once again. “There are fewer of you, now. Split off from your little friends, did you? And hiding too. Cowardly without their protection-“ Gelidon roars the last word, whipping her tail through a pile of ice and snow nearby. It explodes in a shower of shimmering crystals and frozen rubble around her.

“I suppose that’s our cue,” Fjord mumbles before whispering a few arcane words, the runes along his blade lighting up as he flies through the air towards Gelidon. Jester holds out her hand and a bubblegum pink light gathers in her palm before streaking off, striking the dragon in the side, and surrounding her with a faint pink glow.

“Thanks, Jessie!” Veth calls as she darts out from behind Jester’s back and runs towards Gelidon, taking a shot with her crossbow that sinks deep into the joint where shoulder meets torso. The dragon roars in pain and begins flying towards the now-revealed party members, far faster than Essek had anticipated. She meets Fjord mid-air and snaps at him with her jaws. He manages to fly out of the way before they close around him, but the motion leaves him open for her claws to rake across his chest sending him spinning through the air.

Seeing the bleeding gash in Fjord’s coat Essek immediately begins searching his components for a black marble, deciding that he would like to stay as far away as he can from the ancient fucking dragon his friends had somehow angered. He brings his hand forward with the marble sitting in his palm and mutters a few arcane words before closing his fingers around the marble so tightly his knuckles turn white. A black sphere of dunamantic energy appears just behind and beneath the dragon, attempting to pull her towards the earth without catching Fjord in its crushing radius. Essek growls in frustration as Gelidon manages to wrench herself out of the gravity sinkhole’s grasp, still harming her slightly but not pulling her to the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye Essek catches Beauregard running with frightening speed across the snow, barely even leaving a footprint as she sprints towards the dragon. Yasha runs behind her, also unnaturally fast. Essek has a moment to catch the faint shimmer of transmutative energy indicating a haste spell before Yasha is running up an ice spire that has fallen at a slight angle. When she reaches the top she leaps, and Essek lets out a small gasp of surprise as pure white wings erupt from her shoulders and spread into the air. She goes into a steep dive and scoops Beauregard off of the ground. Essek hears a faint “Remember me?” and laughter as Beauregard is deposited on Gelidon’s back.

Essek glances around the edge of the ice cave he continues to hide in, looking for Caleb and Caduceus. The cleric is slowly making his way towards the fray with Caleb close behind, tucking some licorice root into a coat pocket.

The next few moments are a blur of battle, everyone trading blows with Gelidon as she roars and thrashes through the air. Fjord and Yasha strike out at her with steel and she returns with tooth and claw. Beauregard runs up and down her spine, managing to find weak points in her scales and driving both staff and fists into her body. Veth shoots bolt after bolt, some of them crackling with arcane energy. Jester and Caduceus weave divine energy to help their friends and cause further harm to their draconic foe. Essek sends a variety of ranged spells her way, still determined to keep out of range of her ice breath and teeth.

Caleb does the same, weaving combat spells and slinging fire with such ease that Essek has to force his own attention back to the battle at hand. Every time a bolt of fire or magic missile hits true on their foe Essek glances back at the other wizard as he ducks back into his own icy hiding place, his blue eyes as cold and determined as their surroundings.

His gaze returns to the battle as the dragon roars once again, thrashing violently in the air after a strike from Beauregard. She throws the monk’s body into the air, smashing her with her tail as she falls. Beauregard gets up and appears more annoyed than injured, shaking some snow out of her coat.

“Can someone take this bitch down? Or get me back up?” she calls to the others.

Essek searches his mental catalogue of the spells he prepared for the journey and brightens as he remembers the magnify gravity spell currently at his disposal. He can help, he can be useful and prove that it was worthwhile to bring him on this journey. He begins to weave the incantation for the spell before he stops short. The range on this is much shorter than gravity sinkhole. In order to be useful, he must get closer and risk being frozen, or worse, by an ancient white dragon. Essek spends another moment watching his friends throw themselves at this creature with little regard for their own safety and remembers why he came on this adventure in the first place.

I am on borrowed time, he had said at the outpost. The world is in danger, they had told him after a battle that had almost taken them from him before he had a chance to offer his aid. I will do what I can, he has told them so many times. I can do this, he thinks to himself, for them, I can do this. Essek takes a deep breath and steps into the blinding sun, towards an ancient white dragon.

He runs as far as he can and throws his arms forward, drawing his hands together then pulling them towards his body and yelling the incantation for magnify gravity at the top of his lungs. Gelidon roars once more, attempting to fly out of the pull of the spell before being yanked into the snow, unable to fight the additional arcane strength that Essek had funneled into it.

“Ha!” Essek cheers as Gelidon attempts to stand and fly once more, but is held firmly to the ground for the moment.

Beauregard gives him a thumbs-up and a “Thanks, man!” before running towards her to lay more blows into the dragon’s thick hide. The rest of the Mighty Nein take advantage of Gelidon’s momentary stationary position and attack with renewed force before she is able to right herself.

Which, much to Essek’s displeasure, she manages to do. He knew it would not keep her down for long, but he was hoping to give everyone a bit more of an edge. Now she rises on her hind legs, screaming into the sky and thrashing with her claws. As she lands back on all fours she beats her wings and takes flight once more, rearing her head back as ice gathers at the corners of her mouth. Realizing what she is about to do, everyone attempts to brace themselves for the incoming ice breath.

Essek has never had much need for a sturdy physical form. His weapon was his mind, and that was the muscle he chose to focus his energies strengthening. It has been the correct path for most of his 120-odd years of existence, only truly irking him when Verin would wrestle him to the ground while playing “ambush” or when an experiment went awry and he suffered some physical malady because of it. Now, however, when completely encased by the frozen hell of a dragon’s breath, he finds himself briefly regretting a few of his life choices as he takes the full force of the impact.

It chills him to his very core. His white cloak and mantle are immediately stiff with ice and it takes great effort to move his hands out from under the frozen material. He can feel frostbite beginning to encase the tips of his ears, turning them a deeper purple than his drow skin. As hard as he tries he cannot control the shivering while the pain nearly brings him to his knees. Beauregard appears to be having a similar reaction, while the others either did not take the full force of the blow or were outside of its range.

“Scheiße!” Essek turns his head to see Caleb coming towards them. No, turn back, he wants to yell. You cannot take a hit like this any better than I can. But all that comes out of his mouth is a strained whimper as he tries to recover from the pain.

“Essek, I need you to trust me!” Caleb calls as he pulls something from his coat. Essek almost laughs. You are not the untrustworthy one in this equation, he thinks bitterly. But he only nods and allows the warmth of Caleb’s magic to wash over him. It is only as he begins to feel his form shift that he notices the cocoon in Caleb’s hand. Shit-

He is…tall. Far taller than he has ever been while floating. He has used levitate spells to reach high shelves in places before, but this is different. He is tall, and his feet are firmly on the ground. As he looks down he is caught even further off guard by the presence of ivory tusks and a long, furred trunk. And his fur is…purple?

Before he has another moment to consider this strange new anatomy, he is caught by the sounds of a dragon roaring in front of him. Oh, that’s right. He’s fighting a dragon with his friends. The realization jars him almost as much as his new physical form did.

In the time it took Essek to ponder his new mammoth form the Mighty Nein had managed to ground the dragon once more. She is bleeding from several wounds and appears to be staggering a bit in place. In her desperate frenzy she begins striking out at anything and anyone around her, trying to escape the adventurers who now have her surrounded. Essek charges into the fray, trumpeting a sort of battle cry as he digs his tusks into the exposed side of the dragon attacking his friends.

A burst of flaming magic erupts into her from the snow beneath her. She turns toward its source, and Essek spins his gaze with her to see Caleb standing a short way away, a cat’s cradle of yarn in his hands. Wind whips stray strands of hair around his head and into his face as he stands firm. Gelidon begins to crawl towards him in a rage and he immediately blanches, realizing that he has now drawn the ire of this creature. Essek attempts to strike out with his tusks once again but they scrape uselessly against her armor-like scales. A few of the others get a hit in, but she takes the blows and charges onward toward her quarry.

Caleb looks up at the dragon, fear in his eyes as she unleashes a flurry of frenzied strikes into him. Blood blooms across his chest, arms, and face as her teeth and claws all hit home. Caleb throws an arm up with a magical shield beginning to form around his body, but it is shattered against Gelidon’s fury. With a final slash of her claws Caleb is thrown across the snow and lays motionless.

Essek is shunted back into his elven form and the pain of his previous injuries screams through his nerves before something else overtakes him. His heart pounds and cheeks heat with a terrified rage at seeing Caleb lying in the snow. One arm is bent awkwardly under his body, legs curled to the side as the snow blossoms a stomach-churning pink around his unconscious form. Essek cannot see his face at this angle and is briefly thankful to avoid seeing the wizard’s freckles shrouded in specks of blood and gore.

As his fear and fury build Essek feels gravity begin to coalesce around him, the magic sparking through his nerves like the beginning of a lightning bolt. Instead of electricity, Essek summons the rest of his strength to draw on the dunamancy around him. He brings out a shard of onyx from his components and slashes it across his palm. The drops of blood are frozen in space in front of him, and as he waves his hands they create a small circle in the air. A black void of deep nothingness appears around Gelidon’s torso as she licks her lips, turning back towards the others now that Caleb is down. She rears up on her hind legs and unleashes a roar that quickly turns into an ear-splitting scream as Essek crashes his hands together, pulling the blood into a tight sphere no bigger than a marble. The sound that emanates from Gelidon’s ribs is reminiscent of a tree being struck by lightning. The cracks echo over the tundra before Gelidon’s body turns a deep gray and falls away to dust.

They all stand in silence for a heartbeat before Jester and Caduceus are running to Caleb’s aid. Essek nearly stumbles to his knees as he follows close behind while trying to stay out of their way. Caduceus places his hands over Caleb’s chest and pink lichen spreads over his coat. A deep, verdant green light glows beneath it before the lichen shrivels and crumbles off the wounds. Caleb lets out a low groan and rubs at his forehead.

“Hey there, good to see you back with us.” Caduceus smiles and leans back on his heels.

“Is she dead or did she run?” Caleb attempts to sit up and look around before wincing and laying back down in the snow.

“Essek took care of her actually, and quite handily,” Fjord answers over Caduceus’ shoulder.

“It was so cool Caleb! He did some sort of awesome fucked-up gravity magic and she turned to dust! To dust, Caleb! Oh my gosh, I really wish you were conscious for that because you would’ve thought it was so cool.” Jester bounces on her toes and looks between the wizards with a half-cocked smile.

“Perhaps you will have to show me that one some other time,” Caleb says as he turns to Essek. “Are you alright, mein freund?”

Essek’s laugh comes out a little more breathless than he would have liked. “Which one of us is lying in the snow right now?”

“Good point,” Caleb’s eyes crinkle at the edges and Essek desperately hopes his blush is mistaken for post-battle adrenaline. “Shall we sit for a moment, catch our breath?”

“Good plan, you wizards are looking pretty fucked up,” Beauregard calls from where she leans heavily on Yasha, clutching a gash in her side. “Good shot though, Essek. Although I would’ve liked some of those dragon teeth to put with the T-Rex.”

“I will try to kill the next ancient dragon a little less thoroughly next time,” Essek retorts. Beauregard smirks and begins limping her way back to the fallen ice spires to take cover while they rest.

As the rest of the Nein follow her Essek falls into step with Caleb at the back of the group.

“You turned me into a mammoth.”

“I did. Squishy wizards need to stay in the back.” Caleb gestures to the partially-healed gash in his side.

“It was a bit, ah, strange. Is that a strategy you employ often?”

“Only when things get bad. Couldn’t have you getting knocked down in front of a dragon like that. We protect our friends, here in the Mighty Nein. Seems like you’re catching on to that.” He gives Essek a tight smile.

Friends. Essek feels the ice from the dragon’s breath melt slightly from the warmth spreading through his chest. “I am unsure that I can protect all of you all of the time, but I want to try. I cannot undo everything that I have done, but that much I can do.”

Caleb doesn’t reply, just smiles a bit wider and gives Essek’s shoulder a squeeze. And maybe it’s because he was injured, or perhaps it was Essek’s imagination, but he swears that Caleb lets his hand linger for just a moment longer than usual.