#v is reading Starlight & Shadows

[vspin]

"Do you know why we wizards are tolerated in Menzoberranzan?"

Liriel cast a quick, startled glance at her father. "Target practice?"

[darlingdekarios]

promise not to tell.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 5,014 content: Anakin Skywalker x f!reader, established relationship, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, nightmares, gaslighting/manipulation, porn with plot, somnophilia, dacryphilia, dubious consent, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, cockwarming, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, orgasm control], kink(s) [choking, biting, breeding, hair pulling, blood, squirting], somewhat "dead dove do not eat" please read the content tags again!, ends in fluff

Anakin needs to occupy his mind with something other than unrelenting nightmares. it's hard for you to tell him no.

A raging fire. A cloaked figure hidden by smoke and shadow, the presence enough without a face or voice to cause a primal fear - the kind that manifested in one's physicality and tightened your chest until you were certain you couldn't breathe. 

And you - the flames drawing closer as your face stared back at him, unblinking as tears streamed down your face. You were talking - whatever you were saying went unheard, your lips moving in four words repeatedly.

"It will be okay."

Until you stepped backwards, and -

It was as though he had been standing in the fire when he woke, shooting upward in bed with a thin sheen of sweat covering his overheated body, his lungs heavy as if they were full of smoke. Before he'd caught his breath he was on his feet, slipping on a robe to cover his frame before shoving his feet into boots, a destination in mind as he emerged from his door.

He was only going to your room to check on you - to put his own mind at ease of the fears that filled his mind like skeletons in a graveyard. This was the one clarity in his mind as heavy boots fell against the Temple floor, stride increasing with each step as he moved in on your room like a storm. 

From the other side of the door he could focus enough on you to know you were inside, sleeping soundly with heavy, steady breaths. This is where he'd told himself he'd stop, returning to his room to meditate until the Temple rose for the day. 

No matter what he'd intended all along, it was certainly not what he was doing now as he worked open your door as quietly as he could, stepping inside swiftly. He wasn't thinking clearly - not when he slipped his boots from his feet and walked silently to you, his unseen expression softening in the starlight glow of your room as his eyes found your bliss filled face. 

His only focus was finding the only true comfort he could in this moment, and finding it once again in you. 

What could quiet his mind better than the feeling of you responding to him even in sleep? As if it was in your very nature your body shifted backward and closer to his frame the moment he slipped into the space behind you, one of his arms snaking around you like Eden to draw you nearer. 

Had you been dreaming about fires, too? Your skin was warm, the blanket had increased your temperature enough to break you into a sweat despite the fact you wore nothing more than your underwear - a fact he was appreciative for as his hand splayed against your stomach to press you closer. As one of his thighs slipped between yours he licked his lips, the wetness pooling between your thighs now spreading to his bare skin. 

That was all he needed, the promise of your velvet walls already wet too intoxicating a thought to ignore. Pressing his thigh harder against your core he savored the heavy breath that fell from your lips, cautious enough in his movements to ensure you remained asleep. 

His hands first found your breasts, cupping and kneading the soft flesh in his hands as he leaned closer, burying his face in your neck to deeply inhale the familiarity of your natural perfume. Mind hazier than it had been earlier, the reason he was here in the first place long forgotten, one of his hands left your chest to continue downward, toward what he truly sought. 

As his prosthetic continued to gently massage your chest two long fingers ran through your folds, your arousal soaked core offering little restraint. When your walls welcomed in one finger with ease he withdrew to add a second, curling them both against a sensitive spot he often bullied for your reaction. 

From behind you his cock was throbbing in his underwear, the fabric restraining his length to a painful degree - he needed pressure and took it by grinding against you, his fingers pumping into you at a pace indicating he'd forgotten you were asleep. As you stirred awake his mouth connected to your neck, his tongue licking at a spot he often favored near your shoulder.

It was hardly the first time he'd woken you up like this, but you found each time was more dizzying than the last, his efforts and actions increasing each time this occurred. It was becoming a habit, one that had previously been restricted to starships and distant planets. 

Even in your half awake state, the thought of Anakin sneaking into your room in the Temple to defile you only added to your arousal, a quiet moan falling from your lips as your walls clenched around his fingers. You allowed yourself a moment longer before the cloudiness of sleep lifted further, the consequences of what would happen if you were discovered now coming to mind. 

Almost sensing your body's reluctance his prosthetic hand slipped downward to press into your waist, holding you tight against him as he pumped his fingers into you faster.

"Anakin..."

"Shhhh," he cooed, abandoning his attention on your neck to lean his mouth closer to your ear, whispering delicately in a tone that didn't match the ferocity at which he was now driving his fingers into you. Now that you were awake, there was no point in him holding himself back from playing with you how he wanted. "It's me."

"Shouldn't be in here, what're you..."

"Just shush," it was subtle, but you could hear the hint of annoyance in his voice, why you would question him at this point in your relationship always a baffling thing for him. He had never failed to make you feel good before, and if you would shut up and let him, he'd make sure you got better sleep than you would've before. "It's just me, I've got you."

"But if s-someone...hears," you whimpered, the noise coaxed from your throat by the perfect curl of his fingers, the digits rubbing against the perfect spot that started to unravel your anxieties into forgotten thoughts.

"Then I guess you should be quiet then," he cooed, his voice smug as he nipped at the skin beneath your ear. "I couldn't sleep, I needed your help."

"Anakin..."

"Shhhh...just let me take care of you...of us."

His prosthetic hand left your chest to cup over your mouth gently, slowing the pace he was pumping his fingers into you to stroke along your walls slowly, his lips trailing heavy kisses along your neck. 

"I'm sorry...I just...couldn't help myself when I saw how beautiful you looked," his breath was hot and heavy against your neck and you noted the subtle shake to his words, a familiar desperation to his movements and tone. He removed his fingers from you, smiling against your skin when it pulled a whine from your chest, his mocking laugh muffled.

Agonizingly slow he ran his fingers through your folds again, spreading the excess of arousal he was creating from your abandoned hole to your swollen clit. His fingers rubbed a slow circle, ego basking in the way your waist bucked toward him. 

"And you were already so wet..." 

Gently, slowly he slipped one finger into you again, giving you enough to feel desperate for more and not nearly enough to push you closer to the release you were now chasing. He was whispering lowly in your ear, his voice caressing your mind into ease and submission, his tone too honey sweet to deny.

To offer your encouragement you pressed back into him, the thick outline of his cock pressed firmly between your bodies as you turned your head in a desperate attempt to ask him for a kiss. Amused by your shameless display of neediness Anakin taunted you by kissing the back of his hand over your lips, eyes gazing deeply into yours with the intensity of twin suns. 

He shushed you against his hand, waiting for you to nod your understanding until he took his hand away, pushing two fingers into you as he happily pressed his lips to yours in a rough kiss. It was always a bit clumsy, desperate when the two of you found yourself clamoring for one another in the night like this, and now was no exception - tongues overly ambitious and territorial, teeth knocking several times before you figured it out. 

Life didn't award the two of you many opportunities to rehearse this dance, but thankfully you had become part of one another's muscle memory, and it never took long to fall into the perfect synchrony. 

He spread his fingers inside you, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hand grasped the back of your head, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure from twisting your neck. You moaned against his lips, perfectly quiet for the situation you were in. He thanked you with his teeth against your bottom lip, a low hum rumbling in his chest. 

"It's been too long...you're so tight."

He encouraged you to return your head forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before burrowing his face in your neck again, his fingers pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace to draw you nearer to the edge. You took it upon yourself to silence your moans by burying your face into the pillow, your sounds of pleasure only loud enough for his ears.

"Good girl," he was kissing your neck again and maker was it a wonder how he knew the exact pressure with which to press a kiss to each spot, having long since memorized his favorite parts of your skin. "If you come for me we can go back to sleep, I just...need to feel you come."

He felt you tighten around his fingers the moment he mentioned your release, choosing then to connect a metal thumb to your clit and circle slowly, the cold searing against your burning skin in a way that set the nerves ablaze. Your walls fluttered again, your hips squirming as you reached one hand back to grip at his hair, begging him for what you needed without ruining your perfect silence. 

But he held you there, slowly his movements and breathing heavily against your skin until he could hear your breathing turn impatient, your waist pushing back into his as you tugged at his hair to beg. Slipping two fingers into you again he curled them, pressing firmly against the sensitive patch you needed him most as he rolled your clit in his fingers. 

"Go ahead."

He continued fucking his fingers into you as you muffled your moan into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as you were taken over by euphoria, certain even when you'd been amongst the stars you hadn't felt this high. He continued to lazily pump his digits until your walls unclenched, continuing to stroke gently through your folds. 

In your blissful state your mind shrouded his actions in fog, his movements hardly registering until you felt the leaking head of his cock rubbing between your folds. Though he wanted to, he didn't push into your velvet channel, instead barely teasing the tip just barely into you. Even that was enough to cause your hips to buck forward and away from him, the sensitivity overwhelming your actions. He only pulled you back into him with a firm hand, grinding his length against your core again. 

"I'm sorry..." he breathed out, lips pressing to the back of your neck gently before he nipped his teeth into your skin again. Dragging his length back and forth through your folds filled the room with the audibly lewd reminder of how wet you were. "I know I said just one orgasm but...I just. I just need you, okay...listen to how wet you are..."

"Anakin..." you whimpered, your tone unconvincingly serious as you shifted your waist toward his further. His fingers twitched at your hip, digging into your skin further to hold you tighter, sucking dark evidence of your time together onto your neck. "We can't...not here..."

"I won't move, I just want to feel close to you," he promised, his tone too sweet and convincing to resist. "I need to be close to you, angel..."

"Okay."

You could feel his lips curve into a wicked smile the moment you relented, your body relaxing in his arms. He reached between your bodies to grasp his cock, giving the throbbing length several pumps before he inserted only the tip, pulling you down onto inch by inch with a hand on your hip until he was fully sheathed inside you. 

"That's my girl," he breathed out, his free hand finding its way to your chest to grip one of your breasts. "Kriff...s-so tight."

"Missed you," you whimpered quietly, trying to steady yourself as to not spur him forward but well aware of the fresh rush of slick that was leaking from you and soaking his pelvis. He released his bruising hold on your hip to wrap his arm fully across your stomach, holding you to him. 

His hold was crushing - you couldn't move if you wanted to. Right now, you couldn't decide.

"Missed...maker...missed feeling you," he managed out, swallowing hard midway through to gather himself, his forehead now resting against your back. His hips rolled, pulling a delicious moan from you that you barely managed to muffle in the pillow. "I'm sorry, I just...I need more."

"Ani..." you whimpered, one of your hands reaching behind to push at his waist gently. It was a feeble attempt...he couldn't help the quiet laugh that rumbled against your back through his chest because of it. "Y-you said..."

"You just make me feel so good, I'm sorry...s-sorry, I can't help it," he had raised his head again to whisper in your ear, pressing reassuring kisses to the sensitive skin beneath it. "You feel too good...promise we can go to sleep soon I just...just need to come."

He was moving then and maker, there was little to complain about when you were reunited with Anakin like this after months of being denied. A blissful sigh slipped past your lips at the next slow roll of his hips, an appreciative groan falling from his lips at the feeling of his length dragging inside your walls. 

Slowly he withdrew from you, forcing himself to wait a moment before pushing back into you, repeating the motion until he'd set a pace he knew you loved. For what it was worth, he was managing to stay gentle with you, hoping you'd come around to the risk of coming together in the Temple the more tenderly he approached.

"A-Anakin, you... feel so good," you whimpered out when his tip rubbed against the sensitive spot in your walls, hands grasping at the sheets in desperation for something to hold onto. Thankfully, he was more than perceptive when it came to your body's response to him. 

With appallingly little effort he had you on your back, his arms moving to press your knees to your chest. Arrogant - there was no other word for the smile that passed his features as his cock pressed impossibly deeper into you, leaning downward so he could claim your lips in a heavy kiss again, the momentary lull in his movements quickly shattered with a harsh snap of his hips. 

You could already feel the bruises forming under his fingertips on your legs where he held you, pounding into you repeatedly at a pace that would make it hard to cover the discomfort you'd feel in training tomorrow. You knew that for him, seeing you struggle to stand would be just as satisfying as it was to put you in that position in the first place.

Instead of thinking about the future, though, you focused instead on now - on him. He was talking against your lips between kisses, his teeth catching your bottom lip between them so frequently you could feel the swell to them. He was beautiful - you were fortunate to be able to see him this way, almost seeming to glow and sparkle as the moon and stars glistened off of his sweat covered skin. 

You reached for him with one hand, leaving the other to rest on his stomach, fingers pushing back his soaked curls before running down the side of his face. The emotion, the tenderness...the physical manifestation of your love for him in every gentle touch - it only made him want you more, a fact that he proved by angling you into the perfect position, your release approaching suddenly and with ferocity as his cock entered you deep - almost too deep, one of his hands now pressing against your stomach. 

He could feel you clenching him, walls fluttering as your eyes rolled back, biting your bottom lip between your own teeth to stifle your moan. With a particularly hard thrust and squeeze from your cunt he replaced your lips with his, surprised to taste the familiar metal of blood. His tongue apologized for the pain, swiping against your lip before he kissed you again, one hand pressing to your stomach. 

Your second orgasm washed over you violently, legs shaking between your bodies as he continued to take what he needed from you, using your lips to muffle moans of his own as your walls choked his cock, squeezing him so tightly he could hardly bring himself to pull out.

"Gonna fill you up."

The warning was barely audible, only moments later you felt the wet heat of his seed filling you, the excess combining with your own release and leaking out from around his cock. The promise of a sight like that pulled him from you, using one of his hands to hold your legs to your chest still as he leaned back. 

You were lost in a haze, not wholly certain you weren't floating amongst the stars, hardly registering the predatory look on his face and the way his eyes darkened as he gazed upon your leaking hole. "Look how pretty..."

Two of his cold metal fingers pushing the liquid back into you started to bring you back to your body, just enough to take in the sight of him licking his lips - his intentions written plainly on his features.

Taking, with no intention to stop.

"I'm sorry, angel, you just...look so good."

He leaned forward, flattening his tongue against your cunt and licking through your folds slowly, gathering as much of the combined spend on his tongue before swallowing it down greedily, his groan vibrating through you. He sucked your swollen, pulsating clit harshly before returning his tongue to your freshly fucked hole, pushing the muscle into you greedily.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, the only movement you could manage, pulling roughly to hold him closer to your core with all of your strength. He was drinking from you - far too busy to concern himself with how hard you were pulling on him. The noise the two of you were creating was forgotten, Anakin's mouth slurping and smacking against your cunt as he moaned in unison with you. 

"Need you to come again, angel..."

His head would stay between your thighs until you did, you knew that. But after two, you weren't certain how much more you could offer.

"'s too much..."

Disappointed in your response he turned his head to nip at your inner thigh, a bruise forming in the wake of his teeth. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head briefly before kissing the mark, eyes flickering up toward your face. Disapproval flooded his eyes.

"Don't say that," he snapped, taking a deep breath into his lungs to steady himself again. When he continued his voice was calmer, much more seductive, his lips pressing to your clit briefly again. "You know it's not, you can take it. Give me one more."

"I can't..."

He growled, his frustration clear as he huffed out a breath, withdrawing from you. You whined at the loss, a contrast to the reluctance of your words, to which he laughed short and harsh, muttering about how he knew what you needed. 

As he moved to his back he grasped you, pulling you to kneel over him and swatting at your ass to encourage you to crawl forward. Your shaking legs nearly failed you as you did as you were instructed - you wouldn't *dare* deny him what he needed - crawling toward his face until you were kneeling over it. 

His eyes said everything - you may have been hovering over him, but he was still in control. They continued to burn into yours as he pulled you downward, connecting his lips to your clit and slipping two waiting fingers into your cunt with ease. It didn't take long for his wants to click in your mind, his end goal becoming more and more obvious as he relentlessly continued to suck and lick your throbbing clit, eventually adding a third finger into your channel.

The pressure was becoming too much, too blinding, all of your senses overwhelmed and your body seemingly on fire, finding it within yourself to grind against his face despite your increasingly weak legs.

"Ani, I...fuck, I..."

He only nodded, perfectly timed with the rush of fluid that squirted from you, your vision blinded and mind free of all thought as this orgasm wracked through you violently. Anakin's mouth was open and waiting, eagerly lapping at the fluid after you'd finished, drinking from you like it sustained him, unwilling to waste a single drop of what he'd earned - of what he'd known you could give him. 

He caught you when you nearly collapsed, helping you lay back against the mattress again, gazing at you lovingly. The overstimulation had brought tears to your eyes, your face a complete wreck now - crocodile tears on your cheeks, a split lip from where you'd bitten yourself, several marks of his covering your neck. 

This is where he found true beauty. 

He leaned forward, licking one of the tears that had reached your lips before smiling and kissing you again, nestling back between your thighs. From between you his cock twitched again, harder than even before now that you'd gushed on him. His hands were bending you back again, forcing your knees back to your chest again, a hand immediately slipping to your throat when you were positioned exactly how he wanted you.

His free hand was waiting to grasp your hip when you jerked at the feeling of his cock teasing at your entrance again, holding you in place as he rutted against you slowly. You could hear his cock as it slipped back and forth through your folds, your body willing to give into him further even if you felt you couldn't.

"Still wet..."

You opened your mouth to argue but it went unheard as he just barely applied more physical pressure to your neck, combining it with additional pressure from the Force to make it feel much tighter. Your eyes stayed on his, wide and glimmering, universes reflected in them as you surrendered yourself to him. 

"Shhh..." he cooed, slipping his free hand between the two of you to grasp his cock, pumping the throbbing length in clumsy, desperate motions as he gazed into your blissful face. "I know you wouldn't want me to wake up in pain..."

You barely managed to shake your head, relenting once again, his hand replaced with your cunt as he drove forward into you again. The noise your cunt welcomed him home with was lewd - responded to with a groan from him. 

"I know," he breathed out, leaning down to capture your lips in a loving kiss again. You winced, lips swollen and bottom one split, something he showed little regard for as he bit at the soft flesh again. "You'd never want to hurt me, angel..."

Your walls squeezed him tighter, the overstimulation completely clouding your mind and rendering you into one purpose - his pleasure. You felt more tears coming on your cheeks as he began to pound into your over sensitive hole, eyes begging for anything he wanted to give. Content with your devotion he released his hold on your throat, a moan bursting from your mouth which he quickly silenced with a hard kiss.

Thankfully, it was obvious from the sloppiness of his thrusts that he wouldn't last long this round with you - his hips sputtering against yours each time his sack hit against your skin. His thumb found your clit again, pinching the bud roughly and swallowing the wail that came from your mouth. 

"You can take it," he whispered against your lips, forehead dripping sweat now with his hair completely slick against it. "I know...y-you've got one more."

How long had the two of you been going? Long enough now to the point where you were so cock drunk all you could manage was to nod up at him, eyes still wide with tears streaming on your cheek. Each time your bodies came together with pornographic noises he hoped would replace the nightmares echoed, joined by moans and sobs of pleasure from you, thanked with grunts and groans from him.

"Gotta...fill you again," he promised, lips now on your neck as he licked at your skin, picking a completely new spot on your shoulder to bite into. He wondered what you might do if he bit hard enough to scar you with a print that was uniquely his own - a thought for another time, perhaps. "Make sure...it works. Want everyone to know who you...who you belong to."

As his thrusts became impossibly harder and he pressed a hand against your stomach again he lowered his head further, suckling one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around your nipple. It occurred to him that your chest had gone unfortunately neglected in his actions tonight - something he'd happily remedy in the morning. 

He could feel your body begging for release, his cock railing into you repeatedly, the tip slamming into your most sensitive spot with each thrust, his hand pressing hard against your stomach while cool metal fingers played with your clit. As he pulled away from suckling your breast he bit your nipple, the wicked grin you love flashing on his features before he made his way to your face again.

"Again," he instructed simply, leaving no room for disagreement. To accentuate his point he ground his waist into yours agonizingly slowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth that contrasted how rough he was being. His breath was heavy, hot against your skin - you thought you might burst into flames any moment. "You know what I want."

You did, but you weren't certain you could give it to him - until he picked up the pace between his hips and fingers more, using the Force to replace the pressure on your stomach when he removed his hand from it. Grabbing your jaw he forced you to roll your head forward from the pillow again, demanding eye contact. 

Taking advantage of your open mouth he spit into it, watching as you swallowed it down gratefully. The moment he kissed you again both of your dams burst - you gushed around him again, clear fluid reaching his abdomen and creating even more noise as he groaned out, spilling another load in your womb. 

He continued to thrust through both of your orgasms, lazily pressing kisses to your lips, cheek, nose and forehead...anywhere he could reach until he was certain your cunt had taken in every drop he offered. 

It was serenity in moments like this, his mood effortlessly shifting from greed and selfishness and into something much softer, much more in control of himself. When he pulled himself free of you with a groan he leaned downward to press a silent kiss to your forehead, withdrawing to the attached bathroom to retrieve a towel, wetting it in the sink with warm water before returning to your side. 

As he gently cleaned your core he pressed his forehead into yours, eyes closed as he muttered quiet apologies and words of appreciation. When he left again it was brief, movements spurred along by the quiet whine that left your throat. 

Tenderly shushing you now as he slipped into the bed beside you, arms wrapping around your middle to anchor you to him. Happily, with no shred of hesitance your head found its favorite resting place against his chest, your frame melding into his much as it had earlier. 

This time, however, he only held you, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

"Y'had another nightmare, didn't you?"

It was the most words you'd said in a single sentence since he'd stolen his way into your room, and he was appreciative for your delicate tone - for the way you knew how to approach him in ways others were too intimidated to. He savored the way your arms wrapped around him, hands resting on his lower back to offer him some comfort. 

"The same one," he knew that you'd understand from just that, thankful much more needn't be said, his preference on keeping the images locked in his mind showing strong. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I couldn't help myself, I just..."

"Needed me."

The apology he offered went responded to no further, a verbal confirmation of your forgiveness unnecessary. Instead, you focused what little energy remained in your body to brush your fingertips lightly on his back, your affections reciprocated as one of his hands raised to hold the back of your head, silently asking you to stay closer. 

"I love you, angel."

The words he said so little that you craved to hear more than any other, welcoming you back into sleep.

masterlist. star wars masterlist.

[sonic-fankid-showdown]

The Sonic Fankid Showdown 2: First Round.

We are so back!!! These are the match ups for the first round of the second edition of the Sonic Fankid Showdown! Everyone get your kids ready to fight other kids!!

The first round will start this Friday 12th of July! And will last one week. See you then!!

Image transcript under the cut.

Beryl (by @spoiledskullz) v/s Sky (by @m3tr0n0m333).

Thadius of the Night (by @thesummoners) v/s Sunny Rose (by @nodulemodule).

Geode the Hedgehog (by @oddogoblino) v/s Brutus the Hedgehog (by @susahnasomething).

Sirius the Starborn (by @aetherprism) v/s Mars (by @estellardreams).

Zayne the Chameleon (by @sapphanimates) v/s Scorn the Hybrid (by @transgender-battlekukku).

Zinnia (by @lethalbreadkills) v/s Sun the Cat (by @bymiar).

Moonlight the Hedgehog (by @aexonn) v/s Tiger the Thing (by @nonbinary-sticks-the-badger).

Ruby the Bat (by @peachvixen) v/s Spirit the Hedgehog (by @itz-pandora).

Gloom the Hedgehog (by @rosetintedjello) v/s Crystal the Hedgehog (by @mutatedleemon).

M.A.R.C.Y (by @time-of-your-life-au) v/s Soup the Singular Hedgetwin (by @honeyglazedcalamari).

Lily Prower (by @galacticghoste) v/s Wendy (by @maddestmewmew).

Maria the Hedgehog (by @averiesmiles) v/s Velocity "Vel" D'Coolette (by @sonicnewschannel).

Ghost the Cat (by @koreyeet) v/s Destiny Acorn (by @head---ache).

Ari the Hedgehog (by @pokeypoqi) v/s Aster (by @sushirolledghost).

Blake the Tenrec (by @st4rrzyy) v/s Matches the Badnik (by @nicoletheholo-lynx).

Willow Acorn (by @localsmallbeanidiot) v/s Roxy the Bee (by @somemismatchedsocks).

Blueberry the Hedgehog (by @the-gay-ghost-king) v/s Dream (by @lerenee).

Jellybean (by @kittyonakeyboard) v/s Marie (by @unholy-everlasting).

Aster Rose (by @t4tsurge) v/s Firecracker the Hedgehog (by @shadowandsonic96).

Asha the Tenrec (by @yourpalsalamander) v/s Silhouette the Needlemouse (by @kingprinceleo).

Mirage the Lizard (by @montydrawsstuff) v/s Sly the Chameleon (by @val-va2).

Emer the Hedgehog (by @ghost-with-headphones) v/s Star the Hedgehog (by @hibiishere).

Turnip (by @s0larsyst3mm) v/s Violet the Hedgehog (by @softichill).

Hoagie "Blade" Thornslash the Huskal (by @microwave-kid) v/s Mary the Hedgehog (by @veo-queenofcards).

Morganite (by @yu-melon) v/s Sakura the Hedgehog (by @ekaycheem).

Nova (by @pastelspindash) v/s Bean the Hedgehog (by @sonic-the-werehog).

Juniper the Cub (by @clonescubed) v/s Surprise (by @navy-the-tiger).

Soda the Hedgehog (by @ubtendo) v/s Solar the Darkling (by @chaospears).

Starlight the Hedgehog (by @shadows-coffeebeans) v/s C.I.R.C.U.I.T (by @mephiles-the-jester).

Maria the Hedgehog (by @6larosie9) v/s Mimi the Hedgehog (by @zeawesomeness).

Addison the Hedgehog (by @splatatsplatoon) v/s Wraith the Hedgechidna (by @sonic-polis).

Juno the Hedgehog (by @crow-withaphone) v/s Zap the Echidna (by @adaplayspiano).

I swear those images will get easier to read as we move forward njasncs

Good luck, everyone! And see you on Friday!!

[rphelperblog]

This Savage Song Book Quote Rp Meme

book by V. E. Schwab - feel free to edit and change pronouns for rp purposes

“He could be the monster if it kept others human.”

“Every weakness exposes flesh,and flesh invites a knife.”

“It was a cruel trick of the universe that he only felt human after doing something monstrous.”

“I am holy fire. And if I have to burn the world to cleanse it, so help me, I will.”

“And she was happy. The kind of happy that smoothed time into still frames.”

“Why did everyone have to ruin the quiet by asking questions? The truth was a disastrous thing.”

“There would be a time to call the music. Time to summon the souls.”

“Safe. That is a pretty word.”

“Nobody gets to stay the same, little brother.”

“Why are there so many shadows in the world? Shouldn’t there be just as much light?”

“It was a cycle of whimpers and bangs, gruesome beginnings and bloody ends.”

“You don’t spend every day wondering why you exist, but don’t feel real, why you look human, but can’t be. You don’t do everything you can to be a good person only to have it constantly thrown in your face that you’re not a person at all.”

“There are no monsters in the dark.”

“Why would you even want to be human? We’re fragile. We die.”

“The perfectly good car comes with a perfectly dangerous girl.”

“You also live. You don’t spend every day wondering why you exist,but don’t feel real, why you look human, but can’t be. You don’t do everything you can to be a good person only to have it constantly thrown in your face that you’re not a person at all.”

“Nobody gets to stay the same.”

“I'd rather be able to see the truth than live a lie.”

“I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.”

“but all cities were icebergs, the real power underneath”

“The beautiful thing about books was that anyone could open them.”

“You wanted to feel alive, right? It doesn't matter if you're monster or human. Living hurts.”

“All he knew was that he was a body in search of motion.”

“I am not a monster, that’s what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t found a way to make it true”

“The moment I met you, I knew you were different.”

“Being. Not being. Giving in. Holding out. No matter what I do, it hurts.”

“He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this life,”

“Her world became a heavy beat, a rhythm, an angry voice.”

“There's a big difference between can't and won't.”

“Self-righteous and prone to speaking in third person?”

“He wasn't made of flesh and bone, or starlight.

He was made of darkness.”

“There was difference between the inability to lie and the need to speak the truth.”

“And she was *happy*. The kind of happy that smoothed time into still frames.”

"Maybe that's what you're made of. Just like us."

“People are users. It's a universal truth. Use them, or they'll use you”

“He felt alive – so alive – but tarnished, his sense screaming and his head a tangle of dark thoughts and feelings and power, and he was drowning and shivering and burning alive”

“People will die,"

“No one saw me go. No one thinks to look for someone who's always there. “

“That’s what he told himself, over and over and over until he believed it, because truth wasn’t the same thing as fact. It was personal.”

“I read somewhere that people are made of stardust."

“People are users. It’s a universal truth. Use them, or they’ll use you.”

“Being. Not being. Giving in. Holding out. No matter what I do, it hurts.“Why did everyone have to ruin the quiet by asking questions? The truth was a disastrous thing.”

“You wanted to feel alive, right? It doesn’t matter if you’re monster or human. Living hurts.”

“He’d made the world a little better, or at least, prevented it from getting worse. That was his purpose. That was his point. Someone”

"You were right worst plan ever".

“Yeah, I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.”

“If she'd learned anything from her father, it was that composure was control. Even if it was just an illusion.”

“Not heights,Just falling.”

“because truth wasn’t the same thing as fact. It was personal.”

“Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

In with gunfire and out with smoke.”

“The truth was a disastrous thing.”

“You’re a really shitty monster,“

“It's a monster's world.”

“t was amazing how easy it was to think in straight lines when he was in motion, even without his violin.”

“Even if surviving wasn't simple, or easy, or fair.

Even if he could never be human.

He wanted the chance to matter.

He wanted to live.”

“Good and bad were weak words. Monsters didn’t care about intentions or ideals. The facts were simple. The South was chaos. The North was order. It was an order bought and paid for with blood and fear, but order all the same.”

“That pendant may protect you from the monsters, but it won’t protect you from me.”

“People are users. It's a universal truth. Use them, or they'll use you.”

“She'd seen a documentary once, on cult leaders, and the traits that made them so effective. One of the most important features was a commanding presence. Too many people thought that meant being loud, but in truth, it meant someone who didn't need to be loud. Someone who could command an audience without ever raising their voice.”

“But there was something else, too, a strange excitement at the idea of playing normal, and every time he tried to untangle how he felt, he just ended up in knots.”

[scattered-irises]

Part II: Cradle of Steel

Spot the Illusory Paradise reference hahaha

Rating: General

Word Count: 659

Characters: Kaito Tenjo, Christopher Arclight

Relationships: N/A

Warnings: Science fiction elements

Summary: At night, a lone priest is left alone with his god.

The temple is silent. Kite waves his fellow priests farewell and begins to prepare the altar for the night. He had been the one to pull the shortest straw. 

 For a moment, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the temple. The receding footsteps of his siblings-in-faith. The humming of the machinery. An ever-present buzz of electricity. His own breathing. 

 In truth, he enjoys the long nights, despite the god’s silence. 

 Kite opens his eyes and adjusts his white coat. The sound of footsteps have vanished, the echoes dissipating into the shadows of the darkening temple. 

 His siblings-in-faith won’t be far though. The temple is their home as well as their prison. What they witness cannot be known to the people. Once their gifts are discovered, the temple becomes their grave.

 Kite turns to the screens listing their god’s vitals. Oxygen levels stable. Heart rate stable. Vitamins and mineral intake all accounted for. Neural activity stable. Kite looks at the slow and steady heartbeat readings of the god and smiles softly to himself. 

 All accounted for. All in balance. 

 He follows the ridges in the metal floor, his footsteps echoing in the empty chamber. Beneath the ridges were a network of wires, all connected to the god. They reported on all of his vitals, translating them into the numbers on the screen. He ascends the chrome-plated steps, lights following his every footstep. 

 Hewn from the floors beneath, the metal platform seemed to have been yanked from the floor by a pair of strong hands. Lights pulsated in waves across the metal. Tempered glass sealed away the rest of the world from the god, ensuring that his eternal slumber would remain eternal. Kite walks up to the cradle and places his hand on the glass. He leans closer to the god, his breath fogging up the crystalline surface. 

 This is the closest they will ever be, the glass barrier preventing their flesh from ever touching. 

 Up close, Kite drinks in V’s unusual beauty. No one else has hair the color of starlight. In his years outside of the temple, he doesn’t remember seeing anyone with such long limbs and delicate fingers. Like him, everyone on Dysonia had short and sturdy limbs to survive the constraints of space. The god’s face is sculpted as if it were a marble statue from the home planet. It is still and pale, seemingly made more of stone than flesh. 

 Ever so slightly, Kite can see the god’s chest rise and fall in his bodysuit of silver circuitry. 

 Blip. Blip. The readings on the monitor slightly rise. Kite pays it no attention. Like clockwork, V was tending to the colony’s lights in preparation for night. He scans V’s face for any signs of exertion. Nothing. Centuries of being a god must have made everything routine for V, akin to an instinct. 

 A small sigh escapes from the lone priest. Generations of his rank have tended to their god. Kite knows he will not be the last.

 In hushed tones, he knows that there are other gods in other distant colonies, tended to by the same legions of white-coated priests. Stella. Albus. Gaia. Just like his V, encased in cradles of glass and steel. 

 He cannot call these gods human because they are no longer human. Their true names have been left on the ruins of the home planet, left to blow away in the dust storms. They are gods now, remnants of a mythical world far beyond the reaches of the galaxy. 

 “V…,” murmurs Kite, his voice echoing over the hum of the machinery. 

 Sometimes the god’s eyes will flutter, especially during an unscheduled rain shower. Rarely, they may even open, revealing a glimpse of the most brilliant pair of blue eyes. V does none of these things when Kite calls his name. 

 “Involuntary muscle movement,” explained the head priest, Zythos. “He can’t see you.”

 A part of Kite wishes he would.

[atlantahammy]

Didn’t think i’d get this done before my days off ended, but hey, I did it! even if it is ass late at night! Whoop! aanyway: Nice lil Ref-sheet I did of Astra, yeah her full name is Astraea, Yes, those are open toe boots, for those interested there is Infor for her under the cut!

I’m also not really gonna list her age since I draw her on the older scale with my own design for her partner... If that makes sense?

———————————– My Commissions | .Carrd

Full Name: Astraea V. Orenda Nicknames: Astra, Nicknames Given by Donnie: Dusk, Starlight, Stars, Princess, Octavia,  Species: Dragon Yokai. Height: 4′10″. Sex: Female (She/her, doesn’t care for gender roles) Sexuality: Unlabeled. Significant Other: Donatello Hamato (FIGHT ME, I AM CRINGE BUT FREEEEE!) Family: Devi, Kadem, Rune. Disabilities: PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Nearly Blind without glasses, Deaf in left ear.  Star Sign: Leo. M.B.T: INFJ-T. Alignment: Chaotic Good. Character Class: Witch (Wizard in D&D terms?) / Mage (Same thing??) Occupation: Enchanter / Potion Crafter / Fortune Teller / Scroll Scriber Weapons: Magic / Quarterstaff (The PoleStar) / Shorts words / Long Swords / Daggers / Darts

Skills:

Art /Song /Dance

Crafting  / Enchanting

Potion Craft / Cooking

Scroll scribing / Alchemy

Divination / Astronomy / Lucid Dreaming

Gardening / Herbalism

Language & Rune Comprehension

First Aid / Magical Medical Knowledge

Note: Being a mage, Astra has had to dabble in a number of things, such as song and dance for rituals that require chants and movement, drawing for a steady hand for drawing magic circles and rune carving and magical studies, not to mention all the reading, so keep that in mind with her long skill list, even if some are also hobbies, being a mage is tiring.

Ability's/Weapons/Items:

Multiple Forms: Dragon / Yokai / Human (Cloaking Necklace)

Size Shift: Dragon form can change size mainly.

Elemental Breath Weapon: Its Plasma, purple plasma. #SpaceDragon

Scaled Armor: Her scales makes it harder for her to be hurt, but also uhh some people would love to use her scales for armor #Yikes

Magical Blood: Dragons blood is pretty potent for spells and potions, so getting cut isn’t always a bad thing, now when other people want to use it... #MajorYikes

Natural Weaponry: Claws & Sharp Teeth

Flight / Wing Manifestation: In Yokai form, she can retract / hide her wings as constellation tattoos on her shoulder blades, when she needs them she can bring them out to use for flight.

Spell Book / Magic: Astra has a spellbook with a number of spells she uses frequently, such as a spell she uses to levitate and manipulate objects too heavy to lift or out of range due to her short height.Healing spells of varying degrees, Shielding spells, shadow blade, and a number of crystal based attacking spells.

Polestar: Her Signature Quarterstaff, a gift from her sister that she treasures like no other, in its first form she can use the crystal to channel her magical energy into that of a scythe, or ningata, second form allows her to hold AOE type spells and summons to a greater degree, but also aid in teleportation spells.

Cloaking Broach: It's the large star pendant on her choker, not really a broach but still.

Bag of Holding: Yep, she has one, carries a lot of stuff in it, like medical supplies, potion supplies, electronics, snacks, potions, etc.

Divination Magic: Her major magical study, She ends up seeing the past, present, future, near future, what could of been, what was avoided, finding what was lost, finding what is hidden, speaking with the dead, etc.

Note: Astra’s Divination is a double edged sword, The bad visions stick with her more then the good, and often making her mental state worse, causing her to be a bit paranoid, as if she talks about them, it could force them to happen or force them to not happen at all, cause seeing the future is a pain in the ass like that with self fulfilling prophecies and the like. 

Weaknesses:

Short: And Hates it!

Weak: No arm or lifting strength at all, hurts herself opening soda bottles, all the strength went to her brain.

Anti-Magic: Girl is pretty much a sitting duck without her magic, no better than a civilian. 

Lack of Energy: Depressions a bitch, she’s always tired.

Walking Target: She’s a mage, so high on the list of likely to be mugged due to how they look rich (even if they just look it and really just a struggling collages kid), an likely carry a lot of highly priced magical goodies, and being a dragon with magical blood and scales that make amazing armor? not to mention who knows what else dragon organs can be used for? Yeaaah. #BigFuckingNope

Inferiority complex / Anxiety: Never thinks she good enough, thinks everyone hates her, thinks she’s always messing up, her achievements never really feel like achievements, struggles with expressing herself, Self Hatred etc.

Trivia:

Left Handed

Perma-Eyebags

Notch in Left ear

Short Summary: Astra is a dragon Yokai, living with her adoptive fathers, and sister she works in Devi’s (one of her fathers) magic shop as a clerk and aiding him in creating potions, magical items, and scrolls for sale, while also using her divination magic on the side for those who need a bit of help. 

When she comes to the hidden city under new york with her father on a business trip, things... get out of hand and turtles happen.

Which is weird because she knows a lot about them from her visions (And her sisters weird streaming obsessions) so, things are waay beyond awkward, specially with the purple one, cause, ya know, nothing like knowing who your partner is before either of you do and all these complicated feelings that come with it. 

Right?

....Fuck.

[vspin]

Thirteen pages into Daughter of the Drow and already we have some Vhaeraun stuff going on???

[the-sympathetic-villain]

I Know What You’re Going To Say - Chapter 3

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: A Beauty and the Beast style Vampire AU. Vampire!Virgil has picked up  Logan off the street and is holding him captive under the threat of killing his friends if he tries to escape.  

Word Count: 4275

Chapter Warning: Mentions of Parental Neglect/Control, Mind Control, Crying, Corruptions, Mentions of Police (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

    Janus stirred the coffee in front of him quietly as he peered out the window of the decrepit all-night diner. He felt a tightness welling in his chest as he traced back the night's events that had somehow ended with him here. Rain pattered on the window. Each wet streak glowing with the reflections of the bright pink, neon signs that the owners had seen fit to hang on nearly every surface of this godawful place. His lips twitched with disgust as he glanced down at his watch, checking the time yet again as he stared down the near empty streets.

    The kid was late. Ten minutes. The simple thought made his stomach twist with anxiety. After leaving Virgil, finding his prisoner’s friend had been almost comically easy. Virgil had his home address. A quick flight had him peering through the man's windows in under half an hour, but the passing glance he'd gotten was enough for him to guess where man had gone.

    He was already half the way down the street when a message from Virgil confirmed that the man’s work address. Less than an hour after leaving Virgil, he was being served by the very man he for which he'd been searching. Janus smirked at the simplicity, humming to himself contentedly as yet another car swept by outside sending wave of dirty water onto the curb.

    Still, Janus could hardly complain. Virgil had certainly sent him on worse missions, and though the dingy, over-lit diner was an eyesore, the man serving him was putting on quite the show as he flitted between the glistening, chrome surface of the bar. The subtle eyeliner flared to a perfect point as winked at the cook through the serving window.

    Janus smiled, eyes lingering a bit too long on the handsome waiter as he distracted himself from the empty streets outside. Truly, he was grateful for the late night hours as the lack of customers meant minimal effort for him to keep prying eyes away from his all to recognizable face. Being a vampire had its perks, after all. On a mere whim, the other customer’s gazes slipped over him like he was a mere shadow. Only the charming waiter he was currently staring had been allowed to catch a glimpse of him sitting alone in the booth.

    The waited with the golden hair had immediately recognized him upon bouncing up to the table to take his order, but fortunately, the guy didn’t seem to be the squealing type. A note which Janus would very much be filing away for later as he watched the man melt under his control. It had only taken a few, short words to make the man forget he had recognized Janus and hand over his phone.

     Janus bit his lip at the memory. The sight of the flamboyant waiter suddenly soured in his mouth as he remembered why he was here. The texts he’d read on the man's phone had indicated the kid was supposed to be here at midnight. His eyes flicked up to the retro-looking clock as it read a quarter past the hour. From the texts he’d gleaned that the kid's parents had reluctantly agreed to drop the kid off with his starry-eyed server, Roman, but the mystery of the late-night hand-off had not been resolved by the golden boy's texts.

     Janus tapped his fingernails on the cheap plastic tabletop as the golden boy himself glanced up at clock above the bar nervously. He stared curiously as his façade of nonchalance broke for the first time, revealing the underlying anxiety brewing behind the sweet smile. Janus blinked as the man disappeared behind the bar, allowing his attention to drift back to the rain-soaked window once more. He stirred his coffee absently as watched the glowing headlights rush past.

    The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, barely obscuring the hazy view of the streets outside. He'd almost turned back to watch the golden boy when a slim black car caught Janus’ attention. The sleek, tinted windows of the strange car stood out among the tattered, worn down streets. Janus sat up straight as the car pulled up next to the curb and the back door popped open to reveal the reddish-brown hair of the kid he'd been waiting for.

  Not a moment was spared on goodbyes. The kid immediately bound to the door of the diner, slamming the car door behind him. Janus didn’t see that it mattered however, as the car was gone before the kid even made it to the door. He let out a soft breath, turning to watch as the golden boy gleefully rush to the door with a slightly manic look in his eyes.

    The interaction should have filled Janus with relief. Seeing the kid in the man’s arms meant the most difficult part of his job was done. All he had to do now is watch the kid for a few days, but something about the simple interaction he'd just watched set him on edge.

    Janus’ tension only seemed to ease as he watched the golden boy sweep the boy up into his arms, whispering to him in hushed tones. They stayed like that for a solid minute, before the bouncing waiter finally started to drag the kid to a booth. A few moments later, they were walking towards his booth and his former human instincts and he averted his gaze. Logically, he knew their gaze would pass over him, but the compulsion to be polite seemed to be far stronger in his brain.

    “Where’s your coat, Pat?” The man whispered as he guided the kid into the seat behind him.

    “He—uh, he didn't let me take it.”

    The kid’s mumble was almost incoherent as the man stopped abruptly next to the booth, staring as the kid slid onto the vinyl seat behind him.

     “What?”

     There was a long pause as the golden boy stared down at the kid. Janus could almost feel the heat in the kids cheeks as he squirmed behind him. “He said, if I thought I was an adult, I could act like it—and my stuff would be waiting when I came to my senses and went back.”

    “What a goddamn asshole, Pat.” The golden boy whispered in disbelief. Immediately, he seemed to backtrack until the kid interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t swear in front of y—"

    “They also said some nasty things about Lo before I left.” The kid's voice trembled as he tapped on the cheap plastic table

    “It wasn't true. Whatever they said, Logan has done nothing but care about you.” The golden boy's deep voice reassured him. “He has everything set up. You won't have to worry about a thing.”

    “I know. I just—”

    Janus' heart twisted with guilt at sadness in the kid’s voice.

    “Where is—"

    “Listen, I'm going to grab my jacket for you, Starlight. You’re absolutely shivering. I'll be—” The man stopped him abruptly. “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

    “Okay, Ro.”

     Ice seized Janus' heart at the confused tone of the kid's and he jerked his head around to watch the golden boy’s head disappear behind the bar.

    He doesn’t know his brother is missing.

    The realization hit Janus like a brick wall as he glanced over his shoulder at the back of the kid’s head. His shoulders were slumped as he leaned forward to fidget with the basket of sugar in front of him. Janus blinked as he turned around, barely able to process what was happening. As he slunk back into his seat, Janus slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Virgil in his phone.

    J: Got eyes on the kid.

    V: he's safe?

    J: He's fine I think.

    V: what does that mean?

    J: Kid doesn’t know his brother’s missing, Vee.

    V: what

    V: wait how close are you?

    A sudden, sweeping motion in his periphery caught Janus’ attention and he turned his head to see the golden boy making his way back in their direction.

    V: Jan what's happening?

    J: Update later.

    Janus bit his lip guiltily as he typed the quick response, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His phone immediately buzzed a response. He turned his head, casually reaching into his pocket to silence his phone as he watched the pretty waiter make his way back to the table. The man was effortlessly balancing three plates on top of carrying the jacket he had swung over his arm. He moved quickly across the room and only stopping to gracefully slide the plate across the table to the kid and throw the jacket at him.

    “Eat up, Pat.”  The charismatic waiter’s voice almost seemed deflated now. His tension seemed to release now that the kid was here, replaced by a much more somber tone. “I'm taking off early tonight so we can get you to sleep at a decent time.”

   “Where’s—”

   “—I'll be back in a minute to grab you.” Janus’ stomach tightened as the golden boy tactfully brushed off the kid’s question. “Hopefully the rain will let up for the walk home not to be a miserable affair. I don’t want you to get sick.”

    “Okay.” The kid whispered, sounding a little deflated.

    “Hey, don't be like that.” The waiter's incredibly charming voice echoed in his ear from behind him. Janus could feel a scuffle in the booth behind him as the waiter ruffled the kid's hair. “It’s good to see you here, Starlight, but please just try to cut me a little slack tonight.”

    “Sorry. I promise to be patient.” The kid’s shy whisper shook slightly as if taken off guard by the waiter’s light reprimand. “Thanks again for letting us stay with you, Ro.”

    “You don't ever have to apologize to me, Starlight.” The golden boy seemed to tense slightly at the kid's change in demeanor. “Even if it weren’t for Logan, my door is always open to you. You’re family, kid.”

    Janus heart twisted at the bittersweet sentiment. This kid really had no idea what was going on and Janus wasn’t even sure the server planned on telling him. Stirring his coffee absently, images of the kid's brother tied tightly in Virgil’s binds flashed through the front of his mind. His eyes flicked to the side as the waiter backed away from the table, still talking with poor child.

    Soon, the server returned to his duties, leaving a heavy silence hanging over him. A bitter taste settled into the back of Janus' throat as his thoughts fell into a dark spiral. Virgil could be feeding on the guy now, as his brother innocently picked at his food. Even if he wasn’t, Janus could still see the red, irritated welts on the guy’s wrists perfectly in his mind. He—

    “Excuse me.”

    Janus nearly jumped out of his skin as the kid tapped on his shoulder from behind him, somehow breaking straight through his glamour. Fortunately, his instincts kicked in and he dropped his head, keeping his face hidden from the child leaning over the barrier and into his booth.

    “Can I borrow your ketchup?”

    “What?” Janus incredulous tone must have registered as odd to the kid, because he suddenly started to explain the simple question.

    “The bottle at this table is almost empty and I—”

    “Yes. Take it.” Janus snapped, cutting off the kid's explanation as he hastily shoved the red bottle into the kid's open hand.

     “Thanks.” The kid's voice sounded almost hurt and almost certainly taken aback at Janus’ abrupt cut into his attempt at a friendly inquiry. “I'm sorry to bother you, sir.”

     Janus' stomach twisted as the kid turned back around and slumped back into his seat. He cast a quick glance back at the kid, stilling as the kid’s  body language slouched. He knew for a fact, it wasn’t worth getting involved, but despite his wariness, Janus was getting the idea this kid was used to being shoved aside and he didn’t want to be the one to do that to this kid.

    Fuck. Virgil is going to flay me alive.

    “You didn’t bother me.” Janus whispered hesitantly, forcing himself to keep staring forward as the kid turned toward him.

    “What?

    “You surprised me is all.” Janus muttered. “No harm done, kid.”

    “Patton.”

    Now, it seemed it was Janus’ turn to turn back over his shoulder, dumbfounded, but the kid had already faced forward.

    “And I'm not a kid.”

    Janus smirked, turning forward to stare out the wall of windows. “Come now. You look like you can't be more than fourteen.”

    “I'm sixteen.”

    Sixteen.

    Janus blinked in disbelief at the kid's age and chewing his cheek at the kid’s slight defensive tone. “Still it’s a little late for someone as young as you to be out and about on this side if town .”

    “Legally, I'm adult.” Patton muttered. “I'm—I'm emancipated.”

    “Legal don't mean shit here, kid.” Janus stared down at his coffee, remembering the look of despair on the kid's brother's face as Virgil had loomed over him. “You’re going to have to learn that real quick, if you plan on staying here.”

    “I'm staying.”

    “No offense, kid, but I saw the car that brought you here.” Janus whispered, stirring his coffee absently. “The streets are going to eat you alive, if you aren’t—”

    “My brother knows what he's doing.” The kid snapped, though he seemed to be losing steam. “He's got a plan. I know he does.”

    “I sure hope he does, Patton,” Janus paused, chewing on his thoughts as the kid’s name passed his lips.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy’s new guardian making his way back to his table, so he quickly pulled out his wallet and tossed a twenty on the table for the coffee he had hardly touched. He tensed with resolution as he moved to leave the booth. “But even if he doesn’t have a plan, I think you’ll find he has allies in unexpected places.”

    “What?”

    Janus could hear the kid turn around as he stepped out of his booth, but he didn’t even pause. He straightened his hat on his head as flared up the collar of his long coat.

    “Don't give up, kid.”

    “Wait—What are you talking ab—”

    The kid's call died out as he strode out of the restaurant, pushing past the concerned waiter who was rushing back to the table to collect the kid. Janus sighed, frustrated as he pushed open the double doors of diner and swept down the street, taking a swift turn into the alleyway behind the restaurant.

    Janus’ breaths came in short gasps as he paced the alleyway with a fierce intention. Fury flared in his chest as his body filled with indignation on the kid's behalf. His pace had nearly peaked when he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He snarled as he noticed the already lit screen, barely resisting the urge to smash the phone into the wall as he caught Virgil’s name on the screen. Janus' pacing stilled. His anger burned white-hot as he considered letting Virgil worry, but his sudden desire for a fight won out as he clicked the green button and snarled into the receiver .

    “What?”

    “What the hell, Janus?” Virgil growled into his ear. “You don’t get to just ghost me whenever you feel like it—”

     “I can’t do this.”

     The line went silent for a long minute as Janus breathed into his cell. He sighed, releasing a bit of his anger as he leaned into the wall.

      “This kid is already asking questions about his brother. It’s only a matter of time until he realizes he's not coming home.” Janus hissed. “Even this guy’s friend seems like a decent human. He's still planning on taking the kid in even knowing his friend’s gone—”

    “Janus—”

    “No. Tell me, Virgil. When did we start doing shit like this to good people?” Janus leaned off the dumpster behind him as his diatribe intensified. “I didn’t sign up for th—”

    “Maybe, if you gave me a chance to speak, I’d—”

    “Where’s my brother, Roman?!”

    The blood-curdling shriek sent Janus flying behind the dumpster. He'd barely managed to crouch out of sight he heard a scuffle at the entrance to the alleyway.

    “Quiet!”

    Janus hesitantly peeked around the corner to catch a glance of the golden boy dragging the kid into the alley. His fangs started to extend as the full-grown man pressing the kid into the wall of the other building, covering his mouth with his hand so he couldn't call for help. Adrenaline shot through Janus’ body as he prepared to lunge into action.

    “I need you to relax, Pat.” The waiter’s deep voice sent shivers down Janus’ spine, but his tone was kind and patient. “I'm going to tell you, but your father can’t hear about this. If he does, you’re going to end up right back at home.”

    Janus’ muscles eased as the golden boy's grip slackened, even though the kid seemed far from settling as he squirmed in the man’s arms. Feeling the tension drop, Janus edged further into the shadows as he glanced at his phone, grateful that Virgil seemed to have picked up that he needed to remain quiet.

    “Come on, Starlight. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” The man’s voice trembled, nearly fading to silence. “I'm lost, too.”

    The kid, Patton, seemed to go slack in the man's arms at the slight tremble in the man's voice. Janus’s heart ached as he stared at the kid. The wet streaks on his face glistened in the light of the streetlamp and he looked even younger than he had in the diner.

    Just a kid.

    “I don't know where Logan is, Pat. He disappeared last night.”

    Janis could feel the energy in the air shift as the kid started to shake his head violently. He threw his whole weight into the man holding him against the wall, knocking the man's hand free of his mouth.

    “No—no, no, nonono—”

    “Don’t panic. We're going to find—”

    “What happened, Roman?”  The kid's voice cracked as he backed away from the man, swaying unevenly on his feet.

    “I don’t know, Patton. We were walking home from the diner last night and—” Roman hovered close to the kid, desperate to comfort him but cautious about antagonizing him. “I don't know what happened after that. I woke up in my bed, and—and Lo never came home.”

    Janus leaned closer, staring as his fangs slowly retracted. Patton continued to sway dangerously until the man came up to steady him from behind.

    “What did the police say?”

    Janus watched curiously as the man's expression shifted and he suddenly gripped the kid tighter. “I couldn't call them, Pat.”

    “What?!”

    A shiver ran down Janus’ spine as the kid's shriek filled his ears and it a was a long moment after that before he even processed the man's words. He glanced down at his phone, knowing Virgil was probably listening as intently to this conversation as himself.

    The guy didn't call the cops.

    “Logan was very clear about what he wanted me to do if something happened to him. His priority was always making sure you were safe first—”

    “Not if he's missing, Roman.”

    “He told me exactly what he'd want me to do if he went missing, Patton” Roman whispered staring over at Patton. “and that means making sure the police don't find out he's gone.”

    “Why—”

    “Your father has the police under his thumb,” Roman stepped closer to Patton, wrapping his arm around him. “One of the conditions of your emancipation was having a place to live with your brother. If he’s gone, the judge could throw out the decision, especially with a district attorney whispering in his ear."

    “He knew?”

    “God, no. Pat, he wanted to be here waiting for you. He planned to be at the diner when you arrived,” Roman stepped forward, gripping the kid’s shoulders as he forced him to make eye contact. “but Lo spent hours planning for anything that could possibly go wrong. He wanted to know that you were taken care of, even if something happened to him.”

    Patton continued to stare at the ground, shaking. “Roman, he could be hurt—”

    Janus sucked in a breath through his teeth, glancing down at his phone.

    “I've already got Rem on it. We're going to find him.” Roman whispered. His voice dropped quiet enough that Janus could barely make out the words. “I'm not giving up on him. Okay?”

    The kid's face paled and Janus could only guess he was barely standing by the way he continued to sway. Silence hung over them for longer than Janus was comfortable with, but the man holding his shoulders waited patiently until the kid responded.

    “Okay.”

    “Good,” Roman turned the kid's shoulder to walk him out of the alley. “Now, let’s get you to bed."

    “Ro—” Patton slowed

    “Don't argue, Pat. You’re not going to do Lo any favors by depriving yourself of sleep.” Roman placed a hand on the Patton's back in gentle reassurance. “We'll meet up with Rem first thing in the morning and go from there.”

    “’Kay.”

    The kid's mumble faded as they left the alley and Janus rose out of the shadows as they turned the corner out of the alley. He bit his lip, staring after them as he unmuted his phone and lifted the receiver to his ear.

    “Do you feel like an asshole yet?”

    “You know,” Virgil’s voice growled in his ear. “Your biting sarcasm loses its charm very quickly.”

    Janus bristled as Virgil brushed him off. “I'm done, Virgil. Return the guy or I'm—"

    “No.”

    Janus snarled silently. “Fine, then I'm out. Best of luck with whatever bastard plan you’ve—”

    “Stop.” Virgil muttered, his voice full of reluctance. “Please, just hear me out.”

    Janus' thumb hovered over the button, but the subtle plea in Virgil’s voice gave him pause not to hang up. He sighed, raising the phone back to his ear. “You have exactly thirty seconds to change my mind, Virgil.”

   Virgil didn’t hesitate a second with his response. “Do you remember when I got into that fight a few years ago?”

    Janus paused, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He slowed his pacing, staring curiously out the alley in the direction the kid had left as he replied hesitantly to Virgil. “Yes, I do.”

   Virgil's let out a long breath into the receiver. “This guy is the guy I fought, Janus.”

    Janus blinked, mouth hanging agape. “Oh.”

    “I know how this looks, Jan,” Virgil breathed quietly. “but this dude put me in the hospital because I said something he didn't like. However upset the kid is about his brother being missing, he’s safer without this monster.”

    Chewing his lip, Janus paced back and forth in the alley. His body tensed as he tried to process his friend’s words.

    “Janus?”

    Janus let out a long sigh, pressing his thumb into his temple. “I'm here, Virgil.”

     Static crackled in the phone's speaker as the silence hung over them. Janus glanced up at the amber street light tapping his fingers on his arm as a group of people passed the alley. Their laughter broke the fragile silence, grating against Janus’ ears.

    “I'm not the only bad guy.”

    “You’re not—” Janus repeated back without hesitation. “You’re not a bad guy.”

    He could hear Virgil’s breathy snort through the phone as he stifled a chuckle. “You seem awfully sure about changing your tune so quick.”

    “I am.” Janus muttered, stepping towards the street.

    “Janus,” Virgil’s sharp inhale stilled Janus pacing as he awaited Virgil’s response. “we're good?”

   “We're good, Virgil.” The corner of Janus' mouth twitched up at the relief in Virgil’s voice.

   “Good.” Virgil’s voice wavered with emotion and Janus smiled at the subtle show of vulnerability. “Now please, make sure that kid gets home safely.”

    “I will.” Janus smiled, leaning into the stone wall across the alley from the diner.

    “Thank you.”

    Janus paused for a moment, smile faltering as the situation that had just unfolded before him continued processing in his mind. "Vee?"

    "Yeah, Jan?"

    "He didn't call the cops."

    "I know. Something's up with these people," Virgil's voice dropped as he let out a long sigh. "We'll figure out what's going on, but for now, let's just be glad we don't have heat breathing down our necks. Okay?"

    "Okay." Janus nodded absently, trying to relax. "You're right."

    "It'll be fine."

    "Right. I know."

    "Jan, relax." Virgil whispered patiently. "You're safe. There ain't nothing bigger or badder on those streets than you."

    Janus cracked a smile, chuckling as he stood up from the wall. "Oh, I know."

    "Keep me updated."

    Janus grunted an affirmation, and a moment later, the line disconnected. He sighed, quickly dropping his phone from his ear into his pocket, feeling a familiar numbness settle into his limbs as stepped out onto the sidewalk. The scent of the golden boy’s cologne was easy enough to catch as he turned down the street towards his target. He swept around the next corner, thoughts wandering as the streets began to blur together. He bit his lip, shoulders curled forward even though he couldn’t feel the sharp bite of the cold. The amber lights illuminated him as he closed the distance between him and the kid, not that he noticed the buildings as they blurred past as he disappeared into the night.

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

I Know What You’re Going To Say Taglist:

@theoddkidnextdoor @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @im-actually-ok @justanoymous

[ayzrules]

Pick one important location in your story and write a longer description of it from one of your character’s perspectives. 

probably will be easier to read on my sideblog { here } due to font issues in my main. w/ @artless-whimsy​​

[THE BURNING PLAINS.]

“How does anything live here?" one of the angels asks, squinting up against cutting rays of harsh sunshine, golden and bright - so, so, bright, and burning jagged shards of glass-sharp light and smothering heat into every grain of sand, every molecule of air, coiling tightly into flesh and fur alike and choking out all the moisture.

“In the darkness," Mai says simply, recalling long-eared jackrabbits, burrowing kangaroo rats, cunning coyote kits; all the creatures that came out after nightfall, chittering and chattering and chirping. "And with the storms."

[SHADOW.] i. The sun hangs heavy in the sky, shining and still; the heat scorches and shimmers, slithers and simmers. There is no escape, save for the darkness.

ii. In the windswept desert, the golden light from above bleeds the earth dry and the sovereign in the clouds is nothing but a faraway dream. The creatures in this land of stinging sands and singed sunshine are wily and stubborn: they live, despite it all. 

iii. Some call the Borderlands a wasteland, barren desolation seared over with dust and sand, but Mai would beg to differ. The kingdom in the clouds is bright with glory, gleaming with pearls and moonstone and otherworldly in its perfection. It is a realm that is more dream than reality, a land of blinding, brilliant divinity that glitters hard and sharp, like gemstones shattering over silk. But the kingdom above is no more alive than the smooth marble statues standing vigil over their sacred temples; nothing dies and nothing changes and there is no life, not in any way that matters. 

Because: how can something have life, without death?

iv. Crawling centipedes and chuckling roadrunners and venom-dripped scorpions make a home in the Borderlands, where the light does nothing but burn, piercing straight to the bone. The flowers and birds and butterflies that meet the unforgiving heat and icy indifference of the desert with nothing but cleverness and cunning and an iron-forged determination to survive are more alive than anything from the kingdom above could ever hope to be.

v. Twilight falls over the hills, soft like ash; when the sun slips fully below the horizon, the night fills with chirps and cackles and snarls and screeches. Satin whispers and silken starlight murmur through the dust and shadows, and silvered moonglow shines out from behind the drifting clouds.

vi. In the Borderlands, the darkness is life. Anyone who does not know it now will come around, one way or another.

[SALVATION.] i. Dark clouds gather in the west, roiling and restless: they are bruises of dust and water vapor, blooming over the sky like deadly nightshade. Thunder growls over the land, a heaven-bound panther stalking its prey, and the mortals fear its wrath. Mai is not so foolish: in the desert, the swirling thunderclouds rumble with promises of rain and reprieve. It murmurs like a lullaby to her ears.

ii. The heat is stifling and silent. The air is dry as bone and poised like a hissing rattlesnake the moment before it strikes: all is quiet. All is still.

iii. The storm shatters the skies open as jagged daggers of lightning rend the world in two, furious and white-hot and roaring, incandescent like sunlight and starfire. Unrest rolls over the hills and chaos spirals across the desert. Mai feels it like singing steel piercing through velvet darkness, sending beams of silver-spun moonlight ricocheting into the night

iv. She breathes it in, lets it fill her veins. Chaos is power, and the demons are there when rain falls, when volcanoes erupt, when tectonic plates shift and collide. They bring the end of the world for an earthworm, a forest, an entire species, all so that angels can coax mud and mountain and life out of it all - because the angels are there when seedlings bloom into trees, when weeds and wildflowers wander into fire-struck desolation, when ash-green lichens and spring-soft mosses meander their way through the cracks and crevices of land scraped rock-barren by receding glaciers to begin anew. It’s a painstaking equilibrium between order and disorder, chaos and harmony, and the desert balances on the knife’s edge, dangling over the abyss. Here, the line between life and death is sharp and quick.

v. Sometimes, the storm-dark air is too dry, and the rain that glides downward with gravity mists away into nothingness before it ever has the chance to splatter clumsily across the ground. Lightning lances over the earth instead; it catches the tangled tinderbox of hardy desert shrubs on fire, and the blustery winds gusting across the hills only fan the flames higher.

vi. Other times, the rain falls doggedly toward the parched dirt, stubbornly defying the hissing heat and arid air and all the other forces of the universe that threaten to smother out every last bit of moisture. Then, all the desert rejoices.

[STARFALL.] i. The angel falls down, down, down in a radiant burst of glory-golden light: like sun-charred lightning striking the ground, or a meteor hurtling through the sky, bright and incandescent with molten mesosphere. The horizon lights up like a comet, and the moon is haloed in singing embers.

ii. A shock of celestial fury tears over the hills, setting all the desert alight in a rain of starfire. The flames that scorch the land are dying stars, shimmering with divine wrath: blazing, brilliant, and burning themselves to dust. 

iii. The fire flashes and flickers over low-lying grasses and snarls of woody vegetation, devouring everything in its path as the air glimmers with heat and dances with ash. When it finally goes out, weeks later, there is angel-glass skidded in saw-toothed ribbons over the earth: ignited divinity and stinging sand fused into shimmering nuggets of pearlescent stone, the glory-gleam of paradise melded with the harsh, smoldering heat of the Borderlands. It glitters moon-pale and silver-searing under the darkness of the desert night

iv. Holy things burn demons, and angel-glass is no exception. Even so, Mai cannot bring herself to look away. She crouches down and closes gloved fingers around a small shard of the lustrous stone, running her thumb over the surface and feeling all the layered ridges and the bubbles of trapped air: breaths of lightning-charged atmosphere fossilized into eternity.

v. The wind swirls viciously around them, howling a sandstorm into ash-dark twilight. The angel’s eyes shine like falling stars under the scarlet-scorched light of the Gate; when she wraps an arm around Mai’s waist and presses a steadying hand into the bloodied shreds of ivory silk and ruffled star-shine clinging to her shoulders, Mai burns, molten divinity filling her veins and flooding through her un-beating heart. Wild desert marigolds and berry-sweet birds of paradise burst to life inside of her, drowning the hard steel and lancing moonlight of her ribcage in petaled brilliance. 

vi. When their lips come together for the first time, the air hisses and crackles and catches on fire all around them, soft like morning dew and bright like sunbeams flaring over the stratosphere, setting mud and mountain and sky and sea ablaze in sparking flashes of gleaming gold and liquid amber.

Mai has never felt more alive.

[rphelperblog]

This Savage Song Book Quote RP Meme

book by V. E. Schwab - feel free to edit and change pronouns for rp purposes

“He could be the monster if it kept others human.”

“Every weakness exposes flesh,and flesh invites a knife.”

“It was a cruel trick of the universe that he only felt human after doing something monstrous.”

“I am holy fire. And if I have to burn the world to cleanse it, so help me, I will.”

“And she was happy. The kind of happy that smoothed time into still frames.”

“Why did everyone have to ruin the quiet by asking questions? The truth was a disastrous thing.”

“There would be a time to call the music. Time to summon the souls.”

“Safe. That is a pretty word.”

“Nobody gets to stay the same, little brother.”

“Why are there so many shadows in the world? Shouldn’t there be just as much light?”

“It was a cycle of whimpers and bangs, gruesome beginnings and bloody ends.”

“You don’t spend every day wondering why you exist, but don’t feel real, why you look human, but can’t be. You don’t do everything you can to be a good person only to have it constantly thrown in your face that you’re not a person at all.”

“There are no monsters in the dark.”

“Why would you even want to be human? We’re fragile. We die.”

“The perfectly good car comes with a perfectly dangerous girl.”

“You also live. You don’t spend every day wondering why you exist,but don’t feel real, why you look human, but can’t be. You don’t do everything you can to be a good person only to have it constantly thrown in your face that you’re not a person at all.”

“Nobody gets to stay the same.”

“I'd rather be able to see the truth than live a lie.”

“I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.”

“but all cities were icebergs, the real power underneath”

“The beautiful thing about books was that anyone could open them.”

“You wanted to feel alive, right? It doesn't matter if you're monster or human. Living hurts.”

“All he knew was that he was a body in search of motion.”

“I am not a monster, that’s what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t found a way to make it true”

“The moment I met you, I knew you were different.”

“Being. Not being. Giving in. Holding out. No matter what I do, it hurts.”

“He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this life,”

“Her world became a heavy beat, a rhythm, an angry voice.”

“There's a big difference between can't and won't.”

“Self-righteous and prone to speaking in third person?”

“He wasn't made of flesh and bone, or starlight. He was made of darkness.”

“There was difference between the inability to lie and the need to speak the truth.”

“And she was *happy*. The kind of happy that smoothed time into still frames.”

"Maybe that's what you're made of. Just like us."

“People are users. It's a universal truth. Use them, or they'll use you”

“He felt alive – so alive – but tarnished, his sense screaming and his head a tangle of dark thoughts and feelings and power, and he was drowning and shivering and burning alive”

“People will die,"

“No one saw me go. No one thinks to look for someone who's always there. “

“That’s what he told himself, over and over and over until he believed it, because truth wasn’t the same thing as fact. It was personal.”

“I read somewhere that people are made of stardust."

“People are users. It’s a universal truth. Use them, or they’ll use you.”

“Being. Not being. Giving in. Holding out. No matter what I do, it hurts.“Why did everyone have to ruin the quiet by asking questions? The truth was a disastrous thing.”

“You wanted to feel alive, right? It doesn’t matter if you’re monster or human. Living hurts.”

“He’d made the world a little better, or at least, prevented it from getting worse. That was his purpose. That was his point. Someone”

"You were right worst plan ever".

“Yeah, I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.”

“If she'd learned anything from her father, it was that composure was control. Even if it was just an illusion.”

“Not heights,Just falling.”

“because truth wasn’t the same thing as fact. It was personal.”

“Not with a bang, but with a whimper. In with gunfire and out with smoke.”

“The truth was a disastrous thing.”

“You’re a really shitty monster,“

“It's a monster's world.”

“t was amazing how easy it was to think in straight lines when he was in motion, even without his violin.”

“Even if surviving wasn't simple, or easy, or fair. Even if he could never be human. He wanted the chance to matter. He wanted to live.”

“Good and bad were weak words. Monsters didn’t care about intentions or ideals. The facts were simple. The South was chaos. The North was order. It was an order bought and paid for with blood and fear, but order all the same.”

“That pendant may protect you from the monsters, but it won’t protect you from me.”

“People are users. It's a universal truth. Use them, or they'll use you.”

“She'd seen a documentary once, on cult leaders, and the traits that made them so effective. One of the most important features was a commanding presence. Too many people thought that meant being loud, but in truth, it meant someone who didn't need to be loud. Someone who could command an audience without ever raising their voice.”

“But there was something else, too, a strange excitement at the idea of playing normal, and every time he tried to untangle how he felt, he just ended up in knots.”

[vaniccio]

sea’s wol challenge — v. starlight

This is a dream, she tells herself even as her lungs constrict in her chest. This is a dream. 

But the sharp burn in her throat feels real. The fear crawling up her spine and numbing her fingers feels real. The slow, heavy gust of air brushing against her neck feels far too real, and she would recognize the oppressive figure looming at her back anywhere. 

She takes shaky, stumbling steps forward until her feet knock against another body. Her blood runs cold. 

Visions of sharp, grinning teeth flash across her mind. Then a clawed, gloved hand enters her line of sight and she jolts herself awake by pure will. 

Dream, she tells herself in the resounding silence of her bedroom. Not real. 

But the creeping panic transfers over no matter how much she tries to shove it down, and she doesn't quite manage to let go of her death grip on the bed sheets in time. 

"Mihr?" 

She feels the bed dip and hears the sheets rustle. Half-glazed eyes peer at her through the darkness, still heavy with sleep—and the sight triggers another wave of fear so fierce she freezes. 

The soft hiccup that escapes her throat is enough to spark him to immediate awareness, but she's up and beelining for the bathroom before he can ask again.

 . . . 

It feels like she’s stuck in a loop sometimes. Every now and then she’ll get a good feeling, a rush of confidence that has her thinking she’s managed to claw her way out, to finally step off of whatever predetermined path fate has decided to put her on—and every time it ends with her feeling like she’s being dragged back by her feet. 

It happens often enough where she’s long past thinking it’s a coincidence. Some part of her wonders about the Gods and their sense of humor and how she’d like to have a few strong words with Fate about taking a long, long vacation. 

"I'm sorry I keep waking you like this,” she mumbles and rests her head on her arms. The stonewall is cold against her skin. Something solid to anchor herself to. “And you know you don’t have to get up with me.”

The hand rubbing soothing circles into her back doesn’t stop. “I know.” 

“Though the fresh air helps.”

“Hm. Think that’s a sign that we need to clean.”

The lighthearted remark eases the knot in her chest. “You’re the one who tracks in mud more often than not, you know."

“And you’re the one with a library’s worth of musty books. Where do you think the dust comes from?” 

“Don’t blame the spellbooks just because you can’t read them.” 

The eyeroll that follows is so powerful she doesn’t even need to look at him to see it. She hides another smile.

Like always, the Mist is quiet at night save for the constant ebb and flow of the ocean, the rustle of palm trees, and the occasional cricket. 

“Huh.” 

She turns and finds him staring thoughtfully up at the sky. “The stars are similar here,” he says, brows furrowed. “The constellations, I mean. I never noticed.”

“You never compared them before?”

“Never gave it much thought.” 

She cranes her head and squints at the glittering mosaic above them.

It's easy to recall the lessons from Leveva. About the Bole, Spear, Balance. White magic has always been a favorite—a tried and true method—but astrology has ever been a curiosity for her. Something about dipping into the power of the stars, rewriting events and playing with fate was far too satisfying. 

Maybe that's why we don't get along, she thinks wryly at the stars. Constantly butting heads. Fate probably didn't like the constant meddling. 

“Leveva did a reading for me way back when,” she says then, voice distant as she traces the familiar outline of the Ewer. "The first time we met."

“Who?”

“An astrologian in Ishgard.”

The next pause is a beat longer. “A what?”

Her lips quirk up. Of course, Norvrandt didn’t have the equivalent. And if it did, Ardbert wasn’t ever one to follow the development and branches of various forms of magicks. 

"Urianger is one. And there's a place called the Athenaeum Astrologicum in Ishgard. You've noticed the telescopes around Coerthas, right?"

"Aye. I figured it was a hobby of theirs. Kholusia favored the stars as well, yet their use was mostly for navigating the sea." He frowns. "Can't see that getting much use in the mountains, though."

She hums in agreement as he turns and leans his hip on the railing to better face her. "It's somewhat similar. The Ishgardians watched the skies for signs of attack during the war. The astrologians use the skies and stylized cards for something similar—scrying the future, but also harnessing the power of the stars."

"The power of the stars," he repeats with a raised brow. "To ward off dragons?"

She grins as he crosses his arms, clearly dubious about the entire thing. "Yes, they'd raise an impressive barrier whenever the horde showed signs of taking flight."

"Really."

"Yes."

He considers her a moment before his eyes narrow in accusation. "No they didn't." 

"How do you know?"

He holds her gaze, then leans in until he's looming, close enough she feels his breath on her skin. He's long since lost the ability to embarrass her, but her cheeks still warm at his proximity and under the focused weight of his scrutiny. 

She tries to keep up the charade. Really. But as always, she cracks first and can't fully smother the grin tugging at her lips at the sight of him so comically serious. 

He pulls back with the shadow of a smirk, arms crossed and entirely too satisfied. “I knew it." 

"I hate it when you do that."

"No you don't."

"No I don't," she agrees easily, and reaches up to brush some stray hair from his forehead. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it each time."

He catches her wrist before she pulls her hand back. The gentle kiss on her palm sends a wave of warmth right down to her toes, and his eyes glow like he knows exactly what he's doing. 

"And? What did this Leveva see in your reading?"

The soft press of his lips against her skin is entirely too distracting. "...She said, and I quote, 'the stars say you should run.'"

"Run?"

"Something about a tall, dark stranger being trouble." 

"Sounds like it was solid advice," he murmurs, but doesn't let go of her hand. "You ought to have followed it."

She rubs a thumb against his cheek. "I’m glad I didn’t.”

[archive-multimuse]

Anon said:  okay but... who do you ship her with

[ Based on this post ]

Who dont i?

Okay, real answer time lmao

The top two ships I have for Candy is her with Discord or Rarity; just because...it makes sense to me? 

I mean, Candy & Discord is mostly a guilty pleasure ship (Shoves my fanfic behind my back) & because she could easily handle him & she is sweet and kind and wouldn’t judge him just because he looks different && would find the chaos to be fun. 

Rarity because I tend to write Candy as trusting Rarity to help her from the beginning. Plus Rarity is the element Generosity, it makes sense that she would start to offer help with things and their friendship turns into something more. 

 But beyond that, I can also see her with:

Pinkie Pie (Com’n the two sweet shoppe ponies?? duh)

AppleJack (both of them are headstrong but in v different ways)

Twilight (Soft cuddles, where twilight reads aloud to her??? good content)

Rainbow Dash (I think they’d just be fun in general to figure out??)

Fluttershy (Both are soft and would be cuddle partners and Candy would love the animals)

Big Mac (He’d listen to her, and help her, and wow)

Any Villain. (Candy is soft and kind and would be willing to listen to their reasons and she could probably convince them to not kill others)

Sunset shimmer ( Uh girl who feels misunderstood with the girl who feels misunderstood???)

Starlight Glimmer (I think it’d be soft.)

Tempest Shadow (Hmmm her horn + Candys blindness + feeling like an outcast? Idk i think they’d understand eachother)

I mean literally anyone?????????? Candy is such a rounded character that she could get along with just about anyone ???

[illuminatvm]

INTRODUCE YOURSELF

Hello! I’m V, she/her, 25, EST, aquarius sun with an aries moon and rising. dumb as hell, illiterate as fuck. hobbies include buying books and never reading them, crying over the fact that i can't travel right now, and being consistently inconsistent with a hyperfixation.

DESCRIBE YOURSELF AS A WRITING PARTNER

oooh! okay, so i like to think i’m pretty laid back but that’s when i’ve gotten through all the nitty gritty of plotting. I love figuring out details and timelines, trading headcanons back and forth and really digging deep into a character and pushing their morals and beliefs and connections to others. I’m also a hoe for the aesthetique and love sending off musing inspo or instagram posts and quizzes between heart-wrenching angst. My writing style tends to veer towards the introspective prose at its best and at its most direct will focus on actions instead— which makes sense when my favourite threads to write are either emotionally harrowing or big fight scenes.

WHO ARE YOUR CHARACTERS?

𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡

Faded mauve and golden gray // a soft voice in a nearly-gone memory // perfectly made earl gray tea // long-gone chateaus and gilded walls // heavy silk and creamy marble // eyes so blue you’ll drown // the safest you’ve felt in years // curated clutter // chiffon cake and pearls // peony-fragile wings // breathless laughter // subtle power // smiles are merely animals baring their teeth

Species: guardian angel

Age: Appears to be in her early/mid-thirties, dates back to the 1400’s

Occupation: real estate developer. 1% for the planet board member. LVMH shareholder

Spoken languages: The better question is, what language does she not know?

Current place of residence: a penthouse suite in downtown seattle

Time in Seattle: 10 years

��𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐀𝐲ş𝐞𝐠ü𝐥 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐥

welcome to the club // deep crimson and glittering gold // the overwhelming ache of melancholia // neon lights and leather jackets // a life in the shadows // golden rings twisting with worry // sharp eyeliner or none at all // longing to belong // lithe hands of creation // more blankets than you need // starlight is the best light // half-truths and sharp knives // laughter that shakes your being // not dead yet barely alive

Species: shadow-graced

Age: 28. became shadow-graced at 24.

Occupation: jeweler. small-business owner

Spoken languages: English, Turkish, Italian  

Current place of residence: apartment in capitol hill

Time in Seattle: four years

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐢

half-finished lattes // black t-shirts // empty mirrors // cracked book bindings // piles of coffee beans // hair pomade // lingering hugs // tired eyes // chocolate fondue // cloud couches // a labyrinth in human-form // a smoke filled chest // mulberry and cedar // old leather // messy hair // a watch glinting in the light // wolfish grins // early mornings and late nights // commanding attention

Species: vampire

Age: appears to be in mid-thirties. At the age of 35. Born in 1820.

Occupation: owner of Regime du Matin, independent bookstore + cafe

Spoken languages: English, Italian, French, German, Russian  

Current place of residence: top floor of Regime du Matin

Time in Seattle: two years

PLOT IDEAS / WANTED CONNECTIONS

Annora’s plot/wanted dynamics page

Feray’s plot/wanted dynamics page (coming tonight, i’m just being finicky)

Carmine’s plot/wanted dynamics page

PRESENT HEADCANONS

𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚

To have lived for so long is both a blessing and curse. She remembers when palaces were built and bitterly recalls wars, can never hide the regret upon her features when she thinks of the fall of kingdoms and losses of beauty and majesty and brilliant minds. Devotion, steadfastness has matured, has evolved in the modern world and so too has Annora. Nowadays, you might see her working not merely to protect the people, but the place they inhabit. Technology and the divine have never been meant to mingle, but within her limits she involves herself with innovation— for the good of humanity. Of course, she is careful to remain in certain obscurity. Annora Leigh to mortals is a name forgettable and a face hardly seen. The world can not be saved by a single guardian angel, but she has not lived for so long that she can not try.

She likes to be busy, and she is. It isn’t uncommon for Annora to be in one city one day, then another the next. How she’s in Seattle continues to confuse the many as most of her real estate projects are on the eastern coast of the United States and Europe. But, she is here, and so far there are no signs of her leaving. An angel such as she isn’t so afraid of roaming the streets alone, not when her angelic lineage is so potent. If she isn’t working, she’s often volunteering, or spending time with those she considers her family— mortal or otherwise. If she could split herself into a legion, she could. Unfortunately, however, she is only one. Though that’s never quite stopped her from getting her way.

𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐲

She’d nearly died at the age of twenty-four while in London. In the years since, she and the entity she is bound to have settled here in Seattle, reverting to her birth-given name as she rediscovers herself in this new life, refining a new hobby of jewelry-making as she continues with a more quiet and subdued existence. Her workshop exists above the place where humans and supernatural-alike mingle, a club known for pleasure and indulgence. Lovers do no exist, friendships are distant if not fleeting. A love like her parents’ seems like an impossibility to her now. Her sins are her own, and watching love be wiped away by rage and betrayal was more than enough to cast herself away from the intimacy of knowing and being known. People couldn’t lose you, nor could you lose people if you weren’t present long enough for it to matter.

Though she lives in Capitol Hill, there are many days (and nights) that she’ll not stumble home until late. Her ties to the being that saved her from the brink of death are strangely pulled taut— so while her jewelry workshop (think brands like Sofia Zakia or Tippy Taste or Borcik Jewelry) and small storefront exists on the street level, an exclusive club of debauchery and sin exists below, its hours running until nearly dawn. Sometimes, you’ll find her posing as a bar girl, rarely will you see her indulging with or without the one who chose her for a life of the shadow-graced. But, she is loyal and indebted to them, and luckily in Seattle, everything is within arms reach.

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

Within him lies the great desire of perpetual warmth, and the ability to give that same warmth to others. That is what the cozy walls of his cafes evoke, what seeps from the man that seems wrapped in tarragon and cinnamon. No, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Not when the last had left him so cold that he’d felt frozen from the inside out. The past few decades have been spent perfecting his craft, doing everything to feel warm and alive — from coffee, to spontaneous relocations, Carmine’s pursuit of never ending fire is never over. Perhaps there will be something, someone that will finally cause him to burn, to smolder brightly even in the light forever, something that’ll bring the restlessness within him to settle into sincere warmth. Or maybe he won’t, and he’ll lose his spark and suffer from an endless cold for the rest of his days.

Business as usual. The cafe caters to both humans and supernatural beings alike. However, humans only know of the main floor and upper two floors of the building. Supernatural creatures are able to access the two lower levels and the second-highest level of the cafe. Carmine lives on the uppermost floor, although all visitors have access to the roof. He’s far more content with his life here in Seattle than he assumed he would be. Although it’s largely in part to the environment he’s created for himself: not a bar, but a place to enjoy drinks and be with friends, curl up by a fire and get lost in a book that either you’d brought yourself or have pulled off of a shelf. He’s been known to be found lazing in the plush couches instead of returning to his own floor, but all staff members suggest you run when he picks up the guitar. The man has absolutely no musical talent. Please don’t ask him to sing.

DO YOU HAVE ANY INSPIRATIONS FOR YOUR MUSES 

𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐲'𝐬 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

[aboveallarescuer]

How prophecies, dreams and magical intuition drive Dany’s story

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

The more absolute power she consolidated, the more she was lauded as a selfless hero. [...] Being hailed as a savior for so long has made her fall for that narrative more than anyone. She’s come to believe she is a goddess among men. So when she slides into doing the wrong thing, it becomes easy for her to justify why -- if she did it -- it must be right. [...] It’s almost impossible to imagine walking through fire and experiencing the intense worship she’s known without coming to think you have superhuman rights to decide the future of the world. (The Take)

~

The gods flipped a coin for Dany that can — and does — fall either way. But it tends to come up good when the people love her, and bad when the people don’t. She’s repeatedly saying I have a destiny. I will park my ass on the Iron Throne. Here’s how it’s going to work: You’re going to bend the knee, or you’re going to die. I’d prefer if you loved me. I’ll accept that you fear me. A bent knee or your death. (x)

~

She can and does dehumanize those who stand between her and her (perceived) destiny. (x)

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but the show can be all over the place and ... I digress), so take a look at these passages.

NOTE: I didn't include anything from ACOK Dany IV because she's receiving the prophecies rather than reacting to or acting based on them. I preferred to focus on how they influence her characterization and felt that that chapter wouldn't serve for that purpose. The dragon dreams on AGOT, however, are often interwoven with her reactions and the strength and confidence she usually derives from them, so I added them.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Quaithe?” Dany called. “Where are you, Quaithe?”

Then she saw. Her mask is made of starlight. “Remember who you are, Daenerys,” the stars whispered in a woman’s voice. “The dragons know. Do you?”

~

Bells, Dany thought, smiling, remembering Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, and the bells he braided into his hair. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

~

She called until her voice was hoarse ... and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him. Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. “To go forward I must go back,” she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon’s neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone.

ADWD Daenerys IX

“Khrazz believes the hearts of brave men make him stronger,” said Hizdahr. Jhiqui murmured her approval. Dany had once eaten a stallion’s heart to give strength to her unborn son … but that had not saved Rhaego when the maegi murdered him in her womb. Three treasons shall you know. She was the first, Jorah was the second, Brown Ben Plumm the third. Was she done with betrayals?

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“The Yunkai’i grow weaker as well. The bloody flux has taken hold amongst the Tolosi, it is said, and spread across the river to the third Ghiscari legion.”

The pale mare. Daenerys sighed. Quaithe warned me of the pale mare’s coming. She told me of the Dornish prince as well, the sun’s son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles. “I cannot rely on plague to save me from my enemies.[”]

~

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves … “They call to me. Come.”

~

Dany slid her arms around him and let him have his way. Drunk as he was, she knew he would not be inside her long.

Nor was he. Afterward he nuzzled at her ear and whispered, “Gods grant that we have made a son tonight.”

The words of Mirri Maz Duur rang in her head. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. The meaning was plain enough; Khal Drogo was as like to return from the dead as she was to bear a living child. But there are some secrets she could not bring herself to share, even with a husband, so she let Hizdahr zo Loraq keep his hopes.

ADWD Daenerys VII

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead? Something tickled at her memory. “Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?”

“A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear.”

The sun’s son. A shiver went through her. “Shadows and whispers.” What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun’s son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? “Beware the perfumed seneschal.” That she remembered. “Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day.”

ADWD Daenerys VI

“Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat.”

“Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai’i.” Daario turned his head and spat. “That’s for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart.”

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben’s face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. Dark skin and white hair, the broken nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?

~

“I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him.” She clutched her captain by the shoulders. “Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me.”

ADWD Daenerys V

His bitterness dismayed her, so much so that Dany found herself wondering if the grizzled Pentoshi could be one of her three betrayers. No, he is only an old man, far from home and sick at heart.

~

“We must pray,” said the Green Grace. “The gods sent this man to us. He comes as a harbinger. He comes as a sign.”

“A sign of what?” asked Dany.

“A sign of wroth and ruin.”

She did not want to believe that. “He was one man. One sick man with an arrow in his leg. A horse brought him here, not a god.” A pale mare. Dany rose abruptly. “I thank you for your counsel and for all that you did for this poor man.”

~

“Your Worship, I beg you, take the noble Hizdahr for your king at once. He can speak with the Wise Masters, make a peace for us.”

“On what terms?” Beware the perfumed seneschal, Quaithe had said. The masked woman had foretold the coming of the pale mare, was she right about the noble Reznak too?

ADWD Daenerys IV

“...In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled, and your enemies will melt away like snow.”

He shall be the stallion that mounts the world. Dany knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind. There would be no son for Loraq, no heir to unite dragon and harpy. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Only then would her womb quicken once again …

~

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

~

Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?

ADWD Daenerys II

“...Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun’s son and the mummer’s dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.”

“Reznak? Why should I fear him?” Dany rose from the pool. Water trickled down her legs, and gooseflesh covered her arms in the cool night air. “If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?”

[...] “To show you the way.”

“I remember the way. I go north to go south, east to go west, back to go forward. And to touch the light I have to pass beneath the shadow.” She squeezed the water from her silvery hair. “I am half-sick of riddling. In Qarth I was a beggar, but here I am a queen. I command you—”

“Daenerys. Remember the Undying. Remember who you are.”

“The blood of the dragon.” But my dragons are roaring in the darkness. “I remember the Undying. Child of three, they called me. Three mounts they promised me, three fires, and three treasons. One for blood and one for gold and one for …”

~

When Reznak and Skahaz appeared, she found herself looking at them askance, mindful of the three treasons. Beware the perfumed seneschal. She sniffed suspiciously at Reznak mo Reznak. I could command the Shavepate to arrest him and put him to the question. Would that forestall the prophecy? Or would some other betrayer take his place? Prophecies are treacherous, she reminded herself, and Reznak may be no more than he appears.

ADWD Daenerys I

There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak’s throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Across the room, Grey Worm wore the plain uniform of the Unsullied, his spiked bronze cap beneath one arm. These at least she could rely on, or so she hoped ... and Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, so beloved of her dragons. And Daario beside him, glittering in gold. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei ... as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

~

“Daenerys,” he said, “I have loved you.”

And there it was. Three treasons will you know. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.

~

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

ASOS Daenerys V

“If you were grown,” she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, “I’d fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag.” But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one.

~

Could I love Daario? What would it mean, if I took him into my bed? Would that make him one of the heads of the dragon? Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he was the one who’d said she had to take two husbands. Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it.

~

“Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home! [...] Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe?

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

~

Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. “They will not hurt me,” she told him. “They are my children, Jorah.” She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. “Mother,” they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. “Mother,” they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. “Mother, Mother, Mother!”

ASOS Daenerys III

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a footfall on the deck above her head. And something else.

Someone was in the cabin with her.

“Irri? Jhiqui? Where are you?” Her handmaids did not respond. It was too black to see, but she could hear them breathing. “Jorah, is that you?”

“They sleep,” a woman said. “They all sleep.” The voice was very close. “Even dragons must sleep.”

She is standing over me. “Who’s there?” Dany peered into the darkness. She thought she could see a shadow, the faintest outline of a shape. “What do you want of me?”

“Remember. To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Quaithe?” Dany sprung from the bed and threw open the door. Pale yellow lantern light flooded the cabin, and Irri and Jhiqui sat up sleepily. “Khaleesi?” murmured Jhiqui, rubbing her eyes. Viserion woke and opened his jaws, and a puff of flame brightened even the darkest corners. There was no sign of a woman in a red lacquer mask. “Khaleesi, are you unwell?” asked Jhiqui.

“A dream.” Dany shook her head. “I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. All of us, go back to sleep.” Yet try as she might, sleep would not come again.

ASOS Daenerys I

They are my children, she told herself, and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever like to have.

~

“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”

“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”

Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.

“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”

“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”

~

“My queen,” he said, “and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—”

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace,” he conceded, “the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here’s your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders.”

“Yes,” said Dany, “but my brothers are dead.”

“Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

Dany found her thoughts returning to the Palace of Dust once more, as the tongue returns to a space left by a missing tooth. Child of three, they had called her, daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire. So many threes. Three fires, three mounts to ride, three treasons. “The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”

“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”

“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”

“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”

“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”

“Blue lips speak only lies, isn’t that what Xaro told you? Why do you care what the warlocks whispered? All they wanted was to suck the life from you, you know that now.”

“Perhaps,” she said reluctantly. “Yet the things I saw ...”
“A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood ... what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer’s dragon, you said. What is a mummer’s dragon, pray?”
“A cloth dragon on poles,” Dany explained. “Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight.”

Ser Jorah frowned.

Dany could not let it go. “His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”

Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”

She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”

“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”

“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”

“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”

“I went to the warlocks hoping for answers, but instead they’ve left me with a hundred new questions.”

~

“The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

ACOK Daenerys III

“No trick,” a woman said in the Common Tongue.

Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. “What mean you, my lady?”

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.”

[...] “And now?”

“And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.”

“Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?”

The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?”

~

“You must leave this city soon, Daenerys Targaryen, or you will never be permitted to leave it at all.”

Dany’s wrist still tingled where Quaithe had touched her. “Where would you have me go?” she asked.

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. “Will the Asshai’i give me an army?” she demanded. “Will there be gold for me in Asshai? Will there be ships? What is there in Asshai that I will not find in Qarth?”

“Truth,” said the woman in the mask. And bowing, she faded back into the crowd.

~

The comet led me to Qarth for a reason. I had hoped to find my army here, but it seems that will not be. What else remains, I ask myself?” I am afraid, she realized, but I must be brave. “Come the morrow, you must go to Pyat Pree.”

ACOK Daenerys II

Last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe the shadowbinder. From her Dany received only a warning. “Beware,” the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

“Of whom?”

“Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.”

When Quaithe too was gone, Ser Jorah said, “She speaks truly, my queen ... though I like her no more than the others.”

“I do not understand her.” Pyat and Xaro had showered Dany with promises from the moment they first glimpsed her dragons, declaring themselves her loyal servants in all things, but from Quaithe she had gotten only the rare cryptic word. And it disturbed her that she had never seen the woman’s face. Remember Mirri Maz Duur, she told herself. Remember treachery.

~

As the handmaids toweled her dry and wrapped her in a sandsilk robe, Dany’s thoughts went to the three who had sought her out in the City of Bones. The Bleeding Star led me to Qarth for a purpose. Here I will find what I need, if I have the strength to take what is offered, and the wisdom to avoid the traps and snares. If the gods mean for me to conquer, they will provide, they will send me a sign, and if not ... if not ...

ACOK Daenerys I

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way.

Yet when she put the thought into words, her handmaid Doreah quailed. “That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say.”

“The way the comet points is the way we must go,” Dany insisted ... though in truth, it was the only way open to her.

~

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless. The comet mocks my hopes, she thought, lifting her eyes to where it scored the sky. Have I crossed half the world and seen the birth of dragons only to die with them in this hard hot desert? She would not believe it.

~

“Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important. “Go with Jhiqui and find me some clean sand for a bath, and trouble me no more with silly talk.”

~

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, her first, and perhaps he must be her last. The maegi Mirri Maz Duur had sworn she should never bear a living child, and what man would want a barren wife? And what man could hope to rival Drogo, who had died with his hair uncut and rode now through the night lands, the stars his khalasar?

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

Bound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. “It is not enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance. Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”

“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that the godswife kept silent.

~

[“]Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”

“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”

“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”

“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”

“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”

“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.

~

The Dothraki were muttering and giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought her mad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost.

~

“Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded her handmaids. Something in her voice made them run.

Ser Jorah took her arm. “My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the night lands. Better to sell them in Asshai. Sell one and we can buy a ship to take us back to the Free Cities. Sell all three and you will be a wealthy woman all your days.”

“They were not given to me to sell,” Dany told him.

She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold down between his legs.

~

As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are mad,” the godswife said hoarsely.

“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre.”

~

“I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.”

“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear.

~

Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.

Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

Dany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward. The wood crackled, louder and louder.

[...] She could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a firepit. The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smoke grew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the Dothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.

Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The painted leather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streams of milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away ... yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.

And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

AGOT Daenerys IX

Wings shadowed her fever dreams.


“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone.

“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. “Home,” she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Ser Jorah’s face was drawn and sorrowful. “Rhaegar was the last dragon,” he told her. He warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red as coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less substantial than the wind. “The last dragon,” he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone. She felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Viserys stood before her, screaming. “The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.” The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. “I am the dragon and I will be crowned!” he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon ... ”

The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon ...”

She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin.

“... want to wake the dragon ...”

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. “Faster,” they cried, “faster, faster.” She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. “Faster!” the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew.

“... wake the dragon ...”

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

“... the dragon ...”

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. “The last dragon,” Ser Jorah’s voice whispered faintly. “The last, the last.” Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

~

Flakes of ash drifted upward from a brazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Flying, she thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. “Help me,” she whispered, struggling to rise. “Bring me ...” Her voice was raw as a wound, and she could not think what she wanted. Why did she hurt so much? It was as if her body had been torn to pieces and remade from the scraps. “I want ...”

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed ... something ... someone ... what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to ...

They found her on the carpet, crawling toward her dragon eggs. [...]

“I must,” she tried to tell them, “I have to ...”

“ ... sleep, Princess,” Ser Jorah said.

“No,” Dany said. “Please. Please.”

~

“Bring ... I want to hold ...”

“Yes?” the maegi asked. “What is it you wish, Khaleesi?”


“Bring me ... egg ... dragon’s egg ... please ... ” Her lashes turned to lead, and she was too weary to hold them up.

When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away.

~

My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame.

She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet ... she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been.

~

Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. “Ser Jorah, come here,” she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. “What do you feel?”

“Shell, hard as rock.” The knight was wary. “Scales.”

“Heat?”

“No. Cold stone.”

~

“When will he be as he was?” Dany demanded.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” said Mirri Maz Duur. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.”

~

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”

Never, the darkness cried, never never never.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

The Dothraki were shouting, Mirri Maz Duur wailing inside the tent like nothing human, Quaro pleading for water as he died. Dany cried out for help, but no one heard. Rakharo was fighting Haggo, arakh dancing with arakh until Jhogo’s whip cracked, loud as thunder, the lash coiling around Haggo’s throat. A yank, and the bloodrider stumbled backward, losing his feet and his sword. Rakharo sprang forward, howling, swinging his arakh down with both hands through the top of Haggo’s head. The point caught between his eyes, red and quivering. Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. “No,” she wept, “no, please, stop it, it’s too high, the price is too high.” More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo caught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his knife at her throat. “My baby,” she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as that, Cohollo was dead. Aggo’s arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and heart.

[...] The breath went out of her; it was all she could do to gasp. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice was like a funeral dirge. Inside the tent, the shadows whirled.

~

“Take her to the maegi.”

No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.

[...] No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers!

Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

AGOT Daenerys VI

She would not shiver with fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself ... and her eyes went to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. The shifting lamplight limned their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade and scarlet and gold swam in the air around them, like courtiers around a king.

Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, “Ser Jorah, light the brazier.” “Khaleesi?” The knight looked at her strangely. “It is so hot. Are you certain?” She had never been so certain. “Yes. I ... I have a chill. Light the brazier.”

He bowed. “As you command.”

When the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what she must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. It will only crack and burn, and it’s so beautiful, Ser Jorah will call me a fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet ...

Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her throat.

She watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated up and out of the smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon’s eggs. And that was all.

Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, Ser Jorah had said. Dany gazed at her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand thousand years ago they had been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks. They could not make a dragon. A dragon was air and fire. Living flesh, not dead stone.

AGOT Daenerys V

“What does it mean?” she asked. “What is this stallion? Everyone was shouting it at me, but I don’t understand.”

“The stallion is the khal of khals promised in ancient prophecy, child. He will unite the Dothraki into a single khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth, or so it was promised. All the people of the world will be his herd.”

“Oh,” Dany said in a small voice.

AGOT Daenerys III

Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her, She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. “Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said, “what is wrong? Are you sick?”

“I was,” she answered, standing over the dragon’s eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shelf. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers ... or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously.

From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.

~

As she let the door flap close behind her, Dany saw a finger of dusty red light reach out to touch her dragon’s eggs across the tent. For an instant a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were gone.

Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. “The sun,” Dany whispered. “The sun warmed them as they rode.” [...] “Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

AGOT Daenerys II

There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.

Yet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. “You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her. “You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.” Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid ...

... until the day of her wedding came at last.

[saturnselkies]

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Continuation and the final part of the playlist Awakened in Starlight I did ages ago!! I hope you enjoy!! Under the read more is the story. Please do read!! 

Thank you for reading and listening, if you do.

ACT I: I could never sacrifice you

1. Sacrifice by Sharon Lyons

A tiny little sacrifice. Her mother would always say, for worlds to turn, some things would be lost among the space between galaxies.

Ouri was young back then, a much tinier dragon, much more impressionable. Now one sacrifice felt like touching a pulsating black hole.

The silver tree bloomed above Ouri. She dug her hands in the golden sand of the cosmos. By her feet the lifeless body of Najwa lied.

“Weaver of Worlds, you must let go.” The leaves echoed through the white room. “Fate beckons you, Scion. It is time.”

Golden magic blossomed on her fingertips and she felt a pang of frightening pain. “I’m sorry, mother. I’m sorry, Silver Tree. I’m sorry, Najwa.”

The room was a golden field, and death became life.

2. Across the Universe of Time by Hayley Westenra

“And the cold, cold wind, it blows me away The feeling all over is a black black day But I know that I’ll see you again And I know that you’re near me”

***

ACT II: I could never forget you

3. Light in Between by Abby Gundersen 

Najwa tried to forget. She really did. Tried to leave everything behind. To be forgotten amongst the cliffs of Desert Highlands.

Shame, sadness, anger; they danced underneath her skin every day. Her dreams were plagued with meadows blooming in the sunlight. Songs of ancient times.

Najwa wondered if other Awakened actually dreamed. Or if she had just ended up in a bizarre predicament. One that would forever be a mystery. Unless…

Unless she found Ouri.

Najwa gritted her teeth and patted Toffee’s back to try and distract herself. The summit wildhorn bleated and rested her head above Najwa’s. “Yeah, I know gal.”

4. God Only Knows by RAIGN

“I may not always love you But long as there are stars above you If you should ever leave me Though life would still go on Believe me”

***

ACT III: And so they dance between knives and lies

5. You Have to Let Go by Adam Fielding

“How could you!?” Najwa shouted. Her hands grabbing at Ouri’s Mordant Crescent outfit. A reminder so grim. A reminder so ugly.

“Najwa, I’m not who you think I am.” Ouri was visibly shaking. Forming words had become hard for her.

“Oh you think I don’t know? The display is sickening.” Najwa pushed Ouri against the wall with such force the nearby shelves shook. Ouri simply stood still, her eyes full of guilt.

“No, it’s not that.” She tried to relax her shoulders, but ultimately failed. Ouri knew bringing this up right now would be either an incredibly stupid idea, or completely destroy their chance of ever reconnecting. “I’m just… following a list of things to do.”

“This can’t be serious.” Najwa’s eyes were pure rage. “Was “Awakening” me part of the list!?“

“No… He didn’t do anything to you. I-” She swallowed hard. “I did.”

It took only a second for her eyes to lose the deep hazel color. Replaced by golden shades and cosmic hues. Ouri was the night sky. The far seeing cosmos. Written all over her skin.

Najwa stepped back in a daze. Her mind was a volcano erupting in the middle of the ocean. “What is going on.” Najwa stepped back as further as she could clinging to her scythe. If she still had a beating heart she knew it would have plummeted out of her chest by now.

“Spearmarshal. Najwa.” Ouri paused. And the universe watched them from the corners of the tapestry of time. “The list is what your people call a prophecy.”

The sudden realization hit Najwa like a crashing wave. All those cryptic dreams. All those shades of gold dancing at he back of her mind. The prairies of starlight. All of it. “Am I bound to you!? You did this to me!?”

“N-no! No! I cut the connection. Your will is your own.” Ouri quickly interjected. Panic was taking over her.

“How dare you!?” Najwa’s grab on her scythe was painfully tight. Tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“If it were not me. It would have been Palawa Joko! I didn’t want that!” Ouri pleaded. Pleaded to be understood between fate and choice. Between golden threads and shadows.

“You…” Najwa’s anger was like a bursting sun. Extinguishing a galaxy before it was even formed. “You are a monster. I regret the day I crossed paths with you.”

A sacrifice. A hole in the tapestry of time.

“I know.”

The birds did not sing that morning.

6. I Cannot Raise the Dead by The Dark Element

“In a time before us We were both someone else And we can be again We both let wrong one in To keep the right one out And now we’re both without”

***

ACT IV: Until tomorrow begins again

7. Heart Lying Still by Nightwish

The Domain of Kourna was even more dreadful than Najwa remembered; she ended up finding an empty building to sit on while the Sunspears were organizing the attack on Gandara.

She kept pulling at her attire. It felt strange to use the Sunspears’ dervish insignia again. But here she was, ready to help destroy the cause of all the pain in her home.

“Mother?” A voice came from the door.

“Yes, Khalida?” she responded lamely.

“Jeez, I thought you’d be happier. Is not seeing your daughter for the first time in eight years a good thing?” Khalida teased her, raising her eyebrow playfully.

“I- No. I’m sorry, hunbun.” Najwa panicked and tried to get up.

“Hey. I’m just teasing. I know all our wounds are still pretty fresh.” Khalida placed her hand over her mother’s shoulder, signalling her to sit back down.

“Yeah…” Najwa said.

Khalida sat next to her and hugged her knees. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ha. I should be the one asking you that.” Najwa leaned her back against the wall. Her whole body was tense.

“C'mon, Mom. We might all just die in a few hours.” She elbowed her mother and grinned.

“Gods. When did you become so…” Najwa tried to find words to fill the gap of so many years lost. But nothing came up. She knew it would always be something hard to manage. “Never mind. I came to a conclusion. And I don’t like it.”

“Uhhhhh? Yeah? So early in the morning?” Khalida quipped.

She snorted at the comment. “You know, Ouri.”

“I do know her.”

“I might have said some really. Really. Upsetting things to her.” She shuddered remembering the last time they had talked. It was a chilling sonnet in the back of Najwa’s mind. “I was hurting. I still think she had no right to bring me back to life. But…”

“You see her point now?” Khalida said.

“Yeah… Being bound to Joko would have destroyed every fiber of my morals. I am still here. I am still mostly myself.” She looked at her hands and felt a spark of warmth. “I got to see you again.”

“Then you should tell her that,” Khalida simply offered.

“I think I should just let it go-”

“You did that for eight years.”

“And here I thought I was the mother.” She frowned and crossed her arms.

“Things change. I am a Spearmarshal now.” Khalida smiled.

8.To the Moon and Back by Moonlight Haze

“I still love you so bad To the moon and back and I Yes I miss you daily to the moon and back I’d go anywhere now To the moon and back for you Hope my voice will reach you To the moon and back Time cannot heal scars that lie so deep Inside this void of mine”

***

ACT V: I will cling to the heart between dawn and dusk

9. Between the Lines by Felix Räuber

Ouri and Najwa both stood across each other. The fortress sounded eerily silent after Aurene and the Commander had stopped Joko. Only the faint cheers in the distance, from both the dead and the living, could be heard.

Najwa took a deep breath and touched the grotesquely adorned walls. “This could have been my fate.”

Ouri eyes followed the other woman’s form. She bowed her head slightly, avoiding her gaze.

“I don’t know how I feel about everything that happened,” Najwa continued. “I even find it hard to believe that I am here.”

The former Spearmarshal dragged her feet through the tar. The oozing pools reflected her face in such a distorted manner. “Gross. I wouldn’t want to have this inside of me.” Najwa grimaced.

Ouri bit her lip, trying not to chuckle at the comment.

“Are you just gonna let me monologue?” Najwa pouted. “I remember you being a chatter box.”

“You said you wanted to talk…”

“Always a little too literal, are we?” Najwa walked over to Ouri. “It’s just. I… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Fix what?” Ouri blinked. Her eyes were gold and shining. They contrasted the beautiful dark blues of her skin.

Much better outfit, Najwa caught herself staring at her curves. The essence of the stars painting her body was mesmerizing. Ouri titled her head at the slight pause.

Najwa coughed and tried to re-focus. “Us.”

Tentatively she reached out for Ouri’s hands. They were glowing in a flame-like effect. Najwa could swear they felt like what one would describe as the heart of the universe. Warm, cold, terrifying, and enticing all at the same time.

“The reason. The reason it hurt so much to know what you did. The reason it felt less of a burden if I was just another Awakened is…” She pushed back her tears. And squeezed the other woman’s hands. “Is because. I.”

“I love you.” Ouri cut her off.

Najwa didn’t need to ask. Najwa didn’t need to understand. Ouri was a Celestial. A Scion of a grand river of the cosmos. A life bearer. How could a life bearer leave someone to die. Someone she loved.

Yet disbelief still colored her blushing face.

“You. You love me?”

Ouri nodded.

Najwa should have known that from the first day they met. Ouri had always been a spark. The fountain of the gentle sun. Najwa connected their lips in a rush of emotion. Soft and willing. Somewhat rough and passionate, too. Full of regrets, mistakes, and guilt. Full of joy, love, and forgiveness.

“I love you, too. Gods, I do.”

Dusk and dawn danced together for the first time in a millennia.

10. Forever by Frozen Crown

“Find in light the essence of the night Say forever Forever Till the stars shine on our hearts Tides won’t last Our time is dying fast But this moment, our moment It will shine bright on our hearts”

***

ACT VI: Spearmarshal and Scion

11. Celestial Dreams by Rachel Currea

“So do I get an honorary Celestial membership?” Najwa’s hair sparkled against the wind. The grey tips had become glowing and golden much like her eyes.

“Well… if you want one.” Ouri laughed.

“Yes, I do.” She grinned widely. “Don’t tell the other Awakened, but this is so much cooler.”

12. Night Will Fade by Beyond the Black

“Somewhere beyond this world Far beyond this life Fate will raise our souls out of the past Somewhere beyond this day Night will fade away Will you follow my final words For tomorrow beyond this world”

13. Into a Dawn by Feridea

“I never let go, of my hopes and dreams I never was afraid, the road is free To find a star, to guide me through this twilight fall Into a dawn”

[secret-engima]

Seer LC verse Drabble: Answer

(Me: I need to go back to watching Realm Reborn so I can learn the Lore.

Also Me: Spams a song-drabble that probably ignores a TON of lore but fits with my own budding HCs about my Seer LC Cyra. Anyway yes I did a Thing, here is the song that goes with the Thing if you want to listen while you read:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWdeMqELN-U

Also pssst @wolfsrainrules @sparklecryptid @hamelin-born @ertrunkenerwassergeist @ean-sovukau

...

     She eyed their destination doubtfully and aired one more time, “You really believe this will help?”

     Regis nodded, more confident in explaining magic than he was in talking to her about anything else, “Our magic is not meant to be restrained all the time. At least, not so thoroughly as you have. The potential side-effects of doing so are many, but chronic pain is one of the most common ones. If you allow it to flow, to use up the excess energy, I do believe it would help. It likely will not cure your pain, but it should make it easier to bear.”

     So he’d said about three times now. Cyra still wasn’t entirely convinced. The thought of letting her magic out, letting it run wild after so many years keeping it tightly controlled was … intimidating. She wasn’t even sure if she could at this point, if she could physically let go of something she had clutched tight for so long. She also wasn’t sure the room to which Regis had led her would withstand the potential chaos if she did let go, even though he had assured her several times that the towering chamber was built specifically with angry Lucis Caelums in need of letting loose in mind.

     She eyed the chamber, felt her husband press a reassuring hand against her back, then sighed.

     Just once. She could at least try it once.

     But how to let go? She couldn’t just- throw out a few spells here and there, she did that on a near weekly basis and it had never helped the pain. She had to let go, had to relax, and standing here being stared at expectantly by her husband, her husband’s two best friends, her biological father and his two best friends was not helping.

     With a huff, she stalked forward, her cane tapping an echoing rhythm across the floor that reverberated all the way to the top of the arched ceiling despite her light touch. She stopped in the center of the big, oval room and breathed. Well. Now what? She tapped her cane in annoyance, listened to the echo. Honestly, the chamber was practically a concert hall with those acoustics.

     “So sing,” nudged Susurrus, waking up for the first time since Regis offered the idea, “Sing your magic.”

     That’s a stupid idea, she retorted, what would I even sing? One of those bawdy drinking songs Nyx things are appropriate in my shop?

     Another nudge, a sensation of shadows touching the corners of her mind, of sand and starscapes, ocean breezes and towering trees she had never seen —not in this lifetime at least—. When Susurrus nudged again, it was with the voices of her shadows, “You have such a lovely voice, my dear. Sing it again?”

     Cyra closed her eyes and bowed her head, trying to swallow the lump that formed whenever her magic dragged up the voices-faces-lifetimes of her shadows. Her hand clutched her cane in white knuckles, and for a moment she didn’t think she could even breathe, let alone sing, and yet…

“I close … my eyes … tell us why must we suffer?”

“Release your hands, for your will drags us under.”

“My legs grow tired…”

“Tell us where must we wander?”

“How can we …. carry on,”

“If redemption’s beyond us?”

     She exhaled, inhaled. And words came flowing back, through time and memory, loss and love. She tilted her head back to the ceiling, closed her eyes to block out the world, raised her free hand and let magic flicker softly in her palm as she reached, for what she wasn’t certain, just … reached in the hope that if she did, perhaps something would reach back.

“To all of my children,” 

“In whom Life flows abundant.”

“To all of my children,”

“To whom Death hath passed his judgement…”

“The soul yearns for honor,”

“And the flesh the Hereafter.”

“Look to those, who walked before,”

“To lead those who walk after…”

     Magic sparked, dripped from her palm like raindrops and hourglass sand. Something rose in her veins and for the first time in years, she did not push it back down. It rose into the air, like embers and snowflakes on her senses, pushed her voice out to meet the echoes of past and future and present undecided.

“Shining is the Land’s light of justice,”

“Ever flows the Land’s well of purpose.”

“Walk free, walk free, walk free, believe…”

“The Land is alive … so believe…”

     There was a chant in her blood, a hundred voices in the shadows, and without even thinking her cane slammed down with each word, emphasizing another she had no breath to say. She shouted to the chamber, to the past, to the world, pushed her magic free with every declaration —every promise, long fulfilled and lost—.

     Behind her, safely by the door, Regis watched with wide eyes and trembling hands as his daughter’s magic unspooled. As soft flickers became a steady trickle, as the trickle became a stream, as the stream was tossed into the air in a spinning storm of starlight and embers that flared and grew with each angry-desperate-calling strike of her cane. He watched as the wind began to stir like a living thing, as magic built and built and built in preparation for something Regis could not name, in gleeful freedom so long denied.

     His daughter threw back her head and he glimpsed her eyes as they snapped open, a shining, twisting collage of white starlight and orange fire that mirrored and refracted in the crystalline shards flaring into existence all around.

“Now open your eyes, while our plight is repeated.”

“Still deaf to our cries,”

“Lost in hope we lie defeated!”

“Our souls have been torn,”

“And our bodies forsaken.”

“Bearing sins of the past,”

“For our future is taken.”

     Something flickered, spun through the fractals of crystalline power, formed and coalesced.

“War, born of strife, these trials persuade us not,”

     A Carbuncle, a creature of legend and myth and Messengers. It sprang into being in a burst of soft topaz fur, swirled and leaped after the twisting crystal shards with something that might have been joy and might have been fury.

“Words, without sound, these lies betray our thoughts!”

“Mired by a plague of doubt,”

“The Land, she mourns.”

     Another Carbuncle, this one a bright sapphire. It formed and sprang fearlessly onto Cyra’s outstretched arm, scurried up to drape around her shoulders in solidarity while Regis and all those with him gaped at the presence of Messengers, called down by his daughter’s magic as still it rose and unfurled —and how had she lived this long? How had she survived keeping this much power locked beneath her skin? Astrals it was little wonder she was disabled by her pain—.

“Judgement binds … all we hold,”

“To a memory of scorn.”

“Tell us why, given Life, we are meant to die,”

“Helpless in our cries?”

     Another sharp crack of the cane striking the floor, a declaration and command as she railed at the unseen sky to witness. To suffer. To borrow. To reason. Each word punctuated by a crack of her cane striking stone with enough force to shake the room, her magic towering and spiraling out to fill every corner and echo and atom of air. It reached, up and out beyond the room, and surely the Citadel itself was shaking at this point as fire trailed down her hair and shoulders like living things, as ice spiraled out in arcane patterns on the floor and clawed its way up the pillars in quest and demand. Ozone thrummed in the air, the promise of a storm too long denied and Regis was torn between terror and pride as he felt her magic reach, up and out and beyond as Cyra stretched out her free arm and demanded of the world to answer. Answer.

     Answer together.

     The world went still as something ancient stirred.

     And answered her.

     Beside him, Cyra’s husband wheezed a soft curse of disbelief and wonder as power coalesced six times over. Cyra lowered her hand, her Carbuncles wrapped protectively around her, one at her feet and one on her shoulders, her breath shaking from exhaustion as magic stilled and silence fell.

     Arrayed around her, some so large they barely fit in the chamber, the Astrals stared down at the tiny, frail mortal who had called them down.

     For an eternity, nothing moved. Nothing dared to breathe or move or think. As they could do nothing but stare at the Six, all of the Six who stood before his daughter, and watched her with expressions that on mortal faces might have been astonishment.

     Might have even been nostalgic joy.

     The Infernian moved first, a great hand touching his arm as he looked down at himself as if in surprise, and the part of Regis that was not panicking noted the spiraling scars curling across at least half of his body, dark and raw, not unlike a wound that had only just been burned free of some great infection. Then he looked down at Cyra again…

     And knelt, a fist over his heart, a soldier before a queen rather than an immortal being before a frail, bookshop owning illegitimate daughter of human kings. The Infernian’s voice was like fire and crumbling ash as he opened his mouth…

     And continued the song.

“Thy Life is a riddle…” 

     A breath and a whisper of winter cold as the Glacian folded her hands, bowed her head, and took up the song,

“To bear rapture and sorrow.”

The Archaean’s voice was ancient and steady as stone, yet soft as the hush of wind through old ruins as he too pressed a fist over his heart, and bent his massive frame —still not as large as the form seen in the Disc of Cauthess, somehow this was small enough to fit the chamber, if only barely—.

“To listen, to suffer,”

The Fulgarian echoed like far off thunder and the taste of rain as his hands folded over his staff and his lips turned upward in what could only be a smile.

“To entrust until tomorrow.”

The Hydraean’s fins stirred, her voice the rumble of tides and soft hiss of water across the sand.

“In one fleeting moment, from the Land doth Life flow…”

     All eyes swung, inevitably, disbelievingly, to the Draconian, who floated above the stones of the floor, his wings of many blades stretching out so they almost brushed the shoulders of the Archaean and the fins of the Hydraean.

     All eyes watched, as he drifted to the floor, his great sword coming to rest in front of him as his head bowed in a knight’s salute to a queen.

“Yet in one fleeting moment, for anew it doth grow….”

     A fragile silence, a greeting and a history Regis could not hope to comprehend.

     A single mortal voice, rising in answer to an unspoken greeting from the Six beings who had answered her call.

“In the same fleeting moment…”

“Thou must live … die …”

“And know…”

     And while the world looked on in uncomprehending awe, Cyra … Cyra took in a breath that for once did not twinge, took a step forward that for once held only the barest ache rather than a constant throb of pain. She was exhausted, wrung dry from truly releasing her magic for the first time in so many, many years, and yet…

     She was happy. So very, very happy.

     Cyra looked up at the Six Who Had Answered, at the wild, immortal beings she had known once a long time ago —had slain and chained and Summoned, then had turned around and taught, as best as she could, what it meant to care for the little beings that called upon them for aid and not enslave their minds and souls—. At the beings who, a lifetime ago, had been enemies and allies all at the same time.

     And she smiled. “Hello, my ducklings,” she teased with the mischief of the Warrior of Light, the nickname light on her tongue, picked centuries ago specifically to annoy the immortal creatures who both aided her battle and caused her such problems, “did you miss me?”