#wound up doing a plot with some castle ghosts

[mzminola]

Okay when I did the first round of writing on this I got to about ten chapters, and then hit a wall on "What happens next?" because I needed to figure out some pacing and how much Regula should remember versus deduce.

Came back to reread it, decided to post it even if unfinished, went with Mature & Choose Not to Warn because I wasn't sure what might happen in later chapters.

Have now written up to a satisfying conclusion in Prisoner of Azkaban; I'd like to write a sequel compromising the events of Goblet of Fire, but if I don't manage it I think this works. Changed rating to Teen & No Archive Warnings Apply, and given it a chapter count.

Debating if I should go ahead and make it a series now, or if I should wait until I've written actual prose for GoF instead of just notes.

[discordiansamba]

spitballing about the altean empire AU, parallel reverse, a bit here because that's the mood I woke up in this morning.

it is, of course based very strongly on the alternate universe arc from who you are in the dark. I kept worldbuilding for it and this is the result.

the main plot focuses on Akira Kogane, our Keith parallel, who unbeknownst to him is half-Altean on his long absent mother's side. He's still raised in foster care, and still wound up under the mentorship of Sven (and still stole his car. some things never change). They have the same close bond that Shiro and Keith do, because of course they do.

They end up in a rebellion against the Altean Empire together, alongside the parallel versions of the other paladins- Tsuyoshi Garret, an engineering teacher from the Galactic Garrison, Isamu McClain, a cargo pilot instructor and Katie "Cat" Holt, whose entire family went on a 'diplomatic' meeting to Altea and never came back.

She stayed with Sven while they were gone (and then never came back), so she ends up knowing Akira quite well.

Akira always possessed an odd ability to temporarily disrupt the hoktrils upon making physical contact with them. This is wildly useful to the rebellion- but also caught the eye of the Altean Empire... and it's current Empress.

Eventually, Akira, Cat, and Tsuyoshi are captured during an ambush and taken back to Altea, where Akira is separated from the other two- and ends up learning more about his mother than he ever wanted to.

It turns out his mother, Lia, was one of the few Alteans who still possessed alchemical abilities, and that she disappeared on a quest to find Oriande. It means he's half-Altean, a fact which he can't deny after the Empress breaks the illusion his mom cast over him before he left Earth, that kept him looking so human.

Since Akira himself also clearly possess her same talents, the Alteans are very eager to convince him to join them. Akira wants nothing to do with the Empire, but he also sees the groundwork of a way to protect both Cat and Tsuyoshi from the hoktril. So he cuts a deal- he'll join them, if they spare them both from it.

(Turns out, the Alteans aren't wildly enthusiastic about applying the hoktril to a race that looks so eerily similar to themselves.)

This saves Cat and Tsuyoshi, although they do both get slapped with a much more old-fashioned pre-hoktril version of the Empire's 'rehabilitation'- effectively, shock collars. Akira can at least pull strings so that they're basically put into his service since apparently all Altean alchemists are brought into the royal family. Which means he's a prince now. what the fuck.

oh yeah. he guesses he's also betrayed the rebellion now too- he did kind of have to sell out one of their bases to really get the Alteans to trust him. Good thing he knows Slav has absolutely cleared the place out by now... but that doesn't stop him from being thrust back into the conflict on the Empire's side now.

he hates everything about it. but if wants to keep Tsuyoshi and Cat safe, he doesn't have much of a choice.

(he's also way too good at selling it for his own comfort. Sven hates him now, he's sure.)

He also learns that not all Alteans have fallen in line with the ways of the Empire. There's a resistance effort within the Empire itself, and they very quickly smoke each other out. This gives him a chance to pass intelligence to them, which they can in turn, pass onto the rebellion.

He also realizes that if he's able to master this alchemy stuff, he might have an actual opportunity to kill the Altean Empress himself and he's not going to pass that up.

In the process of trying to learn more about his talent, he stumbles upon an AI created from the memories of an Altean named Coran, who was killed shortly after Altea became an Empire...

(...and there's a ghost of a woman haunting the halls of the Castle that only he can see.)

[maguro13-2]

Legacy of Shinra Reboot ~ Origins of the Ink Demon Chapter 1 Remake Finale (4/10) ~

"On the Earth's Moon..."

Usagi/Sailor Moon : *snoring and sleeping* Oh geez. Morning already? Sorry Ma, You'll just have to wait, I'm already hooked up with Mamoru now and cuddling together.

Voice : Zero Gravity disengaged

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Ehh? *Falls* WOAH!

*THUD*

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Ouch! What the-!? Where am I exactly? Huh? What's this place? How did I get into the gravity chamber?

Minako/Sailor Venus : Oi, Usagi. You're finally awake.

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Sailor V, I mean...Minako! What are you doing up here so lately?

Rei/Sailor Mars : I'll say, what are we doing here so lately?

Ami/Sailor Mercury : And you are definitely correct of where we are, Usagi. Looks like those Ink Demon counterparts beat us to the punch.

Rei/Sailor Moon : We're on the moon.

Ami/Sailor Mercury : Did you say we're on the Moon, the actual moon? Not the one from the Ohkuboverse how did we ended up here. More like, how did we wound up here.

Makoto/Sailor Jupiter : Smart thinking, Ami.

Usagi/Sailor Moon : I got a bad feeling about this.

*footsteps approaching*

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Hey, umm, thanks for waking us up. What year is this, is this the future?

"This spaceman who awakened the real Sailor Scouts is Richard Osmond."

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Hey, thanks for your help. Hmm? Hey, I know you, you are that Fromsoftware character, Spaceman Richard Osmond. You're guy of Echo Night, one of Fromsoftware's hidden gems of Japan. It's no wonder why Fromsoft has forgotten a horror trilogy like this.

Ami/Sailor Mercury : More for the record, we are naked and needed some clothes, our superhero clothes. If you don't mind.

Minako/Sailor Venus : Show us where the clothes are at.

*Richard walks off along with the naked Sailor Scouts*

(scene changes)

[Echo Night - Beyond/Nebula : Track 10]

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Boy, this place gives me the creeps. So what's a spaceman doing alone here on the moon?

Ami/Sailor Mercury : I heard that he was the survivor of that crash, the shuttle crashed right here, this place we are at isn't even the castle we resided at. This is abandoned base on the moon, Lunar Base Diana. This facility run by Richard Osmond himself, this guy.

Makoto/Sailor Jupiter : Oh, that makes sense. Mining director and survivor of a crash on the shuttle. I wonder what this was caused when the shuttle crashed. a lot of people died. But how does he know a one man has the vision to see...

*a spirit of another spaceman appears*

Makoto/Sailor Jupiter : Ghosts!

Rei/Sailor Hino : I clearly remember that this base was being haunted by the spirits because we believe in mediumship.

Minako/Sailor Venus : Mediumship, that's sounded like a cold astonishing fact. So who owns Lunar Base Diana and who was the director of this facility?

Rei/Sailor Mars : I have some shocking news about it. You see, Minako. This spaceman Richard Osmond isn't human.

[Echo Night - Beyond/Nebula : Track 8]

Minako/Sailor Venus : What? Then who this Richard Osmond in a space suit that is guiding us?

Rei/Sailor Venus : The survivor who was in that crash is a robotic copy lf himself, the real Richard Osmond...is deceased.

Minako/Sailor Venus : What? Deceased? So the survivor that was in the shuttle's crash was a robot.

Makoto/Sailor Jupiter : I'll go get a quick scan.

*Ami Scans Richard android body*

Ami/Sailor Mercury : Hey, guys. You are right. This android copy of himself was built by the same woman that was his newlywed. It turns out that Echo Night's Claudia selfer is a woman that specialized in robot engineering. How's that for a sci-fi set up.

Makoto/Sailor Jupiter : Who knew that women were into to robots?

Ami/Sailor Mercury : I beg your pardon.

Usagi/Sailor Moon : So that's why he saved, all this time that this space man that owns the facility lunar base Diana is actually a android copy of the "real" Richard Osmond that literally died, some shocking plot twist.

Ami/Sailor Mercury : Well, it's your loss. Hey, don't we get a grip on this one.

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Anyway, we're here!

(scene flips)

Usagi/Sailor Moon : Ah, finally back to being Usagi in my superhero clothing.

Sailor Mercury : Actually, we'll just stay superhero clothing. Let's just call in our superheroes names. Sailor Moon?

Sailor Moon : Here.

Sailor Mercury : Venus?

Sailor Venus : Here.

Sailor Mercury : Jupiter?

Sailor Jupiter : Here.

Sailor Mercury : Mars?

Sailor Mars : Here.

Chibiusa : And don't forget about me, Chibiusa here.

Sailor Mercury : And Sailor Mercury, who is here.

*Cartoon Sfx : Bounce*

(the scouts looks at Chibiusa with arrows pointing at her)

Sailor Moon : Chibiusa...What are you doing here on the moon?

Chibiusa : What does this look like I'm doing? I just came to drop by.

Sailor Mars : How did she get here? Or when did she get here?

[Echo Night - Beyond/Nebula : Track 13]

Chibiusa : Didn't remember? this used to be a Lunar Base when it was in fully operation by one man for mining minerals but then, that artifact of doom called the Red Stone was the responsibility that changed everything killing everyone on this facility and became spirits that were turning evil because of the powers of the fog.

Sailor Moon : So wait, the fog that did all of this, there weren't any fog in the Lunar Base were they?

Chibiusa : Nope. In fact, all traces of the evil fog caused by the power of the Red Stone have vanished thanks to brave man's valorous effort. By the way, like I said...I come from that castle, that is where the true Sailor Scouts residence will be there.

Sailor Moon : That castle? You mean that place is our new secret home? But why living on the moon?

Chibiusa : Because when Sailor Moon ended about 7 years ago, we decided that Sailor Moon would no longer be living on earth and decided that the Inky Scout counterparts put you to the moon, Pharaoh 90 would destroyed the Milky Way galaxy.

Sailor Moon : Chibiusa, but earth is where we belong. So far out.

[Echo Night - Beyond/Nebula : Track 21]

Sailor Moon : Hey, Chibusa. When you say that Sailor Moon ended about 7 years ago, what are we supposed to be and how did we ended up here?

Chibiusa : See this Photo? (shows a photo Usagi, Mamoru, and the Sailor Scouts at their wedding)

Sailor Moon : Tuxedo Mask, Us, and you? That's our wedding photo. Our story ended with a photo of a wedding.

Chibiusa : It's true. Let me get this straight, you Sailor Moon and the Sailor Scouts that were on this moon are copies of the original who disappeared after the story ended. Drawcia, the head of the Drawcia Family created all of you, copies of the original.

Sailor Moon : Original ones that vanished after the story? What does this even means to a superhero? Are we all basically just duplicates of the original?

Sailor Venus : So do we remember anything all of this?

Sailor Mercury : We've been copies the entire time and nobody reported it?

Sailor Mars : I guess the originals that used to be us have been long Gone. Goku would recognized as copies of the original he would never tell.

Sailor Mercury : So...Guess this would be the meaning that we all disappeared in silence. Maybe it's for the best. But we gotta simply do for the rest.

Sailor Venus : Well, I may not know about this. But you got yourself a point, although, I did acknowledge some minor details saying that in two years, humans on earth are going to demote the ninth planet in the solar system. But we don't mind that to scientist, humanity would never do this everything, even though it was the planet founded by those townspeople in Arizona back on earth.

Sailor Jupiter : Yep. They, humanity does not get away with power, but if they're too greedy for it, then you don't wanna touch that stuff, everyone thinks the Moon's a planet, it's a satellite that connects earth all the time.

Sailor Mars : You sure about that, Venus?

Sailor Venus : Pretty much. But hey, at least going to secret residence on the moon is a fine discovery in the 2000s, perhaps. I bet that if we can get back to earth? We could finally put an end to this life of ours. But most of all I get no hesitation to see the good old days of earth.

Sailor Mars : You betcha.

Sailor Jupiter : So what's next for us when get down to there? You still wanna see Tokyo in the dawn of this century. I mean it's been only a year after we were created as copies of the original.

Sailor Mercury : Yeah, we could do some hobbies on our daily basis like going for a walk in the park, get a bite to eat, go to the beach, and even watch movies or TV, oh no, I meant to say was that we could do a little hiking and see some breath taking views.

Sailor Jupiter : That would be excellent. You know this reminds that we had a secret friendship-like relationship when we were on earth. You and I danced together before. Although the Death Busters were Pharaoh 90's responsibility for all the chaos and madness it caused and costs the Milky Way millions.

Sailor Mercury : You are right, by the way, not to mention it, Yusuke and Moon did saved us from the clutches of Germatoid's control of the Death Busters. But did they really think that Pharaoh 90 and Mistress 9 will return to threaten the Milky Way?

Sailor Jupiter : True, I hope those guys will be turning into space dust.

Sailor Moon : Earth. So peaceful and so beautiful, I wonder if there was any signs of Mamoru. It could be the end of everything, I wished this future for us would be a great moment ahead of us.

Chibiusa : You said it. Oh hey, I was wondering something. When that castle is where hour secret home is, there's one place that I keep not remember it. I don't know where it is, but I do know is that it was some kind of "Sanctuary" going on here. It's where that humanoid Phanto guy resides there as his own domain.

Sailor Moon : Huh? This is Phanto fella? Wait, are you talking about someone's long-time father?

Chibiusa : Well I do believe so. I found some strange readins that is proclaims to be this lucky fan mail from 1994. It happened about 10 years ago.

Sailor Moon : (reads letter) Dear Sailor Moon. This is lucky number one fan of all time, I heard that the moon is my father's only domain where he rules everything and you Sailor Moon is what you have been protecting this galaxy for my ancestors that conquered the planets after planetary conquest. But since you already known, that my powers of Shattered Resonance will be awakened once I unleash frustration into an awesome art form of power. But if you wish to see the powers of Shattered Resonance can do, then I use Blood Magic to destroy all of those who wanted hurt me, humiliate me, so that is why I chose to bring out destruction on the ones they call me a hero. Signed by Maka Albarn, the daughter of Phanto Brotherhood leader Lord Phanto III.

[Kiss me Sunlights by Heart of Air plays]

Sailor Mercury : So that's why Maka Albarn was chosen as the hero of her own story.

Chibiusa : Just to remind you that the Shattered Resonance contains traces of a highly deadly force that is so deadly it could destroy the entire world that carries out destruction!

Sailor Mercury : So despite our hesitation, we need to put a stop to this. Maka's powers will react anytime soon. Oh Shinra, that crazy fool, he just had to set everyone up from the beginning!

Sailor Venus : Let's all agree we could find a way to stop Maka's powers from overreacting and then it could lead everyone death. It's the power of the vibes in our hearts. That should be love and justice right?

Sailor Moon : Love and Justice is my thing as a Superhero.

Sailor Jupiter : We have to stop Maka's powers now before the whole moon gets destroyed! Just to be reminder that Gods of the moon restored it for power! But if this moon's restoration gets blown up, then Tsukuyomi will be pissed off!

Sailor Moon : Tsukuyomi, you know that man?

Sailor Jupiter : He is the God of this here moon that brings power to all of those were under it's control. And who says there's no madness on the moon? All of that was a bunch of wordplay from Maka's author. The industry itself has always been an arrogant economy that needed to raise the stakes, but not too arrogant in many ways.

Sailor Moon : Right. Which is why I am needed to get there on time, I'll use the power of Calmness to calm Maka's heart down and she'll go back into her normal state.

Sailor Venus : Mercury, give us a location of the sanctuary that Chibi mentioned about.

Sailor Mercury : Got it! I found the location of the Sanctuary, it's the same as the castle's!

Sailor Moon : That's the place that we're talking about! Just leave it to Japan's greatest Superhero in the world! This looks like a job for Sailor Moon! Come on guys! We gotta a girl's heart to be stopped!

*the scouts runs off along with Chibiusa*

Chibiusa : This should be easy for us to take down whatever lies in our way, so let us decided whether man and woman itself can control the planet's fate. Soul World got nothing on us!

"Count me in, A hero's got to do what a hero's got to do...!"

"A hero's fate can be more much of challenge than a job itself."

"Heroes must stay united to team up if we wanted to be stronger!"

"Combining our efforts is a hero's work that needs to be done!"

"So it's up to us to stop dangerous threat to the Galaxy!"

"The universe is in our hands!"

~ Scene 21 : Heroes United Forever ~

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 260

American Nightmare/Heaven Sent

“American Nightmare”

Plot Description: after several victims are shipped to death by an unseen force, Sam and Dean begin to suspect a deeply religious family that lives off the grid

EXCUSE ME?? We’re getting season 2 flashbacks in the recap?? Back to when Sam had psychic powers???

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: yeah, I just don’t see myself as someone who would receive the stigmata

Mmmm, fake stigmata. She had no side wounds

Dean, no. Do not discount your feelings on this. It’s WEIRD to have your mom back like this, and it’s NORMAL to feel awkward about how things are going and how she left

Ugh…these writers do know how to twist a knife some days. Turns out the dead woman worked for child protective services and when the boys asked her former subordinate if she had any enemies she said “you don’t make a lot of friends when sometimes the best thing you can do for a family is split them up” in front of DEAN?? Yeah, he’s mad about that

You get used to the suits when they’re pretending to be fbi agents, and clergy uniforms when they’re pretending to be priests, but you never quite get used to the chunky sweaters when they have to be child psychologists or cps workers

Is……is that the dead daughter?? Actually alive and locked in the basement???

This family is so fucked up.

Dean, don’t do this. This random Wiccan woman is not the problem here.

Pfffffft, Sam not even really knowing if he’s psychic any more

What if the mom’s lying about if the daughter caused the accident?

SHE PUT RAT POISON IN THEIR FOOD??? And stabbed the son????? Bestie, your daughter is not the devil, you were going to murder your whole family.

Awww. Dean’s done some thinking about how Mary’s thinking

Oh…I remember that tattoo from a different episode. Ugh. The London Men of Letters are so fucking annoying.

“Heaven Sent”

Plot Description: trapped in a world unlike any other, the Doctor faces the greatest challenges of his lives

I’ve got an hour and 20 minutes to watch this 54 minute episode…

I wish they’d cut down on his soliloquies, though I suppose with Clara no longer around he doesn’t really have anyone to talk to

Ooooooo, he is unnerved by whatever’s following him

He’s got some…um…interesting philosophies “if they threaten you with death, show them who’s boss. Die faster”: how to deal with being in a torture chamber

So……and I can’t believe I’m gonna say this. In fact, I hate that I will…the TARDIS is also a little bit the Doctor’s mind palace. He uses it differently than Sherlock, but the same basic concept is there

I’m sure, in due time, this’ll be interesting…but I’m just not feeling it. It’s just the Doctor being clever to an imaginary audience on his side of the fourth wall who it seems he’s pretending is Clara

The setting is the most interesting thing. He’d in this castle that keeps jumbling around and resetting every so often

God…..but I want to look up and see that many stars

Is…the thing following the Doctor the Hybrid (half time lord, half dalek)? Following him around the castle like some Ghost of Christmas Future-ified Minotaur?

He might not be the only person to lose someone but he is among the very few to seemingly lose everyone

Old man vs 20 ft thick wall. Who will win? The answer may surprise you: the creature that’s been following the old man

Oh this prison is inhumane. Gallifrey clearly doesn’t even have a Geneva…

Can’t believe he’s been stuck in a time loop for 7000 years

20,000 now??

This montage had taken us billions of years into the future and he’s mourned Clara and spoken to her like she was right there with him every day of it. Sometimes grief be like that

Oh…the Hybrid is not literal half dalek….perhaps it’s because the Doctor has been told over and over he’d make a good dalek. Maybe because he killed all the time lords…

[w-h-4-t]

On today's episode of can't help myself

A friendship story with Cole and Cullen because I adore Cole and mans Cullen decided to knock on my brain and say AYE WHAT ABOUT ME HOE??? so there it is. It's been a HOT MIN since i last wrote but I caught the vibes. awww yeee. The story title is from a Gregory Alan Isakov song called Second Chances.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517498/chapters/83834260

A Ghost in the Garden, Scaring the Crows.

It wasn't a familiar song but at times it was fleeting, fully blossoming into haphazard singing or woeful humming. Cole tapped his feet against the walls, mimicking the beat of several bleeding hearts. 

And how they bled, all without voices. 

For the songs he heard -the singing and humming- was internal, never brought to light nor languished upon. 

Everyone's pain was brought to the surface of their mouths, like blood pooling at the top of a wound. Wanting to be free from their broken bodies and blistered bones. At times, Cole held a blade in his fingers -what he thought to be his hands- and flipped its honed edges over and over again. 

He wanted to free them.

But it was wrong, wrought with rules of reality he didn't quite grasp. 

Cole sat on top of the Garden roof, clicking his heels against the tiles, watching a world that remained blind to the form he filled. The knife was still in his half-gloved hands, giving thought to nothing in particular but the voices that swam around him in circular shapes. 

Hurt my hand...

Lost my brother...

Never saw it coming...

How do I...

Where will I...

What do I do?

The many whispers of Skyhold's residents floated past him like errant bubbles on a river's surface; some popped by his ear, letting him listen to their woes. 

The scarecrow boy looked off into the Garden, watching Chantry sisters and Elvhen herbalists sharing the land that stitched them together.

And still their turmoil boiled and dived, fluctuating in waves to keep their sanity, for the sky was patched but the world still hovered over their shoulders. A promise of destruction was forever clear, that much Cole noticed from the many minds that flocked to his ear.

Slowly, the Spirit stood, unseen by the people, unknown by the companions as he followed a thought as if reeled in; a faux human fish chasing a lure. 

The world blurred around him, passing by in watercolours as he quietly made his way past citizens more real than he could ever feel.

The grass crunched under his boots, the buckles of his tattered garb chuckled in metallic rasps. Everything came alive as he walked and Cole wondered if he'd ever become more than the shell he filled. It was Varric's hope for him and Solas' nightmare. 

The scrape of stone touched his shoes; a soft clacking to signal his arrival to the gazebo. Cole turned his head back for a moment, casting a half-moon shadow with his hat as his eyes scanned the garden. 

The voices chased him, he could see them coming in invisible waves, swirling past Embrium and Elfroot plants, coiling over stones and praying beetles in lofty trees.

The woes of others would be upon him soon and he would welcome them with compassion even if his blade was forcibly stilled.

Turning back, blue eyes stared at a small table; a Lion and his quiet kingdom, formulated from his mind and captured by his own hand. Cullen's game of chess with himself -a normal affair of solitary wits- carried on as usual. 

Castling...but that would leave the knight open.

The last piece of Cullen's thoughts sidled up to Cole and the boy watched with fascination as the Commander plotted a war against himself.

Even in his moments of reprieve, he fought, strategized, conquered. 

But there was a sluggishness to his face; a sheen of sweat pooling between the creases of his forehead. The grating nausea and cerulean pollution of a body purging lost Lyrium.

Distractions to keep the monsters at bay.

Cole watched as Cullen reached out a shaky hand to clutch a knight but his fingers betrayed him, knocking over the piece.

The sharp flare of irritation cut Cole's tongue and pierced his chest, bringing him forward; making him seen.

"Maker's Breath!" Cullen exclaimed, his hand flying to his sword hilt in reflex, "Cole...You need to stop doing that."

"I'm sorry." Cole spoke suddenly, stepping forward with his head lowered, "I...I heard the hollow, the craving calling for comfort, cradling broken bottles and digesting dust. I wanted to help."

For above every pain of Skyhold he could not assist, Cole trembled at every tremor the Commander's withdrawal summoned. It was an intensity he could not fathom, a pain that had become so commonplace that above the voices crying for help, Cullen's screamed.

Removing his hand from his sword hilt, Cullen watched Cole with creased brows; his eyes were tired, reddened at the borders and bloodshot at the seams. Soon his brow lifted, resuming his natural stance at the table, focusing back on the fallen knight. 

There were no words but a soft whisper of wind to assail the leaves and dance with the bugs. Cole heard it all, even above the bassy thrum of blood in Cullen's ears. 

He heard peace at that moment, a small cluster of laughter from nearby, the sound of running, movement and life.

Though Varric was elsewhere, Cole could hear his voice, not his thoughts, but a memory of what he may say in a moment like this.

People are tricky, kid, but get to know them and they become a little less strange. You start to figure out that everyone's pretty weird, it's just a matter of befriending the type of crazy shit they bring to the table.

The Commander brought his hand to cover his mouth in deep thought, already beginning to forget the boy's presence. 

Already beginning to have him fade away. 

Cole stared back, his drawn face moping further as he found himself disappearing again, and though he normally encouraged it, he enjoyed being around.

He wanted to be seen.

For maybe if he was seen, he could help.

"C-Commander." Cole said suddenly, pulling the fog away from Cullen's eyes, "Can...I sit with you."

The words were odd, then again, the entire rogue boy was odd. Cullen blinked a few times before looking at Cole, gauging his intent and whether he wanted to be bothered. 

And thankfully, he did.

"Alright." Cullen finally spoke, carelessly gesturing at the opposite chair, "But keep out of my head. Please."

Hearing the agreement, Cole nodded slowly, his mouth slightly agape even though he wished to smile. He would soon learn to tug his lips upward in time, not now, but in time.

Baby steps. 

The many leather and cloth patches of Cole's clothes gave a soft whine as he sat in the chair, and funnily enough, it was the only sound he heard at that moment.

The world was strangely quiet, the river of voices all pleading for help lay idyllic amongst the shaded garden. Cole heard his thoughts rebounding in his skull and questioned each one of them, unknowing it was his own voice, his own words.

That is until he recognized his voice and the body he inhabited.

Reaching out to the board, Cole passed his fingers along the knight piece, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger to right its place.

"I can teach you a simple set of moves, if you wish," Cullen said softly, catching Cole's eyes which reflected the world back at the Commander, "Nothing too difficult, of course."

There was still clear pain in Cullen's face but it was buried as he spoke to Cole, distracted and muted under their conversation.

He was helping, in his own small way and with that realization, came a slight smile on the scarecrow spirit's face.

"Thank you. I want to learn." Cole replied, sitting upright in the chair as the one-man war melted into a mock battle for two. 

He saw Cullen smile back at him, before resetting the board. It was the first time he felt like himself in a long while.

As for Cole. 

He felt human.

[lethesomething]

The Ghost and the Witch, part 2

This is a continuation of The Ghost and the Witch (which you can read here), a small Ghost of Tsushima fic that I wrote to Deal With Things, but that needed extra fluff. So have that, I guess. There is also technically (?) smut, in the victorian sense where anything that happens is badly hidden in subtext and obvious symbolic imagery.

“You’re new.”

Jin startles at the voice that seems to come out of the air itself. It has been six days since his uncle brought him to Castle Shimura, and it’s the first time he’s ventured this far out into the garden by himself. The grounds are vast and meticulously kept, but this area feels different, a low corner near the outer wall, mostly obscured by a large cherry tree. The small plot of land is utterly covered in white and pink petals, but it looks like someone is also growing a kitchen garden here.

“Are you the Boy?”

The voice calls out again and this time he spots its owner: a young girl up in the tree. She looks about his age, with two braids coming down her shoulders and dressed in a hakama of some quality. She looks out of place, in as much as anyone looks wrong stuck in a tree. 

“What are you doing there?” he asks.

The girl looks down at where she’s perched on a wide branch. “Sitting,” she says.

“Well. Yes, I can see that,” he concedes.

“The view is nice, you should try it sometimes,” she says with a half mocking smile. Then she starts clambering down. “They say lord Shimura has taken in a ward,” she goes on, as Jin takes a few steps forward, unsure of whether he should try to catch her. The girl ignores his panic and hops down in three calculated movements. “So that’s you, yeah?” she says when she drops to the ground.

“Yes,” Jin says, composing himself. “I am Jin.. Lord Sakai.”

The girl does another one of her half-smiles and then finally treats him to a proper bow. “Pleased to meet you, Jin Sakai. I’m ___. My father is the head of the guard.” She points to the nearby tower. “He can see halfway across the island from there.”

“Well it is an important strategic location,” Jin says, parroting his homework from the past few weeks. “Whoever controls the castle, controls the island.”

You tilt your head at him. “Sure,” you say. “It sounds like you’ll fit right in.”

He drifts into your house in the woods like leaves on an autumn wind, a quick slide of the door and suddenly he’s there, a presence that darkens the shadows cast by a late evening. 

“Jin?” You look up from your work. “Are you alright?”

He says nothing, and that is answer enough. There’s something wrong with his posture, a slump, a wobble, and you rush up to meet him and pull him into the light of the fire. 

“Show me.”

“It’s not as bad as it could be,” he mumbles, while you quickly remove his helmet and place it on the ground, antlers glistening a rusty red. 

“What happened?”

“Mongols,” he says, his voice hoarse, “Perhaps a few more than I had anticipated.”

“Were you followed?”

“They’re dead.”

“Alright.” You loosen the straps of his gloves and take them off, before setting to work on his pauldron. The leather is wet, the bands caked in something slick that combines with the shaking of your fingers and makes them difficult to dislodge. 

His hands, rough, scarred but surprisingly stable, fold over yours. “Let me.”

“Right,” you say and you hurry to fill a bowl with warm water by the fire. You open a box by the fire and rifle through it, fingers scurrying over boxes and pouches and pots until you find the clearing salts, which you dump in the bowl. When you turn back, Jin has taken off his pauldrons and untied his armor.

You point to a mat by the fire. “Sit.”

“It’s really not that bad, “ he says when you help him out of his chestpiece. 

“If you have come here for my help, it’s bad enough.”

He does not argue. He sits quietly while you wipe away the blood and assess his wounds. The gash on his arm is shallow if jagged. But there’s a cut in his side that looks deep. The edges of it are laced with a grey, ashy dust that smells of poison and rot.

You clean it off as best as you can. “We’ll have to hope it is not infected,” you say. 

He hums, a low sound that is more of a tremor than a response. You glance up to see his eyes are not looking at you, but through you, glass beads staring into nothingness. You put a palm to his forehead. Fever.

“Stay awake a little longer, Jin,” you find yourself saying, “I need you to hold this.” You smear ointment on his skin and place a piece of silk over it. Then you move his hand there. “Try to push down while I bandage this up.”

He nods absently and you set to work, moving as quickly as you can, trying to ignore the dangerous sway in his form, a mighty tree falling in slow motion. By the time you have bandaged his abdomen and his arm, he has mostly collapsed, barely staying on his knees, his head leaning against your shoulder to remain upright. His eyelids have fallen shut, although you can see his eyes twitch underneath. Perspiration beads on his forehead. “This will have to do,” you whisper.

With effort, you lay him down on the mat and cover him in blankets. His breath is ragged, shallow. You clear away your previous work and prepare a fresh bowl of water and a cloth, which you set by his side.

Outside, the wind howls an angry, desperate roar. You stoke the fire and brew a pot of tea. It will be a long night. 

-----

Jin closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of early autumn. The salt in the air mixes with the earthy scent of leaves and wood fires. After his time away at training camp, it feels comforting to return to his uncle’s castle. He stalks the grounds like a cat, reacquainting himself with its many nooks and crannies, taking stock of the small changes in plants and people. The sound of running feet wakes him from his investigation and he turns, smiling to see you racing towards him. 

You’re improperly fast, bounding down the path like a wild foal that has just discovered the joy of speed. “Jin!”

You abruptly stop just short of him, then take a breath and bow. “Welcome back, milord,” you say, and Jin has to bite back a laugh at the sudden politeness. 

“Thank you,” he manages instead. “What made you so excited?”

You look up with a sparkle in your eye. “The camellia’s started blooming! Come see?”

You turn around and dash off again, your figure a fluttering, billowing sheet tugged off the clothesline by a strong gale, free to whirl and spiral down the path. 

 Jin shakes his head briefly and follows, measuring his pace while he watches you dance up the steps, until you stop and wait for him. 

“You’re slow,” you say when he catches up.

“I’m Deliberate,” he argues.

“Why?”

“A samurai does not rush into things.”

You nod thoughtfully and slow down to match his step. “Did you learn that at camp?”

“I have been learning that for a while,” he says.

“Mmm,” you say, letting your fingers glide through the grass framing the path as you walk beside him. 

“What else did you learn?”

He thinks on it a while, and then something resembling a smirk forms on his lips. “I’ve been learning about women,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Ryuzo says I should be careful with them. That some of them are out for my titles and money.”

You do not look convinced. “Who’s Ryuzo?” you ask. 

“My friend.”

“Well he sounds like an idiot,” you say, shrugging.

“He’s not,” Jin starts saying, but when he looks toward you, your face is darkened. “Besides,” he says “I’m sure he didn’t mean, uh, you.”

“What I’m ‘women’,” you say in a mock guffaw. 

“Depends on the definition,” he huffs. 

“Oi!”

Jin chuckles and sets off running toward the cherry tree, now chased by a girl calling him mean. 

When he reaches your small garden, the sight stops him in his tracks. The bushes, once a dull green, have sprouted dozens of small, perfectly formed pink and red flowers. They dot the garden like jewels glistening in the sun.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” you say, coming up behind him.

“They are,” he nods.

He reaches out to touch one, fingers brushing over the small, soft petals. 

“My mother used to love these,” you say, wistfully running your hands over the leaves. “She’d wear them in her hair. She was so pretty.”

“I can imagine that,” Jin says quietly.

“Huh?”

He turns his attention back to the flowers. 

“Why don’t you try one?” he says.

“I sincerely doubt it would suit me, Jin.”

He shakes his head and chooses a perfect red bloom, carefully picking it off the branch. “Here.” 

He hands it to you but you just hold it in your palm, staring at it, and then at him.

“What?” he says. “Just try it. It will be like honoring your mother.”

“Right,” you mutter, and slide it into your braid. 

“There,” he says. “That looks very nice. I bet your mother’s spirit looks down on you with pride.”

You gently touch the bloom, a soft smile on your face as you look around the garden, resplendent in sunlight. “Maybe,” you say.

----

Jin’s body feels heavy, as if he’s dropping to the bottom of a bog, weighed down with stones and pricked with a thousand knives. His skin burns and his veins are filled with lead. 

He’s vaguely aware of movement next to him, of cool cloth soothing his forehead before his spirit sinks down into the muck again.

When he next wakes up, it is to the sound of wind rustling outside. He opens his eyes slowly, and tries to focus on the rafters high above him, laden with drying herbs. The smell of burnt wood hangs in the air and he becomes aware of a dying fire glowing to his side. He turns his head, and the movement feels like hammers pounding on an anvil. 

On the ground next to him is a bowl, a pile of bloodied bandages and, a little further on, you, curled up against a stool. Your hair is tousled, your skirts gathered around you and your face buried in your arms in a way that looks uncomfortable. 

The light of a winter’s morning seeps through a high window, casting long, stark shadows that stretch stalks into trees and bottles into towering columns. In the midst of it all your sleeping form stands out as an island of light, a sprinkle of silver dust in a sea of shadows. 

Jin closes his eyes again and lays back. He’s weary, and the pain sears through his veins, but he no longer feels like he’s drowning. The sack of boulders that sat on his chest has lifted. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Again.”

---

Jin hurries down the steps to the cherry tree and finds you exactly where he expected, sitting amongst the fallen camellia’s. “Hey,” he says when he enters the space. 

You do not move, don’t even shiver against the cold of a winter’s evening. “Hey,” you say. 

The voice only barely sounds like you. A sound that he remembers being clear and melodious as birdsong is now nothing more than a scraping whisper, a tarnished bell filled with ash and sand.

He approaches carefully. “I came to find you,” he says. “People are worried.”

You shrug. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds. “About your father.”

When he hears no response or protest, he takes his scabbard and slowly lays it before him, kneeling on the ground next to you. The two of you sit there, surrounded by the overly sweet, sickly smell of faded flowers. 

“He died a warrior's death,” Jin says. “He was protecting this place. Protecting you.”

You say nothing, but he can hear you breathe. A series of choppy inhales, followed by long drawn out sighs. 

“I understand,” he says. “How hard it can be. How difficult it is to face that loss. If there’s anything i can do-”

You shake your head. “Just sit with me for a bit?”

Jin nods and folds his hands into his lap. He closes his eyes and focuses on the quiet, on the shadows of the trees looming before him like stone monuments, on the cold sea wind carrying crystals of salt and ice to fill the sky above you.

----

“There’s a good horse.” Jin moves his arm to pat Kage’s mane but stops halfway, wincing at the stabbing pain in his side. “Looks like you’ll be resting here for a bit longer,” he says.

The horse nuzzles his shoulder, whinnying softly. Raindrops drizzle through the trees, cascading on an elaborate journey from branch to branch, only to fall to the moss beneath his feet with a dull, muffled plop. 

Moisture fills the air in this small clearing, droplets so thick he can taste them on his tongue. It deepens the shadows and further obscures this place, the house already veiled by layers of green and black like a widow mourning the passing of the summer sun. 

Jin carefully unties the bridle and takes it off. The horse immediately shakes out its head. “Feels nice, huh?” Jin says, and he moves to take off the saddle as well. “I’ll brush you down tomorrow, so enjoy the rain on your back while it lasts.”

His movements are slow and deliberate. The horse stomps its hoof. 

“Alright, alright,” Jin says when he finally loosens the saddle. “Off you go.” The horse takes a few steps, and the saddle slides off, dropping to the rain scattered ground. “This needs cleaning anyway,” Jin sighs.

He watches as Kage wanders over to a basket of straw he put down and starts munching. Then he takes a deep breath and bends over to pick up the saddle, grimacing at the feeling of being sliced open once more. He straightens and blows out a breath. Kage eyes him from a distance. “Don’t you start,” Jin says.

When he enters the house, the scent that greets him is earthy, the herbs and wood he’s gotten used to now laced with something deep and gamey that makes his mouth water. He sniffs. “Hare?”

“It was in one of my traps,” you say, stirring a pot bubbling over the fire. “I figured you could use the strength.”

With that, you get up and take the saddle and bridle from him. “How are you feeling?”

“About the same as the last time you asked,” he says. “I’m… fine.” He walks over to the fire to sit down, and tries his very best not to flinch. He fails.

You give him a weary look. 

“But I could probably use the strength,” he adds. 

You nod and prop up the horse tack to dry. “How is he,” you ask. 

“Stubborn.”

Another weary look. 

“You don’t have to worry about Kage,” Jin says. “He’s not wounded, and he’s fine wandering around the forest for a bit.”

With a nod, you return to your cooking.You throw some chopped burdock root in the pot, and millet to thicken it. The feeling of being watched makes you look up. 

Jin sits, watching you make stew with a soft grin on his face. 

“What?” you say.  

“Nothing,” he chuckles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“But?” you ask, returning to your work. 

“There was a time when I would wonder what it could be like,” he says. “If you were to make something like this for me. Lord Shimura’s cook said you were quite talented, though I don’t think she approved of the random plants you’d bring in.”

You laugh. “One of the teas I brewed for her did end up giving everyone strange dreams,” you say. 

He blinks at you.

“It was an accident,” you add.

“Of course,” he says. “Either way, I used to imagine scenarios like this, embarrassing as that may be.”

“Were you half-dead in those daydreams, Jin?”

“No,” he says. “I was quite healthy, and content, and we were living in Omi.”

You nod, as if you can see the images yourself. “That would have been nice.”

He watches in silence for a while, matching the pictures from his teenage dreams to the vision in front of him. The girl, the woman, the fire and the smell of game. The knicks on your hand and the frayed edges on your garment. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You smile and shake your head. “Life rarely goes how we imagine it as children.” Then you sit back. “Do you regret it?” you ask softly. “Looking back on everything now?”

You’re not the first to ask, and the answer is no different now. “The actions I chose,” he says, voice only slightly hoarse this time. “I would do them all again.”

You nod. “That’s alright then.” And with that you pick up a small bowl and scoop it full of stew, before handing it over. “It’s not the most glorious meal you’ve ever had, but it will do.”

The two of you eat in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of crackling fire and the occasional huff outside, from Kage plodding around in the clearing in front of the house.

“This is good,” he says. 

You nod. “Of course it is.”

“I should have known you’d be confident,” he snorts. “You never did hold back to try and seem more proper.”

“I held back plenty,” you say, and put down your chopsticks. “But also, you barely ate in days. This stew would have to be pretty bad for you not to enjoy it.” You put the bowl to your lips and tip it back, savouring the spiced sauce. 

“Still, it is pretty good,” Jin nods, munching happily. 

“I’m glad I got to taste your cooking after all. It’s close to how I imagined.”

You smile softly. “Good,” you say.

----

The salted air stings your face as you survey the world from the guard tower. You can see halfway across the island from here. Your eyes follow the coastline north to the snowy covered flanks of the mountains, and south all the way to the swamps, with Kaneda Castle rising above them.

Below your feet, waterfalls pour down into the sea, an endless gurgling that was always so familiar to you, but now feels distant and annoying. 

“There you are.” Tetsuo, who used to be one of your father’s men, comes climbing up the ladder. He’s a friendly sort. Broad shouldered and scruffy. “I was sent to find you. The cart is ready.”

“Alright.”

The man watches you for a moment, while you take in the views one last time. He fidgets when your eyes come to rest on the main tower of the castle, its highest floors home to the lord and his nephew. “Do you, uh, need a moment?” he says carefully. 

The tower feels oddly imposing in the light of early morning, its height looming over the grounds and the people below, a stone monument against a lead sky. 

There’s no fires there at this time. There’s barely any movement. Just still halls and the shuffling of servant feet as they try to remain invisible and unheard, mice in their own home. 

You shake your head and turn to Tetsuo. “I’m fine,” you say. “Let’s go.”

---

The muffled tones of a flute come floating out of your house when you return from the forest with a belt of wood and some mushrooms you found. 

The melody is soft and a little nostalgic, a sound both melodious and weary at the same time. 

Jin concentrates on his breathing, a steady, stable pace to produce the right notes, but then you drift into the house like a fluttering bird, carrying the winter wind on its wings. He can smell the promise of snow on the air as you flit by in a whirl of fabric and drop a few logs next to the fire.

“Oof,” you say, and you rub your hands in the soft glow of the hearth. 

Jin puts down his flute. “Are you cold?”

“It’s freezing out,” you reply, shrugging off your coat and shawl.

“I made tea,” he says. “Why don’t you sit for a minute.” He leans forward and pours two cups from a small pot. The wound in his side stabs in protest, but it no longer makes him flinch.

You hang up your coat and kneel beside him, taking the cup in both hands and breathing in the fragrant steam. 

Your eyes flutter closed and Jin watches as your face, flushed from the cold, relaxes into a smile. He carefully takes the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders and extends it to cover yours. 

Then he leaves his hand there, a gentle weight at your back. He can feel you tense for a moment, before you relax again and take a sip. 

“I made room for Kage in the shed,” you say. “Put some animal skins on him too. He should be alright for tonight.”

“Thank you,” Jin whispers.

“You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you.” You hold the cup to your chest, staring at the fire. 

“My wound is better,” he says. “And I still need to liberate this island.”

“And then?” The words hang in the air like a puff of smoke, drifting ever upwards but refusing to dissipate.

Jin quietly sips his tea, the warmth of it welcoming but edged with a hint of bitterness from the burnt leaves. “I don’t know,” he says. 

He moves his hand further to your side and finds that you lean into his warmth. “I care for you,” he finally says. “Always have. But you already knew that.”

You nod mutely.

“I don’t know what could have happened, or what would…”

“We are very different people now,” you say, and your voice sounds oddly far, a faint whisper beneath the crackling of fire.

“True,” Jin says. “But we’re here now.”

You look up at him and your wide eyes hold a sky’s worth of stars. That same spark he saw so long ago, buried but ever burning beneath it all. He gently kisses your forehead. 

And when you don’t pull back, he kisses your temple, and the top of your cheek, right beneath your eye. “Do you want this?” he asks. 

You hesitate for a moment, eyes searching the lines in his face, the scars on his brow. Then you put down the cup and let your fingers smooth back his hair, trace the line of his jaw. “I do,” you say, and you lean in to touch his lips to yours.

Flames lick at the logs in the hearth, a slow, burning heat that consumes everything in its path. It spreads an orange glow that lights up the inside of the hut, growing shadows from teacups and lining the two bodies moving there in a copper gleam. 

The fire simmers slowly, steadily throughout a cold winter’s night. It sparks and sizzles, breathing warmth and life into the darkness. 

And it burns, and burns, through that night, until all that’s left in the cold light of morning is a faint glow drawn from spent wood, and soft breaths under layers of blankets.

[strawbunniiee]

A Girl and a Ghost Ch. 3: The King’s Revenge

SOOOOO this is the part where the plot thickens :)

if anybody else wants me to tag them in these chapters so you know when they come out i will gladly do so andksnkfs

hope you enjoy! ive had tons of fun with writing these :D

dont mind me, just lettin my frendos know that this is a thing skfnkdjf

@salamifuposey @monsterbride99 aaAAA when i initially posted this i COMPLETELY forgot to do this a a a a a sorry

King Boo was furious.

How could that peasant, that foul impure abomination of a Boo do this to his beloved crown? It contained his power, it was so incredibly important to him...

And that filthy little purple haired brat! How could she so carelessly throw a rock at him like that?

He plopped his body down in a chair and marinated in his own rage for a few minutes.

After a few moments of enraged silence, he spoke.

"...I have got to get my revenge on those two. But... how will I do it?"

King Boo began to brainstorm a way to get the ghost Rabbid and his little idiot friend in hot water.

"Torture? No, no... one of them is a ghost. It wouldn't hurt him... Torture could be done with the little nuisance however. Perhaps a bit of childhood trauma will teach her not to mess with the wrong people." he thought aloud.

He spent almost fifteen whole minutes thinking of gruesome ways to get back at them, until it finally struck him.

"...Oooh, I know. I know exactly what to do now. It'll mostly affect that bloated rabbit, but I can still do some damage to his moronic pipsqueak pal."

He grinned maliciously and floated towards the doors of his manor.

"I'm about to open up some old wounds of yours, Tommy." he said to himself.

———

Meanwhile, Phantom was racing through the sky with Jawaii in his arms, panicking. He would never let King Boo lay his foul hands on her.

They were both absolutely dead silent the whole time until Jawaii opened her mouth.

"...Do you know that guy?"

Phantom halted for a moment and looked down at the young alien he held. "...Yes, I do, but I don't think I would like to go into detail at the moment. We have a very... rough history, I will say."

"Oh... I get it. It's okay, I won't pry. I understand." Jawaii said.

"Just remember that if King Boo ever tries to hurt us, I'll make sure he will regret it for the rest of his days." promised the Rabbid ghost. "I swear on it."

Phantom resumed his flight and soared down to the ground safely. He gently set her down in the grass.

"That was actually really fun! We should do that again sometime! ...without being scared off by an evil ghost, obviously. That would just make it less fun." said Jawaii.

"I'm glad you were entertained, I suppose... King Boo is quite intimidating. And rude." said Phantom.

Jawaii put her hands on her hips. "Well, yeah! I mean, he made fun of your weight! No friend of mine is getting made fun of like that!"

Phantom laughed a bit. "Oh, don't worry, I wasn't that harmed by that statement. I er, get that all the time."

She frowned. "Why do people tease you about that, that's dumb! Besides, I think you're perfect just the way you are!" She gave him a hug.

He hugged back and smiled. "Awww... thank you. I was born like this, I can't help it you see."

"You're a giant fluffy singing ghost bunny with a mustache, I have no idea how anybody could hate THAT! Cuz I don't."

"Oh, don't make me blush from all of these compliments!" said Phantom, smiling.

Jawaii jokingly grinned evilly. "Never. I'm gonna shower you in compliments 'til you DROWN!"

She cackled maniacally as she began relentlessly saying nice things about him with Phantom begging her to stop. Soon, it became a full-on flattery war to see who could out-compliment the other. They had a grand old time.

Eventually, the sun began to set.

"Oh yikes, I better get home. I had no idea we stayed out here for so long! Mom is probably having a heart attack as we speak!" said Jawaii.

Phantom was quite alarmed, his ears sprung up in worry and concern. "She's having a what?! Oh, poor child, I hope your mother is all right..."

She burst out laughing hysterically.

"Wh-what's so funny? I thought your mother was dying!"

"No, dummy! That was an exaggeration, I meant that she's probably WORRIED about me!" Jawaii continued giggling like a maniac.

"Ah. I see now... Thank you for correcting me!" Phantom joined in on the laughter.

They got themselves together after a moment.

"Oh yeah, mind if you could fly me over to my house..? We're kinda far away from home." said Jawaii.

"Of course!" Phantom replied happily.

Jawaii climbed on his back and the two flew home.

———

After flying back to town, Phantom gently set Jawaii down in front of her home.

"See you soon, my friend. I enjoyed showing you around Spooky Trails today!" said Phantom.

"Cya tomorrow Phantom! I had a good day today too!" She ran up to him and gave him one last hug.

She walked up to her door and waved goodbye to Phantom. He waved back.

"Moooom! I'm hoooome!"

Jawaii's stepmother Stella ran in.

"Oh, Jawaii! Thank goodness you're all right! I was so worried, where were you?"

"Sorry I came home late! But I spent today with a friend of mine."

Stella had a look of pleasant surprise on her face. "You made a friend? That's so wonderful! I know you haven't really ever had any friends, honey, I'm so happy to hear that you finally made one!" She smiled.

Jawaii grinned. "Yeah! I'll tell you allllll about him! He's the best."

They sat down at the dinner table with the food Stella made.

Jawaii dug into her mashed potatoes and ate it like a wild animal that had nothing to eat for the past 3 weeks.

"Honey, chew slowly. I don't want you choking!" said Stella.

"Sorry, Mom..." Jawaii said, frowning.

"It's okay. I don't want you in the hospital or anything, especially after you just made a new friend!"

"Oh, I've known him for a while, actually. We've been hanging out together a lot!" she smiled, her mouth still full of food.

"...Jawaii, sweetie, don't talk with food in your mouth.“

"Oh yeah! Sorry again Mom.."

"Anyways, that's why you've been out so much lately? I'm so happy for you, Jawaii!" Stella smiled.

Jawaii gulped down some water. "Yep! I'm glad I'm his friend too!"

They spent dinner talking about all of the fun adventures she and Phantom had gone on.

Jawaii however, conveniently left out any mention of them being in danger, she wouldn't want to worry her stepmother of course!

"Oh yeah! I meant to ask you this, but I got totally sidetracked but where's Dad? And where's Hakai?" asked Jawaii.

"Your father is out destroying planets again, and your sister is having a sleepover with some friends of hers." said Stella.

"Ohhhh. Wonder why Dad's out so late. Hope he's alright."

"I'm sure he's fine, hon."

Jawaii had another sister though, and her name was Roe. She went to a boarding school and wasn't home most of the time.

She stretched and yawned. "Hey Mom, I think I'm gonna hit the hay today."

Stella gave her a small look of surprise. "Oh! You are? Usually you're quite a night owl. Maybe you're just tired from all your little adventures with Phantom."

Jawaii smiled. "Yeah. Maybe. Anyways, g'night Mom! Love ya, don't let the bed bugs bite."

Stella gave Jawaii a hug. "Aww, good night sweetie. Love you too.”

Jawaii ran upstairs, changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth and jumped into bed, quickly falling asleep after her long, tiring but fun day.

———

That same night, the Mushroom Kingdom was as quiet as ever when it was nighttime. The once colorful, cheerful inviting land was deathly silent, almost hauntingly so.

Princess Peach was safely tucked in her bed, sleeping peacefully.

But little did the sleeping princess know, this would not remain for long.

King Boo had finally made it to the castle after venturing there to exact his revenge. He knew how dearly Phantom loved Peach. Breaking them apart forever would be the ultimate punishment for stepping on his turf. He knew that either way, the plan would work. If Phantom didn't come to the manor, him and Peach would be separated forever. If he did, however, it would give the vengeful king the chance to trap him and Jawaii in his manor, to torture them and possibly even kill them somehow.

He knew he could kill Jawaii, that was no problem, but Phantom...? Could he possibly do it again? ...No, he's a ghost now. He can't be killed again. But the king knew that even if he couldn't die, he could still make him suffer for as long as he wanted. Possibly even for eternity.

He phased through the castle walls, not having any of the guards notice him. Then, he finally found her room. There Peach slept, defenseless, ready for the taking.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched her from her bed.

Peach immediately woke up and let out a shrill scream of horror, alerting the Toads guarding her door.

But it was too late. He had already burst out her window with her and was headed straight towards his mansion.

———

Tap, tap, tap.

Jawaii woke up very late that night to a tapping sound she heard at her window. She went over to it to find one of the Peek-A-Boos she had met in Spooky Trails, tapping away at her window.

"Hey... aren't you that kid who Phantom is friends with?"

Jawaii rubbed her eye and yawned. "Yeah. Why do you ask? And how are you at my house anyway?"

The Peek-A-Boo had a somber expression on his face. "Well... I have to tell you some... bad news."

Jawaii was horrified of what was about to come out of his mouth next. Did something terrible happen to Phantom?

"His love, Princess Peach was kidnapped by King Boo. And... Phantom is gone. He went off to go save her. Knowing King Boo, Phantom may not come back in one piece. ...The other Rabbids told me it was best to go tell you. That way, you would know where he is. You deserve to know..."

Jawaii was devastated. How could this happen?

She knew she had to save him. And if she couldn't save him... then she wouldn't let him suffer alone.

"...No. I'm not going to let this happen to him."

The Peek-A-Boo was taken aback in surprise by Jawaii's response. "...I dunno if you should go. You're only a kid. You could get seriously hu-"

"I don't care." said Jawaii.

She jumped into her closet and changed into her usual clothes, grabbed a lantern and ran out of the house and into the black, haunted forest that she met Phantom in.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

Dance away the stars with me

So, @autophobiaxx​ - this is your last gift from me. I hope you enjoyed the former two, because I loved writing them.

I don’t know about you, but I really loved this project and it was my pleasure to write for you.

Also about this one - I tried to go with the ‘And they were roommates’, but looks like it turned into sharing a bed kind of fic. 

Anyway I wish you a lot of fun with this one. 

Also, have a splendid end of the year😘

Elain felt tired out, a heavy weight pushing down her petite shoulders as she stood in the corner of Vassa’s ballroom. 

Her friend having flown personally across the sea, to deliver this letter of invitation to her.  

A bright smile that lit up the night as her burning form vanished into the one of the fiery queen in front of Elain.  

Those bright red curls of her hair dancing around the queen, like a fire itself. Wild untamed eyes beaming happily at her. Ignoring all her naked glory with which she stood in Elain’s garden. Luckily the inhabitants of the house were still too preoccupied to notice her arrival, letting them have their time until Vassa was at least covered by a cloak.  

Declaring in this strong rumbling voice of hers, that there would soon be a grand Solstice ball hosted at her castle. Also telling the seer that she would not take a ‘no’ for an answer, while she already started to twirl and dance with Elain in the garden.  

Spinning happily without a care, that the soft cloak didn’t cover as much anymore as it should. Dancing in wide circles along with Elain’s purple dress while nature watched. Occasionally did a fae walk by, but the smell of Vassa’s curse - the scent of burning and crackling magic- seemed to fully taint her human scent.

Making most of the fae smile with shaking heads, thinking that a friend –or lover- came to enjoy some time with  the friendly seer.  

And indeed, they did have a wonderful time. Those ocean blue eyes of the queen brimming over with happiness as she declared in a proud voice – it was the first Solstice ball since, well, centuries. Elain smiled at her friend as she kept rambling on about how she had searched the library, for books when the last Solstice ball was.  

But she meant that their documentations didn’t reach that far back, so she sadly couldn't give Elain a real feeling of what expanse of time passed.  

It were such moments, in which she questioned Vassa’s age. Not quite aware how her curse affected her aging progress. As this knowing look was often witnessable in her eyes.  

Talking of ancient parties, banquets, former human festivities and so on. Vassa awfully liked to talk about the festivities the mortals once had – describing her so vigorously how they were decorated, how the food tasted and was arranged while she often complained about the dances and the stiff spines of the humans.  

She should have believed Vassa more. Was all Elain could think as she stood silently in the corner of the wide ballroom. Candles, bonds and greenery painting the atmosphere of the hall in a calm solstice spirit, while she only watched.  

Spines of both, women and men, completely stiff as they swirled around with their partner. Flowing skirts twirling in circles while the loud fake giggles of the women rang in her pointed ears – which she didn’t even bother to hide anymore.  

All in all, Elain had thought she had forgone hiding long ago. But as she swallowed up the space in the shadow of Vassa’s throne, it seemed like someone wanted to prove her otherwise.  

Though nothing in her made even the slightest move of peeking up and having the urge to go to the dance floor. No, the last urge to do that had been more than two hours ago and she would not have that disaster again.  

Would not have another man growing stiff while she asked for a dance. The mortals all used to the man asking his chosen companion, while she would wait for an invitation – the rest of the night if she had to.  

Elain really couldn’t think about a single reason why she once loved these blinding balls. Sticky air attached to her porcelain skin, loud laughter ringing in her ear, as someone finally opened a window. A groan escaped her as the first complain of a woman already echoed over to her pointed ears.  

She really would have loved to go outside- to get some fresh air, admiring Vassa’s gardens. But the seer was well aware to the looks that rested upon her petite shoulders.  

As if the heavy sheet of midnight velvet, attached to her pale blue gown wasn’t enough weight on her.  

It had been so long since she last wore something that closed off. The skin on her shoulders thankful for the cold metal of the needles, that rested on each of them as they held her trail attached there.  

The as mistletoe decorated ornaments sparkling in the warm light of the room.  The golden hue getting captured in the hundreds of small emeralds and the two big rubies. Dancing and chasing each other in the glittering realm on her shoulders.  

While she stood stiff as a salt pillar.

A kind smile on her lips, but a faraway gaze in her eyes as she listened into the conversations that took place on the polished white marble floor. The humans all whispered.

Hushed voices flying around the room, trying to keep their shushed indignation away from her prying pointed ears.  

Though they seemed to forget about the two males that twirled on the dance floor and also listened in on their conversations. Day and night transforming the ballroom into a scenery of beauty.  

The one, bright as the sun, dancing with his queen in his arms. Love and faithfulness to her written in his eyes. While the other one, dark as night, twirled on the dancefloor with various women.  

A kind smile on his lips as he picked his next victim to interrogate. Each one of his companions fearing, but also adoring him while they got silent information's sucked away from their very own body language.  

Elain didn’t really like that Azriel had danced all night with every woman in the hall, just not her. But she knew of the reason.  

Knew that he was here for a reason after all.  

Feyre was sceptical about Elain’s visit. All alone in a realm full of sceptical and hate withered humans. So, it had been a relief for her younger sister when Elain told her she would ask Azriel if he would join her.  

The High Lady of the Night court doubted that the broody shadowsinger would volunteer to go with her into the mortal realms. Surprise lining her features as she found him and Elain ready on the roof.

Deaf to the quiet language the seer spoke with him.  

He knew it was a onetime opportunity to gather information. Vassa’s silent smirk the entire evening, was also prove that her ulterior motive wasn’t a calm and boring ball. She gave both of them an opportunity to gather information from the kingdoms, that had betrayed her so cold heartedly.  

While she had Elain’s help by her side with Koschei.  

‘One hand washes the other.’ meant Vassa, but Elain knew that her fiery friend would have loved to help her, even without her help depending on the one that cursed her.  

This dangerous gleam in Vassa’s eyes something most had overlooked tonight as they greeted her. Guest for guest – kingdom for kingdom- bowing down in front of her.

Jurian, as well as Lucien, shared the same kind but tiny devilish smirk with their friend the entire evening. Watching with delight how the seer and the shadowsinger of the Night court silently interrogated those who betrayed Vassa’s kingdom.  

Plotting out their fall, like a silent cloud of death creeping up to them.  

“You seem to have a lot of fun tonight.” stated Jurian with an amused look, as he extended a hand to her. She took it gladly. A small honest smile spreading as her friend had approached her silently.

Though she could not help the silent wish in her head, a hissing scolding following soon while her hand rested calmly in his.  

‘Wrong!’ hissed this voice inside her. His hands felt so wrong.  

Jurian seemed to notice her pained train of thoughts as he chuckled quietly. “Sorry, I am not quiet the one you hoped I would be.” a blush crept up her cheeks – hopefully it was just the warmth of the room. And not the thought of a certain shadowsinger.  

Not the ghosting feeling, on her hands, of his scars. Her petite fingers having long mesmerized each scar that was printed into his gentle hands.  

“I don’t know who you are talking about.” was all she could mumble as Jurian kept twirling them over the marble floor, that mirrored each of their movements.  

“How is my bet going?” she asked him out of the blue as he chuckled at her innocent reply. This soaring mind of hers trying to get her attention off of those fussy feelings inside her chest.  

Those sensitive ears also needing something different to listen to than the too loud notes of flutes and mother knows what.

“Better than mine.” was all he growled out. His warm brown eyes immediately looking above her head and into the direction of his friends. Which twirled without a care along the music – showing the humans that no one needed to fear those oh so blood thirsty creatures.

Elain looked up at him with questioning eyes “You have another bet?” “Exactly.” was all he answered smugly as he twirled her out on one hand.  

“You wound me Jurian. I thought I was the only one you bet with.” her eyes brimmed with laughter as he pulled her close again, not too close. Even his human mind was aware to the piercing eyes of the shadowsinger on his back.  

The two main reasons as to why he had a bet with Vassa in the first place. Two at the moment to be exact. One containing their visit this week, while the other would most likely last for a long term. Jurian groaned a bit in pain at the mere thought of it. ‘Hopefully I am going to see the end of this before I die!’ was all he could think of.  

After all, those two were good when it came to dancing. Mostly when it came to dancing around each other. Always a back and forth of twirling skirts and hissing shadows as they reached out for each other whenever the other one withdrew. An everlasting circle of day and night.

“I can’t bet with you on this one.”  

Elain’s worried eyes had him chuckling. This fae female seemed to always fear for the worst – thoughts of a next battle and bloodshed probably preoccupying this thoughtful mind of hers already again.  

A thoughtful mind he respected, but feared at times.  

Jurian was well aware to the strength of her sisters. One blessed with the seven powers of the courts, respected in each of them and the other fierce and strongheaded. Setting the Illyrians in the camps under turmoil at the moment.  

And while both had plenty of strength, making everyone believe that there was nothing as such left for their sister – they lacked kindness and understanding. One having at least a bit of it, for those who she loved while the other did know nothing about mercy.  

They both lacked the calm political abilities of their middle sister.  

The silent scale no one knew about.

Elain had grown up happily among the humans, had been a master at feeding lies and spinning nets of a twisted truths, that only contained scrums of what it really was. She was an honest soul, but prettying up the truth was something she had been skilled in since years.  

This sharp mind of hers, able to read humans just as well as fae with just an innocent look of from her eyes. The dangerous gleam in her them, hidden faraway in the facet of a deep caramel, was something no one had noticed until now.  

Her sisters unable to see a dangerous side of her.  

Jurian had started seeing Elain as a scale the moment she first stepped into these halls.  

Those knowing innocent eyes resting on him with a sharpness, that could cut bones. Assessing – predicting- his next actions as her eyes started to cloak themselves. Those few minutes which she had spent in the realms of the future, were worse than any battle he had fought upon.  

His mind growing well aware of the blood that would always stick to his hands. Innocent blood among it.  

But as the seer returned, she bowed her head in respect at all three of them. Her eyes having seen something that made her believe in him, something only few did at this time.  

And without even realizing it, did a deep friendship form.  

One her sisters probably didn’t even know existed.  Thinking it hurt her whenever Vassa called upon her abilities, acting cold and icy around them while she opened up to the female she should have feared.  

Her burning heart should have feared of the possibility that Lucien could still gift his love to the fawn and not the phoenix.  

But it was obvious. His decision was as clear as day written across his face, whenever he watched the queen. Elain having long known of his future path while she seemed oblivious to her own.  

Kind jokes and a few glasses of wine, Jurian shared in silence with her. making them bond over various things. It was refreshing whenever Elain came to visit them. Accompanying him on his third-wheeling as they silently betted in the background how long it would take for the two to finally knock it off.  

Elain betted on many things, a trait she had picked up from her family, he found out. But Jurian was sure to mention the condition of no peeking into the future whenever they started a bet.

She had grown well into her powers after all. Not even the cryptic visions bothered her anymore. And it relieved her, the control she had now, easing her shoulders, whenever he saw her, a bit more.  

“Have you found out anything yet?” whispered Jurian down to her. Humans might not have such sensitive ears like fae, but they had their ways of sneaking around.

Elain shook her head, a dramatic sigh on her rosy painted lips as she eyed the ball room discreetly again “No, not yet. The one I had danced with before could have also been dead – though I do thing a dead body spoke more than his. And the rest of these people are complaining about Azriel’s, Lucien’s and my presence on this human ball.”  

The former general sighed in defeat as a little smirk played along her lips “Some are even thinking you should go with us. After all, you are such a foolish man that lay his heart in those ungrateful hands of this intoxicating creature. “  

“I think if that would ever happen, I would already have it pierced on a dagger.” was all he could mumble. His memories showing him with shivering intensity the death stare of death incarnate. The shadowsinger not entirely able to hide this quiet rage inside him, whenever he noticed someone had bad intentions with the fawn.  

Trying to hide her away from cruelty, drooling stares, torture and mother knows what. Though he recently started to relax more, a proud smile on his lips whenever this quiet female was able to send a male off - only with a cold spoken word and hard eyes.  

It wondered Jurian the last time he witnessed it.

But apparently, there were many things that wondered him over the months he had gotten to know these two. Having been the third wheel for already quite a while, he knew for what he needed to search in someone's eyes when two hearts seemed to beat in sync.  

Knew of the adoration, the trust, the respect and everything else, that lay in someone's eyes if they truly loved someone. And apparently whenever Azriel and Elain turned their back at each other, one of them always turned around.  

Looking at their loved one with wide eyes that brimmed over with love. It was a clear mystery to him how they were even able to hide these emotions.  

It wondered him how the shadowsinger and the fawn were able to tear their heart’s apart, while they only wanted to be together. Those feelings that were strained between them, even seeable to his human eyes.  

But Elain never knew what his innuendos indicated, when he tried to tell her about the deep bond, she had with the shadowsinger. Mother above – she was the one that always complained to him whenever Lucien or Vassa didn’t get a hint, while she wasn’t any better herself.  

Though lately Lucien and Vassa seemed to get each other more, seemed to spend more time with each other while they laughed at things Jurian and Elain had no clue of. The knowing smile on their silent companions' lips always something that threw Vassa and Lucien off, when they sat at the dinner table.  

A groan escaped Jurian at the mere thought, of the looks they now shared with each other “If they move on any faster than this, I am afraid I will lose my bet.”  

The seer only giggled, carefully peeking over her shoulder as she saw the fiery couple dancing. A soothing flame in the veil of shadows around them. 

All those mortals around them, wanting to separate them, tear them apart, kill them, torture the other while their companion needed to watch – a dark veil of cruelty which both did not care about as they danced away the night with a burning love.  

But those careful eyes of the seer strayed from them, strayed from everyone in the loud ballroom as she looked for him. A solid pillar of shadows that danced and whirled around the room, but he was nowhere to be found. His bulky frame having hid away in a shadow of this enormous castle.  

Perhaps he had managed to gather some helpful information's. Writing them down and reading over them with trained hazel eyes. Studying line for line of the report- until the tiniest of secrets was spilled to him, somewhere in a room.  

Elain could only hope so as she danced with Jurian for one more hour. A heavy heart sinking with each dance in her chest, while her ears picked up the same useless information's again and again and again.  

The humans not able to get over the subject.  

Until Elain grew tired of it. Tired of the heavy heart in her chest, tired of the hushed voices in her ears and tired of the ever-repeating steps she made.  

Jurian noticed it with woken eyes. Leading her carefully away from those toxic souls of the humans. The quietness to her ears, as they entered the empty hallways, seemingly throwing off a weight off her petite shoulders.  

Every step she made echoing loudly, along with his, in the cold stone corridors. Until they reached her door. A quiet smile – tired and forced laying on her lips as she bid her friend ‘good night.’

It was a wonder to her how Lucien pulled through these balls, it was a wonder to her how Azriel was still able to attend these festivities with even the smallest of acted smiles.  

Her mind growing well aware to the fact why he despised these missions, in which he was required to be outside of his soothing veil of shadows.  

The mortal realms were tiering, having feasted on her patience and masquerade for the entire day.  

This stupid smile always on her lips. 

More than once already today, did she want to rip it off of her face and just snarl at these humans. These humans -that had sprayed an intoxicating and poisonous smell around the entire evening – were ready to offer their queen.  

They were all ready to drive a dagger between the ribs of their oh, so foolish queen. Killing her with the easiest of thoughts – if it wouldn’t have been for the two fae that were always around.  

Another one lurking in the shadows behind.  

As Elain pushed open the heavy door, there was this wave of relief that washed through her.  

Letting this heavy veil, of midnight blue, slip off her shoulders. The cool air of her large chamber caressing her naked skin, dancing around her like strands of darkness that pleaded her to let her mask fall. Just like this heavy sheet of fabric – that lay abandoned on the wooden floor of her room.  

This whole evening was tiering and it hadn’t even helped her to gather one tiny bit of information! How should she ever find out of Koschei’s hide out, of the strings he spun across the continent? Of the control he had on each of those who lived here.  

Elain hated that she was stuck in a dead-end. All the information she had until this point – the same as last month and the one before that and the one before that.

This feeling of uselessness keeping her heart once again in shackles. Those tired feet rushing to carry her in the bath chamber attached to her room. Pulling at the fabric of the dress that had suffocated her all night.  

There was nothing. Nothing in her heart she wished more to do now than unleash these toxic feelings inside her chest and get rid of those who caused it. A bloodshed that would take place another time, was all she could try and tell herself.  

This heart of hers – that held the wish of hundreds of deaths near- beating in anticipation at the feeling that would rush through her, once she had stricken them true. It was a poisonous wish of her turned heart – but this wish was only turned towards those who deserved it.  

To those which breathed cruelty and spat poison wherever they went, but then again – was she even allowed to judge? She knew how a human heart felt – knew how cruel it could become once fear crept inside their chests.

 But there were also those with soft hearts. Fair hearts of gold, while those, who owned them, lived in poverty.  

Most not even knowing how to write and read just a year ago.  

Elain knew Vassa did everything in her might, to sooth the folds between wealthy humans and those who crawled in the dirt. But she also saw the way the queens presents were treated, knew how those in the Villages eyed the bread, the wheat and everything that lay among it. Warm blankets for the winter and tons of logs that were displayed on the marketplace as they feared that they needed to give everything back.

Doubled and thrice – like some lordlings and ladies wanted them to. So, it was Elain’s task to show them. That there was no fear necessary as she moved in rugs past the guards, that made sure everyone would get something.  

Limping away on a stick and a duvet draped across her hunched back. With a smile did she notice that the villagers turned brave – as the supposed old lady, awaited no punishment.  

Elain had returned after that many times, asking each time another family if she could use their house for the lessons she thought. Gathering everyone, who wanted to in a circle, as she explained them how to write and read – in the dead of night.  

Making sure that her lessons never took up too much of their time. She knew of the work that was necessary in winter and did not want to exhaust them too much.  

Yet she still was able to teach everyone, within the four months of winter, how to write properly. At the end of her final lesson did she give her students a book. Some, which loved to read, immediately opening it – while others groaned at the three hundred pages of solstice tales.  

This last day of teaching was also the one in which she had pulled her hood down. The small children, having tried already more than once, to reveal her face.  

Elain had expected that there would be an uproar, that there would be fear. But as she explained her motives to them – they understood. Having gotten to know her in the darkest months of the year, kindness and silly jokes having bonded them on the many evenings.

Going as that far to even thank her, to tell her of the success they recently made.  

Some were able to get their lost land back, while others were able to make better trads.  

It brought joy to her heart, but also pain that she needed to leave them again. Knowing well that her sisters awaited her with impatient feet tipping on the ground – trying to get as many information's, about Vassa’s kingdom,from her as soon as she stepped over the threshold.  

The one who normally interrogated not caring at all, of what happened at the mortal realms. Azriel was simply glad that she was back and listened with patience as she listed to him the many names of her students.  

Watching in adoration, how this proud smile grew on her lips whenever she rambled on about them.

Whenever she told him of their good hearts.  

While she tried to avoid talking about those which caused all of them pain. A snarl on her lips whenever she only thought about the lordlings and the ladies – just like now.  

Their corrupted hearts feasting on power, while they laughed at those who played honest.  

Those chackling laughs throughout the evening had her blood turn cold, had it freezing in her very veins as her heart decided to imagine the cold joy it would bring to make them shut up.

It was a solstice ball and yet some still found sick pleasure in the pain they caused.  

Elain hated to admit that she became one of those. Cold caramel eyes looking back at her as she now looked into the mirror. This normally so soft face of hers, having grown cold as stone as she drowned in those cruel thoughts of hers.  

A pang of pain crossed her heart at the knowledge of the monster that brewed underneath her. That grew, but was more and more tamed, with each training lesson Azriel and the wraiths offered her.  

This silent beast inside her, noticing a pool of darkness in the corner of the little bath chamber. His fighting leathers- like she made out once her bare feet moved silently across the wood.  

They were neatly folded, laying atop of a chair behind the tub. It wondered her as to why they were here. Moving through the darkness of her chamber did she call out in a soft voice “Azriel?”  

It was almost entirely dark, only the open window – that flooded the room in a soft silver hue helping her to move without stumbling.

“Azriel?” she called out again, as she saw his massive form turned to the window.  

Sweat coating his naked chest while he watched the clouds move on the sky with crossed arms. The sky he just soared through, she assumed. As Elain took in his tousled hair. The wind having combed those soft black strands of ink, atop of his head, in the most various directions.  

Those mighty wings on his back capturing the silver hue of the halfmoon, making the cold light dance along the membrane. Illuminating every vein, every little and big scar as they were spread out wide.  

It was the first time Elain had seen them entirely open – not even when he sunned them in her garden, did he allow them to open fully. Though it seemed as if they spread more and more, each time she found him after a long night of hushed laughter and shared jokes. But also, after those which ripped open old scars in both of their hearts.  

But he snapped them shut, as he had heard Elain’s soft voice in the dark. His raging mind, that was for once absent, not able to identify her as his scarred hand moved immediately to truth teller.  

Those sharp hazel eyes widening as soon as he recognized her petite form – clothed in nothing but her long sapphire night gown. The long sheet of satin, hanging in lose folds over her body. Those thin straps not even seeable as her waves of honey hair hung lose over her shoulders.  

“Elain...” was all he breathed out, her eyes seeing the bob of his Adams apple even in the hue of moonlight. Though what hurt her, was that the stiffness of his shoulders, of his entire being, did not ease.  

It pained her that he didn’t seem able to relax, those mighty wings folding themselves back together on his back, as she took step for step towards him. 

An outstretched hand of hers wanting to touch the soft membrane, this sweet voice of hers only a whisper.

 As she was afraid, he would cower away from her, if she spoke any louder. “No, please don’t stash them away from me. There is no need to hide them Azriel, they are beautiful.”  

But her words did nothing to ease his tension, did nothing as his hazel eyes bored inside hers. Emotions dark as the night, making amber and emerald dance in his Irises.  

Something must have gone clearly wrong tonight, the tension rolling off of him in silent waves – just like his shadows. That pooled to his naked feet.  

The seer having long stepped into the darkness around him as she slowly lifted her hand.  

His eyes not even straying, not even flickering, away for the moment of seconds. Every blink of his eyelids seemed to be too much movement for him, as her soft hand cupped his sculpted cheek. A shudder going through his entire body as fire and ice met.  

Her cold skin resting on his heated cheek.  

A low giggle of hers bubbled to the front “Sorry, I am a bit cold.” was all she declared. Trying to take her hand back to her side as she did so. It was better for him, better if a beast like her did not touch him – did not corrupt his pure heart.  

But Azriel was against it. Was against her touch leaving his skin as his thoughts snapped to one conclusion. Each part of his body moving in unit as he pulled the seer gently by her waist towards him.  

His bulky arms resting around her petite frame as his wings wrapped tightly around her.  

Azriel’s entire being singing of a symphony of emotions. Feelings he knew, he nursed deep down in his heart for her.  

Admiration, trust, need, respect and so much more having strung his heart to her.  

He knew it, yet he was too much of a coward to spill it. To possibly take a decision from her if he would declare her his love.  

But as she withdrew her hand, he knew of the cold feeling that had settled into her eyes the moment he had flinched under her cold touch.  Disgust, but not towards him. Her eyes having spoken of what she thought herself – a beast, a monster.

Things she was far from as he held her close to his heart. “I am having enough warmth for two, take a bit of mine.”  

He felt the soft hair of the seer move on his sweat slick chest. Groaning internally at the tickling sensation ‘This was a bad idea!’ he convinced himself with only one thought. She would be coated in sweat, once they pulled apart.  

Though a primal part of him could only purr at that. Liking the idea very much that it would be his smell that coated her.  

But as much as this primal part of him would like that - it was still Elain’s decision if she wanted to stay. Wrapped up in his arms and scent.  

The shadowsinger was not aware of the effect he had on her as he pulled their bodies together. Needing a slight moment of shock as her nose suddenly breathed in his strong smell. The herb smell of cedar and night chilled mist dancing in her nose trills, along with the heavy scent of his sweat.  

But she didn’t mind – couldn't bring herself to mind as her hair stuck to his sweat sticky chest. The flight and perhaps a bit of training having caused it to appear.  

She loved him.  

Was all she could think, as he pulled her closest to his heart. Those cold hands of hers rising to rest calmly on his muscled back. Only a few inches away from those gorges stems of his wings.  

Pulling him ever so tight as they stood enveloped in shadows and night.  

His warmth enveloping her entirely. While she listened to the most beautiful song, she ever heard – his heart beat. Azriel’s strong heartbeat, that kept thrumming against her ear, a steady lullaby that lured her in.  

Making the exhausted seer forget about all the failure of this evening.  

“Have you found out something today?” was still a question that wrestled itself free from her, as she respired it against his skin.  

Azriel’s wings flaring for the slightest of bits as she did so. This deep voice of his, rasped, while he caressed her pointed ears with this ravenous sound.  “Despite that most humans still don’t like us – nothing.”  

A heavy sigh escaped her. “Have you found out something from Jurian?”  

Elain heard a slight spike in his voice as he spoke the human man's name. Something that made her heart grow fussy and caused her skin to heat. A question she wanted to ask him so bad, never leaving her lips; ‘Are you jealous, Azriel?’

Oh, and how he was jealous! His heart having flared up the entire dance he witnessed them dance, giggles coming over those plush lips of the seer while she shared this playful side with Jurian.  

He knew he had no right to be jealous. Had spent the entire evening away from her – silently interrogating woman for woman. As his heart was stuck with the female, that listened in carefully into these hushed conversations between the humans, in a silent corner.  

Azriel would have loved to spent the evening with her, would have loved to let his shadows dance along to her soft light. But he knew of the importance this secret mission had for her.

And so, he took the stab to his heart and asked quietly around for his information, never too pushy as the eyes of his dance partner rested on him, a kind smile –so they thought- resting on his face while they danced and he interrogated them.  

Dance for dance had hurt his heart and drove an invisible dagger a bit deeper. Well aware that Elain had only danced with one man before Jurian had asked her, while he was away. Twirling dozens of women as the evening aged.  

Elain didn’t have the freedom, on this ball, like him and Lucien. She had known of the etiquette of the mortals, yet she had asked one to dance with her.  

Having picked that one with prying ears and careful eyes as he had complained all evening about the fae that attended the festivities. But he had grown quiet as a mouse when he noticed the attention of the beautiful fae female.  

How Azriel would have loved to switch places with this mortal – a wish that had never even crossed his mind before.  

And sweet Elain – resting in his arms as she did not quite answer his question – took her hands from his back and peeled those scars covered hands off her waist. Letting those gentle fingers of hers interweave with his thick scarred ones. “Dance with me.” was all she pleaded with a smile.

This blinding smile of hers, turning him into a slave of his feelings as he could not deny her this wish – not if it was his one too.  

A dance gentle and soft, as a flower, blooming between them. While they swayed to tunes of music that were playing far away from them. Tones of softly played music resting in both of their ears as they imagined the Starfall from last year.  

Soon picking up where they had last ended their dance on one of the balconies at the house of wind.  

Elain’s light satin gown swaying and circling as he spun her round and round. Letting her twirl freely at one of his hands. Pulling her tight her so gently as her bubbly laugh echoed through the dark chamber.  

A smile spreading on his lips once he saw those lively eyes of hers again, that sparkled from life under the hue of moonlight. Every ounce of jealousy forgotten.  

“I only got some information on a bet I have with him.” was all she giggled as he pulled her close to his still naked chest.  An eyebrow rising at her in confusion while he twirled her.  

This sapphire blue skirt of hers clothing her just as elegant as any evening gown as it splayed out around her.

“Care to explain it to me?” “Only if you join us first. We are already seven months into the bet. Jurian has bet for one and a half year, while I am at nine months.”  

Azriel sighed in defeat, his voice a silent chuckle as he did so “Fine. I’ll stay close to you – ten months. For whatever it is you are betting for.”  

An innocent smile on her lips, had him stumbling over one of his coffers, as she answered him. “We are betting on how long it will take for Lucien and Vassa to hook up and finally admit their feelings.”  

There were few times in his life that had him speechless, fewer times even that had him shocked off guard. He hated to admit that this was one time of those.  

His clumsy feet having stumbled over the heavy leather coffer, just as he twirled Elain back in.  Both of their eyes wide open in shock as he pulled them down – expecting a hard fall as they did so.  

But a fall never came as he landed with his back on the bed, wings flared out wide, while the seer crushed down on his muscled body. Clearly not having seen that one coming, as her eyes rested in shock on his face.  

A bubbling laughter escaping her, when she had seen his eyes. Those wide baffled hazel eyes that knocked the breath out of her lungs as she took him in.  

“Why would you bet with Jurian about this? Lucien is your mate after all.”  

It took Elain some time to answer, but the kind blinding smile had his heart stopping, those soft lips of hers leaning forward to him. Pushing a feather light kiss to his chin – the only place of his face she could reach nestled in his arms like this. Some of the sweetest words he had ever heard, breathed against his skin.  

“Lucien isn’t my mate. Not anymore – not since seven months.”  

Azriel’s breath was stuck in his lungs when he saw Elain’s smiling eyes. That seemed to speak a language on their own as they watched him carefully. Soft caramel Irises searching his tearing hazel ones.  

This beating muscle inside his chest, brimming over with love and hope while he couldn’t restrain himself.  

No shadow, no leash – nothing- on this world would have been able from pressing his lips to those of his friend – his love. A wide smile plastered among her lips.  

The knowledge, that she had teared his walls apart having her floating. Floating in a deep dark night sky together with him.  

His heart having finally overcome a part of his love he feared.  

He feared of the bond between Elain and Lucien. His shadows telling him at darker nights, that even if she chose him – she would never truly want to be by his side. She would always carve to be by the side of her mate.  

And in order to protect himself from the pain - it would cause this stoned heart of his to shatter – he never let himself hope of a future next to the seer.  

Had never imagined for one night, that this – her lips on his- could be more than a fantasy.  

Soaring in his love, he wasn’t able to control himself. Azriel’s muscled body flipping Elain over, burying her under his love and wings. Those thick arms of his and strong legs to each side of her body.  

This sweet taste of her lips leaving his as soon as he was braced atop of her.  

Wide eyes looking into each other, while silence stretched between the two – both baffled at how it came to this.  

But it was the Spymaster that broke the silence “What are we even doing in the same chamber?”  

Elain had wondered the same as she first saw Azriel standing in the middle of her room. But her heart was so enwrapped by the sight of him – this dark form of his glittering under the moonlight- that every other thought of her mind had left her. Flying out of the open window and never even thinking of coming back to her.  

It was a good question though and yet she couldn’t quiet take Azriel serious. Biting her lip to stifle a giggle while his baffled face looked down on her. This tousled mass of hair atop of his head screaming for her to bury her fingers inside them.  

“I don’t know. This is the room Jurian had led me to. I honestly didn’t mind any room, as long as I would be able to find sleep in a bed.  It was not my intention to scare you in your chamber.”  

If the shadowsinger was confused before, then Elain wondered what he was now as his thick eyebrows furrowed together deep in thought. Before he decided to change the direction of things, crawling back into his interest self “I’ll sleep on the floor.”  

Elain’s body reacted to him, in the matter of a split second. Holding tight to his arms that were brace on either side of her face. “Azriel, I don’t know if you noticed that the bed is big enough for the both of us to fit.”  

“I am afraid I’ll make you do things you will later regret.” was all he could breathe. His entire being growing still as stone above of her, once the doubt had settled into his very bones. Drumming a hurting melody of unworthiness on them.  

It had hurt the seer to know of this melody, knew that only mere moments ago she felt the same drum clashing through her. But he was there. Called upon her with his heart as she doubted herself and she would gladly be there for him too. Showing him the love, he deserved. Along with all his worth that beat in his chest as she lifted her hand once again.  

Hot skin meeting cold one.

 The soft, warm touch of her delicate fingers seemingly melting away the ice that cloaked his skin.  

“Azriel. I think you have known long enough already – that I don’t do things others expect of me. Not anymore. Not after you showed me the happiness a decision could bring, if I made it for myself.”  

Her stern, soft eyes looked up at him “I am not the fae I once was. You have helped me grow into the one I am now. And there will be no decision in my immortal life again, I did not truly wish for.”

She smiled up at him. This blinding smile of hers warming his heart, like the first sunrays of the sun that bid their good morning to the falling moon, as she rose. “Please, Azriel share a bed with me. I couldn’t live with the thought of having you freezing on the floor, while I truly wish of you to be by my side.”  

Her words had the mighty Spymaster on his knees, as he slowly crawled off of her. Settling himself under the blanket, waiting for the seer to come into his open arms. A deep blush covering his cheeks.  

It were these words that had touched his heart. That had reached it with all her entire blinding force. Melted the bars away from his caged heart.  

She wanted him by her side. Echoed her sweet words inside his ears, while she crawled up into his arms.  

Not minding the sweat of him, not minding that splayed out clothes on the floor that spilled from the coffer, not minding the nosy moon. That watched through their wide-open window how the spymaster and the seer settled for sleep.  

“How did you get to this room anyway?” mumbled Elain sleepily into the dark. Wrapped up comfortably in Azriel’s strong arms as her back was pressed to his chest. The nuzzle of his cheek against the crock of her neck, captured her breathe, as a knowing smile spread on Azriel’s sinful lips.  

“Vassa had given me a description of the way when we first arrived.”  

And with a final soft kiss to her tender flesh, did he bid her a wordless good night.  

Letting their dreams continue to dance among the stars in the endless realms of their mind.

* * * Vassa sat smugly at the long table in her dining hall, on the next morning. The mug of tea pressed against her lips as Jurian greeted her tiredly, “Morning.”  

“Morning.” she sang. Her cheerful voice having the human man halt in his task of loading scrambled egg on his plate. Those ocean blue eyes looking innocently over her cup into his face.

“Care to explain what happened?”  

“Oh nothing, its just - “she crashed the mug on the table and jumped to her feet. Her index finger pointing victoriously at him while she had the biggest smirk on her face. It was that bright that even the sun could have hid behind her, but luckily the sun was far from rising. So Vassa would have her time to explain everything.  

“- I have won the bet!”  

Jurian knew exactly of which bet she talked about.

 The shock over these news had him losing the fork with egg, he held in the air, spilling it all over the table as he slammed his hands on the tabletop – shoving his chair back as he rose.  

“You cheated! You definitely did!”  

Vassa’s smile only grew “You are to blame for this all by yourself, after all you have been the one that brought her to Azriel’s chamber.” Puzzled brown eyes met those devilish gleaming ones of the queen. “But Elain always stays in this chamber?”  

“Opps, looks like I hadn’t known.” Jurian was well aware to the play she had sat up. Her faked innocence for the topic at hand even audible for someone that was deaf. “Vassa that is not acceptable! And where do you even want to know of if they slept with each other?!”  

“I am having my sources.” was all she told him. The smugness radiating off of her as Lucien trotted in. His tired body holding on tightly to the cup of coffee in his hands. Showing those fangs of his, while a yawn wrestled itself free from him “Who had slept with who?”  

“Elain with Azriel!” beamed Vassa at the ginger haired male. The cup he held on so tightly, shattering on the ground.  

His entire being suddenly wide awake as his wide eyes looked at a smirking Vassa. Dread filling Jurian’s guts while he expected everything, but not what he got: “So, we have won?”  

“We have won.” declared the woman proudly. It was a matter of seconds in which Lucien’s long legs stepped with ease over the shattered coffee leftovers and picked up the queen. Twirling her with a wide smirk. Like two children that had found the other again, after they hadn’t seen each other for a while.

“We have won!” chimed both happily. Leaving a baffled Jurian at the side line.  

“Could you two put me in the picture as well!” “Lucien was my ‘source’.” 

The male only shrugged as Vassa called him out. Admitting full out that he had casted a monitoring spell on the room.  

Jurian could only hope, for their own safety, that when Elain found out - they were far, far away.  

But the other two seemed to have no remorse, that they possibly (most definitely) invaded their privacy.  

“Vassa, in what sense did you mean ‘they slept with each other’?” He suddenly wondered aloud. Something didn’t ad up to him, as she celebrated her triumph.

It seemed like as if he hit the target right, as her shoulders grew stiff. The quiet mumble that left her mouth, barely audible for him “Well, I mean it in the sense of … sharing a bed.”  

Normally the former general would have felt betrayed, but this time those news eased his strained nerves.  

‘Elain would have killed us all if she would have found out! Or Azriel’ was all he could think about. Glad to know that his human life has a couple of more years to last.  

Because it was clear as day to all of them, that there would be nothing in this world that could stand against the anger of these two – if they ever should find out that someone disturbed the privacy of their loved one, not caring at all about their own one.  

And while Vassa, Jurian and Lucien ate breakfast until the sun rose, they let them sleep. Smiling happily at the thought that their friends had finally found their way together.  

Letting their hearts finally dwell in the company of each other.  

The blooming seer and death incarnate had a long way to go after all.  

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Fangs Deep

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 9 | Chapter 10 - Fangs Deep | Chap 11 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - mourning, angst, blood thirst (again, no idea how to tag this) 

Author’s note: I just reread @viking-raider​‘s Fangs Deep, to get some inspo for this long fic and darn is it an absolutely wonderful world she built! Such rich characters and well-set out plot. Lovin’ every word of it! Read it if you haven’t yet! 

Now. As I’ll never be able to truly build a world as rich as hers, especially not in this fic, I decided to keep it small, but invest some more words in the castle, history and surroundings in this chapter. Tiny world building ❤️

Thank you darling @thelastsock​, for beta’ing for me!  🌹

Word count: 3.657

Reading music: Arvo Pärt - My Heart’s in the Highlands 

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

A week had passed and the snow had blanketed the world until it was whisper quiet. That was, until now.

Loud bells were chiming in the chilly morning air, making the Master flinch at every beat. *Ding-ding-ding-ding* The steelish echo reached far and wide over the snow-covered tree tops, all the way up to the Master’s anguished ears, his mouth silently cursing his vampiric sensitivity.

It happened on occasion that these bells would ring, but never this long, never this hauntingly. And thus the Master had climbed up the many stairs to the highest tower so he could see what was at hand. And what he saw was quite haunting indeed; a large procession of people, standing out on the semi-rebuilt village square, their faces not joyful at all.

A mourning procession. Not uncommon now winter was in full strength and the crops had failed this year. But not often were these mourning procession this well-attended. This large. Someone had died. And not just anyone. Not even for weddings would the bells toll so long a time, their lilt echoing far and wide. It had to be an important person. Someone..someone..hmm. The Master frowned as the cogs in his old mind started to spin into motion, memories flooding his tired mind.

History will repeat itself. History will repeat itself. History will repeat itself!

--

‘Okay. Everyone in position!’ Lumiere conducted with his candles, the flames dancing around him as the make-shift stage was cleared, a ghostly napkin and the army of “footsoldier” wardrobes ushering aside. Belle sat up from the large reading chair when two small silhouettes appeared in the shadows cast by the large fireplace. It was difficult to decipher what they were until they hesitantly set foot on the stage, eyes blinking in the bright light. A golden hairbrush and a red leather gauntlet. Lumiere cleared his throat, introducing the two new actors on stage. ‘The Queen mother!’ - The hairbrush dipped her head. ‘And Hamlet, prince of Denmark!’ - The gauntlet turned towards Belle, whom smiled warmly. ‘Go on!’ She encouraged.

The gauntlet almost seemed to glow an even deeper shade of red as he curled a finger up to his chest, as if reaching for his heart - thanking her, before bowing to the rest of the audience. Waiting a moment for the hairbrush to also settle, the scene began, throats cleared and the room silent again.

The hairbrush dramatically swivelled ‘round, her back now turned to the audience before she slowly turned her head, bristles crisping.

‘Do not forever with thy vailèd lids

Seek for thy noble father in the dust, son!’

Letting out a soft sigh - affectionate as only a mother can do, she turned to Hamlet.

‘Thou know’st ’tis common; all that lives must die,

Passing through nature ..to eternity.’

Belle blinked, settling a little deeper in the chair to hide the sudden discomfort that graced her features. When the furniture had offered to act out this so-called ‘Hamlet’, she hadn’t expected much more than some fun diversion. Their short description of a challenged prince, ghosts and true love had sounded like a good bit of entertainment in the long hours of yet another cold day.

But here she was. Here they were, the enchanted furniture acting out a tale of great betrayal, and dead fathers.. Belle’s neckhair rose as Hamlet let out a despaired sigh - much like the one she was fighting to hold inside. Grabbing onto the arm rests she took a deep settling breath, her eyes peering at Hamlet as he burst out in an emotional monologue.

‘ “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”

’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,

NO, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

NO, nor the dejected havior of the visage,’

He inhaled sharply, as if ready to cry, head hanging low.

‘Together with all forms, moods and shapes of grief,

That can denote me truly. These indeed “seem,”

For they are actions that a man might play;’

A glove finger reached back to his leather heart as he looked back up at the Queen mother.

‘But ‘tis no play, Mother! I have that within which passes show.

Passes the trappings and the suits of woe!’

The room went quiet, except for the crackling of the fire..and a soft sniffle. Belle quickly wiped away the tears that were burning from her watery eyes, hands hiding her torn expression from the furniture’s curious eyes. For a week now she had tried to accept her faith. Accept her father’s death. Her newly found status as an outlaw. And for a week now she had tried to hide her tears.

But no more.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Belle sniffled quietly, quickly wiping away the tears as they watered her heated cheeks, an apologetic smile glueing to her lips. ‘I didn’t..’ *sniff* ‘I didn’t mean to. Oh gods.’ More tears were bound to spill when her voice hiccuped, chest tight with sorrow.

‘Sweet Belle. Oh dear! Do not apologise.’ Hamlet broke out his role to walk up to the mournful maiden. ‘We can delay if you-’ Belle shook her head, more anguished tears bursting from her being, shoulders shaking with grief. ‘I just...Wherever I go...bad things happen.’ She removed her hands, face puffy and red now she watched Hamlet shake his fingers in disagreement. ‘No! Milady!’ He hopped up on her lap with ease, slightly shocking Belle who blinked in surprise. ‘Good things are happening where you are, Belle! Do you not see?!’ He pointed in the direction of the long hallway that led to the main staircase. ‘The Master hasn’t been so lively in years, centuries! And we are most glad to have you in our company. We are!’

The rest of the furniture hummed in agreement, but Belle was inconsolable, more tears springing to the surface. ‘I’m-I’m sorry. I can’t. I--.’ She shook her head and prince Hamlet hesitantly climbed onto the armrest as he noticed she wished to leave, her body not missing a beat as she lifted from the seat. ‘I just need a moment.’ She cried, rushing out of the library and into the long cold hallways upstairs.

--

A moment.

There had been a lot of moments needed in this peculiar household. Mostly by the Master. No matter how often he tried to settle down for dinner or a sociable reading session in the library - at some moment or other he felt that horrid nervousness wash over him again. At first he thought it was just hunger. Insatiable hunger. But after endless hunts it became clear it was not that. At least..he wasn’t hungry for blood. He was hungry for..hmm..dare he say it..a..a heart?

But as the Master had ventured far and wide to calm the clicking of his nervous teeth, he had too noticed something else. Something new. The wounded deer had been just the beginning. Now there were more messy kills - most animals only half-dead when he got to them. There sure must be a young predator on the loose. Peculiarly strong, fine clawed..and leaving little to no tracks. The Master couldn’t help but feel the cold chill on his skin whenever he returned to the castle; something was brooding in these forests. And it forbade little good.

--

In the past week or so, her foot now healed, Belle had wandered around a bit. But it was only now that she realised how truly large the building was. Even after minutes of walking, she seemed to not have reached the furthest wing, the cold licking at her bare skin as she sniffled back the last of her tears. Throughout the length of the hallway walls there were large tapestries and portraits, telling great tales of the families that once lived here. Stately portraits, hunting scenes and depictions of the build of the castle. With amazement Belle took them all in, large brown eyes also noticing that a few paintings were missing, the lighter shade on the wall leaving a lasting mark of what had once been.

History laced the dusty air here, and it took away what last tears still stuck to her eyelashes. Curiosity, as usual, got the better of Belle. Especially now she heard some sounds coming from the end of the stately hallway.

Was someone there?

With silent feet she moved closer, finding a door ajar, light slipping through the crack. Inside she noticed signs of life; clothes strewn about, a bed unmade. It piqued her curiosity even more when she recognised the clothes. The Master’s.

*CREEEEEEeeekk* The door moved.

OH merde! Shit shit shit!

The Master had apparently heard her - of course he had - his head now peeking around the corner of the door. Clearly he was a little baffled to see her here, so far away from the library or her room.

‘Belle.’

‘M-milord.’ Belle quickly curtsied, red eyes casting down at the floor.

‘Are you well?’ The door was opened further, his hand reaching out to thumb away a stray tear on her cheek.

A most endearing gesture.  

Belle opened her lips to speak, but as soon as her eyes looked back up into his she lost all strings of thought. ‘I eh..’ Looking away her gaze once again fell upon the clothes that were strewn about. Quite messy a living space for someone seemingly well-put together. Never had she seen the Master in anything less but gentlemanly attire. Even now, in the privacy of his room.

‘I should go.’ She breathed, turning on her heel but finding her movement halted as his hand curled around her upper arm. ‘No please. I just didn’t expect..’ He licked his lips. ‘..a visitor. Please Belle.’ He gestured her to step inside, floorboards creaking beneath their feet. The room was cold in temperature, but warm in atmosphere. Heavy deep red drapes hung around the four poster bed and the walls were completely covered with paintings; a few portraits, but mostly landscapes or mythical depictions. And books, so many books! Stacked up nearly to hip height, their covers were showing clear signs of the many times they had been read, old leather cracked and pages curled.

‘Do come in.’ The Master slightly bent his head, stepping back to make way for Belle.

‘So..’ Belle nodded quietly, a watery smile appearing on her lips. ‘The Monster’s lair.’

‘Aye.’ He grinned.

The tension was near tangible as Belle carefully stepped over a few books, eyes taking in the great many things that were here to be seen. It was then she noticed a strangely familiar portrait. Familiar not in the straight sense of the word. In fact she trusted she had never seen it before. No. It looked familiar as in..it looked like her. With widening eyes Belle blinked at the exact representation of..her. Belle.

‘Did you paint that?’ Belle hiccupped.

The Master sighed and stepped in besides her, fingers lacing behind his back. ‘No.’

Belle felt a strange eeriness travel up her shivering spine. ‘No? Then..who..’ She swallowed harshly. ‘..what is that?’

The Master’s face contorted with pain as he turned away, eyes however remaining locked on the painting. ‘Tis my late wife.’

Of..course it was. Darn! How did Belle always get herself into such trouble?!

Belle wasn’t sure what to do next. Run? Scream? Cry out in terror? She knew that nobody would come. Nobody would care. She was here, all alone in the Monster’s Lair. And, from the looks of it...this wasn’t the end of the surprises that she’d find in these castle halls. His wife had looked like her? What’s next..? Did he think she WAS his wife, maybe? Is that why he was so strangely obsessed with her?

Then again. She was just as obsessed with him, right? For nights on end she had now watched as he fled the castle to go out, his dark silhouette returning only hours later, panting, lips tainted with fresh blood. The sight had both terrified and intrigued her. The Master intrigued her. To an almost unhealthy extent. Was she becoming a monster now, too?

‘I see.’ She whispered, eyes finding the Master’s stark blue ones as he looked over his shoulder. She could feel heat creep up her cheeks. Oh, why did she feel this way?!

‘I should have told you.’ He sighed, looking back at the painting, the portrayed woman wearing a fine red gown, dark brown hair mostly hidden beneath an early century headdress. Nothing Belle would ever wear, but she had to admit the woman looked dreamily beautiful.

And like her.

Belle licked her nervous lips, her chest suddenly unbearably tight in the restraints of her corset. ‘Is ..is that why I’m here? I mean. Nobody has been here for centuries and now-now I’m..I…’ Her eyes started to tear up with fright. But not for him. No. It was in fact more of a quiet hatred towards herself. SHE was the one who ventured into HIS domains. SHE had called this upon herself.

‘Tis part of the curse.’ The Master said benevolently.

‘So..then I am cursed as well.’ Belle sniffled, gladly accepting the kerchief the Master handed to her, his large frame now fully turning back towards her, eyes gentle. ‘In a way.’

Lingering their eyes met, two souls captured in a dance they didn’t know. But though the steps were unknown, their hearts were more than willing to learn. Why were they feeling this way? They had barely talked to one another except on the few occasions that the Master had ventured into the library or Belle’s room. And despite Belle’s best efforts, he would flee every single time. As if he was afraid of her. Hurt by her presence.

Was it because she looked like…?

Belle took a shaky breath, eyes studying every little detail of the portrait as it looked back at her. Calm. Serene. Though also slightly melancholic. ‘Was she cursed as well?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ Belle huffed. ‘Then why does she look exactly..like me?’

The Master grimaced, his hand gesturing towards a divan. ‘I think you may wish to sit down. A-are you cold? Shall I..’ He bit his lip as he noticed the true mess he had made of his room; clothes strewn everywhere. What an impression he was giving her! His father would have scolded… No. Do not think so. Father is dead. And it’s time to own up to your responsibilities!

With large steps he strode to his wardrobe, its door magically flying open as he clicked his tongue. ‘A..robe, perhaps?’ He looked back at Belle as she sat down on the worn bench, fabric matching the heavy velvet drapes. ‘Eh..ye-yes please. Thank you.’

And so, now warmly wrapped in a heavy robe of luxurious brocades - worthy a land owner of great riches -, Belle learned the history of not only the Master’s wife, but also hers. The Master spoke of the start of the curse, which probably came with the death of his wife. Or, perhaps it had been the Fay witch Morgana, he couldn’t be sure. But either way; the tale was greater than any book Belle had ever read.

Fairy witches, rich lords, poor women, curses and deceit. Forbidden love or no love at all - claimed either way. With surprising richness in his words, the Master spoke, his countenance relaxed as he retrieved details of times long past. He was a good storyteller. Quite surprisingly so, especially after the long nights where he had barely spoken a word. Belle’s eyes did not once venture away from the man as he paced up and down the room, enacting the moments as they had happened.

He was truly in his element.

With gestures at a few of the portraits, he spoke of the curious way the women in her family would always have girls. Procreating yet another generation of young women to carry the curse on and on. And on..and on. From the Master’s sister in law begetting twins, to her mother...giving birth to her. And strange as it was, all women in her family somehow carried the same traits. Dark-haired and bright, they captured the hearts of a Le Comte more than a few times. And quite a few times they had refused a Le Comte’s advances. And even more than a few times a Le Comte took what he wanted anyways, thereby carrying on the curse - him turning into a vampire and the woman not dying long after.

‘But I have no sister. Or nieces..I think.’ Belle added thoughtfully when the Master got to the tale of the here and now.

‘That we don’t know, Belle. A few women have sent off their daughters, in hope to break away from this curse. Not all successfully, I’m afraid. But still. I fear it does not end here.’

‘But you do want it to end?’

‘I am the one who started it, Belle. I am not one to want anything more than for this to stop. I have caused..’ He looked back at his late wife’s portrait. ‘..great agony. I carry the blame.’

‘No..no..do not say so milord. Is it not that a great many men after you have chosen the exact same faith?’ The Master looked back, eyes thoughtful as Belle stood from the bench. ‘They have. But perhaps..that is the curse too. Poisoning their minds.’

‘Where are those that turned to vampires like you?’

Good question.

‘Dead. For as far as I know, they are all dead. They were too eager, too contemptful. You see, Belle, we can be killed like any man. Especially when the daylight is strong and our strengths wane.’

‘Have they ever tried to kill you?’

The Master lowered his head, a melancholic smile brushing over his lips. It was a silent “yes” to a question he knew she’d ask at some point or other. ‘Did they hurt you?’

‘Belle.’ The Master brushed a hand up over her sleeved arm, eyes meeting hers. He didn’t wish to speak any further on the matter, that much was clear. Belle licked her lips. And the Master brushed his hand further down her arm, capturing her hand before pressing a fanged kiss on her soft skin. Even through his lips she could feel his vampiric canines.

Oh he sure was fascinating as ever.

‘What happens if you bite?’ He stretched back up to full height. ‘Hmm..Either I’d kill you, or..’ He frowned, ‘..you’d become like me. I think.’

‘Unless I love you first.’ Belle said with certainty in her gentle voice, slightly unsettling the Master before her, his hand clenching her fingers more tightly. And Belle? She squeezed back.

‘That is why you were cursed, right?’ The Master remained quiet. ‘For love.’ Belle quirked her head to the side, searching his gaze. He seemed pained, unsure. Scared even.

‘Would you love me?’ He asked, his voice far less honey-rich now uncertainty cracked through its vibration. The Master suddenly seemed so small, fragile, agonized. But Belle didn’t know about the turmoil in his head; first he had forced her to stay here, then her father died, it..no..it could never be. He was still evil! He.. He should have never asked -

‘I could.’

---

How could two words change things? It was a question that kept the Master up through the late nights and long days. Knowing now that he craved not food, but something else. Love? Maybe. Either way, he remained within the castle walls. And with even more fervour he tried to get into the good graces of Belle. A daily routine was set where the Master would join Belle for tea, luncheon, supper and on occasion a moment of dialogue or other diversions in the library. With his stocks well-filled he made sure she would only receive the best. The most fragrant tea, the most succulent meats and the most well-spiced vegetables and stews.

Only the best.

But not for himself. As the sleepless days prolonged, so did his face, his already pale skin becoming near opaque, blue veins thin beneath his skin. Belle had tried to not worry as she knew little of his condition, but as the days progressed, she knew something was amiss. Was he starving himself?

‘You must eat.’ She finally said, her resolute voice travelling over the dinner table where the Master sat with no meal or wine before him. He huffed and waved it off, but Belle persevered, not accepting his grumbling “don’t be silly”. And, thankfully, the Master held a soft spot for the maiden, her voice of reason soon echoing in his skull until he couldn’t help but agree.

He needed to feed again.

As dinner finished and Belle’s plates and cups hopped off the table with elegant leaps - quite magical indeed -, she noticed the shimmer in the Master’s eyes.

He was going to flee again. She knew him by now.

And just as expected, he got up quickly, feet moving towards the door, though not making it far. Belle had grasped onto his arm, fingers locking around his fleshy forearm as he tried to tug himself free.

‘No.’

‘Have you not told me that I required nourishment?’ A beautiful frown crossed his dark eyebrows.  

‘I did.’ Belle licked her lips, still glistening from her delicious meal. ‘Take me with you... I want to see.’

The Master gruntled a low disapproval; had the maiden gone mad?! But Belle was headstrong, and her curiosity always won. And so, after a few long moments of Belle holding onto his wrist and the Master gazing coldly back at her, he caved. He was too easy on her, wasn’t he? And in this quick turn of events, he forgot for just a moment what challenges this little adventure would bring.

And what deliciously hard challenges they would be.

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Chap 11 >

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[mollymauk-teafleak]

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter two)

Huge thanks as always to my lovely friends @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

Please reblog and use this link to leave a comment on the chapter over at ao3!

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Caleb has to figure out where he fits in the prince's life, all while grappling with memories and emotions he's supposed to have forgotten...

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Caleb had been warned how hard it would be.

Things were the same but they weren’t. He knew the people they passed in the walkways by nothing but their footfalls but couldn’t recall their names. He knew the way through the endless corridors but had forgotten where they would end. He could place the smells of old paper, cool stone, dust on gold, oak and the rich smells from the kitchen, but he couldn’t connect them to memories.

He was home but he wasn’t.

Every moment spoke of a different piece of himself that had been clipped away, different parts of his brain that had been worked free and thrown out, a patchwork blanket of missing pieces. Every other step deeper into the castle brought another ghost to the edges of his vision, but none that he could fully bring into focus and confront directly. The place was the same but he was different and it was knowing that which hurt the most.

Except it didn’t hurt. Because it wasn’t allowed to hurt.

Caleb closed his eyes as a whip cracked in the back of his mind.

But if it wasn’t allowed to hurt, what other words were there to describe how it felt to have the prince’s eyes on him? They had gone straight from the audience chamber to the open court that would take up the majority of the day, his highness seeming completely unsure what else to do. So now Caleb stood behind his gilded seat, a smaller, more subtle version of the king’s expansive throne, and watched as the prince heard not a word of anyone around him.

And watched as the courtiers stared at and whispered about him. The wayward companion returned to the prince’s side with no warning, no fanfare, rekindling all the rumours that had surrounded his swift departure from the palace. Caleb had been warned there would be attention, something that made him uncomfortable as a Volstruker, but he would have to endure it and repeat the same story, that he’d been away under specialised training to better protect the future king.

He was to consider it a further punishment for his past failures.

The court passed without incident, the room was clear of any threat save the angry muttering that accompanied any decisions the king made that were taken poorly by the supplicants. Which did happen to be most of them. It was quickly cured by the guardsmen inching closer, some needing to clear a few inches of steel from their scabbards to silence the dissent. Caleb didn’t so much as twitch. Some jobs were for common guardsmen, some were for Volstruker.

So it passed without incident. But it did pass. And that left him alone with the prince again.

As the throne room cleared, Caleb felt the king’s blue eyes settle on him and quickly dart away again. Nor could he look at his son for very long. It was as if Caleb’s presence was a rotten tooth, drawing their attention against both of their wills, reopening that old ache between them. Reminding them of ten years ago.

He remembered his highness sobbing, holding the blankets up to his chin, trembling beneath them. Caleb meanwhile has nothing to cover himself with, not even his own hands, with his arm in Sorah’s cruelly hard grip. Molly begs her not to hurt him, rages at her to release him, pleads to his father in between sobs but Babenon turns his back and tells Sorah in tones of cold iron to take Caleb to the dungeons and inform Ikithon. Molly lurches, at his father or for Caleb, it is hard to say, but a sudden back hand sends him crumbling to the torn bedclothes and Caleb doesn’t even get to see Molly’s face one last time before the door to the bedchamber slams closed.

A whip crack lanced painfully across the memory, ending it sharply. Caleb shook himself, digging his fingernails into his palm for some focus and followed his highness out of the side door into the royal family’s private apartments.

Here the hangings were much less severe, the carpets softer and torches a much more mellow gold. Here the tapestries didn’t depict bloody victories in war, they were scenes of beautiful Xorhasian wilderness, and accompanied by royal portraits where they were actually allowed to smile. Music echoed from somewhere, Queen Marion always had a spell ready in her chambers that she could call upon when the mood took her. He had resummoned it a few times, at his prince’s request, when he was younger.

Of course, he was bound to do all his highness asked of him.

The prince paused at a junction between hallways, shoulders tight, not turning. His voice was awkward, wavering, like it could snap at any moment.

“Jester...she’d prepared a welcome home party for you. All of our friends, Beau and Yasha, Fjord and Cad...Veth. They were going to surprise you. Do you...do you remember them?”

The breath in Caleb’s throat seemed to freeze. He remembered a laugh that always makes him feel like he belongs, hugs given freely that he at first tenses up to but then begins to accept and then to need. Snarky, smirking eyes, blows traded back and forth in the practise yard and out of it, the feeling he’d been so unfamiliar with but then realises it for what it is- having a sibling. A kind, low voice, light teasing, at first worrying that they were competing for Mollymauk’s affection but then quickly realising how wrong he is, glad to see her there every day. The smell of salt, tales of far off places he’d never seen but wanted to, a crooked smile that sparks an embarrassing crush in him early on, before he even dares hope that Molly’s heart might be heading in the same direction as his own. The smell of wet earth, soft fur, strange turns of phrase that make him smile, somehow effortlessly soothing the anxiety he always feels around medicine.

And Veth. Gods, Veth. The first face he sees when he arrives at the castle, still raw and terrified though he can’t show it. A gentle voice and kind eyes, clever hands. Sweetness when he needs it most. A piece of Blumenthal in this strange land, when he thought it had all been ripped away from him. The gods somehow deciding he deserved another chance at having a mother, after everything he’d-

The whip crack again, the throb of agony, the sharp inhalation. He managed not to stagger but clearly couldn’t control his face as well. The prince’s eyes grew tight in profile, the side of his mouth he could see turned down in something that, of not outright grief, was still in the same family.

“I’ll take you straight to my chambers. You can take some time to yourself and I...I’ll explain things to them,” he murmured.

And when it turned to full blown grief, Caleb would know the prince had given up on him completely. There would be no returning to what they had ten years ago.

Which was the idea. Of course.

“As you say, your highness,” Caleb nodded stiffly, feeling a spark of relief with guilt on it’s heels. He quashed them both swiftly.

The prince’s bedchamber brought more memories he had to fight off, both good and bad. Keeping one half at bay while trying to bring the other close to be the salt in his wound, his painful reminder, was hard enough that for a moment he didn’t realise his highness was even speaking to him.

Of course the castle’s decor couldn’t be changed at its core, the black, almost obsidian stone would stand long after any of them were gone. But somehow, as the prince stood in the centre of his chambers, he’d managed to make himself fit. The hangings were all the plum purples and bright golds that he loved, his jewellery hung on racks on the expansive dressing table, a stick of incense burned on the windowsill to fill the space with scents of amber and musk. His many swords were hanging from the walls, each hilt and scabbard more elaborate and jewel encrusted than the last, moon and star charts done on black vellum were stuck up around the window so he could look out and know what he was seeing. The light was warm, low and inviting.

And there were books. Not many but a few, one on the table open by the bedside, a few piled on the dressing table, one on the windowsill.

Caleb remembered, his prince, his Mollymauk, smiling across the table from him, confessing in a gentle voice that he’d never liked reading until he met Caleb and oh gods, Caleb fell in love so hard and so fast. He remembered mouthing the words along with Molly, watching his lips form the words, watching his brow wrinkle as he concentrated and did what so many tutors had told him he’d never be able to do just because Caleb had taken the time to teach him with some gentleness. He remembered Mollymauk excitedly recounting plots and characters to him, hands moving in the air to form the twists in the tales he enjoyed so much. And he remembered having to pull a book out of Molly’s hands to kiss him...

It was worse this time, the crack and snap in his head. It was getting worse every time. He was supposed to be better than this.

“Caleb?” the prince’s voice was full of panic, “Caleb, what hurts?”

There were hands on him, holding his arms tightly, and when he managed to open his eyes, the prince’s face was inches from his own. He could smell his perfume, he could see the red rims around the eyes where he’d wept, the edges of his tattoos. He felt every inch of worry and care in his prince’s eyes and he remembered, he remembered.

Caleb wrenched backwards out of the prince’s grip to the snap of a whip, so hard and fast that his back hit the far wall and a dull ache went up his spine. He heard a pained moan from the other man, looked up in time to see him retract his hands as quickly as if they’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the adornments in his horns ringing softly as he trembled, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It is not for you to apologise, your highness,” Caleb’s words were level, even as he panted and broke out in a sweat just from standing upright, “The fault is mine. The training I underwent may take some time to fully sink in but I assure you, I am cured of the madness that possessed me as a child. I am...I am ready to be your Volstruker. Wholly and completely.”

He had thought that would please the prince but found himself feeling no disappointment when it didn’t. His highness only gave a shaky sigh, pressed his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes tight.

“I...I need you to know I’m not angry with you, Caleb,” he said after a long few moments of silence, “This is not your fault, none of it. And I will do everything I can to help you. It may just take me some time to work out what helps and what...what hurts.”

“Help me?” Caleb didn’t understand, “Your highness, I have been helped. My master and the other members of my order removed any trace of the degeneracy that poisoned me.”

“That made you love me,” the prince added, his voice twisted by pain as his eyes opened and fixed on Caleb’s face.

He swallowed hard, his training’s words suddenly difficult to bring forth, “It is not my role to...that is not my purpose. My purpose is to protect you, your highness. To serve you, to see you take the throne. To die for you.”

“You used to live for me, Caleb,” his prince whispered sorrowfully.

His mouth opened, his jaw worked soundlessly. He tried to summon the proper response, the words he’d been taught but he didn’t understand why his throat was closing to them.

Finally, he simply said, “My eyes were opened.”

The fight went out of the prince, his shoulders slumped and his eyes turned away, “I think I need to...rest. I will go speak to my friends and then turn in. I suggest you do the same.”

The sun had barely cleared it’s noon position but Caleb knew better than to question the prince. He was, of course, long past the age where his days were filled with lessons and tutors and instructors, he could do what he wished with his hours now.

He had grown into a fine heir these past ten years. And now Caleb was here to see him become a great king.

“As you wish, your highness. If I may ask, are my chambers still where they were when I left?”

“Your chambers?” the prince blinked at him uncomprehendingly, “You...you haven’t used those since you were ten. You always…”

This time, he was strong enough to fight the memories off. He did not think of a handful of cold, lonely nights in his own sparse, stone room that were peppered with nightmares. He did not think of the one night where Mollymauk- the prince- took his hand as he was about to retire and confessed shyly that he could hear him crying out in the night, that he had nightmares sometimes too since he’d had to move out of his mama’s apartments, and asked if he would like to share his bed instead. So they could be there for each other. He did not think of years and years worth of another warm body in silk sheets beside him, arms around him when the nightmares came, though much more infrequently. He did not think of the blankets pulled up over his head so he and his best friend could whisper and giggle and gossip until the dawn. And he did not think of shy glances, blushes that began to rise on his face for reasons he wasn’t sure of yet, he did not think of hundreds of nights that were spent in perfect innocence until they weren’t.

He did not think of the first and last time they made love in that bed, on Mollymauk’s eighteenth birthday, thinking they had made themselves their own little world within its silken hangings, a world where they could have everything they wanted even if everyone else said no.

Caleb did not think of any of it. He felt the pinch of someone else’s satisfaction.

“It is my place, your highness,” he said simply.

The prince swallowed hard and lifted a limp hand to indicate the door Caleb remembered, concealed behind a tapestry and a veil of magic to hide its existence from any potential thieves or assassins coming to threaten his charge.

“Many thanks,” Caleb dipped into a low bow, “Please call on me should you require anything.”

He had little memories of the room itself but there was a strong sense of familiarity to it, he’d slept on spare stone bunks like this at the Volstruker training grounds and the Soltryce Academy as a very young boy. It reminded him again who he was and what he was here to do, as he set down his small bag of belongings and hung his knives up on the wall rack, alongside his belt of magical ingredients.

He was here to protect the prince. And now he was cured, that was precisely what he intended to do.

The next weeks were difficult, it would be impossible for Caleb to admit otherwise, though he did all he could to not show it on his face.

It was rather like being at a funeral where he was the corpse.

It was impossible to avoid the prince’s friends. Not when they consisted of the princess, the master at arms, a captain in the royal fleet, the palace healer and the head of the household staff. And when one was second only to himself in hours spent at the prince’s side. They didn’t spend time as a group, like they would as children, and Caleb knew with a strong guilty kind of sadness that it was because of him, the ghost at the feast. But the prince had dealings with them all, of course, and in these stiff, awkward times they would glance at Caleb helplessly, like he was a drowning man just off shore and they had no idea how to save him.

They would eventually realise that he didn’t require it. They would. Jester’s eyes would stop spilling over every time she came to see her brother, Beau would stop nearly snapping her staff to splinters as she watched him spar alone while the prince trained at blades, Caduceus would stop murmuring prayers at his back. And Veth...well, Veth was avoiding him altogether.

Caleb expected it to grow easier over time, that was what he’d been told. That the memories which assaulted him and tried to drag him away from his purpose would fade over time, as he grew used to their temptations and overcoming them. And if asked, he would insist, stone faced, that they were.

They were just also growing more frequent.

He did expect to be asked. His master was in the castle, though they didn’t see each other much in the fast running currents of royal life. Currents that the prince did his level best to steer away from the former archmage, not difficult to do when his master spent nearly all his days in the lab he’d constructed in one of the far towers. That certainly hadn’t changed in the intervening ten years, something that Caleb found himself rather glad of, though he quickly admonished himself for that. He just couldn’t have those harsh, yellow eyes on him, whether it was from across the main hall at a banquet or in the close council chambers whenever his master was called on, without remembering that his most shameful, weakest moments were stored behind them.

But Caleb wasn’t fool enough to think that just because he so rarely saw his master, he wasn’t under scrutiny. More times than he wanted to think about, he felt Sorah’s blank, empty gaze on him and he would feel the throb of an old bruise on the top of his arm, one he didn’t think would fade with time.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. Of course.

Every day became much the same. He would wake before the prince, usually after a night of difficult dreams, and spend the intervening time going through his war mage’s books, storing several powerful spells that would best serve him in protecting the prince that day. Ones to turn back dangerous beasts if they were going hunting, ones to effortlessly memorise any information if there was to be a council meeting, ones to walk on water if they were going sailing. And always the usual ones, for driving back poisons, quickening his reflexes, allowing him to pass unnoticed.

He’d always excelled at the magical side of his calling, right from when he was young, only really needing to work hard at the pure weapon aspect of it. Which was why, once his spells were stored, he would spend the rest of the pre dawn hours practising with his knives in his room, using spells to summon ghostly foes to fight against.

By the time he had killed hundreds of times over, it would be a simple matter of washing in cold water, dressing in his uniform and slipping into the prince’s bed chamber to be ready for when he awoke.

The rest of the day would depend on the prince’s schedule. It would seem the duties of a crown prince had piled up somewhat in the space of ten years, there was very little free time to be found in their days. Public events, councils, open courts, banquets and hunts and expeditions held by courtiers wishing to curry favour, they would often be part of the king’s retinue or else dispatched to stand in his place for all those invitations he didn’t have the time to answer but couldn’t afford to ignore. It would seem the king was keeping his heir close, quite deliberately putting him on display.

And Caleb could all too easily read the effect that was having on the prince. Though he kept on a carefully constructed mask of joviality and charm, helped by all the silks and low cut samites and dripping gemstones, Caleb saw him in his moments out of the performance too.

He saw how he’d shift uncomfortably at some of his father’s decisions in the open court, how his shoulders would tense when the king would dismiss the diplomats from other kingdoms with words sharper and more offensive than necessary. He felt the waves of distrust coming off the prince when one of the king’s financiers would wave away any questions he asked about the state of royal coffers. He heard the tense exchanges between him and King Babenon, in hallways and anterooms and side chambers, when they could be certain they were heard only by their Volstruker, conversations that ended in angry curses from both father and son, neither of them happy when the prince inevitably flinched first.

Sometimes it was enough that Caleb would hear the echoed crack of a fierce backhanded slap, a decade old now. Judging by the prince and king’s expressions at the end of these tense, clipped exchanges, he didn’t think he was the only one to hear it.

And he took note of how the prince would steal snatches of time alone where he could, purposefully wandering away from the group on a hunt to take a moment’s breath of silent forest air from the tree’s edge or stepping right up to the end of the jetty as they’d load off the royal barge so he could close his eyes and hear nothing but the crash of the waves for just a minute. These moments would always be fleeting but Caleb got the sense that they were all that got the prince through the day.

And once or twice, Caleb would feel those red eyes on him as if he was going to reach out to him, to share his momentary peace with him, but it would only ever be a few seconds before he remembered and the eyes would flit away, to focus again on whatever the prince was looking at out in the wilderness.

The days were much the same. But they weren’t getting any easier.

Caleb thought that with a bitter touch of frustration that he’d admonished himself for before it was even fully formed. The door to his chamber closed with its usual hiss of reforming magic, closing him off from the prince if not from the gulf between them. He disrobed quickly, letting the heavy, black material pool on the floor without much care. The runes woven into the fabric repelled stains and creases about as well as they repelled the points of knives and antagonistic spells.

Once down to his undershorts, he allowed himself a selfish moment just to sit and feel the full weight of things, sinking down onto his, honestly, hideously uncomfortable bed. The only thing preventing him from cracking under that same weight every day was telling himself that it would get better. That he’d get stronger, better, that he’d shake off the weaknesses he’d been cursed with.

But each day was exactly like the other, the same memories trying to drag him to places he wasn’t allowed to go, the same sad eyes on him from his former friends who wanted him to be a person he wasn’t allowed to be.

And the prince, his sad, lonely, frightened prince, hiding everything behind a mask.

Caleb wasn’t sure how many more days like this he could take.

He cleaned his weaponry to take his mind off things, neatly labelling and shelving his host of fears and anxieties and closing the doors on them through the easy, regular pass of the whetstone over the blades of one knife after the other. It was mindless and repetitive, giving him some kind of reprieve, even if sleep was and would remain a long way off. Sometimes it was better for him to just skip it entirely, to just let his brain switch off like this until the new day began. Certainly some of the dreams he’d been having lately made him very anxious to limit the amount of time he was at their mercy.

Volstruker don’t need sleep the same way mortal men do, he told himself though it didn’t really sound like his voice in his mind, because we are not mortal men. We are more and we are less. We are beings of magic. Does magic need sleep? Does magic need jealousy, hate, does magic need love, Caleb Widogast? Because if you would like to argue that point then get up off the floor, cease that pathetic crying and make your case for the Volstruker inviting this weakness into our ranks. No? I thought not. Then do your best to remember your manhood and remember the vows you made in exchange for your life, what little value it has.

Or are you not one of us?

Caleb’s grip on the knife hilt tightened, his knuckles white.

The candle was a few inches shorter than it had been before. There was a growing pool of pale wax threatening to gutter it, to drown it within itself, giving Caleb an odd sense of kinship with the thing. When he managed to unclench his fist from around his knife and push back his hair, he found himself sweating slightly, his shoulders hitching with breaths deeper than they had any right to be. To his shame, his cheeks were wet and it was all he could do to hold back further sobs.

Are you not one of us?

The sobs hadn’t ceased and a bitter fury at himself rose in his chest. Until he realised the sounds weren’t his own. They were coming from behind the door that separated his and the prince’s chambers.

Instincts flared to life with an audible crackle. Caleb swept up the knife he’d been holding, lurching to grab the next closest one that was at its fullest, most wicked sharpness. Not even needing to speak aloud, he let his magic run down each of them like hot lava, igniting the poison in one and the ghostly flame on the other. He didn’t pause for his cloak or to raise any kind of shield spell. There wasn’t time for such luxuries when something was threatening his prince.

He chose stealth over an all out assault, he was no Eadwulf and knew his strengths. But it was hard, so hard, when another sob found it’s way from his prince’s throat to his ears, when images of him being hurt, being threatened surged up like vomit, consuming him with a kind of bloodlust and fury he knew he was supposed to feel as a war mage but had never been able to truly summon. Only when someone hurt Mollymauk.

But as he slipped through the magical barrier between their rooms, feeling it’s power stick to his skin like a veil of honey, and sank into the room’s thick shadows, he could see no assailant. His mind flicked through other possibilities- invisible wraiths, malicious dreamwalkers, a deadly poison only not taking hold- but after a few seconds lurking in the dark, like a snake, he could sense no kind of murderous presence, visible or invisible, flesh or magic.

Only his prince, curled in on himself in the middle of his expansive bed, the sheets wrapped tight around him like strangling bonds. Only his soft sobs, his face contorted in misery as his chest rose and fell harshly, his eyes tight shut. Instantly, he recognised it for what it was.

Caleb didn’t think. He didn’t allow himself to question his choice, to filter it through other people’s voices. He just let his knives drop to the carpet, where they made twin, muffled thuds, and moved swiftly to his prince’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and gently pushed the hair back from his damp forehead, shushing him as softly as the whisper of a candle flame. A split second’s thought and the candles closest to the bed leapt to life, cutting through the thick black of the night and bathing them in warm gold. So he could see with perfect clarity as Mollymauk’s eyes opened slowly, at first seeing only whatever had been terrifying him, but then gradually focusing and letting the nightmare turn to smoke.

“It’s alright, Mollymauk,” Caleb murmured, hand still cupping his face, “It was just a bad dream.”

“Caleb…” Molly’s voice was weak and raspy with hours of sleep, he tried to rise, “You’re okay. Thank the gods, I saw...I heard…”

He shook himself, deliberately breathing slowly and deeply. He’d taught Caleb the same trick, years ago, for when he began to panic.

“You’re right. It was just a bad dream.”

He sighed then, leaning into Caleb’s touch, bringing one hand up to settle over the wizard’s and twin their fingers together. His lips pursed slightly, turned to the scarred fingers he held so tightly…

And then they both realised when they were.

The two of them froze, guilt leaping onto both faces, frantic apologies rising to both lips. But neither quite managed to give them voice, seeing their expression mirrored back at them.

“Your highness…” Caleb spoke first, shakily, unable to make his hand withdraw.

“You...you called me Mollymauk just now,” his prince- the prince- breathed, hope dawning in his tired eyes.

Gods, anything but that. Anything but hope. Caleb knew exactly how hope could be turned into the most painful weapon, a poison you’d gladly gulp down only to have it burn worse than anything.

“I...I wasn’t thinking,” he confessed, “I only wanted to help you, when I saw you in such distress…”

The prince sighed, shoulders slumping. He let go of Caleb’s hand, hugging his knees to his chest and suddenly looking all of his mere twenty eight years and not very much like a crown prince at all. Was ten years really as great a distance as all that? Hadn’t they just been boys, when Caleb had last blinked?

“I won’t put you through any more pain, Caleb, I swear that to you,” he told his knees, unable to lift his head until the moment he whispered, “But...is there any hope for us? Is there anything of the man I loved left in you?”

Yes, a bruised and broken and bleeding part of Caleb groaned, straining towards the touch of that warm skin again. But there was also the crack of the whip, echoing through the dark spaces. And from here, the voice sounded so, so small and frail in comparison.

“I am yours,” he finally said, voice low, “Here, as I am now, I can be yours, my prince. The man I was, he was taken away from you and always would have been. They would never have let us be. But now…any life with you in it is better than one without.”

That was the truth at least. Close enough to the right words that there was no sound of any whip crack.

“A life where your mind is not your own,” there was bitterness in his prince’s voice, “A life where you can be hurt at one vile man’s whims. A life where you can’t be yourself and live as you will.”

Caleb met his prince’s eyes, “A life not so dissimilar from yours?”

His mouth fell open and Caleb winced, certain for a moment that he’d overstepped himself, that he was about to feel a fury worthy of Babenon’s heir. But then a rueful sigh escaped and his prince only sat back against the headboard, eyes sad.

“I suppose it isn’t...but that does not make it right. And it does not mean I’m giving up on you, Caleb.”

He did not trust himself to answer right away. Carefully, carefully, like dodging traps that would spring if he moved too fast, finding the right balance between what he wanted to say and what he was permitted to say.

“You never did, my prince.”

That made him smile, a tired smile but a true one, no mask between them. Each of them knew the other was telling the truth. It felt good, being truthful.

“Would you permit me to stay here for the rest of the night, your highness? I don’t feel right leaving you alone, if you were to have another nightmare I want to be here for you,” Caleb asked gently.

The prince’s lip curled up on one side, “Here? In my bed?”

“It’s the best place for me to protect you, your highness,” Caleb nodded firmly, face straight though something inside him thrilled.

“Very well,” he chuckled, sinking back down into the expanse of the feather mattress, resting back into the same curled ball he’d always slept in, “Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Sleep well, Mollymauk,” he replied, voice soft, unable to parse the feelings that rose up in him when his words sent the prince to sleep with a smile on his face. For now, he just allowed himself to enjoy them. He was allowed to take pride in his work after all.

Volstruker did not need sleep the way mortal men did. And that night, as Caleb spent the long, dark hours watching as his prince slept peacefully, untouched by any more nightmares, he was so glad of that fact.

[transelyan]

Rusted Sword AU 2.0

remember the original Rusted Sword AU? canceled. here’s the new and improved version.

okay so Excalibur is iron. when it’s thrown into the lake it becomes tarnished, which is where the AU gets its name.

most of the basics are still the same: 

Gwen and Leon are part of a secret pro-magic resistance

Elyan left because he has magic

Uther is the main antagonist & physically abusive toward Arthur/Morgana

Balinor was able to hide in Ealdor until Merlin was ten, at which point he left to protect Merlin. Merlin thinks he died until he meets Kilgharrah

Ealdor was attacked by bandits and burned. everyone was killed except for Will, who later died from his wounds. he and Merlin were traveling through the forest trying to get to Gaius.

Merlin gets arrested while burying Will’s body because Camelot Patrol thinks Merlin killed him, which is how Arthur and Merlin meet

Merlin is basically an accidental arsonist. his magic is directly connected to his emotions, so when he gets upset, things light on fire.

the ships are still Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, and Elyan/Gwaine/Percival. Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival’s lovestory isn’t really part of the main plot but it’s happening in the background while everything is going on.

also,,, the timeline of this makes no sense, but just ignore that lmao

NEW STUFF:

Nimueh is the Lady of the Lake, not Freya (Freya has her own role, don’t worry). when she left Camelot, she used her magic to create a safe haven for herself in the lake. she ended up raising Lancelot. she has no idea how she ended up with a son with such a strict moral code.

when Lancelot rolls up to Camelot, he’s not only lying about being a noble, but ALSO that his mother figure is. y’know. one of Camelot’s top ten most wanted. he doesn’t actually have any magic but he IS sensitive to it so he can easily recognize sorcerers (i.e., Merlin). Merlin knows he was raised by a sorceress, but he doesn’t know anything about Nimueh (until later)

Lancelot is trying to subtly find out more about the resistance so he and Nimueh can help them. he and Gwen immediately flock to each other (they recognize the “responsible with a love for hijinks and tomfoolery” personality type) and Gwen goes. “hmm. yeah alright i could use this himbo” and BOOM, Lance and his secret sorceress mom are part of the resistance.

SIDE NOTE: the resistance’s thing isn’t just fighting Uther. they also help those with magic/those who have been accused of magic get out of Camelot. this is how Freya fits in. she’s one of the people they help escape. SHE SURVIVES and goes to live in the lake with Nimueh. Nimueh can’t undo the curse, but she CAN give Freya free will. so now Freya’s in control over her actions when she transforms.

Merlin still decides to teach Morgana about magic. at first he’s trying to set up actual lessons like Balinor did with him (remember, Balinor left when Merlin was ten) but then he quickly realizes uhh. the reason Balinor’s lessons didn’t work was because Merlin’s magic is connected to his emotions, and thus WAY TOO POWERFUL, and Morgana is,,,, basically the same.

they’re still doing lessons and plotting against Uther, but it’s less “Merlin teaches Morgana” and more “let’s gossip while trying to piece together magic history, heal from our trauma, and figure out how to control our magic.” it’s the literal definition of “let’s fuck around and find out”

enter Morgause. they think she’s like Nimueh and wants to aid the resistance, but she just tries to manipulate all of them. exit Morgause.

Balinor dies at some point (it’s a personal problem) and Merlin becomes a Dragonlord. before that happens though Merlin and Kilgharrah are just. CONSTANTLY yelling at each other. it’s like their canon dynamic but funnier because this time, Merlin DOES actually know what’s going on.

there’s some sort of interlude ghost plotline. Merlin realizes, hey, my parents are dead but they’re happy in the afterlife, and no one blames me for their deaths (which is great). but something fucks up, and now Will is just. a ghost. they find his body buried somewhere in the forest, and use magic to basically make him a zombie. he goes to live in Nimueh’s wayward lake home (which is now a base for the resistance. a lot of sorcerers are relocated there so they’re out of danger)

Gwen and Merlin launch Operation Woo the Royals at some point. at the same time, Arthur and Morgana launch Operation Woo the Servants. these plans conflict with each other and ultimately cancel each other out, to the frustration and confusion of everyone involved. it eventually works out though because before the Final Battle™, Morgana and Gwen confess to each other. because they’re dramatic, Merlin and Arthur confess after one of them nearly dies

AT SOME POINT they all get involved the resistance, Arthur realizes Uther is bad, they start planning, etc. all of the main knights are spies (Leon is their biggest one)

Aithusa is born and Kilgharrah is released at some point. Kilgharrah and Arthur meet and because Arthur is pro-magic at that point, they have a tentative alliance. 

when the Final Battle™ finally happens, there’s a whole bunch of shit going on, but basically all their allies show up. Morgana/Gwen are leading a team and so are Merlin/Arthur. the dragons are causing problems. Freya, Nimueh, Will and Lancelot are ALSO causing problems (are Freya and Lancelot a thing in this AU? i’ll let you decide). Mithian and Elena show up and help out.

Uther dies in a thematically appropriate way (not sure who kills him, but i feel like it should be Morgana). Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, and Merlin become the new rulers of Camelot.

Morgana is the high priestess. she works with Nimueh, Merlin, and the Druids to try to recover all the knowledge, culture, and religion that was lost during the Purge. she also tries to reintegrate magic back into Camelot and make records of everyone who died.

Merlin is the head court sorcerer, head court physician, AND the last Dragonlord (he’s very busy, but basically he’s not the only physician or sorcerer, he’s just the Main One). his first students are Daegal and Gilli and they work with Morgana to recover old healing spells, make new ones, etc.

Gwen is both the leader of Camelot AND the leader of the resistance. the resistance still exists, but it’s now more about reform and reeducation. she helps weed out anti-magic nobles, creates programs to make sure citizens are being educated and fed properly, etc. she also helps find family members/homes for magical individuals that were forced to flee. 

Arthur is the technical Official King™. he does knight stuff. icon ❤️

most of the main characters either end up living in the castle or in Nimueh’s lake, and EVERYONE SURVIVES (except for like. Hunith, Balinor, Morgause, Cenred, and others).

SO YEAH. that’s the Rusted Sword AU 2.0!!!! i just spent like two and a half hours typing all of this out lmao. according to google docs this is over 1200 words so uh,,,, yikes

[rebelsofshield]

Far Far Away Comics: 11/4/20-11/11/20

Phew. On the other side of the election and with three big Star Wars comics to review. Let’s get to it.

Star Wars #8 written by Charles Soule and art by Ramon Rosanas

Charles Soule really knows how to write a good villain. If the mainline Star Wars title has been lacking anything big over its last dozen or so issues, it’s an original antagonist to root against. Kieron Gillen found great success in Queen Trios of Sho-Torun in his take on the comic, but ever since ending his tenure the Dark Side has felt a little lacking in this series.

Last issue set up Commander Zahra’s vendetta against Leia and this chapter really lets this vengeful Imperial let loose. Soule positions Zahra as not only a tactician, but a woman that isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty by fighting on the frontlines. She proves herself a force to be reckoned with and Soule thankfully shows that Zahra will be around for the long game. She leaves a deadly impression on our heroes here and one that may eat away at Leia in particular for the foreseeable future.

As a whole, Star Wars #8 is wall to wall action spectacle. Whether it’s the evolving space battle unfolding outside Leia’s command ship or Zahra’s deadly boarding party, Soule and Ramon Rosanas rarely give the reader time to breath. More often than not it works and even if there are some areas where the art seems to falter in definition or clarity, they are few and far between.

This was a fun and effective little mini-arc. We move into Soule’s second big story after this, but the lingering damage from Zahra’s attack will be with us for a while. I await her return with eager anticipation.

Score: B+

Star Wars Adventures: Shadow of Vader’s Castle written by Cavan Scott and art by Derek Charm, Nicoletta Balderi, Nick Brokenshire, and Francesco Francavilla

The Vader’s Castle seasonal miniseries from IDW Publishing have been a Halloween treat for going on three years now. The original Tales from Vader’s Castle remains my favorite product that IDW’s Adventures line has produced. While we only get one super sized issue this year, Shadow of Vader’s Castle is a standout and a worthy follow up to this continually satisfying anthology of creepy stories.

If anything negative can be said about Shadow of Vader’s Castle it’s that it tries to do a bit too much. It covers a lot of ground in it short amount of pages and while the end product feels a tad chaotic, Shadow of Vader’s Castle more than knocks it out of the park.

It begins with a story of a young Mustafrian boy stumbling upon Anakin Skywalker after his slaughter of the Separatist leaders and travels through time to a new generation of lava folk who have decided that they have had enough of the looming shadow of the Dark Lord’s palace. It tells a story of generational fear and rebellion that feels poignant but also provides revelations to key figures from this now iconic Star Wars locale.

Visually, Shadow of Vader’s Castle is a treat. It’s been so long since we’ve seen Derek Charm get to let loose on a Star Wars title and his two tales in this anthology are visually spectacular. Charm turns the vapors of Mustafar into swirling, crimson ghosts that arise to torture the living and the results are striking and sinister. Franceso Francavilla continues to be one of the eeriest and creepiest artists in the Adventures repertoire and his use of color in his segments is masterful. Nick Brokenshire and Nicoletta Balderi’s pages may not be as creepy or arresting, but they are still artistically engaging in their own way. All in all, Shadow’s of Vader’s Castle is an artistic treat and features some of the best visuals of a Star Wars comic this year.

Overall, Cavan Scott continues to prove that he can balance a tight tonal rope for these anthologies. They are undoubtedly darker and scarier than the standard Adventures piece, but never in a way that feels grim or oppressive. It’s fun Halloween macabre creepiness with a dash of Star Wars action and adventure. I truly hope we keep these going for as long as possible. What Halloween doesn’t deserve a trip to Mustafar?

Score: A-

Star Wars Darth Vader #7 written by Greg Pak and art by Raffaele Ienco

Battered and broken Darth Vader now has to do battle with weird plot points from The Rise of Skywalker! In the next stage of Palpatine’s punishment for his apprentice’s failures, Sith Assassin Ochi of Bestoon sets his sights on the wounded Sith Lord and Vader has to come face to face with the sins of his past and the mysterious secrets of the fiery world of Mustafar.

In many ways, “Into the Fire” continues much of what we have come to expect from this series. Raffaele Ienco’s all-red flashback panels return and Vader is put to the test in some brutally rendered action sequences. In a way, Pak’s script feels like it’s playing with similar ground of Charles Soule’s first arc on our surly old Sith. Seeing Vader rebuild himself from the parts of discarded droids is neat, but it’s not inherently something new or unique.

Ochi Bestoon on the otherhand is an enjoyable antagonist. Raffaele Ienco’s armor design feels badass and classically Star Wars and the physical brawl between these servants of the Dark Side is brutal and entertaining. As a fight book, this is great, but it still feels like we are treading familiar ground of character and theme.

That may change next issue though. Looks like we are in for some weird shit on the horizon, and honestly I’m here for it.

Score: B

[luthienebonyx]

I’ve been meaning to do some more Jaime x Brienne recs for a while, and since I’m trying to decide what to write next, it seemed like a good time to talk about other people’s fic.

Alright, outta sight - by Samirant

Author's summary: Ain’t no party like a Lannister party (whether you meant to invite a Lannister or not).

This is a medical AU where Brienne the doctor and Jaime the cardiologist have been working together at the same hospital for a number of years. When the story starts, Brienne thinks their relationship is one of professionalism but personal dislike. However, when Jaime learns, firstly, that Brienne is planning a small house-warming party, and secondly, that she and Hyle broke up some time ago, he takes over the planning for the party and… well. See the author's summary.

The story is mostly the story of the party, but that description does not in any way do this story justice. It has some wonderful characterisation, some laugh-out-loud humour, and great little shout-outs to canon - like Ironborn vodka - but at its core it's a lovely, warm true-feeling story about two people finding each other. But yes, it's also the story of a legendary party.

(This is the only WIP on this list. The main part of the story is complete, with only the epilogue still to be posted.)

Evenfall - by @aviss​

Author's summary: Jaime had never intended to get back to active duty, he was happily retired. Now he has no choice, someone has to pay for taking her from him.

This is part of Aviss's Spies Like Us series. Brienne is a female James Bond, Jaime is a former spy who is now the Quartermaster (ie. Q), and the plot of this one is influenced fairly heavily by Skyfall. Jaime and Brienne are in a relationship - they even have cats, so it's pretty serious ;) - but haven't formalised anything. Fairly early on, Brienne is injured and presumed dead, and Jaime resigns and decides to go and seek vengeance.

If you are in the mood to wallow in angst, this is the fic for you! This story hit all my angst buttons and wouldn't let up. There is some nicely done comfort at the end to balance out the hurt, too.

I will always hold you close, but I will learn to let you go  - by angel_deux aka @angel-deux-writes​ 

Author's summary: Jaime is gravely wounded in the battle against the dead. When he thinks he's dying, he kisses Brienne.

After, he heals, kept asleep with milk of the poppy. Brienne worries about what will happen when he wakes up.

This is a very internal sort of story, with a terrific Brienne POV. Brienne’s thoughts and emotions go round and round, always so painfully, brutally honest with herself that sometimes she ends up getting things completely wrong. As usual for angel_deux’s fic, there are some great turns of phrase in this, with complex emotions being conveyed concisely but with deadly accuracy.

Little talks - by robotsdance 

Author's summary: Brienne isn’t at Winterfell when Jaime arrives. She isn’t there to vouch for him and he’s sentenced to die by dragonfire. Brienne returns just in time to make sure that doesn’t happen, but she doesn’t want to talk about it.

She doesn’t want to talk to Jaime at all.

Finding a story that is deeply romantic without being sappy is one of those things that makes my day, and this story perfectly fits that description. It's an AU take on the beginning of Season 8, after Jaime arrives at Winterfell. What happens after Brienne returns just in the nick of time to save Jaime is… well, deeply romantic, perfectly in-character for both of them, and not at all sappy. The visual image of the scene right after Brienne returns is one that's going to stay in my head for a long time.

Living Proof - by @hardlyfatal​  

Author's summary: In the middle of a war, with brutality and bloodshed overwhelming what little kindness and safety can be found, she meets a man who is everything she admires and respects. And it’s not the man she thinks it will be.

This is a MASH style AU, set during the Korean War. Brienne is a nurse and Jaime is a helicopter pilot. This is just beautifully characterised, with painfully honest emotions, a slow burn romance, and a storyline that does not flinch from the brutal reality for medical personnel in the midst of a war. There were parts of this that I went back to re-read immediately after finishing a chapter because they really did just sort of take me captive as a reader.

The Lord and the Selkie - by Roccolinde aka @firesign23​ 

Author's summary: On the west coast of Westeros, there stood a castle, known far and wide as Casterly Rock, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The lord of this castle, Lord Tywin, had three children: The Golden Lion, Ser Jaime, was brave; his twin The Beautiful Maid, Lady Cersei, was cunning; and The Unwanted One, Lord Tyrion, was learned. Together, they might have come to rule Westeros as their Lord Father intended, a final wish made from his deathbed. But then Ser Jaime met the selkie, and their paths were forever altered.

This is told in the style of a fairytale. Brienne is a selkie searching for her lost brother. Eventually, her search brings her to Casterly Rock, where she meets Jaime, and their romance plays out in the style of a fairytale, too. 

I love everything about this; the characters meld perfectly into the fairytale setting and it all just works. There are some great little shout-outs to canon in this, including this one when Jaime and Brienne first meet:

but though Ser Jaime was wise in chivalry, he was foolish in the ways of sense, and so exclaimed with some surprise, “The ghost of Casterly is a woman?” 

Measure in Love - by @dancinginthecenteroftheworld​ 

Author's summary: Brienne Tarth isn't wild about the new building that's been built across her office, blocking her view of Blackwater Bay. But what she really doesn't expect the gorgeous nudist who moves in or the chaos he brings into her life.

Yeah, one guess who the nudist is. ;)

This is a slow burn modern AU. Brienne and Jaime first see each other through their respective windows, and then meet properly at the gym run by Sandor Clegane. I really enjoyed the pacing of this story, and the way initial hostility slowly changes over time. The ways in which the various canon characters pop up in different roles in Brienne's life is also really well done.

Once it ends, so it begins - by nubbins_for_all 

Author's summary: Brienne doesn’t care why it’s cold. She just knows it’s really fucking cold.

A quiet evening between the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield, with ruminations on sex, love, and dealing with everything being awful.

This is part of a series (Winter isn't goin' nowhere) where winter doesn't end after the Long Night, and so Dany and the northern army are stuck at Winterfell, while Cersei is stuck in the south.

The main part of this story takes the form of a long conversation between Brienne and Sansa one night, interspersed with mostly-dialogue flashbacks of scenes between Brienne and Jaime. 

I love how this story explores these two relationships side by side, with Brienne as the linchpin. All the characterisations are very on point. I can believe very much in this version of Sansa, after everything she's been through, and I love Brienne's awkwardness at what is basically a slumber party for two. Brienne is thoughtful and considering as Sansa’s sworn sword, and self-doubting when Sansa needs her half-forgotten girly side, but also gets better and better at giving Jaime as good as she gets. Also, Jaime's dialogue is so very Jaime, and he makes the dialogue-only flashbacks really shine. 

Ser Goldenpaws and the Wench - by Libkat   

Author's summary: It's the Lady and the Tramp AU that nobody wanted.

This is Jaime and Brienne in a Lady and the Tramp fusion, where they're golden retrievers. In this case, Jaime is the prize-winning, much-loved golden retriever, Ser Goldenpaws, and Brienne is the lost golden retriever living on the streets who won't divulge her name, so Jaime calls her the Wench.

Brienne and Jaime are somehow still recognisably in-character AND very canine in the way they think. I'm not quite sure how the author has achieved that balance (major kudos!), but it works really well. This is not as light and fluffy as you might expect, and goes to some relatively dark places at times, before everything works out the way a story like this should.

The Tides - by @slipsthrufingers​   

Author's summary: Jaime Lannister, recently missing a hand, a white cloak and his purpose in life, is sent to Tarth to decide whether the Lannisters will loan them the gold they so desperately need to thwart a disaster. He expects to negotiate with the Evenstar, but is stuck with the dour daughter instead.

This is the type of story where a lot happens, in terms of characters and relationship development, while not a lot is actually happening, in terms of plot points. It's intensely character-focused, and the author's style is beautifully descriptive, which fits the quiet atmosphere of a lot of the story.

You will never think of a medieval marble mine in the same way again after reading this story. ;)

Banner by @ao3commentoftheday​

[millennium-puzzle]

FUCK YEAH WE ARE GETTING THE DARKNESSSHIPPING EPISODES, i already saw them in italian so i think i won't have to much shit to say but if watching them in the dub was such a ride i can't wait the original

No matter what crimes did Malik is still adorable and that's why he deserves instant redemption

Everytime the Ring and the Rod are used they gets some fucking new OP bullshit plot-convenient AND plot-breaking power that is never going to be used ever again

Takahashi, refusing to give his fantasy lore some fucking consistency since '96

Shout out to that animator that makes Mai extra thicc

FINALLY

Holy shit i thought the "say what you want before the darkness fills your mouth" would have come later??

It's pre-battle instead.......

Bakura stop flirting it won't save you from ass-wopping

Bakura's aggressively smile when he is about to get annihilated by Slifer, i don't know if it's cute or creepy

Also YM recognizing YB was asleep since that duel is oddly funny to me

Like, it's true, Bakura spent a good chunk of BC sleeping, let him rest

Still thinking Ishizu saw both her parents die before her own eyes

Bakura mocking Malik for killing his own dad maybe seems a dick move at first but it really makes sense after you discover that Bakura never had a father his is past life due him being an child orphan and not only that; Bakura also specifically mocked Atem by dragging his dad's corpse

Bakura simply doesn't give half-shit about fatherhood and only see it as a way to rub the salt in the wound

And that's the 477447646352th reason on why YB and YM would have got along if it wasn't for the hostile setting

"Somehow i thought he (SHADI) was the resurrection of the Pharaoh's soul and that he killed my father"

BRO WHAT THE FUCK? WHY?????? YOU GOT THE WRONG MAN DUDE

But it kind makes his previous criminal actions more understable, he actually wanted to kill Shadi,,,,,, ok

IS THIS FUCKING REAL

DID YM REALLY SAID "MY PRECIOUS DOMINANT HALF" TO MALIK

TK, promoting selfcest since YB's "it feels amazing inside you landlord ;)"

Keh! How amusing! Do your worst

Me @YM

BAKURA STOP BEING A DICK TO MALIK HE JUST WANTS HELP YOU

man Malik really deserves better, he is getting so much crap since YM showed up

We are back to Bakura's "what is def mode?" zone

Ok

Just like YM i, too, wish i could use my spell cards whenever i want

INCLUDING MY ADVERSARY'S TURN BC HE SOMEHOW CAN

Yugi and Atem being literal soulmates in Yuge Hotel is still funny to me btw

YM after explaining the "eaten by darkness" thing: Let's do this, Bakura!

YB after listening the "eaten by darkness" thing: Let's do this, Malik!

Even the repetitive dialogue confirms they are meant to be

"Don't be afraid of God, Bakura!"

"Shut up!"

WHY SO RUDE MALIK JUST WANTS TO SUPPORT YOU

Yami "evil genious that sleept way too much in this arc" Bakura: i'm going to do a pro gamer move that no one will ever expect, i will snatch Ra from his hand >:)))))))))))

Meanwhile Mai chilling on beach and making sand castles with her fri-

Yugi is way more interested in finding YY's memories than YY (can't blame him tho, if a ghost lived in my head i too would like to know who the hell he is)

Yugi: maybe your memories are actually hidden in this maze? Are we sure this room really is your in the first place?

Atem: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,speaking of duels i can't lose, i will win Battle City aibou :) and open the door myself pls don't kick me out landlord

ALSO I'm disappointed that their handshake here isn't as cute as in the ita dub (surprisling)

Here is just

Yugi: i'll fight for you!

Atem: great

Wow such enthusiasm for those lost memories

Why the hell Bakura used Multible Destruction and lost that many life points if he had Dark Designator all along???????

Is this "Bakura is dumb for no reason" time??

Bakura's strategy is already just "i waste all my LP until i win", don't worse it make it worse

The next ep's titled ONE TURN KILL, chkcgkhchc badass title i guess

[eisforeidolon]

Episode: Raising Hell

So, uh, basically I have no idea why anything in this episode happens or what its point is supposed to be. Having looked up who wrote it somewhere in the middle, I am completely lacking in surprise.

I mean, the first bit pretty much sets the tone.  Chatty Corpsy spouts exposition a mile a minute, then gets killed, and the ghost stands over her and spells disembowel.  Is that actually supposed to be scary?  Funny?  Anything but an absolutely bizarre waste of my time?

A bunch of dudes with basically nothing but FBI jackets and a bullshit story to back themselves up with convince an entire town to camp out in the local high school for two days without anybody figuring out they're full of shit.  You know, what with smartphones existing and all.  Plausible!

Furthermore, I have become convinced that everyone in this writer's room genuinely believes there is nothing scarier than a bunch of random antagonists standing around in a room pontificating at each other.  It's all demons do anymore. It's all angels do anymore.  Oh, fucking look, here's a bunch of goddamn ghosts doing it, too!  A fucking thrill a minute, I tell you.

Also, you know how the episode with H.H. Holmes was actually scary?  Whether or not you think it's in questionable taste for them to use real life serial killers at all, the reason they included him was because the whole murder castle deal and semi-mythical legends about him made for a scary premise they actually used in the episode.  I ignored the thing with it being Gacy before in Lebanon because there was more important stuff going on, but contrast the current writers' choices with him and this Jack the Ripper guy with the use of Holmes.  Here they're just throwing out the names of real life murderers to try and make their villains scary in the cheapest, fastest way possible.  Just like bringing back “Bloody Mary” that just kills whoever, this loudmouthed windbag has nothing to do with the name they're stealing to try and make him scary.

Also, the spell demon guy did is keeping the ghosts in, right?  Sure, it's going to fail, but at the moment, it's supposed to be an impassible barrier, yes?  So why, exactly, is it necessary for Sam to call in his goon squad to join the four of them in wandering into the danger zone to shoot at 'em? Seriously, why?  Shooting them dissipates them for a few seconds, maybe minutes.  They’re not laying out additional salt or iron lines or doing anything that might genuinely help contain the ghosts, they’re just putting themselves in danger because ...?  The mooks could also be better spent guarding the major entrance points to the town and/or the townies and/or doing research back at the bunker into what they're going to try next after the barrier fails.  But those things would actually make sense and prevent the shambling zombie that is the writers’ pathetic attempt at a plot in this episode being pushed into something vaguely resembling action. 

I am shocked, SHOCKED I tell you, that Rowena is now suddenly unable to do something with her powers that she did before.  Hey, remember when she stole that page out of the damned book to make herself more powerful to unseal her full powers (even though they touted her as the most powerful witch ever to begin with) and that was in season 13, well after the ghost-crystal-bomb thing?  But LOL, now she's even weaker?  This is exactly why nothing matters anymore.  Things that worked previously (angel powers, witch powers, the Colt, whatever) suddenly and randomly don't work to do the exact same jobs for … reasons.  The thing that makes it even dumber is they could have said that the ghost containing spell and crystal ghost sucking spell interfered with each other somehow.  Still at a bullshit level of convenience, but it doesn't involve making everyone and everything's powers completely arbitrary just because fuck continuity, that’s why!

Then Ketch shows up to save the Winchesters from their sudden attack of brain damage.  The show has provided an entire. fucking. town. full of angry ghosts straight from hell.  But actually bother to write a scene of Sam and Dean legit getting over their heads in a believable way?  Why fucking bother when you can just make them astoundingly incompetent.  It is literally unbelievable that Sam and Dean would not recognize those people as possessed fucking immediately.  Yet they stand there with rock salt filled shotguns doing sweet fuckall confronted by three fucking ghosts so Ketch can make a big entrance.  Is there a rule on a board somewhere in the writer's room that Sam and Dean have to be made to look incompetent at least once an episode?  Is this some kind of revenge for having to still write the main characters they're so clearly bored with?  Are these idiots just so fucking stupid they don't realize how insulting this is?  Did they run out of money for extras and the stunt coordinator?  

Also, someone explain to me how tiny flakes of metal are going to be less harmful to a human body than rock salt.  I'll wait.  They just really really wanted Ketch as one of the BMoL guys to have some kind of specialized gadget but couldn’t give him something actually potentially useful for the situation at hand.

Again, these writers really want to be writing a bad soap opera with occasional supernatural elements.  So despite that it's the final fucking season, we have time for Rowena and Ketch flirting.  Not to mention that they also give the only major female character even more relationship drama with the Jack the Ripper guy later.  If it's not questionably skeevy, it's not Bucklemming! 

Also, Castiel is not good at inspirational speeches, just like he’s frustratingly almost never good at anything else these days (those healing powers that were working last week? ha! forget it!).  Anyway, why do they keep having him make them?  Are we as the audience supposed to find them convincing though they never work on the target?  Are we supposed to feel bad for all the ~*feelings*~ Castiel supposedly has despite being an angel who isn’t supposed to have emotions the same way humans do?  I guess this particular one is to further show that Dean’s still mad (which I am absolutely 100% behind) but eh, whatever.  Though I guess that still ranks it above most of the episode sitting at a solid WTF, no really, WTF?!

Now we get to the part where they bring Kevin back for no fucking reason beyond that he's a “fan favorite”.  None of it makes a single tiny speck of sense.  Let's skip right past the fundamental absurdity of how Chuck apparently did this for literally no reason just to be a dick when he was actively trying to pretend not to be a dick.  Kevin has a “bad boy” reputation (come the fuck on) because God Himself cast him down - so him being in hell would have to be fairly common knowledge, for it to result in him having a reputation.  Except literally no demon Sam & Dean ran into between 11.21 and now taunted them with it?  Crowley, who was still alive and fucking King of Hell through season 12 never noticed and either told the Winchesters or tried to trade on it?  BULL and SHIT.  This is pretty close to the same scale of insult to continuity and the audience’s intelligence as these two fuckwits suddenly writing Lucifer as the older brother. 

Then in typical fashion, Sam & Dean discuss their plans to totes send Kevin to heaven in front of demon guy just so they can be told OH NOES!  He totally can't go to heaven!  So sad!  The poor widdle woobie!  Fuck off with this shit, show.  Not even to mention that they take the word of a demon as gospel truth when there is no time crunch or clear lack of better options.  It's all those many many hits to the head, I guess.  That I do actually find quite sad.  I mean, I don't actually want Kevin hanging around like a bad smell while they divert from actually important shit to try and get him to heaven where it makes no sense for him not to already be.  But at the end they don't even arrange some way to keep in touch just in case the fucking demon might be (gasp) lying?

Hey, I did actually like the exchange between Dean and Sam over Chuck poking his corresponding wound.  Oh, look, it's Sam's “I'm totally lying” face, followed by Dean's “I totally know you're lying but I'll let it go for now, Sam” face.  It was a great moment that required very little dialogue to work quite well.  It's such a shame nobody's making a show about these two characters!  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The absurdity keeps on coming, too.  In the whole two days they've been wasting time in Sunshine Daylightville they never discussed how long the spell would last?  Oh, right, they were too busy wandering into the ghost zone to shoot at 'em for shits and giggles to care about that, I guess.  Not to mention the whole “just cast it again!” is remarkably blasé about it requiring a 'fresher the better!' human heart.

More ghosts blathering at each other.  Yay.  This supposed Jack the Ripper guy is just always in the right place at the right time to hear all the gossip, knows every random thing he could possibly need to, and already has the power to intimidate and attack other ghosts. He's basically ghost!Asmodeus, who also steals AU!Michael's original idea of how to get through the barrier, because we really needed time spent discussing the world's most obvious plan.  Also, we've seen ghosts able to attack and absorb the power of other ghosts, but it was because they had already been doing it for a while.  This guy is just as fresh out of hell as everybody else, but he's more powerful and knowledgeable and totes threatening!!!  Well, I'm convinced and not on the verge of napping from boredom.

Naturally for reasons, Rowena goes into town entirely by herself without protection with their only real hope of containing the ghosts before the barrier breaks down instead of anybody insisting on her going with backup.  That's what anybody with a brain would do!  

Of course no one asks where Ketch has been the whole time.  Or even thinks of trying to test him after he was last seen literally knocked unconscious in the middle of ghost central where we know there are plenty of ghosts angry enough to be capable of possession.  Nope, why would anyone even think to do that?  Everything in this “plot” that happens requires all of the characters to be completely fucking stupid.

I'm going to assume by “you” Ketch meant “you Winchesters” because Mary wasn't there.  It probably didn't, because Bucklemming, but fuck it.  It's the least egregious stupidity in this episode that's a cornucopia of choices for the worst.

I … actually like the scenes with Chuck and Amara?  So, you know, that's something!  

Then the episode ends with the guys looking at all the ghosties still shooting up from hell and wring their hands about what they're going to do and maybe they should get on that!  Again, if Sam's flunkies aren't all dead, why aren't their worthless asses already researching this shit over the past two days?  It's not like it's new news that there was a big open hole to hell at the center of the problem and there was honestly nothing but wrangling some cranky civilians to interfere with trying to think ahead to that.

In summary, this episode is a constant showcase of the problems that result when you set incompetent morons who don't recognize their own inadequacy to write characters who are actually supposed to be intelligent experts at their work.  It's a joke – except not at all funny.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

Linked Universe Fanfic: Fright

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my @ LinkedUniverse fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name (Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story) I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 1.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

I wrote a bit of fanfic for @linkeduniverse . It’s 3 pages long in Word so I’ll put it under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Night fell on the young heroes slowly but steadily. Soon enough, it was getting hard for them to see slivers of midnight-blue sky between the tree branches above them. They found a clearing just off the forest path and set up camp. As Wild and Four set about starting a fire, Twilight and Time scouted the area for monsters and got a lay of the land. Satisfied, they came back a few minutes later to a roaring fire and their seven companions enjoying idle conversation.

It can get tiring on a long journey like the Links’, so one must make their own fun. “Guys,” Wind said suddenly.

A general murmur of acknowledgment spread through the group.

           “We should tell stories.”

           Wild sighed. “You know I don’t like to do this.”

           Wind started to protest but was interrupted by Time.

           “Let the kid have his fun,” he said to Wild with a shrug. Looking at Wind, he asked “Stories about what?”

           “I dunno, something we haven’t talked about yet?”

           Warrior piped up, “How about something scary? We don’t tell scary stories often.”

           Wind’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” he said.

At the same time, Time’s and Twilight’s darkened. They knew this might not be as fun as Wind hoped it might be. The Links looked around at each other, waiting for someone else to start. It was my choice to tell stories, Wind thought. May as well start.

“I had some pretty scary things happen to me on my quest… not really terrifying, more like stressful. It was on my twelfth birthday that my sister Aryll was kidnapped. A gigantic bird came out of nowhere and snatched her up. The whole time it took to save her, I couldn’t bear to think what she was going through. She was only nine.”

A sister? Wild looked up. It had never occurred to him that one of the other Links had a sibling. He tried not to think of his sister if he could help it. Between knowing she died in the Calamity and not properly remembering her anyway, it was unpleasant for him. Wind now had his full attention.

“It took a while, but I finally saved her. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off my chest… then Tetra was kidnapped. Our crew decided to chase after a ghost ship. She jumped aboard and didn’t come back. It took a few weeks to find the ghost ship and save her, but she had been turned to stone. She was freed later, but…”

Four perked up when he heard this. His Zelda suffered the same fate.

“Well, anyway, I didn’t have too many jump scares. There were some redeads, but other than that it wasn’t too scary.”

Wind looked around the group, evidently finished with his story. Wild hesitated but spoke up. “My Zelda practiced and prayed for almost all her life to master a sealing power that could defeat Ganon. It was terrifying when the Calamity came and we both knew full well that she couldn’t hope to use that power. I… I couldn’t show my fear. I had to be there for her. She needed me to lean on, and I couldn’t deny her that.”

The rest of the group couldn’t help but stare. They had all had to push fear aside to defeat evil, but they never suppressed their feelings like Wild. Most them hadn’t, that is. They waited for Wild to finish, but he seemed to be lost in thought again. In a few meaningful looks, they agreed to leave him be.

Legend picked up the proverbial torch. “I woke up in the dead of night from a vision of Zelda to my uncle holding a sword and shield I didn’t even know we owned. He told me to stay in bed, but you know I couldn’t do that. I found him mortally wounded in the dungeons of Hyrule Castle… then, later, when I thought I was about to save Hyrule, the wizard Agahnim sent me to the Dark World. It was like Hyrule, but it was just… wrong. It was an evil reflection of what I knew. Seeing my world perverted like that was almost too much.”

Silence followed for a good few moments. Still, Time and Twilight were stony-faced. Sky looked around and figured it was as good a time as any to say his bit. “My Zelda went missing. We were riding our loftwings together. I could feel us having a moment. The clouds around us, inches away from each other… a tornado cropped up and pulled her underneath the clouds. I spent the next few weeks traveling the air and surface trying to find her.”

“I was this close,” he said as he held up his hand, almost touching the tips of his thumb and index finger. “So many times, I almost caught up with her. I lived knowing that while I was doing my own adventuring and fighting, so was she. I knew she could handle herself, but it still stressed the daylights out of me. So I guess I’m in the same boat as you,” he finished, gesturing at Wind.

A minute or two passed before Wind asked, “anyone else?”

Twilight looked over to Time. Time gave a near-imperceptible nod.

“I don’t like to talk about this too much,” Twilight began, “but I suppose I can share it with you all. I don’t want to invalidate what you went through or anything, but your fear came from what was around you. Your surroundings, your loved ones in peril, all of that. I’m not an exception.”

The others looked at him, wondering If he was trying to show them up or leading up to something terrible. Inwardly, they hoped he wasn’t being humble for a change.

“My gir—best friend, my friends were all taken from our village.”

Only Time noticed the change of wording. He understood Twilight’s reluctance to get attached to anyone.

“I was the last kid left,” Twilight continued. “Our world was stuck in perpetual twilight that kept us living in fear and darkness. I was only saved by the Triforce of Courage. I wasn’t the same, though. You’ve seen me turn into a wolf before. I’m mostly comfortable with it now, but I wasn’t always. The Triforce somehow knew I had the spirit of a wolf. Being a ranch hand, I know how vicious wolves are. How dangerous they can be. It scared me that that was the essence of who I am.”

Legend felt a modicum of guilt. The Dark World transformed him into a helpless rabbit. That was unsettling in its own right, but now he realized he faced the lesser of two evils.

“As I adventured, I began to understand that wolves are ruthless against their enemies, but they take care of their own just as fiercely. What I had to give and what I had to do to save my friends made me realize that. Malo, Talo, Beth, Colin… Ilia. I didn’t know where they were or if they were safe.”

All the Links understood this feeling well. Twilight felt no need to continue that train of thought.

“Those of you who had companions had someone that was easy to trust. The King of Red Lions, Ciela, Navi, Tatl, Ezlo, Fi; you knew you could count on them. Midna was something else. For the longest time, I had no way of knowing if she actually had my back, or if she was just using me. That scared me too.”

The sound of Navi’s name made Time flinch, but everyone was so focused on Twilight that they didn’t notice. The longest silence yet followed. Even Wind was speechless. Whether it was out of fear or shock or respect, Twilight couldn’t tell. He felt slightly guilty for unloading all of this on them.

Time eventually began to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. The other eight stared at him. He had faced far worse pressure in his life, but he knew that he owed his friends a glimpse into his past. He had never told them much about it, only enough to bring them to visit Malon.

“Time?” Hyrule asked. It was the first time he had spoken all night.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want. We’d understand.”

“No, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I… I’ll be brief.”

The Links had no idea what to expect. They were on the edge of their seats. Time leaned his elbows on his knees. He stared straight ahead, seemingly transfixed by the fire. The eldest of the heroes took a deep breath, then spoke:

“I was afraid of being alone.”

The others waited for him to continue, but he didn’t say anything else. He was silent for the rest of the night. Everyone decided that it would be best if they let him be and turned in for the night.

Wild had trouble sleeping. What did he mean by that? He always had a companion, right? He was never alone. How could he be afraid of being alone?

The Links woke at dawn to see their gear neatly packed. Time was making breakfast over a rekindled fire. He had a tired look in his remaining eye. It occurred to the more perceptive of them that he probably hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night.