#She knows the tree -somewhere- has its own will and that it is hurting as much - if not more- than everyone else.

[beastofhearts]

Why Lukka and Not Wrenn

I seen people making this compassion and I don't really get it.

Realmebreaker DID try to infect Wrenn when she bonded with him and we see her suffering and struggling for it. But she did had some defenses against it thanks to Melira’s magic (At least I think she does) and Chandra’s help to keep her anchor and fuel her will. She is aware of Realmbreaker intent and -because of it- fights against it.

Lukka, on the other hand, started to accept he creature opinions and ideas and loosing track of his own (Like not realizing he changed paths). That was his downfall. He never realized he was being corrupted and so, he couldn't fight it.

In summary: A) Different creatures and how they tried to complete their planeswalkers B) Different planeswalker with different personalities/knowledge. C) Different assets to deal with the infection.

PS: She wasn't completed but she payed a high price to avoid doing so and bond with the Realmbreaker

[eclecticmiasma]

I kept thinking what if Chilchuck or Laios had been kidnapped by the monster! reader, how the reader saw them hurt or mistook them for chicks and saved them from being killed by another monster.. Now the reader monster is taking care of him in his nest/house, as if they were his own chicks (reader is a gentle monster who doesn't want anyone getting hurt or dying), and the reader being a sentient monster where she knows the dungeons are dangerous...

Note: the reader's appearance is similar to that of a human but with some animal characteristics, thus confusing the adventurers, who may think that she is a human cursed by the mad wizard and thus has the monster part... But the reader is a cool and conscious monster

Large brained thoughts, honestly! Perhaps reader could be the ghost of a creature that lost its young and uses shape-shifting to lure dungeoneers and other monsters to her nest as replacements? I would imagine that she would become extremely protective of her targets especially once they have been tricked into becoming one of her offspring. We don't see any examples of monsters being benevolent per se, but there is a benevolence/kindness to reader's selfish desires.

I think reader would appear very different to Laios and Chilchuck, and their reactions would be completely 180 degrees. Some slight anime spoilers ahead! SFW, canon typical violence.

Laios

Reader appears to Laios in a form that's nearly identical to her original. She has thick claws and black, wet eyes. Her teeth are sharp but framed by soft human lips and her ashen hair is silken and braided like a Northern maiden. She might have a long scaly tale and feathers on her abdomen and thighs because, due to Falin's current condition, it's a form that Laios finds subconsciously comforting.

She lures Laios while the others are asleep. A monster that he's never seen before is too intriguing to pass up- the party is safe enough where they are. Just a peak, a chance to learn-

Before he knows it, Laios is somewhere wholly unfamiliar. The thick dungeon bricks lining the walls slowly give way to moss and grass. The air is warm and smells like petrichor.

Despite a small, nagging anxiety, he presses further. The creature smiles as she leads him farther into the jungle atmosphere, a smile so sparkling and human that is makes Laios blush.

Before long, he's walked right into reader's nest. It's a cozy hovel carved into the base of a tree. Laios is delighted to find smaller monsters of all sizes in a daze, lounging around on the thatched flooring. As he steps inside, he feels a veil of calm close around him and vaguely realizes that its why the monsters aren't hostile towards each other.

Laios succumbs, at first. He lets reader take him into her arms, drag her long claws through his hair and sing a tune that numbs his mind into a pleasant mush.

Reader feeds him, gives him her milk (a high he'll never reach again until the day he dies), lays out the comfiest spot for her newest treasure and goes on her way to find the next target.

Genuinely, if Laios wasn't on a quest this would be his life for eternity. His own mother wasn't very loving, so a meld of monsters and mothers is more than a guy could ever ask for.

It could be hours, it could be days, but eventually Laios begins to remember that this isn't where he's meant to be. He sees a monster that reminds him of Falin, and all at once knows he reluctantly has to return to reality.

Once reader realizes Laios is gone, only killing her will end her crusade to get him back. While the others simply see a deranged monster, Laios sees a terrified mother desperate to drag him back to the safety of her home. Laios hesitates before killing her, too torn apart by the tears in her eyes. Marcille has to take the final blow.

Senshi and Laios briefly consider cooking the inhuman parts of reader into a sort of beef stroganoff as tribute, but Chilchuck's screeching reminder that they are not to eat humanoids leaves them to bury her instead.

Chilchuck

Is just off the heels of grumbling about being treated like a child when he spots what looks to be a small figure huddled in the darkness.

He calls out to the others but doesn't hear a response, only the soft whimpers of whoever has managed to get themselves into this state.

Chilchuck is much more on guard than Laios would ever be. He immediately assumes that it could be a trap or an illusion, so he calls to the figure from afar.

She answers, desperation coloring her tone as she sobs, relieved that someone has come across her.

"Th-they're dead, I don't know where they are but they're dead and I..."

As Chilchuck gingerly steps towards her, he realizes that what he sees is another half-foot. A small archer that's bloodied and bruised. Something about her reminds him immediately of his wife.

All logic leaves Chilchuck as he finishes approaching her, asking what's wrong and tearing off a piece of his sleeve to prepare to bandage the deepest of her wounds. When he goes to wrap the material around her forearm he stares in confusion. The wounds are gone.

He doesn't even have time to react before reader cups his small face in her. "You're lonely," She says, a matter of fact. The half-foot can't deny it, "It's time you stop doing these dangerous things. The only end for a half-foot in the dungeon is in the mouth of a monster. Let me take care of you."

Her words are like honey, her touch even moreso. Feeling the touch of a woman isn't a luxury Chilchuck had been afforded in many moons. But even in the fog of reader's touch, Chilchuck feels that something is off. Her hands are too cold, eyes too deep and dark- almost like black pools of liquid.

The sharp tips of her teeth set him off, and he knows he has to get away. She's no different than a mimic, he tells himself. Even if part of him desperately wants exactly what she has to offer.

Chilchuck mimes as if he is going to fall into her allure, cupping his hands over her own and giving her the most smitten look he can muster. All before kneeing her in the face and dashing at speeds only half-foots can muster to get away.

Reader chases him desperately, form filling the room as she wails in sorrow. "Can't you see they're using you? You're going to end up as bait. You're going to die down here, you'll never see your family again!" Chilchuck mentally bats away at each assertion even as they hook into his skin.

The others finally come running, proximity close enough to hear the commotion at last. With a few well-placed blasts and a slice to the throat via Kensuke, reader is felled and left for good. Even in death, she seems to be in mourning.

Chilchuck doesn't sleep well for weeks.

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide darker content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Could i please request something with reader getting a large slice on her arm and daryl has to stitch it shut as best he can because they’re on a long run?

Stitches and Kisses

Summary: He'd meant to take her on a date in the woods, well no, he'd meant to ask her on a date in the woods. But now she's bleeding and he's panicking, and is romance always this hard?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Blood. Medical procedures. Angst. Fluff. Nervous!Daryl. Friends to lovers. Prison-era.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. The idea staff in the crumbling factory that is my brain have gone on strike so I'm so grateful to everyone who's sent in requests to get my cogs turning again!

-

They’ve learnt, as a collective, never to say ‘it’ll be a simple run’, but he just fucking had to, didn’t he? Had to try and convince her to come out to the woods, because he thought he was ready to tell her he loved her. He’s never been romantic, has never had the opportunity or the inclination, but women liked this stuff, right? That’s what Merle had said, ‘chicks dig all that mushy shit’, and it’s not like he has access to candles and music and…teddy bears, maybe. But he had the woods, and she likes the woods, the birdsong and the flowers, the lack of walls. So he could take her to the trees and he could ask if maybe she likes him too, and shit asking was so much easier in front of the mirror in the prison showers.

It’s going great. So far he’s snapped at her because he was nervous, tripped on a stick of all things and spilled a full bottle of water all over the ground, they’ve been ambushed by an unexpected herd and now she’s gashed her arm open trying to pry the door open with the knife. He’s fucked it, royally, sideways and without a shadow of a doubt. You just can’t confess your affection for someone whilst covered in their blood and pouring alcohol into a wound, can you? It’s not the done thing.

In hindsight the knife thing might have been her fault, but when has that ever stopped him taking the blame? At least she’d gotten the door open, barricading it behind them before she realised how deep she’d sliced.

She sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth as the liquid hits the cut, and he flicks his glance quickly up to her face to catch her eyes squeezed closed. He’s never been okay at this part of runs, not really; he can sort an injury out, sure, he’s stitched himself up numerous times, he’s not bad at it, but even if he knows logically that its necessary it feels too much like inflicting harm. It eats at him for the rest of the day, every time, longer when its her.

“’M sorry” he mumbles, hovering his spare hand above her knee as she perches on the bench in front of him. He likes touching her, finds comfort in it usually but he’s never the one to initiate. She’d put her hand on top of his and hold it all day if she wasn’t squeezing her own fist closed quite so hard. The pain is awful, stinging and pulsing at the same time, but the look on his face is almost worse.

“If you apologise every time this hurts we’re never going to get it done”

He scoffs, blowing the hair out of his eye as he does so. It’s a deep cut, mere inches past where it could have hit something major, and he has to swallow hard around nothing as he puts the bottle down by his side. Walkers are groaning outside the door, unaware of their presence but far too close for him not to be concerned, he needs to get her stitched up. The bag rustles as he rummages with one hand for a needle and thread, he knows they’re in there somewhere, but a murmured curse leaves his dry lips as his panicking fingers fail to locate them.

“Daryl” finally pressing her palm to his knuckles, bringing his hand down to her leg with a gentle squeeze as if he’s the one that’s injured. His fingers still inside the bag, locking his eyes with hers, clocking the pained but confident determination on her face. “We’re going to be fine”

Nodding, he moves the hand off her knee with a brief pat before turning fully to the bag, reaching into it to locate the small plastic case that holds a sewing kit. Now still hands thread the needle carefully, gripping it firmly as he snaps his lighter, holding the end under the flame to sterilise.

“’S gon’ hurt”

“I know the drill” She smiles, reassuringly, and if he wasn’t so besotted with her he’d berate her for it, the overwhelming need she has to placate him, to work out his feelings before he’s had a chance to feel them. He usually finds comfort in it, relief that someone understands him well enough for him not to always have to explain himself. But now he’s irritated that she seems to be so set on how he’s doing when she’s bleeding right onto his fucking jeans.

He wants to smile back like he always does, but he hates it, can’t stand that she knows the drill, there shouldn’t be a drill, she should be warm and protected and happy in a normal world, far away from all of this. She’d be away from him but at least she’d be safe and he thinks maybe that’s a sacrifice he’d make it he could.

The thought is shaken away from him as the needle hooks under her skin and she lets out a low whine of pain, dragging an expletive under her breath. It burns. A different pain from the slicing of her flesh, which was at least quick, stitching a wound is slow, like fire poking at the surface in a drawn-out pierce.

“I know, ‘m sorry”

She slumps forward, resting her head on his shoulder so she doesn’t keep looking down at the needle going in, her body is hot and cold all at once, nausea coiling at the back of her throat, why did she have to look? He works as fast as he can whilst still being gentle, it’s impossible not to cause pain but if he can limit any of it he will. Maybe if he’d have told her he loved her this morning, before she’d hopped on the back of his bike, she’d know he didn’t mean any of the hurt he’s currently inflicting.

He turns slightly, voice low as he whispers in her ear. He can’t afford to get distracted now, but he can’t stand the way she’s whimpering against his collarbone so he pauses as he speaks, trying to ignore how it feels to have her cradled so close into him.

“’S’alright, almost done”

A punched chuckle against his shirt shoots from her when the needle pierces her skin again, its synced with a tight grip on her own knee, the kind of laugh that comes out instinctively with pain, the same one he heard when he had to pop her shoulder back into its socket once. On bad days, when his brain is somehow too busy and too quiet, he can still hear the crunch.

“Sorry, I’m being pathetic” she breathes against the fabric of his shirt, trying hard to resist the urge to bite the material for something to ground her.

“Nah, shit hurts, ya need t’ take a break?”

“No, keep going”

He wraps her arm in a spare bandage when he’s finished, watching her sway a little on the bench. Arms out in front of him in case she falls, he watches as she sips the small amount of water he’s handed over. She’s lost a fair amount of blood, not enough to kill her but enough that he’s worried about getting them back safely. Her fingers brush against his when she hands the bottle back, and he’s briefly thankful for the walkers that make him turn to look at the door, hiding his blush.

“We gotta get back t’ camp”

She hops off the bench with a slight wobble in her step, looking down to see if her arm is bleeding through the bandage; she’s unsurprised when it’s not, Daryl’s adept at a lot of things and anyone surprised that he’s as sufficient in care as he is in battle doesn’t know him very well.

“Daryl, we have stuff to get, there’s still at least three places that haven’t been raided”

Her face is pale and drawn. He knows she’s faking feeling alright because he’s been studying her every expression since the moment they met. He knows the way her face moves with each emotion, the arch in her brow, the set of her lips, the way her eyes change colour ever so slightly. He knows that she needs to see Hershel.

“Nah, ya need to get this sorted. I can come back”

“Daryl-“

“No” his voice is short and sharp, accent lost under the clipped insistence as he shoulders the bag of supplies, readying to take on the meandering walkers that remain between them and the bike “Ain’t risking ya, not for nothin’”

“People are relying on us, we need supplies”

He turns towards the door, takes three strides forward before stopping, fighting the battle in his head, he knows they need to keep going, but he’s almost out of water and she’s lost enough blood for him to be worried. Tense shoulders tighten.

“If it’s ya, or supplies, or anyone else, I pick ya, every time” His voice lowers as he turns, body stiff as he faces her, holds her line of sight in a way that should make him nervous but there’s something close to anger in his face, the resentment that she could possibly think he wouldn’t put her first “Dun’ ever make me choose”

“Why?” She studies him for a moment, eyes softening in realisation as she finally understands the way he looks at her, the way he’s always looked at her, the way she’s looked at him and been so blind not to notice. Hope starts squashing the insecurity she’s had over her feelings “Oh”

When he doesn’t move, eyes flicking full of panic between her and the floor, she steps towards him gingerly, one foot slowly treading the ground at a time to make sure he’s not about to turn and run the other way.

His eyes are wide as she rests a hand on his cheek, thumb running tentatively over his cheekbone. She feels him release a breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nods, a stuttering shake of the head that has her almost laughing, she’s gotten used to his acerbic wit in the face of discomfort, he hasn’t been quiet with her in months, not like this. His breathing stutters, swallowing heavily as she kisses his jaw, slowly, unwilling to spook. She moves her lips across; never leaving his skin as she trails kisses all the way along to his lips, pausing at them.

She can feel his breath against her lips and she flicks her gaze up slowly to look at him, pupils blown dark and wide as his body stays stock still, as if he is afraid of scaring her off, afraid of running himself.

“I’d pick you too”

She’s wanted him for so long the moment her lips touch his she’s pretty sure she’s actually died and is well on her way to thanking her lucky stars when his hands settle against her hips, pulling her against him firmly. It’s the shake in the arm that she tries to move around his waist that makes him pull away; breath heavy and lids drooping but his demeanour is firm when she tries to lean back in. He doesn’t want her to regret this when she’s not worn out from injury so he stops her.

He brushes a strand of hair out of her face, other hand giving her hip a gentle squeeze, thumb resting on the waistline of her jeans. A small, quirk of a lip smile graces his face.

“Nah, ya can kiss me ‘gain when ya got all ya blood back, c’mon”

[alloftheimagines]

joel miller | don't let me drown

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 2.4k

warnings: drowning, hurt/comfort, angst, lil bit of nude cuddling for warmth reasons but nothing steamy, strong language, inspired by ep six but i changed it up so the bridge is unsteady for the purposes of *drama*. hint towards age-gap with reader in their thirties. they/them pronouns. no y/n.

synopsis: in which the reader falls into the river of death, and it's joel's job to save you and find shelter. featuring ellie. not requested!

You used to think snow was pretty. Magical, even. Now, you only think it’s a bitch to travel through, especially on foot with the harsh mountain winds blowing off the river.

Of course, you can’t complain because the fourteen-year-old and fifty-six-year-old aren’t, and you’re probably supposed to be fitter than the two of them put together. But inside… fuck. You’re exhausted, freezing, and desperate to get to your next destination so you can sleep on something other than ice and mud. 

When the bridge comes into view, relief washes through you. If you can get away from the open water, maybe the winds won’t be so biting and you’ll finally be able to feel your cheeks again. You puff out a visible breath and glance at Joel, who is both pale and rosy-cheeked from the cold. Ellie follows behind, watchful as ever. You can’t imagine what it must be like for her, trekking so far from where she began. Seeing so much. It’s been rough on all of you, but you’ve made it through together. Whatever comes next should be a breeze. 

“Keep a lookout,” Joel warns, poising his handgun and nodding at you to do the same. You’ve been warned that nothing good can be found by the river, and it’s left an unsettling silence between you since you started your journey. 

You dip your head, preparing your own gun as Ellie does the same. But if anything is here, you don’t see it — not on this side of the bridge or the other. It’s a rickety old thing, but if it gets you across… it’ll do. 

“C’mon,” he grunts. The bridge creaks beneath your feet, and you follow Joel’s footsteps to avoid any weak spots. Until gunshots sound somewhere in the distance. You all jump, but it’s you who loses your footing as a chunk of rotten wood disappears beneath your feet. Before you can find something to grab onto, you’re falling, screaming, clutching thin air. Joel yells your name with a fear you haven’t heard in a while, but his voice is lost as the rushing water swallows you up.

Freezing. So cold it makes you burn. The river turns your world grey and endless, as though you’re floating in a void. You thrash, trying to kick up to the surface, but the shock is jolting through you, making you numb, and you can’t remember how to use your limbs.

You cough and gulp down an unbearable amount of water, and that’s when you know. There’s no air, no way of making your lungs work. They just keep burning, squeezing for something that no longer exists. Your vision goes blurry and then disappears completely. 

***

Joel watches it in slow motion. The splintering bridge. The fall. The ripple in the river as it chews you up and doesn’t spit you out. He doesn’t realise he’s screaming your name, doesn’t realise he’s even running, until he reaches the other side of the bridge. 

“Stay there!” he orders Ellie with a warning finger, fear ricocheting through his voice, through the trees. You’re gone is all he can think. You’re gone, and he can’t fucking do this without you. 

His knees ache as he half-sprints, half-slips down the embankment, kicking snow into the river. After shucking off his shotgun and placing it down, he takes off his jacket in a moment of clarity, knowing you’re going to need something warm. And then he’s plunging into the river, cursing at its low temperature. His teeth chatter as he shouts your name, searching for any sign in the steadily flowing water. But there’s nothing. He dives under when he gets closer to the bridge, skin becoming ice as he searches the murky depths. 

He has to come up for air twice before he finds you sinking to the riverbed. He’s never moved so fast, snatching you up in both arms and pulling you to the surface. You’re deadweight in his arms, and panic lances through him when he finds you’re eyes closed. 

He calls your name again, urgency sharpening his words as he pulls you to the embankment. Despite his orders, Ellie waits there, eyes wide and afraid. He doesn’t have time to scold her. He’s too busy carrying you out, water pooling at his feet as he staggers to solid ground and lays you down. 

“Baby?” He shakes you, droplets falling from his face and onto yours as he kneels over you. “Come on. Come on, baby.” 

He presses an ear to your chest: finds no sign of breathing. 

“Shit.” He begins compressions then, counting to thirty before giving you mouth to mouth. Your lips are ice cold, and so are his, his knuckles reddening as he presses the heel of his hand down again and again and again. “Come on. Come on. Breathe.”

“Joel,” Ellie whispers, terror in her voice. 

He squeezes his eyes closed, unable to face what it means. What might be happening. He isn’t losing you today. Not any day. “Come on. Come back to me. Come back to me, darlin’.”

Your breath gutters, and instinct has him rolling you onto your side as you cough up more water than any person should be able to. 

“Fuck,” he’s saying, rubbing warmth into your shoulders. “Ellie, grab my coat.”

She does, and he wraps it around your quivering body before pulling you close. “I got you,” he’s whispering. “I got you, darlin’. I'm here." 

More coughs leave you, and he brushes your hair off your forehead to look for any sign of injury. Your lips are blue, and it terrifies him. Cold water shock can kill, and the way you went under… Shit, it’s a miracle you’re here, upright. 

You’re shivering so violently that he knows the worst isn’t over. Hypothermia. Pneumonia. Those are just some of the things he’ll have to watch for. He can’t take you anywhere like this, can’t protect Ellie or you, but you can’t stay here either. You need to warm up. You both do. 

“We need to find shelter. Somewhere to light a fire and get warm.” 

“I saw some rock overhangs deeper in the woods,” Ellie said. 

“Can you grab the bags?”

“Yeah.” She slips a backpack on each shoulder and then props Joel’s shotgun under her arm. Not ideal, but he can’t think about that now either. Not when you’re barely opening your eyes. 

He breathes your name and then: “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

A faint nod. 

“Good. That's good. We're gonna get you warm.” He pulls you into his chest, hooking an arm under your knee and the other around your back. You sink into his warmth, but you’re so limp that it terrifies him as he carries you up the embankment, following Ellie’s lead. 

Sure enough, she guides you both to a deep overhang beneath snow-topped crags, and he dips his head to fit in the low space. He places you against the wall, already unravelling the bed rolls.

“Get a fire going,” he says. He’s certain that he had a few matches left last time he checked, and Ellie rifles through his bag before producing them. With shaky hands, she gathers a pile of sticks and surrounds them by rocks just like he taught her before lighting the match and letting it spread. 

The twigs are damp and produce a lot of smoke, but sure enough, an amber glow lights the dark shelter a moment later.

“That’s it. Good,” he whispers. 

Ellie glances at your hunched form warily. You’re so pale, so cold you’re practically convulsing. “Are they gonna be okay?”

“Have to be,” Joel mutters. He slips off your sopping wet coat and sweater, and Ellie turns away as he gets rid of the rest. 

“You still with me?” he asks you.

You hum in response, folding into yourself in your nudity. 

“Here.” Covering her eyes, Ellie hands him a spare long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweats from her own pack, luckily from Bill’s stash of adult clothes. 

“Thanks,” he replies, urging your arms up so he can slip on the shirt. It’s an uncomfortable ordeal with your clammy skin, but he needs you warm. Now. Even when you groan, skin no doubt stinging painfully. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

He has to pull you up for the sweatpants, and then he’s rolling thick thermal socks onto your feet and tucking you into blankets and bedrolls. “How’s that? Feel warmer?”

You shake your head, and he helps you shuffle closer to the fire. 

“Now?”

A nod that has him relieved. He can’t help but place a kiss on your damp forehead, realising too late that he’s cold and shivering too. He only has another flannel in his backpack, though, and he can survive until he’s at least gotten you warm. Protecting you from his damp clothes using the bedroll, he wraps his arms around you to keep in the heat. 

“Gave me a damn heart attack,” he mumbles into your hair, squeezing his eyes closed to chase away the darkness creeping in. The thought of losing you. All the other scenarios where you didn’t end up here with him after the fall. He should have been smarter. Shouldn’t have taken you across that damn bridge.

The ghost of a smile crosses your flame-lit face. “Sorry." And then: "You’re… cold too,” you rasp between shivers. “Get in here.” 

He glances at Ellie. No way in hell is he going to strip off with her here. As though understanding, she raises her brows and shifts away. “I’m going to go find out if bears really do shit in the woods.”

“Don’t go away,” he orders. “Just… give us a couple minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” She disappears, and her crunching footfalls outside keep his concern at bay. 

His concern for her, at least. Your face still lacks colour, your breaths sounding watery and wrong even now. He grinds his teeth, reluctant to pull away from you for even a minute. But if he dries off, he can give you his body heat, so he quickly tears off his clothes and replaces them with the one dry shirt he owns. He doesn’t bother buttoning it up, instead crawling into the bedroll with you and enveloping you in an unyielding hold. You lean against him, eyelids drooping but shivers finally beginning to ease. 

He begins to warm up after a few minutes and can only hope you are too. When he notices your eyes closed, he stiffens. “You still with me, darlin?”

“Think so,” you murmur, your cool hands travelling across his bare chest. He tries not to flinch as he directs them up to his chest. His mouth. He kisses your knuckles before cupping his own hands around yours and blowing. Then, he rubs, generating friction. 

“Keep talking to me,” he pleads.

“‘Bout what?”

“Anything.” Anything, as long as you don’t leave me. As long as you stay. “What was your favourite book growing up?”

You were barely fifteen when the pandemic hit all those years ago, but you smile as you remember that old bookshelf your dad put together full of worn paperbacks. “You don’t read, Joel. You wouldn’t know even if I told you.”

“So tell me about it.” He’s still using his hands, pushing feeling back into your body bit by bit. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper finally. “I’m okay, Joel. I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know that.” But he won’t stop, won’t give up, even when your cheeks turn pink once more. God, he’s missed the way you glow like that, the way it looks brighter in the snow. 

You take a ragged breath. “I liked Gulliver’s Travels.”

“Yeah? Who’s that by?”

“Joel…” Your eyes flutter shut. “Please. I’m tired. I’m warm. I’m okay.”

But he can’t trust it after he’s just put breath back into your lungs; can’t trust it to stay there. He holds you tighter, placing a gentle, terrified kiss into your hair, even if he’ll never admit that he is terrified. That he can’t breathe if you’re not breathing. He realised that the moment he jumped into the river without caring if it got him killed too. 

You’re all he has to hold onto, and he could never let you drown.

“I just need… I need you to keep talking to me for a little longer, baby. Just until I know you’re okay,” he says.

“Okay.” So you tell him about your favourite book, drifting in and out of the conversation. Soon, you stop shivering against him and the bedroll warms with two sets of body heat, just as he’d hoped. The fire keeps up until Ellie finally comes back to refuel it with more sticks, offering Joel a smirk that he returns with a gentle glare. You barely seem to notice, still muttering. 

“Sounds like a great story,” he says finally. “I think Sarah had that one.”

“Yeah.” You smile, cheeks swelling this time as you nestle into his chest. But then you cough, and he frowns. God, is this what it’s gonna be like now? One cough’ll leave him frozen with fear?

“I can read you guys a great book!” Ellie volunteers, and of course pulls out her pages of puns. 

Joel groans. You chuckle, and his heart warms at the sound. 

“Tell me the one with the penguins again,” you ask.

Ellie grins and flips through the pages, and you get a million more cheesy puns that make you laugh until you can no longer hold your head up. You’re certain Joel’s bare chest ripples with stifled amusement at some points. 

“Joel?” you ask as Ellie turns the page. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m so tired.”

Another wave of dread. He masks it clearly, examining your features. You look and feel warm, and you sound like you. If you need the rest, he can’t keep asking you not to take it for his own selfish reasons. For his own pathetic fear.

Finally, he surrenders. “Okay, darlin’. Get some sleep. We all need it.”

“Night,” Ellie says, getting comfortable in her sleeping bag.

Your eyes shut instantly and don’t open again, but your chest rises and falls smoothly against your interlocked hands. He listens to it as the shelter quietens, the fire getting lower. He listens all night just to make sure you’re still breathing. When light returns the next morning, he finds Ellie has done just the same, wide awake and unwilling to tear her gaze away from the two of you. 

“They’re okay, right?” she asks. 

Joel can only hope that it’s the truth when he says, “Yeah. They’re okay.”

“Good.” She nestles into her makeshift pillow — her backpack. “You’re a real grouch when they’re not around.”

He rolls his eyes, tempted to point out that he is always a grouch, though Ellie’s right. He needs you. He will always need you. 

And god, he hopes he never comes close to losing you like that again.

[mxigo]

soul sick | part 1

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: you get ready to go out with Azriel after his check in with the Illyrian camps, but things don’t go as planned.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, swearing. a relatively tame first chapter

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

NEXT CHAPTER

a.n. if i get anything wrong i’m blaming it on my shit memory and the fact that i haven’t finished acowar and haven’t read acofas and acosf. really just going off what i remember and what i’ve read in other fics. enjoy!

It has been three months since Feyre’s sisters were Made and subsequently brought to the Night Court. You’ve done what you could in aiding their transition to fae life, even getting as far as calling Nesta a friend, cold façade and all. But while you have gained a friend, you’re beginning to lose your best friend, and the male that you love, all at the same time.

It first started with him checking in for a second after the two of you had come back from being out and about in Velaris, then it turned to him apologetically explaining that he already had plans with Elain for the evening, and now, you hardly see him at all anymore.

It’s become more often than not that he spends his time with Elain, leaving you on the back burner, as a second thought to his plans now. You have other friends, yes, but you don’t remember a day where you haven’t at least sent notes back and forth to each other since you became close. It’s like you’re missing a part of you, something that is supposed to be there but isn’t anymore, and your body knows it. Why did it have to be him? She has a mate waiting for her for crying out loud, one who you can tell just genuinely wants to know her, and Azriel is entertaining her, knowing full well what her position is.

Guilt eats at you for these jealous feelings, knowing that the girl has been through so much when her entire life was ripped away and was literally turned into something that she was taught her entire life to fear. You want to be accepting and carefree about the situation, but it is literally impossible when you catch him looking at her with the intense adoration that you have yearned for decades for, and she has simply swooped in and stole him from you.

But tonight, you and Azriel have plans to go out into Velaris for the night for dinner. It’s your tradition that you’ve had for years to catch up after his return from his visits to the Illyrian camps, something to help him unwind. You just hope that for a single night that you can forget about it.

The new dress you bought just yesterday is a beautiful deep burgundy color, the hem falling just above your mid-thigh, long-sleeved, and the neckline plunges lower than what you are used to wearing. You were able to find a pair of nude heels that fit you perfectly in a corner shop. You were even successful in keeping your hair styled for the occasion. It was safe to say that you looked stunning, and there was a glimmer of hope that it wouldn’t be left unnoticed by him.

The heels’ click echoes off the paneled hallway as you scramble to finish getting ready, knowing that you need to leave. You stride into your bedroom, beelining for the jewelry tree on your vanity. Considering the colors that you’re wearing, you think a gold set would be the best, and you know exactly which to wear. Gently, you pick up the teardrop Alexandrite earrings and necklace that Azriel had bought you after one of his trips to the Summer Court. The gem’s color shifts between purple and green depending on the light source, easily making them your favorite pieces.

It hurts a bit when you try to put the earrings in, meeting a bit of resistance as it’s been a while since you’ve last worn any, but you’re able to get them through without too much trouble. The necklace thankfully clasps easily around your neck, the pendant falling in the middle of your chest. The delicate gold glitters in the candlelight, making you smile at the memory of Azriel giving it to you. With a shack of your head, you snap out of the memory’s haze, misting yourself with perfume as a last thought before leaving your bedroom.

The click of your heels echoes off the buildings lining the road as you make your way to Rhys’ townhouse to meet Azriel for drinks before dinner. The night’s cool breeze causes your flesh to break out in goose bumps, but it feels nice over all.

The door unlocks as you turn the knob, and the house becomes alight as you enter. The candles flicker to life to bring the house into a cozy atmosphere, and even the fireplace roars to life to stave off the last of the early spring chill.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimes, signaling the turn of the hour at seven o’clock. Your heart flutters, excitement filling you knowing that he’ll be here any minute. You make your way into the kitchen, pulling out Azriel’s favorite whiskey and your favorite liqueur, grabbing two tumblers out of the cabinet to set it all out on the table.

Minutes tick by as you wait for him to winnow into the kitchen like he always does, a soft smile on his face as he holds out his elbow like the gentleman he is to winnow you wherever you want to go. You settle into a cushioned seat in the adjoining living room, picking up a book that has been left out and flipping open to the page that you had left on.

Those couple of minutes turn into five, then into fifteen, and then by thirty minutes, you’re constantly glancing between the clock and the kitchen, anxiety eating away at you. Azriel has never been late like this before, and if he’s ever late, it’s only by no more than five. Your stomach rumbles as hunger makes itself known, and you set down the book on the table to stand up. Maybe something happened that’s causing him to be late, but there’s a little voice that’s whispering to you, saying that he’s forgotten about you, that he’s preoccupied by a certain sister.

You shake your head, setting the book back into its spot to stand up and head back into the kitchen. You pour a drink and watch as the dark amber liquid swirls into the cup before settling around the ice. More minutes pass as you finish the drink only to pour another, still waiting, hoping that he will pop into the room, spewing apologies as he tries to explain why he was so late.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, it is Rhys that winnows into the kitchen, startling you so bad you nearly fall off the stool.

“Mother, Rhys, give a girl a warning before you snap in like that,” you joke, righting yourself up. Your eyes meet his, and you’re confused because he’s confused, staring at you like you are crazy.

“What are you doing here? Are you meeting someone?” he asks, his head tilted slightly as he stares still.

There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, but you want so badly to be wrong about what’s happening.

“I’m meeting Az here. We’re supposed to be going out tonight like we always do when he comes back from the camps, but he’s late. Have you seen him by chance?” A look passes over Rhys’ face, and you recognize that look immediately, your face dropping, heart hammering as you wait for those few words.

“Oh, sweetheart, he left the House with Elain,” he whispered, like you would shatter at just those words, and you suppose you do.

Your breathing stutters, and it’s like the world goes fuzzy, the sounds muted as your breaks cracks. Never in all the years have you been friends with Azriel has he ever forgotten about your nights out when he comes back, let alone either forgetting or just flat out choosing to spend it with another female and not tell you. And of course, it’s with Elain.

Your lungs shake as you take your next breath, reality coming back into focus as you realize that Rhys is still in front of you, worry etched across his face as he too realizes what has happened. You knock back the rest of your drink, and your hands shake as you pick up the glasses to take care of them and to put the bottles away. In an effort to try to get Rhys to go away, to be alone, you put on a fake smile, looking at him.

“Oh, well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected that we’d be going out tonight without checking in with him to see if he was free. That’s my mistake, but thank you for telling me, Rhys. I’ll clean up here and I’ll get going,” you try, but he just shakes his head.

“Nonsense. Leave it, I’ll take care of it later. Let me take you home.”

“Honestly, Rhys, I’m ok. It’s just a misunderstanding on my part. And my home isn’t far from here at all, and the night is nice. You don’t need to winnow me,” you insisted, already done with rinsing out the glasses and putting them away. But your voice is shaking ever so slightly, sick to your stomach, and you know that Rhys notices.

He grimaces, debating with himself on what to do.

“If you’re sure,” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you nod. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”

“No! No, you don’t have to do that. Seriously, Rhys, it’s not a big deal,” you beg, and finally, he relents.

He nods once before stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“You’ll let me know if you change your mind, right,” he asks.

“Of course,” you promise, and he pops back out of the house, leaving you to truly process the situation.

He took Elain out instead. He left you, that same voice whispers, louder this time. Tears sting your eyes, and a half-sob rips out of your lungs, a hand flying up to your mouth to prevent any more from leaving. But you’re fruitless in your efforts to contain your emotions as tears start spilling over, splattering onto the table.

You leave the townhouse in a flurry, harshly wiping at the tears. The house goes dark behind you and the lock snicks shut, leaving you in the night’s chill. Then all at once, your face crumbles as your emotions make themselves known. You try to reason with yourself that there’s no reason to be upset because it was true when you told Rhys that you never did confirm with Azriel if he didn’t already have plans, you just assumed.

But you never have to check in, he has always been there.

“Fuck,” you whisper, walking down the cobbled road back to your townhouse, furiously wiping away the stray tears.

The walk back is quiet for the most part, and you’re thankful that you don’t run into anyone. You would never let yourself live it down if someone saw you in the state that you’re in. You almost make it back, but as you look up, your heart drops and your veins fill with ice as you recognize two figures walking your way. They are so enraptured with each other that they haven’t noticed you yet, so you quickly move over to the edge of the road, hopefully giving yourself enough space that they don’t see you.

You continue walking, arms crossed, and hair falling around you to shield your face, and you’ve just passed them when you spare a glance, making eye contact with him.

Fuck. You walk faster, eyes trained on the ground.

“Y/N?” he calls out, but you keep walking, quickening your pace.

“Y/N! Hey, wait,” he shouts, and this time catches up with you.

A calloused hand closes itself around your arm, effectively stopping you. You whip your head around to face him, and he looks at you in confusion. His form towers over you, and you’re so close you can smell the cologne wafting off of him. You watch as his face crumbles while he looks you over, and it almost seems like he’s panicking.

“Please, just allow me a moment to explain,” he begs, but you shake your head, eyes screwing shut to prevent him seeing the frustrated tears.

“It’s fine, Az, really. I just wish you would have told me instead of having Rhys be the one to tell me where you were,” you whisper, your eyes now trained on his chest, still avoiding his eyes.

If there’s one thing you hate, it’s confrontation. Even if all you want is for someone to feel what you’re feeling, and to confront them about what they’ve done, you can never bring yourself to do it, to hurt them like they had hurt you. So right now, you just want him to let you go so you can let yourself fall apart and piece yourself back together in the comfort of your home.

He is helpless as he sees you put up your walls, trying to keep your emotions in check by shutting them off entirely. It’s something that he’s never been on the receiving end of, and it crushes him to know that he’s who caused this.

A cold whisper ghosts over your wrist, and you look down to find a shadow caressing you anxiously, but it only makes you even more upset, the corners of your lips forcefully tugging down and eyes burning. Blood thunders in your ears, and you can feel your hands shaking, and no doubt Azriel can feel it too, which just makes you panic harder.

“Please, let me go I just want to go home.”

“Y/N,”

“No, Az. Just—”

“Azriel? Is everything ok?” A soft, ethereal voice breaks the moment, your eyes snapping over to the culprit.

You’re horrified as she walks over, the object of your ire making herself known. She looks absolutely breath taking dressed up, and you can’t help but understand for a moment why he would choose her over yourself. She’s absolutely perfect, and you’re… not.

She stops just behind him, placing a delicate pale hand on his back, looking up at him with worried eyes. His gaze snaps from you to her, and it makes you sick as you watch his face soften for her. You take the moment of weakness to rip your wrist away, giving yourself a step to breathe.

Azriel looks between the two of you, confliction painting his face as he tries to decide what to do, but you don’t give him the chance.

“I used to believe that you wouldn’t go as far as this, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He reels back like he was physically slapped, looking back at you in astonishment.

“What is that supposed to mean,” he begs, his eyes wide as his grip grows tighter around your wrist, but if you say what you want to say, you’re going to irreparably damage your relationship with him. Despite how you feel, that’s the last thing that you want.

You sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head, just wanting the conversation to end. “It doesn’t matter. Enjoy your night, Azriel.”

You spin around and high tail it away from him. Although you just want to be left alone, it still makes your heart break even more when he doesn’t try to come after you.

The guilt eats at you again knowing that you ruined his and Elain’s night, but that selfish part of you is glad that you did and made him feel like shit.

Thankfully, you make it back home before you lose it, sobs racking your body as it all comes out. The pain of being pushed aside for someone else yet again comes to a head from tonight’s events. In a fury, you rip off the dress and heels, slinging them somewhere to be found later. You all but drop your jewelry onto the vanity, letting it clatter against the dark wood top. Tears still pour out of your eyes as you rifle through your liquor cabinet, pushing to the back to grab a bottle of dark and strong whiskey, but you slam the door shut as the thought of whiskey being Azriel’s favorite pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.

So instead, you crawl into bed for the night, staining your white sheets with your black-tinted tears.

-

Heavy thudding at your door drags you from sleep, making you groan as you have to peel open your eyes. The sun is blocked out by the thick curtains, confusing you even further as you try to figure out what time it could be. A headache makes itself known, pulsing behind your eyes causing you to groan as you sit up. The thudding continues, and you can’t help but snap.

“Give me a Mother-damned second! Fuck!” You slip from the sheets, stumbling across the room to get to your dresser. You pull a pair of pants and a t-shirt from a drawer, throwing on them on as you make your way to the door. You pray it’s not Azriel, but it’s more than likely it is. He’s the last one you want to see right now. Hopefully, he’s smart enough to stay away for a little while so you can cool off, allowing the whole situation to blow over.

You yank the door open, squinting at the bright sunlight, but they snap awake when you see Mor and Cassian in front of you instead, the latter standing against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“Uh…” You’re at a loss for words, guilty for the way that you had screamed at them.

“Get ready, we’re going to lunch, and you’re going to tell us why Azriel came home like his fucking puppy died,” Mor says, inviting herself in and grabbing you to lead you to your room. You look back at Cassian, eyes begging for help, but he just shrugs. Bastard.

The blonde immediately starts riffling through your wardrobe, picking through dresses and outfits, but you’re not sure what she has in mind. You allow yourself to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Cassian’s footsteps announce his entrance as he takes a seat on your love seat.

“What’s this?”

You pick your head up to see Mor holding your dress that you left in a ball on the floor. Your face flickers for a moment before you reign it back it, allowing the emotionless mask to take place.

“Nothing,” you whisper, letting your head fall back onto the bed.

It’s silent for a moment as Mor and Cassian look between themselves then back to you. It’s obvious something happened between you two last night, and the story won’t come easy from either of you.

The bed dips as both of your friends sit on the edge, one on either side as the flop down next to you. They remain quiet, but the tension and everything that you’ve been feeling makes your chin tremble, and you bite your lip to try and conceal it. But the tears sting at your eyes anyways, making the ceiling go blurry.

You sit up, digging your elbows into your knees, heaving a great sob. A small hand rests itself on your back, rubbing in circles as you allow yourself to finally fall apart.

“He fucking stood me up,” you choke out. “We always go out when he comes back from the camps. I got dressed up and everything, waited at the townhouse for a half hour just for Rhys to show up and tell me he wasn’t coming. Then I ran into him with Elain on the street on my walk home.”

They’re silent as they let you recount what happened last night, Mor’s face twisting as she watches one of her closest friends fall apart in front of her.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Cassian whispers, but you just shake your head.

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fucking fine. He’s either blind or just outright stupid to not see what he’s doing to you.” Cassian’s face is set in a scowl as he thinks about his friend’s behavior after Elain came into the picture.

He knows that his brother has a history of fawning over unavailable women, but for him to entertain one who already has a mate, one that lives with them and wants to engage with her nonetheless, makes him question if Azriel is really that ignorant to the entire situation. It’s not exactly a secret that you harbor feelings for the shadowsinger, but he has been oblivious to the way that you look at him, and Cassian can only imagine how you are with him when no one else is watching.

Mor’s heart breaks while she is helpless watching your face crumble and tears drip off your chin. There’s been a lot that has brought you down, but nothing like this. You keep a strong face around your friends, always trying to be a happy and fun person to be around, letting yourself be the shoulder to lean on when they need it.

Although Mor was the first obstacle between you and Azriel, she was always a good friend to you since you first joined the Inner Circle decades ago. Her warm and confident nature brought you out of your shell when she introduced you to everyone on that fateful night at Rita’s, which in turn brought you to Azriel.

You let your feelings ruin it all, the voice whispers, if you had just kept your feelings in check then you wouldn’t be in this position.

Then, with a deep breath, the mask comes back.

You wipe your face of the tear tracks, sniffling to try and clear your sinuses before looking at Mor and Cassian with a watery smile.

“So, what were you guys saying about lunch?”

A look passes between your friends before looking back at you.

“Well, we thought today would be a good day to try that new place on the Sidra for lunch,” Cassian answers, a slight smile on his face.

“I would love to. Will you two help me pick something to wear?”

“What else would we be here for, angel,” Mor giggles, standing up and taking you with her.

I’m so lucky to have them as friends.

[gt-daboss]

TW: Blood, referring to someone as an It

UPDATED TO INCLUDE MUCH MORE STORY Word Count: ~1300 words (used to be 700)

Crying. The constant, never-ending weak sobs of the creature echoed through the forest as the giant naga fled. Thick and dark, red blood dripped down Harden’s enchanted sword before reaching the tip and spilling off creating a trail of red in his wake. His heart pounded and his muscles ached trying to keep up with the fleeing monster, 

“Leave me alone! I-I didn’t- AH!” The scream echoed somewhere past the treeline followed by a crash. The hunter could has used this to pinpoint its location, but the mess of destroyed vegetation, splattered blood, and the smell of burned skin would allow even an amateur to easily find it, hardly the cunning and masterful predator that Naga’s were told to be.

“N-no… no. Stop! Stop chasing me.” The naga pleaded, its booming voice, high-pitched and scared despite its giant size noticeably louder, the hunter was surely gaining on it, and the naga knew it, its desperation evident in the trail it left. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear, I-I didn’t! I didn’t, why are you doing this to me?! 

The predator eventually devolved into incoherent sobs as the hunter approached, even if it was a novice hunter, a Naga’s senses were second to none. It knows I’m coming. Suddenly the first glimpse of the creature slipped into Harden’s vision. Faint lime green in its color, the massive tail slithered almost inaudibly through the bushes. Even with just a glimpse he could clearly see purple and red streaks littering the appendage, slowing the naga further

Gathering his magic, he channeled it throughout his body and into his greatsword, throwing it forward with a slash. The magic whizzed through the air before disappearing behind the thick foliage and-

“AAAHHH!” A loud, pained scream tore its way through the trees in its horrific spectacle, desperation oozing out of it like fresh blood from the wound it now wore. “Please stop! Please! I didn’t- I didn’t do anything wrong it hurts, it hurts!”

Hesitation

Harden hadn’t felt it for some time now. But even as the wet blood began to cake onto his sword, and the ringing faded from his ears, he continued the chase. It wouldn’t be long now, with injuries like that it couldn’t keep this up.

“No… no I didn’t… I didn’t it hurts, It hurts so bad! Why- Why are you doing this to me!?” Its thundering, echoing wails pierced the forest, so close now, it would only be a moment before-

There

Bursting through the foliage, he finally saw the beast he had been hunting all this time. Hidden partially behind bushes and trunks, the unmistakable lime-green scales showed themself, easily over 200 feet long, Harden followed the tail as it got thicker, eventually tracing it up to the head. Focusing his energy back towards the tip of his blade

“STOP IT!” it pleaded, Harden went still. The creature's eyes were leaking, overflowing with tears despite being closed shut. Heavy breathing and shaking limbs were evident all throughout the naga’s body, even its tail was trembling, only increasing the blood flowing out of its wounds.

“Please, I didn’t-I didn’t do anything wrong, why are you being so mean to me? It hurts. It hurts so bad why, why?” Harden was about to speak up when the naga suddenly burst into uncontrollable sobs, curling in on itself just like how his own daughter did whenever she got hurt. As the wails and sobs continued, Harden found himself lowering his blade, the naga, only but a young girl barely older than his own child, was inconsolable.

With every sob and choke the naga’s body shook violently, no doubt hurting the child even further, but if one was about to die anyway… 

five minutes. Five long minutes he waited while the Naga cried herself away. But eventually, her eyes dried up and her body grew too tired to cry any longer. And when she opened her eyes for the first time since they stopped, she was still met with the human who had been chasing her, attacking her, hurting her, still standing there with his sword drawn.

Noticing her slitted snake eyes had focused on him at last, he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“Why?” The naga croaked, the implication obvious. Harden let out a sigh, debating for a long time how he should word this.

“You…you weren’t what I was expecting” he answered, truthfully. The girl's eyes lit up, for the first time the human had actually responded to her.

"Oh... it-..." She started, and then looked dejectedly downward, clearly not liking his answer. "I didn't... I didn't hurt anyone... It hurts really bad... I-I...I'm so cold..."

Blood loss, he thought. Even for warm blooded creatures such as himself, losing as much blood as she had would send them into a state of-

"Please mister... No more... I just want to..." she mumbled, unable to finish even speaking her own desires. suddenly her stomach growled alerting them both and sending a pained expression throughout her face.

"N-No! I didn't! I didn't eat anyone! Don't hurt me, please! I didn't, I Didn't!"

Harden hesitated for a moment, it wasn't like him to listen to the pleas of the monsters he hunted, it surprised even him that she had convinced him to listen so far. "So then what were you doing at a human settlement?"

The Naga gulped nervously, eyes darting back and forth before eventually looking just off to the side of where Harden stood. "O-Observing..."

"Observing," Harden narrowed his eyes but kept his sword lowered. "You were just, observing them" The naga looked ready to panic all over again, eyes widening but body too tired to run away.

"Y-yes, I, I swear it! I promise, I haven't ever, ever eaten anyone! I just... I just like to look... That's all I was doing, please don't hit me again."

"I wont- I wasn't going to..." He began, before realizing that if this had been any other naga he wouldn't have even hesitated. "WHY were you just looking, It couldn't have been for no reason?"

"Please- I-I uhm... I didn't e-eat anyone but uhm... The cows on mister Jensons' farm s-sometimes wander near the forests edge a-and... I-I..." She looked like she was about to tear up. So that's what this whole thing was about, a stolen cow. Eying the cowering girl in front of him, eyes sunken in, clothes torn, and even though he knew little about Naga biology, he could tell she was underfed.

"I-"

"I was hungry! so hungry please! I didn't- I didn't mean to! I was just hungry! please don't hurt me! I-I... I don't want to die..." Her desperate pleads turned into whispers as her fatigue caught up to her. Harden didn't see a people eating monster anymore. Looking up at her shaking form, all he could see was his own daughter, roughly the same age as the naga before him. It wasn't right, he knew this, to treat a monster like a person, but...

"Okay," he said plainly, and let his weapon fall from his hands. "it's okay... I-I'm not going to hurt you... if what you're saying is true, then I'll let you go." The naga looked like she was about to burst into tears once again before he said that. Luckily, that face was replaced with one of utter surprise.

"You-you mean it? You really-"

"But!" he interrupted "Tomorrow, meet me in this same spot, I can't have you stealing the townsfolks livestock 'cause your a lousy hunter."

"Y-yes of course, I, Th-thank you very much sir..." She looked ready to continue gushing before a moment of realization hit her face. "You-your going to teach me? how to hunt?"

"Yes, is that a problem

"I-I don't think thats a good idea..." she trailed off dejectedly. "my, my momma tried but- but 'cause of my bright tail she- momma... momma said that... that-"

"Then tomorrow we'll prove her wrong, you'll prove her wrong." he said, suddenly more and more of the puzzle that was this naga was being discovered. A naga who doesn't hunt humans... whos scared of them. He knew more than he did originally, but there was still to much unknown... Knowing if he kept pushing such a delicate topic so soon, he could hurt more than heal, so... he resigned himself to discussing it later with her.

"I promise."

[seoliee]

Driving Fear Into Your Heart

Word Count: 2.7k words

Pairing: X x Reader

TW: Cursing, Kidnapping, Stabbing, Yandere Tendencies (Pls read smth else if not comfortable)

A/N: I said this was inspired by X's halloween theme skin, but idk this maybe how I perceived it instead? Anyhow, lemme know y'all thoughts <3

In a dark and hollow forest somewhere near the city. Where only fragments of moonlight shone through the small crevices of the tall trees branches and its leaves. It was eerily silent, until swaying locks of hair pass through the bushes in a haste.

A girl ran barefooted, cracking sounds of dried leaves filled her hearing, leaving a trail behind. Her complexion was pale, fear stricken and distressed. Her body felt sore and drained, it was only sheer adrenaline that made her push through.

Her feet were starting to hurt, forming small cuts and bruises on the sole. She has to stop running at some point, but she can't. Not when she's running for her life.

~*4 days ago*~

She was in the cafeteria, sitting along with her friend at their usual booth and chatting about ramdom stuff. Just like the usual. She was attentively listening when her childhood friend X, came into view along with his own fair share of group.

She found herself falling out of the conversation and instead decided to watch him from a distance. Only did her friend's voice broke her out of the trance with a small nudge.

"Don't stare at him too much or he'll melt." Her friend says teasingly, chuckling at her obvious crush at the lab nerd.

"I-I wasn't staring!" She quickly rebukes her claim, though her blood red cheeks and ear were contradicting it.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Anyway.." Her friend's tone suddenly became serious, which made her get a bit confused as her friend seldom becomes serious during their conversations. "Have you heard about the kidnappings that's happening near the university recently?"

She shakes her head. She's been too absorbed on finishing her research paper these past few days that she blocked out any kind of gossips or news that would distract her from concentrating. She even went as far as to cancel all her plans of hanging out with X.

"There were a total of three missing cases reported and all of them were  students of different universities near our campus."

"The authorities haven't gotten a single clue whether it's a solo or a group operation. Either way, the kidnappers are still out there so do be careful."

Her warning sent a chill down her spine, terrified that such happenings were happening near them. Those poor students, she hopes that they were at least safe and alive.

She sent her friend a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand in a comforting way. "Don't worry. I always walk home with X anyway. You should be careful too."

"Oh, I'll be fine. Besides, I'm going on a date with y'know who later..." Her friend managed to light up the mood immediately by redirecting into another topic that she knew, she would interested in.

"What?? Since when? Tell me the fucking details!" She exclaims hysterically, practically slapping her hands down on the table earning a few strange looks from the people around them. She couldn't care less though.

Alas, the final bell rang throughout the halls signaling the end of the day. Tired groans from her fellow students and a few hastily gathers up their things, wanting to leave immediately.

As for her, she's delighted to walk home with him again after for so long only to be met with disappoinment.

"Sorry, (Y/n). I promised the guys I would hang out with them afterschool so I won't be able to walk you home." X says apologetically, a troubled smile grazing his handsome features.

He could see how your bright and grinning gorgeous face warps into a look of disappointment, making him feel guilty. "I can cancel it though. I'd rather be with you anyway."

The disappointment in her face quickly turns into a sheepish smile as she shook her head for a no. "No, it's alright. I can walk home with my friend instead." She obviously can't make him cancel his plans just for her satisfaction. After all, he has a life of his own.

"You sure? I could really—"

"Hey, X! You coming or what?!" One of his friends yells from a far, having an impatient look while the others grin at him in a teasing manner as they watch the scene unfold.

"Be there in a sec!" He yells back in response, looking over his shoulders with his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He looked back at her in disbelief. "Sorry about that. I gotta go. Remember to text me once you got home, okay?"

"I will." She chuckles, fondly grinning as light pink hue flows to her cheeks. This made X's heart softened, huffing a tiny chuckle as he brush a stray hair behind her ear.

"Be safe, my little lamb."

She watches as he ran up to his friends, some of them teasing him for the little moment they had. She's glad to know he found good friends despite his peculiar personality, he meant well.

~•~

After getting off the bus, the way to her apartment was already a bit dark and somewhat silent than usual at her on time arrival at dawn. Though, that's to be expected as she's staying in a peaceful neighborhood which she should be thankful for.

The soles of her shoes clicks on the pavement on each step she makes, the soft cold breeze of air moving past her ear as chills ran down her spine. Her surroundings were dark, the only light present were from the flickering street lights and the moon above her, which she thinks added to her paranoia.

She doesn't know if it's because she isn't used to walking home alone or is there someone watching her? She swore she could feel eyes from everywhere around her.

As she turned to a corner, footsteps sudden came to light from behind. She didn't thought anything of it, as it could be a passerby or a neighbor. Thankfully, she's near to her home so she briskly walked and much to her surprise, the person behind her began to speed up.

This set off alarm bells in her head, once she could see the light from her porch. She began to ran and screamed for help. However, all hope is lost once she felt a sharp pain struck behind her head as darkness engulf her sight.

~*~

A horrible stench whapped into her nose, as consciousness slowly seeped back into her figure. She pry her eyes open, blinking away the drowsiness as her vision clears up and able to take in her surroundings.

She's sat in the corner of a crusty room, the wallpapers were ripped and moldy. The pipes above her were leaking with merky water which where the awful stench came from. The windows in the room were boarded, as nothing but the gush of wind and crickets were heard from the outside.

She tried to move, but found it difficult as her wrists were tightly bounded together from behind to a pipe. She found it quite hard to breath because of the tight cloth on her lips. Panic fills her body as she heard heavy footsteps, and an unknown man had entered the room.

She glares at him, which made him smirk at her feistiness. He bends down to her eye level, and pats her head. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?"

His breath fans to her face, which made her feel nauseous and wants to puke at the horrible smell of alcohol and poor oral hygiene coming from him. He took off the cloth that's covering her mouth and traced his disgusting thumb across her bottom lip.

She didn't hesitate to bite down on his finger, hard enough to make him scream and recoil his hand away as blood rushes out of the bite. The man was furious and smashed the bottle of alcohol in his hand and points the severed half towards her.

"Don't fuck with me, woman. I can—" He was cut off when he heard a buzz coming from his phone. He clicked his tongue and immediately answers the phone, proceeding to leave the room.

Once he's out of sight, all the energy seeped out of her body as hot tears rushes down her cheeks. Tears trickle down to her knees, as she kept her mouth close to silent her ugly sobs. Her chest felt so tight, she's scared, deeply scared. She didn't think something like this could happen to her. Not when after being warned by her friend.

Then, she saw a faint glimmer from her peripheral vision. She looks up and saw a piece of broken glass from the bottle near her. She uses her foot to reach towards the shard and manages to push it to her side and tries her best to grab it.

Once she successfully got it, she began to slowly cut the rope, but found it to be quite thick and tough for the nibble blade.

It took her roughly 3 days before she could finally cut the rope because she was constantly interrupted by people coming in and sometimes watching over her. She felt drained as she refused to eat anything they gave her, but it didn't matter because she'll be out of her in no time.

She pushed her body up, and slowly walked up to the door, careful not to make any noise. She turns the knob and opens a small gap to peek. It was silent and there was only one man outside, and he was sleeping soundly, practically snoring.

She gently swing the door open, careful to not make it creek as she steps out of the room. She held in her breath as she began to take light steps behind the sleeping man. She sucked in her breath as the man began to turn in his sleep, rendering her still as she kept her eyes on him. Once she deemed it was safe, she continues her way to the door.

She steps out into the cold night, as a smile finally crept to her lips, tasting her freedom. Only for panic to once again surge as one of the men guarding outside saw her and calls to her, alerting the others.

She didn't think twice and ran into the dark woods. She didn't mind if twigs poked the sole of her feet, nor if she stepped on pointed pebbles. She just ran wherever she could, taking sharp turns to confuse her captors.

She could hear their voices getting farther, but she knows she shouldn't celebrate yet as the woods were hollow and wasn't sure if she's heading towards civilization or deeper in.

Her speed slow down as her adrenaline began to dissipate, she's breathless and looks around for any source of life. Much to her surprise, a hand had grabbed her wrist and instinctively she swipped her hand forcefully and elbows whoever it is.

The person grunts and moans in pain, the voice was oddly familiar. The person lights up their phone to their face, and soon she was able to make out who he was.

"You pack a mean elbow, little lamb." X smiles, chuckling despite the stinging pain on his nose. "Makes me think you didn't actually needed me."

His face quickly transforms into a scowl, looking back once he heard numerous of voices barking behind them. Without another word, he took her wrist and guided her out of the woods.

She saw his motorcycle parked by the side of the road, she hopped on and X quickly stepped onto the pedal as they drove away.

Her hands tightly hugged the small of his waist, leaning her head against his broad back as she tries to catch her breath. Her feet were in pain as well as her whole body. She couldn't stop shaking, as she cried on his back.

She felt his hand comfortably brush against hers, which sent butterflies inside her stomach flutter in ease.

"How.. did you find me?" She asks, keeping her head close to his back and listens to his faint heartbeat.

"I finally managed to track your gps using my phone and followed its location." He replies, keeping his voice low and words consise. "Sorry it took me a while. I had to first know your ips before managing to connect. Thank god, your phone is in working order too or I won't be able to track you."

His words flew into her ear, but she couldn't make sense of it as her energy began to lower that's she finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. "Thank you, X."

"No worries. After all, you know I'm always here for you." She could hear the usual smile in his voice. She finally lets herself rest and is unable to hear his next words.

"And I'm all that you need, and no one else matters, my little lamb."

A sickening and sadistic smile curls up to his lips, chuckling lowly.

~•~

X dumps a bucket full of cold water down on the unconscious person tied up to a chair infront of him. The man, jolts awake and flickers his eyes up at X.

"Good, good. You're finally awake. Did you slept well?" X muses, keeping the usual permanent smile on his face.

The man didn't bother to answer, starting to wiggle his way out of the chair in panic. X was displeased by this, but made no action and instead clicked his tongue.

The man finally stopped trying, his energy running low. "You bastard! Why are you doing this, X?! Let me go!"

The man's voice was irritating to X's ears, but he was glad to respond to his question in a simple and conventional manner.

X had walked up to the nearby switch and flicks it. Light began to shine on the wall littered with pictures. Pictures of (Y/n). His cheeks reddens as he took a step closer to the wall, his eyes flickering at each picture he took throughout the years in complete secrecy.

"Don't you think she's beautiful?" X asks the man, which confuses him and found the revelation quite disturbing.

"W-What...?"

"You asked why I'm doing this and it's because of her." X says, turning towards him once more. He took a step closer to a nearby table, his hand brushing against each tool on it. "I am merely protecting her from the filth swarming around her and trying to take what's mine..."

X grips the handle of a sharp and bloodied knife in his hand, taking slow steps towards the now frantic man who's eyes are filled with terror as he tries to reason with him.

X stops infront of him, bending down to his eye level. He moves his face closer to him, keeping his heterochromatic eyes into the man's terrified and shaking ones, a sadistic smile slowly forming on his lips. "This wouldn't have happened if you just kept your distance from her and not end up in the same predicament like the others..."

X had driven the knife into the man's throat, and pulls it back out. He watches as the man gurgle in his own blood rushing out of his mouth. He continues his attack until he was satisfied.

He only stopped a buzz emits in his pocket that came from his phone. With his bloodied hand, he tapped the screen and answers the caller.

"You got her? That's good news!" X muses, as he nods at the following sentences from the person in the other line.

His eyes flickers down to the mutilated and lifeless man in front of him, blood pours down onto the ground and pools around his shoes. He clicked his tongue, thinking he made quite a mess this time.

"Yeah yeah, I got it. Remember, don't touch her. Unless, you got a death wish." X warns before ending the call. He began to walk towards the wall swapped with photos of you, filling his heart with love and feeling of ease.

"Sorry, my little lamb. You just have to learn the hard way this time." X took a certain picture from the wall, looking down on it with a soft eyes and smile. It was a picture of them back when they were still children.

"And this time, with driving fear into your heart. You'll realize that I'm the only you'll ever need and trust after I come and save you."

~•~

I think I flunked this lol.

Thanks for reading though <3

Happy holidays everyone!!!

[strawberryspence]

happy birthday @henderdads! this one's for you my beautiful friend! i am extremely glad you were born! 🍰🥂🥳

-

Truthfully, Steve didn't think he'd live past nineteen. He remembers not wanting to get past twenty.

After everything. After having fought and surviving five silent wars, after studying and graduating, after teaching for years, after being a father, a son, a brother and a friend.

After everything. After Steve lived his life the best he could, he settles down.

He settles down in a field, just outside the outskirts of his childhood hometown. It's a small cottage, a few miles away from Hopper's old cabin. It's usually empty now, but it's there when the gremlins want a vacation. When they just want to unplug and find peace.

Somewhere, a few miles down from Steve's, is a tiny hidden house. Its hidden by shades of trees and vines of flowers. Behind it, is Robin and Nancy's cottage. At first, Nancy wasn't really sure about the idea of living in the middle of the forest. But no one— not even her wife— could stop Robin from following Steve to the ends of this world. Now, they live there most of the year, and half they spend in the city.

There's a soft breeze on his face as Steve slowly braids a flower into a crown with shaky hands. It's from the old age, he thinks. But if Robin was here, she would say it's from all the fights. It's muscle memory, as he weaves through the crown. He must've made hundreds of them when Aurora and Arwen was growing up.

Steve's two little princesses. Not that they're little anymore. His little girls are now women. Running about around the country, doing their own things, leaving their marks in this world.

When he finally locks the last end of the stem from the other part, he sighs with relief. The weather is nice. The sun directly hitting him on his face, the wind cascading and making the trees shake. The sound of it so relaxing, his eyes flutter shut. Steve lays his back on the picnic blanket, he knows he'll regret it later, but what the hell?

He thinks about the life he has lived and the life he is still living. Seventeen year old Steve Harrington didn't even think he would reach this age, didn't think he'd ever be this happy. But here he is. Comfortable in his wrinkly skin, happy.

There's leaves crunching as he hears the soft footsteps of someone walking to him.

"Sweetheart."

Steve peeps an eye open, and at first he doesn't see anything but the bright beam of the sun. But the figure moves, blocking the sun and everything in Steve's whole axis stops.

The figure smiles down at him. There's a few more wrinkles on his face when he smiles. The scar on his left cheek is barely even there anymore. His hair tucked into a small bun and when the wind blows, there's tiny wisps of hair that moves along. He's beautiful. He's always been beautiful. It's been more than forty years, and Eddie Munson still leaves him breathless.

There's rustling as Eddie kneels and sits beside him on the picnic blanket, "Sweetheart, I told you not to lay on the ground. Your back is going to hurt tonight. I swear to God if you say a damn word about it."

Steve snickers, holding out a hand so he can get some help to sit up. Eddie glares at him but takes it, helping him to sit up and sag against the trunk of the tree shading them.

"It's my birthday, Eds. I deserve the birthday massage."

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, "The birthday massage I gave you this morning wasn't enough?"

Steve feels himself blush, nudging his elbow on Eddie, "Shut up."

Eddie laughs. Open, loud and free. Steve will never get tired of hearing it. He moves closer to kiss Steve's cheek, "I can't believe you still blush over the shit I say. We basically have nine nuggets together, that's more than you wanted."

Steve groans, "Will you ever let the Winnebago thing go?"

Eddie smirks at him, bopping his nose with his finger, "Never."

Steve rolls his eyes, but moves closer to deposit the flower crown he made on Eddie's head. The colorful flowers brighten up his whole face, making him look like an actual prince.

"My prince." Steve whispers as he kisses Eddie. It's a chaste kiss. Soft, wonderful, familiar; his husband's lips.

Steve has lived a life with his husband. It's not really Steve who wanted to settle down and retire in the cottage in the first place. It was Eddie.

When he finally got tired of the glitz and glam of Hollywood. Eddie wanted to run away, to somewhere quiet, to some place they could call their home. Steve found this little cottage for the two of them, because he wants to give Eddie everything. But most of all he wants to give him peace. He still writes a few songs. Because he's the most passionate about that. He usually sells it to some newer, younger singer.

"You want to blow your cake?" Eddie asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. Steve didn't even notice that Eddie was holding a small box.

"You know Dustin will be mad if he finds out, right?" Steve asks, as Eddie pulls out the cake from the box. He helps him though, as Eddie sticks a few candles on the homemade cake.

"Eh. What he doesn't know won't hurt him." Eddie winks at him from behind his glasses. He flickers the lighter open and lights the candles.

The wind gives them mercy for a tiny while. The candle fire sway with the wind but doesn't die.

"Come on, big boy. Make a wish."

Steve watches as Eddie holds up the cake in front of him. There's a message on it, written in messy cursive writing. It says, "Happy 60th Birthday, Steve!"

Steve has spent so many birthdays, waking up to this exact image. Eddie holding up a birthday cake and asking him to make a wish. And though, Eddie's older now, with a few more wrinkles and some white hairs, his eyes will always still be that same shade of brown, the same one Steve stared at and fell in love with as Eddie held a broken bottle against his neck. Steve swears he will never get tired of it.

Steve smiles and blows on his candles.

"What did you wish for, Stevie?" Eddie smiles at him, tender and fond and filled with love.

"If I say it, it won't come true." Steve answers, making Eddie roll his eyes.

"Fine."

From inside the cottage, they hear a familiar voice shouting, "Dad! Papa! I am here! I picked up Auntie Rob on the way over. Cause you know, she's always late."

Even from far away, they can hear the gasp of surprise Robin lets out. "Aurora Eunice Munson-Harrington! You really are your fathers daughter!"

There is a cacophony of laughter and giggling. It sounds just like home.

Eddie turns at him, standing up slowly as he offers his hand to Steve.

"Let's go?"

Steve takes it happily, "Let's go."

As he walks towards his home, he sighs in content.

Steve didn't wish for anything else, not when he has everything he has ever wanted. Instead, he whispers a soft gratitude to whatever Deity decided that he deserves this life.

Steve's just glad he decided to live past nineteen to see— to have— this life made just for him.

[lillipad72]

The Annotated Anne of Green Gables ~~ a special rereading

CHAPTER IV ~~ Morning at Green Gables

hello everyone, i am back! i have actually been traveling this past month abroad and have not really had much ability to be on tumblr, but i have returned so expect more from me again!

"I think he's lovely...He is so very sympathetic. He didn't mind how much I talked -- he seemed to like it. I felt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as I ever saw him."

Anne's iconic recurring title of 'kindred spirit' for people she connects with on a deep level probably comes from a well-known poem by Thomas Gray, a very popular English poet, despite only publishing thirteen poems in his lifetime. The poem "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" was found in the Fifth Royal Reader, published in 1873, so it is likely Anne would have come across this term there, but this term is also located in The Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner, published in 1883, and Elizabeth Von Arnim's Elizabeth and Her German Garden, published in 1898. While it is not completely certain where L.M. Montgomery would have first heard this term, odds point to the Gray poem, and based on the timeline of Anne, it appears this would also be where Anne Shirley would have picked it up. That part of the poem goes as follows: "for thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead / Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, / If chance, by lonely contemplation led, / Some kindred spirits shall inquire thy fate," (Stanza 24, 11. 93-96). Gray's poem was partly inspired by the death of fellow poet Richard West and its themes include death and remembrance. This is an interesting place for Anne to pick up from, noting that she herself has experienced loss, most intimately in that of her parents. I wonder if she thinks of herself as her parents' kindred spirit who thinks about them after they passed, and she herself longs for someone who will remember her so deeply even when she has gone somewhere else.

"Oh, I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums. It makes them seem more like people. How do you know but that it hurts a geranium's feelings just to be called a geranium and nothing else? You wouldn't like to be called nothing but a woman all the time. Yes, I shall call it Bonny. I named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom window this morning. I called it Snow Queen because it was so white."

This passage makes it abundantly clear that L.M. Montgomery inspired Anne from her own childhood experiences. This instance is taken almost exactly from her journal. On September 21, 1889, when she was thirteen years old, she wrote: "There wasn't any school, so I amused myself repotting all my geraniums. Dear things, how I love them! The 'mother' of them all is a matronly old geranium called 'Bonny.' I got Bonny ages ago -- it must be as much as two or three years ... I called it Bonny -- I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums ... And it blooms as if it meant it. I believe that old geranium has a soul!" It seems that L.M. Montgomery went through her earlier journals and looked for examples of youthfulness that she could use to create Anne!

next chapter

[mino-diabolik]

DARK FATE — Mystic 「Dark 03」 [CG]

[ Dark 02 ]

[ Location: Eden ]

???: … …Hm?

Fu... Upon what forbidden tree has the serpent coiled up around this time?

—Fade—

[ Location: Unknown — Demon Realm ]

Mystic: Uuh...

Yui: Mys, you're awake!

How are you? Does it hurt anywhere?

Mystic: Ah, well... my head's killin' me.

Yui: Sigh... I suppose that's normal. Ruki said you lost a lot of blood.

Mystic: ... Yeah...

... ... ...

——Yui!

Yui: Eh?! Wha—what's the matter, all of the sudden?

Mystic: Thank Satan, you're alright! I'm glad you made it...

... Uh... where are we?

Yui: This is KarlHeinz's castle... I believe.

Mystic: Karl——?!

( How...? )

Yui: Ruki arrived with you yesterday.

I was so worried... The medic said it was likely you wouldn't wake up for a few more days.

Mystic: Oh, ain't ya a sweetheart, little lamb?

Mystic pulls Yui's cheek.

Yui: Ow!

Mystic: I won't die from somethin' so small. You can't get rid of me that easily.

( Though, my life expectancy might've only been extended because of the Eclipse... )

So... where're the others?

Yui: Oh, you're right! I should tell them you've woken up!

—Fade—

[ Location: Guestroom — Eden Castle ]

Mystic looks at himself on the mirror. He slides a hand over the bandages around his torso.

Mystic: ( Hm... it tingles a bit, but it doesn't hurt anymore.

What kind of dark magic did this doctor perform? )

God, I’m so tired…

He plops down on the edge of the bed.

Mystic: ( … I wonder if KarlHeinz himself is actually aware that I’m here…

I feel like I’m intruding somewhere I really shouldn’t be… )

—Flashback—

Kazuha: Here I believed the lowest scum that aligned himself with Vampires had long since rotted away in his own misery.

—End Flashback—

Mystic: … …

( What am I supposed to do now?

Not only did I deceive them. I fought back. If I ever dare to show my face again, I’m as good as dead.

——And my mother…

What will they do if they figure out she covered for me? )

—Knock, knock—

The door opens. The Mukami emerge.

Yuma: Ya’re a real roach. Just doesn’t die.

Mystic: Thanks, babe. You got my heart burstin’ with love.

Kou: You really took one for us back there, huh?

Azusa: Yeah…

Mystic: Just committin' to my word. Not much else.

Ruki: How are you feeling?

Mystic: A lil' fatigued. It could be worse…

Mystic brings an arm over his shoulder and pulls at his shirt to show off the bandages.

Mystic: ——You tell me.

Ruki: ... It does look like it was a large laceration.

Yui: Hey, Mys, what’s that on your shoulder?

Mystic: Hm? What’re you talkin’ about?

Yui: There. You have a black mark on your shoulder.

Mystic: Ah… Y’all haven’t seen it before, huh?

Yuma: Seen what?

—Rustle—

Mystic: ——This guy here.

Kou: Ohh!

Mystic: It was a gift from a friend.

Yui: A friend?

Mystic: The son of a Vibora. His family specializes in pigments… with a certain twist.

Yuma: What’d ya mean by that?

Mystic: ——Come here.

Yuma: Ha?

Mystic: Just come here, I ain’t gonna bite you!

Yuma reluctantly approaches Mystic’s side. Mystic extends his arm. There is a short spark from the outline of his tattoo. A snake pounces off his skin, chomping its jaws near the Vampire’s face.

—Hiss!—

Yuma: Wha—?!

Yui: Ah…!

The viper hisses. It coils back around Mystic’s arm.

Mystic: Did say I wasn’t gonna bite you.

——His family uses the pigments to make ink. Most are in children’s books, where they create moving pictures.

But, well, it has other uses.

Ruki: Enchanting…

Ruki leans down to inspect it. The snake curiously flicks its tongue at him.

Mystic: Oh? It likes you.

Ruki: Is that so?

Ruki tries to reach for it. Mystic's fingers flex. The serpent flinches back. It tightens around Mystic's arm and swiftly sinks back into the black ink.

Ruki: ... ...!

Mystic: ... ...?

Kou: Hahaha! More like you scare it.

Mystic: Huh... how odd.

( It's never done that before... )

「Monologue」

After awakening, I come to find Ruki has brought me into the Eden, KarlHeinz's castle. Though the wounds have been sealed, I can't help but feel them throb. I know my family will find me—all of us—eventually. The walls of this fortress will only hold for so long.

「 Dark 03 — End 」

[ Dark 04 ]

[steviewashere]

Now and Then and Next Time

(also on ao3)

CW: Major Character Death, Mentions of Cancer, Animal Death (Nothing Graphic)

wc: 2,572, Platonic Stobin Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Parallel Universes, Best Friends in Every Lifetime, Platonic Soulmates, Growing Old Together, Dying Together, Unlikely Friendships, Bittersweet Ending, 5+1 Things

---- 1

There are two dolphins at the aquarium that are always considerably close. Not in a romantic way at all. But as a couple of buddies.

When one gets a mate, the other dolphin is still there. Huddled in close. Constantly brushing under the other’s fin. Sometimes chittering at one another as if having an active, long going, unwinding conversation. They share mealtimes and sleeping spots. Their noses bump each other’s.

One gets too close to the glass of their tank, it crushes its nose. The other immediately forgets what it’s doing and rushes over, nuzzling, cooing, wrapping itself as close to the other as possible. And then they go off together.

Simple as that.

A male and female dolphin that refuse to romantically intertwine. But they appear to be the best of friends. And nobody knows their names, but it doesn’t even matter, they’ve created their own language in which to call one another.

When the male dies first, the female follows closely after. She swims with the dead one for a while. Until the keepers find his body. But she doesn’t let up immediately—actually, she doesn’t let up at all. They have to sedate her, which isn’t their favorite thing to do. And even after they remove his body, she just remains angry. Until, eventually, she just…stops moving.

The tank is empty after that.

---- 2

News headlines are calling it an unlikely friendship.

A squirrel and a fox? No way. 

But they’re right, it’s unlikely and it’s unusual and it goes against the matters of nature. The hierarchies and whatnot. The fox, he should be slaughtering that squirrel and leaving its guts somewhere safe to eat for later. He should be loitering in the forests with fur hanging from his mouth. He should be killing her, that’s what they all think.

Instead, though, she brings him fruit. He brings her nuts that fall off of the trees. They sit in the same clearing of grass, bathed by the warm glow of the sun, eating their share of food, and huddling close for comfort when they finish. It’s the same routine day by day.

In the winter, when she hibernates and he has nothing to do, he just sits under the tree he knows she’s nesting in. Lays out a pile of nuts that he burrows under the snow and the dirt. And he just waits. His nose up towards the tree. Eyes unblinking. And he only leaves every once in a while to get fruit that she would’ve brought or to hunt down a few small rabbits. But he always comes back. And he’s patient.

Yet, he ends up waiting for a long time. This winter, it was harsh. There weren’t many nuts to give to the squirrel during this season. Even if he brought more than necessary. Or at least, he thought he did. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t even enough. 

So, he waits. And he waits. And he waits. Until he grows too impatient. Chittering softly. Yapping up at her tree. But there’s nothing in return.

He just sits. Lays down over the pile of food he’s brought. And falls asleep.

Until, people now realize, neither wake up.

---- 3

A farmer is tugging up the weeds in his garden. Long dandelions that grew out over the summer. He’d let it happen. He’s getting too old to keep up the work on his land, dirtied and sweat stained by the end of every day. And by the end, his joints are sharp with pain, burning under his skin. He just can’t keep up anymore.

He’s finishing the last of the dirty maintenance work before he sells the plot. Before he drives somewhere else and retires. And it’s these pesky weeds that are the last thing on his to-do list.

They’re all a bunch of balls of fluff. Ready to be blown away. Under the guise of granting some wish. And he wants to be greedy with it.

Picks one. This one freakishly long, freckled too. It’s fluff is prominent and almost insurmountable. As if it’s coiffed hair, teased up and stuck still in time by an entire can of hairspray.

He closes his eyes. Feels the wrinkles on his forehead settle. His nose twitches. And he puckers his chapped, smile-lined, thin lips. Blows. The next time his eyes are open, the soft tuft is gliding away from him.

The next one he goes after, he intends to spend on another wish. But before he gets the chance to do so, it blows away naturally.

Tufts combining with the other. Until it’s just a flurry of soft, white movement over the dipping horizon of this farmer’s cleaned up farmland. Never to return. Always to remain with one another.

---- 4

Robins like to eat bugs. And fruits. And seeds. But especially bugs.

So do bats. Only flying bugs.

And though bats don’t come out during the day, the nocturnal creatures that they are, there’s one that likes to spend its time with a particular robin. They sit on the same branch. And it comes along with two beetles in its mouth.

It’s some routine, any outsider would be able to recognize almost immediately.

Because the bat scoots close to the robin. Makes a soft sound. And waits for the bird to open its beak. One beetle goes into the bird’s mouth. The other remains for the bat.

They chirp and make soft sounds amongst each other. Up until the sun sets and the Robin goes off to sleep. The bat returns to its dark cave and settles in for a full night as the other bats travel out to find food. It’s weird that the bat is so different from the others, but it doesn’t mind, because there’s a friend waiting for it in the morning.

That is, except one morning. The bat goes out and picks up two fat, juicy beetles that the others have missed. It flies as fast and as steady as it possibly can, twirling under branches and doing especially fantastic tricks to get to where it needs to go. A tall, simple tree towards the far end of a forest. One nest sitting far up. Supposed to be housing just one robin, no other birds or eggs or anything, really.

And as it flaps itself to a slow stop, settling deep into the twiggy, leaf filled nest, it realizes that there’s no bird to greet it. No sign of a struggle. Or any other birds coming in to mess with the bat’s favorite bird. It’s just the bat in a nest that’s not its own. It tries to make sound, echolocating, hoping for the bird to chirp back at it. Not that the bird would naturally respond, but still, the bat tries and tries and tries. And when there’s nothing left to do, no sounds coming to greet it—it looks over the side of the nest to the forest floor.

There, among fallen leaves and pinecones and heavy tree limbs, is the robin. Unmoving and silent and so, so still. 

The bat immediately dives down. Chucking the beetles off to the side. And it wraps its wings over it’s bird. Remains there.

Remains there and remains there.

Even when the snow begins to fall. And all that’s left is a pile of beautiful, off-white, little bones.

---- 5

This shouldn’t be how we get separated, Robin thinks. Not in a room that’s so white and so sterile and so clean. With thin curtains and windows with thick glass and machines that make constant noise. She shouldn’t be thinking about climbing into bed and wrapping herself around Steve’s wrinkled body, feeling the scratchy coldness of his hospital gown, his white stubble itching the skin of her forehead, and his voice grow quiet and quieter under her ear.

She just shouldn’t. But she is. And he looks so different than when they first met. And she knows that later today, she’s going to go home and wish with every morsel of blood in her body that she could’ve befriended him sooner. 

There’s almost something funny about how they’re the last to go. Their partners long since passed. Friends that have entered and left their lives. People they haven’t spoken to in a long while, who will converse with her over his casket some time in the next couple weeks. But it’s not funny and she’s biting the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from crying and she’s trying so hard to not pick at her fingernails or scream herself hoarse or rip at the thinned hair on her own head.

Yet, this is reality.

He’s got some stupid cancer that’s going to take his wonderful life and Robin was told to come. Because he requested for her. Because he didn’t want to be alone. And he had asked, in a hushed voice with a raspy gasp and a sated glow to his eyes, to be let go.

So, here she is. Taking off her sneakers. Peeling off her cardigan. And leaning down over his thin, scrawny, sagging body. Tapping his shoulder. Whispering, “Can I lay with you? Is that okay?” He just nods. And she watches him struggle only for a second to scoot over. Until there’s enough space for her, too. So she takes her spot. Under Steve’s left arm, his hand nestled over her hip, her head burrowed into his chest, and their legs tangled together. Like they always were in every bed they’ve ever shared, on every floor they’ve watched movies from, in the crevices of every couch where she laid overtop him. And she thinks about how perfectly they fit together.

She thinks about Back to the Future and laughing themself silly. Throwing up in adjacent stalls. Mocking Muppets and Tammy Thompson. Burning their uniforms in his backyard. Singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” until their voices couldn’t even be heard.

Of Family Video and her tape choices. His groaning. His reluctance. The way he’d stand close to the TV and watch anyway. Sharing a box of Sno-Caps that they stole from the sale rack. To which neither ever paid.

Vecna and flambé and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Saturday mornings after a week long battle with final exams when they attended community college. Holding their hands as they got the confirmation that they were graduating. The first time they had space from each other when Robin moved to Brooklyn to be a translator and Steve went to Seattle to be a school counselor. Nightly phone calls and weekly paper letters. Eventually, Facebook pages and MySpace blogs and Twitter accounts, to which they responded to only one another’s posts. 

Thanksgivings and Christmases and New Years. Good food and warmth and each other.

Robin’s wedding when she moved to Massachusetts in 2007. Where Steve was her best man and he shared an embarrassing, simplified story of the night they shared in the bathroom. At the complimentary bar where he got just a little too buzzed and loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his dress shirt and danced to Madonna, to which Robin jokingly called him a slut.

Steve’s wedding in Seattle. To a very beautiful man in 2017. Robin was, of course, his best man instead of bridesmaid. She had a story about the time he came out to her; a tub of ice cream and Star Wars and his confession about Han Solo being so unreasonably hot, to which she made surprising and accurate similarities to his new spouse. The children he eventually adopted. That Robin grew to love. Her cats and his dogs and their interactions online and phone calls and text messages at their fingertips.

When they retired. Both of them moving back to one another’s orbits in the southern part of California. Where he was diagnosed with brain cancer. And she cried like she already lost him. And they were both told that there was not much the doctors would be able to do. He stuck with chemotherapy, for a while, until it stopped working. Where the tumor was declared inoperable. Where he confessed that he wants to go now, on his own terms, after he’s found his peace. And the only person that he wants there—Robin. Because his kids already know and he’s said his goodbyes and…all of them didn’t want to be here when he went, which would’ve been brutally scarring.

Of course she came. Of course she was going to be here.

Her chest has been hurting all of the last few days, today included.

The doctors have already taken care of what they needed to. It’s just a matter of waiting for him to go. But Robin’s not ready. She’s never going to be ready.

“I’m going to miss laughing with you,” she whispers.

“Me too,” he mumbles. Voice already straining, so quiet. Barely vibrating in his chest.

“I had butterscotch ice cream for breakfast. It’s not the same as the one you liked back at Scoops. Is it weird to say I kind of miss it?” She doesn’t get a response, but knows that he’s still listening. She nuzzles in closer. “Watched Back to the Future, too. Remember how confused you were after it? I think I finally understand why you were. That movie is fucking hard to follow sober.” Nothing. He’s still breathing. And it’s so raspy. But his thumb is rubbing against her side. So she thinks it’s alright. For now, it’s alright.

“Back when I first met you, I thought you were annoying. You know that. But I’d give anything to go back in time and knock myself over the head and make myself get to know you sooner. Could you imagine how many other inside jokes we’d have by now? We could make a career as stand up comedians, I just know it,” she insists. “I’ve thought about being your friend for much longer. Sometimes I wish humans could live forever. Like—we could go to your house and force your adult children to build a pillow fort with us and we could go on our phones and send the most horrendous, out of date The Office memes back and forth to each other.”

She lifts her head. He’s looking at her. Eyes filled with tears. More on his cheeks. One of her hands comes up to wipe it all away. “Don’t cry,” she murmurs. “You’re still here with me.”

“Not for much longer,” he chokes out. So quiet.

She shakes her head. “No,” she agrees. “But I still have you.” Her mouth ticks into a tiny smile. “I wonder…Do you think we’re friends in every universe? Like, best friends?”

Steve nods against his pillow. “I hope so.”

“Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m going to be the annoying one in your next life.”

“You already are,” he laughs out.

And she laughs, too. Because she’s going to miss this. She’s going to miss this so bad, it makes her physically ache. He’s not gone, but he almost is. He may as well be. But he’s still breathing.

She lays her head back down on his chest. His heart still thumping under her ear, albeit slower than before. She hums. “I liked being your schmuck,” she admits.

And all at once, the sound under her ear stops.

It’s just her and this ache in her chest.

And she goes, too, not much later.

---- + 1

Two rocks sit on a cliffside overlooking the setting horizon.

---- <3

[riddlecrux]

our souls are knit into one

Chapter I (ao3), Chapter II Aemond Targaryen & Lyrra Stark (OC) Summary: As far as her knowledge of beauty goes, the second prince reminds her of the icy wilderness of the northern lands - his hair white as the snowflakes dancing on the cold air, his one eye lavender like the sunsets under Weirwood tree. Standing in the shadows of the princess’ chamber, she listens to his voice, a softness of snow under her feet resonating in the bones of her small body. An oddity, for sure - that a prince of flames could look like the ice cravings of the old northern tales.

i ( I loved you before I was born. It doesn't make sense, I know)

There is no iciness of the air, no fresh grass moving under her feet. There is nothing that reminds her of her home, of its cold yet warm landscapes and snowflakes drifting in the winter’s daze on the broad daylight. If the North was a desolate kingdom, full of magnificent coldness which she gladly accepted as part of her bloodstream, the South was a blazing inferno of dust and hot stickiness clinging to her body.

The heat barely manageable creeps upon her from every side as she ventures towards the looming steps of the Red Keep. The yellow stone in which it is built, shines like a wheat on a spring field in the unforgiving sun, blinding her eyes while she squints to admire the architectonic monster before her - it's truly dreadful, too big and too lavish. 

Nothing like the wooden keeps of her family land. 

‘One would think they shit in gold,’ one of banner men behind her snorts, gaining a hearty laughter coming from different sides of the entourage. A quick glance behind her shoulder and the joy evaporates from their tired faces. It must be done, she muses as she averts her eyes and clenches the hem of her long sleeves. If a disrespect were to be found within their group - she fears that her presence would be a rather sour reminder of that, and she wouldn’t have that. 

Her uncle, rarely emotional and large in his grand persona, was reluctant to let her go, to let her enter the dragon’s den while being a lone wolf. A one that instead of fangs had moth’s fragile wings that could be snapped in a twitch of a wrist, if anyone dared. Indeed, what was better than to pretend to be a thing her family banner stands for, rather than cover behind her own foolish fear and never lasting dreams. She often thinks that if she hadn’t possessed any of her uncle’s strength nor her brother’s sharp as knife wit, she must have gathered characteristics of her mother. 

Thinking about her made Lyrra hurt - her heart would squeeze in the small cage of her bones, and something would break inside her with a thundering sound of cries and pleas. No one spoke about her mother, not even a gust of wind - she was laid in the stone, forever uncaring in her perpetual state of nothingness. So, Lyrra carried on, her whole life tainted by the death she has caused, like a stigma planted on her before she could even breathe. 

‘Lady Stark, I presume?’ a grating voice slashes the space which has consumed her inner thoughts. A large, handsome man in a glittering armor stands before her, his sword trapped under his gloved hand. His brown, intelligent eyes stop at her clan folks and if she had to guess - he had probably already counted how many of them hover behind her back. 

She catches her dress and curtsy with a slight smile on her lips. ‘The road was a long one, but I’m here on the Queen’s command,’ Lyrra’s posture flatters when he steps down and makes her a way towards the brownish door.  

His baritone breaks another silence that occurs in the courtyard. ‘I shall lead the way. The Queen is waiting,’ before she can muster an acknowledgment his cloak swirls on the floor, long strands of his hair falling from its place. She casts an assessing look to her guards and follows through the stone hall of misery she knows lays somewhere deep inside it. 

ii ( I saw your eyes before I had eyes to see )  

After a quick talk with the Queen Alicent her duties are laid before her, a greatly important ones , the Queen says with a playful smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She’s beautiful, the woman in front of her. But beneath that loveliness Lyrra sees something broken, scarred - a flicker of hidden emotions arrive at the mask of royalty only to disparate when another information sweeps past through her redden lips. 

She listens and nods - not so much talking on her part, and what is to believe a necessary trait for a princess's lady in waiting. Her fingers tremble under the grayish sleeve when the Queen’s stare turns into a calculating one. Assessing her person must have been the first thing she had wanted - the most sought one, of course, her being a pivotal wager that holds her kin’s interest in that side of the coin. The faces of war she has witnessed were only feather like memories of flour and mud slapped against her cheeks while running through kitchens of Winterfell along with her brother. Never has she thought that she will be standing here, in the Red Keep, as a token of war - not the most important one, but one nevertheless. 

‘My daughter is quite peculiar,’ Alicent’s face twists, and she can spot a motherly concern shining underneath the Queen’s armor. ‘But as meek as she is, she is my blood and I wish her to be well taken care of,’ her palm rests under her chin when the green dress explodes in its color as the rays of sun slip through the window. ‘I trust you with my most treasured child,’ there is a vulnerability in her voice, a tether of love so pure and strong that Lyrra almost tastes its power on her tongue. 

She nods, silently and obediently. ‘I shall keep princess’s happiness and content at the most regard,’ the room basks in the sunlight, but the heat is slowly driving her mad. The beads of sweat travel down her spine, woolen clothes drinking its liquid like a sponge. 

Alicent’s gaze returns to her eyes as if she was looking for some treacherous attempt at flattery, probing and testing her with prolonged silence. 

‘I trust you will accommodate rather quickly. You look like a smart girl,’ a knowing spark passes between them, and Lyrra nods. 

The pawn has been placed on the chessboard. 

iii (And I've lived longing for your ever look ever since)

Lyrra doesn’t count days. Each one, warm and tedious, wanes in contrast to the nights during which she stares at the unmoving landscape of her gilded prison. For what the fancy dresses and beautiful chambers are - but nothing like a prison that holds her with the contempt of changing the tides of power. She supposes that maybe her aloof demeanor is what the Queen was after, maybe her silence accompanied princess Helaena well. 

As for the princess, Lyrra is content - her silver haired companion is nothing but a lovely lady. She’s as sweet as lemon cakes and winter sugar drops. Her words tumble out of her in incoherent sentences, but the sheer joy Lyrra feels whenever the older girl smiles at her makes up for all the longing she harbors inside of her heart. If anyone saw them, they would have thought that both her and princess were inseparable friends since their childhood - that’s how close they became during her time here. 

They usually spend days on walking through the gardens, sitting under the trees and watching insects crawling down the bark - the princess presenting her facts about these little friends with a blushing face and wild grin on her pale face. She likes those moments, when the worry vanishes from her body and mind. When she can pretend that she’s back in the North under the red leaves of her home. 

The court is oddly silent, but to her dismay, it won’t be long before it erupts in a political blizzard. 

iv ( that longing entered time as this body )

The first time she sees Helaena’s husband is also the first time she is met with the second prince. 

They are oddities, she thinks as she looks between the brothers - one sharp as an arrow, the other one almost lifeless in his boredom. While trying to pinpoint the differences, her mind stops as an inward and pompous idea clouds her judgment. As far as her knowledge of beauty goes, the second prince reminds her of the icy wilderness of the northern lands - his hair white as the snowflakes dancing on the cold air, his one eye lavender like the sunsets under Weirwood tree. Standing in the shadows of the princess’ chamber, she listens to his voice, a softness of snow under her feet resonating in the bones of her small body. An oddity, for sure - that a prince of flames could look like the ice cravings of the old northern tales. 

‘Does the North see summer?’ The question startles her, and with a start she moves towards the table and sets the tea before the Targaryen siblings. The crown prince stares at her with disinterest, but an uneasy feeling circles under her ribs when he awaits for her answer. 

‘Not the warmest one, I say, my prince,’ her fingers shake when she pours the tea into his white cup. ‘It’s mostly cold,’ she adds, moving to the second prince’s side. He smells of leather and sandalwood, his eye watching her even though she is far beyond his peripheral vision. Averting her own eyes, she spots scars traveling across his hands, deeper ones disappearing between his knuckles. 

A short snort stops her movements. ‘They say winter cunts are as cold as the landscape. It seems ‘twas truth,’ her spine prickles with a heat of embarrassment. She quickly puts a luxurious piece of tart on the princess’s plate and goes back to the shadows of her solitude. She could stand and engage in the conversation with them, her status allowed her so, but the terror she feels next to the Aegon makes up her mind. 

There is something twisted in his eyes when he probes the surrounding her darkness. A wicked sort of cruelty shines in the violet of his irises as he sips the tea she poured. 

The other eye that watches her - burns. 

v (the longing will outlive this body)

‘Do you wish to see your brother train?’ Lyrra’s hands are full of Helaena’s silver hair, an attempt at a braid on the top of her small head. She squirms a little, holding a centipede on her tiny finger with a soft smile ghosting on her full lips. 

‘Yes,’ she wiggles her palm and the insect crawls onto the wooden surface of the vanity. ‘I long to be in the open space,’ the princess pats Lyrra’s wrist with an encouragement.  

Sometimes Helaena surprises her. Not only with riddles she waves into simple conversations, but also with her unyielding love and support for her scarred brother. If she talks about her childhood, it’s only prince Aemond present in all these stories, and if anything the way she presents those tales make him sound like a knight of dreams every young woman held onto in some time of her naive period of romantic influence. 

‘Then we should scurry before the training ends,’ the younger girl whispers with a sly smirk. 

A shrill laughter erupts from Helaena’s mouth before she runs towards the training grounds, Lyrra a few steps behind her. Her loose hair trailing behind her, golden-brown tresses shining in the sunlight like a banner of her heart. 

In these moments, she forgets about the place she’s in, she forgets the scorching heat bearing down upon her and all the sounds of raging dragons flying above her head. She forgets about the burden of her presence at the court and wishes these fleeting seconds of freedom and happiness would last longer than drawing one’s breath. 

She stumbles behind Heleana, her arms going up to her shoulders to steady herself - the older woman giggling at the disarray of not lady like behavior. Both of them seem to need a breather after their spontaneous run, a joy written on their flushed faces. 

‘I’m afraid your hairdo is lost and gone somewhere in the corridors,’ Lyrra smiles, watching princess shake her head to tumble her hair forward.  ‘You don’t like it plaited, do you?’ She asks, knowing the answer. 

‘It’s dreadful,’ the lavender hue of her eyes sparkle in the day’s warmth. A small crease arrives at her beautiful face, leaning forward on the stone balustrade the princess quickly grips Lyrra’s hand. Their feet tapping the stairs so fast that their skirts barely leave any traces of their mischief. 

There is a small circle surrounding two men fighting, a lot of screeching and yelling coming from the crowd, but what catches Lyrra’s attention is the silver of hair flying inside that brawl. 

‘Aemond is a great swordsman,’ his sister provides, elbowing through the young boys. ‘We should watch,’ her voice is soft but Lyrra hears it anyway. When they finally stop in the closer ring of the watchers, her view expands and to her utter astonishment, the second prince is stripped of his shirt. His pale body moves like a wild serpent, gleaming in sweat that drops from his tall frame - the beads looking like diamonds under the blazing sun. He is swift with his sword, as if he was a part of it somehow. A unity of agility and precision, sharp as the needle. 

The beauty of the duel stuns her, the sounds escaping him echo through her with an unknown to her feeling - a warmth, spreading under her skin, one not related to the heat of the King's Landing. Her throat quivers, a soft sound escaping her mouth when the prince disarms his opponent, the tip of his weapon aimed at the vein on the fellow’s neck. 

‘By now you would have been dead,’ his silky voice is deadly, an underlying iron edging on the border of insanity sweeps through his lips. ‘One strike,’ he adds with a theatrical shove. 

When the people start to clap, Lyrra finds her unable to tear her gaze away from the expanse of his almost white skin. His muscles working and twisting, tendons stretching without difficulty. It’s as fascinating as it is dangerous. He is, she muses.  

‘And why would two ladies find themselves here?’  She’s sure that he hadn’t looked in their direction at all. He couldn’t have done that with just one eye, at least. It’s primal, some sort of emotion that tears at her chest when she slowly exhales. 

‘The one who maims the wolf, loses his hand,’ Helaena’s cryptic sentence brings Lyrra back to the training yard, and with a whirlwind of feelings she slowly touches her princess. ‘ A debt almost paid,’ her lips are barely moving, eyes wide open staring at the blue sky unblinkingly. ‘ The beast will make the fire rain upon us,’ then she slumps against her, silver locks twisted from the heat and exhaustion. 

‘We shall return to the chambers, my princess,’ cooing to her, Lyrra catches Aemond’s stare. 

She doesn’t know if the sun burns her more or if it’s his eye. 

[dalgursbate]

in the land where no gods answer (1/?)

Summary:

Faun awakens to a sky on fire. The verdant floor of the Forgotten Forest is nowhere to be seen. Gone is the lush moss, the beds of wildflowers. Gone is the dense canopy of shadowtop trees that normally eclipses her sun. It hurts her eyes, this sudden influx of angry red light; it causes thin tears to stream down her cheeks from the unfamiliar intensity, blurring her vision until she has to swipe at them with dirty hands. The ground beneath her is the slick, shifting black of an oil spill, and jagged cracks of quartz shoot up like tiny knives to slice at her bare skin. The air reeks of sulfur, and pools of lava bubble and belch distressingly near to her; in the distance, a wine-dark river stretches past the horizon and further still. She’s in the Hells, she knows; she just doesn’t understand how she got here. — The Nautiloid never makes it out of Avernus. This is the story of how the party crawls their way out of Hell, led by a silent tiefling druid and the vampire who reluctantly falls in love with her.

Pairing: M/F, Astarion/F!Tav Rating: T WC: ~1400

Faun awakens to a sky on fire.

The verdant floor of the Forgotten Forest is nowhere to be seen. Gone is the lush moss, the beds of wildflowers. Gone is the dense canopy of shadowtop trees that normally eclipses her sun. It hurts her eyes, this sudden influx of angry red light; it causes thin tears to stream down her cheeks from the unfamiliar intensity, blurring her vision until she has to swipe at them with dirty hands.

The ground beneath her is the slick, shifting black of an oil spill, and jagged cracks of quartz shoot up like tiny knives to slice at her bare skin. The air reeks of sulfur, and pools of lava bubble and belch distressingly near to her; in the distance, a wine-dark river stretches past the horizon and further still.

She’s in Avernus, she knows; she just doesn’t understand how she got here. Try as she might, Faun cannot remember much after the last dawn—or rather, what she hopes was the last dawn. And what she can recall is hardly comforting: a ship, an illithid, the violative feeling of a parasite being inserted into her mind. 

Then, nothing.

That is concerning, she thinks to herself. I need the aid of a healer, and soon. 

She doubts those are in abundant supply in the Hells, however.

For now, then, Faun must focus on finding shelter: somewhere dark enough to shield her from the eyes of the predators that roam this blighted realm. Roughly a mile away from her, a crooked, inky mountain juts from the earth like a shark’s tooth. Perhaps if she’s lucky, it might house a cave within its surface.

As she stands, her body aches from damage and exertion she has no memory of, her muscles screaming at her in an insistent throb. There’s a taste in the back of her throat like a rotted nightmare, the dry squeeze of her esophagus foretelling an imminent need for water. And despite the thick calluses she’s developed on her feet from years of traversing the forest barefoot, Faun winces when she takes her first step across this plane’s sharp, crystalline crust. 

Her outlook is bleak; that much is obvious. Unfortunately, she has no choice but to persist in spite of that.

Faun keeps walking.

After what feels like hours of slow, arduous travel, she arrives at the steep outcropping of shattered obsidian. It looms ahead of her, as dark as eternity and equally as daunting. The soles of her bare feet are raw and bloody like chewed meat, and the way the heat is exacerbating her thirst has made her lightheaded.

However miserable it was to trek to this point, though, Faun knows that actually climbing is going to be infinitely worse. And yet, she hooks her fingers around the most blunted shard she can find and begins her ascent, angling her body as best she can to reduce contact between the summit’s knifepoint ridges and the flesh that houses her vital organs. 

It is not as though she has many viable alternatives; she can hear how the shrieks of hellspawn punctuate the oppressively hot air. She’s not sure how long she could survive without a refuge where she can heal herself and formulate a plan for her own survival. Thankfully, by some small mercy of Silvanus, she doesn’t end up having to scale the entire mountain in order to find somewhere to lay her head: not too far up, there is a bluff with an inset cavern that seems serviceable to her ends.

Faun is struck by the first ounce of relief she has felt since waking; now that she doesn’t have to climb any longer, her hands are free to cast a minor healing spell on herself, to speak the incantation in place of her uncooperative mouth. As the cool blue energy washes over her, calm and comforting, she heaves a grateful sigh. 

Her gratitude is short-lived, because the second she enters the cave, she is tackled to the ground by an unseen presence. Instantly, panic floods her system as she wonders what monstrosity might have attacked her, whether these might be her last precious moments. At least, until she feels the cold press of a dagger to her throat and realizes her attacker is not a demon, but an elven man.

“Not a sound,” he hushes her, and under different circumstances, she’d laugh at the irony. “Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

Faun longs to struggle, to push him off, but she is so very tired; she needs to conserve what’s left of her strength if she has any hope of making it out of this. She stills in his grasp.

“Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?” he asks. “Nod.”

Faun nods.

“Splendid,” he smirks meanly. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

That, she thinks to herself, might be a bit of a problem. 

“What, have the mind flayers cut out your tongue as well, or are you just too stupid to speak?” His tone is thick with derision. “How about this: tell me, or I’ll—” 

His speech is interrupted as he recoils violently from her at the sudden intrusion into both of their minds. In an instant, their consciousnesses are as one, and she is seeing the world through his eyes, and he through hers. The parasite, evidently, has the power to connect them, allowing them to share in one another’s perceptions. And for the first time that Faun can recall, her thoughts do not belong solely to her. 

If only she were delivering a more dignified sermon. Because currently, the only thing she is thinking is please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me. He cocks his head at her in bemusement.

“Begging tends to be more effective when done aloud,” the man notes absentmindedly.

I don’t speak, Faun thinks, and it’s odd to have this avenue of communication open to her suddenly when she has gone so long without it. On the one hand, she is grateful it is prolonging her life. On the other, it is no less uncomfortable than the prospect of speaking aloud has ever been. Still, in the interest of self-preservation, she continues, But you must have seen from my memories that I know nothing more about the illithid tadpole than you do.

Looking at her a touch strangely, he asks, “Are you silent because you can’t talk, or because you won’t?” But he drops the knife from her throat and allows her to stand, clearly having deduced that she is no threat to him.

Can’t, won’t, she shrugs. Does it really matter? Either way, I don’t.

“You are perhaps the oddest tiefling I’ve met to date, and that is saying something.” He pauses. “You are aware that you’re naked, yes?”

Faun just looks at him, unimpressed; this interaction has been a good reminder of why she detests the trappings of civilization so ardently. 

“Well then,” he continues, apparently unbothered by her lack of response, “I suppose we ought to help one another. Normally I’d much rather go it alone, but needs must and all that.”

She really does not like the idea of willingly journeying with another person, but even she has to concede that their odds of survival are better together. Faun conveys as much through the parasite.

“Wonderful,” the man claps. “The name is Astarion, by the way.”

Mine is Faun, she replies.

His eyes reflexively glance at the speckles of white that mottle her pale grey skin, at the branching horns that twist from her scalp like antlers. Mercifully, he says nothing.

Our first goal should be to find a source of freshwater, if such a thing even exists here, she thinks. I fear I am nearing dangerous levels of dehydration.

Silently, Astarion reaches into his pack and pulls out a bottle of water. He tosses it to her. 

She cocks her head in surprise. Won’t you need this?

“You need it more,” he shrugs, noticeably avoiding her gaze by glancing off to the side. “Consider it a favor, and one you’ll owe me payment for.”

That strikes her as curious. Faun looks at him closely, then—takes in the dull pallor of his skin, the shocking speed and grace with which he moves.

The obvious scar on his neck.

I can accept those terms, she thinks to him.

After all, she’s in no position to argue with a vampire.

[heranubis]

LAST HOUSE IN THE BAYOU: Infernal Alex Keller mini-series ◇ chapter II. PURPLE LOOSESTRIFE ◇ img cred ◇

For the first in a very, very long time - you dream about the house again. You're small again and everything is hazy - your footsteps echo louder than they should when you walk down the hallway that seems to go on forever. You get the feeling you're being watched, but the eyes in the pictures along the walls only stare ahead. You swear one of them blinks - if only for a moment - but then all is still.

And then you hear the hooves. Soft thuds that're loud in their own right as they follow behind you - slow, thunderous, hunting. You are small and scared and whatever is behind you wants to hurt you; or so your mind screams. But louder than the voices screaming in your head is one you haven't heard since you were a child. The old woman. Her voice now is more... firm, angry.

"You shouldn't be here" she says, and you feel clawed hands resting on your shoulder. You are small ans scared and whatever is behind you is holding you. And you feel a long, thin tail as it wraps around your ankle. Demon is the only thing your mind can think - and you do what little you would have done. You cry.

There is nothing soft about these tears, they are loud and ugly and full of emotion. The clawed hand on your shoulder lets go, but leaves behind a warm sting. The old woman stands before you now, and her face is still blurry but you get the distinct impression she's smiling at you. "Welcome home, lil' one" she whispers fondly. And for a moment, just a single breath, the sting goes away.

- ◇ -

You sit up in bed, sweating and gasping and looking around with wild eyes. You know very well what that was. It was a warning. In the years of your family's abscence, something... dark has made it's den between these old wooden walls. Long since have you believed in spirits, especially those who still seem to haunt from childhood, but not once have you ever felt something so... malicious.

And for a moment, just a quick blink-of-the-eye, there's a figure standing in the doorway. The first thing you notice is how tall he is, and the second are his hooves. The tail that whips behind the figure almost angrily, how it curls and lashes and there's a sharp spade at the end. You can't see his eyes but you feel the anger he looks at you with. "You shouldn't be here" he says - your chest hurts, a deep burn that fades into a sting. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The figure is gone - the doorway is empty and you can breathe again. You're somewhere between tears and terror, because you're nowhere near the old house. How far can this thing follow, how long will it torment to get its way. Just as everything seems to close in, you feel a familiar comfort settle over your shoulders. And a thought comes to you - the old bottle tree, how it seemed to laugh in joy when you first came back to the house.

An idea comes to you - one that soothes you enough to sleep again.

- ◇ -

The next morning, you have a bottle and twine clutched tightly in hand as you walk up the old pathway. It's a whiskey bottle - the only one that called out to you, the one that now feels right in your palm as you look up at the old, large tree. The limbs seem to bend down for you to reach, the breeze kissing your cheeks as you quickly tie half of the twine around the neck of the bottle and the other around the branch.

"I don't know your name" you say, almost hesitant. The bayou is silent as if every creature is lurking and waiting, outside observers to this unknown fate of yours. "I don't know who you are, but I put a bottle on the tree. For you." There's a brief sound, like something trampling down the stairs inside - something running to the door.

But you see nothing, the door doesn't open nor are there any shadows. There is only silence, and a foreboding feeling. You square your shoulders and put on a brave face, fists lightly cleanched as you walk up the stairs. "This is my home, my family's home - and I won't let you chase me out. I don't know what you are, or what you want. But if you want to hurt me, you can get the hell out."

And you'd swear to anyone who'll listen - that something curled around your leg and a voice hisses in your ear. "No" it says. "You shouldn't be here. And now you're mine."

- ◇ -

You continue working on the house as planned - dusting old furniture and deep cleaning the windows to let in more sunlight. You ignore the feeling of being watched, blindly shake your leg when you feel his tail try to curl around it. That's the most he touches, but he watches constantly.

There's been no need of a name for him, nor does he offer one up - perhaps it's better that way. There's power in a name, control over the soul - or what remains of one. So you call him demon, and he calls you 'mine'. His favorite way to bother you is clicking his hooves against the ground, though one sounds distinctly more metallic than the other. You never look at him long enough to figure out why.

He follows you to the motel, some nights. Stands at the end of your bed while you sleep, simply watches you. And other nights, he stands in the old wooden doorway and growls at you to not come back. You never listen - this was your home first, and you'll not be chased from it. His presence draws forward others who have long since tried to rest - and now many ghosts walk the hallways of the house in the bayou.

The demon is like an invasive weed, crawling into roots and trying to strangle out the others. But what he doesn't know is that you're a gardener - and you care deeply for the flowers that bloom in the cracks of the old wood.

[keicordelle]

Chapter 19: Crossroads. The time has come. Thancred has to make a decision: do the right thing and part ways with Urianger, or give into selfishness and stay.

(I think we all know what he's going to choose.)

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

-

Urianger swam to the surface of his own mind, trudging through the slurry of his thoughts to consciousness. Pain radiated crosswise along his chest, but it was dull, distant, like the old ache of an ancient injury aggravated again by an imminent rain. Beneath that, his muscles burned from overuse, a stitch cramping at his side and his feet throbbing painfully. The heavy weight of empty mana reserves blanketed him like a full body bruise, crushingly hollow and entirely uncomfortable. He could feel it trickling back in, filling up that empty space within him, but it was slow and awkward. He must've really overextended himself.

What had happened? Why was he so sore? They’d been on their way back to Il Mheg, passing beneath the purpled leaves of Lakeland's trees, and... They'd been ambushed. Right. Soldiers in Eulmore's colors, there to take back Minfilia no doubt. Thancred had been an avatar of destruction on the battlefield, and Minfilia and Urianger had fought at his side, aiding him with spell and with steel. And then— oh.

He opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. Where was he? Was Minfilia okay? Was Thancred? Where were they?

Fresh pain lanced through his chest, and then Thancred was there, his rough hands gentle on Urianger’s shoulders as Thancred caught him before he could injure himself further. "Urianger! How do you feel?"

Resoundingly terrible, but he couldn't let Thancred know that. Knowing Thancred, he already blamed himself for allowing them to be ambushed in the first place. "I will be fine in but a moment," Urianger said. Thancred’s eyes narrowed at the strain in his voice, concern swimming in their familiar hazel depths. It was reassuring to have him there, watching over him as while he recovered.

Urianger’s gaze slid past Thancred's to take in the room around them: an old shack, its stone walls crumbling and the furniture that remained worn and weathered. One of the rather ubiquitous homesteads abandoned in the Flood of Light, no doubt. Thancred had drawn a chair up alongside the bed, his coat in a haphazard pile half-slung off the seat. Had he been asleep? Using his coat as a blanket, perhaps, seeing as the blanket from his pack was bunched at Urianger’s waist, fighting back the chill that crept through his bones. Minfilia was nowhere to be found — either she slept in another room somewhere, or Thancred had asked her to keep watch so he could maintain his vigil.

The thought of Thancred watching over him spilled warmth through Urianger’s chest — warmth, followed by the sharp tinge of over strained muscles and under-healed flesh. His lips twisted in a grimace, and he reached for the healing magics that slumbered within him, drawing on his exhausted reserves of aether. Golden light sputtered to life about his fingertips. His control wavered as fatigue flooded through him, but he tightened his grip on the magic. It stung as it sank into his skin, tingling along the edges of the wound in prickling pins and needles, and he held back a wince. It shouldn't hurt like that. The wound had healed more than it ought to have for the magics to take full effect, half-healed flesh crawling as it knit itself back together.

But the pain faded as the spell sank into his skin, leaving behind only a lingering ache to remind him of the dreadful wound that had threatened his existence. He felt a great deal better in its absence — physically, at least.

Internally, he felt a fool. So long had he sworn that he could support and aid Thancred in battle, only to nearly be struck down when first the opportunity presented itself. If Urianger wished to be of help to Thancred, he had to do better. He ought to have predicted that blow and avoided it, or at least evaded the brunt of it.

"I apologize for my carelessness," Urianger said.

Thancred's head swung up, surprise furrowing his brow. "You have nothing to apologize for! It was my fault. I should have been more careful. If I hadn't failed you, you would never have been hurt in the first place. If anything had happened to you, I would have—" He cut himself off, mouth twisting viciously. His hands fisted against his legs, eyes dropping to stare at the frayed edge of the blanket draped over Urianger’s waist. “We should part ways here.”

What?

Urianger’s heart stilled in his chest. All he could do was blink at Thancred, distress welling beneath his breast to eat at his stomach.

Thancred continued before he could find the words to protest. "With Ran'jit's forces aware of our location, it wouldn't be safe for us to return with you to Il Mheg. We'd bring the whole of Eulmore down on your head."

"We know not that our foes betrayed our location to their leadership," Urianger hurried to interject. "We dispatched all who stood against us, did we not? It's entirely likely that they had not the opportunity to report our presence. And in any case, we are as yet sufficiently far from the fae lands' border that 'twould be difficult to divine our destination. There is no reason for Ran'jit to assume our intent. The danger is minimal." Urianger’s eyes dropped to his hands, fidgeting with the blanket around his waist. It smelled like Thancred. "And moreover... I do not wish to be parted from thee. So... Please. For a little while longer, at least. Stay by my side."

Thancred was going to regret this. He could feel it in his bones, even as he let Urianger's words sink through his ears and straight into his heart. Because... he didn't want to leave either. It was the smart thing to do. The safe thing, for Urianger and for Minfilia both. But... he liked the warmth he felt when he was with Urianger. Even as nervous as Urianger could make him, Thancred liked having him next to him, and being able to reach over and touch him. He liked kissing him — but more than that, he liked just having him there. He liked the sound of his laughter, and the sleepy look in his eyes when he first woke up. He liked the way his stubble grew out over the purpled lines of his tattoos and the way his bottom teeth were slightly crooked. And he liked the way his heart fluttered when he heart Urianger say that he wanted him to stay.

"Alright," Thancred found himself saying. Surprise widened Urianger's eyes, as if even he hadn't expected Thancred to agree. In the next instant they softened, something warm and sweet filling their honeyed depths where they held Thancred’s. "For a little while longer, at least."

The weight of the decision settled heavily over Thancred’s heart as he helped Urianger sit up and drink from his waterskin, arm tucked tightly under his shoulders. It changed nothing; they would trek back to Il Mheg and return to their routine, endless days filled with tedious patrols and secret kisses just like they had been for moons.

And yet...

It changed everything. For the first time, Thancred had ignored his duty, ignored the safe choice and the right thing and chosen to follow his own selfish desires. And with Urianger smiling at him like that, bruised and battered but beautiful, he couldn't even feel conflicted about the decision.

It wasn't until later, when Urianger had recovered his strength enough to move, that worry wheedled its way back into Thancred’s heart. Stained bandages unraveled beneath Urianger's hands, a soft expanse of pale flesh exposed — and there, bisecting the middle of his chest, a neat pink line carved into his skin. Nothing like the angry wound that had been there mere hours ago, ragged and dangerous, but that knowledge did not soothe the tangled knot that twisted in Thancred’s stomach. A permanent mark etched into Urianger's flesh because of his failure.

Thancred would not let it happen again. Even if it meant leaving him. Even if it meant abandoning the man that he—

[Kofi/commissions]

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 15

Chapter 14 || Index || Chapter 16

It was a warm greenleaf day as Fireheart trotted merrily through the forest. Birdsong drifted through the trees, a warm and sweet melody that seemed to lighten his paws until he was almost floating along. Squirrels scampered through the foliage, as mice raced across tree roots. Prey was plentiful, and even though he was supposed to be out on patrol, his mouth watered at the thought of sinking his teeth into a juicy vole.

Surely a little hunting wouldn’t hurt anything, he thought as he lowered himself into a hunting crouch. After all, there hadn’t been any attacks on the border in moons. He lowered himself more as he spotted a young starling, scratching at the ground as it looked for acorns amongst the roots of an oak tree. He took one step closer - then another -

SPLASH!

“Hhh!” Fireheart jolted awake in shock as icy-cold water soaked his fur. He was in his nest in the warriors’ den, which was dark as the morning light had yet to peek its first rays into camp. He glanced up to see a hole in the den right above his nest, where another large droplet was coalescing to splash down onto him. He ducked to the side right as it fell, watching as it splattered down and was absorbed by his damp moss.

“You too, huh?” He glanced over a nest to see Peppermask, whose own head was soaking wet. She drew one gray paw over her head, trying to wick some of it away. “Woke me up as well. Seems the den has sprung a few leaks since last leafbare.”

“Someone ought to take care of it. Where’s Tigerclaw? He’s the one that should be in charge of den repairs.” Darkstripe was sat up nearby, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Should have sent Cinderspark out for den supplies while she was still an apprentice. I can’t sleep like this until Goldenflower’s kits are apprenticed!”

“I’ll take care of it. No need to bother Dad with something so trivial.” Fireheart blinked in surprise as another drowsy voice interrupted them, turning to see Sandstorm shuffling past. “It’ll be good as new by sunhigh.” She growled at the three of them before leaving the den.

He glanced over at Peppermask, whose ears were also perked in astonishment. “I guess that takes care of that, then.” She mewed after a few moments.

“I guess so.” The ginger tom echoed in surprise. Sandstorm seemed like the type to believe any apprentice work was beneath her. Then again, perhaps she just refused to be uncomfortable for the next several moons while the kits grew. That made more sense than her doing something out of the goodness of her heart.

He shook the thought out of his mind, looking over to Peppermask before noticing the empty nest sitting between them. “Where’s Graystripe? He wasn’t on either of the dawn patrols, was he?”

“I don’t know.” Even in the low light, he could see the frown on the spotted molly’s face. She leaned down to take a deep sniff. “He was definitely here recently. His scent is still fresh.”

“Does it matter?” Darkstripe snorted as he shook himself out and padded after Sandstorm. “Maybe he found somewhere drier to sleep. That’s what I’m going to try to do, anyways.”

Fireheart hesitated, glancing over at Peppermask to see his expression mirrored on her face. Graystripe being so absent from camp was worrying both of them, not to mention his strange avoidance of them. He flicked his ear towards the entrance, and they both stood and padded towards it, silently agreeing that they had to find where he had gone.

They passed Darkstripe, who was bitterly complaining to the night guard Dappleshine about the soaking den. The tortoiseshell queen looked rather annoyed with him, but gave the two warriors a courteous nod of respect as they passed. He could see Tinyfrost in an equally bad mood by the foxhole, guarding their prisoner through the night. He didn’t dare to stop to ask how the little warrior was doing; he already knew the answer.

The two young warriors paused by the bramble tunnel as Peppermask scented carefully. “He came through here.” She murmured softly to him, and with a nod of understanding he followed her outside. 

The forest was still in the moments before dawn, with all creatures slumbering peacefully in their nests. Normally, Graystripe would be doing the same, having never liked to get up before the sun’s rays reached the horizon. What had compelled him to leave camp before even the dawn patrols?

Peppermask followed her brother’s scent to the training hollow, where they both gave pause for a moment. Perhaps he had just been practicing his hunting crouches? Then the trail veered sharply off, to the muddy bank of a shallow creek that had dried up many seasons before Fireheart was born. 

There was no need to track now; though most of the snow had melted in the slightly warmer night, the ground here was slick enough to easily see the tom’s pawprints running along the bank. The pace of his pawprints indicated he had been almost sprinting; as the two began trotting alongside, they gave each other a nervous glance. There was no way he could have scented anything when he was running so fast. But if he hadn’t been hunting, where would he be going?

The trail followed the creek bank all the way through their territory. The morning light was just beginning to color the sky as they finally emerged from the trees at the edge of Riverclan territory. Now, Graystripe’s tracks were mixed up with those of passing patrols’. Fireheart glanced furtively at Peppermask. “What now?” He whispered to the spotted molly beside him.

She opened her mouth as though to reply, then suddenly crouched down into the tall grass they were standing in, lashing her tail at him to do the same. He did so in confusion, following her narrowed green gaze down to the reeds at the water’s edge. 

At first, he saw nothing. Then he spied movement, and watched with wide eyes as two cats bounded out of the reeds. The first was Graystripe, his large muscled form easily visible as he dashed by, scattering pebbles in his wake. The second was much smaller, more slender, a silver streak flashing past. 

The second caught up to the Thunderclan tom, bowling him over and sending them skidding across the riverbank. Fireheart stood, tail lashing, and prepared to defend his friend when he heard mirthful purring. He watched in shock as Graystripe reached up and gently lapped at the silver cat’s cheek. 

What in Starclan’s name was Graystripe doing? He looked over at Peppermask, but she seemed equally surprised and bewildered at what was happening. As he looked back at the two, he realized he recognized the tabby that had been chasing after his friend: Silverstream, one of the Riverclan mollies that had rescued them from drowning.

“Graystripe!” Fireheart finally sprang out of the tall grass, eyes narrowing as he saw them both bristle and look guiltily towards him. He felt Peppermask slide out of the grass behind him. “What are you doing?”

The dark gray tom’s yellow eyes were wide as he stared at his friend and sister. “Did you two follow me?” He mewed, his voice stunned as though he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“Of course we did!” Peppermask snapped beside the ginger tom, her tail lashing furiously. “Is this why you’ve been disappearing so often? Visiting her?” 

The Riverclan molly’s lip curled into a snarl. “I have a name, you know.” She spat angrily at the Thunderclanners.

“Yes, of course you do! Silverstream, a warrior of Riverclan - our enemy, Graystripe!” The spotted tabby growled, her green eyes blazing as she stared down the other molly. “And the daughter of Crookedstar, no less! Could you have chosen worse?”

Silverstream opened her mouth to retort, but Graystripe stepped forward. “I think I should go.” He mewed, not to his Clanmates, but to the molly beside him, looking into her blazing blue eyes with his wide, earnest yellow ones.

There was a tense moment of silence before the Riverclanner nodded. “Fine.” She responded haughtily, leaning in to brush her cheek against his. She whispered something into the Thunderclan tom’s ear that Fireheart couldn’t catch, before stepping away to the water’s edge. The silver molly cast one last challenging glare towards the two Thunderclanners that had interrupted them before slipping back into the water and disappearing.

Peppermask advanced on her brother. “You missed the battle with Brokentail! You missed Cinderspark’s ceremony! All for some Riverclan vixen? I thought better of you, Graystripe.”

The tom’s gray hackles began to rise at his sister’s words. “She’s not a vixen!” he replied, anger surging into his tone. “You’d know that if you bothered to look past her Clan!”

“I don’t need to look past her Clan, Graystripe. She’s an enemy warrior! By seeing her, you’re breaking the warrior code.” The spotted warrior’s own fur was bristling furiously, and as Fireheart looked on he saw her begin to shift into a battle stance. “We were both raised to be loyal to Thunderclan. What would Dad say if he could see you now?”

“Don’t you dare bring up Dad to me!” Graystripe spat, advancing on her now. “You know I miss him just as much as you do. The only difference is, I wasn’t going around attacking my Clanmates for his death! I think that makes me a far more loyal Thunderclan warrior.”

“Why, you!” His sister released a strangled cry at his words, and Fireheart saw her claws unsheathe as her ears flattened further. He stepped forward, not wanting the two siblings to start fighting - how would they explain that to Tigerclaw and Bluestar?

“Graystripe, that’s not fair at all. Peppermask has good reason to question your loyalty when you’re constantly out of camp with a-” He glanced at where Silverstream had disappeared. “A Riverclan molly all the time.”

“You’re doubting me too?” The dark gray tom sounded wounded at his words. “I’m still loyal to Thunderclan! I always have been, and I always will be. I’ll never leave it.”

“What else can I think?” Fireheart asked him with a small shake of his head. His heart felt as though it were tearing through a thorn thicket, but he couldn’t just let Graystripe go so easily. “You’re breaking the code by seeing her, and lying to the Clan. What if there’s a battle with Riverclan? Would you still fight her?”

The other tom rolled his shoulders. “You worry too much. With how many Riverclan warriors there are, we’ll never be on the same battlefield. Besides, with Brokentail’s defeat, the Clans will be at peace.”

“And what about Tigerclaw?” As he said it, a memory surfaced in his mind of Silverstream and Graystripe next to each other at the Gathering. “That night at the Gathering - you weren’t really sick, were you? You were planning on sneaking off to see Silverstream!” 

Guilt shone in his friend’s yellow eyes, and he could hear Peppermask’s gasp of shock and anger beside him. “You’ve spent so much time away from the Clan, chasing after her. Sooner or later, you’re going to get caught - either by Thunderclan, or Riverclan. You have to stop this, Graystripe.” Fireheart warned the other tom.

“I don’t have to stop anything!” Graystripe cried, his tail lashing angrily. “We’re careful, Fireheart. She makes sure that we meet in gaps in the patrols, and I don’t meet with her until I’m done with patrols for the day.”

“You’re not careful enough. Tigerclaw has noticed you missing, Graystripe. And if we could track you here, so could he.” Though Peppermask was a superior tracker, so were several other cats in the Clan - if Tigerclaw recruited them to help him, it wouldn’t be long until their secret was found. “Why is she so important to you? More important than your Clan, more important than us?” Fireheart asked. The thought of Graystripe abandoning them at the Gathering played over and over in his mind. How could he consider Silverstream more important than avenging his father?

“You don’t understand, Fireheart. I love her!” He flattened his ears at Graystripe’s strong declaration. How could he possibly say that? He barely even knew her! “We share the same thoughts, even though we’re from different Clans. It’s like Starclan themselves planned for us to be together!”

Fireheart shook his head in disbelief. What his friend was saying was ridiculous. He knew birth wasn’t everything, but it was clear both cared deeply for their own Clan. How could they possibly reconcile that? 

As he was about to speak, he heard Peppermask mew beside him. “There’s no point to this. He’s clearly made up his mind.” He looked at her in surprise as she turned and walked back up the riverbank into Thunderclan forest, flicking her tail for Fireheart to follow. She paused at the top to give her brother a wicked glare. “Just don’t say we didn’t warn you when you get exiled over this.”

The dark gray tom growled beside him, but Fireheart found himself unable to disagree. Just because they were the first to find out what Graystripe had been doing didn’t mean they’d be the last. He had been willing to make excuse after excuse for his friend, believing him to be grieving his father, but he couldn’t cover up such a blatant breach of the code. Especially not when he was doing so without care for what Thunderclan would do to him, when Fireheart himself had to constantly fear being exiled. 

He cast one last look at his friend - his first friend, the one that had welcomed him into the Clan - before following Peppermask up the hill. It hurt to turn his back on Graystripe, but he couldn’t let himself get caught up in this. Tigerclaw still had to be dealt with, and he couldn’t give the evil deputy any more ammunition to accuse him with. 

He would have to leave his best friend to figure things out on his own. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end in exile, or a far worse tragedy.