#and had strongholds everywhere or in one place but

[mishy-mashy]

The Resistance squatted in abandoned buildings. They were squatters.

Before I show the panels that show they used abandoned buildings, I just want to be logical about this for a moment.

It doesn't make much sense to assume these guys - looking around jump-into-university age (18-26) - could afford to make underground bunkers and metal-plated halls all across Japan, for their base. They wouldn't have the time, resources, or even support from others to make these places.

Where do they find the metal to hammer in? The posts? The knowledge of actually building tunnels or buildings from scratch without them falling apart?

Other than that, having a single stationary base (above-ground, for example), is not going to survive. All For One's supporters fight anyone who opposes him without him needing to say anything.

AFO rules Japan right now. Everyone is wary of each other. Look at how Bruce describes it as "the harshest era";

As All For One's supporters attack his opposers of their own will, and supporters don't even realize they're on his side, the Resistance has to constantly be on the move. They can't really trust anyone.

They can't have stationary bases, nor can they afford ANYTHING to make them. They would've been caught immediately trying to do a big project like that, especially if they needed supplies to do so from someone who likely works for AFO, even without knowing.

Japan was in economic and social turmoil. They can't trust the market to keep going and grocery stores to be open. Look at how Japan is with All For One and Tomura; people band together and stores are looted.

Money is obsolete. Society is divided between humans and "monsters" (Ability-users). You can't trust anyone because anyone could be his pawn. Time is running up as his control spreads everyday. Resources are being looted left and right. It's too dangerous to go outside alone. Even if you have a stun gun, what does that mean against Ability-users?

So what do they do with their limited resources? Trying to hide from the big guy? What "bases" do they have?

They hunker down in abandoned places that already exist and, again, are abandoned. No one's going to come looking for them in places that people have run from and left behind. Because these places are literally just that: places no one wants anymore.

You hide a tree in a forest. You don't make a big, special base somewhere that says "I am here!", and they don't have the resources or time to burrow underground or build that.

Hide in an abandoned building among many others. There's not many people in abandoned places, if they happen to be there at all. The Resistance isn't going to be found in the deserted buildings, but they still have to keep moving, because someone might be trailing them.

When they take Yoichi from the vault,

They're in a house. The couch is ripped, the mug is cracked, and so is the wall, with a questionable stain in the background. There are signs of fighting and abandonment, but it works.

Houses have food. Houses have clothes. Houses have beds. It's enough to sit in for a bit and heat up some water.

Not everyone packed their things and run. Some people just had to RUN. And when some places are full-on abandoned from an exodus, the Resistance is definitely gonna find some stuff there in the new "safe area".

Look below at where Kudo and Bruce hole up after Yoichi's death. No one's outside, there's a destroyed car, and there's some smoke further up the road.

The hospital/clinic room Bruce uses is ripped apart and unsanitary, but it's still the best they can do. I think that houses and a hospital would be their best bet for survival/using as a base; resources, lodging, and some sort of safety exist there. Especially in a hospital, which would have backup generators, a camera system, and even a PA system. Hospitals have to accommodate for lots of people (food, space, lodging), and have a lot of medical equipment they can use.

Basically what I'm saying is: the Resistance likely doesn't have a permanent base. They don't have the resources or enough safety to make their own. They squat in abandoned places and move constantly, because nowhere is safe, but they can't just waltz in public and declare where they are; they have to hide in plain sight while they bide their time. In the meantime, the places they use would have to be resourceful, or they're using what they have on their backs. The manga already shows them using a house and a hospital room.

[pangur-and-grim]

okay I’m sharing a sample chapter because I think it’s funny, if anyone is mean I will cry real human tears

Chapter 9

I decided to take seducing the mad sorcerer more seriously.

His odd acts of kindness, listening to me gab about my friendship troubles with Glenda, patching my wounds, the dragon scale, it added up. I mean sure, the guy turned me into a vulture, threatened to pull my teeth out, and implanted my chest with some sort of sick torture device…. but……. hmm, maybe this wasn’t a great idea.

Still, I wanted out of this vulture body. He could transmogrify me. All I needed was a path, connecting between those points, a way to ‘make it worth his while’, as it were.

“My lord,” I squawked over breakfast. The mad sorcerer was having thick-sliced bread with jam, and I was having a squirrel that had gotten trapped in the chimney and only just begun to rot. I’d flown it down to the kitchen to eat with the sorcerer, figuring a lonely guy like him would enjoy a social meal.

“My lord,” I repeated, swallowing the scrap of squirrel intestine that dangled from my beak. “I think you should turn me into a woman.”

The mad sorcerer choked on his bread.

After some spluttering and hacking of breadcrumbs, and indecision on my part as to whether I should be smacking his back with a wing, he recovered enough to answer. “Why in the world…...? Also, you are flinging rat…. particles everywhere, from this point onward you are forbidden from eating indoors. Effective immediately,” he added, as I raced to get in one last beakfull.

“It’s a squirrel, my lord.” I said, wiping my beak on the brick oven I perched on. “They have the fluffy tails, that’s how you can tell.”

“Stop that! Stop that!” The sorcerer rose to shoo me off the oven and, confused, I circled the room and landed on a chair.

“Anyway, so the transmogrification, my lord. I figure since the prophecy is clear about bodily sex, I can swap to the other one while still weaselling out of the whole thing. Pretty smart, right?” I finished wiping my beak on my own back feathers, and then raised a talon to scratch an itch beneath my chin.

“’Thick eyelashes for a boy’…. I suppose you’re right.” The sorcerer seemed deep in thought. “And you are rather disgusting as a vulture.”

“Well, no, I groom regularly my lord,” I protested, “Look, there’s this nipple-looking thing at the base of my tail, see? And I get oil from there and smear it all over the place. Keeps me shiny!”

“Stop flaring your feathers, I do not wish to see it. I will use the needle if I have to, obey my instructions.” The sorcerer kneaded his forehead with a hand, his toast lying forgotten on the table. A trio of the small humanoid kitchen constructs had descended on my squirrel, one carting it away and the other two working with brushes to scrub the scraps of red off the brickwork. I decided not to protest.

“I have given you free reign of this stronghold because, lacking opposable thumbs and any possible allies, the damage you could do is minimal. As a human, the situation changes.” The sorcerer had his forehead lined and serious, but the lack of a solid ‘no’ made me giddy. Time for a sales pitch!

“I could cook and clean! And decorate, my lord, this place is pretty drab. That’s not even getting into the other stuff I could do.” I cocked my head in what I hoped to be a significant manner, vultures not having any eyebrows to raise.

“The other stuff? No, no, no I see that look on your face, please don’t answer, I know exactly where this is going.” The sorcerer’s eye flashed, and another little construct emerged to carry away his toast. Disappointment struck – I’d been hoping the sorcerer would eventually exit the kitchen having forgotten it entirely, leaving the crisp bread available for plundering. But back to selling myself.

“No, see my lord, I reckon I could perform se-“

“Shut up, shut up, please stop talking. Alright, I will turn you into a human woman if you agree to one condition.” The mad sorcerer raised a single bony finger.

“Oh, my lord?” Joy and relief unfolded like a flower. “And what’s that?”

“Please stop trying to seduce me.”

[ourfleur]

「Alone Together」　[Ada Wong x Fem Reader]

Summary: You were just supposed to retrieve the weapon, thats all. But when a woman from your past makes an appearance you can’t get your mind off of her.

Tags: ada wong x fem reader, angst, hurt/comfort, (mild?) smut, making out, ahhhhhh

An: Hii okay so I dont know how much I like this but yknow its whatever, i love ada tho so!!

follow my ao3

“Drop your weapon.” Your chilling voice rang out behind her. “I’m not fucking joking Ada. Drop your weapon.” She turned her head back to you, dropping her gun to the floor. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was cold and distant, as you pointed your pistol at Ada’s head. “Same as you I assume, we both have jobs to do, don’t we?” She said, eyes narrowing at the girl holding her at gun-point. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you right now for what you did to me.” You snarled. Ada stared at you silently, the quiet seeming to last forever, before familiar footsteps echoed from behind the door. ‘Shit’ you thought to yourself, the thing chasing you was here now. Your eyes darted over to the door, then back to Ada. “Don’t ever let me see you again.” Uttering one last thing before making your exit.

The moment you left your heart started aching at seeing the woman. Four years of having pure hatred for her dissolved the moment she was back in front of you. Every second you looked at her it became harder to keep yourself composed, only wanting to grab her and never let her go. And now that she was gone again all you wanted to do was run back to her. You sighed, pushing away your foolish thoughts and moving on with your mission.

You had been sent to France to retrieve a weapon of mass destruction, to make sure that it didn’t get into the wrong hands. This was an extremely important mission and you couldn’t risk and mistakes, it was already enough that there was this whole insane cult running the whole place but the fact your former partner, the partner who you had shared your deepest secrets, the partner who you had grown to love in ways that you couldn’t describe, the partner who had double crossed you, was there, working against you.

You made your way to a stronghold that you were told had information on locating the weapon, avoiding all of the cult members and obstacles. You carefully made your way into the large building, taking extra care to not be spotted. Once you were inside you couldn’t shake the feeling you were being watched. Eyes scanning any place someone could be hiding, but nothing. Making your way through the rooms and halls, you felt like you were losing your mind, everywhere you looked you swore you could see Ada. That dark red fabric appearing in the corner of your eye every time you turned your head. You cursed at yourself mentally, angered that you couldn’t stop thinking about her. You needed to focus, the mission depended on it. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself at the thought of Ada.

Finally you arrived in the right place, a computer lab. You looked all over for the right computer, finding it hidden away in a corner. You inspected the files on it for a bit till the right one finally crossed your eye. The only way to get to the weapon was through a locked door, only accessible with a keycard. To your luck, the keycard was only a short bit away, in the next building over. You let out a sigh of relief, soon your mission would be over and you could go home and not have to think about anything, especially the woman in red.

You ran out of the room, jogging down a long corridor that led to a large open room. Before you could reach the door though, you were grabbed and thrown to the floor brutally. Shocked, you turned around to see the thing that was chasing you finally caught up. You drew your gun, shooting it as much as you could. It flew towards you and before you could even react, it was on top of you. Its claws wrapping around your neck as it pushed you deeper into the ground. You tried and tried to pry it off of you but nothing was working. Your grip loosened as you faded in and out of consciousness. Your vision started to fade to black, your body growing limp as it started to accept its fate.

A muffled voice called your name, even with your blurry faded vision you could still see the familiar red fabric. “Ada..?” you choked out. You could feel the beast on top of you get up to attack the new threat that faced it. You tried to get your bearings, taking in a deep breath, air filling your lungs. You attempted to stand before collapsing, you could barely keep your eyes open. Before you could entirely lose consciousness you felt a pair of familiar arms wrap around you. Ada pulled you up, keeping you stable as she walked you away from the scene that had just played out. “Hold on tight, okay?” You didn’t even have the energy to respond, only being able to meekly nod while you mustered all your strength to hold onto her waist.

Ada used her grappling hook to pull the both of you away. The two of you landed at the entrance to a different building. Ada pulled you into the room, holding you as tight as she could. She saw a couch and brought you to it, gently laying you down on it. Ada pulled away, looking down at your broken body and then back to the door. Ada turned to the door, giving you one last look before making her exit. But before she could, your hand shot to hers. Ada turned back to you, your tired eyes giving her a look of pain and desperation. You couldn’t pretend to hate her anymore and you couldn’t let her slip away from you again. “Please Ada… stay.” Her eyes softened, looking at the door again and then back to you. Ada let out a breath before moving back towards you. You tried to sit up but cried out in pain the moment you moved your body.

“I bet I look pretty pathetic right now.” Your tone both playful and full of pain. Ada chuckled, “Yeah, you do.” She said with a small smile. You laughed at Adas response, immediately regretting it afterwards when you felt a sharp pain in your side. You looked down to see a large thorn stuck in your side, blood soaking the fabric that surrounded your wound, you didn’t even notice. Adas eyes moved down to where yours were looking and widened when she saw the object, stuck deeply in your side. Your name left Adas' lips in a panic as she frantically searched the room you were in for any medical supplies. She opened drawer after drawer in the room that looked to be a lounge once you actually paid attention to your surroundings. You heard Ada shuffling around and then a relieved noise leave her mouth.

Ada came back to you, crouching down on the ground next to your wound. Her delicate hands wrapped around the thorn. “Are you ready?” She looked up at you for confirmation that she could pull it out. You nodded, moving your hand down to hold her free hand. As your fingers entwined she began to pull on the thing stuck in your side. You screamed in pain as it was torn out of you, blood now gushing freely from your open wound. Ada immediately grabbed some gauze she found, releasing her hand from yours to lift your back slightly off the couch so she could wrap the gauze around your wound. Ada stood back up, grabbing your hand to pull you into a sitting position. You groaned as she sat you up, the pain in your side still excruciating.

Ada sat down behind you, grabbing some of the leftover gauze. “Your back is pretty scrapped up too..” Adas fingers traced over the wounds she could see through your torn shirt. Your breath hitched as she moved down to lift your shirt. “A-Ada what are you doing..?” Your words coming out stuttered. “Helping. I am helping.” Your name left her tongue with a tinge of annoyance, almost to say ‘Just let me do this for you.’ You exhaled, muttering a small ‘okay’. Her fingers grabbing the hem of your tight shirt, pulling it up. “Raise your arms.” She said, her breath on your neck leaving goosebumps. You brought your arms up as much as you could, pained groans leaving your lips.

Ada pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra and revealing your tattered back. There were cuts and bruises speckled all over you. Ada took off her gloves, setting them to the side. She took her hand and slowly caressed your wounds with her fingers. You hissed at the feeling, your cuts stinging every time they were touched. Ada took in a breath, reminding herself of what she was doing and what was in front of her. Ada removed her hands from your back. You could hear her rustling around a bit behind you but were unsure of what she was doing until you felt a cold, wet cloth rub against your back. The more you thought about it, the more insane this situation became and the more the silence between the two of you became agonising. You sensed Ada felt the same but before you could say anything, she beat you to it.

“You need to be more careful.” She sounded exasperated, stern, the way a mother sounds when lecturing their child. You snorted, “You sound just like my mom.” Finding amusement in Adas worry. “If I wasn’t there you would’ve died, and I still haven’t gotten a thank you.” She smiled slightly, as did you. “Fine, fine. Thank you, Ada… for saving me.” You could feel Adas content with your gratitude and another silence fell over the two of you.

After a little bit longer of Ada tending to the wounds on your back, she set down the rag. “There.” You could feel her lifting her body off of the couch and your body reacted before your mind. You turned around and pulled her back down. Her eyes went wide for a second as she was forced back onto the sofa. “Ada. I can’t do this.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. “Wha-”, “I can’t let you leave again.” You didn’t even mean to say these things but once you started you couldn’t stop. “I hated you for so long for betraying me. I thought about it every single day, I thought about you every single day.” Voice shaky as you relayed your feelings to the woman. “For months after you betrayed me I thought I saw you everywhere, I mean fuck, I hoped I did.” All Ada could do was just stare at the girl in front of her. “I mean, I don’t know… I thought I hated you, I wanted to see you and take everything out on you.” You felt tears prick your eyes as you continued. “I kept thinking about the things we did together, the person you helped me become when we worked together and the person I became after. I know it was probably all an act but… I can’t do this Ada.” You looked into Ada's dark eyes, you could see something in them but you weren’t quite sure what. “Ada please… please stay this time.” Your eyes were desperate, you were pleading for this woman to stay.

Your teary eyes stared into Ada’s stoic face, searching for any amount of feeling. You looked down at your legs, trying to hold back the sea of tears threatening to escape your already watery eyes. Suddenly, your face was pushed upwards. Ada's hand on your chin, she pulled you to meet her lips. You immediately melted into Ada's gentle touch, her free hand moving to the back of your head. The kiss was soft, almost shy, both of you unsure about what you were doing. Reluctantly you moved your arms to wrap around Adas waist. As the kiss went on for longer you became more comfortable, your kiss turning into something more passionate and desperate. Adas tongue gliding across your lips, requesting entrance, to which you obliged. As Ada explored you mouth, you explored her body, your hands running wild as they roamed Ada’s form.

As things started to heat up even more, Ada carefully laid you back, being careful not to agitate any of your wounds, not that you cared anymore, you had better things to focus on. The two of you broke apart, gasping for air. Ada looked at you in a way you couldn’t get enough of. “Please… don’t stop.” Your words coming out barely loud enough to be audible. Ada didn’t need to say anything, right now actions speak louder than words. She moved her head to your neck, gently kissing you. Ada took her time there, figuring out what move made what sound. While her mouth was occupied she made quick work of your pants. Moving her hand to your clit. Soft fingers finding the perfect rythme to elicit beautiful noises from you. You felt like you were dreaming. The pain from your wounds completely overshadowed by the feeling of pleasure building in your core from Ada’s fingers. You couldn’t contain yourself, soft whimpers escaping your mouth as Ada slowly worked you to your high.

She then moved her mouth down, making sure to flutter kisses wherever she moved. With one hand she unclasped your bra, moving it out of the way so she could have access to your breasts. Her mouth found its place around your nipple, the feeling almost too much for you. You could feel the knot in your stomach starting to tighten. Ada was like a drug you couldn’t get enough of. Her fingers picked up the pace, rubbing your clit at a speed that had you losing your mind. Before you knew it, you were climaxing. Whines and moans escaping your lips. Ada worked you through it so well, telling you how good you were doing, keeping the same pace, making sure you felt cared for. You sunk even more into the couch, body going limp after your high. You looked at Ada through half lidded eyes, you couldn’t describe what you were feeling, it was all too much.

To be with the woman you have spent the last four years thinking about every single second of every single day? It was so bittersweet. Noise erupted from Adas radio, both of your heads turning to the sound. In that moment you remembered that this was temporary. “Ada..” Her eyes softened the moment you spoke. “You’re going to leave me aren’t you..” You couldn’t hide the pain in your voice. This amazing moment all coming to a painful end at your realisation that no matter how much you beg her to stay.. she can’t. Ada looked away, trying to compose herself. “I have to.” She got off of you, pulling herself up and cleaning off her dress. You sat up too, the pain from your injuries back in full force. Ada grabbed your discarded clothing, moving behind you again so she could clip your bra back into place and help you put your shirt back on. Ada reached out her hand, to which you grabbed and she helped you up.

You were both now standing facing each other, sullen eyes not daring to break contact, your hands stills clasped together. The radio sprung to life once more, requesting Ada go somewhere, somewhere away from you. Ada sighed, breaking eye contact and releasing her hand from your hold. She picked up her gloves, slipping them back on and turning her back to you. Ada turned her head back to look at you once more, before speaking. “Don’t let this be the last time you ever see me.” The same subtle smile showing up on her face before she turned and walked out the door. Your face contorted into a pained expression. “I won’t Ada. I promise.”

[fizzyxcustard]

Why Did I Trust You?

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Robin Hood

Pairings: Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sadness, angst, betrayal (sort of!), depression mention, fluff

Comments/Notes: Requested by @puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig who is the biggest Guy fan that I know. From the prompt "They told me not to trust you but I didn't listen."

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Everyone kept telling you how Guy had always been taken with Marian, and that his heart still belonged to her. No one could get over lost love that easy. She had disappeared into Sherwood Forest with her lover, Robin Hood. Leaving Guy to pick up the pieces of a shattered heart. You had never met this Marian woman, but had heard plenty about her from the locals. 

You had travelled to Nottingham in high hopes of better income, and thankfully, you had been given a roof over your head, alongside the work, for all for your trouble. Guy had sorted that out for you. After all, he knew your father, who worked as a fellow tax collector in the next town over and often visited Nottingham to report to the Sheriff. 

Being a newcomer also meant that everyone was suspicious of you. And you had become aware of the rumours that people were spinning behind your back, despite being polite to your face. Snakes, all of them. Most days when you walked through the courtyard of the castle, heading in for your day of work, you’d see people gently shoulder each other. You’d see this action out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as they saw you’d noticed them, they would smile. Vipers! 

By the time you had been there six months, you knew it was time to move on. Nottingham was not quite the charming place that you had been told by your old townsfolk. Maybe the stories had been spun from those assuming that due to Nottingham being a central stronghold for finances, that the streets were paved with gold. That couldn’t have been any further from the truth. Only the Sheriff’s personal chambers were lined with gold; everywhere else was run down and full of squalor.

The last arrangements were in place, and the following day, you were ready to return home. It would take you about a day to walk to your meeting point with your father, who was coming by horse and cart to collect you. Messenger pigeons had been flying between you and your father for the last month, as your depression had gotten deeper and beckoned you home. 

The only good thing about the place was Guy. In fact, he was the only friend you had in this horrible place. The thought of leaving him was hitting you hard, and as you cleaned the larger chambers of the castle, you kept Guy’s until last. 

Upon stepping inside the room, you saw the seat that you sat in most evenings, where you would share dinner with him. You would watch the candlelight dance across his pointed features, highlighting the sadness in his ice blue eyes. Was the sadness remnants of an unrequited love? 

Tears kept threatening to fall down your cheeks as you cleaned the surfaces with a rag. At his bedside table, you moved the vase of flowers you had placed there three days ago, sweeping the dust beneath it. All you could feel was the painful, burning sensation of something lodged in your throat. 

Don’t you cry. Don’t you dare cry! 

As you made the bed and took one last sniff of his pillow, you realised that you had nothing of his. And you couldn’t leave Nottingham without at least one token from him, even if he had not given it you freely. 

There was a jewellery box which you knew Guy kept in his wardrobe, just behind his boots, on the floor. You could remember him telling you about it, where he explained that no one else knew of its existence, but you. 

Your hands were shaking as you approached the wardrobe, and slowly you opened the door, listening to it creak. The box was simple, with no inscription at all. It didn’t matter what it was that you took, as long as it was Guy’s; something to remember him by. Not that you could ever forget him in a hurry. 

Blood was thumping in your ears as you opened the box and looked upon two gold rings inside. That was all the box held, these two gold rings. The first one was a simple band, with no jewels or inscriptions. The other was gold, but had a simple green stone upon broad shoulders. You snatched the ring with the green stone and slipped it into your apron pocket. 

“What are you doing?” a deep voice came. 

You gasped, stepping back at the sight of Guy. When had he come into the room? “P…please, it’s not what it looks like.” 

“Oh, I know it was exactly what it looked like. You stealing one of my grandmother’s rings.” His eyes were so wide now, and you couldn’t help but swallow hard, feeling a rod of ice shoot down your spine. Guy was terrifying when angry, a trait that many a person had seen who lived in Nottingham. This was your first time of seeing his anger directed at you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. You pulled the ring back out of your pocket and placed it down on the table next to you. “It really is not what it looks like.” 

Guy turned on his heel. “They told me not to trust you, but I didn’t listen.”

“Guy, please,” you pleaded, touching his shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me!” he growled. “I let you in. I offer my vulnerability to you, and I offer you so much, and this is how you value our relationship? By stealing from me?” 

Tears fell down your cheeks. Your heart thundered, shattering even more with each beat. “I wanted something of yours, to remember you by.” 

“Remember me by? What do you mean?” Guy asked, his voice less hostile now. Slowly, he turned back to face you. 

Tears had begun to form in his eyes. His gaze was intense, and locked on you. 

“I would never have betrayed your trust, Guy. Believe me. I value you more than you realise.” 

“Yet you still plan to leave?” 

Of course he knew what you had meant. “You have no idea how it’s pained me to complete my duties today, knowing it will be the last time we stand face to face.” 

“Am I not enough to stay for?” The words only just came out of his mouth, broken by the breath that was struggling to get out. “I’m never enough.” Those words were despaired whisper. 

“Guy, no!” you exclaimed. “Never think that.” 

“But you’re leaving!” His voice had re-gained its power, and he stared at you. “I’ve been beside you in everything since you came here. Why am I not enough?” 

You reached out and took Guy’s leather-clad hand. “You are enough. Why don’t you think you are? Is it because of Marian?”

Guy closed his eyes for a second and sighed. Then he focused his gaze back on you. “I see the townsfolk enjoy talking about me.” 

“Don’t blame them. You’ve mentioned her before, and I guessed she’s the woman you love.” 

“She isn’t. Not anymore. I did love her once and she left. Every woman I grow to love leaves me.” 

Did that mean…? Breath caught in your throat, but you tried not to get above yourself in your want of him. “So other women before her have left?” 

Guy smirked. “Don’t deny what’s right in front of you.” He whispered your name and came closer, his body so close to yours. He looked down from his taller height.

You placed both of your hands on his chest, wanting so much to feel his bare skin beneath the leather. Your gaze met his and you leaned up, placing a gentle kiss against his lips. 

Guy opened his eyes, seeing uncertainty in your face. And gathering his confidence and love, he wound his arms around your waist and kissed you. 

The kiss was full of love, passion and desperation. Your tongues met, and within a few more seconds, Guy’s lips were on your neck. He was panting, and you whimpering.

As you both slowed down, your breaths harsh, you embraced Guy. 

“Is this now enough to make you stay?” he asked. 

You looked up from his chest, and smiled. “What do you think?” 

“And maybe I have more reason.” Guy reached across to the ring you had placed on his table and held it to you. “I want you to have this…and be my wife.” 

***

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[mimetoist]

Honey Webbing

Part VII

The warm, golden light of the sun stabbed at Minthara's eyes, causing her to wince and raise a hand to shield her sensitive gaze. Yet, even in her discomfort, she was able to appreciate the vantage point afforded by an elevated terrain while on the rooftop. From there, she had a clear view of the winding river below, its gentle current catching the shimmer of sunlight.

While she was sweeping her gaze across the landscape, a particular feature on the northern bank drew her attention – a small cave, its dark maw beckoning the water, a current coming from within. Minthara's brow furrowed as she recalled the area, the memories stirring a well of unease within her. Somewhere nearby, she knew, lay the entrance to the vast network of Underdark tunnels, a massive subterranean expanse that stretched all the way back to a ruined temple of Selune – a former stronghold of the Absolute's army.

The thought of that place, and her own role as an enthralled Absolutist, sent a sickening wave of nausea through her, bile rising in her throat. Minthara shook her head sharply, forcing the unwelcome recollections back into the depths of her mind. She could not afford to dwell on the past, not now, when the future was so shrouded in uncertainty. With a steadying breath, she turned her gaze back to the river and the mysterious cave. Wherever there is one known entrance to the Underdark, it stands to reason that there may be many more hidden from view, and that cave could be one of them. 

Minthara's mind raced as she pieced together the puzzling details. The fact that Halsin had been able to revive her suggested she had not been submerged for long – which meant there must be a nearby cave, perhaps linking the Underdark to this very riverbank. It was possible her would-be killers had intended to dispose of her body there, rather than finishing the job in the Underdark itself. This line of inquiry, while not without its unanswered questions, presented a potential lead worth pursuing, even if it did not fully explain why her enemies had not simply killed her outright in the Underdark. Minthara knew she had to grasp at any clue that could shed light on the circumstances of her near-demise.

When Minthara left Halsin behind at the rooftop, she swept across the village with squared shoulders and chin held high, the weight of countless curious stares prickling against her skin. Everywhere she turned, whispers and sidelong glances seemed to follow, as if she were some exotic, dangerous creature to be observed from a wary distance. The drow gritted her teeth, her fingers twitching with the impulse to unleash a scathing retort upon the scurrying villagers. And yet, beneath the irritation, Minthara couldn't help but feel a faint flicker of satisfaction. To be the subject of such cautious fascination, to be regarded with a mixture of fear and awe – it was a familiar sensation, one that stroked her ego even as it grated on her nerves. After all, was it not better to be feared than underestimated? Or worse yet, to be pitied? With stern severity she marched towards the riverbank, as if daring anyone to get in her way in each step she took.

As she neared the riverbank, the tweeting of birds up ahead made Minthara's ears prick. Slowing her pace, she spied a narrow crevice between towering boulders - the concealed cave entrance. The dim cavern offered a welcome respite from the sunlight. Suddenly, the dull plucking of a lyre's strings reached her ears, the discordant notes sending a shiver down her spine. Pressing herself against the cave wall, Minthara crept forward, her movements silent and measured as she sought the source of the unwelcome melody. And then she saw it – a teenage girl, her fingers clumsily fumbling across the strings of a battered lyre. Minthara's eyes narrowed as she recognized the instrument, its distinctive, spider-motif frame and deep, reddish-brown hue unmistakable. It was her own prized possession, the Spider's Lyre, a weapon as much as it was a musical instrument.

Minthara tensed, preparing to immobilize the girl from behind and reclaim her stolen property. But just as she was about to pounce, the teenager suddenly cut her finger on a sharp chord, the melody halting with a jarring abruptness. The girl's head snapped up, and she caught a glimpse of Minthara's movement, leaping away from the drow's reach with a startled cry.

"W-who are you?" the girl stammered, clutching the battered lyre protectively against her chest.

As Minthara caught her first glimpse of the girl, she noticed the subtle signs that betrayed the teenager's mixed heritage. The girl's features bore the telltale marks of drow ancestry - the high, prominent cheekbones, the slender, angular brow, and the large, expressive eyes that seemed to shift between shades of violet and crimson.

Yet, there was an undeniable softness to her countenance, a warmth that was often absent in the pure-blooded drow. Her skin, while equally dark as the ones of her kin, held a hint of warmth that suggested the influence of her sun-dwelling parent's lineage.

Minthara's gaze narrowed, her voice low and menacing. "That lyre belongs to me, girl. I suggest you hand it over, before this ends badly for you."

The teenager's grip on the instrument tightened, her chin lifted defiantly. "I found it fair and square. It's mine now," she retorted, a tremor of fear underlying her words.

"That lyre is mine,” Minthara hissed, taking a step forward. “and I will not ask again."

The girl backed away, her eyes darting from the instrument to Minthara as her face paled, but she refused to back down. "Then come and take it, you hag!" she cried, her voice laced with a desperate defiance.

“Insolent little-”

The moment Minthara made her threatening advance, the girl sprang into action, clutching the lyre tightly as she turned and fled deeper into the cavern. Cursing under her breath, Minthara rushed to follow, but her weakened body protested with each step, the dull ache of her wounds slowing her pursuit. As she pressed onward, the cavern opened up into a labyrinth of tunnels, branching off in multiple directions.

Minthara's sharp eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of the fleeing girl, but the teenager had vanished, swallowed up by the winding passages. Frustration welled within the drow as she realized the girl had managed to evade her entirely. A part of Minthara bristled at the thought of letting her quarry escape, the urge to pursue the teen and punish her insolence was a persistent tug at the back of her mind. More than that, she would also have answers about where in the Nine Hells that girl got the Spider’s Lyre, possibly leading Minthara closer to unveiling the mystery of her drowning. 

But as she considered the situation more carefully, a more pragmatic approach began to take shape. The girl was likely a local, perhaps even one of Halsin's ever-growing bunch of orphans. Thinking of which, Halsin did mention that the little half-drow girl, Fren, had an older sister… What were the chances? It would be a delightful coincidence. Tracking her through this maze of tunnels would be a risky and time-consuming endeavor, one that could further drain her already weakened state. It was the wiser course of action to return to the relative safety of Halsin's home and wait. Sooner or later, the girl would have to emerge from her hiding place, and when she did, Minthara would be there to greet her.

Exhaling a frustrated and tired sigh, the drow trailed her way back towards the concealed entrance she had discovered earlier, out into the blinding sunlight. Squinting against the painful glare, she made her way back towards the village, the familiar path leading her once more to Halsin's modest dwelling.

As she approached the house, a tantalizing aroma wafted through the air, enticing her senses. Curiosity piqued, Minthara followed the scent, her steps quickening until she found herself standing in the doorway of the kitchen. There, Halsin was bustling about, tending to an array of culinary endeavors. A cake rose in the oven, its sweet scent mingling with the fragrant steam rising from a simmering brew on the stove. Scattered across a tray were an assortment of animal-shaped biscuits, freshly baked and ready to be sampled. Amidst the organized chaos, the druid methodically worked, carving meat on the counter and deftly removing the bones.

For a fleeting moment, the drow felt a curious sense of displacement, unsure of how to navigate this territory. Something akin to longing stirred inside her – a faint, half-forgotten memory of the time when they used to travel together in the road to Baldur’s Gate, when the druid and the wizard shared the culinary tasks at camp. A time of so much uncertainty that such simple pleasures as a fresh-cooked meal had held meaning for her. But just as quickly as the emotion surfaced, she pushed it back, unwilling to linger on potentially dangerous sentiments such as petty nostalgia. < Part VI || Part VIII >

[thedo0zyslider]

Explosions Across Lifetimes - Chapter Thrifty Three: In The End With You - 4K Words

The group goes on an end adventure, and a certain goblin gets to see a certain someone again because of it.

A03 Link

After his first meeting with the Sheriff, Fwhip resists the urge to go back as soon as he can. He doesn’t want to come off as over excited, or clingy or anything, so he stays away from the Mesa for a while. Gives the Sheriff a chance to get less busy and come visit the caves first, see all his fine handiwork on the houses and the stores and whatnot. Even if Fwhip does really, really wanna go out there, and see the blonde’s face again.

He stays in Gobland like he doesn’t want to instead, for at least a month or two, building and making upgrades to the town along the way; including a factory or two along the way. He also does quite a bit of mining, the main thing the goblin is looking for being diamonds. He is in bad need of some diamonds, having used a lot of them for tools recently, or having stored them in the kingdom's vault; for any further surprise emergencies. The diamonds being the one speck of light blue in a sea of beautiful, beautiful gold…

And one day, on one of these diamond mining expeditions, Fwhip finds something interesting. Something much cooler than diamonds too, after he’s sent the other miners down a different tunnel to dig alone. And the ginger is soon glad he did that, because he soon finds himself in the freaking Stronghold of legend and fairy tales, the building already a light with torches. Upon a further, yet very confused investigation, he finds that the portal is lit and open too. And according to the stories, it’s supposed to be closed, with no eyes of ender being placed in the frames.

Fwhip is equally puzzled and amazed by his discovery, the portal swirling with stars and void rather beautifully. But it’s a little uneasy, seeing that the portal is lit. Especially when the Stronghold is in his empire, and he knows none of his goblins had found it. They would’ve done the proper safety regulations, and reported directly to him if so. And someone would’ve been noted missing if they did find it and foolishly go through the portal, never minding the thought of how any regular citizen would’ve gotten nine whole eyes of ender.

The Goblin King frowns, and slowly but surely retreats from the fortress, adding more torches and blocking off dark hallways as he goes. And several minutes later, when he gets back to the start of the cave, he places down the proper warning signals, then scampers back up to the surface to get to the bottom of all this.

He goes around over the next few days, asking every ruler from every empire if they’d found and opened the portal before him. (He is very normal and not a flustered, blushing mess when he has to seek out Jimmy again, thank you very much.) Everywhere he goes, the answer is a resounding no from all his peers, much to the goblins surprise and slight worry each time. So Fwhip organizes a date and a time for all thirteen of them to gather in Gobland, and venture into the End Dimension. In case something seriously bad has happened, and he needs backup upon entering the place. 

The twelve of them (minus Scott, because he hadn’t been there that day for whatever personal reason) make their way down the mines, Jimmy warning everyone to be careful every few minutes or so. Everyone but Fwhip probably tunes him out, the constant warnings getting a little annoying. But the goblin can never get tired of hearing the Sheriff’s voice, so he does listen when he can, and when the ruckus of the other’s doesn’t drown him out. Though a few people do chat happily with the Sheriff in between his words of warning, their whole group now having ample time to get acquainted since the blonde and the goblin’s first meeting.

Though when they get there, Fwhip finds himself as the one who has to go in first. He is the one who found the portal, after all. A bolt of nervous energy goes through him, that uneasy feeling from when he first found the portal returning. Because this is a new dimension, and everyone’s waiting for him to go in first, but what if something goes horribly wrong because the portal was mysteriously opened and someone gets hurt and it’s all his fault-  

“Fwhip you found it, come on.” Jimmy says quietly, nudging the goblin forward as gently as he can; and also momentarily startling him. Fwhip looks over his shoulder at him, and feels warmth blossom in his chest at the reassuring smile he sees. He nods at the blonde, flashing his own smile in return, and lets his body fall into the portal. Not even five minutes later he’s landing on the spawn platform, and clutching the endstone for dear life as twelve other bodies land beside him, and they all precariously bridge to the central island.

As soon as they get to the End, it’s absolute chaos. Pure and utter chaos, something the goblin totally expected from this group. There’s shouting, people running everywhere, and at least seven of them have stared at Enderman for too long. Which is really impressive because all of them have collectively been here for like, maybe five or six minutes maximum.

Unfortunately, one of those people is Fwhip, and he’s soon scrambling to get under cover; where the enderman can’t reach. He doesn’t really wanna die today, no thank you. So he runs towards one of the obsidian towers, planning to make a small hiding place next to it, and invite any other poor soul under there with him. He just has to contrast it without dying first, a task easier said than done with several enderman swarming and teleporting around….

______________________________________

Jimmy’s first experience in the End is hard endstone bruising him quite literally everywhere as he falls, and then almost accidentally being pushed into the void. Thank you very much Joel and Joel’s dumb, far too big for anyone muscles . That looked ugly on him too and totally not hot, you know, while Jimmy was at it with the insults.

His second experience in the end is screaming his lungs out and running frantically, about five enderman trying to kill him. Because he’d somehow managed to piss off five in the span of a minute somehow! Because of course he would!

The Sheriff, along with a few others, ends up running around like an embarrassing idiot for several long minutes, desperately trying to place down the water he brought to fend off his attackers. Which fails every time, because he gets hit every time he pulls the bucket out; like the damn things know what he has in there. But, thankfully, it doesn’t take long for his savior to come and stop his death in the end, his savior being a certain short goblin man that Jimmy has recently found himself a little fond of.

“Jimmy! Over here!” Fwhip calls from a little ways off, beckoning the Sheriff forward. He is crouched under a platform of stone, one small enough to where the endermen cannot reach him. And a few were currently trying to, angrily teleporting around and screaming like there was no tomorrow. Jimmy feels his eyes widen in hope, and books it straight for where the goblin is hiding.

He slides into the hiding space as quickly as possible, maneuvering through the small mass of teleporting enderman, entirely out of breath when he gets under it. Jimmy’s attackers join the outside of the platform with Fwhip’s and the screaming that had been there before quickly becomes ten times louder than it already was beforehand. The goblin makes sure he’s okay, and the tugs jimmy closer, until both their backs are pressed against the cool obsidian wall that makes up the back of their little fort. 

Him and Fwhip stay crouched under the platform together, shoulder to shoulder the whole time they are hiding. The goblin is flushed against Jimmy, his ears flattened back. They were probably hurting from all the sounds going on, all the yelling going on just outside their little safe space (human and non human alike.) And Jimmy can get it, his own ears occasionally flattening in discomfort from the enderman and all their friends. The Sheriff feels a wave of empathy crash over him, and tries to block the sounds with his body the best he can.

When Fwhip gives him a look that is so kind and grateful, Jimmy also tries his best to not blush like an idiot. As hard as that was when they were so tightly pressed together, and Fwhip was just so nice; personality and looks wise…

It takes about five to ten minutes for their group to get a handle on everything, for the enderman around them to stop screaming; either because they disperse or are naked by stray arrows. But eventually, the two emperors, who still stay pressed together the whole time, scoot away from the wall, and try to hit the legs of their attackers with swords, though the success is limited. (What’s not limited though is the blush on Jimmy’s face, from Fwhip basically sitting on top of him as they half heartedly swing at enemy endermen….)

“The dragon’s not even here!” Someone yells out, Jimmy can’t tell who over the lingering screams of the enderman. It sounds like Sausage maybe. Or maybe even Pix, though that one feels like a stretch based on the scream. But whoever it is, the voice is decently annoyed at the reptile missing in action.

“Neither is the egg!” Another voice, one that’s definitely Shelby, says from a bit of a long way off. If he and Fwhip peak their heads out, they can just about see her, standing where the egg should be; according to old explorers journals. And right on the edge of some weird portal, a portal that is presumably the group’s ticket home, if the way they got here is any indication.

“This sucks!” Katherine’s voice joins the fray, sorely disappointed. Which made sense, she had come ready to kick ass and take names. And with a concerningly big battle axe too, Jimmy having to wonder where in the world she had either gotten or made that in her reportedly cursed lands. Or if she’d just found the thing somewhere in a loot, which seemed just as likely with the hundreds of old, old ruins known to be dotted around the world.

“You two can come now by the way, the endermen are gone!” Gem calls, hands cupped over her mouth, to help the sound reach everyone hiding. Because apparently more than just the two of them had bitten off more than they could chew, and were forced to hide from their aggressors. “You too Lizzie! And Joey!”

All four of them slowly shuffle out, rejoining the rest of their friends. Who all look like they’d taken a beating from the Endermen, not that the ones hiding had it much better before they’d hidden. Jimmy and Fwhip separate very fast, the Sheriff fixing his now crooked hat. The two men act like they weren’t basically cuddling under there, and sheepishly go to stand next to other people. (Namely Lizzie for Fwhip, and Sausage for Jimmy.)

Joel looks up at the empty sky, and lets out a bored huff. Most of the group promptly side-eye’s the God for having such an attitude on their very first group adventure together, sans Scott of course. “We didn’t kill it, we’re all useless!” Joel exclaims, hands placed decisively on his hips. That earns a few unhappy grumbles, all of which the brunette promptly ignores. 

“That’s a shame,” Pix says, resting his hat further back on his head. He looks thoroughly disappointed by this discovery, for some reason. “I would’ve loved to study it.” 

“What would you have studied…?” False asks, sounding a little uncertain. She still has her sword clutched in her palm, ready for action at a moment's notice. Or to stab one of the other emperors, if they happen to startle her. She's still flighty enough around them to believably do that, in Jimmy’s mind anyways.

“The body.” Pix says calmly, like it’s not the most disturbing response possible to that question. And, well, he is an archaeologist. They do study dead things….so the Sheriff supposes that it makes sense. Doesn’t make his response any less creepy though. He half wonders if he needs to keep tabs on Pix now, in case he parktakes in activities like grave robbing or illegal autopsies.…

“I think it, uh, explodes when it dies.” Shelby says awkwardly, giving their historian a rather weird look. Which means he has to be really weird, for the witch who lives in the supposedly haunted swamp to be looking at him like he’s crazy.

Pix just sighs in even more disappointment, and shakes his head rather sadly. “Another shame, then.” Jimmy briefly wonders what is wrong with him, to be so disappointed over no dead dragon body...

“ANYWAYS,” Joel says loudly, ending that rather uncomfortable exchange and causing heads to whip in his direction and most of them to jump in surprise. (They all graciously ignore how Lizzie goes at least two feet in the air, even if Joey does give her a brief Look.) “Are we going home or what?”

“I vote to go home.” Sausage says instantly, raising his hand. Fwhip follows his lead, and Gem, Jimmy, Katherine and (surprisingly) Pix all raise their hands as well. Majority vote seems to be that they should go home, the rest of the group either seeming indecisive or not caring too much about the next course of action, by the looks on their faces.

“Same here.” Joey says, arms being crossed rather sassily over his chest. His fish tail, that Jimmy had just noticed the pirate had, swished behind it’s owner in agreement. “I’m not exploring after almost getting killed by like, ten endermen.”

Murmurs of agreement follow his words, from more people than had raised their hands, and Joel lets out an annoyed sigh. Like he’s obligated to stay with the group or something. “ Fine , I guess we can go home. Since you're all too wimpy to explore the islands.”

“Let's get to the portal then!” Sausage says, with a far too cheery clap of his hands for this situation. Probably to cover all the rude words and grumbles yet again thrown at their god friend for the second time that day. Sanctuary’s protector then leads them over to where the exit portal is, and insists Fwhip should go in first. Because he found the Stronghold and entered the other portal first, and all of that stuff. To test it if something goes horribly wrong But the goblin isn’t having any of that, and volunteers the Sheriff before anyone else can even get a word in edgewise, or also volunteer themselves.

“In ya go, Sheriff!” Fwhip says, merrily, right as he shoves Jimmy into the weird glowing portal thingy. The Sheriff can only grab onto his hat, and let out a startled yelp, before he’s falling through darkness. And that’s all he sees for a long few minutes, nothing but pitch black darkness. The next thing Jimmy knows, he’s hitting the hard ground, grass not cushioning his fall in the slightest. The landing takes the breath out of him for a minute, but when Jimmy opens his eyes he is greeted with the blue sky of the Overworld. 

Lifting his head a bit, he can just barely see a few pieces of wood planted in a circle, with a campfire directly in the middle. The portal must’ve thrown him back out at spawn instead of his bed in Tumble Town, by the looks of it. Even though he was supposed to be back in his empire, according to all that stuff about the end he’d researched before the short expedition.

Right as he thinks that, there’s a weight landing on the Sheriff chest; causing him to let out a surprised oof . Looking up again gives him the view of Fwhip, who had spawned in the exact same spot Jimmy had. The goblin was basically straddling him, both men chest to chest and staring at each other in bewilderment for a few seconds, before the goblin realizes what’s happening and moves faster than he ever has in his life .

“Oh, um…” Fwhip mumbles, pushing himself upwards a little, so they are not exactly chest to chest. He feels his face flush in embarrassment, and tries his best to ignore the very hard and strong muscles he can feel under his palms. “Hi..”

Jimmy blinked up at him, his blue eyes all wide. And pretty… . “Hey…ah-” He mumbled, hands fumbling around, like he didn’t know what to do with them. The Sheriff ends up hovering them over the goblin’s waist, and Fwhip thinks that’s precisely when his brain stops working.

“I didn't know it would spit us out on the same spot, sorry….” He mutters, maneuvering off the Sheriff carefully, even with the hands on his waist, ones that he steadily and a little regretfully moves off his skin. Fwhip sets himself down on the grass, a few inches away, and resists the urge to hide his burning red face in his hands. He feels his tail curl inwards in shame, and can barely look at Jimmy when he speaks next. 

“It’s fine…” The blonde clears his throat, sitting up himself. He reaches up to fix his hat, readjusting the accessory atop his head. “We should move, in case someone else spawns in.” His gaze is fixed to the side, turned away from Fwhip, but there’s still a cherry hue visible on his cheeks.

“Right, yeah.” The goblin says, scooting a foot or so back from their landing point. Jimmy does the smarter thing, and gets to his feet. So he can walk away and get further out of range, instead of scrambling on the ground like some sort of gremlin. (Which Fwhip was, for the record.) He feels a little embarrassed when he realizes that, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it longer. Before either of them know it, two more figures are spawning. And they’re not on top of each other, which makes Fwhip want to grumble about why that even happened to the two of them only, and if the universe was just trying to embarrass him. The probability of which seemed highly likely.

Lizzie and Katherine are now in the grass next to them, both women similarly disoriented from their own fall. The former’s mask had gotten a little dislodged, and she quickly scrambled to right it on her face again. Fwhip does notice the totally not suspicious cat like features at all, and sees Jimmy politely avert his eyes. Katherine is just getting her own bearings, and doesn’t notice any fur or ears on the women beside her. Though the Princess probably doesn’t need to guess the Mayor’s secret identity, like the rest of them.

“Did you guys get dropped here too?” Katherine says, now picking herself up from the grass. Her pretty pink dress has been stained with dirt from the fall, and she brushes the loose specs off fiercely as she speaks. Her hair’s a mess too, and she has to quickly fix her pigtails.

“Yeah!” Fwhip says, feeling his tail flick in the grass. He briefly wonders why that was, but quickly comes to the conclusion that it’s part of the End’s weird magic. Magic no one should play around with, if they know what’s good for them. In the goblin’s opinion, anyway.

“Wonder why the others didn’t….” Lizzie hums, reflecting his own thoughts. Though she seems a little more curious and hung up on it than Fwhip is; and he’s sure there’s a few more of their friends that are very willing to investigate with her. Namely Pix, probably, and most likely Scott as well; since he was an adventurer or whatever.

“I'll have to ask them later.” Jimmy shrugs, sounding a little determined to find out. (Which was kinda hot, Fwhip had to be honest.) He was determined about a lot of things, but the goblin just supposes it comes with being the Sheriff. You have to be determined to be law enforcement, after all.

Lizzie and Katherine make a mumble of agreement, and the former gets to her feet with normal human agility. That leaves Fwhip the only one left on the grass, and he feels a little silly just….sitting there on the ground. But before he can get his own self to his feet, The Sheriff, who probably thinks he’s still disoriented from the fall, is suddenly in front of him to help.

“Up you go!” Jimmy says, reaching a hand down to the goblin, a lopsided smile is stretched across his face. Fwhip blinks up at him, a little mesmerized, and tries his hardest not to stare and get lost in that expression. He grabs Jimmy’s hand before he even realizes he’s reached up to do so (holy shit he’s holding Jimmy’s hands holy shit holy shit-) , and before the goblin can even process anything he’s being hauled to his feet.

“Thanks.” He huffs, leaning against Jimmy a little as he first gets to his feet. The Sheriff doesn’t seem to mind it, despite what just happened. All he does is give the other a kind, helpful little smile, not holding the goblin back when he prematurely lets go. He gives him his space to regain his composure, and then turns to Katherine for a brief chat. Once he knows his other friend is alright, of course. (Friends? Are they friends? Certainly after today they’ve moved into the friends category, right…?)

Fwhip notices all that concern the Sheriff has for him, and he nearly melts into a happy little green puddle right then and there. He always thought this guy couldn't get any better, but apparently he can!!! This guy can apparently always get better!!! Much to Fwhip’s great delight, truly!! He can’t believe it!!

He gets so lost in his thought about how great the Sheriff is, he doesn’t even notice that the man is leaving. Fwhip doesn’t notice until the blonde is about halfway down the path, his short chat with Katherine and Lizzie long over, and is turning to wave at the three of them as he departs back for Tumble Town.

“See you guys later, yeah?” The Sheriff says, tipping his hat in goodbye. His eyes go to all of them, but seem to linger on Fwhip the longest. That, or he’s just imagining things for his own benefit. Though it doesn’t really hurt to hope…

“Bye Jimmy!” He calls back, giving the blonde a small wave and a rather beaming smile/ Lizzie and Katherine echo him, calling goodbyes of their own, and Jimmy’s figure slowly best surely fades into the distance. Fwhip watches him go, for maybe several minutes too long, unable to tear his fond gaze away from the receding figure. Even when Jimmy is nothing but a distant dot on the horizon. And it’s not long after that the rest of them depart, all tired and ready to rest at home after their epic End Adventure.

“See you two later!” Katherine calls, being the next one to leave, frantically waving to the both of them. Fwhip feels a small giggle bubble in his throat at the enthusiasm, and waves back happily. Lizzie does the same beside him, tail not so discreetly curling in amusement behind her.

“Bye Katherine!” Lizzie calls, watching their friend go for a bit. Fwhip gives the Princess his own wave of goodbye, enthusiastically calling out her name. Not even a minute later, it is just the two of them left, and both emperors set off on the shared path to their own empires. Shared path, because Lizzie thought it would be funny to set up directly on top of Gobland. Though she was a pretty good neighbor, always giving him extra resources and trinkets. so he guessed the offense was forgiven. He guessed . 

“What?” Fwhip says with a tad hint of suspicion, noticing the look Lizzie has been giving him for the past few minutes of their walk. Which was basically most of it. They’re walking beside each other step for step now, down the slightly bump path leading away from spawn and to both their empires. A path Fwhip makes a mental note to go back and fix up one day, when his schedule is clear and he has nothing else to do.

“Oh nothing!” Animalia’s Mayor says, a cheeky, cat-like grin probably stretching across her face. Probably, Fwhip can’t tell with that weird human mask on. “You and the Sheriff are just very interesting!”

“Are we?” Fwhip asks, feeling his suspicions grow even more. Though the goblin really does hope she’s not talking about what he thinks she is. He hopes he’s not that obvious, more so so he can keep denying it to himself than anything. “How so?”

Lizzie holds back a giggle, lightly elbowing her friend in the side. The goblin wants to shrivel up and die as soon as those cursed and entirely correct words leave her mouth. “Well, you clearly like like him.”

“I do not!” Fwhip snorts, already feeling flustered. And embarrassed too, like the Sheriff himself was with them once again. The kind of flustered and light feeling he only felt whenever the man was around, or when anyone seemed to talk about him, or when the goblin thought about him….or when anything related to Jimmy comes up at all…..

“You were staring and blushing the whole time!” Lizzie insists very strongly, an ear flicking excitedly from behind her mask. It’s clear she won’t be letting this one go any time soon, that’s for sure. “Everyone saw it!”

“Well can you blame me!? He’s handsome!” Fwhip fires back, feeling the red hot blush steadily creep up his face. It must be all the way to his ears by now, with how hot his face is. He'll stand by the point till the day he dies by the way, that Jimmy’s the hottest man Fwhip’s ever seen in his life; screw his past crushes!

“Debatable” Lizzie hums, her tail that is totally not real swishing in amusement. She’s really doing a poor job of hiding what she really is, truly.

Fwhip rolls his eyes with a snort, and pokes her playfully in the arm with a claw. “You think Joel is hot, that’s what’s ‘debatable.’ ” Lizzie makes a sound, one that comes out as offended, and pokes him back with her own claw.

“It’s not ‘debatable’ !” Lizzie exclaims, her fur fluffing up beneath her mask, revealing the orange and black spots lining her cheeks. “Your crush is debatable !”

“Whatever!” Fwhip snorts once again, a giggle escaping him at his friends puffed up fur. Lizzie protests again, a blush surely on her face just like it is hers, and that's how they spend the rest of the walk home; all the way till the duo reaches Goblands entrance. Red faced, teasing each other, and thinking of crushes neither of them agree, or will ever agree on.

(Fwhip wonders when he’s going to see Jimmy next as they talk, and feels his tail flick in excitement, hoping that it’ll be soon…)

[sjsmith56]

The Fae Elements, Part 7 - The Past

Summary: A flashback chapter that explains more about the fae king James Barnes, specifically how he managed to have a much younger mortal son.

Length: 5 K

Characters: James Barnes, Sheriff Brown, Cora, Mr. Horton, Steven Rogers.

Warnings: Despair, grief. A young woman is described as easy to seduce.

Author notes: Okay, it was supposed to be only six parts, but this came to me, so I added it on. It's a flashback, but it kind of explains some things that happen in the main story. This is set in 1945 and explains how Buck came to have a mortal son. It also somewhat explains his reluctance to protect Sage as a child, with a marriage bond. Unlike the rest of the story, this is written in 3rd person POV. The AI images of James Barnes as a farm worker and rich businessman, were created by the author, using Microsoft Copilot app, in Designer mode.

<<Part 6

👮🏼‍♂️ 🧑‍🌾 🪦

The crowds in New York celebrating the end of the war in Europe were boisterous, loud, and finally too much for James Barnes to continue observing. Although he was happy to know that the hostilities of the mortal world had ceased, at least in that part of the world, he would wait for his council to assess the damage so many years of warfare had inflicted on the North African and European landscape. Certainly, the repercussions on the environment would be felt for years to come, not to mention the cost it had inflicted on people, both fae and mortal. So many of their kind had been swept away by the madness. So many mortal descendants had been killed by both sides.

As he leaned back against a building in the alley he ducked into, Barnes ran his hands over his face.  He had been fae king for far too long, had overseen massive technological and industrial changes in the human world that greatly affected the fae world.  His own self-imposed isolation after Daere's death placed their kind in peril, as the Industrial Revolution that spread all over the world introduced stresses on nature that seemed unthinkable.  Vast tracts of forests had been cut down to satisfy the needs of the mortals for fuel, building, and agriculture, forever changing some landscapes for the worse.  A sense of despair threatened him suddenly, and he looked around to make sure no one was watching as he flew out of the alley, away from the noise, and the singing and dancing that suddenly felt wrong. 

For hours he kept high in the sky, using the warm air currents to glide from the city to the countryside. Everywhere he considered landing seemed to be teeming with people intent on being joyous. Certainly, it was their right, but he craved solitude at this moment, so even the stronghold wasn't an option for him. He could have always gone to the sanctuary, but he had spent so long there after the death of his wife, in his self-imposed exile, that he knew if he returned, he risked turning his back on everything once again. So, it had to be somewhere else, somewhere quiet, where he could think.

As the sun went down on May 8, 1945, he finally found a spot and landed, making his wings invisible again, then using his magic to make sure his clothes were appropriate for the area. Wearing the garb of a migrant worker, overalls, shirt, work-boots, short jacket and cap, he began walking into the small quiet town. His appearance at the edge of town drew some attention and at one point, he was approached by a man wearing the uniform of a law enforcement officer. Taking his cap off, in a gesture of respect, he waited for the man to reach him.

"Stranger," said the man, wearing a badge that said Sheriff. "Where did you come from?"

"I was hitchhiking and was dropped off here," said Barnes. "The driver of the truck said I might be able to find work." The Sheriff frowned and the disguised fae king realized the people here likely were not friendly to strange men. He needed to think fast. "I've been searching for work since returning from Europe."

"You served? Where?"

"France, I went in with the 101st Airborne on D-Day," replied Barnes. "Received a leg injury that took me out of the war in Belgium and got sent home."

"Where's home?"

"Virginia. My wife was with another fellow, so I left. Been on the road ever since."

He looked away, hoping to convey his embarrassment at his situation. The disapproval from the lawman rolled off of him in waves, and he knew instinctively the man likely wouldn't allow him into town.

"I can give you a bed in the jail for tonight, and a couple of meals if you clear out a storeroom for me," said the sheriff, surprisingly. "But I want you gone tomorrow. I'm only letting you stay the night because no man should come home from the war to find his wife with another."

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate it," replied Barnes, hoping he looked desperate enough to be appreciative of a bed and food.

Following him back into town, he was aware of everyone's eyes on him, even noticing people coming out of their homes to watch him pass. It was more curiosity than anything else and he did all he could to insert the thought that he was forgettable into their minds. As they re-entered their houses after he passed, he breathed easier, knowing that he had successfully passed himself off as just another sad mortal man, down on his luck. The Sheriff entered the jailhouse, nodding at another uniformed man, typing a report using his two index fingers.

"This is ...."

"Jim," said Barnes.

"Jim is going to spend the night in a cell and then clean out the storeroom in the morning. He gets a meal now and a meal before he leaves. He's not under arrest. He's just another soldier who came home to an unfaithful wife."

The other man saluted him slightly, then returned to his report. Sheriff Brown got on the phone and ordered a meal for all three of them, then showed him the cell where he could sleep. There was a cot, with a thin bare mattress on it and nothing else.

"I've got a pillow and blanket in the storeroom, if you want to come and have a look at the mess."

He led the way to the storeroom, turning a light on by pulling a string that hung from the ceiling. It was full of all sorts of equipment, old furniture, and boxes everywhere. Reaching to one of the boxes, the Sheriff pulled out a bare pillow and a scratchy wool blanket, handing it to Barnes.

"If you can make some sort of sense of this mess, I might be able to give you some money as well, but I'll see how good of a job you do. You're welcome to work on it overnight if you can't sleep. I have to lock you into the building as Joe and I both go home to our wives overnight unless we have a prisoner that needs guarding. That okay with you?"

"That's fine," said Barnes. "I appreciate you giving me a place to sleep. If you don't mind, I can start now before the food arrives."

"Suit yourself."

Brown took back the blanket and pillow, leaving the other man there who started with the boxes, moving them to the hallway and taking stock of what else was in the cramped space.. After ten minutes Barnes took his jacket off, already feeling warm as he used his strength to shift some of the heavier furniture into a place that was out of the way. The food arrived and the other officer came back to get him, leading him to the front office, then gesturing at a table where a young woman was unpacking a basket.

She was pleasant to him, in a way that reminded Barnes of Daere, his long-dead wife. Her honey-coloured hair wasn't curled like the other women who wore theirs in large Victory rolls. Instead, she let it hang loose over her shoulders, her natural waves reflecting the light from the overhead fixtures. He imagined that in the sun it would be more golden in colour. Her soft brown eyes reminded him of a doe's eyes, so large and trusting. Smiling kindly at him, she placed a plate of food in front of each man then set out cutlery.

"Thank you, Cora," said Brown. "If you come back in an hour, you can pick up the dishes and return them to the restaurant."

"Yes, Sheriff," she replied quietly, then took her leave.

"Nice girl," said the lawman. "Her family's had it tough since her brother went to war. Her daddy died of a heart attack and it's just her and her mama running the restaurant. Maybe now with the surrender her brother can come home and take care of them as she doesn't seem to be the marrying kind. Eat up, before it gets cold."

It was good food, hearty, simple fare that reminded Barnes of the type of meal they strived for when he first arrived in America in the early years, with Daere and their twin sons. The council had sensed that the Americas needed the fae king there, as great trials against their people were coming. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about the troubles, as the paranoia was so great against anyone who tried to defend those accused of being in league with the dark one. After Daere's sister was hung, and she wasted away in despair, Barnes retreated to the sanctuary with his then young daughter, Hope, as her older brothers chose to remain in the stronghold, still being built at that time. Shaking himself out of the painful memories, he finished the meal and returned to the storeroom to continue working on it. Later, Brown stopped and had a look at his progress.

"Cora hasn't returned for those dishes yet, so I've left you the key to let her in," he said. "Mind you don't let her linger too long. People gossip about her. They think she's too trusting with men and there may be some truth to it. She's a sweet girl but without her father and brother to watch over her I think she's lonely and some have taken advantage of that. Anyways, good night, Jim."

"Goodnight, Sheriff," replied Barnes, locking the door behind the man, still coming to terms that the man didn't want him to hang around town but was willing to leave him on his own inside the jailhouse and with a woman who was a little too "trusting."

It almost didn't make sense but then mortals could be like that. A timid knock 30 minutes later brought him back to the door and he looked out the small window to see it was the young woman, Cora. He let her in then stood back as she packed the dirty dishes back into the basket. They stood there a bit, then she looked him in the eye.

"Where are you from?"

"Virginia, originally," he said, lying a little bit, as he was from England originally, then moved to Virginia in the mid 1600s.

"Are you married?"

"I was. My wife is now dead."

"I'm sorry." Her hands were fumbling a little with the hem of her sweater. "Do you miss her?"

"Very much. Are you married?"

She huffed a little. "No, ain't no one wants me. They say I'm not right." She looked out the barred window of the office. "Doesn't stop them from inviting me into their car or their barn."

"Why do you stay?"

She shrugged. "Don't have enough money to go to the city. Mama needs me, although there's talk of selling the restaurant so Mr. Horton can build a factory for all the men coming home from the war to work at. Maybe you could stay and work at the factory. Maybe you could marry me."

"I'm not staying, Cora," he answered. "The Sheriff wants me gone tomorrow. I can't marry you because I don't love you and that wouldn't be fair to you."

She frowned and sighed. "Can you take me with you? If I stay here, no one will want me. They all think I'm loose but I'm just lonely."

"Well, I understand lonely," said Barnes. "Give me your hand."

She obliged him, placing her soft hand in his. Barnes closed his eyes and used his magic to see a little further into Cora's life. It was a gift he didn't like using because things could always change but what he saw surprised him and he looked at her intently for a bit, before releasing her hand. She wasn't well educated, having been kept at home to look after her sickly mother. Her brother had tried to teach her more before he left for war in 1942, but without his encouragement she hadn't gone past a basic level of literacy. Now, he was dead, already buried in a cemetery in Belgium, although the family hadn't yet received the notification. There was something else that concerned Barnes, but he knew it was likely her only way out of this tiny, backwater town. He decided to be honest with her as so many here hadn't been.

"Cora, what do you know about the fairy folk?"

"That they'll steal your baby's soul when you're not taking heed," she replied. "That's what the older people say. I would like to see one. In my mind, they're beautiful, with wings, and they grant you wishes."

"Some do, some don't." Barnes sighed, then stroked her golden hair. "What if I said that I was one of the fairy folk?"

"Are you? Do you have wings?"

"I do, but if I show you, then you can't tell anyone. There's only one wish I can give you, Cora, but if I give it to you, then you have to leave here and go to the city."

In his hand were several strands of her hair. Entranced she watched as they glowed and transformed into gold threads that intertwined and became a gold necklace.

"That's magic," she said, then looked up into his blue eyes. "You are one of them."

"I am. I was feeling sad and came to the country to gather my thoughts, but now I think I was guided here to see you and make it possible for you to leave. Your mama will move on soon and join your daddy and your brother in the next life. You'll be alone. Most of the people here think you're not smart enough to take care of yourself but you are. You're kind and gentle and you're a hard worker. When you go to the city, you must wear this necklace always to protect you but keep it hidden by your clothing. With the money that the army will give you for your brother's service to his country, and that Mr. Horton gives you for your mama's restaurant, you can start over again in the city. You're going to have a baby, Cora, so you'll have to stop going with other men until you meet a man in the city, named William Hart. He's a good man who will love you and marry you, even though you're going to have another man's baby, a boy, that you'll name Richard. That baby will have my eyes. He'll be so smart and make you both so proud."

"Will you come to see us?" she asked, her brown eyes questioning him.

"I will but you won't see me, as that's how it has to be. The necklace will let me find you again. When Richard is old enough, I'll make myself known to him and he can choose whether to join me and the fairy folk or to stay in the mortal world. Either way, he'll have a good life and so will you."

"So, you have to put a baby in me," she stated, understanding his meaning. "Will you tell me I'm pretty?"

"I already think you are, inside and out."

He smiled, then turned out the lights and led her to the cell where his cot was. Using his magic, he transformed the cell into something nicer, holding a proper bed with a soft mattress, clean sheets, and flowers everywhere. Placing the necklace around her neck, he kissed her, gently and with kindness, knowing she had never received that from any of the men in this town who had used her for their own pleasures. In fact, only a handful of men, including the sheriff, hadn't taken advantage of her loneliness. It wasn't something that Barnes would normally do. He had actually been celibate since Daere's death, but it would be the only way to make sure Cora left this backwater town, it's darkness evident just under the surface. If she stayed, her life would be a misery and she was too kind to be subjected to that. When they were finished, he showed her his feathered wings, allowing her to stroke the feathers with her soft hands. He walked her back to the restaurant, carrying the basket of dishes for her, making sure she was safely inside and locked the door before he returned to the jailhouse and let himself in with the key the Sheriff left him. It took him all night, but he finished organizing the storeroom, and rested for an hour before the Sheriff returned.

"You did a good job," he said to Barnes, as he inspected the storeroom. "You must have worked all night on it."

"Almost. Sheriff, why did you let me stay?"

"You seemed like an honest man, maybe a bit down on his luck," he replied. "Only a handful of others would have helped you."

"Is that why you trusted me with a key, and with making sure Cora picked up the dishes? For all you knew I would take advantage of her."

The Sheriff's jaw tightened, and he swallowed. Barnes could feel the heat of the man's shame, even though he knew by his touching of Cora's hand that Brown was one of the few men who respected her.

"I was hoping you could take her away with you," he finally said. "She's too pure of heart and kind to stay here. When that factory is built, the type of men it will attract for work will look at her and use her for one thing."

"Will she and her mother get a fair price for the restaurant?"

"No, Mr. Horton will try to cheat them. That's the type of man he is. If her brother doesn't return before her mama passes away, she could end up with nothing."

"Her brother's not coming home," said Barnes. "He lies in a grave in Belgium. The notice should be coming in a few days and then the life insurance that the army gives will follow."

"How do you ...." He frowned then looked at Barnes again. "Jim, who are you?"

"Think of me as someone who cares about her," he replied. "I have abilities and I looked into her future a ways. She does have one, but she has to leave here to attain it. I need you to make sure she gets what's owed to her. She needs to be made responsible for her mother before she passes, then you need to make sure that Mr. Horton pays what the restaurant is worth. I'm going to make my own visit to him, but you'll have to be here to follow up on that."

"The city will swallow her up." Brown's anxiety and fear for the young woman was all over his face.

"No, she will meet the right man, one who loves her gentle soul." Barnes placed a hand on the Sheriff's arm and shared the vision with him. "He'll love her and the baby that she's going to have and will bind himself to them. They will have a good life."

"You had your way with her?" The man's anger simmered, and Barnes sent him soothing thoughts.

"It was necessary to give her the gift of a child. She won't go with other men now that she's carrying it and will wait for the one man who will love her as she deserves. I swear that I was kind and gentle to her, truthful as well. You are also a truthful man which is why I am charging you with making sure she gets to the city. You care about her and that is more than most in this place."

"How can I be sure that you're being truthful with me?" His anguish rolled off of him, as he wanted to believe that Jim had Cora's best interests at heart.

Barnes displayed his wings, unfurling them to stretch almost the entire width of the room. His eyes blazed with a blue light, and he raised himself towards the ceiling. With a cry, the Sheriff lowered himself to his knees and covered his eyes. When he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Jim back in his human form.

"You're an angel."

"No, a light fae, fairy folk," he answered. "Angels are distant cousins. We both fight the dark but fae are more ... worldly. We love, we marry, we have children, we mourn, we try to leave the world a better place. Now, will you help Cora?"

"I swear I will drive her to the city myself," said the Sheriff.

"I believe you." He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Where will I find this Horton man?"

"He has an office in the large red brick building in the centre of town. You'll know him as he dresses like a banker and carries himself as being better than everyone else."

Without a word, Barnes left the jailhouse and walked to the centre of town. The red brick building was quite prominent, seeming to be better maintained than the other buildings. Stepping inside he asked where he could find Mr. Horton. Directed to an office on the top floor he went up the stairs. No one else was nearby and he transformed his look into someone who was wealthy, with well styled hair and a fine suit. As he entered the office, everyone in there stopped talking.

"I'm looking for Mr. Horton," he announced, confidently.

One of the men sitting at a desk approached him.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"J.B. Barnes of Barnes Industries," replied the fae king. "I'm interested in setting up a factory in town and heard Mr. Horton was the man who could make it happen. Of course, if he's too busy I could always go to Westville."

"I'm sure he would like to meet with you, Mr. Barnes," said the man, his attitude becoming much friendlier. "Let me check with him. Please have a seat, here at my desk."

Disappearing into a nearby office, it was only a minute before he returned, with Mr. Horton in tow. The older man, tall and thin, with a superior attitude, immediately offered his hand.

"Mr. Barnes, a pleasure. Please come into my office."

"I'll get straight to the point," said the fae king. "I've heard you plan to open a factory here in town, building it on a site where several locally run businesses currently sit. I want the same site and I'm willing to outbid you to acquire it for my investment."

Immediately, Barnes disliked this man, Horton. Recognizing him as one of Cora's unwanted "admirers," while he shook the man's hand, he could barely disguise his reluctance to even be near him. The physical touch as they shook hands allowed him to foresee the effect Horton's business would have on the town, bringing in all sorts of destructive elements, even attracting dark fae. It was dying and there was nothing that Barnes could do to save the small community, except make sure that this man's factory did as little damage to the environment as possible. As he shared his plans, he could feel the intensity of Horton's desire to outbid Barnes in order to build the factory to accommodate a technology that Barnes knew would be outdated within a few years. It was easy to manipulate the man into unleashing his desire to acquire more profits. By the time he left there, Barnes was certain that offers better than his proposed ones would be made to the business owners within a day or two at the most.

Returning to the jailhouse, he walked in, still dressed as a rich man. Sheriff Brown's eyebrows raised at the sight of him and with a smile, Barnes restored his farm worker look.

"It's all set," he said to Brown. "Horton will be making offers to the business owners very soon. Make sure they cash the checks quickly and leave town as soon as possible, before the building of the factory is even started. The town is dying, Sheriff. I think you already know that. Before it dies, Horton will wring out all of its decency, making it a small island of despair and depravity." He breathed out, then looked at a fishing rod, set up against the wall behind Brown's desk. "Do you use that very often?"

"Not nearly enough," said the lawman, glancing back. "Figured once I retired, I would have more time. Are you saying I should retire? I can't afford to, not yet."

"Let me work on that," said Barnes, smiling kindly at the man. He picked up a pencil and a slip of paper from the desk, writing a phone number down. "When Cora and her mother receive her brother's army life insurance, and the check from Horton is cashed I want you to call this number. You will be given an address in the city. I may meet you there or it may be an associate. Either way, you will be able to retire with your head held high. Don't thank me. My kind takes thanks as an obligation for you to do more. You're already doing enough."

With a nod, he left the jailhouse and began the walk to the edge of town. When he was out of sight of mortals, James Barnes, the fae king, took on his normal appearance and flew up into the sky, away from the dying town, away from the mortal woman who now carried his son. Surprisingly, to him at least, he felt good about it. By helping just a few people he was changing things for the better.

A week later, a phone call rang in an office in the city. Answered by a young fae man, the mortal on the other end was hesitant at first.

"I'm calling for Jim, to say that Mr. Horton's checks have been cashed and Cora's mother cashed the army life insurance check."

"Yes, Sheriff, we've been expecting your call," said the relatively young 50-year-old fae, Steven Rogers. "Do you have a pencil? I will give you an address. We have an apartment ready for Cora and her mother to live in, as it would be a good time to bring them to the city. Someone will meet you there."

After giving him the address Steven went to the roof and created a portal back to the stronghold, reporting in person to the king that the phone call had been received. Then he returned to the city, taking his post at the apartment, waiting for the woman who carried the king's son, and her mother, and the good man who was bringing them, who would be given his own check, allowing him to leave his town and retire. It would be Steven's duty, shared with another relatively young fae man, Sam Wilson, and a fae woman, Natasha Romanoff, to make sure the young woman, Cora, and her son, were kept safe, until the man chosen to be her husband, William Hart, a mailman by occupation, returned from the war in Europe.

Having seen the worst of humanity during the war, Hart was filled with a need to do some good in the world.  He tasked himself to be kinder to people, and to embrace life and love in a way he hadn't before the war.  When he arrived back in the city of his birth, it would be a few months before he would see a young woman, with honey-coloured hair, and soft brown eyes, like those of a doe, weeping at a new grave in Forest Green Cemetery, where he had just visited his own parents.  Hearing her pain, and wanting to help her through it, he approached her, speaking to her kindly.  He didn't see the blue-eyed stranger that watched him approach her, offering comfort.  The strange man, the fae king known as James Barnes, was standing under a gnarled oak tree, rumoured to be hundreds of years old. He whispered to the tree, calling it Daere, which meant oak tree in the ancient language that his late wife grew up speaking. 

"My love, I vowed never to be with another after you, but I had to get a young woman away from a place of darkness and had to give her a child to bring it about," he said, softly, his forehead resting against the tree. "I don't love her, but I did care for her. That's her mother in the newest grave, here where you died so long ago. The man is the one who will marry her and raise my son. By the ways of our kind, you know I must reveal myself to my son when he turns 30 and offer him a place in our world. I have deliberately not seen past that time to know his answer, leaving it to fate and destiny. Forgive me for breaking my vow of never-ending love for you, Daere, my beloved."

Tears fell from his eyes, wetting the bark of the old tree. Then a breeze came up, rustling the leaves and Barnes raised his eyes up, gazing at the canopy of green above him. Slowly, he nodded his head, as if the tree spoke to him. If it was speaking to him, it did so with words of comfort because his face became soft, and his tears ceased. His attention returned to the woman, Cora, and the man, William. It was exactly as he had been shown when he touched Cora's hand. The man was already in love with her, and that love would be enough to protect her and the half-fae son she carried. As for Barnes, the old oak, that held the spirit of his late wife, had already indicated that a day would come when he would take another as his beloved. Until then, he would visit Daere as often as he could. Until that day, someday in a future that he wanted to keep a mystery, he would continue to mourn the last fae queen who had ruled their people beside him.

THE END (for real this time)

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[moris-auri]

An epitome of grace

Chapter 3: A thread of red

The Red Keep was so bitterly cold. The type that echoed and slid through the halls, going bone deep and made bones ache and fingers numb. An unfriendly place full of the ghosts of those long dead that lingered like wraiths amidst the ears that listened behind every wall and the eyes that watched behind every door. She hates it sometimes, the way Aemond's face sets almost instinctually into stone more often than not in the days after their return to the accursed stronghold he'd been born in.

A sharp ache slammed into her with all the force of glass breaking as the longing inside her grows. For Winterfell and for the familiar halls she knew like the back of her hand. For Cregan and for Sara and her little nephew and for the peace of the quiet first days of her marriage with a painful clarity, the memory of the half day they'd been curled and twined together under one of the many trees on the Isle of Faces. 

The beautiful hazy bliss made her unwilling to move no faster than a snail, her pleasure growing as Aemond twisted and rolled his hips against her, his name coming out from her bruised mouth as a choked breathless moan every time his nose brushed her cunt, the touch of his fingers and his hands on her body forcing back the vague muted sense of foreboding that crept into her mind and into her bones as she stared at the waters of the God's Eye from over his shoulder.

She could not, would not, ever tire of the bright glow of starlight that burned behind her lids every time she closed her eyes, feeling like she was floating on a cloud. The feeling is an indescribable beautiful thing that spreads from the tips of her toes all the way to her head as his body moved against hers, the weight of him against her a lovely heavy thing. His groans filled her ears faintly, as if she had them stuffed with tufts of cotton. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he buried himself deep inside of her, spilling his seed again and again and again.

The leather of his coat had been warm under her back as he'd sagged boneless against her, his breath little more than puffs of air against her collarbone and her neck as she smoothed her hands in sporadic movements over his mussed silver hair, her mouth opening in a wordless cry as her hips lifted and her back arched as his insistent kisses and his fingers drove her to her limit, chasing the tail end of a high as they lay wrapped and twisted around each other, as if they wanted to burrow into each other's bones and blood and sinew to become one being in two separate bodies.

Their vows of the Old ways as binding as much as a blood vow was. From this day till the end of my days...

She grew more than keenly aware of the hostility of the court ladies that she, a Snow with a thousand years of Stark blood running through her veins, would catch the eye of Alicent Hightower's second born son. The years of watching over her shoulder had left her with a higher degree of wariness for the cruelty the world dealt to those of her station. 

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. 

She knew she was not a Lady. Knew she was not a princess. Just Aemond One Eye's wife; undeserving of even breathing the same air as him or his brother the King. It is everywhere, almost. Etched into the old stones, following her up and down every corridor of the holdfast in the form of viciously hissed and hushed whispers that linger like brands and the burn of a farrier's tools on her skin. 

That's her. The Prince's baseborn wife.... she has no place here....look at her... 

In the main hall as she stands alongside Aemond and Helaena on the steps below Aegon’s throne. In the corridors. Wispy tendrils of unease lingering in her blood every time she catches the looks of distaste on the faces of two of Aegon's council members, Tyland Lannister and Jasper Wylde. Even more so as her belly swelled beneath the differing tones and styles of the gowns in dark colors that felt far too fine for her. 

More often than not, the only semblance of peace she could find when not with Aemond was when she would slip from the keep and into the spot where the white as bone weirwood was, kneeling before it with her hands clasped together under the red as blood leaves.

Some days she would go alone, other times with Helaena or even rarer at times accompanied by Aemond when he was not locked in council meetings with Aegon and the lords that is; returning to their chambers in an even fouler mood than he'd been that morning. The one thing she did know that would soothe him after he'd thrown himself into a chair and all but tore his eyepatch off, flexing his hands against the arms of it was the pleased noise he made at the feeling of her fingers untangling the knots in his hair and the kisses pressed to his face.

The sting is only lessened a fraction by the kindness of his sister Helaena and the wary pleasantness of the Dowager Queen. 

Helaena is as gentle as she is lovely, all light touches and quiet words. Ylva had begun to accompany her and armed guards into the city, half out of boredom and half out of curiosity, smiling at the grasping fingers of the children that tugged at her skirts as they stared up at them with wide eyes of blue, green and brown.

A flash of pale silver gold hair in the corner of her eye made Ylva turn her head to stare at a boy who couldn't be any older than four. Blinking at the violet eyes that were almost identical to little Maelor's staring back at her from a face smeared with dirt. The Cargyll twin who served Aegon seemingly noticed the direction of her gaze. His voice low in her ear as he said that it was one of Aegon's bastards and that there were no doubt others spread out over the city.

Ylva cannot help but laugh at the sight that greets her after she parts from Helaena. The sun blinding her as it sits at it's peak in the sky as they returned to their chambers in the keep, stealing silently through the door of their chamber. Aemond is slumped, back flush against the back of the basin, eye staring blankly at the flames, the ridges of his collarbones sticking out wetly against his skin.

Freshly returned from another council looping over the same issue over and over if she had to guess. The sound of the door latching behind her has him blinking, arms falling into the water and sending it over the rim when he jolted straighter.

Droplets of water clung to the ends of his curtain of pale hair as his eye followed her movements, head tilted backwards against the edge of the tub. His hand lifted to squeeze her hip when she was close enough, his brow furrowing as he noticed the pallor of her skin. "What is it?" he murmured, sitting taller. "I was with Helaena-" Ylva paused, combing her fingers through the wet strands of his somewhat wavy hair, heart stuttering for a second at the way he sunk against her touch.

Her worries and fears of the sight of the nameless silver haired boy in the streets fading as she stared down at him, tendrils of heat slowly growing at the look in his eye. "Tis nothing, Aemond. I promise." she finally murmured, sliding a finger under his jaw to tilt his face up to press her mouth to his before she was carefully pulling the sapphire from his eye socket and cradling it in her palm. 

"So you are my brother's wife." Aegon stared at her with curious purple eyes after he'd cornered on the one day a week later after she'd chosen to forgo the company of Helaena or the Dowager Queen. Ylva blinked, taking note of all the differences that sat wide like a river between Aemond and his elder brother. 

"You're prettier than I thought you'd be for a Northerner, goodsister." he said, smirking. She forced herself to be still, keeping her fingers on the red petals of the flowers in front of her, purposefully half turned toward him. Aemond's warnings to steer clear of his elder brother ringing in the forefront of her mind. She kept her head up, more than used to the roving eyes of the highborn lords that cast looks her way at times when they thought the king's younger brother wasn't going to notice.

"Mmm. What of it?" she forced herself to say, digging her nails into the skin of her palm and away from laying a hand on her stomach protectively. He began to laugh, the noise erupting from his mouth sharply, cutting through the air like a knife, hovering closer to the giggle of a child than the King of the Seven Kingdoms he was, a flutter of barely noticeable Targaryen madness in it. "This is too much-" he gasped out between breaths, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Another difference between him and Aemond, she noted distantly as she listened to him. 

"You even sound like him. I can see why my brother cares for you."  Aegon's smile is half cruel, half amused as his laughs fade. "Your brother is his own person, Your Grace. I might know some of what goes on in his pretty head, but I will not push him if he does not want to speak." Aegon snorted, pursing his mouth, blowing air from between his lips.  

“Ylva.” She heard the grimness in Aemond’s voice as his footsteps came closer and his hands falling onto her shoulders from behind. "What are you doing, Aegon?" there was a faint trace of suspicion cleverly hidden in his brother's voice. Aegon grinned.

"Come now, little brother. I was just saying how lovely your new bride was." Aemond's eye set unnervingly on Aegon's face, a degree of mistrust in the violet even as he relented to the insistent tugging of Ylva's fingers on his arm. Aegon watched Aemond's back hunch forward as her slight frame stretched upwards on her toes as she pressed a kiss to the left side of his brother's face.

A pang of something flared in his stomach at the sight of the hand Aemond pressed to her stomach, at what a happy marriage actually looks like. Nothing like what his own was; wed to Helaena of all things when they were still practically children. "Our Mother and Grandsire are looking for you, Aegon." Aemond said, his eye slanted downward and focused intently on his little wife. "Of course they are," Aegon said, mood going as sour as a crabapple as he stalked off.

“That was not necessary, Aemond... I could've handled him myself-“

"That does not mean you should have to," he said, his mouth twisting. “Can I not surprise you, my lady Snow?" Ylva smacked his arm, blotches of red staining her cheeks vividly, but tugged him closer with a laugh nonetheless, pushing him onto one of the stone benches, pressing her mouth to his as she stood at his knee and burying her flushed face against his hair, unable to ignore both the wetness that is growing between her thighs and the feel of him hard against her stomach, her heavy skirts hiding his hand as he slid it under the dark material, pushing her shift up, brushing the pad of his thumb against her cunt.

Ylva's fingers dug into his arms, her stomach tightening as she moved around the two fingers that brush against the bundle of nerves.

Neither of them saw the rat that watched from the shadows.

"What do you want, Grandsire?" Aegon bit out, ears half listening to his grandfather's monotonous voice drone on, his eyelids drooping as his fingers itched for the jug of wine sitting on the table directly behind Otto. The Hand snapped his fingers under his grandson's nose. "Are you even listening, Your Grace?" he demanded shortly, frowning. Aegon could almost taste his disappointment. "You could be at least somewhat grateful, boy. We've given you a throne. A kingdom." Aegon snorted again.

"A crown and a kingdom that was never meant for me. Don't play stupid, grandsire. It doesn't suit you." he droned his grandfather out again, his thoughts unconsciously drifting to Helaena. He cursed when his head thumped painfully against the back of the tall chair, rubbing at his skull with the heel of his hand as he glared at his grandfather after his brother's name sounded. "My brother and his new wife," Aegon said, relishing the way Otto's face soured even more. "Have only been back a fortnight and you want to send him where?"

"To Storm's End," Otto echoed, repeating the words tempestuously, as if he was not speaking to his king, but to an unruly child. "We need allies and Lord Baratheon-" Aegon thumped his fist down, scowling. "Absolutely not. Aemond will stay here." Vhagar will stay here, he did not say. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre were large enough, should worst come to worst, but Vhagar was the Queen of dragons, ridden by Visenya in her brother's Conquest.

A fail-safe against Caraxes the Blood Wyrm and Rhaenyra’s own Syrax.

"Lord Baratheon does not have as many fighting men as Cregan Stark does, grandsire." Aegon's hand sweeping the air as he gestured wildly. "I am not so cruel as to tear my brother from his wife when they have been wed nary more than a fortnight, Grandsire." he pointed a ring adorned finger at his Hand in warning. "I'll not hear another word from you. I've half a mind to send you back to Oldtown and make Aemond my Hand. I've no doubt he'd like that." 

"Cregan Stark will never side with Rhaenyra now. His sister is here."  he stood abruptly, resting a hand on the back of the chair Alicent used to sit in as his father's regent. "No more talk of sending my brother anywhere. I tire of your little games."

A floor and several corridors away, his sister-wife lifted her head from the embroidery hoop and grinned, shifting on the chair as she snapped her fingers for a nursemaid to take the children back to their shared room, hearing the low distinct sound of her brother’s boots.

"Aegon." Helaena hummed faintly as she felt more than saw her husband clear his throat somewhat awkwardly as he shifted from foot to foot just a little ways past the doorframe.

He didn't have to say anything as to why he was here. She knew; saw more than people thought or expected her to. He hadn't wanted their marriage any more than she had, but duty was duty, and they suffered through it with stiff lips and the glistening tracks of the tears on Aegon's face. He hadn't been with her since before Maelor's birth, the spare son their mother had insisted upon in the case that gods forbid something should happen to Jaehaerys.

His palms clenched and unfurled at his sides, knowing the unspoken and rarely mentioned rule that his mother did her best to enforce with him, Aemond and Daeron, as well as all the maidservants that had come and gone. The tentative touch of her delicate fingers on the inside of his wrist had a jolt running through him, pulling himself from the workings of his head.

She touched him again, fingers pressing softly at his back.

She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose. For once, her head is clear and flat, peaceful, even; soundless like the waters of the God's Eye. It is a peaceful feeling somewhat, more so than she has felt in ages; plagued as she was by the dreams her dragon blood has cursed her with.

Spool of green; spool of black... dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread... she had murmured softly as she knelt in a dress of Hightower green with the needle thin legs of the spider moving over the back of her hand as she delicately spun it hand over palm before covering it with a flat shell. 

Aegon's kisses were fervent against the skin at her throat, his fingers digging into her sides as he pushed her back onto the window ledge. Helaena savored the pain of the rough stone and hard glass digging into her back, feeling him against her thigh, already hard as he mouthed at the expanse of pale skin of her throat, his fingers fumbling behind her back as he undid the laces of her stays.

"Hel-" he mumbled, the soft sighs she let out brushing against his cheek as soft as the tip of a butterfly's wing. He broke away from her mouth to nip at her collarbone again, his teeth both blunt and sharp against the pale skin. A moan pushed suddenly from her lungs when his fingers hiked her skirts up, half collapsing against her, panting. Aegon pressed apologetic kisses to her throat and her shoulder for every nip and bite, hissing when her fingernails dug painfully into his scalp. "No more women, brother." Aegon's agreement was a mumbled noise against the skin of the hollow of her throat, the tips of his shoulder length hair rumpled as his hands clenched at her sides. 

Helaena thinks perhaps she does know him as she does herself after all in that moment, turning her eyes to the ceiling. That Aemond and Aegon are as much of a pawn as she is in the game and the war their mother's father seemed more than eager to wage on their half sister simply because of her sex, as well as the fact that she had not a lick of precious Hightower blood in her veins.

Nothing good ever lasts long, that much Ylva knows for certain in the month that goes by. The longer Aegon sits the throne, the greater the chasm that is the tension between him and his elder half sister Rhaenyra grow, red on black clashing with gold on black. 

"It's stifling here." Ylva murmured quietly, drawing her lip in-between her teeth, back tense as she moved around the room with one hand to her belly. "I don't like it."

"I cannot do this. I cannot do that." she huffed and tugged at the too fine dress that clung uncomfortably to her skin, trying to breathe through the too tight lacing at her back. "I want to be free." her eyes were pleading as she stared at him. “Not confined to a keep for the rest of my days. You know that is not who I am, Aemond. Please.” his feet were soundless as he walked closer to her, his fingers gentle against her back as he tilted forward, gathering her to him and pressed kisses to her face. 

“You'll get no complaints from me, wife." he rasped quietly. "I will give you all that and more once our child comes. I promise." 

For every Targaryen that comes into this world, a coin is flipped; either landing on the side of madness or the side of sanity.

In Naerys Targaryen's case, it falls on a balance that teeters dangerously between the two. Her birth four moons later is an easy enough one, a blessing from the Old Gods on Ylva, only lasting a day under the watchful eye of Aemond, Alicent and the Grand Maester as the first child of a bastard born of the North and Aemond One-Eye slips out, held between the upturned palms of the head midwife, red faced and screaming. 

"She doesn't have a name yet," Ylva's eyes flicked to Aemond's, face wan and cheeks gaunt between her curtain of limp black hair. "Little Naerys. Little dragonling," Helaena said softly, the first of them to slip into the now quiet room, humming a song as she graced her little silver haired niece with a name, the babe weighing as little as a stone in her arms, eyes tracing the mix of Valyrian and First Men heritage that would make her lovely as she grew. Alicent and Aegon follow her later on, closer to nightfall.

"Aemond-" Alicent trailed off when Aemond turned around from where he stood next to Ylva's bed, his daughter in his arms. She'd never seen him look so happy before. 

Ylva placed her sleeping daughter in her goodbrother's arms. Aegon stared down at Naerys' sleeping face, confusion etched across his face. "It's a baby, brother. You've three of them." Aemond said, wary amusement in his eye as he stood next to Ylva. "Yes, I know that." Aegon blustered, ears reddening as he shifted Naerys in his arms. 

"Born with the echo of stones and blood red leaves in her hair," Helaena murmured. The three eggs they bring in heated capsules are as different as the other as day was to night, but beautiful nonetheless. One was green with alternating whorls of copper, gold and silver. The other two were equally pretty in colors of dark bronze and a pale shimmery shade of blue and gold that was close in looks to Dreamfyre.

Ylva crooned low, sweet and soft as Naerys slept in her arms, brushing at her wisps of silver hair. "Might I?" Alicent murmured, extending hesitant hands towards her for the grandchild that was not weighed down by crown or kingdom. Aegon ordered the Dragonkeepers to bring eggs from the pit mere hours after her birth, caring little for the protests of the council members. "She is blood of the dragon," all he said, his sentiments echoed by his mother and Helaena. His new niece had him wrapped around her finger within weeks, much to the irritation of his brother. Aemond’s mouth twisting every time Aegon decided to barge into his bedchamber to see her.

The dreams that had plagued her almost every night did not vanish entirely in the days and weeks after Naerys' birth, sometimes waking up in the dead of night gasping for air, turning to look at Aemond as she sunk against the bedding, curling around him. Remnants lingered in the way she still smelled fire and smoke and blood, still heard dragons bellowing, the clash and ringing of steel. 

"Loving you is a blessing and a curse, Aemond Targaryen." she growled, infuriated and exhausted from the duality of restless nights that consisted of Naerys' insistent wailing and a number of other trivial things that she does not dare bring up; the shouting that echoed from the council chamber loud even through the heavy wooden door as she passed by it day in and day out. "I wish I never let you convince me to leave Winterfell."

His expression shutters like a curtain, her words seeming to ignite a new sense of fury and rage in his eye.

"You are mine." he scowled. "Do you think there is a place in this world where I will not find you? You, wife, who has seen all of me?" he tapped a finger to the scar on his face, tugging the square of leather from his head as anger sat dark like a storm in his eye, his voice rising a little as his fingers flexed at his sides. "Do not forget the vows we swore under your beloved tree as your brother watched. Do not forget that I have had your pleasure." The sharp crack of her hand connecting with the right side of his face broke the silence like a whip.

"How dare you," she spit at him, color blooming red on her pale skin as anger thrummed like a hive of bees under her skin, her brows drawing low over glacial blue eyes.

A look that was half-pleasure, half surprise dawned a half second later on Aemond's face, dousing her fury in an instant, tendrils of desire sliding its way up her spine like a snake across sand as she stared at him. "Do it again," he demanded, fingers closing like a vice around her wrist. "Your face... Aemond-" he pushed at the damask skirts of her grey-green dress. "I've suffered through the agony of it for nine years. You will not hurt me this once."

The only thought in her mind was that no pleasure could ever exist without pain; not in this world or any other as her hand connected with his face again, watching his smirk deepen and knock the breath from her lungs painfully. 

"Gods, but you are a thing of beauty when you are angry, wife." Ylva flushed crimson at the slow insolent grin on his face, eyes flicking from his mouth to his cheek that was reddened from her fingers. The palm of her hand was still stinging as she half turned away from him, the hold he still had on her arm the only thing keeping her from leaving. "Where do you think you’re going, my lady Snow?" A muscle in his jaw ticked, his hand tightening around hers as he pressed himself against her, his breaths low muted rumbles against the back of her neck.  

It was a hazy thing, an epitome full of light and grace and beauty to feel Aemond shift against her back the next morning; to feel his fingers on her, barely able to see him through the thin sliver of light that edged it's way like tongues of fire through a crack in the heavy drapery of the windows that overlooked Blackwater Bay.

Even more so at the light that sparked behind her pale eyes as she curled her fingers around his wrist. “I’m sorry,” she exhaled into his ear lowly, drawing a finger down the still pink marks in the outline of her fingers on his cheek. He pressed against her, stealing the apology from her mouth, a startled moan tumbling out as her hands grasped at his shoulders weakly, her noises pushing him to the edge, his breath coming from him in short staccato gasps as her palms dragged against his skin. The last thing she'd remembered from the previous night was the wave after wave of pleasure as his fingers dug into the skin of her waist, his hair slipping against the insides of her thigh and the onslaught of his tongue.

Several things happened not a moon after Naerys' birth. The first was the trickle of word from the west of an uprising in the Riverlands; Daemon Targaryen's work, according to Aemond. The man was Alyssa Targaryen's son through and through; unable to be content and sit around twiddling his thumbs at Rhaenrya's side. He craved chaos as it were wine; an itch for war and battle and bloodshed hovering just under his skin. The second, the confirmation from the maester that Helaena was with child again. The latter more surprising to everyone, none more so than to Alicent.

"Finally deigning to pay attention to our sister, have you?" Aemond snapped at him as they dined together. Aegon scowled at him. "I could say the same for you, brother," he muttered, pushing down the collar of Aemond's jerkin. Aegon let out a noise that was not quite so much a laugh as it was a snort, eyes alight with glee as he stared at the still somewhat reddened skin the not quite faded remnants of the marks her teeth had left on his neck the night before.

Aemond jerked away from him, the shell of his ears turning red as he turned his eye to glare at Ylva as she sat next to Helaena. "How is it to ride a dragon, goodsister?" Aegon queried as he let go of the collar of Aemond's jerkin and turned towards Ylva; ignoring the frigid look his brother shot his way.

The doors of the council chamber remaining closed seemingly day in and day out as they argued on who to send to put an end to Daemon's attempts at inciting conflict. Aemond left at dawn, the ghost of the kiss he left her with still tingling on her mouth as she stood behind the window, Naerys was a heavy weight in her arms as she watched the shadow of Vhagar twist and climb higher into the blue of the sky, the sun glinting off her bronze scales brightly.

Ylva shushed her daughter, seeing her rapidly reddening face that hinted at the scowl that threatened to form on her face.

"Dowager Queen Alicent has requested your presence in her chambers, Lady Ylva." Lord Commander Cole stared at her, mouth twisted down. She turned mutely to hand Naerys to one of the nursemaids, brushing her palms over her skirts before following him.

"Sit, please," the Dowager Queen murmured, gesturing to the spot at her left when she had entered. "You have lovely hair," she said after a moment, touching the thick wavy black strands with a finger when the silence grew unbearably suffocating. "Thank you, Your Grace," Ylva let her hands fall to her lap. "Call me Alicent, please. It is only just as you are kin to me now." she smiled faintly, reaching up to touch the golden seven pointed star around her neck. "Do you like it here, dearest?" 

"It is not Winterfell, but it has it's own loveliness, I suppose." she said, leaving the rest unsaid.

"Good. Good." the awkward stilted feeling returned, the last time she'd been in the same room as the widowed Queen Aemond had been there. "I wanted to thank you," Ylva looked at her in confusion. "Whatever for?" 

"For my son. I've not seen Aemond as content as he is when he is around you." Alicent admitted. "He is more at ease when you are closer, more so than I've seen him in ages." her eyes crinkled in the corners, the resemblance to her firstborn clear. "He was always so angry; so bitter that he did not have a dragon when his siblings did. Aegon and Rhaenyra's two elder sons used to find it amusing to tease him mercilessly for it." she swallowed, a light forming in her eye at the mention of Rhaenyra. "I feared after Drift-"

The entrance of her father silenced her in a heartbeat. "Daughter," he greeted, his gaze all but sliding over Ylva as he barely spared her a glance. "Aemond has left for the Riverlands, I assume?" Ylva didn't even think she even knew of the blood that her picked at nailbeds as it crept onto the fabric of her Hightower green skirts. "Yes," Alicent said dully, a far cry from how she had been only minutes before. "He left yesterday, father." 

"Aegon is adamant on keeping him here; when we are in need of alliances to keep Rhaenyra from the throne. Arryn. Tully. Baratheon."  

"You wouldn't want anything to happen to her now, would you?" Otto said, his face carefully blank save for the half smile that was oily and cold and made Ylva’s blood boil, the threat to Naerys hiding behind courtly words. Her mouth twisted in a snarl and she bared her teeth. “I am Aemond’s wife. Naerys his daughter.” Alicent looked between them. 

“Go back to Winterfell, girl.” was all he said as he turned around and left her and Alicent in silence.

The scent of smoke and blood clung to Aemond's hair, his skin and his armor when he returned a half-month and a night later, pushing his way into their chamber mere hours after the sun had fallen, the hand she had pressed to his front doing little to stop him as he came closer. "You smell, husband. Don't touch me." The thin linen and velvet of her shift and dressing gown as flimsy a barrier as anything. The smell of him was nauseating as it permeated her nose.

"Māzigon kesīr, ābrazȳrys," Aemond hissed, sliding his fingers behind her neck, tugging her closer, his dragon blood heated from fighting. Desire, sweet, dark and thick pooled low in her belly and in her stomach as his mouth trailed down her neck and across her shoulder, the feel of it burning and searing, her nails clawing at his shoulders, fingers slipping as the hollow sounds of the armor fell around them in a pool of silver and green and black.

"Did you touch yourself when I was gone?" the heat of his gaze licked at her skin like dragonfire. "Aemond-" he silenced her with a biting kiss, the back of his hand brushing across her breast. "Tis a simple enough question," he said as he pushed his thigh between her legs, fingers grasping at her jaw and turning it to the side, feeling the light scrape of his teeth on her neck, his hands bunching her shift around her waist as he slowly pushed it up over her head, laughing when it tangled in her long hair.

Her eyes were half lidded as her fingers reached out to pull him into another kiss. “Ylva...” Aemond leaned into her touch with all the near aching desperation of the boy of nine and ten he was. Her fingers pressed against his jaw, sighs low and sweet against his mouth, the sounds going down to the core of him. She was a quivering breathless mess of sweaty hair and skin; her little noises that make him aware of how much he wanted her.

There was some truth in the phrase that absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

"You insatiable wild little thing..." he crooned as her hips bucked against his hand when he slid it between her thighs. She leaned forward to kiss him again, shifting against the sheets as he groaned into her mouth, the low noise making her hips lift up again. His fingers were wildfire hot against her skin, relentless in the pursuit of something as he trailed them over nearly every part of her, giving and taking pleasure as he pushed at her, turning her facedown against the bedding. The movement was easy enough considering how slight and fine boned she was. 

Ylva buried her face deeper into the pillow to stifle the moan that slipped out when Aemond half bent over her, sliding two fingers inside her. "Oh..."

"The prettiest thing in this place..." he breathed, his face pressed against her hair. His breath thudded in her ear; as loud as the crack and snap of lightning that only happened at the height of a storm. "It's too much, Aemond... please.." she begged, spine tingling as she dug the tips of her fingers into the bedding. "Hush," his fingers sought her again, insistent and not at all relenting as he curled them just an inch inside of her, the sensation enough to make her hips lift up from the bed, twisting and contorting away from the arm he had twined around her stomach.

She let out a muted whimper when he pulled his fingers away, only to let out a hoarse rasping cry in the next second as he buried himself inside her, wishing for the beauty of it all to never end. 

"I'd keep you here all day if I could." Aemond murmured, combing a hand through her hair, fingers lingering a second on the bruise on her arm. "What good would that do?" Ylva sighed against his chest, their legs tangled together and skin sticky with sweat. The remnants of him lingered on the insides of her thighs. Aemond's hand rasped against her skin as he trailed it up her leg, freezing on her hip, the tip of his nose edging at her throat.

"What?!" he demanded, lifting his head, incensed at the knocks that sounded from out in the corridor.

The muffled response came a split second later.

"His Grace wishes to see you!" Aemond swore, muttering angrily under his breath. The movement of him rolling off of her and sliding away had goosebumps forming on her arms. Ylva didn't bother pulling the sheet any higher than it was at her waist, watching him as he shoved his clothes on. "Aemond..." she murmured, touching his arm lightly, knowing the soft lilt of her voice as she sung his name would soothe his ire with Aegon. 

"What are you doing?" Aemond stilled in the doorframe, his eye taking in the scene before him. Naerys began to babble upon seeing him, smiling toothlessly as she crawled across the carpets to cling to his leg. He looked down at her, nudging his boot slightly so it moved her back a little, making her giggle.

“Tell me,” he insisted, coming closer. "I'm going back to Winterfell, my love."

"What did he say to you?" Aemond demanded, his voice clipped. Ylva stilled, hand braced on the chest.

"It's nothing," The pouch of currency that Otto Hightower had forced on her taunted her cruelly from where she had dropped it on the chest at the foot of their bed.

"Naerys and I don't belong here, as your grandfather and your brother’s council members ceaselessly remind me every chance they get."  He had all but threatened her to leave the city and go back to Winterfell, to never set foot in King's Landing ever again. "No." There was a finality in his voice that made her stop and look at him. "I don't give a shit what he told you to do."

"I will handle my grandsire. Neither you nor my daughter are going anywhere, Ylva. You will stay here." she rushed forward, seizing his fingers tightly. "Let me go. You were never meant to go north anyway." he froze, hands stilling where they rested on her shoulders. “Where did you hear that?”

"Never." he said, inadvertently switching to High Valyrian. Another word she knew. “I promise.” she finally croaks out as he wrapped his arm across her shoulders. 

A flush of red crawled up Otto Hightower's neck when Aemond appeared with Ylva in the hall outside the modified chamber Alicent always used for dinners of just them, his hand on her lower back as she walked beside him to the dinner Alicent wanted. "Why are you still here? I thought I made myself clear when I told you to take your whelp and return to Winterfell." Aemond’s eye narrowed, the purple vanishing to nothing but black in an instant. "Say that again, grandfather." his voice turned low and rasping.

"Where is your sense of duty? Of loyalty?" Otto Hightower shouted over the table, all pretense of pleasantries gone.

Alicent buried her face in her hands in the same second Ylva placed a tentative hand on his forearm. "Aemond-" 

The Hand's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you to dare to touch a prince?" Ylva flinched and withdrew her hand, shrinking back with lowered eyes, folding them together tightly in her lap. “Don’t speak to her like that.” Aemond snarled, glancing at her briefly. "Have I not given everything of myself to this accursed family?" Aemond's hands slammed against the table so hard the silver cutlery rattled and lifted off a little before falling back just as loud. "You would send my wife away? My daughter?" he turned his eye to his mother, all but ignoring his grandfather.

"That would not be my desire, Aemond. She is your wife." Alicent shot sharp eyes in her father's direction. "The bastard should've gone back to Winterfell. Both of them." Otto pressed on. "You are not married in the eyes of the Seven, and your marriage to Ylva Snow is a falsity. Born of the heathen Northerners." Otto enunciated slowly. "-and Naerys Waters is your bastard daughter." Aemond shot upwards, eye narrowed to a slit.

"Say another word, Grandsire..." he snarled. "-and it'll be your last. I swear it. I care not if we share blood."  

Aegon just watched, cup in hand, amusement bright in his eyes as he leaned backwards in his chair, feeling the front legs lift from the ground slightly before letting them thump down again.

Naerys sat on her leg, her chubby fingers grasping futilely at the lone strand of moonstones around her neck. Ylva clucked her tongue softly. "Sweet girl…" She brushed her mop of silk fine silver gold hair back from where it obscured her daughter’s pretty violet eyes. 

"Naerys, no!" Ylva inhaled sharply, seeing her daughter's tiny fingers reach towards the eyepatch. The hold Aemond had on his squirming daughter tightened even as his face went pale, pain bright in his eye.

Ylva was immediately pulling their daughter from his arms with insistent fingers to put her in her cradle before turning to push him towards the chair by the hearth. "Sit, Aemond." she murmured, brushing at his tied back hair, fingers carefully slipping the leather patch over his head.

"Is it bad?" his hand tightened painfully around where hers rested on his shoulder. "Poppy juice-" Ylva fought back a flinch at his grip. "It'll pass soon enough," he forced out, shaking his head at her question. “I had enough of that when i was a boy. I'll not drink that ever again.” he snapped, turning away from her and Naerys. 

The egg that nestled in Naerys' cradle began to crack, tiny claws of black pushing from the pieces, the beady copper eyes of a verdant body blinking out at the darkened room, before his gaze fell onto the sleeping girl to curl tightly around her wrist like a bracelet of fire made flesh.

[science-lings]

Idk I don’t think you’re giving the other links enough credit when it comes to preparedness. You’re kinda implying that they could just wandering into town whenever to restock but that’s not really true. I’d actually argue Wild had the easiest time because he could just teleport to ten different villages to buy whatever he needed at any given time (that’s how I played him in BOTW lol. I’d just clear out the stalls every few days tbh I’m too lazy to farm stuff myself sometimes). Plus he has a Hyrule that is full to the brim with natural recourses. Most of the other Links had much harsher worlds.

Time spent several weeks (months?) trapped in the future post-apocalypse where the only civilization to survive was a single village in the far corner of Hyrule. Every other town or place was destroyed or cursed or frozen.

Legend was a wanted criminal so he couldn’t just wander into town and buy a loaf of bread.

Twilight was trapped as a wolf for a long while and was actively chased away.

Sky was stuck on the ground without any civilization aside from an old lady and Groose.

Hyrule didn’t even have towns to go to during his first adventure.

Wind spent weeks at sea, which he couldn’t even fish in because there are no fish in the Great Sea. Plus he couldn’t get water easily. Arguably I’d say he had the hardest time with that because the life of a sailor is dang hard because of the lack of resources.

So I’d argue that the other are actually way more prepared to deal with the food situation than Wild, who’s literally never had to ration because he ran into food everywhere he went. Seriously it’s basically impossible to go ten feet in BOTW without seeing a mushroom. Even in the desert there’s stuff it pick. (It’s actually a problem for me when playing lol I get so distracted picking up each and every berry)

Warriors especially would be good at monitoring food levels because he was a Captain of a large army. If I know anything about war conditions in the pre-modern world it’s that food and starvation was a huge factor in winning wars. Fun fact - most strongholds and castles fell because people were starved out, not because the doors were bashed down. That’s why modern armies are so big on logistics now. So Warriors would be on top of that with details and numbers on how much an active man eats in a day and what foods keep and what’s the best way to transport it. There’s no way he’d not be deeply involved in something so important. So I doubt he doesn’t know the challenges of keeping a small army fed while on the road.

I respect your opinion and I get what you're saying, but you're missing the major thing that generally, the others can't cook. While that just may not be a mechanic in any of their games, it doesn't matter.

Like obviously the others aren't completely useless and I get why that pisses people off that Wild may be good at something that the others may not be.

It's not unreasonable to assume that the worlds of the other Link's are just as bounteous when it comes to wild plants and animals that can be hunted but the fact is that they NEVER needed to resort to foraging or hunting for their food. A lot of them healed up by killing monsters and picking up their hearts that popped out, which idk how that would translate to reality but whatever.

Wild was born with nothing to his name but a weird little iPad, he was forced to pick up everything along the way so he wouldn't starve. He couldn't even properly cook until he left the great plateau.

Not everyone plays the game like you do, it's honestly crazy to me that you waste your rupees on food that you can literally pick up off of the ground. I only buy things that can't be harvested like sugar and goron spice and milk.

You can have whatever headcanons you want but don't come to me acting like I'm wrong for not having the same ones.

[feyhunter78]

Orange Blossoms Ch 3

Description: The fleeing family arrives in Dorne.

The city of Sandstone was unlike any he’d ever seen before. Built around an oasis, nestled within the desert dunes, it was a sturdy fortress, filled with people who shared his coloring and the thick scent of orange blossoms. His only experience had been in the marshes, and the stories his mother had told him. He was glad to see she had not exaggerated the beauty of her home, her perfumed words wrapped in care and longing rang true as he gazed upon the place she had so deeply missed.

Alicent clung to him as he strode forward with the same confidence he had the day he unseated Prince Daemon from his horse. This was his mother’s home; he would not be turned away.

They had dyed the children’s hair the moment they stepped foot on land then taken their vows in the closest sept. It was a small building with a wizened septon who took one look at their haggard appearance and bid them to set the children down in a pew, giving them honeyed bread to content themselves with while he performed the ceremony.

Now her children’s hair was dark, a deep reddish brown that looked to be a perfect mix between herself and Criston. She held Helaena in her arms while Aegon walked alongside him, and he held Aegon’s hand tightly to keep him from wandering off.

It was a blur of movement once they entered House Qorgyle’s stronghold. The sand-colored castle was smaller than the Red Keep but breathtaking. Each stone shone in the sun, the towers reaching for the sky, the interior walls decorated with carvings and tapestries, each more intricate and beautiful than the last, and there was life everywhere, joyful life. People bustled through the halls, flora, and fauna bloomed everywhere he looked, and the air was warm but clean. No scents of excrement or filth, or rotten food to turn Alicent and Helaena’s sensitive stomachs.

“Sir Cole, Dame Cole, Lord, and Lady Qorgyle will see you now.” A servant said, ushering them into a flourishing atrium, the din of the main hallways swallowed by the pleasant sounds of a small fountain and bird song.

Seated in two woven chairs, dressed in lightweight red fabrics, were an older man and woman. They looked up at their approach, the woman standing abruptly, and crossing the room to cup Criston’s face.

“I knew it. You are my grandson.” She smiled brightly at him and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Blood of my blood, welcome home.”

Criston stood frozen for a moment. He had expected to be made to prove himself, but instead he was welcomed with open arms.

“Alleras come, meet your grandson.” His grandmother called, stepping back to take him in, a misty look in her eyes.

His grandsire joined them and sized him up. “Your mother’s name?”

“Cassella.” Criston said readily.

“What color were her eyes?”

“Brown with flecks of green, like new life sprouting in a freshly tilled garden.”

“How did she die?”

Criston faltered. The grief of losing his mother was heavy, and her death even more so. He neglected to speak in great detail of it in front of Alicent for fear of upsetting her.

“How did my daughter die?” Alleras repeated, his eyes stone-cold and unflinching.

“My father, he grew angry over her attempts to flee with me in tow. He struck her over the head with a stone, and she bled out in my arms when I was ten and three.” He said softly, closing his eyes against the sun and the pain that splayed across Alleras’ weathered face.

“No.” His grandmother gasped, wrapping her arms around herself.

Right at that moment, Helaena began to cry, and he could hear Alicent’s attempt to soothe her. Then Aegon began to cry, tugging at Criston’s cloak, his arms outstretched in a silent plea to be picked up.

He did so, smoothing Aegon’s hair back. “Whatever could be wrong, my son, are you not still full from your morning meal?”

Aegon’s violet eyes were filled with tears, and he buried his face in Criston’s neck.

“I am so sorry; he is merely tired from the journey.” Alicent said, attempting to take Aegon from him while balancing a still crying Helaena on her hip.

“You have children? Oh, how wonderful, look at them, so beautiful.” His grandmother cooed, stepping closer to examine Helaena.

Alicent stepped back ever so slightly, and Criston realized her fear. There was no way to hide the children’s telltale Targaryen eyes.

“Belandra, we should let them put the children down to sleep.” Alleras said gently, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

His grandmother smiled softly at Alicent. “Criston’s mother did not travel well either, she hated being without her own bed, we had plans for it to be sent to Yronwood but…” She trailed off, her smile fading as she straightened up and nodded towards a side entrance to the atrium. “Follow me, I will show you to the guest wing.”

Criston kept Aegon’s face tucked into his neck as they followed Belandra through the sunsoaked halls of his mother’s childhood home. She stopped them in front of an intricately carved dark wood door and unlocked it before telling them to return to the atrium once they’d settled the children.

Alicent waited until the door was shut behind them to collapse into a nearby chair. “What will we do? The children’s eyes are purple, it is as clear as day, we cannot hide it.”

She rocked Helaena carefully, her body trembling, her brow furrowed with fear.

“We will tell them you have Targaryen blood, a small amount, but enough to give the children their eyes.” He remembered how Rhaenyra had been made to study all the houses that carried Targaryen blood in their veins. All the whispers of the bastards spread across the land, sired by various Targaryen lords for years before Rhaenyra herself was born.

Alicent nodded, smoothing out her dress with one shaky hand. She would not meet his gaze, her eyes focused on Helaena’s face, the babe’s eyes closed in slumber, her cheeks still red from crying.

Criston knelt before her, releasing Aegon to roam about the room and explore his new surroundings. “Alicent, all will be well, you saw how delighted my grandmother was, she will believe it, believe us. ”

She swallowed hard but finally met his eyes. “Go, meet with your family. I will stay with the children.”

He hesitated, he knew Alicent was intelligent, a budding political force of nature, and he did not wish to keep anything from her, not like Viserys and her father did. But he also knew she would not feel safe leaving the children alone, or with strangers.

“Criston, go, we will be fine. You must simply tell me everything when you return.” She said encouragingly, giving him a small smile.

He gently tilted her chin up and brushed his lips to hers, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her cheek. “I will spare no detail, I promise.”

Alicent had finally gotten both children to sleep, and laid beside the sleeping Aegon, the window opened slightly bathing the room in a soft glow, the warm desert air drifting through the room perfumed with the scent of orange blossoms. Sleep came easy, her dreams pleasant and when she awoke to Criston’s voice calling her name softly, she felt as if she could never be more content.

“I have returned, with both pleasant and unpleasant news.” He whispered, mindful of her napping children.

Aegon had his arms wrapped around his toy dragon, the only gift Rhaenyra had given him, his mouth slightly open, his head lolling to the side. It was a heartwarming sight and Alicent wished her son were always this peaceful, but alas he was a Targaryen, fire raged in his veins.

“My grandparents believed my words about the children’s eyes and are more than happy to welcome us into their home permanently.” Criston started, twirling a lock of Alicent’s hair around his finger absentmindedly.

“And the unpleasant news?” She asked quietly, brows furrowing at the faint tear tracks on his face, the redness of his eyes, the slight hitch to his voice.

“My mother was betrothed to Castos Yronwoods, but was captured during a battle, by my father I can only assume. She was never heard from again, they feared she was dead.”

Alicent reached up to caress his face, just as he had done. “I am so sorry, Criston.”

“She loved him, Alicent, it was to be a marriage of love, and my father tore that from her, stole her entire life, kept her prisoner and yet…she loved me, did all possible to ensure my father and I were allies, that I was happy in the Marshes. How could she have endured that knowing what was on the other side of the mountains, that the one who loved her was desperately searching for her?” He closed his eyes, anguish clear on his tanned face.

“She was a mother; mothers make sacrifices for their children.” Alicent said softly, her heart hurting not only for Criston, but for his mother, and for herself, for the pain they shared. The fear that dominated their lives. There truly was no greater sacrifice than those of women.

“I wish I had known; I would have done something—I would have tried to free her.” He whispered, his head dipping forward, resting in her hand.

“You were a child, there was naught you could do.”

“I—” Criston’s voice broke, and a sob wrenched from his throat.

Alicent pulled him to her, letting him sob into her shoulder, her fingers carding through his thick hair. “You could not save her, but you have saved me, and the children, our children. We are safe because of you.”

Criston’s cries slowly died down, and soon he raised his head. “I swear to you Alicent, you will never have to sacrifice for our children again, we will be happy, they will be happy, never again will sorrow fill your eyes.”

Part of her believed him, the other still clung to fear that their hastily crafted future would shatter, and she would be left among the shards broken and bleeding.

A light knock at the door preceded its slow opening. “Criston, it is time for dinner, bring the children so that I may look upon their sweet faces.” Belandra’s accented voice filled the room.

Alicent bolted up, ashamed to be caught in such an intimate position by the matriarch.

Criston rose slower, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before he moved to the bassinet that held the sleeping Helaena. “Allow us a moment, Hela does not wake easily.”

Belandra nodded, looking unfazed by the scene before turning and walking away, leaving Alicent to rouse Aegon is slight shock. “Hela?”

“The children’s names are…too Targaryen. Perhaps we should call them something else, until it is safer.” Criston suggested, lifting Helaena carefully and resting her against his broad chest.

Alicent’s heart fluttered at the sight, and she bit her lip, thinking back on the names she’d once dared to call Aegon in her head. Perhaps Rhys? A strong name, one seldom used within her own family, but a name she had often dreamed of one day calling her son.

Aegon looked up at her with sleepy eyes.

“Aegon, my love, would you like to play a game?” She asked, picking him up and resting him on her hip.

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[zhonglis-wifey]

different worlds

IN HONOR OF MISS NILOU’S BANNER IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS THIS IS HOW I’M CELEBRATING. I MAY BE ZHONGLIS-WIFEY BUT I’M NILOU’S TOO!!!!!! and yes i’m spelling it “academia” not “akademiya” because that enrages me lol. anyway nilou brainrot!

The pursuit of knowledge had always been your first priority in life. As a Sumeru native, you were brought up on the innate fact that wisdom was the ultimate prize to be won and nothing else mattered. When you were finally of age to apply to the Academia, you were ecstatic. Your entire life had been building up to that. But once you got there, the rosy tint you viewed the world through began to clear; You saw things for what they really were. These people, the same ones you looked up to as a child, were not scholars, but greedy opportunists who saw no joy in life other than their own. It’s funny how you can work for something all your life, get it, then realize you never wanted it in the first place.

You never drop out, though. Your friends and family would be so disappointed. Besides, where else could you turn? The Academia practically owned the entirety of Sumeru City. Everywhere you turned, there was a sage around the corner seemingly observing everyone’s words and actions. Sometimes you wondered if Sumeru City even had a world outside of the Academia.

Sparkling beneath the murky waters of the Academia was Zubayr Theater. Nestled within the stronghold of the scholars sat a beacon of defiance and freedom. You always admired the troupe’s courage for keeping the theater open despite the Academia’s insistence that it be shut down. You seriously couldn’t fathom why they’d want that. Sure, you heard their argument that the arts were a distraction and a waste of mental energy, but it’s not like the theater was a threat to the organization. It’s not like they were poaching students or spreading anti-Academia propaganda. They were literally just doing their thing. It made you dislike the Academia even more.

When you were sure the Academia wasn’t looking, you made your way to Zubayr Theater. There were rumors that Nilou, the dancer, was planning something special for the upcoming Sabzeruz Festival. You’d never met Nilou, but you’d heard quite a bit about her. It was a mix; Some people thought she was wasting her talents on the arts when she could pursue something academic instead, while others believed that seeing her dance was better than anything the Academia could offer. Although you hadn’t even seen the dancer yet, you were sure that the latter was true.

The only problem was that the night’s performance had ended by the time you arrived. People were either leaving to go home (you could’ve sworn you saw some Academia students clamoring to leave before anyone noticed they were there) or talking to the performers near the stage. One in particular stood out to you: a red-haired hydro wielder wearing clothes you hadn’t seen on anyone besides the portraits in history textbooks. She was dressed like the deceased Goddess of Flowers, and compared to the version of her that you’d learned about, the dancer did a wonderful job of portraying her. Even without seeing her dance, you could tell she carried the same grace and gentleness.

Unbeknownst to you, you were staring. The dancer caught your eyes on her and met yours across the small pavilion, laughing lightly. She excused herself from the conversation she was having to approach you. Frantically, you fumbled around in your brain, looking for a suitable excuse as to why you were so obviously admiring her.

“Hello!” she greeted normally. (Was she not freaked out by you…?) “I didn’t see you in the audience tonight. What brings you here?”

You wanted to melt. She had the warmest, smoothest voice you’d ever heard. Her pretty pink lips were adorned with a faint smile, far too kind of an expression to share with a stranger. Her cerulean eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. This is what the Academia wanted to keep from you? How unfair, how unjust to prevent people from experiencing this dancer’s ethereal beauty in person?

“I… um…” you replied ever-so-diplomatically. You seriously did not know how to formulate a coherent response when you were blessed with the visage of a goddess among humanity.

“I was hoping to see the show, but my studies kept me too long to get here on time,” you eventually answered truthfully.

“Oh, you’re in the Academia?” she pondered aloud, sounding a bit frustrated. “You’re not here to shut down our Sabzeruz Festival plans, are you? We’ve already been told off by the Grand Sage a thousand times.”

“No, I really did just want to see you perform,” you reiterated, hoping to soothe the dancer’s worries. You were only somewhat telling the truth at this point; Sure, you wanted to see her dance, but you’d really be happy seeing her do anything. You just liked looking at her.

She visibly relaxed, tensed muscles returning to their rightful positions. “Okay! In that case, how about you come to our practice tomorrow? If the Academia is keeping you too busy during actual showtime, I’d be happy to dance for you outside of that,” she offered.

Archons, she was so sweet. How could you pass up an offer like that? She was literally asking you to spend your free time with her. Why would you, or anyone really, refuse?

“I’d love to. Thank you, Miss…” Ah, you never got her name.

“Nilou,” she finished for you.

That explained a lot. All those nice things people said about her were 100% true plus more. Anyone who thought otherwise had to be objectively incorrect, you thought.

“Nilou,” you repeated, in awe of how much you adored her name on your tongue.

You would be counting down the seconds until you got to see her dance the next day.

[laequiem]

redemption lies plainly in truth - chapter 2

Fandom: Crescent City

Pairing: ////HOSAB SPOILER//// Ruhn Danaan/Lidia Cervos

Rating: explicit

Word count: 3,514

CONTENT WARNINGS: Pollux being disgusting once again

KINKS (non-exhaustive list): dirty talk, 69, Ruhn has a piercing >)

"Don't be,” Ruhn replies, licking his lips. “You taste delicious." Lidia wills her face to show no emotion, to stay stoic, even as her heart skips a beat and her cheeks heat. "You're flirting with me, even now?" Ruhn brings his cigarette to his mouth again, inhaling deeply. He blows the smoke out in short bursts, rings floating up until they dissipate. It’s a stupid party trick, yet Lidia’s gaze snatches on his lips as they part to let the smoke out, igniting something inside her that she thought had been satisfied earlier.

read on ao3 • masterlist

chapter 1 • chapter 3

Chapter 2. but don't suffer alone

Lidia had gotten into the habit of never fucking Pollux in her own bed. Everywhere else was safe: shower, conference table, shadowy alley, even his bed—as long as she could slip away after he was done. Earlier tonight, however, she made the mistake of letting him into her chambers. After their little display in the dungeons, she had retired for the evening to her quarters. Personal boundaries never meant much to Pollux, however, and he knocked at her door mere hours later for a second round. Now, Lidia lies on her back, one of the Hammer’s big arms slung over her as he drools on her pillow. 

Sleep has been scarce ever since Ruhn got captured. Lidia is used to fearing for herself, but fearing for someone else is a new kind of torment. Despite her warning him not to come here, he did, and his lapse in judgment led him to be captured. With his capture, the usual fear that haunts her multiplied tenfold, a constant tugging in her gut reminding her that he is in danger, that he is hurt.

It’s agony.

After sacrificing so much, she cannot risk her position being compromised for a pretty face and a kind heart. Yet her mind wanders every time she falls asleep, reaching for Ruhn’s. With the exception of their earlier “conversation”, he still keeps his mind reinforced in a stronghold of steel. It hurts that he refuses to talk to her, but she does not push him. She would hate herself too. She does, in fact. Instead, Lidia curls up against the ramparts he has built. To remind herself that she isn’t alone—and to remind him that he isn’t, either. She might not be allowed inside, but it feels as safe as if she were, to curl up next to him like this. 

The mattress shifts and Lidia’s mind snaps back to the real world, like a rubber band pulled taut. A familiar dread settles into her as Pollux rolls over. She listens for the usual cues to figure out if he’s still asleep, but she gets her answer soon enough. Her lover presses closer, dragging his naked erection against her backside. Broad hands grab her ass and knead it as his lips find her neck, biting lightly. Trying to wake her up.

“Someone’s horny tonight,” Lidia says in that sensual voice that is not hers.

“You know I can’t resist you,” Pollux growls. 

“Likewise,” she lies. 

Exhaustion threatens to pull her apart. She doesn't know if she can even fake enjoyment. Perhaps she could blow him quickly and send him back to dreamland. She tries to roll to face him, but large hands hold her in place. His thumbs massage increasingly bigger circles on her ass cheeks, until they dip dangerously close to her hole. The angel has a specific goal in mind, it seems.

Over the years, Lidia has become an expert at emptying her mind. Clearing her head is as much a part of her transformation into the Hind as her clothes and makeup are. Until recently, she could only dare be herself in her dreams. As soon as she wakes, she pushes her morals aside and locks her real self deep where no one will see her. Where no one will hurt her. So when Pollux’s hands start roaming her body, she pushes down the repulsion. There is only survival and the need to keep her position of power, no matter what. 

It’s worth it. It has to be. 

Sometimes, Lidia can get herself to enjoy her time with the Hammer. Of course, she has to erase every trace of the male himself. Though he is a treat to look at, she has seen him commit horrors so vile that the beautiful face does not fool her. It’s easiest to forget who is touching her when he is behind her, like now. Without those large wings casting shadows as he looms over her, he could be anyone. His hands could be someone else’s—finer fingers, perhaps, callused from swordplay instead of breaking bones. 

She closes her eyes. Instead of perfectly coiffed blond hair, the male behind her has long hair, dyed a shade of pure night. He runs beringed hands over the curve of her ass and she arches to the touch, hoping for his fingers to dip where she craves them—

“Day.” 

Night’s voice echoes in the chambers of her mind, clearer than any fantasy. Lidia’s eyes snap open and sure enough, she finds herself on the familiar mental bridge where they spend their time together. Ruhn paces in the middle of it, void of any disguise, a lit cigarette dangling between two fingers. As his gaze lands on her, he stops pacing. Only when his shoulders slouch does Lidia notice that he was brimming with tension. 

“Is everything alright?” Ruhn asks, voice rough. “You were here, and then, I felt you…” He pantomimes grabbing something and yanking.

Was he… worried for her? He’s the one currently rotting in a cell, though you couldn’t tell by looking at him now. She remembers, though. His bloodied face is burnt in her mind, like the faces of every other person she has been forced to torture. 

“I’m fine. Just exhausted,” she sighs. As soon as she speaks the words, a low couch conveniently appears on the bridge. She drops into it, throwing her head back. “He wants to go again. I just want to sleep.”

Ruhn perches himself on the arm of the couch, a boot-clad foot insouciantly resting on the cushion. 

“It’s really quantity over quality with him,” Ruhn mocks. “Is that why you’re here? He’s so bad that he put you to sleep?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and tips his head up to exhale, a cloud of smoke billowing above him. It hovers, like this place has no wind to disperse it. What is the difference between this place and dreaming? Perhaps he is just a fragment of her imagination. Yet she knows she isn’t dreaming. To stay here, her mind fights a constant tug towards her body, accompanied by a feeling of dread at the thought of returning. 

“No, actually, I… don't know. I'm still awake, I think,” Lidia frowns. “It's like my mind is in two places at once." 

If she concentrates hard enough, Lidia can feel Pollux through phantom hands and an uncomfortable stretch.

"I started thinking about you and now I'm… here,” she says, gesturing around.

Ruhn flicks the ashes of his cigarette away from the imaginary couch. “I was thinking about you, too.”

Lidia raises her brows, biting her lip to suppress a smile. "Really?"

"I’ve had nothing else to drink all day," Ruhn replies, grinning. "With nothing to wash it down, the taste lingers."

She flinches, her cheek burning with embarrassment. "Sorry."

Water, Lidia had learned upon joining Sandriel's triarii, was an important bargaining chip for any torturer. Not only does water make a great tool by itself, but the lack of it can drive even the most stubborn torturee to confess. In fact, it was one of the Hind's preferred methods of interrogation. Feed the prisoner a diet high in salt, then deny them water until they confess. It's easy, clean, and she does not have to endure hours of screaming. She can simply walk away and come back later, once she has convinced herself that the intel she gets from her work is worth all the pain she causes. 

"Don't be,” Ruhn replies, licking his lips. “You taste delicious."

Lidia wills her face to show no emotion, to stay stoic, even as her heart skips a beat and her cheeks heat. "You're flirting with me, even now?"

Ruhn brings his cigarette to his mouth again, inhaling deeply. He blows the smoke out in short bursts, rings floating up until they dissipate. It’s a stupid party trick, yet Lidia’s gaze snatches on his lips as they part to let the smoke out, igniting something inside her that she thought had been satisfied earlier. 

"What else is there to do?" He shrugs. "All I do is wait for the next torture session. Until you realize I won't talk, then you'll kill me."

She wants to say that she won’t let that happen, but can she really promise such a thing? Ruhn knew coming here that she would not help him escape if he got caught. She told him that she cannot compromise her position, and yet… When she tries to imagine an ill-fated future where he is dead and gone, the anguish plaguing her is too much to bear. Which is ridiculous, of course. She barely knows him, he is betrothed to her sister, of all people, and she is tied to Pollux in a complicated tangle of lies and hidden motives. 

And because she is no hopeless romantic willing to throw her life’s work away for a pair of sky blue eyes, Lidia says, “You haven’t seen the least of what they can do.”

“As long as I get to see more of what you can do, I’m down,” he replies, discarding the cigarette butt over his shoulder. 

Mighty Cthona, this male has no shame. He might as well have grabbed her by the throat, though, from her body’s reaction to his voice. Her knees weaken, and she has never been so thankful to be sitting down as her body screams for her to fall to her knees and satisfy her curiosity about that piercing he might or might not have.

Before she can even think twice about it, she crawls to his side of the couch. Ruhn shifts to face her, his legs widening enough for her to settle between them. 

“You couldn’t handle what I do,” she says, using that sensual drawl she uses with Pollux. 

Ruhn leans towards her, blue eyes darkening in challenge. “Prove it.”

One moment she is staring at that lip ring of his, the next she feels the cold metal digging into her lip. She grabs hold of his hair as they collide, their teeth clanking in the heat of the kiss. Ruhn’s hands hug every curve as they meander down her body. He worships her with his touch, the complete opposite of how she is used to being touched. When he grabs her ass, it lacks the entitlement that characterizes Pollux’s touch. Instead, Ruhn groans into her mouth, a deep, appreciative sound that has her smiling into their kiss. 

Ruhn hoists her up, propping her on his lap until they are both precariously perched on the armrest. He continues his exploration of her body, unbelievably thorough. Lidia holds on to his shoulders for balance, every movement of his hand making those delicious deltoid muscles shift. 

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, she voices it, “I want to see you.”

He mumbles approval against her throat.

Lidia grabs the collar of his shirt, intent on pulling it over his head. Instead, the fabric tears, as fragile as tissue paper. So she tears it down the middle, revealing toned muscles and ink. She barely has time to feast her eyes before he growls and pushes her to her back on the couch. He looms over her, shadows darkening the patchwork of tattoos peppering his chest. 

He looks like the typical Crescent City youth–tattoos, piercings and a rebellious streak. Had they met outside of this war, would Ruhn have been interested in her? Or would she be too plain, too serious for him? Would she have approached him? Her family would have a heart attack if she brought him home, that's for sure. Which would have been reason enough for her to approach him.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, raising a brow.

“Just that you're easy on the eye,” Lidia drawls.

“Yeah?” Ruhn replies. He runs a possessive hand down her torso, the fabric of her top disappearing in the wake of his touch. “You are wearing too much clothes.”

He does the same to her legs, the imaginary fabric shredding off her with no effort until she lays in nothing but her underwear. Ruhn’s gaze is scorching as he gives her a once-over, his eyes catching on the straps of the garterbelt at her thighs.

“It’s different from earlier,” he says.

“I dressed up for you,” she replies. “It’s my favorite set. Do you like it?”

In this mental space, they can take the appearance they want. All Lidia had to do was change her flaming disguise for clothes. The set she picked mirrors her favorite amongst all the lingerie she owns. She does not wear it often, for fear that Pollux will ruin it in his blatant disregard for anything other than his own pleasure. It occurs to her that if she were to wear it for Ruhn, outside of this place where clothes just disappear into nothingness, the stud on his brow would definitely ruin the delicate lace. It also occurs to her that she would not mind. 

A strap crosses between her breasts and attaches to a choker that matches the black lace on the panties and bra cup. A simple strip of silver ribbon hides her nipples, while the quarter-cup bra leaves everything else on show. The panties, made of the same see-through lace, do not offer much coverage. Then, there is the matter of the particular shape of them, and the split in the fabric that exposes the most intimate part of her. 

Ruhn does not answer. Instead, he lowers himself to her, brushing his cheek against her breast. He nips at the exposed skin, leaving small red marks on the underside. He reaches for the other breast, his thumb slipping under the ribbon with ease, exposing her nipple. A simple brush of his thumb is enough to have it peak, eager for more attention.

Lidia wraps her legs around his hips, temporarily enjoying the press of his hard cock against her before she flips them over. 

He’s under her now, his jaw clenched tight as his eyes rove down her body. Oh, he likes it alright. His chest rises in heavy breaths, and she can tell by the strain in his biceps that he’s restraining himself from flipping them over again.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time,” Lidia says.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “You’d like that?”

Lidia licks her lips, her eyes glued to his as she replies, “Very much.”

Ruhn huffs a swear, and Lidia could swear his cheeks start to turn pink. “Turn around,” he orders, a toe-curling roughness to his voice.

She obliges, lowering herself until she hovers inches from his face. He’s still trapped in his pants. She could just rip them off like Ruhn did to her clothes, but she also wants to make this last. She traces a finger up the length of his cock, slowly making her way to the zipper. She takes her time unzipping his pants, watching with delight as she unveils the outline of his cock through tight underwear, a small wet spot at the tip of it. And right under the head, is that—

Suddenly, she doesn't want to take her time anymore. Eager to answer the question that has been tormenting her, she pushes his briefs down. His cock bobs free, thick and absolutely perfect. She reaches for it, pulling the skin down to unveil the head and—yes. Right under the head, a glint of metal. 

Ruhn takes her touch as a cue to start touching her, too. He runs his thumb over her lips, already plump and sensitive. 

“Leaving this pretty cunt on display to taunt me,” Ruhn chides. “I can see why it’s a favorite.”

Lidia hums in affirmation. He can keep talking if he wants, but she wants nothing more than his cock in her mouth, and talking would delay that. She wraps a fist around it and gives it a firm stroke, watching as a drop of precum seeps out. She immediately licks it clean, taking care to dip her tongue in the slit as she does.

Ruhn grabs her hips and pulls her to his face. A precise flick of his tongue against her clit has her yelping. She feels his teeth against her as he chuckles, proud of himself.

Lidia wastes no time before retaliating. She wraps her lips around the head of his cock, relishing in the hitch of Ruhn’s breath. Her tongue traces the outline of the sensitive head, the metal bar of his piercing warming up with each pass of her tongue. When her other hand reaches to cup Ruhn's balls, he bucks his hips.

Lidia had never been one to enjoy giving oral. It was a means to get Pollux to leave her alone, a chore to be done quickly. With Ruhn, however, she finds herself wanting to make it last. Not only because he is also pleasuring her at the same time, but because she likes it. She uses both hands not to finish him fast, quite the opposite. With one hand, she pumps him slowly as she licks his glans. When she gently tugs at his balls, Ruhn’s ministrations falter and a surge of desire travels down Lidia’s body. It's intoxicating to have such control over this cocky male. It has been so long since Lidia pleased someone because she wants to, not out of obligation.

When I fuck you, you’ll come first. Every single time, he told her earlier. Lidia was not sure then, but she is starting to believe that he meant it. It had been so long since she had a partner who enjoyed pleasuring her, and it’s becoming clear that Ruhn genuinely does. He leaves no part of her unloved. Even her tighter hole gets attention, a quick circling of his tongue before it dips into her pussy again. 

Perhaps with Ruhn, she can learn to enjoy sex once again. 

 Suddenly overtaken by eagerness, she hollows her cheeks and takes him deep. Her hand falls away from his cock, clenching his thigh as he hits the back of her throat. Her body protests and she pulls back, gasping.

“You feel so fucking good,” Ruhn says. He licks a hot stripe up her pussy, sucking hard on her clit when he reaches it. “Almost as good as you taste.”

His praise swells her heart, her cheeks burning with heat. Lidia doubles her efforts, wanting to please him more. Quickly, her body gets used to the sensation and her gag reflex lessens, allowing her to take him deep over and over again.

With precise flicks of his tongue and expert use of that lip ring of his, Ruhn brings her near release. She takes him all the way to the base as she is about to reach her climax, giving his balls a light squeeze. Before she can leap over the edge, Ruhn pulls away with a loud hiss.

"Stop—" he groans. "I want to come in you. I want—ride me. I want to see you come."

Lidia turns around to face him once again, straddling his thighs.“I thought you said you wanted me to ride your face.” She meant for the comment to come off as a taunt, but a little frustration made it through. He did leave her wanting, after all. 

Ruhn snarls. “That was before I saw what you look like when you come.”

She doesn't have it in her to protest. There will be time for her to taste him further.

When she slides onto his length, the fit is so perfect that it's impossible to deny the bond between them. The unavoidable truth that Ruhn is hers and that she is his. Neither of them dares voice it out loud, but Ruhn's hand grabs hers, their fingers a tight tangle.

Lidia moves up and down in long drags, letting herself feel every ridge, committing the feeling to memory. Ruhn’s hips move to meet her movements, driving himself impossibly deep. She feels his piercing rubbing against her walls and wonders how it would feel in other positions. Would it hit her in her g-spot, if he were to take her from behind?

“That’s it,” Ruhn’s other hand creeps up her thigh, following the curve of her hip. His hand reaches her ass and he kneads it, a purely fae growl escaping him. “Lidia–”

Until then, Lidia hadn’t realized how close she was. Climax tears through her unexpectedly. Her rhythm falters, her limbs shake, but Ruhn is there, holding her up and thrusting until he slams one last time, spilling into her. Lidia feels herself floating, her mind utterly blank except for the lingering throb of pleasure and…

Lidia. His gruff voice scratches each syllable deep in her memory.

Lidia. It feels so natural. It feels like acceptance. Like forgiveness.

When Lidia comes to, there is no Ruhn, no imaginary couch, no mental bridge. Just Pollux, collapsing next to her. She feels giddy still, unable to keep the smile off her face. She doesn’t even mind that Pollux is there, she knows that she will sleep well tonight.

----

tag list @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @adxmparriish @hazelsheartsworn @zumurruds @inconspicuoussophia @idonotcareaboutyouropinion

[aparticularbandit]

for @p-nymph, who wanted Agatha cuddles.

Agatha Harkness knows a thing or two about hating days.

Not all days, mind you, although she knows a thing or two about that, too.  But she knows what it is to run into specific days, ones that repeat annually – like Arbor Day or Presidents Day – and think, you know what, this day?  It’s not for me.  She has plenty such days herself, although she will never mention them aloud.  Most of them take place in the dead of winter, when she can sit outside in the steadily falling snow and stare out into it as if that will reveal things to her, paths she could have taken, paths that she didn’t – as though the snow will make her as clean as it is before it gets sprayed with smoke and ash and turned into those coal-like grey clumps it ends up as in parking lots, the last strongholds before even it, too, melts away into nothing.

Sometimes, more often than she would like to admit, she feels like one of those clumps, melting away.

So Agatha notices it in you, when those days come and you start to close off. She notices them the first time they happen, and she notices when they come back every year, and she never presses for context because she knows, if you wanted to give it, you would.  (It isn’t that she isn’t concerned, mind you.  But she doesn’t want you to press her on her bad days, either, so she will not press you on yours.)

Sometimes, Agatha thinks it will be good to take you out, to distract you with something better than whatever darkness or lingering memory is plaguing your mind.  On her softest of bad days, this is enough, to override the bad with something good. She takes you out to carnivals and theme parks in particular on bad days because there is so much going on there that it is easy to get overwhelmed – not in a bad way – it’s just that they are loud, there are lights and screams everywhere, you can go on so many rides together (and, yes, she makes the most frustrating expressions just before the cameras take a picture, and you always buy the ones where her eyes are glowing purple with her fear, even though she sticks her tongue out at you when you do), and Agatha wins for you any prize you want.  After three hundred years of carnivals and tests like this, she’s gotten very very good at them (and she always argues with the Guess Your Age people because they always think she’s in her thirties or forties instead of her third century, and they never believe her when she tells them the actual truth).  That’s not even getting into all of the different kinds of food they sell in such places (most of which she shares with you; you’ve snapped a selfie where the two of you split a boysenberry milkshake – Agatha had insisted, since it was purple, and you’d given in, since she’d been so attentive on you the rest of the day), and it’s certainly not getting into the children’s rides where Agatha had taken advantage of the darkness.

But some of the dark days…the attempts to distract you only make it worse, only make you curl up harder in on yourself, only make you want to hide even further into your shared bed, pull the covers up over your head, and pretend that it isn’t today, even though you already know that it is.  Agatha doesn’t try to drag you out of your bed on those days, instead, she curls up next to you, guides your head against your chest, and sings.

It’s never anything with real words, at least not anything that you’ve ever been able to make out.  The tune differs each time, you think, but those days don’t come often enough for you to compare, and when they happen, your brain doesn’t straighten enough for you to try and record it.  All you know is that she hums lightly as she strokes your hair, as she leans back against the headboard, as she closes her eyes and cradles you close, as she lets you burrow further into her chest.  She calms you by being, and she calms you by so doing, and when you let out a little whimper of discontent, she draws your head up so that she can meet your eyes, murmur how much she loves you and is glad that you’re still here with her, and then kiss your forehead before drawing you closer to her and wrapping one arm around you.

When the days pass, Agatha never brings them up, and although you’ve heard her sing outside of that, it’s different than the intimate etherealness of the bad days.  You still hate the days, but she gives you some reassurance that she’ll be there even if they get worse.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Valentine's Week Angst Day Two: Spy/Soldier - Free

Day two of @dontneedadispenser Valentine's event!

Content Warning: Major Character Death

~

“You’re a fool,” Spy scolded, putting on a veneer of anger to hide his other, much stronger emotions. “I had that handled. There was no need for you to…”

Soldier interrupted with a chuckle that quickly turned into a painful sounding coughing fit. It brought up a worrying amount of blood, some of which got on Spy’s suit before Soldier could turn his head away. It didn’t matter though, the suit had been ruined the moment he’d picked up Soldier to drag him to a room that served as a better hiding place. They were in the middle of one of the biggest robot factories after all. Even if Soldier had just killed a bunch of them, there were still robots everywhere that wanted them dead.

“Nah, they had you, Frenchie,” Soldier said with a bloody grin once he regained his regained his breath. “If I hadn’t come in, you’d be lying here bleeding out instead of me. Or more likely just killed on the spot.”

That… was likely true. Spy had been caught and no matter how skilled he was with his gun and knife, his chances of getting out of that alive by himself had been slim. “Come on, we need to get you to Medic.” He stood, pulling Soldier up with him, his arm around Spy’s shoulders. He as heavy and seemingly unable to support himself, his whole weight pulling Spy down. This was going to be difficult.

Soldier took a strained breath before coughing up more blood. He clutched at Spy through it. “Can’t,” he finally managed after several seconds. “You gotta sneak out, can’t do that while dragging me. Then they’ll kill you and I won’t be able to stop them like this.”

“But…” Spy bit back on his protest because that was true. The chances of them being able to make it all the way out and to wherever Medic currently was – which Spy didn’t even have more than a vague idea of, making it that much more difficult – were slim at best. If he had another invis-watch it would be more possible but… he didn’t. Like a fool he’d never once considered bringing more than one into battle. After this he would always make sure to, just in case he needed to sneak someone else out with him. … Too bad that vow came far too late to save Soldier.

“Besides, I don’t think I got that long left.”

Spy sunk back down to the ground, careful not to let Soldier fall. Unsure of what else he could do for Soldier during his final moments, he shifted him so that his head would be lying on Spy’s lap. “You’re right, of course.”

“Don’t worry about me, cupcake. You go on ahead.” His voice was weaker, more strained. He looked like he intended to say more but Spy interrupted.

“I am not leaving you.” Spy was not one for sentimental feelings and whatnot and certainly didn’t allow his emotions to get in way of his work but… “I love you far too much to simply allow you to die alone.” He was almost angry at Soldier for daring to suggest such a thing.

Soldier’s eyes widen in seeming surprise. Was that really the first time Spy had said those words to him? … Yeah, probably. A shame as he’d felt that way for a long time now, he’d just never had the guts to say so out loud. He’d always been a fool like that.

“Oh, okay. I love you too.”

What should Spy say or do now? They’d been casually dating for years and during that time, he’d kept so much back, always thinking they’d have more time. They could sort stuff out once the RED vs BLU war was done but then the robot war had begun before he could, so after that would be fine too. Though, as before, he likely would’ve found another excuse to put off seriously talking about anything because he as just like that. Where did he begin now that Soldier was dying?

Nowhere. It was too late. Soldier’s weak breaths were rapidly petering out. It was only a few more seconds before his bullet hole riddled chest stilled and his eyes glazed over. Leaving Spy alone in an empty supply closet in the middle of the robot stronghold.

Taking a deep breath to hold back the well of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, Spy gently pulled Soldier’s eyes closed. A useless gesture but it seemed the thing to do regardless. He then carefully moved Soldier’s head off his lap, laying it on the ground instead. As he stood, he drew his knife in a single fluid motion. Grief and regret over all the things left unsaid would have to wait, he had a job to finish and vengeance to enact.

~

The war was won. Gray Mann had unfortunately gotten away – something, likely Spy or Sniper would be tasked with taking care of soon – but his robot army had been defeated. All that was left to do was to blow the factory up to ensure no more could be manufactured here. Naturally, that job fell to Demo. Meaning everyone else’s jobs were done for now.

“How much of that blood is yours?” Medic asked as Spy joined him and most of the rest of the team atop a hillock overlooking the factory.

“Very little, I believe.” After getting caught the first time, he’d been even more careful to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. As bad as Soldier death was, it would’ve been worse if it happened in vain. “Now I have some… bad news.”

“Where’s Soldier?” Demo asked, looking up from his preparations. “He ran off to help you after we heard over our stolen radio thingy that you’d been found out.” That would explain how Soldier had known he was in trouble. How he’d found him in time was still a mystery but not one that really mattered, most likely it was just luck.

“That is what my bad news pertains to. Soldier is… gone.” It hurt to say but it was his duty to deliver the news.

Everyone had been milling around but paused at that, their attention shifting onto Spy as silence descended over them. It was Scout who broke it, predictable. “Wait? You mean like… he’s dead? Soldier’s dead? That can’t be right.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

More silence. Everyone held still as if waiting for more but there was nothing more to be said. Spy could perhaps tell them how Soldier had died but… could he bring himself to do so without losing his composure?

Predictably it was Scout who broke the silence again as he stood up from where he’d sat on the ground next to Sniper. “Hey man, that’s…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Spy interrupted, freezing him in his tracks before he could take more than a step or two. The last thing Spy needed was his only recently un-estranged son trying to comfort him.

“Well,” Engie said, “when you are ready to talk ‘bout it, we’re all here for you. Especially since we’ll all be missing him too.”

“He was good friend,” Heavy said with a nod. Everyone else murmured some kind of agreement.

“I appreciate the sentiment but I will be fine, I assure you. Death and loss are the risks we all run when working this kind of job and forming attachments to others in the same field.” It’s why he tried not to for so long but it was far too late for that. “He is merely the first of our little group to die but I assure you he won’t be the last. And I highly doubt any of our deaths will be peaceful or from natural causes.” And each and every one was going to hurt because Spy had made the mistake of befriending everyone here. But at least he would likely die himself before most of them and thus wouldn’t have to deal with that much more grief.

“Quite the downer way of putting it but true,” Engie said. “That being said, let’s go back to work making sure this robot war really is over and done with. I’m sick of it.”

Everyone who still had work to do turned back to it, everyone else hesitated a moment before returning to doing nothing. Scout shot Spy one more unsure look but upon getting nothing but a blank stare in return, settled back down next to Sniper.

Spy didn’t have anything to be doing right now, leaving him to just stand there feeling empty and hollow. Despite his words, he wasn’t fine. Logically he knew that life would go on, it always did, but right now, it did not feel like it possibly could.

Soldier’s blood on his suit had long since cooled, leaving him uncomfortably damp. He could still smell it, its sharp coppery scent, one he’d grown used to a long time ago but now, it was nauseating. A change of clothes was in order. This was why he always made sure to pack extra suits no matter how few days a mission was meant to last. He turned and started for where they’d left the van.

He didn’t make it very far before pausing. Someone was exiting the factory. Troubling all by itself but even more so thanks to the slight green glow they let off that made them stand out against the darkness that was setting in as the sun dipped low over the horizon.

Spy engaged his invis-watch’s cloak and flipped out his knife again as he started in that direction. As soon as he was close enough to see them properly he paused again because… “Soldier?!”

Soldier stopped. “Spy?” He lifted a hand to pull his helmet up a little as he glanced around. His eyes, last seen as glazed over and empty, were now back to normal except for a slight glow, much like the rest of him. There was no sign of bullet wounds or even any blood on his chest or anywhere else. “Where are you?”

Right, yeah, the cloak. Spy quickly disengaged it and put his knife away. “You’re still alive?”

Soldier grinned as he let his helmet fall back into place. “Nope. I’m alive again. It’s different than still being alive.”

“How?”

“I was roommates with Merasmus, remember? I took his ‘come back stronger’ medication a few times on accident and then a few times on purpose because I wanted to see if it could actually make me any stronger. It can’t. All it does is make me glow green which is cool but it always wears off after a few hours.”

“So… you knew you were going to come back and didn’t tell me?”

“I thought you knew too.”

Of course he’d thought that because he was an idiot! Spy wanted to slap him. He’d believed Soldier was dead and gone and that he’d left so much left unsaid and undone. And Soldier had let him believe that!

“Whoa, what’s wrong?”

The tears that Spy had fought off earlier and had been holding back ever since had finally come to him. Tears of relief though as he couldn’t really be mad, not right now anyway. “I believed you were dead and gone.” He lifted a hand to cover his eyes and hide his tears. Being caught crying was not ideal. “I apologize for tearing up, I just…” He bit back on the sob that threatened to cut off his words anyway. He needed to reign himself back in, control his emotions better. This was just plain…

Warm strong arms encircled him, pulling him close. “It’s okay, cupcake. You have permission to cry if you need to.” Soldier even patted Spy on the back in a way that was clearly supposed to be comforting but as usual for him was a bit rough for that. “I am sorry I did not tell you. I would have if I had known you didn’t know.”

Spy leaned into him, clinging to him as he pressed his face into his shoulder. He did not need permission to cry and didn’t want it and yet having been given it, made it impossible to hold back any longer as the first real sob wracked through his body.

He cried longer and harder than he had perhaps since he was child. Soldier held him strong and silent throughout, rubbing and patting his back occasionally. If he held any judgment for Spy’s show of emotion, he did not show it and thus likely he didn’t harbor any.

Eventually Spy cried himself out. Soldier held him for a few moments more anyway before they finally separated.

“Feel better?” Soldier asked, hovering close.

“Oui. Merci.”

Soldier nodded as if he understood. And perhaps he did, at times, he was not as dumb as he seemed. “Now what?”

“Now, I need to wash my face and put on a clean suit. Afterwards, we must tell the team that you have come back to life. I had just got done informing them of your death.”

Soldier nodded again. “And did you really mean it when you said you loved me?”

“Of course I did. I love you.” This time he said it while meeting Soldier gaze – as much as the helmet overhanging his eyes would allow anyway – just because it was true.

Soldier grinned. “I love you too.”

And that’s all they really needed right now. Later, Spy would talk to him more about the things he’d held back; who he was, such as his name and what his face looked like under the mask and whatever else was important. And this time he meant it, no more excuses… probably.

[scream-into-the-voiddd]

Rise of the Last Ronin

[Mikey is the last bother standing and has to take down Baron Draxum after Mikey failed to redeem him and had his mystic powers stolen. Draxum has almost taken over the surface of New York and the remaining humans are under the grip of the purple dragons. Mikey Must fight to save what is left of his home and his family.

Rottmnt future au, based off the last ronin comic with a rottmnt twist. I will be playing fast and lose with the rottmnt canon but the timeline split roughly in the middle of s2 before Raph found out Mikey was helping Draxum, spoilers for both the last ronin and rottmnt]

Chapter one:

Part 1: The Dragon’s den

The rain fell hard and fast, and a mist of chemical smoke lifted off the pavement, creating a fog that blanketed the ground up to the ankles. Purple spotlights crossed overhead illuminating parts of the worn and broken buildings. The Safe Zone was nearby and the only way in was under. The fence was over 20 feet tall and electrified and the spotlights had sensors that triggered the guns and missiles at anyone who was caught in them. A shadow moved under the fog as the purple hue moved wildly over the surface. The fog parted as fast metal moved in the air and plunged into a pillar of the fence cutting the linked chains as it fanned across the air, a small spark of electrical discharge fizzled outward as the metal absorbed it. The shadow moved quickly like a shark just below the surface of the water and with a quick and sudden jump, the figure broke the smoky façade. The figure was small but heavy in its movement, as it reached the fence, they pulled out a metal pole and used it to pry open the cut-up fence line. Gliding through the broken fence gloved hands gripped the handle of the metal object stuck into the pillar and yanked it free. The blade had been broken for years but it was as sharp as ever, the blue handle was worn but still bright. The sword and the staff were both placed back in their holsters. The figure looked to the sky and neon lights shun on their dark green face.

“We’re home, guys.”

‘New York, what a town.’ 

‘Smooth moves back there, baby bro.’

‘Come on big man let’s get what you can for.’                         

It’s been years since Mikey saw the city. It was not the same, it will never be the same. Not that it mattered now, all that mattered was the mission. It was all going to end tonight. Mikey moved to the shadows as the purple life moved all around the city streets. The purple dragons have gotten bold since he was last here. They must be getting scared if they made a curfew this early. The Safe Zone was the last stronghold humans had in the city. Draxum took over just about everywhere else. Killing or mutating any human that was left. The purple dragons made a point to kill any yokai that came into their Safe Zone, it was about 100 blocks and getting smaller with every attack Draxum sent their way. Mikey pulled his hood up over his face and made his way to the rooftops, it was a risk but it was still the fastest way to get to the objective.

‘Wow, if it’s this bad here imagine new jersey right about now.’

‘I always knew purple would liven the city up a bit, but trust the dragons to make it tacky.’

‘Guys, come on… wait is that a blimp, how did they get a blimp? We never had a blimp.’

‘I told you the materials were too hard to maintain!’

Mikey shook his head and looked over to the floating aircraft a screen was playing an announcement on a loop.

You are in the Safe Zone, there is nothing to fear. All mutants will be killed on sight. Curfew is currently at sundown for your protection. Make sure you give the nearest purple dragon rep your daily remittance if you fail to give your daily remittance you will be removed from the Safe Zone. You are in the Safe…

The purple dragons were always thefts first and foremost, they take anything and everything from the people that are trapped here if they could not pay then they had to work. Didn’t work enough then out they go into the arms of Draxum and his waiting army. But Mikey could do nothing about that now, he had to find the main purple dragon building. It was not hard to miss but it was not going to be easy to get into or out of. It was the most advanced building in the Safe Zone and had more weapons and traps than most could handle. But Mikey was not deterred. He pulled on the staff on his back and looked at the blimp hovering in front of the building. He had to time it perfectly but crouched on the edge of the rooftop. He timed the moving spotlights, and the movement of the blimp as he gripped the titanium bo in his hands, thumb hovering over a button.

’20 says he bites it.’

’20 of what Leo? We have no money?’

’20 minutes of silence maybe?’

‘Now that is a bet I will take.’

‘har de har har, your both hilarious.’

Mikey concentrated on his timing and when the lights danced over the blimp, pressed the button. He was in the air in a flash as the rockets from the bo moved him with such force that his hood fell off subjecting his long dark hair to the windy rain. Within moments his feet landed on top of the blimp and he spans the bo staff as the rockets subtracted placing it on his back once more. Mikey ran his hand through his hair matting it back on his head as the rain stuck it to itself. The raindrops bounced as they hit the blimp and rolled off its side. They would not spot him here as the purple dragons are arrogant enough to believe that they don’t have to monitor their tech for threats.

‘You owe us 20 Leo.’

‘Damn it.’ 

Mikey sat cross-legged on the blimp and pulled out a set of binoculars, the blimp would take him around the whole building on a loop so all he had to do was keep an eye out for his prize and strike when the time was right.

“There you are.”

It took the better part of two hours but he saw it. Donnie’s old goggles and the purple dragons were keeping them on a desk on one of the top floors. Leave it to a bunch of thieves to not know the true value of something. They only saw a trophy from an enemy long gone, what they failed to see was how it could be used to take down their current enemy. Mikey put the binoculars away and cracked his neck as he was starting to get stiff. He checked all his weapons and smoke bombs, as once he was in, he had to plan his way out of the Safe Zone, as the stealth part would be over and he had no plans of dying to the purple dragons tonight. He had to complete his mission, this ends tonight one way or the other. He shot his grapple hook through the air and it landed on a balcony above his desired target. He hooked up his arm to the line and place the bo in his hands, he moved his hands to have it in a spearing position. Mikey took a breath and jumped.

The rain stung his face as he moved through the air and past the moving spotlights eyes never leaving the window. The bo pierced the widow as it shattered as Mikey loosened his grip on the grapple line. He rolled and ran to the door that led into the office with the goggles. The building lights started flashing a deep purple with an alarm going off with a high-pitched wale. Mikey hears the sound of clicking and robotic movement and swings the bo staff hard and fast as bullets come flying at him from every direction. With one swift motion, he puts his hand to his belt and throws a Sai hard at the source of the bullets it crumples at his strength and goes right through it landing upright on the floor behind it. Mikey drives to retrieve it as a machine gun comes from the ceiling. Mikey jumps and swipes the hinges of the gun with the broken sword and drops all of his weapons to the massive gun in his small hands. It is still firing with no signs of stopping, Mikey points it at all the other equipment in the room showering it with bullets and debris. Once everything else in the room was still Mikey turned the gun on the door and shot it down before dropping and crashing the gun under a strong kick. He picked up his weapons and made a dash for the room broken sword in hand. There they were Donnie’s goggles in a glass case sitting on a desk, Mikey smashed the glass with the butt of the sword. With his other hand, he slowly reached for the goggles and his gloved hand held them gently as he placed them on his head, he flicked them down and they fogged a little and he was not sure if it was because of the rain on his face or the small tears forming in his eyes.

“Well, well, well, this is not was I was expecting. Did you really come all this way to steal my décor?”

Mikey turned to find the source of the voice it was coming from a projection on the wall. It was of a somewhat familiar face, a woman with golden brown skin, neon purple hair in a pixie cut, and lipstick with red-shaded glasses. 

“Do you have any idea whom you have walk-in on mutant?”

“Do you?”

The woman squints and sizes him up.

“You’re his brother, weren’t you?”

Mikey does not answer but she knows. She smiles.

“How sweet, but pointless. All you have done is break a few of my toys, even if you get out of the building you won’t make it out of the Safe Zone and I look forward to adding that fancy stick to my collection, along with your shell.”

Mikey grips the sword tighter and readies his stance he tapes the side of the goggles.

“After all this time you still underestimate Donnie. You punks really do never learn.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll see.”

She bares down at him with a smug look.

“Whatever, I’ve been stalling anyway.”

“That’s funny.” Mikey puts the sword back on his back and smiles at the screen with a wink.

“So was I.”     

And with that, the blimp hit the side of the building as it had been slowly wrapping itself around the building with the grappling line. Shattering widow after window setting off alarms and tech traps alike, pinning down all the guards she was waiting on. and with one more heavy turn, the tail of the blimp hit the building crumpling it and causing an explosion. Mikey pulled out the tech bo and smashed the window open setting off the rockets and taking off into the sky.   

The rockets did not last as long as Mikey hoped but he did manage to get his footing on a roof as they gave way, he rolled but landed hard. Out of breath, he forced himself up and on shaking feet run to the fence line as all the spotlights searched for him, but this time he used the goggles to tell him when everything was going to move and it guided him out of the city. Which was good because his body was on autopilot and his mind was getting numb. Using the broken sword, he slashed the fence and run until his body hit the water, he swam in the cold water until he found a sewer drain and climbed in it. The water was still up to his ankles but he sat in it anyway. He breathed in and out hard and fast he closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.

 He must have fallen asleep at some point because he could feel the sun creeping over his face. Mikey opened his eyes slowly as they felt heavy, along with the rest of him. Nonetheless, he lifted his glove to his teeth and pulled them off his hands, he then tosses them next to him and reached up to his face to put the goggles off his head. He held them gently and ran his fingers around them, he held them in both hands and slowly pressed them to his forehead.

“Thanks, Donnie, could not have pulled that off back there without you.”

‘No problem, Michel, but I do wish I could have been more helpful.’

‘Hey, Mikey you should rest more you have a big night coming.’

‘Yeah, Raph’s right little brother, time to get your beauty sleep.’

‘Says the insomniac.’

‘Hey, that’s only because I don’t need beauty sleep, I mean look at me.’

‘Shh, Leo.’

Mikey’s eyes were getting heavy again, so he placed the goggles on his chest and lowered his body into a more comfortable position. He was out of the Safe Zone but that was the easy part, his mission was far from over.

[stellarcat52]

Hello My Mirror

See, I saw sculk in season 2 of empires and decided there needed to be a reason for sculk not being in season 1.

That idea evolved.

He stepped into the ruins of the temple, a pedestal with a small, dusty notebook stood in front of a wax statue. The pale wax seemed to glow in his torchlight, and the eye sockets of the human it depicted must have had soemthing inside them that reflected the flame.

He stepped forwards and picked up the book, reading it carefully.

As titans fall and their empires scatter, two groups of people would be the phoenixes that rise from the ashes. Those who fled to Pixandria, the only lands untouched by the calamity that befell its sisters and brothers, and those who decided ruins must stay ruined and the future could not be tarnished by the mistakes of the fallen.

Those who will forge the roads that left the past behind were of every species, every origin, every empire. Among their ranks were some of the greatest craftsmen, magicians, warriors, and leaders, that had resided among common citizens. They would be the people to eventually create a new civilization. One of growth, of creation and innovation.

As the surface world had been destroyed, they will turn to the caverns of lava and stone beneath them. Cities and travel routes, mines and strongholds, they will all be created by these people.

People might be the wrong word, half titans would be the proper term, for they are the spiritual children of the children of titans blood, but the Ancients is the term I will use for them.

They will bring into creation species of intellect and strength, magic of healing and hope, machines of power and movement, and eventually all of it would come collapsing into their own destruction.

The wardens, a creation meant to protect the cities and help rebuild the world above once the end had finally ended. The wardens will become uncontrollable, and the cities and everything else would be abandoned.

By the time you read this

“No, you haven’t found them yet, have you?”

He looked up and saw the statue moving, the light in its eyes was its own fire like candlewicks. He shook his head.

“I wrote that before realizing, you can skip that paragraph. Sometimes prophetic visions weren’t as accurate as I’d have liked. I think it showed the sculk, I hoped that would have stayed in the cities but I suppose that was too hopeful.”

“Yeah, it’s everywhere I feel.” He looked at the temple entrance. The sculk had stayed away, but it was still visible from inside.

“Well? Keep reading.” The statue gestured towards the book and something caught the eye of the boy who was reading. A mirror in the wall, it reflected not him and a statue, but him and a man. The man caught his eyes in the mirror.

“You’re... familiar. To me.”

“I’m familiar to a lot of history, I believe.”

“You’re a prophet.”

“I’m dead.” the man smiled in the mirror. “Keep reading?”

By the time you read this... No, the boy told himself, next paragraph.

Hello my mirror,

My inverse reflection.

The future is past,

I know that now.

Let the flame flicker in the dark,

and when it goes out,

you will be aglow.

Share my message to this world.

Goodbye,

I’ll be with my friends if you need us.

The boy looked up as the lights go out, both the torch he held and the candlelight eyes of the prophet. When he relights the torch, the statue is gone. In its place was a bag and a small chest.

He investigated the chest first, engraved with gold and somehow still clean copper. Inside was a crown, a spyglass, and an empty notebook with a strange note inside. “I’ve known of you before history did, but history will know your name. You will find people, and their stories will create the future. Don’t let their waves wash away my and your shared stories. Don’t let knowledge be forgotten, let the lost and destroyed be found and healed.”

He read aloud the final words with a strange new confidence. “Hello my mirror, my inverse reflection. I look one way and you look the other, and we’ll have the world’s back. The prophet of Pixandria, the Copper King, Pixlriffs.”

He took the chest, the notebook, spyglass, and crown. He put them in the bag, somehow he knew it would be empty and he would be right. Even with the new items, it was practically weightless as he slung it over his shoulders.

He stepped out into the sunlight, years later. The tunnel behind him was not the same one he once left, but it felt the same. Going from a timeless place, back then it was the prophet’s resting place, and now it was an overgrown jungle. to a wasteland, back then it was a sculk infested desert, and now it was a savanna. Back then, it was his old home. Now, it was his new one.

Pixl set down his old bag on a flat rock and pulled out his spyglass, he started examining the landscape and horizon and sketching it in a new notebook, but he held countless full ones in the bag beside him along the crown locked in a box with greening details on it.

This wouldn’t be a second Pixandria, how could someone who’s never been there rebuild it anyway? This would just be a camp for him and his research. He was still waiting for those people the prophet spoke of to appear, but he had figured out what some other words the prophet had told him meant.

“History will know my name, huh?” He had once asked himself. Now, and every other time he looked at ruins since that fateful temple trip, he realized for once the prophet wasn’t talking about the future.