#and let our shadows wither

[southsidestory]

12, 43, or 46 sasusaku

Thank you so much for the ask! I chose to write #12 "candles" :)

~

and let our shadows wither

Orochimaru’s hideout is windowless, monochrome, dim. Sakura opens a battered iron door with bloody hands. Her fingers leave red streaks across the metal, the same shade as the rust. Inside, she finds a room so spare that she’d think it was unoccupied if not for the blanket folded on the narrow bed. That, and the candles. They cast the only light, a warm glow against the darkness.

She feels him before she sees or hears him. It’s not the vibration of footsteps or his bonfire scent either; she notices those things too, but only after she knows he’s there. That’s the tell, the revelation, more reliable than any physical sense. A bone-deep certainty that comes from knowing and being known.

He steps closer, closer, until he stands directly behind her. It’s like the night he left turned inside out and upside down.

She braces herself, but it’s not enough to prepare her for the sound of his voice. Maybe nothing could prepare her after three years apart.

“Hello, Sakura.”

~

I might fill 43 or 46 later, and if I do, I'll make sure to tag you!

If anyone else wants to send me prompts, here's the list of micro fic prompts. I'll take SasuSaku, Spuffy, Jilco, and Gallavich <3

I know this isn't a micro fic. Sue me lol

[theobsessivesideblog]

Hook Where it Hurts

Astarion finds himself Experiencing Emotions™ after a battle takes a turn for the worse.

Warnings: violence/injury, death, angst BUT happy ending I promise

—————————————————————

Your time in the Underdark had been relatively uneventful, all things considered. Sure there were Minotaurs, the occasional bulette, and exploding mushrooms, but there was something strangely beautiful about the alien landscape. The myconids were a friendly, if odd and slightly bloodthirsty bunch. Your conversation with Omeluum had proved enlightening, and trade with Blurg and Derryth had garnered you some useful items. Overall you couldn’t bring yourself to regret following Halsin’s advice to take the subterranean path to the Shadow-Cursed lands. 

You set up camp at the Myconid colony, heading out at first light (or at least what you assumed was first light without the actual sun to confirm) to begin your trek towards the lake Sovereign Spaw had pointed you toward. An hour into your walk a glow appeared in the distance, lighting up the gloom of the cavernous landscape. 

“I say, that can’t be… I do believe that may be a Sussur tree!” Gail exclaimed from behind you. “Powerful things, and rare, uniquely capable of completely nullifying magical forces, just fascinating!” he continued, eyes alight at the prospect of examining one up close. 

“Sussur… that sounds familiar,” Karlach pondered. 

“Ah! Right you are my fiery friend, there were instructions in the village about making a weapon with the bark! That would likely prove to be a powerful tool, we should certainly take a look.” 

You gazed towards the tree, comparing its location with the heading you had gotten from Spaw. In all likelihood you would end up passing nearby, may as well go on purpose. 

“Seems like it won’t be too much of a detour,” you announced, glancing around the group. “All in favor?”

“I’d never say no to a new kick-ass weapon,” Karlach grinned. 

“That’s two for, Astarion?” you asked, looking over towards the rogue.

“I doubt our resident magician will shut up about it until we pay a visit, so fine. Let’s go traipsing through the monster-infested dark to look at the magic tree,” Astarion said with a dramatic eye roll. 

“Anti-magic, technically, you see the—“ Gale’s chatter came to an abrupt halt as Astarion shot him a withering glance. “Right, yes, um. Shall we?” 

——————— 

You had to admit, the Sussur tree was breathtaking. Far larger than you had initially realized, clearly ancient and powerful. You glanced over to see your companions’ reactions, breath catching as your eyes met Astarion’s. His pale skin was nearly pearlescent in the ethereal glow, the blue light making his red eyes darker than usual. He stared back, lips pulling into a smirk, and a shiver of desire ran down your spine as he began prowling towards you. You’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for days, taking turns taunting and tempting each other and you were curious to see who would break first.

A movement behind Astarion’s shoulder broke you out of your reverie, eyes catching on a monstrous creature slowly beginning to descend toward your troupe from the raised roots of the tree. Your face paled and you saw Astarion’s brow furrow in your periphery as he registered that he had lost your attention, turning to see what had distracted you. He stiffened as he caught sight of the beast, silently reaching to retrieve an arrow while you hissed quietly towards Gale and Karlach in an attempt to get their attention. Karlach looked your way and you subtly gestured towards the creature as it crept closer to the group, trying to hold back the urge to laugh as she reached out and smacked Gale’s arm, interrupting his lecture on the properties of the blossoms.  

A few more wordless glances between the four of you had everyone subtly moving into position, preparing for what was sure to be a short battle. You glanced across the clearing, locking eyes with each of your companions before giving a tight nod as all of you attacked at once. The creature let out a shriek as it was barraged by both metal and magic, falling from its root bridge and hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch. 

As the adrenaline faded from your system and you walked forward to observe the corpse you were nearly disappointed by how easily the beast had fallen. Not that you ever wanted to get your ass kicked but you had certainly expected that a monster with as many teeth and claws as this one would’ve put up a bit more of a fight. Karlach had turned away with a dissatisfied pout on her lips as she sheathed her weapon and Astarion had already started to wander off to investigate the rest of the cave as you gently nudged the cooling body on the ground with the tip of your boot. It was grotesque up close, a bird-like skeletal face filled with vicious teeth and enormous, razor-sharp hooks protruding from the end of each arm in place of hands. Beside you Gale was surveying the corpse with a strangely joyous expression.

“What a fascinating beast! We got quite lucky, they’re exceptional hunters, certainly wouldn’t want to run into one of these unprepared! They’re called Hook Horrors!” he announced gleefully to no one in particular.

“Did someone say something about whores?” Astarion called from across the cavern. Karlach snorted loudly as she and Gale began making their way over towards him and you rolled your eyes as your lips curled into a smile.

“Yes, Star, Gale has deeply insulted me,” you called back sarcastically. “You may need to come defend my honor! In fact, I–”

You cut off abruptly as a shriek pierced through the air, echoing off the hard rock. You all whipped toward the sound, weapons coming back to the ready as another hook horror climbed out from behind a patch of roots close to your three companions. As you watched it emerge you distractedly thought that it would be nice to go back to fighting above ground again. The way sound bounced around the rocks always made it sound like there was something behind you, and some paranoid instinct had you sending a cursory glance back over your shoulder to calm your nerves. 

You froze in place, realizing your fears had been well founded as another hook horror silently emerged from around the corner of the cavern wall and leapt towards you. You barked out a startled curse and jumped back as it took a swing at you. The first horror may have fallen easily enough against the four of you, but your companions were locked in battle on the other side of the cavern and you were well aware that a one-on-one fight was one you wouldn’t win. 

You kept your eyes locked on the creature as you began backing your way across the cave, hoping you could get within range of your party before it lost patience and struck. Based on the sounds the other monster was emitting it wouldn’t be a threat for much longer. You tightened your hold on your weapon, preparing to strike as you crept back another step, heart skipping as the rock you had stepped on shifted underneath your boot. You glanced down for a split second, trying to find your footing, a sense of dread filling you as you saw the hook horror jump into motion in your peripheral vision. 

The hook drove into your side and you screamed. Pain the likes of which you’d never felt before tore through you as the hook horror yanked its arm across your abdomen, tearing through your stomach. You thought you heard someone shout, but they sounded a million miles away as you collapsed to your knees before the beast, your sight dimming around the edges. You vaguely registered a flash of blades and a wet thump as the hook horror’s head hit the ground before your vision was taken over by Astarion’s panicked visage. His hands gripped your face, feeling unnaturally warm against your cheeks as the world faded away.  

“No no no, you can’t die, get UP damn you!” he shouted, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged cut across your midsection even as a small voice in the back of his mind told him it was too late. His shaking hands were covered in your blood but he had never found it less appealing, appetite long gone as he stared at your unnaturally pale face. “Please, my sweet, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded, vision clouding as his eyes filled with tears. He saw a red blur on his left as Karlach kneeled down beside him and he instinctively curled around you protectively, arms gently slipping around your back as he clutched your unmoving form against his chest.

“Astarion, we need–”  

“Give me a healing potion. Now.” he ordered, voice dangerously low.

“It’s too late, Astarion. We need to get her body back–”

“Don’t say it like that,” he growled shakily. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself but choking on the scent of your blood in the air. “A resurrection scroll then,” he demanded, glaring in Gale’s direction.

“I… it won’t work. The tree–”

Astarion snarled out a curse and pressed his forehead against your frigid cheek, desperately trying to contain the sob attempting to claw its way out of him. 

“We need to get her to camp, Astarion,” Karlach repeated gently, a small line of steam rising from where a tear had just rolled her cheek. “We need Shadowheart. I can carry–”

“No,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a trembling hand before adjusting one of his arms beneath your knees and standing with you cradled against him. “I’ve got her.” 

———————

They were farther from camp than Astarion had realized, though perhaps it only felt that way because he had spent the entire walk staring at your lifeless face. He felt numb by the time they arrived, hardly hearing Karlach shout for Shadowheart as they passed the first of the tents. In the back of his mind he was aware that their other companions had gathered around them frantically asking questions, but the words didn’t register and he continued forward without acknowledging any of them. He walked to his tent in a trance, gingerly setting you down on his bedroll and kneeling at your side as his shaking hands tried to arrange your limp body into a more comfortable configuration.

“What in the hells happened?” Shadowheart snapped as Karlach pulled her roughly into the tent. He should answer, should try to explain, but he was frozen kneeling by your side, unable to pull his attention away from your unblinking eyes.

“She- she was-” Karlach bit back a sob, trying to catch her breath. “We got caught off guard. She was alone. She shouldn’t have been alone,” Karlach choked out, dissolving into tears. Shadowheart hurried to your side and knelt across from Astarion, immediately beginning to unfasten the straps on your armor and peeling the bloodied metal away from your skin.

“We need to get her cleaned up so I can see what I'm doing. Astarion, can you fetch me some water and clean washcloths?” she asked, continuing to remove your ruined clothing. When he remained unmoving she looked up to where he sat, his gaze unwaveringly focused on the brutal cut across your torso. 

“Astarion,” she repeated softly, waiting as he slowly drug his gaze up to meet her eyes. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to fix this, but I need your help.” She paused, waiting until Astarion gave a small nod of acknowledgement to rattle off the things she needed, her attention returning to your still form as Astarion rose and darted around his tent gathering what she had requested. He returned a heartbeat later, depositing the items at her side as she instructed him to wet a cloth and begin wiping away as much blood as he could. 

She began chanting a prayer as he worked, hovering her hands over your sternum while he continued to gently clean your skin. Your blood had been a gift once, a delight. Now he shuddered as he attempted to ring out the bloodied rag in his hand, barely fighting the urge to retch as it dripped from his hands into the reddened bowl of water at his side.

A light sparked in Shadowheart’s hands, warm and radiant, and Astarion stopped his work, dropping the stained cloth and gently reaching out with trembling fingers to take hold of your hand. The light in her palms grew as she focused, directing its power towards you. A glowing beam split from the whole and snaked downwards, weaving through the jagged edges of your wound and drawing them together while the remainder of the light floated upward, hovering over your heart. She continued chanting, her eyes drifting closed in concentration as the glowing orb started to lower, dimming as it sunk through your skin and into your chest. The room grew silent as Shadowheart completed the incantation and lowered her hands, looking you over carefully. 

“Did it… did it work?” Karlach whispered. “Is it supposed to take this long? Why isn’t she–”

Your chest rose as you gasped in air, the breath immediately turning to a cough at the uncomfortable stretch in your lungs. The air tasted of iron and magic and you frowned, trying to open your eyes to observe your surroundings but surprised to find your eyelids heavy and uncooperative. Cool fingers brushed against your face, smoothing away the furrow in your brow and you instinctively relaxed at the familiar touch. 

“All is well, darling,” you heard Astarion whisper, voice sounding oddly constricted. “Rest now.” 

You were still confused, still couldn't remember how you’d gotten here or what had happened. It felt as if something important had occurred, surely you shouldn’t sleep now. You heard the soft murmur of voices around you, a strained chuckle, a soft sniffle. You frowned again, struggling once more to open your eyes and earning an exasperated sigh from the vampire beside you. 

“Please, pet,” he breathed, lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Just sleep.” 

Your sense of unease fell away as Astarion began gently running his fingers through your hair. You felt him press another soft kiss against your forehead and relaxed into him, allowing yourself to drift off in his arms.

———————

The second Shadowheart had given the all clear Astarion had insisted everyone leave his tent. It was far too crowded and he wouldn’t have them waking you up when you were clearly in no condition to face their fussing. Even as he anchored himself in the sound of your steady heartbeat he still felt restless and off-balance, hands flitting over your sleeping form looking for something more to do. 

He felt ridiculous. You were here in front of him, healed and whole, and that should be the end of it. So why in the hells were his hands still trembling as he ensured your blankets were tucked around you? Why did his chest ache uncomfortably every time he caught a leftover whiff of your blood in the air? 

He huffed out a frustrated breath and sat on the ground beside you, staring at your sleeping face warily. This had never been part of his plan. He was never supposed to… care. Two centuries of distancing himself and building walls and somehow you had just waltzed right past his defenses and made yourself at home. He let out a defeated sigh and reached over, extracting your hand from the blankets to weave your fingers together with his. His gaze drifted to the steady rise and fall of your breathing and he found himself matching your pace, the tightly wound coil in his chest finally starting to loosen as you let out a soft snore. 

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he could deal with figuring out why that sound made him smile. Tomorrow he could obsess over how even just holding your hand made his whole body feel warmer. Tomorrow he could deal with the fact that in over 200 years of life he’d never before been as completely and utterly terrified as he had been today. For now, though, he would indulge. For tonight he would just let himself have this, whatever ‘this’ was. He closed his eyes and lifted your hand to his face, gently brushing his lips across your knuckles as he settled in to watch over you until morning. 

———————

The passage of time in the Underdark still confused you. You woke to the same darkness you had fallen asleep in, groggily wondering what time it was and how long you had been in bed. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding. Had you been drinking? That would certainly explain why you couldn’t remember how you had gotten here. As unappealing as getting up sounded, you were parched and you couldn’t stay here forever. You hoisted yourself up and froze as pain suddenly lanced through you, your vision flickering and arms giving out as you whimpered and fell back toward your pillow only to be caught by a pair of cold, pale arms. 

“I wouldn’t recommend moving just yet, darling,” Astarion said, looking down at you with a worried frown on his face as he lowered you gently back to the bedroll. “Shadowheart did as much as she could last night but it took a lot out of her to bring you back. You’re not going anywhere until she’s gotten a chance to check on you again.” He leaned across you, determinedly avoiding meeting your eyes as he made sure your pillow was adequately fluffed. You saw a slight tremor run through him and heard a catch in his breath before he stood abruptly and walked across the tent, silently pouring you a glass of water from the pitcher in the corner.

“Bring me… back?” you questioned. Astarion stilled, jaw clenching as you took him in. His normally flawlessly tousled hair was tangled as if he had been running his hands through it and streaks of blood threaded through the white locks. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked even paler than normal, nearly translucent in the dim light. Your eyes flitted down to his wrinkled, untucked shirt and then around the tent, catching on the blood-soaked pile of clothes and armor to the side of the entrance and the red-stained towels laying by a bowl of water next to the bedroll. A dim memory flashed through your mind: a tree, an ambush, excruciating pain, and then… nothing. 

“Oh.” you whispered, exhaling shakily as you felt your chest constrict, breaths turning quick and shallow as the air seemed to thin. Astarion was by your side in an instant, one hand smoothing back your hair while the other cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“It’s alright, darling, just breathe. You’re safe now.” he murmured, continuing to stroke your hair as your breathing calmed. He let out a tremulous sigh and closed his eyes, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “It’s alright,” he repeated even more quietly, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself, pressing against you for a moment before inhaling sharply and pulling away.

“Shit, you’re in pain, aren’t you?” he said, looking you over with worried eyes and immediately moving to stand. “I’ll get Shadowheart, she said she’d come by when she woke but surely she’s had enough sleep by now and–” 

“Wait, Star, I… can you just stay here with me for a moment?” you asked in a small voice. Warmth spread through him at your request and he obliged immediately, lowering himself to sit at your side and gently taking your hand in his. You sat in companionable silence for a moment, studying his profile as he stared at your interlaced fingers. Up close the bags beneath his eyes were even more pronounced and you frowned, gently extricating your hand from his to touch his cheek. He leaned into your palm and placed a kiss against the inside of your wrist, eyes drifting closed as he basked in the warmth of your touch.

“Have you rested at all, Astarion?” you questioned. “You look exhausted.” 

He huffed a laugh and cracked open an eye to look at your face. 

“I’m not sure you want to get into comparing looks right now, darling. You’re even paler than me at the moment,” he chuckled, eyes closing once again as he leaned further into your touch, a teasing grin spread across his face. “I assure you, however you may think I look, you look ten times worse.” 

“Hm, that’s not too bad I suppose,” you smirked. “Ten times worse than you is still at least three times better than the average person.” 

Astartion barked out a surprised laugh and opened his eyes to look at you again, something in them softening as he saw your gentle smile. 

“Whoever would’ve thought math could be so romantic,” he murmured, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against your lips. He raised a hand to brush a stray hair off your forehead and his smile faded, brow furrowing as his gaze met yours with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please don’t scare me like that again, my dear,” he breathed. “I’m- I don’t-” he sighed in frustration at the mess of emotions in his chest, hardly able to remember the last time his words had failed him so completely. 

“Don’t want to deal with this group of weirdos all by yourself?” you teased gently. He grinned back at you, gratitude in his eyes for not pushing him to collect his thoughts just yet. 

“Precisely that,” he chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you said, smiling softly at him. “Also I wasn’t kidding before, you look like shit. You really should get some rest.” 

“Hm,” Astarion hummed mischievously, narrowing his eyes. “I would, but you see someone went and bled all over my bedroll. Adept though I may be at washing out blood stains it’s a rather thick fabric, it will take a while to dry back out. I may need to stay with… someone… for a day or two. Or three. Maybe more,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you huffed out a laugh. 

“You’re incorrigible,” you replied, grinning up at him and rolling your eyes. “I suppose it does seem that I’ve made rather a mess of your tent though…”

“You certainly have,” he murmured, shifting to hover over you, slowly kissing his way along your jaw.

“And it would only be fair to let you bunk with the cleanest person in camp…”

“Mmhmm…” he hummed, kissing closer and closer to your lips.

“And I’m sure Gale wouldn’t mind letting you crash with him–”

“Excuse me??” he crowed, pulling back indignantly as you burst out laughing below him. He scowled playfully and shook his head at you in feigned displeasure. “You wicked little thing,” he chuckled, leaning back down and finally pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever it is,” you smirked, pulling him back to you for another kiss, “I'm sure I'll like it.” 

[foxylady13]

Gwyn and Azriel in ACOSF

I figured I'd put together a little post of Gwyn and Azriel moments throughout ACOSF, outside the Azriel bonus chapter, so that others could see why us Gwynriels ship them without needing the bonus chapter.

These moments include looks that others notice or just them looking at each other, interactions of them together, and just moments I find foreshadowing for them.

Without further ado:

♧ Gwyn had been distracted today—one eye on the other side of the ring. Cassian could only assume she was watching his brother, who had given Gwyn a small smile of greeting upon arrival. Gwyn hadn’t returned it. - Chapter 39

♧ Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high. - Chapter 44

♧ He nodded to Gwyn and Emerie, the former glancing toward Azriel, who watched in silence.

“We slice the ribbon in two,” Emerie asked Gwyn warily, “and our training is complete?” Gwyn again glanced to Azriel, who drifted closer. She said, “I’m not entirely sure.” - Chapter 51

♧ Azriel had winnowed her and Cassian here after training, but hadn’t lingered. Apparently, Gwyn wanted him to go over dagger handling, so he’d left them with a promise to return in an hour. - Chapter 55

♧ Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face. - Chapter 60

♧ Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift. As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved. - Chapter 60

♧ Azriel clapped his hands, and all the females straightened. “You’ll work in groups of three.”

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?”

Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.”

Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.” - Chapter 60

♧ Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder. Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. “You have no idea what you just started,” she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway.

���Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?” Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. “You’re the new ribbon, Az.” - Chapter 60

♧ “There are plenty of other unspeakable things that could be happening to her,” Cassian said, voice thickening. “To Emerie and Gwyn.” The shadows deepened around Azriel, his Siphons gleaming like cobalt fire. “You—we—trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that. It’s all we can do.” - Chapter 68

♧ “Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate. But I could barely move, and when I tried to get up … He gave me his cloak and wrapped me in it." - Chapter 68

^That is confirmed by Cassian from Chapter 14 when he said “I heard that Mor had brought one in. Azriel was the one who made it out there first, and he killed any of the Hybern soldiers left, but by that point …”

While these scenes do not have romantic feelings or connotations, I would rather have Gwyn and Azriel romance built upon in their book, and there is potential from these scenes to have that happen.

Now, I might be forgetting some so if I have.... please leave a comment, or even reblog, with the scene 🥰

[cosmerelists]

The Other Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse But Make It Cosmere

As requested by @round-hatches-are-terrifying. :)

In the Good Omens novel, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Pollution, and Death), who are bikers, are followed by four other biker dudes who chose their own names to be, uh, equally ominous:

Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Really Cool People, and Treading In Dogshit (formerly All Foreigners Especially The French, formerly Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping, never actually No Alcohol Lager, briefly Embarrassing Personal Problems, and finally People Covered in Fish)

So let's say we had other Horsemen on various Cosmere planets. What would they be named?

1. Roshar (Stormlight Archive)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, Desolation, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Man-Eating Giant Crabs, Running Out Of Stormlight Right In The Middle of the Weeping, Ill-Conceived Boons, and Reified Gender Norms (formerly Men Reading, formerly Predicting the Future But Not Like Storm Wardens Do Because That's Just Math Basically, briefly just Predicting the Future)

2. Scadrial (Era 1) (Mistborn)

The Main Horsemen: Famine, Pestilence, Ash, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Child Abuse, Dangerous Piercings, Trying to Keep Literally Anything Clean, and Getting Hit in The Head With A Coin Like Every Night Because of Those Blasted Mistborn Flying About Everywhere

3. Scadrial (Era 2) (Mistborn)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Social Unrest, Rich Bastards, ACAB, and Getting Hit in The Head With A Coin Like Every Night Because of Those Blasted Coinshots Flying About Everywhere

4. Nalthis (Warbreaker)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, Death, and Second Death

The Other Horsemen: Undead Squirrel Attacks, Being Out of Breath, The Haunting Realization that the Gods Who Live Among Us Are Actually Pretty Daft, and All Foreigners But Especially the Idrians

5. Threnody (Shadows for Silence)

The Main Horsemen: Fire, Blood, Running, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Fortfolk-Acting-Too-Big-For-Their-Britches, Withering-That-Does-Not-Kill-You-But-Does-Make-Life-Just-That-Much-Harder-Forever, Ghost-Grandmother, and Adonalsium-May-Remember-Our-Plight-Eventually-But-For-Now-It-Is-Pretty-Bleak-Out-Here-Guys

6. Komashi (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

The Main Horsemen: Nightmares, Famine, Pestilence, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Artist's Block, Being Straight on a Planet Where Even the Lighting is Bisexual, AI Art, and A Stiff Breeze Coming At Exactly The Wrong Time Noooo My Rock Stacks

7. First of the Sun (Sixth of Dusk)

The Main Horsemen: Bad Death, Worst Death, Quick Death, and Slow Death

The Other Horsemen: Mainlanders, Mainlander Capitalism, Kids These Days, and Suspicious Invaders (?) From Outer Space

8. Sel (Elantris)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, the Shaod, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Aggressive Proselytizers, Stubbing your Toe, People Who Do Not Accept The Word of Shu-Dereth And So Seal For Themselves Their Own Inevitable Doom, and I'm With The First Guy Who Said Proselytizers (formerly People Covered in Slime)

[blingblong55]

Funny feeling - König

Not a request but my own need for this:

141&Konig find out (same time as you do) that you have PCOS. You of course are sad because of the fertility issues and all the problems this condition brings, but not to worry, your partner is here to help and uplift you.  ---- F!Reader, reader with pcos, fluff, angst, comfort, established!realtionship, tw: self worth issues ----

A/N: I needed comfort and well I figured you might too so.. here's this

141 part here

When you step inside, the shadow of worry descends upon your home. Your spirit dimmed, and ever since the truth emerged and you withered, your mind came crashing down like a bird in flight. This diagnosis shook not just you but of course him. You now drown in a sea of despair and self-blame. It's a heavy burden to bear, one that threatens tears to roll down and make you walk away from König. You blame yourself as flawed, broken, unworthy of the love he gives you and you so cherish.

But König, ever the steadfast husband, refuses to lose you this way. He mustn't let you slip away. Not ever, Schatz.

One day, as he finally watches you open up, he sits down and listens. He clings to every word you say. You pour your heart out and all of your fears and insecurities. "What if you leave? What if this is the beginning of the end of us? I don't want to lose you Bär," your voice shaky. With gentle understanding, he wiped away your tears, promising to stand by your side through every trial and triumph. "Oh, meine Schatz," he says as he holds you close.

Now, he sought to educate himself about the condition, attend appointments with you, read up on diets that can help you and is now determined to be your unwavering support.

It's not just words where he shows you his undying love. No, that is basic and for the woman that owns his heart, actions must be shown to prove that he means it. He cooks your favourite meals, filling the shared home with the aroma of comfort and care.

He takes your hands one day and leads you through the meadows, reminding you of the beauty that exists in the world outside the window. And in the quiet moments, he simply holds you, his presence so warm.

"Life is not always fair, I know that and I also know that you don't believe that I mean it, that this won't change and…you're lying to yourself. I do mean it and this might change our lives a little but not for the worse. I love you, sweet girl, and I'll be here like you were for me," he kisses your forehead and keeps holding you close.

In the quaint Austrian countryside, where the hills whispered tales of old, lived König and you. Life is nothing but beautiful, especially now that he is retired. With changes and lots of cuddles, you slowly become used to this new part of yourself.

A/N: I think this part was shit...sorry..

Tags:

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[pit-and-the-pen]

Do I Wanna Know?

This is my first Azriel fic but I've been obsessed with him since I finished this series

Smut (18+) . Fluffff at the end

Warnings: Breathplay, Jealousy and kind of negative self thoughts. 

Summary: Reader being stubborn after being jealous and Azriel being hot and sweet. 

2.1K words

“We’re supposed to spend the day together.” The pout I was trying to keep off of my face, no doubt creeping in. Azriel just sighs heavily, cupping my face. 

“It will only be for a little while. Then we can have the rest of the day.”

He takes a step towards me and presses his lips to my forehead. Elain just gives a small sigh of her own. My eyes flicker to her for a moment before I send a wave of pleasure down the bond, making Azriel freeze in front of me. 

Me moaning his name, the feeling of his hands on my hips as he pushes into me from behind, the white hot feeling as I cum around his fingers. 

I am rewarded with his pupils expanding as he looks over my face. I pull his lips to mine with a hand around the back of his head. I vaguely process the small gasp from Elain but the feeling of Azriel deepening the kiss takes my mind away from it. His tongue is swiping across my lips and I gladly meet him, a small keening noise leaving the back of my throat. When we both pull away, sucking in air, I bite his lip as I pull away. I don’t let him get too far before I stand up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “That’s just a preview, my love.” His expression looks pained as I give him one last peck on the cheek and pull away with a small laugh. Azriel clears his throat and looks me up and down before turning on his heel, leaving both Elaine and I behind. She sends me a withering look and I only react by giving her a toothy smile. 

“A reminder,” I say quietly, taking a step towards her. “That he always comes back to my, our, bed.” With that she turns on her heel and steps after Azriel. I feel the shadow that is always at my side twine itself around my hand as I walk towards his study to grab the book I am currently reading. 

I should have been nicer to Elain. I know deep down that she’s just trying to process her new life. Azriel had this calming presence and I don’t blame her for seeking comfort in him. But that small part of me bristles at the way she looks at him and I can’t help the tinge of jealousy. Three sisters for three brothers. Someone at a party once joked. I didn’t show how deep that comment stung, just laughed off the random drunk fae. But the thought swirled around in my mind every time I saw her lean into him to whisper something. Elain was heartbreakingly beautiful. As she slowly started to come out of her shell, she became a little light of her own. Her abilities at gardening and her kindness made it impossible to dislike her. Even I didn’t. Which only made the oily feeling of guilt swirl around my stomach. 

Azriel loved me, had loved me for two centuries. The bond only solidifying that love. It would only take one look at the two of us to see it. The wedding band that I currently was spinning on my finger, matched with the swirling tattoo on my upper arm from the day we made our vows in front of the priestess. I will always protect you, I will always come back to you. We both had said it and truly meant it. I had no reason to be jealous of the middle sister. I brush off the thoughts and lose myself in the romance book on my lap.

After a few hours, the shadow curled up around me dashes across the room. I only peek over the edge of my book and see Azriel walking towards me. Already starting to unbuckle his leathers. My eyes flicker back down, going back to my book as I feel his warmth, feel the weight of him against my leg. 

“I remember you promising…” His hand started to slide up my leg, pushing up my skirt with it. I hide my gasp, biting my lip behind my book. The words not finding purchase. His lips take the same path and it takes every ounce of resolve in my body to not launch myself at him. He finally meets the middle of my thighs and the wetness he finds is the only hint he gets at how affected I am. 

I dare another look over the top of my book and find his eyes already locked on mine. He stills, silently asking for permission. I nod before giving a heavy sigh and go back to looking at the pages. He growls as he pulls the sides of my underwear, snapping them between his hands. The fabric barely has time to fall away before his mouth is on me. A small moan leaves my lips and I try my hardest to keep the book up in front of me. 

His hands grip my hips, pulling me onto his mouth. When he doesn’t get the reaction he wants out of me, I feel his fingers ghost over my thighs before he plunges two fingers into me. “Fuck” I whisper breathily as he curls his fingers, hitting that spot inside of me that normally would have me screaming his name. He speeds up his hand, his lips curling around my clit before sucking hard. I already feel that knot in my stomach threatening to snap. He growls again before I feel him pull away. 

Too quick to process, he rips the book from my hands and cages my body with his. I see his chin shine ever so slightly as he runs his eyes over my face. My teeth have left dents in my lip and I know my face is flushed. His hand trails lightly up my exposed arm and curls gently around the side of my neck. 

“Why don’t we try this again sweet girl.” He squeezes my neck and I can’t help the way my eyes roll back. His name drips off of my tongue, a broken moan and he smirks down at me. “Was that so hard?” He coos, breath tickling my ear making goosebumps rise on my arms. I shake my head and he gives my neck another squeeze, as he goes to pull his hand away, I wrap mine around his wrist. He smirks and keeps his hand in its place. 

He pulls me up so my back is flush with his chest. Trailing his free hand down my body. He starts to slide down the straps of my loose short, pulling it down to let it sit around my waist. Scared hands following its path until he reaches my hip. He uses his leg to pry mine open, pinning it in place by throwing his leg over mine. His hand trails lower as he finds my clit again.  I lean back against him at the touch, heading tilting back as I suck in a breath. His pace is unrelenting, paired with the weight of his hand around my throat I feel that knot creep back tighter than before. 

His name is all I can manage to get out. A few stray tears run down my face at how good it feels. 

“Should I let you cum?” He muses. My broken cry is my only response. I think I might die if I don’t but my mouth can’t find the words. The hand wrapped around my neck goes to drape across my waist as I start to sag against him. I feel his hardness pressed against the curve of my back and the thought of that alone is enough to have me mewling. 

With the rush of oxygen I’m able to scream out “Please Azriel. I’ll be good, I promise. Just let me cum.” I don’t care how loud I’m being. That the other people in this house can most definitely hear my voice. I needed that feeling now. His chest rumbles behind me as he hums deeply. 

“Looks like someone remembered their manners after all.” I get no warning as he plunges two fingers back inside me. My back arches off of his chest and the arm around my waist sneaks lower, pressing against my stomach and I erupt under him. The scream I let out as that band snaps is loud enough to make him chuckle behind me. My hands reach for his arms, something to keep me grounded, as he works me through my orgasm. My head falls back against his shoulder. Lids feeling heavy as the pleasure wanes. I reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull his lips down to mine. 

I pull myself to face him and he lifts me up to straddle his hips. I’m all thumbs as I unbuckle the pants of his leathers and pull his cock out. His angry red tip is already leaking. When I wrap my hand around him, as best as I can, He groans and lifts his hips up to meet my hand. I don’t waste another second before I’m lining him up with my center, feeling his head poke at my soaked entrance. I use my other hand to steady myself as I sink down. Inch by glorious inch. I let out the breath that I’m holding as my thighs meet his hips once again. His hands wrap around my waist and I whimper as he rolls his hips, grinding into me deeply. He doesn’t go fast and I still my hips. Knowing damn well I need time to adjust to this position. Even after two hundred years, I still have to adjust to his size every time. After a moment, I feel the sting fade away and rest my head against his shoulder. 

“This is my favorite spot to be.” He bites my shoulder. “Buried deep in my mate.” I moan as I lift myself up and start to ride him. His hands guiding my pace, hips meeting mine halfway. 

It doesn’t take long for me to build back up to that high. He feels me clench around him and groans. The noises the two of us are making are ungodly loud. The sound of his hips meeting mine. My broken moans as he thrusts into me. “Just a little longer princess.” His hips speed up and I know he’s getting close. Trying to time both of our pending orgasms together. I try to hold it back, I really do, but when I look into his eyes and see the want in them. I can’t help the release that rips through me. I throw my head back and roar his name. 

My release sets him off. Pulling me down, hips digging up into mine as he fills me. I whimper at the feeling as he swears. He stills as he rides his own high. I pepper kisses along his jaw before capturing his lips in a slow kiss. We’re both panting as I rest my forehead against his. “I love you.” He responds without missing a beat. 

“I love you.” He presses a kiss to my cheek. “Now do you want to explain what that was earlier?” He says, cocking his eyebrow. I give an embarrassed laugh, one that makes both of us moan lightly from him still being buried inside me, and burrow my face into his chest. I pull off of him and spill the thoughts from earlier out sheepishly.  

He doesn’t interject. Just lets me ramble on as I lay out all my insecurities to him. 

“And I know you’re helping her. I want you to help her, for her to get better. She deserves that and she’s been nothing but kind to me. But seeing her dote on you just gets into my head sometimes.” Saying out loud makes the shame creep up in my stomach. He must have felt it through the bond and all he does is wrap his arms around me. 

“And they say Illayrians are territorial.” He laughs and I can’t help but smile. He’s suddenly serious, keeping me wrapped in his arms. “I’m sorry this has been bugging you so much. And I’m sorry for not noticing but I truly don’t notice this sort of thing when you’re by my side.” He sighs as I curl myself tighter into him. “You’re beautiful and kind. You light up the room when you’re around.” I lift my head up to look him in the eye and feel the even beat of his heart. 

“I love you so much. Until the last star fades from the sky, until we are nothing more than dust, I will love you.” He vows. I can’t help the tears that streak down my cheeks. I pull him into a gentle kiss. 

“And I love you. Until the world ends. I would find you in every lifetime and love you the same.” I rest my head on his shoulder and he holds me. Wrapped in our little bubble, neither of us moving.

[wannab-urs]

Ravage

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x f!Reader (in the role of Venetia)

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” OR Saltburn-style hate as consumption

Warnings: Weird vibes, period/menstruation smut, bloodplay and blood consumption, weird classism stuff, biting, fingering, oral f!receiving

A/N: Inspired by, but not a one for one recreation of, the Saltburn vampire scene between Ollie and Venetia. It’s a little combo of both scenes between them that take place outside the mansion + some details I thought would make it more interesting. Oh and I skipped the ED stuff.  Thanks to @beskarandblasters and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me yell about this fic

Ezra Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You’d left your room in a near daze, wandering the halls of your family’s estate barefoot and in your thin nightdress. A wraith speared through by the moonlight, flitting from corridor to corridor until you ended up outside. You settled on a bench just below the guest room window and gazed out toward the labyrinth. It felt, often, as if your mind were trapped in that hedge maze. Circling, wandering, endlessly lost. 

“Birdie?” 

You nearly topple off the bench, a scream getting tangled in your throat and falling in a pathetic whimper from your lips. 

“Fucking hell, you scared me.”

Ezra, your brother’s friend, steps out of the shadows. He pops his knee out and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing you. 

“Apologies, little bird. I feared you might be sleepwalking.” 

You give the man a withering glare. His way of speaking seems to come naturally to him, though from anyone else you’d swear it was some sort of performance. Perhaps a mockery of high society or the educated class. 

“I just wanted to look at the moon. It’s nearly full. You know what that means?” You turn your gaze to the sky and draw your bottom lip into your mouth. 

“Can’t say that I do. Enlighten me.” 

You flick your eyes to him without dropping your chin. “We’re all about to lose our minds.” 

Ezra stares at you a moment, the blonde patch in his hair nearly glowing in the light, and a deep chuckle suddenly bubbles from his chest. You join him in his laughter, even though you think he’s making fun of you. He goes quiet again, staring at you. 

“You must be cold,” he intones, stripping out of his plush robe – provided by your family, of course, so really it’s your robe. He’s nearly naked underneath, broad chest bared to the moonlight, bulge in his briefs at your eye level. 

“I’m coldblooded. We’re all coldblooded. Haven’t you noticed?” Your voice holds a note of disdain – for him or your family, you’re not sure – but you take the robe from him and wrap it around your bare shoulders. 

“Oh birdie, you’re not coldblooded. Your family has been more than generous to me.” Ezra drifts closer to you and you almost unconsciously part your thighs. 

“Sweet,” you whisper. 

“No one has ever ventured so far as to call me sweet, little bird.” Ezra saunters away from you, turns his back on you, and it feels somehow like a loss. 

“Real, then.” 

Ezra hums, moves behind the bench you’re sitting on and lets your back press against his naked torso. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you sneer, as if you hadn’t just been mourning the loss of his heat between your thighs. 

Ezra’s hand threads into your hair and tilts your head back as he bends to whisper in your ear, “And you are adorned in a transparent night dress just outside my window.” 

Your body shudders, in fear or arousal or both. “It’s– it’s my house. I can go wherever I want.” You try for defiant, but your voice shakes. 

“Oh, okay. And your desires led you to be in a transparent nightdress just outside my window?” He straightens again and pulls your body back into his. 

“I didn’t really think about it.” 

“Just a masochist, then.” It’s not a question. He moves slowly, almost predatory, until he’s settled on his knees in front of you. 

“Maybe,” you stare at the moon, refusing to look at him kneeling before you. 

He sits up on his knees, pinches your chin in his fingers and forces you to look at him. “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” 

He grabs the hem of your nightdress and shoves it roughly up your thighs. You smack his hands, shoving the gown back over your legs. He pushes the hem up again, and you don’t stop him. Your hands grip the bench beside you. 

“Ezra. It’s– it’s not– it’s not the right time of the month,” you plead with him halfheartedly. You don’t want him to stop now. 

“Do you think that will hinder me?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs tightly. “How fortunate for you, birdie, that I am a vampire.” 

The tip of his middle finger swipes through your folds. You gasp sharply, but his hand is gone as quickly as it came. He holds his fingers up in the scant space between your faces. You feel trapped in his gaze as the pink tip of his tongue flicks against his shiny red finger. He traces your bottom lip with it and your mouth falls open. 

You’re trapped somewhere between disgust and awe. His finger plunders your mouth, smearing your own slick and blood on your tongue. His other hand snakes up your thigh, two fingers plunging into your slick heat while the fingers in your mouth hook your jaw. He shoves your head back until you’re looking directly above you, the robe falling from your shoulders. 

You’re hooked on him at both ends, unable to pull away even a fraction. You gasp and moan around his digits, pressed so far back in your throat you’re almost gagging on them. His thick fingers feel perfect inside you, gliding easily through your slick and blood. 

He drags your face to his, slotting your lips together. It’s not so much a kiss as Ezra trying to eat you alive. His right hand slips from your mouth and grips your hair. He drags your head backward even further, forcing your chest out and baring your throat to him. You are entirely at his mercy. His lips and teeth clatter down your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat, his teeth graze your collar bone, his lips close around your pulse point and he sucks hard enough to bruise. 

He jerks your head back up to stare into his eyes once again. “You got a little something there,” he whispers, his thumb dragging over your bloodstained chin. He has a feral glint in his eye. He looks every bit like a wild animal barely contained in the body of a man, and he’s on his knees before you. 

You almost laugh. Maybe you do laugh. He throws the hem of your nightgown over his head and buries his face between your thighs. He grips your hips tightly, pinning you to his face and keeping you from toppling completely off the bench. 

His tongue curls languidly through your folds, as if he’s trying to collect every bit of you and swallow it down. You grab his head through the sheer fabric of your dress and let yourself fall into the sensation. 

Two of his fingers slip easily into your cunt and his tongue finds your clit. He lathes your bud in steady circles, bringing you to the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly you see starbursts of color behind your lids. His fingers curl perfectly into your spongy walls and your eyes snap open as your body convulses in pleasure. 

Ezra quickly replaces his fingers with his tongue, your core spasming around the wet muscle. His hand, shiny with your own blood, slithers up your body, smearing red on your nightdress. His face remains buried in your cunt as his hand finds it’s way to your mouth. You should push them away, but you let him press the pads of his fingers against your tongue, let him fill you up with his spit and your slick and your blood. Your lips close around his digits and you suck them clean. 

He groans into your pussy before dragging his lips down your inner thigh. You can feel a wet trail where his mouth has been, skin tingling from his mustache. His teeth latch onto the sensitive flesh where your thigh meets your groin and you scream, the sound muffled by his fingers in your mouth. He almost certainly broke skin. 

He releases your flesh only to bite down again, slightly lower. You bite down on his fingers in return, splitting open the skin of his knuckles. You smooth the bite with your tongue as he finally drags his hand out of your mouth. 

Ezra places his left hand on the small of your back and brings his right back beneath your nightdress. You wish you could see more of him than the outline of his body between your thighs. 

His lips close on your clit at the same time he buries his fingers inside you, your blood combining with his inside you. He pumps his fingers deep inside you, so hard it feels like he’s trying to scoop out your insides. His blunt nails catch your front wall and you try to squirm away from him, crying out at the sharp sensation. He clutches you closer to him, catches your clit in his teeth and smooths the pads of his fingers over your agonized cunt. 

You are shockingly close to coming again, despite the pain radiating from your thigh. His tongue joins his fingers inside you and you bear down on him, his aquiline nose grinding into your clit. His nails dig into your back, pulling you even closer to his face, and you’re free falling. 

You cry out into the wet night air, feeling at once scattered in the breeze and held entirely in the grip of the man still between your legs. He rises slowly, releasing you. You nearly fall backward without the support of his strong hands on your body. You cling to the bench, chest heaving, panting breaths puffing mist into the air between you. 

The moonlight casts him in an eerie glow, but his face is almost entirely in shadow. He looks satisfied or disgusted, you can’t quite tell. He turns on his heel and saunters slowly back up the stairs, leaving you beneath his window. 

[mumms-the-word]

Shadow Curse Events Pt. 3

The first 40 days

Hello, friends, and welcome to the third and final installment of this little series about the Shadow Curse in BG3. Part 1 talked about Ketheric's descent into Sharran worship and how he built his Dark Justiciar army. Part 2 detailed the events of the war between the Harpers/druids and Ketheric's army, a bloodbath that culminated in Ketheric's supposed death and a high-cost victory for the Harpers and druids.

With Ketheric's dying breath, he utters a curse and the shadow curse takes full effect within hours. That's what this post is about. There are two journals that give us a day-by-day breakdown of the shadows as they roll outward from town, Olam's Journal and Oliver's Diary. Using these (plus other materials, naturally), I wanted to construct a kind of timeline for the first 40 days of the shadow curse as it slowly took over the landscape.

Quick cw: some descriptions of madness and implied sexual trauma from one note left behind by a Reithwin citizen

As always, long post ahead, under the cut!

———

Dear Diary, Day 1: Nothing ever happens in this town. I'm ready to go to the Gate. If Mother won't let me, I'll run away myself. She says my lungs are too weak for the smoke. But how am I living at all, when all I do is milk the rothe? [mumms' note: I imagine this diary entry by Oliver was written before the battle, but during the siege. I can't imagine him writing "nothing ever happens" when a battle is actively taking place.]

Let me set the stage. It is the third day of the battle between the Harper-druid army and Ketheric Thorm. The Harpers have already tried to surrender, only to be denied by Ketheric, who joins the battle himself. The death tolls are astronomical and the citizens of Reithwin are either cowering and trying to survive the battle that rages outside their doors or fighting as part of a volunteer force. The tides have turned in the Harpers' and druids' favor as reinforcements for Dark Justiciars inexplicably stop coming (thanks to the mason's infernal deal). At last, some lucky Harper or druid strikes the blow that finally fells Ketheric Thorm. Ketheric uses his last breath to utter a curse on the land, the actual words lost to time, and dies. Together with other Harpers and druids, Jaheira assists in dragging Ketheric's body from the battlefield and sealing it inside the Grand Mausoleum. But the damage has already been done.

It's day one of the shadow curse.

Day 2 of Darkness I stood calm as Ketheric uttered his final curse and then withered. As my fellow Harpers dragged his putrid corpse from the battlefield, I allowed myself to feel relief, even solace. A wrong had been righted, an evil thwarted. Victory had come - but I had yet to know its true cost. The darkness shrouded the land like a vast cloak. It began as a chill, as if the Claw of Winter had gripped us. Within hours, every breath was a dagger piercing my throat. I hungered for air like a wolf hungers for meat - yet I could still get my fill, thanks to my armour. Would that the men and women of Reithwin had been so well-equipped. One by one they fell, only to rise as shadows of themselves, intent on extinguishing all light, and all life. The shadows hang less heavy in this place. It still takes some effort to fill my lungs, but better to expend effort than to unite with darkness. My traps should keep me safe - or at least, safe enough.

Olam, an aasimar Harper who eventually fell victim to the shadow curse as he was trying to find ways to reverse it, is our best record for the first day. According to him, the first sign of the curse was a chill, as cold as the Claw of Winter, a reference to the winter month of Alturiak.

Months in Faerûn have two names, a sort of "official" name and a common name. The second month of the year, Alturiak, is commonly known as the Claw of Winter, a month of deep cold that sets in after Midwinter (the day right before Alturiak 1). Given that Ketheric's speech to his troops suggests they're preparing to face winter, and the fact that Thisobald's notes tell us that Ketheric was poisoned by the Harpers in Elient, the month that contains the Autumn Equinox, it's safe to suggest that the battle happened in late autumn. A sudden chill as cold as deep winter would be very alarming, especially accompanied by an unnatural darkness.

So, first comes the cold, so piercing and uncomfortable it makes it hard to breathe. Then comes the shadows, a darkness that settles over the town and begins to spread. If you're in armor, if you've trained your body to withstand magical and physical attacks, if you're resistant to any kind of damage, if you're one of the miraculous soldiers who hasn't been horribly wounded and weakened, you have half a chance to survive the initial shadows.

The untrained citizens of Reithwin don't have even that half-chance.

One by one they fall to the shadows. One by one they rise again as twisted, changed, ravenous undead, "intent to extinguish all light, all life." We've seen what the curse does ourselves to Harpers like Yonas, or to other living creatures like the hyena or the goblin near the mountain pass entrance. The Harpers and druids who believe that they can put battle behind them at last are now faced with a new enemy—the undead, shadow-cursed husks of innocent (and perhaps not so innocent) citizens.

Image: An armored arm covered by black and green shadow magic reaching out.

Not just citizens, either. The shadows soon claim Harpers and druids too. The shadows do not discriminate.

Halsin: Even in defeat, though, Ketheric turned to Shar. Not long after we sealed him away in his tomb, the shadow curse took hold. No one had seen the likes of it before. No one knew how to react…Then it started to claim all those within its reach. Those who had survived the battles now fell to the shadows - became part of the shadows. And worst of all…I lost contact with Thaniel. I wanted to try and find him, but we couldn’t stay. We would have all succumbed. When the Archdruid of the Grove - my predecessor - was seized by the curse, I had to lead the survivors to safety. That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning.

The Harpers and druids no doubt scatter, scrambling for light, caught flat-footed in a fight against the undead they must now kill, some of whom might even be their own allies, their own friends, and a darkness they can scarcely understand. As more and more people fall, more and more corpses reanimate. There's no use fighting. Their only real choice is to run.

Halsin, among the survivors, desperately tries to gather together druid survivors and rescue the wounded from the curse, going so far as to carry some on his back, according to unique dialogue with Jaheira. As they attempt to flee, the former Archdruid falls, seized by the shadows. Halsin is forced to leave him behind to ensure the survival of the other druids.

Halsin: It is an honour to see you again, High Harper. Jaheira: No need for titles. You may call me Jaheira, so long as you are content to be known as Halsin. And the honour is mine. Your stewardship of the Emerald Grove has made for something of a story among the circles. The apprentice who survived the shadow curse, and carried his masters home on his back. Who was raised their master in turn, and searches still for a way to save what was lost. [mumm's note: Halsin says he never met Jaheira, but this could be him being polite, or him referencing that he has seen Jaheira before, they've just never spoken or officially met.]

At the same time, he's lost contact with Thaniel. The spirit of the land has been pulled into the Shadowfell somehow by the onset of the curse as it spreads outward and begins to take over the landscape. Perhaps the Shadowfell claims others, as well, the moment the darkness falls over them, rather than transforming them into undead shadow corpses. We know this happens to Art, after all.

But Halsin doesn't have time to think about Thaniel, unfortunately. With the Archdruid dead, it is now his responsibility to look after the wounded and surviving druids and lead them to safety.

[This is an ancient notebook, whose ink is faded and pages are starting to crumble. It's not easy, but some words can still be made out.] Ketheric is finished, but it cost us the land. Darkness has fallen, corruption is everywhere. [...] ...chased by shadows, picking us off, druids and Harpers alike. [...] ...our wounded were safe, I returned, searching for survivors... [...] ...lost, but I found his shade. I put it to rest and took his glaive... [...] ...blade infused with shadow. I have locked it away, to serve as a reminder that even victory can taste bitter.

In the launch version of the game, the glaive Sorrow belonged to the old Archdruid. (In early access, it belonged to Halsin, but that is an entirely separate post.) Halsin's old notebook reveals the lengths he went to save the wounded, becoming the Grove's leader the very hour, the very minute that the old Archdruid succumbs to the curse. He doesn't stop to fight the Archdruid's shade. He must save whoever he can.

In town, others are trying to flee the curse as well. The first couple of days, it's all the citizens can do to stay ahead of the darkness and escape the shadows before they're taken. One person attempts to send word via a raven seeking help. The raven, too, succumbs to the curse.

[This letter is written on a scrap of paper. Blood and age have made it near illegible in parts.] HELP! A darkness has rolled into Reithwin, cutting us off on all sides. We’ve sent people through, but no one can make it more than a few steps before [the words are obscured by drops of blood.] This letter is our last hope. Send help - anyone, from anywhere, I beg of you. I will renounce our Lady Loss and kiss the Moonmaiden’s feet if that’s what it takes. Just don’t let the darkness take us.

It's nearing the end of the first day. Halsin has at last seen the wounded to some kind of safety and turns back, braving the shadows again to try and find the old Archdruid. He finds his shade and kills it, taking his glaive as a reminder, since the shadow-corrupted body must be left behind. With his duty at last done, Halsin departs the shadow-cursed lands to return to the Emerald Grove with the survivors. He does not return again until a century later.

———

Day 2 of the shadow curse.

Olam the Harper manages to secure something of a safe refuge in a hidden room of the House of Healing's morgue where the shadows hang less heavily. He sets up traps to deter shades and shadow-cursed zombies.

Citizens of Reithwin who haven't fled the curse on day one and are resilient enough to survive the first day are slowly succumbing, too. Some citizens seem to willingly give themselves to the shadow curse, or are taken entirely by surprise.

A couple on the roof of the House of Healing lay together, whispering poetry to one another as the darkness falls. Another couple lays curled up in their home, perhaps trying to hide from the shadows as the darkness presses against the doors and windows. Other citizens drag their feet, trying to pack up their lives and follow after more slowly. The result is the same for all of them. Death to the shadow curse, or the shades it creates from the dead. Their skeletal remains lay untouched for decades afterward.

———

Day 5 of the shadow curse.

Olam, sequestered inside the morgue, is simply trying to survive. The curse begins spreading outward, its borders expanding toward the outer reaches of the landscape.

Day 5 of Darkness The shadows ebb and wane. A torch flame is sometimes enough to burn them away, but no light can dispel the deepest of them. I called my familiar Corvin to my side, but he could scarcely take wing. Tomorrow I search, and not just for food and drink. I might find a scroll, or an artefact, or an arcane focus that can ward off this curse. Perhaps I might even find another survivor. 

Olam is hopeful, but he is very likely the sole survivor of the shadow curse within the town itself. There are, however, survivors outside the town, some of whom are still trying to flee. Others, like Oliver and his mother, are forced to stay in their home as the shadows creep closer and closer.

———

Day 7 of the shadow curse.

Before Oliver held half of Thaniel's essence, he was a young boy (possibly a tiefling) on a rothé farm on the outskirts of Reithwin. He seems to have been born with or developed a chronic illness of some kind, as his mother worries about his lungs not being able to handle the smoke of Baldur's Gate (I assume this is a passing reference to some early industrialization of the city). But by day seven of his journal, the shadows have already started to spread outward toward his home.

Day 7: Ha, a strange fog is descending over our own town. Hasn't left in days. Getting hard to breathe. Mother is eating her words, saying we should head out to the city to stay for a while until it lifts. We go at dawn.

(I personally don't think the numbered days in Olam and Oliver's journals align, where Olam's Day 5 of darkness is also Oliver's Day 5 in his diary. I think it's more likely that they're offset by 2 or 3 days, with Oliver beginning his journal 2-3 days before Olam did, so Olam's Day 4/5 would be Oliver's Day 7, and so on. But for simplicity's sake, I'm just going to use both of their dates as if they were perfectly aligned.)

———

Day 8 of the shadow curse.

Oliver and his mother try to brave the shadows to head west to Baldur's Gate, but the shadow-cursed creatures are too dangerous. They turn around and take shelter in their home once more. They spend another several days protected from the curse, somehow.

I suspect it's Thaniel's lingering presence near the house that is saving them. But they couldn't possibly know that.

———

Day 14 of the shadow curse.

Oliver and his mother have given up hope for any kind of escape. The shadows are too dangerous. It's too late to leave.

Day 14: We tried to leave, but there are creatures from beyond the grave, skulking around the outskirts of our land. It's too late.

———

Day 18 of the shadow curse.

Everything is dead or undead. Everything except Olam, Oliver, Oliver's mother, and the animals they care for...for now. The town is still, as if suspended in time, but not quiet. Things stir in the darkness.

Day 18 of Darkness It's a particular loneliness, in these shadows. Corvin shows great affection when I call him, even as he suffers. Those few minutes are at least some comfort, for us both. It is remarkably still in here, and even stiller out there. I have found a few scrolls and books near the House of Healing, as well as some scattered artefacts, but they hold nothing for me. The only answers call out from within the House itself, where I dare not enter. I hear the moans of the anguished, the shouts of the cruel. There are those who make their home in the shadows, but I am no less alone for them.

Olam's hopes are dwindling. The shadows had taken the life of everything they've touched. Many shadow-cursed undead lie dormant, waiting for something to stir them back into action. Others have been reduced to shades and towering living shadows. Still others, like those inside the House of Healing, have been transformed. In particular, it seems as though the nurses, if not Malus himself, have become twisted undead versions of their living selves, something different than the average shadow-cursed corpse.

Because, you see, being transformed into a shadow-cursed being doesn't simply mean death and undeath. Not always. It also means a descent into pure madness as you lose your entire sense of self. Some victims choose to venture more into the darkness rather than fight it.

Shadow creature transformation is like this: I am standing in a tunnel with one way leading into light and the other leading into darkness. The tunnel glistens and stinks like a tube of rancid sausage. Everything slick with slime. I've got to get out of here. I know I do. But which way? Light or dark? Not day and night. The light is coming from the face of my grandfather, who used to squeeze my knee under the dining table with his bony fingers. His wizened, grinning face is the face life wears. It has flayed off his face and is wearing it now, lantern bright, in the light at that end of the tunnel. The dark though. The dark is absolute. No faces there. No old family trouble there. No bad dreams or memories there, well, well that's decided then isn't it! Sauntering now, striding now, running into the velvety black, embraced, bones snapping, body softening, silking, feeling the change, old life left behind, new life new me let's go yippee!

(There's also weird poetry about the shadows, if you're interested.)

The shadow curse is still Shar's darkness, and the allure of the dark's embrace is still there. Victims who lose their minds to the shadow curse as they turn into shadow creatures are drawn to this twisted idea of a new life (an un-life, really). As we see with Yonas, they're eager to bring others down with them.

Harper Yonas: There you are...come...join me...

Reithwin may be dead, and it may be still, but it isn't quiet.

———

Day 21 of the shadow curse.

In the outskirts, the shadows have possessed Oliver's rothé. They too grow mad, attacking one another and dying, only for the shadows to resurrect them again.

Day 21: The rothe are all possessed, knocking down their fence, battling and bashing one another to death... Dying then fighting again. The shadows are everyone... right outside our window. I can't see more than a few strides out.  [mumm's note: I think "everyone" is supposed to be "everywhere" here.]

The darkness is only getting worse.

———

Day 26 of the shadow curse.

Nearly one full month since Ketheric's death. The shadows have grown darker and darker. In Oliver's cabin, he and his mother can only see a few strides beyond their windows. In town, where Olam continues to try and search for ways to end the shadow curse, the air has darkened from grey to black and grown so thick that breathing it in is like swallowing molasses or tar.

Day 26 of Darkness I called on Corvin yet again, but I cannot bear his torment. Nor can I bear my own. Grey has turned almost to black, and the air might as well be molasses or tar, so hard as it is to choke down. 'All beings should walk free of fear', I was taught. Oh, if only were I granted such a fine fate.

This is the last entry in Olam's journal. After days of trying to break the shadow curse, experimenting with various spells to push back the darkness or dispel the magic, after days of him and his bird familiar, Corvin, being the only living things he has encountered since the onset of the curse, Olam finally succumbs to the shadows. Perhaps he chooses to end his own life, or perhaps the shadows have crept into the morgue and at last killed him. Either way, his body, tainted and ruined by necrotic magic, remains sealed in his morgue hideaway for another century.

———

Day 28 of the shadow curse.

There are only two people still living in the midst of the shadows. Oliver and his mother remain unaffected by the curse, so long as they stay within their home. Oliver has no idea why the curse does not push into their house—it certainly has no issue creeping into every other home in and around town.

But I suspect Thaniel is at work. Given that Thaniel's spirit was torn in half by the shadow curse, perhaps the part that lay behind took refuge in Oliver's home. Perhaps that half is already in Oliver himself.

But Oliver grows restless. Though the curse has yet to take them, living with it is not easy. His weak lungs can't handle the shadow-thick air, even if it does not corrupt him immediately. He begins to contemplate death.

Day 28: I'm not dead yet. But I'm going to die here, aren't I? I can hardly breathe. Why does it not get into our house? Why doesn't the curse take us already. Day 35: I can't stand this. I've been trying to write a memoir of myself but it's still no good. I'm too weak to pen fine words. I am going to die unremembered, be what may. It's getting pointless to cower in here. There is nothing we can do about this all-encroaching dark. Tomorrow, I will walk out into the fog, and I will laugh. With love, a farmhand, forever to be unknown.

———

Day 35 of the shadow curse.

Olam is dead. Everyone in town is dead. Most people in the outskirts are dead. Except for Oliver, and perhaps his mother, and even Oliver can no longer handle the loneliness and despair of the shadow curse. Oliver plans to leave the safety of his home and give in to the shadows, rather than die a much slower death as the shadows continue to creep in.

———

Day 36 of the shadow curse.

Oliver opens his door and walks out into the dark fog of the curse. Some flowers still bloom, untouched by the curse or the shadows, just outside his doorstep. The corpses of the rothé lie inert in the darkness, having died twice over days before. Oliver likely doesn't linger on either detail. It only takes a few strides for the darkness to envelop him.

It only takes moments for it to change him.

Oliver as he was in life is gone, taken by the shadow curse. But some vestige of Thaniel keeps him alive, keeps them both alive. But the shadows have already done their damage.

Oliver remains near his home as the years pass, his laughter and his games turning ever deadlier as the curse strengthens and grows.

———

Day 39 of the shadow curse.

Halsin and the other druids have long since returned to the Emerald Grove. The mantel of leadership weighs heavy on his shoulders. He has sealed away the old Archdruid's glaive, tainted as it is with shadow magic, and begins to turn his attention to leading the Grove. A task he never asked for, and doesn't feel he deserves.

Jaheira has moved on to other adventures, working independently or with other Harpers. It will be another several decades before duty calls her back into the shadow-cursed lands, back to the site where she fought to maintain balance and put an end to a corrupted Sharran general.

The town of Reithwin and the surrounding landscape is dead. Dead, but not quiet. The shadows sink into the land itself, twisting the trees, slowly cracking the very earth apart. Shadows continue to stir, corrupting everything they touch. The unlucky undead that are not granted blissful oblivion shamble among the ruins of the town, between the remains of the battle. Their actions are twisted recreations of their living days, as nurses or as patrons of the Waning Moon. Their minds are all but obliterated.

The town settles into a pattern of hungry shadows on the hunt and undead corpses shuffling mindlessly through the motions. This pattern will remain undisturbed for a century or more.

———

Day 40 of the shadow curse.

Inside the Grand Mausoleum, behind the sigil-sealed doors, the crypts of the dead are not as still and silent as they should be. Something, someone moves in the darkness.

Ketheric Thorm, pulled back into the land of the living, stands at the foot of his daughter's sarcophagus. He wants to forget. He wants the darkness to swallow him whole. But it does not.

A bloated, fleshy hand reaches out in the darkness, and Ketheric hears an all too familiar voice, deep and resonant with dark magic.

"Let us refocus our efforts, General. In here, we have everything we need to bring her back. It will only take time."

Ketheric, having lost everything, agrees.

———

Okay, so maybe Day 40 was just me guessing/wanting to get creative. I believe Ketheric probably woke up, since he's still functionally immortal thanks to Aylin, relatively soon after the shadow curse was unleashed. But because he was sealed in the mausoleum by the Harpers and druids, he must have spent the better part of a few years, maybe even a few decades, trying to gather the strength to blow open the doors and leave.

He's been defeated, and Shar has likely withdrawn her blessings on him. His only power now is his immortality (probably). We know he doesn't build an army again until a century later, when he does so under Myrkul's command. So I imagine he probably spends many decades in the mausoleum, trying to forget, or (failing that) trying to resurrect his daughter.

Forgetting evades me in this infinite darkness. Balthazar is my own source of the barest comfort - the thought that, perhaps, she might be brought back to me. If oblivion can fail, what defence have we against death? None except its mastery. Balthazar's words have never felt more promising.

Somehow Balthazar finds him. Perhaps Balthazar was sealed inside the mausoleum too. But Balthazar promises to find a way to restore the one thing Ketheric wants. Ketheric doesn't desire vengeance. Ketheric doesn't want another army. Ketheric wants Isobel. And Balthazar, a powerful necromancer, believes he can deliver.

So the experiments begin. And fail. And fail. Thisobald, Gerringothe, Malus. The Thorm family members rise again, except they're twisted, grotesque, a little mad. Not how Ketheric wants Isobel to be. But they keep trying. Until at last, nearly a century after his defeat, after a century of struggling to forget and fall into oblivion, ignored by Shar, Ketheric turns to Myrkul. He agrees to become Myrkul's Chosen and do his bidding, in exchange for the one thing he wants most.

Isobel.

Melodia would understand, if she knew my aim. She too, I believe, would have turned to Myrkul under such conditions as these. Our darling will live again. What kind of man would I be if I didn't raze the world entire for her sake?

Ketheric at last renounces Shar to pledge himself to Myrkul. And Myrkul, unlike Shar, keeps his promise. The death that began the spiral into Sharran zealotry, that led to the shadow curse itself, is finally reversed.

After more than a century of death, Isobel wakes up.

———

So ends the three-part series about the shadow curse. What a ride. I'm so fascinated by this entire act/history because it feels like diving into war history or something. So thanks for following, if you followed all three parts!! Let me know what other deep dives you want me to do!

Tags for those who wanted an update! @fingons-rad-harp @stuffforthestash @cakenpiewhyohmy

[dgrailwar]

Round 8, Day 1 - ALL TEAMS (but mostly Team Pretender) - [ TRUE NAME DISSOLUTION ]

Team Pretender chooses to trigger the Pretender's True Name Dissolution! Oberon's gameplay style, personality, skills, and perhaps even the current state of the Grail War will cha--

"Ahh… you're sure? This would be a pretty nasty spoiler… I mean, might spoil things in a pretty nasty way."

"Well, if you say so. Let's put up a curtain, just in case anyone wants to remain in this illusion of bliss."

Ah. So you decided to keep reading? Good. I hope you're ready. Because in exchange for visuals, you'll have to live with words.

You watched as the form of 'Oberon' began to decay, his form withering and rotting away into dark, pulpy matter. The process was vile and agonizing, the smell of sloughing sinew and blackening bones filling the forest. The bugs crawled to the disgusting carcass, worming their way in, making nests and feasting greedily as the fairy king dropped to the earth, his body no more than a dark puddle that slowly grew in size, before rising.

Rising, and rising.

A swarm of darkness, rising and rising.

A vile king, an abyssal worm, rising above the digital space.

An empty entity that loathed existence itself. An eternal pit that swallowed worlds.

And as naught but innocent bystanders, the Masters could only watch in horror, for how could they have known this would happen?!

Hah!

Yeah, right. That's horseshit.

Of course they knew what would happen. They just didn't care. Not about the others, or how things would change. That's human nature, you know? Ruin things because it seems interesting at the moment. That's the simple fact of the matter.

They probably looked on proudly. 'We did it!', they would declare, 'We summoned such a mighty and powerful Servant, and none will stand in our way', they probably proclaimed. Or, perhaps even more naively (and perhaps even worse), 'Our friend now has the power to win'! Blegh. Anyways.

Then, as the audience is given a beat to grapple in the horror of the scenario, in a manner of surprising comedic timing they would check their Command Spells… and they would be gone.

'Gone? How could they be gone?', would be the question buzzing in their minds, panic beginning to settle in. Of course, the answer was simple.

That giant abyssal creature did not exist, and yet did exist. A 'hole', only truly meant for a Lost World.

Anyways, do you want a big explanation on how each Servant suffers and dies under the curse, and how the Grail crumbles and withers into itself, reverting to nothing, and how the magical energy suffused by this dark entity breaks free from this digital prison, dooming this world? I mean, I could. Sure.

But why bother? It's basically settled. Here.

What was that thing that Shakespeare had Puck say at the end of that bullshit play?

"If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream."

It's over. You can leave now.

The dream is done.

The Abyssal Wyrm comes and everyone dies. Meaning you've reached a...

I said you can go.

Leave, shoo. Go away.

There's not much past this, so bye.

…Hah! Fine. I lied. I mean, obviously. What a shit ending that would be otherwise. Let's keep it 'sporting', then. This whole farce makes me want to puke, so I need to let out my anger on someone before this ends. Ah- wait, this is narration. No more 'I'. Let's stay detached, lest this become a monologue.

Now, let's settle the matter of where this story stands.

There was the melting, the decay, the ruination of the idea of 'Oberon'. Check.

The insects feasting, nesting, and crowding on his decaying body, a ritual to send his body to the earth, and arise anew. Duh.

The vanishing Command Spells, as you realized that your connection was nothing more than a scam. Of course.

The giant abyssal creature looming over the horizon. Obviously.

That stuff happened. Remember it.

But the Servants didn't die (yet).

The digital space wasn't swallowed by darkness (yet).

All isn't lost (yet).

Those were lies. Though, if I'm the one saying it…

Ah, whatever. Now... how did these sort of things go for the others? Right, right.

Behold, the vile king of the abyss. He who resides wherever 'emptiness' lies. The wrath of the Planet, given form and cursed with eternal loathing and hollow truth. He who only should have existed within the confines of the Lost World, as he has no role within human history. He, made of lies, sheds his farcical shell. He who makes you go 'Oh, we, uh, should have summoned the Archetype of the Planet for this one' with dumb mouths agape!

Behold, the end of worlds and dreams. The one who fells the morning lark. The one who consumes the evening shroud. The one who devours the twilight.

Behold--

The Extra Class of Endless Deceit, Pretender!

[perahn]

How the Tadfools Stole Christmas

Most people in Faerûn liked freedom a lot, The Dead Three and their Chosen, the bards say, did not. They wanted to murder, creative and cruel: They wanted the dead and the undead, like ghouls: They wanted confusion, the town upside down, So they’d seize command with a fierce tyrant’s crown. This, you might say, could rightly be treason, But they didn’t care. No one quite knows the reason. Old General Thorm, who stood for the dead, Was hating and frowning at Orin the Red: While Gortash clicked his gauntleted hand And “Enough!” he cried. “Do you understand? “We MUST plot and scheme! We MUST think – and quick! “We have to come up with some clever trick! “The people need ruling, and killing, and such – “Any more of this freedom is simply too much.” Then he got an idea! An awful idea! GORTASH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! “I know just what to do!” he snarled with a sneer: “We’ll make a new god, and we’ll fill them with fear! “We’ll get a big brain, all squishy and wet, “We’ll put worms in their heads, and just watch them fret “As the brain in the hat gives commands, they obey: “And then I’ll ride in to rescue the day!” There was more of the plan for Orin and Thorm, A false army to lead, and sly changes of form – But Gortash, the hero, had the best role to play, And grew bolder and gloatier each passing day. But down by the river, which he didn’t guess, Adventuring people had got in a mess. They had swords, they had spells, they had hidden chains, They had hard-won friendship, they had worms in their brains. They had a withered old man on their side, And a ghaik in a prism who served them as guide. They came to the Towers, all shadow-cursed dark, And they killed off old Thorm, midst panic and snark. “That’s bad,” Gortash thought, “Though I’ve never liked him, “Our chance of success just got slightly more slim- “Orin, my dear, you’d best kidnap one.” “Oh goody,” she said. “This will be fun!” But her temple was pillaged and her victim freed And Chosen or not, it was her turn to bleed. The adventurers turned their steps towards the place Which Gortash had made into his fortified base. “He’s crowned himself Archduke, so he must be rich “We’ve emptied our invent’ries, let’s loot this bitch.” They grinned and they smirked with sinister pleasure They slunk ‘round the fortress and they stole all the treasure! They took the cheese wedges, they took the clam chowder, They stole eighteen potions and all the rune powder! The pears, grapes and apples went into their sacks, Along with two shields and an enchanted axe. They grabbed up the gems, and what’s even colder, They took the roast rothé, the boiled beholder! They gathered the beer, the ale, and the wine, When they heard a small sound, like the grunting of swine. They turned around fast, and saw in the door Gortash was leaning, with five guards or more. “Hello,” that Gortash most charmingly said, “You’ve got pretty far, but soon you’ll be dead.” But despite all the traps, the guards, spells and fire, The gallant adventurers quick made him a liar. As he lay on the flagstones, bleeding, out-fought, He was hazily thinking a vague final thought: “Maybe my plan went somewhat astray, “And freedom’s the friends we made on the way?” And what happened then? Well, the adventurers say Gortash’s small heart stopped completely that day, Then they gathered his clothes, his weapons and glove, And into the chimney he went with a shove! Then back at their camp, as soon as it suited, They laid out a table with the good things they’d looted! They toasted each other and the good cheer they’d found, A merry and jolly and earth-shaking sound! Tomorrow would come, and it might well bring pain: They still had the worms and the ghaik and the brain, But tonight they’d rejoice and forget all that bother, And the withered old bone man carved the roast rothé!

[coraoropherion]

Alive [Thranduil x Reader]

A.N: This is my first fanfiction, I hope that you enjoy! Please let me know if there is anything that I can improve on or if you have any requests. I will be taking requests for any LOTR/TH characters or Harry Potter characters. More options to come! (Gif originally posted by blackheart-beauty)

Request: n/a

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Summary: Y/N, Thranduil’s second wife, is assumed to be dead after The Battle of the Five Armies, causing Thranduil to begin to fade.

Word Count: 633

Warnings: Mention of major character death, heavy angst, fluff

——————————————————————————————

The Battle of the Five Armies had left the Woodland Realm in a state of somber mourning. Although the battle was won, there was no celebration, only the whisper of an elven lament for the dead. Thranduil, the Elvenking, stood alone in his chambers, his heart heavy with grief. The news had reached him, an agonizing blow that shattered his world—you, his beloved wife, was lost, presumed dead, amidst the violence and destruction. He had tried to search for you after the fighting was over, but it was to no avail.

The weight of grief settled heavily upon Thranduil's heart, consuming his every waking moment. After his first wife, Calathiel, passed on from the mortal realm, it was a miracle of the Valar that he survived, and his spirit did not fade away. You became the new and only reason for him to live, other than his realm. After all, Legolas had left for his own adventures in the North. 

Days turned into weeks, and Thranduil's grief consumed him. His regal façade waned, replaced by a mere shell of the once-proud, brazen Elvenking. His subjects watched in sorrow as their ruler, burdened by loss, began to wither. The light in his eyes dimmed with each passing moment, mirroring the slow decay that befalls all elves who lose their life’s purpose. 

Within the confines of his chamber, Thranduil allowed his tears to flow freely, his sobs echoing through the empty halls. He clutched onto memories of your love, your laughter, and the warmth of your embrace, but they provided no solace in the void left by your absence. Tears stained his fair cheeks, and his blue eyes glistened– his voice choked with anguish as he whispered your name into the emptiness of the night.

It was then, when all seemed lost, that you returned—a week after the battle—bathed in the radiant light of the Valar. The wounds that had once threatened your life were now healed, and you stood before Thranduil. Alive.

His eyes bore into your own with an unbelievable emptiness. It was as if he was staring past or right through you. Suddenly, his crystal vision widened with disbelief, his voice a mere whisper. "Y/N, meleth nín... Is it truly you?"

Your arms enveloped him, holding him close, as tears streamed down his face. His cries were mournful, an outpouring of the anguish that had consumed him in your absence.

"Oh, my love," you whispered, your voice a gentle melody. "I am here. I am alive.  Let me share in your sorrow and mend your wounded heart." Thranduil collapsed into your embrace, his sobs wracking his entire body as he struggled to breathe. 

"I thought I had lost you," Your husband's voice cracked with desperation. You caressed his long golden hair, your fingers weaving through the strands with tenderness. 

"You will never lose me Thranduil. Our love is stronger than the darkest of shadows. I have returned to you. Your heartache has been my own. But together, we shall find solace. Your love has given me the strength to return, and my love will guide you through this darkness."

Thranduil buried his face into the crook of your neck, his heartbreaking whimpers of relief intermingling with the beating of your hearts. You held him, pouring your love and strength into his wounded soul. With each passing moment in your embrace, Thranduil's spirit revived. Alive. The color returned to his cheeks, his eyes regained their vibrant gleam. The darkness that had threatened to consume him was chased away by the light of your presence. Slowly, Thranduil's sobs subsided, his grip on you loosening as he pulled back slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours before whispering,

“Gi melin, Ilmarë nin.” (I love you, my starlight.)

“And I love you. Always.”

. . . . . . . 

Meleth nin = my love

[keithsandwich]

Loss

Word Count: ~700

Rating: Teen And Up

Tags: Pregnancy, Parenting, Grief, Depression, Memory Loss.

Summary: The former King of Jade congratulates Maeve (OC) on her pregnancy, but the ghosts from the past are haunting him.

Notes: This was written in one sitting yesterday, and although I've edited a bit today, it may contain errors. Spoilers from Keith's route, but mainly some assumptions I'll mention in the end.

"Iris! Please!" Maeve shouted, to no ears. Both Iris and her maid had already disappeared into the garden. The kid was running relentlessly, the woman was trying to prevent her from going too far.

Meanwhile, Maeve sighed where she stood, beneath the shadows of the trees, with one toddler fussing in her arms and a baby kicking inside her belly. She rocked Aurora, attempting to calm her down. Back, and forth, and back again.

"Are you pregnant again?"

The calm voice startled her. She hastily turned to the former King and curtsied awkwardly while holding the little girl. He chuckled. No matter how many times he had told her there was no need for it, Maeve had never lost the habit.

"It just started showing." It had been six moons if her counts were correct. Her belly used to show sooner in the past, but now it had grown naturally round and soft even when she wasn't expecting. "I'm sorry, I thought the kids had already told you about their new sibling."

"I don't recall if they did," the former King said softly. His arms reached to take Aurora from hers. She was still wailing and kicking. Her grandfather started to rock her like Maeve had been doing, but with such gentleness he could easily be mistaken for Keith at a distance.

"I see... They must be used to it by now..." Maeve whispered with disappointment and looked away. Her hand touched her belly idly. In the distance, they could hear Iris laughing loudly as Aurora started to grow quieter.

"No, no, the fault is probably in my memory. It's not working as it did in the past, I wouldn't be surprised if they told me and I just... Forgot it. No offense."

His words captured Maeve's attention again. They looked at each other. Her interactions with the King had always been brief and stiff, although she knew he was a good grandfather -- way better than the father he had been. Having him somehow trying to comfort her was a rare thing.

"None taken. Don't worry about it."

"This is a good thing, you know? Having a big family. This is what we wanted, but..." his voice trailed off as gradually as Aurora's fussing, until they both fell silent. He reached for a flower from a lower tree branch and swirled it in front of her, sparking her curiosity and prompting her to reach for it with her little hands. "Sometimes I wonder if this is why... She passed so soon..."

"You mean...?"

"He knew of our plans. Three was easier to... To get rid of..." The former King looked at her, and in his tired amber eyes, she saw pain. Despair. A quiet cry for help. Maeve had heard that ever since Keith showed him the evidence of Fernand's guilt, the former King had been withering in grief; his mind so consumed by that that it started to weaken. The memories from minutes ago slipping away as he refused to let go of the memories from the past.

Maeve stepped forward, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"There's no way of knowing that. Don't torture yourself overthinking, please."

Then it all happened so fast. Aurora opened the cutest little smile with all of her four teeth and babbled with joy when she grabbed the flower, and Iris dashed in with her maid on her trail. "Granpapa! Granpapa!" she screamed excitedly, throwing herself against his long legs. If he weren't so sturdy, she could've thrown him to the ground.

"Iris, be careful!" Maeve tried to caution her daughter, but the former King used his free hand to tap hers lightly over his shoulder in reassurance. Then he leaned away from her touch to lift Iris up. The two girls giggled, safe in each of their grandfather's arms.

He turned to take a look at Maeve again. His gaze remained a little longer on her belly, as if intrigued by it.

"Oh, there's another one on the way, isn't there?"

Maeve gave him the most gracious smile she could.

"Yes! Yes, there is!"

End Notes: Okay, so, while during Keith's route it is said that he can't prove Fernand's involvement in Til's death, I have a feeling this is something that still can be done as his story is developed. And I assume it would probably be devasting for the King to know he's been blind for so long to the wrong deeds of his brother. Oh, and while Keith's mother passed when Mireille was born, in this fanfic the King is just being paranoid wondering if Fernand had murdered her too.

"Good, good. I should... I shall... I will congratulate my useless son later for doing one more thing right."

Taglist: @olivermorningstar @bicayaya @queengiuliettafirstlady @candied-boys @fang-and-feather @strawberry-scum @m-mmiy @hellecat @nightghoul381 @lorei-writes - let me know if you want in or out on my taglist!

[occasionallyprosie]

Have a lil ficlet

----

"Round Five"

He was eight the first time, ten the second, twelve the third, and then sixteen the fourth. He's seventeen now and he is ready for round five.

Aka, Legend runs into Ganon... again.

This is crack, this is pure, badly written crack.

Inspired by this

----

To be honest, the last thing Legend expected to see when they finally tracked down the being that was being the Shadow... he shouldn't have been surprised, but he really was when he saw a mage and they'd arrived just in time to see the mage use The Shadow to revive Ganon.

Ganon, in all his blue, pig faced not-glory, stood before them. Legend heard Four hold his breath, he saw Hyrule freeze, he noticed the other heroes tense, but he just laughed.

Ganon, freshly revived, fully revived, landed his gaze on Legend who pushed the other heroes back with the flat of his blade.

"You want to go for round five?" He called across the room, grinning.

Ganon groaned. He actually groaned and glared at the mage. "Really? That one? You had to bring that one here? I kill one hero and now I'm just cursed to be killed over and over by this brat."

"Vet?" Four hissed.

"I got this," Legend promised. "Handle that wizard guy and make sure the Shadow's dead. I call pig face."

Ganon just sighed and hefted up his huge blade. "How old this time?"

"Seventeen. Next time we'll have our ten year anniversary date," Legend replied wryly, he heard someone make a slightly scandalized noise, probably Warriors frankly, and someone else snorted and laughed, that sounded like Wind. "When will your lackey's learn that it's just not worth it to bring you back as long as I'm alive?"

"I don’t know," Ganon glared at the mage, who withered under the glare. "Sooner rather than later." He looked at the other heroes. "Wait you’re here too?!"

Four cleared his throat and waved awkwardly. "Umm, hi."

"There's only one of you this time... but--I don’t care. Let's just get the fight over with. It's not like Din ever lets me win."

"If you weren't going to destroy Hyrule in the aftermath I'd let you live," Legend said casually.

Ganon paused. "Deal."

They all stopped.

"Huh... Okay."

"Vet!"

"What?!"

"You can't agree to that!"

"I just did, deal with it. Hey can you pick apples from trees without squashing them or am I dumping you on the Gerudo?"

"They'd kill me for last time."

"Fair enough. Guess Ravio's got a new employee."

[acourtofinkandpapyrus]

My Little Shadow: Part Nine (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Teasing and mentions of reading smutty books!

Part eight Part ten

Tag list: @mis-lil-red @bubybubsters @luvmoo

After some time to adjust to Velaris, Y/N makes a revelation while training with Azriel...

Also, I'm sad to say my posting schedule will be slowing down a bit. Even if they're a bit shorter, I promise to keep getting this series out to you guys!

It had been two months since I had joined this lovely court, and everything had been going well.  More than well, actually.  Noone could get me to admit it, but I was happier than I had ever been before.

Stella and I had a small home, which when Azriel apologized about the size, and said that they’d have something more suitable for a family of two, I hadn’t cared.

I had just grinned at him and told him it was perfect.

And it was, since I had never had a place where I didn’t have to fear someone barging in on me, or locking me inside for weeks.

Not only that, but I had made friends.

Cassian’s training was absolutely insane, and when we started, I felt like my bones were going to snap into pieces, but Nesta had given me good advice, and eventually I was part of her small friend group.

I liked them, I also loved the tiny book club of which I was now part of.

I had also found myself a… an acquaintance of Amren, the female I had been so interested in before.  I wouldn’t say friends, because we never talk, but neither of us mind hanging out, so that’s nice.

Azriel has been helping us train with my shadows, and I have to admit, it’s the favorite part of my day.  Everyone says I can’t actually go out and start spying until Azriel deems me ready.

“You need to keep your balance.”  Azriel hissed.

Oh, did I also mention he’s a complete hardass during training?

“That’s hard to do when the wind is hitting you like a ton of bricks!”  I half shriek as I almost fall off the rock again.

We had been doing this for three days, and I still haven’t been able to stand with only one foot on the rock.  I might have been able to if there wasn’t so much wind but…

“I thought you were supposed to be training me how to use my shadows!”  I shout over the wind, right before falling face first into the ground.

Azriel chuckles, and I get to my knees to shoot him a withering glare, but I can see he’s by my pack, reading the most recent book from our little book club.

I’m blushing heavily as he raised an eyebrow at me.  “This fell out of your pack when you threw it down.  I thought I’d do some reading.”

I tried not to think of the many possible scenes he could be reading right now, the ones that still made me blush when I read them.

Talking to Morrigan, I had accidently let it slip that I was a virgin, and that I didn’t know about any of that stuff at all, really.

Somehow that had made it back to Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie, who then picked me out the most… detailed books in their collection.

And now Azriel was reading that book, looking up at me with a sly grin.

Azriel was fun.  He teased and taunted me in ways that didn’t feel like he was picking me apart.  And I liked to spar with him in this way, little snarky remarks back and forth.  HAlf of the things I say would have gotten me strung up at home.

“I am teaching you to use your shadows.  You’re just not understanding the assignment.”  He said, flipping the page as his eyebrows shot up.

I can’t help that my face is bright red as I try to speak, my voice coming out stiff, “What do you mean I don’t understand the assignment?  What do my shadows have to do with balancing on rocks?”

He sighed, tossing the book aside to my relief.  “What do you use your shadows for Y/N?”

I study him, trying to figure out his game.  “They help me spy sometimes, but for the most part they stay with me, hiding me when need be and otherwise they stay with me.”

To prove what I had just told him, I beckon them forth, and they appear by my side.  I tried not to smile, thinking we were finally going to start some real training.

He snorted.  “It’s good to at least know they’re here.  Now go balance on that rock again.”

I try not to gape at him, and I was about to give him a piece of my mind, but my shadows have other ideas.

I gasp a little bit as they pull me over to the rock again, and I quickly relent, sighing as I perch atop it once again.

Looking down at my shadows, which seemed to be encouraging me, it suddenly hit me what Azriel wanted.

I’m tempted not to do it, just to spite him.

But my legs are tired, and if this means moving on in our training, then mother help me I would jump off a cliff at this point.

My shadows follow my lead, helping me balance against the wind, and suddenly it’s not a struggle at all to stay upright.

Azriel appears from around the corner, smirking.  “There we go little shadow.”

I shoot him a glare, and he just laughs.

Watching him laugh, my heart flutters a bit, my cheeks turn pink and I struggle to breathe-

I almost fall off the rock as I realize what’s going on to my horror.

I was falling in love with him.

[midnightsapphire]

Later Never Comes

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis : Aemond Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, rider of the largest dragon in all of the world, the man who had everything he wanted in his grasp now lies on his death bed with the ghosts of the past, present, and future knocking at his door to remind him of all his greed and pride that inevitably cost him everything he needed. 

Gif Credits

A/N - An early christmas blurb for our sweet aemond

Warnings : aemond being a bitter old man, open-ending, bad writing

Masterlist 

---

“Your grace, the people wish you would visit once again. It had been a while since they had seen their king.” A maid spoke softly as she bowed gracefully towards the king, who sat idly on the Iron Throne, his slender fingers tracing the dulled blades of the uncomfortable chair. His hands balled into fists at the thought of the people and their endless demands. 

“Should they need me, they know where to find me.” Aemond’s rasping voice echoed across the empty throne room, brushing off the maid with a wave of his hand as she bowed fearfully, scurrying out of the room, no doubt to send word across the keep. The second youngest Targaryen son rubbed at his aged temples, the skin now withering and loose compared to the taut radiance he had in his youth. 

He glanced at his blackening fingertips, knowing the unspoken curse that came with the responsibility of the throne, much like how it sucked the life out of his own father and drove his usurping elder brother mad with power and grief. But he had willed for this, wished for it, killed for his seat on the throne. 

The young, naive boy was no longer. No longer clutching at his mother’s dresses, nor trailing after his older brother’s antics. He let the poor fool drown himself in cups of ale and allowed the waging war to take all those who threatened the throne as he watched from the shadows, greedily feeding Aegon lies that eventually drove the man drunk on not only the alcohol, but the rage that was sparked from his own lips. 

Aemond slowly rose from his spot on the throne, clutching his chest as he felt another wave of pain soar through his aching and ailing body. His hands gripped at the sapphire cane next to him as he held a hand to stop the guards from helping him down the steps. His pride ate at him as he hobbled his way to his chambers, the fire having died long ago as he was enveloped by the dark and suffocating cold of his room. 

His hands skimmed over the right side of the bed, the silken fabric causing another clench in his chest that even the milk of the poppy could not take away. In the comfort of his solitude, he ripped off his eyepatch, sighing as he all but threw his body down onto the bed, staring at the canopy above his bed. Heaving out his heavy breaths, he drank the tea left on his bedside that aided his sleep, something that was rare nowadays that he was alone. 

A dreamless sleep enveloped the elder Targaryen, a recurring darkness welcoming him as his labored breathing filled the stone walls of his chambers. 

“Aemond? Wake up, you pathetic old twat.” Aemond heard faintly, mistaking his surroundings for his dreams as he stirred, hand placed on the hilt of his dagger as his old and withering hands shook into the air, almost daring the intruder to strike knowing he was (at most) somewhat prepared to fight back. 

“You half-wit.” He heard as he felt his body restrain itself on the bed. Aemond felt his chest constrict as he scrambled on the bed, body thrashing left and right as chains crept from the foot of his bed, inevitably locking him in place as his eye fearfully looked around.

His blood ran cold as he met the hazy violet eyes of his brother, Aegon Targaryen, strewn lazily on the small chair he had placed next to the fireplace. Matching chains adorned both his wrists and ankles as they clattered with every move he made, body hunched over at the sheer weight of the metal as he gave a crooked smile to his younger brother. 

“It has been a while, has it not?” He joked lightly, wincing as he moved to stand. The chains weight him down further and further as he neared the edge of Aemond’s bedside, the man now outgrowing his older brother in not only height, but in age as the ghostly Aegon looked the age of his death, the messy platinum Targaryen locks flowing from his head as Aemond’s sprawled a sickly gray.

“This is impossible. You died years ago. You- You should not be here!” Aemond spoke, his voice quivering in fright at the only dream he had in years haunting him. Aegon scoffed at the panic in his brother’s voice, gripped the chains wrapped around Aemond as he tugged them upwards, snapping the older man’s body towards him as their foreheads almost met. 

“And who’s fault is that?! Who’s lies drove me to madness? Threw me into a war I did not wish for, simply to steal a crown I did not want!” Aegon screamed, the chains tightening at his own body, causing him to whimper as he released the chains around Aemond, the weight bringing him down to his knees as his body heaved with tears that could not be spilled.

“Release me from these chains, Aegon. This dream- no, this nightmare has gone on far too long. You simply wish to torment me in my dreams like you had in your own life.” Aemond hissed, practically pleaded as Aegon let out a tearful laugh, his head tilting towards his brother with a harsh glare on his face. 

“You still wish this a dream, don’t you? Because of you, I was punished by the Gods. Cursed to walk the afterlife with these-” He hissed, shaking the shackles on his wrist as they clattered heavily, taking a deep breath as his hazy eyes glanced at his younger brother. “I.. We were foolish, we were greedy with power. What good did it bring to us? We.. You are no longer happy even with the stupid crown upon your head.” 

“You know nothing!”

“I know what is waiting for you, shall you die in your sleep right now! This! This awaits you! The burden, the torture, the suffering. The punishment for all our greed and selfishness follows us into death, brother.” Aegon pleaded, his hands reaching to grasp onto Aemond’s, the ghostly chill sending shivers down his spine. 

Never had he seen Aegon so.. so frightened, even when thrown into the overwhelming responsibility that caused his timely death. It alone caused Aemond to stop his thrashing, glancing at the pitiful ghost of his brother as his eye softened. “This? This is what came of you when you passed?” 

“Worse. The chains were only the beginning, thus the screams, the.. the visions follow. You cannot escape them.” 

“Then what was your purpose for coming here?” 

“I have wronged you in my time of living. I was.. never the brother I should have been and I.. I apologize, dear brother.” Aegon whispered, his hands shaking as they cupped Aemond’s. It had been the most sincere he had seen his brother in all his years. “I do not wish for the same fate to come upon you. I.. I would not wish this on even my worst enemy.” Aegon pleaded, resting his forehead against his brother’s.

“You.. You shall have three visitors this night, heed their warnings, brother. Do not follow my foolishness.” 

“Visitors? What visitors? Aegon! Aegon!” Aemond pleaded as Aegon slowly pulled away from his brother, a solemn smile on his face as the chains slowly uncoiled from around Aemond’s limbs. The elder man scrambled out of bed, falling onto the ground harshly as he crawled to his brother’s ghostly feet. 

“I truly hope we do not meet in the afterlife, brother. Farewell.” Aegon said with a soft laugh, his body fading away just as Aemond reached a hand out, clutching the air as he let out a hoarse scream. 

His screams reverberated around the castle, his guards standing in alert as they burst into Aemond’s chambers, frantically looking for the king that knelt at the side of his bed. “Your grace, are you alright?” They had asked as Aemond continued his screaming, sapphire eye glinting in the moonlight as he held the dagger at his knight’s throat, his good eye opened in a frenzy as his teeth snarled. 

“Leave me!”

—

“Your grace, the people were wondering when the rations would be sent? The towns have been suffering more as of late.” 

“It is not my responsibility shall they fight to the death for their foolishness.” Aemond scoffed as he threw another helping of food onto his own plate. The kingsguard flinched at his harshness, his own fork and knife scraping against his plates as he angrily chewed at his food. 

“Your grace, the people are beginning to.. lose trust in the crown with this tyranny. The crown must have followers to be considered a reliable leader.” 

“Then those opposed to the crown shall be put to death, am I clear?” Aemond hissed, his fist thudding against his chest as he broke into a coughing fit. His hand waved off the guards, dismissing them from his presence as his grip on his utensils tightened in his hands. His reflection glared back at him from his silverware, the scar from his youth taunting him as the left side of his face grew decayed and spotted as his father’s had been. 

No longer was his face angular and taunt had it been, now stretched into a permanent sneer, his eyes heavy with bags from his sleepless nights, the crown weighing heavily on his head, his bones bridling and cracking with every move he made. No longer was he nimble, no longer was he the radiance of handsomeness that had women swooning, his appearance reflecting the ugliness that grew in his heart. 

The door creaking behind him caught his attention as he shook himself out of his thoughts. “I thought I had dismissed you fools. Or had the armor adorning your head also blocked the intelligence that lacks in your boorish skulls.” He hissed, head whipping around as his body faltered when he had seen no one there. 

“This is a foolish jest, come out at once.” Aemond hissed, his dinner knife gripped tightly in his hand as he rose from his seat, the chair clattering to the ground as Aemond swung around, waving the dulled utensil in his grasp as the fireplace roared behind him. 

Aemond gasped at the sudden burst of flames, swallowing the lump in his throat as he shakily approached the fireplace, weapon at the ready as his chest heaved with terrified breaths, Aegon’s words screaming at the back of his head. He knelt in front of the flames, his eye glaring at the orange hue as it illuminated the room around him, glancing at the tapestries that haunted his very being, all littered along the walls. 

“You have been foolish, Aemond Targaryen.” He heard the crackling whisper, stumbling back as his eyes met a face in the fire, hands clawing and outstretching as Aemond backed away fearfully, gasps leaving his lips as a body resembling the fire itself manifested in front of him. 

“Selfish, greedy, cold..” The spirit taunted, giving Aemond a small smile as it crossed it’s arms in front of itself, the flames around it’s body crackling as Aemond looked at the spirit with a clenched jaw. 

“Who are you?”

“I go by many names. But many consider me the spirit of the past.” It has spoken, it’s voice tender and soft that Aemond almost didn’t hear it’s ghostly whispers had his labored breathing picked up more than it already had. 

“You are who my brother warned me about, are you not?” 

“One of many.. Your grace.” It snickered, stretching a hand towards Aemond that he had slapped away, moving to stand on his own as the spirit looked at it’s rejected hand. “I see nothing has changed from your brother’s gracious visit.” 

“That was nothing but a dream. A simple figure of my imagination, much like this is.” Aemond hissed, brushing himself off as the spirit circled around him, almost judgmentally as it clutched the collar of Aemond’s clothing. 

“Release me! How dare you lay your hands on a king!” Aemond screeched as he felt his feet slowly leave the ground, eyes widening as the spirit impassively ignored his cries as it’s head seemingly floated off it’s flaming body. 

“A king, you say? Had you always been so.. willing to throw around such an important title such as that?” The spirit sighed, shaking it’s head in disappointment as it floated the both of them higher and higher. Aemond felt his heart sink into his stomach the higher he rose, afraid to thrash around should he be dropped. 

“What do you need from me?” He hissed pitifully, his body relaxing as the spirit smiled from over his shoulder. 

“Your understanding.” It spoke as Aemond turned his head to glance at it in confusion. The spirit simply nudged it’s head forward as Aemond followed it’s gaze, his eye widening as he no longer saw the layout of his decrepit room, but the grounds of the keep as he saw a glimpse of his younger self. 

“This.. This was The Keep.” Aemond whispered as his slippered feet crunched under the small pebbles and rubble that littered the grounds. The Spirit watched his reactions, noting the longing gaze Aemond held as he watched his younger self parading around, the willful smiles still on his face as he eagerly trained with the knights and his siblings. 

“You were so radiant in your youth, my grace.” The Spirit said softly as it ghosted through the crowd, Aemond hesitantly following as he saw his former self sneak away from the grounds, approaching a body hunched over in the Godswood with a book nestled in her lap. 

Aemond watched as his younger self rounded the trunk of the tree, picking a flower from the nearest bush as he brushed stray strands of hair out of the woman’s face, goosebumps pricking at his skin when he heard the familiar giggles that seemingly brought a smile on his younger self’s face. 

A smile he no longer knew.

“Do you remember this time?” The Spirit asked as Aemond’s eyes casted themselves downward. 

“(Y/N) Velaryon. I was courting her after the death of her family.” He whispered, eyeing how delicately he treated the woman despite the tragic events he had initially caused, knowing she was still unaware how he orchestrated it all himself. 

“You had killed her brother, sent the other to war, had your own kin burn her mother alive.” The Spirit listed, solemnly looking at Aemond as the elder version of himself clenched his fists. Time had seemed to stop as Aemond neared the younger woman, tracing the back of his fingers along her cheek as he knelt down next to her, glaring at his younger self.

How happy he looked, the glimmer in his eye still there as he looked at the woman as if she held the world in his hands. 

And to him, she had been his world. 

“Come, there is far more.” The Spirit spoke as it held a hand to Aemond, who reluctantly pulled away from the scene in front of him as he blinked momentarily, shocked to see another instant change in atmosphere. 

Aemond glanced around, walking into what looked like the ballroom of the castle. The lights illuminated the room as various lords and ladies spun around gleefully, laughter and cheer filling the room as Aemond spotted himself at the head table, his hand lovingly in (Y/N)’s as she wore the glistening sapphire ring he had slipped onto her finger. 

“Our wedding banquet.” Aemond mumbled aimlessly as he watched himself rise from his seat, hands outstretched to his betrothed as they danced along the hall. Lords watched with envy as he held his hands on her waist, hers resting on his shoulders as they shared soft giggles and kisses in the middle of the dancing crowd.

“I never took you for a dancer, your grace.” The Spirit smiled as Aemond felt the corner of his lips tilt upwards, scoffing softly. 

“I never was. But she-” He paused as he saw the pair sneak out, hands intertwined as he tugged her out to the gardens, the vines and vegetation of the Keep hid them away from prying eyes as they sat on the dirtied ground, not giving a care as they entangled themselves in each other’s arms. 

Aemond’s eyes followed them as (Y/N) braided small strands of his long hair, kissing the tips as she let them fall with the rest of his flowing hair. “I still cannot believe your mother agreed to wed us after all this time.” 

“A king needs a queen, does he not?” The younger Aemond teased, brushing his angled nose against her cheek, the woman giggling at the subtle affection as she cupped his own face in hers, bumping their noses together before kissing his lips softly. 

“A queen you shall have.” She whispered against his lips, resting their foreheads together as he held her closer. 

“We shall wed when I am officially king, I promise you this. I will give you the world, shall you ask for it.”

“All I need is you, Aemond.” 

Now, he found himself in his study, papers scattered around him. The crown nestled on his head as he sorted through countless treaties, peace offerings, words of encouragement at his newfound crowning. But Aemond now felt empty as he glanced at his younger self, how unaware he had been of the spiraling that was soon to come. 

“I was.. My coronation had just happened.” Aemond spoke before the Spirit, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat as he walked alongside himself, pushing away the papers as he scanned through them, still noting every single word as if he burned them into his mind. 

A knock on the door caught both his own and his younger self’s attention as (Y/N) warily crept into his study, her hands idly reaching for the wedding ring he had especially engraved for her when he begged for her hand in marriage. “Aemond? Can I speak to you?” He heard her soft voice ring out as she neared his desk, wrapping her arms around his tensed shoulders as he brushed her hands off harshly. 

“Later (Y/N), I’m busy.” He hissed, glaring at the paperwork as (Y/N) and himself visibly flinched at the detachment, the coldness in his voice. “I have far too much work to attend to, if it is attention you demand, then you shall have it when I see you in our chambers tonight.”

“If you bother to show up.” (Y/N) whispered under her breath as Aemond whipped his head to glare at her. 

“What did you say?” He asked, his voice raising as Aemond stepped back from his younger self. He had never known at the time how dismissive he had been, how he didn’t recognize his own self that used to look at the women with nothing but endless love, now shocked at how hateful his gaze had become. 

“You lock yourself away in your study days on end, I rarely see my husband anymore.” (Y/N) reasoned, her hands clutched to her chest as she shrank away from his heated glare, the sight alone was enough to cause Aemond to shrink away himself. 

“You keep on telling me later, but later never comes around, Aemond. Please, stop telling me later.” She whispered, her glassy eyes pleading as she held a hesitant hand towards him. “Come with me now and we shall fly free. Away from the responsibilities, away from the pressure of being king. This- This is exactly what Aegon feared.” 

Aemond slammed his fists against the wooden table, glancing at her hand and briefly reaching out. (Y/N)’s eyes glimmered with hope that instantly shattered as he slapped her hand away, his face grew red with anger, anger that he never knew he was capable of. “Are you insinuating that I am unfit for this crown? The crown I was destined to have?!” He spat. 

“You keep searching for something that cannot be found. You have the crown, the throne, the title, what else could you possibly need?” 

“I. Need. More!”

“No..” Aemond whispered, his hands covering his ears as the scene replayed in front of him. He dared to glance at (Y/N)’s trembling form, her bottom lip shaking as she looked to her feet, not even flinching when Aemond angrily swept his hands across the table. Papers scattered in the air as Aemond gripped at his hair, the scene pausing as the older Aemond watched in horror at his own actions. 

“You were all she needed, you fool.” Aemond whispered to himself as he crept closer to himself, glancing at the stress and resentment he had for himself, the resentment that he projected to the woman that loved him dutifully, loved him endlessly. “You kept on telling her later but.. That later never came around.” He said softly, cupping the woman’s face in his hands as he shakily sighed. 

“You kept looking for something, a measure of security. But she was really all you'd need.” He spoke scornfully to himself as the scene continued, his body recoiling as he watched her stare solemnly at his turned back before heading towards the door. Aemond watched as she paused, her hand hovering over the door knob. 

“Later, I expect to see my husband in our chambers.”

“No, no, no.” Aemond pleaded to himself, his head snapping to his younger self that seated himself at his desk, not even bothering to glance at the woman that looked at him from over her shoulder, her eyes dulled in disappointment. 

“No! Don’t let her leave, you idiot! There will be no later!” He pleaded as he fell to his knees, watching for a second time as the woman he loved walked out the door, walking out of his life entirely for he never showed at their chambers that night. 

“You never wed, did you?” The Spirit spoke for the first time since the scene had changed, Aemond tearfully looking at the ground as he punched at the stone flooring, the pain dulling as he screamed to himself. 

“I told her I would marry her when I was king in the ways of Old Valyria. But.. I seeked more and more.. I never- I never truly wed her.” He whispered regretfully as he stared at the shut door, willing it to open to her beautiful face once more. 

“I was selfish. I seeked everything else when she was there. She- She was what I needed.” He whimpered as the Spirit smiled to itself, nodding its head as Aemond looked up to see himself in his chambers of the present yet again, the cold enveloping him as he glanced at the tapestries adorning the walls of them both, reminding him time and time again of what he had lost. 

“What of (Y/N) now?” 

“That, your grace, is not mine to answer.” The Spirit bowed it’s head, it’s body dimming like the candlelight Aemond has accustomed himself to when reading into the dead of night. 

“What? Wait!” Aemond called as his hands outstretched, faintly brushing the warm hue of it’s body as he felt himself falling, falling far too long to hit the ground as he let out a frightened scream as the ground beneath him fell tile by tile. 

“No, no, no!” He yelled as he began to fall into the darkness, gasping as his eyes opened to see a large figure of a man seated on a throne almost identical to the iron throne itself. The man’s boisterous laughter ringing in his ears as he glared at the mountain of a man. 

“Aemond Targaryen, what a pleasure!” He guffawed, belly bouncing as he stared down the glaring man. “Oh! Why the long face, your grace? Was the trip not to your liking?” He taunted, far different from the Spirit as he clenched the torch tightly in his hand, pointing it at Aemond’s kneeling body. 

“What is this foolishness? I only demanded to know what became of (Y/N).” He scoffed, brushing himself off as he stood up from his spot, turning his glare to the floor as the Spirit of the Present guffawed once again.

“Ever so impatient, your grace.” The Spirit smirked as he slowly stepped down from his pedestal, towering several feet above Aemond as he placed a large hand on the king’s head. “I see your previous lesson has still not changed this nasty attitude of yours. But fear not! I refuse to give up on you.” 

“I have not learned what hadn’t been taught.” Aemond scoffed as he brushed the man’s hand off, crossing his arms defiantly as the spirit snickered, waving his torch in the air as the room began to spin around the both of them. 

Aemond felt himself stumble as he gripped the large man’s cloak, clenching his eye shut as he unintentionally held his breath, his mind growing hazy as he braced himself for what might have come. 

“You can open your eyes now, your grace.” The Spirit said in amusement as Aemond released his clothes, glancing around at the room around him. He was still at the Keep, but no longer in his own chambers. 

“What is this?” He asked with a scoff, half disappointed to only be transported into another part of the castle. He tried not to sneer at the filthy quarters, the scattered and tattered clothing, the stench of poverty wafting in his nose. 

“King Aemond, that one. A downright tyrant if I had ever seen one.” The knight he remembered having previously held a dagger to, scoffing as he rubbed the aching mark on his neck. The defiant words surprised Aemond as he stepped forward, hellbent on giving the knight a piece of his mind as the Spirit placed a large hand over his shoulder, shaking his head. 

“Watch.” 

Aemond, for once, listened as the others around him groaned in agreement. “I shall celebrate the day that decrepit old man meets The Stranger.” The knights scoffed as they slowly removed the heavy metal-clad armor, allowing them to thud against the ground as they laid in their withering and old cots that Aemond had replaced, claiming the luxury of the guest rooms were too precious to be tainted by “the help”. 

“King Aegon, the drunken fool would have been a better option than the kinslayer. At least we’d have a king that were whole.” 

“I should have their tongues for this slander.” Aemond hissed, glaring at the towering man that shook his head in disappointment. 

“The children, how are they?” Aemond paused, glancing at the knight as he sighed, running a stray hand through his tangled hair. 

“Managing as best with the pathetic rations the king graciously decides to give. But.. the medicine hadn’t been working. Gods forbid we try and steal another potion that the king hoards for himself.” The knight mumbled as he rubbed the scars on his hands from Aemond’s grueling punishment.

“Lashings. For the thief. He should have been blessed that I allowed him to keep his hands.” Aemond mumbled, diverting his eyes away from the Spirit as he pitifully looked at the knight. “Had I known it had been for an ill child, I would have been more lenient.” 

“There are many you do not know, your grace.” The Spirit mumbled as he squeezed Aemond’s shoulder, the room once again spinning as Aemond now found himself on the Streets of Silk. 

“Why are we here?” Aemond asked curiously as he followed the larger man, who ignored Aemond’s questions as he neared the group of people huddled around the square, the loud cheers and rambunctious plays filling his ears as he scoffed. “If I wanted to watch slanderous plays, I would have marched here myself.”

“Look behind them, your grace.” The Spirit hummed as Aemond followed his gaze, his heart dropping as he saw the familiar dark hair that Aemond had long wished to run his hand through again. He faintly saw greying streaks that highlighted the dark strands, his knees buckling against themselves as he saw her bright, yet tired smile. 

“(Y/N), I’m hungry.” He heard a child speak, his heart falling to his stomach as he saw a child tug at her dress. He watched as she knelt down, picking the child up as she brushed the grime and dirt off their chubbied face. 

“I know, sweetling. But we have to wait, remember? You can have my bread this supper, I’m not hungry myself.” She lied, brushing her hands through the child’s hair as Aemond scornfully watched them. 

“She had been here this entire time? Living in poverty? I could have given her more had I known.” 

“But it was not what she wanted.” The Spirit corrected him, crossing his large arms over his chest. “A simple life, a simple family, not the luxury of jewels or the crown, not the comfort of the castle. It was the love of those around that she seeked.”

“I loved her. I still do.”

“But you loved the crown more.” 

Aemond froze as he kept his eyes locked on her, how radiant she still looked even in her older age. The smile that glowed in the moonlight as she kissed the young child’s cheek before sending him off with a slice of bread in their tiny hands. 

“Is that..” He trailed off, feeling the bile rise into his throat as the Spirit laughed. 

“Fear not, your grace. The child is not hers. I cannot say she has been with another since your unfortunate departure.” He said with another boisterous laugh as it slowly faded when he had seen her own smile fade. 

“She aids the sick children as best she could, not having any of her own. Day and night she feeds them what she can with what little is given. Dare I say it pains her to lie to those children who everyone knows will never grow better.”

“What of their fate?” He asked hesitantly, his heart growing heavy as he picked at his nails. 

“That is for the next to decide.” He smiled softly, nodding his head to the king as flames enveloped them both, Aemond’s eyes widening as the large man let out a horrid scream as his body engulfed into flames, his laughter echoing as it hauntly echoed in Aemond’s ears. 

He stumbled back out of fright as he watched the man’s body fall into a pile of ashes, his darkened cloak falling to the ground as Aemond hesitantly reached a hang out to touch it. His blood ran cold as the cloak rose from the ashes, dark red eyes glowing from the darkness of the cloak’s hood. 

“Are-Are you here to show my future?” Aemond asked shakily as the hooded figure only pointed far from Aemond’s view, it’s eyes never breaking from his as the Targaryen followed the direction of the spirit. 

“To the King!” Aemond hears the crowd cheer as he neared the group of knights. His eyebrows furrowing as the head knight stood in the center, goblet raised as a wide smile outstretched his face. 

“An honorable man, a man truly of his word!” The knight boasted as Aemond felt a small smile grow on his face, which slowly faded as the knights burst into laughter. “May he rest the way he ruled! With an iron fist shoved far up his ass!” 

His heart clenched as they downed their drinks, tearing up as their laughter never ceased. “May the old fool never have a day of rest in the pits of hell.” They scoffed, lighting a torch as they set his portrait ablaze, the light illuminating his shocked face as they raided his chambers, grasping any ounce of gold they could get their hands on. 

“A pathetic old fool. May he rot wherever the gods deem him worthy enough.” They scoffed, spitting on his burning portrait as Aemond flinched. 

“Is this.. Is this what awaits me?” He asks sorrowfully, glancing at the hooded figure as it looked away from the king, his eyes following as he sees (Y/N) sobbing over a casket. His legs moved on their own, his hands outstretched as he glanced over the box she had been weeping over. 

“My love..” He whispered as his eyes widened for she had sobbed over a casket far smaller than if it had been his. “The child..” Aemond gasped in shock as he saw the child’s name etched into the wood. His heart raced at the scene surrounding him, tripping on his own feet as he fell backwards, his hands grazing the stone underneath him as he twisted his body. 

“Aemond Targaryen The Fool, Kinslayer, may he rest in pieces.” He mumbled to himself, hands shaking as he traced the carving of his gravestone, or rather, what was placed on the pile of dirt he called his grave. 

“I hope you found what you wished for.” Aemond heard, eyes tearing up as his eyes met (Y/N)’s dull hues. Part of him had been glad she even decided to visit the site he was buried at, but the glare on her face said otherwise as she turned her head away from his tomb. 

“My love. Please.” He called into the air as he reached out for her, his hand barely grazing her as his breaths heaved. 

“I was wrong. I was cruel, selfish.” He said as chains snapped on his wrists, bringing him to his knees as he panicked, thrashing against the metal as it pulled him lower and lower, his cries echoing as he resisted. 

“Please! I yield!” He screamed, pleading with the cloaked spirit as it seemingly glared down at him, it’s red eyes burning into him as tears streamed down his face. “I swear I shall change! If it means the child lives, that the people live on freely!” He yelled as he felt himself sinking into the darkness. 

—

Aemond’s eyes snapped open as his body jolted from his sleep, his hands patting himself down as he threw the blankets off. With shaky hands, he pushed himself off the bed, head darting towards the opening door as the knight bowed his head to Aemond. 

“Your grace, we heard a commotion and decided to-”

“To do your duty. For that, I am thankful.” Aemond interrupted as he gave the knight a soft smile, to which his head snapped upwards at the soft way the king had spoken.

“Your grace?” He asked in confusion as Aemond glanced at his crown, shutting his eyes away from it as he held a hand out to halt the knight from speaking. “The rations, medicine, all of it. Take it to the Streets of Silk to those who need it. Take as much as needed.” Aemond ordered, diverting his eyes away as he tucked the crown into his dresser, taking his cane as he hobbled out of the room, leaving the knight in shock. 

Aemond followed behind in the carriage as the needed ailments were dispersed to the crowd, each thanking the king earnestly as he raised his hand to stop their thanks. “I do not deserve such praise.” He spoke as he exited his carriage, his hands tightly clutched in front of him. 

“I had not been a king you deserved. I had not been a king at all and for that I give you all my apologies. I have neglected each and every one of you for my own greed and selfishness. I have not been a man worthy of bearing the crown but to this day, I swear to each and every one of you. I shall be the ruler the realm needs, a ruler worthy of bearing this crown. This sentiment- which was far needed and for that I apologize tenfold, is only the beginning, I can assure you.” He said as he held his head high, smiling softly as he bowed his head to the people, causing them to gasp as Aemond knelt on his knees, smiling at his people as they graciously cheered his name. 

His legs carried him on their own, trailing down the streets he had long been unfamiliar with as he paused at the building he could have sworn he had seen in his dreams. Aemond’s heart raced as he heard the door open, dark hair finding his gaze as he met her gaze once again, a gasp leaving her lips as she clutched a hand to her chest, a faint glimmer of blue catching his eye as it dangled on a chain around her neck. 

“Aemond- I mean, my king.” She whispered in disbelief. 

“(Y/N).” He said with an outstretched hand. 

“Take my hand. Come with me now and we'll fly free.”

[zombiequeenblog]

Cardinal and Mouse — 9: A kiss in public.

However that looks for them... ❤️

Here's a little bit of Cardinal and Mouse (and Terzo) running errands down in the village on a gloomy day:

ao3 link here or continue reading below...

The wind played about our ankles as we walked together, the Cardinal in his black robes, me looking rather like a catholic school student, as usual. My clothes muted; black alice band in my hair. I tried to match his grim but sharp silhouette when we were out in town like this. A rare but necessary occurrence at times; there were errands to run, and though we didn’t go preaching on street corners, we were also not an order of anchorites. Sister Imperator wanted the abbey’s residents to be seen about from time to time, so we weren’t completely forgotten way back in the woods. I wanted to remain respectable but demure so as not to attract unwanted attention.

Our shoes clipped along the sidewalk, damp with remnants of an earlier rain, and I quietly reached out to hold his gloved hand for security. I wasn’t ashamed to be with him, but our satanic faith was rare, and though many came from far and wide to join the abbey, the local village could be unwelcoming, still, as the grey clouds above were. We shouldn’t have left our coats in the car.

Copia squeezed my hand as I skipped around a puddle. “Why don’t you sit in the back with me on our return, dolce?”

Smoothing my skirt down, I thought I heard the ghost of a complaint in his tone, and I smiled slyly to myself as I answered him. “Oh, I couldn’t, Your Eminence,” I said, casually, “Papa would never allow it.” Insisting on me riding shotgun, Terzo had driven the three of us into town earlier; I think he liked to show off his driving skills, to my amusement and the Cardinal’s irritation.

“Wouldn’t allow… Quell’idiota! I forbid you from listening to anything that deficiente says!” Copia yanked me closer by the hand as we walked, his grip like a vice.

I only stifled a giggle, saying nothing. I could spot Terzo up ahead, exiting the local Christian bookstore as he slicked his hair back with a flourish and a frown. He looked jarring to me without his full face paint on, and he certainly didn’t blend in here, wearing his fancy and rather old-fashioned suit and gloves. He strode towards us, and we met by the steps of a little café. “Sorellina! Cardinal.”

“Did you find what you needed, Papa?” I teased. I knew perfectly well that Terzo liked to browse the religious shelves, attracting the shy attentions of the pretty shop girl in there. Perhaps attracting a future convert.

Perhaps not. “I need a coffee,” Papa pouted, and he went up the steps into the charming building, holding the door open for us as we followed, tiny bell chiming above our heads.

The little café was quaint and cute inside, warm, and thankfully not too crowded. Still though, I noticed the idle chatter around us quieting as we made our way over to the counter. Papa ordered three cappuccinos in a courteous tone, which were made quicker when I pulled out the impressively matte abbey credit card to pay.

“Thank you,” I told the woman behind the counter when she put our drinks up. She looked at me with concern, and flicked her eyes in suspicion at my companions, resting her narrowing gaze on Copia’s shiny grucifix for a second. He slipped his hand around my waist as we left the counter, looking both amused and annoyed. Terzo picked an empty table in a shadowed corner.

The Cardinal pulled out a chair for me and I sat, removing the lid from my cup with cold fingertips to let the steaming foam cool. “It’s nice to have something fancy now and then,” I remarked, looking down at my drink, the top mottled with cinnamon.

“We should get one of those espresso machines,” said Copia, dourly, as he sat down beside me, removing his biretta.

“I’ll ask Sister,” I said, leaning forward to blow lightly on the foam.

Terzo gave me a withering look from across the table. “If this sludge in a paper cup is fancy to you, piccolina, I don’t even know where to begin pitying your previous life.” He looked around at the dimly lit furnishings. “Father in hell, how long did you suffer wilting in this village? I should have baptized you earlier.”

I grinned contentedly as I took my first sip, not bothering to answer.

Copia and Terzo tried their drinks as well, and they were both oddly silent for a while, warming their gloves on their own cups. In spite of our cozy surroundings and the soft music playing, the air in here was beginning to feel further unsettled, just as it had when we had entered. Strange eyes glancing over at us, conversations halted. I almost expected an inevitable signing of the cross.

The three of us shared a sombre mood, and I sighed a little; though we were sheltered in here, this was nothing like our beloved abbey. Wrapping my hands around my cappuccino, I slid it closer, shivering slightly.

Copia moved my hair aside to put his hand on the back of my neck. “Are you cold, dolcezza?”

“No, I’m fine, Your Eminence,” I reassured him. I shuffled closer to rest my head on his shoulder for a minute.

Terzo was idly sipping his coffee. “Lucifero, I am bored…”

“We’re almost done here,” I sighed, sitting back and digging the list out of my little bag, “Let me see…” Copia’s fingertips idly stroked along my shoulders as he sipped his own cappuccino beside me.

“Oh si, the list… We must consult the list,” teased Terzo, rolling his eyes a little before he took another sip.

Copia glared at him and I grinned softly. “We just need to pick up her parcel at the post, and then…” I scanned the little folded note in my hand. “Something sweet and fresh, Sister said, from the bakery… and then Papa Nihil’s prescription... That’s all.”

“Tedioso,” said Terzo, odd eyes glazing, “Never did I think I would rise such in my satanic station to be out in the sleepiest of hamlets running errands like a peasant…”

“I’m sorry I’m not better company,” I pouted, and Terzo startled, looking a bit guilty.

“Sorellina! I didn’t mean—”

“Why don’t you just shut up,” Copia told him, and I smiled down into my cup. “Gasbag,” I heard the Cardinal mutter into his own drink. We all drank deeply for a moment, and I felt a little merrier.

“Mmm, that is nice,” I murmured, “but not as nice as a real Italian coffee, I’m guessing?”

Both Copia and Terzo perked up a little bit, telling me in impatient turns how nothing here could compare to the caffé of their youth, the richness, the quality. The strict attention to detail. Dreamily, I listened, warmed by my own coffee and their impassioned tones. Though Copia feigned to be less caught in the trappings of luxury that Terzo delighted in, I knew he was nevertheless attracted to excellence. His wine, literature, and the fabrics of life that he surrounded himself in reflected that. Sometimes I still wondered what he found worthy in me; I came from nothing.

“One day I will bring you to the Riviera ligure, dolce, and you can see for yourself how you are deprived here,” said the Cardinal, low into my ear. I thought of sunny coastlines, and tangled sheets, and smiled, my gloom lifting a bit.

Terzo drained his cup and relaxed back in his chair for a moment. “I need to go christen this place,” he stated, pulling his gloves off and standing up to go and head towards the washroom, “another unholy errand…”

“Sacred duties call,” said the Cardinal, and I grinned as I finished my own coffee. He took a final sip of his own, and I reached up to swipe some foam away from his moustache with my thumb. Copia leaned into my hand, and our faces came close.

I could feel hostile eyes upon us, like a sprinkling of holy water. Leaning back over the table, I looked down at the remnants of foam in my cup, shy and quiet. Copia sighed a little beside me, and when I glanced back up at him he moved to catch my chin gently. Lifting my eyes up to his pooling ones, I barely shook my head, and he watched me bite my lip. He looked weary, but slightly amused. If he had kissed me anyway, I would have melted into his warmth, but instead, he brushed his thumb underneath my pout, sighed again, and let me go, tilting his head to watch me squirm.

“I can’t wait to go home,” I whispered to him, out of the corner of my mouth.

“Straight upstairs, I am thinking…” he whispered back with a sly smile, “or downstairs, perhaps. My paperwork can wait.”

I thought of the sweet torture that awaited me, after the agony of deprivation I was currently surrounded in, and blushed. My knee nudged the Cardinal’s underneath the table, and I couldn’t even look at him. I felt my heartbeat rising.

Finally Terzo came back to the table, and we left, feeling like the café had spit us out onto the pavement. Blinking in the light out here, I looked about us to see where we should head to next.

“Let’s split up,” yawned Terzo, “I’ll take the bakery, you two do the post.”

“Si, si, vai ad attaccati al tuo cazzo,” said Copia, impatient. Grabbing me by the hand again, he began to march us away from Papa down the sidewalk.

Terzo turned away as well, but I heard him call over his shoulder, “Oh, and by Satan’s asshole, I am NOT picking up the old fart’s meds! Not again.”

I just laughed out loud so Papa knew I heard him, struggling to keep up with the Cardinal’s stride. “Oh, oh, Copia… wait for me!”

Slowing down, he let me catch my breath, wrapping his arm around me for a moment. Grateful for his warmth, and for the comforting whiff of his cologne, I snaked my own arm around the back of his waist, and leant my head against him again. I could see we were approaching the local Catholic chapel up ahead.

As sleepy as this village was, there was yet some bustling going on here. Parishioners milled about the grounds as they exited the little church; it must have been the end of the daily mass or the weekly adoration, I couldn’t tell.

Copia watched me looking over. “Do you miss it, dolce?”

I shook my head a little. “The only things I would have missed would have been the ceremony of it all. The ritual; the devotion.” I stopped walking and turned to run my fingertips along his cape. “And I’m not deprived of any of that, Your Eminence.” Just thinking about my situation spread a shy but sincere smile across my face. “I am utterly devoted to you, Copia.” He brought one hand up to caress my cheek lovingly, to brush my windswept hair away.

It would have been sweeter if we were alone, but we weren’t, and I couldn’t help but notice some people staring. We were standing close, in a very romantic fashion beside the church lot, and I’m sure some were wondering at the apparent Father holding a member of his congregation so intimately.

Some seemed taken aback, until they recognized the Cardinal’s satanic persuasion, in which case they either turned away or continued to look upon us in distaste. Past caring now, I raised my face up to Copia’s in a little defiance.

We were just as free as they were in our chosen devotion, and Copia was tired of holding back in his revelling of it. Pulling me in even closer to him, he bent his dark head and kissed me full on the mouth, and I freely kissed him back, sighing in pleasure against his lips as I heard some faint gasps of disapproval beyond.

Our tongues had only begun to meet when the Cardinal broke away, heated and breathless. “Let’s go to the car.”

“Absolutely not,” I told him, pulling out my skewed hairband. Our surroundings might be forgotten to me, but not our purpose. “The list, Your Eminence.”

“Si, si, the cursed list…” He rolled his eyes at me now, in frustration and amusement, and, turning to walk me away very close on his arm, we continued in our now less leisurely strolling, to I knew not exactly where.

Some tasks were more urgent than others.