#black and white lanterns exist too

[nerdpoe]

Tim takes a prank too far. This is, of course, relatively normal for him to not know when it is normal to stop playing along.

Damian makes yet another quip about Tim not being good enough or whatever, Tim doesn't really know he wasn't really paying attention, and Tim.

Tim has an epiphany.

A long time ago, back when Young Justice was still relatively new and getting neck-deep in intergalactic and interdimensional trouble, he'd made a friend.

That friend is a little difficult to get ahold of, and he hates the method he has to use to do so, so he doesn't usually reach out.

But he really, really wants to fuck with Damian.

He brings out the mangled, horrible amalgamation of old tech, future tech, and fantasy tech that creates a block that could vaguely be a cell phone (this horrid thing is the bane of his existence and he hates it so fucking much), and makes the call.

"Hey is there anyway you could pretend to kidnap me after a long, boring monologue broadcasted across Gotham? I really need you to state that the reason you're 'getting me out of the way' is because I was the best Robin. No, I'm not Robin anymore. No, I'm...I'm Red Robin now. Stop laughing. What do you mean restaurant chain?! Danny. Danny. Come on, lemme take a week long vacation in the Realms. Please? Sweet, see you soon, just gotta let me pack real quick."

That night, as Red Robin is out on patrol, the sky turns into a sickly green. Purple fog rolls in, disjointed whispers giggle and gossip from mouths unseen, and every single screen in the city of Gotham is forcibly turned on to broadcast the speech of a white haired, fae-looking villain.

He wears a black and white jumpsuit, a Green Lantern Ring that keeps glitching out the camera focus around it, and a crown of ice that moves like fire.

He give a grand speech about how he's going to get back at Robin, for foiling his plans. That Robin was better than his any other who has ever borne the name, and he wanted it to be known to the world that this was an honorable battle he'd had to struggle with. That, regardless of losing the first time, in order to ensure the success of his plans this time he's going to take Robin out of the picture early.

The Bats get prepared to defend Damian with their life, Damian who is strangely flattered; only for the villain to hold up a seemingly unconscious Red Robin and dramatically disappear into a green portal.

The sky goes back to normal, and the fog and whispers go away.

Damian is pissed. Then worried. Then both.

He will rescue the fool and prove he is superior.

Meanwhile, Danny and Tim are catching up and vibing as Danny puts the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire back in their special places. He doesn't need them or anything, they just had that 'villain' vibe he'd needed.

[ddarker-dreams]

Ataraxia.

Yan Xiao x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied kidnapping and isolation. Word count: 2k.

You think you may live in a painting.

It sounds like a romantic notion if taken at face value. The idyllic beauty that surrounds you could inspire the most prose-averse individual to take a brush to paper, creating line after line of wondrous descriptions. Blades of emerald grass, running streams with water so clear one could see the smooth pebbles resting at the bottom, white clouds as puffy as cotton floating without a care in the sky. There’s wildlife in abundance too. Frogs make a perch of the numerous lilypads dotted throughout, fish swim in their crystalline exhibit, and birds sing the same melody as if they shared sheet music.

If you dared to venture to the edge of this canvas, an invisible force would inevitably block your path. The tall stone peaks in the horizon hinted at more, an empty promise. You could only go so far. Out of curiosity, you once threw rocks to test the boundary and found they were granted passage. Other materials followed the same logic. Where they ended up, you hadn’t the slightest clue.

All you know is that they’re freer than you are.

Presently, you sit crisscross on the edge of this elaborate hoax crafted with adepti magic. The grass which never grows or withers brushes your bare thighs, the sensation far from unpleasant, for the unpleasant does not exist here. The temperature is always moderate; the breeze, always soft.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

So sickeningly perfect.

Taking in a deep breath, you ready yourself for the trial ahead. Delight in it, almost. You tire of these calm waters. You long to see ripples, towering waves strong enough to capsize ships.

“Xiao.”

The intended effect is instantaneous. There’s a culmination of energy, wisps of dark black and green, solidifying into the image of a figure you once read about in history books growing up. Gauging his mood is impossible, so you don’t bother trying. You stare straight ahead, into the false sunset which hides behind mountains that might as well be mirages.

“Did you need something?”

The clipped, almost business-like tone he uses once made you wonder if you were a bother. Time dispelled this notion and made way for a bizarre truth. He acts this way because you put him on edge. You cause his mind to wander in directions he never knew it could traverse. In truth, you might understand why you’re here better than he does. Your scant wardrobe was your first hint — every garment shows a surprising amount of skin. Low-cut collars, skirts stopping over your thighs. Then there was the staring, the peculiar gift-giving, and what you assume to be attempts at small talk.

He’s courting you, whether he knows it or not.

This is something you can work with.

“I was hoping you would come sit with me,” you pat the empty spot beside you. “Unless you’re too busy?”

There’s an intentional lilt in your voice — you let it grow smaller, almost as if his potential rejection would hurt. He has an out, but it’d come at a cost. He’d be dissatisfying you in some way when you haven’t done anything to earn it. He likes to please you, you think, if the countless trinkets he’s wordlessly left in your room are of any indicator. Whatever you pay the most attention to, he brings more of. It’s a silent give-and-take that neither of you acknowledges.

No, you preferred to store the information away for later usage.

After giving it some thought, he situates himself where you motioned. You can see the tension in his taut muscles, clear as day. A beat of silence passes. Now that you’ve confirmed he isn’t going to run away (as he had in the past when you came unexpectedly close), foreign confidence fills you. You’re putting together the puzzle that is Xiao piece by piece.

“It must be getting close to this year’s Lantern Rite,” you give him a closed-mouth smile. Xiao’s diamond-shaped pupils flicker down to your lips, then back up again, his face temporarily giving the impression that he’s in pain. He regathers himself in the blink of an eye. “Are you looking forward to it? It always ends up being such a spectacle.”

Xiao inhales sharply. “It… has already passed.”

“Oh.”

You curl into yourself. Not enough to send any alarms ringing in his head, since he never knew what to do with himself when you cried. The threat of tears is more effective. He shuffles slightly, betraying his growing unrest, yet doesn’t grumble a lackluster excuse and leave. Hopefully he doesn’t catch how relieved that makes you.

Unbeknownst to him, you’re aware that Liyue’s hallmark event has finished. You’ve been dutifully tracking the days in a little notebook he gave you. Bringing it up and being let down is your way of setting the stage. Earning some sympathy, no matter how tiny a grain it may be. For your ultimate design to come to fruition, you must use every resource available.

“I can get you a lantern, if you want one.”

An olive branch. His eyes silently plead with you to take it, rather than scorn the concession as you had in the past, foolish creature that you were. Playing rough never got you anywhere. That’s why these days, you’ve taken to playing nice.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

He nods, undoubtedly grateful that you didn’t choose to linger on why you couldn't see this year’s Lantern Rite. Your mind wanders — you recall overhearing village wives giggle about how they use their feminine wiles to win over their husbands on sore subjects. In a way, you suppose that’s what you’re doing, but what you long for is such a simple goal. To even label it a goal feels wrong.

What you want more than anything, is to go outside.

Into the real outdoors, not this fake, implausible rendition. A mockery of reality.

You speak his name again, for you know he likes hearing it from your lips.

“We’ve fallen into a good routine, I think. I know I had a rough time, way back in the beginning, but I see things differently now. I feel different too.”

He frowns, cautious of where this could go.

His curiosity wins in the end. “Different… how?”

“I was scared at first. I didn’t know what was going to happen, if I was in danger or not. That didn’t last long though, right? I learned you want to keep me safe. When I realized I wasn’t in danger, I stopped being difficult,” you lean in, gazing up at him through your eyelashes. “Since I’ve been good… would you hear me out on a request? Just one?”

The slightest blush dusts his cheeks at your closeness. “I’ll listen. You shouldn’t get your hopes up, though.”

As if he needed to remind you.

Your heart whirrs to life within your chest. This is it, there’s no turning back now. The outcome of this interaction will bleed into your future.

“I want to see the real world.”

Emotions pass over his countenance in quick succession. Confusion, surprise, and then mild indignation. You’re broaching a taboo topic. He knows it, you know it too. The Yaksha must be using every ounce of his strength not to immediately shut the subject down. He clenches his jaw tight, yet keeps his lips pursed, allowing you to further plead your case.

“You want to keep me safe and— and I get that. I really do. I’m sure that during your long life, you’ve encountered evils I couldn’t even begin to fathom. Despite that, you’re still here, because you’re strong,” in a bold act, you place your hand to his forearm. His muscles stiffen beneath the touch. “It doesn’t have to be long. Thirty minutes. Fifteen, even. You can choose the time, the place. Just… please, Xiao.”

“You’re… asking for a lot.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?”

You fight the urge to shrink back at the sharp inflection in his voice. Sensing this, he sighs, tearing his gaze from you and staring ahead. “If it’s a change in scenery you want, I can manage that. So long as it’s in here.”

Another olive branch. Held out more tentative than the last, above an ever-growing pile you yearn to incinerate.

“That isn’t what I want,” you say, licking your dry lips. This gets him to look at you again — out of the corner of his eye, but you digress — an idea forming as a result. If anything remains of your pride, surely this next query will do away with it. “If you do this for me… maybe you can get something out of it.”

You press the swell of your chest against his arm. He snaps his head in your direction, the blush that’s ever-present on his face whenever you’re around spreading to his ears. Touching him feels wrong. Repulsive, even. You’re giving him what he wants when he’s taken everything from you. Freedom, autonomy, and any chances at a regular life; these essential tenets will never be yours again. You have to barter for their cheap imitation.

“I can smile more. Wear whatever you’d like. I can welcome you when you come home after a long day, run to embrace you, wipe the remnants of blood off your face. I’d dote on you and you could dote on me. I’ll let you. You can hold me to this.”

A shaky hand rises to cup your face. You will yourself to stay still, to prove your resolve, no matter how nauseating it is to be in physical contact with him. He’s fixating on your lips again. The air around him is thick — a consequence of his karmic debt — which causes your ears to ring and your head to ache from pressure.

“I didn’t bring you here for that.”

You wonder if that was intended to convince you or himself.

“I made this place for you. Nothing can go wrong here, there’s no risk of you being harmed. Mortals… mortals are fragile. It takes almost nothing for you to get hurt, or sick… and then…”

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to.

You’re losing him. Losing the chance for a rough gale to take your breath away, or witness a thunderstorm with booming thunder and threatening clouds. This isn’t living, this is existing. Trapped within a frame where everything is in perpetual stasis. Nothing grows, nothing changes, it remains as it has been and always will be. Your mortal existence he goes to such lengths to coddle isn’t meant for this.

In the distance, a finch sings. You’ve heard the song enough to commit it to heart. Without the passing of seasons, the wildlife never changes. The stars don’t reveal new constellations. The moon is always full. The frogs sit in the same place, the fish move in a predictable loop. Once you start noticing these details, you’re cursed to catch them everywhere.

“I’ll still get you the lantern,” he reluctantly draws away from you. “You can release it here.”

You look up at the sky. At this time of day, there’s always a cloud that looks like a silly little mouse. You found it cute at first. Then you saw it again the following day. Then the next. And each day after that.

You hug your knees to your chest. “Don’t bother. There wouldn’t be a point.”

He quietly says your name and you ignore him.

You don’t know why he’s sticking around. Whenever he’s upset you before, he’d leave at the first opportunity, rightfully finding the situation beyond his abilities. Is it because he got so close to what he truly wants, the ugly truth hidden deep beneath his claim of keeping you safe? You’d prefer it if he came to grips with the fact. Then he wouldn’t have to bother with all the lies. He isn’t very good at it, anyway.

“You said you can change the scenery here, right?”

He nods.

“Please get rid of the birds, then,” you mumble. “I don’t think I can take hearing them for much longer.”

Xiao considers you for a long moment. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

It isn’t, but if you’re forced to occupy this constructed wonderland, it might as well look as barren as it feels.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi. I hope your day is being kind to you. 🙂

For the sentence Ask?

"My ears miss your heartbeat."

With Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) please? If you want.

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

A/N: Sorry, this went well over an extra 5 sentences. I guess I really just needed to write.

Warning: Tooth rotting domestic fluff

Word Count: 1.1K

Astarion didn’t make a sound as he slipped through the front door, stilling the bell with his hand before it could alert anyone to his presence.

The shop was completely empty, which would not be unusual at this time of night were it any other shop in town. The owner kept odd hours, not opening until well after sunset, the exception being when his wife managed to stumble down the stairs past noon to take orders. An odd set up, but nobody could deny the craftsmanship and so there was little to grumble about.

Astarion moved through the space with practiced ease, not bothering to light a candle as he moved towards the back room and up a small flight of stairs. He did not so much glance at the rolls of golden thread, or dig around the drawers for where he knew a small fortune of gems and finery could be found and easily pocketed. Such treasures were far from his mind at that moment.

Jumping the last few steps, he easily avoided the small creak of the second to top panel before deftly maneuvering his way through the waiting door.

The barest breath of relief escaped his lips. The entryway was completely dark, only just illuminated by the street lanterns peaking through the barest sliver of heavy curtains. Once again his dark vision proved a blessing as he took a quick look around.

The room was empty of anything other than comfortable but undeniably stylish furniture and the lines of bookshelves full bear to bursting along the walls. He slipped off his boots, placing them gently near the door making it almost comical how silently he could move along the beautifully embroidered rug. It felt like cheating, but then again, since when was he above cheating.

One final door lay in front of him. At his feet he could see the smallest flicker of candle light peaking out from below the door frame. Somebody was still up.

With a grin, he turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

It was moments like these that cause Astarion to lament not having a more artistic hand. The being before him deserved to be preserved in oils and canvass, marble and stone.

She did not notice him come in. Her clear blue eyes were focused intensely on the page in front of her, her finger moving slowly under the words while her soft lips mouthed them in time. Her hair lay loose about her, a few strands tucked behind her ear. Astarion could just catch the barest hints of white hiding in the field of black, something she would no doubt deny the existence of if he pointed them out. Her dark olive skin seemed to glow in the firelight, but the final detail that make his unbeating heart stir was the fact she was dressed only in his shirt.

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t a painter. He didn’t much like the thought of anyone else gazing on this image but him.

“Hello darling,” he said, softly.

Evie’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide in alarm as her hand gripped the book in her hand as of to throw it. As soon as he caught the quick progression of fear to recognition to annoyance slip across her face he let out a laugh.

“Milil’s tongue Astarion,” she grumbled, snapping her book shut. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Just be happy I’m the one doing it,” he teased, setting down his bag beside the door. “You’re getting slow my love.”

She gave a small pout, but still rolled onto her back, opening her arms to him.

He didn’t need further incentive, launching himself onto the bed causing them both to bounce and his love to laugh. Gods he missed that sound. However, he decided he missed her lips more, kissing her soundly as they both sunk into the too soft mattress.

“Good trip then?” she asked in between his attentions to her mouth.

“Tedious,” he corrected. “Better if you were there.”

“Well if it was so tedious I’m glad I skipped it.”

Astarion gave a huff of annoyance moving his lips across her face and jaw and down towards her neck. He took a deep breath in, the musk of her skin mixing with the perfume of her blood pulsing just below. He could drown in that scent.

“Hungry,” she asked, turning her neck slightly in invitation.

He shook his head pressing a kiss against the fading scars.

“No need darling, just enjoying being home.”

He didn’t need to look up to know she was smiling. He could feel it in the way her hands rubbed up and down his back and brushed the stray hairs at the back of his neck. All the same, he decided to look anyway.

This was his home. Even all these years later, he still had a hard time believing it. He and Evie had all but hung up their adventuring gear and settled in a town just big enough to justify a fine tailor shop. The occasional helpless damsel or bandit gang causing trouble could pull them from their daily routines, but little else. They were both getting older and ready for a place to call their own, something that was denied to them for so long. Even stranger and more wonderful still, Evie had agreed to marry him.

She brushed a stray hair back from his forehead, her fingers tracing down his face before teasing the edge of his ear.

“I missed you, too,” she said, her full love only just tempered by a hint of humor.

He didn’t have the strength to pull away from that perfect touch, and settled kissing her sternum in response.

“I did plenty more than just miss you darling,” he confessed. “There are too many parts of me that miss too many parts of you.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “For example, my lips missed your lips quite a bit.”

“I gathered,” she said with a barely contained laugh. “What else?”

“My hair missed your fingers.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement as her hand moved slightly up, allowing her fingers to comb slowly through his hair.

Astarion sighed in contentment, settling his head to rest comfortably on her chest.

“Go on my love,” Evie encouraged. “Don’t stop now.”

“My arms missed your warmth,” he said, wrapping himself tighter around her for emphasis. “My nose missed your smell. But if I really had to name it, my ears missed your heart beat the most.”

“And you say you’re not a sentimental,” she teased.

“Exceptions are always made for you my heart.”

She hummed in acknowledgment settling into the sheets, her fingers still running soothingly through his hair.

Astarion feel asleep in her arms as he had done for countless nights and hopefully countless more; safe, loved and truly home.

[hxney-lemcn]

The Show Goes On — Berial (AFK Journey) x gn! reader

summery: you find yourself in the clutches of a jester who just wanted to have some fun. (un)fortunately for you, you seemed to have peaked his interest.

tw: uhhh Berial straight up kidnaps reader 💀 (this is not a yandere thing tho. Just crazy people shit). mentions of death/dying.

a/n: Berial simps have some food. Idk what possessed me when I wrote this but enjoy.

wc: 2.5k

Master List

The moon shone brightly over the town, casting dark shadows around every corner. Lights dimly lit up the main streets, guiding you on your way home. You had decided to cut through an alley,  something that you typically did to cut your travel short. Yet, as soon as you stepped foot into the dark alley only being lit up by the moon, you heard bells chime behind you. You paused, heart accelerating.

There were rumors of a Hypogen monster that lurked in the shadows. That if you heard bells to not look behind you or you would be doomed. How the screams of its victims were silenced before they could even let out a peep. You thought they were tales parents told to keep their kids from sneaking out at night, but at the moment it felt all too real. Taking in a deep breath, you tried to regain your composure, it was a silly rumor, but the way your hair stood on end had you stay cautious. 

You continued walking, trying to ignore the giggles that now accompanied the jingles. Your head twitched, instinct begging you to just take a peak at what was making noise, but you forced your head to stay forward. Your pace grew faster, as the end of the alley came into view. Every fiber in your bones told you you’d be safer in the light (silly humans always thought that). 

Just as you were about to step foot out of the alley, relief briefly flowed through you, only for that hope to be snatched just as quickly. Dark glove clad hands tugged you back by your shoulders, that giggling voice now right next to your ear. You couldn’t stop the shriek that tore from your lips as an inky dark face came into view. It donned a jagged grin, you could barely comprehend what you were currently witnessing. It had no lips, its jagged mouth reminding you of a jack-o-lantern, except jack-o-lanterns were meant to ward off evil. It seemed to lack any eyes, as there were no pupils or iris’, just pure white that was tinted purple. 

Its giggles turned into full blown laughter as it continued to drag you back into the inky blackness. You struggled, unsure what it wanted with you, but clearly it was nothing good. Your stomach dropped when you were suddenly picked up and were flying. You ceased your struggling, suddenly very aware that the hypogean could easily drop you to your demise. That seemed to amuse it all the more as its impossibly wide grin widened. 

Then, like it hadn’t just kidnapped you, set you down on your now wobbly legs. You placed your weight on a nearby wall, slowly taking in your surroundings. It wasn’t Esperia, that was for sure, which made your blood run cold. The two of you were in an area that you could only describe to look like a void. Dark, purple tinted clouds curled in the distance, the only ground being the weird estate like structure you were currently in. It hurt your mind wondering just how this place existed, and the hypogean seemed all too pleased by your expression. 

“You are tonight's winner!” The being exclaimed in a flourish. It twirled before falling into a dramatic bow, but instead of just taking off its hat, it took off its entire head. You blinked, bewildered as its eyes blinked up at you. It paused, as if waiting for you to clap, and you couldn’t hold the laughter that flew past your lips in surprise. The entire situation was absurd, and if you didn’t laugh you might actually cry. 

Your reactions seemed to make the entity even more jolly as it swiftly put its head on backwards. Only to twist it into the correct position, causing you to chuckle once more. It seemed to thrive on your ‘enjoyment’ (you didn’t find much joy in this situation) as it was more enthusiastic than before. 

“I knew you would be an interesting human,” It preened, every movement exaggerated as if to entertain. “As tonight’s winner, your prize is to witness a show put on by the great Berial himself!” The bells on his uniform chimed gently as he floated up, arms wide open along with his wings. 

You watched with caution, unsure of what was to become of you. Just what did Hypogeans find entertaining? Didn’t they enjoy the anguish of people? Spilling blood and finding joy in tears? It clearly found joy in your fear earlier, but strangely he seemed to enjoy your amusement as well. What would happen to you after the ‘show’? Is that when he would dispose of you? Perhaps you were the last act, to be messed with until you could no longer cry nor bleed.

“Now take a seat and let the show begin!” Berial (you assumed) exclaimed, whisking you away into a room that held a stage. One lone seat laid before it, and the jester gently pushed you into it. 

Every act had you on the edge of your seat. He would take a classic magician trick and have some dark twist. It took out a magician's wand, and with a flourish, it turned into a bouquet. You hadn’t seen magicians before, your only exposure being that from books, so it was all new to you. You merely worked at a tavern, hence why you were walking home so late in the first place. So at first, when he presented you the bouquet, you had forgotten for a split second that this was a hypogean you were dealing with, stranded in the middle of the definition of nowhere. Hesitantly you reached for the bouquet, the flowers were breathtakingly beautiful, and when your fingers wrapped around the base, bugs started to crawl out of the flowers. You screamed out of surprise, dropping the flowers and pushing yourself as far as you could into the surprisingly comfortable chair. 

Berial’s laugh rang out above you as you tried to steady your breathing. Once again it found your fear hilarious, and you halfheartedly glared. He laughed so hard his head rolled off his head, and you watched as it rolled past you, descending into an inky shadow. Its glowing eyes seemed to be seared into your eyelids as you swore you could still see the glow after you blinked. Your attention turned back to Berial’s body as it furiously patted where it’s head once hovered (you noticed it never fully connected with the rest of his body). 

You watched curiously as his hat appeared in one of his hands. He reached into his hat, pulling out miscellaneous items. Your amusement grew as the items grew to be more ridiculous. You lost it when it pulled out a gleamtail, the squirrel-like animal looking around confused, your gentle laugh filling the silence. That seemed to be the goal of that act, as he finally pulled his own head out of his hat, plopping both back where they belonged. He bowed again, and this time you did clap, a small grin tugging at your lips. The longer you watched, the more comfortable you became, and the less scary the entity before you seemed. Its acts grew more and more ridiculous, with a scare or two in between. 

Yet every show must come to an end. Berial was bowing once again after cutting a shadow creature in half and pretended to have lost its lower half. You clapped, finding yourself enjoying the company of such a strange being, only for the curtains to finally close. The show had been going on for so long that you forgot that there was going to be an end. You felt yourself tense once more, unsure what was going to happen next. Was this it? Were you going to die? He had all his fun and now it was time to get rid of you. You anxiously stayed in your seat, eyes scanning your surroundings. The grandiose room was dark, the lights that lit up the stage were gone and it was hard for you to see much of anything. 

“Boo!” Berial popped out suddenly in front of you. You flinched back, his long nose nearly poking your own. His glowing eyes and mouth were the only thing lighting up your surroundings. Giggling lightly, it pulled away, the rest of his body blending in with the darkness. 

“You are such a fun human,” It giggled, hands holding its face in what seemed to be fake adoration. “I’m tempted to keep you around.” This seemed to be your way out. Even if you actually had fun, you didn’t want to stick around for too long. Hopefully you could convince him to let you go.

“W-wouldn’t it be more fun to bring me back to Esperia?” You asked, feeling a bit intimidated with his eyes solely on you. “To try and catch me off guard?”

“My, and you’re so smart for a human,” Berial clapped. “Hide and seek does sound fun.” Before you could fully comprehend what he just said, you picked you up from your seat again. He flew you both back where you came, and you had to squint as the sun shone overhead. 

…

That was how you found yourself with a Hypogean popping out at you when you’d least suspect it. It was weird, as you thought he’d lose interest in you the second he was gone, but he continued to surprise you. Sometimes as you’d walk to work you’d feel like something was watching you from the shadows, and now you had a reason to worry. 

Yet it never seemed like Berial actually meant you any harm. Its giggles trailed after you warmly, its scares becoming more playful than scary, sometimes it would even sweep you into an impromptu dance to a song only it could hear. You found yourself looking forward to your next meeting, eyes trailing to the shadows, watching for any hint of a disturbance within. 

Your coworkers had started to avoid you when they could. The sound of bells that used to be associated with the night had now started to be associated with you. Quickly you found yourself to be ostracized, people whispering about you just out of hearing range. You started to feel comforted in the jesters presence. He never failed to cheer you up (or scare you), and he found himself spending more time with you as well.

Typically Berial found people boring. They always reacted the same. Scream, cry, plead for their life. That wasn’t fun. And although his perception of fun was a bit…morbid, he couldn’t help but find you interesting. He hadn’t met anyone who actually laughed at his jokes, who didn’t scream when he tipped not just his hat but his entire head. You were a strange and fascinating human, and Berial found himself wanting to spend more and more time with you, seeing if he could make you pull an expression he hasn’t seen before. 

He found himself growing fond of you, something he didn’t think he could even feel! How strange you were for pulling these feelings out of him. It wanted more, its hunger insatiable, wanting to explore those odd feelings. The way it felt warm and fluttery at your laugh, or how its nonexistent heart jumped at any contact with you. Oh, and the way your eyes lit up when it would imitate you, and how silly you were when you would play back. No one had ever tried to entertain the entertainer before! 

That was how you found yourself in your current situation. The jester weighed you down as it laid its head in your lap. It made you slightly curious if you could pluck his head up just as he can to himself, but you felt it might be a bit rude if you tried (or maybe he’d like that, it was hard to tell). Instead, you found yourself brushing your fingers through his hair, his top hat resting on top of your own head. He seemed to preen under your touch, his jagged smile as wide as ever, he looked like the cat that got the cream. His tail had wrapped around your waist, and you were slightly curious why he seemed to be so affectionate. He was already odd for a Hypogean, but this was just adding to it. 

“Is something the matter?” You asked, fingers trailing down to his dark skin. You half expected your hands to ghost through him as his skin seemed to blend in with the shadows. 

“Never been better,” It said with a content sigh. You felt yourself heat up at the implication. Was it really so happy to be in your presence? Receiving your affection? You felt even warmer when it nuzzled its face closer to your hands. “What do you humans call this feeling again? Love?” You spluttered, flabbergasted at what just transpired. Love? Is it serious? Can a Hypogean even love? And a human no less. 

“H-huh?” You asked, eyes wide as you stared down at it. 

Suddenly, he broke out laughing and you felt your heart clench, “I’ve never seen you look like that before! Oh the hilarity!” Of course he doesn’t love you, he’s messing with you. He’s trying to get a rise out of you. And suddenly you found yourself wanting to leave. No longer did he seem warm like you had thought, but instead the cold monster he truly was. You shuffled, trying to push him off of you, but he stayed firm in his place. For someone so bouncy and light looking, he really could be heavy when he wanted. 

“Now now,” Berial continued to giggle lightly. “No need for the dramatics. Do I seem like someone who’d tell such jokes?” You only raised an eyebrow and he broke out in laughter once again. “Ah I suppose you have a point, dear. But truely, I would not joke about such things with you.” You wearily watched him as he sat up and turned to fully face you. Lifting up his hands, he gently grabbed your cheeks and squished them, causing you to send him a lighthearted glare.

“You are a strange human indeed,” He muttered, and a strange seriousness filled his tone. “What do you say, human. Do you feel the same?” Once again you felt your guard rise, unsure if this was another of his jokes or if he genuinely meant what he said. Although his smile seemed permanently imprinted into his features, the ends of his mouth looked softer, smaller. 

“Maybe,” You muttered to the best of your ability as his hands continued to squish his cheeks, your eyes couldn’t seem to look away no matter how hard you tried. 

“Then I must turn that maybe into definitely!” Berial exclaimed, jumping up with a flourish. 

“How are you going to do that?” You asked wearily. 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” And with that, he disappeared with a wink.

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Benevolent Sovereign of the Oasis.

Sun and shadow. Two existences, locked in a perpetual cycle, unable to be without the other.

It hurts to part ways, but reunion is that much sweeter.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

His eyes flutter open, and the instant his awareness hits, so, too, does the lightning in his veins. He throws his covers off and scrambles out of bed. His phone is in his hand in seconds, the calendar app opened.

It's just as he anticipates.

“Today’s the day!!”

Kalim's exhilarated shout stirs the entire mansion. Various hired help glance up from their tasks—private chefs in the middle of their prep work, housekeepers tending to the laundry, gardeners watering the flowers—and tut or sigh.

"There goes the young master again," they’d murmur amongst themselves. "He's so excitable."

It's not an unusual occurrence, but this time is especially special. The notice had gone out months in advance, the most skilled laborers called in from all corners of the world for the event. He had counted down the days, cancelled all his meetings.

Just for this.

Kalim breaks into a sprint down the corridor, his sandaled feet pounding the polished floors. He skids around a corner and continues his frantic pace, almost knocking over a valet. The servant stumbles, but Kalim grabs his hands and pulls him up into a spin.

"It's today, it's today!!" he squeals, earning a blank stare from the valet.

"Yes, sir. The staff are all aware. The preparations are well underway, so you needn't be concerned."

"Gahahah, everyone's already hard at work this early in the morning!" Kalim’s boisterous laugh bounces off the high ceilings. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh no, please leave the work to us... Y-Young master? Young master, where are you going?!"

"I'm going to check up on some things, don't mind me!!" Kalim calls back. He has already taken off, leaving the valet stunned.

"... Well, he's certainly become more proactive."

Kalim sticks his head into the dining room. The table is large enough to host his entire family plus several guests, but today it is set only for two. The seats are intimately situated across from one another, their best plates, silverware, and cloth napkins set out to welcome the diners.

The centerpiece, an ice sculpture of a viper with its hood flared out, sparkles in the morning sunlight. It would be a puddle by now, had it not been enchanted to never melt.

Servants are busy setting up a banquet: crisp vegetables, steamed fish, crusted breads, seasoned meats. His stomach tosses uncomfortably when he passes the seven kinds of curry laid out in a row--but he reassures himself with the reminder that his guest is sure to love them.

The kitchen didn't skim on the beverage selection either. There are sparkling juices, rich soups, spiced coffee, and black tea, accompanied by a large pot of white sugar with which to sweeten it. For dessert, fresh fruits (no dates!), flaky layered pastries, ice-creams, and cakes dipped in sugar syrups, topped with crushed pistachios and candied orange peels.

"Care to sample, sir?" a servant asks Kalim. They offer a trey of appetizers, each with an odd stone-colored dollop.

He obliged, popping one into his mouth. "Mmm! What's this gray stuff? It's delicious!"

"The head chef's secret recipe, young master. He thought to bring it out of his recipe cards today in honor of the celebration."

"Wow, he's really going above and beyond for this!!" Kalim glances at his staff. Now the orchestra is filing in with their instruments, and a massive roast duck on a bed of fried garlic and scallions is being laid out on the table. Another team is stringing up lanterns, and a skilled animal tamer enters, hauling a crate of colorful parrots. "Everyone is. I really appreciate it.

"... Oh, hey!" He snaps his fingers, a spark in his eyes--as though he has just come up with a great idea. "I know! Since you've been putting your all into this, I think it's only fair you get to get off work early and have a chance to relax too!"

"Erm, sir--that's very generous of you, but we aren't even done setting things up yet. The decorations especially..."

"It's fine, I've got this!" Kalim turns to the rest of the workers calls out, waving his arms. "Hey, everyone! You're free to go! Grab some nice food from the kitchen on your way out. I can handle the rest!"

The staff look confused, but not one of them protests. Some shrug and immediately exit, others anxiously wait for their peers to go before they follow. Before long, the room is cleared.

"Alright, let's do this...!"

Kalim produces his magical pen and waves it in an arc. Golden sparkles rain down, animating nearby objects.

Plates, forks, spoons, and knives march to the long table themselves. Flowers settle into crystal vases. Banners and lanterns float up, pinning themselves in place.

There we go.

"Squawk, squawk, squawk!!"

Kalim follows the cacophony to the cage of parrots left behind by the animal tamer. They're scrambling around, looking longingly at the decorations that had been raised to the ceiling.

He brightens with understanding. "Oooh, I get it! You want to get out and stretch your wings too!"

Kalim hesitates, turning the choice over in his head. "'Hmm, well... Technically, you're not supposed to be released until he gets here."

A showy spectacle--that is how Kalim envisions it. A whirlwind of flashy feathers to welcome him back. But the longer he looks at the wide, wet eyes of the parrots, the more the sadness swells in his chest.

Poor little guys, bound to a cage.

"... Okay, I've decided! You can come out and stretch your wings, I'll just need you back on the ground before the big surprise. Then you can fly all you want when he gets here."

Kalim kneels, fiddling with the lock on the cage. The door easily slides open, and--

FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!!

The entire flock rushes out, sending Kalim flying back onto his bum. He braces against the powerful beating of wings, the talons and beaks nearly scraping his skin.

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Kalim!"

Someone tackles right into him, forcing him to the ground. The world violently tilts, and suddenly Kalim is staring at a ceiling swarming with golden lights and a vaguely shaped shadow looming over him.

"I thought you had matured a little since I departed, but it looks as though you still have your moments where you're hopeless without me. I didn't think the first thing I'd do when I got back was protect you, but here we are."

He blinks rapidly. His vision slowly corrects, lines drawing together and forming a crisper image.

That face.

He recognizes it.

His old friend, dressed in sandals, khakis, and a bright yellow T-shirt embroidered with pink tropical flowers. He wears a cap that resembles a cartoon character--a dog with floppy black ears. The man had entered with suitcases, which were dropped by the door the instant he jumped to Kalim's defense.

"Jamil...!"

Kalim yanks him into a hug. His face turns, tears welling in his eyes. "Y-You came!! And you came so early...!!"

"Of course I did. I promised you I'd return home after my travels," Jamil sighs, patting his emotional friend's back. "I was planning on surprising you first, but..."

He gives the dining room and its extravagant flourishes a glance. Parrots are roosting in the banners, popping the balloons, or stealing vegetables and fruit from the flatters.

"... It looks like you've beaten me at my own game," he says tactfully.

"Yeah!" Kalim sniffs, wiping at his tears. "I... I wanted to welcome you home with a huge celebration!!"

"... Idiot. I didn't come back for any of this. Not food, not music, not pets, not decorations. There's one thing that the Scalding Sands has that no other place in Twisted Wonderland does: my best friend."

"Awww, Jamil...!" Kalim's eyes wet again. He lets out a happy sob, reburying his face in Jamil's shoulder. "It's good to have you back!!"

He sighs deeply. Despite this, Jamil still manages a smile. "It's good to be back with you, Kalim."

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Being Sacrificed To Sukuna On Halloween Night

Ryomen Sukuna X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, sacrifice, Sukuna being Sukuna, suggestive themes

Word Count: 1.2k

(A/N:) I am so mad at Sukuna in the manga, but I can't help but still like him. He's too good of a villain and I can't help myself. I had to write something for him for Halloween because reasons. I didn't know I was going to make it this long though. I may have had a little too much fun writing it but hopefully all the Sukuna fangirls enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Until next time happy reading and happy Halloween! ~Countess

Your village was small and prone to attacks from the most powerful curse in existence. Ryomen Sukuna had terrorized anyone and everyone and it was only when he demanded a sacrifice every Halloween did the attacks stop. This year was your turn to be taken to the superior curse. You stood before the window, dressed in white and waiting for evening to come.

Your parents watched you wearily, your mother weeping bitterly when the elders of the village came to claim you. You watched your home get smaller and smaller before it finally disappeared. The lanterns that lit your path swayed in the breeze as the men surrounded you, leading you further away into the eerie woods. Their grim faces made you more nervous as you shivered, from both the cold and fear. You had heard all the tales of Sukuna, but you had never seen him for yourself. A few girls had been returned if they hadn't pleased the curse only to never be whole ever again. They were prone to scream at any moment and they would never have the normal life the others got to have. The elders tried to tell you that it was an honor to be chosen but all you could see it as was a curse.

Your escort stopped abruptly in the middle of the darkest part of the forest. Trees seemed to quiver in the shadows, when four red eyes pierced the shadows. Your breath wheezed out, your knees becoming weak, and heart racing so fast you feared it would stop. The men at your side fled leaving you alone to face your doom. Sukuna's form seemed to part the forest as he finally stepped before you, the moon lighting his features. He stood heads taller than you, the largest man you had ever seen. With his extra arms and tattoos that covered him, he was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen.

"So you are to be my sacrifice this year," he spoke his voice matching his terrifying appearance. "You're stronger than most. Majority of the time the women faint at the sight of me."

It wasn't that you didn't want to faint, or run, or throw up. Your whole body had quit functioning, it didn't know which movement it wanted to make first. He chuckled darkly knowing that you didn't know what to do. At lease you weren't screaming, that was the most annoying trait about women. While he enjoyed a good scream it did get old when that's all they would do. Not you as you stood frozen in fear. You would make a nice toy, he figured he could get some fun from you before he sent your mutilated corpse back to your village.

Grabbing your arm, you had no choice but to follow him as he drug you through the pitch black woods. You tripped and walked awkwardly trying to keep up with his fast pace. It felt like your arm was about to be ripped from your socket before Sukuna scooped you up holding your body in his four arms. Your wide eyes watched his features carefully as he brought you further into the trees. You had lost your way hours ago, even if you did escape there was no way you could find your way back to the village. Even if you could, they wouldn't accept you back as they would see you doomed them all to suffer the wrath of Sukuna. What he did with the girls, no one knew. You knew majority of them were killed as some of the corpses would be brought back. Whether he ate the others or whatever he deemed worthy of their bodies no one would know. You would know later, you shivered at the thought, but you would never get the chance to tell a soul.

He set you before a shrine carved into the base of a mountain. He shoved you inside, causing you to sprawl across the stone floor. He stepped over you, his robes pulling at your clothing and hair before he took a set upon a throne of bones.

"You are boring me," he muttered. "No screams, no fighting. I was hoping for a little bit of fun before I killed you. Did you just accept your fate?"

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your robes before nodding.

"You do know you can speak to me?"

You shook your head and Sukuna sighed.

"You're no fun."

You blinked and he stood before you once more. You shrunk back as he gripped your chin.

"Shall we play a game," he cooed.

You gulped.

"If you can entertain me and keep me from getting bored. I'll let you leave at the first sign of dawn. If you bore me, I send your head back to your village and your job will be done. Think you can handle that? I am being very generous."

"Yes," you whispered.

Sukuna cackled, "You're starting off well little dove. Continue and you'll be home before you know it."

Hours passed and you were learning more about the curse Ryomen Sukuna than anyone ever had. You felt like you were walking a tight rope as you tried to keep him pleased. Your body wouldn't stop shaking, especially when his red eyes would glow in rage. You would quickly soothe him over. Sukuna had never met a human female like you and he was beginning to like having you around. He liked the way you felt as he dared you to kiss him, he liked the way your hands felt tangled in his hair, and how much smaller than him you were. So fragile. So human. The sun was beginning to rise faster than he realized, but Sukuna was used to having whatever he wanted. And as a curse he would get whatever he desired, no matter the cost or dirty deed he had to do. He had made you an offer and you had proved yourself worthy in winning, but he wasn't going to let you leave. Not when he finally found a sacrifice worth keeping around. The village could keep the other girls, you had proved to be the one. Your home would be with him and he was ready to see that light leave your eyes when you noticed the dawn. He was ready to see the despair replace the excitement.

"Congratulations you won our little game," he grinned ferally. "Too bad you made the game too much fun. I won't let you leave. You can stay with me."

You deflated, tears flowing freely from your eyes. Sukuna stalked forward leaning over your sobbing form. You looked at him with such hatred it gave him a thrill, your body jolting in revolt as he licked the tears from your cheek.

"Welcome to your new home little dove," he growled.

You had been given an honor you never wanted. The Bride of Sukuna as the curse scooped you up. You kicked and screamed, the fight finally coming to your body as he dragged you deeper into his lair. You wished death upon yourself as the hope he had given you that evening was stripped from you. You cursed him and yourself for thinking a curse such as Sukuna would keep his word. You lost sight of the entrance as the sun was taken from you. Those little rays you had gotten to see were to be the last you ever gotten to enjoy as Sukuna kept you deep in the cave. You were his prize and he would never let you go.

[five-rivers]

Dream Lantern Chapter 1

For Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 5: Hunt.

The person who entered the small examination room wasn’t a doctor.  They weren’t even human.  

Danny, who had been hunched in the less-than-comfortable chair in the corner, waiting for the doctor to get to him, sprang to his feet.  “You!” he hissed, green sparking from his fists and his rings snapping into place and sweeping outward to transform him.  “You did this!”

At first glance, the person in front of Danny looked human, but that was only at first glance.  The ridges of their eyes curved smoothly, owl-like, into the bridge of their nose.  Their hair, too black, formed a widow’s peak so sharp Danny wasn’t sure it couldn’t draw blood.  They wore a black suit that was about ten times too formal and old-fashioned to even exist in Amity Park.  

But all of that could be brushed aside.  Sometimes people just looked or dressed strangely.  The real indicator was the eyes, which were red from lid to lid and faintly luminous.

“Yes,” said Nocturne, gloved hand touching their face as if to make sure it was still in place.  “Did you think someone else could have?”

“Put them back!” demanded Danny.  “Or I’ll–”

“Or you’ll do nothing,” said Nocturne.  “They are hostages, boy.  I’m sure you realize this already, or you would have attacked.” 

Danny bristled.  “What do you want?”

“Your help.”  They laughed, showing off teeth that were both too white and too sharp.  “You like that, don’t you?”

Danny scowled.  He couldn’t deny the way his core had twitched at the word ‘help,’ but even full ghosts weren’t mindless slaves that could be programmed and activated by their Obsessions’ triggers.  Besides, he had better people to help.  

Like Tucker and Sam.  Jazz.  His parents.  

They were elsewhere in the hospital, in comas so deep Danny couldn’t touch their minds at all.  The doctors had kept Danny here, just in case he was about to slip into a coma, too, but knowing that it was Nocturne, rather than just suspecting it…

He wanted to fight.  He wanted to force Nocturne to let them go, to wake them up.  

But… hostages.  

“With what?”

“With retrieving something,” said Nocturne.  

“And if I help, you'll bring them out of their comas?”

Nocturne lazily raised a hand.  “I swear it.”

“Fine.  What is it and where is it?”  If it was something dangerous, he could always sabotage it.  He had experience with that kind of thing.

“Oh, you mistake me, child.  I will retrieve it myself.  I only need you to accompany me to do so.  A being of your… nature is required.”

“What, a half ghost?”

“A creature neither alive nor dead,” said Nocturne.  “I think you fit that requirement quite nicely.”

The way Nocturne leered at him made Danny’s skin crawl.  He forced the ectoplasm swirling around his hands to recede and landed.

“Fine,” he snapped, again.  

Nocturne reached out towards his face and Danny swatted their hand away.

“I’ll go there awake, thanks.”

“Very well,” said Nocturne, still smiling.  They turned and opened the door.  It no longer led back into the hospital.  Nocturne’s form liquified, and they oozed through the door, gaining volume as they did so until they were in their massive usual form.  The one that could hold and crush Danny in the palm of a hand.  

Danny swallowed.  He hadn’t realized Nocturne could make portals like that.  He followed, and the portal shut behind him.  

Nocturne’s smile grew smugger.  They turned and made a sweeping gesture.  “Behold,” they said, “the Plain of Dreams.”

There… wasn’t much to look at.  There was a big island there, sure.  One large enough that the other side vanished into the horizon.  But the surface of the island was flat and gray, devoid of any point of interest except for size.  

“You live here?” asked Danny.  

“Once,” said Nocturne, almost wistful.  “But there is no time for reminiscing.  You have a role to play here.”

“Which is?”

“That of a lantern.”  Nocturne reached into the invisible folds of their robes and pulled out a glittering, golden, jewel-studded cage, one shaped like a lantern and floored with rich, plush bedding.  They pinched the door open and held it up in front of Danny.  

“No,” said Danny.  “I’m not getting in there.  If you need my glow or whatever for your thing, well, guess what?  I glow just as well out here.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” said Nocturne, circling him.  Danny turned, trying to keep eyes on Nocturne’s face and hands.  “You must be neither alive nor dead, awake nor asleep, willing nor unwilling.  Caged, but uncaptured.  Hungry, but full.  Complaisant, but steadfast.”

Danny’s skin prickled again.  He did not like this, and the fairy-tale-like phrasing was not helping his nerves.  “I don’t know that I’d call myself complacent.”

Nocturne chuckled.  “Different word, little ghost.  Or… I can seek out more friends of yours.  The girl in red, perhaps?”  They switched directions so fast Danny couldn’t keep track of them.  Their next words were whispered into Danny’s hair.  “She still dreams of you, you know.”

Danny flinched away, glaring, but he couldn’t hold Nocturne’s gaze for long.  He frowned at the cage instead.  He did not like it.  At all.  

“I get to leave at the end?” he asked, knowing full well he couldn’t hold Nocturne to that in any meaningful way.  Even Nocturne’s word that he’d let his family and friends go didn’t mean much.  

But what else could he do?  He’d already tried to wake them up himself, and he didn’t know what else Nocturne could do to them when they were in that state.

“Yes, yes, and I’ll wake your family.  We have already discussed this.  You are wasting time.”

“We hadn’t discussed this, actually,” said Danny.  “We’ve barely ‘discussed’ anything.”

“I can send them deeper,” said Nocturne, voice low and dangerous.  “Do you want that, child?  Perhaps their doctors will notice when they stop breathing on their own.  Perhaps not.”

Danny, core making an awful whining sound, raised his hands in surrender and flew into the cage.  Nocturne, moving swiftly, closed it behind him.  

The exhaustion he’d been holding back all day (or was it all week?  All month?  All year?  Since he died the first time?) poured over him.  Against his will, he sank slowly to the blankets and pillows at the bottom of the cage, clouds of golden dust rising around him as his weight settled.  His eyelids fluttered, and his vision became blurred, uncertain.  

Nocturne threaded their long, pointed fingers through the bars of the cage and pressed one against Danny’s chest, over his core.  Inky, starry blackness flowed from Nocturne’s finger and into Danny.  He could feel it being pressed into his core, and his core drank it in, growing colder.  His aura flared out involuntarily, to a brightness that was almost painful.  He groaned and tried to turn his head against one of the pillows.  

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” asked Nocturne in a falsely sweet voice.  It echoed weirdly, the words warping around their edges, morphing into other voices, other conversations.  “A simple waking dream.  Look.”

With some effort, Danny raised his head as Nocturne thrust the lantern-cage forward.  For a moment, bright colors streaked dizzyingly across his vision, like fireworks and flowers, but then–

What lay before him was not the gray and featureless plain he had seen only moments before.  Instead, ringed by the golden haze of dreams was a vibrant forest, decked with vivid colors and bright flowers, brighter and more numerous than they ever would be in reality.  Or maybe jungle was a better word.  In the distance, majestic mountains rose from the middle of the jungle, tinted blue and purple, glittering cities of gold and crystal built on their slopes.  A flight of butterflies bigger than birds exploded from the near edge, and swooped around Nocturne and Danny in a rainbow whirlwind.  Some of them had wingspans longer than his arm.

“What,” Danny might have said, aware that his words were slurred into unintelligibility, if they were spoken at all, “is that?”

“The Dream Wilds,” said Nocturne.  

They reached into the cage again, adjusting Danny’s position so that he was halfway between sitting and lounging, hemmed in and supported by blankets.  They might as well have been chains, and even as that picture developed in his mind’s eye, it developed in reality as well.  Blanket twisted around his limbs and grew darker, the fabric taking on a metallic sheen.  Pillows grew heavier… but also softer, pulling him yet deeper into the half-dreaming state Nocturne had forced on him.  

He was, really, horribly comfy.  

If it wasn’t for his hazmat suit and its boots, Danny could almost be convinced he was bundled up in his own bed.  Then, he blinked, long, slow, and sleepy, and he wasn’t wearing his hazmat suit anymore.  Instead, he was wearing a set of pajamas that, if he’d seen them in the real world, would have sent him into paroxysms of envy.  They were a set, a button-down shirt and a pair of pants, the type of pajamas he liked the most.  They also were sewn with tiny star-shaped sequins in the pattern of real constellations.  

Danny knew they weren’t real.  Unfair.  

Nocturne chuckled and tugged on Danny’s newly-bare toes.  

“Don’t,” mumbled Danny, sleepily, not coordinated enough to twitch away.  “Let’s get this over with already.”

“Yes,” said Nocturne, gliding forward.  “Let’s.”

.

The Plain of Dreams was only the greatest of the many places in the Ghost Zone where the ethereal and otherwise elusive energies of dream gathered.  It had been tamed, once, and inhabited, brought to the kind of civilization only known in the dreams of visionaries.  Crystal cities of philosophy.  Hidden villages in perfect harmony with nature.  Utopias of justice, science, and art.  

But those realms were long gone.  When the rulers of the Dream Kingdoms saw the approach of Pariah Dark's armies, they ordered the caged dreamers on whose dreams the foundations of the cities were built woken and released, and their cities faded back into the wilds, and the wilds themselves faded and sunk into slumber until only fragments and memories remained.  

There were ways to navigate them, if one had the right tools.  Ways to access the Dream Wilds where they slumbered, still beautiful, rich, and powerful.  Even with those tools, however, the Dream Wilds were still immeasurably dangerous.  

Even in the Ghost Zone, there were few places where one could be destroyed by their own passing fancy.  

It had taken years upon years for Nocturne to find the lantern-cage, a relic from one of the Dream Kingdoms, traded to a traveler and sold on as a curiosity not long before Pariah took the throne.  Cages not unlike this, but far grander, had held the forever-sleeping dream-architects who had made up the foundations of the great Dream Kingdoms.  The only other Nocturne had ever heard of beyond the borders of the Dreamlands had been from their own collection, melted down to be reforged as part of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.  

The success of that plan had made the sacrifice worth it, but Nocturne still resented it, and the lost opportunities it represented.  

All too often, Nocturne found themself dreaming of what would have been, if they had still had their own lantern-cage.  If they had been able to travel back, to reach the Dream Kingdoms before they fell to ruin entirely, to enter the great halls with a dreamer, and once again let dreams be true.  

But even dreams must bow to time.  

The cage was not all Nocturne needed, nor the only preparation they had to make.  Among other things, the cage was useless without the proper dreamer.  

The Dream Kingdoms had, for the most part, used volunteers.  Specially selected, educated, and prepared, quite literally pampered beyond the dreams of sloth, the dream-architects of old had been remarkable.  But even they were unlikely to have had the qualities Nocturne sought.  

And seek they did, searching high and low, throughout both the Infinite Realms and the human world.  But no matter what dreamer they brought to the Plain of Dreams, no matter how long Nocturne wandered, their lantern did not light the way.  

They had thought it must be a matter of power, and set to collecting dream energy from wherever they could, even going to the human world to gather it from living sleepers.  That particular endeavor did not go well, and they returned to the Realms with less than what they’d started with.  

But then they found that old record, and its list of odd requirements.  Neither alive nor dead, awake nor asleep, willing nor unwilling.  Caged, but uncaptured, hungry, but full, complaisant, but steadfast.  A liminal dreamer was required, and not just any liminal.  

There were only two liminals that Nocturne knew of.  He could, with some effort force either of them to fulfill most of the other conditions.  Waking dreams were well within his capabilities, the right pressure on an Obsession would have any ghost, full or otherwise, walking into a cage.  Hungry but full was trickier, but the lantern-cages were designed to help regulate what their inmates absorbed, among other things that allowed their function of bringing dreams into reality.  A glut of dream energy and a dearth of more traditional forms of sustenance would do nicely for Nocturne’s plans, and if the requirement was more metaphorical, they could adapt.  

The difficulty lay in 'complaisant but steadfast.'

The elder half ghost was widely regarded as a coward, having fled from too many fights he himself had started.  Even if he wasn't, Nocturne had tasted his dreams.  Vlad Masters relished every bit of power he could hold over others, and resented any he could not subjugate or suborn.  

The younger… Any being that could escape a dream crafted by Nocturne had to be described as both willful and strong-willed.  Yet, while the child had dreamed of being recognized and praised for the service he provided, in the waking world he provided those services unasked and unrewarded.  

It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.  Nocturne wasn't about to make more of the creatures.  

From there, their preparations were relatively simple.  Phantom was young and brash, not stupid.  He may have managed to defeat Nocturne once, but the circumstances had been vastly different.  Then, Nocturne had been gathering dream energy and assessing the potential of dreamers.  They had been spread thin, distracted.  

trapping a whole city in slumber.  

Which led to the present moment.  

As during their first encounter, the boy was far more susceptible to dream sand than even ordinary humans.  Nocturne could not recall at the moment whether or not Plasmius had fallen asleep as quickly, or if the weakness was unique to Phantom, but that hardly mattered.  What mattered was that he was working.

Where Phantom's aura fell, the Dream Wilds and all their flora and fauna became real, material, some might even say alive.  The radius of the effect was miniscule.  Nocturne could easily see beyond it, past the golden air and verdant leaves, to where the Plain of Dream was as drab and flat as ever. Phantom was not one of the great dreamers of old.  Nor, Nocturne could already tell, would the masterworks once crafted by those dreamers be making an appearance.  Phantom's conception of the Dream Wilds was too simple, too imperfect to support such complexities.

Butterflies.  Really.  

Even some of Nocturne's earlier dreamers had done better, reached further.  

And yet… the texture, the depth of color, the quality of light… Yes, with Phantom as their lantern, he would reach the ruins at the heart of the Dream Wilds, and finally claim what they had sought for so long.

Lantern in hand, they glided forward, beneath the boughs of the great trees.  

.

Danny had expected it to be dark under the trees.  It had looked dark.  Instead, every leaf, every branch, every flower, every crawling, flying, or running thing, every wisp of colored mist was illuminated by Danny’s own aura, which showed no sign of dimming.  The shadowless quality of the surroundings added to their dreaminess, another layer of unreality on top of the haze, blur, and dazzle.  

Danny slowly turned his head back towards the way they’d come from.  The way he thought they’d come from.  Already, the open Ghost Zone sky was entirely hidden from view.  They could have been walking for hours, not… not…

How long had they been walking?  Had it been hours?  He couldn’t tell.  

Danny really didn’t like this.  But he couldn’t really do anything about it.  He was in a cage, and Nocturne still had his family hostage.  Plus, moving and thinking felt like swimming through honey.  Soft, cozy, comfy honey that made him sleepy.  The way the cage swung helped with that, a gentle, lulling, rocking motion that had him drifting, distracted.  

He blinked hard, rousing back to the half-asleep state Nocturne had put him in.  Being caged was one thing.  Being totally unaware of his surroundings while caged by an enemy was something else.  

“Where are we going?” he asked.  

Nocturne said nothing.  

“Where are we going?” he repeated, adding volume in the hope that it would let his words carry more clearly.  

Nocturne looked down at him contemplatively, clearly weighing options.  Then they smiled, sly, smug, and indulgent.  “We hunt the Beast of Dreams.  A chimera with many forms and faces, it guards the way to our destination.  Three times we must face them, and three times we must gain their tokens, else even your light will not shine on our path.”

“What if we, um.”  Danny licked his lips, trying to recover the thread of his question.  His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.  “What if we can’t find them?”

Nocturne tsked at him.  “What a terrible attitude to have,” they scolded.  “It’s almost as if you don’t care about your family at all.  After all, if you are useless, so are they.”  

They stopped their glide and reached through the bars of the cage, touching Danny’s shoulder where it joined to his neck.  Normally, with his hazmat suit, it wouldn’t even be exposed, but now Danny shivered as Nocturne pushed more energy into him.  He whimpered as his aura burned ever brighter in response.  His core hummed, high and strained, but his heart beat steadily, and his breathing stayed deep and slow.

“Guide me, little lantern, little light,” whispered Nocturne.  “I seek the Beast in the guise of Falsehood, where it lairs at the Gates of Horn and Ivory.  Show me the way.”

Danny had no idea how Nocturne thought he could navigate when he had never been here before and could barely see past his own aura.  No direction seemed better or more notable than any other direction.  

Finally, his eyes landed on a group of trees practically exploding with white and purple flowers.  He twitched his fingers in their general direction.  

Nocturne withdrew their hand and started moving in that direction at once.  Danny let out a sigh as his core gradually returned to a more relaxed state.  

They were looking for 'The Beast of Dreams in the guise of Falsehood.'  What did that even mean?  What did that look like?  Some kind of animal?  Like a fox?  A snake?

"The being we go to meet is the very essence of the deception of dreams.  It is that which makes you forget that you are dreaming, that which make you think the dead are living, and the living, dead, that which calls you late to events long past, that which casts you in a thousand roles whose lines you have never learned.  It is illusion and confabulation, a fabulist beyond all others.  He speaks truth only in service to greater lies."

Danny… understood some of those words.  Maybe if was more awake, he'd know more of them.  

“Even so, within the bounds of this, our trial, he will be forced to some measure of truth.  He must set a true price for his token, when asked three times, and when that price is paid, he must hand it over.  But even such a small honesty is one it despises, and it will seek to mislead us.”

“Mhm,” said Danny.  Beast guy would lie, and lie a lot.  Not much different than dealing with Nocturne themself.  Must be a dream thing.  

His eyes drifted to the trees and flowers outside the cage.  Periodically, glossy leaves reflected his aura back at him, making him blink and wince.  The trees here were really big, most of them towering even over Nocturne.  Which made sense, if Nocturne was from here, and they had those huge butterflies to contend with.  They’d fit their scale.  It still felt weird to Danny, and didn’t help with his deepening sense of unreality.

He blinked again, and his blink must have been longer than he'd thought, because when he opened his eyes, they were no longer walking, but standing under a massive apple tree.  Its branches spread wide and hung heavy with brilliantly red fruit.  No other trees grew under its shadow.  

To either side of the trunk, set into the hedge-like mass of greenery beyond the reach of the single great apple tree, were two tall gates made of pale materials.  Flowering vines grew around them, holding them shut as effectively as any chain. 

Speaking of chains… he shifted uneasily, and listened to the soft clanking of the blankets around him.  Yeah.  They were still messed up by… whatever was going on.  It wasn’t as if Nocturne had actually explained anything, and–

Something in the tree moved.  Danny startled as he realized that something was an immense snake.  Patterned in poisonous green and red, it blended in almost-perfectly with the surrounding leaves and apples.  

Normally, he wouldn’t blink twice at a giant ghost snake.  He’d fought more than his fair share of them.  Cobras, boas, vipers, rattlesnakes, you name it.  But this ghost radiated power far beyond that of a normal animal ghost, and he felt himself shrinking down among the pillows and blankets in an attempt to hide.  

He knew it wouldn’t work.  He was glowing too brightly.  

“Nocturne,” said the snake without moving his mouth.  His was deep and smooth, and reminded Danny of Vlad and, oddly, Clockwork.  “What an unexpected pleasure!”  It extended its head down, beyond the lower branches of the tree, as if in greeting.  “I see you have a new lantern with which to light your way.  I wish you good fortune on your journey, and hope you gain everything you seek.”

Danny winced at the use of the word ‘wish,’ but Desiree didn’t immediately jump out of the bushes, so he forced himself to refocus on the conversation in front of him.  

“Falsehood,” said Nocturne, “I come for your token.  What price have you set for it?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend?  It has been so long since your last visit, and you have not even thought to introduce your new friend.”  The snake lowered itself partially to the ground, the end of his tail still hidden in the trees, and began to circle Danny and Nocturne.  “He looks delectable.  I would love to just gobble him up.  That’s a joke, dear.”  It twisted to look more fully at Nocturne.  “I would never dispute your ownership of anything, after all.  Much less the light you steer by.”

“Enough,” said Nocturne.  “What price have you set for your token, that I might move forward?”

The snake shook his head.  "Moving forward, my dear?  Is that what you call this?  I must congratulate you indeed.  And in such a timely manner, too, for just the other night, another lantern-bearer came by, and took for herself the last of my to–"

"What must we pay to receive your token?"

"You won’t let me have even the smallest morsel of fun," complained the snake. "Your mother taught you no manners.  But very well.”  It turned away from both of them, somehow conveying the sentiment of sulking despite its body being a tube.  “In exchange for my token, I require either a thing that is both true and false at once, one lie that will become true, or one truth that will become a lie.”

"Any one?" asked Nocturne suspiciously. 

"The merchant cares not if you pay in gold or silver, only that he is paid."

"I want an answer, not a riddle."

"That is my sister's domain, not mine."

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny.  “Just do it.  If he doesn’t give you anything, then you know he lied.”

“Stupid child.  What do you think he means by ‘will become?’  So long as even a fraction of this place is held in reality, he has the power to make it so, and his games are far worse than those of the jinn you play with.”

“I know the rules as well as you, if not better,” protested the snake.  “I would not break them.”

“You would if you could.”

“I will not break them, then.  It is the same.  If you do not, perhaps I will assume you did come just to visit.  There are so many things you have missed when you were away, dearest.  It breaks my heart.”

“I doubt that.  This place is an abandoned ruin, the merest shadow of what it was.”

“And many places are, since the reign of the Pariah,” said the snake, mildly.  “Yet, even so, you have come here, dreamer in hand.  Do you imagine that everything is where you left it, even as you say that this place has fallen?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.”

Nocturne shook their head.  “I will not listen to your lies.  You won’t trick me.  Not again.”  They hung Danny’s cage on one of the lower branches and started to pace, hands behind their back.  

The snake sighed, and, to Danny’s alarm, wound around the branch he was suspended from to peer into the cage.  His eyes weren’t like a normal snake’s.  Instead of pupils, they had several spirals in varying shades of red, green, and black, and rotated slowly, hypnotically.  Danny found himself unable to look away, his awareness of Nocturne and, indeed, the rest of the snake fading.  

Until, that is, the snake spoke again.  

“It is just as possible for a lie to be told for a greater truth, as it is for a truth to be told for a lie.  I do not care for you, but my games, as you call them, are for the greater good of all.”

Danny blinked his eyes, which had begun to water, hard.  Crap, that was scary.  Not quite to the level of Freakshow’s staff, but scary.  The only thing that kept him from trying to find a way out right now was that even if he escaped, his family couldn’t.  He needed to stay here, stay strong, for them.  He’d already tried everything he could do on his own.  

“You will accept a statement that is both true and not in exchange for your token?”

“Yes.  Or one truth that will become false, or one falsehood that will become true.  I’m not terribly picky.”

“And you only want to hear this thing, not wipe it from my mind?”

“I don’t even have the power to do that.”

“I know for a fact you do.  You only want to hear this statement, and you will accept that as payment?”

“Oh, are you asking me three times?  It is almost as if you don’t trust me.  That’s hurtful, after our long acquaintance.”

“Will you, or will you not, accept a statement both true and false as payment?”

“I will, I will!”  The snake sniffed loudly, a sound Danny didn’t even think snakes could make…  Then again, this snake was talking, a ghost, and maybe also a dream (Danny was unclear on that point), so, really, they were already far beyond that point.  “I know you don’t consider me worthy of respect, but shouldn’t you at least respect the rites and rules?  It will go much more smoothly.  Quickly, too, if that’s something you’re after.”

Nocturne smothered a growl.  They raised a knuckle to their lips, the starry blackness of the digit standing out starkly against their mask-like face.  “Then my payment is this: the path I seek is the one that leads to the Crown and Cup of Dreams.”

The snake laughed, an odd, barking noise.  “And you say I never taught you anything.”

Nocturne opened their mouth as if to argue, expression pinched and sour, but then closed it, thoughtfully.  “You are trying to distract me.  I have given you payment.  I expect your token in return.”

The snake sighed long and heavy.  It wound its way onto a nearby branch and pointed its nose at one of the apples.  “Any of these apples may serve as my token.”

Nocturne quickly picked the apple the snake had indicated.  Then, they flew to where Danny’s cage still hung.

In Nocturne’s hand, the apple was large.  Big enough that it wouldn’t look strange if they tried to take a bite out of it.  Big enough that if it was hollowed out, Danny could fit in it comfortably.  But that wasn’t what Nocturne did.  Instead, they brought the apple to the bars of the cage, and as it passed through them, it shrunk down until it could fit easily in Danny’s hands.  

The perspective made Danny’s head swim.  It didn’t work.  But it did, and it was, and Nocturne was pressing the apple against his lips.  

“Eat,” they said.  Despite their earlier anger, that smug, teasing smile was once again bending the corners of their lips upward.  “The purpose of these tokens is to ensure the lantern can light the way.”

Danny leaned away from the apple, squinting at it.  "No," he said.  

It wasn't as if Danny's parents had ever sent him to Sunday School (the Holy Spirit was bad enough.  The Holy Ghost?  You got the picture), but Sam had always been delighted to share the darker stories, and Tucker’s parents went to church on Sunday mornings, whether Danny was staying over or not.  Plus, he did try to pay attention to literary symbolism in English, even if Mr. Lancer didn't think so.  

A snake offering apples?  Bad news. 

Maybe if Nocturne was the one being told to eat it, or if Danny's friends and family weren't on the line, he wouldn't have said anything, because screw Nocturne.  But they weren't and they were.  

"This isn't your token.  You're lying."a

The snake chuckled.  "Clever child."

Nocturne snarled and darted forward, clawed hand closing around the serpent's neck.  The edges of their form were flared out, like feathers or fur.  The apple fell down and vanished among the pillows and blankets.  

"I have paid your price.  I fulfill every requirement to walk this path, and you have no right to keep it from me!"

The serpent evaporated and reformed deep among the branches of the apple tree.  “You call me a liar, when you tell such untruths yourself!  Every right is mine, and mine alone!  Nor was I paid.”

“I gave you my statement, both true and untrue.  You will not cheat me.  Not now.”

“Did you?” asked the snake, clearly delighted by this turn of events.  

“How dare you speak of rules and respect, when you desecrate this ancient rite?  How dare you stand in my way, when I–”

“Indeed!  Who else should stand in your way?  My sisters and brothers?  All those with a greater claim to this path?”

As it turned out, despite everything, Danny had been paying attention to the whole conversation, even if he hadn’t followed all of it.  Nocturne had been sure the snake couldn’t lie if he was asked the same thing three times… so maybe he didn’t.  

“If the token is for me,” he said, slowly, “is Nocturne the one who has to pay the price, or is it me?  When you said ‘you’ earlier, you were talking to me, weren’t you?  I’m the one who needs to say one of those three things?”

The snake approached again, and Danny hastily averted his eyes.  "I like this one, Nocturne.  He reminds me of you, when you were younger, and better behaved."  He paused, significantly.  "And smarter.  Yes, little light, you are the one who must answer me, if you desire my token.  Of course if you do not…"  

Danny understood what the snake was implying, but he did, in fact, need that token.  

He really hated hostage situations.

But if what Nocturne had implied about the snake’s powers was true, maybe he could use this.  After all, nothing said the lie had to be his.

"Nocturne said they'd bring my family and friends out of their comas if I help them.  Can I give you that as the lie?"

The snake started laughing.  Danny, meanwhile, felt like his brain had been peeled out of his body and he was floating over his skin.  The persistent misty softness had converged on him, and now he was floating.  

"I had doubted before, but now I understand how it is that you were the one to defeat Pariah Dark.  Nocturne, dear, he has to be able to take the token.  I doubt keeping him like that will prevent him from vexing you, anyway."

“I can make him take it.”

“As you would.  Now–”

“You have not been this cooperative before.”

“Perhaps I simply want you gone.  You are, as I have mentioned, incredibly rude.  And ugly.  And I find what you are doing to be repugnant, as you yourself would, had you given it thought beyond your base desires.  Not that you listen to me–”

“You’re going to try to pass off something random as your token again, aren’t you?  And then you’ll claim it is because you didn’t give it to him, you cheat.”

“Me?  A cheat?  Never.  Or only at card games.  It is very difficult to play a hand when you don’t have any.”

“You aren’t even a snake.  You only look that way because of how he’s dreaming you.  But what I don’t understand is why you seem to want him awake.  You’re never this transparent.”

“Are you sure I want him awake?  Perhaps that is only what I want you to think.  Ah, and now you’re tying yourself in circles.  A shame.  Once you were good at this.  Or at least passable.  And you wonder why you couldn’t even hold the dreams of a single human city, much less the power that passes through here.”

“I am the Master of Dreams, and–”

“Only because there was no one else qualified.”

There was a long silence, and Danny felt himself drifting back to the surface of awareness.  That had been… strange.  

“Give him,” said Nocturne, their voice gravely with suppressed rage, “your token.”

Danny noticed with some alarm that the snake was wound around the cage.  When did it get so close?  Why did it get so close?  His scales flashed at him.  

“Take two,” said the snake.  

“What?”

“Take two of my scales.  Together, they make my token.”

“And… am I supposed to eat them or something?”  That… was that the right thing to ask?  Everything was still a bit floaty.  “Don’t laugh,” he said, crossly as the snake started to snicker.  It did that a lot.  “I’m serious.  You wanted me to eat the other thing.  The, um, the apple.  Are you going to make me eat these, too?”

“Take them and find out.”

Danny glanced back at Nocturne, but they didn’t make any objection this time.  Carefully and slowly, he crawled over the blankets to the bars of the cage.  Because of the way the bottom of the cage was curved and how the pillows and blankets were ever so slightly higher near the outside edge, he had to hold onto one of the bars to stay in place.  

“Any two?” he asked.

“No, the two you get by adding one and one.”

Danny glared at the snake for a moment, but quickly returned to looking at the scales.  Each one was only a little smaller across than his palm.  They glittered, and Danny blinked sleepy tears out of his eyes.  He adjusted his grip on the bars and resisted the temptation to lie down.  

He really didn't want to do this.  

"It won't hurt you?" he asked. That wasn't his main concern, but… in the moment, it was a concern.

"No more than pulling free a hair."

Depending on the hair, that could hurt quite a bit.  He reached out and grabbed a scale at random.  It slid free with surprising ease.

Most of it was green, but the edge of it was vivid red, as if it had been rolled in blood.  He tucked it quickly into the pocket at his breast, and reached for the next scale.  This one was green all over, a smooth gradient from one side to the other.  

He let go of the bar and slid back into the cozy nest in the center of the cage as if guided by an outside force.  Even without Nocturne’s intervention, the blankets and pillows tucked themselves in around him.  If anything, he felt even more secure than before, only head and hands free.  

But he was sitting there, holding the scales, one in each hand.  

In dreams, occasionally a dreamer is seized by knowledge or need apropos of nothing.  They know that this is their grandmother's house, even though it's obviously the grocery store.  They know they must hold the cards with only their left hand, or otherwise they'll lose, never mind what game they're playing.  Sometimes, too, the dreamer simply acts.  The impetus for their actions obscure, not originating from their own thoughts.  Jumping from cars, yelling, fighting, eating, smoking, cheating on tests, being unable to stop.  

Danny, not thinking about anything in particular, raised the scales to his eyes.  They sunk into his skin without a trace.  

At first, he rubbed his skin and eyes furiously, hoping to find a way to peel them off, but then… 

He saw.  

He could see.  

Before, it had been difficult to keep his eyes open, impossible to see past his own aura, but now everything looked so clear, from the leaves, to the apples, to the grass, to the gates and the ruins beyond them.  

"You see, now," said the snake, kindly.  "The purpose of my token is to shield your eyes, so you can see.  And, I suppose, better guide the one that carries you.  Before, you burned too brightly for your own good, but now…"  

Danny nodded as the snake spoke.  Vaguely, he felt as if he shouldn't agree with him, but what he was saying made sense.  He did see better.  He saw more.  

Most things were still misty, out of the corners of his eyes, but directly in front of them, they were clear and crisp.  Sharp.  Well defined.  

He could even see the path on the forest floor, where it ran underneath them and to one of the pale gates - which didn't look nearly as overgrown as he had originally thought.  

(There was something very wrong with that thought, with all these thoughts.  But this thought, in turn, slipped away and disappeared.)

“Which way, child?” asked Nocturne.  “We have wasted enough time here.”

Danny’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, so he pointed instead.  It was strange that Nocturne could not see the path.  Nocturne walked that way, lantern in hand.  And when had he picked the cage back up?  Danny was missing something.

“Nocturne,” called the snake.  “I meant what I said.”

“About what?”

“All of it.  Give my sister-self my regards.”

[lorei-writes]

My Dear Rag Doll

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Action ~2.4k

What was supposed to be a one-shot became a two-shot <3 My Dear Rag Doll is written to reflect the events as Chevalier would experience them -- I, Your Rag Doll is dedicated to that known to Esther.

Content Warnings: blood, violence

Chevalier stood up. He let his gaze sweep over the room again, although he did not think it likely that he had omitted anything. The dim light of the garden lanterns seeped inside, curtains stationed by the windows permitting its passage rather indifferently. Yet to be drawn shut for the night – or was it a “still” instead? – they billowed lightly with each gust, the sweetly bloody scent lifting from the ground…

The door to the foreign affair’s faction office cracked open with a knock, a silver tea cart merrily rattling inside, assisted by the metallic cackle of a chatelaine. A linen petticoat rustled underneath a woollen skirt, followed by a few sharp steps. Boots; low heel. Too light to belong to a maid. Crockery trembled as wheels trespassed over the carpet edge, shaken cups and plates muttering out their complaints, little spoons and forks plinking quietly. The tea was poured, liquid churning to then settle within porcelain bounds.

“Duplicate,” Chevalier spoke, eyes set firmly on the document underneath his pen. Imports, exports, actualisation to the pre-existing trading rights… Black ink lay in waiting, the thinnest trail of it stretching down the length of the nib – with one flick of his wrist, a signature appeared. Another page was summoned, indifferent towards the cart and its contents.

“No milk or sugar, as always,” Esther replied. She set the cup in front of him, the saucer near intruding on paper. “It’s… time for a break. Isn’t it?”

The beverage that went down his throat was subtly bitter, much unlike the timid smile curled up in the corners of Esther’s lips. Against all common sense and etiquette, she turned her back towards him unprompted and marched towards the sofa where she sat down, wrapping the cup tightly in her grip to seek out its warmth. Esther lowered her head and Chevalier watched on, not entirely understanding why yet not questioning it either. It was pointless to remember, even if retaining the events in perfect detail was not a voluntary act. Regardless, Esther corrected her posture and that too could not evade him. Her nose scrunched up and freckles rode up its bridge, a content murmur gurgling in her throat, eternally surprised by the smallest of things. Her nails tapped against the cup.

“Do gardeners drive away the birds?”

Pen in one hand and a piece of pastry in the other, Chevalier lowered his eyes to the papers in front of him. To engage with her chirping would be wasteful, he surmised, however —

“I’ve seen nightingales in the rose gardens. Their mating season is just around the corner… It’d be terrible if they settled here and were chased out of their nests.”

— he did not ignore her as completely as not to hear her either.

The registry closed with a soft thud, the tea cart rattling up a hiss as Chevalier set the volume between the plates. Her eyes latched onto him, although needlessly so. He had no intention to allow her to read him nor would he reveal the obvious.

“Familiarise yourself with the reports for the second quarter of last year by tomorrow.”

A smirk crept over his face at her shock. Esther forced herself to swallow; were she not as towheaded as she was, he’d expect her to go white on the spot. “What are they on?”

She mustn’t have expected an answer – a skittish ferret, she reached for the registry before even completing her inquiry, her lips quivering when presented with rows upon rows of numbers. “Volume of imported and exported items?” she murmured to herself.

“Indeed. Goods that passed through customs in Croix.”

“By tomorrow?”

“Provided you continue being resolved to become a suitable assistant. Otherwise you may return the dishes.”

“I will do it. I only don’t understand why tomorrow.” Esther clutched the book to her chest, as if his mere scoff could steal it away from her. “Is somebody expected to come? A merchant delegation?”

“In that vein.” Perhaps he was feeling generous.

The brief intermission came to a natural end, and so the work continued onwards as if it had never been interrupted to begin with. Petitions, reports, drafting and redrafting ordinances, still ongoing budget disputes, the idle stream of legislations occupied Chevalier’s attention until well into the afternoon. The pen dipped into the inkpot with a sense of finality, the last line of crisp letters emerging over the white. The doorknob remained unmoved. A sneer twisted his lips.

Chevalier pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. He glanced through the window, a nightingale speeding past it to then dive into the rose bushes right by the wall, early buds shivering politely at this intrusion. It hardly occupied his mind, however, his legs already carrying him away from the office and towards the library. For the first time in a while, Chevalier expected not to have any company. He could not mind.

The delegation from the Merchant Guild of Croix arrived shortly before the nightfall. Little different from a caravan, it consisted not merely of business representatives, but also of wagons filled to the very brim with ware samples, mountain worth of a variety of finely weighted silks and other muslins towering above hills of perfume, foreign-made cheeses, alcohol, exotic fruit, medicinal herbs, and… powder, although not one employed for the sake of personal vanity. Rather, mixed with specific compounds to produce different colours, it was meant to provide a soaring, uproarious kind of entertainment, or so it was presented as. The validity of said claim was yet to be determined, as not even Clavis who welcomed the guests seemed to be as curious as to deny them rest. Horses were led to stables, the merchandise – to an empty warehouse, the corridors of the palace quieting down hardly a moment after the initial influx of noise.

Just as Chevalier had foreseen.

All except for one thing.

Given the late hour, the residential wing of the palace was suitably silent, fading echoes of snores and drowsy murmurs just barely slipping through the gaps in the door frames lining the wall. Each a drop in the mizzling sound, they hardly existed when compared to the churning thunder of a footfall petrifying the corridor. Chevalier marched onwards, so very quietly loud, as if his presence itself was enough of a threat to warrant caution, the entire rank of portraits straightening in their honourable frames as he passed them by. Objectively, he did nothing of substance and nothing was amiss. The day was merely supposed to end, for another one of its kind to replace it come morning. And it would happen so without any disturbance. It would, was it not for the chilly evening breeze and the creaking hinge. Chevalier stood still, the familiar door behaving in the most unfamiliar of ways. It beckoned him closer, closer still, its shrill unpleasant voice the most alluring of songs…

Chevalier stepped into Esther’s room.

The window rattled, a newly unleashed draught pulling at what remained of the broken pane. The duvet was on the floor, as were the registry he had lent her and the contents of her desk. Doors of the disembowelled wardrobe hung open, linen chemises and petticoats lying scattered over the room together with shirts and a skirt, as if gutted out in a hurry. Chevalier stepped over the stockings submerged in a puddle of black ink, glass shrieking under the soles of his boots. Almost mechanically, Chevalier wrapped his cloak around his arm and swept shards off the top of the dresser, to then set his book down. Drawn to the crimson, his body crouched by itself. His eyes grew colder as they searched for something he himself could not define. The not yet coagulated ferrous stench clung to his teeth, however, undeniably real among intangible conjectures. Hers, not hers… Whichever the case, Esther was not there. Not in person, not in the body. The spirit he did not believe in.

Chevalier stood up. He let his gaze sweep over the room again, although he did not think it likely that he had omitted anything. The dim light of the garden lanterns seeped inside, curtains stationed by the windows permitting its passage rather indifferently. Yet to be drawn shut for the night – or was it a “still” instead? – they billowed lightly with each gust, the sweetly bloody scent lifting from the ground…

There indeed was a “still” in the broader equation of the room, and a greater linear independence of clues.

Not hers, Chevalier was certain, although still certainly at a loss.

An explosion split the stationary air above the gardens.

A gunshot answered.

Found.

***

Whether Chevalier would make it in time was not the question of skill, but of luck – and as luck had it, the events at hand were largely aligned with his plan, irrespectively of their conclusion. It was senseless to hurry; however, his legs carried him on their own, each step rushing after the previous one as if it was all a race. Perhaps, indeed, it was.

The hallways had been changed. Buzzing with information, they now swarmed him with advice, their voice growing louder the further he was led from the garden, disinterested walls standing in his way. Shortcut, faster route, a less common path… The crumbling quiet of the snores, the yet to be disturbed somnolent gasps, still safely cocooned in their indecision and hopes of the commotion being a nothing.

Nobody else would make it in time.

Nobody could.

Chevalier took a sharp turn and entered one of the old servants’ passages, elderly floorboards bemoaning his arrival with an array of pained groans. A white flash or a phantom, he was there one moment to disappear the next – from a corridor, to a staircase, and then another one, barely a thunder, electricity zapping through air. Chevalier sought the path of least resistant, the gardens his ground. He didn’t cling to any hopes or such. The objective was, truthfully, the only thing he had.

The dewy evening enveloped him, a handful of stray lights rousing in various rooms at the second explosion, followed shortly by another one. Chevalier hadn’t answered her when she inquired about the birds. He didn’t need to now; were he to waste a word, he’d have claimed that yes, they would be driven away. As things stood, however, the gardeners would have their work cut short. Wings beat at the air as Chevalier strode past the rose bushes, buds near falling off their stems. Irrelevant, even if he could not simply cease seeing them, quit hearing the panicked chirping… Reject the faint glistening of broken glass among the gravel, omit the broken twigs and not follow in their path. A metallic screech clawed at the quiet of the night as Chevalier unsheathed his sword.

He didn’t make it in time to see her fight.

He was too late for her to still struggle.

Chevalier barely saw her at all; Esther lay on the ground, the hiked up skirt the sole sign of her ever having attempted to escape. It was her, undeniably – he could tell by the shoes. Shoes only. The brawny man straddling her hips obstructed her face.

His rush felt painfully slow.

If he could fly…

Ha.

Ridiculous.

Self-serving and unrealistic, so very ironic after decades of chasing the nightingales out.

Chavalier raised his arm as Esther’s hands fell, as limp as if made of rags and not of flesh. She was a doll with cut strings, and he too did cut – through muscle, tendons, cartilage, bone, the arms that had her strangled dropping lifelessly once separated from their owner. A life snuffed out exchanged for still boiling blood. Chevalier turned on his heel, face frozen in indifference as his boot sent the man flying to the ground. Broken teeth spilled from the assaulter’s mouth.

A scream? This, this Chevalier did need to record in his mind. Not that he needed to think about as much. He simply cut, a single merciful blow. Unprecedented mercy, given the crime, pulsing crimson like sunset escaping from the neck made lighter by the weight of the head. That should have been enough, and indeed, it was. By any measure, it was. Yet he still stepped forward and still swung his leg, and the bushes still trembled as something fell in and through them, another bony shard falling from its mouth. Brutality frigidly embraced, Chevalier looked towards Esther, or what remained of her. He slashed at the air, wiped the blade clean with a handkerchief to then return it to its sheathe. The fabric fell to the ground, together with his ruined gloves.

All that was left was to leave.

He wanted to.

He did begin to.

Yet he stayed to look.

At first, it was hardly there, so easy to be overlooked. Chevalier watched, the witness to the shallowest of breaths, followed by another and another one. Esther coughed. He should have assessed her then and there. He should have, but he merely stood and took in her sight. With lips more redder rather than purple, Esther shakily heaved onto her side. She coughed, coughed, coughed, her entire body trembling as she turned her head from side to side, unfocused eyes opened wide. Hands clutching at the moist grass for stability, she searched for something, just barely drawing in short gulps of air. Chevalier did not move any closer. He —

Hair was stuck to her face when Esther found him. It was brownish red, just as her clothes, and utterly soaked. Vivid where still wet, it marked her pale eyelashes, brows, clung to her bruised neck and slipped behind her collar. She was painted whole, entirely in his colours, defiled down to her fingertips. He had done that. He —

It was her, in that moment, who looked him in the eyes. Esther. Duplicate… Rag Doll that came back to life. Panic was swallowed by the darkness of her eyes, circulation returning to white knuckles as she entrusted him with a faint, fragile, smile. Chevalier took a step forward. Esther collapsed onto the ground, breathing, still breathing even if battered, and alive.

Everything had been said and done by the time the crowd gathered. Scarlet to scarlet, Chevalier walked past ashen faces with Esther in his arms, eyes set on the furrowed brow of his younger brother.

“Clean this up. I’m taking three of your maids.”

Clavis did not say a word as Chevalier resumed walking, stained cloak billowing slightly over the chilly evening breeze.

***

The morning came sooner than expected, although it was still hardly soon enough. Unable to sleep a wink, Clavis strode into Chevalier’s room. His brother wasn’t there, however.

Seated in the bed and wrapped tightly in the duvet, Esther looked up at Clavis, black-purple bruises clutching her neck.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice grating at his ears like pumice. “I’m sorry.”

He was as well.

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[arathain]

Gift of Oblivion

Five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-three

The Mason watched from the Perch's unfinished tower as the little light flittered around the great stone bridge, gradually creating a perfect facsimile of ruination. In the afternoon light, the arches of the bridge cast shadows onto the walkway proper, leading up to the great hole, an artificial equivalent of Bonesburrow's natural location, that was Luxintrus's home. The Mason's old heart, ever more a cage than container, sank once more as they looked at the black mist that enveloped their very hands and face, pain welling as the eternal innocence below gathered yet another bucket of river water. As it should. Standing up, the Mason went back to their work, further erecting the decorational tower to overlook their grave's surroundings.

'Perhaps, one day, another will give them the love in kind they so deserve.' A cold murmur escaped the lifeless lips.

Between three thousand five hundred and three thousand eight hundred and fifteen

The lonely shadow looked over at the sleeping child, night falling on the lifeless lands around them. It has been months since the last incident - while their memory took a toll each time, it was an understandable price for the mind to take. Putting away the wooden training swords, the Mason tidied the little light's drab blankets, and dimmed the lantern that lit up the cliffside cave. Looking at the stars above, the all-too-old yet all-too-young idiot sage was too tired to pray for forgiveness, especially given knowing none would grant it. No, it was the Mason's burden, and theirs alone, to leave their voice, those hues that once illuminated their life so, behind. He looked over once more, at the tiny, radiant being.

'Do you see who I want to be for you, or who I am?'

The Mason scoffed.

'As if you wouldn't run away the second you found out. As you should.'

The Mason looked at their lifeless hands, as if waiting for the first cracks to show in the brickwork.

Twelve-Eight-Elevens

The Mason briefly panicked as the fire under the makeshift metal bowl roared, quickly raising the pot so as not overcook the ingredients. The makeshift 'house', made of great, perfect blocks of stone, contained the covered wound and the woundless light, protecting them from the wind and rain outside. Turning from the campfire, they turned to look at little Lux, rummaging through their belongings. A mixture of tired and cautious words exit their mouth.

'What are you looking for?'

Luxintrus looked back at him, an innocent expression on their face.

'Just looking through your stuff, mister.' She raised a cold, volcanic-glass knife, the Mason's eyes widening, if they could. 'I found this thing in your bags, what do-'

She suddenly stopped, her eyes slowly widening as the Mason approached, defeatedly. The little light screamed and bent over, staring at the approaching figure in overwhelming fear. The Mason grabbed the fleeing moth, taking the knife out of their hand. Before they could scream again, the knife stabbed firmly, once, extinguishing the little light, who would awaken in an hour or two, memoryless. Crushing the knife in their palm, the Mason went back to the stew.

'Three days.'

The Mason sat, alone, wandering in agony through the cold depths of their own existence. As they should.

Zero

The Wheel-Bearer entered the room, white fire burning as their comrades descended onto the town. Quickly evading the fumbled attack of their opponent, they pierced them through the chest with their stone greatsword, and then used it to stab the other, charging at them with a knife. Sword plunging through the ground, thousands of spikes pierced the two lifeless, but soon-to-live bodies, dragging them into the ground for an eternity of imprisonment, until the cold flames consume them all. Going further into the house, the Mason extracted another sword out of the stone ground as a small child approached them. Puzzled, the fool sage paused.

The little light beamed a smile at the murderer in front, both hands extending a cloth doll, vaguely resembling a wizard. They were blissfully unaware of the two dead in the room next door, or the blood on the Mason's hands, embracing the figure in front of them with earnest, blind love.

After a second, an hour, a century, the Mason fell to their knees, legs giving in under the burden of the Wheel. Screaming, they stabbed their sword into their head, black liquid flowing out and enveloping their body. As the child walked forward, it saw behind the crouched, ink-black mess, and the twin figure that slowly sunk into the earth before them. Eyes widening, they looked back at the inky figure that moments ago was but yet another friend, their fading hair now turned completely white, just as the fires that crept along the floor. Before they could react, however, the tiny being was snatched by the bitter, inky shadow, passing out from shock as the dark figure leapt from street to street, disappearing into the fiery night. As he should.

Five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-four

The shackled hands close upon the diary, returning the article back to the shelf it rightfully belongs to. A sharp, roiling sneer forms upon the dark, transparent face, savouring the tranquility of it all. 'Well, or so the stories say.'

[cloudyswritings]

Holidays of Hallownest

So I just saw an absolutely gorgeous art piece by @mebis-art-dump which in addition to be being completely fantastic(please check them out) also asked about what holidays Hallownest would practice. It really got me thinking.

Wyrmalia: Basically just a Saturnalia expy name wise but actually is pretty far diverged in practice. This is a holiday celebrating the death and the Wyrm and the rebirth of the king. During this holiday bugs swap out their masks for different ones and hold a small funeral for the previous owner of the mask they’re wearing. Generally the masks worn are those which belonged to dead family members. It’s thought by wearing their masks it gives them some semblance of life for a single day. During this time the mask wearer takes on the identity of their mask in full. It’s a celebration of past lives and accomplishments while also being a way to symbolically lay ghosts to rest.

The Festival of Lights: A celebration of the bright gods and higher beings of Hallownest. Pale lanterns are released into the city of tears to drift until the festival ends. Generally the festival lasts the equivalent of a week in our time. The King and Queen would generally make an appearance in the city and from there go on tour throughout Hallownest during this festival. It’s customary to burn small offerings to whatever higher being you follow in addition to the traditional sacrifices given to the king(generally some sort of live non sentient bug-some bugs believed a more vicious sacrifice like aspids or in rare circumstances garapedes would gain the kings favor.). During the festival most bugs would swap out their cloaks and clothing for brighter colors, and the upper class would generally wear pale cloaks.

Rootsday: A day celebrating the bountiful harvest the White Ladys boon provides. This is effectively thanksgiving and the feasts would generally last the entire day, with preparations being done in the weeks leading up to it. Unn actually benefits from some of the worship from this holiday as well. She was worshiped by many of the farmers of Hallownest in addition to the pale lights. Stuffed gruzzers and boiled gulka are staple foods of this holiday.

Dawnsday: Nearly completely erased by the Pale king in his effort to kill the radiance only a few faithful moths even remember this holiday. Those who do make a pilgrimage to the crown of Hallownest at dawn(or dusk) to worship at the last shrine to the old light. It’s said this holiday was originally a day where dreams and reality mixed and one’s wildest fantasies could come true, now it’s merely a way to keep the Radiance alive.

The Day of Sealing/Day of mourning: This holiday only came to exist after Hollow was sealed. All bugs in the kingdom wore black or pale white cloaks and went about the entirety of their day in silence. Not many bugs really knew what the holiday was for beyond paying their respects to the Hollow Knight and dreamers who had saved them from the infection. Silent prayer sessions for the Dreamers and Knight were held at the black egg temple. This holiday actually served as a supplemental means of strengthening the seals and prevent the dreamers from dying, the residual power of these prayers is what elevated Hollow to godhood and allowed the dreamers to persist past the fall of Hallownest. This holiday largely ceased to exist once the infection returned.

Deepnest has its own holidays too, but I think I’ll probably make a separate post for them and for greenpath and maybe dirtmouth.

Happy holidays y’all!!

[wallflowrence]

I Like to think that when Barbatos and Morax got better acquainted they'd get into long and winding arguments (unironically or not) ranging from the pettiest things to debating and discussing great philosophical questions

even funnier if you consider the vastness of their power: there are several instances of terraformation due to conflict within the gods/death of gods/etc. (they have direct impacts on the environment, intentional or otherwise) it would not be surprising if an altering of their surroundings occurred because an argument got too heated

Gods in genshin are so funny theres this sort of humanistic quality to them but there's still an obvious even if slight (at the very least) detachment from human society - they would definitely chop off the head of a mountain to prove a point. Cannot wait to see them interacting live ... so excited for lantern rite

Their voicelines give "old friends/old married couple who Bicker a lot and act sick of each other #Some Times" and im sure they have many disagreements (they're character foils if you think about it) but they obviously respect each other and their opinions immensely . They're very much Opposite but they're also some of the most similar characters we know of

Their ideals represent a system for a stable society when combined. Venti is someone who represents freedom, the right to the people's self determination, while Zhongli is the god of contracts, whose ideal is order. At their most radical (freedom to an extremity = chaos, order at its extremity is instead far too imposing) both can lead to an undesired or even the opposite outcome: if nothing was ever enforced and people were to do just as they pleased, there exists no system for control and protection over the natural rights of anybody. On the other hand, an overarching presence of authority and control might lead to feelings of anxiety and animosity within the population, and if whoever is leading is left unchecked as well, may lead to the infringement of natural rights (contracts are not always inherently correct or just, nor are they always enforced properly)...if the slightest feeling that an authority is too controlling, it will lead to a disruption of order (rebellion) - and if a way to amend contracts or judge them does not exist, then the society that is lacking such a method is objectively unjust.

So obviously there would have to be some sort of balance between the two to keep things Fair and the people Happy and the state of all things, for the most part, stable. Stability is security. Both of them do understand the importance of the other and know things are not so black and white. They just went about it in different ways. Venti established his ideals regarding freedom in the hearts and the culture of Mond - while he does not enforce anything directly, he made sure to make them understand that not only are they entitled to freedom, but others are as well, and that they should go about it in a righteous manner. And if there is a situation in which these freedoms are being attacked, he does interfere. He comes to the aid of his people when the situation requires it

Rex Lapis passed down his ideals onto his people as well but had a more direct, overt presence in his nation than Venti did. He (and Guizhong) laid down the foundations for Liyuean society, creates systems of regulation (e.g., mora, legal system - like with what we see with yanfei) And while he does prioritise contracts, zhongli understands the importance of freedom (self determination) and justice. Like with xiao !! Not only did he liberate him (I think that comes with having to defeat his previous master) but he bestowed upon him a name, and allowed xiao, who wanted to pay back his gratitude to Rex Lapis in the form of service, to join him on his cause. Even before Zhongli's resignation as Liyue's archon he still recognised xiao's freedom to determine how he would live his life from that point moving forward. Xiao just acts out of obligation because it's first nature for him (in reference to the chasm interlude quest). That and his decision to depart and become a member of normal human society... at some point he realised that these people could probably function fine on their own. Venti just realised that much earlier. Zhongli did the same as soon as he felt that everything would be secure .. from what we know of Liyue during the archon war, Zhongli and his people were much more involved in direct conflict with other nations than Mond was (so it makes sense why it'd take longer)

The both of them are very much complementary forces. I could go on about this for pages upon pages but those are just my thoughts on this Particular evening. Who knows maybe we'll get something like that with fontaine and natlan / natlan and snezhnaya (opposites!!) I wouldn't be surprised. I'm not exactly expecting it but It is something the writers seem like they'd do

My history teacher recently did a lecture about the enlightenment + enlightenment thinkers/theory and we just finished renaissance (so I've been interacting with a lot regarding political structures/social ideas) so it got me thinking about geopolitical systems in genshin even more it really is so fascinating . The new black panther movie presents a really interesting take on these sorts of topics as well while incorporating several other purposes/themes, and it does a splendid job in my opinion I would recommend it. It's very well thought out. but ya . errgghrhr I hope this was interesting if you made it to the end. venti and zhongli are so great and a lot of their character is still yet to be explored so !!!!! amazing. I apologise in advance for the Person I will become once venti's 2nd story quest comes out (and/or further story arcs regarding their characters) you will never hear me shut up . sorry for how this is formatted and written. I Hate it but I csnt bring myself to get it all proper I'm so sleepy

[nutcasewithaknife]

Saw yet another post that reduced Lan Wangji's entire character to Wei Wuxian’s existence, so I'm screaming here again. So many people talk about him like he doesn't give a damn about what's right outside of WWX caring about it. Like he cares about fairness and justice only because Wei Ying does, so he must too, because otherwise Wei Ying would be upset. It's literally the opposite! Lwj may have been horny at first sight for wwx, but he fell in love only when he saw the side of him that wanted to fight for justice and righteousness, to protect those who needed it. Look at Lan Wangji's face when they're releasing the lanterns at Gusu, and Wei Wuxian makes his resolution. Look at him and tell me its not the face of a someone falling in love.

Why does he go around helping those in need after Wei Wuxian is gone? 'because Wei Ying would have wanted it' is not the answer, at least not a complete one. Maybe he would never be able to face Wei Ying if he didn't try to fight for what's right. But its also the fact that he failed to do it before, he failed and it ended with Wei Ying jumping off a cliff. He is a man who fought a war on the side of righteousness only to realise way too late that it was rotten from the inside. Losing wwx is a huge blow not just because the man he loved is dead, but because wwx put everything at stake, including his life, trying to uphold the pact they made to be truly righteous at any cost, while lwj could barely do anything for it.

Lan Wangji was always so strict about the rules not because he doesn't know any better or because he was a teacher's pet or whatever. It's because he believes they're necessary for justice and righteousness! His entire arc is about his experiences forcing him to reexamine the rules that have dictated his life and the world he has lived in, and see if they are truly for good. It's him realizing those rules are not as black and white as he'd thought, coming to terms with the complexities of what is right and wrong. It's him realising how unfair and broken his world can be despite or even because of these rules, and deciding he will not be able to live with himself without doing something, however little, about it. How can you just ignore all of that!!!

[darkroguescribe]

Hitsuhina Week 2023 - Day 3: Shinigami/ AU

Rating: K

Summary: Set in the Machine Society AU. Police Lieutenant Hinamori has to attend a gala hosted by the Executive Committee where she runs into Toshiro who works for the Vigilance Committee.

AN: The AU originally came from Brave Souls. I took some ideas from my WIP that can be found on AO3. I think of this almost like a mini sequel since it references some events that I have planned for that story.

--------------------------

Gilded carriages bearing the crests of the most influential in the Machine Society lined the entrance to the capital building. Momo looked out the window of her own carriage, waiting for the line to move. She’d never set foot inside the grand building before. Large fire basins sat atop the massive marble pillars casting light across the front garden filled with floating lanterns casting the spring flowers in a light amber glow. It looked almost like a scene from a fairy tale.

Siting back in her seat, she adjusted the front of her coat and then began to nervously play with the ends of the red sash tied around her waist. The occasion had required full dress uniform and Momo hadn’t worn anything this elegant before. The uniform consisted of a long black coat edged with golden laurel leaves embroidered on the edges and cuffs and a high collar bearing the Lilly of the Valley that marked her rank as a lieutenant. The black waistcoat had gold trim and the red sash at her waist was tied with the knot on her right side. The black leather belt she wore over the sash carried no weapons and she felt empty without anything at her side. White trousers and knee-high black riding boots completed the ensemble.

Momo shifted uncomfortably as the carriages moved up. She’d rather be anywhere but here. Politicians and aristocrats were among her least favorite people to deal with and now she had to socialize with them for an entire night. At least she knew there would be others from her department in attendance. Police Commander Kyoraku was going to be there, along with Lieutenant Ise who would probably be watering down his drinks so as not to make a fool of himself in front of the heads of state. But besides them, she didn’t know anyone else.

The Vigilance Committee would be there, but whether Toshiro and his team would be in attendance was questionable. Toshiro had told her that the secrecy of his work meant that few even knew the team existed, let alone the role they played in ensuring the everyday safety of the whole of the Machine Society. She didn’t think it was fair, especially after seeing how they had dealt with the murderous support bot crisis, and how they took down the Phantom Thieves. And no one would ever know the truth of any of it.

The carriage jolted a bit as it rolled up once more and stopped at the main drive. The footman who opened the door was a copper plated support bot. The metal work of the body made it look almost human; two arms and two legs, all finely detailed with interrogate gold patterns welded to make it look like it wore a servant’s suit. Momo stepped out, ignoring the bot’s extended hand, too nervous to focus on anything but not falling flat on her face. Her fingers twitched at her side, unsure of what to do with her hands as she looked around at all the finery surrounding her. She swallowed thickly and adjusted her waistcoat, smoothing it out before she began walking up the mall towards the imposing building before her all while surveying the grounds and guests that she passed. Men were dressed either in uniform or their finest bespoke suits while majority of the women wore colorful gowns of the latest fashion. She only saw a handful of women like her in dress uniform, and most of them were well known figures in the military and Vigilance Committee. Colored sashes and pins of office adorned almost all the guests. She spied a few who even wore the Golden Chrysanthemum; the highest Medal of Honor awarded only to those who committed great acts of heroism in defense of the Machine Society.

To say Momo felt out of place would be an understatement. As she climbed the steps and entered the building, she caught sight of the entourage that were accompanying the noble Kuchiki clan, evident by the family crest that patterned the gold sashes they all wore. She ducked her head as she quickly put as much space between her and them as she could. She didn’t belong here. Why had she been invited in the first place? With her head down, she could barely see where she was going, let alone who was in front of her as she scurried to find a place to hide until it was all over. Make herself small, be invisible; then perhaps she wouldn’t be noticed when the host made his rounds of the guests. The thought of meeting the Chairman of the Machine Society made her legs threaten to give out right under her as she finally found a spot in a corner next to a massive pot of greenery to stop. The large leaves could partially hide her from sight while still giving her a pretty good view of the people milling about and mingling around the main floor that overlooked the large ballroom.

Leaning back against the wall, she caught her breath as she took in her surroundings. Standing tables were lining the walls, with small groups of people exchanging pleasantries and gossip. Below, she could make out tables that were being held for the Shiba clan, guarded by retainers bearing the family crest, and keeping onlookers back as if the head of the clan was actually seated at the table. Momo looked away and watched the dancing taking place on the ballroom floor. The fluid movements, and turns had her sighing as she watched. For once, she wished she’d taken dance lessons instead of spending so much time preparing to join the police force. It was beautiful to watch the people dance. The flowing dresses the women wore, and the chivalrous way the men would bow and take their hands; it reminded her of the fairy tales she’d read as a child.

“You look terrible.”

Momo jumped at the voice, and turned sharply to her left in the direction of the voice. Her hand instinctively went to where her side arm was usually strapped, but faltered when her hand landed on nothing, and her eyes locked with the familiar turquoise eyes of her best friend. “Toshiro? I thought you couldn’t come to these things.”

He was dressed similarly to her but with variations that marked his affiliation with the Vigilance Committee. His coat was white with silver trim and the emblem on the collar was a silver daffodil. A silver four pronged star was pinned the left breast of the coat with the black cross of the Vigilance Committee engraved in its center. His white waistcoat was trimmed with dark green accents over a black shirt and cravat, fastened with the bronze brooch he usually wore. A dark green sash was tied around his waist over white trousers and tall black boots.

Toshiro sighed and moved to lean against the wall with her. “Commander Ukitake ordered some of us to come.” He explained, pointing down towards the ballroom floor where the commander of the Vigilance Committee could be seen seated with his two attendants standing at attention behind him as he conversed with a representative from the Machine Bureau. “We’re here to petition for more funding. More resources for research, and more personnel.”

“So, you’re here with…”

He shook his head, “No one you’d know,” He said. “My team isn’t the only special advanced task force in operation across the Machine Society.”

“I see…” She didn’t press him for more information. He likely wouldn’t tell her much anyway.

Toshiro arched his brow as he looked her over. “You really do look terrible, you know,” He said. “You look like you expect someone to try and kill you. You’re tense, uncomfortable, and you have a hunch in your back.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Clearly your observation skills are unmatched.”

“You aren’t making it difficult to notice,” He said. “Hiding in a corner, and I’d bet you’re just waiting for the right opportunity so you can make your escape. Just try to appear at ease. It’ll make the night go by faster.”

Momo looked at how relaxed he was just standing there, leaning on the wall with his legs crossed at the ankle and his hands folded in front of him. It was clear to her that this wasn’t the first time he’d been to this sort of function, especially as he gave a familiar nod directed at a pretty lady dressed in a blue pastel gown. The girl had blushed before hurrying past with her friends giggling, making Momo scoff. “Easy to say when you’re so clearly enjoying this,” She said.

He scoffed himself, “I’d rather be shot and stabbed than be here,” He said. “I’m just better at hiding it.”

Sighing, she leaned her head back and looked up at the high molded ceiling tiles. This place was a strange mix of old and modern with gold filigree inlayed in the walls and tiles and the old chandelier that had been fitted with electric bulbs that were bright enough to cover every corner of the grand room. Not even the alcoves with their statues of the great founders and inventors of their society had an ounce of darkness to them. “How many of these have you been to?” Momo asked after a moment.

“Three,” He said.

“Are they all more or less the same?”

He shrugged, “I guess,” He said, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve never been asked to wear my uniform to one of these things before.” Momo turned to look at him. His eyes were casually moving around the various groups walking around. Occasionally she noticed eyes looking over towards them, and his response was to stand a little taller before the attention drifted away. “Uniforms make it harder to be inconspicuous. I don’t like my ties to the Vigilance Committee being on display,” He said in explanation.

Momo nodded and took a breath as she let her head bounce back on the wall behind her. “Tell me really; how bad would it be if we just ditched this thing?”

“Bad,” He said. “But that’s why they serve drinks.”

Her brow arched, “You don’t drink.”

Toshiro shrugged, “At these things, I do. But just enough to make it more tolerable,” He said. “Besides, how often does one get the chance to drink from the Chairman’s personal cellar?”

Shaking her head, Momo pushed off from the wall, “Well, since you’re such an expert, why don’t you show me how to survive the night?” She held out her arm towards him and he just stared at it for a moment. Instead of taking her offer though, he simply cocked his head in a gesture to follow as he began to walk towards the stairs down to the ballroom floor. With an amused smile, she followed, walking along side him.

He led her down towards one of the high tables situated on the edge of the dance floor. Almost immediately after laying claim to the table, a support bod rushed towards them and placed two glasses of dark red wine in front of them before disappearing back into the crowd. Momo looked around, and noticed that, with the exception of the couples on the dance floor, there wasn’t a single person down here that didn’t have a glass either in their hand or on the table in front of them.

“Support bots are spread rather thin everywhere else,” Toshiro said, swirling the wine in his glass before sipping at it slowly. “Down here, you never go more than a minute without a drink.”

“How’d you learn that trick?”

“Who do you think?” He asked sarcastically with a smirk on his lips.

Momo laughed, of course Rangiku would be the one to know. From what she knew about Toshiro’s lieutenant, she was terrible at paperwork, reliable in a fight, and an expert when it came to getting free drinks.

Trumpets sounded from the balconies above as a loud bang of the herald’s staff rang through the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up towards the large main staircase as the precession of the host and honored guests began. The first to walk down the stairs was the host of the gran affair; the Chairman of the Executive Committee: Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto. Well beyond his prime, the chairman was still an imposing figure to behold. The stories about him from the war, the uprisings, and restoration; he was a modern legend that inspired as much fear as awe in people. Beside him walked the Vice-Chairwoman, Retsu Unohana who was a powerhouse all on her own. The two walked down towards the ballroom floor and began making the rounds, greeting guests and holding short conversations as they went.

Behind them, the noble clans began their precession. The Kuchiki’s had a precession of thirty retainers, all dressed in black and purple finery so as not to distract from the head of the clan and his sister. Lord Byakuya Kuchiki wore a dark blue coat with gold accents and fringed epaulettes with a gold cord extending from his shoulder to his left breast jacket button. Beside him, walked his adopted sister, Rukia Kuchiki. She wore a dress of blue and white with a golden brooch of the Kuchiki family crest.

Momo heard Toshiro scoff beside her as he drank his glass of wine. “What?” She asked, glancing between him and the seven noble families that were making their way down the stairs.

“There’s always such a fanfare surrounding nobility,” He said, looking more bored than impressed.

“You could get in trouble for saying things like that,” Momo said.

He rolled his eyes and looked like he was about to say something, before his jaw clamped shut and his back straightened as Yamamoto and Unohana approached their table. Toshiro bowed respectfully at the leaders of the Machine Society and Momo did the same, feeling her legs tremble like she was going to lose her balance. A hand gripped the back of her jacket, subtly helping to keep her standing and pull her back upright. She cast her eye to her side, grateful that Toshiro had kept her from falling and making a scene.

“It’s good to see you again, Captain Hitsugaya,” Unohana greeted, casting a friendly smile towards Momo which was gladly returned. In her brief interactions with the Vice-Chairwoman, Momo had learned there was more to her than just the front she put up for the sake of her politics. She’d seen her willing to fight and put her life on the line for the Machine Society.

“Chairman, Vice-Chairwoman,” Toshiro returned, his hands folded behind his back as he spoke.

“Captain,” Yamamoto said, inclining his head respectfully towards Toshiro, then shifting his attention to Momo with a furrow in his brow that suggested he didn’t know who she was or why she was here.

Unohana fortunately saved the encounter and placed her hand on Momo’s. “I’m so glad you were able to make it tonight, Lieutenant Hinamori,” She said. “I read your report on the arrest of Nemu Kurotsuchi. To think we trusted their private security company for so long;” She shook her head, disappointed at the shortsightedness of her colleagues.

“Ah, yes,” Yamamoto said. “I recall that incident. The Vigilance Committee was none too pleased to know that they failed to see a threat that a mere police lieutenant put together in a few weeks.”

Momo bowed, “Thank you, sir,” She said.

“Her assistance has been invaluable these past few weeks, sir,” Toshiro added. “Without her insight, I doubt we would have been able to put down the most recent threat so soon.”

Yamamoto nodded, “I must say, overall I have been very impressed with your team’s work these past months. I assure you that the Executive Committee has taken note of your efforts.”

Toshiro bowed his head, “I’m honored by the Committee’s recognition,” He said. “Though I do hope an answer to the request we put in will—“

Yamamoto patted Toshiro on the shoulder, “—There’ll be time enough later to talk about transfers. For now, enjoy the festivities.” And with one final bow from her and Toshiro, the hosts departed, moving on to the next table.

With just the two of them standing at the table now, she looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. A transfer could mean any number of things. A new division, a new assignment, a new office; but it all amounted to about the same thing. He was leaving. Again. She felt her chest constrict at the mere thought of it, and so soon after they had gotten back on friendly terms too. Momo took a breath and pushed through the discomfort. Better to deal with it now than later. “You… you’re transferring?” She asked, “Are you sure you want to leave your team under Rangiku’s command?” She forced a smile as she tried to make light of it, but it felt unnatural even as the words left her mouth.

“Wh— No, that’s not—“ His lips pursed as his brow knit and he made a grunting sound as he cleared his throat. “I’m not transferring,” He said after he seemed to gather his thoughts.

“Then, wha—“

“— I requested a transfer for you,” He cut in. “If you want it, that is.” His eyes refused to meet hers as he focused his attention towards the tables that the Shiba clan were seated at.

Momo was speechless as she let his words sink in. “You… you want me?”

He sighed and scratched at the back of his neck, “I wasn’t going to tell you until I knew it would be approved, but Yamamoto…” He shook his head, “Besides, Unohana said it was almost a certainty, just… a backlog of paperwork to get through. Bureaucracy and all that.”

“But… you… want me on your team?” She had to ask again.

Toshiro took a breath and forced himself to look at her. “Everyone is rather fond of you. You’re diligent, insightful and work well under pressure. Besides, it’ll be good to have someone else who actually does their own paperwork.” The corner of his lips rose in a small smile, “So, in answer to your question; yes. I do want you on my team.”

[makoxmind]

@whiitemateria​ ; continued from here.  Wall-markets day-time was no slumbering beast tired from its rigorous nights.This was when repairs were made, cleaning crews frolicked back and forth from venues, sex workers co-ordinated and bosses hung about the corners looking for new talent or stand-ins for those who had worked perhaps a bit too hard. Older tourists (or those disinterested in drugs and fornication) came too in the daytime, many deterred by the cover of darkness and the usual tales of villainy happening in the night, and thus the cramped and crooked streets had become a spot that never slept… a machine that only ever ground to a slow. The noise that filled the air was the chatter of people haggling and the repetitive drumming of hammers and saws, the wind against sun-bleached paper lanterns and the flapping of make-shift sheet covers, but there was one noise that stood out amongst all. Down a short and narrow path (that was almost so thin one had to walk through it sideways) was a patch of dirt no bigger than the playground of the Leaf house from the neighboring sector. Like many stretches of the barren earth of the undercities, it was surrounded by the soft flitting of dead grass and walled by piles of garbage from the business before it, a bar that kept its empty canisters and discarded furniture tossed whimsically together in a ring, barring no exit but the narrow walkway that lead to the main path. In the middle of that strange circle a creature produced a sound, one inexplicitly jarring to the ears; it was a child. An ambiguously gendered being with long and knotted black hair, dressed only in a beige shirt that was once clearly white and shorts that bore the holes of constantly getting caught upon the metal teeth of the junkyard’s twisted debris. More disturbingly so was their tanned skin; it was occasionally blue-and-green, fading bruises meeting the edge of scars and scabs, a story told of another life neglected in the shadows of the upper-plate… it was not an uncommon sight. It was why places like the Leaf House existed, after all. That wailing, that painful and pitiful howling, carried over the bars roof… but none even turned their heads to acknowledge it, worker or tourist alike. What a shame…

[chocolatmocaccino]

Survivor little girl! I simply wanted to draw a little survivor xD, I'm using another program to draw on my phone and at the moment this app is more comfortable for me xD.

Little facts about my survivor: Survivor and his brother monk in my AU come from a family of Slugcat/Lantern Mouse, they are slugcats whose exact origin is not known but they live mainly in groups of lantern mice and in caves, they very rarely live in open areas, their sizes vary but there is a small percentage of large slugcats of this species so to speak, for the most part they all have small sizes.

Slugcats and lantern mice usually have bright colors to indicate to predators that they may be toxic to them (although they really are not) so colors like black or white are not well seen for slugcats because survival would be zero. and survivor has lived a long time in her pack being excluded from everyone except her brother Monk.

Survivor also suffers from failures in his own body, he does not always shine as natural, sometimes he has colors appearing randomly on his body or even parts of his body shine differently or in multiple colors (Something similar to white lizards), another reason why she was isolated from a young age due to the risk she posed to the pack.

And about Inv, she is also a survivor but from the mirror or distorted world (The Inv campaign), she is a survivor who, due to a horrible event between the timelines that, due to a being that harasses Saint, caused a survivor to exist.

in a line where he is supposed to be Saint, he kept everything under control until the entity that pursues him returned to do his misdeeds, causing a paradox with Survivor who ended up in the hands of an iterator who was experimenting with creatures to search for the triple affirmative using a void, and in one of his experiments with a machine that had created everything ended up exploding like a singularity bomb and although the iterator managed to save himself from the explosion by sending him away from the chamber where the machine was located, in it he was survivor causing a distortion in a world upside down, of There, its white color became the one we all know about Inv, having to survive from a very young age.

Clarify that that survivor appeared when she was very young, which is why she does not know the current language of the slugcats (which is evolving) so she does not know a way to communicate with her loved ones other than being a slugcat from a more primitive timeline, having behaviors based more on their instincts.Although she is a survivor, she went on to have her own identity in that world as we already know, Enot, Inv, and now that survivor is active in the real world, she has a stronger connection with it and as if she were an alter ego or a double personality, both They change places when it is necessary for one to take control, although the survivor of the real world never really goes to the distortion world, she only remains in her own body but being like an internal consciousness when she takes control of a situation where Survivor requires her or This allows you to interact.

And that would be it, too much text I know xD, take care :3!

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Jaime I (Chapter 8)

Excuse me, where is Alayne?

"Allow me to stand tonight in your stead," Ser Loras offered. "He was not your father." You did not kill him. I did. Tyrion may have loosed the crossbow bolt that slew him, but I loosed Tyrion. "Leave me."

[...]

He never said he meant to kill our father. If he had, I would have stopped him. Then I would be the kinslayer, not him.

Bad news, you'll both slay kin, only in vastly different ways.

Remember when I didn't understand this?

The height of folly was reached when a plump fool came capering out in gold-painted tin with a cloth lion's head, and chased a dwarf around the tables, whacking him over the head with a bladder. Finally King Renly demanded to know why he was beating his brother. "Why, Your Grace, I'm the Kinslayer," the fool said.

"It's Kingslayer, fool of a fool," Renly said, and the hall rang with laughter. - Catelyn II, ACOK

How funny.

Anyway, at least he realizes he's partly responsible for Tywin's murder.

+.+.+

And then he was alone again with his lord father, amongst the candles and the crystals and the sickly sweet smell of death.

Do the Daenerys fans read these books with their eyes closed?

+.+.+

Unless my brother murdered Varys too, and left his corpse to rot beneath the castle. Down there, it might be years before his bones were found. 

Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.

Tyrion hung back a moment. Varys had already betrayed him once. Who knew what game the eunuch was playing? And what better place to murder a man than down in the darkness, in a place that no one knew existed? His body might never be found. - Tyrion XI, ASOS

I don't know if this is about Varys, or the twins.

+.+.+

Jaime had led a dozen guards below, with torches and ropes and lanterns. For hours they had groped through twisting passages, narrow crawl spaces, hidden doors, secret steps, and shafts that plunged down into utter blackness. Seldom had he felt so utterly a cripple. A man takes much for granted when he has two hands. Ladders, for an instance. Even crawling did not come easy; not for nought do they speak of hands and knees. Nor could he hold a torch and climb, as others could.

Jaime's not going to be able to escape the bowels. Got it.

+.+.+

And all for naught. They found only darkness, dust, and rats. And dragons, lurking down below. 

+.+.+

He remembered the sullen orange glow of the coals in the iron dragon's mouth. The brazier warmed a chamber at the bottom of a shaft where half a dozen tunnels met. On the floor he'd found a scuffed mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen done in tiles of black and red. I know you, Kingslayer, the beast seemed to be saying. I have been here all the time, waiting for you to come to me. And it seemed to Jaime that he knew that voice, the iron tones that had once belonged to Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone.

A dragon waiting for Jaime at the bottom of the Red Keep is not helping my confusion regarding the location.

+.+.+

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. "Your Grace," Jaime had pleaded, "let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

Is that another Targaryen talent? Ensuring you're surrounded by people (Lannisters) who will betray you?

+.+.+

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."

Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen ever spoke to him. 

Then what happened? Hahahahaha.

A council! He means to call a council.

+.+.+

It was queer, but he felt no grief. Where are my tears? Where is my rage? Jaime Lannister had never lacked for rage. "Father," he told the corpse, "it was you who told me that tears were a mark of weakness in a man, so you cannot expect that I should cry for you."

If he's feeling no anger or grief, why is he so insistent on standing vigil for seven days, and seven nights?

Because Jaime Lannister cares a lot about appearance.

+.+.+

Without his beard, Pycelle looked not only old, but feeble. Shaving him was the cruelest thing Tyrion could have done, thought Jaime, who knew what it was to lose a part of yourself, the part that made you who you were. 

That right there might be more missing tongue foreshadowing.

I'm still not a believer, but I'll continue to include it.

+.+.+

"Ser Jaime, I have seen terrible things in my time," the old man said. "Wars, battles, murders most foul . . . I was a boy in Oldtown when the grey plague took half the city and three-quarters of the Citadel. Lord Hightower burned every ship in port, closed the gates, and commanded his guards to slay all those who tried to flee, be they men, women, or babes in arms. They killed him when the plague had run its course. On the very day he reopened the port, they dragged him from his horse and slit his throat, and his young son's as well. To this day the ignorant in Oldtown will spit at the sound of his name, but Quenton Hightower did what was needed. Your father was that sort of man as well. A man who did what was needed."

Well, I know one thing, we're not reading this random story for no reason.

A part of me believes Aegon won't engage with King's Landing, instead he'll go to Dorne + the Reach after the stormlands.

Jon Connington and his greyscale being near Oldtown fits with what the show tried to do with Jorah Mormont.

+.+.+

It was my work, not his, Jaime almost told her. Instead he had promised to find what answers he could from the chief undergaoler, a bentback old man named Rennifer Longwaters.

"I see you wonder, what sort of name is that?" the man had cackled when Jaime went to question him. "It is an old name, 'tis true. I am not one to boast, but there is royal blood in my veins. I am descended from a princess. My father told me the tale when I was a tad of a lad." Longwaters had not been a tad of a lad for many a year, to judge from his spotted head and the white hairs growing from his chin. "She was the fairest treasure of the Maidenvault. Lord Oakenfist the great admiral lost his heart to her, though he was married to another. She gave their son the bastard name of 'Waters' in honor of his father, and he grew to be a great knight, as did his own son, who put the 'Long' before the 'Waters' so men might know that he was not basely born himself. So I have a little dragon in me."

The mystery is solved! Daenerys, Rennifer Longwaters, and Brown Ben Plumm are the three heads of the dragon.

I understand this story gets more developed in the side books (and I am unfamiliar with it), but if you only read the above, it would be hard to not see hints of Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Jon Snow.

+.+.+

Mention that royal blood once more and I may spill some of it, thought Jaime. "Who saw these reports?"

"Certain of them went to the master of coin, others to the master of whisperers. All to the chief gaoler and the King's Justice. It has always been so in the dungeons." Longwaters scratched his nose. "Rugen was here when need be, my lord. That must be said. The black cells are little used. Before your lordship's little brother was sent down, we had Grand Maester Pycelle for a time, and before him Lord Stark the traitor. There were three others, common men, but Lord Stark gave them to the Night's Watch. I did not think it good to free those three, but the papers were in proper order. I made note of that in a report as well, you may be certain of it."

The previous master of coin is subtly mentioned, but don't think for one second that will help Jaime.

Ned sent Rorge, Biter, and Jaqen to the Night's Watch. I bet he wishes he could take that one back, hahaha.

+.+.+

"Tell me of the two gaolers who went to sleep."

"Gaolers?" Longwaters sniffed. "Those were no gaolers. They were merely turnkeys. The crown pays wages for twenty turnkeys, my lord, a full score, but during my time we have never had more than twelve. We are supposed to have six undergaolers as well, two on each level, but there are only the three."

[...]

Six prisoners, Jaime thought sourly, while we pay wages for twenty turnkeys, six undergaolers, a chief undergaoler, a gaoler, and a King's Justice.

Is Jaime going to ask himself who's collecting those wages if the positions aren't filled?

No, of course not, every dumb Lannister must have a Littlefinger blind spot. It's a prerequisite.

+.+.+

"I want to question these two turnkeys."

[...]

But, ser, if I may be so bold, I do not think them like to answer. They are dead, my lord."

Jaime frees Tyrion, and four people die for it, including his father. That's what a redemption arc looks like, right?

The three children continue to honour Tywin's legacy by always making everything worse.

+.+.+

Ser Osmund shrugged. "They won't be missed. I'll wager they was part of it, along with the one who's gone missing."

No, Jaime could have told him. Varys dosed their wine to make them sleep. 

[...]

"If I had a suspicious nature I might wonder why you were in such haste to make certain these two were never put to the question. Did you need to silence them to conceal your own part in this?"

"Us?" Kettleblack choked on that. "All we done was what the queen commanded. On my word as your Sworn Brother."

The gall to accuse others of being involved. Lol

Never change, Jaime Lannister.

+.+.+

The sun had set for good and all. The stench of death was growing stronger, despite the scented candles. The smell reminded Jaime Lannister of the pass below the Golden Tooth, where he had won a glorious victory in the first days of the war. On the morning after the battle, the crows had feasted on victors and vanquished alike, as once they had feasted on Rhaegar Targaryen after the Trident. How much can a crown be worth, when a crow can dine upon a king?

Everyone sit back and enjoy the thought of birds eating Rhaegar Targaryen.

A crow dining upon a king, eh? Is that Castle Black mutiny foreshadowing or Bloodraven vs. Bran foreshadowing?

+.+.+

There were crows circling the seven towers and great dome of Baelor's Sept even now, Jaime suspected, their black wings beating against the night air as they searched for a way inside. Every crow in the Seven Kingdoms should pay homage to you, Father. From Castamere to the Blackwater, you fed them well.

Are you sure they're not eagles?

+.+.+

A woman stood before him.

It is raining again, he thought when he saw how wet she was. The water was trickling down her cloak to puddle round her feet. How did she get here? I never heard her enter. She was dressed like a tavern wench in a heavy roughspun cloak, badly dyed in mottled browns and fraying at the hem. A hood concealed her face, but he could see the candles dancing in the green pools of her eyes, and when she moved he knew her.

"Cersei." He spoke slowly, like a man waking from a dream, still wondering where he was. "What hour is it?"

"The hour of the wolf." His sister lowered her hood, and made a face. "The drowned wolf, perhaps." She smiled for him, so sweetly. 

Look, a hooded drowned wolf is visiting Jaime!

Run, bitch.

+.+.+

"Jaime, Kevan has refused me. He will not serve as Hand, he . . . he knows about us. He said as much."

"Refused?" That surprised him. "How could he know? He will have read what Stannis wrote, but there is no . . ."

HOW COULD HE NOT?

+.+.+

She wants something of me. "Why are you here, at this hour? What would you have of me?" His last word echoed up and down the sept, mememememememememememe, fading to a whisper. For a moment he dared to hope that all she wanted was the comfort of his arms.

[...]

"Be my Hand," she pleaded, "and we'll rule the Seven Kingdoms together, like a king and his queen."

"You were Robert's queen. And yet you won't be mine."

"I would, if I dared. But our son—"

Couldn't help but notice you both want something from the other.

+.+.+

Jaime could smell the fear on her, even through the rank stench of the corpse. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, to bury his face in her golden curls and promise her that no one would ever hurt her . . . not here, he thought, not here in front of the gods, and Father. "No," he said. "I cannot. Will not."

Yeah, who would ever have sex in a church in front of a dead family member?

+.+.+

Dawn caught Jaime almost unawares. As the glass in the dome began to lighten, suddenly there were rainbows shimmering off the walls and floors and pillars, bathing Lord Tywin's corpse in a haze of many-colored light. The King's Hand was rotting visibly. His face had taken on a greenish tinge, and his eyes were deeply sunken, two black pits. Fissures had opened in his cheeks, and a foul white fluid was seeping through the joints of his splendid gold-and-crimson armor to pool beneath his body.

Aww, Tywin got his rainbow!

+.+.+

Shortly after, a flock of novices came swinging censers, and the air grew so thick with incense that the bier seemed cloaked in smoke. All the rainbows vanished in that perfumed mist, yet the stench persisted, a sweet rotten smell that made Jaime want to gag.

Do the Daenerys fans read these books with their eyes closed?

+.+.+

". . . she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know . . ."

Jaime had seen Kettleblack naked in the bathhouse, had seen the black hair on his chest, and the coarser thatch between his legs. He pictured that chest pressed against his sister's, that hair scratching the soft skin of her breasts. She would not do that. The Imp lied. Spun gold and black wire tangled, sweaty. Kettleblack's narrow cheeks clenching each time he thrust. Jaime could hear his sister moan. No. A lie.

Listen, I love when the twins torture each other, but I genuinely feel bad for him on this one.

+.+.+

Red-eyed and pale, Cersei climbed the steps to kneel above their father, drawing Tommen down beside her. The boy recoiled at the sight, but his mother seized his wrist before he could pull away. "Pray," she whispered, and Tommen tried. But he was only eight and Lord Tywin was a horror. One desperate breath of air, then the king began to sob. "Stop that!" Cersei said. Tommen turned his head and doubled over, retching. His crown fell off and rolled across the marble floor. His mother pulled back in disgust, and all at once the king was running for the doors, as fast as his eight-year-old legs could carry him.

Did we need two chapters dedicated to Tywin's funeral? Absolutely not, but I still enjoyed every word.

+.+.+

"I wasn't scared," the boy insisted. "The smell made me sick. Didn't it make you sick? How could you bear it, Uncle, ser?"

[...]

"The world is full of horrors, Tommen. You can fight them, or laugh at them, or look without seeing . . . go away inside."

Tommen considered that. "I . . . I used to go away inside sometimes," he confessed, "when Joffy . . ."

"Joffrey." Cersei stood over them, the wind whipping her skirts around her legs. "Your brother's name was Joffrey. He would never have shamed me so."

You don't want to be reading that so close to the introduction of Aeron Dam-phair's rusted iron hinges.

+.+.+

The queen drew Tommen to her side. Mace Tyrell bowed before them. "His Grace is not unwell, I hope?"

"The king was overwhelmed by grief," said Cersei.

"As are we all. If there is aught that I can do . . ."

High above, a crow screamed loudly. He was perched on the statue of King Baelor, shitting on his holy head. "There is much and more you can do for Tommen, my lord," Jaime said. "Perhaps you would do Her Grace the honor of supping with her, after the evening services?"

[...]

But when Tyrell had taken his leave and Tommen had been sent off with Ser Addam Marbrand, she turned on Jaime angrily. "Are you drunk or dreaming, ser? Pray tell, why am I having supper with that grasping fool and his puerile wife?" A gust of wind stirred her golden hair. "I will not name him Hand, if that's what—"

Is. . . is someone watching? Is. . . is Mace Tyrell full of shit?

+.+.+

"You need Tyrell," Jaime broke in, "but not here. Ask him to capture Storm's End for Tommen. Flatter him, and tell him you need him in the field, to replace Father. Mace fancies himself a mighty warrior. Either he will deliver Storm's End to you, or he will muck it up and look a fool. Either way, you win."

"Storm's End?" Cersei looked thoughtful. "Yes, but . . . Lord Tyrell has made it tediously plain that he will not leave King's Landing till Tommen marries Margaery."

Jaime sighed. "Then let them wed. It will be years before Tommen is old enough to consummate the marriage. And until he does, the union can always be set aside. Give Tyrell his wedding and send him off to play at war."

The union can always be set aside? Hmmm.

I was blown away to find people in this fandom applauding Jaime for this clever suggestion. I thought we all understood everything this family does badly backfires? I guess not.

Mace Tyrell will leave for Storm's End, but he'll bring Mathis Rowan with him, who has just been removed from the small council by Cersei. Mace will then return to King's Landing once Margaery is imprisoned, leaving Rowan and his forces at Storm's End to lay siege. Aegon VI and the Golden Company now approach.

Mathis Rowan.

"Prince Doran comes at my son's invitation," Lord Tywin said calmly, "not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children."

Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, "But Lord Tywin, wasn't it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?" None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag. - Tyrion III, ASOS

That Mathis Rowan.

I will not pretend to know what's going to happen in the story (ha, lies), but I will say, I would not want a spurned Mathis Rowan anywhere near King Aegon Targaryen while a Cersei of House Lannister targets Tyrells in King's Landing, and Tommen patiently waits for his death.

Good idea in theory Jaime, but the chess pieces (Friends in the Reach) are not placed where you want them.

+.+.+

A wary smile crept across his sister's face. "Even sieges have their dangers," she murmured. "Why, our Lord of Highgarden might even lose his life in such a venture."

"There is that risk," conceded Jaime. "Especially if his patience runs thin this time, and he elects to storm the gate."

Cersei gave him a lingering look. "You know," she said, "for a moment you sounded quite like Father."

Is that supposed to a compliment?

It's like when someone compares Daenerys to Rhaegar.

Final thoughts:

Do you have any idea how hard it would be to manage a ranking of the dumbest Lannisters?

Poor Kevan.

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