#but his life is dream's to give and it is his realm so death cannot oppose his decision to die she isnt the one in power here dream is

[five-and-dimes]

Sloom

AO3

In many ways, Dream feels inferior to the rest of his family. Which means he struggles when Hob asks to meet them.

Well this took a million years longer to finish than I expected and as usual I struggled with the ending but we gotta call it done at some point, lads, so here we are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream tries not to think about it too much, because it makes something in his heart ache when he does.

How he was made wrong.

He doesn't understand it- he was born the same way as his siblings, and yet somehow he is the only one… lacking. Everyone else understands humanity, everyone else understands themselves, everyone else doesn't struggle to connect, to speak, to share, to exist in a way that doesn't hurt.

Even Desire, whom he despises so much for all the games they play to torment him…

But then, Desire is only so cruel to him. Maybe that, too, is his fault.

He had thought it was enough to do his job well - to protect the dreamers and his realm and all the power it contains. He can withstand being a bad sibling, a bad friend, a bad husband, father, lover, person (he can withstand it, he can) as long as he is good at his job. He doesn't play games, he doesn't let himself get distracted, he fulfills his purpose, he is good at his job, and that is enough. It has to be.

(And then he fails at that, too.)

(He had made himself good for one thing. Now he is good for nothing.)

He walks with Death, and his elder sister lovingly twists the knife. She reminds him of all the ways he got it wrong, got all of it wrong, and he wonders if she would have bothered to come if he had called at Fawny Rig.

(He wonders if she would have come if one of their other siblings had been captured.)

(He wonders if they all aid each other when he's not looking.)

(He doesn't look.)

She tells him to visit Hob Gadling and it feels like an execution. He feels like he’s bleeding, like he’s being sentenced to a slow death, like all of his wounds are on display for anyone to dig their fingers into.

He feels like he deserves it.

And so he drags his feet, first to the hollowed out husk of the White Horse, and then following a bright line to someplace new, someplace glowing with life and possibility and when he crosses the threshold he feels like a weed. He is too dark for this place, too cold, and when he sees Hob he expects to be kicked out like a stray dog.

Hob smiles at him. Smiles, and Dream feels a little less cold.

“You’re late.”

No condemnation. No cruelty. No accusation or malice or brutality.

Dream is breathless with it.

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Somehow, Hob’s smile brightens. When Dream sits across from him, he feels, for the first time since 1916- no, since long, long before then- that he is welcome and wanted.

When he came here Dream had braced himself for punishment. Instead, they sit and talk long into the evening. Soft and hesitant, Dream gives Hob his name, and Hob glows like he’s been given the answers to the universe. Bright and enthusiastic, Hob speaks of all he has done in the past century, and Dream listens and lets himself sink comfortably into the warmth of companionship.

Eventually, Dream knows he must return to his responsibilities. It aches to think of leaving this soothing place, but he feels as though a balm has been spread on his wounds. Still hurting and aching, but less so than before.

Before he stands to depart, Hob places a hesitant hand on his wrist.

“Feel free to drop by before 2089, yeah? Anytime.”

There is a long pause while Dream considers that. Despite how kind he had been, it feels inconceivable that Hob would want to see Dream more than he has to. But he cannot deny the way his chest clenches with hope at the idea of feeling this warmth again so soon.

Perhaps it is selfish.

But Dream agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time it comes up is on their third meeting in as many weeks.

They are sitting together on a comfortably worn couch in Hob’s flat above the New Inn, next to each other but still with a respectable distance between them. Dream is trying very, very hard not to misstep in his friendship with Hob. And a part of that, he understands, means sharing the information Hob has asked for for so long.

It is a deeply uncomfortable experience for Dream. A part of him (the part that is still, in some way, shivering deep in the Burgess basement) cries that his secrecy is all that has protected him. That Hob, in his human greed and longing, will turn into Roderick the moment he realizes what Dream is, what he could get from him, what he could take from him.

(That same part of him, curled up the cold glass orb of his heart, cries that it’s better to just give it to him.)

And yet, in all that Dream tells him, Hob never turns cruel. He explains his function, his creation and rule over dreams and nightmares, and Hob’s eyes alight with wonder. He describes his realm, his subjects and landscapes and the Sea of Dreams, and Hob leans forward like an excited child.

And, when he stiltedly explains the nature of the Endless, Hob laughs fondly.

“You know, that actually explains so much.”

Dream tilted his head in confusion, “How do you mean?”

Hob waved his hand vaguely, leaning back in his seat, “Well, all your cute little quirks,” Dream resolutely ignores the warmth in his face from being called cute, “how formally you speak, and all the human things that seem to go over your head. Of course human social niceties aren’t natural to you, not only are you not human, you’re as old as the universe.”

Frowning, Dream looks down at his hands in his lap. He thinks, as he often does, of Death. Of her easy mingling with humans, her casual conversation, the way people smile at her. He thinks of his own shy smile and how all it does is make people walk away faster.

He doesn’t think being Endless explains anything about him, actually.

(It occurs to him, suddenly, that maybe it is not that he wishes to be unmade. He simply wishes he had been made right.)

(Or, perhaps, never made at all.)

“Hey.”

A warm hand covers his, and he looks up to find Hob leaning into his space, shooting him a small smile despite the concern in his eyes, “I’m not criticizing. It’s endearing,” he laces their fingers together, soft and gentle, “I like your quirks.”

That word again. Dream swallows, feels the words build at the base of his throat, they are flaws, they are faults, do not be fooled, do not show me mercy I do not deserve.

But before he gets a chance to explain, to warn him, Hob leans in closer, “I like you.”

The kiss is hesitant, he can taste the anxiety on Hob’s lips, the way he clutches his hand a little harder as though bracing to be pushed away. Dream does not have the strength to push him away. It takes every ounce of effort he has just to keep his tears from falling as he melts against Hob, pressing closer and drinking in Hob’s sigh of relief.

Dream stays long into the night, until Hob drifts to sleep in the circle of his arms. He never corrects Hob’s assumption on his nature, the words still stuck in his throat. Choking him.

But not enough to open his mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Hob drawled, putting his arm around Dream's shoulders in a way that was clearly trying to be casual and not succeeding even a little, "When do I get to meet your family?"

Several months have passed (several months of opportunities to tell the truth, to be honest, to crack his ribs open and show Hob everything wrong with him-) and their relationship has grown like a blooming flower. Dream feels warm with Hob, and Hob smiles easily whenever he visits.

Dream does not want it to end.

He hums in consideration, even as his entire body tenses against his will. He has told Hob about his family, though not extensively. He has told him their names, and the order of their birth, but not the intricacies of his relationships with them.

(He has not, even once, mentioned his parents. Hob hasn’t asked.)

(One of the first nightmares he ever crafted was that of a child crying for a parent who refuses to turn around.)

Beside him, Hob shifts a little uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as he rambles, “I know it’s one of those silly human things, the whole ‘meet the fam’ part of a relationship, but well, y’know me, always curious about your life.”

Hob does that fairly frequently, explaining “human mysteries” or sometimes laughing fondly as he guides his “silly Endless” through whatever social mishap he’s found himself in. Always explaining away Dream’s stumbles with his inhumanity.

And now, he wants to meet his family, and Dream’s chest tightens at the thought of Hob expecting to meet more cold and aloof entities who don’t know where to put their hands and instead being met with Endless who are so much better.

“I… understand,” His speech is as faltering as the rest of him. “If you would like. To meet one of them. I can arrange a meeting.”

Pulling him closer against his side, Hob’s eyes brighten with excitement, even as he checks, “Are you sure?”

Dream nods, barely feeling the kiss on his cheek as he thinks of each of his siblings in relation to Hob.

Delirium and Hob would likely find each other a delight (an irony which does not escape him), both so vivid and full of life, always looking at things in new ways. They are both so bright, so colorful in their own ways. So jarring next to Dream's darkness.

(He pictures Delirium questioning why someone as nice as Hob is with her mean older brother.)

(He pictures Hob realizing he doesn't have an answer.)

He does not think he could bring himself to call Destruction, if he would even answer, but he thinks he and Hob would make fine friends- both turning away from the violence of their pasts, searching instead for ways to grow and nurture.

(Dream had to be punished into changing. Had to be tortured in order to grow.)

(He thinks he grew like a weed. Or perhaps an infection. Just because he is more does not mean he is good.)

If he's honest with himself, he thinks Hob and Desire would get along as well. Hob would probably be good for his sibling in a similar way that he was for Dream, able to understand the soft parts that Desire hides, and them able to share in the joys that life has to offer in a way Dream struggles to, so accustomed to denying his own wants.

(Desire hurt him. Desire hurt him.)

(He has been told that he is worse.)

Thinking about it, he thinks Despair would like Hob. He had the unique ability to truly appreciate despair and understand its value, and Despair had an appreciation for life that Hob could relate to.

(What does it say about him, he wonders, that Despair wants to live more than Dream does?)

Destiny would almost certainly decline any offer to meet, and Dream doesn’t know that he and Hob would be friends, per say, but…

(He imagines Destiny standing before the immortal, forgoing any small talk and telling Hob bluntly that he is destined for things far greater than his broken little brother.)

But, in the end, he knows there was always one person Dream wanted Hob to meet, even if it makes him lose him. So he steels himself and forces the words out.

"Hob, would you like to meet my elder sister, the one who gave you your immortality?"

“Death?” Hob goes a little wide eyed, “Is that- I mean, I can meet her without, y’know…” he makes a crude slashing motion across his throat.

“Of course,” Dream answers steadily, “She can be present among mortals without bestowing her gift upon them. She will not take you. Unless. You ask.”

“No, no, not planning that anytime soon,” Hob is quick to reassure, “Or ever, really,” he tacks on with a smirk and a wink.

Nodding, Dream allows himself to reach out and take Hob’s hand. He will miss this warmth. “I will speak with her, then. And arrange a meeting.”

Hob’s grin is wide and bright, and Dream can feel it as Hob presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his cheek bone, “Excellent! This will be fun, Love! I’ll pick up some of that wine that you liked enough to actually drink- or, would you rather we meet in the Dreaming?”

Dream only barely manages to suppress a cringe, but even so he bows his head, as if he could somehow hide within his own curled spine.

“I would. Prefer to let you meet on your own.”

Hob's smile falters, "What? Why?"

Because I do not want you to see us side by side. Because I do not want to make my lacking more obvious than it already will be. Because I won't survive seeing the moment your eyes turn cold. Because I'm scared.

"I merely wish you to get to know each other without my influence."

He can see so clearly in his mind’s eye, Hob glancing back and forth between the two siblings, one so charming and kind and good, and the other… lesser. Lacking. Dream does not wish to be present for that realization.

Recovering his grin, Hob laughed lightly, "Ballsy of you. Most folks I know wouldn't have the guts to leave their siblings and their partners alone together," he leans forward to play with Dream's hair teasingly, "What if we exchange secrets, eh?"

I'm a liar, I lied to you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

“That is within your right.”

Hob laughs, startled, and pulls Dream flush against his side, “What a fair ruler you are,” he says jokingly, “Well, I can’t wait. It’ll be endlessly fun,” he winks, trying to get a rise out of Dream.

Dream smiles back. But it’s a little weaker than usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream stares at the ankh for a long time before he picks it up. A childish part of him wants to leave the gallery and feed Hob lies and excuses. Death is very busy, she could not make the time, I called and she didn’t answer, she didn’t answer, it has happened before-

But. What would that accomplish besides delaying the inevitable?

He cradles the ankh in his hands, “Death. I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil.”

“Dream!” He can hear the smile in Death’s voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wish to discuss. A personal matter. Would you care to join me?”

Death steps beside him almost before he can finish speaking, "Of course! What can I do for you?"

She's so casual and easygoing, but a part of Dream can't help but search for any lingering anger or resentment from their last talk. He wonders if she's forgiven him.

(He wonders if he's worth forgiving.)

Straightening, he explains flatly, "Hob Gadling wishes to meet you," he pauses before adding, "In a nonprofessional manner."

Snorting, Death replied, "Well, I could have guessed that," she grinned, "But you're finally letting me meet your little project?"

"He has become. Far more than a project."

"I know, I'm teasing, silly," she shoved his shoulder playfully, "I'd love to meet him! Just tell me when and where and I'll make some time."

Nodding, he considers his options. He is torn between stretching out his time with Hob and simply getting it over with. In the end, he chooses what he feels is a polite and reasonable timeframe.

“One week from tomorrow, in the afternoon. At the New Inn.”

“I’ll be there,” grinning, Death linked their arms together, “I can’t wait, I bet you two are sickeningly adorable together.”

A bitter part of him thinks Death would just be sad to see someone like Hob shackled to Dream.

“I will not be present. This meeting is for you and Hob.”

Death pulls back to look at Dream’s face, frowning in confusion. For a moment she seems to consider her words, before settling on a question, “What’s going on in that head of yours, little brother?”

Dream meets her gaze and answers flatly, “Nothing of importance.”

There is exasperation in her voice as she huffs, “I hate that you really believe that.”

He loves his sister so very much. And he does not have the strength to be yelled at right now.

So he straightens his spine and keeps his voice even, “I will let Hob know of the time of your appointment,” he allows himself to soften, just slightly, “He is looking forward to meeting you.”

“I look forward to meeting him, as well.” Death knows she has been dismissed, and so she gives Dream one final squeeze on his arm before departing back to her duties, a gentle rustle of feathers echoing through the gallery.

For a long moment, Dream stands in his gallery alone, gazing at the sigils of his siblings.

He will go and tell Hob of his upcoming meeting with Dream’s sister. And if he stays longer than strictly necessary, if he presses a little closer than he usually does, he if stares too long at Hob’s face in an attempt to commit his smile to memory, Hob is nice enough not to comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is not raining in the Dreaming.

Dream does not feel that kind of sadness. There is grief, for certain but… it is a grief he believes he has no right to feel. This is not sorrow, it is justice, a loss of something that was never his to have. He cannot cry, he cannot mourn, he can't, he can't, he just-

The Dreaming is covered in a thick layer of fog.

A white mist, so thick it feels like you could move it with your hands, wade through it, drown in it. Dream is in one of the gardens surrounding the palace, grinding his teeth and trying desperately to make it go away. He had hoped that going outside would at least help clear the fog that had permeated the palace halls. Matthew had flown into a wall twice before resigning himself to perching on Lucienne’s shoulder until the hallways were visible again, and Dream does not think he could survive if another raven was injured due to his weakness.

The week had passed too quickly for his liking, time showing him no mercy. He had visited Hob each day, an unusual occurrence that Hob had raised an eyebrow at but otherwise not commented on. And in all that time, Dream had still not told him the truth. He did not explain that the Endless he was to meet would be nothing like Dream because Dream was nothing like the other Endless, did not confess to having cheated more time with Hob by misleading him about his nature. And now, it was too late. Hob would leave, and Dream would always be a liar.

Sighing, he leans against the tree behind him, looking up and frowning as the fog hides even the leaves above him. Sometimes he wishes he had more control over his connection to the Dreaming. More control over himself. He wonders if this is how humans feel when they wish mastery over their own bodies, their organs, their blood.

The fog is getting thicker.

Growling deep in his throat, Dream presses the tips of his fingers against his temples. There is no reason for him to feel so… lost. He has existed and survived before Hob, and he will continue to do so after. Happiness is not necessary. And besides, he has wanted to be a better person, and would a better person not prioritize their loved one’s happiness over their own? It is an irrefutable fact that Hob deserves better than Dream is capable of, so it is the least Dream can do to not stand in his way.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms loosely around them, feeling as bare and exposed as he had in Fawney Rig, suddenly thankful for the cover of fog. Perhaps, he could allow himself this respite. A moment of selfishness, and then he would pull himself together. Just one night to grieve where no one could see him. Just one night to hide-

“There you are!”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a shock he could not hope to conceal.

Because Hob is here.

The immortal is smiling, like he has every other time he’s seen Dream, stumbling slightly through the fog before plopping himself down to sit pressed against Dream’s side. This close, he can see the spark of concern in his eyes even as he throws an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Well this is a bit different. You know I saw Merv actually sweeping the fog? What’s crazier is it was working, swept it into a big pile and then pushed it out the front door. I know anything is possible here, but I will admit I did spend a few minutes just staring at that spectacle.”

Throughout his rambling, Dream is aware that he is staring. A quick assessment of his own body alerts him to the fact that his mouth is parted, and he is literally gaping at Hob. How unbecoming.

When he fails to respond to his story, Hob’s smile dims, and the concern in his eyes amplifies, “Hey… is everything alright?”

No. Nothing makes sense. He feels more lost than before. He thinks the fog is getting thicker, heavier, colder.

“You…” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself even a little, “You were. Supposed to meet Death today. Did. Did that. Not happen?” That is the only logical explanation.

But Hob shakes his head, “No, we did, got back a couple hours ago, just took me a bit to fall asleep,” he chuckles a bit to himself, “She’s a riot, honestly, nothing at all like all the skull and crossbones nonsense.” He gives Dream a warm smile, “I can see why you two get along so well.”

Dream is. Dream is-

He opens his mouth, and all that comes out is fog.

“Woah, okay,” Hob jumps a little, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip around Dream’s shoulders tightens.

Fog is drifting from the corners of Dream’s eyes.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He feels so lost-

“Alright, hey, hey,” Hob pulls him closer, wrapping him in a firm embrace, “Love, I think we should go to the Waking, okay? Is that alright?”

Dream forces himself to nod against Hob’s chest. His body is no more bound in the Waking than it is in the Dreaming, but sometimes the distance makes it… easier, if only a little, to keep his shape. As opposed to here, where the edges of Dream and the Dreaming often blur together. Like now.

Hob kisses the crown of his head, and Dream can feel him pulling away, waking up, and Dream follows the pull. In the space between realms, he forces his form together, like holding a door shut, like clenching a fist. When he arrives, he is laying on top of Hob, who is splayed out on his couch. Some hysterical part of him wants to scold Hob for not settling in his bed to sleep.

As Hob fully awakens, his arms reach up to embrace Dream, and Dream can’t help but curl his hands in Hob’s shirt. Slow and gentle, Hob maneuvers them to sit up, and when he pulls back, Dream cannot look him in the eye.

“Hey…” Hob cups his face with both hands, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on the hinge of Dream’s jaw, and Dream realizes for the first time that he is clenching his teeth together hard enough to crack human bone. He fears what will come out if he opens his mouth.

“You’re alright, dove,” Hob whispers, still trying to coax Dream into relaxing his jaw, “Everything is alright, I’m right here, sweetheart, I’ve got you my love.”

It takes a few minutes, just Hob whispering softly and soothing his fingers over Dream’s skin, but eventually Dream musters the courage to let his teeth separate, parting his lips just slightly. He sags with relief when all that escapes him is a shaky breath.

“There you are,” Hob presses a kiss to Dream’s forehead before tucking his head beneath his chin and pulling him into a hug, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Ever patient, he waits until Dream is breathing evenly to question him, “What’s going on, dearheart?” He rocks them back and forth as he speaks, “You’ve been off all week. I should have said something sooner, but I thought you were just nervous about me meeting your sister.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream forces himself to answer, “I was.”

Hob pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion, “Okay, but everything went fine? I told you, we got along great.”

“But…”

“Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Dream feels as lost now as he did in the Dreaming. How does he explain this to Hob? How does he explain it without drawing Hob’s attention to that which he somehow missed? He should be grateful that Hob is still here, how is he supposed to tell him this truth without making him leave?

Is he destined to make him leave no matter what?

Belatedly, he realizes he is still clutching Hob’s shirt.

He lets him go.

“I did believe. That you would enjoy each others’ company,” he explains resignedly, “And I assumed that in your meeting, I would. Lose your favor.”

Had he been looking, he would have seen Hob’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “You thought I would like her more than you?” His voice is heavy with disbelief.

“In a sense…” He had not considered Hob finding romantic interest in Death, as Hob seems to think, “I merely thought that. In meeting her, you would realize…”

(Death never struggled with her words the way Dream, the Prince of Stories, always seemed to.)

Taking a deep breath, he tries again, “We are both Endless. And yet. She is…”

“Different?”

“Better.”

Hob sucks in a breath as though he’s been slapped, “Dream-”

“You think that all the things wrong with me are due to my nature as an Endless,” Dream interrupts, the dam broken as he spills out everything he has been holding back for months, “and I let you believe that. But the truth is, my siblings are not like me. They do not struggle with humanity as I do, nor do they share my penchant for arrogance and cruelty. Death is older than I, and yet you saw her- she is kind, and she speaks normally, and she understands-” His voice cracks, and he has to pause, closing his eyes and forcing his molecules to stay solid. To stay here.

“The problem is not that I am Endless,” he confesses in a whisper, “The problem is that I am… me.”

Dream keeps his eyes downcast, fixated on the texture of the couch in the space between them. He wonders if Hob will chastise him for his deceit or simply tell him to leave, wonders if he will demand punishment or repayment.

One hand laces their fingers together, as the other gently cups Dream’s cheek. Hob does not try to tilt Dream’s face or make him meet his eyes. He just holds him.

“I happen to like ‘you’ very much, actually.”

Hob’s voice is soft as a breath, quiet despite the devastation and sorrow painting each word. Dream closes his eyes as Hob leans forward to brush their foreheads together.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he states firmly, confidently, “You’re not perfect, I know that, the same way you know that I’m not either. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”

The conviction in his voice gives Dream just enough courage to open his eyes. Hob’s eyes are filled with tears and shining with so much love it takes Dream’s breath away. When their eyes meet, Hob gives him a sad smile and brushes his thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. For ever making you think you needed to explain away parts of yourself,” He brings Dream’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles, “I don’t love you in spite of anything. I just love you.”

Dream wants to argue. He wants to give every example from his long, long life that he is wrong, that Dream is defective and unworthy and unlovable.

But when Hob kisses him, whispers “I love you” against his lips, he finds himself… hoping. That maybe Hob is right. That maybe this is another bet he would lose to the strength that is Hob Gadling’s love.

Later, after Hob has held him long enough that he does not feel like he may fall apart, he will give his arguments. Later he will state his case and Hob will not hesitate in debating right back, punctuating his points with soft kisses and fond smiles. And it will not fix everything right away, as much as they both wish it would. But it will feel like a start, like adding support beams to a faulty foundation, like strengthening the parts of Dream that always felt a breeze away from buckling.

But for now, Hob holds him tight and whispers against his hair, “You want to hear a secret?”

When Dream hums questioningly against his neck, he presses a kiss to his temple, “Death isn’t perfect either.”

Dream lets out a barking laugh, and then another, and another, and then he is sobbing and holding Hob like he is the only thing keeping him together because he is, and maybe this outburst is just another flaw of his.

Regardless. Hob still holds him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month later, Hob and Dream invite Death over for drinks. Three very different people sit in hob’s living room, and they drink wine, and laugh, and Hob occasionally scolds Death when he feels Dream stiffen at some of her teasing.

Before she leaves, Death pulls Dream into a hug, patting his back even as he stands stiffly in the circle of her arms, “I was right. Sickeningly adorable, both of you.”

Dream huffs, but feels no real offense or embarrassment at her words. It is still hard to trust that this is real, sometimes. But all night he had searched Hob’s eyes, and even when Death made him laugh or understood some human reference, he still turned to look at Dream with love and joy.

As hard as it is to believe, the truth is that Hob sat with both of them, and when he grew tired he asked Death to leave.

But he asked Dream to stay.

[the-heartlines]

real, genuine question…how are so many of my fellow shippers okay with dead dove helaemond in fanfic but not in the show? because that’s hypocritical as fuck. lmao.

because as someone who adores dead dove, i am living for the direction they’re taking helaemond. listen, linda…

*hotd leaks/spoilers*

aemond is not a nice person. he is slowly losing his grasp on things because he saw the dragon power rhaenyra has gained and he’s also a targaryen prince. he is desperate, pathetic, arrogant, prideful, in a patriarchal society where his godlike hubris has manifested after claiming a dragon, along with the hate that has lived, grew inside him ever since getting his eye taken and a father who turned his eyes from his sons, to never pour affection or literally care for him at all lbr.

the way in which he grabbed helaena so carelessly and harshly, not daring to give her feelings, her pain a second thought, to drag her into a war with him that they’re losing. (that she knows they’re going to lose)

“aemond is abusive for grabbing helaena like that.” i do not believe he is inherently abusive towards helaena. if he continues to act this way towards her, which i seriously doubt after she clocked his ass, (silence, omega!) then yes. but…an absolute dickhead of a brother going mad who acted rashly and stupidly that should get bitch-slapped? yes 1000%, because he’s so desperate, realizing that he fucked up royally burning aegon and sunfyre, that he cannot face multiple dragons alone. (lmao my idiot sandwich son 💀😭)

he’s always felt like a god after claiming vhagar, feeling superior to others because of his dragonblood, but here’s thing. helaena has predicted everything that has happened to him. they are interlinked because she has seen all that will befall him. and he’s beyond terrified here. the scene on the balcony where he confronts her post grabbing her so brutally, showing his hand ghosting hers, how his goddamn voice goes quiet, begging her to lay waste to their enemy—daemon—almost in a meekly genuine tone which we have never heard?! the little boy begging his big sister for help. “the heed to a truer calling” what he’s been taught all his life, that his blood is superior. and then he has tears in his eyes which get even more glassy with more tears of terror when she reveals her dragon dreams, knowing he burnt their brother, telling him of his death, that what he does won’t change anything. aemond’s threats of having her put to death are empty, and lmao worthy because he pretty much just came begging on his hands and knees to ask her to fight. but pookie don’t give a fuck. she knows how this will end and that the death of her family, aemond, the dragons, is the only way to ensure peace in the realm.

my beautiful fucked up doomed tragic sibling duo. i do believe helaemond in s3 will be something delicious if they decide to have aemond work with helaena and expand her dreamer arc, because they’re paralleling her with alys. especially since alys told daemon that he would die in the beginning of the szn and now helaena telling aemond how he’ll die in the finale, after he begs her to fly to harrenhal with him. the daemond x daelys x helaemond x helys parallels be paralleling.

[stiltonbasket]

For wen!wei wuxian au, I would love to read something from lan jingyi's perspective during or after the whole arrow thing

In the days after the battle at Pingquan, Lan Jingyi hardly left his bed.

He had feared his father's anger at his deception since the very moment he decided to join the war effort: but in true child-fashion, he never once dreamed that his blunders on the battlefield would bring about his family's utter ruin.

Zhan-shushu, taken captive and tortured. The most important spy for the resistance, maimed for life by a poisoned arrow that was loosed by Jingyi's own hand.

His father had not punished him. Perhaps he understood that no punishment could be worse than watching his uncle falling to his knees, the tip of a bloody Wen spearhead at his throat, and shouting for Father to leave him and flee with Jingyi. Perhaps he holds himself responsible for the whole debacle, believing that he ought to have noticed Jingyi switching places with the young soldier in the eighth regiment. Or perhaps—and Jingyi cannot help but pray that he is mistaken—he intends to storm the Wen camp with his generals and free Zhan-shushu during the night, without a care for what might happen to him during the rescue.

"No," Father says hollowly, when Jingyi finally dares to ask if he plans to go after Zhan-shushu. "You must be taken back to safety, and we have wounded to tend—and the Wen will be thrice as vicious as usual now that Wei Wuxian has been injured. We're going home."

"But—!"

His father turns away, already calling for Nie Zonghui to help him prepare for their departure: and after they set off for Qinghe, Jingyi is left to himself until the regiment reaches the crossroad near Tangshan.

"Come on," Fuqin tells him, in the same dreadful, empty voice he spoke with the day before. "You and I are going to the Cloud Recesses."

Jingyi's blood runs cold. "W-why?"

"You must return to your Ba, where it is safe, and I must give him the news about Wangji in person. I can't leave a thing like this to A-Sang or Zonghui."

With that, Fuqin picks Jingyi up and sets him on Baxia's hovering blade as if he weighed no more than a kitten; and so, they begin the long, cold journey to Gusu.

They alight at the gate beneath the Cloud Recesses to find Jingyi's Baba already waiting for them. At a glance, he seems to understand that something has gone terribly wrong: so he turns around without another word and leads them up to the Hanshi, where Father finally breaks the news about Zhan-shushu's fate in Pingquan.

In all his seventeen years, Lan Jingyi had never seen his Ba cry. His Fuqin cries often, and the entire family knows how to comfort him when he does—but he was too shamed to shed a single tear when he told Jingyi's Baba about Zhan-shushu, and Ba was so distraught upon hearing the news that he nearly wept himself sick.

Captured. Captured. The terrible word has not left Jingyi's thoughts since he watched the Wens haul Zhan-shushu away; and that night, he lies in bed and wishes with all his might that he could wake up and find himself back in the Unclean Realm, where he was meant to be running errands for the quartermasters as they went about their daily duties.

Captured and tortured. After the Wen forces split in two, with half remaining at the battlefront and half retreating with Wei-jiangjun and Jingyi's uncle in tow, Nie Zonghui followed Wei-jiangjun's regiment on foot for three miles and returned to report that the general was near death—and that his men, enraged by their lord's cries of agony, had stripped the robes from Zhan-shushu's back and whipped half the flesh off his bones.

Zhan-shushu did not cry out, or so Nie Zonghui said. He was tied to stake planted in the earth, with his bonds fastened at waist-height so that he would be forced to kneel; and the whipping did not cease until thirty-three stripes had been laid on Zhan-shushu's back, at which point Wei-jiangjun's screams finally faltered and fell silent.

Lan Jingyi hears his father relay all this to his Ba with tears running down his cheeks; and when he is dismissed, he retreats to his bedroom and bolts the door in his wake.

But as luck would have it, his solitude does not last very long. His sister Jueying picks the lock in less than half a shichen, determined to drag him out for dinner and a bath. After he eats and bathes in the Hanshi's little hot spring, she follows him back to his room and insists on snuggling into bed with him; and the next morning, she drops the baby twins into his lap and orders him to cuddle them until he feels better.

"I don't think the twins are going to help, Yingying," he chokes, holding little Yunhua close to his chest. "Not when our shushu—when Zhan-shushu is—"

"He's not dead, so just stop," Lan Jueying snaps: but her voice is trembling, too, and Jingyi is suddenly certain that she must have cried earlier that morning, before he was awake enough to hear her. "He's an important prisoner, isn't he? Wen Ruohan's not just going to kill him."

Yet again, Jingyi thinks of his magnificent uncle—Gusu Lan's Hanguang-jun, the envy of every clan under the sun save the one to which he belonged—brought to his knees and taken captive due to Jingyi's foolhardiness, so that Jingyi might live, and stuffs his fist into his mouth to keep himself from sobbing out loud.

But then Fuqin and Baba call the four of them out for breakfast: and over their bowls of porridge and tea, Ba breaks the news that he, too, is going away to war.

"There is nothing else we can do," he says, as the poor baby twins—who have never known what it was for the six of them to live as a united family, since Father first rode to battle ten weeks after Yunhua and Yunhai were born—keep nibbling their sticks of youtiao in his lap. "Someone will have to take Wangji's place, and I may be able to keep up Wei-jiangjun's correspondence with his spies on the Jiangling front. I must go."

"What about the wards?" Jingyi says raggedly. "If you follow Father to Hejian—who's going to uphold them?"

Baba wraps a comforting arm around his shoulders; and in that instant, Lan Jingyi understands exactly what his father meant by must.

Jingyi is his parents' sole cultivated child, the only one whose physical form arose from Ba's lingli instead of his blood and body. As far as the protection seals are concerned, Lan Xichen and Lan Jingyi are one and the same, indistinguishable—and if Ba transcribes the anchoring arrays that uphold the wards on Jingyi's skin, he will be able to depart from the Cloud Recesses and leave the warding sigils untouched.

"I'll do it," he whispers at last. "I'll take care of the Cloud Recesses for you, Ba. Go."

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona and the team travel again, and more and more interesting situations arise.

Hello!

I noticed that with all the upheavals in my life, I can safely upload approx. every two weeks, so I'll stick to that! :D

I don't have a separate Trigger Warning for today's chapter!

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeorm I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Seventeen

......................................

The small room is enveloped in motionless semi-darkness, and only the flickering lights of the machines resting next to the bed paint the two figures clinging to each other on the patient's bed into a neon-colored rainbow. And although their faces now finally radiate peaceful calmness, as they rest in the whiteness of the sterile bedding, they look more like plants floating on the edge of death, intertwined with their dry branches as a last refuge. Yet, despite their almost painful weakness, the aura mixed with terror that reigned over them seems to be easing at last, which was ingrained in each of their cells like an ineradicable illness.

And as I look at the crumpled bed on the other side of the room, I can read from the wet stains on the pillow that the boy probably woke up from a bad dream and sought solace from the woman. It's not surprising that he chose close proximity instead of comfort, because, in the many horrors he has experienced so far, his older companion has been his protector. Perhaps she anchored him in reality now as well, when he floated, writhing in tears, on the border between the bitter images of the realm of dreams and this world. And a rather bitter taste invades my tongue when it occurs to me, that it cannot be ruled out that he will suffer in this temporary nightmare for the rest of his life. Stuck in the middle of painful memories and fleeting safety.

Because I'm dead sure that the government won't let two very young Healers, whom they can squeeze out a few more years of service from, go to waste. No leader will let them take early retirement, even if they die while serving the Hunters. This system isn’t kind to anyone, especially not to those who, according to the authorities, were born to serve. And even though it's better for everyone if a Hunter stays sane and doesn't slaughter everyone in their path if they run out of energy, it doesn't change the fact that, as per the current state of the world, there isn't even time for people to mourn their traumas.

And this thought weakens the contentment purring inside me, which I experienced last night with the help of my clever ability. Because my little action seems infinitely futile as I watch them. I treated all their wounds, and all traces of the pain they suffered disappeared from the tissues, but every minute they spent in the dark little hole where they were pushed into lives just as vividly in their minds. And neither my energy, nor that bastard's pitiable death, nor time will cure this. I doubt that any of them will ever recover, and I can only hope with the utmost benevolence that they lose their sanity and wither in a lab for the rest of their lives, high on medication. That would be the slowest but most merciful death that life could give them. 

I must be quite deeply immersed in my thoughts, because I only notice that a tall figure casts a dark shadow on me, when he settles next to me in front of the window of the small ward and joins me in my silent observations. I don't need to look at Riley to know the expression on his masked face, because the barely suppressed rage that emanates from him when he glances at the pair hiding in the small, dim room almost stings my skin. And my mind, buried in resignation, has the strength to feel pleasure for a minute at his agitation, for it soothes my soul in a sick way, that, despite the fact that his kind doesn't need to fear such horrors, I still see the glint of anger in the dark eyes of his reflection. This gives me some faint relief from the gnawing doubts that snake into my bones, which have burrowed deeper and deeper since yesterday with such insidious efficiency as worms feasting on corpses. Because I can't get rid of the image of the terrified faces of the two Healers, and in those few passing hours, when I was finally able to close my eyes, I saw myself in the dirty corner instead of them.

"What did Price say?" I speak up suddenly, diverting my thoughts to safer ground, because the further development of our mission seems a much more pleasant topic than discussing the future of the two poor souls shrouded in doubt, or reviving the damned delusions of my brain. And even though I don't look away from the seemingly peaceful scene unfolding before me, I can see him examining me inquisitively, as if he would be searching for something in my expressionless features. And he must have found it, because even though I can bury my emotions expertly, even my persona created for denial cannot hide from his trained senses.

"Laswell looked the thug up." He finally answers, and whatever was going on in that mysterious mind of his, he goes into the game of ignoring my strange behavior without comment. And I'm immensely grateful for the fact that he is able to turn to duty so quickly, because no matter how much my mind is occupied by the miserable fate of my two fellow colligues, our mission is more important. Now only my subconscious and I should be on the same page about this. "We're leavin' tomorrow." He informs me, stating a certain fact, and I just glance at him curiously from the corner of my eye. Laswell works faster than the devil, and it looks like she hasn't let us down now either. Even though we only had a name and a colony in our hands, which could have been too little to be able to move on with our pursuit. But our station chief's nose is much sharper, and she picked up a hot scent again at such a pace that belies the fact that she is just a simple human. And the knowledge that tomorrow I can finally leave this cesspool, and all this dreadful moment will be an unpleasant experience lost in the mist of the past, selfishly calms my mind. Because I don't want to face why I want to leave the two Healers so enthusiastically and forget about what will happen to them.

"Are they coming with us too?" I continue to inquire, raising another important question, which, although less intensively, but with sufficient enthusiasm, strains my skull. Because the two short days I spent in the company of our new teammates helped to plant the seeds of suspicion and foreboding in my mind enough to make me prefer to part ways with them, even if that would mean the loss of their help. There wouldn't even be a problem with Horangi, but König... he's a different story. And I don't just want to keep him away from my friends, because I'm secretly afraid that they work together like a ticking time bomb, and it's only a matter of time before they have a punch-up due to their incompatible personalities with Riley. There is something inherently dangerous about the hooded Hunter that clings to his every cell like a bloodthirsty demonic presence. It was already difficult for me to decipher the masked man, but König is a completely new kind of riddle, and I'm not sure that I want to know what is hidden under the dark textile. I have a gut feeling that if I dip even one toe into this shallow, murky mystery, the monster lurking in the bottomless swamp will grab me and drag me under. But despite my vivid imagination, my rational side is perfectly aware that I need to observe just enough to be able to read him and know what he and his little companion are up to behind the scenes. Because they are most certainly not so willing because of their good heart and conscience.

"Shepherd won't let us go without his dogs." The Hunter notes curtly, and based on his tone it's clear that even without saying it, he understood whom I was aiming at so skillfully. The edge of disdain moves into his deep voice, which has been lurking under the surface ever since we were drawn here by the clues given us by Valeria. And although I know the kind of self-restraint and discipline the man possesses, it's still impressive how effectively he can rein in his temper, even though his colleague's behavior made it a difficult task for him on several occasions. They cooperate with us with perfect professionalism, but they make sure, with small and sly signs, that we know that, thanks to the old shit, we are not in control here. Our little adventure yesterday made this very clear.

"How surprising." I remark dryly, and I don't even try to make the words crawling on my tongue a little less sarcastic, because I know that my cynicism now finds a match in my partner. Shepherd wants to keep us on a short leash through the two Hunters, and I'm pretty sure it would only take one wrong move to make the kindness of our new helpers disappear like a mirage in the desert. But it's even more likely that the old bastard will wait until we smooth this little nuisance out for him, and then he will get rid of us. That would be very clever, and would give a good reason why the two mercenaries are coming with us. In light of this, we not only have to get hold of the serum and be careful with the mutants, but we also have to keep a watchful eye on when they stab us in the back. Wonderful.

"You shouldn't have come to the interrogation room." Riley deviates from the thread of our conversation, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect him to bring up my little incident sooner or later. It's a fact that it would have made a much better impression on our hosts if I hadn't poked my nose into their business, and perhaps if anger hadn't burned inside me like an inferno, I would have been able to think clearly and stay away. Undoubtedly, it would have attracted less attention, and it's also likely that even without my intervention, they would have found the bloody method that would have made that scumbag want to spill every last bit of info he had. The secret of my little abilities would also have remained under wraps, which would still give me a trump card in case one of our hired babysitters decided to help me cross over to the other world. But the icy hatred that closed its teeth around my insides injected a poison into me, causing a red fog to descend on my mind that I was unable to fight against. And to be honest, I didn't want to.

"I'd argue with that." I retort dispassionately, and I still don't meet his gaze, the weight of which now almost suffocates me. Although our relationship has fallen into something quite attractively complicated, I know that when it comes to work, he knows no joke. And it occurs to me that he might want to scold me now because I wasn't able to do what was expected of me again. And I would like to warn him well in advance, before he can even delve into his disciplining, that no one forbade me to interfere even with a fucking word. Horangi's feeble attempt was more of a less-than-enthusiastic warning than an actual command. If he was serious, then he would have easily arranged it so that I could not barge into the interrogation room. Because he could have killed me with one move.

A frightened whine penetrates the noise of the chirping machines in the ward, and as I see the half-asleep boy moving closer to the woman, who just begins to draw soothing circles through the blue material of the hospital nightgown on his bony back, then the terrifying feeling that brought me to the container on swift legs rises again in me. There is no protocol or rule that could have stopped me then, even if my brain now knows that sitting on my pretty ass and waiting for the big boys to take care of the situation would have been the right thing to do. But I'm too stubborn for that.

"It was our task to find out what he knows."  The man states the truth flatly, and I only carefully divert my gaze from the Healers hugging on the sick bed to immerse myself in the inscrutable eyes of Riley's reflection. Because from someone who carries out his duties with such rigor and keeps to what is expected of him, I wouldn't exactly expect him to let my newest naughtiness pass without a word. Although I had already managed to avoid the retort that my misbehavior would have deserved once, I had saved his bosom friend by disobeying the order. But now, guided only by my own feelings, I charged into the middle of their party like a bull gone wild. Not that I mind for a minute.

"It took a long time. I sped it up." I offer the most acceptable reason, which I'm sure can soften the condemnation that might be camped in his mind. Because even though he knows that my terrible game was about much more than that, he can't argue with the fact that I forced out the answers that we were after much sooner than they could have achieved by beating him into a bloody pulp. And it's just an insignificant factor that I used specific tools, and the motivating force behind my actions is another completely negligible detail. The point is, that we got what we needed to continue our search for the serum. It's best for him and me if we leave it at that.

"You took revenge." He specifies simply, and even I'm surprised that there is no reprimanding weight behind his words. As if he had merely made a frivolous remark, rather than stating why I had so vehemently stormed in when they worked so diligently on their victim. But if his insight strikes me unexpectedly, my surprise quickly fades, because it's clear that he already knew why I was there when I crossed the threshold of the interrogation room. But instead of feeling ashamed for exposing my not-so-nice motives, the uncomfortable tightness in my stomach that hasn't really gone away since yesterday just flares up again. And as petty as it may be, I was filled with vengeance indeed when I laid my sly little hands on our prisoner, but I'm by no means such a noble soul as to refrain from it. This kind of meanness fits right into my repertoire of personality traits.

"Is it such a big deal?" I turn back to spying on the small room, because it's much easier to study the dark walls than to digest how effortlessly he can see through me. Of course, it's not that I have lost my mystery to him that bothers me, but rather the fact that I feel like a little kid caught doing mischief. Because from his tone it's like I did something completely wrong. Although I know that my approach was truly merciless, that dirtbag deserved every single moment of it. I don't care if what I have done is questionable, because as soon as I saw the desperation on that disgusting face swimming in tears and snot, my mood turned better in an instant. And if there was even a little justice left in the world, then all the wretches like this bastard would receive this punishment. What's wrong with such scum finally getting a taste of their own cruelty?

"No."  He breaks the short silence, agreeing with me almost too naturally, which is completely foreign from his mouth. Because this makes me unsure for a minute about why he brought up the whole topic in the first place. If it doesn't bother him that I took control and used my own little incentive, then what is his problem? "But you don't have to get your hands dirtier at all costs."  He adds, and I don't like the tone he puts into his voice at all, like he wanted to scold me. Which sounds bad coming from him, because we both know that while I may be a sneaky bastard, he doesn't need to go next door when it comes to brutality. We aren’t different in any way, and he shouldn't point out how unfeminine and not-so-delicate it is when I use these merciless tactics.

"There's enough blood on them anyway. A little more won't make a difference." I remark nonchalantly, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me with all my strength, because I'm afraid that if I look at the Hunter, I will glimpse something that my soul couldn't bear. I don't want to see his contempt or his superiority, because I don’t feel an iota of regret. This cruelty helped me through hardships all my life, I took what I needed to survive. If there was even a little less blood on my hands, I'd be lying there in that fucking bed right now, beaten, starved, raped and used. The only thing that kept me from this was that I immersed myself in the filth as deeply as was necessary, and my selfishness served me quite well. And if I have to drown in this infectious pool, I will.

But the movement comes completely unexpectedly, as one of his big hands finds my shoulder, and as his fingers gently tighten around the tensing muscles, I turn my head towards him with a starled shiver, because the tenderness in his touch reluctantly tears me out of the gloomy monologue going on in my head. And the way those brown eyes glance down at me makes my stomach jump instinctively, because the inscrutable flickers dancing there make the anger raging inside me fade away in a minute. The heat emanating from his palm pleasantly licks at my skin, which has cooled down due to the bitter rage, and brings my attention back to him so decisively from the chaos in my brain, as if he would be my anchor keeping me in reality.

"I know you're cruel. You don't have to prove it." He states, and his voice fades to a grumble, as he takes a small step to close the distance between the two of us. And as he leans down to me and his scent fills my nose like a familiar visitor, every nerve in my body is sharpened to what he has to say. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore." He declares, and with this one sentence, he dispels all the doubts that have nested in the hidden corners of my brain so far. And the realization that this is exactly why I wanted to leave the two Healers behind me tears into my mind. Because I saw in them the fate that could easily have found me too. I could have ended up chained and abused to the extreme, but instead, for all my selfishness and dishonesty, karma has led me to a place where I am treated much better than my background would justify.

And now here is Riley, who knows my worst side, has experienced firsthand the caustic sarcasm I can use to dig into other people's weaknesses with my words, and what evils my hands are capable of when my interests demand it. Yet knowing this, he offers that I don't have to walk this dark road alone, but willingly joins me. He doesn't expect me to leave behind my dubious methods accumulated over the years, he doesn't ask me to wash my hands clean. And because of this, something completely inexplicable awakens inside me, which simultaneously fills me with a pleasant warmth, which is followed by a hot trembling lightness that spreads through all the fibers of my being. And along with that, an icy fear creeps into the pit of my stomach, because the warning flashes in my subconscious almost immediately that I mustn't let this go. I can't waste this opportunity that fate has given me, because I'm not sure I could survive if I lost them.

And as a result of the realization, the invisible fingers of the tears spurred by the rising emotions gnaw into my eyes with almost painful force, but forcing the feelings down my dry throat, I just nod with a faint smile on my face. Because now I can see clearly. It takes shape in my head firmly that I'm willing to cling to the team, and especially to him with every drop of my blood, that this pledge almost burns into my brain.

⃰

The warm rays of the sun caress my naked arm peeking from under my shirt with deceptive peace, and as I leave the cargo deck hand in hand with my companions, and wade into the wild grass, the sweet scent of wildflowers fills my nose, and I allow myself to drink in the picturesque landscape for a minute. As if I had fallen into a dream, the meadow stretches to the edge of the horizon with such unimaginable calmness, where Nik so skilfully put down our plane, the soft noise of which is accompanied by the buzzing of bees and the chirping song of crickets as background noise. And at other times, this huge open space might make me nervous, where we are easy prey for the mutants who are stalking us, but behind the large building not far from us, the abundance of trees stretching to the sky cover us beneficially from at least one side. A real, hidden corner of paradise.

In other circumstances and in another life, this beautiful weather might even tempt me to have a little picnic in this undisturbed clearing that spreads out in front of our temporary accommodation. Of course, this would be a realistic idea if there was no chance that my idyllic pastime would be interrupted by a deformed monster or one of its humanoid friends, who would pay their respects with a slightly different kind of snack in mind. Although based on Price's information, the safe house might be located in the middle of nowhere, but it's just reassuringly close enough to the colony to be at a comfortable distance from any reckless beasts. Of course, the suspicion raging in my brain doesn't ease one bit, because, during my ever-longer mission, I already had the opportunity to experience what kind of horrors can be lurking behind such beautiful landscapes with watchful eyes. And most of the time they don't appear in the form of malformed animals, but take on a much more human face. Naturally, in this filthy place laced with death, we are still each other's greatest enemies.

"Good to see you're still alive!" A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, and as I turn my head in the direction of its source, my dark little heart leaps with real joy. Because as soon as I see Garrick emerging from behind the battered door of the house, a definite line of a sincere smile crosses my face. And although it's barely been a while since I last had the good fortune to admire the Hunter's good features and even more pleasant aura, yet, in an almost disgusting way, my soul is relieved that amidst all the complicated misery, I finally have a familiar figure near me.

"We need more than that to bite the bullet!" MacTavish exclaims, and  he hurries forward grinning, so that when his friend is within arm's reach, he simply pulls him into a brotherly embrace enthusiastically, patting his back with the weights of the unspoken words of happiness in the small movement. It's no wonder that this meeting is so heart-warming, since every single mission is another chance for these happy moments to never happen again. And this is probably not the first party they got involved in, but in light of the fact that we are drowning deeper and deeper into unknown complications, even I can sympathize with the zeal of my two fanboys.

I don't have to wait long for the one person who is still missing from the impromptu celebration to show up, and as I recognize the well-known figure of Price marching out from the dim depths of the house, the fleeting feeling of absence that may have been present in me until now disappears. The man carefully studies us gathered in the field, and when his gaze settles on me after Riley, who is anchored next to me, and his beard-framed mouth curls up in a satisfied little smile, then my stomach jumps with excited joy with such ridiculous speed that it's downright disgusting. Still, it doesn't bother me for a minute that such crippling emotions rear their heads in my little soul, because I would be willing to do anything to never have to live without them.

"I've hoped this would be the case." Price also joins in our greeting, referring back to my Scottish friend's earlier confident statement with his small comment, as he comes close enough to welcome us. And when one of his big hands lands on my shoulder with the greatest naturalness and squeezes it gently, the pleasant warmth, that only the small team was able to revive in me for a very long time, spreads through all of my limbs following his touch. And I swear that an almost paternal pride shines in those bright eyes, as they survey my face, and I have to keep my cheeky superiority in my features with all my strength, because I don't want to get emotional in front of our audience just getting off the plane. "I've heard a lot of good things about you." He adds, and even though his praise is enough to awaken an impossible cheerfulness in me, but as his gaze meaningfully moves to the masked Hunter enveloped in silence, I understand to whom I owe this exceptional treatment. And because of this, I feel that the tremble in my stomach paints surprise on my face despite my will and all my attempts at indifference. I didn't think that it would be Riley who would so enthusiastically praise my performance to the boss, when earlier I had him to thank for the bright idea of my forest trip, due to which I almost got impaled by a mutant piggy. But this is enough for the hope in my head to push me even deeper into the embrace of my complicated feelings for him. Great.

And at that moment, Riley, who was already more wordless than usual, joins in the warm welcoming, and although he remains silent, he greets our leader with a firm nod. Others might not find his curtness particularly striking, but he cannot hide from the captain's eyes either. And I'm sure that Price also realized by reading his companion's body language that his stand-offishness is directed much more to the two mercenaries who approach us with lazy steps. Because it would be impossible not to notice the distant aura he puts on when he has to share the same space with his colleagues. And although this tense atmosphere made our plane ride excruciatingly long, considering the unique show we were treated to during our joint mission, the grumpy mood of the masked man doesn't seem exaggerated one bit.

Even though they close the distance between us with the silence of the predators lying in wait, I don't have to look back to know that our new companions have arrived at our small gathered group, because the tiny little hairs reflexively rise at my back as I feel that unmistakable gaze burning the back of my head. It was enough for me to look into those blue eyes once over the mangled body spread out on the floor of the interrogation room to know that the wisest thing to do was to ignore the existence of the hooded Hunter altogether. For although I don’t know to what, apart from his obvious interest in my kind, I owe that persistent attention with which he honors me every time we come into forced proximity, yet I'm sure that no good would come of entering into this dubious game. Whatever his purpose is by obnoxiously and shamelessly staring at me at every opportunity he gets.

Price is the one who, as a true leader, grasps the noble task of breaking the ice, and turns to the two mercenaries, straightening his back out with confidence. And although there is a diplomatic impassiveness on his face, and I might even detect a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, but my trained eyes catch the troubled wrinkles gathering on his forehead under the cover of the hat just in time before they disappear. It's rather cunning and tactical of the man to show his best face to those who might run to report to their master after his first questionable move, but despite his best efforts, the visible traces of suspicion remain in his gaze, with which he measures his colleagues up.

"Thanks for the help." The captain expresses his gratitude, and if he has doubts about the two men, it doesn't show in his voice for a minute. And although it's quite clear that he did this out of mandatory politeness, but even I'm impressed when he fixes his eyes on the hired Hunters with the keen attention of a hawk, as if he is trying to read even the smallest twitches, assessing every second how trustworthy the newcomers really are.

"We were paid well to do it." Horangi comments with complete calmness, and even though it was evident that the credits made them so willing until now, even I find it bold that he chirps out this little detail so casually. He doesn't even try to deny his motivations, and it can only happen for an infinitely simple reason, which helps my eyebrows furrow. The Korean Hunter and his no less pleasant companion are so carefree because they don't see an iota of threat in us, which would make them think it would be worth behaving more cautiously. Although under normal circumstances the goal would be for our group to be able to work together without stress, but it's quite obvious from the small, nonchalant little movement as the man cocks his head in interest that this isn’t the case. This is at least as humiliatingly belittling as it's irresponsible, and helps to spread the sparks of tension for a minute in the warm air swayed by the spring wind.

But as rapidly as the unpleasant atmosphere arrived, it dissolves as quickly, for MacTavish breaks the silence, loud with the buzzing of the beetles, that has set in, before my masked friend has time to act driven by the spark of irritation in his dark gaze. As he leaves Garrick's side and takes a few hasty steps closer to the captain, all eyes are suddenly on him, beneficially interrupting the storm that was no doubt slowly brewing.

"Did ya find out anythin' interestin'?" The Hunter with the mohawk turns the attention to the mission instead, directing our conversation in a much safer and more important direction. Despite his best efforts, no one moves for a couple of uncertain seconds, and even the blades of grass stand on guard, waiting to see if one of my buddies would like to test their skills against each other instead of working together, but in the end, it's Price who is the first to settle back into his composure with the impeccable nimbleness of years and routine.

"Maybe." The captain answers thoughtfully, and his gaze lingers on the two mercenaries before he nods toward our new shelter, inviting us inside. Whatever Laswell has dug up from the depths of yet another bottomless drawer, it's not a topic to be discussed in the open, and this sufficiently awakens my curiosity. "Let's go inside." And as he sets off towards the entrance of the safe house with quick steps, I'm the first to follow him, not only because instead of the tense atmosphere that slowly fills the peaceful meadow on the wings of the pollen blowing in the breeze, even the vague emptiness beyond the threshold is more inviting, but also because there are much more urgent problems scratching my mind than the struggle for dominance stemming from masculine vanity. The serum is what made us so beautifully wander to almost the other side of the world, and this very dangerous little vial of hell is why we crossed the ocean to visit another continent. The clever trick Shepherd will use to remove us from the uncertain variables is the problem of the future, which won't come if we don't concentrate on the task with all our focus. And it seems that after the fleeting intermezzo, the others come to this conclusion as well, because without further ado everyone heads towards our temporary headquarters too.

And despite the desolation of the building from the outside, as I cross the border of the house and the cool darkness embraces me, I'm greeted by a very well-maintained, almost homely interior. The gaudy stains on the walls preserve the old tasteful pattern of the torn wallpaper, and there is no doubt that a whole series of family photos could have rested on these eerie square patterns, which the residents might have taken with them in a hurry, in order to have a few memories frozen in the past peace, to which they can long to return to. And as I follow Price further into the uninhabited depths of the house, from the worn furniture forgotten behind and the child's toy lying in the corner, and from the curtain submitted to a slow rot I feel like I had trespassed into somewhere, where the faded ghosts of the late inhabitants still haunt, locked in the objects left behind. But I quickly suppress this short-lived unpleasant sensation, because if there is anything remaining here from the previous owners, it can only be a few bones and decaying scraps of clothing left by the victims when the beasts inevitably found them.

"What a nice place you got us." I note pulling the corner of my mouth into a grimace, and although my voice is noticeably laced with irony, considering the circumstances, the captain has managed to find a really impressive den, which is just right for us to hang out in for a few days. And even though my pretty little body is used to the puritanical comfort of the colony, but for once I'm willing to set aside the inconvenience that I might have to share my bed with ghouls.

"The credit is our helper's. The big guy gave us the coordinates." Garrick shares the information quietly as he catches up to me, and it's enough for him to nod behind with his head to let me know who he might be talking about from our new teammates. And the fact that the pleasant shack is thanks to König explains a lot. Up until now, it was obvious, based only on his rather strong German accent and even more German-sounding name, that he was not from an American colony, but the fact that he provided such accurate information about this safe house hidden in the desolate wilderness confirms that he was born somewhere in the area. And it's quite logical that a terrifying butcher like him started his later adventurous journey from one of the largest and world-famous colonies, because the mention of the name of the Hunter training center operating here fills even civilians with sufficient foreboding. And where else could such a burly giant have been trained into such an efficient killing machine than in Purgatory? It wasn't by chance that they gave it this apt nickname, because the miserable little kids who are dragged there endure such sufferings that, although they become "purified warriors", the few years they suffer there, leave a permanent mark on them. Or at least this urban legend is spread by word of mouth. But it's enough to just recall the bloodthirsty pleasure with which the hooded Hunter stomped someone to death, and it immediately becomes clear that there is perhaps a hint of truth in the rumor.

The captain finally ushers us into a spacious dining room, in the middle of which stretches an old table, where a myriad of documents and weapons are spread out, indicating that the man had just felt at home enough to get to work while he waited for us to join them. And although they got here with less than a day's lead, based on the scattered reports and papers, the two Hunters had enough time to review the important pieces of information, and perhaps even work out the beginnings of a plan to celebrate our arrival. If Laswell took swift action, then Price rivals this momentum, because as my eyes discover the map of the colony among the many pages, and the tangled chaos of streets and buildings highlighted on it in bright colors, I quickly understand that our leader wasn't lazy and must have already studied the field.

"Kate had a hard time with this. She managed to find out that the Rat is in the colony indeed and that his organization is involved in several businesses." The bearded man immediately jumps into the middle of the briefing, not wasting a minute, as we all gather around the table, and he skilfully pulls out a file, which he pushes to the center and opens in front of us. And when the picture of an unknown guy richly adorned with tattoos appears, it becomes obvious that our aforementioned criminal is staring back at us from the low-quality photo. "But he hides well, and no one finds him if he doesn't want it." He shares this not-necessarily positive development, and with this, he succeeds in planting an easily recognizable atmosphere of pessimism in the dim little room. Of course, we could guess that this bastard had to earn the nickname somehow, so it wouldn't be easy to get hold of him, but now we can't allow ourselves to start this search with uncertain assumptions. We need to find him quickly, but mostly immediately, because the clock is ticking, and with every minute we are getting closer to that damned poison finding a new owner.

"This doesn't make our job any easier." MacTavish voices some of the doubts in my head, and as his dark eyebrows meet with annoyance in a rather troubled grimace, it becomes quite evident that he had a similar train of thought in his head as I did.

"We have to get him before he sells the serum." Riley joins in as well, and although the seriousness of the situation should require my undivided attention, I can't help but acknowledge with satisfaction that he almost automatically lined up next to me, like a loyal shadow. And even this small detail can ignite excited little sparks under my skin, because his proximity is enough for all my senses to be painfully sharpened. And I have to forcibly divert my concentration back towards our discussion, because no matter how much I want to read every tiny movement of his face covered with a mask, now my useless brain has to deal with the analysis of bigger complications. Pull yourself together, Leona.

"If he doesn't come out on his own, we'll smoke him out." Horangi puts forward the rather radical idea, and leans comfortably on the table with folded hands on the other side, as casually as if we weren’t just trying to find the ever-cooling trail of a drug that leads to certain death. And I find his ease interesting, because I'm pretty sure that fat credits won't be of much use if the army of hybrids and their little minions overrun every corner of the surviving civilization. Because this tiny little suggestion would most certainly lead to that.

"It would be an irresponsible idea." I interject my comment, looking through the file that was probably dug up by Laswell, searching for anything that might narrow down where in this huge, bustling city we should start our search to find our criminal in the shortest possible time. And Price was really not exaggerating, the dude got his hands into almost everything from trading with weapons, to prostitution, to drug and human trafficking, so it's no wonder that his criminal organization weaves through the colony like a spider web full of decay. Because, except for the central sectors, where the centers of the official bodies are concentrated in each colony, areas where he has influence have been circled in bright red almost everywhere else. Fabulous.

"Scum like him is easy to catch. All it takes is force." König chimes in for the first time since our arrival, and as his voice resonates through the barren walls of the building, I also break out of my observations and shift my gaze from the piles of documents to the man with careful deliberation. And from the way he straightens up and stands out from our small group without the slightest uncertainty, it's clear that he sees nothing wrong with his idea full of violence. And although it's already quite obvious from this how they managed to find the weak link leading to the Vultures so amazingly quickly, this approach won't work now. Because it's the least of our problems that everyone is in a foreign land except him, but if our target is such an influential person that he has ears on every corner, then he will know that we are in his heels before we have a chance to touch him with a finger.

"If he finds out he's being targeted by Hunters, he'll take off before we can even get close to him." I explain this non-negligible factor, and as I firmly hold the unpleasant weight of his gaze fixed on me, I know I'm not imagining the curious glint in those ice-blue eyes. "That's why we're here now instead of the colony, I imagine." I add this detail almost as a side note, and I don't try to prevent cynicism from creeping into my voice, because I want this behemoth to know that no matter how menacingly he stares, he won't be able to force me to surrender. Especially not when I know I'm right. If it were so easy to track down that goddamn thug without being noticed, then Price would have been breathing down the dude's neck before our plane even touched the ground.

"She's right." Garrick agrees, his face involuntarily giving way to the helplessness that must have settled in his head, and which helps to plant the faint line of resigned wrinkles on his face. Without a doubt, he would have been the first to bring our target to us wrapped in a pretty bow if he had the chance to lay his deadly little hands on him. But it wasn't a coincidence that they arrived here first and waited for us, because this action requires much more caution than they can organize with their usual bloody techniques.

"But we can't just sit around and wait!" MacTavish argues, spreading his hands out passionately, thus effectively voicing the frustration that is probably slowly forming in everyone upon hearing our increasingly hopeless mission. But even though I can understand his powerless rage, we cannot run headlong into the wall, because at this point we risk the complete destruction of humanity with every wrong move.

"I agree with Woods on this. We can't act hastily. We need intel." Price affirms, his eyes scanning our small gathering meaningfully, silently signaling that although he would like to throw himself into the middle of action, even his experience cannot guarantee success right now. "Nik, can you help us?" He suddenly turns towards the entrance of the dining room, and I look back over my shoulder in confusion, because I could swear that we left our pilot at the plane. But as I see the man leaning against the doorframe with complete peace of mind, many questions arise in my mind regarding our friend, who until now was believed to be rather harmless. And judging by the fact that my companions aren't at all surprised that Nik was able to sneak up to us so unobtrusively, I have a very strong feeling that I quite misunderstood the guy. His remarkable ability to follow us without being noticed is only a negligible detail in addition to the fact that the captain turns to him to solve our predicament.

"I have a few contacts in Colony No. 2. I'll see what they know." Nik offers, with such a self-evident simplicity that deepens my suspicion that the man mostly plays pilot as a hobby, and pursues very dubious activities as a full-time job instead. Because there is no other logical explanation as to why he has contacts on another continent who hide deep enough in the underworld to help us. Very interesting.

"All right." Price gives his blessing to the proposed solution, and then immediately turns his determined attention back to our small team. "Until then, we'll wait." He shares our next step, and although I can feel that not everyone is filled with unclouded happiness by this development, he gets a nod of agreement from everyone, even from our mercenary comrades. "Let's rest. The last week has been busy." He adds in conclusion, now with a much softer tone, and the hoarseness of exhaustion settles in his voice, which he has been able to more or less successfully remove from himself so far.

As our two mercenaries take the opportunity without further comment and leave the scene of our meeting with comfortable steps, I have the opportunity to take a closer look at the face of our leader. And although for a fleeting moment, I still feel the scrutinizing gaze of the giant man on the middle of my back, I'm much more occupied by the very pale grayness that I now quite clearly discover appearing on the captain's skin. Up until now, it might have been the excitement of the trip that could divert my attention, but now I see the weariness dominating the features of the bearded Hunter, and in the semi-darkness surrounding the room, the circles under his eyes seem even darker. And as I shift my searching gaze to Garrick, I can make out the small gray veins running along his temple even from the cover of his cap, which can indicate only one thing. And after a quick calculation, my suspicion is confirmed, that I haven't been able to handle them with my clever little hands for weeks, and although they probably didn't have to use their ability extremely, stress can very effectively bring out exhaustion in them. Although my Scottish buddy and his masked bosom friend received a charge not so long ago, at the gate of our important little mission, a little boost won't hurt them either.

"By the way." I speak up suddenly, effectively drawing all eyes on me, and I take advantage of this to get around the table, strolling closer to Garrick, who looks the most worn out, and who only curiously raises one of his dark eyebrows, when I pull off the glove from one of my pretty little hands to hold it out towards him. "It would be time to regenerate you." I note, bringing a mixture of surprise and concern to the man's face.

"Won't it be a bit much?" He asks, his voice full of doubt, and I can't hold back the cheeky little smile that escapes my lips, because the way he peers at Price for help makes him look infinitely boyish. And I also know from this small confused gesture that it's only worry speaking, because there is no doubt that he doesn't want to strain my little body in the least by asking for my aid. But unfortunately, determination works much stronger in me than the dull grip of the slowly awakening hunger in my stomach, and I'm willing to go to painful ends if I can guarantee that the care with which they turn towards me won't disappear. And although this admission fills a part of me with the right amount of disgust and contempt, I just have to think about the fact they mean my safety, and I immediately manage to suppress these unwanted voices. Because thanks to the suffering of the two Healers, the motivation to feed my selfish desires with their attention lives much more vividly in my consciousness, as if I were pouring oil on an already insatiable fire.

"I'll survive it." I comment simply, and although I know that by charging four Hunters I will wake up the torturous hunger gnawing at my insides, this small nuisance seems bearable. Even knowing that it’s uncertain how I will get blood, because I'm sure, even if Price brought me a tasty treat, it won't alleviate my problems permanently. And I can only wildly hope that the power of the mouth-watering dinner given by Riley will last until I maybe manage to catch an unsuspecting fool in the colony to quench my thirst. But no matter how much these troubling thoughts arise in me, as Garrick's damp hand wraps around mine, and the first burst of my energy penetrates his body, then I feel the familiar pull of the demanding force, and I know I have made the right decision. Because my hunger is a negligible inconvenience, if I can guarantee they will be in top shape when it's needed most. Even if every single nerve in me cruelly warns me that this will have consequences.

⃰

The silence in the house echoes in my ears with painful loudness, and the creaking of the old floor under my boots screams in my skull in an almost ear-piercing way, as I drag my legs, which are growing heavier by the minute, toward the room assigned to me. I wasn't wrong in that the charging of my four companions would sufficiently flare up the well-known pangs of hunger twisting my insides, and although it doesn't besiege me nearly as strongly as last time, I feel that it's only a matter of time before the feverish agony hits me. And even though I don't regret for a minute that I was able to solve my team's problem, I have to get some food very soon, if I don't want to be the one who, weakened by hunger, hinders the mission. If I have a little luck, the captain has been kind enough to surprise me with a delicious morsel, which will be just enough to ease my suffering. And as soon as we wander into the colony, I make sure to catch some stupid criminal and refuel with nutrients, because I have a bad feeling in my mind that tells me that our deployment will take turns where it will come in handy if I'm in peak condition.

And as, lost inside the massive building, I finally reach the corridor on the floor where my temporary quarters rest, instead of being relieved, all my limbs fill with tension in a split second, because I discover someone who shouldn't be hiding here in the least. Because Price certainly planned it so that I would be given the one out of the dozen rooms which is farthest from our guests, in case they wanted to use my services. Although I don't think they would openly force me to regenerate them, in this dirty world even less deadly people are capable of horrible things, and it's even better to be careful with someone who can crush another's skull with their bare hands.

Certainly, he had already heard my steps when I was tramping up the rickety stairs, but now, as I approach him, König turns his head in my direction with leisurely calmness, and even this small movement is enough for caution to gain a foothold in my mind. I have already acknowledged the amazing size that genetics has blessed him with, but now, as he is surrounded by the faint light filtering through one of the broken windows, he looks more like a shapeshifting demon than a human being. And even though he's comfortably leaning his back against the worn wall, there's something quite unsettling about the way the fabric of his black uniform strains painfully on his arms, as his folded hands rest on his chest. Because he may seem perfectly harmless to an unsuspecting observer, but my paranoid mind warns that it's only an ephemeral illusion, and that an artificial peace resides in each and every inch of him. But I'm even more interested in why he's here, because I was sure that after our impromptu meeting, he and his friend went off to rest. And even if he has zero navigational skills, he couldn't have accidentally wandered in here, because their room is most definitely on the ground floor.

But no matter how much caution creeps into my limbs, I don't let any of it reach the surface, because it would be a mistake to show him the concerns he can arouse in me. I have just seen enough of his behavior to know that this operation is just as much about polishing his ego as material goods, and what could be a more tempting pastime for such a man, than to frighten a unique little thing like me. I saw the barely concealed fear in the eyes of his men during the mission, and it's quite easy to deduce from this what kind of respect the Hunter desires. The kind that makes the knees of the unfortunate person who stumbles in front of him tremble, and that makes him feel even more powerful. A pathetic but perfectly legitimate goal. After all, instilling fear is at least as effective a control strategy as gaining respect.

His bright eyes follow my every step with unbroken attention, as I walk closer, and from his gaze resting on me, I feel like a mistrustful small animal that approaches a larger predator in the hope that it will be merciful enough not to kill it. And although we are currently playing on the same team, nothing guarantees that this hunch of mine won't come true at some point in the not-so-distant future. Because, unfortunately, my observations and intuitions are very rarely wrong, and now every nerve fiber of mine screams that I'm dealing with a beast in the guise of a man who, if he could, would have wrapped his needle-sharp teeth around my throat a long time ago. And while in the case of Riley, I was sure that he rewarded me with his disdain for my not-so-appealing behavior, in the case of the hooded Hunter, I have no idea what could be causing this outstanding interest.

"Your team is unusual." He breaks the heavy silence that has settled between the desolate walls, and I just stop at a safe distance from him and raise one of my eyebrows curiously, because he starts the first direct conversation we have with a rather interesting remark. And with this one sentence, he succeeds in reminding me that the good life I experienced in the unit is a unique privilege, which normally my kind hardly ever gets. And while in most cases the Healers are kept away from all the nitty-gritty details of the actual deployments because they get more use out of them unharmed, it cannot be denied that the active role that my team so generously gifted me within the ranks of Unit 141 is quite unusual. And although I don't like the fact that he expresses his comments so freely, it's indisputable that as a stranger, and especially as a Hunter in a leading role, the dynamics of my team can be a real curiosity for him.

"If you think it's strange that I dare to speak in their company, then it really is." I answer with an unimpressed tone, trying with every cell to be able to keep my confidence. Although he still doesn't move from the wall, the way he stares at me with an almost abnormal immobility makes the goosebumps prickle on my back. As if every single muscle of his would be stuck in a deliberate frozen state, but my keen senses catch the tiny little movement as his fingers wrap a breath tighter around his biceps. And this simply gives the impression that he is forcing himself, against his nature, into a less threatening position than his instincts would like. Maybe my brain overthinks every little thing, but it's no coincidence that I honed my observational skills over the years. I see that something completely different lurks under the surface than what he lets on.

"This isn't common in many places." He states simply, but his remark doesn't throw me off in the slightest, because I'm also perfectly aware of this fact. That's why I'm so motivated to keep my place. "But Price seems to be a liberal leader." He notes almost only to himself, and his voice is full of fascination, as if he had just made a very profound statement. However, it bothers me much more, and it can suddenly turn my already sharpened mood into a more prickly one, when my clever little ears hear the breath of derision hidden in his tone. Others might not even notice it, or would attribute it to something completely insignificant, something that is not worth pointing out, but I have analyzed just enough people over the years to know that nothing is completely unconscious that is buried behind one's words.

And even I cannot explain the angry flame that kindles within me at the thought that this complete stranger is making such casual comments about the captain. Of course, I'm aware that Price is not an innocent virgin, nor a flawless saint who needs someone to protect his honor, but there is something viscerally infuriating about the way the hooded man turns to him with barely veiled criticism.

But, as the stagnant emptiness in my stomach tightens, I decide that I shouldn't engage in this conversation when my mind is dulled by the pull of hunger slowly coming to life. Nothing good will come of this irritation taking control of my brain, because I might say something that would give him a reason to leave behind his false peace and show what secret temper lies beneath the no less dangerous exterior.

"If you came here to provoke me, then don't waste your time." I sigh tiredly, and as the exhaustion screams in every corner of my body at the same time, I set off with renewed motivation towards the door, behind which the solitude awaits that I yearn for. "It won't work."  I add, not even sparing him a last look, my eyes strictly fixed on the worn wood that hides my shelter. And once again, I have to note that he didn't come here by chance, because out of the countless possibilities, he managed to settle down right before the entrance where I'm heading, with almost measured accuracy.

"I didn't mean to insult you." He says plainly, and it's quite disturbing that there is still no obvious emotion in his tone, which makes him seem much less human than my nervous system finds comfortable. His statement doesn't seem like a lie, but my impatience grows with each passing minute, because I can't figure out what the hell is going on here. I could think that he only wanted to forge closer unity between our teams, but then I would have to be much more naive. In that case, he wouldn't have waited to catch me alone and without any witnesses to see whatever he was planning in that mysterious mind of his.

"You want to befriend me, perhaps?" I inquire with a malicious little smile on my face, and the sarcasm that nestles in my voice stings even in my ears. And I know it's not the smartest idea to taunt a guy who can tear me to pieces with his hands, but that didn't stop me even when I was mouthing back to Riley. And my sharp little tongue won't go on vacation when the starved tension working inside me rages in my head. "How nice of you." I sprinkle at the end, considering the whole tense conversation as closed, because no matter what reason he strayed here for, I don't want to talk it out with him now, when we are all too alone. And even though carefree mockery shines from every cell in me, my hands wrap around the doorknob too quickly when I finally arrive before my room. Because he may still not move from the place he has occupied until now, but the threatening aura that emanates from him like some uncontrollable, poisonous gas almost gnaws at my skin.

But before I have the chance to finally disappear into my little cave, so that I can finally be left alone with the suffering clinging to my insides with its nails, the floor behind me creaks and my fingers freeze on the metal as suddenly as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water in my neck. And for a suffocating moment, everything is shrouded in quietness, and there is such a silence between us that the crackling screams of the old house travel through the walls like an ominous melody.

"I liked what you did in the interrogation room." He utters, and it takes me a second to understand what kind of compliment he gave me due to the stress and the agony of the spasm that is slowly closing my intestines in an iron fist. And when the recognition penetrates my brain and I decode his words, I turn back to him with complete confusion, looking up at him with such shocked astonishment on my face that almost certainly paints a cartoon-like shock on my features. Because suddenly I can't find any logical explanation for how the thread of the conversation has led us to this point, and I can't discover any answers as to why he feels so comfortable around me that he can point this out to me so freely. What the hell?

"Excuse me?" The startled question breaks out of me, and I'm unable to hold back the surprise creeping into my voice, doubting for a fleeting moment whether I heard what he said correctly. But as soon as my eyes meet his, and I discover a glimmer resembling admiration in them, I’m completely dumbfounded. Because under other circumstances, my twisted little soul might even be touched by this unusual recognition, but I know all too well who is standing in front of me. And that makes the unexpected turn the situation took seem even more surreal.

"The bloodlust in your eyes was beautiful." He continues his grotesque praise, almost undisturbed, and as he takes a step towards me, I need the combined work of all my nerves in order not to back away from him, because the distrust drills itself into my brain that if I turn my back on him again, it will end very badly. Because I suddenly sense very well how unbelievably huge this man is, and as my troubled eyes reflexively run over him, I become painfully aware that if he attacks me, I won't be able to defend myself. "I doubt your friends could truly appreciate it." He claims, and now some deliberate malice creeps into his voice, which he doesn't even try to hide, thus clearly showing that he has been holding back his real thoughts until now very willingly.

But when my body breaks out of the paralyzed shock, and I get over the fact that he could crush all my bones to dust with a strong hug, then I finally have the brain capacity to understand what he shared with me so carelessly. And from this simple sentence, the alarm disappears from my mind, because it suddenly makes sense why he honored me with his presence. And as my mind realizes that this little discourse is about nothing but the rivalry that has existed since the very first moment our team met, then my little soul calms down in the blink of an eye, because no matter how terrifying the man may seem, according to this, he is driven by just as fallible and transparent motives like everyone else. And although it's very difficult for me to maintain my indifference due to the intrusion of hunger in my stomach, now that I know why he is so persistently interested in me, the doubt of the unknown disappears from my mind.

"Interesting deduction. But I'm afraid I don't care." I respond with utter disinterest, and as the line of a sardonic smile stretches across my lips, I see the first bewildered wrinkles appear around the skin covered with dark paint. And it's painfully obvious that he didn't expect this reaction, but believed that such a big and strong Hunter's kind approach would make me fall at his feet from the pleasure. But he is seriously mistaken if he thinks it's so pathetically easy to sweep me off my feet.

"You’re wasting your talent with them." He laments, and if I were a little more stupid, I would really believe the sympathy in his voice to be authentic, but even if he hadn't blown his disguise so irresponsibly, I would still see through his benevolence. Because I can tell when someone tries to manipulate me, especially if said someone does it half as skillfully as it would take to be a successful strategy against me.

And at other times, I might want to play with him verbally and continue this complicated moment, but when my stomach convulses with the pain tearing into me, then all my patience evaporates like the last sip of water in the desert. Every single one of my nerve cells is stretched to the point of breaking, and this straining ache makes my body braver than it should be, because the sooner I put an end to this extremely bizarre situation, the sooner I can collapse into my bed to finally rest a little in the embrace of the slow ache that spreads to every fiber of me. I quickly cross the distance of a few steps that are remaining between us, and my hand shoots out towards him with the speed of a venomous snake. It seems that he didn't expect my attack, because before he could react, my fingers close around the fabric covering his face, and as I pull him down to me with a movement that is perhaps more forceful than necessary, he obediently leans down to me, stumbling towards me, and I see genuine shock in his eyes.

"It's unnecessary to try to flatter me." I murmur with deceptive kindness, and it seems that I managed to stun him so much with my unexpected act that he even forgets to protest, because he almost dazedly lets me intrude into his personal space to finally have stare off with him without him towering over me. And although it seems that his spine bends in rather uncomfortable positions in order for me to do this, it only makes the contemptuous grin on my face grow wider. "I know this is all about measuring who's dick is bigger. They have something that you don't and it hurts your ego. It's sad, but you'll have to live with it." I curve my mouth downward pitifully, savoring every single emotion that flashes through his eyes. But as soon as I see one of the gloved hands moving in my periphery, I let go of his hood with nonchalant ease and dance away from him in order to return to my door and open it again. "I recommend that you focus more on the mission. A lot of credit is at stake, isn't it?" I throw my last words at him from the threshold, and as I enter the embrace of the darkness of the small room, I have one last chance to catch his gaze stopping on me as he straightens up, and I'm almost relieved when I'm hidden by the thick wood.

Because even though it was only for a few seconds, I saw something very dangerous flash in those bright eyes, and the warning voice waking up in my brain tells me that this is exactly how the predator stares at its slowly cornered prey. With curious hunger. And that makes me realize, even despite the pain that is slowly squeezing my stomach, that I have crossed an invisible border, which sooner or later will bring the trouble that I so enthusiastically sought out for myself. Wonderful.

[seiya-starsniper]

(angst prompts) ❛ i’m sorry, have we met? ❜

TJ I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR THIS. I decided to continue the prompt from @valeriianz [Part 1 Here] to make it more angsty. But also kind of hopeful? Maybe???????

cw: major character death, memory loss

----------

“Will you give me a sweet dream before I go, old friend?” Hob asks.

Dream’s eyes widen, and he is sure the shock in them must be clear, because Hob startles a laugh.

“Yeah,” Hob coughs, and new blood spurts forth from his lips. “Been here long enough to figure out who you were. Why they wanted,” he hacks again, “you or your sister. I was never going to give you up.”

“I know,” Dream says. “But you must not - “

“I’ve lived a good life,” Hob interrupts him. “But I think it’s time. I’m just happy it was you who came for me, Dream of the Endless.”

“No,” Dream replies, voice trembling. “For you, you may simply call me Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob sighs, awash with a new wave of contentment. “I like that. Lovely name.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Dream says, before he steels himself for what he must do.

“I will give you the sweetest of dreams,” Dream says, trying and failing miserably to keep his voice steady. “Once you are there, you may call upon my sister, and…she will give you her gift.” 

“Sounds,” Hob stutters, “sounds good to me.”

It is little effort for Dream to call forth his sand and place Hob into a deep sleep. In the Dream, he recreates what might have been, in 1989, were Hob not captured, and Dream were a better friend. 

It is not long before he feels the presence of his sister.

“Dream,” Death says, her tone soft and kind. “You must let him go now.”

Dream clutches Hob’s body even tighter. 

“Please sister,” Dream pleads. “Do not take him from me yet.”

“You know that is not my choice to make,” Death replies. “It is his time, and he has made his choice.”

“Will you tell me what his choice it is?”

Death smiles sadly. “You know I cannot.”

—

Hob is running through a field of poppies, his beloved dog at his side. He has been running for some time, he thinks, and yet he is neither tired nor hungry. 

He stops when he feels himself being watched, and when he looks over his shoulder, his dog has padded over to a pale man dressed all in back. 

“Hello,” the man says, first to the dog, and then to Hob himself. 

“Hello!” Hob greets the stranger enthusiastically. “I - I’m sorry, have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

“No,” the man answers, and Hob thinks he sounds a bit sad about that. Something lurches in Hob’s chest, and he thinks he should rectify the man’s sadness immediately.

“Well, you seem like a kind person, so I’d like to get to know you, if that’s all right,” Hob says, offering his hand out.

The man nods, and grasps Hob’s outstretched hand firmly.

“I am Dream,” the stranger says. “I am lord of all that inhabits the Dreaming. You…you passed in your sleep, Hob Gadling.”

 “You were offered a place to stay here, which you,” the man pauses, “which you accepted.”

Hobs’ eyes widen, and he lets go of Dream’s hand then falls to his knees. “My lord, forgive my impudence, my memories from when I was alive have fled me it seems.” He hopes he has not offended Dream. He does not want to be banished. He wants to stay, he wants-

“Rise, Hob," Dream says. "You may be subject to my realm but I - I was hoping that we…we may become friends.”

Hob scrambles up off his knees immediately, and before he can think any better of it, he tugs Dream into a bone crushing hug. He feels the dreamlord stiffen for just a moment, before his arms rise slowly to return the hug.

“I would like that very much, my lord,” Hob says when he withdraws from Dream.

“Please,” Dream replies. “You may just address me as Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob says. “That’s a lovely name.” Something complicated flashes across Dream’s expression, but it’s gone before Hob can examine it further.

“Thank you,” Dream answers, just the barest hint of a smile crossing his face. “Would you like a drink?”

A table with wine and cheese materializes itself next to where they’re standing, and Hob sits down eagerly. Dream follows shortly after, pouring out a glass for each of them. 

They sit, and then begin to talk.



Send me an Angst Prompt!

[captainkurosolaire]

Your Devoted Page

Dear, Casta

Should upon when this reaches you, my beloved hearty. It's within my deepest crestfallen, I've failed t' keep your original journal held intact. Found out th' traitor upon our vessel was no other than, Sol. I should've foresaw his dark-nimbus; now I'm left missing another brother and a broken-family, scattered across th' realm. As you're aware perhaps, choosing to document our Crew's journey alongside, mine. I recall when you said I was your protagonist and explained to me their unique-powers in stories. ...Remember? Me running out the next 'morrow, and getting n' a dastardly tavern brawl t' my near-death, thinking plot-armor made me invincible? Earning Judas's ire for both ov' us, yet we laughed in joy, sharing a memory-made. ...See, I know you think, you b' just ordinary, times may feel you're an outcast upon these voyages, especially amongst th' company ov' this Wild Crew I strung along. Though again... strength you usher, you mend n' stitch others, you've Captaineered these sentiments. If weren't fer you, I'd surely b' wrecking havoc monstrously, cruel to its favor. Hardest thing fer me, was leaving th' Land behind, those who've I grown knowing upon my time, stranded, forming around them. Unlike n' this expansive-tumbling tides ov' sea life... It's different. We're molded by nature required by daily survival, we become grizzly, beastly, our teeth, claws, reinforced. 'Till tyme for our placed feet to own anywhere, we conquer taking our lessons ov' seas, skies, desert, and utilize devouring moments. Claiming what's denied. Ov' Bold n' Free, we are. However in yer company, stead, I've a rare opportunity t' take those lovers of land, with me. You're a messaged-bottle; a reminder, keeping th' rabidness from taking-hold. My humanity cannot b' extinguished with you. I've saw to restoring th' journal to forged identical perfection with extra-upgrades fer th' problems, this page is dedicated as yours, alone. You-mean th' heart to me. Additionally I've noticed there's many stories, untold... So I've seized liberty to give you my Stories of Origination, following Passages of One. We've lots of similarities you may-find in revelations... My failures, sins, bringing... May this Dawn have confession, may we find closure in unity, we'll breathe together our flaws, leaving only our marvels! Against these anchored weights only recently, you Crew of Gold, have begun helping relieve and restore t' myself of what I may become... When reunited next, I'll have spoil knowledge, setting out learning who my Mother was n' pursuit and hope searching for my discovery along the missing final answers. Then becoming Th' Captain who shall sail th' Fates themselves and ferry destination ov' all your worldly dreams. Formerly t' my treasured, Yours fondly, - Captain Kuro Solaire

[Prev:Chapter]: Ill-Fated, Sadness - ♪"Past-Lives"♪

[7-wonders]

Of Jack-o'-Lanterns and Misperceptions

Summary: You carve pumpkins with two of Dream's sisters in the Dreaming!

Word Count: 1.2k (just a short lil thing!)

A/N: If you haven't read the comics, all you need to know about Delirium is that she's the baby of the family and I would protect her with my life.

The Dreaming is home to many odd and fantastical situations that one wouldn’t normally see in their day-to-day life. But even in a land like the Dreaming, seeing the little group that’s diligently working around a table that’s been set up in Fiddler’s Green gives inhabitants pause. One inhabitant in particular, upon coming across the scene, begins to fear for his life.

“Look kid,” Merv says nervously, putting his hands up in the air as if in surrender, “I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much, but you didn’t have to show me in such a brutal way.”

You laugh, just barely glancing from your careful knife work to the pumpkin-headed man standing in front of you. “C’mon Merv, surely you know that carving pumpkins is a Halloween tradition!”

“Tradition or not, give a guy a little warning next time before you go around driving a knife through the same thing his head is made of.”

“To be fair,” the dark-skinned woman sitting across from you interjects, giving you a wink, “this was initially my idea.”

Merv groans. “Great, Death’s got it out for me.”

“Do you want me to try and make one that looks like you?” you ask, attempting to butter him up.

He pauses to consider this before begrudgingly leaning against the table. “...Yeah. Give it your best shot.”

It still tends to give you pause when you think about the fact that your boyfriend’s sister, the literal anthropomorphic personification known as Death, is friendly with you. Even when you meet up with her in your world, the Waking, you sometimes do a mental double take when you realize that you’re sitting in a park or enjoying a coffee with Death. The woman has made an effort to try and be a friend to you since you’re in a relationship with her brother – something you very much appreciate, considering there is a whole lot you don’t understand about that which you had believed to be fake until only a few months ago.

In fact, it was Death who had suggested this little project. She had popped by your home one night to say hello while you were watching Halloween, and had remarked how much she loved the movie. Though she couldn’t stay long enough to watch the movie in its entirety with you, you did both launch into a conversation about Halloween and everything enjoyable about it. She had mentioned how she loved to carve jack-o’-lanterns back when they were still made of turnips, and then a devious smile spread on her face before she asked if you enjoyed carving pumpkins.

That’s how you ended up here, in your lover’s domain, dragging a knife through a pumpkin and trying your hardest to beat Death in designing a jack-o’-lantern. How strange your life has become in recent months.

When Death looks up from her pumpkin and smiles, you already know who she’s looking at. Though you have no powers of your own, you can still feel Dream’s presence whenever he’s around you. When he places his large hands on your shoulders, you crane your neck around to look up at him with a grin.

“Hi, Morpheus,” you greet.

Morpheus, as is customary whenever he sees you (a true romantic, he is), kisses you softly. “My love.”

From across the table, Death makes a noise of endearment. “You two are just so cute, sometimes I cannot stand it!”

His lips twitch into a small smile, the most emotion he’ll show around his beloved sister. “Hello, sister.” Dream almost does a double take before amending his greeting. “Hello, sisters. Though I am pleased to see you both, I cannot help but be unsure of when it is that I invited you to my realm.”

“You didn’t,” Death says with a smirk. “Y/n did.”

You smile at Dream sheepishly. “We wanted to carve pumpkins, and this was the easiest place for Delirium to find.”

Delirium, the youngest sibling of the Endless, is currently staring intently at her pumpkin with her tongue poking out of her mouth as she draws on it with a marker. Nobody questions what it is she is attempting to accomplish.

“You are…carving pumpkins,” Dream observes, as if you didn’t just tell him what you’re doing. You share a look with Death over the table when he’s not looking, as if to say ‘men.’ “Why?”

“Because it’s almost Halloween!” you say cheerfully. “Surely you’ve seen jack-o’-lanterns in people’s dreams before.”

“I have. Though, I believe they were turnips and not pumpkins.”

You laugh. “Your sister told me the same thing, but that was also, like, two hundred years ago. You really need to get out more.”

“You wanna carve one, little brother?”

Morpheus shakes his head politely before sitting down next to you in a seat that he conjures from thin air. “I am more than content to just watch, thank you.”

And watch he does, though you think he watches how you interact with his sisters more than he watches the actual pumpkin carving. You can tell that this simple act, of you spending time with his blood, means a lot to him. If anybody has a complicated family, it’s the Endless. You know that they haven’t always been on the best of terms, even he and Death, and so it’s important to you that you accept his family as you’ve accepted him.

Though, you do still find it difficult to spend time with Desire, since they’re very conniving and just not a very good person. You’re working on it, though.

“I’m FiNiShEdDdDdD!” Delirium finally trills before turning her pumpkin around with her delicate hands to face you. “WhAt Do YoU tHiNk? ShE lOoKs LiKe ShE wOuLd MaKe A gOoD fRiEnD!”

She’s carved the features of a jack-o’-lantern’s face over and over again, creating a pumpkin with mouths, noses, and eyes that are in a variety of positions they are not typically found in and sideways or upside-down. After studying it for a moment, you look up and grin. “Looks great, Del. Want me to put a candle in it so that you can see it lit up?”

Delirium squeals and nods, her red curls bouncing around her face. When you place one of the electric tea lights inside the pumpkin and turn it so that she can see her masterpiece, she claps her hands together in excitement. Butterflies and tiny fish fly around her, the visible manifestation of said excitement. “I lOvE iT! dOn’T yOu ThInK iT lOoKs FaNtAbUlOuS, dReAmY? dEaTh?”

“It looks wonderful, sister,” Morpheus dutifully says.

“Fantabulous, indeed,” Death adds.

As Delirium chatters on about pumpkins and pumpkin pie and oh, the time that she found herself in a giant pumpkin with mice like Cinderella, Death listening good-naturedly, you glance over to see Dream watching you. You smile at him and kiss his cheek.

“Sorry for not asking before inviting your sisters into your realm.”

“Do not apologize. I find myself glad that you are on good terms with my sisters.” He lays a hand on top of yours. “Thank you for being so open to spending time with them. It means a lot, not only to them, but to me as well.”

“I like Death and Delirium. They’re fun to hang out with. Plus, they tell me embarrassing stories about you.”

He smirks. “Ah, so that’s been your plan all along?”

“It’s a fun, unexpected little perk.” You look over at Merv before looking at your pumpkin, making sure you’ve got his left eye just right. “Now, care to watch as I recreate your janitor on an inanimate pumpkin?”

As expected, Dream does more of watching you than he does watching the actual carving. Not that you mind, though.

[deviantly-inspired]

Sunday is mini fic day here’s a mini fic

Dream used to dance. He would flit about between his siblings and amongst his realm, sweeping up any willing partner into a spin as he celebrated in creation. Desire was a favored partner, then: they’d spend days dancing between realms as they spun their realms for mortal minds. Most of the Dreaming as it is first bloomed to life beneath joyful steps.

As he aged, and his duties expanded, Dream danced less and less. There was still joy in his steps and at his fingertips. It’s just part of growing up, Death assures him, her face distant and eyes seeing something even further away. Sometimes, you give up joy for duty.

(Aeons later, on a sunny day, the words I feel nothing hanging between them like a guillotine, she would try to take back her words. Try to real in the ripples of her own pain. She can only hope she’s done so in time.)

Dancing ends but for the way it can be seen in how Dream moves. The grace to his movements, the lightness of his steps. He does not dance with his siblings. He does not dance in across his realm. The borders between himself and others must remain tight and clearly defined; to be otherwise would be to spell out an end of all. And dancing has only ever blurred the space between entities. He doesn’t dance at his wedding, and he doesn’t dance at his sons either. He can’t; he’s forgotten how.

(Once, in the heart of all dreaming things, Dream holds Orpheus to his breast and sways, just slightly, to a tune no other can hear. The cries soothe, and Orpheus coos his joy, little fist clenching Dream stuff with more force than should be possible with such tiny fingers. But Orpheus was too young to remember and Dream would never tell.

In a temple far away, a son hums and cannot remember where he’s heard it before, only that it brings comfort)

Dream doesn’t dance to the songs of creation anymore. He knows he would lose himself if he did. Unravel at every molecule, and then further beyond that even still. You cannot dance without blurring yourself. Dream cannot afford that luxury.

But he watches, sometimes. How Delirium will swirl in some half remember steps. How Desire sways to a millenia old beat. Despair hums and Destiny’s many steps will sometimes take a pattern to them, light and airy and free of chains. In plays, in movies, in the streets and at weddings and funerals and celebrations and memorials. In Hob’s laughter, and Rose’s bobbing head, and Jed’s hands waving in the air, coasting, searching for something. Sometimes, he closes his eyes. And listens.

And if he sways it’s only ever for a moment.

[mythicalartistx]

Updating KH ship lists

Again I don't care if those disagree or like another better as long as no one calling each other delusional

Anyways here are my 11 KH ships + a few honorable mentions

#1 Soriku

This is probably my favorite ever, there's so much to say I don't even know where to start. I shipped them as friends but who also should date. Besides they're just really cute and silly to me.

The dark realm scene in kh2 is so good, they have an understanding of the other and are happy to be there together with the other person.

They both just love each other and do everything for the other (Riku's sacrifices for Sora in days kh2 kh3 and trying to save him in ddd) Sora is always trying to find him because he wants to be with him; and he just misses him. Riku's jealousy and feelings showed his insecurities to bring the island to darkness when he feared Sora's and Kairi's relationship and leaving him/ Sora befriending others with the belief he was being left behind.

The novel also has some added cute scenes where Sora is just bashful around Riku or just happy to be with him. They hug and hold hands more. Also there's a scene in the kh2 manga where Riku gives Shang a papou fruit to give to Sora. And Sora instantly know who gave it to him because "only Riku would do something like that".

The papou scene in kh1 manga Riku gets so close to his face and then Sora is blushing later, thinking about it. In DDD, it's about Riku's feelings for Sora and the darkness right? Some of those things are seemingly parallels.

Finally in kh3 Riku scarifies life for him because he doesn't want him to be sad and with the parallel to Hercules sacrificing someone because all he knew was that he loved someone and didn't think. Sora is just always thinking about Riku and wants to be with him especially with the failing to be a keyblade master.

Also there are no orders to these

#2 RepliNami

Honestly this is the only Riku that I like with her at all and also people end up confusing which Riku did what— they're different people, Sora said so himself. Repliku still has his feelings for Sora but now he decides to keep a promise for Naminé even if it didn't happen because he wants to do something himself.

Not something with memories that belong to Riku. And Naminé also does care for him. There's mainly KH CoM and Kh3 to go by. In COM he fights for Naminé against Sora thinking it was him (though all these things end up fake) but still he choses to embrace these memories for the sake of Naminé.

In kh3 he admits that everyone moved on except for him who was in darkness. When Riku notices his presences they work together and Repliku admits that he has one more thing to do and wants to save Naminé.

Then in his death he finally leaves the world and gives up the chance to have a body all for the sake of her having one so he asks the original Riku to dl him one last favor and making sure she's okay.

#3 Rizoriku / Yozoriku

Rizoriku because lack of RIZZ and it sounds so silly

I recently got into this and yeah I'm probably like one of the few people who are even into this.

They haven't EVEN INTERACTED. Riku felt Yozora in his dream/ secret ending but they never really seen each other. Yozora probably had in the secret ending/ dream. He was looking at him at that matters.

But imagine the possibilities, they are both tied together by Sora. Riku is searching for him and Yozora potentially hurt him, he hates that. They cannot stand the other. They fight the other so much. They're both looking for "Sora" to save. They look similar and Yozora has been stealing other's forms (It's toxic but eventually turn cute.)

Now they have to work together to find Sora / Nameless Star and then they start being cute and caring. I thought there might be at least more of this but no it's so rare I only seen like 4 fanart pictures of this and it's all from the same person

I got so happy when I saw some

#4 AkuSai / LeaIsa

It's so toxic. They've broken up too many times to count. They're divorced. And there's a whole ton of tension. It also have parallels to soriku.

Lea and Isa worked together to save X but she was gone and decided to become apprentices to save her. Then Saïx had to work his way to the top to find out what happened while Axel went off making friends and spent less time with Saïx which caused jealousy.

Their arguments and tension is so thick in 358/2 days, and in kh3 during that clocktower scene. You can tell there is something there. Also during DDD when he faced Saïx when saving Sora.

Then they finally have an understanding and Saïx apologies and admits he was jealous. Lea holds him in his arms, then after Saïx gets recompleted I think they finally will calm down and get back together, let's see how long it lasts.

#5 Kailette

I'm not super into this one because lack of content but I feel like this has potential to be super interesting and fun. Olette being one of the first real people she meets outside of the world and besides from Sora and Riku who kept unintentionally leaving her behind.

They befriend each other and Olette likes listening to the stories Kairi tells her.

I think they're really cute and have potential to go places or even Kairi becoming part of the sea salt + twilight town gangs. I see more fun fan content for this that makes me love it and hopefully we'll see more in the future.

#6 Zemyx

They're so silly together. I honestly love this. I ended up loving this because of fan content. It was just so great to me.

Like Demyx is kinda silly and dumb and Zexion is smart and intelligent they can't help be attracted to the other.

That one manga panel of them played twister though.

Also when they finally meet in kh3 and he realizes is that you? Also props to the manga version of the scene where he calls security on his bf until he realizes he's on their side.

#7 Xehaqus

They're actually so cute. I'm not joking. The fanart is so good and honestly dark road just shows their relationship and how it fell apart.

Eraqus is so silly and just enjoys his time with Xehanort but also believes to do what is right for fear of everyone losing to the darkness (which is why he did what he did in BBS).

I love that they often worked together and whispered just between themselves that the others would often say what are you whispering about?

They're post kh2 Soriku in dark road and then it turns into kh1 Soriku. Eraqus was blinded by love and didn't want to separate from him which is why he kept him around during BBS after he disappeared.

They're chess buddies and there's a deep relationship there and finally at the end of 3 they can be together at last

#8 NamiXi / Namishi

I don't think about this pairing as often but I also like it. Like I see the vision and I'm definitely for it. Naminé is definitely a lesbian + whatever thing she has going on with Repliku. Again I'm a multishipper so 🤷

Naminé helped Xion see who she is and actually honest with her. They're definitely friends too, but then will date. What they have at the end of kh3 is really cute to me where they collect seashells together

Also with them both being aspects of someone else can relate to seeing memories that aren't theirs/ wishing to be another person.

(no picture of them interacting 😢💔)

#9 RepliVani / VaniPliku /NamiVanpliku

I originally liked them as the duo first being friends who are just silly and fight. But now I'm really into them as also a couple. Naminé is definitely there breaking the tension.

I wish they did interact since they're similar both being created from someone else. Vanitas being part of Ventus and Repliku being part of Riku.

As a fan of lost trio I also think the concept of them fighting over Naminé could also be interesting like who better friend/ Vanitas thinks he is going to be left out and pretends he doesn't care. But their interactions I need

#10 MarLar

I don't think about them that much but again I really like them. This is probably my only one that's part of Union x in a way.

Marluxia is the only one Larxene really tolerates and they both have plans to be overthrow the organization together.

They are closer than any of the others and keep finding their ways to each other.

In Union x they were also close and befriended each other and ever since then they stuck together even if they had memories or not.

#11 Roxner

This could also be with the HC of transfem Marluxia

I'm still new to this ship but I recently thought you know I actually like this. Roxas and Hayner's relationship is honestly likable friends that could honestly be something more. Especially in kh2 beginning with how they interact with the other.

I also want to point out kh3 desire for him To want to find Roxas too.

Also in days when Roxas spends the day hanging out with him and the rest of them.

Fandom makes this honestly nice and cute couple through fanart and comics.

Conclusion

Anyway that's the ones I like in no specific order except Soriku is number 1.

Those that aren't here means I am either indifferent/ neutral towards to ship, dislike it, or I think it's weird as in an adult that's 26 being with 14 yo would be.

And most I don't even dislike if seen my other posts about this subject 99% I'm neutral towards except og Riku and any female ship.

However honorable mentions towards Brain and Marluxia I think they have potential to be interesting but not a lot about them, this goes for Brain and Ephemer too.

Cinderella and Aqua, it's honestly the only Disney + original character pairing most people agree one is good.

I like seeing the art about it but that's about it.

Larxene and Aqua as well as Terra and Marluxia as honorable mentions, I've seen some fanart that makes me think otherwise.

[thicctails]

"Viva la Viva, baby!"

So guess who watched Trolls 3 today~

Ngl, based on the trailers I had really low expectations for this movie, and it was really only after watching some TikToks with the villain song in them that I decided to give it a chance, and I'm so glad I did. 3 is by far my favourite of the entire series. Was not expecting to love Viva, but she was fantastic and I wish we had more screen time with her!

While I'm not entirely sure how I will/would integrate her into the Rough and Fluff AU, I decided to make a design for her anyways, complete with some little headcanons/additions. (Click the image for better quality)

More spoilery/AU discussions and 4th movie predictions below!

Okay okay, movie discussion first:

-I fucking LOVE the Putt Putt Trolls. Its so satisfying seeing how the trauma from the bergens being more fleshed out, and it makes perfect sense that they are as fearful as they are. I'm actually surprised there wasn't more pushback when Viva stopped them from executing Bridget and Gristle.

-(How did they escape actually? The tunnels collapsed, but were there other tunnels? Or did they have a different way out? How did so many, including the eldest heir to the throne, get left behind? Why did Peppy not get BOTH his daughter's immediately?)

-On the topic of Viva; notice how her ears are lower/sharper than Poppy's? I think that's typically a more masculine trait (not 100% bc we see some male trolls with softer/rounder ears) so uh yeah MTF Viva real suck my entire nards

-Fuck King Peppy. This guy gets worse every movie. He is the Dumbledoor/Sensi Wu of Trolls. Mans cannot just give Poppy relevant information to save his LIFE. I can understand not telling Poppy immediately, the grief of loosing his eldest daughter would understandably make that hard, but its been over 20 years now, and she deserved to know.

-Also, fuck most of Branch's brothers! I'm glad JD went back eventually (when exactly he did isn't clear, but sometime between the night of the escape and the first movie) but if he assumed Branch had died, why not try and contact his other siblings to tell them? Clay I can kinda understand with him not wanting to venture out beyond the mini golf area and leave the trolls he was helping to protect, but the rest of them? Not one of them tried to go back for their baby brother? Not even Floyd? When Trollstice was a thing?? Branch shoulda thrown hands fr.

-Rhonda the armadillo bus thing was hella cute and I want a plushie.

-I. Do not really like Crimp

-Velvet and Veneer slayed sooooooo hard. I hope Veneer makes a comeback.

-I also hope we see more of the other troll tribes again.

-The music for this movie was absolutely fire and I NEED a full cover of Sweet Dreams

-I wish the Grandma's death was touched on more than once for like .5 seconds. Like, come on guys, your brother just revealed a major trauma, and that your GRANDMA died!! For christ sake, maybe go apologize for fighting?? maybe go comfort him????

Movie numero 4 predictions:

-Broppy marriage. Branch fr said "Lets get married" by accident HES THINKING ABOUT IT

-Either Poppy/Viva get their mom back, or Branch gets one/both of his parents. Dreamworks will pull some bullshit out of their ass and say that uhm actually they escaped like years before the others did and have been, idk, trapped in the shadow realm or something.

-We see Chef/Creek again. Creek redemption ark would go crazy hard IF DONE RIGHT and I want to see that fear of some monster trying to eat all your friends come back again

-Broppy kid reveal at the end of the movie. Unbelievable amounts of Plush Toy Marketing and terrible spin offs ensue.

-backstory/lore/backstory/lore/backstory/lore/BACK

-I just want to see more Trollstice era stuff plz dreamworks

-We get a Sound of Silence reprise

-Branch/his brothers are revealed to be a hybrid/some kind of special troll. I am TELLING YOU this guy adapted to different kinds of music like it was NOTHING, something Poppy and the others struggled with. Hes got something in him I SWEAR

-Tiny diamond is, once again, part of the main supporting characters

Au shiz:

-If Viva IS put in, its going to most likely be during the sequel. Peppy is already going to be dragged through the mud, might have him mention something about a lost sibling near the end of the OG fic, and since the Pop trolls will be looking for a new home, maybe they'll run into her

-Branch's brothers will not be making an appearance. They simply dont fit into the narrative. I may do an alternate au with them included but who knows.

-Mildly considering making Tiny Diamond a Greek kid. (Guy x Creek) would make for some interesting angst.

[atlasalexanderwrites]

House of the Dragon: Male!Targ!OC x Alicent Hightower

IMAGINE...being the older brother to Rhaenyra and choosing to marry Lady Alicent Hightower (so your father can't).

Word Count: 3,891

Warning: NONE! Except for the EVER POSSIBLE!ooc of canon characters. SHOW!ages (if that's a warning lol)

A/N: I am still working on Chapter Three of my Arrow story BUT got the idea for this one and decided to give it a shot since I seemingly have a bit of writer's block for the Charlotte Queen x Malcolm Merlyn fic atm!

A/N2: I'M JUST TRYING TO GET ALL THESE IDEAS FOR HoTD FICS SO THEY'LL LEAVE ME ALONE! lol

A/N3: I hope you all enjoy!

“Should something not be done about this? He has just been sitting there, staring, for hours now.”

“The boy has just lost his mother. Surely he can be given some time to grieve.”

Prince Jaehaerys of the House Targaryen, eldest child and only son to King Viserys the First of His Name, had done his best to ignore the whispers around him as he sat on the throne at Dragonstone. 

The Prince, affectionately called Harry, had flown to his seat of power - appointed to him on his sixteenth name day two years prior - just hours after the funeral of his mother and baby brother. The thought of remaining in the Capitol without the cries of his newborn brother or the soft spoken words and gentle smiles of his mother as she attempted to sooth her newest child cut too deeply into the Prince’s heart.

His father had had dreams for that new son. The King had always feared something would befall Jaehaerys; after all, Viserys had seen it with his own eyes - the downfall and death of so many heirs to the Old King, Jaehaerys’ namesake. It wasn’t a surprise that the current King of Westeros was frightened at the possibility of his own children meeting the same fate.

His mother had prayed to the gods to give her the son that her husband so desperately wanted; the son that would give Viserys a spare heir, beyond his daughter, and ease some of his fears of losing all his heirs before Viserys himself died.

Harry had dreamt only of his parents finally finding peace and of being able to teach a younger brother how to fight with fist and sword, how to ride on horseback and dragonback, and how to be a great knight and Prince of Westeros.

The loss of his mother and brother had hit him harder than he had expected, and while all accounts told him that his father grieved through silence and self-pity and Rhaenyra grieved through acting as if nothing had happened, Harry was both sad and angry. And he had had no clue on how to let either emotion out in the four months he had been on Dragonstone.

“...he is the heir of the throne and he cannot simply sit here while…”

“While what, Ser?” Harry’s voice cracked as he spoke, his emotions threatening to spill over as he lifted his gaze from the floor to stare at the knights who stood at the bottom of his throne, fretting over his silence and stillness. “It is my right to have six months to grieve, is it not? What is it that is so important? Is there a tourney somewhere that I am expected to participate in? Is there a young maiden somewhere that I am expected to meet and charm, make her fall half in love with me at first sight?”

The second knight who had spoken in favor of leaving the Prince to his thoughts, Ser Cormac, had been with Harry for most of his life; the man was a seasoned warrior and had been more of a father to the Prince than the Kind had been. The man hummed and nodded at the Prince’s words, immediately snapping to attention with his arms at his side and his gaze locked on the Prince’s face. Ser Cormac knew his duty and showed his loyalty willingly, faithfully.

The first knight, the one that was more pushy, was Ser Jourdan and Harry had never liked him much, but the knight was respected across the realm and so Harry hadn’t bothered to go against his Father’s promotion of Ser Jourdan to the Prince of Dragonstone’s detail.

It was Ser Jourdan who responded to the Prince, his tone barely hidden condescension as he sighed and said, “The Small Council is working on finding a second wife for His Grace, King Viserys. It is the understanding of many in this castle, and beyond, that a wife is also being sought out for your hand as well, Your Highness.”

“And you believed I did not know this?” Harry rolled his eyes and reached into his sleeve, producing a small piece of parchment. “I may be on Dragonstone, Ser, but my Father still sends ravens to me. I am aware of what is happening. He asked for my thoughts. It would seem, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys are pushing for my father to marry Lady Laena Velaryon.” A decent marriage, alliance wise, but it would just be a repeat of the King’s union with the late-Queen. A girl, married too soon, and producing heirs far too soon for her body to handle. “The plan is for me to marry Rhaenyra, it has always been that from the moment she was born and even more so when she lived past infancy. Whether my sister realizes this or not, it is as it has always been.”

Harry didn’t like it. He adored his little sister, but he didn’t want to marry her. He wanted something…different for his life. He wanted someone he wasn’t related to; someone who was gentle but strong, someone who had clear ideas of who they were and what they believed in. Targaryens were too fickle, too easily swayed, and Rhaenyra was a Targaryen through and through.

Ser Cormac watched him so closely that Harry began to feel as if there was something he was missing; something his faithful knight wanted to share with him but didn’t want to say in front of Ser Jourdan. Finally, the seasoned knight spoke up, suggesting carefully, “Perhaps, My Prince, it would be best to return to the Capital. You have been absent for some time, and I am sure King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra miss you dearly. You have always been the more levelheaded of the three of you.”

The knight and the prince shared a soft smile at the inside joke; one that had come about when Harry was a child and would complain about the decisions made by his father and his council, and about the temper tantrums his sister would throw when she didn't get her way.

Harry didn't want to go back. Life was so…peaceful on Dragonstone. He didn’t have to worry about court opinion, or saying and doing things that would make him seem incompetent or arrogant or just not the right choice for the throne. There were too many liars and thieves in the Capitol.

“My Prince,” Ser Cormac bowed slightly before moving up the stairs to the throne, leaning forward to whisper, “I have heard whispers that some on the council are attempting to marry Lady Alicent to His Grace. I believe it would be best to journey to King’s Landing and get a feel for the way of things before everything gets out of hand.”

Harry frowned. Alicent? Alicent Hightower? Who would be trying to marry her to his…

The Hand of the King had good reason to try and secure that match. It was obvious. And whoever stood on the side of Ser Otto would try and talk the King into it as well, citing all sorts of things that would make sense to King Viserys in the moment but not in the long run.

Harry waved Ser Cormac back and after a moment announced, “Prepare our things. We will leave as soon as we are ready.” He would fly on the back of Vermithor; the second of the biggest dragons House Targaryen had, next to Vhagar who had been missing for quite some time. Vermithor was known as the Bronze Fury and he had been the dragon to King Jaehaerys since the Old King’s infancy. Harry had claimed him as his stead at the age of ten, not long after his namesake’s death.

The Prince would fly his Bronze Fury to King’s Landing in hopes of preventing his father from making yet another ill-guided mistake at the hands of House Hightower and those who believed they could control a dragon.

~

The King was in a Small Council meeting when the Crowned Prince arrived in the Capitol. Harry was informed of this the moment he stepped into the Red Keep and with a stiff thank you at being told, he headed to the Small Council room to join his Father and his advisors.

“...I am only stating facts, My Lord! Lady Laena is a child! Has she even flowered yet?”

“Watch yourself! That is my daughter you speak of!”

As always, the Lord of the Small Council were bickering amongst each other as the double doors to the room were pushed open and the Prince of Dragonstone stepped through, his head held high and locked on the King as he climbed the few steps just within the door and then crossed the room to bow at his father’s side.

“Your Grace. Please forgive my long absence.” Harry bowed, arm held over his chest as he bent forward, respectfully and completely loyal.

King Viserys smiled brightly and placed a hand to his son’s head of blond hair, “Harry! I had no idea you were coming home!”

The Prince straightened and gave his father a smile of his own, “It was a last minute decision. I was told of what has been transpiring in the city these past few months and had to see it all for myself.” Harry took his seat to his father’s left, the one his uncle Daemon often occupied as well when he attended the meetings. He gestured for Ser Cormac to stand behind him, the knight didn’t hesitate even a little as he fell into place behind the Prince’s chair even though it wasn’t very customary for a “simple sworn sword” of a Prince to attend Small Council meetings.

“What has been transpiring? What do you mean?” Viserys chuckled, leaning forward in his chair with amusement that sounded more forced than genuine.

Smiling sadly at his Father, Harry reached out and placed a hand to the King’s hand. “That these men are attempting to have you married before the six month period is over. That these men are forgetting there is no need for the King to remarry when the Crowned Prince is yet unwed and quite capable of producing heirs of his own.” As he finished talking, his gaze flickered cold and accusing over the men of the King’s Small Council; the men who were meant to be advisors not snakes hidden in plain sight who would take advantage of their King, the man they were meant to be most loyal to.

“Harry, they only mean to do what is best for the realm.” King Viserys sighed, patting his son’s hand, “These men are loyal-”

“If they were loyal, they would not suggest members of their own houses.” Harry spat, ripping his hand away from his father, “Laena Velaryon and Alicent Hightower? What say you, Lord Strong? Do you have a daughter you wish to pawn off to the King as well?”

The room was silent as Harry tried to rein in his temper, his hands dropping into his lap - fisted - as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Hands fell onto his shoulders and Harry knew it was Ser Cormac, his forever loyal knight and protector.

“You killed my mother in your attempt to produce more heirs.” Harry whispered, his voice suddenly void of emotion as he lifted his gaze to look at his father once more, “If you are sad or lonely, spend time with Uncle Daemon or Princess Rhaenys. Spend time with Rhaenyra or me. You will never love your second wife, and you have to know that. You will use her and destroy her. No one deserves that. And Mother doesn’t deserve to have her memory tarnished either.”

“Jaehaerys,” the King whispered, tears prickling in Viserys’ eyes as he stared back at his son, “I love your mother…”

“THEN DO NOT REPLACE HER!” Harry slammed his hands on the table and got to his feet, glaring down at his father, “Do not replace…me and Rhaenyra. Are we not good enough for you? Have we not done everything you have ever asked of us? Father…Your Grace I beg of you. Do not get remarried. Please.”

“Perhaps,” the Hand of the King began to say slowly, catching the Prince’s gaze as he continued speaking, “The Prince of Dragonstone is exhausted from his travels and would like to rest before continuing this conversation.”

“Otto,” King Viserys sighed, waving the other man off while never removing his gaze from his son, “Jaehaerys.”

“I will marry one of them. Or both of them. Fuck. Why not both of them.” Harry wasn’t sure where the words came from, but once they were out he couldn’t take them back. They were a last ditch effort to make all of this just cease!

“Excuse me?” someone else around the table, Lord Lyonel Strong perhaps, questioned, sounding part confused and part bewildered.

“Lady Laena and Lady Alicent. Your Grace, choose which one is most important to the crown and to the continued prosperity of the realm, and I will marry her. If both will ensure prosperity, then let me act as King Aegon did and take two wives.”

“Uh-now, the Faith of the Seven does not believe in such…”

“Maester, I do not believe I was asking for your insight into this matter. I am of Old Valyria and while I respect your gods and the old ones, I do not believe I was asking for their permission either.” Harry’s heart was pounding away in his chest as he continued to stare back at his father, trying to convey the urgency and seriousness of his words.

No one spoke for several long moments before the King laughed and got to his feet, “You should take Ser Otto’s suggestion and sleep, my son. We will discuss your marriage later.”

And he left. Just….left.

The Prince continued to stare at where the King had stood long after the room had emptied besides himself and Ser Cormac.

Had that…truly just happened?

His father had never dismissed him in such a way. Had never made light when Harry spoke up against the council.

What was going on?

What was Harry missing?

All the Prince knew was that his father’s dismissal cut deep and left him feeling chilled to his core.

~

Harry had never cared much for the practice yard. To be honest, the moment he was knighted he had stopped pointlessly swinging his sword with the squires and young knights he had trained with his whole life. He knew his skill level and honestly, liked the thought of having some mystery so his enemies wouldn’t know what he was capable of.

But he was angry and he needed to blow off some steam.

Somehow he had ended up sparring with a member of his father’s King’s Guard, Ser Criston Cole. The man was good and certainly earned his position on the King’s Guard. He didn’t hold back and even gave Harry some pointers on how to stand and hold his sword; things the Prince had been told before but never in a way he truly understood.

“You have been looking after my sister, Ser.” Harry was saying as they ended their session.

“Well, it is the Princess who I have to thank for my position, Your Highness. She is the one who gave me the rank on your father’s authority.” the young knight informed him as the two moved to stand against the wall, allowing the squires to use the training yard instead.

Harry nodded, “Yes, I heard. I…apologize for her if she has said anything…hotheaded or without thinking. I am afraid that Rhaenyra is…well…hotheaded and often acts on feeling instead of thought.” he chuckled, smiling fondly at the thought of his younger sister.

“From what I hear, you hardly have any room to talk, brother.”

Harry and Ser Criston turned at the sound of the Princess’ voice, the knight dropping into a low bow as Harry closed the space and kissed both of his sister’s cheeks. “Rhaenyra, you look radiant.” Red had always been her color, after all.

The Princess laughed, “Do not change the subject, dear brother. I heard of your outburst in the small council meeting yesterday.”

Harry’s smile slipped as his gaze moved behind Rhaenyra to the girl standing, nervously, behind her. “Apologies, Lady Alicent, I had not seen you before.” the Prince bowed as a greeting before saying to his sister, “They speak nonsense. There is no reason for His Grace to marry.”

“And to ensure that doesn’t happen, you believed it was the right thing to do to offer to marry multiple people? You cannot marry every young Lady who is offered to Father.”

Harry looked back at Alicent, wondering if Rhaenyra knew that her best friend was one of those young ladies. “I can marry a few of them at least. Our House is declining, I highly doubt Father would have much to say against it if I could produce multiple heirs at once.”

“Jaehaerys!” Rhaenyra laughed, slapping his arm in mock disgust, “There are ladies present. You cannot use such language!”

Faking confusion, Harry squinted and looked around the yard, “I see only Lady Alicent. Where are these other ladies you speak of?” before breaking out into loud laughter as his sister hit his arm half a dozen more times.

“My Prince,” the siblings’ attention were drawn away from each other to Alicent who had her hands held tightly in front of her, picking at her nails as she had done their whole lives as a habit of nerves. “Princess Rhaenyra and I were actually sent to inform you that His Grace wishes to speak to you in his chambers. I believe it was urgent.”

“I believe, brother, it has something to do with your upcoming vows.” Rhaenyra teased, pinching her brother’s arm before wrapping her arm around his, “Come on. Alicent, Ser Criston, and I will accompany you to make sure you don’t get lost.”

“How kind,” Harry murmured tensely, his gaze slipping back to Alicent as he offered his free arm for her to do the same as Rhaenyra.

“My Prince,” Alicent whispered, wrapping her arm around the one he had offered.

Harry offered a smile to her, trying to comfort her and get her to relax so they could - even for a short while - pretend as if they were all children again, comfortable in each other’s presence without the expectations of their births getting in the way.

The walk wasn’t too long, but before they reached the King’s chambers, Rhaenyra was pulled away by her Septa who was already scolding the Princess for being late to her lessons. Harry dismissed Ser Criston with one last thank you for accompanying them and for helping him train, and then it was just the Prince and Lady Alicent.

They walked in silence, neither too sure of what to say it seemed.

Just as they got to the King’s private chambers, Alicent brought a hand up to grab Harry’s. She was shaking slightly and when Harry met her gaze, her eyes were wide and full of something that the Prince couldn’t identify.

“Harry,” Alicent whispered, leaning toward him ever so slightly, “Will you come to me afterwards? And tell me what the King says? Will you tell me who he has chosen for you?”

Fear. Terror. Anxiety.

So many emotions and the girl in front of him was feeling them all.

“My Lady, I promise as your friend and as your Prince. You will be the first to know.” and Harry leaned down, placing a brief kiss to Alicent’s cheek before he pulled away and stepped into his father’s chambers, the door having been opened the moment the two of them had gotten close enough.

The King was seated at his replica of Valyria when Harry stepped inside and bowed, calling out to him softly with a, “Your Grace.”

Viserys didn’t say anything until the door was shut behind him, and then he gestured for his son to move closer and sit down beside him. It was only after Harry was seated beside him that Viserys asked, “Is your issue with me remarrying or with who my…chosen prospects are?”

“You cannot marry someone younger than your heir. It…you do not need more heirs. You have myself and Rhaenyra, Daemon and Rhaenys, and yes even Laena and Laenor distantly. Marry another widow; someone who can sympathize with your pain and who is in the same place. Someone who will be a gentle Queen for the realm and a needed stepmother for Rhaenyra.”

Viserys laughed softly and flashed his son a smile, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, “You have grown wise, Harry. Your Mother would be proud. I know that I am.”

Harry nodded, “Thank you, Father.”

The Prince looked his father over, noting how he looked tired but not too unfit. One of the fingers on his left hand was bandaged, but Harry was quick to dismiss it; it was the iron throne, most likely. The King always cut himself on the throne.

“If you were too choose a wife, Harry, who would it be?”

The Prince frowned, ‘Your Grace? I…Rhaenyra. In the style of our House and as it was decided at her birth.”

“Was it?” Viserys laughed with a raised brow, “And who decided that? Who told you that?”

“I…well…” No one had. The Prince had always assumed that he would marry Rhaenyra, though. His parents were cousins, his grandparents were siblings, his great grandparents were siblings, and so on. There were inter-House Targaryen marriages going back since the beginning of written history from what the Prince of Dragonstone knew. He had never been told he wouldn’t marry Rhaenyra and so he had always assumed…

“If I could marry anyone I…I have never given it any thought.” He had settled on the idea that his sister would be his bride; he had never allowed himself the liberty of thinking of anyone else being his wife.

“You have two options.”

“And the one I don’t choose you will?” Harry asked, bitterly

The King shook his head, “For now, we will focus on you and your heirs.”

The Prince’s options were the same as his father. Laena Velaryon or Alicent Hightower.

Laena was twelve and just a child. She was from a strong and wealthy house with Targaryen blood. Lord Corlys would want to start a war if she wasn’t chosen, but Princess Rhaenys had never crossed Harry as the sort to go to war over a succession that was decided decades earlier.

Alicent was only a year or two younger than the Prince, and had grown up alongside him. They had been friends in their youth and Harry had always held a fondness for his sister’s dearest friend. House Hightower were powerful in their own right, and had no such ties beyond Otto and Alicent that would prevent them from starting a war if they so wished.

“Harry…” the King began to say

The Prince shook his head and interrupted with, “Alicent. I choose Lady Alicent.”

House Velaryon would reconcile in time over their hurt pride.

House Hightower were sneaky and needed to be kept as close as possible.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

And in a rat nest like King’s Landing, that couldn’t be a truer statement.

*

ALRIGHTY! Thank you to everyone who read this to the end! It's deeply appreciated!

I hope you all enjoyed it! And if you would like a second part (which I am considering!) feel free to comment below or send me an ask/message!

Please stay safe wherever you are!

~ Atlex Writes :D

[foxlored]

Deconstructing Luz & Hunter and Wittebane Siblings Parallels

Alternatively titled: Luz is actually not a stand-in for Philip and I will fight the show's writers on this myself if I must

Another Owl House mini-essay because this show's been on the mind. As the previous one, expect some mentions of abuse, murder, colonization, and so on (as per canon-typical Belos awfulness). Technically peer reviewed (my discord friends talked about it with me)

Luz & paralleling Philip/Belos

The show does a lot of work to make you see Luz as equivalent to Belos, partly in order to deconstruct that. I don't mind that actually, I think the subversion of the "just as bad as the villain" trope fits the show's themes of deconstructing the fantasy genre, given its similar takes on the idea of a chosen one and so on. However, I don't think these parallels are narrative as much as they are just a manifestation of Luz's anxieties and Belos feeding into that.

Stay with me here: We have a character who abandons the only family member they have left in order to stay in the Demon Realm. They fall in love with a witch, and fall in love with the world they're staying in. They unlearn the initial ideas they had about the world that dehumanize its inhabitants in some way—and are in conflict with Philip/Belos, who wishes to "save their soul" and get them out of there.

Am I talking about Caleb or Luz? That's a trick question, because it's both. It's literally the same character arc! And more importantly here—there's something to suggest that at least Belos sees them in the same way.

"We're human! We're better than this!"

Belos has a very peculiar dynamic with Luz in the fact that he is incredibly bent on trying to "save" her despite all she has done to go against him. He sees her as a potential ally, a human corrupted by the sinfulness of witchkind—and offers her an honestly that is pretty much never given to any other character. Now, compare this to the scene in For the Future where he hallucinates Caleb.

"I tried to save your soul. It's your fault this all happened!"

The mentality is strikingly similar—and while we don't have much content to show the specifics of Philip and Caleb's relationship, what we are given suggests a very real parallel between how he views Caleb and Luz.

What about Hunter?

A fair question, as the show poses Hunter as the Caleb to Luz's Philip—especially with him already being a grimwalker of Caleb. However, it's important to note that a significant part of that parallel is that it's incomplete—Hunter isn't the replacement for Caleb that Belos wants.

Because the cycle of killing and destroying grimwalker upon grimwalker is built off the fact that they cannot match what Caleb was. They... aren't Caleb. Even Hunter, who looked the closest, was just that: the closest. Not an actual replacement. Remember Belos had no qualms about branding him with a sigil, a death sentence on the day of unity.

Speaking of that—

King's Tide, & the curious case of Belos' Manipulation

King's Tide gives us two interesting scenes with Belos attempting to manipulate Luz, then Hunter. Both give a surprising insight into his mentality towards both characters.

Hunter, why are you hurting me? I only wanted to help you!

when trying to elicit hunter's help, belos is very much focused on that emotional relationship he cultivated in order to manipulate hunter. Why are you hurting ME. I only wanted to help YOU. but there's no further depth to it. Its a purely emotional attack. Contrast that both with his earlier scene with Luz, and what occurs in Watching and Dreaming.

And despite our differences, I want to help you, Luz. I can send you home. I have just enough Titan Blood for one more trip. Please. I don't want to see another human life destroyed by this place.

While Belos certainly isn't above using emotional attacks to weaken Luz's resolve—playing on her fears of being complicit in his crime, comparing his self afflicted monsterous form to Eda's curse, he also tries to connect with her on a logical level (at least from his point of view).

When he calls Hunter to stop fighting, it's purely because he knows he can eliminate a percieved threat by playing on his weakness—when he calls Luz to stop, it's because he wants to work with her.

You did do something good. I thought this one was another lost cause. Because of you, we can finish our work as witch-hunters, starting with them!

This exchange from Thanks to Them really encapsulates it all. Hunter is a tool for Belos to use, while Luz... I think the ambiguity in "we" in the above quote is purposeful. At face value, it's we as Belos possessing Hunter, an extension of Caleb—him and his brother together again. But he's addressing Luz, thanking Luz, and I don't think that's necessarily because Belos sees himself in Luz. A wayward human who needs guidance back from the clutches of humans... he sees Caleb in her.

Luz & Hunter, two sides of a Caleb coin

I think the two of them are both supposed to represent different facets of Caleb. They're the two characters who are deeply harmed by his manipulation, and both represent the ways in which Belos views his brother. A lost soul to be saved, family to be controlled; Someone who's loyalty must be maintained by emotional abuse and manipulation.

And I think the show becomes stronger when you look at it through this lens, instead of the forced "they're like siblings so they must be like these other siblings" comparison partially born out of Luz's insecurity.

[atopvisenyashill]

hi! it’s nice to see another dark dany truther on this website. just wondering how you interpret dany’s parallels to aegon the unlikely? as in growing up on the streets/seperate from their aristocracy, unlikely monarchs, well intentioned (re: freeing slaves / law reform for the smallfolk), not too well liked by nobles for it, family all meeting their ends + burning people alive to gain dragons (even if egg’s didn’t work out so stellar) would she perhaps serve as a darker mirror since she awakened the dragons (and all the death and destruction that comes with them) from stone?

short answer is yes i think she’s a darker mirror to egg. but long answer-

the thing is…egg’s life does not end happily nor is his reign happily remembered. for one thing, egg is just like, hopelessly bad at politics and at keeping his dumb ass children under control.

There were other battles during the time of Aegon V, for the unlikely king was forced to spend much of his reign in armor, quelling one rising or another. Though beloved by the smallfolk, King Aegon made many enemies amongst the lords of the realm, whose powers he wished to curtail. He enacted numerous reforms and granted rights and protections to the commons that they had never known before, but each of these measures provoked fierce opposition and sometimes open defiance amongst the lords. The most outspoken of his foes went so far as to denounce Aegon V as a "bloodyhanded tyrant intent on depriving us of our gods-given rights and liberties." It was well-known that the resistance against him taxed Aegon's patience—especially as the compromises a king must make to rule well often left his greatest hopes receding further and further into the future. As one defiance followed another, His Grace found himself forced to bow to the recalcitrant lords more often than he wished. A student of history and lover of books, Aegon V was oft heard to say that had he only had dragons, as the first Aegon had, he could have remade the realm anew, with peace and prosperity and justice for all.

do i give a shit about the feelings of a bunch of spoiled lordlings who are mad that egg is trying to pass laws like "you're not allowed to starve the peasants"? no, fuck those dudes. but i'm not talking about "is egg a good person" or "does egg have good intentions" i'm talking about "is egg an effective ruler" and the answer is no. everything egg does is repealed just a few years after he dies. he's not unlike baelor in that he is loved by the smallfolk for his very short lived reforms but because he cannot get buy in from the lords, he spends most of his reign fighting them and losing. and as he keeps losing, what does he turn to? fire and blood. dragons.

The last years of Aegon's reign were consumed by a search for ancient lore about the dragon breeding of Valyria, and it was said that Aegon commissioned journeys to places as far away as Asshai-by-the-Shadow with the hopes of finding texts and knowledge that had not been preserved in Westeros.

What became of the dream of dragons was a grievous tragedy born in a moment of joy. In the fateful year 259 AC, the king summoned many of those closest to him to Summerhall, his favorite castle, there to celebrate the impending birth of his first great-grandchild, a boy later named Rhaegar, to his grandson Aerys and granddaughter Rhaella, the children of Prince Jaehaerys.

It is unfortunate that the tragedy that transpired at Summerhall left very few witnesses alive, and those who survived would not speak of it. A tantalizing page of Gyldayn's history—surely one of the very last written before his own death—hints at much, but the ink that was spilled over it in some mishap blotted out too much.

...the blood of the dragon gathered in one... ...seven eggs, to honor the seven gods, though the king's own septon had warned... ...pyromancers... ...wild fire... ...flames grew out of control...towering...burned so hot that... ...died, but for the valor of the Lord Comman...

Even putting aside the theories that perhaps Egg attempted to sacrifice a person and Dunk stopped it, at best Egg dies getting most of his family killed trying to being the dragons back.

And I’m not saying that Egg isn’t ya kno, a Good Egg, a Sweet Lil Goose who I love and adore for being a champion of the smallfolk. But this kid can't even get buy in the way Baelor did - he is straight up putting down rebellions left and right. He never manages to get the lords on his side or get them to stop grumbling. I’m sure he did SOME things that had a lasting change that we just haven’t heard about - it’s not like we knew about Alysanne building the fountains until F&B for example - but his legacy is someone who cared, someone who tried, and someone who failed because he couldn’t conceive of a solution outside of the feudal system he ruled over.

Does that sound familiar to you? It sounds eerily familiar to me! I think like Egg, our Dany is going to get increasingly frustrated when she can't just remake the world the way she wants (and if that doesn't also sound familiar, please go rewatch HOTD or re-read all my comparisons of how Viserys and Rhaenyra are also too convinced they can simply speak reality into existence!) and will turn to fire and blood to get the job done. but it won't work the way she wants it to, because the dragons are not a force of good anymore than they are a force for evil - they're animals, they're predators, they're barely sentient hyper emotional beings made of blood magic and fire and the experiments of old valyria, and every time she uses the dragons, people will die and dany will compromise or rationalize until she hits her breaking point,.

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Lestat, Armand and their complicated love/hate relationship

I found myself backing out of the room and away from him, staring numbly at his small dirty figure. His auburn hair shimmered despite the dirt in it; his eyes burned like two lights.

Grotesque he seemed, among all the candles and the swimming colors of the flat, this filthy waif of the netherworld, and yet his beauty held sway. He hadn't needed the shadows of Notre Dame or the torchlight of the crypt to flatter him. And there was a fierceness in him in this bright light that I hadn't seen before.

I felt an overwhelming confusion. He was both dangerous and compelling. I could have looked on him forever, but an overpowering instinct said: Get away. Leave the place to him if he wants it. What does it matter now? - The Vampire Lestat

"It is like not knowing how to read, isn't it?" he said aloud. "And your maker, the outcast Magnus, what did he care for your ignorance? He did not tell you the simplest things, did he?"

Nothing in his expression moved as he spoke.

"Hasn't it always been this way? Has anyone ever cared to teach you anything?"

"You're taking these things from my mind. . ." I said. I was appalled. I saw the monastery where I'd been as a boy, the rows and rows of books that I could not read, Gabrielle bent over her books, her back to all of us. "Stop this!" I whispered.

It seemed the longest time had passed. I was becoming disoriented. He was speaking again, but in silence.

They never satisfy you, the ones you make. In silence the estrangement and the resentment only grow.

I willed myself to move but I wasn't moving. I was merely looking at him as he went on.

You long for me and I for you, and we alone in all this realm are worthy of each other. Don't you know this? - The Vampire Lestat

I beat him again, turning him this way and that. And then I drew my sword to sever his head.

Let him live like that if he can. Let him be immortal like that if he can. I raised the sword and when I looked down at him, the rain was pelting his face, and he was staring up at me, as one half alive, unable to plead for mercy, unable to move.

I waited. I wanted him to beg. I wanted him to give me that powerful voice full of lies and cunning, the voice that had made me believe for one pure and dazzling instant that I was alive and free and in the state of grace again. Damnable, unforgivable lie. Lie I'd never forget for as long as I walked the earth. I wanted the rage to carry me over the threshold to his grave.

But nothing came from him.

And in this moment of stillness and misery for him, his beauty slowly returned.

He lay a broken child on the gravel path, only yards from the passing traffic, the ring of horses' hooves, the rumble of the wooden wheels.

And in this broken child were centuries of evil and centuries of knowledge, and out of him there came no ignominious entreaty but merely the soft and bruised sense of what he was. Old, old evil, eyes that had seen dark ages of which I only dream.

I let him go, and I stood up and sheathed my sword. - The Vampire Lestat

He heard me. But he didn't give an answer. He looked to Gabrielle, who stood near the fire, and then to me. And silently, he said, Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me.

This silent entreaty had an eloquence, however, that I can't put into words.

"What can I do to make you love me?" he whispered. "What can I give? The knowledge of all I have witnessed, the secrets of our powers, the mystery of what I am?"

It seemed blasphemous to answer. And as I had on the battlements, I found myself on the edge of tears. For all the purity of his silent communications, his voice gave a lovely resonance to his sentiments when he actually spoke. - The Vampire Lestat

"Each time the death and the awakening will ravage the mortal spirit, so that one will hate you for taking his life, another will run to excesses that you scorn. A third will emerge mad and raving, another a monster you cannot control. One will be jealous of your superiority, another shut you out." And here he shot his glance to Gabrielle again and half smiled.

"And the veil will always come down between you. Make a legion. You will be, always and forever, alone!" - The Vampire Lestat

"Does anyone else know the size of your soul?"

Witchcraft. Had it ever been used with more skill? And what was he really saying to us beneath this liquid flow of beautiful language: Come to me, and I shall be the sun round which you are locked in orbit, and my rays shall lay bare the secrets you keep from each other, and I, who possess charms and powers of which you have no inkling, shall control and possess and destroy you!

"I asked you before," I said. "What do you want? Really want?"

"You!" he said. - The Vampire Lestat

He had only moved very fast, and I had moved faster, and we stood facing each other in the doorway of the crypt, and again I said that single negation and I wouldn't let him go.

"Not like this, we can't part. We can't leave each other in hatred, we can't." And my will dissolved suddenly as I embraced him and held tight to him so that he couldn't free himself nor even move.

I didn't care what he was, or what he had done in that doomed moment of lying to me, or even trying to overpower me, I didn't care that I was no longer mortal and would never be again.

i wanted only that he should remain. I wanted to be with him, what he was, and all the things he had said were true. Yet it could never be as he wished it to be. - The Vampire Lestat

"You're mad to blame it all on me. You have no right," I insisted, but my voice was faltering so badly I couldn't understand my own words.

And his voice shot out of him like the tongue of a snake.

"We had our Eden under that ancient cemetery," he hissed. "We had our faith and our purpose. And it was you who drove us out of it with a flaming sword. What do we have now! Answer me! Nothing but the love of each other and what can that mean to creatures like us!"

"No, it's not true, it was all happening already. You don't understand anything. You never did."

But he wasn't listening to me. And it didn't matter whether or not he was listening. He was drawing closer, and in a dark flash his hand went out, and my head went back, and I saw the sky and the city of Paris upside down.

I was falling through the air.

And I went down and down past the windows of the tower, until the stone walkway rose up to catch me, and every bone in my body broke within its thin case of preternatural skin. - The Vampire Lestat

Poor Armand. And you told me Louis was dead. Go dig a room for yourself under the Lafayette Cemetery. It's just up the street. - The Vampire Lestat

"You always make me laugh," I told him. "I would have laughed at you under that cemetery in Paris, except it didn't seem the kind thing to do. And even when you cursed me and blamed me for all the stories about us, that was funny too. If you hadn't been about to throw me off the tower I would have laughed. You always make me laugh."

Delicious it was, the hatred between us, or so I thought. Such unfamiliar excitement, to have him there to ridicule and despise. - The Vampire Lestat

"It wasn't that I wanted vengeance," he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said. "But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!"

And I knew, as I had all along really, that my restoration was illusion, that I was the same skeleton in rags, of course. And the house was still a ruin. And in the preternatural being who held me was the power that could give me back the sky and the wind.

"Love me and the blood is yours," he said. "This blood that I have never given to another." I felt his lips against my face.

"I can't deceive you," I answered. "I can't love you. What are you to me that I should love you? A dead thing that hungers for the power and the passion of others? The embodiment of thirst itself?" - The Vampire Lestat

In mute fascination, Daniel had watched that little clip on MTV portraying Armand as the coven master of the old vampires beneath the Paris cemetery, presiding over demonic rituals until the Vampire Lestat, the eighteenth-century iconoclast, had destroyed the Old Ways. Armand must have loathed it, his private history laid bare in flashing images, so much more crass than Lestat’s more thoughtful written history. Armand, whose eyes scanned perpetually the living beings around him, refusing even to speak of the undead. But it was impossible that he did not know. - The Queen of the Damned

At last particular movies struck his fancy. Over and over he watched Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, fascinated by Rutger Hauer, the powerfully built actor who, as the leader of the rebel androids, confronts his human maker, kisses him, and then crushes his skull. It would bring a slow and almost impish laugh from Armand, the bones cracking, the look in Hauer’s ice-cold blue eye.

“That’s your friend, Lestat, there,” Armand whispered once to Daniel. “Lestat would have the...how do you say?...guts?...to do that!” - The Queen of the Damned

At the door, I turned and kissed Gabrielle again. I felt her body collapse against me for an instant; then her attention locked on Akasha. I felt the faint tremor in her hands as she touched my face. I looked at Louis, my seemingly fragile Louis with his seemingly invincible composure; and at Armand, the urchin with the angel’s face. Finally those you love are simply... those you love. - The Queen of the Damned

The other immortals are still around, of course-Maharet and Mekare, the eldest of us all, Khayman of the First Brood, Eric, Santino, Pandora, and others whom we call the Children of the Millennia. Armand is still about, the lovely five-hundred-year-old boy-faced ancient who once ruled the Theatre des Vampires, and before that a coven of devil worshiping blood drinkers who lived beneath the Paris Cemetery, Les Innocents. Armand, I hope, will always be around. - The Tale of the Body Thief

“No. Just tell me what’s happened. You’re in danger, aren’t you? Or you think you are. You sent out the call for me to come to you here. It was an unabashed plea.”

“Are those the words Armand used, ‘unabashed plea’? I hate Armand.”

David only smiled and made a quick impatient gesture with both hands. “You don’t hate Armand and you know you don’t.”

“Wanna bet?” - Memnoch the Devil

“My point is simply that I love you, that we’re linked in some way that none of the others is linked. Louis worships you. You’re some sort of dark god to him, though he pretends to hate you for having made him. Armand envies you and spies on you far more than you might think.”

“I hear Armand and I see him and I ignore him,” I said. - Memnoch the Devil

This was Armand.

He sat on the stone park bench, boylike, casual, with one knee crooked, looking up at me with the predictable innocence, dusty all over, naturally, hair a long, tangled mess of auburn curls.

Dressed in heavy denim garments, tight pants, and a zippered jacket, he surely passed for human, a street vagabond maybe, though his face was now parchment white, and even smoother than it had been when last we met.

In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.

“That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. “When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.”

“Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.”

We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard.

“Cherub child,” I said. I did a bold thing, maybe even a defiant thing. I reached out and mussed his snaggled curls.

He is smaller than me physically, but he didn’t seem to mind this gesture.

In fact, he smiled, shook his head, and reclaimed his hair with a few casual strokes of his hand. His cheeks went apple-perfect suddenly, and his mouth softened, and then he lifted his right fist, and teasingly struck me hard on the chest.

Really hard. Show-off. Now it was my turn to smile and I did. - Memnoch the Devil

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. - The Vampire Armand

Lestat, my Lestat - for he was never theirs, was he? - my Lestat was crazed and railing as the result of his awful saga, and held prisoner by the very oldest of our kind on the final decree that if he did not cease to disturb the peace, which meant of course our secrecy, he would be destroyed, as only the oldest could accomplish, and no one could plead for him on any account.

No, that could not happen! I writhed and twisted. The pain sent its shocks through me, red and violet and pulsing with orange light. I hadn't seen such colors since I'd fallen.

My mind was coming back, and coming back for what? Lestat to be destroyed! Lestat imprisoned, as I had once been centuries ago under Rome in Santino's catacombs. Oh, God, this is worse than the sun's fire, this is worse than seeing that bastard brother strike the little plum-cheeked face of Sybelle and knock her away from her piano, this is murderous rage I feel. - The Vampire Armand

"Lestat, give me this one embrace and I'll never ask another thing of you for all eternity. Let me put my lips to your throat, Lestat, let me test the tale, let me do it!"

"You break my heart, you little fool," he said with tears welling. "You always did."

"Don't judge me!" I cried. - The Vampire Armand

“Armand,” I said. “Please.” I dropped down on my knees in front of him, looking up into his face.

All the emotion he had held back was printed there now. He was in a rage.

“Is your heart totally turned against me?” I asked. “Do you have no faith in what we seek to build here?”

“Fool,” he said again. His voice was roughened now by emotion he couldn’t suppress. “I have always loved you,” he said. “I have loved you more than any being in all the world whom I’ve ever loved. I have loved you more than Louis. I have loved you more even than Marius. And you have never given me your love. I would be your most faithful counselor, if you allowed it. But you don’t. Your eyes pass over me as if I don’t exist. And so they always have.”

I knelt there defeated. I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know what to say. I felt such a huge exhaustion, I had no way out of it, no way to find eloquence or reason or the vigor to try to reach him, reach beyond his malice to his soul.

He went on again, staring at me as he spoke.

“I hate you as much as I have ever loved you,” he said. “Oh, I didn’t want for Rhoshamandes to destroy you. Good God, that I never wanted. Never. When I heard them crying out that you’d returned I wept like a child. [...] But how could I not hate you, you who went in search of my maker all those long years ago when I scarce believed in him anymore — and was found by him, saved from the earth by him, welcomed into his lair by him, you whom he loved, you to whom he told the secrets of our beginning, when he had never come to free me from the Children of Satan, you to whom he gave his love, while resigning me to the ruins of all you’d destroyed around me. I hate you! I understand the very definition of ‘hate’ when I think of you.” - Blood Communion

“You who humiliated me and destroyed my world,” he said, his voice now a fragile whisper. “You who later told with such relish how you shattered my coven, my little coven, my little coven of holy purpose. Yet still I didn’t want for you to die. And I should have known that you wouldn’t. Of course not. How could anyone put an end to you? [...]

I found myself on my feet again. I’d drawn back away from him without realizing it. The air was poison between us. But I couldn’t look away or go.

“I love you still,” he said. “Yes, even now, I love you, as they all love you, your minions seeking just a smile or a nod or a quick touch of your hand. I love you like all those throughout this palace who are dreaming of drinking just a drop of your blood. Well, you can leave me now. I’m not going anywhere. Where is there to go? I’ll be here if you want me. And grant me my wish for the moment, you and your august friends. Go and leave me alone.” - Blood Communion

The only thought in my mind, the only image, the only idea, was of Armand, and how Armand would feel when he too could hold Marius like this and know that Marius lived, that Marius had been restored, that all of them were safe and secure, and using my strongest power I sent the word to him. I sent the news. And I sent my love to Armand with it. - Blood Communion

[dyns33]

The Ending

Last Morpheus x Hob!Reader. A bit hard to read, and with spoilers from the comics, careful. 

Y/N Y/L/N couldn't die.

Not if she didn't want to.

Lord Morpheus repeated this to himself over and over as he continued to search for her everywhere. He refused to think that his sister might have changed her mind or that his immortal lover might have decided to leave without telling him.

Something else must have happened, and though it might be horrible, Dream told himself that he would find her, that she would be alive, and that he would help her get better, for as long as necessary.

She had told him about her long life, he had seen some of her nightmares. Y/N had experienced a lot of things, she was strong, smart. Everything would end well.

Her disappearance dated back to a few days now. If he hadn't learned to control his rage, Lord Morpheus would have punished Johanna Constantine for causing all this trouble. She had come to seek the help of Y/N and Hob for a dangerous mission, thinking that it would be better to be accompanied by people who could not die.

There are fates worse than death, Dream had once told Robert. You can be injured or captured.

It had happened to him soon after, like a premonition, and now Y/N might be stuck somewhere. Maybe she was being tortured, and if he didn't move fast enough, if she lost hope, then she might call his sister to end her suffering.

But no, she couldn't die, he refused that.

Despite his best efforts, traveling the waking world and dreams, dispatching Matthew and his most loyal subjects, he was unable to find her.

The Hecate didn't give him any help, answering with riddles and mocking him. Lost, he did something he hadn't even thought of doing when he was captured : he called his family. It wasn't as helpful as he would have hoped.

As always, Destiny couldn't do anything, saying whatever was supposed to happen would happen. 

Death only reassured him, promising him that Y/N had not contacted her, and that if she did, she would take him with her to save his beloved. She looked strange, but said nothing. 

Destruction didn't answer.

 The twins were a little surprised by his request, savoring this moment, happy to see him so weak in their domains, desperate and in love.

     "We'd be willing to help you just because we pity you and you finally seem to realize you're no better than us..." Desire began.

     "... But we can't do anything for you. An ancient magic seems to have taken your lover." continued Despair. "She's too far from us. Sorry."

It was out of sheer politeness, knowing how susceptible she could be, that Dream went to Delirium. Poor Delirium, his youngest sister would probably not achieve more than the others had already done.

She jumped up when she saw him, saying that she had missed him, before saying a lot of nonsense, but listening all the same to the reason for his coming. Delirium looked serious for a moment, thinking hard, before jumping up again.

     "I dON't KnOw wheRe Y/N Is. BUt I knOw whO I CAn Ask !"

     "Come find me if your friend brings news." sighed Morpheus who wasn't really listening.

     "He'S nOt MY fRIenD, BUt OkAY !"

A few hours later, someone showed up at the gate of the realm, and Matthew flew as quickly as possible to his master to tell him that Y/N had returned.

In an instant, Dream appeared beside her, hugging her, asking her if she was hurt, wiping the tears from her cheeks, touching her bloody hands.

     "... I'm fine." she whispered without looking at him.

     "Obviously not. If those who hurt you are not dead yet, I will find them and lock them in an eternal nightmare."

     "Forget it, Morpheus. I don't want to talk about it."

     "I cannot leave unpunished those who have dared..."

     "Nobody hurt me." Y/N said more firmly, but still avoiding his gaze. "It's not my blood. I lost myself, in limbos. It was impossible to find my way, I was alone, and I was afraid of arriving in hell, or of dying without doing it on purpose. Then he... I do not want to talk about it."

     "He ? Who is he ?"

Y/N initially refused to answer, continuing to cry, before falling to her knees and beginning to ask his forgiveness, as if she had committed a crime. The pleas came next, her love saying that she would understand that he hated her, that he never wanted to see her again, but that she had no choice. She was shaking, as if she was afraid of him.

     "He asked me... He was so tired, so kind. His voice... His voice..." she sobbed, taking Morpheus's hands. "He had such a beautiful voice."

Then Dream understood. And after having focused his attention only on Y/N, he contemplated the universe and whispered the name of his son who was no longer there. That was what his sister had hidden from him. What his brother had meant.

Y/N was alive, and Orpheus was dead.

Delirium had had the idea of going to ask her nephew for help. She had never thought of it before, but he was a oracle, so he knew everything, and he didn't have to keep quiet like their big brother. She wanted to ask him where her dear other brother Destruction was, but Orpheus had smiled, saying that his uncle didn't want to be found, that there was more important matters to deal with at the moment, and that he wouldn't be here afterwards.

Using his link with the Limbos where he had lost Eurycype, he had found Y/N and he had guided her to the exit. He had, however, asked her for a favor.

     "He said he wanted to join his wife. He couldn't stay like that anymore. He was already dead, or almost. He was staying for his mother, and you, even if he was convinced that you didn't love him anymore and that you would never come back to see him. He would have wanted to see you, and at the same time, he was afraid. Afraid that you would reject him, or that you would accept his request. He knew the rules, he knew what he would happen to you if you released him, so... He asked me. I didn't want to do it. I said there had to be a solution. I didn't want you to hate me."

     "My love..."

     "He said it would be fine. That you would understand. He sang to calm me down. A lullaby you made for him. It was beautiful. Oh, Morpheus, it was beautiful. Forgive me."

Unable to speak, he took her in his arms. His son was right, he didn't hate Y/N. He would never hate her, he was glad she was back, that she wasn't hurt. Yes, Orpheus was long dead, though none of them wanted to accept it.

     "My love..." he whispered again, continuing to rock her, trying to calm her crying, as he had done with this little baby that Calliope had given him. "There is nothing to forgive. You granted his wish, you did nothing wrong. You gave my child peace, something I could never have done. I wanted him to live, I was not here for him. At least he's with his wife now. He's happy."

Y/N continued to cry and apologize for several hours, hugging him and letting him kiss her until she was too exhausted to move.

It was not necessary to warn anyone. Once his partner was calmer, although still feeling guilty despite all his reassuring words, the family came.

Morpheus was afraid that they would be violent towards Y/N, that they would insult her, curse her, try to kill her.

The meeting was very strange.

Destiny didn't speak much, only repeating that what had to happen had happened. He quickly added that the other option would have been difficult, for everyone. Death hugged his brother, then Y/N, without saying anything, because it was not necessary. Destruction did not come.

The three youngest were the most surprising. Very serious, very solemn. Despair offered her condolences. Delirium apologized if she had made a mistake. Desire remained in a corner. It wasn't time for teasing, but none of them were mad at Y/N. Their nephew had been on the borders of their domains for too long, it was good that he was free.

Calliope arrived last, calm and serene, but with tears streaming down her cheeks. By stupid reflex, Morpheus stood in front of Y/N, but the muse smiled sadly at him, before passing and taking his companion's hand.

     "Thank you." she said. "Thank you for helping my son."

Not considering that she had helped him, Y/N just nodded trying not to cry again. She couldn't, and Morpheus took her back to their room as soon as everyone had left.

Of course, there remained the dreams and nightmares, curious and worried, who wanted to check that everything was alright for their creator, but also for his lover. They all adored Y/N, they didn't like to see her so sad, but above all, they wondered if their master might not blame her for what had happened.

     "I do not understand what you mean."

     "Well... She... She killed your son, boss." muttered the raven as if he had just said an insult. "Yeah, he asked her, and she's sorry, and I understand, but… You might be upset, and angry."

     "I am not."

     "Not even a little ?"

     "I'm not saying that the loss of my son doesn't cause me any pain. But Y/N is safe and sound thanks to him, and I've only felt joy since her return." he said, stroking the hair of the immortal, who was starting to wake up. "Excuse me, Matthew, but I don't want to leave her alone during this moment. I'll join her in the Waking World, tell Lucienne to watch over the realm while I'm gone."

     "Yes, boss. I'm sorry."

     "Don't be. If anyone is responsible, it's me. I had minimized my son's suffering. If Y/N had died today... Maybe I would have gone to hell for her. My sister would have laughed at me, saying that I was selfish. I could have helped him, I didn't. My brother is right, things happened as they were supposed to , and now I have to follow my own advice. Accept that he's gone, and savor every moment with Y/N, my Y/N, that he brought back to me."

The raven refrained from answering. He wasn't really satisfied, but he couldn't do anything. It wasn't a nice ending, like in the fairy tales, but it wasn't a bad ending either. Life like stories, their master well knew, did not always have happy endings. They had endings. And if in his Y/N was at his side, that was enough.

[ruthlesslistener]

Spare Grimm headcanons? Funky goth bastard has been on my mind lately

Sure! These are just scraps lying around me old noggin

-Started off as a twin to the Radiance, who then slowly grew more and more distant as each accumulated new differences between them. This works mainly because the majority of their power sits in the Dream Realm, so they do not obey the same rules of biology as those born in the physical realm (like PK, who mimics a biological being quite well despite basically being composed of soul pretending to be flesh). Grimm now views his sister as a pitiful thing almost entirely apart from himself, and while he does wish things did not turn out the way they did, he wouldn't shed a tear at her death

-Created the butterfly tribe soon after Radiance created the moths (or was it before...?) Both argue that they had their own idea first. Grimm doesn't tie himself to them, however, because the Radiance's obsession with being the mother of the moths/be accepted and loved by them all disturbed him. Also, being tied to them brings discrimination from those terrified of him, so if you ask his relationship to them, he'll never give you a straight answer

-The butterflies, in turn, either do not worship him directly; they are often traveling preformers, much like their creator, but they dance and sing and turn to the arts to remind people to value life when it is rich and beautiful, not to herald Grimm's arrival (as is often misunderstood by those who know of him). They also never speak his name, so many who are estranged from their tribe just straight-up don't know him

-Split himself into three (Nightmare Heart, Nightmare King, Troupe Master Grimm) partially because he disliked the all-eggs-in-one-basket means the other gods did, and partially because he was curious about death. The Troupe Master form will literally 'burn out' without the full might of its componant parts to constantly regenerate it in the physical world, which is why he has that phoenix-like lifestyle. If one part is killed, the others survive, but he cannot live a continuous, constantly immortal existance like the rest of his kin

-Infertile; can only reproduce asexually, which bothers him sometimes. Actually a great dad though fuck y'all who says otherwise. Tends to adopt kids he finds in warzones/runaways, which gives him a legend of being a grubnapper and cradlerobber despite him not going out of his way to steal children

-Opportunist to the core: is he as dangerous as other gods? Probably not. He holds no territory of his own apart from his troupe, and he's a scavenger to boot. But he's less of a mild-mannered vulture, and more of a crow; he'll wait patiently for his turn at the carcass of old civilizations, but if he finds an easy way to hurry along the process, he will. And while he does feel pity for unfortunate souls, he will also devour their fear and dread just as hungrily, because that's kind of his entire job. He's the cleanup crew. It's nothing personal

-Does he have bones? Organs? A face? Don't ask

-Much like wyrms are legends brought to life of now-extinct vertebrates like snakes, Grimm has batlike/mammilian features because legends are still whispered about those ancient enemies of the night, even though it has been many millenia since they went extinct, and bugs were small enough to be hunted by them. Their memory lives on in legend and the deepest instinctual fears of bugs, and manifests itself in Grimm

-Somewhere above 13,000 years old, if we count continuous rebirth cycles as a single life. Yes, the Radiance was this old as well. I place their creation somewhere around the time bugs became able to conceptualize/tell stories of their hopes and fears, which brought them into being

-Gender? Whatever feels like the most fun preformance for him right now. Gender doesn't exist when you're a dream coaxed into reality, with all the temporal bindings that posesses (almost none). He usually uses he/him bc Radi feels very strongly positively about she/her, and bc its dapper, but that's not set in stone by far. More set in smoke, and just as whimsical and easy to change

-Somewhat of a narrative foil to the Pale King, but in self-sacrifice, responsibility, and fatherhood, unlike the direct foil of the Radiance. Bit incoherent rn bc I'm sleepy, but despite his fairytrap deal of joining the Troupe still being, well, a fairytrap, he doesn't hold anyone to strict loyalty like PK. Yeah he's a nightmare god who lives on the entrails of civilizations felled by death and ruin, yeah he's exactly what he sounds like he is, but he's also not cruel. That would be a waste of precious time and energy, and he hasn't got much to lose, either, so why bother? He's just genuinely a laid-back dude when it comes to the other gods. Best to let them tear each other apart, he'll always profit when the warmongering is over no matter what