#but his story would simply not be very fulfilling if he went through all that growth at the end

[anders-hawke]

have to say that every time i see someone reference a theory/belief that jaime’s going to die i become just a tad more sure that he won’t. like i well and truly believe that the fandom is blowing his prospects of death way out of proportion 💀 like why? what message would that be for? like what do you mean he dies? to find redemption in death? i have never seen it explained in a way that narratively makes sense

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (28)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of masturbation, public dirty talk, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Even though he had expected nothing else, his wife's reaction completely devastated him anyway − her words cut through him like daggers, showing him his own face in the light of the truth.

What should I do now?

Divorce you?

Not speak to you for eight years?

He didn't know what he should answer.

The realisation that he was constantly searching for fault in her because he felt guilty himself, that he was accusing her of betrayal because he had betrayed her himself, caused him to no longer know who he was anymore. He felt so lost and heartbroken that he had simply burst out crying in front of her like a child scolded by a parent.

He just wanted her to forgive him.

When she told him what Alys had seen in her dream and informed him of her conditions, even though he was dying at the thought of spending even one more day in this fortress, he sat down at her oak desk the next morning to write a letter to his brother-king.

My King, our half-sister has agreed to our terms, however, she makes her own demands. I have decided, in order to alleviate the situation, to travel with my wife to Dragonstone, where we are currently staying. We want to try to convince them to change their minds − one order from you is enough for me to return to King's Landing. Your loyal brother

His niece was furious with him − he had never seen her like this before and preferred not to address her at all when she spoke to him knowing that he would only make matters worse. He hoped that his conciliatory attitude and the fact that he had fulfilled her wish would make her calm down.

The thought that he wasn't her prisoner didn't comfort him, because he felt like one anyway.

Wherever he went he might encounter someone he didn't feel like looking at, so he preferred to stay in her chamber and bear it somehow.

As soon as she had left her quarters he rose from his chair and began to walk around her room, looking at the various objects on the shelves and bookcases − he looked through the books she was reading, finding with satisfaction that most of them were also in his possession in King's Landing.

He spotted her embroideries in one of the drawers, including those he remembered well from his childhood, and smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if she had kept them for the sake of memories.

He shuddered as the door to the chamber opened suddenly and he slid the drawer back in, turning with a rapidly beating heart − Daemon stood with his hands folded behind him, sighing heavily.

"− come, nephew − we must discuss many important matters −" He said with a kind of boredom, as if what he was speaking of was a duty he had no desire to perform at all.

"− I will not go anywhere with you, uncle − I am quite comfortable here −" He said lowly, looking away, frustrated.

Why did he always feel like a little child in his presence?

Daemon chuckled at his question.

"− it wasn't a request − come, let's have a walk −" He encouraged him in a ferocious, mocking tone from which he felt rage and a clench in his stomach.

He knew he couldn't refuse.

Daemon led him out of the fortress through one of the side entrances − he checked a few times before the sound of the sea surrounded them that the dagger he always carried with him was strapped to his belt.

They stepped out onto a gigantic white beach seeming to stretch on endlessly to him, with only the water to their left and high rising rocks and mountains to their right.

They were completely alone.

His uncle finally stopped and turned to him, looking at him for a moment without a word.

"− why did you suggest you spend the night in Dragonstone? −"

He licked his lips, feeling his heart stop at his question.

"− that was her wish −"

"− don't fucking lie to me or I will pierce your skull with my sword −"

He looked at him in disbelief, his jaw clenched so tight he felt like it was going to burst, his fingers involuntarily tightening into fists.

Silence fell again, the sound of the waves around them, their hair and tunics blowing in the wind.

It seemed to him that his uncle's gaze was piercing him to the core.

"− Larys Strong had his own plans for you − I couldn't let that happen −" He muttered at last.

"− does she know about this? −" He asked coldly.

He swallowed hard at the thought that he was referring to his wife.

"− yes −"

"− did you tell her before or after we came here? −"

He lowered his gaze already knowing what he was leading up to, he felt like his whole body was quivering.

"− after −"

Daemon snorted in annoyance, shaking his head as he looked out at the sea stretching before them.

"− you fucking cunt − I was supposed to personally deal with his rats overdue in the Eyrie, but you ruined my plan − though surely that's good for you −" He confessed looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a powerful, cold shiver run along his back at the thought that he knew everything.

He knew that they were about to be murdered.

And Rheanyra?

Seeing that he couldn't force out the question that was pressing on his lips his uncle laughed out loud.

"− the rider of the world's greatest dragon since Balerion's passing is unable to get a word out − shame has taken away your speech? − where is your pride that you always boasted so much? −" He continued, provoking him to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

What should he do?

How should he behave?

"− you are exactly as I assumed − you are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him − you are like a stone, unable to move on − my daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool −"

"− what do you want from me, uncle? −"

"− no − what do YOU want − are you able to name it in your head, or are you like a child in a fog without your mother? −" He asked in a raised voice, frustrated, making him feel a hot wave of humiliation flowing through his body.

"− I want her to be safe −"

"− what happened in King's Landing? −"

"− I −"

"− fucking speak − and you'd better say the truth −"

"− your spies in the Red Keep didn't report it to you? −" He hissed, his uncle taking a step towards him, looking him straight in the eye.

"− you're trying my patience −"

He pressed his lips together feeling his heart rise to his throat, cold sweat running down his back.

"− my mother gave her moon tea without my knowledge − she wanted to be able to pact with you and give her to Lord Arryn's son −" He said dispassionately feeling, however, that his voice trembled. Daemon looked at him wordlessly.

"− and what have you done to punish those who wronged my daughter, and your wife? −"

He looked at him feeling his whole body freeze.

"− what would you have done to her if she had been the one to fail your trust? − if she tried to fight for her freedom, if she stood up to you and threatened your mother? −" He asked, stabbing his words into him like daggers.

He didn't know the answers to these questions.

He never wanted to ask himself them.

"− I did everything I could − she is my mother − you would expect the same from your daughter yourself −"

"− and yet she was the one who came to beg her own mother to surrender her claim to the crown when yours was encouraging your brother to steal the throne that never belonged to him − gods, Viserys has taught you nothing, has he? − you see nothing but your mother's skirt to which you have always been clung −" He muttered with some kind of disgust from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver and discomfort in his stomach.

"− I regret − I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow − I did not, though it was my duty −"

He looked at him in disbelief, feeling with horror the burning under his eyelids. He laughed and shook his head, wishing he could somehow control what was happening to him − he hid his hands behind his back feeling how much they were trembling.

"− are you remorseful, uncle? − do you see that you yourself also contributed to the division of our family into two separate parts? −" He asked with mockery and regret in his voice feeling that he was weak.

What had happened in the last few days had completely destroyed him.

"− I want to hear the truth and I will ask for the last time − what do you want? −" His uncle asked with emphasis on the last sentence.

He shuddered, realising that deep down he knew what the answer was.

He always knew.

"− I wish it was all over − I wish I could take her to Essos, as I promised her − I am tired, uncle − I have been tired all my life − I only rest when she is by my side −"

Daemon looked at him for a long moment and let out a loud breath, looking out to sea. They stood like that, not speaking to each other.

"− is there anything else you have hidden from her? −" He asked coldly, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the memory of the Witch of Harrenhal's words.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He raised his eyes to his uncle and met his gaze, proud and distrustful, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"− I −"

"− speak −"

"− there is − there is a woman in Harrenhal, called by some a witch − she came to me last morning and −"

"− did you take her to your bed? −"

His voice stuck in his throat at his question, so he shook his head quickly, horrified.

"− no, but she said − she prophesied to me that this would happen − that − that I would put my child inside her −" He muttered, feeling with what difficulty those words left his mouth. Daemon raised his eyebrows in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"− and? − if she said so, now there's nothing left for you to do but put your cock inside her? − don't make me laugh −" He sneered, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"− she can predict the future − I −"

"− are you listening to me, or have you not only gone blind but deaf? − if she told you that you would run away with her to Essos and beget twenty children with her would you believe her too? − she told you exactly what she wanted to happen − she hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants − I don't know any man who would put his cock into a woman by accident or by fate − pull yourself together −" He said impatiently, causing a warm wave of embarrassment to surge through him.

He thought he really was a fool.

How could he have believed her with such ease?

Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, his words brought him relief.

"− do you have anything else to convey to me? − this is your last chance −" He asked coldly, and he shook his head.

"− very well − I'm glad we've got it behind us − you may leave −" He said dryly; he pressed his lips together at his words and simply walked away, swallowing his dignity and pride.

As he stepped into his wife's chamber he noticed her seated figure out of the corner of his eye, but he did not say a word to her − he felt humiliated and tired and did not feel like making conversation.

He also recognised that she certainly still hadn't forgiven him, so they might as well keep quiet.

He therefore sat down with one of her books by the fire, trying to concentrate on what he saw before him and not on his uncle's words.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

Though some part of him did not want to admit it, he knew that subconsciously he had been waiting for those words, for any praise or appreciation from him, the Rouge Prince himself, the greatest warrior and dragon rider he had seen in his lifetime.

So why did he feel so bad about what he had said to him?

You are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him.

My daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool.

He swallowed hard, knowing that there was partly truth in his words.

For some reason though he wanted to, he couldn't completely free himself from the past and move on.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −"

He lifted his gaze to her from his book thinking he had overheard himself. He felt a wave of anger and disbelief surge through his body when he noticed in her gaze that she wasn't mocking him.

She meant it.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, getting up from his seat, throwing his book on the table and leaving immediately thinking he was going to kill this fucking bastard with his own hands.

When he finally walked into the right chamber he breathed heavily and grinned, feeling as if all the frustration, the things that had been happening to him after his conversation with his wife and uncle were going to find release at this very moment.

Jace stood up from his chair, pale at the sight of him, clearly knowing exactly what awaited him.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −" He murmured teasingly, feeling the presence of his niece beside him, the scent of vanilla filling his lungs again.

"− Aemond −"

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered, cocking his head to the side, resting his weight on his right leg, watching curiously as his nephew turned all red with embarrassment.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela growled, his smile widening even more at the sight of her, her lips tightening into a thin line.

He thought he would love to hit her in the face again before he remembered that she was a woman.

What a pity.

His wife appeared suddenly in front of him, looking at him warningly.

"− we are leaving −"

He felt like laughing at her words.

Her brothers were getting away with far too many things.

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −" He said sweetly, looking his nephew straight in the eye thinking with amusement that this time would be different.

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He muttered in a voice filled with challenge and poison seeing that Baela looked at her betrothed in disbelief.

Always pretending to be so righteous, so wronged.

He was nothing more than a pathetic brat who was once again reaching for what didn't belong to him.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela thundered, clearly wanting Jace to stop being a scared cunt, which unfortunately he was unable to do.

He could feel his own heart pounding fast, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing quick and deep.

He was ready to attack him, he was ready to rip him to shreds.

Some part of him wanted to do it.

A fucking would-be King.

You'll never sit on the throne − he thought with satisfaction − and in my wife's eyes you were never a man she could desire.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He mumbled in horror as he looked at his niece with pleading eyes.

Did he really think that he would let him hide behind her skirt like a coward?

That he would allow him to escape the consequences of his foolishness again?

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" He hissed grabbing her cheeks, heard her draw in a loud breath, shocked, as his lips pressed against hers in a hot, aggressive kiss − she moaned quietly as his slick tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his low sigh of delight.

He pulled away and met her simultaneously terrified, enraged and thirsty gaze − she only mewled when he turned her with a confident tug with her back against him and pressed her figure against his chest, gripping her neck with one hand, the other sliding down her lower abdomen.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip when he felt her fingers tighten on his wrist trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do, her mouth parted in disbelief.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out, not really understanding himself what he was actually doing, focusing more on her than on them as he dug his fingertips into her womanhood lying beneath the material of her gown.

Her head was tilted back, her thighs clenched, her lips struggling to hold back the moan from which his erection slapped impatiently against her buttocks in his breeches.

He thought he will fuck her with his fingers in front of his eyes.

"− u-uncle − stop −"

In fact, he had to stop when Daemon walked into the chamber − the ashamed, horrified expression on Jace's face who couldn't even look at them and the accusing look his betrothed turned towards him was reward enough for him.

He wanted to watch his world, everything he desired burn and fall apart in his hands.

He wanted him to know what it felt like.

He knew his wife enough to know that her rage was mixed halfway with the desire and tension he himself felt. He wanted to respect her request not to take her and break it at the same time, feeling that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he did something that stopped halfway between both, coming with a sigh of relief on the material of her nightgown when he heard her moans of sweet fulfilment.

He wanted nothing more after this than to lock her in his arms and fall asleep.

"− let me embrace you −" He muttered.

"− no −" Her frustrated, trembling voice answered him.

He huffed loudly, heartbroken, at the same time understanding her and longing to take refuge again in the warmth that the closeness of her body gave him. In a gesture of desperation, he simply pressed his face against her neck, taking in her scent.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

He heard her sigh heavily, annoyed, but said nothing more. When he finally felt she had fallen asleep, his hand slowly touched her waist and slid to other side, taking its place on her warm lower abdomen.

"− no −" He heard her quiet, unclear mumble, her body stirring in his embrace.

"− shhh − let me −" He whispered in her ear, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her cheek.

"− mhm −" She muttered, twisting towards him immersed in a deep sleep − he sighed heavily as her body involuntarily clung to his, her face sinking into the hollow of his neck.

He swallowed hard, feeling the squeeze in his heart and the tears under his eyelids that, one by one, began to run down his cheeks as his hands wove through her hair and the material of her nightgown at her back, pressing her close to his body.

He thought that for some reason during the nights he spent with her he was most vulnerable and weak, her presence, the warmth of her flesh, her closeness made him feel as if something was melting inside him, not allowing him to pretend that Daemon's words had not hurt him.

Despite repeating to himself that his uncle's words meant nothing to him, as a child he had looked up to him, dreaming of being like him − fearless, ironic, intelligent, confident, proud of his family and his heritage.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

He pressed his lips together at that thought, at his words, which cut into his heart like a sword, because although he had tried to find his pattern of masculinity in his father, in his older brother, in his grandfather, in Ser Criston, it was his uncle that his gaze had always followed, it was his uncle's reaction that he looked at when he and his father watched them duel.

He never heard a single warm word from his lips.

The fact that he was his mother's son had crossed him out in his eyes, and he had no intention of apologising for anything.

So what was he to do with his words?

That he did not know − nor did he know what purpose the conversation had served or why he had told him about the Witch of Harrenhal. He thought with shame that guilt and fear had crushed him so much that he had to get it off his chest, and he had chosen the worst person to do so.

What if he uses this against him?

Poison his daughter's thoughts with words that her husband feared that he would betray her in the future, beget a bastard child with another woman?

He felt a cold shudder run through his body at the thought, but for some reason he had a feeling that this would not happen.

She told you exactly what she wanted to happen.

She hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants.

He was right.

This woman, whoever she was, was playing with him and his wife.

He thought she was hoping to frighten them both and lead them to lose trust in each other.

That this was perhaps also part of Larys' plan.

He had no intention of killing his wife.

He wanted her to do it herself.

That thought, that realisation flashed through his body like a flame, his fingers clamped down on her flesh as he swallowed hard, feeling some kind of indescribable relief, finding meaning in it at last.

They knew that if his wife disappeared, he would join the war.

He sighed quietly, thinking with surprising calmness in his soul, stroking his wife's soft, dark curls with his fingers, that he would cut off the heads of all the vipers plotting against her, one by one.

He intended to personally inform his brother what their grandfather and Lord Strong were planning to do behind his back.

[the-writer-arrived]

Wedding Bells Underwater

Synopsis: after things have finally settled down in fontaine, wriothesley can finally fulfill the promise he made to avice and faissolle. watching their dream come true makes the duke think about his own future, one with you, he hopes.

Character: wriothesley.

Warnings: gn!reader; established relationship; spoilers for wriothesley's story quest.

A/N: i got so happy that they were included as a nice easter egg on wrio's birthday art 🥺

"...I'm sorry, you want me to do WHAT?"

"Help me organize Avice and Faissolle's wedding."

You stare dumbly at Wriothesley, the faint music coming from the gramophone the only sound in his office while you try to gather your thoughts. Has the workload finally taking its toll on him? Surely he knows that you have zero experience in organizing a wedding???

"It's nothing too complex like you're thinking. I just want you to act as a 'bridge' between the couple and me, since I have other matters regarding the Fortress and can't focus solely on them."

You make a 'ohhhh' expression, now understanding what is expected of you.

"Why didn't you say so from the very beggining?"

"Because I wanted to see what kind of face you'd make. And I must say, you never disappoint sweetheart."

Like the mature adult that you are, you decide to not say the snarky remark you thought and simply leave his office to look for the said couple.

(It's a lie, you stick out your tongue childishly and rushed out of the room before your lover considers cuffing you for disrespecting authority. Not that you would mind it that much).

----------

For someone who knew basically nothing about planning a wedding, you got into it pretty quickly... Maybe a bit too into it, if you were being honest.

The decorations, the location, the order of the events, the dress! Blame it on your perfectionist side, but really, after everything Avice and Faissolle went through in the Beret Society incident, they deserved a perfect wedding.

Even if it wasn't going to be a large scale event, due to all the limitations that comes with choosing the Fortress of Meropide as the venue and the couple's own wish for keeping it simple, there still was a lot of work to do. Knowing that, Wriothesley announced that those who help with the preparations would be awarded with double Credit Cupons. Suffice to say that you got all the workforce needed pretty quickly for the preparations to go smoothly.

After many meetings, headaches and shipment delays, you can now admire the results of yours, Wriothesley's and all the volunteers' hard work.

"Didn't know you had a secret talent for this. Ever considered changing careers?" The man beside you asks quietly while the bride and groom are giving their speech.

"Archons forbid! Do you have any idea how stressful that was? I have a newfound respect for professional wedding planners." You whisper back, remembering the way you basically passed out in bed the day before, all the stress and sleepless nights knocking you out.

Before he could say anything else, the spotlight shines above him and all the guests turn to look at your table.

"Your Grace, words are not enough to properly thank you for everything you've done for us. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing here and be able to call Avice my wife." Faissolle's words falter, him and his bride trying hard to control the tears. Wriothesley smiles at them, raising his glass in appreciation for their words.

"Of course, we can't forget the one responsable for turning our ideas into reality." The spotlight is now shining on you as well and you feel your face warming at the sudden attention. "Thank you so much for creating such an incredible wedding for us, we'll never forget this day."

Everyone raises their glasses in a toast for the newlyweds, cheers running through the crowd of guests when the couple finishes their speech.

----------

"...A penny for your thoughts, Your Grace? Or does it require Credit Cupons as well?"

You nudge your lover's arm to get his attention, seeing his faraway look.

"Oh yes, at least 500 Credit Cupons for such information." He chuckles when you roll your eyes. A beat of silence falls and you wait patiently for him to continue, if he wishes to do so. "I was just thinking that, in all the years I've been in the Fortress, I've never imagined I'd one day have it decorated for a wedding, of all things."

Wriothesley's eyes run along the tables of guests, the other former members of the Beret Society and others who became friends with Faissolle and Avice, all smiling happily and having a good time. A peculiar sight to see when you remember this merry ceremony is taking place inside a prison.

His attention returns to you at the feeling of your hand slipping into his, fingers entwining themselves with his easily like two puzzle pieces.

"That means all of your hard work is bearing fruit. The Fortress of Meropide can also be a place of good memories and new beginnings. The proof of that is right in front of you."

The Duke knows you must have meant the event, but, to him, his good memories and new beginning are you, always have and hopefully always will be.

Throughout the process of organizing the wedding, Wriothesley had wondered what kind of ceremony you would wish for. A big and impressive one? Or maybe a more low-key one, with just your close friends and family? What kind of attire would you like to wear? From Chioriya Boutique, of course, nothing but the best for his darling in their special day.

"Everyone! I'm going to throw the bouquet now!" The bride announces, causing a buzz among the excited guests.

"So? Should we go too?" Your boyfriend asks with a smirk and a playful glint in his eyes.

"Why not? Since we're here, we might as well have the full experience!"

There's already a crowd gathered in front of Avice when you and Wriothesley decide to join them. You both don't really mind though, choosing to stay at the back and observe the enthusiasm of others.

One could think it's funny how excited someone could be at the chance of getting the bride's bouquet, a chance of getting married in the future. Or maybe, it's not about marriage at all, but actually for the idea of having a better future after their sentence time is fulfilled.

Or maybe it's all just a projection of the Duke's own feelings about this.

...Who knew a celebration like this would make him think about things he's never considered before?

He shakes his head to clear his mind. You both weren't there to try and catch the bouquet for real, so there's no need to think too deeply about it.

Unbeknownst to him, fate had other plans.

It all happens too fast. At one moment, you watch Avice throw the flowers high into the air; at the next, you feel someone bump into you from behind, causing you to stumble forward. Thanks to Wriothesley's quick reflexes, he manages to prevent your fall by wrapping a strong arm around your waist. And then, you find yourself staring at the bouquet that had landed right into your arms.

What in the world?!

"Ohhhh they caught it!"

"Man, I wanted that bouquet..."

"Does that mean we're going to hear news about the Duke's wedding soon?!"

"It's about time for His Grace to tie the knot!"

The comments, cheers and the sheer craziness of this unexpected twist makes you laugh, both in embarrasment and disbelief.

In amidst of all the excitement around you both, Wriothesley can't help but think that that must have been Celestia's sign for him to stop wasting time and go after the bright future that awaits him.

Now, what would be the best ring to buy for his future spouse?

thanks for reading <3 likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

heart divider made by @/cafekitsune

pink wriothesley banner (fluff) made by @/the-writer-arrived aka yours truly ;)

[gnomeonamelon]

Hello! Part 2 of my designs: Thalia Grace and Nico di Angelo!

In honor of reading (/listening to) The Demigod Files for the first time, I decided to do the other Little 3: Greek Edition) next! For the sake of reference, Thalia is 27 chronologically/ 17 physically and Nico is 19 (I'll explain).

The rules I set myself to for these redesigns were explained in Part 1 where I did The Trio.

Notes Below (and a poll please I need help):

Thalia:

The ears probably need the most explanation here: I like the idea that becoming a hunter changes you more than simply immortality. They are made up of humans (demigod and mortal) and nymphs, so I threw traits in the blender- the humans become more nymph like, and the nymphs become more human like (always including their bond to a specific place/ thing in nature being broken).

The only other thing of significance I did that wasn't just design flavor was change her hair color from black to brown. I just thought the color worked well with her complexion and differentiated her from the others more.

I keep bouncing around with who should get Aegis after she becomes a hunter (I'm almost positive she never uses it again after TTC)

Nico:

When I was working through the seven total children of the Big 3 and their ages, I realized that I wanted to make it conceivable that any of them could've been the child of prophecy (or seen that way) at some point. I was able to do this fairly easily for everyone else but had to get more creative for Nico. Currently, I'm working with the idea that Nico and Percy are the same age, they have the same birthday.

Once Nico is introduced and Bianca joins the hunters/dies, no one knows who's going to fulfill the prophecy. This adds more tension as he is seemingly evil, and no one knows where he is most of the time. This would probably make everyone but especially Annabeth really suspicious. It would go back and forth for a while before eventually turning out to be Percy.

Ok! On to the actual design: I wanted to go with something different for Nico's outfit as he has a couple early in the series. My personal favorite of these alternates is the black trench coat, so I went with that. Combined with the heeled boots, curved, almost cutlass looking kopis, and cross the body sash for the sheath, he looks very piratey to me with his more formal shirt and pants all being 1940s inspired.

He also has a lot of elements that I at least always forget about. He has a chain belt in BotL that I have never seen in fanart before, so I wanted to include it. I also wanted him to wear his (now skeleton themed) armor since the poor boy needs armor if he's going to go to Tartarus.

It's hard to see at a distance, but there is a key embedded in Nico's sword. Given that the Underworld is described with prison/ door motifs (ex: The Doors of Death), I like the idea that underworld gods have different keys.

When fighting Melinoe, Nico finds (steals) a key that allows him to summon ghosts without the ritual (its criminal that the Ghost King didn't come back in this story).

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hi Luna!

You wanted requests so i thought of something.

What about a blurb/fic of Cedric Diggory x fem!hufflepuffreader, in which fem is a very bubbly, happy sunshine character but the better they get to know each other, he finds her jealous side,which she trys to hide because she is always so nice. Maybe this surprises him but he finds it cute/hot. 👀

It’s very general but english isnt my first language so i don’t know.

Have a great day lovely 🫶🏻

-🍓🍰

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Hufflepuff Reader

Warnings: AFAB reader, Toxic 'he's mine' mentality, Jealousy

Type: Fanfic x reader

Request: Anon

Word Count: Way longer than I anticipated for my first fic

Prompt: Cedric Diggory witnesses the sweet reader be jealous for the first time.

Notes: Thank you so much, Anon! Yay, my first request!!! I'm so excited to fulfill this for you! I hope I am okay with my writing; here's hoping for the best. I have my request page on my blog if anyone else wants to ask away! Cedric also doesn't die in this spinoff. (I always cried so hard at that part) P.S. I do use Grammarly as my spelling/grammar checker. I have Dyslexia, so if things are Choppy or if they look off, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and give me some constructive criticism or suggestions!

Sweet As A Daisy Smells~~~~ Cedric Diggory

You remember your first day at Hogwarts like it was yesterday, even if years have passed. The beautiful architecture, the food, the Witches and Wizards of your year, of course, nothing would beat the year below you and their entrance, seeing as Harry Potter had joined your school that year. However, one small thing might beat what the fourth years have, being placed in Cedric Diggory's house.

Yes, you were like every other star-struck 5th year and younger following Diggory. The only difference between you and them is you actually accidentally made friends with the male. It was purely an accident, not a perfectly strategic mastermind plot between you and your friends to 'plop' you in his path.

It was innocent, really; you had a notorious reputation for being one of the sweetest Witches and Hufflepuffs. Someone needs help with homework: you're on it. Someone needs a quick snack: you're in the kitchen helping the house elves. An animal is wounded and hurting: you're on your hands and knees in the dirt, healing the animal as best you can till Hagrid can assist you. You were overall a genuinely nice person even the Draco Malfoy ran out of insults to throw your way because you were so unfazed: just telling him gently, "I know we all have bad days and feel the need to belittle others, it's okay, I won't judge you for it."

Your masterful plan to 'plop' you in front of Diggory was simple and well executed; you took the initiative to help the quidditch team clean and organize their equipment one night. Your roommate, Elaine Mellonfellow, was the one who came up with the idea, as she was usually one of the three on the team that ended up with that job. She would simply suggest to her captain that you take her place for a handful of sessions so she could 'serve detention.' This was a convincing plan, especially considering Elaine's tendency to doze off during Professor Snape's lectures.

Taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker, Diggory happily agreed to an extra pair of hands to help keep the team's quidditch equipment in top shape. This is what led you to now. It went from a handful of crafted detentions by Elaine to her simply stopping showing up, and you always did. Some would say you should be mad at your friend's obvious ruse to get out of a daunting chore, but you saw it simply as a good friend making sure you got close to your crush and close you definitely got.

Weeks of small talk turned into life stories and learning in detail about one another. You learned about his father's work in the ministry, about how he knew the Weasely brothers through their fathers, how he worked hard to become Quidditch captain, and that his almost least favorite color was, in fact, yellow. However, his years in Hufflepuff definitely helped change that.

While you were learning about Diggory to the fullest extent, he quickly learned much about you. Your fierce loyalty was the only thing preventing you from being in any of the other houses. You never gave up on a task, consistently achieved the highest marks in your year, and helped everyone out as often as possible. Always putting others before yourself, especially Elaine, who he has caught multiple times not being in 'detention' and though he would like to reprimand his chaser for skipping out on duties. He couldn't bring himself out of fear you would stop coming to help every week. Course, this could be solved if he could buck up the courage to talk to you outside of the quidditch tents, but there is a reason why he isn't a Gryffindor. It was fair to say that you were the sweetest, warmest human he had ever met, and he was addicted to you like a bee to a daisy.

All of these stolen moments have led up to today, the day Cedric found out you were, in fact, not just the cutest human in the world but also a vicious opponent in the arena of love.

After dinner in the great hall, you and Elaine make your way to your normal departure point, where she would 'go to detention,' and you would take her place as the ever-faithful cleaner of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. "Elaine, you are becoming far too obvious that you are not in detention when I am out there with him. What if he thinks I am a weirdo stalker chick who told you not to do your duties?"

Elaine snorted before speaking, "Yeah, cause Mister Lovey Goo Goo Eyes is definitely going to give up on spending time with his precious Y/N." You roll your eyes in frustration, with a slight blush present when Elaine speaks up again.

"Don't believe me, Y/N. He talks about you during our entire rest period during morning and evening practices. You might as well already be his girlfriend. If I hear him preach about how your favorite flowers are daisies again, I will puke." Elaine made a fake puking motion before laughing again at you.

"You look like a maniac, dork." you begin to laugh at Elaine's theatrics. Shaking off your nerves from Elaine's words, you begin to wonder. 'Does Cedric really talk about me that much...What if this is all being read horribly wrong, the man has half of Hogwarts on his side 24/7'

"Hey, now get out of your head; I know that look and that lip bite. Come on you are practically my sister, and he is practically my brother with all the time we spend together as a team. I promise you you got this. Just woman up and ask him out already before someone else does." As Elaine spoke to you, she followed the silhouette of Cho Chang on her way toward the quidditch pitches.

Sighing and following along as well, you felt a slight pang in your heart. Everyone knew that Cho Chang was in love with Cedric—so much so that she even rejected Harry Potter. She was perfect, the best representation of smarts, beauty, and poise that you definitely weren't. You were out there every week helping clean in the dirt and mud, for Christ's sake. You would never compare to her, and that ate you alive. Cho had shown her face at a few of your cleaning nights with Cedric. At first, it didn't bother you; they were the same year, and she could have needed help with classwork. Then, the day Harry asked her out, she turned him down only to show up that night laughing and hanging on to Cedric, making it very, VERY clear to him how she didn't like Harry. You knew right then and there. Game On.

Straightening your back, you turn to Elaine, a smile scarily plastered on your face. "I am going in," you begin to walk towards the pitch when you hear from behind, "Maybe don't smile like that; it's a bit unnerving, love! I'll be in the room of requirements with the twins!" Waving by to Elaine, you finish your trek to the pitch to see none other than Cho Chang clinging to Cedric. The slight pang boils into a full-blown constriction.

To onlookers that night, the smile on your face went from mildly unnerving to straight terrifying. Like a Lioness hunting her pray for her young. To Cedric, he just saw his girl walking up to him. Pulling away from Cho, he ran up to you. "Hi, Y/N; I was beginning to worry you got 'detention' too." Using air quotes around detention, your attention moved from the shocked female to the lovely boy before you. "Oh, Cedric, I would never miss this. Who else would help you? Elaine seems to be getting in trouble often lately. Must be all that time with the twins." A warm blush overcame your face as you rubbed the back of your head gently.

"She sure does. Why don't we get started? I was thinking of a full revamp of the whole broom closet. For some reason, half the team thinks that just haphazardly throwing their equipment in there is the best thing to do." Cedric smiled down at you, eager to start his routine and banter with you. Nodding gently, you began to walk into the tent with Cedric when a small voice spoke out behind you. "So that's what you two do in there; clean. I could always help Cedric. Here, let me lend a hand, too." Cho's voice rang like a small bell. A small bell that made you want to grit your teeth and commit a crime. Cedric just shrugged and turned to you. "I guess the more, the merrier, right Y/N?" You gently nodded your head when the constricted feeling in your chest slowly turned into a whole ball of hate.

The cleaning started like any other day; a soft, small conversation began between you and Cedric. Then it happened...that voice. That smooth, high, annoying voice that made you see red. It was bad enough that she pretended that you guys weren't always cleaning when she was hanging around. Even more annoying was her almost consistent interjecting in the conversation. You could feel your shoulders tensing every time she talked, and it didn't go unnoticed by the two peers helping you clean, either. "Everything alright, Y/N?" You could hear the concern laced in Cedric's voice, pulling you from your thoughts. "Yes I am just fine, a little tired is all but I can keep going theres not much left to do tonight anyway." Cedric nodded softly, placing a hand gently on your mid back in a comforting manner.

Then that voice again: "Cedric, it is getting awfully late, and curfew will be hitting soon. You're a prefect; maybe you could escort me back to my dorm so I don't get into trouble?" You saw it right there—the threat, the classic back-down girly pop, he's mine, the 'I get what I want because I am Cho Chang.' Not Today. "Actually, Cho," a sizeable fake smile plastered across your face, "Cedric and I have a pass from Madam Hooch to be out here past curfew to finish cleaning. You, however, seem to not have one of those. Maybe it would be best if you went back to your dorm now. Alone. Since curfew is in the next thirty minutes." You tilted your head sweetly at the girl, your forced smile still present. To others, you looked like your usual sweet self, maybe even regular sweet, with a little bit of derangement. However, Cedric picked up on your tone. That wasn't your normal tone at all. Holding back his smile, he watched the scene unfold.

"Oh, is that right, Y/N? Well, I am sure that Cedric wouldn't mind walking me back and letting you continue. It's just a short walk to Ravenclaw Tower. I know you would 'Hate' to see someone get into trouble after 'helping' you." Cho looked at you with the same false sense of kindness. You step towards her when Cedric interjected. "Cho is right; it's late, and it won't take long for us to walk up to the tower." You look at Cedric, defeated, Cho smugly standing behind him. "I will be right back, Y/N. Then we can finish cleaning." After his words, he walked to the tent's opening and guided Cho out. You couldn't describe the feeling you were having, sadness, hate, fear like you were going to throw up from anxiety because how did you lose to Cho Chang after everything Elaine said about Cedric liking you. A deep, heavy sigh left you as tears pooled in your eyes, watching the two return to the castle.

You grabbed one of the brooms nearby, not even realizing it was Cedric's, and took to the skies. You should get the heat out of your system. Now, you wouldn't say that you were a Quidditch player by any means. You were simply just fast and graceful on a broom. If they had synchronized broom work like the muggles had synchronized swimming, you would 100% join. However, Quidditch is a rough, dangerous sport, and something about a giant ball coming at your head screamed no, not for me. However, nothing mattered tonight except swoops, dives, quick turns, and sorting through the goals. Anything to take your mind off him with Cho. Cho touching him, Cho kissing him, Cho anywhere near him. As your mind raced, you went faster and faster. Not even noticing Cedric had made his way back.

Cedric stood at the opening of the pitch, arms crossed, watching you sore. Why you hadn't tried out for Seeker was beyond him; your speed rivaled that of Harry Potter. However, knowing your soft, sweet personality, he understood why you wouldn't. However, something about watching you zoom around in a jealous rage was very enthralling. Not only are you the pollen the bee is attracted to, but you are also the bee's sting. Jealousy was a perfect look on you. Smiling softly, he waited for you to calm down and land.

As the adrenaline and tears faded, you figured enough time had passed between them leaving and him returning, probably in a happy new relationship. Landing softly, looking up at the sky, you sighed, then turned to the pitch opening. Freezing in your tracks, you saw Cedric Diggory standing there with a smug look and his arms crossed. "Oh uh hey Diggory um, what's up?" You tried looking everywhere but him. "Nothing much, Y/N," He peered his head at your left hand holding the broom, "is that my broom you decided to use so gracefully in the sky." A deep red blush consumed your face as you hid the broom behind your back, shaking your head. Great, not only did he see you flying, but he also is going to think you're a crazy stalker who doesn't know her place using his stuff. A small laugh left Cedric's mouth as he walked up to you. You kept your head down, hoping he would disappear or maybe you would wake up in your bed, and this was all a horrid dream.

Cedric stopped in front of you and placed his hand gently on your head. "I turned her down, you know." You froze, eyes wide, still looking at the ground. "She asked me while we were walking up to her dorm, but I had to tell her I had given my heart to someone else." You slowly looked up at Cedric, and a soft red glow was on your face. "Though I will say Y/N jealousy is a good look on you. Why haven't you joined my team?" A snort left you, and not believing his words, you rebuttled. "I don't want to get hurt, is all." Cedric smiled, pulling you into a gentle hug. "I would never let anything hurt you, not a Quaffle or Cho Chang." You buried your head in to his chest a small laugh escaping you hugging Cedric back. In your soft embrace, you both failed to notice a displeased Madam Hooch approaching the pitch. "LISTEN, YOU TWO, I GAVE YOU A PASS TO CLEAN, NOT SNOG. GO TO YOUR DORMS." You both pulled away quickly, looking at her before running off laughing hard.

You and Cedric made it to your dorm hand in hand. Sadly, he still had prefect duties for the night while you needed to go to bed for a potion exam tomorrow. Taking your conjoined hands, Cedric places a soft kiss on your knuckles. A rose blush consumes your face. "Get some rest, and I will pick you up in the morning. We can go eat breakfast tomorrow in the great hall." You smiled widely and nodded. "Sounds good, Cedric. I will see you then." As you began to pull away, Cedric yanked you back into him. Looking up, Cedric cupped your face gently and kissed your mouth. The peck only lasted a second before he let go. "I'm sorry I couldn't help myself. The bee is just too attracted to the Daisie's pollen." You snorted before standing on your tip toes and kissing him again. This time, neither of you pulled away. Your arms snaked gently around Cedrcis shoulders, hands getting lost in his soft hair. While Cedric held your waist gently in his hands. When you pulled away this time, you rested your heads together. "Maybe I should be jealous more often if this is my reward." Cedric laughed softly before hugging you one last time and sending you to sleep.

~~FIN~~

-------BONUS------

*peering around some barrels in the kitchens, watching you two have your sweet moment."

Elaine: You both owe me 20 galleons.

George: This is ghastly, but I can't believe he turned Cho down. She is like THE it, girl, right now. She even turned down Harry.

Fred: You are mad he turned Cho down. I am angry that I owe Angela a week of butter beers cause he rejected Cho and confessed to Y/N all on the same night. I swear that woman is a mind reader.

Elaine: Both of you are horrible...I love it. Alright, now to prank Filtch.

(Thank you all so much for reading. This is my first official story back into writing. I am sorry if it is choppy or odd. I am getting back into the rhythm of things. I hope this is good enough to showcase the beginning of my writing journey!)

[misc-obeyme]

for the event thingy.. barbie x (your mc or just generic mc depending on what youre comfortable with) !!! authors choice but i do have a very strong preference towards hurt/comfort

🐈‍⬛

Hello there, 🐈‍⬛ anon!

I apologize for the wait on this. I went back and forth for a bit. I couldn't decide if I wanted to actually use my MC or not... but then I had ideas for a general MC, so I ended up doing that lol. However, I admit that I've never written anything involving Ciaran headcanon style. Maybe I should? I've also never posted any writing featuring Ciaran on this blog. I dunno, if people want to see it, maybe I will. They do have their whole own story. ANYWAY, I quite liked writing this one but as usual I am Barb biased lol and I went with hurt/comfort!

Thanks for participating!

COZY COMFORTS EVENT

GN!MC x Barbatos

Warnings: none

There was a time long ago when Barbatos let himself be unrestrained. It was a path that led only to heartache, so he closed himself off. By the time you arrive in his life, he is used to being in the background. He's used to helping, to supporting, to observing, never stepping into the spotlight himself or only at the request of others. You fascinate him, just like you fascinate every demon you seem to come across, but he's content to watch you from afar. He will indulge himself with tea party invitations and learning your favorite foods, but always he keeps that distance between you.

Sometimes Barbatos wonders what would happen if he was more proactive in his feelings for you. At night, when the world is sleeping, he thinks about having you there in his arms. He thinks about how full his heart would feel with you there, snugly pressed against him, slow sleeping breaths and a soft heartbeat. It's painful when he snaps back to his reality - his empty room, alone without you. It's at these times that he considers things like a confession or simply a way to indicate to you that his feelings extend beyond friendship.

Barbatos always shuts that down come morning. When he's bustling about the castle, working to look after the Young Master, preparing for another day at RAD, fulfilling all of his butler duties, it's easier to push all those thoughts and feelings aside. He can focus on who he knows he is, who he chose to be, holding it all in so he can be the very best at his job. There's too much for him to do and he finds he doesn't have time to worry about such silly things as feelings. And anyway, he's always been happy with helping you from a distance. He still gets to see you, to watch you flourish, to spend some time with you. It's more than enough.

But it isn't. And he knows it. And he doesn't admit that to himself until he starts to notice some little things. They don't pass him by, not for a second, because he notices everything about you. That's why he sees it the instant there's something new in your eyes when you look at him. He hears the change in your voice when you speak his name - it's become softer, more profound. These are subtle things and he watches them for a time before you make some bolder choices.

One day you show up at the castle unexpectedly with some tea for him. The little Ds usher you into the kitchen where you blush and stammer your way through presenting him with your gift. He smiles at you and accepts it graciously. He's about to offer to make some for you, but you run away like a startled deer - to nervous to stay with him anymore. His reaction to this episode is complicated. He had noticed your change, but this…

Barbatos agonizes over what to do next. He never once suspected, in all those lonely nights of longing for you, that you might end up returning his feelings. But he can't deny it now. The sweet blush on your face, the way you couldn't meet his eyes, and when you practically sprinted out of the kitchen, it was all too much for him to ignore. He couldn't just pretend he didn't know anymore. And his own heart wouldn't stop thudding whenever he thought of your smile.

In the end, Barbatos chooses to confess to you. Your own nervousness indicates to him that you might not be very likely to confess to him. And now that he knows how you feel, he finds himself unexpectedly impatient. He's spent enough time pining after you, even if you weren't aware of it. He doesn't want you to have to pine for him, not when there is no reason for it. He wants to see you safe and happy in his arms.

It's a simple statement. He loves you with all that he is, MC. He loves you more than he ever thought possible. Please tell him that you feel the same. Please tell him that he interpreted your feelings correctly. Tell him that you'll let him hold you, that you'll let him listen to the beating of your heart. If you say yes, Barbatos will never hold back from you again.

cozy comforts | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[agentc0rn]

Kieran’s story as a loner champion rival character who challenged the game narrative + parallels with the DLC legends - another character essay

Okay, so this is another long rambling of mine that is probably an overthought (and reflective of past analysis) but anyhow, I like to think that Ogerpon, Terapagos and Pecharunt represent certain aspects of Kieran’s arc (albeit not in order). Although Kieran says himself about how he wants to be like PC/us, to be strong like the hero of the story, he outshone others in terms of being a protagonist; not in terms of simply as a central focus of the story but his desire to acquire qualities of a protagonist, which is very evident in his dominant role in the story. Kieran was a protagonist (along with Carmine) but not the main character in terms of the conditions it came along of being one.

To start, Ogerpon being a social outcast due to a great misunderstanding of her display of strength and act of self-defense as a threat is ironically picked up Kieran through his projected image of a strong “oni”; he later becomes this feared champion whose standards pushes out and judges others based on strength. Consequently, other students view him as overly stern and restrictive. He adopts that oni image and its attributed value of strength in who he sees himself as and subconsciously shows to others. Obviously the context of these circumstances are different, but Kieran ends up with a poor reputation just like Ogerpon did (He also takes the "treasure" - in this case Terapagos - like the oni which stole treasures in the tale of Momotaro).

Secondly, terapagos and its too short arc represents the full extent of Kieran’s desire, his potential and who he is; a reclusive, small being who possess great power and status, which, with neglect, caused great changes when it came to the tipping point. Moreover, Terapagos is the "monarch" of area zero, as evident with the tera crown, just as Kieran was the Blueberry champion/king. On another note, his quote of "I don't need my old self anymore - I will show you that I can change again!" resonates with the idea of transforming - physically and mentally - in conjunction with the terastalization, ultimately becoming who you want to be (penny says this as well).

To add further on, Terapagos' berserk state paralleled with Kieran’s monomia of battling and power (demonstrated in his behaviour at the championship match) that long affected his own well-being and his surroundings. The funny thing I personally noticed is that, Kieran took over that role of “control” as opposed to his possesion under dokutaro theories by capturing Terapagos and using it as a final resort to achieve his goal.

Likewise with Pecharunt's motive, Kieran was someone who deeply wanted something that resulted in the harm of others and himself (also mentioned in the case with terapagos). Kieran wanted not just strength, but also honesty and appreciation (form of love) from others. As our miscommunication led him astray, it persuades him that his self-worth is only found in strength (physically and mentally as a trainer and person), and that battling is no longer fun but a measure of worth, a trial determining the strongest who would outlive the weakest. He worked so hard to fulfill his goals for his own sake yet simultaneously for you in that sense of being proven wrong.

He gave up so much of himself by devoting his time, energy and studies to bettering himself (which is very ironiccc). Similarily, Pecharunt gave so much in return for its desire to be loved more - it took as it gave. Both have a warped sense of the things they love (or love in general) in their own respective ways. For Kieran, battling was a test of worth and that the things he liked ought to be strong. He went through such a training arc just to prove himself to you (he outright says so). Again, I repeat, Kieran did this all to fight you, ultimately to prove to you and himself that he made the right choice, that the effort for going through all of this was worth it.

Pecharunt went through all the trouble in seeking out the masks just to appease the couple (I would admit this just ties to the theme of treasure and its consequence with obsession in general, but this analysis aims to focus on the connection between the characters on a specefic level). Its grasp of love comes off as materialistic, more so conditional (same way applied to Kieran = battling in which determines one's success that is only found in strength; that to be a friend/rival, he needed to prove himself).

I have no epic quote/ending for this, oh well (it came off better in my head). edit: grammar issues and revised idea phrasing

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

What if Special was the one who killed the Papas so that Omega wouldn’t have to do it ? Loosely inspired by @divine-misfortune headcanons about Special, though I took some liberties.

Special isn’t sure why Sister asked this of Omega. She can be cruel, in her indifference, in her cold pragmatism ; Special would know. But she never is cruel simply for the sake of being cruel. Sister’s first priority has always been the well being of the Church, and she has no time to spare for needless low blows.

So why, why hand Omega a syringe with an order to murder the Papas ?

She must know. Surely she must know what Omega and Terzo mean to each other. Sister must know that the quint is the last person who could possibly fulfill this grim, dishonorable task.

Perhaps she doesn’t know, Special muses, before discarding the idea. Impossible. Sister has keen ears, she makes a point of knowing every whispered rumors filling long hours of chores, and with Terzo’s evident partiality for his quintessence ghoul being the least well kept secret of the Church, there is no way Sister doesn’t know about them.

So why ?

Does she simply not care ? Unlikely. Oh, she sure doesn’t let herself be touched by their little doomed love story, but Sister is smart. She asks - no, demands efficiency, and asking a lovesick ghoul to end his lover’s life promises a very messy outcome.

Did Sister mistake Omega’s general obedience for blind loyalty ? Maybe. But Omega is not Special. He is older, powerful, wise and whole, a far cry from the poor excuse for a ghoul Special knows he himself is, chained at Sister’s feet, doomed to beg for any scrap of attention or approval.

No, Omega, though still bounded to the Church, only obeyed so far because it was convenient for him ; and when it wasn’t, the quint was smart enough to bypass rules without getting caught.

But maybe, in her haste of getting this over and done, Sister forgot that ghouls are all wildly different, that there is not one of them, except for Special, who wouldn’t have their own thoughts and opinion about this dreadful order she gave ?

Special doesn’t know, but one thing is sure : the Emeritus brothers, save for Copia, must die tonight, or there will be consequences.

Omega seems to reach the same conclusion, staring at the syringe with hollow eyes. Special can almost see him wonder who would reap the consequences of his disobedience.

Alpha, Omega’s oldest companion, brash and agressive but always, always by the quint’s side, no matter what ? Perhaps one of the younger ones, like Aether, Omega’s darling mentee ? Mist, with her sharp tongue but caring smiles ? Delta, after everything he went through ?

An impossible choice, for the bleeding heart that is Omega ; Special emerges from the shadows behind him, settles a hand on the quint’s arm. Static buzzes where they make contact, and unpleasant reminder of the quintessence Special knows he has and can never access despite his best efforts.

Omega startles, which is a bad sign ; nothing ever shakes him, let alone startles him, and yet. Special tilts his head, meets deep purple eyes swirling with a hurricane of emotions.

He doesn’t have it in himself to ressent Omega for being everything Special will never be, not right now, with the anguish clear as day in the quint’s posture, shoulders curled inward, fists clenching and unclenching.

« They know it’s coming, they have for months, » Special comments, « just like all of us. »

There is a lot of speculation about what, exactly, that white Emeritus eye can see. But one does not need premonitions to understand that Sister wants the previous Papas gone, that she has for a while, and that she will stop at nothing to get rid of them.

Omega let out a shuddering sigh.

« I thought we’d have more time. And I didn’t thought she’d ask me. »

I thought she’d ask you is left unsaid.

Is it bad that a small part of Special is jealous that Sister trusted Omega for this mission, instead of him ? Him, who was made for the dirty, dishonest tasks, for the blood and the dirt ?

Gently, Special takes the syringe from Omega. Is he doing this for the quint ? He’d like to think so, but it could very well just be his desperate need to please Sister pushing him to take the matter into his own hands.

« I will do it. Go. You have until sundown. Make the most of the time you have left. »

The line of Omega’s shoulders sags. He makes no move to grab the syringe back, doesn’t try to argue. However, he does slip his hand to the back of Special’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. For a moment, his perpetually cold chest warms the slightest bit, like a long-forgotten cave suddenly lit by a single candle.

« Thank you, » Omega whispers, and then he is gone, taking the warmth with him.

Special finds a dark corner to huddle in, waiting. There is no foolish, desperate move to save their lives to expect from the old Papas, he knows it. They wouldn’t let others be hurt on their behalf, no matter what some would say.

So, Special waits while the Papas, surely warned now by Omega, live their last moments, surrounded by the people who matter to them. Omega is probably holding Terzo, Secondo is sure to be getting drunk one last time with Alpha, Primo likely to be walking his rose garden at Earth’s arm ; and there is no doubt the brothers will gather later, it is Sunday after all, game night is still on.

Alone, Special readjusts his shaking grip on the syringe.

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Blaze in the Dark - (5/10)

Chapter Title: Tell Me to Run

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 5: Nature

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

-

Lucien Vanserra was going mad.

When he was a child, his mother once told him a tale of a boy who went out into the forest intending to bring back food for his family. As he went, the boy happened across a blackberry bush, filled with berries that were oddly ripe for the season. He picked enough to fill his shirt and when he was prepared to take them home, he caught sight of another bush further down the path. Then another, then another. In the end, the boy picked far more than he could carry, and they spilled from his shirt throughout his journey home. Later that night, a pack of wolves followed the sweet scent of berries to his front door.

It was an unhappy story. Lucien had never much enjoyed it, though he couldn’t help feeling he was the boy, tangling his fingers through the bramble of thick hair that smelled of jasmine and honey.

Time passed differently in sleep. He could not tell if it had been hours or mere minutes that he’d spent holding his true love, savoring the silence that was disturbed only by her steady breathing.

A moment like this, so tender and quiet, should have been peace-giving.

Instead, he was holding his true love in his arms, and he felt nothing short of agony. It was so wrong—so wrong that she was married to another man, who had treated her so poorly on their wedding night that she’d come to him in tears. And equally it was wrong that he was with her at all, when his own wife was in the waking world, eating dinner on her own, sleeping in an empty bed.

He hadn’t expected to like Elain. That was the worst thing of all—that his wife was lovely. Beautiful and kind and disarmingly clever.

Lucien had meant to suggest to her that they take on lovers outside of their marriage. For weeks, he had planned what he would say to her, rehearsing it in the quiet so that when he finally came face to face with his wife, he would be prepared. Never, in his imagining, had she had such rich brown eyes that could cut through him to the very core. With one look he was no longer a prince, nor a scholar, nor a gentleman capable of articulating himself, all because she had pink, bow-shaped lips that curved into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

Not that it mattered, that she was beautiful. What mattered was that each time she spoke, he found himself hanging on to her every word, eager to know what she might say next, what insight she gleaned from the world when she thought no one was watching. Suddenly, it was excruciating to suggest she find fulfillment with another man, when he doubted that any living mortal could match her for wit.

He hadn’t said what he was planning to say—what he ought to say. She deserved honesty, and equity, especially given that she was a woman of grace and honor. And yet, here he was. Holding another woman on his wedding night.

And that muddied his feelings all the more. Because he knew this woman was his true love, his perfect match in every way, and he felt equally beguiled by her wicked temper and sweet soul. It was not that he wanted his wife more, it was that he wanted her equally. Greedily seeking a second berry bush when his shirt was already full.

The problem with the boy from the story, the problem with Lucien, was that he wanted too much. He wanted to allay his true love’s grief. He wanted to protect her from her husband. He wanted Elain to smile at him. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted his true love and he wanted his wife and he wanted so many things that he thought he might simply be torn apart by the number of contradictions he chased.

Lucien knew he could not have them both. Elain was not his true love and his true love was not his wife and he was going to die trying to decide which should matter more. True love seemed obvious, but there would be no escaping his marriage to Elain. It would follow him as long as they both lived. They could stay on separate sides of the palace, but she would be an ever-present fixture in his life and he thought, if they were both willing to give it a chance, they could be happy together.

His true love was… a dream. One he could chase, but never hold, not past daybreak.

She belonged to another man.

She was in so much pain.

She smelled like jasmine and honey.

Letting her go sounded as inviting as peeling off his own skin. She felt just as much a part of him. No. No. He had to be honest with Elain and tell her that he intended for them to take on lovers. And then he needed to get his true love away from her husband.

“Are you still awake?” his true love asked, voice soft and berry-sweet.

“No,” he said lightly. “You and I are both asleep.”

She laughed. It was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard.

“Where are you from?” He couldn’t resist. Now that he’d made up his mind, he needed to move quickly. “What kingdom?”

From the fragments of information she’d shared with him, he had his suspicions, but he needed to know. If she was close enough, he could ride out to her as soon as he escorted Elain the rest of the way to his estate. In his head, he saw it playing out perfectly. He would pay off his true love’s husband and her back to the Eastern Kingdom, where she could live in a cottage nearby. He could visit her regularly without needing to offend Elain by putting them in company of each other.

His true love did not answer him. Lucien understood why she was scared to tell him. He had the capacity to ruin her by going to her husband and telling him what they’d done together. Even with good intentions, if he handled things inelegantly it would result in scandal. She didn’t know that he was a Prince, and he hesitated to tell her lest that terrify her, too.

“It can’t be the North,” he said. “There’s not much to farm up there this time of year, and certainly the conditions are too severe for a poor farmer’s daughter to get her hands on a butterfly. To me, that narrows it down to the West or the South. But I have a suspicion, from the way that you speak, that you must be from Carterhaugh.”

Carterhaugh, the land of eternal spring. He was just there, which was utterly predictable. Of course the Cauldron would put his mate and his true love in the same duchy. It felt like the Mother was mocking him.

When his true love tensed in his arms, that told him everything he needed to know.

“I’ve been to Carterhaugh several times,” he told her, pointedly excluding his most recent visit. “Did you know that there is a garden there open to the public that boasts every plant grown naturally in the Southern Kingdom? There’s a hedge maze in its center. Meet me there in two days time.”

“I can’t.”

“Name any sum of money.” He knew he was beginning to sound desperate. “However much you think you’ll need to make the journey, I will send it.”

“I can’t,” she sounded desperate now, too. He braced himself for the return of her tears.

“I understand.” And he did. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her distress. Seeing her in person was a selfish desire, and it would no longer be worth it if it would pain her in the process. “It will be difficult to escape from your husband so soon after marriage.”

“It will be impossible,” she corrected. “We’re on our honeymoon. Not to be disturbed for the next 30 days, at a minimum. What excuse could I possibly have to leave the house without my husband?”

Lucien was painfully aware. She would have as little excuse to the leave the house as he would. What would Elain think if he left for Carterhaugh only three days into their honeymoon? From the way that she’d looked at him just before she’d shut the door in his face, he wondered if she would even care.

“If I can ensure that your husband will be out of the house that day, and if I could send you the means to attend, would you consider it?”

“I don’t know how you would possibly—”

“Would you consider it?”

He could feel her silence like a chasm yawning open in his chest, some ever growing wound of rejection that flared at her uncertainty. He was teetering on a sharp edge, suddenly terrified that she would say no and he would be left to face the painful reality that even his true love had decided that she did not want Little Lucien Vasnerra.

Damaged, scarred, impure.

To think he could come to her stripped of labels, with no name or title to live up to, bearing only the truth of who he was at his core, and she would still find him insufficient. Well, he supposed that was to be expected.

“I’ll consider it,” she said finally, allowing him to breathe once more.

“Good,” he murmured, wishing he’d managed to sound composed, but his short breath gave him away. It hardly mattered. She would consider it, and for that he gently turned her chin so he could kiss her cheek. “Then tell me what you might say to me, so that I can know it’s you.”

“It has to be something so unusual that it couldn’t possibly be mistaken,” she said, sounding lost in thought. He allowed her a moment to consider it, patiently stroking his hand through her hair where she laid against hist chest.

“I know,” she said finally. “I will come up to you and I will say, ‘I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?’”

Lucien smiled. Had she come up with that because she was, at present, listening to his heart beat? Did she hear it stutter with his affection for her?

“And how will you know it’s me?” He asked.

“Call me your sweet soul,” she hummed. “And perhaps I will bring some sweet alyssum with me, so that I may cure you of your wickedness.”

Lucien liked the way her voice warmed when she teased him. She could get him to do anything, so long as she spoke to him in that voice.

He lowered his mouth to her neck, crooning, “I fear it is too late to save me from my wickedness.”

“Then perhaps I can save myself,” she said. Now she sounded breathless, and he liked that, too.

“Hmm.” It was an effort to keep his hands off her. He knew he ought to, after what she had endured tonight, and yet she was so soft, so pliant beneath his touch. And when he kissed her neck, he could feel her arch further into his touch. “I have the sense you don’t want to be saved.”

Just as she was turning into him, finally beginning to take charge in the form of throwing her leg across his hip, the darkness around them began rippling. He groaned, sliding his palm to her cheek so he could steal one final kiss from her lips.

“Think on it,” he said against her mouth.

Then he was torn from her, startling awake atop the covers of a foreign bed, the oak door rattling beneath a pair of fists. He was still in his damn wedding clothes.

“What?” He called, too irritated to summon any eloquence. If he didn’t need to be awake, he would have appreciated a few moments longer with his true love.

“We need to leave at daybreak to make it to the manor before nightfall, your highness.”

Lucien cast his eyes to the window in the corner. It was tedious to travel in winter, when the length of daylight was so greatly reduced.

“It is not yet dawn,” he said in complaint.

“No, your highness. But neither you or the princess had any supper—”

“Elain didn’t eat?”

“No, sir. She has not left her room, nor responded to any knocking. We’ve left her trunk in the hall, but we thought perhaps the two of you would prefer to have breakfast before we depart.”

Lucien had known she was upset—though, truly, it perplexed him given that she had agreed to the arrangement. He hadn’t realized that would mean she would deny herself dinner, or even a fresh pair of clothes. He swore, thinking of the state of her dress when he’d last seen it. She hadn’t slept in the wet clothes, had she? Was she so stubborn that she would deny looking after her health as a means of spite?

Quickly, Lucien changed into a pair of fresh trousers and a white linen shirt. While he and Elain weren’t married in the traditional sense, he felt no compulsion to dress himself up as though they were strangers. She was his wife, and he could knock on her door in a loosely buttoned shirt without being improper. Or so he hoped.

She didn’t answer after one polite round of knocking, so he tried a second, then a third.

Losing patience, he called through the door, “Elain, I hope you haven’t attempted to escape out the window. I’d feel wounded to discover you’d sooner brave the winter than be my wife.”

“I am here,” she called, feintly.

“Can you come to the door, then?”

“I am indisposed.”

Her voice was small—embarrassed. Ah. Lucien turned his eyes downward, spying the trunk that rested just beside the door.

“I have a change of clothes out here,” he said. “Will you let me in?”

“Absolutely not!”

“I am your husband. It won’t be improper to assist you.”

When Elain said nothing, he sighed. “I promise to close my eyes?”

It was an absurd solution, and while he waited for Elain to snap at him for it, he pondered if there was a maid in the inn who might be able to assist.

“…okay.” It was a meek, defeated concession.

Lucien blinked. “Okay?”

He hadn't expected her to agree, and for all his assurances that it hardly mattered between a husband and wife, he felt his pulse jump the slightest bit.

“You’re going to need to unlock the door for me, then.”

Lucien leaned down to lift the trunk into his arms. As he straightened, the locking mechanism clicked, and the door handle angled downwards as though Elain were pulling it on the other side. But the door stayed shut.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

“As my wife commands.”

“Are they shut?”

“Yes,” he said, with a laugh.

The door creaked open. Lucien stepped through carefully. He was heaving the trunk with exaggerated ease, catering to some juvenile idea that Elain might be impressed at his strength. Though from the sound of it, she was scrambling to shut the door in such a hurry she wasn’t at all paying any attention to what he was carrying.

“Where should I set this down?”

“Just on the floor,” she said. “At your feet.”

He complied, trying not to entertain the thought that Elain was standing just before him in some state of undress—completely naked, if he had the liberty to imagine, but perhaps that was a step too far for the prudent Elain Archeron.

“Would you like me to go?”

When Elain didn’t immediately say yes, he straightened, surprised.

After what seemed like a great deal of consideration, she asked him, “Do you have experience lacing a corset?”

“I fear answering that question,” he said, but his sly smile would give an answer all the same. “Though I feel I could manage it competently.”

“Competent enough to do it with your eyes closed?” She challenged.

“I don’t like to boast,” he said.

Elain padded across the room to him. He could have been imagining it, but even her steps sounded haughty. A little vixen, set on proving him wrong. He liked that she was competitive. He hadn’t expected that from her.

“Go on then,” she said. Now, he could tell she was just in front of him. He could smell lavender, and also a hint of firesmoke, like she’d fallen asleep in front of the hearth.

Cautiously, Lucien extended his hand forward. He’d underestimated how tall she was. His fingers grazed the bare skin of her shoulder blade, and she gasped.

“I…” It was unreasonable to feel nervous. But her skin was so soft. He cleared his throat. “This may require a fair bit of touching. Is that okay with you?”

Elain’s voice was stern. “You may touch my waist and my back. Nothing more.”

Gods. Lucien reminded himself that he was a gentleman, though his thoughts were far from that variety. He’d just woken from a night of holding his true love, and one would think he’d be satiated, but all he could think as he gathered up her hair was how desperately he wished to pull, just to see what noise she would make. No wonder the Mother had punished him by marrying his true love to another man. He was not deserving of either woman.

Lucine shook his roguish thoughts long enough to follow the path of her spine down to the unlaced corset at her waist. After finding that Elain was securing both stays in place, he felt blindly along the edges for the first eyelet, before he began threading the lace through. It was clumsy at first. He needed to prod often with his fingers to verify he was looping through the correct hole, but as the stay tightened around her body it became easier. A shame, because he had less of an excuse to trail his fingers over the curve of her hip.

“Not bad,” she hummed, once he’d finished tying the knot at the top.

Lucien smirked. “I think I’d do a better job unlacing it, if you’d like to compare.”

“Rake. I thought you said you weren’t boastful.”

How could he not be boastful, when his hand was still on her hip and she was not stepping away from him? The recollection of what she tasted like flaunted through his mind. She’d kissed him back standing on that altar, lips honey sweet and petal soft. He felt dizzy at just the memory of it.

“What’s there to boast about in untying a corset? The compliment is the company of the woman wearing it.”

Elain snorted. “Do all princes have such smooth tongues?”

He needed to bite back a crude remark about how smooth his tongue could be. He had been honest when he’d said he wanted them to be friends, and the snide comments certainly weren’t helping.

“I could answer honestly, Elain, but I’ve already told you that I am not boastful.”

“How fortunate that my husband is so humble,” she said dryly.

“Can I open my eyes?”

“Not yet.”

Lucien couldn’t resist smiling, albeit ruefully. It would be a long journey to the Eastern Kingdom.

[naivesilver]

Self-fulfilling prophecies, or: I think Rumple and Blue messed up big time, folks

Disclaimer: I am a comparatively recent OUAT fan, so while smarter people probably thought this through before I even watched the show, I have never seen it happen and thus can't know if I'm stating the obvious. Please bear with me, this is going to be a long post.

So prophecies! OUAT has a lot of those. There is an entire wiki section about them, and most of the early ones are offered to us by Rumpelstiltskin, because as we know, he gained the power of foresight from the Seer. But what exactly did said Seer tell Rumple, when she relinquished her power to him?

What we gather from the (cryptic) explanations that we get is that with foresight, you can see all the ways the future might untangle, and practising+physically approaching the time of the events make you able to discern which of those paths will ultimately be the right one. Bae's destiny after the Seer's first on-screen prophecy proves that while the future is highly dependent on people's actions, they cannot forcefully steer it in the direction they want - Rumple thought he could avoid losing his son by crippling himself, but in doing so he followed EXACTLY the road that had been paved for him.

We don't know, however, what would have happened if he hadn't spoken to the Seer. SHE knew, presumably, that by drawing him close she would put the doubt in his mind, but it's unclear whether he would have still left his son fatherless by dying on the battlefield or something entirely different would have happened. We don't know - and Rumple doesn't, either.

Here's the catch, though: everything he does in the first few seasons follows the same pattern of that night in the army, blindly assuming that it makes a difference. He micromanages every main character's life because he sees them as pieces of the bridge he HAS to build to reach Bae. He doesn't account for things going wrong because he thinks they can't, and he's fucking EVERYWHERE anyway, so nothing can slip out of his fingers.

But what if THAT is what actually cements this timeline as the "definitive" one? The Seer told him he would find his son again, he could have simply bid his time and waited knowing this would be the result anyway. When his first apprentice disappoints him as the curse-caster, Regina and her grudges still happen, after all. He probably didn't need to do anything to ensure it - if he'd just leaned back and spun his little wheel, the future would have come around on its own, one way or another. But he doesn't, and instead sets in motion a very specific chain of events, and thus the show happens.

Why would he do that? Maybe he didn't learn how to parse through his visions correctly and he thinks this is a "will be" future and not a "can be" one. Maybe that first prophecy didn't teach him anything, and he still thinks he can cheat destiny (as proven by the fact that when learning that a boy will be his undoing, he refuses to accept it, believing he can just kill said boy before it happens). Maybe he thinks he's like MCU Doctor Strange, who sees thousands of possible outcomes and makes sure the one that leads him to Bae the quickest will happen. I have no clue. But what I think has happened is that for any of these reasons, he made this destiny happen by KNOWING it would happen (or believing it would, as you'd have it), thus fulfilling the prophecy by willingly acting on it.

So Rumple fucked himself over, big deal. We have seen it happen multiple times after s3. But you know who else might have unknowingly led the future where she thought it'd go, in this endless loop we have just described?

At this point in the story we don't really have proof of whether Blue has prophetic powers of her own or she's just going off Rumple's words, but it does seem to me that the way she's telling the story has a bit more nuance than his version did during the Charmings' visit to the cell. So either she went back to pry further, from a man that she generally does NOT trust...or somehow, she's autonomously privy to details most of the others don't have.

But what does she DO with that knowledge? Does she work with what she has to guarantee Emma will fulfil her destiny? Does she trace very clear boundaries for everyone to stay within to adhere to her plan? No. She lets Geppetto convince her to lie. She allows him to risk jeopardizing the safety of an ENTIRE kingdom in the span of five minutes, which makes no fucking sense considering she has never shied away from weaponizing her influence for the sake of what she thinks is the greater good (which in turn is what made people think she was the villain all along, but I digress).

Moreover, some of my friends once had a discussion that, everything else aside, made me realize how fucking dumb it was of Blue to just LEAVE when Geppetto had threatened to do as he pleased with the wardrobe. What kinda preparations did she have to do, literal HOURS before a curse where she would lose all her free will and magic anyway? It was pointless at best, detrimental at worst, and the way I see it, PREMEDITATED to begin with, because while I utterly despise Blue and would have no problem calling her an idiot, this would objectively be a bad move. She could have literally lied to Geppetto about what kind of person could go in the wardrobe, or used magic to prevent the worst from happening. She has done similar things, before AND after that moment.

If she indeed knew, either because of Rumple or her own abilities, how shit was "meant" to go down, it's not too far-fetched to assume she might have acted accordingly in an attempt to guarantee the success of this plan. Even if there had been other possible paths to take, e.g. worlds where Emma might have gone to the LWM with either of her parents, and EVEN IF Rumple hadn't already prevented those variables from happening by that point...if Blue thought the only way for it to work was to stick to the timeline she had envisioned, then there was nothing anyone else could do.

To sum up this theory: Rumple sees the chain of events that develops through show canon, and either decides or mistakenly believes it will be made true, putting all his effort into ensuring it does. Blue makes the same mistake (depending on how you see it, obviously) and instead of forcing people's hands to change the course, allows Geppetto to make what she thinks is an unavoidable decision. By doing so, BOTH of them fulfil what they think is an already written future, but might have still only been one of the various options available among endless variables.

Besides, if they HAD realized that they'd fucked up in hindsight, I doubt they would have admitted to it. It would have been too late by then: knowing them, they would have felt forced to stick to their guns, to avoid considering the possibility to have made a mistake - ESPECIALLY Blue, who was already responsible for the start of this avalanche, what with giving Bae the bean and suggesting the curse to Rumple. It's hard to believe they would have been able to live with themselves, if they'd taken the option into account.

And in the end, what are the results of this proactive decision? Rumple and Bae's reunion is angry, unsatisfying and with catastrophic consequences for the whole family. Emma grows up alone, forced into a destiny she did not sign up for, having been ten minutes old at best. And as for the third victim of prophetic crimes...

Without these beliefs, solid or imaginary that they might be, there is a chance nothing would have gone as we know: the 28 years gap might have meant something else entirely, a lot of people would have been spared the pain, and an external hand would have prevented Pinocchio from being sent on an impossible mission, with a baby and no tools to navigate this world in his hands. Another child lost to the Land Without Magic as a pawn in a game played by two magic users who each thought they were outwitting the other - at least Emma got to grow and heal throughout the show, as an ADULT.

Did Pinocchio?

(OOF. This is almost certainly not what the writers had in mind when they planned the plot of this series. I am, unfortunately, aware of that. But I still think it's worth being put into words as a theory - I probably didn't formulate it as coherently as I hoped, but maybe the message will still filter through, despite the fact that I am 1) overtly verbose 2) tragically Italian. Unforgivable sins, both of them LMAO)

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Engineered by Fate (1/?)

A03 | 2

Summary: Emma's life is going according to plan. She finished her degree a few years ago, landed a stable job that she excels at, and spends her evenings in the dance studio with a great group of friends. But her love life is a bit of a mess that she would like to ignore.

Fate has other plans when she is dragged on a week-long factory tour and continuing education trip at work. What was meant to be a one-night fling turns into something that may change Emma's life forever.

Rating: E

Tag list: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

Emma’s life needed to change. 

She had done all the things they tell you to do so that you will be happy, successful, fulfilled but she was, simply, lonely and, perhaps inexplicably, quite sad. In quiet moments like this one - waiting at the only terminal in a small airport with a vendor representative, Archie, she didn’t much know for a group of likely very dull men to join them for a week of sales pitches disguised as continued learning lectures and a factory tour - she realised that if she picked at those feelings, they began to look too much like something much darker and, perhaps, if she were honest, a bit clinical.

The plane started boarding with no sign of the remaining members of their party. Archie began pacing and dialling frantically as the gate emptied. He shoved his phone in his pocket with a huff of annoyance before stalking off toward the gate agent and pulling out his wallet. Emma stared in a moment of confused awe as this usually calm and extremely rule-abiding sales rep paid off the gate agent to hold the plane another fifteen minutes. Apparently, that was something that could happen in real life.

Archie Hopper bribed a gate agent and it actually worked. And she was the only person to witness this insanity. 

Grabbing her carry-on, Emma followed Archie through to the jet bridge in a daze. 

“We made it!” a rich voice called from somewhere behind her. She turned to see three men sprinting from security. They held their shoes and belts in their hands and dragged carry-ons behind them. They wore nice business attire which made the entire scene seem even more ridiculous to Emma. 

Archie stepped behind Emma in the tunnel, blocking her view of the newcomers and indicating that she continue on. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Archie didn’t wait for an answer, so Emma went ahead and settled into the full plane. She pulled out a book and settled in for the flight, but she was curious to see who had join their party. Archie lead them through the aisle, chatting with them about what caused the delay, the first of the party to appear behind Archie was around her age, which was about two decades younger than the attendees she had met at the airport so that was something. He wore a red cap and had a full beard that was well-maintained. He passed by quickly, looking for a compartment for his carry-on, before Emma could glean anything more from him. Behind him was an older man who was loudly retelling the story of making it through security in record time as though it were a noteworthy and incredible achievement of some sort. Trailing the group, quietly and looking a bit embarrassed about the entire situation was another man about her age. He had dark hair, almost black, and auburn scruff framing a perfect jawline. His gaze caught hers briefly, his eyes were the infinite blue of the ocean, as he searched for his seat. 

Heat flushed on Emma’s cheeks and the back of her neck as his gaze moved along. Determined to ignore whatever had just happened in that moment, Emma stared at the open pages of her book without reading. 

“We’re over here,” the man in the red cap announced and the dark-haired man nodded. The red-capped man scooted in next to her and, ridiculously, Emma’s heart fell. Apparently, her heart had decided they needed to sit next to one another. And what? Chat and fall in love over the course of a three-hour flight? 

“I think I have the ticket for Seat B,” that rich, silk voice spoke again. A light accent was present that Emma felt everywhere. Her chest tightened at the possibility that he would actually be seated next to her and she could spend the next few hours hearing him talk. Do not look up. Do not look up. Emma turned the page of her book to really sell the act of reading. Not that anyone was paying attention to her. 

“Do you want to change?”

“Does your ticket have C? We don’t have to change. I just want to ensure we’re both in this row.” 

“Yeah, I have C.”

“I’ll take the aisle. No worries.” 

Emma flipped her page again as her silly, ridiculous hopes shattered. Emma didn’t dare look too closely at what just happened and began to actually read the book in her hands. But she could not squash the little voice in her mind that suggested that this trip might not be the worst thing after all. 

[hanako-san]

What do you love about tsukasa and hanako/Amane ^⁠^

I love the Yugi twins because they are the Yugi twins.

Amane and Tsukasa love each other with such great love, which to me is so beautiful.

I mean-

At the age of 4, Tsukasa took care of Amane as much as he could. Amane also gave his all to take care of Tsukasa as much as he could.

Tsukasa at the age of 4, made the decision to give his life for his brother. Sure, thinking "He hates me and will be happy without me" helped him get through it easier, but knowing that this boy is willing to sacrifice himself for Amane a second time to fulfill his wish to be once again shows how much love Tsukasa has for Amane.Tsukasa showed that he doesn't mind dying at Amane's hands again in chapter 91.

Amane is a boy who wants to be the best, older brother. Sometimes I feel like he treats it as an obligation, forgetting that he is just a child and can't take everything on himself, but Amane loves and admires Tsukasa so much.

I just melt when I see the longing scene. Amane's eyes and his whole facial expression screams "I love and admire you so much Tsukasa" He literally shines. Amane shines over his beloved little brother.

That's why I understand his efforts and sense of duty. Tsukasa is his most beautiful and dearest moon, his yorishiro. He killed him, killing himself and can't imagine being separated from him,so he don't care much. Important Tsukasa is with him

Why would he need a wish when he's not with him? Amane is with him in the afterlife because he loves him so much. And I'm sure Amane didn't visit him because he didn't think he deserved to see his beloved younger brother.

He doesn't want to be separated from his little brother.By killing him and himself , Amane went with him and wants to save him and protect him.Tsukasa, on the other hand, doesn't mind being killed by Amane a second time to fulfill his older brother's wish. Isn't this proof of beautiful and brotherly love? They both will do literally everything for each other.

Amane's attachment to Tsukasa is especially obvious because he once lost him for half a year and it was a nightmare and he doesn't want Tsukasa to abandon him anymore when Amane wants to have him by his side all the time. It's understandable that Amane is afraid of losing him again by Tsukasa's own will.

What I also love about them is how they show love to each other. They won't do it directly, but they show it gently from time to time, can see it especially at the beginning where AR wanted to make it seem like they hate each other. Amane treats Tsukasa like an intruder and enemy. Tsukasa wants to destroy Amane by causing chaos in school and showing that he holds a grudge against Amane for killing him,but there are scenes that contradict this.

Amane looks surprised and very happy here because he saw his brother after years. That's happiness. He's got a smile on his face and love is written on it.

Amane doesn't mind at all that Tsukasa hugged him. He feels very happy and calm, and at the same time he is surprised. It's sweet, and Tsukasa's joy when he sees Amane is so real and sweet.

When they were little, Amane did everything in his power to be a good big brother by reading him stories or comforting him. Tsukasa did everything to make his brother happy and did everything to cheer him up.

Amane read him fairy tales, when he couldn't because he was in poor health, he simply patted him on the head.

Tsukasa sacrificed himself for Amane so he could pursue his dreams, and Amane went with Tsukasa, giving up hid future.

Now Amane was calling him an 'imposter' and Kako was ordering him to be gotten rid of, and even though Kako himself wanted to get rid of Tsukasa, Amane brought him in. This is absolutely a message that despite the doubts he won't let his brother be taken away.

I love their love for each other, what they are ready to sacrifice for each other without thinking about their own good. It is important that both are happy and both want to achieve their ego and do not stop at anything, they are ready for anything. You have to read and analyze them, which for me is an absolute plus because I love such relationships. For me, they have the best relationship when it comes to twins. Their love for each other is GREAT and so wonderful.

Their relationship is interesting, their actions are interesting. They are not guided by whether it is good or right. They do what they have to do to make each other happy, love and protect each other. Once they set goals for themselves, they do not back down. They do everything to do it. It does not matter what it would be good or bad? Who cares? If a brother can be happy?

They deserve happiness and good thins their afterlife and I know, they have to understand and reconcile. I know that there is a misunderstanding between them, but I hope that at the end Tsukasa will let Amane get closer to him and understand that Amane loves him so much and just as Amane will completely open his imprisoned heart and save his brother just as he wants not to lose him again.

I would like them to be happy because they are not really bad boys. That is what I love about them, their relationship, how they show their love and how they both do something for themselves and are ready for anything no matter if it is good or bad. The important thing is that it works. Subtly showing each other love from time to time. It's beautiful.

Analyzing them is cause I love their relationship is complicated and complex. They are both complex characters. JUST THEM

Just them. The best twins ever!!!

[clotpolesonly]

Surfin' On A Sound Wave, Swingin' Through The Stars

halloween fluff posted an hour after halloween is over because i didn't get the wild hair to write this fic until 10:30pm?? it's more likely than you think!!! | Bluesey | Pynch | Gen | 1.8k | Halloween | Couples Costumes | Banter | Fluff | (also on AO3)

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“How much did Matthew have to beg before you dressed up like that?”

Ronan’s scowl was far less intimidating—not that Gansey was ever cowed by it, truthfully—in light of the large arrow drawn in blue paint on his shaved head. The bright orange tablecloth he wore slung, toga-style, over one shoulder only served to undermine the expression further as he climbed out of the BMW and slammed the door behind him. His smile retained its edge, though, at least.

“Four solid minutes of the word ‘please’, repeated over and over again, before Declan offered to pay my last two speeding tickets if I would just do it and make him shut up.”

Gansey fell in at Ronan’s side as he strode up the car-crowded driveway, the open front door of a modest two story house their destination. 

“I’m surprised you took that offer,” he said. “I would’ve expected you to make Matthew plead for eight minutes more, even louder, just to spite Declan.”

“Declan’s face when he realized I had more speeding tickets that he hadn’t heard about yet was worth caving early.” Ronan kicked the tires of a rusty Buick and turned to look Gansey up and down. “What are you supposed to be, anyway? An aspiring yacht captain who misplaced his yacht?”

Gansey leveled him with an unimpressed look. “These are just my regular clothes and you know it.” He ignored Ronan’s unrepentant sniggering in favor of checking Blue’s text again. “Jane said she has a couple’s costume planned for us but wouldn’t tell me what it is, only that I should just come to the party in my favorite outfit.”

“Maybe she’ll be in bright-ass green and you can be highlighters together.”

“Ha very ha. Is Adam here yet?”

“Fuck if I know. Let’s find out.”

Ronan took all three porch steps in one long stride. Gansey followed in a more traditional manner. The house was loud and crowded with people he mostly didn’t recognize—Mountain View students, presumably, rather than Aglionby ones. Ronan was already halfway down the hall, no thought spared for sticking together, but his costume was brightly colored enough that Gansey had no trouble keeping track of him in the throng.

By the time he caught up to Ronan in what he assumed to be the living room, Gansey had located a drink and Ronan had located his boyfriend.

“Adam! I see you too went the couple’s costume route.”

The look Adam gave him in response to this statement said quite plainly that he disagreed with how Gansey was defining his terms, and that he didn’t have much respect for Gansey’s particular definition. But, as with Ronan earlier, his costume robbed the expression of its usual verve. Not even Adam Parrish could pull off cutting condescension while wearing a headband with a pair of tall paper machine lemur ears attached to them.

“I just got off a long shift at Boyd’s,” Adam told him, “and I’ve got an early shift at the factory tomorrow morning. This was the least effort I could put in and still justifiably call it a costume.”

“Still more effort than Dick put in,” Ronan pointed out, inviting himself into Adam’s space. Adam shifted easily to accommodate him, the two of them pressing together like lodestones. As one, they eyed Gansey’s favorite yellow sweater. Their judgment was more powerful in tandem.

Gansey flushed. “Blue has my costume!“ he said. “I didn’t just opt not to participate in the holiday. I am not the Ebenezer Scrooge of Halloween. I’m simply following instructions.”

Ronan made a whip-crack noise, as if he didn’t ask how high whenever Adam said to jump. As if he didn’t fall all over himself to fulfill Adam’s every desire. As if he didn’t currently have Adam’s hand in the back pocket of his jeans.

The quirk of Adam’s eyebrow and the wry tilt to his smile indicated that he, at least, saw the irony here. He didn’t feel the need to comment, though. Instead, he took a sip of his own drink and then used it to gesture back toward the hallway. 

“Blue’s in the kitchen getting a beer,” he said. “Should be right back.”

Gansey perked up. “You’ve seen her?”

“I’m not telling you her costume.”

Gansey perked back down. “Why ever not?”

“Because it’ll be awful funny this way, and after working for ten hours on a holiday, I really feel like I deserve that.”

In lieu of disagreeing—because he couldn’t exactly argue the fact that Adam worked too hard and deserved a good laugh once in a while, even if it was at his dear beleaguered friend’s expense—Gansey downed the drink some girl in the hall had helpfully passed to him on his way in. He thought it might be rum and coke. Ronan could probably tell just by sniffing it, but Ronan was busy nuzzling his boyfriend’s ear; the real one, not either of the paper mache ones.

Gansey had just about made the decision to leave his friends to their canoodling and get himself another drink when a pair of very familiar arms wound around his waist from behind.

“Jane! Finally!”

He, regretfully, dislodged her embrace. There would be plenty of time for hugging after the great mystery of their costume situation had been resolved to his satisfaction. He thought he heard Ronan smother a laugh as he turned around, but that wasn’t important.

Blue looked radiant. She always did, regardless of what she wore, but this outfit in particular clearly had her pleased as punch. It was a purple dress of a rather more intact nature than most dresses Gansey had seen her don, with buttons up the front and a rounded white collar. More in line with her usual eclectic style, the dress was patterned with…well, a variety of things. Some were ironed-on patches, others looked like she might have embroidered them, and yet more seemed to be painted right onto the fabric. Gansey could make out planets and stars, light bulbs, a battery, test tubes, some snowflakes, several small animals, and was that a piece of cheese?

Her dark hair was even messier than usual, curls pulled back into a tiny puff of a ponytail. All of her hair clips tonight were orange. Her earrings were in the shape of sandwiches.

“Let me guess,” Gansey said gamely. “The delightful Ms. Frizzle?”

Blue’s nose scrunched up when she laughed. He’d been helpless to the charm of it since the first time he’d been granted the privilege of seeing it. Now was no different. He couldn’t muster up even a smidgen of annoyance at having been mystifyingly denied foreknowledge of this entirely benign costume, not with that adorable scrunched up nose on display. It did still beg a question, though.

“You said this was a couple’s costume,” he pointed out. “What exactly am I meant to—”

Blue shoved him in the chest, which struck Gansey as awfully rude and unwarranted. But she was still smiling, her bottom lip tucked neatly between her teeth in a way that meant she was particularly—and mischievously—proud of herself for something. Frowning, Gansey followed her gaze down to where she had made contact with him.

There, stuck to his chest, was what appeared to be a magnet. Or, more accurately, a decal of a magnet. One of the big, red, U-shaped ones, recreated here in thick red and gray felt that adhered quite happily to the old-fuzzy fabric of his sweater.

Gansey blinked at it, uncomprehending, until Blue reached out and stuck something else to him: a blue star on his left pectoral. Then followed a lightbulb, pressed against his stomach, and a little green planet attached to his shoulder. Blue’s smile grew with every felt cutout she pulled out of the pocket of her dress. It wasn’t until the word “wahoo!” was applied over his collarbone that Gansey finally made the connection.

He closed his eyes and reminded himself that he loved this girl with all his heart. Then he said, “Jane. Am I the bus?”

Ronan laughed so hard, he needed to sit down. Adam was red in the face, his lemur ears knocked askew, bracing himself on the back of the loveseat Ronan had claimed as his own. Even some of the partygoers whom Gansey didn’t recognize were tittering appreciatively. One of them actually had her phone out to take a picture.

But none of that was important. Because Blue had her head thrown back, her own laughter lighting her up like a thousand watt bulb. The nose was scrunched. And there was nothing Gansey could do in the face of that except purse his lips against the smile he could feel forming entirely against his will. There was very little dignity to be found in this position, but he was determined to keep hold of at least a shred or two.

That lasted right up until Blue grabbed him by the collar and tugged him down for a kiss. Against his lips, she said, “You’re the most magical bus on the block.”

“I don’t know that there’s a lot of competition for that title.”

“I’ll fight you for it,” Ronan tried to say through a renewed spate of giggles.

Gansey flipped him off without turning to look. Adam guffawed; at least it wasn’t only at Gansey’s expense that he could derive pleasure.

Blue said, “I wouldn’t want you as my magic school bus anyway, Lynch.”

“No, you’d rather ride around in Gansey.” Ronan clawed himself halfway up the back of the couch to point from her to him and back again. “In Gansey! In—!”

He was clearly attempting to say something else, but he was so thoroughly overcome with hysterics that he couldn’t manage to form the words. Knowing him as well as he did, Gansey would hazard a guess that it had something to do with pegging. Adam, whose laughter had reached the point of silent wheezing and oxygen deprivation, was weakly batting in Ronan’s direction as a desperate plea for him to stop. His lemur ears had fallen off entirely.

Gansey turned back to Blue. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

“What I did,” she said, smug as anything, “is win at Halloween.”

“I wasn’t aware the holiday was a competition.”

“Everything is a competition if you’re winning.”

A laugh of his own—overwhelmingly fond and entirely irresistible—bubbled up in Gansey’s chest. He tugged Blue in to wrap his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her messy mop of hair. “You’re a menace, do you know that?”

Blue snuggled contentedly into his embrace, patting his back, and said, “I know. But you love me anyway, don’t you?”

“That depends. Did you just stick another magnet back there?”

“Which answer gets me a ‘yes’?”

Either. Both. Truthfully, there was no answer on this earth that could earn her anything else. Not even when she had dressed him up as a semi-sentient shape-shifting vehicle from a children’s cartoon. Gansey figured the indignity was a small price to pay to be here, with Blue’s arms around him, surrounded by his friends’ happiness.

Still.

“Next year, I’m picking the costumes.”

[gaylactic-fire]

Hi. Zelda link and sidon. How did they start courting ❤️

*Rattles you around like a maraca*

IT'S STORY TIME

Basically it's all Link's fault /aff

In my own mind Vah Ruta is like the first or second divine beast Link ends up conquering during the events of BOTW. So he meets Sidon fairly early on and becomes... very infatuated with the guy. After all, he's one of the first people to show Link unconditional kindness, despite everything that happened with Mipha. No matter where he goes in Hyrule, he simply can't get the big fish man out of his head... so he goes back. Again... and again... and again. The romantic tension in the air is absolutely palpable, and at some point, it just clicks for both of them. There's some frisky business. Just some guys with important, serious duties letting off steam, yknow :]. But neither of them make any real commitment to romance, mostly because Link knows he'll never be able to fulfil such a relationship with the fate of the kingdom still at stake and Sidon understands too. At the same time, they both know in their hearts that this isn't just a friends with benefits situation. They truly do harbour yearning, romantic feelings for one another. So Link one day promises he'll come back after the calamity and make Sidon his partner, for real.

Meanwhile, Link is still bound to his duties and he's desperately searching for answers about his forgotten past. He has complicated feelings about the princess the more memories he uncovers. He goes from a mild dislike, quickly to feeling very sorry for her and everything she went through. Then at some point (It's the frog memory bfr) he can't help but feel a certain flutter in his chest thinking about her. He's in romantic denial until he actually beats the calamity, and suddenly she's there in the flesh. They end up going back to Hateno, where they take it easy for a number of weeks. Zelda is understandably exhausted, and Link too (though he won't admit it). They start to get close again almost immediately, and they help each other work through the trauma of the calamity and the shared burden of destiny. It's refreshing, and Link can't help but feel so very safe around her... it's the exact kind of comfort that gives him a certain sense of deja-vu...

Oh fuck. It's love.

There comes a certain point a month or so after the calamity where Link is increasingly agitated and miserable. He's still well aware of his promise to Sidon and the longer the clock ticks, the more guilt bubbles up inside him. But he knows he has feelings for Zelda... and he knows she has had feelings for him since before the calamity, even. To leave now and deny those feelings would break both his and her heart. No matter what outcome, Link knows it is going to leave someone feeling abandoned and hurt...

So one day he just.. breaks down about it. Confesses everything and has a total ugly cry in front of Zelda about it. He knows he can't keep holding this burden in anymore. Zelda's... a lot less shocked than he expected. She DID see his whole adventure while stuck inside Ganon, after all (how embarrassing for Link). She knew him and Sidon meant a lot to each other, and within her own mind, she had resigned herself to the fact that she may never get to be his partner. But, admittedly, Zelda does absolutely still have feelings for him. In fact, it was her own source of guilt these past few weeks, too. And oh boy, now this is a conundrum.

Eventually, they take a trip out to Zora's Domain. Link's extremely nervous but optimistic that maybe something can be worked out. When they meet the prince, Zelda explains the situation and very quickly, just like that, there's a mutual agreement: Link has two hands and we will exploit that accordingly >:]

Of course, at first it's all about Link, but Sidon and Zelda quickly find out that they get on like a house on fire. They are absolutely insufferable together /aff. Zelda's a little awkward at first, especially within the environment of the domain and seeing some of the lasting bitterness that Link only in part managed to quell. But quickly she becomes very comfortable around Sidon... maybe too comfortable... oops there's that love again.

This concludes my college thesis on why the big fish, twink and nerd should be slammed together like barbie dolls.

[bokvshou]

in my opinion there isn't a more rinharu-coded song in existence than this one. let me cook.

to begin with, the entire scene in the film is about the journey of two kids, full of dreams and expectations for the future. we have the dreamy protagonist who attracts and convinces his love interest to share his same dream, and the love interest accepts, and as they grow up, she becomes as excited as he is about that promised future. does that ring a bell?

I close my eyes and I can see The world that's waiting up for me That I call my own Through the dark, through the door Through where no one's been before But it feels like home

the whole beginning of the song screams "rin matsuoka", in fact, the whole song is from his perspective. he himself said similar words when he was little and sought to fulfill his father's dream. and we've also heard him say several times that "the world is waiting for him". he's a boy with a dream and the will to make it come true.

They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy They can say, they can say I've lost my mind I don't care, I don't care, so call me crazy We can live in a world that we design

to me, this is the part that least fits his story, simply due to the fact that in rin's case he was lucky enough to have all the support possible, and no one ever denied him the opportunity to pursue his dreams. it's a privileged position that i'm sure rin is very grateful for. of course, we could take it as a "i know everyone thinks it's difficult (and it is, not everyone becomes an olympic swimmer) but i can do it".

and really, the important detail is in the ending phrase, because it's the first time in the song that "we" is used instead of "i". haru enters the scene.

'Cause every night I lie in bed The brightest colours fill my head A million dreams are keeping me awake I think of what the world could be A vision of the one I see A million dreams is all it's gonna take Oh a million dreams for the world we're gonna make

we have the first chorus, which follows the same theme: rin has a big dream, but now there's something else. he's referring to the world as "ours". the world we're gonna make.

for rin, this is no longer an individual dream, and the change of mind it's obvious because he managed to find his other half at such a young age and he wants to share everything with him; rin has always been able to see the potential haru has, and wants to take him by the hand throughout the trip, to see him shine at his best. rin himself says it on one occasion; "without haru in front of him, there isn't much reason to keep going, right?"

There's a house we can build Every room inside is filled With things from far away The special things I compile Each one there to make you smile On a rainy day

everyone and their mothers knows rin fell for haru at first sight, the poor thing, and since he saw him swim the first time, rin was fascinated and not only that, it became his personal goal to include haru in his dream at all costs. he tells sousuke, with the brightest smile in the world, that he had found someone he wanted to swim with.

from that moment on, haru became part of the dream. after all, not everyone would try as hard for a person as rin did. he abruptly changed schools and swim clubs, went to live with his grandmother in order to do it, left his best friend behind, and... well, rin really went through that entire process just to be able to be together with haru for a while.

and the hard work didn't end there, no. because haru turned out to be a very difficult person, god bless our little stubborn dolphin, and rin had to work twice as hard just to convince him to swim together. ah, but the result was worth it. and all of this didn't change even as they grew up and their relationship turned turbulent. rin was always there, trying to get the full potential out of haru, trying to share his dream with him. and it worked.

rin didn't know it, but he had haru wrapped around his fingers.

However big, however small Let me be part of it all Share your dreams with me You may be right, you may be wrong But say that you'll bring me along To the world you see To the world I close my eyes to see I close my eyes to see

"and what about haru?" you say. this is from haru. this part of the song is haru's response to rin's desire to take the world into his own hands.

"share your dreams with me", the relay they won when they were kids, rin's letter, the wonderful relay they did in high school, harurinlandia... we all know how important australia was to haruka. it was there, thanks to rin sharing a little piece of his world, his dream, that haru was finally able to make that same dream his own, too. we saw him, he was so happy.

"you may be right, you may be wrong, but say that you'll bring me along" and isn't that what haru has always wanted? isn't that his biggest weakness? when rin leaves and abandons him? and haru is so frustrated, so bitter, so lonely, and his soul just breaks? it's like he's desperately saying "you can go wherever you want, just please take me with you".

and you may think i'm overreacting but... am i?

haru wants to have a taste of that world rin pushed him into. although perhaps at the beginning it was not by his own will, haru had already been enchanted, and he wants, wants, wants.

i'm not going to repeat the chorus or the pre-chorus again in the post to avoid becoming redundant, but holy shit.

this song is rin holding haru's hand when they were kids to drag him along. is haru slowly following the beat. is rin giving haru a little spin. then, is haru finally daring to dance, too. is both pursuing the same wish, a wish they've cultivated since childhood, and now with each step it just feels closer and closer.

i don't know, I just feel it's beautiful.

[pengychan]

[Baldur's Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 5

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Wyll's bad luck continues as he comes looking for help and finds a headache instead. At least this one is not tadpole-related. Small mercies and all that. ***

“Oh Gods, you were right! I could kiss you - without teeth, I mean. And I will in a minute, fear not. Now keep still, I’ll be gentle…”

“... Am I interrupting something?”

Durge’s baffled words - what were the odds they’d walk into someone having a moment twice in a row? - caused two faces to lift up and look at them. One being that of a very familiar cave bear, the other being Astarion’s, his chin smeared with blood the way it usually only got when he was really enjoying the meal. He grinned.

“Love! Halsin just had a bloody brilliant idea!”

“Bloody’s the word I was thinking of, yes.”

“Don’t underestimate the brilliant part of it. You know what I told you, how the blood of thinking creatures is far more nutritious and better tasting than animal blood? But there’s only so much blood you can drain from a human - or a dragonborn, or an elf - before things go south. So I thought--”

A snort.

“Right, yes, no need to raise your hackles. Halsin thought, what about a creature that is a thinking being, but in the form of a large animal with lots of blood to part from?”

“Ah, that is a good idea. Going by the look of your face, it worked.”

“That’s why I said it’s a bloody brilliant idea, did you miss that bit? Halsin, think I can have juuust a little more? A cup’s worth, maybe?”

A huffing sound that they had learned to take for a chuckle, and Halsin simply leaned back his head to expose the neck. True to his word, Astarion only took a few more gulps before pulling away, wiping his chin. “Ah, that’s so much better. Thank you kindly,” he said, and gave Halsin a brief scratch between the ears. A soft huff, and Halsin yawned, clearly ready to rest while his ursine form recovered fully from the blood loss. Astarion stood and went to the door, a spring in his step. 

“I’ll take down more than a deer tonight, that’s for sure. I’m thinking of a couple of boars, so we can have a proper feast. Are you coming with me?”

Truth be told, Durge suspected they’d be of absolutely no use on the hunt. Since their arrival Astarion had been up in the evenings and then of course through the night; Durge had tried to spend as much time as possible with him, but between checking on Raphael, fulfilling his promise to Halsin to tell some stories to the cartloads of orphans he’d taken in, and generally spending time with old allies, they were awake much of the day too. Which made them very, very sleep deprived.

‘Maybe I should sleep’ was probably the correct thing to say, but they couldn’t bring themself to. So they took their crossbow, downed an Elixir of Darkvision, and off they went. 

With somewhat predictable results. 

“Hah! A perfect shot if I say so myself! One down, one more to-- did you just fall asleep on your feet?”

“Bwuh?”

“On second thought, no need to answer.”

Durge groaned, rubbing their forehead and blinking their eyes open. They had technically fallen asleep leaning against a tree, but didn’t remark on that. Their sleep pattern had been really fucked up lately. It was much easier when it was just the two of them, traveling at night and sleeping through the day. “Sorry,” they mumbled instead, following Astarion to the prey.

A chuckle. “For missing my absolutely flawless shot? Of course you should be, but it’s no big deal. The night is young, and you may very well get another chance to see it. I’d appreciate some cheering if that happens.” Astarion let out a hum, pulling the arrow out of the boar’s neck. As he’d boasted, it was a perfectly placed shot.

“No, not just for that.”

“For not noticing my new doublet?”

“Not, not for-- you have a new doublet?”

“Hmph. You never notice a thing, do you. Good thing I didn’t waste gold on that really nice underwear I saw the other day.”

“I still fail to see the point of it.”

“Of course you do.”

“If we get far enough for me to see it, odds are it won’t stay on much longer.”

“My dear, the finer arts of seduction are wasted on you,” Astarion declared, as though that wasn’t precisely what had thrown him off when he’d first tried to seduce them, and what he’d grown to appreciate later. He shrugged, and put the arrow back in the quiver. “So, what are you apologizing for?”

“This was supposed to be a quick visit. And instead, we’ve been quite sidetracked.”

“Well, neither of us expected a devil on the doorstep. And besides, it’s only been a week. It’s not like we'd decided on a destination yet, so there is no rush to go anywhere. Would you mind gutting this beast? I forgot to change shirts, and I rather like this one.”

Most would consider asking a bhaalspawn whether they’d mind gutting a kill was the rhetorical question to end all rhetorical questions, but Durge still appreciated being asked. A sharp enough dagger did short work of the boar’s skin and muscles and they began to remove the organs, quickly but methodically.

“Still, we shouldn’t need to remain much longer. Raphael, or the half of him that made it to the Material Plane, is a devil no longer. Once we’re sure he poses no threat, we go our way.” And maybe Gale will have news for us, they thought, but didn’t say as much. The boar’s stomach joined its intestines on the forest ground. “I promised we’d find a way to let you walk into the sun again,” they added. “I intend to keep that promise.”

“Aw, you are adorable like this.”

Durge looked over, both hands in the boar’s chest cavity. “While forearm-deep in viscera?”

“Well-- that too. But mostly when you’re making promises you absolutely do mean.” Astarion crouched across them, and looked at them in the eye. “I’m starting to think you’re getting more fixated on this quest for daylight than I am.”

A pause, a sigh. “I saw you looking outside the windows. And that conversation with Aylin--”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle. Believe me, I’ve had worse--”

“And you can have better. You miss the sun.”

“... Yes, I do miss the sun. And I miss seeing my reflection, and being able to savor the taste of anything other than blood, and breaking into people’s homes without being invited. Most of these things are lost to me. It does make one cranky. But I’m happy. You know I mean that.”

Ah. Durge paused, and looked over. A smile. “Yes. I know.”

“Good. So leave the unnecessary fretting to Halsin, will you? I can handle life without sunlight, but not having to deal with two mother hens,” he added, and grinned. “Besides, I am really curious to see what’s going on with Raphael. And I think you are, too.”

A soft scoff as they finished gutting the boar. “He’s not in an enviable position, that’s for sure. At least Bhaal has no hold left over me. Mephistopheles may still hold half of his soul, if it hasn’t been downright destroyed.”

“And he probably didn’t exactly let this half go.” Astarion tilted his head, perceptive as always. “That’s a concern, too. That he may find out the wayward spawn survived, and send someone to end him - or worse yet, bring him back.” He did not name Cazador, but he may as well have; his gaze only darkened that way when thoughts of his former master entered his mind. ”And if they do find him, everyone else around him will be collateral damage.”

“That has also been weighing on my mind, yes. His continued presence at the inn could put people in it in danger. They have Isobel and Aylin, but they could use a few more blades if it comes to it.”

“Or we could just kill him.”

“... Or we could just kill him.”

“But you don’t want to.”

Well, no point in denying the obvious. Durge nodded and took out a length of rope to string the boar to a tree and drain some of the blood. Astarion usually took care of that quite efficiently, but he’d had his fill from Halsin for the night. “I will admit that his current standing with his esteemed father feels uncomfortably familiar.”

“Heh. I knew it. Not very surprised, either. Remember when I told you that if Cazador ever found me, he may come and butcher everyone at camp to claim me back? Well, I was half expecting you to throw me out. With the damn parasite and the Absolute and everything else to deal with, I knew no one needed to watch their back for a vampire lord, too. But you didn’t.” A pause, and he smirked, gesturing at his face. “If you’d do that for an exceedingly handsome vampire, I’m not surprised you’d do the same for a… passably good looking devil.”

Durge laughed, and headed to the nearby stream to wash off some blood. “I am not sure,” they said, “if you’re thinking of drinking his blood or trying to seduce him.”

“Gods, no! I’d gladly sample his blood, but I have no intention to seduce him. Not least because even I probably cannot compare to a personal incubus, I suspect.”

“Mh.”

“... This is the part where you tell me I am a far better lay than the incubus.”

Durge replied without looking up, getting blood off their hands and forearms. “You’re a far better anything than any incubus. And according to the incubus in question, Raphael himself is nothing to write home about.”

“Talk about giving devils a bad name,” Astarion sighed, and Durge laughed again. When they stood, wiping their hands over their shirt, they felt Astarion’s arms around them, head leaning against their back. 

“Maybe,” he said, “we can call it a night for the hunt. I got us a large beast, after all.”

“Ah, and you’d deny me the chance to see yet another flawless shot?”

A light bite through the shirt, delicate, teeth barely scraping against scales. “I have other flawless skills to put to use, if you’re so inclined.”

They were.

***

While not unheard of, becoming intoxicated on any kind of substance was highly frowned upon in Baator; few self-respecting devils would do such a thing, or at least not before witnesses. That never stopped anyone from indulging in wine, however, since no devil would ever become intoxicated with something that mild. 

Even through the pounding headache and sense of nausea, Raphael knew this. Yet another reminder that he was currently no devil. It did precisely nothing to make him feel better. 

“Uuugh.”

Squeezing his eyes shut against the light coming in through the curtains, Raphael forced himself to sit up and lean back against the bedpost. It made his head spin, but after a few deep breaths it was… better. Slightly better. Maybe he could spare himself the indignity of emptying the contents of his stomach over himself, at least. Slowly, the room ceased to spin. And there it was, right where he had thrown it the previous night - that damned book.  

Pounding head and all, he could now tell that throwing the book against the wall had been a dire mistake. The rat would walk in and they would know they had succeeded in getting under his skin. They’d found a sore spot he didn’t know he had, and he’d made as much painfully obvious.

For a moment he thought of trying to stand and pick up the ruined book, try to put it back together, but he had barely tried to move when his head swam, and he had to lean back again. He turned, and looked at the lanceboard on the nightstand. A simple thing, made of painted wood; then he blinked and before him there was a far more elaborated one, made of ivory and black marble. In the back of his mind echoed a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long  time.

“You’re more intelligent than you know, but only half as clever as you think you are.”  

The words may have been harsh, but the voice was calm; his-- stepfather? -- mother’s widower never raised his voice, not once. Still, it did not lessen the sting of defeat as he moved a piece, and the game was over.

A Theskan Double-Counter Gambit, but Israfel would only learn the name of that move later on. For now, he just scowled at the lanceboard, at the pieces’ shadows dancing in the light of the fireplace. 

“Ugh. How did you--”

“You were too quick to get on the defense. Retreat begets regret. Remember that.”

“But I had to defend, or else you would have--”

“I wouldn’t have. I hadn’t noticed the opening. You brought it to my attention in your haste to cover it up, and opened up another weak point I could exploit.”

“... Oh.”

“You’ll need to be more decisive than that, and make your intentions far less obvious. The way you’re playing, you may as well send me a messenger pigeon to warn me of each move beforehand.” A pause, then he reached across the small table to tilt up his chin, to make Israfel look him in the eye. He only ever did that when he wanted him to really listen, so he did listen.

“You won’t always have the upper hand. Sooner or later, you’ll find yourself on your back foot. And when that happens, don’t assume your opponent knows they have an edge on you. They may very well not be aware, and you must not make them aware.”

“But if they know--”

“If they suspect they have something on you, you must not turn that suspicion into certainty. That’s inviting them to strike. Do you understand?”

“... Yes, sir.”

Almost two millennia later, a long way from Tethyr, Raphael let out a bitter chuckle. Of course he only thought he’d understood, then, but he hadn’t. A boy of twelve, still a year away from being taken to Cania to meet his father, he’d believed he was getting a lesson on how to play lanceboard. Only later would he understand what it was that the man had been doing in his limited, flawed, mortal way. He wasn’t teaching him how to play lanceboard: he was trying to prepare him for the Hells, prepare him to deal with his own kin and come out of it alive.

And it had worked, all things considered. He’d learned the lessons and put them to use, then improved upon them; it had kept him safe, and thriving, for a long time. Longer than most spawn of Mephistopheles got to live, as it turned out, until the rat had decided to be too clever by half and Raphael had attacked too rashly, in his own home, too certain of victory to consider what being slain in Baator would entail. Clearly, that one time, he should have prioritized defense after all.

And now he’d let the rat know he had an edge on him, too. He’d die before admitting it, but the ruined book would tell the tale in his stead loud and clear.

And when they stepped in, a bowl of something in their hands, it certainly did. Their gaze found the book immediately, and they raised the scaly ridge that served as their left eyebrow. Raphael had never wished to tear off pieces of someone’s face more. “If you have complaints about the quality of the books I give you, you have but to speak up,” they muttered. If they noticed Raphael’s sorry state, or the empty decanter on the nightstand, they made no mention of it.

Any plans Raphael may have had to try and save face promptly went out of the window. What would be the point? They knew. He’d shown his hand. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction to see him shy away from it. “And if you had questions,” he snapped, putting as much venom in his voice as he possibly could, “you had but to ask.”

A pause, and the rat looked at him in silence for a few moments. “... Yes, this was perhaps unnecessarily underhanded,” they conceded. The apologetic note in their voice was not exactly unwelcome - if anything, Raphael would have appreciated to see them take it a few steps further by crawling on their knees begging for forgiveness that would not come - but something about it made him scowl all the same.

“Spare that tone for your pet vampire and his tales of woe. Are you expecting to hear of a great tragedy? Of devil spawn barely surviving the Material Plane until his unholy father saw it fit to welcome him in his home?” He scoffed. It was a common story to most cambions, save those whose mortal mothers were brought to the Hells prior to their birth, but it was not his. It had never been. “You’ll be sorely disappointed. I wanted for nothing.”

“You were luckier than most.” The bhaalspawn picked up the book, or what remained of it. 

Raphael scoffed. “May I inquire where you even found that book?”

“In a box, inside a cave. You’ll find a disconcerting amount of things in boxes inside caves.”

“I am far from the only cambion sired by an archdevil. What made you think--”

“Lanceboard.”

“I beg your pardon?” Raphael said, in a tone that made it plain he was not begging for anyone’s pardon.

“This was about a cambion sired by an archdevil in Tethyr, just as it broke free from the Calimshan Empire. It reminded me of lanceboard. I saw you play it with Mol, and I have been looking at it now,” they added, gesturing at the lanceboard on the nightstand. “You play by Calimshan rules, ancient ones. Hardly anybody does anymore, even in its former nations.”

“Hardly anybody can play a proper game of lanceboard anymore, is what you mean,” Raphael muttered. “A true art form, lost to time. Was that all you based your guess on?”

“More or less.” A shrug, and the breakfast was set down by the lanceboard. “It was just an intuition.”

One that I made a certainty, with the worst amateur mistake, Raphael thought, and could taste bile in the back of his throat. He waited for the rat to continue, to mock him or at least hint at what they wanted out of the knowledge, but they said nothing of the sort. 

“Isobel will come to have a look at your injuries shortly,” was all they said, and they were leaving, taking the book with them. Raphael glared at their retreating back, then glared at the closed door for several minutes for good measure. Finally, entirely ignoring the bowl of food, he drew in a deep breath and lifted his hands. 

“Vis medicatrix,” he all but growled. 

The healing spell rolled over him, and he breathed out in relief. He tried to move his legs beneath the blankets, bracing himself for pain. It did come, of course it did, but not as unbearable as he expected, and both legs answered to his commands. He could move them without searing agony; he estimated it would be a matter of days, maybe even less than a week, before they could hold his weight and he could walk again. And once he did, he would proceed with the next stage of his plan. 

As soon as he worked one out.

***

“What-- in the Hells-- was that!”

Dalah’s voice was strangled, as though trying to force out words through a throat as narrow as a reed. Lounging on their bed - lounging was about the only way they knew how to rest on a surface - Haarlep clicked their tongue.

“It sounds like a forced ascension. Raphael could usually-- mostly-- control his Ascended form before, but that was with his soul in one piece. It seems that only half of it isn’t handling it as well.” A pause. “That, or Mephistopheles went ahead with some experiments. Wouldn’t put it past him. Or it’s both. Either way, I can’t imagine it’s pleasant. Raphael always hated having to resort to it. Getting himself back under control was difficult and I’m pretty sure the transformation itself hurt like-- well. Hell.”

“I’d never seen anything like it. And I’ve been here--” A pause, a grimace. She didn’t know, Haarlep could tell, just how many centuries she’d been there. Given how old Raphael was, it had to be around eighteen centuries, give or take a few decades. “... A long time.”

“Yes, that specific little trick is beyond most devils. He is the spawn of an archdevil, after all, and it comes with heritage. It’s part the reason why so many here hated him, his less than lovely personality aside. It was an insult of sorts, that a half-fiend would have such power. Mephistopheles just got himself an excellent guardian for his vault.” 

“A monster, that’s what he got himself.” A shaky laugh. “That’s what I gave him. That thing could tear through most souls and devils in Cania like nothing, if not for Barbas’ hold on it.”

“All the more reason to keep him on a tight leash.” Haarlep leaned in, taking a good look at her. The somewhat startling resemblance to her son’s human form aside - how Raphael had not seen it, they had no idea - there was nothing remarkable about her, which was remarkable in itself. “For someone who came so close to him,” they pointed out, “you’re surprisingly free of horrid burns, or scarring, or melted eyeballs. And surprisingly alive, if one can call yours a life.”

“It almost got me. I don’t know what stopped it,” Dalah said, a little too quickly to be entirely believable. Holding something back, wasn’t she? That wouldn’t do. She could hold back all she wanted from them, but she answered to someone else who just wouldn’t be denied. 

“If there is indeed a way to tame the new guardian of Mephistopheles’ vault, there is someone who would certainly like to be informed.”

A pause, and she looked out of the window for several long moments, eyes fixed on the icy mountains in the distance. “... I spoke his name. The one I chose, not the one Mephistopheles saw fit to bestow upon him the day he had him brought to Mephistar.”

“Ah, yes. Mephistopheles does tend to do that. He likes to choose how to name his things. He and Raphael have that in common.”

The remark made her hesitate, and turn to look at Haarlep. “What was your name? Before?”

“I didn’t have one. I don’t especially mind, don’t go worrying that mortal mind of yours. Haarlep grew on me.” A grin. “Any name will grow on me, once I hear it moaned with wanton abandon enough times. And believe me, I never failed to make it happen.”

She made a face. “I don’t know why I still ask questions,” she muttered, and turned to leave. 

Haarlep, on the other hand, had a question of their own. “You know, I was wondering,” they said, sitting back on the bed. “All this time, did you think of him as Israfel or as Raphael?”

A pause, her back tense. She didn’t turn, but they could hear her scowl when she spoke. “I didn’t think of him at all, and I was better off for it,” she snapped, and stormed out before Haarlep could ask anything more. They sighed, leaning back with a click of their tongue. 

“Eighteen centuries in Cania, and still trying to lie to a devil,” they muttered, and looked outside, across the courtyard, to the window leading to the outer portals.

Perhaps, one of those days, they may just set out to see how their little brat was faring in the Material Plane.

***

“Hey! Look!”

“Look over there!”

As a gaggle of children abruptly ended their playing around a tree, Wyll found himself wishing he’d traveled at night. Halsin’s charges had been through Hell as it was - figuratively and, for several tiefling orphans, quite literally as well - and he should have known better than showing up like this, horns and all, a devil of all things. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Have they not seen enough horrors as is?

He stopped some distance away, heart dropping, and immediately held up his palms to try and show he meant no harm. 

“Well met. I mean-- I have no intention to hurt any of you. I’m looking for Hals--”

A shriek cut him off, but it held no terror. Several children broke off from the group to start running, but not away - towards him. 

“That’s the Blade of Avernus!”

“It’s him!”

“Daddy Halsin told us all about you!”

“Remember me? We met at the grove! When you were the Blade of Frontiers! You showed me how to swing the sword!”

Wyll blinked, taken aback, but surprise melted into elation when he met the eyes of a boy who looked very familiar indeed. “Umi! Oh Gods, I’m so happy to see you again!” he crouched, forgetting all about his hellish appearance. “Ah, you’re getting tall! I was certain you'd get through it all. You just had to buy enough time to run, remember?”

“It was Rolan who saved us-- but, I’ll learn how to fight well! Like you!”

“Ah, I’m sure you will. Though I believe Halsin’s fondest hope is that you’ll never need to fight.”

“I’ll only do it if I must. To keep us safe. Can I call myself the Blade of Frontiers when I’m big?”

Wyll laughed. “Of course. Name’s up for grabs now, I guess.” 

He tried to stand, but several small hands grabbed at his clothes to pull him back. 

“Are you really fighting devils in Avernus?”

“You and the big lady with the heart on fire?”

“What is it like?”

“How do you do it?”

“Tell us everything!”

Well, what choice did he even have, Wyll reasoned, but to satisfy the request of such eager fans? He laughed, and stood. “Very well, I’ll tell you all that’s happened in the past half year.” Or… maybe not quite all of it. “I do need to see Halsin, though. Could you take me to him while I tell you everything?”

“Yes!”

“He’s at the inn!”

“He’s spending a lot of time at the inn. With the other heroes.”

“The other-- is someone else from my party here, too?”

“Hu-uh. The dragonborn sorcerer and the vampire spawn.”

Oh, Wyll thought, thank the gods. Luck had been in short supply up to that point, and he very much welcomed such a stroke of it, finding three of their companions in the same place. If they accepted to help in what was probably a suicide mission, then the five of them could perhaps hope to succeed.

“What about the lady with the burning heart? Can she come visit us too?” a girl asked. 

The thought of Karlach stuck waiting in Avernus, even in the relative safety in the House of Hope - ‘I’ll just eat dirt or whatever!’ - dampened Wyll’s smile, but only for a moment. “All going well,” he said, “she’ll be happy to visit you very, very soon.”

***

“All right, I think it’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t.” Raphael ground his teeth and took two more steps. Even with most of his weight on the crutches, his legs ached and trembled from the effort. By the door, the most insufferable cleric to have ever graced Selûne’s ranks crossed her arms. 

“There’s no reason to put so much strain on your legs. You’re doing well, and impatience is not your ally. Don’t undo the progress--”

Whatever she said next was lost to Raphael, as he put another foot down and pain shot up his spine. He turned with a scowl, arms trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright. “Don’t presume you may tell me what I may or may not do, mortal!”

Isobel Thorm’s eyes narrowed. “I am sorry, could you repeat? I think I just heard you say you want me to break your legs again, but I may have misheard. Did I?”

Raphael ground his teeth, and he almost dropped one of the crutches to throw the fireball he’d been aching to throw for the past several days. Except that it was unlikely to do her any harm she couldn’t counter, and he’d drop to the floor the second he let go of the crutch. And it would likely bring a bloodthirsty vampire, an even more bloodthirsty aasimar, and the former Chosen of Bhaal upon him like a pack of wolves. Plus a bear, probably; Raphael had not faced the druid directly, but he knew he could deal significant damage of his own.

Overall, there was an overwhelming amount of evidence pointing to the conclusion that attacking Isobel Thorm would be most unwise.

No matter. I’ll make them all suffer at a later time. I’ll make sure it lasts, savor the symphony of their scream to the last note before I end them and then bring them back to do it all over again. They will die painfully for each time they wronged me.

“... If you’re done killing me in your head, would you grace me with a response?”

Her death, Raphael decided, would be particularly slow. 

“Fine,” he muttered instead, trying and failing not to sound like he’d swallowed a lemon. At least she didn’t further humiliate him by trying to help, and let him get back on the bed on his own. The pain lessened and he breathed out, saying nothing as she cast a healing spell. 

The relief was immediate; without agony shooting up his spine, he could tell that at least one thing she was correct. Impatience was not his ally, and bursts of temper would get him nowhere in terms of getting them to lower their guard. The thought made the next words that left his mouth easier to force out. Not that he let his tone betray the fact they left an acrid taste on his tongue. “... That was uncalled for,” he said, leaning back. “My apologies.”

“Apology accepted.” Isobel Thorm’s voice was dry, but no further threats followed. The crutches were taken, and placed against a wall away from his reach. “Progress is slow, but steady. You’ll be able to walk again in days, if you don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Raphael replied, and watched her leave in silence. He heard the key turn in the lock, and listened just long enough to hear her footsteps on the stairs before he sat up again. A quick healing spell on himself, and he made another attempt at standing, a hand braced against the wall. His knees almost buckled, but held; Raphael ground his teeth against the pain, and forced himself to move towards the crutches.

Impatience was not his ally, but neither was idleness. He was able to walk without searing agony, leaning heavily on the crutches, and wasn’t even short of breath when he got to the window. It was open, but two guards keeping watch beneath it ensured it wouldn’t be a viable way out even if he could go anywhere in his current state. Raphael had never been particularly fond of quaint corners in the middle of nowhere, but looking outside was better than staring at the walls or playing yet another game of lanceboard against himself. 

Until he noticed the gaggle of chattering children marching up to the inn, of course; how much Raphael loathed chattering children couldn’t be overstated. He wrinkled his nose and almost moved away from the window - until he spotted the man walking among them as a few ran ahead into the inn. Or to be more accurate a devil, with a familiar set of horns and an even more familiar sending stone in place of his right eye.

Well, look at that. Wyll Ravengard, self-styled Blade of Avernus - what was he doing there?

Why would Mizora’s attack dog be here, if not for me?

Something stirred in the pit of Raphael’s stomach, a very unwelcomed stab of concern that came much too close to fear for his taste, but he forced himself to ignore it. Why would he be there for him? Had the rat called upon the warlock to slay him? No, surely no. Loath as he was to admit it, no great power or skill would be needed to overpower him as he was now. The bhaalspawn, the vampire, the druid, the cleric, the aasimar - each of them could easily kill him on their own.

He may have been sent by the Hells, of course, to kill him or bring him back. But why? Wyll Ravengard answered to Mizora, and Raphael had no quarrel with her. She was under Zariel’s authority, true, but the archduchess of Avernus was not known to meddle with the business of other archdevils. If his esteemed father knew he lived, he had plenty of forces of his own to send after him.

Unless he promised a reward, and Ravengard just so happened to know where to find me.

Raphael swallowed, stomach clenching, and moved to the side so that the curtain would hide him. He could hear voices - no longer just children’s, although their obnoxious chattering made it difficult for Raphael to catch what the rat and the druid were saying.

“Wyll! We didn’t expect--”

“-- always a pleasure--”

“-- please children, he’ll tell you more stories later--”

“-- did Mizora tell you who your target--”

More words were exchanged, but Raphael couldn’t catch them. He peered out of the window to see most of the children dispersing at last, while the rats headed back inside. He finally heard the bhaalspawn speak only moments before they disappeared through the arches leading into the inn. 

“He’s upstairs. I’ll take you there now,” they were saying, and Raphael heard the warlock sigh. 

“Ah, thank you. I knew we could count on you to kill a devil.”

Then the door closed, as deafening as thunderclap, leaving Raphael motionless at the window, mouth dry as the Calimshan desert. Something gripped his stomach, icier than the glaciers of Cania, as he heard the familiar creaks and thumps of steps up the stairs. Through the terror, he almost laughed. Of course Mephistopheles knew he’d escaped; of course he’d put a contract out on him. Who knew, maybe he’d even been the one to plan his escape so that he could send his dogs after him, for the thrill of the hunt. The rat must have been planning to help his friend collect his head from the moment they’d seen him. 

Why else would they keep him alive? He should have seen, should have known. He hadn’t questioned their intentions enough. An amateur mistake - the last mistake he’d ever make. 

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for them.

Raphael turned to face the door fully, leaning against the wall, and dared let go of a crutch to lift his right hand. Between his fingers air sizzled, heat building up as he focused, drawing from any scrap of power he’d left. Not the final act he’d planned for anything, let alone for himself, but it would have to do. It was still better than waiting for the fatal blow in the neck like a beast to slaughter, he thought as the key turned into the lock.

The devilish spawn came forth into our world in blood and flames, the book read. He found some solace in that, at least. There was a sort of poetry to it, leaving the Material Plane just as he’d entered it. The thought made Raphael sneer as the door handle was pushed down.

“And that, love, was that,” he growled, and fire burst forth from his palm just as the door opened.

***

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