#devoured by vermin

[five-and-dimes]

Safe in the Palm of Your Hand

Morpheus, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Dream of the Endless.

Lord Shaper.

For Dream, his body is not always a fixed thing. He would even go so far as to say that most of the time it is not a fixed thing. He is sand, so many countless pieces shifting under the lightest winds and the softest touches. His form changes based on how others see him, on how he sees himself, on how those two expectations interact, on whether one is stronger than the other or if a reasonable middle can be found.

Sometimes, though, he is sand in an hourglass (impenetrable glass, no wind, no air, no gentle touch to guide his form, motionless, frozen in his helplessness) and he doesn’t feel solid, he feels fragile. Breakable. Like the same soft touch and gentle wind will shatter him. In those moments, his expectations of himself will always outweigh anybody else’s.

And it is such today. His status as an Endless does not protect him from his own nightmares, not when they are his own memories, and on this day his body feels wrong. He does not feel like an Endless. He does not feel like a king, or a lord, or a person. Even months after escaping the Burgess Mansion, after regaining his power and repairing his realm, even now, he finds himself feeling… small. His form shudders and shivers and he feels weak, he feels like a vermin to be caught, a prey to be hunted and devoured, he feels dirty, unwanted, unloved, unsafe, small, small, small-

There is a mouse in Hob’s apartment.

He almost didn’t see it, was only alerted to something being amiss by the soft, frightened squeak when he opened his front door. Turning his head, he caught just a glimpse of a small shadow darting behind the old armchair in the corner. Closing the door behind him, Hob hums in surprise. Living above a pub, he’s never dealt with mice or other creatures in his home, most being more attracted to the kitchen and trash cans on the first floor before stumbling into the catch-and-release traps set around the property.

Sighing, he lets his bag fall from his shoulder onto the floor, resigned to his new task for the night. He can finish grading in the morning, once he’s dealt with his unexpected guest. Over the centuries he’s managed to overcome the instinctual disgust and fear at the sight of rodents, but that doesn’t mean he wants one running around his apartment. For a moment, he considers going back downstairs to get one of the traps from the kitchen, but he doesn’t want to give the small creature a chance to hide deeper in the apartment. Besides, he’s wily- he’s certain he can herd the mouse into a box and get it outside himself no problem.

There is a box next to the coffee table in the center of the room, full of papers and documents he’s been procrastinating on organizing, and he casually dumps the contents onto the floor as he approaches the armchair. He keeps his footsteps soft and slow, hoping not to spook the mouse into bolting. So far though, Hob hasn’t seen it since it darted into the corner. Kneeling carefully, he positions the box on its side in front of him, reaching out to move the chair to one side in an attempt to give the mouse only one direction to run.

The mouse doesn’t run.

Hob can’t help but furrow his brows sadly once he’s able to see it, huddled as far in the corner as it can get. For a moment he feels his heart clench in a way he doesn’t fully understand, something more than just general compassion for a small creature, and then he gasps as he realizes what he is looking at.

Two bright points of light emit from the mouse’s eyes.

“...Dream?” The name is less than a whisper on Hob’s breath.

He doesn’t receive an answer, but he doesn’t need one.

Since the stranger's delayed return, he and Hob had seen each other several times, a surprising change in their relationship that Hob welcomed with open arms. After so many years, Hob was finally given answers to some of his countless questions, including a name, and a summary of what exactly his friend is. Dream had even been generous enough to visit Hob in his dreams once, and Hob still gets flutters in his stomach when he thinks of the bright stars of Dream's eyes.

The box is quickly tossed aside and he crouches down farther. Dream had explained to him during one of their recent meetings that he was able to shapeshift (his explanation was far more detailed and complicated than that, but shapeshifting was the closest Hob's human mind could get to understanding) and his heart cracks in his chest as he takes in the sight of his friend in a form he has never seen before; has never even imagined in relation to the Endless being.

Pitch black fur contrasts the bright white of his eyes, but the fur looks matted and thin, tiny ribs peeking under the skin, and he doesn’t know if mice can cry, but the fur looks wet and clumped around the eyes. A long thin tail is sickly pale, and Hob can see him trembling even through the rapid rise and fall of the tiny chest.

Dream is always so strong and untouchable in Hob’s mind, it’s jarring to see him so small and clearly frightened. He doesn’t know what happened- why Dream is in this form, why he’s here, but Hob doesn’t think there’s a force on Earth or off it that could stop him from reaching out to comfort.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he keeps his voice soft and gentle, afraid of frightening him further. Afraid of hurting the small, fragile ears. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, you’re alright,” slowly, so slowly, Hob cups his hands and lowers them to the ground before his friend, “you’re safe here, can you come out? I just want to help.”

Still no response, unless you count Hob’s heart breaking more each moment he watches the mouse shake and shiver in the corner. Part of him wonders if he should leave Dream alone, but it feels too cruel, and Hob has always been one to trust his instincts when it comes to matters of the heart. And so, taking a deep, steadying breath, he cautiously moves to gently scoop the mouse into his palms.

It hurts more than he expected to actually feel tiny trembling paws against his skin, but Dream doesn’t run. In fact, he turns jerkily and tucks his little face against Hob’s fingers, curling into a ball as if trying to hide. He lets out a soft shushing sound, bringing his hands to his chest, cradling the mouse against his chest and making a shelter with his hands.

Dream isn't sure how he got here either.

He had been feeling off kilter for days now, the weight that lived in his chest feeling more unbearable than usual. More and more he found his surroundings reacting to him; walls closing in and curving, clothes growing thinner and thinner, air becoming frigid and still. His lungs felt tight, desperate for breath he didn't need, and then he caught his reflection and the glass shattered in response and he heard someone yell, maybe worried, maybe angry, angry, angry, and then he was gone.

When he lands, he knows he's in a new form, but he can't focus on it, too scared in a primal way he can't identify. All he wants is to hide, it's all his mind can hold on to, so when he hears a door open he runs. If he can just stay hidden, if he just avoids capture, maybe he'll be able to pull himself together. But when he is found, his terror and sorrow are so great he freezes. He thinks he recognizes the man in front of him, even if he looks different being so much larger than him, but it doesn't matter. It doesn’t ease his fear, his grief, his hopelessness. Dirty, unwanted, unloved, unsafe.

Dream feels small. Dream is small. So small and easy to hurt. He thinks maybe he always has been.

But…

But the hands don't crush him. He is lifted slowly and then he finds himself… held. Not held down, not trapped, not caged. Even as one hand folds above him, there is no tension, and Dream feels certain he could escape if he wished too.

He does not wish to.

Hob's hands are warm, so warm, and soft, and nothing like the cold hard glass of his memories. Dream finds himself curling up as he is cradled against his chest, soft fabric covering a strong chest that doesn't scare him as much as it did a minute ago. Cupped against him like this, he feels ensconced in a gentle cave, the shadows beneath his hands a welcome peace against the thought of a hundred years of harsh light keeping him on display.

Slowly, his trembling body stills, curling up tighter and soaking in the warmth.

"There you are," Hob coos, sitting on the couch, ever careful of his precious cargo. It is a great honor, he thinks, to hold an Endless in the palm of your hands. To be tasked with protecting something so valuable. Cautiously, he lays down, smiling as he sees the mouse curl deeper into his sweater, resting right over his heart. Hob keeps one hand cradling him, and brings the other up to pillow his own head against the arm of the couch. "Sorry if I scared you earlier," he keeps his voice low, "wasn't expecting company. But I meant it when I said you're always welcome. I'm glad you came to me."

Hesitantly, he moves one thumb to carefully stroke the matted black fur of Dream's back. It almost looks like the mouse sighs, relaxing even further, and Hob grins.

Continuing his gentle petting, Hob does what he does best.

He talks.

He tells the little dream mouse about the annoying staff meeting he had, and his favorite and least favorite coworkers, and one of his friends who wanted Hob to start a karaoke night at the New Inn, and how he thinks in his next life he wants to buy a fixer-upper and do as much as he can with his own hands. He tells Dream the little mundane things that have made Hob think of him, and how he wants Dream to get a phone but he thinks his head would explode if Dream ever sent an emoji.

He talks, and the mouse relaxes more and more, no longer curled desperately tight, but burrowing comfortably into him, and Dream thinks that maybe being small isn't as scary anymore if it means he can feel Hob's heartbeat drum against his entire body.

Eventually, Hob's hand goes limp above him, draped over Dream's form like a weighted blanket, as Hob talks himself to sleep.

Dream is still small. Still fragile. But he is surrounded by Hob Gadling, by his warmth and his compassion and his love, and he realizes that all he wanted was to feel safe, and Hob managed to give him that and so much more.

When Hob awakes, it is to the sun shining through his living room window and Dream, his familiar, gangly, human-shaped Dream, laying across him with his head on his chest. Hob's hand is resting on his wild black hair, as gentle with him now as he was the night before.

"Hi," Hob's voice cracks lightly as he wakes, but his grin is wide and bright when Dream turns to look at him.

"Hello."

They'll talk about it, later, after Hob has stretched the kinks out of his neck and has used his puppy eyes to convince Dream to eat some breakfast. Later, Hob will hold his hand and let Dream tell him fragmented details of where he's been this past century, of what was done to him. He'll stroke Dream's back when he seems to shrink, stuttering and stumbling over words about how who he wants to be and who he's supposed to be and who he's been turned into all cut into who he is like broken glass. Dream will speak a lot about broken glass. Dream will speak a lot about being broken. Later, Hob will hold him and tell him that being hurt is not the same as being broken.

Later.

For now, Hob just smiles and gathers Dream in his arms, letting him rest his head back down to listen to his immortal heartbeat, happy for the heavy weight against his chest.

[lets-try-some-writing]

For your unicron sparklings (optimus) joins the decepticon if at some point the decepticons decide to take interest in the children like stalking them or attempted kidnapping. What would be optimus reaction? I feel like even though he officially joined the cons he still cared for the children safety

P.S loving your work :)

Glad you are enjoying my work requestor! I apologize for taking so long to get to this. It took a while to get into the correct writing mindset for this au again. With that said, here you go!

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Optimus joined the Decepticons out of a sense of duty. As a creation of Unicron, his design was to create chaos wherever he went and to weaken those around him so that his father might devour them. But as one touched and raised by Primus, that chaotic nature was redirected, urging Optimus to force change onto those around him for their betterment. By calling on the power of his maker and giving into his base nature, Optimus's sense of morality and connection was significantly dulled. But of course, he was not a loveless being.

He loved his maker in the way any creation would. He was still bitter from being left alone for so long, but Unicron's tie to him reaffirmed the love that they shared. Unicron was his maker, and Optimus was held dear to the great devourer. Optimus also loved his old friends, Ratchet and his dear Autobots. They were his chosen, his close comrades and those he had decided were to be granted his protection. They might have feared him, but that was acceptable. A pet was not required to love its master, merely serve when directed and follow orders. Optimus also held a great love for his little one, the sparkling he had raised. Bumblebee belonged to HIM. The sparkling was one of his own, and Optimus had every intention of doing all he could to bring his little one closer to him when he had the chance. He might need to speak with his maker regarding taking in an outsider, but he would have his sparkling with him no matter the cost. Then lastly there were the vermin, the small children that offered comfort when no others would. They were such fragile beings, and it was due to them that Optimus struck his maker down a second time.

The children were fleshy organic messes, so inefficient and without the ability to destroy as a true descendant of the chaos god should have been capable of. And yet, much like the humans and their small useless pets, he adored them. So small and yet so aggressive... he found the trait endearing. Even with his emotions dulled, his three human pets still belonged to him even though they remained with his Autobots rather than by his side.

As such, when they turned up on the battlefield the first time since his faction swap, Optimus hesitated. The little ones were so very weak, as was his sparkling. He trusted his Autobots to not perish, but his little ones were different. It was a partial spur of the moment choice, but Optimus could not stop himself from reaching out to collect his human wards and Cybertronian offspring. The children of course began to grow ill at his touch, but Optimus was quick to begin his work. A gift, a blessing from the Prince of Darkness. It took root in them quickly, and just as swiftly as they grew ill, they recovered without delay. They were terrified, but Optimus's broken form merely thrummed with satisfaction. Unicron sighed across their bond, but he would not deny his creation a few small pleasures. What did it matter now that the human children were immune to dark energon? They were merely three after all. Along that same train of thought, Unicron also did not utter a word when Optimus grabbed Bumblebee before he could flee and gave his sparkling a similar gift. No longer would Bee or the children suffer from the wrath of Unicron's blood. They were welcome, they were family.

Ratchet: What did you do?!?

Optimus: It is... a gift.

Ratchet: You could have killed them!

Optimus: Death is a part of life. They are mine just as you are. No matter where my pets go, be it in life or in death... I will find them.

He was no informative in his answer, but the Decepticons saw what Optimus did... and a few grew curious. Vehicons who wanted to see what the son of Unicron had done and a few servants of Shockwave were sent out in short succession to observe the children and see what was done to them. They even had orders to capture the children if possible, but Optimus, ever a vigilant being, was quick to take note.

When restored to his base nature, he was not a wrathful being. Possessive? Yes. Calculating? Absolutely. Manipulative? Why that simply came with the territory. But to be angry? No that was not his usual state of mind. He saw what the Decepticons were doing, and he put the fear of Primus in them to ward them off. A quick scare, a touch of the Unmaker's blood, and a bit of stalking got most of them to clear out without difficulty. But those who lingered... those who kept trying to collect HIS little humans?

Megatron found a few corpses corrupted beyond recognition in a pit not too far from Jasper Nevada. Not a spark mentioned the very servo shaped indents on the limbs that were still intact.

[sparrowsupportgroup]

₊˚.༄ sweetness for the void ₊˚.༄

“Sweetness that can burn the tongue, that’s what Mhin hungered for.”

pairing: kuras/mhin

fandom: touchstarved

a/n: a lil’ story that I wrote for someone for the Secret Cupid gift exchange :) I hope y’all enjoy!!!!!

Sweetness that can burn the tongue, that’s what Mhin hungered for.

In the bitter nights, as the blood of a wretched Soulless stained their clothes and hands and face, Mhin’s stomach would feel a strange pang, their stiletto knife heavy in their grasp. Mhin would scan the despicable body for any signs of life - for the mere flutter of an eyelid, for the tick of a pulse under vile, translucent flesh, for the weak, grating rasp of something unworthy trying to cling to life, trying to survive - before delivering the killing blow, their blade sinking into the beast’s jugular with little effort.

Sometimes, Mhin would slit a Soulless’ throat knowing it was already dead, not for any reason beyond the grim satisfaction of the further destruction of something they deeply detested. It was their work; it was their responsibility. But on nights like those, that queer pang would throb in the core of them, like a second, sicker heartbeat, much more prominent than the many pulses before it.

As the vermin’s blood began to pool at the toes of their boots, their pallid, somber face shining back at them in the gore, Mhin finally realized the size of the void expanding inside them; this void was a galaxy, a phenomenon, a dark whirlpool that devoured the light and the stars and the moon in search of the one thing it desperately carved.

Sweetness that can soothe the ache; that’s what Mhin wanted but would never admit.

But Kuras knew. Kuras always knew what was wrong, even when something ails the soul and not the body.

Mhin tried not to make eye contact with the doctor; they didn’t want the hopeful, almost demure gleam of Kuras’s eyes to be imprinted in their mind, nor did they want his eyes to catch the vibrant flushing of their cheeks.

So, Mhin had no choice but to stare at Kuras’s present for them, being slid in their direction like a peace offering on a plate: a slice of a spongy light brown and white cake crowned with red and blue berries, smelling of warmth and loveliness.

“It’s a gift,” Kuras murmurs, a gentle smile playing on his lips that made Mhin’s stomach lurch pleasantly, though they refused to understand why. “A cake. Angel food cake, to be exact.”

Kuras’s eyes sang with a certain whimsy then, as if he and the universe were in on a miraculously clever inside joke that Mhin wasn’t privy to.

When Mhin didn’t say anything for quite some time, Kuras’s brows immediately furrowed with apologetic empathy. “I did not make the cake myself if that is your concern.” Kuras smiled again, but there was a melancholic glow to it now. “My attempts at baking have been…less than satisfactory, I’m disappointed to admit. I thought it was in your best interest to purchase a cake instead.” Kuras’s eyes shifted away, as if ashamed, and Mhin’s heart sank. “I apologize that it is not to your liking.”

Mhin quickly picked up a fork. “That’s not it,” they bite out and instantly grimace, their voice sounding much harsher than they intended. Kuras looked at them, patient as ever, and Mhin silently cursed the way his golden eyes sparkled so earnestly, how the honeyed brightness of them stoked the dwindling flame within Mhin’s blackening spirit.

“It’s just…,” Mhin searched for the right words, their mind working faster than their mouth, much to their agitation. “Why? Why would you buy me a cake?”

This time, Kuras is silent for a moment. His ever-watchful eyes observed Mhin’s face for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, now three. Mhin felt like a moth, forcefully pinned yet anxiously fluttering, under Kuras’s arresting gaze. What do you see? What will you find? What do you want?

“I am concerned for you.” Kuras finally spoke, his eyes soft and beautiful like a sunrise, and Mhin swallowed, a strange warmth glowing inside their chest. “I believe you deserve something sweet, for all the troubles you have endured in Eridia.” Sweetness that can fill the void.

Sweetness cannot thrive in this festering city, in this decaying world; sweetness was to be drained from the root before it even had a chance to bloom from the cracked concrete. Mhin knew this all too well, tendrils of resentment snaking around their heart. Yes, they knew how cruel the world can be. But Kuras was different; Kuras was the sole white pearl entrapped in a sea of black tar. He has mended their wounds, protected them as they chased the fitful phantoms of sleep, stood beside them in the dirt and grim and racket of the Wet Wick, a comforting hand on their shoulder. Kuras would not harm them. Kuras would not harm them. He would not.

And so, even with the familiar venomous whisper in the back of their mind hissing, what if you’re not safe here? What if he’s not safe?, Mhin speared the slice of cake as if it were a floundering Soulless and stuffed the bits of the desert in their mouth and swallowed and -

Fluff. The taste of soft fluff, as if made from a sweet spring cloud woven by Kuras’s healing hands and sugared with notes of vanilla and nutmeg, coated Mhin’s tongue. All those nights when they would go to bed in the cold, alone and covered in blood, high from the adrenaline of a Soulless kill, with their stomach and soul empty; the many torturous days scouring Eridia for a cure for their curse, feeling lesser than an ant hunting for food on the sordid ground; the aching pit inside of them, ravenous and hollow and always demanding more more more, never content, never satisfied; it all faded away to nothing, to nothing more than gossamer webs spinning in the wind.

None of the pain mattered anymore. Nothing mattered except for the present, the moment where Mhin exists now, where they stuff their gullet full of sweet angel food cake and Kuras just drank it all in.

Mhin didn’t notice it then, but Kuras was subtly mirroring their movements, mimicking the flexing of their fingers around their fork, the rise and fall of their hand from the plate to their mouth, the savoring of a delicacy filled with both sugar and spice, loaded with fluff and joy.

With the sweetness still heavy on his tongue, Kuras watched Mhin eat the angel food cake across from him. For the first time in his long-suffering eons spent alive, Kuras felt true, aching hunger.

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

Tittle: Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth (more characters pop up later, will add them then.)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood (let me know if I should add more tags)

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 3 - Gotham Loved Time passed and it was only aware of it because the man, who was now known as the Bat, kept track. He was meticulous and thorough and he cherished it. No. He cherished HER. The Bat called Gotham, she. He was her Bat and Gotham was his. His city. He had settled within her caves, amongst the real bats, closer to her embrace. He embodied her shadows and she followed where he went, helping when and where she could. The Bat moved silently and the shadows further muffled his steps. If his cowl broke the shadows darkened around him so that his enemies couldn’t recognize him. She wasn’t sure if he knew, if he was aware of her but it did not matter for she was always with him and he never stopped thinking of her. She knew of the buildings that were built on her, their foundations digging into her and so she took them as part of herself like the jewelry that glittered on a human’s body. These buildings helped her Bat and so she let them stay. She knew of the beings that lived and bred on her. That swarmed and devoured each other for the meager possessions they could get their hands on. Object or flesh made no difference to these beings, like aphids they crawled, infesting and multiplying without end. She knew that some had very little while others had too much and the warmth of both soaked her streets. Her Bat was one of the few who had too much, but he used it to try to cure her. During the day he dressed in his human form, his clothes a mask to conceal the truth and at night he flew over her and with flesh and bone he cleansed her. Still, the vermin would not stop and some even grew stronger. Despite the infestation the Bat would not stop. Under the anger, under the sorrow, under the pain, a strange glow flickered within him. It glowed whenever he help those in need. It warmed her whenever he succeeded on solving one of his cases. It lit like a firework when a smaller being showed him trust. Gotham cradled that glow. She watched. She listened. She knew. Gotham was filled with love.

[silens-oro]

Spoils of War: 7. The Wheel

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader Minor side relationships with the reader will be present throughout this.

Spoils of War Masterlist Masterlist

Synopsis: The Wheel of War begins to turn.

Word Count: ~18k (absolutely absurd)

General Warning: 18+. POTENTIAL SPOILERS FOR UPCOMING HOTD EPISODES. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), blood, gore, murder, child murder, animal sacrifice (not really but I'm warning still), nudity, ptsd, mention of r*ape (none occurs). Let me know if I've missed any!

AN: This took way longer to finish than I anticipated it would. By the time I finished writing, this chapter was over 20k words. I had to do some major edits, and throw some of the bulk into the next chapter. I've adored the feedback I've received on this story, so please keep sending it in! From this point forward, it is going to get very messy, very quickly. Thank you all for reading! This story is a literal labor of love that has taken many, many weeks of writing DAILY and editing to get to this point. I've never felt the attachment to anything I've written like I feel to this story, so I hope you're all enjoying it as much as I am.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

A putrid smell hit Aemond’s nostrils as he stepped down the staircase leading to the dungeon. It smelled of death and decay, and was absolutely unmistakable. A stone catapulted to the pit of his stomach, the dread that seeped through him was enough to make him sick if the smell alone didn’t. 

Aemond had been absent for the last week due to princely duties as his grandsire called them. They were nothing more than to show the might of Vhagar to those who toed the line of support to the Green’s cause. Duty was duty, nonetheless, but Aemond could not return to you quick enough. 

The first thought he had as he entered the dungeon was that you perished, by your own hand most likely. His Shadow, as she had done in his absences previous, was supposed to check in on you nightly. By the smell, the decay was days along. His Shadow probably feared what he would do should he find out his beloved had accomplished what he tried so hard to prevent. She was right, of course. No death would be quick enough for her, and he would find her -he promised himself. He’d skin the little wretch alive with his bare hands when he caught her. 

Aemond kept his torch in front of himself to illuminate the stale darkness. A squelching noise was the first sound to meet his keen ears. It was faint, but present. He brought the sleeve of his coat to his nose to alleviate some of the stench that permeated the air. It was sickly sweet and rancid with a copper tinge to it that turned his stomach. His feet moved quickly over the dusty floor to reach your cell.

Aemond saw that the door to the cell was ajar before the rest of the cell came into view. His heart pounded as he stopped at the foot of it. A body, swarmed with devouring rats, was on the floor. Dark, clotted blood surrounded it as the rats munched at what was left of the soft tissue of the person’s legs and innards. The face was covered by your wool blanket, seemingly untouched by the vermin.

As Aemond crouched down with the torch, the rats scurried in all directions -squealing at the intrusion- but a rat with a stump for a paw stood in the furthest corner, watching his every move. 

Aemond quickly tossed the blanket from the body and relief immediately filled him when he saw dark hair in place of Targaryen silver, but that relief quickly turned to rage and anxiety. He stood swiftly, kicking the dirty blanket to the side.

“Idiot girl!” He seethed at the body, breathing heavily. He brought a hand to his head and paced to sooth his growing panic.

His hand ran down his face as he glared at the decaying body of his Shadow with absolute hatred filling his eye. His angular mouth was set in a sneer at the reality that was facing him. So many thoughts and questions swirled through his mind as he tried to piece together what had happened. How did you lure his Shadow into the cell? How did you break free? How did you escape from the dungeon without being seen? 

Aemond’s eyes caught sight of your open shackles and the single key that lay discarded on the ground next to them. His eye narrowed and he looked down at the girl once more. He could see bloody slits in the girl’s shirt where the rats hadn’t chewed through quite yet. 

She had a weapon, he thought. She did not escape on her own. 

The next thought he had was what would happen if you made it out of King’s Landing. Surely you’d return to Dragonstone -back to your father. Ravens would surely descend upon the Keep, alerting his mother of what he had done. That the Princess was alive and had been alive this whole time. Whatever her reaction would be, his grandsire’s would surely be thrice as bad. 

The tendrils of madness scratched at the far corners of his mind as he tried to think five steps ahead. 

If he had stolen you once, he would most assuredly be able to do it again. You were his, after all. 

Aemond loathed the filth of Flea Bottom, and once more he was in search of someone hiding amongst the shit, piss, and rats. He hoped you hadn’t gone too far and that you were still holed up somewhere in the city. If you were, he’d be able to flush you out. 

Though his hood was covering his face, he did not blend in. His face was easily recognizable and it only took one single person to stop him in his tracks. 

“Have you lost something, my Prince?” A woman spoke brazenly as she stepped out of a doorway he passed. Her eyes were reminiscent of a snake’s as they zeroed in on him. Aemond had half a mind to ignore the woman, but something about the way she looked at him let him know she knew exactly who he was looking for.  

“Perhaps.” He did not give the woman more than that. 

“Perhaps,” She mirrored with an arch of her brow. “Is it a bird that has escaped its cage?” She asked coyly. “It…is…a bird you are looking for, my Prince?” Aemond’s eye turned to a slit. 

“A bird?”

“Hm…swore I saw a little wren fly to the ports not six nights past. However, if it is not a wren you are looking for, I apologize for the interruption, my Prince. I wish you luck in your endeavor.” She bowed and turned to recede back into the darkness of the pitiful dwelling, but Aemond was quick to stop her. She turned her chin over her shoulder and raised a sparse brow at him. 

“…What do you know of this…wren?” The woman grinned and nodded for him to follow behind her. Aemond looked around him, deeming the coast clear of any onlookers, and followed her in. 

Aemond returned to the Red Keep after dark with no further luck on your current whereabouts, other than you had fled on a ship in the cover of night with a handful of Northerners. 

The Warden of the North came to fetch his bride, was what the woman told him. The words alone nearly set him into a rage. He was so careful, so very careful to keep your whereabouts a secret, and now it was all for naught. 

Aemond’s anxiety peaked when he entered the Keep as he was met with absolute chaos. Guards were stationed at every entrance, at every staircase. They were stationed at every “secret” entrance and all had their eyes on the lookout. For what, he didn’t know.

“The Queen Dowager requests your presence at once, my Prince.” A guard fetched Aemond as he saw the Prince stride into the Keep. “It is of the utmost urgency.” 

A new mess to clean up, no doubt, he thought to himself with a roll of his eye. He turned on his heel to follow the guard to his mother’s solar where he could hear an awful wailing from within as he turned down the hall. Aemond’s brows furrowed when he opened the door, and his jaw nearly hit the floor at what he saw inside. 

The man who carried you through King’s Landing helped you step off the ship and onto the docks of Dragonstone. Once your feet hit the solid wood, you took a breath to center yourself. It took a moment to stabilize yourself on shaky legs as he held onto your arms. 

“Can you walk?” The man asked, his voice deep and his northern accent thick. Looking up into his dark eyes, you nodded with a grateful smile. 

“Thank you.” You whispered sincerely. Thank you for pulling me out of the dungeon. Thank you for carrying me through King’s Landing. Thank you for delivering me home. 

“You are most welcome, Princess.” For the first time, he gave you a kind smile and a nod. His gaze moved over your head and you turned to follow where he was looking. 

There, at the beginning of the dock, stood your father with Ser Erryk and Ser Lorent. Your father’s hair blew with the breeze and painted a serene portrait of ferocity and stateliness. Your legs were moving towards him before your brain could catch up. Once your eyes connected with his, your father rushed down the docks with long, hurried steps to meet you in the middle. His arms wrapped you in an embrace that you wished to never part from. 

He held you -oh he held you. He squeezed you to him as hard as he could as you sobbed into his chest. His scent that was undeniably home wafted into your senses and it all became too much too soon. Your father’s outward display of affection, in front of such an audience, was a rarity and it told you just how dire your disappearance was to him. 

Your rescuers stayed back to let you have your moment with your father. 

“There are horses and provisions ready for your journey,” Your father motioned to the top of the dunes. “For Lord Stark,” He held a scroll out. 

“Can they not rest here for the night, father?” You questioned. Surely those who risked their necks for you deserved a moment to breathe. 

“We thank you for the extension, my Princess, but we do have a long journey ahead of us. We must reach the North before the worst of winter hits if we are to make the journey in as little time as possible.” The woman spoke as she walked up to take the scroll and secure it in the satchel around her shoulder. 

“This will not be forgotten.” Your father stated, his eyes holding contact with the woman. She merely nodded with a small grin and bowed. The man who carried you followed suit, and the rest of the men on the boat followed silently as they trailed behind.  

“My girl.” Your father spoke in your native tongue as he held your face in his hands, looking you up and down to survey the damage that had been done, noting just how shattered the light in your eyes had become. “What has he done to you?” His voice shook. Never, not once in your life, had you heard his voice tremble. He pulled you into his chest once more.  

You shook your head as you held onto him with everything you had. The warmth of your father’s embrace was a comforting security blanket. Nothing and no one could harm you from within his arms. 

You longed for your bed with each step you took. An awful pain grew in the back of your eyes as you were led through the archway that opened into the Keep. The sights and sounds of the world outside of your cell were overwhelming -even still, weeks later. You rubbed at your eyes as you followed behind your father. The instant change from sunlight to shadow was a relief.

Jaws dropped as you passed by servants and guards. You noted a handmaid scurry to the western wing, no doubt to spread the news of your resurrection. 

You must’ve looked a sight. Dressed in an oversized tunic and trousers that were fastened to your waist with a strand of rope, as well as some boots that were clearly a size too big on your feet. Your clothes alone were well below your station, but they were clean and that was more than you had in that cell for weeks at a time. 

The mess of hair on your head was another story entirely. The salty air and briney water were not kind to it. You hadn’t a clue what your own face looked like. While you had bathed on the small vessel, you did not dare look upon your own reflection in the water. Though the temptation was there, you did not know if your mind could survive looking upon the monster that would surely be looking back. 

Your father led you up to the council chambers. The room, to your surprise, was empty as you entered. Natural light filtered in from the high windows, but that was all that gave life to the otherwise dark room. 

“Sit.” Your father instructed, motioning to the chair at the furthest end of the table. He then nodded to both Queen’s Guards and they set off in opposite directions. A heavy silence overtook the room. Not a single thought flowed through your mind as your father paced for a moment before dropping down into a squat beside your knee. 

His eyes held yours in a hypnotizing stare. “I have never felt more relief than I did when you stepped off that ship, byka hontes.” Birdie. It was a nickname you hadn’t heard since you were a child. Your love for the skies at such a young age had graced you with the moniker by your father and your father alone. 

As you grew older, he began to treat you more and more like a Princess grown and less like the perpetually small child that clinged onto his legs, and the name soon faded into the deep recesses of your mind until it was merely a memory lost to time. 

Daemon’s hands gently held your scabbed wrists, his thumbs rubbing the puffy, pink scars where the scabs had fallen. “Aemond held you in irons?” You nodded, breaking the eye contact between you. 

“He was adamant on keeping me under lock and key…until the war ended, anyway. My shackles would only then be metaphorical.” Your father wanted to tell you he saw this coming -the look in his eyes said as much. As happy as he was to have you within reach once more, it was also in his nature to boast when his warnings were not heeded. Surprising you, he did not so much as utter the words ‘I told you so’. Instead, he decided to speak on something so much worse.

“I am asking this before anyone else enters this room, and it shall never be brought up again if you so wish it, but I must know…” Your eyes turned to look into his once more. “Did Aemond force himself on you?” Your face melted into a look of disgust. 

“My maidenhead is the first thing you question? After all I’ve been through? After all we’ve lost?” Anger began to build. Daemon shook his head, holding a hand out to keep you seated. His brows were furrowed in irritation.

“No, you silly girl.” The term ‘silly girl’ was never used teasingly when he called you it, and it always struck a nerve when he said it. “I worry for you. I don’t give two shits about your maidenhead.” He returned just as angrily. “I wish to know if my daughter was defiled, if there is a chance that you carry that cunt’s seed in your womb. It will be dealt with if he did, rest assured.” Your stomach clenched at the thought. Your anger had passed on to something along the lines of anxiety as you shook your head. 

“He did not, and he would not.” You answered stoically. “Aemond would not force himself on anyone, much less me, father. In that I can promise you. There were plenty of opportunities and not once did he attempt it.” Where Aemond drew the line between what he believed would be acceptable and unacceptable in the eyes of the Seven baffled you as his own morals were so wildly skewed.

“You think he is incapable of such depravity?” The question was asked as if you were stupid, naive. A silly girl.

“I think any man is capable of such depravity, but I know he would not do it, much less do it to me.” You said adamantly. 

“There was also a time when you didn’t think it was in his character to cause you harm, to hold you in chains.” He responded point blank. “And yet your brother is dead, you were taken, and we’ve lost two dragons. Because of him!” He raised his voice. “Tell me once more how well you know him!” Your eyes narrowed and a deep frown sat heavily upon your mouth. You did not blame your father for how he lashed out, not after what he and your mother had surely dealt with -are still dealing with. It still hurt, nonetheless.

“I am not defending him, father. You asked a question and I gave you my answer. You need not remind me of what has been lost. I was there. I saw it. I felt it. I heard it.” You stated defiantly. “I harbor enough guilt in my heart that I do not need to be lectured on it.” You were tired -exhausted- and his line of questioning was beginning to eat away at your patience. 

A gasp from the top of the staircase broke the growing tension. Your father stood upright, but did not move from his place next to you. You also stood in respect to your Queen Mother. She held onto Ser Erryk’s arm to keep herself from teetering over in shock. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked upon you. You noted the look of horror that crossed her face as she got a good look at your own the closer she crept. Her eyes shifted between you and Daemon, then back to you. Ser Erryk assisted her down the stairs and once she reached the bottom, she tore towards you in a flurry. 

Rhaenyra pulled you to her, sobbing into your shoulder as she held you. 

“My child!” She wailed, whispering your name over and over. You held her tightly, anchoring her to the floor in reassurance that you weren’t a figment of her imagination. Your father brought a hand to her back and rubbed soothing circles between her shoulders. She pulled back, looking between you and your father with a thousand questions fluttering within her eyes. “How?” Was the only one that she could physically ask. You looked to your father.

“I would also like to know.” 

Your father had given his own explanation of what transpired. Jace had acquired the likes of your future Lord Husband, Cregan Stark, to locate you based on a feeling in Jace’s gut that you were not dead. That silly, little feeling that Jace held on to, that Cregan Stark believed in, is the reason why you were sat at the Painted Table, free of your shackles and free of Aemond. 

And so, you told your parents everything. Every little detail from your less than pleasant visit to Storm’s End, to Luke’s murder, to your brutal capture and the subsequent death of Maestron. You told them of your time in the pitch black darkness of the abandoned dungeon of the Red Keep, and of Aemond’s shadow. You told them of your hunger strike and how Aemond and his shadow held you down and force fed you until you could not breathe. 

Your father paced back and forth like a caged lion as you retold your tale, and you noted the look of surprise and pride when you mentioned how you tricked Aemond’s Shadow into opening your cell and how she met an end she was worthy of. 

Your mother sat silently with tears of rage falling endlessly as you recounted every detail that had been unknown to them until this very moment.. 

“Did Alicent know you were there?” She questioned, her lips set in a firm line. 

“Aemond made it clear, and he could’ve been lying, but his shadow was the only other person who knew I was down there.” You picked at one of your broken fingernails, hissing when it splintered just a little too far up.

“If there were any families sitting on the fence, they won’t be anymore.” Your father spoke as he stopped to lean on the table. “The true Princess of the Realm held captive in a dungeon by her crazed kinslayer uncle? Their backs will turn on the Greens in an instant.”

“I see you are ever so quick to jump at the opportunity.” Your mother spat. “Can we not have a mere fucking moment to appreciate that our daughter is still with us?” You sat silently, not surprised by your father’s behavior. You’ve seen the best and the worst of him throughout your life. You knew the man inside and out, and you knew he loved you, but he was also a Targaryen Prince and with that came a certain type of tenacity that did not sit well with most.   

“Your Grace,” Ser Erryk interrupted as he came back down the stairs to the first landing. “Apologies for the interruption, but Blood has returned.” 

“Bring him in.” Your father commanded with a nefarious grin. Ser Erryk looked to his Queen, who merely nodded, and he turned to fetch whoever this ‘Blood’ was. “Aemond was stupid enough to draw first blood.” Your father explained after seeing confusion cross your features. “Now his family is feeling what ours has.”

Blood was a tall man, massive, wide, and imposing as he calmly took each step into the council room. His cragged face was adorned with a large scar trailing from his left eyebrow all the way past his jawline. His dark eyes were wide and absolutely terrifying when they met yours. A crooked grin stretched his lips when he saw you shift back in your chair. He had the largest arms you had ever seen on a man and you were certain he could snap your neck in an instant if he so wanted to. There was an air of darkness that shrouded him and the sack he carried over his shoulder. 

Ser Erryk kept a close distance to the man, carefully putting himself in the line of fire should Blood try to make a go at either you or the Queen. His hand never left the hilt of his sword as his eyes watched every move the man made. 

Your father placed a pouch on the Painted Table. The clang it made let you know that there was quite a hefty sum inside. Blood, in turn, swung the sack from over his shoulders and emptied its contents onto the table. An involuntary gasp left you the second two small decomposing heads rolled towards you. Pushing your chair back in a panic, it nearly tipped over had Ser Erryk not been there to catch it. You held a hand to your mouth to stop from dry heaving. 

Blood tossed the empty sack on the table and snatched the pouch of gold. He opened it, looked inside, and made a humming noise in satisfaction at what he saw. 

“Should you need our assistance again, your Grace, you know where to find us.” Your father dismissed the assassin and Ser Erryk followed after him. 

Your mother’s face was stoic and your father looked quite pleased. Your heart hurt for these children, but your mind flashed to Lucerys. He may not have been as young as the two before you, but he was still a child nonetheless. This wouldn’t bring your brother back, but you knew how much this would hurt Helaena, and by extension Aemond and their mother. The corner of your mouth twitched up at the thought. 

Let this be a lesson to them, you thought ruefully, and let them see the headless bodies of those children every time they gazed upon Aemond.   

“A son for a son. A daughter for a daughter.” Your father said simply. You could not break your eyes from the lifeless milky gazes of young Princess Jaehaera and her twin Prince Jaehaerys. This act would surely set the wheel of war into full motion. 

“You’ve done this!” Alicent screamed the moment Aemond entered. Her face was splotched red and her voice was hoarse as she pointed an accusing finger at her son. He looked to the shrouded bodies on the floor and back to her, and in an instant she was on him. 

The slap echoed in the room, and just for good measure, she slapped him again on his opposite cheek. The blows were painful and full of rage he knew was building inside of her. 

“Look at them!” She grabbed Aemond by his wrist and dragged him to the shrouded bodies. She pulled the sheet in a flurry and Aemond felt as if he would throw up in an instant. “Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are dead! Assassinated before our very eyes, Aemond! The heir to the throne, my grandchildren, beheaded because of choices you made! Look at them!” Alicent grabbed Aemond’s chin and tilted his head down so he had to look at them. He felt his eye tear up at the sight of their small bodies. His niece and nephew had adored him, just as he adored them, and now they lay slain before him. His mother was right. 

“A son for a son. A daughter for a daughter.” Alicent spat, covering her grandchildren once more before they were taken to the Silent Sisters for funeral preparations. Alicent stormed to her chambers and Aemond caught a glimpse of an absolutely devastated Helaena. Aemond felt his breath leave him. 

You were alive and Sweet Jaehaera died for nothing.

Ser Erryk accompanied you to your quarters. At the command of your Queen Mother, the knight was now tasked with being your sworn shield. Gods only knew what Aemond would do now that you were no longer under this thumb, topped with the assassinations of his eldest niece and nephew. Ser Erryk took his place dutifully outside as you entered your chambers, offering his assistance should you need anything. 

Myra, your ever trusted handmaiden, was already inside preparing for your arrival in the short time she was given. Her shining eyes met yours before she bowed her head.

“My Princess.” Myra greeted with a warm smile. “A hot bath is being drawn as we speak.” In her arms was your robe, slippers, and nightgown. It was late in the day and the sun was starting its slow descent towards the horizon, you noted as you looked through the balcony doors. Nodding to Myra, you followed her from your chambers with Ser Erryk trailing closely behind.

You had not truly known what the grave look your mother initially gave you meant until you got your first look at yourself in months when you returned to your chambers after your much needed soak. Myra had made sure the orange blossom oils you loved so much were replenished and waiting for you when you stepped into the tub. 

The scent was soothing.

The flaking scabs around your wrists still ached with each flex of the skin. The puffy, pink scars left behind were a scathing reminder that mocked you day in and day out. The pink rings around your ankles fared much better -they didn’t quite ache as much, nor were the scars terrible. They would fade with time. 

It was your face that haunted your mother. As Myra managed her way through your tangles tenderly, you could only look upon yourself with a heavy frown as you sat in front of the reflecting glass of your dressing table.   

Your once beautiful hair’s ends were split and broken off, giving it a jagged appearance at the ends. Your skin, though it had gained some of its natural color back on your journey back to Dragonstone, was still ashen and malnourished. The circles under your eyes were dark, creating a sunken effect. Cracked were your lips, perpetually it seemed. A deep line split your bottom lip down the middle but it had been that way since the beginning of your captivity, so it no longer really bothered you.  

“The maester will be bringing up salves, my Princess. We will get you back into working order in no time. Don’t you fret.” Myra spoke softly as she caught your lifeless gaze in the mirror. She gave you a reassuring smile and you could only nod. “If I may be so bold,” She looked into your eyes in the mirror. You nodded once more. “You have been missed terribly, my Princess. I am filled with relief that you are alive.” Myra’s earnestness made tears well in your eyes. Myra immediately panicked. “I apologize, my Princess! I did not mean to upset you!” Your hand tugged at her wrist and you pulled her into a hug. 

Myra, though she was your handmaiden, and was a dear friend. She had been by your side since you reached maturity and she was loyal to a fault. 

“My return to Dragonstone has been…overwhelming.” You explained as you pulled away gently. “It lightens my heart to hear your kind words, Myra.” She gave you a sad smile and nodded before continuing to work through your hair. 

By the time Myra was done with you, the sun was just peeking over the water’s edge. Before she took her leave, you requested that she let Ser Erryk know that, with her exception, you did not want to be disturbed. 

You lounged upright upon the cushioned chaise on your balcony. You wrapped yourself in a blanket taken from your bed, breathing in the fresh air with a newfound appreciation. Dragons flew freely in the distance as they entered and exited the many caves and vents of the Dragonmont. 

Your heart ached terribly as you brought your head to your hands and hunched over, allowing the blanket to fully cocoon you. Guilt flowed through your blood with each pump of your heart and it tendriled through you like poison. The cushion beside you dipped and a hand placed itself on your blanketed back. The presence was familiar and comforting, and you immediately tilted your body to rest against them as they held you. Not a single word was spoken between you until darkness began to shroud the island.    

“It seems that I have you to thank for my rescue.” Your voice cracked as you brought your head out of the blanket to finally look upon Jace. He had aged well past his six and ten years since you last saw him, due to stress and grief. A hint of dark stubble had started to grace his jaw. 

“I merely kept hope. It was Lord Stark that devised the plan. It is he who is owed the credit.” Jace sat back in the chaise, pulling you back with him to keep you nestled safely in his side. His hand ran up and down your covered arm. 

“I am…grateful all the same.” You choked out, trying to hold yourself together. You were tired of crying, tired of letting your own grief overtake everything you felt. You wanted to sleep and never open your eyes to the world again.

“Lord Stark accepted the betrothal before you went missing.” Jace spoke softly, looking out over the open ocean. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a beautiful glow over the island and its surrounding waters. “I like to think that it was my shining descriptions of you that sold him on the idea.”

“And it seems that was his stipulation upon my release.” Your tone held a sharpness to it. “I am to go from one man’s prison to the next.” Jace sighed as he pulled from you gently so that you may face one another. “It doesn't matter. I am not the same person I was before. He will soon learn that.” Jace said your name softly.

“You are my sister, and that is enough for him. The North, for all its perceived faults, is not the prison you imagine it to be. You have always trusted my word, so please trust me when I say that if there was ever a man worthy of your hand, it is Cregan Stark.” Jace’s plea was heartfelt, this much you knew. “He has sworn to me that he would treat you with honor and respect. I think you’ll warm up to Winterfell quite quickly, as I did. Cregan will take care of you and you will be safe. This I promise.”

“You seem close…you call him by his first name as if he is blood.” You eyed Jace suspiciously.

“After word reached Winterfell of what happened to you…what happened to Luke…” Jace trailed off. “Lord Stark was supportive while I mourned.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “He was kind enough to host me in Winterfell for a few weeks longer than intended and during that time we came to an agreement, a blood oath of brotherhood. In my heart of hearts I knew you couldn’t be dead. Aemond would sooner turn his sword on himself than kill you, regardless of his mindset. I was certain then, and it turns out that I was right.”

“If only he had done that to begin with and spared us all a world of hurt.” You mumbled, leaning back into Jace. The ebb and flow of the sea filled the silence between you and Jace.  

“Daemon saw to it that Maestron’s skull be reclaimed from the Hook.” Jace spoke softly. “He is resting in the crypts should you wish to see him. We…could not find Arrax.” You wouldn’t, you wanted to say. He’s scattered like ash. Just as Luke is. You kept the words to yourself and let them fester within. 

Just as Luke is. 

Just as you should be. 

Fluorescent yellow flames encircled you, enveloping your being in heat, protection and serenity. The dragonfire did not scorch your skin as it wrapped around each limb, the rays braided through your hair, taking on the glow. Floating, your feet never touched the ground as you drifted higher and higher within the darkness. A deep rumble vibrated through your entire body. It shook the walls of the cavern, causing pebbles to fall around you. 

An eye, vividly chartreuse, appeared from the darkness and floated closer to your face. The size was massive, nearly the size of your head -if not bigger. The slitted pupil contracted as it got closer to the flames around you. The reflection of the ethereal fire bounced off its glossy, rounded surface. 

The eye blinked, the reptilian lids moving both vertically and horizontally, then it distanced itself from you and in its place a muzzle -as black as the darkness around you- came into view. The salivating jaws opened to display endless rows of sharp teeth. You could smell the dragon’s putrid breath, reeking of death and decay.  

Your eyes shot open, a gasp escaped your mouth as the distant sound of a dragon’s roar -mighty in its volume all the way from the Dragonmont- caught your ears. Looking to your open balcony, you felt a pull in your soul you never thought you would feel again in your lifetime. Standing quickly in the candlelit room, the cold stone floor was shocking to the heat of your feet as you walked to the balcony and stood at its ledge. 

This pull felt different than it had with Maestron, but it was familiar enough for you to recognize. 

There was only one dragon alive who was black as coal and had eyes of the brightest green. You were reminded of the same feeling of awe you had as a child when the dragon came to mind. Though you had only set your eyes upon him a handful of times, it was always from a far enough distance that you never got to truly see the intricate details of his powerful body. Your father made it abundantly clear as a young girl that neither you, nor Maestron, were to ever come close to crossing paths with this particular beast. 

“I have never seen a dragon such as him, papa. He is quite beautiful.” Your ten year old self stared in wonder from the shores just outside of Dragonstone’s Keep. There was a gap where one of the last of your front baby teeth had fallen out in recent weeks, and it was visible to your father as your jaw dropped in wonder at the dragon who flew out of the Mont and over the open ocean. 

Two dragonkeepers were behind you and your father, guiding Maestron back to where the other wyrmlings were kept near the Keep. Your wyrmling was not yet big enough to ride, and neither were you ready to ride him, but your father insisted you spend as much time with the dragon as you could so your bond was inseparable by the time you could ride him. 

“Does it have a name, Kepa?” He shook his head. 

“Not as your Maestron does, sweetling. This dragon has only a nickname given to him by the smallfolk of the villages.” Your father explained. “He is a feral dragon, the eldest of the wild bunch if my memory serves me.” 

“Older than Sheepstealer? Grey Ghost?” Your father chuckled. The far more docile wild dragons had alway piqued your interest -the elusive Grey Ghost especially as he liked to stay hidden within the mists of the Mont and surrounding waters. You had seen even less of his appearance than that of the dragon that currently held your attention.

“Yes, even older than Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost, Birdie, and just as they have -he’s been riderless his whole life.” Your eyes didn’t leave the dragon’s obsidian scales until he was so far away, he disappeared into the horizon. 

“Did he not hatch in a crib?” Your confusion brought a grin to your father’s face. 

“No, that is why they are called wild dragons, Birdie. No one really knows for sure where he came from. Some say he was hatched in the Dragonmont. Some even say he was hatched just before Aenar rode Balerion over the seas from Valyria and landed here, but that would make him quite old, wouldn’t it?” He looked down as you nodded. “Most believe he is from a different dragon lineage altogether, which is why he looks so different from the other dragons. I believe this to be true. It could also explain why he acts with hostility towards our Valyrian dragons. He is a mystery, nonetheless, and will remain as such.” Daemon shook his head, his shoulder length hair swayed in the breeze, eyes looking down to lock with yours. “He eats up anyone foolish enough to even step near his nest in the Mont, especially curious little dragonriders. Few have tried to bond with him, and all have failed. Their bones litter his nest, it is said.” You looked upon your father with wide eyes. 

“He eats them?” You asked with a frown. 

“He does.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a dragonrider yet.” There was relief in your voice.  

“But you will be, Birdie. Be warned, little one. It isn’t just curious little dragonriders he likes to feast on. He will consume anything he comes across. People, animals, other dragons -wyrmlings especially.” You looked over to Maestron’s retreating form in a panic. “That is why we keep them and the newly nested eggs separate from the larger dragons, lest they be feasted on. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”  You shook your head at the thought of Maestron perishing before he could even fly. 

Though, there was something that drew you to the beast in the sky. To be unbonded for so long, living freely to do as he pleased thrilled you. The dragon had quite the reputation. 

Your father squatted down in front of you, his hands holding onto your tiny arms gently. “That is why you must always be cautious in the skies, my Birdie. Dragons such as he will not think twice about swallowing you and your wyrmling whole.” His hand came up to push a bit of hair from your face. “He is nicknamed the Cannibal for a reason.”

“The Cannibal.” You tested the name out, your lips pulling into a grin. “Had Maestron not hatched, I think I would be worthy of riding the Cannibal.” Your father let out a laugh, standing up straight with a groan that only adults seemed to let out when they rested on joints for too long. “Don’t you think, kepa?”

“You do not heed my warnings?” He asked with a raise of a brow. 

“I do! That is why my Maestron will be the most bloodthirsty dragon in the Seven Kingdoms once he is grown, since I cannot ride the fearsome Cannibal! Maestron will be feared by all just as the Cannibal is feared! When I am older, I will be the fiercest dragonrider to exist! None shall cross me or they will perish!” You had your father’s tenacity, his thirst for victory, and for your own reputation. He saw himself fully when he stared down at you. 

“Indeed you shall, for you are my daughter. The Realm will know your name for generations to come, and those who cross you and your mighty Maestron will quake in their boots, I am sure of it.” He smiled genuinely and gave you a pat on your head in affection.

“If my Maestron were to ever fall, I would surely ride the Cannibal.” You had every confidence in the world that your words were true. "I am brave enough."

“Will you now?” His tone was teasing as he lifted your squirming body into his strong arms. Your giggles and screams filled the air as he nibbled at your shoulder playfully. “Such girlish screams from the fiercest dragonrider of the realm.” He tickled you without mercy. “The Cannibal would eat you up as if you were one of those little cakes you sneak from the kitchens when you think no one is watching. One bite and you would be gobbled up.” Your giggles continued to ring through the air until he put you back down on your feet. 

“He is that big?” You were out of breath as you righted yourself in the sand, still smiling goofily up at your father. He looked down at you in adoration. 

You were his everything. 

There was a deep-rooted love he had for you that he never felt so wholly for anyone else in his life. He knew the second you entered the world -screaming and covered in blood- that he would burn kingdoms to the ground, would bring men to their knees, would do anything it took to make sure you prospered in the world he would inevitably leave behind. 

“He is.” Your father leaned down, holding his hand to your tiny, rounded cheek. “Massive, fierce, and just as lethal as Balerion was -though he lacks his size. You must promise me to stay clear of him.”

“I promise, Kepa.” You said sweetly, and you meant it because if this dragon scared your Kepa -a man undeniably invincible in your eyes- then the dragon was not to be trifled with.  

A knock at your door the following morning stilled Myra’s movements as she finished securing the final braid she was working on. 

“Enter.” You called out and the door opened. Baela was the first to enter with Rhaena closely behind. Two servants followed them in, each carrying a tray of assorted foods. 

You stood from your bench, quick to close the distance as you pulled your sisters in close to you. The servants moved past you and out to the balcony where they began to set each little plate onto the stone table. 

It was Rhaena who looked up at you first. She had tears in her eyes and you knew just how much of a toll all of this had taken on her. She was marrying Luke out of duty, but she grew up with him and cared for him in her own way all the same. His loss was taken hard by many. 

You placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then moved to Baela to do the same. 

“I have missed your beautiful faces dearly, my sweet girls.” They both had shining eyes as they returned your smile. 

“We’ve missed you!” Baela spoke as the girls separated themselves from you. “Father has been…”

“-Terrible,” Rhaena interjected, earning a warning look from Baela. 

“He has not been the same. Neither has the Queen.” Baela explained. You nodded solemnly. Not wanting the girls to dwell on such sadness any longer, you quickly changed the subject. 

“I see you’ve brought a little feast with you.” You smiled once more, and they seemed to perk up. “I’m famished. Shall we?” You gestured to the balcony and followed behind them. 

As you sat across from your sisters, your eyes fell to the small pyramid of stacked marzipan cakes, and you were immediately transported back to the cold, dark, stale dungeons with your itchy blanket and your three-pawed rat. You felt sweat drip down the back of your neck and your eye twitched ever so slightly. Rhaena’s voice was nothing more than babbling to your ears -completely unintelligible- until Baela called your name, snapping you out of your trance. 

Your eyes snapped up and both girls were staring at you. 

“My apologies.” You cleared your throat. “I am…still not quite myself. Forgive me.” Your smile did not reach your eyes, but the excuse seemed to quell Rhaena enough that she started chatting once more while adding fruits, cheeses, toasts and jams to her plate. Baela, on the other hand, kept looking at you until you gave her one more unconvincing smile. “Please,” You gestured to the food and began to take little bits here and there to busy your shaking hands. You weren’t really hungry -your appetite not returning in full quite yet- but it was the sight of the cakes that turned your stomach to lead. 

Still, they had made the effort to see you at the first chance they could, and they thought ahead so much as to have the kitchens prepare all of this just for you. You would eat to please them. It was the least you could do. 

“You haven’t touched the marzipan cakes.” Rhaena pointed out midway through the meal. “I know they are your favorite, and I know it is still only the morning,” She shot a glare over to Baela, “but we thought you’d like a little comfort to welcome you home.” A small comfort, Aemond had described them himself. It took every bit of willpower to not upchuck what little you had just consumed. You schooled your face, hoping your absolute dread did not cross your features. Baela watched you carefully. 

“They were Rhaena’s idea.” Baela acquiesced. “I told her it was too early for cakes, but she insisted.” 

Rhaena looked so hopeful that her idea pleased you. You reached your hand over the table and took hers within your palm. You saw both of their eyes glance to your wrist, but neither said anything. You were grateful. 

“Your kindness knows no bounds, Rhaena. What have I done to deserve you? The both of you?” Genuine love and gratitude reflected in your eyes as you looked at the girls. “I am merely saving the cakes for my breakfast dessert. Doesn’t that sound like a treat?“ Rhaena giggled as you looked over at her with a playfully conspiratorial grin. Truthfully, you’d sooner eat a rock than touch those cakes. You didn’t know if you could keep a single bite down even if you wanted to, but that bridge would be crossed when the time came. Until then, you would not dwell on it. 

“You are going easy on me, Ser Erryk. Why? Do you think I am incapable of learning this?” Your tone held a bite to it, frustration lacing your every word. 

“It is not that I think you are incapable, my Princess.” The knight sighed, letting his blunted training sword drop to his side.

“Then what is it?” You demanded. “Why do you balk at the notion of me wielding a blade?”

“It’s just…you have me, my Princess.” He replied. “This is simply not necessary.” You rolled your eyes. 

“You cannot be everywhere, Ser Erryk.” You argued.

“But I will be everywhere you are, my Princess. I am to join you in the North, as my Queen has commanded. Where you go, I will follow. I’ve sworn it to you and to the Queen that I shall be your protector until my very last breath. I do not take my oath lightly.” Erryk’s brows were pinched together. “Perhaps I am not- '' You cut off your knight sternly. You panted heavily as sweat dripped from the sides of your face. 

“-Perhaps if you will not do it, Ser Erryk, I shall find someone who will. Though their skill will not be a match to yours, I am sure.” You sighed as you lessened the space between yourself and the knight. “You do not know what it is like to feel powerless, unable to fend for yourself.” Your head dropped in shame. “Through the entire ordeal with Aemond, from Storm’s End to the dungeons of the Red Keep, I was weak -pitifully weak- and I’ve since vowed to myself that I will never feel defenseless again.” You looked up at him once more. “A war is upon us and even if I were to never meet a battlefield, it would make no difference. I will be prepared. I will learn to wield this blade,” You shook the smallsword in your hand, “-So that I may never endure what I have at the hands of any man, ever again in my life. So again I ask: Will you take this seriously, Ser? Or need I look elsewhere?” Erryk looked at you sternly for a moment, analyzing you before he bowed his head with a heavy sigh.

“I will, my Princess. My apologies.”

Dragon fire blazed across the gray skies and storm clouds swirled overhead. The sounds of battle on the ground below could be heard from so far up in the sky. You could see, though it wasn’t from your own eyes. The world around you was made of color that your eyes would never be able to see. It was a forbidden beauty, not seen by the human eye. Craning your head to the left, you saw onyx wings. The ombré of black to a deep purple within the leathery membranes cast a spark in your mind. 

The Cannibal. 

There was a grip on your mind -or his, you couldn’t differentiate. It was like that of a fist and it clenched firm. The feeling was not painful, but you were all too aware of its unpleasant presence. 

The beast soared lower to the battlefield below, neon flame burst from the Cannibal’s mouth, turning all in his wake to ash and char. The air around you sizzled as he accelerated up into the sky. 

To feel as a dragon feels is overwhelming in every sense of the word. The raw power, the speed, the might -all of it was too much for a mere human to bear.

A young dragon, only just large enough to carry a rider, caught your eye. The beast’s scales were a beautiful cobalt, while the crest and tail were an orange rust. A burst of adrenaline flowed through the Cannibal’s body -your body- as he surged towards the much smaller dragon with a terror-inducing roar. 

A young rider -looking similar in age to Jace- was on its back, and you saw despair shroud over the young man as the Cannibal approached. His Targaryen features were akin to that of the Usurper Aegon’s, and you knew then that this could only be young Daeron. You hoped the fear on Aegon’s own face would look just the same as his youngest brother’s did when he meets his own end. 

When the young man saw the unstoppable mass that was coming for him, he nor his dragon stood a chance -and just as Vhagar had ripped Luke and Arrax from the sky, the Cannibal did the very same. There was no remorse to be had in the bloody wake of war. 

Bloodlust was the only descriptor you could use for the feeling that swept upon the dragon as he swallowed what chunks of flesh remained in mouth. You tasted it as if your own jaws had taken young Daeron’s life, though it did not taste of salt and iron. It was satisfying, delectable. It fueled the dragon’s lust for chaos and ruin, and that is the path he continued on. 

Another mighty roar was let loose from the Cannibal’s maw as he circled the battle overhead, and a deeper roar echoed in the distance in response. 

The Cannibal turned in the open sky quickly to charge in the direction of the dragon who dared call back to him in challenge. 

Your own eyes opened to the darkness that surrounded you before the dragon came into view. You knew who it was, deep in your bones. The monstrous bellows of Vhagar, for as long as she lived, would haunt you.  

Sweat coated your skin, sticking you to your sheets uncomfortably. At some point in the night, you had shucked off your nightgown and now the chill bit at your exposed skin. The cool air hit your bare flesh as it blew in from the open balcony door. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Looking down at your hands, they trembled fiercely. 

A dragon dream. 

This could not be a coincidence, not after the dream you had the previous night. Both were so vibrant, so real. 

You stood from your bed, grabbing the robe that hung on the post next to it. Shrugging it on, you didn’t bother to tie it as you walked to your balcony to look towards the Dragonmont. 

A black mass, visible from where you stood, flew over the village below. 

“You have the advantage of a smaller blade at this close proximity to your opponent.” Ser Erryk grunted as he all but manhandled you towards the rocky alcove behind you on the beach. He had taken your plea to heart, and as happy as you were that he did, it was an embarrassingly humbling experience. 

Your feet tripped through the sand as you tried to simply not lose any ground, but Ser Erryk was unrelenting. 

“The size of your opponent does not matter so long as you know where to place your feet.” With that, you tripped on a rock behind your heel and he used that as an opportunity to push your back against the alcove. His sword’s length lay across your chest to show you what a stupid split second decision will end in. “And now you are dead.” He breathed, inches from your face. 

You panted, becoming increasingly aware of how close Erryk was to you. He removed his sword and looked down at you with a softness in his eyes. 

“Well…” You swallowed. “...at least I’ll have you.” You said, teasingly. He raised a brow at you and released you from his hold, but you caught the tilt of his lips all the same when he turned towards the shore. 

“Again.” Ser Erryk urged, raising his sword once more. 

The biting wind whipped through your hair as the Cannibal flew at break-neck speeds. Viewing through your own eyes this time around, you looked down to your gauntleted hands that tightly held onto the saddlehorn. You could feel as the influence of the dragon flowed through your veins and you truly felt invincible.

Movement below caught your eyes. Vhagar, in all her might, bellowed out a cannon of flame one last time as she plummeted to the waters below with a thundering crash. A tidal wave echoed to the shores, drowning any poor soul who stood too near the water’s edge. You could not believe your eyes. Circling the Cannibal around above, you watched as Vhagar sank to the depths below, steam rising from the waters above her.  

The Cannibal roared in a victorious threat of dominance to any remaining dragons in the sky, friend or foe, now that his largest adversary had perished.  

Arrows flew past you, bouncing off of the Cannibals impenetrable scales and narrowly missing your face by mere inches. The dragon shifted direction to fly higher in the sky to evade any rogue arrows that could potentially hit their targets. 

Gaping wounds were slashed across the Cannibal’s neck and flank -marks made by teeth and claws- but they did not seem to bother him. If anything, they pushed him further to decimate everything and everyone in his path with pure fury. 

You awoke with clarity. It was as if your eyes had been truly opened for the first time and a sense of purpose settled deep in your chest. 

Dressing yourself with haste, you snuck through the secret passages of the Keep. Slinking in the shadows, you bypassed where you knew guards and knights alike would be stationed until you made it outside and to the stables -your face hidden by the hood of your cloak.

The ride to the village took no longer than half an hour by horseback. The moon was bright enough to see the road ahead of you, and Dragonstone was one of the safest places within the realm to wander freely. Even still, your smallsword was tied snuggly to your hip as a precaution. 

Just outside of the village, down the road a ways, was a small homestead surrounded by livestock pens. Goats, cows, horses, pigs, and chickens could be heard now that you’ve seemed to have disturbed the entire yard.

A herd dog -a white, fluffy beast of a thing with a dripping muzzle- barked in alert at your arrival, keeping an eye on you to make sure you did not cause harm to his charges. You kept your distance, giving the dog a wide berth, and stopped your horse just before the gate to the walkway of the home. It was by no means big, maybe a bedroom or two, a living space, and possibly a small area to cook. It was modest, but comfortable. 

Walking up to the door, you pounded three hard knocks onto it that were sure to wake the occupants inside. It took a few moments, but the door opened a crack.

“What do you want?” A man all but growled through the crack in the door.   

“Your goats. I would like to purchase two of them.” You replied sternly.

“Come back at a reasonable hour, girl. I will be selling no goats of mine at this time of night.” The man sneered as he attempted to close the door in your face, but the toe of your boot held it open. You dangled a coin purse in front of the door, jangling the gold pieces inside. The pressure against your foot eased and a haggard, dirty old face filled the small space. 

“You don’t know my price.” He looked at you suspiciously. 

“Your price is my price. I assure you, it is more than you’d ask and more than they’re worth.” You spoke plainly. This seemed to win the man over and he opened the door fully. 

“What are you doing buying goats at the hour of the owl anyway?” The man questioned as he stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him. 

“My business is my own. I’m sure you understand.” You replied, looking at the animals that walked up to their fences curiously. 

“Aye.” He gave you a once over, eyeing you nervously. Your face was shrouded by the hood of your cloak, but a flash of silver hair did catch his eye. The man nodded and led you to the goat pen.

“I’ll take the biggest two you have. Tie them together so they do not wander. My horse is on the road.” With that, you tossed him the pouch and turned to return to your mount. 

You sat patiently upon the horse’s back. It only took the man a few minutes to wrangle the bleating goats. Their incessant chatter only got louder the closer they got to you. 

“For you, miss.” The man handed her the end of the rope. You took it within your gloved hand, tying it to the saddlehorn. 

“I shall return at the same time tomorrow, and every night forward for the foreseeable future. Each night I will need an animal larger than the last. I will pay you fairly, of course.” The man blinked up at you, but nodded nonetheless. 

“Of course.” He mirrored. 

“I do apologize for waking you at such an hour.” You kicked the horse gently to begin trotting. “I hope sleep finds you well, sir. Good night.” With that you continued down the road towards the Dragonmont. 

It was another hour or so before you made it to the base of the Mont. The goats had run alongside you obediently. If anything, they seemed to love the exercise. 

Fleeting happinesses, you supposed. 

You pulled the horse to a stop as the path became too difficult to walk it up safely and tied the horse to a tree that was hidden among the brush so none of the dragons would find an easy meal. The walk back to the Keep on foot was not ideal. 

The path to the western side of the Dragonmont was frequently taken. The gravel was clear of debris and overgrown weeds unlike the eastern path before you. It was daunting, you would not lie, and the darkness did not boost your confidence. 

Steam and smoke billowed into the air high above you. The air smelled of sulfur and a scent that was distinctly dragon. You could hear the chittering of the beasts both wild and bonded as their calls echoed from within the volcano’s passages and vents. 

It hurt your heart to know Maestron’s own distinct call was not among them. It would take time to undo all of the natural reflexes in your mind regarding him that were no longer natural. You had a lifetime with him, so to live with his absence was what you’d imagine it was like to lose a spouse. It was a piece of you, gone.

You held tightly onto the rope and pushed ahead, determined to continue on. It was a long, arduous hike to the back of the eastern side of the Mont. Crags had chipped and fallen onto the path over time, making it difficult terrain for you to cross over at some points, much less with the two goats who did their best to make sure this trek was as difficult as possible for you. 

You wretched little beasts, you thought as you tugged at their rope. You have no idea what awaits you.

By the time you made it relatively close to your endpoint, you were sweating profusely. Your clothes stuck to you uncomfortably and your skin felt clammy in the warm air. The moon was still high in the sky, so you felt like you made pretty good time thus far.      

The closer you got to the cave’s entrance, the more bones littered the ground at your feet. It was a graveyard menagerie, a collection of both animal and human skeletal remains alike. 

Still, you only felt the magic within you grow stronger, pulling you to the darkness ahead. Finding an alcove of stone at the mouth of the cave for protection, you hid and listened. One of the wretched goats let out a bleat and you wanted to wring its neck with your bare hands. 

The sniffing of a dragon’s nostrils could be heard. It was a long-winded sweeping sound that was loud and clear. The beast inside was scenting what dared to lurk outside of his nest. Still, he did not approach and instead waited for you to come to him. He was an ambush predator, your father had explained once, and he loved the thrill of the hunt -especially if the element of surprise was involved. 

“I hold no fear in my heart for you.” You spoke out loud for the dragon to hear, still pushed into the crevice. A deep rumbling vibrated through the pitch black cave, just as it had in your dream. “You called to me, or I called to you. Either way, the call was answered.” 

A deep bellow came from within the cave, echoing into the night. 

“I know that you hold no love for anyone or anything, but I’ve brought you a gift. Accept it and I shall be on my way to return your peace as it was. Tomorrow, I shall be back to do the same, and one day I wish to look upon you as we did within the dream but I will remain patient.” 

You allow the curious goats to wander into the cave, still tied together by their necks with two connecting loops of rope. The clicking of their tiny hooves echoed as they stepped further and further into the cave fearlessly. 

Their incessant bleating was cut short by a burst of flame that shot from the entrance, charring everything in its path. The flames were vibrantly yellow, just as they were in your dream, and they took up the enormity of the cave’s mouth from top to bottom. 

The heat licked at your skin even from where you hid. The tiny hairs on your forearms swayed from the force of the gusts as you brought them up to shield your eyes from the brightness. Your chest buzzed as if a colony of angry bees had nested within it, smashing against your ribs to be let free. 

The visceral sounds of flesh ripping, bones crunching, and entrails sloshing met your ears. 

Good, he had accepted your offering. 

“You are sluggish.” Ser Erryk narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “More so than usual.” He threw in the jab teasingly, but he let you know that he took note of your lack of performance during this training session. 

Your limbs were heavy and sore from your previous lessons, as well as from the trek up and down the side of the Dragonmont, and you swore you would’ve fallen over had the breeze been just slightly more of a gust than it was.

“You forget that I do not have a lifetime of strenuous activity, Ser.” You grumbled crankily as you dropped to the sand to sit for a moment. You did not get back to your chambers until the hour of the nightingale began to approach. It seemed as if you had merely blinked your eyes before Myra entered your chambers so you could prepare for your training session. “I was raised as a soft lady, much to my detriment, and soft ladies do not strain themselves.” Ser Erryk did not look impressed at your whining, but allowed you to take a break nonetheless. “I am adjusting,” You shielded your eyes from the sun with the palm of your hand to look up at him. “And gaining a newfound appreciation for what you do. You make it look effortless.” Erryk dropped to the sand next to you.

“As you’ve said, my Princess, I have a lifetime of honing my skill with a sword. It will come to you in time, but you must be patient and persistent.” Squinting as you stared just a second too long at him, you cracked a smile.

“Perhaps, if you are feeling generous, you could take me on as your squire.” Ser Erryk barked a laugh as he stood back up, dusting the sand off of his trousers before extending a hand to pull you up. 

Just as you promised the farmer, you had returned nightly to collect pigs, sheep, more goats, a mule, and now -on the tenth night- a cow. This time around, you had a companion with you.

Ser Erryk had been tipped off on your nightly excursions outside of the castle walls after interrogating the poor stable boy you had paid off to have your horse saddled and ready for you, and to say it disturbed the knight greatly would be an understatement. It wasn’t until this night that he had finally caught you.

“My Princess, I must insist that you stay within the walls of the Keep.” Erryk’s unmistakable voice stopped you as you pulled the horse from its stall. Turning, you saw that he was waiting for you in the deep shadows of the stables. His eyes held exasperation as he stepped into the moonlight. “For your safety.”

“Insist all you’d like, Ser Erryk.” You inspected the strap of the saddle and loaded yourself onto the horse. Erryk stepped in front of you, making your horse stamp his hoof. “You may join me if it will ease your worries, but I will not be staying put. Stay or follow -it matters not to me, Ser. Either way, I will return before the sun rises.” You finished with a raise of your brow in challenge. He could very well alert the rest of the guards to your presence, thus awakening the whole castle. The last thing you needed was your father breathing down your neck regarding this matter. You did not keep many things from him, but this was something you could not utter a single word to him about until the matter was set in stone.

Erryk insisted on joining you if he could not talk you out of staying put, as was his knightly duty, and so he rode a horse beside you as you came upon the farmer’s homestead. 

Just as he had the eight nights after your initial visit, the farmer was waiting at the gates of his yard, the protective dog sitting by his feet. His tail wagged when he saw you, now familiar with your nightly visits. 

Tied to the fence was a large cow, chewing the grass that grew around the wooden post. Reaching into your cloak, you tossed the purse to the farmer, just as you had every night past. He untied the cow from the fence and tied the rope to your saddle, and off you went without a single word exchanged. 

Ser Erryk watched the exchange curiously, but not as curiously as the man had watched the knight who was very obviously a member of the Queen’s Guard. Still, not a word was spoken as the pair of you made off with your livestock. You were a good ways down the road, nearly halfway to the base of the Mont, when Ser Erryk spoke. 

“You spend your nights buying livestock?” His question held a cheeky tone to it, and you would give it right back to him.

“I do.” You grinned over at him.

“You risk your life out here alone for cows?”

“Risk my life? Hardly, Ser Erryk.” You scoffed. “And it isn’t just for cows. It was also sheep…and goats…and pigs,” You listed. “Oh! And a mule last night.” 

“What do you do with these animals? I did not take you for a farmer.”

“That would be a very silly thing, wouldn’t it?” You humored him. 

“It really would be, Princess.” The conversation died after that and it didn’t take much longer to get to the base of the Dragonmont. Both of you dismounted and hid your horses amongst the trees. Untying the cow, you led her to the eastern path you had traveled many times up to this point. Ser Erryk followed behind you hesitantly.  

“It is not my place to question you, my Princess,” He cleared his throat. “but I must know what we are doing here.” Erryk’s eyes were on a constant swivel as he watched out diligently for danger. 

“We are going up to the Dragonmont, Ser Erryk.” You stated simply as you continued on. It would take about an hour, as you had timed before, to hike up to the cave. With the heifer it may take longer depending on how cooperative she was going to be. 

“I’ve gathered as much, my Princess.” He sighed. “The cow is what I have questions about.” Erryk had a sinking feeling in his gut, but he needed to hear you confirm his suspicions before he acted.

“It is a gift.” You replied cryptically, a grin playing at your lips. Your eyes surveyed the tumultuous ground for anything that would cause you to lose your footing.

“For whom?” Ser Erryk stumbled, quickly righting himself. 

“For what, is the question you should be asking.” You answered cheekily. “This heifer is a gift for the Cannibal, if you must know.” Ser Erryk stopped dead in his tracks, his brows furrowed. 

“You jest.” He spoke, all royal pretenses dropped as he looked at you. His lips were set in a deep frown.

“I’ve never jested in my life, Ser.” You teased, and did not falter in your steps up the inclined overgrown pathway. You did, however, shoot a smirk over your shoulder at the knight. Erryk jogged to catch up with you and stopped in front of you, halting your advances with his hand extended. The cow mooed without a care in the world, dropping its head to chew on a patch of wildflowers on the side of the trail. They were the last living patch of greenery this far up.

“Princess, I cannot allow you to go up there.” Erryk looked distraught, his eyes wide and full of terror. “It would be suicide.”  

“Allow me? Let me make myself abundantly clear -you do not allow me to do anything, Ser Erryk.” You looked up at the knight in challenge. Taking a good look at him in the moonlight, his handsome, angular face was accentuated. He and his brother, though nearly identical, had characteristics that differentiated them. You had always naturally preferred Erryk over Arryk during any of your interactions, and seeing as how Erryk was now sworn to your family -to you- you had instinctually made the right choice. 

Erryk wasn’t the type of handsome that knights like Ser Criston were -prettily handsome- but he was ruggedly handsome all the same. His eyes were bright and his face was expressive, though it was more than just his face that drew you in. He was tall, broad, strong, passionate, loyal to a fault, and absolutely lethal with a sword. Erryk Cargyll was everything a knight should be and you were more than pleased to have him at your side. 

“I apologize, my Princess. I meant no offense. It is only your safety that I must keep as my highest priority.” His head was bowed, though he looked up at you when you responded.

“Duly noted, Ser Erryk.” You took a step closer to the knight. “I’m going to tell you something that only your ears will be privy to, as I know you can be trusted wholly. No one, not even my father, knows what I’ve been doing up here on the Dragonmont.”

“As apprehensive as I am about this, it is an honor to be held in such high regard, my Princess. My ears are yours.” And he meant it -you know he did. Your voice was soft and airy as you spoke. He was the only soul you would dare tell this to, as he would swear his silence if you asked it of him. Your father, for as much as he loved you, would only look at you the way he looked at his brother when he spoke of Aegon’s Dream. That look of disappointment was not something you took lightly, nor could you bear the weight of it and everything that would follow. 

The cow’s rope fell from your hands, though the cow stood as if you were still holding it. You pulled the hood of your cloak off, baring your face to the knight. Your trembling hands clasped his armored ones and held tightly, startling him with your touch. 

“Ten and three nights past, I had my first dream, Erryk. A dream I’ve never experienced before, but I had two more in just as many nights following. They were not the dreams of fantasy, Erryk. All three of them were as Aegon the Conqueror’s dream, of Daenys’ premonitions. My father does not believe them, naturally. He is practical, if he is anything, which is why I have not spoken to him about this, but that is beside the point.” You took another step closer, Erryk’s hands nearly touching your stomach, and you looked up at the tall knight with what some might describe as lucid madness. Your lilac eyes glowed in the moonlight, Erryk noted. 

“My Uncle Viserys used to speak of these dreams. He was adamant that they were the truth. I had heard of them as a child and thought they were merely tales myself. How could something that happened in the land of sleep be real? Now I know. It was real to Aegon. It was real to Daenys. She  prophesied that Valyria would fall, and the line of Targaryen would be demolished. Had Aenar not listened to her, I would not be standing before you, Erryk. The dragons you see today would no longer exist.” Your lashes fluttered as you spoke feverishly and Erryk could only listen on with apprehension continuing to grow within him. “Aegon himself truly believed the fall of man would come to be. He saw it, he felt it.” 

“The fall of man has not happened, Princess.”

“Yet!” You hissed. “It hasn’t happened yet!” You felt Erryk’s fingers tighten around yours to hold you steady. “What I saw and what I felt was real, Erryk. I saw it, I smelled it, I tasted it, I touched it. All of it was real.” Your words sounded more like pleas to the knight to merely believe you. 

“In the first dream, I saw the Cannibal. I was as close to him as I am to you. His fire danced around me as he looked at me and I looked at him, and we understood one another.” Your breathing was erratic, just as your words were. “There was a tendril that pulled us together, connected us in a way that only exists between a rider and a dragon. In the second dream I saw through the Cannibal’s eyes, Erryk. I felt what he felt, I tasted what he tasted. I breathed fire and scorched the earth. Through his eyes, I felt what it was to fly over mountains and oceans -over battlefields and castles. And in the final dream, I saw Vhagar.” Erryk’s brows furrowed as you smiled deliriously. “I saw her! Riding upon the Cannibal’s back I saw her fall to her doom, Erryk.” Manic tears burst forth from your eyes. 

“I was there! I do not know where it was, but she perished.” Your chest heaved. “These dreams cannot be mere coincidence.” Erryk took in your words, his mind spinning frantically as he tried to process his response. You spoke so earnestly, but it was hard for him to believe what you were saying as reality. It may have been your truth, but your current mental state may also be aligned with fiction. 

“May I speak freely, my Princess?” He spoke gently, his thumbs rubbing over the tops of your hands to calm you down.

“Of course.” You breathed, your eyes shining with hope that he’d understand what you were saying.

“...Perhaps…perhaps this is your way of dealing with your grief. So much has happened and you have not had the proper time to process it.” Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were freefalling from a cliff. Perhaps this is what it would’ve felt like had Aemond let you run off the edge of Massey’s Hook. 

Erryk’s brows were downturned and his eyes shined with pity when you visibly deflated. You pulled your hands from his and crossed your arms over your chest to bring your defenses up.

“I’ve dealt with my grief! I’m still dealing with my grief!” You spat. “They were dragon dreams, Erryk!” You nearly shouted. “I know they were! I have been climbing this trail up and down the Mont, for hours of each way every single night since I had the third dream. I’ve visited the Cannibal every night -this night being the tenth, and I live to tell the tale, Erryk! When has he let anyone step foot near his nest and live? When?” You pushed angrily.

“I…Ido not know what to say, my Princess.” In truth, Ser Erryk had a lot he’d like to say, but he’d also like to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He would also like to not become the next offering to the Cannibal if what you spoke of was genuine truth. He could not make heads nor tails of the situation. You took a step back from Erryk and sighed, picking up the fallen rope within your hands. 

“You insisted on accompanying me, Ser Erryk, but I will not fault you for staying behind while I continue forward. The Cannibal is unpredictable and I cannot promise your safety should you follow.” You said seriously, sniffling as you ran a shaking hand over your face. Erryk looked between you, the cow, and the steaming volcanic vents of the Dragonmont behind you. 

“This dragon calls to me, Erryk.” You whispered. “You may not believe me, nor do you understand it, but I feel it in the furthest depths of my being. It is not the same as my bond with Maestron was, but the magic is there and it will only grow stronger with time should he accept me. The fact that the Cannibal has not ended my existence is encouragement enough. Now,” You gave the cow a pat to its flank as you fixed Erryk with your stare. “You can help me get this beast to the eastern side of the Mont, or you can return to the Keep and carry on with your other duties -whatever they should be at the hour of the wolf.”

“My only duties are with you, Princess.” Ser Erryk said without hesitation. “Day or night, I shall not leave your side.” His eyes held a softness as they looked down at you, but still, he kept his mouth shut. 

“Very well.” You nodded and handed the rope to the knight. Erryk dutifully followed behind you with the cow in tow. 

The familiar boneyard came into view and you stopped Erryk from going forward. 

“It is not much further from here. I must stress to you that whatever you see -whatever you hear- you must remain calm. He will know you are with me. He will catch your scent if he hasn’t already. Stay out of sight and say a quick prayer to the Seven that you make it to see the sunrise, Ser Erryk. Your bravery tonight will not be forgotten.” You smiled softly at him, your palm coming up to rest on his cheek. 

Erryk knew what was at stake. He knew the possibility of neither of you coming out of this alive was high. Still, he followed you to the end as he had sworn he would. An armored finger rested under your chin and tilted your face up just the slightest bit. 

“I shall not leave you, Princess.” He spoke gently. It was a promise that would be kept. He may not have believed you, but still, he’d follow you to your end. You nodded, tears lining your eyes. They sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight, entrancing the knight. 

Erryk could not deny the pull that drew him to you, but even in what he projected was his last hour in this life, he would not allow himself to act rashly for you were his Princess and he had a duty to uphold. If a man could not keep his oath, even with the Stranger looming ever closer, then what was he worth? 

Reputation meant everything, in life and in death. 

“Come.” You whispered, taking the rope from Erryk and leading the cow behind you. A comfortable silence blanketed the pair of you as you walked. Erryk decided, in that moment, that he would allow himself one final comfort in this life. It was bold, but uncompromising. 

He pulled the glove and gauntlet off of his left hand, freeing his fingers from the leather and metal. He grasped your hand tenderly within his own calloused palm, affectionately tangling your more delicate fingers with his. 

You turned to look at Erryk and his profile looked as if it was carved from stone in the glow of the moonlight. The breeze lifted his long hair that rested on his back, swirling it around his shoulders. You squeezed his much larger hand and smiled with a shy dip of your head. Returning the smile, Erryk decided that this would be enough. There were worse ways to leave this life.

Silently you carried on, hand in hand with your knight as you approached the final bend. Erryk could feel the stone tremble beneath his feet and his heart nearly stopped dead in his chest. You gave his hand one last squeeze before releasing it. You ushered him into the alcove that you hid in the first time you came to approach the Cannibal. 

“You will stay here and do not come out unless you are certain I am dead.” Erryk’s jaw dropped in shock. “Do not look at me like that. Please, promise me you will stay put.” Erryk’s jaw clenched, anger and frustration building up inside of him. How could you ask him to do nothing while you faced the most ferocious beast on this island? 

Once more you brought your hand to his bearded cheek. “I believe what I saw, Erryk. I know you don’t, but I truly do. I need you to trust me as I trust you -wholly and without question.” Erryk’s brows furrowed and he held your stare for a few moments before he relented against his better judgment. 

“Okay.” He whispered. “Okay.” You nodded, caressing his jaw for a moment more before leaving him in the alcove. He could see you perfectly through a crack in the stone as you approached the mouth of the cave with the cow in tow. It was the same crack in the slab of stone that you watched through the first night you visited the Cannibal.

Surely this is what it felt like to wait for the swing of the executioner’s sword, Erryk thought to himself. To know you are going to die a gruesome death, but first you had to wait for your turn at the chopping block. 

“Another offering, as I’ve promised.” You called into the darkness, patting the rump of the cow to encourage her to walk forward. The clip-clop of her hooves echoed slowly as she disappeared from view. The deep rumble of the Cannibal’s purr reverberated through Erryk’s own chest as he watched on with baited breath. You moved out of the mouth of the cave and to the side, only separated from Erryk by the slab of stone he peeked through. 

A blinding flash of yellow flame shot through the mouth of the cave. Erryk had to cover his eyes, but you had welcomed the brightness from where you stood with an unhinged smile gracing your face. The flames lasted for five long seconds. You counted it time and time again with each offering you brought, learning more of the dragon with each passing night. That was his preferred roasting time, you figured. 

Darkness encased the cave once more. The tell-tale sounds of bones crunching and flesh tearing met your ears. 

There was a theory you had worked out in your brain that you purposefully failed to share with Erryk. Had you clued him in on what you were here to truly do, he wouldn’t think twice about letting the cow loose and throwing you over his shoulder to return back to the Keep kicking and screaming. 

He wouldn’t understand -not really. He couldn’t. The blood of the dragon did not run through his veins as it did yours.

You didn’t realize it until you were in the safety of the Keep at Dragonstone, but Aemond had fractured something within you. It dwelled in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind and soul, and what you were about to do would either soder it back together or wipe it from existence entirely. Whatever the outcome, you would be set free. 

Erryk hissed your name directly as you began to disrobe where you stood. Your cloak fell to the ground in a heap. Next you kicked your boots to the left of it.

“What in the Seven are you doing?” Came Erryk’s panicked whisper. Your shirt, breeches, and smallclothes were tossed onto your cloak, and you moved your boots to hold the pile down. “Princess, please!” His gaze turned from you instantly as you stood bare as the day you were born before him. “This is madness.”

“No, Erryk. This is fate.” Your voice was calm as you turned away from him. The air, though warm this close to the volcano, still caused your nipples to peak and goosebumps to form on your naked skin. You freed your hair from the bands that held your braids together, tossing the strips of leather into your boot. 

“In the...off chance…that I do not return…tell my father what has transpired in full truth, and that I am sorry I did not keep my promise.” Erryk grabbed your wrist through the crevice, intent on not letting you go. He adamantly kept his eyes on yours, not daring to let them wander further down. You were not his to gaze freely upon, he chastised himself. And you never would be. He breathed your name once more, causing you to turn back to the knight. There was a deep sadness that swirled in his eyes as he gazed upon your moonlit face.

“Do not do this. I am begging you. If I have to carry you down the Dragonmont myself and tie you to my horse, I’ll do it.” You smiled at Erryk. “Your family has already lost you once. The Realm needs you, Princess. Please think!” Erryk’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes glistened. Stress poured from every feature and there was a slight tremor in the grip he had on you. You rested a hand upon his, gently prying his fingers away.

“This is my destiny, Erryk. This dragon will rid the Realm of all the vile creatures that dwell within it.” Your mind flashed to Aemond and Vhagar, to Aegon and Sunfyre, Daeron and Tessarion, to Alicent and her wretched father.

All would fall to the might of the Cannibal.

You felt it in your bones as you pulled your wrist free from Erryk’s grasp and stepped to the opening of the cave before he could stop you. The deep rumble of the Cannibal’s growl echoed in the cave, and his giant steps shook the Mont from within. Erryk was nearly hyperventilating as he watched. He did not dare blink an eye.

“You feel this.” You spoke freely into the void with a steady voice. It did not shake and there was no fear present. “We are connected. You would not spare me if I didn’t speak the truth.” The Cannibal’s growls only grew deeper, bordering a purr from the massive creature. “Prove to me that this is real, that we are one.” You held your arms wide as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, face tilted to the sky above. “I welcome you.”

Erryk saw the flames before he could think. Hot, yellow fire shot from the cave as it had with the cow, and now you were fully engulfed. Erryk felt tears fall down the planes of his cheeks, his lips trembling terribly as he watched on as you were consumed by the dragonfire.

Gone. You were gone.

Failure emanated through his core, turning his stomach something fierce and he could do nothing but watch you perish. Erryk’s burning eyes clenched shut. 

He failed you. He failed his Queen. He failed the Realm.   

The continuous dragonfire made his eyes crack open. The flames lasted much longer than they had before and his jaw dropped in wonder.

The heat of the flames was nearly unbearable, but they did not burn your flesh. They felt like the warmest rays of the sun on the hottest summer day as the fire danced and licked your skin. The golden flames sparked and sizzled around you as you held your breath. Your feet left the stone floor for a mere blip of a moment in time and you felt it. Mere inches off the ground, the flames engulfed you fully. 

It was a lifetime within the fire, just as it had been within your dream, and in an instant you were shifted back to darkness. Your feet hit the ground with a slap, your knees wobbled at the force. Looking up, the sharp chartreuse eye of the Cannibal beckoned you forward and your legs moved on their own accord.

Erryk could not breathe as he watched you enter the Cannibal’s nest. You, who had roasted alive within the dragon’s flames mere seconds ago, before his very eyes, was now walking on your own two feet as if he didn’t see what he definitely just saw. He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes.

There wasn’t a single blemish on your skin, not a single burn marred your flesh. You should’ve been dead instantly, reduced to a pile of ash left to blow in the wind. 

At that moment, Erryk did not know what to do -what to think. Was he dead? It was the only semi-rational thought he could come up with. He leaned to the ledge of the cliff and vomited the little contents of his stomach he had left.

The growl of the Cannibal should’ve been terrifying, but you knew in that very moment that he would not kill you. He was just as stunned as you were in the revelation that you uncovered. This dragon was old and no creature had ever lived through his flames. 

Not once. 

Not until now. 

With each step closer, you felt the strength he emanated. Unadulterated raw power flowed through you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes as you stood in the darkness. Bones and the dust of bones that had been stepped on for over a century littered the ground ahead of you. The stench of death and the heady, earthy scent of the dragon hung heavy in the air. 

The light of the moon stopped just ahead of you, but you saw the dragon shift in the darkness, his green eyes glowed from high above. Yellow embers shimmered from his belly, casting a faint glow to the nest from under his black scales, but they only illuminated bright enough to light the stone below him. 

The ground shook beneath your feet as he took long, lumbering steps towards your minuscule frame. You could still feel his flames around you, inside of you, though they weren’t physically there. The Cannibal’s head lowered menacingly and he tilted it to the side to look you over fully with one massive, angry eye. 

“Magnificent.” You whispered. The dragon growled and hummed “Issaros.” Stranger. The name fit him as the dragon himself was synonymous with death. 

Issaros bared his teeth to you, saliva dripping from his maw. The gusts of air from his exhales were like mighty winds from the sea with how close he was. 

“You have been free your whole existence. I do not wish to cage you, to tame you, to bind you to my will. I have great use for you, and you seek death…destruction…flesh.” You could see the interest pique in his eye as he continued to watch you with the threat of his teeth ever present. 

“I will make you an offer: Follow me North and allow me the privilege of riding upon you into battle. In return, I give you the freedom to feast freely upon man and beast alike, but only those I have deemed my enemies. There are plenty, I assure you. You shall never want for blood and flesh again, my friend. After the war is won, you shall return here to the Dragonmont, or any other place you deem worthy to dwell in. You will always have your freedom and regardless of the bond we now share, I will not hold you hostage to me. With this, you have my word.” You stepped closer, bringing a palm up to rest along a spike on his snout. His lips twitched back in warning, but he did not move from you nor did he snap his teeth. Your eyes met his once more.

“Will you accept this?”

Erryk sat outside of the cave in near total silence. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. He did not know. It wasn’t until the ground beneath him trembled immensely and a black mass exited the cave did he stand. 

Erryk’s hair flew back behind him as the massive dragon flapped his leathery wings and took off into the night sky. He felt the blood drain from his face when he saw a flash of your silver hair upon the Cannibal’s back as he ascended to the stars. 

You spoke truth, Erryk thought as he watched on with mental clarity. The proof was right in front of him and he did not dare blink should this be a figment of his imagination. 

Your head was tilted back and your arms were stretched out to either side of you. The cold wind felt refreshing on your naked flesh as the dragon tore through the sky. 

The deafening roar Issaros let out was bone-chilling and you had never before felt as powerful as you did in that very moment. With this ferocious killing machine beneath you, you would bring death and ruin to Aemond and all he held dear. 

If there was ever a formidable dragon that could battle against the likes of Vhagar, as you had prophesised, it was the dreaded Cannibal. 

What the dragon lacked in size by comparison, he had quadrupled in viciousness, ruthlessness, and cunning. He was a predator through and through, and had no qualms about killing for the sport of it. 

And he deemed you worthy to sit upon him. 

To sit upon a dragon so large was unlike anything you had ever felt. The only other times were when your father had taken you upon Caraxes as a girl, but that had been many years past. This, as an experienced dragon rider, made you feel invincible. 

Issaros screeched at any other dragon who dared to come remotely near him in warning as he glided through the night sky. Most, if not all, knew of his temperament. 

“They are needed.” You called to the dragon. “When this war is over, you may do with them as you wish, but for now they must live.” You felt his irritation, but he heeded your words all the same. 

“If my Maestron were to ever fall, I would surely ride the Cannibal.” It was a prophecy spoken at such a tender age and you didn’t even know it. The words were a fantasy, said in the heat of the moment as a child, but those words had come to pass. Just as Daenys’ prophetic words had come to pass. Just as Aegon’s dream was sure to come to fruition.

The flames of magic flowed through your blood as the Cannibal flew through the skies in a miraculous display. It felt as though your ribs were expanding, like you could take infinite air within your lungs. To feel such an intense connection with such a wild dragon not only mended what Aemond had fractured, but it evolved something else deep within you. 

You wanted blood. 

You wanted retribution. 

You wanted vengeance. 

Erryk’s eyes were wide as he stared openly at you when you exited the cave. Soot painted over your body from the dragon fire and your hair was a mess of tangles from the wind. Streaks of blood littered your nude body from small cuts made by the dragon’s tough scales. 

Erryk quickly removed his cloak when he saw your legs begin to buckle in your delirious steps towards him. When you were clear of the cave’s mouth, he ran to you and swept you into his arms, his warm cloak wrapped around you to preserve your modesty. 

“I need a moment.�� You mumbled against his chest. Your hand grasped onto the shoulder strap of his plated armor as he set you in the alcove he had been hidden behind. Erryk made sure his cloak was tightly wrapped around you when you shivered. 

The knight crept over to your discarded belongings to hastily retrieve them. He tried not to jump when he heard the Cannibal’s purr rumble in the darkness, but his heart pounded furiously in his chest as he backed away slowly until he was shielded once more in the alcove. 

Erryk stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. Sprawled on your back, one arm stretched over your head and the other draped over your stomach. His cloak was pulled up to reveal your legs and covered only your more intimate areas. The ethereal glow of your skin in the moonlight was more than he, a man so strong in his convictions, could handle. 

The scene before him could’ve been a painting, and it would be imprinted on his mind for the rest of his life. You had bewitched him, he thought as his stomach flipped and his heart sang. What he witnessed on this night was more than enough to convince him that you would change the Realm. For better or worse, he could not tell, but he would remain at your side. 

Erryk allowed you a moment’s rest, but the moon was slowly dropping in the sky and the hour of the nightingale would soon be upon you. The lighter it got, the harder it would be to sneak your way back to the stables. 

Erryk turned his back to you so you could sluggishly dress, then he took you in his arms once more to carry you down the Dragonmont. 

Your fluttering eyes met his when he glanced down at you. Your palm came up to rest on his bearded cheek in a sweet caress. 

“Rest, my Princess. I shall wake you when we’ve reached the horses.” 

Days had passed since you took Ser Erryk to the Dragonmont, and he had returned with you every night since. Your trainings had also continued, and just as he promised, you were slowly gaining an understanding of the craft. You were by no means a warrior, but your footwork was improving and you had begun to think on the offense rather than wait to be cornered into defense. 

Since that first night on the Mont, Erryk let his touch linger as he instructed you. He got closer, though it never progressed to anything more. You knew he’d never cross that line, much less put you in such a predicament. Erryk worked his entire life to be at his current station and you would not squander that for him. 

Still, the temptation lit a fire within you with every touch and glance he gave you. The feelings, though they were forbidden, existed all the same. 

At this point in the night Erryk would be waiting for you at the stables, but tonight he was not there by the time you arrived. He’d usually have your horse ready for you, but you didn’t mind saddling it yourself. You were adjusting the straps to the saddle on his borrowed horse when he trotted past you. 

“Ser Erryk!” You called when he didn’t even spare you a glance. He pulled the horse to a stop and turned in your direction. “Where have you been off to?” You questioned in confusion. As far as you knew, he was in his quarters resting before your excursion. 

Erryk looked at you with wide eyes as if he was looking at a ghost. He kept the horse stock still for a moment before dismounting and taking cautious steps closer to you. 

“I had a task set by the Queen, Princess.” You noted that his movements seemed off. His gait held a different stride, and his voice was slightly higher. Brows furrowed, you tilted your head as you continued to analyze him. “I must report back to her at once, Princess.” His tone was impatient and he spoke to you as if you were a stranger. Something must’ve happened for Erryk to be this short with you. 

“In that case, if you do not feel up to the ride, you may stay here. Tonight will be no different than the others.” You offered, knowing he would turn you down. You would give him some time to debrief with your mother and then he would insist on joining you. 

That is…not what happened, much to your surprise. 

“I’m afraid I will not make the ride tonight, Princess.” Odd. “My sincerest apologies.” You gave him a long look, not understanding why he was being so secretive. Relief flashed in his eyes when you nodded and mounted your horse. You tried to not let the flash of hurt you felt cross your features, but you definitely threw him a nasty look. 

“Very well. I shall see you on the morrow.” You tapped the flank of your horse with your heel and turned in the direction of the gates. 

Something rolling in your gut told you to turn back. Erryk’s abnormal behavior did not sit right with you, and you knew back in the stables that you should’ve stayed to push him for further details. Irritated with yourself, you turned your horse around and headed back to the Keep. Issaros would be cross with you, you were sure, but you would address him on your next visit. 

As you got back to the main road, a raven cawed as it flew overhead. Stopping your horse, your head turned to follow the direction it flew in. It was far too late in the night for a raven to fly out of Dragonstone, much less in the direction of- 

Your brain went blank for a moment and realization dawned on you. You kicked your horse sharply and he sprinted into a full gallop to race back to the Keep. 

“It wasn’t Erryk, you fool!” You berated yourself, urging your horse to sprint faster. “It wasn’t Erryk!”

If you weren't simping for Ser Erryk before, you are now. I'm starting a support group.

We're setting things up for absolute mayhem.

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @bellameshipper @praline357 @crazymusicgirl104 @visenyaverse @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @ana8swift @ladymoon666 @sunmoon-01  @snh96 @louiselouve @neenieweenie @kemillyfreitas

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Fox's Fate

✿ Synopsis: Befriending a small fox leads to a life changing turn of events, not only for you, but also for him. The fox being a kitsune, and he becomes just as attached to you, as you are to him. Not everything is what it seems, but does it really matter, after all you are happier now than you were before.

✿ Who: Takayama Riki / Taki (&Team) & Gender Neutral Reader ✿ Word Count: 8408 Words ✿ Genre: Angst/Fluff ✿ Warnings: Explicit language, arson, amnesia, murder, car accident, and identity theft. ✿ Request: No ✿ Enjoy.

Feet hit the harsh rocks, he ran through the darkened alleyway, the yelling fading behind him, the footsteps that followed him eventually stopping. The shop owner had not taken well to the orange and white creature rifling through his trash cans, he was only on the search for food. Usually the large fluffy tail of his was enough to distract people, they would become enamored by the fluffy thing, letting the fox get away with whatever it was he wanted to do. This person however was not having that, yelling and screaming at the small fox, running him off with anger, repeatedly crying out that he will not have vermin in his dumpster. Deciding it was enough of the city for today, he found himself nearing the outskirts of town. No longer were there businesses lining the streets, instead it was houses, family houses at that. Finding himself in the garden of a house, he had no idea eyes were on him, they were observing the small hungry fox. Within the house was a person quickly searching what do foxes eat on their phone, before starting to pile up some food on the plate, for the poor animal. Moments later the person comes out of their house, offering a small white porcelain plate abound with leftover freshly cooked meats and a variety of fresh sweet berries. Unaccustomed to the kindness of others, the fox kept his distance, only going over to the plate once the human was back within their house. The person watching through the window as the small orange and white creature devoured the food, it was much hungrier than one would have thought. The food was gone in a matter of minutes, the fox finding its way back into the garden, falling asleep amongst the flowers.

As the morning came, the fox was surprised to see another plate sat out, more meat and berries. This became a common routine for the homeowner and the fox. It took a month before he felt comfortable entering the person’s home. They had shown him nothing but kindness, and he felt grateful for that. Eating freshly cooked meats they gave him, while they were eating their own dinner, and feasting upon bowls of freshly picked berries, became a daily routine. It was odd to the homeowner, the fox was basically like a pet to them at this point. It would join them for breakfast and dinner, curling up in their lap as they watched the television after dinner, and would allow them to pet it like a dog or cat would. The fox had grown close to the homeowner, enjoying his position as a pet for them, since it kept him warm, full, and loved. No longer was he roughing it on the streets begging for a meal, he had someone that was keeping him fed and clean.

Riki had gotten accustomed to this, he had been a fox for so many years he had lost count. He once was counting down the days until he would reach 100, being able to shift into a human form, being able to fully enjoy the human parts of life. But, years ago that countdown stopped, he shifted from loving life and wanting to be a human, to just struggling to get by. At one point he was no longer seen as a joy and blessing in his community, instead being seen as a problem, a vermin, something to get rid of. That was until he found them, they cared for him in a way he had missed for years. Seeing him as another being, not just a problem rifling through their trash cans. He enjoyed laying in their arms, the food they would give him, and despite how embarrassing it was, he did not mind them when they would groom him, commenting how much better he smelled after using the various products on him. He had not only grown to like this treatment, but found himself liking them as well.

Despite how hard he tried to behave, he had a habit of stealing little things from the neighbors and bringing them to your house, like a thank you. He knew enough about humans to know you would not like for him to bring you a dead bird or rat, like a cat would; but he saw no problem in stealing flowers from the neighbors garden, or maybe a discarded necklace he found in the park. These little things became a normal thing, the small gifts from the little fox were the highlights of your day most of the time. Little things like shiny rocks and flowers became normal things for you to see in the small fox’s mouth. You were thankful that he felt thankful for how you treated him, but even without these small gifts, you would have still fed and cared for the sweet little fox. He was so domesticated, you felt that he was a pet someone had abandoned.

This continued for some time, until one day Riki felt some odd feeling, while on his usual walk through the forest to your home, he felt this unimaginable pain. Only then did it hit him what it was, he had aged for a hundred years, he was able to shift into a human form finally, something he once counted down the days for felt like an inconvenience how, since how were you to love him outside of his fox form. Many kitsune would love to have this chance, however, Riki just ignored it, instead deciding to stay in his fox form for now, since the only person he knew enough about to shift into would be you. Continuing his regular routine, being nothing more than a little pet to you.

This was until one day when he came back home from a walk, seeing an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway, an unfamiliar scent was picked up easily. That was the first day in months that you did not come when he scratched at the door, there was no food outside for him, nor had you left the window open for him. Jumping up onto the windowsill, he gazed into the living room, seeing another figure other than just yourself. He growled slightly as he realized the other scent was another man, he could not hear what was being said, but he hated the look of joy upon your face as the other man held you in his arms. The anger was interrupted as the window caught the man’s attention, unable to hear what was being said, he knew it was not good, especially as he watched you grasp the man’s arm, simply making him sit back down. The door opened quickly after that, a bowl of berries was in your hand, and he heard you start to comment to the other man.

“Calm the fuck down Taki, it’s just a little fox, I feed it every night, it was just staring in wondering where it’s dinner was,” you yelled out to your boyfriend who was sitting on your sofa. Taki had been gone for almost five months at that point, his job sending him out of the country for a multiple month contract, luckily however he was back. He did not seem to like your little fox visitor, and you just hoped he would not do anything to the sweet little fox that you loved so dearly. “I’m sorry sweetie, you’ll have to sleep outside tonight, he doesn’t really like the idea of a wild animal in the house,” you told the gentle fox, petting it as it bumped your hand with its head.

It took not even a minute of you being away for Taki to reach his limit, getting up and coming to the door to force you back inside the house. “Let the damn animal starve, if it can’t find food out in nature, just let it go hungry, it’s not your fault it can’t hunt like a normal animal can.” Taki yelled out, glaring at the small fox in distaste. “It’s going to bring fleas and ticks around, probably has disease too, we should scare it off, that would be best.” He said, wanting the dumb animal to be away from him.

With a gasp, you turned to look at your boyfriend, shocked at the words from his mouth. “It’s just a sweet little fox, I think it used to be someone’s pet. There is no need to talk about it so rudely and harshly, it’s just a sweet little fox.” You attempted to defend the little animal, as you remained petting its soft fur. Taki was always a bit abrasive, it always had to be his way or no way, things were how he wanted them to be or things just did not get done, you had shocked yourself by standing up for the small fox, but it was just an innocent animal, and Taki’s anger was unfounded.

“Whatever, quit petting it, go wash your hands, and join me on the sofa again. The movie is playing, and I don’t like missing too much of it since you had to come out here to deal with that stupid little animal.” Taki said, before returning back into the house, closing the front door with a slam, scaring both yourself and the small little fox with his anger. Taki had decided that if the fox was there in the morning, he would scare it off, the last thing you needed was to get some disease from a wild fox. Laying back on the sofa, he started to complain again, this time at how long it was taking you to rejoin him on the sofa.

Petting the little fox one last time, you softly sighed at Taki’s anger. You were accustomed to this, he always had to have everything his way, and you knew he would not be happy until the fox was no longer a problem. “I’m sorry little one, enjoy your berries,” you told the small animal, before starting your way back in, “You may want to make sure you aren’t here in the morning, I don’t think Taki will like it if he sees you again.” Slipped past your lips, wishing the small fox would understand you, since the last thing you wanted is for Taki to scare off your little friend. He had scared off most of your real friends, and now was trying to scare off your animal friend. Rejoining him on the sofa, you ignored all the complaints and grumbles coming from him, just hoping his anger would subside for the rest of the night.

The little fox, Riki, hated the way the man, Taki he believes you said, spoke to you. Someone as wonderful as you deserved someone just as wonderful, not an asshole like him. It was not his fault the insecure man felt threatened by an animal, and it angered him how he so easily yelled at you. Complaining about how long it took to resume the movie, and about how the fox should just be left to die. As he enjoyed the berries, he just wished he could do something to help you, to get you away from this man. Hearing your warning, he made sure he was gone from your property after eating the berries, knowing that you would not have said it unless it was a serious thing. Which, seeing how Taki reacted upon seeing him at the window, you knew it was absolutely a serious thing.

The routine changed after that day. No longer were days spent in their house, enjoying breakfast and dinner with them. Instead, Riki would get a handful of berries, and luckily the occasional piece of meat, hidden within the trees just behind the backdoor of the house. Despite Taki’s hatred of the small animal, you continued to feed the poor fox, but tried your best to make sure Taki never saw it. Riki however would often hear Taki’s complaining, the man looking around for the fox, wanting to fully scare it off, knowing you still fed it regularly, and he did not like that.

Riki grew to hate Taki, how he treated you, how he treated him, and just everything. Yelling became a regular occurance from your house at night, usually Taki yelling at you for little things. It started with him yelling at you since he claimed you did not cook enough food for dinner, blaming it on your daily time spent feeding that fox. Then it escalated, him yelling at you for not doing all of his laundry by the time he returned home, despite the fact you worked as well, he expected you to do everything at home as well. It was then over you not cleaning the whole house, Riki could hear his yelling, screaming about the filth in the house, and how he could not be with someone who does not know how to keep things clean. Despite his desire to protect you, Riki stayed back, not wanting to make anything worse.

The day that made him decide to do something was when he saw Taki raise a hand to you, he had been yelling at you, reminding you how he could easily replace you, how he many others on his roster, that he could have another by the time he gets home, while you were just sitting here crying. Taki had anger issues, he would scream and he would yell, but he never once hit you until that day. Easily backhanding you with such force, you landed on the floor, hand holding your face in shock, unable to even scream or cry in this situation. Taki ended up storming out the house, yelling that it was over, but not before he openly disclosed that he had no qualms about hooking up with others while he was on the work trip abroad, reminding you that he never felt you were exclusive, you were nothing but a toy for him.

Riki wanted to rush into your house as Taki opened the door, but instead the imposing male stood in front of the closed door, a short laugh being heard, as he stared at the fox. A foot met the side of Riki’s fox figure, Taki muttering about the stupid animal before he started to leave. Taki however did not get far, seeing the little pet house that you had bought for the fox, he quickly grabbed the fox. Riki was too weak from the kick to fight back as Taki picked him up, but he tried his hardest, wiggling in his grasp, wanting to escape and run into the house to where you were. However, he was unable to, his small body being forced into a small box that had been bed for many nights while sleeping outside. As Taki went to lock the door, to completely trap the small fox inside the pet carrier, something stopped him. It was a shiny object, Riki felt his heart drop as Taki’s hand clutched the item, shoving it into his pocket, before proceeding to lock the carrier. Taki then left, taking the kitsune ball with him.

A seething hatred filled his body, watching Taki walking off to his vehicle with his kitsune ball, the idiot having no idea of what he just did, what he just took, what he just caused. Immediately Riki cried out, the pain from the kick finally fully hitting him, as he cried out in pain. By then you were already outside, about to start chasing after Taki, he was all you knew, having been with him for so long, you did not know what else to do. But, hearing the cries of an animal, you found yourself looking around, terrified that Taki had finally made true on his promise and threats, all the times he said he would kill that stupid fox. Luckily you found him, locked in the pet carrier, quickly opening it, you had no time to look at the fox, as he took off running. As the only other thing in your life ran away from you, you felt your heart start to crumble, Taki had scared off all your friends, all your family, and now your little animal friend as well.

As badly as Riki wanted to stay and be with you, he had to get his kitsune ball back one way or another. Hatred and the desire for revenge filled his being, wanting nothing more than to get his kitsune ball back whether it left Taki dead or alive. He was quick to trace the scent of the cheating abusive bastard you once called your boyfriend, Riki wanted nothing more than to kill the man, but he could tell you genuinely loved him. His anger drove him all the way to outside Taki’s house, it was the middle of the night, and he was unsure of what to do as he found himself on the doorstep of the man’s house.

Taki was quick to get to the door, thinking it was the girl he had texted on his drive over, but instead his video alert was alarming him of the stupid little fox on his doorstep. Opening the door, a laugh left his lips, seeing the fox he had once locked up in the pet carrier now on his doorstep. Taki had forgotten all about what he had stolen, until he reached to put his hands in his pockets, planning to kick the door closed on the small little fox’s head. A laugh slipped past his lips, removing the ball from his pocket with a smirk, “Oh, is this what you came for,” he sneered, starting to squeeze the small glowing golden white ball in his hand, attempting to break it.

Riki felt this rush through his body, a feeling he had never felt before, he found himself gaining height. Going from being eye level with Taki’s calves, to staring the man in the eye. Riki had shifted himself into Taki without meaning to, but it seemed to have taken Taki back enough that he dropped the kitsune ball, as he stepped back with haste. Taki’s back hit the floor as he started trying to get away, screams attempting to slip out of his mouth, but nothing came. This time it was laughing leaving Riki’s mouth, quickly picking up the glowing ball, before he started to walk closer to the man on the floor. “Oh, this is, but I also came for this,” he said, reaching down, watching as felt the power coursing through his body, he grabbed Taki’s leg, watching as it spontaneously erupted into flames. Riki had never used his magic, never seeing a reason in it, but for you, he would use it however often as he needed to.

Taki froze, falling to the ground as he watched the fox turning into a man, not just any man, but himself. Screams begged to escape his body, but no noise came out of his mouth, instead he hit the ground, trying to crawl away. Unable to get away, he stared in terror as he set himself on fire. This had to be some sort of fever dream, there were not two of him in the world, and the fire came out of nowhere. It was like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, his whole body erupting in burning violent flames, but his screams met deaf ears, no noise coming from his vocal cords, despite how loudly he screamed and cried.

Riki felt such joy watching as the flames easily took over Taki’s frame. He would not bother you again, no longer would Taki get to enjoy inflicting such pain on you, if it does not bring joy let it go, and here Riki was letting Taki go. A laugh fell from his lips, watching as Taki tried to roll around, trying to get the flames to stop, the shock on his face was evident, as Riki had stolen his voice along with his looks. His joy overwhelmed him as he watched the last of the flames finally die down, leaving nothing remaining of Taki other than some charred clothing remains. His joy however did not last, as a random dinging caught his attention, a phone you had called many times, he read the screen quickly, seeing a message saying ‘on my way’ from someone Taki had named side chick number six, whatever a side chick was. But, as he stood there, something hit him, someone was on their way to see Taki, real Taki, not Riki Taki, maybe it was because he was new to using his magic and all, but he was unable to stop it when everything around him just erupted into flames. He found himself shifting back into fox form, quickly running from the house. Riki did not make it far however, he was hit by a car just outside the house, immediately shifting back into his Taki form from the impact. He watched as the entire house caught on fire, it was up in flames, he only got to enjoy the sight of the second story of the house collapsing into the flames, before all he saw was black.

You were sitting in your room when you got the call, it had been almost an hour since Taki had left and your little fox friend had run away from you. The call was from an unknown number, but answered it regardless, quickly being greeted with an unknown male voice, asking if they were calling the right number, before revealing it was the hospital. “What do you mean he was hit by a car?” You all but screamed into the phone, Taki and you might have been arguing that night, but you did not want him to get hit by a car. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You told the receptionist, quickly throwing on your shoes and a jacket, before finding your way to the hospital.

He may have been a horrible boyfriend, but you loved him despite everything he did, and you were distraught when you heard the news. You wanted to get back at him, but him being hit by a car was never what you wanted. You wanted him to maybe feel bad about cheating on you, not to be almost killed by a car. Arriving at the hospital, you were quickly ushered into his room, seeing not only a police officer but a fire inspector in the room as well. They were quick to catch you up on what happened, his house caught on fire, he ran from the fire, he got hit by a car, he passed out, and the driver of the car was apparently someone he had invited over to his house that night.

Despite the anger that came from knowing he was actively trying to hookup with someone that was not you, you could not stop feeling the pain and sorrow you felt for the man laying out on the bed. You loved him, you would never not love him, even if he did not always love you. Quickly you found yourself taking his hand, clutching it as tightly as you could, tears falling from your eyes as you wanted nothing more than for him to awake. You would apologize for being a bad significant other, you would apologize for making him mad, you would do anything to make him happy, you would do anything he asked you to as you had so many times before. Taki relied on that, leaving you and then waiting until you came crawling back begging for him.

Riki had no idea what happened, but he felt a sharp feeling in his arms, something holding down his wrist as well. Immediately, he recognized he was not in his fox form, instead in human form, Taki’s form. A small soft hand held his hand in theirs, teardrops making his arm wet, he knew the hands were yours based on your scent. He fought the mind fog for almost an hour, just hearing your sobs, your pleas for him to be okay, to wake up, to forgive you. Riki knew these cries were for Taki, not him, but he wished it was for him. Riki knew nothing of being human, Riki knew nothing of being in love, Riki knew nothing of being loved, Riki knew nothing of any of it, but he knew he would never had treated you how Taki did, he knew that the way he felt for you was as close to love as he would ever feel, until he truly learned what love was.

As Taki opened his eyes, you found yourself gasping, clinging yourself onto his body, lips immediately making contact with his lips. It was odd as Taki did not kiss you back, instead just sitting there frozen, unsure of what to do. Moving back, you looked in his eyes, seeing nothing but confusion on his face. Quickly the doctor was called, not even an hour later, the doctor told you the diagnosis. “You believe he has amnesia?” The diagnosis was like a slap to the face, it explained why he was so frozen earlier, probably not remembering you at all. “So he remembers how to talk and read, but nothing else. Retrograde amnesia?” You easily repeated the doctor, listening to everything he tells you, how to care for him, how to attempt to get his memory to return and everything.

Riki felt odd, everyone referring to him as Taki felt out of place, but for all intents and purposes, he was now Taki, god knows what would happen to him if he revealed what had really happened to Taki. Despite how much he loved the feeling of your hands holding his, it hurt him that you were only doing so thinking he was Taki, but at this point, he had no choice but to be Taki. After everyone left, he felt lost, he did not know what to do, it was hard being in a new body, let alone also having a whole new identity. He could only guess the doctor was telling you everything as some random girl entered the room, quick to rush over and hug him, not even noticing as he froze.

As she started to cry, Riki realized this must have been the person the message earlier was from, what was it, side chick number six. He moved away from her grasp as she cried out, “Oh Taki, I’m so glad you’re alive. I was so afraid I had killed you, I was coming over like you asked me to, I didn’t think I’d hit you.” She cried out, trying to come to terms with what happened. She tried to hug him again, but Riki raised his hands, pushing her away, not wanting whoever this was to be on him, let alone touch him.

“I don’t know who you are, but please leave me alone,” He said, watching as the girl’s face immediately dropped. She was devastated by his words, but he felt no pain for her. She was only number six of who knows how many people Taki had been cheating on his amazing girlfriend with. He had such an amazing person who loved him with all their heart, but instead he was out there sleeping with anyone who would allow him to do so. Riki however, knew that Taki from now on would not be doing that, he would blame it on the traumatic head injury or something, but Taki would no longer be doing that, he would be honest and cherish what he had, like Riki knows he would.

The girl started to cry even harder, Riki did not even know her name, and he honestly did not care. “What do you mean? Taki it’s me? We’ve been dating for a while, you don’t remember me?” She cried out, becoming more and more outraged as she cried, becoming louder and louder. Riki luckily did not have to do anything as a nurse burst into the room, removing the girl from his room, before adding her to a list of people not allowed to visit, after Riki expressed how distressed her presence made him.

You had watched the whole scene, it was odd, Taki would oftentimes brag about how easily he could replace you, but here he was rejecting the girl he had invited over to do just that. It felt odd, but you reminded yourself that it was just the amnesia talking, he would probably go right back to it once he healed and had his memory back. Entering his room again, you found yourself sitting beside his bed, taking his hands in yours once more. “Do you remember who I am?” Being all you asked, watching as he shook his head, it hurt, but you knew you had bigger issues than him not remembering who you are. Telling him your name, you were quick to let him know, “I’m your partner, we’ve been together for years.”

Riki could do nothing but play stupid, knowing that while he might have Taki’s looks and voice, he did not have his memories, and would instead be unable to know anything you might ask him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, watching how the hurt masked your eyes, knowing that the thought of your boyfriend not recognizing you must have hurt. “But I want to remember,” he added, hoping that it might make everything a bit better for you.

Despite the fact you would not admit it, hearing his words made your heart swell a bit. Taki was never one to really care about much, but you could only guess the brain injury had changed him, hopefully it made him a better man, but you knew that was a bad thing to think, especially given the situation. “I’ll try to help you remember,” you told him, yet, it hurt so badly when you thought about it. You would help him regain his memory, just for him to probably revert to how he was just before the accident. You would help him regain his memory, just for him to go back to reminding you how easily he could replace, bragging about his roster, and reminding you that he did not do exclusivity. He would more than likely go back to cheating on you when mad, claiming it was your fault for running him into the arms of another, and making you genuinely believe it was your fault, since he was being so generous with you, and you treated him like that.

Riki felt feelings he had never felt before as you clutched at his hands, his arms, holding them to your chest, gentle kisses on his hand, soothing him almost. The pain in your eyes told him how much you regret the words you just said, seeing how Taki treated you, he understood why. The relationship was so bad, but you were in love with Taki, and he knew that, which is why he would always get away with whatever it was he wanted to do, you would always forgive him and believe him when he twisted it to make it your fault. Riki knew that you deserve someone better, someone that would love you back with their whole heart, not just someone who only loves you when it is convenient for them. The pain in your eyes made him decide to be just that, you would never have to worry about him getting mad and storming out claiming he is going to go sleep with another, you would never have to worry about him hitting you in anger, and you would never have to worry about the pain Taki brought every time he came around.

Riki wanted nothing more than to let you know who he really was, but he knew you would not believe him. What was he to say, I am the fox you used to feed and cuddle with every night and I sorta killed your abusive asshole of a boyfriend, that would get him put in jail or worse. Despite how much he knew Taki had hurt you, he also had to admit to himself that pretending to be Taki was for the best at this moment in time, since that was who you thought he was. You thought he was Taki, just Taki with some minor brain damage, after all he had been hit by a car. Being Taki may not be what he wanted, but he was sure he would never treat you the way the real Taki would have, since you deserve better.

As the doctor��s cleared Taki to leave, you were quick to get him to your house, seeing how his own had burned down, an electrical fire is what the fire and police said. It was odd seeing him so demure, so confused, almost innocent, he was unsure of what he was doing, unsure of what to do, and unsure of everything, just waiting for you to tell him what he needed to do. Once he was seated on the sofa, you decided to do your best to help him start remembering little things, getting out a scrapbook full of photos from when you first started dating.

There was once a happy phase with Taki, romantic candlelit dinners, moonlight picnics, walks under the stars, and matching couple outfits. But, that phase faded into controlling behavior, if you made him mad he would start to yell, he would start to blame you for everything, which it was your fault, you were the one who made him mad. Those romantic dates started to end, instead he simply had home dates with you instead, claiming you did not deserve anything too extravagant or opulent, since you would just end up pissing him off anyways and would embarrass him if he did take you. The lack of romance then translated to him picking up others, claiming you were not making him fully happy, he deserved this, if you could not satisfy him fully, he deserved the ability to be with others who would, and that is exactly what he would do. Honestly, at some point Taki had fallen out of love with you, but he would not have admitted it, nor would he break up with you. Taki would never let you be the victim, he had to be the victim, if you were to break up, you had to end it with him, never the other way around. He needed to be able to turn it into a sad story for himself, claim the love of his life and significant other for the past five years broke his heart with such ease, he would have slandered your public image, making sure that you were never happy again. He deserved happiness, he would be damned if you kept him from that, but you only deserve happiness if it was with him.

Opening the book, you found yourself seated next to Taki, staring at the first page, you questioned how to go about this. Despite your brain telling you to tell him everything, you decided to only mention the happy moments, the good parts, thinking maybe he will not ever remember that he was once an abusive horrible asshole of a boyfriend. He would be mad at you once he did remember, but he would also be mad at you regardless of whether you told him about those moments or not, so instead you decided to focus on the lovely moments. “This was from our first date,” was how it started, “you took me out to a picnic, it was so sweet. You made all my favorite foods and snacks, and we ended up talking for hours upon hours. You were such a gentleman, listening to me go on and on about everything, even once the night came, we continued talking.”

Riki stared at the photos on the page, seeing sweet photos of yourself and Taki, you were enamored with Taki, and once Taki was in love with you as well. He felt his heart ache slightly, staring at the picture in which Taki’s lips were on your own. Staring at the photos, he felt a sense of pride, a sense of joy. He knew how Taki ended up, how he treated you all these years later, how horrible he was. He felt joy that you would never have to go through that treatment again, he would never treat you like Taki would, he would never lay a finger on you like Taki would, you were precious and he would treat you as such. He felt pride that he would make you feel this way again, he would never see the fear or pain in your eyes again, he would make you remember the days when you were lovesick and thought you had found your forever, he would be your forever.

Seeing his gaze catching a photo on the page, you ran your fingers along the photo, remembering that day. “That was the day we had our first kiss. You had bought me a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers, but told me I was the most beautiful flower of all. I remember you taking me out to a restaurant and us having a candlelit dinner, it was so romantic, we then took a midnight walk. By the end of the walk, neither of us wanted to go home, but you knew we needed to. You brought me to my door, we talked for almost twenty minutes just standing there, until you finally acted and kissed me. I’m lucky my doorbell camera caught it, otherwise I wouldn’t have this photo for that memory.”

Riki nodded, but he knew none of these moments, and he never would remember them. In that moment he cursed how shifting into a human did not give you their memories, but he also did not want those memories, he would never want first hand account memories of hitting you or anything. He gazed at the photos with confusion, not a singular memory coming up with any of the photos, obviously since he was not the real Taki. He was nothing more than an imposter, and he only hoped you would not catch onto that.

Gazing at his face, the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “You don’t remember, do you?” You questioned him, your heart dropping as he shook his head. It was a long shot, but you had hope, hope he would remember, hope that things would go back to how they once were. But, instead fate had another plan in mind it seems. But, you would not give up on him, you would continue trying, you would make him remember it one way or another.

That is how days started, you showing him videos and photos, seeing if anything sparked a memory, but nothing ever did. He could not even remember how to do little things like using the toaster and making a sandwich, it was like his mind was just blank, an empty canvas ready to be used. The doctors offered nothing except comments about how the damage might be much worse than they thought, offering the advice that maybe making new memories would be better than reviving old ones, since it seems he has no problem remembering things that happen now.

This was how the two of you ended up where you are now, sitting together on a picnic blanket, surrounded by little snacks and drinks. If he could not remember your first date, you would recreate your first date for him. Words were not being passed between the two of you, Taki himself did not know what he liked, so there was nothing much for him to talk about, yet, it did not bother you. Oddly, it felt comfortable, he sat listening to you intently, as the two of you shared this space. Somehow the two of you ended up laying down, gazing up at the stars, your head on his chest, as you pointed out different constellations to him.

Riki was absolutely enamored with you, how gentle you were with him, how kind you were. He knew nothing much other than speech, and you were so calm explaining things to him, even things he felt you thought he should know. He just enjoyed being around you, he might never be able to do everything Taki could do, but he did not mind that when it was you teaching him how to do it. He felt joy when he overheard the doctor’s call, make new memories rather than focus on reviving old ones, just what he was hoping would happen, he wanted to make you feel joy and love you never felt with the real Taki, and this is how he would do so.

He knew nothing much to share with you, but he loved just listening to you talk, he would do that for hours, just hearing you ramble about things that interested you was his favorite thing. The date you planned for the two of you, he enjoyed, knowing it was a recreation of your first date, but he also knew it would have a drastically different ending. Somehow he ended up laying down on the thick blanket, staring up at the sky. He often observed the stars, but being with you made them all shine brighter, you made them even more stunning, but their beauty could not compete with your beauty. His arm found its way around your waist as you pointed out star formations to him, explaining them and telling him the names of them. He nodded, listening passionately to each word you said, his hand easily finding its way to your hair, simply petting it as you laid there.

Explaining the constellations to Taki, it was silent, except for the sounds of your voice, and his occasional voice of agreement and acknowledgement. It was odd feeling his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, Taki would have never done that, he was not one to be touchy with you, it was only ever on his terms. It was odd, you enjoyed it, the feeling of his arm holding you close to his chest, almost like he was afraid you would blow away with the gentle breeze that was blowing through. It was only when you felt the hand petting your hair gently, that you felt a feeling you had not felt in long, love. At that moment, all words fell silent, you started up at Taki, feeling the love that you thought had faded for him so long again. “Taki,” you softly muttered upon seeing him staring at you as well.

Riki had been observing your face the entire time you spoke, each word from your mouth captivated him, you could have been just saying random words, and he still would have been captivated. You were the moon and he was tide, you were pulling and pushing him with movement and words from your lips. He could not stop himself from staring at those lips, wondering what they would feel like against his own. You had mentioned before that the first kiss did not happen until almost a month into dating, but that was old Taki, this was new and improved Taki, and new and improved Taki honestly felt no need to wait. Leaning down, he quickly captured your lips. It was an odd feeling, but he liked it, and he wanted to do it more.

Kissing Taki was not on your list of things to happen today, but you welcomed it. His lips felt different than before, they were not rough or harsh, he was not dominating the kiss, nor was he trying to force his tongue into your mouth as he usually would. The kiss was gentle, it honestly made you fall in love with him all over again. A gentleness you had not felt in so long, it was welcoming to your heart, making you feel like you did once with him, filling your stomach with butterflies and your mind with thoughts of what might happen this time, how different it will be, how happy you may be.

Riki was unsure what he was doing, but it just felt right. His lips locked with yours, he mimicked your movement, giving you back what you gave him. His hand dropped from your head, going to your waist, pulling you on his chest completely. To any onlooker, it was a sweet couple sharing a soft moment, to him it was a sign of what he would be getting for the rest of his life, since after tasting how sweet your lips tasted, feeling how soft your lips are, and realizing how easily you fit in next to him, he never planned on letting you go. He would never let you go and he was sure you would never let him go. This time Taki would be a perfect gentleman, he would be just what you needed in your life, and Riki would make sure of it. Finally parting his lips from yours, he could do nothing more than just staring at you, “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he muttered, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, as the date came to an end.

Taki was different, so different, each date was so much better than the first ones. You were not sure what it was, but it had to be the car accident, changing him into a whole new person practically. Loyalty was the first word in this Taki’s vocabulary. Love was the second word. And perfection was the third, since that is what you were to him. No longer did fear stay in your eyes when you gazed at him. No longer did you fear he would storm out bragging he had a date with another girl. No longer did you fear he would hit you in anger. No longer did those feelings of inadequacy mar your mind. To this Taki you were perfect, you were amazing, and he would never find anyone that he would ever love more than you.

A part of your mind wanted you to admit that maybe Taki was not Taki after all, but it could not be that. It was just that the car accident brought something out in him that you never saw, something that made him a man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Creating new memories was the best decision, replacing all those cold and harsh memories you had with Taki previously, with sweet and warm ones with Taki now.

Taki was a fast learner, you quickly had him learn how to be self sufficient around the house, to the point that he refused to let you help around the house. He was unable to work or anything outside of the house, due to the memory loss, so he felt it was only right to help around the house. It was odd, seeing him so easily take the role of what one would call a house husband, but it was appreciated. Previously Taki would have expected you to do everything on your own, he would not lift a single finger to help you, but Taki now would not let you lift a single finger to do it.

For the first time in years, you felt loved, each day falling in love more and more with Taki. He was finally being the man of your dreams, the man you always fantasized about, the man that would love you for who you were for the rest of your life. No longer did his kisses feel forced, no longer did the love feel absent, no longer did you feel as though your life was on eggshells around him. He always made sure you felt loved, reminded you that you were loved, and loved you like he felt you deserved to be loved.

Riki had taken to everything you taught him quickly, doing all the little tasks around the house for you while you were at work. Nothing ever needed to be mentioned twice, since he felt it was the least he could do for you taking such good care of him. Need the lawn mowed, he did it immediately after figuring out how to work the lawn mower once you went to work. The laundry needs to be done, no need to ask, he has already started it, even going as far as to sort the darks and colors. Riki was unsure who he was at this point, but all he did know is that whoever he was, he was loved by you. He loved you, you returned his love, and that was all he cared about.

It was a day he had finished all the chores early, he even had dinner in the oven waiting for you to return from work, when you caught him by the mirror in the bedroom. He did not hear you enter, nor did he notice you come into the house. You watched as he just stared at himself in the mirror, confusion did not mar his face, nor did anger, or any other identifiable emotion.

Staring at his appearance in the mirror, Riki was unsure where he began and Taki ended, he was unsure if Riki even existed any longer except for in his mind. Yet, feeling your arms wrap around his waist, he finally noticed you were home, and your lips softly littering his neck with gentle kisses, muttering sweet words of praise and love. He honestly found himself not caring, as far as anyone knew now he was Taki. As long as you loved Taki, he would be Taki, he was Taki, he is Taki; Riki no longer exists, since as long as he has you within his arms, he has no desire to be back in his fox form again. Moving his arm, he quickly switched your positions, moving you from where you stood behind him. Rubbing his nose against yours, he gently kissed your lips, before he picked you up with ease, feeling your arms wrapping around his neck. “I love you Taki,” your voice attempted to say, before it was enveloped by his lips against yours. He found himself smiling into the kiss as your words were cut out by the moans coming from his actions.

[pengychan]

[Baldur's Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 1

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.

Do I want to see Karlach free at last? Yes. Do I want Wyll to be free from his pact? Also yes. But do I want to put Raphael through Some Shit? Absolutely. That's it, really, that's my recipe here.

***

Much like Hell itself, Raphael had rules and principles. Although he had long since memorized all of them, he still had them all carefully written down in a book he always kept at hand. They added up to precisely six-hundred and sixty-six paragraphs; some may find it a bit on the nose, but he always thought it fitting. It kept to the hellish theme, and he always found having a theme to be extremely important. Almost as important as keeping to the rules of the game. 

And the first rule of that game was written large enough to take up the entire page, in red ink, underlined several times for good measure. 

DO NOT LET MEPHISTOPHELES CATCH YOU.

But archdevil Mephistopheles had him, and was not letting go. How he got to him was a question he could not answer; last thing Raphael recalled was being felled in his own home by those treacherous, double-crossing vermin, wielding the hammer he’d taken such pains to craft and which he’d offered them at a more than fair price. He’d blacked out, felt his life slipping away… and then he’d opened his eyes again in the grip of Mephistopheles, who was none too pleased to see him.

“Did you think I would not see? Did you think I would not know what you were trying to do?”

The voice came from around him, within him, everywhere, the rumbling of a volcano and the howling of the icy winds of Cania. Dangling helplessly from the archdevil’s grip, blood blinding him and choking him and dripping from more wounds to count, Raphael had a distinct feeling he wouldn't recover from that slip up. But he could yet try, he had to: this was not supposed to be his final act. So he coughed up the blood clogging his throat, and tried to speak. His voice came out hoarser than he’d have liked, but it would have to do. 

“My liege Lor--”

The grip around his leg tightened, and words turned into a wordless scream as broken shards of bone shrieked against one another. Raphael convulsed, choking and screaming, wings beating uselessly - or trying to, with one wing barely hanging onto his body through scraps of muscle. Then Mephistopheles reached up, and tore it off entirely himself. Steaming blood rushed forth, and Raphael screamed again. 

“My Lord--” he managed, but more steaming blood was filling his mouth, and he could only cough, shattered ribs turning his coughs into a symphony of pain. 

“Your liege lord, yes. Yet you’d try to take the Crown for yourself, and use it against me.”

“I would have-- gifted it to you--”

A roar, and Raphael knew the lie had been a mistake.

“You think you can lie to me? To the father of lies?”

The grip around his mangled leg was gone and he fell, down toward Mephistopheles' maw, towards teeth as long as his arm and made to crush, to annihilate. He tried to slow his fall, to teleport somewhere else - anywhere else - but his powers eluded him, and the only thing to stop his fall was Mephistopheles himself. With a laugh, he caught him with a hand around the waist mere inches from his teeth. He clenched his fist, snapping his spine and crushing something that may have been vital, once, when it was working. Raphael could barely let out a strangled noise.

“I will devour you, and you deserve nothing less. But I will not make it this quick, for your treachery and for the shame you brought to my court. My blood, bested by mortals!”

Raphael instinctively grasped the hand clenched around him; his claws wouldn't even break his sire’s skin. He still tried to pry that grip open, blinking blood away to meet the rubies of malice that were Mephistopheles’ eyes.

“Father,” he choked out. “Please.”

A laugh, low and rumbling. “How he begs, the halfbreed. Sweeter words than any of the tripe you ever uttered. Let me hear more,” he said, and tore off the other wing.

***

“You know, love, just once I’d like to see you not stopping to read every single book we find in every single crate abandoned in the middle of the woods. Or… to open every single crate we find abandoned in caves in the middle of the woods, come to think of it. All these crates have no business being in caves in the middle of the woods. That’s how a mimic is going to get you someday.”

Astarion’s long-suffering sigh made Durge - a silly placeholder name Gale had come up with in jest at the campfire a while ago, yet it had grown on them - smile faintly, but they did not look up from the book. It looked old, pretty close to crumbling to dust, but they could tell the cover had been quite elaborate once. Squinting in the light of the torch, they could barely make out the worn-out title. 

Mother of Flames, it read. Interesting. Something about dragonborns, perhaps?

“It’s a good thing, then,” they muttered, opening the book, “that my immortal lover is here to protect me from mimics with his amazing perception.”

“Mph. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“... Since when?”

“Well, fine, it is absolutely working. Don’t get too smug about it.”

“When do I ever,” Durge replied, smugly. Considering that they had defeated a Netherbrain only a few short months earlier, they felt they had gained themself the right to be smug. 

“You’re worse than Gale, both with books and the absolutely unwarranted smugness. See if I let you in my bedroll today,” Astarion muttered, but it was an empty threat and they both knew it. Even when absolutely nothing beyond mutual holding happened, Astarion had grown to enjoy the almost feverish warmth of the dragonborn’s skin against his. “Anyway, this place is as damp as it gets. If we’re to camp here for the day, I’ll get a fire started.”

Outside the cave, dawn was breaking. As they could only travel at night, Durge often took advantage of it to stand a little in the sun before retreating back to camp with Astarion, but this time they were too taken by the book - which was not at all about dragonborns after all. It was rather short, chronicling the life of a minor human lord in the last days of the Calimshan empire. But the man’s name had been lost to history - and soon enough, the focus shifted on his wife.

… As the collapsing empire was torn in city states following the Year of Clutching Dusk, the Tethyrian clan went to war to claim its independence, and the lord lent his sword. Alone in their small fort, his wife was tormented by visions of her husband’s violent demise in war, one dream of blood after the other. Driven half-mad with terror, desperate to avert this fate, she turned to occult means and soon enough, she summoned not just any devil, but an archdevil.

Durge lifted a scaly eyebrow, and turned a yellowed page as delicately as they could manage. They could already tell this tale was going to be a sorry one; nothing good ever came from dealing with devils, after all - with archdevils least of all. 

They were not wrong. 

The archdevil promised the woman he’d ensure her husband would survive the war and return home unscathed - ‘But,’ he told her, ‘your firstborn child will be mine.’

The desperation of faithful love, the human folly of believing you can outwit a devil! The unfortunate woman signed the deal believing it would be null and void; for her husband was past his prime, and believed to be barren, as both his doomed first marriage and their own union had been childless.

She signed her name, lost to the ages, thinking there would never be any firstborn to give, and she was lost. For what the archdevil’s careful wording hid was the true nature of his demand: that he beget his spawn on her. Bound by contract, fearful for her husband’s life, she could not avert that fate.

Ah, of course. Very archdevil, that. The distinct feeling that the story would end in tragedy was now a certainty: no human woman ever survived the birth of a cambion… and this tale was no exception.

On the very same day the lord returned unscathed from war, the devilish spawn came forth into our world in blood and flames. The unfortunate man returned to a dying wife and a horned monstrosity shrieking on the charred, bloody mattress. He drew his blade to kill it, but his wife stayed his hand with the last of her strength. Whether it was for fear of what may become of him should he harm the child of an archdevil, or out of misplaced affection for her ill-begotten offspring, no one knows. All that is known is that she died shortly thereafter, leaving a broken body in the arms of a broken man.

Both their names have been forgotten, but she would be remembered for a time in Tethyr as the Mother of Flames. As for the devil’s spawn, what became of it is also lost to time. Some said it was killed, or locked away in a dungeon, or sent someplace far away; others yet believe his most unholy father came to claim it when it came of age, and took it to the Hells with him. Perhaps only the archdevil who sired the creature knows whether any of these claims are true, or if the entire sorry tale is nothing but legend, seeping into ancient Tethyrian history.

“... There was a depressing ending, right? You get that look when it’s a depressing ending.”

Durge looked up to see the camp was pretty much ready, the fire crackling and food out, along with a bottle of blood for Astarion. Only one bedroll out, incidentally. They nodded, putting the book away. “Quite. Thank you for setting camp - I’ll dismantle it come evening.”

A grin. “Oh, I hope you’ll do a lot more than dismantle the camp,” Astarion said, all smoothness and charm, the bottle of blood already in hand; Durge mentally estimated that the odds of Astarion actually falling asleep on them the second they were in the bedroll were in the vicinity of eight out of ten. 

Of course, they were correct.

Once they were settled, Astarion asleep against their chest, Durge spent some time looking into the fire. Perhaps the book had affected more than they thought, because soon enough they were thinking back of their brief visit to Avernus, in the House of Hope… and about Raphael. 

He was a devil who played games with mortal souls, so it wasn’t like Durge was particularly pained by the way things had turned out. On the other hand, he had dealt with them as fairly as a devil could be expected to, and they did steal from his home. It could not be helped - only a fool would have let him have the Crown for himself - but it was not something Durge had enjoyed, either. That Raphael would not appreciate being double-crossed was a given. It just had to be done.

They’d thought they had killed him then, in the House of Hope. Later, when they’d seen him in the Orb of Infernal Envisioning - broken and bloody, dangling above the maw of Mephistopheles - they’d assumed the archdevil would finish him any moment, and averted their gaze. 

Except that when they returned a week later, to buy supplies before they set off with Astarion for what he’d dubbed with some pomp their ‘quest for daylight’, they had looked again... and they had seen the same thing. Raphael, reduced to a broken and bloody mess, dangling above Mephistopheles’ maw like not a moment had passed. They’d asked Helsik whether the orb showed current events, the past, or the future; she had looked back and shrugged.

“The Orb shows you what is fitting for you to see,” she had said, and that was that. 

And that, Love, was that. 

The rhyme Raphael had been so fond of surfaced from the back of Durge’s mind just as they were about to fall asleep. But they were tired, Astarion’s body against them a pleasant weight, and sleep claimed them before they could spare the devil another thought.

They used to be scared of falling asleep, but not anymore. With the Urge gone, their dreams were no longer of blood and guts and screams. Nothing more than the occasional nightmare, either way, and no nightmare would come that night. When they fell asleep now, they did not dream of blood. 

But they did dream of fire.

***

Raphael did not know how long he’d been there. 

Time in Cania flew at Mephistopheles’ pleasure, and his pleasure was a fickle thing. It could have been days, or months, or years since he’d awakened in his father’s grip. He did not know. All he knew was that sooner or later, the game would end and so would he. At this point, many would think it a mercy.

After tearing off his wings, he’d snapped his horns like twigs between thumb and forefinger. Something else had been torn from him, something intangible and yet fundamental, leaving behind only his weakened human form. A form that was now in only scraps of clothing and kneeling in a cell, shackled to the ceiling, a scold's bridle strapped to his head holding a spike through his tongue. His last weapon, made silent.

The wardens outside his cell were, however, far from silent. 

“Lord Mephistopheles is going to devour him at last, I hear.”

“Tonight?”

“-- at the feast, as an example--”

“-- can’t wait--”

“-- cambion like us, but he thought he was all that--”

Down came the claw, Raphael enough, and he could have laughed if not for the pain any movement brought him. He dropped his head instead, listening to the fading voice of wardens and the clinking of his own chains. It spoke volumes of how powerless he was now, that no magic was required to keep him shackled: only old, rusted chains. One last insult before the grand finale, and not the kind of finale he’d envisioned.

Here in Mephistar, he was the mouse who’d thought he could outfox the cat.

When the door of his cell opened, he didn’t look up at first. He only closed his eyes and wondered if he’d be able to hold it together when the moment came - if he could at least go to his destruction with some remnants of dignity intact. It took him a few moments to realize something was not quite right, that the steps did not sound like those of a warden. They were too light, too careful, too secretive. He blinked his eyes open when someone grasped his chin and tilted his face up. 

It was indeed not a warden. Before him was a human woman with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a nose that had clearly been broken and healed badly. Either someone was playing an odd trick on him, or this was one of his lord father’s Eternal Debtors. 

“I need you to listen. There isn’t much time,” the woman said, paying no mind to his obvious confusion. “Are you listening? Do you understand me?”

Too taken aback to protest at being spoken to in such a way by anyone’s Eternal Debtor - and held back from doing so by the inconvenient spike through his tongue either way - Raphael found himself nodding. The woman let go of his chin, and quickly put something at one of his fingers. Raphael turned to see a small unassuming ring shimmer for a moment around his finger before becoming invisible - but it was still there. He could still feel the cool metal band even though his hands had gone mostly numb, the cuffs biting deep into his wrists. 

“There is some power in this ring. Not much, but just enough. When you use it, it will allow you to switch places with somebody who’s wearing the matching one. Don’t use it now. Listen to me,” the Eternal Debtor added, and crouched in front of him. Dark brown eyes found his own, and held. “Mephistopheles cannot know you escaped until you’re well away from Mephistar. He and his entire court must think he devoured you, so you need to use this ring at the right moment, as you fall into his maw. He will devour someone all right, and will think it’s you. It’s the only way out of here. Am I clear?”

Raphael had no idea what in the nine Hells was going on, and he was too savvy not to guess that if someone was truly looking to save him, there would be a debt for him to repay afterwards. Nobody - not in Cania, not in Avernus, not in any of the Hells - would simply help someone without gaining something else in exchange. Who would want him alive, and out of there? What had they promised this Eternal Debtor, and what would they expect of him?

Vexing questions, but as had been the case with the many mortals who had taken his deals, the prospect of salvation was too enticing to pause too long and consider other consequences. He really did not like that reversal of roles, but he found the prospect of being devoured by Mephistopheles even less alluring. If he survived it, he could find a way to make things work out in his favor. If he was devoured… well, his story would end there with a less than impressive final act. 

The freedom of choosing the only option left. 

He used that line often. Ironic. He’d never hated irony more.

Unable to voice any of his thoughts, Raphael looked back at the human and nodded. She stared back at him in silence for a few moments, almost as if looking for something on his face , but it didn’t last long. She finally pulled back, and stood. 

“Use it too soon, and they’ll notice the trick. Wait too long, and you’re as good as dead. No pressure, but you absolutely must get the timing right.”

Raphael glared, hoping to convey his thoughts - tell me something I don’t know - through his eyes alone, but she was already turning to the door of the cell. She checked to ensure the route was clear, looked back at him one last time and then she was gone, closing the door quietly behind her. She left him with far more questions than answers, and the first sliver of hope he’d had since he’d been taken down in his own house.

***

“Hope you don’t mind traveling at night too much, Halsin.”

“Oh, not at all. Nature shows a particular side of its beauty at night. Softer, more--”

“Gods, is there a way to shut you up about nature for five minutes?”

“There is indeed a way to shut me up about anything for more than five minutes, Astarion. You know it very well. Made use of it, even.”

“I’d threaten to do it again, if I didn’t know you’d love it.”

“How could I not? Nature made your body into a masterpiece.”

“... You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

As much as Durge had missed traveling with all their companions - what a surprise it had been, getting to see all of them again the previous night! - they found they’d particularly missed Halsin’s company. Accepting his invitation to accompany him back at the Last Light Inn, to see the cursed lands healed, had taken no thought at all. When those two were not bickering, and when all three of them were not making extensive use of their bedrolls, they talked about their other companions and how well they were doing for themselves. 

Durge had little doubt that Gale would do well once the orb was out of his chest, or that Shadowheart would be perfectly capable of looking after herself as she began her journey to learn, once again, who she was meant to be. They were not surprised, either, to know Lae’zel was leading the githyanki to battle against the lich queen as fiercely as ever. 

But Wyll and Karlach… they were a surprise, and the most pleasant one they could imagine. Durge had hoped they would do all right together, even in Avernus, but not knowing it for sure ate at them sometimes. Seeing them whole and well, and even hopeful they could find a way to fix Karlach’s heart to the point she could leave Avernus again - and permanently - had relieved them beyond words.

If there was indeed a way for that heart to be fixed, they were certain they’d find it, as they were certain that whatever devil Mizora wanted Wyll to kill wouldn’t be a challenge. And if it was… well, Durge would be more than happy to lend a hand.

They had killed a devil once before already, anyway.

***

When wardens took Raphael to his father’s grand hall that evening, they didn’t bother to keep him in chains. He was weak, stuck in his human form, and powerless; his legs and spine were broken, as were several of his ribs, and he suspected at least one lung had been punctured.

The chains would give at least the semblance of a devil who could yet put up a fight, be any sort of threat, and his esteemed father clearly saw fit not to give him even that. Let him be dragged, broken and helpless, the rags still clinging to his frame doing nothing to hide his wounds. The only thing they left on was the scold’s bridle, the spike through his tongue. At least his words, Raphael told himself with something close enough to real conviction, were something Mephistopheles feared enough to keep at bay.

The hall was crowded, celebrations loud as always, but the crowd fell silent the instant Raphael was pushed onto the floor, before the pit where his father stood, ever looming and shrouded in flames. Rumbling laughter, and the massive hand was around him again, holding, squeezing, turning his ribs into shards of agony as it lifted him up in the air. An example for all to see. 

“Behold,” archdevil Mephistopheles announced to gales of laughter, “Raphael, the cambion who thought he’d rule the Hells.”

Unable to breathe, knowing full well that he may break if he allowed himself to look down at the jeering faces or at his own father’s eyes, Raphael closed his eyes against the pain and waited. He focused, he had to focus. Not a moment too soon, and not a moment too late. It was his only chance to survive, given that the ring did what it was supposed to.

It may as well have been a jab at his expenses, a worthless trinket to make him think he could save himself after all, get his hopes up for nothing. It was something he may appreciate, and quite a lot, when not done at his expenses.

“All you ever had I gave you, ungrateful wretch, and yet you wanted what is mine,” Mephistopheles thundered. Like wanting more was not at the core of every devil, like hungering for anything beyond their reach was not in their very nature, including his own. Like he, in his place, would not have done the same, coveted the same things. “A waste of my seed if there ever was one. I shall waste no more words on you. Let everyone see what becomes of those who set their sights too high.”

Raphael was lifted up in the air, and he finally opened his eyes. Beneath him, his father’s maw opened up like an abyss, all jagged teeth and churning flame. His hand opened, and Raphael fell. Through the sheer terror of it all, he forced his mind to keep working.

Wait. Wait. Wait. 

He almost waited too long, and landed on Mephistopheles’ tongue with a groan, every broken bone in his body crying out in protest. Still, he forced himself to move; a mere instant before the teeth snapped shut above him, he lifted up his hand. The ring shimmered and that, Love, was that. 

***

“Ah, here you are, my little brat. I’m almost happy to see you. Your unfortunate replacement was getting so very tedious, I couldn’t have kept entertaining him for much longer. He was getting really stupid ideas about the ring I gave him.”

Raphael was almost adorable, really, looking up at them with wide eyes from the middle of Haarlep’s bed. A very large bed, which had seen plenty of use since their return to Cania following Raphael’s downfall. Very often while Haarlep wore Raphael’s likeness, as they were doing right now. Come to think of it, he’d probably felt that, in whatever dungeon he’d been in. 

Ah well. At least it must have been a pleasant distraction from… everything else, really. 

“Not that I wouldn’t love to indulge you, but we have little time as is,” Haarlep spoke again, and reached to undo the straps of the scold’s bridle around Raphael’s head. They pulled it away as gently as they could manage, but removing a spike from one’s tongue had to be rather painful, going by the groan that left Raphael. 

And by the mouthful of blood he promptly spat on Haarleps nice sheets. Pretty rude, that, but nothing that couldn’t be cleaned up once they got Raphael out of there. Sooner rather than later.

“Haarlep,” Raphael rasped. It was likely the first thing he was able to say in months, and Haarlep couldn’t say they weren’t flattered. Or maybe he’d just said ‘help’. Hard to tell, with a hole in his tongue and all the blood in his mouth. “What-- where--?”

“Still in Mephistar, but not for long. Be a darling and sleep, why don’t you? You’ll make everything soooo much easier,” Haarlep replied, and pressed a hand over Raphael’s eyes. He tensed, but only for a moment: it took that short a time to make him fall into a slumber. He didn’t look peaceful in it, not the way he would after sharing a bed with them in less pressing circumstances, but it would have to do.

“Did it work? Is he here?”

Ah, that voice. Haarlep turned, and nodded at the human - an Eternal Debtor, one of the many - standing in the doorway. “It went without a single hitch, I’d say. Don’t you want to come in and say goodbye? After all, it’s been a while since you last--”

“I was in this to spite Mephistopheles, not out of any concern for him,” she cut him off. “Just get him out of the Hells and leave him someplace he may find a healer. I have done enough.”

“Fine, fine. If he wakes, should I tell him--”

“No. Not one word,” she snapped, and was gone before Haarlep could say anything. Ah, those bursts of temper. Highly unusual from an Eternal Debtor, yet so annoyingly familiar.

The incubus shrugged, and looked down at Raphael. The tatters that had once been his clothes would do nothing to protect him from the biting cold outside Mephistopheles’ palace, so they resorted to taking the sheets from their bed and wrapping them around him. Once satisfied his former master wouldn’t be turned into an icicle the moment they were outside, Haarlep picked him up - a hiss of pain, but he did not awaken - before walking to the window. 

Across the windswept courtyard, there was a window that should have been left unlatched specifically for them. It led, Haarlep knew, to the room holding Mephistopheles’ outer portals. From there, they just had to pick one to get Raphael in the material plane. From that moment on his survival would be up to him, and to whatever mortals he encountered. 

It wasn’t much, but it gave him better odds than going down the gullet of an archdevil at least.

Haarlep opened the window, adjusted their grip on Raphael’s body, and took flight.

***

[On to Chapter 2]

[aunteat]

Armand/Riccardo • T • Words: 1,000 • for @vcmicroficmay

He heard the patter of rats’ feet, the scraping of their teeth against the rotting bodies just beyond the cell bars. They were crawling over him, his Riccardo...

He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled to his other side. He could bear the sound and the rancid smell but not the sight of him. Let the vermin devour him if only to spare him the sight.

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Maggots, 1986 (details) Cover art by Terry Oakes

[feastonkings]

【 keiynan lonsdale //. non-binary //. they/them 】 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… SEBASTIAN ‘BASH’ OWENS into The Hub. You are registered to be TWENTY-SEVEN and have been given citizenship for FIFTEEN YEARS under the Expatriate Act. According to the data compiled, your most notable qualities seem to be WITTY & ANTAGONISTIC. Please confirm that you are CHAOTIC NEUTRAL. From what we’ve gathered your place of employ is currently for the MARA as a DEALER. We strongly advise that you provide the correct information pertaining to your background to ensure proper safety precautions: are you a _HOST_ or _HUMAN_? A deeper dive into our archive suggests that you are ALWAYS TRYING TO FIND WAYS TO GET UNDERNEATH SOMEONE’S SKIN, POPPING OUT OF DARK CORNERS TO MAKE TRANSACTIONS, ALWAYS ON THE MOVE, BOHEMIAN STYLE CLOTHING UNIRONICALLY. Though we noticed you, too, are similar to JESPER FEHEY (SHADOW & BONE), JESSE PINKMAN (BREAKING BAD), JJ MAYBANK (OUTER BANKS), BENDER BENDING RODRIGUEZ (FUTURAMA), . ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ᴠᴇʀɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! Please comply to all regulations and laws. It is our hope that you enjoy your stay.

GENERAL.

full name: sebastian ashley owens

nicknames: bash, zebby, baz

birthplace: sunshine coast, queensland, australia

gender / pronouns: non-binary, they/them

age / birthday: twenty-seven, dec 2nd

orientation: pansexual

occupation: dealer, being a pain in the ass

affiliation: mara, dealer

family: charlotte owens ( mother, deceased ), lachlan owens ( father, deceased ), lux hernandez ( found family, alive )

strengths: funny, clever, adaptable, playful, adventurous

weaknesses: reckless, needy, impulsive, rebellious, obnoxious

character inspo: jj maybank (outer banks), jesper fahey (shadow & bone), jesse pinkman (breaking bad), flynn rider (tangled), bender bending rodriguez (futurama), pamela poovey (archer)

pinterest.

playlist.

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: death, drugs, violence

born in austrailia the only child ( not for lack of their parents trying ) to loving parents. most of their younger years were spent outside as much as possible. their mother constantly trying to wear them out. bash doesn't remember much of it, but they do remember being happy then despite how long ago it feels now. at twelve years old their parents were granted entry to japan, little did they know this would be the beginning to their end.

bash doesn't know if their parents had links to the criminal world or they were just caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. either way, bash returned from school one day to find both of their parent's bodies lifeless amidst a gruesome scene. law enforcement didn't do anything, at least that's how bash felt. then again, they didn't stick around very long to find out if there were any further leads. instead they opted to slip into the darkness of the city, rather than be placed in government care. it was cold there and for the first time in their life, they were alone.

it took awhile for the fifteen year old to adapt and learn. bash had always been swayed more to delinquent behavior. on fact their mother used to say they were ninety percent mischief and ten percent sunshine. stealing food, clothes, and pickpocketing anything valuable to pawn off later in hopes of getting a room somewhere out of the cold. eventually they got better, great in fact. on top of that, they'd started to make a network which ( even if the acquaintance didn't last ) gave them a steady couch and bed surfing rotation leaving less time sleeping on concrete and keeping one eye open. ultimately, they learned how to survive.

it was on the night they failed to survive that their life flipped on its axis and they found light in the darkest of places. bash ripped off the wrong person, a yakuza who immediately sent people after them to teach them a lesson. bash received the beating of their life ( no really, they almost died! ) and was left to be devoured by the hungry vermin they shared the street with. that's when that light showed up. lux took pity on them for whatever reason and helped them to a place that could replace ruptured organs and the arm hanging on by a thread. they got them in with mara as a dealer and wouldn't you know it? they were damn good at it. who knew they had so much knowledge about substances locked away in their head? certainly not bash and they were good at moving product, only getting better over time.

they still live life recklessly on the edge, not looking to move from their position ( even in the worst of times like when lux got locked up ). all they want to do is have a good time, never slow down long enough to think, and shake things up.

QUICK CONNECTIONS.

clients and regulars that buy from them ( they prioritize their best clients to the top of their list )

people trying to mess with mara

casual encounters, friends with benefits, hateships

party friends, club regulars, squad

chaos twin

rivals either in the gang or not

more found family, street kids they knew back in the day

people they annoy or hates them because they're insufferable to them

HEADCANONS.

bash is a cuddler and shows affection through touch. will drape their six foot frame over someone and curl up in their lap like a giant cat for a quick nap.

doesn't like to sleep alone ( and still has no home of their own technically ) instead they store stuff with the people they trust and continue to sleep on couches, in beds with people ( platonic or not ), or at parties. they prefer to go to bed with someone close by or wrapped up in at least one person.

more to come.

[ask-the-praetors]

Elesh Norn, do you have to deal with the annoyance of flies trying to devour your flesh since your skin is all flayed off and the sticky-sweet meat below is exposed for all to see, radiating the aroma of crimson blood and glistening oil?

"Meat"? "Blood"? How disgusting. The tissue that covers my faithful is not mere meat. Some of it may once have been organic tissue, but it has since been processed and indeed blessed too thoroughly to keep the taint of fleshiness. When flying vermin are drawn to Phyrexians it is not for the smell of our bodies but to bring back our oil to their spying masters--like the syphoners sent by faithless rats like Sheoldred.

-E

[redrocketpanda]

You’re kind of disgusting, saying a man who’s been tortured needs to continue to be punished for your sexual gratification.

Get some damn therapy.

Good morning ✨️

I'm actually just about to graduate from therapy w/top marks. Given your so interested in my therapy, you might find it useful to know that I've actually discussed my Astarion content in therapy not too long ago. My therapist (who is an expert in GSD as well as kink/sex work/etc) actually highly approves of my content 💖

You might like to read my previous post on Astarion, sexual violence, & survival narratives. But either way, your policing of what is "acceptable" and "not acceptable" content is not appreciated. Seeing as you like giving out advice, here's some for you: how about you go and learn something about the intersections of kink & sexual violence

And on a slightly related tangent, I'm sorry but the Astarion fan base needs to WAKE THE FUCK UP

This man actively wants/wanted to become a vampire ascendant, knowing it would devour the souls of thousands of people who had suffered at the hands of Cazador, just as Astarion himself had suffered. He talks about how the vermin of the earth (people) are here to serve him, he approves of slavery & torture (as long as its not happening to him), and is an all around pretty nasty guy. Like yes yes, you can rehabilitate him but the core of Astarion's design is that he's actually not a "nice" person

As a further side note (not that it should matter) but my tav is evil aligned. She is just as bad & cruel as Astarion, and that's why their relationship is so compelling to me. They are horrendous little people in a relationship with one another & it's about the power dynamics between them. When I post certain Astarion content, I do so in the vein of Vico/Astarion. One day, when I do my good playthrough, I'll switch to making different Asation content. Either way - all my content is valid and acceptable, and some little anon on the Internet isn't gonna make me feel differently about that

But yes. Let's continue to treat a FICTIONAL CHARACTER like he's a dainty fragile little victim who needs protection, whilst attacking real people (and real survivors) on the Internet. Got ya priorities well worked out there pal

[wifeglor]

21 for BIG MELKOR if there’s anything we are yet to know…

love you for this one for real. OK, since you said you meant the DVD commentary question, here are some additional thoughts (bite thy wings and let thee crawl, Melkor/Maglor)

First, I really just want to share all the passages from Lay of Leithian that I'd copied into my notes doc (beyond the bit I included and took the title from), because. Big Melkor canon...

Then Morgoth came. For the last time     in those great wars he dared to climb      from subterranean throne profound,      the rumour of his feet a sound      of rumbling earthquake underground.     (25) Black-armoured, towering, iron-crowned      he issued forth; his mighty shield      a vast unblazoned sable field      with shadow like a thundercloud;      and o'er the gleaming king it bowed

and

Heard ye not then of that pretty fay, of Lúthien? Her body is fair, very light and fair. (210) Morgoth would possess her in his lair. Boldog he sent, but Boldog was slain: strange ye were not in Bolgod's train.

Fierce is your chief, his frown is grim. Little Lúthien… what troubles him? (215) Why laughs he not to think of his lord crushing a maiden in his hoard, that foul should be what once was clean, that dark should be where light has been?

Whom do ye serve, Light or Mirk? (220) Who is the maker of mightiest work? Who is the king of earthly kings, the greatest giver of gold and rings? Who is the master of the wide earth? Who despoiled them of their mirth, (225) the vain Valar? Repeat your vows, Orcs of Bauglir! Do not bend your brows. Death to light, to law, to love; cursed be moon and stars above; may darkness everlasting old (230) that waits outside in surges cold drown Manwë, Varda and the sun; may all is hatred be begun and all in evil ended be in the moaning of the endless Sea!' (235)

and

Into the vast and echoing gloom more dread than many-tunnelled tomb in labyrinthine pyramid where everlasting death is hid, down awful corridors that wind (5) down to a menace dark enshrined; down to the mountain's roots profound, devoured, tormented, bored and ground by seething vermin spawned of stone; down to the depths they went alone. (10)

and

Slow-wheeling o'er his iron crown, reluctantly, shivering and small, (95) Beren there saw the shadow fall, and droop before the hideous throne, a weak and trembling thing, alone. And as thereon great Morgoth bent his darkling gaze, he shuddering went, (100) belly to earth, the cold sweat dank upon his fell, and crawling shrank beneath the darkness of that seat, beneath the shadow of those feet.

and

Yet welcome, welcome to my hall! I have a use for every thrall.

and

A pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful gardens many a flower (190) like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. But here we seldom find such sweet amid our labours long and hard, (195) from godlike idleness debarred. And who would not taste the honey-sweet lying to lips, or crush with feet the soft cool tissue of pale flowers, easing like gods the dragging hours?

and

Then flaring suddenly they fell, down, down upon the floors of hell. The dark and mighty head was bowed; (275) like mountain-top beneath a cloud the shoulders foundered, the vast form crashed, as in overwhelming storm huge cliffs in ruin slide and fall; and prone lay Morgoth in his hall. (280) His crown there rolled upon the ground, a wheel of thunder; then all sound died, and a silence grew as deep as were the heart of Earth asleep.

Like did I even have to write this fic?? Tolkien wrote it first...

This is most of what I have to say that I haven't said before, aside from that I love to see people in the tags of @aquaregiaart's beautiful art losing their minds in the exact same way I did when I first saw an earlier version of it and felt possessed by a demon with the urge to tell some more of that story!! 😌

One other thing on my mind when writing beyond horny was Melkor's voice, I guess. I really wanted his lines to "sound" resonant as though they came from a position of power, and "read aloud" well, and I tried to pay attention to that when I was editing, taking out some of the hedging and other words I had in there as options at first (at least one "I think" got cut at that stage... Just picture me like staring at 2 very similar options like it's the dress meme, muttering to myself "Would Melkor say this? I don't fucking know..."). I haven't spend a ton of time thinking of Melkor as a character (I've only written him a little bit before, in the backdrop of Finrod/Sauron AU) and I really wanted him to come across as scary and brutal/unflinching but also keep some sort of undertone suggesting that At One Point, he was or could be a seducer figure as well. Also, revisiting these Lay of Leithian portions with him was inspiring in terms of writing & keeping in some of his dialogue in the fic, because he DOES have a villainous glee in Lay of Leithian, a bitter, proud sort of "positioning" against the Valar, and he likes to hear himself talk. After reading that, I felt a lot more empowered to write him talking some more!! Thank you so much for your Big Melkor support all through working on this, it makes my heart grow to Big Melkor sizes ❤️❤️❤️

[peruvian-flute-band]

I hc that King Hippo likes death metal but he doesn't understand it, he just thinks it's nice

he probably doesn't tell anyone either since nobody ever really asks him about music

he thinks Disco's music is nice, but death metal is nice too

Aran may be the only one that knows about all of this because he heard it from another room and walked in to see Hippo listening to "Devoured by Vermin" by Cannibal Corpse

(this just came to mind and I suck at writing but we need more Hippo headcanons 😭)

[disease]

SCAPHISM

Scaphism (from Greek σκάφη, meaning ‘boat’) also known as the boats, is an alleged ancient Persian method of execution mentioned by Plutarch in his Life of Artaxerxes. It ostensibly entailed trapping the victim between two boats, feeding and covering them with milk and honey, and allowing them to fester and be devoured by insects and other vermin over time. [wikipedia]

[silver-tooth-the-panther]

Id just like to say that I love all of your demon slayer stories,it's so rare to have good stories about this,especially with a demon...so good job !👏

If it's not a bother could I request a demon slayer douma soft vore story with a reader who just wants to die(he can't feel pain, everyone hates and fears her,they often throw rocks at him and lure him into traps,(that's where douma comes in) and asks douma to kill him to put him out of his misery)

Idc if hes a demon or not,his name is Mashiro,known as Shiro,he has Long black hair and ice blue eyes,quite skinny and looks like he hasn't eaten in a while,very shy and quiet,but polite.

Id appreciate it if you did,but you don't need to,just a question...

(AAAaaHHHhhhh thank you!! I’m so glad that you love my stories! And yeah finding good demon slayer vore is really hard so I’m glad that I can supply it! I’m planning on writing a Rengoku x Giyuu vore fic from my AU so keep an eye out for that! Anyways, enjoy your fic!$

Bunny in a Snare

(A Douma Soft Vore Fanfic)

Warnings: abuse, suicidal thoughts and requests, and comfort vore

It happened again. Cruelty had chosen Mashiro once more as he was tightly constricted by a net made of wire. The wire dug into his skin, but he couldn’t care less. Mashiro couldn’t feel pain, not anymore.

Everyone acted like Mashiro was nothing more than vermin and they constantly tortured him. Whether it be by throwing rocks at him or getting him snared in a trap much like this one.

He wasn’t exactly sure why they treated him this way. Maybe it was because of his long black hair and beautiful blue eyes that made him look like a girl or maybe it was because of his family’s history as thieves. No matter the reason, the people of his village treated him like a pest.

Mashiro laid still so the wires wouldn’t cut further into him. His stomach growled as he lay there. He wanted to end it all. Mashiro had no reason to live and no one to live for.

“Oh? What’s this?” Someone said curiously. A large shadow loomed over Mashiro. He looked up to see a pale muscular man with platinum blonde hair and rainbow eyes.

“A little bunny caught in a snare? Now this is quite the surprise.” The man smiled as he looked down at Mashiro. He saw the fangs that the man had. The man was a demon!

“Who..are you?” Mashiro winced as the wires tightened against his body. “I’m Douma, darling.” The man said with a grin. “Here, let me help you get out of that snare.”

Douma raised his hand, revealing his sharp blue claws. He then sliced through the wire net as if it was made out of paper. “There we are. Now, what’s your name, little bunny?” The demon walked up to the boy and sat down next to him.

“I’m Mashiro, but some people call me Shiro..and thank you.” Douma gave Mashiro a pleasant smile. “It wasn’t a problem. Human life is too precious to waste.” Douma sat there next to the injured boy, waiting for him to leave.

However, Mashiro didn’t move. He hoped that the demon would devour him so that his suffering would end. “Why aren’t you fleeing, little bunny? I set you free and it looks like you need some food.” Douma asked, confused.

“Please..I can’t stand my life anymore..I know that I’ll get trapped again..so please just kill me.” Mashiro whispered as tears streamed down his face. Douma tilted his head and gently picked up the frail boy.

It was clear that Mashiro hadn't eaten much. He was incredibly skinny and light. “There’s no need for that. I’m sure that there are others who care about you. Like your family or friends.” Mashiro shook his head. “No..I have no one.”

Douma frowned as he put a hand to his chin, thinking. He didn’t eat many males, but there was no way that this boy could survive on his own. It would be cruel to leave him alone. Then an idea popped into his mind.

“Your wish is my command.” Douma gently picked up Mashiro. Mashiro closed his eyes as he awaited his fate. Douma opened his maw and carefully put Mashiro inside.

Mashiro felt the warmth of Douma’s maw and sighed. At least, he would die soon. Douma tilted his head back and started to swallow the boy. His fangs brushed softly against the boy’s kimono.

The demon’s throat was a warm, plush tunnel that guided Mashiro into the demon’s belly. Mashiro was confused why Douma decided to swallow him whole instead of ripping his flesh apart, but he guessed that being chewed would be incredibly painful.

Douma was quick to finish swallowing the boy. He could feel Mashiro entering his belly and he gently rested a hand on his stomach. Douma’s stomach felt like a soft, protective blanket that wrapped around Mashiro and kept him warm.

Mashiro opened his eyes and looked around him. Douma’s tummy was dark, yet comforting. The soft sounds of the demon’s heartbeat and belly were incredibly soothing. Mashiro had never felt so comfortable.

“Thank..you.” Mashiro said as he let his body rest against the soft walls. “You’re welcome, little bunny.” Douma’s voice was muffled by the walls of flesh that surrounded Mashiro. Douma took a deep breath before continuing. “I..I’m not going to digest you.”

“You’re not?” Mashiro was confused. He thought that demons would jump at the chance of a free meal, so this was strange. “Why not?” Mashiro’s voice was quiet and soft.

“I may be a demon, but I’m not a rabid beast and besides, that would be cruel to kill somebody as unfortunate as you. Especially when I could take care of you.” Douma purred as he gently rubbed his belly.

“Oh, you..would do that for me?” For the first time in his life, hope could be found in Mashiro’s voice. “Of course, little bunny. As I said before, human life is too precious to waste.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” A soft smile appeared on Mashiro’s face as he snuggled into the soft walls of Douma’s tummy. “You’re very welcome.” Douma chuckled.

The soft movements and sounds of Douma’s belly were gentle and soothing. Mashiro yawned as he curled up inside the demon’s tummy. “Are you tired, little bunny?” Douma asked softly.

“Yeah..” Mashiro said weakly. He was having trouble fighting the urge to sleep. Douma noticed this and chuckled. “No need to worry. Go to sleep, little bunny. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Thank you.” Those words left Mashiro’s lips as he fell asleep. His body rested inside the demon’s belly. Once Douma felt the boy sleeping, he stood up, held his belly close, and headed back to his home.

Mashiro woke up a few hours later. However, he was in a new and strange place. His icy blue eyes looked around him. Mashiro found himself resting in a cozy bed in a purple room. There was a small table in front of him that had a plate of peaches and strawberries on top of it.

The room didn’t have much in it, but it seemed rather comfortable. There was a red cushion in the back of the room that was surrounded by a few other small cushions and blankets. Sitting on the red cushion was Douma sipping tea.

Once the demon saw Mashiro awake, he instantly put down his tea and crawled towards him. “Good morning, little bunny! Do you sleep well?” Douma’s voice was sweet and playful.

Mashiro nodded as he gave the demon a soft smile. “Thank you. I owe you my life.” Douma hugged Mashiro tightly. “Don’t worry about repaying me. Just eat up and enjoy yourself!”