#drabble;

[valiantroyalty]

Anonymous asked:

Silver x Elsa

Silver Becomes Elsa's Knight

It had been a decision mulled over for months. It was hard to keep it a secret but Lilia was the first to find out, as Silver couldn’t keep anything from his father. After explaining, the older Diasomnia member agreed and sent the younger on his way.

Clad in the uniform representing the fairy the dorm is based on, the knight went in search of the older Arendelle Queen. It wasn’t too hard to find her. Elsa was by the well in the courtyard, deserted aside from various critters.

“Elsa.” Silver announced his presence. He gazed upon the blonde, who turned her attention onto him. There’s surprise before a smile fades it away.

“Silver.. hello,” she greeted quietly. Elsa stood up from her hunched over spot. She’d been thinking of a wish to send to the well, after much talk from a wishing well from Snow White. “You sought me out.. why?” She questioned as she peered over at her boyfriend. Hands clasped in front of her, she waited patiently for an answer. Faint snowflakes clouded her like a veil and sunlike caught the flakes, which only made the Queen more ethereal.

Silver paused. His heart raced. His palms grew sweaty. He soon found his voice. “I have.. a wish.” He answered though the tone betrayed the uncertainty. Before a question could be asked, he continued. He bowed his head first, then he bowed.

“I wish to serve as your knight, Queen Elsa.”

The Queen was taken aback at the request. She was silent a few moments, then she spoke. “What of your commitment to Malleus, Silver? You are sworn to protect him.”

Still bowed, he answered curtly. “Yes, but he still has Sebek at his side, along with fa- I mean, Lilia. Please, allow me to protect you.”

More silence greeted the knight until his ears picked up delicate footsteps. From his bent position, he caught sparkles, sun reflections from the frost and snowflakes that coated the Queen. It’s not until he felt something cold press against the top of his shoulder did he dare to lift his gaze.

And what he saw was a crystallised sword in Elsa’s hand, another demonstration of her ice powers. “On that account.. I accept your offer, Silver. My knight. Now rise.. please.”

[daiyxukai]

𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑺𝑼𝑪𝑯 𝑳𝑶𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑺. Sesshoumaru had never been fond of the weak beings, knowing that sooner or later they would all fade away into nothing. His father had left his mother at one point for a human woman, cultivating a child - a Hanyo. He was angry at one point, angry at Inu no Taisho for leaving behind a perfectly capable partner for someone whom had been deemed lesser. It hadn’t felt right - it wasn’t right, at all. Young Sesshoumaru hadn’t quite understood at the time, that is, until he’d gotten older.

While he did love his mother in his own way, she was also not the best sort of woman to be around at times. She raised him, fed him, clothed him - even trained him after his father left. She was tough, strict to the point that the young demon had often found himself at the end of the demoness’ tirades and beatings. Once he matured, he’d decided to leave behind the home he’d grown up in in favor of a place that he could call his own. In all of this, Sesshoumaru had garnered a reputation for being quite the ruthless demon lord, striking down Yokai and human alike should they have interfered.

This had been his title up until he’d met a young girl; Rin. At first, he’d wanted nothing to do with her though it was clearly plain to see that the young child was suffering at the hands of those of her kind. She was suffering just for being a child. Finding her dead in his path had sparked something within the demon, a desire to bring said child back to life using the sword that had been left for him. This had been his first act of compassion, something Toga had been trying to teach him so long ago and yet, he never could grasp the idea of such word until that very moment. From then on, the young girl had followed the demon lord wherever he went.

It is through Rin that Sesshoumaru learns how to be a bit more accepting of humans, though it’s not much. She’s the only one who has seen passed his guard, though she never pushes, but then; there’s one other that had been much the same as his young charge. His younger half-brother’s miko; Kagome. While loud, young, and quick to temper, the Miko was not one to trifle with at times. Intelligent, does not take any sass from much of anyone - but can also defend herself in a way that needs to be done should it ever have to be. Intriguing, she was. Then there was the taijiya; Sango.

Humans were such odd beings.

Perhaps this was why his younger brother had fit in so well with them, even if he is also part inu demon. Compassion was never something he’d learned, as he’d wanted to be powerful - to be better in every single way. To be more than just Lord of the Western Lands. But this had all changed in part due to Rin, his young charge had opened his eyes to what he’d been denying all this time. There had been no need for such a thing, but perhaps now that would change. Perhaps now, he could show some kindness - in his own way. It would never be outright given, but at least those he’s connected with would be sure to receive it in some form.

They all had the young child he’d saved to thank for his change.

[thescions]

LIGHT THE WAY.

It was likely due to how high emotions ran throughout Ultima Thule, but nearly all of them had completely forgotten about the teleportation devices. The Warrior of Light, however, had not.

"What -- what happened?" G'raha Tia's voice was bewildered and groggy. One moment, they had all been lifted off their feet and hurled into the abyss -- the next, they were on the bridge of Ragnarok, surrounded by all manner of equally bewildered Lopporits.

"The teleportation devices!" Livingway exclaimed. "I can't believe you really had to use them! Although, where is --?"

"They threw it away!" Alisaie sobbed. She had only just managed to push herself up into a sitting position, her eyes red. "I saw them -- they hit the button and, and --!! "

"And made sure we were safe," Alphinaud finished. His tone was bittersweet: shame at being unable to stay with the Warrior of Light to the end, but acceptance of their gesture. After all, hadn't they all made similar sacrifices while in Ultima Thule?

He wanted to stand. He wanted to return to his friend's side, but there was an unspoken truth that all of them knew: the path to the Endsinger's nest was likely no longer accessible. Even if they did make it all the way back there, it would need to be done at a full, constant sprint. None of them were in condition to do any of that.

"Well," Livingway said after a moment, noticing the heavy atmosphere. "It's good to know that the devices worked at all. And... well, our friend is known for felling gods of all kinds already, aren't they? There's not quite any reason to assume the worst. Yet." She glanced at the monitors as if to double-check. Nope. No catasrophe just yet!

Although, as if on cue, the Ragnarok and all of Ultima Thule seemed to tremble and shake. The monitors blared red and alarms went off -- but only for a moment. Still, something had changed, and the Lopporits were suddenly very preoccupied with the ship's systems.

Alisaie bit back a sob, a balled fist slamming into the floor in frustration. Thancred was silent, calculating just how pointless it might be to try and make their way back towards the nest. Estinien was forcing himself to stand, driven by the discomfort of feeling so helpless. G'raha Tia was torn between his faith in the Warrior of Light and his own dreadful anxieties. Urianger was alarmed but trying to place his focus elsewhere, glancing at the others to see if they needed healing themselves. And when Alphinaud looked to Y'shtola, he found the sorceress' brow furrowed in thought, as if trying to rapidly solve yet another riddle of the universe.

Suddenly, she turned to Thancred and Urianger.

"This domain is ruled by dynamis, is it not?" she confirmed.

Thancred perked up, his own mental wheels spinning. Urianger affirmed, "That is correct."

"Louisiox." Thancred leapt ahead in logic, catching up to Y'shtola's conclusion.

"What?" Alisaie looked up. Estinien waited, because he was equally confused. "What about grandfather?"

"Of course!" G'raha Tia leapt in, ready to fill in the gaps for the others. "In a place so where reality is dictated by emotions, our prayers could help them! Like the prayers that helped deliver Eorzea from Bahamut!"

"Well, why didn't you just say that?!" Alisaie demanded. Shaking her head, she sat upright and clapsed her hands together. "If this is all we can do...!"

"Aye," Alphinaud curled his fist and closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears as his comrades did the same. "We'll do everything in our power."

LIGHT THE WAY!

-- After what felt like an agonizing couple of minutes, the silence so tense one could slice through it, there was a shift in the world around them. And then, a voice:

"They felt your words. And so did I."

Thancred reacted first, gunblade drawn despite how he stood on somewhat shaky legs. Meteion, looking apologetic and lighter and brighter in hues of sky blue, did not flinch.

"There is nothing I can do or say to make up for the horrors that my sisters and I have brought upon the world, nor any of you. But take heart in knowing that the Warrior of Light has won, and our song has ended. I have walked a path for them to follow back to you."

Before anyone else could react, she was gone, fading with a soft gigle and wave goodbye.

G'raha Tia reacted first, relief rushing through him as he just barely caught himself from collapsing onto the floor.

"They're safe," he sighed, arms trembling. "Oh thank the Twelve."

"Yes...if Meteion is to be trusted," Y'shtola commented, although she, too, was smiling.

"My thoughts exactly." Estinien had pushed himself up to lean against the wall. "That girl appeared out of thin air. I see no path upon which our friend could walk."

"But they won," Alisaie insisted, relief also drowning her features. "They won -- I can feel it. Can't you?" She looked to Alphinaud, who nodded slowly.

"I do feel a certain weight off my chest has been lifted," he agreed. "For now, let's operate under the information given to us until we have reason to prove otherwise."

Urianger rose.

"If that be the case, then our friend will like want for healing," he stated. "I shall head to the Lopporits' infirmary to retrieve any additional medical supplies that may be needed."

"I'll help," Thancred offered, finally putting his gunblade away. A quick glance exchanged with Estinien communicated his faith in the Dragoon to assist if Meteion suddenly decided to have a change of heart while he was gone.

Y'shtola, in the meantime, was looking around -- trying to seek out what path Meteion may have conjured up for their friend to take. She couldn't see anything, but the world outside of the ship did seem to feel less oppressive...

--

A few minutes passed. Thancred and Urianger returned with the supplies. Livingway and a few other Lopporits excused themselves to check on the rest of the ship, as they presumed they would be returning to Eitheryis regardless. Alphinaud lingered by the windows, trying to discern a difference between Ultima Thule now and how it had been an hour ago.

Nobody spoke for a long time, until finally, Alisaie burst:

"Where are they? Didn't Meteion say they'd be right behind her?" She stood up, hands clenching and unclenching as anxiety wracked her petite form.

"Alisaie..." Alphinaud frowned, trying to reach for her. She shrugged him off.

"I don't want to hear it, Alphinaud! We're all worried! And we're allowed to be!" she snapped. Her anger quickly gave way to tears, which she rubbed away in frustration. "After everything -- after all we did, after all they've done -- why aren't they here?!"

Urianger spoke up. "Mayhap the journey requires one to traverse the length of Ultima Thule," he suggested, although his doubts were clear in his tone. "If that be the case, it may yet be awhile…"

He looked to Y'shtola, as if she could confirm. She merely shook her head. Out of all of them, she appeared to be the most content to wait. Estinien, too, remained quiet and withdrawn. Although, that was more due to his feeling the least included in the Scions, who had been together for far longer than he.

"It won't do any of us good to get worked up," Thancred said in agreement after a moment, placing a comforting hand on Urianger's shoulder briefly. As if he wasn't contemplating grabbing Meteion if she returned once more. As if he wasn't also contemplating heading out into Ultima Thule again himself. "We'll wait. And see."

G'raha Tia, in the meantime, swayed on his feet. He could feel Y'shtola's gaze on his back, watching him -- or perhaps warning him against suddenly collapsing. He wasn't going to, although he did feel clammy and lightheaded. He couldn't possibly make this moment about him when they were all waiting for the Warrior of Light's return.

Still -- They had won. They had won the day, just as they had in the First, so why...?

Where were they?

"Um, Meteion?" he called out suddenly into the nothingness, drawing everyone's attention. "If you're still there, somewhere -- could you possibly tell us how far our friend is away right now?"

He was met with silence, of course. Meteion wasn't there anymore. She wasn't anywhere.

Alisaie let out a scream of frustration, "I can't take this anymore! I'm going out to look for them!"

Alphinaud winced. Part of him wanted to stop her, but then he wondered why. Why wouldn't they go searching? What would be so bad if they tried?

"I'll go with you," he started.

But then there was a flash -- a brief burst of light, and the sound of a body settling against the floor. The Warrior of Light had returned: bruised, bloody, and still. The next few moments erupted into emotional and physical chaos.

But they were back.

[fodlansbestmom]

“How can you bother to drink that stuff?”

“It’s bitter,” Hubert replied after he took a sip of his coffee. A daily drink he consumes. It feels energy, it’s habitual. An eyebrow arched. “Perhaps you should broaden your horizons before you dislike mine.”

Sothis let out a disapproved hum. She had tried coffee in the past but it wasn’t to her liking, even adorned with cream and sugar. The smell was decent, at least. But the taste.. bitter indeed.

Hubert took another sip of his coffee. Before he had a chance to set the cup down Sothis was already half over the table that separated them, and captured his mouth in a kiss. She leaned back and gave another hum. She licked her lips.

The action had caught the Black Eagle off guard and he quickly set the cup down. Somehow he hadn’t spilled. “Lady Sothis, if you told me before hand, I would have made room for you.” There’s a soft blush on his cheeks from the kiss. Something he should have anticipated but why would he in this case? It was made clear how much Sothis disliked coffee.

“Mm. I shall next time. It.. I will admit, coffee tastes better from your lips.” A cheeky grin spread across ruby lips and she leaned in for another kiss. This time Hubert was ready, and he managed a chuckle before their lips met.

“Should I be expecting you more frequent when I partake in my morning drink?”

“Yes!”

[indentedheartner]

Ken had seen his mother interacting with the shipment of ordered goods - amenities from the world of outsiders, brought in monthly with whatever individual villagers had wanted. Apparently guests could also make requests.

He'd idly wondered what she'd ordered, but it didn't cross his mind that it would be something for him.

"New shirts!" The woman's demeanor had become one of perpetual anxiety, yet she could do nothing else but try to speak to him like everything was fine. "I don't even know how many you have, but they're so worn in they're going to tear any day now."

Two. He had two. But now it looked like he had twelve.

She'd have been staring quite a bit to spot him in his undershirt.

"These ones sounded the closest to what you wear, but I think they might be a bit big on you..."

"...That's fine. Thank you mama." Accepting a pile of linen wasn't going to ruin his life.

The mother and her runaway child stared at each other, both too scared of the other to venture outside of facile conversation.

It was at least nice for her to be just as ill at ease. Stitches in her arm to keep her from forgetting her child was an unstable mess.

"...Your father is going to take our return trip home, next week. You know him, he doesn't want both tickets going to waste."

No, he didn't know him. His thoughts or habits. He didn't understand either of these people.

"But he'll be back before your birthday, Ken."

"He can stay in Loc Lac if he cares so much." My birthday would be better like that.

Suffocating, unendurable silence, as the woman had nothing she could say to make Ken hate her any less, and nothing he was willing to just humour her about.

"...We're trying, Ken."

"You weren't supposed to find me at all." He turns around to leave, unable to meet her gaze. "The only gesture I'd appreciate is you going the hell away."

It was the only one he was supposed to appreciate. If he accepted feeling anything else for either of these people, any happiness he'd found would be taken away from him again.

[didymousrising]

Eska stared at Bolin, who was talking to both Korra and Mako. She hardly paid attention to Desna, who took notice of her lack of returned speech.

“You know, dear sister, he seems quite happy talking to them,” Desna mused as he glanced over to the trio. His words warranted a displeased noise. “Whatever will you do?” He knows what she will do. It was only a matter of time.

“Too happy.” Eska grumbled. The matter of time was soon answered as the princess marched over to the trio, and grabbed onto Bolin’s arm. “He’s busy,” she cut in, ice laced in her tone.

“Whoa! Uh, hey Eska! Didn’t see ya there! How, uh, long were you here?” Bolin questioned, clearly startled.

Korra huffed. “You can’t just assume someone’s busy because they aren’t talking to you!” A hand placed on her hip as she glared at her cousin which was easily returned.

“This is an important talk. You can have him later,” Mako added with a frown. He glanced at the group. There was unease now at the arrival of the norther water tribe. She clearly didn’t notice.

“Don’t care. I need him.” With that Eska promptly dragged the earthbender away. But not back to Desna, much to everyone’s surprise. “Hey wait! Eska! I wanna know how this conversation ends!” Bolin tried to get her grip off his arm but he nearly stumbled. He followed after begrudgingly, if only to keep from falling on his face.

She lead the duo to a secluded place, safely away from prying eyes and noise. “Okay, I’m here. What’s - “ The earthbender started but was cut off by lips on his.

“Don’t talk,” Eska muttered against his mouth. Had she been jealous? Just a bit. She kissed him again. This time the kiss was returned and arms wrapped around slender waist. Hands rested against his shoulders and she broke apart.

“What.. was that for? Thank you, but I’m confused?”

“Mm. Just kiss me again.”

[skxrbrand]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐊𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒, 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐋

His hoofbeats echoed around him, bouncing off the jagged staircase with each heavy step he took. Up and up and up-- the stairs seemed endless, one turn of dark, ruddy brass after another, but the Reaper could tell he nearing his destination. It was clear in how the air, already impossibly hot from the combined rage of a million warriors battling endlessly below, grew hotter. It was clear in how his own fury, nearest in character to the Blood God's own, became deeper and the daemon himself became more brazen with each step.

He had been summoned by Kharneth personally. Him and him alone, a fact many of siblings had silently resented. Skarbrand still recalled striding past them, head high and full of purpose. Jostling their bulk with his own, shouldering them out of the way, and daring them to make a single sound in protest. No other but Khorne could do such a thing and live. No other but Khorne and himself, the favored of the Blood God, who enjoyed the Lord of Slaughter's favor like no daemon before or since.

Or so had been the case, up until recently.

Skarbrand had only heard of it through whispers and rumor, for he had been campaigning deep in the lands of his father's foes, reaping Skulls and adding yet more tales to his own Saga. The furies on the wind had chittered and gossiped, the bloodletters had grunted together in their harsh Khar-Dhar tongues whilst cleaning skulls, and even one or two of his Deathbringer kin had parroted the news: Khorne had taken a daemon to wife. A paramour, a consort, a Queen.

The Reaper had paid it no mind. This would happen sometimes; the titterings and tales of other, more frivolous daemons would worm their way into the Blood Legions like a Nurglish plague. He was above such things, naturally. But as he wheeled his legion around, skulls collected and corpses left the crumble to immaterial dust, the news did not fade. It persisted; nay, it grew. There were details now. This was no daemon from the four, or independent daemon yet to claim a god for a master. It was a daemon prince, a she-mortal from the material plane.

Skarbrand had laughed when he had first heard it. How ridiculous! That the Great Bloodwolf would feel such things for mere sheep to be culled. And then, he had grown angry when his kin had insisted it was the truth. But the Reaper had strode through the Bastion Gates, into the Great Hall of the Blood Feast, and he had seen her. Valkia the Bloody, the Gore-Queen, the she-mortal who had slain one of Slaanesh's ascended in single combat. And he had seen his father in a theopany of himself, a lesser form he rarely if ever took, and there had been a burning he could not describe that had taken root within him.

And that was when the Changer had struck, lighting yet another fire in the Reaper's breast.

Skarbrand was undefeated. Never had he failed to bring his master victory, never had he failed to glut the Blood God on blood and deliver a rich bounty to the Skull Throne. It was he who had defeated the champions of rival gods, and shattered their armies, razed their lands and struck fear and terror into their very hearts. The shadow of a grin worked it's way onto his doggish face as he recalled the Trickster's visit. How he had gripped the trembling fury in one mailed fist and leered contemptuously as it lied to him.

But were they lies?

Khorne could not make similar claims as the Wrathful Reaper. He had known humiliation at the hands of Slaanesh, humbling at the machinations of Nurgle, and outright defeat before the Changer. Literal statues, cast in bronze and made from the collars of his own hounds, had been erected of these failures and the Blood God had suffered their existence. He had lost, he had failed, and now there was a measly once-mortal attracting his eye. Softening his famously black heart.

ᴛⷮhͪeͤ Вloͦoͦdͩ Goͦdͩ iͥs͛ weͤaͣᴋⷦ. Whͪaͣᴛⷮ oͦᴛⷮhͪeͤrͬ eͤxͯрlaͣnaͣᴛⷮiͥoͦn cͨaͣn ᴛⷮhͪeͤrͬeͤ вeͤ? The Fury had strained within Skarbrand's ever-tightening grip. ᴛⷮoͦ s͛uͧrͬvͮiͥvͮeͤ weͤ mͫuͧs͛ᴛⷮ cͨhͪaͣngeͤ. Aͣndͩ ᴋⷦhͪoͦrͬneͤ iͥs͛ aͣn oͦldͩ dͩoͦg wiͥᴛⷮhͪ noͦ neͤw ᴛⷮrͬiͥcͨᴋⷦs͛ ᴛⷮoͦ oͦffeͤrͬ. ᴛⷮhͪeͤ S͛ᴋⷦuͧll ᴛⷮhͪrͬoͦneͤ yeͤaͣrͬns͛ foͦrͬ aͣ neͤw goͦdͩ,̓ aͣ s͛ᴛⷮrͬoͦng goͦdͩ.

The Reaper gave a rumble, his heart swelling even to recall those words. He was no fool-- Tzeentch had his designs, obviously. Displacing Khorne would surely be part of some larger plan...but the Trickster had yet to see what Skarbrand would become as the new God of Blood. Khorne was no mystery, but the Reaper would be a new beast. A Daemon-God the four were yet to know.

At last, he climbed the final step, onto the tallest of the Brass Citadel's towers. The brassy shadows of the fortress fell away to the bright, bloody skies of the ever-burning realm. In all directions, battle could be witnessed. In the skies, Bloodthirsters dueled with axe and whip, on the bone-choked plains armies charged into one another with abandon, and even on the blood-oceans and rivers of lava slicing the land into chunks, Skullships rammed one another or shot volleys of burning heads at rival captains and crews.

And overlooking it all was the Blood God himself, standing at the edge of the ramparts. If Skarbrand was a sight of terror, Kharneth was such eight hundred times over. He was tall and broad, clad in black-and-brass armor glowing with intricate bloody red runes. No other could've worn it, for the Blood God had a bulk to him that his children simply lacked, even mighty Skarbrand. He seemed to notice the Reaper's presence after a moment or two of surveying his realm, turning just enough to see his daemonic scion.

Skarbrand stood straighter, gripped his axes tighter. Much of the fury borne of his ruminating disappeared the instant his father's hellish gaze fell upon him. Instantly, he dropped his eyes to the floor, then he himself followed, one knee bearing his weight.

" Father." Skarbrand began, " You sent for me."

Khorne gave a rumble at the deference, turning himself back around to behold his realm. "𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄, 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐍. 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃."

The Reaper obeyed, and the closer he walked, the more of a poor idea the Changer's prattling seemed to be. He came to stand a ways behind the Blood God, not so presumptive as to stand beside his father. To the Chaos Power, he was tiny-- the size a mortal might've been compared to his own stature.

"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓. 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆."

Skarbrand's brow furrowed, but he did not react to the statement otherwise. There was a weight on his shoulder then and an accompanying heat he could feel through his armor and even his own skin. He looked up. A hand, armored and taloned, had settled on his shoulder. Khorne's hand. The Blood God was smaller now, closer to him in size, looking at him with a joyous reverence Skarbrand had seen him show vanishingly few of his devoted, be they mortal or daemon.

"𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐒. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄."

The heat left. Khorne had pulled away, to continue overlooking his soon-to-be far more vast Kingdom.

"𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑. 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇."

The words should've heartened the Reaper and made solid his loyalties to his father...but the effect was the opposite one. Favor. Conqueror for the sake of his love-sick father. No, that was enough for Skarbrand no longer. To be rewarded with second place. To have this old dog standing in the way of his destiny as the new God of Blood. Indignant and newly assured with Kharneth's eyes elsewhere, back to him, neck so clearly in view, the Reaper's fury waxed and from his maw came a thunderous roar.

Before Khorne could turn, Slaughter and Carnage were raised, burning with their own fury as they realized what their treasonous brother meant to do. What he meant to use them for, for which they could only watch and screech. Skarbrand, strongest daemon ever spawned by the warp, forged by Khorne's own fang and blooded by a billion battles, brought both of his War Axes down upon his father's armored neck--

It was like colliding with a wall of the most solid daemon-metal. The descent of his weapon halted, the mastercraft of Khorne's armor proven before his very eyes. The recoil of it rolled violently through Skarbrand, and he could feel blood on his tongue, in his nose, and a yet indeterminable ruin beneath his very skin, within his organs, bones, and muscles. And for what? When he looked down, only the merest divot had been cut into the Blood God's cuirass, cracks spider webbing only so far from the impact site. But no more. No blood, no real damage, nothing for his efforts.

He looked up at his father and found the Blood God staring at him. And there was a fury there he reserved for his brother gods. A mistake. That's what this had been. A trick and a trap. The Reaper made to flee his father's rage, but there was no escaping such a thing. Khorne had already seized him about the throat and around the Reaper, the air snapped and warped. He could feel his armor melting on his very flesh and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the Citadel itself liquefy as Khorne grew brighter and brighter, his rage deeper and blacker. His hooves dangled from where Khorne held him and beheld him, his ruined face a vision of purest apoplexy.

"𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐘, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃! 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓! 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓! 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐂𝐔𝐑?!"

The Blood God lifted Skarbrand high and then slammed him into the half-melted metal of the Citadel. Around them, volcanoes erupted, the land broke apart in earthquakes, and brass meteors wept from the sky. Fell winds whipped into bone-shredding storms and the skull plains overflowed with boiling blood, brass, and liquid fire. The Realm was just as angry as the God that had created it.

Pinning Skarbrand beneath his bulk, the Blood God pulled back a metal fist and then buried that fist in his son's face. Again and again and again, spiked knuckles ripping flesh from bone and knocking teeth from skull. Snapping and splintering horn and spilling blood. For his part, the only thing the Legendary Exile could do was take it. Endure. Move with the punches, so as to reduce their impact. Survive his father's incandescent fury.

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄. 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄?" Khorne grasped Skarbrand's head, his talons pressing into bone, ruining one eye. Through his own terror and Kharneth's wrath, the Reaper saw a mirthless grin stretched out across the Blood God's face, and he knew in the moment that his miseries were just beginning.

"𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄, 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐍. 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄." Pulling Skarbrand from the ground in his clawed grip, the Blood God held his broken form for all the realm see. He let them witness the cost of treachery and know that even his utmost favor would not excuse them from his wrath. And then, he channeled that wrath through his claws, his vengeance ugly to behold. Skarbrand screamed. He felt the flames of his father's rage burning him from within and without, searing away his very being, filling him with the fury he so coveted. His skin cracked, his body bulged, but Khorne sneered and denied the Reaper the mercy of fulmination.

"𝐍𝐎, 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐍. 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄, 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐓. 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐓."

With the same claw he had shredded the Bloodthirster with, Kharneth had remade Skarbrand to carry his own rage. And when he had finished, the screaming Bloodthirster was little more than a beast, little more than a rabid overlarge Flesh Hound. But the Blood God had no more favor for this treacherous dog. He cocked back his arm and with one powerful flex, sent the Reaper over the edge of the tower and into the sky, a comet of ruin and destruction.

Banished from his presence forever.

[weisskunigin]

sometimes the world she's been cast into shifts beneath her feet without warning; white's grown accustomed to such things by now. she doesn't know how long she's been here, but it's long enough to grow used to the world changing before her eyes, odd mists bubbling up to give the world strange forms that vanish after some time. outside of the mist, time doesn't seem to pass here. an infinite void of sky, and fragments of earth under her feet.

a world of dreams, she realizes eventually. one dreamt by pokemon.

the sleeping world is vast, fragmented and fleeting in its visions. sometimes she thinks she sees the world outside of it, only for the mirage to be wiped away by non existent winds.

sleeping is an impossibility in this world, she learns quickly. what point is there to sleeping when one is already in a dream? now matter how often she closes her eyes, sleep does not come.

it's lonely here.

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

( a drabble for The Darling @vxctorx cause I've been thinking about Their reunion )

Cherried lips sundered as a hushed and breathless gulp escaped his throat. Had his eyes deceived him? Had the specters of his past finally come to haunt his waking hours.--No. This was real. He was real. Richard Mayhew had dreamed of this moment for years. Conjured up renditions of what he would say if he and his love of golden-years-past were ever to cross paths again. Would he tell Vic of all of the hurt he had bore since that fateful day at the train station?

'How dare he. I'll ne'er forgive him.' Richard thought to himself, tears stinging in his reddened eyes. The first night alone in his flat... What was to be Their flat... pricked the most. How naive, the Scotsman thought to himself. How naive it was to think that he and Vic would spend their first night exhausted, but discreetly reveling in the twilight of their new life, their freedom, entwined against the other's figure upon a newly baptized mattress that was all Theirs and Theirs alone. Instead, Richard found himself sitting against a wall, downing booze, in a desperate attempt to drown not just his sorrows, but whatever trace of foolish hope he may have harboured for Them. Their life. Their unwound future. Richard took another clumsy swig of his bottle, before scrubbing away another loose tear with the side of his knuckle. 'I hate him. I hate Victor Trevor.' Naive. Dumb. Foolish, boy.

Or, would Richard tell him about the quiet moments in-between the eventual, watered down hurt and the mundane. The silent longing so great he sometimes felt he couldn't breathe.

'I'll ne'er forget him. I ne'er could...' The ache burrowed deep into the cavern of his chest. He could feel it in his bones. A year had passed since that fateful day, but the Scotsman found himself thinking of Him now and again. That contemplation led to remembering. Remembering led to missing. It was in the cozy silence of his daily routine that the yearning was most ardent. It was when Richard took an insomnia-induced stroll, just at the crack of dawn, while the world slept on, that he caught sight of the first flares of light. The sun's golden tendrils reminding him of the aureate ruffle of His boyish curls. How he liked to teasingly tousle them in an act of fondness. It was when he would find himself idly toying with the ring Vic had given him for his birthday, which he had never taken off. Not once. In fact, whenever he was alone, the Scotsman occasionally found the gentle touch of his lips linger against the band's curve. Did Vic still wear the other half? Did his lips too press discreet caresses upon its golden bend? Or had he forgotten? Was the ring nothing more than a trifle, buried with the rest of Their memories?-- It was in these moments that grief's ghost lingered. Not the grief of day's past. Richard looked at those with a bittersweet fondness. No. It was the grief of what could have been. What they could have made. Richard missed Him and all that he was. All that They were.

"It's you...." he rasped, his voice fragile glass. Taking a bold step forward, Richard tilted his chin up at the other, as if about to expel some well-versed speech. A speech of heart. Of the longing. Of the loneliness. Instead, his weary arms could bare the weight of such a deepened severance no longer. What bitter resolve the Scotsman may have been harbouring after all these years finally melted away, revealing both his trembling ache of yearning and boyish adoration for the golden gentleman before him. Without another word, Richard wrapped his arms round Vic's mature figure, holding him close. The tips of his fingers crumpled against the back of the gentleman's shirt as a quiet tear or two rolled down his cheek. Richard Mayhew had dreamed of this moment for five years.--'Vic, I'm sorry.' 'I've ne'er been happier to see ye'.' 'I missed ye'. So, much.' Not a word was uttered. In fact, he didn't have to say a word. All he could do was hold Vic close. A silent promise to never let him go. Not now. Not ever. He never could.

[valiantroyalty]

“What are you smirking at?” Rollo demanded as he caught sight of Esmerelda. She indeed was smirking, but her lips were shiny. Very shiny. And a noticeable purple. When had she put on lipstick? Why did he notice it right away?

“Aw, don’t you like it? I thought you liked purple!” Esme wore a mock pout on her painted lips now before she leaned in.

“Er, yes, I do. It’s a nice - mmph!”

Rollo was caught off when lips crashed onto his. Slender fingers gripped the front of the robes he wore so he couldn’t escape. Not that he wanted to. He wanted to kiss the dancer for God knows how long. But he hadn’t expected now. Luckily the two of them were alone.

Soft laughter bubbled up from the ravenette as she unleashed her attack. She moved from the presidents mouth to claim her mark on his face, leaving slightly smudged kiss marks in her wake, and to allow Rollo to regain his breath.

When satisfied did she claim his mouth again in heated kisses. Rollo didn’t know what to with his hands as he did his best to return the passionate kisses but ended up gripping at her sides. This caused Esme to press closer to him, and soon his hands traveled down to grab hold of her hips to bring her onto his lap in a spark of boldness.

At some point her tongue had slipped into his mouth. In the midst of the make out session did his fall off his head. He didn’t care. What he did care about was his reputation when a voice rang out in the room.

“Council President, I have an idea for - oh!” The poor lad had came in at a bad time. He quickly excused himself.

Esme parted from Rollo with a laugh. Her lipstick was completely smudged but nothing compared to how the president was. His lips were stained purple, his face completely flushed and his breath was ragged.

“Seems like you have work to do,” the dancer commented, her own breath uneven. “I’ll leave you to it!” With that she left the room to leave Rollo to recover.

[delinquentsharlene]

There's a sudden but gentle knock at their bedroom door, Sharlene's gaze darting up from their phone to see their sister in the doorway.

"Um... Hey," Ami greets, giving a small wave.

"Hi," They respond. "What's up?" As they push themselves up from their bed to sit up properly, Ami's golden eyes widen slightly in surprise, before she loosens the tension in her shoulders with a sigh—both of them knew the only reason she went to their room was if she needed something.

"Um... Can I come in?" She asks. Sharlene furrows their brow, immediately picking up on her anxiety.

"Sure...?" They scoot over slightly to give her some room to sit on the bed, but she only takes a few steps in before closing the door behind her. Ami is frowning, her eyes darting around as she tries to look at anything but them, and with the strange silence looming over the two, they started to get uncomfortable.

"So, listen, Shar..." She eventually begins, bringing a hand up to rub the back of her neck. "You, uh... You have tomorrow off work, right?"

"Yeah." They state simply. "Why? Somethin' wrong?"

"No, no, not... Not wrong, per say, but, um..." Ami presses her lips together, exhaling heavily as she lifts her head, though she still avoids looking at Sharlene directly. "It's just... I have some plans—or, no, we have some plans, and... God, you're not gonna like this. Please, just... Hear me out. Okay?"

Sharlene doesn't say anything. A lump is forming in their throat, anxiety bubbling in their stomach at Ami's words. They had a feeling, a gut feeling that they knew exactly where this was going. Their sister doesn't act like this normally, she's never this nervous.

But surely they were thinking too much, right? There was no way that Sharlene's worst case scenario was exactly what Ami wanted to talk about, right?

"Okay, um..." She eventually mutters. "So... I just got off th' phone with mama."

No way.

"She, um... Tomorrow, she's gonna fly over an' meet us here, then we were gonna go to lunch with her, Carson an' I."

No way.

"Mama said... She... Really wants to see you. I know you don't like her, Shar, but if you could put yer differences aside for an hour or two..." They can hear the meekness in Ami's voice, but it didn't properly register, not when they can hear their heart beat in their ears, not when their chest burned and their throat tightened and their raw anger was the only thing they could feel.

"Are you... fucking kiddin' me?!" It's loud and it's sudden, Ami flinching and quickly reaching up to cover her ears.

"Pl-Please, don't—"

"Don't what? Get fuckin' angry, Ami?! What the hell did you expect?! There's not a chance yer stupid enough to think I'd be fine with this, right?!" Their breathing is heavy, labored, and they clench their jaw and their hands soon find their way to their hair, nails digging into their scalp as they tried to just breathe.

"I... Shar..." Her voice quivered, barely above a whisper, and they were sure she was holding back tears.

"It ain't as easy as just 'putting our differences aside'! I fuckin' hate that woman, and I couldn't give less of a shit if she wants to see me! If she wanted a relationship with me, she should'a thought of that before she decided to beat me as a child!!"

"Pl-Please stop ye-yelling... I'm—I'm sorry...!" Ami's voice is small, and it isn't until now that Sharlene finally lifts their head to see their older sister sniffling and sobbing like a scared little child, because of them.

Because they'd screamed at her. Because they'd gotten angry with her.

Maybe they're more like mama than they thought.

"I can't fuckin' believe you asked me that," They soon mutter, venom drenching their voice. "After everythin' I told you about her, y'think I'd be willin' to just let that go so that she can be happy? What, do you not care about my feelings at all?" Their tone was accusatory, and Ami visibly tensed, frantically wiping the tears off her face.

"Don't say that!" She sobbed. "I didn' mean to downplay yer feelin's, I-I care so much! I just... I wa-want things to be okay with you two... I... I thought..." Ami trails off before erupting into another fit of tears, crying and sniveling as she covers her face with her hands.

Dammit. Sharlene hated making Ami cry.

Deep breath in, hold, and exhale. Their hands drop to their lap, and they tilt their head back to stare up at the ceiling for a moment. God, they really fucked this up, didn't they?

"Ami," They eventually speak up. "'m gonna be out all day t'morrow. So, I'm not gonna see her. Okay?" As they lower their head again, dull eyes rest on their sister, who only nods wordlessly in response. That was good enough for Sharlene.

"Sorry for yellin'." They mutter. "Get out of my room."

They didn't have to ask twice. Ami immediately slipped out the door and slammed it behind her, her crying echoing through the halls of their apartment until she reached her own bedroom.

Ah... When had Sharlene started crying?

[scarredresolve]

In a quiet moment, as everyone rushes back to the inn to dry off, Nimbra slinks off out of everybody's sights.

Crow shakes the water off his feathers as he remains perched on her shoulder, watching the tiefling curiously. She doesn't seem bothered by her drenched clothes, nor affected by the water turning her skin cold. Hair sticks to her face, covering her scar, obscuring the look in her eyes. She seems composed in one moment-- a vacant, blank stare practically boring through the window she manages to find herself next to.

But in the next, Nimbra's body goes limp; crashing against the wall until she crumples into a heap on the window bench. Crow frets, immediately; jumping slightly on her shoulder, tugging on her braid, pecking at her head.

Her hand raises, bunched against her brow as the other slams against the cushion; temptation begging her to rip it apart. Her nails dig into her gloves, threatening to draw blood into her palm as her shoulders tremble; biting down so hard on her lip that she could split it in any second.

But she does not weep.

The only moisture on her face is that of the rain-- a reminder of what had just transpired, of what else she had learned that day. She didn't even have time to process what she had learned about the death of her parents before something else was thrown at her-- rage engulfing her entire being and threatening to pull her under.

There was never a time where she wasn't suspicious of Alastor, of what they tried to accomplish in the shadows, far beyond her or anyone's sights.. but to do this.. to be apart of the very group that worshiped the ground Lilith walked on..

Why would they want this? Why would Aelius? If he hadn't tried to tell her, if she had never heard the obscurity in his words, perhaps she wouldn't have been reacting like this now.. but it felt too obvious at this point.

The new base of operations being built in Mistwind. The fact that Marcia knew their names. Even if they never acted as Abbadon, did that make them any better than the rest of their followers?

Crow's insistence eventually coaxes Nimbra into easing out of her rage; quiet, shallow breaths echoing through her ribcage as she eventually reaches up to comfort her companion. As her head lifts, it's clear to see that that vacant expression is no more; exhaustion and utter heartbreak coursing through the lines on her face.

"Idiots.. you god damn fools.."

"What have you done?"

[fodlansbestmom]

The sudden burst of the door to the office startled the occupant. Seteth nearly fell from his seat, but scattered the papers on his desk he had been working on everywhere, with most landed on the floor.

“Rhea! Whatever is the matter?” The archbishops right hand man inquired once he regained his bearings.

Rhea panted and took a few moments to regain her breath. She had run all the way here, from one end of the grounds to the other. Was she excited? Nervous? Confused? A mix of all three if someone asked her about it.

“It’s mother - she returned!”

Seteth stared at his older sister incredulously. Their mother had returned? How? It had been a full Millenia, with no signs of the goddess herself or any traits that came with her about in the land of the living. However.. he had to believe her. Why else would Rhea rush to find him in such a manner? “How.. how do you know?”

“I cannot explain, Seteth. Just follow me!”

Without another word the two siblings left the safety of Seteth’s desk to travel down to where they stored a few of their mother’s belongings resided, primarily of her weapons. The great floral bow and quiver of similar themed arrows, and a vined whip were placed on pedestals. This is where Rhea went from time to time, to pay respects to her lost mother, and for alone time. What was different today was the flowers on the delicate bow was starting to bloom.

Ever since the death of Sothis, her weapons had started to wilt and were in a permanent state throughout the thousand years, a clear sign of the loss of the creator. Now, it was like new life was breathed in, much akin the passing of winter to spring where all plant life sprouted and blossomed from earths frozen soil.

The youngest child stared in disbelief. This wasn’t like this the last time he visited. This was great news. But something only the two of them could share between each other. Not until they find their mother.

But where was she? Fodlan was a large continent. “Do you truly believe..?”

“Yes. Yes I do. We have to find her,” Rhea answered with a nod. Before she was about to comment her plan, Seteth spoke up, as if reading his sisters thoughts.

“You cannot leave. That is what you are planning on, yes?”

The greenette nodded. “Of course I am. You can handle my share of duties - just a few days. I will not go too far.” A small compromise to be made. She turned to face him.

Seteth stared at her then shifted his attention onto the weapons. He knew even if he said no, she will go off on her own anyway. “…alright. A few days, and no more. You cannot be away for too long.” A small pause. “.. I would like to search myself as well..”

[dick-meister]

Through his eyes:

There comes a time in everyone’s life where we know when it’s the moment to… Stop. To rest. It would only be a metaphorical fitting for the First Human to meet his death in Hell. The very place that took everything from him, would be the very place that would take his life.

The piercing of an angelic dagger brought a stunned silence to the man, even as he looked ahead he could see that yellow ichor laced tip sticking out of his chest. All at once his strength left him, it was like he was under some spell when falling face first into the hellish soot he stood on.

They say you can see your life flash before your eyes before you die, but what do you see when your eyes are closed? You see nothing. Darkness. The First Human wouldn’t get that last gift, a slide show of the best moments of his life. No, he would see nothing and hear that dagger pierce his flesh over and over, his back becoming a pin cushion for the Hellish maid. Lungs, spine, kidneys, none of him would be spared as the barrage of attacks continued in quick succession.

Angelic gold filled his lungs, the last couple of stabs would take the rest of his breath. Even a final breath would be robbed from his throat. Truly, he was cursed since the very beginning right up to the end.

‘No!’

He could hear her voice… The agony, horror, despair. Suddenly the weight of the tiny maid on his back would be gone, replaced with the hand of his second in command, pushing him to lay on his back.

It was then he noticed how slow things were, how cognitive function began to cease. Names and memories began to leave him as his brain began to shut down.

Lilith… What did her face look like? How did they meet? Or Eve. Who… even was she? And Luci… Lu…

‘Stay with me, sir!’

Lute. That was her name. How could he forget? Why was she crying? Don’t cry. Everything will be ok. If only… He could just move and tell her. But nothing… Nothing responded to him.

It’ll be ok Lute.

Right?

He needed to show her, some way, that it would all be fine.

The last muscles in his body would move, even if his lungs filled with blood, even as he began bleeding out there in the soot covered ground… He would will one last thing for her…

A smile. It’ll be ok… Maybe then, she could be content with that, wherever he was bound to end up at…

It’ll be… ok. Whoever you are. So… Don’t c

[lvsamine]

flashback + the birth of your daughter

flashbacks // accepting

Lusamine cried when the pregnancy test read positive.

It wasn't a good cry. No, it was one full of despair. Mohn held her, but he didn't understand why she was so upset. After all, it turned out that she didn't mind being a mother, and she loved Gladion with everything she had, but... She hadn't wanted kids in the first place. She agreed on one with Mohn, as a compromise, and that was supposed to be it.

Now, they were expecting a second.

It was hard to remain positive during her pregnancy. It was hard to love her unborn baby when she didn't even want it in the first place. Mohn was just as excited this time as he was when she was pregnant with Gladion, and her son was thrilled at the idea of having a sibling. Though their happiness could be contagious, she still couldn't smile the way they did.

To her, there was no other option. She was going to have this baby, whether she wanted it or not.

She was rushed to Aether's medical ward when her water broke. It had been so long since she had Gladion that she'd forgotten just how painful labor was. The doctors urged her to push, and she screamed, loud and visceral and ugly, while Mohn stood by her side and gave her soft encouragements.

You're doing a great job. I love you.

Lusamine doesn't remember what she said to him during labor. She might have told him to shut up, to fuck off, maybe even blamed him for how much pain she was in, but he kept smiling through it all, like her words didn't affect him at all.

Then... It was over.

A baby's scream echoed through the room as she laid back, hair matted to her sweaty face, and all she could do was just breathe.

Soon, the baby's cries stopped. A doctor approached her with the infant in his arms, bundled up in warm blankets, and handed the child off to Lusamine. Shaky arms accepted her, and as she looked down at the baby's sleeping face...

That was it.

She was perfect.

Lusamine loved Lillie.