#ice shards and tidal waves

[a-s-h-f-l-a-m-e]

the pain is fresh as the first day

.

It won’t ever stop hurting, will it?

it will always be there - A reminder

a tornado. a tidal wave.

the cold shards dig deeper.

Fear, guilt, anger all wrapped up in one

... past life memories, cheriished? yes - and now, because of ...

.

- now Tainted? also yes

does it make me feel even Worse ? due to things that happened ? 100x

I do not want to think . to feel .I feel sick. and scared . theres a reason i run away . theres a reason i avoid thinking too deeply about it . theres a reason i dont want to be alone with my own fucking thougfts

i want to claw at my skin.

[burnt-out-phoenix]

its that time of night again.

It was fine. Its always this time of night, the things keep dredging up, and ... It hurts. But now, im ....Not alone, right? That place is safe. It's safe, right?

I can't make it my home even though i desperately want to. No. I Can't do it all again - I can't. I can't do it.

But it's ...At least i'm not alone, right? So why.....Even if there are others like me, and others. who .... know. and. understand, who know how i feel and experience the same thing as Us.

and ....why do i feel bad...for doing it? i know i have people, but is it really so bad to want more connections...???

.... Why then? Why am i so afraid? Its...Mixed. Its past experiences. Its everything at once. The ways people have looked at me , the things theyve said... I'm afraid. But theres others going through the same things as me, some less some more, maybe...Maybe i'll finally have someone to talk to about this without them going like "this again?!"

and ....Now a little light has lit in the dark and i have a safe place to be, but yet ... I dare not speak, i only vaguely imply. even here . the fear runs deep like a current

Its right there . its not Bad, yetk right? and there's....More of Them. And the others feel safe, fellt and seen but I....I can't bring myself to talk to ANY of them and ESPECIALLY not any 🧡 im TOO fucking afraid WHO THE FUCK wants to see ME?! i know i may not be the first one people wanna see or talk to , but, we're. Not...not all of us are like. like That. i certainly . wasnt.

and even when they say its okay and they wanna talk to / meet any of us do they really mean any of us? i....i know some of 🧡 want to see me . Maybe... Maybe some of them do, but even then ...I...I can't . I'm.. Scared. i dont know why i feel like this . i want to talk to others from other places and mine but i...im scared and even when i see they want to talk to me i Can't .

And even now, i found someone to talk to, and i can't even brin g myself to do it . it hurts.

i just wanna laugh and meet new people and have Fun and end ..

hhhh

i wish i could be like them and see things how they see things and feel as the rest of us feel

[its-avalon-08]

Can you write one where lando has a crash and you are his best friend. lando isnt responsing over radio and you are freaking out and about to cry. the first thing he says is "tell y/n im ok" and you get together at the end of it. thanks and love ur works !

ruin our friendship (ln4)

y/n chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. the race had been chaotic from the start, a downpour creating a treacherous track. but nothing had prepared her for the radio silence that followed lando's crash. every tense second echoed in the sterile white of the garage.

"lando, lando, come in," the radio engineer's voice crackled with barely concealed panic. y/n squeezed her eyes shut, picturing lando's trademark grin, the one that never failed to calm her down. images of fiery crashes from past seasons flashed in her mind, each one a shard of ice in her already churning gut.

then, a voice, weak but undeniably lando. a strangled cough broke through the static, followed by, "tell y/n... i'm okay." relief washed over her in a tidal wave, threatening to spill over into tears. tears of gratitude, of terror temporarily subdued. she grabbed the radio, her voice thick with emotion, "lando, you scared the living daylights out of me!"

the crackle of a weak chuckle came through. "just a little spin, nothing serious." a beat of silence, then, "i'm okay guys. all ok. tell y/n to get back to the flat."

the flat. their flat. a shared haven in the whirlwind of the f1 circus. relief morphed into something more, a fluttering in her chest she couldn't quite define.

two days later, y/n helped lando, stiff and sore, out of the car after his hospital release. his arm was in a sling, but his smile, though weak, was genuine.

"careful there, clumsy," he teased, a familiar spark in his eyes. y/n rolled her eyes, guiding him towards the elevator.

inside their flat, the familiar smell of home greeted them. as she helped him settle onto the couch, a comfortable silence settled. then, lando cleared his throat.

"y/n," he began, his voice serious. y/n met his gaze, a million unspoken things swirling in her own blue eyes. "this whole crash… it made me realize something."

he paused, his hand reaching for hers, sending a jolt through her. "i can't… i won't lose you, not like this. not when…" his voice trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

y/n's heart hammered against her ribs. "when what, lando?"

"when i've been a complete idiot for the past five years," he blurted out. "i… i like you, y/n. more than just a friend. i have for ages."

the words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken feelings. y/n's breath hitched. "you… you like me?" she whispered, a smile blooming on her face.

"like you? y/n, i'm in love with you," lando confessed, his gaze intense. "always have been, scared to ruin our friendship."

y/n's smile widened, the last remnants of fear dissipating. "scared? lando, i…" she leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear, "i thought i was the only one going crazy."

a laugh, genuine and relieved, escaped lando's lips. he pulled her close, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. "so, what does that mean?" he asked, his voice a husky rumble against her cheek.

"it means," y/n whispered, her voice laced with newfound confidence, "that you're a bigger idiot than i thought, for waiting so long."

the kiss that followed was filled with the unspoken words of years, a promise of a future brighter than any podium finish. they weren't just teammates anymore, they were something more, something exhilarating and terrifying – a love story finally taking the checkered flag.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[danosrosegarden]

edward angst, where he comforts reader over the phone from Arkham :( there both so broken up about not being able to see each other and reader breaks down moments into the call

sick of losing soulmates - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚♡

{contents ♡ mentions of violence, mentions of vomiting, angst + fluff}

{word count ♡ ~700}

♡ it just didn't match, the image of him that was burned into your brain and the campfire scary story monster he was when you weren't looking. they were entirely different beings. your edward was the one who wrote handwritten letters and sent wrappings of sweet perfumed flowers to you just because. your edward was the one who'd hug you from behind while you cooked dinner and basked in the warmth of your being. your edward was the one who'd nuzzle into the crook of your neck at night, tracing the curves and dips of your gently rising and falling body. that edward was the one who was ice cold and eerily calculated, slithering into the unlucky mice's lives like a beady-eyed snake. that edward was the one who coiled around them and reveled in the sheen of terror glossed across their eyes. that edward was the one that squeezed, the one that suffocated, the one that took and took and took until there was nothing left to take.

♡ most days you got sick, dry heaving up what little was left in your gut until your eyes poured salty tears and your chin was slick with spittle. most days you felt crushed into dust, broken into shards. you'd gone through the whipping windstorm waves: cold bitterness, broiling anger, dizzying confusion. but most of all, you felt the aching weight grabbing hold of your heart and dragging down: you were sad. you were hurt. you were heartbroken. he had hid his plans from you, he had lied about where he was most evenings, he had trusted a group of deranged strangers before he had trusted you. that all hurt in its own way. but above all else, it would never be possible to again find what you once had with him. that was what hurt the most.

♡ you had questioned whether or not you even wanted to hear his voice again. your kneejerk reaction was of course, of course, give me the phone, please please please please let me have just a few more minutes of his distant presence. but the more it blackened the crevices in your brain like a messy ink spill, the more you felt the deep pit in your stomach lurch. what are you even supposed to say to him? what is he supposed to say to you?

♡ you rehearse the lines in your head over and over. you breathe deep and steady, trying to stable the quivering in your hands as you hold the phone.

♡ "hello?"

♡ you hold the phone to your ear silently for a moment, listening to the smothering quiet in your apartment and the shallow in and out of your breath. "edward?"

♡ for that split second, you're connected by this odd, tightly woven string of silence. you're jammed between what is there to say? and how am i supposed to say everything in this miniscule time frame?

♡ "it's good to hear you." the words are wading through molasses, spoken slowly and thickly, like his voice had been flossed through a filter.

♡ and it all comes rushing back, a crashing tidal wave of every lazy morning spent tangled in his arms, every cool evening spent bathing in the comfortable quiet of your bedroom together.

♡ every line you'd memorized before the call gets crumpled and trashed. you feel the hot contacts of tears rise against your eyes and drop down your cheeks. "hi, eddie. i miss you."

♡ he can't promise forever anymore. he can't promise much of anything anymore...perhaps that's what's most difficult to grapple with, the uncertainty of it all. the dice roll that each new day would bring, the gamble you bet on with every rising and setting sun. but here in this moment, you feel as though he's reaching out. you can sense his radiating warmth from the other end of the line. it numbed the bleeding thought in the back of your brain that you had lost him for good. here he was, here you were, hands outstretched, arms wide open.

[wtfisthatfockingthing]

Silent harmonies

Context: Y/N is the replacement for Aether. Dewdrop doesn't like this and he always insults her, but Y/N didn't do anything wrong...

Pairing: Dewdrop (Sodo) x Fem!Reader

Warning: None

Length: 3500~ letter

(Ps.: lately I've been reading a lot of dictionaries out of boredom, so if there are words in it that are not used that much in conversation, I apologize)

Dewdrop strummed his guitar absentmindedly, lost in the haunting melodies that drifted through his mind. The Ghost band practice room was filled with tension, an unseen barrier between the two guitarists, Dewdrop and Y/N. Y/N, the rhythm guitarist who had stepped up to fill the void left by Aether's departure, had become the unwilling recipient of Dewdrop's misplaced frustration. Ever since Aether's departure, Dewdrop found himself yearning for the familiar harmonies and connection they once shared. Y/N was an exceptional musician in her own right, but to Dewdrop, her presence was a constant reminder of what was lost. He struggled to accept her as Aether's replacement, and in his pain, he turned to criticism as a means to cope.

Each practice session grew more hostile, each note became an opportunity for Dewdrop to unleash his discontent. He criticized Y/N's every chord, every strum, even when she played flawlessly. His words were shards of ice that pierced through her heart, chipping away at her confidence and leaving her feeling broken. One fateful day, as the piercing remarks echoed in the room, Y/N could no longer bear the weight of Dewdrop's hostility. In a moment of sheer frustration, she slammed her guitar down, her voice trembling with anger. "I've had enough!" - Y/N's voice trembled, her eyes blazing with emotions. "I can't take your constant criticism anymore, Dew! I didn't choose to replace Aether, and I don't deserve this treatment!" - Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, a mixture of anger, hurt, and a desperate need to escape. Without another word, she turned and fled from the practice room, her footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.

The silence that followed was deafening. Dewdrop stood there, the weight of his own bitter words crashing down upon him. Regret flooded his heart like a tidal wave as the reality of his actions settled in. He had allowed his pain to consume him, blinding him to the damage he was causing. Dewdrop's remorse fueled his determination to mend what he had broken. He searched tirelessly for Y/N, seeking forgiveness and the chance to make amends. It took hours of searching through familiar spots and hidden corners until he finally spotted her, sitting alone on a park bench, silently succumbing to her tears.

Summoning his courage, Dewdrop approached Y/N. His voice was filled with sincerity, a plea for understanding. "Y/N, I am so sorry," - he whispered, kneeling before her. "I let my grief consume me, and I unjustly took it out on you. I know I've hurt you, and I hate myself for it." - Y/N's tear-stained face turned to meet Dewdrop's gaze, a mixture of skepticism and pain lingering in her eyes. "You have no idea how much your words have hurted me," - she replied, her voice strained. "I gave my all to be part of this band, to support you, and yet you treated me with nothing but hostility." - Dewdrop bowed his head, his own tears threatening to escape. "I didn't want to hurt you, you didn't deserve what I did to you." - he apologized, his voice choked with emotion. "I miss Aether, and your presence as the new rhythm guitarist only amplified that pain. But it was never your fault, and I want to make it right." - Y/N's eyes softened slightly, a flicker of hope igniting within. She could sense the sincerity in Dewdrop's voice, the genuine remorse in his eyes. Slowly, she spoke, her voice strained with vulnerability. "If you truly mean what you say, if you're willing to change, then maybe we can find some common ground." Dewdrop nodded, tears now freely flowing down his face. "I promise" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I will work to earn your trust again, to show you the respect you deserve as a musician and as my bandmate." Together, they sat on that bench. In the stillness of the moment, they shared their pain, their fears, and their hopes. It would be a long road to rebuilding the trust that had shattered, but they were willing to take the first step together.

In the days that followed, Dewdrop stayed true to his promise. He replaced criticism with encouragement, sharing his experience and knowledge with Y/N to help her grow. And slowly, the hostility between them melted away, making room for a newfound harmony within their music and their relationship.

[ffaelix]

on cold, grey nights | jason todd angst

written for one of my friend's bday, cross posted on wattpad (wearyminds) and ao3 (ffaelix)

The Gotham night was cold and unforgiving, the air so thick with mist it felt like breathing in shards of ice. Jason Todd, clad in his crimson Red Hood attire, perched on the edge of a rooftop, his eyes scanning the shadowy streets below. He had been out here for hours, searching for any sign of trouble, but all he found was the echo of his own breaths.

A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine, and Jason tightened his grip on the grappling hook at his side. His teeth chattered slightly, and he knew he was pushing his limits. The cold was seeping into his bones, turning him numb. But he couldn't just go home, not when the city needed him. The weight of his responsibility was as heavy as the chill in the air.

Through the fog, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadowy figure stumbled down an alley, and Jason's instincts took over. He launched himself off the rooftop, his figure looking similar to a fiery comet against the grey sky. He landed silently on the wet pavement, his boots barely making a sound. The figure was hunched over, struggling under the weight of what appeared to be a stolen bag. Without a moment's hesitation, Jason closed in, ready to deal out his brand of justice.

But as he got closer, the figure's labored breathing and erratic steps gave him pause. This wasn't the confident gait of a seasoned criminal, but the desperate shuffle of someone in distress. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks - this wasn't a thief; it was a civilian caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He approached with caution, not wanting to spook them into a panic. "You okay down there?" he called out, his voice muffled by the cold.

The figure looked up, revealing a young woman with wide, terrified eyes. She clutched the bag to her chest, her teeth chattering as violently as his. "Please," she stuttered, "please don't hurt me." The bag slipped from her grasp, revealing not loot but a collection of soggy blankets and meager supplies. The gravity of the situation dawned on him - she was just trying to survive the night.

Jason's heart sank. He was about to offer her help when a coughing fit took hold of him, his body betraying his good intentions. He stumbled, the cold finally overwhelming him. The woman's expression shifted from fear to concern, and she took a tentative step forward. "You're freezing," she said, her voice cracking with the cold. "You need to get out of here."

With a grim nod, Jason knew she was right. He couldn't risk his health any further. The homeless shelter was a few blocks away, a beacon of warmth and safety in this harsh night. He took the lead, guiding her through the maze of alleys with a new urgency. Each step was heavier than the last, his legs feeling like they were made of lead. The fog thickened, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead, but he pushed on, driven by the need to get her somewhere safe.

Finally, the lights of the shelter emerged through the mist like a mirage. The woman's eyes lit up with hope, and she picked up her pace. They stumbled through the doors, the warmth hitting them like a tidal wave. The shelter was crowded, a sea of weary faces greeting them with a mix of suspicion and pity. Jason helped the woman to the front desk, his teeth still chattering uncontrollably.

The shelter worker, a kind-faced woman with a no-nonsense air, took one look at him and immediately frowned. "You're in no state to be out there," she scolded, her eyes assessing his condition with a practiced gaze. "You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death."

Jason nodded, reassuring the young woman that he would be okay. "I'll be fine," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You get some rest here." She hesitated, looking back at him with a mix of gratitude and concern, but he gave her a gentle nudge towards the warmth of the shelter. With a nod, she allowed herself to be led away, disappearing into the sea of bodies seeking refuge from the biting cold.

Once she was out of sight, Jason's legs gave out, and he slumped against the wall. The warmth of the shelter was a stark contrast to the icy grip the night had on him, but it was too late. His body had reached its breaking point. He knew he needed to get somewhere warm, fast, or the hypothermia would claim him. With a grimace, he pushed himself away from the safety of the shelter and stumbled into the alley.

The fog had thickened, turning the alley into a labyrinth of shadows and mist. He managed a few steps before the world began to spin, the cold seizing his muscles in a vice-like grip. He reached for the wall to steady himself, his fingertips brushing against the damp bricks before everything went black.

...

Dick Grayson, perched high above the streets as Nightwing, had noticed the sudden stillness in the alley, the absence of the crimson figure he had been keeping tabs on from afar. His stomach lurched as he swung into action, descending with a grace that belied his urgency. He found Jason slumped against the wall, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. "Jase," he whispered, his voice filled with concern as he felt for a pulse. It was faint but steady.

The cold had set in, and Dick knew he had to act quickly. First, he scouted out the area to see if it was free of trouble. Then, he carefully peeled the sodden mask from half of Jason's face, revealing the shivering form beneath. The younger man's skin was almost translucent, the stark blue of his lips a stark reminder of the danger he was in. Dick's eyes narrowed, his mind racing as he scanned the area for any sign of trouble a second time.

After seeing the alley was clear, he slung Jason's arm over his shoulders, hoisting him upright. The weight was surprising, but Dick had been in similar situations before. He knew the drill - get him warm, get him dry, and get him medical attention if necessary. They staggered through the fog, the alley's cobblestones slippery under their boots. Each step was a battle against the cold and the fog, but Dick's determination was unyielding.

The alley opened up into a slightly wider street, and Dick caught a glimpse of the Bat-Signal piercing the misty sky. The symbol was a beacon of hope, a reminder that they were never truly alone in their fight. But there was no time to revel in the sight. He had to get Jason somewhere warm before hypothermia claimed him completely. Dick's thoughts raced as he considered his options. The nearest safehouse was too far, and taking him to the Batcave would risk alerting Alfred to their condition.

But maybe it was a good thing if Alfred knew. The elderly butler had seen them through countless scrapes, and his medical expertise was unmatched. Plus, the warmth of the manor's embrace would be a comfort to Jason, a stark contrast to the biting chill of the night. The decision made, Dick adjusted his grip and started to make his way towards the manor.

The journey felt like an eternity, each step a battle against the cold that clung to them like a second skin. Dick could feel the hypothermia's icy claws digging deeper into Jason's body, and he quickened his pace, trying to ignore the burning in his own muscles. The fog grew thicker, the streetlights swimming in a sea of mist that made the world around them seem unreal, like a nightmare from which they couldn't wake.

Finally, the imposing silhouette of Wayne Manor loomed ahead, a bastion of warmth and safety amidst the cold. Dick stumbled through the secret entrance, the warmth of the house enveloping them like a warm blanket. The sudden change in temperature made him gasp, and he knew Jason must be feeling it too, even in his unconscious state.

He half-carried, half-dragged his younger brother through the corridors, his heart racing with every beat. The manor was eerily quiet, the usual bustle of activity stilled by the late hour. Dick hoped Alfred was still up, waiting for their return. He knew the butler would be furious to see Jason in such a state, but that was a lecture they could deal with later. For now, all that mattered was getting him warm.

As they approached the kitchen, a flicker of light spilled into the hallway, guiding them like a lighthouse beam. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, and Dick's stomach rumbled despite the gravity of the situation. Tim Drake sat at the island, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sticking up in every direction. The youngest Robin looked up from his textbook, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. "Dick?" he called out, his voice heavy with sleep.

Tim's gaze fell upon Jason, and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, the coffee mug clattering against the countertop. "What happened?" he demanded, the exhaustion in his voice giving way to alarm. Dick could only manage a tired nod before the words came tumbling out. "Hypothermia. I found him in an alley."

Tim didn't waste any time. He set aside his book and took Jason's other arm, helping Dick support his weight. "Let's get him to Alfred," he said firmly, already moving towards the stairs that led to the medical bay. Dick followed, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, but it wasn't enough to banish the chill that had settled into Jason's bones.

They stumbled into the medical bay, the room bathed in a soft, sterile light. Alfred Pennyworth looked up from his paperwork, his expression one of mild irritation that quickly morphed into alarm. "Master Dick," he began, his voice stern, before his eyes fell upon Jason. "Bring him here," he instructed, his tone switching to one of calm urgency.

Tim helped lay Jason on the examination table, the older man's eyes scanning him with a medical precision that was as comforting as it was alarming. Dick hovered nearby, feeling utterly useless as Alfred began to strip the wet, cold clothes from his brother's body. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill that still clung to Jason's skin, a testament to how dangerously cold he had been.

Tim's gaze flickered between the two of them, his mind racing. "How could he be so stupid?" he muttered, more to himself than to Dick. "Out there in this weather, without even a proper plan."

Dick offered a weak smile, his own guilt mirroring Tim's frustration. "He's always had a bit of a hero complex," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But he's also incredibly selfless."

Tim nodded, his expression softening slightly. "I know," he said, his voice quieter now. "But sometimes I worry he'll push himself too far."

Alfred's gaze met Dick's, a silent understanding passing between them. They had all seen the lengths Jason would go to protect the innocent, often at the cost of his own well-being. It was a trait they both admired and feared in him. The butler turned back to his patient, his movements swift and efficient as he wrapped Jason in warm blankets and began to check his vitals. "We need to warm him up gradually," Alfred said, his eyes never leaving the monitors. "Too fast, and it could be dangerous."

Dick was already stripping off his damp clothes, replacing them with a set of Alfred's spare pajamas that the butler kept in the medical bay for just such emergencies. The fabric was soft and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, wet material he had been wearing. He slid into the bed next to Jason, his body heat seeping into the other man's side. Tim did the same, his own pajamas a slightly less dignified affair of Carebear-themed shirt and sleep shorts.

They lay there in silence, their bodies pressed together to provide what warmth they could. Dick felt the cold radiating from Jason's skin, a stark reminder of the battle they were fighting. He could feel the steady rhythm of Tim's heartbeat through the mattress, a comforting presence in the otherwise tense room.

"Nice PJs, Tim," Dick murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet. "I didn't know you were a Carebear fan."

Tim rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "Shut up, Dick," he said, though there was no real heat behind his words. He tucked one of the blankets around Jason more securely, ensuring that the heat they were generating was trapped. "Bruce found them in a thrift store and thought they'd be funny. They're surprisingly comfortable."

Dick chuckled, the sound a little forced, but it helped break the tension. "Well, if Bruce approved, I guess they're officially cool," he said, his hand finding Tim's under the blankets, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Tim's hand was cold, but it was already starting to warm up against his own.

They lay there for what felt like hours, their combined body heat gradually seeping into Jason's frigid form. Dick felt the cold in his own bones begin to dissipate, the warmth of Tim's body a comforting presence beside him. They were a makeshift family, bound by a shared history and a commitment to a cause that was greater than any one of them. The quiet hum of the medical equipment filled the room, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the lengths they would go to protect it.

Then, a sudden shift in the air. Jason stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they were unfocused, glazed over with the haze of unconsciousness. But then, they fixed on Tim, and a weak smile ghosted across his face. "You're...really wearing...Carebear pajamas?" he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Tim rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips was genuine. "Shut up, Jase," he said, his voice thick with relief. "You're going to be okay."

Dick felt his own chest tighten at the words. "You're not dying on me," he murmured, his hand still clutching Jason's. "Not like this."

Tim's eyes were wet, but he didn't bother to wipe away the tears. "You hear that, Jase?" he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not going anywhere."

Jason's eyes remained closed, but a faint smile played on his lips. "Love...you...both," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Dick felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. It wasn't often that Jason showed his softer side, but when he did, it was like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and a bond that had been forged in the fires of Gotham's streets.

Tim's hand tightened around Dick's, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment. They had all lost so much, endured so much pain together, but here they were, a trio of misfits, bound by a love that was as fierce as it was complicated. For a brief second, the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets surrounding them.

The three of them lay there, their breathing synchronized as the warmth of their bodies slowly brought Jason back from the brink. Dick felt the tension in Jason's muscles ease, the shivering subsiding into the gentle rise and fall of deep sleep. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a metronome keeping time with their collective sigh of relief.

Tim's eyes remained on Jason, his gaze unwavering as he held onto his hand. Dick knew the feeling, the need to reassure themselves that their brother was truly okay. But exhaustion was tugging at the edges of his consciousness, the weight of the night's events making his eyelids feel like lead. He could feel the warmth of Tim's body beside him, the younger man's breathing evening out as he too succumbed to sleep.

The room grew quiet, the only sounds the soft snores of the three of them and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. The warmth of their bodies had created a bubble of comfort around Jason, the cold a distant memory as they all fell into a deep slumber. The medical bay was no longer a stark reminder of the dangers they faced but a sanctuary where they could find peace, if only for a brief while.

As the night gave way to a cold, grey dawn, Alfred entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and concern. He had been notified of their arrival by the security system and had been waiting anxiously for any signs of movement. He checked the monitors, his eyes lingering on the steady rise and fall of Jason's chest. Satisfied that the crisis had passed, he covered them with an additional blanket, his gaze lingering on the trio before he retreated to his own quarters.

.

thanks for reading!!

[bevswashere]

Koi No Yokan

Chapter 11: End of Uematsu

January 2006 30 minutes later.

Yaga shared his piece, then my mind went blank. Suddenly I'm in the back of a car, Suguru and Satoru each holding one of my hands as the assistant supervisors floors the gas pedal.

A handful of Jujutsu closer to the area were already sent in—buffers for damage control until we arrived.

I count every minute that passes.

20.

I try to breathe, but it's shallow.

Then 30.

My leg won't stop shaking

40.

We could have taken the train?

No. The typical route would add an extra hour, maybe two, to our journey. That doesn't even account for delays.

45.

Teleportation?

Instant, but not feasible. Satoru's barely capable of short-distance jumps. I'm not strong enough to cover that kind of distance.

50.

My right leg is possessed by a shiver. Why won't it stop?

1 hour.

My fingers begin to tap against their hands. Anxious patter that fills the silence of the car.

10.

What have I done?

20.

What have I done?

30.

I think I might throw up.

40.

Any damage, big or small, it's my fault.

50.

What have I done?

2.

Two hours it takes until I'm facing miles and miles of smoke. My breath catches in my throat, a numb sensation washing over my shoulders and below. The Uematsu sign that marks the estate's perimeter is fragmented into charred bits. Every road beyond is slick with blood, littered in glass that crunches beneath my steps. No building stands, either crumbled or left to smolder into warped air.

It doesn't take long to come across the first body—what's left of it. The upper half of who I recognize to be the butcher sprawled out on the gravel. Three more paces and I discover the remains of his wife and kids.

I gag. Partially from the sight of people I'd known since birth slaughtered. Partially because the putrid musk of rot has already found them.

How long have they been like this?

I back away, stumbling over my own feet onto the floor. A shard of glass sinks into my palm.

When I gaze at my hands, they have already been coated in crimson and ash. The realization crashes into me like a tidal wave. Where these roads lead—who they lead to. The true reason I needed to be here two hours ago.

"No." The hollow terror rolls out of my throat slowly, barely audible. "No, no, no."

I stagger back to my feet and break into a sprint. Multiple times I attempt to time jump, but my mind is too jumbled. It only worsens as the smoke thickens deeper into the estate, catching heavily in my lungs, burning in my eyes.

Halfway through I catch a glimpse of our old house. High gates now bent and broken, emerald walls turned charcoal. A detached arm rests by the cornerstone—the very one that bears my name.

The watch on its wrist.

One sickening realization at a time.

One focus for now: reaching the dairy farms.

Of which nothing is left. All the livestock have been shred to pieces, the properties reduced to ash.

Gasps for fresh air turn to horrified shudders at the sight of Hama's house. The front door has been ripped away, revealing large piles of crushed brick and splintered wood. Tattered scraps of embroidery work peek out beneath the wreckage. So much blood smears the walls that I'm forced to turn away, to proceed forward as if everything was in place.

Hama's body lies before their room. Her right leg is gone, opening a heavy hole into her pelvis where the blood has pooled. The entire left side of her body is charred, black and raw. I wince as I step over her, reaching for the doorknob.

"Kaede-chan."

The voice of another living being sends a jolt through my body. I had forgotten that death and destruction are not all that's left of existence. Suguru and Satoru are standing where Hama's door should be. I'm unable to recollect them coming with me in the first place.

"Brace yourself," Suguru says, doing his best to appear a pillar of calm.

The doorknob is like ice in my hand, unwilling to budge. No. It's me. My hand won't move, no matter how much I will it so. Instead it trembles—my entire body does. For the first time, I experience pure fear. I am a helpless little girl who cannot hide from the monsters lurking outside her bedroom. I can't even open a door.

Satoru places his hand on top of mine, holding it so firmly that the tremor is forced to still. The warmth blazes in comparison to the cool steel of the knob. Under his guidance, the knob begins to turn. And when the door is finally open, I am unable to muster any noise. The universe swells with an inescapable numbness that chills my blood. The pain resembles every bone in my body shattering at once.

Momoko is sitting on the floor, propped against the wardrobe. Her skin has turned a sickly pale, blood flaking around her face and hands. She's too weak to hold the gaping wound at the center of her stomach, so I stumble forward and do it for her. Only then do her eyes flutter open. "Oneesan."

I wipe away the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, trying my best to think straight. The urge to cry tousles me, making my head thunder with adrenaline.

We... We can call Shoko?

And wait two hours for her to say she can't do it.

Or bring her to a hospital?

Which will take more time for the same result.

I could wrap her wound in a time barrier.

Only to risk splitting her in two or a thousand pieces.

Think.

Think.

Do something.

Her already small voice has become so much smaller, "I did what you asked me."

"What?"

A knock comes from inside the wardrobe, quiet shudders filling the air. I hesitate to move Momoko at all, but gently I pull us aside. Suguru rips the wardrobe open to find a shivering Tomiji. The gifted katana is clutched between his palms, and beyond a few harsh scratches, he's unscathed.

"He might be mad at me for locking it." Momoko smiles up at me, tears landing on her cheeks. They're mine. I've begun to cry.

"I was strong like you."

My shaking finger moves her hair aside. She looks exactly like mom. "You're stronger than me."

She laughs weakly. "It's my heart, isn't it?"

I shake my head fervently, tears that feel like fire streaming down my face. "Please don't leave me." But I can feel her breathing grow shallower. Her eyes are having a difficult time focusing on me. "Please."

Momo exhales and doesn't breathe back in again.

I grip down hard on her skin, hoping that it could somehow squeeze life back into her. It doesn't. The fabrics of time have slipped my grasp this morning. I can't fathom how or when I got here. All I can see is Momo in my arms, all I can do is stare into her eyes. Look at me. Please, look at me.

I jump again when Satoru touches me. He's pulled a sheet from the bed, prying each of my fingers up from her skin. I refuse at first when he takes her away.

She looks so small in his arms, wrapped in the linens. I stare up at him holding her limp body for more immeasurable time. The tears have ceased, leaving my body still. I am frozen at this moment, pondering a universal lack of reason. How I've worked and wished for only one thing my whole life, and yet it was still taken away.

Slowly, my soiled hands ball into weak fists. The dire nature of it all leads to my emotions sectioning off. They lose their complexity, showing distinct feelings I can make sense of. Heartbreak and despair that I can't quite grasp yet, and a burning anger that I feel in its entirety. It narrows my vision down to one purpose, "Who did this?"

No one answers.

"Tomiji. Who did this?"

"He's in shock, Kaede-chan." Suguru is holding my brother, letting him hide his face away into his shoulder. "Maybe you shouldn't—"

"He wanted to be Jujutsu," I say plainly, pulling myself to my feet. I even find the nerve to dust myself off. "Isn't this what it's about?"

My voice is tepid, but a quiet rage burns beneath my skin. Anger towards whoever did this, to Momoko for trying to be brave, to Tomiji, Suguru, Hama, myself. Everyone.

The world has lost the right to all of my sympathy.

I grab Tomiji by the hair, forcing him to face me. "Stop crying." He can't. He's a blubbering, snot covered mess and it infuriates me. "Who did this?"

"Four curses," he manages to choke out. "One of them used lightning to burn everything down. Another used their teeth to—" He can't keep himself from weeping and turns back to Suguru.

I don't have to contemplate the thousand ways I'd track down the curses. A thundering crash sounds from outside, reverberating into the floor. The screams of anyone that's left follows.

Suguru grabs my arm when I try to leave, "I know it hurts, but you're not of sound mind right now."

Generally, I'm polite. I speak to my friends with respect, and hold someone like Suguru in the highest regard. Yet, I mean it when I say, "I'll kill you first if you get in my way."

Despite the threat, he doesn't let go. He's trying to be reasonable in a situation that involves no reason at all.

"Let her go, Suguru." Satoru is in the corner of the room, staring down at Momoko in his arms. His voice has become as indifferent as mine.

Suguru lets go of my arm and finally steps aside.

I'm hardly concerned whether the boys intend to follow or not. I march past Hama's body, past the smoldering destruction of the dairy farms, and into the streets littered with bodies. These were people I knew, but couldn't recognize them if I tried. The only thing I see clearly is the fresh smoke rising from the estate's east end. Where four monstrous creatures ravage what's left of the market.

One of them, massive and hunched, covered in putrid green skin with a face bearing no features except a mouth full of fangs, gnaws into a corpse like a lion. It drinks the blood and consumes the limbs in single slurps. Then it releases some kind of hum to imply its enjoyment.

Another, resembling a woman doused in white paint, points a finger in any direction it pleases. Lightning crackles out from the jagged fingertip, burning everything in its way. It melts the infrastructure and buries us deeper in the cloud of smoke.

I don't bother processing what the other two look like. I am already running full speed, weaving through lightning and the blurs of other projectiles coming my way.

These curses are fast and powerful, more so than any of the ones we've faced in the past. In these situations, I've been trained to assess their techniques and form quick plans. To take on the defensive and contain destruction.

I do none of that.

I have nothing to lose anymore. That realization unlocks a desperation that pushes my technique to new limits. Why hesitate or worry about staying in control? Who will it save?

I arrive in the midst of these monsters, grabbing one by the arm before it's even noticed I'm there. Pure force alone shreds it off like paper, and the heel of my foot sends the curse flying into the nearby destruction.

That prompts me to grab hold of the second curse, time jumping us both into a crumbled building. Its body lands on a splintered pillar planted deep in its stomach. I relish the way it exudes pain, wailing in weakness.

Before I can do more, the Forward Sight catches my attention. It fires visions off in rapid succession, but I have become complacent with the details, picking and choosing what I care to follow. The time barrier is up before the stream of lightning is even halfway.

A barrier coats my body, but in actuality my technique is messy, like uneven patchwork. This is something I would care to refine in the past, but now self preservation hardly matters.

All the lightning, springing from the sky and every odd direction, merely bounces off. I let the curse give its all, slowly approaching step by step.

I'm close enough to reach out for the curse's hand. A thin glaze of a time barrier rests between our palms, but the lightning fizzles out when I clamp down, feeling its fingers crunch beneath mine. I release the barrier, and without intending to, it recoils in two, dicing both of the curse's arms off.

I could finish it, but I time jump onto the last curse's shoulders—the one with the fangs. The curse whose work was so obviously spread out across the estate, coating the ground in flesh and blood. My nails dig into its head from the chin. Then I twist and twist until the skin gives and the head pops off like a cork.

Again, I consider how I could finish it. I could split its body into two, three, maybe ten, pieces with a time barrier. But it's too easy. Too quick. Too merciful. These are impressive special grades. They can regenerate if given the time. So, I time jump back to where the boys stand and roll the curse's head towards its body. "Try harder."

Suguru might be speaking to me—I can't be sure. He's probably scolding me for toying with the curses, giving them the chance to recover. Though, it's merely background noise to the sight of the curses piecing themselves back together. I want to smile at their struggling, their weakness, but the overwhelming disgust keeps me from doing so.

When the final limb is intact, I step forward again. "Okay. Who's first?"

The curses are smart enough to try attacking simultaneously this time. Their speed, matched with the magnitude of their techniques, forces me to rely on the Forward Sight more, but I'm so caught up in the moment, that I've nearly made a game out of it. I dodge and weave through everything these curses have to throw at me, egging them on to show me more. I want them to unleash every technique within their arsenal. To contemplate hard on what they could possibly do to kill me. I want them to understand the defeat that clouds my judgment right now. And they do as I want. They try very hard, evolving their bodies to display new abilities and sharpen their senses. They become faster, stronger, more capable of playing my game. But in a vision, one of them has changed tact. They aim for Satoru, maybe to distract me, or maybe because murder in any form suits their appetite.

I know Satoru can defend himself, but I time jump in front of him anyway. With the wave of my hand, the flurry of burning energy is swept elsewhere into the ground. "Why?" I ask. These curses destroyed everything, killed everyone—killed my Momoko. They have taken everything from me, and yet these pathetic creatures still try to take more.

I am no longer in the mood for a game. My body moves without the guidance of my mind. I feel a ripple of power in myself, like a bottle suddenly teeming with pressure. My hands fall in front of my chest, fingers bending naturally to rip that cap off.

I have nothing to lose.

"Domain expansion."

The curses are swallowed up with me in what appears to be a dark clocktower. The only light trickles in from the white sheen of the clock outside. The point of its hands tick to twelve as a massive chime rumbles through the tower.

My index finger points high in the air. "What do you think?" It twitches to the left, and the minute hand of the clock follows my lead. The curses are brought to their knees. "Should I reduce you to nothing?"

Painfully slow, my finger circles a full rotation. The clock reaches twelve again and the tower chimes. The curses have shrunk in size, being brought closer to their simplest forms.

"Or should I go in the other direction and let you waste away?"

My finger circles clockwise this time. The hands strike twelve twice and once I stop, the curses are brittle, decrepit. Any more and they'll turn to dust. One of them even manages to get a word out. "....Hurts...."

I smile, laugh even, but then the rush of it all slows for me. Laughing, smiling, I deserve none of it. I remember why I'm here in the first place. I understand that this changes nothing. Finally, a tear drips down from my eye. I win this, but I've failed.

The domain breaks apart, releasing us back into the open air. With a final swing of my arm, dozens of stray barriers slice the already dying curses into thin pieces. Then they fade away into nothing.

I fall to my knees.

Suguru runs over to meet my gaze, "Kaede-chan?"

"Suguru," I'm drowning in disbelief. "Who do I blame now?"

He grabs my shoulders and embraces me.

"Who do I blame?" I grip the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline, "What do I do?"

[oldfangirl81]

Suddenly I am very glad I went a little overboard on that "queer your bookshelf" sale at the start of the month. It looks like the train I am taking to Portland doesn't have WiFi if the online data is still accurate.

I haven't read any beyond a couple pages yet but still thought it might interest some. Caution most fall on the adult side. A couple are on the darker side(I tried to note them but again haven't read them yet and might have missed some). And tend to be sci-fi/fantasy.

Tidal Wave by E.M. Lindsey (Motorcycle Club/Gang)

For Real: An M/Mx Romance by R.A. Frick (BDSM)

Double Crossed: A Why Choose Military Romance by Adora Crooks

Stumptown Spirits by E.J. Russell

T.A.G. You're Seen by D.G. Carothers (BDSM/Kink)

Rough Sketchers by MJ Green (Mafia)

Soulmates by Liv Rancourt

Wormwood Summer by Kai Butler

Silent Truth by Samuel York

Acoustics by London Price

Changing His Tune by Blake Allwood

Love is Blind by Scarlet Blackwell

The Viking and the Drag Queen by V.L. Locey

One Wild Heat by Kelex (Omegaverse)

Twenty-One Arrow Salute by Kasia Bacon

Love Is A Stranger by John Wiltshire

As You Wish by Isobel Starling

Wrong Hunt by JS Harker

Adverse Conditions by Elle Keaton

First Moon by Richard Amos

Surrender Love by Kayelle Allen

Forbidden Devotion by Lee Colgin

The Things We Find by BL Maxwell

Trial By Fire by BA Tortuga

Dark Warrior by Lily Harlem

The Witch's Familiar by TJ Nichols

Teeth and Tarot by A.A. Fairview

His Death Bringer by Courtney W. Dixon (Rape)

Shards of Hope by BL Jones (many of the reviews say it starts off very dark)

Black Ice Heart by Abrianna Denae (suicidal ideation, torture)

Double Trouble by Babara Elsborg

Stone Wings by Jenn Burke

Kitchen Sink Dom by Tanya Chris (BDSM)

Mr Mustachio Is Falsely Accused by Dawn MacKinnon

Embers and Flames by Sadie Jay

Sebastian by Linden Bell

The Date Mistake by Joelle Lynne

[zeathas]

Zeathas, Igris and Fimbulvinter Short Stories Part Two.

Story 3: Night of the Blood Moon – Zeathas, Fimbulvinter, and Igris Against Elder Dragon Teostra

A blood moon rises over the desert as Zeathas, Fimbulvinter, and Igris traverse the shifting sands. A new threat has been detected—a Teostra, the infernal Elder Dragon, whose blazing wrath threatens to burn the desert into a sea of molten glass. As night falls, the blood-red moon hangs ominously in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dunes. The heat is suffocating, even for Zeathas, who is accustomed to harsh environments. Fimbulvinter’s frost, usually a relief, barely cools the oppressive heat radiating from the distant Teostra’s fiery domain.

Zeathas can feel the intensity of the battle to come. She gives a soft pat on Fimbulvinter’s neck, reassuring her partner, while Igris growls softly at her side, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement.

First Contact with Teostra

As they crest a dune, they finally see it—Teostra, a massive dragon wreathed in flame, prowling through the desert with an aura of blazing fury. The fire surrounding its body distorts the air, making the creature look even more monstrous. Teostra raises its head, locking eyes with Zeathas and Fimbulvinter, and roars, unleashing a massive wave of fire that rolls across the dunes like a tidal wave.

"Here it comes!" Zeathas calls, gripping her dual blades tightly. "Fimbulvinter, we need to keep it from getting too close!"

Fimbulvinter rises into the air, her wings beating against the hot desert wind, and releases her Frigid Beam. A powerful blast of ice and frost cuts through the scorching air, meeting the incoming flames. The two forces collide, sending sparks of steam and ice shards flying in every direction. The sand beneath their feet hisses as it rapidly cools, hardening into glass where the icy beam strikes.

But Teostra is not deterred. With another ferocious roar, it charges forward, igniting the ground as it approaches, its blazing wings leaving trails of fire in the air. Zeathas braces herself, knowing that Fimbulvinter’s frost would struggle to counter the sheer heat Teostra can generate.

Teostra's Firestorm Assault

Teostra takes to the sky, its wings whipping up a storm of embers. The air shimmers with heat, and suddenly, the dragon dives down, aiming for Fimbulvinter with a massive, fiery claw. Zeathas pulls on Fimbulvinter’s reins, signaling her to dodge, and the dragon swerves to the side, narrowly avoiding the burning strike.

Igris, ever alert, takes this moment to launch his own attack. Using his speed, he darts across the cooling glass dunes, aiming for Teostra’s flank. His claws leave deep gouges in Teostra’s fiery scales, though the heat burns at his skin. Igris hisses in pain but continues his assault, forcing Teostra to turn its attention away from Fimbulvinter.

Zeathas takes advantage of the distraction, urging Fimbulvinter into the air again. The elder Fatalis releases Frigid Wall Fallout, creating massive ice barriers between them and Teostra. For a brief moment, the heat lessens as the ice cools the immediate area, giving them a temporary reprieve from the overwhelming flames.

Teostra’s Rage

However, Teostra’s fury only grows. The firestorm around its body intensifies as it enters a state of rage, and the temperature skyrockets. With a massive roar, Teostra unleashes a Supernova—a devastating explosion of fire that incinerates everything within its radius. The explosion shatters the ice walls, turning the surrounding sand into molten glass and forcing Zeathas and Fimbulvinter to retreat even further.

Zeathas grits her teeth. They cannot afford to keep running from the infernal dragon's raw power. "We need to draw it into a trap," she mutters, calculating their next move. Fimbulvinter growls in agreement, her icy eyes glowing faintly as she prepares to act.

The Final Gambit

As Teostra prepares for another charge, Zeathas and Fimbulvinter set their plan into motion. Fimbulvinter releases a wave of cold that covers the battlefield in a thin layer of frost and ice, making the ground slippery and difficult to navigate for the fiery dragon. Teostra’s flames begin to cool as it struggles to maintain its footing on the frozen ground.

Igris, using his nimble agility, leads Teostra into the heart of the frosted terrain, where its flames are less effective. The fiery Elder Dragon snarls in frustration, lashing out with bursts of fire, but Igris is too fast, dodging and weaving between the flames with incredible precision.

Zeathas watches carefully from above, waiting for the perfect moment. As Teostra slips on the icy ground, she signals to Fimbulvinter. The Cerulean Fatalis rises high into the air, wings outstretched, and prepares her most devastating attack—Azure Ring of Eternal Winter.

With a mighty roar, Fimbulvinter releases a colossal shockwave of freezing energy that radiates outward in a massive ring. The icy blast engulfs Teostra, freezing the flames that surround its body and encasing it in a thick layer of frost. The firestorm that once consumed the battlefield is snuffed out, and Teostra, now frozen in place, roars one final time before collapsing, its body immobilized by the intense cold.

Zeathas dismounts from Fimbulvinter, approaching the frozen Elder Dragon cautiously. She places a hand on the icy ground, her breath visible in the cold air. "Another Elder Dragon brought down," she says softly. "Let’s return before the desert turns into a furnace again."

Fimbulvinter lets out a low growl of agreement, and Igris, despite his wounds, pads up to Zeathas’ side, ever loyal and ready to continue.

---

Story 4: The Silent Expanse – Zeathas, Fimbulvinter, and Igris in the Elder’s Recess

The Elder’s Recess, a place of ancient power and mystery, beckons to Zeathas and her companions. Word has spread of an ancient creature stirring deep within the crystalline caves—a Kushala Daora, the tempestuous steel dragon whose storms threaten to bring chaos to the entire region. Zeathas, alongside Fimbulvinter and Igris, is sent to investigate.

Journey into the Recess

The deeper they venture into the Elder’s Recess, the quieter the world becomes. The jagged crystals that line the walls hum faintly with energy, and the air grows thinner with every step. Igris moves cautiously, his eyes darting to every shadow, while Fimbulvinter’s frost creeps along the floor, cooling the heated crystals beneath her feet.

Suddenly, a gust of wind roars through the caves, powerful enough to knock loose some of the crystals. Zeathas tightens her grip on Fimbulvinter’s reins. “Kushala Daora is near,” she mutters, scanning the cave for any sign of the steel dragon. The wind continues to howl, growing stronger with each passing second, until finally, a massive figure emerges from the darkness.

Kushala Daora, its metallic body gleaming in the faint light of the crystals, stands tall, its wings spread wide as it lets out a deafening roar. The wind around it intensifies, forming a violent cyclone that threatens to tear the very walls of the cave apart.

The Tempest Unleashed

Zeathas immediately recognizes the danger. Kushala Daora’s control over the wind is unmatched, and in the confined space of the cave, its power would be devastating. “We need to bring it down quickly before it can cause a collapse,” she tells Fimbulvinter.

Fimbulvinter responds with a roar of her own, and together, they charge toward the steel dragon. The air is thick with flying debris, but Fimbulvinter’s ice shields them from the worst of the wind. Igris, staying low to the ground, darts between the cracks in the cave, searching for an opening to strike.

Kushala Daora, seeing them approach, flaps its wings, creating a powerful shockwave that sends crystals shattering against the walls. Zeathas and Fimbulvinter are forced to pull back, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the falling debris.

A Plan of Action

Zeathas quickly assesses the situation. “We need to trap it, break its wings!” she shouts, signaling to Igris. The red Odogaron immediately rushes forward, his claws scraping against the steel dragon’s metallic hide, trying to find a weak spot.

Fimbulvinter, understanding the plan, rises into the air, her icy breath creating a thick wall of frost that cuts off Kushala Daora’s retreat. The steel dragon roars in frustration, its wind attacks less effective in the enclosed space.

With a mighty flap of her wings, Fimbulvinter unleashes Emerging Frigid Pillars, massive spikes of ice erupting from the ground to pin Kushala Daora in place. The steel dragon struggles, but the ice holds firm, and Zeathas takes her chance. Drawing her dual blades, she leaps from Fimbulvinter’s back, diving toward Kushala Daora with deadly precision. She lands on the steel dragon’s back, her blades carving into its metallic hide. Sparks fly as her Odogaron Dual Blades scrape against Kushala Daora’s steel armor, but Zeathas is relentless. She channels her strength into each strike, aiming for the joints in the dragon's wings where the metal is thinnest. The dragon thrashes beneath her, its wings beating violently, but the icy pillars created by Fimbulvinter hold it in place.

With a final, powerful slash, Zeathas severs one of Kushala Daora’s wing joints. The steel dragon lets out a screech of agony as one of its wings hangs limp, rendering its aerial dominance useless. The winds around them die down momentarily, but Zeathas knows it’s only a brief reprieve.

"Now!" Zeathas shouts to Igris. The red Odogaron leaps onto the dragon’s exposed side, his sharp fangs sinking into the weakened joint. With a savage twist of his body, Igris tears into the flesh beneath the armor, further disabling Kushala Daora’s flight capabilities.

Kushala Daora’s Last Stand

Despite the damage to its wings, Kushala Daora is far from defeated. The steel dragon’s eyes glow with rage as it channels its remaining energy. The winds begin to pick up again, swirling around it in a violent cyclone. This time, the wind is sharper, cutting through the air like blades. Crystals are lifted from the ground, shattering against the walls in a chaotic storm of debris.

Zeathas can barely keep her footing on the dragon’s back as the wind threatens to tear her away. She grits her teeth, digging her blades into the steel hide to anchor herself. “Fimbulvinter!” she calls, knowing they need to end this quickly before the storm gets worse.

Fimbulvinter lets out a chilling roar, her breath turning the very air to frost as she unleashes her ultimate attack—Avalanche Maelstrom. The icy dragon’s body begins to glow with a brilliant blue light as a massive blizzard swirls around her. The cold is so intense that the walls of the cave begin to freeze, the air filled with snow and ice.

Fimbulvinter channels the storm toward Kushala Daora, the icy winds clashing with the steel dragon’s cyclone. The blizzard overwhelms the heat of the storm, freezing the wind itself in midair. The shards of crystal and debris become encased in ice, falling harmlessly to the ground.

Kushala Daora roars in defiance, but the frost spreads across its body, freezing its metallic wings and armor. Zeathas, still clinging to the dragon’s back, feels the temperature plummet, but she remains focused. With one final push, she drives her blades deep into Kushala Daora’s spine, severing its connection to the storm completely.

The steel dragon lets out one final, desperate cry before collapsing to the frozen ground. The winds die down entirely, leaving the cave eerily silent once more. Frost clings to every surface, and Kushala Daora lies motionless, its body encased in a thick layer of ice.

Aftermath

Zeathas slides off Kushala Daora’s back, landing on the icy ground with a soft thud. She takes a deep breath, her breath visible in the cold air, and sheathed her dual blades. Fimbulvinter lands beside her, her wings folding in as she lets out a low, satisfied growl. Igris pads up to them, licking his wounds but otherwise ready to continue.

“We did it,” Zeathas says softly, placing a hand on Fimbulvinter’s neck. The Cerulean Fatalis nuzzles her in return, her icy scales cold to the touch. “Another Elder Dragon down… but there’s always another one on the horizon.”

Zeathas glances back at the frozen body of Kushala Daora. Though they had won this battle, the Elder’s Recess was full of untold dangers, and she knew they would have to face even more powerful foes in the future. But with Fimbulvinter and Igris by her side, she felt ready to face whatever the world threw at them. As the cold settled around them, Zeathas mounted Fimbulvinter once more, ready to head deeper into the recess. The journey was far from over.

[fizzyxcustard]

Comfort (Armitage Summer Splash. Day 13)

As part of @lathalea and I’s Armitage Summer Splash, I present to you, day 13. 

Masterlist of fics for Summer Splash

Prompts: "It was the best day of my life." / Comfort trope.  

Fandom: Robin Hood

Pairings: None really. Very slight Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader if you squint.

Warnings: Angst. Character death.

Summary: You have received word that Guy of Gisborne has been killed. He was the man you always secretly loved, and you share that secret with your best friend.

Comments/Notes: If anyone would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please say. I haven't actually watched season 3 of Robin Hood to know the exact scenario surrounding Guy's demise, so I've skimmed over how he died and just focused on the fact he has died. I've also left the majority of the relationship open for readers to make up their mind exactly what went on. ;)

Ever since you had learned of Guy's death and you had been numb, empty, feeling on the edge of a dream, in denial. All the sensations had bombarded you immediately, and still hung over you like a grey cloud as you woke the next morning.

Your mother was jovial, like most mornings, and prepared your breakfast, before you head out into the market square for your duties. Today, however, you had decided not to work. The rapport you normally built with customers and the smiles you offered as they purchased your garments, would be impossible.

As you ate breakfast, your mother noticed how far away your gaze seemed. She saw that you only ate a couple of mouthfuls of food and then left the rest. And she knew why. The whole of Nottingham now had learned of Gisborne's death; most rejoiced, while the minority grieved.

Your best friend, Sarah, called for you a couple of hours later. She was surprised that you had not come down to Stone Street to work, and came into the house at your mother's request. You remained quiet at the table with a mug of tea by your arm.

Sarah sat down and immediately sensed why.

You felt Sarah's reassuring hand touch your arm and grip. "I'm sorry about Gisborne," she said softly. "I know you two were close."

The words passed through your mind and you just about comprehended them. But his name was what hit. A tidal wave of emotion overwhelmed you, and you began to weep.

Sarah embraced you tightly.

It felt as if she were reaching for all the broken pieces of shattered cutlery. Your emotions were the cutlery, broken into sharp shards. You wiped your face with the back of your hand and rested back into your chair, glancing at the fire which was dancing in the grate opposite.

"I know not many liked him," you began. "In fact, most people despised him. But for some reason, he showed me the good side of him. It was as if he were always scared to show any kind of goodness to the world; maybe he thought that it would make him vulnerable."

Sarah smiled. "I remember the first day you met him. You were beaming all evening."

"It was the best day of my life," you replied. Your gaze met Sarah's, and then you remembered your mother was still in the room, albeit, not directly sitting with you. Instead, she was washing clothing, but still listening in. You looked across to your mother who was smiling sadly to herself as she submerged clothing into a bowl of hot water. "I always loved him. And even if he was alive now, I still don't think I would have ever mustered the courage to tell him because I doubt he felt the same."

Sarah leaned across the table on her elbows. "I didn't know him like you, but if he was indeed the man that you've just described, then I feel his heart was always yours."

***

You thought on Sarah's words from that day. Had Guy really reciprocated that love but just never told you?

A sudden knock at your door beckoned you out of your thoughts, and then your mother called your name loudly.

"What is it?" you asked.

Your mother stood there with a candle in one hand and an envelope in the other. "It's for you."

Ice raced down your spine as you saw your name on the envelope in spiralling black ink. It was Guy's handwriting.

***

Follow Forever: @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @knitastically @linasofia @xxbyimm @sketch-and-write-lover @meganlpie @guardianofrivendell @middleearthpixie @spidergirla5 @msjava1972 @rachel1959 @asgardianhobbit98 @lilacpulse @enchantzz @medusas-hairband

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[a-s-h-f-l-a-m-e]

i want to be numb like the cold depths of the ocean

[sylseal]

Cold Hands (D&D Fiction)

“Well, nothing is expected of the king’s middle daughter, that’s part of the problem! She can’t apply herself properly if she’s not had any expectations placed on her. I mean, then again, she’s not even good at playing the violin, so maybe there’s really no point of trying to place any expectations on her to begin with. In that case, just get her married to someone from Arvandor and be done with it.”

It was soul-crushing to hear those words coming from someone Rysela had just held a pleasant conversation with not five minutes earlier. She might have been younger than 14, but that didn’t make her unobservant or stupid.

This was supposed to be her night. She was to perform, in front of an audience of her father’s friends, and then there was supposed to be a lovely party afterwards, but it had all gone wrong. She couldn’t find her instrument, and when she finally did, several of the strings broke out of nowhere partway through her playing, and now, even the party itself was going terribly. Mister Amamne, the man who had spoken, was rather disliked for his brash nature and the way he constantly acted out of line, but Rysela had never known him to speak on something unless it were true. Slowly, Rysela looked up toward her mother, Althaea, who was currently holding her hand.

Althaea looked mortified, her silvery eyes wide and painted red lips slightly parted. Rysela’s mother looked so gorgeous, in her dark veil and her starry dress and her makeup, while little Rysela herself looked extremely...not. In fact, if you asked the girl, she’d tell you that she looked rather frumpy. Frizzy black hair, eyes that were a little too big and with canines that were a little too long to be quite right. She didn’t know why she was like this, only that she was, and unless she got a free wish spell, she was stuck like this. Her mind, however, was not on her appearance at the moment, but rather, on mister Amamne’s damning words.

As Rysela began to shake a little, her mother attempted to wrap her arms around her in a hug, and whisper denials and words of reassurance to Rysela in comfort. However, Rysela didn’t, or rather, couldn’t respond to her mother’s attempts at distracting her from the cruel words. Her attention, instead, was focused solely on Amamne, so much so that she couldn’t even hear her mother after a few more moments. She only saw him. She only felt just how much she hated. Him. How much she just wanted him to freeze, and shut his mouth. She grit her teeth behind closed lips, tears rolling down her face, and her hands curled into fists. She felt this...thread inside herself in that moment of pure focus. A long, thin white thread, and it was all that was keeping her from shutting Amamne up. All she had to do to fix that...was break it.

She didn’t think. Thinking had made her lose the violin. Thinking made her press too hard on the strings and made them pop. Thinking was stupid. And as that last thought went through her head, she could feel that thread inside her finally snap.

She heard the crackling of energy, and mister Amamne turned just in time for a spark of a frostbite spell to catch the drinking glass in his hand-

And shatter it like ice, sending little shards of glass everywhere.

The first noise that resounded was a combination between a squeak and a shout from several of the other guests as people looked on in shock. It was like a wave of magic blasted through the room, and though it only affected one person, all the guests had felt its pulse, which was quite strange for something as low-powered as a cantrip. More alarming, however, was the fact that frostbite was a spell that required verbal and somatic components. Yet...

...Rysela had just cast a spell, without verbal or somatic components.

People looked between that broken glass in mister Amamne’s hand, and then to little Rysela. Even Althaea was staring in shock. Then, just like that, realization washed over her like a tidal wave. She had just done something extraordinarily stupid. Oh no, oh gods, what was she going to do!?

Panic. She was panicking.

Wriggling free of her mother’s grasp, Rysela turned and bolted for one of the exit halls. She heard a distant, “Rysie, wait!” from her mother, but she didn’t respond; fear was was the only thing occupying her mind, then. Would they arrest her? Throw her in jail? Accuse her of intentionally assaulting mister Amamne? Oh gods, what would her family think of her now!? Was she going to become the family outcast, the one to be swept under the rug!?

Her whole body was shaking with nerves running so high, which was probably why, as she proceeded down the stone steps of the concert hall, she tripped and fell. Thankfully, she managed to avoid falling down the stairs, but her knees and hands showed notable scrapes and cuts. She couldn’t keep running, she was in far too much pain. So, she just curled up right there on the stone steps, burying her face in her knees and whimpering, while tears rolled down her face.

And there she stayed, for what felt like far too long. An eternity of one whole minute, she later learned, but it stretched out like hours of pure sobbing agony.

Eventually, though, Rysela heard the slow clack of heels against stone, and then the rustling of cloth as someone sat down beside her. A warm arm came to wrap around her shoulders and back, and Rysela looked up through blurred, teary-eyed vision to see her mother smiling softly down at her.

“M-mom?” she whimpered, but Althaea removed her arm from around Rysela, took her hands gently, and began to heal her scrapes. Rysela opened her mouth, but Althaea spoke first.

“Mister Amamne’s hand is being treated currently.” Her voice was even-tempered and calm. There was even a little hum to her tone as she continued speaking, “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to heal with even a first level cure wounds, and none of the other guests were injured. So, don’t worry about that.” She finished up one hand, and began to move to the other. “Now, do you want to tell me what happened in there, little flower?”

“I-I-” Rysela began, mind taking a moment to process as she gently wiped her tears using her arms. Not because she was ashamed, mind you, but because damn it, she wanted to at least see her mother when talking to her, and she couldn’t do that through tears. Swallowing thickly, she let out a shaking breath, and looked away before beginning to speak, “O-one second he was saying all these...these mean things, and I just wanted him to stop, just wanted him to be quiet, and then there was this feeling like something breaking inside me, a-and the next thing I knew his glass just...exploded. I-I don’t know what...”

“You cast magic,” her mother whispered in her ear, hands having finished on Rysela’s hands, and now beginning to move over her knees, “without any verbal or somatic components, and without really intending to. More than that...everyone in there felt the pulse of your magic go off. Sweetie...what you just did is something most wizards only dream of managing.”

“H-huh?” Rysela’s voice was clear confusion. Again, she wiped her tears away, only to see her mother beaming instead of scowling, in the way only a mother can.

“I am upset that you lost control of your anger, and we will discuss that,” Althaea looked serious for a moment, and Rysela withered a little at those words, but her mother was quick not to let it linger, positive expression returning as she continued, “but, I think once tomorrow rolls around, we should seriously sit down and talk about the next steps that someone with your inherent magical talents should take in terms of a proper education here in the city.”

“S-so,” Rysela’s voice was barely stable enough to speak without sobbing again, but she was managing, “t-they’re not gonna have me arrested...?” Her mother actually let out a giggle at that, with a voice of silvery bells. Then, she shook her head,

“No, darling. For one thing: you’re the king’s daughter. They won’t have you arrested unless it’s something truly, intentionally malicious. Second, it wasn’t like his hand was terribly injured, most of the glass actually fragmented so much that any cuts to his hand were tiny and can heal with a basic cure wounds spell. Third, he kind of had it coming, and I think he knew that. After you ran off, he mumbled that he had clearly had a little too much to drink, and chose instead to go sit down somewhere. So, he took it in relatively good spirits.” Rysela didn’t need to wipe her tears anymore, sort-of amazed at how much of a turnaround this was from the rest of her evening. However, her mother raised an eyebrow at her and asked one last question:

“And...it was an accident, wasn’t it Rysie?” Rysela balked at that, eyes going wide.

“O-of course it was!” Rysela’s emotions, of sheer panic and fear, must have also shown through on her face, because her mother was very quick to pat her on the head and reassure her,

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of, little flower. Now, come on. Let’s go back inside. You do owe mister Amamne an apology and an explanation, after all.”

“I...” the little girl swallowed hard, nodding as she took her mother’s hand, standing up and turning towards the entrance of the concert hall once more. “Mom?”

“Hmm?”

Rysela smiled a little bit as they walked, and Althaea found it infectious; how quickly the moods of a child could change with just a few words...

“I love you,” the little one beamed, and Althaea’s smile widened. She couldn’t help but chuckle and lean down to kiss the top of her middle-daughter’s head, as they stepped back inside.

“I love you too, sweetie.”

[ariadnew]

CTJL, ROUND 2: VENICE BEACH

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 8:40 AM

=====================================

It wasn’t that Archie hated Los Angeles. Hate was a terribly strong word. But it wasn’t his favourite place. It wasn’t even a favourite among his least favourite places. If you held a knife to his throat, he’d admit it probably ranked slightly above East London. But only because in East London, odds of someone actually holding a knife to your throat were pretty damn high.

To be fair, it had its merits. The weather was pleasant. The food- in the right places- was sensational. And… there were other attractions. Probably. Some would say Hollywood, but he wasn’t interested in celebrity glitz or gossip; some would say Sunset Boulevard or Rodeo Drive, but he was neither a shopper nor a night clubber. Others might say the theatre. The art, the culture, the music; all valid and acceptable.  

But others would say the beach, and they would be wrong.

Archie was inherently optimistic and struggled to utter a bad word about anything or anyone but as far he was concerned, the famous Californian coast everyone seemed to rave about was perfectly scoffable. Venice Beach- indeed, Santa Monica in general- was teeming with people and litter and discord; the sound of the waves crushed beneath the din of crowds, the air tasting used and saltless, the sand, dirty, pocked with footprints and discarded junk. Tourists stumble under cameras; teenagers wander in hordes like packs of hungry wolves. Nearby, street vendors hawk every kind of junk under the sun: cell phone accessories; bacon-wrapped hotdogs; knots of woodwork; blown and coloured glass; knock-off sunglasses; t-shirts; novelty hats; handmade jewellery, fluttering with feathers and gleaming copper in the sun. Each watches their surroundings with learned vigilance, the weight of impending crime pressing down heavily in the sunlight. Napkins smeared with fingerprints and exotic sauces bluster along the sidewalk. Everything is graffitied. Tags on street lights; quotes on trashcans; peace signs on hand rails; cartoons engaged in titillating acts carved into palm trees. Yes, the wide and majestic horizon spans one side of the view, but the other sides are grey and steel and noise and rush, and concrete, concrete, concrete.

How could one possibly laud that? A real beach was clean and crisp as ice cubes in a glass. The sea glittering and mermaidian; the sands silky with untrodden wispiness; sea birds gliding quietly in the shallows, the sky. He’d been to those places. Places where the sky tasted fresh and salted and endless. The desolate beaches wrapped around Australia, the heel of Italy’s boot, Greek islands unfound by throngs of heedless tourists. And the wild places back home; his home. Places frequented only by sail-hardened fishermen and stray sheep, bellowing with the sound of swell on rock on rough days or the empty silence of tidal pools on quiet ones; where the waters were so cold they tore the air from his lungs and the wind blasted sand, in millions of shattered shards, glassily into his calves. 

He draws a deep breath as the first rush of homesickness begins to stir, then pushes the thoughts from his mind. He is where he is and he is by choice. He could not go back. Would not, go back.

Not yet.

He turns his back to the sea in time to see Dorothy picking a cautious path through the crowd, a cup of watermelon in one hand and a hotdog overflowing with trimmings in the other. The city rises up behind her in a crammed and dizzying assembly of browns, windows, signage, haze. She smiles, one of innocent, unfettered joy, and extends the cup in his direction.

‘Watermelon?’

Archie smiles back. He makes a mental note to call his daughter later that night. He reaches for a wedge of melon, juice dripping across the pavement as he carries it to his mouth.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

______________________________________

(Yeah, safely ignore any times I put on these posts. Normally I’m about details but these things mean about as much as political promises.)

[cafecitowriter]

The Untamed (Chapter 5/5)

Summary: Steve Rogers never thought he would be able to meet his soulmate. Peggy Carter had no interest in meeting hers. Fate intervenes. More than once.

For the "Soulmate AU" square for Steggy Bingo Bash @steggybingobash One person has a soul mark with the location where they will meet their soulmate, and the other person has a timer counting down the exact time the meeting will happen.

Story is complete and now fully posted. Thank you so much to everyone who has gone on this ride with me!

Read Chapter 5 Here

Read from beginning on AO3

Chapter Preview:

Despite how many times she went through the events of February 23rd through February 25th in an attempt to figure out what she possibly could have done to have changed the outcome, what she could have done to save him, the only thing she could ever be certain of was the emptiness that now claimed itself as her constant companion.

Bucky’s death had led to tidal wave after tidal wave of grief and guilt that radiated off of him. As he was living and breathing then, she could feel everything he felt. Every time his agony threatened to swallow him whole, it did the same to her.

His own death was more akin to the Fates cutting his life string — though this time they used acute shards of ice instead of scissors. One moment he was there, present in every part of her heart, her body, and her soul.

The next, he wasn’t.

[a-s-h-f-l-a-m-e]

"Just know that if you hide, it doesn't go away"

boy oh boy do i know that better than anyone and fuck does that shit hurt

i know better than anyone what it feels like being unable to hide from shit you did from the past from your mistakes from things in general and its always there its always there in the back of your mind as a weight and you look at the fox statue and you remember and you start fucking crying

its like feelings and memories bursting at the seams after so long and it hurts because of things that happened and having no safe space and then Them being lost

[razieltwelve]

Mistaken Identity (Final Effect)

Her Imperial Majesty Averia VII was overjoyed to hear that Supreme Admiral Blakey and her wife had just welcomed their first child into the world. However, the smile on her face froze the instant she caught sight of the happy couple and their child over the communications channel.

“Pardon me for one moment,” the empress murmured before calmly cutting the communications feed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

X    X     X

Supreme Admiral Blakey blinked. The empress was normally a very polite person, and she’d seemed perfectly happy right up until her gaze had landed on the baby cradled in Blakey’s arms. That baby had adorable cat ears, the same lilac eyes as Blakey... and pink hair of a very familiar shade.

Oh crap.

Oh crap.

Oh crap.

“What’s wrong?” her wife asked. “You look worried.”

Blakey looked at her wife... her wife with brown hair that wasn’t quite as dark as the black hair Blakey herself had. “I think the empress is going to murder one of her wives.”

“What?” her wife blurted. “Why?”

“You know how Claire, the bearer of Saviour, and I are like super good friends?” Blakey’s wife nodded. “Look at our daughter’s hair.”

“Oh crap.”

X    X     X

The first inkling that Claire had that her doom was imminent was when the normally unflappable imperial hedgehog accompanying her made a yelping sound and took one big step to the right. Ice erupted down the corridor, a tidal wave of raw cold that would have swept her off her feet and hurled her against the walls if she hadn’t immediately called on Saviour’s power.

The Semblance crushed the incoming attack, reducing the onslaught of Semblance-enhanced ice to a fine powder that swept past on either side of her without leaving so much as a strand of her hair out of place. The imperial hedgehog meanwhile was in the process of communicating with Lord Hedgeborough who had latched onto Averia’s leg but was having no luck in slowing her down at all as she stomped down the corridor.

“What did you do?” Averia growled. “I thought that mission you went on nine months ago in Alliance territory sounded a bit strange, but I never thought for a second that you’d... you’d... you’d...”

To Claire’s horror, Averia actually looked like she was about to cry. But then the sorrow faded and was replaced by pure, unbridled rage. Her Aura shook the corridor and sent tremors through the palace as Lord Hedgeborough abandoned his attempts to restrain her in his smaller form in favour of transforming and trying to grab her. However, the surge of power that came from the empress, along with the tendrils of ice that formed around her, was enough to drive even the mighty hedgehog back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Claire replied. Mental alarm bells were ringing throughout her mind. Something was very, very wrong here. She had been about to join Averia in sending their congratulations to Supreme Admiral Blakey about the birth of her first child when this had happened. Wait. Was it something to do with that? “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Averia hissed. “I just saw Blakey’s daughter, Claire. Tell me, if she has black hair and her wife has brown hair, but her child has pink hair - Farron pink hair! - what sort of conclusion should I draw?”

“Oh crap.” Claire had no idea how that had happened. “I know it looks bad, but that had absolutely nothing to do with me.”

“Then why is the girl’s hair pink, Claire?” Averia was so mad that the entire corridor had frozen around them. “I... I... I know you two have always been close, but we’re married. I’m supposed to be able to trust you, but then you go on a mission with her, and nine months later she has a pink-haired daughter? What other conclusion am I supposed to draw?”

Claire wracked her mind for an answer, but she was currently coming up blank. Thankfully, salvation was at hand. Lord Hedgeborough barged through the spires of ice and frost that blocked the corridor and all but threw Lumos Dia-Farron at them.

The Dia-Farron member of the Imperial Guard managed to land on his feet and promptly threw his hands up in front of him. “Please, don’t mangle me!” Like any sensible person, he was smart enough to worry about his safety when a fight between two such powerful people was involved. “But I think I can explain!”

Claire mentally promised to never, ever complain about his eccentricities again if he could get her out of this. “Please do.”

Lumos took a deep breath and then used Bag of Tricks to pull out a holographic projector that proceeded to display an elaborate family tree. “Like we always do, the Dia-Farron looked into the background of anyone marrying someone else important. Since Supreme Admiral Blakey is important, we also looked into the background of her wife. It turns out that she’s a distant descendant of Neopolitan from the Age of Heroes.”

“Wait...” Claire had already put together the pieces, but Averia was still too upset to think clearly.

“Yes. As you know, researchers believe that Neo’s Semblance was a distant shard of Saviour that had split off from the original Semblance and fused with a shard of Ragnarok long before the Age of Heroes. More importantly, it explained why Neo was one of the few people alive with Farron-pink hair who wasn’t actually a Farron.”

Averia blinked. The ice covering the corridor began to recede. “But... that was so long ago...”

“Neo’s genes are kind of a mess - it comes from being a weird hodge-podge of Saviour and Ragnarok genes. Frankly, it’s a miracle she wasn’t some kind of short-lived mutant although that likely explained her short stature. Due to her weird genetics, the genes for hair colour in many of her descendants, even some in this day and age, are complex, capable of expressing in a variety of different hair colours regardless of the hair colours of the parents. For instance, it’s not unheard of for some of her descendants to have completely pink hair but for their children to have dark hair, or for some to have dark hair but then have children...”

“With pink hair.” Averia took two steps and then staggered. She would have fallen if Lord Hedgeborough hadn’t caught her. “I... I am such an idiot.” She stared at her hands. “I can’t believe I just walked out here and attacked you, and...”

Claire could already see the empress beginning to sink into a cycle of self-loathing, so she did something that many a bearer of Saviour had done to foolish people over the years. She walked to the empress, took a moment to aim her attack, and then she chopped her over the head.

“Ouch!” Averia cried, clutching her head. “You hit me!”

“Yeah, I did.” Claire sighed. “So stop beating yourself up.” She saw the look in Averia’s eyes and pressed on. “Yes, we will talk about it, but we will talk about it later. Right now, we need to go back over there and finish congratulating Blakey on her child.” She paused. “Because she’s probably wondering if I’m still alive with the way you must have stormed out of there.”

X    X     X

Author’s Notes

Trust Neo to keep making trouble for her descendants centuries after she’s gone. In all seriousness though, there have always been rumours, some more credible than others, that Blakey and Claire are interested in each other romantically. Can you imagine how shocking it must have been to see Blakey’s kid with Farron-pink hair when neither Blakey nor her spouse have it and the timing on Claire’s mission matches perfectly? Yeah. Perfect recipe for trouble.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here. I’ve recently released two stories, Attempted Adventuring and Surviving Quarantine, as well as two audiobooks, Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Army of Golems and Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire. If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check them out.