#ink and shadows and sword and glass

[iris-qt]

What I Cannot Say

knight!theo | medieval au ⚔︎

The castle slumbers.

Rain patters softly against the high, stained-glass windows, and the candle at your desk burns low, its golden flame dancing across your ink-stained fingers. You shouldn’t still be here. The other court scribes have long since vanished, and even the guards are trading shifts beneath their breath.

But the scrolls before you whisper like old friends, records of ancient treaties, old languages curling across parchment like spells.

You don’t notice the door open.

Not until the floorboard creaks... the one you keep meaning to fix.

Your quill stills.

You look up, heart skipping.

He stands there, silent in the threshold, half-draped in shadow. Rain beads across the black leather of his shoulder guards, his hair damp, curling at the edges. A dark cloak slung across one shoulder. A blade at his hip.

Ser Theodore Nott.

He shouldn't be here. Not at this hour. Not in the library. Not with you.

“My lord,” you say softly, standing too quickly. You nearly knock over the candle.

He doesn’t blink. His gaze, sharp and unreadable, scans the room before returning to you.

“I was told you kept the original texts from the House of Gwael,” he says, voice quiet. Clipped. As if it costs him something to ask. “I need to read them.”

You swallow. “Of course.”

You bend to retrieve the scrolls, your fingers trembling. Not because you’re frightened. You’re not. It’s just—

He’s taller than you remembered. And even in the flickering candlelight, he’s beautiful in the way statues are beautiful: cold and eternal and utterly untouchable.

You hand him the scroll.

His fingers brush yours.

A mistake, probably. He’s wearing gloves, and yet the contact makes your breath catch anyway.

Theo notices. You can feel it... not in any expression (his face stays unreadable as ever), but in the slow, precise way he unrolls the scroll, eyes flickering toward you only once.

“I didn’t think knights cared for language,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He glances up. His voice is low and sure.

“I care for many things people assume I don’t.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you return to your seat, unsure whether to keep reading or flee to your chambers and scream into your pillow. The candle gutters. He stays.

Minutes pass. The only sounds are rain, your turning pages, and the soft scratch of his gauntlet against parchment. Then, quietly:

“Why do you work so late?”

You look up.

Theodore’s gaze is trained on the page, but his question lingers in the air, warm and unexpected.

You blink. “No one notices me here.”

At that, his eyes lift. Hold yours.

“I do.”

Your heart thuds. Loud enough that surely even a knight can hear it.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, more gently now. “You’re always the last to leave. Even in the cold. Even when your hands shake.”

You flush, throat tight.

“I like the quiet.”

He hums. “So do I.”

A long pause. A soft flicker of lightning. His hand drifts, without thinking, to the hilt of his sword, the motion absentminded, protective.

You wonder if he’s always like this, or just with you.

Theo rolls the scroll back up and sets it down but doesn’t leave. Not yet.

Instead, he says softly, “You read poetry, don’t you?”

You nod, uncertain.

“I remembered a line, once,” he says, still not looking at you. “When I was bleeding. I thought I would die. But it came back to me anyway. Something about stars. And the way some people carry light inside them.”

You stare.

He finally meets your gaze.

“I thought of you.”

And just like that, the room feels smaller. Warmer. Brighter.

Like a candle that refuses to go out.

...

The next time you find it, it’s tucked between the pages of your copy of Herbal Magicks of the Olden Kingdoms.

A shard of dragon glass. Real. Cool to the touch, with a small crest engraved at its center: not from your kingdom. Foreign. Ancient. Pinned beside it: a note. Neatly folded.

Your name is written in an impossibly tidy hand. You open it.

For the scholar who outshines the sun with her questions. This was taken from the ruins of Aelwyn, where the old queens studied spellfire and starlore. I thought of you when I saw it. —T.N.

Your breath catches.

He thinks of you. In battle. In ruins. In other kingdoms.

You clutch the note to your chest and spend a full five minutes pacing the length of the library trying not to combust.

You don’t get the chance to thank him. Not yet.

Because the court session that day is… a mess.

You’re summoned to bring the translated treaty notes, normal work, but the nobles are restless. They gossip, drunk on mead and power, casting eyes at the quiet scribe who dares sit in council.

And then Lord Durran (slimy, bored, and old) speaks up.

"Tell me, girl," he sneers, loud enough to echo. “When did scribes begin thinking themselves courtiers? Or are you simply warming Lord Nott’s lap in exchange for coin?”

The hall freezes. You do, too. Until the scrape of a chair. A deliberate step.

Theodore Nott doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. But when he moves, the entire chamber listens.

“I suggest,” he says coldly, “you keep my name off your tongue unless you’re prepared to swallow your teeth.”

Gasps ripple. Durran flushes, paling. No one challenges Ser Theodore. Not even fools.

He doesn’t look at the others. Only at you.

And then, in the shadows of the halls outside the courtroom, he walks over and places another small item in your palm.

It’s a pendant this time. Worn. Engraved with a script only three historians in the realm could read.

“I thought you might translate it,” he murmurs, quiet enough just for you.

And with that, he turns. Walks away. Cloak swirling. Sword gleaming. You remain frozen, your heart racing. It says something that you don’t even open the pendant until much later. You just stand there, cheeks burning, wondering how it’s possible for someone so silent to make this much noise inside your chest.

...

It takes you three days to crack it.

Not because you’re slow, gods no. You’re the only person in the castle who can read High Eltheric, a long-dead language that looks like poetry and spells had a lovechild.

But you hesitate.

You hold the pendant beneath your pillow, beneath your breath, fingers tracing the etched lines like they’ll whisper something before your mind dares translate it. Every time you try to begin, you think of Theo’s eyes on you. The way he placed it in your hand. Like it meant something. Like you mean something.

Finally, on the third night, rain against your windows, firelight low, you set the pendant beside your ink pot, take a steadying breath, and begin.

Word by word, the meaning unravels:

To the one whose mind is a thousand burning stars I offer what little heart I have. If you ever wish to claim it.

Your quill drops.

Your breath hitches.

You read it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t change.

He gave you a coded love confession. In a dead language. That only you could read.

What kind of maddening, infuriating, devastatingly romantic knight—

You sit back in your chair, staring at the pendant like it might burst into flames. Because now you know. Now you see it. The pattern of his gifts. The books. The relics. The looks that lingered too long and the way he always stood between you and danger, like a silent shadow forged of steel and longing.

You bite your lip.

And you smile.

Because you realize: he thinks you haven’t noticed.

A/N: obsessed with this au | ty to @kiaxika and tagging @ladyblablabla

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 1

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: FUTURE ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing.

Word count: 13937

Rhysand's office was dimly lit, the soft glow of faelight casting long shadows over the dark mahogany furniture. The air smelled faintly of leather, ink, and the rich tang of spiced wine. Cassian leaned back in one of the armchairs, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, while Azriel sat with his customary stillness, though his eyes betrayed the warmth of someone entirely at ease. Rhysand, perched on the edge of his desk, held his own drink with the casual elegance he always seemed to exude.

“Remind me again,” Cassian said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Why do we still have to deal with these Illyrian males who think they’re gods’ gift to training camps? I’ve been dealing with one this week who couldn’t even hold his sword properly, and he still had the audacity to call himself a warrior.”

Rhysand snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “Because if we don’t, they’ll tear themselves apart—or worse, decide to revolt again. You’re good at handling them, Cass.”

“Good at handling them?” Cassian scoffed. “I’ve got three sons at home who listen better than most of those arrogant bastards.”

Rhysand smirked. “That says more about Nesta than it does you.”

Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rare but genuine. “How are your boys doing, anyway?”

Cassian’s face softened instantly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Torran’s growing too fast. He’s already outpacing me in drills. Emrys is still too young to care about swords, which drives Torran insane. And little Calen—” He shook his head, laughing. “That one’s going to be the death of me. He’s climbing everything he sees. Nesta caught him on the roof last week.”

Azriel raised a brow. “The roof?”

Cassian nodded grimly. “Nesta nearly burned the house down when she found him. I don’t know whether to be proud or terrified. Probably both.”

Rhysand laughed, tipping his glass toward Cassian. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“And you don’t?” Cassian shot back. “How’s Nyx? Still giving you and Feyre a run for your money?”

Rhysand sighed dramatically. “Thirteen is...a challenge. He’s inherited Feyre’s stubbornness and my sharp tongue, which is a dangerous combination.”

Cassian snorted. “Sounds like poetic justice to me.”

Rhysand ignored him. “He’s growing into his powers faster than we expected. Sometimes I don’t know whether to be proud or worried. Feyre’s convinced he’s going to be stronger than both of us one day.”

“He probably will be,” Azriel said simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

Rhysand tilted his head, considering. “Maybe. But I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Azriel shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Nyx will outpace you before you know it.”

Cassian grinned. “And then you’ll know what it feels like when your kids don’t need you to teach them anymore.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He turned to Azriel. “Speaking of kids, how’s Kaia?”

Azriel’s expression softened instantly, the shadows around him retreating. “She’s...perfect. Curious about everything. She spent half an hour today chasing after her own shadow, trying to figure out why it wouldn’t go away.” His voice was tinged with amusement and an unmistakable love.

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And YN? Is she keeping up with her?”

Azriel gave a quiet laugh. “Barely. Kaia’s too quick for her own good. YN says she’s going to start making me run after her when she gets tired.”

Rhysand smirked. “You always were the fastest, Az. Seems fitting.”

Azriel shot him a look, though it lacked any real venom. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re chasing Nyx through Velaris at two in the morning.”

Cassian laughed, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To fatherhood. The most exhausting battle we’ve ever fought.”

The other two raised their glasses, the clink of crystal filling the room.

Rhysand’s gaze flicked between them, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Cassian nodded, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, we have.”

The door to Rhysand's office creaked open just enough for a small, tousled head to peek inside. Azriel’s sharp gaze flicked to the doorway, his eyes softening as Kaia’s little feet padded across the stone floor. Without hesitation, she ran straight to him, her tiny wings fluttering in a haphazard attempt to take off.

“Dada!” she squealed, her voice high-pitched and filled with excitement. She launched herself into his arms with a giggle, and Azriel caught her effortlessly, pulling her close.

“Kaia,” Azriel murmured, pressing a kiss to her messy hair. “What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, big amber eyes that mirrored his looking up at him with feigned innocence. “I no want bath,” she said, wrinkling her little nose in distaste. Her chubby arms wrapped around him tighter. “Mama say I need bath... but I hide!”

Azriel’s lips twitched at the sight of her determination. “You hid from your mama to come find me?”

Kaia nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing with every movement. “Ye! I run real fast! Hide so no bath! No bath, Dada!” Her words were still jumbled with her toddler speech, but the meaning was clear enough.

Cassian leaned forward in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “What about me, huh? I don’t get a hug?”

Kaia squinted at him, brows furrowing as if trying to understand. After a moment, she shook her head and pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You too loud!” she declared with absolute certainty, her little lips pouting. “You talk all da time. I no like.”

Cassian laughed, throwing his head back. “Too loud? I’m the fun one, Kaia. You can’t just pick favourites like that.”

But Kaia was already halfway out of his reach, shifting in Azriel’s lap as she snuggled in closer to him. Her tiny hands reached up and tugged at Rhysand’s dark hair, as if the pull of his long strands was just too tempting.

“Rhysie,” she said with a giggle, her toddler voice softening the name into something both endearing and mischievous. Rhysand chuckled, allowing her to yank on his hair without complaint.

“You’re a little troublemaker, Kaia,” Rhysand said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as she pulled harder, then instantly snuggled back into Azriel’s side.

“Don’t pull on Rhysie’s hair, sweetling,” Azriel said gently, though there was a fond smile on his face. He wrapped an arm tighter around her as she cuddled against his chest, clearly not bothered by his warning.

“No bath!” Kaia protested again, her speech barely coherent as she pouted. “Mama no get me! I run! I hide!” She giggled again, clearly proud of herself. “Mama say I need clean. I say no! I say no bath, no bath, no bath!”

Azriel shook his head, chuckling softly as he ran his fingers through her dark hair. “You’re very clever, little one.” He looked at the others, sharing a silent understanding that there was no way Kaia was going back to the bath tonight.

Cassian grinned. “Alright, no bath. But only if you tell me a secret first, Kaia.”

She leaned back in Azriel’s lap, her tiny face scrunched up in thought. “A secret?” she asked, sounding very serious for a two-year-old.

“Yes, a secret,” Cassian insisted. “Tell me something nobody else knows.”

Kaia looked around the room, her eyes narrowing as she thought harder. Then, after a long pause, she smiled brightly. “I cookies,” she whispered loudly, leaning in to make sure Cassian heard. “I no share cookie.”

Everyone laughed, even Rhysand shaking his head with a smile. “That’s a secret?” he teased.

Kaia nodded vigorously. “Big swecret!” she insisted, then looked up at Azriel with all the sweetness in the world. “Dada... no bath?”

Azriel kissed the top of her head. “No bath tonight, sweetheart. But you’ve gotta let me have a drink with the guys now, okay?”

Kaia looked at him seriously, her little brows furrowing. “I no want drink. I want you,” she said, her tone pleading.

Azriel’s heart softened. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Always.”

Kaia settled back into his arms, clearly satisfied. “Okay, Dada. You stay.”

Kaia, content and warm in Azriel’s arms, relaxed into him, her little body soft and pliable as she burrowed closer. Azriel’s wings adjusted slightly, folding around her like a protective cocoon as she curled up against his chest, her tiny hands clasping at the fabric of his tunic. Her hair—so dark and wild—spilled across his arm, and her breath came slow and steady as she began to doze off, her toddler body relaxing against the weight of his warmth.

The low murmur of conversation from the men around them filled the air, but Kaia wasn’t paying attention. Instead, her tiny fingers traced the markings on his arm absentmindedly, her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She was already half asleep, the soft and steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her further.

Cassian was leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, giving Azriel a teasing look. "You know, I thought Azriel was the quiet one," he said, glancing toward Rhysand with a raised brow. "But now we’ve got the next generation in here, and she’s already taking after her dad. Quiet as a shadow."

Azriel chuckled softly, a quiet sound that only made Kaia snuggle deeper into him. “She doesn’t stay quiet when she wants something,” he murmured, though his voice held the tenderness that came with his love for her.

Rhysand, ever the calm presence, took a slow sip of his drink. “She has a strong will,” he said thoughtfully. “Wonder where she got that from? You or my sister?” He shot a playful glance toward Azriel.

Azriel only gave him a quiet look of warning, his fingers running through Kaia’s soft hair as her breath deepened, little snores just beginning to escape her. He spoke in a low, affectionate tone. “She’s more than just willful. She’s clever. She knows how to get what she wants.”

Cassian grinned. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger already, doesn’t she?”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, his wings fluttering lightly in the quiet, the weight of her trust settling over him. “She knows exactly how to work her way around me.”

“She’s two,” Cassian teased. “Wait until she’s ten, and she’ll have you wrapped up in knots.”

“I’ll be ready,” Azriel said with a soft smile, though the idea of her growing up so quickly left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He kissed her forehead gently, almost imperceptibly, as she murmured something unintelligible in her sleep.

The conversation drifted away from him as he allowed himself to enjoy this brief, peaceful moment with his daughter, the calm of the room enveloping them. But as the men continued to talk, there was a soft shuffle of footsteps, and Kaia’s small head jerked up from Azriel’s chest, her sleepy eyes blinking rapidly.

“Dada,” she whispered, her little voice thick with sleep. “Mama?”

Azriel stroked her hair gently, reassuring her. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

But Kaia’s curiosity had already taken over. She sat up suddenly, rubbing her eyes as she looked around the room. "Mama? I hide!” she said with a gleam of mischief in her voice, suddenly more awake and alert. Her eyes darted across the room as if calculating the best place to hide from YN. Without warning, she hopped off Azriel’s lap, her tiny wings fluttering in excitement. She scampered to the couch and dove under the blanket with an exaggerated puff of air, pulling it over her head, only her little feet sticking out.

Azriel watched her with a fond, amused expression, shaking his head slightly. “Kaia, you can’t keep hiding from Mama,” he warned softly, though there was no real reprimand in his tone.

Kaia’s voice came from under the blanket, muffled but still clear. “Mama no find me,” she said with utter confidence. Her tiny legs wiggled, her feet kicking the blanket in her excitement. “I hide, Dada! I good at hide!”

Cassian and Rhysand both chuckled at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes twinkled as he looked over at Azriel. “Looks like she’s more like you than we thought. You used to hide from your problems too.”

Azriel gave him a pointed look. “I don’t hide.”

“Of course not,” Rhysand said smoothly, though there was an unmistakable smirk on his face. “Kaia certainly doesn’t.”

Kaia, apparently content with her decision to hide, made little giggling noises from beneath the blanket. Azriel’s wings unfolded slightly in amusement, and he reached for her, gently pulling back the blanket to find her face all scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remain hidden.

“I see you, little one,” Azriel said softly, and Kaia’s giggles broke free as she peeked out, eyes wide with a mix of delight and mischief.

“I’m good hide, Dada!” she announced, her tiny hands still clutching at the blanket.

Azriel smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she crawled back onto his lap, snuggling against him once more. “You are, sweetheart. But no more hiding from Mama. She’s coming.”

Kaia frowned for a moment, but the promise of staying with her daddy seemed to cheer her up. “No Mama. No bath,” she muttered, her speech still jumbled but full of intent. “Hide more!”

Azriel chuckled, knowing full well that this little one would give her mama a run for her money.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway before the door to Rhysand’s office creaked open, and you stepped inside. Immediately, your eyes flicked to the sight before you—Azriel, seated comfortably in one of the chairs, his dark wings enveloping his daughter, who was curled up in his lap, asleep but still warm from the lingering glow of her playful energy.

You smirked as you took in the scene. Cassian and Rhysand were deep in conversation, but both looked up at you the moment you entered, the tension of their talks easing into an unspoken amusement. They’d seen that look before—the one where you were hunting for something (or someone) you didn’t want to admit was far too skilled at evading capture.

“I’m searching for a runaway,” you said with a teasing lilt to your voice, crossing your arms. Your gaze fell onto the small figure tucked against Azriel’s chest, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her little body completely at ease despite her escape attempt.

Azriel’s head tilted slightly as he met your eyes, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You mean Kaia, don’t you?” Rhysand’s voice was dry, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “I’m sure she’s hiding from you because she knows exactly what’s coming.”

“I’m sure she’s just lost in thought,” Azriel replied, though the way he shifted Kaia gently in his arms suggested he was trying to keep her in her comfortable cocoon. “She was really adamant about not needing a bath.”

“Oh, she’s very good at that,” you said, walking further into the room. “I thought I’d check in with you guys, but it looks like you’ve got her well in hand.” You looked pointedly at Azriel, whose face had softened as he ran his fingers through Kaia’s hair.

Kaia shifted in Azriel’s lap, her eyes half-lidded, but she was still awake, and the moment she heard your voice, her little face scrunched up in exaggerated suspicion. She slowly lifted her head, her tiny wings fluttering behind her as she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes.

“No Mama!” Kaia protested, throwing her arms over her face as if it would somehow shield her from the inevitable. “Hide! I hide, no bath!”

You sighed dramatically, taking a step closer, feigning exasperation. “Kaia, sweetheart, don’t you want to be all nice and clean for the night? I was just coming to check on my two favourite people, but I see that one of them is being a little troublemaker.” You crouched down in front of her, smiling at her defiant little pout.

She peeked from beneath her arms, and her lip trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “No Mama. No bath. I hide. I hide from Mama, Dada.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his voice low and soothing. “She’s good at hiding, love. I’ve tried to tell her it’s not going to work.”

“Oh, I know it won’t work,” you said, reaching out to pull the blanket off her tiny form. “But it’s adorable to watch her try.”

Kaia giggled as the blanket was pulled away, exposing her to you. Her small hands shot up to her face again in an attempt to shield herself. “No, no, no bath! I hide. I good hide!”

“You are a very good hider, sweetheart.” You reached down to scoop her up gently, ignoring her protest. She squirmed a little but melted against you when she realized there was no escape. “But no more running. It’s time for a bath.”

Kaia, however, wasn’t about to give up so easily. “I no need bath,” she declared with a loud puff of air. “I already clean! I clean!”

Rhysand’s laugh echoed through the room. “I believe that’s a no, then.”

You shot him a quick, amused glance. “A very determined no, at that. I think she might be more stubborn than any of us.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gazed at Kaia, still nestled against you. “She gets that from her mother.”

“She might also get it from her father,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted Kaia onto your hip.

“Not that much,” Azriel protested, though the warmth in his voice made it clear he didn’t mind at all.

“I’ll let you both deal with her when she’s three,” you said, already walking toward the door with Kaia clinging to you like a tiny koala. “For now, she’s still in the stage where she’s cute enough to get away with anything.”

Cassian laughed. “Good luck with that, YN. I’ve had a lot of practice with troublemakers, but I’m pretty sure Kaia’s going to be next-level.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I’m well aware, Cassian.”

Azriel’s eyes followed you as you walked out the door, Kaia’s arms wrapped tightly around you. “You sure you want to take her?”

You glanced back at him and smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “She’s your daughter, Azriel. I think you’ve had your turn.”

Kaia let out a loud whine, her small hand tugging at your collar. “No bath!” she repeated, her toddler words still as adorably clear as ever. “I no bath, Mama!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” you said, kissing her forehead.

As you carried Kaia toward the door, her little protests still filling the air, you paused and turned back to the three men lounging in the office. Cassian was leaning so far back in his chair it looked like he might tip over, Rhysand was swirling his drink with all the leisure of a man who had nothing but time, and Azriel—well, Azriel was looking at you with that calm, unruffled expression, even though you knew he was just as guilty as the other two.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You know, I have a theory,” you said, bouncing Kaia slightly as she rested her head against your shoulder.

“A theory, hmm?” Rhysand drawled, one brow arching as he took another slow sip of his drink. “Do enlighten us.”

You smirked. “It’s funny how every time Feyre, Nesta, and I are up to our necks with the kids—” you glanced at Azriel meaningfully, “—all of you somehow end up here. Drinking. Relaxing. Laughing like life is oh-so-easy.”

Cassian snorted, his grin widening as he set his drink down. “We’re strategizing,” he said, far too defensively to be believable. “Important things. Illyrian training. You know, for the next generation.”

“Right,” you said, shifting Kaia to your other hip. “Strategizing. Because obviously, the best way to deal with a horde of screaming children is to sit in Rhysand’s office with a glass of whiskey.”

“I think it’s working,” Rhysand chimed in smoothly, giving you a wink. “Look how relaxed we are.”

Kaia, as if on cue, perked up just enough to lift her head and point a chubby finger at Rhysand. “Rhysie no help!” she declared, her toddler voice loud and certain.

You grinned. “Exactly, Kaia. Rhysie no help.” You turned toward the door, raising your voice just enough to carry down the hallway. “Nesta! You’ve got to come see this. The boys are in here strategizing while we’re busy running after all the kids.”

A moment later, you heard footsteps approaching, quick and purposeful, and then Nesta appeared in the doorway, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room. “Let me guess,” she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Drinking and lounging while we’re doing all the work?”

Cassian, who had the audacity to look pleased to see her, leaned back even further in his chair. “We’re taking a much-needed break, sweetheart. You know how exhausting strategizing can be.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Strategizing, huh? And what exactly have you been strategizing, Cassian?”

“Training,” Cassian replied smoothly. “The future. Our sons.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Of course. You’re strategizing, and we’re dealing with three boys who’ve decided that walls are optional for flying practice.”

Cassian sat up straighter, a smirk playing at his lips. “That sounds like good training to me.”

Nesta shot him a look that could have frozen the Sidra. “It’s destruction, Cassian.”

Kaia, catching onto the tension, buried her face against your shoulder, peeking out just enough to whisper, “Cassy in trouble?”

“Yes, Kaia,” you said, grinning. “Cassy’s in big trouble.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing the exchange with an amused smile, finally spoke up. “To be fair,” he said softly, “the boys did ask for a break.”

“Of course they did,” you said, shaking your head. “Meanwhile, Feyre and I had to chase Nyx off the roof again, and Nesta’s youngest is trying to figure out how to set a trap for the twins.”

Rhysand chuckled, raising his glass toward Nesta. “To the mothers of the Inner Circle. The true warriors among us.”

Nesta raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “You’re lucky we haven’t strung all of you up yet.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning as he motioned toward the empty chair next to him. “Why don’t you join us, sweetheart? You deserve a break, too.”

Nesta sighed but finally walked over, claiming the chair with a regal grace. She glanced at you as you shifted Kaia again, who had started to drift off once more. “I’m not doing this alone, YN,” she said. “Feyre deserves to see this, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you replied, smirking as you moved toward the door. “I’m going to send her in next. Let’s see how long your little strategy session lasts once the rest of us are here.”

Azriel’s quiet laugh followed you out, and you heard Cassian groan, “She’s bluffing, right?”

Rhysand’s amused voice was the last thing you heard before you turned the corner. “You know better than that, Cassian.”

You didn’t make it far before you paused, a smirk creeping across your face. “You know what? Feyre does need to see this now.” Adjusting Kaia on your hip, you turned back toward the hallway and called out, “Feyre! You might want to come take a look at this.”

The sound of footsteps echoed moments later, and Feyre appeared, her hair slightly mussed, her expression one of mild exasperation. “What is it now? Did Nyx try to jump off something again?”

“Not this time,” you said, gesturing toward the office. “But you’ll want to see what our fearless mates and brothers are up to while we’re busy chasing after their children.”

Feyre raised a brow and stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over the scene—the three men lounging in comfort, glasses of whiskey in hand, all looking far too pleased with themselves.

“Well, well,” Feyre said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What do we have here? A secret meeting?”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a slow smile as he gestured to the empty seat next to him. “Join us, darling. We were just discussing the intricacies of basic Illyrian training.”

Feyre scoffed, striding further into the room. “Basic Illyrian training, hmm? Is that what you call this little boys’ club?”

“I think it’s cute,” you chimed in, bouncing Kaia slightly as she started to squirm. “They’re pretending they’re doing something important while we’re out there making sure their children don’t destroy Velaris.”

Nesta, still seated beside Cassian, smirked and gestured toward Feyre. “Take a seat. I’m sure they’ll explain how their ‘strategizing’ is critical to the survival of the Night Court.”

Feyre shook her head, but there was amusement in her eyes as she looked at Rhysand. “You know, Rhys, I’m starting to think we deserve a break.”

“A break?” Rhysand echoed, tilting his head. “From what, darling? Surely you’re not suggesting life with our children is anything less than a joy.”

You snorted. “Oh, it’s a joy, alright. Especially when Nyx decides to start a game of tag on the roof, or Cassian’s boys decide to see if they can break through a wall with their wings.”

“They’re learning structural integrity,” Cassian said defensively, though his grin betrayed him.

“And how exactly is that helping us?” Nesta asked, her tone sharp as she fixed him with a glare. “Do you know how many walls we’ve had to repair this month?”

Azriel stayed quiet, his hand lightly rubbing Kaia’s back as she snuggled against him, but his lips twitched in amusement.

Feyre stepped closer to Rhysand, placing her hands on the back of his chair. “You know, I think we deserve a week off. No kids. Just us. Let’s see how well you three manage without us.”

Rhysand arched a brow, his voice smooth as silk. “A week off? Are you implying we can’t handle our own children?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shifting Kaia again as she started to doze off. “Can you handle Kaia’s nightly escape attempts? Or Nyx’s tendency to challenge gravity at every opportunity?”

Nesta smirked. “What about when the twins decide they’re inventing a new game that requires smashing furniture?”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Please. We’ve handled far worse.”

“Oh, really?” Feyre asked, her tone dripping with challenge. “Then let’s make it official. One week. No help. No Feyre, no YN, no Nesta. Just the three of you and all the kids.”

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gave her a slow, considering smile. “And what would the three of you be doing during this week of freedom?”

“Anything we want,” you replied immediately, grinning. “No schedules. No messes to clean. No nightly tantrums.”

Nesta’s voice was firm. “And no repairing walls.”

Azriel glanced down at Kaia, his gaze softening. “You’d really leave us alone for a week?”

“Yes,” you said, though your heart warmed at the way he was glancing at your daughter. “And you’d survive. Maybe.”

Cassian grinned, leaning toward Azriel and Rhysand. “Come on, boys. How hard could it be?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked toward Feyre, full of mischief. “Challenge accepted.”

Feyre smirked. “You’ll regret that by the end of the first day.”

You laughed, Kaia stirring slightly as you kissed the top of her head. “We’ll pack our bags tonight. Good luck, gentlemen. You’re going to need it.”

You grinned, shifting Kaia onto your hip as you leaned against the doorframe. “You know, Feyre, Nesta, and I could always go to the Day Court for the week. Helion would love to take us in. No kids, plenty of sunshine, and a lot less chaos.”

Cassian sat up straight, feigning offense. “The Day Court? You’d betray us like that?”

“Oh, it’s not betrayal,” Nesta said with a smirk, tapping her fingers on the armrest of her chair. “It’s survival. And besides, Helion has excellent taste. He knows how to treat his guests.”

Rhysand arched a brow at Feyre, his expression amused. “You’d run off to Helion? Really, darling? Aren’t I enough?”

Feyre tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Well, Helion does throw very good parties. And he doesn’t make me chase a child off the roof.”

Before Rhysand could respond, a loud, familiar voice interrupted.

“NO!”

Nyx came barreling into the room, his curls bouncing as he skidded to a stop in front of you. His eyes were wide with panic, and his wings flared slightly behind him as he planted himself firmly in your path.

“You can’t leave them in charge!” Nyx declared, pointing dramatically at his father, Cassian, and Azriel. “Not again! They’ll ruin everything!”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression equal parts amused and offended. “Excuse me, young man. What exactly are you accusing us of?”

Nyx turned on him, his hands on his hips. “The last time you were in charge, Uncle Cassian said I could ‘fly like an Illyrian,’ and then—” He flapped his arms wildly for emphasis. “And then I broke my arm!”

Cassian burst out laughing, clapping a hand on his chest. “That was a learning experience, Nyx. Every Illyrian has to learn how to fall at some point.”

“I didn’t fall!” Nyx shouted, glaring at him. “You threw me!”

“I did not throw you!” Cassian protested, though his grin was far too wide to be convincing.

Nyx crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “You threw me, and then you told Mama it was an accident. I’m still not allowed to go anywhere with you by myself!”

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath about reckless behavior and bad influences. “He’s not wrong, Cassian. You did throw him.”

“I helped him fly,” Cassian corrected, raising his hands defensively.

Nyx turned to you, his expression pleading. “You can’t leave us with them! Uncle Azriel doesn’t even let me hold his knives, and Dad just makes me sit and listen to boring stories about being High Lord.”

Azriel chuckled quietly from his seat, his hand still resting protectively on Kaia’s back as she began to doze. “I’m not letting you hold my knives, Nyx. You’re thirteen, not thirty.”

Nyx huffed, his wings twitching in frustration. “I can fight! I’m strong!”

“You’re also grounded,” Feyre said firmly, cutting off whatever argument he was about to make. “And if you’re trying to talk us out of going to the Day Court, it’s not working.”

Nyx’s eyes widened as he looked between you, Feyre, and Nesta. “You’re really going to leave me with them? Mama, you can’t!”

Rhysand smirked, leaning forward to ruffle Nyx’s hair. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll take excellent care of you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Nyx muttered darkly, stepping away and turning toward the door. “I’m telling Aunt Amren. She’ll stop you.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “Amren’s the one who suggested this in the first place. She said we’ve ‘earned’ it.”

You grinned, watching as Nyx stormed off, muttering under his breath about unfair treatment and irresponsible adults. Turning back to the three men, you tilted your head. “Well, there you have it. Even your own son doesn’t trust you to handle this.”

Rhysand sighed dramatically, lifting his drink. “Clearly, I’ve raised a traitor.”

Cassian laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Rhys. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Azriel didn’t say a word, but the slight twitch of his wings and the quiet laugh that escaped him said everything.

You smiled sweetly, adjusting Kaia on your hip. “Let me know how that attitude works out for you when we’re gone. We’ll be sure to send Helion your love.”

Feyre and Nesta smirked in unison as you all turned to leave, already planning the week of freedom ahead.

-----

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after all the children had finally settled into sleep. Kaia had been tucked into her bed hours ago, her tiny wings carefully draped over her blanket as she drifted off without a care in the world. The boys had stayed up later than usual, their laughter echoing through the halls until Azriel finally sent them off to their rooms with firm but gentle reminders about the chaos they’d already caused today.

Now, it was just you.

You stood in the bedroom, a soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminating the suitcase open on the bed. You were methodically folding clothes—light dresses, comfortable shoes, and a few things Feyre and Nesta had sworn were “perfect for the Day Court.” A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the week ahead. The idea of a break, of sunshine and relaxation with no children demanding your attention, felt like a dream.

The door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Still packing?” Azriel’s voice was soft, laced with that calm, steady warmth you adored.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of him leaning against the doorframe. His hair was slightly tousled, his shoulders relaxed now that the day’s chaos had come to an end. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on the suitcase before meeting your eyes.

“You know,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you, “I could still talk you out of this.”

You smirked, turning back to the suitcase as you folded another dress. “Oh, you could, could you?”

He came to stand beside you, his wings rustling slightly as he leaned against the bedpost. “Absolutely,” he said, his tone low and teasing. “Just say the word, and I’ll convince Feyre and Nesta that this trip isn’t necessary.”

You raised a brow, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “And how exactly would you do that? Bribery? Threats? Or are you planning to charm us into staying?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, his hazel eyes shining with amusement. “I was thinking charm, actually. It usually works on you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you placed another item in the suitcase. “Not this time, Shadowsinger. I’m going, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

He watched you for a moment, his expression softening. “You deserve it,” he said quietly. “All of you do. But… Kaia’s going to miss you.”

You paused, your hands stilling on the edge of the suitcase. “Kaia’s going to miss me?” You looked at him, raising a skeptical brow. “She spent the entire day glued to your side, Az. If anything, she’s going to forget I exist.”

Azriel chuckled, his wings shifting as he straightened. “She loves her mama. Even if she’s too stubborn to admit it sometimes.”

You smiled, your heart warming at the thought of your daughter. “She gets that from you, you know.”

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, his touch gentle as he studied you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your voice softer now. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Azriel’s gaze held yours, his hand dropping to rest on your waist. “We’re both lucky to have you.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the weight of the day melting away. His hand was warm against your side, grounding you in a way only he could.

“You’re really okay with this?” you asked quietly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “Me leaving for a whole week?”

He smiled, a rare, genuine thing that made your heart flutter. “I’ll miss you,” he admitted, his thumb tracing small circles against your hip. “But I’ll survive. And so will Kaia. Somehow.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as his wings folded slightly around you. “I don’t know who I should be more worried about—her or you.”

“Definitely me,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But I’ll try to manage without you.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. “You’ll do more than manage. You’ll be amazing. You always are.”

Azriel leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was both comforting and full of promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur.

“Don’t worry about us. Just enjoy yourself, YN.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart swelling with love for the man before you.

As the silence stretched between you, Azriel’s gaze flickered to your lips, a familiar glint of mischief lighting his hazel eyes. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down your spine, “we still have some time before you leave.”

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “And what exactly are you suggesting, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel’s wings flared slightly, brushing against the edges of the room as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, but he didn’t close the distance. Not yet.

“I’m suggesting,” he said, his voice a soft rumble, “that maybe you should stay here and let me remind you of all the reasons you shouldn’t go.”

Your breath hitched as his free hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He dipped his head, his lips barely grazing your jaw as he whispered, “Starting with how much I’ve missed having you to myself.”

“Az,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone steady even as heat pooled in your chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm as his lips trailed along the curve of your neck. “I never said I would.”

Your hands found their way to his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching under your fingers as you tried to catch your breath. “You’re not going to win, you know. I’m still going.”

His lips paused against your skin, and you felt the smirk that formed there. “Oh, I don’t need to win. I just need to make sure you remember me while you’re gone.”

Your laugh was breathless, and you tipped your head back, giving him better access as his kisses turned more insistent. “As if I could forget you.”

Azriel hummed, his wings curling slightly around you as his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Good,” he murmured, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of the kind of intensity that made your knees weak.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “One more thing,” he said, his voice rough with affection.

“What’s that?” you asked, your voice just as soft.

His lips curved into a smirk as his thumb brushed against your lower lip. “Make sure Helion knows you’re mine.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of warmth as you leaned into him. “I think he already knows, Az.”

“Good,” he said again, his tone playful yet possessive as he kissed you once more, this time with no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Azriel didn’t let you pull away—not that you wanted to. His lips moved against yours with that perfect blend of softness and urgency, his hands anchoring you firmly in place as though daring you to remember anything but him.

The suitcase on the bed was all but forgotten as he coaxed a sigh from you, his mouth tilting into a knowing smirk at your reaction.

“Az,” you murmured against his lips, your voice half-scolding, half-breathless.

“Hm?” he hummed, his tone utterly unrepentant as he kissed the corner of your mouth, then trailed down your jaw.

“You’re distracting me,” you managed, though your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt betrayed just how little you minded.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough in a way that made your pulse flutter. “You’ve been so focused on everyone else, shadow,”—his favorite term of endearment for you, spoken so softly it made your heart ache—“it’s time someone focused on you.”

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his words, even as his teasing lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“You know,” you said, your breath hitching when his teeth grazed your skin, “if you keep this up, Feyre and Nesta are going to show up in the morning, and I’m not going to be ready.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and sinful as he lifted his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t need to pack for the Day Court. You could stay here. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it even as you traced slow circles on his chest. “And what exactly would you do to make it worth my while?”

His hazel eyes darkened, and the corners of his mouth twitched as though he were holding back a full grin. “I’d start,” he said, his voice a silken promise, “by reminding you how much I love you. And then…” His wings flared slightly, his fingers tightening on your hips as he leaned in again.

“And then?” you pressed, your voice soft, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

“And then,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, “I’d spend the whole week making sure you never want to leave my side again.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, though it was breathless and tinged with heat. “Azriel,” you said, shaking your head even as your hands slid up to wrap around his neck, “you are completely incorrigible.”

“I’m your incorrigible husband,” he said, his lips curving as he kissed you again, slow and deep, until all thoughts of the Day Court faded into nothingness.

When you finally pulled away, your breathing uneven and your cheeks flushed, Azriel’s hands stayed firm on your waist, holding you close. His hazel eyes sparkled with satisfaction, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to regain your composure.

“And you love me for it,” he teased, leaning down to brush another soft kiss to your temple.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately for me.”

Azriel chuckled, his wings shifting as he stepped back just enough to give you space. “I’ll leave you to finish packing—if you insist on going, that is.”

“If I insist?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk deepened, and he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Go to the Day Court. But don’t be surprised if I show up halfway through the week to bring you home.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to the suitcase on the bed. “Kaia would never forgive you if you left her for that long.”

“She might forgive me if I brought her to you,” he countered, his voice softening at the thought of your daughter.

“She’d love it,” you admitted, glancing over your shoulder at him. “But I think you can handle a week without me. Besides, Helion’s already promised Feyre, Nesta, and me the royal treatment.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, a subtle flicker of something possessive crossing his face before he hid it behind a playful smile. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

“Miss me already?” you teased, folding the last of your clothes and placing them in the suitcase.

“Always,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart stutter.

You paused, turning fully to face him. For a moment, you just looked at him—the man who had been your partner in everything, who had stood by your side through chaos and calm, who adored you and your daughter more than anything in the world.

Stepping closer, you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you said softly, the words carrying all the weight of your feelings.

Azriel leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “And I love you.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. Then, with a final lingering kiss, Azriel stepped back, his hands falling to his sides.

“I’ll check on Kaia before I head to bed,” he said, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you watched him leave the room, his shadows trailing after him.

And as you turned back to the suitcase, you couldn’t help but smile, already counting down the days until you’d be back in his arms again.

-----

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, bathing the room in soft, golden hues. You stirred slowly, the warmth of Azriel’s arms wrapped securely around you, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. For a moment, you just lay there, savoring the feeling of being tucked against him, his wings sprawled protectively around your form.

His face was relaxed in sleep, the lines of tension from the previous days gone, and you couldn’t help but smile softly at the way he looked—vulnerable and at peace. You pressed your face against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly Azriel—earthy, comforting, and home.

But as much as you wanted to stay there forever, the thought of the day ahead pulled you from the warmth of his embrace. You sighed quietly, trying not to disturb him as you shifted slightly, careful not to wake him. The soft rustle of the blankets seemed to stir Azriel’s senses, and you felt him shift behind you, pulling you closer as though trying to keep you there.

“Five more minutes,” he murmured against the back of your neck, his voice thick with sleep.

You chuckled softly, turning your head to plant a kiss on his jaw. “You know I have to go, right?”

Azriel groaned, his arms tightening around you. “I know,” he mumbled, but there was a hint of reluctance in his tone. “But I can’t let you leave yet.”

You laughed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back soon. Besides, Feyre and Nesta will never let us hear the end of it if we’re late.”

“Mm, they’re already too excited to get away,” he muttered, nuzzling against your neck with a final sigh of contentment. But after a moment, he released you, the warmth of his body leaving a cold spot on the bed.

Reluctantly, you slid out of bed, the cool air of the room instantly making you miss the heat of his touch. You moved to the closet, pulling out your outfit for the day, but as you dressed, you could feel Azriel’s eyes on you, his presence heavy and comforting.

Once you were dressed, you turned back to the bed. Azriel had propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on you with that dark, intense look he always wore when he was lost in thought.

“You’re really going to leave me?” he asked, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of affection.

You smiled, walking over to him and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I have to. I’ll miss you, too, though.”

He nodded, and for a moment, you stood there together, soaking in the last few moments before the day began in full force.

After a final kiss, you left the bedroom, stepping out into the hall. The house was already stirring, and as you walked toward the stairs, you heard the sound of voices below. When you reached the kitchen, you found the familiar sight of Cassian, Rhysand, and your little Kaia sitting at the table.

Kaia’s tiny feet dangled from the chair as she babbled happily, her wide, bright eyes sparkling up at Rhysand, who was teasing her with a piece of fruit. Cassian sat beside her, his boisterous laugh filling the room as he ruffled her hair. His sons were still nowhere to be seen, probably still asleep, which seemed to be a rare luxury in the chaos of their usual routine.

“Well, well,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. “Look who’s in charge of the kids this morning.”

Cassian looked up, grinning ear to ear. “Someone has to keep an eye on them while you take your luxurious break.”

Rhysand glanced up from where he was sitting next to Kaia, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re welcome. Though, I don’t know why you’re so eager to leave us. Kaia seems pretty happy here.”

Kaia giggled, reaching up to grab at Rhysand’s hair, tugging on it with all the strength her tiny hands could muster. “Rhysie!” she said, her voice lisping around the word as she giggled.

You shook your head with a small laugh. “She really is a handful, isn’t she?”

“She’s a delight,” Rhysand said, his tone dry as he pulled his hair out of her grasp. “I’m just glad I’m not the one who has to deal with her tantrums.”

Cassian threw his head back with a laugh. “I can’t wait to hear what happens when it’s Azriel's turn to watch her this week.”

Before you could respond, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and you turned to find Feyre and Nesta walking into the kitchen, both already fully prepared for the trip.

“We’re ready to go,” Feyre announced with a grin, her bags slung over her shoulder.

“You two really can’t wait, can you?” you teased.

Nesta crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We deserve this, YN. Don’t try to ruin our excitement.”

Feyre grinned. “I’ll second that. I think it’s about time we leave the chaos behind for a bit.”

You laughed, crossing the room to grab a cup of tea before setting your gaze on Rhysand and Cassian, who were now clearly in full babysitting mode.

“If any of them come back with bruises or broken limbs, I’m blaming you three,” you said, teasing.

Cassian held up his hands in mock defence. “We’ll be just fine. I promise, Kaia’s in good hands.”

“Besides,” Rhysand added, “you’ll be back before you know it.”

As the four of you gathered your things, laughter and light-hearted banter filled the air. But in the back of your mind, you knew Azriel would be there to handle everything while you were away. You just hoped the boys wouldn’t get too out of hand.

-----

The moment the last of the girls left, a tense silence descended over the room, hanging thick in the air. Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel stood there for a moment, exchanging glances as they mentally prepared themselves for what was about to unfold. They’d been through this before, but that didn’t make it any less challenging.

Azriel shifted on his feet, his wings barely brushing against the table. “Are we sure we can handle all of them?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question of doubt—more like a quiet observation.

Cassian grinned, clearly relishing the chaos. “Of course, we can. How hard can it be? It’s just kids, after all,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. He shot a glance at Rhysand. “And don’t you dare try to say it’s ‘too much,’ Rhys. You’ve survived worse.”

Rhysand sighed but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “True. But we’ve never had this many all at once.”

The sound of little feet padding into the room interrupted the conversation, and soon the three boys—Torran, Emrus, and Calen—came stumbling in, their messy hair and sleep-rumpled faces betraying that they had just woken up. Their eyes were still half-lidded as they slowly blinked at the scene before them: three fully-grown men standing in a kitchen, attempting to look responsible.

“Dad?” Torran rubbed his eyes sleepily, looking at Cassian. “What’s for breakfast?”

Emrus yawned loudly, his hand rubbing his face. “I’m hungry,” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes as he looked at Rhysand, trying to look as cute as possible to get out of a scolding.

Calen, who was the youngest of the three, immediately latched onto his father’s leg, hiding behind it and peering up at the three men. “Daddy,” he said quietly, a bit unsure of the situation. “Where’s Mom?”

Cassian ruffled his hair affectionately. “She’s off on a much-needed vacation, remember? It’s just us today. And don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

Azriel gave a small, half-amused smile, glancing toward Rhysand and Cassian. “This is going to be fun,” he muttered under his breath.

The sound of more footsteps followed soon after, as Nyx walked in, still looking half-asleep but clearly already aware of the shift in the atmosphere. His eyes immediately flickered from Azriel to the boys, and then he gave a soft sigh, knowing exactly what his father was about to ask him to do.

“Dad, I’m not babysitting them,” Nyx grumbled, clearly tired of the routine.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Rhysand. “You’re not. You’re the oldest; it’s your job to make sure they don’t set the house on fire.”

Rhysand snorted, shooting Azriel a knowing look. “He’s right, Nyx. Just keep an eye on them for now. You’re the only one who can make sure Cassian doesn’t let them eat their weight in pastries before noon.”

Cassian threw his hands up in mock offense. “I don’t always spoil them,” he said dramatically. “But I do know what the kids like.”

Nyx rolled his eyes but nodded, knowing he was essentially outnumbered. He moved to sit at the table and begin slouching in the chair, obviously dreading the next few hours.

Just then, Kaia—Azriel’s little two-year-old—wobbled around room, her hair a wild mess of dark curls, her wide, curious eyes scanning the scene before her. She let out a cheerful giggle when she saw her dad and immediately ran toward him.

“Dada!” Kaia called, her baby voice high-pitched and full of excitement as she tried to climb onto his lap.

Azriel’s face softened as he scooped her up, settling her on his knee. “Hey, little one,” he said, his voice tender as he brushed a stray curl from her face. “What are you up to?”

“I want pannycake!” she declared loudly, bouncing on his lap as if that would make her demand more convincing.

“Of course you do,” Azriel said, half-amused and half-resigned. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Rhysand, with a resigned sigh, stepped over to the counter and grabbed the breakfast supplies. “Looks like it’s up to us to feed the masses today,” he muttered. “Anyone want to help?”

Cassian clapped his hands together, standing up with a grin. “You bet. Let’s make this an event.”

Torran, Emrus, and Calen started to gather around the counter, already too excited by the idea of food to care about their previous grumpy moods. Kaia, now securely in Azriel’s arms, pointed enthusiastically at the pancakes and asked, “Can I have bwuebewwies?”

“You can have whatever you want,” Azriel replied with a smile, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. He could already see that he was going to be wrapped around her little finger for the foreseeable future.

As the group settled into their roles, Rhysand began heating up the pan, Cassian retrieved various ingredients with unnecessary enthusiasm, and Nyx slouched in his seat, trying to act like he wasn’t already mentally preparing himself for the chaos ahead.

“Should we make this a competition?” Cassian asked, his tone light as he bounced between tasks. “See who can get the kids fed and settled fastest?”

Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re insane. But I’m in.”

Nyx groaned. “I’m too old for this.”

Cassian barely had time to react before Torran, Emrus, and Calen launched themselves at him, a unified flurry of arms, legs, and battle cries.

“Attack!” Torran shouted, his voice ringing with the authority of the eldest as he tackled Cassian around the middle.

Emrus scrambled to climb onto his father’s back, giggling uncontrollably. “We’ve got you now, Dad!”

Calen, not wanting to be left out, latched onto Cassian’s leg, his little hands gripping tightly as he added his own gleeful shout to the chaos.

Cassian staggered under the weight of all three boys, laughing as he tried to fend them off. “You think you can take me down?” he bellowed dramatically, his voice booming through the kitchen. “I’m a General! You’ll never defeat me!”

“You’re outnumbered, Dad!” Torran crowed, attempting to wrestle Cassian to the ground.

Azriel leaned casually against the counter, Kaia still perched on his hip, her little hands gripping his tunic as she watched the spectacle unfold with wide eyes. “Should we help him, sweetheart?” Azriel asked, his tone amused.

Kaia tilted her head, considering it for a moment before shaking her head firmly. “Nope. Cassy too loud,” she declared, her baby voice cutting through the noise.

Rhysand snorted from his spot near the stove, where he was flipping pancakes. “Looks like you’re on your own, Cassian.”

Cassian shot Rhysand an exaggerated glare. “Some High Lord you are, Rhys. Aren’t you supposed to lead by example?”

“I am,” Rhysand said smoothly, gesturing to the pancakes with a flourish. “I’m feeding your troops. It’s called strategy.”

As Cassian’s boys continued their assault, Nyx, who had been watching with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, got up from his chair and walked over to Kaia. He crouched down so he was at her eye level, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, Kaia,” he said gently, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face. “You wanna get out of here before things get even crazier?”

Kaia blinked at him, her tiny hand clutching Azriel’s sleeve as she considered his offer. “We go?” she asked, her voice curious.

“Somewhere quiet,” Nyx replied, standing up and holding out his hand to her. “Trust me, this week is going to be a mess. We’ve got to stick together, okay?”

Kaia looked up at Azriel, her big dark eyes questioning. Azriel chuckled softly, setting her down on the floor. “Go on, sweetheart,” he said. “Nyx will take care of you.”

Kaia slipped her tiny hand into Nyx’s, her trust in him absolute. Nyx gave her a reassuring smile before glancing back at the adults. “Good luck,” he said dryly, his tone making it clear he didn’t envy them one bit.

With that, Nyx led Kaia out of the kitchen, leaving the three grown men to handle the chaos that was quickly escalating behind them. Rhysand sighed, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. “You know,” he said, addressing no one in particular, “this might actually kill us.”

Azriel smirked, his calm exterior never faltering. “Speak for yourself.”

Cassian, now pinned to the floor by his three sons, looked up with a mock glare. “You two are terrible friends.”

“Friends who are making breakfast,” Rhysand corrected, raising his spatula in a mock toast.

Cassian groaned, though his grin never wavered, and the sound of laughter filled the kitchen once more.

Cassian finally managed to wrestle himself free from his sons, standing up and dusting off his tunic with a grin. “You know,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, “maybe we should take this whole circus to the cabin.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, flipping the last pancake onto the growing stack. “The cabin? With all the kids?”

“Why not?” Cassian shrugged, his grin widening. “The boys have their Illyrian training this week anyway. They’ll burn off all their energy in the mountains, and we’ll have some breathing room to relax.”

Azriel, who had been silently wiping syrup off his hands after Kaia’s sticky breakfast adventure, froze. His sharp gaze snapped to Cassian, his wings shifting slightly as tension settled over him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Azriel said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Cassian frowned. “Why not? It’ll be good for the kids, and you know the mountains are perfect for—”

“For the boys, maybe,” Azriel interrupted, his tone measured but with an edge of protectiveness. “But Kaia’s too little. She can barely lift off the ground, and the air pressure in the mountains is different. It’s hard even for fully grown Illyrians.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes thoughtful. “It’s not just the air pressure, is it?”

Azriel glanced at him, his expression unreadable, but they all knew him too well.

“The Illyrians…” Azriel finally admitted, his voice quieter now. “They don’t take kindly to females with wings. Kaia’s just a baby. I won’t let her be exposed to that kind of... prejudice.”

Cassian straightened, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with seriousness. “Az, no one’s going to say a damn thing to Kaia. And if they do, they’ll answer to me. Or Rhys. Or, hell, even the boys. You know we won’t let anything happen to her.”

Rhysand nodded in agreement. “And as for the air pressure, we’ll adjust. We won’t push her to fly or do anything strenuous. She’s your daughter, Azriel. She has all of us to protect her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, the tension in his shoulders still visible. “It’s not just about protection,” he murmured, looking down at his hands. “I don’t want her to feel... less. Or different.”

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his grip firm. “She’s not less, and she’s not different. She’s Kaia, and she’s incredible. Those winged bastards at the camps don’t get a say in that. You’re her father. She’s got you—and us. That’s all she needs.”

Rhysand smiled softly, leaning forward. “She’s going to grow up knowing she’s loved and cherished. And when the time comes, if she has to face the world, she’ll do it with her head held high because she’ll know she has us behind her. Always.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing slightly at their reassurances. He glanced toward the doorway where Kaia had toddled off with Nyx. “She means everything to me,” he said softly.

“We know,” Rhysand said. “And that’s why we’ll all make sure she’s safe. You’re not doing this alone, Az.”

Before Azriel could respond, the sound of loud footsteps filled the air, followed by a cacophony of laughter. Torran, Emrus, and Calen came barreling through the room, yelling as they bolted toward the doorway.

“Nyx! Wait for us!” Torran called, his voice filled with excitement.

“We want to play too!” Emrus added, his little feet pounding against the floor.

Calen, the smallest, brought up the rear, his face lit up with pure joy. “Kaia! Come back!” he yelled, his high-pitched voice echoing as they all disappeared around the corner.

Cassian shook his head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation on his face. “There they go,” he muttered.

Rhysand smirked, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “They’re your sons, Cassian. You only have your lack of self-control to blame.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the doorway where his daughter had disappeared. Despite his concerns, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “They’re going to wear Nyx out,” he said, the hint of amusement clear in his tone.

Cassian grinned. “Good. That’ll make things easier for all of us.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on Azriel. “So, what do you say, brother? The cabin for a few days? We’ll make it work—for everyone.”

Azriel hesitated for only a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Fine. But if anything happens to Kaia—”

“Nothing will,” Cassian interrupted, clapping him on the back. “You have my word.”

Azriel’s lips quirked upward in a small smile. “You better keep it.”

Cassian’s grin stretched ear to ear, his hazel eyes lighting up like a child who had just been handed his favorite toy. He slapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, his voice booming with excitement. “The cabin! This is going to be amazing!”

Azriel raised an eyebrow at him, his expression unimpressed. “Amazing? You do realize this isn’t a vacation, right? We’re bringing five kids under thirteen with us, including my toddler.”

Cassian waved a dismissive hand, already pacing the kitchen like he was planning a military campaign. “Details, Az. Minor details. This is going to be an adventure! Fresh air, wide-open skies, and the boys can run wild while we sit back, relax, and maybe get some peace and quiet—”

“Cass,” Rhysand interrupted dryly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re describing a fantasy. Peace and quiet? With your sons in the mix? I’d say the odds are slim to none.”

Cassian pointed at him, undeterred. “First of all, my boys are angels—”

“Absolute terrors,” Azriel interjected, his tone flat.

Cassian ignored him. “—and second, they’ll be too busy with training to cause chaos. I’ll get them out there running drills first thing every morning. They’ll be so exhausted they won’t have the energy to do anything but sleep.”

“Drills?” Rhysand repeated with a smirk. “You’re taking them to the cabin, not a war camp.”

“It’s a lifestyle, Rhys,” Cassian said, puffing out his chest like he was imparting sage wisdom. “Besides, you’ll thank me when they’re passed out by sundown and we’re sitting by the fire with a drink in hand.”

Azriel crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “And what about Kaia? She’s not exactly going to be running drills, Cassian.”

Cassian’s grin softened, a rare moment of genuine warmth flashing across his face. “Kaia’s going to love it. I’ll make sure she’s safe, Az. I promise. We’ll take her flying close to the cabin where the air’s gentler, show her the river, and teach her how to throw rocks into the water. Trust me, she’s going to have the time of her life.”

Azriel’s expression softened at the mention of Kaia, though he still looked sceptical. “She’s two, Cassian. Her idea of ‘time of her life’ is eating blueberries and hiding under blankets.”

“Exactly!” Cassian said, throwing his arms wide. “And the cabin is perfect for that! We’ll build her a blanket fort by the fire. She’ll never want to leave!”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

Cassian crossed his arms, his grin turning cocky. “Of course I am. I’m going to make this the best trip ever. Just wait—you’ll be thanking me by the end of it.”

Azriel sighed, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re mad, you know that?”

Cassian clapped him on the back, his grin unwavering. “And yet, you love me for it.”

Rhysand shook his head, lifting his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Here’s to surviving whatever Cassian’s version of ‘the best trip ever’ turns out to be.”

Cassian laughed, already mentally packing for the adventure. “Oh, you’ll survive,” he said confidently. “You might even enjoy yourselves. Trust me, boys—this is going to be legendary.”

Azriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he straightened up. Cassian’s enthusiasm for the cabin trip was infectious, but the thought of Kaia being away from home in unfamiliar terrain still had him a little on edge.

“I’ll go find Kaia,” Azriel said, pushing off the counter. His shadows stirred, curling lazily around his shoulders as if they were ready to help in the search. “Nyx probably dragged her off somewhere to keep her entertained.”

Cassian smirked. “That kid’s already got more sense than you give him credit for. Kaia’s in good hands.”

Azriel shot him a look that said, That doesn’t mean I’m not checking. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen, his sharp hearing picking up faint giggles echoing down the hall.

As he walked through the house, he let his shadows fan out, whispering to him about movement and noise. They swirled back, leading him toward the sitting room. When he stepped inside, the sight before him made him pause.

Kaia was sitting on the floor, her little wings fluttering as she balanced a small pile of stuffed animals on top of Nyx’s head. Nyx, sitting cross-legged and perfectly still, looked utterly resigned, though there was a small, amused smile on his face.

“Kaia,” Azriel said, his voice soft but firm as he crossed the room.

Kaia’s head whipped around, her big dark eyes lighting up when she saw him. “Dada!” she squealed, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled slightly before running toward him, her tiny wings flapping in excitement.

Azriel caught her easily, scooping her up into his arms. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone tinged with amusement as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Kaia leaned back, her little face glowing with mischief. “Pwaying wif Nyxie’s hair,” she declared proudly, pointing at Nyx.

Nyx raised an eyebrow, reaching up to pluck a stuffed animal from his head. “I don’t think this is what my dad had in mind when he said to keep her busy.”

Azriel chuckled, pressing a kiss to Kaia’s temple. “Thank you for watching her, Nyx.”

“Anytime,” Nyx said, standing up and brushing off his pants. He handed Kaia one of the stuffed animals she had dropped. “But fair warning—she’s a little too good at bossing people around.”

Azriel smiled softly, adjusting Kaia on his hip as she giggled and buried her face in his neck. “She gets that from her mother,” he said with a hint of warmth in his voice.

Kaia peeked up at him, her curls bouncing as she grinned. “Dada, we go?”

“Yes, love,” Azriel said, turning toward the doorway. “We’re going to the cabin, but first, we need to pack your things. Come on, let’s get you ready.”

Nyx followed them out, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long week,” he muttered, though there was a glimmer of affection in his voice.

Azriel glanced back at him with a rare, small smile. “It always is.”

As Azriel walked toward the staircase with Kaia securely in his arms, he glanced back at Nyx, who was trailing behind with a casual slouch.

“Nyx,” Azriel said, his tone calm but carrying the unmistakable authority of someone used to giving orders.

The 13-year-old straightened slightly, his sharp eyes meeting Azriel’s. “Yeah?”

“Go pack your things,” Azriel instructed. “Clothes, whatever books or games you want to bring. Make sure you’ve got enough for the week.”

Nyx sighed, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Do I have to? I just got her to sit still. That was hard work, you know.”

Azriel gave him a pointed look, one that made Nyx quickly rethink any further protests. “Yes, you have to. Unless you’d like to be stuck in the same outfit for the next seven days.”

Nyx groaned but didn’t argue further. “Fine. But if I have to pack, I’m bringing all my stuff. Don’t complain when I take up half the space in the cabin.”

Azriel’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “Just pack what you need, Nyx. No more, no less.”

Nyx huffed, turning on his heel and heading toward his room. “You’re lucky I like Kaia and my aunt,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite in his tone.

Azriel turned his attention back to Kaia, who was fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Alright, little one,” he murmured, his voice softening as he kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get you packed up.”

Kaia wriggled slightly, her tiny hands gripping his shoulders. “I pack toys?” she asked, her words slightly garbled in her toddler speech.

Azriel nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. Let’s make sure we grab your favourite ones, okay?”

“‘Kay,” she said happily, her wings fluttering as she cuddled closer.

Azriel carried Kaia into her small but cozy room, decorated in soft shades of cream and pale green. Tiny wooden shelves lined the walls, overflowing with stuffed animals, picture books, and small trinkets she’d accumulated in her two short years. Her favourite blanket, a deep blue that matched his siphons, was draped over the side of her crib-turned-toddler bed.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Azriel said, setting her down on the soft rug in the centre of the room. She plopped onto her bottom with a giggle, her tiny wings fluttering as she looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

Azriel crouched down and opened the small wooden chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a soft travel bag embroidered with her name. “We’ll start with your clothes,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“Cwothes!” Kaia echoed, clapping her hands.

Azriel stood and moved to her little dresser, pulling open the top drawer where her neatly folded tunics and leggings were stored. He carefully selected a week’s worth of outfits—soft, comfortable pieces that would keep her warm in the cooler mountain air.

“Do you want to help, Kaia?” he asked as he folded a tiny tunic and placed it in the bag.

Kaia jumped to her feet, wobbling slightly before toddling over to him. “I hewp!” she declared proudly, grabbing one of the leggings he’d laid out. Her little hands struggled to fold it, but she managed to mash it into a ball and shoved it into the bag.

Azriel chuckled, his shadows curling around him like an extension of his amusement. “Good job, love,” he said, smoothing out the bunched-up fabric before zipping the main compartment.

Kaia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “I so good,” she said with a self-satisfied nod.

“The best,” Azriel agreed, lifting her back onto the rug. He moved next to the shelf where her favorite toys were kept. “Alright, what toys do you want to bring?”

Kaia’s eyes lit up, and she immediately ran to the shelf, pointing at a stuffed bat nearly as big as her. “Batty!”

Azriel reached for the stuffed animal, handing it to her. “Batty, of course. Anything else?”

Kaia clutched Batty to her chest, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scanned the shelf. “An’...an’ Bunny!” she declared, pointing to a small gray rabbit.

Azriel grabbed the rabbit and added it to the bag. “Batty and Bunny. Anyone else?”

Kaia hesitated, then nodded. “Puppy!”

Azriel reached for the well-loved plush dog and handed it to her. “Alright, that’s three. I think that’s plenty, don’t you?”

Kaia pouted slightly but nodded, hugging Batty tightly.

Next, Azriel grabbed her favorite blanket from her bed. “We’ll need this,” he said softly, folding it neatly before tucking it into the bag. He also added a couple of her picture books, knowing how much she loved to have bedtime stories read to her.

Finally, he packed a small pouch with some snacks—dried fruit and crackers, her favourites—and slid it into the side pocket of the bag.

“There,” he said, zipping the bag shut. “All ready for the cabin.”

Kaia looked up at him, her big dark eyes shining. “We go now, Dada?”

Azriel smiled, scooping her up into his arms. “Not yet, love. Soon.”

Kaia rested her head against his shoulder, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. “’Kay,” she murmured, her voice soft and content.

Azriel pressed a kiss to her curls, his heart swelling with a warmth he could never quite put into words. “Let’s go find the others,” he said, carrying her and the bag out of the room.

-----

You, Nesta, and Feyre stood in the grand room of the Day Court's estate, taking in the sweeping view of the sun-kissed landscape outside. The pale golden walls and sunlit windows were the perfect setting for a relaxing getaway, especially after weeks of chaos back at the Night Court.

As you set down your bag, you sighed with relief. “It feels so good to finally be here,” you said, dropping onto one of the plush couches and looking at the half-empty wine bottle beside you.

Feyre raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on her lips. “Already drinking at 1 PM? I guess we really are living our best lives without any kids around.”

Nesta snorted as she opened a second bottle. “I’m not complaining. I’ve earned this.”

You laughed and took a sip, leaning back against the cushions. “I swear, every moment I get without Kaia trying to climb up my legs is a treasure.”

Feyre rolled her eyes but was clearly amused. “I thought we were all in agreement. A week off. I can’t believe we actually made it.”

Nesta chuckled. “We should’ve left sooner. It’s been a mess with the kids, but at least we finally get some peace and quiet.”

As if on cue, the door to the living room swung open, and Helion strode in, his hair shining like the sun itself. He wore his usual carefree grin, his amber eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he took in the three of you lounging on the couch. “The beauties have come without their beasts. Should I be worried about what you’re all getting up to without them?”

You smirked at him, feeling the familiar warmth of his teasing presence. “Helion, you’re just jealous you didn’t come with us. You know you can’t resist our charm.”

Nesta and Feyre both glanced between you and Helion, their curiosity piqued.

Feyre tilted her head. “Wait, you two know each other that well?”

Helion raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by their interest. “Know each other? We go way back. You could say I’m the loss of her life,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. “She’s the one that got away.”

You rolled your eyes, not at all surprised by his dramatic flair. “Not true,” you replied with a grin. “We slept twice, centuries ago. That’s all. And one of those times was when you were trying to win a bet on whether or not you could make me laugh.”

Nesta and Feyre exchanged looks, clearly intrigued.

“Twice?” Feyre asked, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me there was nothing more between the two of you?”

Helion leaned against the doorframe with a knowing look, crossing one ankle over the other. “Ah, nothing more. The truth is, we slept, we laughed, and then we moved on. I’m the truth-teller, after all,” he added, smirking as if to say, don’t challenge me on this.

Nesta looked at you in disbelief. “So, you two really didn’t get together after all that?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Nope. I’m not sure even Helion can hold a candle to the other men I’ve encountered. Besides, we’re still good friends.”

Helion’s grin widened as he walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “The best kind of friend, of course. The kind who knows all your secrets and still manages to make you laugh.”

Feyre laughed softly, clearly entertained by the banter. “Well, I’m glad you two had your fun. But, seriously, is there any chance you two would ever—”

“Stop right there,” you interrupted, holding up a hand to halt her curiosity. “Let’s just say we’ve both moved on. No need for more stories. My husband is way more than perfect for me.”

Helion chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I won’t embarrass you any further. But I still stand by my ‘loss of my life’ claim.”

You smirked, giving him a playful shove. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Just the way you like me,” he replied with a wink, turning to face Nesta and Feyre. “Anyway, welcome to the Day Court. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. And don’t let them fool you; they can’t resist a little sunshine every now and then.”

With that, Helion made his exit, leaving you, Feyre, and Nesta to settle into the quiet luxury of the Day Court, your laughter still echoing in the room.

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a surprised look as Helion left, their curiosity piqued by the snippets of your past that had come up in conversation. They were both clearly itching to ask more, and Feyre, ever the straightforward one, was the first to break the silence.

“You never told us about that,” she said, her voice half teasing, half incredulous. “How did we not know about you and Helion?”

You took another sip from your glass, leaning back and pretending to be nonchalant, though inwardly you were amused at their questions. You had definitely seen more than your fair share of shocked expressions over the centuries.

“You’re only in your thirties,” you said with a smirk, setting your glass down on the table beside you. “I’ve had more time to experience things than you can imagine. I’m in my five-hundreds, remember?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but intrigued. “Still… How have we never heard any of these stories?”

“Well, the thing is,” you began, glancing between them with a knowing smile, “I’ve had more than just one adventure, if you will. Not just with Helion.”

Feyre blinked. “What do you mean? Like…”

You didn’t let her finish, taking an exaggerated breath. “I slept with Eris too. He’s a charming one, if you can get past his ego. Lucien wasn’t bad either. Good lover, actually.” You shrugged casually, enjoying the shocked expressions on their faces. “And let’s not forget Tarquin. I’ve seen my fair share of High Lords. being Rhysand's sister allows a lot of interactions with higher profiles.”

Feyre’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide in disbelief. “Tarquin? I would never have guessed!”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. We never got very far,” you added with a teasing grin. “Just a few stolen moments here and there, but you know… Tarquin’s good company when you need it.”

Nesta was almost choking on her wine, unable to keep her laughter in. “Wait, so you really weren’t lying when you said you’ve slept with half the court?”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, smirking. “Wouldn’t call it half, but yes, I’ve been around. But those are just the more notable names. There are more.”

Feyre shook her head in utter disbelief. “How have we been friends for so long, and you’ve never once mentioned any of this?”

“Because, darling,” you said, swirling your wine in the glass with a playful grin, “you two have been busy with your own drama. There’s only so much time in a conversation, and quite frankly, I enjoy watching you both unravel the mystery of my past.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at you, clearly intrigued but also a little annoyed by the way you were making a game out of this. “Okay, fine. But I want to know everything. Tell me about Eris.”

You leaned back, folding your arms and smirking at them both. “Well, that’s a long story. Maybe after another glass of wine?”

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a look, both of them clearly hooked on your tales now, and you could tell they weren’t going to let this go. They were going to need all the details, and you were more than happy to indulge them in their curiosity.

For the first time in a while, you felt truly free. No responsibilities. No expectations. Just three old friends relaxing and laughing in the comfort of the Day Court—and the promise of a few more stories to tell.

part 2 part 3

A/N: Comments and reblogs would be appreciated, let me know if you'd like to be tagged

[rainystarters]

* ☔ : action prompts inspired by FANTASY, NOBILITY, ETC. some prompts are usfw. add reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. ( adjust scenarios or specify details as needed. )

crown of dawn. sender swears their fealty to the receiver.

crown of silver. sender congratulates the receiver on their political engagement, hiding their true affection for the receiver.

crown of midnight. sender dances with the receiver at a masquerade.

crown of glass. sender meets the receiver while their true identity is concealed.

crown of shadows. sender controls the receiver through magic or blackmail, making them their pawn so they can rule from the background.

crown of ink. sender meets the receiver for the first time after they are joined in an arranged marriage.

crown of starlight. sender kneels before the receiver to receive a boon.

crown of rot. sender accuses the receiver of failing their people.

crown of sorrow. sender tells the receiver they are the new lord/queen/etc. as those ahead of them in the line of succession have died.

crown of blood. sender stands before the receiver to be judged for their crimes.

crown of lies. sender accuses the receiver of not being the true heir.

crown of thorns. sender crowns the receiver after killing the previous ruler.

crown of nightshade. sender consumes a poisoned drink meant for the receiver.

---

wand of bone. sender uses necromancy to raise the receiver's companions from to dead to aid the sender in fighting against the receiver.

wand of ivy. sender ensnares the receiver in a net of living vines.

wand of twilight. sender conjures the spirit of the receiver from the land of the dead to speak with them.

wand of clouds. sender infiltrates the receiver's dreams to learn their desires.

wand of portals. sender summons the receiver to their world.

wand of resurrection. sender brings the receiver back to life.

wand of memory. sender clouds the receiver's mind so they don't leave.

wand of blossoms. sender grows flowers in the receiver's hair.

wand of salt. sender heals the receiver's wounds.

wand of leaves. sender asks the receiver to read their fortune.

wand of lightning. sender conjures a storm to impede the receiver.

wand of masks. sender crosses paths with the receiver while disguised as them.

wand of flesh. sender wounds the receiver to fuel their blood magic.

---

sword of honor. sender challenges the receiver to a duel to decide an argument.

sword of moons. sender wakes up to discover the receiver pressing a blade against the sender's throat.

sword of sacrifice. sender takes a deadly attack meant for the receiver.

sword of wrath. sender kills the receiver's loved one(s) as they watch.

sword of loyalty. sender executes someone at the receiver's command.

sword of blessings. sender asks the receiver to bless their weapon before battle.

sword of madness. sender tries to stop the receiver's bloodthirsty rage.

sword of ruin. sender tortures the receiver for information.

sword of defeat. sender surrenders to the receiver after a hard-fought battle.

sword of ash. sender asks the receiver to kill them for failing the receiver.

sword of spite. sender twists their weapon deeper into the receiver's wound.

sword of wind. sender quickly kills an enemy before they attack the receiver.

sword of betrayal. sender stabs the receiver in the back.

---

card of misfortune. sender catches the receiver trying to pick their pocket.

card of coins. sender buys the receiver a drink at a tavern.

card of vipers. sender meets the receiver in a thieves' den.

card of fools. sender finds the receiver caught in a trap, magical or otherwise.

card of iron. sender recognizes the receiver from a wanted poster.

card of vultures. sender is caught looting a dead body by the receiver.

card of songs. sender asks a bard to sing a ballad about the receiver.

card of keys. sender picks a lock to help the receiver escape.

card of winter. sender finds the receiver dying of frostbite and gathers them in their arms to warm them.

card of dust. sender finds the receiver asleep over a book and wakes them.

card of stars. sender keeps the receiver company during first watch at camp.

card of crows. sender warns the receiver they're being followed but that the sender can protect them—for a fee.

card of twine. sender stitches a wound shut for the receiver.

---

heart of virtue. sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's hand.

heart of devotion. sender slips their signet ring onto the receiver's finger.

heart of roses. sender gives the receiver a token of their favor before a tourney.

heart of thrones. sender kneels before the receiver to pleasure them.

heart of destiny. sender tells the receiver they are fated or reincarnated lovers.

heart of honey. sender intimately feeds the receiver by hand.

heart of darkness. sender cloaks themselves and the receiver in shadows so they can kiss in public.

heart of stone. sender asks the receiver to be their lover as they can't marry.

heart of gold. sender renounces their title to be with the receiver.

heart of wolves. sender intimately licks blood from the receiver's body.

heart of knives. sender cuts the clothes from the receiver's body, unable to wait.

heart of dusk. sender meets the receiver in secret to be together.

heart of embers. sender initiates intimacy to keep the receiver warm.

[catcas22]

Wrote something for @thatboreddrake ‘s Kaladin Edgedancer AU. It’s a bit rough, but I needed to exorcise my frustration with the turn Moash took post-Oathbringer. So here he is in an alternate universe where rage against an unjust system isn’t the first step towards cartoon supervillainy! 🙃

Might polish this up and post it on AO3 later.

Moash sprinted towards the duel, a half-lashing lending wings to his feet. Both figures blazed, throwing ink shadows across the stony ground. Helaran bled stormlight from every inch of his Plate. The arm that Nale had sheared of its pauldron was the only part of him that did not glow.

Helaran blocked and stepped in, forcing their blades into a bind, two infinitely sharp edges sawing against each other. Through the Veden’s shattered helm, Moash could see sweat pour down his brow in blood-tinged rivers.

Moash surged forward with spear held shoulder-high. Same move they’d used on Elhokar, and the queensguard Shardbearer in Kholinar. Helaran engaging the Blade, Moash striking from the sky.

As he swooped in, Nale released the pommel of his Blade, his left hand held open as if to summon…

A second Shardblade ripped through Helaran’s chest. In a blinding spray of light his breastplate exploded. A bit of metal tore across Moash’s cheek, so hot that the cut didn’t bleed.

He stumbled, rolled, losing both spear and lashings as he flung himself beneath Nale’s backswing. He barely felt the resistance as the Blade sheared through his coat.

Even as he came out of the tumble, boots skidding across the wind-blasted stone, Nale dismissed the second Blade and turned aside. His fingertips brushed Moash’s sleeve and left it glowing.

Moash had only a heartbeat before all six lashings seized him and flung him down. He managed to get an arm between his chest and the stone. A rib and something in his arm popped. He drew his knife, slashed the coat open, squirmed free.

He snatched up his spear and threw it at the Herald’s retreating back. Nale cut it from the air, his eyes never leaving the crumple of armor that was Helaran.

Helaran. A lighteyes. A lighteyes who had given him justice when no one else would. Justice, not the Kholins’ highhanded pity. He snatched up the fallen pauldron as he ran, never breaking stride. A lighteyes whose family had been as inconsequential to Nale as Moash’s family had been to Roshone.

The stone skidded beneath his boots as he darted between them, knife in his teeth, pauldron held up in both hands. The spray of stormlight blinded him at Nale’s first blow. He held the scrap of armor up like a shield, once more, twice more, fingers going numb, bleeding stormlight into the thing just to hold it together.

It shattered on the fourth blow. The fifth deadened his right hand below the elbow. Moash just barely felt a buzz of returning sensation in his fingertips, and then his stormlight ran out completely.

The Herald watched him from behind eyes of dun black glass, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign of exertion. Moash dropped the knife from his teeth to his left hand and flipped it into a backhanded grip. His heel met Helaran’s armor as he shuffled back.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The Veden lay still, eyes shut but not burned. Through the chest, not the spine. If he could only get him stormlight…

Gravel crunched beneath Nale’s boots. He took a step closer, eyes flicking towards the fallen Shardbearer.

“You swore your third ideal to this man?” The Herald observed Moash’s posture, the knife in his hand, knees bent to lunge. Nale inclined his head ever so slightly. “You are to be commended.”

The knife fell from his hand in two perfect halves. His fingers went dead a heartbeat after. Moash looked into the Herald’s eyes as he raised his sword once more.

In those lifeless eyes he saw his own death. In those eyes he saw every slavemaster, every thug serving an unjust brightlord. He saw the callous entitlement of Elhokar, the vindictive spite of Roshone. He saw a man so convinced of his own righteousness that he could cut down a child stealing bread as easily as he could a murderer.

He saw a man who thought Justice was his to wield. A man who chose where Justice would fall, as if it were a pet axehound to be unleashed at its master’s whim. A man who hunted a starving child and cut down an old man for the only wrong thing he had ever done while the likes of Elhokar sat untouched upon their thrones.

“You call yourself Justice.”

The Herald paused, blade poised to swing.

“You broke your oath,” Moash snarled. “And you dare to judge the rest of us. Justice when you want it. Justice when it’s convenient.” Moash spat blood upon the Herald’s spotless boots. “If you really cared to punish the guilty, you’d fall on your own Blade.”

Black eyes flickered, alight with such hatred that Moash knew it would burn him away. The Blade drew back to swing. He pushed on anyway, for he knew that these words hurt the Herald more than any steel or Shard. Moash had stuck a knife in this Voidbringer’s proud heart, and now he twisted it.

“You don’t deserve that Blade, oathbreaker. You only call for Justice because you think you’re too high for any court to judge!”

The Honorblade swept down, screaming as it sliced the air. Moash’s voice rose to meet it.

“I judge you, Nalan'Elin! I am judgement upon all those who twist the law against the powerless!”

He wished for a weapon, some feeble token of defiance to hold up in his last moments. As stormlight flooded his vision, he had only his deadened hands to raise.

A bar of purest black split the light. Stars flickered amidst the dark, as if someone had drawn a knife through a curtain to reveal the night sky. He felt something cold and solid in his hands — he could feel his hands — and a ringing clash as Nale’s blade struck steel instead of flesh.

They faced each other across the crossed blades, one dark and slender, one awash in violet stormlight. A familiar voice tugged at the back of Moash’s mind.

For the first time since they’d bonded, he heard his spren hesitate. “These words… are accepted.”

[allykakamatsu]

Twisted Hearts 1 Prologue: The Light and the Key

<Next>

Story Summary: When an unknown incident lands the students of NRC in a strange new world, they have to travel across worlds to find each other as well as trying to vanquish the darkness. Sounds.... easier than most of what they've been through this school year at least, but nothing is ever that simple, and a pair or adopted siblings will once again find themselves at odds.

Chapter Summary: Waking up in weird places isn't anything new to Silver, but the rest of this situation certainly is, and all he knows is that he has a key now and he has to protect a boy younger than the freshmen to try find his family. Not ideal, but he's been through worse, and protecting others is what he does best. Meanwhile, in another world, a boy who looks oddly like him is dealing with his own problems.

(Chapter underneath read more)

“Ugh….” What…. What happened…? I was…. I woke up in a forrest I didn’t recognise, I started looking for the others or, anyone really, and then I… fell asleep again? Either I’m forgetting something or that’s a new record…

I can worry about that later though, for now I just properly wake myself up and…. Okay am I still dreaming? I’m standing on top of some sort of stained glass window in a black void? I quickly pinch myself to be sure and, yup, I felt that, I’m definitely awake, but, where am I then? And what’s going on-?

“Good, after so long your heart has awoken from it’s slumber” !!!

“Who’s there?!” I shout as I reach for my magic pen… only to panic when it’s not there where did it go?!

“Relax, it will be returned to you once you return to reality,” the voice answers cryptically, “but before you do, I have to tell you some things. Your heart has been blessed by a gift. One that has never awoken until now, but it now may be the only thing that will allow you to save these lands and protect your friends.”

“!! What’s going on? And what gift?” I ask now having even more questions.

“The worlds are being consumed by darkness,” the voice continues, “and your friends and family have been caught in the middle. Only a key can send this darkness away, and you have one, and a heart of pure light along with it. You must harness that power and help the Kingdom Key’s chosen seal the door before it’s too late.”

“I.. I don’t want anyone getting hurt so I’ll do it, but, what darkness?! What key?! Where’s father, Malleus and Sebek?!” I shout as I try to process everything that’s happening, but instead of the voice answering parts of the floor become black, before those black spots rise up and form into-!!

“Overblots-?! Wait…” I ask in panic, as I wonder what these things are. They look like they could be Overblot monsters, but I’m not seeing any ink on them. They look like they’re made of shadows-! Is… is this the darkness the voice was telling me about-?!

“Get away!” I shout as one of the darkness monsters gets too close and I kick it back, but now all of them are coming towards me. These things do look pretty small, but if they’re anything like Overblots then without my magic this is bad. I could try casting without my magic pen but that has it’s own problems. Think, Silver, think, what the hell should I do-!

“That voice mentioned I have a key…,” I mumble to myself as I back up as far as I can to buy myself time as I focus, “please…. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have to get out of here and save my family. So, whatever key that voice meant, come to me-!!” 

Well, that worked thank the Seven, but, well, just by looking at it I can tell why these keys are meant to be special. It’s more like a sword than anything, a sword with a pink blade in the middle and the guard around the handles being two different shades of green and joining the sword at the bottom, and at the end of the sword where the tip would usually be is a star that’s connected to three other stars, making it resemble a key more.

“This is different from what I’m used to, but if it’s a sword then that’ll do!” I say to no one in particular as I slash one of the shadows who was about to jump me, killing it in one shot. As I do the same to the others to finish them I get a good feel for how this key sword feels, and while it’s a bit lighter than what I usually swing for the most part it’s as good as the swords I use, so if this is the only way to get to the others then at least I feel comfortable with it-!!

What was that?! I tense up as killing the last shadow made the ground shake, and before I can even start looking for the source, it reveals itself to be a massive darkness monster?!

“!! I won’t let you get in my way!” I shout at the monster as I pull myself together, just in time to dodge it’s fist throwing a punch and after a quick look at my options I start slashing at it’s legs. I can’t reach it’s head or even it’s chest without climbing and I do not want to touch this thing so I’ll just try to make it trip-!

“AGH!!” What… what the hell was- okay apparently this things punches have shockwaves that actually hurt, good to know- especially because here comes another one! 

“I’m starting to see why mysterious voices need help dealing with this….” I mumble as I jump out of the shockwaves way, right before rolling to dodge another punch before I go back to slashing, and thankfully that does the trick as it makes the monster bend down on one knee, putting it’s head in striking distance. Well, here goes nothing!

“HAH!!!!!” I shout as I jump up and slash the monsters knock with as much force as I can manage, and follow it up with a few more slashes to the head to be safe, and thankfully that does the trick as the monster evaporates in a mass of black particles.

“Thank the Seven… that’s…. Over….” I sigh in relief as a familiar feeling starts to wash over me. Why am I falling asleep now…?!

“AH!!” Okay, never mind, I’m awake, thank the Seven. But… now I’m in some kind of alleyway? Wait, so was what just happened a dream- nope, my key sword is right next to me, I guess once I defeated that monster I got ‘sent back to reality’ as the voice put it. Weird, but I’ve seen weirder I suppose. I can worry about how all of this happened later, for now I have to find the others-!

“Hey, watch out!” I shout as I spot a boy with brown hair about to be attacked by one of those darkness monsters, but instead of moving he just freezes in shock. Thankfully I make it over just in time and kill it before it can hurt him.

“That was too close,” I say as I turn to the boy, “are you alright-?”

“RIKU!!! You’re okay!!!,” the boy cheers in relief as he pulls me into a hug?, “I got so worried when you vanished! Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“Um… I think there’s been a mistake here,” I awkwardly explain, “my name is Silver, not Riku.”

“Huh?,” the boy asks as he backs up just enough to get a better look at me at which point he quickly ends the hug in embarrassment, “oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! You just sound just like him, and you look a lot like him too, and I…. Sorry!”

“Calm down, it’s fine,” I assure him wondering how there’s someone who sounds just like me, “to be honest I know the feeling, I got sent here out of nowhere and I have no idea where my family is, and the best clue I have to go on is this thing and a voice telling me to help seal a door.”

“Looks like we’ve both had a pretty bad day then huh?,” the boy admits with a sigh before he gets a look at my key sword, “wait, you have a keyblade too?” Before I can answer he summons his own version though his looks a lot more like an actual key.

“I didn’t know that’s what it was called but yes-!,” I confirm as more of the darkness monsters show up, “we’ll talk more later, do you know how to swing that thing?”

“Yeah, let’s kick those heartless back to where they came from!” The boy agrees with a serious expression as we both head out of the alleyway, slashing as we go and I can tell by his technique that he was probably self taught on how to sword fight. It’s getting the job done and he’s holding the keyblade right at least but his stance is off and his swings are far too wild.

“You’re doing good,” I tell him as we get a brief breather as the next one is a bit further away, “but for your next swing, try doing it like this, there’s less chance of you missing or someone hitting you while you’re recovering from a swing.”

“Huh? Well, can’t hurt to try!” he agrees a bit awkwardly right as two more come at us and he copies my swing as we kill them, and while he’s a bit clumsy he does pull off the swing.

“Nice one, now keep it up!” I tell him encouragingly which makes the boy crack a small smile as he keeps working on the tighter swing while we keep making our way through the heartless- huh?

“What the…?” I ask as we make it to what I think is a town square of some kind and when I look down some stairs I see a duck and a dog….. well they’re not beastmen but they’re not normal animals either. 

“Huh? Is something wrong SilVER?!” The boy asks in concern before the ground rumbles-!! Okay he knocked into me and we’re both tumbling that probably shouldn’t be good- “WHOA!!!” “AGH!!!” “HYUCK!!!!”

“Ugh…. Too loud….” I mumble as between hitting something and the yelling that followed my heads starting to hurt.

“Gosh, sorry about that mister,” The dog man apologises as he helps me and the boy to our feet, “are you two alright?”

“As alright as we can be.” The boy replies and I just give a small nod to let him know I’m fine.

“Goofy we have a job to do, we can’t waste time talking to kids-!!,” the duck chimes in aggressively but gets cut off when he sees our keyblades, “the Kingdom Key!! And you have a keyblade too!! Finally- AGH!!”

“What’s happening?!” The boy asks as the rumbling starts again, but before I can answer an upside down cone coloured red, white, blue and yellow comes out of nowhere, spawns four arms and a little ball head and starts attacking us?!

“Okay, here’s the plan!” I shout as we all dodge the first attack it sends at us, and remembering that I really should be using this I quickly check my pockets and thankfully I have my magic pen back- fist!

“Who died and put you in charge?!” The duck asks sounding more annoyed at me than the monster as he pulls out a wand and fires a fire ball at the monster’s chest that doesn’t seem to do much damage before we all quickly dodge again.

“Well we need some kind of plan, so unless you have one please listen!,” I refute back firmly but trying to keep this civil and thankfully the duck listens, “alright, the main body isn’t taking as much damage so we’ll focus the limbs first! Mr Duck, you and me take the arms since they’re harder to reach and we both have magic. Goofy, you keep the kid safe and both of you focus on the legs!”

“Oh, right, I never told you my name-!!,” the boy says right before he dodges another attack, “and I will save that for when this is over! Let’s do this!”

“Sounds good to me, hyuck!” Goofy agrees as they focus on the legs, and while Mr Duck, as I’ve dubbed him for now, doesn’t seem too happy to listen to me he does start blasting the left arm so I go for the right.

“Hey!! What are you doing?!,” Mr Duck shouts after a minute- dodge!, “you have a keyblade, use that to cast!”

“Huh? It can do that?,” I ask making Mr Duck look at me like I have two heads, “I’ll try it out later but this is life and death so I’ll just stick to my magic pen for now cause I’m used to it!”

“Magic-! Hyuck! You’re the guy Yen Sid was looking after!!” Goofy adds which, wait, what?

“Who’s that-?!,” the boy asks but gets cut off when I pull him out of the way of an attack, “ah, my bad! Thanks Silver!”

“Don’t mention it, just be careful!” I shout as we all go back to our roles, and thankfully after a few more swings and spells it’s just the cone left.

“Everyone, everything you have, now!” I say before going for the fastest volley of slashes I can, and the boy and Goofy also hit it hard with their keyblade and shield respectively.

“BLIZZARD!!!” Mr Duck screams as he fires an ice spell, and once Goofy pulls us both out of the way it hits the monster and finishes it off.

“Phew,” the boy sighs in relief, “thanks for helping us you two.”

“Hyuck, don’t mention it.” Goofy assures him but Mr Duck’s face makes it very clear helping us was only a coincidence.

“I appreciate the assistance as well,” I tell the pair, “but, going back to what you said, what’s this about someone named Yen Sid looking after me? The last thing I remember before ending up here was falling asleep.”

“Well don’t look at us for all the details!,” Mr Duck tells me bluntly, “all King Mickey told us was that someone put a sleeping curse on you and this bat guy left you there to stay safe!”

“Sleeping curse- damn it, not again.” I mumble, hoping this one wasn’t half as long as last time, but this makes everyone look at me like I have three heads.

“AGAIN?!” They all ask in shock.

“It’s a long story,” I admit before getting back on topic, “but there’s only one ‘bat guy’ that I know, and that’s my Father. Do you know where he is?”

“I dunno,” Goofy answers as his face gains some panic, “King Mickey’s the last one who saw him, but the King’s missing right now. I don’t want you being away from your dad for too long though, so you can come along with us while we look for the King.”

“Much appreciated, thank you,” I tell him before looking at the now tensing up boy, “but, if it’s alright, I’d like him I come along as well, I don’t want him being left alone.”

The boy doesn’t say anything in response, but his tenseness turns to shock before giving a relieved smile. Ah, he was worried I was going to leave him behind then. Understandable but, I know what that’s like so I’m not going to do it.

“Bah, not like we can leave him behind anyway,” Mr Duck adds dismissively while looking at the boy’s Keyblade, “we need that thing if we’re going to seal the keyholes and save the worlds from the heartless.”

“Right, Leon did tell me something like that,” the boy admits looking worried before gaining a determined expression, “alright. This is a lot, but I’m here to help. I have to go to other worlds to try find Riku and Kairi anyway, and if I can help others on the way, even better!”

“Is Kairi another friend of yours?,” I ask and he nods to confirm, “well, we both have a little group of people to find then. Hopefully I can find my friend and my… sort of brother on the way, but right now I have to find my Father, and if finding this King Mickey and helping save worlds is how I’m going to do it, then bring it on.”

“Hyuck! Alright then, let’s go team!,” Goofy says with cheerful encouragement, “to the Gumi ship!”

“Gumi Ship?” Me and the boy ask at the same time.

“It’s how we travel between worlds,” Mr Duck answers less snippy now thankfully, “but it only runs on happy faces, so you’d better keep your spirits up and don’t start any disagreements!”

“Oh, alright then” I agree, that sounds like a weird thing for a ship to run on but I don’t want to cause problems so I manage my best smile…. Meanwhile the boy…. He’s trying but it’s way too big and way too forced.

“Donald’s just joking, but let’s try be happy and smile if we can,” Goofy tells us and now I feel silly and by the looks of it so does the boy, “oh, right! I’m Goofy by the way!”

“And I’m Donald Duck!” Donald asks and huh, I got really lucky with my nickname then, I actually guessed his last name.

“A pleasure,” I add, “I’m Silver. And what about you?”

“…Ehe, I’m Sora,” the boy answers after a moment with a much more genuine smile, “it’s nice to meet you. Now come on, let’s go find our friends!”

POV Switch, Riku:

“LET ME OUT!!” I shout as I ram myself into the bars of the cell I got tossed into. I got told opening the door would let me, Kairi and Sora see other worlds and let me live up to the power Terra said I had ten years ago. But apparently I didn’t read the part of the contract that involved getting separated from my friends and locked up against my will!

“UGH!!” I groan as I give up for now due to my shoulder killing me and try conjuring up the memory of Terra summoning his weapon and trying to do the same, but I guess it’s either too blurry or I’m missing something because it just won’t come. Great…

“There has to be something I can use…” I mumble to no one in particular as I do what feels like my hundredth look around the barren cell in hopes there’s a crack or something I missed, but before I can get very far I hear a door at the far end of the hall open.

“!! Who’s there?!” I shout as I get on guard as much as I can. I don’t know how far I’ll get without a weapon, but if whoever that is wants a fight well, I won’t go quietly.

“Oh, so noisy, no wonder Aunt put you down here until you calmed down.” The guy who came in responds in a voice that has unnatural echo to it, and once he comes over I see he’s a tall man with slicked back black hair, black horns with parts glowing bright green, is wearing purple, black and grey robes with a matching cloak though that one has a green thorn pattern at the end, some kind of tail, sickly grey blue skin, toxic green eyes with one of them being surrounded by a green flame, and a lot of his face and other parts of his body are covered in some kind of black ink.

Okay look, I’m not afraid of a lot of things, and when I am afraid I usually deny it. But right now, this intimidating monster of a man, he’s on that list. But I can’t let myself show fear right now, at least until I figure out where Kairi and Sora are. So, I take a deep breath, swallow my fear and turn back to the man.

“Who the hell are you?!” I ask hoping my anger over this mess hid my panic, but instead of answering the man just looks at me with shock and… recognition?

“Silver….?” He asks no one in particular, and I have no idea if that’s a good sign or not.

“My name isn’t Silver, I’m Riku,” I tell him bluntly, “and can you please tell me who you are and what’s going on here?!” The man doesn’t answer for a moment, but before I can steel my nerves enough to shout at him again he seems to snap out of it with a smirk. That’s… not good.

“I see, so you don’t remember, and whatever woke you up changed your eyes as well,” he mumbles in complete crazy talk before turning to me, “don’t worry, you’ll remember eventually, but for now I’ll indulge you ‘Riku’. I’m Malleus Draconia, and I apologise for having you locked in here. Once the world you were on fell to darkness my Great Aunt found you and brought you here, but you were causing a lot of trouble so she put you here to protect you as well as our staff. If I had known it was you however I would’ve insisted you were taken to me instead, so my deepest apologises.”

“Apology accepted I guess,” I say not wanting to pick a fight with the crazy guy before realising something, “wait…. Fell to darkness…. I know opening the door so I could leave let some out but…. Is it all…?”

“Yes, it is lost to the realm of darkness,” Malleus answers simply, “as are at least some of it’s residents, though some likely would’ve washed ashore at other worlds as well.”

That…. Lost to…… oh by Kingdom Hearts what have I done?! I… I knew opening the door and unleashing the darkness would have consequences, but it was my only way off the Islands, I was willing to accept those consequences. But… Destiny Islands is gone…. along with who knows how many people…. Maybe even Kairi and Sora…. And it’s all my fault…

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” No… no no no no no! Some, let me go back, please, or at least let me know that Kairi and Sora are okay! What have I done….?! Why did I think trusting the darkness was a good idea, what have I done-?!

“Shh, don’t worry,” Malleus tells me as opens the cell and he pulls me into a hug?!, “I don’t know why you’re so attached to that place, but it’s alright. The two of us are together, and I won’t let anyone or anything tear us apart again.”

“Let go-!!” I try to tell him but all I get is a mouthful of ink for my troubles, and it tastes about as well as that sounds.

“Oh dear, hold on, let me get that blot out before it hurts you.” Malleus tells me as he cleans my mouth as I try to squirm away, but before I can get very far the door opens again and a woman wearing very similar clothes to Malleus walks in, though her head is covered in some kind of black scarf and her skin is green.

“Is everything alright in here?” She asks in a tone that makes me shiver slightly despite it being a fairly innocent question.

“Aunt Maleficent,” Malleus says ending the hug but still holding onto me so I can’t run, “better than they have been in years, actually. Silver is finally awake and back with me. He can’t remember anything right now, but it’ll come back with time.”

‘That’s what he thinks is going on?’ I think wondering how crazy is this guy, and clearly Maleficent agrees as she makes a very confused expression at the ‘news’, but she quickly shrugs it off as a devilish smirk appears on her face.

“Ah, I see,” Maleficent says chuckling and I’m realising I’ve wound up with the worlds most insane family, “I was coming down here to check up on you both and apologise to our guest before offering him a place to stay, but if he is your brother then I think that last part goes without saying. A key bearer in the family, how perfect.” Great, she knows Terra gave me his key and she wants to use it for some reason, great….

“I’m not getting a choice in any of this…?” I ask as I start hoping there’s some way out of here.

“Heh, well aren’t you a funny one ‘Riku’,” Malleus laughs as he grips my hand not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that I can’t pull out, “let’s take you to my room so we can have a catch up talk.”

“Have fun you two, but remember we have a meeting in a few hours” Maleficent tells us with a smirk and I’m fully realising that I am screwed. Even if I manage to get away from Malleus how am I going to get out of the castle, let alone out of this world. Ugh, this is bad, but I guess it’s a fair price for my stupidity….

“The darkness in your heart, it can act as your means of escape if you lean into it” !!

“Is something wrong?” Malleus asks, I guess that made me jump.

“It’s fine.” I tell him bluntly to not start anything else as we keep moving.  After what happened to Destiny Islands I’m not using any dark magic again, I won’t! I’ll figure out another way to get out of this mess and find Kairi and Sora or die trying, that much I can promise!

Masterpost

Buy me a coffee

Commission Prices

[just-killed-a-woman-feelin-good]

All’s Fair (In Love and Succession)

Info on my DSMP fic: “Alls Fair (In Love and Succession)” which will be put on Wattpad. I might put it on Ao3 later. (My Wattpad is @Louis_Investigates)

the four kingdoms

⛰️L’Manburg⛰️

ruled by: King Philza and Queen Kristen Minecraft

Crown Prince: William (Wilbur) Minecraft

Other Royalty: Ex-Crown Prince Technoblade and Prince Tommyinnit

Other Members: JSchlatt (councilman), Tubbo (Jschlatt’s son), Fundy (scribe and advisor to the Crown Prince), Niki (knight and court baker), Jack (knight, specifically the youngest princes royal guard).

Resources/Geography:

-L’Manburg is strategically placed and has military advantage in the fact that the kingdom is entirely surrounded by the Crownspine mountains. The capital is Brighthollow.

- resources include:

Exports: metals such as iron and steel. As well as minerals like coal and redstone. Swords and other military equipment. High end academic materials (parchment, quills books etc). 

Imports: spices from Kinoko, sugar from SMP, gems and luxury from Las Nevadas.

🍄Kinoko Kingdom🍄

ruled by: Kings Bad and Skeppy Halo

Crown Prince: Prince Sapnap Halo

Other Royalty: Future Prince Consort Karl Jacobs. Sapnap’s to be husband.

Other Members: Eret (Royal Advisor), Callahan (Court Seer), HBomb (aristocrat), Hannahxxrose (Head of Royal Garden). Karl Jacobs (Clock Keeper, to-be Prince Consort)

Resources/Geography:

-Kinoko Kingdom lies west of L’Manburg. And is a kingdom rooted in magic and nature. With impossibly tall forests, millions of mushrooms, and magic in every leaf. Kinoko is a valuable ally and a strong kingdom. If not a little carefree. The capital is Mycelia-by-the-Sea.

- resources include:

Exports: magical herbs, potions, and medicines (some kingdoms have stricter regulations on these than others), spices, truffles, wine, art, enchanted jewelry/armor, silk, bardic instruments.

Imports: metal and armor from L’Manburg, Naval lumber and fish from S.M.P, luxury gemstones and cloth from Las Nevadas.

🏴‍☠️Sanctuary of Maritime Prosperity (S.M.P)🏴‍☠️

ruled by: Queen/Captain Puffy Gamers 

Crown Prince: Prince Foolish Gamers

Other Royalty: Prince Dream, Their Royal Highness (I couldn’t find a gender neutral term for Prince/princess that I liked lol) Ranboo, Punz (not royalty but is an ally of Dream and a valued mercenary), Prince Consort George of Las Nevadas (Dream’s Husband)

Other Members: Aimsey (court jester and Their Royal Highness’s best friend), Connor (Naval chief, second in command to the Queen in naval office)

Resources/Geography:

-the S.M.P is an archipelago that lies south of the mainland three kingdoms, sharing a border with all three. Being an island nation has led to border disputes over land however. This kingdom is heavily reliant on the ocean and their immense naval power. Capital is Aftwatch.

- resources include:

Exports: ships, sails, ropes, other naval tech, sugar, pearls, sea glass, salt, fish, seaweed, and ink.

Imports: weapons from L’Manburg, gold and emeralds from Las Nevadas, citrus and other fruits, as well as wine and artifacts from Kinoko, wool and leather from L’Manburg.

🎰Las Nevadas🎰

ruled by: Kings Awesamdude and Ponk NotFound

Crown Prince: Prince George NotFound

Other Royalty: Prince Quackity, Prince Consort Dream of the S.M.P

Other Members: Purpled (crown mercenary), Slimecicle (Court Alchemist).

Resources/Geography:

-Las Nevadas is to the east of the Crownspine mountains, casting it in a rain shadow-which results in a barren, desert like landscape. The capital-Vega’s Crown-is rich in cheap luck spells and love potions. The city-and kingdom as a whole-is built on its growing economy.

- resources include:

Exports: luxury gemstones and gold from the plateaus, silk, dyes, extravagant clothing/jewelry, magical entertainment (illusion boxes, love spells etc)

Imports: fine weaponry, coal and redstone from L’Manburg, rare potions and spices from Kinoko, sugar and naval supplies from the S.M.P 

I THINK THATS IT OMG

[miraculousystuff]

Enigma with a J: Chapter 1

𝕆𝕟𝕖 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕

This is a prompt by @sayuricorner. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you, but I hope you like it!

The Riddler, or Edward Nygma, walked into a bar, his usual extravagant attire and infamous question mark insignia swapped for ripped black jeans and a tight button up shirt that showed his arm tattoos to full glory. An extensive collection of various flowers, skulls and swords decorated his biceps, along with a large snake along his left forearm. However, on his right forearm, a large question mark branded it, surrounded by hundreds of fingerprints in pale black ink. “Vodka. Straight.” he said to the bartender, who stood paralysed at the sight of him. He looked up, his emerald green eyes shimmering in a deathly promise. “Do I need to repeat myself?” The bartender quickly shook his head and ran to the back, grabbing his drink in a minute, tops. He nodded gruffly and took a large swig, almost drowning half the glass. Smacking his lips together, he smirked and put his legs up on the table as everyone hesitantly went back to their casual conversation. Suddenly, a girl placed a hand on his thigh. “How are you doing?” she purred, looking him in the eye as she did so. Edward’s eyes peaked with interest. Either the girl was too naive to know who he was or too drunk to care. “Just fine m’lady.” he said in a deep voice, and the girl moved her hand to his inner thigh, smirking even more. “Really? Because you look like you’re in need of a good time~” she said insistently, and the Riddler shrugged, as if to say, why not. "What's your name?" she asked, her voice barely a murmur in the dimly lit room.

"Why, it's a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma," he replied with a playful smile. He leaned closer, his green eyes piercing through the shadows.

The girl, young and unassuming, laughed nervously. "Come on, really?"

"Alright, let's just say I enjoy puzzles," he conceded, his smile growing wider. "What's yours?"

Her heart raced as she whispered, "Call me...yours." She didn't know why she didn’t just answer, but something about him made her feel like she needed to protect herself. They had met at the Gotham City nightclub, a place where the music was loud and the lights were low, and secrets were as plentiful as the drinks, but had left and arrived at a shady apartment in the many nooks and crannies the city was so desperate to hide. She had been swept away by his charm, his wit, and the thrill of the unknown. Now, in the quiet of the apartment, she wished she knew more about the man who had captured her attention so completely as he took off his shirt, and hers alongside it. As he pulled her into the sheets, and made her adrenaline rush like it had never been before. As she felt like she was drowning and floating at the same time when she finally drifted off into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Ivy woke to the harsh light of day filtering through the blinds. She sat up with a start, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. It was small and compact, but you couldn’t say it didn’t look elegant. It had a way, she determined as she examined the neat double bed in the centre of the one room, a small kitchen in the corner and a large TV in front, a way that made it look larger than it really was. As her eyes analysed the room, they landed back on the man in front of her. She smiled at his sleeping face and his arms draped over his head, his hair a mess on his eyes. As her hands moved it away, her gaze caught a tattoo on his forearm. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she examined his arm more closely. Then she saw it—the question mark insignia on the man's forearm, stark against his pale skin. The realization hit her like a freight train, her eyes widening as she almost choked. She had spent the night with The Riddler, Gotham's infamous trickster and nemesis of the Dark Knight. Panic flooded her veins as she threw on her clothes and bolted out the door without a backward glance.

Three weeks later, Ivy faced an even bigger shock than her fateful encounter with the enigmatic villain. Two pink lines stared back at her from the pregnancy test. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as she tried to process the gravity of her situation. The Riddler, a father? Her mind reeled at the thought.

Torn between fear and wonder, she made her decision. She couldn't abort the child—not after seeing the look of innocence in her own mother's eyes when she had been born. But she couldn't keep the baby either. Not with the kind of life she had. So, she waited until the day came, the day she knew she had to let go.

The night was cold and unforgiving as she placed the tiny bundle wrapped in a soft, pink blanket into the alleyway. She whispered a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening before walking away, her heart aching with every step. Little did she know, her decision would set in motion a chain of events that would forever link her to the caped crusader's world, a world of shadows and riddles, where her baby girl would one day play a part she could never have imagined.

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 67 ✧˚₊‧

Suzu’s lungs burned as they rushed through the smoke-choked alleys, pressing a hand to their side to stem the throb of their half-healed wound. They’d taken the form of someone forgettable—baggy pants, a cracked mask, blood-spattered coat. The curse user they'd mimicked hadn't even put up a fight before their body became a disguise. All the better. No one noticed shadows during a wildfire.

But even through the smoke, even over the crackling of distant flames and collapsing walls, they could feel it. Haibara’s cursed energy—ragged, sharp-edged, fragile. Not like before. This wasn’t his usual firecracker spark, his playfully defiant glow. This felt crushed. Bleeding.

And Suzu’s gut twisted. “He must be alive," they muttered. They repeated it like a mantra, a shield against the panic creeping up their throat.

He has to be. He’s a cockroach, he always gets back up.

But the guilt didn’t budge. It just nestled deeper in their ribs.

They thought of Lily—her sweet smile masking something rot-wet and grinning underneath. How she'd leaned in, whispering like poison in their ear. Just keep him going, Suzu. Let’s see how far the little songbird flies before his wings catch fire. Suzu had let her touch him. Let her twist something in him when he didn’t know better. They'd taken the money. They’d kept quiet. And now—

They turned the last corner. The street opened before them, lit in jagged firelight. Smoke rolled through the air like fog, curling over broken pavement. And there he was.

Flat on his back, in the middle of the road, legs kicking weakly like a child having a tantrum, chest heaving in silent sobs. He wasn’t even shielding himself—he was exposed, broken. His eyes were glassy with tears, red-rimmed and wide, staring at nothing but the black-choked clouds above. His arms didn’t move right. Suzu could see the tremor in them from here, the twitch of muscles torn too far, too fast. Standing over him, calm and still as a judge at an execution, was a man Suzu didn’t recognize.

He was tall and old enough to command authority by presence alone. His coat fluttered in the scorched wind, and his sword was sheathed, but Suzu didn’t doubt he could unsheathe it before they blinked. He was speaking to Haibara. Calmly. Gently.

It didn’t matter. Suzu saw red. The weight of guilt shattered into fury.

No one—no one—hurt Haibara like this.

They dropped the disguise with a snap of cursed energy, their form rippling back to themself like ink washing off glass. Their fingers crackled with tension, eyes locked on the stranger who dared stand over Haibara like a priest over a grave.

He didn't stand a chance. Suzu's hands twisted, sharp as blades, and plunged into his back. By the time the red swirling in their vision cleared, the man was stilled on the ground.

"Suzu!" Haibara choked out, "Suzu help me! Please!"

"Shut up," Suzu huffed, catching their breath as they pushed off the corpse beneath them.

"Suzu!" Haibara cried again, but grunted in pain as Suzu kicked his ribs.

"Save your breath, asshole," they muttered. They reached into Haibara's pocket, pulling out the small curse Geto had given to each of them. Barely bigger than a bean, the thing screeched as Suzu crushed it.

CLAP!

Todo appeared. "Oh, damn!" he gasped, "What happened to him?!"

"Get him to Hani," Suzu murmured, scooping up Haibara and leaning him over Todo's shoulders, "Don't let him go back out. He's not—He's can't. He's had enough today."

Todo nodded.

CLAP!

Suzu didn’t stay long. Tsukumo and Choso were likely already moving,

“Stupid girl wont be able to outrun them,” Suzu told themself that as they turned, heading back the way they came. Tsukumo will get her back. Choso won’t let anything else happen to either of them. They’re better at this.

Suzu just had work to do.

Their hands slapped their cheeks with a loud pop. The sting grounded them. A deep inhale, a long exhale, and the mask dropped again. The stolen form rippled over them like water. Another nobody. Baggy pants. Blood-smeared coat. Nameless. Invisible.

They vanished into the smoke.

The battlefield was chaos—a city devouring itself, ablaze and bleeding curses from every crevice. The estate had been leveled. The bones of the Zen'in clan lay shattered in the rubble, but scattered rats were still trying to flee, and Suzu was the exterminator now.

No mercy. No speeches. The mission was clear.

“All Kamo. All Zen'in. On sight.”

They slinked through the smoke, crouched low beneath crumbling walls and weaving through the shadows of fallen buildings. A flicker of cursed energy to the west—three signatures. Suzu adjusted their footing, weaving left.

The first target—a Kamo elder, dragging one leg behind him, blood slicking down the side of his face as he hobbled down a side alley, clutching a half-charred talisman.

Suzu didn’t hesitate.

A swift movement—a blade pulled from their sleeve, no sound but the whisper of air as they buried it under the man’s ribs. He gurgled, tried to turn, but Suzu caught him by the collar and whispered against his ear with a voice not their own, “Found you.” The light left his eyes before he could scream.

They moved before the body hit the ground.

A Zen'in cousin next—young, maybe their age. Wide-eyed, trying to crawl from beneath a fallen beam. She spotted Suzu too late. Her hand raised, maybe to beg, maybe to cast something useless. Suzu didn’t wait to find out. A snap of the wrist. A splatter. Silence.

Swift. Silent. Just like they were taught.

More would come. Survivors crawling from the rubble, thinking they could make it out. But Suzu was already circling again, residuals glowing beneath their feet like embers. Every footfall a step toward vengeance, toward finishing what they helped begin.

No more guilt. Not now.

They could cry later, if they made it.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Debris floated in the air—flickering bits of paper, glass dust, embers from a destroyed electrical box still crackling like insects in the dark. The street was no longer a street. Just a battlefield of broken concrete and twisted rebar, empty buses like skeletons on fire. Gojo stood in the center, unmarked, unmarred, like a storm that had never once been touched by the world it destroyed.

Geto lay in the shattered frame of a bus stop, coughing as blood filled the back of his throat. Shards of glass stuck to his temple. The black rope around his fists had gone, burned near to ash. His reverse cursed technique was crawling now—too slow to keep up, his body sluggish under the effort.

Gojo didn’t approach yet. He hovered there, hands in his pockets, blindfold long since torn off his neck, letting his glowing blue eyes bore into his oldest friend.

“You’re acting insane,” Gojo said coolly.

Then, in a blur of motion, he slammed his heel down into the remains of the bench—and the entire metal frame buckled under the weight of his cursed energy as he sent Geto straight through it.

The crunch was awful. The kind of sound you feel in your teeth.

Geto wheezed. One leg twitched. But he shoved himself upright anyway, ribs visibly shifting under his skin. “I’m not insane,” he hissed, spitting blood, “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t change. But he stepped forward, letting his presence push down like pressure at the bottom of the sea. “Suguru,” he said, voice low, bitter, “you’re not doing what needs to be done. You’re just losing. Badly. And you know it.”

“If this was ever about helping people, if it was ever about fixing something—maybe I’d listen. But you’re not helping anyone. You’re not even fixing anything. You’re just… ruining everything.”

Geto snarled and surged up, but Gojo was already on him—he caught him mid-step and slammed him back down, cratering the sidewalk beneath them. The impact rang out like a bell across the ruins.

Gojo stood over him again. His breath still easy. His skin clean. “This was never a problem solved by force,” he said tightly.

“Force is the only thing shitty old men understand,” Geto gasped, dragging breath in like razors. “They never listen. They just take. They use us. Use them.” He coughed violently, nearly folding over again. “They needed to know someone would fight back.”

Gojo shook his head, fury finally bleeding through his voice. “Listen to yourself!”

He grabbed the front of Geto’s collar and hoisted him up like a ragdoll. His Six Eyes glowed in the dark smoke—not with rage, but with sorrow.

“You put Sarah under a vow,” he spat. “You dosed Haibara with bullshit until he lost his goddamn mind! You kept Nanami and Morishita hostage! You sat on your throne while your ‘family’ got hurt! You preach all this righteous bullshit while your people suffer just the same under you as they did under the people you hated.” He paused—eyes narrowing, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “What the hell are you even saying anymore, Suguru?”

Geto’s eyes darted. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He hadn’t been for a long time. But now it showed.

“I’m trying to change the world,” he whispered, blood leaking from his split lip.

Gojo didn’t let go of him. “You’re not. You’re just dragging everyone else down with you.”

There was a silence then. The kind that only ever came between friends right before one did something unforgivable. Gojo slowly lowered him down—not out of mercy, but like setting down a bomb that hadn’t finished ticking.

“…You’re still my best friend,” Gojo said at last. Quiet. Almost too quiet. “But I’m not gonna let you destroy everything just because you think you’re the only one who understands the problem.”

Geto looked up at him through bruised eyes, jaw clenched. “I am the only one who understands it.”

The smoke thinned between them, letting the spires of sunlight spill down on the shattered streets like the world was trying to remember how to be beautiful again. Gojo stood in the rubble, breathing evenly now, a wind curling around him and brushing his white hair from his face. Across from him, Geto staggered but stayed upright, swaying like a tree on the edge of breaking.

And then Gojo said quietly, “I thought you knew me better than that.”

Geto’s mouth parted, but no words came.

Gojo’s voice didn’t rise, didn’t thunder. It wasn’t full of righteous fury now. It was raw. Honest. “You never understood what it was like for me. Not really. Growing up alone after you left… being the only one who could do the things I could. Every mission, every decision, every life saved or lost—it was all on me.”

He dropped his hand from his side. His cursed energy shimmered, but didn’t swell.

“I was exhausted all the time. I was so tired I’d forgotten who I used to be, so lonely I thought I was going crazy. And the only thing that made it worth anything—was trying to make sure the kids coming up next didn’t feel the way you did. That they’d never break like you did and end up leaving everyone else behind like me." His voice cracked just a little. “I didn’t run away the way you and Yuki did, Suguru. I didn’t run. I stayed and did my fucking job."

Geto clenched his jaw. “You didn't fight back. You let them use you."

Gojo met his eyes. That sorrow behind his Six Eyes deepened—but there was no hesitation. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t fight back. I should have. I should’ve stood up with you when it mattered. I should’ve looked the higher-ups in the face and burned it all down. I’ll regret that choice for the rest of my goddamn life.”

A pause. The air felt still again, heavy but clear.

“But now,” Gojo said, stepping forward, “things are different. Now, we have a chance. We’re still here. We could be together again and we can do this right this time. No more using people like they’re weapons. No more sacrificing kids for old men’s orders.”

Geto faltered. Something cracked in his breathing.

“But what if…” Geto said hoarsely, “what if it still doesn’t work? What if all I’ve done—everything I’ve become—ends up being just another pile of tragedy?”

Gojo looked at him, and something broke in his face too—like his usual mask had peeled back to show something terribly human underneath. Not the strongest sorcerer. Not the honored one. Just Satoru. Just the idiot kid who used to eat ice cream with his best friend on rooftops.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “You know we were working on that. You, me, Shoko, Sarah, Yaga—we were trying. But something in you twisted it up too fast. You snapped. Just like you did the first time.”

Geto’s knees gave slightly. “Something did change in me,” he whispered, staring down at his own hands, flexing his fingers like he didn’t recognize them. “I remember… being angry. But not like this. Not like this all the time.” Geto’s brow furrowed. He squinted against the memories—the fog, the fire, the moment everything started feeling colder. More cruel. Something in his chest twisted—foreign and sick and familiar all at once.

Gojo stepped closer, slowly. No longer radiating power. Just presence.

Geto said nothing. His mouth trembled. He blinked hard.

Then finally he managed: “What if I can’t come back from this?”

Gojo’s voice was low. “Then I’ll come get you anyway and beat the crap out of you until you get it."

Geto's lips parted, his trembling hand reaching up slowly. "Satoru I—"

The pavement beneath their feet cracked and buckled. Heat blossomed in the distance—first like a rising sun, then like the open mouth of a volcano. A roar, low and long and wrong, rolled through the streets with the weight of a natural disaster. Any intact glass shattered all around them. Birds scattered from rooftops, and the sky itself seemed to waver.

Gojo turned, the firelight catching in his impossibly bright blue eyes. His expression darkened.

“…No,” he muttered.

Behind them, pillars of flame twisted into the sky, blackening it with ash. A pressure washed over the street, hot enough to sear skin just from proximity. Geto instinctively raised his arm to protect himself, but it did little.

“What—what is that?” Geto asked, his voice hoarse, the heat drying his throat instantly. “Is that a curse?!”

Gojo didn’t take his eyes off the fire. “Yeah,” he said grimly. “It is. And he shouldn't be skulking around here for another eight years.”

Geto’s eyes widened. “You mean the one from your first life? Jogo?”

Gojo nodded and said, “He’s not supposed to show up yet. This isn’t his time. Something’s off.” He looked over his shoulder just once. “Stay here. I’ll handle it.” He turned—and vanished in an instant, a sonic boom rippling out from where he’d stood as he blitzed toward the rising inferno.

Geto stood frozen, the heat licking at the sides of his face like a threat.

Stay here. That used to be what he did after something happened, wasn't it? That shouldn't be something he remembered doing, but there it was like a hot stone burning in his stomach. Just let Gojo run ahead and fix everything alone. Let the “strongest” carry the burden.

Not this time. Not again.

He clutched at the front of his torn robes—right over his heart—and inhaled sharply, ignoring the pain screaming through his ribs. His knees trembled, but he locked them straight. His vision wavered, but he didn’t blink it away. He would not be the one who sat back anymore.

He would not leave Satoru Gojo alone again.

He pushed forward, body aching, legs moving with purpose. The heat scalded his skin, and still he ran. Toward the fire. Toward the fear. If the future was broken, then they would face it together, even if it burned them both alive.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The city burned like a funeral pyre and Jogo stood in the heart of it, the epicenter of devastation, his molten body crackling with barely contained volcanic ecstasy. The ground ruptured beneath his feet, yawning wide as lava poured up from the depths, hungrily devouring pavement, structures, and screams. He howled with laughter, arms outstretched as fire danced across his skin and the air itself shimmered with heat.

"Burn," he growled, voice rumbling like an eruption. "Burn, you pitiful worms! Burn until there’s nothing left but ash!"

The city answered him—towers collapsed into slag, asphalt split open in globs of molten ruin, and the screams of the dying were drowned in the crackling of flame. Sorcerers on both sides—Kamo and Zen’in loyalists, Yaga’s scattered agents, unaffiliated curse users—all fell prey to the endless tide of fire.

Some never even saw it coming—one heartbeat, they fought; the next, they were gone.

A squad of Zen’in curse users screamed as lava surged beneath them, melting their barrier before they could react. One of them tried to summon a bird shikigami, but it burst into flame mid-chant. A cursed doll belonging to one of Yaga’s teams valiantly tried to carry its charge out—only for its stuffing to catch fire in mid-air.

And in all of it—Suzu ran.

The world blurred around them, orange and black and death. Their body screamed in protest—knees shaking, lungs seizing—but they didn’t stop. Couldn't. They saw the two of them, still alive. Hani and Haibara.

Cornered on an island of rubble in a sea of flame, surrounded by creeping lava rivers like veins of liquid glass. Haibara's arms still hung lose at his sides from Kusakabe’s beatdown. Hani was limping badly, dragging a badly burned leg. They wouldn’t make it.

"RUN!" Suzu bellowed. "RUN, DAMMIT!"

They leapt, bounding from a smoldering bus roof to a half-melted traffic sign, skidding across burning debris. Suzu’s throat ripped from screaming as they yelled again—“TODO! SWAP WITH ME! NOW!”

CLAP!

The crack echoed like divine intervention. A burst of cursed energy—and suddenly Todo stood there, wide-eyed, gaze flicking between the inferno and the two trapped sorcerers.

Haibara looked up at him weakly, eyes dazed. Hani didn’t even speak—just reached toward him.

Todo hesitated for only a second before grabbing them both.

CLAP!

They were gone, and Suzu stood alone. The platform of rubble beneath them groaned, a sudden wave of heat warping the air so violently it was like staring through water. The barrier that had been holding the lava back crackled—and shattered.

Suzu closed their eyes, the last sound they heard not Jogo’s laughter, but the roaring crescendo of heat tearing apart the atmosphere. Their lips parted, a breath slipping out between them as they let go, grinning up at the sky in spite.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The city burned behind them, a hellscape of ash and molten ruin.

Geto and Gojo arrived at the edge of that disaster just as the next wave of nightmare broke loose. Dagon rose first—his grotesque, bloated form crawling from a ruptured fissure in the earth, dragging the sea with him. Water flooded the blackened concrete, steam hissing as lava met ocean. And from the mists that followed, Hanami stalked forth in silence, blossoms falling like funeral petals from their shoulders.

Gojo didn’t slow. He flickered forward, blinking past Hanami’s vines like mist through fingers. One lazy spin of Red sent the cursed spirit crashing through a building. Glass and steel folded around them like paper. His brows where knit tight together, eyes focused on only one thing. Kill them all.

Geto panted, already struggling to keep up. He’d already been fighting for what felt like days. His robes were scorched, blood clinging to the black tatters that barely hung over his undershirt. He kept his eyes on Gojo—so fast, so unrelenting, not just because of Limitless and Six Eyes.

No. He’d fought something that was supposed to be even stronger than these curses. He’d fought Sukuna. Alone.

Geto had never seen that kind of battlefield. But he wanted to. He needed to. Not because he had something to prove—but because he refused to let Satoru be alone on that battlefield ever again. If he was going to keep that promise, then he'd need to face this without flinching.

So when Dagon opened his grotesque mouth and his Domain washed over them like a tsunami, Geto didn’t flinch.

The ocean came first. A crashing flood that sucked them into his realm, that suffocating womb of rot and deep-sea horror. Fish-curses surrounded them—sword-fish monsters, abyssal shrimp, monstrous sharks with human faces. Teeth like daggers. Jaws that clicked in languages not meant for humans.

Gojo stood untouched on the edge of the domain, perfectly centered in his limitless, but Geto was dragged under. For a moment, it was hell. Then the air thrummed.

Geto locked in.

His hands slammed together in a ripple of cursed energy. All at once, the domain churned with life—not Dagon’s—his.

Hundreds of curses erupted from the waters like summoned soldiers. A twisted phoenix burst through a hammerhead’s skull in flames. A centipede ripped apart a leviathan in mid-charge. His curses swarmed the abyss—fighting tooth and claw, their master’s rage feeding their strength.

Dagon roared, his humanoid upper half surging toward Geto with a trident of living coral, jagged and wet. Geto countered, shielding himself with a dozen curses, each one torn apart—but buying him time.

He grunted, bleeding from the mouth, slamming down his hands again.

"Simple Domain!"

The waters shattered. It was as if he’d punched a hole in the center of an aquarium. The pressure collapsed in on itself, and Dagon—blinking in surprise—was left vulnerable for the barest second. That’s all Geto needed. He moved fast and his hand latched onto Dagon’s chest. The cursed spirit snarled, raising a claw—only for Geto’s eyes to blaze with cold clarity.

"Curse Manipulation: Absorption." The world sucked inward.

Dagon screamed, and his incomplete form began to collapse. Pulled in, bone by bone, claw by fin, until only the air boiled in silence where he’d stood.

Geto collapsed to one knee, gasping, drenched in saltwater and sweat. And Gojo—still calm, still flawless—looked back over his shoulder, a small grin tugging at his lips.

“Nice,” he said. “Took you long enough.”

Geto coughed out a tired laugh. “Fuck you.” But in his chest, his heart thudded with something close to pride. He would catch up. He wouldn't stop until he did.

The air shimmered with heat and death as Hanami stepped forward first—silent, petals blooming from their shoulders in a slow, deliberate warning. Jogo flanked them, fire leaking from his shoulders in rhythmic pulses like a volcano on the edge of eruption. Both were grinning, their eyes narrow with focus. Domain Amplification pulsed over their hands.

Gojo tilted his head and gave them a slow blink, as if genuinely confused.

“Really?” he said, voice lilting with disbelief, “You two are gonna use this Domain Amplification crap again?”

Jogo sneered, molten spit sizzling from the corners of his mouth. “You rely on that untouchable shell too much,” he growled. “You can’t fight with just your fists forever, Gojo.”

Gojo smiled thinly and cracked his knuckles. "Try me."

They lunged. Jogo ignited, dashing forward in a blaze of magma punches. Hanami moved beside him, lashes of roots and cursed energy wrapping in spirals to suppress Limitless. They were synchronizing their Domain Amplification—like dancers, mirroring each other, forcing Gojo’s technique into suppression. The air warped around them, pressing harder, tighter. A tactic they’d used before, but Gojo just laughed.

“Damn, I wish you'd seen how this went down the first time,” he said, eyes glowing bright with raw cursed energy. "You're not even doing as well without all your human shields. How boring. Such a shame."

The moment they stepped in too close, he dropped the act. With a flick of his wrist, the space between them folded. Not like teleportation. Like a trap. A burst of cursed energy detonated in every direction—but it didn't explode outward. It curved, spiraled inward. A compact collapse of pressure and energy that made the air shriek.

“Domain Expansion,” Gojo said softly. “Limitless Void.”

A new technique. Not his old domain. A refined one. It didn't explode in grandeur. It compressed—a microcosmic singularity stitched with Limitless, Infinite Void, and the weight of intent. All around him was nothing but warped space and disassembled logic. The rules were Gojo’s now.

Hanami froze within, their roots withering and hands twitching. Jogo screamed as his fire sizzled to nothingness in the vacuum of will. There was no spectacle. Only silence. When the domain collapsed, it imploded into a neat, humming sphere. Gojo stood calmly in the center, untouched.

Geto stepped forward warily, still soaked and half-limping from the battle with Dagon. His mouth twitched as he looked down at the two frozen curses, their mouths fallen open and Jogo's one eye staring blankly ahead. “Do you want me to… take them?” Geto asked, unsure.

“You’ll need them,” Gojo said softly, “They’ll fight you at first. But you’ll win. Once you absorb them you'll be able to use their techniques too. There's probably one more freak around here we'll want to snatch up before we… before we go back."

Geto hesitated, then summoned his technique. One orb, then the next, then the third and swallowed them down. Each time his body buckled slightly under the pressure, his fingers twitching as the curses roared inside his mind. He caught himself, knees locking, but he kept himself standing.

Gojo was staring off into the distance now, jaw tight.

“Satoru?” Geto asked.

Gojo didn’t answer at first. Then— “That wasn’t the main act,” he muttered. “That was just noise.”

Geto stepped closer, frowning. “Then what’s coming?”

Gojo turned his head. His eyes glowed like twin stars in a sea of ash and ruin. “No more playing around. Not this time.” There was no arrogance in his tone. No cockiness. Just conviction.

Gojo’s smile twisted, a strange blend of thrill and malice tugging at the edges of his mouth. The kind of smile that said good, the kind that said finally. He shifted his stance slightly, sliding one foot back into position, eyes laser-focused on the war god emerging before him.

“Suguru,” he said over his shoulder, voice tight. “I’m gonna need you to work really hard not to die here, alright?”

Geto nodded, then asked, "Should I—"

"Don't stay," Gojo said, "Run. Find Sarah and keep her alive too, if you can."

Geto swallowed. The weight of the battlefield twisted heavier around his chest. He didn’t need Six Eyes to feel what was coming—Sukuna’s presence bled across the ground like ink soaking into fabric, warping the very logic of the cursed world around them. That wasn’t just cursed energy. That was dominion.

The King of Curses stood at the edge of the shattered cityscape, looming like a nightmare made flesh. His mouth pulled into something resembling amusement as he tossed aside the mangled body of some unfortunate with a casual flick of one of his four hands.

Sukuna stepped forward, cocking his head like a predator examining unfamiliar prey. “You’re Satoru Gojo, then?” he said, both of his mouths curling into a grin. “I was under the impression this was our first meeting, but you look like a boy with something to prove.”

Gojo’s grin spread wider. “Yeah,” He said, popping his neck before cracking his knuckles. “We’ve danced before. You just don’t remember, because the last time you were riding around in someone else’s skin like a shitty ventriloquist act. I got a second chance after you got me with a cheap shot."

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed and he chuckled. “I see. How very interesting! It's a shame I'll never hear the tale after you're dead."

Gojo raised a hand and pointed directly at him. “Cute, but this time,” he said, teeth bared, “you don’t have your neat little advantage, do you?”

Sukuna laughed. It was a hideous sound. Like a hundred swords being unsheathed at once. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “But I assure you—I didn’t come here expecting to lose.”

Two of his hands lifted. In the first, the dreaded Inverted Spear of Heaven—an artifact capable of nullifying cursed techniques. The same blade that had once been Gojo’s greatest threat, the one that nearly killed him as a teenager.

But it was the other object that made Gojo pause.

In his third hand, Sukuna held a dark, smooth orb. It shimmered faintly, runes carved along its edges, pulsating with an energy Gojo didn’t recognize. It wasn’t cursed energy. It wasn’t reverse cursed energy. It felt… off. Ancient. Foreign. Like something that wasn’t meant to be seen by this world.

Whatever it was, Gojo wasn’t going to give Sukuna time to use it. With a single flex of his cursed energy, Gojo vanished—and the city exploded into motion once again.

Prev Main Next

[dreadfutures]

100 Serault Prompts

Inspired by the atmospheric and enigmatic game, Dragon Age: The Last Court, here are some prompts for art or writing. Don't forget to send the prompt along with the number to help your creator out!

Utterly indebted to the #SaveSerault preservation project, and @silvanils Plot Guide here.

The black ocean of trees seethes under a fretful night-wind.

Nightmares breed like maggots in meat.

Wolves howling in council, or prayer, or song.

Gnomic messages scratched into fragments of bark with a knife-point.

Beware of crows.

Painted Masked Goddess in the bluebelled glade.

An inquisitive wind stirs in the woods.

Questing roots crawling over a secret, locking it away against the centuries.

The forest returns to its sleep and its long, green dreams.

Streams suddenly freezing despite the sun.

A laughing wolf.

A pensive bear.

A spider the size of a carthorse.

There are stranger directions than ‘North’ and ‘South’.

Power is a difficult steed to ride. Not everyone can stay in the saddle.

Today's answer could be tomorrow's treason.

A Baker’s Breeze, early in the morning. Upon it, the scent of bread rising in the ovens.

A coy breeze carries the sounds and smells of the market.

Spice. Lies. Laughter. The play of coin.

A grey wind drones in the fireplace.

A slow rain drones on the windows.

A hard wind blows from the east, carrying fat, gloating ravens.

A song of old Serault: the Stag and the Rose.

A star-wind, high and swift, pushes silver clouds to and fro beneath the moon.

The lap of the river upon the castle’s stone feet.

The scent of leaves and nodding barley.

White feathers drift like snow.

Eels in the dark rivers.

The Applewoods are dappled with shadow and filled with succulent midnights. Come closer.

The Biting Wind that Masked Andraste keeps leashed like a dog.

The sun swarms the river.

The Chateau’s four cats stretch out on the roof-tiles.

The wind eddies in corners, making dancing columns of dust. It comes from nowhere, goes nowhere. A Fade-wind, the Dowager calls it.

The Chateau’s pennants crack like whips.

“Payment in Glass” is the Serault motto.

Dappled in gemmy light.

The Green Chapel in the Deepwoods, where wolves go to pray.

A line of grey in the dark; fighting, failing, dying.

A sound like tearing silk.

Burning blue with rage.

Sun as warm as the touch of a hand.

A garland of aster and cuckoo-flowers.

The Masked Andraste isn’t as keen on chastity as her moon-faced sister.

A mage must be a poet, a philosopher, and a butcher.

To see behind the world.

To hold fire by the throat.

Familiar territory, but never quite safe.

Serault’s pride is like her forests: root-deep, thick-skinned, hard-won from the world’s edge.

A bereskarn.

Rune-strewn bones of a fell beast.

A forest victim: flowers sprouting from their eyes.

Hands burned to the blackened bone.

The Tower of Lights, as it never was: scraping the sky, mantled in light.

Weep tears of silver.

Smashing a horned mask of glass and gemstones.

Your true face: a horned mask of glass and gemstones.

The Glassworkers' Guildmaster elections.

This is the Grand Game. Play or drown.

A glass Guildmaster's sword, the hilt spinning fractures of light across the floor.

Freedoms for the Glassworkers: to leave, and leave to marry.

If it doesn't fight back, you drink it.

Secret liaisons with the Lover: Candlelit meetings. Fingers tangling briefly in the corridors. The door to your chambers creaking softly open when the guards change their watch. Stifled giggles as a servant passes.

A change of lovers, and the fallout.

An old tome. Dense, inseparable uncials cram the book. The ink fades. Mold speckles the flimsy pages.

A pig farmer advises the Marquis.

A grin as tight as a gallows noose.

A mosaic floor.

Honor is a game that others play.

Your Chevalier Commander, and her loyalty.

Serault Town: Gold stone, red roofs.

The Horned Knight's hold: a round tower, jagged as a chipped tooth, its floors all collapsed in on one another. A great tree grows within it, spreading a canopy of burgundy leaves where the roof once was.

Grass sparkling with shards of an old, shattered mirror.

Fat partridge, simmering in a pot with sweet onions and pale beans, then a plate of round cakes, peppered with poppyseed and laced with honey.

The mother has eyes of fire; the daughter, a heart of it.

Twilit riverbanks untrod by mortal feet, and rings of tall blue stones that were not raised by human hands…

A hall where the trees walk and the stones speak.

The Horned Knight: clad in armor of forest green, with an ivy cloak that hisses along the flagstones.

Hounds in the kennels, baying for the hunt.

The effects of High Twilight.

The effects of High Peril.

The effects of Rumors of Revolution.

The Dignity of the Huntress, Glass Rose of Serault: deadly, beautiful, adored, dreaded.

The Freedom of the Scholar, who might be the one to bring change to Serault for the good of the common folk.

The apples have interesting properties: astringent... intoxicating.

The Chateau stands on an island in mid-river.

The Acerbic Dowager (Counselor)

The Cheery Baron (Counselor)

The Dashing Outlaw (Accomplice or Bodyguard)

The Elegant Abbess (Counselor or Lover)

The Kindly Knight (Counselor)

The Muttering Banker

The Purveyor of Teas (Accomplice)

The Seneschal (Counselor)

The Silent Hunter (Bodyguard)

The Smiling Guildmistress (Counselor)

The Wayward Bard (Lover)

The Well-Read Pig-Farmer (Accomplice)

His Dour Lordship (Counselor)

The Scornful Sorceress

The Anchoress.

[violetlunette]

Runaway Chapter 10: Phantom

Summary: After searching for so long Lilia finally finds Silver. But is it too late?

Previous Chapter

Master List

Ao3

Notes: *Twst spoilers for Chapter/Book 7

Lilia continued the search. Yet, while the vines became thicker, there was still no sigh of the rumored specter nor a clue to confirm that his son was here. Lilia was starting to lose hope.

‘Did I choose the wrong place?’ He growled as he clutched the ring around his neck.

“Argh, fuck! Stupid piece of shit!” he cursed, using his other arm to swipe at his tearing eyes. It served Lilia right, though. What was he thinking following a dumb--

“Urk!”

Lilia was nearly choked as the chain suddenly yanked him forward by the throat. He was so surprised that he ended up tripping down the large hill.

“FuuuhhhAhhAhahAhhh!” His cries went up and down as Lilia rolled.

Crash!

WHAM!

Lilia's body hit a large boulder at the bottom of the hill.

Upside down, the world continued to spin around him as the fae's mouth, bones, and muscles all groaned.

“Ughhh! Of course!” it was just Lilia’s luck, wasn’t it? Shit, was all this bad luck that Leprechaun king’s way of getting revenge for tricking him that one time 300 years ago? Cause if so--

Whoooosh~

The area turned gray, layered by a strange mist that slowly filled the air. Around Lilia, the vines began to move like snakes  cricking  and  cracking  as they did so.

“ Ah, ah, ahh, ahhh, ahhhhhhh~... ”

The notes of a song drifted overhead and fell like raindrops. A song that was both strange and familiar...

It tugged at Lilia’s heart, springing tears to his eyes as his breath caught in his throat. Then he remembered.

It was one of the songs he used to hum to Silver when the lad was a baby, to calm him after a terrible nightmare.

A song he nearly had forgotten…

A shadow fell.

Then he saw it.

Lilia’s gaze widened in horror.

“It can’t be…” Above him was a  phantom .

Despite living long, Lilia didn’t have an extensive experience with Phantoms. Though recently they had become more frequent, for a long time, they were rare.

Yet, despite his lack of knowledge, Lilia felt confident in saying that no Phantom was as beautiful as this one.

Its form was that of a Princess in sorrowful blue, floating upon a swirl of black mist. Like all Phantoms, it had an ink bottle for a head. This bottle was in the shape of a heart with a green light glinting off the glass. Atop the odd head, it wore a tarnished crown. It reminded Lilia of the ring that led him here. Yet what gave the Phantom its true beauty was its golden halo of hair. It hung in ringlets around the Phantom’s doll-like frame. Despite the green glow around the specter, it gave off no light, only a nimbus of darkness. 

It sang a haunting tune like an old music box created to lull a child to sleep.

What held Lilia’s attention, however, was the figure she carried between delicate arms.

The man’s mouth fell agape, eyes growing twice their size as his brows pulled inward. His body began to tremble as the cold of winter plunged down his spine.

Through quivering lips, he muttered, “It can’t be... Silver! ”

Ink smeared across skin pale as the grave. The black streamed from closed eyes like tears, making it seem as if he were a boy crying in his sleep. The silver hair, for which he named, lost its moon-like shine and had become a dull gray, frayed like cobwebs. But none of that was what lit the terror that made Lilia’s old muscles turn to stone, nor made his heart stop dead as if shot with a bullet or turn his blood to ice. What did that was the blade. Said blade stabbed through Silver’s heart. The sword also pierced the Phantom, pinning him to its breast. The Phantom stroked the teen’s hair like a child, singing her lullaby. Lilia felt his mouth dry as he whispered, “It can’t be…” He then cartwheeled himself upright, turning as pale as the moon as his irises nearly vanished. His breath began uneven as he began muttering to himself, “No…It can’t…Please, no...” The chant became more and more desperate till it became a prayer. Mentally, he begged his mind to tell him his eyes were playing tricks. That it was all an illusion or a bad dream. Otherwise, the reality would be that his son was dead and that—that thing was cuddling his corpse like a doll. ‘No…’ he told himself. Lilia forced his panic back, and his rational side took over. ‘Silver could still be alive, just under an enchantment. Or could that…’ Could be his Overblot? It was difficult to see as the Phantom and the blade blocked most of his form. Regardless, Lilia knew his first step; freeing Silver from-- The Phantom turned an eyeless gaze upon him. Lilia crouched, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering from the chill going through his bones. Watching the foe closely, his hand moved to his clever, ready to pull and fight when-- It vanished.

Lilia blinked. He blinked again. Once more to be sure. Then his mouth dropped open.

“Huh? What...no...No!” Confusion turned to horror.

Silver was right there.  He was right there!  Dead or alive, Silver was right there before Lilia! And now he was gone!  Again!

“Silver! Silver!” Lilia ran to the spot where the Phantom had disappeared, swallowed by the mist of the late noon.

“Come on, come on, come on!!” Frustration filled the fae as he clawed through the mist as if the action would reveal his lost son.

Alas...

“Augh!”

The anguished cry tore from his throat as the father fell to his knees.

S L A M !

He pounded a fist into the dry soil as his legs hit the ground. “FUCK!”

As the man's fingers dug into the dirt, a few tear drops escaped his eyes, his body shaking from frustration.

He was so close!  He was so close,  and yet—and yet…

Hick, sob, hick…

Lilia slumped forward, over weighed by grief.

“F--fuck...”

~*~

Once he regained himself, Lilia called Idia. Well, sort of.

He called Sebek, who took the phone to Idia, apparently breaking his door down to do so. The other was not at all pleased.

“Sorry about that!” Lilia apologized, cutting short the complaints. Had he not been so emotionally exhausted, Lilia would have laughed or found some amusement in the situation. “But I had something I really needed to ask.”

Lilia then went on to explain the appearance of the Phantom and its odd actions. Lilia wasn’t familiar with Phantoms, but he knew them to be aggressive. Silver’s Phantom, on the other hand, took one look at him before fleeing.

Idia sighed sadly.

“So, even Silver…” he mumbled. He trailed off before returning to the topic.

“It’s rare, but it’s not, like, unheard of for Phantoms not to attack,” Idia explained. “There are some who are, well, cowards and will choose to run instead. From what we can figure, it depends on how the person who blots over handles stress.

“Like, Riddle has a temper, so when he's pissed, he lashes out at everybody.” Lilia heard the story of Riddle’s blot from Carter and how it acted like a large child throwing a tantrum. Even Malleus’ Phantom had lasted out like a beast in pure rage. But Silver wasn’t like that.

Yes, the teen got mad and upset. He would occasionally yell as well, as rare as it happened. But when he was truly upset to the point his heart broke he ran.

‘Just like when he found out we weren’t related…’ Lilia closed his eyes as he recalled the memory and the child’s broken expression.

“ So… you’re not my father?”  Lilia had been so stunned not by the question but by the torment on Silver’s face as the words were muttered through trembling lips.

Lilia flinched as a metaphorical dagger pierced his soul. That same anguish was on his face in the dream world, his body shaking like it had as a child.

“ Father… I—I…”  Lilia’s heart broke.

‘Oh, Silver…’ After everything that happened, it was no surprise that Silver was distraught to the point where he must have felt like he was drowning. However, it took more than an emotional state to blot everyone over.

The teenager would have had to have used a lot of magic. The broom ride would have been tiring but not enough—

Then Lilia realized; ‘Meet in a Dream.’ Silver Unique magic.

Silver used that spell for who knows how long to save everyone. He also took travelers with him to several dreams. So, even though his body was resting, it must have taken a toll on his mental state and mana. And then with everything he had discovered and gone through…

A knot twisted in his stomach as his chest became heavy.

‘The reason Silver blotted over was…’ Because of him. Because Silver wanted to save everyone from his mistakes--

Lila’s grip shook till he tightened it on his phone.

“Then what about the Phantom in this case?” he asked Idia, keeping his voice firm. “Are you saying it’s not dangerous?” It wasn’t Idia’s voice he heard next.

“Well?! Answer him!”

“Eep! Stop shaking me!” Ah. Lilia forgot Sebek was there. From what he could hear, Sebek had become quite emotional about Silver’s state. Knowing Sebek, Lilia was surprised Sebek held back this long.

“Sebek, control yourself,” Lilia ordered. “Idia; is the Phantom dangerous?” There was an exasperated groan from the other side as Idia attempted to pull himself together.

“Uggghhh...Diasomnia...can’t deal…” He took another moment to compose, but Sebek barked something, and Idia jumped into his answer finally.

“Eep! Kinda?!” He (and Lilia) made Sebek back off before going into more detail. “They’re usually pretty harmless till cornered. Then they lash out like a trapped rat, ya know?” Then the Shroud sighed heavily as if something heavy was dropped on him.“The real issue is that while it's running the life is still being drained from its host.” Lilia’s skin nearly went transparent.

‘ Shit! ’ He forgot that. He forgot that a phantom drained its host of their life force.

Which meant that even if Silver was alive now--

“You mean… Silver’s going to die?” Sebek’s question turned the whole world static. He didn’t even hear Idia’s response.

Die, die, Silver? His Silver? His son? No! No, no, no!

“Hey, Lila? Ortho’s contacted STYX officers. They’re sending over a troop. It would--” Lilia hung up, his heart racing in his ears as he started running.

His jaw clenched as he breathed hard through his nose, his eyes growing wild. He didn’t know what would happen from here on out, but he knew this;

Silver was NOT going to die!

--

Next chapter

[lizhly-writes]

hello have my one svsss oc i made. it's also technically a piece of a different theoretical first meeting between sqh and mbj, but this seriously focuses more on the oc so like... pay no attention to canon characters lmao

There was another cultivator here.

Shang Qinghua could see her flying in now, a woman gracefully dismounting from her sword in a swirl of blue and black. Wow, this area must have gotten a lot of complaints if there was another one showing up, huh? Shang Qinghua hadn't even been gone that long!

"Hey!" Shang Qinghua shouted, and the other cultivator snapped her head towards them -- or, a bit more noticeably, the golden barrier encasing them. Beautiful and delicate, like a fragile sphere of glass, except fucking punching the goddamn thing didn't do anything but break fingers.

Not that Shang Qinghua had tried! Mobei-jun had, though! This entire situation was bad, but Shang Qinghua had to admit it was a little gratifying that the demon who had been scaring the shit out of him ever since they'd gotten trapped in the same bubble had to deal with the consequences of punching the equivalent of a steel wall!

"What are you doing," Mobei-jun hissed, probably worried that the lady cultivator was going to try killing him on sight.

"Hey, do you have any better ideas?" Shang Qinghua hissed back. Shang Qinghua wasn't great at barriers, Mobei-jun wasn't great at barriers, and neither of them had enough qi to even make an attempt to break out. The latter wouldn't have been an issue if, for some reason, they didn't seem to be recovering any qi, either.

If they did nothing, then the only thing they were going to do was die in here.

Mobei-jun scowled at him. Shang Qinghua took great pleasure in the fact that Mobei-jun couldn't do anything but scowl at him.

The woman slowed to a stop just before the barrier, leaning in carefully. This close, it was easy to tell she wouldn't have been out of place on An Ding -- slightly unkempt, with faint shadows under her dark eyes and a smudge of ink on her forehead. Put her in yellow robes, and she really could have been one of his seniors running around during tax season!

"Madam! Excuse me!" Shang Qinghua cried out, making sure to look extra pathetic. "But this one and his companion have run into some trouble! Is madam any good at breaking barriers or wards?"

"Hmm," said the woman, tapping ink-stained fingertips against the golden surface of the barrier.

Then her fingertips sunk through, and Shang Qinghua had a brief moment of relief that she was able to do something at all. And then, suddenly, he was feeling... bad. Drained? Somehow way more drained?

There was a dull thud beside him. Mobei-jun had hit the ground. That was...

Oooooooh no.

"Interesting," the woman said, and withdrew her hand. It was glowing gold -- the same gold as the barrier, the same gold as her eyes, the same gold as the smudge of ink on her forehead that was actually very much not actually a smudge of ink, was it.

Not a righteous cultivator!!! Very much not a righteous cultivator!

Fuck!

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Hades (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Mr. Gloom by Aphrodite

Dear Brother by Zeus

Aidoneus by Rhea

The Soulless One, The Unseen One, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead by the people in Olympius

Age- 22 (immortal)

Location- The Underworld

Personality- Hades is extremely solitary and independent. He’s also intensely bitter and distant because of how he got his start in life. He has crippling anxiety and low self-esteem, mostly due to his traumatic experience with his father. He’s not very fond of having conversations, only speaking to those he considers his friends, which are few. Hades is extremely intelligent and he remains impartial and fair when conducting his affairs in his domain and in Olympius. He’s also known to have a dark and twisted sense of humor. 

He has the standard abilities of a god. As god of the Underworld, the afterlife, the dead, souls, spirits, the undead, dying, death, darkness, shadows, the underground, wealth, riches, treasures, precious metals, and gemstones his other powers/abilities include pyrokinesis (his fire burns blue); he can also control black hellfire, invisibility (through use of his helm), necromancy (is able to control/communicate with the dead, undead, & ghosts), umbrakinesis, having an innate sense of people’s life auras (as well as death sense), teleportation (by way of a black mist), communicating with/shapeshifting into his sacred animals, ferrokinesis, geokinesis (earth manipulation); more powerful than his younger brother, but not to the extent of Gaia, osteokinesis (being able to control bones), cryokinesis, and limited hypnokinesis.

Hades’ natural scent is a combination of brimstone & smoke.

He’s fluent in every language known to all beings. His Serpentis is flawless!

Notable physical features of Hades include his pale alabaster skin, long ink black hair, and amethyst hued eyes. His nephew Dionysus (god of wine) also shares this physical trait.

His most notable symbol is his platinum bident.

Other sacred symbols include his helm, the sword, the staff, the scepter, keys, the cornucopia, and chariot. 

His favorite color is black. Hades says that the color is uncomplicated & simple.

Hades’ sacred plants are the white poplar, asphodel, mint, pomegranate, narcissus, cypress, and orchid.

He’s the eldest son of the imprisoned Kronos (Titan god of the harvest, time, & fate) and Rhea (Titaness of fertility, motherhood, & comfort).

Hades’ younger brothers are the kings of the other two realms- Poseidon (god of the sea & earthquakes) and Zeus (god of the sky, thunder, & lightning).

He lives in a mansion built entirely out of obsidian in the Underworld. Though modern and stylish on the outside, inside, the interior and layout is very classic, gothic, & victorian. The floors are black marble. There are plenty of ornate chandeliers that hang over the ceilings with plenty of gilded mirrors & exquisite artwork lining the walls. The color scheme is predominately black, dark blue, and gray. Satin & velvet curtains with gorgeous brocade hang from the arched windows. There’s a modern kitchen with up-to-date modern stainless steel appliances, an onyx kitchen island, black leather & velvet furniture along with glass, obsidian, and black marble furniture pieces. There’s an indoor Olympic sized pool in addition to a couple of hot tubs. 

Hades’ “favorite” room in the palace is the council room, where he meets with his advisors (other chthonic deities) known as The Dark Council. 

An opulent fireplace stands behind his throne (made of platinum) forever burning with hot blue flames. A thirty foot long obsidian table infused with Imperial Gold is in the middle of the council room, where Hades & his advisors sit for meetings.

There’s several lampade servants in his employment in the palace. 

Hades dresses in a “stealth wealth” style- prioritizing luxury and quality over ostentatious displays. Nothing beats a well tailored black silk suit with a subtle tie and black leather boots. Black is a major color with some pops of dark blue, gray, & red. His casual wear consists of silk T-shirts, blazers, button downs, black skinny jeans, and sweaters. The jewelry is platinum and minimum. 

He keeps his most prized possession (his Helm of Invisibility) in an onyx case.

There are also hidden chambers & passageways throughout the palace. It’s a feature left over by the former ruler of the Underworld- his uncle Krios (Titan god of stars & constellations).

Hades’ crown is simple- a platinum circlet decorated with white & black diamonds. He only wears it when performing official duties.

His breakfast is prepared by a cook- a lampade named Ciaran. Haded will eat scrambled eggs (added with sauteed mushrooms & black olives), toast, bacon, & sausage, along with his usual cup of coffee.

Another thing unchanged in the palace is the vestalvault, the room where Krios’ wife (and half-sister) Eurybia (goddess of the sea’s mastery) stayed for the most part as Queen of the Underworld. The room is now used for storage.

Even though he can’t travel to any place in just a matter of a few seconds with teleportation, in his realm, Hades prefers to travel the “normal way.” He has a collection of antique automobiles, primarily using his sleek black & gold Rolls Royce.

Hades has an animal companion- the biggest hellhound in the Underworld named Cerberus. He’s a hulking beast measuring over 20 ft tall with coarse fur as black as Kronos’ soul, teeth as long and sharp as swords, three rottweiler heads, blood red eyes, and has an acrid sulphuric breath that makes flowers instantly wither. Even though he’s generally fearsome and aggressive towards others, Cerberus is actually quite playful & docile towards Hades. Their energies are inextricably intertwined. 

Cerberus guards the gates to the entrance of the Underworld.

He stopped trying to get more pets after Cerberus kept eating them.

Hades oversees the Realm of Darkness and its many regions- Elysium, Tartarus, the Asphodel Fields, The Isles of the Blessed, & The Fields of Punishment.

He covers up the many healed scars covering his chest, legs, arms, and back (due to being burned by Kronos’ toxic stomach acid) with intricate tattoos, a lot of it done by his nephew Ares (god of war).

Outside of the palace, there’s a garden filled with black dahlias, frost orchids, ice lilies, and black roses. It’s typically tended to by Ascalaphus, the son of Acheron (Titan god of pain).

There’s also a small farm filled with cattle on the property which is tended to by a chthonic deity named Menoetes. 

Hades is fond of listening to classical, death metal, folk, metal, gothic rock, rap, heavy metal, & alternative music. He uses black iCHOR Tech wireless earbuds.

He’s the richest deity in the pantheon, much to the shock of his baby brother. It’s thanks in part to The Underworld Enterprise, the largest conglomerate in all the realms. Its role is to collect, organize, train, & employ beings who have died.

After a being is dead, their soul is collected by Hades’ nephew Hermes (god of roads, travelers, thieves, merchants, messengers, speed, trade, sports, border, thoughts, communications, money, & luck), they are then transported on a ferry by Charon (Ferryman of the Underworld). Hades reads the being’s life file and determines placement for them- either Elysium, Tartarus, or the Asphodel Fields. 

After placement, the shade is given a job/responsibility. It could be cataloging & filing the lives of all the beings in the three realms, assisting in legal trials that determine the mortality of shades, or manual labor- like working in the gem mines. There are many other jobs as well.

Many of the undead however end up being part of the Chthonic Army.

A go-to drink for him is pomegranate wine. He also likes red wine, brandy, whisky, beer, dry martinis, water, pomegranate juice, as well as dark roast coffee- no cream, no sugar. 

Despite the lack of fertile land in the Underworld, no fruit is as sweeter & in abundance as that of a pomegranate. It’s the realm’s symbolic fruit as well as a major export to the other two realms. There’s even an annual Pomegranate Festival to commemorate the fruit. 

There’s a lot of things Hades don’t readily share with others- not his brothers, his close friend and advisor Hecate (goddess of magic & witchcraft), his longtime on/off girlfriend Minthe (an Underworld naiad), or other family members- like his sister-in-law Hera (goddess of women & marriage). Even though he’d like to say that the first six years of his life was merely a haze, Hades vividly remembers the most important moments of his life as a godling before the darkness.

A lot of his early memories center around his mother Rhea. Her long lustrous dark brown hair, her flawless olive skin, her natural scent of vanilla, lavender, & wheat, her greenish brown eyes, and her warm maternal smile. As a small godling, Hades loved burrowing his head in the crook of his mother’s neck while she walked the grounds of The Black Palace. They’d pick roses from the garden and Rhea would sing her son to sleep with epic legends in Old Greek. “My sweet Aidoneus,” she’d whisper, “My sweet boy.”

His father Kronos was the exact opposite. The thousand yard stare from the Titan King’s intense amethyst hued eyes was enough to rattle little Hades to his bones. One moment stood out to him when Kronos surprisingly offered to spend time with his son. Walking through the halls of the palace, they stopped upon a portrait of a striking figure. A towering angular man with frost white skin, long silver white hair, & eyes as clear as water. “Do you know who that is?” Kronos asked in his deep voice. The young godling shook his head, “No, Father.” “That man was your grandfather Ouranos. Do you know where he is now?” Hades even as a small child knew better than anyone thanks to private teachings he had by Mnemosyne (Titaness of memory & language). He pointed at the window, to the pale gray sky. Kronos nodded appreciatively. “Do you know who put him there?” The godling’s voice was barely a whisper. “You did father. You saved everyone.” “And I must save everyone again soon,” he cryptically replied, looking his young son square in the face for what seemed like an eternity. 

Hades later on would come to know exactly what Kronos meant. He bore witness to the Titan King’s descent into madness as well as his violent emotional outbursts towards Hades and Rhea. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what happened on the morning of his sixth nameday.

The sky was clear- not a single winged animal in flight while sunlight poured on him like liquid gold. Hades was in the garden with Rhea lovingly looking on a few feet away. Unexpectedly, the ground began to tremble. The sky became void of color while the wind howled- sounding like piercing screams. Hades looked at his mother- horror distorting her features. Tears began falling down her face as she screamed desperately, “Run Aidoneus! Run!” 

He was confused. Why did his mother want him to leave her? Before Hades could ask what was going on, the sun was now covered by a 50 ft tall being. The being’s skin resembled the cosmos- stars & stardust swirling around while a glowing white halo surrounded the outline of the being’s body. The eyes were now swirls of black and silver. The being opened its mouth and the most disturbingly haunting voice spilled out- freezing the terrified godling in place. “Aidoneus, the time has come to fulfill the prophecy as Ouranos did before!” 

Hades’ eyes widened in horror as his body betrayed himself- hot urine trickled down his legs as he began to convulse. This being was… his father? Protector of the realm & family. No. This couldn’t be. “I don’t want to be in the sky Father. Please,” Hades managed to breathe out as he started to lose consciousness. Kronos’ mouth widened even more, resembling a black hole. Thick black plumes poured out as it began to grab at his son’s limbs. “Traitor! Liar! You swore I’d have more time with him!” Rhea pleaded, “Please, my love, my king, don’t do this. He’s your son. Your prince.” 

Hades’ body went limp as the Titan King now grabbed him with his hand. Up close, his breath smelled putrescent and his teeth looked like jagged swords. “I’m grateful for your service, Aidoneus, but there can only be one true King. Your place won’t be in the sky,” and with that, Kronos swallowed his son whole.

Hades was in a cavernous abyss of pure darkness- the fluids of Kronos’ stomach burning his flesh. He couldn’t see anything, not even his hands reaching to find some way of escaping. The only thing that kept him halfway sane as he continued to grow was the legends Rhea sang to hum. Hades would hum it, seemingly all day and night. 

When Hades turned thirteen, he finally wasn’t alone. A crying male babe with an oceanic tail of cobalt, gold, & silver scales (though Hades couldn’t tell). Hades didn’t know who this baby was, but instantly felt like he had to protect him. And so he did. 

He’d never thought he’d see any kind of light again. Hades figured he and the young boy were biding their time till they were permanently expunged from reality.

The day that changed everything. Hades and the now young man were reciting words in Old Greek when everything started to rumble. The atmosphere around them grew scorching- with them both feeling like they were being boiled in oil. A white bright light temporarily blinded them. “The sky,” Hades thought, “We must finally be joining Ouranos.”

From the light, a lean white hand reached down. Hades at first thought it was an optical illusion. Another devious cold hearted trick conjured up by Kronos. But at last, he could finally see the young man under his protection. He had the same dark hair & olive skin as Rhea- his eyes a vibrant blue-green. This couldn’t be possible? This being was his brother? He looked equally confused, staring at the outstretched hand. 

“You are free. Grab my hand!” The voice said. It sounded unrecognizable to either of them. Hades was still sure that it was Kronos testing them. He backed away. The other young man, eager for freedom, took hold of the hand like it was a lifeline. After a few seconds, the young man called out “We are free!” The young man’s hand was now outstretched in front of Hades. With a quivering breath, he grabbed hold and was met with sky. An actual sky- bright blue. Sun. Trees. Wind. The feel of air. The smell of grass. The smell of blood. The smell of flames. Hades looked upon the owner of the white hand. A young man a few years younger than him. Electric blue eyes and white blond hair that sat on his shoulders. He remembers seeing those eyes in a painting in The Black Palace. It couldn’t be. “Ouranos?” Hades asked in a confused tone. The young man chuckled in earnest. “No. He’s our grandfather. I’m Zeus, your brother and new king.”

Titanius was liberated and Kronos was thrown into the deepest darkest depths of Tartarus. The country was given a new name- Olympius. The other realms were divided amongst the brothers. Poseidon was given rulership of the Underwater realm while Hades was given the Underworld. He didn’t know how to be king. He didn’t even know how to live! Because of this, Hades was given an advisor- Iapetus (Titan god of mortality, pain, & death) who previously served as an advisor to the former chthonic king. Iapetus was also his prisoner as he fought alongside Kronos and the Titans.

One would think that ruling a kingdom that was covered in eternal darkness would be traumatic for a being that spent a great many years in total darkness, but Hades was comfortable with it. He knew darkness, he was familiar with it. He knew what to expect. What he didn’t count on? Seeing the traitors being sent into Tartarus one by one, bound by adamantine chains. Hades’ jaw dropped to his knees when he saw Rhea being led in chains. She looked gaunt, her lustrous hair was stringy and lifeless, her cheekbones were hollow, her olive skin was jaundiced. He couldn’t believe it. Rhea looked up and noticed her son, now a fully grown deity. “Aidoneus?,” she asked unsurely, her words a slur. Hades quickly walked away with Iapetus, a painful tight knot forming in his chest.

As far as anyone was concerned, Aidoneus died when he was six. Hades now took his place. The new Lord of the dead, the King of the Underworld.

As a king, Hades is fair and impartial- totally unmarked by self interest. He was a far cry from the whimsical zealot that was Krios, who spent more time charting the stars & fasting than actually ruling. His workload as a single being might be a bit overwhelming- deciding the placement of every single soul that enters his realm. Hades doesn’t mind being busy. If he’s busy, he doesn’t have to think. If he doesn’t have to think, he doesn’t have to feel.

He loathes the fact that out of his brothers, he’s the one that resembles Kronos.

Hades hates Rhea for sparing “the true king.” He hasn’t seen her since she was pardoned a couple hundred years ago.

It’s no secret the resentment he feels towards Zeus. Their “brotherhood” is in name only. In one aspect, Hades is grateful to Zeus for usurping the throne and going to war against Kronos, liberating all the beings from tyranny as well as liberating himself & Poseidon. On the other hand, what made Zeus so special that Kronos didn’t trap him? Why did Rhea feel like he was worthy enough to save? Poseidon was barely a day old when he joined Hades in the bleak chasm of Kronos?

In his realm Hades is the owner of a nightclub called The Dark Room as well as a wine bar called Apsénti & Býra.

The Underworld also exports metals and gems to the other realms. 

Hades also has a brand of cigarettes called Plutopack. The slogan “You’ll want to die soon” is comically ironic to him.

Some time after he became king, Hades had his first sexual experience with Empusa (goddess of shapeshifting). When he finished sooner than expected, Hades shrunk away in shame. Empusa chuckled seductively & said, “There’s always a next time my king.” The next time came during a celebration for the Kronia holiday. This was the first celebration for Hades as king. He saw Empusa casually walking along the grounds of the palace- dressed in the blackest of silks, her skin a smooth obsidian, her hair pulled away from her face piled on the top of her head in braids, adorned with miniature black diamonds. Hades knew it was now or never. He walked outside to where Empusa was, her knowing sly smile across her lips. “Is there something you need? You’re busy entertaining.”

Hades didn’t say anything. With a defiant look on his face, he grabbed her hand, led her through one of the secret passages in the palace to the council room. He tore Empusa’s silk coverings and mounted her against the wall, then the council table. Her long sharp black nails dug into the skin of Hades’ back as she gleefully screamed out in ecstasy. “A king is born” was all she said when it was over.

His favorite frozen treat is dark chocolate pomegranate ice cream.

Hades is close with many of the chthonic deities under his rule like Nyx (goddess of the night), Erebus (god of darkness), The Moirai (Clotho, Lachesis, & Atropos), The Gray Sisters (Deino, Enyo, & Pemphredo), Thanatos (god of death), Hypnos (god of sleep), Geras (god of old age), Keres (goddess of violent death), Arae (goddess of curses & hexes), Nemesis (goddess of retribution), Moros (god of doom), Achlys (goddess of the death mist, poison, misery, & sadness), The Furies (Megaera, Tisiphone, & Alecto, as well as the other Underworld river Titans- Styx (Titaness of hatred), Phlegethon (Titan god of fire), Lethe (Titaness of forgetfulness, oblivion, & concealment), and Cocytus (Titan god of wailing & lamentation).

As time passed, Hades & his brothers were presented with statues and monuments in their honor as the liberators of the three realms. 

One such monument is the Mt. Triarchia Memorial. Located in Astrapaios Park, the colossal sculpture (done by the three blacksmithing cyclopes) features three 100 ft tall heads of the three kings- chosen to represent the realms’ birth, growth, development, & preservation. The mountain’s elevation is 7,000 meters. 

There’s also the longest suspension bridge in New Olympus called the Three Kings Bridge.

The Shadowstone neighborhood in the city was also inspired by Hades.

In the pantheon he’s cordial with Hestia (goddess of the hearth), Despiona (goddess of the arcadian mysteries, frost, winter, & shadows), Oizys (goddess of anxiety, misery, & depression), and Neféloma (goddess of space & dark matter). 

Hades is not in much contact with his family- immediate or extended. He tolerates Poseidon while his patience with Zeus hangs on by a thin thread. 

Hades feels bad for Hera, wishing that she’d have enough insight to have self-respect. He was genuinely shocked when he heard the news of the divorce.

Out of all his nieces and nephews, he’s closest with Hebe (goddess of youth). Hades looks forward to when she and Hera visit the Underworld. He has tea with his sister-in-law, then spends the rest of the day with his niece- ice skating & pomegranate picking. Hades often gifts her with a piece of jewelry he made himself.

His favorite holiday to celebrate is the Winter Solstice. The Underworld goes all out when they have its annual Winter Solstice festival.

He opened his realm up to its former prisoner Arke (goddess of the faded rainbow) after her punishment term was up. Hades generally feels indifferent towards her, but does sympathize a bit with how she was defeated during the end of the Titanomachy. It must’ve been soul crushing and humiliating for her when she was stripped of her iridescent wings as part of her punishment. Hades gave her a hefty financial compensation- including a lavish apartment in the Diamond District of the Underworld when Arke decided to make his realm her permanent residence.

Hades met his current girlfriend Minthe in New Olympus during one of Zeus’ club openings. She was working there as a waitress. The valet gave them each other’s car keys by mistake, so Hades ended up returning her car at a parking garage. They ended up hooking up in the backseat. The only other relationship he had was with an oceanic nymph named Leuce, which he refuses to talk about.

He’s in therapy, but hasn’t been to a session with Harpocrates (god of silence & discretion) in a while.

Outside of being king, Hades is a musician. He, alongside Charon, Hypnos, and Thanatos are in a death metal band called Death Theater. Hades describes their music as “the mutated love child born from a tryst with death metal, rap, and synth pop.” Charon is the lead singer and plays lead guitar while Hades plays bass as well as being the co-lead singer. Thanatos plays the drums and sings background while Hypnos plays the synth keyboard & also sings background.

The band are household names in the Underworld with a few albums under their belt, but not much out-of-realm mainstream success & recognition. Hades’ nephew Apollo (god of the sun, music, poetry, healing, medicine, archery, plague, light, & knowledge) is too much of a music snob to permit Death Theater’s music to play on the airwaves of the radio stations he owns in Olympius. There has been a bit of a middle ground- with their music finally being on the streaming platform Musify. The band hasn’t released an album in years.

For the longest time after Empusa, Hades thought that he’d be relegated to a hookup every once in a while. Marriage? A family of his own? Happiness? Not possible.

He’s had his fair share of love affairs with lampades, but briefly, very briefly, came close to feeling happy. She was an oceanid and her name was Leuce. Hades doesn’t like talking about her- not even to Hecate.

He was at a low point in his life when he met Minthe. She cursed him out for taking her parking space near a nightclub and he found that refreshing. She didn’t care that he was king, Minthe cursed him out all the same. He also found her dark green eyes to be burning a hole through his soul. They were both a bit tipsy when they hooked up in Hades’ car following the nightclub. Their relationship has been a  turbulent roller coaster ride ever since. To placate Minthe and get back on her good side, Hades will shower her with expensive gifts. A piece of jewelry. A bottle of wine. An item of clothing. A recent gift was a floor length Saint Umbra black mink fur coat.

Hades doesn’t travel to Olympius often, especially not for the mandated Olympian council meetings with the other major deities in attendance. He has a secret. For the past three years he’s been competing in chess tournaments in New Olympus under a shapeshifted disguise- a mortal. As a mortal, his name is Christos Michelakis. Hades doesn’t compete in the tournaments to win or for recognition. It’s for the genuine love of the game.

A guilty pleasure for him is fast food. Despite his feelings towards Zeus, Hades admits that he’s a genius when it comes to marketing. There are several Olympic Chef locations throughout Underworld proper. A go-to order for him is two olympian burgers along with olympian sized fries, a mini pomegranate pie, and a large pomegranate soda. It’s been Hades’ dinner for a long time.

He’s met his grandmother Gaia (goddess of the earth) a handful of times. It’s no secret where Kronos got his… tenacity from.

Hades is not close with his other uncles- Oceanus (Titan god of the sea), Thaumas (god of sea wonders), or The Ourea (esteemed mountain gods).

One such piece that he owns is the portrait of his grandfather Ouranos (primordial god of the sky). It serves as a reminder more than anything.

In his free time Hades enjoys reading (poetry & gothic literature), skiing, ink painting, snowboarding, ice hockey, skateboarding, lava surfing, poker, playing pool, jewelry making, basketball, and charcoal drawing.

"They can say what they want. Everyone ends up in The Underworld eventually."

[pastacarver]

the Duet of Swords and Secrets By John Carver. part 2 revised

It was the day before the twins’ eighteenth birthday. A thick blanket of golden morning light spilled into the east-facing windows of the estate’s northern wing, casting long shadows across the walls lined with family portraits and scroll racks. In a study dominated by the scent of ink and sweet wine, Malum Caedo sat hunched over his intricately carved cedarwood desk. The smooth sheen of his bare chest glistened with a faint sheen of sweat as he adjusted his posture. His white robes, embroidered with threads of gold and held fast by a verdant sash, hung loose over his shoulders and pooled around the arms of his high-backed chair.

Stacks of parchment lined the desk—most marked with notes and half-finished calculations. As he reached for another scroll, Malum’s hair—silken and dark as cured bark—slipped over his shoulder. With a sigh, he twisted it into a topknot, the practiced motion elegant and precise. His fingers, ink-stained and jewel-adorned, moved gracefully as he dipped a golden nib into a glass inkwell shaped like a serpent. His emerald eyes scanned the expense report—but this was no mundane audit.

This was a rewriting of history.

Another lavish feast. Another night of dancers twirling in candlelight. Another crowd of flatterers whose names he never remembered. He signed off on costs without flinching, but his mind lingered, as it always did, on the absences. The two he most wanted to impress—his brother Malus and the formidable Natasha—never came. Not once. Not even for the firework displays or the aerial wine pouring. Malus always claimed fatigue or early training. Natasha simply never replied.

Malum stood, his soft robes shifting like clouds around him. His body was not weak—he’d trained, once—but he was far more scholar than soldier now. He walked to the tall, arched window carved from imported glass. The vineyards below, rows upon rows of violet and emerald, stretched toward the forest. He rubbed his jaw, where soft fat had begun to press beneath his angular cheekbones, and sighed.

A knock broke the quiet.

"Master Malum? May I come in?" a voice called, muffled through the heavy oak door.

"Of course, Hilde," he replied smoothly, not turning away from the view.

The door creaked open and Hilde stepped inside. She was young, with a heart-shaped face framed by chestnut curls tied back in a modest ribbon. Her maid’s uniform, though clean, bore the wrinkles of haste. In her gloved hands she held a silver platter, and upon it lay a scroll bound in crimson wax bearing the unmistakable Sigel of a bloomed flower—vivid and accusatory.

Malum turned slowly, eyes narrowing. "Is that—?"

Hilde nodded, her hands trembling.

"The Mad Emperor?" he said softly, his tone dropping.

Hilde’s knuckles went white on the tray. "It came by courier hawk. Landed right on the statue outside the greenhouse."

Malum approached, his steps quick and silken. He took the scroll and examined it, the seal burning red like an open wound.

"This is nothing," he lied, his voice honeyed and steady. He placed a reassuring hand on Hilde’s shoulder, his smile soft and almost paternal. "We are the Emerald Family. Requests like this are expected."

He dismissed her with kindness, pressing her arm as he guided her out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, his knees buckled. He gripped the edge of the bed’s carved frame, breath ragged. The scroll felt heavy in his hand—ominous.

With trembling fingers, he broke the wax.

“Lord Contra Caedo, His Grace is elated to have received your letter regarding your sons and their education, but I regret to inform you that regardless of the Emerald Family's contributions to the empire's economy, your children are not exempt from mandatory service…”

The letter spiralled into hollow niceties, platitudes about duty and destiny. But Malum saw the truth. They were being conscripted. No matter their name. No matter their worth.

Fury and disbelief surged through him. He burst from the room, robes billowing like storm clouds behind him. His footsteps echoed down the marbled corridor. At his parents’ suite, he stopped, bracing himself. He smoothed his hair, adjusted his sash, rolled the scroll tight. Two sharp knocks.

A pause. Then, "Come in," Curat’s voice—calm but curious.

Inside, the room smelled of crushed sage and orange blossom. Curat, still radiant even in her dressing robe, stood brushing her silver-streaked hair. The bed was unmade. The wardrobe door, slightly ajar, moved with breath.

“Oh my sweet Malum!” she cooed, planting kisses on his cheeks.

“Mother, please. I need to see Father.”

“He’s at the stables with Malus,” she answered, smoothing her robe. She noticed the scroll. The bloom.

Her lips parted. “Oh.”

She didn’t say another word. She pinned her hair with a green comb shaped like a grapevine and strode out with purpose. The temperature in the room dropped. Her fury was colder than any blade.

Malum lingered, alone. Or nearly alone. The wardrobe creaked again, and Malum rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for the love of—just get out here already.”

The door opened slowly, and a man—barefoot and shirtless—stepped forward into the light. He was younger than Malum by a few years, perhaps a local noble’s son or an ambitious social climber. His dark hair clung to his brow with sweat, and he kept his hands raised, as if Malum might strike him.

"Master Malum," the man said quickly, bowing his head. "I—I'm so deeply sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect—"

Malum raised a hand sharply. The boy fell silent.

Malum stepped closer, his emerald eyes scanning the man from head to toe. “What’s your name?” he asked softly.

“Caius, my lord,” the man replied.

Malum circled him like a hawk, stopping just beside him, close enough for the tension to thrum like a bowstring. “Caius,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know what day tomorrow is?”

Caius hesitated. “The twins’—your birthday, my lord.”

“Very good,” Malum said, with a flicker of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And do you know what today is?”

Caius swallowed hard. “The day before—?”

“No,” Malum interrupted, his voice sharpening. “Today is the last day I get to pretend that the world isn’t pulling my family into its bloody teeth. Today is the last day of peace in this house. And you chose this day to warm my mother’s bed?”

Caius opened his mouth, but Malum raised a finger. “Don’t answer. There is no answer that won’t make me despise you.”

He turned his back to the trembling man and walked to the door. Just as he gripped the handle, he paused.

“If I find out you’ve said a word of this to anyone,” Malum said without looking back, “I’ll bury your family’s vineyards under stone and salt. And I’ll watch your father beg me for mercy while I drink his best vintage.”

Caius whimpered but said nothing.

Malum opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Curat was gone.

He didn’t need to guess where she’d gone—he knew. She was on her way to find Contra. And if the letter had rattled her even half as much as it rattled him, then things were already in motion.

He picked up his pace, the stone floor cold under his feet as he followed the scent of her perfume—sage and bitter orange—and the distant echo of her heels clicking against polished marble.

The grand estate was a maze of history: arched windows, domed ceilings painted with ancient wars, and tapestries depicting the Emerald family’s ascent through trade and tragedy. Each corridor was a parade of legacy, but right now it all felt hollow.

As Malum turned a corner, he spotted her far ahead, her figure silhouetted by the sun pouring through the glass hall. Curat walked like a general again, spine straight, shoulders squared, her robe billowing behind her like a battle cloak.

“Mother,” he called out, quickening his steps.

She didn’t turn. Her pace remained constant.

“Mother, please wait!”

Finally, she paused near the marble staircase leading down to the stables. She turned, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“I know,” she said flatly. “You think you’re the only one frightened by that letter?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.” She looked him over. “You think I don’t see how scared you are, Malum? I see it in your eyes. You hide it with wit and wine, but I remember holding you when you had nightmares about wolves in the cellar. You haven’t changed as much as you think.”

Malum looked down, shame cutting through his bravado. “I thought we were safe. I thought Father had dealt with this already.”

Curat gave a bitter laugh. “So did I.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She turned away again, descending the stairs. “To remind your father that we didn’t survive the war, build this empire of vines and velvet, just to hand our sons to a madman.”

Malum hesitated, then followed.

Together, mother and son descended into the shadows—toward the stables, toward Contra, and toward a reckoning none of them were ready for

[wheretheforgottenthingslive]

The King and the Star: The Palace Trembles

Alexandria. Just after dawn. The halls are hushed, courtiers withdrawn. And through them strides a man who once conquered kingdoms—now undone by the quiet wreckage of trust.

He left the door behind him swinging. The sound it made—wood on stone—echoed like a war drum in retreat.

He did not feel the floor beneath his feet. Not the polished marble worn down by centuries of kings. Not the sandals he had not buckled properly in his haste. Not even the cut in his palm, dripping red with every clenched breath.

He felt nothing—

Except the heat building in his throat, the scream he wouldn’t release, because gods do not scream.

Servants scattered like birds from a predator. A child tucked herself behind a pillar as he passed. A silver tray clattered to the floor. No one dared speak.

He was a shadow given form. A storm in flesh. And everyone in the palace knew—

Do not touch the fire.

He reached the council hall first. It was empty.

Golden light streamed in through high glass windows, catching the dust like falling stars.

On the table—maps, reports, fresh ink drying on decrees he no longer cared to read.

He looked at the table. Then at the nearest chair. And without thought—

he flung it.

It struck a pillar. Splintered on impact. The noise was brutal—a crack, a snap, a fall. Still, it wasn’t enough. His breath hitched.

“You,” he said, as if the air could hear him. “Both of you—knew.”

He swiped the table clean with one motion. Scrolls flew like birds. A carved glass inkpot shattered. Black stained the marble. Like blood. Like blame.

His hands shook. He turned and slammed his fist against the wall. Once. Twice.

On the third time, his knuckles split. The sting was sharp. But it was the only thing that made sense.

He stormed down the corridor to the armory. The guards didn’t stop him.

They had learned long ago— when the lion breaks, you do not cage it. You just pray you’re not near.

Inside, weapons lined the walls—rows of spears, polished helms, gilded swords.

He seized the closest blade. The hilt bit into his raw hand. He looked at himself in the mirrored steel. And he hated what he saw.

“Hephaestion,” he whispered. “My brother. My breath.”

“And her—she was supposed to be the one who saw me, not…” The words cracked like a bone. “…not him.”

He drove the sword into a sand bag. Sand spilled.

A statue of Athena trembled and collapsed, shattering at his feet. The head rolled across the floor. Stopped at the toe of his boot.

He laughed.

Short. Hollow.

Then turned and slashed at the wall. Once. Twice. Again.

He cleaved through a tapestry of Zeus—the father he had once been told was his blood.

The threads unraveled like fate undone.

Finally, he dropped the sword. His hand was covered in blood—both his and the blade’s. He sank to his knees in the war chamber.

The place where he had planned victories. Where he had charted the heavens on parchment.

Where he had once whispered, in the dark, to Hypatia:

“Tell me who I am when the world is quiet.”

Now, the world was silent.

And he could no longer hear her voice.

“Bring me wine,” he rasped to the doorway. “And no one else.”

The guards obeyed.

And Alexander, son of Philip, crowned of Zeus, laid his forehead to the cold stone floor—

And did not cry.

But the palace wept for him.

[coffeedrgn87]

Lament

Fandom: Black Sails

Pairing: James/Thomas

Notes: Earning, Lost Love, Drunken Dreams

The cabin stank of salt and blood and the sharp, heady scent of rum. The spoils of victory lay in careless heaps—bloodstained coin, broken jewellery pried from dead men’s fingers, bolts of silk cut ragged where swords had slashed through cargo. The candlelight caught on the filigree of stolen trinkets, gold and silver glittering in the low, restless glow. The ship rocked beneath him, slow and heavy, its hull groaning with the weight of plunder and the distant thunder of waves breaking against the bow.

James sat hunched at his desk, shoulders rounded, the ghost of old wounds pressing deep into his flesh. The rough grain of the wood dug into his forearms, the heat of his own skin feverish against it. His coat had long since been tossed over the chair, his shirt unlaced, exposing the salt-stiffened scars that curved over his collarbone, down his ribs—scars that told a story of a man who had learned to endure, and to survive, no matter what it cost him.

The rum burned its way down his throat, sharp and acrid, thick with the aftertaste of oak and sugar, but it might as well have been seawater for all the warmth it gave him. His grip was slack around the bottle, fingers gone numb from too many hours curled around a sword, a pistol, a throat. The calluses on his palms scraped against the glass as he tilted it back again, his stomach turning even as the liquor pooled hot in his belly.

Somewhere beyond the cabin door, the crew celebrated, their voices rising in drunken revelry. Laughter, coarse and wild, the sound of fists hitting tables, the slosh of ale spilling over tankards. Their victory. Their spoils. Their world.

His prison.

The walls of the cabin closed in around him, thick with the weight of heat and sweat and the cloying sweetness of rotting fruit left too long in the corner. A ledger lay open before him, the ink smudged where his hand had strayed, his own writing a blur in the low light. The words swam, but he didn’t need to read them. He knew what they would say. The weight of profit and loss, the cold, merciless arithmetic of blood and coin.

Thomas would have found it amusing, once. Would have leaned over his shoulder, lips curled in that quiet, knowing way, and said something insufferably clever about it—how James McGraw, a man of honour, had learned to balance ledgers just as well as he once balanced justice.

James could almost hear his voice now, the warmth of it curling through the dim, smoke-choked air. Could almost feel the ghost of fingertips skimming over his wrist, the brush of breath against his ear.

“When this is over, come back to me.”

His chest clenched.

The candle wavered, its flame guttering low, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to shift, to reach. He could see him now, if he let himself. Thomas, standing just beyond the light, half in darkness, half in memory. The curve of his jaw, the sharp, clever cut of his mouth. His hands—God, his hands—strong and sure, hands that once steadied James when he threatened to fall, when the world seemed too much.

His vision blurred. He wasn’t drunk enough for this, and yet too drunk to stop it.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his eye, as if he could smother the image there, press it back into the deep place where he kept it buried. But it was no use. The taste of Thomas still lived in his mouth, still lingered on his skin, beneath the salt and sweat and years of blood.

James let out a breath, ragged and raw.

His fingers clenched around the bottle, the glass cold and wet with condensation. For a moment, he thought about throwing it. About shattering it against the wall, letting the rum spill across the floor like blood, like memory, like something he could drown in.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat there, staring at the candlelight as it flickered across the desk, feeling the weight of the past pressing against his ribs like a knife slipping between them.

The sea whispered against the hull.

And somewhere, in a world he could never return to, Thomas still waited.

[dont-kill-your-double]

The Contestants

1. Gwen Cooper and Gwyneth (Torchwood/Doctor Who)

2. Peppino and Fakino (Pizza Tower)

3. Darkwing and Negaduck (Darkwing Duck)

4. V1 and V2 (Ultrakill)

5. Dana Cardinal and Dana's double (Welcome to Nightvale)

6. Rory and Auton Rory (Doctor Who)

7. Pit and Dark Pit (Kid Icarus)

8. Frisk and Chara (Undertale)

9. Steve and Herobrine (Minecraft)

10. Madeline and Badeline (Celeste)

11. Yosuke and Shadow Yosuke (persona 4)

12. Doppel and Glass (Heartless)

13. live1967 and die1967 (tumblr)

14. Optimus Prime and Nemesis Prime (transformers)

15. Mario and Wario (Super Mario)

16. Luigi and Waluigi (Super Mario)

17. Sonic and Shadow and Metal Sonic (Sonic the Hedgehog)

18. Rumble and Frenzy (Transformers)

19. Meta Knight and Dark Meta Knight (Kirby)

20. Link and Dark Link (LoZ)

21. Four Swords Links (LoZ)

22. Nights and Reala (NiGHTS into dreams)

23. Tulip Olsen and Lake (Infinity Train)

24. Angela and Carmen (Lobotomy Corporation)

25. Kenjaku and Geto (Jujutsu Kaisen)

26. Yomiel and Sissel (Ghost Trick) (no spoilers!)

27. Nick Valentine and DiMA (Fallout Four)

28. MK and Ink MK (Lego Monkey Kid)

29. Sun and Moon (Fnaf)

30. Preston Garvey and Impersonator (Fallout Four)

31. Ghost and The Hollow Knight (and siblings)

32. Protagonists (Crawl)