#multi-chapter

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; this wasn't supposed to take so long… but since act 1 ended, i decided to go back and touch up my act 2 plot-plan, change some things that were added/changed as i wrote act 1 and such. also studies took me by the scruff of my clothes and tossed me out back lol.

anyway, quicker updates ahead! won't be almost two months again, half the time went into the act 2 plot revisit and half went into the chapter itself. what is a slow-burn if not the main pair just not being in the same place half the time… the burn will pickup soon… soon… eheh… | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 6.634 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 12 - Calcination

Your feet touch the cold snow once more and your mind reels slightly after being suspended in the air for so long. Morax holds your waist for a second even after you both stand on solid ground—unsure whether you will keep your balance or not. The warm press of his body against yours separates and cold hair flows between you, immediately the shivers that have plagued you for days return, you hadn’t even noticed they had ceased during your proximity with him.

  The winds had settled, and snow fell gently to the ground—high rising peaks begin to show themselves in the distance, and though you had just barely seen enough to watch the massive serpent slither away between the mountains… you had no idea that the south of the Guili Assembly had such a massive reach of mountains, a range stretching as far as you could squint. 

  “W-what do we…” your words have barely left your chapped lips when Morax strides past you, you stutter a bit more as you see his back and quickly move your legs. The snow was shaken significantly and doesn’t reach up to your knees anymore—but you can hardly feel your feet anyway, the cold hums inside your bones and with every step that crunches the snow, a reverberating note of pain surges up your legs. 

  It’s awfully cold, even in the absence of wind. you can feel your nose hairs move with every breath and try to breathe with your mouth instead to stop the feeling. 

  Morax strides ahead, several thoughts swirl around in his head—he assumes you will keep up with him, he must investigate the site of the seal… rather, he should be making pursuit of the serpent and ensuring it will not cause harm. 

  Wracking his mind as he increases his pace, Morax doesn’t notice you lagging behind, breaths heaved as you try to trudge through the cold with aching limbs. There are countless tales of ancient gods and spirits beneath the land—of sealed gods and demons, being a serpent doesn’t narrow it down either, just as if it would have been many other type of spirit. 

  He makes it to the edge of the highest part of the flat mountain, where it sinks into the area where the seal had been placed atop a glassy ice… which has now broken away and given way for an all-encompassing abyss, a hole into the earth so dark one might there is no bottom. 

  Straightening slightly, as if perking up… Morax realises he doesn’t hear the crunch of snow behind him, not as closely as he expected at least. He turns to see that you’re a good distance away still, and a small tug pulls on his brows. He says your name and turns to walk back to you, momentarily putting his thoughts aside. 

  “Sorry… i-it’s just so cold,” you stutter slightly, though your clothes are okay for snow… they’re not exactly made for snowy mountain climbing. Your shoes are wet and practically freezing over again, and your nose feels like it’s about to crumble off your face at any moment. 

  Morax takes your hand, feeling the cold that practically emanates from it. He forgets the fragility of humanity often, even if he should be more accustomed to it by now. He must get you to warmth soon before you get sick—if he isn’t too late already. 

  You blink as you feel warm palms on your cheeks, the texture of Morax’s gloves are uncomfortable against your ice cold, sensitive skin… but as the warmth of his hands seep in and gently soothe your cold skin, you exhale in mild relief. If only he would pinch your nose and warm that too before it falls off. 

  He can assess the situation later… although Morax should do it now, he shifts his priorities—besides, he should ensure Moon Carver managed to protect the rest of the encampment with all the tremors that shook the mountains. “Come, I will take you back to the others. There will be fires and warmth there,” he assures, Morax’s hand finds your shoulder—but he stops before he can scoop you up as he intended. 

  You look over his shoulder and see a form crawling up from the now massive hole in the mountain, the slope has snow tossed everywhere and patches of grass poking out from underneath. 

  Mei Lan’s arms tremble as she manages to drag herself over the slope leading down into the maw of darkness behind her, she lowers and her torso finally touches the ground—splotches of red leaking from beneath her robes and into the white beneath her.

  A silence passes, you don’t dare move—you saw how fast she crossed the mountaintops—and Morax is still beside you, hand still resting on your shoulder. 

  The fallen god coughs slightly and hoists herself up to sit on the crunchy snow. “Y-you… this is your fault… I was focused—I held it well, it held for three hundred years,” Mei Lan didn’t raise her face to look towards you and Morax. The deep wound inflicted on her body bled freely, staining her clothes all the way down to her knees in a curtain of blood. “Four hundred years… gone, he’s free…” 

  Your eyes glance to Morax, his own gaze fixed on Mei Lan with a gaze sharp as steel. “You said nothing of a sealed calamity below the mountain,” his voice is even, a heavy tone that you haven’t heard expressed from his lips before. One guarded and distant. 

  “Why would I have to say anything?! These mountains have been mine for long!” she pounds her fist against the covered earth, with every exertion of her muscles, fresh blood pours from her torso. “Foolish humans climb the peaks in search of blessings and stir his conscious! They build and aggravate the earth above his tomb!”

  Your lips part and you want to say something, but nothing but the sound of your clattering teeth leaves you—if Morax weren’t practically holding you on your feet by your arm you would have fallen into the snow. 

  Morax’s head turns only slightly, but he doesn’t fully look at you. “Whose tomb have you been protecting?” 

  How would it be a tomb, if that massive thing slithered out of it? You nearly shudder (more) at the thought of it not only being a malevolent being, but also a ghost! 

  “He Shan,” she says the name with such vitriol you almost feel the burning heat of her hatred in your skin—it’s almost a relieving warmth, if you had fully felt it. “A bitter, violent creature that has had centuries to churn it deep in his soul.” You’re amazed she still seems so… full of energy considering how much blood coats her and the ground. Perhaps blood to gods is just decoration…? You wonder. 

  A low hum leaves Morax’s throat. He doesn’t recall the name—there are many gods that have risen and fallen within a handful of a hundred years that have names the winds of time have forgotten. Mei Lan has been atop this mountain range for a long time now, but the Guili Assembly is still relatively young, all things considered. Its borders have changed much in merely the last two centuries. 

  Steps approach from behind, boots crunching snow that diverts your attention from Mei Lan’s form and towards an approaching Moon Carver. “Lord Rex Lapis, what happened? This one did not anticipate such terrible shaking of the mountains below our feet!” 

  “Moon Carver, excellent timing,” Morax’s hand on your shoulder shifts to your back and he practically turns you around towards the adeptus. “Please take our friend to safety, I assume the others are well. I will finish asserting the situation here.”

  “Of course,” Moon Carver is quick to agree, despite his question going unanswered. He could practically feel your freezing skin beneath your winter robes as he approached the two of you and took your arm. 

  You would’ve loved to not be passed along like a child, but your feet feel frozen solid, you can’t promise yourself you won’t tumble and faceplant in the snow were you to attempt to walk all the way. “Ah, I’m sorry for the trouble—”

  He only shakes his head and you stop talking immediately… you feel like you’ve caused trouble, again, and lower your head slightly. First taking off and getting your feet swept from under you in Quiche, now rushing outside into the storm and letting a massive serpent loose…

  “Hey,” a finger flicks your ice cold cheek and you jump, head snapping up as an; “ow!??” leaves your lips. Moon Carver's expression is unimpressed. “Stop sulking, let’s go.”

  Morax watches the two of you silently as the adeptus practically drags you with him, not being as gracious as the man you’re leaving behind by offering to carry you—as Moon Carver responds to your complaining, you shouldn’t have rushed out into the cold if you weren’t prepared to trek back on your own two feet. Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson (unlikely).

  A small sigh leaves Morax as he turns his attention back to Mei Lan, whatever hint of emotion or gentleness directed at your presence is now gone in its absence. “Tell me everything.”

–

Thankfully, no one below the sheltered cliffside was injured badly, a few people toppled over each other and someone fell against one of the braziers and burned their leg quite harshly—but all things considered… they were safe. 

  Discussions of new locations were already rumbling along the half-crowd, but you didn’t pay much attention to the chatter—Moon Carver had tossed his own robe over you after you sat down by a reignited brazier, you were shaking like a leaf. You hadn’t even realised how cold you were until the warmth of the fire blossomed over your ice-cold skin, the last of the adrenalin faded and you were left like a pile of shivering bones, you wondered if your nose was still attached. 

 “A large serpent?” Moon Carver touched his chin in thought, despite being stripped of his robe, he doesn’t seem very cold nor bothered. He doesn’t recall tales of massive serpents in this region… but he hasn’t spent much time here either. 

  The more you think back on it, the more you shiver—even as the flames from the brazier start to warm your wet, frozen clothes. Your eyes hurt as you rub them, exhaustion settling in as the adrenalin from the day wanes away. “It could encircle mountains, I’ve never heard of a serpent so large,” you say as you tuck your hand back into your robe.

  “Hm,” there seemed to be a lot of thoughts wrangling in his head, and you really want to close your eyes—thus as Moon Carver falls into a silent thought, you allow them to droop. There’s not much to lean against, but you can probably get a shut-eye like this, sitting on the ground with your knees tucked up to your chest.

  You didn’t get very far into your rest—or that’s what it felt like, as a hand touched your head. 

  Jolting up and almost knocking your forehead into his jaw, Morax leans back in surprise when you suddenly start at his touch. His eyes are slightly wide and eyebrows raised. “Ah, my apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you—I merely meant to make sure you had warmed up enough.”

  A bit embarrassed by your own reaction—you’re not sure why you keep jerking so harshly when surprised, every instance of being caught off guard seems to make your entire body tense up and lock for a brief second. “N-no, it’s alright. I’m sorry,” you lower your legs to sit cross-legged before him, where Morax has kneeled by you. “What happened?”

  Moon Carver stands in front of you by the brazier, arms folded as he watches the exchange silently. 

  Morax stands gracefully. “She gave me valuable information before departing, we will need to reestablish an outpost along the mountains—but as we will not be pushed back further, we can settle with more practicality.” It’s strange how pristine his robes are, considering the events of the day—there’s hardly more than a few dots of blood on him. 

  “Departed?” Moon Carver asks. 

  “Into the mountains, she has not left for the Dark Sea,” he clarifies. “It seems she used a rather flimsy seal that requires the user to uphold the prison mentally at all times—it makes the seal powerful, so long as the user’s will to contain is strong enough… the wound she sustained tore her attention and broke the seal.”

  They don’t seem very concerned that Mei Lan has simply retreated and not departed entirely, perhaps they came to some sort of agreement before they separated… you hope—in any case, if Moon Carver and Morax seem relaxed about it, you shouldn’t worry either. 

  “Where did it go?” your voice sounds, turning the attention of both adepti to you—momentarily you feel a bit embarrassed for distracting them from the conversation.

  But Morax doesn’t hesitate to answer your question, though it wasn’t much of an answer. “I lost track of the serpent’s energy after he disappeared beyond the mountains. I must search the land and assure that he has not begun wreaking havoc.”

  “This one doubts someone that has been sealed for so long has the strength to unleash terror so soon,” Moon Carver adds. 

  “You are likely right,” Morax agrees. “Yet I must ensure the Assembly’s safety. Allow us to find shelter for our people before I depart…” he pauses before turning, eyes moving between you and Moon Carver. “At sunrise, you must return to the capital and inform Guizhong of what has occurred. Both of you.”

  Moon Carver nods without resistance, and thought you feel you should resist… what is there for you to do here? You suppose you could help rebuild, but you’re hardly a skilled enough carpenter. You nod your head as well.

–

It was amazing to see—with a simple raise of his hand, Morax created a shelter of stone. It wasn’t the long winded labyrinth that you had stayed in before, the rooms were a bit uneven and not split properly to allow for barracks… but simply being able to raise a shelter for the amount of people that had come unscathed was impressive. 

  Quickly braziers were lit inside and large cloths used to seal off the entrances. It was rather dark, but it brought shelter from the cool breeze. You finally managed to lie down and get a shut-eye for a while, but hunger eventually woke you… taking away the little peace your slumber brought. 

  As you’re handed a bun that had been prepared some days ago in the routine emergency, your cool fingers warm on the soft dough, heated above the fires raised in one section of the shelter. As you find a place to sit down, you hear two Millelith behind you chattering between themselves as they eat their own buns. “He made it look so effortless, I wonder if lord Rex Lapis could build a castle in a day.”

  “Perhaps… his interior skills might do with some improvement,” he other grumbles, mouth half-full of food.

  “... well, it must be hard to design something on the inside while you’re outside?” the first hums after a brief pause. 

  Though the conversation occurring behind you is amusing, you start to tune them out once they begin to argue the “right way” to design a home, and the first Millelith pulls out at every stop to remind the other that he built his own house as therefor knows exactly how it should be done, despite the other Millelith reminding him that his wife took take of the decorating and he just built the tables and chairs. 

  You wipe your hands on your pant legs after finishing the last bite of your meal and stand up, you’ve already explored the shelter and there’s no crook you haven’t stuck your nose into in curiosity. The hall has been properly warmed and your fingers and nose don’t feel like they’re about to fall off either, which is a relief—you were definitely starting to suspect you might have frostbite. 

  After some searching, you find Moon Carver again. “Will we depart in the morning?”

  The sun has long sunken down below the mountaintops, dawn should be making its way any time now… though it has been quite the long day, perhaps Moon Carver is too tired to leave right now.

  “We leave at noon, rest as much as you can,” he replies without turning to face you. Curious, you try to peek at what he’s doing… only to see him trying to scrub soot out of his robe.

  … the robe he tossed on you earlier this evening. You were leaning so close to the brazier you dirtied it—that robe looked older than you! And crafted so carefully it must be worth heaps of mora for the care alone!

  Immediately, you step next to him. “Gods—I’m sorry, I dirtied your robe after your kindness, allow me to clean it…”

  “It is no matter, one has nothing else to do with his hands,” Moon Carver tells you off easily, so easily that you feel like he just picked you up by the back of your robe and set you aside. 

  “Well… shouldn’t you rest as well? It can’t be good to travel without sleep,” you inquire hesitantly. The thought of Moon Carver dozing off while you’re a kilometre in the hair makes you shiver slightly.

  His movements halt for a moment before he continues. “Adepti do not require sleep.”

  … sure, you’ve heard that before. “But… it’s better, surely? It must give some energy.”

  You’re not entirely sure why you’re debating him on his own energy, but you want him to rest—have you ever seen an adeptus sleep? Or just close their eyes and lay out on the grass for a while? 

  You suppose you’ve been hallucinating a mini-Rex Lapis for a few months now, dozing around like a limp noodle. Maybe you’re going crazy. 

  … though, Moon Carver had been with you. “Moon Carver…”

  Hearing the uncertainty in your voice, he turns his head, but doesn’t fully look at you. “What?”

  “Can… lord Rex Lapis… turn into a small dragon? About the size of a forest snake?” you feel like you’re a toddler asking your grandmother if vishaps are real… again. 

  Moon Carver blinks at you for a moment, his expression rather confused both towards the contents of the question, as well as the rudeness of it. “One supposes he could, adepti choose their forms… why do you not ask him yourself?” The expression you made must have been amusing, because the corners of his lips quirk up. “This one is certain he would find it entertaining, at the least.”

  Entertaining… you had felt like a real weirdo in your first meetings, and then just as you feel that you’ve somewhat started to build up your reputation to at least seem like a relatively normal person—Moon Carver wants you to ask Rex Lapis himself if he indulges in naps as a pocket-sized dragon?

  Absolutely not. 

  “I’ll pass, thank you for the suggestion,” you say, and turn on your heels. What a dumb question, if Moon Carver mentions this to him, you’ll put peppers in his tea—you regret asking immediately.

–

  Soaring into the ice-cold air atop the Fengyuan Peaks, you clutch the Moon Carver’s mane as if it was the only thing between you and certain death… you’re sure he could catch you if you did slip and tumble off his back—but you’re not every excited to test that theory.

  Your eyes quickly dry as cool wind brushes against your face, you turn your head to the side to avoid facing forward and hopefully spare your eyeballs when your eyelids fly open. “Moon Carver! Look—do you see it?”

  The earth between rising mountains, usually filled with deep snow and dark ravines… have flattened, rounded under the weight of a god so large and heavy he broke the sides of cliffs and left behind markings of his movements. 

  “This one has observed our surroundings,” he confirms, but doesn’t move his head to look down.

  It makes your skin tingle, Morax had taken the two of you back far enough that you hadn’t been crushed when He Shan broke free—but seeing the marks he left behind somehow made him seem far larger than you had thought, even in the same vicinity. 

  The earth beneath is darker than you would have thought the land should be, even though the rocks and stone of the mountains even under the sun of day is dark… it feels as if the night sky is below you, streaks of white dragging into the black, creating an unnatural formation between the rising peaks of the mountain range.

  You turn your head into the adeptus’ fur as the scenery fades to high rising trees in place of stone… you don’t wish to see Quiche from above right now. 

  Though you felt a bit bad leaving the peaks of the mountain behind considering the recent events, it was very comforting to arrive back in the capital… the air was still warm, despite the colours of autumn, and the city was lively as always.

  As soon as you set foot inside the courtyard, both Ground Mender—features covered as always—and Ming Hui were waiting. You felt like you were about to be scolded like a child… 

  “You!” Ming Hui quickly approached you, poking you in the stomach repeatedly—it’s about as much ‘poking someone in the chest threateningly’ as she can get with such a short height. “I had to do every single one of your chores while you were gone! Without warning!”

  Ah… you hadn’t really thought of that. Though, you also hadn’t really been re-assigned chores by the time you left…? “I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I’ll take your workload for a while.”

  “Uh-huh, and you’re going to stand in queue for that limited seasonal rice cake that’s been super popular—which I haven’t been able to get all week because of your chores,” she pokes you three more times before then jabbing her finger towards your nose. “Idiot!”

  You blink down at her for a few seconds, you haven’t seen her so expressive before—Ming Hui has been rather quiet and focused on her work since you met her… it’s a little amusing to see such a contrast to her (though she had been very patient and kind by your sickbed), but your guilty conscience of making her work twice as hard outweighs your amusement. “Of course, I’ll buy four—”

  “—five!”

  “Five,” you agree. “What is it anyway? Are people really queuing for it?”

  Ming Hui, finally lowering her hand—for a moment you thought she might just curl her fist and give you a nice knock on the belly. And she’s so strong that it might actually take you down. “Chestnut-paste filled youtiao,” she says and tugs on her clothes to straighten them.

  You’ve never tried that particular combination before… but since so many people are excited about it, it must be at least decent. “Okay, I’ll bring them to you for lunch tomorrow.”

  Ming Hui, who had been about to turn away and let Ground Mender’s turn begin to scold you in some form—you hope it’s not more poking—turns and squints at you. “Tomorrow? The queue is too long for you to make it back before lunchtime.”

  “Then I’ll start waiting before the stall opens,” you say with a little bit more conviction than you probably should for such a little thing… but it’s not so little, you feel. When she gives you a look of doubt, you feel a deep need to right it. That she shouldn’t doubt your ability to do such a simple thing. 

  She sets her hands on her hips. “So long as you don’t hurt yourself, I guess. Remember that you were in an infirmary bed not long ago.”

  She probably doesn’t realise it, but the reminder does make your chest—and arm—pinch a little at the thought. You’d rather not think about it more than you have to. “I’ll be fine.”

  It kind of feels like you’re the twelve year old between the two of you with this scolding and then voice of concern of your well-being and ability to so… such a simple thing and walk to the city and purchase some fried dough sticks. 

  “Hm, I believe you,” she finally gives in and sets her hands down again, the robe she’s wearing today seems far too large on her than it should be, the sleeves are tied back but they still droop below her elbows.

  As she finally takes her leave, you realise you’re left standing alone in the courtyard—not counting guards passing between buildings and attendants leaving out the gates behind you. Moon Carver and Ground Mender have gone as well, hadn’t you just been looking at Ground Mender a moment ago? 

  Perhaps adepti have better stealth than you give them credit for.     -

  Your room feels even more bare than before, as you shut the door behind you and walk inside, allowing yourself to sink down on your bed—it’s far more comfortable than you’ve given it credit for in the past—before you kick off your shoes and toss your thick travel robe on the chair by your desk.

  Falling backward and feeling the mattress against your back, you stare at the ceiling for a good long time.

  The memory of the terrible, strangely fleshy sound of the massive serpent slithering between the mountains makes your muscles tense up briefly before relaxing… the thought of that terrible demon slithering on the outskirts of the Assembly makes you anxious—even more so when you know there’s little you can do. What could a small human like you do against a demon?

  You try your best to not think about Quiche, the more your brain tries to claw into your thoughts and drag them out of the little hole you put them in during the last few days, the more you resist and try to think of something else. 

  But the only other thing that comes to mind… is your empty hands. 

  Returning to your room without the weight of your cleansing tools in your hand feels as if you’ve left parts of yourself behind, the old and crooked shape of that old bell was so familiar against your palm that it had felt as if you were holding your own hand.

  You feel as if you’ve been stuck inside your head for weeks, perhaps even a few months—yet you don’t feel as if you’ve been thinking of very much at all. 

  Raising your left arm to the air, the bandages around your skin are loose and you can see peeks of skin between them. Your palm and fingers look healthy and fine, and there are no eyes watching from beneath the white cloth—but you don’t dare unravel the rest. It has been days, enough to see improvements, or the opposite. And you’d rather not know, so long as you can’t see the state of your skin and tissue, it can’t trap your mind. 

  Letting it fall back down and land on your stomach, you let out a small huff of discomfort as the impact reverberates through your arm and up your shoulder. Ow…

  Sitting up with a groan, you decide to leave your room—you’re tired, and should probably sleep… but now that you’re in a calmer place with enough space for your thoughts to gather, you’re a bit afraid of what that could lead to.

  The air has definitely gotten cooler as the sun sits down, it was comfortably warm when the sun was up… but it was definitely warmer than on the mountain despite the chill. You took a long good walk around the courtyard, it seems the last days of moving so much has really helped your muscles—though you’re sure any doctor or healer would have suggested you re-train your muscles normally, with slow and progressing exercises. 

  Looking to the skies once you’re between thick trees and bushes with yellowing leaves, you squint up at the moon… it’s brighter than usual today.

  Your nose stings, and you rub at it—but it doesn’t stop the filling of tears in your eyes. Damn it… you had come outside so that you wouldn't cry, and now look at you. The tears bubble in your eyes and blur your vision, you quickly wipe them away but as you lower your head—they seem to flow out. 

  That damned bell… why would you leave it in your room? You should’ve had it on you the entire time, even when there wasn’t really a reason to, you weren’t at home, you shouldn't just leave things lying around—who knows what could happen? Perhaps you should even have predicted the attack to happen. 

  “Take good care of it, jiao jiao,” the old, worn hands of your grandmother present the bell to you, even back then, it was old and rusted at the bottom. Her larger hand supports your open palms as the other lowers the bell into them. “Your great-grandmother was very talented, and she will be delighted to see you grow to be like her.”

  “It’s old…” you had said, small fingers rubbing the bottom of the bell and feeling the uneven metal scrape against your skin. “If I drop it, will it break?”

  Your grandmother smiles, and she sets her finger on the ornament atop the bell, where one would hold it to ring. “It’s a resilient thing, your great-grandmother was given it by her father, who received it from his mother. I’m sure someone has dropped it into a bowl of oil before.”

  “Who was cleansing bowls of oil?” your face pinches in confusion. Could spirits and demons even inhabit food? In all the books you’ve read, they go for people or weapons, sometimes even trees or rocks. 

  “Well, the family kitchen doesn’t have much storage space… perhaps you will find a better place to keep it,” her large, wrinkled hand pats your head, the warmth from it clear against your head as you give her a big smile. 

  You shake your head, as if the memory was a snowflake on your hair you’d like to toss off. Don’t think about it, the more you think about it, the more your mind recognises what used to be real and no longer is. 

  Running a hand down your face, and dragging any tears or snot that formed in the meantime into your palm, you blink a few times to gather yourself. You can probably have your tools replaced, perhaps you could even chip the bottom of a new bell to make it look like the old one. 

  Then, maybe then you’ll keep pretending it’s the same, that it’s fine and you didn’t lose them. 

  You don’t want to go back to your room… perhaps the youtiao stall is still open so late into the evening, or perhaps you’ll find something else to distract you on the way. You take a long breath, willing away the tightness in your chest and the ache of your clenched jaw, before turning and leaving the serene gardens.   

  The last thing you expected once you stepped past the gates to the palaces after avoiding conversation with either guard there, was the sound of bare feet tapping on the stone steps behind you—you don’t know of many people who walk around barefoot, so only one guess comes to mind. 

  Stopping and turning to look behind you, you see Guizhong hopping down the steps towards you at… concerning speeds. Her dress is longer than usual, going below her ankles so that you can’t see her feet, but her sleeves always sway far below her hands as usual. “My lady—” you extend a hand to steady her in case she stumbles on her dress, she’s taking more than two steps at a time.

  But thankfully, she stops easily as soon as she reaches you, and takes your extended hand. “There you are! I was preoccupied when you came back, I haven’t had a chance to speak with you properly… for so long! Too long, come!” 

  She seemed very energetic, did she get more energised under the moon? 

  She gave you little choice as she began tugging you down the steps behind her, and you quickly brought your mind back on pace to control your legs before YOU started tumbling down. Falling down this monstrous amount of steps would surely finally be the end of you. “O-okay, please slow down,” you pleaded as she began to hop down the steps two at a time once more. 

  “Slow? We’ll miss our window, no time to hang around!” she simply laughed at your concern. 

  Your mind felt like it was spinning, the emotions of the day being churned around in your head like laundry being washed in a basin. Just moments ago you had been fighting the tightness of your chest and hoping to find a distraction that could occupy your attention until you were too tired to think comprehensive thoughts. 

  “Window…?” you weren’t aware you had anything planned with her today… or ever, Guizhong is lovely—but she’s far too busy to be making friends with someone like you. 

  She doesn’t let go of your hand, grip surprisingly strong even if it’s holding you through her sleeve. “Once the moon sits at its highest, it creates a lovely sight along the river, I always visit it when it’s at its brightest—and since you’re here anyway, you’re coming with me!” 

  You suppose you have no choice, then. 

  Your legs complain as Guizhong picks up her running pace as soon as you leave the long steps behind, but you’ve been pushing through for so many days now that feeling that ache in your thighs is familiar enough to not stop you. 

  Despite it being before midnight, the streets of the city have quieted—they’re never completely silent, with cats meowing loudly at the back of a meat-shop as they clean up after the day until the owner finally comes out with some leftovers to let them nibble on. Some streets are lined with taverns and bars that stay open well into the night for rowdy patrons, with bright lanterns lighting the entrance. Standing on such a street can even feel as if it were daytime with how bright and lively it is. 

  Other streets are dark and still, where people have retired to bed and closed their windows. Signs sit outside closed doors with opening times, and a crafts shop has a sheet laying over the clay pots left outside for the night. 

  Guizhong only slows once you finally pass a large building that looks like a rice-wine making business, at least if the smell is to be believed. “Here, through the little path,” she lets go of your hand and motions for you to follow her. 

  Her body is smaller than yours, so you have to lean a bit down where she doesn’t. It reminds you of the path you took upon visiting the city proper at first, except your face and head is thankfully safe from any cobwebs or insects upon exiting. 

  “We came very far for…” you start, a little annoyed that Guizhong just had you tun halfway across the capital in a few minutes, lungs burning and thighs twitching in discomfort. 

  But your words halt halfway once your eyes adjust to the clearing, it was rather dark at first sight, but now reveals itself to be a small garden of sorts. Vines climb up the back of buildings that face away from each other, the river that flows through the city widens significantly before narrowing again a few houses down from where you entered. 

  A few large trees stretch from three different gardens, and the orange and red leaves create a strangely warm hue from the cold light that illuminates the clearing from the moon. The leaves from the trees litter the ground, making it appear like a warm cushion instead of the hard ground that is surely beneath them. 

  Guizhong walks towards the riverside, where the ground rises above it. She tugs her dress up and lets her feet touch the cool water before looking back to you. “Come, sit with me.”

  Attention taken away from your pretty surroundings, you approach Guizhong and sit down cross legged beside her, not wanting to wet your shoes. “Did you bring me here spontaneously?”

  “Oh, yes. I just happened to spot you on my way out,” she kicks her feet against the flowing stream, small splashes sounding below. Across the river, two children and a dog come out from another little path between homes, they don’t pay either of you any mind as they run up along the river until you don’t see them anymore. 

  It’s… nice. Peaceful. “I see… I suppose I wasn’t on my way to do anything important,” you say, and truthfully, it was very optimistic of you to assume the youtiao stall was still open so late.   

  Guizhong leans back, sleeves resting on the leaf-covered ground. “I thought you’d be resting early, you’ve had quite the trip.”

  … you’d rather not talk about it, if you were to be honest. “As did I,” you simply say. You feel a tingle in your bones, you hadn’t considered the “returning home” of your plan. So desperate to figure out what happened in Quiche, you didn’t think of any consequences to yourself or others. “I will rest soon.”

  “Hm,” a small hum simply leaves the girl. Despite being a god, so many unimaginably long and difficult years older than any mortal in this city, including yourself. She looks so youthful, not a single mar on her porcelain skin. 

  She doesn’t say any more, not for a while. As the moon stretches to the top of the heavens, settling for what feel like mere moments as the light of it illuminates the small garden. The light reflects off the water in the river and creates a projection of waves on the underside of the leaves above your head. As if you were in the ocean itself, swimming along the stream. 

  The scene is undoubtedly beautiful, but you find your mind distracted, occupied with less beautiful things. You wish you could close it off, silence the workings of your mind and simply exist as the moments come and go in front of your eyes. 

  To act as a human living on limited time, and experience time as it exists in your body. Not the ever-slowing clocks of time in your mind, clinging onto past memories—

  You’re torn from your strange thoughts as something dark above you moves, and as you stare at the trees, seems to grow bigger—

   THUNK

  Your forehead throbs as you let out a sound of surprise, a dry, heavy-looking branch bounces off your head and onto the ground with a dull thud. 

  Guizhong looks at you with large eyes as she shuffles closer, sleeve raising to touch your head. “Are you okay? What a misfortune, we should make an offering to the river to ward it away,” she says with a half smile, rubbing her sleeve on your forehead as you squint your eyes. 

  “How is a small branch so heavy… I feel like I just got hit on the head with a staff,” you grumble, your head throbs with a headache that spreads down to your neck. Taking a nicely shaped brown leaf from next to you, you blow on it before uttering a phrase of offering and sending it off on top of the river.

  After it flowed a few metres away… it sank under the stream. 

  Guizhong gave you a sympathetic look. “Perhaps you should wear a red string for a few days…”

[divine-blade]

Because I’ve been dying to write sonadow fake/pretend relationship trope. 🙏

Summary: To top the success of the Year of Shadow, Sega sets its sights on something bigger, better, and more popular.

Introducing 2025: the Year of Sonadow.

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 1

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 7390

She was his everything... For her...he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Canon compliant but things change around. Currently cross-posting on A03. Will be approximately 12 chapters aligning with season 1.

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

115 AC

On the second day of August, in the year 115 AC, the worst storm in a hundred years swept through King’s Landing. Ships smashed against each other in the harbor, livelihoods and people being whisked away by the tossing waves. The maesters — or the bolder ones anyway — whispered that the gods were unhappy with the Westeros, or specifically, with the ruling family. But those whispers were silenced almost immediately, for this was King’s Landing after all, the very seat of Targaryen power.

Rhaenyra Targaryen watched the storm from her window, one hand braced against each wall, her face being bathed by the pounding rain. Her maids had begged to close the shutters to conserve some of the warmth in her room, but she would not have. Her labors had been ongoing for nearly a full day, and only the sound of the wind and the cool spray of the rain could calm her as she breathed through the pain. From her spot high above the city, she could see clay tiles being ripped from their roofs, and in some places entire buildings were collapsing. It shouldn’t have been calming, but it was a welcome distraction and a stark reminder of her place in this world.

“Please, Princess,” her midwife pleased with her. “You must keep warm.”

“I am plenty warm!” Rhaenyra snapped, “and I will stay where I damn please.” As if summoned by her anger, another painful contraction rippled through her abdomen. 

She could hear the midwife turn to one of her maids, beseeching the woman to find her husband. Rhaenyra let out a scoff. Since they had returned from their yearlong sojourn to Dragonstone, during which time she had entertained her uncle Daemon and his wife, Laenor had taken to spending time with one of the knights of the house. He was no uncaring nor unfeeling, but she doubted he felt any guilt about sheltering elsewhere in the city while his wife labored.

A door opened behind her. “The Queen wishes for news of the Princess.”

Rhaenyra groaned loudly, feeling the child move lower. She could hear her maid speaking in hushed tones to the intruder, assuring her of the steady progress of the birth. It didn’t feel steady. In fact, it felt rather like being torn in two. 

A heavy gust of wind pelted her face, and she found she could breathe easier under the onslaught. It was a necessary distraction from the conversation happening behind her, which was in itself an echo of the same conversation that had been happening every hour on the hour for the past day. She should have expected it. Alicent had been even more of a presence when Rhaenyra had labored with Jace, insisting that her own maids be present to ‘assist the Princess’. It had been for that very reason that, following the birth of her son, Rhaenyra had withdrawn her family to Dragonstone. But there would be no escaping Alicent this time.

Something smashed against the stone walls, and Rhaenyra screamed as another contraction hit her. She was not made for this. What did it say about her, that she was bringing her child into the world on such a day?

Queen Alicent Hightower paced in her chambers, bundled in a fur as the fire roared to keep the chill of the wind out of her room. The windows in her rooms had been boarded up immediately after the King’s, and she had ordered her children be brought to her. They played on the floor now, Aegon with a small collection of wooden knights, and Aemond and Helaena looking over a book of insects.

The Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower, sat at her desk, putting pen to a stack of letters that had amassed in the past week. They both turned when the doors opened and Alicent’s maid, Talya, stepped inside.

“The Princess’ labors are nearly finished,” Talya announced. “The midwife expects the babe within the hour.”

Alicent picked at her fingernail. “Have it brought to me and the King as soon as possible,” she ordered, “so that we might offer our congratulations.”

Talya curtsied and left the room.

Congratulations were far from Alicent’s mind, thought she knew her husband, who was sequestered in his own rooms to work on his model, would be anxious to see his grandchild. Alicent, too, was not without sympathy for the Princess, who had returned from her months away heavily pregnant and now labored alone in her chambers. But the birth of Rhaenyra’s first son had all but confirmed rumors of adultery, and Alicent was anxious to see if the second would lend further proof to the theory.

“I wish she had summoned a maester,” she said, half to herself. “So we might trust she is in good hands.”

“Her first son arrived without issue,” Otto said, seeming bored with his daughter’s worry. “Put it from your mind.”

But how could she? Rhaenyra’s child it might be, and Jacaerys too, but Alicent could not, by the light of the Seven or her own love for her own children, see a bastard seated on the throne. But that did not mean she wished for Rhaenyra to suffer in childbirth.

“Will the dragons be alright in the storm, mother?” It took her a moment to realize who had spoken. Aemond, her third child, looked up from his book, eyes shining in concern for the creatures he loved more than anything. Aemond was…a soft child, though she knew it delighted her husband to see him so enamored with the dragons and his Targaryen heritage. Alicent struggled to imagine a place for Aemond if Rhaenyra’s children were to succeed the throne, soft and sensitive as he was.

“They have survived far more difficult storms than this,” she assured him. “They will be fine.”

Aemond gave her a relieved smile, flipping the page for Helaena.

“What do you care?” Aegon sneered. “You don’t even have one.”

“I have an egg!” Aemond protested.

“It’ll never hatch,” Aegon laughed.

Aemind stood and ran from the room, tears already brimming in his eyes. Alicent sighed, moving to go after him. Some version of this argument was a near weekly occurrence between her two sons, and she struggled to decide if it was childish rivalry or if it represented something deeper.

“Let him be, Daughter,” Otto cautioned. “Boys must work through these things on their own.”

The urge to comfort her son already fading, Alicent resumed her pacing. She needed to be ready when news of the birth came. Through the cracks in her boarded up window, she could see rolling gray clouds in the distance.

Prince Aemond had managed to stop crying by the time he emerged from the tunnels and into the Princess’ Tower. He knew there were many passageways in the castle, but he was only aware of the ones that led from his room, as they afforded him the opportunity to seek out his freedom, and to hide his tears. He was embarrassed to admit, event at the tender age of five, how often he wept behind these cold stone walls.

It wasn’t fair how Aegon treated him, and it wasn’t fair that he had a dragon. Aegon might love Sunfyre, but he didn’t love dragons the way that Aemond did. He didn’t pour over stories of Old Valyria, trying to learn things that seemed impossible for a boy of his age. He deserved a dragon. He was ready for it.

Even Helaena, who did not have a dragon, had her love of science and bugs and all crawling things. It wasn’t proper, or terribly interesting to Aemond, but at least she had something. The only thing he had ever really loved or wanted, continued to be out of his reach.

He hadn’t meant to come to the Princess’ Tower, but it seemed to be the one place in the Red Keep with any type of activity. His mother usually forbade the children from playing here, wanting to keep them far away from his elder half-sister for some reason he didn’t quite understand. And if he wasn’t going to be allowed to go outside and see the dragons, which his mother had strictly forbidden, then he must find entertainment elsewhere.

Two maids scurried past his hiding place. “The babe is here, but the Princess has asked us to delay so that she might compose herself.”

This interested Aemond. He knew that his mother had ordered the babe to be brought to her immediately, though he didn’t understand why. Surely a babe was still a babe an hour after its birth as much as a few minutes? But the babe was here, and he was here, which meant he might get a chance to see his new niece or nephew before his mother and Aegon did.

His mind made up, he ducked out from behind the tapestry and marched up the stairs to his half-sister’s chambers, knocking sharply on the door. The chatter inside fell to silence, and he listened as a pair of footsteps moved toward the door.

A maid answered. “Prince Aemond?” She curtsied through her confusion. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I wish to see the babe,” he declared, trying not to look like a little boy who had been crying not too long ago.

“My Prince, this is a birthing chamber, and it is not—”

“He may enter,” his half-sister’s voice carried, and it was all the invitation he needed to push around the maid (rather rudely, as his septa would tell him) and into the room.

Rhaenyra’s chambers were confusing to him. The window was wide open, and the sounds of the storm and a wicket chill swept into the room. Someone had stacked blankets at the base of the window to soak up all the rain coming through. Despite this, the fire was roaring in its hearth, nearly suffocating in its heat. Two women he had never seen before were rolling blankets stained with crimson into a bundle, while another was dumping red-tinged water from a metal tub out of the window. He blinked in confusion. That was more blood than he had ever seen in his life, even more than when Aegon had broken his nose with a practice sword. 

His half-sister was reclined on her bed, propped up by pillows, a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“Are you injured, sister?” He asked, creeping forward and trying not to think of the blood. He might not be overly close with his half-sister, as she was much older and not liked by his mother, but he did not like to see anyone hurt.

“No more than is expected, Aemond,” she said, not exactly warmly, but with a fresh dose of kindness that made his press a bit closer. He thought she looked exhausted, and her hair hung in sweaty mats about his face. Perhaps it was very difficult to have a baby, if it made such a mess. “Would you like to meet your niece?”

“A niece?” he moved forward, drawn by his curiosity. “It’s not a boy then.” A shame, for he would rather have liked a new playmate.

“No,” Rhaenyra laughed. “But rather a beautiful little girl. And you may be the first to meet her.”

Aemond wrinkled his nose. “Is she like Helaena? I like her well enough, but she talks often of bugs.”

She laughed again, a bit more brightly. “She is too little to have interests yet, Aemond. She does not even have a name.”

A person with no name? Somehow, that was utterly fascinating to Aemond, and he boldly leaned over the bed, trying to peek at the bundle in Rhaenyra’s arms. He could not imagine a world in which he was not Aemond, and this little baby did not even have a name of her own.

“Here she is,” Rhaenyra smiled down at the bundle, before lifting it to where Aemond could see.

His mouth dropped open as he beheld the tiny babe. He had expected an ugly, messy thing, and while she might be a bit wrinkly, and slightly blue, she was absolutely perfect. Small enough that he could have easily lifted her, with slick silver hair plastered to her head, and a tiny white hand curled into a little fist. He was reminded of depictions of the Mother in the Sept, who was often shown cradling a small, impossibly beautiful baby. 

“She’s pretty,” he said finally, though even he knew the word did not nearly suffice. “She doesn’t look like Jace.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Rhaenyra sounded a bit sad. “But I love her nonetheless.”

The baby cooed, and her tiny eyes blinked open, revealing a stunning shade of lavender more beautiful than anything Aemond had ever seen. She shuddered and stretched, her tiny, bird-like limbs shaking with the effort. Instantly, Aemond was flooded with worry for this little creature. How frightening it must be, to come into the world and meet so many strangers, all while a dreadful storm wailed outside. He wanted to keep her far from the world, to demand that his half-sister bar the windows and keep her locked away, warm and safe. 

But that wouldn’t be fair to the babe. Aemond knew all too well what it felt like to be suffocated within stone walls, and this little one deserved to see everything. When she was bigger, he could take her to the dragon pit, where she might watch the dragons train with him. Perhaps she would enjoy hearing stories of Old Valyria, and he worried that he may not know them well enough to do them justice. But those thoughts were overcrowded by fear. They were plans for tomorrow, when this little bird did not, to him, look strong enough to last the day.

“She’s too little,” he protested. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be alright,” Rhaenyra promised. “But she might need to be protected and helped while she is still small. Could you…help me do that, Aemond?”

Aemond studied the babe for a long moment. “Mother said it is a bad omen for her to be born during a storm.”

Rhaenyra frowned. The babe kicked her legs, and Aemond boldly reached forward to tuck the blanket back around her.

“But I don’t think she’s right,” he admitted. “She’s like a little sunbeam on a cloudy day.”

Perhaps the little boy did not mean to be so poetic, but his words filled Rhaenyra’s heart with a little bit of hope. It was true that the babe did not look like Jace, for they did not share a father, but she was the picture of a Targaryen beauty. No one could deny that she was Rhaenyra’s, or that she was perfect. She was a worthy reward for such a difficult labor. Not even Aemond, it seemed.

“You know Aemond,” she began cautiously. “She does not yet have a name. Might you have a suggestion?”

“Me?” He was shocked. “What about Ser Laenor?”

“He isn’t here,” Rhaenyra’s voice was harsh. “Come, we mustn’t let this little one linger without a name of her own for much longer.”

That did seem to be a terrible injustice, in Aemond’s opinion. He struggled to think of a name as perfect as the little creature in front of him. It would have to be a Valyrian name, he decided, for she deserved one, and it would have to be beautiful and unique, only to her. He was struck by the realization that this was the most important thing he had ever done.

“What about Aelinor?” He suggested shyly.

Rhaenyra smiled, looking down on her baby. “I think that is perfect. Will you help my little Aelinor, Aemond? When the world is harsh and cruel, might she have you to lean on?”

Aemond could not imagine the world ever being cruel to little Aelinor — his Aelinor, he decided — but he made the promise anyway. 

“I swear,” he said earnestly, vowing not only to himself, not to his half-sister, but to the precious thing in her arms. He lifted his hand and gently stroked one finger along her tiny arm, the skin impossibly soft and delicate beneath his touch. “I’ll become the strongest dragon rider in the world, so that I can protect you. I swear it.”

And for those few minutes, before news reached the Queen, Rhaenyra felt that the world might not have been as harsh as she knew it to be. Her daughter was healthy and beautiful, and already she was winning hearts. Little Aelinor was exactly what Aemond had said, a spot of sun on a dark day, and she was loved.

No one could ever have imagined that in the years and wars to come, it was tiny Aelinor, and her sworn protector, who would shape the future of House Targaryen. 

119 AC

At the age of four, Princess Aelinor Velaryon ruled over the Red Keep like a little queen. Though not one for barking orders — she was both too meek and too shy for that — she found the castle filled with those resolved to fulfill her every whim. Never in her short life had she known a moment’s hardship, for such inconveniences were kept fiercely away by those who loved her.

Her mother, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, doted on her only daughter, even as she brought a second son into the world. Her daughter was the perfect image of her mother, in looks if not in temperament, and Rhaenyra was determined to keep her under her wing for as long as possible. The motives could not be entirely unselfish, for Aelinor alone of Rhaenyra’s children bore the look of a true Targaryen, and contributed heavily to the preservation of Rhaenyra’s reputation. 

The Lord Laenor Velaryen, the girl’s father, found himself rather at odds with what to do with the girl. Though she did not resemble him in the slightest, he found her sweet, and reminded him of a calmer, meeker Laena. The reminder of his sister was enough to generate some fondness in his heart for the child, if it could not be called a true fatherly love. He did not spend much time with the girl (or indeed any of his children), but he made sure to always bring the child a bauble from his travels, and offer her a story should she ask.

King Viserys, her grandfather, doted on the child, whom he found to be the perfect image of his late wife, Aemma, and even Her Majesty the Queen could not find it in herself to hate the child. Not when little Aelinor so often looked up to Queen Alicent and declared her ‘beautiful like a faerie’.

The only true hardship in Princess Aelinor’s life came from her brothers, the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon. Luc was young, and so it was most often Jace who took to bullying the young girl. It was difficult to say why, and perhaps that was why their mother did so little to stop it. It might simply have been the way of things with siblings, for Rhaenyra had none of her own. But many in the curt whispered that the boys had far darker motivations for taunting and teasing the little girl, even if the children themselves were unaware.

When Jacaerys pushed Aelinor from her chair so that he might sit next to the King, the court whispered ‘it is because she has the look of a Targaryen, and the boy does not’. And when Luc pulled her hair, they suggested that his jealously moved him to hurt the girl.

Aelinor loved her brothers though, and were she a little stronger or a little bigger, she would have teased them right back. She knew her brothers would never hurt her, not truly, and so she did not let herself be too bothered by their harassment. 

Aelinor remained a happy child, through and through, in large part due to her best friend, for there was no one in the court, nor in her family, as devoted to her happiness as her beloved Aemond. On any given day, one could expect to see the young prince following behind the little princess like an ever-faithful shadow, quick to pick her up should she fall, to wipe away her tears, and fight her battles for her. For all the rumors of rifts between the factions of House Targaryen, their loyalty to each other seemed to bridge the gap of familial animosity.

“Aemond,” Aelinor said eagerly. “Can you tell me what you see?”

They were hiding in the rafters, in a space normally reserved for servants lighting chandeliers, spying on the feast and dancing taking place in the great hall below. It was Prince Aegon’s eleventh name day, and the dancing was expected to last right into the night. Aemond had been forced to attend for the first few hours, but had managed to sneak away and find Aelinor, who had been too young to be invited. Now they were hidden behind a wall on the upper level, Aemond tall enough to peer over and Aelinor trying to stand on her toes.

Aemond considered his answer. “What would you like to hear about? The dancing or the food?”

“The dancing!” She exclaimed. “Is it like in the stories?”

He knew which stories she was referring to. Aemond spent much of his time regaling Aelinor with the stories of Old Valyria, and while she loved tales of dragons and spells as much as he did (though he did tend to leave out some of the gorier details of blood magic), it was the great romances that really captured her young mind.

“The ladies are all spinning around, and their dresses are very fine,” he said. “And I can see that all of the lords are very much in love with them.”

Truthfully, he could only really see his mother, who danced with her uncle in the middle of the nearly-empty dancefloor. The hired musicians now played over the sound of drunken revelries, most of the guests draped over taples with tankards of ale in their hands. All of the other children had left by now, including Aegon, who had arrogantly boasted that he would stay up all night for his party. He also couldn’t see Princess Rhaenyra  But Aelinor didn’t need to know any of that. 

“I wish I could be down there,” the girl sighed, spinning around so that the edges of her bedrobe twirled outward. “I could meet a handsome prince.”

Aemond turned from watching the party, smiling down at her as she spun about. “Am I not handsome enough for you, Lina?”

Aelinor stopped then, looking very serious. “You’re the most handsome, even more handsome than your brothers or mine, or any of the princes in the stories.”

Aemond grinned. That was what he loved best about Aelinor. Even at the age of four, he knew without a doubt that she meant everything she said with every fibre of her being. As far as he knew, she had never even told a lie to anyone. She just loved and loved with her entire heart, and he felt grateful that she shared even a small piece of it with him.

“Come then, if you wish it, we shall dance,” he held out a hand, leading her through a clumsy imitation of one of the dances he had seen earlier. Aelinor held her skirt up with one hand and he whirled her around, careful not to let her trip over her dress.

“What’s your favorite part of the stories, Aemond?” She asked him, swaying from side to side.

He answered honestly. “I like the dragons. I like hearing about the bond between dragons and their riders, and how they became heroes and legends.” He was filled with a great sadness then, for her did not have a dragon of his own. Aelinor did, her little egg had hatched shortly after her birth, though she was too young to have done more than pet the hatchling. 

“You’ll be the best dragon rider ever,” Aelinor promised. “I just know it.”

He didn’t doubt that she believed it.

“Do you want to know my favorite part, Aemond?” She asked, giggling as he swayed her from side to side.

“Of course, Lina.”

She sighed dramatically. “I like the happy endings, when the heroes bring their princesses a troven.”

“It’s a token, Lina,” he smiled. “And yes, I know you love the happy endings.” He was prone to adding happy endings to all his stories, knowing how much she loved them. 

“Come now, it is time to get you to bed.” It was well past her bedtime, and Aelinor did not protest as he took her hand and returned her to her family.

Early the next morning, Alicent walked into her sitting room to find Aemond digging through one of her jewelry boxes.

“Aemond, whatever are you doing?” She glanced briefly at the breakfast table, where Aegon was slathering a fruit spread on a piece of bread, but chose to take nothing for herself.

Aemond didn’t reply, setting a gold chain to the side and continuing to dig. “Just looking for something.”

“Hm,” Alicent hummed. “Did you have fun with Aelinor last night?”

“Yes, we watched some of the dancing.” 

His brother laughed, but Aemond chose to ignore it. He now had a selection of jewels set next to him on the table, and was continuing his hunt.

“Why are you laughing, Aegon?” Alicent asked.

Aegon snorted. “I just think it’s funny that Aemond hangs out with babies rather than acting like a man.”

This was rather funny, especially coming from a boy as flippant and juvenile as Aegon, but Alicent couldn’t deny that the thought had occured to her as well. Aemond was nearly nine, and his closest companion was a little girl of four. Aemond was already an odd child, and it didn’t bode well for him to be so distanced from his peers.

“Aelinor isn’t a baby, she’s special,” Aemond declared, spinning to face his mother, holding his palm outstretched. “Mother, may I have this.”

Balanced on his palm was a large sapphire, too large for him to close his fist around. It was roughly cut, and had been given to the Queen for her to choose its cut and setting herself, but she had never gotten around to it, preferring emerald tones over sapphire.

“For what?” She asked.

A red flush stained Aemond’s cheeks, and Alicent did not even need to hear his reply. “Are you sure, Aemond? That is a very large gem, and she’s very little.”

Aemond held it tightly in his fingers. “Please. She loves treasure.”

That was a gross underestimation of Aemond’s motivations. Yes, Aelinor did love treasure as much as any little princess, but the truth was, her sleepy mumblings about heroes and tokens had rattled around his brain all night. She had called him a handsome prince, and he felt he needed to do something to earn it.

“Please?” He repeated.

Alicent considered her next words carefully. On one hand, she did not want the court to hear of her passing a gift of such value to the Princess Rhaenyra’s family. Or rather, she did not want her father to hear of it. But she had no real attachment to the stone, having already forgotten which visiting lord or lady had gifted it to her, and it might serve to address what she saw as the larger concern.

“Very well,” Aemond’s face erupted in glee, “but you must make me a promise.”

“Anything!” He exclaimed.

“From now on, you will join Aegon for his morning lessons. That means with the maesters some days, and in the training yard on others.”

“What?” 

“Why?” Aegon demanded.

Alicent held up a hand to silence both of her sons. “You’re not as little as you were, Aemond. This is important.”

“But Aelinor —”

“Aelinor must also study with her Septas,” Alicent said. “Do I have your agreement?”

Aemond looked a bit dejected, but nodded slowly. “I promise.”

“Well, I don’t even want him to train with me!”

The next day Aelinor had to hunt for Aemond throughout the castle. He wasn’t waiting outside her door when she awoke, nor was he in the library, picking out a new story for her. It took her nearly an hour to find him in the most unlikely of places.

He was testing out the different practice swords, trying to see which felt the least foreign in his hand, when Aelinor emerged on the walkway above the training yard. Ser Harwin Strong lifted her easily, carrying her down the steps and setting her down on a flat stone. His efforts were futile, for she immediately leapt off and splashed through the mud to reach Aemond.

“Are you going to learn to fight, Aemond?” She asked, excited. “Can I learn too?

The thought was ridiculous, but Aemond didn’t laugh. “When you are bigger, Lina, I promise.” He couldn’t bear the thought of her being injured, so this was one of the few instances in which he had no choice but to refuse her.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Can I stay and watch?”

Aemond was suddenly embarrassed at the thought of her watching him train. He would not be very good, and he couldn’t bear for Aelinor to think any less of him. The sapphire hung heavy in his pocket, and he was thankful for the distraction.

“Not today, Lina. But I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” She bounced on her toes. The hem of her lilac dress was already stained with mud, but her silver hair was tied back neatly back with a ribbon. Her whole frame shook as she bounced in anticipation. “What is it?”

Aemond pulled the sapphire out of his pocket, unwrapping the silk handkerchief he had used to cover it. “This is for you. Just like from the stories.”

Aelinor’s gasp was almost comical as she took in the stone. “For me?”

“Yes,” Aemond said, letting her take it in her small hands. She had to grip it with both hands to hold it, the gem ridiculously large for her. “But you must be very careful with it, alright?”

Aelinor stared at it for a moment longer. In the morning light the gem reflected a ripple of cerulean blue across her palms, and she felt she could have wasted away the day studying it. Suddenly she leapt forward to wrap Aemond in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” She cried. “It is the best thing in the world.”

Aemond squeezed her back. “I am glad you like it. “Now go, we both have lessons.”

Aelinor gave him one last squeeze, before turning to stomp back to her waiting Kingsguard. Aemond just smiled, pleased with himself.

That evening, Aelinor sat in front of the hearth in her mother’s chambers, half-listening as her brothers recounted their day, but mostly studying the sapphire in her hands. Her mother had been astonished to see the magnitude of the gift she had received, but she had not taken it away.

“Boys, stay here with Aelinor. I have something to discuss with your father.” Rhaenyra disappeared into the next room.

Jace squatted down next to his sister, pointing at the stone. “What’s that?”

“It’s my token!” Aelinor exclaimed.

“It’s pretty,” Luc was on her other side.

“I know!” Aelinor beamed. “Aemond gave it to me. It’s just like the treasures from the stories and I—”

Jace interrupted her. “Aemond? You let him give you a gift?” Unlike his younger siblings, Jace wasn’t entirely unaware of the whispers that followed him at court. And he was more than aware that while he dealt with sideways glances and whispers, he knew that Aelinor was largely immune to those comments. That spark of jealousy colored his relationship with his sister, sometimes overclouding his love for her with envy.

Aelinor was confused by his question. Why shouldn’t Aemond give her a gift? He was her Aemond after all. But Jace’s question made her worry. Perhaps she needed to give him a gift in return. But what did she have that was as wonderful as this?

“Aemond isn’t our friend, Aelinor,” Jace cautioned. “You can’t trust him.”

“Aemond is my friend,” Aelinor countered, her faith in him steadfast. “He just doesn’t like you.”

All of a sudden, Luc snatched the gem out of her hand, holding it away from her reach. “It’s so blue!”

“Let me see it, Luc,” Jace took it, holding it near the fire to see it better.

“Give it back!” Aelinor sprung to her feet. “It isn’t yours! It’s mine!”

“Why should you get a gift like this, and from Aemond of all people?” Jace, who thought himself much older and wiser, tried to reason with his sister. “You cannot keep it.”

“I can! He gave it to me!” Aelinor jumped to reach it, nearly tripping over her skirts.

“I’m sorry, sister. But this is for the best. “And Jace, with the type of carelessness that only a boy can muster, tossed the sapphire into the fire.

Aelinor wailed. “You stupid, stupid boy! Aemond gave that to me!” She beat at his side with her little fists.

Jace pushed her off, sending her stumbling to the floor. “It’s just a trinket, Aelinor. We can find you another one. A better one.”

But Aelinor already knew in her heart that there would never be a better gift than the one Aemond had given her. She pushed onto her knees and crawled closer to the fire, sniffling as she watched the flames lick at the blue gem. Already black was creeping up the edges, marring its beautiful surface. Aemond had given her that gift because he loved, she knew it. And she wasn’t going to let her brother’s jealousy take it away.

New determination flowing through her veins, Aelinor reached forward into the fire, and grasped the gem firmly in her hand.

Her screams echoed through the hall of the keep. 

Aemond was reading by candlelight, just beginning to nod off when a pounding began at his door. A thousand things occurred to him as he scrambled from his bed. It could be his mother, angry that he was still awake, or it could be something more serious, such as a fire or an attack of some kind.

He had scarcely set his feet on the floor when the door burst open, and he was surprised to see not only his mother there, looking very perturbed in her nightgown and robe, but also Ser Harwin Strong, the Kingsguard to the Princess Rhaenyra.

“Aemond,” his mother sighed. “I’m sorry, but there was no helping it.”

“No helping what, mother?” Aemond was concerned. Was that sweat on Ser Harwin’s brow? “Is there a fire?”

“No, child. There has been an…unfortunate accident.”

“What do you—”

Ser Harwin interrupted. “The Princess Aelinor has been grievously injured, and she calls for you. Her mother hoped you might calm her, so that she might let the maesters—”

Aemond was already pushing past them, running down the stairs as fast as his bare feet could carry him. Aelinor, injured? He could not imagine what might have happened, his thoughts already filled with the most horrible images. He should have been there, should have protected her. And where were her parents, her brothers, her guards? What were they doing that allowed her to be hurt?

He could hear Ser Harwin rushing behind him, but he did not stop to look. He just ran down the familiar corridors and began climbing the steps to the chambers the Princess Rhaenyra occupied with her family. No sooner had his foot landed on the bottom step of the tower that the most horrible wailing reached his ears.

“Aelinor!” She shouted, rushing up the steps and bursting into the room. He shoved past a crowd of maesters and Aelinor’s own parents and brothers, ignoring the rudeness of his arrival. Rhaenyra looked close to tears, her sons just as distraught, but Aemond only had eyes for Aelinor.

She sat on a divan, wilted against one side, her hand cradled in her lap. She was still wearing her beautiful, mud-covered dress from that morning, though the dirt had now dried into dust that flaked onto the velvet furniture. She was sobbing: great, heaving sobs that shook her entire body with the effort, letting out alternatively loud wails or soft moans of pain.

“Lina!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to her. “What’s happened?”

She wailed louder, and he saw that she was gripping something in her little hand. The skin that he could see, mainly the sides and back of her hand, was a frightening shade of bright red, as though she’d left it out in the sun for too long.

“She wasn’t supposed to go after it,” Jace said. “She just reached right in!”

“What did she reach for, Jace?” Rhaenyra demanded. “You were supposed to watch her!”

Aemond ignored them, carefully lifting a hand to brush away the flood of tears. A maester knelt on her other side. “Young Prince, we need to let us see her hand. We fear she had been grievously burned.”

Burned? His Aelinor?

He spun his gaze around, zeroing on Jace. Little Luc clung to his brother’s shirt, tears running down his face. The nerve of him to cry, when his sister was suffering so.

“What have you done?” He demanded. “Why did you hurt her?”

“She was the one stupid enough to reach into a fireplace for a dumb jewel!” Jace spat back.

“Jewel? What jewel?” Ser Laenor asked, and his wife began to explain.

Aemond felt a feeling of dread come over him as he realized what Aelinor was holding so tightly in her hand. What she had hurt herself for. He leaned close, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Lina. Does it hurt terribly?”

She gave a pathetic nod, and he resisted the urge to cry. This was his fault, after all. He had given her the sapphire, and she had scarred herself just to save it from the fire. 

“Lina,” he whispered. “Please, you must let them help.”

Her lip quivered. “Make it stop hurting, Aemond.”

He hated himself for being unable to grant her wish. It made him want to turn around and punch Jace, and even little Luc, for putting her through this. It was their teasing and tormenting of her that had led to this, he was sure of it.

“Open your hand, Lina,” he coaxed. “And once they’ve taken care of you, I’ll tell you a new story, alright?”

That seemed motivation enough, and he moved to sit beside her, taking her uninjured hand in his as the maesters worked quickly to uncurl her burned fingers. Aelinor whimpered as the sapphire dropped to the floor, and Aemond felt like vomiting when he saw the mess left behind. A melted mass of burned skin and liquid flesh, her fingers curling in as if to protect the wound from the air. As soon as it was exposed, Aelinor began to cry anew, and Aemond drew her face into his shoulders.

“It will be alright, Lina,” he promised, even though he didn’t think it would be. “I’ll take care of you.”

Aelinor didn’t respond. She just clung to Aemond’s side and sobbed as they applied a salve and a bandage to her ruined hand. Both her mother and father came forward to try and comfort her, but any attempt to pry her away from Aemond only led to more tears.

Aelinor whispered something, and Aemond leaned down to hear it.

“Am I going to be ugly now, Aemond?” She said quietly.

“Never,” he swore. “You are as beautiful as ever, and no one could ever do anything to change that.” That, at least, he was sure of.

She seemed to take a little comfort in that, and Aemond worked with the maesters to convince her to drink some milk of the poppy. She fell asleep, slumped against Aemond’s side, her hand an unidentifiable mass of bandages. 

“Thank you, Prince Aemond,” Ser Laenor said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will take her to bed now.”

Aemond wanted to protest, but while he might be strong enough to carry Aelinor playful around the castle, he could not move her without jostling her. Instead, he carefully passed her to her father, and stood from the sofa as she was carried away. He wanted to insist that someone stay with her through the night, but movement at the side of the room drew his attention away.

Rhaenyra had collapsed into a chair at the table, Jace and Luc sitting beside her. In Luc’s hand was the blackened sapphire they had pried from Aelinor’s grasp.

“You…you bastards!” Aemond shouted, walking up and snatching the jewel from him. “I gave this to Aelinor, not to you!”

“Boys, there is no need for—” Rhaenyra started.

“Who are you to give our sister gifts? You’re just trying to…trying to..” Jace struggled for words. “To turn her against us!”

“I’m not! I—” Aemond caught himself before he said I love her. “It doesn’t matter. You stole from her, and you hurt her, and I won’t ever forgive you for it.”

“Enough!” Rhaenyra stood. “Jace, take Luc and go to your room. I’ll be in to speak with you in a minute.”

Aemond watched as they walked away, scowling all the while. Only once the door had closed behind them did Rhaenyra turn to him.

“Thank you, Aemond,” she said sincerely. “I did not say it earlier, but you were a great comfort to Aelinor, and a great help to us all tonight.”

He did not think that his mother would enjoy hearing that he had been a ‘great help’ to his half-sister, nor was he particularly endeared to her at the moment. It was on her watch that Lina had been injured, after all. “I did it for Lina.” And not for you.

“I know you did, but I am grateful all the same.” Rhaenyra sighed. “She will be very unwell in the coming days. Can I trust that you will be there to help?”

It was a silly question. When, in all the days since Aelinor had been born, had Aemond not been there? Short of prying him from her side and locking him up, there would be nothing anyone could do to keep him away from his little princess.

Aemond looked down at the jewel in his palm, rubbing some of the soot away with his finger. “Can she have her jewel back? I picked it just for her. I didn’t mean for her to be hurt.” It wasn’t quite an admission of guilt, and indeed, no one could accuse him of being at fault save himself, but Rhaenyra could see that it already weighed heavy on the boy.

Rhaenyra held out her hand, and he obediently placed the sapphire in her palm. “Not only may she keep it, but I shall have it placed in a setting, so that she might carry it easier.”

That sounded perfectly agreeable to Aemond, and he nodded. “Very well. Then I shall look after Aelinor.” He did not say because you cannot, but the thought was in his mind. He had trusted Aelinor to the care of her mother and brothers, and now she was hurt. It would never have happened on his watch. He wouldn’t have allowed it.

“May I ask one more favor of you, Ameond?” 

He gave a slight nod.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, as if debating whether or not to speak. “Please don’t call my boys bastards. It cuts deeper than you know.”

Aemond did not agree, or disagree, he simply cast one last longing glance at Aelinor’s door,and then left the room, determined to return in the morning with an armful of sweets for his princess.

Years later, Rhaenyra would wonder if that was the first day the lines were drawn between their families. When she inadvertently handed Aemond Targaryen the words with which to wound her own children. But at the time, she knew only that he cared deeply for her daughter, and she hoped and prayed that it would be enough to preserve this tender peace.

[jomiddlemarch]

And whilst our souls negotiate there  

Chapter 3

“This wasn’t my idea,” Harry said, in lieu of a greeting. It had been a dozen years since he’d defeated Voldemort and it seemed he still hadn’t managed to learn to use a brush or Tersus capillus. Slovenly, that was what Draco’s mother would have said, if he could get her to talk about anything other than her bloody rose garden, but it was reassuring in a way that Harry looked so much the same, save that his dark hair was threaded with silver. In any other wizard, Draco would have assumed it an affectation, but given’s Harry’s personal habits and history, it was more likely a sign of the trauma he’d lived through and his indifference to appearance; one could claim that indifference as a point of pride if one was the preeminent hero of Wizarding Britain, still largely Mugglish in attitude despite being a Half-Blood by birth.

Harry had also refused to get rid of his glasses but as Draco also had an aversion to any spellwork that involved his eyes, he wasn’t about to judge.

“Neville made that clear. I won’t read anything into this,” Draco said evenly. There was a rumor the Sorting Hat had considered Slytherin for Harry but that only underscored the folly of relying on mad millinery to identify someone’s character. Harry may have been able to speak Parseltongue but any subtlety was in short supply.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to this,” Harry said.

“To meet with you? To try and help Hermione? To eat in this,” he paused to look around, “Bloody shithole?”

“The shepherd pie’s not bad,” Harry said, smiling. “I didn’t think you’d agree to any of it. I didn’t think you’d agree if we ate at Tizona—”

“They do nice tapas,” Draco said. “And their house Rioja is perfectly acceptable.”

“Why are you here?” Harry asked.

“Why do you care? Everyone else in the literal world has given up hope and still I sit here and am presumably about to eat an extremely mediocre plate of shepherd’s pie and swill warm beer,” Draco countered.

“You haven’t changed,” Harry said. “You can’t admit—”

“Just stop,” Draco said, raising a hand to underscore his words. It was something, to make the Savior of the Wizarding World shut the fuck up and many lesser, wiser wizards wouldn’t have attempted it. They also wouldn’t think there was any chance of helping Hermione. “You’re terrified that I’m all that stands between Hermione and a living death because my track record on miracles is shite. I think I’m caught between trying to make up for being a Death Eater and my, as Neville put it, ‘overweening Malfoy pride. We have to put all that aside, if we want a chance to help her, all those emotions and all the old animus. I’ll need your help, Weasley’s too, I imagine. And her journal—”

“Journals. There are six volumes,” Harry said.

Draco laughed.

“Of course there are. Neville didn’t say plural,” Draco replied.

“He considers it one journal. We’ve argued about that too,” Harry said, nodding slightly at the waiter who had been hovering. “Two orders of the shepherd’s pie, two Burton Ales.”

“Burton Ale?” Draco said.

“It’s not far off from butterbeer. I bet you’ll like it more than whatever they’ve got on draught,” Harry said. 

“What would Hermione order here?” Draco said. It stood to reason Harry had come here with her, that the memory thereof had guided his choice to return. That she hovered like a ghost at Harry’s side, her chin lifted and eyes narrowed in appraisal of Draco and his anticipated shortcomings.

“Hermione? Here? She’d never come. She’s not fond of pub food. She likes curry, especially vindaloo,” Harry said.

“Then you picked this place because?”

“Wasn’t sure you’d show, despite what Neville said. If you did, you’d be sure to make a fuss, which you have. And I do like their shepherd’s pie,” Harry replied.

“I see,” Draco replied, leaning back in his chair. Harry looked more relaxed now and since he was pants at dissembling, was likely to be more relaxed. Thus, it was time to talk shop.

“Have you already done the decrypting spell on the journals?”

Harry had the grace not to look surprised but also did not look overly impressed.

“I cast Enodare omnia and Neville Soilshaghey folliaghtyn, but all we can see is Meroetic hieroglyphs. Bill Weasley took a look but he’s not been able to make much progress,” Harry said.

“No? He’s reputed to be a highly competent codebreaker,” Draco said.

“They worked together for a while, Hermione and Bill, and he says she’s taken that into account and used all his weaknesses against him,” Harry replied. 

“Then perhaps it’s good she doesn’t know me well,” Draco said.

“Yeah. Ron thought so,” Harry replied. “And even Hermione agreed that he has a better head for strategy than she does.”

“He still plays chess?”

“When he can find a decent opponent,” Harry said. The waiter appeared with two steaming plates and set them down with an abbreviated flourish, Draco giving a quelling glare. Harry grinned and Draco was transported back to Hogwarts for a moment, the delight on Harry’s face etched into Draco’s hippocampus. Draco put his serviette across his lap and picked up his fork, striving not to scowl at the mashed potato and mince inelegantly slopped on the crockery dish.

“You don’t have to eat that. Or stay,” Harry said. “I’ve got the journals with me, I can give them to you and you can go.”

“I think I’ll try it,” Draco said. “When Hermione wakes up, it will be good to have something to commiserate about.”

[its-in-the-woods]

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 16

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Par 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 , Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character

Synopsis: “I think we should pull her teeth,” Nat muttered to himself, he wasn’t much for body desecration but teeth fetched a good bag of caps.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on Fallout expect typical horror, blood, gore, death, weapons, memory loss, necrophilia themes, desecration of a body,

Hello! I am back, for those who don't know me outside of this.. I get SAD really bad between Nov-January, but I seem to be on the up and the words are flowing. Thank you for all ! Can't wait for the next chapter. New series coming soon!

***

The leaf litter rustled against the fabric of the worn coat, a bloody head covered in the dirt, and brain matter left a bloody trail behind them. The men’s heavy boots echoing against the low bush, as they march side by side, one leg in each hand. A coordinated effort to get the body out to the trail. As the bush parts open to reveal another man, going over the spoils of what they had found at the massacre site. They had found several dead bodies, the smell had alerted the ragtag group that there may have been something worth gathering. Finding an intact body amongst the other dead was interesting. They had debated dragging her out or leaving her for dead, but their ringleader Nat had pointed out she may be worth something at the chop shops. 

“Is she heavy for her size?” Rag groans as he flops her leg down beside the bags. Wiping sweat off his dirty forehead leaving streaks across it. He is a small man with dirty grey hair, thin in the way most Wastelander were. Lack of food and good nutrients hadn’t helped any. He grabs a canteen from the pile and takes a swig making a face at the taste of the water.

Trucker chuckles, leering at the smaller man from under his hat. Same worn baseball cap he had found ages ago, it kept the sun off his steadily growing bald spot. He was taller and thicker than Rags by a good amount, but that was probably because his family was chicken farmers. “Nah you’re just weak, Rags.” He grabs his bottle, wincing at the stale water, but water was water after all. Though he longed for a cold harder drink.

Rag kicks at her leg, his boot two sizes too big, nearly falling off with the motion. Trucker laughing at the way he almost falls over. “Why she not all rotten like the rest of them?”

Nat strolls over, he is a tall lean man, with dirty blonde hair and several scars across his arms. The man was older than both but carried himself like a younger man. “Not sure, she got a bullet hole in the center of her head, but it’s like she is just asleep.”

Trucker grumbles, going over to some of the bags to dig around in the pile. “Some Enclave shit, I don’t like it. Should have just left her there.”

“Maybe they will want her back?” Rag asks, looking her up and down, a dark look passing across his face. "Think we could make a few caps off her." He turns his head sideways leaning towards her, “Or maybe we could-”

“Shut up.” Nat hisses and glaring daggers, he was not having any of that. There were still lines he wouldn't cross even out here. “Why I keep you sick fucks around I will never know.”

Rag shrugs, crouching down close to her, reaching out to touch the buttons on her jacket, tongue poking out to lick his lips. “If she’s dead, does it really matter?”

The back of Nat’s hand hits Rag’s face hard enough to knock him off his feet. A knife slid into Nate's hand as he walks over to the fallen man, Trucker getting up between them. “Come on you two dipshits, not worth killing each other over.”

Nat glares at Rag but puts his knife away, going back over to the body on the ground. He would have happily let that dirty piece of roach bleed where he lay. “You sick fuck stay over there like you’ve never seen someone of the opposite sex before.”

Rag puts his hands up pushing himself back onto his feet and going through bags. The three men digging out anything that could be traded, or sold, a small pile forming in the middle of the pathway. They weren’t worried about anyone coming upon them. Auto had burned to the ground a month or so ago, and almost no one came north this late in the summer. They only did it cause they were scavengers, going places most wouldn’t go to get the goods that many wanted. They were heading north while the rest headed south, they were quick and efficient. Anything valuable left behind they’d gather before high tailing it south before any cold weather came, it was a solid grift they’d be running for going on three winters now.  

“I think we should pull her teeth,” Nat muttered to himself, he wasn’t much for body desecration but teeth fetched a good bag of caps. He drew the line at molestation, but stealing teeth from someone dead wasn’t the worst thing he’d done. They were here for caps, that kept them alive, bellies fed, and somewhere warm to stay. Leaning above her he pushed her lips up to see what he was working with. 

Her eyes shot open, nearly black with glints of gold, mouth falling open with a groan causing Nat to fall backward onto his ass. The woman groans louder, all the men now stepping in the opposite direction of the dead body. Her mouth opening and closing at it gasps for air, her body convulsing and stirring, back arched up as she awakens. 

“What the fuck,” Rag shutters, all but hiding behind the other two men, as their eyes widen in horror. “She should be dead.”

She coughs and sputters, black goop coming out of her mouth as she manages to sit herself up. Her arms and hands look more like doll parts than a human as she tries to right herself. Blinking several times she takes in the three men in front of her, one eye sticking closed before she manages to rub it back open. Hands stiff and ridge as she tries to get herself moving.

“W-here?” She grunts, her mouth dry as she looks at them. Reaching over she grabbed a canteen of water, her hands too stiff to open the lid. Nat comes over uncapping it and helping ease the water into her mouth. Coughing more the gunk onto the ground, it was thick like old oil in some of the burnt-out cars you could find. 

“How are you alive,” Rag whimpers, only the top of his head seen above Trucker’s shoulders. Sometimes being a good head shorter was good, especially for hiding.

Nat digs around in the bags, finds some dried jerky, and hands it to her. “Umm, you’re about two hours outside Auto.”

She blinks several times, gently taking the meat out of his hand. Her other hand rubbing at her eyes, fingers going up to trace against the outline of where the bullet wound was. Her fingers go around it several times, brows scrunching as she chews. Nat could see the dexterity slowly coming back as she continues to move and look around. It was like watching a newborn learn how to walk for the first time. 

“Auto,” She says quietly, hand going down across her arms to rub at marks. Nat hadn’t noticed the scars before now. There were at least half a dozen on each arm, not including what looked like old track wounds. 

“What’s your name,” Trucker asks, scooting a little bit away from Rags to snatch a bag and start stuffing stuff into it. He was not going to let her take away all his spoils. 

Blinking again, her eyes didn’t seem as dark as she looks around some more. “I am not sure, I don’t remember-” Instinctively she reaches out and grabs a machete not far from her, she grips it, fingers slotting perfectly into the handle. “I think this was mine.” 

Rag is still standing back, muttering away to himself as he keeps his body as small as possible. “Nothin’ is really anyones, yah no.”

Nat glared at him, silencing him as much as he could, “Whatever you need, feel free to grab. We are just scavengers, finding things to trade or sell.” 

She turns to look at the stuff before her, Nat staring into the back of her head. There should be a good-sized hole there, but all that is there is crusted hair. It didn’t make sense, he had never seen anyone survive a bullet to the forehead.

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Rag says again, Nat is about ready to knock his teeth out, he was dumping him at the next outpost they found. The man was becoming too unhinged even for him.

The woman stares at him, her eyes blank, it was clear she didn’t understand what was happening. She picks up a knife and pistol, the two going into a pack along with the canteen she had grabbed earlier.

“I don’t think I should be alive,” She looks between them all, “But I am alive,” 

***

The group had debating giving her name but had decided on just calling her the girl. She had made the choice to go North back towards Auto, the town name sounded familiar but she wasn't sure why. Standing in the wreckage of the town didn’t give her many answers, it was familiar yet not familiar. Her head was pounding, the mark on her forehead was throbbing. The men kept asking her questions she could not answer, all she had were fragments of memories that would flash and disappear as fast. It was more like shards of glass that kept poking through, but it was hard to hold onto the pieces for longer than a second. 

Nat stuck near her, he seemed to want to keep her safe. Was safe the right word? She didn’t like the other two that much, Rags made her skin crawl, something about him was not right, the way his eyes never quite looked at hers. Trucker was mostly silent, he also made her edgy but not the same way Rags did. Regardless she was aware that their paths would divide sooner than later, as soon as she could figure out who she was. Something had to trigger things right? Maybe this town would, or what was left of it. Maybe it would make the pieces not so jagged. She kicks at some burnt metal wishing her mind worked, eyes whirling around the place. It was all the same blackened nothing, a black burnt metal on top of more metal.

She walks around, her legs were still stiff and aching like she hadn’t moved in days. Her fingers went back to her forehead, the mess that she had felt in her hair. How long had she been lying in the forest, what had happened in the forest? Why was she the only one alive? Who was traveling with her? 

“You’ll figure it out,” Nate says quietly, coming to stand close to her. She nearly jumps glaring at him, not wanting him any closer to her. 

“Do you know who shot me? Is that what this?” Shrub points at her forehead, the raised edges catching on to her finger. 

Nat’s eyes go wide and he raises his hands up palms out, “No, we found you like that. I don’t know what happened.”

Shrub groans and sitting down on a piece of burnt rubble, rubbing her face and then down her arms. Her fingers find the different marks on her arms, lifting up her shirt seeing more scars smattered on her stomach . Some look older than others, others fresh, what had happened to her. 

Bang

Jade!

She blinks a few times, the name Jade bouncing around inside her head. Who was Jade? Was it someone she was with, was it one of the dead bodies in the forest? Did she kill Jade? 

“Nothing makes sense.” She grumbles looking around the place. More flashes of memories, the town not burnt but whole. The streets where busy with people moving around. She could see herself walking across to the building directly from her, someone shadowing behind her. 

She is up and moving without thinking, heading towards what is left of the building, a building that is familiar. It had melted fencing surrounding the place, she carefully stepped over some of the debris. Going down along the blackened brick to the back, there are several burnout trailers. The memories hit again, the trailers not burnt, the lights low, a shower, the warmth of a fire. 

Bang!

Jade! 

“You’ve been here before?” Nat asks he had kept close to her, staying just a few feet behind her, but close enough he could see the wreckage past her.

“Jade,” She says the name out loud as if she were testing out how it fits on her tongue. It was her name and the more she said it the more it fit her.

Nat nods his head, a small smile on his face as if understanding what she is saying, “That’s got to be your name, right?” 

Jade nods her head, “I think so, I was here before this burnt. I can see what it looked like before everything went up in flames. I stayed in these trailers” She gestures at the burnt husks of metal. 

“Well, you got a name now. Maybe you’ll remember the rest,” Nat adds, looking almost hopeful as he watches her. Jade looked this way and that, explaining how things had looked before it had all gone up in flames.

Jade stands in the middle of the space, walking towards one of the trailers that she was sure was hers. She peers behind it seeing a large hole in the fence. “I went through here before it burnt to the ground.”

This is where she had escaped, something had chased her through the hole. Did someone try to kill her? Then left her in the woods? There were so many questions, without answers. They were trapped behind millions of fragments of memories.

The two turn at the crunch of gravel, coming out from behind to see that Trucker had shown up, a piece of paper in his hands. “Bounty. Wonder if this was the dude that burnt the place down?” 

Taking the paper Jade looks it over, a striking drawing of a gnarled face of a man looks up at her, his face scarred and hollowed in some area. He wears a crooked smile, missing a nose, yet she still would call him handsome. She knew him without reading the words written below, it was the Ghoul. She knew him, had met him before, maybe it was here in town.

“The Ghoul, he was here,” Jade stated, though it wasn’t anger she felt towards him. She felt remorse. As id she missed him, or something, what was it?

Nat grabs the paper looking it over, lips going into a thin line. “Bet he was the one that burnt the place down. Ghouls, nothing but zombies that think they are still human.”

Jade’s stomach clenches at his words, heat flooding her face. The urge to strike him, made her hands clench.“You sure? I don’t remember him doing anything bad.”

Trucker spat on the ground, “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Some bounty hunter with a big ego, legend has it he was around when they first dropped the bombs. A killer for hirer type.”

“So you just assume he would burn the town down?” Jade pushes, flashes of a shadow in the shape of a cowboy making her question everything they were saying. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were wrong. 

Chuckling Trucker grabs the paper balls it up tossing it. “There have been outposts and towns burnt all up and down this area. He was probably looking for someone, trying to cover his tracks.”

“Whose covering tracks?” Rag walks in looking at the burntout area. Jade immediately backing away from him. He keeps himself away from her too, at least the discomfort was mutual. 

“Nothing, we should grab what we can and then keep heading north,” Nat shrugs it off, walking out of the fenced area. “No point staying here any longer than we need.”

Jade stands there looking around the place, going over to the crumpled-up paper she grabs it and smooths it out. Holding the piece up she notices that one side is ripped like it had been torn in half. She folds it neatly, stuffing it into one of her pockets to keep it safe, something wasn’t adding up. Whatever it was she wasn’t going with them, she was going to head south, that was the direction she needed to go. Following the men back out to the main part of town with her mind made up. 

“I think I am going to go south,” Jade says firmly as she catches up with the three men. “I don’t think north is the way I am supposed to go.”

The three look at her as if she is asking to walk off a cliff. Nat’s brows are scrunched together, Trucker’s are lost somewhere under his hat, and Rags looks as indifferent as ever. It didn’t matter not really anyway, they owed her nothing.

“I don’t think you should be on your own, Jade,” Nat states, taking a step towards her hand outstretched. “You might not remember, but the Wastes aren’t safe.”

Jade squares her shoulders looking at him directly, “No, I don’t remember much of anything. But my gut is telling me not to go North, so I ain’t going.”

Trucker rolls his eyes, snatching up his pack. “Yeah, good luck to yah. If you need anything, don't come looking for us.” He turns to start walking out of the town, Rag does the same without a word. 

Nat stands there, hands now clenched around the straps of his bag. “I’ll come with you then. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Trucker and Rags groan in unison at the words, Rags flipping them off as he continues to walk. Trucker stops to look at them, hands on his hips, face scrunched together. He grabs Rags and drags him back towards Nat and Jade. Rags moans the entire way back as he comes to a stop beside Nat.

“No, no, no way, dude.” Trucker grumbles, stopping a few feet from Nat. “We’ve been travelling together for -” He throws his hands up in the air. “Now you're just gonna dump us to play white knight.”

“I don't need anyone’s help,” Jade states, not liking Trucker’s tone and the way Rag is just standing there glaring. “Go North, I am going South.”

Nat grabs her arm, Jade grabs him, and immediately throws him over her shoulder. He hits the ground with a thud, his eyes wide in shock as he stares up at Jade. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” Truker pushes Jade back, going to help Nat up off the ground. 

Jade stood there wide-eyed and confused how she knew how to do that, it had felt like a well-practiced instinct. 

“I am sorry,” Jade replies, chewing against one of her bottom lip as bile touches the back of her throat. “I shouldn’t have done that.

“No shit,” Rags growls at her, grabbing up Nat’s bag as he scowls at her. “Lot of thanks we get offering you help.”

Nat sighs, dusting himself off, and taking the bag from Rags. “It’s fine, you don’t need us anymore.”

Jade stands there, at a loss for words as the three men turn away from her. She watches as they walk away, her heart heavy. Part of her wanting to go after them, they had helped her after all, but part of her knew better. She was not meant to go with them, her journey lay south. 

***

-> Chapter 17 <-

@pixelatedprofilepic @hiddlebatchedlokii @toogaytofunctiondangit @dionneroyal49 @dichromaniac

@whatsorceressisthis

[incandescentflower]

Chapters: 6/8 Fandom: เธม-โป้ Heart That Skips a Beat | Thame-Po: Heart That Skips a Beat (TV) Relationships: Thame Thima Kanjanakitkul/Po Pawat Nuenganan Characters: Thame Thima Kanjanakitkul, Po Pawat Nuenganan Summary:

The various steps Thame and Po take in their relationship as they get closer to each other.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Yours To Tame--Ch. 9

Chapter 9: One Week Later

            I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and looked at Anna. My clothes were packed in a little overnight bag. There was still an edge of fatigue around me. A fuzziness to my thoughts that made it hard to focus. I’d been cleared of any major damage but told that it would be several weeks before I’d be allowed to wrestle again.

            Sammy was going to be ferociously angry. I was so afraid of what was going to happen when we saw each other for the first time after everything that had happened in the hospital. As if she could read my thoughts, Anna looked up and wrapped her fingers around mine. I was surprised to find that mine were icy cold.

            “Hey,” she said, squeezing my hand firmly. “You aren’t going this alone. Not for one second.”

            I sighed and blinked away the terrified tears that welled up in my eyes. “You can’t be with me all the time, Anna. Besides, I have to go home eventually.”

            “You could come stay with me until we figure out what to do.”

            “That’ll just make Sammy even angrier. It’s already going to be bad enough…” My stomach dropped into my toes. As if I could feel the blows, I curled in on myself, wrapping my arms around my chest. Fear burned like bile up my throat. The venom of terror roiled through my veins. “Best if I just get it over with.”

            Anna scowled and reached up to push some of my hair back from my forehead. Her fingertips hesitated over the raised scar hidden just at my hairline. There was half a dozen more, all carefully camouflaged. I didn’t want to think about how they got there.

            She scowled. “Restraining order, Morgan. Why didn’t you keep the restraining order?”

            “Lawyers are expensive. And he never lived by it anyway.”

            “That’s what the cops are for,” she replied. “His ass should have been in jail years ago.”

            Before I could reply, there was a gentle knock on the door. We both looked up, and I couldn’t help the acute fear that cut through me. It swung open slowly.

            “Everybody decent in there?” Moxley’s voice called out.

            The fear receded so quickly it left me dizzy. “Yeah,” Anna replied. “How about out there?”

            Moxley appeared in the doorway with his arms loaded down with a huge bouquet of flowers and a get well soon balloon tied to the wrist of a huge stuffed teddy bear. There was a faint smile on his face as he practically sauntered across the room.

            “What in the name of—”

            “I told you it was ridiculous,” Bryan said, appearing from around Moxley’s broad shoulder. “One or the other or the other, not all three!”

            Bryan sounded exasperated, and I couldn’t help but grin when he made a face in my direction. “How’re you feeling, Morgan?”

            “Bitch of a headache. Anyone ever tell you two that you’re louder than a frat party on free beer weekend?” I sucked in a breath and held out my free hand toward Anna. “Can I have those glasses?”

            The doctor insisted that I wear a pair of dark, anti-glare sunglasses for the next few weeks. I knew it would help. That going without them would just make the recovery process from the concussion longer. But I knew they’d go missing within an hour of being back home.

            “Those are really pretty, Mox,” Anna said, gesturing to the flowers. “And that little guy is adorable.”

            “Ain’t he?” he laughed. “Name’s Jon.”

            Anna giggled, and I could have sworn that she was blushing. “Isn’t that a coincidence.”

            Bryan rolled his eyes and sank down on the end of the bed. There was a foot or two between us, and he kept his hands in his lap. But I could see the worry in his sky-blue eyes. “Seriously,” he asked softly, “how are you?”

            I shrugged, not quite knowing how to answer. Half a dozen responses existed to that question. “I—”

            “Morgan is out of commission for a couple weeks. And she can’t travel for a few more days, so we’re stuck here for a bit longer.”

            “Where are you staying?” Bryan asked.

            “Hotel,” I replied quietly. “Just until I’m given the okay to go home.”

***

            Bryan felt the moment that Moxley’s eyes turned to him. The two men looked at one another, almost as if they could understand each other without speaking. It didn’t take a genius to realize that home for Morgan meant with Sammy Guevara. And after what he’d heard in that hallway—what he’d learned in the last few days—there was no way he was going to let that happen.

            “You know,” Moxley said as he handed the teddy bear to Anna. “I’ve got a few days off, too. Want some company?”

            Anna smiled at them with something deep and grateful in her eyes. She looked between the two of them and to Morgan and back again before giving a firm nod. “Wouldn’t be so bad, would it, Morgan?”

            He watched Moxley gently tap Morgan’s foot with the tip of his boot. She jumped and drew her knees up to her chest. Her eyes went deer in the headlights wide before going flat and distant. If he looked close enough, he could see the tremble in her limbs that she was trying so desperately to hide.

            A new rush of hate splashed into Bryan as he found himself wondering about why she felt she had to fight to hold it back. If he ever got his hands on Sammy Guevara, he was going to rip him apart one muscle fiber at a time. They’d been by the hospital a few times since their first visit, and it wasn’t lost on them that Sammy was often outside in the parking lot staring at the building. Anna had filled them in that he’d been banned from entering the hospital. Sammy hadn’t been subtle about hiding his distain for them at work this past week, either.

            There wasn’t a doubt in Bryan’s mind that the moment Morgan left this building, Sammy would get his hands on her. And God knew what would happen to her after that. He didn’t want to entertain the thought.

***

            He’s got to get that rage under control, Moxley thought as he held the flowers out to Morgan in the hope of drawing her back out of her shell. He understood the feeling, but he knew that all it would do was scare her right back off. And they couldn’t protect her if she wouldn’t even be around them.

            When Morgan wouldn’t look up, Moxley crouched down so that he could look into her eyes. The pupils were wide, irises so dark they looked black barely visible around them. The terror in them made his guts clench.

            “Hey, it’s all good,” he said quietly. He kept his voice low and his hands in sight as he spoke to her. “It’s just an idea. At least let us make sure that you get to the hotel and get settled in okay.”

            She blinked and then squeezed her glassy eyes shut. He couldn’t tell if it was from the concussion, the meds, or something else entirely. After a few deep breaths, Morgan Knox nodded. Her brow furrowed as if the movement hurt. He supposed it did.

            “Think you guys could give us a lift?” Anna asked, drawing his attention.

            Jon Moxley had never really thought of himself as an intuitive person, but somehow he got the gist of what Anna Jay was really asking. Is he here? He felt his mouth curl into a sneer as he gave her a brief, barely there nod of his head.

            “You grab the gifts and I’ll get the bags,” he said as he straightened himself out. His joints popped and cracked, making him grunt. He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Morgan’s face. “We’ll bring the car around for princess here. Bryan can handle getting her outside.”

            The two met looked at one another, communicating in a quiet way that wrestlers had. They had both seen Sammy sitting in the driver’s seat of his car in the parking lot. It wasn’t hard to imagine the horrible things that were stuck deep in his mind. Moxley hadn’t exactly seen everything that Bryan had, but he knew for sure that he didn’t like the idea of Morgan going anywhere near the asshole who’d put her in the hospital.

            “We’ll take it slow,” Bryan said as he stood up. He held out his hand to her, palm turned upward. “If you get dizzy, we can stop or get a chair.”

***

            I stared at Bryan’s hand, confusion slipping through my thoughts. “What?” I mumbled.

            His eyes crinkled as he reached his hand closer. “Mox and Anna are going to get the car. I’ll walk out with you to make sure that you don’t get dizzy or anything.”

            My eyes darted toward the door, but Anna had already disappeared out of sight. “I… okay,” I replied, clutching the dark glasses in one hand. For a moment, I didn’t quite know what to do with Bryan’s outstretched hand.

            “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You don’t have to. I’ll just walk close enough that I can catch you if you start to stumble. Is that alright?”

            I swallowed hard, surprised by the rush of feeling that settled deep into my chest. My breath rushed out of me as I reached out and placed my fingers against his palm. I pulled myself to my feet, swaying as the world started to spin.

            Bryan’s hand tightened on mine as he stepped forward to slip his other arm around my waist. “I’ve got you.”

            Squeezing my eyes shut, I leaned into him. “I’m tired,” I whined. “My head hurts.”

            “I know. Hold onto me, and we’ll take it slow,” he soothed. “As soon as we get you to the hotel, you can rest.”

            I let Bryan lead the way, shuffling along beside him with shaking steps. He made me stop and put on the glasses when I whined at the light shining through the windows.

            “You’re going to stay with me, right?”

            Bryan’s fingers tightened on mine. He tensed for just a moment before replying. “If it’ll make you feel safe, of course I will.”

            My head leaned against his shoulder in relief as we took the last few steps toward the door.

____________________________

Tag List

@spaghetti-hoop

@rollynchwhore

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

@mrsmatt

@not-that-kinda-gurl08

@librathepheonix13

[b3tsuushin]

Stories for the Sea: Masterlist

Six months after the end of a war, you have not reached the end of the war. Post-TYBW.

ft. Rukia, Renji, Matsumoto, Hitsugaya, Kensei, Rose, Hisagi; Hinamori, Kira, (Kaien)

Part I

⟢ Chapter 1: Rukia receives her first summons from Captain Commander Kyouraku since Ukitake’s death.

⟢ Chapter 2: There’s nothing brisk exercise, some Pocky, and a few weird bugs can’t solve. Renji tallies the damage and devises a game plan, sort of.

⟢ Chapter 3: Kensei’s been trying to learn how to have bygones, but it’s not like that’s the Gotei’s style. Just saying.

⟢ Chapter 4: Hinamori, Hitsugaya, and water cooler talk—minus the water cooler. And Hitsugaya.

⟢ Chapter 5: Matsumoto thought she knew how it felt to be swallowed. She is re-learning the feeling, from the inside out.

⟢ Chapter 6: Akon can tell a hell of a campfire story.

⟢ Chapter 7: Rukia’s long night of tending the dead.

[timesleatherjacket]

Chapters: 13/24 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Ninth Doctor & Rose Tyler Characters: Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor (Doctor Who), The Doctor's TARDIS Additional Tags: Introspection, Character Study, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love, Trust Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, The TARDIS rooms aren't shown enough so I'm taking that into my own hands, TARDIS Repairs (Doctor Who), Exploring the TARDIS, Life in the TARDIS, Missing Scene, Slice of Life, Processing Trauma, Ninth Doctor Era, Complicated Relationships, Melancholy, Post-Episode: s01e03 The Unquiet Dead (Doctor Who), Nightmares, Original Alien Planet, Injury Recovery, Angst, Classic Doctor Who References, Bad Wolf, Episode: s01e08 Father's Day (Doctor Who)

[takemetoterrasenpls]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Lucius Malfoy, Original House-Elf Character(s), Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, George Weasley, Minerva McGonagall Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Nightmares, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, How Do I Tag, Deaf Harry Potter, Sign Language Summary:

During the final Battle of Hogwarts, an errant spell hit Harry Potter in the head, and has since been slowly losing more and more of his hearing. Draco Malfoy, who had been taught sign language by Severus when he was young, cannot decide whether to torment or help the Savior.

 AKA Harry is deaf and Draco flirts with him in Sign Language.

Chapter 4 is posted!! I may or may not have written the last 10k words during a manic episode but I'm not complaining. This is my first ever multi chapter fic and it's the first thing I've ever written that I actually want to share with people. 

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; as i'm taking more classes than usual for this semester i won't be able to told the 10-day schedule (as if i ever posted on time lmao) so i'm not going to adhere to that. i'll still be consistently writing, but looking at my assignment/exam schedule, i won't be able to hold a consistent-day schedule as the weeks of busywork are varying. but i'm excited for act two eheh.... happy end of act one! | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 5.286 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 11 - Parching to Dust

Treading through the snowstorm is no easy feat, your feet are ice cold and hauling your body forwards is a feat of its own. You walk far behind many of the others in the long line towards the slanted hillside that leads underneath the cliff, Moon Carver is only a few steps behind you.

  You didn’t find any ink, nor did you find any parchment to bring with you. All you have are the clothes on your back and the Luo Pan tucked in your robe… you kind of feel bad for your missing noodles, you didn’t get a chance to taste them. 

  A sharp gust of wind blows directly towards you, and you have to turn your face away and into the fur of your robe to be able to catch your breath, the snow reaches up to your knees as you try to tread into footsteps someone else had made already and you’re so damn cold. 

  A small slope faces your gaze and you bend your knees slightly to not slip and slide down into the group before you, and just as you had made a few steps down—it’s there again, that brain-throbbing tug. You shake your head, but it just makes it worse.

  You can see where people are gathering in the safe area, curtains and covering have already been set up—this was an emergency spot that was planned for for a while. Your steps halt halfway down the slope and Moon Carver nearly walks into your back. “Why are you stopping?” he grumbles, he dislikes this weather as much as everyone else… if more, human skin sucks at retaining heat outside of its organs—in his sophisticated, furred opinion.

  “I want to see something,” you say and start to trek up again. If you are to set wards or a barrier of some sort to protect against falling essence—you certainly don’t want anyone to suffer from the heavy afflictions that struck the soldiers at the western border… and more importantly, you are on a blind mission to make up for what you did wrong, you’re ready to do anything to try and rectify it.

  None of those people know what you did, none of them know you’re trying to set up a safe zone for them—but it doesn’t matter, it’s not for them, not truly. It’s for yourself, a selfish need to fill the hole in your stomach that is so damn cold, so cold in a way even these winds and the cold flakes against your neck can’t stand up to.

  Moon Carver watches as you practically climb back up, the snow so deep you’re almost using your hands to push snow away to make the climb easier. He sighs and turns to continue down the slope.

  You stand by the cliffside and take a look around… but there’s not much to see, the brush of harsh winds hit your back and you wobble slightly, it carries snow in its direction and it mostly obscures your surroundings. You’re sure there’s many mountains around where you are, some likely larger than what you’re standing on—both beautiful and mighty.

  But you can’t see any of them, all you see is white and flashes above your head. Morax’s golden glow moves far more aggressively than before, when you saw the standoff first—he’s no longer waiting for an opening and allowing the winds and snow to obscure his vision.

  But Mei Lan is fast, the white-blue glow of her form dashes away every time he advances, she ducks and weaves like a fly. 

  You lower yourself down, crouching in the snow as your knees sink into it. Your hands are cold, but you ignore the dull sting that goes through them with every movement and swipe, flexing and making a claw of your fingers to try and keep some movement to them so they don’t get frozen still—you hope, at least… you’re not too experienced with such extreme cold.

  You have no ink, not parchment to stick to the ground. Perhaps you can use just a little bit of your spiritual energy to set a simple barrier over the safe zone—if only to guard against the initial drop of essence.

  Grass and stone greet your eyes beneath powdered snow, cold and frozen in time. You set your palm against the ground and close your eyes.

  It’s terribly difficult to concentrate with the hissing song of the wind rushing past your ears, small flakes of snow settle on your eyelashes and shoulders as you try to from some semblance of a sigil into the stone… you feel your energy tickle at your elbow and wrist before it spreads from your palm into a warm sign in the ground.

  Letting out a breath, you feel that you need to inhale a longer one to follow. You open your eyes and the ground is partially covered with snow again, but a faint silver sigil has formed over the pale grass.

  If you can just put a few of those around…

  You stood and began to wade through the snow again, when the tug of your mind seemed to pull down. Your steps halt and you move your legs slightly… below you? This headache is annoying, but it’s not too dissimilar to how you can pinpoint miasma within a body—it never hurts, and usually you just use your hands. 

  You kneel down again and swipe as much snow away as you can, and instead of stone and grass… you see ice. Not too unsurprising, but it’s far more blue than it should be—just how long has there been snow and frost atop these mountains? 

  With more precise wipes of your gloved hand, you squint as darker streaks reveal themselves to you. They’re too practiced to just be an air pocket beneath the ice, or a depth difference. You use your teeth to peel your glove away to reveal your bare right hand and touch your fingertips to the streaks. 

  They’re elevated from the ice, as if sharp winds had cut around the streaks and elevated them. You frown slightly as you trace the line, there’s a strange energy within them… not the same as the foul energies released by the death of gods, but very similar in emotion.

  Anger. Resentment. 

  You will need to see more of these streaks if you’re to decipher what they are.

  First, you need to complete the setup for this barrier… you can kind of see a good area reach for it—if you set down three atop the cliff and then two on the ground by the alcove, then a ward should form around it at the slightest hint of essence dropping from the skies. The snow almost reaches your waist at one point, and you have to kick and swipe like an idiot to get enough out of the way for you to dig to the ground. 

  None of the area left of the streak has more—neither is it particularly wide, only about the same as your forearm. 

  It takes a lot of energy to leave sigils like this behind, and by the third sigil furthest from the hillside leading down, sweat is forming on your forehead. You haven’t exactly eaten in a while—and using energy like this requires a lot of consumed sustenance in return. 

  You set the final seal down and your palm feels like it might start to freeze over if you don’t cover it, the icy cold ground zapping all warmth from your body through the slightest touch of skin. The winds are getting faster and you have to hold your robes close to retain some heat.

  But before you can continue to crawl around and dig snow out of the way like a dog, you hear your name called from far behind you. Moon Carver stands by the cliffside where the slope lowers beneath it. The wind is too loud to hear anything specific that he’s trying to shout in your direction, so you stand and wade your way towards him—it takes a good three minutes to get through all of it and nearly every step you leave behind fills up immediately afterwards. “What is it?”

  “They’re getting too close, you need to stay under the shelter if you don’t want to get blown away,” he says—and as if on queue to his warning, light flashes overhead. You both look up and see a bright line of every fly over the skies and impact something behind the blanket of snow obscuring your field of view of the surrounding terrain. 

  The impact causes a loud rumble to sound from the direction, but thankfully nothing beneath your feet shakes. You share a look with Moon Carver and nod, following him down under the cliffside.

  “There were weird signs in the ground,” you mention as you open the flaps to the small shelter. Some fires have been lit to bring some warmth, the heavy cloths containing it inside as the wind blows from behind the cliff and mercifully shields the small alcove. 

  Moon Carver tied the flaps shut behind you. “Signs?” 

  “Long streaks, as if trailing towards something,” you put your glove back on your hand, it’s a bit tricky now that it’s rather wet and nearly frozen over. “I’m not sure, but I want to get a better look…” it sounds like the winds have gotten stronger, you might have to wait it out.

  The adeptus next to you sets his hand closer to a nearby fire, he doesn’t say anything for a moment before letting out a soft hum. “Perhaps it will reveal a weakness.”

  You weren’t sure how to respond to his musing, what kind of weakness would it be? you’ve primarily seen the god of “sharp winds and piss cold weather” in the skies, what could possibly help her on the ground? You’re not particularly versed in… the abilities of gods, or their sources of power. Your contact with them is beyond death, where they poison the living.

  The little safe zone beneath the cliffside was very cramped, carpets had been laid out so that no one was sitting on cold snow or stone and the fires lit were protected inside braziers made of bronze, allowing flickers of warm flames through slits but kept it safe from the chilling breeze.

  You sit down close by one of the braziers, tugging your knees up and folding the robe behind your legs so that there’s no open slit for the wind to slip in. A shiver tingles your shoulders and travels down your spine, spreading along your limbs and torso as you peel your gloves off against to feebly blow at your cold fingers—your left hand is still being wrapped in bandages that provide a small additional layer, the cloth wrapped laxly around your fingers is damp as well and you’re tempted to peel it off… but as you move to do so, you hesitate.

  It’s not very… polite, to expose something so unsightly in a dense crowd like this. You can handle the chill for a while. 

  The storm doesn’t calm for a long time—long enough that you found yourself dozing off. It’s barely warm enough being two people away from the heaters… but you sit and endure, waiting around… twiddling your (ice cold) thumbs…

  Argh! You can’t do it anymore!

  Standing to your feet—though careful to not knock anyone over—you stride over to the tent flaps and untie them to leave, the same Millelith soldier that had dragged you along earlier stands there and grabs one flap before it can fly from your hand, a sharp gust of cold wind forcing its way into the shelter. “Where are you going??” he looks at you as if you’re a madwoman, and perhaps in this moment it’s such a very crazy thing to assume. 

  Perhaps you are, there’s been something prickling in the back of your brain for a while now, demanding you tread forward and don’t stop—that you do something. 

  “Out,” you don’t give him another glance and step outside into the wind—immediately your breath is stuck in your throat and you press your lips together. The wind has gotten stronger, but so has your will to do something. You can’t continue sitting around while Morax fights overhead—it’s none of your business, technically. You don’t exactly have many stones on the board when it comes to territory disputes between gods and demons, but you do have a strong sense of responsibility that’s been beaten into the ground recently.

  And now you feel that you must uplift that poor sack and fill it with something else.

  So you climb up the slope that reaches around the cliffside, you grab fistula of snow to try and shove it out of the way and make it easier for your legs to climb—it’s not too steep, perhaps a twenty degree incline at best… but with the wind in your face and snow settling in your sleeves and collar, it’s far more difficult than just climbing a normal grass hill.

  With a heaved breath, you make it back up to where you were before, your sigil is still in the ground and the darkened streaks have been covered by snow again. 

  You look up to the skies and squint, you don’t see them… no matter if you turned your eyes in any direction—you could hear the sound of grinding steel and rock, of heavy thuds and sharp energies cutting through the air, but you could not see them.

  Which is far worse, in your opinion, than seeing them close by—because they could be in any direction and potentially not know you’re there. 

  After having warmed a little inside the shelter, you feel better swiping away so much snow. The more you reveal, the more the streaks begin to shape something—only a few metres away from where you were, you found another long streak identical to the other one.

  This was placed here, cut deliberately into shapes… but for what? They’re angled slightly towards each other… as if they connect further away.

  You sure hope this discovery is useful to your current situation, and you’re not just chasing ancient artefacts that have nothing to do with the—

  The thoughts surging through your head are cut short as the ground beneath your feet trembles. You quickly duck down into a crouching position and try to grab onto whatever you can… which is nothing, there is only loose snow around you.

  Thankfully the rumble doesn’t last for long, neither does it knock you over… but it came from the mountains around you. The earthquakes have been originating from here, you can feel the deep tremble from beneath the stone—as if the mountain itself is shuddering. You quickly stand again and hurriedly begin to swipe at the ground, revealing the length of the markings—you follow them several metres until you can’t see the cliffside behind you anymore, you find two more, they’re all leading in the same direction, pointing closer to each other the further you get.

  A choked sound of surprise leaves your lips and you fall backwards into the snow as something large and heavy drops into the ground to your left—a massive and sharp pillar of stone is embedded in the ground mere three feet away from you, your heart races as you look to the skies. They’re directly above you.

  The winds are lesser under them and the stone pillar crumbles into dust, for a moment it almost seems as if you are in a safe pocket—before the bright star in the sky descends and approaches at rapid, very concerning speeds. You scramble backwards a bit and stand to your feet as sharp winds follow behind him and shape into sharp spikes dense with frost—until they appear as long icicles. 

  Unsure what to do, with several things coming into your direction, you simply turn and run—your instincts taking over as tension and fear grasps your spine like the ice heading your way. But before you can fully stand to your feet, arms wrap around your torso and you’re hoisted up into the air. 

  The ground disappears below your feet and you yelp in alarm, throwing your arms around Morax’s shoulders and holding on for dear life causes the god of geo to grunt at the tight hold, but doesn’t say anything. 

  Your feet touch ground again behind a mountain you had no idea was there, a small alcove high atop the peaks where the air is thin—but where the winds are less as well. You exhale in relief, and take a deep breath… and realise you’re still clinging onto Morax’s torso as if you were attached to him.

  His chest heaves slightly against yours and you quickly let go, taking a step back—but there’s little room in this little alcove and your back hits the cold stone wall. “Y-you—” you weren’t sure what to say. You’re caught again where you shouldn’t be… to be fair, he didn’t particularly tell you not to stand out there like an idiot.

  But that’s usually left unsaid and rather implied. 

  “There’s sigils,” you blurt out as he opens his mouth to speak. As soon as you do, Morax’s lips close together again—his hair is a mess, hood dropped down to his shoulders and frost forming on the edges of his cloak. He must be cold. “In the ground, I don’t know what they’re for—but they look like they form something,” you wave your hands vaguely as you explain it. 

  “Sigils?” Morax’s eyes move to the direction he had taken you from and his eyebrows furrow. His mind seems to turn as if he’s thinking deeply. “Stay here.”

  “Here?!” you nearly exclaim. Surely he’s not going to leave you at a mountaintop you can barely breathe at—what if something happens and he won’t even be able to fetch you?

  “The wind is lesser here, if I take you to the others she will find them,” he tries to sound assuring, but you’re not sure he can tell how thin the air is up here. 

  “Let me show you,” you take his arm and Morax blinks twice in place once at the contact, golden eyes flickering down before raising again to your face. “Maybe it can be of use, maybe it can weaken her!”

  “Perhaps…” he doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but you need to try everything you can to get him to take you down again. You still hold onto his arm and your palm, even through your gloves and his clothes, feels the warmth of his skin beneath it. Despite the frost on his clothes and the snow dusting atop his hair, his body temperature is high. 

  Morax considers you for a moment, eyelids narrowing slightly until he lets out a breath. “You have… a talent—” your eyebrows shoot up and you tilt your head back a little. “—for finding trouble—” your eyebrows drop down again. “—yet you have also proven yourself in other matters.”

  It doesn’t feel quite as nice to hear the last part with that first sentence there, but you suppose he has the right of it. You understand what he’s saying, even if he has not fully completed it—you are not supposed to be here, and yet you are, so you have to take forth what makes you useful and use it.

  “Then let me help, I can read the sigils if we can reveal them better,” your voice is stronger than your spine, but you put all the courage you can muster in your body towards your mouth. “Don’t leave me behind.”

  Something in his firm gaze changes, but you can’t tell what. “Very well,” he nearly immediately accepts. Surprise colours your expression at the easy acceptance, but you have no time to respond to him before his hand takes yours that still holds onto him, and tugs you closer. Morax’s arm encircles your waist again—and suddenly you’re airborne without a single warning. 

  A near silent sound of surprise leaves you once stable ground disconnected with the soles of your shoes and you grasp his robe so tightly you worry in the back of your mind that you might rip it off—at least he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. Chill winds whip past your face and you have to close your eyes as they tear up, the onslaught of gusts and snow making them sting as Morax descends with you in his arms towards where you had left before. 

  Mei Lan is nowhere to be seen, but you hear distant howling that could be either wind or screams. 

  Your feet finally touch snow again and you immediately drop to your knees to brush the fresh powder away from the streaks in the ground. Your heart thrums in your chest as Morax stands above you, his head raised to watch the skies and glowing eyes flickering back and forth to try and assess where the threat might be. 

  “Here,” you pant, not aware of your own breath quickening. You trace the dark streaks with your fingers, eyes locked on the shimmer of the ice below them. “they’re not natural formations, like wind cut around the ice—but it’s so precise…” a frown tugs at your lips, the top of the streaks has lines in it… like a script. “It almost feels like…”

  A deafening crack interrupts your words, the sound flashing through your brain as your head snaps upwards—a spear of ice larger than you’ve ever seen flies barely past your positions and crashes into a mountainside above you. The ice shatters and thuds against the hill of the mountain… directly above your heads. 

  Morax’s arm shoots out and a barrier of gold materialises above the two of you—the ice thuds heavy against the barrier and Morax steps forward. “Move,” he commands, and you immediately listen. 

  Scrambling to your feet—slipping a bit but managing to stand upright, you move behind him as he steps forward. His eyes flick between areas of heightened vantage, between thicker curtains of snow as well as thinner… Morax’s eyes lower to the ground where you had revealed the elevated streak and his eyes narrow—but there’s no time to inspect them further. 

  A white and blue blur streaks across the sky and Mei Lan’s voice carries on the howling wind outside the heavy shield encircling you like a bubble. 

  “Leave this place! It is a barren wasteland!” her words are ones of warning, yet the snarl of her face begets a fury you’ve never seen before. She is dressed in white silken robes far longer than her feet reach, making her appear twice her own length. The ribbons and flowing material off the old-style garment  flutter erratically with the sharp winds and her dark hair is unrestrained. 

  The storm beyond the shield intensifies as she clasps her hands together, the long sleeves on her robe twirling until they almost appear to have tied a knot together. “Will you not leave—I will have to depart your souls from this plane!” 

  That sounds like she’s about to conjure something big. You glance nervously at Morax and his gaze is fixed on the woman in the skies. “Hide as soon as I release the barrier.”

  “Hide? Where?” you look around quickly, but there’s nothing but snow around you—there’s not even a big rock!

  You don’t receive an answer as the golden shield fades into shimmering dust and Morax bends his knees—and before you can protest he launches himself skyward once more. You click your tongue and turn to run, at least you can create a distance, perhaps Mei Lan will be too busy to consider you… you hope she hasn’t been considering your presence at all. 

  Mei Lan ducks and weaves past Morax’s attacks—until he finally gets into melee with a sharp strike of his polearm, the glowing blade’s edge just barely cuts her cheek and she shrieks in alarm. You lose your footing as the ground shakes with her scream and you fall into the soft snow, getting a mouthful of cold powder before you can turn to see that Morax has finally closed in and chases her through the skies. 

  He’s relentless, she erratically tries to escape the field of reach of his spear, but as soon as the storm does not hide her from his sight and the winds do not blow his strikes away—he is on her like a hunting dragon. “You oaf!! Do you not understand?!” a spike of ice materialises as an extension of her arm, engulfing her limb. “You should not be here! No one should!”

  There is no response to her cries, she swings uselessly, but the counterstrike of the firm pole of his spear shatters any and all ice she tries to form. As soon as he has you within arms length—it’s over. 

  The lights in the sky fly like twin shooting stars, golden and blue as you finally get to your feet again and rush towards the streaks in the ground. It takes you a moment to remember which way they were leading, but as soon as you do—you sprint as fast as you can. It looks like a seal, but if it is, then there must be sigils at every interval where the streaks connect that describe its function. 

  Your lungs burn as you wade through uncovered snow, the ground beneath you rumbles softly with every strike that just barely doesn’t tear her skin apart and split her bones. It dips, and suddenly your shoes slide beneath you—the hill tilts downwards and you lose your balance with another shake of the earth, rolling down the rest that is thankfully just a few feet… or two full rolls, as you counted with a mouthful of snow. 

  Dusting snow off your shoulders and head, you swipe at the cold powder beneath you, frantically pushing it away and revealing every curve, every stroke. Your eyes widen as the character is revealed and the streaks that cut through it, continuing further along the floor… you remember this character—it was the second one in the poem sung by the performer in the tea house.

  A tale of a young cultivator, winds and cold slopes.

  You turn left and find the streak next to it, it cuts through another character, the first one in the poem. The threads connect further away from you where the centre of the seal must be. 

  The winds in the skies sharpen, the gusts quicken and there’s no rhyme or rhythm to them anymore—Mei Lan is desperate to gain distance and better ground. Morax notices her frantic movements and continues herding her away from the peaks she could hide behind towards the open sky. She raises her arms, wind swirling around her long sleeves and gathers in thick elemental energy—and he takes the opening. 

  His spear runs through her, blood splatters across the white robe and the ribbons stiffen—as if part of her body. The drops freeze in the air and fall to the ground as pearls, dotted in the snow. 

  The sound that leaves her body shakes the earth, the scream makes even Morax’s ears sting as he tears his weapon from her body and provides safe distance for himself—the attack shouldn’t be enough to kill her, but many gods would tuck tail and flee at a wound like this.

  But she doesn’t. 

  The whirling wind leaves the ground, it retreats towards Mei Lan’s body and gathers within her until the air is completely still. She clutches the wound and suddenly her eyes dart downwards. “The seal—I must—!”

  Below them, the ground lights up. A sharp and glowing blue ignites beneath the snow and evaporates all cool powder that lays atop its streaks. Morax understands the symbol of the seal before it begins to unravel… he has laid forth this seal many times—though his own is more complicated, the foundation is the same. 

  Something—or someone, is sealed beneath the mountain range. 

  His eyes dart to where he left you behind but finds the shape of your coat nowhere. Where are you? 

  Before he can scan for you further, the winds sucked into Mei Lan burst forth from her—sending Morax flying away with a stronger gust than she has released in even the earlier days he fought her this week. He just barely catches himself after many metres and immediately darts down to the earth—the seal is moments from releasing and he must find you before it does. 

  He searches near frantically, until he finally hears you shouting his name from afar. “Morax…!” he just barely sees the top of your head above some snow as you try to climb up the steep hill you slid down. The seal is directly below your feet—if whatever is contained beneath it bursts forth, you will be shattered among the ice. 

  The ground shakes violently and you lose your grip, your shoes slip and you slide back down right where you started, breaths coming in quickly as the streaks of the seal begin to shatter and crack—a deafening sound coming from beneath as the prisoner beneath the ice awakens. It’s not a roar you would expect a beast or demon to make, nor is it human. 

  You flinch back as Mei Lan suddenly appears by the sigil, her blood drips down in heavy splashes and the ground shudders again. “Stay yourself! You will not be released to this world again!” her hands press onto the seal and for a brief moment, you thought she might have reinforced it at least a little—but the light engulfing the streaks brightens. 

  The ground around the seal is a lid of ice, sitting atop something boiling beneath—simmering for release. The flat and blue floor cracks as something large opens beneath your feet. A glowing eye, red and craving release. 

  A large crack forms between your feet, but before you can take a step back—you’re ripped up into the air in the same moment that the floor cracks open beneath you and another, far louder and more deafening roar shatters the mountaintop. The shaking of the mountain from above does not look like an earthquake anymore. 

  It’s shifting, shaking and shuddering—movement, something is pushing its way through the ice, pushing through bedrock and stone. The blinding glow emanating from the streaks launches into the skies, creating walls of light until they reach the centre… and the light emitting from Mei Lan’s body coalesces into a form so vast and wide that it makes her look like a spark next to a bonfire. 

  The malevolence, the fury and the resentment that releases through the seal is crushing—you feel bile building in your throat as Morax tightens his hold on your waist. Your head pounds and you feel as if it will break you apart. 

  The head of a serpent rises from the depths, body white as snow and eyes red as demonic fire. The shriek that parts its mouth shakes the mountains so terribly that snow trembles away—avalanches roll down the sides of them and crush against cliff sides. “W-what is that?” you barely croak out. Just the head of the snake is as large as the palaces in the capital. 

  “...” Morax doesn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the creature as it lowers. Its body slams against the flat mountain and its body muscles twitch and move—as if it were moving for the first time in a long time, before it slithers between two high peaks and into the depths of the mountain range. It takes several minutes for its entire body to leave the unsealed hole, tail leaving behind a deep streak in the snow. 

  Something terrible just escaped the earth, and you can feel the malevolence it’s mere presence left behind.

[loopstagirl]

Slippery Slope, Ch 1

Given I'm on a roll at the moment, thought it was time to start posting a new story.

Scott shivered, zipping his coat further up as he stepped out of the car. The frigid temperatures slammed into him, but he tried to control his reaction.

"Friggin' hell!" Gordon didn't have the same restraint.

"What do you expect?" John joined them. "You've been in a heated car for an hour."

Gordon grumbled something under his breath, zipping his own coat, hands in his pockets, as he jumped on the spot.

John rolled his eyes, although it was barely visible with his hat tugged down and scarf pulled up. He seemed to take the cold weather in his stride. Scott wished he'd followed suit: he couldn't feel his ears.

"John?"

John looked over, and Scott nodded towards the driver. John headed over, speaking rapid French as he leant in at the window. Hiding a smirk, Scott turned to the trunk. John wanted to practice his languages, but it also meant Scott didn't have to stumble his way through the conversation.

Virgil fell into step with him. Scott offered a grateful smile, glad someone was giving him a hand. Gordon was still cursing and jumping.

He popped the lid, stepping back as Virgil dived in first.

But his brother didn't go for the top bag. Instead, he grabbed the handle of his own – from the bottom of the pile – and proceeded to try to drag it out, huffing and swearing as he did so. Scott was glad only the cab driver was around to hear them, given both Virgil and Gordon's language since arriving.

Virgil finally pulled his bag free, dropping it to the ground and looking at Scott.

"Could've helped," he panted.

Scott laughed. "Or you could've waited five seconds and helped me shift the ones on top."

Virgil stared at him. His hat was almost as low as John's, but Scott still saw the flush spreading across his cheeks.

More ->

[steddierecs]

took you for a working boy by pukner

Word count: 43,823 (complete) / 6/6 Rating: M Trigger and content warnings: none

Summary:

"Do you--Harrington, do you know other gay people?" "One," Steve says, and then, after a moment, "and a half." "And a half?" Eddie boggles at him, "What does that mean?" "He's figuring it out!" says Steve, defensively, "Taking his time, y'know? Whatever, the point is. It's cool you're gay, man."

Eddie comes out to Steve, and Steve's heartbroken about it for some reason. Eddie thinks Steve's dating Robin. Everyone else thinks Steve and Eddie have been dating this whole time. Robin doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

Also, Hawkins has been cracked open like a badly-baked cake, and everyone's settled into the most mundane apocalypse possible. Eddie Munson starts a radio programme about it.

Meanwhile, Steve gets his nails painted, and outsources a crisis he isn't having.

[jomiddlemarch]

And whilst our souls negotiate there  

Chapter 4

It is cold, but she cannot shiver and it is not the cold of darkness or winter. Not the cold of wind across the highlands, not the chill of fog that rolls off the North Sea.

It is dim, without being dark. She can see, but not very far. There is sound, but no voice calls to her. She remembers a voice that called. She remembers the Veil and knows she has not crossed. No voice beckons her from beyond its fold.

She is, above all things, bored. Her mother had said it was impossible for her to be bored, her mind too busy and too venturesome, but in the absence of everything, she found an infinite dullness. She would scream, except that she couldn’t and if she could, she wouldn’t find that interesting. 

She is impatient and she has to wait. For how long? she mutters to herself until it is the refrain of a song, an incantation that brings forth no vision and no relief.

It smells of cleaners and burnt biscuits. She settles herself down, wraps her arms around her bent knees, lays her face down and lets her hair fall around her like a cloak.

Once, she had known how to fly. But she’d never been very good at it.

[incandescentflower]

well whoops, I had some people asking and it got the brain turning and so now this is a multi-chapter.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Yours to Tame--Ch. 8

Chapter 8: Two Days Later

            “You don’t have to stay,” I said for what felt like the thousandth time. I figured that Anna wouldn’t take a step outside of my hospital room after what had happened with Sammy. But I hadn’t figured that Bryan Danielson and Jon Moxley would basically camp out in my room as well. “Seriously. I’m sure you guys have better things to do than sit here.”

            Bryan shrugged, a guilty look in his eyes. “It’s partially my fault that you’re in here. It’s the least I can do.” I barely caught the look that passed between him and Moxley. “I saw you stumble up those stairs. I should have at least stopped you to make sure you were okay.”

            “It’s nowhere near your fault,” Anna said with a sneer. “You aren’t the one who bounced her head off a wall.”

            I grimaced, feeling sick as Anna realized what she’d just done. Her eyes shot to mine as the color drained straight out of her face. The air seemed to be sucked straight out of the room. It was like the whole world stood still—frozen completely in place. I couldn’t bring myself to look toward Bryan or Moxley. The overwhelming shame that poured through me was like gasoline. I couldn’t breathe.

            “Morgan…” Anna said so quietly that it was hard to hear her. She covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

            The quiet was so heavy, so thick that I could feel it pressing down on me. It was stifling. Suffocating. It wrapped its fingers around my throat and threatened to choke the life out of me.

            “I’m going to tear his fucking head off.” The voice was tinged with rage, with something that was stronger and more primal even.

            I gagged and clawed at the oxygen tube beneath my nose. My fingers shook. The force of my heart beating behind my ribs was painful beyond reckoning. The noise of the monitors beeping beside me was deafening.

            “Morgan.” The voice was Moxley’s. It was barely audible over the roaring of my blood in my ears. I tried to focus, but it felt like I was trying to dig my way out of quicksand. “Morgan, look at me.”

            His voice filtered from so far away. “Morgan.” My name echoed in my ears as if it traveled down a long tunnel.

            Something settled on my wrist, jarring me back to reality as quickly as if I’d been slapped. I couldn’t breathe as memories of Sammy with his hands on me slammed into my thoughts. Vomit churned my stomach and clawed up my throat. The panic rushed through my blood, and I thrashed, trying to get away from that touch.

            “Hey, it’s okay,” Moxley said quietly. He took his hand off my wrist, but I could still feel it settled on the blanket next to me. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath, Morgan. Look at me. I’m right here.”

            I tried. I tried so hard to follow the sound of his voice. The world around me was so hazy. I could barely make out the shape of him squatting near the edge of the bed. It came into focus slowly. He kept talking.

            “Good,” he murmured. “It’s me, Mox. You’re safe, and you’re okay.”

            I gasped. “Is he… is he…”

            “No. It’s just the three of us. Me, Anna, and Bryan.” I felt my heart settle just a little. The sound of monitors slowed. “We’re not letting him anywhere near you again.”

            I tried to take a deep breath as I focused on Moxley’s words. On the sound of his voice and the way that—somehow—I trusted him when he said they weren’t going to let Sammy near me.

             “Promise?” The word came out of my mouth quietly and timidly. My voice felt like I’d never used it before.

            The very tips of his fingers brushed the side of my arm, close enough that I could feel it but also light enough that I could pull away if I wanted. I took a breath, one after the other and tried to focus all of my attention on the faint, barely there sensation of his fingertips.

            “I swear.”

            “I’ll rip him into pieces,” Bryan growled.

            My heart jumped back into my throat. I clutched at the blankets with my fingers until it felt as if I was going to rip my nails off.

            “You’re going to be quiet is what you’re going to do,” Moxley said firmly. He didn’t raise his voice, but it was strong. “You’re scaring her.”

            The sound of his voice was enough to bring some of the anxiety out of me. I focused on Moxley’s voice. On the way that there was just a faint hint of an accent underneath. Without real warning, my fingers untangled from the blankets and crept toward his. The feel of warm, calloused fingers anchored me to reality for a moment.

            Moxley gave a faint huff of breath before gently curling his fingers around my hand. “Bryan and I are here. I promise we’re going to help keep you safe.”

            I finally worked up the courage to look at him. Moxley was still there, squatting next to the bed and watching me carefully with his cornflower blue eyes. Anna was still there. I could feel her just like I always did. But there was also Moxley and Bryan.

            “Why?” I whispered around the lump caught in my throat. “Why do you care?”

            “Why?” Moxley asked, bewildered. “Why what?”

            Anna curled her fingers around mine. It was hard to look him in the eye. Honestly, it was hard to look anyone except Anna in the eye, and I often hated myself for it. “Why do you care? We barely know each other.”

            Moxley and Bryan shared a look, their brows wrinkled in confusion. I watched them shoot a curious glance at Anna. Shame settled deep in my gut. I just wanted to curl up and hide. Part of me wished Sammy had killed me a long time ago.

            The chair creaked as Bryan leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. His threatening words against Sammy echoed in my head, reverberating until it was all I could hear. Panic rose up in my chest. Bryan opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again when Moxley put out a hand.

            “We care because you’re a human being, Morgan,” Moxley said at last. “Because everyone deserves to be and feel safe. Because no one deserves what you’ve gone through, whatever it is.”

            Anna squeezed my fingers. When I looked at her, there were tears running down her face. I could see the way she tried to find the right words to say. She didn’t have to. There was a clear I told you so behind her eyes.

            “I don’t know everything that’s happened. I’m—we’re—not asking you to tell us. You’re right that we don’t really know each other, but I think I speak for Bry here when I say that doesn’t change the fact that you deserve to feel safe. To be safe.” Moxley’s words were genuine and compassionate. More than I’d ever had from any guy in a very long time.

            I didn’t know what to do with them.

            I couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to give a shit about me. Except Anna.

            “What?” I replied cautiously. “What happens next? Are we friends now?”

            Bryan’s laugh came out of nowhere. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with you, Morgan.”

            Friends. That’s how it all started with Sammy. The charm. The attention. Then possessiveness. The slow eroding away of my sense of self, my confidence, my independence. My control over my own body.

            “What this dipshit means,” Moxley said, his words bringing me back to the present. “Is that we wouldn’t mind being your friends if that’s what you’d like. Tell us to go away and we’ll hit the bricks. Pound sand. Hit the road. Disappear. Vanish. Be no more. Ride off into—”

            “She gets it, Mox,” Bryan interrupted. There was a faint smile on his face. He turned toward me. I couldn’t argue that it was easy to be drawn into his ice blue eyes. “So? What d’you think?”

            I made myself look away. Look anywhere but at them. My gaze slid over Anna. Over monitors and generic art prints and plain beige paint. Past the wall-mounted TV playing a daytime gameshow on low volume. It finally landed on the mirror above the sink. The one directly across from my bed. The one I’d been avoiding since I’d arrived.

            A loud thump drew my attention back before I could dwell on my sunken eyes and limp, greasy hair. The sound echoed in the little room so loudly that I was sure the nurses down the hall heard. Bryan rubbed the center of his chest with one hand while flipping Moxley off with the other.

            “Again…” he sighed, shooting Bryan what could only be described as a death glare. “What this asshole is trying to say is we’d like to be friends. But absolutely on your terms.”

            For some reason, my brain seemed to short circuit at his words. My terms? I didn’t think anyone—let alone a man—had ever proposed any kind of relationship on my terms. As much as the idea was a foreign concept, I could feel the sincerity radiating off Moxley.

            “You don’t have to—”

            “I’d like that,” I replied in a rush before I lost my nerve. “I’d like to be friends with you guys.”

            Anna squeezed my hand again. As if she was proud of me.

            Both men seemed to relax into their chairs. Moxley laughed softly and grinned.

            “Well, princess, if we’re gonna be friends, I have to tell you about my buddy Mitch.”

            Bryan snorted. “The fucking ficus?”

            “Shut it. He was there for me.” I glanced at Anna, who was watching them bicker back and forth playfully. For the first time in a very long time, I started to believe I could be safe.

________________________________

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